#the kindness and gentleness—love and care given without words

[impossible-rat-babies]

I really should sit down and flesh out eyrie’s ex-wife because the two of them were quite close, and loved and understood each other a great deal. even if they did encounter each other as they are now, there would still be that recognition—the whole “despite everything, it’s still you.”

and the two of them could still see how they loved each other—what drew them to each other so long ago. the fragments of the people they were are still there, deep down.

[tender-rosiey]

yoo rose I started following you a little while ago and I really liked you. I saw that your requests are open and I would like to ask for a scenario where Nanami arrives drunk and his wife takes care of him while he talks about how he loves her I liked all your stories with my businessman <3

unsteady love — nanami kento x f!reader

a/n: so glad that you do, love! <33 hope you like this one too 🫶🫶

kento stumbles slightly into your house, catching himself against the wall before you steady him, “kento… you’re drunk.”

he blinks down at you, the usually serious expression on his face replaced by something softer, more relaxed. there’s a faint flush coloring his cheeks, and he lets out a low, rumbling chuckle.

“I am not drunk,” he declares, his voice slurred just enough to betray him. “I’m... just—” he waves his hand vaguely in the air, searching for the right word. “...enlightened.”

you suppress a smile and guide him to the couch, sitting him down gently. “sure, ‘enlightened.’” you shake your head, amused. “stay put, I’ll get you some water.”

as you move to the kitchen, you hear him muttering to himself. “can’t believe I’m drunk,” he grumbles, almost like he’s scolding himself, “what kind of a husband does that?”

when you return, cup in hand, he’s sitting with his head leaned back against the couch, his eyes half-closed. but when you approach, he perks up immediately, watching you with a soft, slightly dazed look.

“you’re so beautiful,” he says. his voice is quieter, more sincere, and it catches you off guard for a second. nanami isn’t exactly shy about how he feels, but this is a side of him you don’t see often.

“drink,” you instruct, handing him the water to avoid the sudden rush of emotions his words bring. he takes the glass without complaint, but even as he drinks, his eyes never leave you.

after a few sips, he sets the glass down on the table and leans back again, sighing contentedly. “you take such good care of me,” he says softly, almost to himself, “I don’t deserve you.”

you chuckle at the sudden sentimental turn. “kento, you’re acting like I’ve just saved your life. you had a few drinks. you will be okay.”

he shakes his head, looking at you with those hazy, half-lidded eyes. “it is serious. you’re always here for me. always... my constant. my…” he trails off, struggling for the right words in his drunken haze, “you make everything better. I love you.”

his words are raw, unfiltered by the usual restraint he keeps on his emotions. there’s a vulnerability in the way he says it that makes your heart tighten.

“I love you too,” you reply, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

but before you can pull away, he grabs your wrist gently, pulling you closer. “no, you don’t get it.” he’s more insistent now, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that’s surprising given his state. “I really love you. I think about it all the time, all—the time.”

you laugh softly, though his words tug at something deep inside you. “you can tell me all about it when you’re sober.”

he doesn’t let go, though, his grip still gentle but firm. “I mean it. you make the worst days worth it. you... you’re everything.”

a soft laugh escapes you, touched by his sincerity but also aware of how much the alcohol is loosening his tongue. “I know, kento. you’ve told me before.”

nanami pouts—a rare expression that looks so out of place on his usually stoic face. “but I don’t say it enough. you deserve to hear it.”

he blinks sloppily as he stares at you before murmuring, "I need to marry you."

you let out a soft laugh and kiss his cheek, "we are married, you silly man."

in a once in a lifetime incident, your husband stares at you, eyes wide, face reddening by the second. he looks down at his feet for a few moments, then you see him hum, "that's nice."

his seriousness is almost comical given the state he’s in, and you can’t help but tease him a little. “y'know, you’re awfully chatty for someone who insisted they weren’t drunk.”

he lets out a sigh, leaning his head back again and releasing your wrist, “fine, fine. maybe I’m a little drunk. but it doesn’t change the fact that I—”

before he can finish, he shifts too quickly and almost topples off the couch. you rush to catch him, but you fall with him, and he blinks, disoriented, before breaking into a lopsided smile. “maybe a lot drunk.”

“yeah, maybe,” you say with a laugh, helping him sit back up. “come on, let’s get you to bed.”

as you help him to his feet, he leans heavily against you, his arm draped over your shoulder. you guide him down the hallway, his weight familiar but the situation still amusingly foreign.

normally, he’s the one doing the taking care of—you can’t help but relish this rare moment where the roles are reversed.

once you’ve managed to get him into bed, he pulls you down next to him, refusing to let go of your hand. his eyes, though heavy with sleep, remain fixed on you with that same soft, adoring look.

“you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he mumbles, his voice thick with exhaustion and sincerity, “we have to go to malaysia together.”

“sure,” you smile, brushing your fingers through his hair as his eyes finally flutter shut. “goodnight, kento.”

just as you’re about to pull away, his hand tightens around yours once more, and he whispers, half-asleep, “I love you.”

his words are softer now, less dramatic than before but still brimming with emotion.

you watch him for a moment, his features relaxed in the dim light, and feel a warmth spread through your chest. this side of him—unguarded, affectionate, and a little silly—is one you cherish just as much as his usual seriousness.

as he drifts off, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead, letting his words linger in the air, “I love you too.”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize

check out my buy me a coffee!

[seaborgium-dazies]

call me baby ♡ mdni

how mha boys praise you praise kink, established relationship, f!reader, dirty talk (puppy, princess, good girl), p in v, oral f!receiving 🌊: deku, bakugo, shoto, kirishima

deku:

I think it goes without saying that deku loves calling you puppy. He sprinkles a mix of darling, love and dear into his daily use of pet names as well. 'Puppy' is something very private to him; something meant just for him and you; something that lays both of you completely bare. And we all know how rambly deku gets when he's nervous or excited, you can bet your ass it's even more amplified when he's horny.

When deku came home after evening patrol completely spent you could practically feel the exhaustion dripping off of him and pooling on the floor around him. You hated seeing him like this and you knew you had to help him somehow. It didn't take long until you were on top of him bouncing and grinding to your hearts content. You made quick work of deku and soon enough he was trying his hardest to hold onto what was left of his sanity. "Puppy, you feel s'good" he slurs as your hips rock against his. He could barely keep his green eyes open and yet he couldn't stop praising you. "You're so so good to me puppy, taking me so well, ahh~". Even when his mind was wiped blank the love he held for you was so prominent that his tongue was doing somersaults, carefully stringing words of praise together "You're doing so good for me puppy. You feel haaah~ amazing. Keep going puppy, puppy-". His rambling came to a halt only as his muscles spasmed and his head fell back in a silent cry. But he was quick to pick up again after he came back to his senses, telling you how good you feel and how much he loves you <3

bakugo:

Bakugo may seem like a person who doesn't praise at all but in reality he's a sucker for it. In the beginning it would really require some emotional work from him though because admitting how much he cares for you and how important you are to him is incredibly hard for him. It's something he struggles with but after he gets used to being vulnerable with you he can't stop praising you. Especially when you're having sensual sex the words effortlessly fall from his lips.

You were going at it for what felt like hours and yet it was only your second round. Bakugos cock was pistoning in and out of you with speed that left you unable to speak. Your whines and moans fell like oil into the fire that is Katsuki Bakugos ego. "Yeah? You like that?" Katsuki asks breathlessly. Your reply made entirely of moans only earns a cocky chuckle. "You're taking me so well baby, just like that, yeah". He hungrily stares at the space where you two are connected, eager to get more moans out of you he starts circling your clit. "Just like that baby, just let loose for me princess". You couldn't help but throw your head back as he settled on the perfect pace. You couldn't help but wonder if someone had given him an instruction manual on how to make you cum with the way that he's working your buttons. "Eyes on me pretty princess" he says as he gently guides your face back "That's a good girl". And with one more flick of your clit your orgasm washes over you, bakugos voice still echoing through your head.

shoto:

At first shoto was very new to dirty talk but after you tried it out on him and he enjoyed it a lot he decided he wanted to be able to make you feel that way too. His gentle and kind nature translates to this aspect as well and and his dirty talk is very literal.

It took shoto mere seconds to figure out that something was bothering you. Although you tried to hide it as to not alarm or bother him, you weren't too surprised that he had you pegged so quickly. Shoto coaxed your troubles out of you, and as he heard that you couldn't help but feel undesirable and unattractive his brows furrowed. Luckily he knew exactly how to convince you of the opposite. His tongue was lapping at your folds and obscene slurping sounds filled the air. "Your pretty pussy tastes so good, mmmm". The vibration of shotos groan made you moan. He pulled away with a dopey smile and spoke with a voice so sweet it was practically dripping honey. "Look at you all splayed out for me, I've never seen anything more beautiful, you take my breath away baby". And just like that, as if he didn't just bring tears to your eyes with his words he ducked down and sucked on your clit like there was no tomorrow.

kirishima:

Kirishima is already kissing the ground you walk on in everyday life so it's no surprise that he's showering you with praise in the bedroom as well. Really it'd be a surprise if someone were to date him and NOT develop a praise kink. He maneuvers his way around words like a champion, alternating between sickly sweet and downright nasty.

all characters aged up

Kirishima considered it a miracle that the two of you had a day off work that actually lined up. He didn't remember the last time that had happened. He was up and dripping with sweat from his morning run as you were still sound asleep. A quick shower later he stepped out of the fogged up room to hear you humming in the kitchen. He saw you making yourself a cup of coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter in nothing but panties and an oversized shirt. He took a good thirty seconds to just watch your ass gently bounce as you were bobbing your head to the song from the radio, almost salivating at the way your flesh spilled out of your panties. You heard a soft "Baby you're killing me" from the hallway. You just had to chuckle when you saw kirishima, palming his boner. The effect you had on him was truly undeniable. You curled your finger, beckoning him to come and kirishima was on you in an instant. His tongue was working miracles on your neck and every time he stopped to breathe, he leaned in close and whispered something sinfully sweet into your ear. As if your mind wasn't hazy enough as you heard him "Such a good girl for me, so perfect". Your knees were about to give out as kirishima scooped you up in his arms and carried you to your bed. You couldn't deny that he was your demise as well as your salvation.

buy me a coffee? <3

©️ seaborgium-dazies 2025

[salynaa]

Sage of truth x Reader

Warnings : None, bad writing, fluff, shy reader.

Author note : The link to Part 2 is at the end!!

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You were one of the librarians at the prestigious Blueberry Academy, an ancient institution nestled between forested hills and timeless traditions, a place of marble halls and old ivy, where magic and intellect danced hand in hand.

You had worked there for years, long enough for the walls to recognize your footsteps, long enough for the books to trust your touch. And yet, despite your time there, you remained something of a ghost to your colleagues. It wasn’t for lack of kindness on their part; rather, it was the weight of your own timidity, tied with the fine thread of shame, that kept you apart.

You lived mostly in the silence between conversations, avoiding attention with the practiced ease of someone who had long since given up on being seen. Not out of bitterness, no, but from that gentle kind of shame born of being too awkward, too shy, too... much in your own head. You had tried, once, to befriend your colleagues, to join their laughter and complain about reckless student on breaks, but your words always felt like mismatched shoes, clumsy, uncomfortable, out of rhythm. Eventually, you stopped trying.

But you had the library. And that was enough. You found peace in the solitude of your work, in the quiet breathing of the library’s walls, and in the whispering rustle of pages turned by unseen hands.

You often left the doors unlocked late into the evening, even when the Academy’s magical curfew should have sealed the building. A few students would slip inside, grateful for the quiet space to revise, ask whispered questions, or simply rest their thoughts between the bookshelves. You never reported them. After all, you remembered what it was like to be a student, desperate for answers, afraid of failure. If they sought knowledge in the hush of ink and parchment, who were you to deny them?

One dusky evening, as twilight spilled through the stained glass and painted the library in hues of sapphire and gold, you heard the creak of the door open behind you.

You didn’t look up immediately. Expecting another student slipping into the library for unknown purposes.

“Good evening,” came a voice, not youthful, but calm, smooth, precise.

You turned, and the world stilled.

He stood near the entrance, framed by the dying light, cloaked in a white clothes in long navy sleeve lined with golden runes that shimmered faintly as though breathing. His presence was... magnetic, but quiet. Like a forgotten star remembering how to shine. He walked not as though he belonged there, but as if the place had waited centuries just for him to return.

You had never seen him before.

And yet...

“I was told the library had a copy of Celestial Architectures, Vol. I,” he said surely, but keeping his voice low as not to disturb the quiet of the place, while stepping closer he continued. “Would you happen to know where it is?”

You blinked. That book. Of course. A rare tome, often requested, rarely understood. Unfortunately.

“I’m afraid... our only copy was badly damaged last month,” you said, hesitant. “Some careless hands. …Student.” you muttered the last word under your breath, filled with bitterness.

His expression didn’t change, but you noticed the way his fingers twitched slightly, disappointment perhaps, expertly hidden.

Then you remembered.

“I-I might have... a version,” you said, already moving toward the back. “An older edition. I kept it for myself years ago, since the new edition came. Not for lending, but... well, it’s better than nothing.”

He inclined his head. “If you’d be willing to share it, I would be in your debt.”

You found the book quickly, worn but well-loved. Without hesitation, you handed it to him.

He accepted it with reverent hands, your fingers lightly brushing against each other as you offer him the book.

“Thank you, I will take good care of it.” He simply responded with a smile.

Then, he left without another word.

Only after the echo of his footsteps had faded did your stomach twist with sudden dread.

The notes.

Oh no.

You had filled that book, completely, with your own thoughts over the years. Scribbles in the margins, musings in the blank spaces, questions addressed to no one. Your imagination. Your thought. You hadn’t opened it in so long, you’d forgotten the ink-stained map of your mind you’d left behind.

You cringed, wishing the earth would swallow you whole.

Days passed. You told yourself he would not return, that it would be better if your gaze’s never met again after such a embarrassing event…

But on the fifth night, he came back, unfortunate for you.

You were shelving a stack of returned scrolls when his voice, as soft as silk over stone, came from behind you.

“I believe this is yours.”

You turned, startled. He was holding the book, your book, in both hands.

“I-I’m so sorry about the notes,” you directly blurted before you could stop yourself, face already flushing. “I forgot I’d written in it, I never meant for anyone to read them! Especially not someone like-”

He raised one of his hand, stopping you gently.

“There is no need to apologize,” he said, his lips slightly curved, as if the situation amused him more than anything else.

You blinked at him, wide-eyed.

“Truly. It was...” He paused, taking his time for searching for the right word. “..Interesting.”

You stared.

“I’ve read that book a dozen times before, and yet your interpretations offered an entirely new lens. I would had never imagined the constellations to be seen in a such way by myself... But now I fear that I cannot see them otherwise.” His voice faded like a whisper, chased by a laugh so delicate you thought it might have been your imagination.

Your heart thudded somewhere near your throat.

“I-I didn’t think anyone would ever read them,” you murmured. “They were just thoughts. Silly ones…”

He gave the faintest smile.

“Thoughts are never silly when they ask the right questions.”

You looked down, overwhelmed. No one had ever spoken to you like that, at least not about your ideas.

When he handed the book back to you, your fingers brushed his just briefly for a second time.

The book felt heavier than before, though you didn’t yet understand why and didn’t bother to understand more.

“Thank you again,” he said, giving a small bow of his head accompanied by a faint smile.

Then, with the same quiet grace he had arrived with, he turned and walked away. The long folds of his sleeve swept softly behind him like waves in deep water. You watched him until he disappeared between the columns of the library, his footsteps fading into silence.

And then he was gone.

You stood still for a moment, your heart oddly unsettled. The lamps hummed faintly above you, casting shadows on the marble floor.

…Who was he?

You hadn’t even thought to ask his name.

Should I have? you wondered. But the moment had passed, and you’d let it go.

You sighed and glanced down at the book still in your hands. Adrift in solitude with only the book and your thoughts now, you let your fingers wander through its pages, searching for a whisper of something new, maybe a response of your endless thoughts.

Yet as your fingers brushed across the turning pages, your gaze fell upon something that shimmered with quiet beauty, something far too radiant to be your own.

His handwriting, elegant and deliberate, had answered every one of your scattered thoughts on small note. Not correcting. Not judging. Simply responding, like a conversation that had waited years to be heard.

And that’s when you saw it, tucked delicately between the last two pages, just beneath one of your messiest notes, written in a precise and graceful script.

“If you wouldn’t mind terribly, I would love to read the second volume. And if possible, in similar condition as the first one.”

————————————————————————

Part 2

EH J’ÉCRIS TELLEMENT MIEUX, je crois, coems🤑🙏

My bad for the terrible writing, English not my first language so it can sound weird sometime🙏 Next post is about Fire spirit and Wind archer (human drawing)

[colouredbyd]

Broken Vases

poly!moonwater x fem!reader

Summary: When a vase slips from your hands, it’s not just glass that shatters — it’s years of fear, buried under a childhood that taught mistakes meant pain. Remus and Regulus are left trying to show you that love is gentle.

Warnings: Mentions of abusive childhood, abuse, hitting, scarring, broken vases, graphic mention of blood, mention of injuries, childhood truama, victim blaming, manipulative parents, overall graphic and has very intense mentions of an abusive childhood. read with caution!!!

Word count: 4.0k

Authors note: moonwater is my new fav ship idc what anyone says.

masterlist

You loved Remus and Regulus before you even understood what love was meant to feel like. It crept up on you slow and careful, the way sunlight softens a frozen field. Regulus and Remus held pieces of you long before you realized you had given them away. You trusted them because something in you recognized something in them — a bruised sort of knowing, a gentleness that came not from a life of safety but from surviving things no one should ever have to survive.

Regulus understood in a way that frightened you sometimes. His childhood had been lined with gold and knives, beautiful from a distance and lethal up close. Love in his house was something to be earned with obedience and silence, something sharp-edged and glittering that left more wounds than comfort. The Black name carried weight, and it had pressed down on his small shoulders until he learned to carry it without ever showing the cracks. He had clawed his way free of it, but the scars still clung to him, quiet and furious just beneath his skin.

Remus was softer where Regulus was sharp, but the softness had been carved out of him by loss, not given freely. He had known hunger and loneliness, fear and shame, but somewhere in the hollow spaces of his life there had been hands that cradled rather than struck. His mother’s touch, a father’s murmured apologies — flawed, yes, but real, and for all the ways the world had been cruel to him, he had tasted love enough to know it was supposed to be kind.

You had not. You had been born to a house where love was something shouted or withheld, where silence was a punishment and affection was a prize dangled just out of reach.

You did not come from grand halls or ancient bloodlines like Regulus, nor from hidden cottages and worn sweaters like Remus. All you had known was that whatever you received came with conditions, and you learned early that need was dangerous, that wanting too much could be used against you.

But you did not know it was wrong. Not really. Not the way they knew.

You had built a life out of survival, brick by brick, teaching yourself that pain was normal and loneliness was inevitable. You thought everyone grew up like you did. You thought every home was a battlefield stitched together with brittle apologies. You thought every child learned to walk quietly, to measure the weight of footsteps, to make themselves small and silent when anger crept through the walls.

It was not cruelty that kept you from seeing it. It was simply what you had always known.

There were things you said that should have been warning signs, sirens screaming into the hush between you, but you spoke them so lightly, so carelessly, that it broke something inside them every time.

You would laugh, thinking you were sharing something small and harmless, and you would not understand why Remus’s smile would falter or why Regulus’s hands would clench into fists small enough to leave half-moon scars on his palms.

You did not know. But they did. And they loved you too much to let you stay in the dark forever.

It slipped out in the way you laughed, head tipped back against the couch cushions, utterly unguarded, when you said, "Yeah, when we used to get locked outside, Mum said it built character." The words fluttered into the air so casually, so lightly, as if they weighed nothing at all.

Regulus stiffened where he sat beside you, the book he had been lazily flipping through falling forgotten into his lap. The soft thud of it hitting the cushion barely registered over the way the room seemed to tilt, the way the light seemed to dim.

Across from you, Remus's hand froze midair, the steaming mug he had been about to offer you tipping precariously in his fingers, a slow spiral of tea unwinding into the air.

But you only smiled, unaware, bright and easy, as if the memory was nothing more than a harmless anecdote.

As if it were a badge of survival you didn’t even realize you were wearing, the blood beneath it invisible to your own eyes. As if it wasn’t a wound at all, but a joke.

It kept happening, slipping from your lips like water through cupped hands, so small at first that they almost managed to convince themselves it was nothing. Almost.

"Dad said crying was for cowards, so he made us stay out in the snow till he eventually got bored and let us in." you said once, almost laughing, as if it were a funny little story instead of something that hollowed out Remus’s chest until he could hardly breathe. His knuckles went white around the spine of his book, holding it like an anchor, like if he could just grip hard enough the whole world wouldn’t split apart.

Another time you shrugged and said, "One time I forgot to say ‘good morning’ and had to sleep in the garage. It was funny, actually. I made friends with a spider," and Regulus, who had suffered the cold precision of a pureblood upbringing, felt his throat close like he was swallowing broken glass, sharp and merciless.

You didn’t notice. You only grinned, eyes bright, as though loneliness and punishment were things that built fairy tales instead of scars.

You laughed, light and unconcerned, when you said, "Everyone gets hit every few days. It's not a big deal," and missed the way Remus’s mouth tightened into a thin, colorless line, missed the way Regulus reached for you without thinking, fingers ghosting your sleeve like he could shield you from memories that had already happened.

Every word you dropped was another stone sinking into the river of you, another crack spidering through the foundation of what they thought they knew.

Another shard they had to pretend not to see, because you didn’t see it. You didn’t know. You had never known anything else. You had been too busy surviving. You had always been too busy surviving.

And then it all cracked open.

It started so stupidly, with Quidditch and pride.

You were stretched out lazily on the couch, bare feet tucked comfortably under you, a chipped mug cradled between your hands as you took slow sips from it. The faint scent of tea lingered in the air, mixing with the soft warmth of the evening.

Regulus and Remus were on opposite sides of the room, their voices rising and falling in playful debate, each word sparking the kind of heated exchange only they could have. You listened with half attention, smiling softly as their banter filled the space around you, a rhythm that felt almost like home.

The sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon, leaving behind the coolness of the night, but the warmth inside the house was a sharp contrast. The only light was the golden spill of the lamps, casting shadows on the walls that seemed to pulse with life. The house, the three of you, the rhythm of familiar voices, was like a second skin—protective, comforting, real. This was home.

"I am telling you," Regulus said, tossing a Quidditch paper onto the table with a soft thud, "if the Harpies had just switched Seekers at the start of the season, they would have wiped the floor with the Cannons."

"You cannot just swap out a Seeker," Remus said, half-laughing, arms folded stubbornly across his chest. "It is not a chess piece, Reg."

Regulus gave a soft, scoffing noise, a glint of something teasing in his grey eyes. "You Gryffindors are all sentiment. Sometimes you have to cut your losses."

"And sometimes loyalty wins games, not betrayal," Remus shot back, rolling his eyes and pushing off from the doorframe. He crossed the room in two easy strides, standing toe-to-toe with Regulus now, their words heating up, not cruel, just stupid and bright with old affection.

You smiled to yourself, watching them with a kind of fondness that warmed your bones. You loved them like this, alive and careless, sparking off one another like dry tinder. It was the kind of playfulness that had become second nature between the two of them, something you'd witnessed a thousand times and always adored. A safe, familiar rhythm of back-and-forth that filled the space between them, the unspoken bond of shared history and love.

You didn’t even register the way your heart started to beat harder, the way your muscles tensed, the way old instincts uncoiled themselves slowly from where they slept inside you.

"You are insufferable," Regulus said, jabbing a finger lightly at Remus’s chest, the action teasing but laced with warmth.

"And you are infuriating," Remus answered, swatting at his hand with a laugh that was more tired than amused, the spark between them alive but the edges worn down from time.

You hummed softly to yourself, feeling the weight of the quiet contentment that had settled around you. It was easy to feel at ease when the world was just these moments, when the only thing that mattered was the teasing back and forth of the two people you loved the most.

Then it happened.

You weren’t sure how, exactly. It was like a spark that ignited the room, and suddenly everything felt sharper, colder. You had been so used to this—Regulus’s dry humor, Remus’s playful frustration. It had always been just noise, a part of the air you breathed. But this time, it was different. There was a weight behind it now, something you couldn’t ignore.

It was Remus, laughing just a little too loud at Regulus’s remark, his voice cutting through the air with that familiar edge of mockery. "Sometimes you have to let go of the idea of being right," he said with a grin, eyes dancing with mischief.

But there was a flicker in Regulus’s eyes, something hard beneath the surface, and suddenly the tension between them seemed to snap tighter.

"Maybe you should stop assuming you know everything," Regulus bit out, his voice low but cutting, something raw edging into the words.

It was sharp. Too sharp. And the way Regulus’s eyes flashed made it feel like the laughter had been sucked out of the room.

Remus’s smile faltered, his hand falling away from his chest, his posture shifting as if he was sensing something in the air that had shifted.

"I’m not assuming," Remus replied, voice quieter now, just a touch of strain in the edges. "I’m just saying, not everything is as simple as you make it out to be."

Your breath caught, your chest tightening, the conversation somehow too close, too sharp for comfort. Your fingers curled slightly into the cushion beneath you, the urge to interrupt rising up from some deep place inside of you. But you didn’t. You stayed silent, watching, feeling the invisible line stretching tighter and tighter between them.

"You always have an answer, don’t you?" Regulus’s words were laced with something harder now, something that flickered just beneath the surface of their usual dynamic. "Maybe not everything is meant to be solved. Maybe some things are just the way they are."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was nothing but the pulse of the tension, heavy and thick, wrapping around you.

Regulus stepped closer, his movements sharp, pointing his finger at Remus with a precision that was meant to be theatrical, to emphasize his argument. The action was calculated, meant to be playful, to incite a laugh, to turn the moment into another shared joke between them.

But then Remus, always ready to match Regulus’s energy, raised his hand in a gesture of exaggerated defense, an act that was supposed to keep the air light, to stop the rising tension before it could break through.

You couldn’t breathe. The warmth that had once wrapped itself so securely around your chest suddenly felt suffocating, a weight pressing down, trapping you in a moment that had shifted so subtly, but so violently, that you couldn’t reconcile the warmth of the room with the chill crawling down your spine.

It was a blur then. You stumbled backward, your feet suddenly unsteady as your heart pounded too quickly in your chest, the world spinning just slightly too fast. Your hip slammed into the side table, the impact jarring, but you barely registered the pain.

The only thing you could focus on was the vase—the one Remus had given you for your birthday, the one that Regulus had looked at and said reminded him of some ancient art piece he saw in a muggle movie that Sirius used to make him watch.

The vase wobbled once, twice, each movement of the fragile porcelain making the world feel slower, as though everything had fallen into a brief moment of suspension. You could see the way it teetered at the edge of the table, teetered at the edge of disaster.

The world seemed to stretch, just for a heartbeat, and in that stretch, you could almost believe you could catch it, could stop it from falling. But it did.

The sound it made when it shattered was deafening, louder than anything you had ever heard before. It rang in your ears, a crash that felt like gunfire, sharp and cutting, as though the noise itself had torn through the fabric of the room.

Time seemed to hold its breath, the shattered pieces of the vase scattered across the floor like broken dreams, the wildflowers that it had once held now lost in the jagged shards.

Your hands flew to the pieces, trembling and frantic, moving in a blur of desperation.

The shards of the broken vase littered the floor, their sharp edges gleaming menacingly in the dim light. You tried to piece them together, each movement a frantic attempt to make it whole again, to make the world stop spinning, to put everything back into its perfect place before the inevitable consequence arrived.

You couldn’t let it stay broken, not like this. You couldn’t let it be your fault, couldn’t bear the thought of their anger, their disappointment, the crushing weight of whatever punishment you were certain would follow.

"I will fix it," you gasped, the words spilling out in a high, thin tremor, your voice cracking under the strain of the panic rising in your chest. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I swear. Please, please don’t be mad, I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it. Just give me a second, i'll fix it. I promise,"

You didn’t know who you were pleading with—Regulus, Remus, yourself—but you couldn’t stop.

Your hands shook as you gathered the jagged pieces of ceramic, your fingers too clumsy, too frantic, trying to make sense of the broken fragments scattered around you. The panic rushed through your veins like fire, sharp and unforgiving, and all you could think was that you had to fix this.

You had to make the brokenness disappear. You had to undo the mess you had made before they could get angry, before the shouting escalated, before it turned into something worse.

Your hand closed around a jagged edge, the sharp ceramic biting into your skin, the sting of it so sudden and intense that you flinched. A large line of blood bloomed across your palm, the red quickly darkening, but you hardly felt it.

The pain of the cut was nothing compared to the chaos spiraling in your mind, the frantic need to make everything right. You didn’t even register the blood at first, didn’t stop to assess the damage. It didn’t matter. You didn't even notice how the pieces of the once white and blue vase turned a deep crimson red.

Nothing mattered but the pieces of the vase in front of you, scattered like your thoughts, like everything you had ever been told to fix or endure or hold together.

"I’ll fix it," you whispered again, this time more to yourself than anyone else. The words were a mantra, an echo of the things you had been forced to say in other times, in other places, when things broke, when things were shattered, and you were left to pick up the pieces, no matter the cost.

You didn’t know how to stop. You didn’t know how to make yourself stop scrambling, stop trying to make the mess disappear, as though your very worth depended on it. All you knew was that the shards were too sharp, the blood too bright, the panic too thick in your chest. You had to make it right. You had to make it stop hurting.

The world felt like it was slipping away from you, the edges blurring and twisting as you kept reaching for the shards, gathering them up, trying to fit them together, trying to turn them into something whole.

But nothing fit. Nothing was whole. Nothing could be fixed.

Regulus’s voice reached you, soft at first, but thick with concern. "Stop, please stop," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "You're hurting yourself, amour,"

But it was too much. It was all too much. The shattered pieces, the blood, the suffocating pressure to make everything okay—it was all too much for you to bear. And the tears finally spilled over, hot and fast, as your chest heaved with the force of them.

Remus was beside you then, kneeling down in front of you, his hands catching yours gently, pulling them away from the shards. "Love, no, no, no, stop," He said sharply, horror strangling the words.

"Darling, please," Regulus said, his voice cracking down the middle.

They were both on their knees beside you, not caring about the broken shards cutting into their own hands, reaching for you with such tenderness it made the room tilt.

"Look at me," Remus said, reaching out slowly, palms up, voice gentler than you had ever heard. "You are not in trouble. You are not in trouble."

"You did nothing wrong," Regulus said, crouching low, his eyes wide and wet. "It is just a vase. It does not matter. You matter."

But you were still shaking, your hands red with blood and fear, your chest heaving with little broken sobs you could not swallow down. You tried to gather the larger pieces anyway, tried to fit them together with trembling fingers, crying harder when they refused to become whole again.

"I am sorry," you whispered over and over. "I did not mean to. I swear I will be better. Please, please do not leave."

Regulus made a sound then, a wounded, helpless noise. Because had he been that bad at loving you that you thought he would leave you over a vase?

Remus caught your wrists before you could hurt yourself again, holding them lightly, not restraining, just there, solid and warm and unmovable.

"Sweetheart, no," Remus whispered, his voice a soft caress that wrapped around you like a blanket. "We are not angry. We could never be angry with you, baby." His words were so tender, so filled with warmth, that they made your chest ache in a way you didn't know you could feel. His thumb brushed over your arm in slow, calming strokes, grounding you to the moment, to them.

"You are safe," Regulus breathed, cupping your bleeding hand with such care that it made you want to crumble, to sob harder, as if his touch could undo the years of fear and hurt that had clung to you for so long.

"You are safe, you are safe, you are safe." Each repetition was like a gentle promise, a lullaby meant to ease you, but you couldn’t breathe easy just yet. Your heart raced, a flutter of panic that was impossible to still, not when the shadows of your past still lingered, pressing against the edges of every moment.

You shook your head, trying to pull away, trying to slip out of their reach, lost somewhere deep inside, somewhere where love had always meant pain and mistakes had always meant loneliness. Somewhere where you had learned to protect yourself by pushing others away, never letting anyone get too close.

You didn’t know how to let anyone in—not like this, not with such tenderness. But Remus, with his steady grip, only tightened his hands on you, a quiet insistence that you didn’t have to run anymore.

"You do not have to fix anything," Remus said softly, his voice full of such conviction that it almost made you stop and listen. "You are not broken. There is nothing to fix." His words, so simple yet profound, hung in the air between you like a promise.

For the first time, someone was telling you that you were enough, as you were, and that feeling—such an unfamiliar one—made your throat tighten.

Regulus, always the quieter one, brushed the hair from your face with hands that shook just a little, as if afraid to hurt you, even in the smallest way. "Let us take care of you, please," he murmured, his voice raw, like it was a prayer whispered into the night, fragile and desperate.

The tenderness in his tone wrapped around your heart, pulling at something deep within you. His touch felt like a balm, soothing, even when it made your pulse quicken in fear.

Slowly, as if they were afraid to move too fast, they guided you away from the blood and the glass.

Regulus cradled your injured hand against his chest, holding it like it was the most precious thing in the world, fragile and tender. Remus gathered you into his arms with such gentle strength that it left you gasping. His embrace was safe, unyielding, but kind.

You didn’t know how to let go, how to lean into that kind of love, but somehow, in the silence that followed, you found yourself doing just that.

They sat you on the couch, close together, their presence wrapping around you like a shield. Still, they whispered to you, murmuring words you could hardly understand but felt deep in your bones.

Remus pressed a soft cloth to your palm, the cool fabric a contrast to the warmth of his hands, as he worked to stop the bleeding. Regulus, as if every movement had to be slow and deliberate, wiped away the tears that had escaped your eyes, his sweater sleeve gentle against your skin, as if trying to erase the hurt you hadn't meant to show.

"You are alright," Remus said over and over, his voice rhythmic, like a lullaby meant to bring calm. Each repetition was in time with the frantic beat of your heart, which was struggling to steady itself, to accept the safety they were offering you. "You are alright."

Regulus pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment, then another, his lips brushing against your hair, the air near your temple. His touch was so careful, as if you might break if he held you too tightly. "We love you," he said, his voice barely a whisper, but filled with a certainty that settled deep into your chest. "We love you more than anything. No broken thing will ever change that."

The floor was still littered with shards of glass, the blood a reminder of what had just happened, but none of it mattered. Not anymore.

The only thing that mattered was the way they looked at you. It was a look that made you feel seen, truly seen, in a way you had never known before. Like you were something sacred, something worth every broken part of you, even the ones you didn’t know how to heal.

They didn’t see your scars as flaws, they saw them as pieces of you—the person they loved, the person they wanted to protect.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe it.

You let yourself believe that you could be loved like this—completely, unconditionally, without fear. It was terrifying, but it was also beautiful in a way that made the tears feel like they were washing away everything you’d ever known, making space for something new. Something good.

[mononijikayu]

sumire — ryomen sukuna.

(happy mother's day concubine reader)

the other woman masterlist

ryomen sukuna had always believed even ever so quietly, ever so instinctively that you were born to be someone’s loving and kind mother. it wasn’t something he thought about often. not when the world demanded blood and grit from his hands. not when he had buried softness under centuries of survival. but then he saw you with chiharu. 

he watched the way your arms curved instinctively around her small frame little by little, the way your own voice softened as you brushed back strands of her luscious long hair, your thumb tracing ever so kindly behind the shell of her ear like it was the most natural thing in the world.

she wasn’t yours. you knew as much, he knows just as well. she was not your own blood. she was not yours by birth. not even by any bond you had asked for. he had given the child to your care well enough, that was for certain.

you could have let the girl live in the comforts of your household without the luxury of your touch, or your care or your affections. you had more than enough to let her be educated by the maids of your household, to be cared for by the strangers that took care of you too.

after all, his scarlet eyes were perceptive enough to see. enough to see the very essence of your soul, to see the very essence of your face, that face which held the face of a ghost he longed for. he knew that you resented living with the ghost of ryomen hiromi well enough. 

yet, instead of the frown on your lips when you look at the looking glass, you smiled at his little daughter. you smiled at her like it didn’t matter that she was a living ghost left behind by the one ryomen sukuna had long loved and grieved. 

for the longest time, he had pondered all about it. you had not spoken to him about it. and he did not have the gall to ask. curiosity was enough and he was not willing to let it eat him whole and take root of him.

still, he allowed that curiosity to remain. and to let it be a fond echo that reflects when he looks at you laughing as you and chiharu played in the autumn leaves together.

but he felt like he had seen something that made him understand that day as you both played together in the bright expanse of the manor. it had been the first time she ran to you after scraping her knee. 

as she stumbled toward you, tears streaming down her face, ryomen sukuna saw something flicker in your expression. it had felt almost something beyond him. something so unknown, something so ancient, a tenderness that rose within you like a quiet, instinctual force, older than any word, older than language itself.

“mama, it hurts!” chiharu sobbed, her small hands clutching at her knee.

without a second thought, the grandeur of your bright red silk did not matter to you. nothing else had mattered. not the possibility of the dirt, not the possibility of his displeasure that he could later notice the unkempt creasing through your skirts. yet you did not care. 

you quickly dropped to your knees, your caring hands moving swiftly to pull every inch of her small frame into your arms, cradling her with a tenderness that seemed to come from somewhere beyond this world. this moment felt so unique to him. to a god who couldn’t have ever had a mother.

“shh, it’s okay, little flower.” you murmured softly, your voice gentle, soothing, as you pressed your cheek to her temple. “it’s just a little scratch, sweetheart. i am here.”

the words fell from your lips like a lullaby, and the god named sukuna watched, transfixed. it was more than just comforting a child. there was something about the way you held her, something in the depth of your gaze, that made it clear.

it was as if you had known this moment long before it happened. it was as though she had once been curled inside your womb, your bond not formed in this lifetime but some quiet place in a world long past.

“i’m sorry, mama.” chiharu whimpered, her tiny hands clutching at your kimono. “i wasn’t careful! a–and now your skirt is wrinkly!”

“don’t apologize. that does not matter to me at all.” you whispered, brushing her hair back, the softness in your touch betraying the strength of the love you had already wrapped around her. “what matters is that you’re safe now, hm? I’m here for you.”

sukuna stood frozen, watching the scene unfold. he didn’t know why, but in that moment, something inside him shifted. this child, who wasn’t his, wasn’t even yours by blood. she was a piece of another world, another time.

but somehow, she had become yours in a way that left no room for doubt. he watched you cradle her with such tenderness, such absolute certainty that she was yours to protect, and for the first time, he felt a pang of something unfamiliar. of loss, of wonder, of something more fragile than even the weight of his grief.

“you never flinched.” ryomen sukuna’s voice broke the silence, though his words were barely above a whisper. the flickering candle light dancing against the wind. you did not look up to him as you drank your bounty of sake. “not even when she called you mama.”

you glanced up at him then, your eyes soft, but something still raw behind them. “why would i, my lord?” you replied, your voice steady but quiet, the question hanging in the air between you.

he shook his head slightly, still unable to fully grasp the depth of it. "she's not yours by blood, little one." he said, the words rougher than intended. 

“no, she is not, my lord. you and i both know so.” you agreed, looking down at chiharu as you continued to stroke her back. “but you had tasked me to care for her. and such tenderness….it doesn’t need blood to make it real.”

"i should suppose it does not." he murmured, his gaze flickering from you. 

“i hope you will allow me to continue to care for her." you tell him. "that is....my only request, my lord."

he swallowed, fighting the lump in his throat. he turned to the small bowl of sake and drank it himself. your answer had merits in his eyes. after all, he knew very well what it was like to know that. he who was once human, an adoptive son of the ryomen.

and for a fleeting second, he wondered if he could ever understand how such love, such quiet, unspoken devotion, could take root in a heart as hard as his. a god has no use for love, after all. yet still, he found fondness still remained. for all the parts of him that could remember what it was like to be human.

he could only think that such feeling was reserved for ryomen chiharu, his only daughter. hiromi’s beloved little daughter. hiromi, whose name still lingered in the hollow places of his memory, whose laughter sometimes echoed faintly in chiharu’s giggles. the shape of her nose. the tilt of her head when she was being stubborn. the brightness of her smile.

all of those were all hiromi. and sukuna thought that when he would take her to you that those echoes of your anguish might make you pull away as she teared up, as she laughed, as she dreamed, as she breathed. but you didn’t. not once had you done so.

he had expected it. and he wouldn’t have blamed you. years and years of misery. and he had broken it into you. he had forced a world that was never yours for you to suffer carrying, like some unholy punishment. years later, he had added more. her, that little girl. that ghost of hiromi left in her blood, in her flesh. in everything.

you saw the ghost in her face and didn’t flinch. you didn’t chase it out or smother it in jealousy. you made room for it. for her. for all of it. and when he came to you one evening, scarlet eyes lowered in guilt he could not name, he tried to ask for the first time. he tried to press the weight of his remorse into words. but a god was not good at such words.

“i never meant to bring this onto you, little one.” he murmured, the sentence fragile and foreign on his tongue. perhaps it was the sake talking. “yet i have.”

“there was nothing to be done when you had brought her to me.” you say to him, almost as if it was a matter of fact. “she is a child. she cannot do much on her own just yet, after all. you know that well enough......she needed someone, my lord.”

“you think that i cannot be that one for the child?”

you could feel a bellowing laughter blossom to your lips, perhaps more graceful than anything else. “my lord, you live to be a god. how can a god love so thoroughly without contradicting himself?”

you only looked up at him from where you sat on the floor, chiharu asleep on the edge of your knees, the soft fabric of your new kimono becoming a comfortable canvas for her little head. your fingers gently combing through her hair. 

“and….she’s not a burden, my lord.” you said simply, a small ghostly smile on your lips. “she is a comfort…..in my gilded cage.”

he was quiet for a long time after that, the silence stretching between you like the hush after a storm. his scarlet eyes were on the sleeping child curled in your lap, the rise and fall of her breath steady against your silk. he watched the way your fingers moved through her hair, careful, unhurried, as if you were weaving something sacred into each strand.

“a gilded cage, little one?” he echoed, voice low, almost bitter. almost as if this was not the thing he had expected to hear from you. “is that what this place is to you?”

you tilted your head slightly, considering. “it is beautiful here. soft food. silk beds. still gardens. a hundred rooms and a thousand silences. but it is still a place where i am kept.”

he said nothing. 

he merely stared.

he let it simmer in.

“but it is not a cruel cage, my lord.” you added gently. “not always. it is just… one you built for yourself, and then placed me inside when you thought it might ease the ache.”

his jaw flexed. “i did not mean to make you stay, little one.”

“If you say so, my lord.” you said, a tight smile beckoning on your lips. perhaps tighter than the ribbons that adorn your hair. “but you never gave me a door either. as always, i am a twittering bird who can never fly.”

your words were not angry. there was no fire behind them. only the low, enduring warmth of someone who had long made peace with something difficult. someone who had learned to live inside the quiet, instead of fighting it. as if you had resigned to living such a life like this.

“and yet, little one…..” he said finally, eyes meeting yours. “you stayed.”

you gave a small shrug, cradling chiharu a little closer. “where else would i go? and….she needs me. i need her too.”

he looked away then, as though the weight of your honesty was too much to meet. his voice was tight when he spoke. “do you resent me for it, little one?”

you hesitated, not because you didn’t know, but because the truth was fragile, and you did not wish to wound him with it. not more than he already had been. your husband may have been a god, but he still liked to hear flowering words. perhaps more than most mortals would.

“.......i do not know for certain, my lord.” you said at last, more honest than before. “however, i think…..i can only resent the way you grieve. the way you think pain must be carried alone. as if to let anyone help would tarnish the memory of what came before.”

sukuna’s hands curled into fists at his sides, the tremble in his knuckles barely noticeable. “you speak as though you knew her.” 

“no, my lord. i dare not encroach upon that.” you whispered. “but i know you. and sometimes… that is enough to see the shape of the one who came before.”

he looked at you then, truly looked for a moment. he looked at you like a man drowning who hadn’t known it until just now. like someone seeing light in the corner of a cave he thought would never end.

“she would have liked you, i should think.” he said hoarsely. he lets the alcohol become stale. “and perhaps that’s the worst thing of all.”

you gave a sad smile. “i would have liked her too……that’s the tragedy of it, my lord.”

chiharu stirred in your lap, shifting in her sleep with a soft sigh. your hand came to rest over her back, soothing her with no words at all. “does she haunt you when you look at chiharu?”

sukuna was silent for a moment. you like to think he would not ever speak. but when he does, it surprises you. “mayhaps.”

“and me?” you asked quietly. “do i remind you of her?”

he didn’t answer right away once again. he lets his hardened eyes linger to your face, the essence of that ghost, the love he had longed to see. a crestfallen darkness falls in the corner of his eyes. he purses his lips in a flat line.

“a face is nothing to the soul, little one.” he said finally. “you are nothing like her. you never truly will be. and that… is why it hurts less, when i look at you. it is better to have less regrets. and….less ghosts roaming about.”

you nodded slowly. perhaps that was the kindest thing he had ever said to you. “i see.”

“that is for the better, do you not think, little one?”

“.....perhaps it is.” you said, more to yourself than to him, the words hanging in the air like soft thread waiting to be tied. 

the silence that followed was not cruel. it was not the kind that was punished, not the kind that once wrapped itself around your throat in the early days of knowing him. it was something else now. something closer to understanding, or at the very least, to resignation.

sukuna let out a long breath through his nose, steadying the storm behind his ribs. he looked at the pale cup of sake near his hand, untouched since his confession. then he looked at you again, perhaps more honestly this time. 

he did not look at you the way he looked at others, those who were truly below him. not with suspicion or calculation or hunger. but as if you had become something still and holy, wrapped in moonlight and child–breath.

“you are… softer than i remember you being, little one.” he said at length, and the words startled even him.

you blinked. “.....that is surprising to hear from your lips, my lord.”

he gave a strange, low sound. it was part sigh, part scoff. “you think i would let anyone raise my daughter without remembering every line of their face?”

a pause, thick like honey. “but you didn’t know me then, my lord.” you said, almost gently. “at least not truly. not as you do now.”

“no, i do not suppose so, little one.” he agreed. “and even now, i wonder if i truly do.”

you glanced down at chiharu again, whose little hand had curled into the fold of your kimono like a bloom seeking warmth. you could feel the breath leave you in shaky bits as you looked up to your husband.

“i am no great mystery, my lord. only a woman with two hands and a heart full of borrowed grace.”

he looked at the child, and then back at you. “and yet you carry her as though she were born of you, little one.” he murmured. 

you smiled. “children do not care for blood, my lord. only warmth. and safety. and someone who will stay when night comes.”

he was silent again. there was a kind of stillness to him now, almost like a mountain after thunder. like an old wolf sitting at the edge of his cave, watching snowfall for the first time in many years.

“you will stay, then?” he asked suddenly, voice quiet, but firm.

you blinked once. then again. “you never gave me a door to this cage, my lord.”

a flicker of something passed through his expression. perhaps remorse, maybe, or something more ancient. grief shaped like guilt. you want to shake off the feeling of it. that was not your husband. you don’t think that is him.

“would you walk through it, if i gave you one, little one?” he asked, almost too sincerely. 

you turned your gaze to him fully. “.....i do not have anything beyond this life, my lord. perhaps….perhaps, i would not walk through it at all.” you said, honest and unafraid. 

“i see.”

“but….” you say, before stopping yourself. “it is kinder to be given the choice.”

his head bowed slightly, as if he were accepting judgment from some unseen god. perhaps it was you. perhaps it had always been. outside, the wind shifted through the garden trees. 

inside, ryomen chiharu’s breath deepened. the moonlight painted your face silver, and sukuna, this man of fire and wrath and blade and destruction, merely sat in the hush beside you, quiet as prayer.

“then stay, little one.” he said again.

the words came softer this time. it was not a command, not a plea, but something stranger. gentler. as though he were offering something not even he fully understood. something raw and trembling beneath the weight of all he had ever lost.

you could not look at him when he said it. your gaze stayed fixed on the child in your lap, her breath rising and falling in a rhythm so steady, so innocent, it made your chest ache. 

you watched the tiny curl of her fingers against your kimono, the way she had unknowingly claimed you with such trust. the moment felt suspended. it was left fragile and swollen, as if even breathing too deeply might shatter it.

you couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. you didn’t want to see the truth in them, even the ones you can only lead yourself to believe to be drunken ones. the grief, the weariness, the quiet terror of someone who had lived too long and loved too little. 

you didn’t want to see him asking something of you he didn’t know how to name. because you feared, maybe, that you would give it. so you said nothing. not a yes. not a no. only silence. the kind of silence that spoke of everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

but you stayed.

not because he asked.

not because you were bound.

but because the child in your arms had curled into your warmth like she had known you before she ever learned to speak. because the night was long and the world outside was cruel, and someone had to carry the softness of it all. someone had to stay when everyone else had gone.

you stayed because love does not always bloom with fireworks or fever. sometimes it creeps in quietly, like ivy up the walls of a ruin. the tenderness, persistence, patience. and most of all, the foolishness. the foolishness of the other woman who loves.

the next morning, the hush of dawn settled over your manor like a breath held too long. outside, the sky was barely pink, the sleeping world still blurred at the edges with sleep. 

the massive paper screens of vermillion hall filtered the morning sun into soft amber streaks across the floor. the kind of light that asked for quiet. that seemed to say: let things lie, just for a while longer.

chiharu was still curled beside you, her small body warm and heavy with sleep. one hand clutched the edge of your sleeve, even now, as though in her dreams she was still afraid you might vanish. 

you brushed a few strands of hair from her cheek, gentle as falling ash, and began to sit up slowly. you wanted to be careful. it was best not to wake her before the sun was up in the sky. 

and then you saw it. your husband, he was gone. the space he’d occupied last night was empty, blankets pulled back, the weight of his body gone from the world beside you. no footsteps. no voice. no warning.

just the flowers.

a small bundle of the finest flowers. you could remember the name almost instantly. it was sumire, you think to yourself. bright and fresh sumire.

it was resting neatly at the edge of his side of the futon. they weren’t wrapped in silk, weren’t tied with care. just a single length of red thread, likely torn from his own sleeve. 

their vibrant purple petals were slightly crushed from where he must have held them too tightly. damp still from the mountain air. imperfect. wild. real. they were hard to find, you knew that too well. in this season, in these mountains.

your hand moved without thought. fingertips grazing over their delicate shape. soft. trembling a little. you sighed for a moment. not heavily, but deep. it was a sound from the chest, from your heart. it was like something exhaled that had been caged inside for far too long.

because this wasn’t just a gesture. not for him. he hadn’t left with silence this time. he hadn’t vanished into grief or guilt or the excuse of war. he had left something behind. something beautiful, in its own clumsy way. you slowly allowed yourself to let your lips flicker upwards.

at first, it was real. it was wide and warm and a little surprised. because it was so like him to do the most tender thing in the least expected way. because somewhere between the blood on his hands and the weight of his past, he had still chosen to say thank you.

then, slowly, the smile turned softer. sadder. 

like a leaf curling at the edges with the coming cold.

because you knew what those flowers meant.

they were a confession in the only language he trusted. they were an apology not for what he had done, but for what he had never learned how to be. for the way he loved in crooked, fumbling pieces. too proud to speak it, too broken to hold it the way you deserved.

you brought the flowers to your chest and closed your eyes. “you’re trying, aren’t you?” you whispered. “you….you never cease to make a mess of me, my lord.”

not with bitterness.  not with expectation.  just the quiet truth of it. and that for a man like ryomen sukuna was a kind of miracle. it was a miracle for a god to let such thought ever come across.

chiharu stirred beside you, a soft, slow rustling beneath the layers of the futon. her breath caught a quiet yawn as her fingers flexed around the fabric of your sleeve, and then you heard it.

“...mama?”

the word was slurred with sleep, fragile as a moth’s wing. hesitant, as though she wasn’t quite sure if she was still dreaming. your heart caught. it always did when she called you that.

not because it wasn’t true, not in the way that mattered. but because it reminded you how easily love could take root in the spaces grief left behind. even when you were broken. even in a gilded cage, you could still love. 

you turned to her, placing the sumire flowers gently to the side, as if they, too, needed to rest. then you smiled. soft and immediate. like sunlight spilling over a quiet room.

“good morning, little flower.” you murmured, reaching for her.

she blinked up at you, herr lashes still wet from sleep, her cheeks flushed with warmth. when you brushed her hair from her face, she leaned into your touch without hesitation. in this light, she looked like ryomen hiromi too well. almost identical to the stone in the audience hall. in the koi ponds. in the forestry.

“you’re still here, mama.” she whispered.

“of course i am, silly flower.” you replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “where else would i be? you slept in my chambers last night.”

“did i?” she questioned, her tone still slurring from the sleepiness. 

you laughed slightly. “yes. you had too much fun yesterday, did you not?”

“yes….i think i did.”

“then i’m glad.” you say, embracing her close.

she didn’t answer, only curled closer, tucking herself into the space beside your body like she had always belonged there. and maybe, in some quiet, secret way, she always had.

you held her for a moment longer, the scent of the sumire still clinging faintly to your skin. and even though the bed was emptier than it had been last night, your heart didn’t feel quite as hollow. not this morning. not with her. and perhaps....not with the sumire tight by his sleeves.

[luffydotcom]

physical touches (one piece x reader)

synopsis: where they are most physically affectionate feat: luffy, zoro, sanji (monster trio) warnings: none! just fluff here 🫂 notes: i feel like turning these into short fics/drabbles in the future perchance

luffy

arms

he's not just dangling off of your arms, he's wrapped around you at all times. LUFFY is known to be a huge hugger and this is no exception when it comes to a relationship.

he loves the feeling of being able to hold you close and the warmth of nuzzling against your skin, especially after a long day of fighting and adventuring. he's very jumpy and active, so this kind of affection in a way calms him down.

after you accomplish something big, or even after a small moment of excitement he's already diving into your arms for a big hug, whether you like it or not! or even if it's nothing at all, he likes to hug you at random, grabbing you and lifting you in a firm embrace throughout the day.

he likes hugging you during sleep as well, his stretchy arms enfolding you and leaving you with no escape from his warmth. you're practically tangled in his arms until he decides to let go... whenever that is!

zoro

shoulders + lap + chest

ZORO prefers affection when it is a smaller and more subtle way (although not always!), it's these little moments of affection that end up having the most meaning.

when you catch him sitting against the railing of the ship, napping, you sit next to him, leaning against his heavy shoulder. he won't say anything, but it makes him feel calm knowing that you're there. sometimes he'll catch you sitting and relaxing yourself and set himself down beside you and lean on you slightly too, no words needed.

if you're not sitting close to him and leaning against him, he likes when you rest on his lap when he's sitting. if you sleep on his lap, he'll occasionally look down at you just to see your face, feeling content to see you so completely at ease, and careful not to wake you.

his CHEST. he's a big guy after all, making his chest the perfect place to lie down on. he tries to play it off like it's nothing, but you can hear the fast drumming of his heart betraying him as you lie on him. you can easily trace the scar lining down his broad chest when he's asleep.

sanji

hands

for SANJI, this is obviously a given!! sanji sees his hands as the most precious and sacred part of himself, and treats them like treasure. his hands are trusted not just for cooking, but for giving and receiving all kinds of love and affection. because they are so well taken care of, every touch is soft, tender and careful.

when you're feeling stressed or anxious, a gentle squeeze from his hand is enough to take all your worries away and let you know that he's always there for you.

he loves holding hands and interlocking fingers with you. it's a small gesture of affection that he does over and over because he finds it oddly comforting. if you're close to him and you feel his soft fingers brush against yours, the next thing you know he's seizing your hand tight without a sign of letting go.

sometimes you gently take hold of his hands and hold them up so they're right between you both, or you'll bring them to rest against your chest, or delicately plant tender kisses on his knuckles. either option has him completely flustered. his hands start getting a little shaky from nerves and he has to look away to avoid meeting your gaze, face red.

© luffydotcom

[faiszt]

⠀⠀⭑⠀𝆬⠀⠀CLOSE ENOUGH:⠀✴⠀ r. cameron.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ minors do not interact.

PAIRING:⠀s2!rafe x stalker!reader.

†⠀⠀LISTEN TO:⠀close enough by ava morse.

wordcount: 3.7k⠀⠀|⠀⠀CONTAINS: ⠀ smut content. violent behavior. obsessive behavior. hard / strong language. drug mentions. kidnapping. face sitting. rough sex. slightly size kink. p in v. unprotected sex. dirty talk. face fucking & tits sucking.⠀ minors who interact with this will be blocked.

꒰ SILLY NOTES:⠀hi, sweets! i still don’t have a masterlist and stuff, i know, but i just really needed to write this. also, this is my first time writing a smut in my life, so... forgive me for any mistakes, i swear i'm trying and i’d be so happy if you could tell me what you think of it.⠀⠀⠀⠀(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) 💬 ♡

there were two perfect words to describe you from what rafe thought: kind and sweet. so sweet, the kind that made him stop and think ‘what hole did you crawl out of?’ well, in a honest answer, the hole you crawled out of was hell. this isn't a silly little joke, it's reality, your sweetness was the perfect counterpart to the kind of obsessive and insane devil you've become since the day you laid eyes on him.

it took rafe longer to figure this out than you had anticipated before starting this freak game between you.

if he needed someone lovely, you'd be her. if he needed someone gentle, you'd be her. but, if he needs someone as crazy and fucked up as he is? his lucky day, you were all of that without even having to hide it with cute clothes and a damsel in distress demeanor.

150 days that you knew him, 150 photos of him kept in the last drawer of your dresser, right under your panties like a stupid plan not very calculated, but existing. a photo a day that you wisely chose every time you followed him around like an abandoned puppy, finding out things about him and his life was part of the shameless fun.

and each time he accidentally noticed you, you acted as he expected you to act. a confused expression and a gentle smile, pretending you were doing anything that a weirdo would, acting like it was purely fate putting you in the same place as him. what kind of shitty fate was this? god could only be punishing you for putting you in each other's lives.

but, no siege was impossible to close, and eventually, the pieces fell right into place in his mind. too late, he was the little mouse that bit the cheese in the mousetrap.

not that his insanity had reached its limit—you were never any different from that—it was just something you wanted to do and felt he needed, given how much stress you'd watched him go through lately. it wasn't wrong, was it? it was just love, no matter how strange, violent, and intense.

just a little help, you wouldn't hurt him... you'd just show that you can take care of him as well as anyone else since no one would take care of him if not you. plus, in the meantime, he could taste his own medicine with someone just like him, or worse.

“what the...” his eyes opened with difficulty, a throbbing pain in his head and his body limp, tingling, almost struggling to move. a dimly lit room, definitely not his room, unless he had been drugged enough to forget how he got there—which was what it looked like. “that’s all i needed now.” rafe thought he was talking to himself.

until he notices you there, sitting in front of your desk, swinging your feet with only one side of the earphone in your left ear, scribbling something. how cute, he thought, not thinking really much about it and when he did, well, he knew he was so fucked.

hands tied to the headboard, he wouldn't even question how you managed to drag him there, but there he was, gagged on a girl's bed. he could kick you if you came near, if it weren't for the clear fact that you both knew he wouldn't do it, first 'cause he wasn't afraid of you, second 'cause he wanted to know how far you'd go.

honestly, if you didn't go all the way, he'd make you go all the way with him since you were the one who brought him here, you had to do something about it now.

“are you plannin’ to make me die here or just playin’ some insane weirdo game, princess?” he shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position—even though nothing felt comfortable when his wrists were gagged. he was just trying to get your attention. was it strange that he was finding this too interesting and appealing to simply want to run away?

you turned in your chair, taking the earphone out as you left your pencil on the table. his eyebrows slowly rose when he noticed you was you, the acting was good, he had to admit, not every girl who was into him would simply gag him in her bed like he was her own doll. it was confusing, arousing, a lot of things his mind was trying to think about.

“you looked stressed, i just wanted to make you relax.” you mumbled with a sweet, albeit fake, smile, still swinging your feet in the air. so handsome, you thought, watching him with his disheveled hair and looking so vulnerable to you. “are you relaxed, rafe? or you need me to help you again?” 'cause there wasn't a single thing you wouldn't do for him at this point.

your smile only made him let out a nasal laugh, looking away for a brief moment as he stared at the ceiling. “nice way to relax someone, huh?” he scoffed. “but, since you’re offering... i think i’d be more relaxed if you let my wrists go from that rope.” he tried to suggest, blue eyes looking at you again with a disguised pleading, as if he could actually convince you like that.

“you look better this way.” you grumbled, standing up and walking over to sit on the edge of your bed, his knee lightly brushing against you for a moment. “but, if you wanna leave, i’m not really stopping you. just say the word and we both pretend it never happened.”

“but, i don’t wanna pretend it didn't happen... and i don’t wanna leave either.” he wouldn't say it out loud, but secretly he thought you were kinda wimp. what? you just do all of it and brought him here to... well, nothing? no, no, he knew you could do better than that. “i want you to do what you wanna do, or have you bitten off more than you can chew? don’t tell me you’re that stupid, princess.”

for a man gagged in your bed, he sounded very confident and intimidating in every word. he wanted you to do it so badly, whatever the fuck you had in mind, 'cause it was turning him on to see you do this to him. “come on, you know you didn’t gagged me in your bed to let me leave.”

and, as expected, what he said had exactly the effect he wanted. in less than a minute, your legs were on either side of his hips, straddling him as he looked up at you with a smug little smirk, not caring about the darkness in your eyes. you looked hot like that, he didn't really care about the implications of fucking you without using his hands.

“you talk too much, cameron.”

“then, you should shut my mouth.”

the implication of his words had almost immediate consequences. you bent over him, hands on both sides of his head, pinning him even further into the mattress as you pressed your lips hard against his. there wasn't one percent of delicacy in that messy kiss, just hunger and desire and rafe noticed it, feeling his blood rush to his lower half.

he moaned softly against your lips as he returned the not-so-loving affection, letting your tongue invade his mouth as if he was completely at your mercy—and he, actually, was. not that rafe had ever agreed to be on the bottom very often, but if it ended with you riding him, then it was for a good cause.

when you had the urge to separate your lips from his, it was like being woken up from a trance, he didn't say anything and if his wrists weren't gagged, his hands would be saying something for him. he ran his tongue over his reddened lips, slightly swollen from the inner contact, as if he wanted to know if the remnants of your taste were still there.

“y’know,” rafe started talking after a few seconds, noticing how breathless you looked from just one kiss. it was kinda cute, he'd give you credit for that. “if i wasn’t gagged here, you’d already be face down in that pillow.” he said with such conviction that you had to roll your eyes, thrusting your hips down only to see his facade tremble at the small contact over your clothes.

“yeah, yeah, but you’re gagged and i’m on top.” you gave him a mocking smile, gently patting his cheek before grabbing his chin, making him look straight into your eyes. “and that’s a lose-lose, for you, not for me.”

“lose-lose? i don’t see it that way, sweetheart,” his blue eyes dropped downwards, indirectly giving you the message that it wasn't bad for him when you were the one straddling him in your bed on any given day. “i’m just wonderin’ when you’re actually gonna act beyond these boring little kisses and put that pussy to sit on somethin’.”

“you’re talking too much again, cameron.” you shook your head in disapproval, sighing deeply as you pretended to think about what you were going to do to him. “but, since you want me to do something and i want you to shut up...”

you let the words hang in the air as you got off his lap, standing in the corner taking off your shorts and panties quickly, but to rafe it looked more like you were doing it in slow motion. every second counted and he was already missing your weight against his lap.

kinda ironic... that he was so comfortable being gagged in the bed of a girl he must have seen less than five times in his life. but, rafe never thought straight and he wouldn't start doing that now. it was even pleasurable for him to know that you were obsessed with him to that point. you might have been in physical control, but you both knew better than that.

despite the tension, you were on top of him again. knees on the mattress, your hands holding onto the headboard, the best way to shut him up and he wasn't really complaining about it, in fact, this was exactly what he wanted from the moment he thought of the possibility. a devious smile formed on his lips, his tongue moistening them for a brief moment as you graced him with that sight. shit, he wanted to touch you so badly, but he'd have to do it only with his tongue for now.

his tongue slowly passed through your wet folds like a tease of power, you might be on top, but he had his share of power too and he'd make sure to remind you of that. “you taste so good, princess...” he smirked against your cunt, giving it a brief suck before running his tongue over it again, only to see your expression falter and a shiver run through your body. “like a fuckin’ lollipop, so sweet.”

you placed more of your weight on his face, closing your eyes gently as you rubbed your clit against the tip of his nose, feeling his tongue suck hungrily between your wet folds. “mmhm...” you allowed yourself to let out a moan, looking down as your hips rocked over his face, his blue eyes fixed on you, attentively wanting to see you break under the touch of his tongue. he didn't want to miss a single detail of it.

rafe's pants were tightening around his crotch, his thoughts were hazy and he could only think of one thing: you and the dirty little noises that escaped your throat. he wanted to hear each of those and he wanted to be the reason for them. no one else, just him and he hoped you had used your weird obsessive behavior to understand that he was possessive as hell.

but, you were going far, he could feel it, pressing yourself harder and harder against his face and suddenly, the sound of the rope coming loose. your eyes opened in confusion, still numb from the brief pleasure he gave you, only for you to notice his hands loose from the rope, his wrists not even red. “what...? how?” you whispered, looking between his wrists and his face between your legs.

then, he pushed you back, not too hard, just enough to make you fall back onto the mattress and get off of him. “y’know... you’re bad at tying ropes, really bad,” he grumbled, sitting down on the bed before using one of his hands to pull you closer, climbing on top of you with an even more sinister smirk than before. “but, that’s good, it means i can touch that pretty little body of yours now.”

rafe didn't want to wait for you to have any reaction to that, he already waited for too long pretending to really be gagged in your bed, he didn't give a damn if he should've waited a little longer, he got what he wanted.

he pinned you against him and the mattress, crashing his lips against yours as he kissed you violently, as if he was trying to mark you or, maybe, he just really wanted to mark you. his tongue didn't ask for entry, it just invaded your mouth, making you feel your own taste, exactly as he wanted.

“did you like to taste your own sweetness, baby?” he whispered against your lips, sucking your bottom lip before kissing you again. “guess i have to take care of you now, don’t i? you’ve been following me around like a good puppy... i think you deserve a reward.” he pulled away from your face a little, only for his hands to go towards your shirt, pulling it over your head.

on a normal day, he'd take more of his time with you, but not today. today he was a little too eager for this, today you wouldn't go unnoticed by him.

“so sweet...” his fingers caressed your belly before he moved his lips down your neck, making sure to press wet kisses against it before moving down a little further and lightly biting your collarbone. you heard the sound of one of his hands going down to his pants, undoing his belt without any difficulty, as if he had done it many times before, and he did.

pants and boxers on the floor, he was hovering over you with an expression of hunger and desire, one of his fingers running over your cunt, he wanted to feel with his fingers how wet and ready for him you were. he patted your thigh, a warning for you to open it wider for him. you looked so pretty like that that he even felt like sucking you again. but, no, this time he wanted to make you feel everything.

rafe bent over you again, lips against yours, a cheap deception only for him to thrust his fully hard cock inside you. you opened your legs wider in shock, but you didn't push him away, you just moaned painfully against the sudden impact and he liked it, he really liked the way you lost your composure when he had no mercy on your tight little pussy.

no niceties or "just the tip", you were a weirdo who stalked him and he'd give you exactly what you wanted when you drugged him and took him to your bed. the kind of fuck that would leave you sore for days, and when you forgot about the pain, then he'd fuck you again... and again... and again.

he lifted your body a little, holding your legs as he slammed relentlessly inside your tight cunt, his cock was having trouble getting all the way inside you, but he didn't really care, he'd make it fit. “what happened to all that attitude, pretty girl? where did that "lose-lose" go?” he went deeper, making you sink into the mattress as you tried to contain the loud moans that wanted to escape your mouth.

“no, no holdin’ back your little noises, i wanna hear ‘em all.” he roared, his hand letting go of one of your legs as he held your chin firmly. “and eyes on me. if you close them or hold back your moans, i’ll stop and you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

you couldn't say a single word, you just nodded, agreeing with what he was saying, even though you didn't know how long you could keep your eyes open. “good girl.” he released your chin, his hand trailing down your neck and collarbone until he reached your bra.

just fucking you could be enough, but it wasn't, not for a greedy man like him. he wanted more and your tits looked so inviting to his eyes, he wanted everything he could get of you. everyone knew, if he wanted it, he could get it. so, he didn't ask, he just pulled one of your tits out of the bra. his fingers pinching your swollen nipple and circling it as he stared at you, wondering if this would make you go further over the edge or not.

him being too big for you was already something, but rafe knew perfectly where to push your buttons and he'd make you tremble without needing much, he wanted to break you so you'd know better before you thought you could leave him in a position like that. your legs locked around his waist, just so he could go balls deep, feeling you squeezing him tighter and tighter as your tight walls clenched in pleasure.

“mmgmh, rafe, fuck...” you whimpered, biting your bottom lip hard as you looked down to see his rhythm. thrusts so rough that the bed began to creak and he had no intention of being discreet about how good and hard he was fucking that sweet pussy of yours. “rafe... i need to... i need to come...”

a mocking laugh came out of him as he slowly thrust inside you again, really much slower than before, making you feel every inch of him stretching you out. “yeah, princess? you wanna come that fast? this pretty little cunt can’t handle such a big cock, can it?” he continued with the slow thrusts, like a tease that he was really enjoying doing.

“but, it’s okay... i said i’d take care of you.” rafe whispered, leaning over you again, his tongue flicking over your nipple that he had been pinching moments before. “then, come for me, princess, come while i suck your tit.”

his thrusts gradually increased again, making you see stars as he sucked on your nipple hungrily, his eyes flicking up to see your expression of pleasure. your loud moans and whimpers were music to his ears, like fuel that only motivated him to go deeper.

and when you got to the edge, by god, you squeezed him so hard and moaned like you were in heaven; and he enjoyed every second of it, pressing himself against you as he felt your legs tremble for him. “you did so well for me...” he licked your nipple once more before moving kisses up to your neck. “but, we still have one thing before we finish... and you’re gonna be a good girl and do it.”

“what? what’s left?” you mumbled, tired and breathless, your legs still shaking as he grabbed your body and made you sit on the bed. not understanding what he meant when you noticed him standing up, right next to you.

“come here ’n open your mouth, i’ll show you.” it wasn't a request, it almost sounded like an order, if you didn't do it he’d make you do it anyway. “open wide.” he said again as you sat on the edge of the bed, right in front of him. one of his hands gripped the back of your head, while the other gripped his still hardened length, positioning it in front of your lips.

your eyes widened a little, but you looked up to meet rafe's gaze and he looked very confident about what he was doing. “no hands, i just need your little mouth, pretty girl.” he definitely wasn't expecting you to nod, he just shoved his cock into your mouth and waited for you to do what he wanted. “mmh, yeah, just like that...” he smirked, satisfied with your work, moving his hips back and forth, not caring if you could handle everything he put inside that sweet mouth.

he, in turn, didn't need much either, you had already given enough of a show for him to feel his balls full, he just needed a little more, your lips around his cock would solve the problem. “that got you so far, didn’t it? this stalker thing, you’re exactly where you wanna be, aren’t you? with my cock hitting your throat, so pretty.” he moaned, using his dirty words to motivate you to swallow him all the way down.

his moans started to become more frequent, he stopped moving his hips, using your head as if you were a doll, back and forth quickly, choking you, he was slowly reaching his limit and the sight really helped with that.

rafe knew he wouldn't last longer than that, he was exhausted, panting, letting out long gasps every time he sank the tip of his cock into your throat. he needed to come. so, he did it. “stay there... that’s it... stop.” he gasped once more, thrusting himself deep into the wet heat of your mouth, his length twitching as he began to spurt hot streams into the back of your throat. “fuck... fuck... mhmm.”

he didn't move his head, not until he was one hundred percent satisfied, not until you had swallowed every little drop of him.

and when it was over, you were a complete mess, falling back on your bed, dealing with the intense aftermath of what rafe gave you. he joined you at your side, as breathless as you were, not regretting a single microsecond of what had happened between you. “next time you wanna do this, remember to tie me tightly to the headboard, princess,” he suggested, lying on his back to face the ceiling like you. “just call me and i’ll bring the rope.”

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you'll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don't use my work without my consent.

[yandere-wishes]

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡Acolyte⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

𐙚Yandere! Qimir/The Master x Reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plot: Your loneliness is suffocating, engulfing. Qimir is the only one who seems to subdue the pain. But every forbidden fruit has its price.

⁀➷Warnings: Yandere behavior, gore, angst (at the end), author having an anxiety attack over this fic  

🪐Note: Why is the longest thing I've ever written for a fandom that barely exists? Anyway, here's the long-awaited Qimir piece!

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ : Disturbia - Rihanna, Dark Vacay & Motion Picture Soundtrack - CAS

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆🍓⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Your master's anger is tangible. You harbour it stubbornly on your tongue. Relishing in the frustration. You aren't sure how many times you've cut out your soul to place at a master's feet. Gnawing on perfect lips to keep quiet during another scolding. Your new master's disappointment reverberates through the room. Thick and oozing like an infected wound.

You messed up again.

"We do not injure other padawans during training. We do not lash out and attack, especially when your training partner has fallen. How have you trained for so long without comprehending these basics?"

The rage that boils inside you is not Jedi in nature. It's something else, a bizarre second, something ancient, ghoulish. An all-consuming fire that burns inside your veins. It shouldn't feel so welcoming, so familiar.

You roll your eyes.

"With all due respect master. How is one to win, if they do not strick when given the opportunity? That too should be a basic notion, no?"

You see the anger snake across your master's face. A defeated, disgruntled, glance that you've become a bit too acquainted with. This is the look that all your previous masters give you. And yet none have yet to master its eeriness quite as well as your first master. Master Sol.

Your master sighs, a piercing noise, deflating every ounce of his willpower. You are exhausting to be around, his annoyance is becoming discernible. "Master Sol is coming by the temple to check your...progress. He's requested a few items to take back with him. Please go fetch them from the apothecary."

Progress is a gentle word and Jedi love using gentle words. It's easier to say than the full truth. Sugar-coated things always taste better.

But the sugar refuses to stick to you.

It burns away in your bitterness.

Coruscant is a distant memory, it was never your home to begin with. But the high bustling volume is something that is hard to forget. Here things are quiet, you slip through the bazaar undetected. Small basket clutched tightly. You wonder what's dragging your former master halfway across the galaxy. You wonder if it's really just to see you.

You gaze blankly at the holographic list. A few rare herbs and some medical roots. This planet grows them in abundance, and the local apothecary carries more than its fair share.

The apothecary is an old, disheveled thing. The older Jedi say that its presence is as old as the temple itself. Odd how some things have a will of iron. You gently rap at the worn metal door, waiting for an invitation to enter. The hinges cry as the door opens ever so slightly. You squeeze in, surveying the cluttered den. Careful to avoid the half-empty bottles and neon puddles scattered across the floor.

"Excuse me" your voice holds an urgent annoyance. Where is the pharmacist? What kind of store owner abandons their shop in the midday? You run your fingers across the strange bottles, letting your nails pick at the murky glass. The colors flash, begging to be freed, strange space pinks, and summer oranges all trapped inside square prisons. Baby poisons dying to taste the world, burning it if they must, but experiencing it nonetheless, tasting their own form of freedom. Funny, they almost remind you of yourself.

Trapped and fatal.

"Hello?", the voice behind you is languid, dozy. Mirroring a late afternoon nap. When the man next speaks you notice a lyrical lint "What brings you here little lady?". You turn to see it, the voice, or rather the man harboring the voice. He's loosely robed and shaggy in the way that only the most spirited vagabonds are. He smiles tenderly upon seeing your face, strange red fruit caught between his teeth. "I um...I" you click your tongue anxiously against the roof of your mouth. Feeling around for those pesky words, in the end, you just shove the hologram holder forward, hoping he'll understand.

"Oh, I see, out here doing some chores?" You nod, mind preoccupied with the otherwordly fruit. "what's that?" you ask, schoolgirl curiosity lacing your voice. "What, this?" he asks holding the freckled thing between his fingers, it's only in the mild light that you notice the shimmering gold scattered across its red skin. The stranger laughs, walking closer, he places the hologram base on the black table, clicking it on as he studies the list. "They're called strawberries. They're from the forest planets, not many grow here in the mid-rims." He's nimble as he packs the herbs and roots, fumbling with the straw ties. "care for a bite" he asks, handing you the bitten fruit.

Hesitantly you bite.

Letting the sweetness erupt on your tongue.

"Thank you" you mumble trying not to moan at the foreign taste. The stranger laughs, it's a cheery noise like birds chirping in first bloom tress. "you're a Jedi, aren't you?" he asks stepping around the table, eyebrows furrowed, caught in a dream he doesn't seem to understand. You choke on the rogue static as he steps closer, eyes half-lidded dreaming of nothing. "Here..."

"Wha-" your voice catches in your throat, it's getting harder to breathe.

"Your supplies" He hands you the brown paper bag, motion a little too phlegmatic to be right.

"Oh, right...thanks" You anxiously shove the bag into your basket and scurry out of the shop. Holding your breath.

"Come back soon." the voice chirps behind you.

Your old master arrives by spaceship, a newer, albeit worn model. The landing pad ejects to reveal a small escort.

Master,

Knight,

Padwan,

Apostate,

You stand still watching as they descend. Bits of envy bubble in your throat watching your former master and his band of little heroes. You wish you had their belonging. Forgoing the loneliness to find kinsmanship with your coterie. You swallow down the bitter thoughts as they finally approach you.

Master Sol's smile reaches his eyes. Gentle and wise. The true epidemy of a Jedi in every sense of the word. Funny how he now has two failures under his belt. None of which are capable of scratching his shining repute.

His hands are on your shoulders, bright smile. "My padawan, it's been too long." You try to bow, awkwardly and stiffly. "Mater Sol, I'm grateful you've come to asses my progress". If he hears your doubt he doesn't show it. Instead, he reintroduces you to Yord, Jacki, Osha.

You try to be polite. Gulp down the awkwardness

You imagine the taste of strawberries on your tongue.

Remember their stiff sweetness and prickly tasteless freckles.

You smile. Easier this time.

They'll stay here for some time. Hunting assassins and documenting progress in their free time. Jacki seems more invested in your training than you are, trying to teach you everything she knows. At least she doesn't mind the rough play, the violent strikes, and sloppy prideful defenses. She speaks in pointers and parries. She's the one to drag you along these assassin hunts. Welcoming you...or at least trying to.

But there is something else at play. Darker, broader, Sol and Jecki welcome you into the fray. Yet you still feel your old master's hesitance, he's still wary of you. Worried about your anger, your defiance.

The distance grows, some icy void.

Sol used to tell you fairytales. This was back when you'd been young and bright-eyed. Freshly welcomed into the order and still overflowing with artless hope for a colorful future.

But even back then, he had known there was something wrong with you.

Looking back it was evident.

Every story started and ended the same. Little princess against the big bad world. Holding out until her prince came along. Only problem was the morals never registered right in your little messed-up brain.

Why didn't the princess fall for the dragon, the wolf, the tyrant king with a crown of bones? Why didn't she swoon and sigh over someone rousing, compelling? A paradox wrapped in black ember? Why settle for a sun-painted prince, with no complexities, no mysteries to unravel?

You would have married the dragon, or the wolf, or the tyrant king with a crown of bones.

Even back then, it was evident something was wrong.

The temple's roof isn't restricted per se.

It's rather abandoned as opposed to forbidden.

Maybe that's why you find solace here. The abandonment feels familiar, similar. The chipped cement kisses the soles of your feet, you imagine it's something like walking upon the rough terrain of a star.

You breathe in the night air deeply.

Expecting the fragile scents of moonshine and star glitter.

Instead, you choke on heavy mist and blood-drenched air.

The thing standing in front of you isn't human. It can't be human. It's created from the blackness, ebony in all the ways a living thing shouldn't be. For a second you think you're staring at a black hole. No doubt this creature crawled out of one.

What sheer willpower one must need to drag themselves out of endless nothingness?

"Little Jedi should not brave the night alone."

It speaks

"There are far too many monsters roaming in the dark"

Its face never moves, statue in all the ways the figures towering over the entrance aren't. This statue is something else, a lost page to some forgotten epic. Carved from gems born in darkness. Evil and rotten.

"What are you?" your voice susurrate, quivering in this surreal scene. The air is thicker now, overflowing with raw static.

Your fingers itch for your saber. Only when the cold metal kisses your palm do you regain some semblance of reality.

The hiss, the green light.

The figure chuckles.

Its voice bouncing from every direction. Everywhere all at once. When it speaks the air cackles, raining as if it were a frightened child.

"I am something akin to you, another child of the force" His voice comes out distorted, uneven in tone. "I am what's birthed when one learns of the true strength of the force."

Your body moves on its own, feet kicking the ground sprinting faster and faster before the final leap. You aim for the helmet, for the morbid toothy grin permanently etched within steel. In a flash the word stills, floating around you like fluorescent bubbles, the rain tumbles around you, curving and diving for the wet ground. It dares not land on something within his grasp.

You feel the slithering across your body. They start from the ground, summed from the unknown depths. Clinging firmly to your ankles before inching up your knees, your hips, your neck.

long, slipper tendrils curling around your body. The figure watches, bare arm outstretched. You should probably be focused on how the unseen things are inching closer to your mouth. Not on the toned muscles and limber fingers of the monster. Not on how, for a fraction of a heartbeat, his smile appears genuine, caring, aimed straight at you.

Only You

They finally reach your lips, prying your teeth ajar and flooding your mouth. Sinking deeper and deeper into your soul, your mind, you.

The smile grows.

In a blink you're suspended in the space between worlds, dark damning thing cradling your body.

"The dark side once belonged to the Jedi, yet they chose to discard it. Deeming it malignant, ungovernable."

Your weightlessness unnerves you. You're malleable in this void.

"Those few who embraced its calling were dubbed Sith." He says the word with such fervent pride. Devoted to it's weight and all it carries. You try to roll the word off your own tongue only for it to burn the roof of your mouth.

The stranger stalks closer, lethal and lithe.

The void vibrates, the darkness bends to his will.

He reaches down to cup your face. His fingers feel warm, welcoming. You nuzzle into his palm, fighting the urge to kiss each finger and suck on the dark force they emit. "You..." he starts, his voice shakes you to the core. Its horror amplifies with the proximity. You wonder if it'll cut through steel, armor, flesh.

your flesh.

"You aren't like the other temple dwellers. You have potential."

His thumb presses your lower lip, demanding entrancing. You comply, needing to feel something solid.

Something you've been denied your whole life.

"They keep you locked away. Trading you between craven masters. Seeing who can tame you first."

He nicks his thumb on your teeth,

Pressing bone into dentin.

His essence drips into you.

He tastes of power.

Of dark, dreadful things you can not name.

"They do not know how to train you. How to use your power..."

The world crumbles, ebony midnights giving way to reality. You feel yourself fall, plunging through the air like a comet bent on destruction.

"They only break you further"

Your knees collide with the harsh ground. Skin splintering in the aftermath giving way to bruises and bloodmarks.

The ground feels too solid beneath you.

A poly, a ruse.

You all but expect to melt through it. Slipping and falling into the vacuum, into him, once more.

He hovers above. Absolute in his strength. You're beginning to believe that blackholes birth divinity. Eyes shimmering with fanatic fidelity, staring up at the holy creature commanding the storm.

"Teach me..."

You've never begged for anything so terribly in your life.

But you need this.

this power

this control.

him.

Sol never told just how the princess met the villain.

He never said it wasn't love at first fright.

Sol insists that the local apothecary knows the truth behind the Jedi-killer. Definite that the unseemly man can tell you something important. He sends Osha inside to play Mea. To get the man to talk.

You crowd around the communicator urging back giggles. Yord's chin is placed upon your shoulder and Jecki's cheek rests against yours. Their touches come so early. And yet they are utterly alien.

"He will be so pleased." No sooner have the words chime from the corroded speakers that Sol is ushering you all towards the small metal hut.

Yord entwines his fingers with you as he runs.

Jacki wraps around your arm.

You feel at times they are trying to tame you.

Befriend the feral puppy they found in the backyard.

The apothecary's face is utterly stunned. He's stammering over his words fear glistening in his eyes as he stares at Sol. "Please, please don't wipe my memories. Or whatever it is you Jedi do." A rosy blush colors your cheeks, at his terror. It's terribly amusing seeing someone so carless, anxiously list off everything he knows. You almost feel bad for the poor scared man.

There isn't anything important here. But Sol decides that you will all return at midnight. The Jedi-killer will be back. Apparently, Qimir -that's his name, that the strawberry-eating, disheveled pharmacist's name- is holding something of value for her.

There's a tug on your wrist as you go to follow the others. Gentle and firm as he pulls you to his chest. "Come by tonight. I'll have some strawberries waiting for you." why does he feel too genuine? When you turn to look at him, he's painted in his usual sweet carefree smile that tugs at your heart.

He looks so innocent...

Starlight really brings out his eyes. He's laughing with a nervous smile,

School-boy crush on full display. You're licking strawberry juice from your hands as you listen to him talk. Backs pressed against the rusty wall and bodies half sprawled in the dirt. He's telling you about the first time the Hutts made him retrieve a plushie for their son from another solar system.

Qimir's voice feels like rose peddles melting into your skin. Sweet, jejeune, free. You offer him a berry from your pile. Watching tentatively as he submerges the red fruit into his mouth. Missing your fingers by an inch. He's laughing after the fact, head thrown back as if he's about to engulf the stars. You decide to laugh too.  

"Are you really that lonely," he says in a voice that's almost not his own. You're not expecting the invasive question, although you guess he means well. The words still cut deep. Piercing through the laughter, stunning you for a breath too long. "No...I'm a Jedi, we do not-"

"Form personal connection. I know...But you just look so lonely." He shuffles closer, the dirt particles almost look celestial in this light. Your fingers pitch a civil war. Pinching and clawing at each other. "No, yes. I don't really get along with the others." He rolls his eyes, bored and amused in the same breath. "Yeah, no wonder your money." He's picking at another strawberry, letting the crunch fill up the silence. You're beginning to think he just likes having something to chew on. Gulping down the anxiety with something toothsome.

He's a little closer now, fingers gingerly tucking back your hair. His fingerprints reverberate across the shell of your ear. Lips gliding against yours. You swallow as his lips fall across yours, pushing sweet stars past parted lips. He tastes of odd things, whimsy things. Everything you'll never come to understand. Xeno fruits and asteroid fields. His fingers glide up your arms, leaving moondust in their wake. He slowly parts, holding you softly with his soulful dark eyes

"You taste so sweet"

Strawberry, Starberry, You kiss him a little too deeply.

Maybe your new master is right.

Maybe there are other ways of being a Jedi.

The movie playing is doused in shades of rose and lilac. Gentle in all the ways. Everyway. The twi'lek girl is in love with the zabrak boy and their families do not approve. You think you remember Sol telling you a similar tale.  

The makeshift auditorium is cozy. Brown couch housing the three of you and your armada of blankets and popcorn buckets. Jacki's head is in your lap, you're playing with the end of her braid imagining the hair to be the lace of a Love-sick girl's ballgown. Yord's arm traverses the length of your arm, absentminded as he studies the motion picture, poking holes in the lose rose-tainted plot. Your head rests against his broad shoulder taking in his new cologne.

Maybe you really did miss them.

Jacki reaches for the popcorn, offering you some before shoving a handful into her mouth. You think the little symmetry-less kernels would taste better with a strawberry glaze. Qimir flashes across your mind, smiling sweetly as he tilts his head.

You think you're a little too similar to the star on screen.

Pinning after forbidden love,

Forbidden power.

Master Sol is growing acutely aware of your drastic improvements. He's noticed the betterment in your offense, your defense. To the way, you wield your saber, your techniques, and yourself. There is esteem in the way he smiles. In the words of praise, you've longed to hear. But you notice the lingering glances, the undertone of skepticism and worry when he asks about practice. He doesn't need to know of the black-glad creature that trains you in the unholy hours.

He doesn't need to know how beautifully your new master sculpts your rage into lessons. Teaching you how to wrangle the force and control it. How to use it to make the world bow.

These things will remain secret. For you fear Sol and the others will strip them of you. Strip them of the new master you've come to worship.

"Do you think people glow when they fall in love?" Jacki's voice is filled with sleep. Eyes closed as she murmurs remnants of movie memory. "No, I don't believe they do" you answer. "too...bad" There was a yawn there darling and vigorous like the rests of her. She looks so sweet like this, infantile in all the ways she can't be. Little girl dreaming of something impossible. You wonder if Sol's told her the fairytales too. You kiss the crown of her head, your baby sister you think. And big brother Yord, snoring with his head thrown back.

Maybe you should test her theory. rising softly from the couch you make your way to the door. Throwing one final glance at your sleeping siblings. Before going to find Qimir.

His lips ghost over yours, spilling star-clad secrets between each kiss. The apothecary has never been so dark, so secret, so secluded. Qimir's lips glided across your neck biting the flesh and licking the little diamond droplets of blood. Your nails rack across his spine, the wool of his throw-over itching the backs of your hands. "So precious" he mumbles, voice ridden with want, need. it's criminal how desperately he needs to feel you. You writhe under him, "Qimir, kiss." you whine. His lips feel like a lifeline, something keeping you sain. He pushes fireflies and lava pearls inside you, carving you open and enjoying you

He always enjoys you.

It's foggy outside when his tongue clashes against yours. A thick unsettling mist banging against the darkened window. "You're custom-made for me" Qimir mumbles against your lips. "Custome tailored" you boldly correct. "ummm, sure" his hands pinch at your hips, clawing mindlessly and leaving tails to your thighs. But the sensations are growing distant, you hear the heavy hum of saber activation. You psyche cracks

The world is dark,

He alone is absolute.

Your master's mask flashes dangerously across your mind. "Master Sol would be disappointed". You've heard that line a million times. Still, the words cut a little too deep coming from your demiurger. "Gullible" you don't understand, what have you done to earn his rage? He's gone, leaving you in the emptiness, you taste the charcoal from the landscape under your tongue.

Still, you long to call after him.

"Master"

The darkness subsides with the feeling of softness across your muscles. A breeze stirs you from the clutches of slumber. "Good morning" Qimir chirps, soft smile greeting you as you open your eyes. "Qimir, when did I?" he laughs, it's such a pretty sound this early in the morning. Sweet like caramel tea. He kisses your forehead. His quietude is commendable, he tries to calm you with feather-light kisses. You laugh pushing the covers away and still. Frozen.

What's this

The nightgown is lacy and short. It drapes expensively against your skin. Marring it with its tenderness. "Qimir, what's this!" he chuckles, "I couldn't let you sleep in those robes, they looked uncomfortable." You want to argue, to scream, and be angry. But the rage boils down slowly as you notice something dangling around your wrist. A bangle, and an anklet you notice later, black and gold entwined in patterns mirroring lighting stricks. "They're from Korriban, I had some relatives there." oh, why does that planet sound so familiar? "Thanks, but ask me next time before you go playing dress-up doll with my sleeping body" He pouts and can't help but trail a string of mouthy kisses across his neck. Qimir shuffles pulling you onto his lap. Pushing his nose under your chin. His eyes are honey-deo, adoring and scheming. "But you're mine." The possessive ness that flesh across his face is alarming. So is how tightly he grips your waist. It's only in this state of half-undressed that you begin to notice the taut muscles of his arms.

During your most recent lesson, your master gifts you a ripe juicy strawberry. He says it'll focus you, replenish your wither strength. You eat it a little too quickly, forgetting to savor the pink blush within. You believe too ferociously in everything your master says.

He can never be wrong.

You love the way your new master splatters blood across your sleeves. Be it yours or his enemies. He's started taking you out on his kills, having you watch as he hacks and mauls. His enemies must die, no one who doubts such marvels should be granted the privilege of life.

He's only ever spoken in half-riddles.

"Unfortunately legacy is a fickle thing. Tenacious, fervent, yet frail and erratic. No matter how hematological, we all read our bones differently."

The rain falls to your ragged heartbeat. Fast one minute and slow the next. You stick out your tongue desperate for a few drops. Your body is on fire, every muscle pushed to its limit. But the Force is screaming inside you, thumping dangerously between your fingers. You're ready for the next round. Saber ready and only half mesmerized as your master pulls out another blood-red saber. You charge, rage pumping deliciously through your body.

You forget to ask him where he got the berry from.

The next Jedi to die will be Kelnacca. That's why Sol is dragging all of you to the forest planet of Khofar. You think the name is utterly hilarious, the others don't understand the mirth.

Between briefings and Jacki and Yords packing quarrels. You sneak out to say goodbye to Qimir. Scribbling a half eligible not to leave for your master. But the apothecary is deserted upon your arrival, only a taped note on a half-full mortar.

'Gone to get more Strawberries.

Be back soon.'

You wonder if Khofar has strawberries.

Strawberry, Starberry, you're falling between the cracks of so many.

The Sun on Khofar is red, barely breaching the thick canopy. Maybe it's for the best. This scene is not one to remember, but how can you make yourself forget?

Death looms.

Permanent, Eternal

The fighting began in twilight.

The sky has grown two shades darker since.

He had floated in from the high reaches. You'd almost called out to him, 'master', the words die bitterly on your tongue. His saber ignites in the carnage, light growing redder after each kill. The bodies fall haphazardly stirring the quiet night.

Your saber falls onto the woodchip ground. No sound. He has followed you here. Yet it is not you, he seeks. Your master mask is haunting, in the dark the silver mouth glows bright white. Even against a massacre

the smile never relents.

He twirls the red saber with lethal accuracy, red arc severing another life. 'Take the right!' Jacki screams through the force, her eager voice bouncing inside your cranium. 'Don't' you scream but she's already attacked.

Saber sings saber.

Golden light flickers.

Forward. Backward. Lunge. Parry. Flunge.

Just like you practiced. Back in the quiet of the training room. Is it too late to return to the matted ground and wooden swords? Too late for safe comfort?

You won't take it for granted this time you swear.

Your master attacks with vicious zeal, cutting through the light. His black robes bleeding into the night. Jacki, scurries backward, trying to block with every ounce of strength. In one swift move, she spins freeing herself and assaulting his head with the metal of her weapon.

The mask clutters to the ground.

You scream.

He looks every bit the villain here. Blood drenched, water drenched. Smiling like the wolf in a child's picture book. Qimir's face stares back at you, hair matted to his forehead. He's panting, spent. You've never seen him toil. Dreaming him incapable of harm.

Yet he stands above the corpses. Wolf's teeth bared as he slices through the little girl.

It's been years since Master Sol tucked you into bed. Years since he's read you a story and listened to your baseless questions about romances.

You've finally gotten your answer. Painted in a shade of red indistinguishable from black.

Because the villain is too vile to be loved.

You run, catching the limp corpse before it joins the rest, you cradle her close. Tears landing on the orange of her face. There are no strawberry romances here. No sweet forbidden fruits. Just pain, hollow, empty, rotten. "Jacki" your voice muffles into her robes, rain-soaked, tear-soaked.

"Was that its name?" his voice doesn't sound right. No cheerful hellos or drowsy laughs. It's all menacing now, grating and hollow lilt. "Qimir" you wail, sob half caught in your throat. "It can't be you." He shakes his head, smile crooked and maniacal. "I'm afraid so, little one." The force pushed you up, pulling you to him. Qimirs head tilts, his fingers dancing around your throat. Squeezing squeezing squzing. Your glossy eyes take in his unruly appearance. Even now your master looks utterly perfect. Muscles relaxed as he steals your breath. "Master" you whine, your heart shouldn't be hammering like this, leaping through beats like something lovesick.

"(Y/n)" golden light fills the clearing. Yord runs, Prince Charming in every way you should have loved.

Qimir releases you, only to nestle your neck in the crook of his arm. "Don't worry darling. I'm almost done." He blocks the first attack.

Second, third. Yord scrambles to pull you away, missing each time. "Let her go" The urgency in his voice rattles you. He did love you.

Little sister, little princess.

Why is only starting to make sense now?

There's a crack, so loud it echoes across the woods.

"NO"

Yord's body joins the rest.

no no no

"Where were we?" Qimir is every bit the villain.

The dragon, the wolf, the tyrant king with a crown of bones.

"You lied to me, you killed them. Why, why would you do this."

"Because the Jedi say I can not exist." Sith, right those things were supposed to be evil. Hailing from Koriiban, the evil Jedi forced to flee. And here you were having so readily given yourself to the enemy.

The blood flows free in the rain. Dozens of bodies drained.

There's a river of blood. You kneel by the holy thing, dipping your cupped hands into the crimson. You drink deeply from the massacre thinking it'll taste sweet. Qimir pulls you in holding your throat as he submerges you.

Baptized in blood

The world flashes red.

It feels so free here. Floating weightless, letting everything be. The rage can not find you in these depths. Free like an adrift astromech. Free to float amongst the stars.

When you emerge again. The world has grown brighter. You see the wide-eyed bodies, even Sol is among the dead, you swear you see disappointment in his lifeless orbs. You gulp, swallowing the euphoric faint. You see your new master before you. Swimming to him carefully, following the gentle tug of the force. Prey meets predator. Qimir chuckles, the water is shallow by the banks. He sits awaiting, on his makeshift throne.

There is no sympathy here you should know better

"You took adorable" Qimir rasps. Hot breath fanning your ear. "Master Qimir" you mumble shifting as he pulls you onto his lap. He laughs this is submission, a breath away from grasping his desire. He cups your cheeks, drifting his hands to your shoulders. Pulling you closer, bodies melting into one.

His kisses still taste like strawberries. Sweet and metallic. All possession and domination. Biting lips and tongue and flesh. Spilling fresh poison with each snip of your neck. He licks the blood from your fingers with feral pleasure. Swirling his tongue around each digit and pulling it further down his hungry mouth. You swallow the darkness from his tongue, letting him snuff out the little embers of light. The stars are burning away bit by bit. He pushes you under again.

Mornings on Khofar are dark, caught in a perpetual twilight. Qimir wraps his robes around you letting the midnight sink into your bones. "The ships a bit of a walk. But we should be there before noon." You paddle after him. Fingers lashing awkwardly at his hand. He turns and offers you that tilted smile once more, mask bouncing in his free hand.

"Master qimir" you confess, it feels so light on your tongue. Like clutching dying white-dwarf-stars behind your teeth. He chuckles, snapping a berry from a nearby bush. His smile sings of triumph, victory, earned in blood. He places the fruit amongst your teeth. You, his little war prize.

"My little acolyte"

ᯓ♡ : @feedmestraycats @moonlovefairy  @wicked0clouds @phoenixes-and-wizards @peridedarling @morax-on-my-mind @magikmaik @lov4gor3 @manchuria @bucksdonkey @embersofimagination @hauntedhedgehogs @peter-laufeyson @papitas-con-sal @f0odie @boredtone @bluechissbrain @yourfilthydevil @n0t-skywalker @xsister-serpent @gabriqllas @zionysuss @i-love-my-babygirls @pagingoswin @jxp1ter @faebirdie @deezhutts565 @thesithdiaries @pagingoswin @hauntingwolf @scentedbanditlampwobbler @uwingdispatch @mask-knife-is-buggys-girl @lunarsvertigo @scintilla-morningstar @carpinchootaku

[shurisneakers]

HIII, HOW ARE YOU

I was thinking if you could write Bucky's version of "Who did this to you" 🥰 Also, I love you writing so much! The way you describe things makes it so easy for me to imagine the scenes

a/n: hello my love! thank you for sending this in, I hope you like it<3

this is part of misery loves company but is just a stand alone fic. you don't need to read anything before this

warnings: blood and hurt, implications of violence and killin klg, hurt comfort, swearing

The longer you spend in this business, the more sleep feels like a favor the universe begrudgingly grants. Rest without nightmares is a luxury, and your salary simply did not budget for it.

So when it’s 3 a.m., and someone slips into your room without a word, you’re already awake before the light in your bathroom flickers on.

You hear the faint shuffle of movement, the sound of cabinets opening and closing. His silhouette moves inside, quiet and deliberate.

There’s no urgency to it, no noise loud enough to wake anyone else. He knows better than that. He just doesn’t know better than to pick your bathroom to raid.

Sighing, you push off the bed and head toward the bathroom.

The door creaks when you nudge it open, and he doesn’t even flinch. He’s still bent over the sink, head in your cabinet, his shoulders slumped like he’s half-asleep himself.

“Go to bed,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, not bothering to look at you.

“Sure, right after you get the fuck out of my bathroom," you reply, leaning against the doorframe. “You know there’s one in your room, right? Or did you get lost again?”

“Crazy. Here I was, thinking I’d take the scenic route,” he deadpans, pulling out a bottle and squinting at the label. “Must’ve missed my bathroom. Maybe it’s hiding behind a bookshelf or something.”

You roll your eyes and press a hand to his shoulder, shoving him aside as you rifle through the cabinet yourself. “Move. You’re just making a mess.”

Bucky doesn’t protest, just leans back against the wall with a sigh, watching as you shove aside bottles and boxes. When you finally find the first-aid kit, you shove past him with more force than necessary.

“Sit down.”

To your surprise, he obeys, perching on the edge of the bathtub. His silence almost irritates you more than his usual backtalk.

You crouch in front of him, ignoring the way his gaze follows your every movement as you pull out antiseptic wipes and gauze. You don’t want to look at him yet. You don’t need to see his face to know he looks like hell.

But when you finally glance up, it’s still worse than you expected.

If you hadn’t trained yourself to stay composed in the worst situations, your breath might’ve hitched. His lip is split, an eye swollen shut, cuts scattered across his face, and a dark trail of dried blood streaks from his nose to his jaw. The faintest smudge of crimson still lingers on his temple.

"What?" his voice comes out sharper, like he's testing you to see your reaction.

He sits too stiffly for it to just be his face. There are ribs involved, at the very least.

You don't grace him with a reply.

"I'm fine," he says, as if that’s enough to wave away the mess of him.

“Didn’t ask,” you reply flatly, though your jaw tightens.

“Did someone teach you how to be this kind, or is it a God-given talent?” he mutters dryly.

You don’t respond, ripping open a packet of antiseptic wipes and crouching in front of him.

“How’d your day go?” he drawls, voice flat but testing.

“We don’t have to do this.”

“God, the hospitality,” he drags, voice dry and cracked. "For a second there, I was worried bleeding out in your bathroom might make you care.”

“So fuckin' dramatic,” you breathe, swiping a wipe across his busted lip with a gentleness you hate admitting to. “You’re not bleeding out. And I don’t care."

The silence stretches as you clean him up. He doesn’t flinch-- not at the antiseptic or the sting of your touch-- but you notice his sharp intake of breath when you press a little harder on his ribs.

“Who did this?” you ask lowly, your tone sharp without meaning to be.

He exhales through his nose, something like a grunt. “Why? You plannin' on punching them for me?”

"If that'll keep you out of my damn bathroom at night."

His gaze flickers to you, sharp and unyielding, but you refuse to meet it, focusing instead on wiping the blood crusted beneath his nose.

Finally, he mumbles, “Doesn’t matter. Kids are safe."

“Good,” you say, but the word sticks in your throat like glass.

When you glance up, his good eye is already on you, his gaze sharper than it has any right to be. His breathing is steady, heavier than usual but not alarming. Whatever he’s looking for, you don’t know, but it’s enough to make you shift uncomfortably.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, softer this time, almost like he’s trying to convince you.

“Didn’t ask,” you mutter, though your hand slows for a fraction of a second before you move on to the next cut.

His lip quirks at that, the ghost of a smile. “Sure. Noticed."

When you move to dab at the cut above his brow, something in his hair catches your eye. Your fingers brush against it, and you pull the strand closer for inspection

That’s when you notice it.

The small braid in his hair, crooked and messy, like it was done by clumsy hands.

You reach out before you can think better of it, fingers tugging gently at the braid.

"Who did this to you?” you ask again, this time biting back a smile.

“Don’t,” he mutters, ducking his head to pull away, but your hand finds his neck, stilling him. His skin grows warm under your hand.

“One of the kids?” you press, voice softer now.

He clears his throat, his cheeks flushing faintly. “The jet was too dark. They needed a distraction.” He pauses, as though considering how much to share. “Missed that one, I guess.”

Your thumb brushes his jaw as you inspect the braid, lingering a little too long. “Shame. It makes you look less hideous.”

Bucky huffs, more exasperated than offended. “You’re shit out of luck, then. Gotta put up with this mug as it is.”

You realize you’ve been staring too long when his eyes flick to yours. Clearing your throat, you drop your hands and reach for another wipe.

He leans back slightly, his gaze dragging over you. “You look like you’re about to punch someone.”

“Surprised there’s anyone left to punch.”

“There isn’t,” he replies breezily, though the weight of his words hangs in the air.

“Good, I don't have to waste my time cleaning up after you.” You swipe the antiseptic across his lip, slower this time, and your fingers linger a fraction longer than they should.

You don’t miss the way his gaze drops to your hands as you tear off another wipe, the way his jaw tightens when your fingers brush against his skin again.

“You’re happy you don’t get to punch anyone?” he asks, “Careful, or I might start thinking you care.”

You don’t answer, not with words. Instead, you press the antiseptic down just hard enough to make him wince.

Bucky hisses, but his lips twitch, and you hate how much you want to smile back.

Instead, you pack away the first aid kit and push it into his lap.

“Go to sleep,” you mutter, turning away.

“Sure thing,” he says, but when you glance back, he’s still sitting there, watching you like he’s not quite ready to leave.

Like maybe you don’t want him to.

"C'mon," you say quietly. "It's late."

He finally pushes himself off the tub, and drags himself silently to your bed.

[enyaliuswrites]

➽ Jealousy Jealousy

Xavier x gn!reader Warnings: fluff, suggestive topics, established relationship, kissing, reader doesn't have to be mc, reader loves Lumiere, Xavier being a jealous cutie

Xavier knew he was a possessive boyfriend. 

He would never admit it to your face, but you knew anyway—it wasn’t hard to tell. So, he wanted a thorough explanation when he saw you cuddling a Lumiere plushie, pressing your face into his plush form and clutching him close to your chest.

Xavier could still hear your giddy smiles and giggles from the day those 3 big boxes had arrived. 

“What’s all this?” He’s seen you excited over things you’ve ordered before so this was a norm, watching you rush to get a cutter and carefully, but impatiently, uncover the goods that you had either waited super long, eyeing the product, or just impulsively bought. As you sat there on the floor, hurriedly opening the boxes you screamed excitedly, your eyes falling onto the dozens of Lumiere merch. 

“Lu…miere?”  Xavier’s voice comes out unsure. He doesn’t understand. He watches you jump between the 3 boxes, revealing the various kinds of Lumiere merch; from posters to plushies to mugs to even toothbrushes? Who would make these? Who would even sell these? Who would buy them? Well, you, apparently. He intended to sigh, but a quiet huff of disbelief slipped out instead.

“Who do you like more? Me, or Lumiere?” Xavier’s tall figure walks towards you, his steps poised and calculated, each step he took made shivers run down your spine as you looked up at him. 

A wry smile and nervous chuckle leaves your lips, “Your question doesn’t make sense… Aren’t you and Lumiere the same person?” Your head shakes, as if to shake off the cold glare he had just given you. But when you feel a presence looming over you, that’s when you realize how serious he is. By the way his eyebrows frown and how his gaze sharpened at you as he leaned down, confining you, you knew he was mad. Well, the better word would be: Jealous. 

“Xavier… Are you really getting jealous of yourself?” You arch an eyebrow in amusement, but when his hand comes up to caress your hair, dangerously close to your face, you feel a heat creep up to your neck and spread to your ears. His sapphire eyes pierce into your soul, as his next words come out raw and husky.

“While Lumiere is handsome and gentle.. I’m apparently harsh and cruel? And when you see Lumiere, you appear to be a lot happier. It seems like to you, we aren't the same person at all.” His hand slowly moves from your jaw to your chin as he guides your head to look up at him, his back bending down to look at you. Feeling like the wind is being sucked out of your lungs, you quickly avert your gaze to get some fresh air through all of this tension. 

“Xavier, w-what are you talking about?” You let out a chuckle like scoff, but the silver haired boy above you seemed to be adamant in getting an answer. His bottom lips push up into a pout and you’ve never seen him this jealous before, and over himself??

You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before pulling away. Taking his hand in yours, you squeeze it tightly, a playful but sweet smile on your lips. “I only love Xavier.” His gaze softens at that, and almost instantly, soft pulses of light flicker around him—appearing and vanishing like whispers of his happiness, casting a gentle glow around the both of you.

He kept his composure every time he saw you using Lumiere merch (which was very often)—brushing your teeth with a Lumiere toothbrush, sipping from a Lumiere mug, even wearing Lumiere pajamas. But sleeping with Lumiere? That was the last straw.

How could you love him more? You saw Xavier almost every day so why were you so obsessed infatuated with Lumiere?

With furrowed brows, Xavier strode toward your shared bed, yanking the Lumiere plushie from your grasp. Consumed by rage, he tossed it to the floor without a second thought, not caring where it landed.

The sudden loss of something in your arms wakes you up. As one of your eyes crack open to see what was going on you’re unexpectedly met face to face with a sulking Xavier who wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer. 

“What’s wrong?” Your voice is rough, still heavy with sleep, but laced with concern and confusion, as you try to make sense of Xavier’s sudden neediness in the quiet dark. He buries his head in the crook of your neck and you instinctively try to pull away, the sensation ticklish, but you try to stay still and hold Xavier close. But instead of an expected gentle kiss, you feel something wet followed by a sharp sting.

The pain jolts you fully awake, your eyes snapping open as you push Xavier’s heavy body away, “Did you just give me a hickey?? Xavier, it’s late and I have to wake up early tomorrow…” Your fingers lightly graze over the area on your neck and you slightly wince as you press on it, “What’s wrong?” 

Your concerned eyes are met with narrow sapphire eyes, darkened with envy. As you rack your brain for the reasons why he would be jealous, Xavier’s hand travels to the small of your back, yanking you closer to him with a firm pull—your startled yelp muffles as his lips crash on yours.

His usual featherlight kisses are long gone as he captures your lips in a rough, fervent kiss—not caring if your teeth clashed. His tongue traces your plush lips in a slow, tender stroke before forcefully pushing past them, desperate to claim every part of you. His hands cup your cheeks, firm yet trembling with need, pulling you deeper into the kiss.Soft whimpers catch in your throat as you tremble, overwhelmed by how roughly he's taking you. Sure, you were used to Xavier’s neediness, but this—this was something else entirely.

This wasn’t even kissing anymore. It was like he was devouring you. 

Out of breath and a little scared, you beat his chest in a frantic attempt to break free, feeling the air slowly leave your lungs. After what seemed like an eternity, Xavier finally pulled back, his lips leaving yours as you gasped for deep breaths of air. Just as you were about to ask him what the hell his problem was, Xavier silenced you with another kiss, his hands roaming over your body—tracing a path from your back to your waist. This time, you push him off, gasping for air as his brows knit together, his eyes darkening with hurt and confusion. “Xavier! I love you, but what the heck?! It felt like you were sucking the life out of me.” All you get in response is a scowled pout as he turns away. “You promised you wouldn’t choose him over me.” Your face twists in confusion, certain you had misheard. “Xavier… Who on earth is ‘him’? Because I am not cheating on you-” “Lumiere.” You swear you would’ve laughed if he didn’t look so pitiful—his plush bottom lips pushed up into a pout and his brows knitted together. “Xavier. If it bothers you that much then I’ll get rid of them—gift it to a friend. You alright, my big jealous baby?” Your hands went up to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you, his expression slowly softing. Xavier could be difficult at times—jealous over the smallest things—but you loved him all the same. Honestly, you might’ve loved him even more for it, especially when he was jealous of himself.

When you notice Xavier’s needy and doubting gaze you decide to show him how much his feelings mean to you, pulling his face to yours and planting a tender and gentle kiss on his lips. He slowly melts into the kiss, his fingers curling around the nape of your neck, holding you close as your lips move in sync. 

Xavier loved you—so much that the thought of you loving anyone else, even another version of himself, was unbearable. Tonight was going to be a long night to comfort him. He’d made sure of it. 

Xavier burned the plushie the next day. He also gave away every piece of Lumiere merch you had bought. When you asked what happened to them, he simply said he 'took care of it' and quickly changed the subject.

Inspired by this fanart

A/N: my bad it wasn’t exactly 30 hours. Was stuck in a meeting, forgive me😓. Anyways, I love my little baby bunny so much. HE’S JUST SO SQUISHYYY!!! Please give me requests, ya’lls, work and studies got my brain empty of ideas. Stay delusional! Just like me, hehe. (*´∀`*) dividers by @omi-resources

[thesilmarillionblog]

𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒

Summary: You play Soldier Boy's wife in the new movie. He's a method actor, and so are you. 

Pairing: Soldier Boy / F! Reader

Warnings: +18! (Minors DNI), SMUT, Soldier Boy is cheating CC, rough sex, oral sex (m! receiving), kinda role playing, kinky, unprotected sex, dirty talk, porn without plot lol, set in late 1970's

Word Count: 3283

A/N: English is not my first language.

"Cut!"

Soldier Boy winked at you, pulled his lips back, and loosened his firm arms over your back as the director ordered. His hand continued to touch you daringly during the romantic scenes, so it must have been fun for him to witness your heart race. After licking your lips, you faced the director, who had been discussing the specifics with the rest of his staff.

With an anxious expression on his face, the director wanted to tell Soldier Boy something, but he was too scared to say anything since Soldier Boy wasn't the most sensible person when it came to providing guidance. Whatever was said to him didn't matter. Never.

The director then collected all of his stuff and gestured for you to join him. After taking the iced coffee, Soldier Boy turned to face the anxiously breathing and sweating director in front of him. 

“Now what?” Sitting in the chair, Soldier Boy stretched out his muscles and asked in a harsh voice.

Soldier Boy became irate every time he was given instructions to act with greater enthusiasm and better, suggesting that the director, Mr. Nathan, must be dying of dread and worry. 

“It's a romantic film,” Mr. Nathan remarked, appearing to become agitated as he brought up his hands on his hips. “And the subject at hand is war. It's meant to be intimate and heartfelt.”

“And?”

“You shouldn't behave as though you're going to have sex like you're in an adult film. I hope you don't take offense, sir. You're an excellent actor. However, would you mind being a bit more romantic? It would be quite beneficial.”

Snorting, Soldier Boy said, “Fuck that. A sentimental war film, huh? Jesus... I have no doubt that young soldiers would find greater use for pornographic films if we produced some. Believe me, If I fuck her and then leave her to join war, that would make women and men all cry their eyes out. Are we really making this trash movie for housewives only? Who approved this fucking script anyway?”

“Sure and no, sir—no, definitely not. I'm among those who approved, of course, and I can tell you that the script is excellent. Act a little more genuine. This is a movie that everyone should see. If you'd prefer, we could change the actress. If it would help you to be partners with Crimson Countess, maybe we can arrange that.”

The director looked at you, and you crossed your arms over your chest. Stupid coward. That would be the beginning of your best work, but his terrified ass was prepared to destroy your career before it had ever begun. 

“Oh fuck no!” Soldier Boy gulped down his cold coffee. “Not her dry pussy coming over here. My co-star is talented and fine enough.”

You were going to defend yourself in front of the director, but luckily Soldier Boy was kind enough to stand up for you, which made things much better. You were giving him every indication that, in the end, you would do anything to get this job. You would never have taken part in a greater movie before, and Soldier Boy would be the ideal match for it. That was the top of your career already. He was attractive and interesting, but it was difficult to resist and melt into him at the moments when he was meant to give you a gentle kiss. Clearly, that wasn't his thing—being gentle and loving.

It wasn't your thing either.

Mr. Nathan sighed and answered, “Sure,” becoming tired of Soldier Boy not caring at all about what he was trying to say. “We're all going to have some break, and then we can go on filming, is that alright?”

“All right. Whatever,” Soldier Boy said. His specialty was not romantic war films, obviously. He sounded so corny in situations that you could be positive he detested every single love phrase he ever delivered. But none of you had the guts to tell him that out loud. 

If he wasn't concerned about his acting in the first place, that didn't matter to you. There were times when you found it amusing that he was exaggerating in order to enrage the director. It was difficult for you to not break your character in these situations. The kissing scenes, however, were exceptional. You would have let him fuck you if he had made the move right then. He was only getting you wet with his tongue. 

As soon as Mr. Nathan left, Soldier Boy stood up and stepped toward you, looking intently at you. Your entire body tingled with anticipation. Desire was already causing your legs to tremble. 

With a low tone, he said, “Follow me,” and handed his empty cup to someone. 

With joy, you followed instructions. You had already been thinking filthy stuff since the morning. Your pussy was swollen, and your underwear was already wet since he had been teasing you so much. 

He locked the door when you followed him to his trailer.

He approached your body and looked at your long skirt before saying, “So,” and licked his lips. “What are you thinking about that guy who said that? About acting and anything else?”

As his thumb lingered on your breast, stroking it to make you go wild, you put your hands over his chest, excited about what was about to happen. Your thighs tensed with yearning. 

Whispering, "He might be right," you ran a hand down his chest and felt his hardness through his trousers. 

He smiled a bit at you when he realized you were ready for a quick fuck. You continued to softly touch him there, and his cock hardened. 

With a sigh, “About?” he began to undo your dress so he could see your tits. 

“About your acting,” you muttered as his harsh hand continued to torment you. “You should act more romantically and intimately.” 

“Hmm,” was all he said. 

He palmed both of your tits after he had finished unbuttoning your dress. 

“I consider myself to be a method actor,” he said, grinning arrogantly at you. 

You smirked and said, “What a coincidence; me too,” as you unzipped his pants. You lowered his pants and waited for him to give you guidance. “But what would your girlfriend, Crimson Countess, think about that?”

“I don't see an issue if you seal your pretty mouth. I also don't want to fuck her dry cunt forever. Now, get on your knees,” he said rudely, then, putting his hand behind your head, he pushed you on your knees.

Your pulse was pounding as you followed instructions. It wasn't that you were inexperienced, but it also wasn't that you were doing it for the first time. It had only lasted a minute or two until you had completed it in the past. It hadn't pleased you. You had immediately stopped. 

You were ecstatic to see Soldier Boy's massive, pulsating cock, though. You wrapped your hands around his thick shaft, and you licked your dry lips, sensing its weight in your palm. It was exciting and tantalizing to consider sucking the strongest superhero on the planet. 

You murmured, looking at his face and lightly brushing the tip with your lips, “What do you want me to do?” It was apparent that he was beginning to take pleasure in and enjoy what he was seeing. “Sir.”

He grinned at you and tightened his grasp behind your hair when he heard the final word, letting you know how weak you are in comparison to him. After all, you were both method actors, and the game you were playing was harmless. He was definitely thrilled.

He continued, taking his big cock in his hand and pressing it against your lips. “You're a naughty one, aren't you? About to be railed and excited to suck your co-star's cock. Not because you want to get the job, but simply to be fucked.”

“Maybe,” you said, licking the tip with your tongue. It didn't taste horrible, but it was salty. “Maybe I just want to get fucked by a supe; maybe it's because I want to keep my job.”

He finally lost patience with you and shoved his cock inside your mouth when you continued to tease him. You obeyed and took his cock in your mouth. You could take the head since his shaft was far too big for you, yet it was clear that he wanted more.

“Or perhaps I agree with the director's wish for my co-star to act more intimate in his part.” You teased him and palmed his heavy balls, adding, “Would you act more romantic just like you are expected if I was there, standing while your cum inside me?” You were certain that he would come early enough.

“You shouldn't worry about it. My cum will be flowing between your legs as you wander around,” he groaned. “But you'll suck that cock nice firstly.”

He pushed his cock into your mouth again before you could respond. You started to lick it by slowly getting used to the size of it before figuring out the right rhythm.

“Take it more,” he moaned, pressing your head on his cock. You were too aroused to resist, yet it was difficult to withstand his strength.

You attempted to take more of his throbbing cock by opening your mouth wider and placing your hands on his knees for assistance, but it was too huge.

“Fucking take it,” he snapped, annoyed by your poor attempt. Taking complete control, he then reached behind your hair with his other hand and stilled your head.

He made you choke around him by forcing half of his cock into your mouth with such power that you gagged uncontrollably. But you were determined to push yourself to the very limit. Under the mercy of the most powerful supe made you feel things. You had no idea that you needed such treatment in order to suck a cock properly. You became more and more wet as he applied more pressure, made you choke, and filled your mouth with his cock. 

When you finally had enough of him, he withdrew so he could grab your mouth and start to fuck your face.

"You like that, don't you?" He moved your head to his cock because he enjoyed it. "You like being used like this? You like being controlled, huh? Yes, fuck. Take it!"

His cock, which was covered in your saliva, began to pulse in your mouth as he continued to fuck it. You clenched up, knowing what was about to happen. Your fingers gripped his legs more tightly as you tried to keep up with his power. 

He asked, “You want it in your mouth?” However, it was obvious that it wasn't a question. Both of you and him were lost in pleasure. 

Soldier Boy pulled back his cock and rubbed it on your reddening lips and waited for your response. 

“Yes, please,” you moaned. “I need you finish in my mouth.”

He groaned, “Anything for my co-star,” and pushed his shaft back into your mouth as hard as he could. It was hot inside your throat. 

You shivered in delight and disbelief as he started to flow in your throat, releasing his hot sperm. You moved a bit to relax, but he gave a loud grunt and stilled your head. 

He moaned, “Fucking swallow,” as he continued to thrust his cock farther. You were so out of breath that tears were streaming down your face. He was cursing as he filled your mouth with his thick cum.

When he makes you taste him, you close your eyes and let him release his hot semen into your mouth fully. Though you weren't sure whether you liked the taste at all due to how strong and salty it was, you really enjoyed the whole process. You felt slick there; the way he was controlling your body was beyond perfect. 

He withdrew his cock back once he had finished fucking your mouth. 

Grasping your chin firmly, he said, “Let me see it.” 

Your mouth opened. Excited, you could feel your legs quivering and hoping he wasn't done with you just yet. Even though you weren't sure whether you had enough time to go all the way, you needed to be touched so desperately. 

He said, “Good girl,” seeing that you swallowed all. “Get up now.” 

Without allowing you to react, he made you stand once more. It was absurd how he was still hard destipe spilling inside your mouth seconds ago. You wondered how frequently he would need to come in order to soften. It may have been because he was a supe. The cause didn't matter to you. Thank goodness he had the energy to continue. After all, you had your own needs. 

“I hope we are not finished yet,” you stated, indicating your intentions with another stroke of his now firm cock. 

“You want to be fucked badly, don't you?” Your long skirt was pulled up by the tough hands of Soldier Boy, who gave you a sly smile. “You enjoy getting fucked by engaged men?”

When his erect cock brushed your thighs and you felt out of breath, you taunted him, “Only the supes.”

He chuckled and had a brief look at your underwear. You were relieved he hadn't ripped them off. He removed your tits from your white bra and pushed your unbuttoned shirt down. You arched back properly when he gave your nipples a little play.

“Let's check to see whether you're wet enough to handle it all now. Tell me you're not a virgin.” He gave a warning but added, “I'm going to fuck you raw anyway.”

“I'm not,” you moaned, impatient for him to get inside. This time, you were unable to stop pleading. “Could you please fuck me already?”

The way you begged him made Soldier Boy smirk. “Since you're begging so nicely...”

He grabbed your hair into his palm, then gave his cock five or six firm strokes to make himself completely erect. He then bent your body into the trailer's wall and positioned himself behind your entrance. 

When you actually noticed how much bigger he was than your hole, you gasped. Not that you didn't get fucked, but it had really been a while. 

“Relax a little for fucks sake. Take it properly, or it's going to hurt. I won't give a fuck,” he warned, pressing himself farther inside of you.

You tensed up. He was pulling your hair a little and knowing that if he utilized his strength a little more, he could break your neck. That should have alarmed you, but instead it enhanced your excitement. Being at a supe's mercy as he fucked you was more exciting than any other sex you had ever had because you never knew if he might lose control while trying to get his pleasure. 

He made you scream with pleasure and pain as he pushed his entire cock inside of you, pushing back with one strong motion. You began to moan and tried to fix your balance, but he instantly stilled your body by pulling your hair.

He moaned in rage, “Don't fucking move,” and proceeded to fuck you senselessly. Your eyes watered with every move he made, and your insides ached a bit. Both the pleasure and the pain that you experienced were immense.

“That's how you should get fucked. Like a slut you are. You are a slut, aren't you? You wanted me to fuck you there?” He groaned while continuing to penetrate you from the back. Your hair was tugged again by his hand. He needed a response. 

“Yeah,” you moaned, placing a hand against his severe grip on your hip. “I needed you to fuck me right there.”

He was obviously pleased with your response since you could almost hear him smirking. 

“Oh, yeah. Are you not embarrassed to want to have sex with an engaged man? Allow him to use your body any way he chooses. Show him that you are better than his future wife. You like the idea of a supe cheating on his girlfriend with you?” His filthy words caused your walls to contract as he gave you a strong and quick fuck. You were embarrassingly wet. 

You teased him, “So what?” in between moans. “In the film we're in, we're husband and wife, right? We need to get into the role properly.”

“Do you think you can wear my sperm right there and yet perform your role properly? What would they say if they knew? Will you tell them you wanted me to fuck you so that you could do your role more effectively? Do you want everyone to know your cunt is full of my cum? Is that it?” 

You knew that the game you were playing was making him more thrilled, so when he bent your body harder, you let out an excited gasp. He widened your legs and placed both of his hands on each side of your hips. Without his support, you would have already fallen. 

You screamed out, “Yes, please, please,” as your walls continued to clench around his thick cock. “Husband.” 

“Oh fuck,” he groaned as he got closer. He firmly gripped your bouncing tits and gave them a firm squeeze. “I'm going to fill you so good. Going to satisfy my wife's small greedy cunt nicely. Do you really want that, baby?         Where do you want me to cum?”

Moaning, “Yeah, oh fuck, fuck. Please come inside, husband.” Your orgasm hit so hard you had to scream his name this time. You were sure some of the staff heard your screaming. Your walls clenched badly. You got his dick wet with your slick as your legs were trembling frantically. You felt like you were about to pass out from the intense fucking you were getting from him during your peak.

He moaned, “Whatever my wife wishes,” as he continued to penetrate you despite your oversensitivity. He then began to come inside of you with a loud grunt. Before he came, he held your hips so forcefully that you felt he was going to break your body till he was satisfied. 

He cautiously removed his cock after giving you a bit more pleasure and making sure he had emptied his balls within your pussy. He gave you a hard spank on the ass and complimented you on your well-done move, seeing how his sperm was flowing between your legs. 

You grinned to yourself and pulled up your underwear when you knew you were fucked well for real. You could let him fuck you again since his hot sperm in you felt so nice. 

As he was complimenting you, you could hear him stuffing his dick back into his pants. “Now that was a good fuck.”

You looked at him and fixed your shirt, skirt, and hair. “I'm glad you enjoyed,” you said, biting your lips. You could still taste him.

“I'm sure I'm not the only one who enjoyed it,” he said, immediately lighting a cigarette and giving you a sly smirk. 

You were told to expect on the set in five minutes when someone knocked on the door right then. You smiled to yourself, undisturbed by the stares from the staff, and spent the remainder of the day with Soldier Boy. You both believed that the method of acting had had the intended impact on you and him. The director was pleased with the two of you. After the break, Soldier Boy was acting better, at least. If only they knew the reason.

It's true that method acting helped you get into your roles better. Particularly behind the scenes.

⋆⋅☆⋆☆⋅⋆───⛥───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───⛥───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Comments and reblogs are very appreciated. Let me know what you think please. For more, here's my MASTERLIST. ♥︎

[gor3-hound]

over again

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, dark content, heavy dub-con, forced ddlg, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, fingering, p in v, creampie, mentions of past drugging, daddy kink, lots of pet names

a/n: took me forever n ever to write this ahhh sorry :/ hope you all enjoy it !! feedback always appreciated !! hopefully the writers block will finally perish.

word count: 1.6k words

14 weeks. 98 days. 2352 hours.

Leon leaves the house at 7.30 am every morning, except for Sundays. From Monday to Thursday, he's home around 6 pm. On Fridays, he isn't home until around 9 pm. Saturdays are the worst because he's home just after lunch.

Usually, when he comes home, he goes to the bedroom and unlocks the door to let you out. He threads his hand in your leash to take you upstairs, giving you a kiss on your forehead as he takes you to the kitchen to eat a meal. He gives you your food on a pink, plastic princess plate with plastic cutlery, and cuts the food into bite size pieces. More often than not, he hand feeds you.

You don't fight it. You'd learned your lesson. You refused food from him once. For 2 out of your 14 weeks locked up in his home, he'd underfed you to the point of starvation until you were begging him to feed you. He sat you in his lap, cooing all sweet as you chewed and swallowed every mouthful he'd given you. That day was the first day he slept with you.

It wasn't all bad. He was sweet. Gentle. If you closed your eyes, you could pretend he was a loving boyfriend. Someone who cared for you, not the creep who'd snatched you from the street after you had a few too many drinks at your friend's party, promising you a better life, safe from the world.

But he isn't sweet, or nice, or kind. He didn't do this for you, despite what his twisted brain tells him. You can pretend all you want that he's something other than what he is, but it doesn't change what he is. A monster.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Where's my little princess?” Leon's asking as soon as he walks into the house, kicking his shoes off and hanging his jacket up at the door. You recently got free reign of the home for being on your best behaviour. Didn't even have to keep the leash attached to your collar anymore. Lucky you.

“Here, daddy.” You say meekly, poking your head out of the living room to approach him, fiddling awkwardly with the edge of your shirt. Head down, so he doesn't have to see the defeated expression on your face as you force out the words, swallowing thickly to hold back your tears.

“You have a good day, sweetheart? You do any coloring in those cute little books I got you?” Leon's hands come up to your cheeks, gently stroking his thumbs back and forth across your cheekbones. You shake your head, gritting your teeth to stop yourself from saying something.

“No? Why not, baby? You don't like them? I got the one with lots of kitties. Pretty girls like you like cute things, don't they?” He coos, squishing your cheeks in his hands to make your lips all pouty so he can lean down and give them a little kiss, letting out a loud ‘mwah’ as soon as his lips make contact.

“You eat at least? I left some food in a lunchbox for you.” You shake your head again, and this time it seems to elicit a worse reaction. His brows furrow, and his hand grips your face even tighter. “No? Silly baby… can't do anything without daddy, can you? Come on. Daddy'll feed you, cutie.”

He heats up some food for you and puts it on a plate. The pink, plastic princess plate. He sits you on his lap and feeds it to you from a fork. Pink, plastic fork. The routine is the same, no matter how much you wish for it to change. When you finish eating, he presses a tender kiss to your head and rocks you in his arms.

“Such a good girl. Good girls get rewarded, princess.” He murmurs, pressing soft kisses against the skin of your neck, trailing them up until he's nosing at the hair behind your ear. His hand slides up your thigh and under your skirt, his thumb swiping your swollen bud through the already damp fabric. It didn't matter if you didn't want it. Your body didn't seem to understand what was happening - all it knew was Leon made you feel good. You hated how compliant you got when he touched you, how any thoughts of defiance melted away.

You go limp when he touches you. Docile. You let him do what he wants to you, just like a good girl should. Back-talking daddy is a big no-no. He wrote that in big writing on the rule list that's pinned to the fridge. Escape didn't use to seem impossible, yet now the thought never even crossed your mind. You'd tried, but he kept a tight lock on you. You wouldn't be surprised to find out one of the many injections he gave you when you were unruly had a tracker in. He always seemed to know exactly where you were.

You whimper as he dips his hand under the waistband of your panties. He parts your puffy lips with practiced ease as he continues on with the next part of his routine. 98 days later and he's mapped every inch of your body perfectly - found out everything that has you keening under his touch. Your hips buck as he runs his fingertip between your folds, gathering slick before rubbing small circles into your clit.

“Poor, dumb baby. She's soaking me already. You couldn't make yourself feel good when daddy was gone, huh, sweetheart?” His words are followed up by a finger burying itself in your tight heat, curling to find that gummy spot that has you clenching around him and bucking your hips. “Pretty princess cunt's been drooling for me all day.”

A choked sob leaves you when he pulls his cock out and sits you on top of it. He pulls you down until he's buried to the hilt, groaning as you tighten around his length. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, peppering it with tiny little kisses. You can't help but cry whenever Leon fucks you. 98 days later and you still sob whenever he bullies your cervix with his dick. No matter how many times he makes you cum or makes you go dumb on his cock, it doesn't change anything. He took everything from you - your family, your friends, your job.

You hated yourself more than Leon. For letting him break your walls down. For clinging to him as he tightens his grip on your waist, manhandling you on his cock, lifting you up and down. For finding yourself missing him when he's at work.

“Love…love you, daddy…” Your words come out more like a cry, nose all runny and cheeks wet with tears as he fucks up into you, his head shifting to hang back in pleasure. His fingers dig into your waist as he hears the words, a breathy laugh leaving him as he smiles - all toothy and bright like it always is when you say that.

“Love you even more, princess.” He grunts out, leaning back on the seat to force himself deeper into your pussy, guiding your hips back and forth so you're grinding his cock inside of you, rubbing your pretty clit against his happy trail. You gasp at the sensation, your hands gripping into his shoulders as your brows furrow in pleasure.

“Daddy… daddy…” You gasp out as your orgasm hits, your lips parting as you gush all over him. The look on your face as you cum is enough to have his balls tighten, his teeth gritting as he starts to shallowly thrust into you once more, chasing his own release. You always cry when you cum, and Leon always kisses the tears away when you do, his lips pressing against the wetness on your cheeks repeatedly. Another part of the ritual, another moment repeating day after day.

“Want daddy to fill you up, sweet girl?” He grunts, nipping at your neck as he wraps his arms tight around your waist in a bear hug, holding you steady as he fucks up into your drippy cunt. “Gonna warm you up right in that cute lil’ tummy.”

His hips stutter as his orgasm hits him, his jaw going slack as he presses the tip of his cock right up against your cervix, filling you to the brim with his sticky cum. He slides a hand under your shirt, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into the skin of your tummy.

“That's it. Keep it all in, okay? Daddy doesn't want to see his little angel spill a single drop.” He says softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. He holds you there for a couple of minutes, cradling you against his chest until it's time to go to sleep.

Before bed that night, Leon ushers you into the bathroom. Like every night before this one, he gently grips your jaw with one hand as he stands behind you, his other hand gripping your pink princess toothbrush as he brushes your teeth, his eyes locked onto you through the mirror. At bedtime, he tucks you in and curls up behind you, spooning you with one hand on one of your tits, and the other wrapped tightly around your waist.

Tomorrow is a Friday. He wakes you up at 6.30 am with a kiss to your head as always, a warm cup of milk in one hand and your breakfast in the other. He feeds you off of a pink, plastic princess plate and presses a kiss to your lips before leaving at 7.30 am on the dot.

[zstartrixxx]

𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

ˡᶦᵒⁿ ᵏᵃᵐᶦⁿˢᵏ ˣ ᶠᵉᵐꜝʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: 𝐘𝐄𝐒 | 𝐍𝐎

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: "[...] You were the person who hugged him and pulled him away from the reality he faced every day. And that's why he loved you. [...]" 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: between heavy and distressing themes (which are particularly my favorites), we always find a little gap to write something more cute and comforting; i think that perhaps, if walter "lion" kaminski's life wasn't as fucked up as it is in the movies, or in this case, given the whole central plot of the film, he would have this little life: continuing to get beaten up by someone else? yes, but with someone who loved him and cared for him and had fun with him. anyone who watched the film will see a strong reference to the film in the middle. i was listening to "my kind of woman" by mac demarco and "amor, meu grande amor" | "love, my great love" by angela ro ro (brazilian singer, by the way i recommend looking for the english translation of the entire song!!!) while i was writing this piece, it gave the whole function a vibe. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: established relationship; it's pure fluff (maybe a lil bit of angst & melancholy) but I SWEAR that in this one there is more joy, happiness, a warm heart, love and passion, to lighten a busy and full day, idk... long live the magical world of fanfics, right!? 𝐖𝐂: +2k  for whoever is going to read it, a great read! <3 likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

𝖫𝖨𝖮𝖭 𝖪𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖭𝖲𝖪𝖨 𝖯𝖫𝖠𝖸𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳 | 𝖬𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳

"see me in your eyes, on my washed face. come to me without knowing, if i am fire or if i am water." (love, my great love, angela ro ro.) | listen this song when starts in the fic.

"What's this nasty bruise on your face?"

Lion lifted those gentle, doe-like eyes to you through the shadows, his expression lost as his hands tightened on the car's steering wheel. You stared back with questioning eyes, your hands reaching to cradle his face still damp from when you'd dashed through the drizzle to his car. Past six already, the sun long set in this season—your favorite season of icy winds, hot chocolate, and nights wrapped together under blankets, toes touching, breathing the same warm air while listening to the rain outside.

He gave a strained smile, suppressing all the emotions blooming inside him as your fingers inspected the fresh three-stitch wound above his eyebrow—still raw and stinging from tonight's fight.

In the car's muted lighting, your faces illuminated by the red and blue neon from the 24-hour laundromat and Chinese restaurant next door, everything felt abstract and disconnected from reality to Lion. You glowed under those flickering colored lights, eyes wide with worldly concern, that telltale bite of your lower lip he knew meant: 'You're hurt bad, Lion—I told you to be careful!' even though you knew asking a fighter to be careful was pointless. With a delicate shake of his head, Lion gently removed your hand from his forehead, giving it a soft squeeze:

"It's nothing, my love. Just the spoils of victory."

"So you won?" You exhaled deeply, relaxing your tense body into the Kaminski brothers' car—a vintage 1970 Impala, outrageously red with a black top; obviously older brother Stan's choice who loved "classy, elegant things"—in other words, anything that would make God and the whole world take notice. Lion nodded, digging into the pocket of his dark sweatpants that still carried the fresh citrus scent of his post-fight shower, his bangs slightly damp at the tips. He pulled out a wad of cash—a roll of hundred-dollar bills—flashing a genuinely proud smile. But all you could see were his reddened, slightly swollen knuckles. His voice grew more animated:

"Got extra for the knockout this time. Thought we might celebrate or something. What do you think?"

You studied him head to toe—his shy beauty, that characteristic gap-toothed smile with small lateral incisors between the central ones and canines, his eager yet serene violet-hued eyes (tinted red from the outside lights) waiting for your answer. How could you possibly refuse him?

"Sounds perfect! Any place in mind?"

"No... Wanted you to choose. Anywhere's fine with me."

"Hmm—" You nibbled your index finger, watching raindrops slide down the windshield, people moving about in the laundromat—just another ordinary rainy Thursday. Arms crossed: "—honestly I don't want typical rainy-day stuff. Want something different."

"Like what, rainy-day stuff?" he asked, genuinely curious, leaning back in his seat and pocketing his fight earnings, absently scratching at a healing bruise on his cheekbone on the same side as his stitches.

"Oh, you know... Like going to a restaurant or grocery shopping, loading up on snacks and staying in. I want something different..."

"Grocery run sounds nice actually, loading up on snacks, staying in bed..."

"But didn't you just tell me to choose?!" You barely contained your laughter, jabbing a thumb at yourself while Lion shrugged his narrow shoulders beneath his navy blue sweatshirt. You rolled your eyes:

"So indecisive," you teased, mentally scrolling through locations you'd texted him about (messages he'd seen but never replied to). He preferred his laptop—watching endless fight videos or just sitting across from you with Ash in his lap, silently watching you talk for hours. That quiet kindness that made you feel so loved.

Then it came to you, the perfect place.

-`♡´-

"When you said party, I didn't know you meant a senior citizens' dance," Lion whispered in your ear, his calloused hand enveloping yours as you guided him into the familiar bar-restaurant. You laughed over your shoulder:

"This was my grandma's favorite spot. They've got great music."

An 80s synth track played as Lion sniffed the air—fried food, mothballs and something sweet he couldn't place. The space allowed for dancing between scattered tables, with deflated balloons clinging to the ceiling and few patrons—unsurprising for a rainy Thursday. You stopped mid-floor, feeling him hover behind you like an obedient puppy, eyes full of contentment just being near you. Your movements so synchronized that when you tugged his hand forward, Lion immediately enveloped you in a hug, kissing your cheek:

"So what now? Stand here? Get a table? Talk about our day?"

"No, I want to do something else." Your decisive tone carried you to the wall-mounted jukebox, its yellowed lights glowing as Lion's eyebrows rose in curiosity.

At the vintage machine, you scanned the extensive playlist–rockabilly to blues–when Lion's finger tapped the glass, leaving condensation streaks as he pointed. You read aloud:

"'Yes Sir, I Can Boogie' — seriously?!" You turned to see his mischievous smirk. Your grin matched his sincerity as he pulled a worn wallet from his pocket, feeding coins into the machine above you:

"Baccara it is."

"Let's boogie-oogie!" you sang, pressing the selection as the machine whirred. Wrapped in each other's arms, you waited for the first notes. Facing him, still holding those scarred yet impossibly gentle hands, you started swaying as Lion stepped back toward the dance floor. The synth beats swelled around you as you half-sang, half-whispered:

"Mister, your eyes are full of hesitation—" You pointed playfully as Lion crossed his arms, tapping his foot to the bass. Shoulders shimmying, you continued: "Sure makes me wonder... If you know what you're looking for." One eyebrow arched in challenge. Lion's radiant smile warmed you as he stepped closer while you sang: "Baby, I wanna keep my reputation!" Just as his hands found your waist, spinning you back against him, hips swaying together as he joined in: "I'm a sensation; You try me once, you'll beg for more..."

"Ready for the chorus, love?" you asked, shoulders rolling as Lion's hands gripped them, the music swelling into that elegant, sophisticated refrain that made your whole body thrum. Your voices merged:

"Oh, Yes Sir, I can boogie! But I need a certain song. I can boogie, boogie woogie all night long!"

"Clap now!" Lion laughed as you faced each other, nearly shouting the repeating chorus, moving like shadows of your weekend living room dance sessions. Lion danced surprisingly well—maybe from boxing flexibility, or that magic hidden beneath his rough exterior: a soul that loved music, dared to hope, and craved gentle touches to his wounded hands, slow kisses on bruises, and long protective hugs.

Seeing him this happy—despite the fight's damage, the fresh wound above his eye, the exhaustion of predawn runs—yet always waiting for you with open arms, made you realize his importance in your life. Your heart swelled with that syrupy, almost suffocating love—passion glowing in your eyes for this tender, reserved man who looked at you not just with desire, but devotion. He cherished your rambling, your silly jokes, your dances, even your arguments with Stan. And you reciprocated by keeping him close—in your lap, your gaze, your kisses.

He accepted it all with equal patience and longing—whether sitting together on the Impala's hood in comfortable silence (your souls conversing without words), or returning battered from fights, bloodied but peaceful knowing you'd be home waiting—worried but tender, tending wounds while exchanging secrets in those intimate moments of shared blood, sweat, tears and pure love.

Now Walter looked into your eyes, laughing as he pulled you close. Beyond the adrenaline rush, you felt warmth spreading—from dancing and from overwhelming affection.

When the song ended, he kissed you breathless—all laughter and panting lips:

"Still the best dancer."

"Silly—" Your retort was cut off by his teeth nipping your lower lip, his burning gaze, those inseparable hands. The hug that followed fit perfectly, his fingers carding through your hair before pressing a kiss to your forehead—a seal of peace, love, serenity, everything he could give.

"Wanna dance to another?" he murmured into your hair between kisses. You squeezed him tighter, feeling your heartbeats synchronize through layers of clothing—alive and happy. Smiling into his embrace like a nest, you answered:

"Wanna get out of here." Tilting your head up, noses brushing. Lion smiled, wincing slightly when his eyebrows lifted—making you both laugh. His voice was sweet as his gaze:

"Let's blow this joint then!"

-`♡´-

"Maybe, maybe, maybe..." you mused absently. Lion watched with topaz eyes as he chewed his burger. The diner's yellow lighting created an intimate, cozy atmosphere—warm enough that you'd both shed your jackets. Lion wore his favorite white shirt with green details—the one he loved almost as much as Ash and you. When you trailed off, Lion finished your thought:

"Maybe you should quit that shitty job and chase your dreams? If so, I fully support that." He sipped his Coke Zero, the straw's gurgle filling your little bubble. You pouted, elbow on the vinyl table, chin in hand:

"But is it the right time? I don't want to rush..."

"No. Focus on your studies – I'll cover us. This stuff matters, and the last thing I want is you regretting missed chances. Besides..." He set down his half-eaten burger, straightening in the booth, arms at his sides, smiling tenderly:

"...more than anything, I want to see you as the happiest woman alive."

"You're not real," you melted, reaching for his hand, thumb tracing those thin scars. Lion gazed back, honey-sweet and melancholy under the golden light—like a gilded idol with his rattail hair, completely relaxed, embracing you with just his eyes.

His serene reply:

"I'm real. For you."

-`♡´-

That night seemed endless—though in truth, only fifteen minutes remained until midnight would usher in Friday. The empty streets became their private world, their bodies moving in perfect synchrony: right-left, right-left. Two hearts beating as one, breaths mingling, intoxicated by each other's scent. Lion's voice vibrated beside you, languidly outlining tomorrow's plans—a habitual ritual as natural as saying good morning. He listed fight preparations, tailoring work, then dared to voice his growing desire to join your life's abrupt changes. To start anew. Together, they harbored that hopeful yearning to escape their current world, to build something different, to end their days dancing.

Ahead, the red Impala waited. The air grew colder, prompting Lion to draw you closer. He opened your door, circled the car, and settled beside you. Silence enveloped them—comfortable, familiar. Their breaths intertwined. When their eyes met, Lion became your mirror: his blue eyes reflecting your soul, yours the shelter he sought daily. As natural as breathing, he cupped your cheek, fingers threading through your hair, tracing the warmth of your neck before drawing you into a kiss.

And he kissed you—deeply, hungrily. Inhaled you. Mapped your lips with his tongue. Cradled your face like something precious. Foreheads touching afterward, they exchanged fragile smiles, breaths heavy. Lion felt that sudden, overwhelming urge to cry—the kind that ambushed him at random moments. You held him firmly between your hands.

"I love you."

Your voices merged into a single echo. Slowly, you pulled back, smiling like someone who already had everything they needed. Leaning against the seat, you watched him with tenderness. Outside, the rain—briefly paused—returned in delicate droplets against the windows. Nestled against the door, your eyelids grew heavy with sleep.

And Lion watched you, his heart compressed beneath his ribs—so small, so overwhelmed with love. Was there ever a man who could love someone more than this? His lips pressed into a tight smile. Fingers absently tracing the bruise on his cheek, he relaxed his shoulders and simply admired you—his sanctuary—as you drifted into dreams.

"I hope you dream of me, princess...", he murmured, removing his hoodie to cover you, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. When he returned to his seat, he took a deep breath - the rain was getting heavier. He turned on the radio, lowering the volume—according to the host, it was already early Friday morning—and the sleep he'd been holding onto hours earlier, while waiting for you to finish work, had simply vanished. He sat there motionless, staring ahead, certain you were by his side, sleeping.

Lion felt so many things immersed in that moment.

It was a love so anguished it hurt his chest, yet at the same time calmed his frantic mind and chased away all fears of the future. It was his truth submerged among so many daily challenges, lost fights, spit blood. You were the person who hugged him and pulled him away from the reality he faced every day. And that's why he loved you.

He loved you so much that he could see that blessed light at the end of the tunnel with you by his side.

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: all we want (and deserved) it's to be loved like this.

[aubvrns]

“Love Me Like I Do”

| MCU & Headcanons

Synopsis — What their love languages are and the kind they want to receive.

Note — Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Agatha Harkness, Rio Vidal

(Female doctor centered, no pronouns used.)

------------------------------------------------------

!!

Wanda Maximoff

• — As the nurturing person she is, Wanda definitely shows her love through acts of service.

• — She’s an early bird and watches you sleep comfortably, knowing you haven’t been sleeping properly. She would tuck your hair lovingly, staring at you as if you’d slip away.

• — Even though you’re a doctor, she takes care of you nonetheless. Cooking for you when you forget to eat in the morning, or sitting on her lap as she does your makeup.

• — Sometimes you put all your energy into taking care of other people, you forget to take care of yourself.

• — She would also send constant messages. Both of you would exchange texts about your day, and she can’t help but glance at every notification. (a huge simp for you)

the hottest witch 👩🏻‍🦰

have you eaten, my pretty girl?

you forgot your phone, by the way

Y/N?

baby gurl reply c’mon

i’m worried, milaya

i know it’s your break right now, please reply

why aren’t you replying?

heyyy ☹️

oh wait

• — You were truly the light of her world, chuckling to herself as she charges your phone beside her as she finishes her mission reports.

• — Though because of your tight schedules, with her Avenger duties and your imperative job, it’s scarce to find time for eachother. Given that, she seeks for quality time.

• — It’s the simplest actions, honestly. Like when you go home early, having time to cook together. When you call in sick when she needs you, or when she has her full focus on her mission, knowing that you’ll be waiting for her when she comes home.

• — “Wands, I’m home!” You call, removing your hair tie.

• — Without a word, she instantly hugs you like a koala, burying her face on your neck, making you laugh softly.

• —Before you could ask her where your phone was, she utters: “It's charging.”

• — You secretly liked it when she reads your mind, especially at the littlest things that make it more domestic. She swayed your body as she hugged your waist gently, with your hands over her neck.

• — Amidst the chaos, knowing that you’ll come home to eachother was a greater comfort.

Natasha Romanoff

• — Natasha shows her uttermost love when she gives gifts.

• — Growing up, she and Yelena were spoiled by Melina often. Their childhood wasn’t like others, but Melina tried her best to give them a somewhat normal childhood. Up until now, she had grown to be very sentimental. Each and every gift meant alot to her, but even more when she’s the one who gives.

• — Natasha would give you gifts regularly, pampering you with things that remind her of you.

• — You would randomly wake up with your favorite flowers and chocolates beside you as she slept, light snores heard from against your chest.

• — “Tasha, what’s the occasion?” You ask, playing with her hair as she blinks away her weariness.

• — “I don’t know. Halloween?” She raspily whispers against your ear before going back ro sleep.

• — It was December and you adored her antics, appreciating every gift she gives you, especially because she sees how tiring it can be to be hardworking.

• — Despite it all, it still amuses you how she buys things that aren’t really necessary.

y/n mcstuffins

Alianovna.

Why on earth is there a kitten in our bathtub?

nat her gf 🙅🏼‍♀️

Hahahahaha um what the sigma idk ⁉️

• — Secretly, you discovered that her heart warmed up for physical touch.

• — In the toughest times, simple hug was all she needed. Natasha has always been independent. She didn’t was to be reliant. But with you, it was easy to ask for help. Especially when you were so warm and gentle with her.

• — “Are you mad at me, krasivyy?” She asked, fiddling with her fingers as you get ready for bed.

• — “No, of course not. But I would’ve appreciated if you would’ve told me beforehand.” You say as you coddle the kitten, laying next to her as she puts her head on your chest.

• — “Okay, I will next time.” Natasha said softly, feeling like putty in your arms that held her ever so loving. As the kitten purrs in between you, she, for once, felt contented.

• — Maybe the things she was always afraid of, was the things she needed. Affection, and cats.

Agatha Harkness

• — Okay, this blood-thirsty witch is so physical touch.

• — Agatha firmly believes that she cannot live without feeling you. She has to have her hand draped over your waist, or your lower back, or even the simple act of holding your hand.

• — At first, you didn’t see her for the affectionate type. But wow, did that change when she started growing comfortable in your presence.

• — “Hey, you. What’s wrong?”

• — With Agatha practically all over your personal space as she hugs you tightly from behind, “Nothing, my love.”

• — She admires your profession, regardless of how contrast it is to her wrongdoings back then. When she first told you about her past, you could only hug her, gently caressing her hair from behind.

• — When you would come home very tired, she would use her purple to ease your tense shoulders. One time, you fell asleep in her arms because she really set the comfortable sensual mood. She smiled at you lovingly, as she lays down beside you.

• — Though, she’ll never admit it was for entirely something else.

• — What she’ll admit though, is how she appreciates every gift you give her.

• — When she talks about her interests, you look forward to searching cute gifts online just to make her smile. The unexpectancy of it all is what makes it so sweet to her, knowing that she didn’t have much growing up

• — But with you, it’s like time hadn’t stopped. Her life had kept on going, knowing she had someone to wake up with everyday.

she who walks in the road

Okay, good news or bad news?

the road in question

Bad news? Is something wrong? I have surgery in 5, babe.

she who walks in the road

I might have blasted a cute rabbit because of fear cus to be fair it was on our bed, and now it’s limping like a dummy. I am so sorry. 🕊️

the road in question

Good news?

she who walks in the road

I’m hot as fuck.

seen

• — Okay, maybe she woke up on the couch the day after. But what matters is that she loves you, immortally.

Rio Vidal

• — Not the Death herself expressing her love in words of affirmation.

• — Being a literal cosmic entity isn’t the only thing she prioritizes, or at least wasn’t when you met her. In spite of her job, she was fond of exploring the world. That was when she met you.

• — She saw you crying on a bench, your tote bag beside you. Your hands were covering your face as you sobbed uncontrollably. It was late at night, and it was dangerous for a person to be sitting alone in the evening.

• — She approached you, asking you what was wrong. You tell her how you lost your patient. You kept on saying that if you could’ve tried harder, she would’ve survived.

• — “It wasn’t your fault. Sometimes, people die because it is simply their time. I can assure you, she lived a long life and went peacefully. You tried your best, and that’s what matters.”

• — And all of a sudden, you found yourself hugging her. Rio was shocked. That was her first time being hugged by a human being, or any being at all. It felt wonderful to be hugged, she wonders if this is what people live for.

• — She was so reassuring, and you trust her with your whole heart. She would compliment you any chance she gets. Knowing someone as beautiful as you, inside and out, deserves it.

• — Years of being together, exploring the vast world with her was nothing but joy.

• — It was either reading old poetry to eachother, or you saying names of deceased people and ask her what age did they die.

• —Though her favorite part is when she hugs you at night. It was just you and her.

• — She then searches on a digital screen about the certain action. Physical touch, it read. She was extremely fond of this physical touch thing. As she spoons you, you press kisses all over her face.

• — Rio tries to hide her blushing face in the crook of your neck, but fails miserably.

• — “I love you so much. I’m glad it was you who I met that night. Otherwise, I would’ve met you in another way.”

• — The witch laughs, rolling her eyes as she laid comfortably beside you. “I love you most and more. I am certainly glad at met you the way I did, mi vida.”

• — And you brought life to death herself.

!!

milaya - darling

krasivyy - beautiful

mi vida - my life

congratulations - my love

!!

[lillian-gallows]

Kinktober Day 17: Belly Bulge with Simon "Ghost" Riley

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley X Fem!Reader Word Count: 2625 Warnings: Belly bulge (P visible from the outside), Reader and Simon both experience anxiety about sex at the beginning, Healthy communication, Vaginal fingering, P in V sex, Squirting, Protected sex (Wrap it before you tap it), So much Size Kink (Just, so much of it).

Kinktober 2024 Master(sub)list.

Minors DNI

8 months.

That’s how long you’ve been dating Simon.

8 months and things were amazing between you. He made you feel safe and cared for, listened to you vent without rolling his eyes, no matter how petty it was, made you tea and given you his own clothes to wear after one date when you both had gotten caught in the rain, held you like you were made of glass.

That last one is both the best and the worst on that list.

Now, one might wonder, how that could possibly be? Who can be upset at a man like Simon Riley treating you like his Queen?

That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that he refuses to fuck you.

Sure, you’ve done plenty together. He loves to use his fingers and mouth and seems to really like how you look with his dick in your hands, tongue lapping at the head.

But he refuses to take that dick and fuck you with it.

Well, not so much ‘refuse’ as cleverly turns your attention away from it. It’s always “Lemme make you cum one more time with my fingers.” Then he makes you cum twice more and you’re too tired and jelly limbed to even think of taking his cock, if you’re even awake by the time you’re lying on his chest.

Now, you can understand why he might be hesitant, seeing as he’s a good foot taller than you, if not more, and about twice as wide. The man looms when he stands behind you, and not on purpose, well sometimes it’s on purpose.

And to top things off, he very proportional.

Long and thick. More so than any other guy you’d ever been with, a fact that you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t fantasized about.

He’s shown that he’s more than comfortable throwing you around and making sure you stay there. But has thus far made sure not to use the one tool at his disposal that you crave the most.

You’d had the thought that maybe it was you. Maybe he wasn’t as attracted to you as you thought?

That thought was quickly discarded when you recalled that he initiates the vast majority of the time, sometimes it’s before you get the chance to do it yourself.

Okay, so you knew what the problem was, why not talk to him about it?

Well, you have. Right now.

You’re sitting in front of him on the couch wringing your hands with nerves. What if he still says no? What if you touch on some kind of trauma you didn’t know about? What if he breaks up with you? Or thinks you’re too needy?

The swirling what-ifs cease when one of his massive hands hold both of yours. “Love? What’s the matter?” He asked, voice low and gentle, like he was talking to a spooked animal.

His blond brows furrowed in concern as you had a couple non-starts, inhaling like you’re going to speak and then staying silent.

You half expected him to try to coax it out of you, but instead he just tilted his head and kept eye contact with you, showing he’s ready to listen to anything you have to say.

With a deep inhale you forced your tongue to work. “Why won’t you fuck me?” The words come out small for how vulgar they are, and you realize that you did not, in fact, fully dismiss the thought that it was you.

His eyes widened as your words registered and he blinked a couple times in shock. “What?” He asked, brows furrowing in either confusion or irritation, you’re not sure which, and it makes your heart jump up into your throat.

You pulled your hands from his, fully intending to stand up and run, as the words came flying out of your mouth. “Actually, never mind. Forget I said anything. It’s nothing.” The platitudes were a practiced rush as you looked anywhere that wasn’t at his eyes, lest he see the tears trying to well there.

“Whoa, whoa…Slow down, Love.” He said, taking your hands in his to keep you seated. “I just…Need you to run that by me again?” He said carefully, choosing his words.

Taking another deep breath, you looked down at where his hands held yours, so warm and gentle. “Why won’t you fuck me…?” You repeated, still sounding so small. “It’s just that…We do everything else, and I thought I’d made it clear that I want to, but you just…Don’t…” You felt ridiculous, like a needy brat asking for more when he already does so much.

Simon let out a slow breath as you spoke as understanding reached him, then his face did something weird. It was like he was cycling through concern and embarrassment at the same time.

“I’m sorry, Love. I should have talked to you about this a long time ago.” He said, voice seemingly settling on embarrassed.

Your own brows furrowed in confusion, but you waited for him to continue.

He cleared his throat and met your gaze. “I um…I was- am scared of hurting you.” He explained, brown eyes looking into your anxiously, like he’s worried you’ll be upset at him.

“What? Simon, you would never…” You started but he interrupted you.

“No, I mean…Love, I’m bigger than you. A lot bigger. I could hurt you if we aren’t careful, and I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.”

His admittance gave you pause. He was really worried about that? He’s very familiar with your body, and what it can take, so he should know that you’d be fine if he just did what he always does.

“Si, I’ll be fine. How many times have I begged for a third finger? And yours aren’t exactly small.” You said with a lifted brow, trying to drive home how silly that fear was.

He breathed a chuckle and nodded. “Fair point.” He conceded before shifting a bit, moving a little closer to you in his seat. “I would just hate to be the cause of your pain when I only ever want you to feel good.”

“Having sex with you would make me feel good.” That pulled another chuckle from him. “I mean it though. Simon, you have done things with just your hands that have made me plenty wet and aroused enough to take you, I’ll be more than okay.”

Letting out a sigh that seemed to lift some weight off his shoulders, he nodded slowly. “You’re right, Love. I should have said something a lot sooner, I’m sorry I didn’t” He said before bringing your hands to his lips to press them to your knuckles.

“It’s okay, I understand. I can’t say I wasn’t a little concerned too the first time I saw you’re…‘Little guy’” You joked, earning a halfhearted glare, which just got a cheeky grin in return.

“Really?” He started but you kept talking.

“I mean, that things a monster!”

“Alright.”

“A real two-hander!”

“Listen you.”

“You could swim away with that rudder!”

“That’s it!”

And just like that you were over his shoulder, giggling like the fiend you are, as he carried you to the bedroom, laying a solid smack to your ass cheek and getting a squawk for his efforts.

Kicking the door open he dropped you on the bed before crawling over you, hips positioned perfectly between your legs. “Any other clever remarks?” He asked as his face hovered inches from yours.

“Just one.” He lifted a brow indulgingly. “Is it heavy? Cause I can help with that.” You giggle once more when he rolled his eyes, smile giving away his amusement.

“Alright, that’s enough outta you.” He said before leaning in and claiming your lips with his.

All Simons kisses are careful, mindful of his greater strength, but they’re no less passionate or perfect.

He always seems to know exactly when to tilt his head, or draw your lips between his teeth, or when the escalation of tongues was right.

And you were happy to go along for the ride.

Simon, ever the attentive lover, took his sweet time stripping you of your clothes, leaving kisses and little purple marks here and there as he went, till he had you nude and panting beneath him.

He sat up to start in on his own clothes, but you followed and pushed his hands away, intent on doing it yourself, just to have more of an excuse to touch him.

With each piece of clothing cast away and each new expanse of skin revealed, you marveled at him. No one could describe him as being all hard lines. Muscular? Yes, absolutely. His military work requires it.

But real muscle meant to work and heave and lift, has fat right along with it, which meant there was a soft layer over his entire body that made you drool.

His skin was littered with marks and scars, some a lifetime old, others only a few years. Each one part of the man you were sure you loved.

From this angle, him up on his knees above you, and you sat on the mattress below him, the furthest you could reach with your hands was his chest. Your lips however could only reach his tummy, where his trimmed happy trail waited for you like a golden road.

And at the end, already hard and standing at attention, was the very thing you’d been craving this whole time.

Part of you was tempted to try to convince Simon to just skip the rest of the foreplay and get right to it, you’d waited long enough after all, but a small wise part of your brain pointed out that you’d both *just* established that that was a bad idea.

You reached out to wrap your fingers around him, but he stopped you with a warm hand around yours. “Don’t worry about me, Love. I’m more than fine.” He said before descending back over you, pressing you into the covers with his body.

It was like laying on a cloud covered with the biggest, warmest, heaviest weighted blanket ever.

His lips returned to yours, now all tongues and teeth as he nipped and bit at your lips, his hands drifting up and down your body, squeezing your hips, massaging your breasts, pinching at your sensitive nipples.

The whole time, all you could do was hold onto him, fingers caressing wherever they could reach.

Eventually he deemed it a good idea to move things along, and one of those roaming hands found its way between your bodies, then between your thighs.

Calloused fingertips slid up and down between your pussy lips, gathering your slick before circling your clit, earning Simon a moaning gasp as you clutched onto him.

He hummed in satisfaction as his thumb took over rubbing against the little bud, while the rest of his fingers continued to run up and down the length of your cunt, soft wet noises seemed loud in the room with only your breathing to accompany them.

This very quickly became not enough for you, and you couldn’t resist the urge to wiggle your hips against him, trying to get even the tip of one finger to breach your weeping hole.

Simon, of course, noticed right away, and rather than tease you, he gave you exactly what you wanted.

Pressing one to start, giving it a curl into that spot he knew was right there waiting, and when you gasped and arched into him, he grinned like the cat that got the canary as he added a second finger to his sweet torment.

You lost track of time as he worked you up, getting you to the bleeding edge before stopping, giving you a “Gotta make sure you’re good and ready…” When you’d given him a look after the first denial.

He did this three times.

By the time he deemed you ‘ready’ you were a shaking whining mess, almost to the point where you’d accept anything, even if it wasn’t his dick.

But then he moved away. “Fucking Hell, Love…” He groaned as he pulled his fingers from your body. “Can’t take any more.” He said before reaching for the bedside table, the sound of a wrapper ripping followed by a moment of almost-silence went by in a hazy horny blur.

Then he was back, body caging you in as he kissed you deep and slow. “You doing alright?” He asked against your lips, his dry fingers caressing your cheek softly.

“I’m great…” You answered before giving him a peck. “Be better when you fuck me…” You said, voice low and slow and heavy with your arousal.

He chuckled and hung his head like he couldn’t believe you were his. Then he looked back at you with an almost feral look. “Yes, Ma’am.”

After that he sat up, just enough to see what he was doing, but it allowed your arms a little more freedom, and one hand unconsciously came to rest on your belly.

Simon went slow, pressing into you little by little, inch by inch, letting you get used to the depth and the stretch of it till he was fully seated.

But when that happened, you were a little too distracted to notice any discomfort, not when you could feel his cock with your *hand*.

Lifting your head to look down you found you could *see* it too. “Oh my God…” You moaned at this revelation, head falling back onto the bed.

“Bloody fucking Hell…” Simon grunted as he looked down at you, all splayed out for him like a feast, pussy so wet his dick was drowning, face and body flushed and waiting, looking up at him like he hung the moon and stars.

And his fucking cock visible through your fucking body. Jesus fuck.

You could say he started slow and gentle, but that would be a lie.

Simon set a pace that was indeed slow, but each thrust was hard and had him brushing against every sensitive spot that you knew of, and even some you didn’t.

Between the stretch, the glorious full feeling, and the way his pubis rubbed against your clit on every thrust, it was a wonder you didn’t cum quicker.

Your body spasmed as you clenched down on Simon’s cock, wave after wave of blinding pleasure washing over you, the whole time he didn’t stop moving.

“Christ…” He groaned. “Feel amazing, Love…Could get drunk on this cunt…” His grip on your hips was bruising as he chased his high, and subsequently sent you on the path to your second.

Leaning down over you, pressing your bodies front to front, he kisses you rather sweetly, given the absolute mess he was making of you.

The way he was positioned meant two things.

One, he was closer, which was always a plus.

And two, the press of his body against your belly, meant he was pressing hard against your G-spot from both the inside and outside, catapulting you toward your second orgasm.

This one welled up tighter than the first, a much hotter knot forming, and it caught you off guard, but you couldn’t find it on yourself to care.

“Ahh, that’s it, Love…Cum for me again…C’mon…” Simon coaxed as his own end crept up on him.

When you reached the peak, your vision went white and a cry that might have been Simon’s name or it could have just been gibberish left your lips, and a wash of something very wet flooded between you and Simon as he came hard, a hot feeling contained in a prison of latex.

You both lay there panting, feeling the closeness of the other as you came down before you let out a breathless chuckle.

“Totally worth the wait…”