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muntitled · 10 months

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𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫: 𝐑𝐢𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

★ ot7 x fem!reader

★ The Riize members who would respond the best at being called 'Daddy' (Shotaro, Eunseok, Sungchan, Wonbin)

★ warnings: nsfw, +18, dom/sub dynamics, Daddy Kink, Praise Kink, Phone sex

─── ⋆⋅ Shotaro

Your voice is stern and remarkably unimpressed when you call your boyfriend's name from the kitchen. Only a couple seconds later, and Shotaro is lazily strolling in... large hands buried in his pockets with that distinct smile stretching the corners of his full lips. His eyes swell with mischief as he leans against the fragile counter.

"Yes, my love?" He sings in a tone of voice that Shotaro weaponizes against you time and time again. When his voice was as airy as it is right now, drenched in literal honey, it proved significantly difficult not to give into his advances.

Right now, however, you're perfectly unaffected by his smile. Instead, you cross your arms over your chest, giving him a death glare as you lean against the counter adjacent to him.

Shotaro's smile is immovable.

"God, you're so sexy when you're frustrated." He pushes himself over the counter, slyly prowling his way to you. "Makes me wanna-"

You push lightly at his chest. Turning instead, to just your head at the pickle jar sitting idly on the counter beside you both. "Open it."

Your voice is stern and monotonous with all traces of jest gone. "I don't have time for your nonsense, Shotaro."

"Ooh!" He exclaims, "My government name? You must really be mad," he snickers before bending down to splay slow wet kisses along your cheek.

"Shotaro." You push at him again, but his hands immediately fly to your hips.

"I'll open it," he whispers, voice heavy, "Just ask nicely," therein lay the proverbial catch. Shotaro could never just be nice for the sake of it. There was always a catch.

"Just..." he places his index finger under your chin, dragging your face up until your eyes were piercing into his. "Just ask me nicely."

Your breathing grows increasingly labored because your boyfriend is unfortunately incredibly attractive and incredibly persuasive. You watch the longing in his eyes grow with immense skepticism.

"I'll just ask Sungchan-"

He cackles loudly, "Do that and you won't get to cum for a month." He's smiling with his head tilted but one thing you learned was that Shotaro rarely ever made idle threats.

"Now c'mon," he says, bending down to you, "Just ask."

You're slipping unceremoniously into your subspace because he's cradling your face now. His shoulders are hunched over you protectively and you close your eyes as you force those words out.

"Please open the jar for me-" You begin, but his grip on your face is unrelenting as he sings, "Aaaahh-"

"Please open the jar for me," Your shoulders slump and exhale in defeat, "Daddy."

"See! How easy that was?" He praises you with a big peck on lips before swerving to pick up the jar of pickles. The big dopey grin he sports makes your embarrassment worthwhile, and Shotaro watches as you munch on your pickles.

"I like it when you ask for my help!"

─── ⋆⋅ Eunseok

It happens during dinner, more specifically, a group dinner to which you were so graciously invited along with the other partners of the other members. Excitement flowed like an electrical current in the air and everyone seemed pleasantly tipsy, whether by alcohol or just the overly infectious and good vibe. Naturally, your inhibitions are on an all time low, as you lazily leaned into your boyfriend while a flurry of waiters brought forth the second course.

Eunseok had been comfortable extending his voice over the chatter in the room while still allowing you to keep a steady grip around his bicep. His hand lazily sitting atop your lap, rubbing dizzying circles on your exposed thigh.

You're not sure how long this had been going on, Eunseok's fingers gradually hiking your pleated skirt up higher and higher while he remained chatting with his friends.

You couldn't contain yourself once his hand finally slipped inside, up under your skirt...

Instead of stopping him, instead of pushing him away by the hardened contours of his bicep, you let it happen. Releasing a small, little exhale as you opened your legs ever so slightly.

Despite still in animated conversation with Shotaro, you could hear the smirk peppered in his voice as his fingers eased their way against your cunt.

The mewl that escaped your throat was downright ungodly, but it succeeded in lightly coaxing Eunseok away from his previous conversation.

His eyes are heavy with seamless intoxication as he looks down at you with a breathless, close lipped smile. It's as if him previously ignoring you, had been It's own thing, along with rubbing your soaking cunt under the table.

Eunseok's eyes are glimmering when he bends down to whisper,

"You good?"

You most certainly did not have the current brain capacity to tell him you were absolutely not good because you've taken to opening your legs even wider. You shift uneasily, trying to create as much friction while still appearing inconspicuous, and Eunseok's eyes only grow heavier.

He fucking adores seeing you needy. He loved pushing you past the bounds of your own sensibilities. When your relationship began, it had been a case of 'if'. Whether it was actually possible to have his overly smart, overly independent girlfriend, cock drunk to the point incoherence. Once Eunseok learned that you were a fan of forfeiting the power in the bedroom, his goalposts had shifted to 'how quickly' he could get you to become a messy, needy little slut.

Evidently, this evening, it did not take much at all and he thanked the alcohol.

Panicking, you chose instead to focus on what was in front of you. A plate of glazed skewers that remained untouched, "Um..." you begin awkwardly while viciously apptempting to stave off just how needy you were, "I didn't order that-fuck," Your sentence wavers into a haorse crack as Eunseok's finger swipes over your puffy, clothed clit. In your periphery, his giant frame bends over your like an umbrella, focusing on your each and every movements.

"I didn't ask for..." You're absolutely fargone at this point, stopping and starting sentences while your brain fought the pleasure, "I didn't ask for the glazed squid skewers."

"You were in the bathroom," he immediately adds, and a jumpstart in conversation from the rest of the room would have completely made his next words go unnoticed. However, because you were hanging over everything falling out of his lips, you most definitely heard it. "I ordered for you."

Eunseok's fingers finally push past the barriers of your drenched panties, making direct contact with your weeping cunt.

"Is that going to be a problem?"

"Fuck- no, Daddy."

You immediate slapped a hand over your mouth, letting yourself whimper into the palm of your hand as your heart raged in its cage.

His face is expressionless.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" There was a dangerous, heavy lilt in his voice that made you assume you wholly and completely fucked up. For all of 2 seconds you mourn your own dignity. That was made even worse when Eunseok pulls his fingers out of your cunt, and up from under your skirt as he patted the material over your legs.

"We're leaving." He said to the rest of the group, "She has a work thing,"

He pulls you up by your forearm, leading you to pass his members and their unsatisfactory rumblings.

Before you even mame it outside, he pulls you towards him, letting his warm breathe ghost over your ear as he hissed, "I need you to call me that shit again," he breathes out. "This time, with my dick inside you."

─── ⋆⋅ Sungchan

His brows are glimmering with evidence of pregnant beads of sweat, but still, his mouth is unrelenting. Sungchan eats you out with absolute zeal every single time without fail. Some nights, your sex would consist purely of Sungchan pulling your legs over the side of his bed, while his tall frame descended on your weeping cunt as if it were his second dinner. He was brash and incredibly passionate, as he locked his giant arms around your arms when he caught sight of you trying to escape.

For the most part, however, Sungchan's eyes are heavy-lidded with lust as he French kisses your pussy like he his life depended on it.

"Fuck, Channie-"

A sharp pinch on your thigh releases a very curt, very loud yelp from your throat, and you glare down at him. Sungchan's eyes are deadly as he pulls his head back ever so slightly. His lower face is glistening with your juices, but he refuses to wipe anything away.

"Am I not eating you out good enough?" He asks, head tilting as if he were genuinely perplexed. "Why would you call me Sungchan," he sneers at the very thought.

"Ew." He adds, before lowering his face back down to your center.

"The sooner you take what I'm giving you, the sooner we'll both get to cum," he did not clarify further as he reattached his eager lips to your cunt. Sungchan was not lying about the fact that he too was quickly approaching orgasm. He's pushing his cock into the side of bed, where he kneeled. Ab muscles tightening as he splays sloppy kisses on your cunt. His tongue, delving past your folds, as far into your hole as it could go.

"J-Just like that, Daddy," Your fingers curl into Sungchan's hair and he perks up like an overstimulated puppy. His eyes crinkle at the sides as he moans straight into your pussy.

Sungchan's hips thrust against the bed, almost at the exact same pace his tongue was fucking up into you. All you saw were stars, and your vision blurred as you pulled his face even closer against your pussy.

Although he enjoyed everything you gave him, Sungchan would admit in a heartbeat that this was his favorite part. This is why he loved eating you out. He loved the depravity of it. He loved watching you loose every shred of sinisibility, belonging to him and him alone.

"That's it, baby," he'd whisper, "Doing so fucking good for Daddy..."

─── ⋆⋅ Wonbin

Your heart is swollen in its cage when you realize he's most definitely tired. Instead of resting his undoubtedly tired muscles, letting sleep take him away into the night garden, he is up, talking to you.

"-That was probably my favourite part. Although I do think I could've probably done better in the second verse..."

Tedium is thick in Wonbin's voice. Almost as thick as the gruff tenor that flows from his mouth, through the receiver held to your ear.

"Didn't I say you're not allowed to do that," You scold lightly.

He sighs heavily through the phone, and you can almost imagine his dark eyes rolling, "I shouldn't focus on anything out of my control, I know that."

You nod. "What's done is done, and I think you killed it thank you very much,"

You may never really know of the cataclysmic effect your praise has on your boyfriend. Even when you were a billion kilometers apart, being connected by a single phone call, Wonbin still feels his body heat up as if you were right there, in bed beside him. He can practically feel the bed dip in the phantom presence of your curves shifting up against him. If he closed his eyes and listened to your praise bleed from the receiver, he could imagine you were right underneath him, taking everything he had to give.

"Binnie?" You suddenly ask, and Wonbin snaps his eyes open, gazing up at the ceiling. Although he is alarmed to find that his hand had drifted underneath the waistband of his Nike sweatpants, Wonbin's voice is stable. Giving nothing away as he breathes out,

"I'm here. I'm just..." His words do not trail off indefinitely because Wonbin does not gave the capacity to sound unsure about anything. In fact, he sounds very much in control.

"I need you to tell me where you are right now..." that causes you to sit up straighter against the headboard, a rush of excitement spanning through the undercurrent of blood in your veins.

"I'm at home," you whisper back, not quite sure why you were whispering but feeling the need to nonetheless.

"Hmmm," the sound reached your ears with the satisfaction of a very big purring cat, "Can you touch yourself for me?"

You obey without a second thought. Wonbin had never been easy to overstep. His overall aura practically coaxed you into obeying his every word and so it is of no surprise to you, that your hands are already firmly down your shorts, legs parted as you grinded against your palm.

Your labored breathing is enough to push Wonbin even further down his spiral of lust and he groans as he says, "Fuck yourself with your fingers, baby," how you adored hearing his pet names, especially when your mind was utterly buzzing with desire. "Imagine I'm there with you right now-"

"Oh, fuck," easing your fingers inside of yourself had been far too was given just how slippery your pussy was. Wondbin begins to stroke his cock faster as the lewd sounds of you fucking yourself with your own fingers, travel through the receiver.

You're a moaning and whimpering mess while Wonbin's only noise of enjoyment is his heavy, labored breathing. His mouth is open and his eyes closed shut.

"Fuck, you feel so good, baby," He says, kneedeep into his own fantasy, "Taking me so fucking well." He strokes himself faster. "Are you close, baby?"

"F-fuck yes, Daddy." The first real and raw sound of lust slips passed Wonbin's mouth.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me cum." He whispers with his mind still reeling. "Say it again... Tell daddy just how close you are to making a mess on your fingers..." He urged, now on the doorstep of his orgasm, "Fucking say it again, baby... Please?"

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amuromi · 9 months

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★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 9.9k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! heian era!au, concubine!reader, true form!Sukuna, unprotected sex, established relationship (married), canon typical violence, era typical misogyny/gender roles, unhealthy obsession, mentions of death, mentions of cannibalism and blood, (Sukuna is a lunatic), Sukuna is referred to exclusively as “Lord Sukuna”

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ I got a bit carried away with this one. My love of psychological horror was clawing to be free but I think I kept it pretty contained…

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 ✦ ⋆˙ engawa ┈ a hallway-like path surrounding the house ⋆ shoji ┈ a sliding door/divider ⋆ koto ┈ a Japanese zither/stringed instrument

The winter storm has leached everything into bleak shades of black and white, like ink on parchment. The trees are thick black strokes against the deep gray clouds, dusted with a thick layer of snow as flurries fall like stars through the courtyard. In the moonlight each snowflake shines like pearls, soft and lustrous as they dance on the wind. From the edge of the engawa it almost looks like staring into the great gaping mouth of a beast that’s swallowed the world, spears of ice hanging like jagged teeth from the edge of the roof, the wind shuddering through the estate in howling gusts. The cold night is scented with dreams of spring, sweet smelling coal burning in braziers, wafting gray wisps of floral-scented smoke into the wind.

It’s quiet aside from the sharp whistling of the wind and the hissing of snow melting over hot coals, then, somewhere within the estate, a bell tolls for the Hour of the Rooster. Nightfall, despite the veil of darkness already laid out by the storm clouds. Suddenly there’s the sound of footsteps soft as summer rain, pattering through the estate and the shoji begin to blossom with the warmth of firelight as candles are lit throughout the sprawling house. More snow gathers in soft sheets over the courtyard before there’s a gentle knock to announce a soft-footed servant coming to renew the braziers and light the lanterns. The scent of lavender is renewed as the coals are sifted and replaced and the engawa is streaked with blushing shades of gold as the pink-tinged paper lanterns are lit in turn.

Of all the rooms in the vast estate, yours is the most adorned. Which is to say, it looks as though your room is used for more than sleeping. There’s a modest desk with inks and paper, a small table for combs and perfumes, and a trunk for miscellaneous things beside the chest of drawers filled with kimono. When she’s lit the last lantern, you ask the girl to send for your personal maid. A dowry servant, though not originally one of yours. Life in this estate is fleeting in that way.

An unbalanced teacup had been the undoing of the girl your father sent to accompany you in your marriage. Stained silk and scalded skin, later soaked with splatters of blood. But the tatami were changed and the kimono and girl were replaced. Your new maid is a bit older–a few years your senior–originally belonging to a woman that came before you. Certainly not First Mistress because she would loathe to see you even look upon anything of hers. No, she served a less honored concubine that wasn’t worthy of the title “wife,” even if it’s a hollow honor in itself. Still, your maid had belonged to the unknown mistress before she perished. It all happened before you were brought to the estate, but the haggard weight of the loss still sits heavy on her shoulders. Her face always looks like a crumpled piece of paper that someone tried to smooth flat, creased with hidden worries. She arrives quickly, kneeling to await her orders.

“I’m happy,” you tell her. “A new Mistress is joining the family tonight, isn’t that right? Happy news.” The maid hums something to the tune of affirmation, long since grown used to your unflinchingly jovial disposition. She once asked if you wear a smiling mask throughout the day and take it off once you sleep. It’s a silly question, of course, but you like to imagine that you smile even in your sleep. There is nothing to be sad about. Living a life such as this is no different than a deer grazing in a meadow. There is nothing beyond the grass. Nothing farther than the horizon or higher than the tallest tree. What is there to be sad about when the world has been folded into something small enough to hold in your hands, a piece of origami meant to be appreciated and not pondered. There’s happiness in the simplicity that this life provides, though you seem to be the only one to realize it.

The other two Mistresses of the house say that you should be locked up in a rice chest and left out to die. That it’s cruel to let you live in such a state of delusion. How little they know, yet it’s still too much. At times, it seems that they are far deeper in their minds than you’ve ever been. Caught up in worries and tribulations that haven’t plagued you in a long time, since you let go of your humanity. What use is pretending to be human when you’re treated like a pet. Treasured and pampered but still inferior to the master of the house. Because your husband has no true use for human brides. In keeping the three of you, he has honored each of your families with the knowledge that their blood has produced something too intriguing to kill off just yet. Perhaps if he desires an offspring to assume his legacy he’ll have a true use for one of you.

Other brides have been offered and had their families culled like squashing bugs. It made you feel some air of superiority, knowing that you were chosen from a dozen women to be honored as a new wife to the King of Curses. It only took a few months for you to realize your place in all this and the last thread of your humanity snapped like a frayed koto string. Thinking of yourself as a person is useless when the person that holds your life within his hands sees you as no more than a doll to be toyed with as he sees fit.

“I’m happy.” You always mean it when you say it. Happiness is all you have left when faced with the truth of how finite your existence is. There is no world beyond the walls of this estate. No people beyond its residence and staff. No purpose outside of serving your husband with unwavering loyalty. In that regard you are the most precious of his wives. The others, their devotion wavers. You’ve seen it in the way they still hesitate to follow simple instructions, still tremble and shrink in Lord Sukuna’s presence even as you bloom like a flower in the light of the sun. He is your sun. There is no life without him. Which is why you are happy to simply exist in this small world that he’s made for you.

His power has greatly uncomplicated your existence, turned it to something purposeful, something that will end when you’re no longer of use. And Lord Sukuna will always tell you when you serve no further purpose to him. How many underlings has he executed because they were no longer of use? You imagine they must’ve felt great pride in the moments before their demise at the hands of their King. Pride in knowing that they did what they were made to do. As a child you had scoffed at the idea that your only purpose was to be wed and serve your husband as a proper wife should, but that was when the husband of your future was set to be someone unremarkable. Lord Sukuna is greater than any man that’s ever lived. Perhaps even ascended beyond the concept of a man to become the strongest sorcerer to ever live. As the daughter of a highly regarded family known for birthing remarkable sorcerers, you take pride in your small but purposeful place in all this. The culling of clans, the clashing of factions trying to unseat your husband. History will remember you because you will play your part until the very end. An end you’ll greet with a smile if it should come by your husband’s hand.

“Will the Fourth Mistress be here soon?” A new deer to join the herd, a new flower planted in the garden.

“By the Hour of the Bird, the last message said.” Your maid agrees. Soon, a new Mistress will be here. It’s been so long since another woman has joined hands with Lord Sukuna. The last being yourself nearly two years ago. First Mistress had been collected three years ago, and Second Mistress came along only a short few months behind her. Lord Sukuna had waited half a year after that to marry a third wife, and you must’ve served him well because there’s been no need for another until now. It makes you wonder if death is close at hand. A raven had come earlier in the day, before the snow began to fall, announcing that Lord Sukuna would be returning from his excursion by nightfall. Perhaps he wanted to arrive home in time to greet his new bride.

Fourth Mistress. Unlucky number Four, terrible number Four. Blowing into her marriage with a snow storm. It’s all terribly inauspicious, but Lord Sukuna has reason for everything he does. Nothing is without purpose. Even death has cause when dealt by his hand. Even if it comes tonight you will go towards it fully satisfied. The snowfall looks beautiful, and the cold isn’t so terrible with the legion of braziers burning around you and the thick furs draped over your shoulders. It’s a wonderful night to die if it should come to that.

“Shall we go welcome her?”

“First Mistress insisted that you need not be present for Fourth Mistress’ arrival, your highness.” First Mistress, Jurina, whose hatred towards you cannot be quelled by any manner of platitudes.

When you first arrived, you’re sure it was mere jealousy that compelled her to act out against you. A multitude of wives is not uncommon among high ranking men, but rarely is it expected that they should all live together. Most wives are left in their parents’ homes to be visited whenever their husband deems it fit. To walk the hall of your home and come across the woman your husband sees when he is not with you must be jarring to the first woman he married. Jurina seemed adamant about dispelling you from the family upon your first arrival. Now, her animosity isn’t borne of jealousy, but discomfort.

Your happiness makes her nervous. She’s said it herself. Snapping and raging at you for your unflinching smile even as she and Second Mistress have slowly begun to lose themselves in the monotony of this life. Sitting and waiting, then serving when Lord Sukuna comes home. To them, your complacency, your happiness, is something eerie and othered. Akin to the curses your families seek to eradicate. Unnatural. Inhuman. Though it hardly matters what they think of you. They are not your reason for being, and Lord Sukuna seems to find your smile charming.

Despite the chill, you find yourself reaching for a fan. A gift from Uraume. They’re strangely doting towards you in a way that they aren’t to Lord Sukuna’s other wives, bringing you gifts when they accompany Lord Sukuna on long trips away from the estate. A set of calligraphy brushes, a jade bracelet, a new kimono. You’ve amassed quite a collection of possessions by Uraume’s spoiling, though the fans are your favorite. All made a beautifully lacquered wood, some painted with gilded designs, the folded paper painted by the hands of careful artists. Crashing waves and blossoming trees decorate each of your fans and you take great pride in keeping them all in pristine condition because you’d hate to perform a dance with a damaged fan.

Of all of the things filling your room, your koto is the most precious. It had belonged to your mother and she offered it with teary eyes as your wedding gift, absolutely bereft that she had to marry her daughter off to a monster to appease the head of your father’s clan. But such was your purpose in being born into a highly acclaimed sorcerer clan. Take your blood and lend your body to another clan so that you might make more powerful jujutsu users. Your father had complained of the waste in sending you off to quell the King of Curses, insisting that sending you to Lord Sukuna would be a waste of a bride. Curses have no use for brides nor, truly, does their King. Still, Lord Sukuna keeps all of you alive and well in his home. To what end? It’s hardly your concern.

“Bring my koto,” you hum. “I want to dance.”

The maid goes about carrying the large stringed instrument to the edge of the room where the opened shoji separates the warmth of your room from the chill of the engawa. It is a happy coincidence that your maid had been taught to play the koto some years ago when she was still an eligible maiden. But her father grew ill and when he passed her mother sent her off to find work to support herself because she couldn’t afford a dowry to marry her off properly. So she sits and serves, waiting for you to name your song of choice with her fingers poised over the strings. The song you choose is one of comfort, the first your mother ever taught you when you were learning to dance and play. There’s a practiced grace to your movements, smooth as a flowing river as you dance with your fan. The song is short but it is always your favorite to perform.

A rare beauty in the north, she’s the finest woman on earth. A glance from her, the city falls. A second glance leaves the nation in ruins. There exists no city or nation that has been more cherished than a beauty like this.

Flecks of snow melt against the bare nape of your neck, so cold it feels like burning, but you want to keep dancing. The weather has no bearing on your mood. Rain or shine you are happy to sing and dance, amusing yourself as you wait to be of use to your lord husband. Perhaps he has already returned home along with his new bride but without the order to accompany him you will stay in your room, performing to your heart’s content. Your maid begins to pluck out the notes of your next song request, fingers stuttering over the strings as if she’s forgotten how to play the melody. That’s alright, you will dance even without proper music, swinging your fan with practiced poise as your voice contests with the howling of the storm. It’s a song of longing and melancholy. Fitting for a woman separated from her husband.

Are you going away? Leaving me alone? How could I live if you’ve gone away? Are you going away? Leaving me alone? I want to keep you unhappy with me. I fear you may never return. Sadly, I will let you go–

“Stop whining, I’m here.” A voice interrupts your singing, a smooth timbre that rumbles like a roll of thunder. So please, come back soon after you leave. In a heartbeat you’re on the floor, kneeling before your husband. Lord Sukuna is soiled from his travels. Kimono stained and torn, the scent of blood lingering heavily around him, along with the buzzing aura of excess cursed energy leaking into the cold air around him.

“Welcome home, Lord Sukuna.” He purrs at how you prostrate yourself at his feet, always so satisfied with your absolute submission. He once told you your lack of fear was something intriguing, your unwavering adoration far more interesting than submission borne of fear. It’s something he’s found in so few of his followers and you imagine it’s why he shows such preference for Uraume’s company. Of all of your husband’s subordinates, they are by far the most devout. Perhaps even more than you because they know what Lord Sukuna is trying to achieve with all the calamity he causes. Your lord husband has never made you privy to that knowledge, and as a good wife you remember it is not your place to ask. If you are meant to know something, he’ll tell you.

“Get out.” His voice is thick with something akin to revulsion, though you don’t bother to raise your head. Lord Sukuna hasn’t spoken to you so gruffly since you first proved your devotion to him. Behind you there’s the sound of frantic movements as your maid assumedly makes herself scarce in the presence of her master. When she’s gone Lord Sukuna gives you permission to lift your head. In the low light, you can hardly see his face. It’s hard to tell Lord Sukuna’s mood even in bright lighting. He hardly changes from his stoic expression unless there’s blood being spilled, then a smile–more like a deranged baring of his fanged teeth–finds its way onto his face.

“Come bathe with me.” He doesn’t wait for you to react, already halfway down the engawa by the time you gather yourself enough to stand. Lord Sukuna traverses the estate with practiced ease, as if this was his childhood home and not all place of residence usurped from some affluent family. Though the perks of Lord Sukuna’s minions commandeering such a luxurious home for their leader and his family are the accommodations afforded to only the highest nobility. Because only families with more money than time to spend it can afford to build their home large enough to encompass a hot spring along with all the other necessary land. The air is humid around the bathhouse, curtained with steam as clouds of warm air seep out of the secluded space.

Lord Sukuna stands expectantly at the edge of the rocks surrounding the steaming pool, waiting for you to fulfill your wifely duties. With great haste you begin to undress him. His kimono is ruined beyond repair, delicate white silk tattered and stained with browning patches of blood. Still, you take great care in folding each article as it’s removed from his body. There’s no added layers despite the inclement weather, no added underclothes beneath the outer layer of clothing. Your hands reach skin sooner than you expected, flinching away from the warmth of his muscles as if his skin were an open flame. Despite your status as his wife and your consequently intimate knowledge of his body, you still err on the side of caution when it comes to touching Lord Sukuna. He had only asked you to undress him, not to run your fingers over the corded muscles of his arms. Luckily, your husband seems unconcerned with the wayward touch. Instead of snapping at you he rolls his shoulders as if the layers of clothes had been restricting his movements. In all likelihood, they probably have.

Lord Sukuna is something that is no longer human. A higher being ascended beyond the physicality of a normal man, as if his body could no longer handle the brunt of his power and needed to evolve to fit the newly emerging shape of his soul. Once, before you first laid eyes upon him, Lord Sukuna had the appearance of a mere man. An unremarkable face and body. But now he has become something beyond the shape of a human. “A two faced demon with four arms,” as the members of your clan had called him when talks of appeasing the great King of Curses began whispering through the halls of your maiden home. Of course his rumored differences held no bearing on whether or not the clan would be willing to sacrifice a bride to satisfy the Disgraced One. His four eyes and black markings make no difference to your devotion. He is still the husband you’ve dedicated your life to.

Tentatively, you try to strike up a conversation as Lord Sukuna settles himself in the warm pool. “Has Fourth Mistress arrived yet?”

“Yes, she arrived before I did. I expected you to be with the others, fawning over her. Why weren’t you?” His tone is calculated as if he is trying to decide if there is cause for punishment. Your next words are chosen carefully.

“First Mistress did not think–it was requested that I not attend to Fourth Mistress’ arrival.”

“Are you not my wife?” Lord Sukuna asks, annoyance thick in his tone. Of course you are. In this life you are nothing if not his wife. “I expect that you’ll act your part. The lady of the house is meant to greet guests upon their arrival. I don’t care what Jurina says. You’re of noble birth. You know the rules on how to conduct yourself. Act like it.”

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, my lord, but I am not the lady of the house. That is First Mistress Jurina’s title.” To go against your husband’s word is wrong, reason enough for him to lash out at you, but it is the truth that Jurina is always reminding you of. She is First Mistress, the matron of the estate. It is you that is a lowly concubine in comparison to her status as a legal wife. Lord Sukuna bristles at your insolence and you duck your head to receive your reproach. He’s a short distance away, submerged to his waist in the warm water, but Lord Sukuna can move like a striking snake. It would only take half a beat of your heart for him to reach you and tear it from your chest if he so desires it.

Tonight’s admonishment is far less violent. Coming in the form of a disparaging growl before he snaps at you to undress. You do so with the same care that you disrobed your husband. As his wife, you are an extension of him, and you dare not mistreat his items in his presence. Once your clothes are folded you approach Lord Sukuna with hesitant steps. You’ve discovered that drowning and burning are the worst means of death and the boiling water of the hot spring is a combination of both. Still, if tonight will be wasted on death, at least it will come in Lord Sukuna’s arms. He reaches to help you into the water, drawing you close while his second pair of arms stay splayed on the rocks behind him. He moves you as he pleases like a doll being perched on a shelf, positioning you to straddle his thigh.

“Look at me, woman.” His tone doesn’t sound angry, but that has never been a successful way to guess at Lord Sukuna’s intentions. He can execute someone with a smile. You hope he’ll offer you that same cruel grin when he pushes hot beneath the bubbling water.

“I do not care what order I married any of you in. It should be clear by now that you are the woman of this house. First or third, it doesn’t matter. Jurina’s words hold no weight over you. Do I make myself clear?” There’s a franticness to the way you nod your head, chirping out a pinched “yes, Lord Sukuna!” as he holds your chin to keep your eyes on his.

“You’re the only wife that matters to me, stupid woman. The rest,” he scoffs, “I wouldn’t spit down their throats even if their lungs were on fire. Even the new one. Jurina is nothing and no one. I will kill her right now if it will please you.”

And that had been the original crux of Jurina’s jealousy. The priority with which Lord Sukuna always seemed to treat you. There were always rumors about the estate that you are the favored wife, the one that truly matters, but it is hard to believe rumors when Lord Sukuna hardly does anything to validate them. Though his constant quelling of his temper in your presence should be evidence enough. It’s a rare thing for your husband to lash out at you, but you always assumed it was simply because you were careful with your actions. Never giving him any reason to turn his ire against you. It’s plain to see now that the reason for your persisted well treatment is simple. You are his favorite wife.

Possessive as he is, Lord Sukuna has favorites in everything. Cursed weapons that he favors over all others, and servants that he calls on more often than the rest. To know you hold weight among his most precious possessions is dizzying. Of course, to Lord Sukuna, a favorite thing is a useful thing. It’s easy to imagine that you’re the most useful of his four wives. Neither of your seniors have remarkable cursed techniques despite hailing from quite notable families in the hierarchy of the jujutsu world. And any technique they do possess is woefully untrained as is expected of women in the world of sorcery. Women of jujutsu-laden clans are meant to be vessels from which the next generation of male sorcerers are born, not taught to be sorcerers in their own right.

It was only by a terrible coincidence that you were able to train your own technique. A jealous cousin and a well. A harsh push to your back after she whispered about how she should be the one to marry first despite her inferior talents as a homemaker. She got her wish, the husband she so covetously desired. Last you heard she’d been returned to your family’s estate after being set aside for a more fitting woman.

When she pushed you, falling felt like flying and dying felt like burning as your lungs filled with water. In the end you’d spent nearly a week at the bottom of that seldom used well, floundering for your life as your cursed technique kept you in a constant loop of dying and reviving, bursting back to life stronger than when you died. Chrysalis is what your family had taken to calling your ability when you were finally fished out with a bucket of water. Death was something impermanent to you, though the manner of which you passed holds bearing on how long you’ll be stuck in your “cocooned” state. You imagine being killed by means of jujutsu would kill you properly, forever, but no one has been bold enough to try. Certainly not now that you are a treasured wife of the King of Curses. Though you’re sure Lord Sukuna will kill you eventually, when your purpose has been served. For now, it seems your purpose is to provide him with the comforts a wife can offer her husband.

“Kiss me.” He commands, hand on your jaw already pulling you towards him. There’s never been anything delicate about Lord Sukuna as far as you could tell. He’s always had an air of harshness to him, something wild and untamed that bleeds into his every movement. You’ve decided it must be because he lives the same as you, unimpeded by the world around him. The King of Curses bows to nothing and no one, so why should he govern himself by the laws and morals of humanity. Kindness, restraint, it doesn’t seem to exist to your lord husband. The same way fear no longer exists to you. So when Lord Sukuna’s hand–large enough to hold your head in his palm–pulls you towards his fanged mouth, you feel nothing but unadulterated lust. It’s unbecoming of a woman to find herself so lost in her bodily whims but you’re no longer just a woman. You’re Lord Sukuna’s woman, and within the walls of his home, shame no longer exists. You melt against him as his sharp teeth find the softness of your lips. Blood spills between your open mouths, dripping down your bodies before dripping into the water with a soft tinge of pink.

“Sweet,” he hums.

It’s no secret that Lord Sukuna is prone to fits of bloodlust so blinding he’ll tear his teeth into anything soft he can find, no matter the origin of the flesh. Animal or human it’s all the same when he’s tearing his claws through a warm body. He’s mentioned sampling your body once. How he’s thought about tearing off bits and pieces of you to taste. Of course, he told you that he would only maim you in such a way as punishment for misbehavior–it hardly matters when death would only find you mended and made anew–though it hasn’t stopped him from sinking his teeth into you when he’s wrapped up in another kind of lust.

Usually imperceptible if you aren’t looking for it, the only sign of Lord Sukuna’s arousal stands proudly between your legs, so large they breach the surface of the water as he holds you steady in his lap. His upper arms are still splayed out on the stone behind him as he reclines as if he is seated on a throne. He’s shown you what a throne fit for the King of Curses would look like, but only once. In his domain. An infinite wasteland bathed in blood with a single shrine standing at its heart. A corrupted chinjusha of flesh and bone. All gaping maws and cracked skulls. A shrine dedicated to the only higher power Lord Sukuna will ever respect; himself. The strange mouth splitting a seam between his muscles always reminds you of his Malevolent Shrine, of the four grotesque mouths that stand where the four doors of a shrine would be. Its tongue is strangely textured, like that of a cat’s as it lolls out of his stomach to lap at your skin. Sometimes you find yourself wondering if Lord Sukuna has control over the appendage or if it acts of its own volition each time the grainy feeling drags over your body, but it isn’t your place to ask. Who has control or not, it doesn’t matter. Lord Sukuna is your husband and you relish even the smallest touch whether it’s intentional or not.

“Are you going to please your husband?” He asks. The answer is always simple. Yes. It is your sole purpose now that he’s taken you as his wife and torn your world into the smallest pieces until only this single scrap remains. It’s becoming so precious no matter how small and defaced it becomes. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you stepped out of line. Tried to leave the estate, tried to defy Lord Sukuna. In truth, you’ll never know. Your husband is your world and your world is your husband. Of course you will do everything within your power to please him. He seems satisfied with just the look in your eyes as you stare up at him, waiting for his next command. If it would please him you’d slash yourself open, spill your innards into his lap and watch him feast on your flesh. His true wish is far more gentle, something a more humble husband would ask of his bride.

“Touch me.” His clawed hand is already guiding yours to his stiffness, wrapping your fingers over the length of him. It’s so strange that curses can bleed, but Lord Sukuna isn’t exactly a curse nor is he a human. He’s something more but his heart beats just the same. You feel it in your palm as his cock twitches in your grip, thick veins thrumming under his skin. Perhaps it’s the water or more likely it’s something innate to your husband because he always feels hot to the touch, his skin is nearly scalding as you wrap your hands around his twin cocks, fingers spread too wide to touch around his girth. Lord Sukuna looks pleased as he leans back, eyes watching you as if to catch a flaw in your presentation. A rogue frown or unintended scowl that would prove your supposed dedication false.

Even after so long he’s waiting for you to break, to truly realize what you’re doing and be disgusted enough to shrink away. The only thing you feel at this moment is heady arousal. It pools like molten lava deep in your stomach, seeping between your legs and into the water. There’s been no permission given so you remain still, but your hips ache to shift against the strength of Lord Sukuna’s chiseled thigh, to relieve a bit of the tension his lingering gaze has caused. But his hand hasn’t strayed from your hip, in fact his grip has tightened with each stroke of your hands. There’s a stinging bite as his claws dig through your skin, burying deep enough to draw blood despite the composure still set in stone on his face. He is still a man in some regard. Still a husband enjoying the touch of his wife. The thought blooms sweetly in your chest, lifting a soft smile to your lips. Lord Sukuna notices in an instant, four eyes still trained on your face. He snatches your chin up, straining your neck with how quickly he guides your eyes towards his.

“What are you smiling about, brat?” Another attempt to catch you in a lie, to find some falsehood in your contentment. Even your lord husband finds himself questioning if your happiness is true. You thumb over the head of one of his cocks, bringing the taste to your lips. And because he is watching you so intensely you make a coquettish show of dragging your tongue over the pad of your finger, gasping when Lord Sukuna’s fingers bury deeper into your delicate skin. There will be cuts and bruises when he’s done with you. There always are. Then your maid–or, on some occasions, Uraume–will come to tend to your body marked by your husband’s touch. You like the way your body burns when he’s through with you, memories of his touch simmering in your mind. He scoffs when you wrap your lips around your thumb. With a cruel smile he hooks his own thumb into your mouth, talon scraping against your tongue as he pulls your jaw until your mouth is as wide as you can bear with only the slightest twinge of pain.

Drool pools in your mouth, dripping out of the corners as they sting with the strain of Lord Sukuna’s strength. He sneers, looking pleased with the mess you’re making as he leans down to lick it up before spitting it back into your open mouth. You nearly choke and rush to swallow with a rattling cough. It tastes like blood, likely your own though you wonder if your husband sank his teeth into something before coming to you. The blood on his clothes looked dry, though you can never be certain with Lord Sukuna. You banish the thought, thrilled with the way he no longer seems to be dividing his focus.

Before he had looked uninterested, as if his mind was elsewhere even as he looked at you servicing him so happily. Now he’s leaned in close enough for you to see his eyelashes, a rare treat with his immense stature. He’s nearly all you can see, all you can feel and you revel in it as your world shrinks to this tiny pinprick. There’s nothing outside this bathhouse. Only the infinite nothingness that surrounds a domain. The world could come apart outside these four walls and you wouldn’t care as long as Lord Sukuna keeps you in his arms. As if he knows your thoughts, the very deepest desires of your heart, Lord Sukuna drags you up his leg by the hand still embedded in the fat of your hips and the feeling sings through your body as your clit catches against the firmness of his thigh. Your hands tighten around his cocks still pulsing in your hands, though his only reaction is the slightest twitch of his lip.

“Am I doing a good job, Lord Sukuna?” You ask around his thumb, truly desperate for approval. If you were any more pitiful he might’ve pet your hair like a loyal hound. Instead he laughs, something short and sardonic as his teeth nip at your cheek. Warmth blooms then drips down the curve of your face and you know he’s broken skin once more.

“Enough with the stupid questions. If you want my praise you know how to earn it. Show me how badly you want it and I might reward your efforts.” You slip from his lap, mourning the loss of his leg pressing between yours as you kneel in the water. It’s up to your neck as your knees meet the bottom of the pool, steam billowing like a veil in front of your eyes as you center yourself at the apex of Lord Sukuna’s thighs. He’s spread out above you like a proud effigy, a statue meant to be worshiped. You feel a transcendent kind of devotion kneeling at the feet of your lord husband. The taste of him lands heavy on your tongue as your lips tease at the head of his dick, swallowing him in slow increments. Despite the harsh preparation of your mouth, you still wish to savor every moment spent servicing your husband.

His face is clouded in shadows again as he leans back, head tilted towards the ceiling. The lanterns flicker playful shadows across his body, highlighting and shrouding pieces of him as you bow to take him into your mouth in earnest. Your jaw still aches from the way he nearly unhinged it, but it works in your favor as your lips wrap around his length.

There’s nothing dignified about the way you’re swallowing his dick, little focus being allotted to your own comfort as you take him as deeply as his size will allow. His body is strange, of course, but it’s all you’ve ever known of a man. Aside from Lord Sukuna you’ve never seen any man bared beyond his chest, although you know innately that humans aren’t meant to have the endowments he does. His second cock presses against your cheek, dribbling over your skin as you hollow your cheeks until Lord Sukuna’s thighs twitch. Muscles seizing tighter as the head of his cock meets the tightness of your throat. Breathing is far from your mind, a need secondary to pleasing your husband. It’s a messy endeavor and you loathe to think of how terrible you must look. It’s always been a point of pride to preen yourself to perfection because husbands like their women to look beautiful when they arrive home, or at least Lord Sukuna seems to prefer it. Though he never seems bothered by what is surely a horrid display as split slicks down your chin and tears dot along your lash line as you gag around his dick.

Lord Sukuna flicks your forehead after a while, likely drawing another scratch between your brows. It’s a fraction of his power. It’s likely he could take your head apart as easily as squashing a peach under his heel yet he hardly puts effort behind the reproach. Only enough to draw your attention as he drags you, coughing and drooling, off of his cock. They’re both gathered into one fist so he can drag the taste of his leaking precum over your parted lips.

“You know better.” Lord Sukuna does not take things in half measures. His intentions are clear. If you’re going to pleasure him, do it right and do it well. Your jaw pops open again, wide enough to take his twin cocks into your mouth. He stretched and strained your mouth but there’s only so much that can be done with the sheer size of him. And while he does well to shield his thoughts at the best of times, you imagine he must be gleaning a fair bit of pleasure from your messy sucking as his hand remains in your hair. His claws scratch against your scalp, gentle enough to keep your skin intact as he keeps your mouth wrapped around him. A burning type of exertion settles painfully in your jaw but you’ll endure. Lord Sukuna never likes to keep you like this for long. With both of his weeping cocks tangled between your lips you can hardly take more than the head of each. In the end, his preference will always be the wet heat brewing between your legs. Another bout of pain sings through your scalp as Lord Sukuna pulls your mouth away from him, leaving threads of spit dripping between your bodies. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, pressing against the grooves where his teeth bit into your skin until they begin to bleed anew.

He manipulates your body as if you’re merely a puppet dancing on strings. A flex of his arm and you’re lifting off your knees, hips stretched wide to accommodate the width of his body between them. His spit-laden cocks are pressed between your bodies, grinding into the soft expanse of your stomach as he pulls your bleeding mouth to his. He suckles at your torn skin, humming at the taste of your blood seeping onto his tongue. His hands find your hips, pressing into the marks he’s already left there as he hikes you higher against his body. The tongue lolling out of his stomach finds its way between your thighs, lapping at the mess that’s left after the water washed away the first wave of your arousal. It’s nearly too much with how textured the wide appendage is but you welcome any type of relief you can find as Lord Sukuna pulls your head to the side quick enough to send a stinging twinge up the column of your neck. The pain is only intensified as he noses against the soft curve where your neck meets your shoulder, as if he’s looking for something.

His tongue sweeps over your skin before his fanged teeth make a home in it. There’s a rippling groan that thunders in his chest as a true taste of your blood spills into his mouth. Before long, your head is spinning from blood loss. Lord Sukuna must feel the change in your pulse as it turns slippery, harder to catch beneath your skin. He pulls away with a satisfied groan as his hands press your hips deeper into the expanse of his lower tongue.

“Enjoying yourself, brat?” Lord Sukuna sneers, and because you have no sense of shame you find yourself nodding earnestly. He’s hardly touched you and what touches he’s shared have been steeped in equal parts pain and pleasure, yet you’ve enjoyed it all the same. It’s awkward and teasing because there’s no tact to the way his lower tongue moves between your legs. It’s like striking a flint without starting a fire, dull sparks of teasing pleasure that leave you wanting more. You’d rather have his face between your legs and a more dexterous tongue teasing you to the edge, but it would be presumptuous to make any kind of demands of your husband especially when he’s a man like Lord Sukuna.

In most regards, your pleasure is incidental. Secondary to his own. So when his teeth snap over his claws, biting the sharp points into flattened nubs, you feel your excitement growing. He’s learned from experience that his rough treatment of your body should not extend to certain places. After only a few times he pressed his clawed fingers inside you, Lord Sukuna learned that it would better serve him if his nails were dulled before he went poking them inside you. And they’ll be grown back to full length by night’s end. He can manipulate the shape of his body as easily as fire melting snow. His hand smooths over the side of your body, sliding against your ribs and hips as he makes his way between your legs. His fingers plunge inside with little warning, forcing you open with a swiftness you could almost call desperation. If something so undignified could ever be said about the King of Curses.

Lord Sukuna is a behemoth, dwarfing you in every regard, and his hands are no different. His fingers reach deep inside you, stroking over the place that has your back bowing as he makes space for himself inside you. He hums at how easily you take his fingers, sounding somewhere between amused and approving. It flutters through your chest and settles atop the arousal already building inside you.

“Give your body to me, woman. Open yourself to your king.” You try to say something as he slips another finger inside you but it comes out as little more than a breathy whine. This is already too much and yet it can’t compare to how full you’ll feel when he gets his cocks inside you. His fingers are a luxury offered in preparation for his true reward and you take it happily. He smirks at the way your thighs strain as you try to grind against his touch. The heel of his hand is pressed tight against your clit and you buck your hips against the feeling. Lord Sukuna’s skin is thick, nothing like the softness of your own and it feels just the right amount of rough against your clit. One of Lord Sukuna’s hands finds your hair again, yanking hard until you’re looking up at him with tears shimmering in your vision.

“There’s my spoiled brat. This is how you act. This is how the wife of a king is meant to be. Take what you want, woman, take everything I give you.” A dark laugh booms through the room as you whine and paw at Lord Sukuna’s chest. He adds another to the litany of scratches decorating your skin as his teeth nip at your neck, distracting you from the sting of another finger finding its way inside you.

“You were made for this,” he reminds you. “Made to be mine. My bride. You can take it.” He sounds almost patronizing, voice softening to a teasing lilt as his thumb presses against your clit. Like with everything, Lord Sukuna is harsh, forcing you to the edge quicker than expected. Each curl of his fingers yanks at the string tightening inside you, pulling you closer and closer to the edge as he moves his hands with inhuman speed inside you. Everything is hard and fast and your thighs start to tremble in his hold, body shivering as Lord Sukuna all but wrings the orgasm out of your body. You clench hard around his fingers, pussy dripping down your thighs as you try to steady yourself with your hands on Lord Sukuna’s shoulders. He allows it, revels in it as he pulls you into another bloody kiss. But even as you tremble in his arms, Lord Sukuna doesn’t stop. His thumb is still circling your twitching bud even as you try to whine out a plea for mercy. It only brings a fanged smile to his lips.

“Take it,” he grunts, “I know you can.” It really feels like you can’t. The tension brought on by your orgasm hasn’t dispersed and you feel like a knot being pulled ever tighter, back curling until your face is buried against his chest. He smells like the bath. Like sweet oils and wildflowers as your nose is buried against his scalding skin. With your forehead pressed against his chest your eyes have nowhere to look but down. Down at the way his cocks are straining to be touched, flushed and leaking just out of reach. You look up to distract yourself with the black markings etched into Lord Sukuna’s chest. Your kisses are sloppy, wet and open-mouthed as your tongue peeks out to trace the shape of each tattoo. It’s not until your teeth begin to nip at his chest that Lord Sukuna scruffs you once more.

“Trying to leave a mark on me, brat?” As if you could. Your teeth are likely no different than trying to pierce his skin with a blade of grass. “What a greedy little bride I have. So eager to defer to another wife’s authority when you’re this possessive of your husband. Isn’t that right, woman?” You try to shake your head. Of course, you aren’t possessive of him, you know your place. You are the Third Mistress. Perhaps you are his favorite but there is a hierarchy that must be upheld in the household. To so brazenly try to claim full authority over your lord husband would be lunacy. There is no higher authority than the King of Curses himself. You’re simply a pebble lingering in the shadow of the highest mountain.

“Yes you are,” he grins. You whine as he pulls his hand from between your legs. “Look at the mess you’ve made trying to mark me up like a bitch in heat.” There’s no sense of embarrassment welling at his degrading words. What sense is there in hiding how well your husband pleasures you? And Lord Sukuna seems proud as his tongue licks up the mess you’ve made on his hand before pressing a kiss to your parted lips. You taste yourself on his tongue. Your blood and your pleasure.

“You’re going to take me so well, aren’t you?” It’s hardly a question. Simply an ordered phrased as if you could deny yourself the feeling of being split open on Lord Sukuna’s cocks. He starts with one, always. Dragging the leaking head through the mess he’s made of your cunt, tapping against your clit until he finally presses inside. His body is a marvel and you’re blessed to be so acquainted with it as the length not pressing inside you grinds against your clit as he makes you take him as deep as your body will allow. Lord Sukuna has been known to be rash and unpredictable, a being of pure chaos when the mood strikes him, but when he’s with you like this everything he does is deliberate.

He’s rough but not destructively so. Yes, you’re bleeding as he bounces you in his lap, drawing a litany of breathless sounds from your lips, but he’s always intentional when drawing blood. You’ve been trained well in these years of marriage to take him. To weather any storm Lord Sukuna throws at you. His hands are bruising on your hips as he drags you up and down his length, hands that could shatter your bones with the slightest bit of effort and yet he only uses enough strength to hold you close. You’re not deluded enough to think that Lord Sukuna loves you, certainly not in the way a lover should, but he cares enough to treat you with a level of gentility.

“Thank you,” you babble it like a prayer, over and over. Worshiping at your husband’s altar for even the briefest thought given to your safety, your pleasure. It can never be said that Lord Sukuna is a neglecting lover, at least not with you. He’s everywhere all at once. Hands on your hips and at your breasts, pinching at the aching peaks of your nipples. His face is buried against your throat, teeth surely raising welts as his tongue laps at the taste of blood and sweat dampening your skin. You cling to him in turn, nails digging into the thick muscles of his arms with no hope of ever drawing blood. Still, he grunts out a laugh as you drag your dull nails across his skin, leaving nothing but the whisper of claw marks behind. An arm slips out from under your grasp, unbalancing you, but Lord Sukuna is quick to steady your boneless body as he reaches between you to take hold of his second cock. It’s thick and straining, leaking against your skin as he presses it in beside the first. The stretch is harsh, a stinging pinch between your legs soothed only in part by his thumb drawing shapes against your clit. He hushes you when your whining gets too loud, hands clamping tight to your hips to keep you from squirming away from taking all of him.

“Be a good wife and accept your reward.” Lord Sukuna hisses as he presses deep inside you. The weight of him settles like molten heat inside you, his hand pressing over the shape of himself through your stomach. “Hush, you can take it.” He hisses, biting at your cheek as tears well in your eyes once more. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a strange feeling to be so full all at once.

“My pretty wife.” He’s only this sweet when he has you close to breaking, teetering on the edge of insanity from the way he’s taking his pleasure from your body. “Look at me, woman. Keep your eyes on your king.” It’s hard to look anywhere else. He isn’t sweating, this is hardly more than a leisurely stroll for him, but the humidity has left his skin beaded with moisture. It makes him shimmer in the torchlight like the divine being that he is, wasting his time on a creature as lowly as you. It’s your blessing that he’s so enraptured with you at the moment. Your eyes slip shut, tears streaming down your cheeks as every corner of your body feels lit aflame, the heat only made worse as Lord Sukuna’s hand finds your jaw.

“I said, eyes. On. Me.” He growls. With a bit of resistance, your eyes flutter open, white light swimming at the edge of your vision as Lord Sukuna drags you to the precipice of insanity. He’s close. Far less careful and coherent as he drags you up and down his lengths with startling strength. He’s pressing against every sweet spot inside you, igniting a thousand flames at once that threaten to swallow you whole. There’s a pitchy mantra of “wait, wait, wait” playing on your tongue but it only seems to further entice your husband.

“You gonna sing for me, woman? Go on, let me hear something pretty when you come for your king.” He’s taunting you, laughing at how shrill your voice sounds. It nearly does sound like you’re singing as you wail his name, back bowing as he rips another orgasm from your spent body. It’s as quick as a lightning strike and nearly as blinding, eyes clouding white for a moment as you fight to keep your eyelids from fluttering. From taking your eyes off Lord Sukuna for even a moment. You feel yourself clawing at him, clinging and grasping to keep yourself grounded as pleasure shatters through your body. Vaguely you can hear Lord Sukuna laughing, something tinged dark with amusement as he works you through your orgasm. He has no patience to wait for you to regain your breath, to see the light of coherence return to your eyes. Instead, his hands grip tighter to your waist, nails biting into your skin as he works you faster over his cocks. His voice dips low, a rasping gravel as he grunts, squeezing every bit of his own pleasure from your body. It’s barely a change, just the slightest shift, but you’ve done this so many times that you can almost sense when he gets close.

Lord Sukuna gathers your loosening muscles back into some semblance of an embrace, holding you tight to his chest as he pushes your hips low enough for your bodies to meet in earnest. The feeling is a wet slide of skin against skin, the mess of your joined pleasure slicking up your bodies. It nearly feels like choking as he holds you still, the shape of him pressing every so slightly against the softness of your stomach. He’s more gentle now, but only by a hair’s breadth, as he thumbs over the shape of his body making a home for itself inside yours. There’s always a hint of softness at the edges of moments like this. A bit of the darkness bleeds from Lord Sukuna’s eyes as he guides your hips to grind against him, thumbing where he sees himself beneath your skin. Lord Sukuna has always been smart, his intelligence far exceeding that of your woefully undereducated mind.

There’s never been a time where you were certain of his thoughts, but in moments like these you think there’s a hint of curiosity sparkling in his eyes. Something desirous of the unknown and intangible. He moves in shallow thrusts, thumb dancing lazily over your puffy clit for only a moment more before he’s spilling inside you with a satisfied groan. But, still, he keeps you there. As if forcing your body to take to everything he’s given you. If it were up to you, your womb would quicken to give him a child; proof of your devotion. But even the fantasy sounds impossible. Lord Sukuna has shed his humanity and with it, you assume, his ability to continue his legacy by way of heirs. Though he hardly needs them.

Lord Sukuna is a shining beacon of the height of jujutsu, proof of what greatness can be achieved when you’re willing to go beyond the standards set out by society. He’s immortal, indomitable. Children would only be another jewel in his crown, more pawns to serve his greater will. And it’s unlikely such children of greatness will ever come to pass. In all your years of marriage, there’s never been a single moment where you thought for even a moment that Lord Sukuna’s seed took. And it likely never will. It’s wasted as he lifts you off of his softening length, everything he gave you dripping out into the spring water. The light flickers and for a moment it almost looks like there’s a spark of disappointment in his eye, then the torches shift again and the shadows are gone.

“You did well, woman.” He hums, running his hands over the length of your body. The heat of his palms and the babbling water works to soothe the aches and pains of being so thoroughly used by your behemoth of a husband. “Who do you love, wife?” He asks after the breath finally returns to your lungs. Of course it’s him. There is no one else. No man could compare, like a pebble being compared to a shining jewel.

“Good girl.” He says when you’ve finished your babbling. Like a true king, Lord Sukuna loves to hear his own praises and you’re more than happy to sing them. Sometimes it’s startling how perfectly the two of you exist together. He’s the sun and you’re a flower turning your face to gaze upon him always. Which of his other wives could ever share in a fraction of your devotion? No one will ever love Lord Sukuna as you do, save for maybe Uraume. Perhaps they don’t love him, but there is a fine line between love and admiration. The loyal servant comes bustling into the bathhouse after Lord Sukuna has had his fill of soft caresses and breathless praises.

The fact that both of you are bare makes no difference to Uraume. They lift you from Lord Sukuna’s arms with startling strength, hands frigid against your skin as they guide you to sit and go about drying your body and combing your hair. It’s always strange to be tended to by someone other than your personal maid, more so when it’s by the hands of Lord Sukuna’s most trusted servant, but it seems Uraume sees you as an extension of Lord Sukuna as much as you do. They dry and dress you, sending you back to your room so that they may speak privately with your husband. Some time later when the bells of the estate are tolling for the Hour of the Dog, the strumming of your koto is interrupted further by screaming. Something bloodcurdling terrified as it rings through the house, echoing into the snow speckled night. Vaguely you think of how the screaming sounds like First Mistress Jurina.

#sukuna ★#sukuna x reader smut #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #jjk smut #★ mine!

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diwatopia · 5 months

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★ amethyst ; poly!marauders.

info: fluff, poly!marauders x gn!reader, under 1k.

there's a slight burn to your scalp as you apply more bleach to the small chunks of your hair, all sectioned into four neat squares to make the process easier.

your gloved hands squeak as you continuously clamp and unclamp your fingers over your locks, rubbing in the solution to get your hair to the light blonde you desire but it becomes increasingly difficult as you reach the back of your head.

"whatcha' doing, dolly?" sirius chirps, head popping past the door frame to get a good look at your odd stature: one foot on the lid of the toilet, the other planted firmly on the tiled floor as you attempt to get the last strand towards the base of your skull.

"can you see if i got the roots towards the back?" voice huffing in frustration as you scratch your burning scalp.

sirius coos teasingly, kissing at your clean temple when you pout. "you missed a couple spots. got any extra gloves?" his voice softer than before with a sickly sweet expression that makes your brain all gooey and melty.

you nod dumbly, handing him a pair of black latex gloves and practically purr as he gently scratches at your scalp, ceasing all itching and burning with his magic touch.

"are the boys back too?" you ask, already hearing the two pairs of socked footsteps thud against the hardwood floors. you've got your answer.

"hi, sweetness!" james pipes up, head peeking round the corner alongside remus'.

you smile, lazily reaching for them but not enough to disturb sirius who's hard at work. "what color are we going for today, dovey?" remus asks with curiosity, grin matching yours as he rushes to grasp at your hand.

"not sure... i have two different colors but i need your help deciding," your lips tucked into an adorable pucker as you mull over which color to go with.

two boxes lay on the countertop, pink and purple hair dye that are basically close in color but completely different vibes. you glance over to the boys, more so at sirius due to the fact that he's the best styled out of the bunch.

"i think i'm leaning more towards purple but i asked marls and she said pink so now my brain's all in a twist..." you pout slightly.

silence falls, the only thing being heard is your phone playing music. sirius is the first to speak, "i think you should stick to purple, doll."

then a flurry of agreements can be heard from both remus and james as if they were waiting for sirius' opinion before speaking upon their own.

"agreed, purple suits your skin tone!" james speaks as if he's just happy to be here, starry-eyed with a dopey grin to match.

remus nods along with james, "and it doesn't seem like it's a royal purple, it's more of an amethyst. i think you'll look extra pretty, dove."

you flush pink, "purple's the way to go then," soft giggle bubbling past your throat.

★ diwa's notes: i'm actually not sure how i feel abt this one but ty for 300 (?) notes on "lovely"!!!

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silkval · 10 months

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♞】 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴- 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 Ⅱ

how much do the genshin boys crave your attention, and whats their style?

★fujoshis, wlm and minors please fuck off- you will be blocked★

♢】 scale of neediness

》 patience ★★★☆☆

》 intensity ★★★★☆

》 frequency ★★☆☆☆

》 touchiness ★★★★☆

》 publicity ★☆☆☆☆

oh, xiao, what a gorgeous little pet he is. quiet, obedient, loyal as a dog- and as protective as one, too. just the perfect darling who was at your beck and call at every moment, quite literally- need some company? a pretty face to look at? a sopping hole to fuck? He would be at your feet instantly, albeit a little red-faced and stuttery, despite how many times this very scenario had previously occurred. It was clear that he was absolutely smitten with you, always ready to fulfil your every desire and be by your side.

the poor boy couldn't even spend more than a week without your presence, constantly seeking reassurance and attention. It was both endearing and slightly suffocating- not that you minded, though. it was certainly quite the sight to see when your darling xiao would appear before you could even finish calling his name, already staring up at you with those gorgeous, gilded eyes- pupils wide as he’d cock his head, staring at you expectantly as his hands went to find purchase in yours- waiting to be order on his knees or to bend over a table- anything, for you.

…but oh, when you nonchalantly mentioned that you'd be away on a business trip for a few days in inazuma? oh. oh… he could handle that, couldn't he? he’d be a good boy, he promised- so with that, the conversation was over and done with, whisked away by the night of pleasure that followed suit.

until it had been a few days since your departure- and xiao was losing it.

As the days passed, Xiao's longing for your return grew more intense. Every moment without you felt like an eternity, and his touchiness increased as he yearned for your presence. His patience, once a strong suit, was tested as he anxiously awaited your arrival. The publicity of his desires once kept between the two of you, began to wane and seep into his every move as his desperation for your attention grew.

tsk, the poor thing- it only took three days for xiao's stoic facade to crumble. He was aching for your touch, your voice, your very presence. he thought he'd be able to bare it; hell, he had spent centuries with no company but the depths of his thoughts before. but now that he had you? it had barely been the first day since you had left and he had already started counting down the hours.

…but that didn't last long.

day 4. and the poor thing just couldn't handle it. he had been desperately grasping onto one of your favourite scarves that you had left behind for him, the soft fabric pressed flush against the pinked tip of his nose as a restless pout graced his lithe features- where he had been positioned for the last… 10 hours. trying to get some damn sleep. but how could he, without your presence? it was too, too much. within the blink of an eye, xiao appeared in front of you- unprompted. right in the middle of your bed with the mere whisp of smoke, resulting in a very… confused reaction on your behalf.

but of course, that didn't last long- you could barely let out a questioning hum before your darlings hands had already found their way against your skin, the smaller male gasping at the mere contact, yet not wasting a second before pulling his frame directly to yours as if you were a magnet- before whisking you both away, leaving only a swirl of smoke in your path as you now reappeared in your shared bedroom- that was… quite the mess.

from the nest-like flurry of blankets and your clothes strewn in some strange order on your bed to the box of tissues half used and scattered around- some dampened with tears, others dripping with slick- it was clear xiao had certainly got a little desperate.

…even more so, when you were interrupted by xiao swiftly tugging your body against his, both of you tumbling down against the plush of your bed- but before you could react, the needy little thing was already writing beneath you, soft pants and strained whines a dangerous combination with that look of his… oh, just how could you deny him?

“aww, looks like someone missed me quite a bit, hm, princess? go on, then- be a darling and spread your legs for me, yeah?”

#【writings #xiao x reader #genshin xiao #sub xiao #genshin impact #dom reader #sub character #genshin x reader #sub genshin impact #top reader

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yandere-wishes · 3 months

Note

Yandere! Paul atreides x princess! Reader claiming us.... But literally claiming... Like... Kidnapping....

I'm going crazy.

☆★☆★☆★☆

Thinking about Emperor Paul Atreides sitting all high and mighty atop his galactic throne. With big scary Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen hovering behind him ready to kill on command. Now imagine poor little darling tide up at the foot of the throne. Captured and dethroned, a pretty prize for the two men who killed her father. Her chin ensnared between Paul's cruel fingers, forced to gaze upon her monstrous captures. Your crown lays shattered on the blood-red carpet, your dress ripped and ruined.

Funny how "princess" is just a word now, just a flurry of salt to marinate an open wound.

"Well princess, do you pledge allegiance to your new king?" Paul's words are all for show, he's being playful, trying to lighten a dull mood.

Loyalty or death.

You notice the knife twirling between Feyd's fingers. Gleaming in the fractured light. You gulp, your body quivering from the pressure, your knees dig into the hard floor, shoulders straining from your hands being tied behind your back.

"Y-yes Pau- my king," You notice the dark glint in his faux blue eyes. He releases your chin sharply, leaving a stinging pain in its wake. His ring hovers next to your lips, awaiting the sealing kiss. Your fate flutters between your teeth, round and thick like a transmute pearl. You kiss his ring, letting your lips feel the creases of the bird's wings.

You hear Feyd chuckle from above you, relishing your crestfallen state.

Harknonen beaste.

"My queen" Paul muses, his voice too gleeful for the setting. "My precious little queen, forever by our side."

Oh, who would ever want to be queen?

He owns you

They own you

Forever trapped

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rainbowmothed · 8 months

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── I'M NOT A VIOLENT ANGEL. I DON'T KNOW WHY I BITE.

· ★ · basically just me rewriting vaggie's fall + chaggie first meeting. trigger warning for blood, gore, murder, classic extermination stuff!

Vaggie felt the pressure settle on her shoulders as she spread her wings, lines of black smearing across the crimson sky of the underworld in a flurry of feathers as she and her kin descended from the beaming light illuminating the once darkened sky, atmosphere thick with the already fresh scent of bitter blood.

Guilt was all Vagatha could manage to muster in her soul, her very being. She never liked to be an exterminator. She didn't know why– most of her kin adored slaughtering the “demon scum” of the underworld. And Vaggie knew she was no different than them, no less shameful in comparison despite feeling butterflies churn in her stomach before she drew her angelic spear. Six years she had spent as one of Adam's top girls, always cast to be on the front lines, praised by her peers for being one of the most merciless, blood-thirsty ones out there.

And oh, how she despised it with every single fiber of her being.

Vaggie cringed as she remembered the proud slaps on the back and reassuring pats shoulders after every extermination as they rose back to the skies above afterwards, the shouts of “good jobs” and “that was even better than last year” filling the air, choking her, suffocating her as the words shoved their way down her throat until soft tears pricked her eyes and her skin flustered with shameful heat.

God, she hated her job. And it was strange. She was created for this. Created in the Heavens for the sole purpose of reigning massacre upon people who were seen as nothing more than the dirt under their heels, when, in reality, Vaggie knew they were far more than that. They were once human souls, who once had lives, and who once had families, who maybe still did have families. She knew she'd killed at least one husband who had a wife and kids at home, waiting, and one wife or one child. Likely far more than that.

So many denizens had crumbled to their knees at her hands as she lodged the blade of the spear into their flesh. The flesh she was meant to see as worthless, puny, disgusting, sinful. Wretched. But the flesh she saw only bore hints of light, shimmering under the surface, waiting to be unveiled, until it was cut short and dulled as their black blood splattered across the alleyway floors and concrete sidewalks, heads slamming down as they met their gruesome fates. Perished.

And this year, Vagatha knew she would do the same thing. Or rather, should do the same thing. She was given a sharp nod to descend as she continued through the air. Her previous guilty thoughts had made her work up a tad bit of a nervous sweat, so she pulled away the mask that concealed her face, swiping away the sweat that stuck to her forehead like bothersome glue. Not bothering to put it back on, Vaggie simply attached it to her waist, feeling it thud against her hip as she flew down into the alleyway, boots finally making contact with the glass-lined gravel below.

Expecting to see some looming, wretched soul, Vaggie was only greeted with a cowering little child, far younger than her, far less defenseless. Where were its parents? It didn't deserve to fall. Not like this. “Go, run.” Vaggie urged, before she could form a second thought about her own actions, pulling her blade far away from the thing's throat and waving it off. Sparing it. The guilt had become unfathomable, and she was no longer even in control of her own body. Pathetic.

However, the sounds of footsteps behind her made Vagatha quickly snap out of her daze, wings perking up with surprise as she drew her blade, expecting some idiotic, bold sinner, only to feel a hand grasp her shoulder. Vaggie’s eyes widened as her lips parted, attempting to let out a flurry of excuses as she saw Lute’s face before her. Grinning, merciless.

Oh God.

Vaggie let out a shrill shriek of pain as she felt the angelic weapon pierce her eye, gouging it out and letting it roll onto the ground below. Vagatha’s stomach churned with nausea as she naturally fell to her knees, letting out another cry as she felt Lute’s boot press against the top of her skull.

“Traitor scum like you have no place in Heaven.”

Vaggie attempted to choke out a plea, a beg for mercy, but was cut short as she felt Lute’s gloved hands wrap around the base of her wings, pulling back with relentless force as they were ripped from her body, another pathetic splatter of neon green, angelic blood splashing across the ground. Vaggie felt like she was going to retch from the pure amount of adrenaline and pain pumping through her skin, her being, her very soul.

Guilt. Harsher than before.

Guilt for betraying Heaven. Guilt for slaughtering the people of the underworld. Guilt for not living up to her superiors’ standards of her. Guilt for every single thing she had ever done wrong, crashing down on her at once.

—

Vaggie shakily stumbled up to her knees as Adam and Lute walked away, snickering under their breaths and beaming with nothing but pride. No guilt themselves; nothing but happiness and unfiltered glee at finding a traitor amongst their ranks and properly punishing her for it.

All for sparing one measly child.

Vaggie tore away the mask that still hung to her belt, exterminator uniform soaked with blood and torn in some places. In a moment of anguish, mixed in a blurred puddle with hints of anger, she ripped it all from her body, leaving herself in the clothes she had underneath. Vaggie tossed it into the dumpster that lay against the wall of the alleyway, her neon green blood splattering down the side of it as she threw it to be picked later.

Still weakly clutching the spear in her hand, she leaned her back against another dumpster, trying not to brush the stumps of her ripped off wings against anything to prevent any further agonizing pain. She already had plenty of that, her eye now an empty socket, vision nowhere to be found beside the one she still had. Thank Lute for that, she mused. Didn't take her vision completely.

Vagatha was silently praying for some random imp to come pick her off. Finish the game her superiors had started, end her pathetic life once and for all. Lay her corpse against the dirt of the ground she once saw as beneath her. Funny, seeing as how the people she once saw as her victims, albeit with a bit of shame, could slaughter her right here and now with absolute ease.

Vaggie didn't even cry. The tears would've hurt her eye too much. She felt them boiling under the surface, yes, but they never trespassed that burning point, never spilling or teetering over the edge just right to drop. Vagatha soon enough heard footsteps approaching. Great, her future murderer had finally come, just as she felt herself drifting in and out of consciousness due to the sheer amount of blood loss.

Instead of the expression of a cruel murderer, she was greeted by the face of a shocked denizen. Gorgeous, with blonde hair, streaked with honey hues. Pale skin, with rosy cheeks, akin to that of a marionette. Beautiful. If this woman was the last thing Vaggie was to see, she would definitely be able to go out happy compared to her earlier predicament. The bitterness flushed out of her soul as she stared up at the demon, waiting for the blade to press against her neck. For her to end her suffering.

But it didn't.

Instead, a bandage was carefully wrapped around her missing eye, the denizens fingers soft and delicate. Perfect compared to her own, scarred with the memories of the lives that had been taken by them. It made her expression soften. It was the little things that made Vaggie swoon like that, and this was definitely one of those little things.

Was she falling for the woman who she thought was going to slaughter her just a moment ago? It was a tad funny, actually. The flusterment only grew as she saw her tuck a piece of blonde hair behind her porcelain-hued ear, diverting her gaze as she cheekily smiled.

This girl would definitely be the death of Vaggie, but in a completely different way than she was originally anticipating.

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plantislandpals · 2 years

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★ || ASK BOX — OPEN

"Hello, is this thing on?—" "HIHELLOHI!!!!" "Woah, is that what humans look like?" "Um... H-hi?" "Sup!" "Well Howdy!"

Hello there traveller, it seems you've reached the home of the Plant Island Pals! Ask away! ("If you dare!")

((Plant Island Pals is an AU! Some events may differ from canon or happen in a different order))

★ || Rules

- Just don't be weird m'kay?

- Oh and also make sure to put who you're asking in the thing because I am big stupid

★ || Main Cast

((Under the cut because there's too many oopsie))

((Also since I didn't make that clear at the start, like in msm canon these guys are all Agender and use they/it pronouns))

★ Minervaa — Clamble, Plant Island

Easily recognised by their terrifyingly wide eyes and small pupils, Minervaa is notorious on Plant Island for being an absolute menace. They are an impulsive thrill seeker who seems to have no fear even in the most dangerous situations - good thing Bytee is around to make sure that they don't do anything too risky! They have a bit of a short fuse and can say mean things without meaning to but underneath all that they have a heart of gold and care deeply about the monsters in their life.

★ Bytee — Wubbox, Plant Island

In contrast with their adoptive younger sibling Minervaa, Bytee is cool, calm and collected. Ever since they were awakened by the monsters of Plant Island, they believe they owe them some kind of debt and tries to do everything they possibly can to help, with varying amounts of success. They usually don't like to do anything that would upset anyone, but sometimes they quietly encourage Minervaa's chaos.

★ Hayzel — Oaktapus, Plant Island

Hayzel and Minervaa might look completely different on paper, but these two best friends are more similar than you think. This laid-back monster is equally fearless, though they're less of a thrill seeker and more blissfully unaware of the danger around them. In fact, it seems the only monster in the entire multiverse who can make them angry is their sibling Morton. Recently, they've been trying to get Flurry to relax.

★ Flurry — Mammot, Plant Island

Flurry is a bit of a nervous wreck, well, more than a bit. The poor monster's tried every trick in the book to be more confident and assertive but nothing seems to work. If it wasn't for their friend group - consisting of Minervaa, Hayzel and Kat - they probably wouldn't leave the Castle at all. Somehow (probably from Glitch) they managed to get their paws on a book written by humans about ghosts, and now they're obsessed with the idea of finding one.

★ Kat — Rare T-Rox, Plant Island

Kat is the middle ground and mediator of their friend group: not as impulsive as Minervaa and Hayzel but not as anxious as Flurry. Though they offer advice when asked, it's common for them to just take a step back when the rest of the group starts doing something silly. It's not that they don't like the chaos; they'd just rather watch it than be a part of it. They think Wublins are, like, the coolest ever.

★ Morton — Toe Jammer, Plant Island

Morton is the annoying, smug, "I'm smarter than you and I know it" type, so it's surprising that Bytee of all monsters would form a friendship with them! Maybe they both like to think they're the only two intelligent monsters on the island. They always wear their sunglasses - even indoors or at night - and have dreams of making a found footage horror one day.

More characters may be added as the story develops!

★ || Secondary Characters

These characters won't appear as frequently, either because they don't interact with the main cast much or they aren't on Plant Island. (Also these guys don't have refs cuz I'm lazy)

★ Rosemariee — Furcorn, Whereabouts Unknown

An almost legendary figure on Plant Island, Rosemariee was a brave and friendly monster who never let their small size and weak body stop them from adventuring through the monster world. They have helped discover many new things, and is even rumoured to have been part of the original group of monsters that freed the Tribal Island Kayna! They haven't been seen in a long time, but Minervaa might have some stories to tell you about them.

#My singing monsters #MSM #MSM oc #MSM ocs #★ || Intro Post #Do I tag the sillies? Yeah sure why not #★ || Minervaa #★ || Bytee #★ || Hayzel #★ || Flurry #★ || Kat #★ || Morton #★ || Rosemariee #Why so many b names? Idk it sounds cute

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writer-komaru · 1 year

Text

₊˚ᜊ₍ᐢ. ̞.ᐢ₎ᜊ˚₊ Devil’s Playmate ✦.˚ ; • . ★⋆’. °࿐࿔

✧Rating: Smut (exhibitionism + tons of dirty talk + face sitting + Fem/Afab!Reader)

✧Characters: Nagito

✧Word Count: 4.3k

✧Summary: It all starts with you accepting an innocent cup of hibiscus tea from your lovely but troublesome servant Nagito, the same kind of tea you’re given every morning. As you continue about your day with him at your side, you begin to feel a bit off. This weird feeling has driven itself under the expanse of your delicate skin, leaving it heated and flustered. But a lady like you had no time to entertain silly urges like lust. Little did you know the faithful servant you always keep by your side is growing more and more concerned for you. Don’t be surprised if he decides to take matters into his own hands to relieve that desire burning oh so painfully between your thighs. As you fall into his carefully laid out trap, you realize just who’s the servant after all.

It all began on a quite unremarkable morning. You rest comfortably upon your plush velvet armchair while reading a book dressed in a faded red cover. You flip through a few of the aged manila pages before snapping the book shut, unamused at the little waiting game you’ve been forced to participate in.

“He’s late,” you remark out loud.

It was ten minutes past the eleventh hour, and he was yet to arrive with your cup of hibiscus tea, with exactly two cubes of sugar. He’s always been quite punctual. “How strange,” You make a note to speak with him about this sudden shift in behavior the moment you next see him. And as if on cue, a very hurried flurry of fuzzy white hair hurls its way into your parlor, gasping heavily.

“My mistress, my deepest apologies for my tardiness-“

“Speaking before being spoken to? Who might be because you’re clearly not my precious lapdog,” you inspect your groomed nails and flick your wrist, as if flinging a dagger right next to his head to put him in his place. He shivers at the silent threat and gets onto his knees.

“I suppose I’ve had worse servants,” she sighs and gently picks up the tempered glass teacup he set down on your side table, “But you still have quite a bit to learn.”

He offers a short nod and keeps his head low. Maybe he’s finally got his head in straight.

“Now speak, explain your attendance,” you motion for him to sit up. He does so and smiles gently at you, as if pleased just to be spoken to.

“A million apologies would not be enough to make up for my lateness, my mistress, I know. I am more than ashamed of myself. The reasoning is I unfortunately misplaced one of the key ingredients for your morning tea and spent a good deal of time retracing my steps,” he recounts.

You spare him a curt glance as you take the first sip of your tea. The flavor is just as fragrant and rich as ever with a tinge of something sweet. Did he add something to your tea without consulting you first?

“And what might this ever so important secret ingredient be?” You raise a curious eyebrow, making him sweat nervously.

“T-there’s no need to worry; it was just a mere drop of honey, my mistress. I noticed your slight distaste for the new blend of tea I’ve been brewing for you so I decided to add some sweetest. The only problem was after unpacking the new bottles yesterday, I happened to misplace them. How unfortunate…” he sighed in regret.

“I think I understand now. I’ll let it slide this time but remember to be more punctual,” you add as you continue helping yourself to your tea and your book. You would have resorted to a harsher punishment if he was anyone else but you understand these little slip ups are all caused by his curse of a luck cycle. No use punishing something out of his control. You wave him off with your foot, too consumed in your own affairs. After kneeling one more time, gently grasping your clothed foot to kiss the top, he rises and exits the room. A small amused grin is hidden behind the crimson cover of your book.

Once your morning tea has run dry, it’s time for the next objective in your long schedule: A brisk walk through the gardens to inspect the landscaper’s work, followed closely by an important meeting with an esteemed author looking to sell their rare collection of discontinued books. Then the annual check in with the servants of the house to make sure everything is in order. After that is a well deserved ride around town on horseback. Lastly, to finish off your day you have a few letters to pen before dusk. Quite a busy day you have ahead of you, but you won’t be doing this alone. As you depart your study, Nagito, your servant from before, appears at your side.

“How are you feeling after your tea break, my mistress?” He inquired with a gentle smile.

“Delightful, as usual,” you nod, not sparing him a glance.

“That’s wonderful to hear, my lady. If there’s anything you’d like to ask of me, please, I’m yours to command,” he urges.

“Nothing I can think of. Won’t you join me on my daily walk out in the gardens?” You offer.

His eyes sparkle with enthusiasm, “O-Of course, I’d be honored! How lucky am I… to go from a tardy mess to a- oh, forgive my mindless rambles, my mistress,” he chuckles apologetically and shuts his mouth tight. You two make your way out the back of the mansion and enter the lush gardens. Workers can be seen throughout the sprawling green fields preening the hedges, watering flowers, and plucking weeds. Truly a sight behind. You reside yourself strolling through the winding paths of ivy and petals, each one more radiant than the last. As your fingertips trace over the delicate buds, you feel a subtle heat spanning over your cheeks. The sensation is strange but not enough to raise any concern.

“My lady, you’re looking a bit red. May I offer this parasol as shade?” Nagito opens the parasol and holds it above your head, blocking you from the harsh rays of the sun.

“Thank you kindly,” you softly smile at him before continuing your walk. As you examine the flora, the heat of before persists. It starts to make you feel slightly dizzy, but a lady must continue her task no matter the circumstance. Your wandering eyes lock onto your servant. He’s dressed in a loose fitting, rufflely white shirt with tight black slacks, a few silver rings adorn his fingers. They are actually his prized possessions he was gifted by you on his birthday, resulting in a hurricane of thank you’s and tears. He looked rather dashing, even if the outfit was rather simple. D-did you just…? You purse your lips and snap your attention away and back to the matter at hand. A lady of your high class shouldn’t be checking out her servant in such a unbefitting way. What has gotten into you?

“My lady, are you alright? You look a touch bothered by something. Can I be of assistance?” Nagito asks compassionately with an innocent tone.

“It’s nothing, I just feel a bit off today,” you brush off the question and make your way inside with your servant following closely behind.

“A bit off? Could you elaborate a little more, my lady?” He pushes, cocking his head to the side in a curious manner. Your dart around the hallway, noticing a few maids dusting the tables and fixing the curtains. A more secluded space would be best.

As if reading your thought process word for word, he carefully leads you to one of the spare rooms reserved for guests. You gasp as he hooks a finger under your chin to examine your rosy cheeks, the proximity making this unknown heat under your skin flare up.

“Oh my… my lady, you don’t seem well. Did you have a fever? But you haven't shown any other symptoms… oh, I’ve got it! It’s most likely a sunburn from over exposure to the sun? Forgive me for not fetching a parasol sooner, my mistress. Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you by alleviating any ailments you might be having. Please, rest on the bed while I gather some medicine for you, my mistress,” he bows before making a quick exit. You humor him by taking a seat at the edge of the neatly tucked bed. The gall he has to give you orders… As you wait patiently for his return, the heat from before spreads under your skin, focusing its assault on the plush region between your thighs. In no way is this some silly sunburn; It felt as though your lower area had been ignited with the fires of lust by Eros himself. Whoever was playing this cruel joke on you clearly doesn’t know who they're messing with.

“I’ve returned, my mistress! I’m sorry to make you wait for so long, I have bad news. The author is already here waiting for you in the meeting room on floor three,” he races to your side and returns to his knees as an apology. How greatly unfortunate… Maybe your servant’s poor luck was contagious.

“Fine then. Let us go; we can’t leave him waiting,” you rise swiftly to your feet and make your way to the stairs. No matter how badly her body craves attention, a true lady must always put aside her own needs to attend to her duties.

“M-my lady, you don’t look well, maybe we should-“ he tries to reach for your hand only for it to be swatted away.

“Someone clearly has problems holding their tongue. Maybe I should rip it out so it won’t give you any problems speaking out of turn again. Would you like that?” You warn with a scathing glower.

“N-no, my lady! I would like to keep my tongue i-if that’s an option,” he chuckles nervously, shuffling behind you.

“Then know your place,” you brush him off and enter the room in front of you where the author is waiting patiently. You take a seat in front of him and cross your legs and Nagito kneels down next to you by your feet. As you and the author are discussing the book series you plan on buying from them, your legs shift around uncomfortably from the aching feeling under your dress. You notice his eyes peeking down at your shifting legs every so often before immediately glancing to the floor. He was always so very caring but now was really not the time for his inappropriate stares. Even the slightest attention to your lower area made the process of hiding it more difficult than it needed to be. When the author turned around to unpack the books in his briefcase, your servant placed a gentle hand on your thigh, looking up at you with sweet puppy dog eyes like he’s pleading for something. If it’s what you think it to be he’d be in for a thorough punishment later.

“Please tell me what’s wrong, mistress…” he whispered to you, his hand stroking down the thigh. You flicked away his wandering hand and focused back on the array of books strewn out on the table. You picked up the first book of the series and began flipping through it. The text was neatly printed, its pages pearly white and free of aging. It was in excellent condition, considering it’s a much older series. As you neared the middle, a strange tickling sensation kept up your thigh from under your fluffy dress. You bite your lip and ignore it, not wanting to make a fool of yourself in front of someone you’re trying to make a deal with.

“I think I know what’s wrong, my lady… your body is all wound up….” His airy voice drifts out from under the tablecloth, “Don’t worry… a good servant always attends to the needs of his lady~”

Just as you’re about to yank him out from under the table, his delicate fingertips trace the area next to your lacy panties.

“Uh… if everything is alright, miss? You look a bit bewildered,” the author asks.

You clear your throat, “Forgive my rudeness, but there’s an important matter I must attend to this very second. It won’t take long, please wait for my return,” you give a short curtsy to the author and step away from the table, yanking your naughty servant out from under the table and pulling him roughly out of the room. You can only imagine the horror on that poor author's face. After a speedy jaunt to your bedroom, she pushes him onto the bed and curses his name.

“The damned whore, how dare you try something like that not only in front of such a famous author but also without permission. I should have you exiled from the mansion, if not the whole nation for that! What do you have to say for yourself?” You snarl, towering over him with a violent aura.

“My lady, please forgive my inappropriate actions, all I wish to do is to serve you,” he soothes, laying on his back and pulling you closer to him by the hips, “try as you might to hide your needs but you should know you can’t keep a secret from me~”

You try to step back from his menacing words, “what do you mean by that?”

“Would you please allow me the privilege to show you?~” he coos to you after pulling you back and onto his thighs. You groan as your clothes sex accidentally swipes over his sturdy thigh, covering your embarrassed blush with the back of your hand.

“Oh? My lady, if you’re trying to seem like you’re an abstaining, pure soul, forgive me for this, but you’re not doing that great of a job,” he smirks up at you. This devil of a man under you is clearly getting a rise from tempting your body's cravings.

“I told you, it’s nothing, now release me so I can go back t-hnngg~” an uncontrollable moan escapes your lips as he drags your hips up his body, grinding your sex over his stomach and up to his chest. The relief of touch on the throbbing location felt like pure bliss but you knew he was just messing with you. You wouldn’t dare give him the honor of another pleasured groan so you force yourself to look away.

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t have any urges a servant like me could take care of? Not a single ache, bruise, or itch?~ If I’m allowed to gloat just a bit, I’m veerryy good at relieving urges~” He purred softly, pressing your plush thighs against either side of his head, your twitching sex hovering over his panting mouth. His eyes were glazed over with desire like he’s in a trance, his mouth streaming with drool, face covered in a deep blush. He looked like even more of a mess than you did.

“N-no, not in the slightest,” you stammer out.

“Are you sure?~ well, then… I don’t think you’d mind if I… just give this spot down here a check, just in case~” he bites his lip as he pulls your panties to the side, strings of drooling desire clinging to the thin fabric. He audibly moans at the sight, licking his lips.

“Oh my…. My mistress, it seems like I’ve found the source of the problem… your poor sex is crying out for some attention. Did something happen to make you so unbelievably turned on? Does it hurt… my lady?~” he murmurs to you, tracing a finger over your swollen bud. Even though the touch was faint and barely there, it still had your cunt clenching around nothing, an unsightly and almost inhuman amount of slick pooling onto his chin.

“Y-you… if my mind wasn’t so… cloudy, I’d knock some sense into you. B… but… yes, I guess… it does hurt a bit,” you hesitatingly admit, being met with a delighted moan.

“Just as I thought. There’s no need to fret, my mistress. Your servant is here to make all your problems go away…~ All this pussy needs is some good service and you’ll feel better in no time,” he chuckles with a friendly smile, a pure contrast to the sinful looks he was giving your cunt only a few seconds ago.

“You dare speak in such a vulgar way to me?!” You snarl down at him.

“Come on… I know your womanhood is craving something…” he teases, swiping his index finger along your labia.

“M-my ‘womanhood’ has no such cravings. Seize this nonsense of I-I’ll.. ah…” you let out another groan as he rubs over your puckering entrance. You honestly didn’t know if you wanted to yank him by the hair so smash his lewd mouth against your pussy or fling him straight into the dungeon and leave his incubus nature to rot there alone.

“Oh but mistress, you can deny it all you want, but your body only speaks the truth. I can tell how badly it wants my fingers stretching it out… or better yet, why not just let it sit right here on my face. You don’t even have to worry if I can breathe or not~ I won’t complain,” he grins and inches your body closer. It’s taking all your strength to hold your body up and away from the temptation nudged right between your trembling thighs.

“Just a little bit further~ the longer you try to hold yourself back, the longer you’ll be leaving the author waiting. You wouldn’t want him to come looking for you just to see you riding your poor servant's mouth like some sort of prostitute~” he teases, stroking your inner thighs some more. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Against every thought in your mind, you lower yourself fully onto his awaiting tongue.

“Tha-Ahh!~ that’s it~ there you go, mistress~ now just use my mouth in any way you want. Use me as the slutty toy I am, my horny mistress~” his voice cracks from the pure levels of pleasure racing through his body right now, digging his nails into your thighs as your body slowly begins to rock against his mouth. And damn, was he good with his mouth. You’ve never felt anything quite as pleasurable as the feeling of his tongue lapping up the slick pouring from your entrance, teasing the rim before shoving its length inside. His nose perfectly rubs against your sensitive clit, making your whole entire body shake. Your back aches as a needy moan rips from your throat, humping against his tongue like this is your first time experiencing real pleasure. You felt like nothing more than a common whore dressed in the diamonds and gowns of a privileged lady. Nagito had that effect on you.

“Why… aghhh.. how… Hahh Ahh… how am I… this turned on?” You stammer out between broken moans and grunts.

“Just a little trick I have up my sleeve~ or… more like it your tea~ heheh, but there’s need to dwell on it, just focus on using me for your pleasure~ The true role… of a servant~” he babbles to himself as the tip of his tongue nudges your g spot.

A loud moan erupts from your throat, “Hahh- Aghh!! Oh.. oh my… d.. damn you…”

“Oh?~ did my dirty touch hit a sensitive spot? What would happen if I did it again, I wonder?” He smirks up at you before thrusting his wet muscle against the sponges spot inside your walls that had you grasping his hair for dear life.

“Agh… you… damned mutt…” You continue linking together a string of curses and degrading words as you feel a worrisome sensation straining against your cunt. The more his tongue pounds into your sex, the stronger this sensation gets.

“Come on, mistress… just a little bit longer… the release you’ve been longing for for so long is almost ready to burst~” he giggles in delightful anticipation.

“I hate you so much…” she groans, knowing this whole entire problem is definitely his doing. The servant before you, the one slurping up your pussy like it’s his last fucking meal, has always such a tease. Images of all the explicit situations he’s gotten you into before flood your mind as you prepare for your final release. You hated how he tempts you into such lustful acts with knowing damn well his lower position of power in regards to you but every time he found his way in between your legs, it always made you remember the kind of servant he is. He’s not a butler, secretary, assistant, or any only formal word in the book. He was a toy, your toy to use for your pleasure, as he calls it. But it always feels like it’s the other way around. As his hot tongue fucks in and out of your tight pussy, you both can tell how close to the edge you are.

“Please my mistress, please grace my tongue with the delicious taste of your cum~” he begs in garbled words, babbling nonsense like he’s lost his mind; like he’s high off the taste of your sweet nectar.

“Aghhhh.. Hahhh.. ha- ah! O-okay… fine. But just… j-just one. Only once, got it?” You shoot him a glare.

“Yes my lady, only one~ only one, that’s all~ hehe… hahah… ahhahaaa~” his sinister cackles leave you questioning if he really means it. The quivering on your pussy gets stronger and stronger as it threatens to release sprays of steamy cum into the needy expanse of his mouth. His eyes roll back into a beautiful sight of depravity as your cum spills onto his mouth, painting his lips, nose, and entire face in a layer of thick liquid. The sight is downright appalling, enough to make anyone grimace.

You quickly recover from the euphoric blast of an orgasm he just gave you and tries to lift off his tongue, “I think I've had enough of thi- huh?”

Nagito’s face, more specifically his eyes, swirl like two dark pools of inescapable lust, dragging you in. He forces your body firmly on his tongue and continues to eat you out, “My apologies, but I think I’ve missed a spot… just one more orgasm should clear it right up~”

“Oh no, don’t you even thi- Aghh, t-think about it, you better stop or… or… nghhh hah~” your voice trembles with rage as you try to pry your shaking body off his slutty mouth.

“Please my mistress, just one more~ I can’t be a good servant unless I thoroughly relieve every desire your body clings onto. This won’t take long, I promise~” the mischievous expression on his face clearly states otherwise but the dreadfully good drag of his tongue along your cunt, giving your clit a couple playful sucks as if you're throwing any other needs out the window. The only thoughts you’re thinking right now is riding his face until he eventually lets you go.

“There you go… just like that~ use me… use me for your pleasure~ that's all I want, all I could ever want. I exist only to bring you a countless amount of orgasms~ my only use is being your sex toy~ so please, use me however you see fit! Just as long as you keep smothering me with that beautiful, beautiful pussy~” he coos almost like he’s talking to your sex itself. His tongue leaves you lost in the sea of desire, making you feel so good you wouldn’t be surprised if every servant in the mansion could hear your cries of bliss.

“What a naughty mistress… I bet everyone can hear you, clear as day. You like that though, don’t you? I think you do… you like the idea of the people who wait on your every need hearing you cry out another servant’s name… the prim and proper lady they serve turned into a whore all because of my pathetic excuse of a tongue. Maybe… maybe they’re getting horny… you like that thought?” His words and pure filth but you just can’t stop letting them consume you.

“Uhuh.. yes… oh… ohhh god yess~” you tilt her head back and release a moan.

“You like the thought of all your servants unable to control themselves while listening to you moan above me? I wonder what they could be doing… maybe they’re all touching themselves… they know they shouldn’t but they just can’t help it. They're just too horny to control themselves~ Just like you, mistress,” he snickers devilishly. All this arousal, all this teasing was really starting to get to you. Drool and tears made your makeup melt off your face, staining your angelic satin dress. If you weren’t so fucked out you’d totally punish him for a lifetime for everything he’s done: Dirtying your dress, interrupting your meeting with an important person, touching you multiple times without permission, disobeying commands… but you won’t again think of his tongue. His skilled, hot tongue rubbing against every spot in your pussy that had you on the verge of cumming was practically your weakness. He knew this fact all too well.

“Does my mistress have a secret kinky side?~ Could you be just as sinful as me?~ then come on, my lady… let us be consumed in desires together… don’t stop cumming till I suffocate against your pussy… and even then, just keep using my body. Aghh yess… to be used by you… it’s my only desire… I’ll please you… I’ll please you for days if you’d like… so please…. Give me an order~ P-please, oh please my mistress, order me!~” he cries out in desperation, his hips jumping in the air for any slight bit of friction his tight slacks can’t offer him.

“An order… I… aghhh… I order you t-to keep going… and don’t stop t-till… you fulfill your role as… my sex slave,” you finally manage out, greeted with an immediate guttural moan.

“Y-yesss oh gods yess I will, I- Ahh, I will, I will I will! For you I’ll be the best sex slave e-ever~ I’ll please you, I please you, I swear! I’ll make you cum… I’ll make you lose your mind… just watch me… watch me work my magic on your gorgeously horny body…~” he babbles between slurps and moans as his tongue shoves itself deeper into your gooey pussy. In that moment you finally realized the truth. You’re not the true mistress who uses your little slutty toy for your own pleasure, you’re the slutty toy he uses for his own pleasure. But there’s nothing that can be done to change it besides applying more and more weight to his hungry mouth. He chuckled maddenly to himself…

All according to plan~

Reblog + Comment + Like if you enjoyed and like to see more Danganronpa or Nagito specific content!~

(Sorry for that break, I needed a moment’s peace to realize why I’m writing in the first place. I’m back in action so don’t worry! Aaaaaand I’ll immediately go back to hibernation from binge writing this in only a few hours. Stay turned for my next post, love you guys!!~)

(Tags!~ 🏷️)

@nambii @carticarti

#danganronpa #danganronpa x y/n #danganronpa v2 #smut #danganronpa x reader #nagito #nagito komaeda #nagito x reader #nagito smut #nagito komeada x reader #I’ve finally returned to my roots lol #<3 #fem reader #afab reader

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rynfiles · 9 months

Text

snowy days !

✎ᝰ — snowy days with the mha boys !

★ — deku, kirishima, bakugo, shoto, kaminari x gn!reader

★ — genre + warnings: fluff + no warnings

★ — a/n: an old post that was deleted and thought it was perfect for the winter season <3

꒰ IZUKU MIDORIYA ꒱

ꔛ izuku already knew that it was gonna snow the day before. he was all too prepared with his scarf, winter costume pressed and clean, and even his uniform layered up

ꔛ deku even had your stuff prepared, after he rambled on about how you could get sick and cold if you’re not prepared

ꔛ when the sun came up that boy was wayyy more excited than finding out all might is teaching at u.a

ꔛ he called you to see if you were up and if not, he would give you more time to sleep since he didn’t wanna bother you. but if you are awake, then he’s walking to your dorm to share his thrill of seeing small fluffs of white falling down

ꔛ for the time being, you guys would draw small shapes on your dorm window, drink hot chocolate, and nap in each other’s warmth

꒰ EIJIROU KIRISHIMA ꒱

ꔛ WHEW! this boy is wayyyy too excited when he wakes up and sees snow outside his dorm. literally taking 2.5 minutes to get ready so he can grab you and enjoy the snow together. just as excited as he is, until you tell him that snow isn’t enjoyed in a shirt and shorts

ꔛ kirishima reassures you plenty of times that he will be fine but of course listens to you since it is the “manly” thing to do. now he is overdressed but at this point, you wave it off

ꔛ surprisingly, and unintentionally, you guys match in cute snow outfits and your beanies are the two of your favorite colors. kiri is wearing a f/c beanie and you with a red beanie! once you guys realize, you take pictures and kirishima is complimenting you every chance he gets

ꔛ you guys enjoy the snow with snowball fights, polaroid pictures, making snowmen, and snow angels

꒰ KATSUKI BAKUGO ꒱

ꔛ bakugo was mumbling and grumbling in his sleep when he found out that it was gonna snow. he’s really not too fond of snow due to his quirk but deals with it anyway cause you absolutely love it

ꔛ for himself, bakugo would rather stay inside and sleep all day since school is more than likely canceled for the day and training was definitely not the move for the day. but of course, he’ll go along with any plan you have for the day

ꔛ when he hears you at his door, he drags himself from his bed and opens it to see you doing your happy dance. now he can’t even say no to your invitation of s’mores and snowball fights because of your starry eyes and gleeful smile that had your cheeks poking

ꔛ not a surprise that bakugo turned the snowball fight into a competition and almost hit you too hard with one throw. he almost won if it wasn’t for someone distracting him and you getting your last hit

ꔛ he claims you cheated but bakugo knows good and well that you won, just won’t accept it. for now, snowballs thrown back and forth until a winner is declared

꒰ SHOTO TODOROKI ꒱

ꔛ shoto isn't really biased on what the weather is tbh, but he definitely leans on the winter and spring time. more so winter, ‘cause one, he can build onto his quirk, and two, the holidays + his birthday :)

ꔛ but he can’t deny that he DEF enjoys the snowy days. he enjoys the pure white flurries that race down to the ground and layer up as he walks to class or to practice. sometimes he hopes it snows too much so class he can spend the winter day with you <3

ꔛ also ‘cause of his quirk, he pretty much knows how to handle the snow and how to prepare for it. then again, he can make it snow in july if he wants to. during the summer, he’ll order hella snow coats, (sometimes for you and him if he’s feeling generous) beanies, gloves, etc.

ꔛ when he feels the breeze slightly colder than usual, he immediately text you that alert that it’s a snow day ! now, he won’t get ready until you are awake and getting ready yourself

ꔛ while you are getting ready, he is planning out the day for the two of you. he usually relies on the typical snow forts to build, a snowman, snow angels, and end the night with hot chocolate and holiday movies :)

꒰ DENKI KAMINARI ꒱

ꔛ kaminari, similarly to kirishima, is all too excited for the winter season. he may as well run in the snow with just shorts on…which he almost did (don’t ask)

ꔛ ngl, he was definitely checking the weather every single day for when it’s gonna snow. that’s his sign that the holiday season definitely started and two, it’s the white christmas that he’s been dreaming since halloween

ꔛ at first, he was quite nervous to step out cause of his quirk. who knows what could happen if electricity meets snow ? what if he creates a blackout ? well…won’t be the worst that happens but then again, shoto and momo will side eye him for cutting off the heater. now they have to create one for the entire dorm building

ꔛ but as some months pass and the snow becomes heavier, he’s careful but enjoys the fluffy ice in his hand and how the snowflakes tickle his face. his hair and face only, he’s not too fond of the snow touches his hands (again, don’t wanna mix electricity with snow)

ꔛ as he becomes more and more comfortable with the snow, he barges into your room and babbles about the pretty snow outside. he rambles on and on about how you HAVE to join him for the snowball fight that’s happening with the class. don’t trust him tho, he can get sneaky

𖥻 my first winter post on this blog ;p ! hope you guys liked it and I haven’t wrote for mha in a while actually

𖥻 lemme know if you guys want more winter hcs or even winter scenarios with mha :)

𖥻 bye babes, drink your water and I love you MWAH 💕

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: 1 chronicles 16:10-11

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chackyxyooj · 2 months

Text

Attention (Part 2)

╭──────────.★..─╮

Description: Following a bout of shameless one-sided flirting, the MS boy(s) finally flirts back - drabbles.

Included: Garroth, Zenix, Vylad, Ein

CW: Ein.

AN: Do people like to read Ein X reader? Like, his character is so cruel and obsessive after PDH that he’s basically a mustache twirling villain. So why, one might ask, did I decide to write him? Well… I suppose he seemed like fun to write.

Part 1

╰─..★.──────────╯

Garroth Ro'Meave

There was a point in Garroth’s life when he could’ve been considered a bit of a flirt. That’s not to say that the boy had casanova levels of one liners, but that he knew just the right thing to say if he wanted to make someone’s heart flutter. He’s since moved past that time in his life; at least he thought he had moved past that point.

“What do you think about these pants?” You ask as you give a small spin, allowing Garroth a better view of your assets. The boy can hardly hold back his gaze as it trails your body. When he finally has enough sense to meet your eyes, Garroth finds that you’re grinning. “It’ll last longer if you take a picture.”

“You um…” Garroth’s mouth hangs open as he attempts to reply but modesty is determined to fail him. Not only through his words, but through his actions. He can hardly stop his eyes from drifting down your body once more.

You shift in place slightly when Garroth doesn’t give a full reply. “Geeze, do they look that bad?”

“No! That’s not it at-!”

“Garroth.” You say the boy’s name with a playful lit. “I’m only teasing.”

“Huh? O-oh, of course.” The panic that had begun to build quickly subsides when Garroth sees the look on your face. You grin from ear to ear, amused with your own antics. The flurry of emotions earns a dry laugh from Garroth as he turns away from you once again. “They look comfortable, I guess.”

“Just comfortable?” You muse, stepping out past the confines of the changing room and reaching out toward your companion. Garroth finds himself holding his breath as he awaits your next move. He doesn’t want to say or do anything he’ll regret later but the way you lift his gaze to meet yours is making it really difficult not to.

Against his better judgement a comment begins to slip past his lips. By the time he catches himself it’s too late. You stare at the boy with wide eyes.

“Garroth… what does that even mean?” You wonder in genuine confusion. “What does ‘your eyes are beautiful but I bet they’d look better on my bedroom floor’ even imply??”

“I don’t know! It just slipped out!”

“Garroth, you’re killing me over here!”

“I’m sorry!” If the boy wasn’t blushing before, he was definitely blushing now. Garroth knows very well that what he said was anything but charming, but you laugh.

You laugh and Garroth laughs with you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Zenix

“You wouldn’t know what flirting is even if it hit you square between the eyes.”

Zenix frowns at your unwelcome observation. How did a conversation between coworkers about customers suddenly become about flirting? The last thing he needed after handling an irritating customer was to be lectured by you; much less to be lectured about flirting. His pride wouldn’t allow it.

“Not true!” Zenix insists, eyes narrowing on you as you continue making drinks. “Flirting is obvious.”

“And what, exactly, constitutes as flirting?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?” Zenix rolls his eyes at your question. What counts as flirting was so obvious that even he knew, so why bother asking such a question? “Pick up lines and bold actions. Obviously.”

“Oh my Irene…” You mutter out between short fits of laughter. “You’re not wrong, but you are naive.”

“Naive?! You’re just being an ass!”

“I never said it was a bad thing. Though…” You state. Before Zenix can get another word out you chuckle to yourself. “...your sharp tongue is something else entirely. There are better uses for it.”

You put the drink you made down on the counter before turning your attention over to Zenix. He can’t quite put his finger on it but your demeanour has changed. The smile on your lips now falls just before it reaches your eyes.

You take a step toward the boy and allow your gaze to quickly trail across his body. Before he knows it you’ve closed enough distance that he can clearly smell the sweet scent that clings to your uniform. Still holding his gaze, you slowly reach up and fix the collar of Zenix’s uniform - something you’ve done plenty of times before but somehow feels different from the other times.

“You clean up quite nicely.” You let your hands linger against Zenix’s shoulders. When you don’t get much of a reaction from the boy you tilt your head ever so slightly.

Just beneath the collar of your uniform Zenix catches a glance of colour. Curious, the boy brushes back your hair and leans in to get a better look. To his surprise, this ultimately drives you to jump back.

“What are you doing?!” You exclaim, eyes wide and cheeks flushed.

Zenix narrows his eyes at you. “What am I doing? What were you doing?”

You open your mouth to reply but shut it as quickly. After a prolonged silence you finally laugh to yourself and your regular demeanour returns. “It’s just as I thought.”

“What’s ‘just as you thought?’ Was there something on my collar?”

“No.” Your reply comes out gently as you adjust the collar of your own uniform. “By the way, those drinks are for table nine. Be a good boy and take them there for me.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Vylad Ro'Meave

“Vylad… I’m bored.” You drag out the vowels of the boy’s name as you lean your back against his. “Entertain me!”

The boy peeks one of his eyes open to glance at you from over his shoulder.

You return his glance with pleading eyes. “Please?”

“I told you that meditating isn’t for everyone.” Vylad muses. He more or less expected this kind of reaction from you - not because you were a restless sort of person but because you always want attention when you’re with him. The boy can’t help but liken you to a cute, domesticated animal of sorts.

Unsatisfied with his reply you lean further back against Vylad’s back. The sudden pressure causes the boy to shift along his bed. “How much longer are you gonna meditate for?”

“It was supposed to be for fifteen minutes straight but you distracted me.”

“What?!” You gasp. “Fine. I’ll just… entertain myself for a while.”

With a huff you pull yourself off of Vylad’s back and sit up on his bed. Even without looking Vylad can tell that you’ve begun to narrow your gaze. It’s only a matter of time before you try something else.

A few minutes go by and Vylad is surprised that your self-entertainment has nothing to do with your phone, but his surprise doesn’t last long.

“Hey Vylad.” You call the boy’s name in a sing-song kind of way. “What do your parents think about me being alone with you in your room?”

“I’m sure they’re fine with it.”

“Even though we’re being so quiet?”

“Still fine.”

“And the door is closed?”

“Perfectly fine.”

Vylad can hear you laugh to yourself after he gives his final reply. He’d be lying if he said it sounded innocent. In fact, he was almost certain you were about to try something. Whether that was singing at the top of your lungs or rolling off his bed he wasn’t sure. You tend to be unpredictable like that.

What he didn’t expect from you was how close you suddenly decided to get to him.

You lean in close to the boy’s ear, your lips just barely hovering over the skin. Vylad doesn’t give you the reaction you want but you don’t make it easy. He can feel the ghost of a grin against his skin and just knows you’re up to no good.

“Say, what would it take to raise your parent’s alarms?” You whisper in an almost sultry way.

In complete contrast to you, Vylad takes on an indifferent tone and shrugs his shoulders. “Do you want to find out?” Vylad lets his words hang in the air before finally opening his eyes. He was expecting you to be flustered, but not nearly as much as you were.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Ein

There are a lot of things that can cause Ein’s day to go from bad to worse. Listing and ranking every single thing would be a pain in and of itself, but there is one thing about that list he knows for sure: it’s the fact that you are at the top of it.

And now you’re sitting on the table where his books were supposed to be.

“The hell are you doing here?” Ein spits, his eyes practically tearing through your flesh.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You laugh in that mockingly familiar way, crossing your ankles where you sit. “I’m here to check up on you, sweet little pup.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Why?” You ask, a grin beginning to form on your lips. “Would you prefer I call you a bi-”

Ein slams his hands against the table and takes pleasure in the way your body stiffens at the sound. “You keep your mouth shut, human.” He growls and bares his fangs.

“Trying to start a fight, little pup? Because I doubt that’ll go over well with him.” You quip as you flick the tip of Ein’s nose. The action causes the boy to reel back with a scowl. “I know you don’t like it when ‘weak little humans’ give you orders, but surely you’ll make an exception for me.”

“And why the hell do you think I’d do that?”

“Is that really a question you need me to answer?” You laugh a disgustingly confident laugh. It all but makes Ein’s skin crawl. When the boy’s ears begin to lay low and flat against his head you become noticeably amused. “What’s wrong? I thought you loved playing second fiddle to me?”

What little patience Ein has suddenly snaps. In a heartbeat the boy has you trapped between himself and the wall. He knows how much you hate it when he enters your ‘personal space’ or whatever you call it. Judging by the way your breath hitches, Ein knows he’s more than within the bounds of your ‘personal space.’

“Don’t make me put you in your place.” Ein mutters as presses himself between your legs. He allows his teeth to hover over the soft flesh of your neck and revels in the way your body trembles beneath his. “What am I saying… I bet you’d love that. Even now I can feel your heart trembling beneath me.”

“Speak for yourself.” You utter, your voice soft and breathless. “I’m not the one wagging my tail, little pup.”

#mystreet x reader #garroth ro'meave #garroth ro'meave x reader #garroth x reader #mystreet zenix #zenix x reader #vylad ro'meave #vylad ro'meave x reader #mystreet ein #ein x reader

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sirwhistledown · 4 days

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★ summary — after his fathers death, anthony finds solace within an unexpected someone ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★★ pairing: anthony bridgerton x sibling!reader ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★ content warnings. mention of death, description of grief & death, teenage anthony being in shambles after edmunds death (rest his poor soul) ˖˙ ꔫ —★★ word count. 3.9k ˖˙ ꔫ —★ genre. angst, so much angst. smidge of fluff, hurt/comfort? ★ authors note: anthony's story is actually so sad but i wanted to see more of how he dealt with everything and a deep dive onto what he felt of so... (also there are NOT enough anthony x sibling reader so here we are!!) ⠀⠀⠀❛⠀⠀ requests are open !!

Anthony had always believed that a profound sadness enveloped the body like a condecending fog, delving deep into the bones and clawing recklessly at the soul until it was a suffocating weight with no escape in sight. Yet now, as he stood amidst the bouts of chaos, he felt nothing. No sadness, no anger, no frustration. Just a vast, empty numbness that swallowed his entire being whole.

It were as if the world around him came to a grinding halt, and he had stopped with them—unable to escape the grasp of the coldness trickling up upon his spine. It felt as if his physical body had been frozen, but consciously, he had not—a distant observer in a weary state of forgery. The sheer oddity of it all left him out of it; an unsettling sense that he was lost in a dream too overwhelming to even comprehend was vastly disheartening. It felt like... a storm, a thunderstorm brewing inside of him, circling through and around his every vein and nerve until it ceased to exist.

He can briefly reminisce, pinching himself over and over until his skin turned blotchy red and had grown irritated in the area. The pain was a sharp reminder to him that it was a futile attempt at an escape, that it was not just some dream that he could simply wake up from. Yet, it could not be; Anthony wanted nothing better to do than just refuse. Laugh at the servants that crowded him with questions that he could not answer—the questions that he should not be worrying about at his age.

Their voices seemed to be distorted in a way that Anthony could not quite make out—a dissonant chorus, overlapping under the distinct rushing and ringing in his own ears. It was as if it went in through one ear and out the other, like water through a funnel. None of it made sense, despite it being more than natural common sense. He still isn’t sure how he managed to even utter a single coherent word; Anthony couldn’t even hear himself over the cacophony that tumbled through his mind. He couldn’t hear himself over the concious noise that screamed in his head and translated all the way to his entire body until it was the only thing radiating through his pumping blood.

In the mix of what seemed to sound like if someone had put all the most horrid sounds a man could hear and mixed them all together, jumbled and overwhelming, he could faintly hear his mother. His poor mother, screaming and crying, the sound so haunting and raw that Anthony wishes he could never hear again in his life, yet it lingered upon him like an uninvited shadow in the corner of his room. Even when it was not presently there, when he was stuck alone at night, his siblings sent off to bed by the maids, his mother nowhere in his line of sight, did he stare at the ceiling of nothing—hearing those cries replaying in his head again and again and again. It’s as if he wanted himself to go mad and Anthony must say, he was very close to so.

But the sounds were only a singular part of his torment. Lord, have mercy on his miserable soul; nothing could’ve prepared him for the sights that awaited him, that he was forced to face by nothing but himself.

His mother sprawled across the staircase, a flurry of maids assisting her but to no avail. There was no ending to her constant misery, and for a brief moment, a moment that Anthony must regret, he wished that his mother had an off-switch so he could just stop it. For her sake or his, he couldn’t quite say.

His siblings, on the other hand, were a mix of emotions that Anthony was not qualified to handle nor care for. Was that not what maids were for? Daphne cried silently, dabbing at her tears cascading down her cheeks that failed to subside. He silently wonders to himself how many tears a woman could cry before her very essence would be evaported, while Colin and Benedict, although undeniably upset, managed to hide away their sentiments, at least towards Anthony. Well, he was sure he caught a glimpse of a tear roll down Benedict’s face, but there was nothing he could say nor do about that except pat him on the back a couple of times as a comfort of sorts before he’s again whisked away to care for something he knew little about. He wasn’t prepared for this; he wasn’t qualified for this. He was just a child.

At least the younger ones were mostly oblivious to the situation that had wrapped around the mourning family. They all gazed up at Anthony, more confused than upset, and he must think that they would wonder why all their older siblings suddenly all looked so remorseful, cloaked with grief, and their mother a distant entity that was soon regarded as unapproachable. In the recesses of his grief-sorrowed mind, a feeble thought flickered for a moment's notice: how, he pondered, for any way to describe the gravity of their weighted reality. Could he even explain to them? Shield them from the truth, or perhaps let them burden down the knowledge that would take away their youthful innocence as it had done for Anthony as well? He felt like an abonomibal creature for even thinking about it twice.

One in particular, suggested to be more curious than the others. Y/N, her name was. Her curiosity stood out like a sore thumb, perhaps like a lightning rod in a thunderstorm. He couldn’t help but to wonder at how she seemed so upbeat despite the dark and grim reality that faced her angel of a soul. She didn’t ought to know the truth. Each time Anthony called for her, the name rolling off her tongue with gilded ease. These times, unlike others, a gentle plea was slowly woven upon his voice that could speak no more as he edged her away from the chaos with a simple “Get away from there.” or “Come over here, Y/N.” In these instances, he always sounded so diminished that Benedict would end up swooping in and picking her up for some other sort of entertainment that was not so utterly upsetting.

This night couldn't be any different.

The thunderclap erupted like a cannon shot in the wild—a deep, profound, and resonant roar that rattled the air around them, the windows shuddering with every harsh punch of wind. It was, perhaps, a night of sorrows. As the rain splattered upon the house as if it were a hose, the wind howling in the near distance. Anthony swears for a beat that he can faintly hear the rain-shooken birds finding solace in their chimney. He wishes that he were a bird; at least he would be able to have some place to find tranquility that was not just the dreadful drag of the house, each lamenting moment drowning all the cheeriness that once stood in this very place.

Anthony taps his quill absently upon the polished wood of his late father's table, the designs that were so intricate, swirling under his fingers like echoes of the past that he could no longer reach but yearned for. It must’ve taken months upon months to create it. He found enjoyment in running his sullen fingertips around the smoothness of the edges, a contrast to the jagged edges that traced along his heart. Anything that wasn’t entirely dejectful felt like a cruel mockery of how he felt.

It was late—far too late for anyone in the house to be up, him included. And yet, Anthony couldn’t find it in himself to indulge in the luxury of being able to forget it all, even for a few fleeting moments. He had tried, laying upon his father's old bed in his old room, which smelled all too much like him, enveloping his entire being. A bittersweet waiver of worn fabric and a mixture of odd colognes and papers that had been burnt from days ago. It was haunting in a way that Anthony couldn’t quite place, as if his father were still next to him—an unseen presence, watching his every move. Every time he squinted his eyes shut, the image of his father in the garden flooded his mind, lying so freakishly still. It coursed through his thoughts. He had been well surrounded by vibrant blooms of the spring-induced flowers, which seemed much too cheerful under the circumstances, and Anthony disantely thinks if those were the flowers to be used for the funeral.

Those were no means to sleep, slipping away like sand through his fingers.

He isn’t quite sure why he slips into his study rather than any other place for some sort of solitude. Anywhere would’ve been far better than his father's study; nonetheless, he finds himself sitting in the very same chair his father once sat in. Would he be proud? The words ring into his mind, digging as if it were like a tattoo within his brain. He had thought about it a select number of times over the course of a couple of days, yet the question remains unsolved. Anthony respected his father more than anyone else in his life, and putting words into his mouth that he could not say only made him feel bitter rather than better.

The silence is deafening—as if all of a sudden, the thoughts and ringing that took up his every moment had just chosen to dissapear. A harsh push back into reality is what Anthony would’ve guessed.

Tap

Anthony furrows his eyebrows, knitting together to crease over his squinted eyes. The new, unfamiliar sound is something that he briefly wonders. He strains to listen for any hint of noise beyond the relentless screeching of the wind and the staccato rhythm of rain pellets up against the window, each drop intensifying as time dragged on. When there is nothing to hear to follow up with his thoughts, enveloping him in a wooful silence, Anthony, for a chilling interval, genuinely believes that he might be going insane. As far as-

Thump, thump.

He could no longer deny the truth that it was in fact, not his mere imagination. Anthony was more certain than the flourishing green of the grass outside the house that the sound echoing through the darkness was real and not just a byproduct of his sleepless night or the weight of horrors from the days that lay behind him pressing down upon his consciousness. He stands up willfully, feet hitting the floor with a soft thud that was met with a creak reverberating from the old wood panels. The candle that he had lit for comfort wavers precariously, the flame teetering on the edge of extinction from the sudden movement. It is no longer than a mere count of seconds before the light flickered back to light, casting an ominous glow throughout the room.

“Hello?”

Anthony was a bit ashamed to admit it, but his words wobbeled as he spoke. A mirror reflection of how he truly felt. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath to steady and ground himself to the so little he had. The silence that he was met with was perhaps even more unnerving than before—not even a sinned whisper to break the heavy stillness.

“Who’s there?” He proclaims, this time louder, his voice firming itself as the time passed by cautiously slowly, like it was moving through sticky molasses. Anthony is a moment's reach away from venturing out of his study and investigating for himself, curiousity gnawing at him. It was soon deemed unnecessary when a familiar little head popped up from the right frame of the heavy wooden door, wild tufts of hair jutting out from all directions in a way that resembled . He can’t help but to let out a huff of relief when he notices that it is only Y/N and that he was, in fact, not crazy.

Relief then morphs into confusion within a snap of a finger. His eyebrows are met together again, except this time, not from any sort of paralyzing fear but in question. “Y/N, pray tell, what brings you out of bed at this unearthly hour?” Anthony is quick to step away from his desk, taking 3 large steps towards the younger sibling, looking down upon the half-shamed, half-curious look that had crossed her face.

He shook his head yet, bent down far enough to pick the little girl into her arms. She doesn’t protest, instead, nestling herself into his bigger body as if she were seeking some sort of comfort that Anthony could not find in himself to give. He had never been the best at offering solace to other people, nor himself, and especially not now, when his own heart felt too dim and restless to share.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She mumbles, the words lost into the warm crook of Anthony’s neck. He sets the little girl onto one of the chairs that had been meticulously placed in front of the tidied desk. As he stands, his gaze drifts upward to the Renaissance painting hanging on the wall, overlooking the study—an eye-striking masterpiece from an era long before either of them had taken their first breaths. In truth, Anthony wasn’t quite sure how they even managed to get their hands on such an exquisite masterpiece, but it had been his father's favorite painting, so he didn’t dare ask. Every time he turned to face it, the vibrant colors and intricate details felt like a worn ghost from the past, fluttering memories that stung with longing. The image reminded him far too vividly of his father, pulling him into a clouded reverie that soured his mood.

Anthony’s lips are pulled into a drifted frown, eyes gazing over to the uncurtained window where darkness stared back at him, reverberating how the moment felt of. He unknowingly presses his fingers up against his hair, as if he were to adjust how it looked, although he never quite cared for how his hair stood. Is it the storm that troubles you?” He questions meticulously, knowing how fidgety Y/N got during those periods of weather; she never seemed to be a big fan nor curious of it, rather burying herself into a bundle of blankets in pillows. “You have nothing to fear from it.”

The girl tilts her head to one side, as if she were pondering her answer. There is a brief moment before she slowly shakes her head to the side. “A bit, I suppose.” She mumbles, her fingers playing with the hem of her nightgown, the silk fabric one that was cooling rather than heating her up. She always preferred the material. “But…”

His eyebrow arches in surprise at the answer, a rumble of perplexity stirring inside of him as he pondered what could be bothering her at this time of night. “Then what might it be if it is not the storm?” his tone softening as he addressed his younger sister, the usual edge in his voice fading into something gentler than usual.

“I…” She lets out a soft exhale, as though she were afraid of saying it aloud to Anthony. It struck him as odd, as well; Y/N was always more open towards him than any of his siblings, although he never understood why. He never brought it up in conversation, simply accepting her willingness to share with him. “I was thinking of father.”

The words spill out hesitantly, and Y/N looks up at her brother in a way that he could only describe as ashamed, though it was nothing to be ashamed of. Anthony’s breath catches into his throat, a reflex that had become all too familiar in recent days. He runs a hand over his face, appearing more dismayed than ever. “Whatever for?” He asks cautiously, unable to help the bittersweet modulation that came along with the sentence.

Y/N looked down, legs swinging over the edge of the seat, the motion that was so kid-like, reminding Anthony of the innocence of his little sister, how he needed to protect her from the cruelty of the world. “I miss him.” She finally says, though not confidently as she usually had been, as though she had chosen her words carefully, placed diligently. “Where is he?”

Where is he?

The words chime in his head persistently, the sensation of a dagger being strung into his heart. Anthony swallows the hardening lump in his throat. He had been able to answer questions and answer to orders his entire life, and yet– this simple question, was enough for him to falter in his step. He could not just simply tell her, Oh yes, our father. He is dead. Because, well, she was a child, and at her young age, Anthony would not know of what death was. It was the furthest thing possible from what he would’ve thought of, and yet, this was Y/N’s truth. She had to face the ridicule of death, not even knowing what it was than a melancholic goodbye.

“He-” The word floundered in his mouth, unable to correlate the thoughts in his brain to the words coming out of his own mouth. “He’s…”

“Is he dead?”

Anthony almost chokes out a laugh, because what the fuck? Where did she learn of such? She was still so young; he didn’t get it. He was sure neither Colin nor Benedict would directly say it towards her, and Daphne wouldn’t have the heart to do so. None of the other children had much of a clue of what was going on, so it could not have been them either. “Y/N, I-” And yet, he is still unable to speak. He doesn’t know if it is because of the absurdity of the conversation, or if it really is the sleep deprivation messing with him, and if he’s being honest, Anthony doesn’t have it in him to care for the reason. Not when he had... this to worry about now.

“He is dead, isn’t he?” He’s unable to refrain from noticing the quiver in her lip as she spoke, albeit the even cadence.

Anthony dips his head down, eyes gluing to the floor because he’s unable to look his sister in the eyes. Unable to break the news and her heart at all the same time. She loved Edmund dearly; she loved everyone dearly, and that was her problem. Letting go was always the hard part, for even just a couple of moments—how could she let go for an eternity? Y/N is far from stupid though, and she’s quick to get the message. She too, looks away, this time to somewhere that Anthony can’t quite place. Her eyes are distant, as if she were not there presently, and it scared him a great deal.

“Are you sad?” Y/N inquired, the question so basic yet so meaningful for Anthony, and he can feel the strings tugging at his heart. It’s almost laughable to him; a young child who barely understood the severity of the situation, was the first one to ask him about how he felt. Not his siblings, not the maids, not the butlers, and certainly not his mother. No one doubted him, and while Anthony knew his family cared for him deeply, it underwent as if no one really did.

“I suppose I am, yes.” He answers honestly, given that he was tired of lying to himself and others. And well, he was sure Y/N would figure it out eventually.

“It’s okay to be sad.” She whispers gently, her head inclining to the left, and then up to meet Anthony’s gaze. For a brief period of a second, he wonders if she could read him that well. If she could see right through his facade, and knew what he needed to hear to the brink. He refused to acknowledge it, but he was aware that the words had some sort of effect on him. In a manner that had hardly ever moved him before.

He can do nothing but nod slowly, hesitant to speak upon the matter at hand. "You truly ought to be sleeping, Y/N.” Anthony breathes out, pressing his hand against his subdued jawline, an uneven beard already beginning to form from the days he hadn’t shaved. It was the only response he could come up with, the only response he could say without directly speaking on the matter.

Y/N bounces up, and off of the chair, landing on her two feet that were padded with socks that went up to her knees. Her favorite pair that she refused to let go of despite the many holes that had broken into the fabric. She stood much shorter than Anthony, still in the very early stages of growth. “Maybe you would be less sad if you talked.” She states woefully, her eyes holding only the sincerest of truths to the point where even Anthony knew that she did not lie.

“I’ll be okay.” Is his respondance, his words cutting sharp into the heavy air that had filled the room. Because deep down, Anthony knows that his sister is partially right, that he truly needed to talk to someone. The only problem that he now faced was his honor and the fighting fact that he had no one to talk to. “It will all be okay.”

It’s hard for him to even believe his own words. He hadn’t had a clue how Y/N, in all her young wisdom and pureness, could believe him either. In spite of what he thinks, she only agrees with him, already beginning to walk towards the door again, this time with Anthony trailing a meter behind her. He knows well enough to at least tuck her into bed this time, to make sure that she gets some proper rest for the day ahead, although there is hardly anything to do other than funeral planning, which she had no part in.

Before she managed to walk out, Anthony ruffled his sister's hair in affection, something they now both lacked tremendously. He wished upon those days when he was Y/N’s age, able to curl up in his mother's lap, or next to his father in his study, where none of these adult problems affected him and it was just pure bliss. A perception which he could no longer relish in at this point in time.

“Will we talk tomorrow?” Y/N promptly solicits, something that Anthony could finally answer that wouldn’t hurt him.

“I’m sure of it.” Perhaps for the first time in days, it’s a truthful answer in what he regarded. He says it, not as an entire answer, but as a promise for himself, because although he could be the mouthful of things that his brothers had constantly reminded him about, he never truly broke his promises for those he loved. And as Anthony slips his way out of Y/N’s, his sister falling into a light slumber that he’s sure will keep her down for a number of hours at least. Her eyes fluttered with the weight of sleep, her breathing steadying as the rainfall began to die down during the late night turning into early morning.

God, maybe he could finally get some much needed sleep.

#sir whistledown writes #lord have mercy on my soul #lwk hate this #anthony bridgerton fic #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x sister reader #colin bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #daphne bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine

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