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crying-fantasies · 8 months

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Love fantasy

Masterlist

It all started as a normal cycle, he swears on his spark that it was an innocent and normal cycle.

"I interfaced with one of the humans".

Until it wasn't.

No bot can verify the fact but all are equally flabbergasted at the statement, humans are still a novelty aboard, it has been only a few earth years since they arrived to the starship and while friendships and primitive market of products are normal to see nowadays it still doesn't stop one or two glass cubes from shattering against the floor of Swerve's or the high grade that has gone down the wrong pipe by the mere words formed by Fizzle's vox.

No bot asked, no one even knew, no one really noticed him gone from the ship or when he came back but now they all have their attention at him even when he simply said it to the bot next to him, but gossiping, no matter species, is a big deal among sentient beings.

"You're lying"

"No!", almost sensing the others receptor audials over him he can only try to cover his EMF as close to his frame as possible, spoiler coiled near to his armor in a display of nervousness, "it was- it was out of this world, okay? And- and then she was-"

"It was a human femme?!"

Again, some were at their seats end, some again chocking on their drinks, others feeling their fans activate, everybot has seen for themselves how soft humans are, and even heard from the same humans that some are most soft than others.

Human femmes- er, woman and alike, were supposed to be the peak of softness, even human primitive communication devices (porn and magazines) said so!

"Primus dammit- do you want everybot to hear about it?", oh yes, please say more was something resonating among the processors of the most curious in the theme and the most deviant of them that had also thought of some organic colleagues in such a way, of course, Fizzle didn't had to know, and in some way it was his fault to talk about such a thing like a sparkling sharing secrets in a public area when the Lost Light was so big.

"Okay, okay, go on, what did she do?", there was silence, one that preceded the proton storm while Fizzle's spoiler raised back again in excitement to remember the exchange.

"...she played with my wires and with my spark"

If the two bots didn't know they were being eavesdropped before now they knew after a few bots cracked their glasses full of energon at the mere mention of the interface related activity, making they almost scape even when some bots wanted to keep hearing and asked them to come back, because it was the discovery of the century, well, almost, but it was still of great interest nonetheless for most of them!

"Wow, that was crazy, huh, Roddy?", Drift tries to ignore the other bots still remaining in the bar and their obnoxiously loud fans, hardly covering the growing charge on their EMF and now heated frames trying to seem as undisturbed as possible.

Even Rodimus, who stops as hard as he can his cooling fans, servos being negated of the littlest possibility to even shake at how hard his spark is pulsing, "Uhum".

First of the questions running around his processor is who was it? Fizzle doesn't even have any game going on or perceived by his optics to be able to drag along another mech on his habsuit, let alone a human that knows nothing about interfacing, which get to the next question running wild in circles around his processor: can a human do sparkplay? The idea is impossible but it doesn't stop his imagination where, in fact, it seems more than possible with those little hands and fingers running wild on a bot's spark chamber, he remembers the humans being taught cybetronian medic techniques, how they were so focused in healing illness and it isn't so hard to change the purposes of the delicate and sometimes rough way those little hands made their way around a spark and all the sensitive wiring around.

He ask to himself if the human Fizzle was talking about were to be, by any chance, you.

And he negates it, scratches it, deletes as far as he can any trace of the mere idea of it because it will break his spark in million pieces would be improper in everyway.

It is also improper to remember it when he is next to you while you read a datapad about once living creatures of Cybertron, little finger moving the page once in a while in your hunger for more information that gets his optics focused on the way your eyes move along the light and the glyphs on the screen.

Will your curiosity also extent to other possibilities? He has seen you go "woah" and "ahh" over simple things like the subtle communication between frames with wings and spoilers or the fair quantity of differences of one frame to the other, the image of your face looking with interest whatever you're reading and how you take notes on your personal datapad, little fingers moving along and pressing different places in the sensible screen while showing your obvious interest, your possible awe over his bared spark in front of you.

It's almost too easy, he only needs to change a few things, his open spark chamber is now the source of light reflecting on your eyes, a perfect miniature mirror of your actions as your fingers touch the sensible glass cover of his spark, he can almost feel the electricity driving away to your body to his waiting spark that welcomes it with a tremor as hard as lightning that spreads to his whole frame in electric pleasure, wires tensing at the movement around and all the pressure, trying to make give accomodations to every little electric pulses your body can send to his most sensible component.

"Roddy"

It's way too real, way too hard, and it gets worse when your fingers get replaced with your soft looking lips and tongue, lapping above the connections before sliding to his tensed wires, making a wet trail to his spark while he debates internally in his own fantasy, he is supposed to concentrate, to not come undone or look because he is sure it would be JUST. SO. HOT.

"Rods"

It doesn't even end there, he can hear your voice along it, processor and cooling fans working overtime while he can only focus on the possibility, on the maybe that lingers above, it only takes so little to have you kiss with tongue his spark and he can't take it-

"Rodimus!" Oh, now, that's his designation, the fantasy is shattered in pieces and he soon realizes one of his digits is above his spark chamber, you are looking at him, maybe confused, obviously worried, it's enough to make him let go of the digit between his dentae and feeling his spike depressurize- "why are you so hot?", nevermind.

"... I'm hot?...", a wicked grin blended with happiness is forming on his faceplate as his words trail on slowly, almost as he is tasting it.

"I mean", you correct yourself, you really didn't need to, "heat is coming from your body, are you going flames on again? Are we under attack again?"

"What? Nah, just...", daydreaming about impossibilities, about a weak porn, like humans call it, without basis, heated romance and passion he isn't even sure you share with him, impossibilities that drag his bleeding spark over every movement and word of yours that he clings on with greedy servos, it's so embarrassing and he is sure he'll offline by pure mortification if you ever get a word about his attraction to you just to be faced by any degree of disgust coming from you, "it's getting cold in here, wouldn't want you to freeze those little fingers to dead", he doesn't even offer his servo but it is almost a natural response when he sees you approaching him with fear on your steps by any possibility of being another normal day aboard the Lost Light, he doesn't even stop and let's you settle on his lap like the security protocols indicated.

Fear washes away quickly when you register his words, there is curiosity on your eyes, looking between him and your hands, before finally look at him in the optics again, "Oh, didn't know you heard about the effects of excessive cold on the most distant phalanges, I mean, it's something that only happens while in extreme freezing conditions in harsh environments or controlled ones in closed lab experiments-"

Rodimus really didn't get what you were talking or the whole deal you were explaining to him, but seeing you feel secure next to him, taking seat above him showing the full confidence and trust you put on him while your hands move to explain your point, putting the warm palm against his armor from time to time.

"Everything you touch is bound to fail anyway", harsh words pang among his memory archives while he touches a side of yours to prevent a fall, but he silenced it, preferring the sound of your voice that now was about something called homeostasis.

He wouldn't trade this moment for anything, not when he offers you a digit and you hold it immediately, well, maybe a kiss if you could be generous enough, but he will get there soon, he hopes so.

I totally offer this one to @archie-sunshine and @pinkanonwrites by their glorious work of overheating and teasing Rodimus, I love it to the moon and back to hear about one of my faves even when he is mentally unstable and runs hot most of the time, it's his own charm, specially their newest works that relate to Roddy so much.

#reader insert #x reader #tf mtmte #transformers x reader #transformers #transformers idw #transformers x human reader #tf rodimus #rodimus x human reader #rodimus x reader #idw rodimus #rodimus prime #valveplug #sparkplay

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yoredoesmore · 2 months

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Until Fate Reunites us - An Unexpected Storm | Cyno

pairing: Cyno x Reader

summary: Two young children who both share different fates meet. They are connected by a bond that surpasses even the universe, but the worlds they were born into divide them. Will their paths cross again or will their first encounter be their last?

cw: fight scenes, the story takes place in cyno's and y/n's childhood, mentioning of child abuse, kidnapping

genre: angst, action, eventual romance, [wc: 2,7k]

a/n: this story was written long before more parts of cyno's backstory were released, so none of this is canon

enjoy!

The burning summer heat fell onto the world, penetrating not just the climate but also one's mind. It was safe to say that this was by far one of the hottest days of the year in Sumeru, yet you didn't seem to mind. With a smile on your face, you walked over the sandy surface, carefree and full of joy. Today was a day of celebration, one you were destined to remember forever– today, you were going to create your very own family.

Years of loneliness and desperation were finally coming to an end, you could feel it in your heart.

Now, one would ask themselves how a little child like you was going to achieve such goal but you were ready to surprise them all. Months have gone into the making of your plan and nothing and no one was going to stop you from pursuing it. So as you sneaked past the gates of Caravan Ribat, you held your eyes out for your new family members.

"Look at this.." You said in awe while making your way through the bustling streets of the marketplace. You were no stranger to crowded places and commotion, despite being born in the middle of the desert. When the rations got thin and the nights too dangerous, you would often come here and borrow one or two items from the stalls or seek shelter behind one of the buildings. It was safe to say that you were at least familiar enough with the place to know where to search first.

But even though you fit right in with the people, you still had to be cautious. This place was just booming with guards and thieves, a dangerous mixture for an outsider and little kid like you. But you still did a pretty good job at mixing in with the locals. Hardly anybody took notice of your existence and even those who did, did not bother themselves longer than two seconds with your presence. After making it through the entire street, you finally arrived at your first destination.

Right under a structure or bridge, you weren't entirely sure what it was, they sat. Children like you, but a tad bit older. Despite their young appearance, nobody dared to walk past or even look at them. These teenagers were known for causing trouble after all. Yet you didn't even hesitate to approach them with a bright smile.

"Good afternoon." You said, holding out your hand. "My name is Y/n, and I would like for you guys to join my family!"

A long silence followed your words which was followed by an awkward cough. The teenagers exchanged confused looks with one another before one of them decided to speak up.

"Are you lost, kid..?" The tallest asked.

"I was but I am not anymore. I am here to recruit you guys to join my family!"

"Join...your family? I'm sorry kid but we have no interest in playing house with you. Why don't you ask mommy and daddy to get you some toys to play with them instead?"

"Don't be rude, Galehunter, the kid is just lost." A brown haired girl came to your defense. The blonde girl simply rolled her eyes and nodded her head towards your direction, acting as if you weren't right in front of them.

"Listen kid. I don't know where your parents are but you should go back and find them. You don't know us so stop saying these weird things. We could easily cut you open and sell your body parts, distribute your organs on the black market and much more. Return now and let us be."

The five teens patiently waited for you to run off in fear, show some signs that their presence was intimidating you but you remained stuck in place. Your stubbornness must have gotten on their nerves, because one of them suddenly revealed a dagger to you. The shiny object absorbed the sunlight, making it look like some expensive jewelry. The boy swung the weapon in front of your eyes but you didn't move one inch.

"This kid is crazy.." The boy with the dagger said, returning the weapon to its previous spot.

"They call you Stone Enchanter, right?" You asked the boy.

"I would like you guys to call me Frostbite. I may be young but I am the leader of a gang that is in desperate need of new members..or members in general. You and I are quite similar, forgotten kids who roam the sand and fight for their survival. We were abandoned by this world, by our archon and by the people and now seek vengeance. Follow me, thrust me and become one of the most feared soldiers the world has ever seen."

"And why should we?" Galehunter suddenly asked while approaching you.

"Why should we put our trust in the hands of a child? We don't know if you're capable of leading a group. Being from the streets means nothing if you can't play by its rules." The girl looked down at you with daring eyes, eyes which you adored but also saw as a provocation.

You knew that things wouldn't go as smoothly as you wanted them to, that is why you came prepared. You still believed that today was a date which would be engraved into the stars and you were going to do everything to make that happen.

"How can I prove myself?"

Galehunter thought for a while before her eyes suddenly lit up. She grabbed you by the shoulder and turned you around and pointed at a young boy. The child was walking hand in hand with who you assumed were his parents. An uneasy feeling started to erupt in your body as you waited for her answer.

"You see that happy family over there? The father looks like he makes good money judging from the clothes they're wearing..I'm sure he wouldn't mind a few missing Mora."

"That's it? I just have to steal some Mora?" You found the request amusing at first, a challenge easily done, but when you noticed all the guards that started to surround them, your smile quickly dropped. Their expensive attire obviously didn't go unnoticed by your eyes but to think that they were that important people, here in the middle of the desert? The task immediately shifted up on the difficulty scale.

"Today history will be written. The birth of a new organization, one that will make it all the way to the stars. We shall celebrate that birth with a big feast, which I of course will pay for."

The teens just nodded their heads and laughed, none of them taking you serious. They were doubting your skills and intelligence but that was only to be expected. None of them could ever have fathomed the strength that laid within your grasp..

✎ᝰ

Time passed, yet the sun still burned down on Teyvat like an ungodly fire. For the past thirty minutes you have tried your best to keep up with the family– which went quite successful most of the time. They were an easy target despite the crowded place and not to mention the unusual hair color of their son that made them stick out more than a sore thumb. By listening in during some of their conversations, you managed to find out that they were from Sumeru City and came here for some business affairs. They were indeed a family but to your surprise they weren't as rich as you thought they were.

The man was part of the Matra, a group of self proclaimed heroes of the Akademiya and his wife was a professor. They gave off a rather friendly aura but that of course didn't stop you from following through with your plan. You cautiously watched them enter the Gilded Journey, a famous resting place for all types of travelers but also quite the dangerous place for the average person. But given the man's occupation, he would have no troubles defending his people.

While watching them, you constantly tried to find an opening, a moment of distraction, but your search was in vain. If they weren't surrounded by guards and mercenaries, they would be in an too unideal position to attack from.

The only opening there was, was the son. His curious eyes gazed into all kinds of directions as they walked through the bustling marketplace. He was your best chance– and most likely even your only. Unsure of how to draw his attention towards you, you waited and waited, for the perfect opportunity to find you and indeed after a couple more minutes an idea popped into your head.

You waited a few more moments for one of the merchants to pull the parents into one of their exaggerated stories before you approached the kid.

"Did they sell out yet??" You asked him in a worried tone.

"The..what?" He replied in a rather confused voice.

"The nuts of course! Did they sell out yet?" Concern reflected in the boy's eyes as you continued to confuse him. He had absolutely no idea what you were talking about yet he couldn't help himself but become curious.

"What nuts are you talking about?" You carefully took a peek at his parents, who were still chatting with the merchant. You then pointed at a man who was standing in the far distance.

"His name is Hawad and he sells the most delicious Candid Ajilenakh Nuts! they're a delicacy here and are mostly known for their sweetness. They sell out really fast and I wanted to know if he still had some left. Every child loves them, so I thought that maybe you have gotten some already but..seems like you don't.."

This was the moment of truth. The boy's eyes still reeked of confusion and conflict yet the small sparks of curiosity didn't go unnoticed by you. Your heart stopped for a second when he turned around to talk to his mother but when he asked her for some Mora a big smile found its way on your face.

"Yes mother, I will be back shortly. Do not worry, the vendor is right over there." And with that said the boy ran off and you followed him. Your eyes were dead focused on the bag. He had told the woman that he was just going to buy some of the books he saw at the other stall, what a clever child. Based on that, you figured that someone as posh as him wasn't allowed to snack on such unhealthy delicates.

"What's your name?" The boy suddenly asked.

"I'm Y/n, what about you?"

"I'm Cyno!"

"Nice to meet you, Cyno." The two of you exchanged smiles before you continued to focus on the task at hand. You were only a couple minutes away from the merchant, you could already smell the sweet aroma of the nuts. You weren't lying when you said that the Ajilenakh Nuts were beloved by the people of the desert. They were sugary and nice to chew on, the perfect snack when craving something sweet and you loved them.

Your heart bloomed with each step you took forward. Cyno walked ahead of you and was equally excited, but the both of you for different reasons.

Stretching out your hands, you prepared yourself to snatch the bag out of his grip, but all of a sudden an eerie atmosphere filled the air. All the exhilaration had clouded your mind, making you forget about your surroundings. You had let your guard down and that led to a group of strangers suddenly approaching you.

"Look at that.." One of them said with a mischievous smile on his face. "We got ourselves some lost kids."

"Who appear to be in desperate need of help from some capable adults."

Cyno's smile immediately faded upon noticing their dangerous nature. He shifted closer to you but not to hide himself but rather to shield you with his own body.

"We are in no need of help." He said in a serious tone. "Just on our way back to our parents."

"Well, then why don't we guide you back?" One of the men suddenly grabbed you by the shoulders and started pushing you towards the exit of the market. You were about to yell out to get the public's attention when one of them pulled out a dagger and held it against the boy's back. It was perfectly concealed, for only your eyes to see.

"Let's bot bother anyone else, shall we?" A woman, the leader of the group you assumed, gave you a soft smile.

"Let's move to a more quiet place, shall we?.."

Your gaze moved over to Cyno, who's face was filled with horror and concern. All you were able to do was comply and follow the group off the market ground..

✎ᝰ

The sun was starting to set and with the setting of the sun , the radiant heat drastically decreased as well.

There you were, in the middle of the desert, surrounded by criminals. The group of gangsters had taken you to an abandoned camp that wasn't too far away from Caravan Ribit you believed but not exactly close either.

Neither you or Cyno had said a word throughout the entire journey, too scared to piss one of them off. Turning your gaze around towards the boy, you tried to make out the state he was currently in but his eyes were completely empty.

"Why did you take us all the way out here? If you had wanted our Mora, you simply would have taken it."

"We got ourselves a little thinker over here." The woman said, slowly approaching you.

"Times are getting rather rough out here, little one, I'm sure you heard mommy and daddy talk about it as well. The prices of basic goods are rapidly increasing day by day and simple commissions aren't enough to get us by anymore."

"So you kidnapped us in hopes that our parents would pay you guys a fine price?" Cyno suddenly joined the conversation.

"Impressive. Looks like we caught a bundle of little researchers." The woman's voice was filled with sarcasm, which earned her soft chuckles from her comrades.

Cyno just rolled his eyes at their remarks but remained silent. The situation had spiraled out of control and you were starting to get really worried. If you had been on your own, these eremites would have been taken care of in no time but the boy's presence was a great limitation to your options. You didn't want him to be confronted with any graphic scenes but you knew that you had to do something about this mess of a situation at some point.

"I must disappoint you then, I'm an orphan." You said with a smug smile on your face. Both the adults and the boy turned around to look at you.

"Then you have no worth to us.." A deep voice came forth. A tall figure raised itself into the air, pulling out a dagger from his pocket. Cyno's eyes widened in terror as he saw the sharp weapon being pointed at you but when he tried to scream out for them to stop, another individual placed their large hand over his lips, forcing him to watch in fear.

The eremite swung the dagger into the air but missed, as you moved quickly and dodged him at the last second.

A ball of your spit then hit the man right between the eyes, setting off the fury in him. But while he was cursing you, you freed yourself from the ropes they had tied your hands with together and threw yourself onto him with full force. The blade he held only seconds ago was now pointed at his own neck, but it never came in contact with his skin.

Yet he still screamed out in pain.

The Eremites around you froze up upon hearing their comrade's cries and watched the scene unfold.

"My eyes!" The man cried out, desperately pressing his hands over his face.

"That fucking brat froze my eyeballs!"

From there on, everything moved in slow motion. All remaining Eremites came charging at you but they fell as fast as they came. Your attacks were quick and unforeseeable. Like a snowstorm you swooped over them and froze their different body parts to the core. After only minutes they were all on the ground, knocked out cold or shivering uncontrollably.

The boy was beyond speechless. His mouth hung wide open as he watched you pat off the sand from your clothes as if what just happened was nothing. He didn't know what to say or how to react– if he should feel grateful or intimidated. He was frozen in place like the enemies on the ground and his eyes stayed stuck on the small item that had fallen out of your pocket and now dangled around in the cold desert wind.

Your Vision.

#yoredoesmore #anime fanfic #x reader #cyno #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #cyno x reader #angst #sumeru #genshin

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ryomensgirlfriend · 11 days

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FATEFUL WISH

CHAPTER ONE

Sukuna x fem reader ! jujutsukaisen

summary: In a realm where the line between hatred and intrigue blurred, a woman with a fiery mind found herself serving the King of Curses. She despised him—no, he repulsed her. Yet, despite her disdain, she couldn't deny the spark of intrigue that flickered within her whenever she was near him.

content: true form! - explicit content - violence and mention of blood - sukuna in his own warning - size difference - manipulation -touch without consent - 18+ warning later on in the fic - fingering - degradation - etc. i’ll add more later

7.1k words

"She's returned!" Laughter erupted from the men as you entered, a dead boar slung over your shoulder.

You strode into the booze store and casually dropped the boar onto the floor, its blood splattering across the tiles.

The elderly men erupted in applause and praise, some even finding it amusing that a young woman like you could accomplish such a feat.

"Tch, brat, you've stained my floor!" Your old man, Wasuke, grumbled as he approached from behind the counter.

"Well, I've proven you and these old bastards right, so give me the money," you demanded, your arms crossed.

Wasuke, with a stern expression, grabbed your ear, causing you to wince in pain.

You had been under Wasuke's care since you were seven, with no parents and no memory of them. You had once been a slave, sold on the market, but you managed to escape and stumbled upon Wasuke, who took you in, in exchange for your labor in his store

Despite his constant scolding and frequent outbursts of anger, it was clear that Wasuke's parenting style was not that of a loving and caring guardian. He was sometimes annoying to be around, always nagging and perpetually difficult to handle.

Your feelings towards him were mixed, to say the least. There was a deep-seated resentment, yet buried beneath that animosity was a genuine, albeit reluctant, sense of care.

Twelve long years had passed living with him, during which he had imparted his martial arts expertise to you, since he had been an ex-martial arts trainer for sorcerers.

He may have been a respected and well-known figure to others, but to you, he was no different from the other elderly customers who frequented the store.

You had been raised predominantly among men your whole life, with the exception of Saiko who was Wasuke's niece.

Saiko was a welcome relief from the monotony of the store and the grumbling old men who populated it.

She would often drop by to lend a helping hand and whisk you away to festivals whenever she could.

It was clear that she pitied you for having to endure the company of those old men and sympathized with your situation.

Saiko didn't mince words when it came to her disapproval of how her uncle raised you, often lamenting the fact that he had brought you up more like a man than a woman.

In the village, everyone admired your physical beauty—your well-figured body and an enticing face that drew the eyes of every man.

However, your scars and personality was a stark contrast to your physical allure.

You had a penchant for sake, a penchant for cursing, and a strong inclination to engage in arm wrestling competitions.

Your reputation for recklessness, wild behavior, and a brazenly loud mouth made you less appealing to the young men in the village.

Working in the store as a woman came with its fair share of challenges. The men would often subject you to sexist and misogynistic comments, leading to heated confrontations where you would try to fight them.

Wasuke, your old man, would step in, of course, restraining you and delivering a stern scolding before piling on extra labor as punishment.

Earlier that morning, the old men had pestered you with their skepticism, claiming that no woman could be strong enough to even catch, let alone kill, a rabbit.

You saw it as a challenge and promptly made a bet with the old men before heading into the forest, eventually leading to your current situation.

Wasuke's scolding voice snapped you back to reality. "You'll scrub the floor till midnight, you hear me!" he admonished, finally releasing his grip on your ear and letting out a disgruntled huff.

The men in the store chuckled among themselves as they watched the scene unfold. You couldn't help but hiss in frustration, kicking the boar that lay on the floor. After all this, you were still determined to get your money- rightfully so.

Your steely gaze locked onto the old man who had made the bet with you. You approached his table and slammed your hand down, a threatening tone in your voice as you demanded, "My money."

The old man cleared his throat, reluctantly handing you a few bucks. "That's all I have, brat" he grumbled. You rolled your eyes at his excuse but took the money nonetheless. At least you had managed to claim your victory and get some cash in hand.

The day dragged on as you diligently followed Wasuke's orders, scrubbing the floor with water and soap, hoping to remove every trace of blood from the wooden surface.

Wasuke observed your efforts from a distance, idly slicing an apple and taking bites between sips of tea.

He had taken care of the boar, hanging it up to dry for future use.

In his eyes, you were akin to an obedient dog, but you understood that you owed him for all that he had provided. He might have treated you unfairly, but in the end he was still your father figure.

After hours of scrubbing, you finally completed the task. Feeling exhausted, you stepped outside and splashed the blood-soaked water onto the grass.

Gazing down at your battered hands, a sigh escapes your lips. Scars crisscross your body, souvenirs from hunts and clashes with swords.

It's yet another aspect that repels men—a body adorned with marks they find unappealing. Yet, you're indifferent.

Their shallow judgments hold no sway over you. You have no intention of settling down with any of those weak idiotic men.

None of the men in your village ever held your interest. They were mere chatterers, lacking prowess in combat and charisma. Merely wealthy, they fancied themselves as climbing the social ladder through coin alone—a pitiable notion.

Love itself was a foreign concept to you.

Your standards were far higher. You sought a partner of formidable power, capable of crushing enemies effortlessly, yet being kind and gentle. That was true attraction to you.

Oh how you wished for a strong powerful man.

"Y/n!" Saiko's voice rang out from a distance, pulling your attention away from your thoughts. You turned towards the sound and spotted Saiko standing there with her two friends and a man who was accompanying them.

You waved and quickly made your way over to them, feeling the disapproving glances from the two other girls who clearly had their own opinions about your unconventional behavior.

They had never really liked you- probably due to the fact of your man-like attitude which they found impudent and distasteful.

"Hey, Saiko," you greeted her with your usual poker face.

Saiko flashed you a grin. "Do you want to come with us to the Haiko festival?" The Haiko festival was an annual celebration of spring, symbolizing growth and happiness.

The man accompanying them, Haru, cast an odd and annoying gaze your way. Haru's behavior was always revolting to you.

He seemed to alternate between lusting after you and showing annoyance, yet he would disregard you in front of others and toss mean comments in your direction.

Haru couldn't resist making a snide remark about the apron you were wearing, stained with boar blood. "I hope she's not coming dressed like that," he remarked, his hand crossed over his kimono.

You brushed off Saiko's invitation and replied, "It's fine, I've got other things to do." Before throwing a veiled threat that hung in the air, unfinished, as you held your tongue for the moment.

Before Saiko could insist you had ran back to the store. You threw your apron to the ground before walking inside the store.

As the sun began to set and customers slowly trickled out of the store, you decided to grab a broom and clean the floor.

Wasuke, on the other hand, was comfortably seated with the other men, enjoying their sake. The desire to join them and escape the mundane tasks of cleaning and serving customers gnawed at you.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, you put your broom aside and marched over to their table. "Old man, I'm done," you declared sternly, a frown etched across your face.

Wasuke glanced up at you, setting his sake aside. "Good work, you can go," he replied, a hint in his words that implied you could attend the festival, which you had no interest in going to.

"I'm not going, let me join you!" You boldly pushed your old man to the side and took a seat, grabbing a sake.

The other men chuckled at your audacious move, while Wasuke came dangerously close to throwing his drink at you, but he managed to restrain himself.

"You impudent brat, can't you see this is old men's business?" he scolded you, to which you responded with an eye roll. "I've grown up with you old men, doesn't change anything," you retorted.

Wasuke sighed, then a mischievous idea crossed his mind—an idea good enough to keep you occupied for a while.

"Oh right, you have one last task for the day, brat," Wasuke began, a sly grin forming on his lips. The other men, sensing his plan, grinned as well.

"What is it?" you asked.

"Go to Hanako's house and bring back five pack of flour. We'll need it," he said, chuckling at the thought of your impending encounter with Hanako.

"Are you joking?! That woman moves like a sloth! It'll be daytime before I come back!" you protested, rising from your seat.

"It's an order," Wasuke chuckled, taking another sip of sake. In frustration, you threw your sake on the ground, shattering the cup into pieces. "Have fun cleaning that, you bald-headed, old, wrinkly bastard," you hissed before storming out of the store.

Wasuke grumbled at the mess you had left behind. "That brat," he muttered, shaking his head in exasperation.

Walking to Hanako's house was always an exasperating experience. You harbored a deep-seated resentment towards that woman.

Her short-term memory issues were maddening, and she moved with the speed of a snail. At times, you had to resist the urge to give her a gentle push just to keep her moving.

Hanako's house was tucked deep inside the forest, and she lived a solitary life. Few people visited her, mostly when they needed flour, which she produced miraculously despite her sluggish pace.

After reaching her door, you knocked impatiently, knowing it would take her an agonizingly long time to answer.

Your prediction was spot on; it took her nearly two minutes for her to finally open the door.

"Y/n...!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up with a warm smile upon seeing you.

"Yeah, greetings, I need flour," you blurted out quickly, eager to get this errand over with.

After a good ten seconds, she replied with a confused, "What?" That's when you remembered she also had poor hearing.

Fed up, you shouted, "I NEED FLOUR!"

"Oh... Yes!... Of course!" she responded, turning away to fetch the flour.

Fed up with her slow pace, you decided to take matters into your own hands. "You know what, don't move. Just tell me where the flour is, old woman," you hissed, walking inside her house without waiting for her permission.

"Oh... uhm... yes! Of course! It's... over there!" she replied painfully slowly, causing your frustration to skyrocket. You scanned her house, trying to decipher her vague instructions.

Let's just say it took about a painstaking twenty minutes before you finally located the flour and another five minutes trying to hand the money over to her.

Once you were done dealing with her, you let out a sigh of relief. If you had left it up to her to fetch the flour, you feared it would have taken about ten hours.

"Thank you, goodbye," you told the lady as you finally left her house, heading back to the village, grateful to be free of the ordeal.

However the walk back wasn't as exciting as you would have wanted it to be.

The smell of smoke hit you, causing your heart to race with unease.

Smoke? You thought to yourself, growing increasingly anxious. It wasn't just a hint of smoke; it was a thick plume, billowing up into the sky.

Panic coursed through your veins as you sprinted through the forest toward the village, each step heavier than the last.

There was no way... it couldn't possibly be...

Arriving at the village, you were met with a nightmarish scene. Blood and severed limbs were scattered everywhere, houses engulfed in flames, and not a living soul in sight.

Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach as you ran towards the store as fast as your legs could carry you.

As you entered the store, you felt a wave of nausea wash over you. An old man's decapitated head lay on the ground, separated from its body.

You navigated through the gruesome scene, stepping over lifeless bodies.

But then.....

The sight that met your eyes was beyond horrifying. Wasuke's head hung lifelessly on the wall, detached from his body.

His lifeless form lay sprawled on the floor, surrounded by a nightmarish tableau of blood and death. The putrid stench of decay and brutal violence hung heavy in the air, and you could hardly believe what you were witnessing.

The overwhelming horror of the scene left you on the brink of vomiting, the world spinning around you. Everything you had known was gone, your home was reduced to ruins.

This life you had built had been stolen from you, and a raging storm of emotions threatened to consume you. You wanted to cry, to scream out in agony, but there were no tears left in your eyes.

All that remained was an all-encompassing hatred and a burning, uncontrollable rage.

Just as you were about to reach for your katana, a palpable presence materialized behind you.

Whirling around with lightning speed, you found yourself face-to-face with a monk, their short white hair stark against their skin, a crimson line adorning their hair. Their piercing pink-violet eyes bore into you, accompanied by three imposing figures clad in black kimonos.

"Hmm, pretty face, she'll suffice," the monk remarked.

Before you could react, the men advanced toward you, prompting panic to surge through you.

With swift reflexes, you grasped your katana, assuming a defensive stance. Who were these interlopers, and what were their intentions?

The monk sighed wearily before suddenly appearing beside you in a blur of movement. In an instant, their hand connected with your neck, plunging you into a deep slumber.

You're not sure how long you've been passed out for. When you regained consciousness, your surroundings were engulfed in pitch darkness, the unsettling sound of chains rattling pierced the silence.

Attempting to rise, your efforts were thwarted by the unyielding grip of the restraints binding your hands and legs.

Reality crashed upon you with chilling clarity—it wasn't a mere nightmare.

This was real.

Panic surged anew as muffled cries beside you reached your ears, echoing the fear that gripped your heart.

Abruptly, the door creaked open, entering an elderly woman flanked by guards bearing torches. In the flickering light, the full scope of your predicament became apparent.

Alongside you, we're twenty other girls shackled in the same grim fashion.

"Take them to the washing hall," the lady commanded, her voice cutting through the air.

With a sense of mounting dread, the guards seized the chains, dragging you and the others along in their wake. Struggling against the iron grip of your captors proved futile, as they propelled you forward with relentless force.

Confusion swirled with a seething undercurrent of anger. If only you could break free and unleash retribution upon these contemptible oppressors.

As you were forcefully seated down in the washing room, rage surged within you, boiling over as you struggled against the chains that bound you. "Who are you?! I'll kill you!" you spat.

"Silence," the guard retorted, yanking harshly on the chains, stifling your protests.

Suddenly, the monk who had plunged you earlier strode into the room.

Their presence commanded attention as they surveyed the captive girls before focusing on the first one.

With a grip as firm as steel, the monk seized the girl's face, scrutinizing her with an unsettling intensity.

Then, without preamble, they ordered her to strip, inspecting her body with a cold detachment.

Your stomach churned with disgust as the monk told the girl to spread her legs. The girl's cries fell on deaf ears as the guards forcibly complied, violating her privacy.

In a chilling display, the monk stood aside, allowing the women to carry out the invasive examination before delivering their verdict.

"She's pure," the lady declared, her tone devoid of any empathy or remorse.

What followed was a degrading examination, each girl subjected to the same invasive scrutiny.

Anger seethed within you, a blazing inferno fueled by indignation and a fierce determination to break free from these vile captors.

And in the end, the monk approached you, their hand gripping your face as your scowl conveyed defiance and unwavering resolve.

The sudden impact of a slap against your cheek jolted you, momentarily stunning you into silence.

"You, a mere weakling, dare to look at me like that?" the voice intoned, calm yet seething with disdain.

The monk hated being regarded with such contempt by humans they deemed unworthy of life.

Your unwavering stare only fueled their irritation—a scoff escaping their lips, recognizing the defiance mirrored in your gaze, a trait they had seen in their master, the strongest sorcerer alive.

But what right did you, a mere village girl, have to challenge them? You knew nothing of life beyond the confines of your humble existence, nothing of the harsh realities of the world.

"Pathetic. Strip her," they commanded, their voice dripping with disdain. While the other girls had fought against their fate, you remained frozen, your eyes locked onto the monk with a mixture of hatred and disdain.

Scars adorned your body, evoking a grimace of disgust from the lady overseeing the proceedings.

However, before the guards could carry out the degrading task of spreading your legs, the monk intervened.

"No need. Her body is already vulgar to look at . The king would be repulsed by the sight. Put her in the servants' section," they declared with finality.

With a nod of acquiescence, the monk left, ushering away the selected girls to the concubine chambers, leaving you and a handful of others behind.

"Let's go," the lady demanded, but you refused, "Curse you," you seethed, your words met with another harsh slap across your cheek.

"You won't survive for long if you continue behaving like this, young girl," the lady warned as she seized your arm, attempting to compel you to stand.

Jerking your arm away forcefully, you retreated several steps. "Touch me again and I'll kill you, I swear!" you growled, tears threatening to form in your eyes.

The lady scoffed, her demeanor condescending. "Do you know where you are, child? You are in the King of curses kingdom. You are forever enslaved to serve him for the rest of your life," she explained matter-of-factly.

"I do not care, let me out!" you groaned, frustration and anger coursing through your veins.

You couldn't give less of a fuck for the identity or power of this formidable presence; all that mattered was escaping this wretched place by any means necessary.

"Fine, if you want it the hard way," the lady conceded, turning to address the remaining guards. "Lock her in the dungeons for a week, give her no food. Water every two days," she commanded, her tone resolute.

The guards bowed obediently before seizing you once more, dragging you back to the depths from whence you came.

Despite your screams and resistance, hurling insults and curses in a futile attempt to assert your will, your feeble frame stood no chance against the overwhelming strength of the two burly men.

You despised this powerlessness, loathing every soul in this accursed place.

The pitch-black room swallowed you whole as the heavy doors slammed shut, leaving you utterly alone.

Desperation fueled your cries as you screamed, shouted, and pounded on the unyielding barrier, but your efforts fell on deaf ears.

Determined to find an escape, you traced the walls with trembling hands, seeking any hint of a window or exit, but all you found were small, mocking holes that offered no solace.

Exhaustion gnawed at your bones with each passing day, draining your energy until even the will to scream ebbed away.

The torment of receiving water every two days did little to assuage the relentless ache in your stomach, and tears, once foreign to your eyes, now streamed down your dirt-streaked cheeks.

Your once-familiar life in the village had been obliterated by these unknown aggressors, thrusting you into a realm of darkness and despair.

What did the king want with you? Death would have been more preferable than whatever the fuck this was.

Finally, the agonizing week drew to a close, marked by the creaking of the door as it swung open, casting a harsh light that made your eyes recoil. "Hopefully you've learned your lesson," the lady's voice pierced the silence as she stepped into the room.

Exhausted and depleted, you offered no resistance as the guards lifted you from the cold ground, their grip firm yet strangely gentle.

Stepping into the dimly lit hallway, your eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden brightness. It felt as though an eternity had passed since you last saw the light of day.

As you were escorted down the corridor, you caught glimpses of other girls clad in pristine white kimonos, their movements purposeful as they tended to their tasks.

But you remained silent, your mind consumed by questions without answers.

You found yourself in a large room, lined with futons on the floor, and several girls sitting quietly. As the lady entered, the girls rose, bowing in deference. The guards dropped you to the ground before exiting the room.

"Kira, bring her the white kimono," the lady commanded. Kira nodded and quickly retrieved a white kimono before hurrying over to you.

The lady turned to you, grasping your chin firmly. "Listen closely to me now," she began, her voice stern.

"From this moment forward, you will attend to duties such as cleaning every corner of the palace. You are not permitted to enter the royal section of the palace. It is imperative that you comply, otherwise, you will meet a swift and merciless death. These young palace maidens will provide further explanation. Do you understand?" With her grip released, your gaze remained fixed on the floor, offering no response.

"Assist the girl in cleaning herself," the lady ordered curtly before leaving the room, her presence leaving an unsettling atmosphere in its wake.

The girls rushed towards you, concern etched on their faces. "Hey, are you okay?" Kira asked, her voice laced with genuine worry.

You glanced at her momentarily, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

With their help, you made your way to the washing hall, cleansing yourself thoroughly before returning to your servant room.

They offered you a simple porridge and a cup of water, a meager sustenance that barely filled the void within you.

Days passed, each one filled with new revelations about your surroundings. You learned about the hierarchical structure of the servant maids, where skill and efficiency determined your rank.

The better you were at your tasks, the higher you would ascend in status, earning privileges such as access to the royal section and even occasional leave from the palace for errands.

As a low-ranking servant, you found yourself confined to the deepest corners of the palace, tasked with menial and backbreaking labor.

It infuriated you to be treated worse than an animal.

Yet, you heeded the woman's words, holding your tongue and following orders to avoid repercussions.

Defiance came with consequences; the head chief maids held the power to lower your ranking and administer punishment as they saw fit.

The servants girls didn't seem to like you anyway. They viewed you with suspicion and disdain, deeming you strange and vulgar due to your unconventional mannerisms.

It was true; you had grown up surrounded by men, adapting their rough and direct way of speaking.

But their opinions mattered little to you. You were very determined to escape this gilded prison, to reclaim your freedom and carve out a destiny of your own making.

As you scrubbed the floor, enduring the insults hurled at you by the other servants, a simmering anger brewed within you.

If only you could unleash your anger and beat the shit out of them. But you knew better than to jeopardize your reputation in this palace. Climbing the ranks was your only ticket out of this misery.

Amidst the labor, you often overheard whispers among the servants, tales of a man known as the "King of Curses."

His reputation preceded him, with stories of his malevolent deeds spreading far and wide. It was said that he roamed the earth, leaving a trail of destruction and evil in his wake.

The recent rumor circulating among the servants was that he had seized the throne by beheading the former king of Japan, claiming power with an iron grip.

They spoke of his cruelty, how mercy was a foreign concept to him, and how those who dared to cross him met a fate worse than death. It was this very man who had sentenced you to this life of servitude.

"Did you hear? One of the concubines was killed today," a maid whispered, though her words carried clearly to your ears.

"Poor soul, she must have angered the king," another servant whispered in response.

You turned to them with a scowl, your contempt for the man known as the king evident in your tone. "Or perhaps she chose death over enduring another moment in the presence of that vulgar man," you retorted, your words dripping with venom.

The servants' eyes widened in shock, but they quickly returned to their tasks, choosing to ignore your words.

Speaking ill of his highness was utterly forbidden and a sin, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. After all, it was he who had condemned you to this life in the first place.

As long as the head maids didn't hear you, you were willing to risk the consequences to voice your disdain for the man who held sway over your fate.

Suddenly, the head maid rushed into the hall, her voice urgent. "You three," she addressed you and the other servants with a sense of urgency in her tone. You looked up, your frown deepening as you awaited her words.

"Hurry to the royal section," she instructed, her words rushed and frantic. "Eleven servants have just been killed. Go clean, hurry, hurry!" With that, she turned and dashed off, leaving you and the others to digest the shocking news.

Eleven servants dead? The gravity of the situation hung heavy in the air, but instead of fear, you felt a surge of excitement.

Perhaps if you demonstrated your efficiency in the royal section, you could earn favor and rise in rank. With a sense of purpose, you quickly rose to your feet, the other girls following suit, and hurried after the head maid.

As you made your way to the royal section, you couldn't help but notice the panic spreading through the palace. Other maids rushed past you, adding to the sense of urgency in the air.

After a tense ten minutes, you finally arrived. The grandeur of the surroundings was undeniable, a stark contrast to the mundane halls where you usually toiled.

However, any sense of awe was quickly replaced by amusement as your eyes landed on the severed bodies and limbs littering the ground.

It was clear that someone had incurred the wrath of the king, and the consequences had been dire.

Without hesitation, you set to work, cleaning up the bloodstains as guards removed the grisly remnants of the tragedy.

Though your kimono stained with each swipe of the cloth, you worked diligently, hoping that your efforts would not go unnoticed amidst the chaos and carnage.

As the other girls trembled at the sight of blood, their fear palpable in the air, you remained composed.

Blood was a familiar sight to you, a residue of your past life filled with fighting and hunting. It didn't scare you; it was just simply disgusting.

"Y/n, can you take that section over there?" one of the girls approached you, her voice trembling with fear. You raised a skeptical brow in response.

"Where?" you questioned.

"U-uhm, it's close to the king's chamber. P-please, I'll do anything, I'm scared!" she pleaded, dropping to her knees in a display of desperation.

You scoffed at her pathetic display, finding her submission over something so trivial to be contemptible. Nevertheless, maybe this could be your chance to get a peek of him.

Was this Ryomen Sukuna truly the fearsome figure they spoke of, or just an old grumpy man?

"Move," you commanded, pushing her aside without a second thought.

She mumbled a series of "thank yous" as you made your way to the designated area. It took you mere minutes to arrive at the hall, which was eerily empty save for a few splatters of blood on the ground.

Your gaze settled on the grand golden doors in the center of the hall, and you couldn't help but wonder if that's where the elusive king resided.

With a huff of annoyance, you dropped to your knees, determined to complete the task assigned to you, regardless of the potential dangers that lay beyond those imposing doors.

As you scrubbed, growing weary of the monotonous task, a sense of exhaustion washed over you.

Your days seemed to blend together in an endless cycle of scrubbing and servitude, and you were growing increasingly tired of it all.

With a disdainful sigh, you tossed the sponge aside, feeling the weight of frustration settle on your shoulders.

Just as you were about to rise from your kneeling position, the grand doors before you swung open with a resounding creak, and a piercing cry echoed through the hall.

"M-my lord!" a feminine voice shrieked in terror.

A shiver raced down your spine as an overwhelming aura of malevolence enveloped the area, suffocating you with its intensity.

Instinctively, you fell to your knees, pressing your forehead against the cold floor as if seeking refuge from the sinister presence that now filled the room.

The so-called king emerged from the chamber, dragging the woman by her hair as he descended down the hall.

With each step he took, the air grew heavier, the darkness of his presence weighing down upon you like a suffocating blanket.

Uncontrollably, your fingertips began to tremble, the sheer malevolence emanating from him rendering you powerless in its wake.

You could hear the woman's pleas as he passed by, her cries for mercy falling on deaf ears. The unsettling aura clung to you like a thick fog, leaving you paralyzed with fear.

As the king and the woman disappeared from view, the oppressive atmosphere slowly began to dissipate, releasing you from its suffocating grip.

With a sense of panic rising within you, you hastily rose to your feet, your mind reeling with questions and dread.

Who was that man? What manner of darkness lurked within him? In that moment, you couldn't help but wish that you had never set foot in this place.

As you swallowed the lump in your throat, your eyes remained fixed on the golden doors that beckoned you with an irresistible allure.

Despite the fear and uncertainty gnawing at your insides, curiosity stirred within you, driving you to take a step closer.

Retreating would have been the wisest course of action, but wisdom had never been your strong suit.

With a resolve, you stood up and made your way toward the kings chamber, casting a cautious glance over your shoulder to ensure that no one was watching.

Surely, he wouldn't return, would he?

With trepidation, you crossed the threshold, stepping into the grandiose room that befitted a king.

Your eyes widened in awe as you took in the opulence surrounding you.

In the center of the room stood a magnificent king-sized bed, on the side by a cushioned seat piled high with books and scrolls on one side, and a grand window offering a breathtaking view of the city on the other.

Approaching the window, you gazed out at the sprawling cityscape below, your eyes wide with wonder at the sight unfolding before you.

It was the first time you had seen the world from such a height, and the view took your breath away.

Your attention was drawn to a pile of scrolls lying on the ground nearby, their elegant kanji script catching your eye.

Carefully, you picked one up, feeling a sense of reverence for the knowledge contained within its pages. With trembling hands, you unfurled the scroll.

As shouts echoed through the halls, panic surged within you, prompting you to abandon the scroll and flee from the king's chamber.

With hurried steps, you made your way back down the hall, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to escape the impending chaos.

"Y/n! Where have you been?!" The head maid's reproachful tone seized your attention, her grip latching onto your arm and yanking you backward.

You yanked your arm away, irritation simmering beneath the surface. You refused to be controlled, even by someone of higher rank.

"I was attending to my duties," you retorted, your words tinged with annoyance as the head maid seized your arm once more, her forceful tug propelling you forward.

Resentment bubbled within you as you were herded back to the lowly halls of the palace.

Being ordered around like a mere dog grated against your pride, and with each step, your patience wore thinner.

Retreating alongside your fellow servants to the humble quarters nestled within the recesses of the palace, you bristled at the head maid's admonishments.

"Wandering without permission and insolence towards your superior? Your status will be relegated to those tending the stables," she hissed, hurling you into your chamber.

How dare they treat you with such disrespect?

You were not just a servant; you were far greater, far stronger than any of them could ever imagine.

And as the anger within you reached its boiling point, you knew that you would not remain subservient for much longer.

It was only a matter of time before the volcano of your rage erupted, engulfing everything in its path.

As the door slammed shut behind you, a primal scream of frustration tore from your throat, punctuating the air as you swept a nearby vase to the ground, shattering it into fragments.

The startled gasps of the other servants echoed in the chamber.

"What are you staring at?" your voice lashed out, hurling the broken pieces towards them. They recoiled, unnerved by your sudden outburst.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. How could you ever reclaim your standing in the hierarchy?

The king's incompetence, the insufferable maids and servants—all of them conspired to aggravate you to no end.

Biting your nails between your teeth, you sank onto your futon, ruminating furiously. There had to be another path forward, a different strategy to get the hell out of here.

A day had passed and the command to relocate your belongings to join the other lowly servants outside only served to stoke the flames of your rage.

There seemed to be no escape from this oppressive existence, and a sense of defiant fury burned within you.

Driven to the brink by the fuck of it all, you lashed out, hurling a vase at the head maid with a primal scream of frustration. "Try me, you old hag," you seethed, pulling out a knife you had grabbed from the servants' kitchen.

Gasps and screams echoed around you as the other girls recoiled in horror, scrambling away from the unfolding scene. "Call the guards!" the head maid shrieked, her voice tinged with panic.

With a roll of your eyes, you launched yourself towards the head maid, the knife slicing through the air as you mercilessly slashed open her throat.

Blood spurted forth in a grisly fountain as she collapsed to her knees, gasping for air in her final moments.

Disgust twisted your features as you continued your assault, stabbing her repeatedly until her lifeless body lay at your feet.

With a scoff of contempt, you stepped over her corpse, fully resigned to the fact that you were prepared to fight until your last breath in this infuriating palace, regardless of the consequences.

Their biggest mistake was taking you in.

The chaos erupted in the palace as screams and cries echoed through the halls.

The other servants scrambled away in fear as you stood amidst the carnage, your chest heaving with anger.

Blood stained your hands, a grim reminder of the violence that had just happened.

With a cold resolve, you moved forward, knowing that there was no turning back now. The guards would soon arrive, but you were prepared to face whatever consequences awaited you.

As the sounds of approaching footsteps grew louder, you squared your shoulders and braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation. Whatever awaited you, you were prepared to face it head-on.

As more head maids rushed onto the scene, you continued your ruthless onslaught, efficiently dispatching them with chilling efficiency.

The sensation of taking lives, once foreign and repugnant, now stirred a twisted excitement within you—a dark thrill of wielding power and dominance.

But your newfound sense of empowerment was short-lived, shattered as swiftly as the lives you had taken, when black-clothed men swarmed around you, their presence signaling the arrival of the guards.

Overpowered and outnumbered, you found yourself shoved to the ground, the knife torn from your grasp over a cacophony of groans and angry protests.

Blood stained your once pristine kimono, a grim realization to the violence that had happened, while streaks of crimson marred your face.

Great, they were going to lock you up and torture you again, huh?

Uraume ascended the grand staircase, their steps measured and purposeful as they approached the throne where Sukuna reclined in regal splendor.

With a deferential bow, they took their place beside the king's seat, awaiting Sukuna's command.

"The troops that have formed are in the west, it appears," Uraume informed.

Sukuna huffed, his posture relaxed as he leaned back in his seat, his gaze piercing the empty room.

"Shall I go and execute each one of them?" Uraume inquired, their voice gentle and serene, betraying the bloodthirsty nature that lay beneath.

"No need," Sukuna replied curtly.

Uraume sensed the dark intentions swirling within the king's mind, a prelude to the violence and carnage that would inevitably follow.

Sukuna had always reveled in the act of taking lives, finding satisfaction and pleasure in the chaos he wrought upon the world.

Just yesterday, the insolent servants had met their demise for not following the orders right. Their lives snuffed out without mercy or remorse at Sukuna's command.

He cared little for the value of human life, for in his eyes, the world existed solely to serve his whims and desires.

Uraume knew all too well the horrors that Sukuna was capable of unleashing on the world. There was no shred of remorse in his actions, only a sense of twisted satisfaction and contentment.

Chaos and destruction followed in his wake, leaving nothing but devastation in his path.

Sukuna was indeed a force to be reckoned with, a harbinger of terror and despair in a world trembling beneath his unfathomable power.

As Uraume was about to broach the subject of Kenjaku's arrival, the head lady burst into the throne room, her body bending in a deep bow until her forehead touched the ground.

Sukuna's gaze hardened at the unexpected intrusion, his irritation palpable.

Descending the grand stairs with a scowl etched upon they features, Uraume addressed the trembling servant. "Your presence is rather unwelcoming. Do you know no better than to request an audience first?" they admonished, their voice laced with disdain.

The head lady swallowed hard, her fear evident as she pleaded for forgiveness. "Apologize for my impudence, I deserve death, please grant it," she implored, her voice trembling with trepidation.

Uraume sighed heavily before pressing for an explanation. "What is it that has you in such a rush?"

"T-the village girl you took in two weeks ago has caused havoc in the central hall," the head lady stammered, her words rushed and panicked.

Uraume's brow furrowed in consternation as the head lady provided more details. "The defiant one with scars all over her body. She has killed three head servants early this morning," she explained, her voice quivering with fear.

"Instruct the guards to kill her—" Uraume began, only to be interrupted by Sukuna's authoritative voice resonating through the room.

"Bring her to me," Sukuna commanded, his tone brooking no argument as his fingers idly tapped against the arm of his throne.

With a respectful bow, Uraume acquiesced, stepping aside to allow the king's decree to be carried out.

"My apologies, bring her here," Uraume instructed the head maiden.

Their foremost duty was to serve the king's will, and speaking without due consideration had been a lapse in their judgment that they now regretted.

As the head lady hurriedly departed the throne room, instructions were swiftly carried out, and soon you found yourself being dragged from the dungeons, your body protesting with every groan as you struggled against the iron grip of the guards.

Your once pristine white kimono was now stained with blood, and your hair was out of order, a testament to the violence you had endured and the defiance that still burned within you.

"Free me now!" you roared, your voice reverberating with raw fury as you fought against your captors, but their hold remained unyielding as they ushered you towards the throne room where your fate awaited.

As the doors swung open, that same palpable aura of dread washed over you, signaling the presence of the man responsible for your plight.

It was terryfing and dark.

Fear rose within you as you were pushed to the ground, your head forced to bow before the imposing figure seated upon the throne.

All around, eyes watched you with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, their gazes weighing heavy upon you.

You heard the echo of heavy footsteps descending the grand staircase, sending a shiver down your spine as anticipation mingled with fear.

As the guards stepped aside while your arms was still tied behind your back, you dared to lift your head just slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of two feet standing before you.

Suddenly his hand gripped the roots of your hair, a hiss escaping your lips, as your head was forcibly lifted.

Through the strands obscuring your vision, you finally saw the king's face. His crimson eyes bore into yours, framed by elegant black lines that accentuated his sharp features.

His nose and jawline were sculpted with precision, and his pink locks stood out against the darkness of the throne room.

"What is your name," his voice rang out, more command than query, sending shivers down your spine. It was darker and raspier than you had anticipated, instilling a primal fear within you.

"Y-y/n," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Sukuna's lips curled into a sinister grin as he tilted his head, his red eyes gleaming with malice. "The smell of your fear is sweet. Perhaps I'll have some fun with you, fierce eyes," he declared, his words dripping with wicked amusement.

Terror and curiosity warred within you as you stared into his menacing gaze, feeling as though you were being consumed by his presence.

The realization dawned upon you that everything you had once known to be reality was about to change. How many times would a foolish girl like yourself find herself at the mercy of the strongest man alive?

After all, wasn't that what you had wished for?

#sukuna #sukuna fanfic #fanart #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gege akutami #nanami #jujutsu sorcerer #gojo #ryomen sukuna #jjk ryomen #ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #heian sukuna #heian era #heian period #japan #anime #uraume

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tj-dragonblade · 9 months

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[FIC] I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: M Word Count: 6949 Tags: fluff, sap, most of this only warrants a G-rating honest, the M is for mild and largely glossed-over spice toward the end, esablished relationship, winter, cold weather, christmas market, ice skating, sleigh ride, cozy cabin getaway, mulled wine, hot chocolate, a couple of things from last Fluffbruary worked their way in here oops, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus loves Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, mild and inexplicit temperature play

Notes: Written for the magnificently talented and absolutely lovely @rooftopwreck as part of the Dreamling Nation Winter Exchange. Surprise, Vi! I hope you like it! You're such a warm and friendly person, a delight to know and talk to and you can always manage to make me laugh. I'm so glad I got the opportunity to write you a fic! Working with your prompts warmth, hot chocolate, and hearth (which I didn't quite get to but there is a fireplace)

Summary: It's winter in London and Hob is interested in sharing various cold-weather human experiences with his distinctly-not-human boyfriend

On AO3

"That's cheating, you know."

Dream turns to peer at Hob beside him as they walk down the street. "'Cheating'?"

Hob gestures broadly at Dream. "You," he says with a warm smile. "Your whole outside-the-bounds-of-humanity thing, just wandering around like the cold doesn't bother you."

Dream turns his gaze forward again. "It does not."

"But you could let it if you wanted to, right?"

"Is there a reason I should want to, Hob Gadling?"

"Well. I mean. You'll stand out less if you're dressed for the weather—"

"I can alter my clothing to blend in if it will assuage your concerns," Dream interrupts. He is uncertain of Hob's purpose in this line of conversation, or what any of this has to do with him accompanying Hob to buy groceries.

"Still missing the point, duck."

"Please. Enlighten me."

Hob blows out a breath, which clouds prettily around his face in the grey winter daylight. "There's a lot of really fun cold weather things we can do, human experiences that I, a humble human, would like to share with my more-than-human boyfriend. Things that just aren't quite the same if you're immune to the cold." He grins at Dream. "And then some other things that are purely selfish—how can I chivalrously offer you my scarf to stay warm if you don't get cold, for instance?"

Dream gives a put-upon sigh. "The weather is so frightfully cold," he intones, little better than deadpan. "If only some kind individual were to offer me his scarf, that I might warm myself."

"See I know you're just faking," Hob laughs, but all the same he unwinds the scarf from about his own neck, stopping to face Dream and drape it about him gently before continuing, shoulders hunching into his own coat. "It's not just about appearances, though. Isn't your sister always telling you to take more interest in humans and the 'human experience'? Isn't that how we met?"

"It is." Dream has buried his nose in the loop of scarf about his neck; it is pleasantly warm with Hob's body heat, whether or not Dream truly feels the cold as Hob does, and it smells enticingly of Hob as well.

Perhaps there is. Merit, to Hob's suggestion.

"Well, then…let me help you have some human experiences?" Hob is looking at him hopefully. "It'll be fun."

"I am quite pleased by the 'human experiences' you share with me already, Hob." Dream lets his mouth curl smugly above the scarf, tilts his head to glance at Hob through his lashes.

"Additional experiences. Cold weather experiences, outside the bedroom." Hob shakes his head, mock dismayed, betrayed by the smile in his eyes that's fighting its way down to his lips. "Can't believe you're making sex jokes outside Sainsbury's. What even is my life."

"I will. Consider your suggestion," Dream allows, as they enter the store, and no more is said on the subject that day.

~~~ When next Dream visits Hob in the waking world, he manifests his form in much greater human detail than usual. He pays special attention to making certain he has the appropriate body temperature and all of the internal intricacies to regulate it; he releases a breath, and it clouds the air before him.

He shivers.

His usual attire is indeed insufficient in this weather. He will trust that Hob can provide him something warmer.

Just as soon as Hob returns home.

Dream could let himself into Hob's flat, or wait for him inside the New Inn even; he chooses instead to wait outside, in the cold, that he might have the full effect of whatever it is Hob wishes him to glean from the experiment.

It is only a short time later that Hob returns, and his eyebrows shoot up beneath the cuff of the hat he wears to see Dream shivering outside the door at the back of the Inn. "Dream? What are you doing out here, you look like you're freezing!"

"Observant," Dream grits out, teeth clenched to still their chattering, arms tucked tight around himself. His mood has soured considerably in the interim.

"You choose the most peculiar times to take my suggestions to heart." Hob moves close, unlocking the door. "Did you miss the part where I mentioned wanting to share things with you?"

"Hence why I am here, waiting for you."

"Bloody obstinate git, you are," Hob chides fondly, opening the door and ushering Dream inside. The warm air is a relief, and Dream unclenches slightly.

"This is. A miserable experience so far," he says, uncharitably perhaps, but 'the experience' was Hob's selling point and Dream has yet to see what so enamours him of the cold.

"Ah, well, being cold is generally miserable, yes. Which is why you bundle up to enjoy the weather, and why you don't stand about waiting outside without a proper winter jacket when there's a nice heated pub right there, you numpty. Or just let yourself into my flat next time, honestly. Come on up, I'll get you sorted before we head out."

Dream is displeased by the thought of going back out, into the cold, but he is. Trying. Very hard, to be adaptable, to flow with change, to be open to whatever joy Hob thinks he might be shown. He recalls the way Hob's eyes had sparkled when he spoke of taking Dream round to the Christmas market, he recalls the dreams he has touched of such things over the centuries and he finds that he is able to muster a modicum of curiosity to see firsthand how they have evolved in the current era.

Most importantly, he does not wish to disappoint Hob.

It is much easier to brave the cold once Hob has bundled him into a jumper that is only marginally oversized (Hob is slighter than he tends to appear) and a scarf that is softer than the dreams children spin of summer clouds, and thrice as warm. Both smell faintly of Hob, which is delightful, and does a fine job of lifting his mood again.

"Hat, or earmuffs?" Hob holds out both options; after a moment's consideration, Dream chooses the earmuffs. A thick quilted overcoat ('puffer jacket', the collective subconscious supplies) and a fashionably slim pair of warmly-lined gloves finish off the ensemble, and Dream is nearly too warm thus arrayed.

It occurs to him as they leave Hob's flat that everything Hob has dressed him in is black, in keeping with his own preferences, and the realization sparks a different, softer sort of warmth in his chest.

~~~ The Christmas market is a lively, bustling affair, bright with voices and possibilities and fairy lights twinkling in the late afternoon dusk, robust with soft snatches of daydreams that twine and brush against him the way a cat might wind itself about one's ankles. There are children dashing about, parents tugged along behind them, flitting from one booth to the next in a flurry of contagious excitement; young couples and old, solitary visitors enjoying the time alone, groups of friends laughing together and Dream finds himself smiling at the wisps of half-formed fancy that reach him in the wake of everyone who passes by. It is easy to understand, immersed in this festive atmosphere, why so many humans have such love for the holidays.

"We're gift shopping for my staff at the Inn," Hob says, "and a few friends at work too. I like just wandering around to see what I can find—easy to make it personal that way." He gives Dream a wink, rakish and cocksure with the smallest edge of uncertainty hiding beneath it. "I know you're ruler of your own realm, unfathomably More Than Human etcetera etcetera, but if you see anything here that strikes your fancy? Just say so." He tugs lightly on his ear where it peeks from beneath his knit hat, glancing up and away for half an instant. "I'd be happy to buy you anything you like."

"A kind and gallant offer, Hob Gadling." Dream lets his smile curl into a smirk, leaning into coquettish charm to cover how genuinely pleased he is by Hob's generosity of spirit. "You would woo me with gifts, with tokens of admiration, when my affections have already been won?"

"Got to keep the romance alive, haven't I?" Hob shrugs, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, mouth curved in a smile that is brilliant in its sincerity. "I'd woo you a thousand times over if you wanted. Eager to please, always seeking for more, you know me."

"Intimately," Dream purrs, leaning in for a kiss. It's soft and short and chaste, as not to scandalize the other shoppers; Dream's lips and nose are mildly chilled, as are Hob's, but his heart is very warm when Hob returns for another peck before they part completely.

They browse the stalls at leisure, Hob selecting gifts carefully for each of his recipients, Dream rifling through what he knows of their dreams to help Hob choose when he has difficulty deciding. The tote bag Hob brought along slowly fills with packages and Dream has no trouble admitting that he is enjoying their evening, despite the cold.

There is a brooch that catches Dream's eye, a pair of poppies masterfully worked in silver and transparent red enamel, set with tiny black and white 'gems' for the center of each. It is a far cry from the sort of jewelry one might expect of his station, but Dream can feel the care, the dreams, the love of the craft that have gone into the creation of the piece, and it is striking. Hob buys it for him, gifts it to him, fixes it to the folds of the wonderfully soft scarf about his neck, and Hob's regard and affection, his care, seep into the brooch as well.

"Suits you," Hob says, dimpling sweetly, warmth simmering in his eyes, and Dream smiles back with equal affection. Certainly he might have simply manifested himself something similar, grander; the value of this piece, however, lies not in jeweled splendor but in the intent that went into its gifting.

~~~ "I am enjoying our time together," Dream says, while the mulled wine vendor is filling their commemorative Christmas Market mugs and adding clove-spiced orange slices for garnish.

Hob smiles, brilliant, beautiful. "I'm glad." He reaches to flick a light touch to Dream's earmuffs. "Staying cozy?"

Dream considers. Next time he will take the hat, he decides; his ears are warm but he has seen now where he would benefit from full coverage of his head. And perhaps thicker trousers as well; his jeans do not hold heat in any substantial fashion. The cold is not so bothersome to his legs as it is to his core and his extremities, but something warmer would not go amiss.

"The cold is far more tolerable when dressed properly," Dream admits, "for which. I thank you. However—" He pauses while Hob collects the prepared drinks, then continues. "I fail to see how letting myself feel the cold enhances the experience. I would be just as pleased with our evening had I not undertaken your suggestion."

"That's fair," Hob allows, contemplatively. "Thing is—" he offers a steaming mug to Dream "—if you weren't bothered by the cold, you wouldn't appreciate this half as much."

Dream accepts, cradling the mug in his gloved hands, letting the steam rise into his face. The warmth is pleasant but the aroma is utterly intoxicating, heady and fruity and laced with an assortment of spices that bloom behind his palette as he breathes it in. He can feel how his pleasure lights his face, and Hob's chuckle confirms it a second later.

"Try it, I promise it's everything you're hoping for there. Mind, it's hot—"

Dream raises the cup to his lips, heeding Hob's warning; he blows gently across the surface and sips carefully.

He makes a sound that is very nearly indecent, eyes fluttering shut for half an instant despite himself. The flavor is exquisite, bright notes of citrus and cloves and cardamom bursting on his tongue, but the warmth—it suffuses his mouth, flows down his throat with the wine, spreads softly throughout his body. He sips again, a careful slurping mouthful, and the soft heat chases through him delightfully.

"Exquisite," he murmurs, both hands wrapped around the cup, entranced with the steam rising softly into his face.

"See?" Hob's grin is bright and wide, eyes sparkling like the fairy lights around them, and Dream cannot even begrudge him the thrill of triumph that radiates from him. "Sometimes feeling the cold is worth it."

"Perhaps," Dream allows, and sips the wonderfully warm wine again.

~~~ Hob takes him ice skating on his next visit; this time, he manifests inside Hob's flat with warm cable-knit leggings, black with hints of silver threaded through, and a slim knee-length skirt that is quilted and layered for warmth. The poppy brooch Hob gifted him at the Christmas Market is tucked into his hand and his usual grey t-shirt is all he wears above.

Hob raises an eyebrow at him. "Got it half-right, at least?"

"I would. Borrow, from your wardrobe, if I may," he explains somewhat hesitantly. "I enjoyed wearing your clothing, smelling you upon me the entire evening. It is. An experience I would like to repeat."

The slow delight that brightens Hob's face as he says it is entirely worth the squirming discomfort of speaking the admission aloud.

"Okay then. You're in luck." Hob beams at him, all but heart-eyed, and goes to rummage through his wardrobe. "Same black jumper as last time, here's the scarf, had them both on for a bit yesterday, aaaannd—earmuffs?"

"Is the hat still on offer?"

"'Course it is. Here." Hob tosses him the hat instead, a black and silver cable-knit thing with a wide cuff and a large and fluffy pom pom on top.

Dream is pleased to have recalled its appearance accurately when manifesting his leggings; they are a perfect match.

He delights in the soft lingering scent of Hob as he pulls on the jumper, as Hob winds the scarf about his neck and pulls the hat snugly down to cover his ears. Dream hands Hob his brooch to pin to the scarf (the delight in Hob's eyes to see it makes Dream doubly-glad he had brought it), and then Hob curls those warm and wonderful fingers lightly around the back of his warmly-wrapped neck and leans in to kiss him, short and soft.

"You look adorable," Hob breathes, and while that is not a word nor an image he cultivates of himself in most circumstances…this is Hob. And Dream does not mind.

"Puffer jacket's in the entry hall," Hob says then, dropping a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Let's get you bundled up and head over to the pond."

~~~ "Have you skated before?" Hob asks, while they are lacing on their rented skates at the chalet.

"I am the king of all dreams and nightmares, prince of stories; I am the entirety of the collective human subconscious. All skills are within my grasp."

"So that's a no, then." Hob grins at him brightly. "That's alright, I'll teach you."

"I do not require instruction."

"Does his majesty know how to skate after all, then?"

Dream opens his mouth for a haughty retort to Hob's impertinence and pauses; certainly the necessary skill is available to him with minimal effort, but the idea that Hob would like to teach him is…appealing. "Perhaps," he hedges, with just enough of a pout to imply that he truly means 'no', and Hob smiles, warm and brilliant.

"Then let me help you out, duck. I promise I'm a very good teacher."

"I did not say that I do not know how," he protests, for appearances, while something in him swoons at the idea of having all the skill that Hob has honed in his chosen profession focused solely on himself.

Hob chuckles brightly. "'Course not. Still. Humor me? Let me feel useful."

"Very well," Dream concedes, concealing his delight, and allows Hob to lead him out onto the ice.

Hob is indeed a good teacher, and Dream basks happily in the casual intimacy of his unnecessary instruction, the focused warmth of his attention. Gliding over the frozen pond with Hob's guiding touch at the small of his back and Hob's other hand clasping his—he feels carefree, lighthearted, happy, and can easily understand why countless stories of young romance have featured this same activity.

Hob leads him about for a good while, offering guidance as he feels appropriate, but even when he deems that Dream has mastered the requisite balance and coordination, Dream is not at all inclined to sally forth on his own. Skating with Hob is the entirety of the appeal, after all; hand in gloved hand they glide and twirl about together, faces rosy with the cold, until the weak afternoon sun slowly relinquishes its place on the horizon to the encroaching evening.

~~~ "Here. Have some hot chocolate; it'll warm you up and the sugar will boost your energy," Hob says, as Dream is tying his boots back on. Hob had taken their rented skates to the return counter and come back with two takeaway cups, one of which he is offering to Dream.

"I do not require sustenance."

Hob rolls his eyes fondly. "Yes yes, I know, but you liked the mulled wine well enough last time, didn't you?"

"Wine is drunk for pleasure, not for sustenance."

"Same with hot chocolate. Well. It's sustenance for the soul, maybe, but not for the body." He presents the insulated cup again, waggling it slightly. "C'mon. Stop being contrary and take it. It's a vital part of the experience."

Dream is being contrary, simply for the pleasure of the way Hob pushes back. He is accustomed to the deference he receives from others as is due his station, but he very much appreciates that Hob treats him no differently having learned who he is. He is both friend and lover first when he is with Hob, and he delights in the many small ways that he can prove to himself over and over again that Hob values him over his function.

But the chocolate does smell enticing, and the memory of how a hot drink warmed his body last time is compelling; he accepts the cup with no further argument.

"It's the common dry-mix stuff, not real hot chocolate, but it's got its charm. 'Specially on the go like this," Hob offers as Dream takes a sip, and he is correct. Dream had tasted what Hob had ordered for them in the back room of the White Horse in 1789; he has encountered enough dreams to know that this is a pale version of the concoction but all the same, it is pleasant enough in its own right. It is a component of the experience he has shared with Hob and is enriched by that association; Hob was correct in this as well.

The warmth suffusing throughout him is as delightful as he recalls.

~~~ "I am. Enjoying, these cold-weather human experiences, with you," he admits as they stroll toward home. He had quietly taken Hob's hand as they left the pond and Hob has made no effort to reclaim it, carrying his drink in the other and sipping from it occasionally. Dream is doing the same, and his admission comes forth with suprising ease.

Hob grins. "It's the pleasure of my sparkling company. I enhance every experience."

"Perhaps," Dream allows with a smile, and Hob's gleeful expression softens.

"I'm glad you're having a good time, love. Thanks for trusting me."

The words warm Dream as deeply as his next sip of chocolate. You are worthy of my trust, Hob Gadling, he thinks, but what he says is, "Of course."

"I've got a great idea for our next date," Hob says then, beaming brightly again. "I'm very excited about it, but I need to make sure—" He squeezes Dream's hand gently. "Would I be able to keep you two days? I mean, I know you don't sleep and you'd probably want to check in on your realm while I'm sleeping instead of just watching me snore but there's an overnight trip I'd really love to take you on, if you're amenable? If it works for you?"

"Watching you sleep would not be the dull experience you believe it to be," Dream says first, which leaves Hob flustered and tongue-tied long enough for him to gather the rest of his words. "I would. Delight, in keeping your company overnight, in spending. More than one day at a time, with you." Lucienne would gladly see to his realm for far longer an absence, he is certain, particularly if she is made aware of why he must be away—her quiet approval of first his friendship and then his romantic relationship with Hob have been a steady source of reassurance as it progresses.

"Fantastic! Alright. I'll get it booked for a couple weekends out." Hob grins, absolutely glowing with his pleasure, and Dream is deeply warmed by the knowledge that he is responsible for putting that happiness there.

~~~ They drive a good long while out of the city when the weekend comes, the heater in Hob's car keeping them warm enough without heavy jackets for the duration. Hob eventually pulls into what looks like a farm in the countryside, and when they exit the car Dream dons the long fur-lined coat that he had manifested at Hob's direction. His boots are tall and fur-lined as well, warm and comfortable; his hands are buried in a cozy fur muff and a warm fur-lined hat covers his head. Beneath it all he has once again borrowed Hob's jumper and scarf, with the brooch Hob had gifted him pinned on, and he deems himself adequately prepared for whatever Hob has planned.

It is a sleigh ride.

They are ushered to a not-quite-traditional one-horse open sleigh, the bed of it still built to accommodate two passengers but an extension in front for a separate driver, allowing for the passengers to simply enjoy the ride. Dream very much intends to do so.

"What other surprises do you have in store for me?" he asks Hob as they settle into the sleigh. The driver flicks his reins and they lurch smoothly into motion toward the open snow-covered field.

"Just a quiet winter getaway," Hob answers, sitting up straight and laying his arm over Dream's shoulders. "We've got an hour or so to ride, and then we'll get to a little cabin in the woods where we'll spend the night. Then we'll catch another ride back late tomorrow."

Dream slouches on the plushly-padded seat just enough to fit comfortably beneath Hob's arm, leans into him with a smile. "You spoil me, Hob Gadling," he declares, soft and sincere, and Hob's laughter drifts away behind them as the horse moves from a slow walk to a lively trot along the groomed trail.

The weak winter sun is making its descent across the watery-blue afternoon sky as they go; the breeze is sharp against Dream's face, but his body is warm. His hands in the thick fur muff are warm, as are his ears and his head beneath the warmly-furred hat. His eyes sting marginally and his nose and cheeks are chilled, which is easily remedied by tucking his face into the folds of the soft woolen scarf Hob had wound snugly about his neck. It blocks the mild wind, holds the heat of his breath quite pleasantly, and most importantly it carries Hob's scent still. Dream inhales deeply, smiling, and leans further into the comfortable weight of Hob's arm around him.

The sleigh ride is uneventful, and quite pleasant for it. It is easy to feel the romantic shape of the story about them, bedecked in such finery, snuggled close against Hob, the air crisp and lively as they move from field to forest on their journey to a cozy private hideaway. There are many stories such as this in the Library, and Dream is unspeakably pleased that Hob would choose this sort of tale to spin anew with him. There will be lovemaking when they reach their destination, Dream is certain of it.

The thought warms him in more ways than one.

~~~ "Here we are. Proper hot chocolate, freshly made," Hob announces, turning from the stove in the cabin's kitchen with two steaming mugs in hand, carefully making his way to the main room. The fireplace is crackling cheerfully, bleeding wonderful heat into the space around it. Evening is falling outside and with it, new snow; Dream, cozy in Hob's borrowed jumper, is only too happy to accept Hob's offering.

The warmth is again exquisite, and the flavor is indeed far richer and creamier than what they had consumed after ice skating. Dream sips at it with relish and Hob settles on the couch beside him, smiling. "A whole night with the Dreamlord all to myself," he says, eyes twinkling. "What sort of cosmic favors does one normally have to offer to lay claim to your attention this way?"

"Great boons of significant value," Dream replies loftily, in keeping with Hob's teasing tone, but he is thinking of former lovers and their laments of his inconstant attention, and how Hob is always welcoming and delighted to see him whether it has been a week or several months. How Hob is considerate and respectful of his duty even when he is irreverent to Dream himself, how he had assumed that this overnight trip might easily involve Dream slipping away to attend to his duties while he himself slept. How happy he had been that Dream agreed to his request.

"And yet you give it to me just for the asking," Hob says then, soft and wondering and utterly devoid of teasing. "I really am the luckiest bloke."

Dream would like to say something equally heartfelt and besotted, but he is overfull of affection, of soft adoration, and his words will not make themselves known. Instead, he sets his mug on the coffee table, unfolds himself from his corner of the couch, lets himself flow into the tidal pull of Hob Gadling until his arms are around Hob's neck and their lips have met.

Hob makes the softest, sweetest sound, sets his drink aside, settles his hands on Dream's hips up underneath the warm bulk of his borrowed jumper. Dream pulls back the slightest distance, brushes his nose along Hob's, tilts his head and takes Hob's mouth again, sweet and cocoa-warm. He brings a hand to cradle the corner of Hob's jaw, licks softly between Hob's lips, kisses him with all of the words that stir silently inside him. Hob wraps him close, touches him with gentle reverence, kisses back with the same quiet intensity; and as they kiss, and kiss, and kiss, the warmth between them blossoms slowly and steadily into a familiar and welcome heat.

Dream wants, with intensity, ensconced in Hob's lap and secure in Hob's arms around him; Hob so easily, so often inspires him to such wanting and it would be maddening if he did not know that Hob will always and eagerly provide.

"Got an idea," Hob gasps presently, breathless, when Dream's building tension has thoroughly infused his touches and his kisses have grown fevered and urgent. Hob extricates himself gently from Dream's embrace, slides to his knees on the rug before Dream.

The heat in Dream's core curls sharply and he turns, unfolds so that his thighs bracket Hob's shoulders. "I do not believe the proprietors of this cabin intend for sexual activities to take place on the couch."

Hob laughs, bright and beautiful. "You started it, love."

This…is not untrue. "Perhaps."

"Well, I'll just have to be careful not to spill anything, won't I." Hob winks and pulls Dream's hips forward and Dream lies back, willing and wanting as Hob opens his trousers, nuzzles him through his underwear. Hob sits back and works Dream free, then reaches for his cocoa on the coffee table behind him and takes a sip.

And then he takes Dream into his mouth and Dream jerks at the sheer heat of it, makes a stifled wanton sound as Hob's tongue strokes heavy against him within the cocoon of his mouth. It is not the simple human-sex-warm that he is accustomed to; it is hot with the drink Hob has just consumed and the difference is striking.

"Good?" Hob asks, pulling off, and Dream shivers, delighted, aflame with his wanting.

"Yes. Hob—"

Hob takes another sip from his mug; Dream holds his gaze as he swallows and when Hob's mouth closes around him again after, Hob's eyes steady on his as the heat sinks in, Dream cannot help the whimper that escapes him.

Hob smiles around him and Dream is lost. The next few moments pass in a haze of pleasure, the ebb and flow of Hob's heated mouth, Dream combing trembling fingers through Hob's hair as he goes back down after every drink, the renewed heat bringing Dream closer and closer to his peak. He makes no effort to restrain his voice; Hob has told him repeatedly that he loves to hear Dream's pleasure, loves the affirmation that he is 'doing something right down there'. So he pants and moans, clinging loosely to Hob's head as Hob's heated mouth and clever tongue bring him up to the precipice, cries out as Hob tips him over the edge.

Hob spills nothing, true to his word; when the tension falls out of Dream Hob sits back and swallows, chases it down with the last of his hot chocolate. He then tucks Dream back into his clothing while Dream lies boneless and drifting, awash in the warmth of his satiation and the warmth of Hob's affections and the warmth of the fireplace and he is. Warm. And content.

Hob touches his face, gently, and Dream returns to himself, blinks into the bright warmth of Hob's smile.

"Still with me, duck?"

Dream manages a very loose, very satisfied smile of his own. "Perhaps."

"I will take that as a compliment," Hob grins, and levers himself up onto the sofa, settling into the corner. He reaches an arm toward Dream. "C'mere."

He is beckoning Dream into his embrace, to lie against him, which. Is not the next step Dream had expected.

"Do you not wish—?"

"Later," Hob assures him, smile soft, eyes gleaming warmly in the firelight. "Right now, you're so soft, so relaxed—I just want to cuddle you, maybe read to you for a bit, let you tell me the stories behind the stories and such. And let you finish your chocolate, of course."

And so Dream settles himself between Hob's legs as Hob stretches them the length of the couch, leans into the solid warmth of Hob's body behind him, cradles the mug that Hob passes him in both hands while Hob reaches for the book on the coffee table. It is a collection of poetry and folktales from around the world, and Dream offers anecdotes from his own memories of Aesop, of Hans Christian Andersen, of Bharavi in between Hob's readings. Once he has finished his drink, he snuggles in closer, turns a little, tucks his head under Hob's chin and his arm around Hob's waist. Hob wraps an arm around him in turn, drops a kiss to his hairline, continues reading, and Dream allows himself to simply…drift. The warmth of Hob's embrace, the gentle lull of Hob's voice in Hob's chest beneath his ear, the silence of the falling snow out the window—it is all of it so quietly serene, so comfortable, and Dream cannot recall when last he felt such tranquillity.

~~~ When the book has long been put aside and the fire has burned low, and he has lain in the comfort of Hob's arms for long enough that sleep has crept over Hob some time ago, Dream stirs, and Hob wakes.

"Duck? 'M sorry, didn't mean to fall asleep—"

"I do not object."

Hob chuckles. "Naturally the King of Dreams does not object to a little nap."

Dream feels himself smiling and does not resist it. "It is no hardship to lie with you while you sleep, Hob, but your back will not thank you if we spend the whole of the night thus."

"Right you are." Hob shifts beneath him and turns; to Dream's surprise, Hob pulls him closer, wraps an arm behind him and hooks the other beneath Dream's legs before he rises, lifting Dream in bridal fashion as he stands. Dream clings around his neck obligingly, amused and warmly delighted.

"Such gallantry, Hob Gadling," he breathes, as Hob moves toward the staircase.

"Always did wanna carry you to bed properly," Hob grins, and Dream absolutely must kiss him without a second's delay.

He leaves off so that Hob may climb the stairs safely to the loft, where the bed stands laden with a thick fluffy duvet over a velvety-soft blanket and flannel sheets, a sumptuous promise of comfort and warmth. Hob sets him down, undresses them both, ushers Dream beneath the covers and snuggles in after him.

The cabin is cooling down with the fire banked, but that only makes the cozy layers of the bedding and the heat they make beneath them all the more precious. Hob has him slow and languid, ardent and tender and vulnerable in this cocoon of warmth and closeness; Dream holds to him steadfastly, clings fiercely about his shoulders, lies back and lets Hob love him.

For he knows: that is what this is. There is no doubting Hob's affections for him, nor how deeply they run. The way that Hob moves atop and within him, kissing with relentless adoration all the while, stroking reverent fingers through his hair and whispering heartfelt vows and endearments against his lips—it warms Dream through, leaves him grateful and marveling. Hob, who time and again chooses life and living, has chosen him, despite all forewarning that choosing Dream was choosing poorly. Hob loves him, wants him, wishes for his company and his happiness and goes to whatever lengths are needed to ensure both.

Hob, who clings to Dream in his sleep now, after, head pillowed on the dubious cushion of Dream's chest, smile resting soft on his lips, arms comfortably close about Dream's waist and hip. Hob, who waited faithfully when Dream missed their meeting, ensured Dream could still find him when the White Horse closed, welcomed his return without judgment or recrimination of any kind; Hob, who treasures him, warms him, looks to his well-being and wishes to share favorite experiences with him.

Hob, who seeks no power, no boon, has never asked more of him than his company when his duty allows it.

Dream looks carefully at the glowing warmth in his own approximation of a heart, in the whole of his being; tentatively, he names it for what he knows it to be, and trusts that calamity will not follow. He cradles Hob's sleeping form close, strokes through Hob's hair again and again, traces the shape of his smile with gentle fingertips.

Warm, content, he holds Hob and he drifts in his happiness.

~~~ The morning comes slow and lazy, and they are both very cozy in the bed, but eventually Hob must get up to relieve his bladder. Then, with the chill of the cabin made apparent, he starts and stokes the fire before returning upstairs and diving back beneath the covers with Dream. The rest of the morning is decidedly less lazy and quite immensely satisfying, and by the time they leave the bed the cabin is comfortably warmed.

"Shower with me," Hob offers, and Dream agrees instead of simply willing himself clean. The cascading warm water, the simple pleasure of soaping Hob's body and being lathered up in turn, the intimacy of washing Hob's hair, of Hob's fingertips then massaging his scalp and Hob's hands gently tilting his head back into the spray to rinse, these all constitute yet another wonderfully human experience that he can fully appreciate, because Hob wishes to share it.

Hob cooks them brunch once they're dried and somewhat dressed, scrambling eggs and toasting bread in only a pair of low-slung joggers with a short towel draped behind his neck to manage the ends of his damp hair; Dream watches him work, smiling, cozy in Hob's jumper and a pair of fluffy grey socks with his bare legs tucked beneath him on the barstool at the kitchen peninsula.

"Here we are," Hob says, plating him a beautiful omelette laden with spices, peppers, and roasted tomatoes alongside a slice of buttered toast slathered with strawberry jam, and Dream accepts it with equanimity. He does not need to eat in the waking world, it provides no sustenance, but the ritual of sharing meals with Hob is entirely pleasant. Hob goes to great effort to prepare things that Dream will enjoy, and Dream. Is not inclined to see those efforts wasted.

The food is good. Hob's food is always good, and especially when infused with his warmth and love, as this is. Dream savors the omelette, lingers over the sweetness of the toast—Hob has spread it with 'far too much jam' just as Dream prefers—and smiles his pleasure at Hob, who beams back with his mouth full, which is far more endearing than it should be.

~~~ "I'm so glad you let me talk you into feeling the cold," Hob says later, once they've cleared the kitchen and resettled on the sofa. Dream is in Hob's lap, hands stroking through the hair on Hob's chest, bare thighs splayed to either side of his hips. He is kissing up the side of Hob's neck, very much in pursuit of a particular goal; he forewent trousers for a reason, after all. But Hob is still talking. "Gave me a great excuse to ask you here, after all, and I'm very much enjoying all this cozy cabin sex."

Dream draws back and looks at him, amusement plainly evident in his tone. "Hob Gadling. Has all of this, your insistence on sharing cold weather experiences, been merely an elaborate ploy to convince me to come away to the woods with you for 'cozy cabin sex'?"

"Perhaps ," Hob replies, with a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows, and then he laughs. "No, love, everything we've done has been for its own sake. Including this mini holiday. I'm…" He trails off, tilts his head and tugs briefly at his earlobe. "I'm really glad you agreed, to all of it. I like doing fun things with you—I like spending time with you, full stop, whatever we're doing. But it means a lot that you've gone along with my plans and suggestions and that you've had a good time too." He grins, bright and beautiful. "The Dreamlord, Prince of Stories, King of all Dreams and Nightmares and Entirety of the Human Subconscious lets me take him on dates. Ordinary mundane cozy little human winter dates, and he even enjoys them. I am truly the luckiest bloke in existence."

His pure simple authentic joy is infectious; it seeps into Dream's body and settles warm around his heart, leaves him aglow in happiness, a soft smile on his face as he leans down into Hob to kiss him again.

He loves this man, fiercely, completely. It is he who is the lucky one.

~~~ The morning passes into afternoon and stretches closer to evening before they deign to part from one another, and then only because their transportation will be arriving soon. They dress, pack, tidy up, and Dream employs a measure of power to ensure the cabin is presentable (and sanitary) for the crew who will be coming in to clean and prepare it for the next guests.

The sleigh arrives as scheduled and Dream shrinks his form slightly as he climbs into it, the better to fit beneath Hob's arm. He settles comfortably in the warmth of his hat and his coat and Hob's scarf, the warmth of Hob's embrace, and Hob cuddles him close, tips his hat up enough to drop a kiss to his forehead and tugs it back down as the driver sets out.

I know what it is, to love Hob Gadling, Dream thinks as they go, but does not say. He is brave enough to accept the truth of it, but not yet brave enough to speak it aloud. He knows, on some level, that keeping it unspoken does not change the fact of its existence, but there is power in words all the same. Perhaps it makes no difference; Hob is technically no longer mortal, their love has existed for some time whether Dream has acknowledged it or not and no disaster has yet befallen them or humanity.

Still. Dream is nothing, if not cautious.

He moves just enough to glance up to Hob's face, and finds Hob gazing down at him with love shining plain in his kind depthless eyes; he smiles, knowing full well the same shows clear in his own face, and settles, snuggles back into Hob's shoulder to enjoy the remainder of their ride back.

The air is crisp, cold, invigorating, in a way that can only be appreciated when one has bundled up properly against it. Hob has ensured that he is, and so Dream can enjoy it.

He is. Content, warm in his love for Hob, warm in Hob's love for him.

Perhaps, one day, one of them will say it.

Then again, perhaps there is no need.

=== Started: 12/8/23 Drafted: 1/5/24 Posted: 1/8/24

Title taken from I Love the Winter Weather/I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm by Tony Bennett, which dovetailed too perfectly with the themes that developed in the writing for me not to use it

I love the winter weather So the two of us can get together There's nothing sweeter, finer When it's nice and cold I can hold my baby closer to me And collect the kisses that are due me I love the winter weather Because I've got my love to keep me warm

#Dreamling #Dream of the Endless #Hob Gadling #Sandman #Dreamling Nation Winter Exchange 2023 #TJs Fics

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desirees-world18 · 3 months

Text

An Affair- Antoine Lambert

Show: Emily in Paris

Pairing: Antoine Lambert x OC

Warnings: minors DNI 🔞. cussing, smut, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, begging, overstimulation, cheating, affair, and age gap. i think i got everything if not please let me know so it can be added. this is my very first written post on here so please be nice but critiques are always appreciated :)

NSFW content underneath line. enjoy:)

____________________________________________

Anastasia Kingston had always dreamed of moving to Paris. The allure of the City of Love or The City of Lights, with its charming cafés, beautiful architecture, and rich history, had captivated her since she was a child. So, when she received a job offer from Savoir, a prestigious marketing firm in Paris, she jumped at the opportunity. It was a chance to leave her small town in England behind and start anew in one of the most romantic cities in the world.

With a mixture of excitement and nerves, Anastasia arrived in Paris on a crisp autumn morning. The air was filled with the scent of freshly baked bread and the distant hum of city life. Her new apartment, a quaint studio in the Marais district, was everything she had hoped for-cozy, stylish, and quintessentially Parisian.

On her second week at Savoir, Anastasia was introduced to some of the clients they had been working with. Among them was Antoine Lambert, a charismatic and strikingly handsome man with an easy smile and an air of confidence. Antoine was the owner of Maison Lavaux, a perfume company renowned for its luxurious scents. Known for his charm and persuasive skills, he quickly caught Anastasia's attention.

One afternoon, Anastasia, Antoine, Sylvie, Luc, Julian, and Emily gathered in the Savoir conference room to discuss new scents for Maison Lavaux. The meeting was intense, filled with debates and discussions. Finally, it was Anastasia who convinced Antoine on the new perfume scent. Impressed and relieved, Antoine decided to celebrate. "How about dinner to celebrate your brilliant idea?"

Antoine asked Anastasia with a twinkle in his eye after the meeting had concluded. Anastasia hesitated but then agreed, feeling a flutter of excitement. They found themselves at a chic bistro, sharing a bottle of Bordeaux and talking long into the night. As they sipped their wine and exchanged lingering glances, the tension between them reached its peak.

Unable to resist any longer, they found themselves entwined in a passionate embrace, kissing as if the world around them had ceased to exist. Their affair began that night when Anastasia invited him back to her apartment. As they entered her cozy studio, Antoine pulled her into a passionate kiss, which quickly turned into a heated make-out session. His hands roamed her body, while hers wrapped around his neck.

He placed his hands on her hips, moving them against his growing bulge, causing her to break the kiss and moan. "You have no idea how long l've been waiting for this," he whispered, still moving her hips against him. He pulled her shirt over her head, kissing down her chest as Anastasia's moans grew more frequent and her movements more frantic. He paused to unbutton his shirt, tossing it aside, and Anastasia did the same with her bra.

He took her nipple into his mouth, alternating between her breasts, eliciting more moans from her. "Fuck, Antoine," Anastasia moaned, grinding her pant-covered core against him. Antoine pulled away from her chest to pull down his pants, and she followed suit, both discarding their bottoms, leaving only their underwear.

Antoine lowered Anastasia onto his covered erection, grinding her against him. Anastasia moved faster, pressing down harder as she felt her release approaching. One of her hands tangled in his hair, pulling at it and eliciting a low moan from him. He curled his finger upward, slowly thrusting it in and out. "I think you can handle another one," he murmured. Anastasia nodded quickly, desperate for more. He added a second finger, curling both upward before thrusting them deeper.

"What's wrong? Do you have to come?" he teased. "Y-yes, please let me come," Anastasia begged, and Antoine shook his head with a smirk. He added another finger, thrusting faster, her legs starting to spasm again. She finally released all over his fingers, which he slowly withdrew, bringing them to his mouth. "You made quite the mess," Antoine remarked, sucking her juices from his fingers while maintaining eye contact. He pulled her into a kiss, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

He then removed her panties and his boxers, tossing them aside. Antoine ran his tip through her folds, lubing himself up before pulling Anastasia closer by her hips. He lifted her and slowly lowered her onto his cock, ensuring she felt every inch and vein. Once fully inside, he let go of her hips, allowing her to adjust to his size. "Show me how good you can ride my cock, sweet girl," Antoine urged, leaning his head back with a smirk.

She lifted herself almost to the tip before lowering herself back down, riding him harder and faster. When Anastasia started growing tired, Antoine wrapped his hands onto her hips, planted his feet onto the floor, and started roughly pounding up into her. Anastasia moaned out in shock but when she leaned her upper body back, they both moaned out as his cock hit even deeper than before.

By the time they were done, they had gone multiple rounds, tried multiple positions, and had multiple orgasms. Their encounters were filled with a mix of exhilaration and guilt. Anastasia knew Antoine was married, but she couldn't deny the magnetic pull she felt towards him. Antoine, for his part, was equally captivated by Anastasia, finding in her a sense of excitement and freshness that had been missing in his life. Months passed, and their clandestine relationship grew more intense.

They would steal moments together whenever they could, always careful to keep their affair hidden from their colleagues and, most importantly, Antoine's wife, Catherine. One afternoon, as Anastasia and Antoine lay tangled in each other's arms in her apartment, Antoine's phone buzzed with a message. He glanced at it and froze, his face draining of color. "It's Catherine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"She knows." Panic surged through Anastasia. "What are we going to do?" she asked, her mind racing with the possible consequences. "We need to talk to her," Antoine replied, his tone resolute but calm. "I'll handle it." Later that evening, Antoine returned home to find Catherine waiting for him. Her expression was composed, almost serene. "Antoine," she began, "I know about you and Anastasia."

Antoine braced himself for an onslaught of anger and accusations, but to his surprise, Catherine remained calm. "I've known for a while," she continued. "And I've had time to think about it. I'm not angry, Antoine. In fact, I'm relieved." Relieved? Antoine couldn't believe his ears. "What do you mean?" he asked, bewildered. Catherine took a deep breath. "Our marriage has been more of a partnership than a romance for some time now. I've come to realize that I want more from life, and so do you. If Anastasia makes you happy, then I won't stand in the way. I approve."

Antoine was stunned. He had never expected this reaction. Catherine's understanding and acceptance felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders. He nodded, gratitude and relief flooding through him. The next day, Antoine shared Catherine's response with Anastasia. She was equally shocked but felt a sense of relief and hope for the future. Their relationship, once shrouded in secrecy and guilt, now had a chance to flourish openly.

With Catherine's blessing, Anastasia and Antoine continued their romance, their bond growing stronger each day. Anastasia's life in Paris had taken an unexpected turn, but she embraced it with open arms, knowing that sometimes, the most unexpected paths lead to the most beautiful destinations.

#emily in paris #antoine lambert x reader #antoine lambert smut #my first post #my writing #desirees-world18 #antoine lambert #antoine lambert x oc

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gaysindistress · 1 year

Text

Sad girl - seventeen

summary: James has an interesting new business proposal and one hell of a condition to deal with.

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings: cursing, Bucky’s smartass,, the feelings, talks of violence

word count: 2.2k

part 16 | series masterlist

Taglist: @missvelvetsstuff @angelsincident @spencerreidisagorgman @i-have-no-life-charlie @esposadomd @iateall-yourcookies @littlelizardlizzie @alana4610 @kandis-mom @beware-my-thorns @ozwriterchick @goldensunflowe-r @reader-without-a-story @unaxv @wh0reforbucknasty @cjand10 @vickie5446 @katymae12344 @openup-yourmind

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

“Ok Steve I need you to either watch Bucky for me or go to the store,” her voice surprises the man as she basically corners him in the kitchen.

“Can I say no?”

“Nope, so pick; Bucky or the store?”

Nat walks in to see the unhappy look on his face and a very adamant Doll, “Let me guess; she asked you to go shopping?”

“And I can’t say no.”

Cocking her head slightly with a raised eyebrow, “Better you than me.”

“Actually you both can go! That way nothing gets missed and it’ll be faster,” the excitement is only shared by her as she’s now roped in both Steve and Nat.

Nat lets out an annoyed groan as she approaches the two and snatches the list from the other woman, “Where do we need to go?” Smiling widely, she happily tells them that they need to go to Whole Foods and a fish market to get the ingredients for the dinner she has planned. The two look at each other with the same amount of annoyance but nod their heads in acknowledgment.

“Thank you, thank you!” she exclaims, planting kisses on both of their cheeks before leaving them.

“How much do you want to bet that this isn’t the last time we get sent on errands for her?”

“I don’t think she’s going to send us out again but she will definitely ask one of us to come with her,” Nat answers as they head out of the house.

Upstairs Doll had started reading her book as Bucky was taking a shower. She had only agreed to let him take one alone if he kept the door open just in case anything happened and she needed to rush in.

“If you want to join me, all you have to do is ask,” the teasing tone in his voice causes her to purse her lips.

“No I just don’t trust how loopy you are on these pain meds,” she retorts back as she goes to read her book again.

He only smirks at her as he disappears into the bathroom. When he returns, he ‘forgot’ to bring clothes, so he has to walk through the room with only a towel tied low on his waist. Her eyes briefly look up at him and she has to do a double take at the sight of water dripping down his chest and his short hair glistening. The sound of him clearing his throat breaks her trance and heat floods to her cheeks as she tries to shrink behind her book.

“See something you like?” he chuckles at her reaction to him freshly out of the shower as he dips into the closet and remerges with black sweats that hang low on his hips and a shirt in his hands.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” comes from behind her book.

“That’s why I asked,” he tugs on his shirt, wincing slightly at the movement.

The wince has her dropping her book to make sure he’s okay. He is, of course, and goes back to being a teasing asshole as he wears a shit-eating grin. Her phone buzzes before she can send a smartass remark back.

“Everything’s in the kitchen. Steve is demanding he gets a plate in exchange for running your errand,” is the text that Nat had sent her.

The bed shifts as Bucky sits next to her legs. He takes the book and the phone from her hands so she has to answer him. This earns him a confused look which quickly fades to one of surprise as he sets the items down and pushes her legs apart to sit in between them.

“Oh no, no, no. I know what you’re doing and it’s not happening until your arm is healed,” she tries to tell him as she gently pushes him away.

“Doll, it's okay. My arm is fine. In fact, I think it would be good for me if we had sex.”

“In what world would having sex be good for the healing of an injury?”

“This world,” with his lips descending on her neck as he fully slots in between her legs, hips meeting hers, “If it makes you feel better, you can ride me.”

“Bucky,” she moans out as he nips at a sensitive spot, “I don’t want to hurt you. Please.”

His lips stop and he raises his head from her shoulder to look at her, “You won’t, Doll. It was just a graze.

“It was embedded in your arm. You were in the ICU for a week,” she states plainly.

“Same thing but I’ll respect your no,” he kisses her nose before getting off of her.

She throws her head back against the headboard and lets out a loud sigh, “If you can make it through the whole day without wincing or being in pain, then we can.”

He grabs her hands to help her off the bed, “I’ll agree to that.”

She scrunches her nose at him and smiles before moving past him, “I’m going downstairs to start dinner. You can come to be my eye candy if you’d like.”

She doesn’t need a verbal response because his eager footsteps behind her tell her he’s more than happy to do so.

The kitchen is filled with various aromas from her cooking and laughter from their conversation. True to her word, it’s not a date so she’s wearing cream rib-knit pants and his army sweatshirt. It killed her to not dress up for their first date but she promised him that it couldn’t count until they were out at a restaurant.

“What exactly are you making?”

“ Risotto with scallops.”

“Seems a little fancy.”

She stops stirring the risotto, “are you complaining?”

“Me?” He puts his hand on his chest in a fake offense, “how could I complain when I have a beautiful woman making me a high-class dinner?”

“It’s hardly high class.”

He hops off the counter and grabs her by the hips from behind, “It’s better than what I would’ve made.”

“And what would that have been?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

She turns around in his grasp and changes the subject, “How’s your arm?”

Moving his arm around slightly he answers “Better, still a little sore.”

Humming in response, she returns to her cooking, half expecting him to jump up on the counter again. Since the hospital, they’ve been more affectionate towards each other, a complete 180 from when they first met. It’s not a surprise when he doesn’t move and instead hugs her from behind to watch her cook. Sometimes their behavior ignores the fact that all of this was arranged and might lead one to think it was real.

Regardless it’s becoming real to them as she starts asking him a series of random questions. She starts out with ‘what’s your favorite color’ and eventually lands with ‘what’s your sleeve about’ as they are still next to each other on the island, her perfectly cooked meal finished.

“It started out as something for my mom and just turned into a sleeve,” he explains in between bites, “Doll this is really good. No wonder I married you.”

She clicks her tongue at his joke, “And here I thought it was my stunning good looks.”

“Would you ever get my portrait?”

The question pauses his eating and he takes a moment to think about her question. Would he add her to his sleeve? In theory yes because she is his wife and someone very important to him which is really the only prerequisite to making it on his arm. The real question is would she want him to?

“Is that something you’d want?”

“I think so,” her hand trails over his arm, and the various portraits inked into his arm, “you don’t have any room though so I guess not.”

“If that’s something you want, I’d find room.”

“Where?”

“On my chest.”

“Your chest?”

“That is what I just said,” he gives her a very blank look as he restates what he’d said.

Dropping her hand, she huffs a little upset he’s so blunt, “I know what you said. It just surprised me.”

The upset is clear on her face and it breaks his heart. He can be a smooth talker when he needs to be; however, in moments like this, that ability slips away and he’s left fumbling over his words.

“Doll, I didn't mean it like that. It just seemed so obvious to me because you mean so much that it only seems right to have you on my chest forever.”

“You’d want me over your heart?” her voice is small with insecurity that she hasn’t felt in years.

“Of course, you are my heart,” he grips her hand in his and squeezes it.

She lets out a small giggle when he launches himself at her to cover her in a flurry of kisses and ‘I love you. Just as she’s about to kiss him back, her phone pings next to her plate. Picking it up with Bucky still covering her in little kisses, her face drops and pales when she reads the message.

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he stops his attack and awaits her response.

“It’s Walker. He sent me a number and said that if I want to talk to my mom, then I could call her.”

“Are you going to?”

“Well no shit,” she quickly clicks on the number, still holding Bucky’s hand, “Hello? Mom?”

“Hey baby,” her mom’s voice comes through the other end.

“Oh my god, are you okay? Where are you? Are you safe?” the questions leave her mouth frantically as tears start to fall.

“I’m okay, I’m safe. John is so sweet and kind, I really don’t understand why you broke up with him.”

“Mom, where are you? We’ll come to get you.”

“No no, don’t come to get me. I’m perfectly fine here. He’s helping me get clean so I can see you again.”

“You are not safe. We need to come to get you right now,” she tries to push her mom, “He’s going to hurt you if we don’t get you out now.”

Her mom stops her by harshly saying her name, “Stop. He’s not going to hurt me. I can leave whenever I want. God, you’ve spent too much time with your father, you’ve become bossy like him.”

She takes in a shaky breath at her mom’s words, “Excuse me? You abandoned me. I thought you were dead for ten years.”

“That’s his fault, not mine. I tried to come back but he wouldn’t let me.”

“I don’t believe you,” she scoffs.

“Believe whatever you. You’re just like him. Goodbye.”

The end tone rings throughout the kitchen as she starts to cry even harder. Bucky collects her into his chest as he’s done many times before. Whispering reassuring words in her hair and rubbing her back as she cries, Bucky decides that this is the last time that John Walker will hurt his girl again.

His office had become a place of comfort and safety for him now that Doll had spent time there. The memories of her lounging on his leather couches, working on her computer as he did the same filled his mind. The calming memories were going to be much needed given the nature of this meeting. Steve and Sam are sitting in the chairs in front of his desk while he rubs his jaw at their proposal.

“We could get Anthony involved but I don’t see that going well,” Sam says.

“He’s not going to do anything,” Steve adds, “If you really want to do this, then your best choice is just to take him out and be done. He’s not going to take well to light harassing or a few broken bones.”

The thought of killing John has crossed his mind several times but the cleaning and cover-up would be too much work. However, his increasing boldness is becoming an issue and killing him might come back on the table.

“Can we get Marianne out without her getting hurt?”

“Only if you take out John first. He’s always within eyesight of her,” Sam’s answer is not one he wants to hear.

“We can’t go in guns blazing,” Steve is interrupted by Bucky.

“We lure him out.”

“How?”

“Promise him a meeting with the one person he wants. He won’t be able to say no.”

The two men’s eyes widened in shock at his suggestion.

“You’re seriously suggesting that we use my wife as bait?”

“We use the idea of her as bait. She won’t be anywhere near when it goes down. Nat will stay with her to make sure she’s safe. Steve and I will meet with John and Sam will go in to get Marianne.”

Sam shakes his head in disbelief, “That’s the stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Please,” Bucky leans back in his chair, arms resting on the chair’s arms, “Enlighten me if you have any better ideas.”

“We get Anthony involved like I said before. He sets up the meeting at his estate, it’ll seem less suspicious that way and we’ll have the help of Anthony’s men. Doll will stay here with Nat like you said while Steve and I go in after Marianne,” Sam explains.

Bucky looks at Steve, “What do you think?”

“It could work.”

Bucky pulls out his phone as he nods in agreement, “Anthony I need a favor.”

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #sad girl - bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mob au #mob!bucky barnes imagine #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n

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