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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

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FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 1/4

(König x F!Reader)

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Word count: 5.3 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Lol what now? König dual wields 2 swords, goes Mike Tyson on his enemies, teaches his captive girl constellations in German, cuddles her and feeds her grapes, buuut mainly just tries to get into her pants (which historically did not exist at the time) A bit of a slow burn, but don't worry, they'll bang eventually ^^

AD 90, somewhere in the untamed frontiers of the Roman Empire…

The end of the world is here.

Not only have the crops failed for two years in a row, making chieftains beggars and beggars food for the fish, but now there are rumours that the god of war has arrived to destroy the land. The accursed Romans had turned their eagle gaze back to your land after years of sending their troops elsewhere, making it seem like they were not interested in your distant land after all. Untamed, they called it, harsh and barren and therefore inferior – your lush, abundant, beautiful land. No doubt they spat on it in their war councils because your roads were not paved, because your crops and villages were modest, and the women sometimes fought alongside men. Their storytellers immortalized false tales about you, calling you barbarians, but the only barbarians you could think of were the Romans themselves – crude, filthy and boorish creatures, drowning in wine and shit in their cities.

Rumours started to get fat and distressed when the troops approached your village. They said there was a giant at the head of the army, that the Romans followed a Titan's son who loved to eat men, torture women and impale children. They said he didn't accept proper food but preferred to eat his fallen enemies, washed his weapons with the blood of children, and split captured women apart with his cock, as long and sharp as his sword. They told that the Titan ordered his soldiers to poison the wells and destroy the growing crops with salt and vinegar. The rumours said that his tent was bigger than any chieftain's house and that he still struggled to stand at full height inside it.

Even the land itself seemed to bow before him. Good weather followed his conquest wherever he went; ambushes failed, scouts got caught and tortured, exposing more villages to pillage and ruin. Your brother told you to flee the village, but how could you survive without your clansmen? You didn't know how to hunt; you barely knew how to fish. Your task in the village was to gather clams from the shore, dye wool and help the old Seer. How long could you survive on sorrels and clams alone?

. . .

The old woman calls you to see her on the brink of war, and tells you to prepare for a ceremonial offering. Two horses, black as night if possible, brown at the very least, to appease the Great Mother of the Earth and quench her thirst for blood. If the Mother is satisfied with your offering, She will perhaps stop the approaching army or convince the Titan to leave your village alone.

She does a small rite before you, and you need to stay with her through her visions. You hate the smell of the leaves she burns, and try to cover your nose with your tunic to prevent breathing in the bitter fumes. The seer looks like she’s just lying herself down to sleep, but it’s always a burden when the spirits arrive and she starts to talk. You turn your back on her to coax them to rise: a mortal stare annoys the chthonic ones. You nearly fall asleep too as you wait, wanting nothing more than to go back to your own hut and have a good night’s sleep. Perhaps because you’re lousy tonight, and less vigilant as you should be, the spirits arrive sooner than either of you thought.

“He’s strong,” the seer croaks from the earthen bed, and you fight the urge to turn around and peek at the old woman, currently in the clutches of spirits.

“Invincible… Hungry... The horses…won’t suffice…”

She drifts someplace else, and you try to memorize every word, every intonation, as cryptic or as simple as they are, for later interpretation.

“I see you,” she says in a slightly more cheerful tone, which is odd because the old woman is never happy or satisfied, no matter how bright the sun shines or how much food there is in the storages and pits.

“Me?” You dare to speak even though you’re not allowed to disturb the spirits. You could slap yourself for blurting out a single word, but luckily, the hungry ones don’t attack you for your insolence.

“You.. will be his downfall,” she speaks as if you are having a conversation here. “Be there. When he arrives.”

“...Be there? Why?” You dare to utter again, more concerned about what the Mother implies than the potential fury of some lowly earthen spirits. You haven’t got the faintest clue about what She might be suggesting. Why do you have to participate in the battle? How can you be there without getting killed? You’re not a warrior… The Mother has it all wrong.

Suddenly, you curse the night, you curse the whole day, knowing your brother’s late proposal was perhaps a warning, a hint from the gods to leave, and leave quickly.

The old woman laughs dryly on the ground - the throaty, outright sick cackle makes you flinch.

You don’t like this... You don’t like this at all.

“Mother. What must I do?” You demand to know, thinking about how all the gods, spirits, old women, and Titans should go to hell.

“Become a tree,” the old woman offers as if it’s the easiest thing to do. “A flower. Me...”

. . .

You become a marten first, then a bird. Then perhaps a tree.

You climb a spruce and wait there. You wait until the sunrise; you wait until noon. You wait until you see the glint of the Roman spearheads and hear the sound of their march.

You’ve dreamed of the Titan ever since you left the seer’s hut. You’ve dreamed of him slaying everyone in the village; you’ve dreamed of him driving a thick spear into the ground and grabbing you with an intent to raise you into the air and impale you on it. You’ve dreamed of him behind you, above you, inside you. You wake up one morning only to see that half of the people have left. You don’t know where they have gone, and you can’t follow them even if you did because the old woman waits for you in front of her hut and gives you a nod the instant you walk into another beautiful, sunny day.

That’s why you’ve turned into a branch in a tree, but for what purpose, you have no idea. You can’t understand why you must be here to witness the world’s end.

Your men scream and shout and roar as they crash into the thick forest of spears. The enemy is silent: it’s eerie, how the world burns and falls into ruin around you, people are screaming; everyone who has a soul and a heart is screaming for Mother as they die, but the men behind the Roman shields refuse to emit a sound. They don’t curse or shout or summon their gods; they simply stand their ground and pant mist into the air as wave after wave of men break on their shields and die before their feet. Somebody loses his spear because it gets stuck between your clansman’s ribs, but the Roman simply draws his sword in its stead: it’s the only sound among the pitched wails that cut through the forest – the cold, clear ring of a gladius being pulled from its sheath.

That is why you flinch at the sound of the first shout, a brutish command that sends all the shields to the side, only to present more shields: the Romans switch positions in their formation as if they’re not even human beings like the rest of you, just a single enormous creature made of iron and leather and bone, operating it's flat forest of weapons.

And then you see him: the giant of your dreams, the hungry titan everyone has told you about. He rises from the tide of helmets like a summoned god, concealed as one of the soldiers and only now revealing his true nature. He stands at least two heads taller than the rest, pushes his own soldiers to the side and breaks out of the formation these vicious Romans love so much. You knew he would be strong and big, but you didn't know he refused to show his face… You wonder what kind of a monster hides behind the black cloth with nothing but two eye holes ripped on it. As if this man needed the additional effort to stand out from other soldiers...

He's like a God of War, just like the survivors said: his armour is of Roman design, but the amount of metal that had to be scraped together to cover this man's shoulders and chest must've demanded a fortune in gold. He doesn't seem to care about the Roman ways, however: he throws his shield away as soon as he's out of the cumbersome formation as if he has carried it only as a decoration up until this point. He draws another sword in its stead – if any other man did such a stupid thing, traded his shield for a weapon, you would snort. But not now.

Standing between the Romans and your clansmen like a challenge, a threat, a deity, even the men possessed by the seer's blood spells hesitate to approach him. But when they do, the god unleashes carnage: the first warrior gets his stomach slashed open, and the two thick swords look like toothpicks when wielded by this man. A stomach wound is a gruesome, slow way to die - but just before the warrior's entrails spill to dangle between his feet, the brute grants him mercy by sweeping his head off with a single blow of his gladius.

A roar finally rises from your enemy: they cheer Death on as the head of your neighbour meets the mud next. The soil is already soaked in blood, but the Mother is hungry still. The forest booms with Her bloodlust as the god moves around like a slow tempest of muscle, metal and darkness: he breaks every Roman rule by fighting as his own man instead of demeaning himself as one of them, a lowly part of this odd metal beast before you. He sends a limb flying in the air with a swing of a sword; he uses the same weapon as a bludgeon to bash in someone's skull. He crushes a man's chest simply by sinking down onto one knee, breaking bone, tendon and flesh to splinters as a whole ribcage gets crushed under his massive weight.

Warriors flee before him, they fall under the combined wrath of the Mother and the Titan's sword. The dead seem to fall eternally, along with your heart, before meeting the ground with a hollow thud.

Your chieftain is among the last men standing, meeting this unstoppable foe with admirable courage. Not having succumbed to the spells of bloodlust in years, he meets his death as a seasoned but old warrior. With his fighting years behind him, your chief doesn't have a chance against this man, but you have to grant the beast a feather's worth of honour, because he recognizes your chieftain as the veteran he is and salutes him with his sword. Then he proceeds with the bloodbath: flinging your leader's sword and axe easily to the side, he walks straight into his arms like he would into a hug, grabs him by the waist, and raises him into the air like he's nothing but a child.

Your scream never leaves your lungs as you watch how the Titan raises the draping cloth from his face, just enough to sink his teeth into your beloved chieftain’s neck. The noise that erupts from your elder is not that of a man but a tortured animal. It’s not from this world, what you witness next: the giant tears a hunk of flesh from your chief like he’s a piece of roasted meat. Blood streams forth, his screams fade away all too slowly, and you hear your own weak wail in the air as the Titan lets go of the heap that used to be a strong male and a wise leader.

Your chieftain is dead; his essence spills to the earth in spurts to appease the God of War, who spits blood and flesh to the ground, making you gag into the cold spring air.

Then he raises his swords towards the sun, and the forest erupts into a roar with him: the thundering, ear-splitting cheer from his warriors makes the very earth quake beneath your tree. It seems to shake the branches of the forest, and before you know it, the giant’s howl of triumph breaks the one you’re curled around, and you fall, fall, fall into the mud beneath you.

You're not a tree anymore. No: you’re very much a human woman there in the dirt as the sound of shouting ceases like a distant dream.

And he turns.

Death turns.

Mother always said you were a curious creature, which is perhaps why you search for his eyes, even though you should be running. She also said you were a smart one, which is why you know that running is futile. Your limbs wouldn’t carry you far anyway. It is a cruel joke from the gods to have what little strength you have left pour out of you into the ground and up to the feet of the enemy who is already strong, both in body and in will.

The Titan looks at you with genuine wonder, a curiosity that surpasses your own. To your odd thrill, you find that his eyes are blue: the same blue of the sea which you used to collect delicious clams from.

The soldiers behind him shift with lust – their gear clinks as they devour you with unbridled hunger. The Titan is the only one who looks at you like you’re simply a cute little squirrel who happened to fall from a tree right there at his feet. Then his eyes drop to your breasts, and the familiar hunger that lives in men gives the ocean of his eyes a clouded look. When his stare finds yours again, he's a different man: the treacherous beast of your dreams.

You had hoped for a swift death… Violent but quick. But it’s clear that it’s not death he has in store for you as he takes a step towards you. It’s not a quick nor a slow death; it’s not death at all, because–

No.

You’d rather have your arms torn off and fed to the Romans rather than have him thrust the sword between his legs, his third weapon, inside you. If you’re going to die screaming, it will not happen on your back; you will not amuse this beast with your womanhood and tears.

You scramble forward to pick up something, anything: a bronze dirk from a fallen warrior. The giant’s eyes fall on the sad excuse of a weapon, then on the sorry excuse of you. He thinks you’re planning to fight him with that thing, and the corners of his eyes crease a little from the prospect of having to subdue you. You’re proving to be quite the entertainment, and you curse those eyes, looking so kind and lively when just moments ago, the same eyes were inhuman and possessed. His are the eyes of a wayfarer, a wanderer, not a soldier: you catch a hint of sadness in them and curse again.

He’s not human, you remind yourself and show him what actual humans are made of. What women are made of. You give him another name, Giant, because you’ve always feared giants and hated the stories about them. Dumb and reckless creatures they are, stupid destroyers who always place their trust in their size. You never meant to fight him, and he only catches up on it as you turn the dagger towards yourself and guide it to point straight at your heart.

You will be his downfall, just like the seer said.

“Nein–Warte,” the Giant speaks his first words, surprisingly soft to belong to a man like him.

The sorrow in his stare consumes you in full now. It gushes forth like a tide, causing your breath and hands to shake when they need to be stern. You straighten your spine, jut your chin forward, and call for Mother: you don’t even know if you’re yelling for your bearer, or the Great Mother, or the earth that gives life to all. Perhaps you call them all to gather around and witness your sacrifice, higher in price than any of the Titan’s offerings combined. The blood you’re about to spill onto the soil will surely appease the land and raise it to arms to finally fight against this beast.

He says something else just before you pull the blade back to strike it into your chest, and you curse for the third time in your mind: giants aren’t supposed to move that fast; they aren’t supposed to interfere in your last ritual.

But the worst of it is that even when he finally subdues you, even as he wrestles the blade away from you, he ends up drawing a large gash on his forearm… As if he is trying his best to protect you from accidentally cutting yourself.

. . .

You are brought to his tent, screaming.

It’s not as big as a chieftain’s house; it’s barely the size of yours. But it is larger than the tents you saw when you got carried there: as a spitting, screeching, hissing package of what these brutes would no doubt consider a true barbarian woman with uncivilized manners and a fuckable cunt. They will talk about you around their campfires tonight: about you getting broken in by their true commander. It’s enough to satisfy them for now: to imagine their champion to fuck you bloody and sore. And who knows: perhaps they’ll receive the scraps if the Titan gets tired of you.

The precious dagger is somewhere in the mud, probably trampled there like it’s nothing but a piece of worthless metal. Your own trampling is only about to begin as the Giant marches into his abode and sends the men away, giving you uneasy looks in the process, perhaps checking if any of them had enough time to have a go at you. Luckily for him, you’re in the same condition as he left you: legs together, safe and pretty, because he bound them with a rope along with your hands. You are nothing but a delivery, thrown on the floor of dirt and a few animal skins. He just nods at you, happy to acknowledge that you are untouched by the others, as if it would somehow be worse for you to be raped by ten of those petite men than be raped by him: a cruel, bloodthirsty Giant with a giant cock.

Your ankles and wrists get sore as you watch him doff his armour. He takes off the helmet, the belted straps, the segmented plates of his shoulder guards and the heavy Roman cuirass. The gods have truly favoured this man, not only gifting him tremendous height but insurmountable strength too. His muscles are large and lean and quiver with latent power as he moves; his back is so broad it almost competes with the wide mouth of the tent. He doesn’t seem to suffer from the cold either, but he keeps his mask on for whatever ghastly reason. Even if there is a monster under that mask, his body speaks of virility: he’s a man in his prime, a giant at his strongest, making you feel like an elf, a tiny little creature in the feet of this man who must be descended from titans indeed.

You continue to watch as he washes his hands in a small basin, cleans his mouth and neck, too. You reckon the water in that bowl is blood red and dark when he finally dries himself with a white cloth. He stands before you in nothing but his mask and the dark red tunic he had under the armour. He ties it from the waist with a simple leather belt, and it only now makes sense to you why Roman soldiers dye their clothes red: you’re pretty sure you can still see the darker spots on the hem of that tunic, the ones that used to be the lifeblood of your clansmen and kin.

He has the audacity to ask you - wordlessly - to clean his wound, the one you caused him. He sets you free from your bounds, and you are given fresh water and another cloth. He even opens a smallish wooden box of salve that has a familiar smell to it: pine tar and honey, used by your people to treat minor wounds and prevent bad spirits from getting into the wound. You wonder how he even knows about such a balm: is this warrior a Roman at all, or is he some odd creature hauled from the edges of the world to fight for them? You wonder if he has made the salve himself, extracted the tar from the pine and foraged the wax and honey himself, then cursed with his coarse language when he got stung by multiple bees…

You drive away the thoughts that threaten to make this brute human by snorting at his injury. The damage he gave to himself when he tried to guide the blade away from you at the price of his own blood.

It still troubles you that he did it. Even a tiny wound like this can bring any man down if it starts to fester. The cold winds and rains of spring can easily get into the gash and make it rot.

The idea of this giant being forced to his knees because of some filthy dagger wielded by a squirrel of a woman makes you smile inside. It would be a fitting fate for this man. But the vision also makes your heart sting. The thought of him dying of a simple flesh wound, alone and far away from his home, makes your heart grow kinder than it should.

You decide there is nothing you can do but treat his arm, strong and scarred from previous battles. He sits down while you get to stay on the ground, and you try to ignore it that your face is now level with his groin. He sits with a wide spread in those powerful thighs, and you wonder if it's because the rumours about his cock are true. You keep your eyes everywhere else except the hem of that tunic and what's going on under there. He purrs at your touch, making it clear that it doesn't need much more than your soft fingertips to get him hard after a triumphant day on the field of battle.

The wound is not deep, but you clean it carefully, trying to ignore the way his eyes seem to bore into you as you take care of him. Your hand is somewhat steady as you treat the damage with the nice-smelling salve, but you flinch as his hand suddenly meets your cheek. You look up at him, heart plummeting, thighs instinctively pressing together from the gentle way with which he cups your face.

“Schön,” he says, again with a tender voice and an adoring, almost worshipful stare. You don’t have a clue what he’s saying, but you know now for sure that it's not the tongue of the Romans he speaks. The scent of pines and bees lingers between you as he brushes a thumb over your lower lip. You are weak enough to give him a breath, a helpless, hot little exhale that meets his hand like a gift.

“Schön wie eine Fee,” he rumbles, sounding intoxicated or like he's under a spell of sleep.

“What the hell are you saying,” you whisper in your own tongue: just a meek little sputter, a tiny, horrified breath, but the giant’s eyes narrow with a smile.

“Sie redet,” he says happily, and your shoulders sink – you are on the verge of screaming from frustration alone. Whatever you do seems to only amuse this man, and you snap your mouth shut. Your cheeks heat up with recurring waves of odd fever. The ground beneath your shins is all but warm, and yet you feel warm all over: a dangerous sign, you know, and oddly tied to the peculiar bodings you have seen all week.

Because there have been many omens in the air lately.

It’s just that none of them were portents of war.

The cranes started to mate early this year, and you have found a lot of clams from the shore every day. Even your brother encountered a boar with nine piglets; everyone celebrated him as some holy man who had seen the Great Mother when he returned to the village that day. The wind started to blow from south soon after, and the moon has grown along with your womb: this morning, on the brink of war, you woke up wet and restless.

All the omens speak of fertility, of growth, of a new cycle and of birth: of spring and life. There’s nothing about death and decay, nothing except what the people have told you about… him. The death himself. The war god.

“König,” he says as if he can hear your thoughts and wishes to correct them. You look up and see he’s pointing to himself, or rather, holding his hand over his heart. You fight the urge to scoff at the gesture. As if this beast had a heart…

“König,” he repeats the word and pats his chest, and you realize he’s trying to tell you his name. You wrinkle your nose in distaste, and he smiles. It’s easy to tell when he does, even with the cloth that covers his face: you can see the joy clearly from his eyes, the boyish grin that must be occurring under that mask.

“Du?” He points at you next, inquisitive. He has an odd way of pointing: with two fingers, slightly crooked, and you understand very well what he’s asking of you. You refuse to tell him your name, however, settling for pouting a lip at him next. The smile in his eyes only deepens.

“Fee,” he pokes you gently on the shoulder and leans back in his odd Roman chair, seemingly content with having now named you.

And Mother was right: you are curious, so incredibly curious to know what this beast has chosen to call you and why. Are you a rat to him…? Some bird? Perhaps simply a girl?

He is so pleased with your conversation that he pours himself some wine and drinks the whole cup with one gulp. Great, you sigh inside your head, a beast and a drunkard. He pours another cup and tries to offer it to you, and when you don’t make a move to grab the clay mug, he brings it to your lips. You entertain him with a tiny sip: you’ve heard of wine and know that Romans are fond of it, but you have never tasted it yourself.

The tart, bitter flavour almost makes you cough. You thought wine was supposed to be sweet: everyone always describes it as something like milk or honey or juice from an overripe apple. It very much is not, and you almost choke on it and then make a wry face at your captor. He - König - only laughs. It’s another thing that catches you off guard: first those boyish, sad eyes and now this hearty, grown man’s laugh. You have proved to be such an amusement to him that he doesn’t force you to drink any more wine and enjoys the rest of it himself.

Then he rises and makes you shrink from him again, towers above you for a moment, and looks at you with that warm curiosity that makes your heart race.

“Müde?”

He tilts his head, the bag of darkness shifts, the blue eyes behold you fondly, and for some reason, you whimper an answer to yet another question you can’t even understand. He takes your little squeak as a yes and falls to crouch before you, then raises a massive hand to the leather strings that keep your demure little dress up.

To your horror, he pulls the knotted tangle open before you can stop him. Your dress falls from your shoulders and drops to pool around you, and you simply and verily stop breathing.

His eyes wash over you, he examines every little part of exposed skin like an entire treasure chest has suddenly opened before him. You pray to all the gods that he would find it in his heart to be gentle tonight. Your nipples perk up – from the cold or from his stare, you don’t know.

The rough callous of his palm meets your breast and encloses it in warm support. He cups you, weighs you like he would a fruit, and then he squeezes you, rather hard, too: a deliberate attempt to make you squeal again. He replies to your pathetic mewl with an approving rumble, and you look up at him with all the helpless tenderness of the Mother, hoping that Her gentle pleas might persuade this man not to hurt you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, and his eyes dart to your mouth, to your eyes, then back to your lips again. He immediately softens his touch. Then he lifts you from inside your poor dress, picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, and carries you to his broad bed, the sturdiest you have ever seen.

This man feels like the strangest of fates, like a hopeless destiny, as he sets you on the skins and straw mattress, right next to your fluttering heart. Your insides ache as he undresses before you, entirely without shame. He’s hard under the tunic he rips off and tosses on the cold ground. Your eyes are glued to the legendary cock you’ve heard so much about, the cock that splits women apart: and it’s true that it's huge. It resembles the ones you’ve seen on horses, not on men, and your thighs are glued together as he comes next to you while that pale, monstrous cock sways long and heavy between his thighs. He moves you around a little, and you squeal from how weak you feel: weak as a mouse as he covers you with one of those rich furs he has in plenty on the bed. Then crawls under it too, right next to you.

Your heart almost wrenches itself out of your chest as a strong arm pulls you against him: the swell of your ass meets his thighs, solid and broad like treetrunks, and your lower back meets the hot, almost too hot horse cock. It starts to leak and throb against your skin the instant your flesh is pressed against his. You try not to whimper and moan as the Giant, König, curls around you like you two have always done this.

He takes a long, earnest inhale from your neck and hair, rumbles deeply and contently, and tightens his grip. Apparently, you smell and feel good…

You wait and wait to be plundered and raped, but König only settles for holding you tightly, like you’re a children’s toy made of the softest straw and purest undyed wool. You relax slowly, and he purrs against your back, starts to fondle your breasts, ardently, until your body betrays you and you find yourself wet again; he squeezes and squishes your teats slowly, approvingly, then pinches your nipple once before finally falling into a heavy, deep sleep.

…

Please forgive your author for any historical inaccuracies and other silly things you find facepalmable <3 During this time König would've probably spoken some form of Old Saxon but since I'm not a TOLKIEN we have to settle for modern-day German here. I don't have a taglist for this fic so please check my pinned masterlist for future updates.

Translations

Nein, warte - No, wait

Schön - Beautiful

Schön wie eine Fee - Beautiful as a fairy

Sie redet - She talks

Du? - You?

Müde? - Tired?

#könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x you #könig #könig cod #konig x reader #könig smut #könig fluff #historical au #Roman soldier!König #könig x female reader

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willows-peak · 9 months

Text

*･ﾟ✧ Sukuna's Favorite Toy

aka sukuna having way too much stamina

tags: fem! reader, porn without plot, multiple orgasms (you and sukuna), overstim, a single spank, he calls reader a bitch once, lotus position, big dick sukuna, creampie, breeding kink near the end

MDNI

word count: 1k

a/n: happy new yearssss. this was written at like 2 in the morning and i think it's very obvious lulz.

⋆｡˚ ♡ You shook as you fell against Sukuna's hard chest, panting as he grunted. "What's the matter, you getting tired?" He said, his tone dripping with false concern. "Can't....m-move...." You nodded into his neck, earning a loud laugh from the King. "I knew it. Humans are always so fragile.." He muttered, smiling at how you tried to keep moving your hips but failing miserably at it. You were just so determined to be good for him, how could he not reward you a little bit?

With a quick movement of his hips, you were slightly repositioned so he could thrust up into you. And thrust he did, good god.

You yelped as his cock was suddenly pistoned up into your pussy, his hands coming to squeeze and slap at your ass. "That's much better, isn't it baby?" You could barely get a word out from how fast he was going, broken moans and gasps being the only thing your mouth would make now. "Ssssuk-una!-" You moaned out, Sukuna flashing a toothy grin down at you. You felt your mind start to fizzle out with how effortlessly he could move your body up and down, his sharp nails poking into the flesh of your ass as he kept thrusting.

"Fuck, this pussy is so wet... All for me, huh? Feels this good because of my cock, right?" He egged you on, grin falling when you failed to respond to him. "Aww, what, am I going too fast? Can't talk?" He spoke lowly, a particularly hard thrust making you jolt, legs trembling against Sukuna's built and toned thighs. "T-too f-aaass', ah! is' too- pleaase is' too goooodd..." You droned out, tears welling up in your pretty eyes as you felt a familiar hot coil start in your belly.

You could do nothing but continue moaning as Sukuna laughed at your state, pushing your hips back enough for his cock to hit your g-spot better. "Is that better?" He cooed, leaning forward and licking the stray tear of pleasure that rolled down your cheek.

"Yesyesyesyesyes- good good good good so good so good, ple-ase mmake me cum, w'nna cum, please please-" You stumbled out, a line of drool falling down your chin as you were quickly brought closer to your orgasm. Sukuna was relentless, your pussy as good as a fleshlight to his cock as he spreads you open further. His fingers shifted down to where you two met, pressing down on chuckling at how much you had to stretch for his cock.

"Cum on my cock, do it, show me how much you fucking love this, bitch." He groaned in your ear, his fingers moving up to your clit and rubbing hurriedly.

You cried out his name loudly as you were nearly thrown off the edge, your orgasm crashing down in wave after wave after wave of ecstasy. By some miracle, Sukuna at least slowed down his thrusting, grinding your hips back and forth on his cock while you slowly rode out your orgasm.

You flopped back against his chest, any semblance of energy in you now sapped out. Sukuna's movements didn't stop, of course, because why would they? Did you think you were done because you already came a few times? Oh you poor thing...

What you'd come to realize is that you're finished when Sukuna is finished. Where's that limit, exactly? I suppose you'll be the one finding out tonight.

----

Sukuna roughly groping your tits, grunting and panting into the crook of your neck as he snapped his hips down into you. God, how long has this been going on? You didn't bother to keep counting after the 3rd time he came inside you, and who knows how long ago that was. All you know is that you felt full, every single inch of Sukuna's disgustingly big cock filling your pussy, his cum seeping out of you and making a small puddle underneath the two of you.

Sukuna was relentless, clearly loving how fucked out you were sounding. "Fuck yes, cum again for me, all over my fucking cock, yes yes yeeessss..." he'd chant while a hand was quickly rubbing your clit. You could barely register your orgasm this time, everything swirling together in a mix of painful overstimulation and the high of your orgasm so much that you gave up on thinking.

Sukuna's cock was just so big, thick and long and able to hit spots your fingers couldn't even dream of reaching. Sometime tonight, you realized the reason Sukuna was so giddy was that he knew you couldn't replace this feeling. This full body exhaustion mixed with a never ending need for more, more, more. He was the only one who could give it to you, and he'd make sure you'd never get enough of it.

You let out a broken cry of his name when he gave a mean thrust inside you, shifting your legs around to have them pressed up against your chest. Angling your hips up like this let him reach even deeper inside you that much easier, Sukuna wasting no time to continue to ruin you in this new position.

"G'na... cum, n you're- g'na take it, ok?" He groaned out, his controlled and calm tone from the beginning of the night all but evaporating to mirror his near manic level of excitement. He watched with such intensity watching your pussy weakly clench around his cock, your scratchy voice calling out his name and your hickey bruised and bouncing tits with his name written on them-

Sukuna threw his head back and cackled as he came again, swearing and wiping the sweat starting to appear on his brow, not stopping his pace through his orgasm. "Gonna get you pregnant with my kid, gonna be my fucking baby maker-" He laughed lowly as he watched your head thrash to the side, your back arching off the mattress.

He roughly grabbed your chin and turned your head back towards him. "Don't you dare look away from me, look at me when I'm knocking you up." He growled the last part out, leaning down to your ear and breathing into it as he moved.

Aren't you just so lucky to have him?

#jjk #jujustu kaisen #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fanfiction #jjk smut

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moonlightpetalz6 · 1 year

Text

When You're Gone

Characters: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Nanami Kento

Reader: Fem!reader

Warnings: Angst, readers death, violence, blood, swearing, pet names

Context: The reader ends up dying due to missions/illness. This is their reaction after you are gone.

Word Count: 3,109

A/N: Hi! Hi! I'm pretty new here so I hope I'm doing this right. I wanted to get back into writing so I thought why not give this a try! I hope you all can enjoy it!

Part 2

______________________________________________________________

Gojo

Gojo stood there with his eyes wide and mouth slightly open as he listened to Shoko give him the news. "Gojo… I'm so sorry." She whispered, unable to make eye contact with her old friend. He said nothing; all Gojo could do was stand there, his body trembling as his sapphire eyes trailed towards the open door behind Shoko, whose lips were still moving. There, through the small opening, he could see it. The table in which your now dead body lay unmoving and cold. 'She's right there…' Gojo thought while his fingers twitched, eyes wavering.

Shoko, who hadn't been able to look at her friend, slowly lifted her eyes only to stare in shock at what was before her. Gojo stood there not uttering a single word while tears leaked from his eyes. Shoko took note of the blood dripping from his lip as he unconsciously bit down on the tender flesh. "Gojo you-" He was gone Before she could finish her sentence. Three days later, he watched as your body entered the ground, or at least what was left of your body. "They say it was a special grade curse. It came out of nowhere and killed her comrades and the other sorcerers with her." Someone whispered. "I heard that Gojo was supposed to accompany them but got busy with another mission." Another added.

Gojo stood silently before your grave, his eyes masked with a blindfold. Though he appeared like he wasn't listening to anyone, he was. He listened to everyone at your funeral, ensuring that no one had bad-mouthed your name in his presence. 'Good…your name is still clean, my star.'

About a week after your death, Gojo requested to go on a mission due to his eagerness to get back into the field, so soon after your death, rumors began to spread amongst the sorcerers. Some said that Gojo was running away, while others claimed he never cared for you. As these rumors spread back home in another area of the country, Gojo stood in a deep crater; blood littered the space around him as curses kept coming from all directions. Gojo stood there, his usual sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

He let out a deep breath while stepping forward, his body wobbling as if he wasn't fully aware of his movements. "Enough…" He whispered, his voice filled with venom. The curses paid him no mind while charging towards the sorcerer, each one determined to end his life. Gojo grits his teeth; if his jaw were to clench more, it would break. "Just hurry up and fucking die! All of you!" he shouted, tears running down his face. Gojo's eyes, usually so clear and bright as day, were bloodshot and contained a dark hue. "Die! Die! Die! Dammit!" He screamed as loud as he could while annihilating every curse.

Gojo's mind was blank of all rational thinking, his breathing heavy while his chest ached with each movement he made. "Why do you keep taking them from me?!?! What did I do to you, dammit?!?!" Gojo cursed all the gods, his heart unable to process any more pain. An image of you flashed through his mind. You were so beautiful as you stood in front of him. Your body language was everywhere as you shyly avoided eye contact with him.

"Haha! What's got you acting all shy like this? Am I that handsome that just standing next to me is too much?!" He cried out dramatically while pretending to shy away from false embarrassment. You stood there with a pout while looking up at your childish boyfriend. "Oh, shut up! As if!" Gojo just laughed while you punched his chest. You looked at him with a slight frown on your face. "Why do you always do that?" Gojo hummed, looking at you with a curious brow. "You always let me touch you…why?" Your question caused him to look up in thought before he smiled. "Don't know! I guess I love you that much!" He laughed, watching the giant blush cross your face as you looked away.

"A-anyways, Here!" You yelled, shoving the neatly wrapped gift towards him. He looked at the present, slightly surprised, before smiling as he happily snatched it from your hand. "Oh~ What's this~?" he sang while carefully unwrapping the gift. He smiled, seeing the glasses case, remembering how he had mentioned needing a new pair of sunglasses almost a month ago. He carefully opened the case, noting that this was the brand he loved. You were always so thoughtful and careful when it came to details. He loved how your eye would twitch whenever he purposely forgot an item you needed for events or cooking.

"So you won't complain anymore." Your words snapped him out of his thoughts as he looked at you. You stood there with a slight pout as you nervously messed with your fingers. "You keep forgetting so…I thought it would be a nice present." He felt his heart flutter as he watched you grow embarrassed, the blush on your face making him want to smother you in kisses. "Awe! My Y/n is the sweetest and most thoughtful!" He gushed while picking you up bridal style. You just screamed at him, face red, "I-idiot! Satoru put me down! I hate you!" You cried out while he just laughed.

Gojo stood there panting while the last curse vanished before his eyes. Just then, the bridge connecting his lens snapped, causing the sunglasses to fall from his face. He quickly caught them in his hands, staring down at the broken pieces. Tears formed in his eyes again as he bit his lip before falling to his knees.

"How am I supposed to get new glasses now, Y/n? I can't remember anything without you."

_______

Geto

Geto ran through the hospital corridors, screaming your name as he pushed past anyone in his way. His heart clenched when he turned the corner and saw his friend hunched over while sitting on the waiting bench. "Satoru! Where is she?!" Geto cried as he reached his best friend. Gojo looked at him with a pained expression as he slowly went and stood in front of your boyfriend. Gojo made sure to take in his friend's current appearance. Geto stood there, hands on his knees as his body heaved heavily with each gasp of breath. His hair started falling out of his usually kept bun while his eyes strained and filled with fear. It pained Gojo to see his best friend looking like such a wreck, and for good reason.

"Suguru…" He spoke in a defeated voice, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Getos's heart stopped when he heard his name. he could feel his knees shake as he reached for his friend. "Hey…come on." He started as he gripped Gojo's uniform, his knuckles turning white. "She's fine, right, Satoru? She's really strong, remember! So she has to be…fine…" Geto trailed off as his mind processed the wet feeling on his hands. His body stiffened as he slowly looked down at the clothing he held in his fists. There, he noticed the blood staining the fabric. Tears started to spill from his eyes as he shook Gojo while screaming. "No! No! No! You promised me, Satoru!" cries echoed throughout the empty hall as Geto fell to his knees.

"You both promised me you'd be fine." Those words stung the blue-eyed sorcerer, who couldn't help but fall to the floor with his friend as he held him in his arms, mumbling apologies after apologies. "Tell me this is just one of her jokes, Satoru… It's one of her fucked up jokes." Geto continued to cry as loud as he could, unable to accept your sudden death. The next day, Geto had you cremated and brought you back to your shared home. You had no family and had always talked to him about how if you were to die first, you wished to be turned to ashes so you could still be near him. "What a stupid thing," Geto whispered as he sat on the floor, hugging your urn like it would vanish instantly, just like you had from his life.

________

Weeks went by, and no one had heard anything from Geto. He stayed locked inside his home, his eyes void of emotion as dark circles lay under his eyes from the immense lack of sleep. He sat on the floor of your shared room, scanning all the clothes and items that littered the area. His eyes felt so dry from all his tears within the last few weeks. He let out a small groan as he pinched the bridge of his nose before taking note of the small hairpin in his hand. It was a black hairpin with gold flakes splattered around it, a small crescent moon resting at the end with two small star chains that hung off it. He remembers seeing you always wear it, claiming it was your favorite.

"You know I can always buy you a new one, right?" Geto asked as he sat on the edge of your shared bed, his arm resting on his knee as he placed his chin in his palm. "Huh? What are you talking about?" You asked your boyfriend, a questioning look on your face. You were never one to ask for anything, nor did you like it when people bought you things, which was tough for Geto as he just wanted to spoil you. "The hairpin…you wear that one all the time. Don't you want a new one?" You just looked at Geto with a slight smile on your face.

"I don't mind wearing this one all the time! Besides, it's my favorite one!" You laughed, a slight hue on your cheeks while you went and gently touched the hairpin. "It's so beautiful and brings me joy…p-plus it reminds me of someone." With those last few words, Geto's ears twitched as a sly grin crossed his face. "Oh~ and do say who that someone is, my little angel~" Geto teased as he went and grabbed you by the waist, making sure to pull you back onto the bed with him. You just squealed as you laughed lightly, hitting his chest.

"Suguru! Stop it, you dummy!" Geto closed his eyes in bliss, loving how your laugh sounded so angelic to his ears. "Gosh, I love your laugh." He whispered as he hid, nuzzled into the crook of your neck. You blush, a slight smile on your face as the hairpin makes a little noise while you move to kiss Geto. He hummed as you pulled away before you started playing with each other's hair. "I love your hair… It's so pretty." You cooed, giving a strand a small kiss. Geto blushed before doing the same to yours. "I love yours as well."

Geto sat there, tears falling from his eyes once again as he clenched the hairpin in his hand, bringing it towards his lips and placing a shaky kiss.

"Y/n…my angel… who's going to play with my hair now…I wanna place this hairpin in your hair once again."

________

Nanami

Nanami stood there, eyes wide, as he held your hand in the hospital bed. You had been diagnosed with an incurable illness when you were very young. He knew this when he first asked you to be his girlfriend. He had thought that the disease wouldn't kill you for a long time as it had been over ten years since you had been diagnosed. He was such a fool. About five years into your relationship, your condition took an immense turn for the worse, and you were left bedridden with a time limit of only three months. Nanami couldn't believe you would be going through his life so suddenly. You, his precious flower.

He had made sure to visit you every single day, minus the days when he was forced away on missions that you would fight him to go on saying things like, "You can't stop saving people and doing your job just cause I'm sick Kento! That's so unattractive!" You would huff while pointing a finger at him. Nanami would flinch as if he were struck with an arrow by your words before setting off the next day to complete the mission as fast as possible. Each day, he would bring you gifts like flowers, books, desserts, you name it. Each time he did, you would scold him, saying things like 'I don't want you to regret spending your money on me.' or 'Kento darling! Just seeing your handsome face is enough for me!' He knew you hated receiving gifts, but at the same time, he loved seeing that soft smile that crossed your face each time it would process in your mind that he was thinking of you.

"Kento darling?" You whisper while your boyfriend lies with you on the hospital bed, his head resting on your chest as his arms wrap around you tightly. "Yes, my flower?" He lifted his head just so his tired eyes could meet your own. You smiled at him as you raised your hands to gently hold his cheeks, your thumbs rubbing the dark circles under his eyes. He instantly relaxed at the feeling of his eyes fluttering shut. "Have you been getting enough sleep?" Kento opened his eyes and saw your frown, causing him to let out a small chuckle as he went and kissed one of your wrists. It was true he was losing so much sleep, but he couldn't help it. Not having you next to him in your shared bed was killing him.

"I'm sorry, my flower…you know I can't lie to you." He whispered before nuzzling his head back onto your chest. You pout at this while resting a hand on his head, carefully running your fingers through his soft hair. He knew you hated when he overworked himself and wouldn't get proper sleep, but it was the only thing keeping him together. "Don't worry… I'll get some sleep right now." He whispered before shutting his eyes, drifting off to your heartbeat. "Kento…please take care of yourself for me." You would whisper once you knew he was fully asleep.

_______

Kento held your hand, tears falling from his eyes as the nurses rushed into the room, one of them gently trying to push him away. He couldn't hear a single word anyone was saying as he gripped your now cold hand, refusing to let go of your soft skin for the last time. You just lay on the hospital bed, a faint smile on your face, while Nanami was pulled out of the room, screaming your name. After your funeral, Nanami completely submerged himself in his work, refusing to take any time for himself or others. Gojo would make sure to stop by to at least annoy Nanami into eating and drinking any of the snacks he would bring to ensure his friend would not suffer from starvation or dehydration.

"Nanami~ I brought you some delicious sweets from this shop I really liked~ Try 'em ~" Gojo sang as he danced into Nanami's office with a plastic bag. Nanami let out a deep sigh from his desk as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Placing his pen down, Nanami slowly lifted his head to look at Gojo, dark circles under his eyes. Gojo whistled, hand on his hip as he placed the bag in front of Nanami with a small thump. "You look like shit." Gojo laughed, earning a low grunt from the man who was already opening some of the snacks given to him. "Hey I'm gonna be going out tomorrow with Itadori if you would like to join us. It's my treat, so at least consider it!" He laughed, giving his friend a thumbs up.

Nanami just hummed, already deciding in his head that he wouldn't be going. Gojo just smiled as he went to leave while giving a lazy wave. "Get some sleep, will you?! Y/n wouldn't be too happy with you right now!" Nanami frowned at the mention of your name being used to guilt him into sleep. He finished eating some snacks and placed the rest aside for his dinner tonight. He rubs his eyes, leaning back in his chair, as he loosens the tie around his neck. He glances down at his desk, staring at the small photo of you happily smiling while wearing that sundress he always loved seeing on you. He smiles slightly at the memory before shaking his head.

He sits in his chair, preparing to focus only on his work. 'Energy pills,' he thinks to himself, having remembered keeping some stored in his bottom drawer from when he used to work all the time before he had met you. Nanami reaches into his drawer only to discover a small sleeping kit neatly placed on everything else. Nanami looks at it, surprised, before noticing a small note slip out from behind. He carefully picks the letter up while inspecting the sleeping kit. "Did Gojo slip this in here?" He mumbled to himself, unimpressed with his childish friend. He sighs as he opens the note, only for his eyes to widen at the familiar handwriting.

My Darling Kento,

Are you surprised? I knew you would be! I had Kiyotaka slip this into your desk to prepare for the future. I'm sure by now I have left this world along with you, my darling, who cherished me like no one else could have if my life had more years. I'm sorry to have caused you such stress, and I know you would scold me for apologizing. I do not regret anything from what we shared. You filled my life with joy, making this illness seem like some crazy thing I made up! I know you are probably working so hard right now, and I want to remind you to take care of yourself, Kento. Even though I am no longer by your side, it would hurt me to know I have caused you so much pain. Please find more happy memories, my darling Kento. I love you so much. Sleep well~

Kento gripped the corner of the letter, feeling it crinkle under his fingers. His giant tears dripped down his face, some landing on your handwriting, causing small smudges. Nanami quickly tries to rid his tears while gritting his teeth before letting out a loud yell as he sweeps everything off his desk, gripping his head as he cries, looking down at the photo of you.

"That's not fair Y/n…you should be making more memories with me."

__________

Let me know if you would like a part 2 for this with other jjk characters!

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moonywritez6 · 9 months

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When You're Gone (Reupload)

Characters: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Nanami Kento

Reader: Fem!reader

Warnings: Angst, readers death, violence, blood, swearing, pet names

Context: The reader ends up dying due to missions/illness. This is their reaction after you are gone.

Word Count: 3,109

A/N: Hello my sweets! Unfortunately, I got locked out of my old blog account, so I had to make a new one! So, chances of you having seen this before are high as it's on my old account! (I am so sad about it honestly). But I am going through all my old accounts posts and reuploading them here! I hope you can still enjoy my works!

Part 2

______________________________________________________________

Gojo

"How am I supposed to get new glasses now, Y/n? I can't remember anything without you."

_______

Geto

________

Geto sat there, tears falling from his eyes once again as he clenched the hairpin in his hand, bringing it towards his lips and placing a shaky kiss.

"Y/n…my angel… who's going to play with my hair now…I wanna place this hairpin in your hair once again."

________

Nanami

_______

My Darling Kento,

"That's not fair Y/n…you should be making more memories with me."

#jjk #fanfic #fanfiction #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento #gojo satoru #geto suguru #x reader #female reader

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no-1-rosalind-lang-apologist · 10 months

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New Immortal Longings 2 hint just dropped??

#chloe gong #flesh and false gods #fafg #immortal longings #il #flesh and false gods 2 #fafg2

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bubbeshfk · 5 days

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Just begun vilest things, Otta's commitment to being a menace is so inspiring actually.

#vilest things #chloe gong #immortal longings #flesh and false gods #flesh and false gods 2 #otta avia

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writergracethepanda · 8 months

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WHAT IS SHE DOING WITH HER FIVE HOLES IN THE FENCE NONSENSE

#chloe gong #immortal longings #flesh and false gods 2 #flesh and false gods #secret Shanghai

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romajuliettemai · 1 year

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Just recalled that the only character Chloe confirmed to make it out alive from the Flesh & False Gods Trilogy is Mao Mao and now I'm in equal distress and relief.

Relief for Mao Mao but distress for everyone else help

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heavenlymorals · 3 months

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Biblical References in the RDR Games: Part 2

You guys seemed to LOVE my original biblical references post for Red Dead so I am here to post some more because there are SO MANY. And like before, I am aware that some of these may be complete reaches, but it's my blog and I do what I want 🙃

Enjoy babes ❤️

@headersandheelers @secretcheesecakenacho Since you guys wanted to get tagged ❤️🤭

Arthur and Dutch mirror Moses and Pharaoh in chapter six. Arthur begs Dutch to let his "chosen" go, who are the people who he believes have a chance in living without the baggage of the gang (the women and John and his family). Dutch refuses to let them go, which creates the biggest conflict in chapter 6.

Arthur kicking out Strauss gives me heavy Matthew 21:12-14. Basically, Jesus kicks out loan sharks and sellers from a temple designated as a house of worship where people can be helped. Their presence destroyed the sanctity and the purity of the temple. Both the gang and the temple existed originally to help folks, but the presence of people like loan sharks destroy that original mission. So yes, Arthur kicking out Strauss is a parallel to Jesus kicking out the loan sharks from the temple.

The color for high honor is blue while the color for low honor is red. Blue in the bible is very often associated with heaven and God. Red in the bible represents the flesh that humans are trapped in during their time on earth, which can then correlate back to sin and violent.

Micah was a prophet in the bible who is most known for predicting the fall Jerusalem. Micah in the game also predicts the fall of the gang in the sense that he was the one who caused it. The name Micah also means he who is like God, so the irony is kinda funny.

John being able to see the cracks in the gang before many of the other characters could very well be a reference to this passage: "For you will know the Truth and the Truth will set you Free" - John 8:32. Abigail in RDR also says this which is a reference to this passage: "You knew the truth, John. And they hated you for it."

Just another passage that reminds of Arthur's redemption and the whole searching for peace thing: "Turn away from evil and do good. Search for peace, and work to maintain it" Psalm 34:14

The mission "A Fisher of Men" is a reference to Matthew 4:18-20. "While walking by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon (who is called Peter) and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea, for they were fishermen. And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” Immediately they left their nets and followed him." Of course, beyond just the action of fishing with Jack, this is also a parallel to Arthur's empathetic yet still firm style of talking to Jack. "It's about time you earned your keep." "You got to stick at things, Jack."

The mission "The Sheep and the Goats." In Matthew 25:31-46, it describes how God will separate people in two groups. The "sheep" will inherit heaven and the "goats" will be damned. You can connect that to the gang as well. The sheep are the ones who leave Dutch while the goats stay with him and become damned or a shameful version of who they once were.

Also note in the epilogue how John says he doesn't like goats and chooses sheep as the first animals to raise on his ranch. That could also connect to Matthew 25:31-46.

The mission name "Do Not Seek Absolution" is really interesting to me because it's the first biblical mission name that could either be a reference to scripture, which I'm thinking Deuteronomy 12:13 in the sense that one shouldn't offer their praise or worship to false gods who won't answer prayers (think Arthur and Dutch and how Arthur was still following Dutch after the gang lost it's original image) or a rejection ofa the Christian mindset of the time. Absolution is the idea of the promise of having your sins forgiven by God. It might be saying that Arthur should try to redeem himself by his action towards the person rather than his guilt towards a higher power.

Molly getting burnt rather than having a funeral is less a biblical detail but more a cultural detail. Though cremation wasn't really condemned in the Bible, the passages about being buried in the ground or in tombs was the people's standards in how they wanted their dead body to be handled due to religious reasoning. Whether or not Molly is Protestant or culturally Catholic (I lean the latter), the fact that Grimshaw asks for her body to be burnt just adds so much more weight to how cruelly traitors of the gang were dealt with

Love this stuff sm

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #john marston #jack marston #leopold strauss #molly o'shea #biblical references #biblical scripture #christianity #christian faith #character analysis #story analysis

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justpoliteconversations · 7 months

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Breakdown [Isekai!Reader + (Legend x Marin)] (Part 3)

Everything has a price, and you're about to be reminded of that.

The indulgence is real.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise. Linked Universe is the fan creation of jojo56830.

---

Nothing in life is free. Money, time, sweat, blood, tears, everything costs something. Equivalent exchange, as it were, though the rates of such things are not for mortals to decide.

Sitting across from Time, propped upright only by the assistance of multiple pillows at your back and neck, you were learning the cost of bringing a dream to life.

Fat. Skin. Flesh.

Looking down at the hands folded on your lap, it didn't seem real. They didn't look like your hands. Just days ago, you were hale and healthy. Fit even, after having spent months traveling with an enforced all natural diet.

But now, stripped of fat and flesh, patches of new and raw skin healing in discolored stripes, the weight of the consequences was coming down on your thin (too thin) shoulders. Looking into Time's eye, you could see the veiled grief, the quiet acknowledgement of loss.

You didn't like it. He didn't deserve to shoulder this burden you'd brought into the world. It wasn't his to bear and he damned well wasn't going to take responsibility where it isn't due.

You needed him to let you see Marin. But for that to happen, he needed to feel secure in your soundness of will. He needed to understand that just because you took responsibility for your actions, did not make you a damned martyr. You weren't them. You weren't his boys.

You weren't him. And Marin was not his problem. The ramifications of her existence was yours.

"I'd do it again." You said, keeping eye contact with the man, willing him to hear, to see, the conviction in every part of you. "This is not your burden, Time. I made a choice, fully understanding that I did not know the cost. And I stand by it."

You wanted to grab his shoulders. To shake the sorrows of loss and heroism from his silent gaze. To take that great weight from his shoulders. A weight he seemed so willing to grow with each lash of the heart, like the god-damned self-sacrificing idiot he was made to be.

This world should have let him retire when he put that sword back to the stone. He'd already paid his dues. Twice over. Thrice. They all had. These selfless, courageous boys without a thread of self-preservation between the lot of them.

They will take no more burdens upon themselves, if you can help it.

Time held your gaze, seemingly unmoved but for the gradual easing of his shoulders. You pushed your advantage, sensing the weakening of his own resolve. "This was my choice. I made it willingly."

His eye shifted, searching for weakness in your own resolve. You were tempted to straighten your back and feign strength you didn't possess, but decided against it. This was not the time for false bravo.

But still, you refused to give an inch. "I don't regret it."

"You may never walk again." Time said mildly, trying to get a rise from you with his blase tone. To pull forth resentment that did not exist. Marin was not deserving of your wrath for this, and the one's who were were well out of reach.

You'd simply have to accept that. One day.

"That will make traveling difficult. I apologize for the inconvenience. I'll do my best to recover quickly." You said back just as mildly.

His brow twitched at the blatant jab, but he kept his cool admirably. "See that you do." He tilted his head, still searching. Prepared to push even more. "The others would be very upset if you had to stay behind."

"But not you?" You countered, redirecting the implications behind his words.

He didn't bite. "Wind misses you."

It was a low blow, and you were sure the unimpressed blink you leveled at the man was evident enough of your judgement. He didn't back down though, instead meeting your stare evenly with his one eye.

You smiled, pushing through it, determined still in the face of his stubbornness. "I'd imagine not as much as Marin." His face was carefully neutral, and you knew you had him cornered.

"No." He said, face falling into it's usual serious frown. Or, more accurately, his newest mask.

You frowned back, narrowing your eyes at him. "I'm within my rights to see the woman I dragged into this world. So, unless she told you otherwise I'd like to see her myself." You told him plainly, knowing his answer. It's been what Sky had told you, what Four had told you. You'd yet to corner Hyrule or Twilight yet, their sixth sense pinpointing your predatory interest before you could ambush them.

Damned survival instincts. You couldn't help but admire them, despite the inconvenience.

"The situation is complicated."

"Then uncomplicate it for me, Time. I can't just abandon her after what I did." You bulldozed through, knowing that this was the man you needed to convince. Not Sky, not Four, not any of them. Just this one.

His face went neutral again, and you wanted to soften, wanted to ease back and let the man just be. You couldn't though, even if it hurt you to pick at his own insecurities.

You didn't want to hurt him, but you'd prefer this old pain to settle upon his heart like a worn jacket then to allow this new ache to wear blisters into his skin. It was your burden. He didn't need another scar across his weary soul.

He closed his eye, leaned back heavily into the chair and sighed deeply. Progress. You were wearing him down, slowly but inevitably. He couldn't keep Marin and you apart forever, no matter how hard he tried. But, for him to concede would be for him to relinquish ownership of responsibility.

You needed him to let go.

Finally, he spoke. "When you pulled her through the portal, she was only half formed. You both were." You had- not known that. No one had had the heart to tell you, it seemed.

Your voice nearly trembled. "Marin-"

"She lives." He grit his teeth subtly, pushing forward with forced evenness. "Hyrule managed to stabilize her, and Sky used a fairy on you. Unfortunately, she could only do so much for such extensive damage."

You nod, glancing down at your rail thin arms laying crossed upon the blanket before looking back to Time's gaze. He had been looking too, eye brimming with compassion and frustration both.

"We initially tried to keep you together, as you both seemed to take comfort from each other's presence." His frown deepened. "However, we quickly realized that was infeasible. Whatever had been happening before you exited the portal progressed further after prolonged contact."

He leaned forward, narrowing his eye and you tightened your grip on the blanket with weakly shaking hands. You'd barely the strength to keep the bunched fabric between your fingers. The weight of his stare nearly made you falter, but you held his gaze.

"She began cannibalizing your body, to continue building her own. We moved her to another room shortly after. She's still unconscious, though stable at the moment."

Your heart dropped, the heavy weight of realization bearing down on you with harsh clarity. "That's why you've been keeping Legend away, and you're keeping Four, Sky and Twilight at my side." Your hands shook harder. Your heart squeezed in your chest like a cold vice. "It's why Hyrule's not allowed to be alone with me."

The dark look that settled on Time's expression said everything you need to know. A quiet admission of choice.

"Ah." You huffed, mirthless. Your heart was shaking. "I've caused you unnecessary conflict." You grit your teeth, and bowed you head. "I am sorry, Link. For the hurt I have caused you and the others."

Tears nearly fell from your eyes as emotion gripped you, but you held them in with steadfast resolve. This was not the time, nor the place. Especially not now.

The goal remains unchanged, but now the stakes are higher than ever. The consequences of failure unfathomable. You could not falter. You could not afford to lose this battle.

"I accept the consequences. I will fix what I have broken. Please, take me to her." You said, determination rising forth like fire in your eyes, your expression, your whole being. Overcome with purpose so powerful it boiled hot in your marrow. "Let me see them."

You could see the moment he broke.

He nodded, the weight of years on his shoulders. "Okay."

---

Time carried you through the halls of the house, arms strong and unmovable under your diminished form. Whose house this belonged to you couldn't say, but it felt safe and warm, colored walls and thick carpet ripe with the comforting feeling of home.

A flash of color stole your attention and you managed to catch a glimpse of curling brown and forest green before it disappeared around the corner. The absence of footsteps gave name to the elusive figure, and another piece of your heart crumbled.

Hyrule. Maintaining vigilance over you in the only way he could (that Time would allow). Torn between his need to help, and his loyalty to Legend. Too sweet to push, too pragmatic to yeild. Caught in the tragedy of sacrifice, the curse and blessing both of his blood.

You had so much to atone for. So much hurt to mend.

You turned your head, pressing the side of your face to Time's collarbone. You whispered. "I'll fix this, Link." Your hand fisted weakly into his shirt, trying to imbue the strength of your will into the contact. "Thank you for protecting me."

His arms tightened around you, the movement so miniscule it was barely the tensing of muscles against your thin body. But to you, it was a pact, the promise of protection of the highest degree. A vow made in the shedding of blood.

You realized once more, that you would never leave this world. These men. This bond that had finally looped it's chains around you, anchored itself into your soul.

Your fate was sealed the moment you shed blood for them.

No. From the moment Wind had curled his hands around your fingers to encase a rupee. From the moment Wild had left the bright firelight of their camp to bring you supper. From the moment Wolfie had curled beside you, shielding you from the icy wind as pride kept you from the warmth of shared company.

There truly was no going back. There never had been. Not for you. Not for them.

What a fool you'd been.

What a God-damned prideful fool. To think you wouldn't fall in love with these perfectly imperfect men. These bleeding hearts, these righteous idiots.

You tightened your jaw, closed your eyes and breathed.

'I'm sorry, Legend. I'll be there soon. I'll fix this. No matter what it takes. I promise.'

---

I return to the shadows once more.

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #legend x marin #isekai reader #time is a bro and a dad #let time retire

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