#she's stronger than me i would go red

[fujunfuren]

The eyes are the windows to the soul.

THE ATYPICAL FAMILY (2024)

[yanderenightmare]

TW: yandere, noncon/dubcon, angst, unwanted pregnancy, blackmail, ish-baby trapping

PART ONE only avaliable on AO3 due to Tumblr restrictions

fem reader

You went cold and forgot how to breathe.

When you got to the kindergarten, they told you his father had already come and collected him early. All looking at you as though you were crazy, assaulting the daycare workers with your hands in a bruising grip, shaking her by her shoulders—demanding she tell you where he took him. 

She spilled the name of some family restaurant down the road and said he’d wanted you to join them there. The poor thing was on the verge of tears when you let go.

Rushing out, you all but ran down the streets before pushing yourself through the doors—cold-sweating and swivel-eyed—in a panic, scanning faces with his name coming out weak under your breath. 

With your vision spinning, you felt faint before you heard it.

“Mommy! Mommy! You’re here! Look! I’m King of the castle!” he shouted, and your peeled eyes snapped to see him up high in a bright red plastic tower.

But before your shoes could hit the soft foam of the playground, you were intercepted by something larger.

“He’s fine,” he said under his breath, catching and stopping you in your beeline, holding you by the waist. “I need to talk to you.”

Something old and instinctive didn’t bother paying him heed—as if forgetting how to speak, you just ignored him in favor of pushing past him, eyes glued to the sight of your son blissfully unaware, playing with other kids with an oblivious smile on his face. But his grip was stronger than your instincts, firm enough to keep you still but not enough to hurt you, even when you tried twisting yourself free.

“Come on,” he urged.

You were about to sneer something, finally looking at his face—that face you hated—but the bark of curse words got held back.

“Look around you. Let’s not cause a scene.” The wild animal within went silent while your eyes flickered around at the surrounding picnic tables where families were having their dinner. “We can talk outside. My assistant will look after him.”

You didn’t feel much inclined to listen, but still, even though it made you hate to fold on his behest—reluctantly, you accepted the sense of what he was saying. Looking back at your son still laughing up in his tower with cinched brows. You didn’t want to scare him when he didn’t know what was going on, even though you felt the need to scream at the very top of your lungs.

You allowed him to lead you outside, but as soon as the fresh air welcomed your rigid state, you were at once whipping around and pushing him away. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” snarling at him. “How fucking dare you?!”

“Calm down. He might still see us,” he hushed, hands raised in halfhearted surrender, casting a nod to the glass walls separating you from the frivolity inside. “Let’s just talk rationally.”

“Rationally?!” you scoffed in a shout, eyes still manic. “You fucking kidnapped my son, you psycho-”

“You wouldn’t answer my texts or calls,” he snubbed. “He’s my son too-”

“Fuck you,” you interrupted to return the favor. “If you fuck with me on this, I swear I’ll ruin you.” You had a finger raised at him, breathing furiously—looking down-right mad—sweaty and disheveled from your run with your face twisted with such a state of frenzy. “I’ll tell everyone how I got him in the first place!”

Despite the threat, he didn’t seem all that fazed. 

“Think about it…” he said calmly, much in contrast to you. “Who do you think people will believe? A teenage mom abusing her son for a paycheck or his estranged father wanting to provide for him?”

You blanched, and before anything else made it out—whether it be more rage or something else, he was already further silencing you.

“Not to mention… the trial would be gruesome, and Junior would have to grow up with it always hanging over his head—is that really what you want?”

You look at him, and you still can't believe it. How could it have turned out like this? You’d been perfect only a month ago before he’d shown up at your apartment.

You thought you’d sent him on his way for good that day, but only now did you realize he had no plans to leave you alone.

“Come, let’s talk in the car. It’s cold, and you’re not dressed,” he ushered, taking your arm again where you stood, stunned and still, trying to wrap your head around his threats. Letting yourself be led into the black vehicle standing perfectly parked in its neat white rectangle.

You both got in the back with enough room to battle your homey sofa nook at home.

“I don’t want this to get ugly,” he started anew—his voice still so irritatingly calm, unfairly so. “I just want to see my son-”

“He’s not yours,” you croaked, feeling the situation slip from your fingers—battling a drumming heart, shifty breaths, and the mean sting of tears welling up in your eyes.

“If you try and keep him from me, I’ll sue for full custody. And given I’m the only one out of us who isn’t a pro-bono case and the only one with any future that isn’t managing a register, I’d say I have a pretty fair shot at winning.”

You can’t keep from bursting out crying then, overwhelmed by the fear of losing the only thing that mattered and the pure disgust of the man who’d given it to you. It felt like everything was tearing—your whole life—crumbling before your eyes.

“Don’t cry,” he soothed, his hand coming to drape your hunched shoulders where you held your tears. “I don’t want to take him away from you…” His attempt did little to comfort you, but the next words had your heart grasping for what little hope they offered. “And I’m not going to either.”

You looked at him through the hurt of swollen eyes, tears still falling while he wiped them away with the course pad of his thumb—rubbing your cheek affectionately. In any other circumstance, you’d surely slap him, but right now, all you could do was listen.

“I’m buying a house,” he revealed, still holding your cheek and gaze. “Fit for a family. Safe neighborhood, good school district, giant backyard.” The list went over your head—it was all too surreal to register. You couldn’t even fathom what he was getting at until, “I want the two of you to come live there with me.”

Stunned, you remained completely silent until the tears dried, and he let go of your face. 

“You don’t have to say anything right now.” He reaches across you and fetches the seatbelt before coming back over you to click it in place. “I’ll go get Junior and drive you home. Just stay here.”

You do as suggested and stay seated as he pops his door open and leaves—feeling all but cemented in place as your thoughts go tumbling around and around as if caught in a rip curl. When Junior jumps in beside you, a farfetched smile is all you can offer. Thankfully, he’s so enamored by a toy he’d gotten to notice much of your state.

When your door opens again, you’re led out and onto your neighborhood street. The fresh air does little to clear your mind. Feeling all but feverish as you hold Junior's small hand in yours while the man of your nightmares smiles all too fondly at the two of you.

“I’ll come pick you up after your shift on Monday.,” he says decidedly—cheerfully as he ruffles Junior’s hair enough to make him giggle. “Bring the rascal with you, and he can pick his room first.”

You weren’t planning on staying. You were never planning on staying—certain you would leave the second the opportunity to skip town arose—you just need to scramble the money together first. 

But the house was huge… nothing you could ever dream of, and while it made you desperate with grief, you couldn’t deny it either… Junior really loved having a dad.

It nearly brought sick to your throat to call him that. It was a shot through the heart every time you heard Junior’s boyish call, squealing with giggles, saying “Daddy, daddy, daddy-”

None of it seemed right to you. Seeing his bright smile, now at the age where a new tooth fell out every other week—looking so goofy as he proudly shows the two of you the new one he’d just knocked out playing soccer at school. “Mommy, Daddy, look!”

What’s worse is that you can't even deny how good the man you hate is at it all—spoiling him with gifts and making him laugh—giving piggyback ride after air-plane flight after tickle-fight and a game of tag and hide’n’seek. 

And it’s not just the easy stuff. He’s good at the shit that used to make you go crazy—putting him to bed, getting him dressed, making him eat the right stuff, and not just scuffle down candy. It’s as if the two of them have developed a secret language you’re not a part of. If Junior weren’t a toddler, you’d even suspect he’d been bribed and told to do his best to make you lose your mind. But no, it’s just reality.

The man you live with drives and picks your son up from school as if he’d done it since he was born, goes with you to meet the teacher if and when he gets into trouble and helps the two of you pick out the right shoes—shoes that you can now afford, thanks to him.

“I thought I might sleep in the master bedroom tonight.” He says, leaning against the frame in the doorway.

You’d been living there a month now. He’d been generous enough to sleep in the guest room up until now.

You don’t know how to deny him. It feels as if anything you might say would just be ignored or threatened until you eventually took it back. You didn’t want him in your bed—you didn’t want him in the same house—in fact, preferably, you’d want him to be six feet deep in the dirt.

You end up not answering. But he’s used to that by now. 

“I get it…” he says, taking steps into the room you’d wrongfully thought was your safe space. “You don’t trust me.” He sits down at the edge of the bed and reaches out across the sheets. You’re too late to pull your feet to yourself before he has one in his hand. He doesn’t do much but stroke it. “But you can.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes you want to gouge them out. It’s all been some cruel joke ever since you moved in—all the pleasantries and presents, as if trying to distract you from the past. Your wardrobe is chockfull of it, and so is Junior’s room—filled to the brim with lies.

“I’m never gon’ hurt you.” Another lie. “I did you wrong once, and I’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ up for it.” 

You want to shake your head, laugh in his face—anything to reject it. But you’re terrified of what he might do if you didn’t play along. The threat of losing Junior is enough to make you cooperative.

“I know I’ve not been fair—pushin’ you into all of this so fast.” He gets down on his knees on the floor as if praying, right down beside you. “I took advantage of a vulnerable situation ‘cause I’m an impatient asshole—but I promise you—” He takes your hand in both of his. “If you give me the chance, I’m gon’ make our lives together like somethin’ outa’ a fuckin’ fairytale—all that happily ever after shit and more, just like you always wanted.”

The kiss he presses upon your knuckles beckons goosebumps to rise all across you. All his words feel like a bad script read by an even worse actor—in fact, this whole thing feels like a prank. And still, it doesn’t surprise you—he’s been laughing at you ever since you were children.

And now, laughing still, only with a fucking ringbox in his hand.

“I want Junior to see us as a united front. I don’t want him askin’ question why we ain’t sleepin’ in the same bed, why we fight behind locked doors, why you cry in the bathroom.” 

He pops the black velvet lid and reveals something so outrages it almost looks tacky lying there in a plush bed of red silk.

“I want us to be happy.” He picks the little thing out and holds it up between his thumb and index, still holding your hand in the other. “I want us to be real.” You can almost see your life flash before your eyes as it threatens your ring finger. “Let’s make us real.”

You don’t say anything as he eases the tiny hoop on, sliding it all the way back until it sits snugly right at your knuckle—dazzling in the dark. A tiny tear slips down your cheek—equally dazzling.

He played some with the digit—a smile on his face. 

“Looks good on you, Mrs.” As he calls you by his last name you almost shake the ring off as if it burned to wear, but it all gets lost when he rushes forward and locks his lips with yours.

You yelp against his mouth, kept from turning away by the large hand holding your jaw, threatening to seize your throat and squeeze. You remember how it had felt. You don’t want more of a reminder, so you intercept his tongue with yours before he forced it down your throat.

He groans at the warm welcome, and your entire body shudders in memory.

You hadn’t let anyone touch you since that time five years ago. It had left a poor taste in your mouth, and the hunger for it had never come back.

You choke it down now as he climbs on top. 

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[postmortemnivis]

nobody knew simon’s name, his cold glances penetrating souls whenever someone on the force even dared to call him by his first name. he preferred it this way. he wasn’t the kind to blend personal life and work, he didn’t want to look at himself in the mirror without his mask and still see a murderer. his hands were clean, protected by the gloves ghost slipped on each time he reached base. it was soon that the other soldiers almost forgot his name, agreeing that their lieutenant was indeed a ghost.

that was until your worried voice called for him.

you didn’t know of the ghost identity, it had never even crossed your mind that your simon, your sweet and caring boyfriend’s personality would switch into a cold blooded killer as soon as he set foot at base or in the field. of course he never mentioned it with you, he sporadically talked about his job and his missions. you knew he was a strict lieutenant, but you had been kept away from more by the person with the skull mask and balaclava.

“simon?” you asked for the third time the receptionist. she apologetically looked up at you and shrugged. “oh cmon, simon riley. i know for a fact that he’s here. please, i need to see him.”

“i’m very sorry miss but…” the woman shook her head again, “let me call the captain.”

you sighed and sat down by the waiting area until a man walked in and talked to the woman.

“who’re you looking for?”

you stood up. “simon. simon riley.”

“ghost?”

you shook your head, almost clueless. “no, simon riley.”

“yeah, that’s him…” he said, “he’s training the recruits now. shall i deliver a message?”

“no, i need to see him personally. i wouldn’t have come all the way here if it wasn’t important, captain.”

you'd seen price a few times, simon's loyalty to the man was almost like a dog's one, always following orders and rarely complaining. he often talked about him when he was at home, all he shared with you about his threatening job was the friends he made along the way: johnny, kyle, price, gary, nikolai. he'd often go out for a pint—or two—with johnny and kyle, who also occasionally would come to your shared apartment for dinner with their temporary girlfriends.

"follow me." price sighed. you eagerly followed him, as close as his shadow, and the courtyard came into sight. dozens and dozens of soldiers in scarlet training uniforms were running laps of the immense open space under the pale sun, and that's when you spotted a tall and muscular man in black tactical gear. hell, he was hard to miss.

"another lap, smith!" his mancunian accent was stronger than his will to neutralise it. "if my gran was alive she'd be faster than ya."

you'd recognised the voice, of course, even if it was much harsher than usual, but you couldn't recognise him.

you realised, that was ghost. his cold eyes were studying each of the recruit's tired and red faces, his arms behind his back as he barked for five more laps for the ones who didn't look sweaty enough. even his voice was different, but what shocked you was the black balaclava with the white skull drawn on top.

you'd seen the mask once or twice over the years, shoved on the bottom of his duffle bag or drying on a windowsill, but you've never given it much thought, why would you?

"si?" you asked, standing directly behind him as price stood a few feet from you.

his head snapped in your direction at a worryingly fast speed, his eyes immediately becoming soft, then confused.

"what're you doin' here?" his voice spoke, much sweeter.

you kept staring at him, not recognising the man you loved.

he immediately grabbed the crown of the balaclava and yanked it off without a second though. holding the black piece of clothing in his hand, both of them came to cup your elbows, drawing you closer to him.

"love?" he called you.

still at loss of words, you reached to the balaclava and twirled it between your fingers.

"love, talk to me." his voice sounded worried.

"ghost?"

he shook his head. "simon, love."

"we'll talk about that at home." you raised your eyebrows, attempting a smile.

he looked at you impatiently, his fingers brushing up and down your forearms.

you fished in your bag a small plastic bag and gave it to him.

this wasn't like one of the times when he'd forget his lunch at home so you'd drop by and give it to johnny so he'd give it to an always so busy simon ghost; he could see it in your eyes that this was something more.

he unwrapped the plastic bag that you had rolled up on itself. his eyes looked brighter than ever when he took with shaky fingers the finally positive pregnancy test.

[cherubharrington]

Part one

Rafe had been calling you extensively. To the point, where you had to have do not disturb on. You didn’t have it in you yet to block him. You forgot he also knew where you lived.

“You know we could have done this the easy way. Now we’re going to have to do the hard way.” He said, once you opened the door. You didn’t even have time to run, he had grabbed you forcefully. You screamed.

“Shhh, baby shh.”

You knew he had erratic behavior. He just hadn’t ever displayed it before to you.

“Rafe! Rafe! Put me down!”

“Rafe, dude. Come on, is this really necessary?”Topper says, watching his friend manhandle you.

“Shut the fuck up, Top!” Rafe says. “Help me get her in the car.”

“No! Get off!” You scream, you’re scratching at his arms and he winces in pain.

“Ow! Stop that!”

You manage to pull away from his strong hold.

“Enough Rafe, you can’t force me to go anywhere with you. This counts as kidnapping, ya know!”

He tries to grab you again but Topper gets inbetween.

“Do you really want to get in my way, Topper?” Rafe says, his eyes are on you though.

“Dude, this is not the way. You told me we came here so you could talk to her. Not force her to go somewhere against her will.”

Rafe begins to cry as he sees you flinch back. He doesn’t even care that Topper can see.

“Let her go, dude.” Topper says gently. You never would have guessed, Topper to be the voice of reason. But here he was.

“No! Fuck you, Topper. Please baby, please! I promise. I promise I’ll get clean. I haven’t even touched coke in weeks. Tell her Top. Tell her!”

You can tell he’s lying through his teeth. His jaw is swinging. And he keeps wiping away at his nose. His eyes are red from the tears.

“Baby, please.”

“I’m not your baby anymore.” You finally say.

“No.” He cries. “No don’t say shit like that. You’re breaking my heart baby. I fucked up, I know that. But you don’t have to punish me for it. Please. The coke will go away. The parties. I’ll change my lifestyle. I’ll be different.” He pauses. “I’ll be a different Rafe. Clean Rafe. Good Rafe. Country club Rafe. No drugs. No alcohol.”

He’s hitting his head with his hand as he says each word. A part of you aches to go to him to make him stop.

But you can tell he’s bluffing. You know he’ll do it sneakily.

“Rafe, you don’t know how to. That is your life. Until you’re serious—.” You try to speak but he cuts you off abruptly.

“I am serious! Tell her Topper. Fucking tell her! I stopped it all.”

You begin to cry, scared of the boy you’re looking at. Scared of whose he’s become. This wasn’t your Rafe.

“Come on, man. You’re scaring her. Let’s just go, okay—“

“Shut up Topper! Why can’t you shut up! You’re not helping me!”

He finally manages to get around Topper. His arms are around you again, he hiccups from the tears he’s crying.

“Princess, please. I’ll do anything. I’ll get on my knees. Please, don’t leave me. I love you. I love you.”

Kelce shows up out of nowhere. You don’t even realized he’s pulled up.

“That’s enough Rafe. Come on man. Let her be.” Both boys grab Rafe, freeing you from his grip.

“No! Please, no! I need her! I fucking need her.”

Grim faces are present on both boys faces.

“We know man. Just come on.”

Once they get him away, you crumble to the ground. Sobs breaking out of you.

“Hey! Is everything okay? We heard screaming.” Your old elderly neighbor asks. She’s a sweet old lady, who gardens when she can. You’ve helped her out a few times.

“Why don’t you come in. I’ve made some pie. I think you’ll like it.”

You manage to get up and follow her in. She gives you a sad smile.

“I’m sorry for the screaming.” You say meekly.

“Don’t ever apologize for another persons actions. Especially not a boy who doesn’t know when no means no. You’re so much stronger than that. I know it. I’ve known you since you were four. You’ve always been a fierce girl. Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you.” Her hand is on your shoulder. Gentle. Unlike Rafes iron clad grip. You almost burst out crying again.

“Come on, let’s enjoy some pie.”

[princesssmars]

you sometimes forgot how… slightly obsessive, violet could be. nsfw.

when you were younger you had a love hate relationship with her tendency to become so completely fixated on something. staying up for hours at night thinking about their next score, holding a grudge for years against anyone who got piss drunk and pissed off vander in the bar, planning and fidgeting over the perfect way to ask you out for weeks before you finally took the step yourself.

even if it got her into danger, got her and her siblings into a temporary struggle that made your heart stall with the thought of nearly losing them, you always reminded her that you thought her fixation on things was cute, and a useful tool about half of the time.

(you even said that the trait reminded you of powder, always blabbering to you for as long as she could talk about her new ideas for gadgets and bombs. the girl was overjoyed in sharing something in common with her big sister, immediately climbing on her back to ramble about something new.)

but then you actually you lost her. you lost all of them. and you wished you had told her that that insecurity she had, all the insecurities she had, were stupid and inconsequential to how perfect you thought she was.

but maybe you’ll get the chance to tell her (and tell jinx that yeah, you were right, i did start seeing ghosts too) because a scarily realistic replica of your ex is standing in front of you and before you can shoo it away she’s hugging you so tight you think your ribs will break.

you follow as ekko gives her the tour of the firelights base, admiring each and every way she’s changed. she’s taller, obviously stronger, wearing a prison uniform that you don’t if you’re allowed to say looks good on her and a red jacket she stole from some guy because of course she did. you stifle a laugh as she tells the story and she smiles at you, indiscreetly wrapping your hand in hers.

it’s obvious by the look on his face ekko is so going to tease you about this later, but you don’t get a chance to care when she turns to you and ask where she and her enforcer friend can sleep. and janna knows you want to offer for her to sleep with you, but it’s been years and you don’t want to make her uncomfortable so you lead her and caitlyn to the newbie dorms.

but it seems like you’ve forgotten just how damn stubborn she is, because not even half an hour later a loud banging at your draws you from your bed, her flushed and nervous face shocking you into silence.

she asks to come in, but with her it’s always more like a demand then a question. you try to ignore the burning feeling of her eyes trained on you as you lead her to your bed, rolling your eyes as she aggressively flops back onto it.

“holy fuck, i haven’t been on something this soft in years. i think i’m gonna fall asleep right now.”

“i wouldn’t be mad if you did.” well, you’d be a little upset. you have so much to talk to her about everything, anything that’s happened since she disappeared. granted a lot of it was bad but there were still a few things you think would cheer her up. she’d already told you enthusiastic she was to eat jerichos again, just wait till she found out that-

you must of zoned out for a minute because you’re shocked back to reality by soft lips pressed to yours, vi’s bandaged hand cupping your cheek like you’ll fade into dust if she lets go. you mentally kick yourself in the head for not responding quicker when she pulls away and looks at you with that sad puppy look she gets.

“i, i’m sorry. it’s just, you were staring at me for a while! and it’s been so long since i’ve seen you and i don’t even know what we are or if we’re still girlfriends but you’re even more beautiful than the last time i saw you-“

you cup both of her cheeks in your hands,(maybe a little too hard) give her a second to back away if she wants, and pull her back in. her arms wrap around your waist and she lets out a whimper when your hand travels to the back of her neck to pull her closer and closer-

and now it’s around one hour? maybe two? it’s a while later, and as her hand travels back into you for the fourth time, yeah, you’re starting to remember how obsessive she could be.

“vi, baby - oh my gods, y’know you can slow down!” your voice pitches when her fingers, her beautiful long and big fingers push up against that spot inside you, her other hand keeping your hips down when you involuntarily raise them off the sheets.

“don’t think i can, princess.” she groans into your breast as she sucks another path of bruises down your chest, slate eyes amused at how your hands grip the bed like it stole from you, how your mouth opens so cutely before you bite your lips to hold back your sounds.

her mouth finally closes around your clit and the increased sensitivity from your past orgasms combined with the almost growling sound she makes when she tastes you sends you right over the edge, thighs clamping around her head as she carries you through it.

the rubbing of her rough hands over your thighs and her gentle words of praise merry drag you into the beginnings of a soft slumber.

until you can feel the damn brute lift your legs onto her shoulders and stick her tongue inside you, laughing at your shocked squeal and resumed grip on her hair.

“besides, we’ve gotta make up for lost time, don’t we?”

writing a drabble based on the fic you’re writing instead of finish the fic i’m such a genius like 😍😍 glad her tag is coming back but i want content coming out like a factory line ok everyone get to work 🙏🏽

[dadsbongos]

then, and again, and once more

6.9k words

Summary - Yuuji tries to impress you and win your heart, with the help of Sukuna… who seems weirdly knowledgeable about and interested in you.

Warnings - p in v sex, FULL NELSON BABY!!!, yuuji eats pussy :), oh yeah fem reader btw, sukuna is here too (and his cannibalism is mentioned), idiot friends pining for each other, very vague timeline idk but yuuji is aged up

sukuna-centric part 2

There it is again.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

That unbearable thick bass in his chest, banging so tirelessly against his ribs that it threatens to make him nauseous. A quick inhale and yep - scratch that - he’s definitely already nauseous.

Yuuji sinks his sweaty palms deeper into his pants pockets, eyes darting sharply down to his beaten sneakers. The once vibrant ruby shade is now marred by dirt and aging threads - and if he turns his right foot just so, then he can see an old, blackened stain from pizza sauce he spilled while eating out with you. The memory, or more specifically how you’re giggling in his memory, makes him smile.

And in the real world, Megumi is watching his friend grin ear to ear while looking at a black, crusty splotch on the inside curve of his right shoe. After having just wide-eyed stared at you from across the room while you and Nobara heatedly debate where to go for dinner.

He glares at Yuuji, lashes narrowing, “You look insane. Knock it off.”

That snaps the boy from his reminiscing, and it takes him three long seconds before he registers the insult, “I was thinking!”

“Obviously,” Megumi scratches the side of his nose, more to just have something to do with his hands than anything else, “What were you thinking about?”

Humming quietly to himself, Yuuji shrugs, “Oh, the usual.”

“You’re hopeless,” Megumi maintains his efforts to keep his hands busy by scratching the back of his head, “Just tell her already. What’s the worst that happens?”

“She rejects me and avoids me,” Yuuji pouts, “Honestly, ‘gumi, I would’ve thought you’d be more sympathetic - being a standoffish and awkward guy yourself.”

Swatting at his friend’s shoulder, Megumi shakes his head, “The hell is wrong with you? Was that just sitting in your mind?” he shakes his head again, glare growing stronger, “And don’t call me that.”

“I thought you had anxiety or something,” Yuuji shrugs, “Why else would you be so weird in public?”

Any previous concern regarding Yuuji’s well-being immediately flies from Megumi at that. He folds his arms across his chest with murmurs of hatred floating out from his lips. All as he waltzes over to where you and Nobara are seated around your laptop at the chipping hardwood table.

Yuuji has no problem shrugging off Megumi's irritation, but when it comes to the mere idea of your face stretching in disgust at him - God, isn’t that the worst?

“You’re the worst, brat,” comes that rumbling, terrible voice in the back of his head. The nagging used to sound more like him - and when he’s really stressed, it still sometimes does - but now his own voice has faded into the King of Curses’. Now his own voice is sweeter, more prone to praise and positives - in a weird way, Sukuna has made Yuuji better.

But in a lot more ways -

“Oi, don’t ignore me.”

He’s made Yuuji’s life so much worse.

“You like that one, right? I can help.”

You’re sitting back, allowing Megumi to take the reins on shooting down Nobara’s suggestion for sushi. Normally, that demand isn’t a problem, but this would be the fifth night in a row she’s tried roping you all into ordering sushi for her. You lean into Megumi a little, and Yuuji hates the way his chest tightens at the display.

It isn’t even affection. It’s just…

“You want to be the one she’s on, right?”

Yuuji sighs to himself and sneaks out of the kitchen, though it’s hardly a challenge when Nobara raises her voice to defend her long-lasting cravings.

With tense shoulders and a red face, Yuuji glances down each side of the hall to ensure nobody is nearby, “How could you help with this?”

Sukuna’s eye on Yuuji’s cheek has flitted up to stare into Yuuji’s, and that sickly crawl of his skin stretching to accommodate Sukuna’s wide grin makes his stomach turn, “You’re just a child, you don’t know anything about women.”

Yuuji could double over, hands on his knees and breathless in sputters of laughter, but he refrains - unwilling to let anyone hear his schizophrenic ramblings, “And you do?”

Sukuna’s eye rolls and Yuuji hates the way it feels under his cheekbone, nearly retching in response, “Of course.”

And that strings up some different terrible question in Yuuji, “But why would you help me?”

Sukuna has been so unwilling to do anything useful for Yuuji despite the fact he’s allowed to reside in this body - so what could possibly possess him to do this now?

“Do you want my help or not, worm?”

Yuuji sighs through his nose, eyes fluttering shut, thinking hard about the offer. He’d come to the conclusion not too long after swallowing his first finger to simply not question many of Sukuna’s motives, mostly since his goals are: chaos, women, and chaos.

“This better not be some gross pass at my friend,” Yuuji sneers, body electrified on the ready to smack down his own cheek should he hear an answer he doesn’t like.

Sukuna is too quiet for too long, and Yuuji is fully prepared to swipe at the parasite on his face when finally, that deep voice rattles again. It buzzes in his flesh, uncomfortable and itchy and so quiet he barely hears what the curse mumbles into him.

The boy pauses and lets the words melt on his tongue, he turns them between his molars and laves the roof of his mouth with the remaining implications. He wasn’t expecting Sukuna to be honest, not to that degree at least.

And Yuuji smacks Sukuna’s bulbous eye down anyway.

“Fine then,” Yuuji pulls his hand down and curls his fingers into a fist, another great big awful ragged sigh roughing over his tongue like barbed wire, “I’ll listen to you, but if you ruin this for me- “

“Calm down, brat,” the mouth pops back up stubbornly, bitterly spitting out his version of a promise, “I don’t plan on failing.”

Yuuji pushes himself off the wall and spins back into the kitchen unnoticed, hands locking behind his head as he saddles up beside you at the table, “So, what’s for dinner?”

He snorts at how you groan, looking up at him from your seat with tired, low-lidded eyes and gesturing across the table to where Megumi and Nobara are still arguing, “You tell me.”

“Why don’t we just go out?” Yuuji shrugs, grinning broadly despite the way his two friends both twitch their necks over to glare at him, “Come on, it’s not even dark! We can walk around and do a little looking; get some air!”

Nobara’s pitched shoulders drop, pinched expression falling into her usual lax, she looks over at Megumi again with a raised brow. Megumi shrugs, his own eyebrows still scrunched together, “If it’s fine with you two, I don’t care.”

You snicker, standing up against the stiff wood supports of the chair legs, one elbow digging into the table to further help hold you up while your spare fingers dance up to smooth out the crinkled space, “I think it’ll be fun.”

Megumi snatches you by the wrist and tosses your hand to the side while Nobara hops down from her own chair, stretching out her back until it pops obnoxiously. She’s already bouncing out of the kitchen to snag her shoes before shouting back, “Well, come on! We’re on a timer now, people!”

“Jeez,” you slip off the chair pegs, bumping slightly into Yuuji’s side - entirely oblivious to the sparkly fireworks you sweep across your poor friend’s body at the contact, “Should’ve just suggested that from the start, huh?”

Shrugging, Yuuji waits for you to begin walking out of the kitchen before following, “Sometimes you just need fresh eyes on a situation, you know?”

“I guess,” you fold your arms, evidently frustrated, “Just feel like that was something I should’ve seen.”

Yuuji feels that disgusting, familiar thumping in his chest just by looking at you now. Heat radiating from his cheeks to the expanse of his chest, throat swelling with the uncomfortable need to spill his guts - dump every little thought and feeling he’s ever had for you into your ears until you force him to shut up. Like how he can’t even look at Jennifer Lawrence the way he used to simply because she isn’t you.

Maybe then he’d tell you that this hasn’t happened in the six years since he first saw Silver Linings Playbook. Maybe you’d tell him to stop talking, and that you two would never happen.

Maybe then he can move on, when you crush his hope. But he doesn’t really want that.

And he doesn’t really know why he agreed to let Sukuna lend him any advice.

Oh well.

It’s when you’re rushing out the door to keep up with Megumi and Nobara that Sukuna opens his mouth for the first time.

His voice stabs into Yuuji’s ears, but it isn’t exceptionally as cruel as he usually finds it, this, instead, is purely instructional, “When you two are out tonight, tell her about that cat you saw around the garden today.”

Yuuji scratches through his messily filed memories, “I saw a cat?”

“Yes, twit, a black one. Tell her about how its fur changed color in the sun.”

“Okay…?” Yuuji huffs in his daze, finally putting effort into walking alongside you and the others, “Hey! So, I just remembered something.”

“Oh yeah?” you smile at Yuuji, purely encouraging, and he’s disgusted at the way he almost trips over his own feet.

Nobara and Megumi pay the both of you little mind, instead pointing out different potential favorite hotspots they could creep into for the night. Well, Nobara points out, they could even stop at two places if they’re feeling adventurous. And Megumi says they can do whatever the rest of you think is best.

But Yuuji isn’t listening, and you’re hardly lending an ear, he swallows down the rock in his throat and nods, “I saw a cat this morning - a black one! - and it made me think of you,” the gentle warmth spreading through him could either be the way you’re lighting up at him, or Sukuna silently congratulating his good line, “Its fur was all brownish red in the sun, it was…” your eyes are so starry and sweet, solely on him - it makes his tongue tie up in knots, “It was beautiful.”

“Bummer I wasn’t there, then,” you pout a little, “You need to get me for things like that!” he laughs at the way your face has morphed, all stern and strict business, “Seriously!”

“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, both hands up in playful defense, “I promise to call you if I see another cat.”

“Could’ve at least taken a picture for me,” you histrionically sigh, “And I thought we were friends.”

A sudden thought invades the back of Yuuji’s mind. Some hidden, more primal part of his mind that he doesn’t usually listen to flashes back to a time he doesn’t remember.

We used to be more.

You and him are sitting out in the sun with a fluffy little Bombay cat tucked into your lap. It paws at the buttery dandelions that bloom between you both, his own legs are sprawled out impolitely and your own are crossed to wall around the feline in your hold. His knee knocks against yours whenever he shifts his leg. You lean in, shoulder digging into the meat of his muscled arm and temple resting on his shoulder.

Your body is entirely at ease. His is, too.

Yuuji knows exactly where the thought comes from. And if that dark, creepy place weren’t so infested by evil then maybe he’d feel a little pity for it. But you’re in front of him now, and you’re excited to be here, and your pinky keeps knocking into his as you two walk side-by-side - so there’s no room for pity in his heart.

Your quartet winds up squished into a teal leather booth towards a back corner of Nobara’s selected diner. You and Nobara sit on the interior seats, pressed into the windows, with Yuuji and Megumi caging the both of you in. Megumi having shoved Yuuji down next to you before the boy could even see who was where.

“What were you thinking?” Nobara sits up, jabbing your arm with a manicured finger just to annoy you.

Flicking at her hand, you shrug, focusing on the boards plastered behind the front bar counter for any eye-catching special offers.

Yuuji can feel the tightening of his cheek skin as the eyeball threatens to pop out, it stings when his cheek is forced to split for Sukuna’s eye. His cheek below that parts as well for his lips.

And Sukuna is kind enough this once to be quiet, “Tell her to get the wildfowl bowl,” as if sensing his arising questions, Sukuna continues, “And tell the kitchen worms to make sure the vegetables are soft. Not well, not sturdy,” he sounds disgusted as he says it, “Soft.”

“Hey,” and against everything he’s been told by Gojo, Yuuji puts his entire trust into the curse inside him, “that wildfowl bowl looks good, right?”

You lean closer to Yuuji, arm brushing his as you try to see where he spotted that, “What’s in it? Duck?”

He gives a conformational hum even though he has no idea, “Probably good with soft vegetables.”

Megumi shakes his head, “What does that even mean?”

“When they steam the veggies for longer than usual,” you pat Yuuji’s shoulder while defending him, “I get what you mean, Itadori. Sorry Fushiguro is so judgemental.”

“I was just saying…” Megumi’s voice flutters out of Yuuji’s focus.

Instead, another memory he never made begins to flourish from that black, mushy, rotted back of his brain.

You’re sat in his lap, large thighs perfectly bracketing around your own. A neglected bowl of slim slivers of perfectly browned duck meat sits atop cooling rice, carrots, and green beans. No doubt soft and easy to chew. In your hands is a steaming bowl, larger than the one in your lap, weighed down by thick cuts of juicy meat slabs. Almost like steak, but there’s no outer hide tanned by flame. It’s red, almost raw, and even after trimming the fat - it’s still bathed in pink, fleshy trails.

Grinning so lovingly, you pinch the slabs with your bare fingers and merely giggle when Sukuna’s sharp teeth prick at your skin. His long tongue works to clean your fingers of the excess meat juices as he eats. Two of his hands are on your hips, holding you steady, a third is steadied beside him against the cold bone of his throne, and a fourth resides at the back of your head. Almost big enough to palm the whole of your skull like a children’s ball - he pats and pets and smooths his fingers over the slope of the back of your neck.

Preening under gentle attention, you’re sure to empty Sukuna’s bowl before picking your own back up.

People watch with blood at their feet, none dare to move. Fearful to become the next hot meal in your hand should they disobey Sukuna’s silent command.

As your hands wrap around your cold bowl, a deep grunt reverberates behind you in Sukuna’s broad chest. He tugs the dish from your grasp; plucks the duck meat between his forefinger and thumb and holds it above your nose, forcing you to look up.

He waves it in front of your face, “Open,” and you follow his order, lips parting yet still pitched up in the impression of a pleased smile. And when he flattens the meat to your tongue and you begin chewing - you’re still smiling. That earns another fond stroke down the back of your head, pausing at your shoulder and digging his thumb into the muscle just to hear you sigh, “Good girl.”

Yuuji doesn’t see all of that. He can grasp some vague sense that you two have shared meals he’ll never get to taste, but he never sees the gristle left behind on your fingers or the saliva webbed between your fingers after feeding Sukuna.

That - Sukuna ‘hmph's proudly as he watches you beam at Yuuji over your modern interpretation of your favorite meal - the King of Curses keeps to himself. Selfishly, just as he always has.

That next morning, you sheepishly prattle into the dusty, creaky classroom with only four rusty, barely used desks and slip into the one by Yuuji. You’re toying with the tips of your hair, eyes bouncing from where Yuuji sits on the desktop beside you and the classroom door.

Nobara sits backward at the desk directly in front of you, arms coiled around the back support of her chair as she speaks and Megumi sits normally beside her - attention solely on his book. Yuuji watches you fiddle with the ends of your hair while pretending to listen to Nobara.

And then he sees it. The new cherry shade decorating your lips, and before Sukuna can sprout and tell him to - Yuuji’s leaning down with his best smile, “New lipstick?”

Jumping at the sudden voice, your rigid posture melts under the boy’s gaze, “Yes, actually. You like?”

It could be puke green and Yuuji would still want it smeared across his face from your kisses.

But despite housing Sukuna Ryomen and battling dreadful curses, Yuuji fails to muster the courage to say that to your face, “Yeah! It’s really pretty.”

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

There goes your annoying heart, hammering just from the sound of Yuuji’s overtly positive lilt. It makes your cheeks burn and fingers skittishly tip-tap against the pencil-scratched desk, “You think so?”

But he’d never lie, you know that.

So even though it shouldn’t be a surprise when he doubles down, your annoying heart won’t stop dramatically tossing itself around when Yuuji nods with a determined, boyish grin, “Definitely.”

It’s all so saccharine and perfect, it makes Sukuna nauseous. Which, in turn, makes Yuuji nauseous.

Face paling, Yuuji jumps onto his feet and excuses himself, rushing out of the room (with no Gojo even in sight, by the way) towards the bathroom.

“Is he okay?” Nobara murmurs, stretching her neck to see outside the door frame, “What a weirdo.”

“Yeah,” you sigh dreamily, “He is sometimes, huh?”

Megumi gags at your tone, “Seriously…?”

“What was that?” Yuuji’s question is spikey and venomous while he stares into the cracked, water-spotted mirror - straight at the little eyeball on his cheek.

“You two are disgusting,” Sukuna stares back into the glass, low-lidded and unimpressed, “Get this over with and ask her out, brat.”

“But what if she says no?” Yuuji reaches up and toys with the little pink hairs at the back of his head, eyes suddenly unable to meet Sukuna at all, “It’ll totally ruin everything.”

“Enough whining. She won’t say no.”

He doesn’t know how it took so long to recognize, or maybe he just needed an excuse to display his old, unbroken knowledge of you before your fleshly little weakling friends even knew it. But he’s seen the little bursts of color and stars and sparkles and all that cute mess before.

He’s seen it many times. It was the only way you used to look at Sukuna.

That puppyish, lovesick wonder as you fluttered your pretty eyelashes at him.

Even when he would return to you in blood and sweat and muck and smelling of the death and despair he expertly wrought.

You were always at least five paces ahead of Uraume, hands bunching up in the pretty flowing silks that decorated your body. Excitedly, you’d pounce and he would hold you. Sapping up your energy and feeding off the way you’d press cherry-tasting kisses all along his hardened face. You served yourself up to him on a silver platter, all your heart and soul and mind devoted entirely and without ulterior motives. That’s why you were always his favorite.

Nothing before or after you was ever up to par. And he felt disgruntled at every turn into different worshippers and concubines and lovers - somehow wronged simply by the fact they were not as you were. It was all so disappointing.

And every now and again he’d flash back to you while with others. He imagines it’s how children feel when they remember a lost or broken or tossed-out favorite toy. That ache of times lost and never feeling quite fulfilled again.

Which is why when he saw you again through this brat’s eyes, he could instantly remember those nights with you. Full-bellied and raw-lipped and your pulse between his teeth.

But Yuuji knows nothing of that, and so when he returns to the classroom - neither of you says anything.

It’s only the two of you. Everyone else was cast out in the violent, unwilling acceptance that they had done all they could. With no open wound, there was a horrific list rattled off in Sukuna’s ears. Illnesses and infections that attacked the lungs and nervous system and skin and heart - things that would eat you alive from the inside. And when all could be done about that, you remained in bed.

In and out of consciousness and delusional, proclaiming twisted lights and shadowy creatures trying to rip you from yourself.

Perhaps, one of the women called to care for you shyly spoke up, perhaps she’s just too old.

And that was something he avoided admitting to himself.

But it was time now.

With dew still moist on the blades of grass and morning sunlight streaming through the window beside your bed - the bell tolls. Your fingers are stiff in the sheets, limbs cold and stiff when you’re found. Wide, puppylike eyes gaze up at the ceiling and Sukuna has you buried beneath the tallest, most twisted tree he could find in the surrounding forest. And when Sukuna returns from your grave that night - alone - he crosses into a dark tunnel.

It’s cold and solid beneath his feet, paces echoing back for his ears. He keeps his eyes down to avoid maddening himself over the plainness - the displeasure of even glimpsing this tunnel’s repetitive nature.

Until there’s light, golden, with the shrouded, clumsy shape of twisted branches and lanky trunks coming into view at the far open end.

And faintly, like the sweet singing of a beloved music box, he hears the tune of your voice. A high scoop towards the end.

“Itadori, right?”

Sukuna’s feet move faster before he even fully knows he’s moving.

On the other side is you, a hand jammed out in front of you in a polite wave - as if the both of you are strangers. Then that name creeps back up his spine.

Well, it’s not truly his spine, is it? It’s this new brat’s.

But then there’s your honeyed voice again, “Huh, third eye.”

Right. You wouldn’t remember it, would you?

You wouldn’t remember any of it.

Yuuji shoots up, dark sheets tangled around his ankles and cold sweat beading down his forehead - strings of pink hair matted down to his skin uncomfortably. His wide eyes scramble across the shadows of his room, slowly refamiliarizing himself with the expanse and soothing his pounding heart.

He smoothes back his hair, running through the small kinks and knots, “What the hell was that?”

That slicing pain along his cheek shocks him awake further, but no sore, deep voice follows. The eye sits there, downcast. Sitting inside this body is one of the last things he saw for himself, but to exist beside you again is liquid gold just flowing in a river. A river his new body refuses to swim in.

“She’s still awake.”

Yuuji looks over to the red numbers lighting up from his bedside alarm clock, “It’s midnight.”

Sukuna inhales sharply, irritation scorching a hole in his tongue, but he withholds the many sudden hateful thoughts he has towards Yuuji and simply repeats himself, “She’s still awake.”

“It’s weird how obsessed you are with this,” Yuuji swings his legs over the edge of his bed and slips his feet into the slippers you’d gifted him. They’re cheesy and themed after fire engines and just barely fit, but he wears them at any given opportunity.

The eye sinks back into his skin, lips sealing shut, and a thick sludge boils in Yuuji’s stomach. Quiet King of Curses is an unsettling King of Curses, and Yuuji barely finds himself able to tune out the exhaustive wave of Sukuna’s criticisms. That is much preferred to this buzzing silence.

Creeping down the moaning wooden panels to your room, Yuuji raps his knuckles against your door before immediately shuffling his fists into his gray sweatpants.

Something clatters against hardwood, sheets ruffle, and your footsteps thump, thump, thump up to your bedroom door. Your face peeks out from the sliver of cracked doorway, and there’s no hint of sleep in your gaze. You seem alert, if a little lazily slouched against your doorframe.

“Itadori?”

Oh, right. He was here to say something, wasn’t he?

But he can’t possibly find the strength in his tongue, not when you look at him like that.

With some impossible adoration, like you simply can’t wait to hear whatever stupid bullshit he’s about to spout. He feels so unworthy of it all, and he can’t wait to find out more about you and mold himself to it. To become someone you can’t imagine waking up without. To study and be studied, he’s ready to throw himself into the horrors of being known - if it’s you he’s known by.

The air is punched out of him as he speaks, “Can…” you nod him along, opening your door wider, “Can I kiss you?”

Now that he’s so close to the sugary river, he can’t wait to dive in.

“Seriously?” you laugh in shock at the outburst, but when his face persists, you fling the door open entirely, “Seriously?”

Yuuji winds his hands tighter, to stop himself from desperately clawing his way down your throat, “I like you. I’ve liked you…” he’s unnatural like this, red in the face and dodging your stare, “I don’t even know.”

But you do, you felt it when you first saw him. However, you’re not plagued by the chains of past lives, so the implications are lost. Winding your arms behind your back and grinning at Yuuji with toothy glee, “Me too.”

His eyes nail you with that doughy, desperate plea for attention - the need to be seen as himself. And you’ve always been glad to lend it over in plentiful bounties.

That buzz of silence stabs the both of you.

Until Yuuji can no longer tether himself to his pockets, his big hands gentle as he cups both your cheeks. He molds himself to you, hoping that those troublesome flashes of times he never lived will at least serve his muscle memory now.

Your hands twist into the front of Yuuji’s shirt, nails biting into the black, soft, loose fabric and tugging him closer. Yuuji’s lips are slightly chapped, and you can feel the imprints from where he’s bitten them raw. He hisses when you peek your tongue at the smooth spots.

Wrenching your hands back, you quickly run them under and up his sleep shirt - his skin is warm and he gasps against your lips when your fingertips skim along his sides.

Yuuji pulls back, cheeks flaming, and shoulders his way past your bedroom door, kicking it shut behind him and placing his hands over his shirt - finding yours through the material. He grins, chuckling at how you grope his muscle, squeezing around your hands, “Enjoying yourself?”

“Whatever,” you huff, embarrassed, then ripping your hands out from under his shirt and twisting your fingers between his before - just to prove a point - planting his palms below your own shirt, “You try being normal like this.”

Yuuji’s broad palms are still only burning into the soft flesh of your stomach, but his heart is terribly out of whack.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

“You can go higher,” your voice lilts higher, a mere soft whisper as if anything louder could entirely break the poor boy’s brain, “If you want…”

Of course, he does. He’d trade a thousand years with that Sisyphus guy Megumi mentioned to him just for twelve seconds of his hands sizzling up your body. Maybe even just for the chance.

His hands scope higher, palms glued to the planes of your body like he’s trying to scar himself along your skin. The sudden need to leave some lasting impression that he was there - here with you.

Yuuji does his best not to jump when Sukuna’s voice slithers into his ear, polite enough to whisper so he doesn’t alarm you, “Get her on her back. Tongue her cunt.”

You look at him all sweet and concerned when Yuuji’s nose scrunches, “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

But he has no idea how to tell you that Sukuna’s words make his stomach churn, and by the time he even tries to form the words he’s thinking about it. Imagining himself on his stomach with his head between your thighs, your hands tangled in his hair, and eagerly trying to annoy your friends as much as possible with how loud he can make you. And he feels so, so lightheaded at that.

Yuuji’s eyes are wide, staring into yours with such fire that it almost makes you shy away, “Can I eat you out?”

But you brave his dissecting gaze, heart pounding in your ears.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

And, oh, Yuuji could just about die happy right now.

On his stomach with his head between your thighs, your hands screwed into the twirls of his tousled hair and (hopefully) annoying at least a nosy Nobara should she be listening to your soft moans next door.

Yuuji wiggles his tongue into your weeping hole, nestling his nose against your clit with a wheezy little whine. His eyes flutter up at you through the gaps between your shaking arms.

“Get your hands in there,” Sukuna’s voice is muffled against the thickness of your thigh, “Thumb her clit, don’t rely on your nose.”

Crinkling his brows, Yuuji has to bite back his remarks about how Sukuna could’ve told him that sooner. Snaking his right hand over your leg, Yuuji flattens his large hand against your lower stomach and pins your bucking hips. His thumb taking residence on your swollen clit, the bridge of his nose still saddled beneath it.

Your back arches, hips grinding down into Yuuji’s thumb and tongue. He’s messy with it - head shaking just to tease and feel the wetness of your pussy slip and slather across his chin. He tongue-fucks you in earnest, practically moaning into you as he grinds against the mattress. Swishing his thumb against your clit faster when he can feel you tighten around him, chasing the feeling of you cumming all over his face.

He can hear it despite his desperation - the way your breath hitches and throat cinches out a squeal. Your thighs squish around his head and Yuuji has to force his hips still lest he be submitted to the horrors of cumming in his pants.

And it isn’t even the fear of your reaction - no, he knows better than to think you’re capable of making him feel shame. It’s just-

“Yes,” Sukuna’s voice is husky, tongue lolling out along Yuuji’s cheek to lather up your juice, “Yes!”

Yuuji knows exactly who will be making fun of him instead. He smacks at the unwanted presence and takes it as pure luck when Sukuna actually stays down.

He works his tongue out of you slowly, letting you whine and huff the way off your high naturally before peeking up at you. He’s grinning, eyes wide and hands retreating to dig hungrily into the meat of your thighs.

“Hey, I wanna try something,” Yuuji’s shamelessness in licking at his soaked lips makes heat flush all the way to your forehead, “Just let me know if it’s too much, okay?”

You nod sheepishly, body jittery with the little bugs crawling beneath your sweltering skin. Yuuji bends to the sudden thought he’s sure has something to do with the curse inside him with a mysterious catalog on all things you.

Yuuji slips onto his back beside you, curled against the cold wall corning your bed with his feet flat against the mattress and legs bent. He uses the unnatural well of strength he’s harbored since birth to squeeze at the fat of your sides and lift you atop of him. He can feel the warmth of your cunt on his pelvis and it wracks him with a shiver, you whine helplessly when his right hand immediately welds to your slit. His index and ring fingers part your lips so his middle can swipe coyly over your clit.

“Hah,” you watch his ring finger abandon its post to join the rude teasing, “Yuuji…”

“I know,” Yuuji sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes glued to where your wetness drips onto his skin, his hard cock peeking up between your legs, “I know, I’m sorry,” but he doesn’t sound very sorry. Especially when he’s continuing to tease you while pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Okay, serious now,” but he dips his fingers lower and prods at your hole, “Serious.”

You giggle, hot-faced, at his focused gaze, “Yuuji!”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he spreads your lips again just to stare from over your shoulder, voice hoars when he finally speaks up, “Alright. Serious now.”

Reaching between your legs, Yuuji grabs hold of his cock - hissing at the contact - and is internally grateful when you raise your hips to meet his head. He presses his forehead against your shoulder when his tip pushes inside you. You feel the hot puffs of air he sends against your back as you continue lowering yourself. He whimpers, the hand at his base flying across your abdomen and gripping your breast. He squeezes and pinches and tries suffocating the embarrassing little noises escaping his lips when you rock your hips down on his pelvis.

“Okay down there?” you twist your head to look back at Yuuji and you’re so glad you did.

He’s flushed down to his chest and his lashes are kissing his cheeks to keep himself together, when he finally opens his eyes fully and looks up at you. His bottom lip is red and puffy from how hard he’d been biting it, “Now I’m gonna do something new.”

This wasn’t new?

Yuuji’s arms stretch under the backs of your knees and come over your shoulders before winding behind your neck, pressing his palms flat against the back of your head. Your arms dangle uselessly at your sides, hands stretching out to graze his ribs and legs bouncing limply as he manhandles you.

His cock bullies itself in your cunt, hips jerking up into the fat of your ass.

Yuuji tries to suffocate down his groans in favor of your sweet moans being punched up from your gut every time he sweeps deep inside you. His lips press tightly just as your own pop open for adorable “ah, ah ah!”s - fighting to maintain his pace despite how badly he wants to pin you to his body and wallow through the wetness sucking him back in for every thrust. Feel your sweaty skin slide and stick against his and whine at the pulling sensation when you peel apart.

Another sudden idea pops into his brain and it’s almost instinctual how he follows it. Besides, it isn’t like he’s going to complain about being brain-blasted with memories that aren’t his if it means not having to hear Sukuna’s voice while fucking you.

Hips never falter in their snaps up into you, Yuuji cranes his neck to teeth at the meat of your nape. He bites possessively and grunts in response to your immediate pitchy moan. Then licking over the marks apologetically.

You try to smother down your breathless moans as Yuuji bullies his cock repeatedly into that spongy spot shooting stars behind your eyes. With an angle and drive and care you’re sure would be lost on any man other than Yuuji - and you’re dumbly struck by the hope that maybe this hard work is only because he’s here with you. And that coherent thought is fucked out of you with Yuuji’s next whimpered request.

“Don’t do that,” he gasps when you tighten around him after a particularly rough thrust, “Please don’t keep it down- wanna…” he moans and the sound flutters straight to your tightening gut, “Wanna hear you so bad, pretty girl.”

Unlatching your teeth from the plush of your bottom lip, flames lap through the wiry twists of your veins - burning through the stretch of your skin and scarring Yuuji. And he eats it up and greedily begs at your feet for more. It shames Sukuna just as much as it excites him to taste the salt on your skin through his vessel’s tongue and watch the way your legs shake and bounce under his vessel’s iron hold. His favorite way to have you and your favorite way to take him.

Yuuji unwinds one of his arms from behind your neck, lowering half your body slightly to swipe his fingers between the junction of your thighs. Right over the slippery spot where you’re creaming on his cock and taking the soaked fingers to your clit. His canines and soft lips battle for a monopoly of your neck and shoulder, swiftly circling your clit with his middle and ring fingers as his hips continue fucking you stubbornly.

“Hng, Yuu…!” you gasp, head throwing back and narrowly missing his - the coil winding tighter and tighter and your walls milking Yuuji tighter and tighter, “Yuuji!”

“I know, baby,” he kisses up your bent neck and presses his flaming cheek against yours, “God, please, cum for me. Cum for me,” his hips stutter, and his breath hitches and oh, he’s so close, “I wanna feel you cum on me, baby- I need it. Need it so bad.”

“Oh, Yuuji,” you dig your face closer to his as if trying to meld yourselves into one body, “‘m cumming,” you clench and he’s damn near wheezing, the knot in his lower belly popping as he feels you cum and drips down his balls, “‘m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming…!”

And just to avoid embarrassing himself from admitting he’s in love with you while spitting his own cum in your warm, wet walls, Yuuji strangles down his own final cries with a coppery, abusive bite to his bottom lip.

It starts to hurt, how he overstimulates himself through his slowing thrusts - letting you slip down onto his thrumming, sticky chest. Your legs sprawled across his sides, Yuuji slipping his softening cock from your hole.

You lazily roll off of Yuuji, landing face-first into your sheets at his side.

Yuuji can hear it again, that terrible, grating voice telling him, “Clean her, brat.”

And what’s the most terrible is he knows Sukuna’s command is entirely warranted. Flopping a hand onto your back, Yuuji traces heart shapes into the skin as he talks, “I’ll be right back.”

And when Yuuji’s wetting a soft, clean cloth he braved the hallway (nude) to retrieve from his room, he hears that voice again. It echoes in your bathroom.

“I want a turn when she’s awake,” a pause, “Fully awake.”

“Aren’t you charitable?” Yuuji rolls his eyes.

And that same utterance from hours before rings through Yuuji’s ears once again. Why Sukuna cared so much about petty crushes. Why Sukuna bothered himself by actually giving genuine, helpful points. Why Sukuna was fascinated by you.

“She was my most devoted and favorite lover in her past life.”

The way he says it inspires no respect for Yuuji - underlined in his thriving desire to be worshiped, as he imagines he deserves. Yuuji wouldn’t dare uphold you to that.

When he tenderly presses his thumbs into stiff muscles with a red flush and warm smile, Yuuji knows that for sure.

“Can I stay the night?” he whispers, folding his discarded towels and lazily tucking them by your bedpost on the floor. He feels that same hurried ache in his chest, awaiting for your impatience.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

You hum, lifting your head off the pillow and snickering, your drowsy face pinched to look at him like he’s stupid, “Duh.”

Giddy, Yuuji slips under the blankets he’d slid over you after cleaning the mess from between your thighs, and slots himself right next to you.

Rolling again, you twist into an open space against Yuuji’s chest and under his thick arm. Warmth drapes across your shoulders when he rests that arm over you. He circles his other arm around you and squeezes, grinning so hard he can feel it burning in the balls of his cheeks. Your ear rests against Yuuji’s chest, and you soothe yourself to slumber on the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

Blissfully unaware of the fact that when your bones are rotten and six feet deep, two more people will be curled into each other’s arms. With your same starry eyes that some pink-haired kid falls in love with every time they’re on him.

[sytoran]

Could I request a Natasha x reader where R and Nat are driving home from a party but their car breaks down so they call someone to come help them fix it and while they’re waiting they fuck outside on the back of the car…strap on pls

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟏𝟎 — 𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐄𝐗

kinktober day 010 | milf!natasha x fem!mechanic!reader

natasha's had a completely shit day, and the last straw is when her car breaks down on the way home. the unbelievably sexy mechanic who shows up to fix her car makes it an unforgettable night.

note. i might've changed the plot so R is the mechanic. trust me on that decision.

cont. strap-on use, daddy kink, horniness, hot mechanic stuff

word count. 3435 (yall are getting fed)

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

In her weathered thirties, Natasha had retired as an Avenger and chose a life that had always been nothing more than a distant dream. 

By adopting two beautiful children and becoming a mother, it was almost like she was flipping off the Red Room for what they had done to her. It was an act of justice, a long sought-after victory, throwing away her past but embracing the lessons it had taught her.

However, despite how much the future she carved for herself had changed, one thing hadn’t — and that was the people who had been by her side throughout her journey to normalcy.

Kate, that human embodiment of a golden retriever, was all about ‘bringing the Avengers together, old and new’, and ‘forging stronger bonds in the pursuit of justice’. Hence came the monthly parties that involved the wealth of Bishop Security, too much alcohol, and one too many bad decisions.

For Natasha, the party had spun out of control like a series of unfortunate events: From the raspberry martini Thor had spilled on her, to the ripped dress from a stupid dare from Rocket to climb the fence, and the incredibly awkward seven minutes in heaven with Bruce. 

Right now, the ex-Avenger wanted nothing more than to dive under the warm blankets and close her eyes and shut the world out. Go home to her two bundles of joy. Be engulfed in the warmth of comfort and release. Maybe even let Liho sleep on the bed for once.

She needs to get back home a little faster. Natasha accelerates.

Her eyes are on the road, gripping the steering wheel with a steely frown. The road is dark, the lamps are flickering. There’s a thought lingering in the back of her mind, like an itch that simply wouldn’t go away.

It was embarrassing to admit, but Natasha had done far worse: She was unarguably sexually frustrated. After saving the universe and transitioning into a life of motherhood, she hardly had any time to alleviate her stress in that kind of way.

Today was one of those days, then, where she would once again have to retreat into the confines of her shower and spend a little longer than she should. Or perhaps, dive under the sheets and reach into her bedside table for that plastic purple toy.

Natasha steps on the pedal a little harder. She accelerates again – the engine splutters.

"Fuck, shit, don't do this to me now," she growls, angrily slapping her steering wheel while a frown creases her eyebrows. 

It only takes the car three more streetlamps to absolutely die out on her, coming to a screeching halt, in the dead of the night, in the middle of nowhere. Comically, the sound of something fusing inside her engine follows right after.

Natasha lets the groan of frustration fall freely, forehead hitting the centre of the steering wheel. The resounding sound of the car honking echoes in the emptiness of the place, like a mockery of Natasha’s misfortune.

She climbs out of the car reluctantly, slowly lifting the bonnet open and staring blankly at the mechanical parts before her. 

Natasha was a woman of many capabilities, those of which included being able to assassinate three grown men with a pencil, speak fifteen languages fluently, raise two kids with an attitude more stubborn than hers, save the fucking world, in fact, but fixing cars was not one of them.

Gradually, the car parts in the engine began to look more and more like ancient hieroglyphs that Natasha would spend a lifetime trying to decipher.

She pulls out her cell phone to call someone for assistance, before realizing that basically all of her friends were likely piss-drunk at that stupid party, and would never pick up. (Okay, she also didn’t have a social life other than her ex-comrades in battle, but could you really blame Natasha?)

As the redhead closed her eyes, irritation danced in the darkness of her vision, flickering in specks of white and then burning red. Natasha resigns to her doomed fate.

Calling up the roadside assistance services would mean spending an insanely long amount of time waiting, then having her car towed to the auto-repair shop, henceforth allowing the mechanics there to actually fix up her car, and by the time she retreated into the warmth of her bedroom at home it would very much be far past midnight.

Pulling out her phone with a stately reluctance, Natasha searches up the nearest available mechanic services, dials in the designated number, and begins her wait for comfort and satisfaction.

***

If Natasha previously had any qualms or complaints about waiting for roadside assistance, her mouth was now sealed shut with lock and key. In fact, she would much rather let the mechanic that just arrived assist her in several other ways.

“Sorry for the wait, Ma’am, we were almost about to close shop,” you say, climbing out of the pickup truck then jumping down. 

You flick your hair out of your eyes and send a bright smile to your last client of the day, seemingly oblivious to the effect you had on the woman. “I’m Y/N, happy to be at your service.”

Now, Natasha certainly had her own suspicions that she wasn’t entirely straight, but those queries had been confirmed within a good five seconds.

It was too cliche to be real, almost. Natasha swallows as her eyes rake over your tight-fitting white tank top that showed off the most stunning bodily anatomy she had ever seen, each muscle carved from a meticulous sculptor, dirtied cargo pants hanging loose to reveal the band of a pair of black boxers. 

“Ma’am?” you repeat, lifting up a heavy toolbox with one hand, failing to notice that Natasha’s gaze is glued on to the flexed muscles of your right arm.

“O-oh,” the ex-Avenger mumbles in embarrassment – Oh, Yelena would cackle to see her like this – “Sorry, what was your question?”

You only tilt your head and give her a polite smile. “I was asking what seems to be the issue with your car.” 

Natasha nods vigorously, then walks stiffly towards her car. Her clammy hands struggle to lift the bonnet for a moment, and in a second you’re next to her, single-handedly lifting the cover with a thoughtful smile.

Natasha feels the heat rush to her cheeks and she looks away quickly. She was acting like a lovesick high school girl, for God’s sakes. Get it together, she chides. 

When she looks back up again, you have a wrench in hand, twirling it around. Natasha has her eyes glued to your tattoos and the way your fingers spin the tool.

“I’ll loosen this up a bit, see what we’re dealing with.” You say, fastening the wrench into place. Natasha barely has time to nod her acknowledgement before her breath gets stolen from her again.

The muscle of your forearm ripples like a satisfying wave when you jerk the wrench, and Natasha’s breath gets stolen away by the wind. She watches as your fingers expertly wrap around the tool, your other hand gripping the front of the car, and your next effort has Natasha getting wetter in places she shouldn’t.

“I think this part needs to be oiled,” you say, your even voice hauling Natasha out of her erotic fantasy. You look at your client curiously, innocently gesturing towards the toolbox next to her feet. “Would you be an angel and hand me the oiler?”

Angel.

Natasha’s heart races as she bends down to pick up your toolbox. (Okay, she definitely bends down a little too far, but she feels your eyes glued onto her ass, and she considers that a victory.) When she hands you the toolbox, your fingertips graze over her hand, and Natasha’s breath hitches a little too obviously.

By some holy deity’s work, you don’t comment or react to her squeak of surprise, and instead begin oiling up the engine of the car. Natasha flushes a dark red. Your grasp had been calloused, because of course it would be, experienced with handling cars and being rough—

The electricity that had run through her veins from that second of contact was comparable to Thor’s Mjolnir.

You have a little mishap when pouring the oil, the tube sliding in your grasp, and the car oil squirts from the nozzle and onto your front. You chuckle awkwardly, embarrassment tinging the tips of your ears.

Natasha thinks it’s the sweetest sound she’s ever heard, heart fluttering at your awkwardness. Once again, her libido catches up to her, and then Natasha’s eyeing your slick fingers (imagining it was a different type of slick), and the way your dampened shirt clung to your taut muscles.

Maybe you were doing it on purpose, too, facing Natasha as you lift up the hem of your shirt to squeeze out the oil. Her eyes feast on the hint of bare skin she can see, a defined V-line making itself known. 

“You don’t mind me working like this, I suppose?” you ask, a grin on your face. “I may look filthy, but I promise I’m excellent with my hands.”

“Show me, then,” Natasha replies loftily, almost second-nature with how the one-sided smirk creeps on to her face. Her skill of seduction was something that was ingrained into her bloodstream.

When you lay down onto the under-car roller and shift underneath the car to begin fixing it up, Natasha’s gaze darkens several hues and she lets her eyes roam over your body again.

She couldn’t tear her eyes off if she tried. She wanted to rake her nails over your taut muscles, watch them flex and ripple under her touch, hook her fingers in the belt-loop of your pants and tug it down—

—to see the unmistakable bulge on a strap-on in your boxers. Natasha licks her lips, zeroing in on the tantalizing sight. It looked big, even while hidden under the confines of your pants. She would take you so good, down her throat or up her cunt, until either of you orgasmed. 

Natasha gets lost in her thoughts, nearly drooling as she watched you work. Your tank top moved with every thrust of your arm into unscrewing a certain mechanical part, and the grease slid down the veins of your hands. 

The redhead has to sink her teeth into her bottom lip when you spread your legs for a more comfortable position, to stop herself from moaning out load. 

Natasha’s got it down bad, eyes once again on your bulge. Her panties are soaked, already, lewd thoughts flitting through her mind with every passing minute that you’re under there.

On the other hand, you were fighting a very different battle.

You weren’t stupid, no, not on any accounts. (Except for dating that one girlfriend who’d lit your auto-repair shop on fire when you broke up with her. But we don’t talk about past mistakes.) Right now, the woman you were attending to was none other than Natasha Romanoff.

Yes, the woman who had saved the universe. The woman who’d inspired you to say ‘fuck everyone else’ and chase your dreams. The woman on TV you’d spent more than a few nights thinking of, your hand in places you’d rather not specify.

More than that, you were quite sure that this woman, in a ripped dress that fucked your mind in ways it shouldn’t, wanted you to fuck her instead.

It was an uphill battle, your rationality versus your pathetic pretty-girl-want-to-fuck instinct. As you lay under Natasha’s car, working on the mechanical parts up there and getting grease all over your hands, you contemplated the reasons why logic was important.

Number One: Natasha Romanoff was an Avenger. If you pushed yourself onto her, she could very much knock you out before you could say ‘sorry’. As much as you prided yourself on your physique and brute force, you weren’t about to take on an ex-widow in a fight.

You look down for one second, as said woman steps a little closer to you, and you have to swallow to bite back an embarrassing sound. One of her hands was resting on your knee while you worked, and it took every cell of your existence not to start spasming under her touch.

Number Two: It was a violation of workplace guidelines. As much as the pay was shitty, you wouldn’t want to lose your job. You still had rent to pay, and you couldn’t keep hiding from your stick-in-the-ass landlord.

“Oh, that looks dirty,” Natasha comments, tone sultry as her hand creeps up higher on your leg. Your breath catches in your throat, grease staining your white shirt while your eyes quite nearly glaze over. 

I can show you dirty, your brain unhelpfully supplies, and you shake your head in a futile attempt to clear your head. 

Natasha, undetered, leans forward, chest grazing over your torso, the soft flesh of her breasts against your abdomen making your head spin.

Fuck, you just wanted to rip off her pretty dress and— Number Three: You were in public. Having sexual intercourse with your client right here and right now would likely end in a police report for vouyerism. Dingy apartment be gone, for you would be sleeping in a jail cell.

“M’kay, I’m done,” you announce, slapping the underside of the car as a sign of accomplishment. You purposefully slide out from under the car in one swift motion, allowing Natasha’s hand to graze over your muscled thigh.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight that greeted you when you looked up, though.

There Natasha Romanoff leant over your body, one hand inches away from the bulge in your pants, the other tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She was leaning forward, exposing a cleavage that hung right above your torso, dark eyes surveying you.

Fuck, dark couldn’t even begin to describe it. Natasha’s gaze was like an icy blast and molten lava all at the same time: Her pupils were severely dilated, a spark dancing within it. The deep colours of her eyes were like a kaleidoscope, pulling you in, entrapping you in a haze of lust. 

It was entirely wanton, arousing, filthy. Her ruby-red lips curved into a vulture-like smirk, gaze trailing downwards to your body. Everywhere her eyes rested on lit a path of hellfire. Those sinful hands crept on to your bulge, splaying over your false cock as you exhale shakily.

Number Four: Natasha Romanoff was looking at you like you were a full banquet service, all five courses, free of charge, complimentary champagne included. 

And honestly, was there really anything more important than that?

“Thanks for your help,” Natasha murmmurs, physically climbing onto you as you laid on the under-car roller. “Let me repay that kindness.”

You let out a strangled groan as Natasha pushes herself down onto you and kisses you, her hands sliding under your shirt to scrape at your abdomen. 

Oh, finally.

“Fuck,” you gasp against her eager lips, hands flying to palm at her ass as you deepen the kiss. Your brain hasn’t quite caught up to yet, the only you were registering being the sweet mouth you were exploring and the intoxicating flowery scent of Natasha’s perfume.

Your hand cinches around Natasha’s neck like a vice-grip, your tongue invading the confines of her mouth, the rocking motions of your meeting mouths drawing long gasps and whines from Natasha.

Her hands, on the contrary, are relentless: From the sides of your face to your washboard abdomen, sharp nails marking you as if you’re hers. 

Having relinquished your power for long enough, you grab handfuls of Natasha’s ass and lift her up; You get up, too, a mess of entangled limbs as you throw her over your shoulder, kicking away the roller and moving to the bed of your pickup truck.

Natasha’s left dripping at your display of effortless strength. You hoist the two of you up onto the pickup truck, paradoxically carefully laying her down, and you stall for a moment.

“We’re so gonna get caught,” Natasha whispers with a stupid grin on her face.

She looks up at you with a breathtaking smile, twilight reflecting off her eyes, dancing in the atmosphere that surrounded the two of you. 

The pair of you were completely exposed to the midnight air, in the middle of nowhere, but if anyone were to drive past it would be blatantly obvious what was happening.

You smirk, tugging her dress off with an assured confidence. “Maybe,” you reason, thumbing at one of Natasha’s nipples so she arches off the surface with a breathy gasp. “Or maybe not,” you continue, a big hand sliding under Natasha’s lithe body to undo the clasp of her bra and toss it somewhere.

“Y/N!” Natasha squeaks, as your greedy hands massage the mounds of her breasts. “Did you throw my bra onto the road?”

You hum your approval cheekily, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses from the swell of her breasts and down to her soiled. “Yes, angel. I’ll pick it up later, bring it home with me to jerk off–”

“Oh my god—”

“Yeah, and I’ll— oh fuck, angel, your panties are fucking soaked. Not so innocent, hm?” You question with a dark smile, two fingers running over the outside of her undergarment, arousal sticking to your fingers.

You watch as the older woman before you flushes from head to toe. Strings of slick cling to your thick fingers, and you suck on them as Natasha moans lewdly. 

“I’ll let you taste it later, don’t worry,” you add helpfully, shucking down your own pants and boxers. The strap-on springs out, and Natasha’s drooly lips open to push out a shaky breath of arousal.

“Daddy,” Natasha says, instinctually, at the sight of your gloried muscles and the ivory strap that hung between your legs like it was made to do so.

Your grip on Natasha’s hips bruise, the term nothing new to you but so entirely different when it came from Natasha fucking Romanoff. The sense of pride that washed over you was nothing compared to the carnal desire to fill her up and make her scream your name.

“Oh God!” Natasha wails out, fingernails digging into your forearms as you slide the head of your cock inside her. It wasn’t the longest, but it was girthy, and Natasha’s hole was stretched out as you pushed slowly.

“Not God,” you pant into Natasha’s ear, slapping her ass as she cries out loud. “Daddy, hm?”

“Yes!” Natasha moans, legs wrapping around your huge muscled back as you begin to thrust. Her hands try to interlock behind your back for support, but your shoulderblades are so wide that she can’t even fully wrap her hands around it, and that fact leaves her even hornier than before.

You’ve got Natahsa pinned to the ground under your body, pounding so hard that the whole truck shakes. The grease from your clothes goes all over, slick and sweat coating the two of you, pleasured cries and low grunts emanating from the pickup truck.

The squelching sounds of her pussy are absolutely filthy, as you pound into her spongy spot like your life depended on it. 

“There, please!” Natasha wails, helplessly clinging on to your back as you bring her to a ferocious orgasm. Her legs kick under you, hook around the side of the truck as you jackhammer your hips into her pussy.

“Almost there already, angel?” You ask heatedly, mouth working on marking up her tits. One of your hands had both of Natasha’s wrist above her head, and the other was on her hips for support as you thrusted into her.

Your response comes in an earth-shattering orgasm.

“Daddy!” Natasha moans out, filthy and drenched with desire. Her pleasured cry is so loud that it scares a flock of birds out of a nearby tree, and you flinch violently at the sudden sound of nature’s rustling leaves, like you forgot you were in public.

Natasha breaks out into a laugh at the absurdity of the situation, then moans again when another wave of orgasmic pleasure washes over her. That causes you to join in on the laughter, your cock jostling inside Natasha. She whines again, and you pepper kisses over Natasha’s sweaty forehead with nothing short of amused affection.

And that’s how the two of you end up entangled on the back of your pickup truck like lovesick fools, a mesh of sweaty and slick bodies, sounds of pleasure and laughter scaring away any other creature that might disrupt Natasha’s sought-after comfort and satisfaction.

requests are NOT open... i just received this request all the way back in february, and so here it is haha..... im sorry to that one anon 😭 reblog to save a life xx

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

[merakiui]

タコの花嫁。

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, arranged marriage, oviposition, breeding, royalty au note - in an effort to bring peace to two warring sides, you are engaged to the sea queen’s son.

If anyone is to blame for the abysmal diplomacy between the Land and the Sea, it would be your ancestors. Pompous and foolhardy, they thought they could rule the grand seas stretching out from the harbor, beyond weather-worn docks with their rotted, seaweed-strewn planks and briny fetor. The ocean was vast, unexplored territory—a dangerous, deceptive beauty harboring life far beneath unruly waves.

And your ancestors intended to claim it.

Sailors would recount tales of fishfolk—uncanny creatures who looked more marine than the two-legged mammals of the land. They’d raise mugs, each overflowing with ale, in drunken merriment, terrifying themselves with the mysteries of the deep, dark sea.

“It ought to give ya a proper scare straight to Davy Jones himself!” they’d say, voices lowered conspiratorially. “Soon as yer candle goes out and all ya’ve got’s the moon to guide ya… You’ll hear ’em slip through the water if yer listenin’ well enough.”

“You ever go and spy one up close?”

“I’d sooner see the Devil himself and let him keelhaul me before facin’ those cursed beasts!”

“The cut of their jib ain’t so pretty. Enough to give men like us a fright and we’ve seen all sorts of somethin’.”

“Monsters, I say! Monsters!”

Festivals were held to keep these beasts at bay—to prevent them from gathering the courage to creep up onto the land. Every year, during the summer solstice, pits were hollowed on the shore and bordered with stones. Flames licked towards the sky, red-orange fingers clawing for purchase amidst the stars above. Townsfolk would sing and dance late into the eve, bellowing songs passed through the generations. Children would skip up and down the beach, torches in hand, and cry out an old chant: “Fish for you and me are meant to stay in the sea! Should you see one on land, may the Heavens strike it down with a gentle, loving hand!”

Their excitement did well to ward off the fishfolk. Sometimes the lone child would spot one in the distance, peeking out from between the rocks before diving back under in a splash.

On land, humans were safe. On land, the fishfolk couldn’t catch them.

It was different in the sea.

Ships were destroyed in terrible tempests. The waves tossed them around as if they were nothing. Many sailors would find their demise at the bottom of the ocean, torn to shreds with shattered skeletons. Viscerally brutalized, they died with secrets on their tongues—secrets of the strange fishfolk who’d drag them down, down, down to a watery grave.

On one cold February afternoon, the octopus prince was brought into the world. In shadowed fathoms, a grand celebration was held. After so much time—misfortune after misfortune—one fry survived out of the entire clutch. He was round and soft and small, colored blue from exertion and fighting through the tug of the current to reach home. The Sea Queen met him halfway and embraced him, ecstatic tears in her eyes, for a mother’s love is stronger than any political power.

“My little Azul,” she said, stroking a hand along his cheek, “how precious you are.”

No ships were sunk; no lives were lost. It was a peaceful day for both the Land and the Sea. And it would continue to be so in the future. Every year on that same February, it was made a day of peace to honor the little prince.

A day of life, not death.

It was on that same February eleven years later when you were tossed into the frigid depths like a hatchling cast out of its nest. Similarly, your birth had been a wondrous occasion. Your parents brought five boys into the world, each just as adored as the last, but they had been hoping for a daughter. It was a miracle when their fervent wishes were finally granted. You were spoiled as all daughters often are, pampered and doted on by your family and the palace staff.

Your brothers, though protective and caring, were a troublesome and rowdy bunch. Kyffin was the eldest. Two years younger was Emyr, and another two years behind him was Owin. A year younger than him were twins Morcan and Martyn. They picked on you as all immature boys often do when caught up in sibling rivalries, aiming to be the only one their parents see. To prove themselves as the best, the strongest, the wisest.

So it was with a half-cruel heart that Emyr tossed you into the waves from where he stood in the rowboat.

“Only way to learn is with exposure!” he called down to you, watching as you struggled against the push and pull of the sea. 

“C-Can’t!” you shouted back, choking on salt and flailing about. “E-Emyr, I can’t—can’t swim!”

“Don’t be silly,” Owin added with a sweet smile. “It’s how we learned. That old sod threw us right in. You’re lucky it’s us and not him. He was awfully mean with it, wasn’t he?”

“Terribly so.” Emyr watched your struggling a moment longer and clicked his tongue. He held the oar out just before you could slip under, and you clung to it with shaky hands. “Come on—let’s get you up here. You’re not gonna get it today.”

“Fin got it on his first try.”

“Fin gets everything on his first bloody try.”

Relieved, your heart pounding like a drum, you peered up at your brothers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get it…”

“Nothing to apologize for. You’ll get it one day.”

“We’ll keep trying until then. And once you do, we’ll throw you a big party.”

“Really? Will you really do that?” Your expression brightened, but your brothers’ faces darkened. They saw the shadow before you did. Saw the webbed hands reaching out, the serrated teeth glinting in a sinister smile.

And then—

Owin leaned over, his arm outstretched. So fluid was his motion that it took you by surprise. “(Name), grab on! Hurry! Before—”

The rest of his warning was muffled by the water. You hardly had any time to brace yourself when you were yanked under, your nails raking across the wood of the oar as you went with the force of the pull. Salt stung your eyes when you cracked them open, peering frantically at blurry surroundings. Teal-green specks slid silently through the shadows, mismatched eyes flicking over your form. And then there was a high, raucous sort of chittering. Like a dolphin’s cry, loud and piercing. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your palms against your ears.

It only lasted a few mere seconds, but it felt like an eternity trapped in the coils of a creature you couldn’t comprehend. One moment you were holding your breath and the next arms were hooked around your torso, and you were pulled up and into the belly of the rowboat. Your hands flew to your throat, and you coughed up seawater while Owin patted you.

“It’s fine. It’s…okay,” Emyr muttered, his voice shot through with fear. It was the most shaken he’d ever sounded.

Blood fogged in the water, staining the tip of his harpoon. He gazed down at his hand. A deep, jagged gash ran angrily from palm to wrist. He hissed and closed his fingers in a tight fist.

“We gotta get back,” Owin was saying, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I’ll row. You rest.”

“Not good,” Emyr said instead, shaking his head in dismay as he watched your attackers retreat.

“We’re still in our waters, right? We didn’t go past the boundary, did we?”

“Let’s hope not.”

“We didn’t, right?”

“Let’s hope—” Emyr paused, collecting his words. “Let’s hope those monsters were in the wrong.”

“Father’s gonna kill us.”

“If not us, the monsters.”

Both brothers looked towards you. Your tunic was torn, stained through with saltwater and blood. You shivered all the way to shore.

Following that mishap, an official meeting was called between the Land and the Sea. The King—your father—met the Sea Queen at the border. He stood proud on his ship, peering down at her with fire in his old eyes.

“Your Majesty.”

The Sea Queen was just as formidable as those who came before her. Her tentacles unfurled as one, and if you looked at them long enough they almost seemed to take on the shape of an obsidian-colored crinoline.

“I believe my mother and your father made the terms quite clear all those years ago,” she said, a wave lifting her to meet the King at the deck of his ship. “So then, with that in mind, there should be no reason for us to meet under these circumstances.”

Emyr and Owin stood just behind their father. You peered through their legs at the Sea Queen, silently amazed. You’d never seen anyone quite like her before. At least, not a real person. You���d seen her in storybooks, depicted as a fearsome beast with devilish features, and though there was something intimidating about her gaze and build she appeared understanding enough. Her grey skin was sleek in the morning sun, her long, silvery strands tied up and pinned with an ornate hair ornament. She looked beautiful in a magical, enigmatic way.

“I couldn’t agree more,” came the clipped response of your father. “Alas, misfortune has brought us here.” He stepped aside to allow her to behold Emyr’s bandaged hand. “Harm has befallen my son and daughter. I suppose you might have an inkling as to why they find themselves in their current state?”

She frowned, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of sympathy or some other emotion. “Perhaps one of them can give reason to the wound now marring one of my subject’s sons.”

Your father glanced overboard at the snake-like merman cradled in the arms of another merman. They looked near-identical, their features unmistakable. He glanced back at Emyr, his gaze hard. “Go on then. Explain yourself.”

Emyr stepped forward. “With wholehearted respect, Your Majesty, it was out of self-defense. Your kind—they attacked us first.”

“You were in our waters!” one of the mers exclaimed, pointing a clawed finger towards Emyr. “It’s all your fault Jade got hurt!”

Owin hurried ahead, his hands gripping the taffrail. “He’s playing it up! It was a graze!”

“He could’ve died! You almost killed him!”

“That is enough,” the Sea Queen said, jutting an arm out to silence both sides. “I understand everyone is hurt here. Our feud lies in misunderstanding.” She gazed at you next. “Little one, we have yet to hear your story. Do share.”

You glanced at the guards, at Owin and Emyr, and then at father. He nodded encouragingly. “U-Um!” Shyly, you approached the Sea Queen. “My brothers were teaching me how to swim. I don’t know anything about whose water is whose. I just wanted to learn how to swim.” You met the fierce scowl of the mer holding his twin brother and quickly looked elsewhere. “He grabbed me before my brothers could pull me up.”

“Because you were trespassing. Anyone who tresspasses ought to—”

“Floyd.”

At the not-so-subtle warning in his father’s voice, he shut his mouth and snarled. His brother—Jade—was handed off to their father, who assessed his state with a frown.

“He will live, but it will take time for him to recover. My son is right. Your son could have killed him.”

“Just as your sons could have killed my sister!” Owin shouted, glaring.

Floyd stuck his tongue out, remorseless.

“It is impossible to know which side is in the wrong,” your father began, turning towards the Sea Queen. “Seeing as both have been injured, I am willing to apologize on behalf of my sons.”

“What?!” Owin’s head turned towards his father. “You’re bloody mad! Have you not seen—”

“Father,” Emyr interjected evenly. “We have nothing to apologize for. We were within our waters. We had no ill will towards the others. It was completely innocent.”

The Sea Queen hummed her contemplation. “The boundary was drawn for a reason, decided upon by those who came before us, and yet it does more harm than good. It is not for safety’s sake. It is to keep us divided—to ensure that neither side will ever know peace.”

“And you’re implying that we get rid of it?”

She nodded, quite serious. Everyone looked on in equal parts shock and disbelief. “Why do we continue to fight? It does nothing but open old wounds, rendering them incurable. Innocent lives are lost in petty squabbling. And for what?”

To that, no one could offer a smart reply.

“Therefore I propose peace. A union to welcome a new era—one in which we embrace one another as allies without animosity.”

“A union?” Your father raised a brow, suspicious but willing to listen. “I suppose it would be beneficial. My people would be free to travel the seas at their leisure.” “And mine would no longer have to live in fear of being thoughtlessly slaughtered and taken as trophies.”

“Unbelievable,” Orwin muttered.

Emyr elbowed him. “Knock it off.”

“We’ll collaborate on a contract. One that dissolves the invisible boundary that has been the cause for so much suffering. In order to attain true peace, I shall offer you my only son.” She glanced at you and then back at your father. “Your daughter shall marry him when they are of age.”

“What?! No way! Ew! Gross!” Your voice came out shrill and you shook your head in protest. “I don’t wanna marry an octopus! No, I won’t do it!”

Your father stood in front of you. “She’s my only daughter. If something were to happen—”

“Which is precisely why I bring up this engagement. Should they be betrothed, we as their parents will promise to uphold peace to give them bright futures and they will act as the first example of a human-mer alliance. Unions between humans and merfolk are unheard of, but is this not the best way to foster harmony between the Land and Sea?”

“I won’t do it! No! Don’t make me marry a gross—” Emyr gathered you in his arms, holding his uninjured hand over your mouth.

“Let the grown-ups talk.”

Owin frowned. “I still don’t agree with this…”

Your father mulled it over, his eyes glazed in thought. “Very well. We will create a contract—an official peace treaty.”

Both leaders shook hands and planned to convene at the end of the week to discuss further.

You watched the mers depart, each one slipping under the sea. Floyd was the last to go, staring at you with a mean sort of vitriol. And then he, too, dove under.

“He didn’t mean it, right?” you whispered to Emyr after your father gave the order to turn the ship around and head for land. “I won’t have to marry an octopus, right?”

Emyr could only offer a commiserate frown.

“She’s a brat,” Floyd spits. “Stupid, evil Two Legs.”

Jade chuckles and runs his fingers over the scar. “I consider it an honor.”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s messed up. She’s the reason you can’t ever swim naturally again. While she’s up there in her pretty, little tower, safe and sound, you’re still hurting.”

“It’s not as much of a hindrance as you may think. I’m not weak, mind you.”

Floyd grumbles. “Still. She’s mean.”

Azul gazes up at the palace, sighing dreamily. “She’ll be my wife someday. That’s what humans call it, yes? Husband and wife… What wonderful words.”

It’s been one year since the peace treaty. Since then, humans and merfolk have made an effort to get along. This is the second time Azul will be meeting with you. He’s nervous. The first time you went out to sea to greet him, and he’d gotten so anxious that he inked right then and there. His mother entertained you from where you sat in the boat with your personal guard. It was a mortifying experience—one that had taken him months to recover from.

Now he’s going to try to meet you in the shallows. Try is the key word here. He’s scared, all three hearts beating as one. Is it too late to reschedule?

“I can’t believe you’re actually okay with this. You that lonely?”

Azul turns to scowl at both twins, but it’s mostly directed at Floyd. “I never asked you to tag along. Leave me alone.”

Jade smiles. “And let the Queen’s little prince swim to his death?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can. But what about when Two Legs gets ya? What then?”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “You saw what her brothers did to Jade.”

“Because you tried to kill her.”

“Because she was in our territory!”

Azul huffs and pushes him away with a tentacle. “Regardless, we’re supposed to be on good terms now. You’ll break the contract if you try anything dangerous.”

“He’s right, Floyd.”

“Ugh. Whatever.” Floyd turns away, stubborn. “This is lame. I’m not stickin’ around.”

Jade lingers long enough to observe the way Azul lights up when he spots you on the stone steps. And then he disappears beneath the water.

Barefoot, holding your dress up and out of the way, you pad across the beach.

“Why are you here? I’m busy. My brothers are taking me into town.”

The smile that had been fighting to break out on his face frosts over. “Oh. I… Um…” Azul fumbles with the conch shell he’d collected on the way here. A gift for you. He made sure to study human speech patterns in the months leading up to this meeting. He’s fully prepared! And yet you look so displeased. “F-For you! I found it…”

You stare at the shell clutched in a dark tentacle. Tentatively, you reach for it. “Why?”

“Ah. W-Well, my mother says gifts are an important part of any bond. In the sea, we give gifts to the ones we care about. To friends and family and o-other halves…”

You turn the shell over in your hands. “We’re not friends.”

“Not yet,” he tries, but you shake your head.

“You ran away from me the last time we met. That’s not very friendly.”

His face flushes blue and he opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. It wasn’t on purpose.

You’re already turning on your heel. “I don’t have time for this.” You toss the shell over your shoulder. Azul watches it land in the sand, just out of his grasp.

“W-Wait! I… I want to talk to you. Please don’t go. You’re going to be my other half one day, so I’d like to—”

But you’re already dashing across the beach to get to the stairs.

Azul deflates against the rock. Tears overflow in floods. Is it because of him? Is he to blame? Why don’t you want to be his friend? Is it because of the peace treaty? Why?

Why? Why? Why?

Azul doesn’t want to think negatively of you. Humans are sensitive creatures. He reads up on them in the palace library, poring over literature and textbooks in an effort to better understand you. But as the months pass and you seem to simply tolerate him for the sake of the alliance, he begins to suspect something.

It’s made apparent the next time he sees you, where you walk right past the beach to catch up with your brothers. He hides behind the rocks, two blue eyes following your figure until you’re out of sight.

Floyd was right. You are a brat.

And yet he can’t hate you.

On the eve of your eighteenth birthday, Azul meets you in the shallows.

Nowadays you send letters, preferring strained long distance over the personal intimacy of face-to-face relations. These exchanges are purely diplomatic. But now that he’s asked to meet with you, a rare occurrence, you’ve deigned to greet him in person. It’s the least you can do after he’s gone through the trouble to travel here. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him that he’s almost unrecognizable. You remember the round, baby-faced octo-mer from your childhood. The one who lounges against the rocks is leaner now—his features defined, jawline as sharp as his eyes. They cut through the gloom to find you.

“You wished to see me?” You’re in your nightwear, a silky gown with an even softer robe. A cool breeze blows across the beach, and you wrap your arms around yourself for extra warmth. “Azul?”

He hesitates, his gaze trailing up your legs. You’ve also changed a lot in the time you’ve been apart. You’ve grown taller, filling out in places he didn’t know humans could fill. What he’d give to hold you… His mother says he needs to be patient. Fickle thing that you are, you’re the reason he’s spent six years trying to appease you through letters—to win you over and be anything more than that “annoying octopus” you’re doomed to marry. Perhaps it would have been easier to act just as you do if it weren’t for the fact that he’d been elated at the premise of having someone to love. When his mother broached the idea in the days following her meeting with the Land King, he’d stared at her with wide, excited eyes.

“There’s a human girl who wants to be my friend?” he asked, to which his mother smiled and nodded.

More than a friend, actually, but then all he was focused on was finally getting to experience the one thing he’d never known or had: friendship.

Sighing, he foregoes formality and holds out a necklace. It dangles from the tip of his tentacle. Strung on a dainty, silver strand, pearls wink back at you under the moonlight. Azul averts his eyes, his cheeks a pleasant periwinkle.

“Happy birthday…”

“Oh.” You move in closer, taking the necklace from him. His tentacle pursues you, twining delicately around your wrist. “Um… What is it? Do you need—whoa!”

Azul tugs you closer. The sea laps at your ankles. Beneath a tapestry of stars, you meet his azure stare. His features are set with a determination you’ve never seen before.

“I want to start over.”

“Start over?”

“I’d like to be on friendly terms with you. We’re so cold. Distant…” Azul frowns, seeming unsure of what to say or do next. The tentacle laced around your wrist like a bracelet tightens its hold. “We’re to be wed one day. I want to make this work.”

You blink at him. He thinks he may have gotten through to you, having finally broken through layers of stone and ice, but then your nose scrunches and odium shimmers in your gaze.

“That’s impossible. I’m a human. How am I supposed to live with an octopus?” You shake him off with a huff. “I’m not sure what our parents think this will accomplish. I don’t want to be a pawn to be moved around for the sake of peace. I’m my own person.”

Azul’s expression sours. His lip curls up into a sneer. “Well, I don’t find it very enjoyable either. You’re not the only victim in this scenario.”

You exhale an exhausted breath. “Azul, I appreciate the gift, but it doesn’t mean anything if you’re only giving it to me to curry favor.”

I wasn’t, he thinks, but he doesn’t say that. Admitting it would be a weakness. Admitting it would mean coming to terms with an unrequited opinion.

“At least one of us is making a conscious effort.”

“At least one of us isn’t trying so hard. It’s pathetic.”

“You’re not obligated to accept my goodwill.” He smiles, smug. “Yet you do every time. I’d wager you enjoy my materialistic affections.”

“As if.” Despite this, you hold the necklace out of his reach when a tentacle flexes towards it. “It’s mine now.”

“So you are fond of my ‘pathetic’ ways!”

“I’m not!”

You jerk away with a vicious scowl, but your foot catches in the sand and you quickly find yourself tipping backwards. If not for the tentacles that coil around your waist to steady you, you would have fallen on your rear. Your chest heaves with adrenaline. Stunned, you stare at Azul.

“You…caught me,” you breathe, lips parted in awe.

“Did you think I’d let you fall?” He cocks his head at you, grinning playfully. “Why, I’d never! Unless it’s me you’re falling for, in which case I gladly welcome the—”

“You’re such a pest.” Untangling yourself from his grasp, which he allows without scrimmage, you step away from the water’s edge. He watches you secure the pearls around your neck, and his hearts stumble in his chest when you point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t delude yourself with foolish nonsense. I have no interest in you.”

With an indignant harrumph, you start towards the palace.

“May we meet here tomorrow?” Azul calls out after you, testing his luck with what little chance he has.

“Don’t push it.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Good. Keep waiting, dummy!” You break into a sprint, hurrying off into the shadows.

Azul smiles at the empty beach. Whether or not you like him, it doesn’t matter. You’re to be his one day. You’ve always been, ever since he was eleven.

He’ll wait, even if you won’t show.

Ostensibly, twenty-one years wise, you’re getting married today.

Your gown is just as exquisite as your hair and makeup. Pearls cling to your throat and arms—classic wedding attire for merfolk. A thin veil shields the scheme in your stare.

This was an inevitability, but you’re determined to fight it until the end. No matter how quickly time seems to pass, you’ll do everything you can to stall and slow it.

Gripping a sharpened dagger in a resolute fist, you drag it through the long, sprawling train of your gown.

“As if I’d marry an octopus,” you grumble, cutting fine fabric until you’re permitted smoother movement. Gazing at yourself in the mirror, you scowl. “I’m no one’s bride.”

By the time the maids arrive to check on you, you’ve already stolen out the window.

The rowboat sways on choppy water. You’ve watched your brothers do this enough times to have the technique engraved in your memory. Your arms strain with the oars, every muscle screaming in protest, but you fight through the pain. The palace looks smaller and smaller with every passing minute. Eventually, you’re so far out that the land is but a mere speck.

It’s going well. You’re escaping towards a better future—a future without the octopus prince.

You glance towards the horizon. Your boat undulates with the waves.

You’ll miss your brothers, your maids, your personal guard…

Water slops over the edge. You yelp, startled. Have the seas always been so rough?

Despite everything, you’ll miss your father.

Just as you think this, your boat rocks to the side. You grab onto the edge to steady yourself, but it’s already too late. It tips over and you go with it, careening into the sea with a noisy splash. Twin shadows cut seamlessly through the murky water. You catch sight of a yellow eye before you propel yourself towards the sky, coughing and heaving once you break the surface. You grab onto the overturned rowboat, your dagger clutched in one hand.

You search the surface for them, eyes flicking to and fro in a frantic panic.

Somewhere… Anywhere… Where are you?

And then you find them, peering at you from the other side of the boat.

“Go on then,” you spit, glaring. “Kill me.”

Floyd bares his teeth at you. “This time I ain’t gonna leave a scar.”

“You know we mustn’t. That’s not why we’re here.” Jade smiles at you, but there’s something in his eyes that unnerves you. “Your Highness, you should know it’s poor manners to leave the groom on his special day.”

Floyd circles you restlessly. “S’not fair we gotta be nice when you’re so mean.”

“I’m not going to marry him.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in that matter.”

“What’d Azul ever do to you?”

You attempt to answer that before realizing the truth. Nothing. He’s done absolutely nothing but be kind and understanding and patient. And I took that, chewed it up, and spat in his face.

“If you used that brain of yours, you wouldn’t have thrown yourself to the sharks. We can’t get to you on land.” “But it’s fair game in the sea,” Floyd finishes, every syllable dripping with pride. “Stupid Two Legs.”

“I’m inclined to agree. You’re not the brightest human. A pity.”

“My brother should’ve gutted you when he had the chance. Maybe then—”

You see the whites of Floyd’s eyes when he strikes, launching himself at you with a clawed hand, sharp, pointed teeth aiming for your jugular.

This is it. You’re dead.

…or not.

The searing pain never comes, nor does the impending laceration. You cling to the boat and watch dark tentacles rise from the depths to close around Floyd, ensnaring him in a firm hold. He thrashes, snapping his jaws like a deranged beast.

“Let go of me, Azul! Lemme at her! She’s a bitch! I’ll kill her!”

“There will be none of that.” Azul tuts. “I don’t intend to marry a corpse.”

Jade swims over to you. “My feelings aren’t hurt in the slightest, Your Highness. If it weren’t for your status and connection to Azul, I’d have disemboweled you ages ago. Quite a relief for you, yes?”

You swallow your horror, allowing him to detach you from the boat so that Azul can turn it over. A tentacle curls around your waist, lifts you from the water, and places you back in the boat. You stare at your hands. They’re trembling. You can hardly hold the dagger properly.

It takes some convincing and a lukewarm apology from you, but Floyd promises to be good. He doesn’t do anything as you’re pulled back to shore, but he does stare at you for the duration of the trip, his eyes tracking your every movement. You press yourself into the belly of the boat, defeated and riddled with anxiety.

Your father isn’t pleased. When you see his enraged expression, the debate dies on your tongue. “You are to marry the prince,” he seethes, pulling you aside, “or else you jeopardize the peace of our kingdom.”

You’re washed and fitted in a new dress. Guards are stationed at all possible routes to prevent another escape.

When you walk down the beach to meet Azul in the shallows, your veil shields the sadness in your stare.

The ceremony carries on without incident. Floyd watches from the water, lurking like Death. You speak rehearsed vows in robotic monotone, mindlessly floating through the rigmarole like it’s second nature. Azul smiles at you through it all, sweetly smitten.

It’s a nightmare lived in real time.

Humans and mers alike congratulate you, cheering for this momentous occasion. Your tongue is numb by the end of it all. You’ve expressed faux gratitude so many times that it hurts to even force the words. And now, as night descends and the party kicks into full swing, you’re left reflecting on the day.

Freedom feels so far away. You’ll never know it again, will you?

Azul guides you away from the crowd. Firelight grows dim with the distance. Eventually, you find yourself taking refuge in a tiny inlet cut into the beach. A rocky outcrop hides you from the moon’s spotlight.

“I’m not upset,” Azul murmurs, curling a tentacle up your leg. “But Floyd is.”

“His brother’s the one who hurt me all those years ago.”

“That was before the union.”

“I’m not letting it go.”

“Perhaps not now, but you will. One day.”

You don’t believe him.

“Our people are at peace. Aren’t you pleased, my love?”

You shove him away, gathering heaps of your dress to walk in calf-deep water. “I’m not your love.”

“Legally, you are.”

“That means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing.”

Azul sighs. “Even now, after everything, you’re still trying to flee.”

“For good reason. I don’t want to be tied down.”

Azul inches closer. Another tentacle wraps slyly around your ankle.

“You’re so beautiful. I feel like the luckiest mer in the sea. To be able to call you my own… My beautiful bride.” He pulls you closer. You resist weakly. “Now that we’re alone I can finally tell you the very thing I’ve thought of ceaselessly for years.”

A tentacle slides up your leg, straying closer to your inner thigh. You flinch away.

“Azul, wait. I don’t want—”

“I love you.”

You squirm in his hold, attempting to thwart the tentacles that grab at your every limb. You trip over yourself in the process. This time Azul doesn’t catch you. Water laps at your dress, soaking through at once. He’s radiant beneath the moon. Dreading his touch, you scoot as far from him as you can get in the water, hoping to reach land. Azul seizes your wrist and pulls you into his arms. You fight him with more force.

“No… No, let go of me! Release me!”

“Why should I? You’re mine now. Is it not customary for a married couple to consummate their new bond? We do something similar in the sea.” A tentacle brushes your veil back so that he can look upon your pretty face. “I’d take you to a quiet space in the seagrass, lay you down in the sand, and then—”

“I don’t want that! No!” You lash out, swinging blindly. A tentacle shoots out to stop your arm before it can smack him. “Azul, please—”

“I was patient. I waited and waited in hopes that you might warm up to me. I cherished you in silence. I learned your language. Your customs. Your habits. I wrote to you. Traveled to meet you. And yet you look at me as if I’m a monster…”

It’s not the devastated look in his eyes or the edge in his voice that scares you. It’s the startling gentleness with which he handles you. Tentacles loop around your body, exploring beneath your gown. You wriggle in discomfort, yelping when suckers brush against the frilly garter secured around your thigh. Azul hums and holds you up in his tentacles, using two to spread your legs so that he may slide it from your leg.

“I wasn’t forceful. I courted you kindly. You accepted all of my gifts. You wore them proudly and I thought—I knew you would love me, too. You were mine from the moment our parents signed that agreement. And if you leave me, you’ll break a political promise and then our kingdoms will go to war and I’ll be sure to collect the heads of your family first. Each one of them, and you will watch as I bring ruin to the kingdom you love so fondly.”

“N-No… Please stop. Please.”

“I’ve waited ten years for you.” A tentacle hooks around your panties. You thrash again, shaking your head at him. He remains unconvinced, watching with gleeful eyes as your nudity is revealed to him. “And aren’t you an angel? Oh, you’re so pretty…”

Like your hopes, your panties are cast aside.

The tip of a tentacle prods curiously at your pussy. Your breath hitches.

“W-Wait! You… You can’t.” His eyes find yours, and you swallow the rising sob. “T-That can’t go inside… It won’t fit. It won’t—”

Azul smiles. “Of course it will. The human body is capable of marvelous feats.”

Even though it’s pointless, you struggle. “I can’t! Please… Azul, I’m scared. Please don’t do this…”

A lone tentacle slides into your hand. Thoughtless, you hold tight.

“My love, there’s no need to cry. I’m not going to hurt you.” He brings you closer, kissing your tears away. “I’m here for you. I’ve always been here, even when you didn’t seem to need me.”

You hiccup, your chest heaving. It’s not lonely for long, for he pulls your dress down your shoulders. Your breasts spill free and are quickly cradled in cold hands. Azul watches your expression with an intense focus while he rolls your nipples between his fingers. You grit your teeth, refusing to respond. But then the tentacle between your legs finds your clit and a sucker affixes to it, suctioning slowly. You gasp and throw your head back, bolts of pleasure racing up your spine. It happens in a white-hot flash. You slacken in his grasp.

Azul laughs, astonished. “Did you cum? Already?”

“Nooo,” you whine, closing your hand around the tentacle once more. Another one strokes your cheek. “You’ve had your fun. Now let go of me…”

“What a silly demand.”

He tugs on your nipples. You groan, lashes fluttering. “Ooh… Stop. No, stop it… Don’t touch there. Not—haa… Not there!”

“You’re so sensitive.” He drags the underside of a tentacle along your cunt and shivers. “And so wet… Is this your season? Do humans experience such a thing?”

You’ve no idea what he’s referring to, but before you can dwell on it he leans down to take your perky bud in his mouth. Your free hand grabs at his hair, pinning him to your chest. His tongue laves across it, warm and wet. You shouldn’t enjoy it so much, and yet you can’t stop yourself from crying out.

He hums against your skin, beaming like a devil. You can’t hate him. He’s your husband. He’s yours. You shouldn’t hate him.

You’re falling apart in his tentacles, grinding down to chase the bliss provided by the underside of the appendage clinging to your pussy. The sinful squelch of skin on skin fills the quiet inlet. The scent of sex and salt intermingles. It’s wrong and it’s right. It’s instinct, carnal and corrupt. Azul groans against your breast, your teat between his teeth.

“Az—ooh!” You tug on his hair, insatiable. Your brain is fogging over with lust. You don’t want to lose yourself in this madness. You can’t. “N-No more… No more.” 

But he’s not listening. He pinches your other nipple between his fingers, and that’s all it takes for you to unravel.

In the aftermath, the tapered tip of a thicker tentacle squirms between your thighs. Mindlessly, you spread your legs and lift your hips for him. It presses in shallowly, a jarring experience.

“Not inside—don’t! You can’t!”

Azul pulls away from you, his expression scrunched in woozy ecstasy. “Why not?” he mumbles, smiling stupidly. “You’re my bride. It’s only fair…”

Before you can bicker, he kisses you. His tongue pursues yours in a sloppy tango. You lick into his mouth, desperate and dazed. Lost in a sea of salacity, shipwrecked on an island of forgotten inhibitions.

The tentacle pushes through rings of tight, slick muscle. Tears spring to your eyes. It feels weird and foreign, so unlike your fingers. He holds you close, minding his strength and pace. It fills you slowly, reaching places you’ve never been able to feel. The lust numbs your senses and gives way to something animalistic—a base desire you’ve suppressed. Azul rocks the appendage deeper until it’s pushed up against the entrance to your womb, squeezed snugly in your warm walls.

“I-It’s in…” you mumble once he’s broken the kiss, a strand of saliva connecting your mouths. “It’s really…inside me…”

Azul kisses your cheek and pets you with a tentacle. “We were made for each other.”

Surely not, you think, but it feels so when he draws back and thrusts in. Maybe he’s right.

He fucks you gently, savoring every single sound you make. He tells you he loves you, whispers it over and over like it’s prayer. You nod dumbly, grabbing at his hand to hold it. The both of you are gasping in unison, chasing cloud nine. In just a few more deep strokes, his tip bullying its way to your womb, he finally finds his end. A thin substance fills you up in plentiful amounts. Distantly, you think it’s water until he drags your hips further down. Your mouth drops open in a strangled scream as something round and gelatinous passes through. It settles in your womb, and you know right away that it shouldn’t be there.

You panic. “W-Wait… Wha—Zul… Stop… No, I don’t want—”

“It’s all right,” he breathes, his mouth on your shoulder. He soothes you with soft shushes and even softer kisses. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

You dig your nails into the tentacle curled in your palm just as a second orb squeezes through. He groans, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Finally…” He pants, a wobbly smile stretching on his delirious countenance. “Finally, my love, my dear—oh, my beloved bride!”

He cradles you like a mother would a newborn. You lie there as he fills you, your voice hoarse from babbling and bewailing. These things—little orbs of jelly—are stuffed into your womb, and by the time you surpass twenty you lose count and blank out, trembling through yet another orgasm. You’re not sure how many more he has left or how many more you can possibly fit. It feels too good to think about that.

“Bigger. They’ll get bigger. You’ll look so pretty—round and full and soft.”

Dizzy, you glance at the bloated dome that is your belly. Your gown strains over it, an impressively deceptive size that you almost mistake for pregnancy. That’s when it clicks. Eggs. These are eggs.

“I’ll make sure they survive. All of them—as many as I possibly can. I’ll stay by your side. I’ll keep you content. I’ll fill you with love—so much love—an abundance of it, and you’ll never know emptiness again,” he rambles, resting a tentacle over your distended middle.

It’s not just a senseless sweet nothing. It’s a promise.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Ford wakes up in Dimension 52, hopped up on painkillers after his metal plate installation surgery, and he’s just rambling about how he misses you.

While the surgery may have been a success but Ford was feeling a sense of melancholy within his chest the second he opened his eyes.

‘Y/n?’ His voice slurred as your name was the first thing to leave his lips before realising that you weren’t by his side, the seven eyed oracle Jheselbraum was.

‘They are safe at home, safe from harm.’ She replied with all knowing certainty that still left Ford a little miffed.

‘I miss them,’ Ford began as memories of you being you flashed in the forefront of his mind, ‘they would use to wear my turtlenecks and trenchcoats, I hope they still do even if I’m too far away to see them do so.’ He chuckles halfheartedly as the ache in his chest only grew the more he reminisced. ‘The red turtleneck was their favourite and they looked really cute in it too that I just wanted to squish their cheeks and kiss them…but I’m too cowardly.’ Ford then pouts.

the pain medication was making him spill some truths of his heart that was entirely missing you and your sweet smile, your cute laughter and your well…everything! All the things he wanted to say to you, every thought he ever had about you and even his favourite things about you were coming to light in his post surgery stupor.

but regardless of what was causing Ford’s lips to have become loosened because all he wanted to talk about was you, you, and oh you!

‘Too cowardly to tell them how much I care about them, too cowardly to tell them that the moment I realised what I felt for them was beyond platonic, so much so to the point where I stayed awake at night thinking they’d hate me if I ever told them how I truly felt.’ Ford admits as he looks up to the high ceiling of the room he was slowly recovering in, only to feel the most alone he had ever felt in his entire life.

Ford swallowed thickly as his mouth seemed to keep telling Jheselbraum just how much the lack of your presence had affected him. ‘They kept me sane during times where I believed myself to have gone mad. They kept me company during my late nights of research, not once complaining about their own lack of sleep because they were too busy worrying about mine to notice the dark bags beginning to form under their eyes…but I did and I blamed myself for that.’

Ford trailed off as he distinctly remembered your look of exhaustion and the worry he felt, even now when he was god knows how many dimensions away from you he was, and the reassuring smile you’d give him when you knew he was questioning your ability to keep going.

You were far more stronger than he was but he couldn’t help but wonder how you were doing now, now that he was gone and whether or not you’ve been taking care of yourself.

‘They were the first person to hold my hand and not get scared.’ Ford said with a wide smile. ‘They didn’t care whether I had an extra finger or whatever. To them I was Ford, the loveable but sometimes Insufferable smart ass.’ Ford couldn’t help but hysterically chuckle at your nicknames for him because it was true! He was an insufferable smart ass but then remembered how you’d call him your insufferable smart ass. Your as in he was yours to call an insufferable smart ass, nobody else’s.

‘I miss them so much that I feel an ache here.’ He then sloppily points to what he thinks was his heart, however the pain meds had him pointing at his left arm unknowingly but Jheselbraum knew what he meant, you were indeed an important figure in Ford’s life that he’d find some difficulty trying to navigate a life without you in it. ‘It hurts a lot whenever I think about how much of a distance there is between us now. It hurts even more knowing that they might’ve moved on, while I still hold to hope to one day hold them in my arms once again, breathing them in and that really nice shampoo they use.’ Ford lets his arm drop to his side, eyes never once looking away from the ceiling.

‘I want to go home.’ He then said.

‘And you shall in due time.’ Jheselbraum reassures him.

‘Not to the shack,’ Ford said with a frown, ‘I meant back to them, back to y/n.’ He clarifies. ‘For they are the only home I’ll ever want to go back to.’

‘And like I said Stanford Pines, you shall in due time, but that time is not now.’ Jheselbraum says as she stands up from the chair, brushing herself down as she moves to walk out of the room to leave Ford to rest. ‘But you will see your beloved again, that is for certain.’ She adds.

‘Do you think they’ve missed me?’ Ford wonders aloud.

‘More than anything.’ Was all the oracle said before leaving the room.

A smile crept on Ford’s face as he felt himself succumbing to sleep. ‘I missed them too, more than anything…I’m coming home my dear…don’t stay up too late okay?’

[mapis-putellas]

Show off

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Reader

Words: 1400

Warnings: none

Summary: Alexia challenges you to a pull-up competition.

Notes: this was fun to write. Enjoy <3

[Prompt list]

"Amor, come on!" Alexia complains as she loops her arms around your waist and rests her chin against your shoulder, peppering your face with soft kisses.

You roll your eyes exasperatedly. "Ale, I've already said no. You only want to do it to prove how much stronger you are than me." You pat her hands placatingly as you step out of her arms to continue with folding the laundry.

"What? No. That is not the truth," she exclaims in mock offence as she clutches at her chest. "You have been practicing, yes? At the gym with mapi?"

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you turn to face her. "Yes, I have. But it's been a week. How much progress do you think I would have been able to make in seven days, ale?"

Alexia shrugs as she easily lifts herself onto the counter, "I do not know. A lot?" She kicks her legs absently, ignoring the way you glare at her when her feet -clad in shoes might you add, hit the white cupboards below.

You sigh in relinquishment. "For you, maybe, but I'm very much a beginner. You, my love, are not."

"Sí, I know. But por favor, amor? For me?"

Alexia wasn't one to beg. In your three and a half year relationship, you think you’d only heard her do so a handful of times and the majority of those were in the bedroom. Otherwise, she could be very convincing when coaxing you into doing what she wants, so there was ultimately never any need for her to beg.

"Ale..." You trail off.

Alexia slides off of the counter, her feet landing on the floor with a soft thud. She makes her way over to you, large hands rising to cup your cheeks before leaning down and pressing her lips oh so tenderly against your own. You sigh on resignation as your own hands rise to rest on either side of her waist, fully aware that she had once again gotten her way.

A few moments later you pull away, eyes rolling when you were immediately met with a smirk.

"Okay. We can do a pull-up contest. But I have one condition." You warn.

Alexia nods seriously. "Sí, mi amor. Anything."

"Any teasing, smack talk or bragging, you're on the couch tonight. Understand?"

"Smack talk?" She tilts her head to the side.

You cup her face, tracing the pads of your thumbs beneath her eyes. "It's the act of criticizing another person. Which you will not do to me when you win."

Alexia immediately shakes her head as she takes your hands and places a gentle kiss to the insides of your wrist. "I will not bebé. Promise."

Prior experience has you want wanting to believe her, but figuring you would be nice and give her the benefit of the doubt, you let out a quiet sigh before begrudgingly nodding your head.

You can't help but laugh at the way her face lights up as she all but yanks you into her arms, your feet now dangling in the air as your hands clutch to the back of her shirt.

God, you were such a sucker.

"Okay, okay. When?" You breath, wiggling out of her arms before turning and placing the folded clothes into the laundry basket to be put away later. Or, well, whenever you get around to it if you were being completely honest with yourself. Probably sometime next week.

Your hand was immediately grabbed the second it was unoccupied, and you allow her to pull you out of the kitchen and towards her small home gym. There was a pull-up bar fixed to the doorframe, yoga mats and dumbbells in corner of the room along with many other pieces of equipment you’d yet to learn the names of.

"I will go first, amor," she pulls off her shirt leaving her in a black sports bra and red shorts. "You count, yes?"

Your eyes whip up from where they'd fallen down to her six pack, and you nod silently, watching as she smirks before raising her arms and grabbing onto the pull-up bar with ease. She was going before you could blink, arm muscles becoming more prominent as she lifts herself up and down like it was nothing.

Your eyes somehow seem to drift down to her six pack again on their own accord, and you decide it would probably be best to ignore her laugh so her ego didn't get any bigger than it already was.

She was back on the floor before you could even notice she was done, slightly out of breath as she rubs her hands together and makes her way over to you. Your eyes slowly climb up her body until they were staring into her own.

"Amor, did you count?" She reaches up and closes your mouth, and you flush heavily as you push her hand away and cross your arms against your chest. “You did not, did you?”

"Yes, I did." You feign your assertiveness a lot more confidently than you felt, and Alexia rolls her eyes knowingly as she nods her head in begrudging acceptance.

"How many?"

"Huh?”

“Pull-ups, bebé. How many?”

“Uhh…”

"Let's say, twenty, yes?" She grins, and you sigh dejectedly before nodding.

"Sure. Twenty." There was no way in hell you were going to be able to beat that. Seemingly having more confidence in you than you did in yourself, Alexia coaxes you over to the bar with a gentle hand on the small of your back.

"Ready?" She braces a hand on either side of your waist, and you take a deep breath before nodding and reaching up your arms. She lifts you with ease, making sure you had a good hold before rounding your body and standing a little in front of you.

Ignoring the fact your hands were beginning to burn already, you use all your strength and pull your chin up and over the bar with a quiet grunt.

"Sí. Muy bien bebé." Alexia praises, and you smile slightly as you once again pull yourself up and over the bar. You mange to repeat this three more times before your arms start to burn. Feeling a little pathetic at only being able to complete five pull-ups in comparison to Alexia’s

twenty, you grit your teeth and somehow manage to pull yourself up two before times before sending Alexia a look that says get me down.

Alexia steps forward and loops her dams beneath your behind immediately, and you let out a sigh of relief as you let go of the bar and rub your sore hands together.

Supporting your body with ease, Alexia looks up at you with a proud smile on her face. You can't help but mimic it as you circle your arms around her shoulders.

"Buena chica," she praises, leaning forward and kissing your chest. You flush just slightly. "I did not think you could do that many."

"It was only seven." You shrug.

"No no." Alexia shakes her head as she bounces you up slightly to get a better grip, your legs now hooked around her bare waist. "How many could you do before?"

"One, I think?" you struggle to recall the specific number due to Mapi yelling at you. Carry on chica. You got this! Use those chicken arms! You’d been quite offended honestly.

“Maybe two?" You doubt yourself.

"Exactamente! And you did seven today. That is five more, no? You are getting strong." She grasps your bicep between her hand and gives it a squeeze, making you laugh quietly as your own hands tangle through the baby hairs at the nape of her neck.

"Soon I'll be stronger than you." You muse, wiggling your eyebrows playfully.

"No, amor," Alexia states seriously, and you tilt your head to the side. "No one is as strong as me."

"Oh, is that so?" You laugh, and Alexia grins smugly as she makes her way back over to the pull-up bar. You stare at her in confusion, aware she was up to something but not knowing what.

"Hold on tight." Is all she says in place of an explanation, and you can't help but yelp when she lets you go and reaches for the bar above you both.

Complying and wrapping your body completely around her own as tight as you physically could, you stare gobsmacked as she begins doing pulls-up with the same ease as before.

"Show off." You grumble, Alexia's laugh echoing around the room.

**

Tags:

@simp4panos @girlgenius1111 @goldenempyrean @codiemarin

[delulujuls]

snow scales | cregan stark

hi, here comes the big boy aka the wolf of the north. i know that cregan got like three minutes total on a screen but man, the amount of babies that i would give him

anyway, for sure i want to write probably two more parts of this so watch out!

summary: westeros is at the gates of war and to gain allies, king's landing sends one of its dragons to winterfell to marry the northern wolf and increase the chances of winning the war.

warnings: none (?) i believe

pairing: fem!targtower reader x cregan stark

Westeros stood on the brink of war and no one could prevent it.

Rhaenyra, occupying Dragonstone, was gathering armies and allies around her. Aegon was doing the same, though he was merely a pawn in the hands of those wiser than himself. Nevertheless, the Targaryen family was split in two: one side wore black, the other green. However, it seemed that the Dragon Family had not just split in two but shattered like a broken glass.

One of the dining halls in the Red Keep hosted a silent dinner. Since the king's death, meals had passed in silence. At the head of the table, where Viserys once sat, now sat Aegon. Next to him was his mother, then the Hand of the King. On the new king’s left sat Aemond, followed by their two younger sisters. No one exchanged even a glance.

After dinner, everyone left the table and went their separate ways, but Alicent stopped her older daughter, asking her to have a word. The girl nodded and they went to the mother's chambers.

"Has something happened?" the young princess asked once they were alone. The woman quickly reached for a jug of wine and filled her goblet, taking several large sips. The alcohol, however, did not ease the knot in her throat. Alicent clutched the goblet in her hand and sat down, looking at her daughter. She stared at her for a few moments in silence, as if trying to memorize as many details of her as possible. If she could, she would have imprinted her image on her mind.

"Mother—" "You will go north," Alicent interrupted her, declaring it like a crossbow bolt. She knew this revelation would not be easy for her. Accepting the news would be equally difficult for her daughter.

"What?" the girl frowned. "Me? To the North?"

The woman nodded and sighed, wanting to gather some courage and convince herself that what she was doing was right.

"You know well that war is coming, and even if we wanted to, it is inevitable," she returned her gaze to her daughter’s face, who was looking at her with a slight frown between her brows. "We need allies, and the most are in the North. We must forge an alliance with them."

"Why are you entrusting me with such task?" she asked, shaking her head. "I understand you won't send Aegon, but Aemond? Ser Criston?"

Alicent tightened her grip on the goblet, and if it had been made of a weaker material, it would have shattered in her hand by now.

"Only you can bring the North closer to us."

The young princess frowned even more and shook her head. She didn’t understand any of this.

"Am I to go there alone?" she looked back at her mother, who only nodded. "How long am I to be there?"

"You will marry Cregan Stark," she announced, placing the goblet on her lap. "There is no stronger alliance than marriage. Rhaenyra can do nothing about it."

The girl scoffed in disbelief and took a few steps back.

"This is absurd, utter madness," she believed her mother was joking, but the woman's face still had the same expression. "But you promised me to Aegon!"

"Aegon broke off the engagement," she said, looking at her daughter's face. "He knows it is necessary."

The young princess laughed bitterly, and tears, hot as molten steel, streamed down her cheeks.

"The North will not stand with a usurper, you know that very well!"

"Lord Stark is extremely pleased with the prospect of marrying a Targaryen and eagerly awaits you," she said almost mechanically. She had been repeating this sentence nonstop for days, as if trying to convince herself that what is she doing was right. However, she couldn’t bear to look at her daughter's tear-streaked, bitter face.

"You're a monster," she sobbed, turning and grabbing the door handle.

"We all must sacrifice for the greater good," she said, but her daughter no longer heard her.

The shaken princess hurriedly left the castle, heading to the Dragonpit. She sobbed bitterly, tears streaming down her cheeks. When she heard Vermithor, she quickened her pace, running. When she saw the dragon, her heart momentarily lifted. It broke, however, when she saw the massive collar around the beast’s neck and the heavy chain that bound it. She cried out, reaching out and touching the dragon’s snout.

"What have they done to you?"

The bronze giant looked weakened, likely given a massive dose of something to sedate him during the collaring. The young princess couldn’t believe what her own family was capable of.

"There, it's alright," she ran her hands over his snout, though she herself was shattered into pieces. Sadness, grief, and despair mixed with fury. She walked around the dragon and stood before the collar clasp, grabbing the chain and pulling with all her strength. But even with that, it didn’t budge.

The girl screamed in anger, her scream not sounding like that of a teenager. It sounded like the roar of an enraged dragon, yet even the beast’s roar couldn’t break the brass chains.

"I’m so sorry," the girl sobbed, helplessly kneeling by the beast’s snout and hugging it with all her might. "I’m sorry."

The young princess did not return to the castle. She spent the night in the Dragonpit, nestled against the side of her dragon. She cried until sleep overcame her. Vermithor covered her with his wing.

The next morning, when the Dragonkeepers were ordered to bring the princess, the dragon roared fiercely, not allowing them to approach. The girl woke immediately.

"Princess," one of the men spoke, standing at a distance the dragon permitted. "The queen summons you to the castle."

"She is not the queen," the princess muttered, sniffing. She stood and wiped her face with her hands. She felt tears welling up under her eyelids again. Vermithor sensed her emotions and abandoned his aggressive stance, laying his snout flat on the ground. The girl smiled sadly and hugged the dragon one last time.

"Geros ilas, uēpa raqiros," she said, raising her head and looking at the bronze giant. She tenderly stroked his scales. Bitter tears once again wetted her cheeks, but she wiped them away with a clenched fist. "Nyke jāhor māzigon arlī skori issa jēda māzigon, se hēnkirī īlon jāhor zālagon ry lī qilōni gōntan bisa naejot īlva." (Farewell, old friend. I will return when my time comes, and together we will burn all those who did this to us.)

She walked away, not looking back. She heard the dragon's roar and cry, the clanking of chains, and the flapping of wings. But she left the Dragonpit alone.

At the castle gates, two carriages and about four dozen knights waited, all on horses and in shining armor. Alicent waited by one carriage, accompanied by the Hand of the King. Ser Criston also looked like he was being sent on a journey, probably to make sure than the princess will not run away. However, neither Aegon, Aemond, nor Helaena were among the crowd. The girl felt like spitting in her mother’s and the Hand’s faces. She could only guess that her siblings knew nothing about this. No one could convince her that Aegon had agreed to break the engagement. He might be foolish and reckless, but he loved his sister sincerely. And Helaena? She would never have let her go.

Alicent wanted to say something, reached out to her daughter, but the girl didn’t even look at her. She got into the carriage and slammed the door. She would return and burn them all.

For several days, until the first stop, the young princess didn’t say a word to anyone. She didn’t eat or drink much, which did not go unnoticed by several of her maids who had been sent with her. Fearing the princess planned to starve herself to death, they tried to persuade her to eat at least small amounts. Sometimes they succeeded, sometimes not.

As a result, the girl lost a lot of weight during the journey. Her dresses became too large, her eyes sunken, and her hair, once like glowing gold, now resembled spider silk. The princess stopped spending the journey in tears only when the entourage passed Harrenhal. She remained silent, and the feasts thrown by the lords to host her were always the first she left, apologizing and explaining a headache. No one blamed her.

As the entourage moved further, the days grew shorter and the nights colder. Winterfell was near, but the approaching winter was even nearer.

The Targaryen princess reached the northern capital after over two moons.

At the maid's suggestion, the girl donned a thick fur coat, and as soon as she stepped outside her carriage, she was greeted by piercing cold. She had seen snow on the journey, but there was much more of it here, and it still fell from the sky. Lead-colored clouds hung low, and snowflakes swirled in the wind, falling onto the icy ground. They also fell on her snow-like hair, which the frosty wind blew, kissing her cheeks in greeting.

Cregan Stark, the young lord of Winterfell and her future husband, also came to greet her.

The young man was the textbook definition of a Northerner. He was only a little older than her, but his sharp features made him appear more mature than he actually was. The Wolf of the North was over a head taller than her, with broad shoulders and a well-built physique, now covered under a thick fur. The wind tousled his shoulder-length brown hair, and his toughened skin was impervious to the cold. Not like the girl’s cheeks, now rosy as petals of a fresh bloomed flower.

"Princess," he spoke, his voice deep and marked by an accent. "I welcome you to Winterfell."

"My Lord," she forced a smile, though she knew it must have looked more like a grimace. The Dragon Princess was aware that she would have to endure many more forced smiles and artificial courtesies.

The Wolf of the North, however, did not require any courtesy from her. He knew why the girl had been sent to him and what was expected of her; he had even heard rumors of a broken engagement. He decided not to pressure her and let her get used to the new place, to the North. After all, a Dragon had ended up among a pack of Wolves.

The wedding did not wait for the girl to get accustomed to Winterfell; it took place just a few days after her arrival at the Stark stronghold. The Dragon Princess had exchanged only a few formal sentences with the Lord of the North before she had to call him husband. The Godswood, where the wedding was held, had seen many a forced marriage. The girl had even come to terms with the bedding, but the Young Wolf announced that it would not take place.

"Perhaps one day a spark of affection will ignite within you, and you will come to my arms of your own accord," he said when he saw the questioning look on her face.

The night after the wedding, the marriage was spent apart. Every subsequent night was as well.

Days passed, and the young princess gradually came to terms with her new reality. She knew this was her life now, that she was the wife of the Wolf of the North and the Lady of Winterfell. The choice she had been forced into might not have pleased her, but it did not mean it was a bad one.

After some time, the girl began to spend more time outside her chambers. She abandoned reading and took up sewing, helping the servants mend linens and clothes. She insisted on mending her husband's clothes herself, asking that no one else do it for her. Although it was not her duty, every morning and evening she fed the animals. The young princess missed her dragon dearly, but she found joy in spending time with horses, feeding chickens, or petting rabbits.

One of the servants once ran terrified to inform Cregan that the princess was endangering herself with the direwolves. The Lord, worried, quickly went with her to the scene, only to find there was no reason for concern. The girl sat motionless on the ground, allowing the animals to sniff her. Two wolves wagged their tails, and one even lay down beside her. Cregan's heart swelled at the sight, not because of her interaction with the animals but because, for the first time, he saw a smile on her face. He could have sworn it was genuine.

The marriage, however, still did not see them spending much time together, nor talking much. This did not mean the Young Wolf was not interested in his wife; quite the opposite. Both morning and evening, he would ask the servants how the girl was doing. After some time, the young princess began to do the same.

"What is he like?" she asked one day, while she and two Winterfell servants were mending clothes. Though she did not ask directly, the women knew she meant Lord Stark. They exchanged glances and only smiled. Did her question mean that the Dragon Princess was beginning to warm to the Wolf Lord?

"He has a very big heart, my lady," one admitted. "At first glance, he may seem intimidating, but he is a gentle giant. Lord Stark is very kind."

The girl lowered her gaze, focusing on her work. She smiled slightly.

"I think he is a good man too," she admitted.

"That does not mean he can be trifled with," added the other. "He is kind when someone gives him the same. But he is a wolf, my lady. He can bite if provoked."

Indeed, Cregan appeared to be a man of steel nerves who could turn that steel into a sword, with which he could take a life without a second thought.

When the princess had finished her duties, she dressed and went outside to spend some time in the stables. In the courtyard, a few men were preparing for a journey, saddling horses. Among them was her husband.

"My lady," he smiled at the sight of her. Each of the men bowed slightly.

"Are you going somewhere, my lord?" she asked, stroking his horse’s muzzle.

"Hunting," he announced, fastening a crossbow to the saddle. "I will return before nightfall."

"Could I accompany you?" she asked without much thought. The young man's lips twitched upward. The unexpected proposal pleased him.

"You would do me a great honor, my lady."

And so the Wolf and the Dragon set off together, side by side. They rode at the front, accompanied by four men. No one questioned the princess's participation.

When they reached the depths of the forest, they tied the horses to a tree and continued on foot. At a certain point, they all split up, but the Wolf and the Dragon stayed together. They were silent, but it was not an awkward silence. Their mutual company was enough.

"Look," he leaned toward her, whispering. "There, between the trees. Beyond the fallen trunk."

The girl quickly found the point he indicated and smiled at the sight of a deer. The stag was large, and its antlers were even larger. It calmly stripped moss from the fallen tree.

Cregan silently removed the crossbow from his shoulder. The girl felt a pang in her heart. Of course, she thought. They hadn’t come for a stroll.

The Young Wolf noticed her troubled expression. He knew what saddened her.

"I never let them suffer longer than necessary," he assured. The girl quickly nodded, causing a tear to roll down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away with her hand.

Cregan drew the arrow and raised the crossbow, aiming at the deer. A moment of silence, a whoosh of air, and a dull thud. The stag fell to the ground. The young man glanced at his wife's face one last time and moved ahead. When they reached the deer, it was already dead. Blood flowed from its mouth, and the once-living body was now motionless. Cregan approached to retrieve the arrow, but the girl beat him to it. She knelt by the dead animal and gently ran her hand along its neck, stroking it soft, golden fur. For a moment, she gazed at the deer, absorbing its beauty. Tears welled up in her eyes again, so she quickly grabbed the arrow, pulled it out, and stood up, handing it to her husband. Cregan took it in silence.

Although neither of them spoke for the rest of the hunt, an understanding formed between them, a sort of alliance. The culture and customs of the North were so wild and distant for someone from the South. The young princess, however, knew that Winterfell was her home now. And if it was her home, she had to learn its customs. Even if they were far from her own beliefs.

That evening, despite the darkness, the Wolf Lord could have sworn that the scales of the Southern Dragon glistened with a snowy sheen.

A few days after the first closer interaction between the young marriage, Cregan decided he would like to spend some time with the girl again. He knocked on her chamber door, and when she let him in, he entered. The girl was sitting by the fireplace, stuffing pillows with feathers, but she smiled at the sight of her husband.

"My lady," he nodded to her, lightly returning her smile.

"My lord," she replied, reaching for a needle and beginning to sew the pillow. "Something brings you here?" she asked after a moment when he silently observed her deftly working fingers.

"I would like to introduce someone to you," he replied, causing the girl to frown slightly in surprise.

"Do we have guests?"

The young man nodded and reached for her fur. Seeing his gesture encouraging her to stop working, she set her task aside and stood up. She walked over to him and turned, allowing him to help her dress. Shortly afterward, they went outside.

"Who are these guests? Did we know they were coming?" she asked, glancing at her husband.

"We expected them, but we didn't know when they would arrive," he explained.

They passed the courtyard, which was empty. There was no sign that Winterfell had visitors. The girl remained silent until they entered one of the sheds. This particular one housed the direwolves. She was about to ask what this was all about when she heard squeaks and whimpers. As she connected the dots, the frown disappeared from her brow, and her violet eyes lit up.

"No way, it can't be."

Cregan smiled and gestured for her to come closer. Around the corner, on a bed of straw, lay a she-wolf. Four pups were latched onto her teats, and one of them, with nearly golden fur, was sleeping a bit further away.

The young princess was genuinely moved by the sight. Cregan smiled as well, not just because of the litter but because of his wife's joy.

"They were born this morning," he announced. "Four females and a male."

The male turned out to be the pup lying away from the pack. He was bigger than the rest and had a bronze coat, a color familiar to the girl. When the little wolf woke up and stretched, Cregan approached and petted the she-wolf's head, silently praising her for a job well done. He picked up the pup that was away from the mother and held him in his arms, then handed him to the girl. The young princess cradled him, stroking him gently.

"So you've returned to me as a direwolf," she said softly, more to herself than to her husband.

Cregan looked at his wife questioningly. The young princess felt his gaze on her.

"My dragon has a very similar color," she explained, scratching the wolf pup behind the ear. "They call him the Bronze Fury, all because of the color of his scales."

"In the skies, is he truly a fury?" he asked, watching her interaction with the pup.

The girl laughed softly and shook her head. "Maybe once, when my great-grandfather rode him. Now he's an old beast. Sometimes I felt he preferred a nap over a ride with me."

Cregan smiled at her words. He noticed that she found joy in animals, especially direwolves and dragons. While he couldn't provide the latter, he was glad he could bring her happiness with the pups.

"He's yours now," he declared when she kissed the pup between the ears. "The Targaryens have dragons, the Starks have direwolves. It's time for you to have your own."

The girl looked again at the pup she was holding and smiled even more. Her heart swelled with emotion.

"Thank you," she said, looking at her husband. Cregan returned her smile.

"What will you name him?"

"Vermithor," she said without hesitation. "I feel he's a dragon in a direwolf's body."

To the servants' concern, they spent several hours in the shed, out of sight of everyone. They sat on the straw among the pups, talking about dragons, direwolves, flights in the clouds, and hunts in the forests. For the first time since they met and got married, they had the chance to learn something about each other.

"I've never seen a dragon," Cregan admitted. His sword lay by his straightened legs, and he leaned his back against the rough wall.

"I wish you to never have to," the girl replied. Her legs were crossed, and in them, like in a nest, slept little Vermithor. "Dragons never bode well."

"But still, they obey you," he looked at her. "How do you manage that?"

"You can't control them completely; they are still wild beasts," she noted. "But the Targaryens have managed to do so to some extent for thousands of years, back when the home of dragons was Valyria."

"Dragons respond only to the old language, right?" The young princess nodded in confirmation. "Just as I've never seen a dragon, I've never encountered that language."

"Zyr sindighy iderēbion, kes as qogralbar," she said, and the Young Wolf smiled. "Se valzi rijinyso sizi vys̄oron" (It is a very rough language, in my opinion. And also not the easiest to learn)

"If I were a dragon and heard something like that, I wouldn't hesitate to follow orders," he replied, making her laugh. Cregan also smiled sincerely. He never thought he'd hear the language of Old Valyria, but even more, he didn't expect to hear such sincere laughter of the Dragon Princess.

Winter began to settle more and more into Winterfell, but the biting cold was defied by the spark of affection that blossomed between the Wolf and the Dragon.

[strawb3rrystar]

the same HH and HB boys with a s/o that murdered a person who was after them, brutally? Like, the boys can barely distinguish the person's face from how much rage their s/o took at 'em, blood n shit everywhere. Love me, a crazy person who would kill someone 4 me 🤑🤑‼️ for example, sumn like the situation that Stolas has Stella, she's always after him. And their hysteric lil s/o drags them to the corpse and is just there grinning proudly and shit like they didn't rescind a mf's body. I feel like Blitz would be so moved "omg🥹🥺" give his s/o headpats and shit but idk again, you're best at writin' about him, love youuu! -🐆

My insides are red, and yours are too.

Pairing: Angel Dust, Husk, Sir Pentious, Alastor, Lucifer Morningstar, Blitzø, Stolas x GN! Reader

Warnings: Violence, talks of murder

Word count: 425

✰HH Masterlist | HB Masterlist

Angel Dust will be more or less freaked out. Like, he's seen dead sinners before, but he didn't think you were capable of murder. Basically, you killed someone at one of the clubs you frequent who made him uncomfortable. Even though he gets freaked out at first, he finds it very sweet that you killed someone to protect him, and not just for fun.

Husk is surprised at first when you show him the body. Like Angel, he didn't think you were capable of murder. Though he warms up to the idea eventually, it's Hell, you're going to need to defend yourself. I'm not sure who you would have killed for him. Maybe someone he lost to in the past?

Sir Pentious is completely shocked that you murdered someone for him. He knew you were capable of fighting since you've fought alongside him before, but he's never seen you so excited about it. He must admit, he finds your enthusiasm to be quite charming. Wants to hear you rant about every detail of the body and how you planned it of course.

Alastor isn't surprised in the slightest. In fact, he loves the fact you killed someone for him. It proves your loyalty. You probably murdered one of his enemies/someone who hates him. Which is a lot to choose from. He finds your joy of killing to be quite similar to his, and he finds it endearing.

Lucifer is now terrified of you. He knows he's stronger than you in every way being the King of Hell, but he can still get scared. He's mostly scared of the look on your face after it happened. Seeing that face in thousands of sinners, he never thought that you would get that look too. And, you know, it scares him because he kinda feels like he's losing you a little bit.

Blitzø is also ecstatic about you murdering someone. He's never seen you do something so badass and he loved the little show you put on for him. Is very supportive, hyping you up and everything. Either thinks you're his best employee or wants to marry you. And there is an in between. It's both!

Stolas will be quite alarmed that you killed someone for him. He's ever grateful however, considering that he's constantly trying to be assassinated. If you killed Stella, first of, what the fuck?? Secondly, he didn't think anyone would actually kill her. Probably helps you make it look like an accident or blame it on someone else so you don't get in trouble.

Star's notes -> The other day my friend and I played 'Phobics' on roblox. Turns out I have a fear of mannequins and being chased lol. We also played Doors and got jumpscared so bad (I hate loud noises)

(Thank you, 🐆 anon, for requesting!) (Requests are open!)

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[surielstea]

Worried Mates

1k celebration request by @mira-says

Pairing: Poly!Bat Boys x Valkyrie!Reader

Summary: Reader gets badly injured and her three mates fuss over her.

Warnings: Light gore | canon-typical violence | injury | hurt/comfort | fluff | angst | happy ending

A.Note: This takes place during the war between humans and fae 500 years before the events of ACoTaR, Reader is a Valkyrie Commander.

2.1k words

"Gods—" I grunt, gripping my aching side. The war between mortals and fae was raging, and it seemed that it wouldn't be stopping any time soon.

When my half-sister, Miryam, had told me that she planned on fleeing with Prince Drakon once the war was over I thought she must've been insane. I only wanted joy for my sister of course, but it was foolish of her to think the two of them could have their happy ending after helping initiate this war.

But now, bleeding out and surrounded by enemies I was starting to understand the appeal of leaving everyone behind and escaping with my mates. I was at death's doorstep, too tired to even lift my sword, and I wanted nothing more than to be in the arms of the males I loved most.

I watched all my companions die off, my friends, Valkyrie's far better than me dying before me. It wasn't right.

I was the commander of the Valkyrie units, and now they're gone. Commander of no one because I failed them all by leading them into a war I knew we couldn't win.

An armed fae charged towards me, his sword held high as he screamed like a madman.

I tightened my grip on my shield and used his momentum against him, his sword clanging hard to the Illyrian steel of my shield as I pushed it back into him. He tumbled to the ground under the weight of it and with the sharp point of my shield I thrusted it straight into his chest. He fell limp.

A battle cry sounded from behind me and I groaned, every inch of my body protesting any further movement. I unsheathed my heavy sword while turning around to face a hulking male, lifting it up in challenge.

He swings first, his scarlet-covered blade meeting mine. He was much stronger than me, bigger too but he was slow. He pushed hard and my aching arms strained under the pressure. I steadied my breathing and pushed his blade away from me. He came back swinging with twice the force, going right for my head. I bent back, my spine screaming at me as his blade swung just above my nose, the sharpness of it slicing into a rogue hair that had strayed from its braid.

With the remaining energy I honed, I thrust my sword into the male's chest. He yelped, his sword clattering to the ground, and with one last attempt to gut me, he swung to grab me with his free hand. I screamed as I felt a searing pain in my side. I looked down to find a large knife embedded into my torso. When I looked back to the male he twisted the knife and I felt as if my entire body was set aflame. I clenched my teeth together as I plunged my sword into his chest again, and when I pulled it out he was already in the dirt, receiving the same fate as his comrades.

My knees buckled as I looked at my side again, blood pooling at my feet as it ran down my leg.

I dug my sword in the ground, using it for support so I could at least stay standing. My entire left side felt paralyzed as I continued to lose that precious scarlet liquid.

I squeezed my eyes shut before forcing them open, my vision bleary as I grew increasingly dizzy.

In the distance, I saw another armed soldier charging at me. For a moment I debated letting him have my life, it was soon nearing a close anyway.

But I hadn’t trained for years to be cut down by a measly foot soldier, hadn’t clawed and scraped my way through ranks to die by a stranger's hand. I curse, deciding that I wouldn't go out in forfeit, I would die fighting or I would not die at all. With only my right arm I lifted my sword up toward the sky, ready to strike.

But just as he was about to reach me a gleam of red flashed and the soldier's head went flying in the opposite direction of his body. Directly in front of me stood a male, glowing in red, my vision began to darken at the corners but I could recognize those wings anywhere. "Oh thank the gods," I sighed in pure relief, falling to my knees as Cassian ran forward to catch me before my head could hit the hard ground. He spotted the gushing wound in my side immediately, then looked at my dilated pupils.

“Hey, sweetheart,” He rasped, his voice raw from shouting commands at soldiers over the fields. “Cass,” I hum his name, the familiarity of it bringing me a warm feeling. I was glad to see he was unharmed. “Lean on me,” He says while gently brushing my stubborn hairs away from my sweat, and most likely blood, lined forehead.

"I'm going to get you out of here," Was all I managed to hear from him before darkness consumed me and my vision blackened entirely.

When I cracked my eyes open I immediately winced at the harsh light of the room I was being kept in. The sound of frustrated voices registered first, then the smell of lavender, and the softness of the pillow behind my head, and then finally my vision came. I spotted Rhysand and Cassian first, quietly bickering over something I couldn’t find in myself to care for. They were both changed from their armor, cleansed from the blood and dirt of the war. Even though they both looked clean and seemed how they always did I could tell something was off. Their wings were terse and the bags beneath their eyes were prominent.

It took a lot to mar the beauty of a Fae male, especially the two of them, and yet I don’t think I’ve ever seen them more distressed.

They continued their hushed argument, oblivious to the fact that I had woken up so I cast my eyes elsewhere, toward the third male in the room who had his head tilted downward, his scarred hands in his lap. He stared at those scars, his shaky hands making it seem like he’d done something wretched, so horrid he somehow didn’t think it probable that it was done with his own hands.

My brows creased, all three of them were in sorrow, and whether it was because I was bedridden or it was simply the after-effects of the war I was unsure.

“Good morning,” Is all I can think to say. It was casual, a little hoarse, but simple.

The room fell silent and all three heads snapped towards me. Their lips all formed tight straight lines as they bored their eyes into me.

I couldn’t tell if it was shock or relief, perhaps both.

A large smile cracks across my lips. “Were you guys worried about me?” I suggest, raising my brows accusingly.

“Gods,” A large figure crashes into me and I groan. Cassian clings to me tightly, hugging me into his warm chest. “Of course, we were worried,” He whispers, as if afraid he’d break this moment by speaking any louder.

“You’re crushing her, Cass,” Rhys says from behind him and I chuckle, looking at the violet-eyed male and giving him a gentle smirk which he matched. I pulled away from Cassian’s embrace first and he reluctantly let go of me.

“I’m sorry love,” Azriel sighed, his hand coming to intertwine with my fingers. “Sorry for what Az?” My brows crease.

“My shadows should’ve been with you, I could’ve stopped that soldier from hurting you—” The Illyrian starts but Cassian cuts him off.

“No Az it’s my fault, I should have been there sooner. I should have taken that dagger not her—” He tried but this time it was Rhys to cut him off.

“Both of you stop being ridiculous, I was the one that allowed her to fight, it was my mistake from the beginning,” The High Lord asserts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“My gods, do you three ever quit taking the blame for everything?” I looked pointedly at Rhys when I spoke. “I would’ve commanded the Valkyries to fight alongside you whether it was cleared or not,” I confess and Rhys subtly frowns at that, the unspoken question of me being the last Valkyrie was now answered with that expression. A wave of shame passed over me, but I pushed it aside for now, deciding to spend this moment with my three very paranoid, but very alive mates.

“I’m fine,” I give Azriel’s hand a squeeze.

“Madja said if the blade went even a fraction deeper it would’ve been fatal,” The blue siphoned male argued, and my brows bunch.

“But it didn’t,” I state.

“But it could have,” He snarled and I had never seen him so angry, so scared.

My eyes softened and I let a soft smile grace my features. “Az,” I whispered, attempting to bring him comfort to remind him I was alive and healthy.

Azriel was the first of the three that I bonded with, we’ve always had a different connection because of it. I’ll love all of them equally no matter what, but it left Azriel to be more protective of me than the other two.

He stands suddenly, our hands still tangled. “You nearly died, you nearly abandoned us for a place where we aren’t allowed to join you,” He snapped and my heart ached at the pained look on his face. I would’ve been furious too if it were him on the brink of death, I would’ve found a way to steal him back from death itself if that treacherous event were to come.

“Azriel,” Cassian snapped at the male but I held a hand up, waving him off.

I sat up, my side screamed at me in protest but I ignored it. I wore my softest white nightgown, only realizing it once I stood from the bed, slightly unsteady but upright nonetheless. I narrow my gaze at Azriel.

“I am here, I am alive,” I say. “A little scratched up but I don’t think Rhys will let me out in the field anytime soon,” I smile and Rhys shifts behind me.

“You heard that right,” The High Lord grumbled under his breath and I tossed him a glance over my shoulder.

I look back to Azriel, reaching for his other hand and holding them both. “See? I’m alright, I promise,” I look up at him lovingly and his shoulders dip in relief.

“Okay,” He nods, silently cursing himself for acting out so brashly. “You just, had me worried is all,” He excuses and I smile softly, letting go of one of his hands in favor of cupping his jaw.

“I know honey, I know,” I murmur before lifting up and placing a reassuring kiss on his lips, he returns it by bringing his free hand to my hip, pulling me closer.

“Is it just me or do you feel excluded too?” Cassian loudly whispered to Rhysand and I giggled against Azriel’s lips, pulling away and turning my head to cast a playful glare at the two piqued males, clearly attention-deprived.

“Then come over here already,” I give them an inviting smirk and they quickly scramble around the bed to reach me and it takes everything in me not to giggle at how desperate they were to be in my clutches yet again.

“One for you,” I placed my hand on Rhys’ jaw and gave him a soft peck, he barely had time to reciprocate it until I was rearing back. “And,” I grabbed Cass by his shirt. “One for you,” I gave him the same kiss.

“You taste like a coma,” The male murmured, smacking his lips and I rolled my eyes.

“You each got one, are you three satisfied now?” I arch a brow.

“Satisfied? Nowhere near it darling,” Rhys grabbed me by the waist and hoisted me up and over his shoulder.

“Wait! I’m still not fully healed yet!” I yelped, banging my fists on his back playfully.

“We’ll be gentle,” Cassian reassured with a gleeful smile. I looked at Azriel but he only smirked.

“No promises,” He shrugged and I groaned, letting my body go limp as Rhys carried me towards the High Lord's chambers.

“If you guys open my stitches I’ll give all of you stitches,” I threatened but none of them seemed to care, and to be honest nothing sounded better than the idea of being cradled by three tan, very large, Illyrians after such a long war.

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[deebris]

The Misteryous Visitor 5

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: The argument between Talia and Bruce is catastrophic from beginning to end, and while the whole truth is revealed, neither of them wants to let go of you. Strange was always a greater danger than he let on and was closer than he ever thought.

Warnings: Family discussion; meaningless kiss; aggression; blood; kidnapping; maternal possessiveness;

Word count: 4.5k

Note: Talia has a slightly different relationship with Bruce in my story compared to the canon, being more tense than the impression I got when I watched scenes between the two of them.

I forget to mention that English is not my first language, forgive me for any mistakes.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"Is it true?" Bruce asked quickly, barely giving Talia time to dare say anything before him. The woman rolled her eyes, still with her back to him, and prepared to maintain her confident pose.

She turned to face him and took a few moments to admire the vision, blatantly diverting her eyes to his lips and seeing how the messy shirt had given him a more fierce and attractive aura. Their relationship was complicated, that's a fact, but she could never stop finding the man in front of her charmingly handsome.

"You'll need to be more specific than that," Talia's voice dripped with a sweet and wicked tone as she walked toward him. Bruce violently stood up from the chair when he saw her hand reach towards him and imposed his height over hers to intimidate.

"Don't play the cynic." There was a suppressed fury in his tone, and she was sure he was using the last bit of self-control that still possessed.

"For heaven's sake, Bruce." Talia mocked, picking up the coat she had intended to grab from the beginning from the chair, having recognized it as yours. She grimaced as felt the damp fabric and dropped it in a corner of the room on the floor. The look she was receiving could burn her skin, and when she turned her face back to his, she realized how disturbed he was. "You look horrible. Strange really got into your head, didn't he?"

Talia saw him narrow his eyes with impatient indignation as he snorted. She found seeing him like this very peculiar and thought it would be fun to try and provoke.

The woman brought her face close to his, making her warm breath touch his chin provocatively while boldly wrapping her arms around the broad neck. She tested the waters, seeing how he remained still, and brushed her red lips along his jawline, then moved up until their mouths shared the same breath.

She was going to try to persuade, convince him that he was overthinking, and smiled inwardly when she saw Bruce become disconcerted for a second, completely unresponsive when she sealed their lips together. She managed to seduce him in that second to the point where, unconsciously, he moved his tongue with hers, but tasting her saliva brought him back to rationality.

He left her in complete shock when abruptly pushed her away and grabbed her face in an aggressive manner, squeezing the cheeks and making her squirm until eyes glazed over into his. “You repulse me.” Bruce spat and was glad to see her bold expression disappear. “Tell me once: she is mine?"

Talia tried to take his hand away with hers, but he seemed implacable, and didn't even move a finger out of place. He might be stronger, but she wasn't weak, and that was what made her let out an astonished sob.

"She is my daughter?!" He shouted, shaking her, no longer able to take the lack of response.

"Yes it is true." The confession made him let go of her finally, and she almost stumbled back with how sudden it was.

She massaged her face, seeking relief, and it didn't take long for her eyebrows to furrow in shock. Bruce felt no pity or regret, she deserved much more than he would ever have the courage to do.

"How?" By the way he looked, she knew there was no more room for lies or evasion. She had never seen him like this; Bruce had always been the most balanced man she had ever known in her entire life.

"She and Damian are twins," Talia responded immediately.

"Twins?" Bruce's voice sounded incredulous. He felt that even all the time in the universe wouldn't be enough to process that. It seemed simply unreal. "Why did you hide this? Why did you tell me about Damian and not about her?"

"Because you would have taken her from me!" She shouted, running her fingers over her face to check if her makeup had smeared. "I handed Damian over to you willingly, but if you had found out about him before, you would have brought him here just the same. And with her, it would be no different. You should be grateful to have had the boy."

"How dare you say such a thing?" Bruce threw the chair to the floor in a fit of rage, making a loud noise that echoed even outside the hallway. "And 'handed Damian over willingly'? You only did that because you felt pressured after your father died." He threw it in her face and suddenly remembered something: "You made that boy lie for you." He accused her.

Talia was silent for a brief moment, but her face showed nothing but contempt. "I did, yes." She admitted.

"What's the point of that? Was it just out of whim?" Bruce seemed fragile before her for the first time in so many years. For a moment, she glimpsed an old argument, from when they were still dating and didn't hide feelings from each other as they do today. "Do you hold that much resentment? You know very well why I dismissed the League of Assassins."

"Of course, Bruce. Your morals are too valuable, aren't they?" Talia replied with her chin up, not letting him affect her. "You think you're a good guy, a pure superhero like Superman. But I know you and I know how rotten you are inside. You are not as different from us as you think." She spewed the words in his face like venom.

"You wanted her to come here, didn't you? You and he planned all this?" Comprehension seemed to have hit Bruce, but that only left the woman confused.

"If it were up to me, you would never have discovered her existence. Why would I send her here?" The confession left him silent, not because he wasn't angry anymore, but because he was tired of hearing her voice; he simply couldn't believe anything Talia said. "She is my daughter. And I don't care what you're going to do now, but don't think you're going to drag her with you like you did with all those boys.”

"You think you can offer something better? You, the same person who left her in the hands of that sicko, consider yourself a better option?" Bruce insinuated this with a firmness that made it clear he had no doubt Talia was cooperating with Strange, making her eyes turn red. She could hear many insults from him, but insinuating that she had put you at risk was something entirely different. "You can be sure you won't lay another finger on her."

She knew Bruce was serious, and that he could actually prevent any future contact betwedn you and her. She wanted to kill him right now out of sheer hatred, but she was smart and knew that acting impulsively wouldn't solve anything. So, reluctantly, she tried to change the tone of the discussion to a neutral one. There was no way she could leave without giving him explanations, and if she tried, he would stop her.

"Maybe Strange had been threatening me for some time, possibly before deciding to appear publicly again and attack you." There was a slight irony of indignation in her words. Her gaze was firm and her green eyes shining with the intensity of someone defending their own honor. "Let it be clear: I didn't help anyone; I was as much a victim of this as you were."

"Victim?" Bruce retorted with disdain.

"This threat wasn't for you, Bruce, it was for me. Today you didn't lose anything, quite the opposite." She ignored the acidic tone and continued. "Maybe this contributed to some kind of psychological game Strange is playing against you, but it must be just a bonus."

"Why is he threatening you?" The question contained no compassion or empathy, but it didn't matter to her to receive that kind of consideration from him.

"What did he do to you?" Talia ignored the question, and as a form of childish revenge, he did the same. She sighed and tried a different approach: "If you tell me, I'll tell you too." She needed to know to try to understand the depth of Strange's current intentions or at least get some clue about the plan he was plotting because although she wouldn't say it to Bruce, she was also trying to catch him.

"A photo of my parents," he confessed, trying to sound indifferent before continuing, "Photos of the boys, of Alfred..." Bruce left the sentence hanging in the air and didn't proceed. He would never say more than he deemed necessary to her.

"Damian too?" She asked, worried about her son, and saw Bruce nod affirmatively. Bruce calmly unwrinkled a card while handing it to her.

"He asked her to deliver this to me today." His tone was serious, revealing a determination to deal with the situation pragmatically and directly.

Talia repeated those printed words several times, and every hair on her body stood on end all at once. "Did she…?"

"She didn't read it." He said curtly. "But what I don't understand is how all this seems so convenient and you claim to have nothing to do with it. He had this card perfectly prepared."

"Knowing him well, he must have been waiting for an opportunity for many days, or he induced this to happen somehow." She reflected, scratching the fine texture with her nails right where the text was printed to the point of making it illegible. "The letter that Damian said she picked up took longer to arrive than the others; it must have ended up with him at some point."

"How could he be so close, and you didn't notice?" His voice became aggressive again, the same beastly rage returning.

"I did notice! I just didn't imagine Strange interested in her; I thought it was about Damian. So, I didn't worry because he wasn't with me; he was with you." She raised her voice, trying to match his volume. "Strange has been sending me coded messages. Threats that had nothing to do with my daughter. I thought he didn't know she was yours and therefore wouldn't care about her." She finished, and Bruce clenched his jaw, observing how she increasingly emphasized the expression "my daughter," excluding him.

"Threats related to Damian?" He asked. His muscles were tense and sore, but he endured the discomfort if it meant clarifying everything once and for all. "And, of course, you never considered telling me."

"This started long before I left him with you, Bruce. They were still children." Talia said, growing increasingly frustrated with the conversation.

"What could Damian have done to him as a child?"

"Damian ended up leaving Strange with one less eye. He was already pursuing him because of you, but after losing an eye, all he wanted was revenge." She walked to the bed, leaning on the arms while crossing her legs. A very characteristic gesture of her behavior, which was highlighted when she wore her extravagant dresses, but the cold pants she wore made the movements relaxed. "He was a child; he didn't do it on purpose. He was just protecting his sister."

"How could Strange have known about Damian for so long and not about her? What you're saying doesn't make any sense, Talia." Bruce was frantic, and after a brief moment of melancholy, she sighed:

"I blame my father for this." Her voice almost wavered in front of him, but being the proud person she was, she quickly composed herself.

“What did Ra’s do?” He threw the question into the air, laden with apprehension.

The room plunged into a disturbing silence. Talia remained motionless, while the sound of Bruce's heavy breathing was the only thing breaking the void in the atmosphere. For a brief moment, her eyes met his and captured the storm of emotions brewing there: betrayal, despair, expectation.

She did not fear him, but rather how he might react to this. You were there, nearby, in the hallway, and the last thing she wanted was for the primal figure Bruce was becoming to explode and expel her, taking you to him. Moreover, she needed to remind herself that she was at a disadvantage there. It wasn't just Bruce she would face if things turned worse or physical, but everyone else in the house.

“What did he do, Talia?” Bruce growled, repeating the question with intensity.

She stared at the floor, fully aware that her next words would turn against her later, but at this point, he needed to know. Strange was out there, and he was still as much of a psychopath obsessed with Batman as before, meaning he wouldn’t rest until he managed to take Bruce’s place as a vigilante. So, with a low but icy voice, she moved her mouth to tell him the truth:

“Years ago, Strange sought out the League of Assassins. That lunatic was always smart and somehow discovered the rift between you and my father.” The mention of such an old event took Bruce by surprise. He slightly recoiled and his eyebrows raised, but he restrained himself from interrupting her. “He wanted the League to help him defeat you and vice versa. My father was suspicious, but he was so resentful that he agreed. Your betrayal was still fresh to us.”

“And of course it went wrong, didn’t it?” He asked with implicit sarcasm.

“Strange was so cunning that he managed to manipulate him to his advantage. He provided us with precise and important information about you, but after a while, he wanted to advise my father on how to act. That’s when I started to hate him, realizing how he was controlling.” She shook her head in denial, recalling the memory with bitterness, and continued:

“My father trusted him so much that he allowed Strange to infiltrate us more and more, until one day, by chance, he found damian in Nanda Parbat. Strange was nosy and curious; he tried to extract the information from me, but discovered on his own that you were his father.” Talia blew a strand of hair that fell on her face and decided to add the next part with acidity: “Strange was so fascinated by this that he made an absurd request. We denied it, and then he rebelled against us. Of course, that incompetent couldn’t accomplish anything, and then disappeared, as he always does when things go wrong.”

“Ra’s and Strange working together?” Bruce asked himself. He could never have imagined that two such distinct people could have had a relationship like that in the past. “And what did he ask for?”

“He was obsessed with surpassing you, but it wasn’t just that, he wanted to be you and have everything that was yours. He asked to raise Damian as if he were his own son, can you believe it? Luckily, Y/n never set foot in Nanda Parbat, so he didn’t discover her in that time.” She paused for a moment, reliving the events. “He wanted to prove that he could raise him and make a better Robin. Strange has known your identities much longer than you think; he knew the real Robin was your adopted son.”

Bruce’s face contorted in an expression of disbelief. His eyes narrowed slightly, and his mouth opened as if about to say something, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. He blinked a few times, needing to assimilate what he had heard. “If he never saw her before, how did all this happen?”

“A few years later, when my father hadn’t been dead for long, I returned to live in Gotham City with Y/n, and Strange found out Damian was here too and broke into the apartment where we were. He intended to kidnap Damian, but he used to share a room with his sister, and by mistake, Strange went to her bed.” She spoke with a heavy voice, the last sentence sending chills down her spine, but she persisted:

“I woke up to her frightened scream and a loud noise. I ran and when I saw it was him, I had no mercy. He is intelligent, but sometimes he is blinded by his own obsession and do stupid things. He was already bleeding, with a pencil piercing one of his eyes, thanks to Damian, then fled through the living room. I didn’t initially chase after him because I wanted to make sure Damian was okay; the problem was I hadn’t realized that Y/n wasn’t in the room. Damian had distracted Strange to let his sister escape, and because of my delay, he took her.”

Talia seemed to be in a trance. Each word weighed on her chest like lead, yet she threw them out as if they were disposable. Her usually confident and determined eyes didn’t know where to look. Sitting rigidly on the bed, her imposing posture didn’t waver, as her pride didn’t allow her to show weakness.

“What did he do?” Bruce throat tightened, as if the air was rarefied, as he waited for the answer. Talia might think otherwise, but he could see through her facade. And despite it being selfish to say this, he couldn’t feel a shred of concern for her, especially when someone more important to him was now involved.

After standing for so long, Bruce sat on the bed next to her. He reflected on the sad incident, deeply disturbed. He blamed her. He blamed her for her character, for lying so much, and for hiding from him that his children were in danger. He was grateful that she had fallen silent for a few seconds, as he was mentally preparing himself for a grim scenario, one he wasn’t yet ready to face.

“What happened to her?” He asked, seeing that she wasn’t showing signs of speaking, trying to prompt her to continue.

"Strange carried her through the city, desperately fleeing from me until he ended up in an alley. He encountered a group of drunks who surrounded and wanted to rob him. He's not a good fighter, you already know that, and like a damn coward, he threw her into their midst as a distraction while he escaped again.”

“Unbelievable…” Bruce massaged his eyebrows with his eyes closed, visibly upset. He pressed his temples hard, as if trying to dispel the accumulated frustration. After a deep breath, he suddenly exploded in a shout of frustration and anger, just like at the beginning. “You should have contacted me!"

“Are you trying to blame me?!” She asked indignantly.

"She didn't seem to recognize him when she spoke to me just now. It sounded like she was talking about a random stranger." Bruce was confused.

"I don't know if she would recognize him again, she never wanted to talk to me about that day. And I never mentioned Hugo Strange either, everything she knows about him she sees on the news."

“You and your father are the worst kind of people I could have gotten involved with,” Bruce said, his voice dangerously low this time. “If it weren't for Ra's, Strange would never have gotten close to them. If it weren't for your stupid lie, nothing you just said would have happened. And I don't even want to imagine what the hell happened after that!”

"You would have made sure nothing like that happened, wouldn't you, Bruce? You talk about it with such certainty, but weren't you the one who let the Joker do something similar to that kid… Is Jason his name?" Her mention of something like that made Bruce's ears go deaf. He could clearly hear the sound of his heart beating inside his chest, until her disgusting voice sounded again: "You would have put her in the same disgrace!"

Bruce lost the control he tried so hard to maintain from the beginning. He threw the lamp next to him into the headboard on the wall. The movement was so violent that the wire connecting the object to the socket broke in a strange way and the entire glass part broke into several pieces. The noise was thunderous, and even when he stood up with a piercing look at her, Talia continued with her laughing face, enjoying watching him go crazy.

“Don't try to compare the two things. You didn’t tell me about Strange before because you were embarrassed. It's too hard for you to admit that you can fail. Besides, you always liked having someone to control, to manipulate at your pleasure. You did this to her, didn't you? And even then, you’re not satisfied. You continued to torment Damian, using him.” Bruce took a deep breath.“I thought you cared about him.”

Talia got up too and lifted her chin, her eyes shining with defiance. “You understand nothing, Bruce,” she responded with a firm and cutting voice. “Everything I did was to protect them both. I explained my reasons to you. Do you think hiding them was just my decision? My father would never have allowed it, and I won't deny that I wasn’t against him, but it didn’t depend solely on me. You, with your inflexible morality and your rules, would never understand.”

“Don’t give me that,” Bruce growled, his gaze fixed and penetrating. “You branded the girl with your initials like she was cattle. It was never about protection; it’s possessiveness.”

Like him, Talia stood up. “I may be a woman of whims, as you like to say, but I didn’t hide anything because I was embarrassed”

Talia paused, her voice softening but not positively. “And as for tormenting him… I trained him, prepared him for the cruel world we live in. Do you think you could keep him safe with your mild methods? He needs to be strong, needs to be able to survive, and in those years I taught him to protect her because no one else would. My father didn’t care about a granddaughter; he finally had the male heir he wanted. I had to meet his demands to make Damian perfect, and that allowed me the freedom to raise her away from all that. What I could do, I did. And what I wanted to do, I also did. And I’d do it all again.”

“You always think you did everything right, but everything you’ve said only proves how misguided you are. I remember I gave you a choice, Talia. I told you that you could abandon the League of Assassins and come with me. I told you that your father didn't need to control your life forever,” Bruce said, his voice laden with disdain. “You will never come near her again. You’ll have to go over my dead body first.”

Talia narrowed her eyes in contempt. “Do you really think you can stop me?” Her voice was low and controlled, but each word carried significant weight. “You always saw the world in black and white. Do you really think it was so simple to abandon my entire life and devotion for you, a mere fleeting romance? If you think it’s that easy to give up everything, I challenge you to abandon Batman right now. After all, it’s because of this secret identity of yours that all this started, isn’t it? Isn’t it as easy as that, Bruce?”

She took a step forward, facing him without wavering. “I can repeat it as many times as you want: I am a criminal, I am selfish, and whatever else you want me to say, but the only hypocrite in this room is you.” Her eyes shone with determination, while his wavered before her.

Bruce hardened his expression, sadness hitting him. He wanted to accuse her of being a low person, but deep in his conscience, he feared it was true. But he wouldn’t allow himself to be deceived; she was still the wrong one here. She was the one who completely distorted the situation, making herself the victim and trying to justify everything she did, turning him into the villain of the story.

“Talia, I never wanted you to be any of these things,” he began, his voice laden with anguish. He felt bitterness looking at her face now, as it painfully reminded him of the time when he had been deeply in love with this same woman. “I wanted to believe you could change, that you would be different from your father. But every choice you made, every lie you told… Our relationship was unsustainable, and now the only thing I feel for you is remorse.”

He closed the last distance between them, imposing himself with a somber aura. “Your actions, your alliances… they put her at risk. My duty as a father is to protect her, and I can’t ignore the danger you represent. I never wanted it to come to this, Talia. But if keeping her safe means keeping her away from you, then that’s what I’ll do.”

Talia clenched her fists, her expression hardening even more. “Do you think I didn’t want to protect her too?” Her voice became silky. There was a dark delight in how the words dragged, a subtle poison hidden in each intonation. “You talk about protecting her, but she needs more than simple physical protection. She needs a mother, someone who understands the complexity of her feelings.”

“Look at yourself for a moment, Bruce,” said Talia, her voice icy and full of disdain. “You’re losing your composure. Do you really think she’ll like finding out that her father is this weak and ridiculous man you’ve become?”

The woman took a step forward, fixing her eyes on his with a challenging gleam. “The only thing she’ll feel for you is shame.”

"Do you really think you can tell me who I've become?" He paused, swallowing hard. "I didn't want it to come to this, Talia, but if you don't leave voluntarily, I'll be forced to tell that girl everything you've done. And then we'll let her decide."

He intensified the confrontation, provoking her: "Are you sure she would still choose you after so many lies? After everything you've hidden from her?" His eyes darkened, pupils dilated by the dim light in the room. "Value the good image she still has of you."

Talia was momentarily silent, her eyes meeting Bruce's with a genuine expression of concern. She took a deep breath before speaking, her voice a bit more dangerous than before. "Would you really do that? Tell her everything?"

Bruce replied firmly, maintaining his serious gaze on hers. "It's what I must do, regardless of everything. Continuing to hide things isn't right. But if the only way for you to leave more easily is under this condition, then go now."

Talia took a few steps back, her serious expression showing shock and worry. Her thoughts repeated Bruce's ultimatum continuously, knowing you would not react well to it.

You were a smart girl, but emotionally very fragile. Your bonds of trust were limited to her and your brother, and you two had been apart for so long that having your relationship with your mother destroyed in this way would leave a huge scar on your heart. This would be the best choice, both for her and for you if Talia didn't want everything to fall apart.

She turned towards the bedroom hallway, as if seeking a moment to ponder the consequences. After a moment, she turned her gaze back to Bruce, her shoulders slightly lower. "You are not going to involve her in your vigilante life." It wasn't a request, it was a warning, and Bruce didn't contest it to avoid further conflict. Understanding that she had decided to leave was enough to reassure him.

"I didn't mean to." He walked past her, picking up your coat she had thrown on the floor earlier, checking carefully that it hadn't been damaged by the broken lampshade, and lifting the chair to let the piece dry once more.

"You know where the exit is; don't take too long." Without bothering to be polite, he quickly opened the door, leaving her standing there. He knew she would really leave after seeing how she reacted. She wouldn't risk irritating him by taking longer than necessary.

Tag list:

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[worldsover]

Better Things ft. Karina, Ningning

length ✦ 7k

genres ✧ toxic relationship; cuckquean; cockwarming; degradation; needy subby gf!Ningning, hook-up!Karina

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Ningning is a doormat.

Ningning is your girlfriend.

Ningning is some girl who lives with you and if she were your girlfriend, you probably would have had sex with her before a dozen other women. If she were your girlfriend, you probably wouldn't have had sex with those women. If she weren't a doormat, she would have left when she caught you in bed with another girl the first time. Would have left when you made her watch the seventh time. Would have left after she ate your creampie out of some random girl you just met at a club. That's why you can't even bring yourself to feel guilty about taking advantage of her.

Well, that, and new pussy's better than guilt.

But to say better implies some level of good. It's fine. You're exhausted. Exhausted from work. Exhausted from dealing with people. You're so exhausted, yet Ningning greets you in the doorway with open arms and a warm hug like she has all the energy in the world. Like you've ever given her an ounce of that energy back. She's wearing a red tank top that shows off her cleavage and short shorts that cling to her toned legs. That could've worked before, could've made you carry her straight to the bedroom.

The doormat must have waited where the doormat belonged, all day, as it tightens its embrace.

Ningning releases you and gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek. The sweetest smile on her face. Eyes like your next words are precious gold. "Welcome home, babe."

Could've made you feel warm inside. You have no gold left to give. "Work was shit."

"I'm sorry," Ningning responds. "You seem stressed." She leans in for another kiss, trying to comfort and soothe you with her affection. Give Ningning an inch or six or seven, and she'll take 26 miles. You don't have the energy for a marathon.

You pull away. "I'm tired," you say dismissively, already making your way to the couch without acknowledging her further.

Ningning pouts. "Right. Of course. Go rest on the couch. I'll get you a drink."

She returns with a glass of water, but you wish it were something stronger as she settles in beside you on the couch. "You're really are tense, babe," she says with concern, running her hands over your shoulders and neck. "I... I could help. Daddy."

Your pet name sounds forced, calculated out of her mouth. It has been too long since you've truly desired or pleasured Ningning, and she makes sure you're aware of it every time she tries to initiate intimacy with you. And even when she does manage to catch your attention, it's only because other women have used her as an unwilling participant in their own sexual encounters with you.

So when she begs and pleads with you now, it's easy to brush off her advances and ignore her kisses. But as she continues to whisper promises and titles like "Take your stress out on me" and "Daddy's good girl," a dark idea begins to form in your mind.

Suddenly, Ningning's hand slips down to stroke you through your trousers and her lips attach themselves to your neck like a leech. She must sense the shift in your demeanor because she becomes more desperate and persistent in her seduction.

You remain silent, mulling over her offer. Suddenly, Ningning's grip tightens on your bulge and she exclaims "Daddy! See? You're getting hard already. That means I can use me now, right? Please, I'll be so good for you."

The rush getting to your head makes you reply in earnest for the first time. "You're right."

Ningning gasps softly, her lips forming a grin. "I-I am?"

"Yep. I need a good fuck."

Her hand slips from your pants as she springs up, jubilant and bouncing with excitement. "Yes! You deserve it," she exclaims, her eyes shining with glee. "How do you want me? Which hole do you want to jerk off with? To dump your cum into?"

You pull out your phone.

Instantly, her joy turns to disappointment as she realizes what this means. "Daddy...why? But...but why?"

You open Tinder and show her all the matches you have.

"No." She pouts, her face genuinely forlorn. "No, please, no, Daddy, I'll do anything. Not another random whore. I've been so good, I did such a good job getting you hard. Why do these sluts get your cock?"

"You barely did shit. You're not good, you're just desperate."

"Please!" She's back to clinging to your arm, back to giving you desperate pecks on your cheek and wherever she can peck, but you don't let her kiss your lips, turning your face away. "Kiss me, use me, anything! What do I have to do? Stroke your cock faster? Gag on your big Daddy dick? Be your personal porn star all day? Please, tell me, I, I need you so bad."

Your gaze vacillates between her and your phone.

"Your cum, I need it. I need you to stretch me out. Daddy, I need you to grope me, throw me around, force your dick down my throat, anything, please, I need you! Please, use your bitch."

You have made your decision. "Maybe later. After I hook up with a hotter girl. You can have seconds."

She has to hold back a tear, shuddering, trembling in frustration. "Later?"

You nod and look down at her, sternly.

"Okay. Yes. Of course, yes, Daddy, you need to… feel good after, after a stressful day. Seeing you happy is more important, and I'm not doing a good enough job."

"You're not."

She swallows hard. "Yeah. So if one of those sluts can make you feel better than me... I suppose I can wait my turn." The kisses that punctuate each of her words, that travel to wherever you allow them, slow down. She has left marks and saliva all over you.

"Are you done?" You hold up your phone. "If you want me to use you sooner, then I'll have to find someone sooner, right?"

"Yes, I understand." She sits up, her hands clasped together demurely. "Wait. But, you're still hard."

"And?"

"May I suck you, Daddy?" she asks.

You shake your head. "I've got better things to do with my time than you."

Ningning begs with her eyes, pouting and pleading. "I know, I know. I'm just a useless needy slut who can't satisfy you... but at least I can warm your cock with my mouth. Right? I'll keep quiet while servicing your cock and you can keep swiping on Tinder."

You lean back in thought.

"You know I can be a good cock warmer for you. If that's all I'm good for… please?"

You examine her face—adorable and needy—her lips twitching as if she's about to burst into tears. She is right. Those very lips are heavenly wrapped around your shaft, sipping and slurping on your cockhead. "Fine," you say.

"Yay!" she celebrates. "Thank you, oh my god, thank you, Daddy." She gives you one last kiss on the lips before going to her place. On her knees, between your legs, in front of the couch. It'd only be more appropriate with your feet on her.

Your focus remains on your phone as you begin searching for a hot girl to hook up with.

"It's been so long since I tasted your—"

"I thought this was for my pleasure," you say. Hearing her speak instead of feeling her mouth on your cock annoys you.

"Sorry. You're right. This is for you. Doesn't matter what I want." She unbuckles your belt and pulls down your trousers.

You nod as you return your attention to the phone screen. You've been picky with the girls you swipe for, but this time, you're looking for anyone with a hot face and nice tits. While your girlfriend is certainly cute, she doesn't exactly fulfill those criteria, especially not now. Especially not tits.

Ningning presses her face against your underwear and takes a long whiff, a smile growing. She runs her tongue on your boxers, marking them with some saliva; its dampness seeps through the fabric.

Grabbing her hair, you say, "Dumb bitch, begging for scraps, did I ask you to do that?" You yank, causing her to wince in pain.

"Ow, n-no. I'm sorry, Daddy." After looking into her eyes for a few seconds, you let go of her hair, then Ningning immediately frees your cock. She's mesmerized as if she's never seen it before, and you find the target of her attention: the leaking pre-cum. She can't help herself from giving your tip a kiss. "Okay, you can keep swiping," she says. "I'll make you feel so good while you find a tight hole to use."

You don't respond, instead doing just as stated. Left, left, left, left, left. It's looking like one of those evenings. The only plus side is the simple sensation of pleasure as Ningning suckles slowly like a lollipop.

"Do my lips feel good? Is it nice having your pet warm your cock while you find prettier whores?" Truthfully, if there's one thing Ningning is expert at, it's sending shivers through your body with her mouth. She explores every inch of your cock with her tongue, skillfully tracing along the ridges and then sliding back down to your shaft.

Finally, you find a few pretty girls here and there. It's still many more left swipes than right, but most of the women you swipe match immediately. However, you lose interest in most quickly.

"Ah, I, I luhhv, this, cah…" In between Ningning talking with a mouthful, you relish in the sounds of quiet sucking. It distracts you from your ankle-shallow conversations, the dumb pickup lines, the straightforward advances.

You're tempted to grab her hair again and shove her lips down the base until she chokes and gags, but then Tinder would've been a waste of time anyway.

With her lips so diligently latched to your shaft, Ningning starts to drool. You give her one glance, and she immediately starts to lick your shaft clean. "I love cleaning your cock. That's all I'm good for, I know. I love being on my knees for you, having your perfect dick in my mouth, looking up at you and seeing your lust… e-even if it's for other girls." A hint of sadness in her voice. But even as she knows she will never be enough for you, she finds pleasure in submitting to your desires and being on her knees for you. And despite her words, her actions show that she loves it just as much as you do—if not more.

The lazy blowjob continues for some time, your erection carefully nurtured by Ningning's lips. You finally find the match you're looking for, the hottest girl you've ever seen in your life. Karina, 23. Every picture hardens your dick more than anything this cockwarmer toy of a woman can do. Whether it's a casual crop top or an elegant low-cut black dress, her ample cleavage leaves little to the imagination. Karina was the one for tonight. Your conversation with her quickly becomes sexual, which becomes an invite to your place.

Ningning notices your smile. "Did you get a match?" she asks gleefully. "Did you find a new pretty whore to break?" Her lips are more active on your shaft now, gliding up and down with renewed enthusiasm.

"Yep."

"Ahh." She releases your shaft, sticking out her tongue as saliva bridges from her bottom lip to your tip. With puppy dog eyes, she looks up at you and timidly asks, "I-is she prettier than me?"

"Duh." You show her Karina's pictures. "She has bigger tits too."

Ningning looks down. "That's great, Daddy," she says quietly. She perks herself up by kissing your dick. "I'm glad you found a better whore to fuck. When will she be here?"

"In a few hours."

"Okay, Daddy. I'll take care of this cock. I'll keep it nice and warm and wet. You can just relax until she arrives. " She returns to her duty, her lips a pillowy cushion, and she sucks with no complaint.

You idly browse your phone while Ningning keeps her lips sealed around your shaft like it's the most precious thing in the world. When you get up for snacks, she follows you around the house, never letting go of your cock for fear of losing it forever. Returning to the couch, you lie down and watch some shows while Ningning remains on her knees, expertly sucking away.

It's not until you receive the text that Karina is on her way that you finally pull a half-asleep Ningning off of your dick. You quickly gather yourself and prepare for Karina's arrival.

The doorbell rings. You answer the door. Your jaw practically drops to the floor when you open the door. Karina stands before you, clad in a tight pink tube top that shows off the toned shape of her midriff and accentuates the weightiness of her ample breasts. So much skin on display that you hardly know where to look first. A tantalizing hint of vanilla fills the air, adding to the already-charged atmosphere.

"Hello, handsome," she purrs, her voice naturally sultry. She leans in for a kiss before even stepping inside.

The kiss lingers longer than expected, your tongues dancing with a hint of alcohol, perhaps wine. Her hands find their way to your shoulders while yours rest on her waist, reveling in the softness of her smooth skin. Eventually, you release each other from the passionate embrace. "Wow. Hello, Karina. You look absolutely stunning."

"Aw, thank you."

You invite her inside. "Make yourself comfortable."

"I'm glad we matched so quick. Your pics were such a tease." Karina pokes you in the chest.

"And I'm glad you accepted my invite," you reply with a grin.

She giggles. "How could I say no? Straight to the point. And trust me, I could definitely blow off some steam today." Karina scans the living room, then freezes when she notices Ningning sitting there.

You bury your face in your hands; you completely forgot about her.

"Who's that?" Karina asks with an arched eyebrow. "You didn't mention anyone else joining us."

Ningning speaks up: "I'm Dad—"

"She's nobody," you say.

Karina laughs, her gaze lingering on Ningning's figure. "Nobody? Really?" She turns back to you with an impish grin. "Well, she's quite gorgeous. Maybe she could join us and make things even more fun?"

Ningning practically bounces in her seat. "That would be amazing! Can I please join, Daddy?"

Karina runs her hand down your chest, causing you to catch your breath. "So she calls you 'Daddy', huh? That's interesting." Her eyes flicker over Ningning before returning to you with an impish glint. "Well then… what do you say… 'Daddy'?"

Hearing the pet name spoken by Karina in such a seductive tone sends a shiver down your spine, and you release a quick exhale. "Just you and me. All night long."

"Ooh, when you put it like that…" Karina trails off with a smirk. "You better not disappoint." She wraps her arm around your neck and goes in for a deep kiss, your lips locked together as your tongues swirl in each other's mouths. At this moment, it's easy for you to forget about your own girlfriend waiting in the living room, stumbling inside while still entwined with Karina.

"Daddy, p-please, I'll behave," Ningning stutters out from behind you. "I can make you feel good too. I promise, I'll be a good girl."

Karina's lips part from yours with a soft moan, and the sound thrums through your body like a sweet melody. More than anything else, you want to hear the notes of those moans louder and harder and over and over again. Karina catches sight of Ningning watching them from the corner of her eye and chuckles playfully. "Oh, honey, look at that face. She looks like she's about to cry."

"Ignore her."

Karina smirks—a deadly thing. "Ignore her, huh? Sure." She gives you one last lingering kiss before breaking away with a satisfied sigh. "Now show me where your bathroom is so I can freshen up."

You lead the way, but before you can show Karina into the bathroom, you get distracted by the creamy skin of her neck and begin kissing it fervently. Your kisses trail back up to her lips, and once again your tongues dance together. You've kissed Karina more in the past few minutes than you have your girlfriend in a long time.

Karina shudders when you pull away. "Ffuck, this is gonna be an incredible night, huh?" She runs a hand through your hair before giving you a sly smile. "You're such a good kisser. No wonder you have her wrapped around your finger… say, what's her name?"

"Doesn't matter. Just think of her like my house pet."

Karina's teeth sink into her bottom lip. "Damn. Okay," she says, nodding, "get comfy in your bedroom, babe. I'll be ready in just a moment."

You nod and watch as Karina disappears into the bathroom. When you head back to the living room, you find Ningning quietly sobbing to herself.

Holding her chin with a firm and unyielding grip, you force Ningning to look at you, and her eyes widen in fear. "What the fuck?"

"Wh-what?" Ningning sniffles.

Giving her cheek a few light slaps, you scowl at her. "Don't 'what' me, or give me those puppy dog eyes. Why the fuck are you still here?"

"I-I, I'm sorry," Ningning stammers through her sobs. "I don't know... I thought maybe I could join in or take care of you afterwards or..."

Echoes of a crack, you land a harder slap on her cheek, leaving a red mark behind. "I am not fucking you!" you snap. "Do you really think I would waste my time with someone like you when I have a goddess like Karina in my home?" You let out a heavy sigh. "What am I going to do with you?"

Ningning avoids making eye contact as she apologizes once again.

"Fine," you say, standing up. "Follow me to my room."

"Really?"

"Just do as I say."

You sit down on the edge of your bed and point to the floor in front of you, a spot that is all too familiar for Ningning. She obeys without question, kneeling by your crotch as you tug down your pants and underwear to reveal your soft cock. You then yank Ningning's head down towards your lap.

"What do I—" she starts but is cut off by your hiss.

"Are you stupid? What have you been doing for the past few hours?"

Ningning whimpers quietly. "Yes, Daddy." She begins stroking you with her small hand.

"Use your mouth," you command.

"Right, right." She quickly swallows your member, her lips dragging along its flaccid length. As you harden in her mouth, she gags when it hits the back of her throat, but diligently she cleans up all the saliva.

You close your eyes, picturing Karina instead, and after a few minutes, pictures in your mind materialize as the door opens.

"Hey, what do you think—" Karina's voice trails off as she sees Ningning between your legs, servicing your now fully erect cock. "I thought you said she wasn't joining us," she says with a giggle.

"Well, I'm just using her to get you ready for me," you reply. Despite the ministrations of Ningning's lips and tongue, your attention is solely focused on the woman standing in front of you.

Karina steps closer, her eyes fixated on Ningning. "That's such a turn on, seeing her between your legs like that," Karina says, smirking.

Ningning moans happily as she continues to orally service your dick.

"Look at her," Karina says, "such a cute thing."

"No, look at you," you reply. "That top looks perfect on you. Your body's perfect."

"Thank you, babe. I wore this just for tonight." Karina brings her hands to her chest, and you must be drooling when she squeezes. "You like?"

You nod. "You're the hottest girl I've ever seen, Karina."

Ningning lets out a sad whimper around your cock.

Karina sits down on the edge of the bed next to you, watching intently as Ningning works to get your cock even harder with her mouth. "Wow, your cock is perfect. She's almost got you ready for me." She grabs your jaw and pulls you in for a kiss.

You're in a new endless world of bliss, Karina's lips on yours, Ningning's lips on your cock. The sound of her blowjob is noisy, wet, sloppy, but you notice only the moans coming out of Karina's mouth into yours. And even better than that is when Karina presses her full breasts against your arm, giving you visions of what's to come—hours of playing with those breasts greedily between your fingers.

Again, when Karina releases the kiss, she lets out a light moan, and it's the prettiest thing you've heard. "I can't wait to ride that big fucking cock."

"You don't have to wait." With a firm grip on Ningning's hair, you pull her off your cock and toss her onto the floor with a gentle thud. "Get a condom for me," you command.

Ningning lays on the ground, spit-covered lips quivering. She can't make eye contact with you or Karina. "Yes, Daddy."

Karina's legs rub together. "She's such an obedient girl." She brings her legs over and straddles you before she starts making out with you once again.

Though your hands are all over her body, they naturally find their way toward her breasts.

"Yeah, fuck, touch me," Karina says breathily, "feel me up."

"Your tits are incredible, holy shit."

"Just having your pet isn't enough for you?" Karina asks playfully.

You shake your head. "But you're more than enough."

Karina's lips press firmly against yours, her teeth grazing your lower lip in excitement. As you deepen the kiss, you can taste the faint hint of her lip gloss mingled with the subtle tang of your own blood. Her hands begin to explore, trailing down your body until they reach your shaft. Like Ningning before her, she struggles to fully wrap her fingers around your girth. "Fuck, you're so thick," she whispers in awe.

You let out a deep groan as Karina starts to twist and slide her hand up and down your wettened cock. Just then, Ningning's soft voice interrupts your passion-filled moment. "Here's the condom, Daddy," she says softly.

"Put it on with that dirty little mouth of yours."

Karina giggles then brings her lips back on yours, brings her tongue back into your mouth.

"You, you really want me to…"

You give her a stern look.

"Of, of course, Daddy. Whatever you want," she nervously replies before awkwardly scooting towards where you're sitting. You can see that she's struggling to find the space between you and Karina straddling your lap. Eventually, you hear the sound of the condom packet opening and feel Ningning putting it on with her mouth.

Karina's moans get louder, and she runs her hands through your hair.

"It's on, Daddy," Ningning announces timidly as she sits next to you, her hands resting meekly on her thighs.

You and Karina seem to want to kiss forever, Karina especially reveling in the spectator; however, she breaks it first. "Get on your back," she says, her eyes piercing into yours. "I'm riding you and this fucking beautiful dick into the bed."

As you both shuffle around and get comfortable, you push Ningning aside to the corner of the bed. You sink into the pillows while Karina kneels above you, gazing at you with hungry desire.

Ningning's tiny voice is barely audible as she begs, "Can I watch? Please, Daddy?" Her eyes gleam with admiration and delight at the sight of you and Karina together. "I love seeing you feel good. I promise I'll be quiet, I won't interrupt."

There might have been words in your right ear.

Karina laughs as she positions her slender figure over your cock. She takes hold of it and guides it towards her entrance with expert precision. "Are you just ignoring her? That's pretty fucking…" She sinks down into your length and moans loudly, musically. "Hot, oh, fuck, you feel so good." Her pussy clings closely, warm and snug around you.

Feeling dizzy with pleasure, you grab onto her shapely hips as she moves on top of you. She moans in response and adjusts to fit your entire length inside of her, her hand feeling your hardness through her slim waist.

"Wait, fuck, please. Don't move yet." Karina gasps. She begins to gyrate her hips back and forth, causing your head to spin even more. With that body and those tits and that tight hole and that impossibly perfect face contorting with bliss, any man could cum before the first thrust. But somehow, you manage to resist as she begins lifting herself, then fucking into you slowly. "That's, that's it. Nngh."

All the while, your eyes are dead set on her tits, waiting to watch them in action.

As Karina drops herself down onto you again, coating your dick with her juices, she starts to bounce at a steady rhythm. Even though they are confined by fabric, her ample breasts jiggle enticingly with each motion. "Fuck, that's too good," Karina says, moaning, closing her eyes. Then, she opens them as she looks over to where Ningning is squirming. "Aww, look how she's eyeing your cock. When was the last time you fucked her?"

"Hm. Maybe a month ago."

"God, you're so mean to her. I can't imagine depriving someone of this amazing dick." She moans as your length hits a particularly sensitive spot inside her, and then she leans down to grab your face. "I love it." There, she kisses you while her ride starts to intensify. You love the weight of her tits, and the loud slapping sound of her ass bearing down over and over.

"I'll come back later, Daddy." Ningning's voice is filled with dejection before fading away.

As Karina rides you cowgirl style, she sits up straight once again, her toes curling, her breasts bouncing, and her hair flying around her. You reach for her tube top, and she helps pull it up. You didn't think this ride could get better—then, the drop, as her boobs are set free. There's a magical ripple, so plenty for your eyes to feast on. And while the way her tits drop is hypnotizing, the way they bounce without the restraint of fabric is even more so. Karina brings her arms up and you assist her in removing the top completely before flinging it aside, leaving both of you bare and vulnerable to each other's touch.

In this new position, sitting up against the headboard, you lean in to kiss Karina deeply before trailing down to explore every inch of her body. Your lips linger at her long neck, her defined collarbone, and her lithe arms, but always find their way back to her luscious breasts where you suck on each pink nipple with fervor.

"Yeah, yeah, fuck, just like that, I'm so, so sensitive there." Karina moans breathlessly as she grinds against your cock. Her body vibrates with pleasure, and you can feel the clench of her cunt around your cock, tightening and relaxing with every deep thrust.

As you notice her soft mewling turn into breathy gasps, you intensify your actions: while your lips are latched to one of her firm nipples, and one hand is massaging her other breast thoroughly, your free hand goes down to her clit, rubbing in neat circles, causing her to arch her back and cry out in pleasure.

"Fuck, yes! Gonna, gonna cum!" Her words are punctuated by deep groans of pleasure, and you revel in her vocal responses, the sound of her deeper voice more harmonious to your ears than your girlfriend's high-pitched cries.

Her legs tremble as she slows down, giving you the opportunity to take control. You thrust upwards with determination, while simultaneously stimulating every sensitive spot on her body. Karina throws her head back, and she cums on your cock gracefully; you give her no quarter, pounding her through every pulse of her orgasm. Her cunt's tight grip makes you lightheaded, but you continue as a machine, worshipping her tits with your mouth and fingers, playing with her clit, until she's driven to new heights of pleasure.

After many long and languid inhales and exhales, Karina sighs contentedly, her body sated from the intense lovemaking. "I haven't cum that good in so long. Fuck." She pulls you close and kisses you deeply like the gratitude spoken didn't just escape her tongue. "So you haven't fucked her like this in a month? I almost feel bad for her."

"Don't."

"Sure." Karina playfully taps your shoulders, her fingers dancing over your skin. "Well then, I think it's only fair that I reward you for that."

With a soft wet pop, she lifts herself off of your slick member, the condom shining in the dim light of the room. She kneels before you, hunger in her eyes as she looks at your throbbing cock. Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips in anticipation.

"Do you have another condom?" she asks.

"Yeah, it's over by the drawer," you reply, still trying to catch your breath from the intense ride.

She scoffs. "Yet you made her… whatever." Karina's fingers graze your skin as she peels off the condom, the cool sensation a stark contrast to the heat emanating from her body. "Trust me, this much feels better. Plus I want to taste your precum."

She aligns your shaft between her perfect breasts, the soft sensation of them cushioning your cock. "Fuck, Karina. I've never done this before," you say with a gasp.

"Figured as much. Your other plaything's tiny tits could never compare to this, right?" Karina smirks before letting a glob of spit drip from her lips. Your dominant tendencies seem to have rubbed off on her and it turns you on even more.

But what really turns you on is the warmth and plushness of her breasts against your sensitive skin. She takes charge, using her skilled hands to stroke your cock as she holds her breasts together, creating a delicious pressure. Her movements are both gentle and firm as she guides you between her cleavage with precision. Each time your tip pokes out from between her breasts, she gives it a lick or a kiss that sends shivers through your body and elicits groans from deep within your lungs. And every time she does so, she manages to get just enough of the taste that she craves, as she keeps you on a plateau of pleasure and causes you to leak beads of semen.

You can't help but move your hips in rhythm with her while she continues to stroke you with her breasts. She notices and soon lets you take control, allowing you to thrust at your own pace. When you feel yourself getting closer to climax, you slow down and start kneading her breasts—first softly, then harder as your desire and arousal build. You treat her absurd body with the roughness it deserves, pulling her up from her knees by her malleable tits. "Oh, shit," Karina says as you throw her onto the bed, "I love how rough you are."

Eventually, the two of you end up fucking in every corner of the bedroom, finding places where you haven't fucked Ningning or even any other woman. You have Karina arched over the dresser as you enter her from behind, her moans mingling with the sound of rattling wood. You carry Karina, both hands sinking into the flesh of her buttcheeks, giving you both a workout. You two move to the floor, where a torrid round of reverse cowgirl shows off how her ass was as perfect an asset as her tits.

But the most intense and primal position is when you have her pinned against the door, her breasts and face pressed against it, her arm pulled back as you fuck her standing—well, she's only standing because your cock is propping her up, her legs jelly. In this frenzy, Karina is both a willing participant and a willing object, surrendering herself to the pleasure that awaits in each new position and location.

"Yes, yes! Just like that!" Karina cries out as sweat drips down her back; you lean over to taste the saltiness as you nibble on her neck.

And right there, in that position against the door, you make Karina cum again. This time, she squirts violently and her release sprays onto your legs, onto the floor, clear liquid making a mess between her thighs. You hear a whine from the other side of the door. You can't ever be accused of neglecting your girlfriend of her needs.

As if drawn by an uncontrollable magnetism, the two of you find your way back to where you started: you lying on the bed, and Karina riding the life out of you. Her breasts bounce with each thrust and your hands can't resist kneading them roughly. Red marks appear on her otherwise flawless skin, adding to the passionate chaos of the room. This roughness only intensifies Karina's tightness around your cock as she begs for more.

"You love it when I'm rough?" You growl into her ear. "Love feeling this big dick pounding into you?"

"God, yes! Fuck me back!" Karina exclaims.

Suddenly, Ningning opens the door. "Daddy, I just—"

But she's interrupted as Karina shouts and another wave of orgasm wracks through her body, causing her to pull away from you, too sensitive to continue. "Oh... my god," she says, out of breath. "I can't believe you made me cum again." Karina's lips dive into your neck, her wetness dripping down your thighs onto the sheets that you and Ningning share.

"Ningning's whisper breaks through the heavy atmosphere, her voice tinged with concern. "I just wanted to check up on you," she says softly. "You've been at it for a while. It's almost midnight."

Karina disentangles herself from the crook of your neck and moves to lay her head on your chest. Looking at Ningning with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she lets out a playful laugh. "Yeah, he's been fucking me senseless for a while now. Damn, he's good."

A smirk spreads across your face.

"I...uh..." Ningning struggles to find the right words, unsure whether to express pride or sadness.

"You just wanted to watch, didn't you?" Karina says, running her hand down your bare chest. "You naughty little thing."

You chime in, "Oh, I know her well. She was listening the whole time, pressed against the door with her ear. I could hear her." You'd ask if she made herself cum. You don't care.

A blush creeps onto Ningning's cheeks as she nods shyly.

"Wow, she is soo needy." Karina looks down and notices that your erection is still going strong. "Fuckin' hell, you stud. Haven't cum yet?"

"Nope."

Karina peels herself off of you and lies down next to you on the bed. "Here, I'll lay down so you can pound my pussy until you cum. Does that sound good to you?"

You waste no time positioning your cock between her legs, then you grab her ankles and place them over your shoulders.

"Oh shit, yes..." She draws in a sharp breath as you thrust into her all at once, causing her eyes to roll back in ecstasy. "God, fuck, I'm still so turned on..." Her words become moans as you piston into her, your primal instincts taking over.

You watch as Karina's irresistible breasts jiggle with each and every thrust, her soaked pussy gripping onto you tightly.

"You don't care if she watches do you?" Karina giggles like she's drunk off your cock. "Looks like, ngh, you don't care what she does at all. Hnn…" She looks at Ningning, who is standing by the door, unable to look away. Karina pats the bed to her. "Come here, join us on the bed. You can get a closer look at Daddy's cock going in and out of me. Don't you want to see how I please your Daddy? Watch him fuck my brains out. Watch why he's choosing me over you."

"Daddy, wait—"

Karina moans. "Hurry up or get out, I don't think your Daddy gives a fuck."

Ningning only hesitates one more second before dragging her feet over to the bed.

"Good girl," Karina praises as Ningning lies down next to her obediently.

"Can you touch me, Daddy? Please? Or will you just hold my hand while you—"

You swat her hand away when she reaches out towards you, causing Karina to erupt in laughter. "Looks like she'll just have to watch."

You kiss Karina like you love her, like she's your girlfriend, or your wife, or your long-lost love you haven't seen in years. It must be breaking Ningning's heart, but you can't see or care, with Karina's face the only face in your mind. The only reminders of Ningning's presence are the occasional whimpers and moans that escape from her lips.

"Come on, babe," Karina urges with a fierce kiss, "don't hold back. I want to make you cum in front of her." She places her hand on your chest, slowing your movements. "Flip me over and rail me, babe. Give me everything she wants."

You swiftly pull out and bring Karina to her hands and knees.

"Ooh, that's it." She moans loudly as you push her head down and thrust into her from behind. Her back arches, showcasing the perfect curve of her ass.

As your movements become more forceful, Karina's moans echo through the room and she clings to the sheets with desperation. You finally make eye contact with Ningning, her hands buried in her shorts and her breath ragged as she watches you and Karina together.

"God, you're so rough. Yes!" Karina shouts.

Meanwhile, Ningning's gasps and moans grow louder as she tries to pleasure herself. Despite her best efforts, it seems that nothing can satisfy her.

"Do it," Karina says, looking back, "cum for me!"

All of the sensations come crashing together—the movement of Karina's body, the tightness of her pussy around you, and the sight of your girlfriend watching as you fuck another woman. With one final rough slam, you burst inside Karina, gripping her ass cheeks and calling out her name. Every last drop is drained from your balls as you fill the condom to the seams.

After the intense pulsations subside, you loosen your grip on Karina's ass and she collapses onto the bed, breathing heavily and moaning in satisfaction. "Holy fuck. That was amazing," she says between giggles. She notices that Ningning has not stopped pleasuring herself this entire time, her fingers slick with wetness as they slide in and out of her swollen folds. "Looks like I'm not the only one who thought so. You enjoy seeing your man blow his load in another woman so much, don't you? Are you pretending to be me right now?"

You are surprised by Karina's bold words, but not surprised at Ningning's increased moans and trembling body as she reaches her desperate climax because of those words, likely making a mess of her underwear.

"That's so hot," Karina purrs with a wiggle of her hips. Your half-hard cock remains inside of her as she speaks. "Give me a few more thrusts before you pull out."

You oblige, gazing up at the ceiling while Karina wrings every last bit of pleasure from you into the condom. She disentangles herself from you and leans in for a kiss.

"Mmh, that was fun. We should do that again sometime. Oh, and can I use your shower?" Karina asks.

"Of course," you reply. "Actually, do you mind if I join you in a sec?"

She nods, smiling. "Sure, babe. That sounds nice." Karina heads to the shower with a flick of her hair over her shoulder, drawing the attention of both you and Ningning to her toned buttocks.

Ningning lies on the bed, spent on her own self-pleasure. "Did, mmnh, did you have fun, Daddy? Was she good for you?"

Stretching, you remove the condom from your now-flaccid member. "The best."

"Nnh." Her breathing quickens. "That looks good."

You offer her the condom, almost filled to the brim with your load.

"F-for me? Really, Daddy? I can have your yummy cum?"

"Sure."

She's excited for the first time in a while. "Yes! Thank you! Oh, thank you, thank you, Daddy!" Ningning takes the cum-filled condom and brings it to her lips, drinking the cum out like a woman parched in the desert. Her lips make wet, sucking noises as she swallows up the thick, sticky globs of semen. "Oh god, Daddy, you taste so good."

Each gulp of cum elicits a moan from Ningning as she savors it. You can tell that she's still sore from her last orgasm, and despite that, her hand snakes its way back down to fingerfuck herself again. She keeps the condom in her mouth for a while, making sure she doesn't miss out on a drop, turning it inside out to be sure—even when it's empty, she gets herself off again with her lips wrapped around the used protection.

As Ningning prepares to bring herself to another climax using the condom around her fingers as a substitute for your cock, you excuse yourself and head to the shower. What a doormat does with her time does not concern you. You have a shower to hop into and an actual woman to enjoy it with.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty-Seven

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Violence, suggestive content

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Two months. Two. Fucking. Months. Cassian shook his head, almost impressed.

Quite literally two fucking months. 

Cassian’s breath caught in his throat. He half-coughed, half-laughed up the wine he’d been drinking. Nesta thumped his back, a mischievous smirk plastered on her normally severe face. 

Rhysand had finally gotten word that you and Azriel would be arriving… well, anytime now. Everyone had piled onto the House of Wind’s roof to await your return, the taste of new gossip already in the air. 

Nesta lounged in Cassian’s lap, searching the horizon line for the tell-tale flicker of Azriel’s wings. Gwyn, Emerie, and Mor were too busy placing bets on which of the males — if any — would come out of the fight unscathed to stare at the sky. 

“Fifty on Azriel.” Emerie said without hesitation.

There was a clatter of coins. 

“I’ve got a good feeling about Helion. The paternal protectiveness might make him especially vicious.” Gwyn reasoned. 

“Brotherly protectiveness may prove just as strong. If not stronger.” Was Mor’s opinion. “Lucien and Helion both won against Azriel last time.” 

“Az wasn’t trying then.” Emerie argued back. “Sad male that he was.”

The father-son pair tried not to let their egos grow or be injured by the conversation happening so close by. Instead, they engrossed themselves in their third chess game of the morning. It was becoming rather tedious by now. Being the early risers — and overprotective males — that they were, they’d been waiting for hours in the training ring for the first sign of your return. 

Alas, nothing so far.

A spread of breakfast plates cluttered the table they played on, silverware stacked neatly on porcelain plates. Save for the knives. Those were kept in close reach.

Rhysand tried to join in on the game, but the two males refused him time and time again. They knew better than to play with a daemati. 

“Feyre, darling,” Rhys purred. “Won’t you indulge me?” 

She smirked, but slid into her chair beside Nesta and Cassian, and across from her mate. She folded her finger neatly beneath her chin, her wall of adamant strong and impenetrable. 

Rhys was about to make his first move — pawn to E4 — when a twinkle in Feyre’s eye told him they had visitors. 

Cassian stood up straighter, a shit-eating grin already plastered on his face as he cupped his hand to his mouth and whooped.

A full house. You remarked as the House of Wind came into view above the city. Its red stone spires crawled into the sky. Reaching like outstretched fingertips.

The wind sang in your ears, ruffling your hair as you clung to Azriel. 

Lucky us. You teased.

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw twitched at the flash of red hair and crown of black locs waiting on the roof. 

Helion and Lucien rose slowly, twin smirks gracing their lips as they started unclasping necklaces and tying back their hair. 

Is it too late to go back to the Cottage? Azriel growled, dropping to his feet on the House of Wind’s roof.

I’m afraid so. We’ve committed. 

You slowly untangled yourself from Azriel’s hold and planted both feet on solid ground. He caught your arm before you could stray too far, tugging you back to his side and wrapping a wing around your shoulders. 

“You’re baaaaaack!” Cassian sang, throwing his arm out in a gesture of welcome. “Gods have we missed you both. You especially, Y/n. You look lovely. The mating bond suits you.” 

He winked seductively, blowing a kiss in your direction. 

Azriel figured Cassian could do without his remaining arm. 

“I hope Azriel sufficed for your first time.” Rhysand chimed in. His voice was liquid velvet. By now, Azriel had gone stone still — a dangerous look for the Shadowsinger. “But if you’re ever interested in sampling better fares, Cassian and I—” 

Helion slammed into Azriel’s side before he could reach Rhysand, wrapping his powerful arms around Azriel’s middle and throwing him across the room where Lucien waited with fist pulled back. 

Remember what we talked about. 

Azriel was slippery and cool as he wove in and out between Helion and Lucien’s bodies. He threw out a collection of strikes that had blood splattering on the ground.

Nothing permanent. He growled.

Thank you. 

“Did you see that?” Rhysand looked aghast as he settled deep into his seat. “He was going to hit me!” He flipped his cane end over end. 

“He has no honor, brother.” Cassian agreed. But both had to admit, there was some satisfaction in getting to watch the fight instead of participating in it. 

You slunk around the edges of the training ring, trying to avoid getting too close to the tumble of bodies that were being thrown around like rag dolls. 

It would seem there was someone else trying to escape notice.

You blinked in surprise. “What are you doing here, High Lord?” 

Eris Vanserra leaned against a stone pillar, foot propped up against the wall as he swirled a glass of wine between bejeweled fingers. Aside from the gold glittering on his knuckles and along his ears, he was dressed like a commoner. His brown riding boots were well-worn with love and his shirt was left open at the top to reveal scarred and freckled skin. He chuckled when Lucien slammed his fist into the side of Azriel’s face with a growl that rattled the columns.

“None of that High Lord business.” He said, swatting the air like the very term offended him. “Call me Eris.” He smiled sideways at you, never taking his full attention off the fight. “Lucien asked me to come as backup, and I would never pass up the opportunity to help my brother,” he glanced down at you and cocked his head to the side, “And my sister.” 

“Is that what we are now? Siblings?”

He shrugged. “We always did want a girl in the family.” 

You were about to ask who Eris meant by “we” when there came a loud bang. 

Azriel held the shattered legs of a chair and Lucien kneeled on the ground, spitting splinters from his mouth. 

“You’re doing your brotherly duty wonderfully.” Your words were drier than a desert. 

Helion came to Lucien’s aide and used those powerful legs of his to drop kick Azriel in the chest and crack a rib… or two. 

“I’m also here for the entertainment.” Eris winked. 

When he turned back to the fight, Azriel was already staring at him, and he was livid. 

“Ahhhh, that’s my cue.” He tousled your hair, earning a roar from Azriel as Lucien and Helion latched onto his arms and held the Shadowsinger back. “We’ll talk again later.” 

He sauntered over to the trio, reared back his fist, and punched Azriel in the stomach. 

Nesta waved you over from her spot at the table with Gwyn, Emerie, Mor, and Feyre. It was a safe enough distance away from the brawl, even if the glasses shook every time a body hit the floor. 

“Leave the males to their fighting and eat. You must be starved.” Nesta slid over a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast slathered in a healthy amount of butter. 

You hated that Nesta was right. The frenzy had left you with little patience for eating most days. You descended upon the food. 

Gwyn was still watching the males. There was a strange fascination in her eyes as Helion spit out a mouthful of blood and Azriel punched Eris in the teeth. “I wonder how many wars could have been prevented if the males simply gathered in a room with their right hands and a ruler.” 

Emerie snorted. “I reckon at least ten.” 

Gwyn shook her head. “So.” She turned her attention to you and leaned in close. “How was it?” She did not speak the words quietly.

You blushed through a mouthful of eggs. “It was… very nice.” 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” Nesta shook her head so many times that flyaway strands of blonde hair escaped her coronet. “How was it?”

Cassian moved in close, resting his head on Nesta’s shoulder. “We want details.” 

“Oh, stay out of this, Cass.” 

The Lord of Bloodshed huffed when Feyre enclosed the females in a wall of silent air. He settled for laying his head against Nesta’s back, feeling the vibrations of her body as she spoke.  

“We do want details. Spare us nothing.” 

The females hovered, breaths held in their chests for every salacious detail you were certain to tell. Their excitement made them forgetful of one very important fact — you had always been, and likely always would be, very private.

You looked at Feyre and swallowed. “We um… We broke the windows at the Cottage and need them replaced.” 

The females blinked. 

“Which ones?” Feyre asked, arching a dark brow. 

Azriel smiled at you from across the training ring, a trickle of blood spilling out from the corner of his lips as he wrestled Eris to the ground with his legs locked around the redhead’s neck. 

“All of them.” 

It was near noon when the fighting started, and the males still hadn’t ceased though the sun had set hours ago.

You walked onto the roof smothered in one of Azriel’s sweaters to escape the air’s chilly bite. This high up the mountains, the wind always whisked away heat like the sea to sand. 

Scraps of fabric littered the ground. Bloodstains lay sprinkled across stone floors like salt. It was all to be expected after a mating frenzy, and it did not surprise you that Azriel had kept up with your father and brothers for so long, but, enough was enough. You wanted your mate back.

“Ahem,” You coughed loudly. 

Azriel’s eyes flickered to you before you even opened your mouth. He had felt your presence before you’d even walked up the stairs and stepped onto the training mats. 

My love. He sighed.

Eris got the last swing in, but he missed the Shadowsinger by a half-margin. Poor Lucien, who’d been holding back Azriel’s arm, got a fistful of gold rings instead.

Lucien’s head snapped back. “What the fuck, Eris?!” He stood grasping at his nose. Blood spilled out from between his fingers. 

Eris winced. “Sorry, little brother.” 

You made another little noise and the males shoved each other away, bodies sweaty and bloodstained. Eris’s shirt was ripped to shreds, barely hanging onto his narrow shoulders as he wiped the blood from his lips and grinned like a fox. Helion was missing a nose ring and the top tip of his ear. A bruise sprouted along Lucien’s cheeks courtesy of his brother. 

But Azriel? The only evidence he carried of the fight was the thin line of dried blood between his lips. It was not unpleasant to look upon.

Less than ten seconds ago they’d been at each other's throats with tooth and nail. But as males were ought to do, once the fight was over they were quick to grumble half-hearted compliments and began picking jewelry and abandoned blades off the floor.

Azriel tipped his head towards you in the smallest of bows. When you held out your hand for him, he didn’t even bother walking to close the distance between you two. He winnowed directly to your side.

About time you finished. I’m ready for bed and I’d like to have my mate beside me.

I like it when you call me that. I like it when you call me yours.

You smiled softly at him, brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead. You didn’t think you’d ever tire of smiling at his hazel eyes. 

You looked to the rest of your family. “Are you alright?”

“Don’t pretend to worry about us, dear Y/n.” Eris snorted. The smirk on his face was a friendly one, highlighting his handsome, but impish, features as he gathered his cloak from the corner of the room. He swung it around his shoulders, magically repairing his clothes with a flutter of red velvet. “We’re fine. And I would never pass up an opportunity to go toe-to-toe with the Shadowsinger.” He winked at Azriel, who only scowled in return. 

That scowl turned into a barred teeth snarl when Eris brushed past you both.

His warm, amber eyes betrayed what you already knew from that brief moment of contact before he went off to his room — he hadn’t been lying when he said they always wanted a girl in the family. 

“Goodnight, sister.” Lucien said, kissing your forehead. It took everything in Azriel not to pummel Lucien once more. Your brother’s eyes flickered up to the Shadowsinger. “And congratulations on your mating bond. Truly.” 

You mouthed the words, Thank you, before accepting a final goodnight embrace from your father. 

“It’s good to have you back.” He smoothed back your hair. Then Helion clicked his tongue and thumped Azriel on the shoulder. “Greedy little Shadowsinger. Keeping my daughter away for two months.” He shook his head in mock disappointment.

The pair soon disappeared down the hallway leaving you and Azriel to linger in the night’s silence alone.

The corner of Azriel’s mouth twitched — the only sign he was in any pain when you gently brushed against his ribs. 

You smirked. It would seem that your family members had done a number on the Shadowsinger. He’d just been hiding it beneath layers of leather and male pride. What a shame that the females’ bets had been for nothing.

My Y/n, whose side are you on? He asked as you began unbuckling the gauntlets on his arms. Piece by piece, leather armor fell to the ground as steam curled up into the air. It never failed to amaze you how large Illyrian tubs were—and how long they took to fill. 

I’m on both your sides.

That is a very noncommittal answer. 

It’s a very judicious answer. 

Azriel smiled, cheeks brushing against yours as he kissed the curve of your ear. I do agree you are anything if not sensible. 

Azriel hummed in satisfaction as the last of his Illyrian leathers dropped to the floor. You knelt beside the tub, pouring in a concoction of oils as Azriel stretched out his wings. It was easy to admire the curve of his neck and the muscles of his back as his wings flexed open and close. 

When he was deep beneath the waters, eucalyptus and lavender opening up his lungs, he asked you to clean his wings. It was heaven whenever you touched them. Your soft fingertips seemed to hold all the power in the world — the power to light his blood aflame like whiskey or to soothe him like a sleep draught. Tonight your touch was peaceful as he wrapped his mind around the bond and felt your souls melt and mix like gold. 

This is to be our lives now. Azriel reminded himself once again. 

You buried yourself beneath the covers and made a little noise of contentment that never failed to make his chest grow warm. 

It is. You agreed. Would you like me to remind you? 

It was a pattern of words you’d grown used to while at the Cottage. Azriel would marvel at the mating bond—the peace that came with it—and you would take to carefully kissing the expanse of his chest, his neck, his collarbones, until there wasn’t an inch of skin that hadn’t been painted by your gentle lips. 

You began that ritual now, winding your way up his chest and ending at his eyelids. Black eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks as you finished performing the magic that was your love and devotion. 

I love you, Azriel. You reminded him. You would remind him of that truth every day of your lives. 

I love you too, Y/n. I adore you. 

You settled into his side and Azriel draped a wing around your shoulders in a move that was as natural as breathing now. Heads bowed together, shadows curled close by, and scarred hands met scarred skin as he traced the curve of your spine.

The Shadowsinger and the Inkbird. 

Together. 

As they were always meant to be.

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Author's Note:

This is the last chapter before the epilogue y'all. I don't think I can say anything right now because it feels weird to be saying goodbye to this story so... I guess I'll save my thoughts and emotions for another time...