#bastard lad's bastard tag | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prettyboykatsuki · 26 days

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BLOOD FEUDS, ANCIENT AND MODERN | RYOMEN SUKUNA.

✮ tags ; no curses au, blood incest, use of honorifics (oji-san) abuse (mostly verbal / emotional), classism, grooming / generally predatory behavior, large age gaps (20+ yrs), blood feuds, imbalanced power dynamics, white collar crime, afab + fem!niece!reader, uncle sukuna, the word rape used in text, non/dubcon (not noncon necessarily), fingering, petnames (little one, kid, little lamb), thigh-fucking, and other things, very horrible and gross sukuna behavior 18+

this is very dark and it deals BRIEFLY with sukuna being very predatory to reader when she's UNDERAGE / young. nothing explicit happens WHILE she is underage, but sukuna does leer at reader and it is mentioned. please proceed with caution !!!

PLEASE HEED THE TAGS BEFORE YOU PROCEED!!!

✮ wc ; 10.3k (???????????)

✮ a/n ; thank you vic @saintshigaraki for always indulging my nonsense and also tomfoolery. kissing you.

i'll be honest lads this one got away from me BAD jksdfhjs. i think its interesting at least.I KNOW THE TAGS ARE WICKED but i promise its like. kind of sexy at least.

also yes the title is from the rdr2 soundtrack shhh

✮ synopsis ; blood is thicker than water. resentment, you think, is thicker than both.

Bastard.

An intimately familiar title, lacking tooth and effect. It's meaning eroded with time and usage - and a moniker you've wielded proudly for as long as you can remember. You don't recall much of your life before it became part of you.

The daughter born of wedlock. Bastard daughter. The only remaining stain to your family's reputation aside from your late father.

Your mother often tells you that you were her hardest child to birth. When you were littler it was a story relayed to you with affection, and but now it's with such bitter hatred you can feel it lodged in your throat.

The most important element is the predestination in it. You came into the world kicking and screaming, throat hoarse and violent. From birth, you knew you were half-forged with bad blood and came into the world trying to be absolved of it. It's shaped your life, your relationships, everything about you.

The other half of your DNA, the good half, is from your father. Before you were a bastard, you were your parents' only child. Your father was a good man. The best you know. An average, humble man. From a generation of other working class men with a tough job in construction. Your best memories come from when he was still alive.

A quiet life, untainted by the residual bitterness of your mothers heritage. You lived away from it, outside of it. The mother in your memories from back then seem like a dream now, some mirage from long ago - disinterested in anything but you and your father. Your mama and papa. Your father took good care of you both, and your mother loved him madly.

You lived as a normal family in a small apartment just outside of Gifu for the first seven years of your life. You attended a small local school and had friends with crooked teeth and messy hair.

Your childhood was mostly happy if you break it up into pieces like that. Blissfully uneventful.

There's a concise break of change of what your life was versus what became of it. Your fathers death the splinter in the wood, separating the two halves.

The worst of your childhood, of course, came in your fathers passing. Not just because of the loss, but what it made of your life. His funeral welcomed people of all walks of life with the most notable absence of your elusive mothers side of the family.

Another old memory you have with your mother is looking at her face during your fathers wake. The deep darkness of her eyes, sunken in and hollow. The first time you ever found her terrifying instead of comforting. While the world mourned your father, your mother—you think—mourned her life.

Forced into single motherhood with no prospects and no career, your mother decided it was best for the both of you to return home.

You think the worst of your life started there.

Your mother's side of the family has never welcomed you with open arms. You wouldn't come to know why until much later. You were a child then. There's no way you could've known about feuds that deep.

The only thing you knew was that you were hated vehemently, and nothing could change that.

Your grandmother's estate was always frightening to you in your childhood. You've yet to grow out of that feeling despite living there for the last fifteen years. It's remained unchanged since you moved in and the lights in the hall never seems bright enough. Jade green painted walls and white tile floors. Some rooms have classically Japanese flooring and heirloom paintings from the Heian era. Others modernized with sterile whites and grays and house plants that add no life to it at all. Stretched wide with tens of rooms, and easy for a child to get lost in.

A sinking abyss. A terrible place. A dark labyrinth. Anxiety inducing to even think about now. No place for a child your size or your age.

The best way to describe your childhood after your father died was cold. Removed from your life in the suburbs and placed among other rich kids, you became overtly self-conscious of the differences between you and them. Them being anyone who grew up wealthy and your other extended family. You were constantly reminded of your place as the bastard child. Later learning how your mother left her fiance many years ago for your father, your poor and worthless father.

(You theorize any warmth that your mother had for you was buried in your dead dads casket. Living there, among them, made sure she'd never find it again.)

Your mother is the most complicated part of your life. You don't have a time for when she gave up on raising you. There was a year when she tried, you think. For the most part, you lived in that house utterly alone.

At first that abandonment was miserable (as it would be to any child, certainly) but a time came where you were glad you saw so little of her.

Your mother, who you had once loved and thought highly of, became a pitiful prey animal in the four walls of your grandmother's house. Small and anxious and utterly hateful. A bunny born with some cosmic knowledge and horrific understanding that its destiny is to become food for a wolf. Viciousness between her siblings, no doubt fostered by your grandparents and their establishment, tore apart the aspects of her your father mended and ruined her. You were too little to stop it.

Blood feuds that ran bone-chillingly deep plagued most of the interactions with your extended family for as long as you've been a part of them. Your mother has exactly four siblings. Two sisters between her with her as the middle daughter, and two brothers. One of which is estranged so completely you don't know his name.

And the other being your Uncle Sukuna.

Your hatred for your aunts and their children came to you rather naturally. For every gala and ball and charity fund your worthless bloodline ever raised, came catty arguments and verbal abuse from the shallow mouths of your beloved cousins. You had nothing to prove to anyone in that house. You were detested since your birth and your grandparents made no small effort to show you through as much neglect and verbal lashing as they could get away with.

Rotten girl. Cursed daughter. You're the reason your mother is like this. You're the reason she is miserable. You should've been buried with your father.

Compared to the experience of your grandfather ripping into you at age ten for simply being alive, your cousin's commentary on you was remarkably uninteresting. You resented them for being nuisances, though, with the exception of maybe one who bucked it out of that place as soon as they could. Just like you planned too.

For a long time, Sukuna wasn't around enough to have a real presence in your consciousness. You tried not to think of your extended family more than you had too. You got used to not knowing about your relatives living there, but there was no one so elusive as him.

It was as if, increasingly, you heard whispers of his name at everything you were forced to attend.

The first time you ever meet your Uncle, you're freshly sixteen. It's the birthday party your mother throws for you each year in an effort to show how close the two of you are to the rest of your relatives.

The first time you see Sukuna in person, the only thing on your mind is how much he stands out from the rest of your relatives. He's a head taller than the tallest person there, and he's...bigger. He's not clean or neat, scruff lining his chin. Old, dark eyes. Visible tattoos that reek of disgraced son and hardly of prodigy.

At sixteen, you understood intimately what your family considered to be gold standard. Your uncle was antithetical to it. His very existence a paradox to the ideas you've had been hammered into you for years. Dyed hair, piercings, tattoos - his suit jacket undone to expose his chest. Lacking respect and formality and dignity.

He was a lot like you. You got that impression, somehow.

When your eyes met with your uncles for the first time, you had your second fully formed thought about him.

Dangerous. Like an alarm. Like a ringing bell, throbbing through your skull and pulsing through your teeth. Some part of you just knew that he was a very dangerous man. Not just a wealthy one.

The first conversation you ever had with your uncle proves to be the most significant. Brief, yet - tonal in all ways. The gold standard for how he viewed you. How he would view you.

How he would treat you.

("So you're the new brat,"

Your uncle is an imposing man. You are sixteen and slightly tipsy, which is the least horrible thing you could be since your other cousin is coked out in the bathroom upstairs. You sway, staring at him. You think that's disrespectful.

He's the kind of man who might kill you for that. Might hit you. But you don't find it in yourself to challenge your defiance when you're far from sober and even father form happy. You lean your weight to one side and hum.

"New bastard," You correct him, and take another sip of the flute of champagne in your hand. "My worthless fathers, worthless daughter."

Sukuna pauses, his eyes widening before his lips break out into a grin. You wonder if it's because you're drunk. You think he's staring at you. Your eyes are too blurry to tell but you think he's gazing down the low dip of your top. At the curve of your chest. Leering at the body you've yet to even grow into.

"Tenacious," Your uncle says, and takes a long drink of his sake. You stare at the edge of his glass, carmine eyes gazing so deeply at you - you think you'll throw up. "You're your mothers daughter. Through and through.")

The night of your sixteenth birthday, your uncle announced he'd be opening a business venture in Tokyo. All this time he'd been doing work overseas, but seeing family helped finalized his decision. You remember the look on his face when he announced it. Remembered his eyes searching on you through the crowd as he held the mic up to his lips. How he named you the main reason, one conversation and he grew so fond of his little niece. That you were a clever girl, and that even though he hadn't known you long - he was sure you'd go so far.

Happy Birthday to you, little lamb.

You remember best the feeling afterwards. How the crowd went nearly silent. Hundreds of eyes darting your way in seas of strangers. All the attention people hadn’t paid suddenly mattering, all the congratulations. You remember how they crowded you and how your uncle came to your rescue with a cheeky grin and air of nonchalance.

You remember feeling sick. You remember the chill creeping up your spine, bile in your throat - all wet eyes and nausea.

Your uncle is a dangerous man. And you, the uninteresting bastard daughter, had caught his full attention.

The next four years of your life would pass so slowly, you often wondered during them, if you died that night and you'd live through these days as punishment for the crime of existing.

A little after your birthday, your uncle moved back to Japan permanently - in a residence not far from your grandmother's estate. He became a permanent fixture in your life. Many things came with that reality, none of them being especially pleasant.

You learn three things in the four years you spend with your uncle in your life.

The first is that your uncle is more powerful than you can really understand.

Through conversations at your kitchen table about his escapades abroad, you learn nothing of the work he actually does. Only what it involves, who it involves - foreign governments and people much more powerful than your family. Your uncle has ties to the Gojo family, and the Zenins'. Your time here teaches you that they make up two halves of private militarized arms and they work domestically and internationally. The only thing you need to know about them is they are filthy rich, richer than your own family and twice as corrupt.

And Sukuna works with them. Knows them rather intimately, from the pictures you've seen of Sukuna and Gojo Satoru drinking together - two prodigal sons with silver spoons and unsettling demeanors.

The second thing you learn is that your uncle's power and influence extend past all borders and include your grandparents and relatives. In the years he'd been away from home, he's garnered a formidable reputation. You never cared to notice it before, but it's all you can see now. Every arrogant, vapid relative you have the displeasure of calling family sees your uncle as some sort of king. The golden ticket to grandparents approval. A wishing well for all their hopes and dreams - so long as they appease him.

They fawn over him. Sukuna knows it. But they're all so busy trying to get on his good side they never catch his subtleties. Never seem to notice the cold sarcasm and biting edge to his questions. They pander and peacock to him constantly, but not one of them has sense enough to understand him a little deeper. Except you, incidentally. That's part of your problem

The third thing you learn about your uncle is that he takes pleasure in your cleverness no one in your life has since.... who knows? Since your father died, you think.

And you are clever. A head smarter than the rest of your family and a try-hard in all aspects. You graduated highschool top of your class and got scholarships into better schools. It was never about proving your worth of course, but about survival. You wanted away from this place, and the only way to cut your ties completely is to carve a life for yourself. Academia, education, using your name to make connections - you've been working silently on it since you were in middle school.

The only person who'd ever noticed your accomplishments was Sukuna. In between his work, he'd visit you in your room. You grew close in one sense of the word. It was a secret kept between you - but Sukuna often reminded you of it. That he saw you for who you were when no one else did. That his interest in you exceeds your own understanding, and it'd be in your best interest to remember that.

Some half-way between threats and affection, for four years - your uncle remained at your side. Uneasy as you were, he'd never try to advance on you while you were still in highschool. Some part of you knew he wasn't above it. Rather his interest hinged on getting to know you.

Your uncle is above all things manipulative.

Rather he preferred to keep you on your toes during the duration of your time together. To get close but not too close. To get to know each other openly. Your uncle made sure everyone in your family knew of his fondness for you. He'd keep you close to his side or follow you around, always in public places with a million eyes. He'd whisper to you, laughed and asked questions.

You hated being the center of attention, so Sukuna turned it on you any chance he got. It made it hard for you to refuse him, but mostly it made it hard to go under the radar without his protection. It made it hard for your relatives to insult and berate you.

You hated it. You hated accepting his kindness, because you know your uncle well enough to know that everything in the world came with a cost. And that this protection is little more than luxury, promised to you as long as you played nice.

And you always did play nice. But you were cautious. Never alone too long in the same room. Never somewhere too late. Never drunk, never high. Always within distance of a door. Sukuna was a dangerous man, and you may be a bastard but you're no fool.

It'd work for years. You evaded any real alone time with him for years. Years.

Until earlier this year where your mother had made arrangements for you to spend the summer with your dear old Uncle - in his villa, far from the safety of Japan's main island.

In the years of your uncle's favoritism towards you, no one has been more pleased than your mother. You've come to hate her for it. Your relationship hasn't been good in years and for her to suddenly attempt to be your mother again felt like a mockery.

(It mostly felt like a betrayal. You didn't think she could betray you a second time after she all but abandoned you the minute she stepped foot in that house.

Like something possessing the corpse of the mama in your dreams, your seething hatred towards her started then you think.)

You'd spent years indifferent to her, but it was this change that made you hate her down to your bones. You were furious about the decision. Furious she didn't bother asking, furious about all of it.

About everything.

An entire summer alone with the man you know to be most dangerous to you. You wouldn't put it past Sukuna, to plan this around you - but it didn't make it any less frustrating.

("You'll be going with your uncle," Your mother says, hardly listening to you. There's a baby on her hip, your half-brother and a vacant look in her eyes. You feel your jaw tighten. "We've already made plans. Your stepfather,"

"Your husband." You correct. Your mother gives you a tight-lipped smile.

"We are going on a family vacation. Your grandparents wouldn't tolerate you here alone , so you're going and that's final."

"I don't need to live with you," You seethe, fighting the urge to grab her and punch her. You've never been violent. Your mother makes you homicidal. "I can find my own fucking place, I'm twenty I don't need-"

She slams something. Your half-brother makes watery eyes. She stares at you distantly, righteously angry. Whether she's earned that anger or not, it makes your mood worse. .

"This is the least you could for me. For us." She hisses, turning around. You think of killing her. "For all the shit you put me through."

"What I put you through? Fuck you," You admit, your throat burning like a star falling through the atmosphere. Then, through a shaky breath"There's something off about him, mom. Do you understand what I'm fucking saying? Where you're sending me?

Three expressions pass over her face. The ghost of grief, some kind of solace and then more vacancy. She swallows, turns around to keep folding baby clothes. Her voice trembles. She knows she's sending you to your doom. Knows what waits for you as soon as you go.

"You're going. We need this." She says, and still doesn't turn to look at you. Her voice is so frigid it doesn't sound like hers anymore. "That's final."

You shouldn't be shocked by it anymore, but it doesn't make it easier.

You slam the door on your wait out. You hope their plane crashes on the way there.)

You tried your best to worm your way out of the situation before the semester closed out. But Sukuna, three steps ahead of you at all times, made sure that wasn't possible. Your uncle owned a villa out on an island, private - and the bags had already been packed. You'll like it there, he assured you so many times, it's comfortable. There's a good view and the kids in the place will remind you of the kids you grew up with.

(It's hard not to notice the ways in which Sukuna tempts you into wanting to go. Though there's nothing, truly, that could make the experience a pleasant one - it's posed to appeal to you. A place to remind you of your childhood. You try not to think about it.)

Despite your protests, despite your vehement frustration - there was nothing you could do but go. If you didn't go with Sukuna, it'd be enduring 3 months alone with your grandparents. You could try to crash with friends but the friends you've made so far wouldn't dream of being so polite and you dare not think of burdening your childhood friends with your family problems. They deal with enough as is.

The last option was running away. You're desperate enough to entertain it. You do, several times - considering what the worst outcome could be. All scenarios end with Sukuna coming to find you, because he's crazy and connected like that. Even if he's deliberate in not displaying those parts of himself, you know his apathy to be a facade.

You know him well. He knows you well. It feels like a competition to see who can outsmart the other that you were forced into with no say.

So, come the end of your third year of college - a driver picks you up right as your finals are finished to take you to the airport. A private jet, a nauseating display of wealth just for your uncle to torment you with you're sure.

On the plane ride to a small island on the coast of Japan, you think to yourself that all gods in the world must've abandoned you before you were ever born.

The first few weeks of your stay in the island of Nii-jima prove to be uneventful.

For a small island, it's still governed through something related to Tokyo. It's not the city or even the country, some quiet and relaxing in between. There are people here who've lived for generations and others who are only touring. Your uncle's villa though, is far from all life - and a few miles out from a beach.

You can hardly understand what a single man needs such a big house for. There's staff there too, though less than at your grandparents place which you're grateful for. You've met six of eight, two of them people who take care of the yards and garden.

Sato-san is the woman you see most often. The one cook Sukuna has and the woman who's been working longest. She is kindhearted and sturdy, often bringing her grandchildren with her. She's quiet and motherly - and so warm you're unsure of how to behave around her. Your uncle is seemingly fond of her which is saying a lot. She speaks highly of him.

It's been so long since you've experienced something like maternal warmth, you're awkward around her. You try to not be too attached, try not to be fond of anything in this house because you know something horrible and dormant lies within it and you do not want to stay. Don't even want to entertain the idea of staying.

But Sato-san is good to you, with wrinkles and sunspots and a bright laugh. Her grandchildren are so well-behaved you wonder about how they were raised. A girl about seven and a boy about four, always quiet and inattentive. You've grown fond of them too, despite how bad you normally are with children. They're easy to be around.

You're frustrated mainly because you don't hate being here. The people are kind and welcoming and everyone locally is pleasant and good. You've been in the city too long, with insane people too long, and everything feels refreshing. The bus here is free and you can be at the beach whenever you like. You've made friends here - organically, with no strings attached. .

For the first time in your twenty years of living, you even have a guy you think is cute. It seems small, but back home everyone knows who you are. You've never had a relationship work out for one reason or another, but here? Here no one knows you, and the boy you meet at the beach with his friends is just a boy.

You don't want to like being here, but you do - and you don't want Sukuna to come back and he will. Nothing ever works out for you.

The worst of your luck you think builds on the edge of that thought.

You come home tonight doing a lot of things you would not normally.

For one, you've gotten yourself drunk. The reason being the cute boy aforementioned invited you down to the beach with his friend. You justified going thinking if you were going to be miserable all summer - a single good memory wouldn't kill you.

You had fun. Your swimsuit is underneath your short skimpy clothes, and you sat in his lap and made-out with him all evening. Got to pretend you were a normal girl and you got to kiss for the first time. You still reek of alcohol and his cheap cologne. Blissfully uneventful.

When you stumble into the foyer of the house with blurry vision and hear the T.V. playing, you know it instinctively that peace is going to be short-lived. You know that your uncle is home, and that he was waiting for you.

All the hairs on your neck raise. A shift in the atmosphere makes it hard to think clearly. Your lungs barely get enough oxygen in them to keep you upright. You think of leaving. You think of running up marble stairs to your room in hopes he won't catch you.

"Brat," Is yelled from the living room. Right, as if you'd ever get so lucky. You jump in your skin. "You home?"

Your stomach churns. You feel sick.

"Come to the living room."

You go obediently when Sukuna calls you, trying not to stumble over your two feet.You don’t think there’s more options than fearful compliance.

Your uncle is watching Scarface on the big flatscreen on the TV. The subtitles are on in Japanese though you don't think he needs them. He only barely turns his head to look at you, his interest piqued when he sees what you're wearing.

You feel sixteen again, self-conscious of your body and womanhood. He hides it even less than he did the first time - the leering. He notices your skimpy shorts and top, the bottom of your bikini. And he grins, and stares but doesn't say anything.

"Oh?" He says, calm and casual, glancing back at the T.V. "Finally went and had some fun did you? Thought all that studying turned you into a bookish little shut-in permanently."

You don't say anything, arm clutching your other self-consciously.

"Did you need something?"

He snickers, low and predatory. "Come on. You're here to spend time with me so let's spend time together."

You don’t bother asking where he’s been for the last few weeks. Your gut churns, feet heavy as they drag you to the far end of the couch. Sukuna stares as you sit hesitantly. You have no doubt he's going to make you move, but he's kind enough to leave you alone for now.

"Have fun on your..." He gives you another knowing look then laughs. "Outing?"

You aren't sure how to respond. "Just drank with some friends."

"Friends," He mimics, feeling the words out in his mouth. "The kind of friends that smudge the lipstick off your mouth, huh brat?"

You flush suddenly, embarrassed - and Sukuna barks a laugh. You don't know what he's expecting you to say there so you opt for nothing.

"Sorry," Is the only thing you can manage. Placating. He lets out a puff of air through his nose and relaxes further. There's an air to him, of nonchalance, that unsettles you more than if he was angry or unpleasant. Your throat bobs.

"You're a big girl now," He comments - sleazy and indignant. His indecency towards you, about you glints like a star. A sharp canine and piercing red eyes examine you from his peripherals. "Now that you're showing off it's only natural boys flock to you, hm?"

You can't explain the way this comment makes you feel. So much said with so little. The gap between is and has always been miles wide except sometimes it's not. Your uncle is unusual. Cold-blooded, manipulative, ruthless. There's no warmth in him in a comfortable, loving way.

There's even less of a normal relationship between you.

But you both exist in this space with... similar awareness. Of the world. Of yourselves. There's a conscious intelligence to him that's reflected in you - that you are both fractured parts of your grandparents bloodline in two separate bodies. That self-awareness affords him a presence. In your mind. In your fear.

You are undoubtedly related. Sukuna revels in that.

It’s rare to see that kind of awareness in your family. You’ve never felt threatened by people dumber than you, even if they had more power or money. Vapid and shallow and useless - there’d never been anything that could win you on. It might sound cocky, but it’s true. It’s been true.

It’s why Sukuna frightens you. He has everything, but above all - he’s smart. And hard for you to read.

You swallow, shakily - your eyes looking down at your hands. In a profoundly long beat of silence, the movie plays. A fair bit of gunshots echo through the loud speaker and they startle you.

"You scared? Come sit closer, then." He tells you, less than asks you.

You stand and sit next to him, still a distance away. Sukuna remains unmoving. You don't know what to do with yourself.The silence seems to stretch for miles and minutes. Sukuna just watches the T.V. and stares at his phone - occasionally answering messages. You stay like that for a long time.

"Need a smoke," He says, and it's not really directed at you. "Maybe later. Wouldn't wanna make you sick."

"People smoke around me all the time."

"Do you smoke?"

You shake your head, too tipsy to lie. He laughs at that. "Not even weed?"

You don't bother mentioning legality, you both know it doesn't matter between your lineage.

"Don't like the taste."

"How interesting. What a straight-edge kid. Most I've seen you get is drunk and this is the drunkest I've ever seen you. Still sober enough to talk clearly though."

"I just drink socially,"

"Ohh," He says, and then grins a little sharper. "A little shot of courage to fuck that little college boy then?"

This makes you jolt. "We didn't fuck—"

"No?" He looks genuinely surprised at this, though it's mild. "Poor kid must've wanted too if you came around him wearing that. Unless he came in his pants soon as you sat on him. Boys that age do stuff like that,"

The comment about his age reminds you of how old your uncle really is, and something in your chest flares hot.

"It wasn't that either—I've never-"

He cuts you off. "You're a virgin?"

You flush, stopping yourself from answering and he laughs.

"Ohhh, that's good. Very good," He grins, so genuinely pleased it makes you shiver. "I like virgins. Easy to please."

"That's—It wasn't for you."

For the first time in your relationship, Sukuna bridges the gap between you. He sits up and forward, his hand finding the bare skin of your knee. He rests it there, his thumb circling the flesh.

"Don't touch me," You hiss. Sukuna tightens his grip, but not threateningly. He turns to look at you that time, and you can't help but look back.

There's something in his degeneracy that horrifies you. It's fondness, you think. Genuine fondness.

"You sure?" He licks his teeth in a way that reminds you of a wolf. But not one that's starving. There's no desperation in his actions, but a self-assurance. Wolves don't often survive alone, but Sukuna has. And he hungers with the confidence of a predator who has killed all that stand before him. That's never been told no to what he wants to eat.

Your heart stops. Your voice a low whisper. "Stop,"

"You say that but you came in the house looking all desperate for sex and approval. You always look like that. Have for a little longer than what's normal for a girl your age,"

"I don't look like that!"

"You would've fucked that little college twerp if you stayed wouldn't you? Nothing wrong with honesty, brat."

Before you have a chance to understand what goes on around you, Sukuna changes position. You've never gotten a chance to feel and experience how strong he is - not like the way he's manhandling you now. You gasp at the arm around your waist and back. He pins you to the couch in a swift motion, not sure how he's done it, the alcohol making you dizzy.

Sukuna has never crossed the boundary with you like this before. Your heart is thumping loud, beating against your ribs. The source of it eludes you. If it's fear or discomfort or some other thing entirely causing such noice.

There's a certain blase in his attitude that makes you forget momentarily about the taboo and gives way just to the tension between you. You feel it for the first time with his body pressed against you, all hot and heavy. He smells of cologne, but it lacks the acidity cheap ones tend to have. There’s strong hints of cigarettes and aftershave accompanying it. Appearance wise, he has lines in his face like a man in his forties.

You don't know what's wrong with you. With a relationship so fucked up from the start, you thought crossing this line would feel different. You think you want to throw up, but you're completely calm.

You want to be disgusted. You want to thrash and kick and scream and fight. You squirm away from him, the threads of what's left of your moral conscience urging you to do so. Like a last ditch effort to keep you sane.

But there's just. Something. Something so inevitable about it that your heart doesn't beat at all. The panic itself feels hollow in nature. You are a rotted log and Sukuna has ripped the soft wood out of you with relative ease. But you’ve been that way for a long time, and nothing hurts. Not really.

It's relieving in the worst way.

"Get away from me,” You whisper again with noticeably less fight. Sukuna looks at you bright-eyed.

"You're a good kid," He says. The genuine praise knocks the air out of your lungs. That disgusts you more than anything else happening between you so far. "Interesting. A lot brighter than the other kids in our family."

Our family. You wince. .

"Stop, this is—" You don't know what word to use. He's your uncle and you're his niece and he's been gazing at you like this for god knows how fucking long. "Stop."

"You've got something going on behind your eyes at least, even if you're still just a wet-nosed and angry little housecat," He says, staring down at you. He's so imposing. His facial hair and his various tattoos. Everything about him, down to his bones. "But I can't tear my eyes away from you at the same time. You know that?."

You do know that. You cast your gaze away.

"I applaud how cautious you've been. But it didn't make a difference in the end. You know that too, right?"

You don't say anything.

"Clever little lamb you are, indeed. I like that about you." He hums, leaning down closer to you. His face is inches from yours. "You should be smart enough to know how this ends. But you know, you've been so entertaining to me this whole time I feel like I should at least be a little nice. So I'll offer you something. A deal of sorts, we can even write it on paper."

This catches your interest and he knows it does. He knows. You’re cut from the same cloth. And this place has made you lose your character, just like it always does. So if it means your survival and sanity or your morals, one comes before the other.

He grins at you.

"Come stay with me. Here in Nii-jima and back at my estate at home. I'll take care of your expenses and whatever else. I have better connections than the old hag," He says, leaning down even closer to you. You can smell him. He's intoxicating "You can be away from everything. I'll even let you have boyfriends and girlfriends over. You can throw sleepovers. I don't care. You can do whatever you want."

"What's in it for you?"

You can feel his knee press up against your cunt through your shorts and you gasp, hand going up to his shoulder. "This. Been thinking about this tight little cunt for a while now. You'd have to be at my beck and call. We'd be the closest uncle and niece in all of Japan," He snickers.

You wince at the reminder. You hate yourself for considering it. "Why me? There are plenty of women who are dying to fuck you."

He scoffs a little.

"Once we get you a little farther from the trenches kid, you might start to understand me. Wealth, fortune, fame - all of it's fucking boring. I came back to Japan prepared to leave again but you made me stay. Not much more to it than that."

"You're fucking your blood-niece out of curiosity? Your sister's daughter?"

"My sister never did anything good with her life except marrying your father and making you." Sukuna says, and laughs lightly. You hate how validated it makes you feel. Your skin crawls. "I'll have to thank her for it. She'll be pleased.

You make a face at him, uncertainty. Apprehension. Fear. Frustration. Everything you’ve been compartmentalizing comes bubbling to the surface and making your head feel weighted with lead. You want to kill everyone and everything including him. You want to run away from this place. You want to go home, though you don’t know where that would be anymore. They demolished your old apartment years ago.

You think spending a few years getting fucked and used might be less miserable than the suffocation of living with your mother and your baby brother and your grandparents. How much abuse you’ve endured already vs. what awaits you when their true heir starts to walk and talk horrifies you.

You look at him.

“You’re horrible.”

“Tell me something new.”

“I hate you. I don’t…want this. Any of this. I want to go home.”

You’re just venting. Really. You’ve made the choice already.

“Has there ever been a time where it’s been about what you want? I doubt it. But if you stay with me, appease my wishes for a while, well,” He laughs confidently. “You’ll get something, at least. Better than what you have.”

“The contract. Are you serious about that?”

He laughs at you. “Sure. If it makes you feel better, you can draft it and I’ll just have my lawyer sign. Bring your defenses. Whatever. Don’t really care as long as I get what I want.”

“And that’s me?”

“Seems like it,”

You purse your lips. It seems like a rash decision to make in the moment, but truthfully your heads never felt so clear. Even with the alcohol.

“...Fine.”

Sukuna hums when you agree. It feels anti-climatic somehow. Not that he’s not expecting your yes but that you’ve come to accept it so easily. It’s not like this takes away from the coercion, from the awful feeling of being violated. Sukuna was going to rape you whether you liked it or not. This way, at least, you get something out of it. This way it’s something you choose. Something tangible results from your inevitable doom - the fate your mother damned you to.

It affords you some plausible deniability too. In truth, you’re afraid for yourself. You’re afraid of what will happen when he finally does cross the line completely. You’re afraid you’re going to accept it, that it’s going to feel pleasurable, that years of repressing yourself will come back to make sure you never return to normalcy.

What will become of you when Sukuna has his way with you? Will you become a more apathetic version of yourself? Is it possible? Will you sober and feel like scrubbing your skin clean in the shower?

The worst outcome, you think, is nothing so horrible happening. The worst outcome is knowing you’ve fallen far enough for none of it matters at all.

Sukuna grins down at you. “What a well-behaved niece I have. Good girl. You’ll do well living with me.”

You make a displeased face at him, but your breath catches in your lungs soon after. Your uncle leans in to kiss you and you close your eyes trying to get away from it. But it’s true that your body has been burning up from the inside since you came back home - a dull throbbing between your legs turning you all kinds of stupid.

When Sukuna kisses you - your first thought is that he’s unexpectedly gentle.

You didn’t think he’d care about kissing to begin with. In your head you thought he’d tug off your shorts brutishly and fuck you without any prep. You were readying yourself for tears and pain, for screaming and crying - the sharp sobs of your own voice piercing your ears.

A gentle press of lips startles you from your drunk haze. You can feel the scruff of Sukuna’s face on your own, your arms wrapping around his neck instinctively. The taste of cigarettes and something else mildly smokey fill your mouth and make you dizzy. Sukuna tastes like kissing a man - or what you might’ve imagined that to be like. Not a boy, but a man. You feel his strength, your hands splaying at the base of his neck and feeling the faded undercut of his neck, the texture of his dyed hair. His weight shadows you, his strength making you feel fluttery.

He doesn’t tease you all during the kiss like you’re expecting. Nothing goes the way you expect. He kisses you in slow, short pecks and escalates to his tongue dipping against your lips - a little added element to his deep kisses. He kisses like he’s been doing it for longer than you have, with experience and finesse. You’re all but too conscious of everything little thing. About the sounds you make, about knowing when to breathe, about trying not to get wrapped up in the pleasant euphoria.

All you can think about is how good he is at it. Effortlessly good. You think part of you latches onto it to avoid thinking about what’s happening. Denial feels pleasurable at least.

You kiss like that for so long, your lips have swollen - sticky with spit and saliva. Sukuna has a self-satisfied smirk on his face when he pulls away from you, laughing at the flush in your expression.

You hit him lightly, looking away from his face.

“It’s a wonder you’ve kept your virginity,” He says, chuckling. “A kiss and a dirty old man like me could’ve taken it from you.”

“Shut up,” Your reply is weak. He laughs against your mouth, and you can’t get over the intimacy of it. You hope you’re deluding yourself but then he kisses the corner of your mouth. Hot, warm air tickles against your jaw and neck when he presses his lips there too and suddenly it occurs to you how real it is.

You don’t think your uncle is capable of warmth or love or anything that doesn’t come from coercion. But fondness. Maybe fondness.

He spends more time doing that than what’s comfortable. Relishes the feeling of you in his arms, his bulge grinding against your clothed cunt but not forcefully. Just with enough pressure to make you gasp once in a while when you don’t have a mind to fight it.

“I won’t take your virginity tonight,” He says declaratively. It surprises you. “You’ve got three months with me. It’d be boring. I’ll give you something else.” He looks at you then, then grins impishly. “What do you want?”

Your eyes widen, suddenly unsure of yourself. You push away, brought back to reality by the questions.

“How would I know?”

He blinks at you. “I know you said you were a virgin, but did you really mean in everything?”

You pout at him all of a sudden. “So what. I didn’t have that kind of time.”

Sukuna barks a laugh.

“Huh. I thought you were a goody two-shoes out of necessity but you really don’t do a damn thing in that house. Not even a boyfriend to do hand stuff with?”

“Ugh. No, alright? I don’t have time for that kind of thing like I just said.”

He laughs a little breathless, sitting up for a minute. You’re wondering what it means for you. Sukuna pulls you up along with him. He sits down again with his legs spread before looking at you. He pulls you into his lap with relative ease, until you’re half-way pressed into him with your legs over his thighs. You stare at him, feeling more exposed in this position. You get a closer view of his neck tattoo, realizing how far down his back it must go. You go to ask him what he’s doing - but he’s undressing you before you can.

Confident, large hands trapeze down your back as he finds the end of your overwear and pulls it off - leaving you in the microkini you wore to the beach. It barely covers your nipples. You made the choice to wear it, yet seeing Sukuna examine it so closely leaves you wallowing and regretful. Still, he’s silent as he does something similar with your jean-shorts. A hand lifting your legs up enough to roll the cheap, denim shorts and discard them right on the marble floors.

You’re still half-way over his lap - sitting on his thighs but you’re naked now.

You feel yourself growing self-conscious. Never mind that it’s the first time anyone’s seen you this naked, who exactly you’re showing it to makes you want to throw up. He stares for so long you wonder what he’s thinking, a lazy grin splitting his face. A hand nudges your thighs apart, moving your leg to give Sukuna more access to you. With an arm around your waist, his hand cups your cunt, rubbing it softly. You shift nervously. His thumb moves then, rests at the hood of your clit, pulling up to look closer at it. You hold back any noise as he examines you, bent pointer of the opposite hand brushing over the hair on your skin with a laugh.

“Unexpectedly, it’s pretty,” He says and your eyes shoot wide open. “Good job brat.”

“What are you,” You pant, your breath hitching as you close your eyes.”staring so much for it?”

“It’s mine to stare at.”

You don’t think of your uncle as particularly possessive. It’s more like he believes in that so much, so unshakingly nothing else could be true. You wonder if there’s more to it. He didn’t seem angry even after you told him about seeing a boy.

But comparing the two, Sukuna outclasses him in all ways that it should matter. He must be confident about that.

He spreads your thighs a little further. You’re half tucked into his side now - an arm around the back of his neck and shoulders. Sukuna ducks down a little, nudging his nose against your neck and scraping his teeth lightly against your throat. He doesn’t do much other than… touch you. Not directly. His other hand, the one not secured around your waist, rubs at your pussy but not in an attempt to pleasure you. It’s exploratory and intimate. He’s just touching you in a way that’s making you restless. And the angle he’s bent down, the proximity gives you a better view of him. From the side where you sit in his lap, you can see the tattoo again.

You shudder then, pussy suddenly clenching in a way that leaves you ashamed. Your uncle notices, though he doesn’t look up.

“Thought of something, brat?”

“No.” You deny, vehemently. He spanks your pussy but not hard. You jolt in reply, a shock traveling up your spine.

“C’mon now,” He hums, predatory. “Don’t lie. That’s not fun.”

“Y-your tattoo,” You say, suddenly feeling the influence of alcohol in a way you hadn’t all evening. “It’s…big.”

“Into bad boys or something, kid?”

You frown. “You look like a yakuza.”

This makes him laugh, more genuinely than you’ve ever seen him laugh. “Getting warmer, I guess.”

You don’t say anything to that. Instead spurred by the sudden confidence. “Why aren’t you…touching me?”

He looks at you surprised then tilts his head. “Is that what you want?

“I don’t want any of this but it,” You squirm again. “Feels weird.”

“Sounds like you want something, at least. Go on, tell your oji-san what you want.”

You scrunch your nose up at him, a familiar feeling of disgusting flitting through you. It fades as quickly as it comes.

“I’ve never put a-anything inside,” You admit, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“That so,” He hums. His middle finger slides down the wet seam of your cunt as you tell him this. You nod but you don’t think he’s really listening. His hand is warm, and big - and his fingers are thicker than yours. One of yours may as well make two of his, no end to how imposing he is. You don’t protest as he starts to touch you. You simply take a deep breath, holding onto him a little tighter.

With your head turned towards him, Sukuna leans in again to kiss you. It’s deep from the beginning this time, and a little rougher. He bites lightly on your lower lips as his middle finger dips down towards your sex. Your insides are throbbing, hot and wet as you feel some friction. It’s the first time anyone else has ever held you in your life, every touched you directly like this. Against your will, your body is sensitive to the stimulus. Everywhere he touches you goes alight, and the kiss makes your tummy flutter. A tender feeling of want spreads you open, tears you apart right in front of him.

With parted lips and a heavy head, you kiss him as his middle finger dips down low enough to penetrate you. A soft gasp pulls from your throat.

It doesn’t feel unpleasant.

“I thought it was going to hurt more.” You admit, feeling him inside of you. It’s a new sensation but it’s not bad.

“It shouldn’t hurt if you’re aroused enough. And wet enough. You seem to be both.”

You frown at him, face pinching. It’s washed away quickly by the sensation of him pushing deeper. It’s hard to describe it as anything other than feeling something inside of you. Deep in a place you didn’t think it could go. You shake a little, trying to get adjusted. Sukuna does it carefully, slowly - thrusting in even strokes and keeping you focused on kissing so you’re not too conscious of it.

He’s not thoughtful, not really - but you can tell that he’s going slower for your sake and that makes your heart stammer uncomfortably. The last word you’d ever use for him is kind but he’s not being horrible and it’s unsettling you.

Once one finger goes in and out smoothly, your uncle starts to add another. You feel it that time, the stretch of it - gasping hard at the sudden sensation. Your breath catches in your lungs, hand clutching at his shoulder for purchase. He pulls away from your mouth, his breath near your ear.

“Easy, little one. Give it a minute.”

“It feels different. It’s,” You can’t form the words as two fingers penetrate you in full, slowly being eased inside of you until Sukuna is knuckle deep. Your breath hitches. “Not like it hurts.”

“It’ll feel good in a second.” He says assuredly, voice smooth and raspy against your ear. You feel combative at his confidence, but then a minute passes of him rubbing along your insides and something strikes against you like lightning. You pause, blinking confused as Sukuna laughs. “There it is,”

“There what is?”

“C’mon kid, I know you’re too busy with school but you don’t know something so basic about your own body?”

“What is it, oh.”

His other hand toys with your clit, rubbing it in slow circular motions as he gauges your reaction to the touch. You jolt from the sudden pleasure, getting used to it slowly. You didn’t realize how badly it was throbbing to be touched until he does it in full. Your mouth dries up immediately. Little shocks of electricity spark up through you as his hands go full in on your body. The combined pleasure starts to uptick, something building slowly but surely. It goes from not feeling like much to feeling like something. Feeling physical.

Your mouth drops open in sudden shock, eyes lidded as you moan unabashedly - unable to keep the sound at bay. You own a vibrator, use to cum quick and hard just to curb the feeling. You’ve had orgasms on your own but nothing has ever felt like this before. It’s undeniably satiating, mimics the feeling of eating something and nearly making yourself sick on it. You go slack-jawed, your nerves on fire.

Two fingers curled against your silken walls and another two toying at the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs leaves little room in your brain to think. The only thing your body seems to remember is how to moan and whine - make these pathetic little noises you’ve never heard in your life. You didn’t even know you could make. Oddly enough, Sukuna is quiet through it. He makes grunts and little affirmatives but he’s mostly silent. You mostly hear the sound of your own voice.

The sound of your own wetness. You can feel the sticky sensation of your arousal but you can hear it even better. It’s lewd to listen too, wet smacks mixing with the pathetic bleats of your voice make you feel hot all over. Skin prickling with heat and sensation.

“I knew you were sensitive but haah. If I would’ve fucked you today, you would have cried.”

The thought drifts idly by about his cock and your whole lower half reacts to it by going weak. It aches just thinking about anything bigger or longer entering you than his fingers.

“Figure an insolent little kid like you isn’t much of a crybaby. I’m sure I can make you one.”

You don’t even think about asking what he means.

“Feels,” You make a gasping noise, body suddenly going tense. “Hngh, fuck. Feels so good, holy fuck.”

He groans a little. “I’m being too nice to you. I really should be balls deep in your cunt already and I’m not. You gonna cum for me, huh brat?”

You nod your head dumbly, unable to retort. To think of anything but the sensation washing over you.”Go on. Do it. Cum for your perverted oji-san.”

Something about the depravity of it sets your mind numb. Your body goes tight, every nerve firing off at once as you grip onto his shoulder and let the feeling of euphoria wash over you. Your whole body is so stimulated it’s numbing. The feeling of pleasure crashes into you, leaves your spine arching - mouth dropped open and nearly screaming. Your sanity melts, fades off completely and your brain feels like it’s gone empty. You close your eyes so hard little splashes of white show up in your vision, like you’re seeing T.V. static.

You think you scream. You don’t know. You just know that you’re cumming, hard, just from his hands and you’re terrified of what else he’s good at. You don’t think it boils down to sensitivity as the waves of your first orgasm ripple through your body.

You lay in his arms, sweaty and limp. Your vision is blurry with tears as you open them to look at him. Sukuna is rubbing your side, taking his fingers into his mouth. You look at him surprised as he does. He grins.

“Tastes good, kid.”

You flush. “Shut up.”

“Don’t think I’m done with you quite yet.”

Sukuna guides your hand to his pants, over his bulge. You gasp a little at it. His size through clothes is astounding to you.

“I’m not so generous to leave with nothing, you know.” He pats your thigh, moving you from his lap. “I’ve got a better idea than trying to teach you anything today, so try to hold still.”

You don’t know what he’s talking about until he guides you on the floor. You’re confused until you feel him position you - facing towards the couch with your knees spread on the floor. In doggy, you realize a little too late, your upper-half supported by the couch cushion. You feel more confused than you felt a moment ago.

Sukuna positions himself behind you. You can’t see him, but you can hear the soft rustle of his clothes moving as he stands on his knees behind you. More than that, you can feel his cock resting on your bare ass. You gasp, feeling the weight and size slide against your curves. Sukuna does a breathy little laugh at your reaction. He’s huge.

“Don’t cry kid. I told you I wasn’t gonna put it in tonight and I meant that,” He hums. His hands come to your hips, all of a sudden pushing them together. “Push your thighs together as tight as you can.”

You listen to him. You can do it with some effort despite how weak your body feels. You lean forward on the couch for support, bringing your knees together and pressing your thighs. You don’t understand what it’s for until something hard pressing along your spine moves down the curve of your ass. You gasp aloud as his thick cock pushes between your thighs, tip catching against your swollen clit. Your whole body is covered in goosebumps. Sukuna moans low in his throat, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Fuck, that’s it.” He hums, sounding pleased. “Keep them tight for me, alright girl? Try to at least.”

Sukuna is wordless as he grips your hips, your flesh dimpling under his bruising grip. You're silent, your voice threatening to spill again as you try your best to listen to him. You keep yourself tight and firm, your hands gripping the couch cushions as Sukuna pushes his cock between the fat of your thighs and starts a pace.

The angle makes you gasp, body feeling weak at the way it touches your clit with each bump. Sukuna doesn’t hold back at all. You’re not being penetrated but the weight behind each of his thrusts makes you feel like you’re being fucked. The bruising sensation of skin against skin - the hard muscles of his own legs smacking against the softness of your thighs.

Most embarrassing is the way the position makes you conscious of your uncle's cock. You knew he was huge before, but the way he’s thrusting. Where it reaches when he does thrust makes your throat feel nearly tight. You can’t stop thinking about the fact it’ll be inside you. You can’t imagine taking it in your hands - the girth and length of it fucking impossible. And he wants to fuck you with it? Take your virginity?

He’ll stretch you so open if he does. You can barely think of it fitting in you. When you do, your whole body shudders in a horrible and pathetic way - a new wave of arousal striking a strange chord. As he bumps and ruts against your clit and your mind fills with such lewd images, a new wave of lust starts to pour through you.

It’s unhelped by the feeling of Sukuna’s cock - getting so close. The throbbing with each thrust and the low, throaty groans he keeps vocalizing against your ear. All of it proves to be too much for you. It shocks you when you feel yourself grow hot all over again. Not even being touched directly and so soon after your first - a mere few minutes.

And you find yourself with all your muscles tight, your hand reaching back for Sukuna as you plant your face against the cushions and let him fuck hard between your thighs. You feel incoherent, stupid and so fucking horny. You’ve never experienced it. You can’t think of what to moan, so you choose his name.

This makes him laugh as he bends over you, his teeth biting your shoulder blades.

“Gonna cum again from this brat? Aren’t you fucking easy? Come on, cum with me. Just like that, take it. Fuck, that’s it. Good. Good girl.”

It’s the last bit of tension that pushes you over the edge, whether you care to admit it. Your voice breaks as a second orgasm washes through you - more intense but much shorter than the first and you nearly fall limp. You only barely manage to hold yourself up as your uncle keeps thrusting relentlessly.

You can feel him twitch hard between your thighs when his orgasm finally hits. You shake as you feel him squish the tip between your thighs - hot ropes of cum spurting against the swollen mound of your cunt and dripping down your thighs as he finishes. He smacks your ass as he finishes, making you yelp. Your whole body is rife with exhaustion, finally coming down from high-highs and low-lows.

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun together for the next few months kid,” He says, almost affection in his words. You’re too exhausted to reply, looking at him over your shoulder. “Let’s get along and do our best.”

“You’re a sick-fuck, oji-san.”

“And you’re a whole lot like me, aren’t you kid?.”

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #writing tag #dark content cw #incest cw #dubcon cw #abuse cw #grooming cw #<- kind of sort of not really hes just gross.#THIS HAS SO MANY TRIGGER TAGS .. SORRY

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basementbotanist · 1 year

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awake at 4am taking photos of my boyfriend while he sleeps and making a nightcore playlist to show everyone who follows me on spotify just how well im doing mentally

#on the bright side #i opened up to a friend about my assault and she was v lovely and reminded me that not all trauma is processed immediately #i love her so much fr she's such an angel #still dealing with a lot of shit but it's getting easier ig???#hope i never meet that rat bastard ever again i might go feral #kicking and screaming and biting #mixed feelings tbh because on some level i still totally blame myself because i shouldn't have been so silly and get addicted to alcohol!!!#then if i wasnt drunk #he wouldn't have fucked me while i was blackout #and told me to get the morning after pill the next day!!!!#dreadful dreadful times #absolutely rancid fucking vibes tonight lads #cant believe ive sunk so low as to vent in my the tags of a goddamn tumblr post because im too scared to actually let go and rant #because i dont want to accidentally say the freaks name infront of any of my friends who are still pals w him #im totally still blocking it out on some level #because if i refuse to name him it's still abstract and if it's abstract i dont need to face it #and if i dont face it then i stay safe:)#anyway goodnight i guess #found a nightcore version of cancer by mcr that slaps real hard #deranged

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hollytoshaw · 2 months

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wedding weekend | harry lewis

summary: y/n & harry tie the knot

face claim: dua lipa (barely tho lol)

a/n: hi!!! this is a anon request i got earlier. super cute so hope you all love it! please keep sending requests in i have no idea what to make next lol. also love love love all the support thank you!

more stuff by me : masterlist

harry and y/n together with their families invite you to their wedding celebration! saturday june 22nd at 7pm. location : finca la concepcion, marbella.

y/n_username posted a photo!

liked by wroetoshaw & 540,204 others! y/n_username wedding rehearsal before the luckiest day of harry's life & the worst of mine xoxo tagged: wroetoshaw

taliamar the most beautiful bride to be ever 😍

freyanightingale i'm in love with your face???

wroetoshaw not too late to cancel you muppet ↳ y/n_username odds on?

r0sielewis you gorgeous girl

faithlouiseak so gorg babe

geenelly so fit 🔥🔥🔥

sidemanxfan lmao so true harry's lucky he bagged y/n as a wife

harryxlewisfan bet harry was drunk at the rehearsal ↳ y/n_username on his best behaviour for once

miaxmon can i marry you instead? 💍 ↳ y/n_username yes

w2slover this is my royal wedding

ynharryfan mum and dad's big day has nearly come omg

calfreezy posted an instagram story! tobjizzle posted an instagram story!

chrismd10 posted a photo!

liked by ksi and 520,320 others! chrismd10 drowning my sorrows because my guernsey boy is finally married tagged wroetoshaw & y/n_username

y/n_username you can have him back he's doing my nut in already

wroetoshaw always in my heart

chrisdixonfan LMAO the jersey x guernsey bromance will never die 🥹🥹🥹

calfreezy has posted a photo!

liked by callux and 510,560 others! calfreezy celebrating my two best mates getting married! best weekend of the year by far tagged wroetoshaw, y/n_username, miniminter, randolphuk, zerkaa

zerkaa drippiest wedding guests

y/n_username 💙💙💙

miniminter blue suit going craaaaazy

randolphuk gutted you didn't include the pic of harry & y/n drunk an hour into their reception ↳ calfreezy she'd want me dead ↳ y/n_username you would've been a dead man

theobaker_ posted a photo!

liked by theburntchip and 230,120 others! theobaker_ marbella madness with the boys! congratulations to harry and y/n! ❤️ tagged wroetoshaw, y/n_username, reevhd, willne, chrismd10

chrismd10 i am much taller than this irl ↳ reevhd keep telling yourself that lad

theburntchip can't believe bog got married before you managed to lose your virginity ↳ theobaker_ not funny

proddyc lovely pics theo!

willne couple of distinguished gentlemen

faithlouiseak posted a photo!

liked by behzingagram and 203,103 others! faithlouiseak such an honour to be a bridesmaid at my best friends wedding! congratulations to harry & y/n, love you both so much!! also look how cute my little olive was as her godparent's flower girl!!! 🥺🤍 tagged taliamar, freyanightingale, y/n_username

behzingagram my girl olive 🫒

y/n_username the BEST BRIDESMAIDS ever @taliamar @freyanightingale @faithlouiseak

y/n_username i love you so much

y/n_username and little olive!!! 🥺🥹

y/n_username posted a photo!

liked by wroetoshaw and 602,029 others! y/n_username 22nd of june. the happiest day of my life. the day i got to marry my best friend. i'm so proud to call you my husband and i cannot wait to grow old together with you. i love you to the moon and back, my boy. p.s you looked so fit in that suit 🤍

tagged wroetoshaw

freyanightingale so flipping cute

wroetoshaw you soppy bastard ❤️

faithlouiseak love you both!!!

ynw2slove MUM AND DAD

sidemanxixfan omg i feel so old

ksi congratulations you two!

taliamar best day ever 😘

callux sickest wedding i've ever been to

r0sielewis you're finally a lewis!!!!! ❤️😭

ynfan2024 cannot believe y/n has married w2s

vikkstagram beautiful couple!!

zerkaa the baby of the sidemen is wifed off i feel old ↳ behzingagram you are old lad

As the moon cast its gentle glow upon the room, Harry and Y/n found themselves sprawled across the bed, their laughter echoing in the hair. The balcony doors were wide open with the Spanish heat blowing in and the sound of the waves crashing on the beach filled the room - finally a bit of piece for the pair.

Y/N proped herself up on one elbow, gazing at her dreamy husband with a lopsided smile.

''Harry.'' she began, her words slurred from all the champagne she had drank, ''that was the most perfect day, wasn't it?''

Harry turned to her, pulling at his tie to loosen it (he hated wearing suits). Y/N's eyes shone with affection as she watched him do so, ''One of the best days of my life, I think.''

''One of?'' Y/N snickered, swatting him gently with her hand.

''Well yeah - nothing's going to beat my crossbar challenge with Ronaldo is it,'' he joked, earning another playful hit from his wife.

''Oh shut up you.''

''Only messing,'' he said, pushing a stray hair that had fallen from Y/N's once pristine wedding up do. ''It was the best.''

Y/N's cheeks flushed with warmth. ''It really was, wasnt it?'' she paused, ''And you... you looked so fit in your suit. I couldn't take my eyes off you the whole day.''

And it was true, Harry looked so good at the wedding reception. His cheeks flushed from too much alcohol. Undone cufflinks and rolled up sleeves - Y/N was just in love with this man.

Harry laughed smugly. He loved when she would shower him with compliments. He'd never get over having the fittest woman in the world in his eyes, gush over him 24/7.

''Well, you, were the best looking bride I've ever seen in my life.''

They shared a tender smile, hearts overflowing with love. The memories of their special day were so fresh and danced through their minds. It was a day that would be etched in their hearts forever. Harry seeing Y/N in her dress for the first time, his eyes watering at the sight and Y/N fumbling with her bouquet as she laid eyes on the most handsome man in a black suit she'd ever seen.

''I'm so glad we're finally married,'' Y/N whispered, reaching out to intertwine their hands. ''Just feels like a dream come true.''

''I know, doll.'' Harry replied, squeezing her hand gently. ''Been waiting for this moment since the first time I laid eyes on you.''

With a contented sigh, they settled back onto the bed, their fingers still intertwined. As sleep began to claim them, they whispered words of love and gratitude, their hearts overflowing with happiness.

For Harry and Y/N, their wedding night was just the beginning of a lifetime of love, laughter, and cherished moments together. And as they drifted off to sleep, they knew that their love would only grow stronger with each passing day, lighting up the darkness and guiding them home to each other's arms.

y/n_username posted an instagram story!

story replies to y/n_username:

↳ wroetoshaw fittest wife ever liked by y/n_username

W2S+ uploaded a youtube video!

a/n: thank you so much for reading! bit of a short one but hope you all enjoyed it nonetheless.

#w2s #wroetoshaw #w2s x reader #harry wroetoshaw #harry lewis #harry w2s #sidemen #w2s fic #w2s imagine #wroetoshaw imagine #wroetoshaw oneshot #hollytoshaw #chris md #arthurtv #sidemen x reader

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totally-sapphic-posts · 5 months

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New and improved poll based on the responses from the last one:

(This is gonna be fuck-long)

I couldn’t fit all, but I did my best 🥲

#poll #post #not so eye-offending #ladies and gentlemen #theydies and gentlethem #padies and lentlemen #folks #y’all #I know a lot of people said folks and y’all on the last poll but it won’t work in my country

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rustedhearts · 6 months

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hunger (steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: steve comes home from jail again with a certain hunger in his eye. but all hungry dogs have teeth that bite.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ but i love him to death ✶ main masterlist

tags: smut right out of the gate here, lads; mentions of suicide/thoughts of suicide; presence of knives + guns; this is essentially gator tillman; unprotected and kinda fucked up sex; toxic (borderline abusive) relationship

rural midwest. winter, 2007.

A beam of blue light fell over the tattered quilt holding your body: a lump under the covers, padded with layers meant to conserve warmth. A snowstorm beat against the windowpanes, bringing the darkness of the night to a hazy, fuzzy grey. Steve always liked how snow fell in the night—how it could turn even the darkest of hours to light.

He staggered into the room with slow, careful steps, watching the bed quilt rise and fall steadily over his shoulder as he dropped his items on the dresser. They used to give him plastic bags like all the other inmates—but when the door started rotating regularly for Steve, he just scooped his stuff from a plastic tub and went on his way.

Three pocketknives, a wallet falling apart at the seams stuffed full of cash and Playboy cards, a silver chain with a thick cross pendant, a lighter, and a silver bullet from a '76 Colt inherited from his daddy smudged with grease and dirt and whatever else might enter Steve's pocket. The bastards took his Menthols.

Steve wiggled out of his coat, letting it fall to the floor. He came undone, layer by layer, and pulled the cross over his head. He brought it to his lips and kissed it quietly before letting it fall to his chest. A couple nights, weeks—hell even a few hours—in the clink always brought him back to God.

And that's how you found him when you turned on your side: bare-chested in only a pair of plaid boxers. He had deep violet bruise on his left rib. The pink scar sliced over his right side shimmered in a silver light against the whiteness of the snow beaming through the drapes. His face was empty, but you knew what was going through his head.

"Steve."

He lifted his eyes, following your whisper to the bed. You peeled back the blankets on his side in invitation. He looked at the empty mattress space for a long while, then toward the cross above the bed. He swept a chapped palm over the top of his buzzed head and stepped forward, boots clunking heavily along the floor. The mattress jostled when he sank down, hunching to yank at his laces and kick his boots away.

You laid back, prepared to welcome him with a sweet, sleepy kiss hello—but he was slipping under the covers and crawling over you, a heavy weight pressing down and grabbing at your jaw with a firm hand. He pulled your head his way and swallowed your mouth with greedy tongue and nipping teeth. The taste of him, the prick of five o'clock shadow gathering around his mouth and along his chin, the stench of his car on his hands—it yanked you from slumber with as much force as Steve's hands pulling now.

Your panties first, twisted and tangled around your knees so he could fit his hand between your thighs. They were so warm and soft under the blankets, and he couldn't help the need to trap his wrist between them and shove two fingers in. You gasped against his mouth, sharp and white-breathed. He squished his other hand a little tighter around your cheeks, giving it a shake to shut you up.

He didn't want to talk. He never did.

The silver cross around his neck tapped into your chin with every push of his fingers in and out, bodies rocking together against the pull of his touch. He kissed when he could, sloppy and untimed. He huffed hot breaths into your open mouth when he couldn't, watching through a pair of bleary eyes as your face scrunched up.

You latched onto his arm when you were close, nails piercing warm skin. He slipped his fingers from between your legs and shoved your thighs apart, sitting back just far enough to let the covers slip down and uncover your bodies. Your panties were kicked somewhere toward the end of the bed now, t-shirt pushed up under your chin to pull your breasts into the cold. He pinched them your nipples peaked in the cold, but he was far too hungry to worry about waiting for you to stop shivering.

Steve plunged in: one rough push that catapulted you toward the headboard and knocked the cross against the wall. An elongated groan filled the room, hoarse and guttural and all Steve. He slipped his hand from your face down to your neck, where his thumb punctured the space against your windpipe and held it tightly in place. You tipped your chin up to tell him it was alright, and he lunged forward to collect your mouth again.

He gave short, rough little thrusts that had you squeaking against his mouth, teeth clinking and bumping together. He was making it known: this was not for pleasure.

This was for possession.

You were his. You were his when he went away, and you were always his when he came home. You were his in the cold, his in the heat, his when he thought about taking that pistol in the top of the closet and putting it between his eyes to put everyone out of their misery. His for all time.

His forever—even the day you'd eventually decide to leave.

Steve brought his hand back up to your jaw again, cupping it in his palm and digging his fingers into your cheeks. You pinched your eyes shut when the blunt edge of his nails scraped at your skin. Sputtering when his teeth sank into your neck, whining when he smacked his hand against your thigh and soothed it with the same heavy hand.

Oh, he loved you so terribly.

You came with a high-pitched squeal, and it was pathetic how you could've done so from just his rough huffing and manhandling alone. Steve on the other hand, was nowhere near done. And he pushed through all your squirming and whimpering, pulling your head back into place by your chin every time you tried to shy away. He watched heat swell in your face until sweat beaded at your head and neck, pooling in the crevice behind your knees. And when a tear dripped down your cheek, he licked it up with a hot mouth.

The salty taste of it on his tongue and the sound of your quiet whining had him convulsing between your legs. His hold weakened around your face, limply falling around your throat when he sank down and nuzzled into your neck. You took a moment to catch your breath, and then scratched at his scalp with your nails gently. Pressed a kiss to the top of his ear, pulsing and beat-red.

"Glad you're home," you whispered in the half-dark.

Steve lifted his hips until he slipped free, rolling onto his side of the bed with limp weight. He groaned as he shifted around, finally deciding on a side comfortable enough to close his eyes.

You fumbled for your panties under the bed and took them to the bathroom. You kept the light off.

✶ ✶

In the morning, you fixed Steve a hearty breakfast that warmed the kitchen with flour and bacon grease. He shuffled awake around ten o'clock. trudging into the kitchen with a scowl and puffy eyes. His cross gleamed in the white light of a snowy morning on his way to the cupboard.

"Morning," you murmured sweetly. "There's coffee on the warmer if you—"

But Steve was cracking open a can of Budweiser and gulping it down on his way toward the kitchen table, where piles of unopened mail addressed to him sat in heaps. Few envelopes were ripped apart on the other side, and Steve snatched at one that was undoubtedly addressed to him.

"Why'd you open this?" he grumbled, pulling the folded sheet of paper out.

You placed another spatula of bacon on a paper-towel lined plate and glanced his way. "It's the gas bill, Steve. I...I didn't know how long you'd be away this time, and I didn't want—"

"Does it have your fuckin' name on it?"

Heat swelled in your cheeks. You turned back to the skillet sizzling on the back burner. Clearly, there would be no sweet good morning kisses or a lull of quiet after such an intimate night.

Steve huffed, flicking the gas bill toward the end of the table. "Don't worry about shit that isn't yours to worry about."

You clicked the burner off and brought the plate of bacon to the table, setting it a little roughly in front of Steve. "I'll let them shut the gas off next time, Steve."

"Why d' you always gotta be fuckin' smart?" Steve scowled again, and you curled your fingers tight around the porcelain plate of pancakes you were carrying over.

"Do you want coffee?"

Steve sighed exasperatedly, snatching a piece of bacon and ripping the top bite off. "No, just—fine, whatever."

You poured two mugs and grabbed extra plates, bringing them to the table. You remained quiet as you sipped your coffee and stared at the remnants of mail on the wood.

"When's your court date?"

Steve tossed you a look, tossing more bacon on his plate. "You really wanna fuckin' talk about that?"

"Just want to be prepared," you explained, cupping your hands around the warmth of your mug.

"Again, not your business—"

"No, but it is my business Steve. You really don't think any of this affects me? Every time you go to jail, who do you think takes care of shit here?"

Steve turned in his chair, cocking his head. "Oh, so that's it? You think you're some big boss when I'm not here? That you run shit—"

"I didn't say that—"

"Let me tell you, sweetheart, you don't run shit. This is my house, this is my business—"

"Then maybe I should just go stay with my mom for a bit."

The proclamation hung there for a bit. You stared at the dark pool of coffee before you, and Steve dug holes into your head. He shifted in his chair and snatched at his beer, taking a loud swig of it before it slammed down again. He slapped a few pancakes onto his plate and wiggled his fork through the pile. Another tired sigh.

"Don't say stupid shit like that."

You picked at a piece of bacon and watched it crumble into bits. “She’s been wanting me to come home for a while.”

“Well that’s great,” Steve huffed, teeth scraping his fork as he wolfed down half a pancake. “How’s that supposed to make me feel?”

You dropped your chin into your hand on the table and shrugged. “Didn’t know you felt things, Steve.”

It was quiet a moment. The light above the sink buzzed behind you. You tapped your finger on your mug and swallowed. Steve worked at the pancake packed in his cheek with slow chews.

His chair flew back and clattered to the floor. You hurried to your feet and backed away toward the hall. Your tapping finger knocked over your mug of hot coffee in the commotion, browning the mail in a puddle. Steve reached for you in one large leap your way, but you sprinted to the bathroom and slammed the door.

From the other side, Steve’s stomps were thundering. The door rattled with his pounding, and you kept a hand firmly around the knob in case the lock didn’t hold.

“They’ll call the cops again, Steve!” You warned him.

“Open this fucking door,” he growled back.

“Fuck you—“

“Fuck you! Bitch,” he grumbled, kicking the door for good measure before his steps faded away.

You waited for them to find a place with your head against the tiled wall. They wandered for a while, pacing and rummaging. He slammed a few cabinets and threw a few things, grumbling as he went. He paused in front of the door after a noisy trip to the bedroom, and you pulled off the wall to stare at his shadow in the beam of light on the floor. Whatever he was going to say or do, he decided against, and stomped away. The front door slammed moments later.

✶ ✶

You did it. You packed a bag. Stuffed it full of clothes and all your necessary things—and then you stared at it on the end of the bed. The quilt had lost its color from all the washing. The pillows were limp and flat. The nightstand collected piles of dust around your things that never moved.

You packed a bag, but you couldn’t leave.

You laid down instead, crawling under the quilt with an aching need. The house ticked with a stilling silence. You watched the snow fall against a grey sky until it stung your eyes. You thought of digging out your diary from the box under the bed and reading all about your early days with Steve to remind you just why you should stay. But you knew you’d find a million more reasons to go. And the bed was so warm, and you were so tired.

Ironically, you just wanted Steve.

He came home as the sun was falling down, kicking the door shut with a quiet clamp. He came stomping into the bedroom with slow, meticulous steps. He was letting you know he was no longer angry. Every move came with a metallic clink from the zipper of his camo jacket and his half-closed pocketknife on his thigh.

The door chittered on its hinges when he nudged it open. You tried not to stir as he moved in closer. The bed dipped with the weight of him, tipping you off kilter.

“Got you these.”

The soft leg of a brown teddy bear touched your arm, and when you turned he was holding a pair of red roses. You accepted them gingerly, pressed onto your back. Steve gnawed on his bottom lip, pulling off a string of skin. The tops of his ears were nipped raw by the wind, cheeks rosy from the cold. He had a new scrape on his left knuckle over the inked cross.

“Didn’t mean to call you a bitch, baby,” he mumbled, scratching at his scalp. “You just…you really fuckin’ get me goin’, you know? You-you piss me off.”

You played with the tiny soft ear on the teddy bear, heart pulsing in your throat. “Sorry.”

Steve sighed, pulling at a loose thread in the quilt near your arm. “Just don’t go, honey. Y’ can’t leave me. Okay?”

You glanced at him, holding the teddy bear on your hip. “Okay.”

The hiss of snow tapping at the glass filled the quiet of the room in the lull. You reached out and placed your hand on his arm, thumb stroking the head of the serpent scaling his thick limb. He watched you all the while, sucking the blood pooling from the broken skin of his lip.

“Got the court thing sorted out. Don’t want you worrying.”

You glanced up at him again, nodding. Getting it “sorted out” meant he paid someone off. There seemed to be an agreement between Steve and the officers that knew him well.

“Okay…wanna lay with me?”

His eyes darted around the bed. His boots were still on, camo jacket unzipped. He smelled like new Menthols, and you could see the outline of a pack in one of his thigh pockets.

“For a minute,” he said, laying back on the pillows beside you. “Gotta take care of some business tonight.”

He tucked his hands behind his head and you curled into his side. You didn’t even mind that he didn’t hold you—he was here, breathing beneath you, warm and tender, and that was all that mattered.

You were his. Every time, no matter what.

#rolly!#steve harrington #gator tillman #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x fem!reader #joe keery #steve harrington au #steve harrington blurb #gator tillman fic #gator tillman fanfiction

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cocomere · 5 months

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A Daz blob for you!! I hope the star is right

BABY BOYYYYY

#submission #star is close enough #his jewelry is finicky anyway #bastard lad's bastard tag #Daz Blob would be 500% more effective in subterfuge #which is a terrifying prospect #noodle fren #noodle doodle

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 1 month

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Ayo can we get a hot ass "keep my wife's name out your goddamn mouth" Kathy x John

Kathy does routine physical exams obviously and in the showers Price overhears some locker room talking about his wife, how they'd like those hands to go further, like how she bosses them around etc.

Cue him rounding the corner to give them a solid punch and "Don't you dare utter my wife's name again"

Up to you if she rewards him ☺️

yes you fucking can!!!!

That's My Wife!

pairing: F!OC: Kathleen "Brass" Moore x John Price words: 1.5K~ cw: jealousy, protectiveness, arguments, violence, injuries (mentioned), misogyny, sexually-charged comments, "locker room talk", smutless smut.

The worst time of the year for the army medical staff at Tidworth is September. Oh, how the nurses and doctors hate the month of September during which, for two weeks straight, they see nothing but soldier after soldier for health checks and physical exams to confirm that they’re fit for service.

It’s, unfortunately, repetitive, mind-numbing and time-consuming. It’s also, unfortunately, a whole hands on deck situation. So, everyone who’s not actively doing something else, gets called in to help process the soldiers.

That’s how Kathleen ends up, every year, in the clinic, helping physicians assess the soldiers. Her jobs tend to be easy. More of the same that she tends to already do: measuring heights and weights, calculating their BMI and body fat percentages, using the stethoscope to listen to their heartbeat and breathing, manning the blood pressure gauge…

And, of course, the most interesting stuff. Conducting stress tests and having to strap all sorts of machines and sensors to the soldiers and monitor how they perform as they run on a treadmill, as well as doing physical checks on old injuries, scars…

In short, she spends a long time in front of shirtless men… and even longer touching their chests, arms, backs, and sometimes their legs, to check for injuries, which often ends with her crouching or kneeling at their feet.

And, of course, the stupid soldiers can’t keep their mouths shut. More often than not they make a few remarks about taking her out later, about coming to see her more often, of being lucky they get her for their checks…

It’s a nightmare. Kathleen hates it. In fact, she wishes she wasn’t tasked with that every year… But the choice is her or risking one of the pretty new interns having to do it, girls who haven’t yet developed the thick skin she has, and would likely giggle and get flustered at the lads behaviour… instead of calling them out on it or just downright ignoring them.

September, as it turns out, is also a nightmare for John. But he only figured that out today.

After his Bravo team finished training for the morning, John allowed them to hit the showers and he stayed behind to finish some work and talk with Soap.

As they enter the locker room, the rest of Bravo team is already in the communal showers, talking loudly amidst themselves and laughing, their voices echoing amidst the spraying of the showers over them.

John pops open his locker and starts shedding his workout kit, tossing it into his bag on the shelf. Soap isn’t far from him, a few lockers up, in the adjacent wall, his locker door having his name ‘MACTAVISH’ inside the clear plastic name tag holder, with a post-it naming him ‘F.N.G’ scotch taped below it.

John doesn’t need to pay much attention to know they’re talking about women, especially, the nurses from the nearby Tidworth base. All of them had gone through their check-ups in the last couple of days and, as is typical, they couldn’t keep their traps shut about the pretty women with soft hands doting all over them.

“Oh, mine bent over and pushed those tits of hers right up to my knee.” One of them said.

“Lucky bastard. I got a bloke.” Another replied.

Oh, how many times John had told them to be quiet and keep those sorts of talks to themselves when they were at the barracks, and not in public… But did those knobheads listen? No, never.

John grabbed his towel and 2-in-1 shampoo and bodywash and headed into the showers, taking up one of the vacant spots and drawing the curtain after hanging the curtain just outside his stall.

“I swear she was giving me the look… Definitely wants a piece of me.”

“No bird would want a piece of yer ugly mug.”

The lads continued talking as he let the water run over his body and began quickly lathering himself up with his 2-in-1, washing his hair and face aggressively before running his head under the falling shower water.

“I’m not devout, but this new batch’a nurses they got this year makes me a believer.”

“That’s right, brother.”

One-by-one they started vacating their stalls, still chatting loudly about their check-ups and the young women that treated them, lounging about the locker room and making each other laugh.

“But that arse of hers… I just know she’d bounce so well on my cock-”

“Oh that’s nothing. You didn’t see her last year before they changed the colour of the scrubs… That blue colour just… mmmmm…”

John finishes his shower not long after, wrapping his grey towel around his hip and tying it up to stay still. Then, he collects his 2-in-1 bottle from its perch atop the metal piping of the shower and starts making his way back.

That’s when he hears it:

“It’s no wonder the Captain’s peacockin’ himself around like that… I mean have you seen the size of her tits?”

John’s blood runs cold. They wouldn’t fucking dare. They wouldn’t talk about Kathleen.

No.

Not they.

Him.

Sergeant Ellis Evans.

One he’s always had problems reining in.

“Captain’s lucky is all I’ll say… Body like hers… Hell, even I’d forgive that bloody attitude of hers.”

The others laughed as Evans continued.

“I mean, I’m sure Kathleen’s mouth’s good for more than just talking… Gotta be good on her knees.. They call her ‘Brass’ for a reason, right? Bet she leaves ‘em with a nice polish and shine once she’s done.”

That did it.

John rounded the corner into the locker room and, abruptly, the room fell into silence, breaths hitching and the temperature dropping into an uncomfortable ice.

But John didn’t stop walking at the doorway… In fact, he beelined right for Evans.

“Captain, I-” Evans immediately tried backtracking. “We were just joking, we were just-”

“Keep my wife’s name out your bloody mouth.” John grits at him through clenched teeth before he throws a right cross to Evans’ face.

It’s just past 7P.M. when Kathleen comes in through the front door. John has made dinner for them and little Charlotte is already asleep in her crib by the time she does.

She sets her bag down in the entrance, takes off her shoes, and pads over to the kitchen in search of John.

“Hi…” She greets him softly as she approaches the table, causing him to swivel on his chair to greet her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

She presses a kiss to his mouth, which he returns. “Hi, Da’lin’.” He murmurs to her once they separate.

“Is she down?” She asks in a soft tone as she looks at him.

“Mhm… Full belly and empty diaper.” He tells her, which makes her smile softly, seeming relieved.

Kathleen feels exhausted, as usual, still not used to the work-life balance that comes from having a 4-month-old baby who doesn’t like to sleep + and a physically demanding job that runs on a 12-hour-shift schedule.

John swivels back to his previous position, nursing a glass of whiskey with his left hand, the right one resting on the table, the knuckles covered by a blue gel ice pack.

“So that’s what happened...” Kathleen muses as she glances at his iced hand, before backing away to grab herself a plate of food from the cupboard.

“What is?” John murmurs as he glances at her, watching her serve herself of some frozen lasagna and salad.

“One of your lads ended up in my emergency room after some ‘roughhousing gone wrong in the locker room’... I was musing about what he did all afternoon.” She quips as she pads over to the table again again.

“Hm.” John mutters quietly, seemingly a mix of embarassed and annoyed at that fact.

“So what did he do?” She asks as she takes a seat on his lap, perched on his lap, as she pops a cherry tomato in her mouth.

“Talked about you.” John murmurs, wrapping his free arm around her waist. “Only I get to say debauching things about My Wife.” He grumbles as he looks up into her eyes.

Kathleen rolls her eyes at him and shakes her head, but she can’t help the smirk that takes over her rudy lips as he calls her ‘his wife’. “My, Mr. Price, defending my honour, huh?” She jokes as she pops a bit of lettuce in her mouth.

“Defending my honour… and yours by proxy. Just an unforeseen consequence of it.” He tells her, trying to act nonchalant about the fact he broke a man’s nose, eyesocket and three of his ribs, for demeaning his wife.

“Right… Of course… How stupid of me…” Kathleen teases as she leans toward him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, which makes his blue eyes close, a smile taking over his features.

“As opposed to… what exactly? There isn’t much up there other than thoughts of my cock, da’lin’.” John remarks, causing her to roll her eyes, annoyed, and flick his head away from her by pushing his cheek, annoyed.

“I can very well just stop thinking about it all together… And I’m sure you wouldn’t want that when I was just about to reward you for defending me…” Kathleen teases as she pops another cherry tomato in her mouth, eyes locked on John and the way his pupils dilated, his cock already stirring awake in his joggers against her ass in her green scrubs.

#ikea writes 💚#tw violence #tw misogyny #tw injury #cod x reader #cod fanfic #masterlist #call of duty #cod fandom #cod oc #oc: kathleen “brass” price #price x kathleen #john price x oc

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chxrrylime · 1 year

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Ahh could a request a part 2 to the oral fixation request but with Alejandro and Alex? (Sub! M reader)

Happy fucking easter, you mad lads. Here's PART II to the oral fixation prompt ♥ I really like doing these types of things over fics so feel free to send some more with that in mind!! But I will totally still write fics of course, they'll just take longer.

↪ 2132 words — 18+ / SMUT.

Content tags — gen male submissive reader, oral fixation, finger sucking, public embarrassment, light degradation, mild face fucking, and cock warming.

Soap

Soap definitely has an oral fixation, too. The two of you kissing is always downright sinful. Very filthy. Too much spit and sucking and licking to really be considered kissing.

But oh, how he loves to tease you with it. Does it on purpose, the bloody bastard, makes you red faced in front of the whole task force with what Ghost might call revolting romantic displays (the man hates PDA. Unfortunately, Soap is a walking case of it, especially when it comes to you).

The easiest way he always gets you is generally in the cafeteria. On rare occasions they get good food—shit like little bowls of vanilla ice cream with a cherry on top. Something sweet like that. You can bet your ass Soap’s either grabbing your attention only to tongue at that cherry for far too long before sucking it off the stem, holding eye contact the whole time, or he’s pressing it to your lips just to watch you instinctively lick it into your mouth and suckle before flushing bright when you realize half the table’s staring at you.

He can also definitely tie cherry stems with his tongue, but that’s another story.

He does it with other foods, too. Really, the man’s pupils blow wide every time he hand feeds you something and you take it into your mouth without a second thought. Sometimes he wonders if it’s because it’s him doing it, or if you’d do that for anyone, mindlessly taking anything into your mouth that gets a little too close.

He’s proper annoyed when he can’t get any of the 141 to try and hand feed you, just to test his theory.

But oh, Soap loves getting head just as much as he loves giving it, and steamin’ Jesus does he get weak in the knees from your mouth on him.

The man swears he’s never had a better blowjob in his life, and you might just believe him with how he moans and groans, squirming and humping into your mouth—really just being an all-around nuisance.

But he’s obsessed with how attentive you are about it. How intense. How you pay such close attention to his sensitive tip, the thick vein on the side, the little glands under the ridge. How you suck him like you’re suckling for milk—his words, specifically. The man called you a calf on a teet. You’d cuffed him in the back of the head for it.

And you can bet your ass his favorite position with you is sixty-nining. The both of you get so goddamn blissed out, so focused on sucking each other down, getting off from both the hot wetness around your lengths and the haziness of that headspace. That fuzzy little place you go, mind half blank when you can settle into suckling something.

Soap always likes to try and get you to go two rounds just so he can swallow one load down and let the other paint his face.

Alex

Alex was a bit… confused.

Listen, the man’s done some exploring sexually, okay? He’s not a complete prude. He’s not vanilla. He likes to get tied up sometimes and maybe slapped around a little. Likes tying other people up, too. He thinks a girl might’ve called him daddy once and he came pretty quickly afterward. He’s been around a bit, is the point.

He’s just… y’know… never seen someone look so damn blissful with something in their mouth before.

If anything, most of the gals he’s been with have either seen blowjobs as a means to an end or outright refused to perform them. He didn’t mind, of course, but it kind of set a precedent for him.

But then he’d kissed you that one time and when he’d pulled back he’d swiped his thumb along your kiss-swollen bottom lip, and before he could move it away you’d sucked it into your mouth and moaned. Eyes rolling slightly before fluttering shut.

His cheeks were burning, and honestly, his dick was probably twice as hard as it previously was, if that was even possible. You’d suckled and licked at his thumb like it was a cock, your head slightly bobbing, and he was gone for it.

He’s not generally a rough lover, and he maybe wasn’t the most proud of the bruises he saw on your knees the next day, but fuck, he’s never needed his dick in someone’s mouth so goddamn bad before.

Shoved you down by the shoulders. Listened to your stressed little whine when it meant his finger left your mouth—was quick to replace it with the tip of his cock, considerate as ever.

He couldn’t help the quiver in his thighs when you hummed contentedly around the squishy head, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked and tongued at the weeping slit. Christ, he was dripping so much. It wasn’t something super abnormal for him, he was quite the leaky faucet, honestly, but not usually this early on.

He’s definitely the praise type, and it just makes your head that much more fuzzy, hearing that pretty strained voice above you as you swallow him down to the hilt, the muscles of your throat squeezing around him so deliciously.

“So fucking good, baby, mouth’s so hot, so tight. Fuck. You’re so good at this.”

He rarely will fully outright fuck your face unless you ask him to, but he will always lazily roll his hips as you blow him. Gentle, shallow little movements that move him about half an inch deeper before pulling back, again and again. Loves how you chase after his cock each time he pulls out—does it just to see it.

It's not something he can always afford, but he’s a romantic at heart, and honestly his favorite position isn’t particularly sexual, more so intimate. He likes letting you cock warm him with your mouth while you both sleep, while you both lay in bed. Likes waking up to it, too, if you decided not to the night before but woke up needy. He gets hard, sure, and leaks, but it’s not really about finishing for him. He pets through your hair and hums. Whispers little praise or groans quietly when you suck particularly hard.

He just likes the intimacy. The warmth. He's naturally a caretaker, and likes that he can do something for you to make you feel safe and good, especially if that's something you struggle to do for yourself.

Alejandro

Alejandro is a goddamn menace.

He notices you licking at and sucking on one of your knuckles one time? Good fucking luck. He goes full detective on you.

He ends up buying you a necklace with a rubber charm on the end. Maybe a little skull or something. Something unassuming—not too stim toy-esque. It was a genuine present, saw it and thought of you, it just so happened to double as the thing to confirm his suspicion.

He walks by a secluded desk you're sitting at, filing paperwork and catches you sucking on that charm? Oh, he’s fully leaning over you, arm placed on the desk to cage you in. Wolfish grin when you look up surprised, a little wide-eyed with a murmured and confused ‘Alejandro?’

The charm’s still in your mouth, your words a bit muffled and slurred because of it. You don’t let it go until he swipes his finger over your lips, tapping at the chain. You flush bright red when you realize what you’d been doing and you swear his eyes darken.

“Enjoy things in your mouth, pretty boy?”

Oh, he’s got you bent over that desk not but five minutes later, one hand stretching you open on his fingers, prepping you for his cock, and the other hand pressed against your mouth, making you gag on his fingers. Thrusts them in opposite time of each other, just to make you that much more fucked out.

Despite how much he loves to tease you, softly degrading you with hushed, raspy “dirty little thing”’s, and “puta sucia”’s he’s very, very supportive if it doubles as a stim thing for you.

Necklaces with little rubber charms become a common gift to receive from him. Some are more obvious for when you’re alone, clearly meant for stimming, shaped nicely for suckling and chewing if you so desire. Others are simply cute little shapes—stars and eight balls and significant numbers. Things you can pass off as simple keepsakes from Alejandro if asked.

The man will buy you a goddamn sippy cup if you so desire. He’s good at hiding things if needed and he just wants you to have your simple comforts to come back to after long, hard missions.

He loves making out with you. Encourages you to suck on his tongue, his lips. Leave him all kiss-swollen and red. Guides you by the hair to suck bruises into his neck, his shoulders—anywhere on his body is truly free real estate for your marks.

Big surprise that he likes his dick sucked! But in particular he likes a lot of attention on his balls and taint. Strokes himself and tells you to kiss ‘em, make out with ‘em. He’s very sensitive there, and he makes such sweet sounds when you do. He always grooms, of course, but he’ll fully shave if that’s something you want from him.

König

Oh, König. My dear boy. I think he has an oral fixation as well, but specifically chewing. It’s more of just a stim for him, not really a sexy thing. Helps with his anxiety. Helps with the mask since no one can see if he’s got something he’s nibbling on, whether it’s gum or a necklace or whatever. He’s definitely a teeth grinder, too, so it helps to have something between his pearly whites to keep them from chipping or filing down against each other.

But it also means he understands when he sees you with your pen absentmindedly between your lips, or when you suck on your spoon long after you’ve chewed and swallowed your food. Or, at least, he thinks he understands.

Relationships are a bit hard for him. He feels a lot. And it’s a bit overwhelming, especially all the touchy, intimate parts of being with someone. So, it’s a slow process, getting him warmed up to you.

Eventually things get hot and heavy between you two, and your straddling his narrow hips (narrow for his frame, but still fucking big), his hood pushed up just enough for the two of you to make out. His large hands rub up and down your sides, and you gently rock your hips to grind your hardon against the hard planes of his shirt-clad stomach.

When you pull away from the kiss, there’s drool dripping down your chin, and for whatever reason, König instinctively reaches to swipe it up with his fingers, up and up until he’s pushing it back into your mouth, the two thick digits pressing onto your tongue as he essentially finger fucks your own saliva back into your mouth.

Except, the whole scene catches up with him, and he startles, embarrassed, about to pull his hand away and begin to intensely apologize when you suddenly grab his wrist, holding him in place, looking down at him with half-lidded, lust-blown eyes as you seal your lips around the digits and start to suck.

Oh, he lets out the most strangled, confused and yet aroused moan. He’s wide-eyed behind the hood, his own lips parted as he pants. His cock is so fucking hard in his far too tight pants.

He very quickly learns that he gets off on you sucking on his fingers as much as you do in turn.

Honestly? He prefers your mouth on his fingers over his cock. Loves to fuck into you slow and steady with three of his fingers stretching your jaw wide, fucking your mouth with them at the same pace as his rocking hips. Plus, the man’s almost as thick as a soda can. You can most likely get your lips around the tip, which he enjoys immensely, but he worries too much he’ll literally break your jaw if you go any further than that, so he never lets you.

You truly unlock something dark in König with your little fixation, though. He buys you a gag—one with a very small dildo mold on the inside, something for you to suckle on as he fucks you. He shyly admits afterward that it’s the first sex toy he’s ever bought and he had to (very reluctantly) ask Soap where he can even get them from. And then of course Soap insisted on tagging along to said adult store. You can’t help but laugh about it while König slaps at your arms and lightheartedly tells you to shut up.

#modern warefare 2 #modern warfare #soap x reader #konig x reader #alex keller x reader #alex x reader #alejandro x reader #mine #smut #alejandro vargas #john soap mactavish #alex keller #konig x male reader #soap x male reader #alex keller x male reader #alejandro vargas x male reader

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whitedarkmoonflower · 5 months

Text

Sickness 3

Part 3

Anonymous asked:

Season four Sihtric, when the group are passing through the fields during that plague and the river. Reader is the lover of Sihtric and is sick. Her sickness gets worse after the run in with Eadith’s brother Eardwulf. Very angsty with the rise on emotions everyone is dealing with. Eadith tries keeping the reader alive with her medical abilities but it’s to no avail. The reader and Sihtric have what they think are their last moments before she is kidnapped along with Stiorra, Aelswith and Aethelstan. She gets better and reunites after the siege.

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: This is the third and final part of the request I took over from @sihtricfedaraaahvicius

Warnings: angst, angst and a bit more angst, heartbreak, some lowkey smut, breeding kink if you want, fluff and a happy ending, as requested

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Word Count: 4,6K

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @verenahx @csigeoblue @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf

"Why are you doing this?" Uhtred seized Sihtric's arm the moment they stepped out of Edward's tent, his eyes sweeping over the young warrior's ragged features. Sihtric was a complete wreck – his once neatly braided hair now a tangled mess, his armour filthy, and splattered with mud and blood. The dark circles under his eyes were not unusual given the thirty-day siege of Winchester, it was the vacant, haunting look in them that bothered Uhtred.

Sihtric shrugged his shoulders, avoiding Uhtred's stern and questioning gaze. "I just think it's worth a shot."

"No, it's not. And you know it. It's complete madness. Sihtric, look at me." Uhtred's voice grew angrier as he pointed his index finger at Sihtric's chest. "You can't keep going like this. Don't you understand..."

"No, you don't understand. I have nothing left in this world." Sihtric's voice cut off Uhtred's words as he took a step closer, locking eyes with him.

"I've lost people dear to me too. I know the pain, but..."

"Lord, you've always had your children, your dream of regaining Bebbanburg for them. I have nothing. No past, no present, no future. I've lost everything. At least I can try to be useful," Sihtric's voice quivered as he turned away, marching toward a group of waiting warriors with determined steps.

"That daft bastard is trying to get himself killed," Uhtred muttered to Finan and Osferth, his anger evident in his trembling voice.

"I'll talk to Sihtric later. Try to make him see some reason. He's not thinking straight,” Finan offered in a hushed tone, placing a comforting hand on Uhtred’s shoulder.

It was later in the night, the warming fireplace casting flickering flames into the fresh air as darkness descended, that Finan decided to try and bring Sihtric back to his senses.

"Here, have a drink," he approached with an ale mug in his hands, offering it to Sihtric as he settled himself on a large trunk that served as a makeshift bench next to Sihtric, sitting on the ground, his hands on his knees and back leaned against the same trunk.

Finan cleared his throat. "You've been volunteering for every reckless assault that Edward suggests. The ground outside the gates is littered with the fallen. It's a wonder you're still among the living."

Sihtric took a sip and sighed. "I've been wondering why the gods won't let me join them in Valhalla. It feels like they're either mocking me or punishing me for not being able to protect the greatest gift they gave me." Sihtrics gaze remained fixed on the flames dancing around the firewood, as if searching for answers in their flickering depths.

"Lad, you can't blame yourself for what happened."

"It wouldn't have happened," Sihtric said, his elbows on his knees as he clutched the ale mug, his vacant gaze fixed somewhere in the dark beyond the flickering firelight. "None of it would have happened if I hadn't been so foolish to let her come with us. It's all on me. I was her downfall. She'd still be alive if I hadn't entered her life in the first place. So don't try to tell me it wasn't my fault, because it was."

"You know you couldn't have stopped her from coming with us. She did it for the children, Sihtric," Finan said, his hand gently resting on Sihtric's shoulder, though it appeared that Sihtric hardly registered the touch.

"I just watched as they took her away. I was utterly useless. And now she's gone, Finan, and I wasn't even there. She died alone. She must have been terrified, alone and terrified, and there was no one there to hold her hand," Sihtric's grip on the ale mug tightened, and with a forceful motion, he hurled it into the fire, making the flames momentarily flare and dance.

"Every breath I take feels like it burns my lungs,” Sihtric continued, his voice reduced to a faint whisper, barely audible over the crackling of the fire. He turned to face his friend, and in the flickering light, Finan could swear he saw tears glistening in Sihtric's eyes. “Why am I allowed to keep breathing when she isn't? I don't want to walk this earth while she rests on the other side. My only wish is to find an honourable death. If it even slightly helps to secure Aethelstan and Stiorra's freedom, then I'll pass knowing my life wasn't utterly without worth."

“You can’t help them, if you are dead,” Finan was not ready to give up so easily, "And if there's one thing I'm certain of - she wouldn't want you to carry this burden. She loved you with all her heart, and she wouldn't want to see you like this. You're looking for the easy way out, my friend. If you truly loved her, find the strength within you to keep on living. Do it for her," Finan tapped his friend on the shoulder, as he raised himself to leave.

Sihtric remained motionless, seated and hunched forward, his head cradled in his hands, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames, as the sweet but torturing memories of your first night together and of your first kiss overflooded him like every night.

Back then, he hadn't expected any of it from you. He had been thinking how to convince Uhtred to give him another mission and let him leave. The memory of how close he'd come to losing his composure the day before still made his cheeks flush and his stomach flip every time he thought about it. The moonlight caressing your skin, shimmering in your eyes, the gentle touch of your hand on his, and that incredibly sweet scent you wore—a mix of lavender and rose oil with something uniquely yours—it had overwhelmed him. He'd almost blurted out his feelings and ruined everything.

Truth was that you were just perfect for him. Your vivacious and kind nature, your constant efforts to lift the spirits of those around you, your unconditional love for the children, your attentive and caring attitude—every little detail had captured his heart from the very beginning. He was utterly smitten, and yet utterly devastated at the same time, for he couldn't fathom confessing his admiration to you, let alone entertain the notion that you might feel the same way. He just wasn't ready to face the possibility of your rejection. The night before, he had come perilously close—far too close to the brink of making a fool of himself by revealing his longing.

To say that your words had caught him by surprise would mean to say nothing. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Your soft, melodic voice still resonated in his ears, and your words were etched into his memory. Just three simple words: "I like you." Yet, those words had changed everything, turning his life upside down in a single moment.

And then you had kissed him. The soft, lingering touch of your lips against his was like a bolt of lightning for Sihtric, catching him completely off guard. It felt as though he had forgotten how to breathe, and his heart raced in his chest as he cradled your face in both of his palms, pulling you slightly back, his eyes searching yours for any sign that this was some kind of cruel joke. But the sincerity in your gaze, so tender and with tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, filled his chest with such warmth. As he leaned in to kiss you back, he was flooded with happiness and that weird feeling of frogs jumping around in his stomach.

His fingers trembled as he cupped your cheeks. He recalled your sharp exhale as he pressed you closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist, and how you traced his arm up to his shoulders, settling yours around his neck, fingers teasingly tangling in his hair and pulling him even closer.

The fire was slowly fading, but Sihtric couldn't bring himself to move and fetch more firewood. With his head still cradled in his hands, a desperate, muffled moan escaped his lips as he recalled the way your lips had brushed against his—so shy, tender, sweet, and warm. He recalled your trembling breath and the soft gasp with which you parted your lips, to let his tongue into your mouth.

Even now his breath grew heavier at the sweet memory of how trustfully you had surrendered to his heated touch, how instead of withdrawing or pushing him away you had kept pressing yourself tighter against his chest, your fingers raking his hair.

Sihtric closed his eyes, letting himself be completely carried away to that evening.

It was as if he could still feel the sweet taste of your lips, filling him with hunger and desire above anything he had ever felt. He could barely breathe from the yearning that consumed him, feeling painfully restrained in his breeches.

He remembered every small detail, every word, every sigh and every glance as if it all had happened just moments before. He remembered groaning against your lips, as he noticed your breath accelerating as his hands slowly reached your hips and wandered further down pressing you firmly against his crotch, his arousal hard to ignore.

He craved for you like he had never craved for anybody before, but the last thing he had wanted was to scare you or to push you into something you didn’t want or wasn’t ready for. He had tried to withdraw, tried to explain, to let you know how much you had him under your power.

He remembered the spark in your eyes as you smiled at him, your fingers caressing his cheek gently, your thumb softly gliding over his lower lip.

"Follow me," you had whispered, your lips brushing against his ear, your warm breath teasing his skin as you took his hand in yours and turned towards the house, guiding him with you. And he had followed willingly, allowing you to lead, his fingers entwined with yours, excitement and curiosity pulsing through his veins.

Sihtric recalled how surprised he was as you led him into the silent, sleeping house and into your room.

"Lady, I…" he had started to speak, his voice rasped, desire and longing evident in his hoarse tone.

"Sihtric," you didn't let him finish, taking his hand and pressing his palm to your cheek, cuddling against it. "Please, make love to me tonight."

Sihtric felt a sudden warmth spreading across his face, cheeks flushing as he repeated these words in his mind. He had thought himself caught in a dream. A dream he was sure he never wanted to wake from. A dream that had turned into a nightmare.

He had almost choked on his breath as your fingers began to unfasten the straps of his leather armour, but he didn’t stop you. He kept watching your every movement, as your slender fingers unstrapped his belt and let it fall to the ground with a light metallic sound. A sigh rolled over his lips, as you tugged at the lower edge of his armour in an attempt to pull it off him. He had wrapped his hands around yours, bringing them to his lips and pressing gentle kisses to your palms, before he helped you to finish what you had started.

He remembered his fingers trembling in anticipation as he placed his hands at the front of your dress, his lips almost touching yours. “May I?” was the only thing he had managed to whisper, his lips curling into a smile at your soft “Please,” followed by a whimper as his fingers began to gently pull at the laces beneath your breasts.

Unable to control that sharp gasp followed by a low, almost desperate moan that left his lips, he had marveller at your naked body revealed to his eyes as your dress flung to the floor.

“Gods, you are so beautiful,“ he had murmured, stepping closer and wrapping his warm, slightly sweaty hands around your waist, his rapid breath betraying his excitement.

Soft giggles had bubbled over your lips as he lifted you in his arms and carried you to the bed.

A soft sob shook Sihtric’s shoulders at the memory of your fingers impatiently pulling at the laces of his breeches, stroking his hard length through the fabric, while he freed you from your underpants, settling between your thighs.

The sweet taste of your body lingered on his tongue as he remembered his lips relentlessly roaming your naked body, every curve and every line of it, starting from your jaw down to the collarbone, passing your breasts, suckling lightly at each of them and travelling further down to your stomach, sucking and leaving small biting marks on your sensitive skin, your muffled moans of pleasure a sweet melody in his ears.

You had been so sweet and trusting, yielding to his touch, letting him take the lead. He was a man, a Dane and a warrior, not a saint; he had had women before and not few. He had loved and been betrayed, he had sought comfort and pleasure in the arms of women who sold their affection for gold, and satisfied his desires in the beds of bored housewives and adventurous maidens. He had once considered himself unworthy of true love, but everything had changed the moment he had met you. He was in love, deeper than he had ever been before. He didn't want you just for this one night; he wanted you for every night and day, for all eternity and beyond, for all the good days and bad days. He yearned to savour every moment with you, to taste you, to pleasure you, to bring you to the brink of ecstasy, and to lose himself in the depths of his own passion and devotion.

And when you nodded your agreement to have him, to welcome him into your body, and he finally dared to immerse himself in the pulsing warmth of your core, your walls taking him in and squeezing around him, he felt as if he had ascended to Valhalla itself and he was sure that if there ever came a moment when he had to choose between Valhalla and you, he would pick you without a second's hesitation.

Sihtric remembered how you sunk into the pillows, wrapping your legs around his waist, how your nails dug into his back, how you moaned his name bucking your hips against his and how your tight, throbbing walls clenched around his cock, the most wanton sounds leaving your lips as he kept fucking you through your orgasm, finally chasing his own high, the sight of you writhing beneath him, breathless and flushed, pushing him towards the edge.

He had wanted to withdraw before releasing his seed inside you, but you refused to let him, causing him to spill deeply within you, his pleasure indescribable. And for the first time in his life, he found himself silently praying to the gods, that his seed would take as he knew there would be no other woman in this world he would want to bear his children, apart from you.

“I love you,” he had whispered between panting breaths, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he had repeated like a mantra, placing kisses all over your face.

“I love you too,” it had been just a soft murmur against his ear, but those words meant everything to him, causing his face to light up with a smile outshining a thousand suns.

The night had swallowed the camp in darkness, with thick clouds shrouding the sky, denying even a glimmer of moonlight. The fire had dwindled, reduced to a mere handful of glowing coals that cast a feeble, crimson glow upon Sihtric's features. He sat there, his back resting against the trunk, elbows propped on his knees, and hands hanging limply. Tears trickled slowly down his cheeks, tracing wet, salty paths on his face. He made no effort to wipe them away, allowing them to roll down and soak into the soil beneath his feet.

The relentless, cold inner voice continued its cruel whispers, reminding him that these memories were all he had left. He would never gaze into those sparkling eyes again, never hear that melodic voice of yours, never taste the sweetness of those red, full lips, never feel the warmth of your skin against his fingertips, and never witness your children playing.

Could it be that Finan was right? Was he truly seeking the easy way out? The past four weeks had blurred into a hazy abyss for Sihtric. The initial hope that Edward's forces would swiftly reclaim the city had dwindled after several unsuccessful attempts. It was different this time, the Danes didn’t let themselves be provoked and Edward, losing his mind, worrying about his children, was acting more and more like a madman. Days passed by, and the slender thread of hope to find you that had kept Sihtric going had dissipated like a morning mist in the embrace of the rising sun. You were gone and he was utterly lost.

Out there on the battlefield was the only place where he could escape, if only for a little while, from the agony in his mind, let out his anger and despair, losing himself in the frenzy of the fight, as the clash of swords, the deafening war cries, the desperate shouts of the wounded and all the chaos around finally drowned out the cruel inner voice that haunted him. He craved these short moments of oblivion like an addict. Tomorrow there will be another assault on the gates and he has volunteered again to lead it. Perhaps, if the gods would finally decide to show him mercy, a stray arrow might find him and bring an end to this torment once and for all.

—--------------------------------------------

You slowly opened your eyes, curiosity mingled with uncertainty as you took in your surroundings, unfamiliar smells and strange sounds wafting around. A reflexive cough escaped your lips, and you winced, bracing for the anticipated sharp pain that had previously racked your lungs. Surprisingly, it didn't come. You took a cautious, deep breath, realising that the once-persistent ache and heaviness in your chest had dissipated.

“Ah, you're awake, dear. Easy now, don't strain yourself," a hoarse yet kindly voice greeted you. You turned your head toward the source of the voice and found yourself met by a pair of bright, smiling eyes framed by a sea of wrinkles and lines. A wild shock of silver-white hair framed the old lady's face, cascading in unruly wisps around her shoulders. Her hands, gnarled and weathered, held a delicate grace as they moved with purpose and care expertly feeling your pulse.

"Where... where am I?" you managed to croak out.

"You're in Winchester, child. I found you in a cart left at my doorstep. You were in a dreadful state when I found you. And mark my words, if I ever lay hands on those heartless rascals who abandoned you here without so much as a knock on my door, I'll give them a piece of my mind they won't soon forget."

The old lady's fiery determination brought a smile to your lips, her strength and confidence shining through her frail exterior. You couldn't help but believe she was more than capable of following through on her threats.

"And what about the others?" you inquired, your voice tinged with wonder.

"The others?" the lady echoed, her brow furrowing. "There were no others in the cart, my dear. Just you."

Your smile faded rapidly, memories of the events in the woods rushing back to you, as the image of Sihtric and the others hanging their heads down from the branches of that massive tree intruded your mind.

"Oh my God! They're dead. They're all dead," you cried out, tears streaming down your face as uncontrollable sobs wracked your body. You covered your eyes with trembling hands, unable to contain the overwhelming grief that washed over you.

"Hey, take it easy," the old healer comforted you, passing a cup filled with warm tea. "It will help you calm down. I may not know what happened to your friends you mentioned, but what's important is that you have a second chance. For your sake and for the life you're carrying beneath your heart, you must focus on regaining your strength."

Confusion laced your voice as you asked, still sobbing, "What do you mean?"

"You didn't know? My dear, you're carrying a child, without a doubt," the old lady replied with a warm twinkle in her eyes, her tone friendly and reassuring.

“A child?” you repeated, your voice laced with disbelief.

"Yes, my dear. A new life is growing within you, and it's a precious gift. You have been given a second chance, not just for yourself but for this little one too."

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were tears of a different kind.

“I’m with a child, Sihtric’s child,” you murmured under your breath, as the thought of carrying Sihtric's child filled you with an inconceivable mix of emotions, joy and hope mingling with sadness and fear, but above everything a new sense of purpose to your life enveloped you as a warm blanket, soothing your aching, bleeding heart. It was as if a small part of him lived on within you, a reason to keep moving forward.

—---------------------------------------

Sihtric stood at the forefront of the chaos, his grip on the rambock's handle firm, his muscles straining as they battered the gate of Winchester. The deafening sound of the rambock colliding with the wooden gate was drowned out by the cacophony of battle - the clash of steel, the war cries, and the roars of men.

With a final, determined push, the gates groaned and gave way, and the roaring and shouting throng of warriors surged into the city, their cries filling the air.

"The gates, the Saxons have breached the gates!" someone cried out as they ran past the healer's house. The distant sounds of battle reached your ears, drawing you out onto the porch. The clash of swords, the thundering hooves of horses, and the fierce war cries of warriors resonated in the distance.

Driven by curiosity, you took a few steps forward and as you did, a swarm of roaring Danes, emerging from a nearby corner and charging toward the gates, caught you off guard. You attempted to sidestep them, but it was too late. You found yourself swept up in the surge, desperately trying to break free, but unable to escape their relentless advance.

The battle raged before the gates, a chaotic and brutal dance of clashing shields and swords. You were helplessly dragged along, tossed about like a ragdoll, the warriors' roars echoing in your ears as you desperately manoeuvred between them, ducking, jumping, and sidestepping in an effort to evade the deadly flurry of shields and blades. A forceful shove from behind sent you tumbling, and you stumbled over a fallen body before crashing to the ground.

"Shield wall!" a commanding voice rang out, cutting through the cacophony of battle, followed by the blaring blast of horns as you crawled frantically through the tumultuous maze of countless stomping legs.

"Shield wall!" the command echoed once more, and the battlefield around you stilled as men began to fall back. Two shield walls formed on either side of the yard, creating an empty space between them and there you lay huddled on the ground among lifeless bodies and groaning wounded, your hands protectively wrapped around your belly.

Sihtric's eyes scanned the empty space between the shield walls, as he strained to make sense of the chaotic scene, his heart pounding in his chest, the taste of sweat and blood lingering in his mouth.

Then, amidst the turmoil and destruction, his eyes locked onto a figure on the ground, crouched low, and clutching her abdomen. He couldn't believe his eyes; he thought he had gone mad, that grief and longing were playing tricks on his mind. His grip on his axe loosened, as he staggered backward, his mind racing with disbelief and hope. He had mourned you, convinced that you were gone, that he would never see your face again, yet there you were, a vision in the midst of chaos, a dream, a cruel mirage in the midst of war. As if frozen he stared at the sight before him, paralysed and unable to make his feet move until Finan’s urgent shout jolted him from his stupor.

"Dear God! Sihtric!" Finan's voice rang out, insistent and full of urgency. "It's her! It’s (Y/N)! She's alive! We have to get to her!"

Without another moment of hesitation, Sihtric rallied his senses and started to push his way through the shield wall, his heart pounding like crazy. He rushed to your side, sinking to one knee and turned you over to face him. There you were, unmistakably you, your face contorted with pain and fear, your eyes full with astonishment and awe.

“Sihtric?” you muttered, not believing your eyes.

"Gods, you're alive," were the only words Sihtric could manage, his voice catching in his throat as he lifted you and carried you away from the battlefield, his powerful arms cradling you gently.

Desperately seeking a safe place to bring you, Sihtric's eyes landed on the battered gates that once guarded the entrance to the inner yard of the convent. It appeared forsaken and deserted. With no better options in sight, he nudged the broken gate open with his foot and carefully carried you inside and continued through the vacant courtyard, taking you to the far end of the garden, where he gently settled you on the ground, his hands instantly wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into a tight embrace.

He held you close, his trembling fingers softly caressing your hair, tears in his eyes, as he whispered, "I thought I had lost you forever.”

“I thought you were dead, I mourned you and I wept for you,” Sihtric’s voice was low and croaky. “And I was ready to follow you to the other side. I was so angry at the gods for not giving me an honourable exit from this world. What a fool I was!” Sihtric nuzzled your hair, showering the top of your head with tender kisses.

"I thought you were gone too," you murmured, your face buried in Sihtric's chest, tears soaking his leather armour. "I was sure we would never see you again," your voice quivered.

"We?" Sihtric questioned, his brow furrowing. "Were you with Stiorra and Aethelstan? Do you know where they are?"

"No, Sihtric. I meant... I...," your words were swallowed by the uncontrollable sobs that shook your body. Sihtric gently cradled your face in his large, warm hands, tenderly kissing away your tears.

"My love, my daylight, my sunshine, my everything. It is a miracle I have found you again. I love you, and I'll never let you go. I am forever yours, and you are forever mine," he whispered.

"We are forever yours. We have been blessed, Sihtric. I'm… I’m carrying our child," you finally managed to regain control of your emotions.

"Child?" Sihtric felt a sudden dizziness wash over him as the weight of your words hit him like a tidal wave. He had a strange feeling as if his knees had turned into jelly, threatening to give way beneath him, leaving the big, blood-smeared warrior no choice but to clutch onto you for support. He stood there for a moment, his arms wrapped tightly around your trembling form, as if fearing you might vanish if he let go.

"Our child," he repeated, his voice quivering with a mixture of awe, joy, and disbelief. With a burst of euphoria, he lifted you off the ground and spun around, laughter bubbling from his lips like a madman's. Setting you down gently, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead and then to your lips. His gaze locked with yours, radiating absolute bliss, as he slowly sank to his knees before you, his lips planting gentle kisses on your belly.

"Hey there, little one," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. "Can you hear me? I love your mom more than anything in this world, and I already love you too. I promise, no, I swear on my life, I will take good care of both of you."

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