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missjadesfics · 2 months

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"Delicate Feelings"

Feyd-Rautha x Reader gif credits: @dearaustinbutler @caribbean1989 dividers: @cafekitsune @rookthornesartistry Request: Yes Summary: The reader is to wed Feyd-Rautha; intentionally, she is frightened, but once she begins to share his life on Geidi Prime and come into her own, Feyd begins to fall in love with her. When another man makes a move on her one day. Feyd makes sure he reminds her who Y/n belongs to. Everyone should know better; Feyd-Rautha doesn't share. Warnings: smut 18+MDNI, praise kink, public affection, teasing, slight possessive nature, feyd doesn't like sharing, oral (f receiving, hint m receiving), Feyd expressing feelings, the reader sees a softer side of her na-baron. Word Count: 3,2k Disclaimer: I do not own Dune or its characters, nor do I claim them as my own Comments likes, and reblogs are always adored and appreciated xx

Y/n felt frightened; all her life, she had been raised to prepare herself to honour and stand by her husband. Her mother and father had told her she would marry the most feared man in the Imperium. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. Y/n had heard about him, his psychotic nature, his brutal killing methods and his concubines. Y/n hated the word concubines; it put a bad taste in her mouth. She heard he fed them human organs; they were cannibals. Y/n felt the ship landing as she felt the vibration flow through her body; closing her eyes, she whispered affirmations to herself. “Everything will be okay. You will be okay. You have been prepared for this your whole life. Everything will be okay.” Standing up as she smoothed her dress while walking down the ship’s ramp, she began to cough lightly; the air was different in Geidi Prime than in her homeworld. A maid came behind her “Lady Y/n; you will get used to it eventually.” She spoke gently. Y/n nodded, letting out a shaky breath and walking inside the overbearing fortress of House Harkonnen. Feeling overwhelmed by the vast stone-cold halls decorated in black and dark jade, the sounds of Y/n’s heels echo through. Coming face to face with large double doors, Y/n took one deep breath as they opened; exhaling slowly, Y/n walked through her maids behind her. She could see the Baron, the obese man, sitting in his hovering chair attached to tubes to aid his health. Swallowing nervously, Y/n’s emerald eyes drifted over to a young man whose back was to her. The Baron let out a heavy sigh as he smoked his pipe. “My dear nephew, your bride has arrived,” he chuckled deeply as the young man looked over his shoulder before turning his body and ultimately facing Y/n. Her lips parted, her eyes locked with his, a slight smile playing on his lips while he walked towards her. Raising his hand to tap her cheek with his pointer finger, “Hmm”, he hummed, his blue eyes dancing over her figure; his tongue swiped his bottom lip. “Welcome to Geidi Prime, my Na-Baroness” His chilling voice sent shivers through her body. She gasped through her dry lips as her eyes stared into his; he smirked, leaning in. “Don’t worry, wife, you have nothing to fear”, he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. His words may have been comforting, but his tone made her feel different; this is where her training would come to light.

That was two weeks ago; Feyd had kept his distance from Y/n. They consummated marriage on their wedding night, but after that, he was busy training for his birthday celebration in the gladiator arena. The Baron hosts a grand celebration every birthday in honour of his favourite nephew. This would be Y/n’s first time observing her husband as the brutal fighter she had heard so much about; Lady Margot Fenring was also in attendance, and she sat beside Y/n. The woman was a stranger, but she still comforted the young girl. “I know you; you are Lady Margot; Count Fenring is your lord husband.” Margot raised a brow and smiled with a slight bow on her head. “Yes, I was sent to watch and observe you and your husband. After all, the Bene Gesserit wants to watch you closely; you’re special.” She looked through her small binoculars, her eyes darting around the arena. “Have you ever watched his fight before?”

Y/n asked Margot, who shook her head in response. “No, but that’s what makes this exciting”, she whispered as the horns signalled the beginning of the fight. Y/n looked down anxiously as she felt nerves build, not for the other fighters but for her husband. A deep voice rumbled through the triangular arena; Margot translated for Y/n, “Today, the Baron celebrates his nephew, the Feyd-Rautha, on his birthday. May the games begin” Y/n looked down, seeing Feyd emerge from the crowd; the loud sound of cheers and clapping disoriented Y/n slightly. Feyd raised his knife, bowing towards the corner where the Baron sat high above; as Feyd straightened, he looked around, taking in the admiration. His figure stopped seeing Y/n in her viewing platform. He grinned as he fell to his knee, his arms spread, his knives glistening from the black sun.

“I DEDICATE MY VICTORY….” He raised his knife towards Y/n. “TO MY WIFE, THE FUTURE BARONESS!” He roared to the crowd, erupted in pride at their leader’s words. Y/n once felt a smile when she heard Feyd’s words, sitting back as he readied himself for his fight. Margot looked over. “I can sense some affection. Am I wrong?” The Bene Gesserit asked Y/n softly, who laughed lightly. “It’s the first time I’ve smiled in a long time; before we were married, I couldn’t smile; I was too scared. And I was too afraid to smile here; I did not want to disrupt or upset my husband,” she spoke gently. Margot nodded lightly in response, watching Feyd. “I think your lord husband has grown a soft spot for you, Lady Harkonnen.”

The woman smirked as Y/n watched Feyd fight his opponents effortlessly. The crowd cheered, chanting Feyd’s name; as Feyd left the arena, Y/n stood up and walked out of the platform and back to her shared chambers with Feyd. Standing on the balcony, she looked up at the fireworks with a smile. Her eyes closed, and she listened to the sounds of the cracks and sparks in the atmosphere. “Were you impressed, wife?” She heard her husband’s voice behind her and turned to face him. “I was husband. I had heard tales of your fighting and was honoured to witness such power in the arena today.” She bowed her head lightly. Feyd smirked, looking her up and down; he walked up to her and spun her around. His arms were around her waist. “My uncle always throws elaborate birthday celebrations for me. I used to love them, now not so much,” He murmured gently as Y/n frowned. “I hope my presence sweetens your birthday this year.” She looked up at him, and he blinked his lashes softly, gazing down at his wife. A smile was on his face, and he hummed his fingers delicately, draping across her neck and down her chest. “It does, my wife.”

Time passed as both Feyd and Y/n spent every day together; Feyd let her watch him train and fight, and she sat in the council meetings he would attend. He was named Na-Baron, which made her Na-Baroness; his uncle made him the heir of house Harkonnen and sent them to Arrakis to control spice production. Y/n had grown to love and accustomed to Geidi Prime, but she had heard stories of Arrakis’s beauty and was anxious to see it. Feyd had observed his wife over time, watching her share his life and become his wife and Baroness. He had never thought he would feel such things about anyone, let alone a woman, but he was. He was beginning to fall in love with his wife—the feared, ruthless Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha in love. Love is a dangerous emotion; he was always told it was poison; it affects the mind, disorients thoughts, and gets in the way of duties. Before he married Y/n, Feyd had rid himself of his concubines by killing them; he wanted no other ties; he would commit to his wife. He believed it was for duty and power, but now he realised it wasn’t for that; it was his love for his wife. He wanted no other woman. He just wanted her.

Arriving in Arrakis, the sun’s heat, the sting of the sand blowing with the harsh wind and the barren planet made Y/n rethink coming to Arrakis. Feyd looked over at his wife with a smile. He held her hand in his hand, and they both walked into Arakeen. The Na-Baron and Na-Baroness walked through the city observing the spice production as Feyd shouted orders and led his soldiers to attack the Fremen—something his brother could not do. Y/n wandered through the hall, looking at the different engravings on the walls, sandworms and Fremen riding them. She stood frozen, admiring the art, her hands behind her back. “My Lady”, a voice spoke up, breaking her gaze from the wall. “Oh, I’m sorry, this artwork entranced me, it’s beautiful”, she pointed to the wall the man stood beside her. “Ah, the sandworms, yes, the Fremen treat them with such respect can’t understand why”, his deep-toned voice full of disdain. Y/n decided to shake off his words. “Who are you? You don’t look like you’re from Arrakis?” She questioned curiously; the man chuckled, “No, I’m from Corrino. The Emperor sent me as a herald of the change. To watch over the spice production here” he bowed his head, and Y/n nodded lightly as she felt him step closer to her his hand on her arm.

Y/n’s eyes gazed down, narrowing lightly. “Excuse me, I must leave” She pushed him back as he pursued her Y/n began walking away, her heart racing as she couldn’t remember where she had to go. Continuing to walk straight, she heard the man behind her pick up his pace. Grabbing her dress skirt, she sprinted down the hall; the man grabbed her from behind and pushed her against the wall. “Please”, she pleaded; the man smiled. “Don’t worry, my lady”, he whispered before leaning in. “If you value your life, take your hands off MY WIFE, YOUR NA-BARONESS”, Feyd’s cold tone spoke; the man’s eyes widened in fear; he glanced over, seeing Feyd’s sinister smile, his head titled. The man released Y/n, her breathing shaky. Feyd’s eyes watched intensely as he grabbed his knife; the man stuttered his apology, but Feyd laughed then snarled lowly. Steeping towards him one by one, the man shook before Feyd.

“I am the only man who can touch her. No other is worthy of her attention, her presence, but me. I don’t share, and I don’t appreciate someone touching my wife” he swiped his knife along the man’s throat. Blood spilled as he choked, falling to the ground lifelessly. Feyd spun around and held his wife’s face in his hands. “My love, are you okay?” He breathed softly, his blue eyes searching hers. She nodded wordlessly, burying her face in his chest. “Thank you for saving me” she murmured. Feyd felt his heart skip a beat, a smile on his face.

Dinner in the grand hall was quiet; Y/n and Feyd were surrounded by the others who came with them from Geidi Prime. Feyd held his wife’s hand, pulling her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles gently. Y/n smiled at the affection from her husband. His smile made her heart flutter; leaning close, Feyd whispered, “Your dress is making every man in this room jealous. They all wish they were me. And they all wish they had you warming their bed every night”, he growled; his lips caressing her neck his teeth biting down on her skin lightly. Y/n felt her eyes close, her breath hitched, looking at all the men watching. “Feyd”, she whispered; her husband chuckled, his fingers trailing down her chest, down her body between her legs. “Let them watch; they need to remember who you are. Their Na-Baroness, my wife. My Baroness,” he breathed, his voice mesmerising Y/n gazed at her husband from the corner of her eyes.

“Husband, I suddenly feel hot; perhaps I should retire to our chambers” She gave him a sultry glance; his eyes squinted, he licked his lips, his forehead pressed to hers, his eyes closed. “Whatever you wish, my wife. I will give you five minutes, then I’ll hunt you” He grinned, kissing her lips quickly. Y/n stood up, left the grand hall, and ran to their shared chambers. Feyd took one last drink of his wine and slammed the cup on the table. Five minutes had gone, and he grinned, clicking his tongue. “Ready or not, here I come, wife.”

Y/n hid behind a secret door in hers and Feyd’s chambers, hearing her husband’s footsteps approach the door. Opening loudly, Feyd closed them, locking them, and slowly turned around to scan the chambers. Licking his lips in anticipation, he smirked, his eyes darting around, looking for any signs of his wife. He saw she had left her heels and dress on the bed. Twirling around, he looked in the wardrobe. Nothing. He made his way out to the balcony, but nothing again. He narrowed his eyes, wondering where she was. Walking into the bathroom quietly, he saw she wasn’t there. Y/n thought she was safe to come out, so she slid out but froze when she heard Feyd’s voice. “Found you”, Y/n looked over her shoulder. “So you did”, she whispered. Feyd grinned, pressing her against the wall. Feyd leant in, kissing her jaw, trailing open-mouthed kisses along her neck. His lips found her pulse sucking gently. A gentle gasp left her open lips, her fingers gripping his clothes tightly. “Please, husband”, she murmured, her body arching off the wall, the heat of her body touching his, making him moan lowly.

Grasping her body in his hands, he picked her up and threw her on the bed. Their lust-filled gazes focused on one another as Feyd fell to his knees; his hands slid up her legs and spread them apart. Y/n let out a sharp gasp, feeling his lips on her thigh, a sly grin on his face, hearing his wife’s cries of pleasure. Feyd made his way down, ripping her underwear, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. Delving between kissing her clit softly, Y/n shivered; his tongue slowly lapped at her wet folds. His hands gripped her waist, her legs draped over his shoulders. Feyd flattened his tongue, licking a broad stroke from her entrance to her clit. Y/n whimpered, her hands fisting the silk sheets, her eyes tightly shut, her mouth agape, strings of gasps, Feyd’s name and moans filled the room. Looking down, she could see Feyd looking up at her, his eyes blown with desire. He pulled her closer, growling into her, his tongue strokes becoming more rapid. Y/n felt her arousal heighten as Feyd felt her hips begin to jolt. “Feyd, please, I’m-” she cried, her back arching. A loud moan left her mouth as Feyd groaned. His mouth savoured every drop. Pulling away, Feyd grinned, kissing her stomach; he slid up her body, kissing each part of her skin. Panting heavily, he kissed her roughly, his tongue sliding into her mouth, his hand cupping her cheek. Y/n pushed him back, her hand trailing down to his pants. “Let me-” she began, and Feyd shook his head.

“No, as much as I would your mouth on my cock, maybe another time”, he grunted, rocking his hips into her hand as he sat up, removing his pants. Throwing them away, he climbed back on top of Y/n, kissing her fiercely. She pushed Feyd onto his back, straddling his waist. Feyd grinned, his black teeth glittering as Y/n lowered herself down on his cock; gasping at the feel of him inside her, she threw her head back. Feyd groaned, gripping her waist and thrusting up Y/n looked down at her Baron. Her hands laid on his chest for balance, riding him. Y/n is rarely on top, and when she is, Feyd loves it. He prefers to be in control but wouldn’t deny his wife what she wants. “Be as loud as you, my baroness; let all the men hear how well I fuck you. Let them hear your cries of pleasure, see your bruises from my touch. Give them a show” Feyd sat up, whispering hotly into her ear Y/n shuddered at his words, spreading her legs a little more to take in more of him.

Looping her arms around his neck and kissing him, Feyd’s hips bucked wildly, both moaning into the kiss. Y/n cried out when Feyd growled, his cock, hitting her sweet spot harshly; his grin made Y/n’s clit throb as Feyd's thrusts became erratic. He snarled his teeth and bit Y/n’s lower lip. “I can feel your walls clenching, wife. Come for your Baron. Good girl, so good for me.” He purred, his voice sending her over the edge, her body shattering under the pressure of the aftershocks jolting her body as Feyd grunted before coming inside her, painting her walls with his seed.

Both panting, Feyd smiled,d flipping them over, throwing one of her legs around his waist. He nudged his nose with hers. His hips began to move again Y/n writhed underneath him as Feyd kissed her throat,t his tongue licking up from her neck to her cheek. “I’ve been aching for you since our wedding night. I apologise for distancing myself; I didn’t want to hurt you,” He hissed, feeling her hand on his cheek Y/n smiled up at him. “I wouldn’t have minded, you know”, She breathed, her eyes glittering with tears brimming in the corners. Overwhelmed with pleasure, Feyd chuckled, “Is my wife sensitive? Look at you so fucked out on my cock. Your beginning to cry”, he teased her, kissing her tears away, licking afterwards, tasting the salt. His eyes darted down, grabbing her hand and placing it on her stomach. “Do you feel me, Y/n, how deep I am inside you” he purred, his hot breath fanning her face, her soft eyes following his gaze seeing the outline of his cock in her stomach. The familiar fire in her lower belly rose as she moaned. “Feyd, don’t stop, please”, she begged. Feyd pressed himself harder into her body, his hips moving faster, turning into a brutal pace. “This what you want? Hm,m,” he moaned. Y/n nodded her head, gasping sharply.

Feyd pressed his thumb to her clit rubbing in small circles while he kissed her neck. Biting down, Feyd broke her delicate skin as he lapped at the coppery taste of her blood. It was sweet, just like her; his eyes rolled in the back of his head. Y/n sobbed, the building pleasure of her climax mixed with the pain of Feyd biting her neck. She screamed out Feyd’s name as she came around him. Feyd followed his hips, stuttering as he let out a roar in Y/n’s neck. Feyd slowly sat up and pulled out of Y/n, and she whined at the loss of him as they both lay side by side. Staring at the ceiling, both with blissed smiles on their faces. They both turned to face one another, their breathing uneven as they recovered from their lovemaking.

“I love you, Y/n”, Feyd whispered with a beautiful smile. His blue eyes shined with love, and Y/n mirrored his expression. “I love you too, Feyd.”

Tags: @cynic-spirit

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eroselless · 2 months

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I LIKE THE WAY YOU KISS ME

Summary: You and Lando need to talk after what transpired on the car ride to the hotel. What will you both decide? [2.5k]

[lando norris x reader ]

MASTERLIST | Part 1 - LAY UR HANDS ON ME

Warnings: 18+ for explicit language and smut, unprotected sex, oral, missionary

Note: Thank you all so much for the love, support and patience! I wanted it to be spicy but also a little soft, I hope it comes off that way. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it <3 I hope it's alright that I tagged everyone who commented on part 1! Happy reading, love you all!

The tension in the air is palpable. It’s fog clinging to the morning air, waiting to dissipate. It’s a sink threatening to overflow, every passing moment teetering closer to the edge of chaos. It’s a champagne bottle, waiting for just the right push to pop. Lando stands with his back to the hotel door as you stand in front of your bed, fidgeting with your fingers. The silence in the elevator and the walk to the room is almost frightening. The adrenaline from the car ride had slowly faded as you stood, frozen in place. Your palms feel sweaty, your heart pounding in your chest. You both stand in the limbo of uncertainty’s clutch.

“What if we just –”

“We can pret –”

Your words collide in the air, an awkward and strained laugh escaping the both of you. Doubt begins to gnaw at your mind, maybe he’s regretting it? You wonder. Maybe he was in need of some release and you happened to give it to him.

“If you want,” you begin tentatively, voice barely above a whisper. “We can pretend this never happened.”

Lando takes in a sharp breath, nodding. He shifts from foot to foot, bottom lip curled between his teeth as he nervously bites into it. He blinks, eyes watering. His chest begins to tighten up and he feels like he could break down then and there. Maybe in the spur of the moment, his lapse of judgment was the final straw that broke the camel's back and you’re eager to forget about the eventful ride over.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, sitting down on his bed. His voice is quiet, barely audible as he twists his fingers in his hands. He can’t bring himself to meet your eyes and stares down at your shoes.

A heavy silence envelops the room, and for a moment, the world seems to hold its breath, anticipation building in the man who sits before you. Blinking the tears that had snuck into your eyes, you shake your head. Your chest feels heavy as you answer him.

“No.”

The single word cuts through the air like a knife and hands there for a second. Time stands still for a moment as Lando’s head whips up to look at you. Time crashes down over you as he collides with you.

You weren’t quite sure of what you expected from your first kiss with Lando yet as his lips brushed with yours you couldn’t help but be struck by how perfect his lips felt on yours. His hands are cradling your cheeks, fingers pressing lightly into your skin as if he’s scared he’ll shatter you like fine porcelain. There is a delicate urgency in how his lips dance over yours. Years upon years of longing rising to the surface of your skin. His tongue slips past your lips, he can taste the remnants of the wine from earlier, a mixture of desire and indulgence.

His hands move with a purpose, one gently placed at the joint of your jaw, a possessive gesture that sends a thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins. The other rests firmly on the small of your back, pushing you closer with a quiet promise of ecstasy to come. He nudges your chin up with his hand, moving slowly and carefully.

He pulls away, eyes droopy and half-lidded with desire. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly. You’re both heaving as you stand in the middle of the room, taking a moment to admire one another. The youthfulness and beauty of his face are so much more evident up close. It's nothing short of captivating. You had always thought he was handsome but now you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You can count the freckles scattered on his sun-kissed skin, the speckles of colour in his eyes are like shards of glass and his long lashes frame them beautifully.

His hands fall from your face, sliding down and behind your shoulders. “Turn around,” he says. You comply, moving to face the other way. His hands move over the expanse of your back and you get a flashback to the moment you sat in his lap, just under 15 minutes ago. His breath is fanning on your back, a familiar chill surging through your body again.

His fingers land on the zipper of your dress, tugging on it as he asks for your permission to take it off. You nod, collecting your hair to one side. He pulls the zip down, fingers dragging lightly over the increasingly exposed skin. He presses his mouth tenderly to your spine, pulling a shaky breath from your lips. He pushes the straps of your dress off your shoulders, sending the fabric to the floor. It leaves you standing in your underwear, having foregone a bra. You turn around to face him, eyes scanning his face once again.

His lips find their way to your jaw, nipping lightly at it. You push his blazer from his shoulders, moving to unbutton his crisp white shirt.

He shoves you lightly but with enough force to send you falling back onto the bed. He can’t help but admire you as you lay there. Your hair is out in a halo around your head and you're propping yourself up on your elbows, eyes wide as you gaze up at him.

He pulls his trousers off and you can see the shape of his cock through his boxers. Lowering himself on top of you, he litters kisses over your chest, lips coming to wrap around a pebbled nipple. You arch your back slightly at the feeling of his lips over the sensitive bud. Your hand goes to his hair, threading through it as he pushes his face further into the plushness of your tit. His other hand is snaking down your body, snapping the waistband of your underwear.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he moves down, sitting back on his knees. He pulls a leg up over his shoulder, beginning to trail kisses from your ankle to your knee. Your skin is soft and warm, goosebumps starting to bloom over it.

You’re nervous as he makes his way up your thigh, teeth teasingly dipping into the soft skin. You let out a gasp as he does so, moving his lips to your other leg. In an instant, he’s back at the top of your leg, at the junction where they meet. He kisses the damp fabric of your underwear, eyes peering up at you.

“Can I take these off?” He asks innocently. You hesitate, heart threatening to pop out of your chest. You nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek. His fingers hook around your underwear, pulling them down swiftly. Your knees come together on instinct.

He lets out a small chuckle, moving onto the floor in front of the bed. He pulls you to the edge by the crook of your knees, pressing a kiss to each one.

“I want a taste.” He hums, only causing your heart to beat faster. His hands move up to take hold of your hips, pressing his cheek to your knees as if to ask are you ready? He waits until you’ve given him a small yet decisive yes before gently pulling your legs open. He goes straight to your sex, pressing his lips to your folds before spreading them open, making a v with his fingers. He teases you, letting out a single soft puff. His tongue darts out, dragging over the sensitive flesh but not over the part where you need him most. This causes your hips to buck up, aching for more of his touch. He continues, now plunging his tongue inside you.

“Fuck –” you moan out, body beginning to tremble with need as he shoves his face even closer. Your fingers pull harshly at his hair as he flicks his tongue expertly at your hole, his groan sending vibrations through your body. His fingers grip tight at your hips, grounding you in place. He sends a red-hot feeling through you as he fucks the muscle into you steadily. It pokes into a spongy, sensitive spot within you. He pulls away, blowing gently at the wet skin.

“God, baby. You taste so fucking good.”

He slips a finger in, thumb moving in careful circles over your clit, eliciting more moans from you. A smile is playing on his lips, as you feel yourself teetering towards the edge, a coil tightening in your gut. You cry out, a wave of pleasure washing over you. Your hips are bucking and your legs try to close around his head.

He doesn’t stop licking and sucking at you, easing you down from your orgasm. Your chest heaves and you shake breathlessly. He pulls away, his face glistening with your juices. His eyes sparkle with lust as he presses his lips one more time to the skin of your thigh. It’s a look you’d only imagined in your mind.

He stands over you, admiring how you look with your cheeks flushed and a light layer of sweat on your skin. Your chest is rising up and down quickly as you come down from your high. You’re staring up at him, eyes hazy and lips parted. You look ethereal, a piece of art hanging in a museum, the image of perfection.

Regaining your breath, your hands work on Lando’s boxers, pulling them down and letting his cock spring free. It taps lightly at his stomach, a bead of pre-cum on the red angry tip. You wrap a hand around it, thumb going to run over the crease of the head. Lando hisses and shakes his head at you begin to jerk your hand. His voice is strained as he tells you no.

“Not tonight,” he says, tongue heavy in his mouth. “Just need to be inside you.”

You nod, moving up the bed, into its centre. He crawls over you, showering your body with kisses as he does so. A kiss right over your pubic bone, one on your ribcage and the last one over the corner of your mouth.

He stares into your eyes as he pushes in, bottom lip trapped between his teeth to keep him quiet. He fills you in a single movement, one powerful thrust. Your breath hitches as he does so, lips forming a tight o. You can feel his cock hit you just at the right spot, the pleasure making your eyes roll back. The squeeze of your cunt around his cock was better than Lando could have imagined.

He’s pushing your knees up and wrapping your legs around his waist as he starts a slow grind. He rolls into you, pushing deeper and deeper as he goes. He feels so good, it’s almost unbearable. You’re completely at his mercy, his touch spreading fires in you, wherever it goes.

You're writhing beneath him as he kisses you. His tongue is darting into your mouth, stealing your breath away.

“You’re so pretty like this, baby” he says over the sound of himself sliding in and out of you with ease. The sound is slick and wet, it’s filthy yet it only makes you fall deeper into pleasure’s embrace. Your body molds perfectly into him and you find yourself wondering how you’d never noticed that before. All those times when he held you, when you held him. There were so many signs and you were both oblivious to them.

He pushes down on your lower tummy and it presses something deeper within you. It pulls a whine from your lips as your hands find purchase on Lando’s shoulder, pulling him down so you’re almost chest to chest.

“You’re doing so good for me” he mumbles, lips against the shell of your ear. You clench around him, the words only spurring you on. He continues to fuck you into the mattress, stroking your walls just right.

“Lan, I –” you begin to say. The buildup is getting too much as you feel yourself swing closer to your climax. Lando can feel it too. The spasming of your body, the slight arch of your back. The air is knocked out of your chest as the moment hits, pleasure crashing over you. His name falls from your lips like a mantra and he only pushes faster. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you now. He thrusts into you one last time before he tips over the edge, losing himself then and there.

You feel him let out a gasp as he collapses over you in a sweaty mess. His body is heavy laying on top of yours but it isn’t uncomfortable. His skin is sticky and his breath fans over your neck. You’re both breathing heavily as the energy in the room begins to diminish. Your hand goes to thread through his unruly curls as he peppers light kisses to the column of your throat.

He gets up after a few minutes, telling you to sit still as he does. He returns with a towel, gently cleaning up the mess you’ve made together. He tosses it away and crawls back towards you, pulling the cover over the top of your bodies.

He stills against you, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, mind only filled with thoughts of you. He can only really think of how flawlessly you fit together. Or the feeling of how delicious you feel pressed up against him.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to make a move,” he says, peering up at you. You smile, shaking your head. “And I’m sorry for not saying anything sooner.”

You both carry on there for a second, his cheek now pressed to your chest. His eyes have begun to flutter close as the gentle sound of your breathing slowly lulls him to sleep. His fingers are softly tracing circles on your ribcage where he holds you. There are no words exchanged between the two of you but there’s so much said in the silence as you cling to each other.

“Lan..” you whisper, voice soft. He hummed in response, squeezing you. You nibbled your lip nervously as the words waited in your mouth.

“I love you.” his fingers stop in their tracks. He let out a gentle, barely audible chuckle. You’re unsure of what his reaction is. He rises to his elbows and bounces slightly on the mattress, pressing a kiss to your stomach.

“Say it again,” he whispers, voice husky. His fingers are now prodding at your side and you let out bouts of laughter as he does.

“I love you.” he nips at the soft skin of your neck, evoking a laugh out of you. His energy seems renewed as his lips continue their dance over your skin and he gradually makes his way up to your face.

“I love you too,” he says, his smile wide, pulling you on top of him. “And I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

@noneofyourfbusinessworld

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#lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris imagine #lando norris

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awritesthings1 · 6 months

Text

Gone with the Leaves

Pairing: Tommy Shelby / Wife Reader

Summary: Despite your happy marriage to Tommy, you feel an undeniable jealousy towards Lizzie. Perhaps a day in the forest will do you some good.

ao3 link

A/N: I'm starting a tag list, comment if you want to be added :)

“You write like you’re running out of time,” mused Lizzie Stark, former prostitute, now Tommy’s secretary. “They have typewriters for those types of things, y’know?”

You saw the volley of cannonballs that launched and subsequently landed on Tommy’s desk as the words left her mouth. It wasn’t that you expected more of poor old plain Lizzie, but you thought that the time she had spent lying on her back staring past the shoulder of a customer at the ceiling would have taught her to read a room. Nevertheless, she stood there, quite amused with herself, smiling stupidly at your husband.

Tommy, who had been sitting at his desk all afternoon attending to letters, the ledger, and god knows what else, peered up from the paper. “What did you say?”

This time, it was your turn to be amused. He pointed accusingly at Lizzie, who by then had realised her impetuous mistake. Her wide eyes fluttered to you desperately, like a bee that had indulged itself in so much pollen that it became stuck in its own honey. No, that was putting it lightly. She looked to you like a frightened child who knew exactly what kind of trouble they were in.

You made sure you looked the other way.

“It was only a silly joke,” came her spluttering apology.

Tommy squinted, and his mouth curled into a frown. Smoke chased the deep exhale from the cigarette hanging between his lips. Your husband carried this terrifying look to him that many feared. Without the peaky cap to cover his striking blue eyes, you saw his glare cut away the cords in Lizzie’s throat with just one look. How could poor Lizzie defend herself from eyes that had witnessed nightmarish things?

“I’m not clear. Is it funny that I sign my letters by hand, or are you above using ink now that you have graduated from the bed to the desk?”

Lizzie’s mouth wormed into a thin line, yet she still looked to you for help. Of what help she thought you would possibly spare, you weren’t sure. For once, Lizzie used initiative and showed herself out.

Your heels clacked across the wooden threshold of your husband’s office. Now that no one was there to disturb you both, you sat down on Tommy’s lap. By then, he was leaning back on his chair, work abandoned for the time being until he could wash the sour sight of Lizzie Stark from his eyes.

“You know I don’t like her,” you said plainly.

There was no need for fake smiles or lies with Tommy. You knew him, and he knew you.

Tommy exhaled loudly, stubbing out the last of his cigarette on his ashtray and taking a swig of whiskey before his calloused hand found your waist.

He clears his throat. “It’s only business with her.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I like her any less.”

Tommy loved you, not Lizzie Stark, yet you couldn’t stomach the undeniable jealousy that arose with her presence. Perhaps it was a natural inclination women had toward their lovers. Lizzie had never done anything outwardly wrong to you. So, what was it then that turned your plain teeth into hissing fangs?

Everyone knew that Tommy was one of her paying customers before you met him, but so were all of Small Heath. You never felt insecure in your relationship with Tommy; there was no need to feel threatened by a prostitute. Yet that wouldn’t stop the catty feline that emerged from its slumber when Lizzie’s wandering eyes battered at your husband.

No. Lizzie Stark would never know what it felt like to be loved by a man like Tommy. What you held in your hands each night was a transcendental, unconditional type of love—one that surpassed the heart and soul, which drew two beings together in the most unconventional yet fitting way. The way that covers kept you warm at night, Tommy watched over your hearth and kept the fire burning, even if he were on the other side of the country.

You closed your eyes, leaning into the valley between Tommy’s neck and shoulder as you listened for the bah-dum-bah-dum of his heart. They sat together in silence, cherishing each other’s presence, while Tommy rested his cheek on your head. Outside, the world waited, barking at their front door and scratching at the delicately carved wood. Even the rain lashed at the windowpanes, playing together like one elemental orchestra.

The hand not resting on your waist rose to gently stroke up and down your arm. You shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold.

“I think you have some work to attend to in the bedroom,” you mumbled into his neck.

Your nose searched for the spot where he applied his aftershave.

“Eh?” Came his gruff response.

Your hand wandered down his suit in answer.

The sheets were bundled around Tommy’s naked waist when you sauntered back over to the bed with his case of cigarettes in hand. Gratefully, he took the case from your hand, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you into the warmth of his chest. Then he began the usual routine. He fished out a cigarette to offer, but you shook your head no, so he slid it once, then twice, across his bottom lip. On the bedside table, he grabbed the half-empty matchbox to light the cigarette.

Tommy was the resident chain smoker in your house. With an appetite for tobacco and whiskey, you often wondered just how he sustained himself throughout the day. Of course, there were the home-cooked meals at Arrow House waiting for his return, although that didn’t stop you from worrying any less. It was pathetic, really, sitting all alone in his study, twiddling your fingers, and sitting beneath his portrait like you were praying to him. Tommy was no god, no matter how much he tried to convince everyone else. Yet whenever headlights passed the window and lit up the office momentarily, you would stand up and peer out, hoping to spot your husband exiting the car.

He cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to the present. You loved watching the way the cigarette shifted between his lips when he spoke, even more when his hooded eyes looked over at you. Tommy was a man of few words, simply because he didn’t need language to communicate. His body spoke for him in tongues for all his enemies to understand. And more importantly, in a way your body understood.

Your hand abandoned his tattoo to stroke a thumb across his full bottom lip. Lust swelled there, eager to chase the rest of the night away into a haze of pleasure until the sun rose. As tempting as it was, you sighed at the thought. You would rather spend this time taking in your husband, remembering the fine details across his face and body, from the scar in the hollow of his cheek to the rough texture beneath his shoulder blade where a bullet was once lodged. You wanted to trace the sockets of his eyes the way a blind person would, treasuring each valley, mountain, and cut of skin as if it were to disappear the second you stopped touching him.

“You’re beautiful,” you decided, bathed in candlelight, tangled up between the sheets and Tommy’s arms.

Tommy’s brows furrowed, and the cigarette hung dangerously loose from where his lips curled into a frown. He grunted, clearly dissatisfied with your words. Tommy wasn’t beautiful. He was hard, ambitious, and unmovable force.

Beautiful was a conventional word savored for the finest women. To you? It meant so much more. Crafted in a way that would cause people to stare, sure, but there was also a poetic sense to the word. The type of beauty you would use to describe a well-written novel or heart-wrenching poem. Thomas Shelby stood for something, and that was beautiful.

“Then what are you, eh?”

A lazy smile floated onto your face, so much so that you had to bite your lip to refrain from looking devastatingly pleased at his answer.

A woman, a dreamer, a friend, a reader, an achiever. “A wife.”

He huffed, raising his eyebrows playfully.

Why was it that most women felt like they could only fit the frame of one? With Tommy, you were never limited to the endless possibilities. You treasured being a wife the same way you treasured your other roles. Marriage wasn’t the end all be all. Perhaps that’s another lie men spun—that perfectly capable women stopped existing as soon as a diamond ring slid onto their finger. How sad, you thought, to waste away all that potential when men were still free to pursue stupid ideas like war and dog fights.

Tommy was unbothered by traditional ideas like that. Change powered his ambition; he had no time for parallel lines. You could be his wife, a writer, a singer, or a mother—whatever you wanted—and he wouldn’t think of you any less.

You hummed, chasing that cigarette from his lips and stubbing it out in the ash tray by his bedside table. Tommy didn’t seem too heartbroken about it. In fact, there was some mirth in his gaze. His hands traced up your naked spine, pulling your body further into his until you could smell the smoke in his breath.

“Yes,” he breathed in loudly through his nose, “my wife.”

The following day, you were invited to the Basnett's hunting party. You would’ve been more enthusiastic to write about your excitement to attend if the whole ordeal hadn’t been so troublesome. Because a few days prior, when you were visiting your husband’s office, you had caught sight of the letter on Lizzie’s desk, a letter that was supposed to reach you days earlier.

“What’s this?” You asked.

“Oh, nothing interesting,” Lizzie had said, too occupied with filing her nails while on the clock.

You kept your composure for the sake of keeping the peace. You didn’t wish to disturb Tommy if he were to walk by.

“This is a letter addressed to me,” you pressed.

“Oh.” She stopped for a moment, then leaned over to read the letter you had pulled from the messy pile. “No, it’s addressed to Tommy.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Shelby,” you hissed quietly, with emphasis on the missus.

“Hm, I didn’t notice.”

“You are paid to notice.” You fought the urge to comment that she was paid for other things not long ago. “How long has this been sitting here?”

Lizzie tapped her cigarette ash into the tray. “The post boy dropped that lot off yesterday.”

Even if it was only two days late to reach your hand, by society’s standards, that may have well been taken as you snubbing the invitation. Frustratingly, you had to cancel your plans that day and personally deliver your letter to the Basnett’s door, citing some excuse of it having been lost in the post.

“That woman is up to no good.” You said glumly that night into Tommy’s chest.

“I’ll speak to her,” he promised in that stoic tone of his.

Whether he had been true to his words, you weren’t sure because Lizzie made an effort to avoid you when possible.

“Oh! Mrs. Shelby! How wonderful for you to join us! Come in, come in. The men are readying their rifles for the hunt outside. How exciting!” Gushed Lady Basnett, shooing you into the atrium of her lavish mansion.

Your riding boots clacked across the floor before being muffled by an intricately woven rug. You stared up at the chandelier, childishly wondering if it would hit you if it were to fall at that moment.

“Right this way, Mrs. Shelby!” Lady Basnett ushered excitably.

You debated if all her energy was for show—to please her husband and be the good wife he expected of her. After she showed you through to the veranda and down to the circle of wives who had gathered under the trees while their husbands readied for the hunt, you decided that no, she must truly enjoy planning social occasions like this, as evidenced by the way she kissed Sarah’s cheek in greeting with a wide grin.

It pleased you to know that Lady Basnett found joy in something. Ever since her eldest died in the war, she has been known to be a bit of a recluse.

“Oh, what a beautiful ring! May we see it?” Doe-eyed Catherine asked.

She was one of the younger wives, like yourself. Catherine married an older man, twice her senior. Many of the wives here faulted her for it behind her back, but not you. You saw more of yourself in her than you did in any of the other women. Because, despite the age gap, the girl seemed to be utterly head-over-heels in love with a man society deemed old-fashioned for her. And how could you blame her when you swore an oath to a gangster of all people?

You obliged and let the wives twist and turn your hand to better inspect the diamonds on your ring finger.

“It’s perfect!”

“How many carats?”

“My Mary would be so jealous!”

After dutifully showing your wedding ring, you noticed the men beginning to mount their horses.

Catherine hooked her arm around yours. “Come on, we are going to be left behind!”

She jovially pulled you along the stone tiles at a speed that made you grateful for wearing riding boots. The backyard was grand in the sense that the acres they owned stretched vastly into the nearby forest. Although there were impressive features, like the hedge they had grown into a maze and the trees that were shaped into birds.

“Lady Basnett owned an aviary of budgies. Dear little things they were, she was devastated when they all escaped one night after the groundskeeper forgot to close the door,” Catherine commented, having noticed the way your head was turned.

You laughed, because you could precisely picture Lady Basnett as the type to fawn over little budgies.

Catherine led you to the horses, where some of the wives were already perched, waiting for the party to leave. None of them carried rifles, but rather wicker baskets strapped to the saddle for the picnic they planned to have at the top of the hill while they waited for their husbands to finish hunting.

Together, you set off, having mounted the back of Catherine’s mare. Deeper into the forest you went, the black mare trotting over loose dirt and rocks. Both of you remained at the end of the pack, preferring to keep to yourselves in light conversation.

Then it all happened so suddenly. One of the rifles went off up ahead, and a flock of birds rushed at you from the break in the foliage, startling your mare. You gasped in shock and reached for Catherine’s jacket to hold on, but only skimmed her. She went face first into the dirt while you were swept into the air like a leaf and fell with the grace of a rock. The ground thundered as the mare galloped into the distance.

“Fuck!” Catherine spat.

(On her fall she had taken a mouthful of soil and leaves.)

“They’ll come back,” you tried to reassure her.

Hours later, the two of you still had not been found.

“I was a prostitute before George found me, y’know.”

No, you didn’t know.

“That’s why I’m so young and he so old,” she smiled fondly, laughing as if it were the most normal thing.

You couldn’t find it in your heart to dislike her because of her circumstances. She was your friend, and a true one at that.

What was it that Tommy said? The past is the past.

The sun began to set when one of the men from the hunting party found you both huddled together under a tree. Kindly, he let the two of you ride the rest of the way back despite your hesitance to mount another horse.

When you returned to Lady Basnett’s, with Catherine in arm, the sun had been set for at least two hours. You hadn’t realized what trouble you had gotten yourself into until you noticed Tommy’s Bentley parked in the crowded driveway of the mansion. Men stood at the gate, armed and waiting. Catherine opened her mouth to remark how ridiculous it was, but you kept your lips sealed after recognizing the guards to be Peaky Blinders.

Tommy had to be beside himself.

A young boy who was playing between the cars popped his head out when the gates squealed open. His ears perked up, and he ran inside, clutching his peaky cap, to probably inform the adults inside of your arrival. People pooled out onto the front steps, the women covering their hearts and sighing with relief, and the men holding their hats to their chests. But when your husband, Tommy, came storming out, they parted like the red sea.

He stalked across the gravel like a predator, his eyes trained on you with an unblinking stare.

“Are you hurt?” He ignored Catherine, cupping your face and frantically looking between both your eyes as if you would disappear.

Upon further inspection, his eyes were bloodshot, and the white sleeves of his blouse were bundled into the golden garters. Your hands itched to muse his disheveled hair into place, but with all the curious onlookers, you thought better of it.

“No.”

George, Catherine’s husband, was quick to whisk her away inside. You heard Lady Basnett’s voice trailing after them: “Oh my, what a terrible thing. Come now, let me pour you some tea.”

Unfortunately, tea wouldn’t make up for any lost ground with Tommy.

“We’re going.”

You knew better to open your mouth to disagree. This was Tommy being afraid and carrying on. He retreated into himself. It didn’t look pretty or like he cared, but he cared; you knew he cared. It was only that no one else was allowed to know that the great Thomas Shelby felt any emotion.

At Arrow House, he swallowed two glasses of whiskey before saying a word. You were pulling at the hem of the overcoat that Tommy had shook off his shoulders to give you for the ride home. Your fingers just couldn’t stand the anxious silence that rang throughout the room.

“What the fuck happened?”

He stood in front of you, stoic as a soldier but cracking around the exterior thanks to his hand, which itched for the cigarette case inside his pocket. (A nervous tick of his.) You grab his hand between your own before he can fish out the case.

“The horse got spooked. It bucked Catherine and me off, but we’re fine.”

His thumb rubs across your knuckles as he looks past your shoulder out the window.

“Do you know where I was when I got the call? Eh? I was handling some business when Lizzie came in and told me some posh old woman was on the line, saying you were missing.”

He exhaled sharply, dropping his gaze to you, where you noticed his eyes soften.

“I thought…” He broke off.

His chin dropped, and he went to itch his nose with his other hand.

“What did you think happened? Is there something I should know about?” Concern leaked into your voice.

“No,” he huffed, clearing his throat. “It doesn’t matter. You’re home, and you’re safe.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from saying anything that might push him over the edge. He was fragile in a state like this in the sense that he pushed the stronger, more vivid feelings to the side because you were his wife, not a Peaky Blinder. No, you would never be, even though you married one.

Often, you would wish you could turn into the leaves that swept off the pavement and into the air. Imagine then how much easier life would be for you both—to forget the animosity of life and rise above it all, breathe in that crystal air, and then finally exclaim the truth because up there no one could hear them or cared enough to try anyway.

Cautiously, you let go of his hand and traced your fingertips up to knead away the tension in his jaw.

“Thomas… Do you remember what you asked of me? To help you with the whole fucking thing—”

“From now on—”

“Thomas—”

“From now on, let me know where you are going. I will organize a guard to watch over you.”

‘You write like you’re running out of time,’ Lizzie’s poorly placed joke from the start of the week reverberated in your skull.

Was he?

“I need you,” he breathed, the smell of whiskey fanning over your senses.

You nodded, pressing up on your toes to kiss him. A soft breath escaped him when you pulled away.

“You have me.”

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aphroditelovesu · 5 months

Text

Yandere Akatsuki Headcanons (Platonic)

❝ — 🍥 lady l: something I thought about for a while and decided to do it now. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! ❤️🖤

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of death, yandere themes, stalking and jealousy.

❝🍥pairing: platonic yandere!akatsuki x gender neutral!reader.

Becoming part of Akatsuki was an important decision and one you knew shouldn't be made lightly. They were wanted and dangerous criminals. Once you decided to join, there would be no going back.

You were not innocent, you had already killed and committed some minor crimes and you were a well-trained ninja. That's why you decided to join Akatsuki. You just didn't know that your life would turn out completely different than you initially thought it would.

Pain was a little wary of allowing you to join Akatsuki, as not only did you not have a little-known reputation but there was something about you that unnerved him. That attracts him. But he decided to agree, after talking to Konan.

That's how you joined the world's most wanted ninja, Akatsuki and became their obsession.

Pain is the leader of Akatsuki and has a god complex. He is serious and distant, rarely approaching other members except to give him missions or orders. However, when he is Nagato he is totally different. Kind and shy. You and Konan are the only people who really know him as Nagato.

Regardless of your identity, he is very protective of you. He sees you as something good, as one of the few remnants of goodness, even if you are a criminal, you are still better than everyone. Besides being quite possessive of you. He wants to become a God and he will, but he sees no point in becoming one if you are not by his side.

Konan possessed a calmness, an admirable and frightening control. She has enviable self-control and this is visible in the way she deals with you. She is very calm around you, offering a kind smile and seeking any form of affection she can get from you.

She is desperate for affection, but she will never admit it. Konan is very intelligent and knows how to manipulate you. Stoic and cold-blooded, she will kill anyone who gets in her way, in your life other than herself and the other members. She takes whatever time she can have by your side.

Tobi has lost a lot during his life and these losses have shaped him into who he is today. He never expected to get attached to someone again, to love someone else after being deprived of someone he loved. This made him paranoid and very overprotective of you. Obito already lost someone he loved once, he won't lose you too.

He is introverted, however, and tries to avoid social interactions with the other Akatsuki members as much as possible, but with you, he is more sociable. Tobi is very possessive and always has one eye on you, especially when you are around the other members.

Itachi is calm and reserved, his feelings for you, the obsession he harbors, are very well hidden behind his mask. Not even the other members know Itachi very well, as he is enigmatic and mysterious. He deals with you the same way he does with everyone else, calmly and without showing much of how he feels. This makes you more distant.

However, he is not a really bad person. He did bad things, things he will regret. He sees a second chance in you, he trusts his intuition and you a lot. Itachi has a strong sense of empathy towards you and he is the one who notices the most if you are uncomfortable or upset about something, usually offering you comfort. He is possessive, however, because he has already lost a lot and wants your attention to him.

Kisame is a tailless tailed beast, a shark in humanoid form and he has strong predator instincts. He is very aggressive and can often be dominated by his bloodlust and desire for death, but he knows how to control himself when he wants to or when ordered to do so. You are one of the few people who can convince him to have mercy.

He's very perceptive, though. Kisame is always on alert and is aware of any danger and his first reaction is to take you away from danger. He is very protective and is also great at analyzing people and will know when you are bad.

Kakuzu only cares about money and himself, an avaricious and greedy man. He used to be like that until you joined Akatsuki and he started to care about you, but like a possession. Something that belonged to him, something to be controlled.

He often says that you can only trust him and money, the only two things you can rely on. Kakuzu is very attached to you and cares in his own way. He has a violent temper and becomes obsessed easily and you are his biggest obsession. He gets jealous very easily and reacts harshly to it.

Zetsu is a duality and only a manipulation, a difficult one to read and understand. White Zetsu is the easiest to deal with, he is playful and carefree, and he loves to tease others. He is very calm and loves to have fun with you, but he is very protective of you and although he doesn't usually use violence, he will.

Black Zetsu is the real problem. He is very intelligent and is the real brain behind many plans, serious and experienced. He is a great manipulator, appearing trustworthy and loyal, but his true loyalty is unknown to you. He is very possessive and a born stalker and will kill anyone who gets too close to you. He gets into several conflicts with White Zetsu because of this.

Deidara is extremely proud and fully believes that the greatest art form is destruction. He does not accept defeat and will always seek revenge. He is very reckless and even impulsive, often acting without thinking and that includes you. But he is not stupid, but rather calculating.

He is easily jealous and no one can insult you around him, as he will go crazy and be willing to sacrifice even himself to destroy the offender. Deidara protects you fiercely and his possessiveness leads him to states of madness that only you or Sasori can control. His favorite activity is the art of explosion with you.

Sasori is devoid of any human emotion, has no feelings of affection and is even considered inhuman. He doesn't feel anything, he never cared about anyone or anything, until he met you. Cold and distant, Sasori just watches from afar, preferring to keep his attention on his puppets.

You made him feel something for the first time in years, someone he could finally have the love he always wanted as a child. Sasori, although distant, still stays close to you when it suits him. He became possessive, even threatening the other Akatsuki members over you. He doesn't care about anything or anyone except you. And he won't let you be taken from him. Even if he has to turn you into a puppet. You will stay together.

Hidan has no respect for anything or anyone, insulting everything and everyone that suits him. Not even his own leader is safe from his insults, considering he doesn't respect him at all. Although a religious ninja, Hidan acts in a manner completely contrary to a religious person. He kills everything and everyone without any remorse.

He is quite easygoing towards you, his insults are never directed at you and he will eviscerate anyone who dares to insult you. Hidan is a sadist, finding pleasure in causing pain and killing his victims in the most painful way possible. He definitely wants to teach you how to be like him.

Akatsuki became more united when you joined and although there will always be conflicts between them, you became the missing piece. Pain would never let you leave, not when you were true peace. You're stuck with them forever.

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eluxcastar · 21 days

Text

Dottore giving child reader a check up

── ୨୧：il dottore & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: nobody scares you more than the Doctor, and that's why you're wholly betrayed by Father tricking you into getting a check up right under your nose, but perhaps your worries are exaggerated by rumours

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, child reader, he's a lil soft (cause if he's not poor kid might explode on site), reader is mute, reader is also autistic (but tbh you don't have to read it that way), not proofread

୨୧﹑words :: 2.9k

idk what possessed me to write this I just has the thought and decided it had to be done. I got in the zone and wrote it in a few hours 😭 this is kinda loosely based off one of my characters but ambiguous enough I think to be read as a reader insert. little ball of anxiety with legs reader hehe. they come from the house of the hearth so every instance of father refers to arle

You can't think of a single person able to scare you nearly as much as the Doctor can, whether it's the daunting trip to find him wherever he hid this time or the fear of knowing he tried to bargain with Father to have the more unimpressive children—as some would call you—shipped off to him to become experiments.

Father won't allow him to get his hands on any of you, but it hardly eases the fear that he may disregard Father's warning and decide to pluck the first child he comes across up and feign ignorance when she realises they've disappeared.

Father personally entrusted you with this letter, so you cannot turn back as you make your way to where she said he should be.

The sleepiness might manage to numb you to the danger by the time you arrive and make it easier to stomach his presence, but most likely, he will only frighten you awake, and it will worsen with the shock to your system.

There's no turning back now and no declining when Father asks you to take letters, which she says are of great importance. You can't treat letters like this lightly, even if you fear the recipient.

Knowing who is behind it makes the door all the more daunting. Doors that separate you from Harbingers always make you nervous as it's not every day you find yourself faced with one armed only with a letter and shaking hands. If it were anyone else, you could've knocked in a heartbeat, but you pause to gather your bearings before raising your hand to knock.

One two, three…four. Spaced just as Columbina taught you to, and then you wait.

Several seconds pass in silence before you hear footsteps from inside, then a voice calling out to you. "The door is unlocked."

You reach for the handle, cautiously cracking open the door just enough to peek inside. Your eyes travel across the room from your left to your right until you spy Dottore seated in a chair facing away from you. He hears you, evident in the way he turns to look at you as you work up the courage to step inside and leave the door ajar behind you.

"It's you," he remarks, the closest to acknowledgment you expect to receive. You are about to make your way to hand him the letter when he interrupts you. "Close the door."

The door is always closed here like it's trying to keep someone out, but there's no one here that he would dread seeing who would knock and accept that the door is locked. He must not be trying to convince anyone of that, and if he was, maybe he'd lock the door for real and leave everyone stranded outside instead of talking.

Dottore makes you nervous. You don't know what he thinks or why, but you probably don't like it. It's the only reason why he would be here right now. Normal doctoring wouldn't get him far as a Harbinger, and the sounds you've heard coming from his lab are enough to deter you from wondering too much.

Instead, you quietly spin yourself around to push the door closed before returning to your endeavour of handing him this letter from Father she entrusted you with.

"Who is it from?" he asks, a question you remember him asking before too. You concluded that he's trying to gauge how eager he is to read it, and your answer will set his mood for the remainder of your stay.

You turn the envelope over to show him the seal on the back, which you hold out to him. The mark of the House of the Hearth—Father's seal—is displayed so that Dottore can glean the answer from wordless actions. He accepts it from your hand with a stifled eagerness, the hopes of something he'll enjoy written there held back by the knowledge that, in all likelihood, it's a trivial matter.

The moment the letter leaves your hands, you retreat to the safety of the door, where you stand beside the frame to await a half-hearted reaction or collect his response. Father is always happy when you return to the House to inform her that Dottore sighed when he read her letter, even if she regards the news with her usual stoicism. She despises when he bothers to send something back to her, but she never tells you why, as usual.

He collects something off his desk just out of your sight, hidden behind him, and the sound of paper tearing follows. He drops the twice-folded paper into his hand, then unfurls it to read the contents.

You wait in silence, nerves evening out as you rub the sleep from your eyes with the back of your hand. Sleepiness does help you occupy yourself if nothing else.

Then, you are interrupted by a snap of his fingers and a motion of his hand to usher you closer.

Keeping him waiting will only make him mad, though you're sure not enough time has passed for him to pen any cohesive message in the minute or two you spent waiting.

You look up in anticipation nonetheless, expecting him to hand you something or tell you something so when he reaches toward you, it doesn't alarm you.

Not until he grabs you beneath your arms, picks you up, and sits you down on the table, much closer to eye level with him.

"Arlecchino has her concerns about your sleeping habits and your seeming lack of will to speak," he begins, reaching behind you to grab something you barely follow before he has it in his hands. It's only a light, small and thinner than the torches at the House.

Your mind races with every question you can think of as you try to find a way off this table back to the floor, but the only way out is blocked by Dottore sitting in front of you, unsympathetic to the fear in your eyes when you stare at him. You could swear you hear your heartbeat thrumming in your ears in a quickened rhythm.

What was written in that letter? Was it about you? It takes only a brief glance down in search of the open letter to realise exactly what makes this delivery so important. Father tricked you into coming here to see the Doctor after you so eagerly declined her previous offer to go willingly. You catch glimpses of your name in Father's handwriting and little else as it blurs into a messy sea of details, but you always recognise how Father writes your name.

You know better than to assume this is punishment but rather the manifestation of Father's worry as you keep oversleeping lately and need one of the older children to fetch you from the comfort of your bed. The idea that habit would land you here, presumably getting a check-up, might've inspired you to prize yourself out of bed a little earlier had you known.

Dottore seems to gauge your trembling as an obvious sign of fear, though a twitch at the corner of his lips is your only indicator, as you can't see his eyes beneath the mask. "Her explicit concern was whether or not you're ill." He rests his hand against your knee— they're cold, yet you almost expect it. It doesn't mean you especially like it. You can only interpret the action as a skewed attempt to comfort you. "As long as you're healthy, I see no reason to keep you longer than a simple check up."

He's not a real doctor, is all you can think, and he doesn't know what he's doing.

You have no choice but to steel yourself for whatever pain you're about to be subjected to. It might hurt, but you have no way out, no way back to Father, so you can curl up in a ball at her feet and ask why she would subject you to this torture—

"Don't tense your jaw," you suddenly hear, realising his finger taps your knee to grab your attention back from dreamland. "Open your mouth," he instructs you, and rather simply at that. It's something you can follow without getting scared he'll hurt you somehow.

He shines that light at you, inspecting something, though you can't say what. A slight tilt of his hand and, by proxy, the light he's holding is your only sign he's looking at anything.

The light is off before you know it. There was no pain at all, not even a hint of discomfort beyond what naturally arises from your ever-present anxiousness.

Dottore moves to set the light beside you, then appears to change his mind as he offers it to you. You take it from his hand and click it just as he had, the light coming on again. Another click, and it's off. Holding it just like that, an object of clicks and ridges and a light you can play with, is enough to give you something to at least take your mind off the fear of getting hurt.

"Lift your head."

This time, compliance comes easier as you tilt your head up until the point his hand stops nudging you, and instead, he presses his fingers against your throat. It's light enough to feel only slight pressure; it doesn't hurt, but you don't like that feeling. Your thumb brushes over the exterior of the light, smooth against the pads of your fingers and satisfying to touch. You pull away before you can come to your senses and stop yourself, but he lets go the moment your discomfort flares, and you do the closest you can to telling him no.

Your breathing begins to even back out seeing his hands so clearly in the air in front of you, away from you, not touching you. It's silent reassurance that what you just did counts enough as revoking his permission to touch you as anything can.

Dottore doesn't feel like dealing with the fussy child that trying to force it would invoke for a mere favour to the Knave.

Instead, simply asking you like the fully grown child you are seems much more efficient. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, all yes or no," he begins. "They're all simple enough you can answer without speaking."

You interpret the ensuing silence as Dottore waiting, expecting you to nod or shake your head, and you quickly offer a nod in agreement.

"Do you know if you're able to speak?"

You consider his question carefully, unsure of the answer. Your hesitation prompts him to rephrase the question.

"Are you able to make any noises at all?"

You nod. You know the answer to that.

"But not speak in full words?"

Not words. Words don't work. You shake your head.

"Would that be because you're physically unable to?"

You shake your head. You've spoken before, but each time you try, especially here, something robs you of your voice before you get the chance. You know you can talk, just not here like this.

"If not physical, then there's nothing wrong with you," he concludes. It feels sudden like there should be more, but he stops so quickly. "Nothing that I can fix," he promptly adds. That explains it.

Why not? He doesn't answer, unable to hear the things you don't say. To him, you remain as starkly silent as ever and as difficult to treat as you have been the past few minutes. You suspect he came to some greater conclusion between when you first walked in and now but neglects to share with you what it is.

You must look unsatisfied or just confused as he pauses to stare at you. You look away first, eyes drifting back to the light in your hands.

"Arlecchino only wanted to know if something was physically wrong with you," he says, briefly looking down at the letter as he skims a particular section again. "Your poor sleep may be the result of insomnia, or whatever is causing the mental block that also prevents you from speaking."

Mental block? Nobody ever told you about anything like that.

You eye him curiously, though you again remain silent, watching him while you think he isn't looking back. It's easy to look at him as long as you don't consciously think of the fact that he's staring at you behind that mask.

Dottore holds his hand out expectantly, a motion of his fingers telling you he wants you to return what you have in your hands to him. You do so, but not without a sadness-driven hesitance to accompany it.

"None of the things you're describing imply a physical problem, but a paranoid 'parent' overattentive to the wrong facets of what could be wrong with an orphan." You don't like the way he says that as if he's speaking ill of Father, but like always, you keep your mouth shut. "If you couldn't speak because of a physical injury, you would have presented with one when you arrived at the House of the Hearth—not now. Trouble sleeping and an elevated heart rate, shortness of breath, intense panic and your tremors are more likely the symptoms of anxiety."

That's a lot of words, but as he quickly lists every example, you seem to become conscious of it. Mental block, anxiety. Those are the two things you've been told that sound like explanations. You look down as if on instinct, hands held in front of you to investigate his claims that you're shaking. You are. Before your eyes, your hands are trembling, though you can't say why. You look back at him to see if he has anything else to say.

You thought your sleep troubles weren't the same, the result of bad dreams, but supposedly not. Dottore doesn't know anything about that, does he? No, he can't. You never told him, so he can't know. He knows lots of things he shouldn't, like your heart racing when you're scared or how you feel like you can't breathe at times.

Dottore clicks the light on again, shining it down at your hands resting in your lap. He circles it in place, and your eyes follow. It clicks off again after a few seconds. "Distraction helps anxiety," he says, then sets it down on the desk beside you. "Do you know why you can't sleep?" he asks.

Yes. You nod. Dreams. On nights when they're at their worst, they keep you awake long past bedtime when all others have gone to sleep. By breakfast, you can be so tired and sleep-deprived that dozing off over your food is the only thing you can manage.

You half expect to sit through another round of questioning before Dottore finds the one that clicks the pieces perfectly together in his head, just as he did in the first round.

Instead, Dottore stands, and his hands find your sides to hook you under your arms. Your feet are back on the ground before you can fuss any more about how much you do or do not like it. With you out of his way, he flips the paper Father wrote her request to him on.

"If you know the answer, then you're free to go."

That's it?

You stare up at him for a moment, perplexed by the surprising lack of pain compared to the abundance of fear you felt. It should have hurt, but it didn't, and now you don't know why you were so against coming here in the first place. Dottore spared five or ten minutes of his time, which he already didn't want to give you, and is sending you on your way without injury,

You can't see his face as he's turned away, writing something down that you can't make out. If you took a guess what it is, it's probably about you, just like the first one was. Still, you can tell why Father is so annoyed to receive letters from him. You don't recognise your name when he writes it. You don't recognise anything he writes. His handwriting is awful.

He folds it and slips it back into the envelope it was given to him in. That's not proper etiquette, but something in the way he practically shoves it into your hands tells you that he doesn't particularly care. So long as it gets from him to Father, it doesn't matter how it gets there in his eyes.

"Give that to the Knave." That is his final instruction. You're very used to following those kinds of instructions by now, having heard and executed them many times. They're second nature to your mind.

You nod, pinching it between your fingers to keep the paper from falling out of the open envelope. If Father's was critical, so is this one, and you'll get it back to her quickly—more importantly, safely.

You can't help wondering why it felt so much easier to have someone briefly look at you and ask a few questions. The older children make it sound torturous and barbaric, like being used as a lab rat to spite Father for her refusal with his only opportunity to access the children of the House.

Perhaps seeing a doctor to ease Father's worries isn't as scary as you believed.

#✦ — scenarios.#✦ — fluff.#for anyone wondering #yes this is extremely self-indulgent #because the little doctor-fearing child in me needs to be soothed #by a scarier doctor LMAO #dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

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thepeonysbackup · 2 months

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I think Mindswap!Lucifer would be a good one (Seriously wouldn't mind if you made mindswaps for everyone, they genuinely are too good). I could imagine him really wanting to fuck while mindswapped but not going through with it became he wants to be respectful of you and your body, cut to later where he's telling you how to use his tongue as he finally can feel what won over both of Adams wives.

Oh, the way you won me over with this...

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who...

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Fem!Reader

Request: Yes/No

Word count: I don't feel like it :]

[[Okay this was way fucking longer then it needed to be, but wow, the thought festered into a wonderful dream and so here, have this!!!!]]

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who's magic trick backfires into a curse for a week. Who apologizes profusely to you from your own body, having to lightly cran your gaze up in order to see yourself.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who has to look down at you now, giddy excitement welling up from finally towering over a being for once as the almighty being he was. Who realizes in that moment that a woman was what he was towering things in, looking down at his feet in a defeat of sorts, or trying to look at his feet, he couldn't see them because of his.. your..(Hehe, bewbs)

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who actually embraces the various outfit choices he has now, who raids your closet for interesting textures and patterns with fascination at how many of them he can create. Who takes a neatly dressed night on the town with you as a means of apology for what happened.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who tosses and turns the first few evenings alone at the hotel. Uncomfortable goosebumps welling over his new sensitive skin that he rubs with the flats of his palms to warm up, resulting in a worse feeling too awful for him to even think of doing to you without such consent!

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who refuses to take off his underwear (even if its just a few strings) in the shower, who in his right mind can't imagine betraying your trust in such a way. (Who makes sure you don't miss out on your normal facial routine neither.)

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who longs for his presence while drying your body's hair suddenly. Whos eyes blink as a shivering warmth pools in his stomach as the thought of his eyes linger in his mind, his own eyes, eyes.. His face, smiling.. Not smiling, smirking. Who feels the warm direct itself differently as he wanders to the doorway of the bathroom to open the door and allow the steam to dissipate so he can think properly.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who gives in to his need of his presence on the final day, who slinked into his own quarters once everyone was asleep. Who slipped into his bed beside himself to cuddle, hand tracing over the night shirt he felt you chose for him.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who tugged at you, shook you even with a whine. Who woke you with a pained sounding tone as he called your name, “Come on your body's outta fucking control..” right into your ear. Who urges you to let him have this, just this once, or twice, fuck maybe he'd need three rounds.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who quaked under the touch of his fallen divinity, hand so strong in its gentle caress. Who kissed like you were his life source, as though your body craved no other being even if he wanted to. Who hands tore accidentally at the nightshirt his body was dressed in, unapologetic in his wake to reveal himself to your body's lecherous eyes.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who starts you both off slowly, watching as his body lays submissively beneath yours. Who surges with an energy beyond his own fathoming mind to take what he needs. A feeling easily shifted as his body erupts with a furious growl of rouse, flipping him over with a frightening ease onto his stomach.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer whos back is pressed down in a lovely feminine arch, legs spread as his curvaceous body's rear is positioned in the air, face pressed squirmishly into his own pillows after nearly several days in a pool of your own scent that you so audaciously claimed to be a bed. Whos teeth break the skin on his bottom lip from how hard hes biting it as you slither his tongue into your heat, curling up into the spongey bit right at the entrance.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who cries like a bitch in heat, sobbing into the sheets blissfully as he feels the depth in which his tongue is able to delve into your quivering heat after only a few pointers, a few simple blubbers of surprise even. Whos hands claw at his sheets with full force to tear himself away from this foreign coil rising in his stomach, making for hands to snake up and snag tightly at his wrists to pull him down and back towards you from underneath him. “Wait! Theres something-”

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who never felt an orgasm wrack through his body (any body) as hard as he felt this one, “C-cumming— M’cumming, m-m'cumming, m'cumming‐ Ohhhh, fuck!! FUCK!!” whos mind goes blank as he listens to your deprived slurps and animalistic groans of wanton desire into the pulsing lady lips of your sopping wet hole, who jolts from the overstimulation of his forked tongue swiping one long stripe from his clit to his tailbone, drawing a shriek as he could only clench around nothing. Now understanding to the fullest extent as to how good he really was with his tongue.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who happily lays flat on the bed upon his back, head hanging off at an angle with his mouth held wide open, looking up at himself with your big doe-like eyes as the tip of his cock lightly nudges itself against your tongue, the salty taste beckoning him to lap lightly before it could go to deep. Who hums eagerly on himself as you slid him into the hilt against your lips before giving you a light gag of encouragement.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who gives the sloppiest throatfuck you'd ever seen, gratefully gagging and pulling your hips into him harder then you already were fucking his face. Who moaned against the loud slapping of his balls against his small nose, eyes fixated like hearts on his cock pulling back and shoving itself forward towards him deeper into his throat.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer whos fixation turns from himself to your body, to how good he feels using you to satisfy these downright pornographic wants and desires. Who revels in the fact that you want him in such a way, anyway, fuck.. Everyway that he can penatrate you at least. Or that you could penatrate him? He didnt care at this point.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who gawks in awe at the sight of you allowing his body to relax completely for once in these last two centuries, who never noticed how truly soft he appeared to others in such a state. Whos light fingers graze the base of his own wings skillfully to watch as you break in composure and trembled above him before finally having gotten to the point where you were about to enter into your own tight clenching cunt.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who never wants to return to his body, who's voice shatters the walls of his fortified room as you plow into your own impure body, legs bent at the knees as your hands hold them in a steel gripped place. Lucifer, who's never seen himself be so rough with anyone, longing for the dirty sounds and raunchy words you were hissing into his ear beneath you. “Fuck- I never thought I’d actually call myself a slut.. But damn- I really look like one when I'm making that fucking face..♡”

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who jolts and pants hard while holding himself above you, him? Who was back into his own body. His body, which was now being gripped in his most vulnerable by you, that was now back in his perfect control.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who basks in your sounds ripped from your already sore and aching throat that was audibly sticky from the loads he'd taken so perfectly. Who roughly takes you back in return for such gracious obedience prior to his cock being buried so deeply in your hole.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who, as he becomes tired, becomes soft slowly with tender kisses and caresses to your head. Who opts to finish in you for the umpteenth time since the sun had rose in missionary so he can kiss you as much as he sees fit for your services. Before going once more with you, you buried under him in a lovely little mating press, pathetic and whimpering as he fills you again and again.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who kisses the cumdrunken blubbering expression from your face, turning you into a crude heap of embarrassment as his fingers worked the thick white creamy liquid back in between your squelching legs.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who carries you to his large and luxurious bathroom that you'd never felt entitled enough to use and draws you a bath in the odd plunge pool off in the corner that was surrounded by quite real looking rocks and grasses from Earth, mixing bubbles, flowers, and dye together so he could turn the waters into a glowing golden gold liquid that lightly stained your body with a transparent glittery sheen.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who tries to stoicly bathe you, scrubbing a glowing light from his magic like one would with a loofah on you until you'd giggle enough to rise laugher from him so he’d embrace you in a newly found loving way. The grime of your prior activities getting whisped away by the steady stream of water falling from the endless sea of water sectioned above you both, underwater life swimming calmly by while your skin was kneaded gently by his praising hands.

Mind!Swapped!Lucifer who didn't allow you to leave his side of the hotel for another week, which rose suspicion with his daughter until she ultimately found you both in a compromising position. “Heeey sweetie, so the mind thing maaaaay have worn off-” — “And it just so happened to be that she didn't mind- You gotta understand-”

(Charlie didn't come out of her room for a week.)

#hazbin hotel x reader #keiks works #keiks piece #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader smut #mindswappedlucifer #keiks creatures of intrigue #keiks is freaking out #keiks asks #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader

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softpine · 2 months

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shows up extremely late to the @tricoufamily cas challenge with a half baked mafia concept like just hear me out guys hear me out....

dynamic: mentor/mentee genre: crime

sim 1: DONNA trait: boisterous hair color: platinum blonde hair length: medium extra: glasses

sim 2: CHIARRA trait: jealous hair color: dark brown hair length: extra long extra: freckles

i don't know a single goddamn thing about the mob, i've never even watched the sopranos ❗❗ now that we've gotten that out of the way

it's the late 80s, and chiarra (brunette) is fresh out of cosmetology school and looking for a job as a hair stylist. she ends up renting a booth at a salon on one condition: the property owner, a man with major ties to the mob, wants to take her on a date first. she's charmed by his charisma and loves how close he is with his family, something chiarra never had much of. within a year, the two are married and chiarra has ingratiated herself in the community, however she's quite unpopular with the other ladies. she's seen as a gold digger and an outsider because she didn't grow up in this life. but her job as a hair stylist is secured permanently thanks to her husband.

this is how she meets donna (blonde). donna is kind of a big fucking deal from what chiarra has heard through the grapevine, so she gets nervous and ends up badlyyy messing up her hair the first time she comes in to the salon. she's surprised to find that donna thinks it's hilarious – but she warns her that not everyone would've taken it so lightly, especially because chiarra's husband is not an incredibly influential person to begin with, unlike donna's husband who's like. the boss. but donna takes a liking to her, something the other wives find equal parts annoying and frightening.

through the early years of chiarra's marriage, donna acts as a mentor figure and a listening ear because she's been through it many years ago. but there comes a point where chiarra discovers her husband has been cheating on her, and she's shocked when donna waves it off as something that just sort of happens to all of them. chiarra becomes furious and refuses to accept this when she's been nothing but loyal to him. but instead of confronting her husband, possibly losing her marriage and the new family she's gained, she makes the decision to follow in his footsteps. she carries out secret affairs for a while; just one night stands and brief flings, so her husband won't get suspicious. donna finds it entertaining and turns it into a game, often covering for her. she's always been a gossip, so it's easy for her to keep an ear out for what people are saying about chiarra and deflect suspicion if she needs to.

one night, while their husbands are away, the wine starts flowing and the two of them just go for it. it's quick and they don't even particularly enjoy it because the guilt creeps in almost immediately. in decades of marriage, donna has never betrayed her husband no matter how many times he's done the same. and though chiarra is no stranger to stepping out of her marriage, she hasn't had romantic feelings for anyone but him since they've been together, let alone feelings for another woman.

donna and chiarra try to put some space between themselves, but they both know it's too little too late – and considering they've been inseparable since they met, their distance draws more suspicion than their closeness ever had. without donna there to protect her, chiarra is forced to realize just how disliked she is in her community, and how much donna had been doing to bolster her image. but she doesn't just want everything to go back to normal, she wants more than that. she's determined to make sure donna knows what she's missing out on, taking every opportunity to make her jealous and push her buttons.

this push and pull between them continues until donna learns that her husband has been arrested for racketeering and other crimes -- and it seems that the charges are actually going to stick this time. worst of all, the latest gossip is that chiarra had something to do with it. but is this just chiarra's bad reputation preceding her? would she really do something so dangerous and hurtful just to get donna back? and if it's true, what is donna going to do in retaliation?

thanks for reading my wattpad story :3 r&r plz xDD

#one of my favorite dynamics is ''we had bad forgettable sex 1 time and now we can never be normal again :///''#many such cases #ts4 #why is ts4 trending right now

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deathshallbethelastenemy · 1 month

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it's you and me (7)

TEEN!gojo x FEM!reader - soulmate AU

TW⚠️: highly suggestive, oral mentioned, needy gojo, clingy gojo

a/n: guess who's back... Back again.

Satoru closed his eyes; utter darkness - his soulmate was sleeping then, but he kept his eyes closed for a couple of more seconds, even in darkness he could sense curses.

Nothing, she was safe.

He sighed as he opened his eyes and thought back to his last conversation with Suguru.

"Haven't you realized how much of a burden ______ is to you?" Suguru's voice carried through the crowd, "Spending every waking moment worried about her miserable existence."

Satoru dug his nails into his palms, "Don't spout that bullshit!"

Suguru tilted his head down like he was speaking to a child, "It's true," he said, "she's weak and she will always be weak - is that the life you want, Satoru?" He cocked his head to the side, "To always bend over backwards for someone who will never understand you?"

Satoru glared.

"She's a pest -"

Enough, Satoru had, had enough; "So fucking what?!" he yelled, "None of that shit matters!"

Suguru sighed, ' ' How childish. ' '

Satoru gritted his teeth, he wasn't being childish Suguru was - killing all non-sorcerers what type of crazy crackpot mission statement was that? An impossible thing to do -

"How arrogant," Suguru said with his back turned to him, "you could do it, but you're telling me that it's impossible."

Satoru frowned as he buried his face in his pillow - fucking crazy.

"Go near her again and I'll - ." He couldn't finish the sentence... He didn't know if he could kill his best friend.

Those were Gojo Satoru's last words to Geto Suguru.

He raised his face from his pillow and grabbed his sunglasses from the nightstand - he didn't want to be alone.

Long distance travel had become easier for him. There were times when he got lost but now, Satoru was in his soulmate's dark room with minimal effort. He slipped into bed beside her carefully as to not wake her up. He slowly and gently wrapped his arms around her and lightly pressed her back to his chest. Satoru kissed the top of her head with a soft smile and as much as he wanted to kiss her lips, he didn't; he didn't want to wake her.

Eventually, Satoru's senses were drowned in his soulmate's presence. He slept with his light snores filling the silent bedroom.

______ shouldn't have been surprised when she woke up in the tight and tangled embrace of her soulmate's limbs. This wasn't the first time he has sneaked into her bedroom when she was asleep, but ever since Suguru, Satoru had begun to do it more often.

She frowned at the thought of her former friend, at how sweet he used to be, at how understanding he was of everyone, only to be replaced by a cruel shell of him, or perhaps, Suguru was always that person and they were all simply not paying attention.

No, the Suguru she knew would never use her insecurities against her, the Suguru she knew would never abandon Satoru in such a callous way.

She'll never forget it, the look of pure disgust when he faced her like she was dirt under his shoe. The way he let the curses blood drip on the floor, or the way his smile lifted itself into something cruel when she flinched away from him, satisfied that he had frightened her.

At least, when she closed her eyes she would see what Satoru saw, instead of Suguru, but her dreams - no, her nightmares were plagued.

She ran her fingers through Satoru's hair, he hummed in his sleep - shifting his head towards her touch, still seeking her warmth in his sleep despite holding her so closely already.

She didn't tell Satoru what happened, only that Suguru had come by and was acting weird, but nothing about what he had said to her. Satoru already looked so tired when he came the morning after, even if he tried to hide it from her with a bright smile. If she told him it would only cause him more pain, and Satoru told her most of what happened. Geto Suguru defected, he massacred an entire village, and decided his own path - Satoru didn't tell her about the conversation they had about her.

How could he? She had already once pulled away from him because she wasn't a jujutsu sorcerer and like hell was he going to spark that up again.

A phone rang loudly besides her, but it was not the phone that woke up Satoru, it was her untangling herself from that did.

He groaned softly as he held onto her tighter, "Answer it later."

______ stretched her body towards the nightstand to grab the phone, "It's your phone that's ringing, 'toru."

Satoru groaned louder, who the fuck is it?

She passed his phone to him.

The moment he flipped it open, someone was yelling. Something along the lines of - Where are you?! The higher ups are looking for you?!

Satoru almost crushed the phone like a tin can when he was told that he needed to go on a mission. He hung up abruptly as he buried his face into her neck and whined loudly.

She kissed his temple, "Another out of town mission?"

Satoru nodded.

She lightly scratched the back of his neck, "Isn't there another special grade sorcerer who can take the mission?"

Satoru kissed her collarbones, "Nope, just me." He looked up at her, "I'll make it quick." He leaned up and kissed her deeply.

Four Days Later

She thought Satoru would need time, or at least space. She may have lost a friend, but Satoru; Satoru had lost someone who unequivocally understood him. Geto Suguru, who stood at the top beside him, not below him.

Time, she thought, he would need time. Satoru had just lost someone so important in his life, he would no doubt distance himself from her.

Satoru slipped his cold hands under her shirt and sighed as he buried his face in her neck pressing light kisses on her skin.

She was wrong.

Instead of distancing himself like she thought he would, Satoru had become unavoidable. Where she was, he was with his arms tight around her waist, coiling like a serpent.

His kisses were rougher and longer. She had to forcefully pull his soft hair to pry his lips away from her just so she could breathe. Breathing seemed optional for her boyfriend now too, after prying his mouth off of her, he would latch his lips onto another part of her skin, until she regained her breath and Satoru would needly kiss her again.

Today was no different, despite her telling him that she had so much homework to do that she couldn't keep putting it off to spend the day with him.

"I'll be good," he said.

"You won't even know that I'm there," he said.

This was her fault, really, he never kept his word, especially when his latest mission ran longer than expected and he hadn't seen her in four days.

Satoru squeezed her thighs and spread them apart to fit his body against hers, pinning her down with his entire body. His glasses laid neatly on the side of the bed, her notebooks and pencils were thrown on the floor, completely forgotten by Satoru, but not from her.

Satoru kissed like a man starved, but she needed to breathe, like many times before, she gripped his hair and pulled roughly. She learned a while ago that she had to put force to pry him off, otherwise he wouldn't budge. He chased her lips, but she kept his head firmly in place.

Satoru whined, "Come on, baby," his hands slid under her skirt, "I haven't seen you in a week."

She huffed and puffed, still trying to catch her breath, "It was four days, 'toru."

"Might as well have been an eternity," Satoru leaned down and pressed a kiss on her jawline.

She smoothed her fingertips to brush his hair, "I really need to finish my homework."

He bunched up her skirt up to her waist and placed his palm flat on her stomach, "After I get a taste."

Satoru gripped her thighs and buried his face in her core.

She tangled her fingers in his snowy white hair and hoped that her door was locked, hoped that the bakery was so full of people that no one could hear them.

This would not end with him just getting a 'taste'.

Shameless is what Gojo Satoru was. Completely, and utterly shameless. After he was done, not without stealing one more breathtaking kiss from her, he warped in front of the store and waved at her mother gleefully - pretending like he hadn't been there all along. Helping her mother around the store, acting like he hadn't just defiled her daughter a few seconds ago, like he couldn't still taste his soulmate's sweet slick on his tongue.

Her mom liked Satoru. He helped around and Satoru was good at everything even if he ate half the batter and cookie dough - he still was a good baker and he bought so many baked goods from the store that any batter that he ate was reimbursed when he splurged.

"Treating my daughter well?" Her mom asks him everyday.

And Satoru always replies with a bright grin that showed off his pearly white teeth, "Like a princess."

______ finally heads down stairs after fixing her skirt and shirt, making sure to cover the hickeys Satoru left on her with concealer. He never had to face any consequences or worry about being marked. His reverse curse technique healed him of everything... even hickeys. Which was incredibly annoying but just poked fun at her before leaving more hickeys on her neck before teleporting off with that stupid smirk of his.

Satoru places a small kiss on her temple. Her legs still trembled from their quickie earlier but she hid it well by sitting down and making raspberry jam.

Her mom orders them to make a set amount of raspberry filled pastries and gives Satoru a firm look, "And no eating any of them."

Satoru straightens his back comically and salutes her, "Yes, ma'am!"

Her mom looked at him until she left and disappeared to tend to customers.

Satoru went straight to trying to eat one.

______ scolds, "Gojo Satoru."

He stiffens and gives her a warm smile, "Please?"

"No, put it down."

Satoru pouts and whines before dragging himself towards her, "Can I get a kiss instead?"

"Sure," she says but stays weary. "But only a small one."

Satoru practically bounces into her arms. The kiss was not small. It was full and long, and worst of all, he slipped his tongue in.

He was greedy, so greedy.

Before she could tug on his soft hair, he pulled away and shoved a pastry into his mouth with shit eating grin.

... And a tease. A fucking tease.

@phoenix666stuff @96jnie @mr-underhills-things @whatamidoing @wbad-world @ancientimes @whippedbyikemen @sammyiguess (can't find you sorry) @pumpkindudeishere @witchofthecoffee @arminswifee (another one that cannot be tagged sorry) @weebotaku21 (another one I do not understand why) @nevermoresworld @jjk97091 (cannot tag you sorry) @toshirolovebot @marblesphere @sabo-has-my-heart @laurenzitaa

#jjk #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #slight smut #GUESS WHOS BACK BACK AGAIN!!!!#das right is me.#soulmate au #reader and gojo are not talking fr fr #they're just pretending like everything is okay #everything is not okay

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 3 months

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I wish you'd write a fic where reader is xadens younger sister and dating Garrick. But they date in secret (obviously xaden wouldnt be super thrilled at first when finding out) for like 2 years or so before they leave to go to Basgiath . Maybe when reader goes to cross the parapet Xaden notices garricks extra instruction. Maybe a slight brush on the back of the end before stepping on. And then Garrick and reader are caught by xaden and then his mad at first but relaxes off after watching Garrick protect her through out the year

When?

Xaden felt like an idiot. One big absolute idiot. He couldn’t believe that he was able to lead the rebellion but was quite literally fooled by the people closest to him. How did he miss the signs? Why didn’t his consciousness wave red flags back and forth. And he didn’t even figure it out on his own. No, no, fucking Imogen spelled it out for him.

“What are you smiling about all day?”, he had asked her as they counted up the weapons. Getting ready to distribute them overnight. Imogen shook her head as her smirk deepened, “Just Garrick”, she breathed. Xaden frowned, “Why are you smiling over Garrick? You don’t smile over a man”. Imogen rolled her eyes, “it has nothing to do with me, you idiot”, she snorted.

“Out with it, I don’t have time to play”, Xaden grumbled. Imogen placed down the dagger in her hands before looking up at her friend. “Didn’t you notice that he’s been different?”, she questioned. “Is he sick?”, Xaden smacked a question of his right back at her. “You are unbelievable”, she shook her head, “Do you seriously don’t see it?” Xaden blinked a couple of times. Nothing seemed off about his oldest friend. He was fine. Better than ever actually. “Xaden, Garrick looks at your sister as if she hung the moon up in the sky”, Imogen muttered, “He greeted me with a smile today”, her hands met Xaden’s shoulders as she shook him slowly, “A smile. S. M. I. L. E. Do you understand? That man hasn’t smiled ever since I met him”. But Xaden’s mind had clung to the first part of her words. Garrick liked his sister. No, this had to be a joke. Just Imogen didn’t look as if she was joking.

Ever since had made it his task to keep an eye out. Following you both. Sorting out through memories of you both. You had barely crossed the parapet six months ago. And yes Garrick had pulled you from the line when you came up. “Show me your shoes”, he had ordered, bending down to check them himself. Xaden hadn’t thought anything of it then. Had simply muttered, “Fuck you, I got her the shoes myself”, but he was so frightened to lose you that day that nothing else counted. Not the way Garrick had gripped the side of your face right before you stepped on. Not even the fact that Garrick had broken the board the names were scribbled on. Or how they had embraced each other when you were safely on the other side.

“Stop piling food on my plate”, you chuckled lightly, as Garrick spooned more veggie bake from his owl plate onto yours. “You need to eat more”, he stated, “You did well in training today”. Your eyes sparkled as you looked up at him. “You probably just went easy on me”, you shrugged. “I never go easy on anyone, love”, he reached out, brushing strands of your hair behind your ear, “Especially not when I want to impress you”. You hit his chest lightly, as your cheeks went pink, “You’re such a flirt”, “Only for you baby, only for you”, he traced the corner of your lips before picking up a for once again.

Xaden brooded in the knowledge of seeing it with his own two eyes. And then it’s as if someone had ripped the blindfold from his eyes. It was everywhere. Xaden saw it everywhere and it was so obvious. Garrick who was always first to leave the meeting now stood there, waiting for everyone to leave. Every time he walked past the girls he always made sure to brush his fingers along your back. Find contact with you no matter what. In a sea of cadets, his eyes were always on you.

“When?”, Xaden asked, yanking the back of Garrick’s shirt as the male left one of the meeting halls. Garrick didn’t miss a beat at batting his long-time friend’s hands off him, “Shit man you nearly got me”. But Xaden only puffed his chest more, “When?”, he repeated. Garrick frowned because Xaden was tiptoeing on the edge and he never lost his cool. A fear ran down his spine. What if something happened? What if you got hurt? Taken?

“What the fuck is going on?”, Garrick barely managed to grunt as Xaden’s left fists collided with his jaw. “Answer the fucking question goddamn”, he growled, clearly getting more and more frustrated. Garrick shoved him back slightly, “What in burning dragon shit has gotten into you?”.

A bitter laugh slipped past his friend’s lips, “I should be asking you that”, Xaden’s eyes were burning with anger, “you’re the one screwing my sister behind my back”, his voice raised ever so slightly. Garrick’s face blanched for a heartbeat before a wave of frustration ripped within him as well, “Don’t you dare put it like that”, he pointed a warning finger at Xaden who leaped forward, “You didn’t deny it, shitface”.

He wasn’t so sure if he wanted to punch or choke his long-time friend until a voice split the growing. “Stop this right now”, you called out, reaching to move for them but Garrick moved his free hand up, “Step aside Yn”. Yet another huff echoed, “Don’t tell her what to do”, Xaden bit back and it’s as if something shifted in Garrick, “I will because you are insane and I ain’t taking chances with you”, there was that primal almost frustrations in him. One that Xaden recognized because he too got overtaken by it when anyone got involved with Violet.

Yet still, Xaden pushed through, making sure to back Garrick against the wall, “I will make sure you die a painful…”, “Don’t you finish that Riorson”, you hissed from behind him, as you pulled at your brother’s upper arm. “You are grounded”, Xaden yanked his arm out of your grip, turning his frustration back on you.

“Listen to yourself, you sound like a child”, you said through gritted teeth. “Why was I not informed about this”, Xaden pointed between you and Garrick, before shaking his head, “This can’t be happening”. Garrick let out a low chuckle, “It has been for the past year and then some”, “Garrick”, you huffed pinching the bridge of your nose as he shrugged.

“She’s my sister! My”, Xaden shouted right at his friend's face, “And my girlfriend get in the line of being important to her”, Garrick said with a smirk. “I will choke you in your sleep”, Xaden leaned to tower over Garrick but he didn’t miss the beat doing just the same, “You can try”.

“Boys, please”, your voice was barely a whisper now, you could hear the sadness in it. Garrick’s head wiped in your direction instantly, “Don’t you dare get upset over this”, he hated it. Hated the sight of you sad. Of you upset. He could handle anything just not your tears. “Stop telling her what to do”, Xaden howled but this time Garrick was the one to shove him back before pointing a warning finger at him, “Riorson you are starting to get on my nerves”.

“Shut it, both of you”, you hissed, pushing your way between them and putting them at arm's length. “Garrick, I love you but please just stay quiet for a moment”, you glanced at your boyfriend, silently pleading with him, before your eyes turned to your brother.

“I’m sorry i should have told you”, you muttered. “Fuck yeah you should have”, he huffed. “But we had so little time. You both could have died, I could have died. We took a gamble just in case we survived and here we are”, you intertwined your fingers with Garrick’s and he instantly brought your joined hands up to his lips. Xaden inhaled sharply. “I’ve been really happy, Xaden”, you muttered quietly as your eyes glassed over with tears. Xaden reached out, pulling you closer to him, glaring at Garrick over your shoulder as he kissed the side of your head with a low whisper, “I know”.

You pulled back, hopeful eyes looking right into his soul. His little sister. The other half of his world. He only pushed through for you and Violet. A frown deepened between his brows before he managed to pull somewhat of a smile for you, kissing your forehead. “I will serve you your ass on the mats tomorrow”, Xaden shot a tight look Garrick’s way. He wasn’t ready to have a proper conversation with him yet. He will. He will put him from hell of his own. Just not now. “I’m looking forward to it”, Garrick nodded in agreement. Xaden turned to walk away before stopping. “A single hair breaks on her head and I am scattering you in ribbons”, he threatened, turning back to hold a warning stare with him. Garrick simply pulled you closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around you, “Believe me”, he breathed out, glancing down at you for a moment, “If a hair breaks I will go willingly”. And that was enough for Xaden. Because even if he was angry he knew that Garrick would fight till his last breath to make sure that you were okay and for that alone, he couldn’t bring himself to hate him.

#garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis imagine #garrick tavis x you #garrick tavis x oc #garrick tavis fourth wing #garrick tavis iron flames #garrick tavis fourth wing imagine #xaden riorson #xaden riorson imagine #xaden riorson x reader #xaden x reader #xaden fourth wing #fourth wing #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x reader #iron flame x reader #iron flame imagine

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tender-rosiey · 2 years

Text

HE MAKES YOU SCARED - pt 2

⤷ includes: gojo, geto; nanami, sukuna

— warnings: mentions of blood, gore and death

ᴀ/ɴ: it’s angst time, buckle up <3 hurt no comfort, we cry like men also f!reader in sukuna’s, the rest are gn!reader

GOJO SATORU:

you wouldn’t call yourself needy, like really. you, like any normal lover, just wanted to spend some time with your husband. you are also quite understanding of his situation, and a proof of that is the last time you guy had an actual date was a good two month ago.

however, it was really bothering you now and you really missed him.

today, he is back home, but who knows for how long so you approach him, “‘toru?” and he hums, a little irritated you sense, but continue nonetheless, “can I ask you something?” satoru lifts his blindfold and you can see the strain in the corner of his eyes, as he raises an eyebrow in inquiry, “yeah?”

“um…are you free to go on a date like soon?”

he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply then stands up, “y/n,” and you nod, “listen, I know we don’t spend time together, but can’t you just look at things from my point of view?”

“what?” you say in disbelief while he continues running a hand through his hair, his blindfold long forgotten on the floor.

“I am a sorcerer; I have duties. I get that your job gives you more free space, but I am fucking busy and even the days I am not required for a job, I am left tired and irritated,” and he looks at you dead in the eye, “so you should at least be more considerate and stop your nagging.”

he walks to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee and he hears you mutter, “you asshole…”

gojo turns to you, “excuse me?”

“you asshole, you fucking asshole!” you yell and your eyes are now filled with tears, tears you’re so desperately trying to hold back, “have you gotten so in your head that you can’t see what I am doing for you?” you scream and he stares at you in disbelief.

“oh really? I am the asshole now?” he eggs you on and you reply just as aggressive.

“well, yes obviously since you seem so good at dismissing everything I have done and belittling my work, you fucking ass!”

he walks to you, cup in hand, and aura you’re so unfamiliar with that it frightens you a little, “if you’re gonna keep bitching,” and his hand is raised up high, “THEN YOU SHOULD AT LEAST DO SOMETHING RIGHT FIRST!” and the mug meets the floor in a loud crash, a dirty carpet, and glass everywhere.

the only sound after that is gojo’s heavy breaths and your choked sobs.

slowly, he comes to his senses and his eyes are far clearer, no more anger and rage behind them, “y/n, wait I—“ and he reaches out for you, only for you to slap his hand away.

“DON’T GET NEAR ME!” you yell, your chest shaking with so much fear and pain before getting out of the mansion and heading to shoko’s as she is now the only source of comfort for you.

gojo’s back is now against the wall as he curses, “god damn it!”

NANAMI KENTO:

your husband is a rather calm and collected person in general, so it was quite rare getting to see him angry.

that’s one of the reasons you were caught really off guard when it happened today.

“y/n dear, please, all I am asking is for you is to be a bit more responsible and do the chores like I do.”

you cross your arms, “well, breaking news, not everyone is like you.”

he sighs, “no need to give me any sass; I am merely asking you for some sense.”

“oh really?” you quirk an eyebrow, “now, all I do is nonsense and I am a completely irresponsible, and useless adult; oh maybe even a child! right?!”

nanami pinches the bridge of his nose, “y/n, I don’t want to argue,” his eyes meet yours for a moment making you flinch lightly, “I am not in the mood. you can drop it now.”

“you can’t just start a conversation then end it half-way, kento!”

and for the first time ever, you hear your husband raise his voice at you, “WELL A CONVERSATION WITH YOU ALWAYS LEADS TO YELLING AND PURE ANNOYANCE!” he gives his back to you, “maybe if you kept it down, then you would’ve been able to notice that,” his voice dangerously low.

his hand gets nearer to you, and you can’t help the arms that come to shield you from what would’ve come. you stay like that for a bit before untangling them and your gaze lands on your husband.

he’s shocked and wounded; he’s disappointed at himself for letting you feel this way, but did you really not trust him to the point you had to shield yourself from him? he was only going to get his cup of coffee so he can go cool down and later come to talk about the issue in a more civilized manner.

but now, all he could think about is the fear in your eyes, you finally open your mouth, a call for of his name leaves it, “kento, I didn’t mean—“

“excuse me,” he says, not adding any other word before leaving the house, leaving you alone to think and think about what happened. will this cause your gem of a relationship to crack? will he leave? is he done?

GETO SUGURU:

you are already aware of what your husband does, at least the fact that he makes non-sorcerers worship him as he steals the curses on them for himself to make an army.

even with that though, he never let you see what he actually does so you don’t get uncomfortable, and you understand.

though you didn’t expect to come back from work, a job in a nearby bakery since you quit jujustu, to heart-wrenching screams coming from one of the rooms in the house. you take off your shoes, to soften your steps, and slowly making your way to the door of said room.

it was a little open, which explained why the screams were heard, but still, how can it be so loud? just what is happening to the person?

you finally decide to peak, and are met with a sight that will possibly scar you for life.

in all your life, even when you were a sorcerer, you have never seen anything as bloody and scarring as what you are seeing: limbs separated, being feasted on by wild and barbaric beasts and curses, but you don’t know if the scenery really is the problem or the fact that your husband, who’s as gentle as a petal with you, is the the one doing that.

all of that with a smirk on his face, “damn monkeys; you’re the lowest form of life.”

your feet move without thinking, not caring anymore about making a sound or not, your instincts are telling you to run, run, run.

so you do until your legs give out when you’re right in front of the entrance of your “home”, heavy breaths escape you and you hear a tender voice, “y/n, honey, what’s wrong?”

you turn to him, slowly, and his hand makes it way to your face and once it touches, you cry, you cry your eyes out. his eyes widen in alarm and he tires to envelope you in his arms, but your arms are weakly hitting his chest, “please let me go,” a sob escapes your lips with so much force it makes you cough, “don’t hurt me,please,” and realization takes over him.

“PLEASE DON’T HURT ME! PLEASE SUGURU!” you scream, terrified; what if all what he was with you was a mere plan to lead you into the same fate?

lost in your own thoughts and fears, you don’t see the tears that cascade down your lover’s face slowly, almost unnoticeable.

his heart is aching and a lump in his throat forms, you think he will hurt you?

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

he had strictly told you not to leave the grounds of the palace, but ol’ little you wanted to explore the gardens and fields behind the fence, so what’s the best option? go off and explore, but now thinking about it, you should’ve at least taken a servant to be with you cause now you’re kind of lost.

you’re praying that sukuna doesn’t find you here and instead uses another route, but at the same you want someone to help you. however still, you’ve heard all of the tales about what happened to the women who didn’t listen to him, and they frightened you to the core.

some say that one of them was hung on a tree above a swamp so she can “rot where she belongs” and another one was thrown to a bunch of predators to feast on her while sukuna watched, almost bored.

you needed to find a way back quickly; you look around, finally noticing the footsteps you took and hurriedly following them till you’re finally back at the entrance.

you cheer quietly, happy to be back and without him finding you out, but as soon as you try to enter, you’re stopped by a guard.

“can I help you, sir?”

he eyes you up and down, “aren’t you the king’s current concubine?” and you nod.

for some reason, he grabs you by the hair harshly making you scream, “didn’t he tell you not to exit this place? you’re just a glutton for punishment like all of the others.”

you’re thrown onto the ground once again, and the guard nears your whimpering form, “disobedience is a bad sin, little girl,” and just before the spear pierces through your chest, the man is sliced to 7 pieces.

he is also stepped on by a foot, and when you look up to see its owner, it’s none other than sukuna.

you sit up to bow your head quickly, crying and sobbing, barely keeping it together as you think your end has come, “please, my lord forgive me! I only wanted to see the flowers! please, I will never disobey you again! I beg you, please don’t kill me!”

the man can only look in bewilderment, just what nonsense are you spouting? “woman, stand up.”

you never thought that your life actually flashes through your eyes.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @bakugossanity @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @luciferspen @fiona782 @kisakitwister

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cursedonyx · 2 months

Text

The Bars Between Us

Sebastian Sallow x MC

Oneshot AU in which Sebastian was sent to Azkaban despite Ominis and MC (named Dracaena in this fic because it’s my current favourite name) trying to keep his secrets. Ominis and Dracaena spent the next several years trying to free him, and eventually succeed. Sebastian is not the same, Azkaban has sapped him of everything he once was, but a little TLC from the woman he has always loved sets him back on track.

Word Count – 8.6k

Warnings – Angst, traumatised Sebastian, aftermath of Azkaban, engaged Ominis/MC, Ominis approves MC sleeping with Seb, seriously Seb’s been through the wringer, Azkaban is horrible, nursing Seb back to health, smut (MDNI), handjob M!receiving, oral M!receiving, sub!Sebastian, MC feels a bit guilty bc her boy is a wreck

Six years.

It had been six years since the terrible events of fifth year, and six years since Sebastian had stood trial for the murder of Solomon Sallow. Six years since he was sentenced to life in Azkaban.

Six years since Dracaena and Ominis had scrambled to find out who had condemned him, and vowed to make it right.

No sooner had they left Hogwarts, not able to fully appreciate the finality of riding the little boats across the Black Lake towards Hogsmeade station, leaving behind the place in which they had matured into adults, leaving behind the wonders and horrors in equal parts, that they both signed up for jobs at the Ministry for Magic, working in Magical Law Enforcement, searching for some kind of loophole, some kind of law, some kind of anything that would get their best friend released from hell.

After four agonising years, they managed it. Together, pouring over paperwork by candlelight until the small hours for months, they built a solid defence, their unwavering logic and staunch reasoning standing up to the needlepoint scrutiny of the powers that be. Of course, they knew it was a long shot all the same. The Ministry simply didn’t care about extenuating circumstances, considering those incarcerated to be less than human, doomed to serve their time no matter what new evidence came to light.

Ominis had to throw his weight around a bit. Subtle, hissed threats, muttered warnings and an overuse of his famous glare and family name eventually frightened enough people to get those with the ability to make changes to listen. And then Dracaena came in, her fame and her charm the honey to Ominis’ salt, making promises she never intended to keep, assuring those too nervous to make the jump to support them, doing favours that left an unsavoury taste in the back of her throat.

All of it proved worth it in the end. Sebastian’s release papers were handed over, and Dracaena packed a small bag.

“I’ll be a week,” she said to Ominis. “They want him to stay in a sort of halfway house for a while, to make sure he’s not going to go mental and start hexing everyone in sight. Personally, I’m just glad he’s going to get some time to start readjusting to life outside.” She tilted her head. “Won’t you come with me?”

“Best not,” Ominis said, for the fiftieth time, his patience unending. “I don’t want to overwhelm him, and you’ve always known how to calm him down when he gets too… well.”

She chuckled lightly. “That’s assuming he’s not a complete wreck. I hope it’s not affected him too badly.”

“Dove… he’s going to be very different to what we remember,” Ominis replied, resting a hand on her shoulder as she folded her clothes. “He won’t be the Sebastian we knew.”

“I know,” she raised her hand to his, smiling as he looped his other arm around her belly and held her tight. She tilted her head back to rest against his shoulder as he brushed a kiss over her cheek. “I hope he’s forgiven us for not doing more sooner.”

“He’ll have forgiven you,” Ominis said. “He always had a soft spot for you. I rather expect, even after all this time, that he’s still in love with you.”

Dracaena kept her silence. She and Ominis had naturally fallen together towards the end of their sixth year of Hogwarts, their shared experiences and pain leading them to comfort one another, she taking Sebastian and Anne’s place as Ominis’ refuge from his family, moving in together once they’d left the school. In a small way, she was surprised it had taken him as long as it had to propose, presenting her with an elegant ring of emerald and diamond set in white gold six months ago. She’d accepted gladly, though a tiny part of her mourned what that meant for Sebastian.

She loved Ominis with all her heart and more. She adored his gentleness, his respect, his kindness and consideration. She admired his steel, the restrained fury with which he dealt with their enemies, both inside and outside of work, his searing wit and boundless intelligence. She relished his talent as a wizard, and fell in love with him over and over again with each morning they woke beside each other, still spent from their passions, safe in each other’s arms.

But she still loved Sebastian.

Ominis tightened his arm around her.

“It’s alright,” he whispered. “I know how you felt about him. I know how you feel. If things hadn’t ended the way they did, I would have expected the pair of you to be married by now.” He brushed a hand over her hair. “Dracaena… he’s my best friend. I want him to stay with us. We have the room, and he’d be safer than if he was just left to try and survive by himself after all he will have been through. I know you and him well enough to know you’re drawn to each other.”

“But I’m yours,” she whispered, moving his hand to brush over her ring. “Remember?”

He shrugged. “I know. I trust you. I know that if you said nothing would happen between you, I would believe you because it would be true. But you’d be unhappy. You both would. I know you’re not going to leave me for him, Dracaena, but I know you also make each other happy. He’s going to need all the love and support he can get once he’s out. I’d hope that you can give that to him.”

She tilted her head. “Ominis… are you giving me permission to… play away with your best friend?”

He chuckled. “Don’t cheapen it,” his elegant fingers found her cheek, tilting her head so he could kiss her full. “I’m telling you that if you two happen to come together again, I support it. Didn’t you once tell me you’d have liked it if you could have had us both?”

“I was drunk!” she protested, giggling as he dug his fingers into her ribs, ticking her gently. “You can’t use that against me!”

“I can and will,” he laughed, holding her tight. “I mean it, Dracaena. I don’t mind at all, so long as it’s only him. He’s my brother as far as I’m concerned, and I trust you both.”

“You might regret it,” Dracaena warned.

“If I do, we’ll talk about it, and find a way to resolve it,” he said, releasing her at last. “Go on now, you need to get to the dock. Send me an owl once he’s settled.”

“I will.”

He brushed a hand over her cheek. “See you in a week. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

_.-~*~-._

The sky was a stormy grey, and the waves below were similarly sullen. They crashed against the side of the boat, sending salty sprays onto the deck as if it was their mission to knock the vessel off course.

Dracaena sat between two stern faced Aurors, her hands folded in her lap. She’d left her bag at the halfway house, a modest, three-roomed bungalow surrounded by similar buildings, grey bricked and dour looking. She had perched on one of the rickety chairs by the small, circular dining table as one of the Aurors explained to her that Sebastian would be under careful watch for the first year following his release, and any missteps would see him sent right back to Azkaban.

She’d only half listened as he went over an itemised list for what she should do during her week’s stay at the halfway house, pinning a sheet of parchment to the wall with the details. She was only to feed him small meals, as he wouldn’t be able to stomach anything more. Nothing rich, nothing too fatty, and no alcohol. She’d frowned, asking why.

“Because the prisoners don’t tend to eat,” he’d said, gruffly. “The dementors have to force them in order to keep them alive.”

She’d shivered then, and she shivered now, remembering. They weren’t allowed to leave the halfway house, except for at specific times each day to walk around the complex for ten minutes at a time, to build up his strength. She had to write a detailed report at the end of each day to give to the Aurors, describing their conversations and activities. She was sternly warned that if she didn’t, there would be Trouble. Said Trouble was left unspecified, and she didn’t have the heart to ask.

Dracaena shifted, watching as something huge, angular and black began to rise from the waves, impossibly tall, impossibly wide, made entirely of stone. Only a few small windows lay in the surface, like knife wounds in flesh. Her hands tightened in her lap as dread began to seep under her skin, a visceral fear prickling over her neck and shoulders. She was only going to be there for a short time, to bring her best friend home. She couldn’t imagine how Sebastian would have felt, seeing that pillar of misery approach, believing he would never leave.

She loosed a soft breath, eyeing the distant, tattered black shapes swooping around outside it. He would leave. He would leave with her, and everything would be alright.

The boat approached a yawning cavern at the base of the prison, the Aurors casting a Patronus each, a mouse and a raven. There was a dock in the cavern, the blackness chased away by sparsely placed sconces in the damp, glistening walls. Standing there waiting was a hunched little man, balding on top with buck teeth and a sickly smile. He had a Patronus as well, something that looked like a cross between an ailing puppy and a wall-eyed rat.

Dracaena stepped off the boat, shivering, the feeling of dread still creeping under her clothes and caressing her skin. She set her jaw, drew her wand, and cast a Patronus of her own.

An elegant panther touched its paws to the stone, gazing around imperiously as the Aurors and the little man raised their brows, the dread vanishing from her chest as if it had never been. From the shadows around the walls, several rattling voices gurgled and hissed, as if angry.

“Where is he?” she demanded.

“Cell 506,” the little man said, rubbing his hands together with a grin that seemed entirely too cheerful for such a place. “Follow me, my dear.”

The patronuses cast silvery blue light on the walls as they ascended a surprisingly wide staircase, their footsteps echoing. Reaching the first floor, the little man produced a set of keys and unlocked a heavy, barred door.

“No need for magic here,” he cackled. “No one’s got their wands, have they?”

They strode into a cell block, and Dracaena recoiled. The scent of filth was overwhelming, but it was the sounds that chilled her. Her Patronus flickered, moving to stand beside her as desperate sobs filled her ears, tortured cries and garbled, gibbering wails singing in a hellish harmony that echoed off the walls.

The sounds died down as the little man and the Aurors encouraged her on, and though she tried to face forward, to ignore the figures in the cells, she couldn’t help but notice how they scrambled towards the bars, their bony, wasted hands reaching through, stretching for the patronuses as the tattered shadows of the dementors fled their presence. The screams began again as they passed, somehow more agonised than before.

They repeated this four more times, ascending rapidly narrowing staircases and emerging into a new cell block, climbing higher and higher, taunting the prisoners with the promise of relief from their misery in their passing. With each step, Dracaena’s heart beat just a little faster, her grip on her wand increasing, the hackles on her panther Patronus rising as she bared her teeth.

By the time they reached the fifth floor, her palms were sweating. How different would he be? Would the Sebastian she knew and loved still be there, somewhere? Would his eyes still sparkle with the mischief he was so adept at making, at once sliding into fury when he was challenged, and softening whenever he looked at her? She knew he’d be different. He’d look different. He’d act different. But she had to believe he was still there.

No matter her provisions, in the following years, Dracaena didn’t think there was anything on earth that could have prepared her for what she saw when she finally reached Sebastian’s cell.

Unlike so many of the other prisoners, he wasn’t screaming or crying, and he didn’t rush to the bars to feel the passing warmth of the patronuses. He huddled by the wall, next to a narrow mattress and ratty blanket laid directly on the floor. His hair was halfway down to his elbows, thick and matted, almost black with grime. He was dressed as they all were, in a filthy pair of striped trousers and shirt, and they hung loose on his frame. His head was on his arms, resting on his knees, drawn to his chest. The hand she could see was almost skeletal, every inch of boyish puppy fat stripped from his body. His nails were bitten to the quick and filthy, as were his bare feet.

Dracaena raised a hand to the bars, her heart shattering as she took him in, watching as he shivered.

“See, he’s one of the tough ones,” the little man said, with a chuckle. “Just keeps to himself, terribly well behaved. Shame to see him go, really.”

Dracaena tightened her grip on her wand to the point she thought it might snap. She turned to the little man, letting her expression say everything she dared not voice, for if she opened her mouth, she would likely find herself in a cell of her own. The little man seemed to understand, because his sick grin slipped, and he hurried to unlock the cell door. She barged him out the way before he’d even pulled the key from the lock, striding inside and falling to her knees before the broken man she had loved.

“Sebastian?” she whispered, her Patronus sitting in front of the door and glowering. He didn’t move. “Sebastian, it’s time to go.”

He stirred, his fingers tightening on his sleeve. She reached out, brushing a hand over his arm, and he flinched.

“Bassy,” she whispered, the pet name she’d given him both foreign and familiar on her tongue. He tensed, finally raising his head. His chocolate eyes, once so full of life, were dull and defeated above hollow cheeks and a beard that reached his collar. Even so he was familiar to her, the rampant freckles scattering his skin like constellations a siren call to their bond. He blinked, focusing, and didn’t say a word.

“Bassy, it’s time to go,” she said again, cupping his cheek, sliding her thumb over the protruding bone, her fingers winding into the thatch of hair at the back of his neck. He flinched away again, his expression becoming fearful, his eyes darting around the cell.

“Happens sometimes,” the little man said sullenly from beyond the bars. “They forget who they are. Forget who they knew. He’s not said a word in five years, so don’t expect him to. He probably thinks this is some kind of joke.”

She shot another glare that could melt steel through the bars, then shifted her position, grasping Sebastian by the arms and standing, heaving him to his feet.

He came up with almost no resistance, and she staggered, almost flinging him into the air, horrified by how light he was. He made a small sound of muted alarm as he left the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she said, relaxing her grip. She grabbed for him again when he slumped, his legs refusing to support his weight. She glanced through the bars again as the Aurors stirred.

“We’ll have to drag him,” one said. “Prisoners sometimes forget how to walk, or they just don’t have the will.”

“You’re not dragging anybody,” she spat. She looped an arm around Sebastian’s back, bending to catch his legs, lifting him in her arms like a child. He tensed, then slumped, his head lolling against her shoulder. He was so light, so alarmingly fragile, as if he was made of parchment, ready to tear apart at the slightest movement. Her heart broke again, and her Patronus flickered as she cradled him. Without another word, she marched from the cell, heading for the doors, the other prisoners gibbering as she passed, begging her to take them too, to leave her Patronus, to kill them. She paid them no mind, focusing on holding Sebastian tight to her chest, his feet swinging, his breath rushing over her neck. His hands were folded on his stomach, and one of them slid to her, pinching the fabric of her cloak, then holding gently.

She held him all the way to the dock, refusing to release her grip as she settled back on the boat. She raised a hand to his hair, gently running over the back of his head. It left streaks of grime on her fingers, but she didn’t care. A deep, boiling anger simmered in her chest. Anger for what he’d been put through. Anger that anyone was forced to endure such a hellish place. But mostly, she was furious with herself for allowing this to happen, furious with Ominis for knowing what Azkaban was like, and letting him be taken anyway, the word of some unknown person sealing his fate.

It didn’t matter that they’d spent the next six years trying to find a way to free him. The damage had been done. She felt it in his trembling breath, in the way he held onto her cloak so gently, knowing in her bones that it was the tightest grip he could muster. She wrapped her arms around him more securely, resting her cheek against his forehead, whispering soft words of comfort as her collar grew sodden with his silent tears.

_.-~*~-._

Dracaena carried Sebastian over the threshold of the halfway house in much the same way a groom carries his bride. She wasn’t blind to the imagery, and wondered if Ominis would do the same to her once they were married. Would he be able to navigate if his hands were full of her body and not his wand? Probably. He was astonishingly capable, to the point she often wondered if his blindness really was total, like he said. Perhaps he had some Seer blood in him that aided him. It would certainly go a long way to explain how he always seemed to know everything, even things he shouldn’t know.

She kicked the door shut in the faces of the Aurors that had accompanied them.

She eyed the living room of the halfway house, the low sofa facing the kitchenette and dining table. Through one of the doors was a little bedroom, and through the other was a tiny, cramped bathroom. It was towards this that she headed, conjuring a low seat, in which she deposited Sebastian. He was unresponsive as she stood back with a light sigh, gazing down at him and eyeing the stains left on her robes.

She pulled off her cloak and overrobes, standing before him in a simple pair of trousers and vest top, tossing her robes through the still open door, before kneeling down in front of him.

“First order of business,” she said, softly. “We’re here for a week, Bassy. We’ve got a to-do list, but I’ll take care of it as best I can. I’ll need your help, though. Can you do that for me?”

His throat worked a moment, then he gave a tiny, barely perceptible nod. Dracaena loosed a soft breath. At least he was listening to her.

“I think you’d feel a lot better after a shower,” she said, keeping her tone low and soothing. “Would you like that?”

Another miniscule nod.

“Can you take care of that, or would you like some help?”

No response to that. She tilted her head, waiting, her hands on his knees, until he glanced at her, his eyes lighting on hers and flicking away again like a moth fluttering about a lantern. They were still dull and hollow, curtained by the matted strands of his hair. She reached up and brushed a hand over it.

“I think we need to give you a haircut,” she said. “I can’t think of a single brush that can save it, I’m afraid, it's too tangled. Can I cut your hair for you? And maybe this?” she ran her hand over the wild beard. “Much as I think a beard suits you, it could do with a trim, don’t you think?”

A tiny nod, ever so slightly more vigorous than the last. She smiled, and reached behind her, fumbling in the cabinet for scissors.

“I’ll save what I can,” she said, taking a ropey strand of his hair between her fingers. “I can’t imagine you’d enjoy being bald.”

A miniscule exhalation. She tilted her head.

“Was that a laugh, darling?”

He didn’t answer, but leaned forward, resting his head on her shoulder. She set the scissors aside a moment and wrapped her arms around his back, alarmed to feel the bones of his spine poking through his skin. She held him gently until his arms rose, gripping the back of her top with a featherlight touch. He shivered, his breath trembling on the exhale. She held him tighter, pressing her cheek to his.

“It’s alright,” she murmured, circling her hand over his back. “You’re safe, Bassy. You’re out. You’re not going back there, okay? Once we’ve done what we have to here, you’re going to come and live with me and Ominis. We’ll look after you.”

She felt his jaw clench a moment, then he sat back, meeting her eyes properly for the first time. He held her gaze a long moment, before it dropped to her hands, resting on his knees again. He touched her ring, his skeletal fingers brushing over the emeralds and diamonds. He sighed, seemingly caving in on himself.

“Congratulations,” he said, his voice so quiet she could barely hear it over the rasp of his throat.

She could have cried, then. God only knew what he’d been thinking when he was trapped in that cell. Had he been hoping she’d come for him? That she’d have waited for him? Had he tortured himself with thoughts of other people getting close to her, loving her? Had he known on some level that she and Ominis would end up together, engaged, and soon to be married? Had he loved her as she loved him once, and wished it was he that slid the ring onto her finger?

What would he think if she told him of Ominis’ offer?

“Thank you,” she said. Best not to overload him. She should have taken her ring off, but it was too late for that now. She raised a hand to his hair again. “I… I’ll be honest, I’ve never done this before. It won’t be a brilliant job, but it’ll help.”

He gave another miniscule nod, and closed his eyes. She gazed at him a while longer, then picked up the scissors, sliding them through the matted tangle of his hair before closing them with a decisive snick.

_.-~*~-._

Shorn of his beard and most of his hair, Sebastian was beginning to look a little more like himself, though his face was terribly gaunt, his cheeks hollow, the sharp lines of his jaw standing out above his brittle neck. Dracaena vanished the pile of hair with a flick of her wand, then reached over to the bathtub, turning on the shower and holding her hand in the stream until it warmed to a comfortable temperature.

“Shall I leave you to it?” she asked. “I can give you some privacy.”

He didn’t answer, his hollow gaze turned inward, slumping slightly in his chair. She took his chin and tilted his face to hers, waiting until his eyes focused. “Bassy, do you want me to help?”

He blinked, slowly, his gaze turning distant again. With a light sigh, Dracaena lowered her fingers to the buttons of his shirt, slowly prying them open, one by one. At each, she paused, looking at him until he gave a tiny nod. She withheld a wince with some difficulty as she gently pulled it from his shoulders, able to see each rib through his skin, streaked with grime. Her heart broke a third time.

“Can you stand?” she asked, gently. “We should get these off too.” She touched the leg of his trousers. He didn’t answer, so she tucked her hands under his arms and rose, bringing him with her. He leaned against her, his arms rising to clutch at her back again as she nimbly undid the drawstring. The clothing crumpled straight to the floor, far too large for his frame. She averted her eyes, helping him step under the stream of warm water, lowering him to sit, and he drew his knees to his chest.

How many times in her fifth year had she wondered what he’d look like under his robes? Countless times, lying awake at night, or daydreaming in class. Now he was here it felt somehow wrong, like a violation to take the opportunity to drink in his form when he was so vulnerable. So she didn’t look, focusing on his face as his short hair plastered to his scalp, the water turning black as it streamed over his skin. She pressed a washcloth into his hands, and he held it, but made no further move.

“Come on darling,” she murmured. “Help me out a little bit?”

No response. With a soft smile, she picked up another washcloth and slid it over his back, applying light pressure to the more stubborn patches of dirt. Sebastian closed his eyes, resting his head on his crossed arms as she soaped his back, his grip on his own cloth tightening a little. And even though she resisted, scolding herself silently, Dracaena couldn’t help but look at him properly. Under the steadily vanishing grime, his back and shoulders were as freckled as his face, fading the further her eyes travelled down his spine and arms. He was a lot paler than she remembered, but then he’d gone from an outdoorsy, adventurous nerd to a prisoner in a cell, not a speck of natural light to be found. She’d have to make sure there was a decent spot in the garden for him to relax, once they were all home.

She nibbled her lip, glancing at his slender thighs, once thick. No freckles there. A few on his calves, none on his feet. She wrenched her gaze away before it strayed any further, and she slipped a hand under his chin, tilting his head back so she could get to his hair. He closed his eyes with a tiny sigh as she rubbed suds through the thick strands, massaging his scalp gently until she was sure every speck of dirt was gone. She pressed a hand to his collarbone.

“Sit up straight, darling,” she whispered. “I need to get to your chest.”

He acquiesced, leaning back until he overbalanced. Dracaena caught him with a startled yelp, an arm around his back, spluttering a little as her head and shoulders entered the shower stream. His legs stretched out as he slumped against her arm, his head turning to her shoulder, his eyes still closed. She caught her breath, blinking water out of her eyes.

“You alright?”

A tiny nod.

She took a breath, and keeping her gaze firmly fixed above his waistline, she moved the cloth over his torso, trying not to admire the fine hair dusting his chest, focusing on removing every speck of dirt she could see. She took her time, because at some point, she was going to have to try to convince him, again, to help himself. There was only so far she could reasonably go when he was so out of it, despite what Ominis had said.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to look, or to touch… to taste. It wasn’t that she had any problems in taking care of Sebastian in whatever way he needed. It was that he was fresh out of Azkaban, barely four hours free, still confused and addled and traumatised and broken, and she couldn’t assume that he would want anything to do with her at all.

It was still difficult. She shifted, her arm around his back, propping him up as she gripped his shoulder, his head resting against hers, flipping her sodden hair out of her face, her top already soaked. She circled the cloth over his chest a final time, sliding it over his nipple, and he groaned.

The sound was so soft that she thought for a moment she’d imagined it. She paused, swallowed, and repeated the movement. He sighed, tucking his head more firmly against her shoulder, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught a stirring.

Dracaena closed her eyes, willing herself to cool the heat rising from under her collar. She was his friend, that was all, helping him after a terrible ordeal. She couldn’t possibly take advantage of him, not now, not when he was vulnerable and needed her to help him. He wasn’t in his right mind. She had to be strong for them both. In time, perhaps she could, but…

She steeled herself and returned to the job at hand, sliding a bar of soap over his stomach and following it with the cloth. The water ran clear over his body, though it still pooled brown and grimy by his feet and legs, and-

She wrenched her eyes back up, glaring at the pale tiles of the bathroom wall.

“You going to give me a hand?” she asked. “I’m getting soaked.”

Again, no response. He slumped against her, his breathing perhaps a little quicker than before. Hardening herself, Dracaena took the washcloth to his thighs, scrubbing perhaps a little firmer than she had before, tucking a hand under his knee to bring his leg closer so she could still support him. Her back was beginning to ache, bent over the bath as she was, but she ignored the dull fire spreading under her shoulder blades, focusing on her task. All the same, she couldn’t help but notice how he shifted, widening his legs with another soft sigh, his hand sliding over her back to grip at her shoulder as she worked. She slid the cloth over the inside of his thigh, and a soft, almost strangled whimper passed his lips as he tilted towards her.

Dracaena had endured many trials in her life. Stopping a goblin rebellion, defeating a power-crazed, dragon-transformed lunatic set on killing her, as well as countless attacks from poachers and Ashwinders, defeating a powerful Dark Wizard in single combat and more. So much more. Still, if anyone had asked her in the later years what she found the most difficult trial of all, she would have said in a heartbeat that ignoring Sebastian’s throbbing erection as she washed him was among the top three.

She did steal a glance or five. She was only human, after all. And by God, he was beautiful. Not quite as long as Ominis, but thicker, a darker shade, the lush pink of Ominis’ love more a light burgundy with Sebastian, and the way he rested against his stomach, his toes curling as the shower stream rushed over him was more intoxicating than heroin. There was nothing more that she wanted than to wrap her hand around his length and draw him to the edge of bliss, to let him revel in the delights so long denied him, to hear him moan and whimper her name…

Again, Ominis’ assurances that he was not only fine with her playing away with Sebastian, but that he expected it ran through her mind. She loosed a soft breath as she moved the washcloth to his hips, his grip increasing on her arm as his breathing rushed past her ear. She set her jaw.

She couldn’t.

“I need to get some things ready,” she said, firmly. “Finish up, Bassy, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She waited until his grip on her arm loosened, helping him sit upright. It pained her to leave him alone, huddled and defenceless as she strode for the door, wringing water from her hair and drying it with a wave of her wand. But she had to. God and Merlin only knew what she would have done otherwise. He was too fresh, too vulnerable. How could she take advantage of him like that? How could she even think it?

Biting her lip, she settled at the small table and drew parchment and quill towards her, penning a short note.

My darling Ominis,

Sebastian is with me in the halfway house, and all things considered, he’s as well as he can be. I don’t want to alarm you, but he’s lost a lot of weight and isn’t very responsive, and I expect it will take some time before he’s better. You were right, he’s not as we remember, but I feel the old Sebastian is still there, somewhere.

I miss you. I love you. I can’t wait to be home with you.

Dracaena.

She wanted to add another line, clarifying that Ominis had meant what he said, hoping he would change his mind, for if he demanded she remain solely his it would be easier to deny the stirrings she felt for Sebastian. But he wouldn’t deny her, he wouldn’t refuse. He’d almost been insistent.

She sealed the letter instead, opening the door and beckoning the owl perched nearby. It took the note in its beak and flew off, soon lost amongst the clouds. She took a breath, noting the dark figures leaning against the walls of the surrounding buildings, the curtains twitching in windows. She made a face and retreated back inside. Christ, with the number of Aurors surrounding them, it was almost like Sebastian was a mass-murdering lunatic, not a broken man who had paid a price far dearer than the death of his horrible uncle warranted.

She tilted her head as the sounds of running water from the bathroom shut off. She waited as a shadow moved beyond the open door. It seemed that Sebastian could get about by himself if he needed to. That was good. She moved to the kitchenette, opening the cupboards and grimacing. Simple foods like porridge oats, rounds of dark bread and rice nestled beside tins of nondescript meat and vegetables huddled on the shelves. Dull fare for certain, and she wished she could use her Ancient Magic to conjure something more palatable, but it didn’t work that way. Sebastian had always been fond of sweet things, and there wasn’t a gram of sugar to be found.

She pulled a few items down and set about making a simple meal of white fish and rice with a side of green beans, careful not to make too much. He’d need time to adjust to eating real food again, and she had no idea what he’d been forced to eat behind bars.

Dracaena turned at a slight noise to find Sebastian standing in the doorway of the bathroom, leaning heavily against the frame, a towel around his waist. He gave her the beginnings of a tired, shy smile, only the corners of his mouth twitching. She left the saucepan and rushed to him.

“There’s clothes in the bedroom,” she said, leading him, an arm around his waist as he slumped against her. “We’ll have some dinner and get you settled for the night, yeah?”

He nodded, a firmer, more decisive action than before. Depositing him on the bed, which creaked, she ferreted around in the old wardrobe, bringing out a selection of shirts and trousers.

“Any preference, or are you not fussy?”

He blinked slowly, his eyes on her, seemingly indifferent about the clothes in her hands. With a shrug, she picked out a dark shirt and pair of trousers, leaving them on the bed.

“I’ll leave you to it, darling, if you need-”

His hand found hers, and she paused, turning to him, finding the corners of his eyes glimmering.

His lips parted, his throat working a moment before his voice found its way out, hushed and rasping.

“This… is real? You’re… really here?”

She knelt before him, taking both his hands in hers.

“Of course it’s real,” she whispered. “Bassy… Ominis and I have spent the last six years trying to find a way to free you. You didn’t deserve what happened to you, you didn’t deserve Azkaban. You’re coming home with us, and you’ll never go back, alright?”

He nodded again, a tiny smile touching his lips.

“You… got me out?”

“I’m sorry it took so long,” she said. “We had to bully a lot of people, rewrite some laws, and build a case. It took ages, Bassy, but we never gave up. We just wanted you home with us.”

“And…” he drew a breath, as if the act of speaking fatigued him beyond all reason. “Anne?”

Dracaena hesitated. She knew this would come up, but she’d hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. The reason for his fighting, the reason for his research, the reason for his mistake. How could she tell him that the curse that plagued his sister had taken her life three years ago?

It would break him. Destroy him in ways that Azkaban never could.

“Time enough for that later,” she said, forcing a smile onto her face. “What’s important right now is getting you back on your feet, alright?”

It was a poor answer, and she knew it. Sebastian had never been one to let things lie, least of all something as important as his twin, whom she had buried with Ominis on a beautiful hill overlooking Feldcroft on a blossom-strewn spring morning, the pair of them shedding silent tears not just for the senseless loss of life, but because it meant everything Sebastian had sacrificed had been for nothing. But Sebastian didn’t question her further, merely nodding again and releasing her hands, reaching for the clothes.

Dracaena returned to the kitchen in time to put out a small fire that had started in the pan. She swore and pulled out another tin of white fish, vanishing the blackened mess with a wave of her wand.

Sebastian joined her at the small table not long after, clinging to the walls and countertops to support himself until she hurried over, pulling his arm over her shoulders. Though his first mouthful of food was hesitant, he soon fell upon it like a man starved, going so far as to toss his fork aside and eat with his hands. Once he was done, he held himself still, staring at his plate before the hollowness returned to his eyes, and he withdrew into himself, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, staring at nothing as Dracaena pushed her plate aside, her appetite quite gone.

“You should sleep,” she said, softly. She rose and took his hand, drawing him to his feet and tucking an arm around his waist, leading him to the bedroom. She sat him down, helping him unbutton his shirt, pausing as she reached the hilt of his trousers.

“There’s… there’s pyjamas and things in the wardrobe,” she said. “I can get them for you?”

Sebastian didn’t answer, his eyes dragging with tiredness, but his hand snared hers as she rose.

“Stay?” he rasped. “Please?”

It took every ounce of her self-control to refuse.

“You’ll be alright,” she said. “You’re safe here, Bassy.”

His throat worked a moment, and he nodded, his hand sliding from her grip. Dracaena returned to the living room, setting the dinner things to wash and settling down on the sofa, conjuring a blanket and removing her clothes, lying down in just her underthings.

Ominis was on her mind as she settled to sleep, wishing he was here with her. She longed to feel his elegant arms around her, to reassure her, to comfort her as she wept silently for all the pain their dearest friend had endured.

_.-~*~-._

Dracaena work to darkness and agonised, desperate screams.

She bolted from the sofa, her heart in her throat as she tore towards the sound, her mind conjuring horrors beyond mortal imagining as she burst into the bedroom. Sebastian was huddled in a corner, his arms splayed against the walls, his knees drawn to his chest, his eyes wild as he tried to press himself through the brick and plaster, cowering away from something she couldn’t see.

“Sebastian!” she dashed over, grabbing for his shoulders, and he lashed out, howling, the side of his hand connecting with her temple, and she saw stars. Shaking herself, she grabbed for him again as he fought against her, yelling wordlessly. “Sebastian, it’s me! It’s alright! Calm down, please!”

He pushed back against the wall, soft, keening sounds wrenching from his throat, his eyes unseeing as she wrapped her arms around him, gasping comforting words into his ear. Eventually, his arms rose to encircle her, burying his face in her shoulder and weeping helplessly.

“It’s alright…” she murmured. “It’s alright, darling. There’s nothing here that can hurt you. You’re safe.”

Sebastian just cried, clinging to her as she settled on his thighs, wishing she could hold him tighter, wishing she had more arms to wrap around him, to hold him more securely than she could, her hand circling over his back, the other wound into his hair as he sobbed into her shoulder.

“It was just a nightmare, darling,” she murmured. “That’s all. Nothing more. You’re alright.”

It took a long time before Sebastian was able to calm down, his frightened sobs becoming whimpers, quietening to harsh breaths as he grasped at her back, shivering so hard she thought he could power a small house.

“What was it?” Dracaena asked, leaning back a little and cupping his face. “Darling, what did you see?”

He shook his head, his face tear-stained, pulling her back to him and resting his head against her shoulder again.

“I-I’m… sorry,” he managed.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she assured him. “Bassy, I’ve no idea what you’ve been through, but I’m here to help you. Tell me what you need.”

“Stay… with me,” he whimpered, holding her as tight as he could, though the strength of his arms was little more than strands of silk. “Please, Drac… Don’t leave me alone.”

With a muted nod, she tucked her hands under his arms again, levering him upright and guiding him to the bed, laying him down and tucking him in, before settling atop the covers. Sebastian turned over, his arm looping over her side.

“Will… you be… warm enough?” he whispered.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Get some rest, love, I’ll be right here.”

“Come under,” he insisted, snuggling closer to her. “Please, Drac. I… I haven’t touched… another person in… years. I… I-I need to be close… to you.”

She hesitated, and Sebastian huddled up to her, his hands tight at her back, his skin fire against hers.

“Drac… I-I’m sorry, I-I know you’re… with Ominis, I don’t want… to upset you… or spoil that. I-I just need… to be close to you… please. I don’t want to be alone.”

Setting her jaw, Dracaena slid under the covers, wrapping her arms around him as he snuggled into her, his head against her collarbone, his body pressed to hers, almost as though he needed to become a part of her, to meld his flesh with hers, the pads of his fingers digging into her back.

She held him tight as he shivered, wishing she could take the pain he suffered and draw it into herself to shield him from the horrors he had endured. But she couldn’t. She could only lie there, holding him, stroking his hair as he pressed his face between her breasts, his skeletal frame wracked with shudders as guilt seared through every fibre of her being. She pulled him closer, and he groaned softly.

Dracaena couldn’t ignore the hardness that pressed against her, as much as she wanted to. Despite Ominis’ assurances, she needed to be strong, to show him she cared for Sebastian as more than just a vessel for carnal pleasure. She didn’t need that. As she was with Ominis, her own bliss mattered less than that of her partner, her delight being in when she brought him to the edge of paradise and sent him over, soaring on clouds of ecstasy. Would it be so wrong to gift the same to Sebastian, when her fiancée had condoned it?

Sebastian groaned softly, the tip of his erection nudging against the soft flesh of her abdomen, straining against his pyjamas. He nuzzled against her breasts, only the thin lace separating their skin. Dracaena drew a soft breath. No matter her concerns, perhaps this was what he needed. Had she not vowed to care for him, no matter what he needed? Her hand slid over his side, over the ridges of his ribs, gliding over the hollow between them and his hip, coming to rest on the sharp protrusion of bone. Sebastian whimpered softly, tilting his body towards her hand.

“Are you sure?” she breathed. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes…” he whispered, the word ragged, forged from a throat too unused to speaking. “Please…”

Still she hesitated, preferring to caress his body, worried that it would be too much for him, worried that no matter his assurances, Ominis would be hurt if she allowed herself to indulge, but Sebastian clung to her, the little strength he had poured into pulling her closer.

“Drac…” he whined softly, writhing against her as her hand sculpted over his chest and stomach. “Please, Drac… please, make me feel human again. Please, please touch me… please… I’ll do anything… I just… I need to feel alive again.”

And hell, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to make him feel good after everything he’d been through. She cupped his cheek, turning his face to hers, pressing her lips to his with a softness akin to featherdown and satin. But he responded with fire and fury, his hand clamping against the back of her head, pressing her close as his lips worked magic over hers, scattering the last of her restraint as she wrenched him to her.

His breath came in sharp gasps as she pushed his clothing aside, her hand dipping down to caress the length of him. He tensed, a low moan rising from his throat as she graced her hand along him, before his grip at her back tightened, and he flexed his hips, thrusting into her palm, each movement accompanied by a gasp.

“Please,” he whimpered. “Make me feel good, make me feel right… make me feel real, Drac, please.”

Dracaena sealed her lips to his, drawing his breath into her and sending it back as heaven and light, her hand gliding along his throbbing length, her movements careful and controlled. Sebastian loosed a long, deep moan that seemed to rise from the bottom of his lungs, as if such a sound had been too long caged and finally set free. He sank back to the pillows, his limited strength seemingly spent, his eyes rolling back as his lashes fluttered, and she favoured him with kisses that peppered his face and chased over his neck, pausing only at his chest to swipe her tongue over his nipple. Sebastian groaned, his head rolling from side to side, one hand at her shoulder, the slight pressure increasing as she kissed down his taut stomach.

She could take him any way she wanted. She could pin him down and ravage him until he forgot his own name, she could bend him backward and bury his delicious cock in her throat, she could even turn him over and work a magic inside him that she was certain too few wizards had ever had the fortune to experience. But Dracaena bore down on her desires. Too much could break him. There would be months, years, perhaps, in which she could show him all the wonders she had learned since being with Ominis. She could show Ominis what she learned from Sebastian. She could learn from them both, together, but only if she treated them right.

Sebastian moaned like a starved whore when she flicked her tongue over the flushed head of his cock, his head pressing back into the pillows, his free hand grasping a fistful of the sheets as she slowly kissed along his length. She tucked a hand under his hips as she nuzzled the inside of his thighs, taking a moment to savour the desperate sounds pushed up from the depths of his being, the hand at her shoulder moving to the back of her head, his grip weak but insistent.

She couldn’t deny him any longer. Dracaena flattened her tongue against him and drew it slowly to the tip, already weeping with slick, crystal fluid, his ribs expanding and contracting with each rapid, short breath, his stomach hollowing as his hips bucked towards her. Her free hand found his, and she laced their fingers together as she took him into her mouth at last.

Seven years of longing couldn’t have prepared her for the feel of him against her lips, sliding over her tongue, invading her throat, the deliciousness of his fevered skin, the subtle, peppered tang of his love so similar and yet so different to the gentle salt and sugar of her Ominis. Sebastian’s back arched, his legs falling apart, his hand winding into her hair as his grip on her hand trembled, his thighs beginning to quiver as she flicked her tongue over the underside of his head, so sensitive after so many years of neglect, his voice a wordless song of ecstasy. She sealed her lips and drew them along his shaft, rewarded by a series of frantic moans that rose in fever and pitch. She wanted to pull back, to slow down, to make him wait, the dominant side of her fighting for control, but even she was not that cruel. Instead she bobbed her head faster and faster, lashing her tongue against him until he all but screamed, his hips rising from the bed as his back arched in a curve Fibonacci would be envious of, the beautiful, creamy thickness of his passion coating the cavern of her mouth.

Dracaena drained him of every drop as if her life depended on it, relishing the way he quivered and whined, his body tensing and relaxing with each new flick of her tongue until she raised her head at last, his pale, freckled skin flushed a gorgeous rose, an arm draped across his forehead. She slid up his body to lie beside him, brushing his hair back and wrapping her arms around him as he curled into her, panting.

“You okay?” she breathed, and he huffed a breathless laugh.

“If… if I’d have known… if I had to go… to Azkaban for that…” he nuzzled into her. “I’d have… gone… long ago.”

Dracaena chuckled softly, winding her hand through his hair as he relaxed against her.

“Drac,” he murmured. “I… should have… told you. Back then… I should have said…”

“Shh,” she whispered. “You need to sleep, love.”

“I know,” he replied, already drifting. “But… I should have said… I love you, Drac. I… I always have.”

She held him close.

“I love you too,” she breathed as he slipped into sleep. “Forever and always, I love you.”

Masterlist

Part 2

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #mc x sebastian sallow #sebastian smut #sebastian sallow smut #post azkaban sebastian #subastian

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beachylupin · 10 months

Note

i’d love something fluffy with remus post-full moon if that’s alright 💕 like reader taking care of him or something

hi lovely anon! i hope this is okay! word count: 1.5k warnings: mentions of blood, brief mention of self-harm, very soft, quickly edited

Beautiful || Remus Lupin x Reader

Remus hadn’t called in two days, which was strange for him. Usually your boyfriend was so prompt, especially with phone calls and visits.

However, this isn’t the first time that this sort of thing had happened. Last month, you called just about everyone to find out from Lily that Remus and the boys were on a little last-minute trip. She said it was normal and not to worry about it.

The month before that, Remus told you that he had to “take care of something” with Sirius at Hogwarts when the lot of you had been graduated for over a year now.

Both times, you saw Remus a few days later looking worse for wear, which worried you horribly.

This month, you decided to check his flat before you called Lily to see if you could figure it out for yourself. You packed a healing kit in your bag in case he looked the same as he did the other times.

“Remus?” You called out into the unkempt flat. You pushed the door open, letting yourself in. “I’ve let myself in!” You said, as if he didn’t hear you. “I hope that’s okay!”

You set your bag down, opening the curtain to lighten up the place. When you did, you saw just how much damage Remus had done: not only to his surroundings, but himself.

In a crumpled ball on his bed, Remus was bleeding from his bare back; deep gouges showed burgundy through his pale skin.

“Oh my God,” you said, rushing to him, hands shaky as you lightly touched his back. “What happened to you?”

Remus groaned in response. “Go away,” he muttered, shoving his face further into the pillows.

You huffed, finding your way to his small, messy bathroom. You started rifling through the cupboard, hoping to find anything that could help with the cuts, scrapes, and deep purple bruises.

“You aren’t going to find anything,” you heard Remus call. “I’ve used it all already.”

You felt yourself get angry. Why had he been lying to you? Why didn’t you get to know what was going on?

“Rem, what the hell happened to you?” You asked, making your way back to him. “Did you get in a fight?”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “With myself.” He groaned when you gasped, picturing your dainty fingers meeting your mouth.

“You did this to yourself? You’ve been doing this to yourself…” You whispered, your tone choked. You could feel your heart break in two. You knew how depressed Remus got, and thinking of him doing anything like… that to himself frightened you. “Do you need to be checked in-”

“No,” Remus groaned. “No, I’m fine. It’s not like… that.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, your hands ghosting over the scars that riddled his back, making sure to avoid the new ones. “It looks like that. You know, I’m just a phone call away if you’re feeling alone. I am your girlfriend, and-”

“That isn’t it,” he mumbled, his face still in his pillow.

“What is it then?” You asked, already feeling as if you knew the answer despite not being told.

The dots started to connect in your head, the longer you stared at his back. It was every month, and if you looked outside, you’d be able to see the moon slightly waning.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He asked, lifting his head. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“So, it’s true,” you mumbled, backing away from him. “Moony isn’t a very clever nickname,” you said airily still as you turned to your purse, grabbing a vial from it.

“It is for those who don’t know,” he mumbled, glancing at her. “You don’t need to help me.”

“But I want to,” you said, rolling the small vial in your hands as you approached him. “I like you, believe it or not.”

“Don’t do that,” he said sternly, his head sinking back down onto the pillow. “It’ll only ruin your life.” He readjusted, fixing his lower half straighter under his ragged quilt.

“Well, lucky for you,” you started, throwing your knees on either side of him to take a straddled seat on the back of his thighs. “It’s already ruined. You’d only make it slightly worse, at best.” You opened the vial shakily. “Hold still,” you said quietly, not as bold as you were when you took your seat.

Remus sighed in defeat then hissed as cold liquid hit the deepest cut in his back. He flinched away, but you held him still with your knees.

“I know it stings, but you need to stop moving,” you reprimanded, your hand light on his back again. “It’ll feel better in a second, I promise.”

You were right, and soon, Remus felt relief spread through his body and down his spine. He sighed deeply, letting his instinctively tense muscles relax.

“Flip,” you said softly, and lifted yourself slightly, allowing Remus to roll over, his hands still on his face. You lowered yourself, now sitting on the front of his thighs.

Though he couldn’t see you, he knew by the way you tried to hide your involuntary gasp that it was bad. Deep, burgundy wounds riddled his chest, waiting for scabs to be formed.

“Terego,” you mumbled, and the blood was siphoned away, showing just how deep the wounds had gotten. You sighed shakily, mumbling, “Stay still this time.”

You placed a few drops on the deepest cuts on his chest then put the vial aside. Remus flinched at the contact, but then visibly relaxed. You reached out, grabbing his rough hands gently.

“No,” he said, his hands still firm on his face.

“I need to see you in order to help you,” you softly said.

Remus groaned and let you take his hands.

You stifled a gasp as he opened his eyes.

You were hauntingly beautiful hanging above him, worry filling your eyes. Your lips were bitten with concentration, and you tucked your hair behind your ears. You grabbed the vial, your eyes sending the same warning you had the past two times as you squeezed the cool liquid into the cut across his nose.

Remus hissed, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Remus,” you said sympathetically, your voice nearly a whisper. He could feel your hand resting gently on the side of his face, and he nearly relished in it, but decided against it. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because it’s ugly,” he muttered, his eyes still closed. “It’s an ugly curse that I’ll never get rid of, and I’ll be more and more marred as time goes on. I’m ugly. You don’t deserve an ugly man”

“I never said you were ugly,” you said seriously, scooting forward to sit closer to his hips. “I just-”

“What?” He asked, opening his eyes to see yours boring into his.

“I don’t think it’s ugly,” you sighed softly then leaned down, licking your lips lightly, eyes fluttering shut as you kissed the scar near his eyebrow.

“Love-” He muttered in refusal, but you shook your head, kissing another scar on his cheek. Remus swore your lips left a scorch mark on every scar you kissed.

You pressed another feathery kiss to the healing scar on his nose, then ever so gently pressed a soft kiss to the scar that jutted its way across his lip.

Remus’ eyes fluttered shut as you feathered your lips against his.

“Is this okay?” You whispered against his lips, and instead of answering, he captured your lips in his.

Your lungs clenched as you hummed against his lips, cupping his cheek in an attempt to bring him closer. You properly sat on him, and feeling eager, you pressed your chest against his, earning a groan of pain from Remus. You pulled away quickly, almost embarrassed.

“‘M sorry,” you said, now sitting on your haunches as your cheeks reddened. “I got carried away.”

“Just a bit sore, is all,” Remus said, sitting up slightly to be level with you. “Laying wonky.”

It was his turn to cup your cheeks, his lips pressing a tentative kiss to yours as if he was testing the waters. You relished in the touch of his hand, your eyes flicking open as he pulled away slightly.

“I like it when you get carried away,” he mumbled. “But let's save it for when I can actually please you.” He kissed your lips fully, letting you pull away when the breath caught in your throat. “Just lay with me, love. Please?”

“If that’s what you want,” you said, kissing him once more before getting off of him.

You scooted into the bed next to him, letting him cuddle up to you and rest his head on your chest.

“I love you,” he mumbled, his arms snaking around your waist.

You ran your fingers through his hair, resting your cheek on the top of his head. “I love you too,” you whispered back. You sighed. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

“Are you sure you don’t think I’m ugly?” He asked quietly, and his tone broke your heart.

“I think you’re beautiful,” you whispered like you were telling him a secret. “So, so beautiful.”

#answered ask #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin x you

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candycandy00 · 9 months

Text

The Offering - A Sukuna x Reader Fic Part 5 (Final)

Once upon a time, Sukuna was a human man, albeit a monstrously cruel and powerful one. Villages across the land worshipped him as a living deity. One such village holds a festival for seven nights in his honor every year, and on each night they make generous offerings to him, including women who are never seen again. On the fifth night, you are selected to be the offering.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Feedback of any kind is greatly appreciated! If anyone has any comments, questions, etc, please feel free to say so! I love talking about my stories lol. Thanks to everyone who has followed this story this far!

Smut. 18+. Sukuna is a human (my theory is that he got his four-armed body by modifying himself with jujutsu fuckery later in life). Dubcon. Mentions of rape that happened “off screen”. Very rough sex my. Blood. Bondage. Biting. Sukuna just generally being a sadistic monster. F!Reader. This is dark and quite intense!

Late in the evening of your last night as Sukuna’s offering, he summoned you to the bedroom. You wore the pink robe he’d given you and the shrine maidens had perfumed your hair and lightly painted your lips with a pink glossy color. When you walked into the bedroom, alone, you found Sukuna standing beside the bed, his own robe tied so loosely that the front of it was open down to his waist. His bare torso, with its toned muscles and black tattoos, made your breath hitch.

“Take off the robe,” he said in that voice that made you melt, “unless you want it to be ruined.”

You slipped it off, still feeling a bit shy about being naked in front of him. He had already seen everything, but you always felt so… inadequate. He was perfect in every way, and you were just a normal woman. But you were getting a bit more used to his eyes roaming over your body, so you folded the robe and laid it on the dresser, then turned to face him.

He gestured toward the bed, and your eyes shifted over to it. You immediately noticed something that hadn’t been there before. From each of the two wooden posts at the head of the bed, there were thin red ropes attached. You stared at them, wondering about their purpose, until a terrible thought entered your mind.

You looked at his face, and he was grinning. That’s when your fears were confirmed.

He stepped closer and placed his hands on your shoulders, slowly sliding them down until they reached your wrists. “Get on the bed so we can start,” he said, rubbing your wrists gently.

You felt panic rising in your body. What did he plan to do to you that would require him to tie you to the bed? But you couldn’t refuse him, no matter what he asked of you, so you climbed onto the bed and laid on your back.

Sukuna climbed onto the bed after you, straddling you with his knees on either side of your body. He looked down at you, and his heated gaze caused the growing wetness between your legs to drip out of your folds. You tried to remain perfectly still as he pulled your right arm up above your head and tied the red rope tightly around your wrist, so tightly that the rope rubbed your skin in an unpleasant way. He then tied your left wrist in the same fashion.

When finished, he stared down at you. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like being completely helpless to my whims and desires?” He hovered over you, his loose robe sliding against your bare skin. “Are you excited, or frightened, by what I might do to you?”

Looking up at him, it was obvious what he was doing. The way he loomed over you, the way his robe fell open, the way he looked at you… he was intentionally turning you on. Your heart was beating rapidly, making your chest rise and fall with your quickening breaths. “Both,” you said in a weak voice.

He moved down, making sure his body rubbed against yours on the way, and spread your legs with his hands, positioning himself between them. He leaned down so that his face was very close to your soaking wet pussy and used his fingers to open your folds. “Already so wet for me,” he said. Then he moved his fingers around, rubbing everywhere except your clit.

“You want me to touch it, don’t you?” he asked, his finger moving dangerously close to that hypersensitive bundle of nerves. “This poor little neglected clit. It’s desperate for my attention, isn’t it?”

Your body arched up slightly, trying to get his finger closer to the bullseye. “Yes, please!”

He grinned widely. “Alright. I’ll be merciful and pleasure your clit all night,” he said, making you sigh in contentment, but then he added another comment that made your blood run cold: “But if you cum without my permission, I’ll hurt you.”

You raised your head up from the pillow slightly to look at him with your panic-stricken face. “W-wait!”

He leaned down suddenly and ran his tongue over your clit. The pleasure shot through you like lightning, your hips bucking off the bed as you moaned. “Please wait, Lord Sukuna,” you said, tears filling your eyes.

He looked up at you, that smug expression on his face. “Beg me to let you cum, and I might show mercy.” With that, he used his thumb to rub over the tender nub, then licked it again.

You squirmed and whimpered beneath him, completely defenseless with your arms tied above your head. “Please… please let me cum, Lord Sukuna!”

He looked you in the eyes as his thumb kept rubbing over your clit. “Denied,” he said, and you let out a half moan, half sob, your body jerking and thrashing.

“Please, I beg of you! I can’t bear it!” Your voice was higher than usual, your cries frantic. “Please… please…”

He used his tongue again, the tip of it teasing your clit and even pressing under the hood.

Your arms pulled against the ropes, burning your wrists. Tears were streaming down your face. “Please, Lord Sukuna… I’ll do anything… just please let me cum!”

“Denied,” he said again, before giving one more long lick and finishing off by wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking.

The pleasure was too much. An orgasm rocked your body, making you clench up and cry out. Sukuna raised up to watch you, but his thumb kept stroking your engorged clit mercilessly even as you rode out your climax.

“You came without my permission,” he said in a low voice. “What a bad girl.”

You were sobbing now. “I’m sorry, my Lord. Please forgive me!”

His thumb was still rubbing you, and you could already feel the pleasure building. “Now I have to hurt you,” he said, his voice pure silk, “to show you what happens to those who disobey me.”

As you watched with teary eyes, he lifted one of your legs up, bending it at the knee. He pressed his mouth against the plush flesh of your inner thigh and gave it a small kiss before running his tongue over it. Then, while looking straight at your terrified face, he opened his mouth and sank his unnaturally sharp teeth into your thigh.

Your body jolted, reflexively trying to pull your leg out of his grasp as blood began to weep from the bite and into his mouth. It hurt, badly, his teeth feeling like knives cutting into your skin. You cried out in pain, again pulling against the ropes in a futile attempt to free yourself.

But perhaps worst of all was that his thumb never stopped rubbing your clit, and now you were on the verge of cumming again.

He slowly pulled his mouth away, licking up the blood dripping from the red bite mark and giving you the most seductive look you’d ever seen, smiling against your fresh wound. Then, within seconds, his tongue was lapping at your clit again. It was even more sensitive than before, and your whole body was shaking.

There was a tremor to your voice as you cried out for mercy. “Ahhh… please… allow me to cum….ahhhh!!”

He raised his face to look at you, letting his fingers take over for his tongue. They stroked your nub as he said, “Denied. You’ve already disobeyed me once. Why should I reward you?” The purr of his voice against your spread open pussy nearly sent you into orbit.

“Please forgive me… ahh… Lord Sukuna! Forgive your pitiful offering… ahhh… for cumming!”

He smiled again as he dove back in, not giving you even a moment of relief. His tongue and lips and fingers were all working together to stimulate you, and before long, another climax hit your body like a boulder. You screamed out, pulling tightly against the ropes, your hips rising and inadvertently pressing up into Sukuna’s mouth, making the pleasure even more intense.

He stroked your clit through your orgasm again, sending currents of pleasure rippling through you and causing your body to spasm in the bed. Your face was soaked with tears as you looked at him. “Please forgive me…” you murmured weakly.

He pulled away from you and moved up toward the head of the bed, making sure his bare, muscled torso rubbed across your prone body as he did so. Once he was face to face with you, he licked your lips, then licked tears from your cheek, then moved his mouth to the underside of your exhausted right arm. He held it tightly in one hand and licked the flesh there. You shook your head. “Please… don’t!”

His lips curled back into a smile, showing you his teeth, before he bit into the soft, tender skin. Again, pain flooded your senses. He licked and sucked at the wound, his mouth making obscene sounds right above your head, his body pressed against yours. He was deliberately choosing the most sensitive places to bite, to inflict the most agony. You whimpered and shut your eyes, trying to block it out.

Then he moved back down, and his fingers were holding your flesh so widely open that it hurt, and his tongue was alternating between battering your now sore clit and gently licking it. Sobs shook you as you kept crying. “Please… please…” was all you could say.

“Please what? You have to tell me what you want of me,” he said.

“Please… allow me to cum… Sukuna…”

He stopped for a moment, and your eyes snapped open. You’d called him Sukuna, not Lord Sukuna. You glanced down, afraid to see the anger on his face at this show of disrespect. With you so weak and vulnerable right now, the punishment could easily finish you off.

But he was just staring at your face, seemingly in wonder. He gave you a strange, unreadable look, then returned to torturing your clit with overwhelming pleasure. You didn’t even have the strength left to jerk and squirm, so your body simply twitched under his hands and mouth as you begged him to let you cum.

He continued to deny you, and when you climaxed a third time, you laid there under him, panting, pleading for forgiveness in a small voice.

He moved up your body again, and this time he extended his tongue to lick one nipple before wrapping his lips around it. You looked down in disbelief, then shook your head frantically again. “Please, no!”

Another smile crept over his features as he turned his face toward yours. “What was it you told me in the bath earlier?”

Your eyes widened, then slammed shut again.

His voice drifted up to your ears. “Tell me again, and I might have pity on you.”

“Please don’t make me say it, Lord Sukuna,” you whimpered, trying to turn your face away.

“Oh? Why not? Was it a lie?”

You opened your eyes and looked at his face. “No! It wasn’t a lie! It’s just…”

He took your nipple into his mouth again, licking it gently. “Just what?”

“Ahh… it’s just… I know a pitiful offering like me… isn’t allowed to love you… my Lord…”

He pulled himself up so that he could say into your ear, “Just for tonight, I’ll allow it. Now say it again if you want my mercy.”

You looked at him in shock, but he was already sliding back down, his mouth encasing your breast.

“Lord Sukuna, I love you!”

Just then, you felt his teeth on your nipple, and they bit down slowly. He didn’t bite as deeply as he had on your thigh and arm, but he broke the skin, allowing blood to dribble onto his waiting tongue. It hurt, probably even more than the other bites because it was in such a delicate place, and you screamed as his teeth sank just a tiny bit deeper. He licked the blood off and pulled away, then moved back down.

His thumb was already rubbing your clit again, but now his hot mouth was on it again, and you thought you might just die right there. “I love you,” you said in a breathy voice, then repeated it like a mantra. “I love you. I love you. I love you!”

Having his tongue running over your clit while you poured out your feelings so shamefully made your head swim. You could only lie there helplessly as he did whatever he pleased with your body. You were still crying as you made a final plea, “Please let me cum… I love you so much…”

That’s when you suddenly felt his teeth graze over your clit, and all at once your tired, aching body was on full alert. You looked down in horror, shaking your head, but he just grinned up at you and said, “You have my permission to cum.”

It was like a dam broke. You sobbed out a moan as you finally let all the heavenly sensations you’d been trying to block out wash over you. He continued licking and rubbing with his fingers until you were nothing more than a quivering piece of flesh underneath him.

When it was over, your body went limp, and you laid there breathing hard as he leaned over you, watching. He remained there for a little while, then stood up and turned away from the bed. Was this it? Was this the end? You couldn’t bear it.

*******

Sukuna tightened his robe as he glanced back at the offering still tied to his bed. Looking over her weak little body, all splayed out, and the red, bloody bite marks he’d left on her, made it even harder to ignore the pulsing erection he’d had since he first bound her wrists with the rope. But he didn’t mind taking care of it himself. He’d decided to let the night end on her pleasure instead of his own.

It was the least he could do for her, considering what he planned to do to her.

As he started to walk away, he heard her soft voice say, “Lord Sukuna… could I make a final request, before you kill me?”

He looked back at her. She’d slipped and called him only by his name once, leaving him slightly annoyed that she had immediately went back to using “Lord”. He rather liked the way his name had sounded being moaned from her lips, even though he had beheaded at least three people for being so disrespectful in the past.

His eyes met hers and he asked quietly, “What is your request?”

Her face was red from blushing so much, but she held his gaze without looking away. “I want you inside me again, one more time.”

He hadn’t expected that, and he must have been wearing a surprised expression, because the offering averted her eyes and said, “Please?”

Sukuna stepped back over and sat on the edge of the bed beside her naked body. “I thought you wanted me to be gentle today,” he said in an uncharacteristically kind tone. “If I fuck you now, I won’t hold back. I won’t be able to. I’ll be rough with you, I’ll hurt you. I’ll fuck you as hard as I can, because anything less would leave me unsatisfied.”

Her eyes looked like they were made of glass as she stared up at him. “I don’t mind. You can hurt me.”

His cock was throbbing between his thighs, but he kept himself under control. “Be careful when you say things like that,” he told her, wanting nothing more than to mount her right there and then. “You’re making it hard for me to contain the monster you know I am.”

She arched her back, lifting her hips from the bed as she moaned, “Lord Sukuna, please… take me… hurt me… cum inside me again.”

The last of his self control evaporated into thin air. His robe was ripped open and discarded, then he climbed onto the offering and pushed her legs up, letting them rest on his shoulders as he rammed his entire cock inside her drenched pussy. She cried out, from pain or pleasure, he couldn’t tell, but her face looked blissful as he pounded into her.

Every other time, Sukuna had maintained some level of control. He hadn’t wanted to wreck her so quickly, but now that control was gone. With her writhing beneath him, her arms still tied to the posts, her eyes wet with tears and her body rising up to rub against his, he surrendered completely to his desire to be buried as deeply inside her warm, wet pussy as possible.

He fucked her like an animal, harder and deeper than he’d ever fucked anyone before. He could feel his cock slamming against her cervix, bruising and battering it as her whole body jerked with his violent thrusts. The whole time, she was murmuring something between her moans and cries. A word he couldn’t hear clearly enough.

One of his hands groped at her breast, and he realized too late that it was the one with the bloody, bitten nipple. She winced and shuddered, still mumbling that unknown word, and he quickly switched to the other breast. As an apology, he took the injured nipple into his warm mouth and licked it gently, still thrusting into her with deep, powerful motions.

She jerked against the ropes again, and he remembered that she liked to wrap her arms around him while being fucked into oblivion, so he reached up and ripped the ropes free of the posts. Her arms, no doubt sore and tired, encircled his neck and clung to him. She buried her wet, tear-stained face into his shoulder, and that’s when he finally identified the word she’d been uttering all along.

His name. Only his name.

Her voice was unsteady, her body shaking with sobs, and she continued clutching him while crying out his name.

She must have been in pain, but she never once asked him to stop or even slow down. She accepted his violence, his brutality, deep into her delicate form.

“I love you more than anything, Sukuna…”

He heard the words but didn’t acknowledge them, only continued fucking her wildly. He didn’t know if he loved her. He didn’t know if he was capable of love. What he felt for her was contradictory and confusing. He wanted to hurt her, he wanted to hold her. He wanted to give her more rich, beautiful robes to wear and watch her smile as she tried them on. He wanted to use his cursed technique to inflict a thousand tiny cuts all over her body, then lick the blood from all of them. He wanted to share more meals and baths with her. He wanted to string her up from the ceiling by her arms and relentlessly fuck her until the only word she was capable of saying was his name. He wanted to go to sleep with her in his arms.

He simply wanted more of her, in every way possible.

She clenched tightly around him every time his tip rammed into that sweet spot that made her moan. Soon she was screaming out his name as she came for the fifth time that night.

Her ragged breathing and trembling body pushed him over the edge, and he drew back onto his knees, pulling her with him, letting her legs slide off his shoulders and wrap tightly around his waist. His mouth crashed into hers as he squeezed her against him as hard as he could, finally cumming deep inside of her.

They stayed entangled that way for a while, even after the last of his cum had shot into her womb, wrapped in each other’s arms, theirs tongue mingling together. When he broke the kiss, he looked down at her face. She was more lovely then than she’d ever been, her face flushed, her lips parted, his own saliva and hers all over her mouth, her eyes glazed over as she stared up at him lovingly.

“You can kill me now, Lord Sukuna,” she said, looking into his eyes. “I can die happy, being so full of you.”

He was still completely buried inside her. He didn’t want to pull out, but the night wouldn’t last forever, and there was still much to be done. He lifted her off him, and her body was limp, too exhausted to move. He laid her back on the bed and stood up. She was watching him, trying to stay conscious, but after a few minutes she passed out again. He pulled a sheet over her and watched her sleep for a while. Then he summoned all three shrine maidens.

The women walked into the room with their heads down. He had already pulled on a clean robe, and was tying the sash at his waist as they entered.

“All three of you, look up. I need to be sure you understand my instructions.”

The three women hesitantly raised their faces. This was probably the first time they had gotten a good look at his face. One of them glanced at the bed, but said nothing.

Sukuna gestures toward the offering and said, “She is not to be touched in my absence, by anyone. She is not to take a husband. Do you understand?”

The women seemed shocked, but they nodded their heads.

“Make sure all her needs are met until the festival next year,” he said, then looked over at her sleeping form before adding, “See to it that she is well fed. I wouldn’t mind seeing some more meat on her when I return.” With those words, he gave the women a grin that intentionally showed off his sharp teeth.

All three women paled at the sight, clearly aware of his… unusual dining preferences.

His orders given, the women left the room while he prepared to leave the village. His attendants were working on loading all the material offerings into his traveling cart, though he’d told them to leave the pink cherry blossom robe and any food offerings that hadn’t spoiled. He dressed in his thicker outer wear and then walked back over to the bed, taking one long, final look at the girl who had pleased him like no one ever had before.

She was still asleep, and he was glad of it. A teary goodbye was simply not in him, and he knew she would be sad to see him leave. He wouldn’t take her with him. The things he did would no doubt frighten and repulse her, and he was too invested in his goals to allow for such a distraction. But having someone waiting here for him didn’t seem so bad.

He glanced back to make sure no attendants or shrine maidens were nearby, then he bent down and kissed her lips.

Minutes later, he was gone.

******

When you woke up the next morning, you were shocked to still be alive. The shrine maidens informed you that Lord Sukuna had left the village in the night, as he did every year. You felt an ache in your chest, a pain that you had felt once before. You thought it was probably heartbreak. You’d wanted to be with him forever, even if that time was fleeting like the cherry blossoms he liked so much.

Then the shrine maidens told you that you were not allowed to marry until the next festival, and you realized what that meant. He wanted you to be the offering next year! Your heart swelled with love at the thought.

And so you returned to your family and your normal life in the village. Most of the villagers, including your parents, refrained from asking you about your time with Lord Sukuna. You had returned to them covered in bruises and bloody bite marks that the shrine maidens had bandaged, barely able to walk. They had assumed you’d been brutalized and deemed it insensitive to question you about it, though it was clear that many people wondered how you had survived.

You didn’t volunteer any information either, except to tell your parents that it hadn’t been as bad as they imagined, if only to keep them from worrying so much.

Your life was a bit dull, but happy. You carried on as you had before, but secretly, deep in your heart, you longed to wrap your arms around your Lord’s neck again, to feel him inside you. You watched the seasons change, eager for spring to come again.

*****

Epilogue:

Cherry blossoms drifted to the ground all around you as you pressed your forehead as low as possible, bowing with the rest of the gathered villagers in the festival grounds surrounding Lord Sukuna’s shrine. You heard his footsteps, and your heart was beating so fast that you thought it might burst from your chest.

Would he even remember you? Would he ask for you specifically as the first night’s offering, or would you need to volunteer? Regardless, you were so excited to see him again, it was very difficult to keep your head down as his footsteps came closer.

They approached, but instead of walking by you, they stopped right in front of your bowed form. You drew in a sharp breath, looking only at his sandaled feet. He crouched down, his knees becoming visible, and then you heard his voice in your ear: “You can look up now.”

You raised your head immediately, and found yourself face to face with your village’s deity. Tears sprung to your eyes, and he gave you the same smug grin he often wore. His hand brushed the tears from one cheek and he laughed as he said, “You’re always dripping whenever you’re near me.”

You blushed, but smiled as he took one of your hands and pulled you up. Nearby, the village elders who were escorting Lord Sukuna to the base of his shrine looked at you with shock. They’d heard you were a survivor, but the look of rapture on your face, along with Lord Sukuna’s behavior toward you, must have been totally unexpected for them.

Sukuna looked at them and said, “I already have a woman for the week. No more will be needed.”

The elders quickly bowed despite their surprise. “As you wish, Lord Sukuna,” one of them said.

“Oh, but do make sure plenty of fresh fruit is offered,” Sukuna added, then gave you a meaningful look and said, “We especially enjoy peaches.”

Your face turned crimson at the memory of last year, but you couldn’t stop smiling as Lord Sukuna kept hold of your hand and pulled you up the steps to his shrine.

Once you were far enough away from everyone else, he glanced back at you and said, “I hope you’re prepared. I’ve had all year to think about all the terrible things I’m going to do to you.”

You smiled at him, bright and happy. “And I’ve had all year to look forward to it, Lord Sukuna!”

Once again, you thought you caught a glimpse of a faint pink tint to his face as he turned back toward the shrine’s doors. “Smile all you want, but I’ll show you no mercy. You’ll be screaming on my cock by nightfall.”

You stepped closer to him and said in your sweetest voice, “Lord Sukuna, please wait until we get inside the shrine to say such things. I’m afraid I’ll leave a mess on the steps if you keep making me so wet.”

His eyes shifted back to your face, and then his gaze slid down your body before returning to your eyes. He grinned, baring his teeth. “Such a needy little offering.”

The two of you entered the shrine, dismissed the shrine maidens, and closed up the doors behind them, eager to begin a week of utter depravity.

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