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shyoko · 2 months ago

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✧ Accidentally sent a dirty message to another member. ✦༺⊹

This writing is my own; no copies, adaptations, or translations are allowed. I hope you like it. 𓂃

✦ 4.0K words * Masterlist˚ Taglist✧ Requests “Open”₊‧ ✦𓂃

enhypen x fem!reader ⚠️ cw: NSFW / +18 — rough sex, jealousy, possessive behavior, light choking, wall sex, hair pulling, spanking, dirty talk, slight humiliation, intense kissing, marking (hickeys), sex in the shower. Minors DNI. Read responsibly.

✧ Heeseung ----------

It was noon. Heeseung had texted you from work, telling you that the day was turning into a complete nightmare. His message was short, but you could feel the exhaustion in his words: "I can't take it anymore. I'm done with everything today."

You sighed, imagining him in his studio, his head full of stress. You wanted to cheer him up. And you knew exactly how.

You got off the couch, walked to the mirror, and took a picture — nothing vulgar, but definitely bold. Provocative. Sexy. Perfect to lift his spirits and remind him that when he got home, he’d have something far better than work waiting for him.

You sent it without double-checking.

Seconds later... your world froze.

Sunghoon replied with: "…" followed by "Was this meant for me?"

You froze. You opened the sent message... and there it was. Your photo. Sent to Sunghoon.

Your hand flew to your mouth. Your heart pounded. You tried to delete the message, but it was too late. The damage was done.

And then your phone rang. It was Heeseung.

"Are you kidding me?" he said as soon as you answered, his voice deep, tense, furious. "Did you send that picture to Sunghoon?"

"No! It was a mistake, I swear… it was meant for you…"

"I’m leaving work. You better have answers when I get home."

He hung up.

You stood there in silence, gripping your phone, feeling the burn of shame mixing with the fear of what would come next.

An minuts later, you heard the door slam. Heavy footsteps approached. He walked straight to you, not saying a word. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, his eyes dark and intense.

He stopped in front of you. He didn’t yell. He didn’t ask.

"Give me the phone."

You handed it over with trembling hands. He unlocked it without effort, went straight to the chat with Sunghoon, deleted the message… and then the entire contact.

"You're never talking to him again." His voice was low, trembling with restrained anger.

"Heeseung, it was an accident. I swear..."

He placed the phone on the table, took your face in his hands, and looked at you so deeply you felt the floor disappear under your feet.

"An accident?" he whispered, his rough voice sliding down your spine as his hand moved slowly from your neck to your waist. "Then let me show you how we fix a mistake like that."

Without warning, he pushed you gently against the wall, his mouth crashing onto yours with a mix of fury and desire. He kissed you with hunger, with jealousy, with fire. His hands moved over your body with a possessive firmness, as if he had to reclaim every inch of your skin.

"You're mine," he growled between his teeth, lips brushing yours. "Only I get to see you like this. Only I get to touch you like this."

His mouth moved down your neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses, stopping at your collarbone. He made sure you felt every mark he left. His hands pulled you closer, demanding all of you.

"Do you know how hard it was to hold back all day? And now this..."

His voice trembled between desire and the need to make sure you never forgot who you belonged to.

✧ Jay ----------

You were in the living room, lying on a couch with your phone in hand while the guys chatted animatedly on the other side. Jay was standing, leaning against a table, laughing calmly with Jake and Sunghoon. His voice—so distinctive—had that effect on you: it pulled you in effortlessly.

You bit your lip without realizing it, watching him smile, move, talk. It felt like he hadn’t looked at you in hours, so focused on that conversation. You crossed your legs and sighed... You wanted to tease him a little.

So you opened your gallery and picked a photo—one of those only he was supposed to see. Nothing explicit, but suggestive, intimate… with a look that said everything your words didn’t. You smiled mischievously and sent it directly as a private message.

Or so you thought.

Seconds later, something felt off. Jake stopped talking, looked at his phone… then looked at you. He said nothing, but his eyes said it all. You swallowed hard. Checked your phone.

You had sent the photo to Jake.

Your heart stopped.

Jay noticed Jake’s reaction and leaned in to see the phone. His expression changed instantly. The muscles in his jaw tensed, and his eyebrow slowly raised.

"What is that?" he asked quietly, though everyone heard him.

Jake raised his hands, uncomfortable. "I… it wasn’t meant for me."

Jay turned to you, his eyes locked onto yours. He said nothing. Walked slowly toward where you were, while you tried to say something—but your tongue felt like stone.

"You were going to send that to me… but you sent it to Jake?" he said softly, in a tone that chilled your blood.

"It was a mistake… Jay, really, it wasn’t for him…" you whispered, feeling the shame rise to your ears.

But he didn’t answer.

He just grabbed your arm, firmly but not hurting you, and led you out of the room. No one said a word. Only his footsteps and your shaky breathing could be heard.

You entered his room, and he shut the door behind him forcefully.

He slowly let go of you, but his gaze stayed locked on yours.

"Do you know how I felt seeing that photo on someone else’s phone?" he asked hoarsely, holding back something more than anger.

"Jay, it was an accident. I swear…" you said, stepping closer.

"I don’t like it when you play with me." His voice was low, his words came out slowly, like he was deciding whether to hold back or give in.

Then he stepped forward, took your face in one hand, firmly, like he needed to make sure you were only looking at him.

"That photo was mine. Do you know how it felt to imagine Jake seeing you like that?"

His lips crashed into yours suddenly. The kiss was deep, burning, full of unspoken demand. It wasn’t sweet. It was possessive. Like he needed to prove you were still his.

His hands traveled down your waist as his body guided you back, pressing you against the door. His breath was hot against your neck as he moved down and left a slow, teasing, firm hickey.

"I’m going to mark you, so you won’t forget. No one else has the right to see you like this. No one."

Your legs trembled under his touch. His mouth returned to yours, this time slower, more intense. Jay’s hands slid down your hips with intent, while his lips burned with the same desire you had tried to awaken… and that now threatened to consume you completely.

✧ Jake ----------

You had a quiet day. Jake hadn’t texted you much, but you knew he was with Ni-ki—like he always was lately. You didn’t give it too much thought. You got comfortable on the couch, turned the TV on in the background, and grabbed your phone.

You missed him. Much more than you wanted to admit.

After a few minutes of thinking, you started writing him something. Something you knew would make him smile... or maybe something more. The message was bold, direct. You told him exactly what you wanted to do to him that night. How you were going to kiss him, touch him, ride him slow, and tease him until he begged you to let him come.

You bit your lip, amused by your own daring. And you sent it.

But seconds later, your screen hit you like a slap.

Ni-ki: "…Was this meant for me?"

Your heart stopped.

You opened the chat.

Yes. You had done it. Your dirtiest, most explicit message… had been sent to Ni-ki.

Ni-ki. Who was with Jake.

Blood rushed to your face, your hands trembled. You checked everything a thousand times, trying to convince yourself it wasn’t real. But it was.

You texted Jake. Nothing. Another. Silence. Tried calling. No answer.

And then, hours passed.

Until you heard the door open.

It closed with a sharp thud. No voice. No greeting. Just heavy footsteps down the hallway. You watched him as he walked straight into the bedroom.

You didn’t know what to do. You stayed on the couch a few minutes, biting your lip nervously. Then you got up and went after him.

He was lying on his side, back to you, shirt still on. He hadn’t covered himself. He hadn’t moved.

You carefully climbed onto the bed. Quietly approached him. Slowly lifted his shirt. He said nothing. He didn’t pull away.

You started kissing his back, his neck. Slowly. Gently. Almost afraid.

"I’m sorry, Jake… it was a mistake. That message was for you. I swear."

You continued kissing your way down until he suddenly turned and looked at you directly. His eyes were dark, intense. There was pain. There was anger.

He gently grabbed your hair, pulling you close to his face.

"Say it to my face," he whispered. "Was it a mistake? Or are you cheating on me with him?"

You looked him straight in the eyes, without hesitation.

"It was a mistake. I swear. Ni-ki has nothing to do with it. The message was yours. It was always meant for you."

Jake swallowed hard, closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, they were glassy—but he didn’t cry. He kissed you. Suddenly. With hunger. With desperation.

"Fuck… thank god, baby…" he murmured against your lips.

Then he climbed on top of you, kissing you hard, with a mix of desire, relief, and fear. He held your waist tight, trapped you under him like he needed to remind you you were his.

"I thought you’d chosen him," he confessed as he kissed down your neck, reaching your collarbone. "Thought I wasn’t enough anymore."

"Never. It’s you. Only you."

Jake growled, kissing down your stomach with desperate need. He spread your legs, settled between them without saying a word. Only staring into your eyes.

"Then tonight you’re going to remember. You’re going to feel it. Every fucking second."

✧ Sunghoon ----------

It was almost eleven at night. You were alone in your room, body burning, mind lost in a single thought: Sunghoon. You had been secretly seeing each other for a few months. No one in the group knew.

And that made it all the more addictive—this feeling like you were playing with fire.

You missed his body, his cold hands on your skin, the way he looked at you when he lost control. So, caught between need and boldness, you decided to record something.

You slipped under the sheets, pulled down your underwear, and started touching yourself while thinking of him. You let the moans come out—soft, filthy—

You recorded the audio with your eyes closed, skin tingling, heart racing. And you sent it.

Only… it didn’t go to Sunghoon’s chat. It went to Heeseung’s.

You realized it a second later, when the double blue checkmarks appeared under the wrong name.

“No… no, no, no,” you muttered, pale, unlocking your phone like you could undo the inevitable.

Heeseung replied quickly. Way too quickly. First a message:

“Was this for me?”

Then… a video. Short. But explosive. He was in it, panting, shirtless, staring into the camera, whispering:

“Fuck… you don’t know what you do to me… Y/n…”

You almost dropped the phone. The world crashed down on you. Heeseung thought the audio was for him. And now… he was playing along.

You locked your phone, covered your face with your hands, totally frozen. You’d screwed up. Badly.

And the worst part hadn’t even happened yet.

Because Heeseung… told Sunghoon.

Everything. In detail.

He was so excited, so convinced the audio was meant for him, that he showed it without thinking.

Sunghoon didn’t say much. Just enough.

“It was meant for me,” he muttered, jaw tight.

“What? What do you mean—” “You heard me.”

And he left. His face completely twisted by jealousy.

An hour later, he was at your door. He knocked hard. Walked in without saying much. His eyes were burning. He shut the door, looked you up and down, and spoke with a calm so fake it was frightening.

“Did you send it to the wrong chat? Or are you going to tell me you were trying to turn on my best friend?”

“Sunghoon, no! It was a mistake. A stupid mistake. It was for you. I swear…”

But he wasn’t in the mood for speeches. He pushed you against the wall, one hand firm on your waist, the other around your neck—not tight, but enough to make clear who was in control.

“For me? Then prove it.”

He kissed you with fury, with a mix of desire and rage that stole your breath. Lifted you up in his arms, carried you to the bed like you weren’t allowed to walk. Tore your clothes off in one swift move—fast, careless, like he needed to reassert that your body was his.

He climbed on top of you, not letting you escape his gaze.

“Say my name. Like in the audio. But loud this time.”

And you did. Again and again. Screaming.

His thrusts were deep, fast, intense. There was no room for tenderness. It was all skin, moans, fingernails digging in, and teeth on your neck. His hands gripped your hips tightly, forcing you to take every inch.

And in the middle of it all, without slowing down for even a second, he grabbed his phone, unlocked it, and recorded an audio.

“Listen to this, Heeseung,” he whispered into the mic, voice low and hoarse. “That’s how she moans my name.”

He let it record everything. Your moans. The sound of bodies slamming together. Your desperate voice crying out his name like a prayer.

He sent the audio without hesitation. Then dropped the phone to the floor and kissed you again—hard, with tongue, with jealousy.

“You’re mine. Only mine. And if anyone dares think otherwise again, I’ll fuck you even harder. You hear me?”

And it wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

That night, the world stayed outside your room. There was only Sunghoon—his body, his rage, and that fierce need to make sure no one else touched you.

And you… didn’t want anyone else to, either.

✧ Sunoo ----------

The afternoon had been normal. At least for you.

You had sent Sunoo a sexy photo a few hours ago. Not just a provocative selfie, but one you had taken with clear intention: naked body, perfect angle, eyes staring straight into the camera. You wanted to drive him crazy. You wanted to play with his desire.

But something changed when he got home.

He didn’t say a word. No greeting. No smile. Not even a glance. He just walked past you with a serious face, brows furrowed, jaw clenched. Locked himself in the bedroom and didn’t come out.

“Sunoo?” you called from the living room, confused.

Silence.

You walked up to the half-open door. He was sitting on the bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen like he wanted to shatter it with his eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

Nothing. Not a turn of the head. Not even a different breath.

The anxiety started rising in your chest. You didn’t understand. You hadn’t argued. Nothing strange had happened. At least, that’s what you thought.

“Did I do something? Please, just tell me.”

Then he stood up. Slowly. Eyes dark. Cold.

“You had no idea, did you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The photo. The fucking nude photo you sent to Jay.”

Your body tensed instantly.

“What…? No. That’s not possible. It was meant for you.”

“Well, it went to Jay. And guess who saw it on his screen before he deleted it? I did.”

You were speechless. The world crashed down on you. A wave of shame, fear, guilt—everything hit at once.

“Sunoo… I didn’t know. I swear, it wasn’t on purpose. It was for you. Only for you…”

But he laughed. Dry. Hurt.

“Of course… how convenient. What a lovely little mistake.” He turned toward you, face contorted, emotions finally spilling out. “Do you know what I felt when I saw it? When Jay showed me the notification with that stupid smile on his face?”

“Please… don’t say it like that. That’s not what happened.”

“You broke me,” he whispered. “But the worst part… is that even though it hurts, I still want you like a fool. I still love you, and that pisses me off more than the betrayal itself.”

You stepped closer, but he didn’t move. Until suddenly, he snapped.

He grabbed the back of your neck, eyes glassy, voice trembling.

He kissed you hard. Wild. Broken. His tongue forced its way into your mouth with desperation, with anger. His body slammed into yours, pushing you back against the wall. You could feel his chest rise and fall heavily, like he was on the edge of breaking down.

And then… tears.

His.

Hot. Silent. They fell onto your skin as he kissed you, as his hands moved over your body with a mix of need and bottled-up rage.

You gently pulled back, lips swollen, heart in your throat.

“Are you crying?”

Sunoo lowered his head, trembling.

“It just hurts. Hurts to love you like this. Like an idiot. Thinking I have you, when in reality… I’m not even enough for a damn photo.”

“Don’t say that.” You cupped his face in your hands. “It was a mistake. A fucking mistake. That photo was yours. Only yours. I made it thinking about you. About how you look when you want me. How you moan my name. How you tremble when you touch me.”

He looked at you, breathing hard.

“Say it again.”

“Only you, Sunoo. No one else.”

His expression shattered. Completely.

“Then prove it. Right now.”

And you did.

You led him to the bed. You knelt before him. You worshipped him. You cherished him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

Your lips moved down, your tongue traced over his skin everything words couldn’t express.

And him—with fingers tangled in your hair and teary eyes—could only whisper your name over and over again like a desperate prayer.

✧ Jungwon ----------

That afternoon, you had been trying on the lingerie Jungwon had given you a few days ago. It was beautiful. You looked good, you felt confident… and you knew he would love to see you like this.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, smiled to yourself, and took a picture. It was provocative. The lighting was perfect, your expression even more so. It was exactly the kind of image Jungwon loved—intimate, yours, made just for him.

You added a little message to go with it:

“Look how what you bought me fits… do you like it?”

And without thinking too much about it, you sent it.

A bit later, you went into the bathroom, undressed, and stepped into the shower, enjoying the hot water running down your body. You closed your eyes, letting yourself relax, until you heard the bathroom door swing open.

You jumped.

“Why did you send that photo to Sunoo?” came Jungwon’s deep voice.

You turned around in shock, heart pounding. He was standing there, completely serious, phone in hand, jaw clenched.

“What? What are you talking about?” you asked, disoriented.

“The photo. Your message. You sent it to Sunoo’s chat.” His gaze was intense—hard, hurt.

Your face turned red instantly.

“No! No… Jungwon, it wasn’t for him. I swear. It was meant for you. I sent it to the wrong chat…”

There was a moment of silence. Then, he set the phone down on the counter, his eyes never leaving you.

“A mistake, huh?” he said as he slowly took off his shirt.

Your breathing quickened.

“Jungwon…”

He unbuttoned his pants, slid them down calmly, and removed the rest of his clothes. All of it with a tense, controlled energy that made the air between you vibrate.

He opened the shower door and stepped inside without another word.

The water ran over him, soaking his hair, sliding down his shoulders. He moved toward you, gaze locked, not a single doubt in his eyes.

“Are you sure it was meant for me?” he whispered, so close you could feel his breath on your skin.

“Yes. Only for you,” you murmured, trembling.

He took your face in both hands and kissed you. Hard, intense, desperate. Like he needed to confirm you still belonged to him. His lips moved with urgency, his body pressing you gently against the shower wall.

“Don’t ever make that mistake again,” he whispered between kisses, as his hands slid slowly down your waist, your back, your soaked skin. “Because if anyone else sees you like this…”

His mouth moved down to your neck, stealing your breath, as steam filled the room and his body pressed to yours with a mix of need, jealousy, and desire.

“Only I get to see you like this. Only me.”

✧ Ni-ki ----------

You were in Ni-ki’s room, at the group’s house. He was somewhere else in the building, helping one of the guys with something, and you decided to wait for him… but not just any way.

You put on the lingerie you knew drove him crazy—the black lace one he had picked out with you. You looked at yourself in the mirror, struck a provocative pose, and snapped the perfect photo. You added a clear message:

“I’m waiting for you in your bed… I want you to make me yours tonight.”

You smiled as you sent it. You knew he’d get the message instantly and come find you with that intense look that made you melt.

But your blood ran cold when you saw the reply notification.

It was Jungwon.

“Wow… you look really pretty. But I think you sent this to the wrong person 😅”

Your heart dropped to the floor. You had sent it to the wrong chat. Jungwon had seen it. All of it.

You covered your face with your hands, not knowing whether to laugh in embarrassment or scream in frustration. You tried to explain, sent a quick message—but there was no way to undo what had already been seen.

Minutes later, Ni-ki opened the door.

Slowly. Seriously.

He looked at you with dark eyes, without saying a word. Closed the door behind him firmly as you sat up nervously on the bed.

“Ni-ki…?”

“You sent that to Jungwon?” he asked, voice tense, calm but tight. “He saw you like that?”

“No! It was for you, really. I messed up… I nearly died when I saw it. It was a mistake.”

But he said nothing.

He pulled off his jacket in one swift move. Then his shirt. His breathing was heavy. He looked at you like he was holding back something wild, something ready to break loose.

He came toward you, gripped your face firmly.

“A mistake, huh?” he whispered, bringing his lips close to yours. “Then I’m going to make sure you only moan my name… and Jungwon better hear it.”

He kissed you hard. His body pushed you back onto the bed, eyes locked on yours. His hands moved over your skin with restrained rage, with desire, with total possession. His lips traveled down your neck, leaving marks that burned.

“Spread your legs. I’m going to make sure you never even think about looking at anyone else again.”

And he did. Hard, with passion, with jealousy. Every movement carried one purpose—to leave you breathless and make sure no one else could touch you, not even in your thoughts.

And when you cried out his name, gasping, he smiled against your skin and whispered proudly:

“That’s what I like to hear… let everyone hear it.”

✦A/n: Hii, I really hope you liked it. ILYSM. MWAH!

✦Taglist: @lezleeferguson-120 @nuki-riki @ijustwannareadstuff20 @vvenusoncasual @miellette @enhacolor @xxkatsusjinsux @somieverse @ourshin @han-to-my-minho @douqhnxtss @nuggets4lifers @mitmit01

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writingwithcolor · 1 month ago

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Is a Jewish Necromancer using soul energy taboo?

WWC Follower Asks:

My character is Ashkenazi Jewish and living in modern America (raised in New York, moved to the Pacific North West). He has magical talent, which presents itself in auto writing (speaking with spirits using himself as a conduit), and necromancy/death magic. I understand the Torah forbids it, and the Talmud acknowledges its existence, and read a previous answer you did regarding it. I intended to add this aspect to my character because prior to writing this magical talent, as the plot unfolded while I wrote, the character was already established as Jewish and I did not wish to erase that from him. His personal arc/story itself has a strong point of residual hauntings and healing from the past, which was how the mediumship came to exist. At this point, I am writing it as he is learning his talent, and he intends to do as little harm to the dead as possible (he will not be reanimating people). In addition, necromancy can also work in this world as a form of animancy (using the soul) to do magic. My character is against taking that energy from others (as is it is common for necromancers to take the energy of the deceased by force), and instead will tap into himself, or utilize it if it is willingly donated by another person. It possible to make this work? Are there any severe taboos involved with the idea of using soul/life energy to fuel magic that I have missed in my research? What’s your personal threshold for this idea?

One very culturally Jewish way to handle it would be if he has to bulk up and eat a lot of nourishing Bubbe ("eat eat!!") style meals when he's gonna talk to the spirits or sheydim or whatever bc he's using his own life essence to fuel the connection like "if i want to do this i need to eat 2 helpings of brisket first".

That leans heavily into emphasizing that he is drawing on his own energy, maybe he has to eat enough food for himself and the dead person too, and not sapping the strength of another (an antisemitic trope)

-Shira

I absolutely LOVE the idea of him eating for the dead person, and I think it’s Jewish by vibes even if not drawing on something specific from text (that I know of). I definitely would be wary of any magic where the other souls are diminished by working with him even if he doesn’t do it intentionally, but it sounds like you’re already on that.

I wonder also if he might take upon himself the responsibility to recite Kaddish for the deceased people he works with, to make up for disturbing them--especially if rather than recite the prayer on his own, he attends a synagogue service or gathers a minyan (prayer quorum of 10 adult Jews) to recite the prayer “Correctly,” since, some very sweet Tumblr lore aside, Kaddish is one of those prayers not traditionally recited without a minyan.

-Meir

#Jewish #Jewish man #Ashkenazi Jewish #necromancy #magic #asks

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iridescentoracle · 1 year ago

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#fair!!#i should really try to adjust my height headcanons #i decline to adjust my attractiveness headcanons bc fundamentally i don't think it's the straight-up beauty of his face that gets you #but rather the passion of his spirit and the /effort/ he'll put into looking beautiful #this guy looked at his mothername and was like 'alright i'll lean in' and then led noldorin fashion while the trees shone #he gave that up pretty much utterly after angband #but then he was so very hot in kinslayer badboy/competent military commander way #that like...damn (via tanoraqui)

Height:

Thingol in the Silmarillion: "for fair and noble as he had been, now he appeared as it were a lord of the Maiar, his hair as grey silver, tallest of all the Children of Ilúvatar."

Turgon in Of Tuor and His Coming to Gondolin: "Now Turgon himself would appear, 'tallest of all the Children of the World, save Thingol.'"

Argon in the Shibboleth of Feanor: "Arakáno was the tallest of the brothers and the most impetuous."

Maedhros. Just given the epithet 'The Tall' like many other characters. Not 'The Tallest'. and yet I see people constantly making him taller than Turgon; even if he's not a listed character in a fic, I must endure mentions about how he's taller than everyone else. Truly, a burden for me personally.

Beauty:

Lúthien in the Silmarillion: "And of the love of Thingol and Melian there came into the world the fairest of all the Children of Ilúvatar that was or shall ever be."

Feanor in the Silmarillion: "Feanor was made the mightiest in all parts of body and mind, in valour, in endurance, in beauty..."

Finarfin in the Silmarillion: "Finarfin was the fairest, and the most wise of heart."

Finrod in the Silmarillion: "Finrod Finarfin's son, fairest of all the princes of the Elves.

Galadriel in the Silmarillion: "Galadriel, most beautiful of all the house of Finwe."

Finwe in Morgoth's Ring: "fairest and noblest of the Eldar"

Maedhros. His mom thought he was pretty. HIS MOM. Yet whomst do I see (again, in places where he's really not relevant) being referenced all over the place as the most beautiful elf who ever elfed in all of history? Maedhros.

😑😑😑

#also counterpoint to the height thing: you gotta factor in the conceit of the text!! this is a (translation of a translation of etc) a text #originally written as far as we can tell by survivors of gondolin and doriath #so the people writing the silmarillion had a vested interest in making sure everyone knew their belovèd dead practically-sainted king turgo #was the best and coolest and tallest and every other positive trait known to elvenkind (gondolindrim opinion)#or that everyone knew that THEIR belovèd dead etc king thingol was etc etc (iathrim opinion)#and argon is the tallest *of his brothers* but a) that doesn't say anything about his height relative to maeðros #b) given that *he's one of turgon's brothers* that just casts more doubt on the veracity of turgon's description #vs to what extent his vaunted height is just his people talking up their late king #i'm not saying maeðros is the tallest elf in middle-earth don't get me wrong i'm just not convinced turgon or thingol were either #bc i Am convinced that our anonymous scribes were not unbiased #i'll totally give the ''fairest'' thing though bc personally i maintain that the ranking is lúthien >> galadriel > finrod & finarfin #(sorry galadriel etc but i do think lúthien has an advantage in being half-angel/a demigod/your preferred term that makes the point here #and also edith tolkien)#finwë i think gets the epithet bc of the belovèd dead sainted king thing again but now Even More #bc *he's* the belovèd dead sainted king in whose memory any exilic gondolindrim got into this mess in the first place #i'm not picky about whether finrod or finarfin were prettier but either way the other bit was just written by a particular stan #but fëanor and maeðros both i think it's mostly like the tags describe #not physical beauty alone—but it's the spirit & the charisma that truly captures onlookers #and i can definitely buy that maeðros Worked at it #lotr #the silmarillion #lotr meta #ish

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pixeld0ll · 28 days ago

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Tear you apart

pt. 1 | pt.2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 (coming soon!)

tags: NSFW, MDNI, ryomen sukuna, sukuna x reader, sukuna smut, jujutsu kaisen smut, sukuna fanfiction, jujutsu kaisen x reader, dark content, dark romance, nsfw fanfic, possessive sukuna, masochistic reader, degradation kink, sadism and masochism, size kink, rough sex, aftercare, marking kink, carving kink, curse!sukuna, sukuna's domain, bratty reader, power dynamics, worship kink, dubcon elements, twisted romance, jujutsu kaisen fanfic, jjk x reader, sukuna x you, smut fic, yandere vibes, obsessed sukuna, cursed bond, forbidden love

an: HIIII this is my first fic in like 4 years so please bear with me!! huge huge shoutout to @cinnamorollcrybaby for inspiring me to start writing again, ur the bomb.com <3 i hope u all enjoy!!

words: 4.8k

It’s your third year at Jujutsu High, and the urge to summon Sukuna gnaws at you day and night. Ever since you first heard about the King of Curses, a part of you has been… intrigued by the four-armed, two-faced legend.

You still remember the day Maki told you about him, after teasing you for knowing so little about the world of curses. Your face flushed in embarrassment as you grabbed a strand of your hair, twisting it in your fingers—a nervous habit.

“Alright, newbie,” Maki had said, her face shifting to something more serious. “Ryomen Sukuna is known as ‘The King of Curses.’ According to dumbass Gojo, he looks mostly human—aside from having four arms, two faces, two sets of eyes. Fucking—seven feet tall or something like that.” She paused, picking up her cursed tool to sharpen it.

“He ruled in the Heian era, like, a thousand years ago. He’s the definition of pure evil. Killed thousands—maybe millions. No one fully understands his technique. He could rival Gojo, honestly.”

Your eyes had gone wide. How had no one ever told you this?

“Eventually, they defeated him—or sealed him or whatever. The story gets fuzzy,” Maki continued, placing her blade down and removing her glasses to clean them with the hem of her shirt.

“His twenty fingers were cut off and scattered. Jujutsu High has a few. Some are used to attract cursed spirits, and of course, some are in the hands of curses themselves.”

You swallowed hard, trying to picture Sukuna in your mind. Would he be grotesque, like the curses you fought on missions? Or would his ‘human’ form make him... a little sexy?

You couldn't lie—seven feet tall made your ears perk.

What the hell? You shook your head. You can’t be thinking like that. A sorcerer shouldn’t wonder if a curse is hot. They’re curses. They must be exorcised.

“…Is it possible for him to come back?” you asked quietly, half-hoping the answer was yes.

“Oh yeah,” Maki said, and your eyes widened further. You weren’t expecting that. She chuckled at your expression. “You’re cute. Your first time fighting a special grade’s gonna be fun. But yeah—two ways Sukuna could come back. First, someone eats his fingers—becomes his vessel. The second? You don’t summon him exactly—you enter his domain. Not sure how that would work, or if it even can. I mean, who the hell would wanna find out?”

You laughed softly with her, opening your mouth to ask more—but were interrupted.

“Maki! Y/N!” Panda called from the top of the staircase. “Come inside! Gojo’s got a mission debrief!”

You and Maki exchanged a glance before standing and heading toward the large cursed corpse that awaited you. But your mind swirled with questions. You made a mental note to check the library after the mission—to learn more about him.

That obsession never left.

It grew. Festered. You tried to ignore it, to suppress the dirty impulses and morbid curiosity—but one day, it became too much. You gave in. Hours turned into weeks, scouring books, blogs, and old scrolls. Your room became a shrine of obsession—papers, texts, ancient diagrams… even a blog written by someone who claimed to have contacted Sukuna before. They said the summoning didn’t fully work, but symbols appeared, questions were answered, and something watched them.

And now… here you are.

Three years later.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor of your dorm, surrounded by red candles and ancient Heian-era symbols scrawled in your own blood. It hurt to collect—but the pain was nothing compared to the hunger to see him. To know him.

It’s well past midnight—close to 2 a.m.—and you've cast a veil to prevent any sorcerers from detecting your energy. You take a shaky breath, reach for the wooden box, and slowly open it. Inside rests a talisman-wrapped finger—one of his.

You bite your lip as you begin unwrapping the paper, whispering the chant you painstakingly pieced together from hundreds of texts:

"I seek the gate carved in sinew and stone, Where curse-born kings reign from bloodied throne. Let flesh wither, let truth distort, I step where the living hold no court."

"With eyes unblinking and heart laid bare, I cross the threshold—if I dare. By tooth, by nail, by cursed design, I enter the Shrine where Sukuna lies."

"Ryomen Sukuna, let the veil be torn. May my soul walk where gods are shorn."

"Open the gate. I offer my name."

"And enter now your cursed domain."

You place the unwrapped finger into a circle of blood and whisper your name into the dark.

Nothing happens.

Minutes pass.

Your eyes flutter open, disappointment filling your chest. Of course it didn’t work.

“I can’t believe I thought this would—”

Suddenly, a wave of nausea slams into you. The room spins. You stumble forward—but instead of grabbing your bedpost, your hand meets something horrifying: a pile of skulls. A river of thick, dark-red liquid flows beneath you.

You scream and jump back, hands clamping over your mouth.

“You dare to enter my domain,” a deep voice growls behind you, “and shriek like a brat—nearly louder than the thousands I’ve sliced in three. Bow before me, insolent fool… or I’ll do the same to you.”

You freeze. Your heart races as you slowly turn, legs trembling.

A figure looms behind a towering column, hidden mostly in shadow.

Four arms. More than seven feet tall. Colossal.

It’s him.

Your breath catches.

You remember something from that blog: Sukuna enjoys disobedience. Your survival instincts scream to kneel, to beg. But a darker part of you whispers: Keep going.

“…And what if I don’t?” you call out.

He steps forward, slow and deliberate, letting the blood-red light reveal his face.

“If you refuse,” he says with a sinister grin, “I’ll break your limbs, tear you apart, and feast on what’s left of your pitiful little body.”

He stands over you now, red eyes gleaming, drinking you in. His voice is cruel—yet somehow intoxicating.

“Don’t even think about running, little human. You’re nothing. A bug. A speck waiting to be crushed.” He leans in, towering above you. “So tell me—will you obey your king?”

You scan his body—your question from three years ago answered in full. Is he sexy? Hell yes.

Towering, muscled, with four arms that could break you in two. His robe clings just enough to reveal the outline of his powerful chest and abs. Four crimson eyes burn into you with heat and hunger.

You suppress every rational thought.

“I never said I wanted to run,” you whisper, locking eyes with him.

His brow raises, amused. “Oh? You have guts, insolent little thing.”

He steps forward again—closer now. So close his heat radiates against your skin. He leans down, lips nearly brushing your ear.

“You’re not afraid of me, eh?”

You gulp, trying not to tremble. “What if… what if I said I am afraid?” You look up. “And what if I said… I like that I’m afraid?”

He freezes for a moment—then smirks. A devilish, dangerous grin.

“Oh really?” he murmurs, voice low and sinful. “You like being afraid of me?”

You bite your lip, breath hitching. His massive body makes your knees weak. You stumble slightly, grabbing his bicep to steady yourself.

He growls at the touch.

“So what if I do?” you breathe, looking up at him through long lashes.

You step onto your toes, rising to meet his face. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Sukuna lets out a low, guttural chuckle—one that vibrates through the stone walls of his domain and sends a tremor down your spine.

“What am I going to do?” he repeats mockingly, his voice silk and poison wrapped into one. “You come crawling into my domain, bleeding for me, begging for my attention... and now you ask me what I’m going to do?”

His four hands move at once—two clasp behind his back again, composed and regal, while the others reach out. One wraps around your chin, lifting your face to meet his eyes, while the second hand trails slowly down your side, ghosting over your waist as if memorizing the shape of you.

“I could tear your soul apart and scatter it across the cursed realm,” he purrs, leaning close enough that you can feel the chill of his breath. “Or—” his eyes flicker, pupils thinning like a predator’s, “—I could reward your... dedication.”

His thumb strokes your lower lip, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. His eyes scan your face like he's searching for the slightest twitch of fear, the tiniest crack in your bravado.

“You’ve been watching me. Studying me. Craving me.” His voice dips lower with each word. “Why?” It isn’t a request. It’s a command.

You swallow hard, feeling your heart thudding against your ribcage like a drum of war. You should lie. You should apologize. But the part of you that brought you here, that carved your own blood into summoning circles, speaks louder.

“I wanted to see if the stories were true,” you whisper, breathless. “If a curse could be beautiful. If danger could be divine.”

His smirk curves into something more dangerous, more unhinged.

“You think I’m beautiful?” he says with mock surprise. “How quaint. Humans and their need to romanticize their own destruction.”

Then, in one swift movement, he steps even closer. You’re practically caged now—his enormous frame casting a shadow over you, the air around him thick and humming with power.

“Let’s see if your devotion is more than words,” he growls. “Prove it.”

Your lips part, the words stuck in your throat. “How—”

“You summoned me,” he interrupts. “Now submit.”

One of his hands lifts, tracing a symbol in the air that glows briefly before disappearing. You feel your knees weaken again—not from fear this time, but from the raw, oppressive aura that crashes over you like a wave. It's overwhelming, like gravity has tripled in an instant. You nearly collapse again, but his hand steadies you by your hip.

He leans in, his voice a whisper against your skin:

“Worship your king.”

He watches you tremble, your breath shallow, your thighs pressed tight. Your silence only fuels the hunger in his eyes.

Then he angles down, lips grazing the shell of your ear, voice low, guttural, and cruelly sweet:

“God, you’re so fucking pathetic.”

You inhale sharply, body going still.

“Transporting yourself into my domain just to be used,” he growls. “You wanted this. Came crawling into the lion’s den just to be ruined, didn’t you?”

One of his hands snakes behind your neck, yanking you closer until your chest presses against his rock-solid torso. His other hand slides slowly, deliberately down your body—past your waist, to your hip, fingers flexing possessively.

“You want me to destroy you from the inside out. You want to be wrecked so badly that no other man will ever satisfy you again.”

His voice dips darker, each word dripping with venomous promise.

“You want to be fucked so hard you forget your name—but not mine. No. The only name you’ll ever remember is mine.”

He yanks your head back slightly to make you meet his eyes. All four of them burn with sadistic glee.

“Ryomen Sukuna. Say it.”

You do. Weakly. Breathless.

He chuckles.

“You want me to defile you—mark you so deeply you bleed my name. I’ll give it to you. I’ll ruin you.”

He leans in until your lips almost touch, his breath hot against your skin.

“I’ll fuck you until your voice breaks, until you’re sobbing, a drooling, trembling mess who can’t even beg properly. I’ll make you scream. I’ll make you bleed. I’ll own you.”

His hand tightens at your throat—not choking, but enough to make your head spin deliciously.

“When I’m done with you,” he snarls, “you’ll be nothing but flesh. A whimpering, broken toy that exists to please me. You’ll crave my touch like a curse.”

His thumb presses against your bottom lip, forcing it down.

“But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod, barely able to breathe. Every part of you burns—fear, desire, the overwhelming thrill of submission.

“Yeah,” he hisses, grinning like the devil himself. “You would. You dirty, desperate little slut.”

He tilts his head, mock sympathy in his voice.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure it’s worth it. You’ll forget everything you were. Everything you wanted. The only word you’ll know...”

He leans in, brushing his lips against yours—barely.

“...is my name.”

Your breath stutters as his thumb slides down your chin, dragging it open until your lips part with a soft gasp. Sukuna hums, a low, vibrating sound in his throat that’s equal parts cruel and amused.

“So easy to break,” he murmurs, eyes devouring your expression. “And you want it. You want to be reduced to a whimpering little pet in my grasp. Filthy.”

His hand leaves your throat—just long enough to trail down your side, the weight of it scorching through your clothes like a brand. Four hands. Four points of contact. You barely register where he’s touching anymore, only that you're utterly surrounded by him. Caged.

“You’re trembling.” His voice is soft now. Dangerous. A hiss laced with anticipation. “Not from fear. Not entirely.”

You try to speak, but no words come. Sukuna notices. He always notices.

“Look at you,” he grins. “On the edge of reason. You’ve thought about this, haven’t you? For years. Dreamed of what I’d do to you. What it would feel like when I finally touched you.”

One hand grabs your jaw again, forcing you to meet his gaze. All four eyes bore into yours—two mocking, two ravenous.

“Thats right, I was aware every time you thought about me. I saw those dirty little fantasies late at night. Now you’re here. And I’m real. And I promise you this—when I’m done, you won’t want to go back.”

Your knees threaten to give out. His body is so close. Heat rolls off of him like steam from a fresh kill. You can smell the iron in the air, the faintest metallic tang of blood soaked into the stones beneath you. His domain is alive, pulsing—watching.

He steps closer still, and his lips hover a breath away from yours.

“You summoned me,” he whispers darkly. “You walked willingly into the lion’s jaws.”

He leans down, mouth brushing the corner of yours, just enough to make your head spin.

“Now beg,” he growls. “Beg to be devoured.”

And just as his mouth descends toward yours in a twisted parody of a kiss, the world around you goes darker—red lightning crackling through the shadows like veins, the temple stone beneath your feet pulsing with cursed energy. The air thickens, pressing against your skin like a second body. The veil between power and pleasure snaps taut.

Everything is trembling on the edge.

The moment before the storm.

The exact place you’d wanted to be.

You kiss him back with equal ferocity, matching his hunger beat for beat. His lower hands make quick work of your oversized t-shirt, claws slicing through the fabric like it’s nothing more than paper. The sudden tear and the rush of cool air against your bare skin draw a gasp from your lips—but he doesn’t waste the opportunity. His tongue slips into your mouth, skilled and unrelenting, claiming every inch as if he owns it. Which, in this moment, he does.

A helpless whimper escapes you, and the sound earns a guttural, possessive growl from deep in his chest. His upper hands find your breasts, easily engulfing them—his fingers rough, greedy, squeezing with a pressure that borders on painful. You arch into his touch even as you flinch, the sensation overwhelming in the most intoxicating way.

He breaks the kiss only to trail his mouth down the column of your throat, licking and biting with the same cruel precision he likely used to kill a thousand men. When he finds a particularly sensitive spot, you moan, voice hitching—and the smirk that spreads across his lips against your skin is unmistakable. He’s found your weakness, and now he plans to exploit it.

Without warning, sharp pain rips through your neck as his fangs sink into your flesh. Your eyes roll back, the coppery tang of your blood mixing with the heat of his breath. You cry out, instinctively reaching for him, fingers tangling in his hair in a desperate attempt to pull him away.

But Sukuna is far from done.

He growls again, grabbing both your wrists in one hand and forcing them behind your back with humiliating ease. The other hand holds you in place by the waist, and he laps at the blood trailing from your wound, his tongue slow and deliberate. Worshipful, in a twisted, terrifying way.

He doesn’t stop. He dives back in, sucking, biting, marking you over and over until your neck blossoms in deep reds and violent purples. A crown of bruises worn only by the damned.

You’re trembling now, not from fear—but from the unbearable rush of it all.

And Sukuna? He’s only just begun.

He reaches one of his lower hands between your thighs, brushing aside your pajama shorts with an effortless motion. With a flick of his wrist, he hooks a finger into the waistband of both your shorts and panties, tearing them apart like wet paper. The sound of fabric ripping echoes in the chamber, followed by the soft whisper of cloth hitting bone as your clothing falls to the ground in tatters.

With his other lower arm, he lifts you like you're weightless, hands gripping your waist with practiced strength—rough, yet with a frightening kind of care. Like a predator who doesn’t want to break the prey until the right moment. As he ascends the pile of skulls, you instinctively avoid looking down, unwilling to think about who they once were. You focus instead on him—on the sensation of his body pressed to yours, on the terrifying comfort of his grip.

His lips never leave your neck. His fangs, already stained with your blood, drag against your skin in a cruel promise. Your neck, once smooth, now blooms with dark marks—bruises, welts, cuts—a living canvas of his possession.

A sudden wave of shame crashes over you as the reality of what you’re doing sinks in. What would your fellow Jujutsu sorcerers think if they saw you like this? Marked by a curse—the curse. You feel the weight of your choices bearing down.

He feels it too.

Without a word, he hurls you onto his throne—a towering, jagged seat of bone and twisted steel, as brutal and imposing as its master. You hit the seat with a thud, breath stolen from your lungs, your body trembling with a mix of fear, guilt, and something darker.

A strong hand seizes your chin, tilting your face upward. You look into four burning eyes, full of scorn and amusement.

“Tch. Look at you,” he mutters. “Trembling like a leaf, after crawling into my domain on your own. I don’t let just anyone in here, you know.” His other hand cracks against your cheek with a sharp slap, the sting blooming instantly across your skin. “Well you're in luck. I've always wanted to defile a jujutsu sorcerer. Its just my luck a fucked up pretty little whore dropped in my lap.”

Tears spring to your eyes, not just from pain, but from the shame curling deep in your stomach.

“You really are pathetic, aren’t you?” he growls, voice low and dangerous. “Three years you spent digging into my legacy. Feeding your obsession. And here you are—just another filthy human slut desperate to be touched by something monstrous.”

He cages you in, all four arms braced on either side of you, his massive form casting you in shadow. You feel like prey. Trapped. Hunted. Your heart races.

“I can smell it, you know—the guilt,” he sneers. “But I can also smell the truth underneath it.”

He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear.

“You want them to know. All those little sorcerers you call friends—you want them to see the marks I leave on you. You want them to know who you belong to now. Don’t you, little whore?”

You freeze. The thought had crossed your mind once. Maybe more than once. But hearing it said aloud—so crudely, so accurately—makes your throat tighten.

“I asked you a question, whore.” His voice sharpens. “When your king speaks, you answer.”

You gulp, nodding.

He growls softly. “Ah, no. Not enough. I want words, not whimpers. So mouthy before, and now you cant even get a coherent sentence out. I havent even fucked you yet, how pathetic.

You look up into his eyes—terrified and trembling, but unable to lie to yourself anymore.

“Yes,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Yes… I want them to know I’m yours.”

He smiles—a twisted, triumphant expression that sends a chill down your spine.

“Good girl,” he says, lips curling back to bare his fangs. “Because from this moment on, you are.”

Suddenly, his grip tightens, and before you can process what’s happening, you feel a rush of pressure between your thighs — not one, not two, but three of his massive fingers drive into you without warning. The sudden stretch steals the breath from your lungs.

“You want it, do you?” His voice is a low growl, vibrating through your chest like thunder. “Then beg, pet. Beg for your king.”

Your words crumble into gasped half-sentences, muffled moans, and desperate little pleas as your body writhes helplessly in his hold, trying to match his rhythm. Every curl of his fingers makes your vision blur, the relentless pace driving you higher, faster.

“Oh, you can do better than that.” His voice darkens, almost mocking. “Beg for your king like the filthy little whore you are. Say it. Show me.”

His thumb finds your clit, pressing in tight circles that send shocks up your spine. Your back arches against him, mouth falling open with a sobbing moan.

“F-Fuck, please,” you choke out, barely coherent. “Please—please, I need it—need you—Sukuna, please—”

The moment his name falls from your lips, everything changes. He lets out a feral noise that’s somewhere between a snarl and a groan, and before you can even mourn the loss of his fingers, he buries his dick deep inside you with a savage thrust.

You cry out, not just from the stretch, but from the overwhelming sensation that follows — the heat, the fullness, the way your body clenches around him like it was made for this. Made for him.

His breath stutters against your skin. “Tight little thing,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You feel that, don’t you? How you fit around me so perfectly. It’s like you were always meant to be mine. God, you can fucking see my dick in your stomach.” he groans out. Its been so long since hed taken anyone like this; and though he’d never admit it to you, you’re the best pussy he’s ever had.

You don’t even have time to answer. Your body moves on instinct, spasming around him as your climax hits you in a sudden, overwhelming wave. He holds you steady, one arm wrapping around your waist like a steel band, the other gripping your thigh as he starts to move — deep, slow, brutal.

“Already?” He chuckles darkly. “You must be a virgin Cumming so quickly… How precious.”

He leans forward, forcing you to meet his eyes — those four blazing orbs searing into your soul. “Look at you. Wrecked, ruined, and I’ve barely even started.”

One of his hands slides up, fingers wrapping around your throat — squeezing slightly to constrict your breathing slightly. “You’re mine now,” he says, tone calm but laced with threat. “Every breath you take. Every sound you make. Every time someone even thinks of touching you, they’ll see me in your eyes.”

You can barely think, barely speak, every nerve set alight as he starts to move again — unrelenting and commanding. All that’s left is the sound of your whimpers, the heat of his breath on your skin, and the terrifying, intoxicating truth:

You don’t want to be anywhere else.

“Mmf- s-sukuna-” you moan out, knees falling open as you completely submit, showing just how much he can use you. “Mm… let you do anything..”

He stops his momentum immediately, making you actually tear up, missing his dick pressing against your cervix, hitting the right spots every time.

“What the fuck did you just say?” his eyes flash, sadistic smirk forming across his face. One of his hands grips your chin harshly, and he spits, spits, in your face. “Say. that. Again.”

You gasp, his saliva trailing down your cheek. You gulp before responding quietly. “I’d let you do anything you want to me.” your voice is slurred with pleasure slightly, and you swear his eyes glow red when the words leave your lips.

He drops your chin and shoves you down, hooking your legs around his waist.

“You innocent, little thing. You have no idea what you’ve done.” he purrs in your ear.

“I’m going to fucking tear you apart.”

Suddenly his mouth is on your breasts, biting and sucking, and he resumes his cruel thrusting pace, making you scream out in surprise. He grabs a nipple into his mouth, biting down on the taut bud just enough to send jolts of pain and pleasure through your body. His hand grips your other breast, rolling your the nipple between his large fingers and pinching.

He looks up at you, mouth still moving on your breasts, and he actually has to close his eyes to keep himself from cumming.

Your head is lolled to the side, eyes dazed and rolled back. You’re flushed and sweaty, hair sticking to your forehead, mouth open as actual drool dribbles out.

His marks completely cover your body, and he absolutely knows there is no way of covering them up. You look like you're in pure ecstasy, and he engranes the image in his mind to use at a later date.

Another orgasm pours over you, and Sukuna lets out an animalistic growl as you squeeze around his dick.

“Fuck- tightest little cunt- god, I can’t wait to fucking fill you up.”

You moan at his words, and he continues fucking into you roughly, finally releasing your neck as finger-shaped bruises begin to form. He holds your hips down, bringing another hand to your clit, flicking at rubbing it harshly.

A third orgasm crashes over you, catching even you off guard. Sukuna barks out a yell, sinking his teeth back into your neck as he makes four deep thrusts, your constricting walls finally breaking him. He growls and falls against you, spurting load after load of hot, sticky cum deep in your cunt. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, feeling him fill you to the brim.

For a moment, the only sound that lingers in the heavy air is the ragged rise and fall of your breathing, tangled with his own. Sukuna releases your wrists, and to your surprise, his movements shift — not harsh, not greedy. He pulls out of you with an almost reverent slowness, your body still trembling from the aftermath.

You whimper instinctively, still aching, still stretched far beyond your limits. His deep, throaty chuckle rumbles through the chamber as he watches you tighten around the emptiness he left behind.

“There, there, little girl,” he murmurs, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek with unexpected tenderness. His clawed fingers trail your jaw, soft for the first time. “You got what you wished for.”

Through your half-lidded eyes, you catch the faintest hint of something new tugging at the corners of his mouth. Not smugness. Not triumph. Something quieter. Older.

A single, large hand cups your cheek, his thumb swiping gently beneath your eye. “Sleep now, pet,” he says, voice low and velvety. “Perhaps I’ll grant you another visit.”

The world goes dark not with fear, but with surrender.

Sunlight filters through the narrow cracks in your curtains, speckling your room in faint gold. You blink against the light, breath catching as memories rush in—vivid, violent, visceral.

You jolt upright and immediately regret it, pain flaring through every muscle. So it was real...

Gingerly, you swing your legs off the bed, feeling your thighs protest every movement. Every step toward your vanity is a struggle—your body marked, exhausted, claimed.

And when you catch your reflection, you freeze.

Your neck and chest are a canvas of bruises, deep purples blooming across pale skin like morbid blossoms. Small bandages pepper your body—tucked neatly over teeth marks, scratches, and raw places only he could’ve reached. You stare, wide-eyed, as a blush rises to your cheeks.

Did the King of Curses… bandage you?

Your hand comes up to touch one of them, and something twists in your chest. Not fear. Not shame.

Possession.

A flicker in the mirror draws your attention. For a brief second—too fast to be certain—you swear you see four crimson eyes watching from the shadows behind you. A whisper of heat coils at the base of your spine.

Then it’s gone.

But you know better now.

This isn’t over.

You had opened a door. And Sukuna… would never lets his plaything close it again.

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #fanfic #jjk suggestive #sukuna smut #jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna #jjk smut #jjk x reader #sukunaxf!reader

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bayofwolves · 2 years ago

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have we ever actually figured out what it is they're doing here? what is the context for this epic scene? why are the infected great beasts not infected anymore? what's with the other animals? where are they going? why is gerathon a normal pitiful snake? why is there a random bald eagle? why are shane and abeke smack dab in the middle of it all? are they on a date? huh? huh?

#still my favourite cover tho #it was definitely a choice to put gerathon by shane's boot #i wanna complain ab uraza not being next to abeke #but when you consider the state of their bond at this point it actually kind of works #text #spirit animals #spirit animals books #spirit animals series #shane #abeke #gerathon #uraza

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conflictofthemind · 1 year ago

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Take Me To Church-Gate

A few weeks back, I received a tip that Noah and Finn came into Atlanta for a couple of days to rehearse a scene alone together that never ended up being filmed. This was around the time of the convention that Finn ended up missing in early June (and we initially theorized was for the playground scenes).

I since received confirmation of not only this, but that the rehearsal in question was for a scene at the UD church set. The filming never went through because Noah got an eye infection / sty, so the shoot was rescheduled for early August. If you've seen me mentioning looking forward to August, this is what that was about.

The Eye Infection:

Let me link this post to begin with, barring the 'James' stuff who has proven to be false. I heard about the eye infection and my alarm bells rang immediately - I have a friend myself who wears contacts occasionally and whenever they get sties, they're always caused by the contacts. When has Noah worn contacts before in the show? When Will is being possessed by the mindflayer in Season 2.

The church is an interesting location, because it most definitely has to do with Henry as well. When the original countdown for TFS was being posted, there were images of a church - a location that may have been changed during development. The characters most likely go there as part of the continuing Henry investigation.

And we know Henry was exorcised at some point, but it failed. The sign going into the church is also a likely clue to this, referencing Mark 9:29 - a verse about a failed exorcism.

Conclusion for this part: Will very likely becomes possessed again while in this church. My source tells me they usually only do big rehearsals like this for scenes involving action, too.

My opinion is that Will was never fully exorcised either. I mean, he still has a clear connection to the mindflayer with all the tingles on his neck and the possible literal psychic connection he has to Vecna as well.

It's Byler, Too:

I suspect that Jamie has some part in the scene as well (given they scheduled it during his latest block on set), but the focus is on Will and Mike - being the only two other main characters on set at the time, and the only two rehearsing.

But going back to the church thing.... I wonder what kind of symbolism is created by bringing two gay characters who both have a lot of internalized shame into a location that is honestly the source of said shame? It's honestly not even symbolism. It might just be referenced in plain text. Looking back at that church sign:

"This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer"

"This kind" really evokes the dehumanising language used by homophobes to refer to gay people. And the driven out by prayer part, well that really evokes conversion 'therapy' practices of praying the gay away. So what if this is where Will and Mike finally admit their love for each other, and kiss. And what if that is actually what's able to drive the 'demon' away - gay love.

Especially during the Satanic Panic arc we are sure to see come full circle with the reckoning of the Hellfire Club in Season 5.

An arc which Mike is surely at the centre of as well, being not only a Hellfire Member in the past, but being family to the new disappeared child in town.

And it's not like Mike's love is what's been shown to us time and time again as the way to break Will out of his mindflayer trance. Oh, wait.

Consider it incredibly fanfic-y, but it's on the table now. An action scene at the church involving Byler where Noah is wearing contacts - Will becoming possessed just like Henry again and being made to fight Mike as not only part of the plan to get all of the Wheelers, but also as something that would break Will's spirit permanently. They're all alone with nobody to help save Mike. But the plan is thwarted through the power of love, and in a place that represents a lot of shame for gay men (especially in the 80s) - they finally come together. And it is love that frees Will from his trance. Whether through a confession or true love's kiss. It would be so dramatic and atmospheric.

Additional evidence:

Jopper's Season 4 reunion and kiss inside the Russian church, of which this would be a parallel.

The whole idea of "we kissed, as though nothing could fall. And the shame was on the other side" from David Bowie's Heroes - the shame being in the actual church from the rightside up, but they're alone together on the other side / in the Upside Down.

It is also very likely that this scene is from Episode 5 or 6. I've asked and nobody seems to know which episode it is from, but following the logic of Episode 4 being when the characters enter in groups into the Upside Down, and here Byler are all alone, it is definitely after some time has passed and groups have split further. They're definitely not having any kind of confession in the first half of the season, so this timing sounds positive.

Multiple rehearsals. Noah contacting his acting coach recently for advice. Them even having to cancel an entire shoot because of a sty indicates close-up shots for sure.

Anyway. I'd really love to see people's thoughts on this. I feel like there's even more I could get into in follow-up posts, especially if other people chime in with their thoughts. I have been buzzing about this scene for weeks now. I want to start another gate for old time's sake, so please use #churchgate if you want to make your own posts about this!

#churchgate #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #im hoping i dont get in trouble for this one but i didnt hear abt this from my usual source and was never told to not share #plus other people are talking now soo....#st5 leaks #st5 speculation #st5 theory

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anythingneverythingnstuffs · 4 months ago

Text

neighbor!reader x simon 'ghost' riley pt 10

masterlist

The summer solstice. The longest day of the year, the day with the most light. That particular day in June never really meant that much to you- until now. It was officially five months since Simon had left.

Not that you were keeping track.

Simon had never given you an address or anything to send letters or packages to while he was gone. To be fair, you never asked him about such things. Maybe you should have. It was a little late for that now, though. You had to just trust that he was okay.

You tried not to be disheartened from the lack of contact with your strange neighbor while he was off saving the world. Well, that’s what you told yourself in your head that he was doing. You knew he was military of sorts, really good at what he does, but he kept things like that private, even from you.

You were just his neighbor, after all. Right?

The day began like any other. You went about your usual morning routine, feeding your cat, then yourself, getting ready for work, etcetera.

Work went as well as it did any other day. Customers weren’t too awful, thank goodness. You were feeling particularly down on that day, even though it was the day with the most sunlight out of the year.

You decided on your way home from work that you’d spend the night baking cookies, maybe even in Simon’s apartment. That might lift your spirits. Maybe you’d even pretend that Simon was there with you to keep you company, like you wished he could.

God. You missed him. Five months was too damn long. And not even a single text message or phone call. You tried not to let that get to you. He was probably super busy with whatever military stuff he was doing.

You just hoped that he was okay.

Simon’s apartment still smelled like him, even after all those months of him being gone. Part of it was due to you spraying little spritzes of his cologne that you found on the top shelf of his closet every few days, especially in the spots where he typically spent time in his own apartment.

Not that you’d ever admit to snooping for such a thing. No, you definitely didn’t also have to bring your step ladder from your apartment to reach it. Why didn’t he have his own stepladder-?

Oh, yeah. Tall man. Whatever.

“Izzy, I hope you know that these aren’t for you,” you mumbled teasingly to your cat, who had followed you from your apartment to Simon’s, like she often did. You were sure Simon wouldn’t mind the feline in his apartment. He had a soft spot for Isabella, whether he’d admit it to you or not.

How silly that you could see the soft spot he had for your cat, and not the one he had for you, but anyway.

You had just put in the first batch of cookies, like always you decided to start with sugar, then go to chocolate chip, then peanut butter. Small batches this time, since most of them were going straight to your own cookie jar, some were going to be put in the freezer to keep fresh for Simon’s return, and you had promised a few neighbors a box of cookies that week.

It was a small batch for you. Not a small batch for regular people baking.

In Simon’s absence in the last five months, you found yourself more and more making yourself at home in his flat. He had given you that key to use at your leisure, after all, so you wanted to put it to good use. You did just that.

No, you never found his security cameras in all that time. To be fair, you never looked for them. That sort of thing didn’t even cross your mind.

It was just after midnight. You had decided to stay a bit longer in Simon’s flat before heading to bed in your own. With a half-eaten bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of you and Izzy purring on your lap, you reached for the remote to click ‘next episode’ on the series you were watching absently.

As the opening credits on the show began to play, during a part you knew there was supposed to be silence, you heard something. As the opening continued, you couldn’t help but wonder what that sound was that you heard. You knew not to be worried about safety in Simon’s apartment- he was the safest guy you knew, and you had all three locks set on his front door.

His apartment was probably safer than your own, come to think of it. Since you sometimes forgot to lock your front door. You were getting better at it, though! Especially knowing that Simon wasn’t going to be able to just walk right in your unlocked door. Knowing it would be someone else coming through that door uninvited was a real deterrent.

Deciding to yourself that it was probably just your imagination from being up so late, you reached in front of you to grab for the bowl of popcorn.

It wasn’t until you put your hand in the buttery popcorn that Simon made his presence known.

“ ‘m back, love. Miss me?”

The popcorn was forgotten. You couldn’t see him at first, since you had been staring at the TV screen in his dark living room, but as soon as you did, you couldn’t help but freeze.

There he was. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, in the flesh, back after being away on a no-contact mission for five months. But he wasn’t-

He wasn’t wearing his mask.

You had never seen him without it before.

Your heart stopped as you looked at him. He looked both everything and nothing like you expected. In the end, it probably didn’t matter what he looked like.

But you were glad that he was pretty damn handsome underneath all that fabric anyway.

“Simon?” you breathed out. As you stood up from the couch, Izzy meowed in protest to being moved from your lap. “You’re… You’re here.”

It was the first time you ever saw Simon smile without the mask, and it was now forever burned in your mind. “Yeah, I’m back,” he told you softly.

Before you knew it, you were launching yourself into his arms. Your arms found their way around his neck, though you did have to lean up a bit to reach. Once Simon realized what you were doing, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you tightly to him. The stubble on his chin brushed against your scalp, making you shiver slightly at the foreign sensation.

“I missed you, love,” Simon told you softly.

“I missed you, too,” you mumbled against his chest.

“I told you not to miss me too much.”

“Well, you left for five months without contact, so…”

“Touché,” he hummed, closing his eyes as he hugged you closer. If that was even possible.

It honestly felt like you were dreaming. You had dreamt of this very moment for five months now, since the very moment that Simon told you he had to go just the night before he left.

After who knows how long, you finally pulled away just enough to look up at Simon more clearly. You could see exhaustion in and around his eyes, but you could also see relief. Relief to be back home, relief to be safe, relief to-

Relief to be back home with you.

“You look tired, Si,” you murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek. You gently traced over the shadow of a scar on his cheek with the pad of your thumb.

Surprisingly, Simon leaned into your gentle touch and closed his eyes. “You have no idea, love. Tired doesn’t even begin to cover it. Been travelling for over twenty-four hours now.”

“Why don’t you come sit down?” I offered, finally unwrapping my arms from him to tug on his arm, leading him to the couch. He didn’t resist.

Once he got seated, you sat down beside him, close enough that your thighs were touching. Now that he was back, you didn’t want to be apart from him.

“Do you need anything?” you asked him softly, looking up at him. “Something to eat, drink, maybe a shower…?”

“You sayin’ I stink?” Simon hummed before stretching his arm around your shoulders. He pulled you into his side gently, letting out a soft breath. “No, love, I don’t need anything. Just this.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, but you tried not to read too far into it. You rested your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you breathed in his scent. It was unlike anything, and even with over twenty-four hours of travel on him, you couldn’t get enough.

It was Simon that eventually broke the silence.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t contact you,” Simon said to you softly, his voice rough with emotion. “I wanted to. Every damn day. But it wouldn’t have been safe.”

He had wanted to contact you?

“Oh, Simon, you don’t have to apologize,” you assured him, turning your head to look into his eyes.

“I don’t, but I want you to know.”

Where was this coming from?

“I..” You cleared your throat, looking up at him still. “I’m just glad you’re home safe, Si.”

Simon nodded at your words, his eyes searching yours. “Me too, love. Me too.”

That was when his hand gently cupped your chin as he began to lean towards you. His touch was light, almost hesitant, a stark contrast to what you expected from the mighty soldier.

Frustrated with the slow pace of his lips’ descent to yours, you lurched forward and closed the gap, your arms returning to their earlier spot around his neck.

It was soft, tender. There was a bit of surprise at first from Simon’s end, he clearly hadn’t expected you to rush forward, but he had gladly accepted your advance and met it with equal vigor.

It was perfect. Simon’s lips were firm yet gentle, moving against yours in a dance that took your breath away. His hand on your chin came up to cup your cheek, tilting your head slightly as he deepened the kiss.

By the time you broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily. Simon rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed.

“I’ve… Wanted to do that for so long,” he admitted quietly, his warm breath mingling with yours.

A small smile tugged at your lips. So it had been mutual.

“Me too,” you said softly.

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