#<- songs that make me violently think of him

[screampied]

PARTITION! g. satoru

ৎ୭ sum. your sugar daddy, satoru’s worst fear happened. he fears you’re too much of a spoiled rotten brat. screw riding in his expensive private limousine—you wanted to ride something else instead. (him, duh)

wc. 7.3k

warnings. fem! reader, sugar daddy gojo! au, age gap (early twenties + thirties), car sęx, bratty reader, unprotected, getting eaten out the window, tít job, reverse cowgirl, doggy, cunnīlingus, nanami cameo, slight alcohol consumption, size kink, cęrvix kissing, possessive themes (wearing waist beads w his initials), implied multiple rounds, he’s sooo whipped, bręeding.

➤ sd! gojo masterlist

“meet my baby here, sweets. charlotte.”

“satoru, what.”

as satoru had an arm slinked around your waist, brushing a thumb across the jewels that stuck against of of the many designer blouses he’s bought you within the past week, he hums. the two of you were staring straight at a limousine. it was icy blue like his eyes with a plethora of dark-tinted windows. to even top it off, it had ‘G.S limousine service, inc.’ carved into the side of one of the doors in bright, blue cursive.

you huffed, smearing your glossed lips together. “you named your limousine?”

“heh, well she’s yours now,” he hums, guiding you toward the slid open doors. “c’mon, there’s a club i wanna take you to. if we leave now, we can beat the press.” and satoru takes a peek at his gleaming, pricey watch. he helps lifts the back of your long skirt from touching the ground before you step in. immediately, you’re hit with flashing lights inside the luxurious car and its plush red seats.

“where to, sir.” a blond chauffeur adjusts his mirror with a sigh, taking a short glance at you.

satoru throws an arm around you, tugging lightly on his tie that’s tucked neatly in his suit. “ah, kento, meet my girl. and please—drive us to my private lounge,” satoru kisses your cheek as you sit, whispering in an impish, low tone. “buckle up, sweetheart. ‘s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

the seats were oh-so-soft, a violent hot color of maroon as the entire limo was lit up with nothing but dim flashing, flashing lights.

it was bright, the size alone was probably bigger than a simple normal bathroom. satoru saw you taking in the luxurious life like you always did, craning your head from left to right before peering at the empty wine glasses in front of you both.

“it’s so pretty,” you hummed, your head resting against his shoulder.

once you’re laid against him, you’re smacked with his signature loud cologne scent. it was always a scent you’d never forget, nor could you get used to.

it’s strong, making you take the citrusy manly aroma in silence every time.

with a raised brow, you look up at the white-haired man before timidly murmuring, “wait- what do you mean this is mine? like.. the whole thing?”

“yeah, silly girl,” satoru brushes a thumb around the center of your forehead in invisible circles.

you’ve grown to get weak with his tender touch every time. cerulean-iced eyes lock against you lovingly, and that’s when that cunning grin spreads at each side of his crooked lips. “think of it as an uh- surprise gift for the new year.”

with a pout, you open your mouth to complain. “satoru- last week, you just bought me-”

“a convertible, and i’d do it again in a heartbeat,” satoru whispers, planting another kiss near your temple.

your incoming words come to an abrupt pause, and the cute speechless look you gave him always made him hum in amusement.

one of the many things satoru liked- no loved about you, was that you were always so humble.

you were forever grateful, but you couldn’t help but be hesitant sometimes at how much he’d constantly spend for you. satoru continued to shower you with compliment though—constantly reassuring you that he wanted to splurge his money on you.

you were living the dream - literally.

embodying the life of a rich girl, a type of rich girl where you’d usually see in cheesy movies or sung in iconic songs by artists like gwen stefani.

even though it’s been a full-blown year, you’ve started to grow accustomed to the sweet luxury of being a sugar baby.

satoru gojo’s sugar baby.

but he wasn’t starting to see you as just his pretty ‘lil sugar baby though, that much was apparent.

satoru didn’t expect you to not only take his money but his heart too.

and he never minded.

he couldn’t put a price on that anyway.

“besides,” he grabs a clear, empty glass and an unopened bottle from underneath the fuzzy, red seat. with a flick, satoru removes the cork that is plugged near the top with just his thumb and middle finger. as he pours a small portion of wine inside, the velvet-colored liquid stains against all sides of the glass.

“what’s mine is yours, baby,” he takes a sip before sighing at the cassis flavor hits against his tastebuds, “ ‘s what my sweet thing deserves.”

as you’re still pouting, the limo continues to drive.

the windows were tinted, but it was clear as day when you looked through them to take a quick peel. as usual, the roads were quite busy with rush hour but it was a smooth ride nonetheless.

however though, you had to admit, you were getting a bit… bored.

satoru sat man spread, both of his wide legs taking so much unnecessary space before he contemptibly sighed again. with one of his arms still wrapped around you, you took a moment to take in his suave, handsome appearance.

he always was draped in nothing but tuxedos—

after all, without the whole sugar daddy side thing, you sometimes forget how satoru was a literal well-known businessman.

he never really went into the specifics of his work, but you knew he was the CEO of some private company.

satoru was a very powerful man, a man with a big net worth … but an even bigger heart.

the shoes that satoru wore were dress shoes of his own brand, of course. in the luminous, glittery lights of the inside of the limousine—the shoes were visibly spit-shined from top to bottom. his suit’s dark black, and the handkerchief that stuck out of his front chest had the imprints of your lipstick on it.

of course he kept that.

his hair..

it’s messily ruffled but somewhat presentable, slicked back as usual with a faint side part. over time, you started to notice how he was growing facial hair too.

it’s subtle, and you’d have to squint but you saw it. you saw how specks of white hair were trying to form down near his chin.

it was attractive nonetheless, and the thought of satoru growing a stubble had you squeezing your thighs together in shame.

after all, he was in his early-thirties so he was bound to grow some facial hair at some point. he’s always been a well-shaved man, but the image forever plagued your mind.

“yeees, sweets.” he snaps you out of your little fantasm, the near-empty wine glass still in his hand. he sits the expensive bottle of ‘screaming eagle’ near the limo’s bar that was covered with dozens of tiny, pretty rhinestones.

“h.. huh?” you stammer, blinking thrice.

shit.

the way you stared at him was like a deer in headlights. caught red-handed!

that same wry grin that stretched so slyly pried at both cracks of his lips before satoru tilted his head. “you’re starin’ y’know,” and you felt his hand placed on your thigh. “is my baby bored?”

“a little,” you admitted, hearing the loud screeching of tire wheels and screaming horns of other cars in the background.

only satoru could make you feel like you were the only girl in the world..

slowly, satoru dragged his pink tongue over his upper lip which was a bit damp from the scarlet-colored wine.

you sucked in a raucous breath - your thoughts turning more ‘n more filthy by the second.

his lips.. they were so perfect, naturally glossed, and forevermore had a plump downward curve. you could stare at them all day, and your eyes widened once a drip of wine started to trickle down the right side of his lip.

“ooh- excuse me. guess ‘m a bit messy today,” he throatily chuckles, feeling the coldness of the red droplet race down his skin. “would you be a doll ‘n lick that up for me, sweetheart?”

“okay-” you comply right away, positioning yourself on his lap.

satoru titters, cocking his head lazily toward the left as you get comfortable. cute, he thinks.

he could already tell how eager you were. also, he didn’t tell you the duration of the ride but it was probably about a good hour.

like hell could you even wait that long.

it felt like time was so cruel - standing still as you inched closer and closer toward his face. satoru laid man spread the entire time, eyeing you closely with his gaze never leaving yours.

he paws a big hand near your waist, hearing your pretty airy breaths pick up.

“stop looking at me like that-”

“aw, is it a crime to stare at my gi-”

satoru’s fatally silenced with a kiss.

it’s a rough one, and you couldn’t wait to run your tongue across the remnants of cherry-flavored wine that now started to drip down his chin.

it tasted sweet - a spicy cherry flavor, and you moaned once his knee aligned itself between your thighs.

his thigh was so bulky too, even underneath the lanky, slender slacks he wore. satoru was a particularly ripped guy in general — you knew his workout routine like the back of your hand, and sometimes he’d even let you do sets with him.

(sets that mainly consisted of you sitting on his back while he did push-ups orrrr sitting on his abs while he used barbells in his private gym)

“mhm~” you moan against his lips, hearing the competitive sounds of teeth rudely smacking against each other in vigorous sync.

each tongue’s on a dangerous mission, desperately trying to dominate the other and you couldn’t help but melt.

your twisting, hot tongue started to wander, creating a slippery snail trail near the crack of his mouth before nibbling on his bottom lip. “sa- satoruu.” you’d breathe, one hand giving his tie a needy, impatient pull.

“heyyy, you know i don’t speak whine,” he whispers, breaking away from your lips for a second.

your lips were already swollen, slickly shining with saliva that could’ve been an easily replaceable substitute for lip gloss. “use those words, sweetheart,” and it was like the more he spoke, the deeper his voice seductively pitched.

the knee that still rested between your sprawled open legs didn’t make things easier either. “tell me what you want ‘n maybe i’ll give it to ya, hm?”

with a huff, you mumble a soft, “you-”

“well yeah, me silly! elaborate for me though.”

“i want- i want you.. i want all of you satoru. right now,” you go into more detail, leaning in to paint a slope of wet kisses down his neck. satoru’s collar was a bit unkempt—some exposed skin showed above his collar which you then brought upon yourself to attack with kisses. “pretty please.”

“hah- but.. you already have me,” he inhales, groaning once he feels you starting to grind against his lap.

satoru’s touch was pure static..

his fingers couldn’t help but mindlessly roam, tickling against your bare skin that protruded through the minuscule squares of your ripped fishnets.

the stare you two shared was just so intimate, and he could almost already smell your lusty, loud arousal..

“mhm- y’know, what i want too?” satoru huskily whispers against your ear, grunting as your hips slooooowly rubbed against his visible boner.

hugely, it stuck out through his jet-black slacks. leave it to you to always make him hard.

“tell me.” you reply with a chastened frown, sliding a hand up his loose button-up. your hand enters underneath his shirt and his skin is so warm that it feels like his entire body is on fire.

right away, your curious palm gets a taste of his hardened abs that were nearly akin to the texture of a damn brick.

rigid, flexing muscles of satoru’s relax at your touch before he grabs a nice chunk of your ass.

“oh, nothing! ‘m just a.. ‘lil thirsty, sweets..”

♡ ♡ ♡

“ohmygod-” you’d squeal, cupping a clammy palm over your mouth.

when satoru said he was thirsty, you surely didn’t expect him to have you hanging out the window with your ass perfectly perked out.

with a single hand, he pulled up your skirt, raising it to the brink of your waistline while dragging your pretty lace panties to the side with a single thumb.

you were partially hanging out the window - safely though, he’d never let you fall.

satoru had an arm wrapped around your waist, one hand sliding down your thigh. vehemently, his tongue swirled circles around your clit before giving it one looooong suck.

his lips puckered, and he could already feel your hips starting to stutter against his mouth.

“mng- ‘toru,” you’d heave, wriggling your ass around his face. the tip of his nose started to rub up and down your slit too, and he’s shamelessly getting a whiff of your candied mess.

he was always so nasty, proudly spitting on your pussy, lapping it up before it dripped onto the thousand-dollar seats.

“mhh- wiggle that ass a little more for me baby, dance with my.. haaah- tongue,” he whispers airily, thumbing a fat finger near your pulsing clit. satoru found it so cute how you’d pulse every time he’d smear slippery circles around your pussy.

you just couldn’t help it!

you’re sucking in each ‘n every breath, sinking the edges of your teeth into your bawled knuckle to suppress your moans.

a strong gust of wind strikes you as the car continues to move, and you’re just meekly smiling at the cars that pass by.

from their points of view… the drivers are just seeing some random girl slightly hanging out a halfway-lowered limousine window.

in reality though,

you were getting eaten out while dozens of cars speedily drove past you.

through your slightly blurred peripherals, you saw satoru’s chauffeur who you remember hearing him address as ‘kento’ earlier, giving you a peer through his side-view mirror. he had his hands firmly on his steering wheel, scoffing to himself with a head shake.

he mumbled something under his breath as he looked away, focusing his browned eyes on the talking GPS that read him the directions to the destination.

from your sweet, repetitive moans, you couldn’t exactly make out what he said but from a quick read of his lips, you’d probably guess it was something like:

“i don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

as you’re still hung out the window, your legs part a bit - causing your eyes to widen.

satoru’s slurping you clean, skipping frisky plump fingers down your thigh before cupping his plump lips around your pussy. his head, it moves back and forth, ferociously shifting side to side like a damn madman.

you probably looked soo stupid. your mouth stayed open the entire time with your jaw forever dropped—dangling like an earring.

“fuh- fuuuck,” your trembling voice pitches higher, and you claw a hand near the back of your ass.

tightly gripping at a piece of your ass, it fits around your hand entirely before you turn to look back at satoru.

already, his chin’s got a pretty coat of your juices pouring down his jaw. his tongue was just hungry, wanting far more than just a few sips of his expensive screaming eagle..

you were far sweeter than any beverage, and satoru continuously took big, big gulps.

he treated his lips like a straw, pursing them to suck before slurping every single drop of you clean until you could barely hold your legs open.

“mhm- look at alllll this pretty fuckin’ ass,” he groans, removing your hand that was gripped on your rear.

with a whack! he hits it, humming at the cute ‘lil jolt of your shimmying body.

your skin jiggles in his face instantly, and you feel his curving tongue precisely slow its frantic pace down by the second.

there….

the tip of his pointed tongue stretched itself so far out that it clicked itself against your precious g-spot. “mng- spread y’rself wider, baby. ‘m not done with my.. hah- drink.”

“suh- sssatoru,” you’d drag out your whiny, pathetic words.

your brows formed into a furrow as your hands grabbed onto the edges of the rolled-down window. sweaty, perspiring fingertips imprinted the fogged glass as he licked every wet orifice thoroughly.

thankfully, some music was blasting in the background—seemingly drowning out your constant, pleading whines and whimpers..

satoru’s designer tie even gets a bit wet - you’re drip drip dripping, tears of glossy slick pouring flawlessly from both sides of your legs. he brings a thumb toward your hole, feeling your cute wriggles before spitting down your pussy.

slowly, the webby string trails a straight, sloppy line down and he licks it up — removing his thumb and starting at your hole before lapping his tongue down the bottom part of your pussy.

he’s wholeheartedly feral - animalistic, working his tongue until your brain turns into mush.

eventually, you ended up crawling back into the spacious limousine and landed on your back.

with your legs still spread, satoru lifts your thighs, continuing his feast. “mmph- get back here, sweets. ‘m not haaah- done,” he’d jibe each time he’d squint to see your cute weak pulse up close.

you’re impatient - desperate for your release so much that you could almost taste it..

it tasted sweet with a bit of tang, and the more you fantasized about your inevitable orgasm— the more more more you were starting to blank out all on his tongue.

“mnh- attaaaaa girl, let ‘toru get a nice good sip.” he’s still slurping you, a few excess juices smearing against his cheek.

satoru’s long, white lashes flutter open and close as he relishes in your treacly taste.

you just couldn’t stay still though.

with the way your hips cutely tossed ‘n turned each time his tongue delved inside of your sopping cunt, he’d think your middle name was ‘squirmer.’

time drags by for a looong time, not as long as satoru’s tongue though.. not by a long shot..

it flicked its way through each spot, munching proudly against your clit before your tummy tucked inward. your brain haywires, and with your mouth wide open — the only sounds that escaped were small, labored breaths.

you’re cumming, and your lashes frantically blinked at so many blinks per second. your muscles that were once tense relaxed as you’re finally succumbing to pleasure.

you squealed out that final, harmonic battle cry before your head plopped into the edge of the limo’s seat.

“fuck- fuck, fuuuck,” you’re whimpering, repeating the same swear like a broken record as you feel him grab ahold of your writhing hips.

his tongue’s length curved its way everywhere, creating a path to remember as it made itself known at all tender areas of your pussy.

“uh huh- that’s it, good girl. ride it out, riiiide it out, i gotcha,” he groans, laying his tongue fully flat. it’s a rose-like pink, soddened tastebuds sizzling in contempt once you’re ‘quenching’ his thirst with your sweetened arousal.

buzzing sounds went in and out of your ears as you just released huff after puff through your lungs. satoru’s lips were glossed with nothing but your slick, even more than they already were.

he gives your poor, convulsing clit its last finally smooches before reluctantly breaking away.

“hah- never a dull moment with her,” he licks his lips from top to bottom, grabbing out his lipstick-stained handkerchief before patting underneath his chin. “you okay, sweetheart?”

“ ‘m okay,” you breathe, still feeling tingles surge through every one of your veins that ran down your wobbly, numb limbs. your legs had it the worse.

you barely felt anything, and satoru helped you back to your feet.

it was a limo, so it wasn’t like you could exactly stand but you sufficed by crouching just below the fuzzy-made hood.

satoru lies slouched back - giving his lap a few playful pats before tilting his head at you. “c’mere, sweet thing,” and his voice was dripping with erotic silk.

his ocean-strong eyes zero down at your body, trailing up up up before eventually stopping just about your waistline.

your skirt was now off — pulled to the floor and so were your panties. you only had your matching blouse on. you got an idea though, and satoru watched you get on your knees. “oh..?”

“ ‘toru,” you speak in shortened puffs, still trying to get over your recent teeth-shattering orgasm. every sensitive axon and nerve located in your body was screaming at you, aching for more stimulation as time passed.

as your hands casually spread his long legs wider across the cushioned seats, you hummed. “remember those waist beads you ordered me a few weeks back?”

“mhm,” he nods, eyes never darting away from your wriggling body for a second.

satoru wondered what your game was.

as he was trying to prevent himself from smiling, he was starting to realize that maybe, just maybe you were starting to get just a liiiiitle bit spoiled.

as his legs were fully sprawled apart, you brought your hands toward the hem of the designer blouse that stuck against your skin. you honestly lost count of just how many clothes satoru’s bought you within the past year.

he watches closely - zeroing down at your figure, nipping on his lip as he stares at you leisurely pulling the piece of clothing off of you.

satoru’s seen your skin countless times, but there was just something about your body that he just couldn’t get enough of.

couldn’t get enough of you..

if he was being honest, he could stare at you all day.

“look. it fits perfectly,” you speak in a sweet tone, your thighs stuck together as you were still dripping from the inner crevices. you could feel yourself throbbing, and it took everything in you to not let out a moan.

satoru tsks, kissing his teeth once he’s now exposed to your skin.

the damn beads,

they wrapped around your waist and indeed fit your entire torso. his eyes studied the gold that went around your raised hips, whistling once he saw those two crystallized initials - his initials.

‘G.S’

the small two letters hung on one waist bead that was drooped low near your naval and an extra twin pair near the charms behind your back. “fuuuck- know that’s right,” satoru huffs, his breathing starting to get a bit heavy.

“all mine, heh- looks so damn pretty on you,” and as his eyes continued to meander down your skin, satoru’s head rests back against the softly cushioned seat. “hm- how ‘bout you model for me? show off that gorgeous body a little more f’ me.”

“say ‘please’,” you’d get on his lap, wrapping your arms around him. satoru looks up at you with a mere pouting scowl, a hand instinctively attaching itself to your hip.

“pleaaase, oh-pleaseeee sweets. don’t tease me too bad, you’re bein’ a bit of a spoiled girl right now,” he whispers, bringing wet, cold lips toward the corner of your neck. you moaned, feeling satoru’s free hand strum a few fingers down your waist beads.

they clank clank clanked, creating pretty jingle sounds at each faint movement before you started to move your hips.

“goddamn-” he holds in a breath, practically wordless as his eyes continued to rove.

briskly, you slowly turned yourself around, teasingly popping your hips to the dropping beats of the song that played through the limo’s speakers.

satoru’s suddenly short of breath, circling a thumb around the left cheek of your ass. he’s so hard, and you could feel it the more you rubbed your ass right up against thaaat particular spot.

he sucks his teeth once more, grunting as he feels the cloth knead against your skin so good..

“woman, you’re bein’ such a bratty tease right now..” and he could taste that round, large lump forming near the very back of his throat.

satoru shivers as your hands place on the crown of his knees, and you’re starting to rock rock rock back ‘n forth his throbbing boner. “hmph. the things i let ‘cha get away with, lucky ‘m not.. haah- fuck, bending ya over my lap, baby.”

“you talk a lot for a guy with a boner this hard, ‘toru.” you shrug, continuing the sensual jerking of your hips.

he’s grunting at every swift turn of your body, hearing his heart loudly thump through his ears.

the limo’s speed picks up a few miles and you could hear the grumbling from underneath the vehicle as you stayed quiet for a few seconds.

“mmh- fine, since you said please.”

as you’re still facing the other way, you reach for his buckle with your fingers brushing near the cold straps. you couldn’t see, so he grabbed your hand—guiding you where to unbuckle his slacks.

“f.. fuck, hurry up. you rubbin’ against me isn’t helping matters at all, y’know,” he tries to laugh but it comes out very dry.

satoru just wanted to be inside you, making you remember your place with a few sloppy strokes.

you giggled, hearing his pants and boxers sliiiide down to his ankles with a thud before jostling your rear way back against his leaning cock. it hung so cutely, and its tip was swollen with veins protruding at a few girthy sides.

with satoru still having a hold of your hand, he makes you touch the leaking head. “ooh,” you hum, twirling a thumb around his tender frenulum.

as you do so, he moans out the sluttiest moan, pretty white lashes squeezing shut for about three seconds to savor this moment.

“heh.. little girl,” he gutturally prowls, aligning his dick in between the crack of your fleshy mounds. it’s very hard, and you hummed at the warmth he provided. “go on then.. ride me in reverse, sweets. this the ride you wanted all along, hm?”

“yeaah,” you played along, almost seeing the weary smirk unfurl across his lips as he spoke.

you couldn’t wait any longer either.

you were throbbing persistently, every fiber of your being longing for satoru to ease his way inside of your pretty, sobbing cunt.

he was so big that your hand could barely wrap around the entity of his length. instantly, your palms met with various veins as you raised your hips moderately.

his vermillion-shaded tip carefully hovered over your dripping hole, and satoru’s just heavily breathing at your stilled body.

“mngh-” you released a rough, jagged breath once you were slowly making your way down on his cock.

like usual, you’re presented with that loving tiiiiight stretch that lasts for about a good four seconds.

satoru’s tip alone was big, and it pummeled through your insides as his inches started to leisurely disappear.

it’s such a lewd scene - a scene he wouldn’t mind replaying over ‘n over again in his head..

your pussy sings out sloshes of wet high notes in harmony, trying to take in his weighty shaft.

your mouth opens up on its own, and you’re breathing out colorful swears of ‘ohhh fuuuck’ ‘s as you continue to sink your way down.

from the both of you, countless breathy breaths were drawn from both raspy lungs as the mouthwatering penetration continued.

it felt like a squeeze pinching near your insides, tickling around you from the inside before adding pounds of pressure pressure pressure..

your hands go back to being placed on his knees, whimpering as his slick cock eases its way inside of your pussy. spongy, clamping walls hugged around him like a vice and your teeth were starting to feel that familiar chatter.

“god- always s- so fuckin’ big, ‘toru,” you moan, your bratty ‘lil façade shortly faltering once he’s finally buried balls fuckin’ deep.

the pit of your tummy was constantly heaving, cowardly sucking itself in and out at the sheer weight of his size before you eventually relaxed.

“perfect fit for my perfect… hah- girl.” he grunts, taking a quick peer down at your unbalanced thighs that struggled to move at first.

gradually, your hips started to move and greeted satoru’s lap with a sharp, rude slam. once you started to adapt to a rhythm, your hips rolled and rolled.

“agh- that’s i.. iiiiit,” he choked on his saliva, playing with the waist beads that danced against your torso as you moved.

satoru moans, feeling his fat base smush its way against your ass once you sat down. your hips were reeling, winding back into his pelvis like a wind-up toy.

with parched, hot skin amongst skin - the sounds echoed against the limo, nearly sounding over the music that played in the background.

satoru’s watching as you plop straight back into him before you sprightly wriggle your hips in a seductive circle.

“my, ain’t you a naughty girl..” he tosses his head back in overwhelming rapture, feeling his dick twitch inside you as the sloppy sounds continue.

it was hard not to hear - if it was anything satoru knew about your pussy, he knew that it was always, always vocal with him..

you’re slamming back against his lap every time, squeezing your palms against the crowns of his knees with your body twirling and falling back into his inviting lap.

if you kept riding him like that, he’d really be head over heels.

“ugh- yeah, girl. ride it, ride this dick like it’s yours because it fuckin’ is,” satoru grunts, feeling your cunt tighten for a second at his exact words. “heh- did my messy girl like that? like hearin’ that ‘m yours, sweetheart?”

“mhm,” you’d nod with your lips clamped shut.

he’s just so big, stretching through your insides with such ease. the once slow and steady beats of your heart were now thump thump thumping!

satoru’s bulbous-shaped tip had a hooked upturning curve, and fuck did you feel every sloping curve as you bounced up ‘n down on his cock.

it’s so good that your mouth’s pathetically watering from the inside, and you’re already starting to feel that burning sensation electrify through your aching, stretched muscles.

“mngh- look at this body, s… so damn-” and he pauses, clenching his jaw at the sloppy wet feeling of your barriers bear-hugging around his cock.

you’re just working your hips like it’s a full-time job, throwing them around in a circle so fast that even satoru could barely keep up.

with thighs upon thighs upon thighs, your skin sticks against his like glue. a trail of colorless slick smears down satoru’s leg and he moans at the loud slaps of zealous, clapping skin.

you’re sticky still, and he’s moaning louder once the speed of your hips quickens.

“yeah? yeah, better- fuckin’-ride-me,” and even though his voice faintly cracks, satoru still manages a sort of poised, cocky persona.

multiple ‘encouraging’ swats hit against the cheeks of your ass and you’re whining, putting your all into the movements of your jerking body. satoru’s snowy brows contort before he gives your waist beads a soft tug.

“do it, fuck me, baby. ‘n while you’re at it..” and as you’re still moving your hips, you feel a bit of paper rain down your back that’s starting to perspire with sweat.

“fuck-” satoru grunts smokily, staring as hundred dollar bills fall down your bare spine. “forgot ‘ta give you your allowance, might as well give it to you now.”

“hngh- satoruuu,” you whined, his cock hitting its way through every spot. it french-kisses near your clit before passionately making out with your cervix.

it located both spots easily, and the feeling had your toes curling inside of your four-inch heels.

satoru ended up tossing those same bills down your back, staring as it prettily fell down your body before landing on his lap and the limo’s cottony carpet.

“ ‘m gonna cum i think,” you moaned, slowing your turning hips in hypnotic, carnal arcs. satoru’s hands were brought to your waist with two thumbs pressed at each side of your hips. “ ‘m cummin’ satoru.”

“me too, s.. sweets,” he swallows, hissing silently at the unsteady bucking of your bouncing ass.

your rear jiggled at each slamming thrust, ricocheting against his thighs and it was just so mesmerizing to watch.

satoru’s feeling the scorching tip of his cock grow hot, and he’s starting to feel all types of contractions arise within his muscles. “god- tell me where to tell me where.”

“inside,” you moaned, bringing your hands toward your chest to cup to bouncing tits. you squeezed them, smearing a thumb around your hardened nipples before making yourself even more aroused.

it’s just so much to process.

your rutting hips, the loud squelches of your pussy, satoru’s dick driving through you repeatedly.. oh, you were in a daze.

“f- fuuuuck. be a… hah- good girl ‘n take it all then.” he groans, elated euphoria swelling within him.

you stuck against his lap so good, slickly sliding your ass back before going forward, then back into his pelvis again.

your movements alone left such a good taste in his mouth, and once he feels himself about to burst - he fuckin’ bursts.

a massive load spurts out of satoru, shooting deeply into your fluttering womb as your hips come to a freezing still.

you’re cumming too - whimpering as you’re gushing down on his cock while being absolutely filled.

wads ‘n wads of milky, gooey cum floods inside of you, plugging you to the fullest. you’re both moaning lowly, rocking against each other in rushed unison before you arch forward.

your ass was fully bent over, and satoru stared openly as he was still shooting such deep, frothy amounts inside of you.

you looked so pretty like this that he couldn’t help but mentally take a picture, widely peering at the foamy droplets of cum that started to trickle their way down his overwhelmed base—creating a sparkling white ring.

it’s still as thick - still as veiny, and satoru makes you raise your hips ever-so-slightly.

doing so, he stares at your soddened pussy that’s lewdly spitting out a few heaps of cum before hearing that cute wet ‘plop!’

“fuckin’ dirty girl..” he huffs, one hand softly caressing your waist beads. he takes a glance at the ‘G.S.’ initials that were engraved near the back side of the many other charms, and he sighs.

right as you’re pulled up to where his creamy tip was juuuust about to slide away from your soused opening, satoru gives your stuffed pussy a soft pat.

“don’t know who’s dirtier…. herrrr,” he mumbles, swabbing a thumb around your cum-covered hole before bringing it up to his mouth.

with a wet smacking ‘ccht’ of satoru’s lips coming together—he licks his thumb clean, cooing silently at the taste of himself like the filthy, filthy man he was. “or you.”

♡ ♡ ♡

after many, many positions, you found yourself losing multiple rounds with your shallow breath as if even breathing was a mere contest. he’s had you in position after position, folding you like a freshly baked pretzel. it’s almost like the two of you weren’t literally in a limousine.

you hoped his chauffeur nanami didn’t hear. that would’ve been well, embarrassing.

the drive felt like forever.. but, you honestly didn’t want it.. this to end.

you’re a mess, stuffed to the uttermost fullest with ribbons of satoru’s freshly hot cum messily tearing down every slick crevice of your thighs.

currently, satoru had you in one of his favorite positions.

doggy.

part of the reason why he loved it so much was mainly because of the perfect, jiggling view.

your ass - he loved seeing how it would react from each rude smack, swatting his palm over and over again at your cute, tender skin. the pads of your hands pressed firmly into the limo’s seats as he’s just giving you the pound of a damn lifetime.

“mngh!” you’d whine out, drooling from the sides of your jittery, spit-slick lips that refused to stay shut.

he’s effortlessly reaching all the right areas, swiftly pumping his way past that cute taut ring of your entrance that he’s grown to love.

that brief tight stretch nearly makes him lose his mind, and satoru then brings his hands toward your waist. “right there, right fuckin’ th— mmph!”

“shhh, you’re gonna.. hah- miss the best part, sweets,” the white-haired man cups a hand over your mouth.

slow strokes - deeper thrusts..

your eyes rolled ‘n rolled back, gasping against his palm once he sneaks a hand in between your wet thighs. with your waist beads tickling against his wrist, satoru gives your pussy a soft smack.

your wetness ‘splashes’ against the center of his hand, and it even pops out a cute sound too.

“uuugh- ‘m gonna… cum agaiiin,” you’d raise your ass in the air just a bit more, your voice turning more whiny within seconds.

your words were still a bit muffled with his hand covering your mouth, but he still made out your whiny, inaudible words—just barely. .

the sounds of fierce, sharp hips brutally clashing against skin every time made him groan. it’s a booming resounding ‘pop!’ or ‘pap!’ noise every time that makes your entire body ring instead of just your ears.

his cock’s searching through your wet, gripping walls as if it had some sort of life purpose.

“hah- me t.. too, sweetheart,” and fuck, satoru’s drowning in his sweat. “phew-” satoru brings the back of his wrist to wipe some from his forehead. glancing down, he stares at your jouncing ass before giving you one, snappingly deep thrust.

“pussy’s a fuckin’ workout- oh shiiiiit.” and satoru’s feeling you clamp clamp clamp down on him, giving his dick the work of its life.

you could feel the individual staticky pulses of your clit signaling messages to you that you’re just so close and you’re nearly salivating inside of your mouth.

soooo good.. for a moment you forgot the two of you were still in the back of a limousine.

he’s fucking you so good that you could barely think straight.

satoru’s still playing with your pussy, giving it spanks in between his robust thrusts.

his rotund tip beat red, an oxblood blush of red as he continued to ram a heart-shaped sloppy kiss toward your clit.

at that moment, your legs cutely retreated and your chest collapsed forward. “feels s.. sooo good satoru, ngh- ‘toruuu!”

as your body spasmed at the onslaught of his reckless, sloppy thrusts - your hips were all the way raised against his lap.

you’re losing track of thoughts as you’re harshly creaming down his shaft, murmuring out cute little babbles of ‘ooohs’ once you feel his angle deepen.

satoru brings a hand down your fleshy back, staring at your skin that was wetly decorated with sweat while studying the goosebumps that ran down your spine.

“ ‘m gonna.. hah- cum,” he groans, a few stubby fingers thrumming down the gold waist beads that wrapped around your waist.

he brings his thumb toward the tiny ‘G.S.’ initials before pressing his honed-shaped pelvis wholly into you with just a single, barbaric thrust.

“all mine, my pretty… hah- wife.”

wife?

you heard that — you definitely heard it, but part of you wondered if maybe satoru was just overly pussy drunk as usual.

but the thought alone - the thought of actually being his wife of satoru gojo, your sugar daddy, didn’t seem too bad.

as the image of you walking down the aisle crossed your mind, your throbbing brought you straight back into orgasmic reality.

“wait.. hnng- pull out,” you’d moan, another idea popping into your head. instead of satoru usually finishing inside, you had a better idea.

“haah- ‘kay,” he pants, his snapping hips working overtime as they continually mercilessly plunge deep into your heated core.

his rhythm was far slower, but his thrusts were always in such a hurried frenzy.

he’s close - so so close.

you’re still covered with his cum from before from the legs down, and it paints such a pretty canvas on you.

a lewd, erotic canvas maybe..

quickly, satoru ends up pulling out with a hand wrapped around his cock that painfully throbbed. it scrunched up a bit at the sudden coldness, already missing your clingy warmth before you flip over.

“h.. hm?”

“ ‘toru, put ‘em between here.” you spoke in a hushed tone, sinking your knees into the limo’s velveteen-made seats.

he hungrily stares at you with nothing but lust surrounding the entirety of his rounded, dilated pupils. at your sweet, breathy word of ‘here,’ you brought two hands up to your breasts.

“naughty… temptress,” satoru clicks his tongue. aligning his swollen dick in between the crack of your sweat-dripping chest, it easily sliiiiiides its way through.

he watches intently as you squeeze your tits together, glancing up at him with those pretty, siren eyes of yours that were starting to droop.

“mmh,” and as his tip disappears between the slot of your chest, you hang your head down, flicking your tongue across the tender slit of his shaft.

“f- fuck, ‘m gonna cum. can’t- hold it anymore, sweets,” satoru groans, his words so guttural ‘n low that they sounded almost like a growl.

he knew he wasn’t gonna last much longer, not when you were on your knees—stuffing his dick right between your perked tits.

he’s sloppily starting to thrust his cock in and out between the valley of your breasts and felt himself throb at each cute jounce they created amongst each other.

so …. soft.

satoru’s achy tip was forming into an angry shade of bloodshot red, and the entirety of his shaft was smoldering from the stimulation. after a few long milliseconds though—he finds himself shooting white blanks again.

he’s fucking between your tits as you held them together, spraying a nice sum of his load onto your chest. you gasp, a bit landing on your lip and you lick it.

satoru’s moaning - no, grunting as he’s finishing against your breasts. he drags a shaky hand through his tousled, white hair before letting off a deep, heavy sigh.

“ohhh… fuck,” he grumbles, the tips of his ears burning a fiery pink.

his limp cock now remains idle, still buried between your tits before you slide your tongue across the leaking creamed tip.

it’s so glossy, dribbling from all sides with his pasty mess plastered on the upper part of your chest. “didn’t know i had.. such a dirty sweethe- fuck.”

satoru pauses for theatrics — holding his breath, thinking he was still cumming, but he wasn’t.

his mind was simply playing tricks, and his jaw clenched once you lapped up the remnants of bittersweet tasting cum that splattered on you. you used your thumb to reach the spots your tongue couldn’t, and once you were finished, satoru bent down to pull you into a fervent, deep kiss.

you moaned against his lips as the limousine still created miles upon miles. you lost track of time, but you’d guess it’s probably been well over an hour's drive.

“mng-” satoru grunts into your lips, feeling your arms wrap around him. he still had his button-up shirt on the entire time along with his suit just above his torso. he’s tasting himself on your lips, grunting once he felt your hand tug on his ruffled black tie.

your tongue was sticky, swirling a circular pattern around the inside of his mouth before you sucked on his.

satoru allowed you to make him get underneath you, and he felt your legs crawling on top of him.

as you’re both still deeply making out — fighting each other with sharp slaps of teeth smacking against each other, you gingerly pull away.

“i’m your wife now?”

“h.. hm?”

“earlier,” you lick near the corner of his lip. “you said ‘m your pretty wife.”

satoru gives you a sleazy lopsided grin. he looked so pussy drunk that he almost forgot about that tiny piece of dialogue that spouted from his lips.

“ah, i did call you my wife, didn’t i, sweets?” and as a thumb caresses around your cheek, he hoarsely whispers. “well, do you want to be?”

bringing a wet, torrid kiss toward his bottom crooked lip, you hummed. “i do.”

“wish you would’ve told me sooner though,” he sheepishly says, giving his tie a few meek pulls. “i could’ve proposed the right way but.. this is fine too, i gues-.”

“shhh-” you silence him with yet another barrage of kisses, cupping his face.

satoru grunts, hearing the little jangles of your waist brands yet again as your hips laboriously swayed against him.

your forehead is pressed against his and its hit with a bunch of sweat from satoru.

satoru moans from your ardent, vehement kisses, his lips being left all plump, reddened, and not to mention swollen all because of you.

his dick twitches—a prominent vein striking near the left side as you steadily moved your dripping pussy against it in slow, ravishing rocks. “lie back,” you whispered, playfully pushing him back against the seat.

satoru reclines back with a ‘hmph’ and he raises a silvery brow at your audacity. “lie back ‘n let your fiancé ride you again.”

“heh.. yes, mrs. gojo.”

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 32: One Final Breath Of Lungs To You

Content warning: Sukuna gets an extra warning for being a menace, blood, wounds, dismemberment, angst (!)

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Devil’s At Your Door - SWARM, TINYKVT Oh My Goth - Razed In Black Before I’m Dead - Kidney Thieves

* * * * *

Chapter 31

* * * * *

You run. 

It’s all you can do.

Feet pounding against fallen leaves, you tear through damp moss and hurl yourself blindly through the forest. Weaving around trees, veering around rocks, you fight for any semblance of direction, desperate for options—anything to survive this. Because if the King of Curses doesn’t kill you, your own heart will. The muscle slams so violently against your ribcage that the force alone might stop you dead.  

And, fuck, he’s coming.

The monster has given chase.

You can feel him—without needing to glance over your shoulder, without seeing the space you’ve carved between you. His presence arrives heavy at your back. First, it’s his energy that slides across your skin. Then comes the sound of his feet, crashing closer on each step.

Run.

Don’t stop.

It’s all you can do.

You can’t even think—there’s no time, no space to unravel everything you've learned tonight. Seven years ago. Your first encounter. And the way he’s waited for this moment, for you, for this. To see what you’re capable of. To push you. To face you.

And you want to turn around. To stop running. To fight him. Hurt him. You should. He deserves it. But you don’t. 

Branches lash at your face, tearing into skin as you plunge deeper into the dark. You lift your arms to shield your eyes, because this fucking forest seems determined to slow you down. Still, you go.

Run.

And run.

Run until your legs burn and ache, until your feet are covered in dirt, until the fire in your lungs is unbearable.

By the time you spot a massive tree ahead, your breaths arrive in panting gasps inside your throat. You dive behind it, pressing your back to the trunk, struggling to steady your heaving chest. The night is silent, but for the wind and the screaming pulse inside your ears.

Breathe.

You inhale, trembling. Hands tight and only tightening further around the tantō. You look down at it sitting in your palm. Graze your thumb over the engraved markings. His markings.

You hate that it’s his.

Hate him.

Hate him.

“I hate you,” you whisper under your breath.

Another swipe across the hilt. Your hands are a mess. Mottled and discoloured. You can feel your energy ebbing and flowing in your panic and anger. Out of control and only getting worse.

Your head lifts, eyes trailing up the gaunt branches above until they reach into the cold, black sky, where only a few stars sit.

Is this what you wanted?

This is what he wanted.

A slow crunch sounds over the leaves.

You freeze. Whip your head to the noise. You know that terrible sound.

Footsteps.

Closer. And closer.

“Hiding are we?” A deep, disembodied voice rattles through the darkness.

Branches snap to your left. Your eyes jump in that direction, head angling around the tree before pulling back.

The footsteps stop. The forest falls silent.

Quiet.

Back crushing into the bark, you ease along it, away from where you think he’s coming from.

“You’re so much like your father…” You hear him shift again, heavy feet dragging across the ground. “Hiding, instead of facing me.”

The grip on your weapon turns choking.

I’m not like my father.

The creature stops again. 

I’m not like him.

A cruel laugh rumbles from somewhere, sending shivers racing along your spine.  

“I’m aware of where you are,” Sukuna drawls, his voice calm, almost bored, winding through the brush with an ease that makes you hate him more. “Come out for me, snake.”

A gust of wind rattles through the woods, peeling leaves from their branches and scattering them to the ground. The forest breathes with you, alive and waiting.

Licking your lips, you slowly pull away from the tree. There has to be a way out of this. Because how the hell can you fight him? It’s impossible. Your death at his hands feels inevitable.

You could give up. Let the vow claim you instead.

No.

No.

You already know the answer—it’s just one good touch. That’s all you need.

Then, this will all be over.

Eyes scanning the surrounding murk, you back away, soundless.

Don’t breathe.

You hold your breath.

His footsteps resume.

Your eyes dart, searching the dense forest, every shadow, every shape that could be him in the night. Spotting another tree not too far away, you run to it, laying yourself against the jagged wood.

“You know,” Sukuna continues, as if in thought, “I never understood it. How someone could look at me and think, ‘Yes, that’s what I want.’”

There’s a pause. Your heart pounds into your throat as both your eyes and ears strain.

“Did you think you could change me?” His footsteps pick up again. “That I’d return to you after tearing through lives, reeking of blood and skin, just to slip beneath the covers and hold you close? Kiss you like some adoring husband—” Your brow furrows. “—lay my mouth over yours so you could taste the iron of another’s on my tongue? Is that what you were so desperate for? Because I can assure you.” His voice becomes a hiss through clenched teeth. “The taste of flesh under my teeth is far more satisfying than anything you could have given me.”

It shouldn’t hurt to hear him say these things, but it does. Too much. These cruel words break you enough for a sting of tears to threaten your vision.

Taking another step, you back away toward the next cluster of trees.

“Do you remember the first time I touched you?”

You stop.

A quiet breath punches past your lips. You know what he’s doing—goading you, pushing harder and harder.

Attack him.

“How hard you shook under my hand. Your cunt so eager, so fucking hungry. Like a starving dog, finally tossed a scrap of meat.”

Hurt bleeds into rage, climbing deeper inside your chest until its grip becomes choking. That moment, so vulnerable and personal, was something shared between you, and now it’s tainted, reduced to lies and fabrications. He had led you somewhere new, uncharted, all while trying to get close to you for this. And you had been trying to get close to him as well so you could kill him.

Both of you, in your own ways, had sought the other’s demise. Both a betrayal in some way.

More angry tears rise to stand in your eyes, desperate to fall.

“Fuck you,” you mutter quietly, taking another step—then another, the forest floor whispering underfoot.

Lost in your emotions, you barely notice the ground shifting below you. One more step and your heel catches on something brittle. A sharp jab shoots through the soft arch of your foot, and suddenly, you stumble. Panic as your legs buckle, sending you crashing into the dirt. You land hard on your side, the impact jarring your shoulder.

Shit!

Too loud.

Although he’s already aware of where you are, it’s confirmed when his deep, mocking laugh skitters over you.

“Clumsy thing."

Gritting your teeth, you blink down at where you’ve fallen and notice the ground isn’t just soil and foliage. Pale, jagged and sun-bleached fragments shine dully, sheltered within the earth. Old bones. White and broken, your feet tangled in the remnants of what was once a person's ribcage—one of Sukuna’s offerings, left to rot in his mass grave of devoured humans and animals.

Quickly, you retrieve your feet from the skeletal cavity and ignore the scorch of bile rising up from your belly.

You’d forgotten about this hellhole.

How could you?

And yet, you can’t entirely blame yourself. He’s been lulling you into a sense of comfort, slowly eroding your carefully guarded walls over time.

Pushing to your elbows, your gaze sweeps the ground again, and something else amongst the bones snags your attention.

An offering. A relic from long ago. A katana—either deemed unworthy or simply that it never made its way inside the shrine. It’s old and rusted, its tip broken, and its edge dull. But it’s still useful.

Hand engulfing the hilt, you grab it and rise to your feet. Crouching low, your fingers grip the tantō in your other hand. The katana may feel awkward, but you know it will serve its purpose.

At least, you hope.

Breaths shallow and steady, you circle the nearest tree. The only path forward is to kill him. The only way to get there is to attack.

“That’s all it took, wasn’t it?” Sukuna’s voice edges closer.

“Took what?” you spit, stepping carefully around the roots and bones at your feet. “Tell me. I’m dying to hear more of your arrogant voice.”

Weak and small. That’s what he proclaimed you once to be.

But you aren’t.

You never thought you were.

Broken, perhaps—but never weak and never small.

It’s clear now. Ryomen Sukuna never truly knew who you were then, just as you never truly knew who he was.

And that’s fine.

If he calls you a snake, then so be it.

You’re a snake—hiding in the grass, ready to strike.

“Just a touch,” he says. And you know he’s close now. “A sliver of my attention. And you fell apart like you’d been waiting your whole miserable life for it!”

Your eyes narrow.

Attack him.

You roll your shoulders, steadying your grip.

“So needy.”

You step closer to his voice.

“Your soul starved.”

Around the trunk, a flash of pink hair.

“Desperate for affection. Desperate for tenderness.”

One breath in. One breath out.

The monster ambles into view, his muscled back to you.

Attack him!

“Come out!” Sukuna growls, anger flaring. “Show me what that affection of yours is worth!”

From out of the darkness, your voice is a shriek of outrage as you lunge toward him.

The katana arcs. 

Sukuna turns.

Viciousness splits his teeth across his face.

His upper hands snap up, catching the weapon. The impact vibrates through marrow. Jaw clenching, you lean into it, but his grip tightens, his strength cracking the brittle blade.

But you aren’t done.

With his focus locked elsewhere, your other hand darts in. The tantō glints, and you thrust it forward, aiming for his stomach. 

But Sukuna’s lower hands move faster than you anticipate. One clamps around your wrist mid-thrust, the other intercepting the blade before it makes contact, the grip crushing the smaller blade from your grasp.

The tantō falls. A calculated sacrifice.

Because this was never about the fucking weapons.

When the blade hits the ground, you rotate your wrist inside his hold.

Fingers curving inward just enough, you let them graze along the underside of his forearm. The warmth of his skin against yours is nice, the touch intimate.

For the briefest moment, Sukuna’s entire presence stills.

Eyes cutting forcefully upward, a slow, bitter smile rolls across your lips.

“And now you’ll know what I’m capable of,” you snarl.

Your voice doesn’t sound human as your energy pours into your fingertips. And when the power does come, it comes faster than ever before. The King of Curses must sense it, too, because the moment he does, he drops your arm and abruptly steps back. You grin, watching as confusion twitches its way across his face before giving in to realization. 

His arrogance has cost him.

Climbing furiously along his lower left arm, the dappled stain spreads outward from where you touched. He shakes it as if to remove the decay rotting his flesh, and your eyes shine, knowing it will do nothing.

Freedom.  

At last.

You spit out a laugh, a mad, disjointed cackle.

Threatening red eyes jump to you in response, and without hesitation, the monster lifts his upper right arm, two fingers extending, and he brings it down in one brutal strike.

And severs his own arm.

You blink, watching the limb drop to the ground.

Blood spurts, oozing into the brush as the decay carves out its corrosive path. The flesh blackens, turns rancid, cracking and splitting apart, before the corruption eats the dismembered limb entirely, seeping into the earth.

By the time you drag your reluctant gaze back to Sukuna, all four of his eyes have widened, pupils dilating with something that looks disturbingly like exhilaration. Head tipping back, a shudder courses through him, and all his eyes roll, dark and wild.

Shit.

You step back.

Calm.

You back away.

“I always knew,” he murmurs, voice trembling with a sadistic kind of ecstasy. “That you were a sickness.”

Another step.

He rolls the stump of his shoulder, regrowing the severed arm. His mouth curves up.

“But I never knew how much until now.”

Then he moves.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck!

You hurl the katana at him. He swats it aside like it’s nothing, laughing as it hits the ground.

“You know, the third time you tried to kill me, when I had my nose shoved against your clit, you went for my head.” He circles two fingers near his temple. “I’ll admit, that was clever. The brain is... inconvenient to heal, especially with that—” he gestures toward your hands. “What are we calling it anyway? That nasty little trick of yours?”

You keep stepping back, but he keeps coming.

“A decay of the body,” you state, forcing your voice to sound calm.  

Sukuna nods, expression stamped into one of enchantment.

“And what happens once the rot spreads?”  

Your eyes dart behind you, ensuring you won’t collide with a tree, before snapping back to him.  

“The body can’t sustain itself.” Your words climb an octave. “And it splits open.”

At “splits open,” he looks feral.

“Oh, my darling!” he practically booms, making you recoil. “You are fascinating! And to think, I let you get so close to me with those hands of yours.”

Four eyes drag over you, studying you with a primordial stare equal parts appraisal and disgust.

“Yet here I am, wondering…” His teeth grind into a sneer. “If I should give you another chance to try.”  

Panic spreads as his muscles tense. His naked torso swells, all four hands clenching and unclenching, ready to attack.

“Let’s see if you can.”

You don’t see him move.

In seconds, the distance between you dissolves, and he arrives with his upper right hand hurtling forward.

Feet pivoting, you twist into a half turn to avoid the strike. A rush of air brushes past your face—he just missed. But the next blow is already careening toward your head.

Panicking, you drop into a crouch, narrowly escaping. He corrects his stance, instantly driving his lower left hand toward your stomach.

You roll, dodging. Barely.

Up and then—

Left.

Right.

Sideways.

Backwards.

Over.

Under.

Fuck!

It becomes harder to track him—his speed a blur. And he’s toying with you, the strikes landing everywhere but near your outstretched hands. Your torso. Your chest. Your legs. Your—

The ground is gone.

Stomach lurching, you’re whipped into weightlessness, spinning, then crashing back down to the earth. 

Your body tumbles, rolling over and over and over again until you land hard on your back.

Above, the stars have disappeared. Around you, fallen leaves and twigs puff out. A moment, and only a high-pitched trill rings inside your ears from the heavy impact.

You lay there, gasping, reeling.

Get. Up.

If you don’t, you’ll die.

You blink, then push up to your knees, suck in a tight breath, reorient yourself.

Pressure.

You lift your head.

Sukuna’s energy suddenly surges.

Terror, as you realize—too late—there’s no time to move.

From out in the dark, you see one of his hands swipe the air.

Then pain.

It cleaves into you, hot enough to sear all the way from tendon to bone to the roots of your teeth.

You look down.

Blink down.

Trying to make sense of what he’s done.

Blood. Sticky and warm. It soaks slowly but vividly through the fabric of your yukata, spreading from the clean slash cut into you from shoulder to collarbone.

“Whoops.”

His chuckle reaches you.

“Looks like I missed.”

It’s clear he’s done playing.

Lifting a hand, you clap it over the wound.

It hurts.

Fucking hell, it hurts.  

Fingers trembling, you hold the flayed skin together, desperately trying to stave off the agony.

“You know what happens now.” Sukuna’s voice brings your chin up, and you find him standing at a distance, the width of the dark forest framing him like a throne.

“I’ll take your head next,” he states, his upper right arm extended, the tip of his two fingers pointing toward your neck. “Unless you fight back.”

He starts walking toward you.

“So fight back.”

You blink at him, trying to decide what to do, and all the while, an ache in your fingers throbs painfully equal to the wound he’s inflicted.

Panic? Or something else?

Eyes dropping to your hands, the discolouration now crawls and licks its way up to your wrists.

Your gaze darts back to Sukuna. He’s closer now, but he doesn’t need to get near to kill you—so why hasn’t he done it yet?

“Fight back!” he orders, swinging up his arm.

With no time to think, you dive forward, dropping to your hands and knees, and plunging your fingers into the earth.

You’ve never done this before. But it’s your only idea. One stupid, desperate idea you might not even be capable of.

Fingertips groping, you search. Feel. Look.

Most of the vegetation is lifeless. You need something alive for this to work. It has to be alive. You think, you hope—panic hinging on the faint memory of that night inside the rocky overhang when you destroyed the moss with a touch.

“Come on…” you whisper, teeth clenched as his footsteps draw nearer, louder.

You don’t dare look up. Your eyes stay fixed on your hands, the way they move around through the darkness.

Rock. Dead grass. Broken branches. Fallen leaves. Sap. Soil.

“Come on!”

“Hurry up, winter flower.” His voice ahead coos. “Else, I’ll peel back your skin like pretty red petals.”

“Shut up!”

Sukuna chuckles.

Shrivelled mushrooms. Damp bark. Dirt and dirt and dirt and—

Then you feel it. Cool and soft against your skin.

Moss. Alive.

Quickly, so quickly, you focus, flattening your palms and massaging deeper into the network of its body.

Please fucking work!

The connection gushes. Power slides into your veins, lifting every hair along your body. A floodgate thrown wide open—something unlike anything you’ve felt before.

From where your hands touch, the ground begins to peel away like dead skin. 

Rot spreads.

Everything alive within its path withers, turning sickly brown, then souring into dust. 

It keeps going. Spreading.

Plants and brush disintegrate first, followed by the roots of a nearby tree. With its foundation devoured, it crashes to the ground. Then another falls. And another. And another.

Animals scatter in every direction, screaming and swarming away from you in a hopeless attempt to escape. Birds take flight. Mice, rabbits, insects—anything with legs scrambling through the undergrowth—rush to flee as fast as they can.

And it doesn’t stop.

The chaotic energy inside you keeps wailing. Uncontrolled and untamed.

But you pour everything into it anyway. All your hatred. All your rage. Take it all and feed it toward him. 

Because if he’s taught you anything, it’s that anger is a pathway to power.

Isn’t it?

As if in a trance, your shoulders undulate and dip. Your hands digging into the earth, breaths short, ragged inhales.

This is what you wanted!

Eyes glazed with euphoria, you look up and find the monster. He’s grinning, violently wide, stepping back just enough to stay ahead of the outspread.

“Good girl. That’s it!” He steps lightly, heavy body agile within the chaos. “Show me more. Keep going!”

Confusion paints your expression at his unexpected praise. More than that, the look on his face. He looks pleased, ecstatic, delighted... almost proud. Proud of what you’ve done, of what you’re doing. It’s so disorienting and contradicting that you don’t even notice when the decay slows, its frenzied path tapering out until it stops completely.

The grin on his face vanishes, replaced by a deep frown.

All at once, he’s moving toward you, feet treading through the fractured destruction you’ve just caused.

Moonlight filters through the remaining trees, slicing in pieces and illuminating the powerful lines of his body.

A warning rings out inside your mind.

“I said, show me more of you!”

Before you can move, he reaches where you kneel and bends down. Snatching your wrists, he wrenches your hands from the soil with his lower hands and lifts you up in his grasp.

“Fuck you!” you spit as he deliberately pushes your fingers into clenched fists, his massive hands engulfing yours, ensuring you can’t touch him.

Shoulder screaming in pain, you thrash uselessly against the hold, powerless to free yourself.

Suddenly, his upper left hand clamps around your head. Palm pressing into your face, two fingers part just enough to keep your view unobstructed while the others dig painfully into your jaw.

“When I tell you to show me,” he snarls, his voice deep and cruel, “you show me!”

Before you can respond, something tugs sharply at your yukata, yanking you forward and forcing your back into an arch.

Through the narrow gap between his fingers, you see his maw has opened and is dragging the fabric inward between its massive teeth.  

A feeble cry of rage flies from your mouth, muffling against his palm, legs kicking wildly in the air.

He laughs.

“I wonder what you’ll taste like, crushed inside there,” he hums, then pauses.

The pull grows stronger. Your body edges closer. His laughter grows more manic. You can see him glaring at you through the outlines of his fingers. 

“We can find out. Unless you do something.”

The maw drags you in further, its massive teeth grazing the softness of your hip.

You frantically wiggle your hands, trying to move a finger, any of them.

Nothing.

Panic.

“I hate you!” you shout, your voice ripping through the night, loud enough to echo.

Sukuna’s mouth twitches, throat turning solid. For a moment, you want to look away, but you can’t. Something quiet passes across his features, making your heart stagger. You can’t name it, and you don’t care. It vanishes like everything else.

“You hate me?” he says flatly before his face darkens. “Speaking of hate as though you’ve truly tasted it. What a sacrifice you must have endured.” He leans in while pulling your face closer with his palm. “I’ve fucking despised you for seven long years!”

Another yank. You shriek at him, kick your feet aiming for anything. Dampness soaks your legs. Something wet slides across your thigh. The large tongue presses against your exposed skin through a tear in the fabric.

Your rage mutates, reforms and takes shape.

It's becoming difficult to breathe.

You thrash violently, but Sukuna doesn’t let go.

A strange pricking sensation needles along your hands. With his hand clamped tightly over your face, it’s not something you can see.

But you feel it.

A pulse.

It picks outward and moves, pushing further this time—flowing through your hands and into somewhere else. You aren’t sure, but it stings along your skin.

The King of Curses’ grip suddenly loosens with a growl. His fingers release you, and you drop to the ground on your backside, gasping and coughing for air. 

Looking up, you see the maw with a strip of fabric pinched between its teeth, but the smell of decay has your eyes shooting up. Rot spreads rapidly along Sukuna’s lower arms. The flesh splits, devouring him.

You don’t care how you managed to pull it off, and you don’t wait to see what happens, either. You know what’s coming. He’ll dismember his own limbs to stop it.

Scrambling to your feet, you turn and run.

Get back to the shrine.

Hopefully, now that he’s seen what you’re capable of, the vow is fulfilled.

This will grant you time to get away and maybe enough space to head to the stables, collect Ayana and escape this place.

Sprinting through the trees, weaving around rocks, the blood from your shoulder taps steadily to the ground. Your desperate gait carries you quickly, and slowly, the shrine comes into view, peeking through the crowded trunks of trees.

Bursting out of the forest, you make it into the garden, clambering onto a stone path, before you feel him.

Energy. Pressure. Right at your back.

No!

You try to move for cover, but suddenly, you’re hunching over with your breath torn away.

Another sharp slice carves through your body, this time, across your lower back. The fabric resting there, and the skin, shredded.

Mouth agape, you can’t breathe, the cry of pain lost somewhere inside your throat.

Drip, drip, drip.

Warm blood trickles down your backside, winding in slow currents between your thighs before pooling at your feet.

You stop moving, teeter on your heels, unbalanced by the force of the strike.

There was no hesitation behind that cut. But still, he hasn’t gone for the killing blow. Not yet. Though, like this, you might bleed out before he gets the chance.

Blinking rapidly, you force yourself to move.

You have to.

Because if you’re going to die, it will be inside his shrine, cursing him and this place to hell with one final breath of your lungs.

The slow drag of your legs across Sukuna’s private garden is agonizing, each step a nauseating limp.

When you reach the verandah, you know he’s behind you. You can hear the full weight of his feet.

Pushing yourself up the steps and into his chambers, you bang the door shut behind you. Staggering through the darkened room, you move toward the door leading to the corridor, the passage you’ve walked through so many times, and reach for it.

Where would be the best place to bleed out?

It’s a morbid thought, but the idea of Uraume or Ren having to scrape your broken body off the floor brings a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Because they’re all liars.

All of them.

But none more than the abomination at your back.

Palms outstretched, you reach the door. Your hands, now clear from the discolouration of rot, touch the wood just as the garden door behind you falls open.

You don’t hear Sukuna step inside. 

He’s silent.

But the silence lasts for only seconds.

“Fuga.”

Inside the room, the silver-blue moonlight scattered across the walls is swallowed by a sudden eruption of firey red. Warmth explodes, spreading across your body and sinking deep into the wounds and cold sweat at your back.

Eyes falling shut, you still, dropping your hands limply to your sides.

From your dreams or, rather, memories, you already know what awaits you. Divine flames. Hot and burning with the intent to kill.

How is it that after all of this—after everything you’ve done just to protect your sister—this is how it’s supposed to end?

The sacrifice you’ve made. The bullshit you’ve endured.

When will it stop?

Because you’re tired. 

So damn tired.

Blood pitting against the floor, you slowly turn. The blazing arrow, aimed directly at your chest, illuminates the night from the garden door where it’s been drawn. Its angry glow reflects the fury of the demon wielding it.

Blinking at all that orange and all the red flickering embers before you, you let out a soft, panicked laugh.

Sukuna draws back further, twisting his forearm, the tension in his body visible as he lifts his chin.

From where you stand across the room, you swallow, straighten, and mimic his motion, tilting your head upward to try and meet his gaze. Dying while staring into those familiar red eyes seems a fitting end.

A heartbeat passes.

Then two.

Chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, you continue to stand there and wait.  

And wait.  

And wait. 

And nothing happens.  

He doesn’t release it.

He declared you were to die here tonight.

So, why hasn't he released it?

A muscle pulses in his jaw while his nostrils flare. Upper right elbow cocking rigid, he pulls the arrow back further—every tendon standing out against the red glow, the flames shuddering under the weight of his power.  

Again, you brace yourself, expecting to feel the heat of it lancing through your body, flesh burning from bone. And still—nothing. 

Your mouth tightens with frustration.  

“If you’re going to do it, then do it already!” you snarl, hands locking into fists.

A pause.

You wait.

With renewed fury, his eyes harden.

And back, and back, and back he pulls.

Clarity gathers.

A thousand moments stretch out in a single heartbeat—terrible ones.  

Your father shouting, striking you. The cat you accidentally killed under your hand at nine. Waking to the bloody remains of your mother and unborn sibling after touching her. Meeting the King of Curses on the dirt-packed road. The blade in the dark as Sayuri stabbed into you. Onishi’s eyes, cold and cruel. All the nightmares of your sister being violated because of your failure—and all the ones that followed.

You blink, refocusing on the man before you. Watch him hold your life in his hands and force yourself to think of everything else.

Falling asleep warm and safe next to your mother. Your sister’s smile, her words dragging you from the darkest corners of your life. Uraume’s quiet care when you were at your most vulnerable. Strolling through the shrine’s blooming garden with Ren. Ayana, riding her, the cool breeze on your face when she runs.

And still, always last.

All of Sukuna’s hands on you for the first time—the way it felt, the way you didn’t agonize over someone’s touch, his body close to yours. His hands healing you after Sayuri’s assault, and every time after. The look on his face—the fury, the concern—despite his claim to feel nothing.

The flames before you collapse, hissing and dissipating to nothing. They die out. The room returns to cool darkness, smoke lingering for a moment, then curling out the garden door and into the night. The King of Curses lowers his arms to his sides. 

You blink. Furrow your brow. Confused. Angry. Annoyed. Frustrated.

He can’t.

“I knew it,” you breathe, shifting in the bloody slick forming at your feet. “You can’t…”

You pause. Blink again. Try to tame your heart that beats too loudly.

“All these hesitations, the declaration to kill me…”

Another pause.

“You can’t do it,” you say, tilting your head gently, pitying him. “Can you?”

Sukuna says nothing, but his red eyes narrow to dangerous slits.

You take a small step forward.

“You are a hypocrite.”

Another step.

“Spineless.”

One more.

“Just like everyone you claim to be beneath you.” Your voice is quiet before it rises with the hammering pulse inside your veins. “You are fucking coward, Ryomen Sukuna!” you finish in a wild shout, teeth bared.

If ever there was a mistake you couldn’t take back, it was now.

Gone is the hesitation in his eyes, replaced only by aggression. Feet padding softly, you back away as if that look has seared into you. Seared and burned away that hesitation.

From across the room, his powerful legs and gait carry him toward you. In an instant, he barrels into you, wrenching a cry from your lungs. His lower hands seize your wrists, yanking and bending them so your fingers are tucked into the small of your back, unable to touch. 

“You are an affliction. One that should be dead a thousand times over!” he snarls, towering over you, eyes wide open as if he's finally realized something terrible.

His full weight crashes down against you as his upper right hand wraps around your throat and squeezes.

“Then why aren’t I!?” You suck down a ragged breath, fighting against the pressure.

“Quiet!”

When his hold tightens, the veins in his forearm flex and his eyes—so very dark in the dim room—lock onto yours.

“I’ll just have to crush the life out of you.”

With a violent push, you lurch forward, closing the remaining space. Grip tightening, his face dips toward yours, so near you can see the fine striations in his red irises. So close, the rings in his eyes appear endless, their depths pulling inward. His pupils darken, absorbing the silver-blue light, and in them, you see your own reflection.  

But it’s not just your face you read in that gaze. It’s everything else.  

Hatred. Anger. Hunger. Desire. Want.

The pain of wanting. A longing so consuming that your heartbeat stumbles and falls still.

Against all reason, your chin tilts upward, inviting something you can’t quite name, but you, too, feel that longing. And everything else. Every raw, visceral emotion you’ve felt these last few months burns between you like fire.

Sukuna’s grip tightens further. Your throat aches, his fingers jab in, his brow twitching with rage. It creases, hardens, then softens.

And you hate that, hate this duality between him.

Hate it.

Hate all of it.

The confusion. The hurt. The desperation. The torment. The need.

“Do it already!” Agony catches your shout coming out as a strangled hiss.

It falls quiet save for your struggling breaths for air and his heavy breathing. The King of Curses stares down at you with those void, demonic eyes of his, his weight pressing you harder into the floor.

“If we hate each other so much, then finish it!” Your glare clashes with his widening sneer. “Kill me! I’m tired of this. I’m tired of you! So release me from this cursed fucking union!”

His fingers dig deeper, harder, crueller, thumb moulding firmly against your windpipe. Darkness creeps along the edges of your vision.

Trembling, your lashes shudder. Trembling, you try to breathe.

His gaze narrows, his bare torso heaving, nostrils flaring. All four of his eyes drop to your lips.

Your mouth parts in a final, desperate attempt to inhale.

And then—

Exhale.

But it doesn’t come. It’s gone, cut off, swallowed.

A snarl rips from Sukuna's chest as he surges forward, hauling you closer, crushing you against him. The hand squeezing your throat releases, only to bury violently into your hair, fingers gripping the back of your head and yanking you to him. Your eyes widen, you tense, lips nearly brushing his, but he stops, just barely.

A moment of resistance.

Like all the other times before.

You lock eyes, faces so close, mouths parted you feel his breath mingling with yours. Your hearts pound in unison, chests heaving, panting. A small, involuntary whimper escapes your throat, and Sukuna’s jaw clenches tightly in response.

Then, madness takes over.

His mouth slams down while you push up on your toes to reach for him. The desperation, the fury, the need—it’s all-consuming. The pain in your body, the wounds, the exhaustion. Gone.

They all fade to nothing as your starving mouths finally find each other and seal together.

[anon-e-miss]

Storm's End - 3

The black night was illuminated by the crash of lightning. Barricade sang as he swept his arms about and the angry sea danced with his song. His kind could not call a storm from nothing but they could steer them to and fro and they could sooth and stir them to a point, if they had that power. For his part, Barricade did have that power. A mild winter storm stirred into a cyclone as the mermech sang with his full voice. He knew close to chore, Prowl was doing his part, singing a song of his own to keep the storm of Damaxus contained. It was enough to keep the boats docked. They did not want their own mechanisms, as they thought of these islanders now, caught in the cyclone’s fury.

Red optics glowing as Barricade embrace his violent song, the brigand’s vessel appeared in the crashing waves. These pirates had been attacking fishing vessels in the seas around Damaxus. It would be their final escape. The mermech sang as he danced in the waves, raising them high and tossing them against the brigand’s patchwork ship. They did not allow pirates or polluters in their seas. It had taken half a decavorn to bring life back into this corner of the sea and longer still to clear the last of the smugglers from the coves along the coast. Damaxus prospered because Camshaft, his originator, had declared the island as unlikely a place for their framekin to venture as anything. Though their kind did not set down roots but followed the ocean’s current, they had. They had set down firm roots.

With the pirate vessel broken in pieces on the sea floor, Barricade swam for home. The sea was colder than he enjoyed and the mermech longed for a hot shower and a cube of tisane to warm himself. By now, the guests of the inn would be in their berths and the pub would be closed. If his procreator did not care to sleep, the sailors and fishermecha who had known to abide the red sky could linger for joors over song and drink as the sky outside thundered but his progenitor, Downshift always shooed them out not long after the changing of the mega-cycle. He had his limits, even though he enjoyed these mechanisms, or at least seemed to.

The Storm’s End was a simple inn with a large pond he and his procreators would slip in for a soak when the light-cycle was too busy to make it to the sea. They had built it in the local architectural style, since they had none of his own. His kind did not build cities but sheltered in coves and inlets as the current guided them. Barricade looked out into the storm. They were so far away from the seas he hand emerged in that this storm would not trouble them. The Mithril Sea was south of the Rust Sea where they had made their home. Even after over two decavorn, it was strange to think of Damaxus as home, even though it was the only home Tripwire, his youngling, had ever known. Home was just a strange glyph to him. There was no translation in his native dialect.

Pot of tea sat on the table in the living room and Barricade sighed with gratitude. He saw Prowl’s candle was out, signalling that he was in from the storm, Barricade snuffed his own candle. Everyone he cared about was in from the storm. Though the pirates had been the target of this storm, they would let it rage now until it faded. It would not trouble him if more brigands were swept away in the waves. There was lots of hot solvent left when Barricade stepped into the washracks to wash away the chill. Barricade might have drawn a bath but there was a whole pot of tea waiting, which meant one of his proceators was waiting. They were perceptive and it did not surprise him that they had caught a hint of his mood as much as he tried to hide it. Tripwire’s emergence-cycle was an orn away and no matter how hard he tried, it was always a bleak orn for him.

“My Love, sit down and drink with me,” Camshaft said, sitting on the sofa, as he poured the tisane.

“Yes, Originator,” Barricade said. “Thank you.”

“You have been lost in yourself of late,” Camshaft said. “I know it is a difficult time of the stellar-cycle for you, but I think perhaps it is worse this time.”

“I hate that I ruined your lives,” Barricade said, holding the mug in both servos. Camshaft stared at him a moment. Pale blue optics glowed bright against his gold faceplates. Though Barricade sea nature came from his progenitor, his looks largely came from his originator, the red optics he had been told came from grandcreators.

“Are our lives ruined?” Camshaft asked.

“We are here,” Barricade replied.

“Is here so bad?” Camshaft asked.

“No,” Barricade sighed. “But it isn’t where you should be, where all of you should be.”

“It is where the sea brought us,” Camshaft replied.

“This isn’t our sea,” Barricade replied.

“We made it ours,” Camshaft told him. “Have we, any of us, given you cause to think we regret our choice?”

“No,” Barricade said. “I just... I thought by now Prowl would have a half dozen bitlets at least. I... ruined everything.”

“I have never met a mech worthy of giving your brother a dozen bitlets,” Camshaft replied. “Or even one.”

“Crosscut.”

“Was not the love of Prowl’s life,” Camshaft told him. “You know that in your spark.”

“Someone else might have been,” Barricade said. “Because I fragged up everything, now he might never find that mech. Where would he? No mermecha swim the Rust Sea but us.”

“You think he could not fancy a landmech?” Camshaft asked.

“Progenitor would never accept it,” Barricade said. “I asked him to trust one and we all know what happened. A dozen of our shoal died because I let one sweet talk me.”

“My Love,” Camshaft sighed. He stood up and sat next to Barricade, taking him into his arms. “My Dearspark. Your progenitor doesn’t hate landmecha. He hates one because he broke your spark and nearly cost you and Tripwire your lives. Just one.”

Barricade was not so sure. Downshift was amiable with their patrons and he definitely had his favourites but Barricade had seen the way his progenitor’s face darkened when sailor’s optics lingered too long on Prowl. He somehow always managed to have a cleaver in his servos when the sailor made the mistake of looking in his direction. None of the islanders were fool enough to get on his bad side by flirting with Prowl. It was true, his progenitor had never gotten into a fight on the island. As a storm singer, Downshift could bring a storm into his electromagnetic field with just a stray thought. Even without hearing a threat from him, the unlucky could feel it. Barricade had the same ability but he had none of his progenitor’s subtlety. His originator and brother were sirens, capable of singing mecha and mechanimals to their doom or delight. Prowl had no one to sing for. If he wanted to... Barricade did not know. Like their progenitors were stubbornly contented with exile. Only Barricade and his halfbreed creation had been banished – after Camshaft had arranged him a reprieve from execution but they had all gone with Camshaft and Downshift leading the way. Prowl... was he content with exile, like their procreators were? Prowl would never tell him different, he kept his emotions to himself so Barricade could only imagine the worse.

“We are a family,” Camshaft reassured him. “Together is how we are meant to be. How could we ever be happy if you and Tripwire were far beyond our reach? This is where we are meant to be. All of us, together, a shoal of our own.”

Sometimes they all took breakfast at the pub but Barricade was not feeling social. He ate with Tripwire as his youngling prepared for his school cycle. Tripwire was lanky with his servos, audial horns and doorwings all seeming too large for his frame. In time he would grow into them. It was hard to believe he was a youngling, not yet second-tier but coming perilously closer. If he had admirers at school, Tripwire had not mentioned them. Barricade did not know if he could be as subtle as his progenitor if he saw someone ogling his youngling, even if it was another youngling. His creation was the only good thing to come from his scrap judgment and Barricade had make careful certain Tripwire did not make the same mistakes.

“Can I go out with you when you reseed the storm?” Tripwire asked.

“As long as their aren’t any ships in the area,” Barricade replied.

They did not know yet what power Tripwire’s song would have, if it had any. When Tripwire had emerged, it had been with legs, despite Barricade giving emergence in his root mermode. Even submerged in the water, they he did not transformer. Even if the shoal had not blamed Barricade for the slaughter of a dozen of their kin, that alone would have been enough to see Barricade banished, along with his halfbreed. It had not been only Barricade they had intended to execute, they had intended to execute the bitlet he had given emergence shortly after the slaughter. Barricade did not know what Camshaft had said to convince them to spare them both. Perhaps it had been reason, Camshaft was good with glyphs but perhaps it had been threats. His progenitor had not been part of the shoal but an outswimmer, one who followed his own current. Camshaft may have warned them that Downshift would slaughter them. Maybe they would have believed him capable of that. Unlike his progenitor whose only interactions with landmecha had involved sinking their ships, Barricade’s originator had forged agreeable relationships with some of the ships and it was with one of these ships that they had sailed into exile. There had been no choice, they had sailed from the Mithril Sea on a barge. It was vorns before Tripwire would reveal he had inherited the framemode of his maternal ancestors. Even if he had emerged in the frame of a mermech, Barricade did not believe it would have softened the sparks of his framekin.

“You are melancholy,” Prowl observed as Barricade stared down the path Tripwire had taken to school, long after he was gone. Education among the mer quite different that this institutional system the landmecha use. They had learned along with Tripwire as he went through school. Prowl was by far the best tutor when Tripwire ran into trouble.

“Are you happy?” Barricade asked.

“Of course,” Prowl replied. “Why would I not be?”

“You know why,” Barricade countered.

“Do you miss the shoal?” Prowl asked.

“No,” Barricade replied and it was true. He had found the shoal harsh and unforgiving for any not exactly like them. They had been merciless to any boat that sailed into their seas, even by accident. If they had know how often Camshaft had sung them to safety rather than to their deaths... they might have executed him.

“I do not either, Barricade,” Prowl said. He brushed his crest against that of his brother. “I prefer the songs we sing here.”

“I guess I’m just worried that you’ll always be alone because of me,” Barricade said.

“I am not alone,” Prowl said. “I am with my family.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Barricade replied.

“I am not worried about all of that,” Prowl promised him. “I am happy exactly as things are.”

Prowl did not lie, he evaded but he never lied. Barricade had to believe him. Though the storm was still on the course they wanted, he slipped into the sea. As angry as the skies were, there was no one to see him swim from the beach. The water was cold, icy cold but he swam far from the shore. He leapt in the squall, relishing the challenge of it. His spark raced as he leapt with the waves as his guilt and his grief faded for a time. Origin had told him Polyhexians had come to stay. All his kin knew was that Tripwire’s progenitor had been one. These were not the first to stay. Plenty of the islanders were Polyhexian but they were familiar, benign faces at this point. He did not have the spark for strangers. It all felt too heavy right now.

[kaiserin-erzsebet]

Hi there! Sorry if you've gotten this type of ask before, I searched your blog first and didn't find anything, but we all know about the tumblr search algorithm. I was wondering what you think of Elisabeth das Musical, like its portrayals of the historical figures involved, or its general historical accuracy? I love that musical but I'm no historian, and from my Wikipedia research it does take some liberties. Just curious if you're familiar and have thoughts! Have a good day :)

Thanks for the ask. I don't know if I have ever really made one post addressing the historical accuracy of the musical.

To a degree, I don't know if historical accuracy is a fair metric for a musical that is clearly stylized. Death being a character makes it pretty clear that it is leaning into surrealism. I like to meet media where it is at in terms of what it is trying to be.

And I do personally enjoy the musical quite a lot. Songs from it still regularly appear on my writing playlists. In the current landscape of Sisi media, I think it remains one of the most interesting and compelling explorations of her as a difficult woman with a complex internal life instead of a girlboss or 19th century Princess Diana. She is selfish and sort of inconsistent and perpetually flirting with her own death, and I think that's closer than making her the feminist hero.

There are some key points that it does better than other pieces of media: It also does not portray nationalism as liberation, which I think it important. The Hungarian coronation is not an unmitigated triumph with Lucheni singing the secondary part about rising nationalism as a warning for the unstable times that are coming. The rise of Lueger and Schoenerer as a direct antecedent to Hitler is a bit too linear to be completely historically accurate, but I think the point the musical is making is ultimately a good one. The collapse of the empire unleashes violent nationalism and the musical is pointing that direction ominously.

I also do like that it includes Rudolph's politics and his conflict with his father, since some other things are quick to minimize that. The musical isn't necessarily about him, but I like what it does to explain his disillusioned liberalism.

I don't like other things in it: For example, it moves past the early 1860s in one song, which is a period of constitutional experimentation and the last gasp of absolutism. I wish that wasn't so flattened. That's more personal for me since that is the period I am the most interested in.

My biggest frustration about it is the portrayal of Archduchess Sophie. For all the complexity that the musical grants Elisabeth, Sophie is still just the overbearing, intrusive mother-in-law. Historically, this is a disservice to her and her relationship with Elisabeth. Yes, she could be overbearing, but it was for the good of the monarchy. She's not wrong to be concerned that a teenager doesn't know the gravity or importance of being empress and isn't prepared for it. I just want my girl to get her due without being reduced to an archconservative or nightmare mother-in-law.

On the whole, I still think the musical does more than most media to portray Elisabeth as she was in spirit if not completely in substance. I just wouldn't look to it for accuracy, and I don't think the surrealist elements are really trying for that anyway.

[measuredingold]

my soul is useless without you

author's note: part two to i'd walk through hell for you is finally here ! i'm not sure if i want to do a third part, but we’ll see lol but i'm currently working on something for folio 👀 as always, i hope you enjoy and feedback is appreciated ! also, if yall have any requests, send them my way :) i'm in the mood to write but inspiration is running thin lol

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

divider: @saradika-graphics

word count: 3.5k

cross posted on ao3 / part one

cw/tw: angst, hurt/comfort, Noah Sebastian Is Bad At Feelings But A Good Friend, reader is going through it, anxiety, hints/mentions of depression, noah is just a good guy and cares about reader a lot ( more than he realizes ), friends to lovers pining lol, 18+ minors do not interact

It's when Jolly asks Noah in-between takes if he'd heard from you recently that the anxiety finally settles in.

Because he doesn't know the last time he's heard from you. Which isn't normal.

He's a bad texter, notorious for looking at messages and making a note to reply to them later or replying in his mind, but he always makes sure to reply to you whenever the two of you aren't together. It's just always been a thing, to always have some form of communication with you when he wasn't over at yours or if you weren't at his, so it panics him when he can't remember the last time he'd spoken to you.

He goes through your messages and finds that it wasn't him this time who didn't respond, but instead it was you. Relief washes over him briefly, the guilt of forgetting to respond to his best friend vanishing, but then that anxiety comes back full force. 

You didn't respond.

You always responded.

He sends off a quick message to you, apologizing for being in studio mode and not leaving the house and asks if you're alright. He waits. They go through another take, he somehow doesn't fuck it up even though his mind isn't all the way there. You still haven't responded by the fifth take and that's when he starts to feel sick, stomach twisting with the worry of what could be wrong. 

He tries to think back to if you've ever gone this long without speaking and he can't think of a time when that has happened. 

"Earth to Noah." Jolly's voice pulls him away from his thoughts.

"Oh. Uh, sorry." 

"All good, man." His bandmate eyes him for a second before his eyes flicker towards his phone. "She respond?"

"Um. No." His brows furrowed as he stared at his phone, the black screen mocking him. "Kind of worried."

"Yeah... I am, too." Jolly murmurs. He clicks around on the screen a few times before twisting his chair around to fully face Noah, arms crossing over his chest. "You should go over there. Check and make sure she's alright."

Noah raises a brow at him. "We're in the middle of recording?"

"And?" Jolly shrugs, waving him off. "We got a lot done today, we can wrap it up. Something's obviously wrong and she might need you. That's more important than some song."

He blinks at his friend, letting his words settle in. Jolly's right, he thinks. You are more important than whatever song they're working on. That confirmation makes him feel funny, something tightening beneath his chest but he ignores it, nodding slowly. 

"Okay. You wanna come?"

Jolly shakes his head. "Nah. The both of us might be overwhelming. If you do need me then call, if not..." He shrugs again before lifting himself up out of his chair, groaning softly to himself, "...might be best for just you to go. She'd probably feel better if it's just you, anyways. You know how she is."

Noah isn't quite sure what he means, but nods along anyways. He checks his phone again and still no text, but he notices that you read the message. He should feel relieved at the sign of life but it only makes his anxiety worse, stomach twisting violently. 

"Okay. I'll text you when I get there." 

He's practically running out of the studio after that, the only thing on his mind was you. He needed to make sure you were okay. Deep down he knew that if this was him, you would've already been here, and he feels guilty all over again. He should've paid more attention, shouldn't have let this slip his mind so easily. He thinks back to your last messages together and how you were talking about your work day, overwhelmed and quite frankly, upset about it all. He should've paid closer attention.

He makes it to yours in record time, legs moving him to the door before he can even think about it. He sends up a quiet prayer to the universe that you had given him an extra key months ago and uses it to unlock the door, slowly pushing it open.

He calls out your name, but no answer.

His eyes sweep over your apartment as he enters, scanning the open space. Your kitchen looked untouched, minus the few dirty dishes that were in your sink. A few boxes of Chinese take-out and some bottles of water. He feels almost relieved. You'd been eating and as far as he can tell you'd been keeping yourself somewhat hydrated, so that was a plus. He knows how bad you can be when you get into this headspace - brain fog, forgetting to do basic things like eating and drinking water. But this... this is a step in the right direction.

His eyes move towards the living room and it's just about the same. A pile of blankets lay together at one end of the couch, pillows scattered along the length of the cushions. You'd been there quite a bit, he can tell, but other than that nothing was too bad.

Noah feels like he can breathe for just a second, eyes going straight to the cracked open door to your bedroom. He hears the faint hum of your television and hears the muffled voice of your favorite characters in your favorite comfort show. His chest tightens. You only ever watch it when things get bad inside your head, when things start to become too overwhelming and you need to cling onto something that you know. Something that won't throw any surprises at you and make things worse. 

He makes his way towards your room, ready to call out your name again as he pushes open your door but stops halfway. You're curled up in your bed, covered in a pile of blankets. He steps closer to get a better look at you and he doesn't think he's ever seen you look so peaceful. Lashes against the tops of your cheeks, lips parted. The crease between your brows is relaxed, which never happens. 

Noah takes a deep breath.

You're alright. He can see that you're safe and sound, at least for now, and that's enough for him. He shuts your door behind him and makes his way back into the main room, taking his shoes off by the door. He takes another deep breath to center himself as he looks around your space, hand finding its way to his hair. 

He decides he'll clean up your kitchen and living room. It isn't too bad, and it won't take him too long. He also just... doesn't want to leave yet. He'll wait until you wake up. Make you talk to him, ask what’s up. Probably make you eat something. Then he'll head home. 

Sounds like a good plan to him.

Even though your door is shut he still tries to be quiet, making sure to carefully wash and put away your dishes without making too much of a fuss. After the dishes, he throws away all the take-out boxes and water bottles. He even makes a note to take the trash out for you when he's all done, because he knows you would've done it for him. 

The constant reminder of you and knowing that you'd do something like this for him, and have, is the motivation he needs to continue. It makes him feel warm all over and he thinks how lucky he is to have someone like you as his best friend.

And he definitely ignores the bitter taste in his mouth at the word best friend. 

It's maybe an hour after he's finished, curled up on your couch that now has its pillows in place, and the pile of blankets are neatly folded and put away, that you finally emerge from your room. You rub the sleep out of your eyes, not noticing him on the couch at first, but when you do you make a noise of surprise that has Noah laughing.

"Hey."

He notices the slight flush of your cheeks but ignores it. "Hi?"

"I uh," He scratches the back of his neck, sending you a sheepish smile. "Hadn't talked to you in a few days. Got worried. So did Jolly. Told me to come over. Check on you. You were sleeping so I just," He throws his arms around, gesturing to the space around him, "cleaned up a little? Figured you would appreciate a clean house when you woke up so..." 

He's talking too much, he knows it, but he can't seem to stop the word vomit from coming out. Noah knows you wouldn't mind, but he was nervous, especially because all you do is stare at him without saying a word. Stare and stare and stare until you sniff, brows furrowing.

"...Thanks."

You're unusually quiet and it makes his stomach turn again. You sniff again and Noah swears you look like you're on the verge of tears, and he sits up on the couch. He watches you closely as you wring your hands together in front of you, mouth opening and closing as if you want to say something. You don't, and Noah catches the exact moment when your bottom lip trembles, and he's moving before he can even think about it.

"Hey. It's okay. You’re okay."

He tries to keep his voice soft and free of any panic, but his heart is beating so rapidly against his chest he swears you can hear it. You sniff again, head shaking as your lip continues to tremble and he does the only thing he can think of. He pulls you into his arms and presses you into his chest. You don't move for a second, but eventually your arms circle around his waist. You squeeze, tight, but he doesn't mind. He just squeezes you back. 

Your body begins to shake as the cries start to rack through you, the sound muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Noah swallows down the lump that was beginning to form, cheek resting on the top of your head. He's always hated when you cry. He himself wasn’t one for much display of emotions, but when it came to the people he cared about, he hated seeing them anything but happy. 

Especially you.

He's seen you cry a few times. Well, more than a few times. Sometimes it was over nothing, and then sometimes it was over an incredibly cute dog you'd seen scrolling on Twitter. He didn't mind those, but when it was over something serious, he fucking hated that. He never wanted you to be anything but happy, and whenever you weren’t, it’s like a piece of him breaks. 

“What’s wrong?” He whispers into your hair, trying to pull you even closer to him.

“Everything.” You eventually mumble against his chest, sucking in a deep breath as you try to control your tears. “Fucking everything is wrong.” 

He fucking hates the way that answer makes him feel. His chest feels like it's on fire, and he swears his heart just fucking broke at how sad you sounded, voice muffled by his shirt. He squeezes you to his chest again.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

He wants you to talk about it, to tell him what's wrong so he can make it better. Noah knows it'll probably be damn near impossible to even do that, but god, he'd try absolutely anything to make your tears stop. You take a long moment to respond, trying to control your breathing, before you eventually shake your head against his chest.

"Not right now." 

"Okay.” He mumbles, raising a hand to smooth down your hair. “That's okay, we don't have to."

"Thank you."

You stay like that for a moment, in the middle of your living room. Noah doesn't plan on letting go any time soon, thinking for a split second that he wished he could keep you in his arms forever. If you were there, he'd always know if you were okay. The thought fades before he could think too hard about it when you finally pull away from him, and Noah catches sight of your slight red and blotchy face. He frowns.

He doesn't remember the last time he's ever seen you so sad. So defeated. Whatever was going on really pained you, and he wishes you'd just tell him so he can fix it. Another passing, fleeting thought, but he thinks he'd do just about anything right now to see you smile again. 

"Have you eaten?" He breaks the silence between the two of you, not waiting to hear whatever you were planning on saying.

You blink up at him. "Um... no. Not since this morning. Had some fruit and coffee." 

"I figured." He guides you towards the couch, practically pushing you onto it. You snort when he grabs a throw blanket and dumps it onto you. "Pick something to watch." 

It's not a question, but more of a command, and Noah ignores the way his chest flutters at the small smile you give him. He turned away from you, pushing whatever feeling was brewing inside of him so far down and got his brain to focus. Food. You need food. To be honest, so does he. He’d been so worried about you for the last few hours that he didn’t even think of getting something to eat. 

It takes him a few minutes of rummaging around your kitchen to settle on making something easy - instant ramen. He’s surprised you hadn't eaten it all in the week you’ve been off-grid, but thankful nonetheless. Noah's way too impatient to wait any longer to actually cook something, especially knowing you hadn't eaten anything since this morning. Every so often he looked over his shoulder to watch you, wishing you'd say something, but would find you either staring blankly at the television or your phone.

A bitter taste settles in the back of his throat every time he turns back around to the stove. He hated this, and he fucking hated that he couldn't do a goddamn thing about it.

He brings your bowl to you once he's finished, already making a mental note to clean up the mess he had made while cooking. You blink up at him and reach for it, giving him a quiet, "Thank you."

Noah doesn't verbally say anything, just hums out a response as he ventures back into the kitchen to grab you something to drink. When he comes back he notices you had slowly begun to eat, and he feels his shoulders finally relax. Just knowing you ate something eases him, the tension in his body leaving him completely. You're already reaching out for the glass of water in his hand that he happily hands off to you, giving you a gentle smile.

"Need anything else?"

You shake your head, peering up at him. "No. Just want you to come sit with me." 

That same fluttery feeling beneath his chest returns and he wishes he could ignore it again, but it doesn't go away. No, it stays perched underneath his chest, as if it's decided that it's making a home there and never leaving. He doesn't say anything, just nods at your request before grabbing his own bowl and a Pepsi you had in the fridge before making his way back to you.

You wait until he's settled on the couch to scoot closer to him, legs pressed flushed together. You're already halfway through your ramen and for a split second he forgets that weird feeling in his chest, instead focusing on the intense pride filling him. He was able to get you to eat, he was able to help out in some way. Knowing you were alright for the most part and it was from his doing made him feel good.

The both of you eat in silence as whatever show you decided to put on plays in the background. He’s just now realized it was The Office, and he huffs out a small laugh at something Michael Scott said. Another one of your comfort shows, something easy. 

It isn't until you both are finished with your food and Noah's back in the kitchen cleaning up that you finally speak. He doesn't hear you come up behind him, focused on washing the dishes and making sure everything's clean and good to go, so he can't help but jump when he feels your arms slip around his waist and squeeze.

"Shit." He swears, followed by a breathy chuckle. "You scared me."

You don't say anything to that, just squeeze him harder and he feels you press your face against his back. Then ever so softly, he picks up the faintest, "Thank you," muffled against his back. His face flushes, eyes casting down to the soapy water his hands were currently submerged in. He's glad you can't see the blush on his cheeks, and he fucking hopes you can't hear the way his heart is pounding beneath his chest. Can probably feel it, though, and that makes his face burn even more. 

"For what?" He manages to mumble out, resuming his efforts. Your arms squeeze his waist again.

"For being here." You sound so small. "You don't have to be, but you are, and I can't thank you enough for that."

"You'd do it for me." His response comes easily, voice nonchalant because it's true. He knows you'd do the same for him, and the thought has his stomach flipping every which way. "And have done it for me. It's the least I can do."

You're silent after that but don't part from him, and Noah can't help the smile that spreads across his lips at the feeling of you rubbing your face against him. It makes him feel warm all over, and that damned fluttery feeling in his chest is back yet again. You stay like that until he's finished with the dishes, moving with him as he shuffles to the side to dry them off. You don't pick your head up even when he manages to turn in your arms, finally facing you. 

Noah's arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to him and now you can rub your face against his chest. He laughs softly, pressing his cheek against the top of your head.

"Still don't wanna talk about it?" He knows he's pressing but he can't help it, a part of him still needs to know what's wrong and how he can fix this for you.

You shake your head. "Not yet. Tomorrow, okay? I just... don't wanna think about it tonight."

"Okay." He thinks he can handle that. 

"Thank you." You say again and finally lift your head up from his chest, blinking up at him. There's still a sadness there, roaming around behind your eyes, but not as prevalent as it was earlier. He’s at least done something right. "I'm really fucking lucky to have you, you know that, right?"

The way you're looking up at him is overwhelming, Noah's throat tightening at the softness surrounding your tired eyes. You smile at him and this time it reaches your gaze, not faked but real, and his heart slams against his chest. A thought passes his mind again, something he hasn't thought of in years, and he pushes it back with a hard swallow.

"You're just saying that because you didn't have to do the dishes."

You roll your eyes but that smile never drops from your lips, and Noah thinks he'd like to keep you smiling like that for the rest of his life. 

"Shut up. I'm being serious." You're giggling now, eyes crinkling and he catches a glimpse of the real you for the first time in hours - probably days, weeks even. 

"So am I." Noah yelps when you pinch his side, your laughter growing louder. "Hey!"

"I'm trying to be nice here, asshole. You can at least try, too."

He softens at that, eyes meeting yours. He's well aware his face is on fire right now, cheeks pink.

"You already know I'm lucky to have you. Didn't realize I had to say it."

Even if he doesn't say it often, he is very lucky. So incredibly lucky to have you in his life, for sticking by him and for understanding him. For always being patient with him. Jolly reminds him occasionally how lucky he is to have you, how all of them are lucky to have someone like you in their lives. He doesn't know what the fuck he or anyone did to be so deserving of you, but dammit, he's fucking thankful for it everyday. 

You don't say anything, just continue to beam up at him and Noah can't seem to stop himself, tilting his head down to brush his lips against your forehead. He feels you press further into his chest, if it was even possible, and practically melt in his arms. 

He wishes he could keep you here forever, tucked away in his arms. He thinks there isn't much he wouldn't do to keep you safe, to make sure you were okay, and that thought alone scares him. He'd never admit it, at least not out loud, and he tucks that thought away for another time. Or to possibly be never thought of again, he doesn't know. He doesn't really care.

No, all he cares about right now is that you're okay, at least for now, and that you're nestled against his chest like it's the only place you want to be. 

And that's enough for him. 

[smutszn]

loml (part 2) - Luigi x y/n

No Luigi, but we need the build-up... I thought this was a one-shot but here we are with a potential love triangle.

You and Luigi are 19 and seniors in college. You two aren't close, but share the same major and extracurricular, being on the Robotics Team. Things are about to change. !slowburn !college !grumpysunshine !luigimangione

loml (part 1) "...You're right, the love of my life might just be a frat bro at this party!! you spit out sarcastically. "Anyway, good seeing you, Mangione" You salute the Robotics prez goodbye as you make your way to join Jamie.

You get to Jamie, and at this point, she'e alone on the dance floor. Looks like her Wednesday Addam's dance scared off the frat boy she was with. Her arms still were swinging violently, and you spotted a few sorority girls snickering against the wall at her.

"Jamie," you yell, "I'm back! I was thinking maybe we should go? I'm getting tired, and you look pretty wasted."

"Y/N nooooooooooo," she slurred. She slung her arms around you. "I'm not drunkkkkkkkk. Can't you dance with meeeee?"

You really wanted to leave, but you would never abandon your friend. Might as well hunker down so she could sober up more.

"Fine," you smile, as you start swaying awkwardly to the music.

You're lost in the music and rolling your hips cheekily at Jamie, but then Thriller comes on. Jamie stops everything and runs to a far corner of the dance floor. She jerks towards you in time to the music, shrugging her shoulders up. You giggle and start doing the Thriller dance towards her, stepping left and right in sync with your arms pawing the sky. In your periphery you see a bunch of sorority and frat dudes staring at you two, but it's all too fun and you don't care.

The song ends and you throw your arms happily around Jamie, giving her a big hug. "Okay, that was so fun," you scream.

"Ughhh Y/N, you smell sooo good," Jamie breathes into your neck. "OMG I really need to pee. Also, can you get me water?"

Oh Jamie.

"Sure, meet in the kitchen after you're done and I'll have some water for you," you tell Jamie. Before you finish speaking, the girl is already zooming upstairs towards the bathroom like a horde of zombies are chasing her.

You make your way to the frat house kitchen. No one else is there. It's relaxing in a weird way being alone and cooling down, while still hearing the bass and muted voices. You get a cup of water for Jamie, then hop onto the kitchen counter to rest your legs and text Jamie to see if she's okay.

"What's a lady doing sitting alone?"

You look up at the voice by the door.

"Jake, hey," your eyes widen. "Do you want to come sit with me?"

Jake is - well, Jake is a specimen of a man. 6'1", dirty blonde hair framing dark eyebrows and dark brown eyes. Smart, a fellow engineering major in your class. Editor-in-chief of the school newspaper. President of the frat your butt is sitting in. Charming womanizer and of course, you've heard the rumors - big down there. Incidentally, your Robotics Team President Luigi's roommate and best friend.

You first got to know Jake because he would sometimes visit Luigi during Robotics Club meetings when the team was building stuff since he wanted to help out. The last time he visited, Luigi told him to fuck off from helping him, so Jake wandered around to your work station and ended up being your assistant while basically flirting with you. You thought nothing of it. This man would flirt with a squirrel. He was fun and insanely charming, a great helper, and you hoped he would come back more.

Although it felt like your relationship with Jake was light-hearted, sometimes it felt... strangely deep in specific moments. The Robotics Club chaos where you two stayed for 4 hours bantering. Him making a passing comment to you last week in the library (you two liked studying in the same Hogwarts-like library in the same room) when he spotted you reading Pride and Prejudice. "Ah, there sits Elizabeth Bennett and her bright eyes in the Upenn library..."

Jake accepted your invite to sit on the counter, and plopped right next to you.

"You didn't answer my question," his dkar eyes pour into yours. You can smell his musky cologne since he's so close. "Why are you here alone? You don't like my party?"

Luigi will be back very soon, but what did we think about Jake? If you can't wait until Part 3 and crave some Luigi, you should play with him on your own and tell me how it goes . Btw you have my permission to take my story ideas or writing to remix on RQ ;)

[mutedeclipse]

Return of bug phantom

[saintprivateer]

posty by himself for now but hello again im drawing sky ship things!!

[theoreticalli]

I put 30 tags on that dear evan hansen post. for the love of god don't click to expand the tags I'm so fucking sorry I just hate that awful fucking show so fucking much. oh fuck I've done it again in the tags here oh god

[bmpmp3]

the really beautiful landscape/skyscape animation in makoto shinkai's works tends to be the big thing i see focused on and that is understandable and deserved like the weather and lighting effects are unREAL but i do think we should also appreciate how absolute insane the plotlines of his original movies get. at least two movies with in universe catastrophes with major ecological implications. the guns and explosions. theres that one movie i havent seen yet with the guy who turns into a chair (?)

[girlivealwaysbean]

im so tough when im alone and i make you feel so guilty and i fantasize about the time you're a little fucking sorry do you think i deserved it all your flowers filled with vitriol you have everything but you still want more and

[fearandhungies]

listening to tv girl but frowning with my arms crossed and shaking my head the entire time so everyone knows i hate brad petering

[modifiedyincision]

im going to be honest the "character playlists aren't what i think the character would listen to, it's songs that remind me of them" post does not sway me. i make playlists for my OCs. i do the same thing. but i don't care what the contents of the song individual song in question is, i simply cannot associate a punk/metalhead/emo/edgy/whatever character with a taylor swift song. playlists must also be about vibe. surely there are songs with a similar theme that are also not by her. class dismissed

[inkskinned]

she's singing in another room and my dog is asleep at my feet. my grandma asked me why i haven't found a man yet and i laughed. oh, you know. i like my house clean.

my girlfriend is also my man is also "my partner" if i'm in a professional setting. yesterday we went to a ren faire and a man mimed at me - you're together? and at my delighted nod, his baffled, you're gay? made me laugh. a woman with rainbow hair said i love the two of you together. you're both so beautiful it's absurd.

my dad introduced my partner as my "..... friend. or whatever" the other day. he knows we're dating. in the same way, i was never able to get my sister's husband to stop saying that's gay like it's 2008. he still uses the word fa***t, and my sister's defense of him has always been well, he's just kidding.

my lover and i dance to old music in a tiny kitchen. we judge new music together and take food critique very seriously. we watch love is blind before we fall asleep and agree that if they had a queer season, it would be bloody but also make for excellent tv. of fucking course queer people would know someone for only 2 weeks and agree to get married. what are you saying.

at a bar with friends, a man puts his hand on my wrist. got a boyfriend? and yes, i do have a boyfriend, she's amazing. i am texting her while i wander around a gas station named after geese. i am visiting a swing state for a wedding. in the candy aisle i overhear: she's actually like a lesbian it's disgusting. two teenage girls with packaged sandwiches in their hands, giggling. no literally, like. i'm not, like. okay with her being there while we're all, like, naked and changing.

my girlfriend and i tailgate, drink gin and cider out of cups. from the frat group beside us, a man corrects himself with one of his friends: bro, i mean, nonbinary entity, and it makes everyone around him laugh, myself included. he razzes his friend the same way i would have killed for at 19 years old - like nothing happened, he continues: you apply sunscreen like an alien. he does a little sassy (and fairly accurate) dance interpretation of the motion. his friend is laughing so hard they're crying.

i am lucky, i live in a safe neighborhood in a safe state. my masc passenger princess comes up from DC. i drive her for an hour to where all the leaves are a violent arrangement of color. we walk along the trails, letting autumn into our blood. in this part of the state, there's a lot of pickup trucks and trump signs. when we chastely kiss before getting into the car, i accidentally make eye contact with a woman holding her child's wrist. she looks disgusted. she looks fucking pissed.

two hours later my girl and i are eating dinner on a patio, soaking in the last warmth of new england sun before the chill of winter sets in. we are giggling and trying to talk through plastic vampire teeth. at another table, i see a young woman sit up straighter. i watch her watch us. she blushes and takes her partner's hand from across the table. shy, like the taste of evening has just become something deeper.

it's worth it for this moment, i think. my lover is still humming the same song she's been singing for four days straight and i don't want to kill her for it. her guitar is beside my bed. her toothbrush is in my bathroom. in a few moments i will make us lunch. we are lucky enough to have found each other. it is lucky enough to be in love.

[harrysfolklore]

harry and yn styles read thirst tweets

omg she posted a harry fic! honestly i've been missing him sooo much lately, harry please come home. anyway hope you like this

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

"Hey It's YN Styles."

"And I'm Harry Styles."

"And we're here to read your thirst tweets," you introduced, "I feel excited."

"I feel uncomfortable," Harry joked, making you throw your head back in laughter.

"Really? Already?"

"I'm just saying, if i I don't turn beat read by the end of this, we have failed."

THIRST TWEETS WITH HARRY AND YN STYLES

"What about I read the ones that are directed at you and you read the ones directed at me?" Harry asked, phone with the tweets ready in hand.

"Sounds perfect, babe."

"Okay, let's read thirst tweets strangers post about my wife," his eyes widened and he shook his head, "Thinking about YN's boobs again," he read, turning his gaze to you and shrugging "I relate, I guess."

"That's the whole tweet? Thinking about my boobs again?" he nodded, "I mean, I hope that doesn't distract you from your daily chores," you said to the camera as if you were talking to the person who posted the tweet.

"Yeah, that happens to me often."

"Thanks honey, I guess," you turned to look at the phone to read Harry's tweet, "Harry Styles can I kiss your cheek please it looks so soft and smoochable," you looked up with a frown in your brow, "So all of my tweets are going to be horny and his are going to be adorable."

Harry and the crew laughed as you shook your head, "I mean, love, my cheek is actually soft and smoochable," Harry said as he shrugged.

"Not right now tho, you need to shave," you said, running your finger through his cheek.

"My own wife doesn't like my facial hair, that's such a shame," he looked at his phone again, "YN, sexy and married to Harry Styles, she's literally winning and all I can do is watch and wish that was me. Whoa, thoughts baby?"

"I mean, I am really lucky," Harry smiled fondly, "Do your daily affirmations, friends, that's how I got this one," the crew laughed at this, "I would pay Harry Styles to punch me in the face," you read the next tweets and his eyes widened.

"Why do people say that? I would never punch anyone in the face, why would I do that?"

"It's an expression babe, it means that they think you're hot," you explained.

"Well, there are non violent ways to say that," he said, "Listen I am bisexual for a reason and that reason is strictly to be used in a threesome by YN and Harry Styles," he read and you instantly covered your face in embarrassment, "I mean, whoa, the things you kids post on the internet."

"I don't know what to say, honestly," you shook your head, looking down at your phone to cover your embarrassment, "Thinking about Harry Styles naked butt again," you read the tweet and Harry laughed, "How does that make you feel? That people can think about your naked butt thanks to My Policeman."

"I have a nice but, I'd like to think," he shrugged, "YN is a living, breathing wet dream," he read on his phone, "I mean, I concur, I have a song about it, It's called Watermelon Sugar."

"Oh thanks honey, glad to know romance isn't dead, and speaking about Watermelon Sugar," you glanced at your phone, "This one says, I want Harry Styles belly deep inside me or whatever he says in that watermelon song."

"Jesus Christ," Harry immediately said, "Not quite what that song says, but close I guess," he looked at another tweet, "I would let YN choke me with her thighs."

"That's nice considering most people want you to choke them with your thighs."

"How do you even know that?" Harry asked as he furrowed his brow.

"I lurk on twitter sometimes," you shrugged, "Are Harry and YN looking for a third right now? Cause I get horny by just looking at them."

"Our marriage is fine like this, but if we ever need a third we'll let you know," Harry spoke to the camera, "Okay last one, are yo ready?"

"Definitely not."

"I need YN to rail me more than I need air to breathe."

"Wow," you clasped your hands together, "I don't know if I should be flattered or worried."

"Flattered, love, we all want you to rail us."

"Harry! Control it!" you laughed and he shrugged, "Are we done?"

"We are," Harry turned to the camera, "Thank you buzzfeed and you thirsty fuckers, that was fun but we're never doing it again."

"Definitely, bye!"