#THEY DIE BUT DON’T WORRY THEY GET BETTER

[destinyisastar]

3. Static Remains

Read: 1.The Prequel Static Death ,2. Static Heart

Summary: You're still getting used to your new home in hell when Alastor says he has a surprise waiting for you. What could it be?

This is for the anon that wanted to see how Alastor punishes his wife's killer. I hope you enjoy!!

Alastor x Angel Wife reader

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You learned very quickly that angels aren’t very welcomed in hell.

Even though Alastor has only been here a short while, he told you that there’s a day in hell where there are angels, called exterminators, that kill sinners.

How horrible, these sinners died in life only to be killed again by angels.

Angels… that are known for their purity and virtue (at least in life) killing sinners.

With this reasoning you are not to be out in public without Alastor, or without specific clothing to hide your wings.

One of the minor problems of hiding your angel self was your halo, but it was quickly solved, since you were able to take it off as if it were a hat.

Alastor had taken hell with stride, he was quickly becoming more powerful with each soul he’d make a deal with, along with the fact that he’s been killing overlords.

You’re not very keen on his soul taking but whatever makes your husband happy, makes you happy, and the killing, well, that’s his business.

With his killing of the many overlords and the non-stop soul taking, he eventually became an overlord himself, not that he had try very hard. You had seen firsthand how powerful your husband is.

You were at home, getting dinner ready for your husband. He told you (now that you both were in hell) how he liked to have his meals, which just happened to be raw venison or sinners.

You were a bit worried about the raw venison because, well, couldn’t he get sick? When you asked him about it he just laughed and patted your head.

“I don’t think I’ll die of sickness, cher!

You were even more worried about him eating sinners. How did he even like eating sinners? Isn’t that cannibalism? You also asked him about it, and he had to come out with the truth.

“In our life my dear there were certain aspects of myself that I hid from you, which one of them just happened to be my eating habits.”

You didn’t push him any further, but you did say that you wouldn’t try any sinner meat just yet, maybe you’ll try the raw venison one of these days… that seems to be the better option for you.

You take the venison out of the fridge and begin plating your meals (you cooked yours on the stove).

You hear steps coming from your front door, and in walks Alastor with a wide sinister smile on his face.

“Good evening my dear!” He walks up behind you placing his hands on your waist, kissing your cheek.

“Good evening my love, how was your day?” He begins to pull you away from the kitchen and pulls you into the living room, his staff leaning on one of the couches playing a jazzy tune.

“Hmmm, it was quite delightful!” He nuzzles his face with yours, and slowly sways you into a dance.

“That’s wonderful to hear.”

You both dance around the room for a moment when he bends you down slightly, lips almost touching.

“I have a surprise for you.” He whispers.

“Oh, you do?” you bring your lips closer

“Mmmmhmmm.” He kisses you and brings you back to your feet.

He takes your hand and leads you out the door, not before grabbing you a coat.

“Where are we going Al?”

“Oh, you’ll see!” He seems energetic.

Up ahead you see what looks to be a radio station. It looks like the one Alastor had when you both were alive.

“Is this place yours, love?”

“It certainly is!”

Alastor takes you into the station, still holding your hand, and leads you inside his booth. It’s completely pitch black, so he lets go of your hand to turn on the lights.

Once the lights turn on you see…

You see a sinner, a…. fox sinner tied up with a gag in her mouth.

“Alastor what… who is this?!” You try to run to the sinner to take off her bindings, but Alastor holds you back.

“Now, now my dear… you may not recognize her, well, you never actually met her, but this sinner, “His voice crackles, he glares at the fox, “is the one who murdered you, my love.”

You look at the sinner, “How can you be so sure….?”

“Well, why don’t we ask her? “Alastor walks towards the sinner ripping the gag off her mouth.

The fox spits in his face, “FUCK YOU! YOU DESERVE TO BE IN HELL! I’LL KILL YOUR BITCH AGAIN UNTILL YOU FEEL MY PAIN! FUCK YOU ALA-“She gets cut off by Alastor slamming her head into the floor, wiping his face.

“Well, I do believe that was enough proof, don’t you think?” Alastor looks back to you.

“What… what are you going to do to her?” You continue to stare at the sinner.

“I don’t believe this thing should be allowed to live.”

“But….”

“But nothing darling! This filthy, retched, disgusting creature, deservers more than death.”

You don’t know how to respond.

How… how are you supposed to react when your killer shows their face?

The fox… not only was she in rage but she was in pain.

“Why did she kill me?”

“Because- “

“BECAUSE THAT DEMON NEXT TO YOU KILLED MY HUSBAND!” The fox launches herself from the floor to you. You brace yourself, putting your arms up.

The sinner pushes you to the floor, taking a hold of you and sinks her teeth into your right arm, you scream in pain. Golden blood drips from your arm.

Alastor rips her off you, throwing the sinner against the wall, having his shadows hold her in place.

You put pressure on your arm as you sit up.

The sinners mouth drips with your blood, “Your gonna die, die, die, die, DIE!” The shadows wrap around her mouth tightly.

Alastor bends down to your level, grabbing your arm licking the blood till it stops spouting.

“Do you see now my dear? What wretched beings live down here.”

You feel yourself tremble, you continue to stare at the sinner.

“She said you killed her husband,” You look into Alastor’s eyes, “did you kill him?”

He looks into your eyes before speaking, “Yes, I did.”

“Why-“

“That man was no gentleman. He was a foul, foul creature. Hitting women when they wouldn’t give him what he wanted, trapping women in the alleyways wanting to take advantage of them.”

Alastor kisses your arm all the way to your knuckles.

“He had set his sights on you next.”

You look to him, eyes widen.

“I found out while we were at the diner, you were eating your pancakes with a side of bacon and eggs, I got up to use the bathroom. Her husband was in there talking to another man, they didn’t see me come in.”

“I don’t want to repeat their vulgar words….”

“Creatures like them don’t deserver to live.” His voice starts to crackle with static.

You push yourself into him, wrapping your arms around him.

“I’m sorry Alastor!”

Alastor is stunned for a bit, “Whatever for my love?”

“If… if it wasn’t for me, you would still be alive!”

“Darling, don’t blame yourself for my doings, I did this on my own free will.”

“I would never allow anything to happen to you.” He cups your cheek.

You turn away from him to face the sinner on the wall.

“Did she know... that he did all that?”

“Of course she did, but she was too blind to see it all, she claims to love him dearly but that was only when his check would come in.” His smile stretches further.

The sinner’s eyes widen, and she begins to try to thrash around.

“Don’t you try to move now.” Alastor stands and walks toward her, his stature growing taller, eyes turning into dials.

“ɎØɄ ₮ØØ₭ ₥Ɏ ₩ł₣Ɇ₴ ł₦₦Ø₵Ɇ₦₮ Ⱡł₣Ɇ ₳₩₳Ɏ ₣ØⱤ ɎØɄⱤ Ø₩₦ ₴ɆⱠ₣ł₴Ⱨ ĐɆ₴łⱤɆ”

The sinner stops thrashing around and stills.

“ⱧØ₩ ₱₳₮Ⱨ₮ł₵”

You don’t move from your spot on the ground, yet you turn your head away.

Alastor grabs the sinner by her neck, the shadows disappear back into him, and slams her into the floor three times.

The sinner screams in pain as Alastor yanks her to her knees and opens her mouth grabbing her tongue with his clawed hands.

“ł'ⱠⱠ ₥₳₭Ɇ ɎØɄ ₣ɆɆⱠ ₥Ɏ ₱₳ł₦ ɎØɄ ₴₳łĐ.”

His grip tightens on her tongue.

“ⱧØ₩ ₳฿ØɄ₮ ł ₴ⱧØ₩ ɎØɄ ⱧØ₩ ɎØɄⱤ ⱧɄ₴฿₳₦Đ ₣ɆⱠ₮ ₮ⱧɆ ₱₳ł₦ ł₦₴₮Ɇ₳Đ?”

Alastor rips her tongue out and she falls to the ground, groaning, screaming in pain.

She starts to crawl away, but Alastor steps on her head with one foot.

“ɎØɄⱤ ₦Ø₮ ₲Ɇ₮₮ł₦₲ ₳₩₳Ɏ ₮Ⱨ₳₮ Ɇ₳₴Ɏ”

His staff appears in his hands and begins jamming the end of the staff into her skull, he’s laughing maniacally.

There are 24 holes in her head. Alastor raises the end of the staff to his mouth and gathers the remains on his tongue and swallows.

“ɎØɄ ₩ɆⱤɆ ฿Ɇ₮₮ɆⱤ Ø₣₣ ĐɆ₳Đ”

Alastor returns back into his “normal” self and turns to you to see your hands covering your ears with your eyes shut.

 You look up feeling the static die down.

“My dear, how would you feel about having fox stew for dinner tonight?” He jokingly asks.

Your face pales.

“I’m just joking with you my love” He moves towards you and pulls you up.

“No one will ever cause you harm.”

You nuzzle your face into his chest.

“I know….,” You look up at him, “I love you.”

“I love you forever, my darling.”

Alastor turns to see the sinner unmoving, he’ll probably return to the station tomorrow to skin the fox, you need a new coat anyways, it’ll be a gift to show his love. For now you’ll both return home, go to bed and embrace each other.

He looks to his panel and see the red light on, the sound of the dead fox screaming was blasted all throughout pride ring.

Now every sinner will learn not to mess with the Ɽ₳ĐłØ ĐɆ₥Ø₦.

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Part 3 of Lost in your love will be out tomorrow, so stay tuned!!

Thank you for reading!!

Word Count: 1678

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 4.3 - Dating for Weirdos

Alice feels like her brain has been scrambled. How did she end up on a date with some dude who didn’t think she was worth any effort? Her self-esteem was…well, her self-esteem was in the toilet, but still! She had her pride!

Although, probably not enough of it. 

Reasonably, she shouldn’t be afraid. Vlad was not going to lose his shit just because her tone was too sharp, and if he did, she could just leave this date.

Unreasonably, she avoids his gaze and swallows down her rant.

Fucking muscle memory. 

“I’m trying valiantly," Vlad says gently. 

“What?” 

"I want to be the least shit version of myself on this date,” he continues, looking pained, “But even that version leaves a lot to be desired. I’m a difficult sim to be around, and so far, despite skipping my Civil Procedure class today to read a self-help book on using imagination to increase my charisma, I fear I’ve failed.”

Trying and failing is something Alice is pretty familiar with. And Vlad doesn’t lack charisma, per se. It was just kind of hidden behind his aura of “find out even if you don’t fuck around.” 

“What was the advice?” she asks, giving him what she hopes is a friendly smile. 

“Imagine a better version of myself,” he smirks, “And introduce you to it.”

“Kind of shit advice,” Alice murmurs. 

Vlad laughs, and she relaxes, “Ok, so was this the introduction to the newly developed, less shitty version of your personality, or do you have something else planned for later?"

“Usually, I’m better prepared, but no, this mediocre showing is the best I could come up with.”

“I give it a 4 out of 10,” Alice scrunches up her face, “Which makes me sort of concerned about your future as an attorney who needs to sway a jury.”

As soon as the words fly out of her mouth, anxiety pools in her stomach. But Vlad simply throws back his head and guffaws. 

“Very fair,” he concludes, wiping the tears from his eyes, “I don’t ever plan to practice law, but even if I did, I’m not worried about manipulating a jury of my peers.”

“Why not?”

“Universally, sims are stupid when they get into groups, and I have no problem lying. The hard part is that I want you to know the truth of me and like it.”

“Oh, I…” Alice jolts at his expression. Even guys she’s really liked have never looked at her with that sort of intensity.

“Ask me a question. Trust me, you'll know immediately if you have any interest in seeing me again.”

Alice hesitates. She could ask something basic to confirm that Vlad is a normal sim, but it’s pretty clear that the answer to that question is no. And the last time she fell for normal, it gave her a black eye.

“If you had any supernatural power, what would it be?”

“Paralyzing sims with fear and the ability to become a sentient mist so I could leave any conversation.” He taps a finger to his lip, “And enough strength to crush someone’s bones.”

“Messy,” Alice giggles. “What are you gonna do with all that bone dust?”

“I’m envisioning crushing their bones inside their body so it’d be more like a hearty stew as opposed to a pile of dust.”

“You would eat them?”

He shrugs. “Waste not, want not.”

It is an absolutely wild answer. Alice flashes him a grin. “The power to turn sims into mushy take-out meals. Got it.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m not turning sims into bone soup.”

The corner of his mouth tilts up. “You can't. As we’ve discussed, that power has already been taken. Might I suggest flight or rotting someone’s flesh with the snap of a finger?”

Alice laughs, and just like that, her appetite returns with a vengeance. “I like the true you,” she says as the waitress sets down Vlad’s order.

He smiles and begins dividing everything in half, shoveling it onto an empty plate that Alice didn’t even notice was on the table. He slides it over to her. “I’m relieved. Now, the pancakes are to die for and I promise no sims have been harmed in the making of this food.”

PREV | NEXT

(Part 3 of 4)

[onesixerplease]

PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE | BILLFORD

Here’s my first Billford fic, everyone 🫶🏻 It’s for sure not my best work but I’m still feeling out the characters, so that’s why.

“Look at you, Sixer. I’m impressed — most humans would’ve given up ages ago!” He exclaims, and Ford doesn’t miss the sadistic cheer in his voice. “But getting out of here? Oh-ho-ho, not a chance! Don’t you worry, Fordsy. When you die, I’ll put that useless meat sack to good use. Turn you into a human flesh puppet!”

Ford scowls. What was it he had called Bill in his journal? A screeching, graceless lunatic? The monster’s praise means nothing to him now, when once upon a time, it drove him to what he thought was greatness.

“Yeesh! I’m just kidding,” Bill flicks his cane, rustling the papers surrounding them and sending them awry. They scatter widely, equations lifting from the pages, the sloppy penmanship spiraling through the air around them. Everywhere Ford looks, his desperation stares back. “It’s not my fault you rolled a zero on your sense of humor. You know you’re not allowed to die! All I’m saying is, how long are you going to keep pretending you don’t need me? Look at you, I’ve possessed corpses in better shape.”

"Yes," Ford says, squaring his jaw. "I know. I enjoyed shooting them.”

(Set when Ford is trapped in the love cage. Major Book of Bill spoilers.)

My AO3 (Pseud)

Read the fic here

[artsy-hobbitses]

X-Men 97’s season finale post-credit scene being the reason I keep yelling LET THE FUCKING STORY PLAY ITSELF OUT AND IT WILL REWARD YOU IN GOOD TIME when it comes to series that have proven they know what the fuck they’re doing and where they’re going, because BingeWatch culture has truly ruined a bunch of people when it comes to appreciating long-term storytelling.

We weren’t given a ‘bad hand’ with Gambit this season—he’s gotten more development than ever outside of the comics for all the FIVE EPISODES he was in and is probably the best he’s EVER been narratively in any X-Men animation medium and my bottom dollar says it’s only going to get better for him with Season 2 which is already in production at this time.

The caveat we were given was “Time Travel can’t save him” and they’re working with that, and I cannot wait to be emotionally obliterated by his and Rogue’s story in Season 2.

[thesparrow1996]

stories that have included the pandemic in their narratives in an engaging and interesting way: hbo’s industry and die 2018. they both use it as an opportunity to push the limits of what the characters are enduring and connect the isolation to the plot, but in opposing ways. there’s an interesting contrast in season two of industry opening unexpectedly on the cast all coping with their circumstances in unique and unhealthy ways as they use their wealth and positions to separate themselves from the worst of the world’s consequences and the awful last minute swerve of die’s final issue taking place in the middle of the pandemic after the party escapes from the evil fantasy world they’ve been trapped in. known horror vs unknown horror and beginnings vs endings.

[deadandphilgames]

oversharing in the tags time :)

[voiceshearingyouloud]

I was feeling extremely suicidal today, like the worst I have in maybe four or five years now, and I was deliberating over whether I should go to the hospital like pretty much all day and now that I feel better I realise that the moment I started drafting my suicide note in my head was probably when I should’ve decided that 😭

[jeezypetes]

Ahhhh the job I thought i didn’t get bc they never got back to me after my interview (which I thought went really well) just reached out to me bc apparently the person they tried to hire backed out.,.. and now its gonna be like another month of wondering if I’m gonna have to decide if I want to move to another state where I don’t know anyone. And i was kind of relieved when i never heard back bc I’m really happy here with my family and gf and friends but the fact is my job here is a contract with very slim hopes of developing into a real job with benefits and i live with my parents bc i love them and our house and our town but i know i have to seriously consider this opportunity bc it would be a good career move and i want to live a rich and interesting life. But I don’t want to talk about it with anyone irl because my dad has covid which has been my number 1 fear since the start of the pandemic (he’s 71 and immunocompromised but he’s doing well and not needed the hospital) and I just want to be able to only worry about that I can’t even talk about the job thing which i drove myself and everyone around me crazy with already back in October. Which is why I’m just posting it vjfdhk I’m being tormented by forces beyond my control i feel like this is the sort of thing it would be really helpful to believe in God about

[mq-writes-ig]

tw- d3ath mention, su!c!dal ideation

coming out of being suicidal is terrifying

there is a fear of death that haunts me,

like a smoky veil around my shoulders

“will this kill me”

“can i do this safely”

“how likely am i to die”

it’s exhausting,

wanting to be alive

scary, too.

-asterix

[salsflore]

[campirebitesarchive]

I don’t feel real and my family’s greatest talent is making me feel absolutely hated yeehaw <3

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐃 ! ❞

❝ A GOOD GIRL SUMMONING THE KING OF CURSES -- WHAT COULD GO WRONG? ❞

✧ pairing: heian form! ryomen sukuna x good girl! reader

✧ summary: you've always been a goody two shoes -- or so your friends say -- so what happens when you decide to do the first bad thing you've ever attempted and try summoning a demon -- and it actually works?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, dub/con / non/con (dead dove, do not eat), reader summons sukuna accidentally, monster fucking, corruption kink, reader is a virgin, dom! sukuna, heian form! sukuna, four arms, mouth stomach, size kink, oral (f + m) (f receiving via mouth stomach), handjob (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, degradation kink (slut, whore), overstimulation (f! receiving), description of violence (no violence happens), art by @/danXL4 (on dA), dividers by @/saradika

✧ wc: 4,916

Summon a demon in your apartment, they said. It would be fun, they said. 

‘They’ meaning your stupid ass friends who were too fucking scared to stay here with you while you did it. 

Maybe you should’ve thought this through, preferably before you sat in a circle of blood (animal blood taken humanely that could not be used — don’t worry, you weren’t completely insane), and painted the symbols around the circle in the living room, your carpet rolled up, and on the precipice of unfurling, and your coffee table pushed aside. 

Your phone buzzed with messages in your group chat: 

Don’t do this, girl. 

Another message. 

What if it’s real? I don’t want something to happen to you - like I rather not have this on my conscience

What heartfelt pleas, you shook your head, as you put your phone on ‘do not disturb,’ and propped it up before opening the camera app and hitting record. 

Your fucking friends — it was all their fault to begin with. 

You grit your teeth, you are tired of being boring. You were always studying, always coming home early, always getting to class on time, always the fucking good girl, never getting fucked up or fucked for that matter. And your friends always taunted you for it — told you that you never lived a day in your life, that you’d always live sheltered in your apartment with your books and your streaming apps (which, you admitted, did sound pretty good to you) — but you wanted to prove them wrong. 

All the fuck they did that was daring was go to supposedly haunted sights and get the piss scared out of them — like yeah, that really was the wind, not some fucking ghost. If it was a ghost, pretty sure they would choose someone better to haunt — not a bunch of fucking pussies. 

You needed better friends. 

So for once — if only to get them to shut up — you wanted to do something crazy. 

You don’t know why a demon summoning was the hill you had chosen to die on, but you already climbed your way to the top of the hill, you supposed, so you might as well die on it. You looked through the Reddit thread you found on demon summoning (of course the most reliable of sources), looking over the incantation you were supposed to read, as you turned on your camera. 

Fuck. This was going to fucking dumb. You grabbed your lighter, lining up your candles around the circle, before kneeling in front of it. 

“To summon the King of Curses,” you read before you scoffed, what the fuck were you doing? ‘The King of Curses’ — they couldn’t even come up with anything more creative than that? Like no latin? Or even japanese folklore — no, instead the most generic ass of names, “To summon the King of Curses, you must read the following incantation,” you glance at your phone’s camera with lips pursed — you were going to prove a point — but why did it feel so goddamn stupid? 

You sighed, rubbing your forehead, as you suck in air between your teeth, and sighed, before reading the incantation: “Rise, Disgraced One — Oh, the King of the Golden Age that reigned supreme,” there was a chill that grazed the back of your neck, a slight breeze that raises goosebumps along your skin, “Open the Gate of Hell and let the King corrupt you. Fuga,” 

The flames on the candles shoot to the ceiling, as a scream lodges itself in your throat, as you barely scramble back enough to avoid getting your face burned off. The fire licks the ceiling, and a thick cloud of smoke floods your apartment, sweeping through the apartment, as you begin to cough, eyes burning with tears. 

“What the fuck—“ you reach for your phone in your pocket only to realize it’s still set up to record in that fucking mess of flames. You’re frozen, as you stand trying to recall what they taught you about fire safety growing up — is opening a window a good thing or a bad thing? Where’s the fire alarm? Do you even have a fire extinguisher? Thinking dangerous things through wasn’t your specialty, you supposed because you never did them. 

Fuck, if you died, you would become a fucking ghost and haunt your friends. 

But the flames ebb away, leaving some scorch marks on the ceiling (fun thing to explain to your landlord), as your lungs struggled to cope with the flood of smoke dispersing, the cloud so thick, you could barely see your hand in front of your face. The haze seared at your throat, drawing a smoker’s cough from your lungs, while your eyes could barely open, waterlogged by the sheer amount of tears spilling. 

You gently wipe tears away from your eyes, as you blink them away, until you stumble to your window to throw it open, coughing, as you stick your head out. 

“What the fuck,” you mumble, throat raw — was it the candles you bought? Were the candles somehow really fucking defective? Or did you somehow actually summon a demon? You snort, no, it was probably the candles. You leaned against the window sill, letting the smoke escape — as you finally were able to breathe again. 

You sigh, shutting the window, turning back around — only to find four eyes staring back. 

He was huge. A hulking mass of muscles, four arms, instead of two, and each one was possibly wider than your head, no shirt or covering to find the exposed skin — his dark blue pants hung low around his waist and above it was a weird groove in the middle of his stomach. 

Your eyes raise as he lifts his arm, as you flinch, but he only rakes his fingers through his dark pink hair, pushing it back roughly. showing off the hands of black around the middle of his bicep and his wrists. Broken lines wrap down from his shoulders into jagged points that end in the middle of his chest. Black dots adorn the sides of his shoulders, hollow vacuums that stared back at you. 

Two eyes on each side of his face — but his right eyes were raised, as if he bore a mask made of wood or raised skin — you didn’t know which — fused to his face. But something told you — as you took a step back — it wasn’t something you wanted to find out. 

“Are you the brat who dared to summon me?” And you freeze at the sound of his voice, ringing with such a weight, it nearly brought you to your knees. Your eyes fell to the ground, unable to bring yourself to look at him — your heart rattling against your ribs. His presence was a pressure, the air around you seemed to still, his voice ringing in your ears. Your muscles were drawn taut, unable to move — shivers ripping down your spine. 

“Yes,” you manage a whisper only, resisting the urge to squeeze your eyes shut. 

He gives a small chuckle, “So submissive for the one who dared to summon me,” his heavy footsteps out of the circle, melts the candles beside his foot to puddles of wax, “it has been eons since I’ve been able to roam free—“ he inhales, as you stand frozen, hearing his hulking form drawing even closer, “I can smell the humans, roaming free, wriggling like worms in the crevices of this place — I can’t wait to massacre them,” and then he pauses a moment, as he considers you. 

“Brat, look at me,” you swallow, as your head slowly rises to meet his gaze, his form towering over you, standing two steps away from you, letting you dwell in the void of his shadow, “tell me, what did you use to summon me?” 

You blink, “I found it—I don’t know—“ 

“Read it to me,” he orders — there’s no option to disobey, unless you’d love to be met with certain death. So you move slowly to your laptop, reading the incantation again, “‘and let the King corrupt you. Fuga,” 

His eyes narrow, as a slow smirk settles over his features, a smirk that sends an icy chill down your spine, “Woman, you have no idea what you’ve done, have you?” 

Two of his arms are crossed while one of the other’s reaches for you — and your eyes shut now — you are surely dead, but instead of a hand around your neck, you feel fingers grip your chin. 

You wait for the embrace of death (at least maybe you’d find better friends in the afterlife), but it never comes, instead you hear a deep chuckle, as another arm curls around your waist and brings you flush to him, “You humans are so tiny, so fragile, one wrong move and i could break you,” and another large hand is slipping down the curves of your body, “I suppose I’ll have to be a little careful — only for this to work, and I suppose for your benefit as well,” and your eyes finally dare to open and peek at him, only for his face to draw near, breath warming your lips, “I’m going to savor corrupting you, little one,” 

“What the fuck—“ you try to break away, but his grip is like iron shackles around your wrists, as he forces your arms around his waist, caged in by his own arms, “please let me go—“

Before you can even finish your plea, his lips meet yours, swallowing your gasp with a smirk. His large hands around your waist left no space for retreat, not that you’d make it far even if you tried. His kiss sent a slow burning heat throughout your body, a spark that grew in your belly that ignited when his tongue slid into your mouth. His touch only added fuel to the flame — his hands skimming over your sides slowly like warm honey sliding down your skin. 

He parts your kiss ruined lips, not before his teeth bite down on your bottom lip, a smirk on his lips as he sees your saliva slip down the corner of your mouth. Your lips parted and puffy as he drags his thumb down them, eyes blown out with pleasure. 

“That’s it, give in,” and the haze that settles over you is thick and unforgiving, unable to see anything but the King of Curses before you and unable to need anything but pleasure at his hands. 

“Please,” a small hint of resistance remained stubbornly — you couldn’t let this monster have his way with you — for fuck’s sake, much less lose your virginity to him, “I can’t,” 

“But you want to,” he hums, as large fingers tug at your flimsy shorts, the fabric tearing with ease, until it was in shreds, a shiver running up your spine at the thought that your limbs could have been too, “your mouth says one thing, brat, but your lower lips,” a thick finger presses at the wet patch on your panties, rubbing against your puffy clit, “say another,” 

You whimper, as his finger bears down harshly through the thin fabric, “please,” you swallow, as he leans down to lick the drool from your lips, “please—“ 

“Please, what, little one?” he chuckles, as he presses wet kisses up your jaw, “I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me,” your knees are beginning to buckle, as the ache between your legs only grows, “I know you must look pretty when you cry, so do you want to cry for me, brat?” and his piercing gaze nearly brings you tears along, “because I can give you something to cry about,” 

“Do you ever shut up?” you mutter, but that only seems to make the corner of his lip tug upwards. 

“I can make you shut up,” And two hands squeeze your hips roughly, while another slips under your shirt, “No undercovering? It’s as if you wanted this all long,” he chides, a huff in his voice, as his finger teases your pert nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and pulling, drawing a yelp from your lips, “hoping for an incubus or some other curse or demon?” he’s tugging down his pants, revealing his dick—-if you could call it that. 

Fuck, was that a cock or another appendage all together? Far thicker and longer than any male anatomy you’ve seen depicted or described in even the filthiest corners of the internet — pretty veins running up the sides, as a mess of pre-cum dripped off the engorged tip, flushed red with need. 

“Why did you summon me?” he demands to know as he leans down to take a nipple between his lips, and you know you have no choice but to answer. 

“I wanted to prove to my friends that I wasn’t—” it was so pathetic now, as you stood before a literal deity of death, “wasn’t just a good girl,” 

He chuckles, a bark more than a laugh almost, as you swallow thickly as your eyes can’t tear away from the sight of his dick — would he kill you with it instead of his hands? 

“Well, you aren’t anymore are you?” he scoffs, and you fail to notice his hand shifting to tug your underwear off, a gasp ripped from you, as another hand brushed against your bare cunt roughly, “Look at how fucking wet you are already, slut, so much already leaking all over my fingers,” he shows you the strings of pre-cum connecting his fingers, before he brings his fingers to his lips and his tongue darts out to lick them clean, “I’d say no respectable woman would be dripping this much if she was so good,” he hums, before sighing mockingly, “although, perhaps I should preserve your sanctity, even a little. It would be unfortunate to leave you like this — even more so, to leave myself like this, but if that is truly what’s for the best—“ his grip begins to loosen, but your fingers find his shoulder. 

Two words manage to leave your lips — and you don’t know whether it’s that you’re under his spell or under your own — but you know that you need this “Don’t go,” 

His lips curl. He wasn’t going to begin with — but it was so much easier if you gave in. 

~~~

“C’mon little one, you were so eager only a moment ago,” The King of Curses chides, amusement threaded through his tone from behind you, watching as you nearly straddled his stomach — though you had realized it wasn’t just a stomach. A tongue flicked out over lips that formed over the middle of his abdomen, right under you. 

“I didn’t know—“ your cheeks warmed, your walls fluttering at that thought of that tongue against your leaking cunt. 

“Yet you’re so eager,” he scoffs, before using a large hand to tug you against it as two hands settle against your waist to hold you in place, “and I’ve run out of patience, so be a good whore and take my cock,” and he’s pushing your head down, sharp fingernails digging into your scalp, as his large cock slaps your face, smearing his pre cum over your cheek and lips. 

Your lips part, the tip of your tongue tracing his weeping slit, drawing a hiss from his lips, before your mouth engulfs the head, while your fingers curl around his thick base. And as you do, you feel his tongue drag over the length of your cunt, making you gasp around his cock. 

His mouth and tongue are even larger than the one on his face, slurping and sucking, as his tongue begins to work its way inside your needy cunt. 

“Don’t slack, brat,” his hand pushing your head further down on his cock, nearly burying your face in his pubes, “come on, do a good job, and I may even give you the pleasure of being fucked by me,” 

You force yourself to focus on sucking his cock, tracing the pretty veins with your tongue, before suckling at the tip, savoring the groan you draw from his lips. The squelch of your cunt as his tongue begins to fuck you open, thicker than even four of your fingers, fills your ears. Two of his hands find your tits, tweaking and twisting your nipples, squeezing as he presses the flat of his palms against your breasts, only for tongues to dart out from his palms. You gasp around his length, as his other mouths suck at your tits, swirling their tongue around it. 

His hips jerk against your mouth when your fingers cup his balls, and he thrusts, “You can do better,” he grunts, as his tip grazes your throat, his mouth closing around your clit and sucking, hard, and you’re grinding on his abs and mouth now, toes curling as you cum, and his mouth only eagerly swallows it, the sticky release coating his abs. 

His cock twitches in your mouth as you moan around it, as you recover from your orgasm, beginning to suck at his cock, nearly high off the pleasure, as you fondle his balls, bobbing your head up and down, until he’s finally groaning, his hot release flooding your mouth. 

“Don’t waste a drop,” he growls, as you swallow it, blissed out and panting, as your lips leave his weeping cock, slapping against your cheek as he lifts you easily and places you on your back, “don’t tell me you’re done after that, little one,” and your eyes slide down to see his somehow still erect dick, standing tall as he kneels on your bed, his hulking form burying you in his shadow, “because I’m far from done yet,” his cock twitches at the sight of your lips, a swollen mess from sucking him off, a mix of his cum and your saliva all over your face. 

“Please, I can’t—“ you whine, shaking your head, but two hands are already spreading your folds, your cunt fluttering around nothing, as if already craving to have his dick buried in it. 

“Your cunt seems to disagree, little one,” as he drags a thick digit around your clit, before pinching it, as you keen under his touch, “you’re drenched for me, begging for me to take you,” and his thumb is now rubbing circles around your puffy clit while he sinks a finger into you knuckle deep, “I just have to make sure you can fit me in this tight hole of yours,” your head falls back against the pillow as he’s knuckle deep, another large finger already pushing into your slick walls, “still so tight despite all the time I took to open you up,” he clicked his tongue, a smirk on his lips, as his fingers find the spongy spot that makes your fingers fist at the sheets, as your release squirts over his fingers, your body boneless as pleasure buzzes through every inch of your body, until you finally start come down. 

But as soon as you even begin to, his fingers begin to move again, fucking you through your orgasm, and quickly into another. 

“Ngh, no, no, not yet—” your voice is caught in your throat, words leaving your lips in a hurry because you know surely his fingers would rip any coherent thought from your mind in a moment. 

But he does not relent, only finger fucking you harder, “I have to be careful to open you up, otherwise, I very well may break you in two, wouldn’t I? Such fragile things, you humans are — already squealing? I haven’t even added a third finger yet,” he scoffs, as he hums, “have you not been deflowered yet, brat?” 

And your pussy gives a telltale flutter that only has his lips curling further, a flash of his canines sending a chill down your spine, “I-I—”

“No need for your answer, pet, your body gave me the answer itself,” he hums, “then this will take a bit longer than I thought—” as his fingers curl and drag over your walls, before scissoring apart, “I’d prefer for you to be conscious when I take your virginity, but I don’t mind if you’re not,” 

And a fourth finger presses at your slick hole, making you whimper, “Please, I can’t—” but he does not relent, four fingers now fucking you open, as your mouth parts in a silent scream, back arching as they work you open. Your body lies on slick drenched sheets, the smell and sound of your arousal only making his need grow, holding back if only not to ruin you completely — he needed you still, needed this to work. And he wasn’t sure what’d happen if he’d break you completely — and he knew he could far too easily. Already he could feel your blood rushing under his touch, the small gasps and moans could turn to screams with just a finger barely lifted, the slick painted over with scarlet. 

But he doesn’t. He can’t. Not when he’s so close. And soon enough he won’t need you — but he can only cross that bridge when he gets there. 

Or rather, when you get there. 

~~~

“Brat, c’mon, keep your eyes open, we’re almost there,” Sukuna barks, as his fingers grip your chin, and force your gaze to him. How many orgasms had he given you? Seven or eight ? Maybe more. Sweat and cum clung to your skin, sticky and hot, as he continued to fuck you open, “think this virgin hole is finally ready for my cock, listen to it,” the loud squelch of your cunt as he thrust his fingers in and out had almost become white noise to you — and the sweet stretch of your pussy around his fingers had become second nature. 

And finally he’s pulling his fingers from you, digits shiny and dripping with your release, sliding down your palm and wrist, as he brought them to his mouth to lick it clean, before offering it to his mouth on his stomach as well. He watches you all fucked out before him, legs spread along with your cunt that fluttered around nothing, waiting for him to slot his cock between your folds and sink in. He grunts, fuck, his balls still feel so full, even after cumming down your throat, aching to cum in your sweet cunt, see him fill your womb with his seed, the sweet release he had been craving for far too long. 

“You still want my cock still, little one? Or are you too tired for it now?” he drags his leaking cock over your dripping folds, letting it tease your swollen clit as his pre cum mixes with your own, “maybe I should leave you like this, let you beg and beg for me until you’re writhing for me,”

You’re panting, the ache inside your pussy too much for you to bear — you were melting without him inside, the only thing to quench your need, your thirst — he was the only thing that could even begin to make it ebb. 

“Please, please, my King,” your words are nearly sobs, pretty tears slipping down your cheeks, as your chest heaves with need — want far gone several hours ago, leaving only you with a desperation that would drive you mad, “I need you, need you take me, need you to fuck me,” 

And his lips curl, “I thought you’d never ask, brat,” and he’s settling himself between your parted legs, pressing them back against your stomach, “although even if you didn’t, I’d help myself — because you summoned me after all, didn’t you, little one?” As he uses another arm to cup your chin, “watch me as I sink into you,” 

Your cunt quivers as he presses his head to your entrance, as he uses your slick to wet his cock, “I’ll go slow at first, but once I’m inside, I have no intention of stopping, no matter how much you beg,” 

It was a warning, a warning that there was no going back — but there was no going back from the moment you summoned this curse onto your doorstep — there was a descent into depravity, and how quickly you’d make it to the bottom. 

The tip of his cock barely parts your folds, and you’re already whining about how full it feels — your walls fluttering as if trying to either  accommodate his girth or push him out all together. He saw the faint drip of scarlet as he worked himself in, inch by inch — as your fingers found purchase in his forearms, nails digging crescents into his flesh. 

“F-fuck, ngh, Too big, Sukuna, I can’t—“ and he can already feel your pussy give the telltale flutter of an orgasm, a cry ripped from your throat, as you cum, walls only pulling him in deeper and deeper — as if they never wanted to let go. 

And finally, finally, he bottoms out, his hips pressed flush to your aching cunt, and he stills — it had been so long since he had enjoyed the body of a virgin, but he was sure you were the sweetest and tightest cunt he’d ever had. 

Your cries made him scoff, tears streaming down your ruined face, it made his cock twitch —you were so small compared to him, a tiny pebble waiting to be crushed, but instead he held you in the palm of his hand. You were his to have, his to break, and his to corrupt. 

“I told you there was no stopping,” he grunts as another hand settles on your stomach, on top of the slight bulge that came with his cock sinking into you, “can you feel me touching the deepest parts of you?” And he takes the whimper as a yes, “get accustomed to it, because this cunt shall be my breeding ground for as long as I see fit,”

And he finally pulls out only to sink back into your sweet depths, knocking the breath from your lungs. He starts slow, if only to spare you from breaking — because he knows so easily could. The wet squelch of your cunt rings in his ears, as he watches his thick cock sink in and out of your pussy again and again. 

 “Look at you, barely able to take my fingers and now you’re taking my cock so well,” he groans at the sight of your stretched pussy, as it took his cock over and over, molding its very shape to his length, as the slap of your skin against his became like a metronome, “such a perfect little whore, aren’t you?” and you moaned at his words, the sound of which made your cheeks burn with shame — “don’t worry, even if you aren’t, little one,” his fingers find your clit, rubbing and twisting until you come again, hard, your back arching as you do, fingernails nearly drawing blood from his arms as you do. 

He hums, as he only fucks you through your orgasm, even as you try to squirm away from him, it’s all in vain — because you’re his now, “Oi, brat, where are you going? You won’t like what I’ll do if you try to get away again — your only place now is under me,” and his hands find his way under your ass as he shifts you onto his lap, “or on this throne,” and he fucks into you, brutally, again and again, your arms clinging around his neck desperately, as a hand on the back of your head guides your lips to his, “tongue out,” he orders, and you do as he says, as the two of you meet in a sloppy kiss. 

And his hands shift to your hips, bruising as they help you ride him, meeting his thrusts with your own, until he’s finally hitting your cervix that has you squirting, drenching him in your release as your walls shudder around him. And his lips leave yours a moment, before they kiss down your jaw to your neck, his teeth sinking into the soft skin at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, drawing a yelp from your lips. 

He groans, a guttural noise from his chest, as he notches himself as deep as he can before cumming, his hot release spurting out and painting your walls, as he continues to fuck it deeper and deeper, the snaps of his hips finally slowing, as he pulls away from your neck, enjoying the blood that pools in the ridges of his bite mark. 

“Such a good little slut, aren’t you?” he hums, as he cups your lolling head, eyes thick with sleep and body heavy with exhaustion, you hear his quiet voice murmur, “I was only going to corrupt you for the sake of completing the summons you gave — I had no choice if I wanted to stay on this plane, but,” he hums, as pulls his cock from you with a gasp on your lips, before he has you flipped onto your stomach in a moment, sheathing his thick length back into you in one thrust, “I think I just might keep you, brat,” your eyes flutter shut, as his words fade from your consciousness, until a mean spank to your ass jolts you from your retreat into Hypnos’s arms. 

No — as you turned your head ever so slowly to get Sukuna’s face in your periphery — you only answered to one god now. 

The King of Curses’ lips curled in a cruel smirk, as he drew his hips back before slamming back in, “Let’s show the world truly how depraved you are, brat, hm? Together.” 

✧ a/n: this is my first time writing sukuna so i hope i was able to do him justice. i was gonna do the whole two dick thing, but i was already like...this is complicated enough lmao.

✧ taglist: @pricetagofficial, @kentocalls, @angie-1306, @fayyyrieee, @dontshuugo, @zz-snow-zz, @viveriens, @sunflowmaryam, @eclipsephase, @merrymonkey, @leilannnnnnni, @spider-fan72, @temptationville, @gojos-princesa, @yell0wdreams, @achelliescomedown, @hiyori-ii, @bunninio, @grunge-mo0n, @diogodxlot, @littlecrybabys-world, @esuz, @unnamedflwr, @lemonpoppy-seed, @corkedscrewslocked, @bsaeshell, @methodofawesome, @rinvrin, @noveltywilbur, @ch0c0bsess, @sarcasticbitchsblog, @simpingnbitching, @aethyrite, @aitheria, @sweetpanda15, @daddytojji, @kindadolly, @kimnamjoonsbigtoe, @catsgomurp, @dhoranbolt, @kariatenoh, @hanxyy

[yanderenightmare]

TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility, murder of unnamed characters, mentions of potentially killing reader

fem reader

Just thinking about the apocalypse, the two army men who’ve long survived it in their shelter with barely any trouble, and then you, a poor girl trying hard to outrun your last captives only to run into them.  

You didn’t realize back then that it was like trading piranhas for sharks, too caught up in begging for their aid to think better of it. You should have just kept running, but your ankle was sprained badly, maybe even broken, and you were wearing so little you would most likely have died from the cold during the night if they hadn’t taken you in.

It seems unfair of them to have kept the giant bunker all to themselves, only the two of them, but you don’t judge. You would likely have kept it all to yourself as well.

This new world has bred new humans, and they’re all monsters. It’s honestly quite surprising they’d even let you in, given this is what they’re protecting, this sanctuary from the past, a comfort most people would kill their closest friend in exchange for.

Trust is all but dead, and so is honor or any other morality—you would know, you’ve lived out there for it all, only having survived by spreading your legs at the right moments. It’s a shameful tactic, and many times, you’ve wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to spare yourself and just die. What was the purpose?

This—you think. This must be it. They have showers and working hot water.

You don’t know how it’s possible—the original owners of the shelter must have been some type of millionaire. You haven’t had a warm shower since the world went to shit—years ago. It’s been a choice of waiting for rain or finding a lake, hoping it wasn’t rancid. Meanwhile, they have soap—scented soap, the lush kind you’d forgotten existed. It feels so nice you have to cry—rejoice—sobbing while lathering yourself, watching all the filth go down the drain, leaving you smooth-skinned once again for the first time in forever. You can’t remember having ever been so clean before, feeling reborn.

They have fresh clothes for you too—new socks and underwear, all clean fabrics, so much more than what you wore—pants, a shirt, and a sweater to keep warm. You didn’t know there still existed people who lived like the old days—you’d thought it was long gone, a bittersweet dream you sometimes have the pleasure of at night instead of the usual nightmares. Never had you thought you’d experience anything even remotely similar, but here you are—looking yourself in the mirror after so long, surprised to see a human looking back at you.

And they feed you. Not scraps, not leftovers, not rot, or days-old flesh from the last successful hunt—but freshly baked bread, vegetables, fruit—for fuck’s sake, they even have juice. You cry again while eating, and then you find yourself begging them again, “Please, let me stay—please, I’ll do anything. I can cook, clean, work—anything at all, I can do it, just please let me stay…”

You’re on your knees, forehead pressed to the heated metal floors—toasty and comforting, you think you could sleep better than ever right there.

“We’ll think about it,” one of them mutters as he gathers the plates. His voice was so harsh he might as well have said, not a chance. It’s clear by his frown that he’d rather send you right out again, leave you to the monsters.

“We’ll at least let you stay until your ankle heals, so don’t worry.” The other is more sympathetic, helping you up. “For now, let’s get you to bed. You must be exhausted.”

It hadn’t crossed your mind that they’d have beds—actual real soft downy mattresses and duvets and pillows. The two of you help make it together. It feels so foreign that you wonder if you might have died earlier. Some years back, you wouldn’t have thought heaven would resemble a prison cell, but now it only made sense—safe metal walls and a bed. What more could one possibly want in the world?

“I’ll wrap your leg for you if you sit.” He holds out a bandage roll, gesturing to your ankle.

Blinking, you can’t even register what he’d just offered until he’s getting down on his knees before you.

You panic, then. Bandages are hard to come by—it hardly seems worth it. “There’s no blood, you shouldn’t waste it—”

“It’ll heal better and faster this way,” he adds reassuringly. His voice is so soft and compelling that you find yourself sitting down without further quarrel, even when it makes you feel spoiled.

He’s gentle with you—holding you steady while wrapping it just tightly enough to be supportive. There hasn’t been a man who’s touched you like it.

“Does that feel okay?”

You can barely tell he’s talking to you. It’s all so lost on you that you can only wordlessly nod your head.

He fastens it just as carefully before standing. “Is there anything else you might need?”

You shake your head just as wordlessly. You can’t believe how nice he’s being. It makes no sense at all. Not in this world. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to lock the door,” he apologizes with a sheepish look once standing on the threshold.

You’d been stuck thinking about how warm the room was, trying to remember a single time you hadn’t been freezing during the night. “That’s okay, I understand,” you say. After all, what’s a locked door in comparison?

“Good,” he smiles—it’s likely the kindest smile you’ve ever seen. “Alright then, good night.”

Once again, you’re left stunned. The last time you’d heard those words spoken must have been from a loved one long since dead. It makes your lip wobble again as you say it back, “Good night.”

It's strange—they could have left you for dead but didn’t. They don’t seem gullible—they can’t be if they’ve managed to protect this place for so long—but you suppose there still exist men who have a soft spot in their hearts for helpless damsels in distress.

As you sink into the comfort, draping your duvet atop your battered body, you don’t even care about the camera in the ceiling—blinking red while watching you.

“Did you have to bandage her up?” he grumbles as the other walks into the bedroom after having said his goodnights to you. 

He’s already in bed, observing through the cameras on a tablet—you were currently curling into the duvet, wrapping it around you close for comfort. You’d likely not slept on anything so soft in a while—it wouldn’t surprise him if you preferred the floor. But no, you drift asleep quite quickly.

“You know how badly things can heal without proper support,” the other answers, regarding it as no big deal. “And besides, it’s not like we often need it—we have plenty to spare.”

He removes his clothes and crawls onto the bed as well, lifting the covers to slot himself right next to the other man, who still has a scowl on his face.

“Oh, come on…” he drawls. “She’s exactly what we’ve been talking about, isn’t she?”

The grump doesn’t answer, still with keen eyes watching you, even as you’ve fallen asleep—as if waiting for you to do something befitting a wild animal in a cage. The other’s eyes fall to the screen as well, but he only awes in delight.

“Look at her, already fast asleep,” he purrs while zooming in on your face. “I mean, did you see how she was begging earlier, what she said? I’d do anything,” he continues, almost whining. “So cute, I could have fucked her right then and there.”

The other man sets the tablet aside with a disagreeing sigh. “We’ll wait at least a week for her system to detoxify from the wasteland,” he says strictly. “I’m not touching her before then, and neither are you unless you want to sleep alone.”

The other groans then, flopping down on his back. “Yeah, yeah, you and your safety protocols,” he dismisses before a smirk creeps up his face, glee twinkling in his eyes as he looks up at his grouchy counterpart. “But then we keep her, right?”

“Tch—we don’t even know if she’s fertile. The wasteland could have made her barren as long as she’s been out there,” the other shuffles down into the sheets as well, turning to look at his partner and the awfully keen look on his face.

“So we test her. Give her a medical check,” he says, again as if it’s not a problem, even when it very well could turn out to be.

They’ve already broken quarantine rules by letting you in here—and who knows what your real objectives truly are.

“I don’t trust her,” he states.

The other pouts. “I don’t see what one little lady can do—she’s hardly a threat. And we already purged the group that was following her. I doubt any of them made it out alive.”

True, he had gone out and sent several gas grenades into the settlement. Surely, none of them managed to escape, but then again—

“Pest control only works when you kill them all, and we’ve just let one inside our own house,” he grumbles.

The other one sighs. “Okay, so if it turns out she isn’t as cute as she looks, we’ll deal with her like the rest. But if I’m right, and she really is just a harmless little thing, we keep her, and I get to have the first go.”

Suppose there isn’t anything better to do aside from killing you straight away, which would only have been a waste of food, water, clothes, and bandages. 

“Fine.”

The other grins at the agreeance, humming, “I guess until then, we’ll just have to make do with each other—I've been hard since we watched her shower.” He leans forward for contact but is shut down as his bedmate rolls around with his back turned to him.

“Tch—take care of it yourself.” Tonight has been too stressful to tug each other’s dicks. 

He can hear him whine behind him, but he settles down soon enough.

Suppose it would be nice fucking a woman again. It’s been so many years he figured he wouldn’t need it anymore. They’ve made do with each other so far. But even he can’t deny, once you’d washed all the blood and muck off, once he saw the dewy hue of your soft skin and the silk of your hair, all those plush curves, and not to mention that awfully sweet look on your face—he felt the tug in his pants too.

He'll do a medical check on you tomorrow. He hopes you’re fertile. But even if you’re not, he might give in to the other’s wishes and keep you anyway. After all, they might have many luxuries, but the comfort of pussy is one they haven’t had in a long, long, long time.

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta, ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka, ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

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

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I hate how inconsistent the temperature iOS this time of year. Today the high is like 64 but two days from now they are predicting a high of 80 something. Every morning i have to check the weather to see what I have to do, air conditioning on or off, and when I’m getting out my clothes for the day i have to figure out just how much of the day I’ll be outside. In the morning it will be like 60 something and then at noon it’s like 80. What pants am I supposed to wear like this? And do I need a sweater or will it just be extra bulk in warmer weather? On Monday I was like “oh hell yeah, I can wear my skinny jeans now. And the new ouija board sweater i got at target! And then yesterday it was 75 and i forgot to check the weather so i didn’t turn on the air conditioning or open a window until i noticed it was uncomfortably warm in the afternoon and i had trouble falling asleep because my bedroom (i don’t open the window here very often because i live near train tracks and I’d rather not hear it louder in my bedroom while i try to sleep, and any wind will blow my curtains around and let light in) even with my window open all night while it dipped to around 60 felt too hot, but I refused to use the air conditioner when it was 60 out and nice. I had been using the stove though and that combined with my body heat and the weather warming the small apartment up, I was sweating in my bed and I couldn’t fall asleep. And then! If you sweat a whole lot overnight and your window is open cooling the place down, you’re hit by cold when you remove the blanket. I need to wash shorts and pants and it’s weird. September is always super inconsistent here.

[operationslipperypuppet]

you’ve been raging for a decade. at least. and your friends died because of the thing that requires you to rage for a decade. your son worries you. and he made some friends, and you’re living better for it. they ask you about your rage, and you can talk about it normally for the first time ever. they heal you, and you feel a bit better. then they name the god of the guy in your chest and suddenly you almost die again. but they talk to him. and then, miracle of miracles, they get him out. they save you. your quest is over. he’s contained.

your friends didn’t die for nothing. and you don’t have to rage anymore.

you’re lydia barkrock. and you can finally rest.

[2tarbell]

MEAN SOMETHING — KOOK!READER

only one person knew how to handle your drunk best friend…

(drabble. © 2tarbell 2024)

you were going to end rafe cameron.

on the one night, the one night, you wanted some alone time and to be away from the boys, he decided to get sloppy drunk. of course, your other best friends have no idea how to take care of a drunk person and you honestly wondered how they even took care of themselves. which left you to slide on some slippers and drive over.

now as you stood before the front door in your victoria’s secret yoga pants and pink sweater, waiting for topper to answer it, you wonder why you let yourself get pulled into shit like this.

it’s rafe, that’s why. that’s always the reason why.

the door swings open to reveal a frazzled topper and kelce, you would’ve laughed at them if you weren’t so pissed. they took in your attire, the prissiness still evident even your pajamas. but you looked slightly disheveled, something they didn’t see often. both boys snorted at the sight of your bunny slippers but you quickly cut them off.

“say anything and i’ll chop your dicks off. where is he?” you seethed.

your tone brooked no argument and they both stepped aside to let you sashay in. kelce had his keys in hand as he mumbled something about rafe being ‘in his room’ and ‘on the floor’.

god was really testing you tonight.

you shooed them away, locking up the door behind them and stomping up the stairs. just praying he wasn’t choking on his own vomit or something.

the sight that greeted you literally made you pause and take out your phone, nails tapping the screen as you took a picture. rafe cameron, laying on his back and seemingly enthralled by the ceiling fan. it was genuinely amusing and kind of adorable. but the bottle of whiskey sitting next to him reminded you of your duty.

“rafe. sit up.”

his head snapped up at your voice, a boyish grin on his lips. he looked younger when he was drunk, stress and age having melted away.

“heeey, baby, whaddaya doin’ hereee?” he slurred, a low rumbly version of his voice.

you stepped closer, standing over him. hands on your hips as you looked down at him. his eyes were hardly open but you didn’t miss how they trailed down your figure.

“making sure you don’t die — get up.” the words were sharp in attempt to make him seriously listen.

he giggled and sighed, pushing up to rest on his elbows. the movement had his head spinning but he didn’t give a shit. just needed a better look at his pretty best friend.

“oh, y’know it turns me on when y’talk to me like that…”

you poked his side with your foot a bit harshly. patience wearing thin, you glared down at him.

“you’re such a pain in my ass—“

“mmm, love your ass,” he hummed but then groaned when you kicked him again, harder.

“rafe, i am so serious right now—“

with a childish huff of annoyance, he lifted himself off the ground but then immediately flopped face first on his bed. small victories, small victories.

you were happy to see dumb and dumber had enough brains to leave a water bottle with him. you grabbed it off the nightstand and perched at the edge of the bed next to the drunken 6’2 baby. a delicate hand rubbed his back; despite being annoyed at him for getting this drunk, you were still worried.

“hey, babe, c’mon — turn over. you need to drink some water…”

rafe unceremoniously flipped over, long legs dangling off the side of the bed. he sat up slowly and groaned at each movement. the room was nonstop spinning, so he decided to focus on one thing: your face. a smile worked its way onto his lips before he could stop himself.

you looked so beautiful, all worried and doting on him. blue eyes stared at your features (like he didn’t already have them committed to memory). the tent in his pant caught your eye and he watched as your eyes rolled. despite the memories of nights spent tangled up with him, you couldn’t believe the audacity he had.

“no way you’re seriously hard right now—“

“mmm, can’t control it around you.”

his smirk was frustrating you, in more ways than one. no, you wouldn’t do anything while he was this drunk. he knows that. yet he still tries to lean up and—

the water bottle presses to his lips, you trying to ease him into drinking and ignoring the bulge you’ve become all too familiar with. his betrayed expression made you snicker. this wasn’t the time to let fantasies run wild. kicking off your slippers and tucking your legs beneath you, you leaned closer.

“c’mon, rafe,” your voice was sweet, so sweet. he couldn’t do anything but take large gulps of water, trying to please you. he was a dumbass but you smiled at his eager approach.

“okay, okay — slow down before you jus’ throw it all up…” the giggle you let out settled right into his bones. rafe found himself wondering why you were just friends. he thought that a lot lately.

“go out with me.”

he definitely thought he sounded more debonair than he did. in reality, half of the words he spoke just flowed into each other. but he kept that low drawl that always sent you reeling. you couldn’t do this, couldn’t approach that territory. not now. you’d be happy if you never did.

“rafe—“ you tensed up.

“no, seriously. you’re— you’re gorgeous and y’put up with me. i mean, c’mon—“

the deep sting to your heart wasn’t something new. but it felt stronger this time, more painful. with a sigh, you set the water back down on his nightstand, brushing his hair back as he continues to rant.

“i think we get along great. y’know y’ten times better than— than any other chick i’ve been with— shit, any chick on the island—“

a bittersweet smile graced your lips. rafe noticed they were devoid of any pink or gloss. you really got out of bed just to come and take care of him? that’s gotta mean something.

“c’mon, doll face… gimme a reason y’shouldn’t.”

his words trailed off into contented hums when you started to scratch his scalp. boys are so easy. but boys aren’t rafe.

“i’m a bitch.” the resignation in your voice was telling. being a bitch, being called one wasn’t something new to you. these days you accepted the word with pride, reclaiming it in a sense. but you knew rafe, kook boys, and hell even pogue boys didn’t want a bitch. you were too much for most people.

the scoff he let out made you smile, cheeks dimpling and fingers twisting his hair. he shook his head with a frown and rested a large hand on your waist.

“nooo, y’not.” the words punctuated with a squeeze.

“i am—“

rafe reached up and cupped the back of your neck, silencing any chance to speak or protest. you know what that touch meant: ‘i’m talking now’.

“you’re beautiful. and— and smart and good.” his whispered words are drunken and mumbled. but you felt like your heart might explode, a heat pushing through your veins and replacing the blood with rafe.

rafe, rafe, rafe.

“best girl i know... yeah?” he urges, squeezing the back of your neck. your heart thumps faster at the pressure. you nod, because what else can you do when he speaks to you like that?

with a satisfied hum, he smiles. the action completely softens his face and it blows you away every time. you’re pressed closer, leaning over him, and he’s staring at you like he can’t believe you’re real.

“that’s my girl…”

you can’t tell who leans in first, but soon you’re locking lips with your best friend. something that shouldn’t be familiar and exhilarating as it is, but continues to be every single time. the kiss that you share is more gentle than you two have ever been with each other. in your complicated relationship, it was always hot and rough.

but this… this was slow and comforting. he tasted like whiskey and you let your lips part just slightly, a tentative lick of his tongue into the warmth of your mouth made you feel weak.

rafe was alight with want. he’d always wanted you. wanted to be in your presence. wanted to hear your voice. wanted to have you beneath him. wanted to be beneath you. he wanted it all. maybe it was the whiskey talking, but nothing had ever felt more right than when your hand cupped his cheek and your lips where on his.

“you should sleep…” your voice was hardly recognizable, soft and hesitant against his lips. he didn’t have to to ask, you knew he wanted you to stay. and you know you couldn’t have left if you wanted to.

so, you let him wrap his arms around you and nestled into his neck. and when he starts to snore like he always denies he does, you felt like things might be okay. despite it all, he was gonna be your rafe.