#Willful icarus au

[streamdotpng]

Wednesday, new student and hearing about the murders in jericho: I do enjoy a good murder mystery

Enid, grimacing in the inside yet desperately just trying to get along with her new weirdo of a roommate so she doesn't bring nevermore to ruin: I've been a suspect for a few cases

[ghost-bxrd]

You’ve read about Orpheus and Eurydice, but have you read about the sad sob who joined a shady organization just to keep his childhood crush safe? No?

Well then buckle in folks, cuz it’s gonna be a ride.

[an-au-blog]

Oh, your love is sunlight

Happy (late) Valentine's Day (version without text ↓ +description in tags)

[hcguesstheauthormessageboard]

true but i can list all of them

—icky

.

[crabbunch]

putting absurd amounts of thought into the symblolism behind girls who arent even characters is a FULL TIME JOB! so no i will not be clocking into work anymore

[phyrestartr]

Icarus, I Am Devoted | Sukuna x M!Reader

Main Fic W/C: 5.9k Bonus Drabbles W/C: 1.6k

[#Modern AU, ABO dynamics, bottom!reader, top!sukuna, Mob Boss!Sukuna, Alpha!Sukuna, Street Doctor!Reader, Omega!Reader, toxic relationships, age gap, sukuna is mid 30s, yuuji gang and reader are mid 20s, sukuna and yuuji are brothers, sukuna has FEELINGS, but he is BAD AT FEELINGS, nsfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, I KINDA EDITED BUT I JUST WANT THIS TO BE YEETED INTO THE OPEN OK BYE SORRY IF PARTS ARE CLUNKY]

@better-imagination-9 I summon thee

--

Sukuna didn't like Yuuji getting caught up in his business. 

He was too brash, thought himself too badass for the world to take down, thought gang life wasn't as bad as it was made out to be, just because his older brother was involved. Sukuna didn't know where the fuck he got that idea–the tattooed menace had killed people, stolen money, sold shit that ruined lives. It was fun for him, sure, but not so much for bystanders. 

“You're an idiot,” Sukuna growled as he dragged his brother into his office and threw him at the chaise lounge while they waited for their doctor on demand. 

“H-hey, come on, man! It's, uh, it's not even that bad–” Yuuji grimaced, though, holding at the wound gushing blood from his arm. “You've had worse!”

Sukuna laughed bitterly as his henchmen flooded the room and made necessary preparations for their aid's arrival. “You and I are fucking built different, Yuuji--you’re too damn soft for–”

“I'm not,” Yuuji snapped, honeyed eyes blazing. “I'm not.” 

Sukuna laughed again, then ripped his plush, leather chair across the room, sending it hurtling into the expensive ebony walls he encased his place of business in. He roared in overwhelming fury as it clattered to the floor. 

“How hard is it for you to listen? How come you can never just fucking–” 

“Yelling won't solve things,” your cool voice interrupted as you hurried into the room, medical bag in hand. “I thought you learned that by now.” 

Sukuna whirled on his heel. His hands were still fisted in his hair and his blood boiled, but now, there existed an explosive tension with you in the room. 

You, his pretty little omega. The one he chased away. The one he still craved. The one that drove him insane. 

“Uraume,” Sukuna growled, crimson eyes locking onto his most devoted. 

“My apologies,” they said with a pensive look and deep bow, “he was the only one willing to come.” 

“So mind your manners, or I'll let your brother bleed out,” you said airily, so haughty and bitchy and annoying. But Sukuna knew you wouldn't let Yuuji die. You wouldn't let him suffer with a wound like that–you were too fond of the little brat. 

Sukuna snarled in frustration and fixed his jacket with sharp tugs. “Just fix him.”

He stalked away, ignoring the way Yuuji yelled at him before preening at you as you tended to him. Sukuna knew his brother had a bit of a thing for you, his bitch, which caused more than a handful of problems with the two arguing and fighting for your affections. Naturally, you chose Sukuna. Of course you would.

The alpha's frustrations boiled, reducing the rage in his gut into simmering desire. He leaned his head back against the elevator mirror with a sigh as it shot up toward the penthouse--the one you, too, used to occupy. The one where you'd spread your legs for him, drowning in expensive, black silk sheets while he bred you like the good little thing you were. The one where you'd cook for him if (when) you woke up before him the morning after. The one where you first whispered I love you against his skin when you thought he was asleep.

The elevator doors dinged open, and he stormed out, eager to rid himself of the tightness pulling at his slacks. A cigar and a drink sounded good, too. 

–

Ding. 

He knew it was you. It had to be you. You were a good person, willing to let Uraume rest while you gave your ex the update he needed about his brother. After all, you didn't fear him, nor did you yearn to please him. You were more than capable of delivering shit news and getting off scotch free. 

“So?” Sukuna took a deep puff from his cigar and leaned further into the balcony railing as you approached. 

You hummed as you sidled up next to him, tucking some of your hair behind your ear as the breeze tugged at it. “He'll be fine. Yuuji's tough. He's a bit shaken up now that the adrenaline’s worn off, though.” 

“Maybe that'll teach that idiot not to get shot.” 

“Probably not.” 

“Probably not,” Sukuna sighed, tapping off a dash of ash from the butt of his cigar just before it was plucked from his hands. “Oi.” 

“These things'll kill you,” you scolded airily. “So will that.” You tried reaching for the crystalline glass of amber, too, when Sukuna scoffed and took a sip to spite you. 

“Don't,” he snarled. Any normal omega would have backed away. Any normal omega would have keened. Any normal omega would have tried to please him up with a sweet scent of submission. But you were a different breed entirely. 

“Don't growl at me–” you gaped as Sukuna downed the expensive liquor before whipping the glass at the skyline. “Sukuna.”

He stalked back into his penthouse with heavy steps as he ran his hands through his hair. He had to busy his fingers, his palms, just so he wasn't tempted to touch you, to grab you like he was used to. It'd been years since you were properly together–properly engaged in fact–but he still couldn't shake those infuriating fucking habits. You were a cancer in his mind, plaguing his body and thoughts. 

But he didn't want you to leave. Maybe he liked the chase. Maybe he just liked how his entire, explosive world narrowed down to just one infuriating thing that he wanted so badly. He didn't know. Maybe he didn't need to know. 

Sukuna poured himself another drink and collapsed onto his soft leather couch with a deep sigh. His arms draped along the back, one hand still holding the glass by the rim. He let his head fall back, and stared at the ceiling. 

Thankfully, you wandered in. And you wandered toward him, not to the door like you usually did when his temper flared and he acted out. Something small and pathetic in him uncoiled and settled down, purring in content when you took a seat beside him. 

“What's going on?” you asked quietly. Your fingertips singed sparks of pleasure against his skin where you touched: his cheekbones, his hairline, his furrowed brow.

He lolled his head to the side to look at you, his stupid pretty boy. “Nothing.” Not even Sukuna believed that.

You brushed his hair back, and the stupid alpha in him rose to the surface and moaned. “Yuuji’s not behaving?” Your warm palm cupped his cheek, and he leaned into it. 

“That little shit never behaves,” he mumbled through the vibrato of purrs rumbling from his chest. “Gonna make me die young.” 

“Hm. Is that why you haven't slept?” 

“I'm sleeping.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

“Sukuna.”

“I said–” 

“You and I have different definitions of ‘enough,’” you chided lightly, like you were scolding one of your cats. “You look tired.” 

“Maybe it's because my mate scampered off in the middle of the night.” 

“Don't blame this on me.” 

“Why not?” Wine-red eyes glowered at you, deciding whether he should dominate or decimate you. “It's your fault.” 

You recoiled the slightest bit, your top lip twitching in that oh-so familiar way it did whenever you were close to snarling and snapping at him. You had such a temper for such a calm thing. Sukuna would be lying if he said he didn't try to rile you up on purpose. 

“Ho? What,” he started, grinning wickedly when you made a move to get up, but his arms snaked around you and held like wrought iron. “Feelin’ guilty?” 

“No,” you hissed, half-pissed by his drink spilling on you, half-pissed by his accusation. “Let go. I'm leaving.” 

“Leaving?” He crooned. “You always get so pissy when I don't wanna talk, ‘n now that I'm in the mood, you're tryna leave? Come on, sweetheart, that's not fair.” 

“I don't feel like fucking fighting tonight,” you snapped, and Sukuna stayed quiet for a change. “Yuuji got shot. You look like shit. And we--I haven't–” you took a deep breath. “Can't we just be civil for a night? Can't we just talk about–”

“About what?”

“About whatever.” 

“Fine.”

“Alright. Okay.” 

Somewhere behind the haze of alcohol, Sukuna's consciousness celebrated–this could be his shot at starting to fix things. This was his moment to rebuild that lost relationship and maybe clean up a space in his life for you to sit safely in. Your expectant expression agreed with him. You looked quite cute, what with your big eyes and the way you leaned into him. But instead–

“Was it a boy or a girl?” Sukuna asked before taking a sip of whatever remained in his glass. 

You blinked and shook your head, eyes narrowing the slightest as you looked over his face. “What?” You asked. 

Sukuna snorted and turned to face you, one arm gesturing with his scotch glass while the other arm stayed slung across the back of the couch. “I said,” he started, gesturing to your stomach and chuckling through his low, bassy words, “boy or girl? If it was a girl, then maybe the world did you a favour. You know how it is for women in this day and age.” 

You stared blankly like you were shellshocked, and Sukuna bubbled with near-manic, reedy laughter until you got up and walked to the door. 

“Oi, where the hell are you going, huh?” He got up and followed you, hastening his steps when he saw you b-line for the door. “Omega.” He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, purring into your ear as he pressed his chest to your back. “Come on, we can make another one. You'd like that, huh?” 

“Get off,” you barked, ripping his arms away from you. But he grabbed you again and spun you back to face him. You shoved him back, your mind whirling in a chaotic waltz drenched with grey thoughts and crimson rain that almost drowned out the words he barked at you until–

Whack. 

He hit you. Backhanded, fingers adorned with thick, bulky rings and knuckles that'd seen too many fights. A natural disaster contained in the vessel of a mortal man–sometimes, he didn't know his own capabilities.

“Shit,” Sukuna mumbled, scrambling to set down his glass to, what, tend to you? Rewind time? Sure. “Babe–” 

But you, too, were a natural disaster. The tsunami that came after an earthquake, raising tides high and staring down at split earth with a taunt: you think you're bad? Watch this.

Thwack. 

You snatched up that bottle of fancy scotch and hit a home run, watching Sukuna collapse to the floor.

–

Sukuna woke up with a concussion, his wallet missing, and one of his favourite cars torched. 

It got him riled up. He was too ready to hunt you down and make you rectify your mistakes–that is, until he remembered why you did what you did. 

Boy or girl?

Maybe the world did you a favour.

Fuck. He flew way too close to the sun this time.

He watched you stack up expenses on his card instead of hunting you. Your little rage-filled crime spree was kind of funny anyway, and he couldn’t help but hope it made you feel at least a little better. 

Though he knew it could never. Nothing could make it better. 

–

“You should quit messing around with him,” Ieiri said as she tended to the half-dead gangster laying on her operating table. “He's bad news. A kid like you shouldn’t be getting involved.” 

The one little, wiggly lucid part of Sukuna wanted to strangle Ieiri; you were young, sure, but not stupid. Sukuna wouldn't go so far as to say you were mature for your age, no, but you'd been beaten down by life and forced into the role of an adult for long enough that it'd changed your way of thinking, of perceiving the world. You could make your own choices–just as long as it involved him. 

“You're not the first person to tell me that,” you said softly, words rising with a small, warm chuckle. “Good guys try way too hard to put on a show, to hide how garbage they can be.” You squeezed Sukuna's hand and ran your thumb over his split knuckles. “Guys like him show you who they really are right away. Then, you get to figure out what his good side is like.” 

–

You were there again. In the elevator, looking a little pensive beyond your cool exterior. 

Sukuna took a drag from his cigarette as he stepped in beside you. The button for his penthouse leered at him and whispered, “you have time.” 

All he had to do was think of what to say. The right course of action was obvious, but–well, was it really his fault? He couldn't accept that 100%. You clocked him upside the head with a fucking glass bottle and stole his– 

“Those things'll kill you.” Your fingers snatched the smoke from his lips before he realized it. He caught you butting it out on the fancy gold railings. 

“I like things that can kill me,” he hummed, lighting another cigarette and chuckling when you snatched that one too. “What, scared of a little competition?” 

“Yes.” 

Oh. Sukuna liked that.

“I, uh,” you started, fumbling with your pockets before handing something over. “Found this.” 

Sukuna glanced your way finally. He couldn't help but laugh as he plucked the wallet from your hands. 

“Found it, huh?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Such a benevolent, pious thing. I would've kept it.” 

“Yeah, well. You're a dick. ‘Course you would.” 

“Where'd you find it?” 

“My pocket.” 

“No shit.” 

“Yeah. Weird.” 

The elevator doors dinged open, revealing the empty hall leading to the penthouse. He glanced down at the door before looking back down at you. 

“Have a drink with me.”

Your expression soured. 

Sukuna threw his arm against the doors to keep them open. “Coffee?” 

Your brows lifted, the creases smoothing from your face. “Coffee.” 

Sukuna's alpha bloomed with pleased content. He sidled up next to you and rested his broad hand on the small of your back, leading you down the hall. 

“With a bit of Baileys.”

“No Baileys.”

–

He let you try to sooth his stress while you waited for your favourite, poor-person coffee to brew. 

You straddled his thick thighs as you kissed at his neck. Your hands roamed and threaded through his gelled hair, your blunt nails dragged along his scalp, coaxing rumbling purrs out of your alpha.

“Shit,” he moaned, leaning back into your hands, digging his head into your digits and grumbling like an old dog. You hummed in sympathy, and gave him harsher scritches, making his knee bounce in double time like a dog getting the spot scratched.

You weren’t done, though. You licked at his neck’s scent gland and coaxed more of his natural musk to the surface to mix with yours–a classic way to get one’s partner to calm down. You were methodical as fuck about it, too, knowing how Sukuna’s stress abruptly blocked any good scents in favour of excreting foul, angry odors into the air when he was pissed. Or, sometimes, he’d shut down completely, the only scent coming from what clung to his skin and clothes. 

And so, he needed a little more TLC to get things flowing again, to make his body disarm and let the good vibes flow. 

You nipped the swollen spot lightly, eliciting a strangled growl from the man. “Too rough?” Your tongue pressed at the spot again, and pulled more of that deep purring out of him. “Maybe not.” 

“By all means, rough me up.” That was as close to a warning as you would get from a greedy bastard like Sukuna. He wanted you to bite harder, to break skin and set the wild tornado of a mating rut into motion. You were careful to avoid him when your unholy heats crashed down on you, but being in the presence of your estranged man when he was set off–well, it’d jumpstart your sex-crazed frenzy, too. 

“Raincheck,” you murmured. 

He huffed and rubbed circles in your hips before grabbing your ass and squeezing. “When's the last time–” 

The coffee maker sang a tune and you got off, saved from your warm, fuzzy marking daze. “Does it matter?”

Sukuna got up and stalked after you, rubbing the ache out of his shoulder. “Like it or not, we're stuck with our binding vow.” His chest pressed to your back, his arms slipping around your waist as he leaned down to nuzzle into your skin. “Mated for life.” He couldn't help the smile that branded into your neck. 

You cleared your throat and snatched up two mugs. “There're surgeries–”

“No.” 

“How do you take your coffee again?” Hah. You didn't even try to argue it.

Sukuna's ego boomed. His scent grew more dominating and demanding in tow. “You know how I like it. You know the way I like everything.”

You scoffed and slapped his hand away, the sweet, teasing omega that happily marked him up and scented him to high heaven gone, now replaced with your annoying, bratty self. Ugh. He loved it as much as he hated it.

“You used to be cuter,” Sukuna commented, quiet and breathy, so out of character. His hands retreated back to hold your waist instead of keeping you trapped against him. “What happened to–”

“You know what happened.” You sounded tired, too. Angry. But not at the Sukuna standing with you right then and there. 

Sukuna's old friend, unyielding frustration, bore down on him. He sucked his teeth and beat down the urge to snap, to yell and scream, claim it wasn't his fucking fault and that you never filled him in, so how could–

His forehead pressed against your shoulder. “I don't,” he sighed. “I don't fucking know, (Name). We lost our kid, I know that much, so what the fuck else is there?” 

For a moment, he thought he'd lost you again. He expected you to whirl around, throw a cup at his head and curse him to hell to start off another fight; instead, you slipped out of his hands gently, and replaced your warmth with a cup of coffee. 

“Come sit.” 

Sukuna complied. 

You tucked your legs up under you when you sat down. Your own mug was held snugly with both hands, yet your fingers fidgeted, twirling around whatever rings you had on while you thought of what to say. 

“So,” you started. “How much do you know?”

Sukuna leaned back and thought. “Uraume called. Said something was wrong.” He could remember their voice ringing in his ear, that usual, frigid demeanor exploding into something panicked and tortured as they tried to comfort you, order idiots around, and explain the situation. “They didn’t know what, but said you were bein’ taken to Ieiri. I met ‘em there, Gojo wouldn’t let me come in.” He sighed, the memories pricking his nerves. “Told me you miscarried, and–well, that’s more or less it.” 

You nodded a little, digesting the scraps of knowledge that’d been given to Sukuna. “I was alone,” you breathed. “I was–I’d been cramping. A lot. I thought–I didn't know–I just–I thought it was normal.” You cleared your throat, fidgeting more and only stilling when Sukuna's palm rested on your leg. You covered his hand with one of yours. “There was a lot of blood. I thought I was dying. Uraume and Yuuji took me to Ieiri.” 

Sukuna remembered that, too. He remembered catching sight of you just before his brother carried you away from him. It was hard to forget the sound of your wailing amidst all that red–that damned noise came from hell itself, from the burning, fetid pits of agony and despair and up through your beautiful voice. For something so foul to touch you was nothing but blasphemous.

Sukuna tried to follow you in, but that moron Gojo wouldn’t let him in, spouting some bullshit about how he’d make things worse. Needless to say, Sukuna snapped, and Ieiri suddenly had more than a mourning omega to deal with.

“I pinned it on you to cope. I didn’t know what else to do.” You spared a shy glance at him before staring down again. “...Uraume filled me in, though. You were dealing with so much shit. All that crap with the Zenins. And you didn’t even–you didn’t even know I was knocked up until I wasn’t.” You sighed and sipped your drink before setting it aside. “Guess it was easier to blame you for everything than it was to just accept I got unlucky.” 

“‘Unlucky’?” Sukuna repeated lowly, void of mirth for once.

You nodded. “Chromosome bullshit, garbage genetics, a shitty cervix. Coulda been anything.” Sukuna watched your expression shift from desolate to bitter. “And if you fuck up once and lose your pup, odds are it’ll happen again.”

“Says who?”

“Science. Doctors.”

“You really gonna take their word like that?” Your eyes met his, doey and expectant. “I'll gut ‘em myself if they say that shit next time you're knocked up.”

You looked a bit bashful then, looking away from him with pursed lips and glossy eyes. For a second, Sukuna thought you were about to snap and argue with him about how you vowed to never get pregnant again (which he'd indulge in), or maybe even bolt for the door (which he wouldn't allow), but instead, you grabbed the remote. 

“Tch. Don't say such stupid shit. It's annoying.” 

Sukuna could only grin to himself as you settled in beside him, tucking up against his side. Neither of you could swallow your pride enough to properly apologize for anything ever, but that wasn't necessarily needed–understanding was what was needed. Things had just become a little bit clearer. 

–

For once, the alpha found himself at ease. Sure, you had your petty and some less-than-petty spats, but there was a coil of contentment that stayed at the forefront of Sukuna's mind through it all. Now, he no longer fumed nor bristled, no longer wondered if you really belonged to him, no longer thought about how to trap you if he wanted to keep you around. 

Because you made more of an effort to see him, to call when you couldn't, to set his vicious wolf's heart at ease so he could rest soundly. He rested the most when you were so gracious as to curl up in those black, silken sheets with him, too.

Don't get too excited. It's just because we're mated; we'd go insane otherwise, Is how you rationalized it. And, honestly, it was cute to see you act so flippant and uncaring when Sukuna knew you were so the opposite. 

Little liar. Loves playing pretend. He gently tucked stray hairs behind your ear as you snoozed soundly beside him. It was unlike you to sleep in so late (“late” meaning past 6am), and it was unlike Sukuna to wake up before you, so it must have been kismet. 

Because this moment was the first in a long time where he got to touch you. Beyond the playful ass slaps and grabs at your hips, you never really let him feel you. Or did he just never try to touch you like this? Gently, just for the sake of feeling your skin and your warmth? 

Sukuna was a brutal man. He didn't often have a chance to be careful. If he'd had that kid, then he might've learned how; he could've learned not to throw glasses at skylines, not to lash out at his omega, not to expect you to still love you when he broke you. 

He brushed his thumb along your cheek and down to your jaw, admiring the soft skin and strong angle that led him to the curve of your chin, and your perfect lips. God, he wanted to kiss you. It'd been an eternity since he had a taste of you. Maybe if he was gentle–

I can do gentle. Sukuna shifted the slightest bit towards you until his nose lightly brushed against yours, until he felt your light breaths fan against his skin. Ah, why was his heart beating so fast now?

He did his best to ignore the way his pulse thundered in his ears when he brushed his lips against yours once more, before he kissed you softly. Gently. Perfectly. And he took his time parting. He had to savour the taste of your lips against his because who knew when he'd get to kiss you again? 

I love you, he heard echo in his memories when your lips parted. But he never heard himself reply. 

“Love you too, brat,” he murmured. “Don't you dare think otherwise.” 

Your eyes opened a moment later. “You mean that?” came your reply, just as light and whispered. Sukuna felt waves of heat come off your skin–were you blushing?

Crimson eyes flickered from your bashful look to the slight parting of your lips and back again. “Always.” Even though he never said it. But he let you get away with everything to show that love–credit card theft, cracking him upside the head with a bottle, abandoning him for months on end.

A soft ‘hm’ hummed through you. Your sleepy gaze melted from Sukuna’s, and down to his lips, too, while your own pursed, pensive. Thoughtful. Christ, you were really something else–just a single look from you had his mind reeling, his chest easing into a warmth so reminiscent of a campfire, the sort you both used to sit around when you’d bullied Sukuna into buying one for his too-big balcony. 

Back then, you were just “friends,” though the flirting and meaningful touches said otherwise. You were still a street doctor, introduced to him by Yuuji of all people, but you had more pep in your step, especially when you worked to try and swoon the hardened, deranged alpha you’d decided belonged to you. You’re mine, you said simply after shooting whatever whore the big, bad boss had hired for the night. The look in your eyes, cold and determined, got Sukuna achingly hard in an instant. He never wanted you to look at anyone else like that–your rage, your obsession, it could only ever be for him.

“‘M I still yours?” You still want me? You still love me? Am I still just for you?

You looked a little sentimental. A little sad, too, maybe. But maybe it was just the culmination of your fears and worries, your wants and desires finally breaking through your solemn being. 

“I'm a minimalist at heart. I've only got room for so much.”

“Don't tell me you're back on that Kondo Marie kick–” 

“But you're something I can't do without.” Yeah, I love you. I want you. I don't want much, but I want you. You're mine. “You bring me joy, or whatever the saying is. But I wanna beat the shit outta you sometimes for being a dumbass.” 

Sukuna laughed and nudged your nose with his–a small, primal gesture of fondness. “Yeah, yeah, I'm aware. Tch. You're gonna have to be careful--you're gonna send my old ass to an early grave if you keep up with all this fiery youth shit.”

“Then I can inherit your fortune,” you offered airily before kissing him teasingly. Sukuna growled when your small fangs dug into his bottom lip playfully. “That'd be nice.” 

“Hah. Everything's going to family–Yuuji, the old fart.” Sukuna pulled you in closer and purred as you complied. “You'd have to–”

“I'll marry you if that's what it takes,” you cooed, and Sukuna froze. You paused for a moment, too, before lifting yourself up to look down at his dumb face. “Oi.” You pat his cheek lightly but he scowled at you, half-cranky, half-defeated. “Eeeh? You mad?”

“Tch.”

“Awe, big alpha's mad.”

“Don't.” A command. A warning. One that had your subgender reeling and whimpering behind you, but your human side smiling, ready to mock. 

You slid on top of him, straddling his waist and splaying your hands out on his broad, solid chest. Sukuna still kept his gaze elsewhere. Honestly, you couldn't blame him--you were in a mood. 

“Oi,” you prodded, poking at his ridiculous pecs and tracing over the dark lines of his irezumi. “Hey. Don't pout.” But he grabbed your hands when your stupid fingers threatened to assault his nipples, and he continued to pout. “Come on, I said I'd marry you.” 

“Tch.” You've said that before. 

“I mean it.” 

“Tch.” You’ve said that before, too.

You leaned down, and nuzzled the hollow of his cheek while he grumbled and grumped. “You don't like the idea of breeding me anymore? You don't want me to yourself, all caught up in your bedsheets with you between my legs? Hm? You don't wanna fuck me through my heat, knock me up a few more times, make me bare your children for the world to see how I belong to Ryoumen Sukuna? You don't want me to be drenched in your scent–” 

You squeaked when your man flipped you around, pinning you before ripping off the sleep shorts keeping your skin from him. His rough fingers dove deep into your slicked up hole (apparently your long list of hypotheticals had worked you up into a soft, wet, pliant thing) and hurried to stretch you wide. 

“Such an annoying little shit,” Sukuna grumbled. And you laughed, lightly and so achingly genuinely through your fluttery mewls and moans. “If you try ‘n back out this time, I'll break your fucking legs and tie you down to the bed, you got that? I'm not gonna be so fucking nice this time.”

“Eh? You were being nice last–” you whined when his wet fingers jammed into your mouth. But you obediently sucked and bit at them, holding onto his muscled arm for leverage while he kicked off his bottoms and pressed his sweltering tip to your soft entrance. 

“You got no idea, princess.” Sukuna pushed in, groaning with ancient, cursed need as your insides welcomed him and obeyed, letting his uncomfortable size push you open. Seemed your body still remembered him. Wanted him as much as your stupid pretty mouth claimed. 

You were gasping, your molars chewing into his fingers as your missing piece slid back into place, filling you up until it hurt to breathe. Strong thighs clamped down against Sukuna’s sides as he dragged you down, forcing the last bits of his cock into your very depths, squeezing a reedy whine out of you, before he pulled out and slammed right back in again and again and again.

Your cry nearly sent him over the edge. It was a loud, bassy thing, something like a cello toppling or having its string plucked too hard by a callous touch–a sound Sukuna reveled in. You were the only partner he'd had that was like this, so demanding and bitchy, absolutely horrible and as poisonous as alphas were, and he loved it. He lived and died by your gospel, by the very life that thrummed underneath his touch.

And you promised to be all his. Sukuna could have everything, anything and anyone, and that apparently included trapping and claiming a god. One that only he prayed to. One that'd only smile upon him. One that only delivered to him divine blessings. 

What a divine gift.

He folded you in half with ease and blanketed your trembling body with his own. The fingers fucking into your mouth slipped out and down to your throat where they squeezed lightly; then, they traveled to the back of your neck, found your cute little nape, and squeezed. 

Your eyes rolled back as your body arched up into him. Words left you in some ancient tongue neither you nor Sukuna could decipher. But it was a language of love and pleasure, the sort that brought delicious submission coiling through your blood in offering to the lowly creature devouring your holiness. 

“Sukuna,” you choked out. Your fingers dug into his shoulder and fisted in his hair, pulling him closer to the old, scarred mark left there by him a decade ago. “‘Kuna, I need–” 

The boss laughed low, but with fluttery, manic high tones warped throughout. “Need me to bite you? Mark you mine again?” He taunted. His nails dug into your soft side as he fucked into you harder, lifting your waist up to meet his brutal angle as his base started to swell. “I wanna hear you say it–say you need it, you want it. Say you need me to fill your guts every fucking night. Say I'm the only one who can get you there. I'm the only one–” his other hand grabbed your nape harder, forcing your submission further, forcing your neck to the side to present it to him. 

Then, with a snarl, he added, “say ‘I do.’” 

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you murmured those very words into his ear. 

I do. 

Sukuna's heart howled with the beast living inside him. Blood flooded his mouth when he tore into your shoulder, digging deeper than needed to brand you his again just before his pulsing knot squeezed into you and locked into place, stilling his wild rampage and holding you hostage beneath his hulking body. 

You shifted and writhed against him, so obviously overwhelmed by such an archaic, crazed union–your omega must have been going wild, willing you to fight against the monster pouring his seed into you, locking you in place, taking away your autonomy. But a short, rough warning growl settled your inner self the slightest bit and straightened out your thoughts enough for your human pettiness to urge you, too, to sink teeth into flesh and mark up your alpha to complete the re-bonding. 

Good boy. Sukuna's hips rutted against you in light pulses, attempting to jam his knot further into you to ensure you'd take everything he so graciously offered you. But every little move your bodies made together tore more hot strings of cum out of him and into your core. Apparently an eternity of not having you was culminating into this one moment. 

You were the one to let go first. You collapsed onto your back with a loud sigh, and the crushing constriction of your thighs laxed just slightly. 

“Fuck,” you gasped, wholly content and pleased. Your hand wiggled between your bodies and rested on the still-inflating curve that your partner had oh-so loving built out of cum and obsessive dedication. “That's gonna make a mess.” 

Good. Sukuna's chainsaw purr reverberated against your bloodied skin. He chewed into you further and relished in the taste and smell of you, the way it mingled with his own scent of existence and made him feel so irrevocably whole. 

Your fingers laced through his hair as you laughed. “Oi, let go already. Your knot's not gonna go down for like thirty minutes. I'm not going anywhere.” 

Your mate obliged, dislodging his chunky fangs from you and lapping at the wound dutifully until the bleeding staunched. Next, he got to work leaving an array of dark hickies and light bites all over your neck and shoulder, just in case the gnarly bite mark wasn't enough to ward off idiots who thought they had a chance with you. He grumbled at the mere idea of it. 

“So?” You cooed, running your hands up and down his muscled shoulders. “What do we do for half an hour?”

Sukuna scoffed. He tried to pull out just a bit, just to see if he was seriously locked in there, and you spat a vile hiss his way, your nails digging into him at the same time. And, fuck, you were tight–

“Fuck.” He didn't think this through.

-- DRABBLES --

“You're dumb as fuck, you know that?” 

“Ah, such romantic words to hear from my wife.”

“Husband, jackass.” 

Sukuna managed to open his eyes through the pounding of his head. God, he felt like shit. But that probably came with the territory of getting shot point-blank before bailing out of a moving car on the highway. Honestly, he was lucky only one car hit him when he hit the pavement. 

Still, it was bad enough to warrant him a ticket to the hospital. Uraume worked behind the scenes, ensuring their boss got a private room and that the police would stay the fuck away if they knew what was good for them, and it all somehow worked out. Uraume was definitely a sorcerer of sorts.

“Can you save it for home? Fucking hell,” Sukuna groaned, letting his eyes fall shut again. “Too tired to argue.” 

“That's a first,” You huffed, and marched up to his side, sitting down in the cozy seat waiting for you. Your careful touch prodded at his hand gently, as if assessing the damage, guestimating if you could hold his hand without hurting him, but he made the choice for you. He caught your hand weakly, and you held him safe with both of yours. 

“Missed you,” he grumbled, squeezing back lamely. “Have fun on the trip at least?”

“Yeah, until I heard what happened.” You sighed, watery and warbled. “I shouldn't have left. You're too stupid to survive alone.”

Sukuna laughed, then coughed. He felt you tense. “F-Fuck you, little shit. I'm fine.”

“You got shot.”

“Been shot before.”

“Jumped out of a car.”

“I've jumped outta faster.”

“Then got hit by another car.”

“That was a first.”

You sighed to fight back either a sob or ill-placed laughter, or maybe both. “This is so fucking ridiculous. Never make me take a vacation again. I can't be off fucking around in Hawaii when my baby daddy's getting hit like it's GTA.” 

“Christ, I already–” he paused, though, and cracked an eye open to look at you. “What did you…” 

He lost his words when he saw you. Your skin glowed in a way he hadn't had the luxury to see before. Your face looked rounder, too, like you'd put on a little bit of weight since you'd been gone. But your scent–your usual sweet, full-bodied scent of flowery coffee was cranked up to a trillion. If Sukuna's nose wasn't busted, he would've noticed the way it filled up the room, and he might've noticed how his own scent rose to meet it in greeting. Something strange was happening. 

“Oh. Right. Uh…” you cleared your throat and hastily tucked some hair behind your ear. You looked a little bit lost for words too, in all honesty. “I’m pregn–”

Sukuna sat up. You barked at him to lay down, your voice rising a few octaves when something that was probably important dislodged from his wrist as he reached forward when you stood. And you froze when his palm pressed against your stomach–a natural, maternal thing to do. Sukuna remembered when he caught your cat for you when she was trying to dart out the door whilst pregnant, and how she froze dead in her tracks when his hand caught her by her kitten-filled stomach, and let him carry her back inside. 

But this was different. This wasn’t his partner’s cat’s kittens he was feeling, it was yours. His. A shared little nugget doing its best to grow big for its expectant mama–and now expectant papa. 

“How long?” Sukuna rasped. When did his throat get so dry? 

“Two months. Ish.” You rested your hands over his again despite the awkward angle he caught you at. “I didn’t know until last week. I tried to call, but–” You got obliterated and couldn’t answer your phone.

“I get it. Don’t gotta explain.” Sukuna gazed at your stomach a moment longer with droopy, half-lidded eyes before looking up at you as nurses burst into the room. “You’re moving in.”

And for once, you didn’t argue. 

–

“Dude, you guys can't fuck when he's pregnant! You'll crush the baby like a tin can!” 

You snorted and tried to cover your mouth as your tea shot out your nose. You coughed and wheezed, turning away and waving at the brothers in a desperate plea for them to not look and continue their petty argument.

Sukuna, caught between the urge to mock you and kick the shit out of his annoying little fucknut brother, sighed and rubbed his face before handing you his fancy handkerchief he kept tucked in the breast of his jacket for nothing but looks. These days, though, the damn thing had been paying its dues. 

“You think I'm gonna listen to a fuckin’ virgin about this kinda shit?” Sukuna quipped back as he watched you clean up before trying to take a sip of your drink again. 

“Hey, man, I'm just saying. Your dick is like a third leg.” 

You slammed your hand down on the table after spitting a mouthful of tea back into your cup. “Yuuji. Please. Why do you even know that?” 

Yuuji pouted and scooted closer to you under the kotatsu. “Wh--we're brothers! It's not even that weird!” 

“It's weird as shit,” Sukuna offered as he reached out to rub your back. 

“So not weird.” His honeyed eyes locked onto the small affection the older showed you. “Man, so not fair you guys are ganging up on me now that you're, like, a thing,” Yuuji whined and let his arms and chest flop across the table like a petulant child. 

Sukuna smirked. “Jealous?”

You grumbled. “Sukuna. Don't start.”

Yuuji's ears turned bright red. “Jea–what?! No! I like girls like Jennifer Lawrence, not--I don't–”

“N'awe, little pup's tryna cope with losing.” Sukuna grinned wildly when Yuuji's head snapped up, pinning a deadly stare onto the older alpha. “Oh? Finally grow a pair?” 

“Sukuna,” you warned again.

“You better shut it, dude,” Yuuji threatened next, and you knew it was a lost cause; two alpha brothers, both incredibly competitive, both pining for the same omega, spelled disaster. 

Your partner laughed that familiar, ugly laugh–the sort that was too genuine and sounded borderline insane. “Or what? You gonna make me cry–” 

Yuuji launched over the table in an instant, tackling his brother to the ground with a bratty snarl. You watched on, unimpressed, waiting for any signs of their wrestling turning into a serious fight, but it never came. So, you enjoyed it a bit. It wasn't everyday the two idiots played nice. 

You rested your hands on your curved stomach while the two growled and snarled half-heartedly in their dumb attempt to subdue the other. Sukuna could've won in an instant, you both knew that, but he'd let Yuuji think he had a fighting chance for a little bit. It was part of the fun for him, letting his little brother gnaw on him like it'd do anything, letting him try to use his horrible jiu-jitsu skills on his older, bigger brother. It reminded you of–

“Oh,” you peeped when a rowdy kick jostled your hand. It didn't come from the boys, no, it came from the tiny tot inside you. 

The boys froze and stared at you.

“Huh? What's ‘oh'?” Yuuji asked through his panting and straining. Sukuna had him in a headlock, one of his hands giving a brutal noogie to the younger's head. 

“No, just–I think she kicked. Maybe not, I don't–” but your expression brightened with delight when another little throw hit your hand. 

“No shit?” Sukuna grinned, waves of excited alpha scent rolling off of him. He face-shoved Yuuji away before sidling up next to you and pressing his palm against your stomach. You guided his touch to rest over the kicky hotspot, and sure enough–

Thump. Thump.

“Two kicks for your old man, hey?” Sukuna hummed, looking so damn triumphant. 

“Hey, hey, I wanna feel!” Yuuji scrambled over like a nightmare and wiggled up on your other side, pointedly ignoring the snarl Sukuna sent his way. “Come on, it's my niece, chill out.”

Sukuna growled again, but you pulled his hand off to let Yuuji feel the little life making herself known. His eyes, too, lit up when those tiny thwacks battered his palm. 

You looked up at Sukuna dreamily, making the other's ticked expression smooth down into just mildly-annoyed; if your omega wasn't threatened, then he wasn't going to threaten. Sukuna didn't think Yuuji would hurt you, absolutely not, but anyone who came near you, or so much as accidentally bumped into you, pissed Sukuna off, sending his over-protective instincts into overdrive. He always had to rely on you to know when not to react.

“That's so cool!” Yuuji squeaked. “She's seriously in there!” 

“Where the fuck else would she be,” Sukuna grumped.

“Don't ruin his fun, Sukuna.” 

“Yeah, don’t ruin my fun!” 

“Yuuji’s banned from the house.”

“WH–HEY!!”

“Sukuna.”

“Heh.”

“What about gramps, then?” 

Sukuna paused. His heart stopped for a long, long moment. 

“What about him?” He answered, nonchalantly as possible. “Old fuck cut me off years ago.”

“He still cares,” Yuuji offered with a shrug. “And I told him about the pup ‘n everything.”

Sukuna frowned. “Yuuji–”

“You seriously think he doesn't give a shit? Dude, be real, the guy raised us.” 

“That's generous.” 

“Didn't you say you were leaving everything to Yuuji and ‘the old fart’ originally?” You cooed, unhelpful as ever. 

Carmine eyes found yours. “...If he actually wants to meet her–” 

“Awesome, I’ll let him know!” 

“Oi, runt–”

But Yuuji jumped up and pulled his phone out, leaving Sukuna to wonder what he’d just gotten himself into while you laughed at his misery. 

[kirbybecomesastarwarrior]

💋: what motifs/symbols do you associate with your ship?

I would love nothing more than to explain all of them.

Motifs/Symbols

When I say that they're the heart & soul of KBASW I mean it! Arthur & Celestine are the moral compass of the story/KBASW AU.

Tropes/Themes/Dynamics

@kirbyoctournament

As you can see once again I had too much fun. Sorry, it took a while for these inbox questions. I ended up putting them together because they went so "hand & in hand". (link to questions)

Once again I will say this again... "writing romance is a different type of beast I kid you not!" Shoutout to all the romance writers. I've been a single pringle my entire life so... that's why these posts (Celarthur/Merther) post take so long!

I hope my portals of romance aren't... I don't know how to put this "don't seem too romanticized" or that cringe (LOL).

Keep reading for my long in-depth explanation of the content. (and honestly I still don't think it's enough lol)

I hope you guys enjoyed the post.~

Please continue reading if want a full explanation of the following...

Motifs & Symbols explained~

Creatures:

Celestine: Owls are the symbol of wisdom, power, and spirituality; the birds of Athena. But they're also the symbol of bad luck and are also known as an omen of death.

I've worked this into her character, she's all known just like the animal she represents. But also worked the "bad omens" in her future sight... she mostly (if not always) sees horrific futures. Despite this, she's used that to her arsenal, after all, you learn more from your mistakes, or in this case horrible futures.

And of course, her "cracked warpstar" is her omen of death.

Arthur: Dragon (of course) can either be a force of good or evil. Bravery, ambition, and strength a symbols of adversity, and wickedness.

This paired so beautifully with Arthur's character, (since he is a redeemed good bean). All the best qualities can be used for good and evil... Also, I made his dragon green & red as a reference to the Welsh flag and well...

Alright truth be told the only reason I had Arthur go to "Yomi" is so I can justify why he as dragon monster form (I've been working on it)...hopefully you'll be seeing it soon

Flowers:

Celestine: Lotus represents overcoming adversity, the cycle of rebirth, and enlightenment. Not only that but spiritual growth.

Just like the flower itself, she was able to bloom in the murkiest water and despite all made the most of her life. The (sad) truth of it all is had she not had that hardship... she would have been just as egotistical & selfish as Icarus & Uther.

It was her "future vision" & her struggles that made her into such an empathic person.

Arthur: Marigolds represent family ties divinity and the connections between life and death.

And as I have recently revealed Sir Arthur is why Morpho Knight can go in & out of the living world. Also without spoiling anything refers to when he becomes King of Avalon. (and those of you who have seen Coco... there is indeed going to be a Marigold bridge that Arthur can create with his powers :3)

Elementals (symbols):

(Water power) Celestine (like her elemental) is a very go-with-the-flow person. She understands that the unexpected can happen at any moment and will change the course.

With Arthur when he's particularly stuck in a rut, Celty will give him options, or mentally stuck she goes to her "Rolodex of knowledge." Adaptive and flexible with he thinking, she's very willing to think outside the box.

This is also throwing Arthur's burn mark: I changed Arthur's burn mark (caused by Uther's fire magic) to just be the right shoulder. To represent the burning of the " angel on your right shoulder."

Celestine (who's a water element) is healing his right shoulder, or basically, the goodness he lost. Of course, the mark is still but in the sense he no longer bears the burden alone. "Literally taking the weight off his shoulders. " That he doesn't have to be this perfect soldier... that he can just be a "wart".

(Earth powers) Arthur, he can be stubborn (as a rock) and stuck in his ways, (which is why it takes him a while to get him out of Uther's thumb). But this also applies to his determination. Someone who doesn't give up and makes him incredibly ambitious.

When she's thinking "what I could've done" or "what I should've done", ruminating on it. (trapped in her own current) Using his "very a matter of facts" to remind her of what she's done, and that things are better because she did act.

Out of the many vast futures she sees, Celestine can rely on one constant... who was there for her was Arthur... he's her constant her rock. And was the thing that ultimately made her choose Arthur to be the one to help her fulfill Kirby's prophecy. Because she knew he'd still complete it even after she was gone/.

~

(I'd love to explain Arthur & Excalibur but if I'd go into detail with it that'd be going into spoiler. But for those of you who aren't familiar with Arthuriana lore... the true value of Excalibur is in the Scabbard...

But here it's for another reason... because the Scabbard & Excalibur are two separate relics. The scabbard belongs to Arthur... the sword however was never his.~)

The Yin & Yang to each other & when the sun and moon are brought together they form the dusk & dawn~ Taking on and bringing out the best in each other.

Tropes/Themes/Dynamics

Enemies to Lovers troupe & cop vs. vigilante.

As a result, they have such a fun back & forth and witty banter... but despite it they.

In short, the cop working for the corrupt system is first at odds with our lovable rogue. And believe they are the villainous one (because society says so), only to realize through their many interactions that they are fighting for good despite operating outside of the law.

Then eventually (the cop) realizes "Oh, crabs" I'm working on the wrong side. For Arthur, his hesitation/ignorance of this doesn't come from the idea of a "holier than thou mindset" (like Uther). Rather it comes from "I want to be accepted" & "I want to be worth something..." Arthur started as the weakest of the three (students of Uther) which is why he was burned by Uther (to be used as an example to the other two)

When he finally beat the odds it was his proudest moment. The desire to be seen by Uther was what blinded him and made him see his mentor as the pinnacle of what he should be. (but in reality, it was actually just a want for affection and praise.) And believed in these ideals (that Uther spits out), making the ends justify the means & ignoring the damage they cause. (For the greater good)

The fact that accepting this means that the suffering & all the hard work he went through were for nothing.

But it's through Celestine's influence as Merlyn who actively tried to expand his worldview. That there was so much more to life than war, and showing "Might is not always right" him there are other ways than (Uther's) brute force.

A more fulfilling & smarter way, where he can still do his duties without having to sell his soul for it. Having his first taste of unconditional love.

Leading him to be able him to befriend Gaius, and Kit Cosmo (who is Sir Kay in this) later become his sworn brothers, emotionally adopted by Sir Ector (Kit's father ), and tame/ befriend Fritz Stahlbaum (Ribbon's Grandfather).

The Double life /Secret Identity

Are very much an important aspect of Celestine's character. While she is confident in herself and who she is... it's not as herself it's as her alter-ego Merlyn.

Basically, being Merlyn it's not just her "redemption for Shiver Star" but this is also her escape as well.

She's seen as this hero, someone great and fantastical when she dawns on the the cloak and the mustache. She's the great mage Merlyn she can be herself... But when she's Celestine her true self she's seen as the broken... the useless Hero of Yore something to be hidden away and ashamed of.

(I'd know you from anywhere & any form)

Celestine only ever told her friends (Minerva Mimi- great grandmother, Dairus Drosslemeyr- Daroach's great uncle, and Velvet Stahlbaum- fairy Queen, Ripple's stepmother) about her Merlyn persona.

That's why it's such important that the only person to ever figure it out (without Celestine telling them... ) was Arthur. You see, Arthur Celestine as Merlyn, but as she became more popular in the diplomatic world, she. had to be seen more. (Much to Icarus & Uther's dismay~)

Arthur started to see the similarities between her and Merlyn... it was through her quirks & character that she was indeed Merlyn. And does not mind at all she's still the same person. Respectfully Arthur pretends that he does not know..

It was also through these interactions realization... that she does not value herself (true self) as Celestine.

And this hurts Arthur deeply, the person who he always saw as this amazing mage, who was the smartest person he knew.. doesn't see that in herself at all. Arthur has always asked her (as Merlyn) "what he could do to pay them for everything they've done for him..." But all they'd ever say was... "the fact that we're able to be finally partners in crime is enough for this old man" (basically they were saying, the fact we were finally friends & your company is enough).

Uses this as a chance (of knowing her identity and Celestine not being aware of it) to repay her for everything she's given him.

Not only that but he actively does things that make her more comfortable and appreciate herself more (as Celestine.) Buy subtly reminds her that she is Merlyn. And performing these small acts of kindness for her gives her chances to be herself around him and encourages it.

Scene Example of this/ & more of their Dynamic :

C: You know you don't have to do this for me, you merely have to just guard me have to-

A: Oh but I do...It seems your diplomatic work was overlooked... Unfairly I may add especially.

C: Thank you so much... War-ta (had to stop herself from calling him Wart) The war on the battlefield must be so physically taxing on everyone... people tend to forget it's a political one as well... this means a lot but in reality, it's not that much as you do.

A: I don't see it like that... if anything your battles are one of tongues

Y' know an old friend of mine told when people forget to appreciate you... you forget the importance of yourself, so they told me to perform small acts of kindness to myself... to remind myself.

I hope I'm overstepping or making you feel uncomfortable *sees her blushing & getting embraced*

C: No, it's nothing I just wasn't expecting someone to give me flowers today (Oh, hoot he's talking about me *as Merlyn*)... Your friend sounds wise~

A: Oh my friend? *smiles sweetly at her* I wish they could tell you this themselves... they have such a fantastic way with words... I don't know how convincing I sounded compared to them, after all... *looks at her directly* They're the smartest person I know~

C: Oh is that so * gets more embarrassed* that's so sweet of you to say... I should take his advice... I tend to forget this myself.

A: Oh no need to be so hard on yourself... Actually...* grins wickedly* the friend I speak of is actually a very old man... with very old bones... at first I thought he was making up old bones since he seemed so energetic for an old man~

C: Oh hoo hoo, hoot really? *nervously laughter

A: Ah, but alas I haven't seen him for awhile... perhaps its old bones have caught up to him... he just seemed so lively... but who are we to determine the vitality of the elderly after all... We're not old men!

C: Yes we most certainly are hoo hoo hoot *still nervously laughing*

Oh look dear we're already at the temple!

Good night dear have a wonderful evening *hilarious sprints inside*

A: Go-od night, My- la-lady *tries to stifle his laughter then-* AH BwaHAHAHAHAHAH!~

Alright, admittingly he does have a little slice of revenge for Celestine hiding her identity as Merlyn. With little fun jabs like that. (LMAO)

~

They do have this "More than the mask moment..." Arthur admits the only reason he ever found out that she was "Merlyn," was because they were the same person with or without the cloak.

Oh I have so many ideas for this but that'll be for another day~

Forbidden Love

And of course, it's forbidden!~

Since astral are born from wishes (made by the positive energy of the Fountain of Dream) there was no need for "relations". Not only that because of status, or (mainly Uther ), but a tragedy involving Sir Orpheus & his lover.

Uther took this as a chance to further his agenda "Look & at the tragedy of Sir Orpheus... look what happened to him and his lover! It's clearly a sign from Void... THIS LEADS TO WEAKNESS AND WEAKNESS LEADS TO DEATH! WE ARE SOLDIERS NOTHING MORE THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE DIVERGE FROM THE PATH! THIS IS OUR LOT IN LIFE DO NOT BELIEVE YOU CAN BE ANYTHING ELSE!"

And yes that is indeed Papi. (Sir Orpheus )

Nobody Gets Me Like You ~

They are the two sides of the same coin. Both of them are trapped in the positions they were given...

Arthur is trapped in the position of being Sir Uther's (bloody) right-hand man, his Perfect Killing Mach- I mean soldier- his golden boy.

Celestine is trapped in the position of being the Oracle... the broken one, the one cast aside, the overlooked and underestimated.

The key to breaking these chains that they've been cursed with is finding self-love within themselves. And they find that within each other. "A Steven Universe Love like you" moment.~

It's this deep understanding and trust they have for one another that allows love to develop feelings for one another. Emotionally they're both dealing with the same issue.

Being able to be there for one another and not having to explain it allows the other to put their guard down. And truly fall apart in front of another knowing that the other will hold them together.

I really love these two so much... if you've read this long thank you so much I hope you guys enjoyed the post!

[stellarcat52]

This isn’t leaving my brain so here.

One final reset au.

Heavy spoilers.

It takes years, but fable’s soul manifests in the aether. As one final attempt to fix everything, or maybe as revenge, he causes another reset, completely destroying his soul in the process.

Disclaimer: I haven’t watched everyone’s finales and I don’t have solid ideas for where every character wakes up after the reset, also, spoilers.

Caspian remembers everything, but he’s stuck in Elysium with no way of getting back and helping his family or friends.

On the other hand, Rae and Violet are stuck in the end. Rae doesn’t remember anything about being mortal, including his partners, but Violet remembers the end stone reset and parts of the other two. He figures out another has happened pretty quickly.

Violet checks the end prison, which has returned, for Caspian, Athena, Easton, or (this name has been forgotten) but finds it empty. He won’t help Rae remember anything because he knows it will cause more stress to know that there are people out there that Rae loves that he can’t get to. (for the sake of this, lighting the ends portal in the over world opens the one in the end as well.)

Rae has Veah and Cari with him. He doesn’t remember either of them but quickly recognizes the resemblance and takes care of them. They remember everything and are very scared because Dad doesn’t remember them, even when he promised he’d never forget them. (They never understood why he kept making that promise to them. He’d promise them every time he had a bad dream.)

Ocie and Momboo both remember everything. It hurts, having everything taken away again, and they’re looking to reunite everyone and rebuild lodestar grove.

Quixis-Icarus can see and interact with the world, they try to push people into each other’s paths and they look for Rae and Centross endlessly.

Most everyone in the over world and nether (really just Athena) are quick to regain memories once they meet up with the others. A blessing from Caspian traveled on the over world wind, making it easier, but those in other dimensions weren’t effected. (Athena just had really good bonds with people)

Caspian is able to read everything his friends write down, Arisanna, Ven, and Athena unknowingly keep him in the loop. Rae also takes notes, Caspian broke into tears when he realized his husband 1- didn’t remember him, and 2- had their kids and was keeping them safe.

Veah writes down journals for her and Cari, Caspian reads them too and wishes he could go help them feel less scared.

Athena and Fenris make it to the end first and Rae doesn’t immediately remember them. Violet defends them but Rae locks them away anyway until Veah and Cari see and recognize them. Fenris calling him starlight and Athena calling him their uncle cause memories to come crashing back.

Rae stresses about making it to Elysium, hoping that Caspian was there. He builds the portal and is willing to give up himself to get there but Ven, who remembers dying, seems to be able to open it on his own without consequences. (Icarus didn’t want anyone to get hurt, they found the portal from the last reset. No one seems to notice that it’s one block off now.)

Caspian definitely sees Rae’s notes about ways to relight the portal and knows he’s going to try and sacrifice himself. He’s at the portal waiting when the plan happens and his first words to anyone are “Is Rae okay?” Because he was so scared. He makes sure everyone knows that it was fable who caused this reset, and that his soul is permanently gone this time. (He saw it happen. And he couldn’t get there fast enough to stop it. He couldn’t let the others find out he failed to protect them.)

Once everyone is accounted for, memories are fully back, and homes are rebuilt, there’s a huge celebration with everyone involved. (As the sun goes down, Oscar takes the other kids home to have a sleepover and Ulysses breaks out the alcohol.)

[highabovethecloudssomewhere]

the WINGS THE WINGS THE WINGS tell me more about. the wings

👏 👏 OKAY SO THE WINGS

I’m still hashing out the finer details on this AU and I’d love to write something for it one of these days but the long and short of it goes like this:

The people of Xerxies are descendants of an ancient minor deity/eldritch being, and the people of Xerxies through bloodline inherit a pair of wings. The wings exist in a pocket-dimension and can be manifested or banished as their person wills.

Edward and Alphonse, being half-Xerxien, were born with a set of Xerxian wings. It takes time to learn how to manifest/banish the wings in and out of the pocket-dimension, so they just sort of let the wings do whatever they wanted for most of their early childhood. Hohenheim kept his wings to himself while the two of them were growing up because the memories of his people were too much to bear. Once he left, Edward and Alphonse started keeping their wings to themselves more often too.

Since Edward and Alphonse are only half-Xerxien, their wings do require the occasional maintenance (preening) and sometimes Edward struggles to control whether they appear or disappear (reservations against Hohenheim, wings responding to his emotional state/impulsiveness, etc). He’s more torn on his wings, but tolerates them because it’s something he has in common with Alphonse and Alphonse loves their wings. 

Then their mother died. Then they tried to bring her back. Alphonse lost his body; Edward lost his arm and his leg. Edward refused to bring out his wings after that, no matter how many times Alphonse urged him. What did it matter, anyway? Alphonse’s wings were taken along with his body. Hohenheim was never coming back and neither was Mom.

For years, Edward lived as a grounded Icarus.

Then there was the ‘incident.’ Edward reacted without thinking, because a moment’s hesitation meant life or death, and his wings manifested before he could think. But something was wrong. He kicked off the pavement, his arm outstretched, only to come slamming back down. That was when he realized the Gate was cruel beyond coincidence. 

It’d taken one of his wings—just one—to make sure he never forgets that he used to be able to fly. 

(This marked the first time Mustang and his team saw Edward’s wings. Edward had never so much as mentioned them before, but Mustang heard stories of the ancient civilization that flew on wings made of comet tails and stars.) 

(It was supposed to be a myth. It isn’t.)

— Aaaand that’s what I’ve got on this AU so far. TL;DR Edward somehow needs even more hugs

[eoieopda]

menace (pjm) — pt. vi

Pairing: Park Jimin x Kim!Reader Type: 6/6 (Mini Series) ⇢ Previous Chapter | Masterlist Genre: Smut + Fluff Rating: M (18+) Word Count: 6k+ Summary: This Valentine’s Day looks a lot different than the last one. AUs: Older brother’s best friend, fuck buddies that hate(d) each other CW: Reader is AFAB & queer, Jimin is so soft omg, ✨vulnerability✨, so much kissing wtf who am i?, nipple play, fingering (v), unprotected sex (p in v), DID I SAY SOFTNESS? A/N: Thank youuuuuu to everyone that stuck with me and these two idiots until the very end 💕 If you get lonely now that this is over, check out the rest of my masterlist. ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors and ageless blogs will be blocked. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

It was odd, starting over with someone you’d known longer than nearly everyone else in your life. Jimin wasn’t a stranger by any means; he’d always been present, life running parallel to yours, but you’d never truly seen him up close. 

Not accurately, anyway.

When you were younger, the pedestal you put him on kept the sun in your eyes. You’d have to squint to see his shortcomings, but you never did. Maybe that was one of yours, willful blindness. As far as you knew then — or, rather, as far as you bothered to look — Jimin had none. All he had was a bright, white light.

After that pedestal crumbled and Icarus took a swan-dive to the sub-basement of your expectations, the shadows down there warped the flaws you finally recognized. A trick of the light, they exaggerated every shitty thing you thought you saw and made them all worse. Scarier, even. Worth hating.

Once you finally allowed him to exist on equal footing, you realized that Jimin wasn’t made to be viewed in such high contrast. He wasn’t the monochromatic figure you’d mythologized, not two-dimensional. In reality, he was a prism refracting a thousand different, complicated colors that you hadn’t been giving him due credit for.

The first shade you discovered was the one that broke your brain the most.  Jimin — the only person you knew that never responded to anyone’s calls or texts — wasn’t actually as solitary as he seemed. Really, the only thing he hated more than being by himself was having to admit that fact to anyone, especially you. 

So, instead of calling to invite you along on his errand runs, he started showing up at your door to ask, “You’re not busy right now, are you?”

And just like that, without meaning to, you learned his routine. Another shade.

Every other Sunday, you’d wake up a little earlier than usual. No matter how tired or hungover you were, you would crawl out of your bed, into your well-functioning shower, and make yourself presentable. Then, when you no longer looked like a hobgoblin, you’d sit on your couch with your tea.

None of it was a conscious decision — waiting in the nearest seat to your front door, angling yourself so you could keep an eye on the driveway — at least, not at first. In fact, you didn’t even notice what you were doing until your newly-acquired therapist pointed it out.

“It sounds like you’re making space in your life for him, brick by brick.”

You laughed it off when she said it, but as weeks flew by, you finally had to concede that she was right. She was right about something else, too: you hadn’t been viewing yourself fairly, either. 

“Cellophane can be iridescent, too, if you hold it right.”

Whatever shades of your own that you uncovered, you gradually learned to let Jimin see, too. He picked up on all of your intricacies much faster than you did — because of course he did — and unlike you, he didn’t stumble upon revelations by surprise. He didn’t muddle through your less-pretty shades by trial and error, like you did. To the contrary, he had an unexpected knack for anticipating your reactions, and he planned accordingly.

Everything he did was purposeful, from his choice of words to his actions. Like exhuming his phone from his pocket — “only because it’s you” — to let you know if he was running late to plans you’d made. It was rare that he didn’t show up on time, but whenever he couldn’t, he’d call to promise that he really was on his way. And he always was, no matter how shitty the weather was, or how much he might’ve wanted an extra hour of sleep.

Jimin and all his shades showed up for you.

On Christmas, when Seokjin’s part-time girlfriend threw a dinner party without knowing what the fuck she’d signed up for. You were three-quarters through a bottle of wine before you were pulled in to take over meal preparations with Seokjin; and although Jimin was mostly useless in front of a stove, he was good at fetching whatever you’d need next without you having to point to it. He was even better at keeping your respective glasses full, which felt even more important. Washing dishes after the fact wasn’t all that bad with him there, also drunk off his face, drying them.

On New Years’ Eve, when Jimin was too sick to join the bar crawl but still set an alarm to wake up and call you — right at midnight. You stepped out onto a snow-slicked sidewalk in order to hear him, disappointing the hell out of the girl whose lips wanted to kiss you into the new year. You ignored her pout, ignored the chill in the air, and focused on the way Jimin’s raspy voice had dropped an octave. He was asleep when you swung by shortly after with a box of tissues and a bottle of decongestants, but that didn’t matter; his spare key wasn’t well hidden, either.

And again — now — on Valentine’s Day, when you both decided to blow off Seokjin’s deranged, annual Parent Trap scenario.

Sprawled out on his couch like you owned the place, you scrolled idly through Netflix’s home page with your face scrunched. The hand not holding the remote dipped down into the bag of kkokalcorn chips resting on your chest.

“You’ve got an identity crisis in your watch history, Jimin,” you yelled out to him, hoping he’d hear your teasing clearly from where he stood in his kitchen. “I’m having trouble believing that you’re not actually a middle-aged white woman.”

At this, he stopped rummaging through his refrigerator and stood straight up to glare at you. His eyes and mouth all flattened into matching, straight lines.

You rattled off your findings, nudging him further. “The Notebook, Sleepless in Seattle —”

With every title you dropped, so did one of Jimin’s heavy footfalls. He was halfway to you, scowl growing, in the blink of an eye.

“10 Things I Hate About You?” You snorted. “Little too on the nose, don’t you think?”

Standing at the other side of his coffee table, he parked his hands on his hips and scoffed. “My choices are being criticized by an entire adult with corn-chip witch fingers? Are you kidding?”

Sheepishly, you pulled your hand from the kkokalcorn bag. He was correct; you had stuck your fingertips in the openings of the funnel-shaped chips. You wiggled them at him with a coy smile that made him roll his eyes. Satisfied, your mouth claimed the chip perched on the tip of your index finger.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say that the flash in his eyes just then was fondness.

You held the bag out to him, careful not to disrupt the rest of your manicure, and smiled to yourself when he accepted your offer. He tilted the bag and dumped a few of the chips into his open palm. With a small smile, he mused, “Haven’t had these since we were kids.”

That wave of nostalgia must have caught him in a riptide because he went quiet in a way that made you pause. You were about to speak up — to say what, you weren’t sure — but you promptly shut your mouth. Index and middle fingers now extended, he held out his hand to make a peace sign. Each fingertip had a small cone sitting crooked on top.

Jimin laughed unexpectedly, which almost made his already-crinkled eyes disappear completely. “Kinda look like little wizards.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d say that the thumping in your chest just then was fondness.

After shaking your head to clear those thoughts, you realized that the little wizards weren’t holding the glass of hard cider he’d gone to his kitchen to refill. You pushed yourself to your feet with one hand and a playfully exaggerated groan, popping the remaining chips from your fingers into your mouth at once.

“Leaving already?”

He should’ve known better than to ask you a question while your mouth was full, but he didn’t. The explanation he received was therefore unintelligible. Head cocked curiously to the side, lips slightly parted, he tried to connect the dots. Just as soon as he started, he gave up and trailed after you.

Jimin didn’t stop until you did, right in front of his refrigerator. He was so close, in fact, that you accidentally hit him with the door as you pulled it open.

“Oh, shit!” You muttered, shutting the door again quickly.

Wincing, your gaze flitted over to assess the damage you’d done to the outside of his bicep with the metal corner of the door. On instinct, you reached out to run the pads of your fingers over the faint red mark blooming there. Goosebumps spread in the wake of your touch, but you didn’t feel that same phantom chill. Just something electric that sparked against your fingertips.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He said gently. “I don’t bruise like you do.”

In the moment of silence that followed, you felt compelled to lift your eyes but not your hand. Unless you were imagining things, he leaned into your touch, just slightly. Not enough to see, but enough to feel.

It’d crossed your mind a thousand times since you walked through his front door. With that throwaway statement, Jimin confirmed he’d been thinking about it, too — about who you both were on this date last year. About the way you’d only ever let him treat you roughly because anything sweeter threatened the distance you were trying to keep. About the bruises given with no chance to kiss them better.

You weren’t that person anymore, and neither was he.

“Jimin,” you started.

It was the farthest along in your sentence that your voice would let you go. 

After the million baby steps you’d taken in his direction and the healing you’d allow yourself to do, you were still scared to show your cards. Now, you’d seen him in technicolor. Now, if you fucked things up, you’d never be able to go back to black and white.

What if you fuck things up again?

Jimin sensed your hesitation, but he didn’t accept it. Instead, he closed the distance so slowly that your hand wasn’t disrupted from where it rested on his bicep. His hands found you just as easily. One made its home at the small of your back while the other cupped the side of your face. 

With a whisper lighter than air, he asked, “If I kiss you, will you let me?”

His eyes flitted from yours, to your lips, then back again.

“Or will you kamikaze dive into my kitchen table?”

Your reply was even softer than the question posed. “Only one way to find out.”

If the uptick at the corner of his lips told you anything, it was that he intended to.

Cautiously, as if sudden moves would startle you, he pulled your body flush against his. His other hand tilted your face upwards, thumb gently tucked under your chin while the rest of his fingers rested in the space just below your ear. His touch kept your body present even when the sensation of his kiss threatened to sweep your feet out from underneath you.

Plush pink and delicate, his lips molded to yours like they were specially designed to do just that. Like cracks giving way to let the light in, you opened yourself up for him. Licked into his mouth, eager to learn the parts of him you’d missed in all the time you’d shut him out.

And if you listened — really listened, over the moan he swallowed from you — you could’ve sworn you heard all the silly pages of your childhood diary flipping furiously. Scribbled to hell and back with a glitter gel pen, each one noting that this is what you wanted, this is what you wanted, this is everything you wanted.

The eternity in that kiss wasn’t long enough. Eventually, he broke the contact, pulling a disagreeing gasp from you when he pulled away. Your lips buzzed from the sudden loss of pressure — that, or they trembled without the warmth of his mouth. Either way, he was gone too soon. 

The hand you had resting against his bicep slipped down to the center of his chest to tug at the fabric of his t-shirt. Unable to nip that growing neediness in the bud, you frowned. 

“Jimin,” you sighed. You had nothing to follow-up with. His name was the totality of that thought.

Several moments of silence came next. His brow furrowed, like he was trying and failing to find something less vulnerable to say. He couldn’t. When it slipped out, his eyes searched your face for a reaction.

“I want to be soft with you.”

Any time you’d been together before, it was carnal, dripping with unarticulated hurt. He didn’t want that, not this time. You didn’t have to guess why.

Though the level of desperation you both felt now was familiar, the underscore had changed. Jimin wanted to touch you carefully because he felt fragile — so did you. If either of you moved too quickly, too roughly, you ran the risk of upending the balance you’d found. Like you, Jimin seemed to know that this was delicate.

You lifted your hand from his shirt and placed it on top of his where it sat above your jaw. Gently, your fingers wrapped around his and lowered them so you could intertwine them properly. Then, without a word and without letting go, you led him out of the kitchen into the small hallway.

This was the first time you’d crossed his house without sprinting and violently shedding your clothes as you went. It felt like you were seeing it all for the first time because, in a way, you were. 

You’d never noticed the framed photos lining the walls of the hallway, or the subtle notes of grey in the white paint behind them. In all the time you’d spent there before, it’d never clicked that this house was a home. Everywhere, there were hints of him — his interests, his achievements, the friends you’d never met — sitting so blatantly in places you’d previously ignored. 

Jimin apologized when you stepped over the threshold into his bedroom. “My plan was to clean it tomorrow.”

He smiled sheepishly as his free hand carded through the hair at the base of his neck.

“Doesn’t do you any good today, though.”

“I don’t mind,” you hummed in reply, shutting the door slowly behind him. “My plan was to do laundry today, and — well, you’ll see how that worked out for me.”

You kept your fingers interlocked with his while you surveyed his room. Like the rest of the house, you’d been in there countless times before without truly seeing any of it. Apart from the bare minimum clutter he’d needlessly apologized for, every surface was thoughtfully decorated. Even the absence of some keepsake or trinket on his shelf was purposeful. 

He keeps space.

Propped on a stand near his dresser was his guitar, which you didn’t even know he still played. Of course he does, you thought, he’d have been an idiot to throw that talent away. 

You were smiling long before you noticed you were doing it, even more so when you clocked where it sat. Just like it did in his childhood home, the guitar was positioned directly across the room from his doorway — the first and last thing he’d see when he came and left. 

Carefully, you reached out and trailed one finger over the tuning pegs. It all felt forbidden, but stupidly, you felt compelled. You spent a lifetime aching to touch him. For reasons you couldn’t explain, his guitar was no different.

Watching you caress his guitar made his pulse race harder; you could feel it where your wrist aligned with his. If nothing else had changed, you suspected that he still didn’t let anyone lay a finger on it. Jimin always insisted that he did all the maintenance himself because he didn’t trust the technician at the local music shop to be careful enough. 

To your surprise, it didn’t appear to be anxiety spinning circles in his stomach as he watched you. He spun you around, and it was clear from the look in his eye — the unshakeable desire he felt to touch you that same way.

You wondered what he was thinking while he studied your face in silence — if the months he’d spent trying to teach himself to hate it had blurred your features; and if he saw them clearly now.

The smattering of freckles across the bridge of your nose which swept over the tops of your cheekbones — even though it was winter, and you hadn’t seen much of the sun for weeks. 

The small scar interrupting your eyebrow, which you’d gotten when both of your families went camping together a million years ago. He’d sprinted across tide pools to help you back to your feet, reaching you long before Seokjin could catch up.

You didn’t know if it was a conscious decision now, but he leaned down and placed a kiss there the way you wished he had back then. 

“This isn’t still illegal, is it?” He murmured against your skin.

Unable to breathe, let alone speak, you shook your head so subtly that it couldn’t reasonably be counted as movement. Your next move was bolder, though: You unzipped your sweatshirt, shrugged your way out of it, and let it fall at your feet. 

With a quick glance down, you remembered what you were wearing and cringed with your whole body.

Neither of your socks matched; your sweatpants had a hole near the crotch; and your sweatshirt’s sole task had been to hide the ratty, old MapleStory t-shirt that you stole from Seokjin when he went off to college.

A certifiable mess in a self-imposed dry spell.

Jesus Christ.

“Laundry day,” you blurted out in explanation, though he hadn’t asked. He wasn’t laughing, either — not reacting in any way to roast you the way you expected him to. Still, the tips of your nose and ears burned with embarrassment. “I didn’t plan for… this.”

His index finger dipped under the hem of your t-shirt and his thumb mirrored the way it traced the stitching. 

“I kind of forgot that you own shit like this.” He replied softly, looking more pensive than usual. “Never see you in sweats.”

It was a fair point.

Jimin had slept next to you on three occasions — when the rules permitted — and you always woke up the same way you’d fallen asleep: completely naked. Somehow, it felt even more intimate for him to see what you wore when you went to bed without him. The silly, branded t-shirt probably said more about you than your bare chest did.

You realized that you’d never seen him in his current state before, either, with black joggers hanging low on his hips. His fluffy, air-dried hair didn’t sit smoothly the way it normally did. You wanted so badly to run your fingers through it, but there was a stronger compulsion to reckon with:

His shirt was ripped at the hem, not quite covering the lower inches of his torso.

Unthinkingly, your hand reached out so your fingers could rest against the skin there, midway down faint the trail of hair that dipped under the waistband of his pants. So much warmer than you, he shivered at your touch. You paused, self-conscious, then glanced up at him with eyebrows raised.

Is this okay?

You didn’t have to ask out loud to get an answer. It came as a whisper — “cold hands” — and it was accompanied by a smile that made your knees weak.

He nodded towards the other side of his room and said, “C’mere.” 

The hand that previously held yours found it again. Fingers slipping easily into the spaces between yours, he led and you followed. 

The crisply folded sheets contrasted completely with the effortless coziness of the rest of the space, but they didn’t stay that way for long. With his free hand, Jimin gripped the comforter and tugged it loose. It fluttered and fell freely back down over the bed.

Sighing reflexively, you slipped into the opening he’d created within the blankets. Every fiber smelled like him — clementine flower, orange blossom, water lily and orris — and now, so would you.

Jimin waited for you to scoot over before filling the space next to you, tilting his body inward to keep his eyes on you. His bent knee pressed against your outer thigh. It was chaste, especially when you considered the thousand other ways he’d touched you, but it had you vibrating in place, nonetheless. He probably felt it when he leaned in and kissed you for the third time, fingers sliding into your hair.

Tangled in him, your intrusive thought won out. Loose, it flew like a ping-pong ball around the inside of your skull: He can probably feel all that dry-shampoo, too. 

Like he was begging you to focus, the tip of his tongue flicked across your bottom lip and stole a whimper. Your lips parted eagerly against his to accommodate him; both of you starving for every bit of tenderness you’d refused to let him give before. 

As he poured more of himself into that kiss, the hand in your hair ran slowly down the length of your neck, over the slope of your shoulder, and down the curve of your torso. It stopped on the top of your thigh, warming you through to your bones. For the first time, his fingers didn’t dig harshly into the doughy flesh he found there. Now, his feather-light touch left you buzzing instead of bruised.

With every second that passed, your tingling spine struggled more and more to hold you upright. Noting the slight shift in your posture, Jimin guided you — still lip-locked — to rest your head on his pillows. It wasn’t until you tilted your head slightly to the side that his lips left yours; dipped down below your jaw to pepper the exposed skin there with unbearably soft kisses.

Each one made your pulse race harder than the last, pulled needy little breaths out of your mouth.

“Sound so pretty when you sigh like that,” he hummed against your throat. “Might have to kiss you like this forever if this is what it gets me.”

You’d been underneath him more times than you could presently recall, but never like this. Until now, you never understood how a person could say they loved you without any words at all, but you heard it. More than anything, you felt it in every brush of his lips — in the static crackling around you, charged with every little, languid line his tongue left behind.

The only thing distracting from your swelling heart was the wetness pooling in the bikini bottoms you’d hastily thrown on in the absence of clean underwear.

Fucking laundry day.

The sole consolation was the fact that the blend of polyester and elastane was better suited for a flood than any lace you would’ve consciously selected.

The breath behind his words tickled and surprised you, derailing your train of thought.

“Is it against the rules to tell you how beautiful I think you are?”

The circles he drew against the fabric of your sweatpants had you hypnotized, but you still managed to reply, “No more rules. Except — Oh, fuck.”

You mewled at the sensation of him suckling at the spot where your neck joined your shoulder. 

“Except that you can’t ever stop.”

His lips curled into a smile against the love bite he’d so carefully crafted. 

“I won’t,” he murmured before placing a kiss in the same spot he’d marked. “But I may need an intermission to get these incredibly chic clothes off your body. Kind of feels sacrilegious, though, I’ve gotta say.”

Your eyes flickered over to him, eyebrows raised. He pursed his lips to keep from smiling, forced the straightest face he could muster, then traced his fingertip over the rip in the crotch of your sweatpants. Sounding downright reverent, he explained, “They’re holey.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” You dropped your head back against the pillows with a groan that didn’t outgun your laughter. “Straight to jail for that. Seriously, that’s a federal crime.”

When your eyes stopped rolling and settled on him, Jimin was already looking down at you with amusement sparkling in the deep brown of his irises. He said nothing, opting instead to kiss you — for the fourth time — as a farewell before pulling away entirely. 

The spot next to you went cold as soon as he sat up, but — bravely — you didn’t complain. You watched with your bottom lip pinched between your teeth. He grabbed the end of his haphazardly, perfectly cropped t-shirt and pulled it off over his head. 

Your only instinct was to reach up to his bare chest and trace every plane of it. To your dismay, Jimin intervened. Fingers at the hem of your top now, he stared expectantly at you until you stretched your arms above your head. That stupid, stolen shirt was guided up and off before it was discarded somewhere unseen.

Jimin’s pupils dilated immediately, gaze sweeping over your bare chest like he was beyond grateful that all your bras were at home, drowning in your washing machine. Uninhibited, he leaned forward. The delicate, cuban-link chain of necklace tickled the skin of your stomach while he placed an open-mouthed kiss in the space between your breasts. Cool to the touch, you shivered for more reasons than one.

When his tongue flicked out over one erect nipple, all you could offer was a breathy sigh, brain scrambled to hell and back. He seemed to draw inspiration from this — him and his goddamn mouth promptly switched tactics. Mimicking you, he looked up at you from under his lashes and blew a warm stream of air over your other nipple.

You were full-out whimpering underneath him. “Shit.”

“Yeah?” He smirked before taking the pebbled bud into his mouth and sucking softly, eyes still locked on yours. 

Can I cum from this?

Oh god, I really might cum from this.

His mouth’s ministrations continued while his hands swept gently down the curves of your waist. That is, until they reached the elastic waistband of your sweatpants. Abruptly, Jimin stopped and sat back onto his calves.

You didn’t have to ask. Jimin’s eyes widened in tandem with the grin on his face; and you knew what he’d discovered. Smiling now with all his teeth, he tugged playfully at the knotted tie sitting above your right hip, keeping your bikini bottoms in place.

He snorted incredulously, “Be fucking for real.”

“Stop.” The word was elongated as you whined. It was useless, but you swatted at his arm. “I told you — ”

“I know, I know. It’s laundry day.” Fuck, his affection for you was written all over his face. “Incredible — truly, I have no notes.”

You buried your face in your hands to hide from him, but he didn’t let you. Just like he did that time on your couch, Jimin pulled your hands away from your face and held them in his own. This time, when he kissed you, you didn’t tear yourself away from him. Instead, you did the opposite. You grabbed the sides of his face in your hands and leaned into him.

With his hands now free, he was able to push your sweatpants down the rest of the way without extricating his lips from yours. Those fucking bikini bottoms went with them when he slipped the fabric over your ankles and tossed them blindly over his shoulder.

Mouth moving hungrily against yours, his hand hovered over your cunt, radiating warmth. You fought to keep your last shred of patience but lost, shifting underneath him to beg wordlessly for his touch. He obliged. His middle finger dipped between your sopping folds until it found the swollen bead of your clit and spiraled over it.

“Fuck,” you moaned into his mouth. He swallowed it, kissed you so deep your mind went blank.

The slow pace he’d chosen normally would have driven you mad, but instead of coming across as a taunt — or a punishment — you got the impression that he was basking in your arousal. That he was taking his time, savoring you and the million ways your body craved his.

When you pulled back, your lips were kiss-bitten and palpably swollen. He must have felt your quickened breath against his own lips. They autonomously curved into the tiniest sliver of a smile. 

Watching him watch you, it was clear that Jimin loved you like this — wide-eyed, unguarded, inviting. He loved you generally. You knew that much for certain as he gazed down at you, and you were so fucking thankful that neither of you had to keep pretending otherwise.

Whatever trance he’d fallen into ended when you whispered, “Please.”

Though your plea wasn’t much more than an exhale, he didn’t need to be told twice. Momentarily, he stood; and as he did, your own hand dipped down between your legs. He stepped out of his joggers with his focus trained on you, staring spellbound while you touched yourself in his absence. Wet enough to drip.

If you had to wager on it, you’d bet that he could’ve stood there all night observing, listening to the way you moaned as you slicked your own fingers, but the darkened tip of his cock was weeping like he wanted you badly enough to ache. Completely incapable of spending any more time as a bystander, he fell to his knees between your legs. There, he guided them further apart with his hands.

Desperately, you grabbed one of his hands from where it sat on your knee and pulled him so that he was leaning over you once again. You wanted to feel the way his breath caught as he entered you, bare chest pressing into yours while he filled you. Needed him — just him — all the time.

Forearms now pressed to the mattress and fingers in your hair, he caged you in. His forehead came to rest against yours when you reached into the space between your bodies and dragged his tip through the mess he’d made of you. That faint squelch was obscene enough in the quiet of his room. It couldn’t hold a candle to the groan that escaped his chest when he finally entered you.

“Holy shit.” He exhaled sharply through gritted teeth. Your walls enveloped him, squeezing tight enough that no question remained about where he belonged. “Fucking missed you.”

That initial, perfect ache threatened to blind you, but it wouldn’t have mattered with the way your eyes screwed shut — too overcome with want to do much more than breathe. Slowly, inch by inch, his cock stretched you until he bottomed out. It was the closest thing you’d ever had to an out-of-body experience.

“Missed you,” you mumbled.

Well beyond fuck drunk, you bordered on incoherent. A kiss on your forehead lassoed you, brought you crashing back down. It was redundant, but he murmured, “Come back to me.”

You blinked up at him in a haze.

“Want you to look at me.” 

He sounded shy, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard him, and you didn’t need any further explanation.

Eye contact had never been on the table before, deemed early on to be far too fucking intimate. If this is what he wanted, you decided, you’d never take your eyes off him again. Especially not when he looked at you the way he did then, like you hung the fucking stars in the sky.

You countered, “Kiss me.”

And he did, like he might never get the chance again.

No amount of closeness could’ve been enough, but you settled for wrapping your legs around him. With his range of motion now limited, he grinded against you; the curve of his cock rubbed against that secret spot behind your pubic bone. 

Bones? Do you still have any of those?

Every tantalizing, slow thrust made it harder for you to remember why you’d ever required harshness when his gentleness now was infinitely more intense. It was so much better — being loved by him rather than hated.

Desperate fingers left half-moon imprints on his back, which was beginning to slick with sweat. The spaces between your whimpers lessened while the pressure in your abdomen began to build. Jimin had you teetering at the edge of the world, and you told him so with your lips at his ear, “Please — I’m so close.”

His forehead creased, and you watched in real time as determination etched itself into his features. He was perfect — beautiful — and he was close, too. You clenched; he cursed, “Fuck.”

You looked up at him through fluttering lashes, silently begging him not to stop. Not now, not ever. Stay.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted,” Jimin murmured, burying himself deeper with every thrust. “You know that, right? How much you mean to me?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He watched your face as you came — when your eyes rolled back, and your head tilted against his pillows. Your legs loosened their binds around him as they shook, gasping moans tumbling out of your open mouth. His pace didn’t falter; his presence deep inside of you only elongated your orgasm.

Bliss.

You were still fluttering around his length when your eyes finally drifted open again. Not even through your first aftershocks, his panting breaths alone could’ve pushed you headfirst into a second orgasm.

His gaze had dropped at some point to see the way your cunt clung to him with every backstroke. He must’ve felt you staring, though; he looked back up at you, pupils blown wide. That was all it took to dot stars along the edges of your vision.

Back arching up off the mattress, you gushed around him once again. Mindless babbling — consisting only of his name and expletives — fell clumsily off your tongue. It caught both of you off-guard when your shaky voice managed to plead, “Wanna feel you cum — please. Want you to let go for me.”

Only after you begged him did his thrusts become desperate, reckless. There was the unmistakable sound of your wetness and skin colliding with skin, and then there was the low moan that built in the seat of his chest and broke free. Face buried in the crook of your neck as he came, the heat of his breath on your skin was rivaled only by the dizzying warmth of his release spilling into you.

He struggled to hold himself up while his spent cock still twitched inside of you. If you were being honest, you adored the way his weight pinned you against his mattress. Maybe, you thought, you could stay there forever.

Eventually, an exhausted voice came from the curve of your shoulder, almost too muffled to hear.

“How is it —” Jimin panted. “— That in the hundred times we’ve had sex, it never felt like that?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. Tingling fingertips ran lightly and lazily across his shoulder blades. The hint of hesitation bubbling in the pit of your stomach cautioned you not to speak your thoughts out loud, so you stared at the ceiling above you and willed yourself to be brave.

Your voice threatened to give up on its way out.

“Nobody’s ever fucked me like they love me before.”

He mustered all the energy he still had to turn his head and look at you. At first, you couldn’t tear your eyes off the ceiling to look back. Make space, you begged yourself; and so, you did.

With his chest resting heavily on yours, you wondered if he could feel the way your heart skipped a beat at that eye contact alone. The glimmer in his eye informed you that, yes, he could. 

“Better get used to it, then.” He punctuated his thought by pressing his lips to your temple. “‘Cause that’s what you signed up for.”

You smirked, “Oh? Was there a contract?”

You might’ve kept teasing him if he didn’t tilt your head to kiss you properly — and fuck, you were melting all over again.

“Sealed with a kiss, no less.” He leaned down to nip affectionately at your earlobe. Mouth at the shell of your ear, he purred. “Like any deal with the devil should be.”

“Goddamn.” You whistled. “Promoted from menace to devil already. Congratulations.”

With a roll of his eyes, he pulled out of you and forced himself upright to his feet. Before you could even ask him to, Jimin leaned down to kiss the lips you’d poked out into a pout. Your voice was uncharacteristically needy as your question slipped out.

“You are coming back, right?”

“Nope,” he hummed against your lips. You leaned away from him with your jaw dropped incredulously. “I’m taking a shower and I’m taking you with me.”

That was the only warning you got before one of Jimin’s arms slipped under the hinge of your knees, and the other disappeared behind your back. You screamed. Instead of flailing — a one-way ticket to the floor, you imagined — you threaded your arms around his neck and clung to him as if your life depended on it.

“Pardon me,” you sputtered. “But what the fuck is happening right now?”

“Shhh — pipe down. I’m keeping a promise.”

You stared at him expectantly. For a moment, he ignored you and continued quietly on his way towards the bathroom. It wasn’t until he reached the threshold that he paused with a sigh.

The look he shot you then was far more earnest than you could’ve expected under the circumstances. One that said he saw you, not through you, and he wasn’t going to look away.

Jimin said it breezily, like it cost him even less than the air it took to vocalize it: “I am not letting you down again.”

A pinprick of tears stung the corners of your eyes. You fought like hell to keep them where they belonged. It was such a stupid joke — made so lightly — and it still held more weight than anything you’d ever heard.

Eyes swimming despite your resistance, you sniffled and laughed. “Not, like, literally, though — right?”

“Aw, baby.” He kissed your temple again, cooing. Part of you hated it, but the rest of you swooned. “Don’t test me.”

likes are always appreciated, but it's feedback that means the most — whether that's in a comment below, PM, reblog, tags, etc. tysm for reading ✨

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[ya-boi-haru]

Icarus + Quixis Imaginary Childhood Friend AU

(I was hoping to present this as a little comic, but people aren't my forte, and it'll get out quicker if I write it😅)

---

Icarus inherited Fables abilities to create at a young age. They could make small toys to play with when they were bored or even make the sweetest treats for a sneaky midnight snack.

They preferred to keep to themselves, for they weren't allowed in the village often, especially alone and even when they were, other kids seemed to be different with them. They weren't sure why.

Their Mother was always willing to see what Icarus could make and would try her hardest to make any time to play with them, but alas, royal duties were always calling. Their father - while happy and proud they inherited their gifts - wished they wouldn't be so careless with them.

There had been a couple incidents where a brightly coloured, flying toy had flown into the courtroom, where they were in the middle of discussing their next siege. More pranks had been pulled than they could count. More than a few times were things around the castle had been damaged due to careless play. The times when Icarus' creations caused destructive setbacks to the kingdoms' resources were the worst.

But can you really blame a child for just wanting to have fun?

After the umpteenth time of getting a lecture from their father about their abilities, they were sent to their room - which was thankfully far away enough not hear their parents arguing - where they tried not to cry. They just wanted a friend to play with! But their parents were too busy and the servants had jobs to do.

The gears in Icarus' head began to turn.

Icarus' had fought imaginary baddies and creatures all throughout the halls and courtyards of the castle and since they didn't have any friends, they made their own out of stuffing and fabric.

Maybe Icarus could make a new friend, one they could actually play with, one only they could play with and pull pranks with and create new things together! One only they could see.

So Icarus closed their eyes and tried it.

A being that could appear and reappear with a word. A being that could think for itself. A being that would have the ability to make their games more fun. One that would want to be and like being their friend.

Icarus isn't really sure if they pulled it off, but they were very tired after trying it. They looked around the room. They were alone.

When they awoke the next morning, they saw a figure sitting on the edge of the bed, eagerly awaiting for them to wake up.

The figure almost looked like them, although their eyes were completely black and their hair was snow white. Splashes of colour covered their cloths as if explosions of rainbow had hit them. They also noticed the transparency of the figure, like a ghost.

Icarus almost made it to their door to alert their parents about the strange, intruding figure in their room, but the figure quickly appeared in front of them trying to calm them down, telling them to not be afraid.

They introduced themselves as Quixis and explained how Icarus' attempt to make a friend worked.

Icarus didn't believe it at first, but the more time they explained and the more they were with them, Quixis grew on Icarus.

It didn't take long for the two to see what mischief they could get into.

Quixis' gifts definitely made things more fun. They could change things into whatever they wanted.

What was once a rock now was a yummy muffin to consume. When Icarus would make shampoo potions in the sink, Quixis could could glicth it into a potion of night vision. When Icarus held a stick it became a wooden sword. They would prank the gardener's by changing all the flowers to one kind and they would change the colours of the walls to confuse anyone who walked past. They would glitch their cloths and play dress ups - even Quixis gave themselves a crown - and rule over their wacky kingdom together.

Icarus finally had a friend, and everyone thought they were just imaginary!

But Quixis was anything but and they also underestimated just how powerful Quixis could be.

Something happened.

Innocent play went wrong and Icarus got hurt. Bad. And when Quixis tried to help, they couldn't, panic making their glitching ability worse, spreading over the parts of the kingdom and it was that trail of wack that lead Fable and Isla to an Injured Icarus.

They recovered, thankfully, but Fable once again lectured Icarus.

Fable thought Quixis was just Icarus' Imaginary friend but after hearing how they came to be Fable was shocked. He was sceptical but after many "Please, Dad"s and puppy dog eyes, he decided to be okay with this new being. After all, it made his child happy, how could he say no.

But after weeks of seeing what this Quixis could do, change their kingdom, affect their crops, cause chaos, cause Icarus harm, Fable had to put his foot down.

If Icarus can create an invisible being, then Fable can create something to trap it in.

Icarus cried and begged for their father to not do it, telling them that Quixis promises to behave and that it was just an accident but Fable wouldn't listen.

Only Icarus could see Quixis being sucked into the cage, the only one to hear them begging for their help.

Fable took the small form of a prison and hid it where Icarus could never find it. And they never did.

Years passed and Icarus grew along with his new brother. Over time, they forgot about Quixis and their adventures. But Quixis remembers it all and as those years passed, Quixis also grew and not just in maturity but power. They eventually broke down their prison and broke out, but when they found Icarus again, they couldn't remember them.

No where else to go, they stayed with Icarus' appearing in times they felt like it, still causing pranks and trying to help them where they could.

Icarus may think they're a menace- they tell them every chance they get - but Quixis still sees their friend and is determined to get them to remember again.

----------

I'm not a writer + I winged it lol

Home you guys liked the idea of it anyway :3 I may come up with more thoughts on it later?

[streamdotpng]

Enid finds the painting after a bit too harsh of a bump against Rowan. She sees the school burning and a girl with braids.

She doesn't know the full picture but she sure knows a villain when she sees it. So when Wednesday Addams comes in, Enid knew just exactly what she had to do.

Be friends!

After all, Friendship is magic right? Surely this girl had a reason to burn down this school and maybe Enid can be a good influence and convince her otherwise!

She never expected it to end up like this however.

[burnt-outtransgender]

I have an idea:

Fable SMP S1 Secondary School AU.

I have so many thoughts about this idea, but I don’t have the time rn to write so I’m putting them here.

-Rae is the half brother of the Principal Fable’s son, Icarus. He’s in Year Nine (13-14 years old), and most people are friendly with Rae because he’s willing to tutor people.

-Icarus is a Sixth Form student and gives Rae a hard time sometimes. Their mutual friend, Centross, in Year Eleven (15-16 years old) sticks up for Rae a lot.

-Caspian is a recent transfer to the school and Rae’s been assigned to be his buddy.

-Caspian immediately joins the Creative Writing Club and meets Strawberri.

-Strawberri is the mother friend to Jamie and Easton, two Year Eights.

-Enderian is the Headmistress of another school in the area, Fable’s school’s rival.

-Athena is a Year Eight who hangs around Rae a lot and is trying to get him to be more involved in school activities and events.

-Rae is a member of the STEM Club.

Feel free to use my ideas if you want. I’ll do my best to remember to add more.

[alexandraisyes]

How all Reset AU characters would react if someone hugged them?

You people just love to fucking torture me. Alright but not all of these are pleasant answers 😔

Primary Dimension

Sun: Cringe away from you and awkwardly pat your head

Nexus: He loves hugs, he wish he got more of them

Solar: Cutely divert it and just pat your head

Earth: Also loves hugs. And great hugger

Monty: Let's. . . not do that

Foxy: Be careful of the hook! But he'll gladly ruffle yer hair

Puppet: She's not super affectionate to strangers so just this once.

Finley (FC): Of course, you can hug him!

OG Bloodmoon: I'm sorry did you want that hand?

Moon: He's gonna sidestep you bro

Vanth (OG Lunar): Make it quick

Lulu/Lunar (OC): He'll let you hug him! He's very huggable!

OG Eclipse: I really hope you're okay with broken fingers

Chips/Eclipse (OC): No. Don't touch him for both of your sakes

Killcode: Maybe. He might also eat you. Do you wanna risk that

Solar Flare: No thank you. (in the most monotone voice ever)

Ruin: He might steal your wallet but if you're willing to take that risk

Sunny (Solar's Sun): That's a corpse

Angel (Solar's Sun - Reset): Sure, just don't squeeze too hard

Crescent (Solar's Moon - Reset): He only lets his mates touch him

Blood: He'll bite you for trying

Harvest: He will give you a second bite for trying

Jack: He will happily hug you back! Just be warned he doesn't always know his grip strength. . .

Ilo/Milo: They only really like KC

Spaniard: He doesn't like anyone and you're just hugging a computer

Secondary (Lord Eclipse) Dimension

Kronos (Lord Eclipse): Die.

Crius (Servant Sun): He'll take a hug gladly!

Helios (Dark Sun): He's gonna turn you around and point you in the direction of anyone else do not touch him pls and thank you

Styx (Lord Lunar): I wouldn't do it around Moros, but he'll take a hug

Moros (Servant Eclipse): That's a good way to get a knife in the throat

Gaia (Evil Earth): She'd love a hug! The villagers are always giving her hugs!

Icarus (Star-Holder Freddy): He's less confident about it, but he'll accept a hug

Eos (Lonely Sun): He'll also accept a hug!

Khonsu (Feral Moon): Why are you even in the same room as this thing get out of there bro before you become Moon food

Nyx (Evil Lunar): He'll laugh and break your spine if you try so let's not

Sobek (Evil Monty): Don't.

Ammit (Mage Monty): If you want to you can! But scales aren't a very pleasant texture to some people

Brock (Local Monty): He's not big on physical contact. By the way, have you seen his guitar anywhere?

Bloom (Moon and Vanth Merged): Mmm maybe ask on a different day

RESET is co-owned with @polaris-stuff and @dragoncxv360

[akioukun]

hi aki!! i felt very much inspired by your seasons au for harringrove earlier today so i wrote this little piece and i'd love for you to have it! i hope you like it!! thank you for always creating the most beautiful artwork, you continue to take my breath away!!

The new summer arrives with a burning promise for Steve.

Golden skin laced with molten sunlight, eyes as blue as the ocean, a voice reminiscent of waves crashing on a shore. This summer isn’t to be like the last, Steve knows.

They come together for the first time and produce the dew of an early morning, with damp grass and misty rain. Steve brings gentle song birds and Billy’s slow to wake, lulled to an easy slumber by their songs, not eager to rouse the heat of the day.

They work well enough but there’s something else hidden under the surface, hidden from sight, kept away.

It comes as no surprise that Billy’s hotter than a wildfire; just as unpredictable and uncontrollable. A temper that is unmatched, burning so brightly it’s no wonder Icarus fell from the sky if it were Billy’s heat that melted those wings.

Steve feels like that around Billy — like he’s in a free fall. Nothing to steady him, nothing to catch. No earth to dig his fingers into, no use in begging for help.

But, he likes it that way. Prefers it. Because Billy burns brighter than the sun but he warms Steve, makes him grow, makes flowers bloom in his chest where they shouldn’t. And he tends to them in secret, pretends that it isn’t Billy’s kisses that waters them and it’s not his smile that makes Steve’s world greener.

Because it’s forbidden. It’s not wise. They know better, they do. They shouldn’t get attached because seasons are fickle. They will leave whenever they want without warning.

But, a new summer loves the earth. And Steve’s willing to try.

HEY HI HELLO BAMBI HIHI

Um. Oh my god? I have no words? Actually I do FIRSTLY you are an absolute sweetheart and I am melting into a puddle at your kind words, I have so much love for the people that enjoy what I do because that by extension means my love for what I do is hopefully coming through. A big feedback loop of love is what it is and it means sososososooooo much to me that you put time and your energy into WRITING THIS INCREDIBLE MASTERPIECE???

I am. So in love with the way you use words and language, like I am actually going to implode that you wrote this. This is so poetic, so EXACT in its tone about how these two collide and and and that bit about flowers blooming in Steves chest where there is usually sleep and the slow slip into decay is SO BEAUTIFUL AND WHEN I READ IT I NEARLY THREW MY PHONE D O W N THE STAIRS. I WOULD REALLY LIKE TO KEEP AND USE IT IN THIS AU. I had tiny bits of like, more moss growing on Steve from Billys proximity in one of my attempts to write, but this…this is something else entirely more impactful and I am just, basically howling at the fact you would write this

My heart is so full, I adore you and your writing so much, thank you thank you THANK YOU for creating such a gorgeous piece I’m treasuring it forever 🖤🖤🖤

[phyrestartr]

Icarus, I Am Devoted | Sukuna x M!Reader (Teaser!!)

[#Modern AU, ABO dynamics, Mob Boss!Sukuna, Alpha!Sukuna, Street Doctor!Reader, Omega!Reader, toxic relationships, age gap, sukuna is mid 30s, yuuji gang and reader are mid 20s, sukuna and yuuji are brothers, sukuna has FEELINGS, but he is BAD AT FEELINGS, nsfw, fluff, hurt/comfort]

A/N: LET'S GOOOOOOO I love this shit and wanted to share a piece for vibes as I continue to write it lol lmk what you think!!

☆☆☆

Sukuna didn't like Yuuji getting caught up in his business.

He was too brash, thought himself too badass for the world to take down, thought gang life wasn't as bad as the world made it out to be, just because his older brother was involved. Sukuna didn't know where the fuck he got that idea–the tattooed menace had killed people, stolen money, sold shit that ruined lives. It was fun for him, sure, but not so much for bystanders.

“You're an idiot,” Sukuna growled as he dragged his brother into his office and threw him at the chaise lounge while they waited for their doctor on demand.

“H-hey, come on, man! It's, uh, it's not even that bad–” Yuuji grimaced, though, holding at the wound gushing blood from his arm. “You've had worse!”

Sukuna laughed bitterly as his henchmen flooded the room and made necessary preparations for their aid's arrival. “You and I are fucking built different, Yuuji--you’re too damn soft for–”

“I'm not,” Yuuji snapped, honeyed eyes blazing. “I can help you.”

Sukuna laughed again, then ripped his plush, leather chair across the room, sending it hurtling into the expensive ebony walls he encased his place of business in. He roared in overwhelming fury as it clattered to the floor.

“How hard is it for you to listen? How come you can never just fucking–”

“Yelling won't solve things,” your cool voice interrupted as you hurried into the room, medical bag in hand. “I thought you learned that by now.”

Sukuna whirled on his heel. His hands were still fisted in his hair and his blood boiled, but now, there existed an explosive tension with you in the room.

You, his pretty little omega. The one he chased away. The one he still craved. The one that drove him insane.

“Uraume,” Sukuna growled, crimson eyes locking onto his most devoted.

“My apologies,” they said with a pensive look and deep bow, “he was the only one willing to come.”

“So mind your manners, or I'll let your brother bleed out,” you said airily, so haughty and bitchy and annoying. But Sukuna knew you wouldn't let Yuuji die. You wouldn't let him suffer with a wound like that–you were too fond of the little brat.

Sukuna snarled in frustration and fixed his jacket with sharp tugs. “Just fix him.”

He stalked away, ignoring the way Yuuji yelled at him before preening at you as you tended to him. Sukuna knew his brother had a bit of a thing for you, his bitch, which caused more than a handful of problems with the two arguing and fighting for your affections. Naturally, you chose Sukuna. Of course you would.

The alpha's frustrations boiled, reducing the rage in his gut into simmering desire. He leaned his head back against the elevator mirror with a sigh as it shot up toward the penthouse--the one you, too, used to occupy. The one where you'd spread your legs for him, drowning in expensive, black silk sheets while he bred you like the good little thing you were. The one where you'd cook for him if (when) you woke up before him the morning after. The one where you first whispered I love you against his skin when you thought he was asleep.

The elevator doors dinged open, and he stormed out, eager to rid himself of the tightness pulling at his slacks. A cigar and a drink sounded good, too.