#and i come up with it as a write it

[meepmoopmaap]

Will u plz….

Make a pt.2 for dating advise for dummies?

No pressure tho, take your time, it’s fine if your busy I was just wondering bc it’s so good but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s ok I swear

Fuck yeah! Also I understand the whole being overly nice thing, bc asking people for things is scary lol-, but you could bust into my ask box with a water gun demanding a sequel if you wanted to

Asking people out, a guide for beginners (Iida x yn, pt. 2)

a sequel to Dating Advice for Dummies

It had been a few days since Iida tried to talk to you, and he had never had the courage to do it again, he tried to go up to you after you led him to the book, but he could never bring himself to do it.

But, on that cold Tuesday morning, Iida decided that today would be the day that Iida made a move. Without being seen by you, Iida snuck his way to the poetry section, a section he knew you loved, and picked out a book of love poems.

Knowing you'd be at the front desk, Iida began to confidently stride towards the front of the building, but as he did he felt this curl of unease in his chest. A little worm of doubt wiggled in his brain, telling him 'what if y/n led you to that book to tell you that you were awful at talking to them?'

Before he could turn back, he was already at the desk, shocked to find one of the other guys that worked at the library. He chuckled, handing Iida a slip of paper. "Here, y/n told me to give it to you."

Iida nervously unfolded it, it was the section, row, and general location of another book. His hands shook as he walked towards the other side of the library, worried that he'd go to the legal section and find a book on harassment lawsuits.

But instead, Iida found himself in the self help section, close to where the last book was found. He blushed even more as he found the book you wanted him to find. "Asking people out, a guide for beginners"

He heard a little chuckle behind him, he quickly whipped his head around and saw you standing there. Iida froze, unable to muster up the words he wanted to say, thankfully, you approached him and spoke first. "page 39, check the bookmark."

Iida looked back at the book, opening to the page you guided him to. "Chapter 3, getting over anxiety" was at the top of the page. Iida took a quick second to feel a little embarrassed at how easily you saw through him, but his thoughts were quickly cut off by the bookmark.

Written on it, in neat handwriting, was a phone number. Your phone number. Iida's heart practically leapt out of his chest as he turned around to look at you, but you had already ran off.

Iida chuckled softly as he pocketed the bookmark, it seems like he wasn't the only one who needed to brush up on chapter 3.

Reblogs>>>>likes

[daisywords]

One of my biggest nitpicks in fiction concerns the feeding of babies. Mothers dying during/shortly after childbirth or the baby being separated form the mother shortly after birth is pretty common in fiction. It is/was also common enough in real life, which is why I think a lot of writers/readers don't think too hard about this. however. Historically, the only reason the vast majority of babies survived being separated from their mother was because there was at least one other woman around to breastfeed them. Before modern formula, yes, people did use other substitutes, but they were rarely, if ever, nutritionally sufficient.

Newborns can't eat adult food. They can't really survive on animal milk. If your story takes place in a world before/without formula, a baby separated from its mother is going to either be nursed by someone else, or starve.

It doesn't have to be a huge plot point, but idk at least don't explicitly describe the situation as excluding the possibility of a wetnurse. "The father or the great grandmother or the neighbor man or the older sibling took and raised the baby completely alone in a cave for a year." Nope. That baby is dead I'm sorry. "The baby was kidnapped shortly after birth by a wizard and hidden away in a secret tower" um quick question was the wizard lactating? "The mother refused to see or touch her child after birth so the baby was left to the care of the ailing grandfather" the grandfather who made the necessary arrangements with women in the neighborhood, right? right? OR THAT GREAT OFFENDER "A newborn baby was left on the doorstep and they brought it in and took care of it no issues" What Are You Going to Feed That Baby. Hello?

Like. It's not impossible, but arrangements are going to have to be made. There are some logistics.

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[hinamie]

unconditionally

[noknowshame]

always a fun time when real life people are doomed by their own narratives. like guys you know it doesn’t have to be like this right? this isn’t a stageplay the foreshadowing isn’t real until you make it real

[paradox-n-bedrock]

me in big fandoms: oh cool, it's so active and there's so many people to vibe with, this is amaz-

*finds my niche angle that appeals to approximately six people*

me: okay, folks, it's you and me now

[quadrantadvisor]

Thinking about DP x DC Jason Todd being a revenant again. Here's my scenario. Jason gets called that by some ghost. He's like "what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He's heard the term before but he doesn't know any actual lore. He googles it. He scrolls past the Leonardo DiCaprio bear movie. He opens the wiki. Sees the words "animated corpse" and gets a chill diwn his spine. He starts reading the first section.

He closes Wikipedia.

That night he has a nightmare that his family buried him, again, this time with precautions. He wakes up in his own grave, full of stones, too heavy to move, to scream.

[happypeachsludgeflower]

Liu Qingge comes back to find out that everyone believes Shen Qingqiu murdered him and he’s offended that anyone would think Shen Qingqiu could beat him in a fight. And, as Liu Qingge bitches people out for believing such a ridiculous tale, Shen Qingqiu is off to the side muttering about how he “could absolutely kill that brute if he wanted to.” Liu Qingge turns to him exasperated, grumpy, and annoyed and snaps, “You couldn’t even stop me from killing myself.”

[lazylittledragon]

ok someone please correct me if i'm wrong but am i weird for thinking those 'audiobooks don't count as reading' posts are ableist as fuck????

[anneapocalypse]

So, just curious how many writers and creators will have to be forcibly outed by relentless harassment before we acknowledge that "This queer characters was written by a cishet person and that's why they're bad" is not good criticism.

[boarwinds]

Princess locked away in a tower with the demon she's supposed to be kept from #OshamirWeek Day Four: Free Day

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[valoale]

It never ceases to amaze me how brilliant fan fiction writers are, like, you take bits of something and can turn it into such brilliance and create crazy good plot lines with so much depth and layers and come up with all these ideas, like, literally blows my mind every time. The level of creativity is stunning

Never stop

[tarvek-sturmvoraus]

bats: tim are you going to tell us anything you did while searching for bruce tim: not unless everyone gets real cool about a bunch of stuff really quickly

[zephyrchama]

I hope demons have sayings that sound really weird and messed up to humans, just as there are many diverse sayings across varying human languages that don't always translate easily.

---01

Lucifer looked up warily as you entered his office before breathing a sigh of relief. "I thought you were Mammon, here to give me another headache."

You strided over to his desk to take a peek at what he was working on. It looked boring. "We both know you love your little brother. What could be so bad this time?"

Lucifer buried his eyes in his hands, brushing his hair aside with the tail end of a pen. "He's been gnawing on my toenails all week."

You coughed in surprise, smacking your chest to loosen up the muscles so that clarifying questions could be asked. "What? Why? How?"

"Just general Mammon buffoonery as usual. For some reason he's especially persistent this week."

"I have literally never seen Mammon chewing on toenails..." Your lip curled back in disgust just imagining it. "Has he... done this before?"

"What?" Lucifer narrowed his eyes, puzzled. "Oh." His gaze softened once he realized what was happening and he huffed in amusement. "Mammon hasn't actually been gnawing on my toenails. It means he's getting on my nerves, as you might say."

You clasped your hands together and sighed, letting a wave of relief wash over you. "Please. Just say that next time."

----02

"C'mon, c'mon! If ya move any slower I'm gonna exfoliate Diavolo!"

You were running as fast as you could, despite Mammon being the reason for your tardiness. You didn't have much to lose, but Mammon could be in deep trouble for missing another morning class.

You wheezed and almost ran into him, not realizing he kindly came back to carry you. "Wh..." After a few deep breaths, you choked out your question. "You're gonna what? To Diavolo?"

Mammon thrust his bag in your arms in a rush and picked you up instead. He spoke as he began running, "yeah. He's gonna have my neck if I'm late again!"

"I get that, but is Barbatos gonna make you wash him...? Or...?"

"Wha? Are you still half asleep? Is that why you're runnin' so slow?"

You leaned your head back against his upper arm to stare up at him in frustration. He couldn't ignore your pouty face inches from his own. Mammon's ears grew red. "Knock it off!"

"Tell me what you mean!" you ordered.

Mammon growled and ran even faster. "What do you mean? I'm just tryna get us to class!"

---03

You scooted your seat closer to Leviathan. He perked right up and froze as you approached to whisper in his ear.

"Levi, XYZ."

"W-w-what? Is that a code?"

"No, XYZ. PDQ."

He reached for a pen and began noting the letters down. "P... D... Q... Got it. What's next?"

You shook your head. "No, Levi, your barn door is open."

"What game are we talking about? I haven't picked up Moondrop Basin in a few weeks."

You made a zipping-up motion with your hand. "Your fly!"

"Oh." Leviathan ruffled the back of his hair and swatted the air around his head. "Is it gone now? I didn't see any bugs."

Though reluctant to be so blunt, you were out of euphemisms. "Levi, your pants' zipper is open."

With an "eep!" he turned away to fix his problem. It took a few seconds. In his haste, the zipper kept getting stuck. He was mad when he turned back around, his face colored crimson. "Why didn't you just tell me? Without turning it into... into some game!"

"I did! XYZ, PDQ, That's what we say in the human world! Examine your zipper, quick!"

"That's so dumb!" he seethed, punching his knee. "What a spumid flaming cabbage. Your sayings are so weird."

---04

"Ready for the next one?"

"Hit me," you told Satan.

He grimaced from across the desk, raising his eyes from the paper to look at you in concern. "What? No, I'm not going to do that."

"Not literally, it's a human saying. It means 'give it to me,' or something like that."

"Oh." Satan jotted that down in the margins of his own notes before reading off the next phrase on his list. "This is one of my favorites. It's a colorful saying, but if you're really mad at someone you can call them a snot-cobbling banshee. I like to say this while cursing their next three generations."

You wrote that down. "How often do you use this saying?"

"Not too often. Well, maybe once a week with my brothers. It goes along with this next phrase which implies someone is dangerously stupid. Barbed dingbat."

You nodded. You were truly learning so much on this cultural exchange program.

---05

Asmodeus came into the kitchen as you were preparing dinner and wrapped his arms around your neck. He looked exhausted.

"Careful, I've got a knife, don't want to accidentally nick you," you warned. "What's up? Long day?"

"Like you wouldn't believe." Asmodeus peeped over your shoulder to look at the vegetables you were cutting. "I'm so glad you're home. You know, all day, all I could think about was..."

He proceeded to say some incredibly vulgar things. Detailed depictions of debauchery. Irredeemable acts of indecency that cannot be repeated on this blog. It made you put the knife down in a tizzy.

"Are those more demon idioms?" You snickered awkwardly and wiped your hands on a towel. "I've been learning about your sayings recently. Can't say I've heard those ones yet."

"What? Oh, no." Asmodeus lifted your hand, raising it to his lips to lick a stray fleck of vegetable skin off your fingertip. "These aren't sayings, this is just stuff I've wanted to do all day."

---06

"I could just eat you up."

This was something Beelzebub said often, and something he repeated again today. His hands were occupied with a fresh four-pounder with cheese, but his eyes kept drifting from it to watch you shoot paper balls into a wastebasket.

"You know, humans have the same saying. Isn't that funny?" You bounced up to grab some of the wads on the floor that didn't make it into the basket, to try again.

Beelzebub swallowed the mass in his mouth. "Really?" he asked between bites. "I thought you guys stopped doing cannibalism, mostly."

"Uh." You missed your throw. What should have been an easy shoot bounced off the edge and rolled away from the wastebasket. "Yeah, we did. Just so we're on the same page, you're saying I'm cute, right?"

Beelzebub was concerningly quiet as he chewed.

---07

"Are you on your way back to class?" Belphegor stopped you in the hall. You hadn't even seen him there on the ground, curled up next to a shady pillar.

"Skipping class again?" you asked. "I thought you liked magic theory."

"Maybe," he yawned. "It's too easy sometimes."

Belphegor fished around in his pocket for a second before pulling out a tightly folded-up sheet of paper. He offered it up. "Can you turn this in for me? I don't want my grades dropping over late homework."

"Sure thing, but it might be better to turn it in yourself. I heard Barbatos is doing random checks in all classes this week. He'll notice you missing."

"Nah." Belphegor's head drooped down as he prepared to doze off again. "If you see him, just tell him I'm being flerchen in the garden."

That sounded innocent enough. "Okay. What does that mean?"

"Means I've got the sniffles," he lied.

---08

Barbatos' eyes grew big and he placed a hand over his heart, furthering crumpling Belphegor's homework sheet in the process. He looked around to make sure nobody overheard before leaning in. "I must ask that you never say that again."

Behind him, Diavolo's palm was clasped over his mouth as he struggled not to draw attention with loud guffaws. He had his back to the classroom, shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

"Why not?" You nervously shifted from one foot to another. You'd been had.

"It's not a topic I can explain here. Perhaps you and the Young Master should excuse yourselves for now. I'll come collect you both later."

Barbatos readily escorted you and Diavolo out of the room, shutting the door behind you so that class could begin without interruption.

"I'm just the messenger," you tried to defend yourself. Diavolo's fit of giggles was renewed. He grabbed on to your shoulder for stability while doubled over, trying to ride out the laughter.

"Did... did Belphegor tell you to say that?" He wiped a tear running down his face. You furiously nodded.

"Haha! Do you remember where he's hiding? I'd sure like to have a word with him."

You couldn't tell if Diavolo was going to praise Belphegor or tear him a new one. Perhaps a mix of both. However, the curiosity over what you said was overwhelming. You wanted to know the full extent of what it meant before seeing Belphegor again.

You decided to bargain with the prince. "I'll show you, but first you have to tell me what that means."

[sukunasteeth]

Taking Care of a Tired Sukuna

Sukuna has had a long day.

Well, night.

Morning.

Fuck.

Working construction had been twisting up his sleeping schedule. At this point, Sukuna was starting to feel it in his body; in the strain in his muscle, and the aches and pains that randomly gripped him.  

They had him working on a new project that could only be done at night, while the public was off the main roads, and that meant his new work hours were starting from sometime in the middle of the evening and ending in the morning or the mid-afternoon. Being nocturnal wouldn't be so bad if his commute home wasn't during rush hour. The traffic was always worse when he just wanted to crawl onto his couch and fall asleep there. And when he does come home at the end of the day - he's aching, exhausted, and every bone in his body is vibrating with the noise from a jackhammer or the hum of a forklift.

Sukuna has always liked something that keeps him busy, interested, something that tests his strengths. So, he can't say that he hates the job, but he does wish that it wouldn't occupy so much of his time. He's wont to forget things when he's so wrapped up in a new task.

Like today, for example, when he finally swings his truck around the front of his apartment building, barely making it off the freeway without murdering someone, and he spots your car parked there in his spot.

He starts a bit, his sleep deprived brain suddenly spinning as memory serves him. 

That's right. You were supposed to come over today after he got off of work and spend the night- and he didn't plan a damn thing. There's no flowers in the backseat, he didn't stop to grab lunch for the two of you, he doesn't even have anything in his fridge for dinner tonight, besides a few forgotten beers tucked away in the side door.

As Sukuna searches for a parking spot much further down the street, he knows he should be disappointed with himself, but he can't help the touch of excitement that's suddenly dissolving the exhaustion from his muscles. Sometimes, Sukuna resents the fact that you manage to reduce him to this. He hates that he can't control that his heart skips a beat at the thought of seeing you again, like he's in some sappy romance novel.

But it was the hold you had on him, and he was starting to accept it.

~

You got to Sukuna's apartment about two hours before he was scheduled to be home. It was a day off for you, and you woke up with butterflies fluttering around in your chest.

You were giddy to see him. You always were. And not a single butterfly has died in your heart-space for him since the moment you met Sukuna, around two years ago. He has tended to each of them since then with his gentle but stubborn touch, although, he would never admit it.

You adored him for that.

It's still early in the morning when you use the key he had made for you to unlock his front door. Immediately upon stepping in, you're hit with how dark his studio is. The sun had risen over the horizon hours ago, and yet, the only hint of its light came from a small gap in Sukuna's blackout curtains. When you pull them back, you turn around and wince at the room behind you.

Yep, he's working too hard.

There's construction tools all over the house; sitting on the counter, in the sink, on his bed-stand, there's even a huge oil covered machine beside the front door that you nearly trip on in your trek over to the curtain. His coveralls and work clothes are strewn across the living room like he's been too exhausted to even make it to his bed at the end of his days, which is not very far from the couch. Meanwhile, his bedroom and the kitchen look nearly immaculate, telling you he hasn't cooked in days and confirming your suspicions about his sleeping arrangements. You wander over to his fridge and pop it open, sighing hopelessly when you're greeted with nothing inside.

Good thing he has you. 

~

By the time he makes it home, it's around one in the afternoon. You've got his laundry hanging on the clothesline outside, more in the washing machine, and all of his tools and odds and ends have been sorted and dusted clean. You've opened every window he has, and cool, fresh air sweeps away the oppressed darkness his apartment held before. Everything was back in equilibrium. 

When his keys jingle outside the door, you're just finishing up the last of folding his laundry. Sukuna steps inside, and your heart aches at how drained he looks despite the way his eyes widen as he peers around the room in surprise. His clothes are covered in dust from the construction site, and there's a smear of dirt on his cheek that makes him look like a chimney sweep. There's a tool in his hand that looks rather heavy, straining the muscles in his arm, but he seems to have momentarily forgotten to put it down. Half moon circles are embedded under his eyes, but they only bring out the intensity of his gaze. 

"Hi 'Kuna?" You chime, calling his attention to rest on you.

He blinks, taking a moment to process the situation. You don't recognize the glimmer in his eyes then, and part of you starts to sweat at the thought of him taking this all wrong. Sukuna had never been particularly picky with you, but vice versa, you had never done something like this for him before. He never gave you the opportunity, after all. Out of the two of you, Sukuna was usually the one who was always effortlessly put together.

"You... cleaned..." He notes. 

You swallow, "I did but I didn't move things around though. Just tried to put things back. Your laundry is right outside and I got you some groceries-" Sukuna drops the tool in his hand without warning, and you start talking faster, your voice raising a pitch as he starts towards you. "Okay, thinking back, I guess I should have asked. Maybe texted- no, you hate texting. Maybe called-"

“Did you clean the paint specks off of my air compressor?” He was standing in front of the machine beside the front door, which you painstakingly made sure not to ruin in your cleansing, despite having no idea what it was. 

When he looks at you for an answer, continuing to close the distance between the two of you. You swallow the rock in your throat. “Too much?” 

He’s made his way across the room and his surprised expression finally settles into a familiar hungry grin. He grabs you by the hem of your jeans, yanking you roughly towards him. You catch yourself on his chest, making a small noise of surprise. When you look up to scold him, Sukuna is an inch away from your face, his lips almost brushing yours, save for half a centimeter of space between them. He smells like sawdust and menthol, you can taste it in the close proximity as he greedily takes your breath away. 

“Off. Now.” He growls, but his fingers are already undoing the button clasped in the front of your pants. “I’m about to fuckin’ eat you, sweet thing.” 

~

You end up skipping lunch, but you're well satisfied a few hours later. A certain hunger: satiated. Sukuna is resting peacefully beside you. You can hear his even breathing against the sound of the cicadas outside, screaming in through the windows. Seeing him so content, sets your heart at ease and you release a sigh of relief. 

Now, to end the night, it was time to slip out of bed without him noticing to finish folding his laundry. 

Or so you thought. 

As you carefully peel back the blankets and try to sneak off the side of the mattress, a warm pair of fingers loop themselves around your panty line, effectively preventing you from going anywhere. Guiltily, you peek over your shoulder to see Sukuna glaring at you with half of his face still smushed into his pillow, genuinely disgruntled with the fact that you were trying to leave his bed. You can't help but chuckle.

"I'm just gonna go grab your laundry." You reassure him, brushing a tousled tuft of his hair out of his eyes. The knot between his brows deepens.

"Let me do that later. C'mere. " He tugs on your panty line, confident that you'll be submissive for him.

The sun outside was casting tall shadows on the walls of his bedroom and the glow was now deep and rich, telling you that it was preparing to set. You didn't want Sukuna's laundry on the balcony all night, which is what you were sure would happen if you didn't go and grab it now.

You hear a thread rip in your panty line interrupting your contemplation and, quickly, you grab his wrist, squeezing it as a signal for him to let go.

He continues to hold fast, his brow cocking in a silent dare.

"'Kuna, come on." You try, "Lemme take care of you-"

"You've been doing nothing but take care of me all day." He scoffs, like the idea of it is absurd to him. Rarely does Sukuna allow you the opportunity to show him as much care and adoration as you have today. Being doted on was not typically something he enjoyed. You knew that, and that's how you also knew that he was exhausted to his bones that day. "Get your ass back here."

There's a tug again, and another thread snaps somewhere. You pout at him, already having the foresight that this pair of panties wasn't going to last you long either. Your partner had the tendency to rip them off of you, and this wouldn't be the first pair to become a shred of what they once were. To be fair, he was also known for giving you his credit card and telling you to go buy "some things for him to see you in", so it would be at no cost to you. But, you happened to like this pair.

Sukuna watches you consider your options silently, unrelenting in his hold on your lace. When you peek up at his gaze, testing one more time, you know you've already lost.

"Don't make me chase after you." He warns, the promise of your inevitable surrender is evident in the predatory glint of his eyes. If Sukuna had a tail at that moment, it would be swaying back and forth, preparing for a pounce. "It's been a while since the last time I had you tied up. I do miss those sweet little bruises we left on your wrists."

You feel the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention upon his recollection. The last time Sukuna had you in ropes, you had to call off of work the next day. Your backside stings with the memory, but half of you can't help but ache for it too. Tied up in Sukuna's bed while he was forced to care for the boneless pile that was his girlfriend, drunk off of his lovemaking? That wasn't the worst place to be.

But, on the other hand, you could tell how exhausted he was with the new construction project at his job. You have a flashback of showering with him at the end of the night and scrubbing sawdust out of his hair. Having to gently prod and kiss him awake as he fell asleep standing up in front of you. You were adamant that you weren't going to do anything to tire him further tonight. 

Before you can properly give in, Sukuna must have decided that you were taking much too long to obey him. 

His other hand reaches over and winds around your lower waist, pulling you backwards into the soft cushion of the pillows and easily flipping the two of you so that he’s mounted above you. In your surprised stupor, he collects both of your wrists in one of his hands and pins them above your head. 

"You've forgotten how to follow directions again, kitten." His murmur is like velvet against your ear. His teeth graze over his favorite spot on the nape of your neck, where he’s already tortured it with his teeth and hickies. You didn’t realize how raw the skin was until he bites you there, drawing a whimper from your throat. 

 "Let's remind you."