#and like at least she's a decent one but still

[empressdrusilla]

‘Holy shit,’ you thought, ‘That’s a big fucking dog.’

KEE-RUNCH

You'd just gone around a blind curve maybe a little faster than you should've, and now you've immediately learned why you aren't supposed to do that, especially in the middle of the night.

You'd gotten about one second of time to process the canine form in the headlights of your Dodge Dakota, and recognize that it was, in fact, larger than most, before plowing into it and sending it skidding a few feet across the asphalt.

After a few seconds taken to make sure you weren't injured, you unbuckled your seatbelt and hopped out of the truck, crossing your fingers that whatever you'd just hit was somehow okay.

The creature that was laid out on the asphalt before you was, to your estimation, probably a wolf. You weren't an expert, and a couple things about it seemed... off, but mostly it looked like a wolf. It was massive, sure, and it sure looked like it was grinning at you, yeah, but it was grey and white and looked like pictures you'd seen of wolves, so. Probably. You didn't know any wolves lived here. Like. Anywhere near here. It must be lost. Oh boy.

It wasn't moving except for a little bit of breathing. It wasn't even whimpering or twitching or anything, so you probably had knocked it out cold. You check your phone, thinking you should probably call... somebody? A vet maybe? Animal control? You figured you'd look it up, but. No service. Okay. Shit. Well, you thought, I'll just bring it home, and put it in the garage or something, and give it some water, and then figure out what to do from there. Easy. Fine. It turns out, wolves that are larger than you are pretty heavy. Some part of you swears you almost hear it giggling at you as you struggle to lift it up, before resigning yourself to getting back in the truck (Which thankfully was still running seemingly fine enough), driving in front of it, putting a couple boards you had in the back down as a ramp, and sort of... rolling it up. You manage it, eventually, with some muscle, and some leverage from a third board.

There's something distinctly novel about the drive home. The circumstances aren't exactly fun, you're not happy about it, but you have to admit it's at least new to be driving home with a fucking wolf in the back of your truck. So at least a part of you is getting some entertainment from this. The sun is just starting to rise as you turn onto the road that leads to your place, lighting up the sky all pale orange. It was pretty, which only added to the odd ambiance. By the time you've pulled into your driveway, and put the truck in park, you've formulated a decently solid plan. You're gonna keep it in the back of your truck, since you're not gonna do all that again. You're gonna go inside, and get a bowl of water, and put it in with it. You don't expect it to wake up, but just in case. Then, once you've done that, you're gonna call an emergency vet that should be open at dawn, and ask what they can do about a wolf. Then, just do whatever they say. Easy. Simple. Everything was gonna be okay. What was distinctly not included in the plan was, upon exiting your truck and turning towards the back to check on your cargo, for there to be a naked middle-aged woman sitting there instead. She's leaning up against the side wall, with a mischievous grin on her face.

The woman has mostly-greyed hair, that'd maybe once been auburn, that falls around her shoulders. Weathered skin, like someone who spends a lot of time outside, deep brown eyes, and teeth that are just a little sharper-looking than most peoples'. For a second your heart skips a beat out of something other than surprise, seeing the gorgeous little crow's feet at the corners of her eyes as she grins at you. You open your mouth as if to speak, but nothing readily comes to mind. This is not helped when the woman vaults over the side of your truck, revealing to you her full body, landing solidly on her feet. She's very solidly built, a little shorter than you, but you'd wager a thousand times that she could beat you in any contest of strength you could think of. She also has a lot of body hair, all over. Chest, stomach, bush, leg, arm, a little facial, you name it. She was, in short, stunning. And your mind was going blank, because where the fuck did she come from?

"Well?" Says the woman, her voice warm and wonderfully deep, with a light Midwestern, maybe Minnesotan brogue to it. "You gonna invite your guest in? Could use a coat. You brought me home, after all." You are, quite frankly, too shocked to say no. There was no more wolf in the back of your truck. So you walked to your door, pushed in your keys, and opened.

werewolf who you hit with your pickup truck on a back road and you have no idea what the fuck they are but they seem pretty hurt so you get them into the truck bed to bring them home until you can figure out who the fuck you call in this situation

(they’re literally fine, they just think you’re cute and want to come home with you and pretending to be unconscious usually works when this happens)

[unholybacon355]

Kinktober Day 28 - GP! Winter x Im Nayeon

Kinktober Masterlist

A/N: Yes, I'm waaaaayyy behind my schedule for Kinktober (Like a week behind) but istg i gonna post the all 31 works.

Also I know I said no more than two stories per idol, but things happened this days and I just had to write this. So that's why nayeon is here again.

And also I apologize if this feels a bit rushed, but is the best I can get this days. With all that being said, I let you with this nonsense.

Minjeong never thought that she would need to be on her knees in order to approve this class. She came to Professor Nayeon's office to ask, or beg if necessary, for a chance to earn some extra points to increase her grade and pass her class. Minjeong was thinking of something like extra homework, a special test, maybe even doing Professor’s laundry, but nothing remotely close to being on her knees with her face buried between Nayeon’s thighs.

Nayeon was sitting on her chair with her skirt lifted to her waist, no underwear, and one leg over her desk to give Minjeong more room to work. Minjeong for her part was on her knees, caressing Nayeon’s thighs, and with her tongue as deep as she could inside her professor’s pussy.

At this time of the day almost no one left on this side of the building, but nayeon still has one hand covering her mouth and the other playing with her student's hair. Despite the low chances to be discovered, never is good having moans coming out of a professor's office. 

Minjeong obviously was doing a good job, otherwyse her face wouldn't be covered on her professor’s slick. To be honest she isn’t that good at giving head but the adrenaline of eating a professor's pussy and also saving her class in the process, is giving her all the enthusiasm she needs to eat that pussy as if it were the last meal on earth. And her effort seems to have a good result because Nayeon uses the hand that was playing with Minjeon’s hair to maintain her head in place while she orgasm and cum in Minjeong face. 

The girl has to admit that her professor’s pussy tastes so good, one of the best she's ever had. Maybe she needs to ask for assistance more often, because if this is the way to pay she has no problem with that.

“Good girl.” Nayeon was panting but still was able to speak. “ But if you had put the same amount of effort into your classes as you did into eating my pussy then you wouldn't have needed it.” Minjeong opened her mouth to protest but Nayeon cut her words. “No, no.” She said moving her index finger from side to side in a negative gesture. “We Aren't finished yet.”

“But I ate you, and made you come.”

“I say we aren’t finished yet. Get your pants down, now.” Nayeon was a good professor and never acted this bossy during class, but people know that it is better not to mess with her. She can be peaceful most of the time, but if you get her mad then you're finished. Better just get back home and take that class next semester but with another professor. Luckily for Minjeong that wasn’t her case, she always paid attention in classes and had decent grades , but shits happens and now she is here. “Don’t make me repeat it.” Nayeon's gaze was stern.

Minjeong was kinda concerned but still obeyed her teacher, but since she only mentioned her pants she only pulled off that garment. Despiste that she ate her professor’s pussy just minutes ago, this makes her feel vulnerable. Her cute white panties were on display and did almost nothing to hide her erection.

“Oh don’t tease me.” Nayeon herself pulled Minjeong’s panties down revealing her small and semi erected dick. “Much better. Now turn around.”  Nayeon gave her one of those looks that told her that was a bad idea to protest or not obey, so Minjeong turned around really confused because initially she thought Nayeon was gonna suck her dick, or at least touch it. But apparently her teacher has another plan for her. “Now bend over my desk.”

This time Minjeong didn't need to hear it twice to obey. She put her elbows on the wooden surface as she bent over the said desk. “No, no, not like that. Spread that ass for me.” This earned Nayeon a confused look from Minjeong. “Did you thought I was to touch your little weeny?” A loud laugh came from the teacher. “Come on, my hand is bigger than your dick. If you want me to touch you then earn it.”

Not waiting for Minjeong to actually do something, Nayeon espread her butthocks revealing her small wrinkle entrance. “Wha.. what…” But Minjeong’s words were cut when she felt Nayeon’s tongue doing things to her anus. Teacher's tongue was doing circles over Minjeong’s sensitive anus  showing a lot of expertise, she definitely has experience doing this.

Minjeong wants to protest but the tongue on her ass is doing things to her strength and she can't resist, so she tries to stick her ass out to help her teacher to have more access to her dirty back entrance. And Nayeon takes advantage of that by sticking her tongue inside Minjeong, pushing and opening her ass with her wet and warm muscle. 

Minjeong, far from protest, is a whimpering mess. Having a tongue inside her ass and her butthock being held by Nayeon’s big hands make her hard. Her dick is throbbing against the desk and her balls are arching.  Is so pathetic that she’s close to cum just by her teacher eating her ass.

But suddenly Minjeong's ass feels empty. She wants to protest, she wants Nayeon tongue inside her again, but instead she gets something more.

God knows from where Nayeon takes a lotion bottle and pours some lotion on her hand, then her hands lands again on Minjeong’s ass. But this time instead of spreading her cheeks she massaged her anus. That little entrance is already so stimulated that nayeon easily slid a finger inside Minjeong. The girl is kinda hypnotized by her teacher actions because she don’t even think about to protest, even when she normally don’t get her ass fucked. The power nayeon has over her is so that Minjeon is now spreading her own butthocks to help her teacher. Maybe that gives her some more points.

“You’re hard but my hand is still bigger.” Nayeon laughs in her ear, finally touching Minjeong dick, and what she says is true. Girl’s dick is as hard as it can be but Nayeon's hand is easily covering it with balls included. In some way that makes Minjeong arousal go to the sky.

Another finger goes inside Minjeong anus. She already feel filled but Nayeon thing is time to really fuck her ass, so she start moving her fingers. Now both Nayeon’s hands are pleasuring Minjeong, one inside her ass and the other stroking her dick. Or most like grabbing and twitching her shaft while making fun of her size.

“You take my fingers so well. What a good girl you’re.” The mix between the compliment and the jokes about her size were really doing things to Minjeong. “If you take another finger I’ll allow you to cum. Want you?”

Minjeong's first response was a pathetic loud whimper. “I… I don’t Th-think I can take another.” Nayeon's hand leaves her dick and that makes her sad, but the other hand stays inside her anus. “Please, please. lee-t me cum.”

“Then be a good girl and take another finger.” Nayeon fingers were working extra hours on Minjeong ass to make her use to the intromission. She was opening her fingers inside Minjeong’s little entrance to gape her anus and make room for a third finger. 

“Ok… Ok. I’ll take it, but let me cum please.” Minjeong´s brain was already fried with all the unexpected pleasure she was getting from her ass and all she wants right now is to get some friction on her dick. When nayeon wasn't grabbing her she tried to grind against the desk, but that didn’t give her enough pleasure. She definitely needed Nayeon’s hand to make her cum.

“Good girl,” With a little bit of effort Nayeon puts her third finger inside Minjeong’s small anus. Her slender fingers feels so good against her warm walls, they were so long that were deeper than any other thing Minjeong had ever put on her ass. Also having three of them inside her ass makes her feel so filled. Having her anus this expanded was something really new to her.

Nayeon’s other hand came back to touch Minjeong’s dick, this time wrapping her fingers around the hard meat. While her work on the youngergirl ass was fast, really fucking her anus, the pace on her dick was more controled. Slow long pumps, or at least as long as her size allows, that had Minjeong’s shaft throbbing. The dual action was too much, and that added to the fact that Nayeon was complimenting her for taking her finger so well has Minejong at the very verge of the orgasm. But for some reason he knew she wasn't allowed to cum till her teacher gave her the direct order to do so.

Now the girl was holding the desk edges tightly till the point her knuckles turned white. The pleasure was so much that it was overwhelming. She was releasing patetic whimpers while her teacher was stuffing three fingers inside her stretched anus. “Good girl, you earned it. You can cum now.” Nayeon whispered to her ear and that was all she needed to stop holding her orgasm and pour out her cum on her teacher’s hand.

Minjeong released the desk and used her hands to cover her mouth as best as she could. After all they still were inside Nayeon’s office and her whimpers could get them to be caught, that would definitely end with her being expelled from college and Nayeon being fired. For that Minjeong tries to hold her whimpers, but didn’t help that nayeon still where fucking her ass while she was cumming, filling the big hand whit her hot milk. And even when it was a bit uncomfortable having her anus so stretched was also a very pleasant orgasm, even her legs were shaking for the pleasure and overwhelming feelings.

“Good girl. You did it so well.” Nayeon finally pulls her fingers out of Minjeong’s anus, leaving her entrance full open and feeling empty. “Actually you deserve more than a few points.” Minjeong's orgasm was so good that she had blurred vision. “If you can take my fingers again in the future I’ll let you pass my class with an A+.” Nayeon uses her panties to clean Minjeong´s cum from her finger while circling the desk to face the girl.” We call it a deal?” The teacher asked with her characteristic big smile, acting as if she hadn't just fucked one of hers students in the ass just moments ago.

[ducktoo]

Syncing Dream [Aespa x M!Reader]

Side 4. Ning Ning Noodle

Note: a wacky finale to the side stories

Masterlist here

This took place a few days after Chapter 15

On a bright, bustling Saturday afternoon, Y/n was blissfully asleep in his bed, dreaming of a peaceful weekend. The warm sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow in the room. Suddenly, the door swung open, and in came Ningning, full of energy and a mischievous grin.

“Y/n! Get up! It’s time for adventure!” she exclaimed, marching over to his bed. Before he could even respond, she yanked the covers off him, leaving him exposed to the cool air.

“Ya! What the—?” he groaned, squinting at the sudden light. “Ning, it’s too early for this!”

“It’s not early! It’s almost noon!” she protested, her enthusiasm undeterred. “And I’ve been waiting all week for us to go shopping!”

Y/n rubbed his eyes, feeling a sense of déjà vu. “This feels oddly familiar. Didn’t you do this last time you got sick?”

“Exactly!” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “But this time, I have a whole plan! We’re going to explore Seoul’s hidden spots, starting with my favourite record store and a retro café!”

He sat up, still fighting off the remnants of sleep. “A record store? You know I can’t keep up with your bubbliness.”

Ningning placed her hands on her hips, feigning seriousness. “You don’t have a choice! Besides, you can’t say no to me dragging you out of bed when it’s a beautiful day outside.”

“Fine, but I expect at least one coffee stop during this ‘adventure,’” he relented, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “Give me a minute to wake up properly.”

“Okay, but hurry! I want to get to the shops before all the good stuff is gone!” she urged, bouncing on her heels. “Also, wear something cute! We have to look good for all the Instagram posts!”

He chuckled, shaking his head at her boundless enthusiasm. “Sure, let me just throw on something that will make me look like an icon,” he joked, heading to his closet.

As he rummaged through his clothes, Ningning waited impatiently, tapping her foot. “You know, if you don’t hurry, I might have to drag you out of the house in your undies!”

“DON'T YOU DARE, YIZHUO!” Y/n called back, finally finding a decent outfit that wouldn’t make him look like he just rolled out of bed—again.

Once he was dressed, Ningning practically bounced out of the dorm, her excitement infectious. “See? Wasn’t that easy? Now let’s go make some memories!”

With a resigned smile, Y/n followed her out into the bustling streets of Seoul, a sense of anticipation building within him. “Okay, let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into today,” he said, shaking his head in mock defeat.

-

The sun shone brightly, and the streets were alive with energy. Ningning’s enthusiasm was palpable as she skipped ahead, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“We’re going to have the best day ever!” she exclaimed, glancing back at him with a huge smile. “I have so many hidden spots to show you!”

Y/n chuckled, already feeling slightly out of his depth. “Are you sure I’m dressed for this?” He gestured at his simple outfit—jeans and a hoodie—definitely not as runway-ready as the pieces Ningning was eyeing.

“Don’t worry! We’ll fix that,” she said with a grin, pulling him toward the first shop. “Come on, just trust me!”

The first stop was a quirky boutique, filled with bright colors and funky styles. Ningning’s energy was infectious as she flitted from rack to rack, holding up dresses and blouses with wild patterns. “Look at this one! It’s so cute!” she squealed, holding up a pink polka-dot dress.

Y/n laughed, shaking his head. “You’d look great in that, but I’m not sure it’s my style.”

“Don’t be such a baby! You have to try something on!” Ningning insisted, pushing him toward the fitting room. “I promise it’ll be fun!”

“Alright, alright!” he relented, stepping into the changing room. He pulled on a bright, oversized sweater that was at least two sizes too big, then reluctantly emerged. “How do I look?” he asked, trying to strike a pose.

Ningning burst into laughter, doubling over at the sight. “Oh my god! You look like you’re ready for a fashion disaster runway show!”

“Nice, so on brand of me,” he replied dryly, but a smile crept onto his face. He couldn’t help but enjoy her playful spirit.

As they moved on to the next store, Ningning continued to pick out outrageous items for him to try. “How about this?” She held up a pair of glittery pants. “You have to wear these!”

“Are you trying to ruin my fashion reputation?” he joked, but the sparkle in her eyes made it hard to resist.

“Fashion reputation? What reputation?” she teased back. “You’re lucky I’m here to give you a makeover to flex Minjeong-unnie!”

Hearing his childhood friend's name being used as blackmail, Y/n could only glare at the youngest. "You…."

The two spent the next half-hour in a hilarious fashion montage, with Ningning constantly pushing him out of his comfort zone. At one point, she handed him a fuzzy, neon-green bucket hat, and he couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous it looked. “You look like you just stepped off Zimzalabim!” she exclaimed.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to wear this,” Y/n said, shaking his head, but he wore it with a grin.

After a particularly embarrassing outfit reveal, Y/n pulled off the bucket hat and said, “Okay, I’m officially done. I think I’ve tried on more outfits than I’ve worn in my entire life!”

“Not until you try this last one!” Ningning exclaimed, her eyes gleaming. She handed him a metallic jacket that looked straight out of a sci-fi movie.

He sighed but went back to the changing room. The moment he stepped out, Ningning clapped her hands. “Yes! Now you look like a true fashion icon!”

“Fashion icon or fashion failure?” Y/n smirked, spinning around awkwardly. “I can’t tell anymore.”

“Fashion icon!” she insisted. “Let’s take a selfie!” They posed together, with Y/n wearing the jacket and bucket hat, and Ningning pulling a playful face next to him.

After an exhausting yet entertaining session of trying on clothes, Ningning declared it was bubble tea time. “Ok, I know a place with the best bubble tea in the area. We need to recharge!”

They walked into a cozy bubble tea shop, the smell of sweet drinks wafting through the air. As they waited for their orders, Ningning started playing with her phone, flipping through pictures of their day. “Look at how cute we are!” she exclaimed, showing him a shot of them posing with silly outfits.

“Yeah, cute or ridiculous?” he laughed, scrolling through the photos. “I’ll have to hack a way to delete this!”

Ningning rolled her eyes. “Never! This is going in the friendship hall of fame. Besides, you looked kind of adorable in the bucket hat!”

“Adorable? You might want to reconsider that word,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“I'm just saying it in Minjeong-unnie's shoes,” she amended, giggling.

"No, she would actually laugh her butt off if she saw me right now."

Once they received their drinks, they settled at a window seat, watching the bustling city life outside. Y/n took a sip of his taro milk tea, savouring the sweetness. “This is amazing,” he said, his eyes lighting up.

“Right? I love this place! It’s a hidden gem,” Ningning said, tapping her straw against her cup. “But honestly, I really appreciate you spending the day with me. It’s nice to take a break from everything.”

“Of course, Ning. You know I’m always here for you,” Y/n replied earnestly, leaning back in his chair. “Plus, this was surprisingly fun.”

Ningning looked thoughtful for a moment, her expression softening. “You’re one of the few people who understands the weirdness of my life. I’m grateful for that. I can be all over the place sometimes, and you keep me grounded.”

Y/n smiled, feeling warmth at her words. “That’s what siblings are for, right? To balance each other out.”

“Exactly!” She raised her cup for a toast. “To sibling hood and bubble tea!”

“To sibling hood and bubble tea!” he echoed, clinking his cup against hers.

After a brief silence, Ningning added, “You know, I hope you never change. You bring a lot of positivity and stability, especially when I feel like I’m just bouncing everywhere.”

“You DO bounce a lot, but thanks, Ning.” Y/n said sincerely, glancing at her. “I just want to be someone you can rely on, no matter how rowdy you guys get.”

She grinned, a playful sparkle returning to her eyes. “Well, as long as you’re willing to keep trying on crazy outfits with me, I think we’re good!”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I think I’ve reached my limit for the year on that front.”

“Okay, okay! But I’ll hold you to that if I ever need a wardrobe change again!” she teased.

They shared a comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying their drinks and the pleasant atmosphere around them. The bustling city outside seemed to fade away as they revelled in their friendship and the laughter they shared.

“Hey, do you think you could take a picture of me with my bubble tea? I need to show off my amazing taste!” Ningning suddenly said, striking a pose with her drink.

Y/n chuckled, snapping the photo. “You’re practically a professional model with all these poses.”

“Thanks! I’ll take that as a compliment.” She grinned, glancing at the picture. “Okay, now you have to show me a pose! You can’t just stand there looking cool!”

“Right, because I’m not the star of this show,” he said, crossing his arms dramatically.

“Exactly! Come on!” Ningning encouraged, gesturing for him to join her. “Let’s make this day memorable!”

Y/n sighed dramatically before pretending to strut like a runway model, pulling off the metallic jacket with an exaggerated flair. Ningning burst into laughter, clapping her hands. “Yes! Now you’re getting it!”

-

After a whirlwind day of shopping, laughter, and lots of bubble tea, Y/n and Ningning returned to their dorm, both buzzing with excitement. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

“I can’t believe you bought me that giant panda hat!” Y/n said, still wearing the oversized accessory, which Ningning had insisted he model before she purchased it.

“Of course! You look adorable! It’ll be perfect for our next fan meet!” Ningning laughed, playfully tugging at one of the panda’s ears.

As they settled into the living room, Y/n glanced at Ningning, who had sprawled out on the couch, still buzzing from their day out. “Hey, you know how you said you missed home-cooked meals when you were sick? How about I try to make one of your favourite dishes tonight?”

Ningning’s eyes lit up. “Really? You want to cook? That would be amazing! What are you thinking of making?”

Y/n scratched his head, trying to remember what Ningning had mentioned before. “Um, what was that dish you said you loved from back home? The one with noodles and… chicken? Or was it beef?”

“Are you talking about my mom’s dan dan noodles?” Ningning asked, sitting up straight. “Oh my gosh, I’d love that! It’s spicy, savoury, and so comforting!”

“Dan dan noodles it is!” Y/n exclaimed, feeling a rush of determination. “Alright, I’ll do my best. You just have to help me with the ingredients.”

After the excitement of cooking dan dan noodles started to simmer down, Y/n noticed a hint of uncertainty in Ningning’s eyes as she stirred the pot. “Uh, Ningning? Are you sure we’re doing this right? It feels… off.”

Ningning frowned, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, I remember the basics, but I’m not sure I got every detail right. Maybe I should call my mom for her secret tips!”

“Good thinking, Ning!” Y/n replied, grateful for her initiative. “I could use some reliable advice”

“Am I not reliable?” Ningning pouted.

“…nice try, but no”

Ningning quickly grabbed her phone and dialled her mom, her expression shifting from casual to focused as the call connected. “Hi, Mom! It’s me,” she said, her voice brightening. “I’m trying to make dan dan noodles, but I need your help. Can you walk us through it?”

Y/n watched as Ningning spoke in rapid Chinese, her animated gestures painting a picture of what they were doing in the kitchen. After a few moments, she turned to Y/n, her eyes wide with excitement. “Okay, she’s going to help us! Just follow my lead!”

“Hell yeah! Let’s do this!” Y/n said, feeling pumped.

“First,” Ningning translated, “we need to make sure the sauce is mixed properly. My mom said the ratio is important. We need two tablespoons of soy sauce, one tablespoon of sesame paste, and—”

Before she could finish, Y/n interrupted, “Wait, can you say that again? I didn’t catch that.”

“Two tablespoons of soy sauce!” Ningning repeated, and then added, “and I’ll write it down for you.” She quickly grabbed a pen and notepad, jotting down the recipe as her mom continued explaining the next steps.

Ningning listened intently, nodding along. “Okay, Mom! Yes, we’ll definitely add the chilli oil! She says it should be spicy enough to make you sweat but not burn your tongue off!”

“Tell her that I appreciate the warning!” Y/n joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Y/n says thank you, and he hopes to still be able to taste the noodles afterward!” Ningning relayed, stifling a giggle.

“Alright, let’s see…,” she continued translating, her eyes darting between her mom and the ingredients. “Mom says to add garlic and ginger to the oil before the meat so that the flavours infuse properly. Then we can mix in the pork until it’s crispy. Got it?”

“Got it!” Y/n replied, feeling more confident now.

As they continued through the recipe, Ningning’s mom’s voice filled the room with love and encouragement, reminding Ningning of home. “She said you need to stir-fry the pork until it’s golden brown. And if you want it extra flavourful, add a splash of rice wine!”

“Rice wine?” Y/n echoed, glancing at Ningning for clarification.

“Yeah! But I’ll check if we have it first,” she said, searching through the cabinets. “We might be in luck!” After rummaging around, she held up a small bottle triumphantly. “Yes! We have it!”

“Nice find! So, how much do we add?” Y/n asked, eager to keep the momentum going.

Ningning quickly translated, nodding along to her mom’s instructions. “Just a tablespoon! She said to pour it in and let it cook for a minute. Then we can add the sauce and noodles. Are you ready?”

“Yes, boss!” Y/n exclaimed, pouring the rice wine into the pan.

As the aroma of the spices filled the air, Ningning clapped her hands in delight. “It’s starting to smell just like my mom’s kitchen! I can’t believe we’re doing this!”

“Thanks to your mom,” Y/n added, feeling proud of their teamwork. “I’d be completely lost without her expertise.”

Once they had combined all the ingredients, Ningning’s mom said a few last words in Chinese. “She says to let it simmer for a bit and then taste it before serving."

They set the phone down and watched the pot bubble. “This is actually kind of fun,” Y/n said, stirring the mixture. “It’s nice to feel connected to something you love, especially when you’re far from home.”

“Exactly!” Ningning agreed, her voice softening. “I love that we could share this experience together.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, they plated the noodles. Y/n looked at the dish proudly. “Here goes nothing!”

They both took a bite simultaneously, their faces lighting up with delight. “Woah!” Y/n exclaimed, his eyes widening. “This is amazing! We actually did it!”

“Right?” Ningning beamed, her excitement contagious. “It’s almost as good as my mom’s! We should call her back and let her know!”

Y/n nodded enthusiastically, setting his bowl down. “Let's do it quietly. I kinda just want to keep it to ourselves.”

As Ningning called her mom again, Y/n couldn't help but smile at how their day had turned from a simple shopping spree into a memorable cooking adventure, filled with laughter, mishaps, and a connection that reminded him of how special their friendship truly was.

[crooked-wasteland]

I’m weirdly torn about Lite’s character arc.

On one hand, feminine rage (yes please), she’s the only one who understands Hell can BE A THREAT (sure, Charlie and Pentious are nice and all, but there are other people in Hell who are probably not well intentioned), she’s rightfully pissed that her role as second in command was overlooked for some (admittedly sweet) guy who doesn’t even wanna be here, and she’s rightfully upset that her sisters and best friend/man she loved were murdered in a job that she was authorized to do by the supposed good guys. She shouldn’t be seen as the bad guy for being convinced by others that what she was doing was right, and is upset when she’s told all her work, her allies, and Adam being killed meant nothing.

On the other hand, she’s being depicted as the bad guy. I’m not saying she needs to be sympathetic, 100% likable, uwu babey. But her pain and issues are being brushed aside to make her appear like the stereotypical “crazy bitch” who will probably be the villain of the season, or at least A villain. Not the antagonist, the VILLAIN. Her grief and valid opposition is more than likely going to be villainized, when in reality, she may be cold and sadistic, but I don’t this Lute is ultimately a bad person. She spent her existence fighting for what she was told is right by a holy figure. Not some cultist or priest who says God talks to them, but THE ACTUAL HIGH SERAPH. She was convinced angels don’t make mistakes, to the point she never questioned that in all her cruelty, if she was right or wrong. She believed she was right. If this were on Earth, on could compare this to crusaders or people who force conversions or kill anyone who doesn’t agree with their beliefs. But I don’t think that can really apply, because Lite isn’t human, she lives in HEAVAN. Religious asshole humans aren’t comparable to ANGELS who are familiar with THE SPEAKER FOR GOD HIMSELF. So her genuine belief she is doing good is understandable, but will probably be what makes her villainized. Or maybe it will be the fact she’s in mourning? Who knows! Viv will never skimp on presenting a woman as a villain for the flimsiest of reasons.

And on the other other hand. Yes, it suck a huge part of her motivation is her connection to a MAN (the first man, no less) who is a douchebag. But idk if that’s that big of an issue. For all her being sad her boss/love interest/a dude died, there’s also her being angry that her position as leader was passed over for some guy as well. I’m not saying it evens out, but maybe it does? Not to mention that even though Adam was a dick, he was more than just a man/asshole/boss/probably misogynist, he was also her friend, someone she looked up to as a leader, and still was comfortable enough to hang out with when not on the job. He called he names, but that might’ve been out of familiarity rather than genuine malice or sexism. Then again, Viv never really let us learn Jack shit about Adam as a person, other than CHARLIE GOOD, ADAM BAD. So while it is kind of iffy from one perspective for Lute’s arc to be connected to Adam, I don’t think it’s an issue of gender, and more of the fact that she meant something to him.

Sorry for the long ask, but what’re your thoughts?

I agree with pretty much all of this. I think she is an extremely compelling character and I think her deeper character reasons for being a real villain are solid. I even think the song itself is genuinely good at showing that Lite isn't only raging about some guy. The actual meat of her character is really well balanced on paper, and the song does a decent job of depicting that ...

Until it gets to Adam.

The issue is the poor pacing of the writers and how we never got to see Lute and Adam as much. Lute is extremely formal in most of the scenes in the early part of Hazbin. Calling Adam "sir" doesn't give the impression of "best friends", so she does come off as oddly obsessed, especially with the rushed "crazy bitch" routine as you pointed out. We don't actually have a strong foundation for their relationship. Additionally, the revival of Adam as a figment of Lute's imagination as she falls into some form of psychosis is just rather silly. I understand it's to give Lute someone to talk to, but it makes Adam as a love interest is the most important characterization.

I do completely agree with your points on Lute's character. She has excellent motivation, and a clear arc that I also think is worth the effort. It just suffers from weak world building and lazy shortcuts.

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 1 (Evan Buckley x Reader) (Eventual Evan Buckley x Eddie Diaz x Reader)

Summary: You can feel Buck staring. When your eyes meet his, you realize he’s staring at your hand, which is still on Eddie’s knee. You slowly retreat, which makes Buck turn his attention to your face. You smile softly. He just looks out the window. The one where you're an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them. Originally posted to AO3

A/N: This is such a niche story and I am desperate for validation, please tell me if you enjoyed reading! Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: Swearing (if that even counts).

You’re ending the first half of your 24-hour shift the same way you always do—dinner with the team. Well, at least that’s how you try to end the first half of your shift. Of course, that’s also assuming that both the fire and medical teams are actually at the station and not on a call.

All things considered, this probably only happens once a week, if that.

When it works out, though, it’s a good time. You already spend a lot of time in the rig with Hen and Chim, being an advanced paramedic and all. When it comes to the firefighters, though, you aren’t as well-versed, so it’s nice to have a weekly ‘getting to know you’ session. It seems like these days, it’s a 50/50 shot if they’ll make it to next month’s dinner.

The firefighting crew at the 118 is a revolving door of macho men. When you first started, it was Chim, Tommy, and Sal. Chim became a paramedic, so he didn’t exactly ‘leave.’ Sal got relieved of duty, so he didn’t really have a choice. Tommy left, but for something better. Maybe it isn’t so much the job that makes people leave; maybe being a firefighter at the 118 is a stepping stone for bigger and better things.

There is one firefighter that, if he left, you wouldn’t be heartbroken. In fact, it would probably make your shifts a whole lot better.

Evan Buckley, aka ‘Buck.’ God, even thinking his name makes you want to gag a little.

He’s a decent kid, but he’s just that: a kid. He’s a Probie; he’s only been on the job for about 4 months, and no one would assume otherwise. His heart is in the right place, but his brain hasn’t caught up yet. You’re starting to fear it never will.

“I know exactly what that polite, distant smile means: she’s bored,” Chim says as he leans over the counter, pulling you right out of your thoughts and back into reality. “This woman is so far out of my league, but she’s once-in-a-lifetime… I can’t let her go.”

“Lots of fish in the sea,” Bobby, your captain, chimes in. He leans over to pull something out of the oven.

“Not with the bait he’s using,” Hen remarks as she walks by. Her arms are full of dishes to set the table with.

“Amen, sister,” you agree, hot on her heels. She gives you a small smile and hands you the plates, which you accept with a smile of your own.

“Cruel, but true,” Chim sighs. “I met her on this new dating site, just for cops and firefighters, RomancingTheUniform.com. She’s an adrenaline junkie, so foreplay is me telling her stories about running into burning buildings and jumping into icy lakes and…”

“I’m sorry, wait,” Hen interrupts, “remind me: when was the last time you ran into or jumped over anything?”

“...I embellish a little.”

“Oh, noted.”

“So is she a cop or a firefighter?” You ask.

Chim gives you a look. “Why would she be?”

“Well, you said the website is for cops and firefighters,” you repeat. “Doesn’t that make her a cop or a firefighter?”

“Okay, it’s not just cops and firefighters,” Chim cedes, “it’s also for people that want to date cops and firefighters.”

“Ohhh,” you smile, “so cops, firefighters, and badge bunnies. What could possibly go wrong?”

“I’m telling you, the uniform is a major aphrodisiac,” Chim continues as he brings a salad to the table.

“Yeah, hence the term ‘badge bunny,’” you remark.

The conversation is interrupted by one of the engines backing into the station. You probably should have noticed it was gone, but frankly, as long as your rig is in the bay safe and sound, you don’t care what the meatheads are up to.

Speaking of meatheads…

“Oh good, PB is back,” you remark sarcastically.

‘PB’, aka ‘pretty boy,’ aka Buck. You started calling him Pretty Boy his first day, and over the months, you shortened it. He jogs his way up the stairs and dips a finger in the communal spaghetti bowl. You roll your eyes and take a sip of your coffee.

“Wash your hands!” Hen scolds as she pulls the bowl out of his reach.

“What if there’d been a call?” Bobby asks as he brings the last dishes to the table.

“I was in the neighborhood!” Buck defends himself. He takes one of the plates from Bobby’s grasp, but instead of passing it around like a normal person, he starts eating the food off the plate with his dirty hands. Sometimes, you wondered if he was raised by a pack of stray dogs.

Bobby starts lecturing Buck, and you smirk with a little satisfaction. Bobby’s going to write him up, and truthfully? It’s a long time coming.

“First infraction, two more, and you’re out,” Bobby says as he steals back the plate. “Wash your hands.”

“You know, you're not helping him by going easy on him,” Chim says once Buck is out of earshot.

“He just needs a little direction,” Bobby replies.

“I’ll remind you of that when he gets us killed,” you mumble.

The alarm bells start to sound through the station. Everyone groans, including yourself. So much for dinner.

Chim decided to catch a ride with the boys in the truck, so that leaves you and Hen in the rig.

“I’m sorry, dispatch,” you say into the radio, “118 RA responding: did you say the baby is in the wall?”

“10-4, 118,” the dispatcher responds. “Caller reports hearing a baby crying in his walls.”

“Copy that, 118 RA clear,” you say before hanging the radio back up. “Well, this will be fun.”

“You think you can play nice with Buck?” Hen asks, a smirk on her face.

“Hey, I’m always nice,” you reply.

“Not to him!” She laughs. “Don’t think I didn’t see you roll your eyes the second he got back to the station.”

“I can play nice and still think he’s a raging idiot,” you defend. “Besides, since when are you his biggest fan?”

“Trust me, I’m not,” Hen chuckles. “And I love you, but you don’t know how to play nice.”

“Why be the bigger person when you can be the bigger problem?”

That remark gets a full belly laugh out of Hen. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

Hen parks the rig behind the engine in front. The boys come pouring out immediately, grabbing various tools and equipment. You make your way to the back of the ambulance, tossing Hen her med bag before picking up your own.

You follow the rest of the crew upstairs, and before you know it, the five of you are standing in some random guy’s apartment, listening for something that probably isn’t real.

“Look, I'm telling you, I heard a baby crying,” the man says. “Someone flushed a baby down the toilet.”

Hen picks up a bong off the counter and gives the man a look.

“I’m not high.”

You both raise your eyebrows.

“Okay, I’m pretty high, but it’s Sativa,” he says. “It makes you happy. It doesn’t make you hallucinate.”

“It could’ve been a rat,” Chim shrugs. “Sometimes rats get stuck in the walls.”

You frown. At the end of his sentence, you swore you heard a cooing sound.

“Shh,” you say to everyone, walking over to the bathroom. “Did you guys hear that?”

They're hot on your heels, watching as you take your stethoscope from around your neck and put it into your ears. You place the bell on the wall and wait. When you hear nothing, you begin rapping your knuckles on the tile until you do. Once again, it’s a faint cooing sound, not unlike a baby.

You then knock your knuckles on the wall until you hear a hollow sound. You take a marker from your pants pocket and mark an ‘x’ over it, knowing the space behind it is hollow. You take the stethoscope out from your ears.

“We need to open up this wall,” you say, pointing to the ‘x.’

“No, we’re being punked,” Chim disagrees. “It’s a tape recorder or something.”

“Maybe not,” Hen says, stepping forward. “Maybe a mother gives birth on the toilet and flushes it.”

“Okay, first of all, that's awful,” Chim says. “Second, do you know how pipes work?”

“If the baby is premature, its bones can bend and compress like sponges,” Bobby mentions. “We need to get in there.”

“Stand back, I got this!” Buck says, swinging his fire axe over his shoulder.

He runs up towards the wall with full intentions of swinging. Hen and Chim move out of the way and shout while Bobby tries to grab him. Ultimately, you’re the one to stop him, and you do it by placing both hands on the axe.

“Hey! Did you even stop to consider that you might hit a baby?!” You shout, adrenaline pumping through your bloodstream.

Buck just stares at you with wide eyes.

“Yeah, didn’t think so,” you spat, pushing the axe out of the way.

“Buck, go get the saw,” Bobby directs.

“Try to find some common sense while you’re down there,” you call after Buck as he walks out.

“Nice catch,” Bobby says, looking at you.

“How nice of me to save the baby from one of the LAFD’s finest first responders,” you reply bitterly.

You can’t help but look at Hen, who quickly looks away. Her avoidance gives you a small sense of victory because this? This shit right here? This is why you can’t play nice with Buck. His head is screwed on backward, and it can get people killed. Playing nice isn’t going to fix that.

Thankfully, Bobby takes the saw from Buck once he brings it up. He makes a few small cuts in the wall before he and the other boys are pulling at the drywall. They quickly expose a massive pipe running behind the toilet.

“That thing is huge,” you remark to Hen.

“It probably connects a bunch of the toilets in the units above this one,” Hen returned.

“So… even with the water turned off…” you start, a sense of dread filling your stomach.

“If someone above us flushes the toilet, it could drown the baby,” Hen finishes. Almost before she finishes the sentence, she’s running into the hall, yelling for people not to flush their toilets. The boys make a few cuts into the pipe, and in no time, they’re taking it to the floor.

“Guys, I can see the head,” you say, joining them on the floor.

They make a few more cuts until the pipe is one straight segment.

“Get the head out,” Chim instructs.

“Yeah, you gotta push from below,” Buck chimes in.

You try that, but the baby isn’t moving. You look to the corner, then at Buck.

“Bring me the defibrillator,” you instruct clearly.

Buck scrambles over, picking up the case.

“Just the lube, Buck,” you rephrase, but he’s already coming back with the whole thing.

“Take it, take it,” Buck says, passing it off to you.

You let out a frustrated sigh before grabbing the lube out and tossing the rest of it to the side. You pour some lube on the baby’s head, then down by its feet.

“Work that in,” you tell Chim.

You move your index finger around the circumference of the pipe, brushing the baby’s legs with lubricant as you do so. Then, you gently apply pressure to its feet, and slowly, you can feel it move forward.

“This is gonna be a scoop and run,” you mumble.

“Hen, get the ambulance ready,” Bobby tells her. You’re not sure when she got back, but when you look up again, she’s gone again.

Slowly, the baby’s head emerges from the pipe, and the rest of her body follows.

“She’s not breathing,” you quickly note, “starting CPR.”

You place your index and middle finger in the center of the baby’s chest and press down fast and hard. “Looks like her airway’s obstructed.”

“Buck, get the bulb syringe,” Chim demands. A few seconds pass. “Buck, come on!”

“I’m coming!” Buck barks back, clearly in a panic.

“Come on, pretty girl,” you say quietly as you continue compressions. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Buck returns with the bulb syringe and uses it, but it doesn’t help.

“Dammit,” you curse. “You’ll have to try a blind finger sweep.”

Buck looks at you, then Chimney, then the baby, then back at you. “Me?”

“You gotta learn somehow,” you remark. “It’s easy: just turn her head to the side, curl your pinkie, and see if you can scoop anything out.”

Buck is hesitant initially, but he eventually does as you tell him. It takes a few seconds, but he manages to clear the obstruction, and the baby begins crying. Everyone laughs with relief.

“Let’s get her wrapped up,” you say, reaching for a towel.

The four of you rush down the hall, you with the baby in your arms. The pit in your stomach returns.

“No one held the elevator?!” you yell.

“Dammit,” Chim curses.

“Give her to me,” Buck says, nodding to the stairs.

You stare at him.

“Come on, I’m twice as fast,” Buck pleads.

“Screw this up, and I’ll kill you,” you threaten before carefully handing her over.

Buck takes off down the stairs, but you follow after. There’s only so much that can happen in a few flights of stairs, but you aren’t willing to risk it.

“I got you,” Buck says to the baby, “you’ll be okay.”

A faint smile crosses your face. Maybe Buck isn’t so terrible after all.

“Come on, move it!” Buck shouts as you both make it out of the lobby and out to the rig.

You climb into the ambulance with him, but before either of you can even sit down, you hear someone yelling to wait. It’s not just anyone: it’s LAPD Sergeant Grant, or as you’ve heard Hen calls her, Athena.

“Wait, is that the mother?” Buck says, looking at the young woman with blood-stained pants in someone’s arms. “Yo, screw her! Look what she did!”

Never mind. Buck is still terrible.

“Sit down and shut up!” You yell at Buck. “This is not your call! She is a child, and she’s bleeding out!”

“Look what she did!” Buck repeated.

“Come on, let’s get her up here,” you say to Athena and the man carrying the young girl, disregarding Buck’s protests.

Bobby and Chim made it down, so they help haul the young girl up into the rig. Chim stays at the head while Bobby sits next to Buck, the spot you were about to sit in mere moments ago.

“If this baby dies, it’s on you,” Buck says, staring at Athena.

“Stop talking, Evan,” you snap as someone closes the ambulance doors.

Using his actual name seems to shut him up.

“What’s your name, honey?” You ask the baby’s mother as you cut away her shirt to place EKG leads.

“Marika,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I know you’re scared, Marika, but you just have to keep breathing for me, okay?” you say. “My friend Howie is going to start an IV so we can give you fluids and medication. You’re bleeding a lot, so I have to do what’s called a fundal exam, okay? I have to press on your stomach to make sure your uterus is contracting back down normally.”

She stares at you, eyes filled with tears, before eventually nodding.

Using one hand to stabilize over the pubis, you begin pressing down the other into Marika’s stomach, a few fingerbreadths below her belly button. She lets out a few whimpers. You don’t feel the fundus, or the top of the uterus, like you should.

“Marika, you’re bleeding a lot because your uterus isn’t contracting. I have to make it contract by doing a fundal massage. It won’t feel that good, but it could save your life.”

Once again, Marika looks at you before nodding. This time, she closes her eyes.

Using firm and consistent pressure, you push one hand down where the fundus should be and make small circles. Marika lets out a few more cries of pain. You notice that, after a few minutes, the bleeding starts to slow, and her uterus firms up beneath your hands.

“Hospital ETA 5 minutes, hang in,” Hen chimes in from the ambulance's cab.

“Something’s wrong,” Buck says, staring at the baby in his arms.

You quickly move over to him. “Put her in your lap so I can see.”

Buck listens, moving away the towel so you can look at the baby. She’s cyanosed around the lips. You flip open a compartment and pull out the neonatal ambu bag. You hand it to Bobby, and you don’t even have to tell him to start bagging.

“I’m so sorry,” Marika says. “Is she gonna be okay?”

Bobby squeezes the bag every other second, delivering a breath to the baby. Her color is starting to look better, but she isn’t very responsive.

“Here, let me try something,” you say.

You gently pick up the baby and set it on Marika’s bare chest. After a few moments, the baby begins to move and cry out.

“Oh my god, why did that work?” Marika asks, wrapping her hands around her baby.

“Skin-to-skin can help babies regulate bodily functions, like temperature and breathing,” you reply as you place a towel over them.

You look over to the men sitting next to you. Bobby gives you a nod, and Buck avoids eye contact, but you can tell that he’s pissed. Fuck him, he doesn’t know his head from his ass anyways.

Once the rig pulls into the ambulance bay, you and Chim help the ER staff get the gurney out of the ambulance. Bobby and Buck follow suit, only Buck tries to follow them into the hospital. Bobby stops him before he does.

Bobby gives Buck some lecture about how we did our jobs, and now it’s their turn; it’s the speech every overly excited first responder gets at least once at the start of their career.

A cop car pulls up, and Athena comes out. She clearly found the person she was looking for, because she starts yelling at Buck.

“You do not get to choose who lives and who dies,” she lectures.

“Really? Because I was under the impression that kind of was my job,” Buck retorts.

You could seriously slap him.

“That mother was no less of a child than her baby,” Athena continues yelling, pointing a finger at the hospital. “You’re gonna get someone killed.”

“Well, maybe, but not today,” Buck says with a cocky head tilt.

You laugh humorlessly. “You know what, Pretty Boy?” you say, turning to Buck.

Fuck it. Bobby won’t put him in his place, and Athena isn’t allowed to, so you take matters into your own hands, literally.

Before you even fully comprehend what you’re doing, you’re wrapping a hand around Buck’s throat and pushing him against the ambulance. You aren’t choking him, but you don’t move your hand because keeping it there is your only leverage.

“I’m getting real tired of this tough guy bullshit,” you growl, your face only an inch from his. He’s quite a bit taller than you, but when you bounced him off the rig, his footing faltered, so he’s crouched at your eye level. “You wanna get real, Evan? You didn’t do a goddamn thing today except get in the way. While we were busy saving lives, you were shitting your pants and dropping the ball, not exactly what a tough guy is supposed to do.”

“Okay, enough,” Bobby says, trying to break it up. You’re far from finished, though.

You move your hand from his neck, but only so you can point it in his face. “You aren’t a god — you don’t decide who lives! You didn’t even save a life today: we did, because you kept fucking up. And if you keep fucking up like you did today, you definitely will kill someone, and your little jokes and midday booty calls and your shitty little grin won’t change that!”

Bobby ends up physically pulling you away while Athena makes some room between the two of you.

“Aren’t you going to arrest her or something?” Buck says, rubbing his neck. “She assaulted me!”

“She didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Athena counters. “I promise you, Buckley, the next time you screw up? It’ll be your last.”

Athena casts Bobby a glance before she walks away.

“You,” Bobby says, looking at Buck, “in the truck. Now.”

You start to walk over to the passenger’s side of the cab when Bobby calls after you.

“I want you in my office the second we get back,” He orders.

You clench your jaw. “Yes Captain.”

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 11: The Tragedy Of Want And Need

Content warning: smut, oral sex, fingering, angst, Sukuna POV at the beginning

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

The Wretched (Remix) - Nine Inch Nails Pleasant Smell -12 Rounds Want - Recoil

* * * * *

Chapter 10 | Chapter 12

* * * * *

Five years ago…

“Master, we will open the doors now.”

The King of Curses barely acknowledges his most loyal subordinate standing beside him, let alone their words. He is too preoccupied with his thoughts about today—a day he both despises and relishes.

With four arms supporting his formidable body, he sinks deeper into the throne, bracing himself for the monotony of the hours ahead.

The procession of miserable creatures about to crawl through the shrine’s doors, clutching their offerings, will be tiresome. All their pleading, the begging, the crying. All the shit, piss and vomit on the floor. Disgusting.

Yet, it’s the power that accompanies this spectacle that he truly savours.

Sukuna casts a wordless glance at Uraume, who nods in understanding. The doors slide open, and the wretched crowd spills inside.

It’s a wonder he has the restraint not to cut them all down instantly. He considers it, feeling the urge pulling within him. It would be so easy to mutilate every single one of them with a thoughtless wave of his hand.

Subconsciously, he rubs the pad of his thumb against his index and middle fingers on his upper right hand until he allows them to extend.

But then she steps into view.

No one accompanies her. She is alone and filthy.

An ill-fitting robe clings to her frail frame, and her long midnight black hair is slightly tangled. Still, with a bath and a good scrubbing, the bitch might look halfway decent. As she pushes through the crowd and reaches the base of the dais, she manages to stand her ground in his presence.

Interesting.

“My Lord.” She bows and exhales a slow, shuddering breath.

Sukuna taps one of the armrests, taking her in with vague interest.

“What do you have for me?” he inquires, his voice a low rumble. 

She raises her head, her eyes dark and murky, like thick, cloying mud.

“Myself.”

“Yourself,” Sukuna echoes, tilting up his chin.

“Yes,” she continues, her voice steady but soft. “I wish to serve you here, and if my Lord desires my body, he is free to have it.”

A flicker of mild revulsion crosses Sukuna’s face. The yawning need that cracked open inside of him two years ago is insatiable—a want that no amount of physical pleasure, whether from a woman’s cunt, his own hand, or the act of breaking someone’s body, can satisfy. But if he is to retain any semblance of control, he needs an outlet.

“Does the woman proposing to become my personal whore have a name?” he asks, leaning forward with a cruel smile cracking across his face.

She lifts her chin.

“Sayuri, my Lord,” she responds, then bows again in deference.

At least she has sense.

Sukuna glances at Uraume.

“Have her cleaned up and fed,” he commands, gesturing towards the dirt-stained woman. “Then send her to my chambers tonight.”

“Yes, Master.” Uraume moves toward the woman and guides her back through the crush and out of the central hall.

From just one look, Sukuna knows that Sayuri’s body would never truly satisfy him. She can try, but ultimately she will fail.

* * * * *

Present day, moments ago…

There are three things you know with absolute certainty.

First, you have a sister you love and would risk anything for. Second, in your father's eyes, you are nothing but a tool for his use. And third, Ryomen Sukuna is a monster—yet he just protected you.

The latter doesn’t sit well with you.

Even as you remain in the gloom of the central hall, with the heavy smell of copper in the air, Ren’s lips move in a blur. Yet, her words are lost to the daze you are trapped under.

He could have allowed that polearm to pierce and rip you apart. But he chose not to.

Why?

You watch as a horde of shrine attendants methodically remove every manner of broken body from off the floor—decapitated bodies, limbless bodies, bisected bodies, bodies with sunken craters. They carry them away, presumably to ready them for preservation and consumption.

He is a monster, yet he protected yo—

No.

It doesn’t sit well with you. A lot of things are starting to not sit well with you.

Turning to Sayuri, you see that she, too, seems lost. Her eyes, soft and unblinking, paint a blank expression. It’s clear why she’s so affected—she has just witnessed her lover being impaled before her eyes.

And you aren’t a fool. You know a rift has begun to crack between you and her. It began the moment you asked about Sukuna’s desires weeks ago.

As far as you’re concerned, she can have the King of Curses. You don’t want him anyway. That was never part of your plan. There has always been one plan.

"Are you all right, Sayuri?" you ask gently.

Her deep brown eyes meet yours. It takes some searching from her to you, but finally, she nods.

"Yes," she replies. "Thank you." Her voice is so small and fragile that it makes your stomach ache. 

What you will eventually do to Sukuna will destroy her.

“My Lady, why don’t you return to your chambers, change into something more comfortable, and rest? Sayuri and I will check on you later.” Ren suggests as she surveys your kimono with a heavy stare. During the attempted assassination, you were thoroughly sprayed in a deluge of Sukuna’s blood, and it’s still warm.

“Are you sure?” you ask, eyes drifting between the two.

They nod. Sayuri is a little more hesitant.

“Okay,” you say, “I’ll see you both shortly.”

You turn and leave, moving through the quiet corridors and back to your chambers.

As you walk, the weight of the past few hours presses down heavily. Despite the adrenaline pounding, rest is all you need right now. Yet, you know it won’t come easily unless you coax it out.

And it’s a damn shame you know exactly how.

Fantasizing about Sukuna from the other night—how he looked, touched, and spoke—while you pleasure yourself will work like a charm.

Cum for me.

His words.

Pressure throbs between your thighs, and it appalls you how easily thoughts of him get you wet.

Wrong, it’s so fucking wrong.

You walk faster. The door to your room comes into view, and you hurry toward it, wanting to slake your growing need. You slide it open with one gloved hand.

“My Lady.”

Your eyes close the moment Uraume’s cool voice slithers down the corridor.

You turn to face them. They stand at the end of the passage, hands clasped within the folds of their kimono, as still as a statue.

“Yes?” you ask, heart still racing.

“Master Sukuna requests your presence, now.”

Your jaw tightens in response until it’s almost painful.

“For what reason?”

“He wishes to share a meal with you.”

* * * * *

Standing at the door to the private room in your soiled kimono, your agitated hands fidget with your charcoal gloves, pinching and pulling the fabric.

You remind yourself not to be nervous. You have done this before. Meals are straightforward. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing has changed.

So why do you feel so nervous?

You don’t have time to dwell on the thought as Uraume gently slides the door open with a soft click.

Across the room, the King of Curses’ eyes find yours.

Red, red, red—

Breathe.

He glowers from a cushion at the far end of the low table, holding a kiseru between the large fingers of his upper right hand. Behind him, the garden door stands open, allowing the pale mid-afternoon light to spill in, casting his frame in silhouette.

Evidently, he hasn't changed either, still wearing the same blood-soaked kimono. The dark, muted blue fabric is stained with a purplish hue, and the tear where the polearm pierced him reveals a glimpse of his chest.

With obvious reluctance, you stare at it, remaining in the doorway.

“Excuse me, my Lady,” Uraume says, moving around you and inside.

They head to a separate low table, where you spot a tray of various dishes. Curiosity has you surveying them. Rice and vegetables for you, human flesh and organs for him, cooked and cut into small, bite-size pieces.

Unnerved, your eyes drift back to meet four red ones.

Slipping the kiseru into his mouth, Sukuna stares at you unblinking, waiting to see if and when you’ll move from the spot in the corridor, you have so stubbornly rooted yourself in.

He inhales.

Tiny wisps of smoke escape the pipe, and curl upward before disappearing into the damp air behind him.

You take a small step inside.

He exhales a soft, murky cloud, his enormous body relaxing.

Both feet cross the threshold, and a subtle twitch pulls at the left side of his mouth.

You slide the door shut, move toward the cushion set out for you and kneel, knees seeking the plush material. Even with Sukuna sitting across the table, it’s clear he looms over you.

Once settled, a silence descends on the room, broken only by Uraume’s preparations off to the side.

A heartbeat or two later, your husband finally speaks in that low, intimidating voice of his.

“Hungry?”

The word makes your stomach convulse. After Sukuna demanded your presence in the central hall this morning, you hadn’t had the chance to eat.

“Yes,” you murmur, “I’m famished.”

He leans back, giving you a condescending look.

“Famished? How fortunate for you. Uraume has prepared your usual bland meal.” He flicks his lower left hand dismissively toward the food tray.

You pull up a fake smile, only to let it drop immediately.

“Just because I’m not eating something dead doesn’t mean my meal is bland.”

It’s been the longest stretch without eating meat, and you miss it. Desperately. But you refuse to put anything resembling it into your mouth while at the shrine—just in case it’s human.

Sukuna rolls his eyes.

“Tch, idiot,” he grumbles while removing the kiseru from his mouth. He taps the pipe against a small lacquer receiver, depositing the fine ash into a neat pile before placing it on the table.

A breeze rolls through the open garden door as Uraume brings the food over. A mix of pleasant and acrid smells assaults your senses, making you blanch. Sukuna’s meal is placed first, then Uraume glides over to your end of the table, sliding down yours.

“Thank you,” you say.

Looking at the plate, you frown slightly. He’s right. Your food is bland, but you’ll never admit that.

You pick up your chopsticks and glance across the table. Sukuna mirrors your action, holding his own pair in his upper right hand.

The sight is strange. And despite his long, thick fingers, he handles the utensils with surprising delicacy, picking up a piece of tissue with care and dedication. His eyes narrow in strict concentration. It’s as if he’s a savant in the art of devouring human flesh.

Just how long has he been eating like this? Far too long, judging by the wicked look in his eye.

As the meat nears his lips, his gaze shifts to meet yours. He grumbles something wordless at your staring, and you quickly avert your eyes, refocusing on your own meal. You dip your chopsticks into the rice and slot it calmly into your mouth.

At first, the meal commences in heavy silence. There’s just the subtle clattering of ceramics and quiet, calm sounds from outside. But slowly, it’s interrupted by noises from Sukuna’s side of the table. 

Unsettling noises…

Crunching, squishing.

One, two. Two slices of sweet potato.

You resort to counting the vegetables piled on your plate to distract yourself.

Tearing, grinding.

Three medium carrots.

Sucking, slurping.

You shudder.

Five shiitake mushrooms, sliced into—

“Before we were wed,” Sukuna says suddenly between bites. You glance at him, and he continues, “Did you flaunt yourself like you did today, or am I just lucky?”

Apparently, he’s still annoyed that you wore your clan’s kimono.

“I was not flaunting,” you reply defensively. “And to answer your question, no, I did not.”

He slowly chews the meat rolling around inside his closed mouth, then swallows it.

“Then what trivial things occupied your time?”

You eye him skeptically.

“Pardon, my Lord?”

His gaze turns heavy and attentive as he stares down the table at you.

“Tell me what filled your days growing up in the Kasai household,” he says.

You stare at him, eyes darting between his dual visage, the black ink decorating his features, and the rigid line that makes up his mouth. There’s an expression there, one you haven’t seen before, one that confuses you.

Something slides into place.

What if I want to know you?

His earlier words claw their way back.

For some unknown reason, you hide your gaze from his, dropping it low to meet your gloved hands.

He can’t be serious. He can’t.

Discussing your time within the Kasai household is fraught with many dark things. Things that are filled with looming threats, abuse, submission, death.

Life was somewhat easier when your mother was alive, but everything began to unravel when she became pregnant with her third child. As your father eagerly anticipated the arrival of what he hoped would be a son—the next heir to the Kasai clan—the atmosphere grew oppressive. You and your sister were treated more like cattle than daughters—though, you bore the brunt of this dehumanization.

When you finally find the bravery, you lift your eyes again. Sukuna is waiting for an answer.

“My days were normal, quiet, filled with small comforts. Mostly, though, they revolved around duty and expectations.” You offer a flat response, carefully avoiding anything too complex or revealing. You have no intention of exposing your vulnerabilities like the other night.

He arches his eyebrow, and a lopsided smirk rolls up on his face.

It occurs to you that you’ve yet to see a genuine smile. One that isn’t mocking, sadistic or maniacal. You might even think him beautiful.

It’s a shame he’s the fucking devil.

“Are you telling me you weren’t an entitled princess?” he chuckles, loud enough that his mouth opens, flashing teeth.

You sigh, irritation seeping into your breath. He knows the truth and is just toying with you. The bruise your father left on your face the day of your wedding was a clear indication.

“I was not, my Lord,” you say, rolling your chopsticks between your fingers in an effort to distract yourself.

His smirk grows, four eyes narrowing into a sly glint.

“So, I presume you were the dutiful daughter always in the shadow of your more charming sister?”

Honestly, yes, but you didn’t care. Yuna was the more favoured one, the gem of the Kasai clan and for good reason.

“My sister is charming and deserving of the best life has to offer,” you state firmly.

Setting his chopsticks down, Sukuna leans away from the table, his smirk fading. He crosses his four arms over his chest and studies you intently as if troubled.

“And what about you?” He dips his chin in your direction. “The overlooked, perhaps neglected one? Is that your claim?”

His gaze makes you feel like a pitiful sight, stoking the irritation in your gut. You fidget with your chopsticks, his eyes dart, tracking the movement.

“Each of us has a role to play in the family, my Lord. I discovered what mine was a long time ago.”

Sister, protector, and tool—your needs and wants always come last. They always have and always will. Sukuna will never understand that. All he does is consume everything in his path.

A selfish, destructive, calamitous force.

“How sad,” he drawls, smacking his lips and leaning forward again, “it must have been terribly hard for you, growing up in such luxury, even if you had to wait your turn for leftover scraps.”

Your eyes narrow, and you take a deep breath as if the air could sustain the retort caught on your tongue.

“Perhaps, my Lord,” you say, deliberately placing your chopsticks down, “you’d understand if you ever experienced the denial of something you truly wanted, instead of simply taking everything without a second thought.”

Something dark crosses his eyes, like bitterness or something similar to torment. It's an emotion you’d never expect to see but quickly dies as if it was never there.

A heavy pressure fills the room—his energy, which has remained dormant until now, suddenly presses down, squeezing at your lungs. It hurts. Even with the garden door open, the air becomes thick and difficult to breathe.

Your hands curl into fists at your side, seeking reassurance as the tension mounts.

"Be more careful with what you say," he warns, "or I won’t tolerate that pretty mouth of yours for much longer."

You press your lips into a thin line.

Lovely voice. Pretty mouth.

“My Lord,” you breathe, feigning respect with the title, his eyes narrow, “you’ve been quite generous with your compliments today. First, my voice, and now my lips. I can’t wait to hear what else you find worthy of prai—”

A ceramic cup of water is suddenly placed beside your dish.

Sukuna’s energy withdraws, and you suck in a breath.

Uraume, whom you had completely forgotten was in the room, silently moved to your side. This is the second time they seem to intervene, just before you and Sukuna are on the verge of tearing each other apart. Or more so, him tearing you apart.

You inhale deeply through your nose and reach for the cup.

“Thank you,” you murmur, regaining your composure as you lift it to your mouth to take a sip—Uraume bows and steps away. 

From behind the rim, you glimpse Sukuna’s stern gaze, watching you intently before he returns to his meal.

Once again, silence blankets the room. Neither of you speaks. You focus on your food, and he on his.

His chewing isn’t as robust as before, allowing you to sit with your thoughts.

When you finally clean your plate, you set your chopsticks down. You have a question for the King of Curses, but uncertainty lingers if he’ll even answer the damn thing.

You watch him closely.

Sukuna, towering over the table, shifts slightly, his upper body tilting forward to balance his massive frame. He lifts his utensils, picking up the last morsel of pulpy flesh.

“What?” he grunts, not looking at you but clearly aware of your pointed stare. “Spit it out.”

You clear your throat and sit up a little straighter.

“All right,” you begin, your voice wavering shy of hesitation. “The man from earlier today… why did you allow him to live?”

Very carefully, Sukuna pulls his four eyes up.

“Which one?” He slips the meat into his mouth and places the chopsticks down with deliberate care as if the act of eating is a sacred ritual.

“The man with the heavy sacks.”

Sukuna chews lazily. His eyes are half-lidded as he looks at you with apparent boredom.

“There were plenty of men with plenty of heavy sacks.” His tone makes you sigh. It’s dismissive as if the details you’re offering are insignificant.

“The one with the barley,” you clarify, pressing your hands into your lap. “The horse breeder. He mentioned his family. Two children and another on the way.”

Sukuna swallows, his throat bobbing as he considers your words.

“You think that’s why I let him go?” he says, voice edged with a challenge as if he anticipates your next question.

Uraume approaches the table, tray in hand. They begin removing the empty dishes along with Sukuna’s kiseru.

“If not his family—” they take away your dish. “Thank you, Uraume,” you say quickly, striving to keep your composure. “If not his family, then why?”

Sukuna’s eyes harden. He leans back slightly, regarding you.

“If you think I spared him because of his pathetic plea about his family, you’re mistaken.”

“Then why? I don’t understand. Did you just let him go without any reason?” you press, patience wearing thin.

Why did you protect me?

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing.

“Does it matter?”

You hesitate.

“Well, I was curious because—“

“Then remain curious,” he snaps, ending the conversation.

Your mouth twitches.

Fucking hell.

You lower your gaze, biting back any further questions.

Everything falls back into an uncomfortable silence. There’s just the clattering of Uraume gathering the ceramics and the gentle breeze blowing through the garden doo—

“A family and children? Is that something you want from me?”

At Sukuna’s question, your eyes snap up, and you choke on nothing but air.

You stare at each other. His four red orbs are stern. This isn’t a casual inquiry. It’s a genuine question.

All this talk—about your life, your family, and now this—presses down on you.

You panic, palms itching beneath your gloves.

His eyes flare as if impatient.

“Well?” he grinds out.

You open your mouth.

Uraume reaches over to collect your cup, the sleeve of their kimono momentarily creating a welcome barrier between you and the monster. You focus on the white fabric, taking a moment to calm yourself before it pulls away.

Sukuna reappears.

He has changed his posture, now lounging with his upper right elbow propped on his knee and his fist pressed against the side of his face. The bastard seems relaxed as if this conversation doesn’t rattle him in the slightest.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he drawls.

You swallow back the saliva that pools in your mouth.

“I-I haven’t considered it.”

How could you? The question itself felt absurd, given your circumstances. First, you had already accidentally caused the death of your pregnant mother; the thought of holding a life so small and innocent felt inconceivable. Second, the idea of building a family with the King of Curses was something you could never entertain. Lastly, from your perspective, this entire union is a sham, and you’ll be killing him—preferably soon.

“Perfect,” Sukuna says with far too much satisfaction. “Then there’s no need for you to waste your precious thoughts on such matters.”

That wouldn’t be a problem.

“Just to clarify,” you clear your throat, “you have no desire for a family?”

He scoffs sharply, his disdain clear as he wrinkles his broad nose and leers down at you.

“Do I look like someone who’d want a bunch of noisy brats tearing through here?”

You shift on the cushion, slowly dragging your gaze up the length of his body—past the hole in his bloodstained kimono, past his four powerful arms, until you meet his eyes.

“No, my Lord… you don’t.”

“Well, there’s your answer then,” he says harshly.

You let out a frustrated sigh.

Why the hell did he ask you to join him? The man is unbearable, his arrogance grating. You’re sure the only way to end this torment is to escape this interaction.

Your mouth opens, and the words “May I be dismissed, my Lord?” are poised on your tongue. But before you can speak, Uraume, ever the silent attendant, floats to the table and places a lacquered bowl in its center.

Both you and Sukuna drop your eyes to it.

It’s a bowl of fruit. Pears, grapes, figs. Then you see it—a single peach. It stands out, likely because the season is ending, making it a rare treat. It looks perfectly ripe, and its soft pink skin is reminiscent of Sukuna’s hair.

You drag your eyes up to him.

Oh, but the look he’s giving you. Suddenly, you don’t feel like leaving anymore.

His top lip twitches in warning.

“Don’t, you fucking dar—”

You’re already moving before he can finish. With a devious grin, you snatch the peach from the bowl and settle back on the cushion.

He huffs, crossing his upper arms across his chest.

“I thought you learned your lesson the last time you ate one of those.” His gaze is fixed on your hand as you deliberately begin to remove your right glove.

You arch an eyebrow, slowly peeling away the silk and letting it drop carelessly onto the table.

He tenses, eyes darting to Uraume for a moment.

It’s laughable—seeing the King of Curses lose his composure over how you eat a piece of fruit. The last time you pulled this stunt, he forced you to consume human flesh as punishment. But now, there’s nothing left for him to use against you. He’s already devoured it all.

"Hm," you shrug nonchalantly. “I suppose you’ll have to endure it this time, my Lord. ” Your voice is laced with defiance as you bring the fruit to your lips, locking eyes with him in a silent challenge.

Once again, you surprise yourself with your own boldness.

Your lips part, allowing the soft flesh of the peach to press in. You take a slow, sinking bite, closing your eyes as the sweet juice floods your mouth.

Pulling it away, you chew, swallow, then lick your lips. Sensually.

You throw in a soft groan for good measure.

“That tastes divin—”

“Uraume. Get out.”

Sukuna’s abrupt command has your eyes snapping open.

“Yes, Master,” they respond promptly.

“And close the door,” he adds, unable to look away from your mouth as he gestures toward the garden door with two fingers.

Uraume carries the tray of empty dishes and moves to slide the door shut, cutting off the only light in the room. The dim illumination casts Sukuna’s face in muted shadows, making his red eyes glow.

Your heart pounds, knowing the likelihood of what’s about to happen.

You wet your lips.

This time, you’re ready.

This time, you won’t lose yourself in him again. You won’t fall apart or make a fool of yourself. Today, you will end him. And this time, you're going to target his fucking head.

Uraume moves to the door behind you and slides it open. The clatter of ceramics is heard as they exit the room and enter the corridor.

You lay the peach on the table and then calmly remove your second silk glove.

The door begins to slide shut, rustling along the track.

You glance at Sukuna. His gaze is ravenous, never leaving you for a moment.

You swallow.

The door clicks shut, leaving the two of you alone.

You stand, but he’s already on his feet.

You move, but he’s faster.

Four hands grab you aggressively.

One moment, you’re standing. The next, Sukuna slams you down on the low table, back pressing into the wood, the fabric of your skirts and strands of your hair fan out in all directions. The lacquered bowl behind you topples over, clattering to the wooden floor, the fruit scattering everywhere. You draw in a sharp breath as his upper right hand, which had been cradling the back of your head to cushion the impact, slips away and moves to engulf your entire neck.

“That was rude, my dear,” he growls, hovering over you, his massive fingers squeezing your delicate throat, “I don't take kindly to being challenged, least of all, by my wife.”

You let out a small, stuttering breath.

He grins and tilts his head, admiring your docile form pinned beneath his effortless strength.

“However, I must say, there's a certain charm in watching your attempts at defiance,” he says. The smirk in his voice makes you seethe, but you remain calm. There’s no need to struggle. You’ll only exhaust yourself, and you need your strength.

“Thank you, my Lord. I'll keep that in mind for next time,” you deadpan, peeking up at him through your lashes.

Like the demon he is, that irritating grin spreads wider, making his four crimson eyes squint slightly, and his canines flash menacingly.

Smug, arrogant. You hate that look on him. Hate that it stirs something inside you that you wish you could ignore.

You shove it down and tuck it away.

He leans in, and the hand on your neck tightens, forcing you to tilt your chin upward.

“You know, you lied to me earlier,” he says, voice low. He places his lower left hand on your abdomen with deliberate pressure, letting his fingers graze your garment before sliding to the hem of your kimono. Slowly, he tugs at the fabric, pulling it taut against your body. “Claiming you were doing nothing in your room. But we both know that’s far from the truth.”

You try to shift, but the hard surface of the tabletop offers no relief.

“And what do you think I’ve been doing in my room?” you ask quietly.

As if the next words cause him pain, he clenches his jaw so severely that a vein bulges in his neck.

“You’ve been touching that pretty little cunt of yours,” he hisses, leaning closer, so you can see his pupils blown wide. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Oh.

Just a few words send a pulse of want through you.

You’re in trouble.

"But more importantly, do you know how I can tell?" he whispers arrogantly, gathering more of your kimono, along with your undergarments, into his hand. He lifts the fabric to your thighs, your eyes tracking his every move.

“How?” you breathe, feeling the wetness pool between your folds.

“Because you’ve been acting differently since our incident five nights ago.” His tone turns cold, cutting the warmth you felt moments ago. “You’ve been emotional and irrational. It’s quite pathetic.”

His discerning words make your face scrunch up with anger.

Seeing your reaction, an even bigger smirk appears on his lips and he clicks his tongue, shakes his head, as if scolding a disobedient child.

“I bet it bothers you how exposed I’ve made you feel,” he chuckles, gripping your kimono tightly. “Especially since, despite everything, you still want me.”

With that, he roughly pushes all the fabric he’d been gathering up to your hips, exposing your slick cunt. Your breath catches in your throat at the sudden vulnerability.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes drop to take in your throbbing center before looking into your face.

With the same hand gripping your throat, he moves his thumb upward, sliding it across your jaw and gently brushing it along your bottom lip. He then hooks it inside your mouth, pressing firmly.

“Now, go on,” he demands, his orbs like four cold, red stones. “Admit it.”

As your eyes dart across his face, you feel your heart pounding. He stares intently, unwavering, grip tightening at your mouth as he waits for your response.

“Fine,” you mutter around his finger.

He releases his grip, removing his thumb from your mouth and placing it gently against the side of your face. He raises his eyebrow, his expression one of expectant satisfaction. 

You take a deep breath and avert your eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about you… while touching myself.”

He scoffs, the sound catching your gaze again.

“You missed something,” he states. 

You press your lips into a thin line. You understand exactly what he wants you to say but refuse to give in.

“Say it.”

“No.” You shake your head.

You’re not ready to admit, let alone confess, that you want him, not even to yourself. 

He pulls his hand away from your neck and stands up to his full, massive height.

“Fine,” he sneers, looking down at you half-naked on the table. “If you won’t tell me, then your body will.”

Immediately, his upper pair of hands reach down to grasp your ankles and yank them up so your bare legs extend straight into the air. A blush blooms across your cheeks as you feel a cool draft against your heated skin while he moves you.

Holding your ankles firmly, Sukuna uses his lower hands to slowly loosen the obi at his waist. He lets it slide off before unfastening his ruined kimono's interior ties. He carefully adjusts your ankles between his hands to peel the fabric away, letting it pool around his feet.

Now clad only in his dark grey hakama, his chest is marked with splotches of dried blood from the attempted assassination.

Seeing it, the same question resurfaces.

Why did you protect me?

You want to ask, but before you can, the maw on his torso opens with a deep rumble, its tongue slipping out. You watch it for a moment before Sukuna steps closer and, without warning, drops to his knees.

It startles you to see him like this, kneeling before you.

His upper hands grip your thighs, pulling you closer. Quickly, he hoists both your legs up, so your calves rest on his upper left shoulder, leaving your backside teetering precariously at the edge of the table. He bends down, leans forward, and presses the maw’s tongue against your glistening folds. You gasp at the sensation of the firm, wet muscle contacting your skin.

He holds it there, unmoving, his eyes locked on you.

Anticipation and vulnerability simmer in the narrow space between your bodies.

A heartbeat later, something dark touches his features.

“Fuck yourself on it,” he commands, voice deep. Cruel even. “Show me how much I’ve tainted you.”

Your breathing stops at the harsh demand. It fills you with repulsion. Yet, deep down, a sick desire has taken root.

Even if it’s wrong, you want this.

You hesitate for a moment, nerves getting the better of you. But, with a shaky breath, you lift your hips and push them forward. The tip of the large muscle brushes past your labia, pressing inside your cunt and massaging your inner walls. 

The pressure and pleasure are immediate.

A sound caught between a desperate gasp and a whine escapes your throat, and Sukuna wraps his upper left arm around your trembling thighs. The muscles of his forearm press firmly into your soft skin, grounding you with an unsettling feel of stability.

With your arms firmly gripping the table, you brace yourself and begin to move. Your initial motions are clumsy, but with Sukuna's shoulder as leverage, you sway your hips in a sensual rhythm. And it doesn't take long for the slickness between your thighs to increase, allowing the tongue to slide in and out of you effortlessly.

“Ahh,” you breathe as it fills and stretches you, it’s saliva falling directly onto your cunt.

You increase the pace, body moving with urgency, hips bouncing in tiny spurts. You pant and peer up into Sukuna’s face. He doesn’t return your gaze, just ignores you, keeping it lowered to the apex of your thighs instead.

Five nights ago, his eyes never left your expressions, unable to look away. Now, it's as if you no longer exist, barely acknowledging your presence.

That's fine. You don’t need this to be more than what it is.

Backwards then—

You slam your hips forward, hard, grinding them into him. The extra pressure has your brows knitting together, your mouth dropping open, and a guttural moan pouring out.

In response to your desperation, Sukuna tenses. He’s struggling to control his emotions. And despite all his efforts, his mouth twists into a snarl, exposing his teeth.

"Good girl, just like that," he hisses, his voice strained as he fights to suppress a groan that escapes as a ragged grunt.

He continues to do nothing but hold your legs against his body, his grip firm, tight. His orbs roam over your writhing form. His lower eyes follow the rhythm of your bouncing hips, the way your needy cunt fucks the maw’s tongue over and over, creating sounds that become thicker, wetter. His upper eyes still avoid looking into your face, but gradually, they lift, locking onto your pleading gaze.

A moment of unbreakable eye contact passes between you, and soon, all four of his red eyes are heavy-lidded. Yet, he remains emotionless, even as his body betrays him.

It suddenly becomes clear that the King of Curses is warring with himself. His duality is a struggle, like two opposing storms.

And perhaps, it’s something you can exploit.

You grind your hips harder, pressing the muscle deeper just to feel it swirl inside you. Sukuna’s upper right hand moves from his side, sliding it down along your left leg. The pads of his fingers dig into your heated skin before he slides it back up. The brief touch has you pulling your hips back, withdrawing the muscle before roughly pushing it back into your squelching heat.

“Fuck!” A cry rips from your throat.

“Yes,” he rasps, teeth flashing as a deep growl rumbles in his chest at hearing your sweet cries.

You shut your eyes, throw back your head and allow it to rest against the table. Hip’s undulating faster. Throat tossing out short pleas and curses.

Your frenzied actions cause the mixed wetness to trail down the soft curve of your ass, collecting in slow, deliberate drips that splatter onto the table.

Hearing it, Sukuna’s grip tightens painfully. He’s still trying to hold back.

Peeking your eyes open, you see that dangerous crease split between his mask and eyebrow, spilling into a mixture of desire and anger. 

Finally, the King of Curses moves.

Chest rising and falling, he brings his upper body forward, matching your thrusts, pushing the tongue inside your soaking pussy until it stings with pleasure. 

As your skin presses against his, you feel the warmth between you intensify, causing sweat to form where your bodies touch. The dried, rust-coloured blood on his chest deepens in hue as the heat builds.

The edge of your mind goes blank, and words you wish had stayed unspoken start to tumble out.

“More,” you quietly moan.

His lip twitches as he pushes forward aggressively.

“You want more?” he growls.

No.

“Yes.” You nod

I do.

Some invisible restraint snaps inside him.

“Then I’ll give you fucking more,” he hisses, withdrawing the maw’s tongue from you, the loss of it making you inhale sharply.

As he rises to full height, you quickly sit up on your elbows in confusion. And there, at that angle, you see them, the rigid outline of his cocks. It’s massive.

He fixates on your wet folds as his lower hands move to the ties of his hakama, tugging on the knot and loosening them.

Your heart races. You aren't prepared for this.

Catching the garment at the top, he begins to drag it down, revealing a dusting of dark hair that starts at his lower abdomen and trails downward.

You sit up fully, panicking.

“Wait!”

He stops.

“What?” he snaps.

“I’m… I’m not ready.”

“Oh, you’re not ready,” he mocks, clicking his tongue.

You nod slowly.

He stares at you for several heartbeats, his hands still resting on his hakama.

Kill him.

Your voice in your head. A reminder.

“I-I want your head between my thighs.” Your tone is only slightly steady.

Keeping your eyes on him, you begin to lean back. Sukuna watches, his gaze hunting you as you lower yourself onto the table again.

“Please,” you whisper, spreading open your thighs. His nostrils flare as you snake your hand down to your cunt to spread your wet folds for him. “I want your tongue on me. I need you to taste me.”

Pretending or not. You desire this, which is a dangerous thing.

“I want more than a fucking taste,” he growls, retying his hakama with a frustrated tug.

Lowering himself back to his knees, the thick fingers of his lower hands slide under your ass, while his upper hands hook behind your knees. Your breath is brought to a halt when he forces your legs up, pinning your thighs flush with your abdomen, exposing you. He curves over your body, the muscles on his shoulders and abdomen rippling like a predator. Your core aches at the sight before you as he lowers his face down to your thighs, his warm breath rolling across your skin.

So close. You tremble.

Sukuna looks up. There's that dark hunger again.

“I will get that confession out of you. One way or another,” he vows, inhaling deeply the scent of your arousal. A deep purr rumbles from his chest as he licks his lips, his tattooed tongue darting out teasingly.

Leaning down, he brushes the flat of the muscle along your swollen pussy lips with a back-and-forth motion. The sensation is maddening as he teases your core, denying what you want. Your mind turns dizzy as you watch him continuing this torment. 

His tongue glides up and down, repeating the action once, twice, and then a third time.

Your impatience grows unbearable. You want to fall back, to surrender to the desire, to feel him devour you with the same intensity as when he first laid eyes on you at the wedding ceremony.

“Please,” you breathe out.

Sukuna's eyes dart upward to stare at your mouth, drinking in your desperate plea with amusement. He leans in for a fourth lick, tracing a clear path up the center of your pulsating heat before pulling away, relishing in the torture he is inflicting upon you.

You shift on your back, releasing a frustrated exhale, and he hears you.

With a firm clasp on the back of your thighs, he forces your hips to rise, exposing your wetness to him. And then, that’s when he plunges his tongue between your folds, pushing past your soaking entrance.

Your back arches, his hands pull you closer to his hungry mouth, and both of you groan together.

Loudly. Unhinged. Strangled almost.

It’s better than the feel of his stomach maw. It’s better than anything you’ve felt.

Immediately, he seals his mouth against your cunt. The muscles in his jaw flex with each lick, and suck, trying to swallow you whole. Every swipe of his tongue is more frantic than the last, and you meet him stroke for stroke, undulating as best you can under touch.

"Yes!" you squeal, hands flying up to clutch your knees.

You're going to hell for this.

On a low growl, Sukuna's four hands grip you tightly, anchoring you close while pressing you firmly against the table. The small room fills with slick, sloppy noises, and your panting, harsh and unrestrained, spills out, filling the space.

As if entranced, his brow knits together, and his eyes fall shut just to focus on you. He’s so lost in the moment that he blinds himself to what's coming next.

Focus.

Inhale.

Panting and keeping your eyes on his face, you slowly slide your right hand from your knee.

Hesitant at first, you gently dip your fingers into his pink hair. The strands are soft under your touch. You can feel the texture and the movement as they tickle and dance against your fingers.

You take a moment to admire the sight. To admire him. The way his head rises and falls against your trembling thighs, how he takes starving mouthfuls of you, how you’ve never seen him like this. Almost reverent. Worshiping something other than himself. It's a shame, but at least he will die indulging in two things he enjoys: eating and sex.

Exhale.

You lay your right hand flat against the top of his massive head, your hand looking tiny in comparison. You hold it there for a moment before bringing your left hand to join it.

Though unsure why, your left hand moves, your thumb tracing gentle patterns along his hairline. It’s as if you’re trying to soothe him. Offering a silent apology for what you’re about to do.

Perhaps, one day, when you die and end up in hell, you’ll find him there. Maybe then, things could be different.

As you continue these soft, lingering strokes, you let your hand gently fall to rest against the jutting surface of his mask.

Sukuna’s upper eyes snap open, shooting to your face, his mouth coming to an abrupt stop against your skin.

Shit.

It seems your gentle touch was not appreciated.

You quickly retract your left hand from the right side of his face, weaving it back into his hair.

“Keep going,” you urge softly, dipping your chin downward.

He doesn’t. Instead, he gives you a threatening glare that makes you nervous.

Not knowing what else to do, you lift your hips and grind them against his mouth, letting your slick folds drag across his lips, leaving a glistening path in its wake.

He groans in pleasure and licks his mouth, tasting it before shutting his eyes and diving back into your pussy, drowning himself again. You let out a gasp as his tongue flattens against your skin, followed by the graze of his teeth along your slit. His lower hands begin to roam, fingers exploring your curves. As the right hand ventures towards your crease, you feel a warm wetness as the mouth on his palm opens and begins to lick and probe at your tight entrance.

"Sukuna!" you protest with a sharp intake, hips jerking upwards.

A deep, sadistic laugh reverberates against you.

“Shy?” he mocks before taunting you with another lick at your asshole.

Your brow furrows, lips pinched tight.

“Do not do that agai—ah!”

The tip of his tongue finds its way to your clit, which has you breathing raggedly. Moving his lower right hand away from your ass, he pushes it roughly against your cunt. Caressing you for a moment before sliding a finger deep inside.

“Oh, god,” you whine, slamming your hips forward for more pressure, his tongue working your swollen nub and his finger fucking sloppily in and out of you.

Your heart tumbles at how good it feels, even when you know it should be wrong.

Focus.

Hands bunching in his hair for purchase, you concentrate.

Sukuna twists his finger deeper, making you clench, making you arch cleanly off the table.

Focus…

“Please,” you moan, knotting and tugging at his hair.

His tongue curls and presses around your sensitive nub.

“Please, what?” he mumbles.

Damnit, focus.

“More,” you beg, “I want more.” 

He chuckles.

“Admit that you want me, princess, and I’ll give you everything.” He grins into your cunt, the damp heat of his breath coasting over your flesh.

You say nothing.

Fire goes straight to your belly as he swipes his tongue meanly across your clit. You cry out, pushing forward against his mouth, eyes rolling back, mind emptying.

“Sukuna… I…” you breathe, faltering for any words.

Focus!

“Say it,” he urges, licking and sucking your sex, then adding a second torturous finger to pump inside you.

“I-I want…”

Kill him!

Your eyes refocus.

You take one last look at his face, carving every detail into you.

You have to do this.

Sifting inside yourself, you reach for your gift. Hands trembling, you wrangle it and press your fingertips to his skull.

At the touch, his eyes find yours.

Do it!

Then, finally, you—

“Admit it!” he growls.

You hesitate.

“If my Lady isn’t in her chambers, perhaps she’s eating in here?”

“Goddammit! I want yo—” 

The door to the corridor slides open.

Your confession dies.

Sukuna’s eyes snap up. Your head whips back.

From your upside-down view, Sayuri and Ren stand in the doorway.

No.

“Get. The fuck. Out,” Sukuna says loudly, mouth pressed to your core.

Neither attendant moves. Both stand frozen.

You meet Sayuri’s darkening brown eyes—the pain and anger you see there claims your arousal. You feel sick.

“Leave!” Sukuna snarls, “Before I kill both of you.”

Ren hastily slides the door shut.

You blink, then tilt your head back. Sukuna resumes his feasting.

“Stop.” Your voice holds a pathetic warning.

He doesn’t. He’s too enthralled. Too busy with his tongue, placing messy licks on your pussy, while his fingers slide inside you.

“Sukuna. Please,” you shudder, rising to your elbows.

He doesn’t acknowledge you.

“Stop!” You press your palms into his forehead, attempting to push him away. “Get off me!”

Reluctantly, he withdraws all four hands from you and steps back with a huff, wiping the juices from his face with the back of his hand. He then rises to his full height.

The blood slowly returns to your limbs.

You plant your feet on the floor, stand with a slight sway, adjust your kimono, grab your silk gloves, and move around the table, quickly heading for the door.

A large hand clamps around your wrist, halting your escape.

"Don’t you dare walk away from me.” Sukuna’s voice is as tight as his grip.

There's conflict in his tone, an emotion. An emotion that makes your insides dip.

"I'm going to my chambers." You try to wrench free, refusing to look at him.

He reels you closer, grip tightening as he leans in. His face before yours, his red orbs burning so close. And yet, so far away.

"I didn’t give you permission to leave," he spits.

"That doesn’t concern me.”

His gaze thins and his voice drops, turning cold.

"Just because I managed to drag an orgasm from your cunt once doesn't mean you have me wrapped around your finger," he snarls. You recoil. "Remember your place, wife. Because I own you."

Those last words hit like a force. Splitting your head open. As if your own cruel father had spoken them.

A poisonous rage has your mouth trembling.

Leave. You need to go.

Your thoughts spiral as you continue to struggle in his hold. When he refuses to relent, you resort to the one thing that might make him release you. Exploit the one thing that you’ve unearthed.

You lift your chin.

"You protected me today. Why?" you demand.

Sukuna’s grip burns, but he remains silent. Your hands curl into fists and his features distort, falling into anger.

"Answer me! Why? Why, did you protec—"

"Get out!” he yells, releasing you with a harsh shove.

You stumble back.

The scoff that falls from your lips has him stepping forward. You step back. You've pushed the monster too far.

With a blank expression, you bow your head, rise, take one last look at his face, recarving every bitter detail into you, and turn away.

* * * * *

For the second time in weeks, the shrine’s ceiling becomes the only view from where you lie on your futon. Looking at it for so long is starting to give you a headache.

You shift onto your side.

But perhaps the headache is from something else.

You squeeze your eyes shut to fight the throbbing.

Today didn’t unfold the way you imagined it would. You fucked things up—badly.

Hours ago, with Sukuna between your thighs and your hands on his head, for reasons you can’t understand, you couldn’t bring yourself to kill him. You hesitated.

In that moment, he was your weakness. And in that moment after, you might have become his by the way things were left.

You drag your fingers across your eyelids. The fatigue that sits there is heavy. Heavier than usual.

The rift that has opened up between you and him needs to be mended. The sooner, the better, before more time slips away.

Sighing, you roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling again.

You need to get closer to him, even if it’s becoming difficult. Not because you want to, of course, but because you need to.

Sitting up, you carefully run your hands over the fabric of your yukata to smooth it into place. You push off the futon, approach the door, and slide it open.

The corridor is silent. It's become a friend you know all too well now. 

You take one step out.

A cream-coloured robe shudders to your right, flowing in the darkness.

You stiffen in the doorway, catching yourself before moving any further.

It takes a moment, but you make out the faint outline of a woman, their back to you.

Sayuri?

She’s barefoot, feet tapping delicately against the cool wooden floor.

Her long, raven-coloured hair cascades down her back like a fine river of ink, luminous against the pale garment.

Each step she takes is silent, moving with the grace of someone who’s done this walk a thousand times before. And you already know exactly where she’s going—there’s only one other door at the end of this corridor.

She takes her time—one foot in front of the other, like a smooth, practiced dance.

When she reaches the King of Curses’ chamber, she doesn’t hesitate. Her lithe hand extends and knocks three times against the massive wooden door.

Though the sound is soft, it reverberates deep inside you. And… it hurts.

One heartbeat passes.

Then two.

Sayuri waits.

A third.

She waits.

Then, a fourth.

On the fifth, the door slides open, and a pulse vibrates the air as Sukuna appears at the threshold.

You pull yourself further out of view.

Though you’re far away, you can see him cross his four arms, studying his subordinate before him.

She lifts her chin.

He doesn’t move, but Sayuri does.

She walks inside his chamber, turns, and shuts the door behind them.

Without needing to take a second glance, you slide your door shut and disappear into the darkness of your room.

* * * * *

🔗 Chapter 12

[bustybounty]

the yoga pants incident: at 12:42 pm every woman (and any femme presenting people) wearing yoga pants began to swell. Ass expanding. Bellys bulging. FUPAs fattening. Till every single worn pair popped off their owners body. Could you write pieces from those affected and how the world changes from this unprecedented event.

"If I can do 10 more squats, I'll be on the right path to building my ideal booty" A woman said, working up quite the sweat in order to grow her ass that, while decently large, was nowhere near the pleasing size she wanted to achieve.

As the clock changed to 12:42, it felt as if the weight during her squats started to shift continuously, it felt strange and ominous, she was only able to do one more squat before putting the bar down and checking what was happening. "What the- I didn't think these squats would be THIS effective! Now that's what I call a -- booty?? It's still growing?? I'm not even doing anything!" Her surprise became awe, and that rapidly turned into an even bigger shock.

Her ass was rounding out more and more, like she stuffed two beachballs down her hot pink yoga pants. "Fuck, these are too tight, my ass is overflowing from them, why does it feel good..." Her ass cleavage was visible from the top for moments but as she tried pulling her pants down, her strength wasn't enough to counter the sheer growth power of her own ass, bursting the yoga pants completely from the back, causing the remaining cloth to fall down to her knees, which a lot of rags on the floor behind her. If it wasn't for her leg training she probably would have fallen flat on the biggest bubble butt ever. Or...at least that's what she was thinking it was.

She had no idea that this strange incident was affecting others too, in a similar way, but not entirely the same. This woman who was sitting at home, eating some of her favorite food for lunch at her dining table, wearing yoga pants as casual wear while at home, also felt a strange tingle, traveling across her entire lower body. Not just her ass, but her legs started thickening, fattening, especially her thighs. Her hips widened, and she had to stand up or she'd crush the chair she was in, her ass having grown so big that one cheek was enough to fill it. "I'm getting so FAT! IS THIS REAL??" She grabbed her previously barely chubby belly as it swelled up, piling on rolls on top of rolls, before forming into a rounder but still plump shape that she could squeeze and knead like dough. She noticed that a lot of the growth was happening due to her belly having been tucked into those yoga pants. The white yoga pants left little to the imagination, but the sensitivity of her thighs rubbing against one another, the pleasure she got from her belly that she so eagerly groped... Her fupa started swelling too, fattening and only adding to even more pleasure, causing a very noticeable bulge in the front of her overstretched pants. "Oh..MORE...More..." She moaned out as she heard loud RIPPPS as the yoga pants fell apart from the sides, hole after hole forming along the road that connected her ankle and her hip, especially among the thigh region.

Then, her fupa, despite being the last to grow, destroyed the front of her yoga pants, or at least most of it - as well as the area next to her swollen, fattened inner thighs. She immediately got a hand to it, her arm pressed against her belly as it grew - growing enough to burst out of its confinements in a flabby earthquake of wobbles, completely obliterating anything left of the front of her yoga pants into shreds.

Finally, her ass, that even if not as round as the booty of the woman talked about previously was still larger than hers, applied the finishing touch, one final growth spurt tearing to shreds the backside of the poor pants. Unlike the first woman who at least had a coherent part of fabric covering her legs from the knees down, this fatty had destroyed her pants completely. Good thing she was at home. Otherwise it could have been embarrassing to stand bare naked, especially with such a large, noticeable fupa under her huge fat belly, between her soft plump tree trunk thighs...

As embarrassing as the story of a non binary cutie who was jogging outside, with quite the heft to their step, they were also wearing yoga pants, some soft blue ones that were probably a size too large for the lower half they covered, but they didn't mind one bit. Their appearance, with a pretty face, wide hips and a great choice in clothing that many would consider fairly feminine still made people look towards them whenever they went on their runs, but while this beauty had gotten used to it, they would be wishing for no stares when the clock hit that dreaded time.

The jogging was almost stopped to a halt as those legs got heavier, heftier, with even wider hips, so wide that there's no way they'd be fitting through normal narrow doorways now - their flat stomach turning into quite the lower belly too. Not noticing that the stares were from people watching them grow, they kept jogging, and they only noticed it when, despite having headphones, a sound vibrated through their ears - a loud SHRED, followed by a heart sinking, nightmare sight of their entire lower half being naked, anything left of the pants destroyed, their ass clapping behind them, hips having swollen as wide as their arms fully stretched out to the sides. They blushed bright red and continued 'jogging' with a hand on the front until they could hide somewhere and process what had just happened.

The catch was these 3 people were just some of the many affected, and they were all from different continents. The world caught on with how many people shared their stories online, (some showing OFF their gains), revealing that this was something much larger that happened worldwide. The demand for bigger doorways and better quality jeans was higher than ever before. Many countries were able to connect that what these people had in common was the yoga pant usage. Some countries outright banned wearing yoga pants to prevent any more side effects or more expansion to those that hadn't been affected yet.

With a small percentage of the world changing so drastically though, so did the average butt size, hip size, and increased efforts in movements towards body acceptance.

Still, not even scientists were able to explain what went wrong (right?) here. At least not yet.

Maybe they will discover it before workout tops cause a similar incident... <3

[everybody-loves-purdy]

same Duskfur anon but now i want to talk about other cool things Duskfur did that proves she should've been a complete asshole: - Was willing to attack Jayfeather (a blind medicine cat) - Attacked Cloverfoot (Shadowclan deputy) - Mocked Scorchfur - Met with Berryheart - Mocked Tigerheartstar - Supported Frostpaw's exile to a degree (for mocking Tigerheartstar when he took her in) - Argued about Frostdawn training as a warrior - Argued about Icestar being temporary leader - Once again literally argued Mistystar to death and shown little to no remorse afterward - Argued about Harelight being Frostpaw's mentor - "I'm not convinced the living world needed saving." Just wanted to include that quote from her Also Duskfur is just interesting to me as a character. Her kits have no listed father, so I like to interpret it as the father being a rogue. ik a lot of fan interpretation is Reedwhisker being the father, sorry lol. but a rogue is just more interesting to me. It also makes more sense to me. Podlight has white on him, and is shown to be at least partially a point. Neither Duskfur nor Reedwhisker have a hint of white or is a point (Reedwhisker is described as a black tom). ik warriors doesn't follow irl cat genetics, but Duskfur has unknown parents, so my headcanon is that recessive point runs in the bloodline, and that Duskfur is just a tabby masking point (having the colorpoint gene but not expressing it, thus being a tabby instead) from her parents, and the recessive gene passed to Podlight who expressed it bc the rogue was a colorpoint. how Frostdawn is a colorpoint despite neither Curlfeather nor Jayclaw being described as colorpoints is beyond me. Mistpaw being a tortoiseshell could be explained if the Curlfeather's father was a point w/ white (which is rare but possible), and Jayclaw's side of the family--cutting myself off here before i get completely off topic I would say a kittypet could've been the father, but Duskfur seems to like Leopardstar, who was aligned with Tigerstar I. Obviously that's not saying much in these books, but if Erin Hunter authors were better writers, she'd most likely have some sort of prejudice. Also, despite Tigerheartstar fighting with her, he appointed her as temporary leader. I think it was Finchlight or Sunbeam who said that he liked her for some reason. Literally how?? Did they have a conversation off-screen? This also leads into Duskfur being robbed of deputyship in Star, since she, along with Icestar, were chosen as temporary leaders at one point. hell, I'm pretty sure Jayfeather mentioned at some point that Duskfur was doing Mistystar's job for her, which makes sense imo. she never seemed inclined for leadership, but she also seemed to never turn down the chance when it was offered. I know she's old and everyone and their mother wants a young leader, but I just want someone in power who's an asshole, young or not. I don't think we had a decent one since Leopardstar and debatably Blackstar. Everyone else since then has been "nice" (broad spectrum; Tigerheartstar can be considered nice despite being a bit of a problem) if they weren't antagonists. i want someone who will cause issues because they were mildly inconvenienced, and mean Duskfur would've 100% did that considering she mocked Scorchfur for choking on a mouse (or something similar). Frostpaw also seemed to value Duskfur's opinion to a degree. iirc Duskfur was one of the cats Frostpaw wondered about in regards to Owlnose being accepted as temporary leader. I cannot say the same for Star bc I haven't read it yet (I only read spoilers), but it seems even nice Duskfur in the prologue on the website STILL argues with Frostpaw, even if she's more subdued about it. i could talk more about Duskfur in general (and Riverclan cats actually) but i feel like this ask is getting too long but if i could pretty please send more Duskfur/Riverclan asks that'd be lovely :D also sorry for the tangents lol

This is great stuff, some really good analysis about her!

Erin Hunter please read this and respond and give us mean Duskfur again from now on thank you

Also about an asshole leader I can 100% see Crowfeather being an asshole if he ever makes it that far

[zoe-oneesama]

Also, curiosity, what’s your take on Amelie’s personality for Scarlet Lady? Just curiosity. Cause siblings in canon are usually opposites. So, this mean SL!Amelie, instead of main character syndrome, has background character syndrome? Or low self-Steem?

I'd put SL Amelie as So Normal. Like she's born into this bizarre English family that still does arranged marriages in this day and age (not totally knocking the practice, but it's definitely implied it's being done against Emilie's and Amelie's wishes), has a super dramatic sister who runs off with her equally dramatic husband (who Amelie barely likes) to become a fashion mogul's actress wife, rubbing elbows with the Mayor of Paris and a bunch of weird rich people who throw bizarre Diamond Dances to show off their kids as if they're a spectacle and holding Eyes Wide Shut parties in their house.

And Amelie's just like "anyway" on the sideline.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

[sysig]

Let him dad her!! (Patreon)

[girls-and-honey]

.

[brionysea]

this man is pissing me off

[babieken]

Guys is this a safe space?👀

Just stumbled upon a st*y k*dz concrt (2023 i think) on tv and ig it was time for solo perfs bc there was 1 one member on stage singing,(vocals, not rap) standing with a mic stand (so there wasnt any dance or jumping, it was a loud ballad) singing OFF KEY the ENTIRE TIME without any backing vocals...

Out of curiosity, was that a one time thing or do they suck in vocals?

[greypetrel]

Watching Poldark with my mother, who is allegedly not into history. We're in 1790s Cornwall.

Elizabeth: "But I just married, whatever should I do in my days?"

Mother: "Those poor women, it must have been so boring, they had nothing to do save bearing children!"

Me: "ACTUALLY-"

*slams Mary Wollstonecraft-Shelley on the table, Anne Radcliffe, Jane Austen, mantua making, Anne Clavering and others and we're talking of just England- Concluding that it was fucking Queen Victoria that ruined it.*

[stuworbutwithchipmunks]

I know ppl couldn't care less about the humans in the cgi movies but Zoe and Dr. Rubin were both hilarious characters and the more i rewatch the movies the more i think about that.