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transformers-spike · 2 days ago

Note

You put Breakdown with a gutbuster in my head, and now I need. For him to use it. On me. (Aka reader)

Bonus points if it's disgustingly cute and sweet and BD gets lots of love and praise. 🥹🥺

I overdid it. Again. Thank you @drunkeninlovesailor for beta-reading this fic and smacking some sense into me when self-doubt reared its ugly head. And I will go on to say @ss-shitstorm made me adore Breakdown so much more through Breaking Bread. I look up pictures of him and cry And yes, this is a sequel to Visitors - so back to the heatverse

Knock Out always goes first. Breakdown doesn’t mind it. At least he shouldn’t. He knows he’ll have his turn with you. Everyone does.

Second or seventh place, it doesn’t matter. He should be grateful to have a chance. Just like he should be grateful he didn’t lose more than one optic. Or the feeling in his left arm. Or his honor.

Again, it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. It’s his turn. No superior waiting at your habsuite, no humiliating dismissal (obviously, they don’t mean for it to seem humiliating – they’re his superiors after all, and he has to obey them) – only you in the midst of your heat cycle.

The “breeding room”, as you jokingly call it, is actually Knock Out’s old habsuite. Repurposed, yeah, but he’s been here enough times to recognize it. Any Con worth their ball-bearings can upgrade after reaching third class. Knock Out used to be a first class. Then he was promoted to Chief Medical Officer and skipped a rank. Breakdown is stuck in second class. Better than first. Better than being a vehicon. He should be satisfied.

You’re curled up in your oversized berth on top of the heating pad. “Hey, squishy,” he whispers, taking his usual place next to you. “Don’t tell me Knock Out tired you out.” Your answer is a snort. You stretch, flesh poking out from under your frame coverings. A common sight by now, but his cooling fans didn’t get the memo. His frame vibrates with their familiar hum.

“Like what you see handsome?” you ask and scuttle up to him, wearing that precious spark-warming smile. He returns it full force.

“What can I say? Even a one-opticced oaf can recognize true beauty.” “Careful, partner. There’s only so much I can take before jumping on your spike.” He barks a laugh. “It may come sooner than you think.” “Bring it. I’m ready to deepthroat until your system reboots. But first -” you huff as you climb into his lap, waving away the servo he’s offering. Once comfortably seated in his lap, you cheekily rub your aft against his interface panel.

“Spill the tea, sis.”

“Hmph…” He drums his digits over his thigh. “We’ve had a record break in the mines! I haven’t seen them this happy in quartexes. There was a small party at homebase, squad’s been celebrating with engex.”

“Homemade?”

“Nah – I’ve checked. I won’t let them pull that stunt again.” He winces at the memory. B15F. Poor scrapper’s been euthanized well before his time. There wasn’t much left to save. The engex melted right through his fuel tanks. Breakdown didn’t pride himself on morality anymore – none of them did. But it was the right call – even if the uncertainty is tearing through his circuitry like a horde of scraplets. Could Knock Out have fixed B15F? Or maybe it would’ve just dragged out his suffering for a chance at nothing. His conjunx had studied at a bigshot academy – Breakdown’s knowledge’s based around rushed medical training. “You okay, big guy?” He snaps out of it. “Yeah! Everything’s good.” You can’t see his reassuring smile with his massive chassis in the way. But maybe if he keeps it up he’ll really mean it.

“You sure? You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” His smile falters. If a human has noticed it… who else has? Is this why Dreadwing’s been especially tolerant of his mistakes? Scrap, Breakdown almost misses his commanding officer’s reproaches. Could he get any more pitiful for frag’s sake? Proving himself after losing an optic to fleshies is bad enough. He’s not an invalid – he won’t be demoted to janitorial duties after working his aft off to make it this far.

“Workload’s been pretty intense. Been on my mind a lot.” He adds a chuckle to convince you – but he can’t see your expression with his chassis in the way.

“Bad enough for the vehicons to get blackout drunk again?”

“Found them recharging in mine carts.”

“Just like a college frat party, huh?” He has no idea what that means. Doesn’t stop him from laughing, though. “You should’ve seen them getting out! The sight brought lubricant to my optic.” “Scrambling like turtles stuck on their backs?” Oh – those, he definitely remembers. “Better. Remember that video you sent of the cat-looking thing surrounded by fermented fruits?” “The raccoon?” “Yeah! Struggling to sit up, then falling back in again!” You snort louder. “Ah. An absolute classic. You should totally film it next time, I would kill to see it.” “Oof. I’d love to, but I’m not sure I can do that while on shift. Ask Soundwave. Nothing escapes him.” Especially any contamination of the medbay – his processor shudders at the memory. At least it wasn’t Commander Starscream. Fooling around’s been kept to Knock Out’s habsuite ever since. And outside the ship, but that’s not the Intelligence Officer’s business.

“More than you know…” you say. Your tiny digits sneakily stroke the protomatter between his hip and thigh. The touch isn’t sensual. At least he doesn’t think it’s supposed to be. You’re not shy about squeezing, biting or running your glossa over it. This feels different. Hesitant.

“You know… you rarely visit first.” He sputters. “It’s not that I don’t want to or anything!” He shifts his frame and cranes his neck to take a good look at you. No success. “It’s that… I’m still a soldier, and they’re my superiors.” “I know that, silly. I’m talking about how you always let Knock Out have the first go at me before either of your shifts start. Why is that?” “I…” He shakes his helm. “Come on, second place doesn’t make any difference. As long as I get to pay you a visit, I’m happy!” His vox is strained. He meant to sound cheerful. What came out felt like rust being scraped off mesh.

You sink your digits into his thigh. Not enough to hurt. Never enough to hurt. A single fleshie can’t hurt a Cybertronian. But it’s clearly meant as a warning. Even he can tell that.

“Dude, just ask to go first. Knock Out is lovely and all, but you shouldn’t neglect yourself for his sake. I want you to come around and let loose before anyone else. Hell, you deserve it. Do you want me to ask Megatron personally? I can do that, no prob-” “No!” It comes out too desperate. “No,” he repeats. Softer. “The others don’t do well with favorites. Uh… except maybe Soundwave, but he doesn’t count.” Breakdown cringes. He wants no part in their power struggles, especially Commander Starscream’s. Else he’d end up at the barrel of his Master’s cannon.

“Okay… but my point still stands. Ask Knock Out to reschedule next time orr I’m bringing Megatron into this.” His vents huff, servos drawn into fists.

“Got it,” he relents. “I’ll talk to him, but if he refuses-” “He won’t refuse,” you say none-too-softly. “We’ve had a chat post-coitus.” He blinks. “You cannot be serious.” “Low and behold, I am. What? Did you expect me not to address it?” “He’s going to be furious at me.” “Like hell . If he so much as lifts a digit, I’ll be happy to inform Megatron and get him put in his place. He’s your superior in the medbay, not outside of it last I checked. And trust me, I’ve been checking.” He clenches his jaw and offlines his optic. “We’re not…” he starts gently, leveling his words carefully. “We’re not Newsparks. There’s a balance we’ve established on the Nemesis. All of us. Bringing Lord Megatron into this won’t offset the balance. It’ll destroy it. What we have here,” he gestures at the small habsuite. “Is thanks to his generosity. I don’t want to lose this because of some petty interface stuff. If he intervenes… I doubt we’ll still be able to visit.” There’s a long pause. He gives you the time to mull it over. An apology already on his glossa. “I understand. I know it’s not my place to call the shots. Part of me wishes that…” You swallow. “Part of me wishes that I could make things easier for you guys. You’ve all been through so much, and I know I’m only the ship’s resident pet or whatever, but I can throw my weight around a bit. You know, use my position for good?” “For good? Primus, you’re already doing us enough good!” “Hm, not exactly. You’re the ones helping me with my heat when he’s not around. Ugh – I would be suffering without you guys.” You squeeze his thigh. “Man-” you laugh nervously. “I hope I’m not getting too sappy. You’re, like, the only one I can have these conversations with.” His fans stutter. “Really? Not even Lord-” “Not even,” you repeat with finality. There’s a comfortable silence. Breakdown is smiling to himself.

“Hey, big guy.” “Yeah, squishy?” “Wanna kiss?” “Is that even a question?” he asks as he picks you up from his lap, servos cradling your fragile human frame. “Mmm, you know the answer.” You touch the sides of his face. His cooling fans flip to the second setting. Your hands are soft. Incredibly soft. His vents cease functioning entirely as you kiss him. Your glossa is warm and wet. His circuits crackle with charge. How could something so small push his systems into overdrive? When you pull away, he’s left cold and yearning. You don’t waste a klik undressing yourself, tossing your frame coverings over his servos and onto the berth. His lips find yours again. You devour his intake like your fuel tanks are empty.

Knock Out satiated you groons ago, but you’re already running hot with want. His heavy engine purrs. “Someone’s eager to get spiked,” he mutters against your intake. You ex-vent sharply and kiss again, grinning against his lips. He slides a digit between your legs, which you immediately part. There’s still feeling in this one, taking in the heat of your slick valve. There’s no trace of your last interface, only a craving for more. A hiss escapes you as he rubs the digit over your minuscule anterior node. Your hips buck into him, teeth grazing his lip.

“Please, stop teasing already. You know I can’t take it.” “I’m not a tease - that’s Knock Out’s job.” He swipes his glossa over your intake. “I’m the total opposite. So, what do you say? Is your little valve ready to take my spike?” Your optics widen, lubricating in excitement. “Oh finally!” You press your helm against his. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this! I’m so glad the recent energon haul got you enough to mass displace.” “Actually, I’ve been rationing my energon for a deca-cycle!” You step away from his helm and look at him in… strange horror. “You what?” There’s pity in your optics and disappointment furrowing your optical ridge.

Oh frag him! Why did he have to open his intake? “It’s nothing to worry about, I swear! I’ve done this plenty of times in the past – there was this time my unit was stranded in the Sea of Rust and there was no energon for almost a whole deca-cycle! Impressive, right? You don’t see any seekers surviving that!” Your horrified expression worsens. “What do you mean you’ve been starving yourself for weeks just to mass displace and fuck me?”

“Come on, it’s not really starving! We bots can deal with it better than you humans!” he stammers, engine revving in panic. “It’s not about that – it’s about sacrificing yourself for… for this!” you gesture at your body. “Fuck’s sake, you could have told me! I was waiting for you to ask! I could have gotten you the energon ages ago!” “Then why didn’t you?” The words smash through his intake before he can stop them, leaving him to clean up the mess.

His spark tightens when you flinch. It’s the first time he’s startled you. The first time he’s seen you scared. “I… I didn’t…” Your gaze falls. “Scrap, I’m so sorry! It’s not my place to say it, I didn’t mean-” “It’s fine,” you gently stop him. He immediately yields. “You don’t have to apologize. I just… didn’t expect it to be this bad.” A sigh leaves your intake. “I still want to help, though. If Knock Out can mass displace almost every time he visits, isn’t there plenty of energon to go around? Don’t you also work in the medbay on top of everything? You deserve at least the same amount of rations.” “It’s more complicated than that,” he mutters. “Knock Out outranks me.” “So? You’re just one bot, it won’t drain the reserves.” He presses a servo to his helm. “My frame type’s the issue. Us warrior class bots need far more energon than the average vehicon.” “Yes, and? You’re still just one more war frame. Who else is there? Megatron, Dreadwing – that makes three.” You bite your lip when you meet his optic. “Let me give you a hand. I’ll leave the whole thing with Knock Out alone if you let me help with this.” “I…” His vents huff. “Okay. I’ll let you take care of it. But, please tell him not to summon me. Else it’ll seem suspicious.” A smile tugs at the corner of your intake. “Got it. Easier done than said.” Hesitating, you reach out to touch his cheekplate. He leans in. You take a deep in-vent. “I’m sorry for blowing up like that. I’ve been so worried about everyone lately, I’ve overstepped so many boundaries. The energon thing just… drove me off the edge.” “It’s okay,” he says, unsure of his own words. “It happens to the best of us. If it’s any comfort,” he grimaces, “Knock Out’s been riding my tailpipe about my energon intake for the whole deca-cycle. That’s why I… tried to keep it a secret. Until now.” “Did it work on him?”

“Frag no!” He laughs. “For all his drawbacks, he’s the closest thing to a doctor on this ship. Noticing something’s wrong’s part of his primary code!” His laughter dies down. “Sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I definitely ruined the mood.” “Not at all.” You press your cheek against his. “If it’s any comfort on my part, I’ve been called someone else’s name during interface.” His optic buzzes in its socket. “Who?” he demands without meaning to. “Who?” He repeats, far softer – now a polite question. “No one in High Command, sadly,” you say like you’ve read his mind, adding an apologetic shrug. “Another human before the alien shebang happened.” “Ah.” He averts his optic to hide his disappointment. “Come on, man. You know I would have immediately rung you up if Starscream had been moaning Megatron’s name during overload.” He cracks a smile. “I guess you’re right.” “Gossip girls forever?” You offer your fist. “Gossip girls forever,” he agrees, tapping it with his digit. You both mimic an explosion and draw your servos away in slow motion. “Still not sure what explosive punches have to do with gossip.” “Shhh - it’s a human bestie thing.” You kiss him again. Gently at first, then harsher with his wordless encouragement – your hunger makes his engine rev. “Want to start with valve to glossa action? How about we keep mass-displacement for the final course?” “Like I’ll ever refuse a free refueling.” You snicker. The noise is so precious it makes his joints weak. Lying on his abdomen with you in his servos, you writhe as he presses his glossa to your valve. “Fuck,” you hiss. “You okay?” he’s unable to hide the smugness in his tone. “I thought Knock Out had the first taste.” “ Fuck , Knock Out. I need your glossa right now. No one else’s.” His fans shudder. Once, handling someone so small was circuit-frying. He’d been with plenty of minicons, but never an organic. Those bots could take a good pounding. Fleshies? Not so much.

“Fuck.” You shiver as his glossa rubs up and down your pretty valve. Your hips buck into it. He grins between your legs and licks again. And again. And again. Until he feels your servos on his crest. “I need to ride your face,” you say – more declaration than request. He blinks, grin widening. “That desperate, huh?” “Shut up,” you growl – too adorable for your own good. How he wants to squeeze and smother you against his face. Your legs are soft on either side of his cheeks, servos gripping onto his crest with impressive strength for a creature so small and frail. He holds his glossa out for you to use as you please, two digits holding your hips in case you tumble off. “How…” You pant. “How are you this good?” He shrugs with his free arm. His vents blast harder. “I’m not even doing anything,” he mumbles with his glossa out. “Of course you are. You’re being your sweet himbo self,” your words falter as you keep riding.

His cheekplates heat up. “Uh, a what now?”

There’s no answer, only your legs shaking as you furiously grind against his intake. You grip onto his crest, your entire frame shaking. “Breakdown!” you call out, vox breaking. A sudden burst of charge travels down his interface array. His pressurized spike clanks against his panel. “Frag,” he groans. His spike’s throbbing, Ugh, it hurts like he swung it against a wall.

At least you’re oblivious to his, uh, mishap – twitching against his glossa while trying to slow your ventilation. The plating of hips shifts and his panels release his array. His valve is soaking with transfluid, steam almost emanating off of it after overheating for half a groon. The cold air makes his spike twitch. “Is it… is it time?” you ask weakly, turning around to look at his lap. “Oh hey, so that’s where the noise came from.” He cringes, but still helps you get down. You scurry towards the middle of the berth and cheer out “Show me the goods, big boy!” Mass displacement is something he’d done in the past – back on Cybertron when there was plenty of energon to go by. Now it’s just a waste. Not for you, obviously! Primus, you’re worth every last drop. His working receptors buzz with sensation. System diagnostics appear at the corner of his vision. Mass conversion: successful

Warning:

Minimum energon required: 70%

Current level: 93% His joints are calibrated, there’s no ache in his processor, subspace feels fine – everything’s in working order. He can rest easy and focus on the important stuff. “Woah.” you beam at him. It’s uncanny to see you… so much bigger than he’s used to.

The hug is sudden but not unwelcome. Your helm comes up to his chassis, but only barely. It doesn’t take long for you to pull him on top (the close view is to offline for), and drag him into a kiss. His spark pulsates like never before.

“Please, spike me,” you beg. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” He looks down at his spike. Then back at you. There are many things he’s learned as a nurse, one of which being: pick the smallest pair of forceps when operating on minicons. Sadly, he cannot replace his spike with a smaller one. But he can prepare you for the operation. “Hey, how about I get you started with something else before you get the hammer?” He lifts up the servo with functioning receptors and flexes his digits. “Promise you’ll rail me afterwards.” “Promise.” He grins.

He’s a denter first and all, but he’s always been careful with his servos back when brushing debris off his comrades after a busted demolition job. It felt like second nature to him. They were at the bottom of the scrapheap. Caring for others, even in small ways, made their plight bearable. His own at least. He pushes in, chuckling as you furrow your optical ridge, intake slightly agape. “Does it sting?” “No.” Another digit is carefully added. You whimper and grit your dentae. One digit and a half then. “What about now? How do you rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10?” “Oh shut up…” Your tiny valve is absolutely soaked, slick with human lubricant, struggling to accommodate him. If you’ve taken the entire High Command, you can take him. Sure, he’s been told his spike is a “weapon forged by Solus herself”, but Megatron’s definitely bigger. And you’ve fragged him. Everyone knows that. Your valve’s more durable than it seems.

You clench around his digits, expression so lovely it’s clear you’re about to overload. He cautiously curls a digit inside of you. The gentle pressure’s an easy way to make your valve calipers clam down on him. Another whimper escapes you as he rubs at the spot. Your pedes push against his thighs, a desperate plea to stop. But he knows better. “Cute,” he thinks as your sweet noises intensify. He never expected fleshies to be so adorable – but then again, you’re not like the other squishies. Lord Megatron picked the best one. “Please,” you whisper. “This is torture.” “Aw, I thought you wanted to overload.” “You and I…” You swallow. “We both know damn well you’re teasing me. I need your spike, not… not this .”

He laughs. “I keep my promises, don’t worry about it.” He pulls you flush against him, legs over his hips. Bracing himself on one servo, he’s got an arm cautiously wrapped around your waist. “Comfortable? How do you rate your position on a scale from 1 to-” “Breakdown, I swear to fu-” “Got it. It’s hammer time.” He grins. You grip onto his digits and offline your optics. He pushes in. You suck in a sharp in-vent. He pauses.

“Go on,” you say after a moment. “I can take it. I guess I didn’t expect it to be so big.” “Big?” He blinks at you. “You’re the one taking Lord Megatron. He’s larger than me.” “Not his spike.” You chuckle. He looks up at the ceiling in wonder. “Wow.” “Wow indeed. Now please put that spike to good use.” Like a good soldier and seasoned interface partner, he follows your orders. Ridge by ridge, you take him, grip tightening and dentae gritting until he reaches your limit. He shudders. You’re clenching around him like a cold press, crushing his spike harder than any minicon valve. You seem on the verge of shutting down. “You okay?” “...yeah.” “Do you want me to stop?” “Don’t you dare.” “Got it.” His smile widens.

The pace is incredibly slow. Yeah, Knock Out likes having his circuits rearranged – and yeah, most vehicons he’s been with want to get railed into oblivion. But taking his time with you feels just as good. Charge is building along his array. He wants to tell you so many things – how you’re so beautiful holding onto him like he’s the center of your universe, whimpering and repeating his name listlessly – or how he wishes this could last forever, that he can forget the war when your arms are wrapped around his frame, no matter how small.

Your optics come back online and meet his. Wordlessly, you beckon him closer. He leans down, now bracing himself on his arm. Your servos find his face. “Have I ever told you how handsome you are?” you ask, nuzzling his cheekplate. It’s not the first time you’ve done so. But at this moment, either from mass displacement or the sight of you sprawled out before him (or both), his spark throbs in his chassis. His array is pulsating with charge. He presses his forehelm against yours. “Yeah. You always do.” “Good. Because I love you.” Your lips meet his. The charge explodes. Your valve clamps down on his spike. Sparks shoot through his sensors – his engine roars. The world stands still.

Then, he breaks the silence. “By…” his vox crackles with static. He recalibrates his vocalizer. “By Alchemist Prime…” there’s still a buzz to his words. “What was that?” “You tell me,” you answer shakily. Neither of you move for a while. Diagnostics report: Energon level: 87% He pulls out of you, earning a wince. You loosen your grip on his neck and fall back. His optics widen at the load of transfluid trickling out, valve still twitching. He feels equal parts pride and wonder something so small took his spike. Should he tell you about it? You appreciate greatly when he says what’s on his processor. Not everyone does. “Good job,” he tells you, petting your helm like the human he saw congratulating its furry companion. Your expression spells confusion. Then, you grin wider than he’s ever seen and pet him back. His engine rumbles in content. “I would die for you,” you declare without a hint of sarcasm in your vox. He laughs nervously. “Please don’t, Lord Megatron would kill me.” “Then I’d kill him first.” “But you’d already be dead.” “I’d come back as a ghost.” He laughs again, twice as nervous. “Anyway, was it… good?” “You blew my back out.” “I – what ?” “You rearranged my guts.” “Wait, are you about to offline-” “Human euphemisms.” “Oh.” “It means it was the best frag of my life.” “I… oh wow.” He allows you to pull him back on top. “You’re the best I could have asked for.” His cooling fans are blasting. “Um…” “You’re my favorite blueberry popsicle.” “Uh, thanks?” “I love it when you’re blue in the face.” More energon rushes to his cheeks.

“Oh, um – you too!” Frag - that didn’t sound smooth. He hasn’t been this bad since he was newly forged. “Raspberry and blueberry,” you press your helm against his. “My favorite mix.” You kiss him again, less desperately – finally satiated for the next cycle. Or at least a few groons. “Can you cuddle in this form?” Or…do you have to turn back?” He hits his chassis with pride. “Another groon won’t hurt me – I’ll do just fine..” “Aw hell yeah!” He lies down and you quickly take your place at his side, burying your face in the crook between his neck and his chassis. You let out a hum when his digits stroke your back. He can sense the minuscule hairs on your plating. They tickle.

A klik passes by, but you can’t seem to sit still. You push his arm away, readjust yourself, then pull it back in, only to start again a nanoklik later. “Everything ok?” You make a noise of frustration – so adorable it makes his spark ache.

“Give me a sec,” you mutter.

He watches as you get up to fetch your blanket and pillows. “Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I barely managed to clean up before coming over.” “Don’t matter.” You cover his side in them. “I just want to cuddle you.” He bites his glossa. You’re too sweet for your own good. Once comfortable, his servo comes back to stroke your skin. You shiver. “Are you cold? Do you want me to get the heating pad?” “No. You’re warm enough. It just… feels nice to be with you this way. I meant what I said. I do love you. Maybe not on Knock Out’s level – he’s known you before my great grandparents were even born.” He affectionately taps your helm. “I mean, yeah – but what does that have to do with us? Do you humans have a monogamous contract or something?” Your expression says it all. “Oh,” he drawls. “Uh – it doesn’t mean that you can’t be with us, it’s that-” “I’m Megatron’s first and foremost,” you say, looking away from him and straight at the wall. “I… yes. But I mean that-” “I’m together with everyone. I know that.” You turn your attention back to him. “And no, it doesn’t bother me. I simply want to give you the praise you deserve. And the energon. Man, you need that so badly.” Resting your helm atop his chassis, you flash him a warm smile. “I love you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

#transformers x human #transformers x reader #transformers prime #valveplug #maccadam #tfp breakdown #tfp breakdown x reader #heatverse

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amascomet · 2 days ago

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Hello I was wondering if you have more stuff on the TMNT Spliced Au and how the comic is going?

Ah thank you for your interest! I’ve got so much but also literally nothing haha. End of last year was particularly rough for me so I had to take a break from working on it. Love TMNT GS but I won’t lie and say it’s not emotionally draining, wish I could beam it into all of your heads! Here’s a huge dump of random assortments I have from developing it.

COMIC UPDATES - peep the sketch for the cover, cool right?

I finished thumbnailing the first 34 pages of #1, but only one page has been fully completed. ⚰️ I’ve never made a comic before, so I’m doing a lot of learning with this. Most of the delay just comes from the fact that I love to design and I’m very crazy about details so that means I’m easily getting caught up in reading books, building little 3D sets, designing props n vehicles, ect.

I get so caught up in the visual worldbuilding cause its my favorite thing to do lol. I feel really bad when I stop working on pages in because my brain is like OK WAIT I NEED TO DESIGN THE GUNS, THE LABS, AND STOCKMANS CAR KEYS. Its really silly. I do wanna keep chipping at the comic, but at this point I've written and planned so much of the lore I kinda just wanna make it all public so I can talk about it. I'm constantly torn about it cause its like oof whats the point of making the comic if I'm just gonna talk about all the spoilers. With how this years going, I'm starting to lean into more of lemme just be free and do whatever I want!

Table of contents from the lore bible I'm still chipping away at. I'd love to just drop updates for it if that's something people would be interested in.

Alternatively, the idea of just releasing scripts for it has crossed my mind. #1 has a general outline, but I'd actually would just love to go back and detail, refine it, and drop that for now until the visuals of the comic are done.

I'm actually going to test the waters now and link a script for a scene from The Farmhouse arc I wrote a couple of months ago. If that's something people would be interested in, I'd love to know!

ART DUMP MOMENT -

Various other little development sketches and a new character or two omg

OK I KNOW THAT WAS A BIT OF A RAMBLE, FORGIVE ME! But yup thats it! TDLR; GS is in development hell and I'm waiting for ya'll to give me the greenlight to just start talking crazy. I've got multiple seasons/arcs to gush about.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt au #tmnt fan iteration #tmnt gs #gene spliced au #i wonder who Not Leo is?

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httpseungmxn · 2 days ago

Text

Rough Ride

Vampire!Bang Chan x Fem!Reader

🍰 - suggestive, smutty

Authors note: Hello my Angels! I am bringing you a fic that you all were very excited about! I got over 180 votes on the poll for this fic, that is absolutely insane! I originally thought about making this a horror themed fic only buttttttt, Chan just looked so scrumdiddlyumptious in the mv that I had to make this a suggestive fic! That doesn’t mean this won’t have horror aspects to it though, I mean the man is a vampire :3! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!

Warnings: Suggestive, biting - hes a vampire so fangy boy!! Light choking, scratching, p in v, very little plot!! Blood play, rough chan! Spitting, spanking, hair pulling, reader gets cut a few times but nothing seriously bad!

Triggers: Blood, choking, slight gore!

There was absolutely no way of knowing you were gonna end up in a position like this ever. It was inhumane, but then again, the man holding you tight by the neck didn’t seem to care because he sure as hell wasn’t human. That much was obvious from the fangs threatening to break the skin of your collarbone and the single white eye he had stared at you intensely with.

The beast wanted to hurt you, he found your blood tasted sickeningly sweet and he craved more of it. Tongue immediately lapping over the cut he had marked on your collarbone with his left fang. His claw-like nails scratched roughly at your side as he trailed his hand slowly from your hip to grab at your thigh harshly.

Nothing about this creature was kind or caring in the slightest. He had been rough ever since he had stalked you along the halls of his prison. Curious as to why a mere, young mortal would dare enter his “lair”. No human had ever made it in and escaped alive, though it had been many years since anyone had ventured inside. He assumed you must have not known the dark rumors about the building, or perhaps you were dared by a group of friends. He couldnt care less what the story was.

The only thing on Chan’s mind was his plans for you. At first he had thought about just turning you into one of his creations, but your blood tasted too good for him to waste it. He would keep you by his side, collecting your blood by the gallon over the course of the next few years, and then once he had enough he would make you a monster like him. It was such a perfect plan and would surely have no errors. Right?

That could be thought more about later once he was done with what he had planned now. It had been many years since he had indulged in his lust, and your body was just too cute to pass up on. If he kept you around, maybe he would treat you with this if it ended up being as good as he hoped.

Within seconds you were turned around and bent harshly over a bloodied table causing a sharp whimper to leave your lips. This wasn’t at all what you expected to happen when you were dared to explore the large abandoned prison by a group you weren’t so sure were actually your friends. You were now paying the price of craving friendship, and that bore through your brain when the beast ripped off your light pink skirt and spit harshly on your leaking pussy. Two fingers roughly rubbing your clit eliciting a squeaky moan from your lips.

The fingers were quick to move to your hole which is where you squirmed, a gasp left your lips as soon as his hand came down hard on your ass to stop you from moving. Your hole leaking more as he pushed the fingers slowly into you. Upon noticing the increase in your arousal, he decided to test the waters by laying another hard spank, groaning deeply at the leaking of your wetness onto his fingers.

His fangs scratching and biting at your shoulder causing more blood to spill slowly from the skin which only seemed to turn him on even more. You didn’t even process movement until the two long fingers in your quivering pussy had been replaced by something much bigger and pulsating. A choked moan leaving your lips as the man pressed your face against the table, his hand tangling in your hair as he began to move.

His pace was rough and absolutely brutal to your hole. His hips smacking hard into your ass causing the soft skin to jiggle with each thrust. Moans and whimpers were filling up the small room from your pink glossy lips that had been previously attacked by his lips. Your body shook in pleasure as the beast destroyed it with his dick.

This man was so rough with you, but it felt so good to finally be getting what you had only seen in movies and read in books. You would have preferred losing your virginity to this beast than your sloppy shitty ex boyfriend who hadn’t even lasted ten minutes. Men were weak was what you had come to learn just from your current experience. No human would ever be able to make you feel as good as this vampire was making you feel.

Blood dribbled down your back from the cuts on your shoulder which only spurred Chan on more. His movement was stuttering though, it was obvious that he was close and that he hadn’t done this in a while. You were so lose in your thoughts of the being that you didn’t know you were cumming until his fingers were harshly rubbing your clit to overstimulate you. His movement was fast and it was obvious he was wanting something.

Your eyes that had been rolled back were now seeing stars as you curled your toes, your pussy gushing and squirting all over his dick, pulling grunts and growls from his lips at how tight you had clenched suddenly. Hips smacking into your skin harder than before a few times before his hot seed was spilling into your hole and filling you up.

Chan decided then and there that he couldn’t ever turn you into one of his failed experiments, he wouldn’t even use your blood as his meal, he would make you his. The euphoric state he was feeling right now was something he wanted to feel for many years to come, so without hesitation his teeth were sinking into your neck and his cut wrist was held up to your mouth for you to drink from.

It must’ve been a silent agreement from you two what your life would now be like, because without any hesitation in your own actions, you were drinking his blood slowly from his wrist to become a beast just like him. The outside world didn’t deserve you, it had always treated you like shit. At least here, you knew you would be treated like an Angel, or a goddess.

You decided, you will gladly be Chan’s vampire queen. Ruling the prison by his side. The failed experiments he called his creations would be the peasants who served you. Any human who explored the prison would come to an end at the hands of the vampire mates. This was exactly how it should be. How it would be for many years to come.

Just you and him, the Vampire King and his Vampire Queen.

Authors ending note; Holy Fuck. Thats all I have to say about that, because wow, I am proud of myself for this one. I have never written something like this, or even thought about writing anything like this but I think it is definitely one of my strong suits, probably because i am such a big fan of horror and gore and just the mv in general! I really hope you guys are able to enjoy this, and i will gladly write more like this if anyone asks for it! Make sure to leave me some requests and join my taglist, i still havent gotten any requests which makes me sad! Let me all know what you think of this in the comments! Until next time, My Sweet Angels 🫶

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tinysunshine · 16 hours ago

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━━━ ✧˖° 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓: 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍

- a = aftercare (how he takes care of you after sex)

daryl doesn’t do the kind of ‘aftercare’ you read about in fics. bringing you a snack, talking you down from a hazy headspace, telling you everything will be alright - those things don’t happen with him. they don’t need to.

every time you have sex with daryl, it feels good. amazing. he fucks you, not just because he wants to get off, but because he wants to make you feel good too. he won’t admit it, but he likes the closeness of it. the intimacy that is sex. when you’re both done, sweaty and tired and coming down from an orgasm high, he’ll help clean you up - and if you ask, he’ll bring you some water. cuddle you extra tight, tell you how much he loves you.

of course, if kink is involved, daryl would do more to make sure you’re okay after a scene, but regular intercourse doesn’t warrant anything special after. because every moment with daryl is special. and when you’re around him, you know that he’ll take care of you and make sure you’re okay at all times.

- b = body part (his favorite body part of yours)

daryl likes boobs and ass. just as much as any other guy. but for different reasons.

he would never look at a woman and think ‘wow, she’s hot because of her huge tits’ or anything like that. while he might notice certain physical things about a woman’s body, he really could care less. daryl dixon does not let lust or his cock run his life - and in the world he lives in, that’s a good thing. he has more important things to focus on.

if you’re dating daryl, he likes your boobs because they’re yours. he likes your ass because it’s yours. he doesn’t have a type. it doesn’t matter if you’re skinny, tall, petite, thick - if you managed to get close to daryl, believe that he adores every inch of your body and everything about you.

- c = cum (anything to do with cum)

daryl will kiss you after you suck his dick and swallow his cum. he doesn’t care if your mouth still tastes salty, doesn’t mind the taste of himself. he also doesn’t necessarily think it’s hot, just - it is what it is. sex is natural. sex is dirty. that’s what daryl believes, anyway.

he loves the taste of your cum. is obsessed with the concept of squirt. he loves spending majority of foreplay, or even just for fun, going down on you and fingering you. i imagine him with the bottom part of his face slick, your inner thighs stinging from his facial hair rubbing against them, his lips looking glossy from your juices after he gave you a few orgasms. his smile from between your legs is probably shy and loopy as he licks the taste of you from his fingers.

- d = dirty secret (a dirty little secret of his)

daryl would never verbally admit this - but he loves when you call him daddy.

and not in that, who’s your daddy? kind of way, that’s a little degrading and a whole lot of powerful. daryl just loves what it stands for - that he’s taking care of you. that you trust him.

and, okay, maybe feeling like he has that power over you is a little hot. but it’s not the main reason he likes it.

when you curl up next to him and call him that name, snuggle into his side, or just tease him to ask for something using that name and a sweet voice - god, it gives him butterflies, makes him eager to do whatever he can do to make you happy. because he loves taking care of you. loves spoiling you in whatever way he can.

the name is romantic to him, but at the end of the day - also a little kinky. the fact that you trust him the way you do means everything to him.

- e = experience (how experienced is he? does he know what he’s doing?)

daryl doesn’t have a lot of experience - but that’s by choice.

people can think what they want about daryl, but women want him. because not only is he physically hot, he’s also untrained - in that dirty, masculine way every woman secretly wants a piece of. in his life, daryl has had many admirers, but just a few partners.

in fact, most of the women he’s been with sexually have probably been older than him. kind, soft, they took good care of him while he learned the ropes. maybe that’s why he’s so good with his tongue and fingers and cock - older women with more experience, who could see the appeal that the women his age maybe couldn’t back then, have taught him well.

so, yes - daryl knows what he’s doing, and he does it well.

- f = favorite position (this one goes without saying)

in the beginning, when he’s getting comfortable and more vulnerable with you, daryl is a little scared of missionary. it’s a lot of pressure, to have your pretty face looking up at him - you can see how he’s feeling, and he can see the way you’re feeling. wonders if you’re enjoying yourself, if he’s making any weird faces. he’s also a little scared to admit just how much he enjoys himself with you, no matter how silly that sounds.

daryl just wants to impress you. he just wants you to feel good.

as you get more serious in your relationship, missionary becomes his favorite because of the intimacy that looking into each other’s eyes brings. he also loves doggy, because duh, and he loves showing off his strength by holding you up against a wall and fucking you like that, just bouncing you up and down on his cock like you weigh nothing. because to a man as strong as him - you are light. no matter what your body type.

and when you ride him? god, it’s so overwhelmingly good he could just about cry. but really, any position, as long as he gets to put his dick inside of you, is perfect for him.

- g = giving (is he more of a giver, or a receiver?)

giver. daryl isn’t a sexual person unless he’s really into someone - and if he’s really into you, then his sexuality is pretty much…you. he could please you and focus on just your pleasure for hours, even if it’s at the expense of his own. whatever you want to do in the bedroom, he’ll try. even if he gives you a funny look, or teases you about it, he’ll give it a chance.

if it’s something super kinky, he might be hesitant - but ultimately daryl just wants to make you happy. seeing you turned on turns him on. definitely a giver.

‘you’re a little weird, ya know?’ he murmurs, face flushed when you ask him to dominate you a certain way, or do something dirty. but he’s a good sport - he’ll do it, whatever it is, especially when he sees how much it turns you on.

- h = hair (how well groomed is he? his thoughts on body hair, his partner’s and his own)

this might be surprising to some, but daryl is well groomed. his hair is pretty light but he keeps it trimmed, because even though he has the reputation of someone who doesn’t give a fuck, he’s actually hygienic. uses bar soap, freshens up everyday. he’s just really active and outside all the time, which is how he gets dirty so fast. and he doesn’t care what he looks like, not when the world is the way it is. but he’s not unhygienic. he smells manly, woodsy, musky in the best way possible.

as for your hair, he really doesn’t care. daryl has literally eaten raw squirrel meat just to survive. he’s rough and tough and a survivor - you think he cares about fucking body hair? he’ll go down on you no matter what your grooming situation, will cuddle next to you and touch your body no matter if you shaved yesterday or haven’t touched a razor in months.

although, if you do happen to be smooth, soft and hairless just because that’s something you prefer, he definitely notices. can’t believe someone as sweet and pretty as you even lets his rough fingertips touch your body, but overall, body hair is not a factor in his attraction towards you. not at all.

- i = intimacy (how is they during the moment? the romantic aspects)

when daryl loves you, he’s romantic all the time. without even knowing it. for some reason, he’s under the impression that he’s not romantic. maybe he thinks that romance is red roses and money and expensive dinners, things that don’t matter in the world you’re both living in. he also has a bit of a self esteem issue - he doesn’t really see himself for who he is, you know? he’s amazing, and everyone knows that. he’s the one who has a hard time believing it.

he’s so romantic. in the way he takes care of you. listens to you. he’s a sweetheart, wrapped in a tough package. when you’re having sex, he’s the same daryl he always is. intense, thoughtful, voice a little mumbled even as he tells you how tight you are, how good you are for him, how much he cares about you.

he loves you, you know that with all your heart - but acts of service, sometimes gift giving is the way he shows it. the words i love you are rarely explicitly verbalized. but he fucks you so good that it’s obvious.

giving you orgasms is an act of service and a gift at the same time, right?

- j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

daryl doesn’t just jerk off for the fuck of it. never gets horny and immediately think, ‘lemme touch myself.’ if you’re dating him, he’ll just put the moves on you, because he’d rather watch you not waste a drop of his cum then get it all over his hand. if he’s single, he definitely only gets himself off when he has to. when its been so long it’s starting to become a need, and his body is desperate for release.

god, he looks so hot laying on his back, perfect arms flexing as he jerks himself off. it’s easy to imagine. it’s also easy to imagine watching him cum all over his stomach and licking it off -

okay, maybe he lets you watch him get himself off one time. tells you to take your clothes off in front of him while he strokes himself, embarrassed, and so turned on at the way you clean up his mess with your cute, pink tongue.

- k = kink (one or more of his kinks)

daryl isn’t the kinky sex god everyone in the fandom makes him out to be. he has his moments, sure, but the only time he’d ever do something truly kinky is if you asked.

if you wanted him to spank you, or lightly choke you, or roleplay a little - he’d awkwardly do it in his own cute, grumpy way.

the way he naturally is, and the dynamic he has with you - some might think there’s elements of kink to it. he’s such a man, but he’s also sort of versatile. would let you dominate him, although not aggressively, even while he’s on top of you. he’d think it’s hot if his woman told him how to fuck her, demanded things - he definitely thinks a little bit of a brat is sexy.

there’s something very primal about sex with daryl, but it comes naturally to him. he’s a little bossy with you, even if you have him whipped. when you fuck, he takes what he wants, he’s a man about it, and that’s endlessly sexy to you.

- l = location (favorite places to fuck and mess around)

bed.

it seems boring, but having a bed and a roof is a luxury these days. there was a long time when daryl didn’t have anything to sleep on but a thin sleeping bag, and even worse, a hard fucking prison bed. fuck the tent, fuck the outdoors - you’re precious to daryl, and he wants to fuck you somewhere that’s worthy of you.

he’ll also fuck you over a couch, or in the shower. and, okay - he’ll fuck you outside or behind a tree or wherever you want if you’re desperate for it, but he definitely prefers to have you on his soft mattress, bedroom door closed, so he can give you the princess treatment you deserve and fuck you like -

the girlfriend he adores.

- m = motivation (what turns him on, gets him going)

you.

all day and all night long. anything and everything about you. he wants to please you. make you happy. take care of you. he can’t rest if you’re unhappy, can’t cum unless you’re completely satisfied. doesn’t want to even have a good time unless you’re having one too.

anything and everything you do turns him on. just by being yourself, you get that man going like nothing and nobody else. it’s kind of your superpower, you think sometimes - the effect you have on daryl dixon.

- n = no (something he wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he doesn’t want to hurt you.

even if you ask for it, tell daryl you’ll be fine and him getting rough with you turns you on - he’ll be hesitant.

i don’t think daryl would ever tell you no. he’s pretty inexperienced, but when it comes to anything kinky, you have to tell him what you want, and he might be freaked out. if you asked him to spank you, he might look at you like you’ve grown a second head. ‘you know i’m a lot stronger than you, don’t you?’ he’ll say, as if you’re literally insane, and you’ll nod and roll your eyes, telling him in your best brat voice, ‘that’s the point.’

daryl will do whatever you want, and he’ll enjoy it because making you happy turns him on - but i think anything that could hurt you scares him a little.

- o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

giving.

of course, he loves receiving head because who doesn’t? but come on. you know that man is obsessed with eating pussy. loves to get dirty and sticky and wet between your thighs, or have you sit on his face so he can feel you all over him. bonus points if you’re thick: because the weight of you on his face, your smell and your taste and just you on top of him could literally make him cum untouched if he tried hard enough.

daryl loves to give - and he’s so fucking good at it. partially from skill, but mostly because he’s so enthusiastic. will jump at any opportunity to go down on you.

- p = pace (is he fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

daryl isn’t inherently rough.

but he is. he’s just so big, and kind of unaware of his strength, and when he’s enthusiastic and excited and you beg him to flip you onto your stomach and fuck you silly - he’s going to do it. he’s so strong, and anytime he puts his hands on you while he’s fucking you, it always feels a little rough. the good news is: you love it. because even when he’s rough, doesn’t realize how hard he’s gripping your hips or folding your legs into your chest so he can fuck you at a better angle, he’s still so sensual. can go so slow. make you feel so loved.

sex with daryl makes you feel like a prized possession, and when he’s inside of you, you want it to last forever.

- q = quickie (his opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

daryl can get you off quickly, but it takes him a little longer to cum. his pleasure centers around your pleasure, and if you feel good - he’s satisfied, even if he doesn’t cum himself.

a quickie for daryl means quickly getting you off fast. with his fingers or mouth and tongue, or his cock, even if he tucks it back into his pants, slightly hard, and pulls his shirt over the bulge while you’re still shaking from your orgasm. as long as you’re satisfied, so is he.

he wants to savor the chase of his orgasm for longer than just a quickie while the rest of your group is momentarily occupied or you finally have some free time together during the day. if you want sex, he’ll happily oblige, but long nights with daryl are more his style.

- r = risk (is he game to experiment? does he take risks? etc.)

daryl doesn’t take risks when it comes to sex. meaning: it’s rare that he’ll fuck you somewhere where others could hear or walk by and catch you both. you’ve had a few outside romps for sure, but if there’s a bed or a couch or a roof over your head, daryl will always pick that. it’s not that he doesn’t want to have fun, he just wants to make sure you’re getting the best experience. what kind of boyfriend would he be if he let you get grass stains on the knees of your pants if he bent you over outside? he’d never put you in a degrading position like that.

unless, of course, you ask for something like that. even if he’s huffing and puffing, mumbling ‘yer crazy, girl’ under his breath about a sexual request you have - he’ll always try to please you. and honestly, he can’t deny you when you’re all over him, begging for a little risk, especially when life is more settled. how can he tell you no when you’re pulling at his sleeve and rubbing your tits against his arm, asking him to take you behind a tree even with the rest of your group close by?

with daryl, you pretty much always get what you want.

- s = stamina (how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?)

once daryl cums, he’s good. doesn’t see the need to go an extra round and exert himself - because he’s definitely fucking tired after giving you a pounding. when he fucks you, he uses all his strength, makes you cum so many times before he lets himself cum that you’re too exhausted to go another round even if he wanted to. he can last a long time, with foreplay and blowjobs and making you cum around his cock - which is why he’s usually beat for a few hours after he finally lets himself spill. it really doesn’t take him long to be ready again once he cums, but one round with daryl is deeply satisfying.

- t = toys (does he own toys? does he use them? on a partner or himself?)

daryl doesn’t use toys on himself. wouldn’t even think to do that.

at first, he honestly doesn’t like the thought of you using toys. not because he’s insecure - he literally just doesn’t understand why you need a toy if you have him. or your own fingers.

but one day, he catches you using your vibrator under the covers and he sees how fucking wet it makes you, how easy it is for that little toy to take you over the edge, and then he understands. doesn’t feel like it takes away from you, or him, or what you two do together - no, he just gets a little curious, is all.

daryl enjoys, very rarely, using a vibrator while you fuck. loves to see you come apart while you ride his cock and he holds it to your clit, the way you shudder and shake on top of him, have orgasm after orgasm after orgasm.

and sometimes, he asks you to hold it on his balls. or the base of his dick. lightly - just for a second. his face turns red and his dick leaks precum. when you bend down to lick it well -

he understands the appeal of toys now, okay?

- u = unfair (how much he likes to tease)

as hot as it would be, daryl doesn’t really sexually tease. he does do it verbally though, when you’re crawling on his lap after he already spent the better part of an hour between your legs, fingers almost pruning from how long they’d been inside of you as he licked at your pussy. “you ready to go again jus’ like that?’ he’ll tease, all while heat creeps into your cheeks at how easy you are for him. but even when he teases you, you never feel ashamed for sharing any need you have with daryl. he doesn’t judge.

well, he does - but he never judges you.

- v = volume (how loud he is, what sounds he makes, etc.)

he’s not loud. partially because he’s just a quiet person, but also because he’s used to constantly being around people and sharing a living space. his voice is soft even when he talks dirty, little grunts and moans leaving his mouth so quietly that sometimes the only way you know he’s having a good time is the feel of his dick rock hard inside of you.

it makes it all the more special when he does get a little louder. after a few drinks, when he’s more outwardly touchy and talkative, or when you suck him off so good he just can’t help the noises coming out of his mouth. it’s a glorious feeling, when you can actually get daryl dixon to moan in your ear, or press his forehead to yours as he lets out a breath, the walls of your pussy clenching around him so tight he doesn’t even know how to move.

‘fuck,’ he’ll whisper, the most delicious little whine leaving his lips. you savor those sounds, commit them to memory, keep them in the back of your mind in case you ever need to get yourself off when daryl’s not around.

- w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

daryl never knew how much he needed a woman in his life. someone feminine, soft, to offset his masculine energy and understand the vulnerability beneath his surface.

but when he met you, someone sweet and cute and pretty and warm - everything he never thought he wanted nor needed, your presence kind of became an addiction to him.

daryl feels his dick start to chub in his pants whenever you wear a skirt, or a dress. whenever he feels your soft thigh against his leg in bed at night, or when you fit your body, so much smaller than his, on his lap or tucked under his arm. when you freak out if you see a bug because you’re scared of spiders, but not walkers, tie his hair back with little ribbons while he’s napping - he’s so incredibly fond that it makes him sick. it turns him on, the woman you are, and it’s like his dick is half hard the entire day when you wear anything pink or floral print.

you make him crazy in the best way.

- x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

hard body. toned, every inch of him. slightly tan, skin the most beautiful bronzed color in the summer, blemish free. his cock is big, but not overly so - perfect size, perfect color. the head of his dick is sort of pink, soft. he’s too hot for his own good, too beautiful, and he doesn’t even know it. actually blushes, when you lick your lips as he gets undressed, but daryl’s naivety about his own good looks is kind of part of his charm.

- y = yearning (how high is his sex drive?)

daryl is ready to fuck and get sucked at all times. but it’s not his main goal - he’s got a lot of shit to do, a lot of people depending on him, and he can go a long time without cumming. not that he wants to - especially not when he’s with you.

whenever you want to fuck, daryl is game. if you want his cock, you’re going to get it. don’t get it wrong - he is initiating. he can tell when you want to be fucked, because you go all quiet with your eyes glassy, or the opposite, you’re loud and a little bratty, begging him to just give you some type of release that you can’t get on your own. he knows you well, and he’s got you. ‘okay, pretty girl,’ he’ll say, leading you by the hand to a private area. ‘lemme make you feel better.’

daryl has a high sex drive, but until he met you, getting off was just never a big deal to him.

- z = zzz (how quickly he falls asleep afterwards)

very fast. such a cutie. he puts his all into it when he’s fucking you - and he’s not trying to be intense, that’s just how he naturally is regarding everything about you. he’s always giving his all when it comes to you, in any situation. but there’s also the fact that - he doesn’t know how else to be?

doesn’t understand men who’d let their woman do all the work during intercourse - it makes no sense to him, and the thought actually makes him uncomfortable. because of this, he’s definitely exhausted after he cums. if he fucks you at night, he’s passing the fuck out afterwards. if it’s a quickie during the day, he’s tucking his dick back in his pants after you’re done, grumbling something about ‘never getting a chance to nap anymore’ or some shit while you stifle a giggle.

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theocddiaries · 1 day ago

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[Shadow is reading a book while Knuckles is watching TV. Shadow's ear twitches in annoyance.] Shadow: Do you mind turning the volume down? I'm trying to read. Knuckles: And I'm trying to watch TV. Shadow: The TV that's on my side. Seems like you only like the rules of this absurdity when it suits you. Knuckles: Listen, the remote is on my side. [shows the remote with a cocky grin] [Shadow groans. A phone rings. Shadow starts looking for it on the couch. Knuckles clears his throat, phone in hand.] Knuckles: Oh, look, look what else ended up on my side. Shadow: Who is it? Knuckles: Your boyfriend. How nice. Does he call every night you to wish you goodnight? [Shadow immediately stands up and goes to grab the phone. Knuckles blows the whistle, making him jump back.] Shadow: Goddamn Pavlov, bells and everything in between! Knuckles, give me the phone, please. Knuckles: If you want it, just tell me you're going to cross, and that your sister's losing the fight. Shadow: Knuckles, stop with the nonsense, you know how Sonic is. He only calls when it's important, because the rest of the time he forgets he even has a phone. Knuckles: Well, cross and admit this house is just as much mine as your sister’s. Shadow: The house is for everyone, but you have to follow certain rules— Knuckles [blows the whistle] Shadow [startles]: I didn't move! Knuckles: No, worse, you were giving me a headache. [The phone stops ringing. Shadow squints his eyes.] Shadow: Okay, then. [goes to the kitchen and comes back with a mug] Knuckles: Hey! That mug is mine! Shadow: Yeah, but it's on my side. And now I feel like juggling it. [throws it to the ground, smashing it]: Well, that didn’t go well, did it? Let me try again. Knuckles [watching him anxiously, and when he comes back and sees the mug, rushes to the limit of the line]: No! Not my Julia Roberts mug! Shadow: You want it? Cross and grab it. Knuckles [hesitates]: …You don't have the guts to— Shadow [smashes it on the floor. Feigns a sad tone]: Ooooh… Rest in pieces, Julia. Knuckles: Nooooo! [looks on his side frantically. Grabs a radio]: You see this radio? Shadow: Yeah. Knuckles: Well… [throws it on the floor and stomps on it]: You won’t see it anymore! Ha! Or should I say, 'you'll hear it no more'? Double ha! Shadow: Knuckles, that radio was yours. Knuckles: Huh?? [drops to his knees to grab the pieces]: No! [stands up, fists clenched in anger]: You've just made yourself a lifetime enemy, hedgehog.

Part 1

#incorrect quotes #sth #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #knuckles the echidna #knuxouge #sonadow #knuckles and shadow

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thebramblewood · 2 hours ago

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Who knew window shopping could lead to so many revelations?

Previous / Next

All credit to @moonwoodhollow for Exerzierplatz, where you can find the bookstore, and @its-opheliasgarden for Umbra Boulevard, where you can find the antique shop, both of which are only one small part of these incredible builds!

Caleb: You’ve grown awfully comfortable with her.

Helena: First of all, you have no room to judge. [mockingly] Oh, she’s my sister and I loathe her! But I’m too much of a coward to move out.

Caleb: I’ve certainly never uttered those-

Helena: Secondly, being angry is exhausting. Holding an eternal grudge requires too much energy. And she can be fun — in her own way.

Caleb: You mean the way that’s fun until it isn’t? Not long ago, she had you on the verge of murder. Your memory can’t be that short.

Helena: We have our differences. But she respects my limits now.

Caleb: She’s being careful, but I know her too well to believe it’s for anyone’s benefit but her own. She’s only biding her time until you let your guard down.

Helena: God, you’re cynical.

Caleb: I’m realistic. For a long time, I held out hope she would turn back into the Lilith I knew. But there’s a point of no return, and she’s far past it. I just think you should tread carefully.

Helena: Why do you really stay? Is she holding something over you? Are you a masochist?

Caleb: I’ve told you. It’s complicated.

Helena: Have you ever even tried to leave?

Caleb: Helena-

Helena: Who’s Morgyn?

Caleb: [uncomfortably abrupt silent]

Helena: I heard that name in your head just now, not for the first time. I didn’t want to pry, but it must be someone who means a lot to you.

Caleb: Meant.

Helena: Did you have a falling out or-

Caleb: [flatly] They’re dead.

Helena: Oh. I’m sorry. [softly] Caleb, were you in love with them?

Caleb: Something like that.

Helena: What happened? Don’t tell me Lilith-

Caleb: [insistently] It had nothing to do with her. They were a spellcaster, a very powerful one. They wielded influence. They had detractors. One of those detractors killed them.

Helena: Oh my god. That’s awful. Could you tell me what they were like sometime — when you’re ready?

Caleb: [faintly] I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Helena: Caleb, look! I haven’t used one of these since I was a kid. Do you think they’ve got film for it?

Caleb: Come on. Don’t waste it on a picture that won’t even turn out.

Helena: What’s the deal with that anyway? I saw something about silver online, but-

Caleb: Anything you read on the Internet is conjecture and myth.

Helena: Is it because we don’t have souls?

Caleb: [bemused] What does that even mean? Do you feel as though you’ve lost yours?

Helena: Yes. No. I don’t know. I guess I feel the same… mostly.

Caleb: Countess Flores has a theory that we innately shroud our physical selves in images, just as we veil human minds, that we could appear if we willed it. But that remains pure hypothesis as far as I know.

Helena: I think I’ve attempted enough desperate selfies to safely debunk that one. You know, I wonder… [trails off distractedly]

Caleb: Helena?

Helena: Maybe it’s not such a bad thing. I used to want to capture every moment, but now the pictures make it impossible to forget.

Caleb: We both know it’s not the pictures that keep the memories alive.

#ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 story #sims 4 story #story: hzid #ulrike faust #caleb vatore #maaike haas #helena zhao #they're lesbians harold #they even cut each other's bangs #anyway there are some clues here to the next scene...

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sugary-daydreams3 · 2 days ago

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Grief trapped in blue sunglass lens [Gojo's funeral fanfiction]

Summary: Now that the students and Jujutsu associates healed their physical wounds, they have no choice but to face the elephant in the room. Satoru Gojo is gone and everyone deals with the void in their own way before the funeral begins.

Word count: 6.4k

Series: Lost chapters I wish Gege wrote about

A/N: Made this because me and many other people didn't get to see a Gojo funeral nor the character's feelings on him being gone. This is one of my biggest gripes with the ending of JJK. I had no problems with Gojo dying but I feel that how he was handled physically post Yujo fight left much to be desired.

So I decided to write about (mostly) everyone's coping with Gojo's death and a funeral service for him. Forgive me if the funeral may seem culturally inaccurate. Hopefully, no characters come across as too OOC, but some of these characters are hard to get right when they don't have much room to shine their personality in canon.

Glossy nails trail the white engraved letters and numbers above the matte black. She forgot to give back his credit card. The last time she used it was Hallo--

Hall--

October 31st.

October.

That fucking month with that fucking day. Like an alarm that keeps ringing and a clock that won’t move forward fused together.

The month of horror, trick or treating, and bloody exploding eyeballs. The month were kids face real horror, not those stupid dumb skeletons, werewolves, and vampires. The kind of horror that will make someone either sample death or have it as their final meal.

31st should have ended with her rocking the clothes she picked up eight hours before that fight. Gojo should have been eating endless candy and telling them “Job well done!” in that stupid annoying comforting voice of his. Not boxed away and expecting his students to come out on top in the chilly wild.

She didn’t even see him die. She didn’t get to say her final words to him that just would have amounted to...

“If you die your card is mine forever. So die, okay?”

She couldn’t even say her fucked up, dark, cruel joke that was a mask of “Please don’t fucking die”.

Why couldn’t I move?

Why wasn’t I awake?

Why wasn’t I present?

Who wants to hear recollections of what happened between October 31st and December 24th? She wanted to help out with the Culling Games. She wanted to see the great battle of Sukuna vs. Gojo. She wanted to finally meet this Yuta kid and see everyone’s reaction to him coming back. She wanted to save Megumi when Yuji couldn’t. Picking up the pieces of Yuji’s mistakes. Being that deciding factor that could have prevented so much bullshit.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Why wasn’t I here?

Her only eye stings, blinking two tears to fall on the muted black card. The heartache trails down to the 2754 of the four-part row of digits. Nobara quivers her lips as she tries to swallow down pills of regrets, exclusion, and despondency.

Residing dust forces a couple of coughs out of Inumaki. He waves off the floating particles and goes for the next book off Gojo sensei’s shelve. He grabs the spine of the book and slowly pulls it out.

He gave up being curious on the subject matter of these books once he cleared the first row. Just of bunch of thick, mind-numbing pieces on Jujutsu, Cursed Energy, or Autobiographies on retired sorcerers.

Turning from the back cover, in red bold letters his purple eyes reads: Learning Sign Language for your students. Written by... sounds like a random Japanese woman with some fancy doctor degree.

Narrow eyes widen as confusing experiences lingering in his memory begin to click and warp into sense.

On the third day of his first year, he remembers cringing at Gojo’s attempt to speak random rice ball ingredients to him. That was his “way” of trying to connect with him. Offended, Inumaki wrote him off and ignored any potential conversation to have with him at that point.

Around early June, he walked up to see Gojo silently greeting him with fluid movements of his hands and fingers. As fluent as someone who been signing JSL for several years. Was that the reason he stopped trying to conversate with him three weeks prior?

Taken back, Inumaki slowly signed back, leading to having their first full conversation ever. It ended with Gojo patting him on the shoulder and Inumaki turning to watch his goofy sensei walk off in a cheerful mood.

Inumaki caresses the book and notices the personal sticky notes poking out of many pages. He looks behind him to see Panda pre-occupied. Inumaki sets the book in his bag, setting it aside to read through later. He shakes his head and stares at the half empty shelve for a long moment before continuing his duty.

Panda was busy distracting himself with Satoru’s doodads instead of effectively cleaning out his office. Throw in the fact that it was a journey to simply carry things that would have taken him a few seconds to put away had he been in his original big body. But the funeral starts in a few hours so he has to stop monkeying around soon.

Panda frowned. There was barely any time to “monkey around” ever since Satoru died. It seems like when he died, he took the fun and security with him. Did most of his friends grow to be so powerful from the battle on Shinjuku? Sure, they’re practically monsters at this point.

But for a long time, Satoru’s level of strength gave them breathing room to take off the sorcerer mask sometimes. Now that he’s gone, there was no room to be a kid anymore. His friends are teenagers cursed with adult responsibilities; the rest of their adolescence stripped away like a bloody band aid.

He’s a panda so he doesn’t really understand that feeling. However, he sees it with the forced smiles he’s greeted one second with frowns pulling them down moments after. Desensitized responses they all show in public contrasted with the quiet weeping he hears going on late night campus walks. It will always give him emotional whiplash.

Life after Satoru was a canvas board of still grey with overwhelming dark blue surrounding it.

Panda opens a brown box to see a bunch of stuffing peeking out. Dropping down, he turns the box around to see in black marker: Spare stuffing for Panda.

Panda releases a deep sigh. He feels his stitches ache all over.

Loose blue strains spills over the wholesome photo of her and Gojo that day. A day where her biggest concern was not looking stupid in front of the cute, strong, funny teacher at the Tokyo campus of Jujutsu High. A day where her classmates bickered with coal still in their eyes. A day when Mai was cranky and alive. When Mechamaru...

Miwa shuts her eyes as her tears soaks her eyelashes. Blurry eyes open to take in the photo that seem like centuries ago, when it was only since September. Gojo’s peace sign and shared chipper smiles fill the holes in Miwa’s heart for a moment. Her thumbs zoom in on Gojo and lingers over his tall figure dominating most of the selfie.

A small smile forms behind the isolated blues. “Gojo...”

Kusakabe groans, rubbing the back of his head whenever his mind wanders to that blue eyed trouble maker. There were days he enjoyed the consistent stillness without that loudmouth breaking it. Then there were others where the silence was drowning; his cheery, obnoxious voice completely void to lift up everyone’s spirits when needed. Today was one of those days.

Twirling his toothpick, he remembers the countless times Gojo annoyed the hell out of him with his comments and pranks. There wasn't a day where he wouldn’t drag one of the Jujutsu faculty and staff in his shenanigans. So bad that one-time Gojo went too far and it ended with Kusakabe wishing he was dead.

Be careful what you wish for, I guess.

Kusakabe looks up at the passing clouds trailing through the blue. For such a day for Jujutsu High, the sky didn’t reflect the collective feeling. The man bats his eyes as the ambient nature lures him into a still mind.

“Kusakabe!? Are we serious right now!?” One of the higher ups barked.

Gojo shakes his head, “Is there ever a day you guys don’t bitch about--”

“I agree that sending me would be a horrible idea.” Kusakabe interrupted. Gojo turns to see Kusakabe wearing a “Yes sir. No sir.” attitude. He knew he was lying.

Kusakabe has been looking forward to a sorcerer mission like this ever since he met him. A mission where all you do is investigate and gather information, no risking your life, no fighting at all really. More like a trip out on Japan’s quiet grassy countryside with a side quest of being an undercover sorcerer representing Jujutsu High.

Gojo steps forward. “Kusakabe is our best grade 1 sorcerer. He’s no fighter and a nice guy for the most part. He would be better to talk to lame country folk than I am...”

The elders remain silent. Kusakabe can feel the tension rising. “Gojo, you don’t have to--”

“I got too much other shit going on to do some boring mission in the countryside. If you send me instead of him then you guys are more senile than I thought.”

“Gojo!” Kusakabe quickly turned to the many shoji screens hiding the higher up’s bodies. The fact that he had no idea how they were reacting put his worry in overdrive.

One of the elders sighs, “We don’t feel like arguing with you on this. If you truly think Kusakabe of all people would fit this mission then so be it. But if he fails this, he will suffer the consequences. His mistakes are not on us.”

“When is it ever on you?” Gojo bounced back.

“Dismissed.” The other elder said.

Once they left the room, Gojo wraps his arms around Kusakabe shoulders and bellowed out his carefree laugh. “Don’t forget to bring me back some gifts. You owe me afterall.”

Kusakabe lowers his head away from the blue and moving white to face the cracked, washed solid grey.

His heart didn’t ache for Gojo. Tears didn’t trail down for him either. But the crumbs of memories made him appreciate the little explosive highlights he gave his boring, uneventful life. Like those popping candies that felt like fireworks in your mouth.

Yeah, Gojo was those popping rock candies.

Hakari holds the stack of yen as the various fights go on the multiple T.V. screens. Licking his thumb, he counts through the overwhelming amounts of money from his lucky bets. Although he’s been hanging around Jujutsu High more as of recent, lately everything has been about Gojo, his death and preparing for his funeral. All of the mope and serious mumbo jumbo was getting to Hakari, so he retreated to his fight club.

“When does it start?” Kirara asked, her pink french tips gently caressing his ashy blonde thick hair.

Hakari shrugs, “Donno. Seems like everyone is too depressed to talk n’ shit.”

Banding up the yen, Hakari montages the times Gojo left him feeling the fever he often seeks out of many.

Training him so hard he puked the rest of that day. Pushing him to go after Kirara and teasing him about his crush. Giving him shitty relationship advice. That one time they did that silly pose where they flashed their teeth then flexed their muscles for the camera. Cheating Gojo out of thousands of yen over a wrong move during Blackjack.

Hakari traces the numbers of the yen, smirking over the fun times that crazy man with the blindfold gave him.

Two streaks of damp wet are noticed when the wind sway past Ijichi’s jawline. Another dam of woe threatens to burst until he quickly wipes his sore undereye. He doesn’t even know why he’s getting so emotional over someone who and still--

Not sill. Damnit brain, get with the program.

Someone who used to bully him relentlessly ever since they were kids up until just a few weeks ago. To him, Gojo was nothing but...

Why are you still here? Need me to punch you to get the message?

You failed you’re driving test again? You can’t even do that? Go join a local circus at this point.

Shoko is out of your league, man. You don’t even have the balls to talk to her. How can you expect her to like you.

Ijichi, don’t piss me off.

A guy like that doesn’t deserve his tears. Nope, not at all...

The only person I trust to catch me if I fall is me and, um, Ijichi I think.

Wanna go out for some hot cocoa? It’s freezing today.

Well, well, well. You finally took Shoko out for dinner, huh? I guess the world is ending soon. So, how did it go?

Look, Ijichi may be a wet doormat but he’ll get things done for us and the students. C’mon guys, give him more credit than that.

Ijichi huffs a stuttered breath. Nope. Nope. No. No. No--

You’re the man I trust the most. That’s the only reason I need.

Ijichi breaks down. A new coat of tears staining his dry skin. His wrung heart soaked again with a grief too complex to explain.

Cigarette smoke brush past Shoko’s dry, dull brown hair. No tears had nor will shed for her childhood friend. She wasn’t a crier, even when she was little. When her father died a long time ago, not one tear dropped.

Instead, there was heavy rocks that magically weighed in her chest. A weight too heavy for her slim body to carry. A weight she dismisses publicly but can’t ignore in private. So, in true Shoko fashion, she grabs a pack of ciggies and breaks her 11th vow to never smoke again. Looking out on the campus field, her eyes strain with stress and lack of sleep. Her heavy heart was to blame this time.

“Can’t believe I’m being peer pressured right now.” Gojo says in a jokingly nervous tone.

Shoko lifts up the cigarette, unlit and waiting. “I’m tired of being “The Smoker Chick” of our school. It’s always so lonely smoking by myself.”

“Regardless if I smoke this or not, you’ll always be “The Smoker Chick”.”

“Gojo please.”

Gojo sighs and contemplates the nicotine stick itching to ruin someone’s lungs. He was far from being a goody too shoes but smoking wasn’t his thing.

“You’ll look so cool doing it. It’ll just be between us.” Shoko persisted.

Gojo rolled his eyes and snatched the cig from her. He placed it between his perfect, straight whites and waited a moment before turning to Shoko. Shoko stood in disbelief until Gojo snapped his fingers in front of her.

“Well hurry up and light it!” Shoko quickly digs in her pocket and lights the white end. It takes a few seconds for the cigarette to burn before smoke waves out of the tip. Gojo inhales then blows out a line of smoke effortlessly. Shoko gasps, “How did you not cough?”

“Duh! Look who you’re talking to.”

“Oh...yeah. Right.”

The juxtaposition of Gojo’s divine-like aura and angelic appearance partaking in the trashy, commoner act of smoking was a sight to behold. Almost like he gave a middle finger to his reputation as the strongest sorcerer and decided to be a normal dude for once. Shoko remembers judging Gojo’s bougie attitude during freshman year. She saw his snobbish nature a mile away before he even introduced himself to the class. One thing about Gojo though, he never failed to surprise her with his willingness to bring himself down from heaven.

Shoko is dazed by Gojo puffing out a few quick smokes before she is presented a hit.

“This shit tastes awful. How do you smoke these every thirty minutes?” Gojo barfed his tongue out.

Shoko giggles and breathes in the loud smoke that always hugs her brain. “Helps me stay numb to the bad stuff in the world.”

Although that was Gojo’s first and last time ever smoking, their budding friendship springs tenfold.

Shoko was back at that same spot they wasted their youth a decade and so ago. Only there was no arrogant, annoying but funny classmate to secretly cast her judgement on anymore. What only remains is a cigarette and a woman who had an uneventful life outside of being a sidekick to Gojo’s adventures.

She takes another hit, her tongue recoils at the cigarette taste. Now she gets what he meant back then.

The drizzling rain show no signs of giving nature a break from the drab, cold atmosphere. Megumi lays against his cushioned but firm mattress, his brain refusing to move his body. Tears quietly drip down to damp the grey sheets, adding to the collection of wet dots on his bed. The air condition overpowered the pitter-patter behind the window. The dull sound clearing his head to reflect his whirlwind called life these past couple months.

Countless memories punched his mind. There was so many foggy, forgettable memories of Gojo growing up. His attempt to give them meaning and higher resolution gave him a slight headache.

First his sister then--

Gojo.

He saw it while being a few feet away; Gojo’s blood forming small puddles, leaving his body with his life tagging along. The tired whisper of “My bad, Megumi.” a few moments before his eyes went still. He couldn’t even respond due to that curse going on about some dumb speech after almost getting both of them killed.

Sukuna.

Heat overwhelmed his body as soon as the name rung. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Red and blue hatred evolves into purple flames the longer it sits, burns, and melds. Never has he felt so much rage off a name alone.

Blood on his hands without the purpose and maliciousness to back it up. Sukuna was gone but the damage will never fade away. It’s here to overstay it’s welcome and haunt him forever.

“Good riddance.” Maki lets the intrusive thoughts travel to whispers.

Alone in the tidy bathroom, she struggles to create grief over someone that just annoyed her most of the time. The only one she believes deserved her grief was her sister, Mai.

Don’t get her wrong, she respected the hell out of Gojo’s strength. But the only solid memories she has of him is sending her favorite junky snacks whenever it was her time of the month and excused her from class that week.

Other than that, he was like a gnat that wouldn’t get out of your face. Loud for no reason. Failed to read the room. Teased her about Yuta, even during the time he went to Africa. Pestering her about dumb school shit. Yeah, that’s the Gojo she knows. Not this revisionist history almost everyone on campus is crafting for him now that the bastard is gone gone.

Yuta and Gojo had a closer relationship than others students, which unfortunately, makes him stricken with the depressing “Gojo is gone” epidemic too. But compared to him and the Jujutsu High students and staff, he actually has good reason to grieve.

It’s just too overwhelming to deal with for more than an hour. She had to get a breather from seeing someone she cares about so defeated emotionally. She seen Yuta cry before but not to this extent, not this long either.

Another round of sobs scolds her indifference to Gojo as they breakthrough the thick bathroom door. Maki looks down and moves her toes against the maroon bathroom rug to build back her patience and tolerance. Letting out a short breath, she pushes herself off the sink and keeps her stoic disposition.

A blank, emotionally collected expression that means well beneath the surface.

Yuta cries drag out as he lays on the floor. Maki shifts when she places a palm against his back, not sure how to handle his anguish and piercing sobs.

Thankfully, Yuta’s dorm was positioned to be isolated at the end of the hall. The other male student's dorms are spaced out from each other so he didn’t have any direct neighbors. But still, his mourning was loud enough to hear muffles across his front door.

“Yuta.” Maki said.

She didn’t know what to say exactly. She, like many other Zenins, weren’t the best when it came to nurturing. Even though she feels nothing about Gojo dying, she feels everything seeing her best friend so ...devastated.

Yuta looks up at her for a long moment, tears trailing by the second, lips quivering, throat tight with words he can no longer say to his sensei. He hugs her waist and cries into her chest.

“I used him, Maki. He’s gone and the first thing I did was use him. It should have been--”

“Stop. Don’t finish that. It shouldn’t have been anyone else instead. He did what he had to do for us to win.” Maki comforted. Yuta shakes his head, unable to accept logical reasoning.

“I-I-I...” He sucks in his breath after every attempt to speak. "I didn’t even get to say--”

Yuta hurls, his mouth seconds away from bursting open. Maki quickly goes for the bucket and puts it under his head. He pukes for the third time today, projecting out yesterday's lunch and dinner that he ate too little of. Maki sighs and pats his back to get him to vomit it all out. Ever since he returned back to his original body, Yuta has been puking whenever he thinks about the most fucked-up stunt he ever pulled.

Once Yuta was done, he sobs tamed down to a string of lingering cries. He didn’t bother to change his shirt or wipe the corners of his mouth. Maki grabbed a tissue and cleaned up the small bits of vomit around his mouth. She heads back into the bathroom to clean out the half-filled blue bucket yet again.

Looking up, he sees a framed picture of him and Gojo during his time in Africa. Gojo had him in a headlock whilst making him laugh about something he hates that he can’t remember. Yuta heart swells, the picture clearly being taken off guard by Miguel. Another wave of sorrow drowns him the longer he stares at Gojo in his white dress shirt, sunglasses, alive and well...

Yuta face scrunches, a fresh sting of tears falling down. He lays down on the cold floor, allowing the grief to lure him to sleep.

Yuji rubs over his face, a stubborn migraine pinching his thoughts. Snot leaking to tease the tip of his tongue. Eyes in desperate need of a bottle of eyedrops to make up for the tiny streams it released the past few hours. His mind was active but his body was lazy, lying on his bed through the whole morning. But he had to get this eulogy done, if nothing else.

“He was unserious when things were tense. He trolled...whether you were a man, woman, or child. He’d... He’d... He-- dammit!”

He turns on his stomach and picks up the paper again. He reads over the line again, then two more times to write it on his memory.

“Hell, he’d even walk in your dorm to check on you only to leave with your house slippers moments later.”

Again.

“Hell, he’d even walk in your dorm to check on you only to leave with your house slippers moments later.” Yuji groans.

“Don’t say hell, that might not fly well.” He scolded himself.

Yuji sets the paper on his nightstand so his brain can have a break. He read over his eulogy so many times that his mind is starting to slip with the constructed presentation he went over since last night. It doesn’t help that throughout this practicing, he’s been crying whenever he gets lost in thought about Gojo-sensei. Maybe he needs to cool down a bit.

On the edge of his window sits one of Gojo’s many blindfolds. Yuji reaches over with minimal effort and caress the fabric. Black cotton comforts his fingertips while Yuji gives this simple thing a soft gaze. The very first thing he noticed about that strange looking man on that life changing night.

Scenes of warm and fun premiere from his memory bank, each starring Gojo sensei. Smiles to laughter with jokes, ease, and good food in between.

Sensei steals a fry from Nobara’s--

Sliced open. Blood dripping down white baggy pants and black combat slippers. Torso on the ground. Harsh ice blue still yet soft. Live and unskippable. Live with no rewinds. Sukuna’s joy celebrated in the wrong body. No more rough ruffles on the head. No more boring lessons elevated by high-energy humor and multiple tangents of his glory days.

Yuji winces and attempts to rub out the migraine and horrible memories intruding the good. There is a knock on the door. “You’re not naked are you?” Nobara voice is heard from behind the door.

Yuji shakes his head as if Nobara could see. “No.”

Nobara walks in, remnants of rain dripping from her raincoat. She had a blank face, her usual energy turned down a few notches. “Hey.”

Yuji barely lifts up a wave, still smoothing out his nerves. “Hi.”

“So everyone is either busy or depressed so you’re my last hope around here.” Nobara confessed. Yuji lifted up the eulogy, “Can’t. Too busy.”

Nobara sucks her teeth then observes Yuji’s face. “You look like you’re more in the too depressed camp than the too busy one.”

“Yeah, that too.”

Nobara walks over and grabs the eulogy. Yuji lays back down, “Since you’re here, I need to clarify one last thing for my speech. Did sensei buy you those tampon things or those purple diapers?”

Nobara stops reading and shoots him a look. “Why are you broadcasting my period for the whole Jujutsu High to hear?”

“It’s supposed to be one of the many things Gojo did for us as students. I couldn’t think of anything else, cut me some slack.”

Nobara sighs, “He used to get me pain meds and a bunch of tampons whenever my cramps would go into overdrive. And it’s called pads, not purple diapers.”

Yuji nodded and formed a curve of a smile. “Thanks, Kugisaki.”

“I could go and hang out with some girls I know from other schools but it looks like the rain is getting worse. What time is the funeral anyway?”

“It’s in four hours, around two I think.”

Nobara nodded, “Guess I’ll just go back to my dorm and sulk like everyone else. See you later.” She gets off to leave. “Oh, save me a seat too.”

Yuji nodded with a frown, not having enough optimism left to give fake smiles. “Sure, see you.”

Alone again, Yuji picks up the worn white sheet with creases and wrinkles. Headache tamed, he decides to recite again. You can never be too polished.

“Gojo-sensei was a...”

Todo sheds single strings of tears while many games of ping pong against Gojo replays in his mind. Besides Mei Mei, Gojo was his common partner in his favorite sport. Now that he’s gone, he had no one to slam “cheating” allegations to in an intense game during the humid, long summer afternoons.

Ui Ui sniffles as he looks down, avoiding the blunt reality of the casket up ahead. He wasn’t the biggest acquaintance of Gojo but a few moments of the past built a friendly nature between them. His briberies of fried bananas to get direct access to Mei Mei. Being a one-man audience (he slept through his blindfold) for spoken word poetry he wrote about his sister when no one else bothered to hear. Gojo never failed to match his childish energy when other adults or big kids were “too busy” to entertain him. The boy’s quiet sniffles prompted a head rub from his older sibling.

The pointy ends of Mei Mei’s red nails pierce through her left palm. Her right palm comforts the juvenile emotions of her baby brother. Her face remains calm but blue fire bursts in her heart.

1.5 Million yen. All that rich fuck had to do is pay me 1.5 million yen back and what does he do? Fuck around and die. Hmph! He probably died to cheap his way out of his debt. Damn you Satoru Gojo. Damn him.

Ino stood with his ski-mask firm against his chest, looking forward with respect. Gojo was more like an older brother than a co-worker. Despite the pain he feels, he refuses to look away from the body.

Momo stands next to Miwa, people watching the many guests standing in line to pay their personal respects to the body. As soon as she came, she made sure to grab the nearest seat and keep her head down. Dead bodies always freaked her out. People always assumed she be fine with that kind of stuff since she gives “witchy” vibes but no way. It was the way the body just sat there, all sense of spark or fire vanished. Also, that silly fear that a dead body will raise and walk towards her. God, she hopes they close the casket soon.

Kirara hugs on to Hakari’s arm as she quietly weeps to herself. Hakari wasn’t the “comforting” type but all she needs from him was his arm and shoulder for support. During the time it was her vs. the conservative Jujutsu World when she decided to transition, Gojo was one of the few who had her back. She has his support from the moment she began dressing feminine all the way to the moment she began going by Kirara. It wasn’t a problem for Gojo to call her by her true name right away since he thought her dead name was forgettable as hell.

Sure, Gojo wasn’t perfect and had his moments where his views were a bit dated, but he was willing to own up to his mistakes and learn for the better. She’ll never forget the stereotypical girly shit he would buy her because he didn’t know her personal taste that well, not that she even knew at the time either. Corny gifts and unconditional support are why her mascara and eyeliner were messy all around her under eye.

Most attendees dressed in purple while others sulked in black. Ages from teen to end of the road mingled together within a pot of grief, visible respect, and reservation. Some felt internal relief that the bastard was gone. Some cried harder than they would if their actual father died.

Gojo lied still in a polished classic black casket, wearing a blank emotion that he would hate everyone to see. His cut, pieced back by Shoko, was barely noticeable. If you weren’t given the details of his death, you’d probably would question how he died. The line to view his body was beginning to reach its end, preparing everyone to mentally checkout for an hour and a half.

A collected Megumi stared at Gojo in a distracted haze. It was stupid, but he felt like Gojo was playing some sick prank and he’s going to pop out and yell some stupid shit any second now. The longer he stares at the body’s lack of movement, the confirmation rings hollow in his mind. Thankfully Nobara and Yuji kept to themselves, because he’s not in the mood to make idle small talk to take their mind off the obvious.

Yuta’s sorrow could be heard faintly throughout the large quiet space but not loud enough to distract from the ceremony. His tears took all of the moisture from his face, leaving him paler than usual. Messy black hair clashed with his neat tux that took forever to fit him in. It was a miracle for Maki to get him in that, let alone bring him here.

It was a tough sight to see as Yuta was now regarded as the strongest sorcerer of the upcoming generation. Yuta usually had a friendly, shy demeanor around his peers while being focused and stoic during battle. It was rare to see such a rock morph into glass, his pieces laid for the whole institution to see.

Yuta could care less, the repercussions of his public image being in an awkward, pitiful state wasn’t even a thought in the thick of his pain. He could repair that with time and his rapid growing reputation. This is the last time he’ll ever see Gojo-sensei and his heart can’t take it.

Throughout most of the service, Yuji idly stares at Gojo-sensei’s memorial card. A portrait of him wearing a bright, goofy smile placed above the December 7th, 1989 - December 25th, 2018 felt like visual whiplash. Yet, he kept staring at it until a microphoned call of his name lifts his head up.

“Itadori-kun, are you still going to read your eulogy for us today?” Ijichi directs, slightly confused of Yuji’s zoned out state.

“Oh, yeah, for sure. Just...” Yuji grabs the piece of paper from Nobara’s lap and scoots through the aisle. He walks up to the podium, feeling stares and invisible opinions hover over his back. He gently grabs the mic from Ijichi and sets his eulogy across his face.

Looking up, the stares feel more intense as the rows and rows of straight-faces set social anxiety in his stomach. It was weird, he usually had no problem speaking publicly to an audience, he was a social butterfly after all. Funerals love throwing everyone’s vibe off, even a generally confident one like his, he assumes.

“Um, hi guys—hi everyone.”

He quickly goes over the first line to trigger his trained memory to make the speech sound fluent and genuine. He prays to whoever is listening to not let his mind go blank at a time like this.

“Gojo sensei was a goofball.”

The silence screams for a moment as the opening line registers in everyone’s minds. A few chuckle, most keep their solemn unimpressed looks, while others are not even on this planet. Yuji clears his throat.

“He was unserious when things were tense. He trolled you whether you were a man, woman, or child. Hell, he’d even walk in your dorm to check on you, only to leave with your house slippers moments later.” Many students laughed at the last comment. Yuji looks up and chuckles along, a confidence block stacked.

“He wasn’t a teacher who sugar-coated things, his words were more salt-coated. It stings from being so blunt, but it was needed in order for you to have more flavor.” Yuji takes a quick scan and sees that more people are in tuned with his words. Second block stacked.

“Growing up, I only had my grandfather for family. So while I kinda knew what it was like to have a dad, I spent a good portion of my life taking care of him during his last years so I forgot what it felt like. Gojo reminded me of that feeling.”

“He gave life advice outside of teaching. He would take us out for ice cream after missions. One time, he bought those weird tampon things and sea salt caramel ice cream for Nobara during her...y’know.” Nobara gives him a look after he shoots a nervous chuckle her way.

“He would walk Megumi’s dogs on Saturday mornings. He’d crack a joke in sign that only Inumaki-senpai would understand. He was tough on me, Hakari-senpai, and Okkotsu-senpai during training because he wanted us to take advantage of the potential we couldn’t see. He was...”

Yuji looks up to see Yuta staring at him with teary but curious eyes, desperate to know what he’s about to lay on the crowd next. Yuji directs a small, sympathetic smile at him then looks down.

“He was our constant entertainment during the long, boring hours of our jobs. He unlocked the laughter and ease that we often hid to condition ourselves so we could endure the next mission. He made hell feel like home. He was our Gojo-sensei when the world just saw him as Gojo Satoru.”

Tears don’t hold back on some folks faces. What they expected to be a generic but appropriate eulogy turned out to be an off-beat, heartfelt, kinda corny eulogy written by a dude who loved his teacher. A rare case of a dude who isn’t clever with words evoking more emotions out of a crowd more than any writer ever could.

“I’m sure some of you struggle to move forward with this loss. Some of you may simply be here to pay respects and move on with their lives preferably without sensei. Or you may be like me, someone just going through the motions and may not know what to do, say, think, or feel. But Gojo-sensei is gone and all we can do is reflect on the echos of his existence.”

Yuji lets out a deep breath, satisfied to have gotten through his eulogy, the weight off his shoulders. His eyes flickers to see many nodding at his last statement. He scans through his last sentence and nods to himself to bring it home.

“Thank you, Gojo-sensei, for being the goofball with the blindfold and thank you all for listening.” Everyone except the elders clapped for Yuji, moved by his honest words and pure approach. Yuji didn’t register the applause nor Ijichi’s transition to the next segment since his heart was pounding against his left chest.

There was another wrinkle added to the eulogy when he goes to sits back down. He stares at his knees to contemplate his social triumph. Nobara looks at him and pats his upper back while Megumi simply gives him a blank look, jailing his “Good job.”. Yuji breathes deep through his nose and gives himself little nods, back in his own world to process those past few minutes.

The rest of the service goes smoothly, time moving quicker due to Yuji black flashing through the seemingly unbreakable ice. After the main service, many students and staff agreed to meet at the school yard where the funeral bonfire repast will be held.

While Gojo was being cremated, the bonfire turned out to be a lively celebration of life after so much grief wrung at the service. Snow trinkled down amongst the light conversations, coping dark humor, taste bud-rising food and drinks, and tear stains. Taking a break entertaining his peers, Yuji looked up to admire the floating ice. His irises went up and down, low right and high left, no different from when he saw snow as a kid. Laughter and smiles were behind Yuji, but all he can feel was the snow nurturing the child he locked away.

Ashes leave out of the hands of many, gliding above the flowers revived by spring. Cherry blossom petals dance with Gojo in the gentle wind. The early days of April was always Gojo’s favorite time of the year, it was only fitting that his departure was during its peak.

The new year of Jujutsu High begins without the blindfolded goofball to kick it off with overwhelming enthusiasm and junior high-level jokes. Second years, third years, and even the students that graduated are moving forward after months of mental detours. Now, there was a fresh set of first years oblivious to the horrors and traumas that awaits them. It’s a pity they won’t have that funny man in the sunglasses to help them endure their next twelve months of hell.

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regulationhottie7905 · 23 hours ago

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When I first watched ST, Mike’s, “it’s not my fault you don’t like girls!” immediately struck me as him projecting. Like anyone, I’ve read a lot of analysis and I’ve seen a lot of takes, but let me explain mine.

In my opinion, until s4, there’s more evidence to support the idea that MIKE is the one who doesn’t like girls, rather than Will. He only has 3 close (guy) friends. He never remarks on girls he finds pretty, he shows zero interest in any girl but El (which I honestly think is just him trying to hold on to a veneer of heterosexuality). In s2, Will, Lucas, and Dustin wants to be friends with Max- it’s Mike who dislikes her.

I think Mike and Will have always had a different kind of friendship. Even if they don’t have the right words for it, it’s kind of like the codependent homoerotic teenage friendships people make memes about. I mean, honestly, Mike won’t properly apologize to his own girlfriend but he runs with his tail between his legs to apologize to his ‘best friend’. Mike has always known he was Different, but he didn’t have the support system Will has, or the time to try and figure it out.

In s3, Mike is going headfirst into his relationship with El. He’s copying everyone around him and doing what he thinks he should do, which (imo) is why he spends SO much time making out with El (living up to the red blooded American male fantasy) than establishing a genuine relationship with her. Something about it is Off, but I don’t know if he’s even admitted that to himself. And Will made him stop (with the “day without girls”). Will made him hang out with him, and Will made Something Happen.

They’ve always had Something between them, but verbalizing it is too dangerous in a town like Hawkins in the 80s. They just knew that they were… different. Best friends in a way Lucas and Dustin weren’t. But Mike crossed the line during the fight (“it’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”) and after he says it, you can see him pull back. He felt guilty and weird and he didn’t know why, and he felt defensive and felt like he was backed into a corner so he said it. Will was being earnest and honest in a way he wasn’t ready for- but he doesn’t know that. He just knows that he felt sick and needed Will to stop. So he blamed Will. Because it’s Will’s being weird, right? Will is the one who’s making him feel weird, because HE’S the one being weird about it.

“It’s not MY fault YOU don’t like girls!” As much as we like to joke about it (Mike accusing Will of being gay whenever they argue) a lot of byler fights make a lot of sense in this vein, and I think it’s a really interesting insight into his character imo. Will is being honest and genuine in a way Mike isn’t ready for. Pushing Will away and attacking him in such a vitriolic ways really ensures that Mike’s masculinity is protected while Will is shamed (in Mike’s mind, at least.) The Byers moved to Cali so soon that the events of the rain fight were never truly discussed.

Mike REALLY hurt Will and I think that’s why he didn’t reach out- because he didn’t know what to say. He avoided his feelings and thinking about Will as much as possible and wrote El letters. But seeing Will at the airport changed something. He’s taller. He’s grown. He’s confident now (I’ll get back to that later). And when he sees him, Mike’s stomach does something it’s never done before. And he doesn’t know why. But despite that, he goes to hug his girlfriend. He doesn’t hug Will.

I firmly believe that Mike is gay (again, imo. Bi Mike people, ily, I love ur analysis, ur cool asf, this is just my opinion). I don’t think he’s ever felt a genuine attraction to El. He’s mimicking his parents and his friends and comics and fairytales- he will be her knight in shining armor, her Superman. With El, it’s friendship and the anxiety of a facade, but he mistakes it for the butterflies of a crush. With Will, it’s the only time he feels something REAL. I just don’t think he’s used to feeling genuine feelings, especially powerful feelings (let’s not forget he’s a teenager, the hormones are RAGING) and while he likes it (even though he has trouble admitting it… I think he gets better as s4 goes on though) it’s overwhelming and scary. I think he interprets those feelings as some kind of threat (especially considering that he’s been bullied before) or at least, he subconsciously does.

#byler #my byler analysis #byler analysis #byler brainrot #mike wheeler analysis #mike wheeler

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thewardenisonthecase · 2 days ago

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Four Years

Alistair x F!Cousland

Read on AO3

Summary: Alistair writes a letter to his love.

A/N: this is based on the @loveofdragonage prompt of A Lifetime of Devotion.

word count: 803

Today marked four years since Anneliese had gone out to look for a cure.

“I won’t be long gone.” She had told him. “Besides, I’ll keep in touch.”

It had been months since the last time he heard of her. The crown on Alistair’s head was heavier than ever. He had managed for this long without her but for much more would he have to suffer?

Eamon had told him he needed to move on and accept that Anneliese had been lost. Alistair refused. He knew his wife well - she could not be dead.

And even if she was, he would not turn on his vows. Years before, when they were young and with an Archdemon to defeat, he told her that she was the first and only woman he would lay with, if it depended on him.

Alistair prayed more than he did when he lived in the Chantry. He’d beg for the Maker to keep her safe, for her to return to his side. He did not think the Maker was listening to him, however.

When day’s like today happened, when he was feeling particularly mellow, Alistair would write letters. He did not know where Anneliese was and thus, he could not send them to her, but they helped alleviate his feelings.

Sitting down, he began to write on a piece of paper.

“It’s been four years since you’ve left and I keep thinking about the day we met.

Duncan had sent me a letter in advance about you, the recruit from Highever. He hadn’t said much, and by the time the two of you arrived, I’d forgotten most of it.

‘Nothing like a Blight to bring people together’ was the first thing I ever said to you. You had a haunted expression on your face, and yet, I saw a small smirk on your face and you told me you understood. No one had ever liked my jokes before you.

I didn’t know then how much you would mean to me. I never expected to fall in love, much less to have that reciprocated.

There was a moment when I thought you hated me. After all, with the way I lashed out after Connor’s death, I wouldn’t blame you if you did not care for me again. But then you returned my mother’s locket to me and I wondered how could you show kindness to someone who had just said the most awful things to you?

I felt guilty. You had lost your family, your home and Ostagar, and there I was, adding to that burden - either by crying about Duncan or by questioning your decisions, even when I was the one who put you in that position.

I said that then and I’ll say it again now: I thought I was fooling myself. How could someone like you - strong, charming, beautiful and smart - fall for a poor sucker like me? And yet, despite it being the worst time ever, you loved me back.

The face you made when I gave you that rose…I won’t forget it. Just as I’ll never forget your smile and laughter when I made a stupid joke. Or how incredibly hot you looked whenever you were on the battlefield. Or the smell of your hair, or the feel of your hands against my skin.

I’ll never forget the vows we made to each other on our wedding day. How long has it been since then? Ten years? Not a day has gone by where you were not on my mind.

It’s been four years, Anneliese. I don’t know how your search fares, but please, come back home.

You were always a fighter. If someone told you there was no other way, you would find one. You always found a way for us to live. But I have made my peace.

We won’t get forever, my love. Such is the plight of the Wardens.

We won’t grow old. We are beyond children at this rate. Perhaps one day we’ll have to make our way to the Deep Roads. But I can bear all that as long as I have you at my side.

Please. Anneliese. I beg of you. Come back to me”

A few tears had stained the words on the paper. He wiped his face with a handkerchief - the one she had embroidered with a rose. Silently, he folded the letter and placed it on top of the pile with all the other unsent letters and he made himself ready to face the day.

Anneliese would not want him to give up hope. She especially would not want to stop living because of her.

‘If she comes back and sees this country in a mess, she’ll feed me to the darkspawn’ Alistair thought and then shook his head.

When.

When she comes back.

#love of DA 2025 #alistair x cousland #alistair theirin #aliwarden #anneliese cousland #king alistair #queen cousland #hero of ferelden #HOF #warden cousland

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vortexbloom · 21 hours ago

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Loki as your Lover (Headcanons)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Fandom: Marvel

Warnings: None

☆ ────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── ☆ ────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── ☆

Masterlist - Genshin Impact

Moodboards - Genshin Impact

Masterlist - Honkai Star Rail

Boycott List

☆ ────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── ☆ ────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── ☆

English isn‘t my first/native language, so there might be misspellings etc.

I do NOT own any Characters

Also, this was made for the amazing person & writer ( ˘ ³˘) ♡ @lavandulawrites

Have fun reading this :D

Possessive but Subtly

Loki isn’t overly jealous, but he has his ways of making it known that you belong to him. A whispered "Mine" in your ear or an illusion of himself wrapped around you in public does the trick.

Slowly to Trust, Deeply Loyal

It takes time for him to open up, but once he does, he is fiercely devoted. Betrayal from you would shatter him.

Old Norse Romantic

He may be a trickster, but Loki has a poetic side. He whispers ancient Asgardian verses in your ear when you least expect it.

Acts Unbothered, but Melts Inside

He pretends to be indifferent when you touch him, but if you brush your fingers through his hair or kiss his temple, he’s weak.

Intimidating Protector

If someone so much as looks at you the wrong way, Loki won’t hesitate to weave illusions or whisper fear into their mind.

Cuddles in the Dark

Loki prefers showing affection in private. He wraps himself around you at night, tangling his limbs with yours.

Talks in His Sleep

Sometimes, he murmurs in Old Norse while dreaming, and if you ask him about it, he gets embarrassed.

Loves Neck Kisses

His weak spot. Kiss him there, and he’ll lose his usual composed self.

Teases but Can’t Take It

Loki loves teasing you but gets flustered if you turn the tables. A single well-placed compliment about his beauty? He’s done for.

Has Nightmares About Losing You

He’s lost so much; sometimes, he dreams of losing you too. He’ll hold onto you tighter those nights.

Vows to Keep You Safe

Loki has a habit of self-sacrifice, but if you ever get hurt because of him, he’ll never forgive himself.

Tries to Push You Away in Fear

At some point, he might try to distance himself, thinking you deserve better. It takes effort to convince him that you love all of him, even the broken parts.

This man deserves more Fics/Stories etc. :(

Have a good day/night/evening/morning/afternoon ☼꥟☽

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paishoeyeroh · 14 hours ago

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Bearer And The Bound

☰ Pairings: Sukuna x Reader, Slight Megumi x Reader

✧ Summary: When you stumble upon an ancient ring in an abandoned house, you unknowingly bind yourself to a cruel, powerful demon who thrives on torment. Trapped in a reluctant bond and forced to navigate a shared existence, Sukuna plots your downfall while you fight to survive his sadistic games. But as your fates entwine and secrets of Sukuna’s dark past begin to unravel, the lines between enemy and ally start to blur.

✧ Tags: True form Sukuna, Enemies to Lovers, Dark Romance, Demonic Bonds, Heavy Angst, Slow Burn, Sukuna is Bad at Feelings, Possessive Sukuna, Tension, Forced Proximity, Eventual Smut, College/University AU, More Tags To Be Added Later

✧ Status: Ongoing

✧ You can also read it on AO3

☰ CHAPTER EIGHT: Entangled

Chapter Summary: New truths come to light. Some are harder to accept than others.

☰ Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

After trudging through the door, you drop your bag with a dull thud and collapse onto the couch, every aching limb heavy with exhaustion. It isn’t just physical either—your mind feels sluggish, bogged down by endless lectures, assignments, and the quiet hum of thoughts you’ve been trying to ignore all day. You close your eyes for just a moment, letting the familiar stillness of your apartment wrap around you, a stark contrast to the busy chaos of your day.

All you want is to sink into another world for a while, to escape into the pages of the book you picked up earlier in the week. It’s been waiting for you on the coffee table, its glossy cover glinting faintly in the evening light, promising the kind of distraction you desperately need. You reach for it, hoping it will be enough to relax your mind.

Sukuna lowers himself onto the couch beside you with an ease that speaks to how natural this arrangement has become. Neither of you says a word, the quiet stretching comfortably between you as you lose yourself in the words on the page. Minutes drift by, with the stillness unbroken.

Suddenly, he moves closer, his leg pressing against yours as he leans into your space. You try to focus on the book in your hands, but the words become meaningless as your awareness narrows to the space you now share with him. Your breathing falters, suddenly too loud in your ears as you force yourself to remain still, to act unaffected.

He leans in further, his breath grazing your cheek. The proximity sends your heart beating a bit harder against your ribcage, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, gravelly, and uncomfortably close.

“What’s the book about?” He asks, his tone casual and curious. His sudden intrigue piques your interest; he normally seemed like he couldn’t care less about the books you read, once referring to the act as “wasting hours staring at ink on paper.” Now he suddenly cares? What gives?

You clear your throat, stumbling over your words, subtly shifting in your seat. “It’s… uh, it’s about a girl who gets transported to an alternate universe. She’s trying to figure out how to get home.”

Sukuna nods, his eyes lingering on the page as if he’s actually interested. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he stays where he is, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. It’s too much. After a few more moments, when it becomes clear Sukuna won’t move away on his own, you snap the book closed, your breath catching as you search for something to say.

“Do you want to watch a show or something?” You blurt out, your voice sounding far more strained than you’d like. You just need something—anything—to break this awkward tension.

Sukuna glances at you, confusion written all over his face. “You're actually asking me if I want to watch something? You usually just turn it on and I deal with it.”

You fidget, unsure of how to respond, so you just shrug and turn on the tv, settling on something mindless. After a few moments, you sink into the side of the couch, letting its soft cushions cradle and relax you. Sukuna is still close, a steady hum in the background of your awareness, though he’s thankfully no longer crowding your space. Your legs stretch out awkwardly, feet brushing the floor as you try to find a position that feels comfortable. The tension between you has faded, but it lingers just enough to make your movements hesitant.

As the show flickers on the screen, casting a bright, shifting glow across the room, you finally begin to relax. You shift onto your side, nestling your head against the armrest of the couch. Your legs draw up beneath you at first, keeping a careful distance from Sukuna, but as your body grows heavier with fatigue, your resolve slips. Somewhere between one scene and the next, your feet stretch out, pressing against his thigh.

A sharp hiss cuts through the low murmur of the TV. Sukuna’s hand finds your ankle, his fingers firm yet unhurried as they curl around it. His sudden touch seeps through your skin, causing unwarranted goosebumps to rise along the flesh of your leg.

“Do you take pleasure in tormenting me with your ice-cold toes?” His voice is dry, edged with mock irritation.

You murmur a sleepy apology, the words barely audible, but you don’t move your feet. You tell yourself it’s just the exhaustion holding you in place, but even as the seconds pass, you find no desire to shift away.

Sukuna doesn’t push you off, either. He lets out an exasperated sigh, mumbling to himself under his breath, but his hand remains where it is, heavy and warm. The pressure of his palm is oddly comforting. The silence stretches between you, soft and steady, broken only by the faint hum of the television.

As the show drones on, your eyelids grow heavy, sleep tugging at the edges of your consciousness. Just as you begin to drift, a faint, deliberate motion stirs against your skin, and your eyes snap open, the haze of exhaustion momentarily giving way to sharp awareness.

Sukuna’s thumb has begun to move in slow, measured circles just above your ankle, the rhythm steady and unrelenting. It’s a touch that demands your attention, quiet yet impossible to ignore. When you risk a glance downward without moving your head, you’re half-expecting to meet his gaze. But you don’t. Instead, you see his eyes remain fixed on the screen, his face composed and giving nothing away. It’s as if he’s unaware of the motion—or perhaps he’s fully aware and simply doesn’t care to stop.

Your heart flutters, a quiet ache blooming in your chest as you lie still, unwilling to break the fragile thread connecting you. The rhythmic motion of his thumb lulls you deeper into the pull of sleep, each circle a soft tether drawing you further away from reality. As the last of your thoughts scatter, his touch is the final thing you register before sleep claims you.

You wake some time later, not sure exactly when you fell asleep. The room is silent now, which means the television must’ve gotten turned off at some point. You’re about to open your eyes, but before you can, you feel a peculiar movement by your head.

It feels like something is brushing lightly against your hair, pulling it away from your face. You wrinkle your nose, the haze of sleep still clinging to you, making your mind feel foggy. A large hand places itself on the shoulder that isn’t currently digging into the cushions underneath you, softly attempting to shake you awake. You blink your eyes open, the sight of Sukuna crouched in front of you coming into focus. That movement you felt before, the one in your hair, had that been… him?

His expression shifts as he looks at you—no longer distant, his guard lowered just enough to reveal something almost akin to concern.

“You can’t sleep out here. You’ll be sore in the morning.”

You mumble something unintelligible in response, the words too soft and slurred to hold any meaning. Sleep still clings to you, urging you to sink back into its soft embrace, and your heavy eyelids begin to flutter back closed once again, fully intending on ignoring him. But Sukuna doesn’t relent.

With a quiet sigh, he shakes his head. Before you can melt back into the cushions, his hand slips beneath you, strong and steady, pushing you up with ease. The heat from his palm radiates through the fabric of your shirt as he helps you sit upright, his movements slow and deliberate, as if careful not to jostle you too much.

“You should go to bed,” he says, his voice quiet. “Come on.”

The fog of sleep begins to lift, your body responding to his request despite your lingering exhaustion. With a low groan, you push yourself to your feet, your legs trembling slightly beneath you like they’ve forgotten how to carry you after being curled up on the couch for so long.

“Why don’t you just sit on my bed if you need somewhere to hang out for the night?” You mutter, rubbing your eyes. That must be the reason he woke you, right? He doesn’t answer right away, watching you for a moment, looking as though he’s searching for the right words to say. Then, he stands, taking a step back.

“Go on now.”

You nod, too tired to say anything further, and head toward your bedroom.

As you slip beneath the covers, your body melts into the familiar comfort of your bed. Yet, even as sleep begins to tug at you once more, your thoughts remain tethered to him. The memory of Sukuna’s touch lingers, gentle and uncharacteristically soft, like a whisper against your skin. Had he truly touched you like that, pulled your hair back from your face—almost tenderly—thinking you were asleep? That you wouldn’t notice?

The thought brings an unexpected warmth, curling in your chest like a secret you’re not quite ready to tell. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as sleep comes to claim you again, and you drift into the quiet hope that it wasn’t just your imagination.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You wake early the next morning, with last night still lingering in your mind, somewhat vivid in its intimacy—Sukuna’s hand on your leg, the gentle brush of his fingers against your hair. A part of you feels strangely reassured, though you’re not sure why or of what. The memory pulls at you in ways you don’t fully understand, stirring something both comforting and deeply confusing.

You begin to dress as you try to decipher your feelings. Maybe it’s just the bond—the fact that you’re forced to be near him so often—that’s making you feel this way. Maybe it’s nothing more than the proximity you’re forced to be in. You brush the thoughts aside as you tug on your shirt, stepping into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

As you busy yourself with gathering the ingredients, your mind drifts again, pivoting from Sukuna’s touch last night to something you haven’t thought about much at all recently. Your dreams of his past. It’s the way he had brushed your hair aside, you realize, that pulls you back there. The motion was so careful, so deliberate, it mirrored that moment when his hand grazed her cheek with that same tenderness. The image flickers to life in your mind, unbidden—the way his fingers lingered, the softness in his eyes, so unlike the Sukuna who now lounges in your living room. It leaves an ache in your chest, the memory clinging to you like a shadow, teasing you with its quiet intimacy. You can’t help but wonder why your mind insists on pulling you back there, as though it holds some secret you’ve yet to uncover.

While you’re making pancakes, you catch Sukuna watching you, and though that’s not unusual, this time, there’s something distant in his gaze. His four eyes are focused, almost contemplative, as though he’s not really watching you, but rather lost in thought. You wonder, for what feels like the millionth time, what he’s thinking about. Does he ever think about his past? About her? Certainly he must. Would it have been possible for you to dream of his memories if he himself had forgotten them?

After you’ve eaten and taken a shower, you find yourself lounging on the couch, aimlessly scrolling through your phone. The flickering images blur together until something stops you—a photo of a dimly lit corridor, the soft glow of lanterns casting long shadows along polished wooden floors. It’s a photo that links to an article about traditional architecture, but it’s not the subject itself that gives you pause.

It’s the way the light falls, the quiet stillness of the scene. It reminds you of the dream—of standing tense and expectant, waiting for Sukuna in a space that felt both sacred and oppressive. The memory of him, of the way he had moved toward Uraume with deliberate care, flickers in your mind, uninvited. You can’t help but wonder again about the woman, about the life they had before everything seemingly fell apart.

The curiosity begins to gnaw at you once again. You had pushed the thoughts aside for most of the day, but by the time the sun starts to set lower in the sky, you just can’t ignore it anymore. The questions that have been simmering at the back of your mind rise to the surface, loud and insistent, refusing to be tamped down any longer.

Who was that girl?

What was her relationship with Sukuna really like?

And most importantly,

What happened between them?

By the time you’ve gotten comfortable in bed for the night, the pull to know more has become too strong to resist. You sit up in bed, staring at the blank screen of your laptop for a moment before sighing deeply. You pull your laptop into your lap, the screen lighting up in the dim room. It’s time to find answers. Answers Sukuna will never give you himself. You type the woman’s name into the search bar, looking through the resulting websites and articles.

There’s nothing.

After hours of searching, you haven’t found anything about Sukuna’s lover. There’s not a single page that mentions her name or likeness, and you feel stuck, frustrated at the lack of information. You were worried this would happen, even the information on Sukuna himself had been scarce when you’d searched his name only weeks ago.

How else can you quell this overwhelming sense of curiosity? You know you can’t search for information in public, not with Sukuna’s always following you, always lingering close by. There’s no way you could go to a library or a museum without him trailing behind. And what would you tell him if he asked what you were doing? He’s too smart; he’d surely catch on eventually.

Sitting in bed, your laptop balanced on your knees, you stare at the screen, feeling helpless. Then, an idea strikes you.

You don’t have to be the one to go out searching for information, someone else can do it.

Your thoughts immediately drift to Megumi.

He’s the only one who knows about Sukuna, and you trust him more than anyone else. If anyone could help you dig deeper into the mystery of Sukuna’s past, it’s him. But there’s a knot of anxiety in your chest from the idea. What if Sukuna finds out? More importantly, what if Megumi refuses?

Your desperation to know the truth ultimately overrides the shame of reaching out to Megumi over something so seemingly trivial, so you pull up your conversation with him on your phone and type out a message.

Hey, can I ask you to help me with something?

Megumi’s reply comes minutes later.

Everything okay?

Yes, everything is fine, I just need a favor. It’s about Sukuna.

There’s a longer pause this time, and you can almost feel Megumi’s concern through the screen.

What do you need?

A small sigh of relief escapes you as you read his response. He’s willing to help, even if he’s still wary of Sukuna. You hesitate as you contemplate how you’re going to word your question, your fingers hovering over the screen. How do you explain this without sounding ridiculous?

So I’ve been trying to find out more about Sukuna’s past. Specifically about his, like, former lover I guess, but I can’t find anything online, and I can’t exactly go searching in person, since Sukuna’s always following me around. I was wondering… could you look into it for me?

Another pause. Your heart pounds in your ears as you wait for his response.

His former lover?

Yeah. It’s a long story, but basically I had a couple of dreams about her a while ago, and I think she’s important. Her name is Uraume.

You bite your lip, worried that you sound crazy, but Megumi responds quickly.

Okay… I’ll see what I can find. Give me a couple of days

You feel a rush of gratitude, your anxiety easing at his reply.

Thank you. I really appreciate it, Megumi

No problem. I’ll let you know what I find.

As you set your phone down, you feel a tiny twinge of guilt at what you’ve just done. You’re asking Megumi to look into something deeply personal about Sukuna, something you know he’d never willingly tell you, let alone a friend he’s already not too fond of. But the need to know is too strong to not get answers. You can’t help but feel like you’re just on the precipice of getting all the answers to questions you’ve been missing, like finally finding the missing piece to a puzzle. You know you’re walking a fine line, and all you can do is hope Sukuna never finds out about what you’re up to.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

It’s a few days later when your phone buzzes with a new message from Megumi.

Hey, I found out some things. It’s about the favor you asked. Do you want to talk in person or over text?

Your heart skips a beat. You hadn’t really expected him to find anything. You glance over at Sukuna, who’s sitting across the room from you on the couch as you eat dinner at the table. There’s no way he can read your texts from all the way over here, right?

Over text is fine.

A few moments pass before his next message arrives, and you anxiously chew your food in anticipation.

So, Sukuna was a king, but I’m guessing you probably already know that. He was powerful, and feared by everyone around him. But what I found out about his lover… Uraume betrayed him. That’s what started his downfall. After her betrayal, he was executed, and then something happened after his death that turned him into what he is now.

Your heart sinks as you read Megumi’s words.

Betrayal.

What did she do to betray him?

I’m not sure, I couldn’t find the exact details. Some accounts say she sold him out to his enemies, others say she conspired against him to take his power. And there’s no record of what happened to her after he became a demon. It’s like she just vanished from history.

You sit in silence, staring at your phone. The betrayal makes sense—it fits in perfectly with what you saw in the dream. But the lack of information only leaves you with more questions. What happened to her? Why isn’t there any record of her after Sukuna’s fate?

Thank you for finding this. I really owe you one.

Don’t worry about it, I’m happy to help. And I know I say it often, but please be careful. There’s a lot of darkness in his past.

You nod, even though he can’t see you.

I will. See you at school tomorrow.

“What’s got you so enthralled over there?”

The sudden sound of Sukuna’s voice startles you, nearly dropping your phone, the screen still displaying your conversation with Megumi.

“What? Nothing,” you stammer, quickly locking your phone and placing it face down on the table.

Sukuna raises a brow. “Nothing, huh? That’s strange, you seemed pretty captivated. Must be one fascinating ‘nothing.’”

Your mind scrambles for an excuse.

“I was just… reading this article. About, uh, world news. You know, just trying to stay informed.” You avoid his gaze, your fingers tapping nervously on your thigh.

God, you have got to get better at lying.

Sukuna hums, and you can tell he’s not believing you for a second. He leans forward in his seat on the couch, his eyes searching your face skeptically.

“World news? Right. And here I thought you had better things to do with your time,” his voice drops a little lower, more amused now than suspicious, “Must’ve been quite the story, to make you that distracted.”

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze, feeling like you’re about to crack at any second. It’s unbearable. You need to get out of here before you give anything away.

“Yeah… um, it’s getting kind of late, I think I’m going to head to my room for the night.”

You stand up, heading toward the kitchen to clean your plate. You can feel his eyes on you as you place your things into the dishwasher.

“Alright, then. Enjoy your riveting news.”

You hum out an agreement and quickly make your way into your bedroom. You sigh, stepping out of your clothes to put on your pajamas, climbing into bed. You grab your phone, pulling back up the conversation with Megumi to re-read his words.

Uraume betrayed him.

He was executed.

It wasn’t an ambush, as you’d previously thought. His death had been ordered. Deliberate. You think back to the dream, to the chaos of blades flashing in the firelight, the bodies swarming him like vultures. They weren’t desperate men clawing for survival, they were executioners carrying out a sentence. And they had won. They had killed him. But had any of them understood what they were unleashing? Had Uraume understood? Did she stay long enough to witness what her sentence had wrought? Or had she fully fled before she could understand that the man she condemned wouldn’t stay buried? You remember the way she turned, her figure disappearing into the dark just as Sukuna fell.

You feel a strange sense of closure at your new knowledge, but also a lingering unease. You now know part of what happened to Sukuna, but the biggest question remains—what happened to his Uraume? And why did she betray him in the first place?

You toss your phone aside with a sigh. It seems as though every time one question gets answered, ten more arise from it. You know that there’s much more to the story, and you know if you want to find out more, you’ll have to ask Sukuna himself. But you can’t shake the feeling that whatever did happen, it’s something Sukuna has buried deep.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The familiar hum of the mall buzzes around you as you follow Nobara into the first clothing store, her eyes scanning the racks for the perfect outfit. She’d texted you earlier in the day, asking for help picking something out for her date tomorrow night. And to be honest, you’ve been craving some girl time too. So now, here you are, under the bright fluorescent lights, the faint scent of perfume in the air. That along with the steady flow of people passing by make you feel more awake than you’ve felt in days. Nobara’s clearly on a mission, her focus completely locked in as she flips through the dresses on the rack.

“You’ve got to help me, okay?” She says, glancing back at you with a grin, “This guy’s hot as fuck. I need something that’s going to make him want to rip my clothes off.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “You always look good, Nobara. You could literally put on a potato sack and I’m sure he’d still be dying to get in your pants.”

“Well yeah, obviously,” she replies, continuing on to another rack, “but I want him to remember me. I don’t want this to just be a one time thing.”

Sukuna, who had wandered off to the back of the store at the start of your conversation, seems content to keep his distance. He’s looking around at the men’s clothes leisurely, and you wonder if this is his first time seeing a clothing store. If so, then surely this all must be somewhat fascinating to him.

Racks of neatly folded sweaters and button-down shirts stretch before him, a display of tailored coats off to one side. Shelves stacked with distressed denim and fitted slacks line the wall. It is a bit comical seeing him amongst such items. You find yourself imagining what he would look like in those ordinary, modern clothes. You wonder what his style would be. If maybe he would wear—

“What do you think? Too much?”

Nobara has pulled a dress from the rack, holding it up to herself to examine it critically. It’s bold, with a low V-cut neckline, barely coming down past her upper thigh, and it’s a bright red color that practically screams confidence.

“That depends. You want him to tear you out of that the moment he sees you at the restaurant?”

She laughs, tossing the dress over her arm. “I definitely want him to think about it.”

As Nobara dives back into her shopping frenzy, you take a moment to scan the store from your vantage point near the entrance. It’s been a while since you’ve been out with her, and though you’re trying your best to keep your mind on the task at hand, your thoughts drift back to Sukuna. Knowing what you’ve just found out about his past, it’s hard not to think about him, even in the middle of a shopping trip.

Before you can spot him again, though, Nobara re-appears by your side, her arm filled with more dresses of various styles and colors.

“Okay, I’ve picked out enough dresses. Now it’s your turn.”

You look at her, confused. “My turn? What do you mean?”

“I mean, you need to try on something new. Who knows? Maybe there’s a new date in your near future,” she teases, pulling you to another section of the store. You roll your eyes but let her drag you along.

After you’ve picked out a couple of your own dresses, some casual, some sexy, you head over to the fitting rooms. You see Sukuna on the way, inspecting the various lotions and body sprays by the check out counter. You catch his eyes as you pass him, giving him a small smile. He gives you a short nod in response.

As you reach the fitting rooms, you and Nobara slide inside the same stall, hanging up each of your dresses on opposite hooks as you begin to undress.

“By the way, I have to ask. You’ve been kind of MIA lately. What’s going on?” She asks as she pulls her sweatshirt over her head, “And don’t even try to say it’s just school. I know it’s not that, so don’t give me that bullshit.”

You groan internally. Here we go again. “I’m just tired. You know how it goes.”

Nobara gives you a knowing look.

“Right. Tired.”

She slips a little black dress up and over her body, checking herself out in the mirror from all angles before letting out an exaggerated sigh, looking at you in the mirror.

“Come on, tell me! Is it a guy? It’s a guy, isn’t it? I know it’s not Megumi, he’s still hanging out with Yuji and me—unlike you. So, who is it?”

You shuffle into one of your own dresses as an excuse to not meet her inquisitive gaze.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply sheepishly, though you can feel your cheeks heating up under her interrogation.

“Oh please, you’re such a bad liar,” she grins, putting on a different dress, “You’ve got that ‘I’m thinking about someone but I won’t admit it’ look written all over your face right now. I’m your best friend, right? You can tell me! I promise I can keep a secret from those two morons.”

You hold her stare in the mirror for a moment, and then turn your head to look behind you, as if you can see beyond the door to the changing stall. You pray to whatever God there may be that Sukuna isn’t just on the other side of that door right now.

“Alright! Fine. There is… someone new in my life, recently. We’re just friends!” you quickly add before Nobara starts, seeing her eyes light up at your confession. “But… I don’t know… he’s so hard to understand most of the time. He’s so closed off, I can never really tell what he’s thinking.”

Nobara raises her eyebrows, grinning like she’s caught on to something. “Mhm. Just a friend, huh?”

You feel your face burning even hotter, and you turn away, reaching for another dress to try on while you will the blood to drain back out of your cheeks.

Well, he sounds like a typical man,” Nobara says, changing back into her original clothes. “They’re either completely closed off or don’t know when to shut the fuck up.”

She taps her chin thoughtfully, and then her eyes light up. “Okay, here’s what you have to do. If he’s the closed off type, you’ve gotta get him to open up. But not by waiting for him to make the first move. You have to make the first move. Flirt with him a bit, show him you’re interested.”

You blink at her, confused. “Flirt with him? But I—“

“You don’t have to throw yourself at him or anything,” she interjects, “but guys like that need a little push. You’ve got to give him a reason to let his guard down. Start small, tease him, compliment him in a casual way, maybe even get a little touchy when the moment’s right.”

She pulls her dresses off the hook, flinging them back over her arm along with her purse.

“It’s all about confidence. You’ve just got to act like you know what you’re doing, and if he’s really into you, it won’t take much for him to crack.”

You nod as you change back into your clothes, just wanting the conversation to be over. Flirting? With Sukuna? The thought had never even come close to crossing your mind before. It sounds absolutely absurd.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you admit, looking to the floor.

“Oh, why not? Afraid of rejection? Or is it that you’re really just not into him like that? Are you truly just friends?”

Her questions hit you harder than you’d expected, a sharp jolt to something you’ve carefully avoided probing too deeply. A tight knot forms in your stomach, twisting as you struggle to come up with an answer. Are you truly just friends? The words echo in your mind, louder than they should be.

You want to say yes. That would be the easy answer. The logical answer. But if that were really true, why does the thought make your pulse quicken? Why do you suddenly feel like you’re trying to convince yourself of something?

Your mind flashes back, uninvited, to the way Sukuna’s thumb had traced slow circles into your skin as you drifted to sleep. The way his breath had warmed your cheek when he leaned in too close. The way your heart had stammered at the sound of his voice, even when his words were meant to tease.

Those moments had felt like nothing special at the time—or at least, that’s what you told yourself. But now, faced with Nobara’s pointed questions, you wonder if you’ve been ignoring something obvious, something that has been quietly threading itself through your every interaction with him. Have you been keeping your feelings at arm’s length, refusing to examine them for what they truly are?

You take a breath, forcing a casual shrug as you meet Nobara’s expectant gaze in the mirror.

“I guess I’m… really not sure how I’m feeling,” you shrug. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

It’s not a lie. But for the first time, you realize it’s not quite the truth either.

Nobara places a hand on her hip, studying you closely. “Well, whatever it is, it sounds to me like you’ve got some feelings going on. I mean, you wouldn’t be this worked up over someone you didn’t care about, right?”

You open your mouth to protest, to deny it outright, but nothing comes out. Because she’s right. The realization settles upon you, slow and suffocating. You’ve spent so much time pushing it down, distracting yourself, convincing yourself it was nothing more than fleeting curiosity. But now, with Nobara’s words lingering between you, the truth stands before you, undeniable. You do care about Sukuna. More than you’ve ever let yourself admit.

How could you even begin to deal with that?

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you say quietly.

She gives you a reassuring smile, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “Of course I am! Just remember, life’s too short to overthink it. If you like him, I say go for it. Worst case scenario, it doesn’t work out. But you’ll never know unless you try, right?”

She tugs on your arm, leading you out of the fitting room. “Come on, I think I’m going to get all of these just in case. And you should get that blue one, it makes your tits look amazing.”

As you trail behind Nobara to the checkout counter, the conversation echoes in your mind, looping over itself again and again. Could it really be that simple, with someone like him?

Sukuna isn’t just some ordinary man. He’s ancient, dangerous, wrapped in centuries of power and cruelty, an enigma carved out of something far darker than you could ever understand. But something about him pulls at you, something deep and undeniable. You can’t pretend it isn’t there anymore.

But that doesn’t mean it’s possible. You’re not foolish enough to think you could ever truly be with him. He’s immortal, inhuman. His very existence defies reason. He is nothing like you. And someone like him could never—would never—be with someone like you.

And yet… you’re already bound to him.

Your fingers tighten around the dress in your hands as a thought slips through the cracks before you can stop it.

You let yourself picture it.

Being close to him. Letting your guard down. Him letting his guard down. Finally, finally seeing what lurks beneath that cold exterior, the sharp edges and cruel smirks, beyond the armor he wears like a second skin.

But then you shake your head, physically clearing the thoughts away. No. It’s ridiculous. Not only that, it’s dangerous. You still have no idea what he’s really capable of. You simply cannot let yourself go down that path.

Right?

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