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ahqkas · 2 months ago

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“MILLION DOLLAR MAN — bruce wayne.

PAIRING! bruce wayne 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! bruce met you through a dating app (his sons’ doing, really) and the temptation to invite you over for christmas is getting harder to resist WORD COUNT! 3.6k WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, bruce is literally down bad for reader in this one, unedited + lmk if found! NOTES! for nat & based on this req. , header bellow belongs to @/v6que © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE AVOIDED RELATIONSHIPS LIKE A SOLDIER DODGING BULLETS, each attempt adding yet another layer to the armor he wore daily. He didn’t need them, the women, or so he told himself. They entered his life easily — at his own charity galas, where one pretty bird thought she could get a kiss from him by the end of the night. Female admirers who ate up his charming smiles and sharp eyes seemed to flock around him at all times. And those countless girls who were lured in by the Wayne name, the status, the wealth.

And Bruce gave them the attention they craved from him.

The women served their purpose as brief districtions, companions who helped him maintain his public image, but none of them really mattered to him.

They kept the colder side of his bed warm, but never his heart.

It wasn’t that Bruce didn’t want love — some part of him did, but that part was buried under the weight of Batman. Allowing himself to lose the walls around him and find an attachment in a woman wasn't something his alter ego was okay with, not with the way he’d been living. And another part convinced him that his duties as Gotham��s protector, with all his scars and wounds, didn’t make him a possible object for such things. Love and vigilantism didn’t mingle together well.

Maybe that’s why his own sons and personal butler teamed up on him. Batman was a hero to many, but with how much it damaged Bruce’s internal beliefs, it would ruin him soon enough.

It started as something innocent (but it seemed the wolf was clothed in sheep’s wool): Dick, his oldest, had teased him about his non-existent love life during a training session in the Batcave.

The large space was full with flickering lights coming from the monitors and grunts from the fighting men. Sweat filled the air, masculine and strong, but that only indicated to the hard work they were doing. Training wasn’t easy, they liked to train with the maximum intensity ( it was kinda needed, too ) and it showed. From their damp hair and glistening skin to the rippling muscles underneath their clothes.

“You know, Bruce,” his son started when he blocked yet another strike coming from the man in question. A puff of air left his mouth upon the attack. Not fair. “for someone who spends his nights saving people, you sure are terrible at saving yourself from eternal loneliness.”

Bruce delivered another jab, this one directed straight at Dick’s weak point. “Not now, Dick.”

But his son was nothing if not persistent and he always got what he wanted, whether it was with or without serious consequences. “I’m serious. When was the last time you went on a date? And don’t try to tell me you had one on your arm during the last charity event. That doesn’t count.”

Both of them fully knew Bruce’s arm candies were way more interested in his name and money than in his heart and soul. The truth made his jaw muscles tighten at the realization.

“My personal life is irrelevant to my work.”

Dick took the opportunity and circled the older man like a predator catching the prey’s scent of blood. A sweet weakness, that one. He’d be stupid if he didn’t take the chance. “Is it though? I mean, sure, you’re great at taking down supervillains and brooding on top of high rooftops, but even Batman needs a little action sometimes. The different kind of action, of course. Or are you planning to spend the rest of your life married to the job?”

Bruce swiped his right leg toward Dick’s shins, trying to take him down like he was the said supervillain but the acrobat jumped right on time, avoiding Bruce’s attempt with a grin on his face.

He landed on his feet and crossed his arms at his chest, leaning the weight of his body against one leg. The playfulness disappeared from both his voice and expression and instead, seriousness graced him whole. “Seriously, Bruce, even Alfred’s worried. He brought it up the other day while we were decorating the tree. Something about how the manor feels colder than usual this year.”

“The heating system is fine.”

With Jason gone, it was the truth. His second son had this strange relationship with all the members of the family. Off and on. Off and on. No one truly knew where they stood in Jason’s eyes but he made the effort and showed up on Christmas Eve the other year upon receiving Alfred’s invitation.

Bruce doubted he would show up two years in a row.

“That’s not what he meant, and you know it,” Dick pressed, and effectively added more salt into Bruce’s wounds. It stung and it fucking hurt. As much as Batman was ruthless, it didn’t mean the man under the mask was resistant against the pain his life brought. “You’re not getting any younger, B. It wouldn’t kill you to let someone in. And I don’t mean us. Try to meet someone who isn’t friendly with a criminal record.”

The older man could only stare helplessly at the other. Those words his son, partner, spoke were loud, crawling their way into his mind and much to his dismay, his heart as well.

Before he could voice his dismissal, a younger voice called out. It was familiar in a way family tended to be.

“You are wasting your breath, Grayson. Father has neither the time nor the inclination to entertain your nonsense,” his youngest son declared into the space of Batcave, his voice ringing out and echoing every single word. The blood son, Damian Wayne.

The father didn’t even flinch, just let out a deep sigh through his nose. It was as usual between those two, always bickering from Damian’s side and teasing remarks from Dick’s. You could mistake the blood running through their system as one, if not for the physical differences. They were brothers in all but red.

“Damian,” Dick started in that lecturing tone he’d always seemed to use with the younger boy, “when was the last time you saw Bruce here even try to have a social life?”

Damian rolled his eyes, the green disappearing behind his eyelids before they reappeared, rougher than they were. “The so called ‘social life’ you’re referring to consists of women who barely last through dinner. Why would he waste his energy on distractions when Gotham requires his full attention?”

“Because even Batman needs a break. You know, normal human things? Like dating, smiling, not dying alone in this cave surrounded by bats?”

“If Father is content with his choices, who are you to meddle? Unlike you, he does not require constant companionship to validate his existence.”

“Ouch,” Dick put his palm against his heart in a mocking manner, feigning hurt as his lips formed a pout. “You’ve got a real gift for the Christmas spirit, don’t you?”

The younger son narrowed his eyes at his supposed brother. The constant bickering was almost normal in their lives so far, and nothing seemed to be changing any time soon. He had to learn how to live with the excuse of a brother, although he started to form a light liking towards him. He wasn’t so bad. “I only speak the truth,” his green irises flicked to Bruce. “Though it is peculiar he tolerates your interference. Perhaps even Father has realized how pathetic his current romantic life—or lack thereof—appears.”

The object of the conversation let out another sigh, this one loud enough for the boys to hear. Their gazes snapped toward Bruce with accusingly great speed.

“If you two are done debating my personal life, there’s actual work to be done.”

He missed the glance his oldest threw at the youngest. He missed the look filled with amusement and a plan that was already brewing. He missed the nod they gave each other, although Dick’s was more pronounced and determined.

The next few hours were spent creating Bruce’s dating app profile.

The final result was the definition of real sugar daddy vibes. Every detail had been debated (mostly argued over though) and thought through, so to say the boys were satisfied with it was an understatement. The oldest prided in the work, saying how it would get so many women to reply which would eventually lead to the right one. The middle one Dick and Damian (only Dick) dragged into the activity beamed up once the profile was set while the youngest scoffed and scowled during the entire process.

During the next evening, the boys showed the main man his new account.

Bruce was left speechless upon seeing the bright screen flash before his eyes. Not a single word was muttered as he watched his boys showing him the app and explaining how exactly it worked (he’d never used a dating app before all this so bear with him). The main photo on the profile was a candid one of him, the one Cass had taken on a sunny day in the Wayne Manor gardern. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, the long sleeves rolled up past his elbows as the muscles of his forearms bulged up. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the sunlight casting shadows across his sharp features and Bruce had to admit they chose a good photo.

It wasn’t intimidating, but it wasn’t exactly friendly as well. The good old middle.

The boys knew he was convinced to give it a try when he waved them off with a deep sigh slipping past his lips.

The game was on.

It was past the midnight when he lied in his bed, propped against one too many pillows and wondered why he was still scrolling through the damned dating app. It was late—far past the time he should have been out on patrol, but Red Hood and Red Robin got it covered for him.

Bruce wasn’t looking for anything specific, really. If he were honest, this whole situation felt out of place for him. Swiping through the profiles was more like an exercise for his thumb.

First was Madison K. Her profile opened with flashy colors that immediately put Bruce into a doubtful situation. Were all these women going to be like this? Madison was beautiful and her looks screamed professionalism: her makeup was done flawlessly, adorning her bright eyes and full lips. She looked like she belonged on a cover for a fashion magazine, not a dating app. Her bio made his thumb swipe left.

‘Manifesting my best life. CEO of my own happiness. Looking for someone who’s successful, ambitious, and knows how to treat me like a queen.’

The next account’s bio made him grimace and swipe left once again.

‘Looking for someone who can keep me living the dream. If you’re successful, generous, and ready to spoil me, let’s talk.”

At this point, Bruce was ready to delete the dating app his boys set up and enjoy the rest of his night. Most of the profiles he swiped through were simply bland to him. Nothing felt genuine. Right. It was safe to say he was losing the hope Dick had set in him earlier in the evening. Until he stumbled upon your profile.

The account stood out among the others—simple, elegant, but with a certain amount of warmth that seemed genuine. Bruce’s heart skipped a beat once he scrolled further and came across your photo. The picture showed you in a cozy cafe, the one Steph adored so much for their cinnamon roll buns. A soft smile danced on your pretty face, highlighting the curve of your cheeks as you looked off to the side. You captured Bruce in a way the others didn’t.

You looked like a fawn surrounded by hungry wolves. You were admirable while they were craving wealth and status. Two different sides of a coin, but Bruce had already known his pick.

Your bio was sincere, a sight the man liked to see.

‘I enjoy the little moments — finding beauty in the simple things. I believe in kindness, and I’m looking for someone who values honesty and a deep conversation.’

His mind flicked briefly toward the countless hours he spends in the cave, surrounded by work and worries. You seemed like the one who could understand the balance between the quiet and the loud, someone who could exist in both of his worlds without losing that spark you held in your gaze.

Before he could overthink it, Bruce clicked on the “message” button.

Once the screen of your non-existent chat appeared, his mind went blank and all he was capable of was to stare mindlessly at the phone. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but no words came to him. What did one say to someone like you? He wasn’t used to thinking ahead when it came to women. This was a new field. And he couldn’t screw up.

Finally, his fingers moved before his mind could think of whatever embarrassing thing it was capable of.

> Hey, I noticed your profile and wanted to reach out. There’s something about your words that struck a chord with me. I’d like to know more about you.

And that’s how the two of you started your relationship, or whatever you could call it. Neither of you voiced it as official, but that was okay. He hadn’t expected to feel this way, not so soon. And yet it came at him, crashing like a large wave of emotions every time you were around. You changed everything for him.

Your conversations became the highlight of his days.

His ears perked up every single time without a fail when he heard the soft ‘ping!’ of the notification, already convinced it was from you (and it 98 percent was). Whether it was early in the morning before he started working in the chaotic Wayne Enterprises or late at night when the Batcave was quiet and felt at peace. You were always there with him.

You were thoughtful, generous, and refreshingly kind. You asked him questions that no one else dared to: what he wanted from life, what made him happy, what kept him awake at night. You didn’t flinch at his silence. You didn’t push him to give answers he wasn’t ready to share. You understood him in a way only a few people did.

Piece by piece, he let you into his world — not that part filled with constant danger and threats, but that part that longed for something real.

By the time Christmas approached, Bruce was sure of one thing: he wanted you in his life.

The holiday was just around the corner, filling the air with joy and gratitude as it always did. The snow was blanketing the streets with white powder, and although many people were complaining about the cold, it had its charm.

Christmas had always been about family for Bruce, about gathering around the tree and full table with the people who mattered most. It was lonely at first, after the death of his parents, but over the years, Alfred had made it work. The table was always full of tasty food the kids adored and presents Bruce knew would make them more than happy were neatly waiting for them every morning after Christmas Eve.

This year though, Bruce wanted it to be a little different. He wanted you to be part of it.

You might actually fit into the chaos of the Wayne family — the teasing and playful banters between you, Dick, and Tim would be absolute gold to hear. You probably even could handle Damian’s wit which was something his father would like to see. He could picture you smiling, holding back your own remarks. The idea of you sitting beside him at the long dining table, sharing their traditions, made his chest feel warm in a way he wasn’t used to.

That night, he sent you a message.

> Are you free on Christmas Eve?

Your response came in quickly, as it always did. Bruce’s heart thumped against the bones of his ribs.

> I am. Why?

He hesitated for a bit, overthinking his decision.

> I’d like you to join me for dinner. It’s a family thing but I’d really like for you to be there.

> Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.

> You wouldn’t be intruding.

Bruce could picture the light frown between your brows and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. You often did it unconsciously, never knowing how pretty you looked this way. But even as he pictured your face, a part of him was growing more nervous about the situation. Would you agree to an event this serious? Spend Christmas with him. And his family. Or were you coming up with excuses right now? He wouldn’t blame you.

> Then I’d love to come.

His heart skipped a beat and that night, Bruce went to bed feeling a little lighter than he usually did.

Snow blanketed the long driveway leading up to Wayne Manor and for once, Bruce wasn’t thinking about the pressure of Batman or the chaos the boys would definitely stir up tonight. His attention was entirely focused on the one making your way towards him. He stood just outside the grand entrance, dressed in a dark, perfectly tailored suit that fit him like a glove. The soft crunch of tires on the white powder alerted him to your arrival, and as your car pulled up, Bruce started to feel the nervousness. He adjusted his tie with a single hand.

When you stepped out, his breath caught.

You were breathtakingly beautiful. Dressed in an inky black that hugged your figure in all the right places, the fabric shimmered under the outdoor lights of the mansion. The smile you gave him when your eyes met melted all the nerves that had been harboring in his system. He was finally calm and composed, for what seemed like the first time in the evening.

“You’re early,” Bruce pointed out softly when you walked up the stairs to meet him in front of the door, and his eyes sparkled with little stars at the sight of you. How did he get so lucky? “You look stunning, by the way.”

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting. And thank you. You clean up well, too, Bruce.”

Your gaze held a playful edge in it as you accepted his hand, locking your palm around his bulging biceps and squeezing warmly. The touch added the missing piece of the puzzle Bruce was trying to solve while his cheeks warmed a rosy pink under your influence without any hesitation. The gesture felt natural, like it always belonged there.

The two of you approached the doors of the manor in a shared silence, although it didn’t feel a bit awkward. You took a moment to take in the place. It was like something out of your childhood dreams — tall, arched windows glowing with the soft light of a dozen garlands lining the entryway. The faint hum of holiday music and the occasional sound of laughter echoed through the manor.

It was Bruce’s home.

“Do you always go this big for Christmas?” you voiced a question that's been sitting on your mind since the moment you saw the large Christmas tree from the entryway to Bruce’s living room. Decorated with lots of ornaments, it looked lovely, accompanied by a heap of presents.

“Alfred insists,” admitting with a soft chuckle, Bruce rubbed the nape of his neck as he led you deeper into his home. “And the boys like the holidays. I want them to have the best.”

The scent of pine and cinnamon enveloped your senses the further you moved. The sounds grew louder, too. You awe made him feel lighter somehow. The dining room at Wayne Manor was nothing short of spectacular this night, with the long mahogany table adorned with a dozen of flickering candles and plates of food that looked like it belonged in a holiday spread for a cookbook.

You were sitting beside Bruce (he kind of insisted anyway), your hand occasionally brushing against his. He helped you settle into the chair which earned a teasing glance from Dick. Speaking of his oldest son, he was sitting across from you with an easy grin that told you some questions would come your way sooner or later. Tim was at Dick’s right, while Damian occupied the chair from the other side of his father.

The evening was more than successful in your opinion. Steph asked you about your favorite literature, while Tim quizzed you on trivia about Gotham (which you surprisingly got all right). Damian, after much persistence from Dick, shared a story about his latest art project, though he kept glancing at you as if trying to gauge your reaction.

Through it all, Bruce remained by your side.

When the night finally came to an end, and everyone drifted to their own space of the manor, Bruce walked you to the entrance with a gentle hand against the small of your back.

“Thank you,” his gaze met yours as he handed you your coat, effortlessly helping you slip your arms into the sleeves. “For coming tonight. For putting up with them.”

You gifted him with the most precious kind of a present; your smile, smaller hands reaching up to adjust the collar of his dark suit. “Of course. They’re wonderful, Bruce. I enjoyed myself tonight.”

For a man who othen found himself at loss for words when it came to talking in emotions, Bruce found himself smiling softly with his heart feeling lighter than it had in years. Because for the first time, Christmas didn’t feel like an obligation. It felt like a new beginning.

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yzzart · 8 months ago

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I KNOW, MY EYES ALREADY LOVE YOU ── KENJI SATO

── summary: What could be Kenji Sato's certainty and weakness?

── content warnings: F!reader, 18+, nsfw, morning sex, unprotected, riding, playing w/ nipples, dirty talk, praise, petnames, kenji being a fucking tease, explicit words, explicit content.

── word count: 1.798!

Kenji did not know, or did he understand, some certainties about his life, and, perhaps, it could sound like imprudence, the purest act of negligence he had the opportunity to tolerate; in fact, it was obvious. — He believed in this line of consciousness, attempted reasoning.

He declared that he made mistakes, countless mistakes, and, currently, he still thinks about the hypothesis that he could make them to this day; even though he wanted to, and tried, as much as possible, not to reveal what he believed to the cameras, journalists and specific people around him. — Sato wouldn't stand it, he knew that.

However, resonating with a merciless and sweet irony, seeming such a surprising incongruity, Kenji was, he knew, certain about one thing in his existence, something that he would not dare lie, deceive himself or dissemble; he imagined he might die if he did that. — His chest burned, sharply, just thinking about it.

You were one of Sato's weaknesses; in his view, the only one. — At the same time, it was his strength; knowing that, you can destabilize him, with ease and incomplexity, conceiving a change in his concentration and everything around, just by directing your eyes against his would be able to be seen as ridiculous and playing a vulnerable side and stealing his attention was peculiar. — Something incredibly curious.

But in Sato's eyes, it was a form, way of how to worship you; being able to feel a passion, intensely, disoriented and burning in his heart. — Admitting something so angelic and serene. — Not hiding the fact that you were his refuge, a place where he felt safe and loved and knew that it would protect him at all costs in his life; experiencing being worthy of you.

And every morning, every second and minute of it, at dawn next to you, with his body entwined with yours, Kenji thought about it.

"A kiss for your thoughts?" — A sleepy, so sweet voice exclaims in the boy's ears, spontaneously bringing a cunning smile to his lips; Kenji loved your humor, even during the early morning. — "What do you think?" — Even with the huge cuts in the windows, showing weak and soft bands of light, you refused to open your eyes at that moment, yawning.

"That's a very good proposal, should i accept it?" — He asked, looking down at your leg, which was in the region of his hips, and felt, deliciously, you pressing yourself against him; Sato's smile grew even wider due to the fact that you only had the blanket stuck to your bodies. — "Good morning to you too, kitten."

He considered some sleepy, boring mumbles and grunts that came out of your mouth as a response, and found it adorable; bringing his lips to your forehead, kissing it, while stroking your hair. — Taking care of his girl with delicacy and gentleness. — And more melodic hums were made by you.

You couldn't stop that familiar and delightful tingling between your legs, and soon you was clumsily rubbing yourself against Kenji's hips, — who didn't fail to find your morning boner fascinating and hungry — without a hint of shame.

"I see someone…" — A sensual laugh vibrated in your temple. — "…woke up very well." — He added, feeling a lump in his throat, unable to contain his shaky breath. — "No?" — Your hand snaked over Kenji's athletic chest, a line of coldness crossed his skin, caused by the ring you had on your finger; your engagement ring.

Not knowing how to resist, and never could, your movements, the painful, throbbing sensation began to burn, sharply, Kenji's dick, showing the large bulge developed in the blanket; he was already starting to feel needier than usual, wanting to fit his face into your neck and dive into your pussy.

Just thinking about being inside you makes Sato's breathing become a panting mess, not wanting or admitting to waste another second.

"I always wake up right next to you, Kenji." — You replied, lifting your head, directing your lips to the eldest's shoulder, trailing kisses across his skin; showing affection. — "Always." — The little kisses went up to his collarbone, your warm hands remained on his chest.

During the small movement between the sheets, caused by you, part of your boobs were exposed and shivering as they hit Kenji's skin; he didn't wait and anxiously felt the beak of one of them, squeezing it with a certain and frank force. — Drawing a sigh from you and making the player bite his lip, like prey. — The damn man liked doing that.

Sato was, indisputably, diabolical, the most arrogant and delighting provocation to ever stand before you.

“Come here, come.” — He asked in a whisper, cunning and with eyes clouded with desire, looking at every point of your face and eyes, running his tongue over his lips, leaving them wet and, faintly, shiny; waiting to be responded to, which didn't take long. — "Pretty girl."

Yours lips, eagerly, came together in a sinful, appetizing and wet kiss; Kenji's sharp tongue rubbed and caressed your, wanting to taste your mouth, as if it were the first time. — Sometimes causing a shock of contact between your teeth and his, nothing could stop you. — Moans, coming from you, delighting in his mouth, were muffled and made Sato smile bewildered.

Kenji felt, even so apprehensive and focused on your mouth, his body being touched, covered by your hands, and, lightly, your nails scraped his skin, desperate to touch him. — He couldn't help but find it cute and naive the way your hand moved to the back of his neck, shocking your bodies even more. — Feeling himself throbbing more and more.

You would be the death of Kenji Sato. — That was another certainty that covered his mind.

Moaning during the mediocre fraction of a second in which your lips disconnected, feeling an emptiness, you came across thin and fragile strands of spit slowly breaking and you vibrated when you heard Sato's smug laugh; his eyes surrounded your mouth, wanting it again. — He smiled, forming a pretentious and ambitious expression as he brought his thumb to your chin, holding it.

"Ride me like a good girl," — Sato clicks his tongue, incoherent. — "my good girl." — Aa words, referring with a hint of possessiveness and premise, made your pussy throb with exultation. — "Please, huh?" — Your lover pouted, almost sounding mocking but not hiding the need he burned for you.

He didn't need to say it twice, he knew there would be no need, even though he saw some clouds of pleasure, leaving you completely at the mercy of the excitement, leaving you beautiful head. — And, also, it wasn't long before your legs were around Kenji's hips, grabbing them with the limited strength you had; abandoning the silky, white sheet somewhere on the mattress.

Settling down, adjusting his posture on the soft, padded pillow, hoping for a good view, Kenji couldn't help but adore the image before his eyes; you were deliciously mounted on him and comfortable on his lap, in your honored place and feeling deified. — It seemed like an inexplicable, surreal and reprehensible scene, it could be the taste of the paradise they prophesied. — No, you were Sato's own, true and only paradise.

Your body surrendered to him, precise movements, with a moderate, almost weak strength and still clouded with sleep, against the young prodigy's hips, feeling his entire length sink, preciously, into your sticky and hot walls; never getting used to the way you was filled by Kenji, — and, wanting, dirty, at no point to get used to it. — leaving you more stimulated. — When you felt him completely, your lips opened, moaning harmoniously and delightfully, attracting panting sighs in the name of your lover.

And, with your boobs, delicious and juicy boobs, exposed, wide open, which, according to your movements, swayed and shivered in front of Kenji, wanting to devour them with desire and modesty. — And not tolerating losing the delicious vision, he preferred to remain where he was; but, he didn't hesitate in sliding his hand towards one of them and squeezing it, now, tightly.

"Ken..ji." — You moaned, whimpered, moving your hand towards his, which held your nipple, unbearably, sensitive with his calloused fingers. — "Fuck-k!" — You sobbed, threatening to release tears from feeling all that pleasurable pressure in your system; and, feeling the lack of sustenance, with the other hand, you moved across Kenji's chest. — "Ken, Kenji..."

"Is it good, my love?" — He says, removing his hand from your boob and repositioning it on your waist, guiding your movements, noticing your almost exhausted rhythm, poor thing. — "Fucking good, huh?" — He growled when he noticed a sudden tightness in his cock; your pussy choked and sucked him, divinely, well. — "O-oh, look what we have here." — He laughed, digging his short nails into your flesh.

The sharp, thin lamentations and melodic moans vociferated in Sato's ears sounded like masterful music, stirring him with every descent and ascent that you made in his lap; also mentioning the wet, filthy melody that your pussy made while swallowing his cock. — Such a greedy, hungry, desperate little thing for every inch of him.

"Keep it up, kitten." — He swore, quickly guiding your hips and showed a satisfied and happy smile when he saw that you responded to his orders, winking shamelessly in your direction. — "I love filling this pussy, fuck…" — He breathed deeply, shaking with another grip on his dick. — "with my cum in the morning." — Listening to Kenji's filthy words was a sin.

It was blasphemous, unacceptable to be able to tolerate, endure, for so long, all that excitement, — all that infernal provocation coming from your man — and adequately endure the stings that reached, perfectly, your sensitive and delicate spot, which only Kenji knew how to reach. — And he took advantage of that.

With incandescent, burning pleasure replacing all sensations, reactions of your body, finally, that nervous, tingling thread, trapped in your stomach, breaks free; accompanied by a tearful and disoriented scream, crying out for Sato, coming out of your mouth. — Cumming on his cock, having some spasms around it, you feel weak, about to become weak. — Like a pathetic little doll.

"Baby." — Hot, delicious jets of sperm painted your inner walls, taking him to the limit, as always; cumming inside you, Kenji filled you, leaving you satisfied, sated and fulfilled. — Having the impression that, still sitting on his lap, you was leaking yours mixed releases, causing an appetizing mess. — "Holy shit." — Ken moaned softly, smiling bewildered and drunk for you.

Tilting your head to the side, merely acting in a naive and harmless way, still with a look of tiredness and exhaustion, a thin and innocent smile tugged at the corner of your lips; making you even more adorable, captivating.

"Good morning to you too, Ken."

Yeah, in fact, you were Kenji Sato's main weakness.

#kenji sato #ken sato #kenji #kenji sato x reader #ken sato x reader #kenji x reader #kenji sato smut #ken sato smut #kenji smut #ultraman #ultraman rising

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strawberrymochin · 17 days ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚 𝐆𝐨𝐝 ଳ⋆｡˚

Synopsis- On the night of the blood moon, you are offered as a sacrifice by the village chiefs to appease the enduring wrath of the sea god. As your fate unfolds, you find yourself transported to a mystical realm inhabited by enigmatic immortals and powerful deities. Stripped of your soul and surrounded by the unfamiliar, one particular immortal, named Gojo Satoru, challenges your perception of reality and leaves you questioning your very sanity.

Warnings- immortal au!, immortal!gojo x mortal fem!reader, mythology references, asian drama vibes, gojo is a jerk most of the time, the red string of fate, Mithridatism, fluff, heavy angst, suggestive, slowburn, mutual pining, hot geto, gojo again being a jerk, gojo getting dominated by our reader, toxic reader, poisons, blood, murders, forced proximity, no smut in this but reader kisses gojo and that specific scene is...just read it

Word count- 12.03k (trust me)

Trisha's mail- just read it, wrote continuously for hours, and i will edit it later not proofread so ignore the mistakes, happy reading

You have been awfully familiar with the ritual performed for appeasing the sea god— once in every five years, comes the great night of the blood moon.

The night whose darkness swallows the world in its greedy sheen, so deep and thick that it even blows out one single burning flame of hope. The moon on that particular night, bathes itself in red, and an eerie bloom of fathomed anger peers down on the muddy coastal sands— the anger of the sea god.

On that day, a young crane is to have her wings tied, thrown into the sea, sacrificed in hopes of hankering to cool the sea god's fury. As it has been sung by folks and danced on ropes, ancestors say only a bride can dimmen the rage of the sea god's soul.

A crane symbolises a bride— a girl chosen from the shores of eighteen villages, whose beauty is serene; voice spins a melody; eyes speak truth and finger sway in delicacy.

A girl chosen has her hands tied, eyes closed and in the tainted rage of the moon of the night, one drop of blood in the middle of the sea sweeps away a knight. The people who perform the ritual find themselves awake the next day and the bride sacrificed had no trace of her existence lay.

Though you never thought that one day I'd be you, bawling your eyes out, not wanting to give away your life to the cruel god who chose to turn a blind eye to his devotees, for a reason unknown.

Why did the sea god have to be this cruel? Why does he have to gobble down so many lives? And even if he does, why does it have to be you?

His rage has already unfurled enough misfortune in your life, and now it was going to seize your life. What will happen when you will be sacrificed to the sea god? What will happen when your life will be thrown in his mercy and swallowed by the deep of the ocean? What will happen to your father whose only child is you, torn away from his dear embrace?

The village chief among the 5 major coastal villages came forward near you and bent down to your level. You edge backwards, hands bound behind your back, and you keep scooting away till your back reaches the huge plum tree. It's faint scents of fresh and rotten plum trail near your nose. “It will be a noble sacrifice, young lady. You do not have long to live anyways.” he smiled at you with the most sickening polite expression you'd ever seen. “Mmfff” you resist try to speak past the barriers of fabric looping tight at your mouth.

So what if I possess a weak body? Is my life not worth the same as your daughter?

You wanted to spit these words out and you would have, if the fabric tied on your mouth weren't so tight that you could barely even muffle.

He forwards a hand and clasps the collar of your thin robe, dragging you away from the tree. You try to protest, looking horrified, there must be something, some key to run away….

You hear the footsteps of other chiefs surrounding you. If only you didn't help that girl, you wouldn't have to face this. You should have listened to your father's words and shouldn't have stayed out long outside searching for medical herbs, which would heal his health. Especially on the day of the blood moon.

And even if you did, you shouldn't have helped the girl run who was originally chosen to be sacrificed. But you just couldn't ignore her cries, her tear stained face, her pleading eyes asking for a chance to live, looking so similar to the blurred face of your mother in your memories who died during your childhood and which is why you helped her run.

You wanted to feel the rush and the puff in your chest as you dared to help the girl who was about to be another victim of the cruel sea god. And when you did that you felt as if you snatched back your mother's life from fate— from the sea god.

However, one of the guards followed her, and while helping her run home, you got caught instead. And now here you were pleading for your life, for your father who must be worried sick, eyes on the door waiting for your safe return.

A thin sheet of silk is tied around your eyes, one of the men securing the knot, before picking you up on his shoulders and making his way to the coast, where the sea meets the sand.

Soon you will be drowned to death in the name of sacrifice. Is this where your life ends?

You were never supposed to be a sea god's bride; The qualities needed to be chosen as a bride were far away from your hand. You owned a fragile body, sick since birth. You can't even manage lifting heavy weight, how are you supposed to carry the grace of a bride.

But aren't all these just a saying, all stupid beliefs of your dumb ancestors, to come up with such rituals pleasing a god?

If they claim the frequent storms and death of their family members as the wrath of the sea god, and as per the saying, a bride should calm his wrath. Up until this date you're sure more than 100 brides are sacrificed— none satisfied the sea god. None.

And none of them came back.

Because it was simple, that the god didn't care and the ritual didn't work. Or maybe it does work but all the god wants is blood and not love. All he wants is despair, cries and screams of hunger.

The sea has been raging off season, destroying the crops, sweeping away families, causing deaths and even after praying to the gods for their protection what did they do?

Nothing.

At this point you even wonder if the sea god is even real or just a myth.

Whatever it was, you realised none of them could stop fate from seizing your life away.

The guy who had you on his shoulders, threw your frail body into what felt like a flat round hollow structure— probably a boat. You muffle a cough at the jerk your body has to face, not even getting to ease the pain since your hands were tied.

The sound of the night thundering among the clouds, echoed through the vast coast. “So now we sail her away? The sea god won't be displeased finding her instead of the chosen bride? Won't he be angry?”

One of the men questions their doings, unsure if sending you as the bride might fuel the god's rage even more. “She helped Akihiko to run, if the sea god is displeased, he must be happy to punish her himself.”

Another loud thunder bolted among the clouds. If the gods do exist they seem angry, and the only subject of their anger for now seems to be you.

One of the men came near the round boat and took your right palm, causing you to bite your tongue with a shriek as you felt him stabbing the middle of your palm with a knife and then dragging it near the tip of your ring finger.

Tears stain the silk wrapped around your eyes. Do they even sacrifice a bride or murder them? If you're meeting death today can it not be any less painful?

You stilled for a while as you feel the man digging the knife among the tied bunch of fabrics binding your hands together and tearing them apart with its sharp blade.

The crane's wings were not tied anymore. She could run.

But before you make any action on running, or even removing the piece of silk blocking your vision, your body slips to the opposite of your boat—a high tide.

You try to get the silk of your eyes or get off the boat so you could swim your way to the shore but it was useless. The more you tried the more harsh waves played with you. They mocked your every movement, salty water drenching your robes, and its splashing noises squeak out laughing at you. Probably laughing at how weak and helpless you are.

The water is even making the cut on your hand burn even with tingling pain. At this point you were nothing but devastated, you surely realise that you're far away from the shore, and even far from your home. All you prayed for was your boat not being in the middle of the sea.

The movements stilled, the boat danced gently on the waves, you could feel the furious tides shifting into a sweet calm— the calm before the storm.

You raise your hand up, feeling the fabric of silk tied around your eyes, fingers tracing it's knot on the back. Once your fingers find it, you pull one strand of it. The drenched silk stuck close to your wet skin as you peeled it off.

You were about to open your eyes, but something told you not to, as if you were to open your eyes, you would see your world shift altogether. Nothing would ever be the same.

But you weren't dead yet. Even though you realise that you've come really far from the shore, if you somehow make it up, somehow struggle and reach the shore you can make it back to your father.

To your home.

Your eyelids flutter open, pupils slowly adjust to the little amount of light, making your vision clear.

You freeze.

Something was behind you, or I'd be perfect to say something was looming above you, preying on your tiny body. Its huge shadow floated over the cool waters, shielding the only dim red of the moon.

Is this the sea god? The one you cursed so much for causing the death of your mother? The one whose bride you helped eloping?

Is he here to punish you for your deeds or to savour you as his sacrifice? Just like any other soul, each five years.

You dare to look behind your back. If today's the day you meet the serene of death, who has always caged your body till now, you decided to numb your emotions and face it. How long will you be a coward? How long will death haunt you?

There was a creature, its scales shiny, half emerged from water. Gulping down a gasp you raised your eyes up tracing the elongated body till it's silhouette contrasted a sharp dark under the bright red of the moon.

Sapphire blue eyes peered down at, huge scaled head tilting ever so slowly. It was a dragon— a sea dragon. The scene was so terrifying and yet something about the dragon drew you in. It curled his head in a loop before the huge face was right inches near you, letting out a low growl.

His warm breath grazed your skin, so fierce it blew a few wet locks of your hair. The only word your unconscious shouted was ‘run’ yet it was as if you were tranced, your body wouldn't move. There was something so not right with you, and if anything you had this unwanted urge of consoling the dragon, in your arms even if his head was solely 3 times bigger than your body.

His eyes— looked so, what do you even describe, lifeless? Such a huge creature of might, yet eyes were of an unusual drear.

The dragon’s pupils slit at your figure as an unyielding force tugged at your right hand, forcing open the palm, trails of wet blood smearing itself on your fate lines.

The dragon scrutinized your cut and all you could do was look at him, standing still, as if all of your senses were gobbled down by him the moment you looked into his dull blue eyes.

The blood of the bride shall appease the god's soul, a mortal is to be honoured with a sempiternal stroll

You couldn't figure out where the words echoed from, there was no one in the middle of the sea except you and the blue eyed dragon.

Was it him?

In moment you could use any of your senses, the sea erupted in its violent desires and one high splash of the dragon's, tearing his way down the surface of water caused you to lose your balance and fall down the boat.

You panic, fluttering your hands as desperately as possible. You thought before you won't run from death yet your actions caused you to question your resolve.

The dragon spinned his long body in peculiar loops around you. Your erratic movements of panic weren't helping to save the small amount of oxygen still left in your lungs.

With one last try you try to throw your body up the surface, yet all you see is more blood oozing out of your wound and the last bubbles of oxygen escaping in blobs of air.

Your mind grew foggy as eyes could barely make out the blur in the deep waters, your body losing its senses growing limp just like when you looked at the dragon's eyes, sinking down beneath the sea. And the last thing you could make out before losing your consciousness, was the same lifeless unearthly blue eyes.

You open your eyes feeling a sharp tug at your hand— right hand to be specific. You sit up straight as the flashbacks of your desperate cries strike you. Weren't you drowning? How come— you looked around your surroundings, you were in the middle of a lake, on a pavilion. Several blue lotus blooming emitted some sort of strange sweet intoxicating smell. It was as if they were luring you, but if you drowned how come you can still breathe? Is this the immortal land? Are you in the afterlife?

As you were chewing over your thoughts, you noticed something tugging at your right hand and when you brought a closer look to your hand it astonished you, for the wound which hurted so bad was healed without a scar, as if it was never there in the first place.

You might as well think that all of it was nothing but a pretty terrifying fever dream. However, you knew better. The scar did vanish but it left a crimson thread tied around your ring finger. It was floating in the air, rippling as you move, dancing with all the grace, twisting and turning, but most importantly it was tugging at your ring finger.

It was meant to show you your direction to the sea god, the one with whom your soul was bound with yours, the moment you presented your blood to him— the moment you became the bride of the sea god.

The thread kept pulling your finger to a direction wrapped in mist and the sweet smell of the sea petaled flower. You decided to follow it, now that you're already so far from your home you have no other choice but to comply with the current of the river of your fate. You stepped down the marble stairs of the pavilion, mist obscured the path, refraining your vision to even make out your surroundings.

You look back to the pavilion and it was no longer there, the mist swallowed it in whole, if it were not for the glowing translucent thread of blood, you would have been lost as soon as you stepped down the pavilion.

Will it take you to the sea god?

Will seeing you calm his anger? You didn't have any answer to satisfy your curiosity, the fact that even thinking about the sea god makes the veins of your neck pop, your jaw tick surprises how on the entire Earth could you be chosen as his bride.

You don't understand how long you were walking in the mist following the thread floating, elongating and contracting in mid air, showing the pathway of the unseen world beyond your eyes could ever do.

After walking for what seemed like a long time, the thread stilled, a slow burn of fire seemed to run through the string and became awfully straight.

The mist slowly cleared, and in front of you stood a huge dais, over there was a canopy, made from the mother of the pearl reflecting colours so serene, that made your pupils dilate. The canopy was draped with a red fabric, probably of delicate muslin, which allowed to make out the silhouette of the figure sitting in it.

The thread vanished behind the fabric, which only meant that the god who you are sacrificed to was sitting there, on his huge throne.

Unconsciously, you step forward on your feet.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

Raising your hand, you slowly part the veil of secrecy, peering inside, forgetting any poise or courtesy you ever possessed.

Fingers halt midway, no more bunching the fabric to get a proper look, for what you saw inside shook you to the core. Is this the sea god?

A sharp pull on the back of your head, yanked you away from crossing any other borders of seclusion. “Ahhhh” you couldn't help but let out a shout at the grip on the roots of your hair. Someone was dragging you down miserably and when you tried to see who it was you could only make out the vague tresses of long white hair and robes of black.

The hand dragged you by your hair and threw you down the dais, violently till your body hit the cold marble floor and made you cough at its brutal force.

Your chest heaved and burning pain on your head made you look up at the person who inflicted such discomfort.

A man with long silvery hair stood infront of you, his figure was feets above you, hovering as his head peered down at you, expression neutral, while his eyes were veiled with a silk of midnight, robes of similar shadows, some gold streaks running around the edges.

How did the man even saw you if his eyes were concealed to let the light of the world pass?

“Another year of the blood moon has another crane caught.” an unfavorable voice laced through the heavy air, it's tone mocking straight up.

You turn your head to the owner of the voice— a man in violet robes, dragons were finelly embroidered with threads of gold on the hem, his hair was tied up in a knot, upheld by a pin of gold with pearls dangling from it.

He slowly came near you, before crouching down to your level and taking a few strands of your hair to raise to his nose smelling it. “ A favourable crane instead,” you don't like how it sounded, backing away as far as possible.

Looking around the hall you are able to make out a few more people present in the same marble hall as of you, which was probably— no, surely the royal throne chamber of the sea god.

Another man in white and of similar age, to the violet one watched the scene unfold amusingly. Two others were standing a little bit far away from the man who yanked you by your hair.

“Gojo, say what if I have this crane after 13 days, I'm sure you can keep this one aside for me,” the man in violet spoke, something so dark lacing through his intentions. He scoffed with derision, eyes feverishly measuring your each move. “Can't I, my dearest brother ren?”

“Sure brother shota, I wouldn't mind leaving out on this crane, though I must express my condolences on missing out on such a vicious beauty.” the man in White offered a smile of kind to his brother.

Gojo, the midnight veiled man, stepped forward bowing his head down to both of them, ren and shota, who looked like royalty.

“But before that,” ren came near you, his sime as polite as ever, “my dear crane, by chance had a proper look inside the canopy?”

You gulp, the burning sensation of gojo dragging you down the dais by your hair pulsated even more with pain, “n—no”

“My, are you sure you're not lying?” He bent down, one hand gently caressing your cheek, “i-it was dark.”

“That's very good of a situation, our god prefers solitude,” he said, straightening himself up and signalling gojo with a nod. You look at him as he takes out a crystaled knife.

What?

“No wait, don't kill me —please,” before you could say any, gojo caught the crimson of your hand and severed the thread which connected your soul to the sea gods.

The broken string burned with an intense blaze before vanishing away in thin air.

“What did you do?” you ask, horrified at what just happened— a red string of fate was never to be severed, that's what you've always heard but then how?

“Oh nothing young crane, breathe in calm, I will be waiting for you in my parlour.” With that said, shota marked his leave. Ren scrutinized you for a while before following shota out.

Left in the throne chamber was you, gojo and two other men standing a bit far away. Both were dressed in shades similar to the silver haired.

“Capture the crane”, gojo’s voice erupted in a velvet tone, devoid of any emotions. You look at them bewildered as you try to run but it was useless, the other two men, one of striking pink hair and other of a raven caught you from both sides, “sorry little crane, didn't wanted to hurt ya’” the pink haired guy muttered before you lose your consciousness.

“Had a pleasant dream?” The pink haired guy asked, sweeping behind small strands of your hair, you wildly flinch as you dart around your eyes scanning the area. Your hands were tied and so were your legs, just like how the village chiefs tied you up, “why am I here?” You demand answers with a frustrated frown. The room was small and cramped and after all that you've gone through in the span of the last 24 hours you've decided you'd had enough.

“What do you mean little crane?” Said the pink haired guy tilting his head in a confused manner.

“Y/n.”

The boy looked confused for a while before baring a bunch of teeth in a silly grin, “Itadori Yuji.”

“That's your name?”

“Yes it is what people address me as.”

“Okay whatever, mind telling me why am I here?” You grow more and more annoyed at your questions being ignored.

“Little crane, you're the bride of the sea god, it is absolute of you being safe in our protection.” Yuji said with the same wide grin.

“By protection you mean this? If you lack basic knowledge, I shall teach you this is called incarceration.”

“Oh you can consider this being the only means for your protection” his answer made your head pulse with rage, “by imprisoning me? If I am the bride of the sea god shouldn't you let me see him, so that his wrath calms down.”

“Well, speak about wrath less, think about your precious life, if we let you roam outside, in such crucial time of coronation, you won't live longer than an hour or two.” He mentioned casual, straightening himself up and walking to the low table, to plop one carved flesh of fruity apple inside his mouth.

“What?”

“The coronation…the sea god will be replaced soon.” He said gulping the apple before plopping another, “you know our sea god, have concealed himself for ages, ever since the moment he was crowned. The only ones who ever pay him a visit are his brothers, Prince Shota and Crown Prince Ren.”

“The ones in white and violet robes?”

Yuji nodded his head, leaning one elbow on the low table, placing his head on it, and smiled as pure as a kid. “Since you mortals are even stupid than me, you won't stop sacrificing cranes and just like each blood year, a crane— you appeared.”

“So the god my soul is tied to won't be the god anymore?” you ask bewildered, unable to fathom whether to be happy or sad.

“Yeah, it's not like you're tied to him anyway.” Yuji shrugged, causing you to frown at his words. “the bond has been severed by the crystal knife, so you're nothing but a useless mortal in the realm of immortals.”

“Useless you say, so let me go home….my father will be worried for me, he's sick, I need—”

“Speak less, you mere mortal.” The black haired boy from before entered the room, sliding the fusuma doors shut. “Oh Fushiguro, have a bite, these are real delicacy, I didn't knew the zenin houses cultivate such fine produce.”

“Could you speak any less too?”

“God! I still don't understand why you left the zenins to serve our bounded master.” Yuji huffed, picking up another piece of apple pointing it to you, “want some?”

“master? Who's your master, the white haired one? Gojo?” Yuji nodded at you, lowering the piece of apple, “shall i feed you, we are not allowed to free you from thos—”

“Yuji please, let me go back home I need to see my fathe—” you beg desperately cutting him mid-sentence.

“Such an intelligent, vacuous crane, who even chose you to be a bride, don't you understand once you are sacrificed to the immortal realm you cannot go back to the mortal world without your soul?” Fushiguro groaned at you, shutting you from whining anymore.

“Without a— soul?” You ask uneasily, what was that even supposed to mean, you were still alive how can a person without a soul be alive? “But I'm still alive…”

“Just because you are in the realm of the immortals, you cannot go back nor leave this room considering the risk of you getting murdered, not until you become one of us— an immortal.”

“So if I become an immortal I can return.”

“No! How can you be even more dull witted than Itadori, you can leave this room, after that, go find any work to suit your pleasures and work till you earn another chance in life.”, Fushiguro finishes, rolling an eye at you.

“I am not dull witted and just to let you know I had no intention of being around such immortal beings who aren't familiar with a shred of kindness, why pray to you then? And since it was my soul in the first place I have the right to ask, what happened to it.”

Fushiguro raises a brow at you, “considering such fragile body, you sure have a tongue of fire,” Yuji laughs at his comments, “your soul was severed from you along with the string of fate, it will be kept in the house of the death god. Another reason for you to keep your voice down and accept whatever is going on.” said Fushiguro, looking outside the window at the moon, it's glow so illuminating, that the entire room was better off without the half burning wax candle on the low table.

“The god of death?”

“Suguru Geto, the god of death. He owns your soul for now and will be in account of it till the 13 days pass by.” Said Yuji, stretching himself. What an odd situation you found yourself in…will you ever be able to get back?

“But as you said, I am more or less useless to you, why not let me go?” This came out as a whisper, you were doubtful of anyone listening, however Fushiguro sighed, “you're right, but we aren't the one who gets to decide that, prince shota seemed to have taken a liking for you, once the coronation is fulfilled and our new sea god sits on the throne, you will be sent to his parlour.”

“Will talking to prince shota can help get me out of here?” You ask hopefully, while Fushiguro’s eyes darkens, “if anything I would suggest you stay as far away as you can from that certain princeling” with that said he abruptly leaves the room, Yuji’s expression too grave, followed Megumi out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the bone gnawing silence as the moon light pours into the room, pooling itself into the tatamis, where you laid tied.

They made it very clear it was unlikely for you to leave this realm, but if you no longer had any connections with the sea god, what's the problem returning your soul to the mortal realm? What could possibly be the reason behind the immortals stealing a mortal soul? And what could be the reason for the sudden coronation?

Prince ren’s voice echo near your ears, causing you to flinch a little, his polite facade wasn't entirely able to conceal the chill in his voice when he asked you if you got a glance at the sea god….and his sceptical eyes studying you even after his brother left. Probably he knew you lied to him, he knew that you saw the sea god and what you saw was sure to make you question your eyes, but then it was not much of a topic to think about.

What could be certainly odd about a sea god that looked half your age?

You don't know what to assume, Fushiguro mentioned the only people to meet him are— Prince Ren and Prince shota, his brothers. So it means they belong from the same family, the same blood runs in their veins, then what could be the reason to crown such a young boy who looked barely ten years of age?

The sea god wore a mask to his face— a dragon mask. Similar to the one dragon who drowned you into this realm. He was dressed in bright blue robes with delicate threads of embroidered lotus, dragons and clouds sewn perfectly to match his unearthly young presence. The mask on his face was painted in an expression of slumber, as if a dragon sleeping and—

But this is not the time to reminisce about the sea god’s attire, not to mention just a few days to go, when the young boy would no longer bear such a heavy title, for his age.

Suguru geto, the death god was the one to possess your soul, and if only you could go to his house, it would benefit you to steal your soul back from them, but your hands are tied and so are your legs.

You dart your eyes around the room, there must be something, anything, any sharp— you glance at the plate of crisp apples, cut in beautiful shapes and placed over one another in a decorative way, next to it layed a small fruit knife, sharp enough to cut past the fabric bound around your wrists and feets.

Awkwardly you struggled near the low table in your restricted position, wriggling and squirming, close enough for you to grab the knife with your mouth.

Seizing the knife with your mouth you let it fall beside you, as you reposition yourself in order to pick it up with your tied palms and cut through the fabric. After what seemed for such a long time, is when you feel the fabric loosening up and finally letting your hands free of restriction.

You immediately massage your wrists and get down in the work of freeing your legs, once you get done with it, you peer out of the window.

It seemed like you were in the second floor of a wooden pagoda, surrounded by a lake and small connected pavilions to make commuting easy, the problem was sneaking outside the pagoda seemed enough with risks if not getting caught by anyone of them, considering how busy it was even at what seemed like already midnight?

You let yourself calm down, all you need is to sneak out of this specific pavilion, you can trick immortals asking for the god of death, right? Except they would recognise you as a mortal instantly. Still you couldn't seem to keep your feet in this pavilion, you wanted your freedom back, you wanted your soul back.

Sliding the doors very softly you speculate the corridor which seemed empty for now, you waited a while to finally set a foot outside, for now your plan is to just somehow or the other make your escape from this pavilion.

Your heart thumped like drums in your chest, when was the last time you ever showed this defiance, you don't remember. This was probably the first time.

You took a few steps out in the corridor, when a hand clamped around your lower face, the movement was so fast that you could barely sense anything, rather think any. Its iron grip forced you backwards, till you noticed you were back into the small room, and the sharp sound of doors shutting closed behind you.

You laid stricken to the tatami floors, the hand still locked around your jaw and a huge figure hovering over you.

Gojo.

His Silver long hair pooled on the floor as he supported his body with one hand while pressing you down from any movement with the other. He snuck his veiled face near you, “Don’t. Even. Try.”

“Mfffff” you tried shouting yet nothing came past your clamped mouth except pressed muffles. You were just so, so close yet he has to come right on time to snatch that one ray of hope from you.

You protested, trying to thrash out of his grip, yet your body moved none, and the more stronger the grip of his hands became that at one point you felt he would crash your head right on the floor staining the tatami red.

Were you scared? Yes.

The man, supposedly named gojo, still had his eyes veiled on the very midnight sash you'd seen before, yet you felt like it was staring at your soul. Not liking the feeling, you pressed down your nails into his skin scratching it down till drops of blood start oozing out. Yet he didn't move an inch.

You throw a hand at his face trying to make another desperate move of your leave, pulling the veil down, till it unloops entirely, falling down on the floor, along with your hand.

You stilled, your movements stilled, he stilled.

His eyes sparkled in a distant bright, hollow black that makes you shiver in fright. His pupils were black, entirely black, glassy and vacant. It was as if you weren't staring into a man’s eyes, but rather a void of such murky iniquity, that even the night of the new moon might turn out being shades lighter than his sinful eyes.

Gulping hard, unable to breathe, you tap two times on his hand, whose grip he loosened further, he stared blankly at you, with no expression on his face, it was as if he was a statue himself, hollow from inside, even more dead than a dead plant in the hot of a desert.

You let out a shaky breath, unable to tear your eyes away from him nor move your body in anyway. Your eyes started burning, tears brimming up your eyes at the sheer amount of fear you're experiencing. But you didn't want to cry, you just didn't want to show that you were afraid— Afraid of him.

He yanked you by your hair before, slammed you on the floor, most importantly he hurted you. And you wanted to do the same, even when you were scared of him.

Near your hand, layed the fruit knife perfectly in reach for you to grip, and you do so. You grab the knife and aim to stab it right at his neck. And you do so. You stab right at his neck yet the knife would pierce through his skin. You noticed a subtle space which prevents the knife from touching his skin. So was the case with his hand, which wasn't directly touching your face now, it was a slight space of void pressing you down on the floor.

You looked at gojo, staring at you with the same face without any sarcasm or humour, as if he felt finding your little attempts to escape humourous was not even worth mocking. You felt even more shame and embarrassment creeped up your face.

“Master!” Yuji's voice rammed through the room. Gojo’s hollow pupil moves to the side, before he gets off you, finally letting you out of his grip, before grabbing the piece of midnight silk and looping around his eyes again.

You cough and back away to the corner of the room, the knife still in your hands.

Yuji threw a concerned look over you, fushiguro was standing behind, face unreadable. Gojo turned over to them, “tie her up well and make sure there aren't any weapons near her to help her escape”

The boys nodded at the white haired man who was about to take his leave, “wait! Gojo!” You shout, causing him to stop his movements. He turned back facing your frail body. His eyes were covered behind the fabric, still he faced you as if he could see you right through the fabric, or maybe he did see you right through his fabric.

Maybe you're forgetting that all of the persons present in this room are immortals, except you, they are sure to possess some otherworldly power.

“I want to see the god of death. Please take me to him, I give you my word I won't try to escape. Please.” You demand, eyes pleading even if you didn't like the idea of begging to this certain guy.

And yet. You did.

Gojo remained still for sometime, before turning his back and leaving you alone with the other two boys, not faltering the vacant facade.

What? You swear you'd kill this guy, if he were any near, and if there wasn't such a power difference between you two.

“Listen, little crane, your demand is far away to be fulfilled.” Said Yuji coming near you, a rope forming in between his hands as a he makes a certain gesture, probably his magic. “Why? All I want is to see the god of death—”

“You dull-witted crane, that's not possible.” Fushiguro taunts you, massaging his temple with two fingers.

“My name is y/n and I'm not a crane. I am a human and yes a mortal, and I want my soul. If I serve no purpose to your god now or in near future why not serve my demands. I am unable to understand why I have to remain as a captive of you. And why can't I see the god of death?”

Yuji sighs, “its not as easy as you think, it would have been possible for you to meet the god of death, if the friendly bond between master and him wouldn't have been severed.” He stated blandly, winding the rope around your wrists. Fushiguro gets annoyed at yuji reciprocating your answers and leaves the room.

Not paying any heed to his exiting figure, you ask “why? Why happened between them?”

“Hmm?” Yuji hums at your questions, before making up a troublesome expression, “well a lot happened at once. You see, our master and the god of death suguru geto were quite good friends but since the last few years nothing has been the same. I don't know the details, but the news was in the air that it was in regard of the sea god.”

“The sea god?” You ask, the fact that hollow guy you faced right now, was capable of being in a friendship was strange enough for you to twist your face, especially with the god of death.

“Yeah, and then they had a huge fight, in which a very dear friend of suguru got hurt, since then both of them aren't on speaking terms.” Yuji stopped looping the rope around your wrists, about to bound them in a knot again, when you distract him with another question, “why? Why did they fight over the sea god?”

“You see, the god of death is severely against the reign of our current sea god. He has always made a strong opposition to the sea god's decisions, even though the crown binds all of us to the words of the sea god. This also counted as another reason for the passing down the crown to Prince Ren.” You clasp Yuji's hands, pressing them a bit and he grows a bit flustered, if the only person who can get you out of here was Yuji Itadori, who seemed too innocent and kind. Never have you ever thought of using someone’s kindness to your favour, but when even gods were selfish who were you to walk on a path of morals.

“Yuji, please I promise I will not escape, please take me to the god of death,” Yuji backs away, freeing his hands from your grip, shaking one palm at you, “that's not possibl—”

“Please Yuji, you're the only one I can trust. Help me, just let me go once to see the god of death, I swear I will not run.” You assure him with pleading eyes, nearing him till you get hold of his hands again. “Please.”

“Little crane, I am not allowed to let you leave this pagoda…” his stubbornness to his higher ranks made you leave any hope you had for seeing the god of death when, “but I wasn't instructed on helping you or not.” he tilted his head in a fond way and frowned his eyebrows with a sad smile on his face.

“Huh?”

“Maybe it's best to retrieve your soul back, no matter what. You must retrieve your soul back, and return to the mortal world as fast as you can. So I guess I will help you run to the house of death god, but beware of the wolves, you won't want them catching you on the way.” Yuji said, unlooping the rope off your wrists before snapping his fingers to dispel his magic.

“Thank you, thank you so much Yuji!” You expressed your gratitude, to the pink haired, feeling sad he had to serve such a severe hollow master.

“Now listen to me very carefully, I will kiss your forehead with my magic, it will conceal you from the other prying eyes for a few moments of time, say about and hour or so,” he stops whispering and walks near the door making sure fushiguro isn't present near. Being sure he walks back to you and continues, “during that one hour of your concealment, you must leave the Tsubaki pagoda and at least be about a mile or two away from the entrance gate.”

You nod trying to process all the information together, Yuji was dumping on you, “and while you do that, you must make sure not to cross or be any near master gojo, stay as far away as possible. He can sense reeks of my magic and my concealment is very feeble in his eyes, he would recognise you in a second so do not ever cross paths with him.” You nod at yuji, your heart thumping as if you were about to face a war, and the way his voice had the serious hint in it, you were sure that running into gojo would be the last thing you want in the entire world.

“As soon as I conceal you run from here, no one will be able to see you, take the left corridor and search for the nearest stairs leading to the floor underneath. Find the door with a huge old camellia flower carved on to its body, that's the back door…you will take the way to the left pavilion and not stop running, still you cross all three of them and exit the main entrance. Remember even if you exit the entrance don't stop running, run as far as you can. And if you see any group of people with designs of wolves embroidered, do not linger around them, ask the commoner to show you the path to the house of death god and they will.” He shuffles his one hand inside the sleeve of his robes, and takes out a thread of gold coins, shoving them to you.

“Give them these for payment and you will be just fine, insist them to drop you near instead, it's dangerous roaming alone. When you meet suguru geto, beg him for your life, he won't agree to give your soul back right away so crack a deal with him, offer him something precious to you and he's sure to help. If he insists having your soul till the coronation let him be but ask him to hide you in his house till the thirteenth day, and once you have your soul back pray to him to send you back.”

“And he will?”

“Probably. Keep praying till he agrees, no matter what he is still a god, if you devote yourself to him with pure heart he is bound to comply.” Yuji explains, dragging you near the door, one hand cupping your cheek gently.

you never had a brother, which always made you wonder how it feels to have one. Now you might have an answer to this. Yuji brings his lips to your forehead. “Run as far as possible, little crane” he whispered before pressing his lips to your forehead. A tingling sensation coursed through your veins and the moment you open your eyes, Yuji rushes you out of the room.

You run.

You ran and ran and ran. Two times nearing the failure of Yuji's concealment, when you passed near fushiguro but he was busy in conversation with a official in fancy robes. And the second time when you were about ten fleeting steps near gojo. But you ran. You somehow ran. And you're pretty sure you're miles away from the pagoda, which Yuji mentioned as Tsubaki pagoda— domain of gojo.

Your chest was heaving, throat itching of thirst, and your knees were shaking from running so long. The place where you were in currently resembled a busy market in the immortal realm, yet you could barely find people as it was still very early in the morning.

You didn't sleep for an entire night, the thread of gold coins Yuji gave you jingled heavy in the small coin purse which belonged to your mom as you walked around finding a place to sit.

Retiring yourself under a big osmanthus, you let out a breath, reflecting what you went through just in the past few hours, which now had been a day and a half you'd say to be exact.

You sit up straight, noticing something weird. Ever since childhood you couldn't run a mile distance without coughing or gasping for a bunch of oxygen which seemed to be slipping from your lungs. Yet, you ran continuously for an hour and probably more than that, and nothing really happened?

The thing just didn't sit right with you. But it was useless finding this thing odd, which could probably be one of the perks of Yuji's magic.

You huff out another breath leaning your back on to the bulk of its massive trunk. Breathing in the trails of its honeyed sweetness, with delicate hints of sun warmed peaches and somewhat complex undertone of the scene of rope apricots dancing in between— you gulp, trying to ease your thirst.

The smell of osmanthus relieved you, reminding you of your sweet home, where your mother once cradled you, where your father taught you how to walk. Feeling nostalgic and worry seeping in your thoughts of your father's health, you look up not wanting to cry.

You squint your eyes as you see a silhouette of something, deliberately peering down with curious eyes. You shriek of horror as you realise it was a figure of a girl, hurrying away from the osmanthus.

Sensing your panic, whatever the thing it was, landed on the group with a smooth jump— a girl....who seemed kind of human.

“Umm—”

“What are you doing here?”

“Shouldn't I be the one asking you this as you were hanging on the branch of the tree like a dead corpse?” You burst out, trying to calm down your pacing heartbeat.

“Dead? Aren't you dead too?” She said in a tone which caused a gush of familiarity, where have you heard it before?

“I am not,” you say, the girl who looked awfully cheerful, came near you, “do you need my help standing up?” She forwarded a hand which you refused to take. “No.” You said standing up on your own and dusting your clothes.

“You smell….very…very mortal.” She commented, pouting at you causing you to gulp, she realises the smell yet not able to distinguish you, “is that so? Do you want something?” You try to change the topic, unwilling to discuss any about your mortality.

“No. Nothing. Just curious about something heavy jingling on that very beautiful coin purse of yours.”

Oh.

“Well, I will be very happy to give you some if you do me a favour.” She jumped at you with curious eyes of excitement, “what favour? Yes I will.”

“umm..I would like to visit the…god of death, do you know where his house must be?” You ask not wanting to sound too obvious, afterall what business might a commoner would have with the god of death.

The girl nodded without any further questions and gestured to you to follow her, by now you forgot about your thirst and not wanting to lose track of her, you followed close by.

The girl left with some coins of gold leaving you at the doors of the huge palace which is known as the house of death. You sneaked in, through the gates, feeling no less of a thief, the palace guards were not present near the gate so you didn't have anyone to take permission from, which was to your advantage. You wouldn't want to spread the news of your escape.

After crossing two huge shrine-like gates, you enter a palace finding no guards there too. Following an elongated corridor you check the entire floor before taking the steps to the upper floors.

Even after checking the entire palace you found no one. Did the girl trick you? And now you ended up in an abandoned palace, with no surety of—

“Any problems, young mortal?”

You flinched at the voice behind you, a man stood behind you, tall enough to hover over you, somewhat near gojo, you could see hints of black yukata with some gold robes. Under the chilling intensity of his gaze, you slowly turn back to face him.

He was awfully beautiful, to be termed as the feared god of death. Black streaks of hair falling down while half of them were tied in a knot, his eyes held a curved sinister gaze as lips twisted in another pout. “Tell what mortal, you come in my house, take a look at each and every corner in here and when I decide to appear in front of you, you freeze?”

“God of death?” You ask, even though every single hair on your body knew whose presence you were under.

“Yes, I am the god of death, Suguru geto.” He said before letting out a chuckle “What demand do you have? You want your soul back?”

“Yes! Please give me back my soul, I wish to return to my world, please I beg you—”

Geto lets out a laugh before coming extremely close to you, till your back hits the wall and he is hovering over you, face inching closer each moment, “and why shall I? If satoru gojo expects me to return your soul, I must make it clear, poor thing. I. will. not.” he says, tucking his index finger beneath your chin plopping your head up to face him.

Tears brim down from your eyes, “what does it have to do with gojo? I came here to expect help from a god, a god who is expected to help his devotees. And if you don't know what the sacred relation between a god and a devotee is, you should know better to leave your position.”

His face twisted in mockery, the index beneath your chin slid down to grab your throat, hand tightening around it, strangling you, making it difficult to breathe. “You sure have a lot to say, but my dear crane, you should think properly, what sacred relation? I am the God of death. I am to be feared not to be prayed. I am not to be worshipped, but to be dreaded.”

“Isn't death the start of a new life?” You choke your words out, “doesn't that mark you not only as the god of death but the god of life?”

“You speak too much mortal…the god of life is the sea god, who has ignored all of your pleas of help for decades, he trampled down on all of your cries and you expect me to—” you can barely make out what he was saying, your mind was growing dizzy and your body was going limp. Yuji’s voice echoed from the back of your mind. ‘crack a deal with him’ he said.

“I will give you anything you want, return me back to my world, to my father.” Your voice came out in a choked whisper, geto stared at you for a while, before loosening his grip on your throat, “too late, I expect another visitor.”

You look behind geto to see prince ren staring at both of you with unreadable eyes, his calm demeanor sent chills to your spine, “did I interrupt your fun with the mortal crane?” He asked, his voice was nothing other than composed, “what if my answer is a ‘yes’...”

“Guess I will have to apologise, however the crane is already decided to be taken under my brother, so—” geto interrupts him mid-sentence. “Oh don't worry, I'm not interested in hunting cranes from the very beginning, crown prince ren.”

“Ah, I guess then we can leave her out of the conversation.” Prince ren's face displayed a polite smile as geto skims his fingers to your forehead head, rendering you unconscious.

The next you opened your eyes, you found yourself tucked in a bed, mattress filled with what seemed very soft cotton, the room you were in seemed different than the rooms of the house of death, shifting yourself out of the feathers you walk up to the door, feeling uneasy about opening it or not. You had no idea where exactly you were in or who might be waiting outside this room— the death god? Prince Ren? Or gojo?

You could hear something going on, as if an interrogation, “I am the one responsible.”

A chill runs down your spine, you slowly part the doors creating a small gap enough for you to peek in. You see prince ren moving in circles and the one standing still was— gojo.

You were back in the Tsubaki pagoda. Cursing yourself mentally, you feel your hands getting clammy, all of the hard work for nothing? You traveled so far to retrieve your soul from geto suguru yet—

“So you're telling me you're the one responsible and she ran away without receiving any help from your subordinates?” Prince Ren asked him as he stood silent. His face was still the same expression, vacant.

“Might be so when you render yourself responsible. Must take the responsibility. Grab the knife near and stab right through your hand”

What?

The prince said it so casually as if it meant nothing and you could only widen your eyes when Gojo took a knife and stabbed it right through his palm.

You gasped, trying to calm down your breathing, the sharp blade was still stuck in his palm as blood slowly trickled down tainting the tatamis.

Unable to see anymore, you shut the door and return back to the bed. Your hands were shaking, whatever you saw you no longer understood what you felt, because why would you feel such extravagant unfurling of excitement when gojo did stab right through his hand. Why would your hands shake of envy instead of fear, wishing you would have stabbed it instead of him.

You try to shake off these thoughts from your mind. What the heck were you thinking anyway? Yes he did yanked you by your hair, seized your jaw and threw your fragile body to the floor, even ignored your pleas, but it doesn't mean he deserved that…right?

You had no answer.

What troubled you even more is his expressionless face, who didn't even display a hint of pain at such a brutal attack, inflicted by himself. What exactly was wrong with him?

You decided to care less. What mattered more is the movement of the doors which opened to reveal prince ren. He entered the room with his calm demeanor, and polite expression.

You cannot fathom how he was the same person who made gojo stab his hand in just one order.

“You're awake.” He said nearing your bed, and dismissed your effort of standing up with a hand gesture. “Do you feel better now?”

“Yes, I do prince ren.” You bow your head, “that's great, I was quite worried for you,..”

“Worried? Excuse my words but why must the crown prince worry for me?”

“I just happened to make an observation,” he settled on a chair near your bed, picking up some freshly cut pears and passing it to you, wanting you to have it. Not wanting to refuse the prince you comply with his desires, “that your body is quite frail, how long have you been practicing it?”

“Huh? Practicing? Practicing what, your highness?”

“Mithridatism.”

You still, no more chewing the fleshy fruit rather gulping it down, “ah…I apologise I don't get it.”

“How long have you been poisoning yourself?”

“Why would I poison myself?”

“Oblivious. Aren't you? Your body reeks of strong poisons, these veins on your wrists, don't you think they are too blue, too noticeable? Since you seem to know nothing about this, it concludes your parents or specifically your father, the one you're so desperate to return back to— has been poisoning you little by little for years.”

“You're sprawling nonsense…” the prince chuckled in amusement, particularly not minding the lack of your poise, “am I?” He picked up another piece of pear, going to the other corner of the room, where caged was a little swallow. The small bird innocently fed on some of it as the prince smiled, humming a tune which made you uneasy.

“What exactly are you doing prince ren?” You couldn't help but question his actions. Whatever he was doing didn't feel right. “Hmm, just feeding a bird.”

You watched him confused, a while later the bird fell off the perch, the little swallow was dead. “What?” You're breathing quickened as you realised what exactly the prince was implying. “I fed the same poison to you and this bird, yet you're still alive whereas the bird is not, do you know what that means? It means your body has been consuming poisons for so long that it has grown immune to it....”

You swallowed thickly, unable to form any words, the prince came near you, “I wasn't sure so I decided I'd try experimenting.”

“And what if you were wrong…what if..what if I died?” You ask, letting out a calculated breath, trying to process whatever truth about you were getting enlightened on. “Then I could have blamed your death on the enemies, plus who would care for a crane.”

You still couldn't believe it, you didn't know why you agreed to the prince’s terms but you did. For you had no other choice, the prince promised you anything you want would be granted if you spy for him. All you wanted was to go back home to your father, but all this while he'd been poisoning you? You didn't know what to feel about it. You said you'd take time thinking about what you want after all the prince wants is for you to spy for him in the Tsubaki house, and report any interaction between prince shota and gojo.

“Why prince shota? Isn't he your brother?” You questioned, when he chuckled at you, “brother by blood is a crack forged on a sword. I do not grant my trust simply…”

“But you're trusting me to spy for you…”

“Since you're bound to follow my orders. And I know you don't trust me nor I'd ask to. Only a fool would make such a mistake.”

“I'm not bound, I am meant to be taken in by your brother, and If I want I can reveal it all to him, about how you ask me to spy on him.” you hiss your defiance at him, which twists his court smile into one of satire.

“oh do you think you will be safe under his wing? Young crane, have not understood him yet, he's a hunter, all he wants to do with you is to green-gown you, and once it's done he will throw you away to get you used by his followers.”

You felt numb, confused and lost. It was too much for you to take and too much for you to grasp, unsure of what was happening around you.

He even removed restrictions on you being held captive. you were free to move as long as you're inside the boundaries of the Tsubaki house. All you had to do is spy on each movement of gojo; let the other spies of prince ren in the Tsubaki house and report to him your observation. And in between all the 10 days you've spent in the Tsubaki house near gojo, Fushiguro and a guilty Yuji who has been avoiding you, nothing happened which needed serious report.

It was the day of coronation, a three day function to celebrate by the immortals and vow their oath as a new king is crowned. You heard Fushiguro speaking to Yuji about how prince ren isn't going to start his reign with the blood crown passed down since generations, rather he ordered the forging of a new blood crown, which is why this coronation would be three days long.

And as promised, after his coronation, the prince would grant you anything you want, but what would you ask? You had nothing to desire anymore. Except for your soul, and even if you have your soul you'd have to go back to the mortal realm— to a father who poisoned you.

But staying is even worse, it'd question your chastity.

The royal chamber swayed with immortals of high ranks and officials, you notice the other kins to the royal family—Princess nanako and najimi. You also spot the betrothed of prince ren, lady harumi.

The god of death soon made his arrival and so did the god of wind and goddess of motherhood and even more, that you struggled remembering their titles.

Prince Ren made sure it was perfect, and it was until— princess nanako, the eldest kin to the sea god clan, came forward, her hand glazed with the new blood crown, gold threads of pearls suspended to it. The former blood crown laid behind the canopy, on a low table, where the soon to be former sea god sat on his throne. Its silhouette is visible to all.

The new oaths were to be taken and the crown was soon to be adorned on the prince's mighty head— as long as he had a head.

Prince shota twisted his sword, wrenching the guts of his kin, his eldest sister before drawing the sword back, her screaming figure fell to the floor, so did the new crown.

Everything was a mess, the crowd freaked out and when Ren came protesting with a sword ready to fight his kin, it was the god of death stabbing him right through his stomach.

He betrayed prince ren— for prince shota. And the next you blink your eyes you see Ren's head cut off rolling on the marbled floor.

You felt something wet on your face. These 10 days you've been convinced you couldn't feel anything yet when you raised your hand to wipe it off your face, expecting to see the splattered blood, you see your tears, spilling continuously from your eyes.

Prince Ren was dead. And so was your only guarantor of your wish. Even though you couldn't trust him, prince shota is even more not to trust, now that you knew what his intentions with you were.

You dart your head around, coming out of your daze, you need to run as fast as you can from this place or else you will be dead meat. Everyone was running here and there while some took the scene in amusement. The goddess of motherhood, who was supposed to be kind, glances at the scene, quietly sipping on her drink, not a single drop of motherly kindness glazed in her eyes. It was as if she was enjoying the indiscriminate slaughter.

You shift your focus to fushiguro and Yuji, who seemed to help commoners get out of the high palace. Gojo was nowhere to be seen, you make your way to them when some commoners among the massacre take out their grudges, seeking this as their perfect chance to get away with a murder.

Horrified you fall back, your robes are now tainted in red, you don't know how or from where, pushing past crowds of so called immortals, you find yourself in a secret chamber, where the figure of gojo, seemed to be in a daze.

Bewildered, you grab a candelabrum, posing as a weapon to any threat he displays. Gojo, who seemed to have noticed your presence, didn't stand up, rather stayed stuck to his place. His long white hair fell from the top of his ribbon knot. The piece of midnight silk was discarded on the floor, “y/n…” he said.

Hearing your name from his mouth sounded unfamiliar to you. For a moment you found yourself contemplating if you heard it right, and then doubting he even knew your name. He turns his head at an angle, which allows him to side eye you as if he'd jump out right now, and the next thing you know is you'd be dead, “Don't you dare…”

Gojo stills at your words, before asking “dare what y/n?”

“Don’t come near me…”

“....I understand. I won't. And I can't.”

You frown even more. He just simply agreed? Something about him doesn't sit right with you. It just doesn't. Taking your surroundings properly you notice, he wasn't sitting on the chair, rather he was plopped perfectly bound to the chair, chains of metal wrapped around wrists and feets, securing him tight, unable to escape.

You swallow an unwanted bubble of laugh creeping past your lips. He, once ordered to enslave you, was here captured and chair to a mere chair. What a shame.

Gathering more confidence than you needed you put the candelabrum down and search around the room until you find a perfect piece of dagger— to threaten him.

You already have enough of it and it's not like days spent in this immortal realm made you any less crazy. “And who dared to bind you to this mere chair?

“Suguru.” face still devoid of any expression.

“ahh I see, you kind of deserve this.” you mock, staring into the hollow eyes of the white haired, till you felt something so overpowering that you turned your head away. “Oh.” He said.

“And you won't attempt running away?” You say grazing the tip of the dagger down his face to his neck, wondering if the space barrier would avoid the tip touching the skin but it didn't. “I am not allowed to…”

“And why so?” he didn't answer you for a few minutes, before you realise he doesn't want to answer you, when you press the tip of the dagger more firmly to his neck.

“.....a curse.”

You tilt your head, amused, finding it hysterical. So the gojo satoru, head of the Tsubaki house, and the right hand of the dead crown prince all while bound to a mere curse, “what curse?” you interrogate further, unable to best yourself taking advantage of his situation.

“...a curse which binds me to words.” You pinch your brows together, at which he explains further, “of any person imposing those on me.”

“So you won't be able to do anything unless someone tells you to…” he nods, “and by that you mean anyone?” He nodded, hesitation peeking his vacant face for the first time, exciting you even more. You still find it hard to look straight to his dark hollow eyes but the way knowing about his weakness courses energy through you, you find yourself mocking him, staring right at his eyes.

“even me?” You ask in a knowing tone, already guessing his answer at the delay of his response, “I'd count that as a yes.” It is fun. Why did you even come here in the first place, you didn't remember, but seeing him, satoru gojo weak, had you giggling inside your head.

“So gojo, you know that I hate you…right? What do you feel about me?” you ask, bringing your mouth near his.

“If you want an answer, I would like to reciprocate the same feeling of hatred, which you hold in account for me.”

“And how would you feel, if the person you hate so much had you underneath…” you closed a bit more distance between you both, similar to the situation you'd been in before, when he hovered over you, limping your body to the floor. His eyes still had chills running down your spine yet you refused to look away. “I'd be humiliated.”

“Is that so? How about you kiss the person you hate instead, that'd be even more humiliating, don't you think.” gojo doesn't answer you, rather slips his eyes down to your lips and gulps as you bring them even closer. You press the dagger in his neck, piercing his skin, yet he didn't seemed as alert as when you bring your other hand near his hair and yank his head.

“Isn't this what you did to me? How does it feels?”

Gojo doesn't answers you, bringing your head near, you open your mouth to ask again, when gojo tilts his head at you, as if begging to— you near his lips as he captures yours with a devouring kiss.

His lips moved around yours, sucking the plump of your fleshes so feverishly, if you didn't knew better you'd think he has been secretly craving for you all this time, but you did know better, he was just disgusted by the fact that he was kissing you. And it humiliated him, the first expression you've ever seen in his face, as you find hits of crimson slowly spreading across his ears.

His lashes brushed against your skin, and in order to humiliate him even more, you let go of the dagger, hands cupping his cheeks deepening the kiss.

You slipped your tongue in his mouth, as gojo sucked on your sweet juices, the tingly sensation seemed to grow your brain mushy, when all of a sudden he pulled away.

“What happened?” You blink innocently as you watch him coughing, and wheezing, soon followed by blood spilling out of his mouth, staining his robes.

“Oh, I might have poisoned you…” you forgot you had the toxin of the crimson lily before on your way to the high palace. Or maybe you didn't.

Gojo halts his coughing a bit as he looked up at you, he spits blood from his mouth, some dripping down his chin as a smirk spreads across his cheeks, causing you to take back your taunting smile.

His dark pupils dilated, and if you weren't hallucinating, you might have seen his dark eyes break out in a colour of brilliant blue.

“What vicious plan are you plotting against my heart y/n?”

tags- @teddiiursulas-ink @jkslaugh97

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dilf-docs · 3 months ago

Text

X Si Volvemos

ex older bf!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: there are many things you and logan disagree in but not when it comes to things in bed.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (phew), smut, ex!logan, exes to ????, p in v, creampie, reader's in her early to middle twenties so her frontal lobe hasn't developed yet; don't expect any reasonable thinking on her side, logan is on his middle to late 40s, angst (duh), this happens in an AU where mutants don't exist bc i don't wanna complicate myself with timelines lol hence time isn't really important but it's contemporary, the vibes i bring to the function are more sad than horny and i'm sorry, toxic too! may build a series around it?

word count: 1,925 words

side note: the incredible @bpmiranda's got me with a very bad case of ex!logan fever :( plus after listening to karol G's album mañana será bonito and seeing i may or may not be obssesed with romeo santos, i got the song in the title on loop: as you can see, it's all very fitting ++ don't forget to check out her stories, they're so good istg!!!!

You shouldn't call.

"Logan" you speak. His name burns in the tip of your tongue, like a secret you're not supposed to tell.

He shouldn't answer.

It's quiet at first on the other line, until a rough voice says I'm here, appearing to be distant, but who is he trying to fool? As soon as he saw the number pop on the screen, his fingers moved with a learned urgency.

You shouldn't keep calling.

"I need you" three words to cover those you actually mean; hanging in the spaces between the silence.

I miss you. I love you.

Your hear a heavy sigh on the other end.

He shouldn't keep answering.

"Princess..." Logan pleads, "don't do this"

You know better than that, he wants to say, but keeps his mouth shut. Just to hear your voice, just to-

"Please, Lo" you whine out. Logan grabs his jeans with force, the fabric strained under his white-knuckled grip. It takes him a lot not to run to you right there and now.

"Don't" but his voice cracks as much as his resistance.

"I've got the house" you whisper the prayer; a routine so sacred none of you seem to break it, "just for us"

"Y/n" even saying your name is painful; like the most addicting and damaging drug to ever exist, "stop"

Logan loved your stubborn heart, but there are times where he wishes you weren't like this.

"I'm sorry" and then he hangs up.

I'm sorry for not being who you needed. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry I keep on coming back after I said I would leave you alone. I'm sorry I can't keep my promises.

You feel it around your neck―bruises in the vocals your voice has failed to scream; it chokes you with rage.

"Are you stupid?" you ask yourself in the mirror.

What are you doing? Why are you doing this to yourself? Do you love him more than you love you?

You dial again, but this time, it's a girl who picks up.

"Yeah?"

"Hi. Wanna go out?"

Logan feels so out of place, but this used to be your favorite bar, and he's desperate for a drink.

Listening to your voice has always made him weak, but after you broke up, it drives him crazy.

He empties another glass, feeling pathetic. This is how bad it's gotten: you've got him scouring the places you used to go, chasing your ghost, trying to get a glimpse of your silhouette or a whiff of the phantom of your scent, the lavender haunting him; getting under his skin.

A song beggins playing, and it's the same vinyl set from two years ago. The night he met you: a pretty young thing so out of place in an old bar like that, playing hard to get, only to end the night moaning over him, fogging his car's windows, saying his name in a way no one else had before. He still remembers the way your legs trembled but he held you, beads of sweat confusing themselves with the glitter on your skin. Logan doesn't know what that is, but he's marveled, so in awe of you, everything of you: young, new, exciting.

But every new thing wears out, and the gap he swore wouldn't matter came crashing in years that built a distance between him and you.

So he did what he did best: ruin it. Deny the feelings bubbling inside; let them consume his reasoning, pushing you like he had done with everyone who cared about him before.

When he broke your heart, he took a part with him. So you keep coming back, looking for it; trying to piece yourself together. And he let's you: because God knows you have a part of himself too.

He's so drunk he probably imagines the hint of lavender in the whiskey tinted air. He's so desperate to see you again, he's seeing your face among the crowd. He's definitely gone insane: hearing that laugh he misses every day.

"Y/n..."

The music pauses: all you can hear is your name being said in that way like it belongs to him.

"...Logan"

He walks in autopilot over to the table you and a group of girls are sitting. They're all beautiful―beautiful people attract beautiful people, but he's only got eyes for you.

"What are you doing here?"

He raises a glass he didn't know he was carrying, "having a drink".

Your lips purse, and Logan doesn't know if it's because you're laughing at him or sad.

"I see" but you divert your gaze, looking at your outfit's neck. The outfit you chose: a black dress that pushes your tits on top. They are on display, and Logan feels played by you―his eyes trained on the strained fabric, tongue watering like it did when he would lick your sensitive nipples.

"I see too" he says in automatic, and one of your friends laughs. He looks away, thanking the low lights, or you'd see the red embarrassment on his face.

You stand up and walk over to him, and your friends sense it's time to leave the two of you alone.

"Why did you hang up?" you throw the question so casually; the nerve you have.

"What do you mean?" it's the only thing that comes to his mind. Very stupid, indeed.

You scoff, "delete my number, then"

"You keep on calling" he bites back.

"And you keep answering"

You never shut up. He hates that.

"I may have to stop"

You get closer, way too closer. So much, your hot breathe clouds his judgment.

"Try to" you dare.

And he tries, he really tries. But not today.

Not today when he takes you home, finally looking complete with you in it again. You had moved out after your last discussion, saying you'll never be back.

"You haven't changed a thing" you murmur in between kisses, and he can sense a bit of melodrama in his voice that makes him roll his eyes despite the dull ache on his chest.

He picks up your body swiftly, carrying you up to the bedroom.

"Why would I?" he asks, voice so low and small you almost miss it.

"Because you hate me" you avoid his eyes, even if your faces are too close, loosing all that corageous character of yours, "said you would get rid of it; of everything that reminded you of me"

But when he drops you softly on the matress, there's still that lamp you got him in the night table.

"I couldn't" he confesses.

I couldn't, he means, because I couldn't let you go.

But you both know it won't work out, something you knew right from the start: because toxic loves only fulfill basic needs. This isn't healthy, but he forgets it all as soon as you're moaning his name. Still, he promises himself he will say goodbye to you this time, even if it's inside of you.

"Shut up and kiss me, then" you're always pushing him around, making him do the things he desires to but doesn't want to do.

So he obliges, leaning in, the lavender so strong all over your sweet skin, poisoning his mouth on every kiss he leaves. He feels you squirm under him, goosebumps along your skin, prickling against his, so visible he can see and feel it even in the dim lit room.

"Take it" Logan doesn't look at you, but when he does, you feel him stare deep into your soul, "I know you want it"

He's sliding his dick inside you as soon as the sentence is over, the permission to take you and use you implicit. He robs a drawn-out groan out of you.

"So tight for me" he murmurs against your shoulder, sharp breaths and soft groans flooding your ears. His cock hits deep within you, hard thrust no one has ever been able to replicate, making you gasp for air, burying your face in the plush pillows now drenched in your sweat.

"You're so deep" you hiss, hot and overwhelmed, waves of pleasure hitting like water against cliffside rocks. "So big, Lo" you whine, dizzy at the way your pussy stretches for him.

"Just for you" he grunts out, and it's the truth. No matter how dark the room is or how many faces he avoids, he always looks into the eyes of the other women he fucks, his heart sinking when he can no longer pretend it's you, "fuck, squeeze a bit more".

Hearing his deep voice, rough when you fuck, always making you soak, coating his dick in your juices. You grip tight, as tight as the nails that hold onto his shoulders, making him moan at the pain.

"Like that, princess. Good girl" you moan at the praise, "I know you could take me, all of me"

He grunts and pants, holding you tighter as his cock pumps faster, in sync with your now closer to happening orgasm.

Before it, he slows down his thrusts, "where do you want me to cum, princess?"

He wants to, inside of you, but he can't do so, not when he promised he wouldn't ruin your life. But making you his, marking you as only his, makes his dick inside you twitch. Fuck, he's so balls deep inside you all he can think is filling you up silly.

"Inside me, Lo" like you read his thoughts, and it always amazes and scares him; how deep inside his mind you are. Never happened, not in his four decades of life. And that's part of the problem: he's closer to death than you are but it's only with you, young―blossoming with life, that he feels truly alive.

So how can he say no, when you plead and beg with those pretty doe eyes of yours? Who could imagine such a sweet thing to be so needy. He feels like you could ask for his heart, and he'd carve a hole in his body for you―bleeding out of love; dying with a smile.

"Such a greedy little thing, princess" he mocks, but his tone betrays him―dripping in adoration, "want me to fill you up all nice?"

A broken wail is what he takes as your answer, your mind in blank.

He finds himself letting go, way faster than he should; he just misses you and your needy dripping pussy that much. You can't hold back longer either, rush flowing through your veins, much more satisfying than the alcohol you had drank an hour ago.

Logan paints your insides with layers of his hot cum, mumbling a soft:

"Anything for my princess" he keeps going, panting as he's milked entirely dry, "anything you want, my girl"

Your vision is still spotty, mind fogged: you're sure that's the reason the hurt hasn't settled in your heart yet.

Then the silence comes, like it always does now.

"Y/n" you always love when he calls you by your name, but you hate the way he's saying it now. Like a goodbye.

"Don't-" you plead, begging he shuts up. But he pulls out, and says:

"It's for the best"

You don't want what's best. You want him.

"Can't believe you wore this dress" he traces the pattern of the tight clothes, damped in sweat, "you know it's my favorite. Why?"

You fail to supress a smile, even if it's tired and almost sad, "I knew you couldn't say no".

The truth is, you know many things: like how this is never going to stop until it's destroyed you both.

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elllisaaa · 3 months ago

Text

SECRET SECRET - H. JISUNG

KINKTOBER DAY 15 - MULTIPLE ORGASMS + FEMDOM

SUMMARY : you always liked your men weak and pathetic, so no one was shocked to hear that you had a crush on han jisung - the nerdy boy of your physics class. being paired up with him for a project was the perfect opportunity to have him all for you. except that finding a collection of dairies filled with all the fantasises he has about you wasn't part of your plan.

-> pairing : loser!han jisung x fem!reader

-> words count : 2.9k

-> genre : smut

-> warnings : sub!jisung x soft dom!reader, dom/sub dynamic (obviously), overstimulation, han is kind of a pervert, teasing, use of 'good boy' & 'fucktoy', begging, dry humping, marking, dirty talk, teasing, handjob, oral (m. receiving), deepthroating, spitting, cum eating, choking, unprotected sex, creampie

+ the way i'm depicting jisung does not represent him, it's only a work of fiction

-> 18+ content bellow, minors DNI

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> masterlist | skz masterlist | kinktober 2024

Jisung had never asked for much in life - good grades and friends were all he needed. And he had both. Aside from that, he knew he had a reputation around campus - for being a loser, a nerd who loved anime. But Jisung didn’t mind it, that way people left him alone and he lived peacefully. That was until you entered the equation. The first time he caught a glimpse of you during the first physics class of the semester, he was immediately hooked. And from then on, he developed some kind of obsession over you.

He would always stare at you during your shared classes, would always remember very clearly what outfit you wore everyday of the week, would always notice the tiniest change in your emotions or appearance. Jisung knew he was being obvious, that everyone had noticed how he looked at you with puppy eyes, fascinated by your mere existence. And he didn’t want you to think he was a loser, so he did his best not act like the nerd he usually was when you were around.

Obviously, you knew about Jisung’s crush on you too, everyone knew. And to be honest, you didn’t mind it. At first, you only thought it was cute how pathetically in love he was. And as time went on, as you tried to engage in discussion with him during your shared classes, you came to like him too. You always had a thing for boys who were kind of losers, and Jisung was no exception to this rule. The way his big glasses sat on the bridge of his pretty nose, the way his cheeks were covered in pink everytime you talked to him, the way his gummy smile made you want to crack one too - everything in him was too cute to resist.

But despite your efforts to show some kind of interest in him, Jisung didn’t make a move. He was too shy to do so, and moreover, he had convinced himself that you were only being friendly to him out of pity. Even if every one of his interactions with you nourished his daily fantasies and his already huge crush on you, he didn’t make a move. So when you got paired up with him for the next presentation you had to do for your physics class, you thought it was the perfect opportunity to spend some more time with him and hopefully get him to confess his feelings to you.

“- Do you want something to drink ? I made some tea earlier, I didn’t know what you’d like...”

You looked back to Jisung who was playing with his fingers anxiously, his voice quiet and shy. You smiled at him reassuringly, your urge to make him yours even bigger now that you had a view of how cute he could really be.

“- I could use some tea, yeah. Thank you Jisung, that’s so sweet.”

His cheeks took a darker shade of red at your compliments, and he only nodded at you because he wasn’t sure if he could talk without embarrassing himself. You watched him go to the kitchen to prepare your drink, and you decided that it was time for a break. You let your eyes wander around his room - a typical nerd room with posters, anime figurines, mangas on every shelf. But apart from that, it was way much cleaner than any other boy on campus.

Your eyes catched something picking out from underneath his bed, and you frowned as you tried to understand what it was. Truly, you knew that it was a bad idea, that you shouldn’t stick your nose into his business, but your curiosity was stronger. You grabbed the unknown object, which was in fact a shoe box that was quite heavy. Maybe you should’ve stopped there, but you didn’t. You opened the box to discover tons of notebooks that looked like diaries by the dates written on the spine. You took the most recent one and opened it to a random page, and as you slowly understood the meaning of the words, your eyes progressively widened in surprise.

“- Sorry I took so long, I couldn’t find th-”

Jisung cut himself off as he saw you there, reading his diary, visibly shocked, the two glasses of iced tea almost slipping out of his hands. You looked up at him, the same surprise written all over your face, and Jisung felt shame wash over him immediately.

“- Jisung… What is all of this ?

- I… I’m sorry…”

The poor boy seemed on the verge of tears, his big eyes filled with regret, and you softened to the sight. But Jisung couldn’t stop cursing himself out. It was already bad to be a pervert and write down all his fantasies about you, but it was even worse that you had discovered it. Why couldn’t he hide this box better when he knew you were coming over ? He lowered his head, ready for you to swear at him, to tell him that he was disgusting.

“- Jisung, look at me.”

Your voice didn’t hold any trace of anger or reproach, but Jisung still hesitated before he listened to you, his glossy eyes falling into your gentle ones.

“- Can you explain to me what this is ?”

Your tone was encouraging, almost comforting, and yet there was a firmness in it that encouraged Jisung to spit it out.

“- I… This is gonna sound like I’m a pervert but I… I have a crush on you… A-And I just couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I needed to say it somewhere so I started to write it down, and I’m so fucking sorry Y/N, I should’ve… I should’ve never done that, I’m sorry…”

You stayed silent as Jisung explained himself, nobbind along to his words. You would’ve never imagined this coming from him, and Jisung would’ve never imagined that you would discover his dirty secret. As you still hadn’t said anything, Jisung anxiously looked at you, calmly flipping through the pages of his dairy. Suddenly, you stopped on one of the entries, a sly smile spreading on your face as you giggled to the words he had written down, making him feel so small and furthermore humiliated.

“- You’re so cute Jisung. You really want to “become my fucktoy” ?”

It was as if his brain malfunctioned, both from you calling him cute - you really thought that he was cute even after having read all the dirty things he wrote about you ? Unbelievable - and from you quoting his desperate, horny dream. But if it was his chance to prove to you how much he liked you, how desperate he was for every crumb of your attention, of your touch, he was going to take it.

“- I… I… Yes, yes, please…”

Your smile only widened as you heard his begs, putting away the box and the dairy as you gestured for him to come closer to where you were sitting on the edge of his bed. Having you in his room was already nerve wracking enough for Jisung, but this whole situation was on another level. He gulped down as he put down the two glasses of ice tea that you would most likely not drink now, and he approached you with careful steps, still convinced that this was only another one of his wet dreams and that he was going to wake up sooner or later.

“- Relax baby, I’m not gonna hurt you, only going to make you feel good, yeah ?”

Jisung’s brain malfunctioned again, and you chuckled as you saw him staring at you with wide eyes, his plump lips that you had wanted to kiss for so long parted but no words coming out of it. You slowly reached for his hand, pulling him to sit down on the bed instead of you as you straddled his lap, your clothed heat pressing against the obvious boner deforming his pants. Jisung inhaled sharply, a pathetic whine falling from his lips as he looked at you with the same starstrucked expression.

“- Are you okay with this Jisung ?”

Your fingers were brushing against his cheek, an action that made his heart race in his chest. And your lips were only inches away from his, making it hard for him to think straight.

“- Y-Yes, yes, please, Y/N…”

You didn’t let him say anything else as you crashed your lips against his in a messy, hungry kiss. Jisung closed his eyes immediately, letting the sensations sink in as he tried to kiss you back with the same eagerness. Having the girl of his dreams devouring his mouth wasn’t part of his plans, but he wasn’t going to complain. His hands hesitantly took place on your hips, and you sighed in his mouth at the contact, starting to roll your hips against his boner like some kind of reward.

Jisung moaned into your mouth, which allowed you to come play with his tongue, deepening the kiss. Before long, Jisung was breathless, a whimpering and shaking mess as you only intensified the pressure of your hips against his. The situation excited you too, the way Jisung was reacting to every one of your touches so vividly, the way he was so sensitive and horny for you making you lose your mind as well.

“- Y-Y/N… I’m… I-I think I’m gonna cum…”

His cheeks had only grown redder, whines and pants escaping from his mouth as you were busy marking his neck up and down. You hummed against his skin, sucking one more purple spot on him before you bit into the flesh, proudly smirking at your masterpiece.

“- Yeah ? Think you’re gonna cum just like that ?”

He nodded at you with his eyes squeezed shut. He didn’t want to cum so soon, he wanted you to play with him again, and again, until he had nothing more to give you, until you were completely satisfied. But the way you were rocking your hips against his, and the way you were slightly tugging on his hair, and the way you were making him yours - all of that was sending him into another world, made the knot in his stomach tighten even as he tried his best to hold back, to stop you.

“- Then go on, baby. Cum. Show me how good you can be for me.”

A pitiful high-pitched whine escaped Jisung's lips as he came in his pants, burying his face in the crook of your neck and clinging to you as you helped him ride out his high, letting him buck up into you to try and get even more of that delicious friction. He was so cute, with his face all red and his big eyes still shining with lust as you cupped his face to force him to look at you again.

“- Such a good boy for me… Did it feel good, baby ?

- Fuck… Yes, felt so good, so fucking good…”

His voice came out shaky and choked, barely above a whisper as his gaze zeroed on your lips. A grin spread on your face as you got closer to him, until your lips could brush against his, but you didn't kiss him, giggling as he chased your mouth. But soon enough, he was interrupted by yet another moan as you had started to move again on top of him. And your smile widened as you felt him harden underneath you again, his whines even more desperate and needy than a few minutes ago.

“- Y-Y/N…

- What is it, baby ? Don’t you want to be my fucktoy ? Don’t you want to be my good boy ? Don’t you want to let me play with you ?”

Your dirty words were his last straw, rock hard again in his soiled underwear, his hands now boldly grabbing your waist and pressing you down on him to hump you like a dog.

“- Please… P-Please don’t stop…”

You smiled at him, pecking his lips before you got off of his lap, ignoring his whines and protestations as you settled on the floor, in between his legs. Jisung’s eyes were wide open, his cock throbbing at the sight of your position and what it suggested. You giggled as he hurriedly got rid of his pants and underwear without even waiting for your next instructions, watching intently as you reached for his length, stroking him slowly, your thumb brushing against his tip and making him whine under his breath.

“- You’re gonna let me do whatever I want, right baby ?”

Jisung nodded eagerly, staring at where you were kneeling on the floor. The view was straight out of his wildest dreams and he didn’t know how to process everything that was happening, his body reacting instead of his mouth to every word you said, to every one of your touches.

“- I need words baby. Tell me you want it.

- Y-Yes, yes please, Y/N, please… Please, I w-want you to touch me more, please…

- Sound so pretty when you beg, Ji. You deserve a reward, don’t you ?”

You didn’t let him have enough time to respond as you took him into your mouth, eliciting a loud, desperate moan for him. At this moment, Jisung wasn’t thinking anymore, only feeling how warm your mouth was, and how good it felt to have you sucking around him. You swiped your tongue around his tip, his cock already dripping with your saliva before you pushed him into your mouth again. Deeper. Until his tip was hitting the back of your throat.

Jisung let out the prettiest sounds - whines for more, whimpers of your name, moans so high pitched you were sure he could be heard through the thin walls. And it only encouraged you to give him more, to bob your head up and down faster, to hollow your cheeks around him and show him how good you could make him feel. You could feel his cock throbbing in your mouth, and by the way his hands were gripping the sheets tightly and how squirmy he had gotten, you knew he was close to cumming. It spurred you on to take him as deep as you could, and the way you gagged around him was enough for Jisung to release into your mouth. And as you came up to kiss him and spit his cum back in his mouth, Jisung thought he had seen what heaven felt like.

“- Felt good baby ?

- Yes, yes, yes ! So good, you’re perfect !”

You smirked at him as you pushed him to lay down on the bed, then climbing on top of him, your clothed pussy pressed against his cock.

“- You’re getting hard again, Ji. You want more ?”

Jisung bit down on his lips as he nodded, but before he could even decide where on your body to place his hands, your own fingers wrapped around his throat, his mouth hanging open as you restricted his breathing.

“- What did I say, baby ? I need words.

- S-Shit… Please, want more…

- Good boy.”

The petname paired with the way you squeezed around his throat tighter made him moan loudly, and your smile widened at the pretty view he offered you. You pushed your underwear aside, rubbing your wet folds against his hard dick. Jisung was all pliant in your hands, his hips bucking up against yours to try and get more friction, his body telling you what he couldn’t because you rendered him unable to talk. You didn’t make him wait any longer, pushing his cock inside of you, throwing your head back and moaning at the feeling.

“- You’re feeling me up so nicely Ji, I’m gonna ruin you.

- Please !”

His voice came out choked, interrupted by the way he moaned every time you clenched down around him. It didn’t take much for you to make him cum again - a little bit of pressure around his neck, your hips rolling in delicious circles on top of him, your warm pussy making him see stars, and your dirty words pushing him over the edge. Jisung needed a moment to catch his breath, to come to terms with what was happening. But you weren’t going to let him do that, starting to move on top of him again.

“- Y-Y/N ! P-Please, I-I can’t, s’too much…”

You hummed against his lips, but you didn’t stop, only speeding up your moves. Jisung whined pathetically underneath you, trying to push you off his lap, but you were quick to pin his hands down to the mattress, looking down on him with a smirk on his face. Jisung had never seen a prettiest view, and you had never seen a prettiest sight either - the way he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, the way his eyes were filled with desperation, lust and unshed tears, the way pleas were slipping past his lips so easily.

“- Too much ? But you said you were going to let me have my fun, Ji. Said you were going to be my fucktoy, didn’t you ?”

Jisung tried to answer but he was taken by surprise by another orgasm, shooting another load inside of you, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. He still couldn’t believe that this was real, but the way you were trying to get yet another release out of him was convincing enough to think that it maybe wasn’t just a dream. He writhed in overstimulation, but all he wanted to do was to please you, to let you use him until you were satisfied, until you had broken him down to pieces.

“- You can give me one more baby, right ? You’re gonna be a good boy for me ?”

A sob escaped his lips, his pretty rosy cheeks now covered in tears as he nodded, eager to give you everything you wanted. You smirked again, sighing in pleasure as you started to move again, and as Jisung watched you milk him dry, he didn’t regret being a disgusting pervert anymore.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my work.

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user211201 · 5 months ago

Text

Modulated

--- Original author: realhankmccoy ---

“I ain’t no motherfuckin’ redneck, you assholes! Don’t you fucking get it? I’ll never be ok with you being here and disrespecting our gay spaces!” I had shrieked and screamed, and I was being sassy as fuck. But they had darted me, so it was too late for me already. I had been one of the hottest little twinks in Colombia back then. I had such a tight little body, I was non-binary, and I was supportive of my local drag scene. I was absolutely into resisting these fucking fascists and their goddamn bullshit lifestyles, which I couldn’t stand.

That’s how I thought of it all back then, anyhow.

Man, that dart though, it had done its dirty work. I was writhing on the floor of the club, so I didn’t even get to witness the way it transformed me as I went into spasms. It was almost like having a seizure, but I could feel the muscle growing on me, and I could hear my shrieks and wails shift in pitch as I grew on into this whole new, far more masculine body.

I was getting to be built like a brick shithouse really fucking fast, and was taking on more of a mature look. Everywhere I was getting more muscle. I was splitting the seams of my jeans, and my underwear, and felt my back pressing up and splitting my tight pink t-shirt.

When I finally was able to sit up, I was in a daze. I had rendered my clothes asunder. I had bristles of hair all over my face, and the har on my head had grown longer, too, sort of flopping in my eyes. I was a mess.

And then the headache came. I was clutching the sides of my head and moaning, almost screaming in pain out loud, as my twinkish mind collapsed and got replaced by a growing part of me I didn’t even know existed. That part, my friends, is the motherfucking, take-charge redneck stud I am today.

My friends helped me get out of there, and I was still in transition. It takes a good seventy-two hours at least until you can fully collapse one of those weak-ass brains like the one I had before and until a more dominant, superior personality takes over like the one I was starting to get.

So yeah, like I said, I was a mess, and when my friends got me back to one of their apartments, I was still sporadically ranting about how dare those fascists do this to me, they’d never win, this was fucking awful. But as I heard myself talk, there was a growing part of me that was observing myself and thinking “so what? You sound like a raving lunatic. Look at this body! Damn, boy, just look at that muscle!”

Sleeping on it, man, that twink brain of mine must have collapsed even further. I woke up and I just wanted coffee with a splash of alcohol in it, so that’s what I got. Then I added two splashed. I had already stripped out of my shredded pink t-shirt, and my friends had some loose boxers that fit me, but I was just this naked, muscular stud in awe of his own body and trying to come to terms with who I was now.

I was seeing my friends with new eyes, too. They seemed anxious to me, weak, full of nervous, overly feminine motions, jittery, immature, skittish and mostly just kind of fucking annoying. “Those are your friends,” I’d remind myself. “This isn’t you who’s thinking this.”

But that growing part of me was thinking “This is you. This is all you, stud. You’re so much better than them. They don’t even know you’re thinking this, and if they only knew, they’d probably be terrified.” That thought made me want to laugh out loud, so I did.

“What are you laughing at?” one of them asked.

“Oh, nothing man, nothing,” I said, looking away and scratching my head. “These are your friends,” I told myself again, but I didn’t really seem to believe what I was trying to tell myself that morning. “So what if they’re your fucking friends,” my new mind was saying. “They’re fucking losers, man. Don’t let them drag you down. You ought to just get out of here.”

That morning, I was feeling just hornier and altogether more fucked up than I’d ever been. I was thinking, nah, this can’t be the new me. I’m no motherfucking redneck. I don’t think like them. But already I was feeling excited, having this body, having these different feelings, realising that I didn’t feel like such an evil guy like this, not like I thought I would, anyhow. All I wanted to do at that point in time, I felt like, was get the hell away from these people. I didn’t know to where. I borrowed some shoes and a t-shirt that was so tight it hurt, pleading that I had to get back to my apartment. It felt like the shoes would split, and the shirt was riding up on my belly, as I trotted back to my place.

I didn’t know what I was doing or what I was gonna do. When I got home, I felt thirsty, just wanting to drink a little, feeling like that would make this feel better, even though I told myself no, you have to compose yourself, you have to call people, you have to report this. Just one drink, I thought. It turned into shot after shot, and before I knew it, I was drunk, hard in my boxers, having kicked off the shoes and thrown that tight-ass shirt on the ground as soon.

Then I was beating off, and cumming, and the build-up to that orgasm, man, it flooded my brain with some real redneck juice. I wasn’t thinking of the type of guys I usually did. I was thinking about redneck studs, studs like myself, feeling the drool run down my chin as I beat off. As I came, shooting way up on my pecs, rubbing it in with my hand, I was whispering to myself, almost like a confession that I had yet to voice to anyone, “You hot fucking redneck. Holy fuck, you love this, don’t you. You’re a redneck now. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.”

The desire to live for working out and fucking was already growing in me.

Thoughts were just racing through my head then. I knew I didn’t want to be some lame-ass yuppie or some weak-ass queer, man. I felt this powerful attraction to the redneck scene, the working class scene, the country scene, the military scene, the jock scene, you name it, any scene were men were men instead of the glitter fairy I had been before. I couldn’t quite pin it all down at that point yet, but my thoughts were sure racing.

Can you picture me, getting drunk in my apartment, turned on at my own body and swirling thoughts? And then I started to really know, man. I started to know. There was no going back now. The guy I used to be was a loser. I didn’t want to be him anymore. I was pissed off that I ever even was him.

I walked barefoot into the bedroom, checking out his stuff in the drawers and on the walls. Almost none of it would even fit me anymore. His feminine attire and the way his shithole apartment was decorated disgusted me. It made me want to punch the wall, even, so I did that and it felt good. I saw the paint crack and the drywall cave in. This new body had power.

I screamed then, a roar of pure rage and exhilaration. I punched the wall again, and it felt so fucking good that soon I was ripping all his shit off the walls and throwing it in a corner, ripping that flouncy shit off the mattress and I didn’t stop, screaming the whole while, until the bedroom at least look bare bones enough to resemble something a man would want to sleep in. I’d be damned if I ever let that loser back into this mind.

There were a few flashes, sure, and man was he a crybaby as he went out, as well as one hell of an angry little prick. Lots of hatred in his heart. I’d just laugh and say, “Fuck you!” sometimes out loud as I felt that twink brain collapse forever.

And now, as far as I’m concerned, he’s gone man. No longer a part of me, thank God.

I was nervous at first, when I started trying to hang out with guys I thought I’d have a lot more in common with that my old friends. Would they accept me? I was pretty desperate for acceptance at that point. I starting hanging out at a diner that I knew a lot of them liked to frequent, classic diner that pre-dated even the 1950s, a real antique. But these sexy ass guys would show up there, and soon we got to talking over waffles and hash browns.

Soon I was telling them I was darted, and they were saying that was hot as fuck, wanting to hear the story. Soon I was telling it to them, my legs in the air, sweat dripping down my bearded chin, as I was getting fucked.

Months after that, I was almost fully integrated into the lifestyle, man, and soon I was the one doing more of the fucking, especially after I got these sweet-ass tattoos all over my right arm. Getting fully into it, the desire to be that all I could be as man, hell, it ran in my veins now. I was going to let those commies know that I was better than them in every single way imaginable, and I wanted to show it off. I still get hard just at the thought of that, demonstrating my own superiority in the most tangible – well, to them, intangible, because I don’t want them even fucking touching me – methods available to me.

Yeah boys, it meant war for me, just like it had when I was a stupid twink, only this time I was playing for the other side, and it was chess instead of checkers.

Of course, there’s a lot more to life than just that for me, namely having hot-ass sex with all sorts of country studs and military men, hell, being part of that whole network of strong and powerful men who worship and respect other guys who’ve worked for it. I feel like I’m serving my country and being a paragon of virtue for it even when my legs are slung over some guy’s bull neck and thick, rounded deltoids as he plows the fuck out of me with his long-ass rod.

I had never gotten fucked this good when I was a twink.

I do real work with myself now, a man’s work. I dress like a man, I eat like a man, and I live my life like a man. I’m fucking proud of it, too. I love who I am now, and relocated to the other side of town, too, where the action’s hotter and I have way more in common with most folks.

I am sure glad I’m a buff stud with a thick-ass chest these days, and I don’t ever go clean-shaven. Been really into guy’s pits lately, and getting them to flex for me so I can lick those. Yeah, shit, I’ve gotta stop, because here I’ve got a raging boner just telling you all about that right now. I swear I’m way more horny than I used to be. At least seventy-five percent of the time now, I’d bet, I’m a top these days.

I don’t really like bottom boys, either. Their mere existence tends to piss me off, to be honest, so when I do fuck them I tend to be an aggressive power top. A lot of the time I don’t even think of it that way, though. I just think of them as so weak that the same rules don’t even apply to them. Different rules, in a way, because they’re a different kind of guy than me. Much more like women, unable to control themselves, you know how they are. I used to be one of them, and I’m so glad I’m not anymore, that’s for fucking sure.

A lot of the time I prefer to just fool around with guys such as myself. I love topping another top, having to wrestle somebody for hours in a strength and dominance competition. Gets the blood flowing. I like somebody who puts up a fight. C’mon, son, do you have any idea how fucking fun that is for me now? To meet up and hook up with another guy who’s just as manly as I am? That’s the stuff I live for now. I’m ready to just fuck my life away with hot ass guys at this point.

So, yeah, I’m a top who loves to wrestle with other tops and see who can dominate. I must be pretty good at it if I swear I’m scoring a seventy-five percent these days, but that’s just because occasionally I throw in some twink losers. Yeah bud, even some of these leftists get thrown a bone by me every now and again. They need us, and I like them to know they need us. They wouldn’t know what to do without us.

One of these days, I might even check with one of my army friends and see if I can come along on a mission so that I can dart one of them myself. I think I’d laugh my ass off when my dart goes in his neck or his shoulder, wherever it his him. Just to see the look on his face, shit boy. That could turn a guy on just by imagining it, so one of these days I’ll have to make it legit.

Fuck if I care about the loser I once used to be or what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. My life is better now and that’s all that matters to me.

Hot-ass guys, man. That’s what I live for.

#redneck tf #jock tf #nerd to jock #masculinization #mental change #personality change

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mommyownsmee · 24 days ago

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Being possessive

because you belong to me- and me alone.

„You’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you?“

„I bet you’d do anything for my approval right now.“

„Look at you, desperate for my attention.“

„You’re pathetic without me telling you what to do.“

„Beg for me. Let me hear how badly you want it.“

„You can’t even think straight without me, can you?“

„Such a pretty braindead whore.“

„My nails would feel so good trailing down your spine.“

„You’ll come only when I’ve heard you beg properly.“

„You belong to me, body and soul.“

„No one else gets to see this side of you. Only me.“

„I own every part of you.“

„You’re mine, and I don’t share.“

„Every moan, every shiver—those are mine to control.“

„You exist to please me, and I know you love it.“

„You’re my perfect little whore.“

„You’re mine. You’ll never belong to anyone else.“

„Every inch of you is mine to control.“

„You’re my property.“

„You don’t need anyone else. You have me.“

„You’re mine. Completely, undeniably mine.“

„Don’t you dare try to resist me. It’s pointless.“

„I’ve ruined you for anyone else, and you love it.“

„Your heart, your body, your soul—they’re all mine.“

„I’ve made you so weak for me, haven’t I?“

„I made you this way. Dependent. Obedient. Mine.“

„You don’t get a choice. You’re mine to command.“

„I don’t care what you want. You exist to please me.“

„Every inch of your skin belongs to me.“

„I’ve memorized every sound you make, and they’re mine.“

„Your body responds only to me, doesn’t it?“

„You’ll never find satisfaction without me.“

„Every time you touch yourself, you’ll think of me.“

„You’re completely mine, and I’ll never let you forget it.“

„No one else will ever make you feel the way I do.“

„You’re not allowed to touch yourself unless I tell you to.“

„I own your pleasure. I decide when you feel it.“

„You’re mine, from the way you breathe to the way you break.“

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michaela-o · 3 months ago

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Hey guys !! Here's a little writing post for tonight since i once again suffer from art block and i couldn't really get my thoughts on canvas so at least i'll write them down for you🥹🫶🏻

I had a little poetic moment about Cybertronians and how each bot from the Lost Light might view humans in their own way. Here’s how i think a few of them might feel, translated into their own brand of poetic musing:

Rodimus

"They’re like embers scattered on a night’s breeze. Small, insistent, daring to claim a spark of the vast unknown. Fragile? Yes, but isn’t fragility the very flame that burns the brightest in the dark?"

I think Rodimus sees in humans a little bit of reflection of himself—bold and driven, yet so often skimming along the edges of destruction. I think he would admire their recklessness despite their short lives and finds in them a kinship, like stars burning out as they fall.

Drift

"With hands of flesh, they reach for the stars, tiny pilgrims, undeterred by dark. They are warriors bound in tender shells, yet their spirits are sharper than any blade."

I think Drift sees humanity’s journey as sacred, an unlikely pilgrimage. Despite their fragility, they pursue wonders that many would fear, displaying a purity of heart that resonates with his own search for purpose and redemption.

Brainstorm

"They are puzzles, equations, broken in ways no theorem can solve. I could build them stronger, make them last longer, stretch their days to years—yet it’s the ticking clock that drives them which we cannot touch, the glitch of life within the code. They’re impossible, improbable—beautifully, infuriatingly unsolvable."

For Brainstorm, i think humans are the ultimate enigma. So imperfect, so baffling, so limited by their biology—and yet, somehow, they thrive. Their existence nags at him, like a problem he can’t quite crack, but one that has woven its way into his circuits.

Ultra Magnus

"They obey no Prime, no order, no code, yet they find honor in dust and devotion in ruin. There is chaos within them, yet in their eyes—clarity. For all their flaws, perhaps they see the law of the universe far better than we."

Ultra Magnus finds himself both exasperated and quietly moved by humans’ defiance of logic. I think he might struggle with their disorder but recognizes the strange beauty in their conviction. They possess a kind of honor that is beyond his ability to define—a law unto themselves.

Chromedome

"Stories woven in short threads of skin and sinew, their lives stitched in seconds, minutes, hours—a blink of a shutter. Yet they carry tales, so rich and raw, that I cannot forget. They are memory incarnate, fragile as newborn spark, but so full of color."

I think Chromedome would treasure humans for their stories, for the vibrant, bittersweet memories they create within the boundaries of their lives. Every moment for them is fleeting, and so they seem to capture life with a vibrancy he longs to archive.

Swerve

"They bumble and fumble, awkward yet bold, finding joy in the smallest things. They laugh in the face of a world so vast—their clumsy courage, a song I want to know by my spark."

We all know Swerve loves humans and human things. I think he sees humans as charmingly imperfect, stumbling yet fearless in a universe that dwarfs them. Their humor and resilience bring a joy that he can’t resist, as if they were a song that lingers in his circuits, warming him in ways he would never expected.

Megatron

"They are the dreamers, the fools, the ones who hope, rebels in skin who believe in the impossible. I have seen it. They build kingdoms on bones and dreams, believing they can change the world."

Megatron is an amazing character in my opinion in the Lost Light universe. I think he looks upon humanity with a blend of scorn and admiration. They are so weak, yet so defiant—champions of hope despite their powerlessness. Their resilience reminds him of what he once fought for, and though he might deny it, he can’t help but see in them a reflection of his own self.

Ratchet

"Flawed and failing, breaking with each breath, they stitch themselves back with their tender hands. They fall, they fail, yet rise again reminding me why I mend the wounded steel."

I really like Ratchet. I like to think he regards humans with a mix of exasperation and reluctant respect even when he wouldn't directly word it. He sees them as frail and imperfect, breaking down as quickly as they heal. Yet, their resilience, their refusal to give up despite everything, is what keeps him caring deep in his spark. In their struggles, he finds purpose, and in their imperfection, he rediscovers his own reason to heal.

I hope you liked this silly little post for tonight. I hope the art block goes away soon so i can draw more silly robots and their silly lil human friends together :3🧡🧡🧡

#transformers #transformers headcanons #transformers x reader #digital art #small artist #art #procreate app #yandere transformers #transformers mtmte #mtmte rodimus #mtmte drift #mtmte megatron #mtmte chromedome #mtmte swerve #mtmte brainstorm #maccadams #idw mtmte

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perrywrites · 1 year ago

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CAN U DO KAISER, NESS AND KIYORA FOR THE 'Asking them to hold your hand during your first time'?!?!!!?? IK KIYORA'S PART MAY BE CHALLENGING(u don't have to do him if you want ofc)) BUT YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD LIKE.. I LOVE IT 🗣️🗣️‼️

SDFHSDFSFD THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SWEET WORDS 🙈🙈🙈 I'm so honoured you like my writing, I hope you enjoy this!

Asking “Can you… Can you hold my hand?” during your first time together, part 6;

NSFW

Includes; Kaiser, Ness, Kiyora

Part 1 (Isagi, Hiori, Bachira) and part 2 (Barou, Shidou, Karasu) and part 3 (Reo, Chigiri, Nagi) and part 4 (Rin, Sae, Kunigami) and part 5 (Otoya, Oliver, Yukimiya)

Kaiser: he is smirking down at you, beyond smug and satisfied. Did you think you could resist him for long? Deny what you felt for him? Look at you now, after all that talk, writhing beneath him and whining so sweetly for his touch. Honestly, though, he’s in no position to be teasing you so much, the way his cock is twitching and leaking already - shit, look at what you did to him? He will never admit it to you, but he’s so sure what he feels for you is much stronger than anything you will ever feel for him. That’s just how it is, sweetheart, you render him weak with longing, don’t you see? Beyond the smugness the way he craves you so wholeheartedly? Dark siren eyes trembling slightly as his hands reach forth and claim your innocence in its entirety, his mouth robbing you of your capability to speak coherently as he fans your neck with his hot breath and wet open-mouth kisses. It’s then that you shakily breathe out such a cute little request - and there he is, chuckling against your neck. You’re too adorable. He pulls back to look at you, smirking all the while, and he can’t help but chuckle again at your flushed expression. The way your lips are quivering, you really are too adorable. What, did you think he was going to deny your adorable little request or something? Don’t worry, he’s finally getting to have you now, there’s not much he’d deny you right now. Ask him for the world and watch him condense it within the palm of his hand to slip it onto your finger. But don’t ask for mercy. He can’t give any of it when he needs you so badly. His hand intertwines with yours, and his eagerness is transparent as he leans in to kiss you, feverish, full of need for you. Almost there, he needs to feel the softness of those plush walls, feel you encage his cock in the same way you encaged his heart - the owner of this untameable emperor, aren’t you proud? You get to have him like this, ready to ruin you on his cock and give you absolutely anything and everything you desire - as long as you give yourself up to him. A fair deal, he’ll say.

Ness: You’re so beautiful. And absolutely divine. And all his - yes, his, yes. Reverently, he looks down at you, lovesick, so utterly struck by cupid, the air is thick and hot and his touch is searing. The only time he stops murmuring sweet nothings to you is when he kisses you, overflowing with passion, a well that never stops running - you’re so overwhelmed. But that doesn’t stop him as he loves on you, hushing you softly and lovingly when you whine and cry out for him, for more, deep inside you. You don’t realize what kind of an existence you are to him, his everything, his life, his heart - he’ll decide when it’s enough, when he can enter the sweet heaven of your cunt. Don’t forget it, okay? You don’t know anything, just let him take care of you, please. His mouth is obsessive as he slowly kisses down your neck to your ankle, a soft peck ending his journey of your body before he even thinks to allow his aching cock some relief through your precious cunt. Oh, so precious, all dripping and ready for him to claim you. You’re so pretty like this, all out of it for him, all whines as you cry, flushed, begging for him - he smiles. Don’t forget, he’s the only one that can fuck you this good, okay? He’s the only one that’s allowed to have you like this. Don’t forget it. Gently, he pushes your legs apart, renders you helpless as he positions himself - and then his eyes widen momentarily at your shaky words. You want him to hold your hand? Oh…? Eyes lovesick, he smiles lovingly, holding onto your hand reassuringly. You’re so cute, so naive. It’s good that you’re trusting him to have you, don’t worry. He’ll make sure no man will ever use you - to even get the opportunity to do so. So let him chain you down to him, alright? Well. Not like you had a choice at this point anyways, being so willing to let him have your body. Since he’s claiming your whole body like this, you belong to him forever, right? Right?

Kiyora: he makes a quiet vow to you with each kiss, robs you of your first time gently like a silent siren. You don’t know how much you mean to him, and he doesn’t know how to tell you. So he kisses you, again and again, tenderly at times, like freshly fallen snow, and passionately at other times, as if trying desperately to tell you ‘I love you I love you I love you.’ He pours his all into you to make up for what he can’t say in words, his touch is gentle as he cradles your cheek ever so lovingly. You let out the sweetest sounds, and he melts against your body, his breathing heavy as he nips kiss marks across your tantalising skin. He wants you so much, you have no clue. You’re so pretty, so beautiful. You don’t know, but to him you’re the prettiest girl ever. He grabs a handful of your thighs, his hands are rough but his grip is the opposite - firm but soft, oh so soft - and slowly spreads you open for him. Almost hesitant, but eager nonetheless. The feeling of your skin is addicting, and he can't help but keep being more and more greedy for you. He feels sick with how badly he wants to monopolize you, keep you all for himself. You’ll continue accepting him, won’t you? Accept all of him? You’re the only one for him, please never stop looking at him with so much love, never stop looking at him like he’s your whole world. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but still, if you allow it, maybe still he can indulge in you, right? As long as you let him, he can get to have you like this, right? When you ask him to hold your hand, his eyes widen, swirling with emotion as he tears up slightly. “... Is that all you need?” he asks, voice quiet and hoarse and strained, as he affectionately holds your hand to the bed, and when you say yes, he simply nods silently. Adoringly and ardently, he presses kisses against your face, unstopping, unyielding. He loves you so much, you don’t know. He’ll keep you safe, he’ll make you happy, so please, don’t leave him. You’re his only sanctuary, so please, don’t leave him cold and alone. He’s begging you.

Annnnnnd that's the end for this series! Hope you guys enjoyed it just as much as I enjoyed writing these 🤭🤭🤭

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beuxwhoyouare · 2 months ago

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Ready to Go

I always thought I would die young. I just don’t forsee a long life ahead for me. It’s not like sad or anything I just think I’ve done all I wanted to. There’s never been like a dream job or goal I’ve ever foresaw in my future. It’s not depression or anything, if anything I think more people should be honest with themselves about being useless and just tapping out of a long life of nothingness.

See. You’ve read this long and didn’t even notice I haven’t mentioned my name. That’s because like my life, my name is equally inconsequential.

I was pondering about ways to easily tap out of life while I sat at the bus stop waiting. Eventually I got on the bus at my usual stop to take me to my usual destination when an older white man slowly waved his hand in front of my wandering gaze.

“What’s out there?” he feebly asked in a weak voice.

I’ve never been asked something on my route before. I kinda just zone out into my own mind like this and-

“Hey kid. You keep zoning out are you okay?” he interrupted my internal thought.

It’s like he knew I was talking to myself but how?

“I’m just in my own head. Sorry did you want the window seat?” I finally replied audibly.

“No. Just making sure you’re okay. Was worried you were one of those druggies or something. Whole life ahead of you and you youngins just throw it all away.”

What a presumptive thought. He really believes that young people can’t have a complex and existential inner dialogue. I think older people don’t give us enough credit. I’m complex, I think.

*hehe*

What’s he laughing at. Wait maybe he is listening to my inner dialogue? Let’s see. Lemme think of something and see how he responds. I don’t want to die, I just want to peacefully tap out of the game of existence.

Damn nothing? He isn’t going to say anything? I’m losing my mind.

“Where do you want to go in life kid?”

HE HEARD ME I KNEW IT!

“I mean let’s say you manifested it enough. Maybe I’m here to help you move on. The worst thing you can do is live a life unfulfilled. It seems like that’s how you’re living.”

“You can’t be serious…What can you do?”

“It’s not really me, more like a pact to the deities that rule existence. It’s the law of the land. Everything in this world is all about balance. Even our lives, if one aspect is out of balance it could throw the whole world out of whack.”

“So what’s out of balance? Just because I’m tired of being aimless in life? It’s not like I’m the only aimless one right?”

“Maybe you’re not the only one, but you’re the only aimless one put in my life. I have so much I wanted to do but spent too much time wasted. I wanted kids, I wanted love, I wanted it all but got sick and spent years withering away in a hospital bed.”

….why is he telling me all this? What can I do about the law of the land? If I could help him I would but he’s talking about myths and hocus pocus.

The bus made an abrupt stop next to a big park near a historical reserve in town. The old man grabbed my arm and dragged me with him off the bus, across the street to the park.

“Dude your boney arm is hurting me. I’ll follow you just let me go”

“We’re here anyway. I can feel one of the deity’s presence around us. All you have to do is say your true hearts desire out loud for it to become true. You can’t move on and I can get a chance to fix my life’s shortcomings.”

My true hearts desire? Doesn’t he get it my problem is I don’t have a desire. There’s nothing fueling me.

“That! Say that out loud.”

“I KNEW YOU COULD HEAR ME! But how?”

“Your inner dialogue was calling to me like a siren. I’m telling you I was meant to hear it. To run into you! This moment was meant to happen.”

Honestly resisting the occult is too much work anyway. I don’t know why I’m even poking and prodding into his story. What is it going to do for me in the end? He’s offering me a way out.

“I don’t have desire. I don’t have a goal. I’m not sad, I’ve lived an okay life but I’m done.”

“I want a real chance to live life. I payed my dues. Please all I ask for is a real chance.”

If felt like all the sounds of nature stopped. The sun suddenly disappeared and it felt like a spotlight appeared above us. All I could see was the old man when he disappeared in front of me. It all disappeared in front of me. Then silence. Well everything was silent from then on. My request to tap out was granted.

“Keven. I like that name, I definitely look like a Keven now. This is a good place to start I think?”

I feel bad that a young person could fall out of love with existing. There’s so much young people have to live for and he just wanted to die? I’ll live the best live for the both of us.

I’m quite the looker now too so that should probably help on the having kids and starting a family front. Although he’s a little short for my liking. You know what no I’m going to be grateful for this new life I’ve been given. There’s still some memories in my head that belong to him. I think he might be gay….well I never got to explore those things in my time but it doesn’t help the kids dream.

Whatever I think starting today I’m going to be Bi. I’m gonna search through these memories and continue working out. Seems like it has a positive impact on people’s outlook and morale. Maybe that’s where the kid went wrong. He didn’t seek ways to be happy. I’m choosing happiness and choosing to be fulfilled.

Let’s start by jerking this thick beer can growing under my shorts though…and maybe seeing if this hot couple in the gym might want a newly confident Latino twunk third.

#identity theft #gay #male body possession #body possession #racial transformation

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angelsfat3 · 1 month ago

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ⓘㅤ 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋. ⠀⠀( 崇拜我的罪恶，先生。)

𝓢ummary “ ✉. In a time when women were burned for using reason and men were supposed to follow the words of God, a demon took possession of a beautiful young man to teach a lost priest, to love.

⠀،،⠀Genre. ’ Sci-fi, drama, religious au.

( 𝒄/𝒘. )───Repression, forbidden fruit(?), teasing, tension, religious trauma.

The confessional was nearly dark, illuminated only by the faint flicker of a candle on the nearby altar. You, the priest, sat on the small bench, trying to steady the tremor in your hands as you heard footsteps approaching.

You knew who it was even before he knelt on the other side of the screen.

“Father [...], the world has always been this way, ever since Adam and Eve tasted the forbidden fruit,” Ni-ki began, his tone not just penitent but laced with something darker, something far more intimate. “We were born with sin inside us… as if it were part of our flesh.”

You knew what his words meant, what he was truly trying to say.

You bit your tongue for a moment, tasting the danger in his confession. You responded carefully, your words measured to avoid suspicion but firm like a warning.

“Sin always lies in wait, Ni-ki,” you said with a calmness that barely masked your own turmoil. “But don’t forget that redemption exists, even for the most tormented hearts.”

What you didn’t say was that those very words had failed you on so many nights when the flesh spoke louder than your faith, when your spirit surrendered to Ni-ki.

From the other side, Ni-ki let out a short, almost imperceptible sigh, but to you, it sounded like a scream.

A heavy silence settled between you. You could feel his breath on the other side of the screen, and you knew he was wrestling with himself. Finally, his voice broke the stillness, trembling and barely audible:

“What if… what if sin doesn’t just lie in wait but calls to me? What if my soul leans toward it, as if I can’t resist?”

Heat rose to your face, and you gripped your knees tightly to maintain your composure. You knew him too well.

You knew he wasn’t just talking about sin in the abstract; he was talking about you, about what you’d shared in those fleeting moments where the world seemed to vanish.

“Ni-ki, sin always waits for us, but our will must be stronger than the call of anything that leads us astray,” you said, your voice steadier than your heart.

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either—not when you yourself had strayed so many times toward him, toward his lips, toward the abyss of his body.

“Well, we are human, and… the flesh is weak, Ni-ki,” you said, the weight of your own words almost unbearable. “But we must not give in. Each time we fall, we drift further from the grace that has been granted to us.”

“And what if my will isn’t enough?” Ni-ki pressed, his breathing growing heavier, as if your words hurt him as much as they hurt you. “What if there’s no hope for those who have already fallen?”

The question struck you like a dagger. You knew he wanted you to tell him yes, that there was hope, that what you shared wasn’t condemned. But you couldn’t say that—not here, not ever.

The confessional turned into an oven, the air so thick it was nearly impossible to breathe. Your hands clenched into fists on your knees as you fought the tremor in your chest.

Finally, you leaned closer to the screen, lowering your voice even further.

“Ni-ki… none of us are worthy, but don’t forget that God’s mercy is infinite. No matter how far you think you’ve fallen, there is always redemption… but only if we are willing to let go of what drags us into the abyss.”

Your words felt hollow, even to you. You knew they spoke of him, of the two of you, of the secret you shared that, if discovered, could condemn you both.

Ni-ki didn’t respond immediately, but the silence that followed wasn’t one of repentance. It was one of restrained desire, of something no prayer or penance could erase.

The silence was unbearable. You could imagine his expression on the other side—the mix of pain and frustration you’d seen so many times in his dark eyes.

“And what about you, Father?” he finally whispered, his voice sharp enough to leave you breathless. “Can you let it go?”

The question hung in the air, both an accusation and a plea. You felt your lips move, but no words came out.

You didn’t have an answer because you knew, despite the guilt eating away at you, despite every moment with him being a reminder of the risk you were taking, you couldn’t imagine a world where you didn’t seek him out.

But you couldn’t say that.

“Pray, Ni-ki,” was all you could manage, your voice breaking at the end. “Pray that we both find the strength we need.”

Finally, you heard his voice again, barely a murmur.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned… and I will sin again.”

A chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t see him, but you knew his eyes were fixed on the screen, searching for yours through the thin barrier.

You closed your eyes and clutched the crucifix hanging from your neck, trying to remember why you had chosen this path.

You heard him stand, his steps retreating slowly, but you didn’t dare to look. You remained there, in the dim light, the unspoken words weighing like chains around your heart.

You knew that when the day ended and the shadows once again blanketed the village, you would seek him out. And that would be your true sin.

The echo of Ni-ki’s footsteps should have faded, but the silence that remained was unsettling, as though something unseen had filled the space.

You stayed seated on the bench of the confessional, your trembling hands clasped tightly in front of you, searching for solace in the words of your own prayer.

Then, a sharp sound shattered the moment. The door on your side of the confessional creaked open. You looked up, your heart stalling for an instant.

Ni-ki stood there, framed in the doorway, his silhouette outlined by the faint glow of the candles. His dark eyes bore into yours—not with the softness or the pain you had grown used to seeing in him.

This time, there was something else, something that made your skin crawl.

He remained silent, his lips slightly parted, as if the words refused to leave. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, as though caught between the urge to move forward and the fear of crossing a line from which there was no return.

But what unsettled you most was what you saw in his eyes: a dark void, a need that didn’t seem human.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. You were frozen.

You could only stare, paralyzed by the intensity of his presence. He was Ni-ki, and yet he wasn’t. The gentle warmth that always lowered your guard now seemed overshadowed by a darkness that made him look… different. Unreal.

Finally, you drew in a breath, trying to regain your composure.

“Ni-ki, what are you doing?” you asked, though the question came out as little more than a whisper.

He didn’t respond. He stepped into the confessional, and his shadow seemed to stretch, swallowing the space between you. There was no fear in his gaze, but neither was there comfort. It was as though he was about to consume you with his eyes.

“You… look different,” you continued, your hands gripping the edge of the bench to steady yourself. “What is it that you need?”

His reply was barely audible, an echo that seemed to come from some deep corner of his being:

“You.”

Your chest tightened, and the air seemed to abandon you entirely. But there was something in the way he said it—something not like the restrained passion you knew. It was something else, something that chilled you to the bone.

You closed your eyes and began murmuring a prayer, the words spilling from your lips in desperation.

“Our Father, who art in heaven…”

Ni-ki took another step closer, and the heat in the small cabin became suffocating. You could feel his gaze on you, intense and heavy, as if he sought to strip more than just your resolve.

“Hallowed be thy name…” you continued, your hands now trembling uncontrollably. “Deliver us from evil…”

Ni-ki’s voice, softer yet laden with that inhuman intensity, cut through your prayer.

“Do you think that will save you from me?”

Your eyes snapped open, and you saw him so close you could barely breathe.

Ni-ki’s face was mere inches from yours, but his expression was that of someone caught between suffering and ecstasy.

He was real, and he was here to claim you.

Your breaths came shallow, barely enough to keep you conscious as Ni-ki’s gaze pierced through you. His eyes, as dark as the deepest night, glimmered with something you couldn’t name—something that made the air feel heavier, as if reality itself bent to his will.

Ni-ki raised a hand slowly, his fingers brushing the wood of the confessional as though savoring every grain. His voice, low but filled with a power that didn’t seem human, broke the silence.

"You cannot pray against what is already within you, Father."

The words struck like a weight on your chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

This place, sanctified by so many prayers and penances, now felt like a battleground where the sacred and the profane faced each other head-on.

"Ni-ki, you don't know what you're saying," you murmured, though even you doubted your own words. Your voice trembled, unable to hide the fear creeping into your heart.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression almost... curious. His lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes.

"Don’t I?" he replied, taking another step closer, so near now you could feel his warm breath against your skin. "Or is it you who doesn’t understand what we are?"

The word we echoed in your mind, an unrelenting whisper that refused to fade.

You shook your head, trying to hold onto reality, to what you knew to be true. But even as you did, you felt your conviction crumbling like a sandcastle under an unstoppable wave.

"This isn’t real," you insisted, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your growing despair. "Ni-ki, you... you’re not this."

His smile widened, and a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes, a spark that made you instinctively retreat against the pew.

"Not this?" he asked, almost amused. "Then what am I, Father? The frightened boy who sought comfort in your words? Or the man who has patiently waited for you to stop pretending?"

The intensity of his gaze made you look away, but you couldn’t escape the weight of his presence, which seemed to fill every corner of the confessional. It was as if he were absorbing the light itself, leaving only shadows in his wake.

You tried praying again, your lips moving quickly as you muttered.

"Deliver us from evil, amen. Deliver us from evil..."

But Ni-ki leaned closer, stopping you with a hand that lightly touched your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. His fingers were warm, but his touch sent a chill down your spine.

"Stop fighting," he whispered, his voice so soft it felt like a caress. "The evil isn’t outside of you, Father. It’s here. With me."

Your heart pounded in your chest, every beat reverberating in your ears as you tried to pull away from him. But you couldn’t.

Not because you lacked the strength, but because something in his gaze held you still, as if you were caught under a spell.

"Ni-ki, please..." you managed to say, though your voice broke into a whisper.

He leaned even closer, his lips just a breath away from yours.

"Please what?" he asked, his tone dripping with a mix of mockery and something darker, something that sent shivers down to your very bones. "Please stop? Or please stay and make me yours?"

The tension was unbearable, and you felt your will falter. Deep down, you knew you were on the brink of something from which there was no return, something that would challenge not just your faith but everything you believed yourself to be.

And then, Ni-ki smiled—that same smile that now seemed to belong to someone—or something—entirely different.

"Choose, Father," he murmured, his voice soft, yet the words thundered in your mind. "But remember... you can’t save us both."

The silence that followed was suffocating, laden with a palpable tension that seemed to freeze the air between you. Ni-ki didn’t look away, his smile cutting into you like a blade.

His hand remained on your chin, holding you with a gentleness that only made the situation more unbearable. You could feel the warmth of his skin, but the touch burned as if marked by something unholy.

"Why do you tremble, Father?" he whispered, leaning even closer. His breath brushed against your lips, and his dark gaze glimmered with a mix of challenge and... delight? "You shouldn’t fear me. After all, you’re the man of God, aren’t you?"