#he’s in denial that they’ve broken up

[zoeysandin]

“what the hell do you think you’re doing with this fucking idiot, maia, that’s what,” he rebels, scoffing and pointing at him with his thumb and then laughing incredulously. “seriously man, get lost, she’s taken, jackass,” ricardo says and shoves him back. the other guy throws the drinks he’d gotten for maia and him in ricardo’s face. that pisses him off — he punches him.

once he’s done he looks up at her. “you happy?” then he just tries to leave, pushing past her.

open to: w / m / nb

muse: maia power. twenty five. wildlife rehabilitator.

plot: based on this.

“ what the hell are you doing? ”  the last person she expected to see was her ex, and especially looking like they were about to punch the guy she had just been completely wrapped up with not too long ago.

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

I know it’s an ongoing joke that Will being oblivious to Hannibal’s love for him is ridiculous, considering how obvious Hannibal is, but me being me, I do actually want to take a moment to consider why he doesn’t acknowledge Hannibal’s affection as love initially.

There’s an array of reasons really, ranging from his perception of the Chesapeake Ripper blurring with his perception of Hannibal, how he may not consider Hannibal capable of such a thing, to the fact Hannibal has hurt Will — immensely. Will has been broken down and remade by Hannibal’s very own hands, as Hannibal has been by him. It’s a lot easier to acknowledge how they’ve changed each other, how they are entangled now, than the idea that Hannibal’s feelings towards Will are anything more than fascination, because that would mean acknowledging all that hurt and violence and abuse was Hannibal’s most earnest and deepest form of affection for him, and that he too has begun to see violence as love (it’s why he can’t keep up his life with Molly and Walter, as much as he may care for and love them). It’s a difficult thing for anyone to accept.

He has every right to be in denial about it, to brush off every sign for his own comfort and his own mental safety.

Hannibal’s love for him is like a fire — wild, untamed and likely to burn. Imagine how that might feel to someone with a mind like Will.

I’d also argue that him accepting Hannibal is in love with him would also mean accepting his almost-love for Hannibal, and I really don’t think he wants to do that, which may be a controversial point? Even by the end, he leaves their fate up to chance. The deleted scene of the almost-kiss perfectly conveys Will’s feelings in that moment, at least my perception of it. He may take the fall, but that doesn’t mean he’s in the position to reciprocate Hannibal’s feelings.

“Is Hannibal in love with me?” Doesn’t feel like a total question, more a rip the bandage off type moment.

He already knows the answer.

He just needs someone else to be the one that says it.

TLDR: Will is not oblivious, he’s just traumatised and maybe isn’t fully convinced Hannibal can even feel love. ‘Is Hannibal in love with me?’ Is Will trying to confront something he already knows the answer too, but is scared to address.

I’ll probably do a longer, more well thought out breakdown post around this once I’ve actually finished my rewatch.

[viiennie]

we’ve all had our tough moments. phases of our lives when everything is a bit too much to carry. you’ve had your fare share of those hardships, but ever since meeting gojo satoru, they’ve been more bearable.

not only because of the fact that you at least have someone by your side, but also because of the fact that he was always there willing to holding your hand, with that cheerful smile and those loving eyes.

when you had to job hunt and got rejected probably hundreds of times, he stayed by your side day and night, helping you with the bills and giving you comfort whenever you needed it.

when you had to grieve the loss of your childhood cat, he was there to pat your back and wipe your tears, bottles of water and snacks ready by his side.

and even when you had broken up with your boyfriend of 2 years, he was there, (although with a guiltily relieved heart) holding your hair back when you threw up in the bathroom from a hangover. he was there by your side, helping you heal, no matter how long it took.

shamefully, it took you a long time after that event to realize that you harbored deep feelings of love for your blue eyed best friend. you’d been in denial, thinking you’d rather die than sacrifice the friendship you had with him, your soulmate.

but when you had come home to an apartment full of candles and roses scattered around the floor with the phrase, “will you be my girlfriend?” decorating the living room space and a gojo standing in the middle of it all with a nervous smile and a bouquet of your favorite flowers, you had cried your heart out, enthusiastically screaming yes, over and over again as you practically pounced on the poor man, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

now, 5 years later, you lean against the doorway of a bigger and prettier house, watching as your husband fondly plays princess and dragons with your daughter, their giggles making your heart full. “daddy daddy! show mommy your make over!” your daughter would squeal, pointing at you with a wide smile.

gojo turns, his face covered in pink glitters and lipstick, a big proud grin plastered on his lips. “don’t i look pretty like a princess honey?” he asks, posing cutesy much to his daughter’s appreciation

memories of your time together with him come rushing in all at once, and you can’t fight back the tears that brim your eyes. with a quivering lower lip, you walk over and envelope your husband and daughter in a tight hug.

“i love you both so much.” you’d say with a shakey voice, tears wetting the fabric of your husband’s shirt. “i love you satoru.”

he pats your back with soft coos, “i love you too angel.” he peppers kisses all over your face, wiping the dripping tears from your cheek, ignoring the ‘ewww! daddy’s kissing mommy!’ from your child.

“and i love our little girl!” he cheers, now being the one to wrap the two of you in a soul squeezing hug.

———

a/n: i actually broke up w my boyfriend of 2yrs so i wrote this to feel better LOL

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x fem!afab!reader. during a lazy day on the couch, the imp decides to distract you from your work in a way he just knows will work. and despite your protests, how could you possibly resist when he's just so good at what he does?

featuring: imp reader, tail play, sex, orgasm denial, cream pies, dom!blitzø, I use the word 'fuck' too much, and degradation because calling you a whore is just how blitzø's broken ass shows affection.

anon request. 2.25k.

Hell might suck in large amounts, but times like this weren’t so bad.

You were curled up on the couch, some terribly cliché action movie playing on the TV in front of you. Blitzø was stretched out at the other end of it, legs kicked up over the arm the couch and his head propped up on pillows. Honestly, you had no idea how it could possibly be comfortable for him to lay there with his neck twisted towards the screen like that, but he seemed content. And honestly, it was nice to see him so relaxed.

Your tablet pings on the coffee table and you sigh, straightening reluctantly in your seat. Its yet another alert from the other organizers of the Lust Ring’s annual Fertility Festival, and you scoot to the edge of the couch cushion to swipe the device up off the table and check the latest in the long list of requests they’ve had for you to handle. Apparently, a day off doesn’t exist when you’re running errands for one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

Scrolling through the new list of potential vendors you need to go through for approval, you glance up as you hear Blitzø shift beside you, reaching for the remote.

“You don’t have to stop it,” you assure him apologetically, but he does anyway. He groans quietly as he sits up, and you smile softly as you feel him crawl across the couch and slot himself behind you, thighs on either side of yours. Your body warms as he wraps his arms around your middle, hooking his chin over your shoulder. “I promise I’ll be quick.”

“Eh, I’ve seen this one before,” you feel him shrug, the heat of his body pressed against your back. “Helpin’ you pick out porny-ass stalls for this slut fest?” he presses a quick kiss to the side of your neck. “More fun.”

“Fertility Festival,” you correct him patiently, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. “And I don’t know if whatever you’re gonna suggest is exactly the vibe we’re going for.”

He snickers, breath tickling your collarbone. You feel his tail slide up to curl over your thigh, the spade of it tapping slowly against the side of your opposite knee.

“Oh, yeah?” he challenges, pointing at the screen in your hands. “Tell me what exactly the fuck is wrong with ‘Aunty Annie’s Aphrodisiac Ass-Pops’?”

“Aside for the godawful name?” you reply with a wrinkle of your nose. You tap their file, scanning the information provided. “How about the fact that the main ingredient in this shit seems to be ‘Auntie Annie’s’… ewww.”

He cackles, arms tightening around you. One hand plays with the hem of your shirt, claws just grazing your bare stomach as he lifts it slightly.

“I don’t even want to know why they think that would help turn anyone on,” you continue, quickly marking the stall as a no-go for all future Asmodeus-sanctioned events. You lean over to grab the remote, pressing ‘play’ again, before you continue scrolling through the list of vendors, checking each one as either a potential ‘yes’ or a firm ‘no’.

Blitzø watches the movie from over your shoulder for a while before you feel his lips return to the side of your throat, dusting soft, teasing kisses over the sensitive flesh. You raise your shoulder to ward him off, laughing despite yourself as he simply switches to the other side of your neck. His teeth graze over your pulse point, tongue following the mark he leaves behind. Heat trickles through you to settle between your thighs, your eyes closing for a moment as you feel his hands play with the waistband of your pants.

“Dude.”

“Hmm?” Blitzø hums the question against your skin, and your breath catches as he gently sinks his teeth into your collarbone. A shiver runs through you as he presses a lingering, teasing kiss to each individual mark his teeth have left in your skin. His tail edges up along the inside of your thigh.

“…Dude.”

“Fuck do you want?” he asks, the words at odds with his innocent tone. Still, you can hear the mischief at the edge of his voice, feel it in his smirk against your skin as his tongue slides up the side of your neck to the corner of your jaw. “I’m tryin’ to watch something here.”

“I know what you’re doing, B.”

He snickers against the nape of your neck, claws dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. “And I knooooow you like it…”

“I’m working, Blitzø.”

“And you’re makin’ this into fuckin’ work,” he retorts. “Are you gonna take your pants off or am I wreckin’ these ones too?”

“Satan, you’re an asshole.” you eye-roll and Blitzø reaches up to take hold of your chin. He turns your head towards him roughly, claiming your mouth in a hungry, heated kiss. He slides his tongue into your mouth, his hand moving from your chin to encircle your throat.

“And you’re a fuckin’ tease,” he replies against your mouth, the last word almost lost as he kisses you again. He squeezes your throat reflexively, and you whimper into the kiss. You can feel him hardening against the curve of your ass, his other hand moving down to clutch at your upper thigh, fingers dipping between your legs to tease over your denim-covered cunt. “Bein’ all sexy and professional like a slutty little— fuuuuck…”

You’d wrapped his tail around your fingers, and squeezed, pulling it firmly enough to make him groan, loud and drawn out. His head fell back against the back of the couch, hands taking hold of your hips. He pushed his own hips up against your ass, grinding into you.

“Bitch…”

“Oh, c’mon, Blitz-baby,” you taunt, turning around to kneel between his thighs. You slide your fingers up along his tail, stroking the length of it with your fingertips, and squeeze again. He whines through grinding teeth. “I know you like it.”

He lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a chuckle and a growl. “Oh, you filthy fuckin’ whore.”

“Sweet-talker,” you laugh, the sound cut off as he grabs ahold of you and kisses you fiercely again. Blitzø manages to keep kissing you as he manhandles you across the couch, fumbling with the fastenings of your jeans. He manages to undo them and have the pants and your underwear shoved halfway down your thighs before he turns you around to face the other end of the couch, baring your ass to him.

“Oh, now you’re gonna get it,” he warns you, his body pressing against your back. You hear the rustling of his own pants, feel him slide his erection up between your thighs. You whimper, bracing your hands against the arm of the couch and arching your back so your ass is pushed back against him. He growls again, low in the back of his throat, his cock throbbing and so fucking hard. “Shit, you’re a needy little slut…”

“I’m sorry,” you say, the way you feign casual ruined by the breathless anticipation in your voice. You shift your hips, and the two of you moan quietly as the head of his cock presses into you slightly. “Were you planning on just insulting me all day, or are you actually going to fuck me? I’ve got work to do.”

Your dismissiveness has the exact effect on him that you want it to, and Blitzø thrusts hard into you with a snarl, bottoming out in one brutal, toe-curling thrust.

You moan throatily and he agrees with one of his own, his tail curling around your middle. His claws clutch at your hips, digging into the flesh.

“Christ on a titty-fuckin’ stick, always so fuckin’ tight…” he groans, withdrawing almost entirely before slamming his hips back into your ass. Your fingers tighten on the arm of the couch, your own claws digging into the fabric. “Feels fuckin’ good, doesn’t it, slut? How’s my cock feel in your tight little cunt?”

There’s that thread of affection under his harsh words that you know he’d deny, but it still makes your eyes roll back. “Blitzø…”

You move to reach between your thighs and he catches hold of your wrist, pulling your arm up behind your back. His tail unwinds from your waist to instead wrap around your wrist and hold it against the small of your back. He scrapes his nails down over waist, dark lines forming under his touch, squeezes the curves of your ass.

“No fuckin’ way, princess. You wanna cum? You’re gonna milk every drop of cum outta my dick first like a good little cock-sleeve.” he sneers, and you bite back a needy whine, unwilling to admit just how much it’s turning you on. “Now answer the fuckin’ question: how’s my cock feel?”

“So good…” you whimper, your own tail entangling with his around your wrist. “Sooo fucking good, Blitzø…”

“Damn fuckin’ right it does,” he replies, smugness torn with his own arousal. He’s thrusting into you so hard that your whole body bounces forward each time his hips meet yours, and he grinds deliciously against you on each stroke. It’s enough to bring you to the precipice and keep you there, an infuriating tease of almost enough. You push your hips back to meet his, forehead pressed to the arm of the couch. “Take it so fuckin’ good…”

“Thank you, baby,” you moan, eyes rolling back. Blitzø curses, hands tightening on your ass. You know damn well the effect praise and gratitude can have on him during sex, and the sincerity burning through your breathless voice is enough to make his hips stutter against yours. There’s an ache in the way he’s stretching you, filling you, and your thighs are quivering. “Shit…”

“You want me to cum, slut?” he taunts, his voice betraying just how close he is. It’s reedy and gruff, and he groans as you flex around him on the pull back. He rewards you with an even harder thrust back in, the sound of his flesh meeting yours well and truly drowning out the sounds of the TV. “Wanna feel me fill you up? You gonna get all quivery and moan like a good little whore when you feel my cum dripping out of your cunt?”

“Please, Blitzø,” it almost comes out as a sob, your whole body tight with your need to feel that release. “Please, I want you to cum…”

“Where?” you can hear the smirk in his voice, and he laughs brokenly as he sees the hand he still has behind your back shift to give him the finger. He rolls his hips into yours the way he knows makes you keen in retaliation. “Say it, slut.”

“Fucking… shit, Blitzø, cum inside me.” you beg, eyes squeezed closed. “Please, baby… I need you to… fuck…”

Blitzø snickers, and you feel him lean over your body to press an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder blade, his teeth grazing over your skin as he tells you, “Good girl.”

Between the husky cadence of the praise and the way his fingers finally find your clit, you can’t help but curse, collapsing forward on the couch. Blitzø’s grip on your hips keeps you on your knees in front of him, and he thrusts into you in one final, hard slam of his hips to cum deep inside your quivering, swollen cunt.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he groans, a growl sounding under the words, and he keeps himself buried fully inside you as he quickens his fingers over your clit. Each flex of your pussy around him milks him further, and you can barely register the sound of the string of curses it elicits from him over your own moaning.

Your thighs do shake as your orgasm finally crests, your voice catching slightly as Blitzø grasps a fistful of your hair and jerks your head back so you can’t muffle it in the cushions. Your moan is rough, too-loud for the apartment, and Blitzø laughs, cum-drunk as he releases your hips and you collapse, boneless onto the couch in front of him.

You hum a breath deliriously, rolling onto your back with some difficulty as your legs tangle with his. Blitzø straddles your hips, running his hand up over your hip and up, over your waist and your ribs and to your breast. He squeezes it teasingly, flicking his claw over your nipple, and he smirks as you jerk under his touch.

“Asshole,” you mutter breathlessly into the cushions, feeling his hand smooth up over the swell of your ass.

He squeezes, kneads the flesh, and you hear him exhale admiringly as he watches his cum slowly drip out of you. “So fuckin’ pretty…”

“So... can I get back to work now?”

Blitzø laughs at your attempt to sound impatient, pinching your nipple and leaning down over you to catch the resulting gasp with his own lips. He kisses you languidly, hand grazing up over your chest and the side of your throat to cup your cheek. The… tenderness of the gesture surprises you, but you let yourself relax into the embrace.

“Depends…” he says against your lips, kissing you again before pulling back to meet your eye. That infuriating smirk is playing on his lips again, an eyebrow arched challengingly. “You gonna sit there and do your work like a good little girl while my cum drips outta you? Or are you gonna come and get your freak on in the shower like I know you want to?”

[starsofang]

Call of Duty || Coraline AU || Part 5

Running away to start a new chapter and escape the troubles of your past, you find yourself in a darker predicament than you had hoped for.

Coraline with a twist. And COD men. Obviously.

PT.1 / PT.2 / PT.3 / PT.4

You knew you shouldn’t have gone back. Everything in your body, mind, and soul were telling you to turn back, to lock up the door and keep it locked – yet there you were, on your hands and knees, crawling through the fluorescent tunnel once again.

It welcomed you as if waiting for your return, pulsing and swirling with the bright, galactic colors as you made your way through. Si wasn’t with you this time. There were no tufts of fur to tickle your skin, no yellow eyes to pierce into you like mean, little daggers.

When you reached the end of the tunnel and pushed open the familiar door, it was too late to turn back. You stepped out of it, carefully surveying your surroundings. Everything looked the same as before – tidy, neat, and very well decorated compared to your little home.

You weren’t sure why you returned. You hated your mother with every fiber of your being, but this other version of your mother was practically calling your name, seeking you out. Maybe that was her plan all along, but to your dismay, it was working in her favor.

“Hello?” you shouted, voice echoing throughout the house. You heard nothing in return, and for a moment, you thought that perhaps you really should turn back. Maybe it was a sign that this wasn’t a good idea.

“Coraline!” A voice responded before you could finish that thought. You released the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, shoulders deflating in what you told yourself was relief. “I didn’t hear you come in, dear.”

In the doorway of the kitchen, your other mother stepped in, beaming brightly at you. Her smile was just as unsettling as before, and you convinced yourself it was only because you weren’t used to seeing a smile on your real mother’s face.

“Hello again,” you greeted quietly, fingers wringing nervously in front of you. Her button eyes, though unable to necessarily look at anything without pupils, seemed to notice the tension in your body. Her smile twitched, but just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

“You came back! I’m so happy to see you. Come in, I have a surprise for you.”

She turned her back to you, stepping further into the kitchen and out of sight. You followed after her, eyes taking in the way she moved – so calculated and precise, it was a bit unnerving.

When you entered the kitchen, you noticed an array of cookies on the table. Just like last time, she remembered your favorite sweets.

“Those aren’t the surprise,” she said in amusement. “The neighbors have actually invited you over! They’ve been waiting for you all day, and I just knew you’d come back.”

“The neighbors?” you asked with a frown. “What for?”

Your neighbors certainly weren’t that welcoming. Sure, they had greeted you out of politeness and would hold the occasional conversation with you, but it always ended with unanswered questions and them seemingly bothered by your presence. Gaz was the epitome of that, what with the way he glared at you like the scum of the Earth.

“The men downstairs love to play card games. They’ve invited you to join them, if you’d like. I’d hate for them to be disappointed.”

The way she spoke of it made it seem more like a warning than an offer. She wasn’t asking you to go – she was telling you. And though she kept that pointy smile on her face, even you could see right past it.

Maybe a part of you was living in denial. You found an unwanted comfort in this other mother of yours, and you didn’t want to disappoint her, either. She was all you ever hoped for in your own mother, and that broken part of you was desperate for approval.

“Will you be joining us?” you asked, to which she laughed and waved a dismissive hand your way.

“No, I have much to do around here. You and I can spend time with one another after, yes?”

You weren’t sure what on Earth she could’ve possibly had to do, but you took it with ease, sending her a nod in understanding. She seemed happy with that, and she flashed you another grin, placing a hand on your shoulder to guide you to the front door of the house.

You watched as she used her free hand to open the door, noting how long her nails were. Long and black, slightly pointed, and you briefly wondered if she did them herself. It was always a dream of yours as a child to get your nails done with your mother, and maybe she’d be able to provide that for you.

“Out you go, dear. You know where to find them,” she urged, squeezing your shoulder before letting go. Her smile never left her face, and you wondered if she ever didn’t smile.

She watched in the doorway as you made your way down the familiar set of stairs. The outside of the home looked better than yours on the other side. The grass was perfectly cut and green, bushes filled with beautiful flowers blooming and stretching out towards you in curious greeting. Even the sky was clear, filled with glistening stars that seemed to smile down at you. The moon was large and bright, beaming light across the yard and making it appear much more breathtaking than the home you were growing used to.

Descending down the stairs, you lifted a hesitant hand to knock at the door of your neighbors. As if waiting for your arrival, John opened the door with a blinding smile. The sight of him had your mouth growing dry.

It was your neighbor John, with the perfectly groomed facial hair and beanie slapped on his head, but his eyes… were just like your other mother. Cold, empty, buttons sat in the sockets, glistening in delight when he saw you.

“Coraline, lovely of you to join us. Your mother said you’d join us,” he greeted politely. It was then you noticed Gaz behind him. Instead of a harsh glare you had received the day before, he was smiling beautifully, full cheeks puffed out and straight teeth shining back at you.

Swallowing your nerves, you offered a tight smile in return, allowing him to pull you into his home. Much like your other mother’s, it was wonderfully decorated and easy on the eyes. Comfortable furniture, shiny, wooden floors, and trinkets of all kinds sitting on shelves.

“Are you up for some card games, Coraline?” Gaz asked from where he stood beside you. He leaned down to your level to continue smiling at you, and the proximity of him so close to your face nearly had you jumping back. Those eyes caused a flutter in your heart to roar, and you wished it was in a sweet way rather than a fearful way. Part of you found the buttons on Gaz disappointing. The real Gaz had such beautiful eyes.

“I may not be very good at them,” you confessed honestly, but it didn’t waver them.

“Nonsense. We’ll teach you,” John offered, and just like your other mother, he guided you with a hand on your shoulder to a table that had various decks of cards neatly stacked.

The three of you sat around the table as John’s skilled hands began shuffling the cards. You watched silently, hands twisting in your lap in a fit of nervousness.

“We can start simple. Blackjack,” John spoke as he placed the deck of cards on the table, hand remaining on top of the deck. You weren’t sure how to play Blackjack, but he seemed to already be aware of that from the way he smiled at you. “I will give you and Gaz two cards, facing up. I’ll receive two cards of my own, one facing up, the other facing down. Copy?”

You nod, watching his hands as they slipped cards from the top of the deck and placed them in front of Gaz and you. While Gaz had a five of hearts and an eight of spades, you had a ten of diamonds and a nine of spades. When John flipped his first card over, he had a six of hearts, while the other remained facedown.

“Your set of cards has to add up to as close to twenty-one as possible. You have the opportunity to ask for another card if you want to risk it and get closer to twenty-one. If it goes over twenty-one, you lose. If it doesn’t, then at the end of the round, I flip my hidden card over. If my cards wage higher numbers than yours, I win. If yours are higher, you win. Pretty simple, aye?” John asked, throwing you another smile while he gestured to the cards set out in front of you.

That seemed simple enough. You were already off to a good start for your first try, sitting with a number of nineteen, while Gaz sat with a number of thirteen.

“Hit me,” Gaz spoke, scratching a finger along the table where his cards sat. John flipped a card off of the card deck and turned it towards Gaz, placing it down in front of him – a ten of hearts, causing him to go over twenty-one. He let out a groan, causing you to smile to yourself.

John turned his button-filled gaze to you, silently asking if you wanted to risk it or stay.

“I’ll stay,” you murmured, to which he nodded and flipped over his last card. Shifting your eyes down to it, you noticed it was an ace of spades, making his number seventeen.

“Beginner’s luck, aye, Miss Coraline?” John teased while Gaz threw you a grin.

John proceeded to reshuffle the cards, the slight sound of them sifting together filling the room. You watched while you pondered, thoughts running through your mind of what exactly this was and why you were here.

“John?” you asked, and he hummed in question, continuing to shuffle. “What exactly is this place?”

John glanced at you briefly before back down at the cards in his hand. He began setting out the cards once again, just as before.

“This is your home, Coraline. Is it not?”

“Well, yeah, but…” You sighed, taking in your cards. A six of hearts and a five of clubs. John had a ten of hearts, with the other card remaining hidden. “It’s not really my home, is it?”

“It could be if you want it to be, Coraline,” he offered with a smile, turning to look at Gaz, who had a stack of a ten of clubs and a three of spades. “Mother would really like it to be.”

“But she’s not my mother,” you defended with a frown as Gaz scratched his finger once again. John planted another card in front of him, revealing a two of diamonds. He let out another groan, resting his head on his fist.

“She loves you,” John urged, button eyes boring into your own. “Mother wishes you saw that. You in?”

It made an uncomfortable tightening in your chest erupt at the thought of that. How he referred to her felt so strange and out of place.

“Yeah,” you sighed, and he hummed in approval, placing a new card down for you. An eight of clubs, making your number nineteen. Once John was confident in your play, he turned over his next card, revealing a seven of diamonds. You had beat him once again, and part of you felt like that was the plan.

“Wow, Coraline, twice in a row, look at you!” Gaz cheered proudly, sending you a beaming grin. You threw him a forced one back, and once again, John shuffled for the third time.

“What do you mean she loves me? She… doesn’t even know who I am,” you asked John.

“‘Course she does. Mother knows all about you. She wants you to stay here so she can show you what a real mother is like,” he explained calmly, his eyes focused on you as he shuffled. “She only wishes to love you, Coraline. This place is much better than your real home, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” Gaz agreed.

You looked back and forth between the two of them, unsure of what to say. You had gotten your answers, but at the same time, you felt even more stumped than before.

“I don’t want to stay here forever.”

John’s smile tightened, and he threw a quick glance at you before setting down the third round of cards.

“Whatever you wish, Miss Coraline. We only want what’s best.”

“I shouldn’t go back,” you muttered to yourself. You had returned to your real home hours later, spending the entire night playing silly card games with the men downstairs, as well as talking over dinner with your other mother. Just like the first time you had met her, the time was spent speaking of your inner thoughts, expressing to her the turmoils of your mind while she provided you with the perfect things to say. It was as if she had a script imprinted in her mind, and she was reading to you everything you wanted to hear.

You were conflicted, terribly so. You felt such a comforting aura with your other mother, and you found yourself enjoying time spent with the neighbors and their games. The company is something you’d been craving for a long time, and finally, you felt accepted in a world where normally you were tossed aside like a meaningless pet.

On the same note, you knew there were red flags, and it showed in Soap’s warnings, the way your other mother’s smile would occasionally turn into a sneer for a fleeting moment, and the way John spoke about your other mother as if she were a god to be worshiped.

You knew you shouldn’t return, and maybe some time apart would clear your head.

To rid yourself of your worries, you forced yourself to sleep, succumbing to a late night full of worries and lingering thoughts.

It always seemed as if one of your neighbors was around at the right time. When you exited your home with plans of stopping at the market, you noticed John and Gaz in the large front yard that seemed to go on forever. They were on their hands and knees in the dirt, tugging out old weeds, sweat dripping down their foreheads and necks.

“Hello,” you greeted politely, and John looked up at you in surprise. He smiled, and under the facial hair, you couldn’t tell if it was forced or genuine.

“Afternoon, Caroline,” he offered, continuing to pluck a stray weed from the root. “Heading out, I see?”

“Mm. Need some new groceries.”

Gaz stared at you when you spoke, unmoving. He looked conflicted, unsure of if he wanted to say anything to you. He was no longer glaring at you like last time, but instead, he looked almost pitiful. Why, you were unsure of.

“Say, John, do you like card games?”

John’s eyebrows rose up and he sat up from where he was hunched in the dirt, resting his arms on his bent knees. “I do. Gaz, Soap and I play them on occasion. How’d you know?”

Ah. So the other neighbors really were carbon copies of your real ones.

“Just a hunch. I’ve been learning how to play, but it’s not fun by yourself. Figured I’d ask if you would like to sometime,” you offered with a smile you hoped looked polite.

John hummed in thought, lifting an arm to run it over his sweaty forehead, wiping away the glistening shine from the heat. He glanced over at Gaz, who looked back at him. They had a silent conversation, before Gaz cleared his throat and John threw you a nod.

“Sure, Caroline. We’ll let you know when we play next.”

You let out a breath of relief, giving him an enthusiastic nod and another warm smile.

“Great. I’ll see you!” You waved them goodbye and began your journey to the market, leaving the two of them behind to tend to the yard.

When you were gone, John and Gaz looked at each other once again.

“You reckon she’ll be the one to stick around?” Gaz asked John. John frowned, returning to his weed work.

“Let’s try our best to make it happen, hm?”

—

i haven’t played blackjack in years so mind u, i tried my best 😭 praying ur enjoying the story so far, stayed up to write this and do not regret it

[danpuff-ao3]

Bottom!Snape Snarry Recs

If you're craving Snarry fics featuring bottom!Snape....I have just the list for you!

Disclaimer: all rec lists are based on my personal experiences and preferences. This is not the be all end all of rec lists and we all have our own tastes. All opinions are mine and mine alone.

An Evening Adrift

by alhaz_red. Rated: E. Words: 4,966. Dirty talk. Canon divergence.

Severus and Harry keep themselves occupied during a lull in the War.

Imperio

by asharie (@ashariewrites). Rated: E. Words: 2,308. Dubious consent. Hogwarts 8th year.

Strictly speaking, Severus had asked for this. He just was never any good at giving up control.

Close Encounters

by @bleedcolor & @likelightinglass. Rated: E. Words: 35,494. Awkward romance. Accidental bonding. Hurt/comfort. Praise kink. Anonymous sex.

Years after the war, Harry Potter and Severus Snape meet and fall in lust, then love. Too bad they don’t know who they’ve fallen for.

A Light in the Silence, a Voice in the Dark

by Cayce_Morris. Rated: E. Words: 76,153. Brief non-con. Underage (17).

Severus lives, just barely. Now what’s going on between him and Harry is too shocking for words. Everyone around Harry fears he’s lost his mind, but could there be more to this situation than meets the eye?

Lover Boy at Play

by danpuff. Rated: E. Words: 4,448. Parseltongue kink. Virginity loss. Voyeurism. Harry/others. Angst with a happy ending.

The sex is bad. Yet Severus wants.

The Tumtum Tree

by eldritcher. Rated: E. Words: 4,039. Impotence.

Harry figures out a thing or two.

Leo Season

by Ephemeral (@fleetingdesires) & JacksWild. Rated: E. Words: 2,215. Established relationship. Crack. Quickies. Dirty talk. Orgasm denial. Mentions of switching.

Severus and Harry test a lust potion. It works too well. Two horny men be doing what they do.

Unnatural Desires

by IvvyMoon. Rated: E. Words: 13,385. Parseltongue kink. Magical accidents. Mild dub-con.

Written for the prompt: Harry has some kind of accident and can only speak in Parseltongue, which drives Snape mad with desire. Can be taken seriously or as crack, with Snape jumping Harry every time he says something.

Hunger

by JoyousRapture. Rated: E. Words: 2,431.

Severus didn’t know what to think. He’d intended to bed the boy, certainly, but it had never occurred to him that he’d be the one on all fours with a cock shoved deep in an arse that he’d never known might be hungry for it.

Finding Freedom

by Leela. Rated: E. Words: 1,997.

Having Potter in his mind left Snape feeling wide-open and vulnerable, but held to the earth by the weight of Potter's body, he finally felt free.

What Ever Would an Honest Hero Do?

by neymovirne. Rated: E. Words: 8,000. Romance. Humor. Fluff & smut. Light angst. Getting together.

Harry must slay a dragon to save his prince.

Warm

by perverse_idyll (@perverse-idyll). Rated: E. Words: 11,323. Established relationship. Rimming. Mentions of switching (Snape usually tops).

Severus still suffers the after-effects of Nagini's venom, especially in winter. Harry knows just how to warm him up.

Sheer Dumb Luck

by rexluscus. Rated: E. Words: 7,842. Captivity. Torture. Voyeurism. Humiliation. Somnophilia. Legilimency.

For once, Harry and Voldemort want the same thing, and they want it from Snape.

Magic Words

by Serpenscript. Rated: E. Words: 1,863. Fluff & humor. Orgasm denial. Cock rings. Make up sex.

Severus is a bastard at times, but Harry knows how to make him say the magic words. A drabble that grew too long to be called a drabble, prompt was "Does that hurt?"

In Perpetuity

by starcrossedgirl. Rated: E. Words: 11,830. BDSM. Hurt/comfort. Character study.

Some stories in life repeat in the same old patterns. Until they change.

Folie à Deux

by thesewarmstars. Rated: E. Words: 7,783. Christmas. Meet the family. Homophobia.

My Snarry Holidays 2009 gift for torino10154. Basically, I took Torino’s prompt of ‘meeting the family’ and ran with it.

made to be broken

by theshopislocal. Rated: E. Words: 10,334. Established relationship. Mild dub-con. Sexual dysfunction. PTSD.

For all Severus is softer, warmer with Harry than he is otherwise, he’s still a prickly bugger and notably maladjusted, with strange, almost inexplicable habits that Harry is only now beginning to truly understand.  In hindsight, Harry wonders how he hadn’t seen it before.

Whispers of Intent

by tiranog. Rated: E. Words: 30,213.

Auror Harry Potter has a life changing encounter at a bar.

Fly by Night

by twisting_vine_x. Rated: E. Words: 2,647.

It was one too many dark nights, one too many nightmares. One too many meetings in the late hours, with neither of them wanting to be alone. One too many moments of weakness, and it’s somehow gotten them here, with Severus pressed up against the wall of his chambers and Potter sucking a bruise into the side of his neck.

[gege-wondering-around]

WIP Whenever

@dontcallpanic tagged me for this and im so happy to participate! here's another sneak peek into the fia au i'm writing - maybe it's not the most exciting part, but i can't spoiler too much, can i now? (but i'm sure @patolemus may enjoy - this is your lucky week my friend, so mcuh is coming out about this work!)

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“Stiles.”   The man had been calling by his first name in the past few months, the boy didn’t really mind it happening, it felt refreshing to be respected and not called whatever name passed by the mobsters’ minds while in the training arena; with body turning around to face him, putting on a shirt long enough to reach the end of the boxers, he let out some words: “yeah, master?” He had been using that little name they’ve told him to say; not a fan. Nothing escaped the sealed lips of a stone still judge scanning the slim figure of a doll in waiting; the Hale’s underground cave of processing trainees seemed too humble for its owner and purpose, empty and naked; yet fit for how everyone who actually knew the man within described him as: a man of simple life. Stiles had never been more tempted to test people’s opinions, however something disturbed the articulated thoughts a clever mind was already forming; “why don’t you come here for a moment?”  Nothing other than oblige, bare feet made no sound of steps on the hard floor; at least he wasn’t just out the shower, with nothing on if not a towel wrapped around his hips; he knew Derek wouldn’t mind that. In a few long movements he was standing patiently with the elegance of a ballerina on stage, where was the first note of start for the dance? “Sit by my side, won’t you?”  So many questions at which Stiles couldn't actually disagree without setting back the plan… Somehow the man was never of a threatening imposition, so calm of demeanor and even more gentle in gestures; it was strange but welcomed by the boy, glad to not have to deal with a barbaric man any more than he had to during training; he had broken so many bones on that concrete pavement, a few drops of opponents’ blood were sewed in it each time after his passing. He did as he was asked, mimicking the man’s way without appearing disrespectful, and did so much willingly despite the tense posture he sporadically had whenever Derek asked him to come so close; it never felt quite right, but he accepted the hardship of endurance to avenge the caring father he had lost. He could deny the man, but denial could never fit into a full grave. “I have a question for you.” It was expected, the man had been asking many in the last week; Stiles hoped it could be about an answer that would speed up the undying plan that was eating his heart. “What’s it about?” Never once an answer of his was longer than necessary, with an everlasting flat tone with no emotion in it, and somehow the man picked him for such a molecular characteristic; there was no need to chit chat with Derek Hale about the weather. A calluses hand caressed a pale tigh, Stiles didn’t move it away but the muscles flexed in memorized response, unwillingly sharing his truest thoughts; Derek never did more than that, for a reason the boy didn’t mind digging up. He was fine, any price was manageable by the poor, as he was so even in his heart; nothing to lose. Why the man seemed to never be able to avert his eyes from Stiles’, he could never tell though; yet the hand, the touch, the feeling… Everything was never a gesture that could ever feel as threat, Derek didn’t seem to be a man of harmful pleasure, whatever enjoyment he might search from the few dolls he kept close; they were four or five, each so peculiar and deemed worthy by the wolf, yet none was ever enough to be his favorite.

Besides, it was his role to fill, he just needed to be patient and let the man open a way for him to slither into; Stiles could mold into anything and a cast just came his way to take a step further. “Would you like to be one of my personal dolls?” His words were accompanied by another sentence, much useless as Stiles would’ve said ‘yes’ without a need for anything more; “no more market training, just a bed and a stable role for you, wouldn't that be nice?”  Lips perked in a smile, fists tightened and a long exhale left rosy nostrils; Derek collected everything, stored it well and secured in the depths of a sophisticated mind, waiting patiently for an answer he already knew from the start of the day.  “Would love to if you want me.” Another part of the plan sailed for good, he achieved another inch of closure to the woman he wanted to bring down to the misery he was in, hidden so well beneath all the scheduling that the cold nights have provided him before putting his name in the list of possible dolls.  A hand held his waist in place to stick close by the man’s side; something had escaped his crafted figure of immovable doll. “Ah, here it is that smirk of yours,” Derek promptly remarked; Stiles tried to make it fall, “don’t.” He listened.

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ahh, i will add more to the chapter this comes from cause this was a big chunk of it and i feel like there wouldn't be much more in the chapter if you read this, anyway i hope you'll enjoy and i'm tagging my usuals @dontcallpanic (yep tagging you back, feel free to post more or not🩵) @patolemus @hellameyers @seaweed-water @jadezdominion @demonicfaerie

if they are interested @sterekloverforever @oldefashioned (miss you buddy)

[pparadiselost]

command & master.

kageyama tobio x fem reader the best pet is one that's disciplined. warning(s): nsfw, femdom, bdsm, orgasm control, orgasm denial, analplay, male masturbation, petplay, commandplay, ruined orgasm, scentplay, voyeurism minors do not interact. author's note: inspired off of owaranai hibi by dhibi.

“good boy, tobio. you worked hard.”

there’s a weight that lifts off of kageyama tobio’s chest the moment you lock the front door behind you. a switch flips inside his head at the sound of his given name slipping past your lips, and his knees threaten to give out underneath him at the sudden shift in his behavior. his head feels foggy, and he has little recollection of how he even made it back home. 

It’s all a blur in his head. he can see snippets of you holding his hand and his ragged breathing going up the stairs, but he’s gotten home in one piece and that’s really all that matters to him.

“what’s wrong?” your voice has a softened, affectionate tone to it, but kageyama knows by now that underneath the honey and sugar lies a trap. you reach out towards him, and when your palm brushes against his cheek, he unconsciously nuzzles into the touch. “your face is so flushed… poor thing.”

his body feels hot. if he had to describe it, he would say it was similar to running a hot fever. he almost feels like he’s trapped inside of his own body. his mind and his physicality are utterly disconnected, with the scraps of his pride struggling to thrash around in his subconscious while the rest of him veers dangerously towards winning your approval.

and you know this. you know this all too well.

as if you can read his thoughts, the corners of your lips curl into what he can only describe as a sadistic grin. despite the way you carefully caress his cheek, the beautifully contained words poised as worry, your eyes are absolutely dancing with glee. he’s miserable, and you know it. you’re fully relishing the fact that you’re the cause and the cure of his inner turmoil, and it makes him shiver with dread and delight.

“oh, alright, alright. i’ll quit messing with you. you’ve been so good for me, tobio,” you practically purr the words, enjoying the way the syllables roll off of your tongue. the atmosphere is thick and heavy, like electricity hangs in the air waiting for the singular spark to set it all ablaze. “it must have been so hard for you. but you did it for me, didn’t you? you’re almost there, i promise. one last hurdle, okay?”

his legs are jelly as he wobbles after you. he’s never been this hard in his life, his cock actively choking behind the thin fabric of his athletic shorts, and he’s glad that his jacket is oversized enough to cover his crotch. he’s like a moth led to a flame, trailing after your beautiful silhouette as you lure him into your bedroom.

“let’s go over what we’ve learned.” you flick the lights on your way in, and the dim lighting casts long shadows across the walls of the bedroom. if kageyama was more coherent, he’d think they resembled ghosts. maybe one of them would be a whisper of the proud and unwavering man he once was, unafraid of the world and of anyone that might come his way. 

you plop down on the edge of your shared bed with him. he stands in front of you dumbly, staring at you with unblinking glassy eyes. his limbs feel heavy, like they’ve been filled with metal. he strips himself, and his cock hangs like a deadweight despite being so hard that he thinks he’s going to suffocate. his clothes crumple off to the side, in a lifeless pool of fabric and threading that oddly resembles him.

you click his tongue before he can get too distracted. he snaps to life as if he’s been zapped with a taser. 

“tobio, kneel.”

fuck.

his body reacts before his mind can, and his legs give away. he crumples to the floor in front of you with a dull ‘thud.’ some deep recess inside of his broken mind feels full, fuzzy, and happy in following your words blindly. his knees throb slightly from the impact, but the pain grounds him a bit. the warmth coiling in and out like a pulse inside of his stomach flutters for a split second, and kageyama swallows the saliva in his mouth, feeling it ooze down his esophagus.

he tips his head upwards so that he’s looking up at you. your legs are crossed, and you look down at him proudly. you’ve propped your face up with one hand, and you peer at him like you’re observing some kind of specimen. a lower being. someone no longer human and most definitely underneath you.

“good boy. tobio, stay.”

he swallows again desperately, and you wait a second to make sure he won’t budge before lifting yourself off of the edge. he follows you with only his eyes as you saunter over to where you keep your belongings, and he hears you tinkering with your things before coming back with a perfume bottle in your hands. it’s your perfume. the same scent you apply on yourself every morning whenever you go out, and the same scent he can make out lingering in your hair or your pillow.

you slowly uncap the bottle before holding it out in front of the air above kageyama’s sunken head. you spritz once, twice, thrice and watch the particles linger before disappearing. kageyama’s heart sinks to his stomach, and you must have seen the split second of lucid panic flash in his eyes. 

he debates holding his breath, but you click your tongue reprimandingly again.

“bad boy. tobio, sniff.” you chastise him, lips turning downwards into a disapproving frown. you’re going to be the death of him, but kageyama’s obedient if not anything else. he weakly lifts his head again, and he takes in a deep inhale of your scent.

it goes straight to his dick. the absolutely tantalizing aroma of your personal scent makes him feel crazy, fighting against every maniacal instinct clawing and burying its nails into his body to not leap to his feet and stuff his nose against your body. he wants to fuck you, wants you to fuck him so bad, to cut to the chase and quit turning him on so much that it’s starting to physically hurt him.

“that’s a good expression,” you giggle to yourself. you know he’s fighting to keep control over his broken body. you’ve seen him bury his head into the crook of your neck and inhale like a fiend one too many times to turn a blind eye to his not-so-subtle scent kink, and you think it’s magnificent to see him fall apart over a little bit of perfume. “okay. how are you feeling? i’ve forced you to keep up with this game of mine for… is it two weeks now already? gosh, time goes by so fast!”

you pause momentarily, and then you laugh, smacking your forehead gently. “oh! i almost forgot! tobio, speak.”

he croaks like a dying, wounded creature. “...‘t hurts. you’re torturing me. you’re going to kill me.”

“i won’t kill you. i care about you too much for that,” you hum with a satisfied expression. kageyama doesn’t know how he’s survived the past 14 days. he knew from the start that some of your fetishes were unconventional, but he still found it exciting to know that you trusted him enough to ask him to do these things for you. there was a part of his heart that fluttered when you first shyly pressed a cock ring into his big palms and asked him to keep it on whenever he could so that you could control every single one of his orgasms.

he still feels the drunken pangs of love intermixing with arousal and pain swirling in his head when he looks up at you with such broken eyes. his balls are heavy from not being able to cum for so long, but the unabashedly delighted expression on your face makes him think that it might be worth it.

“we still have a lot of work to do though,” you muse. “but i’m a person of my word. so i’ll let you have a reward today for meeting the two week milestone, okay? what do you want as your reward?”

tobio doesn’t need to think twice. his tongue is heavy and sloppy and uncontrollable, and yet he’s drooling and pushing the words out like a dam’s broken inside of his swimming consciousness. “please- please let me fuck you- let me fuck your pussy with my cock, please…! wanna put it inside you, wanna cum inside you, wanna have sex with you-”

you barely stifle a mocking laugh. you wonder where the bravado of one of the world’s most coveted athletes has gone. you can remember the rush in your heart when you first laid eyes on him, enchanted with the sheer charisma he had on the court, making each and every one of the players dance to his finely tuned beat. 

but instead, the man in front of you is no more than a starved dog. you’re lucky that you’re someone who keeps a tight leash. breaking his prideful spirit was no easy task, but you’re glad you did it. otherwise, you might not have been able to delight in his misery so openly.

“don’t be ridiculous, tobio. i said i’d reward you, not let you do whatever you want.” you lean forward, and your pussy throbs at the way the shock settles like the touch of winter’s frost in kageyama’s shattered eyes. you swear you can make out your reflection in his widened pupils, and like a lovesick puppet, kageyama veers shakily forward when you move in so that he can be a bit closer to you. you’ve got him dancing in the palm of your hand, and nothing makes your heart race faster than seeing him this ruined.

“it’s alright though. there’s no need for you to look so heartbroken. it makes me feel bad,” you pause poignantly. “almost. i have an idea though! don’t worry, i’ll let you cum. it’d be too much even for me to leave you hanging dry after you’ve been this receptive towards my training. good boys always get a fitting reward.”

you point your finger at the first drawer in the little dresser by your side of the bed. your smile is nothing but angelic, and had he seen you looking at him with such devotion dripping from your eyes in any other situation, kageyama believes he would have fallen in love with you all over again. 

“tobio, fetch.”

his thighs ache, and kageyama’s breathing is hot and comes out in short puffs. his cock dangles and bounces uselessly as he crawls over to your dresser. his agile fingers curl around the handle, and his heart pounds like a death march as he slowly pulls the drawer out. 

inside is a singular dildo. your smile doesn’t waver even once as he lifts it gingerly, and he turns to you as if waiting dutifully for your next instructions. it doesn’t take a genius for him to piece together what you’re going to make him do. 

sure, you’ll be merciful enough to let him cum. you just won’t let him cum for his cock. 

“you know what to do, don’t you? such a well-trained boy. you make me so proud. why don’t you do me a favor and put on a pretty little show for me with that? if i were you, i’d make the most of it. you don’t know when i’ll let you cum again next.” your deceptively gentle voice has pre-cum dribbling out of his straining length. 

ah, kageyama knows there’s something deeply wrong with him. this is humiliating in every sense of the word, and yet there’s something to you that has him hooked. you’re everything to him, a person for him to worship, for him to do anything for, have him hooked like a fish on a line veering towards its inevitable end, addicted to the illicit edge of having everything about him dangling at your fingertips. 

it feels good. it feels good when he plants the dildo down firmly on the floor in front of you. it feels good as he spreads his legs sheepishly. it feels good when you scrutinize him from head to toe like every inch of his flesh and bone and skin belongs to you. it feels good when he feels the thick head of the dildo prodding against his taut hole.

it feels so, so, so obscenely good when he sinks down on the toy, letting it stretch the pliant muscles of his ass out and the weeping weight of his poor forgotten cock straining in between his spread legs. 

you’re entranced immediately. he starts off slowly. it’s not the first time he’s taken something inside his ass, and yet, it feels so foreign and new each time he does. he rides the dildo with shallow bounces, carefully maneuvering himself up and down the toy’s length. if you also weren’t aroused out of your mind, you’d marvel at how strong kageyama’s legs were. it’s no wonder that he has the reputation of being prideful: every single aspect of him has been built up through a lifetime’s worth of hard work and tenacious dedication.

he feels the stretch deep in his stomach, the foreign ache in his muscles. he should feel any sense of shame, embarrassment at being this lewd in front of you, humping some plastic toy like he’s no better than an animal giving in to his most base instincts, but something about the scraps of attention you toss his way makes him want to grovel in front of you for more. you’re so strict, so harsh, not willing to give him any wiggle room for him to be selfish. maybe that’s why each word of praise, each little treat you’re willing to indulge with him feels so sweet yet so painful. he’s hard to work for every little bit of it, even if it kills him more and more inwardly.

“how are you feeling, sweetheart? talk to me,” you murmur. your eyes are fixated on his body. drops of sweat trickle down his forehead and the expanse of his beautifully sculpted torso. his chest rises and falls as arousal seeps through every vein in his body. tobio feels like he’s crumbling in front of you. 

“full- my ass feels full- it’s stretching me out- so big- such a big toy-,” the words come out so naturally, despite him knowing that he should be more hesitant. the dildo slides in and out of him as he moves his hips, and he whines loudly as his asshole flutters and stretches out on the girth of the toy. “wanna cum with my cock- wanna touch my cock- want you to touch with my cock, please-”

“nonsense, tobio.” you cut him off firmly. “see? even now you’re talking back to me. it means we’re not quite done with your training yet. i’m your owner, which means you have to listen to me. you don’t see dogs talking back to their owners, do you?”

your stern voice sounds like the most harmonious melody to him, even though you’re so hellbent on making his life miserable. he wonders just how hard and how deep he must have fallen for you, to get turned on by something like you telling him no. he shakes his head shakily. “n-no- i’m sorry- my ass feels good- feels really good! love having it inside me- love fucking myself-”

you smile at him again, and it makes his cock throb. you’re getting off on him fucking himself further and further on the toy, desperately moving himself up and down on its length chasing some form of release. he knows he’s not going to find what he wants, but he’s smart. he’s smart enough to take what little you’re going to give him, because without it, he thinks he might genuinely lose whatever string of sanity he’s grasping onto for dear life.

“ah-,” he mewls pathetically. every part of him feels heavy and sluggish. dull thrums of arousal claw at his stomach, the muscles in his abs tightening and relaxing before tightening again. he’s moving faster on top of the toy now, starting to take it deeper and deeper. the pleasure is shooting all throughout his body. his chest feels tight and his skin clammy, his brain clambering to fight through the fogginess behind his eyes to fully register everything he’s putting himself through. 

“does it feel good, tobio? does fucking yourself on a toy in front of me make you feel good? you look like you’re having so much fun right now…,” there’s a hint of amusement in your words, and you peer down at kageyama with such fondness in your eyes. you think he’s prettiest when he’s at his wit’s end. he’s bucking his hips wildly, going from the shallow thrusts to grinding and wiggling his hips lewdly, so dedicated to chasing his own high but also giving you a show worthy of your time.

he nods, head lolling on his neck. his voice threatens to break. “ye-es…! so good- my ass feels so full- love fucking myself on a cock like this… love it when you order me around… makes me wanna cum…”

“yeah? you like being treated this way?” you say, pretending to be surprised. “gosh, you’re flattering me… are you trying to be someone special to me, tobio? you know that you already are… i’m the only one who gets to see this sweet, sweet side of you. trust me, i don’t take that for granted.”

you know that he doesn’t have any other option than to give into the mindlessness of letting you have complete control, but at the same time, you don’t doubt that he’s being honest, given how red and swollen his tip is. there’s pre-cum leaking almost in nonstop rivulets from his slit, but there’s no relief to be found for his cock. no matter how much his heavy balls quiver and tense up, there’s nothing you’re willing to do for him. 

his ass hits the hilt of the dildo, and he lets out a loud, broken cry. your cunt clenches in on itself as he stays there for a second, savoring the feeling of fullness. the dildo’s head prods and breaches against his g-spot, enough to make kageyama feel like the wind’s been knocked out of him. it takes everything in him just to breathe as he sits there in front of you, eyes glossy with tears and pleasure poisoning the corners of his brain. 

“ooh, you managed to take it all!” you clap your hands together excitedly. “i can still remember when you’d struggle to get just the tip in… you’ve done so well. you’re so hot when you fuck yourself on a dildo like that… and i bet it feels even better to get to fuck it after two straight weeks of not getting any action whatsoever.”

he manages a shaky inhale. 

“keep grinding on it, tobio,” you command him firmly. you’re sure he’s fighting to keep whatever little control of his body he has left, his limbs melting into both pain and pleasure. the head of the dildo keeps fucking against his g-spot, and tobio thinks he’s going to faint from how good it feels. his stomach keeps twisting itself into tight knots, and heat flares up all over his core. he clings to your words, moving his hips back and forth, grinding down on the base of the toy. 

“so-o big-,” his words are slurring together into one big mush. his movements are growing sloppy, more animalistic, doing his best to chase his high without disobeying you. he needs your permission to cum, after all, and doing so without your approval is bound to seal his fate. “please- wanna cum- please let me cum…! ‘m so close- so close to cumming from my ass… it feels good, please- please, please, i wanna cum from my ass!”

“my, such a well-mannered boy,” you coo at him. “you remembered to ask for my permission. but i don’t know, tobio… i want to enjoy you like this a little longer. do you think you can do that for me?”

fuck. your entire body is crawling with heat, arousal pulsing throughout your senses. you breathe deeply, trying to keep yourself controlled so that you can continue pushing kageyama’s buttons. he’s actively falling apart in front of you. his legs are shaking as he rides the toy, going between grinding down on it and mewling uncontrollably as his orgasm threatens to push him over the edge. 

the lewd noises of him pleasuring himself and his sobs echo throughout the room. your mouth feels dry, and you lick your lips. he grits his teeth, eyes fluttering weakly, as he drinks up the tantalizing sight of your tongue dragging across your bottom lip. his cock feels like it’s about to explode, and seeing you in front of him isn’t helping him at all.

what he wouldn’t give to have those pretty lips on him, to feel you kissing the bare expanses of his skin, your soft mouth moving against his chest and abs, kissing up his torso and pressing your lips against his arms. maybe you’d kiss his delicate hands too, circling your haughty tongue against his calloused fingertips. his cock throbs an embarrassing amount at the thought of his fingers inside your mouth, and he has to ball his hands into fists to keep himself from touching himself in a way that would make you angry.

“please-,” his voice is barely a whisper, and he looks at you with watering eyes. fat tears threaten to breach his underlashes, and when he blinks, they glide down the unmarred expanses of his porcelain-like cheeks. “i can’t take it anymore- i can’t- can’t do it… gonna cum! my ass feels so good- my ass can’t take it- please, please, let me cum! let me cum… i wanna cum, everything just feels too good…!”

you purse your lips. it’s not like you don’t disagree with him. you know the past few days have been agony for the poor boy. you don’t know how he managed to perform his best in his games and practice while struggling to keep all of his carnal desires at bay, but at the same time, you wonder what he would look like when you’d crush any sense of hope for him. what would he do if you said he couldn’t cum? even though you said you’d let him? 

would he accept your cruelty without complaint? he’s so desperate to be your good boy, to have you acknowledge his unwavering submission to you. he might simply hang his head and accept it, letting you console him with a simple kiss to his forehead as you wrestle his swollen cock back into its imprisonment.

you tilt your head slightly. “you’re so needy… i didn’t say you could cum yet, did you? Begging like this isn’t going to get you anywhere. you’ll cum when i say you can. your entire body belongs to me, and that includes your ass. you can do better than this. i know you can.”

your words are like knives digging into his overstimulated body. his vision is blurry, and it’s taking everything in him just to keep up with his lewd display. his muscles are straining, aching all throughout his form, but the pain keeps egging him on. bits of drool slip past his mouth, frantic gasps emanating from the young man.

“i’m sorry- have mercy on me-,” the way he looks at you with such pleading eyes makes your cunt squeeze. this is your most obscene dream come true, and the wet sounds of kageyama working his ass up and down the now-slick toy has you curling your fingers into the bedsheets. “you said you’d reward me- you said i’d get a reward- that i could cum with my ass… you’ll kill me… i just wanna cum!”

“i don’t know…,” your voice trails off to demonstrate that you weren’t convinced of his desperation quite yet. kageyama thinks he’s going to go crazy with need. his body can’t take it much longer, and if he doesn’t get your permission soon, he knows he’s going to be in for a world of trouble. some masochistic side of him melts and flutters at the thought of you punishing him even more, breaking down every single one of his senses until nothing else exists in his world except for the thought of you completely monopolizing him. 

he swallows heavily, and his adam’s apple bobs as he frantically racks his brain. there’s not much he can do to appeal to you, but he’s willing to give anything a try. he’s on his last legs, and he’s willing to do anything to appeal himself to you. 

“i love you-,” he cries out, face all flushed and sweaty hair sticking to his forehead in splayed out strands. “i love you! i love you so much- please, let me cum! i wanna cum- love you, love you soooo much…!”

oh, this was new. gosh, he was just too pure-hearted. he was pulling on your heartstrings perfectly, his garbled sweet words in perfect contrast to the depravity you were pushing him through. he was too cute for his own good, digging his grave further and further with each word that he uses to bargain for his needs. so pitiful, so desperate, you just wish you can keep in this broken down state forever.

it’s hard not to be endeared by him. he’s staring at you so pathetically, imploring silently for you to grant him the release he’s chasing so ardently. there’s truly no room for anything or anybody else in his eyes right now. you’re all that matters, the only one who grants him a stroke of salvation in the darkness muddling his consciousness, a true paragon of dedicated domination in his eyes.

your lips quirk upwards into that smile he loves so much.

“oh, don’t beg like that. it almost makes me feel bad,” you laugh under your breath. the sound is soft and melodic, and the young athlete bucks his hips to your words. you gingerly extend a hand forward from where you’re perched on the mattress, and just like he did earlier, you let him slot his face into your palm. you nuzzle his blushing cheek, your thumb smoothing over the delicate skin of his face. “alright. you did well. i've had my fun too, i suppose. go ahead.”

you lean forward. you whisper softly, like a true lover murmuring a tender lullaby to their beloved. isn’t that what the two of you were, despite all the twists and turns, the corruption in its purest form? 

“tobio, cum.”

it’s like something inside of his mind shatters completely. he sinks down onto the base of the toy, and he lets out a piercing cry. pre-cum drips again from his swollen length as his orgasm grips him from head to toe. he buries his face into your palm, trying frantically to inhale more of your scent as heat rushes all over his body. his toes curl into the floor as he shakes and grinds down against the toy stuffed up his ass, milking and tormenting his g-spot.

you sit there, grinning like a predator closing in on its prey. it’s a rush you don’t think you’ll ever get sick of, both pain and pleasure swirling in kageyama’s wavering mind. he must feel so good right now, getting the reward he’s been deprived of for so long, and yet still not getting the actual thing he had been chasing this entire time. his cock hangs and flops around uselessly, straining in between his spread thighs. 

he lets out a string of incoherent cries and sobs, sniffling. you can feel his tears wetting your skin, but you let him have your hand at the very least. it feels like an eternity for kageyama to fully ride out the sickeningly addictive euphoria of his high, but when he finally musters enough strength to lift his head like an ousted prince gazing upon a forlorn throne, you think the joy is over far too quickly. 

“did you have fun?” you ask innocently. he doesn’t have the strength or the brainpower to properly answer you, and you don’t hold it against him. he nods feebly into your palm like the loyal lapdog he is. he practically collapses forward, and you catch him with your legs, letting him slump over onto the heavenly expanses of your knees and thighs. you comb your fingers through his hair, and you watch as the slick toy slides out of his ass, falling over onto the floor next to him without fanfare.

his cock is still rock hard. such a poor thing, you muse to yourself. you commend yourself for getting far along in his training that he knows better than to throw a fit after having gotten some semblance of an orgasm. you’ve been so patient, so firm with him, and you’re starting to reap the fruits of your labor.

“i’m so proud of you. you did so good for me. put on such a good show for me. i’m going to remember this for the rest of my life, you know that? remember how good and obedient and submissive you were,” you praise him gently, even though you know he’s too out of it to really take in any of your admiration. “tobio. do you know where your cock ring is? do you remember where you put it?”

he mumbles something into your legs that you can’t quite make out. oh well. you’re sure he’s stuffed it either into his pockets somewhere or buried it inside his athletic bag. it’s nearly romantic, just how dedicatedly he takes care of that ring, even if it’s a bastardized version of love that you bring to the table for him to feast on.

“good boy.” you let him lay there for now, taking a few minutes for him to catch back up with reality. you think this might be a slice of your personal heaven, enjoying the weight of him slumped over onto you, the lively spark in him snuffed out so breathtakingly by the weight of your sadism. “once you can, let’s go take a long, cold shower, okay? i gotta make your dick go back down so i can put you back into the ring. oh, honey, don’t be so sad. you’ve done so well up until now…”

you have full faith that he’s going to do even better for you in the future.

KINKTOBER 2024—la première semaine.

if you enjoyed my writing and would like to show appreciation, you can do so by donating to help ruba's family evacuate gaza. time is running out for her family, so if you ever had any thoughts about tipping or commissioning me, please extend that generosity to those in need.

[thatmooncake]

The way Sun and Moon have experienced so much hurt and so much horror but in a way they may never be able to fully address because they just may not quite have the full understanding or the drive to unpack all of what’s happened to them in any sort of context beyond just seeing it as another part of their lives as silly jesters performing at the whims of other people as a small fragment of a dying franchise. That denial and where that understanding escapes them makes it even more tricky for them to heal because they can’t even begin to come to terms with the way the virus and their repurposing has affected them both, but the horrors keep on coming and they’re slowly unraveling and they know - they’ve known from the start - that something is wrong, and yet they can’t quite figure out what for the longest time.

When the virus hits, they just carry on as normal because that’s all they’ve ever known. They notice the other one is acting differently and it alarms them but they aren’t listened to. Perhaps they don’t openly voice their concerns, or maybe no one is there to hear them. Perhaps they don’t even stumble upon the answer until a long time has passed, sitting in denial, just blocking out the changes and the concerns, and the other one whose existence has now thrown their lives into turmoil.

Sun carries on like everything’s fine and dandy - that is, until he can’t anymore. What a life. Always on. Always acting. He’s a good actor, sure, but when you’re meant to play one half of a day-night cycle I bet it wears at you when you now have to cover both shifts. The fact that he’s even trying to - he’s desperate not to be pulled back into the abyss so Moon can come out because he knows how broken Moon is right now. And I’m guessing that even if he did have a clue how to fix them (which, maybe he honestly didn’t, or simply wouldn’t come to terms with until he saw the faz-wrench in Cassie’s hand in Ruin), he couldn’t leave the daycare at most hours because he’d be at work, entertaining the kids, or not supposed to be out if the daycare was out of order. And then when the pizzaplex was closed, there were the blackouts all over, keeping him locked in where the generators were, where he’d have a chance to retreat into the light (and we can’t forget how useful Moon was to Afton and co as a retrieval bot, so he’d be out and about of course, they’d make sure of that, but not as himself).

The alternative would have been knowingly risking unleashing Moon upon more potentially innocent victims, and getting both of them in even more trouble when he should have been out. He should have been making sure things stayed working at least a little bit. And we see Sun fighting Moon with everything he has in the Ruin jumpscares just so they won’t do something they’ll regret. How long has he been fighting? How many times might he have tried and failed to stop Moon and woken up with blood on his hands?

How exhausting that must have been. Did he blame Moon at all? Any animosity between them could only have hurt more. And even if he didn’t give in to that frustration, the fact is, he was keeping Moon away that whole time, not letting him out to play. For his own good or not, that can’t have felt nice, and it certainly can’t have been easy.

And then Moon on the other hand expresses little clear awareness that something is wrong in Security Breach itself, at least none that’s addressed to Gregory or any of the others, simply going about his business, but it’s heavily implied he knows - and maybe he always knew - that there is something pulling from beneath the surface from the things he says in Ruin. “It won’t work!” He knows at that point at least that Sun (or perhaps Cassie) has a plan, of sorts. But he denies it. He doesn’t trust in that plan to fix them. He knows Sun is there, fighting to come out the moment the lights come on. He’s determined not to stay locked away anymore.

Imagine that frustration too. He wants Sun gone - he has to - because he’s in pain as long as the lights are on. And we can tell from Sun’s sad little song that he feels every bit of emptiness when he’s not active as well. And yet, being active feels like a desperate struggle on both sides as well. They’re in a constant battle with themselves, and there can be no victor.

Now imagine if Moon’s awareness - or his relative resignation at the state of the virus - had extended way back to the main game, when they first became afflicted by it. Knowing there was nothing he or Sun could do to stop it - because he (because they?) tried, and failed? Or just (optionally, if we’re considering the novels) because he was always the “villainous” appendix FazCorp couldn’t cut out of the otherwise comparatively “functional” working daycare attendant? Because then maybe Moon knew all along that there wasn’t a version of events where he was actually supposed to be here anymore.

(When he was infected by the virus, on the other hand? Moon had a purpose. Not a nice one, exactly, but a purpose nonetheless. Something Sun still had in the daycare that he wasn’t allowed. It’s not surprising that they ended up at odds with each other at all no matter how you look at it.)

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

Some betrothed/royalty au doodles, ft. Reader soothing Eclipse during one of his stressed-to-the-point-of-breaking-down-moments, and the first time Reader met Sun (and, not realizing who he was or that he was a royal, decided to start happily chatting with him as if they were on the same level, which caught Sun off guard lmao)

Some betrothed/royalty AU tidbits n info below the cut!

- Reader is a footman! Or,, lady in waiting. Or foot,,person,,, in waiting. Whatever the gender neutral version is, they’re that to Eclipse!

- They’ve known Eclipse for a long time! They were born to a servant who worked in his castle, and tended to follow their mother around as she worked- occasionally crossing paths with Eclipse, and sometimes playing games with him when he was avoiding his tutoring or responsibilities sjdhdjd

- They’re smart and practical, and Eclipse wants to make them his advisor as soon as he has the jurisdiction to do so. They’re very good at seeing the issues politicians debate over from the outside view, one of the people, but also can keep in mind what the political side to an issues is, and Eclipse often asks them what they think when they’re alone and considers it very unfair that their voice would never be taken seriously if brought up at the table.

- Eclipse has had a crush on them for a while lmao

- Also he’s over protective and jealous and has broken at least one(1) bone in defending reader from a rude servant or pushy royal lol :3

- (he has extensively researched ways he could possibly marry Reader without making the entire kingdom hate them n call them a manipulative vex for it)

- Sun and Moon overlook two neighboring kingdoms and have been ‘betrothed’/co-ruling them for a long time! Eclipse’s counsel has decided it would be a good idea to have Eclipse, when he takes charge of his kingdom, be the third to this ally-ship and make a trifecta of three countries that can act as one

- So they’re not really BETROTHED betrothed, but the social implication is basically the same lmao

- (none of them r super thrilled, Eclipse especially lmaoooo)

- Reader first meets Sun separately from Moon, and assumes he’s just a fellow servinghand at the banquet being held to celebrate Eclipse n Sun n Moon meeting under the same roof for the first time

- They start chatting with him like it’s no big deal and he’s so used to ppl being all kiss-ass or backhanded that he can’t stop thinkin abt it for days

- They meet Moon in the garden! They show him their favorite spots and a small patch of blue violets they’ve been trying to cultivate

- When they realize who Sun and Moon are, they just about die on the spot from pure societal horror

- They try to apologize in a thousand different ways, but Sun n Moon, more than a little intrigued/smitten with them, both won’t have it and encourage them to be just as they were

- Before Sun n Moon realize they have feelings for Reader, they realize ECLIPSE has feelings for Reader, and, definitely not bc they r big jealous and also in love with Reader, make it their personal mission to cockblock make sure Eclipse never has the chance to confess or have an almost-kiss with Reader

- Reader loves Eclipse! When that love turned romantic is unsure, and how they’ve been able to cope is by Not Acknowledging The Feelings At All and also denial lmao. When they start to crush on Sun n Moon, they can’t rlly deny the feelings anymore and have several existential and romantic themed crises over it

- None of the boys tell each other about their feelings for Reader bc they all just messy like that <3

- When they all end up confessing to Reader, it’s separately and secretly, and Reader is so shocked that they just say “HHUH UM YYEA I LIKE U ALSO” without thinking

- So now they have three secret royalty bfs and have several more existential crises about whether this is cheating and how in the good golly fuck they got THIS many sweet mans all 🥺👉👈 over them

THATS ALL I GOT FOR NOW LOL OK BYE SORRY FOR LENGTH N RAMBLES

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 22: Small Blade

Content warning: Fighting, broken bones, mention of vomiting, Sukuna's foot (you heard me)

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Oh Well - Snake River Conspiracy A Smaller God - Darling Violetta

Chapter 21 | Chapter 23

You blink away sleep as you stare at the subtle hint of amber treetops surrounding the shrine, watching the sun gradually climb into the sky. The morning is calm, beautiful, with a fine mist clinging to the ground and occasional leaves drifting into your path.

Although the view is pleasant, you had hoped to rest a little longer after returning from a gruelling six-day journey to the north and back. Instead, Ren roused you at some ungodly hour, urging you to dress comfortably and meet Uraume at the back of the shrine.

Confused and exhausted, you complied. When you stepped outside and found them waiting near the treeline—standing on a patch of thinning grass, holding two miniature wooden bokkens in hand—your curiosity grew.

According to the King of Curses, who is gone again—though you suspect, he’s off dealing with mounting troubles within his domain—he has thrust the responsibility of training you with a weapon upon the white-haired monk.

Why the hell would he want to do that? You’ve never considered yourself a fighter, nor have you trained or wielded a weapon. You’ve only observed. The men of the Kasai clan excel with their weaponry, training, killing, and battling—it’s their passion above all else. 

If anything, you almost wish Sukuna knew about your gift and could help nurture that instead, but that isn’t a possibility. The element of surprise remains your greatest advantage over him.

So, at first, you consider refusing but quickly change your mind. If there’s a chance to learn and expand your arsenal, you’ll take it.

However, you regret that decision the moment Uraume sends you crashing onto your back for the fifteenth time—or perhaps even more; you’ve lost count.

Staring up at the soft afternoon blue above, you watch them circle you slowly, their kimono billowing in the slightest breeze.

"Your footwork is all wrong,” they point out, pink eyes narrowing as they look down at you. "Strength alone won’t help. You need to move with intention, not just react. Watch my steps and mimic them—otherwise, you’re merely swinging blindly."

No shit.

Pushing yourself up, you resist the urge to glare at them, brushing dirt off your leather gloves. At least they’ve improved your grip on the bokken, but you feel nervous knowing you'll eventually be handling a real weapon.

“I’ve never done this before,” you say, rising to your feet, legs weary from hours of being tossed to the ground. Despite Uraume’s fair appearance, they are surprisingly adept at laying you out on your ass.

"That doesn’t matter,” they reply, tilting their head slightly, unfazed by your frustration. "You need to learn how to defend yourself. That's what Master Sukuna desires."

What Sukuna desires…

Of course, that man seems to get whatever he desires. One simple glance from the four burning flames that are his eyes can make anyone crumble.

However, your mind drifts back to a month ago when you had accused him of never knowing the denial of something he truly wanted, and the way his expression darkened and his energy threatened to suffocate you made it clear he didn’t take too kindly to that. Still, you can’t help but wonder if he ever truly understands the weight of desire and denial. All he seems to know is taking and consuming.

“What’s his intention, exactly?” you ask, brushing off the dirt that smudges your crumpled hakama. “Why does he suddenly want me to learn to wield a weapon?”

The white-haired monk circles you.

“Sukuna values what’s useful, and trouble seems to follow you.”

They pause. 

You pause, considering.

If anything, trouble finds you because of your association with him, because you’re his wife. But you keep that thought to yourself.

"It’s what he wants," they repeat, as if expecting you to argue—though you don’t.

"All right," you murmur.

Uraume dips their head, shifting their dominant foot back and bending their knees.

"Now, my Lady." They raise one hand in preparation, the other holding the bokken. "Let’s try this again."

You swallow, nod, try again, and fail.

Try again.

Another failure.

And.

Again.

And, the next day, when the sun hasn’t yet crested the horizon, you’re already swinging the bokken like your miserable life depends on it. Uraume side steps on light feet, barely glancing your way as you lunge. You overextend—again—and find yourself face-first in the wet grass.

Great.

Day three, you’re starting to think Uraume enjoys watching you struggle. This time, when they parry your strike, it’s with minimal effort, turning your own momentum against you. At some point, the bokken slips from your grasp, and you tumble forward, catching yourself just before hitting the dirt.

Uraume’s mouth sinks into a frown.

“Don’t drop your weapon. It’s your lifeline. Without it, you have nothing—you’re dead.”

That’s not technically true, but you huff in response, rising to your feet to try again.

And again.

And again.

On day five, you manage to last a bit longer. The sparring is brutal; your muscles throb, and bruises mar every part of you. Uraume doesn’t even break a sweat, but for the first time, you notice they aren’t throwing you down immediately. Instead, they’re letting you hang on, testing your endurance and footwork. Nevertheless, by the end, you find yourself on your knees, panting.

“You’ll never survive if you waste your energy. Conserve your strength.”

Too winded to respond, you say nothing.

That evening, you prepare a bath and linger in it for hours, praying to whatever gods might exist to bring an end to this so-called ”training.”

However, by day seven, something falls into place—somewhat. Even when Uraume sweeps in to knock you off balance, you anticipate the move, sidestepping just in time. Their expression shifts slightly; an eyebrow attempts to rise as if they are nearly impressed. However, the satisfaction is brief because seconds later, they counter, sending you sprawling again.

And.

Again.

When a week passes, and it crawls into the second, you stop questioning why Sukuna requested this and begin to focus solely on surviving Uraume. The day you manage to stand toe-to-toe with them for more than a few seconds will feel like a goddamn miracle.

Eventually, the day before you’re set to leave for the Kasai compound, the routine is etched into your body: wake up before dawn, meet the white-haired monk, and brace yourself for another round of punishment disguised as training.

But that morning, as you step out of the shrine and plod toward the practice area, something feels different. A heaviness cloaks the air, like dark storm clouds burdened with rain. Perhaps it’s because today marks the first day of autumn, the surrounding forest is already decaying, and the skies are growing colder. Or maybe it’s the knowledge that in three days, you’ll be in Kasai territory, at your home, with Sukuna.

There are so many uncertainties that come with that.

As you finally reach the back of the shrine, your feet slow. You expect to see Uraume waiting for you, arms tucked inside their sleeves, pink eyes watchful.

But it’s not them waiting.

You still.

The King of Curses is there.

Leaning against one of the shrine's worn pillars, his massive frame occupies more space than it should. His four arms are folded casually across his chest, dark haori hanging open, revealing his kimono. When his strange eyes land on you, dragging slowly across your body, you can already feel your heart hammering into your ribcage.

"Wife." He stretches the title out in that mocking tone he seems to enjoy, shattering any self-respect you earned in his absence.

Pushing yourself to walk forward, you tip your head back in acknowledgment. 

"Husband." Composed, but your body tingles with every sense of his awareness.

He arches his slitted eyebrow.

"You seem surprised to see me," he rumbles, squinting his four eyes. "Did you think I’d leave all your training to Uraume?"

You say nothing, lifting a shoulder lightly.

His attention drops to the bokken you grip tightly in your leather glove. His teeth peek out from between a smirk, turning vicious as he stares at it.

The last time you saw him, you struck him across the face for insulting your sister, and you can’t shake the feeling that this look has something to do with that. The brute also narrowly confessed to hiding your letters, but you’re not ready to confront him further without slipping into rage.

Not yet, at least.

So, you simply step closer.

The moment you do, his lower hands retrieve a compact scabbard from inside his obi and toss it into the space between you. It lands with a dull thud on the worn patch of grass, which has become little more than dirt from countless footsteps.

You look at it, then to him.

"Well?” His upper lip twitches. There’s a hungry anticipation there. “Are you ready, or are you just going to stand there trembling with that—” Two massive pointed fingers wiggle at you. “—tiny piece of wood?" 

Fight… him?

There’s no way you can survive. Sparring with Uraume had been one thing—brutal, but manageable—but this? This is something else. Your grip tightens around the wooden weapon.

"Where’s Uraume?" Your voice cracks slightly, and you instantly hate how it sounds.

Sukuna pushes off the pillar, taking a step toward you.

You wet your lips.

"They’ve finished their part." His voice lowers. "Now, it's mine."

Shit.

Everyone has heard the tales and nightmares of the devastation the King of Curses leaves behind, not just in the north but far beyond. Yet none of those stories, however wild, can compare to the reality of being scrutinized by him now. You’ve witnessed his abilities while at the shrine and never imagined that engaging in combat with him would become a part of your reality.

You glance around for some sign of Uraume, but it’s clear—they aren’t coming. It’s just you and him. 

Keeping your eyes on the monster, you bend down, place the bokken on the ground and pick up the scabbard.

"Consider it yours." He nudges his chin toward your hands. Your vision jumps down to it.

It’s light. As you unsheathe the blade, you discover a tantō. Carefully, you draw it out.

While the weapon is plain, it’s well crafted, with a smooth metal surface that feels balanced in your hand. The grip is simple, solid, and designed for functionality rather than flair. There are no intricate designs, nothing gaudy—only a few small engravings on the hilt, mirroring the lines of his tattoos. You drag your thumb across them, tracing each mark.

Lovely.

Your mouth opens to say "thank you," but the words don’t come. He does not deserve them, not really.

"Well?" Sukuna smirks, rubbing his upper right hand across his jaw. "Are you ready?"

You swallow.

No.

"I..."

Do this for Yuna.

"... I’m ready."

I’m not ready.

"We’ll see about that," he says arrogantly, not looking away, sending panic into your mind, urging you to heed instinct and run.

But you don’t.

Slowly and with ease, he raises his upper hands and removes his haori, letting it fall to the ground. You watch as he pulls down the front panels of his kimono, allowing them to hang loosely at his obi and revealing his tattooed chest. The muscles along his torso flex slightly, the maw on his abdomen reduced to a mere slit against skin. His four corded arms extend outward, stretching before coming to rest at his sides.

Almost immediately, embarrassment heats into your face. You haven’t seen him like this in what—weeks? A little less than a month? And, you keep forgetting that in all your years, you’ve never encountered a more perfect body. You hate that about him. Worse still, he feels he doesn’t need a weapon against you; he is the weapon.

Pushing the empty scabbard into your obi, you raise your new blade, ignoring how your hand trembles at the hilt.

The King of Curses’ mouth pulls back into an aggressive sneer, teeth and canines flashing, feral and wild.

Oh.

You are so fucked.

Before you have time to blink, let alone breathe, he moves. And god, he’s impossibly fast—faster than Uraume, faster than anything you’ve seen.

You bite down on his name, suppressing a scream that gurgles up in a burst of panic as the flat of one of his hands—you're not sure which—slams into your breastbone. The blow rattles your insides. Unable to block it, you stagger back, lose your footing, and hit the ground hard.

The overcast sky blurs above you. You blink rapidly at it. Pain tightens your diaphragm from the impact, making it impossible to draw breath.

Oh god, oh god, oh god—

After three heartbeats, you drag in a ragged inhale and tilt your head to him.

Sukuna’s face darkens as he steps back as if needing to restrain himself from going further.

He paces, slows, then paces again. The muscles in his back ripple as his two sets of shoulders oscillate, bunching and releasing before bunching once more.

You fucking hate it when they do that.

“I’m holding back,” he states, circling you like a caged animal. “But, if you were like me—” He suddenly stops, and his mouth drops into a rigid line, his whole face becoming a mask of… nothingness. “—I wouldn’t.”

There’s a beat of silence.

You push yourself up and stare at him, breath stuttering.

If I were like you.

You are like him.

Fuck you are like him.

Beneath your gloves, everything stings to be unleashed. Yet, you have no desire to experience firsthand what it would be like to face him unrestrained. He would annihilate you—it's as simple as that.

Unsteady and dizzy, you get to your feet.

What would he do if he knew?—

There’s no time to think. He’s barreling down on you again. Bare feet crashing into the dirt, upper right arm extending, he delivers a blow to your shoulder, heavier than the last.

Hissing in pain, you step away.

Distance.

You need distance to study him, to figure out how to—

Another blow comes at you, but he pulls away at the last second, chuckling manically as he toys with you.

Bastard!

Desperate, you swing the tantō, attempting to create more space, but he effortlessly catches it with his lower left hand. Unfazed by the sharp edge, he yanks it from your grip, blood crawling away as he tosses it aside.

“Try harder, little snake!” he booms, his eyes flashing rabidly while healing the slit across his hand where he caught the blade.

Without your weapon, you’re defenseless, and Sukuna doesn’t relent.

He steps toward you, striking fast. Panicking, you turn, exposing your back. His blow lands squarely between your shoulder blades, sending you crashing to the ground. Soil fills your mouth as you gasp, reaching desperately for the blade. Your fingers barely graze the hilt before Sukuna kicks it away.

“Pathetic,” he spits, standing there looking bored—two arms crossed, the other two resting on his hips, watching, waiting. Even a pout models his lips. “It’s foolish to give your opponent your back. Now. Get up.”

Pathetic…

For a moment, you lie there, annoyed and inhaling deeply before forcing yourself up, every part of your body screaming, begging you to stay down.

“You’re going to—” Struggling to your feet, you can hardly catch your breath. “—kill me if you keep this up.”

Lifting your head, you see a fiendish grin spread across his face, the eyes on his mask nearly rolling back in some kind of pure, malicious ecstasy. Far from the reaction you’d hoped for.

He inclines his head more, crimson orbs peeking down on you.

“If I break you, I can simply heal you,” he coos dangerously. “Then, I can do it again and again.”

Your eyes narrow, and a tremor flickers across your cheek.

Sukuna scoffs.

“Heh, don’t look at me like that.” He lowers himself into a relaxed stance, clearly unimpressed yet no longer poised to attack.

“You're too predictable,” he tuts, tapping his temple. "Always going for the obvious moves. At this rate, you'll never get anywhere if you keep swinging where I can see it coming."

He must realize he’s not a typical opponent, right?

Rolling your shoulder from the previous hit, you wince and step away from him.

“So what? You want me to stab you somewhere unexpected?” you mutter, “what should I aim for? The softer parts?”

There’s double of them, after all.

His eyes thin, and he inhales.

“If you think I’d let you get that close, you’re even more naive than I thought.” There’s a pause. "But if you did, I might consider it worth my attention.”

You huff, wiping the sweat that slithers down your brow, and before you can react, he’s suddenly stepping forward.

You quickly step back.

But one, two, three steps—he closes the distance until he’s standing before you.

“Don't test your luck, wife.” He looks down at you. "If you want to survive, aim for what stops someone faster—the throat, the joints, under the ribs. Or, right—” his fingers press against the side of your neck, “—here. The carotid. You slip the blade in, then keep going. Otherwise, make use of what you have.” He grins. “I saw what you did to Sayuri. Use those little fingers, your teeth, anything you can."

You exhale, remembering the horrible feel of Sayuri's skin peeling back beneath your nails.

Sukuna presses harder against your neck, just shy of where he left that scar, his fingers firm on your pulse, feeling it jump under his touch. You want to shy away from it, but then, with a soft twitch of his mouth, he steps back.

Another exhale.

“So, not the softer parts?” you ask, moving across the grass to retrieve your blade.

All four of his eyes roll.

"Strike where it matters, and your opponent will be too busy bleeding out to retaliate. Strength doesn’t change that. The weak points remain the same for everyone."

During your first meeting, walking together in the forest, you searched for any weakness to exploit but found none. Now, even as you look at him, you’re still left wondering if he has any at all.

“Even for you?” you ask quietly.

He jerks his head to the side, eyes touching you with a challenging look. 

“You’d have to find mine first." 

Ah, so presumably, he does have a weakness. Curious.

“But I doubt you will ever uncover it,” he smirks, moving away again.

He turns.

“Now, again! And try to stay on your feet this time.”

You look at him, taking in every detail.

His arms—his size—they’re your biggest problems. Aiming for his upper body is useless; he’s too fast, too strong. But his legs, knees, ankles, and maybe the maw on his stomach are your only chances.

Veins hammering in your body, you nod.

“Okay.” Fingers tightening at the hilt of the blade, you take the proper stance.

His red eyes flare, wildfire licking at dry tinder.

“Come here, then, girl,” he provokes, lips tipping into a cruel smile, four arms stretching leisurely like a cat ready to play with a mouse.

The sensation from before returns—scuttling at your fingertips, an aching. You ignore it, and, without hesitation, surprisingly, you rush toward him.

But he doesn’t move. He just stands there. Waiting.

That should have been your first warning.

Heart thundering, you run, you don’t stop.

The ground scrapes underneath you as you drop to your knees, arm extended, blade aimed at his right ankle—the circling of black ink your target. 

Almost there.

Sukuna shifts.

He moves.

And before you can do anything. Before you can think. Before you can even strike. His massive leg pulls back and—

Snap!

It’s a horrible sound that rings into your ears.

Everything goes dark for a heartbeat.

The scream doesn’t come as you realize you’re on your back, staring up at the grey clouds overhead, your breath stolen away and your blade gone, scattered somewhere across the ground.

What just…

Cold shock rolls through your body, and your chest aches painfully as if a heavy stone rests upon it.

Something is wrong.

Your eyelids flutter as you push yourself into a sitting position, the world spinning.

Then the pain comes—a hot, searing wave coursing through your right arm and ligaments, followed by an icy numbness. With trembling fingers, you pull up the sleeve of your kimono and look down.

Vomit stings the back of your throat, thick and disgusting.

The angle. The bone. It’s protruding, bent through angry red, swollen skin. You blink. It’s all wrong. The arm hangs uselessly.

You try to envision that bottle—the one in your mind where you store all unwanted emotions—and attempt to shove this feeling inside. But your lip trembles, and your eyes trail up to Sukuna. He used the heel of his left foot, putting enough force behind it—and—

“Y-you’ve… broken my arm,” you whisper, hand falling to the ground, breathing suddenly becoming erratic—quick bursts in and out that you can’t quite control.

Breathe.

I can’t.

Your brow pinches in distress.

Breathe.

I can’t—

“You’ve broken my fucking arm!” The words escape in an ugly, sputtering hiss. Your glare, nothing but hatred.

The King of Curses’ jaw tightens, and he steps closer, crouching before you. Even then, he looms, casting a long, dark shadow. Tears sting your eyes, and instinctively, you look away—but he grabs your chin roughly, yanking it back and forcing you to meet his gaze.

Angry red orbs narrow.

“If you were anything like me, you would carry yourself with greater strength,” he growls into your face, a deep crease carving above his nose. “Yet here you are, fragile, yielding, so easily within my grasp.”

You flinch, growing nervous at those words, unsure why everything turns to hell so quickly whenever you’re with him.

You stare at him, and he stares back.

A huff expels from his chest. 

Tilting his head, he studies you for a heartbeat longer before sliding his fingers carelessly away from your chin.

“But you’re not,” he continues, voice growing low, quieter this time.

There’s pity there. But you don’t want it. He has no idea what you’re keeping hidden.

His upper left hand moves, sliding into the sleeve of your kimono. His fingers hover for a moment before curling around your disfigured arm, brushing gently against your skin. The contact burns, and you want to tug away, but you know he’s beginning to mend it.

Dammit, you’re tired of being told you’re weak, tired of needing his healing, tired of this twisted game where you’re broken only to be pieced back together.

A sharp crack sounds. You suck in a tight gasp.

Every misaligned shard of bone scrapes together with a grinding noise. You bite down while your arm spasms in his grasp, but he doesn’t let go. Each bone segment fuses with a jolt, just as metal is soldered. Muscles and skin knitting over them feel tight and raw.

Once healed, he leans closer to study your face.

“Next time someone hurts you, focus on your breath.” He drags his hand away from your arm, pressing it firmly against your stomach, just above your navel. Your abdomen clenches as he applies more pressure with his fingertips. “Let the pain come, and then let it go—without holding on to it.”

His hand pulls back. He pauses, taking you apart slowly.

“You cling to things too tightly.”

You look away, hating how those words hold truth.

There’s a silence—a silence for too long.

“Look at me,” he demands calmly.

With a slight incline of your head, you glance up at him through wet, curling lashes, which only seem to clump together the more you blink.

On the side of his demonic face, a muscle pulses.

A sudden war wages across his dual features. The jutting lower eye on his mask flickers down, taking you in and falling to your lips. He opens his mouth to say more, but the words never come. Instead, he rises to his full height and looks down at you.

“We’re done here.” Carefully, he pulls the panels of his kimono back into place before turning to retrieve his haori.

You watch him walk toward the shrine, his body heavy and beautifully agile.

You clench your jaw.

Fuck him.

Just before his looming figure disappears inside, he glances back over his shoulder at you, slumped on the ground.

“Be ready by dawn tomorrow. I’d hate to be late for your clan’s festival. Oh, and wife—” There’s a beat as he takes you in. “—remember, when we arrive, I want that name.”

* * * * *

“What is this?” 

Holding up the sleeve of a new, beautiful kimono spread across your futon, you turn to Ren, who is helping you pack for tomorrow’s ride north. The three-day journey will be trying, especially since you’ve learned Uraume won’t be joining you. It will just be you and the King of Curses—riding, eating meals, sleeping under the night sky. Together. Alone. An ache has been steadily building in your stomach; the thought feels far too intimate for your liking.

You’ll need to master every aspect of maintaining distance. However, avoiding someone like him is easier said than done.

Ren’s eyes lift briefly from the travelling trunk, then drop.

“Master Sukuna wants you to wear it for your clan’s festival, my Lady,” she says, attention returning to the cloak she’s folding.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

Of course, he does.

Looking down at the garment, your silk-gloved hand travels over the fabric.

The outer layer is a rich, muted purple, trimmed in dark charcoal, complementing the smooth black of the layer beneath. Wide, flowing sleeves are decorated with a scattering of embroidered wisteria flowers, the pattern gradually fading toward the hemline, where the thread deepens into a darker, bruising plum colour.

The inside of the sleeves catches your eye—a burnt umber shade that matches the maru obi, fully patterned on both sides with the same design. Soot-coloured gloves rest beside it. They aren’t silk but soft, buttery leather. You can only assume this choice is deliberate.

The garment is lovely, if somewhat unusual, for such an event. Its style and dark colours suggest a mourning aesthetic—an odd thing. However, you can’t deny that the monster possesses a strange sense of taste, even if you are well aware that this is merely another way for him to stake his claim over you.

“He’s going to match with me, isn’t he?” you call over your shoulder as you place the scabbard with the tantō blade sheathed next to the garment.

Ren is quiet for a moment before she responds.

“I’m not sure, my Lady, but it’s likely. Uraume is with him now, preparing what he needs.”

You huff and walk gingerly to the door, body still aching from the earlier beating. Although you spent a few hours soaking your muscles in a bath, you can still feel their stiffness.

Sliding open the door, you peer into the dim passage—a flame spills from behind the massive doors of his chambers. Your brow furrows at the thought of your clan seeing you dressed to match Sukuna. You did so at your wedding, but this will be in front of the entire Kasai clan.

Closing the door, you grumble wordlessly to yourself before rejoining your attendant. Her eyes lift briefly, then flicker away. Since that night in the stables when Sukuna threatened her and Uraume, she has been quiet. Quieter than usual, and this feels different.

"Is everything all right, Ren?" you ask, picking up the new kimono and rolling it tightly before packing it into the trunk.

"Yes, my Lady. I’m fine,” she says, while suddenly becoming very interested in the garment she’s folding.

Well, that’s a lie.

"Are you sure? You seem... distant lately."

She glances up.

"I’m fine, my Lady, truly," she urges.

You don’t believe her, but you aren’t about to dissect every mannerism and word she speaks.

"All right," you say, letting it slip into the background.

Once your trunk is sufficiently packed and dusk settles, you climb into the futon. The intention is to sleep, but rest eludes you. Your body hums with a terrible anticipation for the days ahead—the ride, the festival, your father—the daunting task of providing Sukuna with Onishi’s name. At least you’ll see Yuna again, though, for some reason, even that brings little comfort. You toss and turn throughout the night, and soon enough, morning arrives, with dawn shyly pushing through the narrow window, urging you to rise.

The shrine is still asleep as you slide open the door and slip out, dressed in your riding clothes. A warm cloak wraps around your shoulders, fending off the chill. Trunk in hand, leather gloves on, you make your way through the hollow corridors and out to the stables.

The cool, dull grey morning greets you, and for reasons you can’t quite explain, your pulse grows unsteady as you step inside.

The stables smell of hay and leather, with dust stirring in whatever light filters in.

At the sound of your entrance, a gaze of fire snaps up to meet yours. The King of Curses is already busy with his mount, adjusting the last of his saddle. Like you, he’s dressed for warmth. His dark kataginu parts over a charcoal kimono, with matching hakama beneath. His pink, spiky hair swept back in the style he favours. It practically glows against the dim fabric of his attire.

You cross the space and dip your chin.

"Good morning, my Lord," you say, forcing your mouth to twitch into something resembling an amicable smile.

He says nothing, directing his body away from you.

Asshole.

You fight the urge to scoff. After all, he deserves the unkind greeting after breaking your arm yesterday.

Instead, his four eyes drop, focusing on Uraume, whom you hadn’t noticed standing nearby. The two speak in hushed tones, their conversation too quiet for you to make out. The white-haired monk’s eyes dart back and forth while Sukuna’s brow wrinkles, the tension in his body growing tauter with each moment.

It gives you pause.

How is he already this agitated when the journey hasn’t even begun? This trip will be exhausting, and you won’t be surprised if one of you ends up killing the other by the end of it.

At least then, everything would be over.

Your fingers brush the scabbard tucked securely into your obi, and its feel brings a small measure of comfort. Coupled with your gift, it’s a reminder that you aren’t, for the most part, completely powerless.

Dragging your attention away from Sukuna, you make your way to Ayana’s stall.

The mare lets out a soft whicker to greet you, her dappled grey coat gleaming in the gentle light. You run your hand along her strong neck, and she nudges you affectionately. While she’s still skittish, her nervousness has lessened over the past two weeks as you’ve spent more time together. Working your fingers through her mane, you notice Ren stepping into the stables. She joins you, helping to fasten your trunk to the saddle while you focus on your mare’s bridle.

Once she is fully tacked, you mount her and guide her outside, where Sukuna is already waiting.

Sitting motionless atop his enormous horse, he rests two arms lightly on his thighs—one on the saddle and the other holding the reins.

He stares at you with a stern, guarded expression.

“Ready?” He raises his eyebrow in question.

Are you?

Saying nothing, you shift and glance back over your shoulder. Uraume and Ren stand at the entrance of the stables. You can’t quite read their faces, but something wavers there—a knowing of some kind. You give a brief nod, though an undercurrent of dread trembles through you.

There and back, and you’ll gain your extra month.

That’s all this is. 

Or there, and… neither of you returns.

You turn to the man who is your husband in name only. Not once does his crimson eyes leave yours. Not once does his expression change.

Briefly, you recall how you felt when you left the Kasai compound weeks ago, when your chest felt incredibly heavy, clutching the red jasper stone in your hand.

Not knowing what awaits is its own form of torture.

Sitting up in your saddle, you blink.

"Yes, my Lord." On an exhale, you look away from him. "I'm ready."

With your gloves gripping the reins, you nudge Ayana forward, cantering past Sukuna and onto the dirt-packed road, leaving the shrine and everything else behind.

🔗 Chapter 23

[1800titz]

could we hear a bit about harry and isla’s dynamic once they’re in a relationship? i feel like he would still be a dom even in an out of sex setting 🫣

OOOO yeah he’s definitely still dommy when they start seeing each other outside of Indulge, and I think he ends up being dommy even in an out of sex setting, too!! I feel like they end up going for more of a 24/7 type deal and the dom/sub sort of dynamic starts to leak into their everyday lives (I’ll be doing extras on patreon going into this more). But I think he does subtle things without even realizing at first like always having a hand on her when they’re out and about, or scolding her for opening the door instead of letting him do it, or giving her The Look if she’s doing something out of line ((Like one time they were eating out and she started throwing chips at him across the booth and then yk. The Look).

It’s like, they’re not innately dommy things, but they are. Eventually, their relationship sort of just evolved and they talked and talked and talked and figured out what worked for them!! 

When it comes to the 24/7 thing with rules, and punishments, and etc, a BDSM dynamic is infinitely flexible, so they end up finding what works for them over time, like I said. And they talk about EVERYTHING. Because safe, sane, and consensual(!!) 

There’s hard rules and there’s “bendy” rules — breaking “bendy” rules is an outlet for Isla to let Harry know she wants a certain type of attention, and “bendy” rules earn funishments that aren’t pre discussed, ie lighter spanking, more sexual forms of punishment like orgasm denial, overstimulation, etc. Harry is very mean dom but he’s also a huge brat tamer, so he’s got a ton patience as opposed to the type of dom that expects outright obedience, and Isla is a huge brat when it comes to subbing, so the “bendy” rules let them explore that more — they’re sort of expected to be broken, to an extent! For example, a “bendy” rule that Isla always seems to break has to do with her attitude/sarcastic tendencies. If Harry asks her to grab him a cup of coffee in the morning since she’s getting up out of bed before him to get her own, she comes back with two cups— a cup of coffee for herself and a cup of literal coffee beans for Harry. Trying to get a rise. Which results in Harry rolling his eyes and telling her she can go ahead and eat a coffee bean if she wants to be a brat (to which Isla incredulously squawks, “No!”) and he teases her about her saying no to him and spanks her a few times. ((Also he steals the coffee she brought in for herself, and then complains and gives it back with his nose crinkled because it’s too sweet.))

Hard rules are pre-negotiated rules in place that earn deliberate, unpleasant corrections that fit the infraction (that are also heavily pre discussed — I literally can’t emphasize enough that Isla and Harry always talk everything over and communicate). The rules are all stuff that Isla and Harry have both decided will improve something for Isla in some way, like self care rules, rules regarding punctuality, etc, and they’re always open to be edited or revised! For example, a hard rule that she has is put her shoes away when she gets home ((because she’s tripped over them 64838483948839493 times leaving them out in piles)) and if she doesn’t do it then there’s a punishment to follow that isn’t any fun, because it’s intended to alter a behavior. Since she didn’t focus on this tiny detail that would take literally a split second to do, she then has to write lines and spend much longer focusing on “arbitrary” details. So, she has to write 100 lines really neatly in a specific layout, and if she messes up on any of the lines she has to start over. 

Honestly, the worst “punishment” for Isla is being told that Harry is disappointed with her. Like. Ouch. And he only does it for the hard rules that she’s broken, when he really is disappointed. It’s pretty effective. Other super unpleasant punishments that Isla has (that they’ve both talked over and agreed upon) are cold showers, harder spanking sessions, being forced to stand in a corner for an allotted time period with no attention, etc. It’s all stuff that fits the crime and Harry gets pretty creative with it sometimes (like she’d been told 748848593943 times to clean up after herself if she was baking in the kitchen, and she doesn’t clean up for the 648839493th time, so he has her eat a crumbly food in the guest bedroom on the bed and has her sleep there, and the crumbs are super annoying because she can’t get them all the way off the bed — very creatively sadistic on Harry’s part). Which isn’t really sexy per say, but it’s more about the power exchange than a sex thing most of the time for them!! Although it does play into their sex lives!! 

This is super important — they also still have their safeword in place!! One to pause what’s going on and another to pause the dynamic altogether, and to just be Harry and Isla, whether it’s during an argument, etc. ((They don’t ever yell at each other. They just converse and disagree dhdjdj)).

Anyways, this might sound a little cuckoo for cocoa puffs, but they are super happy with each other!! Their dynamic is built on loads of trust and communication, and they are both really, really good to each other. Absolutely everything that they engage in is entirely consensual! This felt like a huge amalgam of dom/subby punishments but even with their 24/7 dynamic they are just chilling with each other and hanging out and being a normal couple 99% of the time :D

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I feel like Killer often had to act dumber than Nightmare around him. I just know that Nightmare is the kind of guy who wouldn't take kindly to not being the smartest person in the room at any given time. It mostly stems from his own childhood traumas (I'm sure that the fact that nothing he ever did was good enough to make him deserving of not getting abused stuck with him post corruption), but to me he's a walking inferiority complex.

And the thing is that Nightmare isn't stupid. He's a very studious person and he probably retains a lot of the stuff he reads about. But Killer is undoubtedly more observant and logical than he is. I feel like he probably picks up on stuff much quicker (even though he also probably forgets a lot of it just as quickly because of his memory issues).

And, well, I saw a couple of comics of them playing chess and Killer winning every time. And I do think that, realistically, if he played at full capacity every time, he would win against Nightmare. Chess is a game that rewards his kind of smarts so much more than Nightmare's.

But I also think he'd know not to win most of the time (unless his purpose is to piss off Nightmare that day). But, here's the kicker. I think it would be just as humiliating for Nightmare if Killer dominated the entire game only to make some very obviously porpuseful fumbles at the end. Of course, Nightmare could call him out on it, but then he'd need to admit that he would have lost had Killer not thrown the game. And he's not gonna fucking do that. Not when they both already know and Killer is staring unblinkingly at him, challenging him to say something, to admit defeat.

No, he's gonna take that fake victory and he's gonna massage his bruised ego with it. Denial is always a powerful shield.

Yeah absolutely. Killer knows how to stroke people’s egos and notice their insecurities, he will use both against someone for his own benefit. He knows he needs to walk a fine line with people like Nightmare and Chara—those that tend to have huge egos, that are also very fragile. Those whose first instincts are to lash out, and in Chara’s case, throw violent tantrums.

It’s like managing the moods of very explosive, highly dangerous bombs. It’s just that sometimes Killer can’t resist playing a little careless, in a calculated way. He is not above putting himself in huge danger and playing with his life just to gain momentarily pleasure in pissing them off, or to provoke them into hurting him just to alleviate his soul crushing apathy and boredom in controlled bursts.

Like micro-dosing on a drug that is pain, or simply because he knows (or thinks) it is inevitable that they will hurt him today, so he will provoke them earlier and take away their satisfaction in hurting him by taking away their control and bruising their egos.

Let Chara think he loves them. Let Nightmare think he’s stupid and blindly loyal. Those are the things he knows to maintain control over them. On the flip side, a way to keep Killer under control (particularly Stage 2), is to let him think he has more control than he actually does.

Imagine how powerless Nightmare could make him feel if he were to say, find a way to destroy any pleasure and satisfaction Killer gets out of pain. If he takes away the framing of torture, punishment, and pain as “fun” and “playing” in Killer’s mind.

I wouldn’t be suprised if Killer finds a sense of pride in his ability to not only endure but enjoy vast amounts of suffering—especially if he ever got some form of validation or approval for it. He views it as him still having power and control even as he is being “dominated”—because he can say that he enjoys it and therefore it means nothing and has no genuine impact on him beyond the satisfaction and pleasure.

People being unnerved and annoyed when you laugh in their face after they’ve broken your bones just means that Killer still has control over their emotions.

Yet another way he is views himself as sort of, above others. Not in the self loving ego stroking way, but still in a superior, ‘I’m above you, so don’t try me’ way. He’d likely look down on anyone who runs from or hates pain— or anyone who obviously lets it show. Viewing them as inferior and weak.

If Nightmare can take that away, then pain is just pain. Potentially sending Stage 2 deeper into his apathetic, nihilistic, fatalistic worldview—“just get it over with if you aren’t going to make it fun.”

Which is probably the reason why physical punishment wouldn’t work on Stage 2 at all—not until you can take away his sense of control in these situations—psychological stuff like isolation and sensory deprivation certainly would.

I feel like another way would be to greyrock him whenever he tries to provoke someone into violence and hurting him—not giving him the reaction he expects and craves. Which would either make him quickly lose interest, or motivate him to keep escalating until he gets what he wants.

Killer has definitely greyrocked Chara and Nightmare before as well— refusing to give them any type of satisfaction or control over him by not giving any response or reaction they want from him. And sometimes giving the exact opposite of a reaction or response that they want.

All in all, I can definitely see Killer underplaying himself and his own abilities to satisfy others egos and play into expectations if it benefits him or avoids inconvenience. And he’d definitely use their egos to lure them into little mind games and traps—like the one you described.

{ @stellocchia }

[ashestoashes7]

Thoughts about kevjean and kandrew dynamic ?

So, so many of them. thanks for asking, anon

With Kevin and Jean, they’ve almost grown up together. Jean taught him French, Jean taught him a whole mother ingrate shared between just the two of them. Neil was gone, Jean’s misplaced forever partner was out of his reach and there was no perfect court fill in to take his place, but Kevin was right there. So Jean taught him French, grew closer and closer to a partner who wasn’t quite his but was the closest there could be to someone for Jean to rely on. Promises and secret smiles and how could Jean not fall for someone as beautiful and perfect and flawed as Kevin Day? And even when Kevin was at Palmetto, he had Jean’s number. He called, and Jean answered. What Jean and Kevin shared was special and rare and born from sparks of kindness in a world that wouldn’t tolerate such tender inclinations. Kevin went out with Riko on their press appearances and elsewhere and in a million scattered places he found pieces of Jean in trinkets he saw along the way. Kevin’s affection was in secrets and French and pins and postcards. And Kevin cares enough for Jean to make sure he can get out when Renee brings him back, arranges for his transfer to USC because he believes that is where Jean can have the opportunity to thrive.

Now onto Kevin and Andrew <33

Kevin and Andrew came together when everything was wrong and twisted and falling apart around them. They looked at the ruins of the other—apathetic and grasping at thin air & lost and glancing at every shadow like the broken shards of his future would be taken from his bloody grasp—and sat there handing each other the pieces. Kevin was the first person to tell Andrew he was worth something, and Kevin trusts him. Kevin and Riko originally went to recruit him for the Ravens and perhaps when Andrew refused it wouldn’t have been as clean a breakaway if Kevin hadn’t intervened. A goalie like Andrew? They Ravens would have wanted him, and his denial wouldn’t have stopped them from getting him in black and red one way or another. But I think in TSC they mention that after they didn’t get Andrew Riko mocked Kevin for a while and I wonder if Kevin stepped hard enough on ‘he’s not worth it’ to keep Andrew from Evermore. And Kevin promises him something to build his life around when they seal their deal. It’s a heavy promise to make, especially considering Kevin’s prior promises, but he takes it because he looks at Andrew who practically the whole world has written off as some form of ‘not worth it’s and sees something worth fighting for even if one of his most difficult opponents will be Andrew himself. The first time Andrew smiled once he was off his medication was for Kevin. Kevin branded his progress across his cheek and Andrew actually smiled because Kevin needed to see it, that he was Kevin Day and this was Andrew Minyard who truly believed in him and the future they may yet live to create.

[suzyq31]

Just some casual pining

@jilymicrofics, this just makes the cut at 976 words!

January prompts used: Primal, Apprehensive, Etch

This lightly connects to a few of my other James/Lily stories. Unsure if I'll turn them into a series on archive. Essentially just these two being idiots in love and denial while at school. Also note, this line is very much stolen from When Harry Met Sally.

“What about if they’re attracted to each other?” she asked, apprehension in her tone, and when her eyes met his he nearly swallowed his own tongue.  “Er—” “Or as Sirius put it, that ‘the sex part gets in the way.’”

Thanks to @charmsandtealeaves for looking this over!

Story below the cut 😊

James squinted at the sunlight streaming through the bevelled glass, a light September breeze coming in. Lily had crossed the stone floor within minutes of entering the cramped office earlier, jimmying with the latch on the window, and pressing it open with her upper body, before smiling at him over her shoulder. 

He was already sweating, but his body had only grown warmer at the sight. A year into their friendship and he still wasn’t used to having her smile at him like that, like someone she was glad to see.

They’d quickly gotten to work, both of them still adjusting to their new roles. Lily with far more ease than him. She had a leg up, of course, having been a prefect since fifth year. James found himself playing catch up, learning the patrol schedules, the intricacies of the points systems, and the group dynamics that he was now in charge of. 

Dumbledore had made a good choice the past two years, if he’d had this kind of power earlier, he could only imagine how much more of a nightmare he would have been. He also doubted that Lily would have ever come around to not hating his guts if that were the case.

She was close enough that he could feel her warmth and breathe in the scent of her shampoo, something light and floral that he’d always found pleasing. All at once her green eyes were holding his, and it took him a full second to realise he’d been caught. He stared back down at his parchment, willing himself to think, “Maybe we should switch David and Juliet.”

“Why?”

He lifted his eyes to hers. “Rumour has it they’ve broken up.”

“Oh,” she said, delicate brows furrowing. “That’s too bad.” 

He scratched the back of his neck. “Should I switch them then?”

Lily looked past him, eyes fixed on a far-off point. He followed her gaze towards the fiery sky, the sun giving its best showcase before it would sink behind the green hills. 

“They were such good friends before.”

Her quiet declaration surprised him. 

“Yeah?”

She nodded absently, a hard to read expression etched on her features, voice hushed when she spoke.

“Do you remember what Sirius said?”

“Well, he says a lot of things.”

She rolled her eyes. “He said that men and women couldn’t really be proper friends. He said it about Marlene and Benjy, back in June.”

“Wouldn’t be the first dumb thing he’s said.”

Lily released a delicate little snort. “No…but do you think he’s right?”

“Er—no,” he said, palms suddenly sweating. “He was just taking the piss.”

Out of him. Not that he would add that part. He wiped his palms on his leg which had begun bouncing of its own accord. Lily simply looked at her notes. 

“What about if they’re attracted to each other?” she asked, apprehension in her tone, and when her eyes met his he nearly swallowed his own tongue. 

“Er—”

“Or as Sirius put it, that ‘the sex part gets in the way.’”

His lips parted but no sound came out. His stomach had flipped completely upside down, then rightside up, as if he’d attempted a Wronski Feint 

A smile pulled at her lips, green eyes dancing. Clearly joking, while he was acting like a demented goldfish. 

Finally he cleared his throat. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“I mean a lot of things. If it’s mutual, or one-sided…” He watched her closely and something in her expression shifted. “Are you talking about someone we know, Evans?”

Pink spread across her porcelain cheeks. He’d never outgrown his love of causing her to blush. A strange surge of confidence came to him as he leaned in. 

“So, purely hypothetical?” he added.

She sucked in her bottom lip, nodding. 

For a moment he felt suspended. Like he could tell her anything; like the fact that he was sure that he would always fancy her, even if she never felt the same way. Pathetic really, a truth he did his best to manage. Unwilling to jeopardise her hard-won friendship. 

He forced out a breath.  “I think you can be friends with someone you’re attracted to.”

She tilted her head, hair ablaze in the afternoon sunlight. “You think so?”

“I have it on good authority.”

Lily blinked at him. The pink hue on her face deepened and everything in him screamed to touch her cheek, to see if it was as soft as he imagined. 

His hand fisted where it rested on his leg. The desire burned through him. Being around her had always been like playing with fire; mesmerising, a primal instinct that only she brought out in him. She made the world brighter but with the potential for peril. His heart at risk. 

He stared down at her, the moment suspended. His fingers unclenching, their breathing syncing. He could imagine it so easily, closing the small gap between them, and brushing his lips against hers. 

A loud bang made them both startle, her body tensing before she relaxed back into her seat. The prefects began to trickle in. He was so flustered by the impulse he’d been close to giving into, that he’d nearly forgotten where they were or what they were even doing. 

Lily recovered quickly, standing and greeting the arriving students. He watched her take charge of the meeting. Graceful in her movement, the last bits of sun bathing her in gold. His heart beat erratically in his chest, body too hot in the crowded room. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to thank Sirius or hex him into next week. 

Then Lily turned back, a curious glint in her eyes that sparked him into motion. He took his place beside her, ignoring the gooseflesh that broke out when her arm brushed against his, pushing down how right it felt to be at her side.

[kysuguru]

i love the last rin or shin? its so quirky and cute like satoru is absolutely so spoiled and reader does it without realizing she spoils him sooo bad😖hes so baby and a big head. he will throw a tantrum if her attention isnt on him for a sec!

but what if satoru founds out reader’s first crush was nanami? or suguru? i wanna see him throw a big fat tantrum LOL hes going to wail that reader doesnt love him and bullies whoever reader used to like and try to act like that person. or give reader the silent treatment which confuses her ?? maybe shoko accidentally puts out that reader and nanami or suguru went on one date and that puts satoru in the worst mood the entire week. yes WEEK.

ok so that one shot is from a series where both gojo AND geto are love interests, so i don’t think gojo would mind when it came to geto and the reader. but NANAMI? ohhh he’s such a big baby.

“okay!” satoru slams a hand down on your conjoined desks, startling everybody. you jolt a bit in your seat, your widened eyes trailing up and catching sight of his mischievous face.

“what is it now?” shoko drones, closing her book.

satoru sits down next to suguru, making sure to squeeze against him obnoxiously close before he’s opening his mouth with a big grin, “it’s time to talk crushes! [name]! go!!!!”

with the quickness of his finger as he points it at you and how he has no hesitancy with saying your name, both shoko and suguru knew the entire purpose of this sudden interrogation.

satoru was nosey. and a jealous bastard.

and even though suguru makes a face, he’s curious, too.

you stammer, suddenly put under the spotlight, “c-crush? me? what’s this about all of a sudden?”

“it’s not only you! everyone will say someone they’ve had a crush on! you just happen to be first,” satoru is excited, leaning in as he awaits your answer. as if he’s expecting what it’ll be.

that makes you sweat. but with the promise of everyone doing the same thing, you were more prepared to go. besides, you were kind of curious as to who were the lucky people shoko and suguru crushed on.

you fiddle with your fingers as your lips part, “well uhm,” satoru leans forward in his seat, eager. your eyes meet his for a split second. “i used to kind of have a thing for.. for kento-kun..”

…

nobody speaks for awhile. suguru and satoru’s faces contort. shoko looks close to laughing.

“i.. i didn’t know you- you liked the brooding type.” shoko takes a small breath in between as she tries to the best of her abilities not to laugh in the boys’ faces. she’s lying, with your obvious crush on suguru, she knew very well.

“it was only for like a week, i swear!!” you wave your hands in front of your face frantically, embarrassed and regretful of even answering in the first place. why did you have to set the example?

satoru has been oddly silent, you notice. which is odd because he looked so excited earlier.

you look to him and see him sporting the biggest pout. your jaw drops.

“s-satoru?!”

he turns away from you dramatically, not gracing you with an answer.

suguru’s smiling now, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and his lips are tight. you wonder what you did wrong..

shoko succumbs and snickers into her elbow.

“do you still like him?” suguru’s voice is strained, as he tries to keep up his norma demeanor.

you shake your head instantly in denial, “no! no! like i said it was just for a week! we’re just friends now..”

and even though you clarified that, and watched as a subtle relief overtook suguru’s expression. satoru was still silent.

even after you all went to your respective rooms for the night. the next day during class, and even when you all gathered your desks together again to talk about whatever whenever.

you loved satoru’s presence, it’s only been a day of him ignoring you yet your hurt was in so much pain you’d think he’d broken up with you.

suddenly, after walking shoko and suguru to their rooms, bidding them a good night, satoru latches onto you.

you’re shocked, initially, but it doesn’t take long for you to reciprocate the embrace, and satoru revels in that.

“don’t do this with nanami, okay?”

“w-why would i do this with him?”

“it doesn’t matter, just don’t do it.”

“will you stop ignoring me if i do?” what a dangerous proposal.

“of course!” he’s beaming at you again. you missed him.

of course, a hug with nanami sounds divine, but why jeopardize your special friendship with satoru over something that might never happen?

you melt in his arms and sigh with content. satoru is smug as he tightens his grip, cursing the first year in his head who probably wouldn’t even care if the entire ordeal was brought to his attention.

satoru gojo has been a spoilt brat since birth, he wasn’t sure how he would fare in school, but he’s ecstatic to say your bias towards him is worth more than any expensive object the gojo clan could provide him.

gojo is a little SHIT. and i’m sure he would still be a baby abt it in his adult years, but i also feel he would handle it just a liiiiitle bit better. anyways air head reader who enables him simply because she loves him and will do anything to keep him around. trying to write her to fit tohru and sawako because i heart them.

also thx for this ask i love detailed asks like these ur the best ever anon <333333