#high master black thumb

[chocohybrid]

Furiosa character references, posted by Jenny Beavan, Costume Designer (More on her page)

Part 1 // Part 2

[bluemoonbun]

Rotating an idea in my head;

Imagine a neglected!Reader who did everything in an attempt to impress their family.

Who got amazing grades and got into high school at age 11.

Who was "a savant beyond their years" and "talented beyond what their age group could be taught".

Skills came easy to them. Give them a year and some encouragement and before you know it they'll have mastered whatever it was.

It wasn't like they could leave the house and hang out with friends. Bruce said that was off the table. It got quiet so often in the manor.

But it wasn't enough

Until someone saw the potential that Batman was just leaving there. Like he wanted someone to just... scoop them up and tutor them.

Their friends and allies and even a few enemies saw the potential. They all agreed to teach them their greatest skill. In a year they've mastered all of them, even surpassing some of them.

Any drug they were developing was improved beyond anything they could've imagined.

Weapons fashioned to fit them far surpassed anything, even the best on the black market.

The Rogue Gallery was beyond impressed.

And Reader was on Cloud Nine with all the attention it was earning them. Head pats, praise, treats. It was more than anything they could've asked for. And even if they didn't have a new invention at the end of the week, so many were willing to just hang out. Without prompting! No "Go bother Alfred" or "I'm busy" or "Another time, chickadee".

Harley had to be reminded that a 12 year old had no business around hyenas, even if Budsie and Louie were on their best behavior. Harley settled for watching old magical girl animes with you.

Luckily, Poison Ivy knew not to bring you around her poisonous plants. Though she did spend a concerning time teaching you exactly what plants were poisonous and how they were poisonous.

Bane taught you everything he knew, from throwing a punch, to how to scare someone off. Granted, a 12 year old, with so much of their baby fat in their cheeks, and wrists as thick as Bane's thumb, looked like a Ragdoll kitten copying a Bengal tiger. He played chess with you too, and he said that given your role in advising, a knight or a bishop would fit you best.

Bane was your favorite. He'd smush your face (gently, you were so tiny he was scared of breaking you), lift you up, even do pushups and pull ups with you on his back.

When Bane told you how he'd saved Alfred once during a collapse of Arkham Asylum, only to be incapacitated once Alfred was "done" with him, it made your blood boil.

As you learned all of their stories, learned the human in all of them, you knew that you were saved from a family with rotten blood. You'd spend your life repaying them, even if they never asked.

--------

Eventually, you decide to follow them into battle. You're kept up and away from the bulk of the battle. This time, it was Joker vs the Batfamily. Tim was unable to track what he'd been trying to do past a few errant clues. It was clear that the Rouge Gallery had a new villain.

You were given direct instructions to watch yourself; Joker wouldn't care enough to tear his eyes off Batman. You already knew that; Harley had spent 3 days trying to convince you to reschedule with someone else, but you told her you wanted Joker, not someone who'd be tempted to glance back and give away your hiding space.

Jason was the one that saw you. You were dressed in a costume that resembled a bishop chess piece with a split full face mask, perched atop a van far from the actual battle. His old scars with Joker made him hesitate, but you looked like a definite person of interest, and everyone else was indisposed.

He ran over, firing rubber bullets as you dodged, eventually tripping and falling off the van. Why were you so small? Jason picked you up, grip just loose enough so you could breathe.

You reached up, pulling your mask off. Jason blanched as he saw your face, soft around the edges and wide eyed.

Bruce told him that he'd stayed away to protect you from the vigilante life. You were the one person who hadn't pushed to join them, so he never told you about missions to avoid any ideas of joining. Jason followed suit, and so did the others. Their lives were busy enough anyways, and you had Alfred when he didn't have something more important to do.

He may have brushed you off more than absolutely necessary, but he wasn't in the right headspace then! You had already grown so much and all he'd wanted by then was vengeance on Batman. You couldn't blame him for keeping his distance at that point. He was protecting you.

But here you were, pinned by the throat by your own brother. Your protector. He released you, taking a step back. He glanced around for an opening, seeing a small alleyway. He gestured over his shoulder for you to follow. "C'mon kid. I'll get you back home and I won't even tell Bruce you snuck out, 'k?"

Suddenly, he felt a prick in his back, shortly followed by a burning itch and ice cold pain. He fell to the ground, trying to reach the spot you pricked.

"Miss Ivy said these were dangerous. Her own home blend. It's a diluted version, so you'll be fine in a few days, Todd" said the much too calm voice above him. He was struggling to breathe around the writhing mass of pain, looking up at you between blinks of tears.

He couldn't scream, he could barely breathe. He could die here and the family wouldn't know until the dust settled.

"It won't kill you, and from the looks of it, they'll be coming to pick you up soon."

"Aren't we family?" He chokes out between gasps. He felt so lost. You were his baby sibling, the tiny thing that'd wander the halls, holding an old chess board as you asked your cool big brother to play with you. The person he kept away from to protect. How could you repay him like this?

Hadn't he done so much for you?

You look at him from the boot of the van. When had you gotten so far away? Your voice is quiet, but it's heard, if barely, over the revving of the engine as Joker's minions prepare to drive away, and the screaming of his name as the rest of the family approaches.

"Were we? I never thought you wanted a baby sibling like me."

-------

The Batfamily took him home and patched him up. The new tech, like all other recent inventions brought in, were so advanced they bordered on state of the art. Even Tim was struggling to decode any of them, with all the kill-switches that seemed to recognize when it wasn't hooked up to the original computer and bricked themselves.

Jason had recovered, like you said, in a few days. Capable of breathing easily in 2 days, regularly needing to be sedated before then, and sitting up without pain by day 5.

The Batfamily had asked him by day 4 about the masked person they had seen next to him. Jason was detached from himself. That face, those eyes. They held no warmth for him, no pity for him while he was writhing in agony at their feet. Like he was less than a stranger.

Like he was less than human in their eyes.

Your name fell off his tongue like lead, slamming against the ground as everyone fell into silence.

"It was them. They gave me that injection. Their face, I-"

"Todd, did the injection give you hallucinations? There was no way that they'd accomplish something like that." Damian raised his brow, checking the chart to make sure the bulk was out of his system.

"I know what I saw. They hadn't even injected me when I saw their face."

"That's impossible, Jay! Look, I'll go to their room and get them right now. They'll probably be pretty cranky since it's, what, 4am?" Dick's footsteps disappeared down the hall.

After a few minutes, Dick came running back, looking at Jason with a mix of shock, horror, and confusion.

Two words.

Two words that finally made them look at you.

Two words that made them realized what they'd missed.

Two words that made them connect the inventions that almost got them killed to the darling child they'd convinced themselves they were protecting with cold shoulders and smothering silence.

Two words that made them refocus their sights on bringing you back.

"They're gone."

[letoasai]

Will work for food ~ part 2

Part 1 - Master list

Tim was anxious which wasn’t an emotion he often put into use. Even on a bad day he was calculating, overly prepared, and usually ran on caffeine. He was a young genius and a hell of a detective, but nerves probably didn’t care about his resume or personality quirks. 

He rubbed his thumb against the folded piece of paper kept hidden in his pocket. He’d examined it in the batcave but it held no clues of note. It was just a normal sheet of paper, and the ink could have been a pen from any local corner store. No DNA. No fingerprints. All the same, he kept it out of sight in public. 

Tim had been antsy about summoning Phantom, mostly because he felt like he was disrespectfully late. When he’d first laid eyes on the living form of the Ghost King, he’d felt a familiar ache. Neglect. He didn’t know if the king had neglected himself, or if the blame lay at someone else's feet, but he just couldn’t stand it. 

He’d offered food and company in an instant, the words popping out of his mouth before he could think them through. Despite that, he didn’t regret the offer. He could have done without the teasing from his siblings and teammates, but he didn’t regret the offer once. 

His only remorse was with the clean up efforts. The Infinite creature, Vortex, had left quite the destruction in his wake. Even with many extended members of the League assisting with clean up, it took ages. Search and rescues were active and humanitarian groups had arrived to offer aid but some things couldn’t be done in a weekend. 

The bats returning to Gotham didn’t offer much in the way of a break either. A Scarecrow outbreak with his fear toxin. Three different gangs in the middle of a turf war. A weapons smuggling ring being uncovered… It was one thing after another for a minute. 

When all was said and done it had been nearly two months before Tim had the opportunity to keep his promise. He was in his civvies, standing at the mouth of an alleyway across from a little italian place that looked cheap but was actually the best tasting, most authentic italian place in all of Gotham. Little hole in the wall places often were the best. 

The problem now was his ability to overthink things. Would he summon the king in a glow of green that would light up the street like a beacon? Would he arrive in his ghostly form, crown hovering above his hooded head? 

Phantom looked human enough but was he? Did he come from Earth originally? There were plenty of aliens that looked human. It would be rude to assume… 

What name did he use? Did he need to go full title? Why didn’t he ask more questions when he had the chance?

“King Phantom.” Tim muttered, deciding to just go for it. He still clutched the paper sigil out of sight. “Uh, Ghost King Phantom. King of the Infinite Realm. Um… Or was it High King…” 

“Just Phantom is fine.” 

Tim tensed, all of his hair standing on end at the voice directly behind him in the alley. He hadn’t made a sound but he needed to actively work to exhale and turn around to face his guest. There had been zero indication of his arrival, and he was thankfully, in his living form. 

He was in jeans and an over sized hoodie. Tim could just barely make out a faded NASA written in the front. That was a point in the direction of him possibly being a human from Earth. He wore shoes this time, beat up looking kicks that had seen better days. His hood was also drawn over his head, likely to hide his bony appearance. Tim did spy the tail of his braid over his shoulder though, his hair black to further prove he was in his living form. 

“You…scared the hell out of me.” Tim said, smiling after another hard exhale. “I am sorry it took so long, your Highness.” 

“Phantom.” He corrected, looking around the street and taking it all in. Tim could clock him making note of the turns down the street and the buildings with fire escapes even with his hood up. People just had certain body language when casing an area. “I figured it would be a while, if you summoned me at all. I was not going to hold you to a whim, Red Robin.” 

“I said i would…” Tim muttered. “Uh, it’s Tim, out of uniform. If you don’t mind.” 

“Tim.” He repeated. That softness to his voice remained, and honestly, Tim liked the cadence of it. He liked it as much as he was sure he never wanted to hear Phantom raise his voice. “I understand.” He hesitated only a beat. “You can call me Danny. Phantom is probably a silly thing to call someone in a city like this.” 

“Not if it’s your name.” 

“Danny is okay.” He said, and for whatever reason, Tim noticed now how he kept his hands in his pockets, likely to hide them too. Frail, skeletal looking hands would just frighten some people. “Food? For a favor?” 

“No favor involved. I invited you out.” Tim said. “I mean, maybe we can chat about stuff but you aren’t obligated to answer or anything.” 

Phantom…Danny nodded, shuffling for a moment and looking around again. The height of the buildings seemed to be a mild interest of his. “Where are we eating?” 

“Well, if you like Italian, we’re walking across the street.” He thought pasta and breads would be both filling and flavorful. It would also be something easily packed up for Danny to take with him. 

“I’ll eat anything.” Danny informed him. “I have no preferences after all this time.” He hesitated. “Or maybe i need to rediscover them, but anything will be fine.” 

“Let’s… let’s go then.” Tim said, walking with Danny at his side. He’d made a reservation which wasn’t strictly necessary at such a small place but it gave him the option of reserving a corner table to offer them a little more privacy. 

They walked in, the hostess greeting them with a smile before leading them to their table and leaving them with bread, water, and menus. There were a few other full tables but it wasn’t packed the way it would be in the evening. 

Danny kept his hood up, but it was Gotham and no one questioned the decision. They just left him in peace to not start a conflict with someone who wasn’t causing any trouble. He also kept his hands out of sight until the hostess had left. He sipped the water once and broke off only a little piece of the bread. He buttered it and ate on it while flipping open the menu. 

Tim didn’t know if he was reading the English or Italian parts of the menu but it didn’t matter. Being fluent in reading an Earth language was another check mark for this being his place of origin. 

“Can i…” Tim hummed, keeping in mind that he was speaking with royalty and act a little less like Bruce interrogating a suspect. “Can i ask a couple questions?” 

Danny looked up at him, Tim only barely able to make out some of his features passed the unnatural shadows his hood provided. “Sure.” 

Tim smiled, not even bothering with the menu since he knew what he was getting. “You’re the King of a realm, but was Earth your place of origin?” 

“Yes, but not this Earth.” 

Dimensions! Tim filed that away for later. “You can travel to any of them?” 

“Within reason. Yes. I’m old, but not that old yet. Only eight or nine decades.” He tore another small piece of bread to eat. Tim assumed he was pacing himself. “They call me a baby Ancient still.” 

“That’s cool…” Tim muttered. “Are there many other Earths?” 

“The answer to that would never satisfy you.” Danny said softly. “Trust me. I am the Ancient of Space and i’m hardly satisfied with it.” 

There was a new fact for Tim to latch on. “What’s the-” He stopped when the waitress appeared. Both of them ordered, and Tim was certain he’d end up ordering more halfway through the meal so Danny could take more home with him.  

When the menus were taken and the waitress left again, Tim continued. “What’s the difference between being an Ancient of Space and being the Ghost King.” 

“When i died, or half died, it was my fate to one day become the Ancient of Space. I am that regardless. I won the title of Ghost King.” 

Tim dragged a hand down his face. “That’s…. Endlessly fascinating. I have so many questions.” He didn’t even know how to touch ‘half died’ yet. 

Danny hummed once and fiddled with the end of his braid. “Do i get to ask questions too?” 

“Of course.” 

Danny leaned forward, sipping at his water again. “This Earth has super heroes. That’s interesting. Mine didn’t. How long have you been a hero?” 

Tim nodded, figuring that would be the direction the questions would have wandered towards. They were far enough away from everyone in the restaurant that he didn’t worry about being heard. The music playing in the background also helped a great deal. 

“Hero might be a debate depending on who you ask. In Gotham we’re considered vigilanties. I first suited up at thirteen but it was really more like fourteen after a great deal of training.” 

Danny was quiet for a moment. “And how old are you now? I have trouble telling ages these days…” 

“Eighteen.” Tim said. 

“Young.” Danny muttered. “I was young too. Fourteen when i became the bridge. Sixteen before i really understood what it meant.” 

“The bridge?” 

“Balance. The living and the dead.” 

Tim huffed softly. “You wear a lot of hats, don’t you?”  

Danny made a quiet noise, and it took Tim a beat longer than normal to realize he was laughing. “I do, i wish i didn’t most of the time. It’s fine though.” 

“Just fine?” Tim asked after a beat. He knew a little about expectations and high standards that could weigh you down���both his own standards and other peoples. 

Danny nodded, one of his hands resting on the other. “I’ve seen things. Good things. Bad things. Things that will never happen. Things that have. It’s better i have certain powers because i have no desire to use them.” 

Aah. Tim understood that. “People who want too much power are dangerous.” 

“Exactly.” 

“The power of ruling an entire realm…” 

“Exactly.” 

Tim heaved a sigh. “Damn.” Maybe he should ask something less intense. “Did you enjoy the food we gave you last time? It was just some fast food but there was some worry it wasn’t good enough.” 

“It was great.” Danny said and he sounded sincere. “Nostalgic. It took me a few days to eat all of it. I know the Infinite Realm’s reputation, and it is a warranted reputation, but i’m… hard to offend. Little things are just little things.” 

“I’ll put them at ease then.” 

Danny was quiet for a moment, the silence not an oppressive one. “What is the difference between a hero and a vigilante?” 

“How people perceive us, i guess. Superman will always be seen as a hero. Wholesome and valiant and all that. Things in Gotham are altogether… shadier. Being a vigilante isn’t exactly legal and while we have our boundaries, we break the law all the time.” Tim said. They covered their own tracks well but it was fortunate that no one looked too closely at their activities. 

It didn’t bother Tim when he knew his reasons were still good. 

Danny made a thoughtful kind of noise. “I’m willing to bet Superman’s business isn’t purely legal either. This seems like a nice Earth though, despite whatever troubles you have.” 

“Some hero work is sanctioned by the government so it’s a fine line. Any of it could be argued.” Tim explained, and that was something Danny seemed to find fascinating. 

They paused their conversation again when the waitress appeared with their food, and Tim put in a second order for them to take when they left. The eyes Tim could feel on him told him that Danny already knew what they were for. 

He could hear Danny softly inhale and exhale as he looked at the plate in front of him that came accompanied with salad. He likely wouldn’t be able to eat even a fraction of it but the way he looked at it…. made Tim realize that he could see Danny’s face more clearly. The shadows that obscured his face from his hood had receded. He was still gaunt, but he eyed the food with so much joy. 

The first bite of –non fast food– food nearly seemed to overwhelm him in a good way. 

“You know,” Tim swung hard to change subjects. “We can do a bit of a food tour every time i summon you for lunch. Pizza. Chinese. Barbeque. There’s a great taco truck. We could get something homemade.” 

“You cook?” 

“Haa. No.” Tim said seriously. “But Al… my grandpa is an amazing cook and he seemed to think trading food for world saving services was very sensible but he was appalled that we offered you cheap fries and burgers. He’d honestly love to cook for you.” 

Danny smiled, this shy little look that shouldn’t have fit someone with the title of Ghost King but it sure fit Danny. “That could be nice. Decent home cooked meals are kind of mythological to me.” 

Tim nodded once, and knew better than to ask directly. “I didn’t have a very cuddly upbringing either. There was a lot of take-out involved.” 

“Your food ever come back to life and try to eat you instead?” Danny asked and Tim just stared. 

“I can’t…tell if that’s a real question or if you’re messing with me.” 

Danny smiled and was that a hint of fangs? “Dead serious.” 

Time groaned. “No, no you are a king. You are not making puns.” 

“Thinking i’m too mature for puns is a grave mistake.” Danny said without hesitation. 

“Noo.” Tim groaned, lips upturned into a smile. His brothers could never know about this. Dick would start a pun off and Jason’s morbid sense of humor about his own death…. Ugh, it would be bad. 

It did bring up the interesting question of Danny’s age. He said he’d been alive for decades but how did he mature. Was he still a teenager? Did he age slowly? Asking not only sounded like a bad idea, but Raven and Zatanna had both made sure he knew it was a question to not ask. 

They chatted, they ate, or well, Tim ate. Danny ate a bite every few minutes and looked thrilled about it but he was slowing down. Tim was looking forward to Danny being able to eat more with every visit. 

He flagged down the waitress, gesturing for a box and got a thumbs up in return. 

“You can take it with you.” Tim said when Danny was giving him a look. “It might be a couple days before i can call you again and this way you’ll have enough to eat every day.” 

“I can’t deny that.” Danny said. “You don’t have to keep summoning me.”

“I promised you lunches.” Tim said firmly. “And you said it yourself, you should eat more and spend more time in a living realm. You may as well take advantage of being summoned for food.” 

“Hm…” Danny played with the end of his braid again. “You do make a compelling argument. It’s nice to talk to someone without it being preceded by a brawl.” 

Tim stared, “What?” 

Danny just looked amused. “I’ll explain to you etiquette in the Infinite Realm sometime.” 

“Yeah?” 

The waitress returned with boxes for Danny to pack up his meal and the empty dishes were whisked away to make more room on the table while they waited for their to-go orders. 

They were almost startled when a second waitress reappeared with a few little dishes before they could begin speaking again. Everything was set in the middle of the table, presumably for them to share. There was a piece of white peach tart, a bowl of strawberry gelato, and a slice of frozen chocolate chip meringata. 

“Um…” Tim blinked. “We didn’t-”

The waitress chuckled. “It was ordered for you by another patron. Please enjoy.” She set down another set of utensils for them and walked away. 

Danny made a small sound in his throat. “Well i was full but how could i say no to a couple more bites…” 

“Wait.” Tim said, gaze subtly shifting around the room. Maybe he was trained to be paranoid, but it usually served him well. What he found almost instantly had his eye twitching. 

Not even halfway across the room sat a poorly disgusted Dick wearing large sunglasses, a fedora, and the world's least convincing mustache. When he saw Tim looking and grinned and raised his own wine glass. 

“I gotta kill my brother…” 

Danny sputtered out a laugh, so genuinely amused that Tim could definitely see his fangs as he laughed.

“That would make him my problem.” Danny pointed out, reaching for a spoon to try the gelato first. 

“I’m not seeing your point.” Tim said, delighted by Danny’s teasing. It was a rookie mistake to think one of his siblings wouldn’t find out about this. An absolute blunder that he hadn’t noticed Dick walking in after them at all. He’d never live it down. 

“Guess i’ll have to be more careful next time.” He added. 

Danny hummed again and seemed to have a fondness for the cold dessert. “I could always invite you to my realm sometime.” 

“Cool.” Tim said instantly. Ha, let them try to follow him then…

[kamakrazeeee]

nah this guy being called the High Master Black Thumb is craaaaazzyyyyy

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #9

It was supposed to be a normal Tuesday. Well, as normal as it got when you were the ghost king of a supernatural hell dimension that casually brushed shoulders with every known reality in the multiverse. Danny Fenton, age 19, high school graduate, part-time fast food cashier, full-time eldritch entity, had long since learned that “normal” was a concept best left to sitcoms and people who didn’t accidentally blow up space-time during puberty.

And yet, even with the sheer absurdity of his afterlife-afterlife job description, Danny had not signed up for this.

Somehow—somehow—when he officially accepted the Crown of Fire and Frost and Bones and Whatever, the Infinite Realms had offered him a dowry. Not money. Not knowledge. Not a magical vacuum to clean the endless ghost slime dripping from the ceiling. No. It gave him the Infinity Stones.

Not knockoff ones. Not replicas. Not the “Earth-199999” post-snap pebbles Thanos crushed into ghost glitter. The original Infinity Stones. And now he wore them.

Not in a gauntlet. Because, quote, “That’s been done, and frankly, gauche,” according to the Reality Stone, which had rewritten itself into a choker necklace that constantly tried to re-style his outfit into something out of a Victoria’s Secret Angel runway. Today, it had settled on a see-through green silk robe with ghost fire embroidery, and Danny had to physically fight it to let him wear jeans. He won. Barely.

The Power Stone, a chunky magenta ring on his left thumb, liked to hum. Not dramatically or ominously, no. It hummed “Barbie Girl” during tense conversations. It buzzed like a vibrator when Danny was trying to intimidate enemy ghosts. It yodeled during peace treaties. Vlad Masters once tried to monologue at him and the stone responded with a chorus of flatulent noises at full volume. Danny hadn’t stopped laughing for ten minutes. Vlad has refused to visit the castle since.

The Time Stone dangled from a chain bracelet on his right wrist. Sometimes it glowed. Sometimes it whispered. Sometimes it sounded exactly like Clockwork and said stuff like, “Oh, I wouldn’t eat that sandwich, Daniel. You’ll get food poisoning in three hours and twenty-two minutes. It won’t kill you, but the diarrhea will haunt you.” It also had a deeply annoying habit of flashing forward into the future and spoiling every plot twist in the books he was reading. Danny tried to switch to manga, but the damn thing kept spoiling those too.

The Space Stone was an earring. A single, glowing, cerulean stud in his left lobe. It gave him migraines. Not just regular migraines. Cosmic, black-hole-level migraines that bent reality around him. Once, while sneezing mid-headache, he created a baby star in his bedroom. Another time, it opened a portal in the ceiling of his shower mid-rinse and sucked him naked into a Skrull pirate ship orbiting Saturn. He beat them with a loofah and threatened to scrub their insides out unless they sent him back. They now call him “Emperor Cleans-the-Flesh.”

Then there was the Soul Stone. It had attitude. It was a sulky little thing, disguised as a glowing orange knuckle ring he wore on his middle finger, which felt very appropriate. It didn’t talk much, but when it did, it sounded like a sad Tumblr user from 2013. Constantly making vague threats like, “What if I just… killed everyone you loved… just to feel something.” Danny once told it to go touch grass and it responded by manifesting a field of sentient grass that sang MCR lyrics at full blast. Sam loved it. Tucker was traumatized. Jazz refuses to discuss it.

And the Mind Stone.

God.

The Mind Stone.

A dainty gold earring that hung from his right ear and gave the impression of class. It had developed a voice that was part Morgan Freeman, part drunk Hannibal Lecter, and it spoke in Jazz’s cadence. So, essentially: it psychoanalyzed Danny nonstop with the world-weary patience of an overachieving older sibling with access to the DSM-5 and a deep, personal vendetta.

“Ah, yes. Classic deflection, Daniel. You’re not mad at the Time Stone for spoiling your anime. You’re mad at yourself for never learning to regulate your own expectations. Also, you are projecting unresolved paternal trauma onto that sandwich. Seek therapy.”

“I can’t seek therapy, I’m the Ghost King!”

“That’s exactly what someone with a savior complex and intimacy issues would say.”

Every time he thought it was quiet, it whispered new insults into his subconscious. Once, in the middle of a UN meeting about ghost-human diplomacy, it started narrating his intrusive thoughts. Danny had to teleport out before he screamed about his fear of turning into his dad mid-poop.

Now, normally? He could live with it. Ish. He’d learned to tune them out, like roommates you couldn’t evict because they were the literal embodiment of creation. But then SHIELD, or what was left of it, showed up.

Apparently, the multiverse was cracking. Again. Something-something-Kang, something-something-fracture points. Wong came in first, looked at Danny floating sideways in a gravity-less realm throne room while eating hot Cheetos, and just sighed like a man who knew he was underpaid.

“You’re the new anchor of the multiverse.”

Danny blinked. “I’m the what?”

“The stones chose you. Probably because you’re already tethered to the Infinite Realms. You’re their new keeper. Like… janitor of reality.”

“I didn’t ask to be the multiverse’s janitor.”

“Too bad. Put on pants. You’re meeting the Avengers.”

Spoiler: he did not put on pants. Reality Stone put him in tight leather shorts. Tony Stark showed up mid-briefing, took one look at Danny, and said, “Are we summoning ghosts or attending Coachella?”

“I am literally containing the building blocks of existence inside my earlobes, old man.”

Tony raised a brow. “Sassy.”

Steve Rogers had a panic attack. Bruce Banner tried to talk quantum containment strategy, but the Mind Stone insulted his PhD and called him “Emotionally repressed Dr. Jekyll.” Wanda Maximoff muttered something in Sokovian about chaos recognizing chaos. Peter Parker asked for a selfie. Thor offered to arm wrestle. The Space Stone teleported his arm off mid-match. Thor thought it was hilarious.

Then came Loki.

“Oh,” the trickster said, slinking into the realm uninvited. “You’re the one they gave the toys to.”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “Do not call them toys.”

The Soul Stone hissed. The Mind Stone said, “He has severe middle child energy. Classic narcissist. Avoid eye contact.”

Loki smiled wider. “I like you.”

“I hate you already.”

And then Deadpool showed up.

No one invited him. No one wanted him. He just… wandered in through a swirling green portal, wearing bunny slippers, sipping a Ghost Zone smoothie, and immediately licked the Time Stone.

“MMM. Tastes like trauma and Chrono-Cinnamon. Delicious.”

Danny screamed. Deadpool winked.

The next few weeks were a blur of chaos. Danny accidentally rebooted a dead star, causing an entire Kree fleet to bow to him as their sun god. The Reality Stone made his socks sentient. The Mind Stone helped him file ghostly taxes, then charged him emotional interest. Doctor Strange tried to exorcise the stones. Danny coughed up an entire timeline onto the Sanctum’s carpet. Wong still hasn’t forgiven him.

At one point, the Power Stone got bored and vaporized a celestial. Danny was grounded by the Living Tribunal for three days and had to sit in a corner of conceptual space thinking about what he did.

“Why me?” Danny whined to no one in particular.

“Because,” the Mind Stone whispered gently. “You are chronically self-sacrificing, catastrophically powerful, and an absolute sucker for lost causes. Also, you taste like ectoplasm and cinnamon toast. Reality finds that comforting.”

Danny covered his face with his hands. “I’m going to scream.”

“Do it,” the Soul Stone said. “Scream into the void. Feed me.”

“I hate you.”

“We love you, Daniel,” Time Stone whispered ominously.

“No you don’t!”

But they kind of did. In their own horrible, unholy, unhinged way.

And Danny? Danny was starting to get used to it.

He wore godhood like a teenager wears a secondhand hoodie—awkwardly, chaotically, and with a deep sense of “please don’t ask me to take responsibility for this.” But deep down, across realms and dimensions and timelines, Danny Phantom was no longer just a boy with ghost powers. He was the Keeper of Infinity, the King of the In-Between, and possibly the most dangerously unqualified celestial babysitter the multiverse had ever known.

God help them all.

[devildomcuties]

Obey Me: A Gift for You [Demon Brothers]

🕷 pairing: demon brothers x f. reader

🕷 summary: You're gifted a pair of panties from the Demon Brothers, so you wear them for him.

🕷 wc: 6.5k

🕷 warnings: pet names (darling, love, treasure, baby, kitten, kitty, hun, doll, cupcake, moon, little moon), degradation (slut, whore), jealousy, choking, fingering (f. receiving), impact play (spanking, cunt slapping), oral sex (f. giving and receiving), unprotected sex, food mention, making-out, the heels stay on, marking (biting, scratching), hair pulling, praise, masturbation, pillow humping, mention of smothering with a pillow, panties used as a gag, cum swallowing, collar with a bell, possessiveness, dom/sub undertones, breeding kink, body worship, bondage with ribbon, objectification, use of a bullet vibrator, 69, handjob, implied food play

🕷 a/n: this is strictly 18+ content as links lead to adult content!

🕷 date: April 17, 2024

Lucifer

“Barbatos said you needed help with some paperwork?” You ask as you enter Lucifer’s office. You hold a thick file under your arm as you walk forward.

“Is that so?” Lucifer asks, not bothering to look up from the stack of papers in front of him. He taps his monogrammed pen on the mahogany surface, biting his bottom lip as he finishes reading the paper and moves to the others. 

“Yeah,” you click your tongue. “Barbs said I was distracting the Young Master.” 

You roll your eyes before you set the file on the desk with a thump. You push it toward Lucifer before sitting on the edge of the desk;  a habit he loves and hates. 

“Your impression of Barbatos has gotten much better,” Lucifer sneers as he finally looks at you, his eyes roaming over your body. 

Your thighs are splayed on his desk, clad in black thigh-high stockings held with a blue garter belt. The skirt you wear is nearly bunched at your hips and your black heels shine, reflecting the light in his office. 

“I see why Barbatos labeled you as a distraction,” Lucifer smirks as he sets the file aside along with the rest of his work. 

You shrug. “He was the one who said Dia needed me to grab the file. I don’t see why Barbatos couldn’t do it himself.”

“Best not to defy him, darling,” Lucifer says as he rises and steps between your thighs. His hands grip them as he pushes you back until you catch yourself on your elbows. You blink slowly as you look up at him, his black hair falls over his eyes and you lick your lips when you spot him staring at your blue panties. 

“You were at the Demon Lord’s Castle in the panties I gifted you? Parading around like a little slut for everyone but me? Is that any way to thank me, love?” Lucifer's tone is low, and dangerous as he raises a dark brow in question. 

You resist the urge to moan, shaking your head as you maintain eye contact. 

“I didn’t want to go over there. I wore these for you, Luci.”

Lucifer hums as he considers your words, remaining silent as he takes a step back and pulls you off of his desk. You stumble, but he’s there to straighten you on your feet. 

His nose presses to yours, his lips tantalizingly close. You want to kiss him, taste him but he spins you and you catch yourself with your palms. 

“Lucifer!” You gasp in surprise. 

Lucifer gets on his knees. His hands roam over your legs, fingers gripping the lace at the top of your stockings. He admires the blue panties you’re wearing.

His fingers fiddle with the bow above the little peekaboo window, his lips press kisses to the curve of your ass before he’s on his feet. 

Slowly, Lucifer spreads your legs with one of his. His left-hand wraps around your throat as he bends you further while his other hand moves between your thighs. 

“You wore these for me?” Lucifer asks he pushes your panties to the side and two of his fingers slip into your wet cunt. He growls, his hold on your throat tightening when you whimper. Your eyes shut, nearly panting as he fucks his fingers in and out of you before his thumb brushes your clit. 

“Answer me, darling. It’s rude to keep me waiting,” he whispers as you drip all over his fingers and pant leg. You nod, moaning when he releases your throat to smack your ass. 

“I did. I wanted you to see them on me,” you admit as he bunches your skirt at your hips as high as it will go with one hand while he removes the other from your cunt to suck his fingers clean.  

“Tell me, love. Did Diavolo get a preview? How about Barbatos?” Lucifer asks, failing at hiding his jealousy. 

“No! Never!” You exclaim as he moves back to admire your frame bent over his desk, wet and needy for his touch. 

Lucifer palms his cock over his pants while he watches your legs shake unsteadily in your heels. 

With ease, he unbuttons his pants and pulls the zipper down. He’s quick to push his boxers down his thighs and rip the buttons off his shirt. 

If you’d been facing him, you’d be drooling over his delicious body, begging to lick every inch before he stuffs his fat cock down your throat until tears run down your cheeks. 

However, today isn’t about you. It’s about those blue panties you’re wearing that hide very little of your ass. Which is why he had picked them out for you. 

He couldn’t wait to fuck you on his bed. Your back to him while you rode his cock while wearing the stockings, panties, and garter belt. 

The thought alone made his mouth water as he pumped himself a few times. You beg him to fuck you. Your thighs pressed together to try and distract you from the throbbing between them. 

Lucifer smacks the back of your thigh, getting you to spread them open before he presses the head of his cock at your entrance. 

“Lucifer!” You moan as he slides home, his hand on your hip and the other pressing his fingers to your lips. 

“We must be quiet, darling. We aren’t the only ones in the House of Lamentation tonight.”

Mammon

Mammon had a busy day. Levi was on his ass about paying him back, so Mammon had to do a last-minute photoshoot just to give a payment to him. He’d have to do a few more in the next few weeks to finish paying Levi off but then he’d be free to borrow from him again. 

Goldie was taken again by Lucifer, so Mammon’s next goal was freeing his sweetie. 

Groaning, Mammon takes his jacket off as he enters his bedroom. He had a shower at the set and was ready to get in his pajamas and climb into bed. 

Sighing, Mammon takes his shirt off, tossing it onto the couch beside his jacket. 

What he doesn’t expect to see is you bent over his pool table as you try to sink the eight ball. 

Mammon freezes in his spot. He’s not sure if you’ve heard him and he doesn’t want to startle you as you lean over further. If you notice your skirt hiking up further, you don’t make a move to correct it as you move the pool cue. 

Silently, Mammon eyes you hungrily. He spots the yellow panties he gifted you on your last date from beneath your black skirt. He wears matching boxers under his jeans. 

The ruffles on the edges make him gulp as you curse when you slip, your breasts pressed on the table as you balance yourself on one high-heeled foot. 

Nearly drooling, Mammon watches as you finally sink the last ball and stand on both feet. 

“Hell yeah!” You cheer as you place the pool cue on the table.

“Been here long, Treasure?” Mammon asks as he leans against the table. 

“Oh!” You giggle as you walk toward him. 

“I was waiting for you. Levi said you had a job.”

Mammon rolls his eyes. “Just like him to tell ya my business.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” you frown as you pull him into a hug. He smiles as he breathes you in, his face buried in your neck while you rub his broad shoulders. “I missed you and you weren’t answering.”

“It was a busy shoot. I barely had time to have lunch before I needed to get back on set,” Mammon explains as he grabs your hips. 

“I’m glad you’re back. I’ve got you all to myself for the rest of the night,” you grin as you press your lips to his. Mammon moans against your lips, his large hands moving lower and beneath your skirt to grab your ass.

“Mammon!” You groan as he nips your bottom lip, sucking it before he releases it. His fingers toy with the edges of your panties before he moves his hand to the front. 

“What? I just want to feel your heart,” he smirks as he traces the heart on the front of your panties. 

His hand moves lower, feeling the wet spot on your panties before his lithe fingers push the material aside. 

“Fuck, Treasure. You’re always so wet for me, huh?” Mammon groans as he feels your wet cunt, his fingers easily slipping inside. You grip his shoulders, your heels making you teeter.

“I’ve got you, Treasure. I always will,” Mammon promises as he kisses you while his fingers curl inside you and fuck your soaking wet pussy. You moan into the kiss, allowing his tongue to meet yours as your hand moves between your bodies to grip his hard cock over the denim. 

“You’re moving too fast, baby,” Mammon chuckles as he noses your throat before kissing it. “You haven’t even allowed me a taste of that sweet, sweet pussy.” 

“Greedy bastard,” you mutter before Mammon spanks you, gripping your ass harshly in his hand and squeezing it until you gasp. 

“I am, don’t forget it, Treasure.”

Mammon lifts you onto the pool table with your skirt hiked up to your hips and your blouse ripped down the middle, the buttons strewn on the table and his bedroom floor. Mammon eyes you greedily, licking his lips as he shakes his white hair out of his eyes. 

You spread your legs further as you look up at Mammon. Your heels hang over the edge and you admire the beautiful ridges of his torso and his glowing tan skin. You reach out for him and he allows you to touch him freely while he kisses you. His fingers thread in your hair while yours unbutton his pants and unzip them. 

Mammon kisses his way down your body, expertly removing your blouse and bra before his lips are wrapped around a hardened bud. He’s greedy with his tongue on both tits, licking and sucking them until he’s satisfied. 

“As pretty as these are, they’ve gotta go,” Mammon says as he tugs your panties down your thighs. He stuffs them in the back pocket of his jeans before he’s kissing down your body, sinking his teeth into your hips before grabbing your thighs in each hand. He tugs you to the edge of the table, not caring if you’re arousal stains his precious pool table. 

“Mammon!” You exclaim as you fall back onto the table and stare at the ceiling. You arch your back as his tongue meets your cunt, teasing you as your legs drape over his shoulders, heels digging into his broad back. 

“Fuck, Treasure,” Mammon slurps, his lips shiny with your wetness. He dives back in, his fingers fucking into you as he ignores the throbbing of his cock. He wanted to mount you, fuck you full of his cum, and then fuck it all back into you. 

Mammon wanted you to reek of him. He needed the halls of the House of Lamentation to stink of him and your coupling. He wouldn’t be satisfied until Lucifer was banging down his bedroom door, pleading that you stop. 

“So delicious,” he grunts as he palms over his cock, his tongue teasing your clit, gently sucking it just to watch your squirm beneath him. “Such a good girl for me, Treasure. So good.”

Levi

Levi loathed leaving his bedroom, more so when Lucifer demanded that he did. His older brother was the only demon who could get him to abandon his precious manga and video games. He was just about to start a new anime (Don’t Look Under the Bed Because There’s Probably a Monster, Even if Monsters aren’t Real and Don’t Hide Under Your Bed), when Lucifer banged on his bedroom door, ordering him to go check on you before dinner. 

The two of you had dinner duty, and with it only a few hours away, you had to get started within the next hour or two. Levi didn’t want to piss off Lucifer anymore than he already was, so begrudgingly he went to your room to get you. 

Normally, Levi would knock before entering your bedroom, but he was too busy muttering about Lucifer and his anime to remember to knock. It wasn’t like you needed him to anyway. You always welcomed him in quickly and with open arms. 

One time won’t hurt, right?

However, when he steps inside and shuts the door, he’s frozen solid. 

Gulping, Levi watches as you hump his missing pillow. Your back is to him, and he notes you’re naked except for the orange ruffle panties he gave you as a gift. He remembers how red his face had gotten when he left the gift on your bed just a few days ago, he didn’t realize you’d known they were from him. 

“Fuck, Levi,” you moan as you grind your cunt into his pillow, ass bouncing as you pick up the pace. You’ve soaked the pillow under you, no doubt making it harder to return but you couldn’t help yourself. Levi had invaded your thoughts until you couldn’t resist but smother yourself in his scent and finally steal something that belonged to him that he probably wouldn’t miss. 

Levi is in awe as he watches you, cock growing hard in his pants as you moan his name again, cupping your tits in your hands and throwing your head back as you soak his pillow with your cum. 

“Levi, are you just going to stare or are you going to come over here and take care of me?!!” You ask as you look at him from over your shoulder. 

 “I-I wasn’t staring!” Levi stutters, feeling his face grow warm. “Lucifer said, and then dinner, shopping. Not staring!”

You climb off his pillow slowly, allowing him an eyeful of your ass in the tiny thong. Levi never imagined you’d wear them, much less for him but here you were in all your glory humping his pillow and asking him to fuck you. 

Frozen, Levi just stares as you approach him. Your lips meet his as you strip him down to his boxers in between kisses and moans. 

You have him lie on the bed, his pillow beside him. You straddle his hips, kissing his cheek just to feel the heat of his embarrassment.

“You’ve kept me waiting,” you pout as you place the pillow over his face. 

Levi groans as he smells your arousal. How many times had you cum at the thought of him? How many times have you soaked the fabric with your juices? Levi could die right now and he’d die a happy man, blissfully inhaling your scent. 

“Don’t be greedy,” you giggle as you move the pillow under his head, your tits brushing his face as you place it under him. 

“There,” you grin as you take his shaky hands in yours and place them on your tits. “Want to feel some more?”

“Y-yes,” Levi clears his throat. If this is a dream, he never wishes to wake up. He would gladly stay underneath you forever if it meant you’d be touching him like so.

“What do you think of the panties? I wasn’t sure if orange was my color but they look so good on me, don’t you think?” You ask as you place Levi’s hands on your ass and you swear he almost cums in his pants. 

“They look go-good,” he blushes as you guide his hands to the ruffles. 

“You have good taste, baby,” you state as you easily slip the panties off you. Levi watches as you tug his boxers down just enough to release his leaking cock. He’s too horny to be embarrassed, almost prideful as you lick your lips when you take it in your hand. 

You’d love to tease him, make him beg, make him suffer but you’re too turned on to think straight. Your mouth wraps around him, engulfing his length greedily as his eyes flutter shut and your name forms on his lips. His hand grips your hair, guiding your movements as you meet his pelvis and he hits the back of your throat. You swallow and his thighs clench as he almost sees the Celestial Realm with how high you take him. 

Levi is near tears now and you pop off his thick cock long enough to get on your knees and reach for your panties. 

“Open your mouth for me, Levi.” You instruct and he does so obediently. 

You stuff your soaked panties into his mouth as you stroke his dick. Levi’s cries of pleasure are muffled as you take him back into your mouth. One of your hands is between your thighs, fingers fucking your soaked cunt while you continue to bob up and down Levi’s cock. 

His groans and moans grow rapidly, his body trembling from pleasure as you feel him hit the back of your throat moments before he’s cumming down it. 

Levi feels hot tears roll down his cheeks as his hips continue to thrust into your poor throat. You swallow hungrily, a few stray tears rolling down your cheeks until you pull off him, cum and spit coating your pretty lips. 

Levi catches his breath before he sits up and spits out your panties. His hand grabs the back of your head before he slams his lips on yours. His tongue meets yours in a hungry, messy, cum-filled kiss.

Satan

Rain pelted the windows of the Devildom late at night. Satan had spent all day in the library looking for a particular book with no luck. 

He had fallen asleep and woken in a puddle of drool before he gave up and decided to head to his bedroom after a shower and a brush of his teeth. 

Now, he lay in bed with a thick book on his lap as he leaned against the headboard. He had walked through the quiet halls of the House of Lamentation and figured everyone was in bed. What he hadn’t counted on was you showing up in his bedroom with a poof and a sparkle of magic. 

“Kitten?” Satan sets his book on the nightstand beside his bed. “What are you doing up so late?”

“I was with Solomon learning a new spell and got locked out of HOL. You didn’t answer my texts,” you frown as you begin to undo the buttons on your blouse. 

Satan looks at his D.D.D. and realizes he never turned it back on after Mammon was spamming him with messages asking for money. 

“Sorry, Kitten. Mammon was begging for money again,” Satan apologizes as he looks at you. He notes the collar on your throat, the tiny bell jingling when you take your bra off to toss on the floor. 

You step out of your high-heels and shimmy out of your skirt leaving you in just your thick thigh-high socks and strappy green panties.

“You wore these for Solomon?” Satan growls as he lifts one of the straps with his fingertip.

“Of course not, Satan. I wore them for you,” you huff, as you crawl into his lap, legs on either side of his hips. 

“Wearing them under such a short skirt says otherwise, Kitten. Do I need to remind you who you belong to?” Satan asks lowly as his hands grip your bare ass, the pathetic green straps do nothing to conceal you. 

“Maybe,” you tease with a sly grin as you press your breasts to his bare chest. Your fingers twirl his blonde hair as you lean in to kiss his lips. 

“You play a dangerous game, love,” Satan sighs as his fingers grip the tiny bell on your collar, another one of his gifts. 

“Only because it turns me on,” you admit with a smug smile as Satan tugs your collar and your eyes darken as you meet his wrathful gaze. 

“Watch yourself, Kitten. You’re not the only one with claws,” he remarks as you lick your lips before he kisses you passionately. His hands cup your face before moving to your hips. He groans when you suck his bottom lip into your mouth, tugging slightly before releasing it. 

Satan smirks as he quickly moves you over his lap, your ass in the air as he spreads your legs further. When his palm smacks your cheek, you gasp before moaning. He smacks the other cheek and you bite your lip to keep from moaning his name for everyone to hear. 

“Count for me,” he commands as he spanks you a third time and then a fourth. You keep count, thighs soaking wet from your arousal as he finishes with number fifteen. 

His hands soothe the ache, gentle words leaving his lips with praises of how good you are for him. 

“Such a sweet kitten when you want to be, huh? Can’t listen the first time, always have to push the boundaries,” Satan coos as his fingers dip into your wet cunt. 

“Satan!” You moan wanton as his fingers curl inside you. He hushes you, his free hand pressing his fingers to your mouth. You take them in greedily, sucking and slurping on his digits with both holes. 

“That’s it, love. Be a good kitty for me,” Satan smiles as you tighten around him, his fingers soaked to the knuckles as his thumb finds your clit. 

You’re nearly there, your moans announce it as you squirm on his lap. He fucks your mouth and your cunt with his fingers, giving you hell at both ends before your muffled screams fill the air. 

His praises fall on deaf ears as you cum, nearly sobbing when he slaps your cunt twice and has you suck his cum soaked fingers clean. 

“Hands and knees, love,” Satan demands as you struggle to get on your shaky legs. Your body thrums with arousal, hot and aching for more as you arch your back. Satan tugs you toward him by your hips.

“Fuck, Satan,” you curse into the sheets as he stuffs you full of his cock. His nails dig into your hips as he pulls you toward him, the fat head of his cock reaching your cervix. Your eyes roll back as you take the pounding, greedily asking for more when his hand smacks your jiggling ass. 

“These panties sure have come in useful tonight,” he muses to himself as he watches your hungry cunt take his cock like the good whore you are. For a moment his thoughts run loose, imagining what it would be like to breed you, to see your breasts round and full of milk for his spawn. Everyone would know you were his and only his. Everyone would envy him. Everyone would seethe knowing you were with child.

“Satan!” You scream as pleasure overwhelms you, pussy clenching around his cock, creaming it as you milk him for all he’s worth. 

“Fuck, Kitten,” he scowls, looking up at his ceiling and ignoring the thumping of his headboard against the wall. Perhaps the two of you have woken everyone in the house but he doesn’t dare stop, especially when you start begging him to cum deep inside, stuff you full of his cum. 

Satan aims to please as he does just that. 

Perhaps his dreams will come true.

Asmo

Asmo sat on his bed painting his nails live on Fab Snap. 

“Isn’t this color just fabulous? It’s one of my favorites!” Asmo gushes as he paints another nail, blowing on it as comments fly by on the screen. He giggles as he shows his finished hand to the camera, thanking everyone for the compliments before moving to his other hand. 

Asmo has been live for almost two hours. The moment you’re out of the bath, he’ll say his goodbyes and end the stream. He’s been dying to get you alone all week but unfortunately, his bank account needed some money.

Five minutes later, you stand in a fluffy pink robe with a pair of pink heels and the cute panties Asmo gifted you. 

Asmo pats the bed. You cross the room to him, gently kicking off your heels as you lie back on his bed. 

“Let’s get you out of this,” he smiles cheerily as he untied your robe and helped you out of it. He pushes it to the other end of the bed after taking the silk ribbon used to tie the robe. 

Carefully, Asmo places your wrists over your head and wraps the silk ribbon around each wrist before tying them together. 

“Well, don’t you look ravishing,” Asmo grins brightly as he admires your beautiful body. You look away, feeling your cheeks grow hot as he continues to compliment you until you meet his gaze again. 

Asmo takes his time with you, kissing your cheek, jaw, neck, collarbones, and sternum. He’s generous with his kisses, covering the expanse of your chest with his lips just to listen to your soft moans. 

When his lips wrap around your nipple, you gasp, turning to putty beneath him as he settles between your legs. His fingers trace the strappy pattern of your panties. Fingers gently go over the tiny pink roses just to watch your legs twitch. 

“So sensitive,” he giggles as he takes your nipple into his mouth and gently nips it. He takes his time licking and sucking each breast until they’re glossy with his spit and lip gloss. 

“Asmo!” You moan his name as he kisses his way down your body further, his teeth sinking into your hip, leaving his mark behind. 

“Let me take care of you, hun. I knew you’d look so pretty in these,” Asmo bites his bottom lip as his eyes admire every pretty strap on your hips. His finger lightly traces the design until he’s pressing his fingertip to your clit. 

You gasp, surprised, and move your wrists upward. 

“Uh-uh, my love. I’m not done with you yet,” Asmo giggles as he flips you onto your stomach, lifting your ass in the air as you steady yourself on your knees. 

His hands slowly rub your back before gripping your ass. Your hands are bound in front of you, keeping you from reaching back to touch him. You want to feel him pressed against you, have him encompass every fiber of your being. You don’t have to think when you’re around Asmo, happy to be his dress-up doll, his toy for his pleasure; whatever it may be. 

Asmo’s fingers brush the ruffles as his lips kiss your spine.

“So beautiful, my love,” he whispers as he kisses his way lower, his fingers moving your soaked panties aside. You moan softly, pushing your ass toward him as he chuckles. 

“So eager,” Asmo coos as his finger circles your hole. “So needy.”

You nod, tugging on your restraints before a soft buzz fills your ears and you perk up. Asmo giggles at your reaction as you arch your back further and his tongue meets your pussy. He teases you at first, sucking on your clit and wetting his lips with your essence. Once he’s had his fill, you feel a soft vibration on your clit from the pink bullet vibrator in his hand. 

“Fuck, Asmo!” You try to fuck yourself on him but he holds you with his free hand. 

“Behave, doll. Or we’ll have to stop playing,” he warns as he moves his hand to spread your ass for him. You feel heat rush to your face as he spits on your hole and his tongue traces it after. 

Your thighs tremble as the vibrations quicken, soaking your panties and your thighs. Pleasure courses through your body, his name heavy on your tongue as you fall head first into utter bliss. 

Asmo watches you come undone, a proud smile on his lips as he speeds the vibrator up, matching his movements with his tongue just to watch you spasm. 

When you fall face-first into his bed, he removes the toy and kisses your lower back. 

“Ready to play again?” He asks with a smirk as you lie boneless on his sheets, nodding meekly. 

Beel 

Hunger always struck at the most inopportune times for Beel. 

He spent hours at the gym lifting weights and trying to keep his mind off his hunger. He even took a scalding hot shower to make himself focus on anything other than the pangs of hunger in his stomach but not even the steaming bathroom could help him.

By the time he had arrived at HOL, it was silent. Everyone had gone to bed, and the only light on was the one in the kitchen where he stood. 

“Hey, Beel,” your voice startled him as he looked up from the fridge. He was about to make himself a sandwich when you walked in. 

“Hey,” he greets you, eyeing your skirt and thigh-high socks. “What are you doing up so late?”

“I just got home. Solomon wanted me to learn a new spell and then he tried to make me dinner.” 

Beel grimaces with you. “Want me to make you something instead?”

You nod as you head for the cabinets to get your secret stash of chocolate chip and pecan cookies from the Human World. 

You grab your stepladder, climbing to the top step while Beel watches in amusement. You could have just asked him for help but instead, you reach upward, your skirt rising as you lean forward to grab your secret cookie jar. 

Beel notices the red panties you’re wearing, and his hunger turns into lust. 

They’re the pair he gifted you just this morning. A lacy pair with an open crotch. His mouth waters at the sight of your cunt on display as you grab the jar of cookies and begin to climb down from the stepladder. 

The moment the ceramic jar is on the counter, Beel is on you. 

His large arms wrap around your waist as his broad chest presses to your back. His lips kiss your neck, pulling your shirt off to the side to expose your shoulder. 

“You have no idea how delicious you look, Cupcake. I want to eat you whole,” he whispers as he presses his erection to the swell of your ass. 

“Beel,” you curse as he grinds on you for a moment before his hands rip your shirt clear down the middle. The scraps fall to the floor uselessly and his shirt joins soon after. 

“Come here,” he demands as he climbs onto the kitchen island and lies down before he helps you on top of him. “Uh-uh, the other way, Cupcake.”

Your cheeks are aflame when he positions you so that your ass sits on his face, your wet cunt dripping into his mouth as he tugs your skirt out of the way, tearing it off you when he gets desperate enough to taste you. 

Beel’s large hands grip your thighs as he licks up your slit, savoring every drop of your arousal. His cock is thick and heavy in his gym shorts and your thighs tremble when you lean forward to palm it.

Beel hums in approval, making a fresh wave of arousal soak his pretty lips. 

“Beel!” You moan as you grind on his face, smothering him and his sounds of pleasure. You want him. You need to have him in every way possible and his cock throbs in your hand as you tug his shorts down, unsurprised he’s gone commando. 

You nearly drool at the sight of his hard cock as you mouth at it, licking the head before you tongue the slit. He’s a mouthful, drool leaking from the sides of your mouth as you take him a little further but just the head of his cock is enough to choke you. 

You pull off him with a gasp, inhaling as much air as possible as tears stream down your cheeks. Beel chuckles as he continues to slurp up your wet juices, pussy so warm and creamy, and delicious. He’d eat you every hour of every day if you’d let him. You’re the only one who could dim his rabid hunger for a while. 

Beel adores you. He can never have his fill and you’re always needy for him. Your hunger for him rivals his hunger for food, and it’s always so pleasurable to satisfy you. 

You squirm on his face and he holds you still. Messy slurping sounds fill the kitchen as he sucks, licks, and teases your cunt. He could ruin you for everyone if he chose to, could make it so nobody else could satisfy the ever-building need to be stuffed and fucked full at all times. 

Beel would be content just eating you out until you couldn’t take anymore. Until his tongue grew tired and your pussy couldn’t cream anymore. He’d feast on you, body and soul and you’d surrender to him willingly just to feel the pleasure that his talented tongue provided. 

You take his cock back into your mouth, saliva coating his length as you take more of him and you inhale through your nose as you push further. Spit soaks Beel’s pelvis, dripping to his balls as you release him, coughing as you try to catch your breath before wrapping your hand around him to jerk him off while taking his balls in your mouth to suck those instead. 

Beel rewards you with two fingers in your cunt. You clench around him as he sucks your clit and your hips rock back and forth on his face. He loves to see you dripping, soaking every bit of his face as your sweet moans go straight to his cock. 

The lace of your panties is ruined. There’s no saving them but Beel doesn’t care. He tears them easily and slides his tongue into your hole, fucking you on it as you squeeze his head and choke out his name. 

You cum hard. Beel moans your name as he’s rewarded for his efforts. He guzzles down every last bit. The noises he makes are obscene as he savors your taste on his tongue until you’re utterly spent. 

“Really?” Belphie’s voice startles the both of you. “We eat off of there.”

You cover your face in embarrassment as Belphie walks out of the kitchen without another word but Beel doesn’t seem fazed. 

With trembling legs, you climb off of Beel. “Let’s continue this in my room.”

You pick up his shirt and put it on before heading to the fridge for a bottle of whipped cream and a container of strawberries. 

Beel’s mouth waters as he grabs the cookie jar and your torn clothing. He hopes nobody will notice the mess on the kitchen island in the morning. Beel will be too tired from tonight to wake up early to clean it. 

Hopefully, Belphie will take care of it. 

Belphie

It was no surprise that Belphie could fall asleep just about anywhere. 

Sometimes he’d fall asleep in the hall, in front of his bedroom door, or outside Asmo’s bedroom with a full face of makeup as a reward for his carelessness. 

Tonight, Belphie had snuck away into his attic. He had paid Mammon to take his turn making dinner so he could sleep all evening. He’d spent the day catching up on chores and laundry. He was too exhausted to complete another laborious task. 

You were relieved when you finally found Belphie that night. You had snuck upstairs in your pajamas just to climb into bed with him. He was warmer than usual, so you stripped down to your panties and snuggled under the covers beside him and his pillow. 

“Hmm,” he grumbled as he reached out to touch you. “Moon? What are you doing here?”

“I missed you at dinner. I was looking for you all day,” you whisper as he drapes his arm over your waist. He presses his nose to your shoulder, feeling the warmth of your skin before his fingers move down to grab your hip. 

Sleepily, Belphie opens his eyes to see what you’re wearing. He had assumed you were naked like he was while he slept, so when his fingers brushed a silky bow, he was puzzled.

“What’s this?” He asked as he swallowed a yawn. He looks down to see the purple panties he gifted you over the weekend. 

“Like them? I wanted to show them to you all day but you’re a hard demon to find,” you pout as you feel him play with the silk bow. His lips find your shoulder, kissing it. 

“I am hard,” he chuckles as he nips your shoulder. His hand moves upward, cupping your breast.

He lifts your leg and places it over his. He slides his cock over your wet folds, moaning at how hot and soaked you are. 

“Easy access,” he smirks as you turn your head to kiss him, tongues lacing together as he lines his dick at your entrance and pushes in. 

“Fuck,” your eyes roll back as you take him. The familiar ache is a little painful but pleasurable. Belphie stretches you with his cock, making you take every delicious inch as stars explode behind your eyes. 

“That’s it, Little Moon. Take my cock like the good whore you are,” he praises as he kisses your bare shoulder and then moves to suck his mark on your skin. 

You moan, grinding your ass on him as best you can as he devours your body with his. You take each thrust with a sob of pleasure as you tighten around him, screaming his name when he rubs your clit just how you like it. 

“Such a little slut,” Belphie coos. “I bet you paraded around the whole of the Devildom in a tiny skirt wearing these panties while you searched for me. Tell me, love, did you prance around for the House of Lamentation? For the lower demons around town? Or perhaps you decided a visit to the Demon Lord’s Castle was necessary?”

“Fuck, Belphie! I-I didn’t-” 

Belphie hushes your protests with his lips. A toe-curling kiss that shushes you as he grabs your hips and positions you on your hands and knees. Your face is buried in the pillows, your hands held behind your back as Belphie watches you fuck yourself on his cock, creaming all over him. 

“I heard Diavolo was having Simeon and Solomon over for dinner tonight. Did you join them? Perhaps they had you instead?” Belphie chuckles as he smacks your ass and watches as you cum all over his cock. 

Belphie grins, he pushes you onto your side, your back to his chest as your rapid heartbeats settle again. He’s known for his small bouts of energy but soon lethargy settles into him again. 

He’s slow with his thrusts and kisses. Slow when he pushes his cock as far as it’ll go just to hear his name roll off your tongue. He’s quiet when he cums, rope after rope filling you as you fuck yourself on him. Another orgasm rocks through you, your soft whimpers lulling Belphie back to sleep with his hard cock still nestled inside your warm cunt.

©devildomcuties - I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms.

[zorosdimples]

pairing ⛧ yandere!diavolo x f!reader x barbatos

warnings ⛧ minors: please do not interact! i will block you. this is a doozy… implied toxic relationships, inhuman anatomy, monsterfucking, breeding, knotting, cervix fucking, dubious consent, pregnancy mention, lots and lots of cum, passing out, neglect (kind of), bondage and restraints, implied nonconsensual acts at the end. reader has a vagina and is referred to as “my little human” and “little one.” please let me know if there is anything i missed!

word count ⛧ 1129

notes ⛧ this is the first installment of the garden of earthly delights! i apologize for the wait; i hope everyone enjoys <3

you have never looked more beautiful—more his—than in this moment, diavolo thinks. the demon prince has one massive hand encircling your ankles, pressing your knees flush to your chest. his other hand cradles the back of your head with adoration, forcing your teary gaze to remain on him, a clawed thumb hooked between your swollen lips. his amber irises are nearly subsumed by his pupils, jet as the moonless night.

black spots cloud your watery vision as you slobber all over the digit, broken whines the only sound to leave your lips; the golden tips of his horns flash in your periphery. you’re on the verge of losing consciousness.

diavolo has been breeding you for hours. his long, thick cock—gilt, ribbed, impossibly large, and complete with a knot��has already stuffed you so full of seed that your stomach is distended. the viscous liquid, a rich cream with an otherworldly sheen, spurts out of your abused cunt with each of his powerful thrusts. the rest of it tingles hotly in your core.

“you can take one more, can’t you, my little human?” diavolo coos, breath unnervingly steady given the force of his movements. he leans down to smear a gentle kiss against your damp hairline before dropping your head and sliding his hand down to rub your puffy clit, plenty slick with the fluids coating your flesh.

“c-can’t,” you whimper. your nerves are fried and the overstimulation has your head pounding and your legs shaking as diavolo’s cock batters your cervix. your hands scratch and scrape at his chest in an attempt to get him to slow, to stop—anything—but your nails do not even pierce the prince’s thick flesh. the demon chuckles at your pathetic protests and his pace quickens in response.

hasn’t he taught you that you are not as fragile as you think?

“you can,” diavolo asserts, pulling out entirely. his crimson strands hang past his forehead and obscure his eyes, the glistering gold almost menacing as he leans over you. he strokes himself lazily, grazing his flared knot with a shiver, ready for his high. ready to see your womb swell with his heir.

“and you will,” he punctuates by plunging his cock and knot inside you in one fluid motion, a guttural groan rumbling from his heaving chest. your mouth stretches to accommodate a scream that never passes your lips. your body is aflame, dripping with sweat; the room fades into nothingness as diavolo’s hot cum pumps into your pulsing cunt.

the room is dusky when you awaken. your lover is gone, his warmth and ever-present touch absent, stillness in his place. the slippery silk sheets cling to you and glide along your curves as you sit upright. you clutch your forehead and curse the dull thump in your skull, a wince breaking the quiet. you feel a trickle of sticky cum ooze from you to join the wet puddle you slept atop like an animal.

the demon prince’s little pet.

a rustling sound draws you from your thoughts. a looming figure swathed in shadow floats toward the bed; you squeak in fright as you yank the sheets up to your neck in an attempt to shield your nude form.

“there you are,” barbatos, who you can now see as he emerges from the darkness, says. “i apologize for disturbing you. i am here on behalf of the young master.”

you breathe a shaky sigh of relief—the demon butler is your only friend in the lonely castle. “you scared me, barbatos. where’s diavolo?”

barbatos turns on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a faint glow. his eyes, emerald in the low light, shine eerily as his gaze meets yours. “the young master had to run to an impromptu meeting, but he did not wish to disturb your rest. thus, i am here to aid you in his stead.”

you furrow your brows. a meeting. you were once a member of the student council, privy to conferences and other social functions—until diavolo’s devotion to you got the better of him. (as a human, you are far safer being completely removed from lesser demons. and there is no one better to care for you than the prince of the devildom himself.)

you suppress your memories. “thank you. i can manage myself.”

instead of bowing and leaving, though, barbatos stands still. his forked tail sways at his feet and his skeletal horns gleam resolutely. after a few moments of deathly silence, you rephrase your dismissal: “i don’t need any help, barbatos. i appreciate you checking on me.”

the demon takes a step closer to the bed, his knees nearly knocking against the frame. “you do not seem to understand me,” barbatos muses, gloved hand delicately resting beneath his chin. if you were less disoriented, you would notice the hint of mirth in his tone. “lord diavolo ordered me to assist you, as he had to leave unexpectedly. i shall honor his wishes.”

the corners of the butler’s lips curl into a faint smirk, but no humor marks his visage. in fact, there seems to be a primal hunger lurking in the dark, verdant depths of barbatos’s irises. fear beams through your body. it starts in the pit of your stomach and spreads its icy tendrils out through your limbs, biting your fingertips. headache forgotten, you now feel faint; your heart skitters like scared prey. unconsciously, you pull the sheets around you tightly, temporarily shielding yourself from the humiliation that is sure to come.

“there is nothing to fear, little one,” barbatos soothes, smoothing a hand over your hair, matted with sweat and his master’s cum. the act is more patronizing than it is comforting.

the demon snaps his fingers and the sheets wrapped around you disappear. you scramble to cover yourself with your hands, but barbatos is infinitely stronger and faster than you are. his forked tail—cold and wet—coils around your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed. another snap of his fingers, and your body is bound with invisible restraints. your arms are stretched above your head, almost painfully so. your legs are spread wide and bent at the knee; no matter how hard you try, you can’t move. there’s even a gag in your mouth to muffle your cries and force you to suck oxygen through your nose.

crouching between your open legs, the butler tsks. “oh my, what a mess.” his tail slithers up your leg and settles atop your womb. the slightest pressure from the appendage causes a stream of diavolo’s cum to rush out of your bruised hole. the demon’s snakelike tongue darts out and tastes the semen that is now pooled beneath your ass.

bartabos’s eyes meet yours and he smiles something wicked. “let’s get you cleaned up—shall we?”

[egophiliac]

How do you draw your high contrast, shape-y pieces? I’ve tried something similar but it always end up off, any recommendations on brushes or exercises that could help with improvement?

(I wasn't sure what part was giving you trouble, so this is sorta an all-over smattering 😅 hopefully some of it helps!)

• the kind of brushes don't really matter, just what you're comfortable with using! more chisel-shaped or calligraphy-style brushes might be harder to control strokes with though. I do personally like using brushes that are like...Mostly Round But With a Little Grit to 'Em!

• work at a higher size and/or resolution than your final size (I usually work at ~3x final size). scaling down will smooth out little imperfections and some of the little aliasing weirdness that comes from raster transformations (scale/rotate/etc.)

• drawing with your arm, as in moving from your elbow while keeping your wrist pretty still, makes big smooth curves much easier (you can also go from the shoulder for BIG movements)

• most drawing programs will let you rotate the canvas -- drawing downward strokes tend to be easier to control (extra cheat: if a stroke is proving troublesome, I'll sometimes draw it as best I can on a new layer, move/rotate it into the exact position I want, and then merge it down again)

• instead of trying to draw a super precise shape and fill it in, I usually draw a bigger, shittier shape, and then use an eraser or layer mask to kinda chisel it into the shape I want:

• Always Check Your Values -- especially if you're finding your colors feel kinda muddy or not contrast-y enough, it's a good idea to make sure there's contrast in the light/dark as well as the hue/saturation! I usually have an adjustment layer set to 0 saturation that I keep on top of my document, and just periodically toggle on and off to check. (there's some debate about the most accurate way to check values, but this works well enough for high-contrast solid blocks of color.)

• on the same note, instead of using pure grayscale colors, particularly full black (#000000) and white (#FFFFFF), adding a little bit of color into them can give you a richer, more interesting and more cohesive result.

(and even when using pure grays, using slightly "off" from full black and white can be more interesting! and it's not to say DON'T use black and white and gray, more just...use them thoughtfully, instead of by default?)

• color thumbs/sketches/roughs, whatever you want to call them. people get SO weird at me about these for some reason, but they're literally just...a little sketch of figuring out colors before you start painting. they don't have to be final or detailed or any good or whatever, it's just to get a starting idea! working super fast and loose especially helps to get out of the mindset of Doing A Good Drawing and more into messing around with shapes and negative space and all that fun stuff. :> then later you can focus on the Doing A Good Drawing part, without having to also think too hard about the other stuff.

• Keep It Simple -- 100% the hardest part. I have absolutely not mastered this in any way. 💀 it's SO easy to overwork this style and end up too detailed/too unfocused/just too much going on -- half the time I spend on these things is just adding details -> squinting at it for a couple of minutes -> erasing all the details again. you gotta keep in mind that it's about getting an idea across more than anything else, and when it comes to that, less is almost always more!

(this is one of the reasons I sometimes make myself use SUPER restricted palettes; when you only have three colors, it forces you to really think about what's important to show and how to leave things implied. ✌️)

[arjudy224]

The Billionaire Boys Club

Batfamily x PhD student reader

(This takes place around 6 years after the Intern. )

The Intern Collection

Prequel: Death of a family

The Intern: Day one

The Intern: The Laughing Fish

The Intern Field Trip

The Intern: Busy Work

The Intern: Outreach Gala

The Intern: Teachers Pet

The Intern: Visiting an old friend

The Intern: Chemical Valley

The Intern: Billionaire Boys Club

After interning in her hometown, Y/N was recruited to do her master's degree fully funded by Lexcorp. She had developed an attraction over the 3 years working with Lex Luthor, yet his controlling behavior led to Superman warning Y/N about the CEO's affections. Her master's thesis was on the environmental impacts of Kryptonite use and storage.

Gotham City's explosive tonight. The annual environmental gala has somehow brought fresh life into the sallow streets.

The gala's decorator deserves a raise. Lush vines descend from the high ceiling wrapping around the pillars. I narrow my eyes. Are those real carrier pigeons? Every flower from any climate you could possibly imagine flood the walls in a sweet cascade of fragrance. The sweet aroma tethers me to the present. Dick and Tim give me sly smiles from across the ballroom. Stumbling past the walls of plants, Bruce gives me a thumbs up.

"You clean up nice."

I give him a small smile before glancing down at my Wayne sponsored garb. The long satin dress hugs my hips in an almost risque manner. A respectable slit begins at my mid thigh showing off my red and black pumps. I grimace at the unknown cost.

"You know you didn't have to go all Pretty Woman on me Mr. Wayne." I joke smoothing out my silk gloves, "I do have a paycheck."

Bruce smiles. It takes me off guard. A real smile with squinted eyes and smile lines. As goofy as the most attractive man in the room can be. Compared to his work persona, it's nice to see.

"Ms. L/N, I would never ask you to spend your money to play dress up for a gala I invited you to."

I nod not knowing what else to say. An entire styling team showed up at my door this morning with rack of dresses to choose from... and the shoes... well let's just say it would have made Cinderella run back home and demand to know why she couldn't have gotten Bruce Wayne as her Godmother.

His eyes gravitate to the pendant draped across my neck. A sting of pain registers on his face. I shift uncomfortably once he starts to stare. At my discomfort, Mr. Wayne apologizes.

"I'm sorry Ms. L/N. I haven't seen that necklace in a very long time."

I raise an eyebrow. Mr. Wayne never divulges this much personal information.

"Old flame?" I joke wiggling my eyebrows.

He shakes his head with a pained smile.

"That was my Mother's necklace."

My eyes widen. Martha Wayne's necklace. Instinctively, I reach to take it off. I already couldn't afford a ruby necklace, but a Wayne family heirloom? Hell no.

"I can take it off if you-" I start reaching for the clasp.

Mr. Wayne stops me in my tracks.

"Don't worry about it. That was a long time ago. "

I still hesitate. I glance awkwardly around the ballroom.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Mr. Wayne weighs carefully, "Besides, it might make for an interesting headline."

I scowl.

"I'm not going to like this am I?"

A devilish grin appears in response to my dismay.

"Welcome back to Gotham Ms. L/N."

Bruce's sons materialize a few seconds later. If I wasn't used to them suddenly appearing in my office, I would have shrieked.

"Tim. Dick." I greet with a nod, "Always a pleasure."

The younger boy looks at me like I am a puzzle piece he can't quite figure out where to put yet. Dick is as charming as ever.

"Y/N, I can't believe Bruce roped you into being his date. Have you ever considered unionizing?" He teases with a grin.

"At least, I'm getting paid to be here. What's your excuse?" I tease lightly hitting his shoulder. "Don't you have a hot date tonight Bludhaven?"

A painfully familiar shadow interrupts the conversation.

"Mr. Luthor."

Turning around, my legs begin to shake. What a wonderful... surprise. Lex nods to the three men before setting his sights on me.

"Mr. Luthor,"

Saying his formal title feels wrong, yet calling him Lex wouldn't be right either. Not after everything that has happened. Timothy's analytical gaze burns my peripheral.

"Ms. L/N, would you join me for a dance?"

I hesitate eyeing the audience that is forming. Extending his hand, Lex continues, "For old times sake?"

Three people stopped talking to gawk. I don't have much of a choice. With the amount of gossip mongrels here tonight, if I say no my face will be plastered on every gossip column in Gotham... If I say yes, well at least it will only be in Metropolis Gossip columns. I don't have much of a choice.

"Of course... Mr. Luthor." I agree through gritted teeth letting him drag me onto the dance floor.

If I thought agreeing to a waltz would quell speculation, I was poorly mistaken. Dozens of eyes follow our every movement including my boss's.

"You are only feeding into their curiosity." Lex whispers in my ear, "Those vultures know when you are weak."

"Is that what I am?" I question finally looking into his green eyes, "No need for flattery Alexander."

"There isn't any other way to explain your disappearance."

"-That's not fair."

The fire in his eyes leaves me speechless. This was not how I planned to spend my Saturday evening. For a moment, I fantasize on how this night could have gone. I could have had an early night enjoying take out... exchanged my favorite book with the cute guy next door. Slept in. Instead, I am bickering with a man who could be my Uncle over the fact I didn't take a job offer...and potentially start a relationship with him.

"Okay, so I cut you off." I start, "I'm sorry I hurt you, but things couldn't keep progressing like that. My project ended. It was time for me to go."

...and Superman told me that you started tracking my whereabouts... along with bugging my apartment... Go to therapy.

Lex shakes his head.

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

"You were offered a complete stipend. A guaranteed job offer. Why would you turn that down?"

My lips press together into a fine line.

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

The orchestra roars into a crescendo. The dance speeds up.

"You know why...." I hiss trying to keep up with his increasing tempo.

I've never been good at multitasking.

1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3-

"-Say it," Lex demands gripping my fingers tighter, "Tell me."

The ring on his left hand gets caught on my gloves tearing the beautiful silk right down the center. The radiant green draws my attention. Kryptonite. After all this time, he still wears it. Rage causes my face to go hot. I stop dancing to grab his ring.

"This is why Lex," I snarl, "Because I am sick of watching you destroy yourself. You've read my research."

A smart ass grin stretches across his face. The onlookers exchange curious glances at our lack of dancing.

"I paid for it." He replies smugly.

"Then you should know how ludicrous this behavior is. You are going to die before you win."

His eyes get sharp. I must have hit a nerve. A vein in his forehead grows prominent. Another couple dances past us. Lex tears me out of the way before I get bulldozed. A few beats later, we are back in the dance. His hands grow tight around mine like he's afraid I might disappear again. My knuckles turn white from the pressure, but I won't give him what he wants. Pain laces up my palms.

"So, you would rather waste your career working for a halfwit like Bruce Wayne?"

I freeze for a second. This is what this is really about. Lex is jealous that I chose to work for Bruce. If it was anybody else, he could convince himself that I was downgrading, but I went to his direct competition. Thinking of the conversation I had with Bruce earlier, when nobody else is around Bruce has a strange intelligence in his mannerisms. In public, he had initially joked about not reading my research, yet once we were alone the intensity of his questions made me nervous. Considering his extracurricular activities, it's unsurprising that he would want to keep his persona lowkey. How did my job search end with watching the boys club battle it out?

"I will only say this once: My life is mine. What I choose to do is my decision. Say what you want about Mr. Wayne, but at least he respects my privacy." I growl ripping my hands out of his grasp. "Have a nice day Mr. Luthor."

Storming past the "Garden of Eden" display, I slam open the double doors. God.... Everyone there probably thinks I slept with him.

Tag List: @jjsmeowthie

[torawro]

I’D DIE FOR YOU (AND I HAVE). ( s.a. )

sousuke aizen & black!fem!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, blank and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is portrayed as a black woman but you do not have to imagine her that way. using this map of the seireitei as a reference (i searched high and low for a consistent accurate one but it was hard). the first half is set pre-ryoka invasion / pre-soul society arc. the second half is aizen-centric (from his pov told from the 3rd person) and set post-tybw arc, years after he was sealed away in mugen, also including mention of events from vol. 1 of can't fear your own world (a light novel that's post-tybw & can be considered canonical); so all this being said: SPOILERS i guess???? of course you're welcome to read if you don't care about spoilers! somewhat based on 'die for you' by the weeknd & even more loosely based on 'dark red' by steve lacy. contains themes of heavy-ish angst, existential crises (?) & inner emotional turmoil within reader + aizen (separately). descriptions of character death, blood and violence. descriptions of manipulation/mind games. aizen is an unkind man. proofread (i did my best).

word count ━━ 11k

notes ━━ ! the way this fic was supposed to finished a month ago...but life once more gets in my way. and the way that it's this long....i anticipated the max being 10k but i greatly underestimated how long it would take to flesh out my idea. anywho i'm somewhat reentering my bleach era again. i’m not sure what it is but character analyses in the form of fanfiction is my jam rn like i really enjoyed writing this (i got tired of the length by like... 7k words lmao) but i like how this turned out. i've watched & read quite a bit of content that provide explanations as to why aizen is the way he is so i wanted to try my own portrayal of that in the context of canonical events. how i characterized him here is partially inspired by a fic i read about him last year so shout out to them for their support :D i hope i've depicted and humanized aizen well ♡. reblogs + commentary are heavily appreciated!!!!!

THE PAD OF YOUR THUMB SLOWLY glided against your bottom lip, the lingering aftertaste of jasmine tea still on its surface and on your breath. The absentminded motion of your thumb caressing your mouth, as if in deep contemplation, continued as you stared at the clock hanging on the wall above you.

It was past eleven, and the midnight hour only continued to draw near as time sustained its temporal march. And there you sat at your desk, floating in the limbo of your mind that was filled with hesitancy and admittedly, budding anticipation.

Your gaze lowered to the now empty porcelain cup, nothing remaining of its contents except the shriveled remnants of herbs and a few wayward drops of the brew.

Your senior comrade, captain Sōsuke Aizen, was correct in his prediction that you'd take a liking to its floral and delicate taste when he gifted you a jar full of the jasmine tea leaves as well as other ingredients.

The captain of Squad 5 seemed to be correct about a lot of things.

His intelligence and foresight, along with his kind and politely witty disposition, were qualities that you found somewhat charming, and gradually drew you closer to him.

Being the current third seat of the 9th company, your barracks and those of squad 5's were relatively close to each other's, so often you'd catch glimpses of and run into Captain Aizen on a pretty normal basis. Over the years, the conversations that bounced between the two of you expanded past the realm of formalities between a higher and lower ranking officer, and instead ranged in territories from literature, to art, to food & drink, and even to the politics of the government for which they were soldiers for.

Sometimes, you found it hard to believe that you managed to befriend a man like him. A man who seems to have mastered the balance between being a gentle soul, helpful to others, but also possessed enough refined power and skills to be named a captain within the Gotei 13.

Especially a man who wasn’t even of your own squad.

Despite the increasingly friendly relations and generally pleasant conversation, there were few moments where Aizen's words didn't feel quite. . . . real━ he didn't feel real. He spoke eloquently, often relying on figurative language to further illustrate his point and to breathe meaning into seemingly plain and meaningless words. But at times those words, his tone felt stained; stained with some substance or color you couldn't quite place. An enigmatic façade was painted over his speech, and it took too much mental capacity to try and find your own meaning in it.

So you'd often brush it off. Your over-reliance on your own reasoning that 'you weren’t able to come to a conclusion because there is no problem a conclusion could be generated from' successfully quieted your mind’s voice. You'd also frequently blame exhaustion, or your newfound hobby of watching human psychological crime shows during your off days for these subconscious ideas you had.

But you feared that the request Aizen made of you yesterday, the source of your current predicament, couldn't be blamed on any of those things. You looked at the clock again before returning to stare at your empty tea cup. For what reason could Sōsuke Aizen wish to meet you outside of the 1st division barracks? Specifically at this hour? You immediately thought of his question as uncharacteristic of him but prevented yourself from jumping to any further conclusions.

Aizen was a reasonable man, and you were sure there was a reasonable explanation.

With a final sigh of acquiescence, you stood up from your sitting position to retie your yukata before slipping a thicker, dark colored haori on top. You were unsure how cold it was this late at night or how long you'd be out, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

You paused for a moment, glancing longingly at your vanity mirror a few times, clearly torn between a decision, before giving in with a soft groan. Grabbing your favorite perfume, you quickly spritzed the spray onto both your inner wrists, either sides of your neck, and stray areas on your clothes. You’d proceed to make sure your hair was in order and your lips were as moisturized and glossy as a pair of tear-filled eyes before making your way to the door and slipping on your sandals.

Meeting with a captain— with Aizen of all people— in the dead of night resembled too closely to forbidden lovers rendezvousing under a fruit tree to fulfill their desires of embracing one another, with no one but the moon as their witness. The comparison alone caused the apples of your cheeks to burst aflame with embarrassment, and you lightly chastised yourself for even indulging in such an inappropriate train of thought. Such a scenario seemed far too deluded to even be considered ‘wishful thinking’.

But those delusions still seemed to make more sense than whatever other conclusion you have yet to reach.

Making your way out of your personal quarters, you activated your shunpo technique, stealthily hopping from one rooftop to the other in an effort to make it to Squad 1 barracks quicker.

After several minutes, your mind mostly engulfed with the 'what if's', the soles of your sandals finally touched ground, and you stood a few feet away from the massive walls and bridges that connected to and from the barracks. Even at night you were able to make out the bold-printed kanji for the number 1 that was painted on the building.

When you arrived, even from a nearby rooftop, you didn't see anyone around. Feelings of confusion and worry began to creep up and flicker to life in your mind.

But, as if your thoughts were as audible, you felt a light breeze of wind behind you, a familiar sound that indicated someone had made their presence known.

Startled, you reflexively reached for your zanpakuto, when you remembered that you hadn't even brought it with you. It still laid against the wall near your bed, just where you placed it earlier when you were relieved of your duties for the day.

You didn't think you needed it necessarily if you were just going to meet with Aizen, hence why taking it with you slipped your mind.

The flickers of concern were swiftly extinguished as your brain caught up with your body upon realizing who just appeared. A relieved sigh left your lips, a breath of air that seemed to release all the tension that had a grip on your heart and wound tight within your muscles. "Ah! Good evening Captain Aizen. You caught me off guard for a moment there."

"My apologies, that was not at all my intention." The Fifth Division Captain sported a dark colored scarf, his long captain's coat and the standard shihakushō all Gotei officers were supposed to wear. In the sash around his waist resided his own sheathed zanpakuto. His tawny hair maintained its usual part but looked slightly tousled, yet still remaining so in a meticulous fashion that made it look intentional.

The state of his hair alone, and his current facial expression made Aizen look more . . . approachable if that’s how you were to describe it. There was a glint in his eyes that you had seldom seen before.

"Thank you, for making your way down here to accommodate my rather. . . . atypical request. I again extend my apologies if I have inconvenienced you in any way."

You shook your head in reply, "It's alright, I wasn't doing anything too important anyway. Just having a cup of tea and delighting myself in a book before bed."

You glanced downwards at the foot or so of space that was wedged in between the two of you. You forced away the murmurs of your lingering thoughts that took note of how the moonlight and shadows danced across the surface of Aizen's face just right, and emphasized his decidedly handsome features.

"But having a complete and good night's rest is important to be fully functional in all areas of one's performance. Wouldn't you agree?"

You couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Yes, I do agree with that sentiment."

Aizen all but hummed in acknowledgement, letting a moment of silence fill the air before speaking again.

"Shall we be on our way?"

You nodded in agreement, following him as the both of you walked about the First Division grounds. From what you could tell based on your position, your aimless nightly stroll drew you closer to where Sokyoku Hill was located. The area became increasingly more grassy and contained less buildings.

Although Squad 1 grounds weren't terribly far from either of your barracks, you still weren't sure as to why Captain Aizen wished to meet out here. Initially you thought that perhaps he was just fond of this particular scenery, but really it could have been anything.

But still, you believed Aizen always had a purpose for everything he did.

After several moments, his warm voice replaced the evening silence, vocalizing your current thoughts. “I assume you are contemplating why it is I have asked you here, and I’m afraid the reason is quite benign. Truthfully, I just wished for your company. I often go on night walks to clear my head after a long day and thought I might invite you to join me this time, and have a conversation with each other."

Your brows shifted upwards, for that was not quite the answer you were expecting. It seemed too . . . simple. “Really? You just . . . wanted to talk with me? Plainly?”

The Squad 5 captain let out a short, soft laugh at the disbelief that was painted on your face. There was an expression of fondness present in his eyes and in the light smile he offered you. “Yes, exactly. I quite enjoy our discussions actually, they’re intellectually stimulating and relatively pleasant. You crossed my mind, and before yesterday, it has been quite some time since we’ve had the opportunity to unwind and talk.”

You hummed an mhmm in agreement, tearing your eyes away from Aizen’s side profile in favor of the hem of his captain’s haori, watching how it danced in the soft breeze. It seemed to be less distracting than the way Aizen peered down at you from time to time.

"I see. I am. . . . truly flattered by your words, Captain Aizen; you're too kind. Forgive me for asking but," you took longer strides so that you could fall into step next to him━ as if to speak to him more directly, "Why at this time? To talk with me, I mean. It couldn't wait until more . . . . . conventional hours?"

He chuckled again, and answered as smoothly as if he were awaiting you to ask him that. "Unfortunately, today's tasks ran a little long today, so I had to stay at my office later than usual." The spectacled man paused for a moment, before setting his soft gaze on you, "And besides, that completely defeats the purpose of inviting you on a night stroll, doesn't it?"

You ignored the heat flaring up in your cheeks again. Your mind refused to move past the fact that you had crossed Sōsuke Aizen's mind enough times━ or the times that he thought about you were significant enough━ and highly enough to invite you into his realm and indulge in these moments with him, when he very much could have done that alone.

A tender smile appeared on your lips, more towards yourself than the man next to you. "I. . . suppose it does."

The ashen-white moon only rose higher in the sky, providing an ambiance of tranquility as the both of you talked about whatever crossed the surface of your minds. Other times, the stillness of the night did the talking, and you'd listen to the leaves, and the wind, and the crickets sing together in harmony. Gradually as you walked and the beaten path grew more narrow, your figures drew closer together, until you could feel the long sleeves of his haori brush against your own.

You hadn't noticed that the two of you eventually stopped walking and paused under a tree until Aizen struck up conversation once more. When he called out your name in that gentle, velvety voice, you swore your heart was going to lurch out of your chest. The sound of your name rolled of his tongue so smoothly, the desire to hear it again grew within you.

"Uh━ yes, Captain Aizen?"

"Are you satisfied with way things are at the moment?"

You stood next to him, perplexed at his inquiry due to its vague nature. "Um, what. . . . things? I'm afraid I don't understand what you're asking."

The wind brushed Aizen's dark ochre tresses across his face as he took a step towards you, like the breeze itself was pushing him towards you. "Hm, perhaps I should be more clear then. Are you content with being a soul reaper? Are you satisfied with being a soldier for the Soul Society?"

With your brows slightly furrowed in thought, you remained silent for several seconds and overanalyzed his every word, trying to predict where he might be steering the conversation now. The longer you thought it over, the stronger that nagging feeling from within your soul became. The one that often told you what he was asking wasn't exactly . . . it didn't quite feel . . . . .

"This feels like a prelude to another insightful discussion on Shinigami━ and by extension━ Seiretei politics." Your words cut off your own thoughts, as if your mind was trying to sweep something under the proverbial rug.

Aizen huffed in amusement, before lightly shrugging, leaving your statement definitively unanswered.

You sighed as you seriously considered his question this time. "I mean sure, I guess. I'm somewhat satisfied with my job and all of . . . this," gesturing your hands in the air around you to emphasize your point. The 5th Division Captain made another humming noise, indicating that you still had his full attention. He inched a little closer into your personal space.

The mere action caused your next words to die in your throat and a quiet chuckle resounded from his, before your thoughts revived themselves again.

"Of course things could always be better but. . . . y'know. This is just how it is." You weren't quite sure if you should voice negative opinions about the Soul Society so plainly to a senior officer, even if he was the one who asked you in the first place, so you treaded lightly.

The same plainly relaxed smile from earlier remained painted across his lips, held in his chestnut irises was an emotion akin to affection. He seemed somewhat pleased that you were expressing your thoughts with him.

“And you? Are you satisfied, Captain Aizen?” You were unable to keep the teasing endearment out of your tone as you returned his gaze, casting aside the notions of Gotei officer seating and ranks for the moment. The air seemed like it shifted━ towards what, you weren't sure of━ but it kind of made you feel like you were adrift, floating in isolation from everything else around you.

It was still hard to process that you were alone with Captain Aizen right now. . . . at night.

A low hum reverberated within his chest, contemplative in nature as he replied, “Perhaps.”

The wind whistled lowly again, erecting goosebumps on whatever part of your skin happened to catch the midnight breeze. You fought the instinctual urge to twitch towards the nearest source of heat, which happened to be Aizen. Now that would be even more wholly inappropriate than the 'lovers meeting at midnight' scenario.

The silence between the both of you was brief, but comfortable nonetheless. Once more his mellifluous voice cut through the quiet, leveled and calm, like still ocean waters.

“Come. I want to show you something,” Aizen reached his arm out towards you, your spine as straight as if someone stuck a metal rod dipped in ice water down your robes.

The captain's movements seemed steady and slow━ it had felt like time itself had hesitated for several moments. You thought he was going to . . . . well you weren't sure what he was going to do, and that's what you made you nervous.

Was he going to touch you? Cradle your cheek? Remove a stray leaf that happened to land on your head? You were left somewhat dangling in anticipation, not daring to flinch backwards because you felt it would be disrespectful or offensive. You hadn't even blinked, subconsciously fearing that this was only a very vivid daydream.

But alas, when his arm drew near it extended past your head, slightly above you, and held a small branch in his palm it like a delicate flower. You released a breath you didn't know you were holding, but that breath drew short again when your gaze was eye level with his lower neck and chin.

He seemed . . . . closer.

“I think that regarding the condition of the Soul Society," Aizen began in a quiet voice, referencing his own reply to his earlier question, "and therefore my thoughts about it, is akin to this set of leaves on this branch."

Snapping out of whatever stupor you seemed to have slipped in, you exhaled softly before stepping back a bit to look at what he was talking about. In his palm he cradled a wayward branch that grew from one of the other sturdier branches of the tree. The green foliage of its arms had started to weaken and dull in color. The cold air due to the seasonal transition to autumn caused the leaves become brittle, nearing closer to the edge of death.

The sound of just how brittle they were resounded in the air when Aizen thumbed the leaves in between his fingertips, observing their texture with pity laced in his small movements.

"These leaves will fall off as it gets colder. And soon, the rest of this tree will be bare as well. When the time comes, when the right circumstances fall into place, the old die to make way and usher in the new; it's simply the way things are. I think of the Soul Society government is structured in a similar manner."

You hung onto his every word, like he were imparting crucial wisdom to you. Even though you were a bit confused on the last part, and on the connection between dying leaves and Soul Society, you still listened intently, waiting for him bridge the gap between the two.

"The Soul Society as it is now can be thought of as a season. And this particular season, this climate has remained so for several centuries. How can nature continue━ how can we continue to progress when the old have yet to be washed away by the currents of time? It defies that of nature, yes?" He directed this question at you specifically, in search of your agreement.

You nodded your head, tearing your gaze away from the branch and directed it at the grass beneath your feet. Your brows furrowed a little as you mused over Aizen's words. He gave a rather ambiguous answer before but now, his words sounded like vague displeasure and muted criticism. Everyone was entitled to their opinion, and on some fronts, you'd sometimes agreed with the 5th Division Captain. The Soul Society was far from perfect, too much emphasis on nobility and status, the government resembled too closely to an oligarchy . . . But you didn't━ wouldn't voice these thoughts, though.

Instead you hummed quietly under your breath. There was that tugging sensation again. This time it told you that there was something deeper to this conversation than meets the eye. But what could there be? Was there anything at all or were you just overthinking it?

The voice-like sensation in your soul was calling out to you, but you couldn't hear it that well or quite make out what it was saying. It's as if someone was calling out to you in a crowded room that had music playing on the speakers: you felt like if you listened hard enough you could make it out but ultimately, the result would fruitless.

"And when that happens," Aizen continued, "sometimes nature has to be gently nudged back on track to keep things moving smoothly. That may require . . . shaking the tree. Pulling a few harmful weeds from one's garden, so to speak."

"Weeds?" You echoed. You felt like you understood this analogy and therefore what he was trying to say, but at the same time you didn't. Or was it . . . . you didn't want to understand what he was implying?

Because if you were interpreting his words correctly, if he were inconspicuously comparing the higher-ups and the government itself to dying leaves and harmful plants that needed to be removed, then . . . .

"You, dear child, are a mere weed in this scenario."

Wait, what did he just━

Your thoughts were cut short when a gush of air that smelt strongly of Aizen━ warm oak, vanilla, and a kind of musk that you weren't sure how to describe but was still pleasant all the same━ brushed against your face and took you by surprise.

But there was another aroma that arose, steadily becoming more apparent alongside the increasingly painful throbbing feeling you felt in your abdomen.

It smelt metallic. And it was something that you've smelt all too many times before.

It was blood.

Your gaze that was initially narrowed in confusion lowered as it followed the source of this pain. Your eyes slowly widened in as you struggled to comprehend the blade that was currently ran through your torso.

Aizen's blade.

"Actually, instead of weeds, a more accurate and befitting analogy perhaps would be blades of grass. You unfortunately have to step on them in order to reach the weeds you want to remove."

You couldn't really focus on what the captain was saying, because your brain was still struggling to process what the hell just happened. Your hands slowly rose from their sides and shakily grazed the zanpakuto, wanting to believe that if you touched it, it would pass right through your fingers like mist. But no, the sensation of cold steel was as real as the robes you wore on your back. You only just now are processing the muffled squelching sound of his sword impaling your flesh.

You wanted to scream, to cry in pain, to vomit, to push him off━ something. But all you could do was stand there, stunned, words completely failing you. "Wh. . . . what? Why did . . . . you . . . . "

A cough replaced your attempt at a comprehensive sentence, and you tasted iron in your mouth.

Fuck....was this really happening?

"Please don't push yourself trying to talk," His voice was like an index finger to one's lips, similar to a parent's gentle caress to quiet and sooth their child, "You'll only hasten your death. And I'm sure you wish to know the reason for my killing you, yes? You'd have to be alive for that."

'Killing me?' 'My death?' The certainty that rang in his words chilled the blood in your veins, and they confirmed the one conclusion you hoped wouldn’t come true: that you were going to die.

The frigid embrace of fear and dread engulfed you from behind and you shivered, causing the blade snugly lodged in your organs to shift. The pain of that foreign object moving even a little bit shot through your entire body, causing a groan to emerge from your throat.

Desperate to conserve your energy and the oxygen that was becoming a little harder to take in, your breathing became uneven and a little wheezed. Even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet the gaze of Captain Aizen to confirm if this was really happening or just an extremely realistic and vivid nightmare. The sight you might be greeted with could be more frightening than the actual impaling of his sword.

As if his betrayal couldn’t actually or figuratively cut you any deeper, just then there was a noise that grew louder and louder within a matter of seconds until it was almost deafening. You’ve distinguished it to be the sound of glass crackling.

Your surroundings formed cracks everywhere on its surface, like it was just an oversized window. Even on the grass you stood on, or what you thought was grass, began to crumble away.

A dumbfounded but panicked look was plastered on your face when your world literally shattered around you, the only remnants of it being you and the Captain.

What was underneath the mirage━ or you should say, the fact that it was a mirage at all━ only disturbed you and increased your perplexity.

Slightly hunched over and breathing heavily, it took a minute to process where you were, but you noticed that now the two of you stood in a formal room that looked like it was used for important meetings. The lights in the room slowly started to brighten, most likely due to motion sensors. Even with Aizen's scent lingering in your nose, you could still pick out a rather stale aroma that hung in the air like dead fruit that hadn't fallen off the tree.

"Is . . . this Cen . . . tral━ "

"You are correct. Where we currently stand is the assembly hall for Central 46, the judicial power of the Soul Society. All judiciary as well as legislative trials and proceedings are held here."

All around the room were seats with partitions, the kanji for 1 through 46 printed on them. In the seat for the 19th member, your gaze caught onto something on the translucent barrier. It was a little farther up so you had to squint your already blurring vision to see it properly.

You saw, and your heart promptly sank as a result, eyes widening once more.

There were splatters of a dark colored substance on the partition━ undeniably blood. And the lithe, bony fingers of an older man laid lifeless, peeking out from the side of the screen like the appendages themselves were trying to escape from the body they were attached to.

That man . . . was dead. That stale aroma you smelt was the stench of death.

It was only after that unsettling epiphany did your eyes dart frantically around the room and realize that every member of Central 46 was dead.

The disturbed expression on your face only intensified as your stare was pulled back down to where Aizen's blade still resided in your body.

" Cap.....Aizen," you uttered, swift to correct yourself. All the moisture in your throat dried up like water underneath the unrelenting rays of the sun. You kept gulping your saliva in an attempt to assuage the sensation, but relief only last for a fleeting few seconds. "Did you ━ you killed them . . . didn't you?" Your question was laced with shaky hesitance and swelled with apprehension, fearing that you already knew his reply even before he answered.

There was a moment of silence and a hum before he replied. "Smart girl."

The muted mirthful tone in his voice sounded like sarcasm, and it was enough to finally draw your attention away from everything else and directly look at him. Almost instantly, you regretted it.

His umber tinted gaze was colder than you remembered. You couldn't find anything in his eyes that hinted that all of this was just a big misunderstanding, or a dream, or that Aizen had a secret sense dark and complex humor.

This was your first, and apparently your last time, that you have ever felt a fear such as this. Your mind was struggling to comprehend this was the same Aizen that spoke with you so gently, full of encouragement and wisdom. The same man that recommended you books to read and gifted you tea to drink and gazed upon you like . . .

Well, none of that mattered now. In this moment, Sōsuke Aizen wasn't the same man anymore. This Sōsuke Aizen was someone else, and it frightened you.

"When?" you croaked, your voice no longer sounding like your own. Nothing felt real anymore. "W-When did you . . . . . how? Why?"

Another noncommittal hum resounded from the spectacled man as he closed his eyes, feigning the action of thinking of an answer. When he reopened them, his narrow gaze returned to you.

"Everyone in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads was previously aware that the ability of my zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu, allowed me to confuse the enemy using bodies of water, mist and even moisture in the air in order to attack. However, that is not my zanpakuto's actual power; there is more to it than just simple confusion. Kyoka Suigetsu's true power is Complete Hypnosis. Essentially, when someone looks at my blade, I am then able to take control of that person’s five senses, causing them to believe that something is real ━ or that something isn't real. In a way, once glancing at my unsheathed zanpakuto, that person forfeits their sense of existence to me. Kyoka Suigetsu is quite flawless in its deceptive abilities."

A heavy silence, aside from your uneven breaths, endured in the space between both of you. You didn't need him to spell out what he was trying to say.

It was all . . . . an illusion. A convoluted, premeditated illusion. And you walked right into it without even knowing or considering, that it was all fake.

The Fifth Division Captain inwardly smiled at the despair clearly written on your face as he watched you mentally put the pieces together. He took your lack of reply as a sign to continue. "The members of Central 46 have unfortunately been dead for quite some time now. And as for your question of why......"

The taller man stepped towards you which inadvertently (or purposely, you began to fear), drove his sword deeper into your abdomen without warning and slight force. You bit down on your bottom lip hard to stifle your exclamation of pain. In an attempt to somehow resist him, with the little strength you had left, your hands automatically took purchase in his oversized sleeves, but it did nothing. You found it ironic that you could feel how warm Aizen was underneath his robes, but his soul was anything but.

" . . . . I believe I already mentioned it earlier, yes? All flowers die eventually and the weeds......must be removed."

At that moment you remembered that tugging sensation that told you something felt off in some instances whenever you talked with Aizen. This must have been what it was. Damn it all. You still didn't understand exactly what bad things Central 46 and the Soul Society have done to cause his actions, but based on what you've been told and your current position, it must have been heinous. Again, you actively swallowed the urge to vomit.

"You . . . you lied. I can't believe━ how could it have all b-been a lie?" Another nasty cough rattled your body, followed by a shiver and a groan.

The brown-haired man slightly tilted his head, like he was truly confused. "Lied? Hmm, well. I suppose you could put it that way based on your limited knowledge of the circumstances, but I wouldn't put it that way. Besides, this isn't really about truth or lies. It is, and always has been, only about the reality of what is. And what is, is that you were unable to anticipate my deception. No one could, because it was outside the domain of your thoughts. What is, is that the current way the Soul Society operates is tainted, and I shall be the one to remedy it."

You drew another shuddering breath and looked down at the ground with a grim expression as your blood continued to pool at your feet. Briefly, you even considered unsheathing yourself from his blade and take the chance to make a run for it, but the chances of you making it to the outside world, let alone coming across someone before you bled out and died were slim. Besides, it was clear that you couldn't even trust your own senses anymore after Aizen demonstrated that he had complete control of your reality.

Which reminded you of something else.

" . . . when?" you asked the same question again, but much quieter than before, despair palpable in your voice. 'When and how did you subject me to your zanpakuto's Complete Hypnosis?', is what you were really asking. And being as intelligent as he was, the spectacled man understood.

Abruptly, with a large palm on the small of your back, Aizen used his gentle hold grip to pull you towards him in order to close the remaining distance, causing him to drive the remaining length of his zanpakuto all the way through until the tsuba of his blade rested against your stomach. You looked like a skewered piece of meat.

You didn't have the willpower to hold back the piercing shriek of agony and physical anguish as tears sprung forth from your eyes. You could no longer tell if your blurry vision was due to your tears obstructing your sight or if it was from being a step away from death's door.

"Do you remember . . . the first time we met?"

The hand that rested on your lower back slowly glided upwards until his fingers found your jaw. With a tenderness that reminded you of a time before his betrayal, he lifted your chin and guided your gaze to look at him directly. His thumb moved to graze your bottom lip just as you've done mere hours ago━ as if he knew that, as if he watched you do it. His thumb was dangerously close to slipping inside your mouth and that both excited and scared you. Your breasts against his, your breaths synchronized with his, your body and his were fully pressed against each other and it made focusing on his question more difficult.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The first time . . . we met? Sure, with a little bit of effort you could easily recall the first time you formally met Aizen. It was sometime in the spring, and you remembered him running through combat formations with his lieutenant and the rest of his squad. But why d━

A silent gasp left you. Another epiphany, another figurative blade piercing your heart.

Battle formations, and he . . . offered you to join them . . . his zanpakuto . . . . .

Confusion crumbled away, and was replaced with vacant horror and sadness. It seems you've already been defeated, for many, many years now.

Aizen seemed to murmur something under his breath, a pleased sound you couldn't quite decipher. His mouth brushed over yours, rendering you literally speechless, before he closed the distance and brought your lips together. You could barely process what was happening.

It was ironically tragic how soft and skillfully gentle his lips were against yours. The kiss felt longing, like a departure between two sweethearts and their last meeting together. It also felt heavy and final, making you want to cry.

And you did. Silent tears streamed from your eyes and rolled onto the fingers that still held your face so affectionately. The captain reacted by guiding your chin up a little further, dipping his head a little lower, so he could deepen the kiss. You weakly scorned yourself for thinking about how the two of you must really look like lovers now, sans the sword sticking out from your back.

Oh, how cruel this was; how cruel he was. It was cruel for him to kiss you like this, hand still splayed on your back like he needed to touch you stay sane. And how cruel it was that still managed to enjoy it, even as you stood there dying. Your lips moved together in tandem, slow and almost passionate, all while tears stained the apples of your cheeks, drying up the plush youth that once resided in them.

Aizen's tongue had slithered its way into your mouth, and you suddenly felt like crying harder. There was a tart, sweet flavor lingering on his tastebuds, and you absently wondered what is was. Perhaps hibiscus from tea, you surmised. And he too tasted the sweet jasmine and citrus that clung your tongue and lips. At this, he chuckled quietly into your mouth, humming before retracting from you by a few inches so he could speak.

"I knew you would like the tea. It's sweet and flavorful, isn't it?" You hated how low his voice was, how its timbre pleasurably vibrated and rumbled against your lips, and you hated that lidded stare he gave you. You again thought it unfair that you couldn't even revel in the rare sight of Aizen's lips slightly wet because your lips were intertwined with his.

"I have to thank you for humoring me and my recommendations. I really appreciated it. And I also," you winced loudly and cried out in affliction as Aizen finally began to withdraw the sword from your body, "must to bid you farewell now. It seems you don't have any more time left, and this has dragged on for longer than it needed. I'm not surprised you've held out for this long, as I already knew you possessed commendable strength. But alas it wasn't enough. I am sorry that you have to die; it's rather regrettable that you happened to be that blade of grass that ended up underneath my foot."

Another wail was yanked from your chest as he steadily removed his sword from your abdomen. The pain was becoming excruciating, you would have collapsed by now if the taller man weren't holding you.

You saw two things before the light in your eyes had all but faded away. The first were the colors of faux pity and apathy that swirled in Sōsuke Aizen's irises, spiraling like a storm that was certain to wreak havoc in its wake. His gaze was devoid of any regret or remorse; the final metaphorical nail on the coffin. The second was a small smile.

But this wasn't one of his smiles you were familiar with. No wait . . . . the one you knew was simply a veneer of what is.

This smile was slanted, the corners of his lips tilted upwards and was sharp. Sharp enough to cut open your already gaping wound further and completely tear you apart, spelling out your demise. It looked insidious as if it were hiding razor-edged fangs. This was what is; Aizen's real smile.

"I. . . I see. Aize. . . ." were the last words you were able to manage. You didn't have the strength to be upset or hurt any longer, so you gave in to the exhaustion.

Your body permanently relaxed, long lashes veiling your now empty eyes as your arms lifelessly dropped to your sides. The captain found a disturbing amount of pleasure in his name being the final word you attempted to speak before succumbing to the sleep of death.

And even after the fact, the facade of doomed, star-crossed lovers persisted as your body slumped backwards. Aizen's strong forearm wrapped tightly around your waist being the only reason you didn't fall to the ground in a puddle of your own blood.

That day was the last anyone saw of you, your zanpakuto still laid idly in your room, its spirit destined to forever wander in the afterlife between worlds alone, eventually fading from existence without ever feeling the presence of its master again.

They had declared you missing by the end of the next day. Lieutenant Hisagi was probably the most perturbed about your sudden disappearance. Days, weeks passed, and they never located you. The Gotei 13 was left unsettled by the lack of progress, but ultimately had to rule your case inconclusive. Some believed that you were simply killed by a stray hollow, or even ran away from your duties because of the stress.

The news of what happened spread like wildfire across all the squads, that a high-ranked officer just up and vanished without a trace. The spirits and morale of the thirteen companies dampened, sorrow and worry swelling like a festering boil.

And that boil burst when Ryoka infiltrated the Soul Society, and when it was revealed that all of it was carefully orchestrated by Sōsuke Aizen.

Like a blade of grass that somehow snuck into one's sandals or in between their toes, during his time in Hueco Mundo, images of you flashed in his head at unexpected times when his mind was quiet. He'd remove the grass, tossed you aside, and moved on with his day. There was no room for you in the grand scheme of things. Such reminisces were beneath someone like him.

And yet.

He'd always find another piece of grass from the greenery he stepped on whenever he advanced a step in his plans. There you were again.

It was common knowledge that if you kept repeating the same action over and over, it will eventually wear you down.

━━━━━━ 鏡  ━━━━━━━

It was dark, and there was nothing.

There had been nothing for quite a long time now. Utter darkness and the abyssal shade of black engulfed every inch of Aizen's body and surroundings.

He saw nothing, the seals over his eyes too opaque to let anything through. And even if they weren't obscuring his vision, he would barely be able to see three feet in front of him; there was seldom a few lanterns in his cell to begin with. He felt nothing but the bindings that kept him imprisoned in one of the deepest pits of the Seireitei. At times it felt like even his internal organs had stilled in their functions. He heard nothing but the unrelenting quiet of his cell within Mugen's maw. The only thing that served as proof that he hasn't spontaneously grown deaf yet was the occasional muffled noise that originated from outside of the entrance. And even then, he could hardly hear much of anything.

Such is an ironic fate for someone who, with a stray thought and a glint of his blade, could control someone's senses and take away their free will to experience those senses in their reality. And now, he was stripped away of all of his in nearly every capacity.

Sōsuke Aizen was rendered stationary and stagnant, qualities he detested and were the antithesis of his ambitions and plans, perhaps even his existence.

Aizen had always believed in being in control of your own destiny and making your own choices; if you had the opportunity and the power to change something━ especially if it was something that was wrong, unfair or immoral━ then one should be able to move towards that goal by making change, even if by force. The former captain had always been intentional about his actions and his desires right from the start.

And yet, here he ended up.

Spending years strapped to a chair in this dark, cloistered hole, Aizen had nothing but time to reflect the reason for his arrest: that orange haired Ryoka boy, Ichigo Kurosaki. He had nothing but time to admit to himself and settle on the conclusion that his last battle with the substitute Shinigami . . . did something to him.

Fighting the Ryoka boy ignited something inside him that he previously believed would forever lay dormant.

The thrill of a challenge.

Adrenaline was injected into his veins with each clash of their swords, spreading far and wide across every inch of his body. It no longer reacted in the measured, calculative manner he had programmed it to, but with unadulterated, pure instinct and raw power━ all in an effort to not only withstand such potent spirit energy from his opponent, but to come out on top and win.

It made him feel alive.

Aizen's desire to be the victor in battle and in his philosophy━ to prove himself right━ both fueled him and consumed him so thoroughly it led to his own downfall. That was a rather difficult fact to acknowledge; so much so his head started to pulsate intensely whenever it crossed his mind one time too often.

All of it unfolded right in front of his eyes and yet . . . he didn't really see it happen.

As time passed during his perpetual incarceration, with hooded eyes, the former captain spent an unfathomable amount of time tossing and turning every single event that led him to this underground prison, even pondering his temporary release by the Head Captain Kyōraku to fight in the war. Scenarios both minor and significant displayed itself in front of his mind's eye as if he were watching a film.

Every so often, a blurred visage of your image would make a brief appearance, like the flickering sparks of a match before they were able to come to light, fading away into the void and were overshadowed by his other thoughts. It was as if his own consciousness and intentionally muted any manifestations of your existence in his memories. As if he wasn't able to or allowed to see them━ to remember you for too long.

Mentally reliving moments from the last several months, years, decades, centuries━ trying to analyze each moment and decipher where it could have went wrong━ turned out to be quite an exhausting task. His mind and body would grow heavier with inertia, and eventually he would succumb to the alluring pull of slumber. After some time he would rouse from his sleep, and continued from where he left off.

These were his daily activities day in and day out (even though he had trouble distinguishing day and night in his chambers) for years. He saw a positive side to it though. He'd instead think of it has him getting stronger because he had spent so long . . . thinking. Ruminating. Contemplating every possibility in the past, present, and future. His mind would become as sharp as his zanpakuto.

Aizen had always been intentional about what he did, what he said, and how he conducted himself. He was sure in his abilities to orchestrate an image━ a belief for others to have faith in, and act on it in order to further his goals. He was always sure in that image, knowing who he was and what he stood for.

Or at least, that's what he thought.

Aizen wasn't consciously aware that his certainty in this crafted image had already begun to waver. He could not and was unable to anticipate how severe these small fractures had become until after a certain lieutenant paid him a visit outside his cell of confinement, right before he was scheduled to be thrown back into that dark hole of the Mugen.

Lieutenant Shuhei Hisagi was quite emotive when he burst through the doors. His expressions were contorted in volatile mixture of frustration, anger and sadness. His emotions were every which way, directed at everything that has happened so far, including himself. He was especially emotive at Aizen specifically for what he did to former captain Kaname Tosen and 'corrupting him with his twisted ideals.'

Aizen found amusement in that.

Before he was rolled away by the punishment force and therefore out of earshot, a particular set of Hisagi's words caused the small, content smile on his lips to uncurl ever so slightly. "Everything . . . and everyone that has ever gotten themselves involved with you has been trampled on by you and your ideals one way or another, and they all end up dead. If you think what you did to Captain Tosen was justified━ to call it mercy . . . . . then there is truly no justice in this world. You will . . . forever be the enemy in my eyes."

There was a trembling anger in his voice. Pain that wanted to cry out and be set free but, the thin lid of reason prevented it from doing so. And after a moment of silence, the corners of Aizen's lips curved upwards once more. A little bemused, a little more wolfish this time. He maliciously imagined Hisagi's reaction if he ever discovered the true reason for your disappearance.

But instead, all he said was. "What an interesting thing to say, Shuhei Hisagi. Your conviction is admirable." Any evidence of emotion that might have been reflected in his sepia irises was swallowed up and obscured by the darkness of the Mugen's jaw.

The cracks in Aizen's sense of self, in his beliefs, in the image he invented started to cave under the weight of Hisagi's words before he himself realized it was happening. They were like stains in the fabric of his mind that refused to come out.

What puzzled him more, was that with each attempt to figure out just why Hisagi's words echoed in his mind, they all lead back to you, the third seat of the 9th squad. Annoyingly so.

The tattooed lieutenant hadn’t said anything particularly profound ━ at least, Aizen didn't think so. Your name didn’t even fall from his lips. So why were memories of you and your likeness the only clear thoughts he could make of Hisagi's speech? Was it because he was aware of how close the two of you were? He doubted the reason were that trivial and insignificant.

His thoughts grew more discordant by the day, his soul a little more weighted than usual. Perhaps these new seals that Urahara had fashioned actually had an effect on him, Aizen thought. It made sense. His intellect, other than his own, were the only ones capable of creating such effective restraints.

After a while, he had a revelation. This was a different kind of weight.

This heaviness, the closest word he knew to describe it as . . . . was loneliness.

Time taunted him as it seemed to drag on━ Aizen grew even less sure of how much━ when he came to this realization. Hisagi's words were a clear mirror to the loneliness that echoed within him after what happened to you and to Tosen. It was so . . . potent, that it seemed to strike some chord in Aizen he had never heard before.

Such a chord, this sound of loneliness, it was strange and uncomfortable; he wasn't very fond of this sensation. He'd try to scrub it away, but it was all for naught.

His eyes had slid shut at some point, his ruminations leading to dead ends and wearing him down. And, almost as expected, there you were again, in all your translucent glory. The hem, the sleeves, and even the smell of your yukata slowly dragged across his dreams, haunting his thoughts like a lonely wraith.

And Aizen hardly dreamt of anything.

When he regained consciousness he was plagued with yet another epiphany. An additional reason behind this newfound depth.

Aizen's own loneliness. Guilt. Much to his own quiet horror.

How foreign and unusual a thing like guilt is. It was like looking into a mirror and not recognizing something you had never noticed before, but wondered if it had always been there.

But the thing Aizen did recognize, how lonely he actually felt, was something he had hoped would never resurface again. It was a notion he hadn't had the time or regard to consider━ 'loneliness'. Its only purpose, if any, was solely to serve as a motivator. At times though, it was more like a hindrance.

Something akin to nausea slowly started to bubble up in the pit of his stomach, but he suppressed the sensation before it became any more intense.

What of his previous actions did he need to feel guilty for? He hadn't felt it then, so why would he feel it now? Again he ruminated such a question endlessly into oblivion.

The former captain had no doubts that his plan to remove the Soul King, and therefore the Soul Society's sins, were necessary.

Nor did any hesitancy about removing the opposition or dead weight━ whether shinigami or arrancar━ existed.

He certainly had no reservations against killing Kaname Tosen, for he knew the man well enough to know that Tosen would have been so thoroughly appalled with what he had become, it would have drove him mad.

So what was it, then? Why were such useless emotions as guilt and loneliness being amplified n━

"Y....know, S....."

Even covered by the seals, Aizen's eyes widened and his brows were slightly furrowed in distress. Had his mind finally tipped the scales of sanity and madness, to the point where he was hearing things?

It was quiet for several moments longer, before his senses caught onto the sound of water dripping onto a hard surface.

One drop at a time.

Its cadence a little too rhythmic to be natural. And for a second time, he heard that soft, ominous sounding whisper. Its voice a little clearer this time.

"You...know.....Sōsuke."

In the second it took for his eyes to flutter shut behind its seals to blink, when he reopened them, he was no longer sealed to the walls and floors of the Mugen, nor was he surrounded by every shade of darkness imaginable. His limbs and senses were finally freed to breathe for the first time in what felt like ages.

That relief was short-lived when his senses absorbed the unending landscape of water underneath his feet, water lilies lifelessly floating on its surface, and the dim sky illuminated by a full pale moon.

Aizen was in his inner world, and now he was aware of how he got here, or rather who brought him here.

"You . . . already know the answer to that question, Sōsuke." The voice was even more clear, its sentences more comprehensible. And it sounded it eerily like you.

Why the voice was impersonating your likeness had caught him off guard for half a second, but he realized it was only the work of his zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu.

An illusion it may be, there was an untouchable quality about your voice and how you spoke that even Kyoka Suigetsu couldn't replicate.

A few feet away from him, the water was disturbed by a being emerging from the depths. Ripples formed around a manifested version of his zanpakuto, who took the form of you, smiling ever so gently. The smile felt airy, and it didn't seem like the same one that haunted his dreams and every waking thought as of late. It felt....knowing.

Still, the former captain couldn't be bothered to maintain eye contact with his sword spirit, so he turned around and opted to keep his unreadable stare trained on the vast expanse of water and white lilies.

"It's been quite a while since I have stepped foot into this realm. There must be something you want . . . Kyoka."

The zanpakuto chuckled, it sounded like the way you would softly laugh at one of his clever quips. But this wasn't you.

He didn’t want to admit that something about that fact didn’t sit right with him.

"Judging from your tone, would I be correct in assuming you don't want to be here?"

Silence rang out within the soul scape, before Aizen interrupted it, his gentle voice colored a shade darker, and a little rigid. "And I fail to see the reason why you must take that form when you revealed yourself to me. Is your aim to get a reaction out of me? Or something along those lines?"

Your eyes━ the eyes of Kyoka Suigetsu━ narrowed at its master's back, as if they were trying to create concavities in his skull. But the expression was washed away the moment it appeared, the serene smile from before was back in place.

"You know . . . it's considered quite rude to not look at someone when you're addressing them. That, and when you deliberately ignore things they say. Your manners have been deteriorating, Sōsuke. Tsk, tsk."

Kyoka-dressed-as-you suddenly appeared before him, as if they had teleported. Even when they were in his peripheral vision, Aizen still maintained his stare off into the distant nothingness.

"Unless, you can't find it in yourself to look at me. . . that's correct, isn't it? It's because I look exactly like her, right?" The zanpakuto continued to provoke him, taking a step closer into his personal space.

With an exasperated sigh, his eyelids fell shut for a second, using that time to gather the strength he didn't know he needed, and directed his gaze to meet his spirit's. Aizen's face gave nothing away, but his heart lurched about his chest when his bronze eyes met with yours, or what was made to look like yours. The undesired affect it had on him was all the same.

"If you wish to chastise me about manners, I suggest you take your own advice. You didn't answer my first question, either: what is it you want? Why am I here?" Again the former captain chose to not address the other parts of Kyoka's statement. For the sake of his sanity and his thinning patience━ or was it to preserve his resolve?

Its smile widened a bit, moving another step closer to their master. God, Kyoka even smelled like you, mimicking your signature honeyed scent that Aizen didn't realize he found so intoxicating until this very moment.

"I called you here to save you from yourself."

Aizen remained silent, only narrowing his eyes in speculation. "Meaning?"

"Didn't I already say it earlier? I think you already know what I'm talking about, Sōsuke. You've always known."

Fate's pairing of Kyoka Suigetsu with Aizen was a match crafted from the spindles of heaven, but also a maddening curse pulled from the depths of hell, for they complimented each other a little too well. The zanpakuto was too perfect a reflection of Aizen and his soul, looking at it started to hurt his eyes.

His sword spirit insisted that he already knew the reason for his coming here, and perhaps he did have an inkling the moment the light of epiphany was shone on his profound loneliness and guilt. But that couldn't have been what it was referring to . . . . could it?

"You cannot feign ignorance here, my dear Sōsuke, however I do find it rather humorous you bother trying. If you'd like, I don't mind humoring you by spelling it out for you. I'd be glad to unearth the truth that you have buried in the most neglected corner of your heart."

"When you were . . . . subjecting yourself to such mental torment, it had an affect on this world as well. The ripples, the waves in this scape become quite . . . tumultuous." The nuances in your voice were perfected by his zanpakuto, but the way it talked sounded like a fog that was gradually closing in from over the horizon. The uneasy feeling that resided in his chest traveled down to his stomach, but Aizen's face remained steely, even when Kyoka Suigetsu took that final step to close the gap in between them. "And the reason for that, the reason why Hisagi's words rattled you so is because you regret killing that woman."

The creased line in Aizen's brow grew more prominent as he stared down his sentient sword spirit. With its breast pressed against his, they placed a hand on his clothed chest in a tantalizing manner, but he felt nothing. There was no warmth from its palm, much unlike when your hand touched him. There wasn't even a cool sensation either. Even minutes before your death, your touch brought a soothing heat that permeated through his shihakusho and penetrated his skin.

Kyoka's face grew nearer, their smile━ although still tender looking━ grew cold at its edges, nearly resembling that of a predator eager to see despair reflected in the eyes of its prey. It didn't fit the graceful allure of your face at all, and seeing this expression deeply unsettled the former captain more than he would like to admit.

"You regret . . . killing me."

A chill tore through Aizen's body, the weight of Kyoka's words adding onto the heaviness that still hasn't been alleviated from his heart; he was hardly able to suppress the involuntary shiver.

Without warning, Kyoka's mouth suddenly became dangerously close to their master's, its lips brushing against his in a provocative manner. Aizen's expression darkened when he realized that it was reenacting his last encounter with you when you were alive. His mouth started to grow uncomfortably dry, despite his soul scape being full of moisture, and there was a taste on the back of his tongue that's been lingering there since he arrived.

The lilt in Kyoka's tone continued to taunt him. "That is the reason for your guilt: regret. You have been in denial. And in the spirit of unearthing truths, I suppose I can admit that perhaps . . . . I've been . . . . encouraging said delusions, adding drops of fuel into the flames of your emotions and ambitions. But after all that's happened, when it comes down to it there's no point in continuing this hallucination any longer. I've grown tired of this game, so it's time to for you wake up now, Sōsuke. I've brought you here to release you from your own illusion, to completely shatter it."

Aizen's back was as stiff as a board, not moving a millimeter when Kyoka's lips grazed his again. They were breathing softly onto his mouth, but he hardly felt any puffs of air.

The former captain was having a rather difficult time processing the fact that his zanpakuto had its own agenda and had been manipulating his emotions without him noticing. Specifically the emotions he felt towards you.

He never truly believed that such a thing was possible, one's own blade having such a deep-rooted influence━ no, control over their master. Or would it be more accurate to say that he never expected himself to be controlled to such a degree? He that prided himself on being freed from the marionette strings of fate that were tied to his limbs and mind, he that relished being able to do what he wanted, think what he wanted, feel what he wanted━ or what he didn't want━ it was hard to believe that none of that mattered in the end.

Kyoka Suigetsu's deceptive abilities were indeed undeniably perfect. No one, not even Aizen himself could have anticipated that Kyoka's most absolute and complete hypnosis would be enacted on himself.

"Do you know now, Sōsuke? Do you understand?" Kyoka's voice was as soft as a whisper, but it couldn't hide the edges of its tone that were still sharpened from finding amusement of seeing the truth flash across its master's face. "You had destroyed the solution to your existential question of loneliness, before you could fully understand the question itself."

Yes . . . . . Aizen understood now.

He didn't bother acknowledging what Kyoka had said. His grim facial expression━ still, tinged with dolor, and paired with an indescribable, distant look his eyes━ said all that it needed to. His silence was as much as an admission as any.

Kyoka-dressed-as-you leaned forward again to fully close the gap between their lips and Aizen's. Tenderly, like the intentions of a lover, it spoke against his nearly closed mouth. "Have you figured it out yet?"

Nothing but quiet could be heard between them, as Kyoka's mouth moved about their master's face and placed something like kisses upon its surface, but not quite.

Aizen's cocoa-shaded eyes slide down to stare at his sword spirit pressed up against him. His gaze was hard, and yet something swam underneath its surface that his zanpakuto had never seen before. Melancholy, it guessed? They weren't quite sure.

Kyoka pressed on when Aizen remained quiet. "The taste in the back of your mouth. Have you figured out what it was? You know it quite well....."

Aizen's tongue grazed the roof of his mouth, sensing the rather unpleasant taste that has coated the inside of it. And within a moment, because he was faced with the current circumstances, Aizen had finally placed a name associated this particular taste. How unfortunate this was.

Upon his realization, Aizen's head lowered, and his brown tresses hung freely over his lashes. Perhaps it was so Kyoka couldn't properly see whatever remorseful expression painted their master's face, but it mattered not. Even from here, the sword spirit could already sense exactly what it was he was feeling.

And they loved it.

"It's a sweet and flavorful taste, isn't it? Quite lovely." Kyoka Suigetsu mimicked the exact words he uttered against your lips all those years ago when he tasted jasmine tea on your tongue, and sealed your death with a kiss. "It's too bad you don't seem to enjoy it anymore."

Aizen's chest continued to rise and fall calmly, and the hands of his sword spirit that rested there glided upwards to cup his strong jaw, caressing his skin with its thumb. Its phantasmic touch did nothing to stir their master.

"Sōsuke, do you know what the jasmine flower from that tea symbolizes?"

Aizen's lips were slightly parted, but again he didn't say anything. Instead, its corners twitched and lifted upwards by an inch, and he huffed softly.

Kyoka Suigetsu grinned in reply. "Good."

The next time Aizen blinked, he was plunged in darkness yet again. The restrictive feeling that swallowed his being whole had returned, and was an indicator that his zanpakuto had released him from his inner world. He was consciously back in the Mugen, back in this abyss they called a prison cell.

Kyoka was indeed as much as a formidable force in its own right, as much as, if not greater than Aizen himself.

The conversation he had with his sword spirit would be cemented in his head for all eternity. When he grew senile and began to physically wither away, the one thing that would remain vital like a young heart, was this epiphany that he had. This realization that he actually . . . .

As the chains of despair bound him tighter to the bottom of the metaphorical pit, regret and his loneliness corroding his flesh and spirit like metal exposed to moisture, a stray memory of his time in Hueco Mundo flashed in his mind. He recalled having tea prepared for meetings with his Espadas and he could not pinpoint when, but at some point, Aizen developed an aversion for jasmine flavored tea. For one reason or another, he no longer found its taste appealing; whenever he drank it, it always tasted bitter.

Now that reason had become painstakingly clear.

The binding on his mouth muffled a rueful chuckle at the though, and it trapped the flavor of jasmine on his lips.

(#) @soaringmirror @stygianoir @ryukenzz @blkjupiters @chrissie2003 @nymphoheretic @dejwrld @triangularz @souyaszn @kuujo @honeybleed @valentineluvu . let me know if you’d like to be apart of my tag list ♡♡.

[barefoot-joker]

Snake in the Garden Pt 2~Yandere!Lucifer X Reader

Hello, everybody! And welcome to part 2 of Snake in the Garden! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I can't wait to see what you guys think. There will be a couple more parts after this one, so be on the lookout! At the end I will have a taglist of people. If you would like to be added, don't hesitate to comment. Again, I'm sorry if Lucifer is OOC. I tried my best. As always, I hope you enjoy and have a great day/night!

Words: 2877

Warnings: Swearing, Mental Breakdown, Forced Companionship, Possessive Tendencies, Ignoring One's Wishes

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

I sighed as I shifted in the large King sized bed. It was quite comfortable with red silk sheets, fuzzy blankets and so many pillows one could almost make an igloo. While the mattress was quite huge, I wasn’t given much room to move. Currently His Majesty had his inky black arms wrapped around my waist and his legs tangled with mine. The heat of his breath and body felt hotter than the fires of Hell. I tried to shift again but he just cuddled closer. “Just five more minutes, darling.”

“Please, Lucifer-”

“I love it when you say my name,” he purred.

“I really need to go to the bathroom. I promise I’ll come right back.”

He hummed and I shuddered as his claws lightly tapped at my hip. “I suppose I can allow it. But do be quick, I’ll miss you.”

His grip loosened and I was quick to sit up. Fast walking to the bathroom, I shut and locked the door behind me. While there was no doubt in my mind he could use some magic to open the door if he wanted to, the lock soothed some sense of protection in me. A sigh of relief escaped me as I sat on the toilet and let my hands run down my face. I didn’t really need to use the bathroom, it was just a lame excuse to get away for a few minutes. After all, it had only been a few hours since I found out my little Red was actually the Devil himself and I was being ushered into the role of Queen of Hell. I shook my head as I tried to get rid of the look of adoration he held in his eyes throughout the night. It was frightening. Silently, I played with the hem of my favorite color nightgown as I tried to think of a way out of this. 

It’s not like I could kill him. He seemed pretty agile on his feet and with magic on his side he’d be able to stop a fatal blow.

Leaving wasn’t an option either. There was palace staff everywhere, little demons with suits waiting for their master’s beck and call. The property was guarded by David and Goliath as well. Besides, I didn’t really know the layout of the castle and would just be going in blind, despite the elaborate tour I had gotten.

The final thought was to play into his game, make him believe I was in love with him. I mentally gagged. Not only did I think I wouldn’t be able to handle pretending to be a fan of his courtship, I feel he would be able to sniff out my intentions right away. He was an ancient being of many eons after all and he had a previous wife.

I looked up from my thoughts and gazed at the Victorian stained glass window in front of me. The window was able to be pulled apart in the middle as there was a latch on either side. Hold on a minute.

I got up and stalked over, undoing the golden latch quietly. Looking down, I gulped at how high up we were. The dead grass seemed miles away. Perhaps if I got a rope of some sort I’d be able to climb out? 

“Darling, are you almost done in there? It’s getting quite lonely out here.”

“C-coming!”

I quickly closed the window, flushed the toilet, and turned on the sink. Can’t have him believing I was a liar already. A few seconds later I shut off the sink and unlocked the door. Opening it, I could see Lucifer’s gaze shift towards me and a smile peeled at his lips. He patted the empty side of the bed so I slowly walked over. I peeled back the thin black curtain that surrounded the four poster bed and sat. His claws slid across the blankets and planted themselves on my thigh, his thumb rubbing the flesh tenderly. “I’ve canceled all my meetings for the day to help try and get you more situated, dear. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”

“I suppose.”

I turned my head to glance at the blankets, my fingers drawing patterns being more entertaining. Suddenly a knock at the door had us both looking towards it. “Sire, breakfast is ready.”

“Thank you. We’ll be down in a few.”

“Of course, Sire.”

I heard little footsteps scurry away. “I guess that’s our cue to get up.”

He pulled back the blankets and I blushed upon seeing him shirtless and with boxers that had apples all over. I had forgotten that’s how he went to bed. He slipped past me and headed to a dark oak wardrobe across from the bed and opened it. Lucifer shifted through the various clothes before deciding on something. He brought out two hangers and laid them on the bed. One was the white suit that he wore yesterday and the other was a lacy white blouse, velvety green skirt and black boots. “I’ll admit I don’t have many options for you to wear as of right now. We’ll have to go shopping together sometime soon. I hope this will suffice for now.”

“It’s fine, thank you.”

I slid off the bed, grabbed my clothes and headed into the bathroom. I locked the door and began to strip. It took me a few minutes to do up the buttons on the blouse but once I was done I walked back into the bedroom. Lucifer was just putting on his boots while I draped my nightgown over the back of a chair. “Well don’t you just look enchanting, my dear.”

“Always the charmer, aren’t you?” “I’m just stating the truth.”

He leaned over and gave my cheek a kiss. I just huffed. “Shall we go?”

I nodded. Interlocking our arms together, Lucifer led the way to the dining room. It was quite the grand room with a chandelier hanging above the large table. The blonde pulled out my chair for me and scooted it in once I had sat. He placed himself across from me and as soon as we were situated a few castle staff came out. They placed a mug in front of each of us, a dark roast coffee smell emitting from it. Plates were put on the table as well. A couple of eggs, sausage and bacon were put in the form of a happy face, something I’m sure Lucifer had a hand in. Breakfast was quiet as the King looked over his newspaper and I poked at my food. From what I ate it was quite good, just uncomfortable with those red eyes gazing at me every once in a while. 

When the table was cleared, the two of us walked towards the Devil’s workshop. Lucifer gently pushed me into a black high backed chair as he sat on a stool on a podium. I looked at all the rubber ducks that filled the various containers spread throughout the room wondering why. Why rubber ducks? Why so many?

“I hope you don’t mind me working on my latest creation, dearest.”

“Not at all. But, um, what am I supposed to do?”

“Ah, how foolish of me! Here you are.”

A book materialized on the table in front of me and I realized it was one of my favorites. “I hope that is alright.”

I nodded and flipped it open. For a few hours our time was spent like this: him working on his latest invention and I reading. A little bit in I became a bit restless. I placed my book down and gazed around the small room. Besides the rubber ducks and table I sat at, there were other various knick knacks on bookshelves, tools hanging on the walls and some framed photos. The photos had the same three people in them: Lucifer, a beautiful blonde woman and a young blonde girl. Could that be his wife and daughter he mentioned before? “And, done!”

Lucifer spun on his stool to face me and proudly held out his creation. It was a yellow rubber duck with red music notes painted all over it. “How…interesting.”

He stood and placed the duck in my hands. “I know it may look normal, but this is no ordinary duck. Here,” he squeezed the wings and suddenly music came spilling from its beak. 

It was a romantic tune, one I didn’t recognize but sounded familiar. It sounded like a song I’d hear play from the church I’d walk past every day. “It’s music from my birth place. The tune was often played at our festivities and it just reminded me of you.”

“Well, thank you, I guess.”

I sat the duck down on the table and sighed. There he goes with the romantic gestures again. “Is it not to your liking, my love?”

“No, it's just…nevermind.”

I could feel his hands wrap around my shoulders and I tensed. “What’s wrong, Y/n? You’ve been off all day.”

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course! Anything in my power is yours for the asking, you just name it!”

“I want to go home. My actual home on Earth. I, I don’t belong here, Lucifer.”

I could feel tears in my eyes as I gazed down at my hands in my lap. The hands on my shoulders squoze. “You know I can’t do that, sweetie. Your place is by my side here in Hell.”

I clenched my hands and bit my lip. Anger started to slowly rise within me. I stood fast, Lucifer’s hands flying off my shoulders. “How can you decide where I belong? You’re not my father nor are you my husband. Can’t you see how much I hate it here? How much I hate you?!”

His eyes widened and I rushed out of the room. I heard him call for me but I just ignored it. Tears fell down my cheeks as I let my legs carry me throughout the palace till I reached the outside. I fell to the ground near a hand carved stone bench and let my feelings out. I truly didn’t want to be courted by the Devil and no way did I want to remain in my own personal hell. Why couldn’t things be back to normal where I could tend to my garden and have Red join me? Red, that damn snake. Why did he have to come into my life? If only I hadn’t let my kind nature tend to him, then perhaps I’d still be home. “Damn him! DAMN HIM!”

I slammed my hands on the bench and continued to cry. It felt like an eternity till all my crying had ceased and I took the time to look around. That’s when I noticed something in the overgrowth surrounding the fence on the property. I stood and made my way over, pulling at the wiry, thorny brush. My eyes widened as I saw a hole in the fence. Could this be a sign from God? Was he giving me a way out? I looked back at the palace and then back to the fence. As much as I wanted to leave now I knew it wouldn’t be a good idea. Lucifer was no doubt looking for me and leaving would only heighten his upset emotions. I’ll just have to keep this in mind.

I moved the brush back to how it was originally and stepped away, just in time too. One of the servants came out from the glass doors and headed towards me. “Miss Y/n, His Majesty has been looking all over for you! He’s been worried sick!”

I didn’t say anything as he gently grabbed my hand, dragging me inside. “Come along. He’ll be glad to see you in one piece.”

The next few days Lucifer and I spent walking on eggshells around each other. There was an awkward air about us as we went about our days. I suppose my outburst was the cause of it. Even with our hesitation, the demon did his best to court me. Meals were spent in each other’s presence at close proximity, gifts of flowers, rubber ducks and long walks around the property were fairly common, and intimacy was at an all time high. Lucifer had to have his hands on me at all times and kisses on the cheeks and forehead happened at every turn. It was about a week later that His Majesty decided it was time we went out into the city. One of the servants drove us in and the ride over I was given some guidelines. “You are to stay by my side at all times. Pentagram City is quite the dangerous place. If somebody gets too close, I will deal with it personally. Anybody that talks to you will go through me and please dear, don’t hesitate to have fun.”

I’ll try with the short leash you have on me.

The car stopped and Lucifer and I got out. He stooped to the window and whispered something to the driver before coming to my side. Interlocking our arms, we began our walk. “I thought some fresh air away from home would do us both some good, my darling. Besides, this will give us a chance to look for some clothes for you.”

I nodded. As we walked down the sidewalk I could feel a dozen stares pointed in our direction, whispers about our presence floating amongst the civilians. Lucifer didn’t seem to mind but with all the gawking I felt a bit shy. As we passed by an ornate window display, he stopped suddenly. “This seems right up your alley, sweetie.”

He pulled us inside the store. We stood at the entryway and I couldn’t help but gaze at the various clothes. It seemed this shop was more on the posh end, with skirts, dresses and fancy blouses decorating the mannequins. The store itself was a bit busy as customers wandered, but as soon as we entered all eyes were on us. I did my best to shrink into myself while Lucifer puffed out his chest in pride. “Your Majesty, welcome! How grand of you to grace us with your presence! How can we help you today,” asked a female imp in black clothes. 

“My darling here is lacking a wardrobe at home, so I thought it fit to come and look around.”

The woman looked me up and down and smiled. “I’m sure we can find something for your sweetheart. If you’d like to follow me please we can start looking at some pieces.”

I looked to the short man beside me and he just nodded in her direction. “Don’t be shy, dear.”

The two of us followed along as the imp pointed out some options, Lucifer stating his opinion on each one. When we had grown quite the collection, we were led to the fitting rooms in the back. The King perched himself on a plush bench as I stepped into one of the smaller rooms. As I was getting dressed, I heard a phone going off. The circus ringtone rang throughout the store until it stopped when the person picked up. “Charlie, sweetie, how are you?”

I stopped upon hearing Lucifer’s voice. “That’s great to hear. You and Maggie had a good date the other night? Wonderful. How have things at the hotel been? Any recent sinners looking to be redeemed?”

Redeemed? I scooted closer to the curtain to listen in. “I see. Heaven is giving you a hard time, eh?”

Heaven? “What am I up to? Oh your old man is just taking a stroll through town. Listen Charlie, I am quite busy at the moment. How about I give you a call later, okay? Alright sounds good. Buh bye. How’s it going in there, Y/n?”

I stepped out and a smirk rested itself on his face. “My, my. Don’t you look lovely. You know, if we were back at home I don’t think I could hold myself back from ravishing you.”

I felt a shudder go up my spine. Gross!

“I like that blouse on you. It brings out your eyes very nicely. How about trying some more on for dear ole Luci?”

“O-okay.”

I slammed the curtain shut and let myself gag at what he had said earlier. How very forward of him. Now about this hotel…maybe this could be my ticket out of here. 

“Lucifer?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Who was that on the phone?”

“Oh, that was my daughter Charlie!”

“I thought you said you didn’t have a great relationship with her?”

“I don’t, but we’re working on it. I’m helping her with her little passion project.”

“Oh? And what’s that?” Gotcha.

“The Hazbin Hotel. She believes she can solve Hell’s population problem by getting sinners redeemed into Heaven. I honestly don’t see the point, but if helping brings us closer together then I’ll be there for her.”

“I see.” Perhaps if I went the Princess of Hell could get me back to Earth!

After I had tried everything on, we went to the checkout counter and bought a few pieces. I carried the bags back to the car and the whole time I brewed up a plan on how to escape.

~~~~

TAGLIST

@ladymothbeth @cosmic-spider @l0vedoe @stormz369 @strawberry-gothic @repostingmyfavs

[hitomisuzuya]

SUZUUU HII!! I don't know if you remember, but I was the one who requested about Scaramouche camboy, so I was wondering if you could write a little more about it?

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Fingering. Degradation. Praise. Cream pie. As always, consensual participation.

I absolutely can❤️ I got a little carried away and self indulgent.

You were now a constant presence during Scaramouche's livestreams. There was a particular request for you this time: for you to wear only thigh high black stockings.

Your legs were spread, your back to Scaramouche's chest, facing the camera. One arm braced you against his chest, the fingers of his other hand squelching in and out of your cunt.

You rested your head back against his chest, your eyes rolling closed as three fingers consistently hit your sweet spot, making tears sting in your eyes. Your legs shook as you bucked your hips up, nearly breathless as pleasure burst white hot behind your eyes.

"Makes for an obedient slut, does she not?" Scaramouche purred, looking at the camera for a moment, chuckling when a moan of protest keened from your throat as he pulled his fingers from your pussy. It was soon silenced, shaky moans sounding as his fingers played with your throbbing clit.

Responses of agreement popped up in the chat box, some of them saying they enjoy the way you moaned when Scaramouche degraded you. His eyes flicked up to read the chat box, slowly rolling your clit between his fingers before your pussy sucked them back in.

"I promise you her greedy cunt was clenching around nothing," He confirmed, increasing the pace of his fingers as his eyes scanned more of the comments:

"Make her cream like the good girl she is."

"Make sure she thanks her master."

You squirmed against his arm, tilting your head up to nuzzle into his neck as you started to twitch from your approaching orgasm. Your hand flew up to grip his arm, your fingernails digging into his skin the tighter your walls clamped around his fingers. "Scara! Scara, I'm gonna..gonna!.." You barely finished your sentence before your orgasm washed over you. You gripped his arm tighter as you shook.

Scaramouche fingered you lovingly through your orgasm. "Look at you, quaking for me like a good girl," His tongue flicked along the shell of your ear, rubbing his thumb around your clit as he praised you.

"What do we say?" He purred, licking his fingers before pushing them inside your mouth.

"Thank you, Master," You moaned, curling and lapping your tongue in worship on his fingers as you sucked.

"Get on your knees and elbows, kitten," He said, making you gasp in pleasure as he gave your clit a light smack.

Your head spun a little as you did as you were told. Scaramouche turned your head to side so you couldn't muffle your cries into the pillow. You whimpered blissfully feeling the soft sting of his hand across your ass. "Cry like a good girl and tell me how much you want my cock," He commanded, stroking and pumping his aching cock.

"I want it! I want your cock so badly, please!" You pleaded, drooling as you felt the head of his cock press and drag across your clit. You grinded back against it, letting out a strangle cry of pleasure as he hastily pushed his cock inside of you.

His thrusts were merciless, his hips pounding feverishly into yours. His fingers gripped your hips, his cock pulsing as he pounded himself inside of you. You clawed at the pillows, melting as his cock nudged accurately into your sweet spot.

"Fuck, I abused your pussy with my fingers and you still feel fucking tight. What a perfect slut," Scaramouche moaned, caressing your hips in appreciation for the way you obediently pushed back against his cock.

"So good..so good!" You moaned loud and incoherent, melting into his tightening grip on your hips.

"That's it, slut. Babble and enjoy my cock," Scaramouche groaned, his body shuddering as your walls squeezed around his cock.

His name tore from your throat in a scream as your second orgasm hit you. A few minutes later, he pulled out of you, warm cum spurting onto your cunt. He fingered his cum inside of you.

Scaramouche gave everyone a few minutes to drink in your fucked out expression. "Thank you for watching. I'm gonna clean her up and treat her to a long back massage," He cut the stream and focused on tending to you, starting with a soft kiss to your lips once you rolled over onto your side.

[chlorinecake]

The Jealous Type | P. JS

contains rich boy jay x female reader, heavily gossip girl coded, kissing, jealousy, angst, cunnilingus (⚠︎)

Jay has a temper, which meant you’d have to hold a movie-star smile whenever he stormed out of business meetings upon flipping a few chairs…

Jay has a high sex drive, and you still haven’t quite mastered the art of making yourself look half-decent after a quickie in his office…

Jay has a reputation, and you’ve known since day one that dating the son of a multimillionaire in a city of bright lights with even brighter personalities meant one thing for you:

That you’d have to learn to look clean while playing dirty at all times.

Picture the backseat of a sleek Rolls Royce, tinted windows, chilled drinks, and roughly three minutes away from your final destination.

“I live a fast life, ____,” Jay began while sitting beside you, almost in a manner of warning as he relaxed into his seat.

“Great. Running sounds like fun,” you said, trying to display confidence before him.

“Every once in a while, maybe, but only if you can keep up…”

You let his words sink in, “Then I'll practice for you.”

He shook his head, “I'm afraid there's not much time left for that, love...”

“Well I've always believed in this thing called beginners luck.”

Your voice trailed off, heart prepared for another one of his defeated responses until he reached a hand in his side to grab something.

“Hold my wallet,” he said plainly, handing the leather rectangle to you.

“Jay, l—”

"Open it...” he pressed, taking your hand in his to force your reluctant fist open, “like it's yours.”

Taking heed to his words, you let out a breath, thumb and index finger tugging at the zipper to reveal a line of bills and his infamous black credit card.

“Jay, what’re you getting at here?”

“Don't look so impressed, it might come off as common,” he interrupted, watching your fingers pause at the leather opening.

You scoffed, “What's that supposed to mean?”

“That we’re in a movie, ____,” he smiled, “Just act the role to win the part.”

Aww, how wise of him….

“Great, so you won't let me run with you but playing pretend is okay?”

His smile didn’t falter at your words, only morphing into a smolder as he peered closer to you.

“Now why would I ever make you run in these sexy five inch heels?”

Your eyes fell to his hand that caressed your thigh once again, “Because sometimes, beauty is pain...”

“Very true… but it doesn't have to be...,” his voice encouraged gently, “not yet... not tonight.”

You expressed agreement with a hum before speaking again, “So can you take your fancy wallet back now?”

“Keep it,” he answered almost immediately, “Let's see if beginner's luck will help you hold onto it…”

“I'd sew this wallet to my ribcage if I had to—”

The vehicle suddenly came to a stop, flashing lights barely visible through the tinted windows as the car doors unlocked in unison.

“This is your exit,” the chauffeur clarified with a strong European accent, Jay offering the driver a thankful wave and stepping out of the car.

He walked over to your side of the car and did the same, telling you to “watch your step” as your feet met the ground.

Jay was right about one thing…

There wasn’t much time for you to practice “running” now that you were just seconds from meeting his friends and family for the first time…

The event in question was Mr. Park’s annual dinner party, held at his newly renovated restaurant in The Palace Hotel.

As soon as you stepped through the automatic sliding doors, you were met with the sound of live classical music thrumming from the center stage.

It wasn’t long before you and Jay got to socializing, helping yourselves to a few hors d’oeuvres and swigs of sparkling champagne under the glass chandelier.

His parents apparently had to leave the event early due to an unexpected emergency, so gossipy topics surrounding his family were definitely on the table.

You made sure to stay beside Jay the entire night, not only to comfort him, but to protect yourself.

That’s when a certain woman who had her eyes stuck on you two since the night began made her way by with a seductive sway in her hips.

“Nice chain, handsome,” she started without hesitation, her unfamiliar face somehow telling of her familiar intentions:

Trouble and drama.

“Thank you, Jennifer,” Jay replied, jawline clenching slightly at her prior use of a nickname.

Saying that Jay looked annoyed right now would be an understatement.

This Jennifer person was obviously his ex, though she continued speaking as if you weren’t even there.

“Isn’t that the same one you used to let me wear?,” she asked, eyes falling to his collarbone where the chain necklace sat.

“No,” he answered, a feigned smile masking the bitterness in his heart, “I got rid of that one a long time ago…”

“Aww,” she pouted, poking her acrylic nail into his shoulder, “do you have any idea how sad that makes me feel?”

“Don't poke at my boyfriend like he's some kind of toy,” you defended, your sudden boldness startling her.

Her hand stop at his the hem of his sleeve, cold green eyes meeting yours with a glare strong enough to make your skill crawl.

Yep… you officially hated her.

“Please, darling... lighten up,” she chirped, “this is just how me and Jay like to play sometimes... isn't that right, handsome? Or do you need a reminder—”

“That'd be rather unnecessary, don't you think?,” Jay snapped at her, “Maybe even a little crass...”

“Well your new girl seems tough... a little story time wouldn't hurt her…”

“Too bad I'm feeling a bit talked-out for the evening,” you spoke against her shameless demeanor, “It was nice meeting you, Jennifer. Really...”

“You too,” she mouthed with a smile, too prideful to reply loud enough for you to hear.

Turning on a heel, you hooked your elbow with Jay's, leading him outside of the venue.

“____, I can explain,” Jay started, matching your walking pace as you circled to hotel parking lot.

You shook your head, “There's no need, Jay… Your ex is a bitch, I get it.”

“____...”

“Can we just go back home already?,” you proposed, just realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

You exhaled weakly, Jay finding your shoulders as he turned you to face him, just inches from the car.

“Yes, love, we can go home, just please calm down for me, okay?”

The pitch of his voice lowered with its volume, “This was just as hard for me as it was for you…”

With that, a silence swarmed between you, just as his hand went to grip the chain around his neck.

He gave it what looked like an effortless tug before each metal link broken apart, leaving the once beautiful necklace into shiny sprinkles of gold on the pavement.

You let out another breath, “You lied, Jay... why would you keep her necklace—”

“I'm not proud of it, ____...,” he interrupted, eyes facing the ground, “but I wasn't gonna sit there and feed into her games by telling the truth...”

“Yeah… that’s because you just stood there and let her touch you instead," you retorted, walking past him and getting into the car.

You’re glad the ride home wasn’t long, you two having arrived at his penthouse somewhere around ten minutes upon leaving.

Jay's boots clicked with each step as he held your hand, guiding you up the stoned path and past the front door.

Few words were exchanged between you both once you got to the master bedroom, plopping yourself on the bed as he stood with his hands at his hips.

“What a waste of good food today... my dad would’ve been pissed to find out the guests hardly ate anything…”

Jay spoke lowly, drawing your eyes to the red velvet stain on his still crisply ironed white sleeve.

“Speaking of food, you have a bit of cake on your blazer... here, let me help you...”

He sighed, “I've got it, ____. It's really no big deal...”

“No, i-it's in an awkward spot, just let me just wipe it for y—”

“I said I've got it, alright!?”

His sharp features faltered upon realizing that he'd just raised his voice at you, and for no good reason.

“I apologize, love—”

“Whatever, Jay,” you sighed, plopping yourself on the hotel mattress, “this was all just a bad idea to begin with…”

“What do you mean by that?” He asked, arching his back so his blazer to fall off his shoulders, noting in his mind to spot-clean the stain later.

“It's just... I don't fit in your world... not a single part of it…”

Jay joined you on the bed, just in his T-shirt and slacks now as he took your face in his right hand.

“There's not a single place in my heart where you don’t fit in perfectly… y'know that?”

“I do, Jay...,” you answered quietly, meeting his dark eyes, “thank you...”

“Of course,” he smiled, placing a tender kiss to the back of your hand, “now let's get out of these fancy clothes and into something more comfortable, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, Jay standing up now and leaning before you to untie the heel straps around your ankles.

“You looked beautiful tonight, by the way,” he smiled, hands reaching beneath your evening gown to pull down the thigh-high satin stockings you wore.

“So did you.... handsome,” you smiled, propping up on your elbows to wash him undress you, and cheeky look on his face at your words.

“I learned something about you thanks to tonight,” he started, standing back up and giving you a look, “didn’t know you were the jealous type…”

You scoffed, feeling his hand tap at your thigh as a cue to turn over on your stomach now.

And so you did, hips up as he crawled onto your back in a straddling position, moving your hair out the way while admiring your beauty.

Your eyes were still internally rolling at his comment up until you felt him massaging your shoulders gently.

Somehow, you could tell he smiled at the little hums that escaped your throat once he applied a bit of pressure.

In a strange way, Jennifer’s behavior had a way of pulling both anger and anticipation out of you…

No, you didn’t like how she got all handsy with your man right in front of you, but you somewhat enjoyed the effect your reaction had on Jay…

He felt bad about what happened. Terrible, even.

And you could see it all over his pouty face that he wanted to make things up to you…

You laid there face down on the mattress beneath him, not able to focus on anything other than the feeling of his bulge pressing into your thighs.

He was turned on right now, and so were you—

“I still think I behaved myself pretty well tonight considering, though,” you huffed quietly, letting your body melt beneath his weight.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as his touch trailed from your hips to your waist, “And I’m very proud of you for that, love,” he whispered adoringly.

His hands now found the necklace around your neck, unclasping it with a simple click before reaching over to place it on the mini bedside table.

“Want me to unzip your dress for you as well while I’m here?…”

All you did was nod lazily in response, the cold metal zipper of the matching white gown you wore sending shivers down your delicate spine.

He slowly followed the trail along the curve of your back, chill air hitting your skin once he fully unzipped it past your hips.

“You know I’d never leave you for someone else, right?”

You let out a hum, feeling a bit frisky now that you were half-naked beneath him…

“Can’t be sure… who knows, there might be another piece of jewelry attached to one of your ex’s lying around here somewhere…”

He made a face at you even though you couldn’t see him from your position, “Seriously ____?”

“Very…” you answered, “…and I’m sorry...”

“It's okay,” he chuckled, letting his hands knead your hips, “But I guess that just means I’ll have to prove you wrong now…”

Your eyes flew open, brows slightly furrowed, “And prove me wrong how, exactly?”

“By giving you something I’ve never given anyone else before…”

He shimmied the evening gown past your thighs, revealing the lace lingerie set you wore underneath, it’s elastic hem snug around your plush skin…

The sight alone was enough to make him feel needy, your round ass perched up perfectly for him.

“Oh, so the whole wallet thing wasn’t a first-time trick either?” You joked, knowing he always liked it whenever you were sassy with him.

Jay smiled at your words once again, “On your back for me, princess.”

You sighed playfully before rolling over like he asked, his hands leaving the curve of your body as you got adjusted.

It didn’t take long for Jay to start teasing you back, letting a single finger circle your clothed breast but never touching your nipple.

You wanted him to grope your tits so badly, but instead his other free hand ghosted over your core, intentionally avoiding contact with your sweet spot.

“I have to ask this because I'm a gentleman, but do I have permission to make you cum more than once tonight?”

His question didn’t catch you off guard, but it definitely made you feel something in your stomach.

With dreamy eyes, you struggled to either focus on the spot between his legs or the smirk on his face…

“Only if you mean it...,” you finally uttered, giving him the cue he’d been waiting for so he could please you properly.

He let out a chuckle at your words, “Make sure you hold still for me, princess… you can pull on my hair if it gets too much...”

You watched as he nestled between your legs, looking up at you as a kitten waiting for head pats.

“But that'll hurt you, Jay...”

“I know,” he smirked, tugging your lingerie to the side and marveling at your swollen heat.

He immediately started lapping at your wetness, spitting on your clit despite how wet you already were.

“So fucking pretty,” he hummed in between making out with your sensitive cunt, foul sounds bouncing off the walls as your chest heaved with need.

Your hips subconsciously circled his face, the added movement heightening your pleasure.

You let your hands find his hair, not pulling yet but more so clawing at his scalp.

Jay groaned at your actions, looking up at you while his tongue still flicked against your clit.

The sight and sensation combined made your thighs tremble, Jay’s strong hands holding your hips down against the mattress.

“Baby, you’re supposed to stay still, remember?”

The words left his mouth in such a cooing manner, your mind going foggy because of his raspy bedroom voice.

You managed to squeak out a weak sentence, breathiness in your tone from all the action, “I-I’m trying, Jay…”

You cut yourself off when a loud whine slipped past your mouth, Jay’s hand reaching up to grope your tits while he kept sucking.

At this point, you couldn’t help but to tug at his locks, guiding his face against your folds for your own pleasure.

And he loved every bit of it… you using his face to help yourself climax.

You didn’t expect for a finger to enter you though, especially not a second one once he sped up his licking movements.

Another moan meddled from your body, eyes sealing shut as your hips rutted into his mouth, Jay’s little grunts acting as your breaking point.

The band in your stomach eventually popped, your clit throbbing with pleasure once Jay let his mouth ease your high with kitten licks and kisses.

He looked at you with such love in his eyes, “Are you convinced yet, princess?”

You couldn’t believe he was trying to talk to you in a state like this, but you still knew exactly what he was referring to with that question…

“Yes, but I think you could still do a little more,” you whispered back teasingly, caressing his face that was beaming with a subtle glow just from tasting you.

A smirk tugged at Jay’s lips once you stuck out a hand to pull him closer.

He sealed the contact with a kiss, resting a hand on your exposed thigh that still trembled slightly from your first climax.

“____,” he broke away breathlessly, clinging to your waist, “are you sure you can handle more? We can stop here…”

It’s not that he was concerned, as it was quite obvious in you haze stained eyes that you wanted more from him.

Though, given how tired you’d become after such a long day, he didn’t wanna risk overdoing it.

“But we just started kissing properly,” you protested lazily, leaving another peck to his puffy lips.

“I know, princess,” he smiled again, massaging the flesh of your thigh with his hand, “but we can always continue this another time…”

Another time when you two didn’t have to be at the airport around four in the morning the next day...

You understood him perfectly, and as his lady, you intended to respect him whenever he called the shots, even if it meant you’d have to wait.

“A better time, then,” you added, lips not being able to stay off of his as guided you back against the mattress.

In all honesty, it wasn’t easy for him to tell you no like this, especially not with the raging boner in his pants now, but he knew your rest was more important.

It didn’t take long for him to hang up all your clothes, hop in the shower with you.

He had even helped you wash your hair, massaging your scalp and washing you down before grabbing you both a clean set of pajamas to wear.

And of course, they were matching.

Finally, you took it upon yourself to prepare a set of fresh bedding linen for you two, starting a load on laundry to get back to whenever you could.

Letting out a yawn, Jay found the silk mattress first, still smelling of his potent lavender body wash by time you joined him.

Finding your waist, he pulled you against his toned chest, snuggling his member in between the natural shape of your hips, but not in a sexual way…

More so, it was a protective cuddling position, in essence…

He left a few kisses along your neck, helping you to get comfortable under the covers.

“Moving forward,” you started randomly, “let’s make sure there are no Jennifer’s on the guest lists for your private events…”

Jay let out a laugh that melted your lovesick heart all over again, “Aww, we have our first mutual enemy…”

“Can’t say she doesn’t deserve it, either…,” you returned, grazing the knuckles of the hand he held you with, “thanks for making me feel better, baby...”

He pressed another warm kiss to soft skin, “Of course, princess… Now let’s get some sleep now, hmm? We have another obligation tomorrow, you know….”

Ahhh, yes… The fast life of Jay Park.

“To tomorrow…” you agreed, feeling his warmth leave you for a second as he turned the night light off, “now hold me properly, you’re not close enough.”

✧ Thank you to everyone who’s reading this right now!! I meant to give this story a full smut ending, but for some reason, it’s always hard for me to write intense sexual stuff for Jay ;-; … Anyways though, this was also my first time writing a oneshot for our Mr. Jongsby, so let’s hope I did him justice and y’all liked this one :’3 …

✧ My masterlist for newbies and bored readers huhu ^^

✧ 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 💌 ) @squoxle @wonbinisbabygurl @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @watamotee33 @addictedtohobi @ot7sevenlvr

[amuromi]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 10.4k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! heian era!au, concubine!reader, true form!Sukuna, breeding kink (they’re actively trying to have a child), unprotected sex, established relationship (married), canon typical violence, era typical misogyny/gender roles, unhealthy obsession, mentions of death, Sukuna is referred to exclusively as “Lord Sukuna”

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ They’re insane, Your Honor. Truly a match made in heaven.

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

Winter meanders on. Short, bleak days blanketed beneath a dusting of snow. Rising and melting. An ebb and flow of white dunes lapping at the edge of the engawa. Bitter winds howl through the valley, a vague echo of Jurina’s voice screeching through the barren treetops. The whistling sound echoes through the courtyards as the estate bends and bows with the wind, the old wood groaning as the spindly trees scrape at the outer walls. It sounds like some beast warring just beyond the shelter of the bolted shoji, scraping like a rabid wolf to be let inside. 

The chill seeps between the cracks, spilling sluggishly into your chamber as you huddle close around the amber glow of your braziers, coal burning low in a faint aura of amber light. Smoke rises in silvery ribbons from the brass pan, searing at your eyes that already sting from a lack of rest. Sleep comes fleeting in the deepest days of the winter. Every moment of leisure is accented with the sound of digging and scraping, every instant your eyes are closed is counted by the faint sound of Jurina’s voice. The voice is high and lyrical, the way she sounded in life. A stark opposition to the rattling shrill that came from her throat in death. Three, three, three. It’s mockingly sweet, ringing in your ears like the peal of a windchime. And when it isn’t her voice it’s the drip, drip, dripping of the snow and ice melting off the eaves, pattering against the wood panels below. It fills your mind with memories of black blood. Of what became of Jurina. She’d serve her purpose in death that she could not in life. A wife’s greatest honor to her husband. 

The thought skitters down your spine like a rush of freezing water and you shiver beneath the bundle of blankets, daring to lean closer to the lacquered wood stand holding the last dregs of warmth. The coal will burn out soon, firelight giving way to golden dawn. The servants will come to renew the ashes, to tend to your morning routine. For their sake, you play at perfect health. The first stirrings of wakefulness come in the sound of sliding doors and muted footsteps. Voices so low they’re only a wisp of a sound through the halls tell you to arrange yourself on your futon, feigning sleep as the maid comes to wake you. Their hand is cold as ice as it touches your shoulder, frigid enough to seep through the fabric of your nightdress. It’s like a splash of water against your skin and you shrink away instinctively. 

“You’re awake.” There’s no question in their tone. Sharp, discerning, cutting through the layer of facade with only a few words. Uraume’s voice is unmistakable at your side. A strange occurrence when you have your usual rotation of handmaidens meant to be tending to you. Of course, Uraume lives to serve their master, your husband and that servitude extends towards you in turn, but it is usually reserved for more elevated tasks. Certainly not the monotonous work of preparing you for the day. Still they go about turning down the blankets and helping you to sit up with the grace of any other servant. A chill wracks through your body, worming deep into your bones as Uraume’s fingers pull at the edge of your collar. The pad of their thumb brushes against the nape of your neck, pressing ever so gently before pulling their hand away with a displeased click of their tongue. It’s a sound of disappointment, quick and scolding. 

“You haven’t been sleeping.” Another statement as they coax life back into the waning flames of your coal. The warmth slowly renews itself, pushing the chill of winter back to the fringes as you wipe your face with a dampened cloth. 

“I slept.” A lie. One that Uraume is quick to catch. 

“If you’ve slept, your highness, then it wasn’t long enough. Your handmaiden cut you with her nail a few days ago, you’ll remember.” You did. It had been a stroke of luck that the master of the estate was away. Lord Sukuna would’ve had the girl’s hand chopped off for daring to allow it to cause harm to his beloved wife, and that was if he didn’t call for her outright execution. Servants were a much easier breed to find than suitable brides. Though even those could be replaced with time. The Ryomen estate had received its Fourth Mistress a fortnight ago on the month anniversary of Jurina’s death. The girl was dizzyingly perfect. 

Young, sweet as freshly ripened fruit, and docile as a kitten. She was any wife’s greatest nightmare. Beautiful and soft, still holding the roundness of youth in her cheeks. Her face is smooth as an egg and takes the shape of a heart with the way her hair dips at the center of her forehead in a sharp peak. But she pleases Lord Sukuna and so she must be at least tolerated. The twinge you felt in your heart when she was called to serve your husband was a new affliction. You hadn’t suffered from such bouts of envy before. Or perhaps it was something more than petty jealousy. The whole of your being was dedicated to Lord Sukuna and something about his newest wife’s saccharine demeanor chafed at you. It settled heavy and bitter in your gut like poison. But what could you do but smile and bear it. Happiness was a wife’s most important pursuit. Your hesitancy towards the beautiful woman living just down the hall was surely a clinging sense of distrust that had developed after Jurina’s attack. 

“I’m happy.” You whisper. “I’m happy.”

“You don’t sound very convincing,” Uraume quips. Any other servant might’ve been punished out of hand for speaking to you in such a way, but Lord Sukuna’s right hand was given certain allowances when it came to conduct. They’ve served your husband well, for far longer than you have. Whatever barbs they tossed at you would simply be accepted with a smile. Though it could hardly be considered cruel to take note of your wavering tone. Truly it was a reminder of your importance. Uraume had little regard for the other wives. They were extensions of Lord Sukuna in the way a well-regarded weapon was. Of all his wives, Lord Sukuna had declared you the favorite, and Uraume treated you as such. A queen rather than a concubine. 

“I’m happy.” 

“Hush,” Uraume admonished. “You’re frightened and lonely. Neither of which make a happy bride.” They guide you from your futon to your kimono stand, dressing you with quick hands before sending you to kneel in front of your vanity. The mirror reflected the low light of the room, Uraume a pale silhouette in the near darkness as they sit behind you to comb your hair. 

“You’re happiest when you’re being of service, and if you wish to serve you shouldn’t upset our careful planning.” They smooth the tangles from your hair with gentle hands. “Lord Sukuna wishes for children and you will fulfill that purpose. But to do so you must allow me to help you. Eat when you’re told, sleep when you’re told.” Uraume suddenly wraps your hair tight around their hand, pulling like a leash. The sharp show of strength sends pain pricking across your scalp and heat springs to your eyes, the kind that preludes tears. 

“This body is no longer your own. You exist as property of Lord Sukuna, and you’re presently bringing harm to his most precious belonging. Behave. Obey. You’re dishonoring your lord husband’s ambitions.” 

They leave you with the throbbing pain that trickles into numbness at the back of your skull. Your usual maid comes in shortly after their departure, tending to the tasks that Uraume had neglected. Lighting candles and properly styling your hair. She fixes the arrangement of your kimono that Uraume had fit only loosely around your form, pulling and knotting until it hung properly. If she wonders how the braziers managed to be relit, or what possessed you to dress yourself, she keeps the inquiries to herself. But you notice, as she’s straightening the obi around your waist, that her fingers are wrapped in bandages. She hisses as she struggles with the fabric, snatching her hand away to watch the way red begins to bloom at the tip of her bandaged fingers. You’d begged Uraume to be merciful in your lord husband’s absence. A mere accident was not enough reason to maim someone, but it seemed their mercy was still a bit cruel. Beneath the bandages, you’re almost sure all her nails had been torn from her fingers. She dismisses herself and another maid appears with breakfast. 

The tea is bitter. A metallic taste clings to your tongue, dredging up nightmares in the light of day. But Uraume’s words still linger in your head, reminding you to do as you’re told. No matter how bitter, you’ll swallow whatever you’re fed. Even the breath in your lungs has become a gift from your lord husband. Lord Sukuna has proven that he is not above dispatching a bride that no longer pleases him. Your life has been in his hands since the moment the ceremonial wine touched your lips, but it seems your leash has become tighter still. Even in the absence of his presence, Lord Sukuna looms heavily over you. A shadow blanketing the whole of your form. It’s him that you taste in your tea, a memory of his voice whispering in your ear. Jurina was poisoning you and here is your lord husband’s gift of apology. Drink more poison until your body can no longer be touched by such things. It takes several moments to swallow the final mouthful, the acrid taste lingering long after you force down the last dregs. Water mutes the taste as you kneel beside the door leading out onto the engawa. 

Opened only a crack, the winter air rushes in to kiss your cheeks, nipping harshly at your nose. A beam of blue-white light cuts across the room as the gray sky peeks out from under the cover of the eaves. The night’s storm has passed into only a few flickering snow flurries. They fall like pale flower petals, barely clinging to the dead grass. It’s all you can do to keep from snatching the door shut when a stray snowflake slips inside. It touches your cheek like an icy kiss, melting against the warmth of your skin in a near instant. Memories rush forward. Red and white. Blood on snow as your organs slipped from inside you. The snow had been unflinching, offering little comfort as you laid in the cold, bleeding out. Jurina was a curse then. She might’ve killed you. 

That sword now hung over your head. The blade of the unknown. Death meant little to someone with your cursed technique. But that was againsts mundane weapons. Knives, spears. A curse had weapons all their own and it made you wonder if your eyes might’ve shut forever had Lord Sukuna not helped you along the way to death. He didn’t kill you. At least not permanently. It was the fate of every sorcerer whose death might cause a curse to be killed by jujutsu, to prevent another curse from rising in their place. Jurina wasn’t a true sorcerer but she did possess a high level of curse energy. The fire that burned her and the traitorous maid had been mundane. A flint and steel to spark the tinder. Perhaps if Lord Sukuna had lit the pyre with his cursed technique it might’ve prevented another one of your many deaths. Though Jurina was hardly worth your lord husband’s expended energy. Even in death. A shiver shakes through you and you draw your furs tighter around your shoulders even as you slide the door open a bit wider. It felt like the world stopped without Lord Sukuna here. 

Things had changed since he left on his latest excursion outside the estate, but you were determined to right every wrong that arose, to make it seem as though everything was as it was before he left. Yet the snow still sent you shrinking into the collar of your kimono, hiding like a child beneath a blanket. 

“I like the snow,” you say aloud, watching the warmth of your breath curl through the air in gray clouds. I’m happy, you think staunchly, because there is nothing else for you to be. You slink out of your room, dirtying the silk of your clothes as you crawl to the edge of the walkway. At the very edge, where the shadow turns to light, you pause. Any further and the snow will touch you freely. Still, you roll up the sleeve of your kimono and stick your hand out into the open air as if offering your fingers to some ravenous beast. The first brush of snow has your hand flinching. One cold needle after another pierces your skin until your arm is shaking with the effort to keep it aloft. When you pull your hand back your hand tingles with a lack of sensation. Your fingers feel clumsy as you open and close your fist, trying to regain some warmth in your limb. Tucking your arm away into your sleeve as your lord husband so often does, you fix your posture to properly kneel at the edge of the engawa. 

The snow still pokes at you like the tips of a blade but you steel yourself against the fear welling in your mind. Jurina is dead. You watched Lord Sukuna kill her. You killed her yourself. She’s gone and the snow is only snow. The longer you sit, the more your mind thaws, slowly recognizing the truth of the matter. The fear that froze you in the face of Jurina’s new form slowly unclenches its fist, setting you free. It comes slowly. You feel like a leaf on a barren tree. Brown and brittle, wavering on the cusp of being blown loose in the wind. You’ll break free soon to float on the breeze, but for now there’s only that teetering feeling of something yet to come. Poking your arm back out of your sleeve, you blow a hot gust of air across your fingertips and wonder if they’re warm enough to play your koto. You haven’t played, haven’t sang, or danced since Jurina’s death. She’d taken so much from you and all of it she was undeserving of. Lord Sukuna had said so himself. Slowly, you regather the pieces of yourself that had shattered across the snow that day, slowly fitting them back together to resemble something of your former self. 

The only thing Jurina has truly taken was a piece of your innocence. You’ve never killed a living being before. Even if curses existed to be eradicated in the eyes of sorcerers, they were still living beings. They were your lord husband’s subjects. Yet he bid you slay Jurina without a shred of remorse. Though if the King of Curses gives you an order, you take it as law. If he told you to kill a thousand curses you would do it or die trying despite the strange feeling it left in your chest to watch that spear pierce through the head of Jurina’s new form. It left a hollowness, but it had only lasted a moment. As long as it took for Lord Sukuna to tell you that you’d done well. It wasn’t often you heard such praises from your lord husband. 

He was proud of you then, but that pride would likely wither in an instant if he saw you now. Wilted and curled in on yourself, completely soured by something that hasn’t even lasted a day. You’ve endured far worse than a chance encounter with a vengeful curse. Prickling heat fills your chest as the memory of gasping at the bottom of a well fills your head. You’d been in that damp darkness with only a distant pinhole of light so far above you that it could’ve been a star in endless black that swallowed you every few hours. You could only tread water for so long, could only gasp for so many breaths before your lungs filled and your body bloated. 

The realization comes belatedly, that Jurina was the prick of a rose’s thorn compared to the torturous training you’d endured to strengthen your cursed technique. It’s been so long since you’ve been in need of the full magnitude of your technique that you’ve forgotten what it took to get you here to begin with. You aren’t Lord Sukuna’s favorite because he favors your cooking or enjoys your talents. You’re of value. It’s innate, something sewn into your blood. This body was never yours. It always belonged to someone else. First your maiden clan and now Lord Sukuna. It’s an honor worth defending, an honor worth dying for. You silently thank Jurina for reminding you of your place in this world. 

Sitting in the doorframe, close enough to the braziers that your fingers don’t become too stiff to play your koto is how the Fourth Wife finds you. Her footsteps preceded her, the sharp black of her geta against the wooden walkway. She approaches with a gentle smile but it doesn’t seem to reach her eyes. In the gray light of the mid winter morning, her dark eyes are flat as black stones even as her rosy cheeks lift in a coquettish grin. She bows as you set aside your koto. This is only the second time you’ve seen Fourth Mistress. The first being when she was accepted into the household those few weeks ago. It had been a brief meeting stifled with ceremony. An exchanging of names and rankings, a formal introduction of her place in your lord husband’s estate. 

“Would you like to take a walk with me?” She asks, her voice bright against the hollow sound of the wind. It’s cold but the snow has stopped, and you’re far too curious to turn the girl away. Her smile persists as she waits for you to find your shoes and a furred clock, like the expression painted on a doll. She has the face of one. Empty eyes and flushed cheeks, a face still rounded with youth. 

The servants have swept the light dusting of snow away from the pathways, saving your socks from being soaked through as the two of you walk side by side. Fourth Mistress–Momoka, though you forget her clan name–asks you inane questions as you stroll along. It feels as though she’s trying to disarm you. Her tone is light and curious, sounding almost childish in her curiosity, but her eyes lack that true spark of interest, like she already knows the answer to each and every question. Who is your maiden clan, do you have any siblings, when did you join Lord Sukuna’s household? All so tediously easy to answer, yet you remain on guard, expecting her questions to slowly slip into more intimate territory. It takes a few minutes longer before she asks anything of true substance. 

“First Mistress died recently, I was told. Were the two of you close? I imagine it must’ve been hard to lose a fellow wife so suddenly.” Momoka’s smile fades a bit to convey her empathy but you don’t miss that it doesn’t fall completely. 

“Jurina and I were never close,” you tell her truthfully. “She was Lord Sukuna’s first wife, and she and the Second Mistress were sister-wives for far longer than I was a part of the household. I imagine Second Mistress was far more distressed by her death.”

Momoka hummed sympathetically. “Yes, the maids have told me that Second Mistress scarcely leaves her rooms. I wanted to pay her a visit today but her servants turned me away. They said despite her seniority, you were the first person I had to pay my respects to. So odd, isn’t it. I hadn’t thought that a man like Lord Sukuna would have favorites. He must hold your clan in great respect.” 

He doesn’t, you know, but you don’t correct Momoka. Your clan sacrificed you to save their own skins. There was no greater understanding like there’d been with the Zenin’s allowing Jurina to marry into Lord Sukuna’s household. And such an understanding was all for naught. Their eldest daughter who they likely placed such great ambitions upon was dead twice over. It made you wonder if they had another woman waiting to be sent in as Jurina’s replacement. It wouldn’t be so unheard of. You glance at Momoka walking beside you. Her arrival was not coincidental. The household lost a wife and suddenly there’s another waiting to join the ranks. Another sacrificial lamb to appease the great King of Curses, though Momoka scarcely seems like an unwilling participant. She smiles and it reminds you of yourself. She’s happy. Though there’s no true sincerity in it. All her joy seems feigned, as if she’s simply biding her time for something yet to come. She bows again when you return to her rooms, asking you to accompany her more often from now on. 

It takes you longer than you’d like to find Uraume. Rarely does Lord Sukuna’s servant appear in their own room, yet when you knocked, you found them sitting at a small desk practicing calligraphy. It was easy to forget that someone that seemed so worldly was closer to the age of a child. Uraume was still slight, small as if they still had growing to do. You couldn’t be certain. Lord Sukuna and Uraume themselves were always so silent about the servant’s origin as if it were some mythical secret. Though you supposed their youth could just be another trick of sorcery. Truly, it didn’t matter, because when they spoke, it was with an authority beyond your years. As if you were the servant and they the master. 

“What is it now?” They ask, only sparing you a glance. Their tone is fond in a way that better suits a pet, like you are some naive thing for them to look after. It feels like an honor and a curse to be so doted upon by Lord Sukuna’s most trusted servant, knowing Uraume wouldn’t spare the effort if it wasn’t a comment from their master. It feels like an extension of your lord husband’s presence. Though a dim reflection compared to standing in the true light of the sun. 

As Uraume reaches for a blank sheet of paper to practice another character you think of what drove you to the comfort of their presence to begin with. Your maid that had been your closest companion had betrayed you and died for it and now the new serving girl–already punished for a simple mistake–held you at arm’s length. Second Mistress had no taste for your company in her melancholy and Fourth Mistress was so strange that you could hardly stomach walking beside her. Loneliness was a constant companion to a woman that shared her husband. Lord Sukuna was not only yours. He was a king that belonged to the world as well as his other wives. There was happiness in knowing your place, yet something about Momoka had disturbed you into seeking refuge beside the one person in the estate that would give their life for yours. 

“I don’t trust Momoka.” You say finally. There was pettiness in the thought but less so than if you’d said simply that you didn’t like her. She was a newcomer, a glittering bauble to distract your husband from his older jewels, but that had never been your worry. Every flower has its own color and scent, each as lovely as the last. A harem is a garden of many flowers and you content yourself that you’ll be plucked when your lord husband so desires your brand of beauty. Yet Momoka seems to be hiding thorns beneath her soft petals. It isn’t your place to question your lord husband yet you can’t help but wonder how Momoka found her way into his household. You ask Uraume as much. 

“She was an offer from her clan the same as you were. None of Lord Sukuna’s wives were handpicked by him. You’re all sacrifices if we’re speaking plainly. You were given to the man that could grind the greatest clan to dust in a matter of moments if he so pleased. For honor, for glory, or some other reason as Fourth Mistress seems to be.” Uraume says. 

“So you don’t trust her, either?” 

“I don’t trust any women more or less than I trust her maiden clan, and Fourth Mistress certainly descends from people I do not trust. Some years ago, her clan staged a rebellion against Lord Sukuna. It failed, obviously, and they were cast aside to lick their wounds. From what I’ve gathered in recent years, the old clan head has died and the new one seeks to make amends with our lord. Offering a bride is a simple enough sacrifice when clan descendants are in such ample supply. A singular daughter won’t be missed.” 

Their words scratch at some dark worry buried deep in your heart, your hands falling cautiously to your stomach. It’s empty of life for the moment, but you can’t imagine the shame of giving your lord husband a daughter. A little girl would be loved, yet you hope for a son. For the sake of Lord Sukuna’s legacy. And there’s something else in their words niggling at the back of your mind. 

“Do you trust me?” It sounds ridiculous as soon as the words leave your lips. They must trust you, and if they don’t you’d be the last to know. Uraume sets down their calligraphy brush and turns to stare at you. 

“Your ties to your maiden clan were severed long ago. You belong only to Lord Sukuna’s clan now, and its descendants will be of your blood. There is no being I trust in this world above you save your lord husband. Make no mistake about that, my lady.” There was a severity in their voice that you’ve come to expect from your husband’s greatest servant yet it still startles you. Uraume has told you of how they found their way into Lord Sukuna’s company. A story of pure happenstance that led to a lifetime of loyalty. To hear that you’re held in the same regard by your lord husband’s closest companion is strangely touching. It quells a bit of your anxiety. 

Suddenly elated, you find yourself giggling like a maiden. “It seems strange to know I hold such importance to someone so powerful.” You were born into a family of high standing, but you could’ve never expected your life to lead you here. Lord Sukuna was a king among curses, and he heralds you as his truest queen. It’s a dizzying thought. It makes your days of longing seem less senseless to know that even the smallest fraction of your lord husband’s heart felt the same. The idea that a man like Lord Sukuna could love you in the way an ordinary man might still seems nigh impossible, but there’s no doubt that he cares for you in his own way. It feels like a reward for your patience and devotion. Never have you harbored a jealous thought towards your fellow wives. There was only longing in the way that a farmer yearns for rain. It’s necessary, unselfish. 

But perhaps you should learn to be more covetous with women like Momoka joining the household. Her intentions seem anything but pure and you wanted your lord husband nowhere near her presence if it could be helped. Doubtless she’d perish before bringing Lord Sukuna to harm, but even the intent was enough to stoke your anger. Though there was no proof of ill intent other than the strange feeling twisting in your gut after only a few minutes in her presence. It isn’t enough to call her a traitor, but if even Uraume is weary, then you have reason to maintain your distance going forward.  

The moon is high in the sky by the time the estate is bustling with news of Lord Sukuna’s return. You’ve already shed the layers of your clothes in preparation for bed but a maid comes to inform you that your lord husband is in want of your company. You thank her, quickly wrapping yourself in something to preserve your modesty before slinking off to Lord Sukuna’s room accompanied by the light of a candle. It tossed golden shadows across the long halls, your silhouette dancing across the walls. A slash of light spills from the room ahead, a sweet voice slipping through the crack. Your hurried pace slows as you take in the same coquettish tone that had rung in your ears all afternoon. Momoka was there. 

Though the door is open, you still kneel beside it as you’d always been taught, knocking tentatively to announce yourself. The gruff command for you to enter comes quickly and you steel your nerves as if you’re entering a pit of snakes. It feels nearly as inhospitable as your lord husband’s cursed energy seeps through the air like clouds of miasma. It’s as wholly overwhelming as it is comforting. Sometimes you feel like a mouse making her home between the paws of a tiger. 

Momoka is there, sitting at your lord husband’s feet as he lounges on the raised dais where his futon has been prepared. He hasn’t bathed, still in his traveling clothes that will need mending and washing. Spots of blood and torn seams abound as he reclines on the silk cushions. Momoka stares as you enter, setting down your candle. You suddenly wish you’d taken the time to better present yourself to your husband. The robe you wrapped around you has slinked off your shoulder, exposing the white nightgown beneath. Still partially clothed, you feel completely naked before Momoka’s calculating gaze. 

“Sister!” Her voice is elated though the smile scarcely reaches her eyes. You work to keep your expression from sour, annoyed that she insisted that sharing a husband made you as close as sisters. Momoka was a stranger and you have no intentions of forming any familial bond with the likes of her. Still, you incline your head, nodding in acknowledgment as you wait for Lord Sukuna to address you. 

“Come here,” he says finally, holding out a hand towards you. As soon as your hands meet, Lord Sukuna pulls you into his lap, wrapping greedy arms around your waist. Below, Momoka swoons. 

“Our husband treats Third Mistress so well! I’m jealous.” She touches her cheek as if to hide an embarrassed flush, but there’s nothing but pale skin peeking between her fingers. 

“You’re still here?” Lord Sukuna asks lazily, his hands already beginning to relieve you of your meager clothing. “Get out.” Momoka’s cheeks really flush then, cheeks reddening as her eyes widen. She lingers for just long enough to draw Lord Sukuna’s attention. 

“Get. Out.” He seethes. “Before I fuck my wife over your corpse.” That gets her to move. Momoka scrambles to her feet, not even bothering to bow as she scampers from the room, slamming the door behind her. Lord Sukuna is barely perturbed as he tucks his nose into the hollow behind your jaw. 

“Allow me to pay my respects, my lord.” You say softly. Lord Sukuna chuffs against your neck, tongue tasting the steady thrum of your pulse. 

“You’ll pay your respects from right here.” He insists, pulling you closer to his chest. “Kiss me.” The command always sounds like a test, as if he expects that one day you’ll shrink from him and withhold your affections. But to do so would be a betrayal of your vows, and you’d rather die than turn your back on your lord husband. His mouth is ravenous against yours. Teeth and tongue clashing as if he wants to swallow you whole. Perhaps he does. There’s hardly breath enough left in your lungs to speak when he pulls away, but you manage a stuttered, “My lord.” 

Lord Sukuna grunts, his fingers tugging at the edge of your robe. You hear the sound of fabric tearing before you realize he’s hooked his claws into the delicate fabric. It falls away from your body in tatters. 

“Would you truly kill Momoka?” 

“Who?” He asks with diminishing interest. His face is pressed between the swells of your breast now bared to the cool air. The edge of a fanged tooth catches against the soft skin before his tongue chases the pain away. You want to run a hand through his hair but swallow the desire. He may touch you as he pleases, but your lord husband has not given you such liberties with his own body. Though some things can be forgiven in the throes of passion. When your body jerks and shakes against him, grasping and curling around him because Lord Sukuna feels like the only thing tethering you to the ground. He is. Your sun and moon. It would almost be funny that he’s forgotten Momoka’s name if you weren’t so vexed by the strange demeanor hiding just beneath the surface. A snake hidden in the tall grass. 

“Fourth Mistress,” you try to keep the tremor from your voice as he tongues at the peak of your nipple. “Would you kill Fourth Mistress?” It seems like an inane question after Jurina’s death, but Momoka isn’t Jurina. Whatever she’s doing, whatever she’s planning, she has enough sense to keep it in the shadows. No maids to deliver you poisoned tea from the main house’s kitchen. 

“Do you want me to?” Lord Sukuna asks lazily, looking up at you from where his nose is pressed flat against your sternum. He can likely feel the way your heartbeat flutters at the question, drumming like a hummingbird’s wings as you imagine passing such a judgment. Jurina’s death had been justice, vengeance. Though shrewd, your only evidence against Momoka is intuition, but it seems enough for your lord husband as he nuzzles between your breasts. Sometimes, in softer moments, Lord Sukuna seems like a cat or perhaps a docile tiger given his size. He lavishes you with bored affection. Commanding you to eat, drink, sleep with him when he so desires though never with such enthusiasm that you forget your place as another bauble for him to play with. A pretty trinket on a shelf to be admired when you catch the light, flashing desperately to remind him that you’re here. 

How long had Lord Sukuna been gone this time? No longer than usual, you know, but every day that he’s away it feels like you’re the ocean beneath a moonless sky. Tide high and grasping. Longing for your lord husband. Momoka doesn’t share in your despair. Nor does Second Mistress. But they don’t deserve death for it. The grief of marriage shaped them into different women than you. Somehow you’ve hardened into the creature that Lord Sukuna favors most. His favorite woman. Jealousy wanes for a moment and you decide that perhaps Momoka is no more than an ordinary woman with a strange temperament in a strange place. 

“No, please, don’t kill Fourth Mistress, my lord.” 

“I’ll consider your counsel.” He says and the purring tone sends your head spinning. It’s half mocking, a patronizing hum, but buried beneath it is the knowledge that, in some respects, Lord Sukuna might actually care for your opinion. Useful, your mind whispers giddily. Use me, keep me, keep me!

His teeth leave burning marks across your neck and collar, dribbles of blood dripping down your chest where Lord Sukuna’s fangs break through your skin. He hardly leaves a mess as his tongue chases every drop of blood he spilling, lapping and sucking at your skin until bruises of his attention begin to rise to the surface. He crowds you against the futon, spreading you across his blankets. There’s the sound of tearing once more as he relieves you of your smallclothes. The cold air rushes over you, legs twitching to shut as a draft breathes in through the open door. 

Momoka hadn’t closed it when she left and the braziers only do so much to heat Lord Sukuna’s chamber when the warmth is bleeding out into the hallway. Though your lord husband hardly seems bothered by the cold. He looms over you, shoulders as wide as the whole sky. Black ink draws jagged shapes across his skin, mingling with the pale scars that litter his body. A patchwork of strength and perfection befitting no man other than your Lord Sukuna. Your hands ache to trace the shapes that stitched like a tapestry across your lord husband’s skin, but he still has your wrists manacled in his grip. Even as you pull against his strength, shifting restlessly against the bedding, his hold on you doesn’t feel oppressive. There’s the strength of a hundred men looming over you yet you feel nothing but grounded. Steadied by the knowledge that the King of Curses is your lord and husband. His eyes narrow as you stare up at him, red gaze scouring every detail of your face. 

“Who are you?” He asks suddenly, leaning close until you can smell the sake on his breath. He must’ve been home for some time before sending someone to fetch you. 

“I am the third wife of Ryomen Sukuna.” It rolls off your tongue as easily as breathing, pride dripping from every syllable. Lord Sukuna gathers your wrists into one of his hands, the other coming to hold your face as if you’d ever want to look anywhere but him. His thumb traces against your bottom lip as he holds your jaw steady. 

“You are the only wife of Ryomen Sukuna,” he says tersely. “The others are brides in name only.” There was a thought in the back of your mind of how you must’ve spoiled Momoka’s wedding night. When she arrived at the estate with her bridal procession, she was greeted by two wives rather than three after Jurina shunned you from her arrival, and Lord Sukuna had spent the night with you rather than his new bride. You knew that he had taken Momoka to bed, but it was expected. If she remained untouched by her husband, she could be given away to someone else, and Lord Sukuna was possessive of even his least liked belongings. No man could touch a woman that had been given to him, least of all you. 

“Soon,” he pressed a hand against your bare stomach, “you will be the mother to the children of Ryomen Sukuna.” Then his hand slips lower, nails already cut blunt as he tests the wetness between your legs. A rumbling purr builds in his chest when he finds you slick and wanting. 

“Your blood has passed, right, woman?” He asked so casually that you can’t help but stutter over the answer, an embarrassed flush of heat prickling over your skin as Lord Sukuna so casually mentions your moon blood. It’s been ingrained in you since birth that a perfect wife is a tool not a person, to hide the things that make you human. Lord Sukuna has no qualms with reminding you of exactly what you are. A woman, his woman. His thumb presses against your clit, drawing out tight circles that have your breath hitching until you’re too breathless to speak. Instead you nod. 

“Good.” The smile that overtakes his face is nothing short of predatory. A baring of fangs as he presses his forehead against yours, forcing your eyes to see nothing but his red glare as he curls his fingers inside you. When you find your voice again it’s high and faint as you squeak out a muffled “my lord.” Lord Sukuna’s grin widens before his tongue lolls out to lick at your lips where drool is slipping from the corners of your mouth. 

“Selfish little thing,” he admonishes. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already in this state. I won’t stop even if you exhaust yourself.” Already you’re shaking your head, half nuzzling against him where his face is still pressed against your. 

“I can take it! I will accept everything my lord husband gives me!” You sound half delirious, lost in the pleasure he’s lavishing over your body, tone just short of begging. Two hands keep you still, one around your wrists and the other on your waist; another pulling you to the edge of pleasure with every thrust inside you. The last hand eclipses the bottom half of your face, his thumb pressing between your lips until you feel the stinging pain of your lip being split open beneath the untrimmed length of his nail. 

Blood spills over your tongue and teeth, wasted until Lord Sukuna presses his mouth against yours. It’s too heady and hungry to be considered a kiss as his tongue sweeps over yours, stealing every drop of blood as it weeps from the cut bisecting your bottom lip. It’ll heal by morning but you’d take even the greatest wound to watch your lord husband take pleasure from your body. When the feverish feeling building low in your stomach finally boils over, Lord Sukuna swallows every sound of your orgasm. His shadow swallows you as he looms only a short distance above your body, leaving space for you to chase his skin as your back arches off the futon. His lower tongue licks over your stomach as you press into him, body shaking as he hooks his fingers inside you, driving you further into pleasure. 

Tears leak from the corners of your eyes and he licks those away too, tasting the salt of your skin. His teeth nip at the apple of your cheek, the gesture so playful that you can’t help but laugh. Affection blooms in your chest, roots digging deep and wide like a weed that you never want to pluck. Death will be the only thing to make your love for your lord husband wither on the vine. 

When Lord Sukuna is satisfied with the way you’re twitching and shaking beneath him, he pulls his hand from between your legs, grinning as he looks down at the mess shining between your thighs. He drags his thumb through your folds, petting the tender flesh as you try to squirm away from the burn of overstimulation. When he’s satisfied with your torture he brings his hands to his mouth, eyes locked on yours, to sample the taste of your arousal just as he’d done with your blood. Lord Sukuna has always been a selfish man, taking as he pleases, and the taste of your slick seems to satisfy him beyond reason. After his hand is clean he moves to stand, leaving you sprawled across his sheets. He moves to the small table where a cup and pitcher of alcohol waits. When you try to force your trembling limbs to move, keen to serve your lord husband a drink, he fixes you with a glare. 

“Be still. I’m far from finished with you, so be glad I’m giving you a moment of rest.” He sits on a cushion beside the low table and pours his own drink. He watches you as he drinks. The way your breathing evens and your limbs slowly still their shaking. By the time you’ve regained enough sound of mind to sit up, Lord Sukuna is pouring another drink. He watches you over the rim of his cup as you untangle yourself from the shreds of fabric still clinging to your sweat-dampened skin. The silence stretches on for a few moments longer before Lord Sukuna rests his chin on his fist and sets his cup aside. 

“Woman,” you look up from where you’d been working the tangles from your hair with gentle fingers. “Would you serve any man as diligently as you serve me?” 

It’s a strange question that gives you pause. The daughter of a highly ranked sorcerer family hardly has a say in the course of her life. All you can hope for is a good marriage. Perhaps without love, but, at least, respect. You always thought that you’d be wed to one of the many boys you’d seen passing through your clan’s estate when you were young. Each stronger than the last. Blood was what was most important, not affection. Your use went only as far as brewing children while your husband went out to fight. In that respect, Lord Sukuna was the same as any man. Yet his strength made him far greater than any other suitor that had been paraded through your childhood home. What would’ve become of you if you’d married a lesser man?

“I know that you would,” Lord Sukuna says dismissively, already past his curiosity. He takes another sip from his cup and watches you flounder for a rebuttal. 

“I wouldn’t–”

“But you would,” he says, condescension thick in his tone. “You wouldn’t know better.” He smiles then and it’s a cruel snarl. “You are the perfect woman, the perfect wife. Your family was wise to give you to me.” 

“May I ask a question, my lord?” He grunts his permission. “Would you sire heirs on another woman? If I weren’t your third wife, would another woman be the mother of your children?” Lord Sukuna sets down his cup and you bite at your lip, blood dripping anew. A punishment is close at hand, you fear. Lord Sukuna stands and it’s like watching a mountain rise from the sea. The candlelight dances over his face as he moves towards the raised futon once more. His movements are as poised as a predator as he crawls over you, crowding you further up the bed until your back hits the wall. There’s no expression to be found on his face as four eyes pin you in place. For a moment, he simply looms over you before leaning in close enough for you to feel his breath against your bloody lips. 

“No.” He kisses you then, swallowing your blood and elation as it bubbles in your chest. 

Regardless of the consequences, you throw your arms around his neck, selfishly pulling him closer. It would only be you. Lord Sukuna has told you countless times that you are the only wife that matters to him. He’s said it with words and action, yet only now do you truly know it to be true. No child of Ryomen Sukuna will walk the earth unless they’re of your blood. It’s a blessing from your maiden clan, all the ancestors that came before you spinning a web of probability to create you. You aren’t so ignorant to think that it is simply you that he desires to give him children. It’s your blood, your abilities; the chance that you might make a formidable heir that inherits your innate technique. The politics of jujutsu society are not lost on you, not for a moment. You are the wife of a king, after all. 

His hand moves to touch your stomach, a huge palm spread wide beneath your naval. There will be a child quickening there soon if all goes to plan. You press your hand over his, stealing every touch you can before Lord Sukuna draws away and scorns your lack of manners. His hair is soft between your fingers as your hand moves up the length of his neck to brush against the back of his head. The whole world is within your grasp. Your world. Your lord husband. When he pulls back from your mouth he moves only as far as your throat, setting his teeth against your flutter pulse and biting hard. Warm spills down the column of your neck and over your breasts as he drinks from you until you’re lightheaded. A giggle spills from your lips as his hair tickles the curve of your jaw. Blood is easily given when it will replenish by daybreak. 

Lord Sukuna makes a mess of it, chasing the red rivers until you’re covered in the pinkish remains of his hunger. Skin shining with spit and sweat as he fits your breast into the palms of his hands, pinching at the pert buds until your back is bowing into his touch. He bites you again. Again and again, though not breaking skin. Just hard enough to leave the shape of his teeth on your body. Your chest, your shoulders, then lower on the softness of your stomach where his child will someday grow. He bites at your thighs before bullying his head between them, squeezing your legs against his ears as he takes in a deep breath. When he pulls back his eyes are half lidded. 

“One day I will scar this body,” he declares, nails digging into the meat of your hips. “I will bite and scratch until you carry my marks on you forever.” You nod frantically, a pitiful “please,” leaving your lips. It’s impossible given your body’s ability to heal from nearly anything, but you would wear any mark your lord husband put upon you with pride. You would let him flay you and carve marks into your bones if it meant that even in death and decay there would be no question of who your body once belonged to. And even with your death, there would be no more children calling Ryomen Sukuna their father. You reach to touch the inhuman part of his face where his skin is raised and gnarled. 

“I love you.” You tell him. 

“I know,” he hums, pressing a kiss against your clit. He drags his tongue between your folds like he’s trying to swallow you whole. You twitch when his tongue flicks against your sensitive bud, tremors already starting in your thighs as Lord Sukuna hooks one set of arms over your thighs to pull you closer to his greedy mouth. It isn’t often your lord husband offers you this pleasure, always more preoccupied with sinking his twin lengths inside you. He’s been strangely neglectful of his own pleasure tonight but you allow yourself to be selfish while the offer still stands. Your hands sink into his hair again, nails scratching at his scalp. Lord Sukuna purrs, nose bumping against your clit at his tongues at your fluttering hole. 

The sounds he’s making between your legs are loud and lewd, leaving nothing to the imagination if someone happens upon the open door. It sets your heart fluttering, the idea of being watched, but your lord husband would let no creature see you like this and live. Even Uraume isn’t privy to the vision you must be tossing your head back and moaning out praise for the king buried between your thighs. Just as you’re starting up that begging mantra, pleading with your lord husband to let you come, he pulls away. A web of wetness strings between his mouth and your pussy, wet streaks shining on his nose as he licks the taste of you off his lips. He stands for a moment to toss away his pants, pausing as you admire his form. All thick muscle and black ink. His dicks stand between his legs, bobbing heavily as he moves to rejoin you in bed. 

Without thinking, you reach out to touch him, dragging down his chest before settling on each turgid length. He didn’t give permission, but Lord Sukuna doesn’t admonish your boldness and your hand wraps around him. Your touch is light, unintentionally teasing as you feel him throb against your palms. Lord Sukuna wraps a massive paw over your hand, forcing your grip tighter. 

“Do not play with me, woman,” he growls. The sound of skin slipping against skin fills the space between you as your hands fist the dual weight of your lord husband’s arousal. He’s wet with his own slick, the first spurts of it beading at the head of his cocks before spilling over onto your fingers. Lord Sukuna’s face remains neutral even as you feel him throbbing in your hands with each drag of your fists. 

A phantom ache pulses through your jaw as the memories of previous nights wash over you. The weight of him between your lips as his taste washes over your tongue. Your desire has become instinctual, bent to the will of your lord husband. He brushes his thumb over your parted slips, gathering a sheen of spit off the delicate skin to draw circles over your nipple. It’s an idle touch, seemingly thoughtless as Lord Sukuna’s eyes stay locked on where you have his dicks drooling against your navel. It looks like he’s trying to mark the spot. Every inch of your body belongs to your lord husband, but that place is special. He shifts his hips, bucking against your hands until he’s pressed against the softness of your stomach already wet with sweat and precum. Something in his expression changes. 

A faint flicker of something beneath the hard exterior. It’s there for only a moment, so quick that it might’ve been a trick of the light. But then he’s knocking your hands away and digging his lower hands into your hips. Pain prickles through your body as claws pierce your skin as easily as a knife through fruit. The metallic tang of blood fills the air once more as Lord Sukuna pulls you down the ruined sheets. Another hand slips between your legs to spread you open. One finger turns to two and then a third, your hips grinding down against the heel of his hand as he works you open. It lasts for only a moment, just long enough to ensure that you won’t break around him, before his fingers are being replaced by something bigger. He shushes the noise you make as he slowly presses inside you. 

“Hush, brat,” he scoffs, “I know you can take it. My perfect wife. You can handle your husband, can’t you?” He’s only halfway inside, his neglected dick twitching against your clit. You nod emphatically, tongue tripping over the same word again and again. “Yes, yes, yes!” You’re insistent in your enthusiasm. Of course you can take him. Of course you can handle your lord husband. He could cleave you in half in a lustful haze and the last words on your lips would be thanks for his attention. It feels like you’re breaking, cracks forming between your hips, as he pulls back only to thrust in deeper. When your hips meet, it feels like he’s hollowed out everything inside you save for himself. 

“Good wife,” he presses a strangely doting kiss to your throat. “My pretty bride.” It’s half teeth as he nips at your pulse but you can feel the tenderness behind it. A scant show of affection from the monster that made you his bride. Lord Sukuna seems like nothing short of a king as he uses your body to please himself. Each hint of pleasure as his cock grinds against your clit is purely coincidental, a side effect of Lord Sukuna’s own desires. 

“Do you know what today is?” He asks suddenly. It feels like a distraction as he pulls back just far enough to bully the head of his second cock inside you. The stretch is a burning sort of pleasure as your body yields to the familiarity. When you shake your head, he smirks knowingly. There are few things that occupy your thoughts now that you’ve been made a wife of Ryomen Sukuna. The date is not one of them. Nothing important happens in the winter. You’d married into the Ryomen estate in the spring. The new year comes for you with the fluttering of cherry blossoms, not the falling snow. And no date holds more significance than that. Not even your own birthday. Which you’re almost certain isn’t today. 

Lord Sukuna quiets your mind with a hard thrust that drags against that spot deep inside you. Your hands twitch to grab at him, to pull him closer as you had before, but you remember your manners at the last moment. The brief lapse of judgment isn’t missed by your lord husband’s gaze, however. He frowns at you and shifts his hold on your hips so he can slide deeper inside you. His other set of hands find your wrists, drawing them forward until your hands are resting on his shoulders. When he feels your nails digging into the rippling muscles of his back, he seems satisfied. 

“Two weeks since your blood.” He says pointedly. Suddenly your knees are pressing towards your chest as Lord Sukuna crowds you into the sheets, his entire weight bearing down on your body. Your thighs ache with the stretch but it only pushes him deeper inside you. 

“Your body waited for me, waited for your king.” He sounds approving. As if it’s a secret that you would wait for him until your body turned to dust. But you turn back time in your head and note that the cycle of your moon blood had somehow coincided with your lord husband’s coming and going from the estate. Two weeks. It was when medicine men visited your mother and aunts with tonics and elixirs promising heightened fertility. Weeks had elapsed since Lord Sukuna showed you the onsen of black blood. Time enough for Uraume to adjust your diet and allow your body to acclimate to the changes. Lord Sukuna slides a hand against your stomach, ghosting over the place where your body is stretched around the shape of him inside you. It only makes the dizzying heat building inside you grow hotter. You’re on the precipice, about to crumble, crying out vague pleas and promises as your lord husband lavishes you in his attention.

When you come, it’s hard and blinding. Pleasure shatters up your spine like a bolt of lightning, back arching until your chest to chest with Lord Sukuna, his lower tongue lavishing your breast in its drooling attention. Everything is soft and sharp all at once. Teeth and claws scratch against your skin in tandem to the velvet warmth of Lord Sukuna’s skin. He’s far from done with you, grunt as you twitch and squeeze around him, thighs wet with slick. As you stare up at your lord husband, the way the candlelight outlines him in gold as he looms above you, it feels like seeing behind a curtain. His face is void of any inkling of his inner machinations, but his actions lay his intent bare across your sweat-soaked body. 

Every scratch of his nails clawing some abstract shape into your soft skin, every flare of pain where his fangs cut through your body as easily as a knife through water, you understand your lord husband a bit more. The deep concepts are still a mystery, but the broader strokes are imprinted upon your body with reckless abandon as Lord Sukuna’s hands drag you closer by your waist. Close still isn’t close enough when you’d tear open your chest to make a warm place for him to lay his head. He spills inside you with a gritted growl, teeth bared as he glares down at you. There’s reverence somewhere in his ruby eyes. An understanding that you are something more precious than anything else he’s ever held in his hands. 

“Who do you love, brat?” He demands, hips still churning your insides over his softening dicks. It’s all you can manage to draw in a shallow breath and whisper, “you.” He reaches up to grab your jaw with sudden strength, so tight that your teeth feel on the verge of cracking. 

“Remember that when the first one comes. And the next, and the next. I am your king and your husband, above all others in your heart. Love no one more than you love your lord husband.” With those words, Lord Sukuna pulls away and you feel his seed being wasted on the sheets as it seeps between your thighs. A thick finger comes to pet your puffy folds, smearing through the mess and swirling over the sore bud of your clit. When you gasp and shiver, trying your hardest not to shrink away from your lord husband’s touch, Lord Sukuna laughs. Deep and loud like a roll of thunder. Far kinder than his usual mocking chuckles. 

He’s still half hard as he dons his soiled pants, wetness leaking through the white fabric as he gathers your limp body into his arms. His robe swallows you whole, collar tucked up to your nose as he wraps the long swathes of silk around your trembling form. The fabric smells like blood and your lord husband as your eyes flutter shut in the sudden cocoon of warmth. Each of Lord Sukuna’s swaying steps lulls you closer to sleep even as he steps into the cold blackness of night. The breeze is a haunting whistle through the bare trees as you allow yourself to be taken wherever your lord husband wills it. In the end, it’s the oppressive amount of amassed cursed energy that gives away your destination. 

The onsen of black blood is lit as if prepared for your arrival. Two weeks, you remember. They’ve been preparing for this very moment. Your hand touches your stomach beneath the folds of Lord Sukuna’s robe. Soon your body will no longer be your own, if truly it ever was. A willing sacrifice to please your lord husband. And yourself. Some secret, selfish part of your soul delights in the thought of being Lord Sukuna’s chosen wife. The one to carry a piece of him inside you, to give birth to the future of the King of Curses. He regards the small smile playing on your lips with narrowed eyes, teeth nipping almost playfully at the roundness of your cheek. 

Lord Sukuna strips the two of you bare once more and carries you into the black water. It’s warm and thick, clinging to your skin in inky rivulets. Lord Sukuna slips back inside you with an ease of familiarity, your body stinging with the burning pleasure of overstimulation. His hold on you is far more careful now, his touches idle as he guides you to grind against him. A finger traces over your face, wet lines streaking your skin. You lavish in the attention, only vaguely recognizing that the shapes he’s drawing across your body mirror the black marks adorning his skin. It’s an act of possession. Marking you in an unmistakable way. You hope they stick, as proof of how utterly and irrevocably you belong to Lord Sukuna, the King of Curses. 

[thepinkpanther83]

And They Were Roommates (Pt.1)

Chapter One: “Moving In”

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

This is gonna be a long one, inspired by my good friend @justalotoffanfiction. We were discussing Eddie Munson roommate AU's and I started two of them, one is tucked away potentially for later (maybe) but this one has exploded onto the pages, I was already many chapters into this one, before I started posting it. I update/post daily if time permits.

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Summary:

Eddie is tired of the trailer park life and wants to move out and find a place of his own. A roommate situation would be ideal and more affordable. He finds an ad in the Hawkins Post for a co-ed living situation. Can he convince you to let him move in, or will his reputation proceed him?

Next Chapter: Chapter Two: “Our First Day”

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter One: “Moving In”

Hawkins, Indiana - Fall, 1986

The pages of the Hawkins Post crinkled between Eddie Munson's fingers as he leaned against his van, the ink rubbing off slightly onto his calloused thumb. A circled ad caught his eye, "Roommate Wanted: Female senior student looking to share a two-bedroom, one-bath apartment near town square. Rent negotiable. Serious inquiries only."

He read it twice, tapping the metal ring of his thumb against the side of the paper. "Serious inquiries only, huh? Well, I'm seriously outta here, Uncle Wayne," he muttered, folding the ad and tucking it into the pocket of his worn leather jacket. By the time he pulled up to the address listed in the ad, the sun was sinking low behind the trees, casting long orange shadows over Hawkins. His van coughed and wheezed to a stop, one speaker still blasting Dio's Holy Diver before he clicked it off. He stepped out, combat boots hitting pavement, black jeans torn just enough to make the PTA nervous, Hellfire Club tee peeking out beneath a flannel that had seen better days.

The apartment building wasn't anything fancy, but it wasn't a trailer surrounded by nothing but empty beer cans and woods, either. So progress.

Eddie ruffled his mess of brown curls, his nerves hitting him for the first time as he approached the door. He'd never had a roommate that wasn't in Corroded Coffin, and even fewer of those had been from the ‘I don't run screaming when Eddie Munson walks down the hall’ crowd- especially not girls.

He knocked twice

The door opened.

You stood there, looking far more composed than he ever managed to be at school, he knew you, the pretty girl from Hawkins High, the senior who always seemed to float just out of his chaotic orbit. He gave a crooked grin, lifting his hand in an awkward sort of wave.

"Hey, uh… I think I called earlier? Eddie Munson. Y'know… metalhead, dungeon master, part-time town freak," he said, fingers drumming a silent nervous rhythm against the strap of his guitar case. "You're the one with the apartment, yeah? Still looking for a roommate? Or did I miss my window of opportunity and doom myself to a lifetime of my Uncle Wayne's TV dinners?”

He tilted his head, his grin softening just a little.

"Mind if I come in and check the place out?”

As you stood at the door, taking in Eddie's presence, recognition sparked in your eyes. Despite his outward appearance and reputation amongst your peers as the ‘town freak,’ you saw past the stereotypes. You’d always admired his confidence and genuine demeanor beneath the metalhead exterior. A refreshing change from the superficiality that often clouded high school cliques.

With a faint smile playing on your lips, you stepped back to allow him entrance into your modest apartment. "Come in, Eddie," you said warmly, gesturing for him to follow as you led the way in towards the living area.

You glanced at him, the senior student who always seemed to reside on the fringes of most social circles but held an undeniable charisma that had always intrigued you. You’d always thought he was cute in a ‘bad boy’ sort of way, but you didn’t really know anything about him, not really, other than rumors. However, you found you were drawn to Eddie's presence, his easy smile, and the way his brown eyes sparkled with genuine interest as he looked around. His aura was different from the usual high school crowd, intriguing you in a way that made your heart flutter a little.

"So, umm… Thanks for considering this roommate situation… I've been searching for someone reliable and easy-going," you remarked as you led him into a cozy living room adorned with old vintage furniture and shelves filled with well-loved books.

Eddie looked at you thoughtfully, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Who could resist an offer like this?" Eddie replied with a casual shrug, his tone light as he looked around.

Your curiosity was piqued by this enigmatic man who seemed to carry secrets within his dark gaze. You wanted to know more about him, but you didn’t want to just bomb him with personal questions and make things weird on the first day.

You continued guiding him through each space. You pointed out details like the quaint kitchen overlooking a small backyard garden. There was sunlight filtering through overhanging branches, creating dappled patterns on its stone path. You were relieved you’d cleaned and prettied the place up before anyone had arrived to see it.

As you moved from room to room, your conversation flowed effortlessly despite the initial awkwardness outside. You found yourself opening up more than usual, drawn by Eddie's genuine interest in getting to know you beyond surface impressions.

Eddie nodded appreciatively while taking in all aspects of your potential shared living space. He could picture it now, a mix of music posters adorning one wall juxtaposed against delicate houseplants perched near sunny window sills, it could be a blend reflecting both of your personalities merging together within these walls.

"I have some house rules we can discuss if you're interested… And feel free to ask any questions or share your preferences too," you mentioned casually before pausing to open a window letting fresh autumn air filter inside, carrying the distant sounds of Hawkins' evening bustle.

The sunlight streaming through the kitchen window illuminated Eddie's features, casting shadows across his rugged face and adding an air of intrigue to his presence. His interest in your space was pretty obvious from how he glanced around appreciatively while absorbing each detail you pointed out.

Turning towards him with a smile playing on your lips, you invited casually,

"So, what do you think so far? Is this something that works for you, or are we going to clash over décor choices already?"

Eddie leaned against the kitchen counter, his rings clicking softly against the laminate as he drummed his fingers. His gaze flickered from the sunlit garden outside to the way your hair caught the golden light, and for a second, he forgot to answer.

"Clash? Nah, sweetheart," he finally said, grinning as he pushed off the counter to step closer to you. "I mean, unless you’ve got some deep-seated hatred for Black Sabbath posters or the occasional bong left on the coffee table, then we might have a problem." His smirk was playful, but his eyes were earnest as they met yours. "But seriously? This place is great. Cozy. Lived-in. Not like some sterile showroom where you’re afraid to sit on the furniture."

He wandered over to the bookshelf, tilting his head to read the spines. "Damn, you’ve got good taste. Stephen King, Tolkien…" His fingers brushed over a well-worn copy of The Stand, and he shot you a look of approval. "You’re already winning points here."

As Eddie admired your book collection, sharing his appreciation for your taste in literature, you felt a sense of connection forming between the two of you that went beyond just roommates. His easy banter and shared interests bridged any lingering doubts you may have had about inviting him into your space. You could easily see yourself becoming friends with this guy.

Turning back to you, he crossed his arms, his leather jacket creaking softly. "So rules… I’m guessing ‘no impromptu band practice at 2 AM’ is probably on the list, right?" He chuckled, but then his expression shifted. "Look, I get it. You don’t know me, and Hawkins High’s rumor mill hasn’t exactly painted me as the ideal roommate. But I’m not some chaotic gremlin… Well, not all the time."

He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the faint mix of leather and weed clinging to his clothes. "I’ll clean up after myself, pay rent on time, and I promise not to scare off any dates you bring home… unless they’re assholes. Then I might flex my ‘town freak’ reputation a little." His grin was crooked, almost shy. "So… what’s the verdict? Am I in, or do I gotta go back to my Uncle Wayne’s and endure another lecture about ‘responsibility’?" There was a hopeful glint in his eyes, like he already knew the answer but was waiting to hear you confirm it.

With a soft laugh, you playfully nudged him, feeling the warmth of his nearness. "Black Sabbath posters are more than welcome here," you replied with a grin. "And I don't mind a bit of a rock 'n roll ambiance."

You looked him over appraisingly for a moment, then decided. "Band practice curfew is definitely on the list," you teased back, his words reassuring you, showing glimpses of vulnerability beneath his confident façade. You appreciated his honesty and promises to respect your space and boundaries.

"I think we can work something out," you said softly, meeting his gaze head-on. "As long as your Uncle Wayne's TV dinners aren’t part of our regular menu rotation."

Relief flashed across Eddie's face.

Later That Evening…

It was just starting to get dark out when you heard the telltale rumble of Eddie’s van outside again, followed by the slightly too loud slam of the driver’s side door and the unmistakable sound of something, probably heavy, thudding onto the pavement.

A moment later, there was a knock. Not the kind of knock someone gives when they’re unsure or being polite. No, this one was casual, almost rhythmic. Confident in that Eddie Munson way, even if there might've been a touch of nerves under it.

When you opened the door, he was grinning, slightly out of breath, with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his guitar case hanging off the other, and a milk crate held out in front of him like an offering to the gods of shared domesticity.

The side of the crate was labeled in thick black Sharpie: “EDDIE’S SHIT – DO NOT TOUCH (unless you want to be cursed)”

“I bring gifts,” he announced dramatically, stepping inside without waiting for an official invitation like he was already testing the boundaries of his new residence. “Behold… relics from the cursed tomb of Uncle Wayne’s living room. Some of this stuff hasn’t seen daylight since ‘84.”

You stepped aside to let him pass, eyeing the crate with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “That sounds… ominous.”

“Oh, it is,” Eddie said proudly, setting the crate down on the coffee table with a soft thud. “There are mysteries in here that man was not meant to comprehend. Also, like, an ashtray shaped like a skull and a mixtape I made when I was grounded for ‘accidentally’ flooding the science lab.”

You raised a brow as he opened the crate and immediately pulled out the aforementioned skull ashtray, placing it on the center of the coffee table next to your bowl of trail mix like it was some kind of crown jewel. You just stared at it for a moment… hollow eyes, a missing tooth, the faint scent of old smoke still lingering in the ceramic, it matched nothing in your carefully curated apartment.

You glanced from the ashtray to Eddie. Then back to the ashtray.

Then back to Eddie.

He blinked at you. “Too much?”

You slowly turned to the bookshelf, grabbed a scented candle, and swapped it with the skull like it was a hostage exchange. “We’ll… workshop the décor,” you said diplomatically.

Eddie let out a full laugh, something real and bright that filled the space. “Alright, alright. No skulls on sacred surfaces. Got it.”

He dropped his duffel bag by the hallway, stretching out his arms like he’d just finished a cross-country trek. “So… I guess this makes it official. We’re roommates. You, me, and a very judged ashtray that will now live on the bookshelf next to your copy of Pride and Prejudice. Which, by the way, makes for a killer combo.”

He flopped onto the couch with the kind of dramatic flair that suggested he'd been practicing the move for years, his boots immediately propped up on the coffee table before he caught your look and sheepishly lowered them. "Right. No feet on the furniture. Noted."

The grin he shot you was all mischief, though, like he was already cataloging all the little ways he could push your buttons. Just enough to be entertaining, but not enough to actually piss you off.

"So," he said, stretching his arms behind his head, "what's the first rule of Roommate Club? No midnight jam sessions? No stealing each other's leftovers? No summoning demons in the living room unless it's a Tuesday?" His eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was a genuine curiosity there too, like he actually wanted to know where the lines were.

Then, as if remembering something, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled joint, holding it up between two fingers like a peace offering. "Also, uh... smoking policy? Inside, outside, or ‘only if you share’?"

The way he waggled his eyebrows at the last part was ridiculous enough to make you laugh, but the real kicker was the hopeful little tilt of his head, like he was already mentally preparing to brave the cold if you said no.

You could practically see the gears turning in his brain. ‘How far can I push before she kicks me out?’ and yet, somehow, it didn't feel invasive. It felt... kinda fun. Like this was just the start of a weird, chaotic, good thing.

So you crossed your arms, pretending to consider it seriously before shrugging. "Demons are fine, but only if they do dishes. And the joint? Definitely share."

Eddie's wide grin could've powered Hawkins for a week. "Fuck yeah. Roommate rules officially approved."

Then, with the kind of effortless charm that made you wonder how this guy was still single, he patted the spot next to him on the couch. "C'mon, let's break in this place right. First order of business: picking a proper housewarming soundtrack. And don't say Fleetwood Mac… I know you've got taste in there somewhere.”

The way he said it, teasing but sincere, made it impossible to refuse.

So you sat.

And just like that, the apartment felt a little homier.

He leaned forward and started rifling through the crate again like it was Mary Poppins’ bag of cursed treasures. You saw one tape labeled “ONLY FOR COOL BITCHES” written in black Sharpie and had to stifle a laugh.

“Alright,” he said, holding up a beat-up cassette tape with pride. “‘The Essential Eddie Mix: Vol. 3.’ This bad boy’s got everything! Sabbath, Zeppelin, some early punk, a very emotional cover of ‘Landslide’ I recorded while drunk… don’t ask.”

“So you do like Fleetwood Mac,” you said, arching a brow.

“Don’t twist my words, witch,” he grinned, shoving it into the tape deck. “This was a one-time spiritual experience.”

The cassette clicked into place, and the first scratchy chords of ‘War Pigs’ poured out like some low-budget blessing. Eddie leaned back with a satisfied sigh, legs manspreading like he owned the place, hair a tangled mess against the couch cushion. He didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps didn’t care, that one of your throw pillows you had behind your back, was slowly being claimed as his own.

You glanced at him sideways, then grabbed a pretzel from the bowl of trail mix on the coffee table and tossed one at his chest.

“What’s that for?” he asked, catching it mid-air like a practiced gremlin.

“You’re stealing my pillow.”

He glanced down, totally unbothered. “It’s not theft if I improve it.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t ask for it back. Truth was, you didn’t mind him being there. The couch hadn’t felt too small until now, but somehow, the space between you had become its own little world. Close, but not close enough to be weird. Just… noticeable.

After a minute, the music shifted into something slower, one of those deep-cut Zeppelin tracks Eddie had probably played a hundred times. He hummed along under his breath, drumming his fingers on his stomach, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then, casually, he said, “So… what do you do when you’re not rescuing strays with weird ashtrays and questionable hygiene?”

You smirked. “I read. Mostly romance or horror. I write sometimes.”

“Write?” He turned toward you, suddenly alert in that Eddie way, like you’d just dropped a dragon egg on the table. “Like, short stories? A secret novel you’re hiding under your bed?”

You shrugged, but a flush crawled up your neck. “Just stuff. I never finish anything. It’s dumb.”

“Hey.” He sat up straighter, a pretzel forgotten in his hand. “Don’t say that. Writing’s metal as hell. Storytelling? That’s, like, the most powerful magic there is. That’s how I get people into D&D. You think Henderson would stick around if I didn’t spin a damn good yarn?”

That made you laugh. “So what, I should just start writing about half-orcs and necromancers?”

He grinned, wickedly. “Only if they have a tragic backstory and an inexplicable obsession with peanut butter.” He said while he kicked off his shoes.

You snorted, nearly choking on your own pretzel. “You’re so weird.”

“I know,” he said proudly, reclining again. “It’s part of the brand.”

Another silence settled between you, not awkward, just soft. The kind that happens when you’re not trying too hard anymore. Outside, a breeze rattled the window, and inside, the tape clicked as it needed to be switched sides.

Eddie gestured lazily toward the crate while he flipped the cassette. “There’s a deck of cards in there somewhere. You up for a little high-stakes Go Fish? Or are you too scared to face defeat at the hands of a dungeon master?”

You looked at him, with his floppy brown hair, a stupid grin, one of his socks barely hanging onto his foot, and you felt the corners of your mouth twitch into a smile.

“I’ll play,” you said. “But if I win, you’re doing the dishes for a week.”

“Oh ho ho,” he said, sitting up like you’d just thrown down the gauntlet. “You’re on, roomie.”

He dug through the crate with the fervor of a man on a sacred quest, finally pulling out a dog-eared deck of cards with a triumphant "Aha!" The box was barely holding together, the edges frayed from what you could only assume were years of greasy-fingered pizza and D&D sessions and late-night poker games.

"Prepare to be destroyed," he declared, shuffling with the kind of exaggerated flair that suggested he'd probably practiced in front of a mirror a time or two. A card flew out, landing face-up on the coffee table… The King of Hearts.

You raised a brow. "Is that an omen?"

Eddie smirked, scooping it back up and adding it back into the deck with a shuffle. "Nah, sweetheart, just my natural charm leaking out." He answered with a wink before he dealt the cards with surprising precision, his rings glinting in the lamplight. "Alright, rules: standard Go Fish, but with stakes. Winner gets bragging rights and..." He paused dramatically, eyes glinting. "Winner gets to pick the next mixtape. Loser has no veto power. And umm… something something has to do dishes for a week."

You picked up your cards, hiding a smile. "Deal."

The game started slow, Eddie's competitive streak simmering just beneath his laid-back façade. He asked for sevens with the confidence of a man holding a royal flush, only to groan when you handed him two. "You're hiding them," he accused, pointing a finger at you. "I know you've got more."

You batted your lashes. "Go fish, Munson."

He grumbled but drew, his expression shifting to pure delight when he pulled the card he needed. "Ha! The gods of chaos smile upon me!" He slapped down his completed set with unnecessary force.

You retaliated by sweeping the next round, your poker face impeccable as you calmly asked, "Got any threes?"

Eddie squinted at you like you'd just performed dark magic. "...You're terrifying." He handed over his last three with the solemnity of a man surrendering his sword.

The game stretched on, the pile of matched sets growing between you. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows in their frames, but inside, the apartment was warm, alive with the hum of music and Eddie's running commentary.

"Okay, hypothetically," he said, eyeing his dwindling hand, "if you could have any superpower, but it had to be, like, stupidly specific… what would it be?"

You tapped your chin, considering. "Hmm. The ability to always find the missing matching sock on the first try."

Eddie gasped like you'd just revealed the meaning of life. "Genius. Mine would be... the power to make any food instantly nachos. Just… bam." He gestured wildly. "Salad? Now it's nachos. Your mom's meatloaf? Nachos…"

You snorted. "That's the most Eddie Munson answer possible."

He placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head. "I live to serve."

The game reached its climax with you holding one card and Eddie sweating over his last two. He squinted at you, then at his cards, then back at you. "...Do you have any jacks?"

You grinned and handed him your final card.

His jaw dropped. "No."

"Yes." You fanned out your empty hands. "Dishes and mixtape privileges. Bow before your champion."

Eddie flopped back against the couch, arms splayed like a fallen warrior. "I've been betrayed by the very cards I love." He peeked one eye open. "...Rematch?"

You grabbed the deck before he could. "Nope. Pay up, loser."

He groaned but hauled himself upright, shuffling toward the kitchen with exaggerated despair. Halfway there, he paused, turning back with a smirk. "Hey, roomie?"

"Yeah?"

"Best damn first night I could’ve hoped for."

And with that, he vanished into the kitchen, the sound of running water and his off-key singing to Black Sabbath soon following.

You sank back into the couch, smiling to yourself. You realized… This was happening. Eddie Munson was now your roommate. And weirdly? That didn’t feel so weird, in fact… This was gonna be fun.

Don't know who to tag, who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be tagged! And to which fandom. (Bayverse TMNT, Vegeta, Eddie Munson).

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm

Masterlist

[kit-williams]

Haarken WorldClaimer

I'm not officially fully back but expect to see more than nothing which is an improvement; hopefully ill write something for Mermay!

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @nekotaetae

@sleepyfan-blog @remembrancer-of-heresy @felinisnoctis @solspina @the-californicationist

@beckyninja @noxassula

CW: the consent is VERY dubious, a bit of somno (sleep sex)

Divider by @squishyowl

He has such a terrible beauty to him... An other worldly handsomeness to himself as he's taken off that horrible mask and yet his voice is just as smooth if not smoother. You divert your eyes down as you feel those embers hiding in the dark look at you as if he could hear your private thoughts.

The only love you have for your master is simply the fact that he pays you but your fingers grip your apron tightly as you can hear his voice trying so hard to save his own skin. You feel yourself trembling and your lips quiver as those heavy feet make their way closer to you. The subtle way the others move away as you keep your eyes down.

The black and gold armor that fills your vision... Symbology that makes your eyes hurt as you try to not react but you were never the noble stoic maid... You know for a fact you probably were hired because you looked cute enough.

You're not payed enough to pay attention that much is clear as those hands that can crush a mans skull gently tip your chin upward. "Look at me little bird." You hear it as if it's whispered only for you... And you of course obey.

Eyes wet and on the verge of tears looking into the depths of something older and far more powerful. Your master talking as you're certain you're not payed enough for this... As fingers that could crush your skull gently move over your face with such delicate touches... It almost makes you lost in where you are... Till your master offers you to sate whatever desire the monster might have and fresh hot tears and some dying animal like noise in your throat as you trembled like a newborn animal uncertain on it's legs.

He gently hushed you as his thumb caressed your cheek as you tried to keep yourself in check but it was all too much for you and you were coming apart at the seams. But you could see the way his lips curved up into a smile clearly enjoying your distress and the way you leaned into the false comfort from him. His voice in your ear as he leaned down to whisper in your ear... Hot breath against the shell of your ear as a voice made of sin whispered to you alone. "Tell me what you want little bird."

"I want to live." You whimpered and he simply hummed at your response.

"You will..." He simply said as his tongue licked your ear and he nipped at your cheek. Before he pulled away and gave you a wink before turning away to finish extorting the governor. You wanted to fall to the floor but you stood there as you had a feeling what was coming... But you'd live... And that was all you could ask for in this situation.

Time dragged on as you stood there waiting and waiting and waiting till the master all but threw you out himself but you feared the Astartes more and were relieved when he flicked his hand to show you off. You felt so lost as you pled to the other around you on what to do! Shaking like a leaf as really all anyone could do was give you some sympathetic look and empty comforting words. Were you to wait here?! Was this whole thing just some cruel bluff?!

Before you could get lost in your own head more someone grabbed your arm dragging you off to distract you… perhaps they would forget about you. And you easily got lost in the repetitive monotony of your job… that high strung anxious state slowly fading into the background static of your mind and this whole ordeal was but an unpleasant blip. Allowing yourself to get lost in the doldrums of the day, even finding a moment to slip your earbuds in and listened to music… dancing to the beat though really it was just shuffling your shoulders as you swayed making the bed.

No one came to gather you… you hadn't been paranoidly looking over your shoulder at all really. After the first two hours you stopped jumping at shadows, by hour four it was simply forgotten… you had convinced yourself that you had just fallen through the cracks and that the whole exchange between your Master and the Lord Astartes was simply a show of force and that was fine with you. You swallowed that inconvenient truth of how quickly you were offered to some evil Space Marine for your master to buy himself time, but the night moved on like any other night. Back home in your little apartment the night continued like any other night you had food, did your chores, enjoyed your time for leisure, and it all wrapped up in the warm embrace of your bed in a lazy summer evening.

You snickered softly as the joke you heard echos in your mind before the gentle sweet allure of sleep takes you. Deep within its embrace that you don't realize a predator has slithered into your den. Steps that are as silent as a grave move through the sanctum of your home… a place you felt safe in and it finally finds you deep in slumber with your back to the door. His tongue moved over his teeth as there was a delicious giddiness to finding you like this unlike what he was expecting… he had expected you to be like all the others a cornered prey thing shaking as there was no escape… no he found the dove asleep in her nest. He quickly discarded his tunic as he soon climbed into her nest.

You laid in that fuzzy state of sleep but there was that fuzzy sense of awareness… like someone was touching you… that someone was besides you… you were aware of the space between your legs in this fuzzy dream state. Your hips twitched but you dared not leave the blanket that sleep had wrapped you in. "Do you like that?" A voice that was like sin whispered to you. And all that left you was a small noise. Haarken had planned to wake you but… it honestly escaped him the last time, if ever, he found his prey asleep when he had a claim on them. He continued to pet your sex, laying beside you, before sinking a finger in with absolutely so resistance, "I think you do." He purrs as you still do not rouse. You could feel warmth on your cheek… the heat of his breath as he was all but on top of you in your small bed.

It was terribly easy to strip you naked without waking you, your clothing had been loose fitting which hardly stopped him from getting his prize. Your hips twitched more as he added a second finger and slowly picked up speed. Your hips twitching as if to chase his fingers as he pulled them back from your depths. He listened to your breathing speed up as he continued to whisper praises in your ear… gently caressing your neck. He watched the cord inside of you snap as you weakly arched your back to an orgasm… squirming and thrashing as you rode through it.

Your eyes blinked slowly as you turned your head to the side checking the time... it was early, far too early for you to be awake. You whine as you feel something stroke against your clit as a smooth voiced chuckle comes from the other side of you. With a bleary gaze you looked to your side just blinking slowly at the Lord Astartes in your bed. You're blinking slowly and confusedly as he just grins at your reaction. "You're such a funny little prey thing. I cannot remember the last time something I hunted was so bold enough to actually fall asleep!" You continued to blink at him trying to wake up as you yawn softly and that just makes him grin more. He pushes your legs up and settles between them, ready to sink himself into you. "Should I feel offended? I knew you had no chance of escaping from me but the fact you have basically offered yourself up without a fight! And yet little prey thing this is exactly your place. But you must tell me… why did you think you wouldn't have me come calling?"

You rubbed your eyes feeling his cock head tease your entrance as a thumb presses into your knee as he forces you into a mating press. You could hear him slowly rocking against you… hearing the moisture gathering as this did not feel unpleasant, "Umm…" You try to gather your thoughts as there was an idea you were still dreaming, "yes my Lord… I uhh figured that since I wasn't gotten relatively soon after your statement that I had been forgotten about." You exhale as you feel him sink into you, your eyes easily fall close as your head falls back once more feeling boneless and relaxed which worked out given his size, large but not impossible to handle.

You opened your eyes as Haarken laughed at your truthful explanation, the laugh like a madman, but the look on his face was difficult or rather impossible for you to read given the dark of the room and the blackness of his eyes… but those unnatural flickers of light in them gave away the way his eyes roving down your body. A tired pant left your mouth as his hips pulled back and you were reminded of where you were… and yet that reminding seemed to spark something inside of you that raged like a promethium fire. You ignored that voice in the back of your head telling you this was wrong to focus on the wet fap of his cock moving in and out of your sex and the clap of his skin to yours. The warm body forcing you to curl up and the velvety voice above you just made you ignore that voice and focus on his instead.

Your feet slipped from his shoulders and tucked themselves under his arms as your bed protested loudly to the abuse it was suddenly taking. Your hands were bold enough to touch him as you would make adjustments, like as if you were having sex with any other partner, pushing against that slab of meat that was his stomach as he continued to thrust into your depths. But if you were more awake you would have put in more effort into how you sounded… oh what awful noises you made that sounded closer to some tiny bleating creature… unflattering and almost painful but the fluttering of your eyes and the way your squirmed betrayed the pleasure you were having. Your breath was loud in your ears but his voice drowned everything out as you were chasing your next orgasm.

You were so close so you started to grope a breast and pinch a nipple to try and give yourself something to help chase you over the edge. Haarken's eyes darted to your breast and took over in lightly pinching it and well when it became too much you pushed his shoulder with your foot, not thinking as you hissed too much as with your eyes closed focused on the pleasure. He laughed at the stubborn little prey thing that you were and was having fun with that as he focused on the way his hips slapped into yours. Clenching again and again but never falling over the edge as the frustration was on your face till you let out a shrill cry, "THERE!" Your eyes snapping open and you focused on chasing that build up to your orgasm… bucking against him, moaning loudly, and overall being far more active participant than other sacrificial offerings.

That scream of pleasure from you was one of that triumph release and very much unlike that dying scream… either way all the tension was released. You collapsed under him in that fuzzy pleasured state letting him finish. He could snap your neck with ease… be done with it all and leave your corpse to be found possibly days later by some poor companion having to find you in such a state. If he was like the other whoresons of Curze perhaps but his chalice of suffering and torment was far too large to be filled by such a small act… no no it was filled with the fear of a million souls. You mewl as hot cum fills you and that shiver as you can feel it spill out of you.

Your eyes struggled to stay open and all it took was some gentle coaxing from that velveteen voice to get you to pass out… uncertain if you would wake up at all…

Perhaps it was a surprise to you that you woke up in your bed, your alarm clock unplugged… you sat up and slowly patted your body as everything was there. So by some miracle of something out there… you lived. And to celebrate you took the memo from the unplugged alarm clock and took the day off.