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suksatoru · 16 days ago

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sukuna and you got into a fight after you had a near death experience. when you're in need of comfort—he's hostile and enraged. you're hurt tenfold and overcome with sadness after his outburst. going to bed after fighting with sukuna is a war all in itself–but one day, you'll be able to see just how hard he works to be a good lover to you. pairing: sukunaxfem!reader ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

Sukuna is silent as he changes, save for the quiet grunts and sighs that leave his lips every now and then. The dim lamp lit on his side of the bed creates shards of gold that glisten and shine in his eyes, and he regards you quietly as he slips out of his formal robes and into a simple pair of pants.

He could be so mean sometimes. You were never one to take his insults to heart, they were always empty words he muttered out to mask his true feelings. You know Sukuna is bad at communication, you are all he's had and ever will have. There was no one before you, and there will be no one after you. So, Sukuna has to learn to go through all the hard stages that come packaged with a relationship alongside you.

Your back is turned to him as you lay in bed, your body tense and shoved so far towards the edge of the bed, he's sure you'll fall off if you shift even just the slightest bit. You're so desperate to stay away from him, and a small part of Sukuna's chest squeezes painfully at the sight.

He doesn't know how the argument started—you were always so level headed. He could come to you fuming, enraged from his duties and the stress he has to endure everyday—but your fingers raking through the pink tufts of his hair never failed to calm him.

Except today.

Because today—today he was mad at you.

You didn't mean to upset him, those were the words that tumbled from your lips as you weeped into his lap—begging for forgiveness. Your lashes clumped together with glistening tears, and all you wanted was to be comforted by him. But Sukuna scolded you instead, berating and belittling you with the cruelest of words that only made you cry harder by the end of the entire ordeal. He wasn't mad, he was fucking furious.

He told you to stay away from his estate's river whenever it's raining. But you ventured outside anyways, mindlessly and stupidly and almost died. He warned you how strong the currents were, told you how he'd lost so many idiot servants to the river's ruthlessness.

He thought you had died. It was the single, most terrifying moment of his entire life. Because when he pulled you out of the water, you were shaking like a leaf and your pulse was barely there. And when they took you to the medical wing, the doctors were brought to near tears as they tried to keep you alive. Because if you died, if they couldn't bring you back to consciousness safely—then Sukuna would probably kill everyone in a mile radius just from pure rage.

But you're here. Stubborn and alive, arms crossed over your chest as you curl up into a little ball. He slides under the blanket eventually, turning off the lamp as darkness finally envelops his room. The rain still goes on quietly outside, pitter pattering against his window softly.

He presses his lips onto your shoulder blades, pulling your back against his chest and frowning a little once he feels how stiff you are in his grasp. He doesn't want to speak the words—doesn't even want to acknowledge them, but he knows he has to. Or your tear stricken face was sure to haunt him and keep him awake the entire night

His lips are rough against your skin, and you let out a huff—before elbowing him, the King of Curses, in the gut.

He sucks in a hiss from between his teeth, before biting down on your shoulder in retaliation as you yelp

"You bast–"

You're turning around to tell him off, brows scrunched together and lips pulled back in a wobbly scowl, and he takes the opportunity to shut you up when his lips collide with yours

You would have expected the kiss to be rough—angry and hard and mean. But his lips brush yours gently as you pause, before his warm mouth presses softly onto yours

Sorry. He mumbles the word quietly against your lips as he wraps a single arm around your waist, turning you around and over him before securing you on top of his chest with a deep sigh. His irises are lined with a ring of ruby, and you watch him gaze at you through half lidded eyes.

The moonlight barely illuminates his face, but you can see the sheen in his gaze as he peers up at you

Thought I lost you. He murmurs when you suck in a cry, and he rubs your back whispering I know, I know.

Ryomen Sukuna wasn't gentle, no one would describe him as gentle. But the manner he's rubbing your back in has you sinking into his skin as you soak up all the comfort he offered—the one you so desperately craved.

"It was so scary. I-I was just—" And you hiccup on a sob as he coos quietly, curling his large palm around the back of your head as he presses your face into his chest, mumbling sweet nothings into your hair as his hand rubs up and down the slope of your spine

" 'm here now. Rest, you're safe with me. You know that, don't you?" He questions, and you nod, sniffling as your small hands wrap around his neck, legs locking around his waist as you breathe him in.

No, he wasn't the best at managing his emotions. He was quick to anger, and, simply put, the biggest asshole to walk the earth. But he feels. He loves and he hurts and he knows that there is only one person who can accept him and his broken heart as it is—you.

#sukuna fluff #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x female reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #・❥ 𝐛𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬!

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luna-azzurra · 3 months ago

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How to Write a Death Scene

So, you want to write a death scene that hits your readers hard, right? Something that sticks with them, makes them feel something real?

First, give the death meaning. You can’t just toss in a death for the shock factor and call it a day. Even if it’s sudden or unexpected, the death has to matter to the story. Think about how it changes things for the characters who survive. Does it mess with their relationships? Their goals? Make sure this moment sends ripples through the rest of your plot. It’s gotta affect everything that happens after, like an emotional earthquake.

Then, think about timing. You don’t want to drop a death scene at the wrong moment and ruin the vibe. If it’s part of a big heroic moment or a heartbreaking loss in the middle of the story, it should feel earned. The timing of the death decides how your readers will react, whether they feel relief, gut-wrenching sorrow, or are totally blindsided. The right moment makes all the difference.

Next up, focus on the characters’ emotions. Here’s the thing, it's not always the actual death that makes a reader cry, it's how everyone feels about it. How do the characters react? Is the person dying scared, or are they at peace? Are the people around them in shock, angry, or just completely destroyed? You need to dive deep into these emotions, because that’s where your reader connects.

Make sure to use sensory details to pull readers into the scene. What does it feel like? The sound of their breathing, the stillness when they’re gone, the way everything feels heavy and wrong. Little details make the death feel real and personal, like the reader is right there with the characters, feeling the weight of the moment.

If your character has the chance, give them some final words or actions. What they say or do in those last seconds can really hit hard. Maybe they share a piece of advice, ask for forgiveness, or try to comfort the people around them. Even a simple gesture, a smile, a touch, a last look can leave a lasting impression. This is your last chance to show who this character was, so make it count.

Finally, don’t just stop when the character dies. The aftermath is just as important. How do the survivors deal with it? Does your main character fall apart, or do they find a new sense of purpose? Are there regrets? Peace? Whatever happens next should be shaped by the death, like a shadow that never quite goes away. Let your characters carry that weight as they move forward.

#death scene #writing #writerscommunity #writer on tumblr #writing tips #character development #writing advice #oc character #writing help #writer tumblr #writblr #creative writing

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criminalamnesia · 11 months ago

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Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

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authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

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navree · 2 months ago

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still on this, the thing that makes markey in particular so galling to me is that he's done NOTHING. he's been in politics for as long as my mother has been alive (my mother is in her fifties) and the only thing he has in his record in terms of tangible achievements is some bill from twenty to thirty years ago that makes it harder for poor people to have internet (in stark contrast to joe's proven bonafides and progressive record but shrug dot emoji). he's accomplished nothing meaningful, his win was based entirely on vibes that children decided he had and taylor lorenz's moronically credulous brain tried to pretend was smart politics, and promises that he immediately turned his back on the second the primary was over. he barely spends time in MA, if it weren't for joe trying to primary him he wouldn't have been in that state at all for the entire calendar year considering he lives in maryland. he's emblematic of everything people claim they hate about politics and careerism, but because he did the right lip service and sponsored one bill with aoc back before her brain developed, a bunch of kids who barely understand how government works went all in on using the internet to pretend he was this leftist king who would be the bernie of a new era and were surprised when a man who voted for the hyde amendment and stood by it even in 2020 and continuously famously doesn't back down on any bad decision he made continued to have the same stances he's had for the last fifty fucking years. fuck him, fuck the 'markeyverse', i'm so glad it basically immediately ouroborosed itself and that they're all useless and can't ever interfere in an election ever again.

calling the markey haters

#personal #do you know how FRUSTRATING it was explaining to people over and over that this man does jack shit #and that's not even counting how abysmal his constituent services was #or his racism #or the times he would make jokes about joe's dead relatives which is acceptable if they happen to be from a famous family #(he started off this fucking primary making some crack at a member of the kennedy family who'd killed herself that month)#(piece of SHIT)#i haaaaaaate him it's so serious and so personal for me #and i'm serious he NEVER changes positions #he still defends the hyde vote and the crime vote (back when people were angry about biden and the crime bill)#(but willing to give fucking markey a pass??????? tf??????)#it was so funny i remember spring of 2021 israel did some bullshit as it does #and markey put out some statement about how blah blah the us must support israel blah blah you know how politicians do #and the markeyverse kids were sooooooooo upset and betrayed and wailing about how he could turn his back on his principles #he has no principles this is who he's always bene you just fooled yourselves because you wanted to be important and you're stupid #(and then later that year calla calling afghans 'afghanis' while complaining about biden god she was dumb)#(can't believe the closest counterpart i had on the markey campaign was one of the dumbest people to ever live)#also not forgiving markey for the environment we had to deal with in that primary either #there's a reason i'm quoted BY NAME in a politico article talking about the death threats and threatening language i had to deal with #and the impact it had on me #god i'm still so heated i'm killing your career one day ed i swear to god

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