#ill flesh it out one day and make it into

[saelterlude]

You know those fics where the Kaito KID taskforce are so unbelievably fond of their thief and vice versa? The ones where it's not quite the taskforce letting him get away but more like "Yea, KID dropped this other, more dangerous criminal on our lap so surely this is much more important than catching him right? Also, I dont want him dead."

I love those (and if anyone have any pls send them my way) but I need a fic where it somehow came out that the KID they're chasing is the son of the previous KID (extra points for them realizing old!KID abandoned new!KID as a child) and now they gotta pick where their loyalties lie.

(AKA Kuroba Toichi bashing on his KID persona via the taskforce)

[puhpandas]

steel wool has the hugest opportunity in the world for a sb 2 like. vanny cassie plotline of her having been manipulated by mimic to be its new minion by framing Gregory during the elevator scene to cut off her one support system. gregory vanessa and freddy protags fleshing them out with dialogue as characters but also their motivations and what theyve been doing for years. have their long absence in games period but also in universe from helping the glamrocks/setting up mxes be explained by showcasing their fear and trauma by them just wanting to get away and they thought they were safe but they werent. have cassie be the reason they have to jump back into the fray and realize no matter what they do theyll have to kill mimic for good to be truly free even if they're afraid. plot of the game is Gregory trying to convince cassie he didnt do it and that shes being tricked and it takes all campaign to get through to her, probably after an intense dramatic climax. have Roxy be there by Cassies side to show how Freddy abandoning them at the Plex affected her and the 2 sides of the same coin the 2 of them have going on regarding sentience and their relationship with the characters they were designed to be with Freddy who got to be free and roxy who didnt. the actual vanny comes back as a big betrayal towards mimic after killing glitchtrap in hw2, either to become an antihero or to try and take over as mastermind. superstar duo reunite and names cleared. throughout the campaign Gregory finds out about ggy and its revealed in a room with documents about patient 46 and tapes where a final tape is found and Gregory speaks in it or is addressed by name. he grapples with it and not remembering it. btw setting is a modern day fallfest which is like amusement park size instead of small festival. boom peak game

[thenamessparkplug]

please do not the cat

[watery-melon-baller]

I could've sworn you posted a drawing of myosotis!Vee a while ago, but I cant find it on your blog anymore. Did you take it down after plans for her changed, or is this a classic tumblr search function L?

nope i still have it up! you might not be able to find it because it's on my art blog along with most of my myosotis stuff! (usually i reblog my art blog stuff on here but sometimes I forget but who knows it could just be Tumblr being terrible again)

but anyways the post you're looking for is right here! it's nice to see that someone else is interested in my au :D it still needs a lot of fleshing out still but as of now my plans for vee have not changed （ ＾ν＾）and if anyone else is interested in details about my au,,,, i would love to share,,,

[trollrider1111]

Making ocs is an art that i think was lost on me, to do that i think you need to be able to figure out a life and in order to do THAT i need experience in making ocs. Dammit i gotta do this badly, scared and for the first time

[siinlight]

They aren't comparable, but they are the

Omniman and Mark invincible fight and the Alucard Dracula castlevania fight

[honey-tongued-devil]

↞[arcane preference] founding out you were injured in crossfire↠

Since I've created a Bluesky profile and wrote my thesis on Arcane, I'll be posting both old and new drawings there as soon as the time comes. I'm taking advantage of this little space to promote my other social account. honey-tongued.bsky.social Also, I've received both comments and requests, but Tumblr decided I couldn’t post for a week (my internet connection is terrible). I want to let you know that I appreciate them, and I'll get to everything as soon as I can. So, feel free to leave comments, feedback, or requests!

Jayce: 

- This is the worst news he could receive: he's a scholar, he has no idea how to handle these situations, and, most of all, he's forced to confront his pride.  

- Not only was he unable to protect you now, but what if it happens again? Even if he's there, he wouldn't know what to do.  

- What if there's a next time? What if it doesn't turn out as well next time?  

- His self-sabotage leads him to distance himself from you for a few days, not because he doesn't want to be near you while you're hurting, but because he's ashamed of not being able to protect the person he loves.  

- On the bright side, for even just a second, he remembers the original purpose of his research: making the city safe, helping people.  

- But on the negative side, with no one to blame, more than ever, the people of Zaun appear to him as beasts, second-class humans who can't be redeemed in any way.  

- When he finally gathers the courage to see you again, he tries to make amends for everything: for not protecting you, for not being able to, for allowing someone to hurt you, and for not being there during your recovery.  

- He'll literally do anything to be forgiven: every morning you'll find breakfast in bed, if it's cold at night he'll prepare a warmer for your feet, and despite his squeamishness, he'll personally tend to your wounds, even if it makes him feel queasy.

Viktor:

- He tries to help you in every way possible, even ignoring his own pain.  

- He feels sadness, regrets that you went out alone and ended up in such a situation. He can't help but imagine the fear you must have felt, the confusion, and the loneliness when the guards intervened, and you woke up alone in the hospital.  

- He may be a scholar, but first and foremost he's a man with a moral code, and secondly, he's from Zaun: if he has any work, appointments, or lectures, he'll skip them all, maybe muttering a few insults in his thick accent at the most insistent people, and make up for it at night.  

- Plans, ideas, codes, anything – but he won't leave you alone unless you ask him to.  

- He takes care of you meticulously, respecting schedules, bringing you meals in bed, changing your bandages until your skin heals, and you're able to stand on your own again.  

- He doesn't mind helping you – as a chronically ill person who refuses others' help, he's learned to do everything on his own, and he's almost happy that his skills can be useful to someone else.

Ekko:

- Is it something totally normal in the lanes? Yes.  

- Does this stop Ekko from panicking? No.  

- He's the one who finds you and brings you to the others, but he doesn't want, nor can he afford, to be seen panicking. So, he swallows his despair and tries to act as normal as possible while ten other people rush to help you.  

- His face remains expressionless as the most skilled remove debris, clean the wound, stitch your torn flesh, and bandage you, but his foot keeps tapping the floor with force and speed, revealing his anxiety.  

- When the others insist that it's best you stay in the makeshift infirmary, he tries not to protest, but suddenly every moment of the day becomes an excuse to pass by: to bring you stolen sweets from Piltover, to tell you about some expedition, maybe even steal a kiss or fall asleep leaning against your mattress.  

- It's an overwhelming fear, but the fear of losing you makes him unable to think rationally, and all he feels is how much he misses you, even while you're right there with him.

Vander:

- A crossfire from the other side of the river was already a big enough provocation to alert him and prepare to defend the city or, if absolutely necessary, to strike back.  

- But you, as an accidental victim, are a huge problem.  

- He doesn’t have the heart to pull away from you, and when he does, he can’t help but feel frustrated, angry at himself, knowing he hasn’t been able to keep his city under control like he promised—to you, to Piltover, to everyone.  

- He’ll ask for your forgiveness by kissing the scarred skin every day, even if you insist it’s not his fault, and if you remember even one of the faces, he’ll go and handle the problem.  

- Not with violence, unless necessary, but it’s not about personal justice; rather, it’s about protecting the other citizens of the alleys too.  

- Even after you’ve healed, he’ll insist it’s absolutely necessary to carry you everywhere you need to go, claiming a very good doctor told him so.  

- And the memory of the scar will be tiny compared to all the marks Vander has left on you.  

Silco:

- Private justice is absolutely the first option, even though you were an accidental victim.  

- He’ll call all his goons and associates for a meeting while you’re still bedridden, to see if they’ve heard, seen, or been involved in any armed conflict, and if he doesn’t get a face or a name from them, he’ll turn to the brothel, the house of all information,  

- Until he finds who hurt you and makes sure they can’t do it again.  

- Silco isn’t fazed by blood or open wounds, but despite having enough experience to handle it himself, at least on the first day, he’ll take you to Singed to make sure you’re in the best condition.  

- In the following days, he’ll take care of you himself, but he has pride, a façade, and little emotional communication skills, so he won’t openly show how worried he is, relying entirely on the fact that you don’t know about the murder of your assailant and remember nothing of the visit to Singed.  

- But the only reason you heal so well and so quickly is that, even if he doesn’t know how to express it, all the love he feels is poured into the care he gives you.  

Jinx:

- Flashbacks. So many. Too many.  

- At some point, she’ll even convince herself that she’s the one who shot you, leading to a complete breakdown.  

- She punches her head, scratches herself without realizing it, her nose bleeds, and her eyes are bloodshot.  

- It takes her a while to convince herself that she wasn’t the one who shot you, even though the hallucinations overlap images of you with memories of her armed, creating waking nightmares that feel increasingly real.  

- As much as she’d like to ask her father for help, even just to give you a cleaner room, she feels responsible and is too scared that if she stays away from you, you’ll forget her. That’s why she sets up a little space for you and takes care of you herself, though not always painlessly.  

- She’s pulled bullets out of her own body more times than not after missions; what might seem like dangerous, delicate work to someone else is almost routine for her by now.  

- Once she has a suspicion of who might have done it, she’ll make sure they learn their lesson. 

 

Vi:

- Anger.  

- Why were you out alone? Why didn’t you leave as soon as you saw the crowd getting too big? Why were you in that area?  

- But her anger is just panic pouring out like a flood, the fear of not being able to protect the one she loves twists her stomach, making her feel like she might throw up, like she’s dying inside.  

- None of those questions mean she blames you, but she doesn’t know how to feel, what to think, or even what to do.  

- She’ll do everything to help you—bandaging you, cleaning your wounds, staying silent and giving her full attention to make up for not being there when you needed her, even though that’s not true.  

- And when the scar forms, she’ll kiss it every single day, every single night, like a little ritual between the two of you.  

Caitlyn:

- Safety first.  

- She’ll be the one to assess how bad the injury is, and if there are any foreign objects in your body, there’s a good chance she’ll try to handle it herself, even though at first it might seem a bit barbaric.  

- She’ll give you the guest room and call the family doctor to make sure you’re okay, that you don’t need anything else, and she’ll take care of what’s necessary, even teasing you a bit to hide her worry.  

- "A bullet in the leg from being caught in crossfire? Very vintage, I must say."  

- What you won’t know is that she’ll quietly increase security, not in an oppressive way, but just enough to make both you and the other citizens feel safer.  

- Her family won’t get involved directly, but they won’t stop her either. Sometimes Cassandra herself will make sure her daughter finds the tray to bring up to you, though she’ll never be too open about it.  

- The perfect rehabilitation? Long walks in the villa’s garden, so you can stop for some cookies or tea when you get tired.  

Mel:

- Flashbacks, but less personal than Jinx’s.  

- Her mother would call her weak if she knew how it kills her to see someone barely scratched by crossfire, and that realization soon turns into frustration, which then becomes anger.  

- She tries to stay calm, but her voice sounds like she’s scolding you, and then like she’s scolding the servants, or anyone else who crosses her path.  

- Two hours of lecture if you’re lucky—why you shouldn’t go out without a guard, why you shouldn’t put yourself in dangerous situations, why the enforcers are utterly useless and can’t find anyone responsible, even though the fight was so intense.  

- She’ll focus entirely on the bureaucratic side because little Mel was never taught how to deal with strong emotions, and she’s definitely feeling them now but can’t afford that vulnerability, even though she knows you’re safe.  

- She won’t take care of you herself, but she’ll always stay in the room. Not because she doesn’t want to, to be clear, but because she wants you to have the best care possible and prefers to leave it to a top professional rather than her inexperienced hands.  

- In return, she’ll triple the amount of affection and caresses—more to calm herself than you, but you won’t be the one to complain.  

Sevika:

- She needs a moment.  

- She knows she has to report to Silco that there was a firefight, that someone is threatening the people, but part of her just wants to grab those responsible and crush their heads with her bare hands, doing both you and her boss a favor. Yet, another part of her doesn’t want to leave you alone or take you with her.  

- She knows how to handle these things; she’s lost an arm, and Silco’s goons often come back in worse shape, which is why she’ll take care of you herself, in complete silence.  

- She’ll wait until you’re asleep to place a water bottle, a glass, some painkillers, and some bread on the nightstand next to your bed. And when she’s sure you’re fully asleep, she’ll leave a soft kiss on your forehead before putting on her cloak and heading out to the Last Drop.  

- There, she’ll release her anger in a brawl or two, talk to her boss, and search for the reason why she feels so awful at the bottom of her third glass of whiskey.  

[evilgwrl]

ExHusband!Simon x Reader

You Want a Divorce? (One)

Note: I'm having the WORST writer's block now so pls excuse my lack of proper writing... I'm currently sitting in front of a beach writing in hopes that ill gain inspo

CW: Angst, mentions of sex, jealous/possessive Simon, PLS DONT LEAVE YOUR KIDS IN THE CAR !!! Or break into someone’s house

Inspired by: Ex!Husband Simon

PART TWO

Simon stared at you. The shades of his eyes simmering into endless voids of obsidian, blonde lashes moulded against his greased lids, the residue of the perpetual torture his body had succumbed to during deployment.

“You want a divorce?” He spoke, voice deep as he flickered between your shaking heads, sweat soiling into the papers gripped firmly and your swollen face, cheeks feverish with a red hue, eyes even more so.

You held back a rough sob, throat stripped of all moisture evident in your hoarse voice as you spoke, “Yes, Simon. I think it would be best for our family… for us.”

He scoffed. “You think the best thing for our family is to separate?”

“We already pretty much are. You’re away for days, weeks, months at a time. We’re hardly a family and it’s difficult to explain to the children why I’m crying.”

“Ok then.”

That was it. You would admit, it stung. His lacklustre tone felt like a stab in the gut, the blade drenched with anthrax as it reared blistering sores internally, the effects having shown through your putrid complexion. Your skin was dull, practically lifeless, the only living form of you grew day by day through the darkening of eyebags that almost made you look apocalyptic.

It had been 12 months of separation, officially 8 being legally divorced. You kept his last name, the permanent burn of hearing Mrs Riley still searing through you with every syllable, yet you feel it would only hurt you more if they said Ms.

Simon was often away now, and the minimal family time he used to get felt pointless as the shabby apartment he moved into after the sudden interference of your mind-boggling news barely fit the two kids you shared. His body felt more relentless on him, the taunting of his mind fulgurated the inoperative reality that he would come home to you, to his family.

His voice, almost like it dropped an octave had grown richer in aggression, tormenting those he deemed suitable, both with his tongue and with his bruised knuckles, an oil painting of blue and purple hues radiating across the pale flesh as he shrugged it off to his team as “pushing himself and others to do better”.

Couldn’t you realise your mistake? Wouldn’t you prefer crying in his arms about his absence than never having it fulfilled again?

As he looked around the bleak environment, tan stained walls revolting the creaking mattress he had brought someone home to, someone who wasn’t you. It made him feel sick like a viral infection had slunk its way into his bloodstream as he laid next to a woman that failed to make his cock throb, endless images of you sprawled out under him flickering. No wonder he called out your name instead.

You felt the familiar shake of your hands every time your phone dinged; Simon’s dreary tone was evident through his dry “On the way” text. You ushered a day of your children’s life into their cartoon-themed backpacks, innocent smiles adorning their skin, doe-like eyes of brown, far too familiar to Simon’s staring up at you.

The sound of his car scraping into your paved driveway almost made you feel like throwing up, the nerves of seeing him combined with the already present pit of anxiety due to your date later turning you into one big shaky mess as you brushed it off as “too much caffeine”.

The echo of his car door slamming shut rung through your ears, staining you with the reiteration that your ex-husband was now at your door, heavy fists knocking upon the wood. The image you saw of him in your mind morphed back to reality as you stared at him, a blank expression on your face.

“Hi, love.”

“Hi, Simon.”

Your frown was clear, the pet name you were so used to becoming a distant memory in the past few months. It was a hole you were attempting to fill, to clear yourself away from his teasing tongue and faux impression of a healthy relationship. You were divorced for a reason, you knew that, but as you gazed upon the lack of life in his skin, it was almost like he was holding a mirror up to you.

“Daddy!” You watched as your 5-year-old, Ella, practically leapt into his hefty frame, his hands coiling around her like second nature. You could feel his warmth, the heat that would build in your stomach when you felt those same digits touch you.

“Hi sweetheart,” his voice gruff, yet tone lighter as he placed a delicate kiss on the skin of her forehead, “You miss me?”

She nodded, her face buried in the hem of his neck as your other child cooed from the bouncy chair, tubby legs attempting to wheel himself to the door.

“There’s my boy,” Simon practically cooed as he placed Ella down, bounding inside as he lifted the toddler out, grabby arms reaching out to pull at Simon’s locks, gentle tugs causing you to laugh.

Your voice cut through the scene like glass. Why would you want to destroy such a happy moment? Weren’t you supposed to be reuniting? Just say it, tell Simon you want him to come home, that you need him.

“This is Ella’s bag,” you speak, holding up the pink Minnie Mouse bag, “And this is Toby’s.” Your son giggled as he muffled out the words, “Transformers”.

Simon nodded, “Are you doing anything tonight?”

Ella practically screeched, “Mummy’s going on a date!” The thrill of her laughter that followed only seemed to make the situation more awkward.

“A date?” Simon’s voice was deadly, the hair raising on your arms as you shook your head, a tight smile on your suddenly dry lips.

“No, no, nothing like that. Just catching up with an old colleague of mine.”

“But he’s a boy, Mummy,” Ella giggled. Who was raising your daughter to be such a big mouth? Your face formed an annoyed look, eyebrows raising as a line of wrinkles crinkled against your forehead, your pointer fingers massaging your temples.

“An old colleague?” Simon practically gasped. Had he met him at your old work Xmas parties?

“Let’s get you guys in the car.” You fumbled with Toby’s car seat as you strapped him in, your nimble fingers shaking with anxiety before you shut the door, pressing a kiss against the window before wiping away the minimal residue of dirt. Gross.

“Who is he?” His tone was acerbic like he was looking for an argument. How dare you try and replace him? He was your husband, the father of your two kids? Have you seen this random man before? Had he fucked you?

“God, Simon-“

“Who is he?” Simon was relentless, bullying his way into getting the answers as his arms folded across his chest, tattoos practically screaming at you too.

“His name’s Andrew. I ran into him at a coffee shop a few weeks back and he just wanted to catch up. That’s it.”

A loud scoff sounded in the air. “You mean that geezer from that corporate job you hated? The one who didn’t know it was weird to blatantly stare down your dress when you were standing next to your fucking husband?”

“He didn’t stare down my dress! You’re not my husband anymore, Simon. I can see who I want.”

“I don’t want our children to grow up thinking they have multiple dads.”

You’ll admit, that stung.

“Multiple dads? You’re out of your mind. The only reason they would ever believe they have multiple dads is if their real one stopped showing up. And where have you been, Simon? When have you shown up?”

Simon held his tongue, the warmth of the metallic taste gashing through his teeth as he practically snarled past you. “I’ll bring them back tomorrow.”

The dress you wore was practically suffocating you as you tucked your stomach in. Simon never minded the change in your figure after motherhood, he found himself liking it even more. He loved knowing that his seed put you through that, that he made you swell with his children, and he brought out the glow in your cheeks and the delicate stretch marks that laced your hips.

Andrew was nice. His tone was comforting as he walked to your door, ushering you to his car as he insisted you could order whatever you wanted. He was handsome, the salt and pepper hues of his hair settling your insecurity.

“We’ll take the Pinot Noir,” he spoke, looking at you with an almost arrogant sheer in his blue eyes. You only liked white. Simon knew that just like he knew everything about y-

You’re not with Simon anymore. You had to realise that. Maybe that’s why you brought Andrew home, let him shove his cock (that was a lot smaller than what you were used to) inside your heat, as you let out moans you had mimicked from the porn you watched with the actor that resembled far too much of your ex-husband.

Simon's fingers gripped the steering wheel early the next morning, your two children snuggled up in the backseat as he drove back to his old house, your old home. He wasn’t a man who gave up easy, he would show you, prove to you that you made a mistake. You needed each other.

Hold on. You don’t drive a red car?

His car lurched into the entrance of your home, nearly ramming into the garage as he shoved it in park, rolling down the two back windows slightly for air as he dug around in the small side compartment of his car.

The familiar gold key he had stolen from you the night he packed up all his stuff stared back at him, practically egging him on. Go on Simon, march in there. So he did. His hand rattled against the door knob, glancing back to peak into the car for a second before he slammed the door shut.

Your body froze. Were you being robbed? No. It was only Simon. A very angry-looking Simon. You stood, the white sheet barely shielding your naked body as he took in the sight of the man next to you, his hands wrapping around his shoulders as he practically ripped him out of bed, flinging him onto the floor as he grunted, eyes reared with hatred.

“Simon, what the fuck are you doing? WHERE ARE THE KIDS?”

Andrew groaned, on the floor, covering his groin as Simon chucked the masculine clothes at his head, the thin boxers soiled across the man’s scalp as he trembled.

“Our kids are asleep in the car, waiting for their Mummy to come to the zoo with them.” Simon’s words were despicable, laced with an acrimonious tone, small particles of spit seething through his lips as stared at you.

He turned to the man, a giant frame staggering over the top of him. “Get the fuck out, and if you wake up our kids when you go past, I will personally put a bullet straight in the middle of your skull,” he said, pushing a thick digit against his forehead as Andrew rushed out, clothes barely on before you felt the front door shut, a cry of apologises leaving your lips as you tried to assist him but Simon only held you back, a tight grip coiling around your arm.

“What the fuck was that? How’d you get in?” You couldn’t even place the words to say, humiliation roaring through you as you snuggled the sheet closer to you, away from his peering eyes.

“It’s time to be a family again, don’t you think love?”

[blkkizzat]

❝ AITA FOR ACCIDENTALLY GETTING MY ANCIENT SORCERER BF HIGH? ❞

MODERN ERA TRUE!FORM SUKUNA X READER

» thread [summary]: Sukuna just ate all your edibles and is now more lit than Tokyo Tower—great. Now you have to fuck his high n' grumpy ass calm before you're the one that's actually fucked.

» upvotes [wc]: 11.9k » awards [cw]: true form sukuna, crack fic 110%, dr*g use, accidental dr*gging, slight dubcon, sub!sukuna, cunnalingus, fingering, whiny!sukuna, riding, twin-cock sukuna, nipple teasing, lots of banter, spanking, bimbo!reader, pussy smacks, frottage, premature ejaculation, creampie, breeding fantasies, rimming, cum eating, femdom, uncut/uncircumcised, high n' sassy sukuna, bondage, lots of teasing, and bits of fluff . » mod comments [a/n]: part of the 'we be burnin' JJK 420 collection (ill make a series post eventually i swear lol). I had the goal of keeping this under 12k and i made it! by 44 words. this was supposed to be a 5k fic but I got carried away because I love exploring modern day tf!sukuna x reader relationship so lots of banter and tid bits.

Enjoy!

Ok girl. Deep breaths. You got this! 

Standing in front of the large shoji door to Sukuna’s quarters, any nerve you build quickly dissipates by the time you raise your hand to knock.

SHIT-SHIT-SHIT!  

Swaying on your feet, suddenly, you don’t feel so sober anymore. Well, technically you weren’t even sober to begin with—far from it actually, you'd just started the come down from some pretty powerful edibles.

Edibles which happen to be the source of all your troubles now. 

You thought Sukuna leaving, for what you assumed would be a few days, would be the perfect opportunity for you to get completely zoinked off your ass—and that's exactly what you did.

Yet, unbeknownst to you, his plans had changed and he had returned home only after a day.

So when you finally awoke from your weed-induced power nap to discover Uraume had served Sukuna the remaining of the matcha and adzuki manju edibles you had made, you just about fell out.

Uraume had given Sukuna all three dozen of them. 

You didn’t even intend to make so many, but you accidentally doubled the recipe for weed butter and you weren’t about to let good product go to waste. Not with how tough it was to find good weed in Tokyo with it being illegal and all.

But fuck! 

You can’t recall a single time Sukuna ever enjoyed human food—more sated by human flesh instead. 

Yet from what Uruame told you he had already eaten at least five of them already.

Who knew The Curse King had such a fucking sweet tooth?!

Of course, Uraume blamed you once you explained. And true, while you did make the edibles, you certainly didn’t tell their ass to serve them to Sukuna!

Uraume scoffed at you though, claiming anything in Sukuna’s palace belonged to Sukuna—including you and whatever you happened to bake. 

The pompously dull scolds Uraume gave went in one ear and out the other as you rolled your reddened eyes. Eyes which immediately turned into a panic when Uraume demanded it be you, not them, to check up on Sukuna.   

That was the whole reason why you are even in front of Sukuna’s door right now sweating fucking buckets. 

Especially, since Uruame made the utterly insane accusation of you attempting to poison Sukuna. 

You tried to argue that Sukuna is immune to toxins—but Uraume wouldn’t listen to any of that. 

Hell, If you thought you could take Uraume in a fight, even in a more sober state, you would have literally scrapped with their ass before you agreed to check on a possibly high Sukuna. 

Who knows what kind of nefarious time The King of Curses would be on while high!?

Uraume is the one who is his attendant and also fed him the edibles!

They should be the one to go!  

But you also aren’t an idiot. You know for a fact Uraume would hand you your ass and then force you to go check on him anyway. No sense in getting unnecessarily bagged up when Sukuna himself might actually kill you.

So here you were, in front of his door dreading what might be waiting for you on the other side. 

“Woman! You are annoying me more by just standing out there, come-in or fucking leave.”

Piercing your thoughts, Sukuna’s gruff command booms through the door with enough force to make you take a few steps back.

Okay maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be so bad?

He sounded normal enough. 

No one high could still be this grumpy.

Sukuna is The King of Curses after all. 

Something as simple as a mere plant shouldn’t have any affect on him, right?

Steeling yourself, you slide open the door to his chambers. 

You make a mental note to fire your therapist, as the deep meditative breathing patterns they recommended does fuck all to temper your increasing anxiety in this situation.

Peering into the room before you enter, you see Sukuna propped on his side atop the wooden engawa patio leading to his private gardens. His nose seems to be buried in some ancient text you can't quite decipher from this distance.

Well, he looks normal enough too—from what you could tell at least.

You walk towards him but Sukuna makes no acknowledgement to greet you. 

However, if you could see his face, you would see the amused evil that pulls up at the corner of his lips. 

Sukuna can sense your uneasiness radiating off of you in waves. 

You’d not been this distressed to be in his presence in quite some time and yet you still sought him out—something you rarely did—even in a good mood. Typically, you’d only come to him when he called for you or when you wanted his cock. 

You had to want something from him—and a slut like you was never shy about asking for dick. 

Interesting.  

Sukuna knew you hated having to humble yourself to ask anything of him, so he took great pleasure in teasing you for it when necessity meant you could no longer delay your request.

Whatever you wanted, Sukuna certainly wouldn’t make it easy for you.

Where would be the fun in that?

And neither would your own body, apparently, make this situation any easier. You nearly trip over your own feet as the paranoid side effects of your high reaches full throttle.

Your eyes growing wider with each step forward.

The vision of the tea set next to him along with the plate of your manju edibles—the now almost empty plate—confirms your fears.

Only one solitary piece remained.

Nervously, you kneel near Sukuna’s feet, your back perfectly straight and your arms extended in front of you. Forcing yourself into an overly formal position to avoid fidgeting any more than you already are.

A tense silence settles between you both—well, tense for you. 

Sukuna seems perfectly content to bask in your discomfort. 

You swallow, unsure how to start.

Even if he wasn’t a malevolent ancient cursed sorcerer, telling someone they’ve been accidentally dr*gged was never going to be a pleasant conversation. 

Although, you still do your best to be covert in your inspection of him—no sense in telling him he’d been dr*gged at all if he wasn’t actually high.

Sukuna on the other hand is growing impatient with your nervous energy. 

When he finally speaks, you’re nearly jumping out of your own skin. 

“Why are your eyes so red, brat? Don’t tell me you’ve been fucking crying again? Is the time of your moon cycle upon us already?”

Did this man for real just ask you if you were on your period!?!?

Exhaling deeply out of your nose, you give him a polite, yet clipped, reply.

��Just allergies, m’lord.”

You wanted to tell him off so bad but you didn’t want to piss him off more than necessary, considering the circumstances. Besides, you were certain your eyes were red as hell right now from being high for the last three hours. So in order to control your temper, you proceed to gaslight yourself into thinking that, for someone like Sukuna, this was a logical assumption to make.

The thought stops you from cussing him out at the very least.

However, Sukuna is astute enough to know you’re lying.

Truthfully, he’d only made the comment to rile you up.  

Not only were you a horrible liar to begin with—but everything from your clenched knuckles, to the way you gnaw on your inner cheek to contain your sass, are all dead giveaways.

Those facts withstanding, Sukuna could tell by the subtle shift in the scent of your intoxicating pheromones alone if you were on your moon cycle or not. 

And it was far too late into summer for it to be allergies.

No, something is on your mind. 

Something you didn’t want to come right out and tell him. 

Not that he tended to care at all about any of your silly concerns, but seeing you had seeked him out in such a frazzled state has him curious.

What other than him could get his favorite lil’ human this upset?

Sukuna immediately loses the little remaining interest he has in his book, all of his interest now focused on you.

His evil grin widens.

“Then is ‘just allergies’ to blame for placing the notion in your dizzy little head that I wanted to be fucking bothered with your presence right now? Or are you telling me ‘allergies’ is a new modern term for sluts wanting dick?”

Son of a bi—and see this is exactly why you actively avoided him when you’re not fucking him! 

Sukuna was obnoxiously insufferable to be around when he wasn’t giving you toe-curling, heart-stopping, vision-blinding orgasms. You surely would have at least tried to escape by now if it wasn’t for that—well, that and the fact he did have a literal palace and you no longer had to have a job or worry about rent, bills and all the other shit you hated about adulting. 

You weren’t treated like a princess but you pretty much had access to everything practical you could ever want. 

Although you were still working on getting a stable internet connection up in the mountains.

Yeah, no, Sukuna wasn’t a bum by any means and you could surely do a lot worse than a mean, forever-grumpy, ancient asshole.

Sigh.

However, as far as you were concerned now, you had two ways you could play this: you could fly off the handle at his intentionally crass insults or you could pay it. 

You choose the latter, knowing he would soon grow bored of you if you just shrugged off his mockery, ignoring him. 

You just need to buy yourself a bit more time to tell for sure if he was high or not. Then you could fuck off and enjoy the remainder of your own high as you wouldn’t be getting stoned for a while now.

Thanks to him eating all your stash.

“Uhhh, no m’lord. I-I just wanted to know how you enjoyed the manju I made. I filled them with matcha and adzuki beans…It was my first time baking them.”

Oh? 

You still wanted to play games?

Sukuna’s gaze darkens at the chance to pick at you more. The more you would lie and beat around the bush the more Sukuna wanted to press your buttons. 

Never getting bored of pissing you off, angering you was his second favorite pastime. You made it too easy to wind you up like a coil until you snapped like a little twig in his grasp. 

All so he had an excuse to do his actual favorite pastime—punishing you. 

Lacking any sort of discipline, you were more of a hot head than he was at times—which was saying something. Sukuna loved to bring you to the very limits of your sanity with his taunting of you. Only so he could watch you helplessly thrash beneath him, frustrated that you could never beat nor overpower him. 

You were a curious little sorcerer who got off on edging death which was apparent from how your fiery anger quickly sparked into shameless arousal, like the massive cockslut you are. You’d be cursing Sukuna to hell before begging him to take you along for the ride.

In turn, Sukuna would bully both of your tight greedy holes, mesmerized by your filthy cunt creaming enough to soil a puddle onto any surface he happen to fuck you on. 

You had to have been a succubus in a past life. 

His sexual appetites were immense but you were nearly insatiable yourself. Fucked out and trembling, with your eyes barely open, you’d never stop pleading him for more until he’d fuck you unconscious. 

Nevertheless, in this lifetime you were a pitifully weak sorcerer in comparison to him—however you could be considered ‘special grade’ if ranked solely on your ability to take dick. 

Truly, your best quality and what has kept you alive thus far. 

At least that’s what Sukuna would tell himself when the thought of you dead leaves him feeling restless and agitated. It’s why he never lets you leave the palace grounds other than with Uraume on their occasional visits into Tokyo. 

Sukuna had deemed you too weak to be left to your own devices outside of his palace.

You were his plaything, to do with as he pleased—and right now, he wanted to make you absolutely lose your shit.

From the way your aura bristled, it was clear you just needed one final push.

And so, Sukuna pushed.

“HA! I could tell—”

On the verge of unraveling altogether, your brow twitches as you count backwards from a hundred in your mind to calm down—another bullshit coping mechanism from your soon-to-be-fired therapist.

100…99…98…

“—thought you filled those manju with horse shit.”

97…9—

Never failing to take the bait, you wouldn’t disappoint him this time either. 

Jumping up, you wobbled on your feet but that didn’t stop you from stomping your foot in indignation with enough force to make the old wooden floorboards creak.

“THEN WHY IN THE EVERLOVING FUCK DID YOUR BIG HUNGRY ASS PRACTICALLY EAT THREE DOZEN OF THEM!?” 

From the looks of it Sukuna was perfectly fucking fine—like you had figured he’d be. 

This had proven to be a complete waste of your time even checking on him. The brief encounter had done nothing but fuck up the remainder of your high since he wanted to be such an ornery bastard about everything.

Forgetting all about your plan to not piss him off, instead you flip him off, storming away. 

“LIKE THEY DON’T EVEN AFFECT YOU?! WHAT A FUCKING WA—”

Like a blur Sukuna rises as his four arms extend to ensnare you.

However lucky for you, you sense him in time to dod—wait… did you just dodge him!? 

No, that's not right he must have missed.

Huh?

HE FUCKING MISSED!?

Whipping your body around, you face him. 

Your wide confused eyes meet his own puzzled gaze, one that you notice is turning increasingly more red by the second to extend beyond just the color of his pupils. 

You don’t even have the time to appreciate how adorably ridiculous the expression is on him before the realization hits—

—OHHHH SHIT—SUKUNA IS HIGH AS FUCK!!!

He likely hadn’t moved from that spot since he so gluttonously devoured your entire tray of edibles. In turn, as is with the nature of getting high, if you are sitting or laying down while you partake, you often don’t realize exactly how baked you are until you finally stand up. 

And from the looks of it the high had just hit him like a fucking semi-truck.

Sukuna was absolutely lit.

Staggering in his stance, a look of surprise is on both of your features. You were for certain Sukuna would have fallen to the ground if not for his hand catching onto the wall beside him. 

His awkward movements are akin to someone suddenly realizing how bulky and inconvenient it was to be approaching 8-feet-tall with four massive arms.

“O-Ohhhh my god, Ohhhh my fucking god! Y-You can actually get high!?!”

Thoroughly gagged, your hands fly to cover your mouth. Always one for inappropriate reactions at awkward and improper times, you can’t suppress your snorts of laughter as the reality of him actually being high settles in. 

Sukuna on the other hand is currently fighting a losing battle with vertigo to find steady footing. His bloodshot eyes take on a more deadly appearance as his pupils glow red in fury to match. 

“W-What the fuck did you do, woman?!”

Did he just stutter too!? 

Oh shit this was too good. 

You cursed yourself for not having your phone on you, but knew better to bring a phone around Sukuna. He’d broken your phones one too many times because he wouldn’t admit he was more jealous of you paying attention to your talking clock (it was TikTok) than him.

Yet at the same time, his accusations that any of this is your fault piss you off further. 

“ME!? I’m not the one who just smashed over 3000 grams of weed! Pretty sure that much would even take down a fucking elephant!!”

In response, Sukuna growls as his cursed energy discharges off of him in erratic waves. Yet the intensity is not nearly as oppressive as you knew it could be.

The weed is clearly having an effect on him. 

“Watch how you speak to your King, brat. I won’t warn you again.”

Dripping with sarcasm you bow dramatically. 

“Oh no, how could I forget my place, Sukuna! How about you ask next time before you just gobble up all my shit? Then this wouldn’t have even happened!” 

When bickering with him, you often dropped all formalities which always got you into deeper trouble.

“S-SHUT THE FUCK UP!!”

CRACK~!

Wood splintered around Sukuna, falling to the ground in a heap. Sukuna had unintentionally misfired a cleave right through the wall next to you and effectively remodeled his chambers to extend into the next room over.

A few strands of your hair get caught in the crossfires and they float in the air beside you, along with the various debris from the wall. 

It’s becoming quite apparent that while high, Sukuna struggles to keep his immense cursed energy in-check and it fluctuates to match his temper. 

The look of shock on your face mirrors Sukuna's, who is now staring at his hand as if he had grown a sixth finger. It’s not a finger though, it's his eye from the face on his hand, bloodshot and red. That's when Sukuna notices the eyes on his face are also bloodshot, perfectly matching yours.

“ASSHOLE! What if that fucking hit me?!”

“Well, you sure as fuck wouldn’t be alive to be screeching at me right now, woman…”

You were seething. 

How is everyone still treating this like it's your fault!?

“No one told you to eat all my edibles, King Big Back!”

Sukuna growled at your insults even if he didn’t really understand them. 

He was huge—of course he had a big back…? 

Your words, which Sukuna deems nonsensical, only make him dizzier and amplified the almost out of body experience he was currently in. Clearly the fault of your so-called “edibles”, Sukuna couldn’t remember the last time he felt so out of sync with himself as he leaned against what was left of the structure.

Not since he’d first adjusted to being a cursed object in his very first host. 

“Well fuck me then, for not realizing you were brewing poison, witch.”

“Yeah fuck you, because its just a plant! A harmless little plant! Didn’t they have hemp back in your pre-historic era, you old fossil?!”

Sukuna growls at your insults, but nonetheless considers your words.

Of course they had hemp. 

Being practically native to Japan it was utilized in many trades, but this had to be a different variety of the plant. Sukuna never heard of it being consumed, as the plant had more pragmatic uses for clothing and tools. 

“For practical use, woman! Not to make potions and consume like some fuckin’ degenerate.”

Your eyes narrowed. 

Sukuna of all people calling anyone else a degenerate was rich. 

“For the last time Kuna—it's not any kind of poison or potion! You’re supposed to be immune to toxins, remember?”  

Sukuna growls once more. 

True, poisons had no effect on him. 

If what he consumed was in fact just a plant, and nothing imbued with venom nor curses, then perhaps this didn’t make the cut? 

Although Sukuna is sure the after-consumption effect has to be akin to something poisonous, since for the first time in likely what had to be a thousand years, the unfamiliar sensation of nausea crept up his throat.

Stepping back inside his chambers, he teeters unsupported on his feet before dropping down to a seated position. The uncoordinated clumsiness of his actions causes the room to shake, sending more fragments of the now-destroyed wall crumbling around the both of you.

Dare you say it, you kinda… feel bad for him?

Sure you were still pissed at him, and in no way were you about to accept responsibility for this…but in this state he looked sort of, well, pathetic. 

You didn’t think you’d ever be using that word to describe Sukuna, who’d time and again proved to be more fearsome than the beasts of nightmares. 

Yet at the moment he was definitely giving off more sad Hello Kitty vibes, rather than a monstrous primordial tiger. All four eyes on his face were dilated to comical proportions and the tired scowl he wore was more akin to a toddler’s pout.

It was… cute?

Upon further appraisal, as he sits with arms and legs crossed like a child after a tantrum, you decide he definitely looks cute.

And dare you say even—baby girl?

Not like you could ever tell him that though. 

You’re sure if you called him that, no matter how weak and uncoordinated he was now, Sukuna would somehow muster the willpower to wring your head right off your pretty little neck. 

Regardless, having Sukuna be so weakened, even temporarily, was unsettling to say the very least. 

“I-I really didn’t think you would eat them, Kuna. You don’t even like human food!”

Your voice takes on a more apologetic tone as you begin to inch over to him. 

Dropping down on all fours, you cautiously crawl closer bit by bit in a similar fashion as to how one would a wounded beast you were scared might lash out—even if you were only trying to help it.

“I don’t ever fucking recall saying that, brat.”

Sukuna hisses but the fatigue was clear in his tone.  The bite in his words hardly evoked the blood-curdling fear he was so easily capable of under normal circumstances.

Sukuna closes his eyes in exasperation, which consequently has you rolling yours. 

Bulllllllshit!

Every single thing that man tried, he hated!

Well, every single modern thing. 

Oh fuck, they had manju back then too, huh?

Stopping once you are directly in front of him, you peer up at him with big doe eyes, sweet and apologetic.

But Sukuna isn’t falling for it—or he didn’t want to at least. 

Cracking open an eye at you before closing it again, Sukuna turns away from you, nose upturned. 

Urgh, what a big diva! 

You almost want the normal, insanely irritating, Sukuna back instead of the blitzed sassy creature before you—almost.

“Listen Kuna, you did eat a whole shit load... More than any grown ass man I’ve ever seen to be honest…”

You shook your head and mumbled the last part under your breath, ignoring his sassy gripes, as he definitely still heard you.

“Ok, so I have literally zero clue as to how long your high will last… but I mean hmm… why don’t you try RCT?”

Sukuna stares daggers at your sheepish expression. 

You had to be an idiot.

If Sukuna could focus his cursed energy enough for RCT he would have fucking done it already! Not to mention, take his sweet time in punishing you too. However, all that would have to wait until the disorienting effect wore off enough to make that possible.

For now though, Sukuna just wants to be alone.

This 'weed' was having strange effects on him, he is growing inexplicably nervous to be in your presence for some ridiculous reason.

“Leave.”

“Nope.”

All four of Sukuna’s eyes flare and stare you down the best they can through his red-eye squints.

“I gave you an order, brat. I won't ask again.”

Sukuna tried his best to deliver his threats in the bone-chilling tone he was so well known for, but it falls flat, yet again, thanks to him being higher than a pair of perky tits. 

His frown, and thereby his pout, intensifies at his current ineffectiveness.

“I can’t just leave you though, Kuna…”

Thinking him docile enough, you slowly crawl into his lap and thread your arms between the two sets of his own, gazing up adoringly at him. Sukuna allows you to do so without fuss, although he doesn’t return your embrace nor does he look at you. 

His own head swirls too much—especially with how his skin begins to tingle just from the sensation of your warm body pressing against his. 

“You need me! What if we were to get attacked by jujutsu sorcerers right now? I’d have to protect you!”

You don’t even try to suppress your giggles this time when your body is shaken by the disgruntled rumbles from his chest.

“Tch—with the few measly crumbs of cursed energy you do possess, you can’t even protect your own fucking self—”

“Hey!”

“—so if that happens, then were both royally fucked.”

Okay, so you weren’t anything close to a super strong special grade sorcerer. But you think you’d be somewhere around grade 1 now, so you could hold your own against most!

At least enough for you both to escape! 

You’d only really be in trouble if that sexy white-haired blue-eyed sorcerer, Gojo Satoru, showed up. Although from the way he winked at you the last time you saw him, saying ‘you’d be prettier as a Jujutsu High teacher instead of one of Sukuna’s lackeys’, you’re pretty sure if you flirted hard enough you’d be okay at least.

Still, you actually liked living with Sukuna a lot more than you cared to admit. Moreover, ‘Jujutsu High teacher’ would qualify as you having to work an actual job—yeah nah, fuck that. 

You’d stay with your ancient asshole, thank you very much.

Bringing your attention back to Sukuna, who had since closed his eyes to keep the room from spinning, you poked a finger into his cheek.

Sukuna ignores you, but you persist.

Your little finger presses deeper and deeper until a mouth forms on his skin to snap at you, causing you to snatch your hand back before you lose said finger. 

“Worry about protecting yourself, brat! You’re aware when this wears off, I’m going to fucking rip you apart and feed you to the mouth on my stomach limb by limb.”

Unphased, you flirtatiously bat your lush lashes as one of your hands slipped through his robes to caress the spot where his mouth forms. 

“Awe Kuna, if you have the munchies that badly and want me to ride your stomach again—all you have to do is ask. I’ll let you eat me right up.”

His abs clenched ever so slightly from your touch.

“Urgh, woman, you should go enjoy the last hours of your life while you still can…”

His threat dissolves into grumbles, still making no attempt to push you off.

Well, if you were in fact about to go to glory as soon as Sukuna could control his powers again—you might as well enjoy yourself while you still can.

“Yeah, yeah, Kuna—but until that happens just relax, okay?  Let’s have some fun, eh? That’s the whole point of being high in the first place!”

Sukuna rolls his eyes but allows you to push him back to the floor. His body feels so heavy and laying down was so much more agreeable than sitting up in his condition.

Still, he couldn’t see how this out-of-body-like experience could be fun. 

Fun for Sukuna was killing. 

Sukuna enjoyed most of his thrills relishing in the screams of his victims as he bathed in their blood which poured so liberally through his deadly claws. 

He even has a pool of blood for god sake!

Well had—until you nagged him pretty much to death, complaining that you couldn’t be expected to bathe in the garden koi pond. As a result, Sukuna had Uraume restore the hotspring to its original state —if only to get you to shut the fuck up.

Hn, now that he considers it, you are way too much fucking trouble than your crazy-ass, tight-ass, lil’ cunt was worth—his current predicament being the ultimate testament to that.

“This isn’t fun.”

It’s your turn to smirk as you straddle him.

“It will be!”

For me at least. 

You don’t say that last part out loud though.

You’re smiling down at Sukuna playfully, pulling your tank top from overhead to reveal your simple pink cotton bra with little flowers printed on them.

Sukuna, who had since draped an arm over his face, regards you skeptically from under his muscular limb with his lower set of eyes.

“And just what do you think you’re doing now, brat?”

“What does it look like asshole? I’m gonna fuck you.”

“And if I tell your bratty ass to fuck off and die?”

“Well, for one—it’s not like you can stop me. And two—when has me saying ‘no’ ever stopped you?”

You stare down at him sweetly.

“Slut.” 

Sukuna snarls, turning his head in a huff once again.

Checkmate.

This was the ultimate win as far as you’re concerned. 

Sukuna had his way with you entirely when you fucked. He was always in control—of everything. Not that the slutty masochist in you ever minded, but you wanted a turn to be the dominant one for once and control his pleasure.

Hell, if you knew marijuana would have this much of an effect on him you would have given him some sooner! 

Besides, you could tell by the way his robes rose on the lower half of his body he was already feeling its euphoric effects. 

Yet you had no idea just how much. 

Sukuna’s already inhuman perception intensifies the experience a hundredfold. His limbs are heavy, as if the floor might give way, libel to sink into the very earth at any moment.

Staring out into the garden, he could see everything in vividly intense hypervision through his dilated orbs.

Every rustle of the leaves, every movement of even the smallest creatures, and every particle in the air took on a lustrous sheen. All his senses were in overdrive, creating a strange euphoria vibrating through his body, suspending him in time—that is until your honeyed voice snapped him out of it.

“Hi~ Look at me, Kuna~~”

Soft hands cup his large face, bringing his sights back to you. Sukuna emits a disapproving grunt, or at least he thinks he does.

He’s not entirely sure. 

With his attention now focused on you, everything else in the world seems to still.

The anxious throbs in his chest seem to prolong each beat, as if his heart might stop altogether. Sukuna concludes that these palpitations and irregular rhythms must be a side effect of the plant.

Has to be.

It certainly wasn’t the way the light of golden hour shimmered on your skin so radiantly, like an otherworldly ethereal creature only seen at dusk—making him feel like he was the inferior mortal in your presence. 

“Don’t float away on me…”

Your voice, filled with angelic mirth, tickles his ears while your fingers gently card through his hair.

Sukuna bites his tongue, drawing out thick, viscous red liquid to suppress the needy purrs bubbling in his throat from your doting caresses.

How could he be the one to float away when you had the appearance of one who had descended from the sky? 

Sukuna's lower set of hands unconsciously brace your thighs like a vice, as if to anchor you and prevent you from levitating away from him.

Goddamn, if not some potion, you had to have cast some twisted spell. 

Everything about you right now was enthralling to him.

Has your skin always been this silky?

Sukuna succeeds in remaining quiet, yet fails in keeping his lower half controlled, involuntarily bucking his hips. His eagerness apparent, you rub your clothed mound over his twin cocks that stiffen beneath you.

Your hands skillfully loosen the knots in his obi to uncover his firm abs and ritualistic tattoos already covered in a sheen layer of perspiration.

Sukuna’s breath hitches when your fingernails graze over his sensitive exposed nipples. 

“Watch it, brat.”

But he sounds so far away now, you don’t really pay him any mind.

You are lost in enjoying some of the far less intense, but still lingering, effects of your own high. 

Humming a saccharine tune, your head tilts back as you relish the pleasurable strain in your inner thighs just from having them span over his broad pelvis. The melody serves as an accompaniment to the steady rhythm of your hips, unraveling him more by the second.

When your eyes do open again, you observe the strain evident across Sukuna’s sharp features. 

You simper, wondering how long Sukuna could hold on before he fell apart completely underneath you?  

Picking up tips from the royal headache himself on how to press buttons, you taunt Sukuna with your coos.

“Are ya still mad at me, Daddy?”

You’re pouting but your mischief is evident, twinkling brightly behind your eyes.

Sukuna’s own eyes narrowed at your boldness. 

You just loved calling him ‘Daddy’ like the filthy whore you are—lacking in any sort of couth.

This whole situation was infuriating for him. 

And as such, Sukuna wants to be mad at you—to teach you a lesson, to have you meet your death at his own powerful hands—but alas—his own body betrays him. 

Your still sparkling aura exacerbates his intoxicated frustrations along with his more carnal desires as euphoria rushes through him. 

His nostrils flare when the candied perfume of your sinful little cunt—already soaked untouched—saturates the air.

Fucking hell—he could practically taste you on his tongue.

“Just get on with it then, if you think you can, woman—”

Giving your rear a firm smack, Sukuna hurries you along.

“—although, I’m sure your weakling ass will give up and be begging me to fuck you within the first minute.”

You roll your eyes. 

Even in spite of his breath laboring slightly, along with minor twitching spasms of his thighs underneath you—he’s still acting tough.

“Hmm, we’ll see about that. Won’t we, Daddy?”

Sticking your tongue out at him, you hop up to kick off your slippers. You take your time in removing your shorts though, hands sensually sliding them down, giving him a little show. 

All four of his eyes follow the provocative sway of your hips intently, just the same as the one time you showed Sukuna what a lap dance was. 

Of course he’d enjoyed it. 

However, where’d you fucked up was mentioning how your previous lovers had enjoyed it too—because your twerking had lasted all of 20 seconds. Sukuna had then pinned you down, growling as he called you all manners of vulgar slut-whore. The result was you limping for the next 2 days, fuck harder than he ever had previously, angered by the thought of you ever having done that for anyone else.

However, as much as you wanted to take your time torturing him for once, you were too selfish to deny yourself. The thought of you having control when fucking him has you dripping. 

Settling back on top of him, you’re on all fours facing towards his cocks. Giving Sukuna a prime view of your pussy in those cheeky pieces of fabric you called undergarments.

This wasn’t a typical view for Sukuna, who was used to looking down at you when you sucked him off from a kneeling position—so he could see exactly how those fat tears would well in your eyes as he ruined your throat when he forced your head even further down.

But this view wasn’t so bad. The growing wet spot on your panties confirms his nose had been accurate. However, you do look every bit of the fiendish whore that you are, getting so wet for him when he hadn’t even touched you.

You’re in your own world though and you audibly gasp upon peeling back the lower half of his robes. Taken aback by the thick globs of pre that gather at the very tip of his engorged cockheads. His essence pools in the folds of his foreskin until no more fluid could be contained, overflowing down his uncut length. 

You’d never seen him this leaky before.

Your pillowy lips experimentally blow cool air across both tips and Sukuna hisses as his cocks twitch in your hands. Wasting no time, your tongue deviantly flattens as you lick up the trail of dribble that ran down his upper shaft. 

His lower cock was hardly forgotten as your thumb completely uncovers the hidden tip. The well of pre spilling from him allows you to more easily pump his slightly girthier length in circular motions while you continue to salaciously suckle the other.

Sukuna unwillingly rewards you with an audible grunt of pleasure.

“Hnng—Y-You’re a fuckin’ cocktease! S-Suck me right, whore!”

You giggle at his faltering voice and Sukuna smacks your ass in response. His heavy hand still stings your skin even in his weakened state, making you all the wetter. 

For each kitten lick, a slap to one of your plump cheeks rings through his chamber. 

Sukuna is captivated by the way your flesh molds to his touch. He kneads each of your cheeks in his giant hands, leaving them warm and tingling. 

The abuse to your rear goes straight to your pussy. You forget for a second that it's Sukuna, and not yourself, who is supposed to be the subservient one in this situation.

“Hurry up, brat! You seriously think a half-assed job like that is enough for me to cum?”

In response to his provocations, your warm breath salivates over his swollen glands before entirely engulfing his upper cock.

Pulling off of him with a pop you alternate taking the other one into your mouth. Sukuna flinches as you swirl your tongue around his lengths. Vacuuming your lips, you alternate between the two twin cocks.

Sukuna grits his teeth. 

He had taught you to take him completely, although he always forced your throat open. He was genuinely surprised that you could do it on your own, which, to be honest, you probably couldn't have done without the weed relaxing the muscles in your neck and throat.

That’s when you hear it—the tiniest of whines—but a whine nonetheless.

“HA! See!—Kunaaaa, did you actually—”

If you could have seen his face you would have giggled at the pink that lightly dusted his features. Regardless, Sukuna isn’t one to take being bested lightly. 

Sukuna hooks a finger through the crotch of your panties, yanking up roughly. From this angle, the effect only puts tension on your pussy—tugging your panties taunt and compressing your clit. You keen loudly as you release his cocks, no longer able to focus on getting him off.

“FUUHHHHCK!”

One hand keeps your panties pulled taut, another hovers over the most heat of your core, lazily rubbing over your covered entrance. Your ever increasing wet spot has him in a trance like state as it spreads to take over your entire crotch area, dampening his fingers.

RIIIIIIIP!

Sukuna tears your underwear clean off, shredding them, 

Damn. Those were one of your favorite pairs of lounging panties too! 

You're ready to tell him off but you never get the chance as two large fingers bully their way into your pussy, leaving you sobbing.

Even over the vulgar sloshing of your sloppy hole, you can audibly hear a rough moan from Sukuna as your core constricts around his burly fingers. Your hands and knees tremble violently as you struggle to maintain your balance.

Sukuna’s tactile sensations at its peak, he is in awe of how well your gummy walls suck his thick digits in further. The velvety ridges of your cunt was like an incubator of fiery heat—a heat that may even rival that of his own divine flame technique.

“W-Waiiiiiiit—N-No fair, K-Kuna!”

Of course, your pleading slurs go unheeded. 

Like a mortal who had dipped his hand into a heavenly jar of warm ambrosia, the allure of your cunt in his intoxicated state is bewitching to say the very least. Sukuna’s hyperfixation is focused on a single-minded mission to dig out more and more milky nectar from your convulsing lil’ hole.

Your searing walls clench down when a sharp nail grazes your g-spot. Crying out, your eyes sink back into your head and your slick pours down the length of his muscular forearm.

Sukuna enjoys making a mess of you. 

Your fluids splash across his broad chest, arms and a bit even reaches his face—mouth forming on his cheek to greedily lick up your remains.

Even with limited control over his own faculties, Sukuna was still able to turn you into a quivering mess.

Dammit! You were supposed to be the one in control! 

You can only weakly grasp at his cocks as the motions of his fingers switch from languid exploratory strokes to fast pumps, adding a third finger and pressing a thumb into the rim of your puckered hole.

Stirring up your insides, Sukuna, to be frank, isn’t doing it for your reactions but for your pussy’s. 

Mind clouded, Sukuna fully dissociates once again in his enchantment of you, he doesn’t even realize you aren’t sucking him off any longer. He is much too distracted by every response your gooey cunt gifts him.

If anyone had asked him, in his utterly toked state, Sukuna would have sworn your cunt was actually squelching out full sentences. Sukuna, of course —fully fluent in ‘Cuntanese’—understands her with sparkling clarity.

She wanted more, to cum even harder. 

She’s so fucking warm, so creamy, so lewd—all for him.

Becoming more sloppy and unaware in his actions, Sukuna’s growling increases. His current frustrations centered on needing to see more of your creamy slick spurt out of you. 

Somehow all four of his hands are covered in your essence now. The hands with fingers not inside your pussy or rimming your ass, spread your cheeks wider, holding them up as the remaining one pinches your clit crudely. 

Helplessly, ass up, you lay your head down on one of his upper thighs. You drag your nails alongside his hips hoping to disrupt his daze, but on the contrary, it does nothing but spur on Sukuna’s mania further. 

The both of you being high made the situation that much worse. 

Sukuna’s fingers drive you towards oblivion, crashing into ecstasy. The edges of your vision smoldered, blurring your sight. You aren’t sure if the sun had finally set and the stars you saw were in the sky or behind your own lids, momentarily disassociating from pure pleasure. 

With a scream, you cum for the second time, your eyes locked behind your skull and your legs spasming as waves of pleasure make your hips twitch uncontrollably.

Holy fuck!!! You’d never cum that hard while high before! 

Sukuna finally snaps out of his enthralled reverie, only to discover you’ve been reduced to a mere puddle on his torso. Your holes are agape and swollen from his brutality, glistening with fluids that hadn’t stopped dripping onto him yet.

You practically see his smug grin, a fang poking out from his lips, just from his smarmy tone.

“Heh—giving up that easy just from a couple fingers in your cunny, brat? Thought you were gonna fuck me?”

You whine. Even if his own voice sounded a bit strained it was nothing compared to your own condition. Yet despite your rubbery limbs, you muster the strength to push your jellied body up—determined to have your way with him. 

Sukuna chuckles at your persistence.

The mouth on his stomach opens to lap away at the remains of your squirt on his torso and your slick-coated thighs. The thick slimy tongue has you jolting forward with a rippling moan when it flicks over your sensitive clit.

“Heh, woman, you look like shit.”

HA! How are you going to fuck him when you could barely be touched without shaking? 

Sukuna guess you’ll be tapping out before the first round is over, tch—of course you’d need him to take over. 

Testing his condition, Sukuna raises his head only to be immediately slammed with vertigo rushing psychedelic colors behind his eyes. He curses lowly to himself, still pissed the plant is having this much of an effect on him.

Sukuna makes a promise to himself that he will in fact kill you, iif you leave him blue balled because of this. The high causes his cocks to ache more than ever.

“Tch—If you’re going to do it, then do it. Fuck me then, ya nasty lil’ slut.”

Sukuna was right, you are a slut.

Fucked out by his fingers or not, your still aching pussy wouldn’t be satisfied until she was stuffed full of him.

But it would still be on your terms.

Sukuna looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to move and feigning boredom. 

However, his mood turns to annoyance though when he notices you only plan to take his bottom cock, he didn’t work that ass of yous ass open for nothing. 

“BRAT—”

“—SHUT IT and let me concentrate if you wanna get your nut!”

You do quiet him though, once you manage to squeeze his thick cockhead into your cunt. Pussy clenching around his tip like a vacuum suction, you hear Sukuna slurp a thick wad of spit through his teeth as he grinds down on them. 

It was cute, him trying not to react to you, That serves as enough encouragement to keep you from mentally succumbing to the monstrous girth entering you—for now at least.

Easing yourself lower on his fat girth, you’re panting, tongue out and hips quivering just from getting the head of him inside.

You’d learned to take him well enough, but that was when he was the one bullying himself into you. Having to mount him yourself was daunting to say the least. Only halfway in and your guts are shifting while moisture burns the corners of your eyes.

This was the exact reason you chose not to take in both his cocks. 

You would struggle enough with just one of them. 

His cock inside you, already pressed against your cervix, he is almost 3/4ths in and you have no idea how you will manage the rest. Suddenly wondering if Sukuna uses some kind of curse technique to fit all of him inside you without skewing your organs.

“Shiiiiit, f-fuckin’ dummy thick monster c-cock, this b-big for no f-fuckin’ reason…”

You mumble to yourself, clearly floundering.

Sukuna smirks at your labored efforts but his mask cracks as you finally surrender to gravity and bottom out on him—the resulting cry from him is somewhere between a growl and a whine. 

That was the end of resistance for Sukuna. 

His ultra-sensitive cock twitching in the sweltering embrace of your gummy walls, convinced his dick might melt off then and there—the heat, he decided, was most definitely hotter than his divine flames.

Once nside you, Sukuna returns his bruising grip to your hips. His trembling fingers betray the fact he still doesn’t have the capacity to regain control anytime soon. 

Exhaling your own shaky breath, legs under you, you lean back. One of your arms reaching back to plant on his muscular thigh, the other pressing his unattended shaft into the soft curves of your belly, adjusting yourself so its base brushes up against your clit. 

Your warmth welcomes his unsheathed cock like a soft pillow and he’s biting his lips again, blood trickling down his chin.

Although he’s still leaking more than enough pre for lubricant, you still dip your head forward momentarily to drop a large wad of dribble on the cock nestled against your curves. 

Your perverse acts are the cherry on top for Sukuna, who keens out a moan so loud, so needy and pathetic, it has your own toes curling. Fueling you to milk more from him as you bring down your hips harder, morphing The Curse King to goop beneath you.

Your own whimpers are just as obscene from the sight of his length extending past your belly button. It was surreal to see a distinct outer visual of just how deep his inner cock is inside you, you could feel them press together through your skin.

God, he was nearly in your ribs.

“S-Shiiiiiiit—M-MOVE! Ya f-fuckin’ dumbass brat!”

Sukuna yells at you, speech slurring, as his nails prick into your skin slightly. 

You chose not to sass him this time though, too needy for it as well. 

Establishing a rhythm, if you had the capacity to imagine anything beyond how his cock was spearing you open between your thighs—you might have mused that any curses in his palace—Uraume especially, must be absolutely terrified at what has their fearsome master is sobbing so wretchedly.

You’re thrilled at the idea of having transformed the most powerful cursed sorcerer into the crumbling virgin-like man beneath you. 

You feel your body tremble as his swollen member throbs intensely inside you, causing you to sense the rhythmic pulsation of his heart resonating deeply within your being. Sukuna's face, usually composed, now displays an unexpectedly stressed expression, which only adds to his adorableness.

Yet, your own eyes were crossing so bad you couldn’t even enjoy your victory like you want. 

Desperately moaning, you’re lifting yourself up and down, riding him in earnest as you fuck yourself dumb on his huge girth. Just one of Sukuna’s cocks were so intoxicating and you realized, the privilege of actually having him fuck you instead of you doing the work.

In order to guarantee both of your pleasures. 

But you are hardly giving up—slippery fluids create delicious friction as his top cock also slides over your swollen clit.  Your tits bounce lively every time your tight soggy pussy devours his cock back down to the base. The sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the room, only overshadowed by Sukuna's unusual cries of pleasure. 

Your inner thighs ache from exertion but you are in the zone now. You’ve willingly become your own torturer as you impale yourself on him. 

Mind floating away as you treat his cock thrusted against your belly like a fidget toy. Your nails mindlessly rim the edges of his foreskin before grasping the tip of his cockhead, sliding the last bit of skin down to fully expose his angry bulbous tip. You squeeze him tightly while your other hand comes from behind you to pump the base. 

While Sukuna’s lower hands still desperately hang on to your hips, he's since thrown one of his upper hands over his face much to his chagrin. The other, claws fully extended, proceeds to tear up the tatami matting of his floor. 

Sukuna’s pitchy whimpers and badly suppressed whines have you so hot you forget yourself once again. Chasing your own pleasure, you pump his upper cock like slippery reigns as you ride him. 

And that is exactly what breaks him. 

Peeking out from under his forearm, Sukuna observes how your head is like a bobble, lulling with your movements as your slackened jaw so dumbly seeps drool down your body. All thought leaving your silly little head, babbling nonsensical coos and praises for his big cock ruining you.

Despite not being in control, Sukuna still feels a strange wave of warmth spread in his chest from watching you fuck yourself completely fucking stupid on him. The feeling instantly has his balls tightening, resulting in his upper cock twitching so violently that it even catches your fucked out attention. 

You glance down just as his engorged length finally relieves itself, spurting out a geyser of cum all over you.

Sukuna releases a moan that is husky, deep and guttural—quite literally guttural—as he had just moaned from the mouth on his stomach. His upper cock is still spraying a hefty load of cum that covers your stomach, thighs and some even shooting up to hit you right below your eye. 

Your eyes widen.

“Did you just moan from your tummy!?”

You’re hardly in the position to tease him though, disheveled and covered in his sticky essence.

You were quite the mess in your own right—heh, but you still weren’t the first to cum! 

Sukuna glares at you, panting through his scowl with watery eyes.

Leaning forward, you continue to taunt him, keeping your hand firmly around his now flaccid member. Sukuna flinches and hisses, attempting to swat your hands away, but he finds himself even more weakened than before, unable to pry you away.

“Hmm, are you trying to tell me you prefer my hands over my pussy?l Or are you just this much of a slut for getting your nasty foreskin played with, Daddy?”

His lower cock pulses at your words, still painfully hard inside you, reminding you of your own needs. You don’t wait for Sukuna’s response before you’re back bouncing on him with increased fervor, pulling at your neglected tits and still giving him shit.

“C’mon Daddy, talk to me. You love it when your lil’ slut rides you while she’s all sticky, covered in your cum, yeah?”

For emphasis your fingers swirl shapes into the streaks of spunk on your belly, sloppily writing out the Kanji for “Sukuna” over your womb.

Sukuna’s face beet red from the anger and shame of having been reduced to a mere plaything for you.

Writing his name on you with his cum!? Fuckin’ debased, foul, nasty wh—

“Oh my, you’re backed up, Daddy. I can feel you twitching—a-ah!”

You snap him out of the turmoil of his thoughts with the lazy lust-filled evil saturated in your voice as you moan out more torturous, mind melting words for Sukuna.

“Y-ou’re gonna have to tell me before you cum, Kuna, kay? You spray this much inside me, with this thick monstrous cock of yours—you’ll get me pregnant, ya know. You wouldn’t want that—or do you?”

Your fingers play in his essence on your belly once more, circling the Kanji cum scribbles of his name branded on your skin. 

“Bet ya wanna fill my tight lil’ pussy to the brim—force me to carry your lil’ curse-spawn-terrors—make you a real daddy, Daddy. You’d like that, huh?”

Sukuna’s sweat slicked hands struggle to hold onto you, throwing his head back so he doesn’t have to look at you. 

He can’t keep you in his sights as he can’t stop the vision of you, being completely made his—belly full of his growing seed and tits full of milk—from invading his mind. 

Dizzy, Sukuna can only think with his cock as you ride him towards nirvana. He’s almost at his greatly diminished limit again, his stamina now a joke of his usual.  

Chasing your own high, you rub at your clit vigorously while you grind yourself against him. Your pussy spasming around his length that stretches you so well. Body wrecking itself with pleasure, your cries grow louder and more desperate.

So close. You’re so close. So clo—

But Sukuna is first yet again—crooning out a choked roar as he cums again, this time inside you.

With no warning....asshole.

Nevertheless, the satisfying warmth of his seed bursting against your cervix has you moaning from the overwhelmingly full feeling in your guts. Creampie frothing out of you, gathering at the base of his cock. 

You were low key surprised that you were able to goad him into doing it at all. You weren’t seriously trying to get pregnant—just tease him a bit. You didn’t know he’d be this into breeding fantasies, as even though you are on birth control Sukuna for damn sure didn't trust any human pill to stop his cursed seed, always pulling out.

“W-Woah, this makes it, what? The second time you’ve cum before me—and inside me now too!”

The streaks on Sukuna’s furious cheeks leave behind evidence of the few tears you’d managed to fuck out of him.

“Aweee Kuna, should I call ‘Baby’ now? Only babies cry and cream before Mommy does.” 

Sukuna chest heaves, staring death at you as he gives you the finger—one of the few modern gestures he’d picked up. 

You laugh, although your body winces as you slide his thick softening member out of you. 

Globs of your shared fluids drip out of you and onto his torso when you finally will yourself to stand-up over Sukuna, smugness radiating in your whole demeanor.

Desiring to remove that smug expression from your face, as well as your head, he cannot recall a time when he was defeated to such an extent since he was last imprisoned and his fingers were scattered.

Teetering on your cramping legs, you delight in your victory nonetheless. Taking your time in soaking up the image of him, grumpy, soiled, and flaccid, imprinting it in your mind to throw it in his face the next time he decides to get sassy with you.

You know he’s likely going to kill you for what you were about to do, but you’d never get a chance to do something like this again. 

Besides, he surely has weed dick now given his still flaccid cocks and you still need to come!

Sauntering to stand by his head, your soft foot presses down on his clavicle, prompting Sukuna to bare his teeth while a clawed hand comes to wrap around your ankle.

“Heel, Kuna. You still have to make me cum.”

“I don’t have to do fucking shit but make good on my promise to rip you apart once this bullshit wears off.”

You pay him no mind as your foot shifts to raise his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze while your fingers swiftly glide up your inner thighs to spread your pussy lips. His cum still trickling out from the creamy plug that is visibly filling your center. 

“Eat it.”

Sukuna looks at you skeptically, like you just lost the little remaining sanity your crazy ass had in the first place.

Who the fuck did you think you were?

To one—have him take a command from you, and two—actually think he’d let you dominate him in such a way.

Sukuna scoffs.

“Sit on my stomach and I might let you cum, brat.”

“Nuh-uh, Kuna—I wanna ride your actual face. It’s the least you can do after you came before me twice!”

Trying not to visibly wince, Sukuna was so over your nagging and constant reminders of how weak he was while high, trying to tune you out. 

“...and then inside me without warning—like you don’t give a fuck if I happen to get pregnant!”

“I don't, get pregnant.”

“I—wait…WHAT?!”

You must have heard wrong. 

Sukuna would want a lobotomy before a kid. 

He always pulled out. 

He just did not tell you to get pregnant.

No way!

Sukuna growls, he’s admittedly getting tired, but it's clear you wouldn’t give him any rest until you came once more. Well, at least with a mouth full of pussy he couldn’t say anymore wildly embarrassing shit he didn’t mean.

He really didn’t want kids, but picturing you pregnant made his dicks so unfathomably hard in the moment, it was confusing, not to mention infuriating. However, the last damned thing Sukuna wanted to do was talk about his slip up.

Left with no choice but to eat you out nasty enough for you to forget all about it.

“I SAID—If you don’t want to get pregnant, then park that ass of yours on my face, bitch.”

You bristle at Sukuna calling you a bitch, yet you let it pass once all four of his arms yank you down to sit you directly on his face, his tongue plunging straight into your gooey cunt.

And true to his skills, the conversation was the last thing on your mind, having been scrubbed of all thoughts once you felt his hot mouth consuming your sensitive flesh. 

Sukuna's tongue traces torturous circles on your clit, before grazing it with sharp canine, prompting your hands to delve into his unruly locks. The grunts that escape Sukuna's lips as you tug on his hair intensify the pleasurable tingling in your pussy, compelling you to pull even harder.

To your delight, what his primary tongue lacks in girth compared to the one on his stomach, it makes up for in dexterity. Sukuna laps, swirls and twists through your folds. His tongue darts in and out of your wet slit so vulgarly leaking his cum, sending tremors up your spine.

Choking on your whimpers, your hips can’t stop shaking and Sukuna has to brace your thighs down to keep you in place. Sukuna wasn’t about to let you run from it now, not after all the shit you put him through.

You begged to cum in his mouth—so you are going to cum in his fucking mouth.

You cry out when a hand reaches up to manhandle your chest, pinching at your nipples and rolling them between his gruff fingers.  The pair of hands on your thighs move to your ass, gripping your flesh overflowing in his grasp.

Gasping, your mouth falls open, when his fingers massage your ass, spreading it open as he tilts you back to spit into your hole. Replacing his own mouth with one on his hand as he returns his attention back to your savory lil’ cunt.

Shiiiiiit!

Feels so good, you’re so close to cumming again. Your body trembles, the fire inside you spreading from your core to your fingertips as your face contorted in pleasure.

“Su-S-Sukuna, pleeeaseee, Daddy.”

You’re not even sure what you are asking for at this point, you just want more of it. 

More of everything.

Sukuna, obliges you. 

Losing himself in your lust, his panting becomes more wet and ragged. He’s painfully aroused once again, this time simply from listening to your whiney pleas. Sukuna’s tongue digs into your cunt deeper, scooping out his own cum and devouring it along with the continuous flow of your own fluids gushing out of you.

Your taste is much sweeter, cutting the unpleasant taste of his own salty spunk, so Sukuna relentlessly sucks more out of you. 

Sukuna is so caught up in giving you pleasure, he’s completely unaware of the fact he’s now humping the air, cocks flinging pre on his abs as they sway against the imaginary friction.

“K-Kuna, I’mma—shiiiiit—cum!”

You clench a fist full of his hair, nails digging into his scalp. You continuously buck your hips forward, your clit brushing agonizingly up against his nose. Quivering, glorious waves of pleasure wash over you, Sukuna knows all your pleasure spots as he easily takes you to the very heights of your ecstasy.

Sputtering moans nonsensically, you nearly slip off Sukuna completely when you tilt back too far. You unintentionally end up choking him as you catch yourself by grasping onto his neck for support.

Sukuna, caught off guard, gags. The intense vibrations from him choking on your pussy as he heaves for air tips you right over the edge. Your world washes white as you cum, thighs and hips and convulsing. 

Outlasting you this time by a hair, Sukuna cums hard, his milky fluids jetting out from his cocks to spill onto his stomach—shooting up as far as to land on your back.

Dazed from your orgasm you don’t actually realize he'd cum again until you actually slip on the mess he’s made when you begin to climb off his face.

“D’aww, Baby done messed himself bad this time, huh?”

“Perish.”

Weariness seeps through his tone, betraying the fatigue that weighed on him after cumming even harder than the previous two times.

Silence fills the space as neither of you noticed before how the sun had long since set. The soft moonbeams were the only source of light in his chambers, illuminating the space more than usual, due to the now destroyed wall.

Your bones feel like mush but you still manage to grab Sukuna’s discarded robe, using it to somewhat wipe off your bodies. 

Sukuna doesn’t register how intensely he’s staring at you, having dissociated once more. 

His arrogance is replaced by a strange look of infatuation—well strange for him.

Sukuna is lost again, charmed by your shining aura in the lunar light. The very essence of your soul glows iridescently to him, even in darkness.

He muses there’s not a being, human nor curse, as captivating as y—TCH, THE FUCK?!

Whatever you gave him was turning him into a real fuckin’ sap, thats for damn sure. 

Sukuna needed this nightmare to be over, and have neither of you ever speak of it again.

You on the other hand are doing your best to fight the urge to bashfully shrink away. There were typically only 3 emotions that ever appeared on Sukuna’s face: brooding, predatory or straight up hostile.

Him looking at you this way is freaking you out.

“You’re a weirdo.”

Sukuna exhales, exasperated. 

He doesn’t know what to do with you. His troublesome lil’ human that, for some insane reason, he’d formed an attachment to beyond using as a cocksleeve.

“Then you’re a dumb slut who likes to fuck weirdos, brat.”

Shoving your face into his neck, you inhale the scent of his skin and your sex.

“Got me there, Daddy.”

Nibbling up to his chin, one of his arms wrap around you, bringing you impossibly closer when your teeth graze over his sweat slicked Adam's apple. 

Grinning at him, you lick up any of your essence lingering on his face.

“You know, I’m going into the city with Uraume next week—I could get some more of this shit, we could actually smoke it next time, hm?”

“You could also be a corpse scattered in a million pieces by then.”

Although Sukuna’s yawns sound more like roars, he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed at his displays of weakness any longer. The edible enhanced the stated feelings of the after sex high, amplifying it a hundred fold and making him unusually docile. 

Even if Sukuna could now understand why mortals do this for “fun”, he personally just never wanted near the stuff again—let alone in his fucking palace.

But he’d fight you over that later.

“Moreover, I will literally never eat any of your concoctions again.”

You’re yawning too, the effect being contagious as the question absentmindedly slips from your lips.

“...Hm, s’that so? *yawn* ….Well why did ya in the first place, Kuna?”

Tsk, stupid woman—because you made them, of course.

Sukuna said it in his head. 

Sukuna swore he said it in his head.

But when you immediately bolt upright, eyes expanding like saucers, he knows he fucked up. 

Attempting to recover, he tacks on a brash comment. Remarking on how he knew consuming them all would piss you off—oh and it had—but in this case, the damage had already been done.

Concern flashing across your eyes, you hurriedly brush your fingers through his rosy locks. Picking and prodding, firmly turning his head from side to side, until Sukuna’s own hands entrap yours, pausing your frantic actions.

“And just what the fuck are you doing now, woman?!”

“Checking for stitches.”

Sukuna gives a disgruntled snort, scoffing at your foolishness.

“I’m serious! Kenjaku’s not in there with you, is he?!”

“You must actually think I won’t kill you, brat….”

You giggle softly, satisfied with his answer as you peck tender kisses on his lips but Sukuna is unmoved. 

Sukuna hardly ever kisses you to be fair—but you’d just fucked him to tears! 

The least he can do to repay you is a kiss!

“C’mon Kuna, stick out your tongue a lil’ for me.”

Sukuna stares at you unamused.

“Aweee—Please, Daddy?”

Your words hang in the air, a rebuttal poised on the edge of his lips. 

But upon meeting your bright angelic eyes, Sukuna in a moment of unexpected impulse, closes the gap between you. 

Your lips clash as you breathe in one another. The kiss is less urgent than your earlier cravings, but just as filled with desire. A tumultuous dance of tongues and teeth, fueled by some magnetic pull that would likely never be vocalized in words—yet you still feel everything Sukuna leaves unsaid.

You smile once he allows you to pull back for air, blowing a kiss at him before resting your head back on his chest. Your body easily molds over him and his remaining arms snake around your form.

All of Sukuna’s eyes were closed, the welcome heaviness behind his lids extending down through his entire being.

Honestly, this is the most at peace he’s been in centuries. 

“Mmm…one more question, Kuna?”

Of course, you would be the one to disturb that though.

“Only if you promise to go the fuck to sleep after, brat.”

You nod into his chest, your hands only cupping a tiny part of his biceps as your manicured nails trace along his tattoos.

“How’d they taste?”

Seriously? 

You’re fucking insufferable. 

But Sukuna is way too over it all to fight you right now.  His entire body feels akin to a giant sandbag with every passing second.

“Decent. Now sleep.”

Your shrill squeal has him regretting his compliment immediately. 

“Aweee Kuna, Daddy! You big softie! Next you’ll be telling me you love me, huh?”

Tsk, and this is exactly why Sukuna would fuck you unconscious—so he didn’t have to put up with your nonsensical overly emotional prattling after. The intimacy of pillow talk has him queasier than the vertigo he’d experienced earlier. 

“I loathe you.”

“Love you t—”

Faster than you can react, his powerful hands move, grappling your head down and clamping over your mouth instantly.

“SLEEP!”

Listening to the grumbles resonating in his chest from Sukuna's unintelligible muttered curses, you hum contentedly with his hand over your mouth, a simple ghost of a smile lingering on your lips as you ease into a comforting slumber.

The next morning, you are stirred awake by blinding sunlight.

Still lethargic from the night before, and totally not a morning person, you try to roll over. Yet you find yourself unable to move. 

Huh?

Wanting to rub your eyes clear of sleep, you become aware that your hands, for some reason, are behind your back and are also immobilized.

Panic begins to set in. You fear it might be a bad bout of sleep paralysis—that is, until you hear Sukuna’s dark voice bellow over you sarcastically.

“Oh? What’s this? The lazy whore finally arises…”

Heart pounding anxiously, your bleary eyes open to the vision of Sukuna’s form towering over you next to his bed. 

Ok, at least he had the decency to—

A flash of red catches your eye.

Oh, fuck…

Entangled in the shibari frog-tie position—you are bound in complex knots. The thick silk crimson ropes intricately weave their way around your naked body. 

Tied with seasoned precision, the visually striking pattern of the ropes accentuated your body’s serpentine contours. Knees bent, your plump thighs are spread wide and apart, which secure to your calves. 

You feel a chill run through you as the early morning air breezes past your cunt, fully exposed as the ropes are the only thing adorning you.

Equally excited as you are terrified, your squirms cause the diamond cut pattern to imprint deeper into your supple skin. Shivering under his smolder, goosebumps erupt across your skin and fat tears well on the edges of your eyes.

Sukuna sinks low to crouch over you.

“Now, now—”

His powers fully restored, the depraved smirk Sukuna wears is the most chilling you’d ever seen.

“—you didn’t delude your silly little head into thinking I wouldn’t get my turn, now did you?”

Sukina cups your face, the mouth on his hand savoring your tears.

The harsh reality donning upon you as to how fucked you really are in this situation right now.

Shifting his grasp to squeeze your cheeks, Sukuna forces your mouth open. 

Fully awake, your eyes nearly pop out of your head as Sukuna unveils a platter—the same platter bearing the last remaining manju edible.

“Now fucking say ‘ahh’ for Daddy, brat.”

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

» a/n: what you think of 420 Sukuna? Hopefully it wasn't too long/dragged on? this is meant to be a one shot btw. im really not trying to do a p2 (please, lmfao i cant). i still have a toji 420 fic half written and an idea for nanami but putting those on the back burner to finish another installment of otaku!gojo or nerd geto p2, one of those will be next. i promise! taglist will be in reblogs.

comments & reblogs make my coochie cream

[floorpancakes]

had some thoughts about my semi-oc ideas for the in universe parody of xxxholic (and a few other series) that one of the heart render protagonists will be into and i went back and forth on the hair situation w the doumeki expy (the douwata equivalent r yuri for funsies) and despite being a huge fan of mirroring imagery and giving every character from fictional media or OCs that one bob style i was like nah. yasuho would still have super short hair i can't imagine a super feminine doumeki expy even if the character would be a girl i also considered a himecut ojou type but i just wasn't feeling ANY resemblance at all and the whole point is i can riff and meme on some of that so why would i divert so far and yeah my tired brain was just like no 💛

[peapod20001]

O to will thyself to initiate conversation, for that is how one strengthens bonds of any caliber, and to hang fire in anticipation of a response. But will thou be humored by receival of text? Nay! Dunnae preproperate the maturation of thee affinity! Forsooth, ‘twas trepidation thy will be afflicted by. Thine appetency matters not, thou wast not destined for liaison.

[angelsworks]

Goldilocks and the Four Bears

I haven’t written for the cod fandom yet so all the 141 might be terribly out of character. In fact I haven’t written for a while. I appreciate all the people that still read my work and continue to support me. I hope you’re all doing well :)

Poly!141 x reader

Masterlist -> Here (will be made later :))

Warnings: 18+, mature themes, descriptions of torture, injuries and mistreatment, etc

Summary: After escaping from your last mission that had gone terribly wrong, your stumble through the woods leads you to a log cabin.

It was snowing. Fucking snowing.

Any belief in a deity had been long since crushed after the last few months. Well you thought it had been months. Your captors (a small but deadly terrorist group) had failed to provide you with your own calendar and clock. Much like how they had failed to provide you with new clothes to replace your own, that had been ripped and torn and become tattered to the eye.

It was stolen clothes you now wore as you made your escape. Trudging slowly through the already six inch snow, your thoughts trailed to the fresh snow adding to the existing six inches. The size 12 pair of boots were rubbing at your heels with increasing vigour. Leading you to contemplate if bruised skin could blister or not. The guard you’d killed as part of your escape had been good for one thing. Or three things actually. The ill-fitting boots, a loose pair of combat trousers and long sleeved compression shirt.

As you made your way through the terrain you felt a cold chill steadily working it’s way up your trouser leg. Slowly, spreading across the flesh, affecting any skin that wasn’t in direct contact with the trouser material. It made you wish you’d waited for a guard more similar to your stature. While the compression shirt was better than nothing, it was still thin. The flimsy seeming material now doing little to ward off the cold.

Maybe the sudden awareness of the less than ideal weather conditions wasn’t down to your stolen clothes, but the sudden loss of adrenaline. How long had you been running now? Well trudging desperately through the snow, making your way further and further into the thick forrest and fauna.

It was hard to try and map where you’d been, what direction you’d walked in and where you’d come from. It was all white. Every tree looked the same. Every incline became and decline and you’d become disoriented.

Months of abuse, of torture, ofpain. All ignored for a few short hours as you willed your aching body forward. Through trees and snow and stone. Through anything that would put you at a greater distance from them, from Miasma.

They hadn’t transported you. At least you were mostly sure. When you blacked out, you woke in the same dingy cell, on the same dingy floor. Only covered in more bruises or cuts. So you hoped you were where this all started. In Slovenia.

You’d done solo missions before. It was easier that way. One man in, one man out. No one to turn on you or leak information. With Gunner in your ear, nothing ever went wrong. Until it did.

Your objective was to gather intel. To stay under the radar before formulating the next attack. While sneaking around you’d learned just how large their operation was. In turn you’d also learned just how large their base was.

The small outpost hid underground levels. That became clear after your covert operation was blown and you were dragged down to the very heart of the multi-storey building.

Each day (if that’s what you could call them) gave you no indication of the time of day or how much time had passed. They made sure of that. In fact it was the first time in months you’d seen the light of day.

The light that you noticed was now fading apparently, as you looked desperately up into the sky. Grey clouds had rolled in, covering the majority of the sky. The sun was still peaking out from the dense overcast that was rolling further forward. Soon the sky would be covered and the snow fall would quicken.

A few miles back you were struck that no one from Miasma had followed you. You’d expected armed guards to be shooting at you and angry dogs to be tearing at your ankles. Yet you’d had no chase.

Maybe they knew you would get nowhere in the climate. That you’d be weakened by the terrain and from the violence you’d endured. They were right of course. But you didn’t let it stop you.

Even now as you’d gone further, you still felt the burning desire to survive. Granted it dwindled under the ache of your body and the never ending valley of white before you. But you wanted to live. You wanted your revenge.

The final rays of the sun had been clouded and the snow started to pick up. At least your footprints would be covered under the fresh snow. Not that it mattered if all your footprints lead to was a frozen corpse.

Flexing your fingers, you found yourself wishing for gloves. Your toes were long past numb and every injury you’d endured felt like it was waking up. Old cuts that had turned to scars felt fresh, bruises that had yellowed felt like they’d returned to their starting purple colour. Your felt heavy. You felt dense. You felt tired.

Your desire to drive on had dwindled now. The once raging fire was now only a candle. A candle that was down to its wick. The wax around it long since melted and now it was to its edge. Trying to burn the glue that chained it in place. The image made you crave warmth even more.

Was this it?

All the work you’d put in over the years. From a child you had trained for a mission you didn’t fully understand. A mission that belonged to someone else, to Gunner. He’d turned you into a soldier, his perfect soldier.

Is this how his perfect soldier died?

No it wasn’t.

So despite your blue fingers, numb toes and foggy mind, you push on. Just a little further, you tell yourself. Past these trees, past this stream, past more trees.

Your doubts evaporate when you come upon a clearing. You find a decent space boarded by snow dusted trees from all sides. They stand tall, seemingly acting as natural walls to protect those inside. The grass is covered in undisturbed snow. It’s thick and white and makes you smile.

None of it matter though because sitting in the middle of it all if your salvation.

A log cabin.

You consider the sight to be a mirage. Created from and low blood sugar, dehydration and desperation. But you trudge on, almost to a stumble speed, as you reach for the door handle.

It’s unlocked.

Despite any moral compass telling you that breaking and entering or trespassing is wrong, you ignore it. You’re hurt, aching and this is a last resort.

You close the thick wooden door behind you. Taking note of the copious locks it has. When you move inside the cabin you find that no one’s home. As quietly as you can on stiff legs, you sneak around the house. Trying to wake up the instincts you’d been trained on.

Enter a room, check your surroundings, check again. Don’t assume anywhere is empty. Threats could be hiding around any corner.

So for each room of the ground floor you do just that. Open door, check the rooms, move on. From your searching you’ve found a large living room, a kitchen, a dining room, a toilet some sort of office/drawing room. The decor gives you no clue as to who’s house you’ve invaded. There are no pictures of people, no personal possessions. It feels surreal. And wrong.

To start with you go back to the living room. Using the large fireplace, stockpile of logs and matches, you start a fire.

Again, better sense would tell you to avoid such an action. To avoid alerting anyone of your presence here. But you decide to put sense aside in a bid for survival. If you didn’t get warm soon you were sure you’d be frozen soon.

Next you go to the kitchen. You rifle through the cupboard in an attempt to find something edible. To your surprise you find the place to be well stocked. Even going as far as having fresh milk in the fridge. The sight confuses you. Send alarm bells ringing in your ears.

There are products in the fridge that are in date. Fresh products. Yet no one is home. It doesn’t make sense.

As you empty a can of soup into a pan you realise, it doesn’t need to. You’re happy to play stupid and see this as all some sort of blessing, some miracle.

While the soup cooks you fill a glass with clean, cold water. Relishing in the taste of something fresh. When you’ve downed the first glass you refill it again. This time with an intention to make it last longer.

After the first spoonful you find that you like vegetable soup very much. Almost burning your mouth as you devour it in a few minutes. Immediately it feels as though you’ve been recharged. The warmth from the fire has spread throughout the ground floor, your fingers have warmed around the bowl of soup and your body no longer feels related to a glacier.

The sky only darkens as you sit by the fire. Basking in the warmth and taking a moment to rest for the first time in months. You don’t imagine ever leaving your spot on the floor. But the promise of a bed upstairs has you moving your legs in that direction.

Before your ascent to the second floor, you strip your clothes and hang them on a drying rack you found to the side of the fire. Now left in the nude.

Upstairs you find multiple bedrooms. All almost identical, except for one at the end of the hall. You assume this is the Cabin’s master bedroom as it’s slightly larger than the others. Inside there’s a wardrobe full of clothes, a full length mirror, a TV, some sort of game station, and of course the larger than most bed.

In the mirror you catch sight of yourself. The cuts of course stand out first. From the slight turn you can muster in your neck, you can see large welts and thin cuts, bruises and scrapes, all littering the previously plain skin. From the front and behind, your legs look like a Jackson Pollock original piece.

Capturing various purple and blues surrounded by smaller splodges of green and brown. With the occasional black blob or two to really contrast the overall tone of the piece.

As a child you had a strange infatuation with your bruises. Likening them to a sticker or badge of achievement. They were easy to come by during training. A strange part of you liked the way they looked on your skin. They acted as a log book of the hits you’d taken, the falls you’d taken, any sort of impacts you’d had. They made you feel strong, maybe even proud too.

Staring into the mirror at your body again, it all seems worthless. You knew you were strong before. You didn’t need months as a prisoner to prove it.

You take a few steps forward to properly look at your face. Who stares back must be a stranger. You haven’t let your eyebrows be this out of shape since you were thirteen. You didn’t have that scar above under your chin before. Your eyes were always so bright and vivid. Not lifeless or hollow or so lost.

With newfound energy you take yourself to the nearest bathroom. That just so happens to be the en-suite in the bedroom. It doesn’t surprise you. Nothing about this abandoned, well stocked cabin does anymore.

Instead you shower in one of the nicest bathrooms you’ve been to in a long time.

At first the water has you freezing. Not due to the temperature but because of the fire it lights on your back. Every scrape, every cut, every burn now being cleaned. The cleanse sets your body alight. In a way you feel the heat is helping you to heal. Granted, all you have to show for it is a mixture of blood and grime, floating slowly down the drain. But it’s more than that.

It’s the last few months being scrubbed off your skin. Your wounds and ailments being shown that this is the end. They can heal in peace. You can heal in peace.

So you take your time. Using any products you can find; shampoos, conditioners, body wash, face wash. You’ve acquired a new razor, fresh from the packet. It’s amazing what a difference shaving your legs and various other places can do to your mood. You’ve always preferred removing the body hair. Afterwards the feeling of smooth legs under a thick duvet made all the work worth it.

The final step, bar drying yourself, was brushing tour yellowing and plaque ridden teeth. The minty taste in your mouth feels unfamiliar but it welcomed nonetheless. Wiping your tongue across the now almost pearly-whites you’re happy with how smooth they feel.

Now showered, shaved and dried, you make you way into the bedroom. Finding the wardrobe and drawers to be filled wit strictly masculine clothes. You pick out a pair of boxers and one of the large white t-shirts to sleep in. The shirt dwarfs you in size, looking more like a dress. Not one that you would wear outside though. Not with the black boxers showering through the material, or your hardened nipples making an appearance.

With your towel back in the bathroom and the lights off, you crawl into bed. Letting out the loudest sigh your sore throat could muster. Then quickly falling asleep on the linen.

It was snowing. In fact it was a fucking blizzard.

A barrage of white, dagger-like snowflakes pelted against the four men. The lack of light and the dense haze of the storm made it impossible to see where they were going. They were all thankful for the less than modern compass. Hidden away at the bottom of Jonny’s bag. When he acquired it was unknown. But the four were grateful nonetheless that the Scott had the dated equipment in is kit.

After their week long training they were ready to fall asleep on the nearest surface. The blizzard they now faced was an unexpected one. Nothing on Price’s radar Gad alerted them to such a storm.

They’d just finished their survival training in the mountains when the first snowflake formed. During the rest of their descent it had only worsened.

As the snow around them thickened they trudged on. Becoming more aware of the weight of their kit, ache of their muscles and chill in their bones. These men were tired, hungry and cold.

After more miles and more words of encouragement from Price, Gaz was sure they were close to the safe house now.

Laswell had been kind enough to let them use the safe house after a particularly gruelling training exercise. It would be the closest thing to a holiday the 141 would get this year. Before the worst of the storm it had the Scotsman joking that he would build a snowman outside. An idea quickly shot down by Ghost in the interest of remaining vigilant to an enemies surrounding the house.

While snowmen were out of the question, snowballs were not. Something Ghost found out, twice, in the back of the head. Turning to see an innocent looking Gaz and Soap.

“You’ll regret that when we’re back on base and you two are on shit duty” the balaclava wearing Brit grumbles.

Soap sighs dramatically, “Oh come on Lt. Dinnae be like that, it was only a joke”.

The threat prompts Kyle to add, “It was all Soaps idea, think he should get shit duties on his own.”

Soap gasps feigning offence, “You bleeding clipe, don’t come knocking on my door when you want someone to warm your bed tonight.”

The comment causes the younger man’s face to heat up and laughs to come from the others.

“That if we get there in this blizzard” the captain quips. Trying to keep morale, but refusing to ignore the sinking feeling that they’ve missed the safe house completely.

“How far now?” Gaz asks, determined not to start pestering like an insolent child. Yet equally determined to have a proper meal and get out of his cold clothes.

“Two klicks north, then we should be there.” Soap tells him, loud enough for the others to hear in the now whipping winds.

“It was two klicks north last time someone asked Soap, are you sure you’re reading that right lad?” Price finds himself asking. Despite his rank, his military expertise and all his training agains the elements, it doesn’t make him immune to the cold. Immune to looking forward to sitting by a fire with a cup of tea in his hands.

Laswell wasn’t one to be stingy with safe house stock. From previous safe houses he’d been to that she had set up, they’d been a home away from home. Proper bedrooms, running water, stocked shelves. Price found himself ready to welcome anything that had four walls, a roof and could shelter him and his men from the storm.

“Two klicks north Captain, I’m sure”. Jonny confirms.

Sure enough, through the dense curtain of blizzard, light emerges. A gentle glow against the black nights sky. The closer they get, the clearer the house becomes.

A log cabin.

A big one at that. The sight is inviting enough to bring a smile to the men’s faces.

“Laswell’s outdone herself this time, fuckin yaldy” soap practically exclaims. Pushing forward to the front of the pack, in an effort to get in first.

“Hold it Jonny,” Simons voice is quiet through the mask, but harsh enough that the others can hear.

Ghost points to the chimney, “someone’s here”.

Sure enough as the others look up, they too see the plumes of smoke, gently rising from the brick chimney.

“Another team captain?” Gaz finds himself asking, while reaching for the know hidden in his thigh holster.

Price finds himself doing the same, “No, we’re the only ones in the country.”

The tension in the air is thick, rivals the thick snow pelting down on them. The four of them stand motionless, a short distance from the front door. Covered head to toe in winter gear, a layer of the snowstorm attached to anything it can stick to.

“Right, there’s only one door. I’ll lead. We’ll secure the ground floor first. Stay silent, we do this quietly.” Price commands. The men nod, moving to grasp their various knives. Following their captain as he moves to the front of the cabin.

With an almost inaudible creek, Price turns the handle of the door. Pushing the oak forward, grateful that it seems to glide over the wooden floors. Allowing him and his men to breach the property without alerting its inhabitants.

Price enters the living room first, signalling for the others to spread out and search the rest of the floor. He does indeed find a crackling fire, yet no one man’s it. The warmth is welcomed, but for the time being he ignores any desire to sit near it and warm himself.

His attention moves to the drying rack set up beside the fire. Upon further inspection of the items he finds combat trousers, a compression t shirt and a pair of large boots, size 12 he gathers from the label on the tongue. The clothes are still damp to the touch, leading him to infer that the intruder arrived a short time ago.

The badge on the arm of the shirt catches his eye. He rips it off the Velcro and examines it up close. An unknown insignia, contractor perhaps? Some new found terrorist group? Price doesn’t know. It’s not one he’s come across before.

Simon searches the kitchen. The space is a decent size, dark too. He blends into the shadows as he checks the space for any sign of life. He finds a empty soup can on one of the worktops. Turning to the sink he notices a single glass and pan siting there.

Once finished in his search he creeps back to the living room. Finding his captain there, along with a stoic looking soap and serious looking Gaz.

Price raises his hand to Simon, showcasing the fabric insignia to him. With cold eyes Ghost runs over the stitchwork. Mind running through the possible groups it could be associated with.

“Any ideas?” Price asks in a hushed voice.

Ghosts silence is a loud enough answer for the group. No

“Whoever they are haven’t been here long. Their clothes are still damp. Large boots, size 12.” Price goes through the details he’s uncovered.

“Men’s?” Gaz asks.

“Most likely”.

“There’s a pan in the kitchen. They’ve had soup. Only one glass.” Ghost reels off.

“We don’t know who we’re dealing with, could be anyone. Stay vigilant. Be prepared for a fight. I’ll take the lead upstairs. Shout if you find anything.” Price commands.

The team follow him single file up the stairs. Weapons at the ready as the sneak up the steps. Footsteps light on the wooden floor.

Price takes the first door, Gaz the second, Ghost the third and Soap the last door at the end of the hallway.

While three of the 141 find their rooms to be empty, Soap stops in the doorway. After almost silently twisting the door handle and letting it slide open, he stands in silence. What he didn’t expect to find was a girl sleep in the master bed, a pretty girl to be exact.

The Scotsman finds himself lost for words. He expected to have to fight someone of his stature. Maybe larger. He expected to walk away with a bruise or two. He feels lost on what to do. Should he wake her? Should he leave her?

Meanwhile the others have gathered in the hallway. Sharing a concerned glance at their teammate.

“What is it soap?” Ghost asked quietly.

“It’s a lass. A bonnie lass at that.” He tells them. Wonder in his tone as he stares at the sleeping girl. Watching as her chest rises and falls at a steady rate. Completely unaware of the four men that have entered the house.

The men collectively frown, walking further to investigate themselves. Sure enough, after they pass the threshold of the master bedroom, they too stand frozen. A girl. Not a man, or group of men. A girl, sleeping in their bed, in their log cabin.

Completely unaware.

[jyoongim]

Alastors lover who is such small happy thing, always smiling but not like alastor creepy way, and who always dot on alastor and babies him. She never really got scared of him and always looks at him in awe in his demon form.

Think it would be amusing, hell even he would find it amusing such a small thing fussing and being overprotective on him.

You were quite a pleasant addition to the hotel. 

Unlike your partner, you were sweet and helpful.

Alastor thought your presence would ease the frazzled nerves of the residents if you were by his side.

You always wore a smile on your face, it wasn’t like Alastor’s ever present and malicious smile. 

It was genuine.

It was interesting to see how you and Alastor interacted.

The Overlord didnt mind your touches and fretting. He let you do what you please.

The two of you were polar opposites.

But opposite attract…and in those case it was just fascinating.

You were in the kitchen preparing dinner. Humming a soft tune as you cooked.

Most of the residents weren’t picky eaters and they loved your cooking, so you prepared something that everyone would like.

Once you finished everyone’s dinner, you started on making Alastor’s.

Alastor had rather peculiar tastes.

The kitchen filled with the residents as the smell of food wafted through the hotel.

You already had their plates prepared and dressed. Multiple voices chirped with appreciative remarks as they dug in.

Your smile widened when soft static filled the air, a feathery touch wrapped around you before Alastor’s voice greeted your ears.

”Morning doll! Dont you look hellish today” 

Your big doe eyes turned to greet his sharp ones.

“Good morning Al. Take a seat, Im almost done cookinng”

The tall red demon hummed as he took a seat at the table.

His ears flicked as you approach with a steaming plate.

”I hope you like it. Im not sure of the taste. I’ve never cooked flesh before but it looked a bit like sausage so I think it’ll be ok”

You heard several gags.

Alastor waved you off, picking up a fork “Oh I’m sure its fine. Your cooking ain’t ever failed me yet”

You finally took a seat to enjoy your own plate.

You chatted with the gang. Laughing at Angel’s jokes and agreeing with Charlie’s plans and offering advice for the day and talking with Vaggie.

Once dinner was over, everyone went about their night.

It was only you and Alastor left.

He sighed as he finished his food. “You have quite a way in the kitchen my dear. Dinner was delicious”

You giggled, taking his plate to wash.

The two of you chatted as you washed the dishes. He slithered behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as his head settled on your shoulder.

The two of you stood there in bliss until you finished and turned around.

“Why don’t you listen in on a broadcast tonight? Im sure you’ll find it entertaining” he chuckled.

You smiled as he escorted you to his radio tower.

———————————————————————-

“Alastor you need to see the tailor. Look at this!” You scowled as you held up his tail coat. The ends were raggedy, it was missing a button or two, and needed a few adjustments.

Alastor chuckled “I will make time to visit when Im out today”

You shook your head “No ill do it. You have a meeting today so don’t worry” Alastor’s brows raised “Then what am I to wear dear?”

You rummaged through the closet and pulled out another jacket. 

Alastor’s shadow wrapped around you, purring happily as you helped Alastor get ready.

Once he was properly dressed he bided you a goodbye before you stopped him.

You held his tie ”You’re not dressed properly. You want to be fully dress to terrorize the masses”

You smiled as you began to tie his bow tie around his neck. Alastor tilted his head as he watched you. You were much smaller compared to the demon. He watched as you focused on your task and mumble to yourself. You were so cute. Such a sweet soul you were. Fretting over a powerful Overlord.

Once in place, you fluffed it out and soothed out any wrinkles in his attire.

You beamed once you took a step back and admired your work. “There all ready and fashionable”

Alastor looked in the mirror and smiled at your work.

While he usually dressed in red, you had put him in black. You tucked a red handkerchief in his breast pocket and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Static popped and buzzed affectionately and before he could pull you into him, you pushed him to the door. “Now off with you. You have a busy day”

—————————————————————————-

Your small fame stood in front of Alastor as a sinner pulled his knife. You were growling and your hair swirled around you as your demonic form appeared.

The sinner laughed “Tsk! What man need a woman to defend him? Haha! Why don’t you settle down sweetheart hmm? After I kill this loser I can show you what a real man is like” he said suggestively, making your eyes narrow.

A large hand touched your shoulder “I can handle this dear” the sinner’s eyes widened as Alastor transformed and went to scream, but inky, black tentacles shot out from behind you to grab the demon.

Alastor stalked past you and tore into the demon, ripping him apart.

While most found Alastor’s demon form terrifying, you found it beautiful.

You watched as blood and limbs flew about, but you focused on Alastor.

He had grew twice his size, black antlers flared out and tall, deep growls and manic laughter erupted from his chest.

He sighed and patted himself down as he turned his nose up at the mess. Your hand skimmed his arm, to alert him of your presence. When he turned to you, blood covered his face. You lifted the hem of your dress and dapped it at his face, tutting “This face is too handsome to be covered in blood. You sure made a mess…Look at you! Its gonna take me forever to get these stains out” you huffed as you wiped his face clean. You smiled once he was clean. “Next time let m take care of it. I am perfectly capable of protecting myself or you if need be”

Alastor let out a chuckle, placing a claw under your chin. He leaned in to place a soft kiss to your lips

”You are very amusing my dear. Most cower in fear at my presence”

You rolled your eyes, lips curling wide “You don’t scare me Mr. Radio Demon” you leaned into him as he wrapped an arm around you and went about the day.

What a interesting little soul you were indeed.

[cornerstoreclown]

Workshop Fun

Summary: This is a short one-shot (7021 words) where the Reader (female) has an established relationship with Art the Clown, and has been kiiiind of collaborating with him passively. Reader is wearing a dress for the sole purpose of easy access. Reader has a vulva and breasts. 

Contents: Biting, light spanking, ...phone... sex? Having an unknowing participant on the other line is the only way I can word it, light spanking, lots of making out, clothed sex, BDSM, Art being cruel, p in v penetration, finger sucking and light body worship

Author’s notes: Sorry what took me so long to do this, I’ve been sitting on this for years! Male version will be out in a few days. This is LIGHTLY proofread, so keep your expectations at a level where you won’t be surprised if there’s any mistakes. Also once again I am an Art the Clown front zipper truther for my clothed sex kink.

——————————————————      

You loved him.

Did he kill people? Yes. Did he sometimes allude to killing you as well? Absolutely. Has he acted on it yet? Not fully, but you could tell that sometimes he had that compulsion to go through with it, when he’d get that twinkle in his eye.

 Especially when you were up close and personal with him, your bodies merely inches apart, sometimes with him even holding a weapon in hand. He’s a wild animal. A force of evil locked away in the confines of a corporeal body made of flesh and bone.

And yet, all the same, you loved him. The way that his hands would travel across your flesh and explore the parts of you that you never let anyone else. Sometimes he’d leave bruises, other times scratches. Then there were the bite marks. Each intimate encounter would leave you in a different state of mess. He was the lover who was like a cat. One day he’d be here, gone the next. You couldn’t put a thumb on the patterns.

The waits were long, but you’re loyal, and you’re patient. You didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. You’d wait until the ends of the earth for him. Sometimes during the months that he wasn’t here, you’d dream of him. All of these little fantasies you’d have in your head would sometimes come to visit you behind your closed lids, where reality had no limitations. It would make the ache feel less. Every time that he’d come back, you made sure to find him as quickly as possible the second you heard whisperings pertaining to sightings of him, or any kind of crime scene that felt like it had his signature on it. Sometimes he’d find you first.

Art wasn’t someone who was very materialistic. And money meant next to nothing to Art—the personification of evil had very little need for the vast kinds of desires that plagued man.

But he wasn’t necessarily immune to the pleasures of the flesh, you learned. Despite how for the most part, he remained heavily uninterested in intimacy, he had a few moments here and there, and you capitalized on them when you could. You had a feeling tonight would be one of those nights.

Or, well, you hoped.

Worst case scenario he’d turn you away or ignore any advances, and he has a few times. And that was okay.

You came into his hideout tonight with confidence instilled in you, but yet the excitement still makes your stomach do flips. It’s been too long, and the fire within your chest is reignited. You feel passion, you feel love so strong that it’s enough to keep you up at night, and it has happened plenty of times before. You wonder if he’s got some sort of spell over you, and you’d believe it if that were the case. You’ve never fallen so madly, deeply, for anyone before like you have him. It could be enough to make you physically ill if you thought about how much you loved him. Such a passion came with such a detriment to you.

Past the damaged doors of a since abandoned fairly abandoned warehouse, you have a smooth descent down the stairs, leading you to a type of basement setting. There’s plenty of water dripping. Rats squeaking as they chitter and skitter along. You catch glimpses of them in the dim lighting, but they don’t bother you. As long as you didn’t see a bunch of them with their tails tied together, you wager you’ll be pretty okay.

You dressed up nicely for him tonight.

You weren’t really a dress kind of person, but tonight you made it an exception. It wasn’t fancy or over the top, and by the love of god, it had pockets. You refused to wear heels however, whatever shoes you had that worked and didn’t give you the possibility of breaking your ankle down these flights of stairs was the option you went with. Art might have found it funny if you hurt yourself, but you aren’t too keen on getting yourself dinged up before he gets the chance to do it himself.

The dress was about one thing–accessibility. Easy to lift up, easy for him to slide in right where he belonged.

You loved when he was inside of you, when you’d feel the heat of his heavy breath against the back of your neck. You run your hands over the spot where you last remember feeling the warmth of his breath. You remember being beneath him and feeling as if the very heat that he quietly exhaled felt as if it were smoldering your skin, burning you like the way the flames of hell were supposed to. If being with this clown meant that you’d be burning in the afterlife, you’d gladly bathe yourself in the inferno.

Your stomach flutters.

You shouldn’t be this excited. He’s a murderer. A killer. A man with no morals, and you’re not even sure if he was a man sometimes at all. Yet, his darkness is what drew you in. He was your safe space, and no one would dare come into that space to try and harm you so long as you were in his arms.

When you reach the bottom of the steps, you see it–a single dangling light, and illuminating this dark space is a double door that is plainly rusted. You see a bloody handprint on it. It’s since dried.

You recognize the size of that hand, and feel slightly lighter, just in the moment.

Placing your own hand in the exact space over Art’s bloodied print, you push the door open. The door is a little on the heavy side, but with enough force, the door opens.

“Art?” You call out, making sure that your presence is acknowledged as friendly and not hostile. The room is a little darkly lit, very heavy on the minimum lighting that’s needed to navigate in the space. It most certainly added to the creepy ambiance. Straight ahead, there sat none other than Art. His back was given to you. He was sitting on a stool, hammering away at something on his workbench. He turns his head upon hearing his name, and you see that he gives you a smile, baring his rotted discolored teeth as his eyes are closed. You can see the wrinkles form a little in the corner of his eyes when he smiles.

You liked that. You liked the details etched into his face. It added character among those otherwise gaunt features of his.

“Hey, buddy.” You call out to him, and he gives you a little wave, before gesturing for you to come closer.

You approach him, and once you’re near the bench with him, you can see when you’re close enough that he gives you a once over, assessing you… Judging you, for what it is you’re wearing tonight.

“Like it?” You ask him, twirling from side to side so that your dress splays out a little. It’s simple. Gets the job done. And if it got ruined? No love loss.

Art’s gaze seems fixed on you, first on your dress, then up at you. For a man who doesn’t speak, his eyes seem to say all that needs to be said, as he reaches for the end of your dress and starts to lift it, until you gently smack the top of his hand. Art draws his hand back to his side immediately, glancing up at you, looking a little like a kid that was chided.

Naughty of him, trying to get a sneak peek beforehand.

“Not yet,” You tell him.

Art looks a little irritated, folding his arms across his chest and pouting. At least he seems interested tonight.

You clear your throat, and Art’s attention is still locked on you. He’s watching you expectantly.

“You’ve settled in quite nicely.” It was just yesterday you surveyed the area on his behalf, and helped him move in properly. Already on his workbench, he has got quite a few improvised weapons he’d been working on. Your eyes go to one weapon in particular, and you point at it.

“What’s that?”

Art turns to look at the weapon you’ve pointed out, and when he lifts it to proudly show it, it’s exactly what it looked like–an improvised flail. Attached to a long metal rod, is a long wire, and when your eyes follow to the end of the wire, you see wrapped around in such an intricate and meticulous way are a variety of knives, serving as what would be the ‘spikes’. You’re impressed. He even hands it to you, to which you take it. It’s got a decent weight to it, too. Not too heavy, but not too light.

“Woah.” You say, as Art watches you, quite proud of how dazzled you are. He’s an artist at heart, you knew this. The knives have some rust on them. One of them looks stained from a previous bloody encounter. He’s clearly working with whatever he’s got on him.

“If anyone survives this, they better pray they don’t get tetanus.” You muse, and Art’s face twists in amusement in a silent laugh. You hand the weapon back to him, and he takes it once he’s done getting in a few silent chuckles at your joke, gently placing it back down on the table.

No one escapes Art with their soul still in their body. Literal or figurative. You were either dead, or you were burdened with his encounter your entire life, both physically and mentally.

You weren’t any different. Your bruises and bites and scars have been out of love. One could argue that you got off easy, but you’d argue otherwise.

Being in love with the Miles County Clown is torture in and of itself. There were nonstop dreams that came with it. It seemed as if every other week he’d plague you in your sleep. Not to mention that you had to be extremely clever to not be caught under affiliation with him–which was even more stress. So far, though, so good.

He’s worth it, you tell yourself. Even if he wasn’t anymore, there’s no way you could leave. He’d kill you. And you have zero doubts that your death wouldn't be painless.

After a few seconds of silence, you sigh.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave all the time.” You begin to tell him. Art’s expression is neutral, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. His teeth are bared, as they often are. Your tone isn’t one of whining, but of yearning. You know that this came with the territory, and you readily accepted his lack of presence at any given time.

But it didn’t hurt to dream. Art tilts his head, watching you from where he sits curiously.

“Maybe one day we can find some place that… Is ours. Separate from… This.” You gesture towards the weapons he’s making. Every so often he hides somewhere different to prepare for the trouble he intends to cause. “A place that maybe once you’re done for the day, we both can be in to unwind. And a permanent place for you that isn’t just my apartment. But like. A place for you. For us.”

Taking him to your apartment kept getting riskier and riskier each time. Also, he made it quite clear he didn’t really care for your decor. Giving him his own place to make his own that he could express himself would be ideal, and it wouldn’t be like a place he’d have to abandon every year. He could actually have and keep stuff… If he wanted to even do that.

The more you think about it, the more you’re starting to think it sounds silly. You see the way that he’s looking at you, and he appears very stern. Sharp.

Your confidence begins to drop, and as you’re about to speak again, you stammer, before laughing nervously.

“Yeah. You’re right. Sorry, that was a silly idea–any long term space we made for you would probably get found out eventually, too. I–”

The stool screams as it’s slid across the ground, back towards the bench when he stands up. It sounded like one of his many victims. You go quiet as he’s hovering over you, and you swallow any words that you might have wanted to tell him.

The silence is heavy. His shoulders are rising and falling, and you feel your heartbeat in your ears.

Seconds tick by and they feel more like minutes, and you can’t stand it any longer. You open your mouth to speak, but you’re swiftly cut off.

Art yanks you by the collar of your dress, and forces his lips against yours.

Your eyes are wide briefly in surprise, but they close as soon as you register what’s happening, and you moan in the kiss. Art’s a bit of a sloppy kisser, but you’ve come to love it. His taste was acrid as well, but you craved the bitterness at this point, no longer gagging like you used to. As he leans forward to kiss you harder, you put more of yourself in it as well, mixing his intensity with your passion and desire that’s been left simmering for months.

Now it’s boiling over.

Art places both of his hands on either side of your face, and it’s like he’s trying to suffocate you with his kisses, barely giving you much time to breathe in between them. You’re getting a little lightheaded.

He pulls away from your lips to kiss you a few times on the cheek, then nuzzling his face against yours. Almost like a cat.

It gives you the chance to catch your breath. His hands reach for yours, and you let him, feeling the way that his fingers interlace with your own. You look down at the way that your fingers intertwined with his dirtied and calloused ones. He was a man who worked with his hands–in more ways than one. Those same fingers belonged to the same hands that would worship you, tear and pull at you without ever breaking you completely in half. Sometimes it’d be close, but never fully. They would sometimes draw blood when the nails would sink into your flesh and leave behind crescent marks. Other times, those hands would strangle you, smack you–slap you, and bring a sting across your body that reminded you just how alive you were. Then those same hands would caress you. Cradle you.

He’d cut you on a few occasions, but they were never lethal. And with every cut, his tongue followed.

You feel reverence. Especially as you press a kiss to the tip of his fingers–you kiss each one, tenderly, making eye contact with him as you do so.

Art watches knowingly. He raises his head a little so that when he watches you, he’s looking down at you, all too aware of how you worship him. And he accepts it. But only from you. Just you. No one else.

After kissing each finger, from pinkie to thumb, you stop back at his index, soft lips pressed against the pad of it. His fingers were stained. Caked in whatever gore and dirt and grime he’d touched earlier.

Not that you cared, nor would you let it stop you. You’re a freak. Not well in the head. You’d lick any and all of his love off of the world's sharpest blade if that’s the only way he gave it. If he wanted you to cut your tongue on it, you would.

Bringing his index finger to your mouth, you wrap your lips around it, and watch him. He tastes exactly how you’d expect—foul and wretched. You catch the faintest hint of iron. A taste that you’ve come to associate pleasantly with him. That part feels right.

Art’s gaze is fixed on you. You can’t read his thoughts, and though he doesn’t speak, you recognize what that look means. Even as he observes you, teeth bared subtly, head still held high, which he inclines just slightly as you take another finger in your mouth–his middle one.

You suck his fingers lewdly, and close your eyes. You imagine it’s his cock, even though you know that his fingers can’t compare to the real deal. You push your tongue through his index and middle as you take more of him in your mouth. Art watches your tongue work around him, until he decides to press down on the muscle, effectively stopping you.

You stare at him.

Seconds linger in silence, and he relinquishes pressure off of your tongue, letting you move it freely again.

And you do. You hold his hand and go back to kissing his fingers before fellating them. Index first. Then the middle. And finally the ring finger–all three at once. The taste of iron is stronger. You sigh a gentle moan as you pull your head back and give him back his hand. You kiss at the tips of his fingers again. As you’re about to take his fingers a third time, he leans forward instead, his lips taking yours. You feel the way that he seizes both of your wrists as he floods your senses all over again, and you let him.

You try to say his name in between the kisses, but each time you get a breath between the barrage of affection that seems to practically swallow you whole, Art steals your voice with another passionate kiss. Again, his taste is bitter, his teeth are damn near rotten, but you’ve gotten so accustomed to the flavor that it doesn’t make you gag. It makes you feel only slightly sickly. But the arousal overrides any lingering discomfort.

It’s disorienting. It’s all so much at once. You feel your body temperature rise. Art gives you back one of your wrists, but in doing so, he places his hand at the small of your back and pulls you in against him, until there’s no space left between you.

That’s when you feel it. You feel the heat of his erection pressed against your thighs. You’ve excited him enough, it being quite clear the effect your mouth had on him.

You smile, but his lips are back at yours again, and the taste of bitterness hits at the back of your tongue—the most sensitive taste receptors lighting up and ripping any smugness you had straight out of you as you close your eyes and sigh softly. His tongue mingles with yours.

He begins to move, forcibly taking you with him as you change where you’re standing, so that he’s no longer the one whose back is facing the workbench–it’s you. You feel the edge of the table bump against your ass. With your positions effectively switched, you don’t mind at all, far too enraptured by the kisses of your clown lover.

This was pure bliss.

He pulls away from your lips, now kissing the corners of your mouth, then going to your jawline, until he’s at your neck, sucking and licking and nibbling, giving you goosebumps. You feel your nipples go hard. You close your eyes and moan softly.

This is the few times of the year that you get this. It was the time that you’d be peppered in kisses, ravaged, and torn asunder in such a way that it would take you almost the remaining however many days, months, or years until you’d see him again to put yourself back together.

“Art…” You laugh a little when his lips tickle a part of your neck. He silences you again with his lips to yours. You feel the way that he nips at your tongue this time and draws a little blood. The endorphins from the pain gives you a pleasant buzz. He bites your bottom lower lip next, taking note of how he’s beginning to use his teeth more and more during this exchange, and you think about how he’s eaten the faces of his victims before.

You could be next.

He pulls away and kisses at the corners of your lips a second time. He’s obsessed with using his mouth. Your eyes finally open, and you gently move your head back a bit, until Art finally stops, the both of you staring into each other's eyes. His teeth are bared all the same as they were before, but there’s a sultry gaze you’re familiar with. Up this close, you can see the more subtle details of him.

Like his lashes, which otherwise, from a distance is obscured by the paint over his face.

How could someone–or… Something, be so monstrous… Yet so… pretty? You could get lost in his gaze. You could drown in it. And he knows that. And he likes that power over you.

Your lips turn upwards into a soft smile, and you feel a desire pool at your groin. It’s an undeniable throbbing in tune with your heartbeat. Nevermind that you can feel his own arousal against you. He’s warmer than you–he feels like he’s practically burning up, compared to you, and the body heat radiating from him only serves to make you hotter in turn. Right to the point where you’re developing a thin sheen of sweat across your brow.

“I love you.”

He watches you, and through his body language and eyes, you understand him through his reaction. You see a slow, smug smile appear on his face.

Very much an, I know. No sign of reciprocation. That would be too heavy of an ask from someone like him. But him being receptive to your love was a testament to how much he liked you.

Not that you expected anything less from a cold killer such as the Miles County Clown. The fact that he hasn’t yet killed you throughout all these years speaks in a kind of love on its own, you’d think.

Maybe not the one that people would refer to as being actually in love, but for him, for Art, it was. Love was tolerance. Love was allowing you to live.

You feel a hand slip up your dress again, and this time, you don’t stop him. You part your legs for him this time, willingly letting him indulge in what you denied him earlier. Through your panties you feel his thick fingers, his index and middle pressing against your clit, sliding down between your cunt and back up again. He threatens to penetrate you with the tips of his fingers through your panties with a gentle prod, but doesn’t follow through on it.

You ache, feeling more empty than ever.

He’s doing this on purpose. All because you told him to wait earlier.

“Art,” You say his name with a weak laugh, and he stops to look at you, knowingly, at that, well aware of what it is he’s doing. His little way of being petty with you, and he continues once more, trailing his fingers up and down between your thighs, waiting for you to continue.

“It’s been months,” You plead for him. His face is still inches from yours, and you lean more of yourself against him, as your voice gets low. He observes you through half lidded eyes, analyzing you, assessing you and sizing you up. He’s no longer smiling, and his lips are downturned ever so slightly. The expression looks more neutral now.

“I wanna have some fun.” You purse your lips. “Put your weapon crafting down for a bit?”

Your tone is pleading. It’s a mix of a command and a request–you’re voicing your thoughts. You try to get a reading on his response through his eyes, but he’s put up a wall that you can’t breach. He’s unreadable. It’s been months upon months since you’ve both done anything together.

“…Please?”

Art’s gaze is still indecipherable. It makes you a little nervous. The hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand up. Did he change his mind suddenly?

Had it been anyone else, you know they’d be dead instantly. There was no wondering about that. Not a speculation or doubt in your mind. You hated when he did this, when he was fucking with you like this, leaving you in silence. It’s in times like these that you’re reminded that you’re with a wild animal, and he could snap at any second if he decided he was hungry. It was part of the risk you took and the bargain you struck.

Maybe he’d just stab you here and now. Slit your throat and call it a fucking day because he decided that, nope, don’t wanna keep doing this anymore! He could. Again, he’s pushed you away before. Other days he’s yanked you in against him. His mood was unpredictable, hard to guess, and as volatile as a storm across an ocean.

Without another word, you’re turned around, and the flat of Art’s palm travels down your spine as he presses the front of your body forward and down onto the workbench. He gives you time to adjust, so that you’re at least able to rest your forearms on the table top. As of right now, your tits are squished against the surface of the table. It’s a little uncomfortable.

This is surprisingly tender, all things considered. You remember one time when he’d been fucking you on his workbench, how he tied your hands together with some zipties and then choked you out by wrapping some rusty metal chains around your neck. And that was only after he’d finished whipping your breasts, thighs and ass until you were a bloody bruised mess barely hanging on. You still have some scars from those times. He loved to twirl you over the line of death like it was all one dance, pulling you back at the last second.

You go from feeling his palm to the fingertips travel down your back. If it weren’t for the fabric of your dress in the way, you know those blood and dirt stained fingertips would have tickled you by now. And he’s done that in the past while fucking you–tickling you mercilessly. He even makes a point to wiggles his fingers a little against your back on the way down playfully. You can’t help but laugh a little as you exhale, letting some of the excitement stirring within you leave your body through your lungs. Your breaths are getting deeper, and in times like this, when he thrills you in such a way, you’re reminded just how much he makes you feel…

Alive.

Because when you’re with him, death is always hot on your heels. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Don’t be gentle,” You tell him. He knows. You know he knows.

You hear the metallic zipper from the front of his suit go down as the teeth on the track separate and reveal the body of a man beneath that clown visage. You steal a glance over your shoulder to admire his pale skin that covered over such a thin frame. Amazing how a build such as his carries such supernatural strength.

Unceremoniously, he gets right to work, giving your ass a firm slap after lifting the back of your dress, letting it crumple up over your hips. You yelp gently as you know that there’s likely already a red spot on your rump. Art rubs the spot on your ass he’d slapped, then gives it a gentle squeeze.

You make the decision to look over your shoulder, right on time to experience watching when the killer clown makes the decision that you no longer are in need of your panties. His dirtied fingers slip within the space between the elastic waistband of your undergarment and your skin. He lets it snap against your flesh once–that’s about the extent of use it gets before he grabs whatever meager fistful he can of that excuse of ‘modesty’ you brought to him and rips it clean off your form.

“Ow!”

You told him to be rough. And he’s planning on taking that quite literally, as he’s taking it for not just the sex, but all of what precedes it apparently. He’s quietly laughing to himself, teeth showing, eyes crinkled.

“Glad you got some entertainment out of it.”

A few more noiseless giggles then he sobers up. Back to the task at hand—fucking your brains out.

He aligns himself right up against your warm dripping cunt, hands gripping your hips so tightly that his filthy fingertips leave stains on your dress. His nails are so sharp you swear that if he tried to sink them in any further, he’d pierce the cloth and right into your flesh. You inhale sharply again, bracing for the moment he sinks in. You feel the tip of his cock press against you and begin to push in, the head barely getting the chance even to get inside you before it slips and glides between the crack of your ass as he misses. Your excitement stutters for a second, but then ramps back up higher than before, impatience and desire washing over you wholly like a wave.

You’ve been grabbing at the edge of the workbench, hands holding tight and then releasing them of their grip every so often to relax your muscles. You don’t say anything.

He’s annoyed at missing you the first push in.

With a look of disgruntlement he instead opts for one hand reaching to push your head down against the table with such a cruel force that makes you worry for a split second that he was trying to crush your skull. It was his way of trying to steady you as he then uses his other hand to line the head of his cock right against your cunt for the second time.

You shiver as you feel him, hands turning to fists that you clench tightly as inch by agonizing inch, he spreads you and fills you out easily. Your body did the heavy work, and has been prepping for him for the last ten minutes. It’s slick, and he can feel the wetness of your cunt hit against his balls when he bottoms out within you. That’s when you sigh in relief.

He almost pulls all the way out, then rams into you roughly, making you exhale sharply as the table shakes upon impact. The few tools laid out shuddered until they stilled. Give or take a few more times of this, and he finally releases his hand on your head, but you still opt to keep your head down.

The rhythm he has is a little awkward at first, but he is quick to course correct, both hands firmly planted on your hips, keeping you steady. You can’t see his face right now, but you’ve seen it plenty of times when you’ve fucked before. How his mouth would go into that ‘o’ shape, and the way his eyes would go half mast, holding nothing but a glimpse of paradise behind him as you could see that he was as close to heaven as his wicked self could get. You were beautiful to him, as far as sacks of flesh and blood went. And you could tell the times that he looked at you in such a predatory manner that there was restraint behind it.

You feel the pressure build up within you at a steady rate as he leans over you, chest pressed against your back, sucking on your neck, marking you. Then he nips. Then kisses, then sucks so goddamn hard on the same spot that you swear that he’s trying to suction your flesh right off your body.

It doesn’t take long for you to be so close. He’s so warm. The sound of his body slapping against yours, mixed with the creak of the workbench that’s forced to undergo the assault of you being rammed into it, a few quiet moans slip past your lips to join along.

You’re unbearably close, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, just a little more and—

Your phone goes off.

You forgot to silence it.

You feel it vibrating in the pocket of your dress. The ringtone scares the shit out of you and Art, who abruptly jumps a little while still on top of you.

“Of course.” You say sarcastically. “Of course! Who the fuck is calling me?!” You’re irritated now, mood under threat of being ruined. The excitement you felt shrivels up.

Reaching inside your hiked up dress pocket, you pull out your phone and check to see who had the audacity to try and get a hold of you in your time of undoing.

Your friend. Sort of. He was like a close acquaintance? If you could call him that. You met him when you were out and about one night. He’s an okay dude, hasn’t done anything wrong.

If only he didn’t harbor a romantic interest in you when you were already spoken for. But how could you begin to tell someone that you’re involved with a psychopathic killer clown? Specifically the Miles County Clown?

You’re ready to send him right to voicemail, until the phone is seized right out of your hand from over your shoulder.

“Hey!”

Your protest is in vain, as Art too, looks at who is calling you right now. You had HOPED he’d take a look at it, have his curiosity sated, maybe turn the phone off or better yet, you’d even forgive him if he tossed it over his shoulder, just this once!

But the look he’s giving you, then the phone, makes your heart sink as you realize.

“Art, don’t do it—“

His expression turns wicked, mouth upturned into the most shiteating grin you’ve ever seen.

“Art, I swear to god—“

But god’s not here, nowhere to be found in this workshop. God’s forsaken you. Doing the devils tango with a demon can do that.

Giggling silently to himself, in an act of deliberate defiance against you as well as likely for his very own amusement, he accepts the phone call for you and places it right to your ear.

What a gentleman. Truly.

You’re going to fucking kill him. You try to take the phone away from him, but he merely pulls it back out of your reach.

“Hello?”

You can hear the voice on the other end of the line. Art brings it down to your ear again and you try to make a reach for it a second time, only for him to do the exact same thing as before, silently cackling all the while. It’s become apparent that he’s not going to let you have it.

“Hellooooo?”

With a resigned sigh, you don’t fight him any further. Art puts the phone to your ear for the third time.

“Hey.” You answer wearily.

“Hey!” His voice on the other end of the line is suddenly lighter, filled with levity. You can hear the way that his breath is hitched in the back of his throat. Static tinges at the edges of his words.  Must be a shoddy connection down here.

“How are you?”

“I’m–” You start to answer, but are interrupted by Art going back to rocking his hips into you while still over you. Once again, you look over your shoulder to give him the stink eye.

“I’m good, just uh, you know. Hanging out.” You respond, exhaling deeply as Art stirs the fire within you again after it had just begun to cool down.

“Nice, me too.” He says, and lets the silence between you both sink in for a few seconds. “You doing anything tomorrow?”

This would all be so much easier if you weren’t getting dicked down.

“I… I’m uh–”

He’s pounding into you from behind now, still leaning over you, holding the phone for you in one hand and keeping the other on the workbench for stability. Each fluid roll of his hips is equally tantalizing as the previous, his body connecting with yours in such a familiar way you craved. The table shakes, and you’re gripping the edges of it for dear life. You can hear his heavy breath from behind you, excitement building in each time he fills and empties his lungs.

“Art–” You say his name through grit teeth like a warning, with annoyance in your tone, but the excitement you feel, the rush and the thrill of it all has you coming close to release. Why does this feel so good? This man, this sweet man, who has done nothing wrong to you, interested in you, blissfully unaware that your heart belongs to someone else, being fooled like this. It’s wrong. This is wrong. Art knew about this man. He knew about him for some time. Art made it clear that he hated him. The only reason he’s still breathing is because you asked Art not to put this man’s head on a pike, but you fear it’s only a matter of time until your clown lover eviscerates this trespasser for encroaching on what he perceives as his territory–you.

“Art?" He repeats.

This is all an act of revenge done on the Art’s part. His pettiness knew no bounds.

“Yeah, art. You know–Mhn–” Your nails dig into the edge of the workbench as if that’ll somehow make a difference in the fact that he’s pounding into your cunt with such an aggressive force that begins to make you ache.

“You know, p-painting? Drawing. That sort of thing.”

You can only pray the ungodly sinful noises of his skin slapping against yours can’t be heard over the line.

“Ohhh… Well, hey, you wanna hangout sometime soon? It’s been a bit. Wanted to catch up with you if that’s fine.”

You’re not paying attention to a damn thing this dude is saying. It’s just words, in one ear, straight out the other.

“Uhuh.” You say without thinking. You’re close. You’re unbearably close as Art angles himself in such a way that hits just right. He knows how you work all too well. He knows how to unwind you and how to pull you apart piece by piece like it’s second nature to him.

Art’s pushing you towards the cliff, and there’s no stopping it. Your vision starts to blur a little. Your breathing deepens, and Art knows what’s about to come next, which only seems to spur him on as well, exciting him to the point where now he’s going fast not just for you, but for himself, chasing his own orgasm hot on its heels.

“How’s about next Thursday, at 7pm? There’s a new restaurant across the street from where we both met—“

The phone becomes nothing short of white noise. This shouldn’t feel so right, it shouldn’t. But it does. Gods above, it does.

You feel yourself lose sense of the world around you. There’s nothing but ringing in your ears, and you realize how little time you have to prepare before it’s too late.

Your orgasm crashes into you and is ripped out of you all within seconds. You try to keep quiet, your voice strangled and choked out in the process. Your release is violent as it tears you between what feels like the state of life and death. Your cunt tightens around his cock, squeezing him in contractions that trigger him in turn. Art hisses like a serpent, feeling his muscles lock up and knowing that he only has a few seconds to bury himself to the hilt within you, and he does. His face twists into an ugly and horrid expression as he comes inside you, dropping the phone on the workbench in the process while filling you with all the pent up energy he had been keeping away from you for months.

All of what he’d been denying you was now yours.

“Hello?”

You’re finally coming back into your own body a few meager seconds later when you register the voice, and hurriedly grab the phone before Art gets the chance.

“Can I call you back?” You ask, holding the phone to your mouth, but you weren’t really asking. Your friend had no real say in it, and before he even gets the chance to respond, you hang up. And then you lower your head and sigh. All the while, Art has since recovered, but his legs are shaky. You shove him off of you, and he stumbles back with an uneven balance, post orgasm weakened. Goofily he fumbles past the stool from earlier, which he tries to grab but fails in doing so. Instead, he lands right on his ass.

You’re sure to follow that up by throwing your phone at his head, which it does, but it lands with a clack right beside him. The only reason you felt remotely confident in doing that is because you’re both that close. Well, that and irritation made you a bold motherfucker sometimes. Yet despite all of that, he sits there, a wickedly amused smile on his face.

You pull your dress back down. Your legs tingle and you swear you feel some of his come dripping down your thigh, but you’re not sure.

“Proud of yourself, huh?” You ask, leaning against the bench for balance until you get your footing.

Yes. Yes he was proud of himself!

The rest of the night was spent at Art’s temporary hideaway space, lamenting the loss of your panties and calling back your guy friend who had unknowingly been part of something much more than he knew. And you’d never tell him. Not that you would ever have the chance to tell him really anything at all anymore in the future.

You had no idea at the time that Art would meet your friend the day you were both set to reconvene. But you should have known better, and a part of you already did. The reason you know he was dead was because he ended up on the local news the next day missing.

That, and Art had saved the man’s heart specifically for you when you came to visit him again.

[moonstruckme]

hello mae! you said that you’re tentatively thinking about doing poly! jily? how about them x shy!reader who is used to spending holidays alone but now that she’s in a relationship, James and Lily wanna give her experiences of like carving pumpkins, baking cookies, or something like that.

just cute and domestic fall activities!! I hope that’s enough.

Thank you for requesting lovely!

poly!Jily x shy!reader ♡ 845 words

You smile, and James plants his lips on your cheek just before the flash. 

“Perfect,” Lily says while the camera whirs. She takes the photo it spits out, going to stow it in a shady corner of the porch. 

“Now one with you,” James urges. 

“No.” Lily waves him off as you second James’ request. “How would we get all of us and our pumpkins in it?” 

“James has long arms,” you say.

"Yeah, Evans." James grabs you roughly around the shoulders, making your face heat even as you smile. "I have long arms. Give it here."

After some debate Lily hands over the camera. James holds it out as far as he can, waiting until you’re all holding up your jack-o-lanterns before pressing the button. 

It goes beside the other photo, waiting for the film to develop. You know as soon as it does, both photos will be clustered in with the others on James and Lily’s fridge, held up by magnets beginning to lose their strength under the weight of so many. Lily has always liked to take pictures, and ever since you got together she’s been cramming ones of you into every empty space. This relationship is relatively new for you, and most days you’re still trying to figure out where you fit, but Lily and James do everything to make you feel welcome. In a million tiny ways, they show you all the time that they care just as much for you as they do for each other. 

James looks between your pumpkins pridefully. “Whose do we think turned out the best?” 

“Lily’s,” you say at the same time as Lily says, “Mine.” 

James’ mouth falls open. “Mine was good too!”

“Sorry, Jamie.” You give his shoulder a consoling pat. “Hers is just better.” 

The fact of the matter is, your girlfriend was simply patient where you and James were not. She outlined her jack-o-lantern’s face beforehand in marker, used a small knife to achieve the curvatures of one heart-shaped eye and one winking one, and took the time to make the edges of her cuts look nice and clean. James and you, however, tried to freehand things with much larger knives; it had not gone quite so well. 

“I think there should be points for creativity,” says James, frowning at his botched pumpkin. He’d tried to give it round eyes, and in the process accidentally cut more than he meant to. The result is jagged and vaguely upsetting, so eventually he decided it was an ill pumpkin and trailed its entrails out of its mouth so it looks like it’s vomiting pumpkin guts. 

“It was a very creative solution,” Lily tells James. And to you, “You did really well for your first time, too, sweetheart.” 

You snort. Yours is nearly as bad as James’. Both of your partners had to show you how to saw through the pumpkin flesh more than once to keep you from yanking the knife out and stabbing yourself. After many tutorials, you’d managed two triangle-shaped eyes, but the teeth you’d tried to put in your jack-o-lantern’s mouth had fallen out, so now it just looks like a rather simplistic, very upbeat face. 

“You did,” Lily insists, but she’s repressing a laugh too as she looks down at your pumpkin. “It’s cute.” 

“It looks like something a five-year-old could have done,” you acknowledge. 

“You and a five-year-old have about the same amount of experience carving pumpkins, so that’s not really so bad,” says James. He reaches for the polaroids Lily took. “Let’s see how these turned out.” 

“James Potter,” Lily’s voice goes sharp, “don’t you dare touch those with your slimy hands.” 

“Okay, alright.” James holds his hands up in the air. He stands instead, backing away slowly like Lily has him at gunpoint. “C’mon, lovie, let’s go fish the seeds out in the sink.” 

“What for?” you ask, following him as he carries your large bowl of pumpkin entrails inside. 

“If you separate the seeds and roast them, you can eat them.” James raises his eyebrows at you. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had pumpkin seeds before.” 

“Nope.” 

“Ugh. You poor, deprived girl.” James takes your face in his hands, and you smile despite the slick feeling of his pumpkin-y fingers on your cheeks. His eyebrows scrunch pityingly as he kisses above your nose. “We’ll right that wrong today, sweetheart, don’t you worry.” 

“You haven’t been missing out on much,” Lily says, slipping past the two of you with your photos. She wedges them underneath a magnet on the fridge. “It’s a lot of effort for a snack.” 

“She only says that because she can’t stand the guts,” James tells you conspiratorially. 

“Really?” You mash your hands into the stringy pumpkin bits. “I kind of like them.” 

Lily makes a face. “They’re all slimy and weird. And sticky.” 

“Wimp,” James teases. 

“You’ve just called them guts, James. In what world does that sound appealing?” 

“Angel,” James says in a quiet voice, “you’ll protect me, won’t you?” 

You frown at him. “Why?” 

He picks up a small mass of pumpkin guts and lobs it at your girlfriend. 

“James!”

[missaengg]

Kitten, You're Beautiful

Day 5 of Kinktober: Visions of Temptation hosted by @xxsycamore Featuring: Love and Deepspace | Sylus x f!reader Tags: mdni, smut, fluff, mild hurt/comfort, mild angst, mirror sex, comfort sex, established relationship Prompts: Mirror Sex | "Let's see how long you can last." ao3 link here.

Your clothes didn’t fit anymore. Sighing, you pinched the fat above your tummy, grimacing at how much more flesh was caught between your fingers than before. The floor-length mirror in front of you reflected your entire body, clad only in ill-fitting underwear, back. You hated it. You hated what your body had become, the soft dimples on your thighs, the extra cushion around your waist, the jiggle on your upper arms.

You angrily sighed, eyeing the clothes you ripped from your closet lying on the floor of your bedroom. You tried on almost every item of clothing you owned. Nothing, absolutely nothing laid on you correctly. The waistband of your jeans pushed up the fat on your hips into a hideous muffin top. Your crop tops showed too much of your swollen belly. Your blouses strained against your chest and shoulders. An aggravated, disapproving growl erupted from your throat, and you dug the heels of your hands into your eyes to stop the tears prickling your eyelids from falling.

This was so stupid. You knew all of it was so stupid. You could just buy new clothes. But seeing how small your clothes had gotten made you feel hideous and bloated and unattractive. It made you hate yourself.

“Kitten?”

A familiar voice drifted through your bedroom door. You quickly reached for one of your boyfriend’s sweaters he left behind the last time he was over, a soft, cashmere pullover that used to at one point hang loosely off your body. 

“In here, Sy,” you called out, covering yourself as fast as you could, ashamed to let him see you like this. You suspected he knew something wasn’t quite right, especially because the last time the two of you were intimate, you insisted on turning off the lights. He didn’t push though because that’s what he did. He always waited for you to tell him when you were ready.

Sylus poked his head into your bedroom, his silver hair brushing against the top of the door frame. His brilliantly vibrant, crimson eyes brightened when they saw you, but wavered when they noticed how red your eyes were and what appeared to be the remnants of a scowl on your brow. “Kitten, are you all right?” he asked, his concern for you obvious. 

You weakly smiled at him, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I’m fine.” You took a deep, shuddering breath in, kicking yourself for how poorly you were hiding how shitty you felt, especially when you saw Sylus’s eyebrows pull together. “Really, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine to me.” Sylus leaned forward until he was level with you, tenderly placing a palm against your cheek. 

You involuntarily pulled back a hair at his touch, eyes averted towards the ground. “Nothing, really. I’m fine.”

His frown deepened, especially when you pulled away from his touch. He peered at you intently, his crimson orbs searching for a sign of why you were so upset. “Sweetie, did I do something wrong? Because if I did, I–” “No!” You sighed, roughly yanking your fingers through your hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just that I… I…” You trailed off, feeling ashamed at why you were so upset, at having to voice what was upsetting you. You could feel Sylus looking at you, that warm, sweet, concerned gaze of his that made you feel warm and fuzzy. But right now, all it did was make you feel more shame, more self-loathing.

“Sweetie?” His thumb wiped away the tear that fell from your eye. 

God, you loved him when he was this sweet. You hugged yourself tighter, intrusive thoughts running through your head whispering that he would be repulsed by the change in your body, that he would fall out of love with you, that he would leave you if he knew, that he would find someone slimmer and more attractive than you.

“My–” You licked your lips, blinking to keep more tears from falling. “My clothes don’t fit anymore,” you whispered in the tiniest voice you could muster while still remaining audible. 

“Oh,” Sylus quietly uttered.

“I– I look awful,” you hoarsely whispered, tears brimming in your eyes. As the tears began to fall, you buried your face in your hands, unwilling to let him see you ugly cry, snot running and all.

“Kitten…” Strong, but tender hands gently moved yours out of the way allowing him to wipe away your tears. “Kitten, look at me.”

You reluctantly raised your head, flinching at how much he was taking in. He grasped your chin, and very gently leaned in to graze his lips against yours. You melted, desiring the comfort of his warm embrace. Your anxiety spiked when he pulled away.

“You’re beautiful.”

You frowned at him. “No, I’m not. I’m ugly, and you’re going to want someone younger and prettier and skinnier than me.” Sylus clicked his tongue, displeased at how quickly you dismissed his compliment. He spun you around so that your back was against his chest and the two of you were facing the mirror. He placed his hands on your shoulders, bringing his lips close to your ear. “To me, you are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he asserted, staring straight into your eyes in the mirror. “And I will not have you disparaging her. If you don’t believe me, then I will have to show you just how beautiful I think you are.”

A delicious tingle ran up your spine when he placed a wet kiss behind your ear. 

“I don’t care what size you are..”

Another tingle when he nipped your artery.

“You are the only woman for me.”

His hands slid under the sweater you were wearing, the friction of his calloused palms hot against your soft skin starting a smoldering fire deep within you.

“And I will never, ever let you forget it.”

His hands were kneading your soft flesh, the ragged breaths he was expelling erotic in your ear while his mouth feasted on your neck. You found yourself melting into his embrace, relishing the way he grabbed at you, feeling his bulge press into your back.

“I want you to see how much I love you.”

Sylus tugged his sweater off of you, throwing it behind him and bringing you back into his arms quickly. You instinctively raised your arms to cover yourself, but Sylus caught your wrists before you could. 

“Don’t. I want to see all of you.”

Your nose wrinkled at your reflection, at the imperfections you wished didn’t exist. You yelped when Sylus roughly bit down on your shoulder. 

“Kitten, I said none of that now.”

Sylus hooked his fingers into your underwear and pulled them down, taking his time, grazing his fingertips along your leg as he did so. You squirmed at how exposed you felt, seeing yourself on display both in the mirror and in his hungry, heated eyes. He squeezed your breasts.

“This is mine.”

You gasped as his hand slipped between your legs, stroking your slit from front to back, slipping a finger in. Your body involuntarily clamped down onto his finger. He trailed kisses along your shoulder, wrapping his free arm around your waist so that you were tightly flush along his back while his finger curled inside you. You threw your head back onto his shoulder, eyes closed, your chest heaving faster. 

“This deliciously wet pussy is mine.”

You felt Sylus shift behind you, the arm around you momentarily disengaging so he could release his erection. 

“This gorgeous body is mine.”

After sliding his length against your folds to lubricate himself in your slick, he slid in, taking his time burying himself fully in your warmth. The breathy moan falling off your lips caused Sylus to feverishly groan. Sylus moved against you slowly, enjoying the way your walls dragged along his shaft. Your eyes flickered to the sight of your union in the mirror. You could see the flush spread on your boyfriend’s face, the drunk look of pleasure glazing over his eyes. He looked positively intoxicated by you. 

Sylus noticed you watching him in the mirror. Breathing heavily, he nuzzled his nose into your hair. “I love you,” he murmured, tickling the spot where his lips rested. “I will always love you, no matter what because you are beautiful. Inside and out. Your size doesn’t dictate that. Do you understand me?”

You felt the prickle of tears along your eyelids again, but this time it was because of how adoringly Sylus cradled you in his arms, at how safe he made you feel, at how much his love for you felt like a gentle, spring rain on your heart. You nodded, unsure whether you could speak without erupting into full-blown tears.

“Now, kitten, let’s see how long you can last with my dick inside you.” You shivered, anticipation fluttering down your back, knowing you wouldn’t last very long. That devilish smirk he flashed was going to be the death of you, but you didn’t mind because he was your Sylus and you were his kitten, and that was all you needed in this world.