#like that there was no mention of his ego or whatever even though having to run would mess with anyone's ego a bit. I'm sure he would've

[weaving-knightmares]

he's going to be fighting a bunch of these things on his own, huh?

[thestarfishinjootsoffice]

Old writing especially on Bo's and then Vincent's part. I realised that I was writing as if their s/o showcased their strength during later on into their relationship in the first three slashers, apologies.

A/n: I am no longer writing for Hannibal or any hannibal characters as I myself have forgotten my own perspective of them.

Slashers x reader who's stronger than them but doesn't look like it!

Warnings: blood and death on the ghostface duos part, very slight mentions of nsfw. But mostly fluff.

Slashers in this: Bo sinclair, Vincent sinclair and Thomas Hewitt, Michael Myers, Billy Loomis and Stu Macher (poly)

Relationship: romantic!!

Bo

It clawed at his ego, he's a pretty mean bastard and you know it 🫵.

He first thought of you as the most fragile and weakest person ever (and cutest), I mean, could you even lift a pot half filled with water?

Undoubtedly he used this assumption to 'help you' or more so at times tease you. He loves seeing your reactions and most definitely not because you're so small and kind to him, pfff of course not.

He just absolutely loves lifting you up and over his shoulder and he's definitely an ass guy. He loves ogling and smacking your ass but he won't get to that level until many many months later on. But he's still going to stare.

“Oh Bo, I think there's a rabbit under the truck!” You exclaimed to Bo as you noticed something white and moving below.

"An animal? *sighs* hold on, I'll get rid of that p-" He suddenly loses his ability to formulate words as he witnesses you lift the goddamn fuckin truck with one arm, and indeed there was a rabbit underneath.

“*gasp* it's so cute!” Bo cannot believe what he just saw. Damn, he gotta stop smoking so much it's messing with his brain. He's just staring at you as you pet the timid rabbit with your 'scrawny' arm.

He must admit he does fantasize about you lifting him up and shit, or topping him in bed. Whatever he's feeling that day, and he would rather swallow sand than ever admit that last part.... But y'know if you're up for it-

His cocky and prideful attitude seemingly making an apparent change, he would hold a cup or item you need above your head with a shit eating grin watching you get frustrated with him. Or when he would make jabs about you being too weak to lift three chairs at a time and would offer to help you. (So he could walk beside you.) But now... He still fucking makes jabs at you being weak, just to fuck with you even though he knows it's far from the truth. He loves making you seem like the little helpless princess and him being the asshole shining knight in armor.

You wouldn't mind tho would you? It's a win-win, you get to spend more time with your boyfriend and he gets to spend time with his girlfriend.

Vincent

So gentle and caring with you. He's gentle and caring with whoever he is with but your size just makes him think one wrong move and he's accidentally breaking your arm. And cause of this he can't help but be a worry wart at times and way too protective. Not budging even if you reassure him you're perfectly capable of doing something that requires strength.

During one of the dark evenings you walk with your lover in the forest, the side of the forest where there isn't roadkill so that you can breathe without torturing your nostrils. And finding some fire wood to spend the next dark hours star gazing and ranting to him while the sound of the fire crinkling and burning the wood serves as a nice background music.

Every step you take you hear the crunch of the dead leaves get crushed under your foot, both of you holding your flashlights. You have the warm and slightly calloused hand of your Vincent holding yours affectionately as his thumb brushes against the back of your hand and knuckles, gently tracing over and feeling the ridges and bumps.

You notice some fallen bark and shine your flashlight on it. "Vinny, look there's some firewood over there!" You exclaimed and shined your flashlight elsewhere, looking around more until you had shined it directly on a tree right in front of you that was occupied by a scary looking arachnid, its front limbs moving in a sluggish and relaxed fashion.

You let out a startled yelp and out of instinct your fist went to swing at the spider who somehow successfully managed to not get hit in the nick of time. This also startled your boyfriend who looked worriedly at you, his eyes scanned over to see that you were.. Fine! But the tree you punched wasn't. It has a big dent in it while the flesh of wood was cracked and damaged severely around the impact along with many splinters.

"I'm so sorry Vincent! There was a spider and I got scared!"

He almost let out a breath of relief knowing it wasn't anything serious but he can't get his eyes and mind off the injured tree. Did you... seriously do that? He gently took your hand and examined it, it seemed perfectly fine except for redness, light bleeding and a couple splinters on your knuckles.

He slowly raised one of his hands, pointing towards the punched tree. 'Did you do that?' Is what's probably going through his head. You chuckled sheepishly and nodded in confirmation. He sighed. For now, he'll worry about your fist.

Does this interaction change how he treats you?... Kind of. He isn't too pushy as he was since he now knows how capable you are of handling yourself but there's still that feeling in him, something that gnaws at his inner core for him to help you. He wants to feel useful and to serve you in any way he can, so...please let him dote over you still..? (Of course you will, you can't say no to him.)

If you want to pick him up he'll entertain you, though he'll be extremely flustered and giddy about it. He likes this way more than he should (in his opinion). How comical is it? He's a large 6'1 grown man being carried princess style by his tiny s/o. Despite all this, he still hopes you need him as much as he needs you.

Thomas

Trust me when I saw it really took Thomas by surprise. He's a really big guy and you say this little thing is stronger than him? Oh please, humor him after dinner.

He's a busy man with a lot on his plate, and you seemingly looking like the most harmless person in the world doesn't help, he constantly feels like he has to tend to you and supervise you from a certain officer.

Will usually not allow you to help him when he's working, it depends. He feels guilty letting yourself get caught up with all this but if you insist he'll gladly accept the extra hand with honest gratitude. But generally- 'Back away honey, you might get dirty.' Is what he wishes he could say.

In his eyes you're a saint, an angel. Made perfectly to fit in the space between his thighs he's sitting down and there's no flaw in the way his large hands cups your cheeks with those pretty eyes of yours staring into his – no room for mistake or complain. You're adorable.

The first time he allowed you to help him you admire your handsome behemoth of a lover chopping wood. Appreciating the rolled up sleeved that gave you a good view of his arms, his muscles flexing as he brought the axe down – after he was done with the first small batch of logs you hurried to grab the others.

Tommy watched with amusement and adoration before shifting his weight to help you but stopped as you started walking towards him five logs resting effortlessly in your arms. It didn't even seem to faze you as if it was just you were only a bunch of baby ducks.

Tommy watched in silence as you laid them out on the table, still kind of processing it before nodding his head in gratitude and resuming to chopping them up. He'll bring this up later, maybe. For now he'll focus on getting his work done and spending more with you, and your soft words.

He doesn't really care if you're stronger than him or not, as long as you love him and don't try to run away it's all good. If you want he'll stop trying to do everything for you even though he knows you don't need any assistance – he's so used to working around the house he feels restless not doing anything at all.

If you want to carry him, do it. He's all yours but please do it in private he won't be able to handle the embarrassment if his family sees it. And although he prefers to be the dom he doesn't mind it if you wanna take charge every once in a while and throw him around.

Plus, it creates something pleasantly warm in his stomach.

Michael.

He thinks he's going insane. (He already has.)

He's Michael Myers, the most ruthless killer Illinois has ever seen for the past decades. And you're saying this small creature that he's inhabited has greater strength than him... Yeah, no.

And then he sees you picking up three bodies out of the house with your bare hands while cleaning up the evidence of his the murder he left, quietly observing you. He won't admit it but it kind of irks him. He's supposed to be the one with power in this relationship and quite frankly he doesn't know the true extent to your power.

He warms up to it eventually – although it's more of he doesn't give a fuck anymore. You're not completely weak and helpless? Great, he doesn't have to worry about you as much. Key word: as much. He still does worry a lot when you're out for long hours – he's not worried you're injured or in danger (not anymore) but more as in you're not leaving him, right? Or ratting him out to the police?

Do not ever attempt to pick him up or anything even remotely close to that unless you want a glare from those void, soul-less eye sockets of his mask Or if you want a love tap on the head and cheek. If you give him enough guilty smiles and let go of him he'll let you off the hook. if not, bear the consequences. (They don't even do anything anyways, lmao)

He feels so incredibly annoyed when you start treating him like a child, telling him to go sit down or lie down in bed after he pulled a few all nighters and the fact you successfully manage to pull him back into bed: God dammit, why the hell are you even so strong and you're so small!? Grumpily he does stay put but only if you're with him too.

A man feared by hundreds, if not thousands because of the sheer power and mercilessness he leaves in trails of every step he takes in public... And then there's you, you're half his size and you have more control over him than he'd like. He'd never kill you though, not intentionally, but that will also most likely not happen.

Speaking of killing, don't think he won't murder someone if they attempt to hurt you and gets their ass kicked by you anyways. You attack, he lands the finishing blow. Don't protest, he won't listen.

Billy n' Stu

They're both pretty lean so you can believe it, if not for your given figure. They both adore it, so who cares? Billy and Stu will, eventually.

It was in the heat of the moment, you tell yourself but you remember in vivid detail the day where you saw the bloody escaping victim running towards you – adrenaline pumping in your veins, your mind immediately went into fight mode and swung a fist at their skull. You remember the sickening crunch as blood slowly pooled from their fractured cranium when they lifelessly fell down to the floor.

They first helped you with the lingering guilt first before Stu started annoying you.

''Can you punch me like that next but with a bit less-''

"No!"

Alright, no worries but now he's asking you to lift him up to reach things that he does not need help on. Maybe even just carry him and run around the house. (Don't be fooled, he just wants to be carried around like a child again.) Fluttering his eyelids at you and holding up a jar of pickles. 'Y/n, I can't get this to open!' Yes he can.

Billy, although tries to act neutral but can't help but let his thoughts wander. 'Wow... Strong girl... Can choke me...' He thinks to himself as he watches you and Stu. Not as if he'd ever admit that. He pretends he's disinterested in getting in your arms - no, he just doesn't wanna embarrass himself. But if you persist he'll begrudgingly agree. He indeed liked it.

Stu obviously takes a positive reaction, he loves getting dominated. You can take that however you like. Billy on the other hand feels conflicted, if he's not stronger than you then how will he stop you if you try to leave them or plan to rat them out? Assuming this is during the beginning of your relationship. But overtime the more he takes a good look at your face those thoughts will slowly drown away, there's no way you would, right?

The slashers will probably swoon if you agree to help them place the bodies where they want them to, like hanging them in the trees or something.

Billy keeps it more lowkey. Preferring to keep you in his lap and rest his chin on top of your head. Stu takes your strength to his advantage. When he gets drunk he'll whine and ask you to carry him to bed, and take his socks off. Annoying fuck but you love him either way. And Billy too.

[yourmidnightlover]

control

(forever? pt 2)

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x fem!reader (arranged marriage)

summary: after a rough night with bucky, you wake up alone and get some frustrating news from your beloved husband

warnings: reader is insecure/doubts, not eating for 24 hours (out of protest), kind of controlling bucky, violence, if i missed anything, please let me know!

w/c: 2.7k+

a/n: hiii! this is the second part that was in high demand after i posted forever? i hope y'all like it! this has been sitting in my drafts for what feels like forever and i finally have had a chance to share it with you all! i hope it's worth the wait :)

part 3 -> the story

you woke up alone, just like every morning in the past two months with the exception of the smell of his cologne only a whisper on your bedsheets. 

maybe you shouldnt have expected anything else from him. he had just felt bad about what happened, about making you cry, that’s all. he couldn’t have you running out on the deal that was made. he just had to save face. it was all business…

there was another knock on the door. two days in a row, which was rather surprising. 

opening the door, you come face to face with bucky’s right hand man, steve. his kind blue eyes shone with a hint of remorse, likely knowing at least a bit of what happened last night from his boss.

“hi,” you smiled, your hand remaining on the doorknob.

“hey,” his eyes examined your face, probably to report back to bucky on how you were doing. as if he couldn’t check on you himself. “are you hungry?”

you turn around to look at the clock that reads 12:30.

“i didn’t realize how late it was,” you shook your head as he chuckled. 

“you probably needed the rest after…” he inhaled a sharp breath. “anyway, bucky wants you to head up to the office. told me to make sure you ate too.”

why couldn’t he show you how caring he was?

maybe that’s why he left so early… because he had stuff in the office to take care of. that was what your mind would assume to save your own ego, at least. 

he took you by a mom and pop diner around the corner from their office, let you eat as many waffles and pieces of bacon as your heart desired until he discreetly paid the bill and then you made your way to the office to meet with your husband. 

stopping outside his door, you heard his voice ringing angry and raging. 

“i said to find him. i don’t care if you have to work all day and night to do it. i’m gonna find out where he is. nobody touches what’s mine and gets away with it.”

was he talking about you? or was he talking about another one of his many possessions or assets. either way, with the tone he was talking about everything, even if he was talking about you, he made it seem as though you were merely an object that was in his trophy case. if he was looking for john in order to reprimand him, it was likely to send a message to everyone else that dared look at him. to ensure they didn’t see him as weak.

he would never do anything for you out of the kindness of his heart, surely.

“do whatever needs to be done. end of discussion.” you heard a dial tone end, followed by steve knocking on the door. 

“glad you made it safely,” bucky nodded towards steve before glancing at your form tucked behind him. “how’re you feelin’?” you shrugged. 

“fine, i guess.”

“thank you, steve,” seemingly dismissing steve, he left the room promptly. “i wanted to talk with you about something.” you remained quiet; he sighed before continuing. “i’ve made some arrangements to get you your own personal bodyguard, for when i’m not around to ensure your safety. they would be ‘round the clock unless approved otherwise or when i’m available to be around you.”

“so i would be watched 24/7?” you finally piped up. “like a child?” you voice was still meek as you mentioned your objection.

“it’s for your safety.” he stepped closer to you, not missing the way your body tensed at the movement. “so that something like what happened last night doesn’t happen again,” his jaw tensed, seemingly at the mention of what happened. 

so someone doesn’t touch his precious trophy again, you thought to yourself. 

“i’m a grown woman. i barely even leave the house, and you think i need more surveillance?” your brows furrowed together as you shrunk into yourself, your shoulders deflating at the thought of losing even more of yourself to this marriage. 

“it happened at our house,” bucky reminded you.

“it happened with you right around the corner, too. y’might as well have a drone following me around at that point,” you scoffed quietly. “what? next i won’t be able to shower by myself.”

“if that’s what it takes to ensure your safety, then that’s what’ll happen.” there was no playfulness or sarcasm in his tone.

“i was joking, you can’t be serious,” you looked at him, feeling stubborn tears beginning to well in your eyes. 

“deadly,” he assured you, his brows raised and his serious tone piercing your heart. “whatever it takes.”

you shook your head as you turned to the door. “no.”

your hand reached the doorknob before he added, “i was running this by you as a courtesy. not to get your permission.”

you froze in your steps, turning to him with a questioning look. a couple tears finally broke free from the dam before you responded, “then what was the point?” with that, you walked out of his office, turning to steve. “is it you?” after seeing the tears streaking your face, the choked sobs leaving your throat, he looked to the ground in defeat. you had your answer. and bucky had your freedom in his hand. 

you really were just a device for him at this point. you play the part of a loving, devoted wife while he probably does whatever he pleases to maintain his image to the public. 

you understood that their businesses were in the public eye and that the news of a finance business being absorbed how it was would draw a lot of attention, but nothing made sense right now. he was being so serious about it all. 24/7 surveillance, a fucking bodyguard… for a finance business merge. it was disheartening, to say the least.

it’s not like you had a say in the matter, anyway. so, steve escorted you safely from the premises back to your gated house, where you locked yourself in your room for the rest of the night. 

you didn’t open the door when he tried to ask what you wanted for dinner, or when he tried to give you a sandwich. 

you didn’t even open the door when bucky tried to knock himself once he got home at 11p.m.

or in the morning when they tried to give you breakfast.

or at noon when steve insisted on lunch.

“it’s been almost 24 hours since you’ve eaten,” steve sighed from the other side of the door as you sat at your desk, pen doodling meaningless lines in your notebook as you stared at the blank word document. “bucky’s not gonna be happy if he finds out you haven’t been eating or talking or… anything. you know i have to tell him.”

and you stayed quiet. 

if he wanted a polite little trophy wife, he would get one. but last time trophy wives were a thing was in the 40s, and they weren’t really allowed to say much, so you figured you’d follow suit. 

kind of like your own version of a peaceful protest. 

apparently bucky wasn’t very happy about that. 

he showed up knocking on your door not 20 minutes after steve tried to insist on lunch again. at least he wasn’t busting the door down, much to your surprise.

“it’s bucky, but i’m sure you’ve figured that out,” his voice rang with a certain softness he had with you only two nights ago. “i told steve to go for a little walk so i could talk with you. i was hoping you’d maybe respond?” he tried to open the door, finding it remained locked. “sweetheart, please just eat something. you haven’t even had water since yesterday. you know you have to drink something.” 

you suppose it would look pretty bad for him if his dear wife went to the hospital for dehydration, or starvation for that matter. has the bucky barnes been treating his wife as less than? or has he simply forgotten about his wife? perhaps she’s a weak point for him? 

although he probably wouldn’t admit you to the hospital, he’d probably hire someone to come to the house themselves, sworn to secrecy of some sort. 

you heard rustling on the other side of the door, not footsteps, more like clothing being rustled followed by a thump. his voice rang out lower on the door when he spoke, “i know you’re not happy about having a bodyguard. i understand, i do. you think your freedom is being tarnished and threatened and this is you trying to control what little you can because of that.”

how can he act like he knows you so well? the man who made it seem as though the marriage would be at least a partnership before the words ‘i do’ were uttered. after the honeymoon a flip must’ve been switched in his brain, telling him you were a little toy for him rather than the partner you had agreed to be.

but, after plenty of time to think, you’ve come to realize that you were being rather selfish. as much as you wanted your freedom. you wanted to stick it to the man and tell him that you deserved respect, because you did. 

you also had a duty to your family, to keep them safe. being in this marriage was the only way to do that. and if any questions arose, like bucky’s care for you, then your family would be in danger. 

with a click, you unlocked the door. he must’ve heard it because he slowly opened the door and took a step inside your room, a few feet from you.

“i’m sorry,” you looked at the collar of his suit rather than his eyes. “i’ve been acting rash and immature. i apologize for that.”

“i didn’t-”

“i won’t question your authority again,” you were picking at your nails. “i understand that you need steve to make sure nobody harms me to maintain your image. i respect that. i respect your decision.”

you couldn’t bare to look at his face. your gaze shifted to the floor as he began to nod. 

“does that mean you’ll eat something?” you nodded, chewing on your lower lip before responding. 

“i’m sorry for taking time away from your business,” you moved the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ears, doing anything you could to distract yourself. “i now how valuable your time is.”

“you’re more valuable than all the time i have,” he took a step closer to you before you felt his index finger and thumb gently holding your chin, nudging your head up to look him in the face. “do you understand?” his blue eyes were full of emotion, a mix of them, at that. if you squinted it was almost like there were tears building at the corners of his eyes. but you weren’t squinting anymore. you saw the full picture quite clearly with your eyes wide open. 

“i understand,” you nodded curtly.

you did understand.

you understood that he had an image to maintain. that image, for you and your family, was for him to be a devoted, loving husband to his equally loving and devoted wife. 

his image is his reputation, and no money in the world could buy the reputation he has. 

he let go of your chin, cupping the sides of your face before he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, “i brought your favorite with me. steve’s warmed it up in the microwave for when you’re ready for it. just… eat whatever you can. if you’re still hungry i’d gladly go and grab some more for you.”

“aren’t you going back to the office?” you, voluntarily this time, looked into his eyes with furrowed brows. 

“no, my love,” he shook his head before dropping his hands from your face. “i told them i needed to spend the rest of the day with my wife.”

of course. if steve knew about last night, people at the office probably did too. it would look pretty lousy if he didn’t look after his wife after an incident like that. 

“oh,” you nodded as you broke eye contact once more. “that sounds nice.”

you followed him downstairs, where steve had already set your food aside for you to start on. not eating for so long truly did affect you more than you thought. you didn’t even realize how hungry you were, finishing the entire meal in less than 15 minutes. 

bucky was sitting beside you, eating his own food as he made sure you ate and drank, and noticed when you made a happy plate, and cup, might he happily add. 

“wanna go get some more now?” he let his hand float to your hair, raking through your messy locks with a smile growing at the corner of his lips. 

“no, that’s okay,” you shook your head, not wawnting to bother him more than necessary. 

“if you’re still hungry, then that’s not okay,” you looked to see him shaking his head, his eyes fixed on the dining room table. “c’mon,” he stood from the table, holding his hand out for you to take. “we’re going to get s’more food.”

“will we be going alone?” you let your eyes gravitate to where steve stood in the corner of the room, having not been dismissed by bucky yet. 

“steve,” bucky called him over. “you can go home now. i’ve got her. thank you.” he released him from his duties. “now will you come with me?”

you took a second to think. maybe he was a controlling asshole, but what he was doing was for your safety, whether you agreed with it or not. “okay,” you nodded, figuring it was also best you went along with whatever he said. he seemed to get whatever he wanted anyways. “can we just go through a drive through somewhere?”

“if that’s what you want…” he nodded, surprisingly agreeing to your proposal. “where to?”

“... mcdonalds?” you suggested once more.

“of course, my love,” he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, oddly affectionate since nobody was around. “when we get back i’ll arrange hiring a chef for you, as well. i won’t have you going hungry if i can help it.”

“you don’t have to-”

“i will.” 

you knew better than to argue. you wouldn’t poke the bear if you could help it. sure, he’s told you he wouldn’t hurt you. you were his wife and if news came out that he had hurt his wife in any way, his reputation would be threatened. 

you couldn’t help but remember every warning your friends told you about going into a relationship with this man. warnings about being on your toes, watching your back, never letting your guard down. 

in your mind, this was just one more reason you wouldn’t have to leave the house. another little piece of freedom taken from you in a roundabout sense. 

“okay,” you nodded, accepting your fate as someone who would eventually be trapped in their house forever.

he took you through the drive through at mcdonald’s, getting you whatever you wanted and an oreo mcflurry. on the way home, eating the mcflurry before it melted, it was a silent ride. and not a very comfortable one, probably due to your suspicions about him wanting to control you. 

maybe him controlling you wouldn’t be so bad… he was kind to you, provided for you, made sure you didn’t want for anything. but with that, went a lot of your heart, freedom, and control.  

TAGS:

@nefri-black

[mononijikayu]

i wanna be yours — ryomen sukuna.

He paused, the words catching in his throat as if they were foreign to him. “I cannot let you go.” You felt your resolve waver under the weight of his admission, the intensity of his gaze consuming you. “Then what do you want from me, my lord?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. His lips curled into a dangerous smirk, though his eyes betrayed a deeper emotion. “Everything, little one.” he said simply. “Your body, your thoughts, your heart. I will have it all, and I will never share it with another. I want it to be mine.” Your lips trembled as your eyes bore his own. “You already know that I am yours, my lord.”

GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;

WARNING/S: nsfw, smut, r-18, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, parenthood, forced parenthood, hurt, physical touch, character death, sexual acts, mourning, loneliness, pain, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, grief, toxic relationship, forced memory loss, coercion, explicit miscarriage, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of sexual acts, depiction of forced memory loss, depiction of coercion, depiction of explicit miscarriage, depiction of character death, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of parenthood, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, mention of sexual acts, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;

WORD COUNT: 19k words

NOTE: i thought about how concubine reader and sukuna have this really interesting relationship. a really interesting and painful relationship. and a lot of imbalances exist, with how sukuna has the most power. and he uses it to corrupt her. sukuna, no matter how much he loves concubine reader or make her happy, he will continue to hurt her and cause her grief. and next chapter, we will explore her response to it all, and how she rebels. and how sukuna concedes. in any case, thank you for reading!!! i love you all <3

TAGLIST: @after-laughter-come-tears, @kunasthiast, @midnight-138, @sukioyakio;

main masterlist

the other woman masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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MANY YEARS OF MARRIAGE AND HE STILL HAS NOT FIGURED IT OUT. Ryomen Sukuna didn’t know how to put into words what churned within him when it came to you, his concubine.

You were his endless enigma wrapped in the finest of silks he could procure for you. You were a constant contradiction that pricked at the edges of his ego and lingered in the dark corners of his thoughts. 

He despised puzzles left unsolved, he hated things left undone. Yet you had become the one conundrum he could never crack. And for a long while, he had thought he would be content with that. But as the years went on, he felt maddened by it all. He didn’t know you well, not in the way he hoped. And that bothers him.

Do not get him wrong, he knew you. He knew you well enough that he had kept you around, that you were the only one that he’d ever let close, one that was never a servant. He knew every subtle glance, the cadence of your voice, the way your hands moved with grace even in the most mundane tasks.

He had memorized you like the pages of an ancient, weathered tome, and yet, for all the knowledge he’d gathered, there was something about you that evaded him. Something beyond the surface, just out of reach. It gnawed at him.

Was it fascination? Resentment? Or something far more dangerous—something he refused to name? He had thought, surely, the years would erode whatever this was. Time, after all, was the great equalizer, the eventual destroyer of all attachments. But you had not faded from his mind, nor had the mystery of you unraveled with the passage of time.

The more he let his thoughts drift to you, the more he realized it wasn’t just you he was trying to solve. It was what you made him feel, what it all meant. Was it a weakness? Power? The echo of something human he thought he had long buried? It infuriated him, how you lingered in his chest, a riddle left unanswered.

Even in the quiet hours, when no one else was watching, when his guard was down, he could never bring himself to face the truth. To admit that perhaps you were the one thing in his existence he couldn’t conquer, couldn’t master. And worse still, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to.

Ryomen Sukuna sat upon his throne, the flickering light of the torches casting long shadows across the stone walls. His scarlet eyes, sharp and unyielding, rested on you as you poured his drink with practiced grace.

The delicate clink of the vessel against the rim of his cup seems louder than it should have, reverberating in the silence. You didn’t look at him directly—never did—but he could sense the weight of your presence, a quiet power wrapped in submission.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight, little one.” he said, his voice a low rumble, laced with something unreadable. “A rarity.”

Your hands paused for a fraction of a second before continuing. “Am I to speak freely, my lord?” you asked softly, eyes fixed on the task before you.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “You always choose your words carefully, don’t you? Go on, then. Speak.”

You straightened, meeting his gaze for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The torchlight painted you in warm hues, highlighting the determined tilt of your chin. “I only remain quiet because I sense you prefer it that way. Am I mistaken?”

Sukuna leaned back, swirling the liquid in his cup. “You assume much, little one.”

“And yet, I am still here.” Your tone was calm, almost resigned, but it carried an edge he couldn’t ignore.

His smirk faded. There it was again. That inexplicable thing about you that unraveled his carefully constructed walls. You, with your unassuming words and quiet defiance, managed to disrupt him in ways he couldn’t name.

“Do you think you’ve won some favor with me with such a thing?” he asked, tilting his head as he studied you. “That your loyalty earns you a place above the others?”

“No.” Your answer was immediate, your gaze steady. “I know better than to believe I have power over you, my lord. But I do wonder—why keep me? If I am just another servant, just another fleeting presence in your endless existence, why let me linger?”

His jaw tightened. The audacity of your words would have earned anyone else a swift and brutal end, yet he let you speak. Why? Even he didn’t know.

“You have too many curiosities, little one.” He says, eyeing you. His red meeting your own orbs. “Ones that would be hard to satisfy a mortal like you.”

You smiled, laying your hand on your lap. “I have stayed, my lord. Do you not think I would have left long ago, had there been no satisfaction? Even with my curiosities.”

“You presume too much about that, little one.” he growled, though his tone lacked the usual venom. “You are here because I allow it. That is all you need to understand.”

“And yet……” you took a small step closer, a dangerous glint in your eyes. “You never send me away. Or let me go. When there are so many opportunities, don’t you think?”

Silence fell between you, thick with unspoken truths. Sukuna’s gaze narrowed, his sharp features betraying nothing of the chaos within. He wanted to scoff, to crush this insolence with a flick of his fingers, but the words stuck in his throat. 

You were right. He had kept you close, far closer than anyone else. And it wasn’t out of need or convenience—it was something deeper, something he didn’t dare acknowledge. It was something that he’d rather not touch upon. Not if he wants to dig a hole of possibilities he had no answers for.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, little one.” he warned, his voice a low growl.

“I only play the game you started, my lord.”

His scarlet eyes bored into yours, searching for something he couldn’t name. You stood your ground, unflinching, and for a moment, he thought he hated you for it. Hated how you made him feel… exposed. Mortal.

But instead of lashing out, he laughed. That same cold, bitter sound that echoed through the chamber. You were too familiar with it by now. “You’re a fool if you think this ends in your favor.”

“And you, my lord, are a fool if you think you’ll ever solve me. In the way you wish.” you replied, voice steady and soft, like a whisper cutting through the storm. “Fate does not work in that way.”

A sly grin appears on his lips. “Perhaps that is the case, little one. But I am no fool.”

You raised a brow, intrigued. “Oh, then what are you, my lord?”

“A husband who is intrigued about his wife.” He whispers back to you.

For a moment, your eyes blinked at his words.

Soon enough, laughter permeates through your lips.

He was fond of the sound, truthfully enough.

“You lie as easily as you breathe.” You whisper back to him, a soft ghostly smile on your lips. “My lord, I thought you only said the truth.”

He would not say anything else more, he thinks.

Ryomen Sukuna watched as you downed a cup of sake.

It was better to not dig through the mess, not at all.

══════════════════

YOU OPTED OUT OF THE SESSION IN THE AUDIENCE HALL TODAY. Sukuna had sent quite a word about it , but you knew he truly did not mind. You knew him too well, that words were more or less just what it would be.

He knew you needed a break, to breathe after such a hectic schedule with him. Not to mention that you took care of Chiharu and Chizuru at the same time all on your own, and managed Vermillion Hall by yourself. It was not easy. You needed the rest. And you were glad your husband knew that. 

The sun had already begun to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm glow across the Vermillion Hall. The soft hum of activity filled the air as the children were off in their lessons, their laughter and chatter drifting faintly through the hall’s open windows. The usually peaceful atmosphere was, for once, undisturbed, and yet, it felt different today. 

There was a presence in the hall that hadn't been there before—the presence of Ryomen Sukuna. But you hadn’t noticed yet. Not that he expected you to. He doesn’t visit often enough as of late to find him here. He was too dedicated to other pursuits. 

You were seated by the large window, a small wooden sewing table in front of you. The soft rustle of fabric and the rhythmic motion of your hands as you carefully worked on the intricate stitching of Sukuna's new haori made the room feel calm, despite the tension that always seemed to linger between you two. 

It wasn’t the first time you had sewn clothes for him and it wouldn’t be the last. You were the only one now left making his clothing for him. You knew what he had liked, so there was no one else who did that for him.

Everyone else’s hands were not to touch his clothing, unless to wash it. And now that his previous haori had been torn and tattered from battles, you found the need to make a new one for him.  

You were halfway through adding delicate embroidery when you heard the heavy footsteps. This is only when you heard that sound that you felt something was amiss. You didn’t look up immediately, your fingers still moving across the fabric, your mind focused on the delicate task in front of you.

You could feel his presence, though heavy and undeniable. Finally, after a moment of silence, you heard his voice, low and unhurried, as though he had no reason to be anything but calm.

"Still sewing clothes for me, are you, little one?" His voice carried a hint of amusement, though there was an undercurrent of something else in it, something almost like... curiosity?

You glanced up, meeting his gaze with a faint but questioning look. "It’s not like you’ll bother to do it yourself, my lord. You had taken the liberty of demoting all your sewing servants, other than me." you replied dryly, your eyes moving back to the thread as you continued to stitch. 

Sukuna snickers. “It is no fault of mine that they are inept at the task you do so well at. Though, I should think you would be resting more today, little one.”

"I had done all my tasks rather easily, my lord.” You tell him honestly, poking the needle through again. “And with such time, I figured it would be better for you to have something... new. I cannot keep mending that one you like so much forever."

Sukuna chuckled softly, his deep voice vibrating through the room. “You’re trying to make me more presentable, are you?” He stepped closer, his gaze following your hands as you worked. "It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? Today’s audiences have been dealt with, little one."

The tone in his voice wasn’t mocking, though—it wasn’t quite the usual arrogance you’d expect from him. Instead, it was something more playful, more curious. Something that hinted at an understanding that wasn’t quite there before. Your husband, you find, has been playful when he wants to be. But that often is a rarity done in good faith.

"Maybe so, my lord." you said softly, your fingers never pausing in their work. "But I thought it might be nice for a change. For the next audience Tis better dealt with now then left for next."

His gaze softened slightly at that, though he remained silent for a long moment, watching you as you worked, the fabric between your fingers so delicate, your focus so intense. For the first time in a long while, it seemed like Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t entirely sure how to respond.

“You’ve been quiet, little one.” he remarked after a moment, his voice not quite as sharp as it usually was. "Too quiet. What’s on your mind?"

You paused briefly, meeting his gaze for a moment before looking back at the haori in your lap. The question was unexpected, but not unwelcome. It felt like the first time in ages that he actually wanted to know. 

"Just thinking, my lord." you said, your voice low. "About everything, really. The way things have... changed."

His expression darkened a fraction, but the concern he tried to hide didn’t escape your notice. “Changed?” His gaze narrowed slightly as he stepped closer. “In what way?”

You took a breath, the words coming slower than you intended. "I think... I think I’ve spent so much time trying to keep everything together, trying to make sense of it. But sometimes, I don’t even know where I am anymore." 

You didn’t look up, but your voice carried a strange, vulnerable edge now—something raw that you hadn't meant to reveal. “I never asked for this. For you. For any of this. I think about that as I get older. And of course, I am content but I….”

Sukuna remained silent, and for once, you didn’t hear the usual sneer in his voice or the biting comment ready to spill from his lips. He was quiet, studying you with a strange intensity, as though searching for something he couldn’t quite understand.

"I know, little one." he said finally, his voice softer than usual, but still carrying that familiar weight. "It’s never been easy for you. I get that."

You finally looked up, meeting his gaze directly. There was no arrogance in his eyes now, no unreadable distance. Just something... real. "Do you?" you asked quietly, searching his expression. “Do you really? Because sometimes I feel like I’m just some… some afterthought to you. A thing you can’t quite get rid of, but can’t quite leave alone either.”

Sukuna blinked at your words, and though his face remained unreadable, there was a flicker of something—guilt, regret, maybe even something deeper passing through his scarlet eyes. He stepped closer, his usual intimidating presence now softened, as though in the presence of your vulnerability, he couldn’t bring himself to hold onto the same unyielding stance.

“I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, little one. Even gods are such creatures.” he said quietly, his voice lower now. “I don’t know how to make it right. But I’m not leaving. Nor shall I abandon or forsake you. You ought to know that by now, little one.”

You sighed, poking another hole onto the fabric. “You sent one of the concubines to the Cold Hall, my lord. To be abandoned till she dies.”

“For a fault of her own, harming another woman in the harem.” He shakes his head at you. “You have not done such a thing. I swear that it won't happen to you. Not in your whole life.”

“How is my lord so certain to promise—” You pricked your finger, causing you to groan. You quickly move the fabric away, to avoid the blood pouring onto the fabric. 

Sukuna sighs and crouches over to you, taking your hand onto his own big one. He takes the bleeding finger close to his lips and lets the taste of your metallic blood echo onto his tongue. Your blood has always been so sweet to Sukuna, so smooth and tender. It was honest blood. Blood which has never done any wrong against anyone or anything. 

Not even him, who has made you ever so miserable. You frowned at his act. But sooner or later, the blood isn’t pouring anymore. You take your hand off his own, muttering a small thank you as you continue to work on the haori, much more careful this time.

“You raised my child, you bore me a son. And you are close by my side at all times, doing as you are told. You won’t suffer such fate and this is proof.”

“But what if I…..”

He sighed, letting his hand rest upon your head. “You will not. For all your life, you will live well. Do not over think, little one. It shall cost more of your beauty.”

You could feel your cheeks flustered with warm scarlet. You cannot look at him, or he’ll see the extent of your reddened face.  “M–my lord, if I am pricked once more—”

His gaze softened as he stood next to you, watching the way your hands moved over the fabric with quiet concentration. “Shall I make a binding vow to you, little one? I swear to you, you would not suffer in such a way.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being honest or if this was just another of his strange ways of trying to explain himself. Sukuna was never one for soft words, never one to lay himself bare.

But there was something in the way he stood there, looking at you, something that told you he wasn’t just trying to placate you. He meant it—at least, in his own way.

You sighed, putting the needle down for a moment. “I don’t know what you want from me, my lord.” you muttered, your voice almost lost in the quiet of the room. “I don’t know what I want either.”

Sukuna didn’t answer immediately, instead watching you with a quiet intensity. His gaze softened, and after a long moment, he placed a hand on the edge of the table, his fingers just brushing the fabric of the haori.

“I can’t give you the answers you want, not in a way that would make you happy. Not in ways that would make it easier.” he said finally, his voice almost regretful. “But we will not part. I shall stand by you as you stand with me, little one. If that means anything to you.”

The words hung in the air between you two, and for a long time, neither of you spoke. The tension that had always existed between you both seemed to lessen, if only for a moment. Perhaps there was no grand gesture of reconciliation, no magic words that could undo the past. But for now, this quiet understanding was enough.

Sukuna finally took a step back, his usual air of control slowly creeping back. But the softness in his gaze remained. “Finish the haori, little one.” he said, his voice commanding, though not unkind. "I’ll wear it soon enough."

You nodded silently, and as he turned to leave, you couldn’t help but wonder, just for a fleeting moment, whether things between the two of you might one day be different.

Whether Sukuna would ever truly change. Whether he could be more than who you know he already is. You purse your lips into a flat line, trying to focus on your stitches once more.

You would think about him for the whole night, you think to yourself.

You could not get him out of your mind for one second, even in bed.

But one thing’s for certain to you — your husband lies as much as he breathes.

Even if you love him, he will not love you in the way you want him to.

══════════════════

HE HAD SUMMONED YOU TO JOIN HIM FOR A DRINK. But it was quite obvious to you when you arrived that your husband was already far too deep into his drink already. You sighed, noticing a blue liquor.

Ah, the one Uraume prepares for him. This was the only alcohol that could get your husband drunk. He was immune to anything else. But this lets him feel human in his godly state. It makes him feel relieved. To be drunk on something even once in a while.

Sukuna's gaze lingered on you for a moment as you bowed. Everything about his expression was unreadable, yet there was something in his dark scarlet eyes. Something dangerous and raw. He raises his hand, letting you be at ease. You start to approach him with swift grace.

He hated how his thoughts betrayed him, wandering to places he had sworn to bury. Foolish. That’s what it was. Foolish and beneath him to feel this… guilt, this yearning that clawed at him like a curse more potent than any he could wield.

He had been alive far too long, seen far too much. He should have been immune to such petty human feelings by now. Desires, cravings…they were remnants of a man he had left behind when he ascended to godhood. 

And yet, when he thought of you, when his mind wandered to the softness of your body pressed against his, the warmth of that night you lay tangled together, he could feel something crack beneath his skin.

He thought he’d outgrown it, thought he’d buried whatever mortal part of him still dared to want. But it hadn’t stopped. It had only shifted, mutating into something darker, deeper.

His body betrayed him, aching with a hunger he despised. The memory of your touch, the way your smaller frame molded against his, haunted him in ways nothing else ever had.

You were a puzzle, you perhaps always will be to him. And that he could admit, was his  fleeting moment of weakness. He wanted more of you, a complete picture and now he couldn’t seem to erase that desire. He cannot quell his desires and he hates it. He despises himself over it. 

He remembered every detail of that night. The way your breaths hitched when his hands roamed over you, the softness of your skin beneath his calloused fingers. How you’d fit against him, fragile yet unyielding.

Somehow, you can tell that it was a stark contrast to his overwhelming presence. You were something too special, something he wants to taint and ruin, someone he wants to consume whole.

It was intoxicating, the memory of it. He remembers them without fail, even in a state like this. The way you surrendered without fear, how you looked at him as though he wasn’t a god or a monster, but just… a man. He hated that. Hated the vulnerability it pulled from him, the reminder that he was once human too.

Sukuna clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as if the pain could anchor him. He shouldn’t think of you this way, shouldn’t allow himself to feel this way.

But no matter how much he tried to suppress it, the truth clawed its way to the surface. He wanted you. Not just in the fleeting, carnal way he could dismiss. No, this was deeper.

And it infuriated him.

"Little one." he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. You turned to him, startled by the abruptness of his tone, but there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze.

“Yes, my lord?” you asked, your voice careful, cautious.

He rose from his throne, the sheer power of his presence making the air around you feel heavier. He took a step closer, towering over you, his dark eyes darkened by something primal. His hand reached out, rough fingers brushing against your cheek before he seemed to catch himself. He let it fall back to his side, jaw tightening.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, like the rumble of distant thunder.

You blinked, stunned by the admission. “My lord, I—”

"Silence, little one." he growled, his eyes narrowing. "Don’t speak unless I tell you to."

The command was sharp, but his hand trembled slightly before he curled it into a fist. He hated himself in that moment, hated how much power you had over him without even trying.

You were like a little doe, the way you looked at him. Almost so demure and helpless. And yet, you had the most power over him, now that Hiromi was dead. And he didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to admit that truth.

“I thought it had ended, little one.” he continued, more to himself than to you. “This… weakness. This need for something so fleeting. Yet here I am, craving you like a man, not a god. How pathetic.”

Your lips parted, but you said nothing, sensing that this moment was not yours to interrupt. Sukuna’s gaze dropped to the floor for a fraction of a second before returning to yours, molten gold locking with your wide eyes.

“Tell me, little one.” he commanded, his voice softer now, though no less intense. “Do you feel it too? Or am I the only one foolish enough to burn for something I can never truly have?”

The question hung heavy in the air, a challenge and a confession all at once. Your breath hitched as his words settled in, the weight of them pressing against you like his looming presence. Sukuna had never been one to lay himself bare, yet here he stood, his gaze cutting through you with the intensity of a man teetering on the edge of restraint.

You swallowed hard, unsure if it was bravery or recklessness that made you speak. “My lord, I…..” you began carefully, voice trembling but steady. You swallow the bile down your throat. “It would be a lie to say I haven’t thought of that night. To say I haven’t felt… something for you.”

His eyes darkened, the faintest flicker of something. Was it satisfaction, perhaps? Was it a desire which was crossing his face? He stepped closer, the space between you almost nonexistent. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his presence overwhelming.

“You have, then?” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. “You’ve thought of me… of us?”

“Yes, my lord….” you admitted, your heart pounding in your chest. “But I—”

“But what?” he interrupted, his tone sharp, his hand reaching up to grip your chin gently, forcing you to look at him. “You think I don’t see it in your eyes? The way you tremble when I’m near, yet you never pull away. You deny me nothing, yet you still hesitate to admit what you want.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, steadying yourself against the storm that was Sukuna. “I hesitate, my lord.” you said softly, your lips quivering. “Because I don’t know if what you want from me is real, or if I’m just another fleeting indulgence for you. A distraction.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly, his jaw clenching as if your words had struck a nerve. “Do you think I am a god who indulges in meaningless distractions?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. “Do you think I would allow myself to feel this, to want—if it were something I could so easily discard, little one? Do you think of me that way?”

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze once more. There was something raw in his expression, something vulnerable that he tried to mask with his usual arrogance. It was startling, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t know what you feel, my lord.” you whispered, your voice trembling now. “You are a god, my god. A force beyond comprehension. How could I ever understand what I mean to you, knowing how far away you are?”

Sukuna let out a low, bitter laugh, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You think too much, little one.” he said, his tone softer now, though his scarlet eyes remained intense. “I’ve spent centuries trying to rid myself of weakness, yet here you are, the one thing I cannot escape. You plague me, little one, and I despise it as much as I crave it.”

The confession sent a jolt through you, and before you could stop yourself, your hand reached up, lightly resting on his wrist. The contact seemed to startle him, his eyes narrowing as if to assess your boldness. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“You are mine, little one.” he murmured, his voice low and possessive. “Whether you believe it or not, whether you understand it or not….you belong to me. And I—” He paused, the words catching in his throat as if they were foreign to him. “I cannot let you go.”

You felt your resolve waver under the weight of his admission, the intensity of his gaze consuming you. “Then what do you want from me, my lord?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curled into a dangerous smirk, though his eyes betrayed a deeper emotion. “Everything, little one.” he said simply. “Your body, your thoughts, your heart. I will have it all, and I will never share it with another. I want it to be mine.”

Your lips trembled as your eyes bore his own. “You already know that I am yours, my lord.”

The declaration was both a promise and a warning, and as his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, you realized there was no escaping him. Not now. Not ever. He had killed and he had harmed. You do not take his threat lightly. You do not take his confession lightly.

Sukuna’s hand slid to the back of your neck, his grip firm and unyielding as he pulled you closer. His touch burned like fire, his fingers tangling in your hair as he forced you to look up at him. There was no hesitation in his movements, no softness in his gaze. The air between you was charged, thick with the weight of emotions neither of you dared to name.

“You drive me to madness, little one.” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you even understand what you’ve done to me?”

Before you could answer, his lips crashed against yours, rough and demanding, stealing the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle. Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t gentle. It was raw, primal, and overwhelming.

It was as if he was trying to claim you with every ounce of his being. His free arm snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his powerful frame, your smaller body dwarfed by his overwhelming presence.

You gasped against his mouth, the sheer intensity of him leaving you breathless. His kiss was fierce, filled with pent-up desire and frustration, a battle for dominance you knew you couldn’t win. His sharp teeth grazed your bottom lip, a warning and a tease all at once.

Your hands instinctively gripped his robes, desperate for something to anchor you as the world seemed to tilt. You felt his chest rumble against yours, a deep growl escaping him as if your touch only fueled his hunger.

When he finally pulled back, his lips hovered just above yours, his breath hot and ragged. His scarlet eyes bore into yours, wild and unrestrained. “You are mine, little one.” he rasped, his voice rough with emotion. “Do you understand? No one else. Ever.”

You swallowed hard, your own breathing uneven as you tried to process the intensity of what had just happened. “I…”

Words failed you, your thoughts scrambled, but the look in his eyes demanded an answer. He wants what he wants, your husband. He was never coy with it. And that intimidated you. That burned you. And that made your heart beat, over and over.

“Yes, my lord.” you whispered finally, your voice trembling but resolute. “I’m yours. Always.”

A dangerous smile curved his lips, and his hold on you tightened. “Good.” he murmured, his voice dark and possessive. “Because I won’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.”

His lips descended on yours again, and this time, you didn’t resist. Instead, you gave yourself to him, surrendering to the storm that was Sukuna, knowing that there was no turning back

Sukuna didn’t stop. He couldn’t—no, he wouldn’t. The intensity of his desire had festered too long, clawing at him in the quiet moments, haunting him in the shadows. Now, with you in his grasp, his need consumed him entirely, and he refused to let anything hold him back.

His lips moved against yours with bruising force, his kiss deep and possessive, leaving no room for hesitation. His hands roamed your body, one gripping your waist as if to anchor you to him.

The other sliding up to cradle the back of your head. He tilted your face to deepen the kiss, his sharp teeth grazing your lips again, a feral growl rumbling in his chest.

You felt overwhelmed, every inch of your skin alight with his touch. His energy was raw and almost suffocating. Everything about it surged through you, leaving no part of you unaffected.

Despite his roughness, there was something deliberate in his actions, as if he were memorizing every curve, every shiver, every gasp you gave him. He broke the kiss just enough to look at you, his scarlet eyes darkened with unbridled hunger. His chest heaved as he fought to rein in the storm raging within him.

“You’re trembling, little one.” he muttered, his voice rough yet tinged with something almost tender. “Are you afraid?”

You hesitated, your lips swollen and breath shaky. “No, my lord.” you answered softly, your voice wavering. “Not afraid.”

His eyes narrowed, as if testing the truth of your words. “Then why do you shake?” he demanded, his thumb brushing along your jawline, a rare gentleness in the gesture that only made his intensity more suffocating. “Is it because of me? Because of what I make you feel?”

You nodded, unable to deny him even if you wanted to. “Yes, my lord.” you whispered, the confession slipping from your lips before you could think twice.

His smirk returned, sharp and dangerous, but there was a flicker of something softer beneath it. It was pride, satisfaction, maybe even relief. His cheeks were red, flushed in the echoes of the drink.

“Good, little one.” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You should feel it. All of it. Because I intend to show you just how deeply I’ve burned for you.”

Before you could respond, Sukuna scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. His hold on you was possessive, tightly locking you.

Every bit of his movements deliberate as he carried you toward the large bed at the far side of the chamber. The world seemed to blur around you, the air crackling with his power and your own anticipation.

He placed you down gently. It was an unexpected contrast to his earlier roughness but the way his hands lingered on your body betrayed the restraint he was barely holding onto. He loomed over you, his shadow swallowing you whole, his predatory gaze drinking in the sight of you beneath him.

“You don’t understand what you do to me, little one.” he said, his voice low and almost vulnerable, a confession meant only for you. “But tonight, you will. Tonight, you’ll feel it—the depth of my hunger, my desire. All of it.”

You shivered at his words, your heart racing as his hands found you again, pulling you closer to the god who had claimed you as his own. You wrapped your arms around him and let him do what he willed with you.

This is how you worshiped him, your god. You let him ruin you, you let him take it all away from you. No matter what, you’ll worship him. Even if it hurts you in the end.

══════════════════

IT WAS BITTER TO FEEL THIS IN THE MORNING. Ryomen Sukuna’s shoulders slumped as he sat on the edge of the bed, his hand cradling his forehead as though it could ease the storm brewing within him.

The room was dimly lit, the morning sun barely filtering through the heavy curtains, casting long shadows that seemed to mirror his turmoil. He glanced back at you, your form barely stirring under the silk sheets, a picture of innocence amidst the chaos he had wrought.

The guilt clawed at him like a relentless beast, tearing into the very essence of him. He had told himself countless times before that he was beyond redemption, that the sins of his godhood were unerasable.

Yet, every time he saw you lying beside him, your face softened by the vulnerability of sleep, the weight of his choices bore down on him tenfold. How innocent you looked. Almost like the most ethereal creature born to man.

And he's hurting you. He's hurt you. And he knew, it would break you. He'd done it before. He knew that. Sukuna's hands traced against his tightening jaw. How could he have done this to you?

He thought of Hiromi again, the one constant ghost that haunted him. Her face was as vivid in his mind as it had been centuries ago. The way she had looked at him with a love that had defied his monstrous nature was a memory he could never shake.

He had betrayed her over and over again, and yet her phantom presence lingered, a painful reminder of what he had lost and what he continued to desecrate.

She deserved better. And now, so do you.

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. No matter how much he wanted to justify his actions, he couldn’t escape the truth: he was selfish. He was a god who took what he wanted, who carved his desires into the world without regard for the aftermath.

But with you, it felt different. He wasn’t just stealing your body; he was robbing you of your peace, your freedom. You were becoming a reflection of the torment that plagued him, and he hated himself for it.

Uraume’s earlier hesitation gnawed at him, too. They had served him faithfully for centuries, never questioning his orders. But the way their eyes lingered on you this morning, filled with something bordering on pity, unsettled him. Even they, loyal to a fault, could see the weight of his selfishness pressing down on you.

As the door closed softly behind Uraume, Sukuna let out a low, frustrated groan. His hand reached out once more, hovering just above your sleeping form, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch you. The memory of your soft breaths against his skin, the warmth of your body entwined with his, lingered, mocking him. He craved it, and yet he despised himself for it.

This is for the best, he repeated to himself, though the mantra felt like ash in his mouth. You’ll be free. You’ll forget me, forget this moment and this pain will fade.

But as he stared at you, your peaceful expression threatening to break the last vestiges of his resolve, doubt crept in. Could he truly let you go, even if it meant erasing everything you shared? Was it really for you—or was it just another way to escape his guilt, to absolve himself of the burden of your misery?

Sukuna clenched his teeth, the internal battle raging louder than ever. His fingers twitched as he fought the urge to wake you, to hear your voice, to feel your touch just one more time.

He knew it was selfish, but the thought of you looking at him with those same accusing eyes, those eyes that didn’t understand why he had to do this—that was unbearable.

The door creaked open, and Uraume entered silently, a small vial in their hands. They approached cautiously, bowing low as they held it out to him. Sukuna took it without a word, his fingers tightening around the glass. The liquid inside glimmered faintly, deceptively harmless, yet it carried the power to wipe away everything.

Uraume glanced at you again, their expression unreadable, before speaking softly. “Are you certain, my lord?”

Sukuna’s scarlet eyes flicked to them, sharp and unyielding, though his voice betrayed a hint of hesitation. “Do not question me, Uraume.”

They bowed deeply once more, retreating without another word. The door clicked shut, leaving Sukuna alone with you again. He turned the vial over in his hands, the faint clink of the liquid inside echoing in the silent chamber. His gaze drifted back to you, his expression torn, raw in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in centuries.

“I am a fool.” he muttered under his breath, his voice bitter. “A selfish, wretched fool.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the vial dangling loosely between his fingers. The weight of the decision crushed him, every fiber of his being warring against itself. To let you forget would be to set you free, but it would also mean losing the only thing that had made him feel alive in eons. 

To let you remember would be to keep you bound to him, drowning alongside him in his endless torment. Ryomen Sukuna closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. He didn’t know what he hated more—the thought of losing you or the thought of keeping you. 

He was willing to take the risk of it all, if he was being honest.

He would rather let a lie continue, memories fade away forever;

He would rather do all the nasty things in this world, than lose you.

Everything else was better than finding you drowning with him like this.

══════════════════

THE MOMENT YOU WOKE UP, YOU REMEMBERED NOTHING. The memory of that night was elusive, like a fleeting shadow slipping between the cracks of your mind. You tried to recall it all from last night. Why did you end up taking your slumber in Heaven’s Hall instead of Vermillion Hall? Why had you fallen so sore and exhausted? What happened last night? 

You had pushed yourself to remember each and every time. But with all those attempts to do so left you with nothing but vague impressions. Perhaps you had been too tired to think clearly. Perhaps it wasn’t worth remembering. You had probably gotten so drunk and blacked out. Oh no, had you caused a scene? You were horrified about it all. 

You had hoped that it was going to come back to you once you have rested, once you had groomed yourself out of the mess of alcohol’s scent. Still, something about it lingered, a faint unease that you couldn’t quite place. You couldn’t piece it together and that makes you mad at yourself. How could you let this happen? How could you not remember anything?

Still, life moves forward. Your days carried on with a semblance of normalcy. The servants bustled about, tending to their endless duties, their chatter filling the quiet corners of the palace. You found comfort in routine, spending your hours with Chiharu and Chizuru, who had become your closest companions. 

Chiharu’s bright laughter and Chizuru’s sharp sense of humor made the days easier, their presence grounding you in a way Sukuna never had. In some ways, your joy comes from being their mother more than being Sukuna’s wife. Perhaps you had noticed that more and more now that your husband was too busy ignoring you again.

Yet, despite your efforts to immerse yourself in the calm, Ryomen Sukuna’s absence hung over you like a shadow. He had always been a looming presence in your life—commanding, unpredictable, impossible to ignore. But now, it was as if he had disappeared entirely. He no longer sought you out, no longer invaded your space with his suffocating intensity.

At first, you were relieved. His distance gave you a peace you hadn’t known in years. You could breathe without the weight of his gaze, could think without the distraction of his proximity. You liked the quiet. You needed it.

But as the days turned into weeks, you began to notice the emptiness his absence left behind. It wasn’t longing, not in the way you might have expected. It was something else; a nagging curiosity, an itch in the back of your mind that refused to be ignored.

Why had he stopped?

You replayed your last interactions with him over and over, searching for clues. Had you said something to offend him? Have you done something wrong? Or was this simply another one of his whims, a fleeting disinterest that would fade as quickly as it had come?

One afternoon, as you sat in the garden with Chiharu and Chizuru, the questions weighed heavier than usual. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of insects filled the air, a perfect backdrop for the idle conversation that flowed between your companions.

“The plum blossoms are so beautiful this year, mother.” Chiharu said, her voice bright with excitement. She leaned forward, her fingers brushing the delicate petals of a nearby branch. “Don’t you think so?”

“They’re the same every year, nee–sama.” Chizuru replied, rolling his eyes with a teasing smile. “You act as if it’s your first time seeing them.”

Chiharu pouted at her younger brother. “Well, maybe you’re just too jaded to appreciate them anymore, little brother!”

“Nee-sama, take that back!

“No, I won’t!”

Their banter usually brought a smile to your face, but today, their words barely registered. Your gaze drifted to the distant silhouette of Heaven’s Hall, its grandeur standing in stark contrast to the serenity of the garden. You couldn’t shake the feeling that it held answers to the questions swirling in your mind.

“Are you all right, mother?” Chiharu’s voice broke through your thoughts, drawing your attention back to her concerned expression. “You seem… distracted.”

You forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just tired, I suppose.”

Chizuru narrowed his eyes, his sharp gaze cutting through your facade. He looked almost like his father at that moment.  “Tired, or thinking about something you don’t want to say, mother?”

You shook your head, brushing off her words with a light laugh. “Nothing worth mentioning, my little love. Really.”

But as the conversation resumed, your thoughts wandered once more. Later, as you walked back to your quarters alone, your steps slowed as you neared Heaven’s Hall. The towering structure loomed ahead, its marble pillars catching the fading light of the setting sun.

You stopped, your gaze lingering on the grand doors. Something about it unsettled you, yet it also pulled at you, as if it held the answers you sought. You could almost hear the faint echo of footsteps, the ghost of something forgotten stirring in the corners of your mind.

Your hand twitched at your side, a part of you tempted to step inside, to confront whatever it was that refused to let you go. But you hesitated, the weight of uncertainty holding you back.

With a shake of your head, you turned away, forcing your feet to carry you toward Vermillion Hall. It was better not to know, you told yourself. Sukuna’s silence was a gift, a reprieve from his consuming presence. You weren’t foolish enough to disrupt it.

And yet, as the days stretched on, the questions only grew louder, pressing against your thoughts with an intensity you couldn’t ignore. What had happened that night? Why had everything changed so suddenly?

Most of all, why did it feel like Sukuna’s absence was not just a relief, but a mystery begging to be unraveled?

The day had passed uneventfully, filled with the usual duties at the main temple. You had grown accustomed to these quiet, almost meditative tasks: managing the offerings, overseeing the attendants, ensuring everything ran smoothly.

It was a peaceful life, one that was slowly allowing you to forget the intensity of the emotions that once surrounded Sukuna.

But today, the quiet seemed more oppressive than comforting, the silence pressing in around you like a weight. The questions still clung to the back of your mind, refusing to be silenced.

After completing your tasks, you found yourself seeking out Uraume. They were a quiet figure, always observing, always present but rarely speaking. Perhaps they could provide some insight into the strange distance Sukuna had placed between you.

They had been in his service long enough to know when something was amiss, and their loyalty to him was unwavering. Surely, if anyone knew what had happened, it would be Uraume.

You found them in a quiet hallway, their eyes momentarily lifting from the scroll they were reading as they noticed you approaching. Their expression remained neutral, but there was an unreadable glint in their eyes.

“Uraume.” you started, keeping your voice even. “I wanted to ask you about something. Something… personal.”

Uraume tilted their head slightly, studying you. They were always cautious around you, as though they knew that even the slightest change in your tone could signal a question they didn’t want to answer.

"What is it you wish to know, my lady?" they asked carefully, their voice soft but calculated.

You hesitated, unsure how to approach the subject without making it too obvious. But there was no time for half-measures now. You needed to know.

“That night… in Heaven’s Hall. I don’t remember much. But I know something happened. Between me and my lord. I need to understand. I need help to remember. So, if you would….please help me regain—”

Uraume's gaze shifted, their eyes briefly flicking away. For a moment, you wondered if they would say anything at all. But then they met your gaze again, a small frown tugging at the corners of their mouth. 

"My lord’s affairs are not for me to discuss with others, my lady." they replied, their tone so measured it almost felt rehearsed. "I do not know what you speak of."

The response stung, more than you expected. It wasn’t just the refusal to answer; it was the certainty in their voice, the unyielding loyalty that seemed to close off any hope of learning the truth. You swallowed the frustration rising in your chest, trying to push it back, but it simmered nonetheless.

"Uraume, I—" you began, but they had already turned their gaze away, as though the conversation was over. 

They bowed slightly, the gesture polite but distant. "If that is all, my lady, I have matters to attend to."

Your chest tightened as they made to leave, and for a moment, you considered pressing further. But something told you it would be futile. Uraume was loyal to Sukuna above all else, and their silence wasn’t accidental—it was a guard, a wall you couldn’t break. You cannot expect someone like them to choose you over their master.

Feeling the weight of your unanswered questions settle heavier on you, you turned and walked away, your thoughts swirling with a mix of irritation and confusion. The frustration you’d been pushing down surged to the surface, bubbling up in a sharp, bitter wave.

As you rounded a corner, you caught a glimpse of something that made your heart skip a beat.

From a distance, near the large pillars that lined the edge of the courtyard, you saw him. 

Ryomen Sukuna, with his dark eyes boring into your figure.

Your lord husband was watching you, with such focus.

His gaze was steady, his scarlet eyes locked onto you with an intensity that was unmistakable. There was no mistaking the weight of it, even from a distance. The way his eyes pinned you in place, as if he could see through every thought, every feeling you were trying to hide.

You stopped in your tracks. For a split second, it felt as if time slowed, the space between you and him stretching. Your breath caught in your throat as you instinctively felt the pull of his gaze, the silent command it carried. It was as if he were drawing you in, pulling you closer without saying a word.

But you couldn’t stay. You couldn’t approach him—not when everything felt so… unfinished, so raw. The frustration from your encounter with Uraume flared inside you, and the last thing you wanted was to face Sukuna with that vulnerability hanging over you. Not when he seemed to be watching you with that same detached, unreadable expression.

You didn’t wait a second longer. You turned quickly, your steps brisk as you made your way down the hall, away from his gaze, away from whatever strange pull he had over you. Your heart raced, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You had to leave before you did something foolish.

But even as you hurried down the hall, you couldn’t escape the feeling that Sukuna’s eyes never left your back.

══════════════════

RYOMEN SUKUNA CAN’T HELP IT. The smell of you that remained on this silk handkerchief was powerful. He can’t stop. Not right now. Not at this moment. The silken fabric glides over Sukuna’s fingertips, its delicate touch igniting a shiver that travels through him, a contrast to the hard lines of his frame. 

The room feels smaller, darker, as he leans into the sensation, pressing the silk to his face and inhaling slowly. The scent is intoxicating, carrying the essence of you. Something warm, elusive, and utterly tormenting. His dark scarlet eyes flutter shut as a sigh parts his lips, betraying the barrier he usually holds so tightly.

Every breath feels heavier, resonating with the silent thrum beneath his skin, a rhythm that’s more than just desire. Everything about it was a pull that shakes his control. He drags the fabric down the line of his jaw, its whisper against his skin making his pulse quicken. 

He could feel the closeness and yet distance of you driving him deeper into the edge of yearning. His own touch is rougher now, less restrained as he presses the silk to the hollow of his throat, feeling the heat rise within him, warmth spreading like a slow burn.

A groan escapes, low and gravelly, as if torn from the depths of him, echoing in the silence. The sensation of his hands moving, the silk brushing over his chest and further, turns into a private ritual of surrender.

Each sweep of the fabric sparks against nerves like embers. The ghostly presence of you envelops him, the way you would breathe against his skin, the way your fingertips would linger with a feather-light tease.

The complexity of it all is the very reason he won’t dare cross the distance between you, why this is the only way he allows himself to know the softness you carry. It’s both bliss and torment, this delicate line he walks, trembling under the weight of the scent and the way it melds into the heat of his own breath. 

His movements become slower, more deliberate, savoring every moment until there’s nothing left but the ragged edge of satisfaction mixed with the stark silence of solitude. His mind swirls with the thought of you, laid out beneath him, your skin flushed and breath coming in soft, shuddering gasps. 

"My lord….my Sukuna." you would whisper, voice low and dripping with need, eyes wide and filled with trust and anticipation. The sound of your voice in his imagination alone makes him clench his jaw, his breath catching as heat unfurls within him.

“Say it again, little one.” he imagines himself growling, his tone both a command and a plea. His hand moves, firm and deliberate, stroking along his length as he pictures the way you’d obey, the way you’d bite your lip before moaning his name once more, the sound of it desperate and broken.

“Please, my lord.” your voice echoes in his head, needy and soft. 

The thought drives him to the brink, his body responding to the phantom sound as if you were really there. The groan that slips from his lips is deep, guttural, filling the dark room. His hips bucked against his own touch, chasing the sensation, needing it, needing you.

"Look at me. Keep your eyes on me. Only me." he imagines saying, the rasp in his voice trembling at the edge of restraint. 

He pictures your eyes locking onto his, the way they’d cloud over as he takes you apart piece by piece. His pace quickens, hand swirling tighter as he lets himself fall further into the fantasy, into the imagined warmth of your skin against his, the velvet feel of your touch.

“My lord—oh, Sukuna!” you’d moan, this time louder, the way he likes. His muscles tense as he shudders, everything building to that blinding point of no return. 

The room falls silent but for the sound of his own gasps, as the pleasure crashes over him, leaving only the thrum of his heartbeat and the haunting ache of wanting more than this moment, more than just shadows and longing.

Sukuna’s breath comes in short, ragged bursts as his hips move faster, instinct guiding his hand as he chases the release that teeters just out of reach. The image of you beneath him, eyes glassy and lips swollen, clings to his mind with fierce clarity. 

He can almost feel the way your body would shudder, the way you'd gasp and cling to him, the sensation of being deep within you as you take him, body trembling and surrendering completely. The tension in him coils tighter, the thought of you so full of him that he can see it in the way your body arches, pressing against him, drawing him deeper. 

“Take it all, little one. Take all of me. Please. Please—oh…..” he imagines growling, the dark intensity of the command vibrating through the silence.

His hand moves with desperation, the slick glide mimicking the fantasy in his mind, where every breath from you is a soft plea and every moan is edged with that delicious note of submission that drives him wild.

The imagined feel of your warmth, of your walls tightening around him, pushes him over the edge. His body tenses, muscles rigid as the wave crashes through him, a guttural groan spilling from his lips, raw and deep.

Pleasure surges, blinding and consuming, leaving him breathless and sprawled in the silence that follows, the echoes of his need fading into the stillness of the room.

When the tremors subside, he opens his eyes, staring up at the ceiling, chest heaving. The room feels emptier now, haunted by the echoes of your phantom touch and the aching reminder that you’re not here.

The need has been sated for now, but the longing, that ever-present hunger for you, remains unsatisfied, gnawing at him with a dark, insatiable hunger.

He looks down at the silk fabric, occupied by his fluids.

Sukuna felt his lips tighten at the sight of it, so full of him.

He ruined you, he keeps ruining you — and he would not stop.

Ryomen Sukuna stood up, and looks at the potion.

He could not take it, he could not take that guilt.

His hands takes it brashly towards his lips and drank.

Ryomen Sukuna wants to forget how he hurt you.

══════════════════

YOU MAKE HASTE TO GET READY. Sukuna’s summons arrives as a simple, imperious command, and yet it sends a thrill down your spine. You looked at Uraume and merely nodded. Your husband was that sort of man. He only wishes for you when he ends up at the end of his wits. But you cannot say much about it. You ought not to.

It’s been quite a few weeks gone and past since the two of you sat together without the press of others’ watchful eyes or the weight of duties. And because of that, things would be different between the two of you, well at least until that awkward distance disappears with some comfort with some time spent together.

When you enter the grand dining hall, he’s already seated, the firelight casting a warm glow over his sharp features, softening the edge of his usual scowl. His crimson eyes lift to meet yours, something unreadable flickering behind them before he gives a subtle nod.

“Sit, little one.” he says, and though the tone is clipped, there’s a trace of something gentler woven beneath. 

You take your place across from him, and a faint smile tugs at your lips as the first drink of sake is poured for you.  Another bountiful pour of special drink for him.

It had taken some time for tongues to become loose. The silence between you is not strained but filled with anticipation, as if the weeks apart have made every unspoken word hum with importance.

The conversation unfolds slowly, naturally. The tension in his shoulders loosens as he sips from his cup, scarlet eyes softening when you speak of your children. Everything about your children brought the two of you closer. That's how it was.

You both talked abotu everything. Their laughter, their small victories at Jujutsu, the way they remind you of him in ways both stubborn and tender. Chizuru had finally learned how to control his cursed energy. Chiharu had discovered a new technique of her own, defeating her mentor. 

Your husband listens, occasionally offering a rare chuckle or a subtle smirk, and you realize just how much you missed this: the shared warmth, the unguarded moments when he’s more than the king, more than the conqueror. He perhaps did not love you. But you wanted his comfort, his warmth. In some ways, you wanted to be his. 

Not in ownership, no. But to….to have been cared for in some way by him. Of course, it would not be close to his feelings for Ryomen Hiromi. You had long accepted that. Still, you wanted warmth from him.

You wanted to carve your way through his heart, and let yourself have a home in it. At least what was left. Yet, you would never say that out loud. It was not your place. It never has been.

“Do you remember when Chiharu first tried to use her powers?” you ask, laughter bubbling in your voice. Sukuna’s lips quirk up at the memory, a shadow of pride crossing his face.

“The girl was quite fearless, I admit.” he replies, a hint of admiration in his voice. “But she still needs some work.”

You smiled. “My lord, I am certain you can find that Chiharu is one to be proud of. The work has paid off.”

“Hm. I suppose it has.” He says to you, his eyes tender. “But I cannot take the credit.”

“Nor can I, my lord.” You whisper back to him, a small smile on your lips. “I am not her only parent.”

He shakes his head. “No, no. To her, little one? You are the only one that matters.”

Everything from then seems to shrink around the two of you, the space intimate and alive with a marriage lived in many years and many dimensions — such of which the world will never know or be privy to. No. This belongs only to the two of you. No one else.

As the evening deepens, the wine flows more freely, and the conversation shifts, softening at the edges. Sukuna leans forward, his eyes catching the flicker of firelight. Your husband was studying you with a gaze that pierces through the veil of time and distance.

You’re suddenly aware of how close you are, of how his fingers drum lightly on the table, mere inches from yours. He couldn't stop, looking at you. Yearning for warmth that only you could provide.

Without thinking, you close the gap. Your hand brushes his, and before you can second-guess, you lean forward and press your lips to his. The kiss is soft at first, hesitant, as if testing the waters of familiarity, but he responds almost immediately. 

His hand moves to cup the back of your neck, deepening the kiss with a hunger that’s been banked too long. The room falls away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in the heat and urgency of reconnection, mouths moving with the desperation of lovers long apart.

When you pull back, both breathless, his eyes search yours, softer now, vulnerable in a way that’s rare and precious.

“It’s been too long, little one.” he murmurs, voice rough but honest, and you nod, a smile curving your lips as you press your forehead to his, savoring the moment and the promise of more to come.

The silence stretches between you, but it’s charged, buzzing with an unspoken need. The kiss lingers in the air, the taste of him still warm on your lips. There is no more talking now, only the thrum of anticipation as Sukuna’s eyes, deep and darkened with desire, lock onto yours. 

His hand tightens at the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his mouth crashes against yours again, fiercer this time. The room is awash in the scarlet glow of the fire, shadows dancing as if to the rhythm of your heartbeats.

Your hands find their way to his chest, fingers splaying over the hard muscle beneath his robes as you feel his heart pound beneath your touch. He shifts, rising from his chair with a graceful power that makes your breath catch.

In one swift movement, he pulls you up, the table pushed aside as if it were an afterthought, and suddenly, you're against him, your body pressed against the solid heat of his form.

Sukuna’s lips trail down your jaw to the pulse at your neck, teeth grazing as his breath comes hot against your skin. You gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer, wordlessly urging him on.

His hands roam, one sliding down your back, pressing your hips into his, while the other explores the curve of your waist, anchoring you as if afraid to let go.

Your senses blur; the feeling of his tongue tracing along the line of your collarbone sends shivers down your spine, and you arch into him, needing more. The sound of your breathless moans, mingled with the quiet growl he makes against your skin, fills the room. 

Sukuna lifts you easily, his strength effortless as he sets you on the edge of the table, stepping between your legs and pressing into you until there’s nothing but heat and the throb of shared longing.

Your eyes meet, and for a moment, the intensity softens. His thumb brushes your cheek, a surprising gentleness in the midst of the fervor, and then his lips are on yours again.

Over and over, he pushed forward with wanton desire. His lips wanted more. Tasting, claiming, as his hands slide lower, pulling you closer, drawing a shiver of pleasure that melts the last traces of restraint.

The world around you fades to nothing but the sensation of him, the rush of your bodies entwined in a dance that is both savage and intimate. Everything is raw, animalistic, as if the very air crackles with the weight of longing that has built up over the weeks apart. 

Ryomen Sukuna’s grip on you is commanding, pulling you closer, pressing you against him with a desperate need that makes you gasp, your body trembling in response.

The slick warmth of his skin against yours is intoxicating, a heady mixture of heat and urgency that makes it feel like there’s no time to waste. His lips are on you again, claiming you with a hunger that mirrors the way his body moves against yours.

Each thrust, each slow drag of his hips, drives deeper, the pressure building between you until it's unbearable. You can feel the pulse in his veins, the steady throb of him that echoes in your own body, matching the rhythm of your heart as it races wildly.

Tears slip from the corners of your eyes, but they’re not from pain, no. They’re from something deeper, something more overwhelming. The vulnerability of the moment, the overwhelming sensation of him taking you, claiming you fully, fills you with an emotion that crashes over you like a wave. 

Your breath hitches as you bite down on your lip, trying to hold back the rush of feelings threatening to break free. But Sukuna’s groan, low and almost animalistic, makes your resolve shatter, and you let go, surrendering completely to the pleasure, to the connection that binds you to him.

His body throbs with each movement, the pulse of his veins like a living thing inside you, the rhythm of it so steady and consuming that it feels as if you’re both part of the same beating heart. 

The force of it, the heat and pressure, makes you feel like you’re coming apart at the seams, but in the best way, as if every inch of you is being remade, redefined by his presence, by the way he fills you completely. There’s nothing but him now, no walls, no distance, just the two of you locked together in a way that feels timeless, primal.

You feel whole with him, in a way you’ve never felt before. The empty spaces that have haunted you, the ones you couldn’t even name; all of it seems to vanish in the intensity of the moment. How could it not, when he rules you in everything, body, heart and soul?

His body is a fierce warmth that wraps around you, grounding you, making you feel like you’ve always belonged to him, and he to you. It’s a feeling that is so deep, so consuming, that it transcends the physical, filling you with a sense of completeness that makes the rest of the world irrelevant.

The sound of his breath, deep and erratic, mingles with the rhythm of your own, and you’re both lost in the storm you’ve created. There are no words anymore, just the quiet, rhythmic echo of your bodies moving together, caught in the tide of sensation that threatens to drown you both.

And in the heart of it all, as you feel him throb inside you, a whisper of truth cuts through the haze: You are his, and he is yours, bound together in this moment of raw, unyielding connection. Nothing else can compare. And for a moment, Ryomen Sukuna had thought about it too. 

══════════════════

THE POTION DIDN'T WORK FOR LONG. He remembered everything. All of it. And he thinks he felt sick. Sick to the core. He hated it. He hated himself. He knew he was a cruel man, a foolish man. How could he do that? How could he do that to you?

Everything was wrong about him. And you deserved more than him. It was a continual rinse and repeat. The cycle was suffocating, each time growing more suffused with an unspoken tension that neither of you could escape. 

Ryomen Sukuna, ever the stoic, had felt that sharp pang of guilt again. It always caught him when he least expected it, the ghost of an emotion he tried so hard to suppress. The way you looked at him was always with eyes full of tenderness, full of trust. And everything about it had haunted him in those quiet moments. 

But guilt was a weakness, a human frailty that did not belong to him. He had learned to bury it, to lock it away with all the other feelings he refused to confront. And so, once again, the weight of that emotion was swallowed by the darkness he carried within himself, and he moved on.

You, on the other hand, were trapped in a cycle of confusion. The potion was seamless, subtle in its potency. One moment, you were wrapped in a night of passion, tangled with him in a world that felt more real than anything else. 

But the next, everything was gone. No memory of his touch, of the way he had made you feel; no trace of the connection you had shared. Just a deep sense of something missing, a gnawing hole that you couldn’t understand. 

The fog in your mind only deepened when you tried to recall the details. It was as though you had forgotten how to ask the right questions, and even when you tried, the answers weren’t there. Sukuna felt bitter and sick about his own actions. 

The potion worked too well.

And so, you found yourself caught in the same pattern, over and over. Confusion, followed by fleeting glimpses of something that should be familiar but never quite is. Each time you reached out for him, whether for comfort or answers—there was a distance, an impenetrable coldness that he wrapped around himself. 

The more you tried to close that gap, the further he seemed to pull away. You would ask, softly at first, tentatively: "Why do you look at me like that?" or "What happened?" But Sukuna never answered. 

His gaze would flicker, distant, uninterested, as if the question itself were a nuisance. He would look at you for a moment, but never fully engage, never fully reach for you. The warmth you once had between you felt as though it had turned to ice.

And it stung.

You would find yourself alone in the aftermath, wondering what had changed. Wondering what you had done wrong, what you had missed. It wasn’t like him to ignore you. Not in the way he did now. His absence wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, like he had shut a door between you that you couldn’t get through. 

His indifference was sharper than any anger he could have thrown your way. Each time you tried to get closer, to break through the cold silence that had enveloped him, the distance seemed to grow. It was as if the very act of reaching out to him had become a punishment, one you didn’t understand.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed, that this time, the disconnection wasn’t just a hunch for you. No, it was not just a guess. You couldn’t even remember how many times this had happened now, but each time it was harder to ignore, harder to pretend that you weren’t losing something you could never get back. 

The confusion was maddening, the way you had to fight against your own mind to remember pieces of a night that had been so vivid, so full of promise. You could almost feel him there, his presence heavy and undeniable, but the memories always slipped away, as if they belonged to someone else.

And then, there was Sukuna. Unreachable, aloof, silent. He would turn away when you looked at him for too long, pretending not to notice the ache in your gaze, the way you waited for him to explain. He never did. 

And when you pressed, he became colder, more detached, his disinterest palpable. He ignored you, avoided your touch, and the more you tried to understand, the more he made it clear that you were not meant to.

He had been there—yes, he had been. But now, when you needed him most, when you tried to break through to him, he wasn’t. Not really.

It left you questioning everything. What have you lost? What was real? What had he erased? And why, no matter how hard you tried, did it feel as if you were always walking in circles, never getting closer to the truth? It was as though you were always on the outside of something, always knocking on the door but never able to step inside.

It wasn’t just the potion anymore. Something deeper had shifted, something that even Ryomen Sukuna couldn’t hide beneath his cold, indifferent exterior. The question now was whether you would ever get the chance to find out what.

You sit in silence, your fingers drumming on the edge of the table, eyes trained on Sukuna as he remains seated across from you. His gaze is cold, unreadable, but there's a flicker in his eyes, a subtle shift in the way he watches you, as though he's aware of the question you haven't lived yet.

The air between you feels heavier than usual, suffused with the unspoken tension that’s been building for weeks. You can’t ignore it anymore—the gnawing sense that something is slipping through your fingers, something important. And the more you try to hold onto it, the more it fades.

You finally break the silence, your voice quiet but determined.

“I… I feel like I’m forgetting things. Important things, my lord.” you admit, not meeting his gaze. The words feel heavy on your tongue, almost like admitting something you don’t want to be true.

Sukuna remains still, his crimson eyes narrowing just slightly, watching you with that same detached intensity. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak. You can feel the air grow thick with the weight of his silence, and it only makes the ache inside you grow sharper.

“Like what?” His voice is low, measured, but there's a faint edge to it that you can’t quite place. He knows what you’re talking about. Of course he does.

“I don’t know, my lord.” you mutter, frustration leaking into your voice. “It’s like I wake up and there’s a hole in my memory. Pieces are missing. And I—I can’t even remember what happened the night before. It’s like I’m walking through fog, like everything is just out of reach.” 

You raise your eyes to meet him, searching for something—anything—in his gaze. “I can’t explain it, but it feels like I’m losing myself.”

Sukuna leans back in his chair, his posture casual, but there's something unreadable about his expression. His fingers drum lightly on the armrest, a rhythm that matches the quickening beat of your heart.

You wait for him to say something, anything, but he remains silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on you, as though weighing something important in his mind.

“You know what’s happening, my lord.” you say, your voice suddenly a little sharper, more desperate. “You must know. I feel like you’re hiding something from me. Why—why won’t you just tell me? What am I forgetting? Why does it feel like you’re slipping away from me, every time I try to reach you?”

A dark, fleeting look crosses his face—something almost guilty, but it’s gone too quickly for you to catch it fully. Instead, his lips curl into that familiar, mocking smirk, but it’s lacking the usual bite.

“I’m not hiding anything, little one.” he replies, his voice low, but there’s an undercurrent of something dark in it. “It’s your mind, not mine. You’ve always had a tendency to forget what’s inconvenient. It's your own fault.”

Your chest tightens at his words. It’s not the answer you wanted—not even close. You lean forward, trying to control the emotions threatening to spill over. You were exhausted with this. You cannot take anymore of this.

“You can’t seriously expect me to believe that, my lord.” You shake your head, feeling a bitter frustration rise in you. “I feel like I’m going insane. One moment, everything feels so real, and the next... it’s gone. And I—I know it’s not just me. Something is happening, and you’re the only one who doesn’t seem bothered by it.”

Sukuna’s smirk fades, and for the briefest moment, something flickers across his face. It’s not guilt, but it’s close, something between acknowledgment and dismissal. He doesn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch until it’s almost unbearable.

Finally, he speaks, his tone heavier now, more controlled. “Maybe you’re remembering things you shouldn’t, little one. You don’t need to know everything. Some things are better left forgotten.”

The weight of his words sinks into you like a stone, and you feel the truth of it in your chest, the way it sits there, cold and heavy. You swallow hard, trying to push past the confusion and hurt that swirl in your mind.

“Is that it, then, my lord?” you ask, voice breaking a little, though you try to steady yourself. “You think I should forget all of it? Forget the parts of me that belong to you? Forget about everything that could be important? My lord, that is cruel.”

Sukuna’s scarlet eyes darken, the cold distance in them sharpening again, but his expression doesn’t change. He leans forward slightly, his presence looming, like a predator assessing its prey. He doesn’t want to play his part. But it must. He had made it this far. He ought to own it.

“Stop asking questions you know I won’t answer. You know how this works.” His tone turns almost icy, cutting through the air. “What you remember doesn’t matter. Only what I allow you to remember does.”

You stare at him, the truth of it settling in like a weight in your gut. His words are like a bitter truth you can't swallow, but it doesn’t make them any less real. The distance between you widens again, suffocating, and you’re left staring at him, unsure whether to be angry or broken.

"Then why even keep me here, my lord?" you whisper, more to yourself than to him. The question feels pointless as soon as it leaves your lips, but it lingers, a sharp sting in the air. “You ought to send me to the Cold Hall. Or leave me be.”

For a moment, Ryomen Sukuna remains silent, his gaze flickering toward you with an unreadable expression. Then, he leans back, his features hardening into that impenetrable mask. 

“Because, little one…” he says, his voice low and deliberate. “I can. And I will.”

And just like that, the space between you becomes an abyss again, and you’re left wondering if you’ll ever get the answers you crave—or if, in time, you’ll forget you even asked. You turned away from him. You could feel his gaze bore a hole on the back of your head. But he noticed everything. He was no fool. 

Tears poured from your eyes.

You tried to quickly wipe them away.

But as you wiped them, more came by.

Even your body knows you were miserable.

Even your body knows something’s missing.

Something is wrong.

══════════════════

YOU ONCE MORE LOCKED YOURSELF AWAY IN VERMILLION HALL. You refused to see your husband and perhaps that was for the best. You had cried yourself to sleep for days now, the frustration eating away at you like an insidious thing. The weight of unanswered questions, the endless confusion, it had all built up and bled into your dreams.

The emotions had overwhelmed you to the point where sleep seemed like the only escape, the only refuge from the torment of not knowing. But sleep, as you soon discovered, offered no solace. It was restless and fleeting, filled with fragments of images, of faces, of a life you could never fully remember.

But when you woke, it wasn’t to the comfort of the blankets you had once found so familiar. No, you woke to an entirely different feeling—a sharp, searing pain that stabbed into your core, as if something inside you had broken open. 

It wasn’t a pain you had ever felt before, and it was so intense that it left you gasping for air, clutching at the sheets in a desperate attempt to understand what was happening to you. You felt like you were drowning, it felt like you were being stabbed.

Your mind was foggy, clouded with the remnants of your dreams and the confusion of the past days, but you didn’t need clarity to know that something was wrong. The pain was unbearable.

It was harshly crawling beneath your skin, wrapping around your insides with a terrible urgency. You frantically pulled at the blankets, your hands trembling as you tried to understand what was happening.

When you looked down, your breath hitched in your throat. Blood. It stained your sheets, pooling beneath you in stark, alarming contrast to the softness of the fabric. You groaned over and over in grievous pain.

Panic surged through you, a wave of shock and terror, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the fear choking you. You couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t wrap your mind around the sight before you.

You cried out, the sound raw and full of terror, your voice hoarse from the tears you had already shed. “Help me.” you whispered, your throat thick with panic, “Please…”

Within moments, your servants appeared soon; they were quick, frantic, their faces filled with concern and confusion. They rushed to your side, trying to assess the situation, to comfort you, but nothing they did could quell the overwhelming pain or the terror that gripped your chest.

“What happened? What’s wrong, my lady?” one of them asked, her voice trembling with concern as she hurried to help you sit up, her hands gently lifting the blood-soaked sheets away from your body.

You could barely answer, the pain making it impossible to form coherent words. All you could do was sob, clinging to them as if they could somehow stop the agony, stop the deep, hollow ache that was consuming you.

One of your servants hurried out, calling for help, while the others tried to tend to you as best as they could, offering comfort, but the fear in their eyes mirrored your own. Something was terribly wrong.

And no matter how many times you tried to explain it, tried to understand it yourself, you were left with more questions than answers. Why were you bleeding like this? What had happened to you? What were you forgetting?

The answers felt just out of reach, like a secret too dangerous to uncover. And the more you tried to grasp them, the more you sank into the unknown. You were crying endlessly, crying out in pain with or without the voice to do so.

Your servants worked swiftly, their hands trembling as they tried to stabilize you, but their movements felt like a blur, the world spinning around you. Their frantic whispers only heightened the feeling of helplessness clawing at your chest. 

One of them, a younger woman with dark eyes, pressed a cloth against your body, trying to stop the bleeding, but it felt like a losing battle. The blood stained your skin, soaking into the fabric of your nightgown and the sheets beneath you.

You could feel yourself becoming dizzy, your vision blurring as the pain intensified. Each pulse of pain seemed to radiate outward, as though it was coming from deep within, tearing at the fabric of your body, but you couldn't grasp why. Your thoughts were scattered, lost in a haze of fear and confusion.

"Stay with us, my lady. Please." one of the servants pleaded, her voice strained with panic. "We'll get help, please, just stay awake."

You barely heard her. The pain was too much, drowning out everything else. And then, a voice from the door, a voice you hadn’t heard in a long while had cut through the chaos. You couldn’t see his face. But his voice, it was the clearest it has ever been.

"Enough." Sukuna's voice rang out, cold and commanding. He appeared in the doorway, his gaze falling on the scene before him, and for a moment, everything stopped.

Your breath caught in your throat, the pain momentarily forgotten as you locked eyes with him. He looked unchanged, as imposing as ever, but there was something in his expression, something almost unreadable as he stepped closer.

“What’s going on?” His voice was low, but it was laced with an unfamiliar tension, something far removed from the indifference you’d come to expect from him.

You tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come, your body trembling too violently, too weak to form any coherent thoughts. Your breath hitched as another wave of pain shot through you, sharper than before.

It felt like something inside you was breaking open, tearing apart. The physical pain was unbearable, but it was the emotional toll that made you feel as if you were unraveling at the seams.

"S–she's losing too much blood, my lord." one of the servants said, trying to explain, but her voice faltered under Sukuna’s unwavering gaze. “My lady is bleeding and…we do not know why.

Ryomen Sukuna’s scarlet eyes narrowed slightly, his focus shifting to you. For the first time in a long while, something like concern flickered in his gaze, though it was masked by the familiar coldness that surrounded him.

He approached, kneeling at your side with a fluid, deliberate motion. Your cries were bellowing over and over against his ears. He could see it from where you embraced your body, the blood. 

His hand hovered over you, but he hesitated, as if unsure what to do. There was a knowing look in his eyes, as if he had known this story before. But you didn’t want to question him. You couldn’t. You were in too much pain to do so.

“What happened?” he repeated, his voice softer now, but there was an edge of command in it.

“I—I don’t know, my lord.” you gasped, each breath shallow, the words barely escaping your lips. “It hurts so much... I’m—I'm bleeding. I don’t know why.”

His eyes flickered briefly to your servants, who seemed to retreat slightly, their discomfort obvious, unsure of how to proceed. But Sukuna's attention remained solely on you, the deep crimson of his gaze scanning over your trembling form. 

The tension in his jaw tightened. He didn't speak right away, but there was something in his regal posture, there was something predatory in the way his eyes locked onto you that made it clear he was piecing something together.

After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice almost too calm. "What were you doing before this happened?" he asked, his words cold but controlled, as if you should have already known the answer.

You struggled to keep your focus, the pain blurring your thoughts, but the question cut through the haze. You had been trying to remember, hadn't you? You had been trying to understand what had happened between the two of you, what had led to this moment.

“I—I don’t know…I was resting and I just….” you whispered, tears slipping from your eyes as you looked at him, feeling helpless. “I was trying to understand… but I can’t. Everything’s… everything’s slipping away. It’s like I’m losing pieces of myself.”

Sukuna’s expression darkened, a flicker of something. Was it regret?—crossing his face before he masked it again. He looked at the servants and nodded once, a quick, sharp motion. You did not know. You did not wish to know.  

"Leave us. All of you." he commanded. "I’ll handle this."

They hesitated for a moment, but his tone left no room for argument. One by one, they filed out of the room, leaving you alone with him. The silence was oppressive, thick with unspoken words and tension.

Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze returned to you, and for a moment, the world felt impossibly small, the pain in your body sharp and real, but the uncertainty in your heart was just as consuming. 

“I should’ve known better, little one.” he muttered, more to himself than to you, as if grappling with something he hadn’t fully admitted.

“Please…” you breathed, the words almost a plea. “I need to understand. What’s happening to me? Why am I—”

“Stop asking questions, little one.” he interrupted, his voice commanding, but softer now. He leaned closer to you, his hand hovering over the pool of blood as if sensing something, feeling the pulse of whatever was inside you. 

There was a flicker of something darker in his eyes—something that almost felt like guilt, but Ryomen Sukuna never allowed that weakness to surface.

He turns away for a moment, to look at the clear water in the silver basin. He could see his reflection, he could see the monster. He pauses. He purses his lips in a flat line.

“You were never meant to suffer this, little one.” he said, his voice low and grave, the truth of it settling in your chest. “And now… now it’s coming back to haunt us both.”

The words felt like a punch to the gut. You couldn’t understand it. You couldn’t make sense of it. But the look in his eyes, the way his hands trembled as he reached for you, told you that the answers you sought were far more dangerous than you could have imagined.

What could be the meaning of the truth? 

Was it all truly worth it, finding out everything?

Tears pooled over your eyes, melting in with your sweat.

“I am sorry, little one.” He says, his voice low as he brushes your hair away from your eyes. He smiles with such sorrow. The most you’ve ever seen in your long life with him. “I had made you suffer again, have I?”

A guttering sob echoes from your lips, tears flowing ever more abundantly. The fear echoes in your eyes as much as the pain did. Ryomen Sukuna let his hands become submerged into the water. He takes the wet cloth and starts to squeeze away at the heavy dues of water.

“This will hurt.” He whispers to you, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “Forgive me.”

══════════════════

HE HADN’T FOUND THE COURAGE TO LEAVE YOU. Not like this. Ryomen Sukuna stood in the quiet of the room, watching you as you lay pale and still beneath the blankets. Finally, you had found yourself resting.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the sleeping potion he'd given you working its way through your system to calm the pain and induce sleep. But sleep had come too late—too far after the damage had already been done. You were still, but the scars of what had happened remained.

He had felt it, the weight of his actions, sinking into the pit of his stomach like a stone. The guilt gnawed at him like an insistent whisper, and the more he tried to drown it out with silence, the louder it became. But no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the truth clawed its way to the surface.

You had almost died once more. All because of him. All because he was a foolish man, a cruel man. An even crueler master, an even more foolish god. Everything about it was his fault and his alone. 

And because of it, there has to be a price. Fate did not care for the innocent nor the saints. It cared for retribution, for the price of the act be paid in full. And so, the life that had once flourished inside of you was gone now—taken away in a manner as cruel and sharp as the sins that had followed him throughout his existence.

Ryomen Sukuna could not even begin to process the violence of it all. The miscarriage—the life he had unknowingly torn away. The nights together, the heat of his desire, and the overwhelming need for you had been his undoing.

And now, the consequence was here, the result of his insatiable hunger for you. He had taken what was not his to take, and the cost of that was now clear.

It wasn’t just your body that had suffered. No, it was something deeper, something that would linger in him long after your recovery. The guilt, the realization that he was not invincible that his desires could bring destruction in their wake made his chest feel tight, suffocating.

He had wanted you. The way your presence made him feel alive, the way you fought him, the way you surrendered, had become a constant itch he couldn’t scratch.

But now, the price of his inability to stop, to control himself, to pull back, was laid bare in front of him. And now you suffer the consequences for him. His little one.

Sukuna reached out with a trembling hand, his fingers brushing against your forehead, lightly touching the dampness of your skin. You had no idea what had just happened.

You were unaware of the deep, catastrophic consequences of your union. And in this moment, he wished more than anything that you would wake, that he could make it right somehow.

But deep down, he knew there was no going back. This was his crime, and no amount of self-loathing could undo it.

His dark scarlet eyes, usually cold and ruthless, softened for a brief moment as they lingered on your sleeping face. He had always been a being of darkness, of overwhelming power and control. But in your presence, his control had slipped. And now, the consequences of that were too real to ignore.

Sukuna stood, the weight of his guilt threatening to collapse him under its force. He turned away, not trusting himself to stay there any longer, knowing that if he did, he might break under the pressure of what he had done. But as he left, as he retreated into the shadows, one thing was painfully clear: there was no redemption for him, not for this.

His craving for you, his sin, would always linger, a constant reminder of how even the most powerful could be undone by their own desires. Sukuna’s footsteps echoed through the quiet halls as he paced through the temple halls.

With each step weighted with a thousand thoughts that he could not escape. The dark emptiness of the space mirrored the turmoil in his mind, and the oppressive silence seemed to press in on him, suffocating him with its suffocating weight.

He had once been a king of curses, a being of unimaginable power. He had commanded nations, destroyed cities, and crushed anyone who dared oppose him. And yet, here he was. He found himself unable to leave.

He was there, standing at the edge of the abyss, unsure of what to do with the mess he had created. The guilt gnawed at him from the inside, a constant, unbearable reminder of his failure—not as a king, not as a god, but as something far more human than he had ever wished to admit.

He had wanted you. He had craved you with a hunger that was both consuming and insatiable. But now, that desire has cost you more than he could bear. Your life—your very being—had been reduced to an almost fatal casualty in the wake of his passion.

And the life that could have been, the child that had been growing inside you, was gone. All because of his weakness.

He stopped in front of a mirror, staring at his own reflection. His crimson eyes met his own, but he barely recognized the man staring back. He was no longer the powerful curse that had once ruled with an iron fist, no longer the being that felt above all others. He was just a hollow shell, a broken creature cursed by his own desires.

“You were never supposed to matter.” he muttered to himself, his voice raw with the edge of something close to self-loathing. “None of this was supposed to happen.”

His gaze fell, his hand coming up to grip the mirror's edge. His fingers curled into a fist, as if trying to destroy the reflection in front of him, to erase the reminder of his weakness.

But the image remained. The truth remained. He had been foolish, had allowed himself to feel, to need—and now, the consequences were irreversible.

He turned away from the mirror, his mind churning with the weight of everything that had happened. You had been so innocent in all of this, so unaware of what was going on behind the scenes. Of what his selfishness, his guilt, his cruelty — could do.

He could still see the confusion in your eyes when you had asked about your forgotten memories, the pleading look on your face as you tried to make sense of the fractured pieces of your past.

He had told you to forget, to accept what was happening without question. But deep down, he knew you were right. You deserve the truth. And yet, he could never give it to you.

Sukuna’s fists clenched once more, his chest tightening with the painful realization. What he had done to you, what he had done to your body, it could never be undone. The life inside you had been snuffed out before it could even have a chance to grow. And all because of him.

He could hear your soft, labored breaths echoing in his mind, the sound of your pain, your suffering. The thought of it almost brought him to his knees. But he couldn't stop. He couldn’t undo what had already been done.

He had wanted you too much, had wanted you in ways that consumed him. The guilt, the agony, it was all wrapped up in that same burning desire.

But no matter how much he hated himself for it, no matter how much he wanted to walk away and never look back, he knew he couldn’t leave you. Not when you had become so intricately tied to everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever craved.

With a deep, tortured sigh, Sukuna turned back to the door and made his way toward your room. He had no answers to give you, no redemption to offer. But he would be there. He couldn’t leave you, not now, not when he had already destroyed everything. 

The best he could do now was stay. To watch, to wait. To let the pain he had caused burn into him, until it became a part of him, a part of the inevitable price he would always pay for what he had done.

As he approached your door, he paused for a moment, his hand resting on the handle, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He wasn't sure what he expected from this encounter.

Was there still a part of him that hoped you could forgive him? Or was he simply there because, like the curse he was, he was tethered to you in ways that defied understanding?

He stepped into the room, his eyes immediately falling on you, lying so still in your slumber. The sight of you, fragile and broken, made his insides twist in a way he had never known. There was no redemption for him. Not now. Not after all of this.

But he was still here. And he would never leave.

He would never stop finding himself drawn to you.

And maybe that was the cruelest punishment of all.

══════════════════

THE HEALER HAD SAID TO REST AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. And you had done just that. The air around Vermillion Hall was thick with the sound of everyday life. Everything about it has made you feel healed more than anything. You could hear the children's laughter, servants going about their duties, and the occasional clink of crockery from the kitchen. 

The days had grown quieter since the incident, and though your body was slowly recovering, your heart still aches with the absence of what could have been. And yet, somehow, you weren’t alone. Not even when you wanted to. But perhaps, it was for the best.

Ryomen Sukuna’s presence had become an uninvited constant. At first, his decision to move to the nearby Repentance Hall had seemed insignificant. But now, with each passing day, you realized just how much of an impact it had on your life.

You were seated at a table in the sunlit dining room, carefully eating a small portion of food when Sukuna walked in, his figure tall and commanding even from across the room. His scarlet orbs flicked to you, but he said nothing as he made his way over to sit across from you. 

His posture was casual, but there was an unsettling weight in the air, as if his very presence was always carrying something unspoken. Perhaps that was just how intimidating your husband’s presence was. Everything about him was magnanimous. And it was hard to fight. It was hard to win against.

He watched you for a moment, studying the way you slowly ate. A sigh passed his lips, not one of impatience, but of something more complex. Something that was not as easy to read as before. Perhaps a silent acknowledgment of the burden neither of you had asked for. One that you would not want to talk about, not right now.

“You’re eating less, little one.” he commented, his voice low, but there was a certain sharpness to his tone.

You paused, the fork hovering in the air, before setting it down. "I’m fine, my lord." you said softly, your eyes meeting his own with a mix of weariness and frustration. “I’m just… still not hungry. I’m not used to being like this. The healer had said it was fine.”

Sukuna leaned back slightly in his chair, his dark gaze never leaving you. “It’s not about being used to it, little one.” he said, his voice colder now, as if he were speaking to a child rather than an equal. “It’s about getting better.”

“You hover upon me too much, my lord.”

“You are my concubine, my wife.” He tells you ever so bluntly. “And you are unwell. Should I just abandon you thus?”

There was a long silence between you two. His words were heavy, yet devoid of tenderness. He cared, in his own way, but never in a manner that you could decipher. His scarlet orbs tenderly flickered to the children playing outside, their sounds of joy drifting in through the window, before returning to you.

“Why did you move here, my lord?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence, your voice gentle but questioning. “The trip to the audience hall is longer than before with such a move. Heaven’s Hall is more convenient than this.”

You hadn’t asked him before; the question had never felt right, never appropriate in the swirl of chaos that had come in the aftermath of everything. Ryomen Sukuna’s lips quivered slightly at the question, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. 

"You really have to ask, little one?" He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his gaze intense now, as if daring you to probe deeper. “I told you it was better this way.”

“Better?” you echoed, shaking your head in disbelief. “For whom, exactly? You barely speak to me. You don’t even explain why you’re here or why you’re…”

You trailed off, a bitter taste in your mouth as the words you had been holding back for so long finally spilled out. “Why are you staying here? My lord, this is…. What is this? What are you doing?”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid. Sukuna did not flinch at your outburst, nor did he retreat. Instead, he remained as still as a stone, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with an almost unreadable expression.

"I cannot leave. Not like this. I do not want to be near you, after all that I have done." His voice was low, but there was something in the harshness of it that made you falter. "Do you think I want to be near you after what I’ve done? But I cannot leave you….I cannot. You are……."

He stops himself, his lips turning into a flat line. You tried to open your mouth to respond, but the words failed you. He wasn’t shouting, but there was a palpable tension in his words that sent a chill through you.

The truth of what had happened. The weight of the consequences was there between you, even if neither of you could fully confront it.

"I know….." he continued, his voice softer now, but still heavy with guilt.

"You’ve suffered because of me. More than I care to admit. But it’s not like I can undo what’s been done." He paused, his eyes flickering with something close to regret. "You don’t want me here. But it’s... easier this way. For you. For me. For the children.”

You stared at him, processing his words slowly. It was an admission of sorts, though he cloaked it in his usual arrogance. He wasn’t just here for the sake of proximity; he was here because, despite everything, he couldn’t bear to be entirely distant from you. 

There was something in your husband, something primal, something deeply conflicted that kept him bound to you, even if he didn’t know how to act on it. Sickening as it all is, painful as it all is — it keeps you both together. And almost like a game, both of you do not want to lose it and leave.

"But why the children?" you asked, your voice quieter now. "Why do you walk them in the morning, share meals with them when you barely speak to me? What do you want from me, my lord?"

He looked away then, his jaw tightening as if he were fighting against something inside. "I don’t know." he muttered, almost under his breath. His voice was rougher, as if the words themselves were a struggle to form. "I don’t know what I’m doing."

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension between you as thick as the silence that wrapped around the room. You could feel his eyes on you, and you sensed something different in his gaze.

There was an unfamiliar vulnerability there; something far less like the commanding, untouchable king you had come to know, and more like something human, something raw. Finally, after a long pause, Sukuna’s eyes softened. Even for just for a second.

"I may not have been the one you thought you needed. I cannot say what you want me to say, to do what you want me to do, little one." he said slowly, his voice surprisingly calm. "But I’ll be here. In whatever way I can. I promised you that, haven’t I?"

You blinked, unsure whether to be relieved or frustrated by his admission. His presence, while undeniably constant, was still a riddle you couldn’t solve.

But something in the tone of his voice, in the way he had dropped his usual bravado, made you feel a flicker of something—a strange, uncertain hope.

"I’m trying, little one." he added softly, looking away from you again, as though not quite able to meet your gaze. "Trying to be… better. For you. For everything."

The words hung between you two, and though the weight of everything still lingered, a small part of you wondered—perhaps hoped—that there was more to his actions than you could see.

The silence that followed hung in the air, thick and laden with the weight of unspoken truths. You watched him as he shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes now focused on something beyond you, anything, it seemed, but you. 

His admission, raw and unrefined, left you uncertain about how to respond. He had never been one to reveal vulnerability, and now, with his words lingering in the space between you, you were unsure if you should reach out or retreat.

Sukuna cleared his throat, his usual arrogance beginning to seep back into his voice, though the softness that had briefly touched his words lingered beneath.

“I don’t expect you to understand, little one.” he said, his tone rough. “But I’m here because I can’t seem to stay away. Whether I want to or not.”

Your heart twisted at that, the feeling of both connection and distance pulling at you like a string being tugged in two directions. You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, to ask him how he could do that to you and then sit here, speaking in circles as if it were nothing. 

But a part of you, a small part, understood. Understood that in his own way, he was trying to show you something. Trying to make up for what had been lost, even if he didn’t have the words for it.

He leaned back, stretching his arms out behind him, his eyes momentarily closing as if contemplating the words he had just said. His gaze returned to you after a long moment, unreadable, but something was different. The guilt that had once clawed at him was still there, buried beneath layers of pride and anger, but it was no longer the overwhelming force it had been before.

"You don’t want me near, little one." he said quietly, but this time, there was an almost wistful quality to his voice, as though he were trying to make sense of the situation himself. "But I can’t leave. Not after everything."

There it was again—the implication that he was here because of his own twisted sense of responsibility, or perhaps, something else. It was hard to say. Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t exactly known for his clarity, and his motives were as layered and complex as his personality. But, for once, he didn’t seem entirely sure of himself either.

You couldn’t help but feel conflicted. Part of you wanted to lash out—demand that he leave, that he stop playing this twisted game, stop pretending to care when he had caused so much damage.

And yet, another part of you, the part that still held on to some semblance of trust, felt the ghost of something softer, something that had once existed between you two.

"Why stay, then, my lord?" you asked, your voice soft, almost pleading for some sort of clarity. "If you can’t undo what’s been done... if you can’t fix it... why bother?"

He stared at you for a long moment, his crimson eyes sharp yet distant, like a predator weighing the cost of its next move. “Because, little one…..” he began, his voice barely above a murmur. “I can’t just walk away from you. No matter how much I want to. Not even when I need to.”

His words were quieter now, as if speaking them aloud made them more real, and in that moment, you could see it. The battle inside of him. Ryomen Sukuna was always in control, always calculating, but right now, there was something else beneath his hardened exterior. Something that made him seem almost... human.

"Why?" you whispered, the question feeling like an accusation and a plea all at once. "Why me?"

Sukuna didn’t immediately respond. His gaze drifted to the window, to where the children were playing outside, their innocent laughter a stark contrast to the weight of the conversation between the two of you. After a long moment, he spoke again, his voice rough, like he was wrestling with the truth itself.

"Because... I don’t know." He chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. "I never thought I’d let anyone get this close, little one. But you... You’ve been a challenge, haven’t you?" 

His gaze met yours again, but this time there was something different in it—something more complex than the cruel amusement he so often wore. "I never wanted to admit it, but here we are. Years of suffering and pain and grief and distance, we are still here. For each other.”

His words lingered, and for a brief moment, you found yourself unsure of how to respond. There was an undeniable weight to his admission, a rawness that you rarely saw from the man who once drowned in his own untouchable power.

Ryomen Sukuna’s pride, his arrogance, had always defined him—but now it seemed as though those very traits were at odds with the reality of what had happened between you. The man who could have taken everything and given nothing was now here, trying to make sense of his own tangled emotions.

“You think this is easy for me?” he continued, his voice growing softer, more introspective. “You think I haven’t hated myself for this? For everything?”

His eyes darkened briefly, a flicker of his own inner torment flashing behind them. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. But it did. And now... now I can’t just walk away. Not when there’s nothing left to fix.”

You could see the weight of his words, could feel the sincerity behind them, even if he had never shown it before. It was strange, this new side of him. Strange and unsettling. But it was real, as real as anything else in this complicated, messed-up world that the two of you seemed trapped in.

The silence stretched between you, a fragile moment of understanding that neither of you fully knew how to navigate. You wanted to speak, to offer some words of comfort or clarity, but nothing seemed adequate enough. Instead, you found yourself simply looking at him, the man who had caused so much pain and yet now seemed just as lost as you.

Finally, Sukuna spoke again, his voice quiet but firm.

"Just don’t ask me to leave, little one." he said. "I can’t do that. Not yet."

And so, there was no resolution. No sudden clarity. But there was something between you now, something neither of you could ignore, even if neither of you understood it fully. It was a strange, fragile truce, one born from guilt, from unspoken desires, from the wreckage of what had once been. 

Ryomen Sukuna was staying, whether you liked it or not. That was what he had to do, that’s what his heart was telling him to do. And for reasons neither of you could explain, that was enough—for now.

“Eat with me, my lord.” You whispered to him, pointing at your dish. “I cannot finish it all.”

He smiled at you, almost so fondly. “Very well, little one.”

[rinnstars]

impressing you!

itoshi rin attempts to tell you he likes you in questionable ways

itoshi rin x reader : fluff, crack, use of brain rot terms, dti mentioned, super bad ending i’m so sorry idk anymore school got me, not proofread + likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

growing up with itoshi rin with all his personality quirks, you were pretty sure you could expect anything and everything from him - whether that be him showing up at your house at midnight without any warnings, or him wearing your hello kitty pajamas after school for ‘fun’, or even eating frozen cheese straight out of the fridge for breakfast. but nothing could prepare you for what the hell he just asked you.

“what.” one chance for him to take back, or more so one chance for you to regain back your sanity from whatever you just swore to god he asked.

“.. i asked if you’d like to play dress to impress together.. you know because youre always playing it during class.” what the hell.

maybe the world was ending, and you look outside only to now be even more dismayed that the sun is in fact shining, the sky is perfectly blue, and there was no cloud in sight. then maybe this was all a dream after spending the previous night playing games, you pinch yourself and to your horror, you do in fact feel the pain as you nip at your own hand, almost yelping to the oblivious rin sitting beside you. or maybe your eyesight is failing you and you’re seriously deluding yourself that its rin simply after being apart from him for months, you think, removing your glasses and wiping it and nope - that was in fact rin, still wearing a blank face that youre far too used to.

“do you even have a roblox account..” you were 100% sure that whatever horror games you’ve seen him play does not involve roblox and he’s probably more likely to be a discord mod than a roblox player - credited to you friending him on steam and seeing the horror of games he has bought on that app

“.. ill make one now.” and you think maybe blue lock has actually rotted rin’s mind or maybe his friends there has corrupted the rin you once knew.

and instead of spending your math class, you know paying attention and doing the work assigned, there you were at the back row playing dress to impress with itoshi rin attempting his best but clearly not dressing to impress anyone to say the least.

and maybe this is a miracle and an awakening because you were so sure since a little kid that itoshi rin, your best friend in this entire world, do not have any weakness - whether that be in sports (for obvious reasons), in arts (getting an A even though he ‘winged it’), in games (carried you in shooting games and horror games) that maybe you’ve finally discovered his achilles heels that is apparently fashion.. and handling getting humbled by kids on roblox.

“why the hell is this kid calling my outfit skibidi toilet” if anything, in your honest reaction, you’d call me something worst than that looking at the total mess of a outfit he was wearing because why the hell is he wearing two hairs at once that do not merge at all. in fact, you’d be polite to even call whatever he’s just made an outfit in the first place because it looks like he genuinely spun a wheel and picked pieces at random.

even funnier is that you can practically see rin’s ear letting out steam - clearly upset that he’s apparently not winning the top place. if anything, you think its funnier because he doesnt even rage like this playing his competitive shooting game, or when he doesnt get a good grade for his exams, or even when he drops his ice cream when you were little, only when he plays soccer and apparently dress to impress. now maybe with his ego, or whatever he said learnt at blue lock, would be able to let him score a goal (win top place with a good outfit)

however, to his dismay, and to your expectation, he in fact does not win top places, not even top 3, by the end of the hour long math lesson.

and to him, he practically just lost the first tip that bachira told him and as he quotes “if you like someone you’ve got to like have shared interest right?” and clearly and unfortunately he just cannot get into dress to impress in the same way that you just aren’t really interested in football which he completely gets. but now he’s in doubt about his own situation and by that he means the love test percentage thing he was convinced to take by again bachihara - failing at a whooping 15% that he was meant to be your soulmate. but if there’s something he’s good at, its perseverance and he will not give up just because multiple kids in the game called him skibidi toilet

and right now he thinks hes absolutely down bad and he is only proving the allegations that he really has a crush on you when hes spending time after football practice to play dress to impress. even worse, hes looking up online guides on “cheatsheets” to get outfits, entering millions of codes to unlock hidden items, spending the entire night playing this game.

and of course, its at 4:30am when you log in only to find one person playing dress to impress and youre pretty sure this is the equivalant to a sleep paralysis demon as you blink all the sleep away in your eyes to confirm the words in front of you: itoshi rin is playing dress to impress in the middle of the night. more specifically, itoshi rin who preaches about taking care of ones body by sleeping early, eating all three meals, doing yoga every single day is ruining his sleep scheuldue for a roblox game. and as all sleep deprived people do, you send him a message to confirm that its in fact him and not a hacker.

chat

you: r u playing dti or have u not logged out of dti since class 😭😭

rin: playing

you: R U ACTLLY INTO DRESS TO IMPRESS… who r u impressing 🙏🏻🙏🏻

rin: you

and you feel your heart stop - and not because of caffeine, or another realisation that yoive forgotten to do your work right in class or winning a lucky draw from the ice cream you share with rin. but then the realisation hits and youre now instead let down because of course sleep deprived him would say such words that unfortunately made your heart pump because of all the years you’ve known him, you know that whenever he doesnt sleep well, he always becomes a different person, spouting nonsense about everything and anything as all the logic that he’s so used to melts away from his brain. and so you without thinking close your phone and leave itoshi rin on read.

and maybe its even worse that when you wake up, you realise rin sends you the number of stars he’s collected over his overnight grind that’s somehow more than the amount you’ve gathered throughout the weeks of playing dress to impress and even funnier because he’s clearly texting the wrong person.

chat

rin: (1 attachement)

rin: is this a good rank bachiara

rin: should i check if mine n y/n’s soulmate on that love website increased

you: shld be 100%

rin: from 15%?

you: i’m more accurate than it btw r u still on dti

rin: ?

rin: oh ignore

you: no lets play tgt actlly vote me 5* i need to have more stars than u

and you can’t wait to go to math class to play dress to impress with rin at the back of the class (spoiler alert: he won all the rounds somehow) now dating (he gives you five stars)

[bunni-v1]

Thoughts on a threesome with Lighter and Harumasa

MDNI!!

Tw: NSFW; VERYYYY OOC lol; double penetration in one hole (only mentioned at the end lol); Rough sex; Fem! Reader; unedited and written with a serious fucking migraine like my god

I’m so fucking sick today but I had an idea so… imagineeeeee with me if you will…

You and Lighter are walking around New Eirdu, picking things up for the girls, running errands, usual shit. It’s a nice little routine thing the two of you have. He gets his job done and gets to spend time with you, win win!

He turns around for one second — literally one second just looking at some flowers (for you, btw) — and when he turns back around your attention is occupied. Not only is it occupied, but it’s taken by Asaba Harumasa. Sweet talking, ever flirty Asaba Harumasa.

He’s not a bad guy, honestly, Lighter doesn’t dislike him. You’d mentioned once or twice how you knew the guy. Some kinda old fuck buddy, it wasn’t anything Lighter cared about too much. You were his partner after all, it would be stupid not to trust you.

Him, though, Lighter didn’t trust him one bit. Not with the subtle touches and the unnecessary flirty comments. He watches you two veryyyy carefully, taking it all in until he can’t take it anymore and he has to pull you into his side.

“Oh! Lighter, fancy seeing you here~” Harumasa purrs in such a sickeningly sweet tone.

He makes it very clear that you and he are and item, but that only seems to egg Haru on further… His little comments getting more and more bold, pointed and intentional in riling him up. You’re stuck in the middle of an ego war that you can’t break up (and have no idea why it’s happening).

Then, somehow, the conversation is steered toward your sex life. No one is really sure how or why, but Harumasa and Lighter are having a literal dick measuring contest in front of you when Harumasa suggests that they should “Find out who you like better.”

Anddd that’s how you ended up with Lighter pounding into your sopping cunt from behind and Harumasa fucking your throat like it was the end of the world. Their little competition forgotten in favor of making you squirm beneath them <3

You’d cum at least four times now and they seemed determined to make a fifth. They alternate what their hands are doing occasionally. Sometimes Harumasa is pulling at your hair, other times Lighter’s squeezing your tits in his hands. Regardless, not an inch of you is left untouched by either of them.

Harumasa pulls out from your throat, and in your fucked out state you try follow him only for Lighter to tug you back by your hair. You don’t even try to fight it when he manhandles you into a sitting position on his lap.

Your pussy is literally drooling down both of your thighs, and Lighter scoops some of it up and tastes it. Harumasa smiles at the sight, seemingly quite satisfied with himself, “Can I have a taste?”

You expect Lighter to maybe let him eat you out, or even just pick up some with his own fingers. Instead he pulls Harumasa forward and kisses him. You can only watch with big empty dazed eyes as they do so. You swear you hear Harumasa moan, but just as you’re getting to enjoy it, they seem to remember you’re there again.

“Feeling left out, baby?” Lighter hums as his fingers find your clit, rubbing fast circles.

Harumasa pushes your legs open, the two of them working to readjust you so your legs are thrown atop Lighters, Haru sliding himself between them. “I think she is, poor thing…”

You most certainly were not, but you weren’t going to say that. Lighter slides out of you, and you literally cry out at the loss of him. “Aww, I told ya she likes it. Look at her cryin’.”

Harumasa laughs dryly, tapping his member against Lighter still moving fingers, “Yeah, yeah, whatever makes you feel more secure.”

You whine at their arguing and they both coo back at you like you’re some kind of pet. They were plotting something sinister, you could feel it in the way Lighter kept pressing the tip of his dick against your ass. Certainly they didn’t expect you to take them both at the same time.

“There’s only one good way to determine who’s the best, right?” Harumasa purrs, nudging Lighter out of the way so he could properly tease your cunt.

“Mhm…” Lighter hums, “You can take both of us at once, right?”

Fuck.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ Ｓｗｅｅｔｅｓｔ Ｐｉｅ ♡

♡ Pairing: sex worker!mingyu x chubby!fem!sex worker!reader

♡ Genre: smut/fluff

♡ Word Count: 3.2k-ish

♡ Summary: While spending the weekend at a mansion in the Hollywood Hills, a risky late night comment of yours draws the attention of your crush who happens to be in the same city and wants to see if you're all talk or about that action.

♡ Warnings: you're both spicy content creators, drinking, unprotected sex, Gyu's dick is kinda really huge, size kink for sure, stretching, riding, rough sex, doggystyle, clit play, ass slapping, oral sex (m receiving), cum eating/swallowing, dirty talk, switch Gyu/reader

♡ A/N: I usually put a sweet artistic statement in this space but I don't have a sweet artistic statement. I have a hot girl playlist and Mingyu's existence which is exactly how we ended up here. It's Mingyu, for the love of goddess, can you blame me?

This was never where you thought you’d end up. When you joked with your best friend, a successful OnlyFans girl, about starting one if your job kept working your nerves you hadn’t imagined actually doing it. Yet here you are, 8 months after that tipsy girl’s night, with a hefty following on social media and enough subscribers to never have to set foot in that job ever again. 

Like any other job it has its ups and downs but having your best friend there to help you navigate it early on makes it feel like lightwork now. Plus it’s so easy to ignore your haters when your bank account’s as stacked as it is.

For the first time in your life it’s optional to check pricetags, you can literally have whatever you want. Some things you don’t even have to pay for, they’re just dropped in your lap simply because you are who you are. 

That’s precisely how you scored yourself a weekend at this million dollar home in the Hollywood Hills. You’d passively mentioned during a custom video for one of your fans how hot you found it that he owned so much property.

“I’ve never played with my pussy in a mansion before” you pouted cutely, a vibrator whirling away inside you on its lowest setting. It wasn’t hint dropping as much as you wanted to stroke his ego but he took it as a chance to impress you, offering you a getaway at one of his places while he went on vacation for business. 

You’d be doing him a favor, he insisted, because he hated to leave the place empty for so long. The ego boost was more than enough compensation on his part that he didn’t feel like you owed him anything. Good because as a rule you do not fuck customers. You don’t even do content with other people in your industry. Everything’s solo. Always.

“Show us the top but off” you giggle, reading through the comments on your Instagram live. You do a quick spin, showing off your barely there bikini top. “There it is but it’s not coming off. You guys are gonna get me banned.” 

You only arrived a few hours ago and, exhausted from travel, decided that you’d rather spend the night in the jacuzzi out back than venture out to some crowded bar. This weekend is about relaxation after all and what’s more relaxing than sipping champagne in this warm bubbling water under the starry night sky?

It began to feel a little lonely though, you’re so used to having your best friend with you on these trips, so you decided to prop your phone up on the edge of the hottub and go live for a little bit. 

Reading through the comments, you get caught up in conversation about a million random topics. There’s suggestions for the best restaurants in LA, debates over if aliens are real or not, and even a quick KPop Smash or Pass game before someone brings you to a topic that has your heart thumping harder than an EDM festival.

Your rule on sleeping with other creators is a hard “No”, this everyone already knows, but when it comes to one man in particular that rule’s nonexistent. 

100_karat_xo Gyu saw your retweet 👀 youngxkwonskitty He’s coming over here aaaaaah!!!

You nearly choke on your next sip of champagne, watching the chat go wild as the memory of a recent drunken retweet hits you like a wrecking ball.

Your introduction to who Kim Mingyu was had been innocent enough. You were scrolling your feed one night and saw a video of a bunch of guys dancing. They were just fucking around really but they were genuinely talented and hot as hell so you had to do a little independent research to figure out who they were. 

Mingyu was the one who caught your eye the most with his beautifully tanned skin and a face so gorgeous it hurts to look at. It only worsened the situation when you stumbled upon his spicy account and found out he had the deadly combo of a body Greek gods would envy and a cock that’d have you walking funny for days. Who needs to walk straight anyway? You followed him on everything immediately, nearly died when he followed you back, and it’s been non stop flirting since. 

The two of you even ran into each other at a few parties where things would almost get hot and heavy but never ventured beyond a cute little makeout session. It’s painfully obvious both of you want something more though.

The most recent evidence came when Mingyu posted a video of himself seated in a chair facing a mirror wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants. No shirt, nothing under the pants, just that muscular sunkissed chest and a mouthwatering dick print. 

You were weak in the knees from the sight of that alone but when his hand started moving in his lap, his palm smoothing over the long, thick print, you went feral. Mingyu’s caption asked, “Who does this belong to?” and the shots of Soju in your system that night had you responding, “Me!” before you could think better of it. That was a week ago and you must’ve pushed it to the back of your mind because you haven’t thought about it since. But Mingyu has. 

“Coming over here? What do you mean?” you ask, slinking down into the water as if it’ll somehow make you invisible. You get your answer immediately when a familiar name appears in the chat. 

dongangu.daddy Hey beautiful

“Mingyu! Stop! What are you doing here?” you squeal, a hand thrown over your mouth to hide the uncontrollable smile his arrival brings to your face. As if there’s a way to conceal how giddy you are over this man. Two words from him and your whole aura changes. You were glowing before but now you’re radioactive.

jeonghanssimp95 my worlds collide omfg _horanghaeheaux_ Can you both marry me?

dongangu.daddy has requested to join

Your eyes widen at Mingyu’s request, not expecting to be put on the spot like this. It’s not that you don’t want to see him. You’d look at that face every day if you could—beside you, on top of you, under you—but you’re mortified of swooning over him in front of this many people. 

Finally deciding that your retweet did all it could do to expose you for being down bad for Mingyu, you dry your hands on a nearby towel and accept his request. Another screen pops up below yours. There’s some darkness at first, a few seconds of shuffling, and then Mingyu’s displayed in all of his bare chested glory. 

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” he teases, shifting to a more comfortable position in bed. Of course he had to be shirtless. Of course he had to be in bed. Fuck your sanity. 

Your brain has to shake off a five second delay before you can answer. “You just got on and already you’re picking on me. I’m about to revoke your privileges, sir.”

Mingyu laughs off your comment, confident that you’re bluffing. You are. “No, don’t do that. I’m sorry” he pouts, raking his fingers through his short dark hair, “I just expected you to be happier to see me.”

“I am happy to see you but you can’t come on my live talking your shit.”

“I thought you liked it when I talk my shit” he smiles, recalling all of the X rated texts you’ve exchanged over the past few months. 

You shrug, mindlessly twirling your hair, “Talking is cute buuut actions are better.” 

The true meaning of “action” is clear for you both. Mingyu’s wanted action with you from day one, spam liking your posts the moment he saw that you followed him. You had the prettiest face, the sweetest smile, and your body was so soft and plush he couldn’t stop fantasizing about getting his hands on you. You were even more irresistible in person and that knowledge has had him on a mission to make you his ever since. A mission he’s not willing to give up on easily.

“Action? I can do that. I heard you’re in LA” he says, the white sheet around him falling away as he sits up in bed, “I am too. If you aren’t busy, maybe we could see each other tonight.”

“Oh, y-you wanna see me? And do what?” you stutter, going in for another nervous sip only to find that the glass is empty. You were not prepared to be this thirsty for a drink or for him. 

Mingyu tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes flicking down to take in what he can of your figure peeking out from the water. His heart begins to race, his cock stiffening at the way your lush breasts bob above the surface, droplets of water decorating your cleavage like diamonds. 

“You tell me, babe. What do you wanna do?” 

His question soaks your bikini bottoms with a new type of moisture, your pulse already racing. What do you wanna do? With Kim Mingyu? What don’t you wanna do? 

“Gyu, aaah, fuck. It’s so…so…mmm” you whine, sinking lower onto Mingyu’s cock.

Your fingers trace his abs, your pink and blue ombre acrylics nicking his skin as your pussy relaxes to take the next inch of his cock. You’d seen it in pictures, even felt his bulge once or twice in person, but having him inside of you? Nothing could’ve prepared you for this stretch or for how full you’d feel after only a few inches. There’s still a couple more to go and you’re already shaking like you’re ready to cum. 

“Keep going, baby. You’re taking it so well” he praises, hands cradling your hips to help you take him at your own pace.

He isn’t in a rush to fuck you. That was never an intention of his. Mingyu’s more than pleased to lay here with you in bed, your fluffy thighs snug around his waist, and enjoy the view from below. And what a view it is. The faces you make are too cute for words. They make him want to hold you close and protect you from the rest of the world. At the same time, they’re the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. And, coupled with those little whines of yours, they give him the ravenous urge to fuck your brains out. Every last cell. 

“Don’t wanna wait anymore” you moan, leaning back with your arms behind you, palms resting on his legs. “I need it all.” 

He smooths his hands down your thighs and back up again, “Anything for you.” 

One thrust of his hips and you’re seeing stars. Mouth wide open. Eyes watering. It’s the fullest you’ve ever felt and you can only piece together a string of broken moans as your body adjusts to the new sensation. 

Mingyu smiles up at you, beaming with pride at what he’s done to you. “Too much for you?” he teases, his thumb stroking a solitary tear away from your cheek. 

You shake your head, never the kind of girl to reject a challenge. Breathing in deep, you steady yourself, raising your hips and slowly lowering them back down in a motion that has his eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

“Oh god, fuck” he groans not just at how perfectly your walls hug him and not just at you being wet enough to make that hottub outside look like the desert. Every move you make hits the perfect spot, your body titled at the exact angle required to make him feel like you’re stealing his soul straight from his body.

Keeping your pace, you lean forward and lick your way up his abs, sprinkling kisses across his chest. Mingyu can pretend that it doesn’t tickle in a way he likes much more than he thought he would but his body’s a dead giveaway. His muscles contract beneath your kisses, his length pulsing against your walls. You can almost hear his heart pounding through his chest. 

“Too much for you?” you taunt, smiling up at him, your walls purposefully clenching even tighter around his cock. 

Mingyu bites his lip, staring down at you like a meal he’s prepared to devour. The fire in his eyes makes your heart jump. Teasing him back has consequences and you can tell you’re about to suffer them. 

“Nah, I want more” he growls and two strong arms close around your body, one at your back and the other at your waist. Keeping you flush against his chest, he spreads his legs and buries himself even deeper into your needy core. If you thought you were seeing stars before, there's galaxies now. 

Mingyu holds you like he loves you, cradling you gently while he fucks you like he hates you, and with your arms pinned to your sides all you can do is take it. Waves of heat wash over your figure, the tingling of your nipples brushing his chest sending sparks through your system. There’s no talking back now, only fragments of his name rolling from your tongue. 

“M-min…” you whine, crumbling as the thick head of his cock bumps your sweet spot. You can feel his warm precum leaking into you, mixing with your arousal to make every movement all the smoother. 

“M-min” he coos, reaching a hand up to brush away the hair sticking to your pretty face, “Having a hard time talking back, sweetheart?”

Your eyes are hypnotizing on a regular day but he must admit that there’s something special about seeing them so dazed and glossed over all for him. He grabs the back of your neck with just the right amount of pressure, lifting you away from him enough that he shifts angles inside of you. It’s such a small change in position but it’s more than enough to have you squirming, mindlessly rocking your hips against his. 

“I didn’t know I had such a greedy girl on my hands” he says, tracing your jaw with feathery kisses. In a split second the room’s spinning on its head and you find yourself face down on the sheets with your arms held behind your back.

Mingyu slaps your ass and the sting gets you up on shaky knees. He doesn’t even need to tell you what he wants because you want it too. Teasing his cock at your entrance, he takes his time savoring the way that your juices drip all over him, your pussy already clenching in anticipation.

He runs the head along your slit, dipping it up to roll across that perky little clit of yours. He keeps you like this so long you’re drooling onto the pillow, clenching and dripping down his length and he isn’t even inside of you yet. 

Not one to be outdone, you drop your hips down, slipping him right up to your entrance. You sink back on him an inch or so, popping his head right inside of you. You hear a sharp inhale and feel his body give out on him for a second. You move your hips in a circular motion, teasing him with the sight of you stretching yourself open with his cock.

“I thought you said you wanted more” you giggle, shaking your ass in the cutest way. 

Mingyu slaps it again, gripping your hips, “So she can still speak. We gotta change that.”

He slams into you and you cry out at the force of his thrust. The aftershock has your body humming but there’s no time to soak it in. Mingyu doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up even a little bit. He’s feral for you. Already addicted to the feeling of you wrapped around him. 

Keeping your wrists pinned, he reaches around to massage your clit, and your knees almost give out. He catches you before you can collapse, keeping you right where he wants you. Gripping the pillow, you bite down hard, screaming as loud as you want into the soft cotton while he deep strokes you to the brink of insanity. 

It’s not long before a familiar feeling’s tugging at your stomach. You’re like a bottle of champagne, all shaken up and ready to pop. Mingyu rubs your bud faster, kissing the small of your back, “You gonna cum for me, baby? Hmm?”

Your body answers before your words can, jiggling in all the right places while you cum harder than you ever have. The clench and release of your walls as you gush down your own thighs drags him closer to his own high but he’s not ready yet. He has to keep thrusting into you, playing with your pussy until your body’s spent. 

For a moment it seems as if he’s achieved his goal. Reeling from your high, your whole body gives into the mattress and you’re stuck there, letting out the sweetest whines with his cock still inside of you. But that moment’s fleeting and in a few seconds you’re back up on your knees, whipping around to take his cock into your mouth. 

You don’t hesitate to take all of it into your mouth, not gagging once as you rub it against the back of your throat. If the gasps and moans coming from overhead are any indication, your tongue wrapped around his cock has him wrapped around your finger. You feel around blindly until you find his hands, intertwining your fingers with his. Your tongue traces the veins of his shaft, feeling the blood rush to the head throbbing at the back of your throat. 

The taste of your mixed arousal floods your senses as it drips from the corners of your perfectly pursed lips. You sneak a peek up at him. That gorgeous face. Those muscles dripping with sweat. His body jerks and you easily pick up on the signs, slipping him out of your mouth at the perfect time for him to cum all over your tongue and those plush, puffy lips. You take him into your hands, stroking him until you’ve gotten every last drop. Licking your lips clean, you kiss the tip and lay back in bed, bringing him down with you.

Mingyu cozies his head up to your belly, his chest heaving for air, “Where’d you learn to do it like that?”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m just gifted” you sigh, brushing your fingers through his hair. 

“Well, whatever you did, just know it’s yours now” he says, propping his chin up to gaze at you. 

“Mine? What’s mine?”

“I asked who this belonged to.  You said it’s yours. Unless you don’t want it…”

“No! No! No!” you scramble, your cheeks warming up again, “It’s mine! It’s mine! I’ll take it.”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, using his last bit of energy to crawl on top of you, “You’ll take it again? So soon?”

He spreads your legs, dipping his fingers between your legs and you’re still dripping wet. He presses up against you and you giggle feeling how hard he still is.

“You did say it’s mine” you smile, legs wrapping around his waist, “So give it to me.”

[depravitycentral]

Demon Slayer Dick Headcannons ft. the Demons

TW: yandere, mentions of non-con, kidnapping, excessive talk about balls and cum, breeding, cumplay, MDNI

Featuring: Muzan Kibutsuji, Kokushibou, Douma, Akaza, Gyutaro

The first thing you’ll notice when you first see him nude is how perfectly and pristinely groomed he is. There’s not a hair out of place; his skin is perfectly smooth along his navel, happy trail meticulously waxed on a regular basis to keep himself clean and presentable. (Presentable for you, of course, though he’d never admit it, because although you don’t really have the option of rejecting him, it still makes him feel better to know that he looks as good as possible.) He’s even anal about shaving his balls, too – making sure that everything is as perfect as possible. His navel and v-line are absolutely drool-worthy; muscle sharp enough to be defined under your fingertip when you touch him, lines seeming to point directly towards the pale, slender cock hanging between them. He’s thoroughly average in size – a solid five or so inches with moderate girth, his tip rather bulbous and a rich, flush pink color. He has a tendency to produce a lot of precum, beads practically oozing out as he watches you with those sharp, intense eyes. The only sign you’ll get that he’s even remotely aroused by you is just how painfully swollen his tip becomes, just how wet and sticky his slacks become as he watches you touch yourself, thighs squirming and your face feeling warm because he’s just staring, not even bothering to touch himself.

He's not very physically sensitive, but Muzan becomes extremely engrossed into whatever scenario or dynamic he’s forced you into during sex. He’s always in charge, of course, the dominant figure, but he finds himself becoming monumentally more sensitive and effected by your touch when you’re in physically submissive positions; on your knees while he stands before you, all your clothing stripped off to reveal your bare form while he’s only unzipped his slacks and his cock’s pulled out, a hand already buried into your hair as he forces you to lick and drool along his length. When you’re on your knees with your ass poised in the air, face pressed against the mattress as he smacks at you, watching your cheeks bounce with ever harsh thrust as he degrades you and calls you just a toy to fuck. There’s something about being able to see his cock physically entering you and seeing the way you react to it that makes him hurtle closer to his orgasm, the pleasure making his head spin a bit and his composure wane ever so slightly, enough so that if you were to listen hard, you’d hear him very, very quietly mutter your name in pleasure. It takes him a moderate amount of time to reach his orgasm, though he prefers to prolong the experience for as long as possible and will intentionally edge himself so that he can keep watching you slobber on his cock, so that he can keep fucking into you, so that he can keep feeling you you you. His cum is runny and an off-white, creamy color. He doesn’t produce a huge amount, but it’s always hot, the heat feeling uncomfortable on your skin. (And reminding you that he’s not human, because what human could produce cum that warm?) He’s not especially vocal when he’s orgasming, but you’ll notice that he always lets out a signature grunt right as he lets go, his teeth bared and his eyes fluttering shut, hips bucking seemingly without his control as he pushes himself into you deeper, harder, further.

His favorite way for you to touch his cock is when you’re worshipping it. His ego absolutely must be stroked during sex – he wants you to recognize that you’re inferior to him, and having you praise him and give him such lewd attention gets his head and cock swelling. He likes when you get particularly depraved with the worship – the more dehumanizing, the better. He wants you to rub his tip along the outline of your lips as you kneel for him, his fist tucked under his chin as he sits back in the leather chair, watching you with eyes like a hawk as you try to please him. He wants you to kiss the tip, then drag it along your cheekbones. Nudge it with your nose, let your tongue loll out and lick at him, even trace down your jugular and around a nipple. He wants his precum smeared absolutely everywhere on your body, and he wants you to thank him for it, your voice airy and light, admiring and loving. He wants you to kitten lick him and suckle at his tip, big doe eyes flicking up to meet his gaze and immediately averting it, bashfulness written across your face that makes Muzan’s lip curl up and his hips twitch. He wants you to stay still and play with your clit while he grasps himself right at the base, smacking his shaft against your cheek and sneering down at you, going on about how you’re really just a little whore, aren’t you? You enjoy being treated like dirt, don’t you? He wants you to drool on him as you take him down your throat, sucking hard enough to hollow your cheeks and moaning around him, the vibrations making his eyes flutter closed. He wants you to lick and suck at his balls, telling him how good he tastes, thanking him over and over for letting you touch him. He wants you to show him that you know your place – and when he makes you close your eyes and open your mouth wide while he fists his cock and holds your head in place, you’d better tell him thank you, sir as rope after rope of hot, runny cum splatter onto your face. Maybe then he’ll consider fucking you – only if you’ve behaved.

Kokushibou’s cock is long, with hardly any veins decorating the length. When he’s hard it curves ever so slightly upwards, allowing him the perfect angle to brush against the spongy spot that makes you scream when he’s got you pinned underneath him. He’s on the skinnier side, your fingers very comfortably wrapping around his girth, but what he lacks in width he makes up for with just how deeply he can reach inside of you. It’s nearly painful, really, because when he presses in as far as your cunt will let him, tears sting at your eyes and you’re gasping because it feels like he’s splitting you in two, the pressure too much and  the feeling of being full nearly overwhelming. His balls droop a bit, looking heavy to the touch and a much deeper red color than the rest of him, always drawing your attention. The color is so rich that in certain lights, namely moonlight, they almost look purple. When he’s hard, they’ll oftentimes throb and pulse, particularly when his patience begins running out and the desperation to fuck you becomes too strong to ignore. And even when he’s fucking you, if you pay attention you’ll feel the way they sporadically clench against you, his balls indicating exactly what he’s feeling and how close to his orgasm he is. His cock is genuinely hard – there’s hardly any give when you squeeze at it, feeling so solid and firm that when he slaps it lightly against your clit before he pushes inside it nearly hurts. And once it’s inside, it bullies its way past your walls, muscles being parted and molded to his shape because he views your cunt as his. (Just as he views his own cock as partially yours, as well.)

Kokushibou is moderately sensitive, though he’s particularly weak to the feeling of your walls. He enjoys the sensation of your hand, mouth, breasts, thighs, and everything else you offer to him, but he’ll always preference your pussy over anything else. It’s partially based in traditional ideas about what sex is for and a weakness for seeing the way you respond to his cock. He loves the way you go dumb the moment he starts thrusting into you – your mouth parts into a permanent gasp, fingers grasping at the sheets underneath you, back arching up off the ground and your nipples perking into hard little buds that he can’t help but stare at. It doesn’t take him too terribly long to orgasm, and the moment you start clenching down on him with any sort of regularity, you’ll notice the way his thrusts start to get sloppy and uncoordinated, the rhythm faltering and his hair covering his upper eyes as he tries to regain his composure, unable to let the moment end quite yet. You’ll always be able to tell when he’s orgasming because his hips momentarily freeze up and a very small, slight shiver wracks his whole body before he’s letting rope after rope spurt from his tip. He prefers to finish inside you, but on the rare occasion when you’re using your hands on him, you’ll see the way his cum shoots out in perfect little arches, landing in puddles against your chest or fist and drying fairly quickly. His cum is oddly fragrant – it doesn’t smell good or bad necessarily, but the scent is extremely masculine and you’ll quickly learn to associate it with him. (This is the primary way you learn that he’s grown a penchant for humping at your sleeping pillow, the same familiar scent imbued into the fabric that you lay your head on each night.) His refraction period is rather long, so it’s unlikely you’ll get more than a single round out of him on any given sexual encounter, but after a long while of being stuck by his side, you’ll learn that if you request it of him, he’ll gladly bring you to your high a few times over with his fingers and mouth even after he’s finished himself. He won’t explicitly offer it for fear of both rejection and his own pride, but you’ll notice the way his semi-flaccid, rather pathetic looking cock twitches at your request, an obvious sign that he very much wants to please you.

His more traditional views of sex and intimacy are showcased in the way that he prefers to fuck you in simple missionary style. He likes the simplicity of the position, and the way you feel in his position makes him quietly grunt under his breath and throw one of your legs up over his shoulder. The new angle makes your walls feel incredibly tight, the sensation making his fingertips grip onto your thighs just a hair too tight, leaving finger shaped bruises behind. He’ll pin you down, spitting onto his hand and giving himself a few good pumps, before lining himself and pushing inside slowly, all six eyes intently watching your face and seeing the way your eyes roll to the back of your head. Kokushibou, despite coming off as rather cold and indifferent in most aspects of your relationship, is actually extremely in touch and sensitive to your perception of him – he wants you to like him, maybe even love him, and to see the way you respond so quickly and easily to his cock makes him giddy with pride. The way you clench down on him spurs him to fuck into you with fuller, deeper strokes, the constant stimulation against his sensitive skin making his fight back the orgasm that’s steadily building in his navel. Sometimes he’ll even throw both of your legs over his shoulders, your cunt feeling even more tight with the new angle, loving the way you gasp and claw at him, his name a mantra on your lips as his thrusts get a little more animalistic. Having you underneath him like that helps quell his possessiveness – the knowledge that no one else will ever get to touch you like this brings him hurtling towards his orgasm, and although it’s very slight, as the first few ropes of cum flood into your cunt, you’ll be able to hear him lowly growl an almost unintelligible mine under his breath.

He’s solidly average in nearly every way – average length with an average girth, just a truly utilitarian cock. It’s mostly pale, with the tip being a softer pink color that grows darker by the second when he’s hard. What makes him thoroughly not average, however, is that his length is almost always extremely cold to the touch. The skin is always cool, not quite feeling like ice but certainly unnatural against your fingertips. It’s an odd sensation – when he’s fucking you, the shivers that run up and down your spine aren’t just from the way he’s expertly rolling his hips and managing to hammer into that one spot that makes you see stars. Rather, it’s the temperature difference, how the sensation of something so hard and cold inside of you gets your toes curling and the softest gasp slipping off your tongue because it all just feels so very strange. But Douma absolutely loves the way it catches you so off guard, knowing that even if you’ve slept with men before him (a thought that makes something ugly stir in his gut), surely no one else had made you feel quite like this. He’s not the best with matinence, preferring to occasionally trim when he has the time, but he doesn’t expect you to be hairless either. He likes the buildup of hair, actually, because Douma loves to see the way your combined slick and cum settles against the hair, clumping it together and leaving a mark of the two of you together. (Often times, he’ll delay showering or cleaning himself after sleeping with you simply so that he can keep the scent of you on him with easy access. He’ll dip a finger down and swipe it through his pubic hair, bringing the finger up to smell and letting his eyes close and a rather boyish smile settle onto his lips, other palm already cupping at and rubbing the bulge forming in his pants.)

Douma isn’t sensitive. Once his obsession with you develops, he stops sleeping with other cult-followers, but the damage is already done. He’s slept with dozens of human women and men, and as a result his body has grown used to constant stimulation and pleasure by many different hands. It takes a long while for him to orgasm, the combination of his stamina and experience combining together to make your job much more difficult when Douma simply orders you to get him off. The one thing that consistently helps bring him closer to the edge, however, is when you use a significant amount of pressure against his cock. When you’re pumping your fist up and down his length, squeeze just a bit tighter than what seems correct and he’ll hiss, those eyes of his shining as he tells you to keep going, his hips bucking and thrusting up in time. When you’ve got him against your tongue, suck as hard as you can while you run the tip of your tongue along the underside of the shaft and you’ll feel his whole body sag in pleasure, the small little giggle-lick sigh he lets out letting you know that your actions have effected him. And when he’s fucking you, clench down on him sporadically and you’ll notice the way his cool, unbothered tone and expression grow just a hair darker, his voice getting a bit gruffer and his eyebrows drawing tight as he fucks into you meanly, like he’s got something to prove. It’ll still take him a long while to get off, but once he finally reaches his high, you’ll be rewarded with a very copious amount of thick, glue-like cum that will plug you so full that you’ll be leaking it around his length. It’s oddly sweet, the consistency smooth against your tongue. This is particularly lucky because Douma absolutely loves to finish on your face, loving the way you look all tainted and ruined and pathetic with his cum smeared across your cheeks and lips, clumped up in your eyelashes, even staining your hair. Cute.

His favorite way for you to touch his cock is when you simply open your mouth as wide as you can go and let him use you. Fucking you face is one of his favorite past times – there’s something about the power trip that drives Douma wild, the visual of you on your knees for him while his nails dig against your scalp and he physically moves your head up and down his length like you’re some kind of human fleshlight gets blood rushing straight between his legs. He can be rather unassuming in bed at times, but Douma absolutely hates to give up control, and having you so willingly let him do as he pleases with your mouth makes him giddy over both the sensation of your tongue and throat against his skin but also at your complete and utter submission to him. He likes watching the way your lips pucker around his girth, the way his cock disappears and reappears as he keeps up the motions. He likes the sight of your spit against his skin, reflecting the candlelight as he thrusts his hips forward to meet the motions of your head. He likes when you gag, the way your throat closes up making him moan lowly and only push deeper, wanting to hear more of the choking sound you let out. He likes knowing that he has an effect on you, enjoying the way your body responds to him. He likes how you desperately try to control yourself, to stop yourself from choking and pulling back, watching you fight your instincts because you don’t want to displease him. It strokes his ego and has his cock swelling inside your throat, and when he finally, finally reaches his orgasm, he’ll pull back without warning, your lips releasing his tip with a wet, lewd pop noise. He'll smack his tip against your cheeks a few times, eyes fluttering closed as his fist pumps up and down his fist so quickly that it’s a blur, until suddenly you feel slightly cold cum spraying across your face, Douma’s airy moans and laughter ringing in your ears as he strokes and strokes and strokes so that every last drop lands on your pretty, human face. Afterwards, as you’re still on your knees and he’s standing before you, he’ll tell you to kiss it, dear, insisting you press your lips against his tip in one final thank-you for giving you his cum, a commodity you should be truly grateful for.

He’s a solid five inches with moderate girth. The base is thicker, tapering down near the tip but still significant enough to feel when he slips inside of you. The thick, bold lines decorating his body continue down between his legs, with a single line running the length of his cock on either side. A single vein follows each line, sensitive to the touch and making Akaza grunt when you run your tongue along them. It’s pale, and even his tip is rather pale – the softest, baby pink that only grows to a darker red color right on the brink of his orgasm. He keeps himself neatly trimmed, the pink hairs standing out against pale skin and dark lines, tickling your nose when he’s pushing himself down your throat. His balls are low-set, nearly swinging with every step he takes, and though not terribly sensitive, Akaza loves when you pay attention to them and squeeze them a bit harshly. It takes a bit to arouse him, and you can actually watch and feel in real time as he grows hard, the process a bit slow but entertaining to watch because it’s like you can see him start to grow restless, his entire body starting to grow flushed and hot because he needs you. He’s already clingy and constantly trying to be in your space, but once he’s turned on and aroused this only increases, his hands in constant motion as he touches every spot he can reach, groping and squeezing and kneading because wants every part of you in his palm.

He's not terribly sensitive, taking a while to reach his high. His orgasms are long, though, lasting easily twenty or more seconds – once the pleasure peaks, his jaw drops and his lips part, eyes squeezed shut and his eyebrows scrunched together as he gasps each breath. He loses control of his hips in the moment, fucking into your cunt, ass, mouth, or wherever else like a madman, too lost in his pleasure to register your gags or pleas for him to slow down. And for the entirety of his orgasm, cum drools from his tip – it’s a constant flow, thick pearls forming and landing in big, fat splats against your skin or inside you. If given the preference, Akaza always picks finishing inside of you – he knows he can’t actually get you pregnant, but the prospect of breeding you is attractive nonetheless, and so he’ll try to finish every time plugging you up, letting out that half-gasp half-moan as he rides out his high. He’s so insistent on finishing inside that when you’re using your mouth or hand on him, he’ll pull away at the last moment, hands moving faster than you can keep up with as he pins you down, spreading your legs and nudging his tip into you, letting out a shuddering groan as he lets go just in time, cum flooding your cunt while you stare in shock at just how quickly he’d manhandled you. It’s a preference, sure, but with the way he start muttering under his breath ‘m gonna come inside, let me come inside, need to come inside over and over, it feels more like some sort of carnal need rather than a mere enjoyment.

Akaza’s favorite way for you to touch his cock is when he’s got you folded in half, pretty body bent into the tightest mating press you’ve ever experienced. He likes the intimacy of the position; he can press every inch of his body against yours, making sure that he’s the only thing you can feel, see, hear, and taste.  And god, the way your cunt feels makes him lose his fucking mind. You’re so tight like this – the angle making your walls clamp down on him even harder than normal, his tip brushing against that sensitive spot inside you again and again, the way your walls clench onto him like a vice only serving to push his hips faster, his thrusts getting harder and more animalistic. He likes that he can get as deep as possible in this position – he can press in so tightly that his balls are flush with the curve of your ass, every inch of himself buried inside of you, the feeling of your warmth and wetness surrounding him and making him grit his teeth in pleasure. He has a penchant for watching himself in this position – watching the way his cock appears and disappears inside of you, the ring of white sitting at the base making his balls clench. Seeing the way your cunt stretches for him makes him giddy, the sense of possessiveness he feels over you only growing with each thrust. He just likes the way you feel in this position – and how incredibly responsive you are when he finds that perfect angle, feeling you clench down and beg for him, almost as if you love him.

It’s just the slightest bit crooked, like it somehow got broken and didn’t quite heal right. It’s something that Gyutaro is initially embarrassed about, worried that you’ll think it’s strange or unappealing or – worst of all – painful, but he’ relieved to find out that it actually managed to fit inside of you perfectly, snugly rubbing against the sensitive parts of your cunt that leave you gasping his name and begging for more. The same spotted birthmarks decorate the length, sitting so prettily against his tan skin. The spots are more sensitive than the skin around them, and if you run a finger along them he’ll shiver a bit, teeth gnawing together as he stops himself from whining out again, please please please! It’s long, too – long enough to smack against his thigh a bit as he walks, the length sizable even when he’s completely flaccid. His tip is a dark, deep red-pink color, always swelling up to the size of a walnut, the skin wrinkled and sensitive and absolutely dripping in pre-cum. He produces enough that the inside of his pants have countless stains, wet splotches and patches always appearing on them every time he sees you and watches you go about your business. He’s not particularly good at keeping himself groomed, finding that the hair grows back much too quickly and unruly for shaving to be of any use, and although he’s self-concious about it at first, he eventually grows to not mind showing you his naked pelvis. The hair is dark and curly, and because there’s so much of it, the bottom half of his shaft and flushed tip are the only visible parts of him underneath the hair. His balls are extremely sensitive – any pressure or the slightest touch makes something akin to a whine fall from his lips, his hips immediately and uncontrollably jerking forward, his cock visibly throbbing in response because god, he needs to touch you so badly and won’t you just please let him fuck you? He promises he’ll be good, he’ll make you feel so good he promises he promises he promises…

He's almost comically sensitive. Having had no experience in his human years, Gyutaro finds himself painfully effected every time your fingertips brush against his skin. Even outside of his cock, he’s able to get shivers and grow aroused just from you touching his hands, brushing past his side, even feeling your breath against his cheek as you kiss him. He gets hard embaressingly easily, and he absolutely cannot hide it. The obvious tent in his pants is already difficult enough to conceal, but the way his entire body flushes red and he starts panting like some sort of dog makes it obvious what’s going on. And once you’ve got him nude before you, that sensitivity doesn’t go away – he’s shuddering the first time you wrap your fist around him, licking at his lips in nerves and excitement because god you feel better than his own bony hand. He’s like putty in your hands every time you touch his cock, really – he gets hazy, like a fog’s lifted over his brain, and all he can do is mindlessly reach out and grope you, to fuck into you and kiss and lick at you like a man possessed. Consequently, he doesn’t last very long – his orgasms are quick, and he has very little warning before they’re suddenly upon them. He has the decency to warn you, at least, a slurred and rushed ‘m c-coming falling past his lips as his eyes go wide, your name like a mantra as he shakes and spasms. He’s loud when he’s orgasming, nearly incoherent as the pleasure overwhelms him, but you’ll always be able to make out the vague sound of your name and what sounds like ‘thank you’. His cum is thin, almost watery, making it an absolute nightmare to clean up because it gets everywhere. Luckily, Gyutaro has a penchant for coming inside of you and down your throat -  although the taste is rather bitter and makes you gag. But every time he pulls out and sees the white ooze out of your pretty, clenching hole, he can only gulp, already growing hard again and practically begging you to give him another round.

His favorite way for you to touch him is simply letting you grind on him. He knows he’s the one in control in your relationship, but there’s something so freeing and wonderful about giving up his power, about letting you take care of him and treat him so gently and sweetly that makes his heart race. He likes when he’s laying flat on his back, eyes staring transfixed up at you straddling his lap. He likes the way you look on top of him, the feeling of your thighs caging around his hips, and the pressure of your weight against his cock makes him gulp. He likes when you move in slow, sensual circles, the sway of your hips and the warmth of your cunt seeping through the thin layer of your panties against his cock. He likes when you keep a consistent rhythm, letting the pleasure build up and up, only for you to suddenly switch to grinding back and forth right as he’s on the edge, the change making him groan and arch his back ever so slightly. He likes giving you control, and the way you’re able to dictate the pressure against his cock keeps him guessing and keeps his pleasure ebbing and flowing – keeping him from orgasming much too quickly. He particularly likes when you’re grinding against him while he’s fully nude and you only have a measly pair of panties on – something about the skimpiness and the slight taboo gets him hot under the collar, balls clenching and unclenching against your ass as he watches the way the mix of his pre-cum and your slick wets the fabric of the panties. He just likes the intimacy of the moment, and if you were to reach down and play with his tip as you hips move and scoop? Well, you won’t be mad if he soils the pretty fabric of your panties, right? Don’t worry about washing them – he’ll keep them, and take care of it for you. Just give him a few days.

[carolmunson]

blood machine.

emperor geta x senator's daughter!reader songspiration: in keeping secrets of the silent earth 3 | coheed & cambria

did not once plan to write for this guy but here we are. also like, is it historically accurate? no. like, not even a little. (hell is mentioned and technically hell wasn't 'a place' until 400 BC but like WHATEVER.) am i making a semi effort? sorta kinda. have i been a little stoned every time i've worked on this? well, yes.

summary: when what was supposed to be a diplomatic dinner before a much bigger and lively feast becomes a marriage offer, all of the wine you drank turns to ash in your mouth. haters to haters, bay-bee. tw: 18+, drinking but like -- idk it's ancient rome, tension, fighting, some mild body shaming (??), a literal threat of domestic violence but again it's ancient rome so like i don't think they cared, two stupid little bitches who hate each other. mentions of war and ultimate distaste for the poor. reader kind of has lady macbeth vibes. my little evil queen.

Wine is poured, golden chalices exalted. You are a vision and he is a toad looking creature of a man that only his mother could love. Not quite his brother, never quite measuring up the same way -- always trying to puff his chest. It was easy to tease him, ego easy to bruise -- little brother. You’d spent time in your childhood tagging along with your brother and the other kids to taunt him, pathetic and whimpering. 'Tale teller!' you'd jeer, every time he'd run off to his mother to blubber over how mean you all were. And you were mean.

But people grow, as they do. And so did you -- still mean, but in a different way. Listening to meetings, reading maps, keeping tabs on new republics, on potential uprising. The poor -- the fucking poor. Finding new ways to keep them occupied so that they'd stop trying to find ways to be powerful. Powerful like you. Powerful like the man at the head of the table with a plum to his lips. And as it has been said, a man in possession of a good fortune and power, must be in need of a wife. It became clear when you arrived that this was not a business dinner before a grand feast, your parents simply forgot to mention what this was really about. Your best linens, your hair coiffed, your best jewelry, you should have known it had been a ruse the moment you got there. His home on Palatine just sparkling the way the gold on your fingers did, candles in the halls and stairways glittering when they hit the rubies and pearls on your chest and ears. When your father veers the conversation from politics and business to marriage you both choke, stern eyes glued to your mother's painted face. A business dinner where you are currency -- more than worthy. Just a few months shy of being eligible when Caracalla was, regrettably, forced to marry Flavia at the last moment. It would've been nice to have the gang together again in some capacity. Could've bullied the toad to assasinating himself if you were lucky enough. Total power. Complete upheaval. The more you thought about it, the more of it your craved. The pit in your stomach grew, if it wasn't with his brother -- even though you bore no attraction -- there was not a point at all. Geta didn't think nearly as critically, didn't hit hard enough, didn't strategize correctly. You'd never even seen him pick up a sword -- but then again, that made sense. You very rarely spent time in his palace, much prefering the festivities of Caracalla's close by.

You listen while your mother goes on and on about his grace, tongue dipped in honey while she blabbers. She mentions how handsome he is, his valiance in leadership, how honorable he's become as he's taken the place of his late father -- you can't help yourself but laugh. The giggle echos and bounces through the high ceilings, floating against the archways, getting caught in the drapery by the open hall. His eyes flick to you over his goblet, catching in the candle light, an aggravated sneer plaguing his face. He looks like a pig when he does that, you think to yourself.

You know that business, for the most part, is a man's game. But it does not deter you from doing your best to try and wager yourself out of this. Ideas drip into your mind while the drone of the conversation turns to fuzz in the background. How can you sell that this is a bad idea? It will bring less publicity, less of a threat, less resposibility if married to someone with equal nobility. Certainly not an emperor. Especially not one like this. So petulant, so competitive, so eager for a war he does not know how to plan, so temperamental, so weak, so conniving, so consumed with the colosseum that he doesn't think of what should be done around him. It's his voice that brings you back to attention.

"And why is it she hasn't been taken for a wife then, at this age?" he asks, brow quirking in your direction. You let out of huff of offense while he sips his wine, metal clinking as he places it back down. A smirk flits across his features at the remark, "Is something wrong with her?"

Your father, sweating with embarrassment, looks over at you and back at the emperor, "Well she, she's of course beautiful." Geta winces, cocking his head to the side with a shrug. Your father sighs, desperate to try to find a better angle, "She um, she -- she has great wits, Ceasar, unmatched. She knows her duties as a wife, but -- a great thinker. She could -- she could be helpful!" "Wits," he mumbles sourly under his breath before leaning back leisurely in his chair, "Great thinker? Very surprising." "August--" your father starts. "Co--" you correct over a sip of wine, "Co-Augustus."

Geta tosses you another sour look, tongue running over his teeth before clicking it behind his lips. You shrug while swallowing. "Semantics, Publius," you wave a hand at him. A hush falls over the room as his gaze snaps up at you, blanching at the disrespect of being called by his first name. Your mother hides her face in her napkin with a groan. Your father leans his temple against his fingers, eyes closed in frustration. "Mind how you address me," Geta corrects with a stern pull to his lips, eyes glittering with rage. Your eyes catch over the mountains of food before you, holding your glass out as one of his servants pours you another glass of wine. "Is that not what your mother calls you?" your voice feathery, but certain. A vein begins to raise and pulse in his neck while his shoulders round forward.

"Please apologize, dear," your mother mutters, putting the napkin back on the table, "Tell -- tell the emperor what it would mean, to be -- to be wed to someone of such calibur."

Your eyes stay on his, challenging him while your mother begs you to say something to make amends. Another sip of wine passes your lips, "No, shan't."

Your mother scolds you, your full name escaping her with embarrassment tainting her tongue. Sweat beads at your father's forehead while he changes the subject, doing aything to try to keep his good favor with both sides of the imperatorship.

You grin into your goblet at the sight of Geta's face -- reddened with anger and frustration at the brazen disrespect. But it was fine to continue to be an enemy if it meant you would leave these regal walls and never have to step foot in them again. And if you did, it would be as another senator's wife, visiting his brother in another house where you'll laugh and drink wine and cheer when he's killed.

Even his posture is revolting, hunched over while he listens to your father speak. Now going on and on about paper work that doesn't interest you if it doesn't have a say on who is next on the list to conquer. Your eyes glaze over in boredom while pomergranate, honey pudding, and dates are placed on the table. Rose wine replaces the red to sweeten the tongue -- you're sure your parents wished it were true.

It's not very long after dessert is served that your parents start again.

"As you know, she does come from a family of very fertile women," your father encourages. You quickly swallow the bite of date you'd taken to interrupt, nearly choking, "Excuse me, I'm not sure this is appropriate dinner conversation."

Geta looks at you while you speak, scanning you and then lingering on the dessert in your hand, "Her hips are quite sizeable -- big enough to bear multiple childen, that's certain. Is that her only sell?"

Anger bubbles under your chest, but warning looks from both of your parents keeps your sharp tongue between your lips. The grip on your goblet tightens, jaw clenching while your pass another sip through gritted teeth. You let a seething breath out through your nose. "As I tried to explain before," your father continues, "She is very on the pulse in terms of the political climate and, and, and great with strategy." "I'm not looking for a wife who tries to strategize for me--" he responds coolly. "From how the empire has not expanded since your father's death I would guess that perhaps you should be," you snap back smartly. His posture straightens, chains and medallions across his chest glinting in the candle light. The room quiets itself again, only the sound of untensils and cups being put down or collected filling the dead air. The soft scrape of metal, the rustle of linens while servants and guards alike avert their gaze downward.

"Leave us," he states, voice pungent with authority. You stretch your neck on both sides while the servants depart, already bored with the back and forth. Already moved on from the eventual scolding and potential exile that won't get put into motion because you are simply too friendly with the rest of the upcoming generals and politicians. One rogue idiot who barely has the power his brother has, that his father never trained into him, could not dole a punishment that is worth your genuine fear.

You sigh, hearing the staff make their way down the long stone corridors into the grand halls to prepare for a more formal party with other higher status families. More likely a collection of offerings for him to choose from, other parents trying to arrange a marriage with the empire's most powerful and eligible bachelor. It would be one of the few times the brothers would have to engage with each other, which you're sure put Geta more on edge than normal.

"Senator, please take your wife to the grand hall to be seated," he commands, his voice lower, delving darker. The vein in his neck continues to pulse, forearms straining against the golden cuffs over his wrists, "The guards will accompany you."

You watch as your parents rise, bowing their heads before following the guards out of the room and through the blood red drapery hung from gilded valances. Geta's eyes stay hardened on you, and yours him, while you rise as well, taking a few steps around the large wooden table toward the exit. "Not you," he says, not turning to face you, "You will stay." "It is not appropriate for me to be unaccopanied in the pres--" "Do not speak," he huffs, hand coming up to silence you, "Your voice grates on me." "Then you can imagine what your own voice does, Augustus," you say without thinking, letting the insults flow out of you like the fountain water in the courtyards. He pushes away from the table, steadily walking towards you with enough vigor that the bottom of his cape starts to billow behind him. On his way, he pulls a sword from a guard's holster, dragging it so the tip grinds against the stone, making your jaw clench at the shrill sound.

"What happens to those who speak against me?" he asks, steps clicking against the floor from the studs on the bottom of his sandals. He begins to stalk around you, circling while he waits for an answer. "Execution," you respond, keeping your eyes on the drapery just twenty feet ahead of you. "What else?" he asks, you can feel his breath behind you, the whining grind of the sword against the stone making your shoulders tense. "Exile," you answer, a laugh bubbling out of you, "But I can't imagine your brother agreeing to either of those. You'd really banish me, Publius? Because I was a little mean to you?" When he appears in front of you again, your lips stretch into a sickeningly sweet smile, sarcasm staining your tone, "But we're such old friends."

He cocks his head to the side, taking a step closer with the sword between you, "Oh, I wouldn't do that to you."

He leans forward, enough that you can smell the rose wine on his breath. His voice quiet and menacing, "Though -- it could be that the senator said something to offend me tonight at dinner. It could be that perhaps he -- spoke poorly of my dear brother or my late father. Something just dastardly enough to sour my brother's respect for him." "And you expect Caracalla to believe that?" "In what way does it benefit me to lie about it?" he challenges, "And even more so -- with your father exiled, where does that leave you?"

You swallow thickly, not giving him the satisfaction of replying while your look into his now wild brown eyes. Flashing with mania and endless possibility.

"A peasant," he spits.

"If it keeps me out of these halls I should be lucky, no?" you fire back, looking at him from under furrow brows. He continues to circle you, dragging the sword again. The click, click, click of his shoes keeping time in your head. "I'm sure my brother would be happy to keep you as a pet in the meantime," he laughs to himself, "Or we could put you in the colosseum, you think you'd fare well?" "Better than you could, that's certain," you cross your arms over your chest, "Could never stand up and fight like a man, even as a kid. Your father would be embarrassed."

The grinding gets louder as he presses harder down, causing small sparks to fly from the edge of the sword.

"If you were to be chosen, would ever even attempt to learn respect?" he asks sharply, "Or would it have to be beaten into you?" You snort, "At least you're the funnier brother, you have that going for you." You can see him out of your periphery, the way he pulls his cheeks in, the roll of his shoulders -- he's losing patience. "What, would you prefer I called you Geta? Augustus? Ceasar?" your eyes roll. A soft cackle comes from his through, canines showing in a gleeful smile, "No, no -- from you? I'd much prefer something more respectful." Click, click, click. The grind of the sword. The rose on his breath. "Dominus," he nods with the threat, "Dominus et Deus."

"You disgust me," you respond quickly. "As a husband and as emperor is that not my title, already?" he shrugs, looking at you like it's obvious.

"You are nobodies Lord and God, you are a petulant -- sniveling -- repulsive little brother who is only where he is by being lucky to be born," you glower.

"You still see me as a child, femina," he tuts, "I promise you, what ever Caracalla has told you is a tapestry of made up stories. You could hang it on the tallest arch and it would hit the floor ten times over."

"I do see just a whining child before me," you hiss, "I'm sure you'll run to your mother after this, too."

His chuckle turns to a low, dark laugh from deep in his chest. It crawls up your spine and rings in your ears, mixing with the grating 'shhhhhhinnnngggg' of the sword on the ground.

"If it were fate that there was union between us," he asks from behind you, "What would you say to that?"

You look straight ahead, hearing the click of his shoes. The heat of the torches on the walls billowing onto your face while you keep your eyes on the drapery, still closed -- still keeping you here.

"It would be a fate worse than the hottest hell," you confess, your voice not wavering.

The whine of the sword stops, sheathed into his belt. The click of his shoes halts.

Quiet.

Rose wine on his breath, you feel it on your skin now, his chest against your back while he closes the space between you. A hand reaches up to push the hair from your neck, the other gripping the fat of your hip to pull you ruthlessly against him in a thud. Your eyes shut, bile crawling up your throat in disgust. His nose coasts against the shell of your ear, making you tilt your head away while goosebumps rise on your arms. Through a knowing grin he whispers, the words burrowing deep in your chest in loathing and a glimmer of fear: "I pray every moment of it burns you."

[muntitled]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬

Pairing: Kylo Ren x Fem!Reader

Summary: "Kylo was nothing if not a sadist,"

Warnings: Language, WarPrisoner!Reader, Toxicity, Weaponizing Hux, Humiliation, God Complex, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Smut +18 (Minors DNIA, DEAD DOVE FIC, Dark fic, Sadism, Masochism, Inexperienced!Kylo, Ownership Kink, Dry humping, Forced sex, Spitting, CNC, Dubious Consent, Massive Degradation Kink, Inappropriate Use of Force, Choking Kink, Size Kink, Impact Play, Groping, Breast Play, Premature Orgasm, Controlled Orgasm, Dom/Sub themes, Dom!Kylo, Sub!Reader, Brat Tamer!Kylo,;Bratty!Reader, Slight!Exhibition Kink, Humiliation Kink, Inappropriate Mind Reading, Overstimulation, Dirty Talk, Mentions of Rape, Fingering, Rough Sex, Dacryphilia, Gagging, Subspace.

Do not read this if you're incredibly sensitive to violent imagery. If this doesn't make sense don't say anything or i'll cry <3

As Hux walks diligently ahead of you, you could not tell by his tense shoulders and his palms clasped behind his back that he was following the duties of a madman.

While he escorts you, Hux thinks back to his slip-up with Ren.

The way he shouldn't have mentioned your name in a comprehensive report about the overall running of the Starkiller. The way he should've known how dangerous Kylo is when it comes to anyone taking even the vaguest of interest in playing with his toys.

"Despite having the accolades of an established pilot for the resistance," Hux had said moments earlier when Kylo was pacing up and down his private chamber, "Your prisoner refuses to put any of her skills to use aboard the Starkiller. She's essentially useless dark matter," He uttered his words rather clumsily. As if forgetting he was reporting to a beastly excuse of a man.

Hux only realises his mistake when Kylo stops his various pacing to turn slightly. His unmasked head tilts to the side as he advances on Hux in a low, large gait. Everything about the boy being so unnaturally large.

"My prisoner?" He steps closer, "Or the First Order's?"

Kylo's laugh appears unnatural without the mask. Not any less intimidating but certainly, frighteningly human.

"You act as if my will is not synonymous with that of the First Order, general," Kylo's blood runs fucking cold at the thought, "You insinuate that I keep her here out of my own free will,"

"Well, we all know how much a boy fancies his toys," Hux's degradation causes Kylo's Adam's apple to bob and a deep frown settles over the boy’s face. Whatever weakness Hux was accusing him of, it rattled the foundations of his already fragile ego and Hux smirked.

"Go tell her I wanna see her," the first command left Kylo's lips in a fairly controlled and monotonous manner. The second however... "FUCKING NOW!"

Robotic inclination bleeds from the mask of the stormtroopers “Yes Sir-”

Without sparing the stormtroopers so much as a single glance, Kylo spat, "Not you, fucking degenerates," Kylo stares Hux down as he steps towards him. His voice is ice cold. "I want you to summon her," he takes immense pleasure in the way Hux's smile drops.

Kylo has observed the glances Hux throws your way and it makes his fucking stomach turn. He's seen the uncomfortable leering and the lecherous thoughts. Kylo was nothing if not a sadist. Humiliating Hux using the object of his desires.

He wants you and that makes Kylo want you even more... Violently so

"Where are you taking me?"

You could feel the rest of the crew watching your every movement as you trailed behind General Hux like you were compelled to do so by some unseen leather leash. You cannot help but feel as though you have done something very bad and very naughty.

You try to rid yourself of these thoughts immediately.

Perhaps he was taking you to see the vermin underneath the mask.

That thought should not sprout such a deep desire within you. Kylo was your captor and yet, he fascinated you more than anything ever could.

"At least slow the fuck down," You breath out, trying by all means to evade all eye contact with curious onlookers.While you walk you try to keep your head high and appear unaffected by their piercing glares. Every stormtrooper, navigator, pilot- even down to the measly technicians all keep their eyes trained on you and you glare back. Leering your head forward with narrowed eyes because being held captive on the Starkiller was punishment enough. You would never allow yourself to be intimidated by the judgemental stares.

"Do you ever plan on disclosing our destina-"

You're interrupted by a sharp and loud hiss before two doors part. Your eyebrows furrow before you're dragged into the chamber, quite literally against your will. You did not wish to get acquainted with any more rooms on the Starkiller. Hoping that one of your comrades in the resistance might have saved you long before you ever had to make this ship your dwelling place. But you've only crawled deeper into the Starkiller's core and you find yourself here, standing before him in his black cowl with his hands clasped behind his back.

The room is as lifeless as the rest of the vessel. The bed, colourless and hard. The only signs of vibrance is the east window depicting a slab of stars in hyperspace.

"I am told you've made yourself fiercely unlikable in the flight deck.” Kylo says, completely ignoring your slightly shocked experience at seeing him without his helmet.

“That's what this is then?” You turn briefly to make eye contact with Hux before turning to Kylo with one arched brow, “I'm being scolded now?”

“You're insolent when given any orders,” he oaces before you while Hux stands behind you by the door, “You disobey at every given turn and you're resistant. Vexingly so.”

“How clever of you, it seems as though you'd only just discovered a key characteristic from a member of the resistance.” You say with a smirk, “Clever, Clever boy."

“It's that mouth of yours that's gonna get your head slain from your very shoulders.” Kylo advances you like a midnight storm and you fight to stand your ground.

“I have grown terribly bored of this place,” You say, “Perhaps even death might be more eventful then whatever you are, Kylo.”

Before Hux is able to make his escape Kylo grabs at your throat, encircling his hand around your skin like a vice until he is forcing you to look at Hux ahead of you.

"This is what you want?" He isn't speaking to you but to Hux, pushing your cheeks together in a painful display of humiliation. "This is what's been plaguing that mind of yours-"

"I've no time for this-"

The very last thing Hux is able to see before he leaves Kylo's quarters, is your frightened eyes and Kylo looming behind you. A mere mouse being imprisoned by a God.

You make the mistake of thinking that Hux's absence might soften Kylo's resolve, but your time as his captive should have let you know that there was nothing soft about this man. Nothing at all.

"You should be grateful, you know that?" His lips graze your head and you're suddenly hyper aware of his proximity.

You're hyper aware of the closed metal doors that were probably being guarded by a pair of heavily armed stormtroopers. There is no escaping the clutches of this monster behind you.

And yet; you still find yourself scoffing, "I should be grateful?" You ask, hoping to assimilate every shred of confidence you had left, "I should be grateful to be your prisoner-" you wince when his grip on your jaw tightens and he's wrenching your face until you're craning your neck backwards to face him.

Large, looming, and completely fucking livid.

"You should be grateful that you're still fucking breathing, you brat-"

And then, a very strange thing occurs.

Since the moment Kylo had wrangled you off your home planet, you had sworn to be nothing but defiant. In honour of everything you stood for, you would never let him see you weak and yet here you are, carelessly allowing the faintest of whimpers to slip through quivering lips.

The sound confuses Kylo initially. In fact, he cranes your head back further, not caring whether you were comfortable or not as he bends down, appearing to inspect your mouth for that peculiar sound further. He squeezes your cheeks lightly, prodding the round tissues of fat as if fervently trying to search for whatever button might allow for that little sound to spill from your lips again.

"How completely and utterly curious-"

"You're fucking hurting my neck-" the fire returns and with it, comes your will to wrench your face out of his grip. You're only able to get free because he lets you and you know this.

"What..." Kylo bends even lower towards you and you turn your head to face the blank wall ahead of you. Evading eye contact with this man was nothing if not crucial. "What was that sound you just made-"

"It appears as though hearing nothing but the cries of utter doom and damnation has defamiliarized you to the sound of pleasure, Ren-"

Your breath is wiped clean from your throat not even a second later when you steal a look downwards at a gloved hand interlocking itself around your throat once more. Seemingly his favourite place.

"All the praises that could fall from your mouth..." Kylo drawls before pressing himself firmly against your backside, "All that you could say to worship the hand that feeds you and you still choose to be insolent-"

You try to escape his death grip but he doesn't let you out this time around. All you can do is be thankful that he had the decency to allow you to breathe.

"That's all you fucking know how to do right," Kylo's lips are at your ear and your knees buckle. "Insolence. Insolence. Insolence." Your legs give out, but before you're able to topple to the ground in a puddle of your own lustful perversions, his other hand curls around your waist, keeping you firmly pressed against his front.

“Today's the day you fucking obey," he whispers, "Understand?"

"I-I-”

Kylo is not sure how he does it, or why he does it, or where he got the understanding to do it, but his hand makes its very slow descent from your collarbone, to the spot right above your pillowy breasts. Clad in nothing but your knee length tunic, a garment stitched with fibres indigenous to your homeplanet, you suddenly feel incredibly naked and incredibly exposed. What was once an act of rebellion, is now your undoing.

"There is a way to make you disobey isn't there?" You can hear him becoming excited. "Every cattle has their price. What's yours?" Before you're able to turn and possibly beg for some sort of mercy, he's already in there. The stuff Kylo sees digging around in your mind, is enough to have him staring off into hyperspace. His eyes are trained on nothing at all as he rapes your most memories and most private desires. All while drawing you impossibly closer, until his mouth was buried in your hair and his hand was closing around your left breast. You squirm underneath him until finally, he's released from your stupor.

You did not dare turn around to look at him, in fear of seeing his dark eyes dilated with enlightenment.

"How barbaric." He whispers. "That's what I have to do in order to get you to listen to me,"

"I-I don't know what you're-"

"Open your mouth." Before you're ever able to interject even a single word, Kylo's hand is digging into the skin of your jaw, "Do I have to do it for you- open your mouth-" He wrenches your mouth open and cranes your neck back once more.

"That's it," You're absolutely frightened to see the violence that has darkened those irises. This is the look that's shielded behind the mask during times of battle. This is that look no one got to see.

Yet here you were.

"You're so fucking filthy, you know that?" You're nodding before your brain is aware of it, "You're a filthy, perverted little creature," one by one, your inhibitions slipped away from you until you could feel yourself become completely and utterly dumb for him. Your mind becomes a tabula rasa as Kylo bends his heavy frame downwards, spitting directly into your open mouth. There it is. That whimper he wanted to hear so badly.

You're not even aware of his hand reaching around your front until he's parting your legs with determination. "Is this where you want me?" Your mouth hangs open and you look up at him glassy doe eyes as he cups your drenched heat. Kylo locks his full lips and presses his front impossibly closer to your backside. "This whole time I've needed to get you in line, and the answers been here this whole fucking time?" A gloved hand swipes your underwear to the side and the wind is completely knocked out of you when Kylo pushes his fingers in immediately. He fucks his fingers into you with zero restraint and zero preparation, and the roughness has your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your skull as you grow limp in his grip. Lucky for you he's so large, lucky for you he might as well be a stone wall behind you, letting you lean against him with your long legs spread wide for his absolute assault.

"Look at me." He says, holding you against him by your throat while his index and middle finger violate your soaking cunt. Despite his orders you're still a drunken, blundering mess with half lidded eyes, promising to keep you locked away in your pleasure.

"If you don't fucking look at me, I'll stop and you'll suffer." He squeezes your clit quite painfully, immediately bringing you out of hedonistic stupor-

"FUCK- WHAT THE FUCK-"

"Do you want me to stop?" He asks, with a note of cockiness that had your brows furrowing.

"Are you stupid?! Of course I don-" before the curse could even escape your mouth in its entirety, Kylo's blocking out your airways. You fight to scratch at his gloved grip around your throat but his grip is fucking metallic.

"Look at how docile you look when you're not running your mouth,"

Your insides were screaming for oxygen, yet your hips rut against his hand. Kylo slyly adds a third finger inside your slippery cunt. "What a whore," he whispers, causing you to fuck forward against his hand, nearly humping yourself to completion as the blood flow to your brain seems to stop completely. You need oxygen and you need to cum. You just don't know which you need more.

"You're nothing but fucking filth-"

Your mouth opens to let a moan escape but it never does, and Kylo watches your struggle with a pained expression of his own.

"F-Fuck, I've never seen anything so vile-"

You were slipping. Whether it was into unconsciousness or an orgasm you couldn't tell. "If you pass out I will fuck you," he whispers, "There's not fucking escaping me-"

And in that very moment, Kylo unlocks the invisible grip on your airways and suddenly you can breathe and cum. Almost immediately you're slipping into a violent, damn near supernatural orgasm that has you seeing every star in the known galaxy.

"F-FUCK- oh my-" You're rutting against his hand, tongue lolling out all while Kylo continues to fuck his fingers into your cunt.

"That's it," He whispers, "Cum for me, you useless fucking whore-" Every vile sliver of degradation causes a fresh wave of pleasure to roll through you until the first droplets of tears are rolling down your cheek.

"Don't fucking do that," he whispers, pulling you closer than ever, "Don't fucking do that unless you want me to fuck you right now-"

He watches the tears roll down your face and absolutely loses it. Now suddenly aware of his own cock aching in his pants.

"K-Kylo please-" You try to push his hand out of you but to no avail. "It's too much-"

But his eyes are shut, and your body is overcome by wave after wave of electrifying shivers. The pleasure quickly bleeds into the pain of being so heavily overstimulated but Kylo is lost in his own world now. He clutches you impossibly closer, mumering obscenities into your hair as he ruts against your ass and you fucking pray for it to be over. Your pussy is fucking spent and yet he's still keeping his hand there, as if driven by his own need to cum.

"You stupid fucking slut- look what you made me do-" He's rutting against your ass, eyes squeezed shut as his hips stutter, "F-Fuck-" the whimper that breaks his voice is utterly intoxicating and you find yourself slipping into another dry orgasm as Kylo pushes against you, cumming in his pants with various expletives falling from his pillowy lips. When your orgasm falls you beg him to let go of you and when he does, you topple to the floor.

Never in your life have you felt so weak. So spent. So utterly used.

Kylo does not spare you a glance when he turns around. "This is where you will reside from now on," he says with finality. Careful to let his voice relay how utterly broken he feels. Just as broken as you.

[dearsnow]

SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT (WITH YOUR FISTS FOR ONCE)

- you and bradley had always been attached at the hip until life pulled him away. when you’re finally living in the same place again, your unspoken feelings come to the surface during a san diego bonfire. (bradley “rooster” bradshaw x gn!reader, reader is characterized as someone who doesn’t like much attention, jealousyyyyyyyyy, pining & arguments but fluff at the end, ⚠️ mentions of alcohol / weed)

word count: 2,500

a/n - it’s so entertaining to come up with synonyms for kissing 😭 anyways, enjoy this, and listen to american teenager by ethel cain. oh and i was also so tempted to make the girl mickey in a wig, but i held back.

Bradley Bradshaw likes you. He’d go as far as to say he loves you, if he was being honest. He’s never said it, though, not in that way.

When you first met, he was pulled to you like a magnet. It was preschool, and he never left your side. He made macaroni portraits of you and you crafted tiny little friendship bracelets for him. Neither of you could speak well, or write well, but you stuck together anyways.

Your first written words were each other’s names.

Everything snowballed from there, but he couldn’t say he was mad at it.

You were so entirely different, but that’s what made it good, in his opinion. He always needed eyes on him, not for any pretentious ego-boosting reasons, but because it made him thrive. You tended to hide in the shadows. When you gave your eyes to him, and him to you, it was like the most natural thing in the world.

He was the classic class clown type all throughout middle and high school, with a football jersey and everything. When you came to his games, he swore he played a million times better, and you were happy to indulge in his superstition.

You like him, too. You’d go as far as to say you love him, if you’re being honest. You might’ve said it if he hadn’t been so clearly your platonic life partner. You would follow him, as toddlers, with his shirt edge balled in your small fist. You tried to draw him more times than you could count, but it always looked wrong, like you couldn’t really capture the life that he held so deeply in his eyes. You even considered joining the cheerleading squad for him, but you would’ve cringed under the gaze of the crowd.

When he left for the navy, and for college, and for anything after that, you wished you could bounce across the United States with him. Instead, you wrote him letters; copious amounts of them.

One thing that you both never dared to cross was the bounds of friendship. He would hold your hand, his thumb smoothing over the side of your fist, and there was nothing romantic about it. God, you wished it was, though.

Now that you’ve moved to San Diego, following him one last time, you beg whatever makes the rules to break them just once.

You walk up behind a broad-shouldered man you barely recognize and tap him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I seem to be lost. Could you direct me to a man named Bradley? I believe his call sign is something silly, like ‘duck’.”

He whips around, sunglasses and mustache entirely new to you. He speaks your name in a breathy whisper, like he’s afraid his words will break if he says them too loud. “You’re here? Like actually?”

You’ve barely replied before you’re wrapped in a hug, feet lifted off the ground and body spun around so many times you think you might be sick. “Geez, Brad, put me down!”

He sets you down gently, holding out an arm for stability as you collect your bearings. “Sorry, sorry. I just can’t believe I’m seeing your face after all this time.” You’re even more breathtaking than he remembers.

San Diego has done him well, you reckon. His gold-tinted skin holds a deeper sense of warmth, now, even though he has always run hot. “You better get used to it. I have a fancy new apartment now, so I’m here to stay.”

His face holds a beaming grin, and the whole world falls away. “Thank god, I was beginning to think I’d be stuck here with just my coworkers.” He doesn’t even notice how you look at him with lovesick eyes.

After two months of San Diego, you say the one thing you thought you would never say: “I’m so sick of the sun.”

It’s midday, and you’re prepping for a Fourth of July bonfire party on the beach. The sun is beating down on your back, forcing you to scamper into the ocean every once in a while. Bradley is right beside you, wheeling yet another cooler onto the sand. “If I wasn’t worried about our shit being stolen, I’d suggest we abandon it and let Jake do all the work.”

You laugh. Jake was the one who suggested the whole bonfire, but, of course, he was “too busy” to help set up. You don’t mind doing the work. If it was an opportunity for you to be beside Bradley, you’d do anything. You’d even brave the burning ball of gas in the sky.

As you work, the sun disappears quickly.

By this point, after over two decades of friendship, you’ve lost a bit of that hope that pushed you to follow Brad in the first place. You know he’s attractive, and every woman in the world seems to know it too. What you didn’t know is that you’re pretty damn attractive too. As you’ve told yourself, you prefer to keep the attention off of you.

So, as the sun’s last dying rays scatter over the cooling sand, you pretend not to notice the women ogling your best friend.

The bonfire is great. Amazing, even. The flames reach high into the sky and the smell of smoke permeates the air; everything is cast in this sort of hazy glow, highlighting tanned skin and bright swimsuits. There’s also a woman chatting up Bradley, touching his arm flirtatiously, but you push that to the back of your mind. Instead, you’re focused on the guy in front of you, even when her giggle sends a ball of spikes into your heart.

He’s tall, a little on the skinny side, with tousled black hair and a puka shell necklace. Sand clings to his sandaled feet. He hands you a beer, which you tell yourself you won’t drink much of. You’ve already had a bit too much.

“So, know anyone here?” He asks. He’s eyeing you with a certain ferocity that you don’t notice, his gaze raking up and down your body.

You pop the can open and take a small sip. “Yeah. I know Bradshaw, and the rest by association.” You gesture to Jake and Natasha, who are arguing over a beach volleyball. You almost smile at the way she jabs him in the ribs, making him double over just enough for her to steal what’s so carefully held in his hands. The guy nods.

“I don’t. I’m here for the vibes, y’know?” He takes a step closer, and you notice he smells like smoke and something deeper, like perfumed weed. “And the pretty people.”

You shift in your place. “Have you found what you’re looking for?” You’re almost teasing now, completely missing the hunger in the way he licks his lips. Maybe you’re a little drunk, or maybe you’re just enjoying how someone seems to be giving you the longing looks you so sorely crave. It’s one night, you figure. You won’t ever see him again. What’s wrong with a little good-natured flirting?

“Absolutely.” He murmurs, reaching forward. His hand connects with the back of your neck, his breath cascading over your face, and your eyes flutter shut— before you’re yanked backwards by an arm around your waist.

You stumble. “What the hell?” You curse, colliding with a hard, warm chest. You drop your beer in the sand as you fall back. It’s Bradley, and he looks furious. “Brad, are you kidding me?”

“Come here.” His voice is lethally quiet and sharp as a knife. Your mind is reeling as you follow him a few paces closer to the fire, but a hot pool of anger sits in your stomach.

“Are you being serious right now? What in the world were you thinking?” You hiss. You look up at his tight-lipped face, utterly stoic in the light behind him.

“I’m not letting you kiss that piece of shit.”

“Who are you to decide who I kiss?” You’re so, so mad. So mad you could punch someone, but that would probably hurt you more than the person your fist connects with. Bradley just intervened in the one thing you thought he would never intervene in. You’ve let him swap spit with girls you’ve never seen before, and now he’s over here acting like you kissing one guy is the epitome of nastiness?

He scoffs. “You didn’t even notice, did you? That he was eyeing you like a piece of meat? God, he reeks of weed and swamp ass, too. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I could have the once in a lifetime opportunity to make out with a perfectly attractive guy without someone interrupting.” Your arms are crossed, but you feel a lump forming in your throat. In your mind, that really was a once in a lifetime opportunity. It’s not like you go out of your way to meet people, and the people you’ve met have never even slyly complimented you. You’re not the type that gets dates or drinks sent your way or anything more than platonic. Currently, platonic is staring you in the face with the rage of a thousand suns behind his eyes.

“Make out with Bob or Nat, I don’t care. At least they won’t undress you with their fuckboy blue eyes. Even Bagman is a better choice.”

“You don’t get to decide those things— friends don’t get to decide those things. I mean, I didn’t throw a hissy fit when you were openly flirting with that girl.” In the back of your mind, you know he’s right. You know that your stomach dropped when the guy leaned closer to you, and that your kicked-down self esteem made him out to be a whole lot more attractive than he probably (definitely) was.

Bradley runs a hand through his already slightly messy hair, sighing like he’s regretting ever hitting you with a sand pail in preschool. “I at least get to decide when to save you from creeps and when to leave your love life alone. Trust me, you were in more danger than I ever was.”

“I reiterate, friends don’t get to decide those things.” He can see the insecurity swimming in your beautiful eyes. Yeah, you’re definitely at least somewhat drunk. You’d never argue with him like this if you weren’t. You’re also more than a little mad, and disgusted with yourself, and disappointed with your lack of charisma, and so jealous of the girl he probably tangled tongues with.

“What do I have to be, then, to get it through your thick skull? You know I love you. I’m just looking out for you.” His voice is softer, now, and sweeter, dripping from his mustache like honey.

He reaches out, and you cringe away. Love. It’s a word unspoken, one that’s been lingering on your mind since the day in seventh grade when he suddenly became attractive to you. Like most things, you assume it’s friendly. “Do you really love me if this is what you’re pulling? Say it like you mean it, Bradshaw.”

“I love you.” He states, taking your hands in his. This time, as you try to pull yourself from his grip, he holds on. “I love you.” He says again. It holds a certain weight that gets your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. He’s firm but gentle, and he can feel the years of unspoken feelings bubbling on the tip of his tongue.

That’s when the guy from before decides to approach, sliding a hand uncomfortably down your waist. “I think you interrupted us, dude.”

Bradley drops your hands, and before the man can grab you even lower, he’s getting decked in the face.

He collapses to the ground, clutching his bleeding nose and cursing like a bitch. “Fuck you, what the fuck! Fuckin’ Navy piece of fucking shit.” You raise your hand to your mouth as he scrambles to get away. His blood leaves a scarlet trail of droplets in the sand.

“Bradley…”

“I just want you to be safe.” He mutters, like he didn’t just punch someone in the face for you. “I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way, romantically, but I can’t stand seeing you with guys that aren’t as smart or good-looking as one fraction of your pinky toe.”

You reach up to his jaw, carefully, gingerly, before pressing your lips to his.

Like a scene from a movie, Fourth of July fireworks explode behind you, not unlike the fireworks going off in your mind. He has one hand on your waist and one hand on the back of your head, and neither make you even the slightest bit uncomfortable. It’s Bradley, and he makes you feel like the safest person in the world.

Your lips are soft, so soft. Bradley can practically hear his heart pounding in his ears as his body finally takes in the moment he’s been dreaming about his entire life. When you pull away, he misses the feeling, like the lost puzzle piece of his heart was stolen as soon as it was put back.

“You think my pinky toe is smart and good-looking?” You place a hand on his bare chest, teasing. He gives you the grin you’ve come to adore.

“Every part of you is. That’s why I love you.”

“I love you too. For more than your pinky toe, of course.”

“Oh,” he says, suddenly conscious of the self-satisfied look you shoot her, “y’know that girl I was talking to?” You raise your eyebrows questioningly as he nods his head at her. She sends a little wave, in which you notice a sparkling ring on her finger. “That, my love, is Reuben’s wife.”

You feel your heart sink to your feet as the embarrassment sets in, your cheeks growing warmer than the fire. You mouth a quiet “sorry” at her and she laughs, shooing your apology away with a gentle sweep of her hand.

“Is that why you went after Mr. Broken nose?” Bradley whispers in your ear. “That’s one hell of a way to make me jealous.”

You crinkle your nose as your face flushes impossibly warmer. “Not everything has an ulterior motive, Bradshaw.”

He looks perfect in this lighting, and to him, so do you. You can hardly believe that decades of friendship and tension and wishing led to this slightly improbable moment. You’re honestly glad you almost kissed a stranger.

“Yeah, but you’d best believe I do.”

He takes your hand in his and drops to one knee. Everyone turns to look at him, but for once, the only eyes that matter are yours. “Will you do me the honor of letting me be your lawfully appointed boyfriend?” You smile so wide you think your cheeks might split. You join him in the sand, holding his face in your hands and kissing his cheek.

“You really did mean it, huh, Brad?”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Yes. It’s a definite, no-questions-asked, yes.”

[dindjarindiaries]

Damn Good Drinks

summary: An unfortunate mistake rewards you with a fortunate encounter, and this undercover soldier is nothing like you could have expected.

pairing: hunter (the bad batch) x reader

tags: meet-cute, alcohol mentions/consumption, mentions of harassment, flirting, suggestiveness, protective hunter, one (1) gratuitous steamy kiss, tech is always at the scene of the crime, pre-tcw s7

rating: T

word count: 3.556k

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

It was another rowdy crowd tonight. You really should’ve known, considering the fact that the tourist season was nearly upon your town already. With the war still raging on in the galaxy, people were flocking here by the hundreds, eager to get away from the conflict on their own homeworlds.

You heaved a sigh as you carefully balanced the tray of drinks you’d just collected from the bar. Wrestling your way through these crowds was far from your favorite thing to do, but it was better than being stuck behind the bar itself for countless hours. It was, ironically, safer this way, too. Not that you could ever fully escape the wandering eyes, comments, and even the touches, but the freedom to run or fight if necessary was a comfort nonetheless.

Pitiful little excuse mes wouldn’t do you any good out here, so you simply announced your presence by jutting your elbows and shoulders into the people you were trying to pass. You could at least finally see the table you were heading for, which was a gift in a crowd this thick, especially at such a late hour.

You were just thinking about how excited you were to finally go home for the night when you suddenly heard a commotion beside you.

“Hey, watch where’ur goin’!”

“No, you watch it!”

You rolled your eyes. There was nothing quite like a classic ego-off. Hopefully, they both lost—and hopefully, they kept you out of it.

But you should’ve known better than to think you’d actually have good luck with that.

The guy closest to you got shoved by the other, and the timing couldn’t have been worse. Caught in the crossfire, you were also shoved right into something solid, hard enough to make every drink on your tray splatter on you and whatever, or whoever, you’d run into.

Unfortunately, you were in the center of the cantina, so it couldn’t have been a wall. It had to have been a person, a patron who was most likely going to want to fight you, now.

You were about to curse the pair of egotistical maniacs out when you suddenly realized the person you’d run into was steadying you with a hand on your elbow and another on your opposite arm.

“You alright?”

You spun around to face them, but you were too distracted by the fact that nearly the entire front of their white shirt was now stained in the purple hue of one of the drinks you’d been carrying. 

You let out a worried gasp and reached from the rag you kept tucked into your pocket. “I’m so sorry, sir! Let me get that for you.” As you tried your best to dry and blot out the stain in the patron’s shirt, you couldn’t help muttering in contempt. “Kriffing boys spilling some damn good drinks over a pointless ego battle…”

You only stopped when you realized that your efforts were to no avail; this poor person’s shirt was stained for good. You let out a sigh, but the breath got caught in your throat when you blinked a few times and realized exactly what, or who, you were looking at.

You weren’t trying to ogle this man, you really weren’t, but it was hard when the first thing your eyes were stuck to was the sight of the now-transparent fabric of his sleeveless tunic clinging to perhaps the most toned set of muscles you had ever seen before in your life.

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but the more you observed, the more you were convinced that you weren’t actually being hyperbolic.

The man’s face was just as sculpted as the rest of him, though half his face was cast in the dark shadow of what looked like a giant skull tattoo, matching the one that was printed on his red bandana. That matched the scarf hung around his neck, fabric that his dark, shoulder-length hair was brushing against. He still had his hands on you, which were wrapped up to his elbows in a light-colored fabric, but the touch was soft enough to indicate that he meant no harm.

Thank the Force that the last thing you caught were his eyes, because you wouldn’t have been able to look away if you’d done that first.

“‘Damn good drinks,’ huh?” The corners of the man’s mouth started to rise as his brown gaze flickered over you. “Do they taste as good as they look on you?”

Your brow shot up at that. Maybe it was the mere fact you were attracted to him, or that you couldn’t sense any ill intent like you could with the others, but you weren’t disgusted by his advances.

No, they made the temperature in the room rise to a really dangerous height.

You returned the once-over and offered a thoughtful hum. “Maybe, but they definitely don’t taste as good as they look on you, so don’t be too disappointed.” You huffed and focused on righting the capsized cups on your tray. “Can I get you one as a token of apology?”

The man shifted slightly in front of you, and with a quick glance, you realized he was blocking you from getting hit by another shove that came from a new direction. He absorbed the movement as if it were nothing. You furrowed your brow, watching as his arms and shoulders barely flexed at the motion.

Suddenly, you were realizing that this had to be the body of a soldier. But he obviously wasn’t a droid, and he certainly didn’t look like a clone…

“You don’t owe me an apology.” He nodded, making the stray hairs that stuck out of his bandana bounce against his forehead. “Wasn’t really my brightest idea to wear a white shirt to a place like this, anyway.”

You chuckled and shrugged. “Well, thank the Force you did.” You winked and gestured with your head towards the bar. “Can I still get you that drink, anyway?”

He smiled. “Sure. I’ve got some time to kill.”

You looked down when warmth started to rush into the tips of your ears. That downward glance could only last a moment, because soon, you had to shove your way through the rowdy crowd. Amazingly, though, they started to part much more easily for you, and it only took a quick look behind you to realize why.

This man was just about shoving everyone aside and casting warning glances to anyone who dared to react to it. Even just the way he was walking screamed danger to a potential opponent.

He was definitely a soldier, but for who or what, you weren’t sure. At this point, you really didn’t care, because your heart was speaking a lot louder than your brain when it came to him.

You brought him to the furthest edge of the bar, a private enough corner where you could get behind it and make him a drink yourself. You’d still have to remake the ones you spilled, but if you were being honest, that wasn’t really your biggest priority right now. They could wait a few extra minutes.

“So…” you stole a glance up at him, “you got a name?”

He huffed and rested his wrapped forearms upon the bartop, leaning forward enough for you to hear him over the din of the rowdy patrons. “You can just call me Hunter.”

You hummed and stared more than you really had to at the cups you tossed between your hands. “Is that what you are?”

“A bounty hunter?” He scoffed. “Have I made that bad of an impression on you already?”

You laughed at that. Only someone operating under some kind of honor code would have such a strong distaste for bounty hunters. You had no doubt now that you knew what he was.

“Then what’s a soldier like you doing out here, so far away from the front lines?”

“Who says I’m a soldier?”

You stopped what you were doing and looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “I don’t know, Hunter. Maybe it’s the giant tactical pack you’ve got slung on your back, or those heavily-trained arms you’ve clearly put on display.”

A light sparkled in Hunter’s eyes as the corners of his lips rose in a subtle smirk. “You seem to know a lot about arms.”

You returned his mischievous smile. “Only because I like staring at yours.” You nodded towards his stained shirt. “You want the drink that was spilled on you, or the one that got on me?”

Hunter looked down at himself and circled his jaw. He shrugged before he lifted his head and met your gaze again. “You choose.”

You considered his words for a moment as you searched his eyes. In the lighting of the bar, they glowed more amber, which only made them even more captivating. You fought not to lose yourself within them as you ultimately nodded. “Alright.”

You focused on getting all the right ingredients together, all the while sensing the heat of his gaze on you. Fighting back another smile, you decided to question him further.

“Care to explain why you don’t look like a clone when you clearly are one?”

“So long as you tell me why your heart’s beating so fast.”

That gave you pause. He was right—your heart hadn’t stopped hammering against your chest ever since you got your first good look at him—but there was no way he would know that without feeling your pulse himself, or at least taking a strangely accurate guess.

You narrowed your eyes at him as you gripped the glass and shaker tighter in your hands. “How would you even know that?”

Hunter’s brow lifted. “Would you call me crazy if I told you that it actually answers your first question?”

You relaxed again and gave him a nod. “Fine, you’ve got my interest.” You tried to calm your racing heart, if only out of spite.

“I’m an enhanced clone. My squad and I were each given different traits that are ‘desirable’ in soldiers.”

You spared him a single glance. Thankfully, he didn’t look uncomfortable discussing this. That wasn’t your end goal, even if you did at least want to know what you were getting yourself into. “And what does that have to do with my heartbeat?”

Hunter chuckled. “Well, I’m named after my enhancement.”

As you shook the concoction inside the mixer, you pondered his words. A hunter, and a heartbeat…  and shoving people aside before they’d even come close to you…

“You’re telling me you can… hear my heartbeat?”

Hunter’s head bobbed. “In a way.” He tapped his fingers along the bartop. “Enhanced senses. My strong suit is electromagnetic frequencies, but I can pick up on some organic things, too.” He nodded at you. “The louder a heartbeat, the easier it is for me to hear it.”

You pretended to scowl for the sake of your dignity as you strained the drink into his glass. “Yeah, well, it’s hard not to have a racing heart in a place like this.”

Hunter hummed. “That’s fair.” He gestured with a thumb to the crowds behind him. “Is it always like this?”

You exhaled heavily and shook your head. “It wasn’t before, but the longer the war goes on, the worse it gets. We’re an escape for a lot of people, it seems.”

You picked up the glass and slid it over to him.

“Here. Let me know what you think.”

Before you could pull your hand off the glass, Hunter placed his there, his fingers brushing yours as they drifted by one another. You caught his stare, and you could’ve sworn he sent you the quickest wink you’d ever seen before he drew his first sip.

And there went all chances of slowing down your racing heart. He was certainly gonna notice that with his apparent enhanced senses. Damn it.

You tasked yourself with remaking the other patrons’ drinks while Hunter offered his review. “It is damn good.” He shrugged in your periphery. “But still not as good as it looks on you.”

You laughed. “Well, that’s because it’s the one I spilled on you.” You spared him a quick glance of approval. “So something must be wrong with your ‘enhanced’ taste buds.”

You enjoyed watching him hide his new flush by taking another sip of the drink, but the weight of his identity was beginning to settle in. A clone soldier, an enhanced one, was here. That had to mean the war wouldn’t be far behind.

“Since you’re here,” you paused for a second as you shook another drink, “does that mean I should be getting ready for the war to come to my doorstep?”

Hunter grew more serious as he shook his head. “No. You’re safe here.” He gestured towards the cantina’s only entrance. “We’re just gathering some intel.”

“‘We’?” You smiled down at the drinks. “So, that squad of yours is around here, too?”

“Not here, but yeah, they’re on-world.”

With the drinks now finished, you set them on the tray and took a second to look Hunter in the eye. There was something here, and there was a lot he was giving you—and you needed to know what the real reasoning was behind it.

“Why are you telling me all this, Hunter?” You tilted your head at him. “Seems like pretty confidential information for a random civilian like me to know.”

Hunter held your stare even as he tipped his head back to empty out the rest of his glass. Once he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m a good judge of character.”

You blinked at him a few times before smiling. What a simple yet profound way of establishing trust.

Thankfully for him, he was right, and any of his secrets would die with you.

“Well, I’ve got to get these back over there, so…” You lifted the tray and glanced at the table at the far end of the cantina.

Hunter nodded and pushed himself off the bartop. You prepared to bid him farewell, but instead, he lingered. “I’ll clear a path for you this time.”

All you could muster was an appreciative glance before Hunter stepped forward and essentially pushed your way through the crowd. No one even got near you this time, certainly not close enough to make the drinks topple over. Hunter hung back once you eventually reached the table, and you quietly thanked him as you passed him.

“Here you are.” You kept your customer service voice engaged as you dealt out the drinks and smiled. “Sorry about the wait. It’s a bit crazy here tonight.”

The patrons just shrugged, clearly unaware of the extra few minutes you spent flirting with the enhanced clone trooper rather than making their drinks. You tucked the tray under your arm and turned around, surprised to see that Hunter was still there waiting for you.

You gave him another once-over. That drink stain on his shirt really stuck out like a bantha in a porg nest, if it was even possible for anyone’s eyes to get past his eyes, face, and arms.

The look he was giving you in return was either saying the same thing about your clothes or something very different, a little more similar to what you wanted him to be thinking.

“You know,” you took a step closer to him, “we should have some extra tunics from our uniforms in the back if you want one to cover…” you gazed down at his stain, “that.”

Hunter’s gaze glowed dangerously. “Oh, yeah?”

You nodded slowly. “I mean, we could at least check.”

Hunter smirked as he echoed your question from earlier. “We’?”

You waved him off. “It’s too crazy here tonight for anyone to care that you’re back there.”

Hunter shrugged. Apparently, he was easily convinced. “Alright. Where’re we headed?”

You pointed at a door on the back wall, and Hunter nodded before he pushed through the crowd once again. At this point, it was hard to imagine that he wasn’t listening to your heart practically flying through your chest. You didn’t even know why this was happening, especially so fast, but you had to echo Hunter’s earlier sentiment: you were a good judge of character.

What was one stolen moment with an enhanced clone trooper?

Hunter stepped aside to let you key in the passcode on the doorway of the storage room, and once it slid open, you led the way inside. After verifying that you were alone, you waved Hunter in. The door closed behind him, and after securing it, you turned to him.

It would’ve been impossible to get a good look at him in the dimness of the space, anyway, but you were both gravitating to each other before any looks could be given. You cupped his chiseled jaw at the exact moment he held your waist, closing the gap between the two of you and giving into the magnetic pull that had first forced you two together in the night’s rowdy crowds.

And you had never been more grateful for two egotistical maniacs’ stupid quarrel before.

Hunter kissed you like he’d known you for ages, exuding a breathless amount of passion that should’ve been impossible for a soldier as seasoned as himself. All you could do was try to match that energy, parting your lips and surely making a mess of the hair he clearly wanted to grow beyond what you assumed was regulation. You let one hand stay there, but the other was too curious, tracing the same lines of muscle your eyes had been beholden to ever since you first saw him.

During a quick break for air, you pulled back until you hit the wall behind you, this time urging him even closer than before. The second his mouth was on yours, you lost all sense of anything else, only able to think about the warmth you found there—and the feeling of his hips caressing yours in the very same rhythm.

You weren’t sure exactly how those senses of his worked, but somehow, he was igniting every single one of yours in a way you’d never experienced before.

You were in the middle of lowering your hands from his neck to seek a more fervent exploration when he caught both your wrists, holding them in an achingly gentle yet firm grasp as he lifted them over your own head. When he pushed himself into you even more intensely, his tongue in your mouth and his hips on yours, you could feel it so much more without being distracted by touching the rest of him.

Yeah, this was definitely a man who understood senses.

You were stuck between proposing and offering him all your possessions when the sudden chiming of a comlink sounded from Hunter’s belt. The two of you broke apart with heavy breaths, his forehead still close enough to yours for you to feel the wisps of his hair brushing against your skin as he clearly fought the urge to sigh.

“Sorry. Give me just a second.”

Hunter’s voice, which was already fairly rough as it was, was even rougher from your passionate moment as he released your wrists and stepped away. You couldn’t have stopped watching him even if you wanted to as he unclipped the comlink and activated it.

“Tech, report.”

“I have acquired the necessary data.” You raised your brow at the voice that spoke on the other end of Hunter’s comm. They sounded even less like a clone than Hunter himself did. “We may make our egress, unless there is any additional research you wish to pursue.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a loose end I want to tie up.” You scoffed at that. Loose end? “We'll meet back at the Marauder.”

“Affirmative.”

Hunter sighed as he set the comlink back on his belt. “Sorry about that.” He ran a hand over his head. “Duty calls.”

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “Gotta’ tie up your loose end, now.”

Hunter froze before he let out a heavy exhale. “Kriff, that sounded bad, didn’t it?”

You couldn’t help laughing. “Hey, you’ve done better than most by catching it so fast.”

Hunter chuckled and stepped back over to you. “Here.”

He took something from his belt and reached for your hand, setting it inside your palm and closing your fist around it. It was something circular and metallic, judging by how cool it was against your skin.

“To keep in touch.” Hunter nodded at you. “Next time, the drink’s on me.”

“It was technically already on you this time.” You gestured with your eyes to his stained shirt.

Hunter huffed with amusement. “You know what I mean.”

You smiled at him. “Sure.”

You opened the door for him, and he stopped to give you a wink you wouldn’t miss this time before he disappeared into the thick of the crowd. You leaned your shoulder against the threshold, staring down at the communicator in your grasp. Biting back a smile, you slipped it inside your pocket.

Maybe there was an advantage to the war getting a little closer, after all.

hunter tag list: @zenrobbins0021 @cw80831 @yunggoblin @maddiedrmr @Molmcb @jellybeanstacey0519 @violetlilly2020 @singularattitudeofasafetypin

[ghostedbunnie]

no thoughts head empty just lifeguard! johnny who finds the skimpiest shortest shorts imaginable to wear to work, who absolutely eats up all the attention from everyone at the beach, sends winks at ladies who are falling over themselves and knowing looks at guys who cover their crotches after watching the water droplets race down his muscles and body hair.

it strokes his ego when people fake drowning just to be swept in his strong arms and mouth to mouth that makes their eyes roll into their eyes.

you live nearby the beach and this new lifeguard is making it even more rowdy and you can’t even enjoy your walks along the beach with your dog in peace anymore without hearing all the oohing and aahing.

what makes it even worse is that even your dog freaking loves him. pulls on the leash like a bull when he sees him and johnny’s eyes always have this spark of mischief when he notices and starts encouraging him more. you give your dog the stink eye when he runs off to show johnny his belly, little traitor. you consider just waiting for your dog to get bored of johnny but in the end you swallow your pride and head to him.

it irritates you even more that you can understand why he has everyone so smitten — overgrown mohawk always mussed and full of sand, eyes so blue he puts the ocean to shame, dimples when he throws around the megawatt smile like a weapon of mass destruction. not to mention his physique. this is the body Greeks have been sculpting statues of. arms the size of your head, shoulders wide enough to hide you from sight but with a narrow waist that somehow feels indecent. when you look down you pointedly avoid staring at his shorts that leave very little to imagination even though whatever he’s (barely) hiding under them seems anything but little. your eyes fall to his thick thighs.

“see somethin’ ye like, bonnie? wan’ me ta give ye a show? all ye gotta do is ask nicely.”

the innuendo is dripping off of his words like honey and in total eclipse of your mind you might actually agree to this proposition against your better judgement. and by the wolfish grin on his face, he already knows he’s got you hook, line and sinker and he just might let you drown.

[sjyuns]

WAY BACK HOME ┆ A SIM JAEYUN ONESHOT

BREAKING NEWS! the friendly neighbourhood superhero spider-man has been caught trying to swing into a girl’s heart — but why is he failing miserably?! is this the spider-man we all know and love? or has our hero lost his spark?

or in which sim jaeyun asks you, his best friend out, forgetting that he was still in his spider-man suit.

GENRE! best friends to lovers, mutual pining, extremely groundbreaking embarrassing pick up lines, my missed hit at being a comdeian, jaeyun being jaeyun ( ie a hot loser ),

CAUTION! idiots in love, two timing ( but they’re the same person ), kissing, love, mentions of weapons and fighting crime, bad pickup lines, embarrassment for sim jaeyun, both reader and jaeyun are nineteen in this fic

WORDCOUNT! 5100

MIKAELA’S! hey everyone, this is the first ever oneshot i’m posting on my shiny new blog! please feel free to leave feedback through reblogs or asks! hope you enjoy jake embarrassing the soul out of himself🫶 i love sim jaeyun so much ( too much it’s embarrassing tbh ) this is the last of my old drafts, sorry for the spam!

playlist ⟡ way back home — shaun ⟡ forever only — jaehyun ⟡ pov — ariana grande ⟡ daylight — taylor swift

i. with great power comes a platter of hot embarrassment

“With great power comes great responsibility,” is what Spider-Man once said in an interview with The Daily Times, the most widely read newspaper company in all of Seoul.

It’s so out of character of Sim Jaeyun that he himself wonders what exactly went through his mind at that given time to blurt out such a philosophical quote — especially when he was having the bad urge to take a piss at that very moment.

But whatever it was: he needs it to return now, because he’s standing in front of you, his best friend, and he thinks that now's the chance; to finally ask you out after saving you.

Unfortunately Sim Jaeyun is out of luck, like he always is with you, because nothing but five utterly embarrassing words come out of his mouth.

“You tingle my spidey senses.”

You choke back a laugh as you stare at the masked superhero, amused at his sudden pick-me-up. “Are you rizzing me up, mister friendly neighbourhood hero?”

It seems like too much thinking has altered the already broken thought process in Sim Jaeyun’s brain, because it is only now that he registers that he’s still in his Spider-Man suit, and you don’t have a single clue that he’s Spider-Man.

“Uh, I mean-” but he’s cut off by the roaring cheer of the gathered public, who have their phones out and recording.

“Don’t back down, Spider-Man,” a citizen calls out, and Jaeyun thinks it’s far too late to back out now, because not only will it crush his ego, you might think Spider-Man isn’t as cool as he seemed to be.

“Would you let me swing into your heart- I mean, could we” he pauses, “could we hang out sometime?”

You smile, and it makes Jaeyun frown slightly under his mask, because he knows that smile — it’s the polite one, the one you use in a slightly uncomfortable situation, as if you didn’t want to embarrass the popular superhero standing in front of you at the moment.

“Sure,” you grin, pearly whites on display, “could I bring my best friend Jaeyun though? He’s a big fan.” It’s him, he thinks, he’s the Jaeyun you’re talking about. And his heart skips a beat at your thoughtful action.

“Okay! Tomorrow, here, five in the evening,” he says in excitement without a second thought. You’ve just agreed to go out on a date with him, and he’s too drunk in love to think about how he’s going to meet you as Spider-Man without telling you his identity.

He shoots a web up and swings after shouting an elated “see you, yn,” in the air. All too caught up in you to realise the three critical mistakes he’d made.

ONE. He never asked for your name as Spider-Man

TWO. There’s no way he could ever go on a date with his suit on in public

THREE. How in the fucking world is he going to a date with you as both Spider-Man and Sim Jaeyun?

Sim Jaeyun spends the whole night twisting and turning in his bed, mind in a flurry as he tries to think of the smartest way to solve these problems.

And it doesn’t help him when his phone pings with a new message from you.

Guess who just bagged us a hang out with Spider-Man tomorrow!

Don’t wear that Spider-Man suit or I swear to god I will not bring you to see him.

He sighs as he presses hard on the power button of his phone, staring blanking at the black screen. Fuck power or responsibility, he thinks, all he wants is his best friend’s heart, is that too much to ask for?

ii. man up, spidey-boy!

“BREAKING NEWS! Spider-Man spotted trying to swing into a girl’s — who supposedly goes by the name yn, heart. And after failing miserably at the first try, he succeeded on the second. Spidey may be a hero who saves lives, but it seems like he might have to take up what youngster’s call ‘rizz’ classes.”

The wide billboard screen casts a video taken by a bystander as the announcer's voice blared into the main junction of the city.

Jaeyun groans as he hangs his head low, adjusting the baseball cap perched on top of his head to cover his face. Not like anyone knew he was Spider-Man, no, but it was just far too embarrassing for him.

He hears you before he sees you, your voice is illegally sweet as it causes a smile to appear on his face amidst all of the stress. “Jaeyun!” You call, “you’re unusually late,” and Jaeyun groans, blaming it on the lack of sleep he had gotten last night, “Spider-Man isn’t here yet.”

Right, Spider-Man. Jaeyun still hasn’t found a solution to that.

His suit is tucked safely in the bottom of his bag, just in case. But for now, Jaeyun thinks it’s a better decision to disappoint you as Spider-Man instead of as your best friend. Besides, he hasn’t missed a single hang out session with you, and he isn’t ever planning to.

“Do you think he’s actually going to come?” You ask, head tilting in question and eyes soft, and Jaeyun wonders if he actually underestimated how much you liked Spider-Man, misunderstood that seemingly polite smile you gave him yesterday — should he have came as Spider-Man instead?

“Uhm,” he pauses, hesitant to squash your expectations, “how about we go first? I’m sure Spider-Man will swing by, it seems like he likes you a lot.” And even though he was talking about himself, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy bubbling in him at the thought of another boy liking you.

“Right,” you say, giving him a smile that makes his heart melt, “I guess it’s just us, like it always is.” Your fingers wrap around his, “I like it like this.” You mutter softly, yet in the buzz of the city square, Jaeyun catches the whisper of your voice, a goofy grin plastered on his face.

“Plus, if I ever need, you can be my Spider-Man — whip out that fake suit of yours. You have his physique anyway, and your pick up lines are just as idiotic as his. Maybe even more idiotic.”

Jaeyun lets out a loud laugh, one that’s of melodious dreams, and it causes a few pedestrians to stare but he doesn’t care, not when you’re next to him, asking him to be your very own Spider-Man. And he agrees immediately, all too ready to put on the ‘fake’ red and blue suit just for you.

He’s a little amused that you still believe that he’s a hardcore fan of Spider-Man, because the only time you’ve caught him wearing that very suit was two years ago, when you coincidentally entered his room to see him in a Spider-Man suit without a mask.

And he still remembers your accusations of him being a fanboy, asking him if dressing up as his idol was what he did in his free time. Jaeyun was way too flustered to even explain himself, and letting you know that he was the real Spider-Man never even crossed his mind as he bashfully nodded to your words.

But it wasn’t like you ever laughed at him about it, though you did tease him. You would still buy him different types of Spider-Man merchandise, ranging from Spider-Man socks to a custom Spider-Man mug with the words ‘Spider-Man loves Jaeyun’ in bold red.

With every gift given, came an opportunity to reveal his identity. Yet Sim Jaeyun never seizes it, he refuses to, because he finds it so endearing — the way you have the proudest smile on your face as you give him merchandise of himself that he has never seen before, the way you send him a picture of every single Spider-Man related thing you see on the streets.

“Right,” he nods as he gazes adoringly at you, “forget the real Spider-Man, I’ll swing into your heart.” And the giggle you let out once again makes his knees weak — he thinks the smile plastered on your face is much more genuine than the one he saw yesterday.

And he wants to kiss you so bad, tell you exactly how much he likes you, loves you. This familiar feeling that has settled comfortably at the bottom of his heart and back of his mind for the past four years, has only grown and never dwindled. It was times like this, where he didn’t feel the burden of having to be alert about ongoing crime.

Only with you can he feel like Sim Jaeyun — a lovesick nineteen year old and not Spider-Man, the hero of Seoul.

“Jaeyun, what do you want to do first?” You ask, pulling him through the blaring fun of the amusement park. He hums, following behind your excited figure, letting you choose what you wanted to do. “Oh my god, look it’s a Spider-Man toy.”

You halt in your step and immediately turn towards him, eyes sparkling. “Do you want it Jaeyun? I’ll get it for you. Just so you aren’t too sad that Spider-Man ghosted us today.”

He scoffs, as he examines the booth. It’s a shooting game, and he knows that you suck at shooting. “You sure, love? From what I remember, you aren’t too good at shooting games,” he brings up and you shoot him a sharp glare before pestering him to pay the vendor.

You end up blaming your best friend for jinxing you, “Yun, if you never said that, I could have shot them all down,” you complain, eyes morphing into slits as you pinpoint the blame on him. Jaeyun raises his two hands in innocence, face displaying an expression of shock, “I didn’t even say anything wrong, plus you barely hit one out of five balloons.”

You groan, shushing him in embarrassment, “If you’re such a professional, win it for me then,” you challenge him. Jaeyun shrugs, it’ll be easy — all those years of shooting webs has made him extremely sharp, so he manages to shoot all the five balloons without any effort, snagging the coveted Spider-Man doll.

“You sure you don’t want it, Yun?” you question, “add it to your collection as a fanboy.” He shakes his head, handing you the plush toy, “I won it for you. Plus, I like the ones you gave me more.”

It overwhelms you, the stark sincerity in his voice. And you feel the sudden need to kiss him, not like you’ve never thought of it before (more like you’ve thought about it too much), because Sim Jaeyun with his bright personality and handsome face is far too good to be real.

But you can’t bring yourself to be that direct, so you settle for a kiss on the cheek. A quick movement and a short peck before you let out a loud giggle, walking over to the next booth with a stupid smile plastered on your face, leaving Jaeyun in shock and awe — eyes wide and mouth agape before he bites back a smile.

He thinks it’s too hard to conceal his feelings any longer; that he has to tell you soon, next week, tomorrow, or maybe even now. And he feels the three words, eight letters, at the tip of his tongue.

As always, though, he swallows them back down, throat dry as he stares at you. The fear of rejection far too intense for him to handle.

How ironic, that Sim Jaeyun could fight criminals with equipped daggers that could kill him in one swift motion, yet he could not say three simple words to a girl who has pierced his heart and filled his stomach with butterflies.

iii. in a sticky predicament

“Now on to our very own Spider-Man’s upcoming love story that seems to be wilting by the looks of it — Spidey, in fact, did not show up to his date with yn, who was seen with another boy at the amusement park. Our very own hero is facing multiple accusations that he may be, like his representative colour, a red flag. However, a minority of fans have brought up a speculation; that the boy we call Spider-Man, might be the very boy accompanying yn yesterday unmasked. That’s all for Spider-Man, here on The Daily News.”

“Don’t you think that’s insane Jaeyun?” you laugh, throwing your head back into the soft pillow on his bed, “they think you’re Spider-Man.”

“Right,” he trails on, arms crossed as he leans on the doorframe, “that’s so impossible.”

His laugh awkward as his fingers find themselves combing through his hair for the nth time. And you turn your head, looking at him with suspicion. Right, that’d be crazy, insane maybe, you think, because Sim Jaeyun was well — him. He’s slightly awkward, likes physics, and hell he’s scared of bugs, so it’ll be mind blowing if he ever was the real Spider-Man.

But impossible, you think, might not be true. And you sit up on the edge of the bed, eyes trained on him. Same physique, similar height, he’s athletic, and he shoots well. Plus, from your ever so short encounter with Spider-Man saving you from getting your wallet stolen, Spider-Man is just as awkward as your best friend.

Could he really be Spider-Man? But he’s a fan of Spider-Man, wouldn’t it be weird if he was such a big fan of himself. Still, you couldn’t rule out the possibility.

“Jump,” you instruct, “hang upside down on the walls.” Jake is shocked, as his heart accelerates in nervousness at the thought of being found out.

“Don’t be weird,” he groans, trying to keep calm, “that’s literally humanly impossible.” His mind racing, finding a way to get out of this sticky situation, because as much as he wants to tell you his identity, the last way he wanted you to find out was through the internet. Also, maybe because you looked slightly angry, with your eyebrows furrowed and hands on your head, and Jaeyun didn’t want you to be mad at him.

You were deep in thought, was that why Spider-Man didn’t show up yesterday — because he is actually Sim Jaeyun, and he couldn’t be there as two different people.

That might be a stretch, but it isn’t an impossible scenario. You tilt your head, quickly grabbing the pillow you were just lying on, throwing it at him, “catch.”

He catches it easily, with one hand even, as his face contorts into an expression of surprise. “Don’t scare me like that, love,” he says. But you’re too flabbergasted at the fast reflexes of your best friend to even comprehend his complaint.

“You could really give Spider-Man a run for his money, you know?” you chuckle, as you tell yourself that no matter how much it might fit, it’s probably just a coincidence, “put on that suit of yours and fight crime.” It was all a coincidence, right?

“What if I’m scared of getting hurt,” he pouts, and you snort. With Sim Jaeyun’s level of cowardice, there’s no way he could ever be out there fighting.

“Then I’ll protect you,” you say, “I’ll be your sidekick, all you have to do is stand there and look pretty.”

He grins, walking over to stand in front of you; hands moving to ruffle your hair. “Okay love, you lead, I’ll follow.”

iv. tell him to grow a pair

Your newfound popularity brings you more drawbacks than benefits — by that you mean the sudden fury of boys approaching you to ask for your number. It annoys Jaeyun more than it does you, as your best friend flaunts a new irritated look that you’ve rarely seen.

“That’s the sixth fucking boy,” he grumbles, eyes rolling before he glares at the fleeting figure of Lee Heeseung, the boy who just asked you for your number, the boy who Jaeyun lashed out at.

“Be kind, Yun,” you chuckle, amused at your best friend’s sudden grumpiness, “I mean, I’ve never lashed out at any of the girl’s who ask you out.”

“No one has asked me out.” he groans, “are you flaunting right now?”

“Yes I am,” you reply, “don’t worry Jaeyun, you’ll always be my loser.”

He lets out a loud exaggerated sigh as he rolls his eyes, leaning against the locker as he grits his teeth in exasperation.

You wonder why no girl has ever hit Sim Jaeyun up. Granted, he wasn’t the best looking guy back in middle school with his choice of brightly coloured clothes that blinded eyes, but you think that was part of the appeal — how awkwardly adorable he was. Now, with his upgraded fashion style and bubbly personality, it’s a miracle no one has tried their shot at bagging him. Not that you wanted anyone to.

Sim Jaeyun is yours, just as much as you are his.

And he thinks the exact same. Despite what you think, he has had a girl approach him, professing his love only to get turned down by his puppy-like smile and his confession that he liked you.

Though his body exudes jealousy, there's a slight bit of relief at the fact that you turned all six of the boys down, telling them that you had a crush on someone else. He hopes, prays, begs that the person you think about is him. He furiously looks for a sign, because he’s tired of all this, and he needs a sign from you before he can courageously make the first move.

After school, the both of you walk down the buzzing streets with carts of street food lined up along the roadside. Your fingers bunching the fabric of Jaeyun’s shirt as he navigates the both of you through the crowded streets, making a beeline for his favourite churros shop.

“I told you the queue would be long, it’s Friday night,” you whine, mentally counting the number of people in front of you. Fifteen, that’ll take a while. “We should have just ordered in pizza and binge on Netflix shows.”

“Fine, we can eat churros another day,” Jaeyun pouts and you curse yourself for saying that even when you knew he wanted to eat churros.

“It’s fine, we can stay, since we’re already here.” You stop him, pulling him back beside you in the queue, “but you can’t leave to do something else like last time, you have to wait with me.”

The glow on his face coupled with the adorable smile on his lips makes you stare in awe. And you think Sim Jaeyun is so pretty and handsome all at once it’s a crime to look as good as him. His lips, god, they look so kissable and soft, you wish you could kiss them at any given time — now, tomorrow, forever.

But the moment doesn’t last long, as faint screams and shouts travel from a small corner shop down the road. “Thief, there’s a thief on the run.”

You watch as Jaeyun’s eyes widen, body in a sudden scramble, “uhm, I’m gonna go to the toilet for a moment,” he says amidst the whispers of the crowd, “stomach ache, you know.” Running off before you can give him a reply, brushing past people hurriedly into a random narrow street.

You shrug it off again because it isn’t the first time Jaeyun has acted out of character. However, you can’t help but realise it was always when there was crime.

The questions and suspicions floating around your head for the past week resurface as you focus on the narrow street your best friend had disappeared into.

Oh my god.

You blink profusely, pinch yourself, and rub your eyes because this is mind blowing information. You can’t seem to believe an ounce of what your eyes have just seen. Was that Spider-Man who just swung out of the very same alleyway?

Sim Jaeyun is Spider-Man. And your conclusion only seems to solidify as you hear the muffled voice coming out of his masked persona.

“Oops, sorry,” and a careless swing as he tries his best to manoeuvre through the crowd, accidentally knocking over a little girl’s ice cream cone, “I'm sorry, please don’t cry.”

Yup, that’s Jaeyun. His voice now so familiar you hit yourself in the head for not realising sooner. And his utterly helpless tone as he tries to soothe the little girl — you could recognise it from a mile away.

“I’ll get you a new one, I’m sorry,” he shouts as he spins his web and shoots again, lamppost to windows to signboards before effortlessly catching up with the thief; who was now bound to the wall by web.

“Sorry,” he groans for the fourth time in a matter of minutes, “it’s my job — i mean, not that you deserve to get away no, i just-” he rambles and you giggle at his comment. Seems like Sim Jaeyun will never change, even as a superhero or as your best friend.

“I meant to say, justice has been served,” he nods, seemingly proud of his awkward catchphrase that you were sure he stole from the superhero movie you watched with him a few weeks back. “I have to get back now, someone awaits me you know - i mean, no- I’m not supposed to give details of my personal life. I’ll just- stop talking… yeah.”

And you watch again as he swings back down the street. With his identity revealed, you can’t help but look up to Jaeyun even more now — a top student and a superhero? How unfair the world is. How lucky you were to have him as your best friend.

“Hey! Aren’t you yn? Spider-Man, is that your girl?” You shrink, head down as you fix your gaze on the floor immediately, cheeks a rosy red. God, you think, this is a little embarrassing.

You feel his presence before you see his shadow morphing with yours on the floor, “hey yn,” and you look up to see the superhero, who’s panting ever so slightly, stand in front of you in his glory. “Sorry about last week, I was well busy, and I know it isn’t any-”

“It’s fine,” you stop him from blabbering, a toothy grin plastered on your face. And Jaeyun feels proud, maybe him saving someone has put Spider-Man back into your good graces, maybe he has a chance with you as Spider-Man.

“I had fun with my crush at the amusement park. Actually, thank you for the opportunity, I kissed his cheek for the first time and it felt like heaven.”

He pauses, and Jaeyun wants to rip off his mask at the very moment to kiss you. You liked him back, fuck, you actually liked him back.

“Ah,” he says after a while of tense silence, his hands rubbing the nape of his neck, “that’s amazing. So- do you… I mean- so you’re like, in love with him? Wait love might be a little uhm-”

“Yeah, I’m in love with him.”

Time stops as your eyes pierce into his, and he can swear at this moment that you knew exactly who he was. He thinks it’s over, and he can finally ask you to be his — because he’s hellbent on loving you, for the past four years he has been.

“Seems like this crush of yours needs to step up his game, or I might just steal you away,” he remarks lightheartedly, uncaring of the sea of cameras pointing towards the both of you.

“Yeah, it seems like he does. Maybe you should visit him one day, tell him that it’s about time to man up, or I’ll be the one asking for his hand.” You shoot a knowing glance at him, a confident smirk on your face.

Jaeyun chuckles, “right, I’ll be sure to tell him that, wouldn’t want him to lose such a special girl.”

“Thanks Spidey, I wonder what I’d ever do without you,” you laugh, patting his suited shoulder before he once again swings away into the narrow alleyway, only to appear minutes later donned in his usual faded ripped jeans and white shirt, hair tousled and smile wide as he runs back to you.

And he’s before you all again, this time as your best friend and you swoon as his adoring eyes and elated smile. “You okay?” You ask, hand raising to fix his hair.

“I couldn’t be better.”

v. Batman vs Spider-Man, a battle of the mans

“Spider-Man should now change his name into wing man as he is spotted once again, engaging in conversation with the very same yn from last week. Spider-Man was not only ruthlessly dumped by her, but was also asked to quote on quote visit her crush to ask him to grow a pair. Seems like she is off the market for our poor lonely superhero, who can’t seem to catch anyone except for criminals. That’s all for Spider-Man, here on The Daily News.”

“Seems like you can’t catch a break, huh Yun?” You point out as you switch the television off, “not only defamed into a wing man but also asked to grow a pair.”

And it seems like he really can’t because ever since you confronted him about being Spider-Man, his days have been filled with even more ruthless teasing, and weird questions.

“How do you even piss as Spider-Man?”

“Can I swing from building to building?”

“Can you hang upside down for ten minutes?”

“How do you think you would fare against Batman in a fight?”

But there’s one unasked question still hanging in the air. And Jaeyun really wants to address it, but it seems like you’ve lost your confidence by the way the flesh of your cheeks heats an angry red at any slight hint of him being your crush — or as Jaeyun would like to call himself; your soon to be boyfriend.

“I’ve grown a pair,” he says, shifting towards you, eyes trained on yours, “seems like someone has lost a pair.”

“Have not” you argue, lies — you could barely look at Jaeyun now without a lovesick smile on your face. Neither could you muster up the courage to ask him to be your boyfriend. “And if you ever grew a pair, you would have asked.”

“Ask what?” He teases, face moving closer to yours. He looks too good, godly almost, with his black rimmed glasses perched at the bridge of his nose.

You pout, furrowing your eyebrows as you place a light slap on the middle of his chest. And he lets out a low chuckle, the vibrant sun rays flush through the sheer day curtains of Jaeyun’s room, a natural spotlight glowing on the both of you.

“Fine,” he whispers, and you can feel his breath on your lips, it’s warm and inviting and you feel yourself leaning into him. “Will you be my girlfriend, love?”

You barely nod your head before he attaches his lips on yours. And you think you’re going to be obsessed with Sim Jaeyun — your fingers find their way through his hair and he sighs. It’s like he’s imprinted in your heart and you want to kiss him again and again and again.

Sim Jaeyun with pretty eyes, pretty lips, a pretty face, a pretty being, breaks the kiss only to kiss you again and again as you wish.

“Did I swing into your heart, love?” He smirks as you playfully roll your eyes at his antics. “Are we not going to bring up the time when you fell after showing me your web skills?”

He tackles you down and you giggle, “I can fall from the sky, I can fall from a tree, but the best way to fall is to fall in love with you.” He grins idiotically before racing out the door as you cringe at yet another bad pick up line from him.

“Sim Jaeyun, are you kidding me? I wonder how you even make up quotes like ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ with that mind of yours.”

“What mind? You mean my mind — the place where you always are?”

You groan in fake disgust as you watch your boyfriend (boyfriend!) smile proudly at his idiotic pick up lines. The both of you drinking sunlight as if it’s love — where he’s all yours and you’re all his.

uncut. confessions i can’t make ( a crumpled confession letter written by a sixteen year old sim jaeyun )

hi dear yn,

i like you. it’s been a while since you took my breath away we first met. this is my first time ever writing a confession so i don’t really know what to say write… i guess it’s like writing physics notes so maybe it wouldn’t be too hard i hope

chapter one part one : what i like about you

i like the way you smile laugh, how your eyes turn into the tiniest of crescents, it makes me proud of the jokes i crack (that physics joke was good was it not). i like the feeling i have around you — it’s warm and fuzzy, natural — talking everyday without any forceful conversation, laughs or attention.

part two : why you should like me

i think you should like me because i like you. i think you should like me because i’m smart! i can help you with physics and maths. i don’t really know what else i can give you but i’ll try my best to make you smile everyday.

will you be my girlfriend? Oh god, this is so weird i actually like you a lot and

(a bunch of scribbling)

forget it. you’ll never like me back.

dear mister sim jaeyun,

after three hours of fighting for my life, i have finally gotten my hands on the most treasured item of the year, a sixteen year old you’s crumpled confession letter to me. and since you wrote it in a physics notes style like a loser, as your girlfriend i have no choice but to follow you (so that you don’t feel lonely)

one. what i like about you

everything. i like your hair, i like your face. I like the way you say sorry to every single person in the neighbourhood while courageously saving them. i like your pick up lines on some days and how you have the guts to challenge Batman to a fight when i proclaim him as my favourite hero. i like the way you laugh and i like the way you smile. i am especially enchanted by your kicked puppy ways and easily manipulated demeanour where i can always get what i want without question.

two. why you should like me

i’m your girlfriend and you’re my girlfriend. (you are my girlfriend) you should stop staring at me with those eyes, it gives me the ick (i meant that in a ‘whatever you say pretty boy’ kind of way) you should like me because i am the person who likes you the most. (i love you so much)

will i be your girlfriend? obviously i will, i mean who can say no to you.

love you babe,

spider-man’s (your) hot sidekick

© SJYUNS

[victoria-grimesss]

Hi ❤️🥰🫶🏻 I really love your writing style and enjoy all your content. Sorry if this is a bothersome question but your name and Norman profile picture made me curious…. Would you be willing to write some headcanons for Daryl? Hope you have a nice week 🙏🏻

Daryl Dixon Headcanons SFW & NSFW

masterlist ->Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader ->Warning: MDNI! fluff and some smut ->A/N: Thanks for the request, TWD was my first fandom so I’m always down to write for it, especially Daryl. :) I just did some general Fem!Reader ones since that's what I mainly write for but DO let me know if there's any other specific ones you'd like to see. I also hope you have a nice week! Sorry this took so long!

SFW:

He would show affection through acts of service, (getting you something you needed during a run, fixing something around the house that you mentioned was broken, or cleaning your gun if you were too busy to do it. He has a lot to think about throughout the day, but he keeps tabs on things you like or need, he’s always thinking about you.

Around Alexandria when you both were there you would both spend a-lot of time in silence together just being in each others presence. He would be working on his bike and you would be reading a book just being together.

In general, there becomes an almost rhythm to your relationship, you walk together, eat together, go on runs together, most of the time you both just enjoy simply being together. Having the privilege to be alive and be next to one other. Eventually people start assuming one doesn't go somewhere without the other, "Y/N and Daryl this, Y/N and Daryl that. It's cute.

Not a fan of PDA, he was never that kind of person but he likes it when you fix a piece of his hair that's out of line, or adjust his vest so it sits better on him. He likes to know you care, he does get butterflies when you call him handsome even though he doesn't show it. Aside from a little smile and a dip of his head, "You don't know what you're talkin' bout girl.

He always admires your strength, you've made it this far and he admires the skills you've picked up along the way. Someone is doing something wrong that you're a pro at? "You're doing that wrong ya know, let me get Y/N, she'll show you how to do it right."

He always had a crush on you, always was looking out for you. You caught his eyes lingering quite some times over the campfire before you were both together, he's look away quick but he knew you saw. What can he say, he loved seeing you blush.

Once you're together he's less reserved about his staring and you'll catch his eyes roaming your body more than a couple times.

Not a master in flirting whatsoever but when he held out his hand, arm all the way outstretched to give you a bundle of wildflowers you were a goner. "Got ya these, said you liked em' found some while I was out."

He's a light sleeper but he loves to lay on your chest and feel you run your fingers through his hair it knocks him out in five minutes minimum.

Will avoid the regular medics in town and just come right to you, you've stitched him up for this long and he likes it when you fix him up and scold him at the same time for not being more careful.

"D, honey this is going to need stiches.."

"I know, you can just do it, you do it the same way as the doctors anyway."

"Fine, just- only if you get some antibiotics. Can't have you dying on me from a fuckin infection."

"Yea whatever you want girl."

Knows you can handle yourself but he always has an eye out for you when you're out on runs or outside the walls.

Boosts his ego when you ask him to flex and you swoon.

You both never got properly married, you haven't gotten around to finding rings but when a new group entered the town you just said you were his wife for simplicities sake and because why not you've been together so long and everyone else thinks of you two married. Loves hearing people call you Y/N Dixon.

NFSW:

He's home late often, it's a normal occurrence but sometimes when he's gone for a good long while and you hear his boots finally trudging up the stairs you get a little giddy, butterflies filling your stomach and you grow warmer just thinking about having him back in bed.

This can go one of two ways; number one is you welcome him into bed slowly, it's raining and he's cold to the bone just wanting to warm up with you. The room is dark and only the moonlight illuminates his broad shoulders as his body leans over yours, hips rolling into you with a smooth and rhythmic motion. His arms caging you in so your whole field of vision and mind is filled with him. His head would dip to your ear, teeth biting at your neck. "Missed ya', thought about you a lot on the way back."

The second way is when he's frustrated, the run didn't go how he wanted, didn't find enough, he's pent up more than usual and you welcome his release of energy with open arms. He's got one hand on your hips and the other gripping the headboard, knuckles turned white from gripping it trying to maintain some kind of composure when he's driving himself deeper inside you, eyes dark as your nails bite at his chest. Damp hair hanging in his face and the room is filled with the noise of your heavy breathing and the wetness between the both of you. "You like that? Fuck, yea ya do."

He prefers being together in the privacy of your own home, where he can put his undivided attention all on you. But that doesn't mean you both don't get creative.. you've fucked in almost every room, you both agreed the attic was just too out there, insulation is the biggest mood killer.

He's always been a man for quick showers, get clean and get out. But one time you were both on a time crunch and you had a great idea to share the shower, save water right? He couldn't keep his eyes off of you, the way the soap and water kept gliding over your body had him hard in like 0.5 seconds so needless to say you were late, something about making out underneath the stream of water added something he couldn't get enough of. Bruises on the back of your thighs from him fucking you against the shower wall lingered for some time.

He loves seeing you get ready in the morning, he's got the perfect view from the bed into the bathroom to watch the whole process, sometimes if he's feeling extra needy he'll come into the bathroom and gently bend you over, bringing himself out of his sweatpants and watching your face through the mirror as he slides himself in.

More than once he's thought about you riding him on his bike, with you just wearing his vest. While it's stationary of course, he's not that reckless.

Definitely does not care if you're on your period, you really think a little blood will stop him if you both want each other? Hell no. He didn't understand why you thought it was an issue the first time it came up.

Not incredibly jealous but it creeps in on him sometimes, when a new guy shows you a little more attention than he liked he gets cold with you later that day. Not because he thinks you'll cheat on him or the guy might make a move but that he thinks he himself isn't good enough for you, which you just won't stand for so on a few separate occasions you'll set him down on the couch and get down on your knees and remind him how much you love him.

He's a man that respects his woman so he's more than happy to return the favor, hands held tight on your thighs that are wrapped around his head, his tongue darting around and his lips wrapping around you and pulling his favorite noises from you. "Look at you, fuck, gonna cum for me? Atta girl."

He's careful about where he finishes, he wants nothing more than to dive completely into you and let you take all of him but if you're both not ready for what may come from that he's fine with painting your stomach or more preferably your chest, he's a tits guys for sure.

Aftercare is quiet and calm with him, both of you cleaned up and your head on his chest, the window is open to cool you both down and so the smoke from his after sex cigarette can sneak out.

[makeyoumine69]

Clingy!Patrick Bateman x Insecure!Fem!Reader | NSFW HEADCANON

— A/N: This is the winner of my poll about headcanons, you can leave comments about what headcanons you want me to do in the future, hope you like this one!

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST] [buy me a coffee]💓

Being Bateman's lover was not easy at all — the constant attention, the greedy looks and flirtatious smiles from everyone who saw him actually made you sad, even insecure.

And Patrick knew that, and he didn't really like it, so no matter where you were — at his or your family's house, at some random party or dinner — his strong hands were always on you, stroking your back, squeezing your hips and groping your ass. Sometimes he'd even get his hands on your breasts, and you'd squeal with surprise and embarrassment, but Bateman would just chuckle and try to play with your nipples through the fabric of whatever you were wearing, especially if you didn't have a bra.

If you ever told him that you were insecure or even afraid that he was having an affair, it would certainly boost his ego and he couldn't help but laugh at your worries, while the sadness and pain would tear him apart from the inside because of how many times he had told you that he had his eyes only on you.

Your anxiety would only encourage him to be more overprotective and intimate with you, even though Patrick never liked the intense physical contact during sex, he would let you hold him tight as he fucked you senseless. He would let you pull on his silky hair while he devoured your soaped pussy, moaning as you grinded against his face. Marking would become his favorite kink, after each passionate love session he would admire the result of his work, tracing his fingers along his bite marks. It would hurt but you could take it because you were his good girl.

Even one mention of another woman — Jean, Evelyn or Courtney — would be enough for him to bend you over the back of his white couch, pull up your skirt and give you several hard slaps on your butt.

"Mhm! Pat-Patrick!" You moaned as you felt his long fingers work between your legs, smearing your wetness along your delicate petals.

"Have I told you how much I hate it when you say things like that?" Bateman growled into your ear after kissing the length of your neck. "Have I told you that, brat?"

"Yes," your voice trembled with the excitement of his firm hips rubbing vigorously against your dripping cunt. "I'm sorry, Daddy!" You whimpered, trying to get up, but he pushed you back, pressing your face against the couch and grabbing your throat.

"No, no, no, little one. You're not going anywhere until I say so." 

With that, Bateman would undo his pants with ease, grunting from how painfully hard he was — his throbbing dick would pop out of his expensive underwear, and he wouldn't care to prepare you properly after your bad behavior.

Savagely, Patrick would thrust into your little hole up to his heavy balls, burying his digits in your soft skin and closing his eyes from the blissful sensation of your hot, soaked pussy.

"F-fuck, you feel so good, sweetheart," he hissed and gave another long stroke, reveling in your lewd sounds as you tried your best not to cum here and now — you didn't want to feed his ego any more, because this bastard was arrogant enough. "Mmmm, I'm gonna fuck all those stupid thoughts out of your head!"

His low panting echoed in your voice like a hypnotic melody, and the only thing you could do was to bend even lower and spread your legs for him as he railed you hard, spanking your ass and yanking your hair. 

Bateman always kept his word and maybe one day you would finally believe you were his only one, yet sometimes Patrick thought you were doing it on purpose as you just loved being fucked like a whore.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!