#listen it’s ambiguous on purpose

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

Gotham Academy was no stranger to odd teachers, mostly due to the turnover rate in Gotham not sparing them in the least.

Still, this new out-of-towner school nurse from Absolutely Nowhere Amity Park was by far the weirdest.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thanks for listening to my sad backstory. Anyway, here's Wonderwall.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #14

"You foolish, stupid child," Vlad hisses, pinning Danny to the wall. Danny's eyes turn green as he wraps both his fists around the one Vlad has clenched in his collar, his feet dangling in the air. Vlad leans in, his own eyes burning red.

"When, exactly, did you plan on telling me your biological father was Bruce Wayne?" he says furiously.

Danny's hands drop in surprise. "W-What?" he gasps.

Vlad drops him unceremoniously and he lands on the floor in a heap. Vlad claws at the air in frustration.

"Don't lie to me, boy." Vlad says, omitting his often used possessive "my" in front of "boy".

"How do you know that?" Danny asks warily, propping himself up. He watches Vlad push a shaking hand through his hair. The man looks down at him before dropping in an ungainly squat beside him.

"Of all the sperm donors, Bruce Wayne, Daniel? Really?" The man asks, despairingly.

"I didn't exactly choose him, Vlad."

"No, I suppose you didn't."

"Seriously," Danny says, watching the man rock back on his heels as a growing pit forms in his stomach. "How did you know about him?"

Vlad's mouth twists bitterly. "Because he now knows about you."

"What do you—"

"Vladdy! Danno! What are the two of you doing on the floor?" Jack flops down beside them, a tray of freshly prepared fudge in his hands. "We having a heart-to-heart boys? Let me in on this!"

"Jack," Vlad says. "If you truly want to have a heart-to-heart with your son, I suggest you tell him the real reason I've come over today."

Jack's face falls.

"Vlad," Maddie says from behind him. "Thank you for coming. We're grateful for all you've done, but I think we can handle it from here."

"Madeline," Vlad says, rushing to his feet. "I must insist—"

"And I must insist you see yourself out," Maddie smiles tightly. "You know where the door is, don't you?"

"Mads," Jack says gently, looking between the two.

"I can show him out," Danny says, getting up as well.

"That's alright, Danny," Maddie says. "Why don't you go get your sister? We need to have a talk...as a family."

Danny glances at Vlad.

"Now, Danny," Maddie says. Danny heads for the stairs, pit growing ever larger.

--

The next time they meet it is Danny who has Vlad pinned, the gaudy chandelier above him shaking with the force of his rage.

"You should've told me," Danny growls.

"I thought your parents had you informed," Vlad says, utterly unbothered by the teen cracking what is thankfully not a load-bearing wall of his mansion. "Honestly Daniel, we could throw around allegations of deception on both sides, particularly mine as I assume you've known for quite some time now, if not the entire time, about your father hmm?"

Danny's eyes flick away in an obvious tell.

"Yes, I thought as much. But rather than whinging about being blindsided, I suggest we focus our energy on the solution."

Danny drops Vlad, barely biting back a snarl when the man lands gracefully on both feet.

"Which is?" Danny asks.

"First of all, your well-meaning but frankly moronic parents seem to believe that they can make a case for your custody without the assistance of my legal team. It is in both of our best interests to dissuade them of this."

"They don't like feeling indebted, Mom in particular."

"Well, to be crude for a moment Daniel, tough shit. Yes," Vlad says in response to Danny's widening eyes, "I said it. Bruce Wayne has the best of the best on his payroll and your parent's rinky-dink attorney from the local practice won't stand a chance against Friedman & Sons. Especially once he establishes paternity."

"He can do that?" Danny asks. "I mean I'm almost eighteen, can't I just refuse?"

"The keyword here, Daniel, is almost. As in, you are not. The judge can take your wishes into consideration, but I suspect Wayne will make a case for an unsafe living environment alongside his paternity to win his petition for full custody."

"Un-unsafe living environment?" Danny sputters. Vlad eyes the boy dryly before gesturing to all of him, currently clad in silver and black hazmat. Danny drops the transformation with a wince.

"In fact, I suspect that's the main reason the man filed in the first place," Vlad continues. "Lord knows he doesn't need anymore heirs to fight over his fortune once he passes—"

"Jesus, Vlad,"

"—so I believe he did some digging and found your home to be, well, wanting. On paper, Daniel, your parents sound eccentric at best, dangerous at worst. Pull the right strings, and hospital records just fall into laps. He probably thinks he's rescuing you." Vlad sneers. "If only he knew how quick you are to spit in the face of one offering you a comfortable and wealthy home."

"Fuck off," Danny says. "Is that what this is about? If you can't have me, no one can?"

Vlad rolls his eyes. "Come now, Daniel. Are you really intending to keep up this pretense?"

"What are you talking about?"

"We agreed a long time ago that no matter the nature of our quarrel, we would leave the Justice League out of it," Vlad says, taking a menacing step forward. "You think I, running in the circles I do, would have no knowledge of Bruce Wayne's alter-ego?" He takes another step, voice rising. "I have avoided drawing The Batman's attention for years, no matter how often our paths crossed. I stayed under his radar for decades, and now, BECAUSE OF YOU, I AM ABOUT TO BE RUINED."

With a creak and a groan, the chandelier drops, landing between them with a crash. Danny coughs from the dust as Vlad takes a heaving, calming breath.

"Then why get involved at all?" Danny asks, staring at the ground.

Vlad sighs, clapping his hands twice. Several ghosts dressed in service uniforms fly out the woodwork, gathering up bits of chandelier as others begin to mop.

"Because, little badger," Vlad says, walking away from the mess. "If we lose this, he'll have you in the palm of his hands. Which is infinitely worse."

Entering the kitchen, he pulls an open bottle of white out of the kitchen fridge and pours himself a glass, throwing a Fiji water to Danny who takes it for the peace offering it is.

"He won't."

"Won't what, Daniel? Please speak in full sentences."

"Won't have me," Danny says, letting a thin coat of frost spread over the bottle. He tips the freezing cold water into his mouth and wipes his face with his sleeve, mostly to see Vlad grimace.

"Why, because you'll run away if he wins? Until you turn eighteen? I won't have you fail to complete your education because of a cockamamie scheme, Daniel—"

"Because I have a solution, Vlad, one that doesn't involve the courts or running away."

"And what is that, exactly, Daniel?"

--

"You're going to leave my family alone."

"Danny," Mr. Wayne says, blinking in surprise at the boy on his doorstep and miles away from Illinois.

"I mean it," Danny says firmly. "You're going to drop your petition and whatever smear campaign you were planning on and leave the Fentons alone."

"Danny...why don't you come inside?"

Danny takes a step back from the manor's large doors. "You want a relationship with me? Brute force isn't the answer."

Bruce takes in the teenager, lanky but almost to his eye level. His eyes are clear and sharp, his demeanor forcibly calm.

"I debated whether going through the court was the right thing to do," Bruce says slowly, matching calm with calm. "But I wanted to be above board."

"Because my adoption wasn't?" Danny says, arms crossed. "Yeah, I'm aware. Kinda hard to adopt a kid that doesn't legally exist. And I know what you're going to say, the Fentons should've reported me to the system, but they didn't do it because I begged them not to. Because I didn't want my biological parents to find me."

"Danny..."

"You can swing your dick around and get your way, exactly the way I thought you would do things," Danny says, "Or you can have a relationship with me on my terms. A relationship where I don't despise you because you took me away from the people who've loved me no matter their faults."

"You're asking me to choose your happiness over your safety." Bruce says carefully.

"That's bullshit," Danny says. "I had a lab accident when I was fourteen and went directly against my parents' instructions. They trusted me, and I made a mistake."

"It's not a matter of trust. You were a child, Danny, and you almost died." Bruce says, not bothering to feign ignorance. Footsteps echo behind him.

"Bruce?" A voice calls. "Is that..?"

"Your son did die," Danny says. "He took a flight with your credit card to Ethiopia and got blown up. I bet you trusted him too."

Bruce reels back as a hand lands on his shoulder, the other on the door.

"Whoa, whoa, uh, Danny, right? I'm Tim, I'm—"

"I know who you are," Danny says, clenching his fists. Powering through the hurt he is causing. "I didn't come here to point out what a total hypocrite you are. I just want you to back off. And if you give me your number, we can text and I'll come to Gotham for Thanksgiving or the ski chalet in Vermont or your villa in where-the-fuck-ever and you can be Uncle Bruce that I maybe even tolerate being around once in a while. Just leave my family alone."

"Bruce, what is he talking about?" Tim asks. "Back off of what?"

"Your Dad is suing my parents for full custody," Danny says when it becomes clear Bruce isn't answering.

"What?" Tim hisses, turning to Bruce. "That isn't what we talked about!"

"Danny. I..."

"Here," Danny says, thrusting an index card forward that he's scrawled his phone number and email onto. On the other side is the past participle conjugation for 'venir'. "I won't answer until you drop the custody petition. Which I expect you to do by tomorrow morning."

"Done," Tim says, stepping past Bruce and taking the card. "Give me about noon to get it all squared away with the lawyers. Do you have a hotel? A way home? I'd be happy to reimburse your flight and accommodation."

"Overstepping already."

"Fair enough," Tim says coolly, raising his hands. "Our lawyers will reach out when it's settled."

"Great. Bye." Danny says, turning to leave. He waits until he hears the manor door close behind him before pulling out his cell phone.

Ring!

Ring!

"Hello?"

"It's done."

"What's done? Again, little badger, full sentences, I beg of you."

[teamsasukes]

listen i get where people are coming from when they say that nobody should have expected a radical overhaul of the shinobi system considering the series very squarely set up its main theme as not abandoning friends. that certainly was the setup. but i also think it would be inaccurate to say that the story as it evolved affirmed that refusing to abandon one's friends was the be-all and end-all fix for everything. i cannot emphasize this enough: it's not as though the prior generations we saw lacked devotion to their teammates. the problem was that the larger sociopolitical circumstances obstructed their ability to connect in one way or another. even naruto acknowledges at the land of iron that his and sasuke's positions made it impossible for them to reconcile. so for the series to do a 180 and assert that actually friendship was the solution all along (even though there have been no meaningful systemic changes, even though the source of these intergenerational conflicts has not been addressed) rings hollow. it's especially glaring that being violently beaten in a fight makes sasuke desert his quest for justice without any reservation -- therefore no ideological or political separation was bridged, sasuke was just made to forget what motivated him for the entire series' run. naruto and team 7 succeeding where their predecessors failed was not a function of anything they did differently, but mere narrative convenience.

[pikahlua]

Oh? Please, Madam

What Izuku rejects is the opportunity to be Katsuki's SIDEKICK. He doesn't reject being a hero or competing with Katsuki. He rejects working FOR/UNDER Katsuki. Which is hilarious because Katsuki accepts (apparently multiple times) showing up as a guest lecturer to help out Izuku's class. Katsuki tells Izuku that "If everyone is special, no one is special," which has the potential for SO MUCH DOUBLE MEANING. But what there is no ambiguity about to me is he's basically telling Izuku "Hey, notice this. I'm treating you special. You're special to me. NOTICE."

It's also implied that Izuku sees Katsuki more regularly than he sees most others from their class, which is emphasized by the previous chapter when Aizawa complains to him about Katsuki's behavior in public affecting his ranking. Katsuki basically tells Izuku he needs to start thinking about himself more, and he also ends their final interaction with a "See ya [later]." Katsuki is NOT talking about Ochako, but Izuku takes some of his advice as the impetus for going to talk to Ochako (specifically they just wanna talk more after the dinner since the dinner is now over and they didn't get to talk). So what was Katsuki thinking of? I personally read his "See ya later" as "You'll figure it out, just go handle what you gotta right now and you can catch up to me later."

Hilariously, Izuku calls Katsuki out for being the one to say "If you don't start thinking a little more highly of yourself, you won't notice the things you should." Izuku's response is basically, "Look who's talking." Again, the potential for double meaning here is painfully obvious. He could be referring to SO MANY THINGS and we're meant to infer what that is. WE GET TO GUESS. Izuku could be saying "You did stuff just as bad as what you're saying," or "You're STILL not noticing something, Kacchan."

And Izuku taking inspiration from Katsuki's words to go talk to Ochako is meaningful in another way--IT MEANS IZUKU LISTENED TO HIM. Katsuki is having an influence on Izuku in a way to improve who he is just like Izuku did for him in high school. Izuku takes Katsuki's advice seriously. NO ONE HAS EVER GOTTEN HIM TO UNDERSTAND THIS LESSON BEFORE NOW. It ends with Izuku and Ochako deciding to talk more, but what it shows us is the beginning of Izuku considering himself more. If Izuku follows Katsuki's advice long enough, he'll end up back in the competition with Katsuki just like Katsuki expects him to. That is just as easy of a conclusion to make from the theme of "inevitability" that Shouto gives us (and that Izuku also takes to heart).

This ending implies that inevitably Izuku's gonna catch up again, basically. Things will continue to change. So yeah, we get a beginning where he and Ochako meet up to talk, but it's just a beginning. It's one night of chatting. They're seeing if something's there now (which kind of implies that there wasn't much there before), but it's left open-ended. And I think it's left open-ended what happens with Ochako on purpose because anyone can read how that ends up however they like. You just have to decide as a reader what's "inevitable" for Izuku Midoriya from this point on. Me? I've decided Izuku is taking Katsuki's advice to treat people who mean more to him better. Ochako is just the beginning. Izuku has other people in his life he needs to show love to as well (because that's what this is, Izuku is learning to show people that they're important to him, that he loves them, because saving people doesn't do that--he saves EVERYONE). And then maybe he'll start to see how the people who love him treat him special too, like guest SPECIAL (same kanji) LECTURER KATSUKI BAKUGOU.

tl;dr there is a lot left open to interpretation and it's probably on purpose, read the chapter however you like, just like we did with the last chapter.

...and my interpretation which is the correct one is that Katsuki tells Izuku, "Here let me show you how to love people, damnit!" to give him the character development everyone has been begging for him to have for years, to realize that saving people doesn't mean they're special to him if he's known for saving everyone ever, so like, maybe go show them you care in OTHER ways, Izuku, and also I'll be waiting right here for you to come show you love me you jackass (and he does, he does come show him that)

[deerspherestudios]

🔍 QNA MASTERLIST (LYS VER.👻) 🔎

This masterlist contains all questions and posts relating to Alma from Lift Your Spirits. They might also be referred to as Vida.

General Info about Alma❕

They love junk food. + dev ramble about their design inspiration.

Their favorite food is popcorn and chocolate-dipped churros.

They can form legs if they wish, but prefer to float.

Their birthday is on 20th July! 🎂

Their race is ambiguous as Alma. (If someone asks me about Vida specifically I'd be happy to answer in it's own post and add it here since their appearance in MO.)

Their reaction to discovering someone pushed the vending machine that killed them on purpose.

They can touch things if they concentrate.

Their favorite color is red. + Their height is 6'4 (193cm).

Their reaction to another ghost in the campus building. (same post as above)

Their favorite character in My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic pre-death would be Rainbow Dash. Post-death would be Zecora. + dev rambles.

Their MBTI is INTJ-J.

They love listening to city pop, math rock and swing jazz.

They would win against Mychael (Mushroom Oasis).

They would visit MC if they lived on campus.

They would disappear if the campus building is torn down/destroyed. + dev ramble about ideas for a sequel.

They have an interest in space and would've majored in astronomy.

Alma’s romantic traits…❔

They identify as panromantic demisexual.

Their love language is performing acts of service for others and receiving quality time.

Their preferred pet names for themselves are ones that're sweet and dessert-like. + They would call their partner "my comet."

Their gifts for MC + favorite Christmas activities + thoughts on hot cocoa (as Alma and Vida.)

About Laika…🐕❔

Their dog's name Laika is based off the Soviet space dog.

Laika is hinted to be an ex-service dog.

Laika is given to a family member after their death.

Extras❕

Some in-game and general loredump!

Alma giving you coins for the vending machine.

Alma accepting sodas from the player.

Silly Alma monster-form edit.

Alma being (not) hit by a snowball.

Their reaction to mistletoe.

[umbrellajam]

I feel like whether Tim is on some level suicidal in RR #12 is very open to interpretation, which is part of what makes it fascinating!

because Tim's homecoming to Gotham is the culmination of an upward/self-actualization arc, after struggling through multiple low points/depression/an extended breakdown.

he finally got proof Bruce is alive. managed to claw Tam and himself out of the Cradle and away from the Council of Spiders/LoA by the skin of their teeth. thumbed his nose at Ra's and reaffirmed his own principles by blowing up all the LoA servers. finally kind of processed that Kon and Bart are both alive again - he just tackle-hugged Kon in RR #9 and told him, "when you found me in Paris, I was in a bad place. Now... Now I'm in a good place." he's full of renewed purpose and the realization that he doesn't, in fact, have to do things alone! (team-up Robin ftw!)

so probably not actively suicidal

but then in all of his frantic calculations to thwart Ra's and save each and every person Bruce loved - he doesn't factor himself in. he doesn't put himself on that list of loved ones and set up a contingency for preserving his own life (wtf Tim).

or does he??? that's where the ambiguity comes in for me, because we don't actually see him discussing the full details of his plan with anyone. and he doesn't mention it in his internal narration, either! because his internal narration is always super reliable..... hmmm.....

we know that Dick isn't aware of any other contingencies, or indeed the full details of the plot they were thwarting - after catching Tim, Dick has to ask him, "You want to tell me what that was all about?" and of course "How did you know I'd be there to save you?"

and as I've mentioned before, I don't think Tim had actually planned for Dick to save him, so his "You're my brother, Dick. You'll always be there for me," response is uh, both loving BS and a "genuinely felt expression of retroactive faith", as Silver put it (and which has been stuck in my mind in glowing cursive letters ever since, lol).

but. we do know that as part of his plan to thwart Ra's ninja-assassinate-Bruce's-loved-ones plot, Tim calls all three of his best friends into Gotham. (among all his other rallied allies.) his best friends who are various combinations of flight and/or superspeed capable. and who had each just smugly patched in via comm to confirm that their protection jobs were all successful, meaning Tim knew they were available if he potentially needed them.

the fact that the rest of the Core Four then twiddle their thumbs and let Tim keep fighting Ra's on his own after confirming Alfred/Selina/Barbara are safe, instead of zipping over to have his back (ie punch the jackass through a wall) almost has to be because of: (a) Tim's plan to deliberately stall so Lucius could file the WE paperwork (on the Watsonian level), (b) Yost allowing Tim to have his Final Showdown with the villain of the arc on his own, and also (c) Yost setting up the emotional climax/reconciliation of Dick catching Tim (both on the Doylist level).

like, Tim stalls Ra's for long enough that Dick is able to glide and grapple his way over from his own ninja-busting detail, we don't think the speedster or the Superboy could have gotten there in time?

Dick is the one who caught Tim because it was thematic, it's a motif in their relationship and the resolution of their 12-issue arc, and don't get me wrong I wouldn't change that moment for anything - but! he wasn't the only one around who could have done so.

and Iiiiii have to suspect Tim would know that? there's ambiguity and room for interpretation, of course, especially since Tim doesn't say anything at all or call out to anyone as he's actually falling.

but also. Kryptonian superhearing? Tim's comm which could very well still be connected? could he have been relying on allies listening/clue-ing in, whether or not he actually explicitly sketched out a back-up plan with anyone to come back him up, after Lucius was done transferring WE? all according to (dumbass improvised) keikaku??

idk! seems plausible to me, but it's all so open to interpretation, it makes my brain go BRRRRRR 😊 like you can make a compelling case/headcanon/fic any way you look at it!

anyway. Dick catching Tim is very much The Moment Ever Of All Time <3 but also the thought of Kon just hovering at the ready to grab Rob but spotting Dick!Bats swooping in and being like ":))) oh ok. they both need this." is v. hilarious to me

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

Lucifer's Fun

MDNI 18+, Dom Lucifer, sub afab reader, gender neutral, racially ambiguous, fuck machine use, vibrator use, overstimulation, dirty talk, degradation, reader is fucked silly, mentions of free-use, sexual punishment, sadomasochism

Lucifer didn't like distractions while he worked but he decided to make an exception for you just this once. After all, you looked so pretty on all fours getting your pussy fucked open by the toy you hid from him he attached to an investment he had yet to use until now. The machine hummed and squeaked with every thrust of the dildo into your weeping hole. The vibrator taped against your clit hummed an excruciating song of promised punishment you knew was coming when Lucifer caught you with your toys. The man responsible for your predicament simply rested his leather shoes on your back as he lazily looked over some contracts.

Your pussy made sick squelching sounds thanks in part to the gushing wetness from your previous orgasms at the hands of the cruel machine. Your screams and groans remained locked away behind a red ball strapped into your mouth with black leather straps. The past couple of hours have been utter blissful torture. At times you'd thought your body had gone numb from Lucifer's punishment but then with a couple remote controls, he'd change the speed and rhythm of the machine and vibrator attacking you.

"You should have known better," Lucifer mused looking at you from over his glasses. "I told you that I am the only one to touch you and yet you stuff yourself full of plastic cocks like some common whore." Lucifer pushes down on your back with the heels of his leather oxfords. You could only groan under his cruel treatment. "Maybe that's how you want to be treated, hm?" Lucifer purred.

"I could set you out front of the House of Lamentation just like this and let whoever comes along use you how they please. How does that sound, pet?"

You heard Lucifer chuckle at your strangled noises of disapproval and the way you pitifully shook your head. "But I thought you didn't care who or what used your holes? You don't want me to leave you outside for any demon to come knock up?" Lucifer asked in a mocking tone. You turned your head to look at the Avatar of Pride with overwhelming tears of pleasure blooming in your eyes. You vigorously shook your head hoping to earn Lucifer's pity.

"Then how come I keep catching you toying with your cunt like an insatiable slut?" Lucifer demanded as he turned up the intensity on both the vibrator and the fuck machine. You screamed behind your gag as you were forced to drop onto one of your elbows. The toy slid through your sloppy cunt with such ease as it carved its form into your walls.

"Poor little human," Lucifer mocked. You heard his belt unbuckle and the zipper of his pants. When you looked back at your lover his cock was firmly in the grip of his leather glove. The uncut tip of his manhood wept precum over his foreskin. His pale member was flushed red with arousal at the sight of you taking your punishment so well. Seeing Lucifer start to stroke himself at the sight of you made another gush of wetness run through your cunt. You could feel yourself starting to drool around your gag at the burning need to have his cock in your throat.

You moaned behind your gag trying to utter Lucifer's name to little success. Your brain was so lost to the torturous pleasure he brought to you that you could only make simple moaning noises. "Is my pet still needy?" Lucifer mocked taking his time running his fist up and down his swollen penis. "After all this, you're still a simple slut whose only purpose is to swallow cock." You nodded eagerly hoping to be able to finally take him in any one of your needy holes. Lucifer groaned your name so thoroughly aroused at your obedience.

"Is this really what it takes to get you to listen?" Lucifer growled as he turned the machine up to its highest setting. He removed his feet from your back as your body jerked with the power with which the machine fucked the faux cock into your slopping pussy. Lucifer's office was filled with the sounds of the slapping sounds of your wet cunt mixed with the mechanical hums of the toys he used against you. Your upper body collapsed onto the floor as your pussy was hung off of the dildo. The fuck machine became the only thing to keep your body from fully collapsing onto the ground. The only noises that came from your mouth were pitiful whines of pleasurable agony. Your brain felt like static with the only thoughts running through it being images of Lucifer's cock destroying whatever was left of you.

"Fuck, you look so beautiful like this," you heard Lucifer growl. His voice felt so far away in your blissed-out state yet you could hear the unmistakable moans and heavy breathing leaving his body. "I should keep you like this. Fucked stupid with no other purpose other than to cum all over yourself." You could feel a puddle of drool make itself known against your cheek as your own cum leaked down your inner thighs. Your body jostled back and forth at the will of the fuck machine. Lucifer continued to grip his cock in a choking embrace at the sight of your pathetic body.

"I'm going to cum all over you so you know who you belong to," Lucifer said in a deep growl. You barely registered what he had said before you felt the ropes of hot, sticky cum slather your body. It dripped down your back and off onto the floor. You felt so utterly pathetic at Lucifer's treatment but for some reason that just made your umpteenth orgasm that much more intense. Another spray of squirt gushed out of your messy cunt for what felt like the hundredth time. You wailed behind your gag as Lucifer maxed out the vibrations of the vibrator attached to your clit. "Now, " Lucifer hummed readjusting his pants and making himself presentable. "Diavolo has been invited over to go review some paperwork and have tea and I'd appreciate it if you were on your best behavior for him."

Your brain could only make out half of what Lucifer had said and you could only whine in confusion. "Poor little human," Lucifer mocked as he crouched by your head to pet your hair, "You just have to stay like this while Diavolo and I discuss matters too big for your little brain, okay?" You moaned at the gentle contact Lucifer allowed you to have. "Don't worry dear," Lucifer said mockingly gently, "You just stay right where you are."

Down the hall, you could hear the low humming of voices coming towards Lucifer's office.

[inkmonster21]

I Don’t Play Anymore

Series Masterlist

Hwang In-Ho / The Frontman x Fem!Reader

Warnings: parental abuse, emotional exchanges, teasing

05. Against the Rules

The elevator comes to a halt, and the doors slide open, revealing your father and the Game Maker entering the space. Their presence adds a layer of tension to the already charged atmosphere as the elevator becomes somewhat crowded.

Your father's voice cuts through the silence, his curiosity is evident as he looks at you. "And where will you be going?" Your father's tone is a mix of concern and slight annoyance as if he's been waiting to ask this question for a while.

Your response to your father's question is straightforward and confident, mentioning Anderson's efforts to get you into the club. "That club I mentioned. Anderson got me in," you reply, your voice conveying a sense of certainty. There's a subtle confidence in your words as if you're accustomed to navigating such situations.

Your father nods, echoing his appreciation for Anderson. "I like Anderson. He's got a two-year winning streak," he remarks to the Game Maker, a hint of admiration in his words. The Game Maker listens with a subtle nod of recognition, acknowledging Anderson's achievements, “My, that is quite an accomplishment.”

“Where are you going?” As you ask your question, your father's eyes meet yours, a mix of surprise and slight hesitation evident. "We're going out for a while," he responds, his tone carrying a sense of vagueness. It's clear he's not willing to provide a specific purpose or destination, leaving you somewhat in the dark.

Your response is a simple nod, a quiet acknowledgment of his brief and somewhat evasive answer. There's an understanding that your father has his reasons for being vague, and you choose not to push further, respecting his unwillingness to disclose more information.

You step onto the ferry, joining the others on board. The space is filled with white vans, piled with bodies of the unconscious players, the silence of the environment heightened by the knowledge of their unconsciousness. The sound of the waves provides a subtle ambiance as the ferry sets off on its journey towards Seoul.

While you were away, In-Ho, the Frontman, took the opportunity to contemplate you more rationally. His mind is filled with thoughts and calculations, trying to make sense of the enigma that is you. He attempts to analyze your behavior, actions, and interactions, searching for any patterns or clues that might shed light on your true motivations. The silence and solitude allow him to concentrate, his mind working to decipher your next move.

He couldn't deny the undeniable attraction he felt towards you. It was a fact he couldn't dismiss or ignore. His mind replayed your encounters, the way you carried yourself, and the impact you had on him. There was an undeniable allure about you that stirred something within him, making it difficult to shake off his growing interest in you.

The Frontman's contemplation continues, now pondering whether you shared his attraction. Your behavior and actions had led him to believe it might be possible, but the uncertainty and ambiguity surrounding you left him uncertain. Your confidence and boldness made it difficult to decipher, leaving him unsure if your behavior was a genuine reflection of your feelings or simply part of your intriguing persona.

In-Ho acknowledged the potential risks involved. If you didn't share his attraction, and he made a move, it could lead to complications and jeopardize the delicate balance that already existed between you two. The Frontman's cautious nature comes into play, causing him to hesitate and weigh the risks of making a move.

As you confidently walk into the club, your eyes quickly spot Anderson seated at the bar. With a warm smile, you saunter over, leaning against the bar and teasing him. "You know that's not your color," you say, referring to whatever he seemed to be wearing. Your playful tone hints at your easygoing nature, the words leaving your lips with a mix of charm and humor.

Anderson turns his head, recognizing you, and a smile immediately spreads across his face. "I'll have you know, I look great in everything," he responds with a laugh, his eyes meeting yours, a hint of amusement dancing within them. His playful banter matches your tone, as he responds to your comment with a good-natured attitude.

You order a drink and take a seat on the nearby chair, sitting beside Anderson. He engages with a young man, their conversation filled with playful banter and lighthearted flirting. Anderson is at ease, exuding a relaxed and confident demeanor as he effortlessly engages with others in the bar.

As you take a sip from your drink, you can't help but comment, a playful smile playing on your lips. "I see you've made a friend," you remark, your words carrying a hint of humor. There's a subtle satisfaction apparent in your tone, as you observe Anderson's interaction with the young man. Your lips, marked by the imprint of your lipstick, gently brush against the rim of the glass, adding an air of grace and elegance to your movements.

Anderson glances at you, a sly grin dancing on his lips as he asks, "Jealous?" Your comment catches his attention, and he playfully turns his head in your direction. His eyes meet yours with a mix of amusement and curiosity as if searching for any subtle signs of jealousy on your face. He awaits your response, his tone carrying a hint of sarcasm and a touch of genuine curiosity.

You respond with a dismissive scoff, your words filled with a confident tone. Your eyes meet Anderson's, conveying a clear message of non-attachment. "Not in the slightest," you reply, your voice carrying a mix of sass and self-assurance. There's an undeniable aura of independence and resilience in your demeanor as if jealousy is a foreign concept to you.

As a man approaches you, attempting to engage in conversation, you politely decline, shaking your head gently. "No thank you," you say, your voice carrying a firm but friendly tone, clearly conveying your disinterest. Your straightforward response shuts down the interaction, and the man quickly retreats, sensing your lack of interest.

Anderson bursts into laughter, amused by your cold response to the guy's advances. "You're the coldest bitch I've ever met," he remarks, his voice filled with a mix of humor and disbelief. His comment, however, takes a sharp turn at the end, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. “He’s not my type.”

Anderson's curiosity is piqued by your response, and he raises an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement evident in his eyes. "He's not your type?" he asks, repeating your words with a hint of disbelief and intrigue. "And just what is your type, then?"

You meet Anderson's gaze, your eyes holding a depth of understanding and vulnerability. "Someone who could understand what I've been through. What we've been through," you admit, your words carrying a mix of pain and vulnerability. The weight of your experiences is evident in your voice, a somber undertone lacing the conversation. Anderson, who knows your past, meets your gaze, a look of compassion and understanding mirrored in his eyes. He listens keenly, feeling the weight of your words and the emotions they carry. Anderson raised his brow. He knew it was just as pointless as you did.

As Anderson reveals the deal with your father, his words hang heavy in the air. "He said if I could get two new players into those games, he'd give me ten grand," he explains, a mix of greed and ambition evident in his tone. The offer, while enticing, carries an element of moral ambiguity, raising ethical questions and sparking a sense of unease.

As you roll your eyes at the mention of the games, your words convey a sense of exhaustion and frustration. "I just got out of that place. Please let me enjoy my time," you plead, your voice tinged with a mix of disappointment and weariness. The memory of the games and their intensity still lingers in your mind, reminding you of the emotional and mental toll they took on you.

Anderson, not ready to let the subject drop, continues to press, his words tinged with curiosity and insistence. "Come on, I'm curious!" he says, his eagerness evident in his tone. He tries to persuade you, attempting to gauge your willingness or reluctance to give in to his request.

Anderson's curiosity remains undiminished, and he presses on, seeking information. "About what happened in the games, of course!" he responds, his tone tinged with intrigue. He leans in, expecting you to share details, eager to know more about your experiences and the challenges you faced.

Anderson's curiosity is piqued by your description, and his eyes widen in surprise at the scale of the operation. "It's huge," you begin, a sense of awe and disbelief evident in your voice. "It takes up the entire island. They have over 200 guards, and over 300 players to start. It's impressive." As you share more details, Anderson listens intently, absorbing the information you provide, clearly impressed by the scope and organization of the games.

You go on to describe the unique aspect of the games, explaining, "Everyone besides players wears a mask." The detail catches Anderson's attention, and his eyes narrow slightly as he listens, clearly intrigued by the peculiarity of the situation. He leans in, eager to hear more, his attention fully focused on your words.

The description of the masked participants, including the haunting presence of the Frontman's mask, leaves Anderson intrigued and slightly unnerved, “That’s not super creepy.”

You continue, adding, "The Frontman has this black matte facemask. You can't see his eyes, but... I can feel when he's looking, you know?"

Anderson, ever the joker, can't resist making a sly remark. "Sounds kinda kinky," he quips, a mischievous smile forming on his lips. His words are meant to lighten the mood and provoke a reaction from you, though there's a hint of genuine curiosity behind his comment.

As Anderson's playful remark lingers in the air, the memory of your interactions with the Frontman resurfaces in your mind. The fleeting moments of eye contact, the unspoken exchange of glances, and the subtle undercurrent of tension between you had not gone unnoticed. Despite your attempts to brush it off as harmless, there was a nagging curiosity that gnawed at you. The Frontman's rescue, the offer of his room, and the enigma that surrounded him had slowly and insidiously planted a sense of... well, it was hard to put a name on it.

You continued to drink and laugh with Anderson, the hours passing as you enjoyed each other's company. However, amid the merriment, a familiar presence entered the room, causing a subtle shift in the atmosphere. Your father had arrived, his presence commanding immediate attention.

Your father strides into the room, a commanding presence that immediately captures Anderson's attention. "Mr. (L/N), it's a pleasure!" Anderson stands up, greeting your father with a practiced smile, a touch of respect evident in his tone. Your father embraces Anderson in a friendly gesture, "You look good, son," he remarks, a mix of familiarity and affection present in his voice. The two men exchange warm greetings, and your father takes a seat, his eyes roaming the room, assessing the situation.

Your father's gaze falls upon you, and he asks, "Had enough?" There's a hint of disgust and a subtle reminder of expectations in his words, making it clear that he's scrutinizing your state and behavior.

Your response to your father's question is playful and defiant. "Cheers," you say, raising your glass and draining the remaining contents in a single swift motion. It's a clear show of independence and defiance, as you make a point to finish the drink rather than setting it aside. Despite your father's disapproval, you refuse to let him dictate your actions or dampen your enjoyment.

Despite your father's hidden anger, he remains composed, only managing a subtle hum in response. "Let's go," he demands, his tone firm and assertive, indicating that he's ready to leave. The tension in the air is palpable, but your father maintains a facade of composure, attempting to hide his displeasure and maintain appearances.

Your father's grip on your arm is firm as he guides you forcefully out of the establishment. His actions, though forceful, are subtle enough to avoid drawing too much attention. He leads you with a sense of urgency, as if eager to remove you from the environment and regain control over the situation.

As you follow your father's forceful grip, a sense of impending punishment hangs in the air. You don't resist; you know that any resistance or defiance will only make things worse. With each step, the weight of your disobedience and the impending consequences weigh heavy on your mind. The tension is palpable as you brace yourself for what may come.

The silence between you and your father on the boat is suffocating, the tension thick enough to cut through the air. Your father refuses to look in your direction, his anger, and disappointment evident in his silence. The waves crash against the sides of the boat, the sound becoming almost unbearable in the oppressive atmosphere. It's clear that your actions have triggered his fury, and the impending punishment weighs heavily on your mind, leaving you with a sense of unease and dread.

As you enter the elevator in the headquarters of the island, the weight of your father's silent anger hangs in the air. You step inside, standing beside your father. As the elevator doors close, shutting you in with your father, he grabs you by the neck in a swift and unexpected move. The sudden and forceful grip tightens around your throat, a clear indication of his frustration and anger. The silence of the elevator amplifies the intensity of the moment, making the tension between you palpable as you stand there, caught off guard by his physical display.

Your back slams against the wall with a forceful impact, the pain shooting through your body. "You little bitch!" your father growls, his words filled with anger and frustration. The violence of his action echoes in the small confines of the elevator, the force of the throw leaving you momentarily dazed and hurting.

The first slap catches you off guard, the force leaving a red mark on your cheek. "Disrespectful," he repeats, his tone dripping with frustration and outrage. The anger and disappointment in his voice are palpable as he continues, delivering the second slap with a sharp and impactful motion. The sound of the slap reverberates in the cramped space, the pain and humiliation evident in the tense atmosphere.

Your father's words cut deep, the mention of your mother adding an extra layer of pain to the situation. "You make me so ANGRY! You don't drink! It's sloppy! So much like your mother!" he yells, his voice filled with a mix of anger and disappointment.

Despite the pain and the tension, an unexpected laugh threatens to escape your lips. "And what did you do to her? Huh?" you retort, a mix of defiance and sorrow lacing your words as you challenge him, bringing up the complex history between him and your mother. The question hangs in the air, waiting for an answer, even though you know you likely won't receive a satisfactory one.

The air in the elevator grows heavy as your father draws his gun, his anger reaching its boiling point. The cold steel of the weapon is mere inches from your head, the threat clear and imminent. The tension reaches a pinnacle in the confined space, the silence and stillness only adding to the gravity of the moment.

The tension in the elevator ratchets up, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air. "Do it," you say, challenging your father, daring him to follow through on his threat. The room feels as if it has stopped, with the gun still aimed at you, the silence and tension filling every bit of space available.

With a flicker of uncertainty, your father's voice trembles slightly as he responds, "You don't think I will?" The gun still points at your face. A smile, tinged with a mix of bravado and defiance, plays on your lips. "I don't think you can," you reply the words carrying a hint of challenge and the belief that your father won't follow through on his threat. The tension in the elevator is palpable, each second feeling like an eternity as the standoff continues.

As the elevator doors slide open, revealing the entrance and the Frontman standing there, the tension hangs in the air. The Frontman's presence adds another layer of complexity to the already volatile situation, his arrival creating a slight pause in the standoff. Your father's grip tightens on the gun, the threat still looming as he stands there, a mix of anger and turmoil evident in his tense stance.

As the Frontman steps forward, his movements deliberate and controlled, he positions himself between you and the gun, breaking the line of sight and physically placing himself as a barrier between you and your father's weapon. The Frontman exudes an air of authority, his presence seemingly serving as a calming influence in the escalating situation.

The Frontman's voice cuts through the tension, addressing your father. "To your suite, Mr. (L/n)?" he inquires, maintaining a professional and composed demeanor. Despite the intensity of the situation, his tone remains calm and measured, as if his presence alone can help defuse the explosive atmosphere. The Frontman stands there, acting as a mediator and a buffer between you and your enraged father.

Your father's response is curt and short, a mere affirmation of the Frontman's question.

Your father's command is clear and resolute as he exits. "When we go home, you're going back in," he says, as he points his finger at you, his glare conveying his anger and intentions. The mention of returning to the games weighs heavy on your mind.

The elevator doors slide shut, leaving you alone with the Frontman in the enclosed space. It comes to a halt, and the doors open to reveal the top floor. You walk out with a sense of determination, your steps carrying a hint of defiance. The Frontman follows closely behind, maintaining a silent presence as you proceed to the suite.

In a fit of frustration and pent-up emotion, you swiftly open the kitchen cabinets, pulling out a glass dish with trembling hands. With a force fueled by emotional turmoil, you smash it against the ground, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the kitchen. Your scream follows suit, a fierce and cathartic release of bottled-up emotions that fills the air with an angry resonance.

The Frontman approaches you with a calm and composed demeanor. Despite your display of frustration, he doesn't react alarmed; instead, he takes a step closer, his gaze and presence unwaveringly steady.

The Frontman, with unexpected grace, hands you another plate, placing it in your hands with a gentle yet insistent grip. His actions communicate a silent understanding and acceptance as if his intention is for you to repeat the act that just occurred, offering you another opportunity to release your emotions. The gesture speaks volumes, expressing a quiet empathy and a subtle invitation to let out the turmoil that simmers within you.

With the plate in your hands, the pent-up frustration boils within you, demanding release. You raise the plate, and with a forceful motion, you smash it against the nearest surface, the shattering noise echoing in the room. Shards of glass and ceramic fly in every direction, the force of your action reverberating through the air. The catharsis of the act is momentarily soothing, as you release the pent-up emotions that have been consuming you.

You recount your brother's actions, and the sacrifices he made to keep you out of the games. Your tone carries a mix of gratitude and bitterness, as you walk through the scattered glass fragments. "He tried his best to make sure it wasn't me. He pretended to love the games, doing everything my father said, just so this wouldn't happen to me," you explain, your voice tinged with complex emotions. The mention of your brother's sacrifices hangs heavily in the air, a painful reminder of the burden of expectations and the sacrifices made in the name of love and protection.

Your laughter is a mix of sorrow and anger as you let out a bitter chuckle. "And then he died anyway!" Your words carry a sense of injustice and despair, as the reality of your brother's death and its consequences weigh heavily on your heart. The laughter, tinged with a sense of irony, serves as a release of the pent-up pain and anguish that you've held inside.

The Frontman continues to quietly listen, letting your words and emotions flow freely. His presence remains a steady and silent witness to your moment of pain and frustration, providing a non-judgmental space for you to express yourself. The weight of your emotions and the memories of your brother's sacrifices are palpable in the air, and the Frontman allows you the space to release them.

Your voice trembles with emotion as you continue, your words revealing the depth of your pain. "I was such a different person seven years ago," you confess, the weight of the past years of trauma and transformation evident in your tone. The realization of how much you've changed echoes in your words, a painful reminder of the person you once were and the person you've become.

The stream of words flows from your lips, each one carrying the burden of loss and the harsh reality of your experiences. "7 years ago, my mother died. 6 years ago, my brother died. 5 years ago, my boyfriend died. 4 years ago I won the games and killed more people than I can remember. My whole life has been a huge fuck you," you declare, your voice filled with pain, anger, and frustration. Each sentence carries the weight of the past, a stark reminder of the tumultuous path your life has taken. The years, marked by loss and violence, seem to have etched their impact deep into your soul.

Your words, tinged with bitterness and disappointment, reveal the harsh realities of your father's behavior. "My father plays with us and when he's done, he throws us in the trash," you say, your voice carrying the weight of resentment and sadness. The sense of being manipulated and used by your father's actions resonates deeply, leaving a heavy burden on your heart. The games, the death, and the loss are a byproduct of his selfish choices, and the weight of it all feels overwhelming at the moment.

You find yourself on the couch, shaking your head in your hands, mortified by your emotional outburst. "I'm sorry. This is... so embarrassing. My god," you mumble, your voice filled with a mix of embarrassment and self-awareness. The weight of what you've just revealed, the raw emotions that have been unleashed in front of the Frontman, leave you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

The Frontman, with a calm and measured presence, takes a seat next to you on the couch. His deliberate movements and gentle manner create a sense of reassurance and comfort as if silently conveying that you're not alone at this moment. There's a subtle understanding in his gaze, a non-judgmental acceptance of your emotional turmoil, a silent affirmation that it's okay to feel the way you do.

The Frontman speaks, his voice laced with empathy and understanding. "I... understand your loss," he says, his words carrying a hint of shared pain. It's a simple yet sincere gesture that acknowledges the depth of your grief and loss, a subtle connection that bridges the divide between you and the Frontman, forging a moment of shared understanding. It's as if he too has experienced similar hardships and can empathize with your struggles on a personal level.

The Frontman's words hold a subtle weight, and the depth of his understanding goes beyond what meets the eye. "I understand a lot more than you know," he says, his voice tinged with a mix of empathy and a hint of something else – a secret or a layer that he seems to keep hidden. The words, though seemingly simple, carry a sense of depth and enigma, implying that there are aspects of his past and experiences that he keeps hidden, leaving room for curiosity and speculation in your mind.

You lock eyes with the Frontman, and with a mix of vulnerability and curiosity, you ask, "Did you lose someone in the games?" Your words hang in the air, the question holding the essence of your desire for understanding and to connect on a deeper level.

The Frontman's sigh speaks volumes, conveying a sense of resignation and the weight of his past. He has never been open about the path that led him to his current role, to lead the games and all its intricacies. A layer of complexity and hidden history surrounds him, adding an air of mystery and enigma to his presence.

In a surprising turn of events, the Frontman chooses to deviate from the usual protocols. His hand moves with deliberate precision, reaching up to his face and unclasping the mask, the sound of the buckle releasing filling the room. With a swift motion, the mask falls away, revealing his face in its entirety. His features once shrouded in the anonymity of the mask, are now exposed to your sight.

As the mask falls away, you are struck by the sight of In-Ho's face. His sharp features, marked by high cheekbones and a strong jawline, exude an undeniable presence. His eyes, dark and intense, hold a piercing gaze that seems to see right through you. The clean-cut, professional hairstyle adds to his overall polished and refined appearance, making him even more distinct and attractive.

In-Ho acknowledges the unusual nature of the situation, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability and a touch of irony. "This is highly unusual, as well as against the rules," he admits his tone a mix of realization and contemplation. It's a departure from his usual composure, a moment of unexpected vulnerability as he willingly, and boldly, breaks protocol by revealing his face to you.

Your question hangs in the air, carrying a mix of curiosity and a touch of awe. "Then why do it?" you ask, seeking to understand the reasons behind In-Ho's decision to break protocol. His actions seem deliberate and significant, and the desire to know what motivated him to reveal his identity is evident. The answer may hold the key to a deeper understanding of who he is and his reasoning behind the bold move.

In-Ho's response carries a hint of introspection as he considers his actions. "I don’t have an answer," he admits, his tone thoughtful and introspective. "But when you laid yourself out bare," he continues, referring to your moment of vulnerability, "it felt like I knew you." There's a subtle recognition and understanding that In-Ho has gained through the shared moments and your honest admission of your feelings and experiences. He may not fully comprehend his motivations, but that doesn't diminish the authenticity of the connection he feels in the moment.

In-Ho's words carry a sense of sadness, and he opens up, sharing a part of his past that has affected him deeply. "I had a wife," he starts, his voice tinged with an undertone of grief, "She was with child, and she got sick." The weight of his loss and the pain of that experience linger between his words, the memories resurfacing and leaving a lasting mark on his soul.

In-Ho continues, his voice carrying a mix of sadness and guilt. "We didn't have the money for the treatment she needed. She was given two choices. Terminate the pregnancy or die trying," he reveals, the weight of the situation evident in his tone. "She said she was going to give birth even if it killed her." You could see the cold memories in his eyes as he spoke, “I borrowed money, as much as I could, but my employer found out and fired me.” The confession, laden with pain and regret, paints a vivid picture of the choices he made to try and help his wife and unborn child.

In-Ho's gaze meets yours, a mix of pain and determination echoing in his eyes. "So, I came here, I played, and I won," he says, his words carrying both a sense of accomplishment and a hint of regret. There's a tinge of exhaustion in his voice, a reminder that the victory came at a price, and it's evident that his emotional journey has been a complex and challenging one.

In-Ho's voice cracks with sadness, the weight of the memory evident in his words. "But when I got back home, I was too late," he says, the pain simmering just beneath the surface, his voice tinged with regret and grief. The tragic discovery upon his return home has left a lasting impact on him, adding a layer of bitterness to his triumph.

The emotional connection between you and In-Ho deepens in this vulnerable conversation. It feels like truth hour, where both of you are open and raw, sharing the pain and guilt that both of you carry. As he reveals his past, you find a sense of understanding in his words, realizing that he truly comprehends the depth of your feelings and the human emotions that keep resurfacing despite attempts to bury them.

As you continue to converse with In-Ho, a deeper understanding sets in, and you realize the tragic irony of his situation. "You didn't lose someone in the games," you observe. "You lost them because of the games." Your words carry a tone of empathy, recognizing the direct impact of the games on In-Ho's tragedy and the complex nature of the pain he carries.

In-Ho nods, acknowledging the truth in your statement. "I had nothing. I had changed in the games and everything outside of them felt wrong," he admits, his voice tinged with a sense of self-awareness and resignation. He pauses, considering the impact your presence has had on him. "For a while now, I've felt fine, leveled," he continues, his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability. "Until you showed up."

The surprise and confusion in your voice are evident as you respond, "Me?" You are genuinely taken aback by the revelation, unsure of what role you have played in his life to cause such an impact. The confusion in your expression mirrors the curiosity you feel, seeking to understand why your presence had such an effect on him.

In-Ho nods in affirmation, his voice carrying a hint of admiration and an underlying sense of vulnerability. "Yes, you," he confirms softly, the words carrying the acknowledgment of the impact you've had on him. His sigh conveys a mix of emotions like he's trying to articulate something more profound but struggling to find the right words. "You must know the type of effect you have," he continues, "the type of woman you are." His words hold a touch of wonder as if he's come to understand something about you that has resonated on a deeper level.

A smirk plays on your lips, and you lean in closer, feeling the comfort of the couch as you settle into the moment. "Oh, I know the effect I have," you respond, your words carrying a hint of confidence and self-awareness. You lean in as you add, "I just never thought it would make a man like yourself so weak." Your tone is a mix of playfulness and a subtle challenge, as you subtly assert the power you hold and the effect it's had on In-Ho.

The smirk on your lips holds a hint of anticipation, as you propose the idea of a game. There's a playful glint in your eyes, and an undercurrent of intrigue in your tone as you ask, "Do you want to play a game?" The suggestion hangs in the air, inviting a response from In-Ho and adding a layer of excitement to the room.

In-Ho tilts his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Despite the guarded nature of his expression, a spark of curiosity flickers in his eyes, and he responds with a mix of intrigue and cautious interest, "What have you got in mind?"

In a moment of playful banter, you lean forward, suggesting a game of "two truths and one lie" to deepen the connection between you two. "Since we're here getting to know each other," you propose, a mischievous glint in your eyes, "how about a game of 'two truths and one lie'?" Your words carry a sense of excitement and anticipation, inviting In-Ho to participate in this playful game of truth and deception.

In-Ho with his guarded expression that softens ever so slightly. He nods, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, as he agrees to the proposal. "Alright," he responds, a mix of curiosity and willingness in his tone.

With a moment of consideration, you straighten your seating position on the couch, readying yourself for the game. "Alright," you begin, your voice carrying elements of revelation and intrigue. "I'm the daughter of the biggest a-hole on this planet." The first statement holds the weight of truth, your frustration and resentment towards your father are evident in your tone.

Your tone is confident and direct as you clarify, "I can't stand it here,” As you clarify your statements, your voice takes on a softer tone, the smirk playing on your lips as you confess, "Three, you intrigue me.'" Your words are directed directly at In-Ho, carrying a mix of curiosity and an underlying suggestion of connection.

In-Ho smirks, his words holding a mix of banter and a touch of teasing as he responds to your statement about enjoying your time on the island. There's a hint of playful understanding in his eyes as if he's challenging you to deny the obvious. "Well," he begins, "I have to say, you've been enjoying your time here. Unless I'm wrong." His words carry a subtle edge, challenging you to acknowledge your enjoyment or to deny it if you so choose.

In a moment of playful banter, you raise your brow, feigning curiosity and challenging In-ho's assertion. A small smirk curves at the corner of your lips, as you playfully ask, "Is that your final answer?" The tension in the air is palpable, the game of truth and deception adding an extra layer of excitement to the exchange. In-Ho raises an eyebrow, responding to your question, "It is.”

“Congratulations,” You pout playfully, feigning disappointment, as you slip off your shoes one by one. The tension in the room continues to rise as you challenge In-Ho with your actions.

You smile and the cross of your legs add an air of confidence and assertiveness to the scene. The suggestion of your words hangs in the air, inviting In-Ho to share his truths. "Your turn," you say, challenging him to reveal his secrets.

In-Ho's words reveal a glimpse into his personal life, "I’m the leader, I don’t drink whiskey," he says, the words hanging in the air, then he leans in closer, his eyes locking with yours as he adds, "and find you... astonishing." There's a mix of vulnerability and sincerity in his words, conveying a true sentiment.

You smirk playfully, an element of mischievousness in your tone as you respond to In-Ho's statements, knowing all too well that the truth lies within the third statement. "Hmm, has to be that third one," you say, playing along with the game and challenging him with a devious curve of your lips.

In-Ho chuckles lightly, his tone carrying a hint of amusement as he responds to your challenge. "You're at a loss," he says, fully confident in his statements, knowing that you have incorrectly guessed the lie.

Amid the tense and heated banter, you suddenly make a bold move. In a smooth motion, you reach behind your back, unclasping your bra, and letting it fall to the floor. However, the dress still covers you, maintaining a sense of decency. The act, though provocative, also holds an element of defiance, pushing the boundaries of the game and asserting your form of control. The tension in the room continues to rise as you challenge In-Ho with your actions.

The game continues, challenging you to stay on your toes. "Not many more layers to go," you say, the anticipation building with each layer of clothing being removed. "I better start winning," you add, your words dripping with playful determination. The game continues, each revelation adding fuel to the fire of this intense encounter.

In-Ho observes your actions, fully aware of the game you're playing, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He understands the subtle layers of manipulation and control at play, and his response is measured, a blend of amusement and intrigue.

You take your turn, sharing three statements that reveal different aspects of yourself. Your first two statements offer a glimpse into your past and intentions, but it's the third one that holds the most weight at the moment. "One, I graduated top of my class," you start, setting the stage. "Two, I'm going to pay you back for those broken dishes," you add with a light laugh, acknowledging the moment of rage. Then, with a direct and sultry glance into his eyes, you say softly, "Three… I know you want to kiss me."

The last line hangs in the air, its honesty and vulnerability laying bare the emotional connection brewing between you two. In-Ho's gaze meets yours, and the tension between you reaches new heights as the truth is laid out on the table. The game takes on a deeper meaning, the honesty and directness in your words leaving no room for ambiguity.

In-Ho's breath hitched, and you saw a spark of something wild ignite in his eyes. He leaned in, his movements deliberate, as if savoring the anticipation. His scent, a mixture of cologne and musk, invaded your senses, sending a shiver down your spine.

As his lips brushed against yours, you felt a rush of warmth spread through your body. His kiss was gentle at first, a soft exploration of your lips, but it quickly ignited into something more passionate. In-Ho's hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks, sending tingles down your neck. You responded eagerly, opening your mouth to deepen the kiss, your tongues dancing in a sensual rhythm.

The kiss was a whirlwind of sensations; his lips were soft yet demanding, and his taste was intoxicating. You moaned softly into his mouth, your hands instinctively reaching up to thread through his neatly combed black hair. In-Ho's grip on your face tightened, his kiss becoming more urgent as if he couldn't get enough of you.

Pulling back slightly, you gazed into his eyes, now dark with desire.

His hands traveled down your neck, gently caressing your skin, making you shiver with anticipation. The make-out session was a blur of pleasure, lust, and desire. In-Ho's lips moved from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses that made you squirm with delight. His hands roamed freely, exploring your body, igniting a fire within you that you never knew existed.

As his fingers traced the outline of your jaw, down to your collarbone, you couldn't help but let out a soft whimper. The sensation of his touch was driving you wild, and you craved more. In-Ho seemed to sense your need, his kisses becoming more possessive as if he wanted to brand you as his.

In-Ho's hand found its way under your dress, his warm palm making contact with the bare skin of your thighs. You gasped at the sudden contact, your body arching into his touch. His fingers trailed upwards, their path leaving a scorching trail on your skin.

"We should stop," In-Ho panted between kisses, his breath hot against your skin, But his hands didn't stop their exploration, and his lips continued to ravish your neck, making it hard to think straight.

You wanted to protest, to tell him that you didn't want it to end, but before you could form the words, the shrill ring of the phone pierced the air. The sudden interruption startled both of you, breaking the spell that had enveloped the room.

In-Ho pulled away, his eyes now a mixture of longing and frustration. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. "I need to answer that," he mumbled, his voice rough with unspent passion.

You sat there, breathless and dazed, as he stood up and walked towards the ringing phone. The moment had been interrupted, but the tension between you was now palpable. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, a mixture of emotions swirling within you.

As In-Ho answered the call, his back turned to you, you took a moment to gather your thoughts. The intensity of the moment had caught you off guard. You never expected to feel this way about him, but there was no denying the connection that had formed.

He finished the call quickly, his voice distant as he spoke, and then he turned around, his eyes searching yours. "I will be right there," he said, his voice laced with responsibility.

You stood up, your body still buzzing with unfulfilled desire. "Busy man," acknowledging his commitments and responsibilities. As you hand him his mask, your voice steady and unwavering despite the inner turmoil, you declare, "This isn't over.”

In-Ho's smile curves his lips, acknowledging the unspoken understanding and connection between you. With a gentle yet firm grip, he pulls you in by your waist, bringing you closer to him. The proximity adds an electric undercurrent to the moment, as he holds your gaze, the world around them seeming to pause.

In-Ho leans in again, their lips meeting in a more gentle and tender exchange. The intensity remains present, but it's softer and more tender. There's a sense of vulnerability and human connection in the way their lips meld together.

He leaves you there, and as you sit, replaying the kiss in your mind, you realize that something has shifted. The emotional connection had been laid bare, and there was no going back. The tension that had built up would only grow stronger, and you couldn't wait to see where this forbidden path would lead.

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[meowzfordayz]

look me in the eyes; tell me you love him

Author’s Note: this is FILTHY. 😳 I’m in love. 😌 Ending is purposely ambiguous, but def not bad/sad.

look me in the eyes; tell me you love him

Geto Suguru x Reader x Gojo Satoru

Word Count: ~3,400

CW: 18+NSFW, anal, cheating, cream!pie, c!m eating, degrading language, double!p, explicit language, Fem!Reader, spit, squirting, threesome

Kinktober 2023

~faqs~

“Y’know, you could’ve waited five minutes, just in case I forgot something.”

Fuck.

—

It’s hard to respond to Suguru’s deadpan remark when Satoru refuses to relinquish your mouth, candy sweet tongue swiping greedily along your bottom lip, pointedly ignoring his best friend posted up in the living room doorway. Your ass sits perched on the couch’s armrest, shocked and anxious eyes meeting your boyfriend’s frosty stare, breasts bare while your delicate skirt flares out innocent and pretty, legs spread to make room for Satoru’s ministrations. His large, slender hand remains occupied between your thighs, nimble thumb keeping your panties aside while his index and middle fingers pet teasingly at your soft, warm folds.

“Don’t grip her so tightly,” Suguru mutters darkly, stalking toward Satoru’s other hand as he kneads roughly at the plush of your hip, “She’ll bruise.”

“Oh I know,” Satoru replies, nonchalant and smug, promptly reaching up for your cheeks, squishing your face with a grin, “Now listen.”

Against his better judgment, Suguru halts his advance, stomach twisting at the dazedness in your eyes, your gaze dropping as Satoru slips his fingers into your heat, undeniable squelch of slick and desire blurring Suguru’s vision while Satoru curls his fingers so precisely and familiarly, your body jolting at the pressure.

“What a slut,” Suguru snarls, rooted in place as your head falls backward, a strangled moan building in your chest, Satoru’s fingers moving faster and faster with more and more dexterity, the sound of your essence coating his fingers becoming louder and messier, staining your skirt as he approaches the crest of your orgasm with practiced ease, “This isn’t the first time my best friend has had his fingers knuckle deep in your cunt, is it? The way your breath catches, the way your knees jerk… how long have you been fucking?”

“Suguru,” you finally whimper, pushing limply at Satoru’s wrist, “I’m so sorry.”

A displeased growl draws your attention, Satoru frowning disappointedly even as he continues chasing your orgasm, fingers jabbing sharper, your pathetic mewls spurring him on.

“Damn right you’re sorry,” Satoru hisses, “Why the hell are you saying the name of the guy who isn’t about to make your stupid cunt cum?”

“That guy,” Suguru interjects bitterly, “Is your best friend. How about you quit blocking my view, and at least let me watch my bitch cheating on me.”

Laughing amusedly, Satoru acquiesces, unceremoniously flipping your skirt up to reveal your glistening pussy, shifting himself just enough for Suguru to see how eagerly your hole flutters around his fingers, “Your bitch? At this point, I’d say she’s our bitch. I’ve been fucking her whenever you’re gone for months.”

“Let me guess,” Suguru snorts, no longer frozen, striding closer till he can feel the air vibrating with Satoru’s domineering bite, “Something about asking for forgiveness rather than permission? Bet that was your thoughtless process.”

“Sure was,” Satoru singsongs, grabbing your face once more as you begin shaking, “That’s right bitch, fucking squirt all over your boyfriend’s nice pants. Show him how you like to cheat on him, show him what his best friend is capable of.”

Suguru’s mouth curdles with disgust and begrudging interest as you climax, your legs quivering too familiarly while Satoru slaps wetly at your cunt. Your poofy skirt paints a scene of naivety around your waist even as a visible puddle collects on the sun faded floor beneath you, the couch’s armrest suffering the same fate as your cum dribbles between your asscheeks.

“Well, you are capable,” Suguru sighs, nose crinkling when Satoru casually flicks the remnants of your orgasm onto his pants, a nasty smile accompanying the scent of your sex while you lean limply into Satoru’s side.

With a low hum, Satoru pets lightly at your head, his cock straining in his trousers with satisfaction as your cum sticks to your hair. Glancing downward, he notes Suguru’s own erection, a sizable bulge that you’d gushed about not infrequently, gears clanging when you tug plaintive at the hem of his shirt.

“Whaddya want?” he nearly coos, comfort settling in at your adoring pout and Suguru’s somehow ebbing temper, “Both of us?”

Your eyes widen at Satoru’s forbidden suggestion, Suguru’s jaw twitching. He must be so pissed you think, tears quickly brimming as realization knocks you from your high. You’d shove Satoru if you could trust yourself to balance, still reeling from your climax, beginning to tremble as Suguru fails to acknowledge you.

“As often as you ride this cock,” Satoru drawls, confidence rising, “I can’t seem to escape your yapping about his,” chin jutting toward Suguru, “Dick. So maybe you could give us both a try. We’ll figure out who you really love.”

And part of you immediately recoils, teeth gnashing at the implication of your cheating equating to loving, wondering far too late if Satoru might actually like you a little. If, perhaps, the tender, soapy showers and playful, gentle cuddles weren’t merely for his ego. If his constant availability and willingness to fuck you within an inch of consciousness—to then build and nurture you back to coy flirtation and unguarded laughter—should’ve been a redder flag. If, in fact, it was heart shaped.

But a bigger part of you surrenders, intrigued by the chance to feel your lovers together. Desperate to earn Suguru’s forgiveness. His approval. And much too aware of the precum leaking through his pants, almost licking your lips at the prospect of angry, possessive fucking.

“Suguru?” you say carefully, pussy clenching at the prompt disdain in his eyes, his expression so bored yet so ready to devour you.

“Tell me you love him,” Suguru murmurs, a succinct, seductive demand, “Look me in the eyes, and tell me you love him.”

“Wha-”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugs, readjusting his crotch in an exaggerated, languid movement, “I mind a lot. I fucking hate you,” the unzipping of his pants filling the room with a choked anticipation, “But what’s done is done. So you have two options,” resting a patronizing palm on your bare shoulder, smirking as your body gravitates away from Satoru, “You can tell me the truth, and my best friend and I will fuck your cunt and ass until we are sated… or you can lie to me and sit here while my best friend and I cum on your fucking whore face.”

Your ending is clear, the fragility of your position—and the wickedness of their friendship—stated point and blank. You don’t need to spare Satoru a glance to know he’s celebrating internally, his cockiness and blatant disrespect being rewarded in a roundabout manner as usual. And you don’t need to press Suguru further, his intent to punish you confirmed, a surprisingly promising future ahead should you play your cards right.

“Fuck my cunt and my ass,” you whisper, core stirring as Suguru’s pants hit the ground, his briefs soon following, Satoru’s impressed whistle—Not bad, not bad—and Suguru’s consequent scowl reminding you of how dearly you love Suguru’s cock.

“Not quite,” Suguru tsks, stroking his cock with a dreadful calmness, palm on your shoulder lowering to cup your tit, “Tell me the truth.”

“I…” you falter, feeling Satoru’s obliques stiffen against your cheek, his hand firm in your hair as Suguru’s remains on your shoulder, “I can’t…”

Suguru strokes himself faster, balls already tightening from your earlier performance, expression growing more bored and less primal.

“Ilovehim,” you gasp, Satoru’s eyes shutting at your confession, “I love him and how he’s memorized me from head to toe. How he can make me cum over and over, how he cleans and cherishes me,” gulping for air as you fixate on Suguru’s cock, so red and swollen and shining with precum, “But… but I love you. I love you and how you’ve accepted me through ups and downs, how you make me feel stars. How I feel known by you, inside and out. How I believe I know you, enough to make you happy.”

“Enough to cheat on me?” is Suguru’s tart retort, “With my best friend. You’re so-”

“Suguru.”

Satoru’s interruption startles you, his voice silken honey as he smoothes the furrow of your brow, deftly unzipping his own pants, determined to match Suguru’s pace. Eyes rolling, Suguru grabs your thigh, forcing your legs wide, mouth a thin line as Satoru’s underwear pools at his ankles.

“Complaints?” Satoru winks, grabbing your other thigh, brushing your cheek with his free fingers—your cum flaking onto your face—for a fleeting moment before nudging you upright, “Does she get any prep?”

You lick your lips properly now, the heat and allure of their hands spreading you open making your pussy tingle. Suguru’s cock waits heavy and engorged in his grasp, an unassuming yet devastatingly thick six inches with a perfectly mushroomed tip to compliment his foreboding stature. Meanwhile, Satoru’s curves slightly upward, elegantly cruel at eight inches, slim and pink as his flared tip drools precum.

“Prep? For this bitch?” Suguru punctuates his slur with a smack to your nipples, delighting in your yelp as he meets Satoru’s zealous gaze, “I’m sure she gets plenty, fucking around with multiple men.”

“Multiple?” Satoru snaps at that, mood simmering at the thought, “No, Suguru. Just me. Just me… and you.”

Suguru doesn’t have the patience to argue semantics, tugging roughly on your tit to guide you off the couch’s armrest and onto the couch itself, Satoru’s hand migrating from your thigh to your ass, whimsical skirt torn from your waist, lazy thumb prodding at your asshole as you brace yourself on all fours. A glob of spit lands on your back, and then your asscheek, Suguru pinching and twisting your nipples with unperturbed harshness as he watches Satoru’s thumb trace a heart through the spit before sinking into your hole. You hiss at the intrusion, ill prepared for the intense sensation of using spit for lube, groaning when Satoru immediately spits on your ass again. His thumb slips farther and farther into your asshole as he continues spitting, relishing in how his spit beads and then drips onto the cushions below, your pubic hair drenched and glistening.

“Does this mean you’re fucking her ass?” Suguru queries, admiring the pained scrunch of your face as Satoru switches from his thumb to both his index and middle fingers, tolerating the impromptu preparation to bask in your obvious physical discomfort.

He gifts you a chastising kiss, forgetting your tits for a second to cup and caress your cheeks, softening the pain in your expression.

“Actually,” Satoru grins behind you, something devilish and orchestrated to which only Suguru is privy, “I was thinking your monster girth would do a better job of breaking this tight fucking ass, and I know she loves when I abuse her cervix.”

Choosing to disregard Satoru’s baiting reference to his own claim to your pleasure, Suguru nods in agreement, squatting to your eye level as you whimper faintly, Satoru shoving a third finger past your gradually relaxing muscle.

“Satoru’s being so considerate,” Suguru says, saccharine and sarcastic, “The jerk’s always compensating for something,” sneering as he knocks your arms out from under you, your asshole suddenly empty as Satoru withdraws.

Suguru maneuvers you like light weight as he slinks himself beneath you, your mouth smooshed into his chest for a brief respite. And then you’re being flipped onto your ass, slippery from Satoru’s ministrations as Suguru’s cock slides hard and fat between your asscheeks. Suguru’s arms catch your legs and hook around your knees, pulling backwards till you’re bent in half, palms forcing your head downward while your tits squish into your kneecaps, your asshole and cunt presented to Satoru as you struggle to breathe.

“Marvelous,” Satoru murmurs, smiling to himself as he reaches tentatively, “Uh… Suguru, may I?”

“Yeah, yeah, touch my dick,” Suguru snorts, “How else is it gonna get into her asshole?”

“Touché,” Satoru laughs, grasping Suguru’s cock almost cheerfully, appreciating its heft as he guides your pelvis high enough to position the tip, “This thing is solid.”

Glowering, Suguru mutters, “Thanks,” hips shifting until he feels his precum smearing on the pucker of your ass.

You gasp when he thrusts upward, a fearful, eager noise, unable to even wiggle in Suguru’s ironclad grip. His tip bumps a couple times—clumsy and large—against your hole, Satoru letting out a dramatic sigh before providing greater assistance. Satoru’s long fingers curl fully around Suguru’s shaft as he persists in shallow thrusting, a guttural groan accompanying a loud exclamation—Fuck!—when he finally bullies himself into your asshole.

“Atta bitch,” Satoru chimes, enraptured by the sight of your skin stretched to its limit around Suguru’s cock, rim fluttering around the foreign feeling, your hands balled into fists at the tearing pain.

“Suguru!” you wail, gut churning as his shallow thrusts grow increasingly deeper, ass burning with every selfish rut as he ploughs through the immense friction, your hole receiving little opportunity to recover as he builds a staggering tempo, “Suguru, Suguru, Suguru!” drunk on the suffocating drag of your asshole clinging desperately to his cock, slowly but surely swallowing him whole, “FUCK!”

Head woozy and neck aching, the pain maintains pace with the pleasure as you watch Satoru grab his own cock, leaning over to spit on your sternum—you swear he mouths Mine, or maybe it was the endorphins—as he places his other palm on the underside of your thigh. Suguru pays Satoru no mind, speed barely lessening though your body remains relatively steady due to your restrained pose. You imagine taking Satoru in your pussy will be easier, it’s a more natural feeling after all, dazed on the cock in your ass, clit terribly neglected as your cunt clenches excitedly. But you’ve never been doubly penetrated before.

You’re sorely mistaken.

The initial push is as expected. You’re soaked from Satoru’s fingering, the plethora of teasing and warnings, and Suguru’s relentless fucking into your asshole, pain having reasonably subsided albeit still stinging with an unsympathetic roughness. Satoru’s pretty cockhead slips right in, his slimmer width hardly interfering with Suguru’s rhythm. You moan at the fullness, and Satoru’s poorly concealed whine makes Suguru smirk. Encouraged by your response, Satoru thrusts forward, hands resting casually on Suguru’s knees—who tries, and fails, to resist flinching—Satoru’s head pitching backward to display the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. A mewl fills the air as Satoru’s cock slides farther into your pussy, Suguru undoubtedly bruising your legs to counter your weak squirming, the stuffing of your ass and pussy coming to overwhelming fruition.

“So fucking beautiful,” Satoru gushes, fixated on how perfectly his cock disappears into your cunt, finding himself nearly winded as well from the newfound pressure of a second cock fucking into the hole beneath him.

“Pah,” Suguru grunts, hiding his dilated pupils and bitten lips in your nape, stamina far from waning as his brutal fucking continues, “Stop praising the whore and start ruining it.”

Shaking his head with wry amusement, Satoru’s meandering pace carries on, simply fascinated by the pleading glaze in your eyes, asshole sensitive to the touch as Satoru circles a playful finger around your rim, taut and clenching as Suguru’s cock flexes from the feathery stimulation.

Just when you worry Satoru’s forgotten about the hole he’s supposed to be fucking—Silly girl—he fucks himself in, balls brushing the base of Suguru’s cock as you scream, writhing hopeless and exhausted when Suguru plunges himself in to the hilt too.

“Mmm,” Satoru rasps, “You truly are a whore, huh,” tip twitching against your cervix as your cunt throbs erratic and velvety around him, “Falling in love with me while dating my best friend, letting us destroy your slutty holes to try and make it up to both of us,” spit trickling from his too sweet mouth to your puffy folds, “I can’t believe we fit in here,” tapping your clit with a handsome grin, moaning outright when you convulse, “You must really love us.”

You cum at his words, so cherry red and persuasively picked, Suguru relaxing slightly to allow you a complete orgasm. They fuck you through your climax, the sticky sound of slapping balls and viscous essence quickly edging you toward another. There’s cotton in your head, legs tiring even with Suguru’s support, trembling from exertion; what else could explain the dizzying fuzz hazing your perception? Suguru’s cock shoves ridged and ruthless into your ass, Satoru’s thrusting more lubricated but deep in your cunt, your poor cervix pulsating from every graze of his tip.

“Please,” you beg, whimpering hollowly as you cum again, walls beginning to constrict in a subconscious urge to cease their thorough fucking, “Please, please, please…” whining as Suguru’s grip tightens once more, sweat dripping from you onto Suguru abdomen, from Satoru’s brow to your bellybutton, “Cum for me.”

They exchange a look, Suguru reluctant but sated, Satoru willing and proud. You’re mumbling now, a mishmash of Suguru and Satoru and Can’t take it, pain blossoming stronger than before as their thrusts hasten, a sloppy finger rushing back and forth on your clit creating minimal relief, fierce and implacable as it coaxes a final, mangled orgasm from you. You manage a broken sob as you climax on their cocks, Suguru immediately releasing your limbs, his arms hugging sturdy and devoted around your shuddering frame, cum flooding your holes as they synch their highs. Suguru is silent when he cums, labored exhales the only indiction of his effort, teeth marking your neck with soon-to-fade divots. And Satoru is loud. Cursing and groaning while he pumps load after load into your swollen pussy, your folds a creamy mess as he fucks his cum out of you, spurred on by Suguru’s low growl when his spend inevitably leaks onto Suguru’s cock.

Satoru pulls out first, eager to watch their cum dribble from your holes, Suguru following shortly after. They unceremoniously readjust your depleted form, slumped ass off the couch, tits resting in the dampness left by Suguru’s body. Brown eyes glinting, Suguru uses his foot to nudge your legs apart, snickering as cum promptly oozes from your cunt and ass to the floor. Satisfying strings stick to your inner thighs, air escaping your pussy with a quiet queefing sound, a wet farting noise making Satoru giggle as your asshole gapes, bubbling with cum.

“So where does this leave us?” Satoru piques, kneeling to jab greedily at your cunt, pushing his cum back into your hole with a lewd schlick, chuckling when you clench weakly, struggling to keep it in, “She’s a loose bitch now.”

“Dunno,” Suguru glances away, arms crossing, “We should get dressed.”

“One moment,” Satoru grins, knees hitting the ground with a soft thud as he spreads your asscheeks with his palms, licking nastily at his lips, “I want a taste.”

Suguru scoffs, watching with morbid curiosity as Satoru flicks the tip of his tongue across your cunt, your protesting whimper lost beneath his giddy moan, cum coating his mouth. Locating his briefs, Suguru slowly clothes himself as Satoru dutifully cleans your pussy, licking himself from your quivering folds and bud, sticking his tongue hungrily into your hole as cum drools down his chin, smirking to himself as a nearly imperceivable orgasm shivers through your body. As Suguru zips his pants, Satoru traverses to your gaping asshole, Suguru’s cock feebly attempting to harden again when Satoru locks eyes with him, mouth covering your hole before he pointedly sucks.

“You’re fucking nasty,” Suguru grumbles, tossing Satoru his underwear.

Satoru hums pleasantly, the vibrations causing you to involuntarily buck your hips into the couch, cum trailing from your ass to the backs of your knees.

“And that’s why she needs both of us,” Satoru quips, nuzzling your asscheek with a smug smile, your head raising slightly at his affection, “That’s why she loves both of us.”

—

“There were easier ways to arrange a threesome than falling in love with Satoru,” Suguru mutters, eyeing your post shower glow with resigned endearment.

“But would they have been as fun?” you ask, pressing a fond kiss to his forehead.

“Nah, definitely not!” Satoru declares, arms slinging over Suguru’s shoulder and around your waist, “And by the way, I’m flattered.”

I love you Suguru murmurs into your hair, flicking Satoru’s ear beyond the edge of your vision. And I love you you trace into his hand, fingers intertwined against Satoru’s lower back.

[gladiatorcunt]

- # 🎰 All or Nothing (Ace in the Hole) !!

cw: afab!reader, breeding, implied murder, inaccurate fallout au (vault inspired by Fallout 76 bc i just wanted one mention of appalachian horror vibes), reader lowkey has a old man fetish (mentions of age gaps though no specific men are mentioned), childhood best friends to strangers to lovers (forcibly), future extreme dubcon, fallout typical sexism and expectations & creepy behavior (attempted grooming (?)), biblical undertones, ambiguous time period, implied southern setting & characters, unedited

1k event / commissions

It’s been so quiet for ages now, deathly silent as if everyone in the world was perfectly sound asleep. Your world consists of metal tunnels buried deep underground, a myriad of dark rooms that are meant to simulate the life you’re supposed to have on the surface. A cafeteria, where there’s hearty chuckles and playful ribbing over food even astronaut’s would have turned their noses up at. Piles of meat the same color as a fresh corpse, slightly moldy cheese and bread on the days the ego maniac people in charge are feeling fancy.

Green Houses, meeting rooms, infirmarys, kitchens, breeding rooms bedrooms, you truly have it all in vault 426. Jewel of the Texas Commonwealth. Even the howling coming from above like a hailstorm can be soothing when you have nothing else to listen to. They say your name when your back is turned, when they know you can’t venture out to see them. The temptation has driven people mad before, it will again. Right now, you wander through the vault searching for any sign of life. Yesterday you were arguing with your Ma over what she had done, hitching your wagon to one of the few unclaimed men your age. Now you were wishin’ on stars the elders used to talk about seein’ that you would peek around the rusting corner to find her waiting. You don’t want to wonder why there’s blood on the wall, varying between bright and darker shades of red.

Not a single peep from the man you were meant to marry, ‘your last chance at a proper purpose’ Pa had said. This vault wasn’t strongly steered in the direction of being a hive for breeding, but in these uncertain times more pairs of hands ready to rebuild the world were more than encouraged. Seeing as this bubble of refuge from the acid sky was so precious, every life counts. You knew that future would be yours someday, and you didn’t really mind. It got boring occasionally in the vault, knitting the same garment again and gossiping with your Ma’s friends about the same subjects. Maybe a cock in your cunt would settle your nerves, caring for a baby would be a task that would never end.

The wedding was supposed to be today, at noon on the dot. You overslept, panicking when your kitschy alarm clock didn’t rouse you from your dreamless sleep. It wasn’t until you zipped up your blue and yellow suit and tip toed outside of your room that you truly felt afraid. What reason would you have had to feel the uncomfortable emotion before? Life was so serene and idyllic nestled in the dirt, your vault a poor man’s sword in the stone. An intoxicating comfort zone that you cared more about staying in than fighting against, though there whispers from dwellers who felt otherwise. Your childhood friends, Patrick and Art, who you have drifted apart from over the years.

It was childish, your past feelings of jealousy, it wasn’t hard for them to become the most eligible bachelors in the community. There were only a handful of single young men left these days, or your only option was a old timer who had already broken in quite a few wives. They have the chipped belts and rough hands to prove it, you’ve gotten a rush of fluid in between your thighs when you lie awake and think about it for too long. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too terribly awful if you got saddled with a stern older man, some beaten down part of your brain begs for it. Your Pa’s buddies used to say that they would bet good money on tight your velvet grip would be.

There were many invitations to sit in on their blackjack games left unanswered in your Ma’s nightstand, under brass lock and key.

But to see your friends be giggled and fawned over made your stomach churn, so you pushed them away and focused on living as any good dweller would. Preparing to spend your years with your lips frozen in a smile and your holes split open around wrinkly skin, your shape molded by your husband. If you could’ve known that that would only make more determined to prove their toughness to you, that they would be the hands clasping pearls around your neck and slamming their dicks into your untouched flesh.

“Aw, hell-” A deep voice gasps and grabs ahold of your fore arms, wrestling you into an abandoned bedroom as you walk past.

You squawk, flapping your arms around in an effort to fight. Then you see him, Art, smiling gently and reaching out to cup your tear covered cheek. His other hand is free, which means that the man restraining you has to be Patrick. Where one is, the other will he close behind. There’s a saying about smoke and fire, and you hear the crackling embers as Art gingerly slides his other hand around your neck. A new fangeled set of pearls, hard won and all yours. Call it an engagement present.

“There you are, Angel Face, we were so damn worried about you.” Art coos, the ‘damn’ hissed in a way that gives off a ‘I still haven’t got used to being allowed to swear’ impression.

You think he could the be the angel, a scythe discarded in favor of a well used hatchet lying on the floor. His blood splattered curls call to you, or the absurdity of the situation must be sinking in and overpowering your ability to accept reality. Of course you had sensed their hungry eyes burning holes into your soul, yes you had heard the shuffling and muffled shouts outside your door. The way it would creak open when you were believe to have succumb to slumber. You don’t feel bored, and that’s enough of a thrill for you to recognize where your new place in the food chain is. The bottom.

“I don’t- I- What’s goin’ on? Where is everybody?” You ask, stupid and content to be their lover in distress.

Patrick readjusts his hold on you and wraps his arms fully around you, spinning you around to come face to face with him. If you thought Art looks drenched in blood, Patrick appears to be made of it. There’s lightning in his eyes, a phenomenon you’ve only heard and never seen. But this must be what it’s like, electrifying and God given. You’re stained now, no doubt about it, visibly and in your spirit.

“They went nuts, like a bunch of rabid dogs.” He grunts. “We had to defend ourselves, had us out here runnin’ around like headless chickens because you were gone.”

You weren’t brought up to know much, except that animals will be animals and man reacts accordingly. Patrick’s words make about as much sense as anything ever could, and you’re desperate to believe whatever yarn they have to spin you. Art nods and saunter up behind you. He wetly pecks you on the cheek, his lips ‘Smack!’ing the plump skin as he pulls back. You gasp and they share a foreboding laugh, shoving you further down a long dusty hallway where you can pretend that nothing bad has ever happened to you. That your Virgil and Dante followed after you with innocent intent.

“Get ‘em in the stirrups, Pat. Need these legs spread nice and wide. Don’t we, sugarpie?”

Your heart drops and floats back up at a jackrabbit’s pace, “W-what?”

Your look over your shoulder is perfectly timed, your hair framing your face like a pre-war Hollywood starlet. The kind that could cry at the drop of a hat and deep throat a stuffy executive’s cock in one go. Simmering heat pools in your belly, every circle of hell seemingly setting themselves aflame in your body. And while you know they wouldn’t dare seriously terrify you, they would probably get a kick in their pants if you let a sliver of fear slip. They’re men who no longer have a societies rules to wear as if they were costumes after all, perfectly chiseled faces and painted masks.

Offering you a marriage license so they plant you in a gilded cage, but Midas ghosted his fingers along your roots years ago. When you stumbled in on two boys playing a game that used to be popular in the pre-war days, a yellow-green fuzzy ball bouncing on a wired net racket. You giggled when an elder scolded them for staging their challengers match in the hall. And with the sound of a bell, the walls came tumblin’ down.

Patrick’s grin writes your name on the dotted line, “Our pretty lil’ cock socket, we’ll repopulate in no time at all.”

They had already stolen your wedding outfit that same day way back when, slim pickings have to be snatched up in this dog eat bitch world. But they were something far above dogs with malleable forms and a blunter bite, they were opportunists and God always has his eye on those who can seize what he provides.

The House always wins.

- 2024, do not cop/translate/feed my work to ai

[jpai0508]

Hunger Games Post-Mockingjay Headcanons

- Peeta is the strict parent when it comes to limiting their kids of sweets and indulgents while Katniss is the softie who slips them the treats when Peeta’s not looking

- for whatever reason, Haymitch is the toast babies’ absolute favorite person. They’re always overly excited to see him when he drops by for dinner or when they spot him outside the window messing with the geese (mainly when they’re baby/ toddler age). Haymitch never lets Katniss live this fact down.

- it’s a running joke that Katniss purposely off centers random paintings/ picture frames on their walls, which absolutely bothers Peeta when he notices and has to immediately straighten the picture

- during the grow back together stage, Katniss frequently talks to Johanna, who more than happily tosses out unprompted sex advice. At first, Katniss hates it but eventually indulges her. After a year or so, Johanna gets nearly all the updates.

- a frequent argument between Katniss and Peeta is that Katniss insists on skinning her game on the kitchen counter while Peeta can’t stand the idea of his baking area being contaminated with guts and blood, even after it’s cleaned up

- while trying to go to sleep, Katniss warms her cold feet with Peeta’s leg and laughs at him when he starts squirming

- late at night, when Katniss gets into a humming mood, Peeta pulls her up in front of the fireplace for a dance. Neither of them stop until they’re both swaying in silence and nuzzled in each other’s necks an hour later

- after being in the woods all day, Katniss will randomly pick a bouquet of dandelions and surprise Peeta with them

- when the toast babies go to sleep, Peeta is the magnificent storyteller, while Katniss listens in the doorway. But when Peeta isn’t around, toast daughter requests her favorite story from her mother, the only story her mother ever has. An ambiguous retelling of how the bakers son saved her life with a loaf of bread. One day, Peeta lingers in the hallway and listens to his daughter request her favorite story. After Katniss finishes, she walks out and catches Peeta standing there, obviously overhearing. Though she flushes red under his gaze, he smiles bashfully at her, feeling five years old and falling in love all over again.

- whenever Johanna visits, Katniss takes her to the woods and teaches her how to shoot a bow while Johanna teaches Katniss how to chop down a tree (despite Peeta’s worries and protests that Katniss is too small to wield a giant ax). Neither of them are very good at the other’s skill but still keep going each day to make fun of one another

- despite how she views her healing skills, there’s nothing stopping Katniss when Peeta is sick with a cold or flu. She babies him, peppers kisses on his face, daps his forehead with a damp wash cloth, and insists she spoon feed him homemade soup

- when Peeta’s not around, one of Katniss’s guilty pleasures is watching those terrible Capitol television dramas. Though she denies it every time Peeta brings it up, she’s never been a great liar, and he teases her mercilessly for enjoying soap operas

- before leaving for work, Peeta slips a piece of paper under Katniss’s pillow to read when she wakes up. Sometimes it’s an innocent love note. Other times it’s a grocery list. But every so often, the slip is a detailed sketch of Katniss in a very inappropriate state, which, without fail, leads her to call Peeta’s office at the bakery. Her cheeks stain blood red while he casually describes what’s waiting for her upstairs after dinner.

[dervampireprince]

ASMR | Arcane - Viktor x Listener SFW Napping With A Touch-Starved Viktor

[M4A] [Season 1 Act 1] [Pre-Getting together romantically] [Touch starved Viktor] [Reverse comfort] [Cuddles] [Sleep aid] [Purposely left ambiguous so you can imagine yourself or Jayce as the listener] [Implied romantic feelings at the end]

I noticed with the x listener audios I often mention Jayce, but made sure not too this time so you can imagine this as x listener or as Jayvik. Based on a Patreon request, Tarragone asked "could i suggest an audio focused on touch starvation? either w/ victor or villain/hero series, but ideally platonic—where the listener accidentally comes in contact with the other and just unravels (from the reassurance, being looked after and soft cuddles). thanks for considering :)"

.

Old public spicy audios on sound gasm (link in pinned post). 2 Exclusive spicy audios on Patreon every month. I also stream on Twitch every week @ dervampireprince . [minors + ageless blogs dni. this blog is for 18+ only.] [do not repost/reupload/edit any of my content]

[shatteredatthealtarofwinchester]

Back for one post.

You know what actually pisses me off? Jensen not being able to say that Dean was in love, too.

Like, Bro... Those 12 seasons you acted MORE in love than Cas ever did! It's like the fucking brightest sign directly over your head, pointing at you, saying "idiot who doesn't get he's in love".

Misha already confirmed that the scripts were ambiguous on purpose. They knew exactly what they were doing, they were writing it romantically on purpose. Like... will Jensen one day watch all seasons and be like "Oh, wait...!"

We're not stupid. We're not delusional, that's what fucks me up. That we are not delusional, it's fucking right there. They were playing with us. Deliberately. There are like 5000 clear implications that there is NO WAY for CasDean being platonic or brothers. Sam and Cas do not have one(!) romantic/sexual implication. NOT ONE.

Thank you for listening to my rant. Can't believe I'm still ranting after years. smh. Will he ever get it?

[creaman]

Hello! Just want to say that I absolutely adore your designs for Jon, Edward, and Jervis! They're so detailed and extra. I love them sm. Up in the top two favorite designs. My favorite is definitely Jervis. Which is funny, because in just about every version he's my least favorite of the three. His design is just so fun and goofy and him. It's amazing. They all are.

Anyways that's it. Byeeee<33

Oh? Do you now? Well I’m glad you think so because now you’re getting

Design Notes — Riddler | Scarecrow | Hatter

I drafted up some rogue designs last year, actually. They’ve mostly evolved from those. Content warning for horrific old art.

The McGriddler — Ah, a grown man with the strength of a baby! I’ve actually had this… horrendous peacock concept in my brain since 2022, back when my Riddler design was a dirty blonde/brunette. I hated him. He had the costume, but not the flair. Not to mention the generic facial structure.

Luckily, New Riddler is now an ostentatiously dressed vain attention whore! Highly fashionable, extensive wardrobe (def designing more outfits for him) and a possible mid-life crisis arc where he just wears a bathrobe and wifebeater for a month straight.

And listen, I’m not much of a writer, but there are notes on his personality.

Not great ones, though.

And rather than his ambiguous forensics/science job, he now works in I.T. Or rather, worked in I.T. (fired for patronising tech support customers)

For Jon — He’s always had black eyes with orange ringed pupils (initially blue) from the fear toxins. Drafted him up in high school because I was coping.

I’ve always intended to give him multiple costume designs. With narrative purposes. He redesigns himself. Ofc he couldn’t be satisfied with one thing, no, he has winter, summer, Witch Doctor, stealth etc. costumes on the way.

The initial design was trying to do too much — Patches, stitches, belt straps, arm warmers, utility belts, boots. Clutter. (Does NOT help that I can hardly decipher my old sketches.)

So, we just remove the overtly slutty components from the main design—

—And put them in a seperate campier Scarecrow design that I use as a Halloween-sona.

Silly Crazy Zonka Wonka — I think I was looking at pics of the Depp Hatter for the old design, which. May explain some things.

Acute observation! They look nothing alike. So I’ve kept absolutely nothing from the initial design except for the choppy wavy hairstyle.

Completely different colour scheme. Subbed out the TF2 Ghastly Gibus for the Towering Pillar of Hats. (Because ofc The Hatter would have something from the funny Hat FPS, no?) Shorter. Feebler. Every sickness on the planet. Congratulations! Mercury poisoning.

The initial concept for the redesign was to have a sort of reversible coat with his Arkham outfit on one side, and Rogue outfit on the other. You can see I just opted for him to wear a combination of both.

[katerina-marie]

The Tragedy of a Duality

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader and (Past) Ryomen Sukuna x Female Reader

Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3, Chp 4, Chp 5, Chp 6, Chp 7 (Final)

In the present, you are a sorcerer and the cherished wife of the Honored One. In an era long gone, remembered by only one, you were ordinarily human and the beloved bride of the King of Curses. How fitting it would be, in an evening of destruction, to have your heart torn in two.

Content: JJK Universe and Canon Events (tho tweaked to incorporate reader), Fluff, Angst, Flashbacks, Ambiguous ending, Violence, Death, Female reader but left descriptively vague, No use of y/n, True Form Sukuna in the past, Itadori Yuji is Sukuna's vessel in the present but nothing inappropriate b/n reader and Itadori as the vessel, Will add more CW to each chapter if needed.

WC: 6.1k

A/N: A flashback, some cracky humor (cause it all goes downhill after this), and Sukuna's POV.

Chapter 6

You are not certain, but you think it is close to evening by the way darkness begins to creep onto the walls of your bed chamber. 

A throbbing ache feels as though it may nearly split your skull, and it slithers down behind your eyes and nose. There is a chill to your body that has persisted since the last time you fell asleep, and if you request one more blanket from the servants, you worry they might consider putting you in the fire completely as nothing else seems to suffice. You briefly entertain the idea. Anything, really, if it will get the aching of your muscles and joints to cease. The only small mercy of being struck with an illness is the way you are left relatively unbothered to burrow beneath your mountain of blankets and slip in and out of feverish slumber as you please. 

“Would you care to tell me why I had to wait until now to hear from Uraume that you have been bedridden?” 

Were unbothered, it would seem. 

“Bedridden is a bit extreme, Sukuna. It is just a fleeting sickness.” 

Still nestled under your blankets, you manage to open one eye and peek out. Your husband stands just before your bed with his upper arms crossed and his others hidden beneath his white robes. There is no humor to soften his face, and you let out a small sigh of defeat. 

“I will be alright,” you assure him. “I asked Uraume not to say anything to you before you left yesterday after our midday meal, so please do not be cross with them.” 

“And I may ask again; why?” 

You try to smile at Sukuna this time, but you suspect it might be a little lopsided or dazed—something fever induced. “Well, it is nothing overly concerning and I am being well cared for. Besides, I did not want to get in the way of whatever conquering or pillaging or other kingly duty you were whisked away for.” 

Sukuna does not reciprocate the haphazard grin on your face, nor does he bristle at the way you try to poke fun at him. “That is foolish of you.” 

You gawk at him. “Well, that is rude. If you will not be kind, go off elsewhere and I will find another to listen to my complaints.” 

You are only half-heartedly disgruntled by his brusqueness, but you go to throw a blanket back over yourself nonetheless when you feel his hand seize your wrist. He bends at the waist to hover over you, and his eyes do not let go of yours. “You will inform me immediately the next time you are ill.” 

This time, your eyes narrow and indignance sharpens your voice. “And for what purpose would that serve? You are very busy and we have perfectly adept staff who are able to answer my beck and call. You do not need to waste time tending to me, Sukuna.” 

Your vehemence drives his back upwards. His arms hang still at his sides and you can see his jaw clenching. “It would please me to do so, should you give me the opportunity.” 

The words freeze whatever curt retort you have ready on your tongue, and you blink at him, admittedly dumbfounded. 

“Do you think I would not?” Sukuna asks, and you don’t particularly like the way his voice sounds almost hurt. You open your mouth, ready to speak, but you aren’t sure if you should be apologizing or offering some kind of explanation because if you are being very honest, you are not quite sure if he would have spent the day at your side while you languish in sickness. 

“Ah,” he murmurs, and this time there is no denying that you have wounded him. “I am sorry that I have acted in a way that makes you think so.” 

If you look back on the last six months of your marriage, there is not any true example that would sway you into believing one way or another. Sukuna has his moments of tenderness with you, but they do not hide away his tendency towards terseness or foul moods, though that is mostly reserved for his communication with others. 

“It is not that,” you tell him slowly, and you finally feel ashamed when surprise makes his brows lift. “I am afraid I have hastily made an unfair assumption. I apologize.”

Sukuna does nothing for a moment but look at you, but eventually he nods and takes a step back. “No apology necessary. I will leave you to rest.” 

Your heart lurches in your chest when he turns to leave and you see something akin to disappointment on his face, so you quickly claw your way out from under your blankets to sit up and call his name. 

“Please wait,” you ask of him, and you are grateful when Sukuna does pause at your door. “I would like it if you would lay with me.” 

He hesitates, and now exposed to the cool air of the room, you shiver. 

“If that would please you,” he says quietly, and Sukuna is already slipping into bed before you can blink. You shuffle over to make room for him, but he is quick to draw you against his chest and tighten the blankets around you both. The heat that radiates off his skin is delightful, and you make a noise of contentment as you wiggle in as closely to him as you can get. You feel a pleased rumble in his chest under your cheek and it brings a smile to your face. 

“Thank you,” and you whisper it into his skin. 

The two of you remain silent and still underneath the blankets for long enough that sleep begins to steal you away, but Sukuna’s voice just happens to catch you before you drift off. 

“Being gentle,” he starts, and it sounds as though he is a little unsure of himself. “It is not in my nature. It is not something that comes obviously and easily to me.” You lean your head back so you can look at him, and you are thoroughly wrecked when you realize there is vulnerability in his eyes. You cling to him a little tighter then. “But for you, because there is nothing that will ever come before you in terms of what is important and precious to me, I will do my best and try.” 

Tears sting your eyes and something like love surges inside of you, and nothing—not even the pain in your head—would keep you from pressing your mouth against his. Sukuna allows it, returns it with equal fervor, but pulls away from you sooner than you would like. He smiles at the whine you let out and the pout that turns your lips down, and you feel his hand cup your neck as he urges your head back down against his chest. 

“Hush now and rest.” 

You scoff, a tired breathless thing, but your tone is affectionate when you tell him, “what a terrible monster you are.” 

------------------------

The grand reveal of a not-dead Itadori to Fushiguro and Kugisaki takes place as planned the following day. The two take it a little better than you anticipated, though you still cringe through the entire surprise that you unsuccessfully tried to convince Satoru not to do. They stare in disbelief and shock as Satoru ushers Itadori out from the cramped storage bin he’s in. They don’t say a word as their friend waves at them with a wide grin on his face, and before you can protest, Satoru simply laughs and encourages them to have a good day in training before bounding off to who-knows-where, leaving you to gently reassure the three of them and offer a brief explanation for the whole situation.

“So, you knew the entire time?” Kugisaki questions, and skepticism is all over her face as she stands with her hand on a cocked hip. The three first years hover around you under the tree in the corner of the training field, and both Kugisaki and Fushiguro look as if they’ve aged five years. “Gojo-sensei didn’t lie or hide it from you?” 

“No,” you say with an adamant shake of your head. “I don’t think he’s capable of keeping a secret like that from me. Not that it would be in his best interest to do so.” 

It’s not speculation that has you telling her such. Many times over the years Satoru has proven his inability to lie to you, or even distort the truth in a way that could be considered deceptive. All it takes is a knowing look in his direction and Satoru is spilling his guts. 

“Yes, alright! It was me that broke Nanami’s glasses. Please don’t tell him! I already sold out Kugisaki for it.” 

“Oh…no. That is not an engagement ring I’ve been hiding under my pillow. Why would you ask that?” 

“So, I maybe, kind of told Suguru you find his technique disgusting and that’s why he won’t partner up with you for assignments anymore, but hey! Don’t be mad. Now you’re with me!”

Or even last night for instance, after each of you exchange apologies for the earlier fight, Satoru hurriedly explains that he didn’t intentionally hide the fact he fed Itadori the second finger and just simply forgot to mention it. You laugh nervously and quickly forgive him again as you try to hide the fact that you have forgotten about that particular detail. Nanami must have chastised him in some way, and you suppose you're grateful. But really, you just want Satoru to stop looking at you with that kicked puppy expression. 

You shake your head of the memories and look back at your students. “It almost never ends well for him, so it’s not something he does often.” 

Fushiguro scoffs and shoots you an exasperated look. “Does he at least learn his lesson and apologize?” 

His words exasperate the last lingering bits of guilt you still feel from yesterday’s argument, and you wince as you try to come up with a reply that would restore the image of Satoru’s character.

Kugisaki beats you to it and throws her head back in laughter. “What a sight that would make! Gojo-sensei begging your forgiveness with a bouquet of flowers in hand!”

Itadori gags and Fushiguro looks like he feels the same. 

“Pathetic and sad is exactly what that would look like,” he says, and he starts to walk away with Itadori to avoid any more talk of Satoru and grand romantic gestures.

You sigh defeatedly and use a hand to wave off Kugisaki’s suggestion. 

“There’s really no need for such extremes,” you say. “Besides, Satoru knows better than to get me flowers.” Your face puckers like you’ve smelled something rancid.

Kugisaki doesn’t have the chance to respond before Itadori is snapping his head towards you so harshly and abruptly that you would worry for the bones in his neck if there weren’t black tattoos suddenly taking over his face. You’d say Sukuna nearly looks stunned stupid if offense didn’t have him gaping at you.

“You do not care for flowers?” 

It doesn’t come out as a question so much as it does a demand for an explanation, and you are perplexed as to why such an asinine topic of conversation could possibly prompt him into coming out. Especially when he looks grumpier now than every other time you’ve seen him.

Fushiguro and Kugisaki, on the other hand, look very much like they’ve seen a ghost. 

“Uh, no,” you tell him, and Sukuna’s head recoils back like you slapped him. “I don’t like them. Something about the pollen or whatever itches my nose and makes my eyes water. I avoid them the best I can, honestly.” 

Sukuna can only blink at you, and it isn’t until you lift your hands in a tentative apology that laughter begins to build in his chest. It rises in volume exponentially until he rears his head back, and it bursts out of him in a way that is nearly hysterical. It makes the hair on your arms stand up, and you, Fushiguro, and Kugisaki take an uneasy step back from him. His laughter cuts off and when he turns his eyes back to you, they are wide in their excitement and his grin is full of teeth.

“Well, that is new!” Sukuna thunders, and you have no earthly idea as to what he could be referring to. “You did always know how to surprise me.” 

And just as quickly as they appeared, the tattoos fade, and within a moment, Itadori is shaking his head and looking to you for clarification. You shrug because it’s not like you have any to offer. 

After some gentle reassurance of their safety, you coax your students onto the training field to spar with one another while you watch from under the shade of a tree. With your thoughts scattered between all manner of things, time passes without you perceiving it, and Satoru is waltzing back onto the training field an hour later, munching on an apple and looking as though he has no care in the world.

“How are my beloved students doing?” he asks when he takes his place by your side, though he stands just a bit farther than he usually would. You give him a hesitant smile and wave a hand towards where Kugisaki has just dealt a particularly harsh blow to Itadori’s side as she cackles. Fushiguro watches from a few feet away, looking very much like he’d rather be anywhere else. When Satoru calls to them in greeting, all three turn and offer waves and ‘hellos’ in varying levels of enthusiasm. 

“Just fine,” you tell Satoru, and he bats his lashes at the pointed look on your face, “though they would probably do even better if their esteemed teacher actually showed up to teach them.” 

Satoru shrugs in a what can you do attitude, and you roll your eyes as you swipe the apple from his hand to take a large bite of it. The remaining tension between you two eases, and you’re thrilled to see the small makings of a smile on his lips.

“Fruit thief,” he complains, and you giggle around a mouthful of apple. 

Suddenly, a loud curse and an exclamation of surprise sound out from where the students are on the field. When you and Satoru spin around in that direction, Kugisaki is sprawled out on the ground face towards the sky and laying farther away from the other two than what should reasonably be possible. Fushiguro stares with a haunted look on his face. Itadori is breathing heavily and looks just as shocked. When he glances down at his hands as if they could explain what happened, you notice the slits under his eyes flicker shut and a pool of dread settles in your stomach. 

Satoru looks at you briefly before he’s striding out onto the field with hands buried in his pockets. 

“Yuji,” he calls, though there’s no discipline in voice. “Let’s not try and throw our peers halfway across the field, okay?”

All three students laugh, albeit nervously, as Satoru goes to check on them, and you are left to worry about what in the world could have set off Sukuna. 

------------------------

There are a number of things you could blame your lack of reaction on, but you would probably just chalk it up to plain exhaustion if you live long enough for anyone to ask. 

While Fushiguro and Kugisaki are somewhere up above on the highway fighting two curses, you and Itadori handle one under a bridge in a shallow ravine. You manage to dodge the first blow from the curse across from you, but your limbs are already weary and the ground is slick, and you aren’t quick enough to defend against the second one. In a final moment, you throw your arms up in some meaningless way to protect your face and clench your eyes shut. You have a split second to anticipate the pain before a great force has knocked you to the ground and into the cold earth below.

“Move!” Sukuna growls in your ear, and it takes you a beat to recognize that the weight at your back is him. You think his hands might clench into your shirt and maybe it’s his nose in your hair, but you have no more time to consider it as he is up and off of you as soon as you blink. 

You push onto your hands and peer over your shoulder where the curse now sits in a pile of ash. When you sit up completely, Sukuna is standing off to your right and looks down at you, his face completely devoid of any emotion. His shirt is torn at the elbow and singed in a couple spots. He rolls his shoulder twice, loosening the muscles there, and though he makes no move to help you up, his hand clenches and unclenches rapidly. You get up on your feet then.

“You are unharmed?” he asks, and there’s a rough edge to his voice that you don’t recall being there before.

You glance up at him in the middle of sweeping dirt from your arms and hands, a fruitless attempt since you’re covered in an amount of mud that only a shower would fix, and he is clearly expecting your immediate answer. 

“I’m alright.”

Sukuna nods once and then shifts away from you to sweep his eyes along the edges of the trees and further down the ravine. You recognize the meticulous way he scans the scenery, deeming it clear of any remaining threats, and the action tugs at something in your chest. Satoru tends to do the same thing anytime the two of you go on an assignment together, and you always tease him for his over precaution. 

“Thank you,” you add quietly, because the extra protective measure certainly isn’t for himself. Sukuna doesn’t turn back or respond to your gratitude, but his lower eye takes glimpses of you out of its corner. 

“Can I ask you a question?” you blurt out. 

Sukuna doesn’t respond right away. All that fills the silence is the trickling of a nearby stream and the faint crackling rustle of the tree branches above your head as they sway slightly in the evening breeze. But then he is angling his chin to glance at you over his shoulder. “If I am not mistaken, you just did.” 

He sounds less than enthused, but curiosity has been eating you alive since the very moment Sukuna first made himself known to you, and so the words tumble forth with no hope to stop them.

“What happened?”

Surely he must know what you are referring to, and you see Sukuna’s shoulders heave with a great sigh. He splays his fingers wide, and the veins and tendons in his hands pop in a way that looks painful. With an eerie slowness, he turns toward you and levels you with a look that has you immediately regretting the question.

“Do you really wish to know?” The edge of his voice is nearly taunting, almost tempting. 

No. Yes. Maybe. It’ll keep you up at night if you don’t know, but you worry you’ll never sleep the same again if you do. 

Sukuna must see the indecision on your face, and he makes the choice for you.

“Well then,” he begins casually, but his demeanor as he starts to walk towards you is anything but. It takes all your concentration to stay rooted to your spot even though instinct tells you to flee. “To what extent will your curiosity be satiated?”

Anxiety is churning your stomach, and something about this is very wrong. His movements are predatory in their preciseness, and his eyes are narrowed, hardened by something unknown to you. He is different. Something has shifted, and you wouldn’t have called Sukuna kind, but whatever keeps the ferocity of his anger-adjacent emotions in check is long-gone. When he comes to a stop an arm’s length apart, he smirks and it is cruel.

“Would it thrill you to hear that I know how you taste?”

You feel the color bleed away from your face because surely he can’t mean—

 “And certainly in more ways than you are thinking.” 

His eyes track the bobbing of your throat when you swallow loud enough for you both to hear. At the same time, your foot slides backward in the mud to maintain distance, and his follows suit.

“Or,” Sukuna emphasizes, and his eyes flare wide. “How would you feel if I told you that the blame for your death lies at my feet?” 

It’s the first confirmation you get for something you have suspected—that if what he says is true, you died centuries ago—but the implication that it’s Sukuna’s fault is something you hadn’t considered, and the idea is terrifying and prompts more questions that you don’t have the gall to ask. 

“Nevermind,” you tell him. You look out around you and then up at the highway to see if you can spot Fushiguro and Kugisaki anywhere, eager to be done with this conversation. But Sukuna is not done with you, and he creeps just a little closer. 

“But you want to know,” he croons, and now your heart is starting to race and the fine hair on your arms stand straight. “Shall I describe to you how you used to mewl and beg when I had you under me? Or that you liked when I would sink my teeth into that spot where your neck meets your shoulder.” 

Sukuna tilts his head, and the innocence of it is such a harsh contrast to the severity of him. “Tell me, does that husband of yours do the same?” 

“Please, stop.” Normally you’d hate the weakness in your voice and the way it nearly comes out in a whimper, but you don’t care, not when your only priority is getting away from him. You take a hurried step back and your heel slips, and there is a sickening swoop in your stomach as you begin to pitch backwards.

But in a movement too quick for you to see, Sukuna catches you around your upper arms. You dangle back in his grip as he lowers his head so closely to yours that your noses almost touch. His eyes burn red, his mouth is twisted into snarl, and he must be able to feel the way your breath stutters out over his face. Sukuna bows over you, and behind his head, the midnight blue of the night sky encompasses the view of your peripherals. In the back of your mind, you take notice of the fact that you don’t feel the prick of his nails against your skin.

“Do you dream of me?” Sukuna whispers, and it is hushed and frenzied and derisive. His eyes dart down once to your lips. “Do you have nightmares about what will happen when I get a hold of that last finger? Whom do you think I will come for first—you, or your beloved?”

You wrench yourself back with a sob, and Sukuna somehow relents. His hands leave your arms as rapidly as they came, but you stand steady and upright when he appears a couple feet away. 

“Ah,” Sukuna chides, and satisfaction makes his expression haughty, though there is something mournful hiding in the lines of his face. “You remember me now; a monster—evil, if you do say so yourself.” Shame passes over you quickly as you realize he heard the tail end of your argument with Satoru. 

 “Well, I am pleased to meet your expectations.” He sneers at you as he shoves his hands into his pockets, and you hear fabric tear. If you didn’t know any better, you would say you wounded him. 

But that can’t be possible, not when he is what he claims to be and what you accuse him of. You are reminded now of what a pointless endeavor this is. Whatever it is you want to call it—a latent curiosity, a brief musing for passing boredom—is irrelevant, as is whatever tragic history that may or may not have occurred a thousand years ago. There is plenty of reasonable doubt for you to conclude that only a shred of truth might hide in between the vitriol Sukuna spits. As for the scant moments of tenderness, where his eyes bleed longing and every inch of him yearns to touch you, you dismiss them as fleeting instances of torment in the name of entertainment. Gentleness would be a facade he wears and something he couldn’t be familiar with. Monsters don’t know such things. 

“Nevermind,” you say, and this time your voice is firm and unwavering. “I don’t want to know.”

Silence follows and Sukuna is unfazed by your answer. He doesn’t try to persuade you, and you think he sees the finality in your face. The lowering of his eyes and the clenching of his jaw might betray the emotion he’s working to keep concealed—disappointment, regret, misery—but he turns and begins to walk away before you can study him any further. 

“I will leave the brat over here for you,” he calls and then slips into the darkness of the trees. There is something resigned and dismissive in the sound of his voice and the way he waves a hand over one shoulder, and it leaves you to wonder what will happen the next time you meet Ryomen Sukuna.

------------------------

When you whisper “I’m sorry” into the skin between Satoru’s shoulder blades, it is hours after you return home muddy and exhausted from your assignment, and enough time has passed since the two of you went to bed that you both should already be asleep. Satoru might have been close to it with the groggy way he says your name, but he stirs nonetheless and twists under the covers so he can face you instead. 

“What for?” he asks. His eyes blink heavily, and his hair is almost long enough now to tangle in his lashes, the white of them making where one ends and the other begins nearly indistinguishable. “We already apologized to each other, remember?” 

You appreciate the softness on his face and how forgiving his voice is, but you still shake your head. “You deserve a better apology. My feelings at that moment wouldn’t have changed, but I shouldn’t have let my temper get in the way of discussing things with you.” 

Satoru’s answering smile is a little sad, but he still reaches for you so he can wrap his arms under your neck and over your shoulder. He tugs you once more so your head leaves your pillow and is cushioned by his bicep instead. His embrace is as warm and comforting as you always know it to be, and you skim your nose against his collarbone to breathe in the lingering scent of his soap and shampoo. Doing so lowers the volume level of the noise in your head. 

“Well, then I owe you one too. I am sorry. I was being childish.” You feel Satoru tighten his arms around you and his chest expands against yours as he inhales deeply. “You have to know that you are the most precious thing to me. There is nothing else. I do not mean to coddle you or doubt your capabilities in any way. And I trust you implicitly.” He leans back slightly so he can look down at you. “There is no word fitting to describe what I would feel if something happened to you. So please, forgive me when I am unbearable. It is only because I love you.” 

It strikes you then that love could take the form of overprotection and possessiveness in a man who has already lost someone dear to him to a greater evil, and you hate that you now understand the feeling so well. 

You can only nod in response, mostly because tears are pricking your eyes and you are one second away from having your breath hitch in your throat, so you quickly duck your head to hide against him. Satoru, in all his perceptiveness, would certainly not miss it if you started crying, and you don’t know how to describe to him that those tears come from so many different things: exhaustion—mental and physical, anxiety, an overwhelming love for him, and shame that you hurt someone, even if one could argue he deserves it. 

But Satoru knows you too well, and his voice is full of concern when he asks, “did something happen earlier?” 

“Whom do you think I will come for first—you, or your beloved?”

“No,” you lie, and the hypocrisy of your conversation with the first years a while back isn’t lost on you. If anything, it’s what drives a single tear to break free from your lashes and dart over the bridge of your nose. You hope Satoru doesn’t feel it when it drops onto his skin. 

“Are you sure?” 

You’re not, but you don’t have the wherewithal, the energy, the bandwidth, or any type of capability to discuss that with him. Maybe later. Maybe another day. But for now, you are determined to put away any lingering thoughts of a monster with pink hair. You refuse to give into the fear he certainly tried to strike in you, unwilling to let it needle its way any further into the marriage you have now, regardless of whether or not you were part of another in some previous lifetime. 

So, you suck in a deep breath and blink away any moisture from your eyes because you are in the arms of the man you love, and when you shift back to look at Satoru, the smile on your face is effervescent and genuine. 

“I am sure.” 

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The simple mind of Itadori Yuji is utterly dull and painfully boring. There is nothing for Sukuna to do but contemplate the decisions that now find him trapped, and that—combined with the incessant chattering of the other two sorcerers beside the brat—is why he misses every sign of your approach. 

He doesn’t pay much attention when the white-haired one stands up with a moronic grin on his face, and Sukuna does not think that whatever suddenly catches the boy’s attention will be anything worth it. That is, until, the first images of you cross Itadori’s mind and Sukuna’s entire being is jolted so jarringly that he is in control and looking at you for the first time in a thousand years faster than anyone in the room can anticipate.

You are as stunning and magnificent as the day he first saw you, and your expression is nearly the same this time around; wide eyed, lips parted in a way that you probably don’t mean to be enticing, and Sukuna is lost in you all over again. Maybe it’s delerium—elation—that makes memories of the past flash in front of him as he drinks you in, and for a minuscule second, Sukuna is back under a pear tree.

But devastation is quick to follow when he realizes that recognition is not flickering in your eyes when your gaze meets his, and despite how you try to hold yourself strong and still, your limbs tremble and you lean away from him. Sukuna has spent a millennia mourning you, and regrettably, he wonders just how many lives of yours he missed while split into pieces across the land. He thinks it’s fitting penance because of what he let happen to you. However, in this moment you meet again, you seek out another, one who is not him and whose face is responsible for the smile on your lips that spurred him into movement just before. 

You belong to another, and you do not remember him.

Then, in the morgue, it’s the first time Sukuna is alone with you in centuries. He saved the brat whose body he borrows, only because he knows how your heart is soft for the lives of mortals, and once upon a time it opened up for him who is not. You thank him, and Sukuna knows he is powerless to anything you ask of him.

 You are only an arms reach away, and the combination of your scent and the way your mannerisms are familiar bring him as close to giddiness as he can allow. And then, however far-fetched, Sukuna thinks you might reach out and touch him, and he is ready to lean forward and accept your hand.

But Gojo Satoru is at the door, and when you turn to look at him, Sukuna is all but forgotten. The way you smile and preen for him is abhorrent, and in an unprecedented move of cowardice, Sukuna releases control back to Itadori Yuji, if only so he doesn’t have to watch as your husband stakes his claim on you. 

And then he hears you arguing with Gojo, and it dashes whatever pleasant emotion was building inside of him at the unexpected opportunity to see you. For once, Sukuna thinks he might be grateful for Itadori Yuji when he effectively ends the conversation. The vehement hatred in your voice and the words you spat repeat viciously inside his head, and Sukuna is demanding that Itadori flee the room so he no longer has to look at you. It pains him. You pain him. And truthfully, that has to be the underlying reason for why Sukuna lashes out at you in the middle of a ravine on a dark night. 

He relishes in the brief connection of your bodies, and allows himself the smallest inhale of your scent before he can bear it no longer and throws himself from you. Sukuna is torn between his anger at you and his need to concern himself with your wellbeing. Instead, he takes to diligently scouring the surrounding trees to ensure there isn’t hidden danger lurking. 

When you ask him in a voice that is timid and unsure to explain to you what really happened a millennium ago, fury mounts as Sukuna hears your words play back again inside his head. Did you deserve to know something so sacred to him? Would you carefully listen or trample all over the truthfulness of it, considering it as nothing more than an unfortunate story? Sukuna doesn’t know if he’s able to withstand that kind of wound from you tonight, and in a poor attempt at self protection, he does what he’s best at—what is in his nature. 

There are tears running down your cheeks that you don’t seem to notice. You look at him in fear and trembling, and something inside Sukuna despairs. You don’t know that there has never been a need for you to cower under him. That once long ago, you meet his fury and ire with bared teeth of your own, fiercely strong and unafraid. You can smooth away Sukuna’s temper with nothing more than a stroke of your skin against his, but you will not. Not with the way you’re looking at him now, and Sukuna knows he’s put you on the path of hating him. 

He does not know the point of it, or what benefit doing so serves him. Sukuna supposes it’s because he has no idea what to do with you now. There is no feasible path he can see that would bring you back to him. He knows your loyalty would never broker space for him in your heart after already dedicating yourself to Gojo Satoru. He doubts the white-haired sorcerer would share you, and Sukuna detests the idea of it even more.

To follow through with his threat and rip your lover from you would only further sway you into the camp of others who conspire against him in this age and obliterate any hope that you would willingly come to him. That aside, inflicting you with the same pain of loss that he experienced after your death is too cruel, even for a creature like him. 

In a last ditch attempt, Sukuna could surrender himself completely to the authority of today’s jujutsu (Gojo Satoru, again) and remain obediently imprisoned inside Itadori Yuji in exchange for getting to watch you from afar. He thinks he owes you that at least; a long-lived life with the person you love. 

But that idea wars with Sukuna’s very being. He would never prostrate himself so lowly and submit himself to be controlled in such humiliation. But he always swore that nothing would come before you, and there is no else worthy of his complete submission than you. Though, Sukuna worries this alternative would drive him to the edge—if not into complete—madness. Subjecting himself to a lifetime of watching you love another the same way you once loved him seems like an effective way of destroying himself. 

Thus, Sukuna remains directionless and hides in the coverage of the trees. He wants to watch you for just a moment longer before he has to give control back to the brat. It aches him to see how you wipe tears from your cheek and then roll your shoulders back to shake off any lingering emotion. The sight is so familiar, so quintessentially you, but only in a time before this, and he desperately wishes he was still there.

Ryomen Sukuna misses you, even when you are standing right in front of him.

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A/N: I am sorry if this chapter felt unpolished compared to the rest. As soon as I started to feel better on Friday, my toddler got sick and has been since then. I didn't get to devote the same amount of quality time editing this chapter as I would have liked, and I don’t anticipate that changing until my little one is better. If the final chapter isn't posted on Wednesday like I originally planned, it should only be a day or to delayed (but I don't think it will be).

Thank you all <3

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