#love this man and i wish him all the love he deserves

[zarameraki]

🖊️💌 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗽𝗲𝗻-𝗽𝗮𝗹 🖊️💌

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 prisoner sukuna x his penpal 𖥔 just plot with porn 𖥔 mentions of abuse 𖥔 mentions of sexual assault 𖥔 pussayy eating rawr but also u suck his dick so 𖥔 uraume and toji found family 𖥔 he would kill for you 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw

: ̗̀➛ words: 10k?? idfk it's long

: ̗̀➛ notes: happy halloween, mamas! 🎃 i know ive been MIA for a while but thats because i wasnt feeling creative. but now ive dumped a 10k sukuna fic on you for you to read at 3 in the morning. this one's got a kick to it yall. its long but give the bitch a chance, shes good. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

So, this was where you’d ended up—on a site for writing to prisoners. A pen-pal with an inmate.

How lonely did you have to be to fill out your info, pay a yearly fee, and do this? The answer: really, really lonely. Orphaned, friendless, and scarred from a relationship that had left you with broken ribs and a blind eye. And as if to top it all off, you wanted to reach out to a criminal. I guess you deserved at least that small bit of connection.

You scrolled through inmate profiles, noting their crimes—arson, theft, cybercrime, drug trafficking, money embezzlement, and so on. None of them were charged with homicides or serious offences.

One profile did catch your eye. The smirk in his mugshot suggested he’d probably killed someone and managed to evade the cops before they could pin anything on him.

“Sukuna Ryomen,” you whispered, clicking on his profile and staring at a laundry list of crimes. “Aggravated assault, drug manufacturing and distribution, kidnapping—Jesus—extortion, cybercrime, Satanism . . . what the hell?” You chuckled as you scrolled further. “Bank burglary, vandalism of religious properties—so that’s the Satanism part—illegal possession of firearms, stalking?”

Why was this man even on this website, given his long list of crimes?

You zoomed in on his mugshot. Was it wrong to find him attractive despite his record? He truly embodied the term “bad boy,” though he didn’t look like a boy at all. He was ruggedly handsome with hollowed eyes. His light-mink hair was swept back, with a few strands falling over his forehead, and he wore a single hoop earring in his left ear. Black tattoos marked his nose bridge, jaw, and the centre of his forehead, while narrow-eyed designs were inked on his cheekbones.

You wondered if he’d get any letters, given his long rap sheet. Maybe delusional women like you, who’s pussies sang for high-profile criminals, sure. 

Licking your lower lip, you picked up a piece of paper and a pen, tapping the end against the sheet as you continued to study his face.

Then you started writing.

Hello, Sukuna Ryomen, 

My name is Y/N. 

You thought it over. For now, you'd keep it light before diving into your deeper issues. It felt easier to share your thoughts with someone you’d never meet face-to-face than with a stranger in a bar whose only interest was getting into your pants.

You kept writing.

Dear Sukuna Ryomen,

I’m currently living in an apartment complex that’s in desperate need of renovation. I’m harvesting cockroaches—no, I’m not eating them; the fuckers just won’t stop nesting in my kitchen cabinets, and I’m tired of spending money on pest sprays. On top of that, I’m pretty broke, barely managing to keep a roof over my head. I’ve even considered trying to seduce the landlord into reducing my rent, though I doubt any man would find a woman with one working eye appealing. I noticed you have an extra beneath your real eyes. Care to share?

Anyway, this is my first time writing to someone like you, so apologies if it’s a bit awkward. I wish I could send a nude, but I’m pretty sure you’d wish you were blind after that. I feel like I’m rambling like this is my diary, so I should probably wrap it up. If you want to write back, feel free. I don’t mean to sound privileged, but I’m lonely as fuck.

Thank you (?),  

Y/N

P.S. About the Satanism—care to explain?

You didn’t bother proof-reading and folded the letter into an envelope, sealing it with a lick. From your drawer, you pulled out a pack of old stickers—remnants of your childhood—and placed one where the envelope met. You wrote the prison address provided on the website and added the stamps you’d bought during your walk, which was your final push into becoming a prison pen-pal. After selecting Sukuna Ryomen on the site and uploading your ID and other required documents, you waited for your profile to be approved. 

After three days of waiting, you sent out the letter first thing in the morning and anxiously awaited a response.

Sukuna’s fists collided with the inmate’s face, each strike more brutal than the last. Blood splattered across his knuckles as the crowd of orange-clad convicts roared with twisted delight, their voices a chorus of vile encouragement. “Finish him!” they taunted, while others jeered at the barely conscious man, urging him to get up and fight back, to aim a desperate kick at Sukuna’s balls.

“Sukuna!” A guard’s voice cut through the chaos, and soon the officers were pushing through the throng, shutting the prisoners who dared resist their authority. “Get up, now!”

“Fuck off!” Sukuna snarled, his lips curling into a sneer as he shoved the guard aside. He watched with cold satisfaction as the man lay still, blood pooling beneath him. All this because the idiot had the nerve to laugh when Sukuna missed a three-pointer. Now, the bald bastard had paid the price for his arrogance, and Sukuna breathed in the aftermath—his own dark victory painted in blood and broken bones.

Officer Gojo Satoru strode into the circle, handcuffs gleaming in his hand. 

Sukuna's eyes narrowed at the sight of the blue-eyed bastard, a wave of hatred surging through him so fierce he could almost feel his fingers tightening around Satoru's throat. The very thought of choking the life out of him fueled his dark desires.

Satoru’s father—the man responsible for dragging Sukuna down, catching him red-handed with crates of cocaine at the border, and sealing his fate with a fifty-year sentence. If Sukuna had known the old man’s spawn would end up as a deputy officer here, watching his every move with those piercing eyes, he would have never shown up to that cursed delivery. But no—he had wanted to play the good boss, personally seeing his precious cargo off. Now, every day behind bars was a constant reminder of that one fatal mistake, and Sukuna’s rage festered as he thought of the traitor, Yuji. The little fuck who sold him out would pay dearly, and Sukuna was already plotting the perfect revenge.

His own fucking nephew sold him off. Motherfucker wanted the throne for himself—an empire Sukuna built with his bare hands. 

“Throw him in the ice box,” Satoru commanded, his voice dripping with that infuriating smugness. The officer roughly cuffed Sukuna’s wrists, shoving him forward. “Cool down, Big Guy. You’re not going any—”

Before he could finish, Sukuna rammed his forehead into Gojo’s nose, relishing the satisfying crunch as the lanky bastard staggered back. The inmates roared with approval from where they were restrained by the other officers. 

Gojo chuckled, dabbing at his bleeding nose with a pristine handkerchief, the kind only a spoiled little bitch like him would carry. “You think that’s funny?” he asked, his tone laced with condescension.

“Hilarious,” Sukuna whispered, a dark grin curling at his lips.

“Okay,” Gojo replied with a casual shrug. Without warning, his fist slammed into Sukuna’s jaw.

Once.

Twice.

Three fucking times.

The officers stood by, indifferent, as their captain unleashed his fury. For them, it was just another case of self-defence.

Sukuna finally collapsed to the ground, his vision swimming. Gojo leaned over him, his voice a venomous hiss. “Who’s laughing now?” A final, vicious kick to Sukuna’s chest left him gasping for breath. “Keep him in that freezer until he’s begging to be let out. No meals for a week.”

Sukuna’s vision blurred as he glared at Satoru’s retreating figure, the ringing in his ears barely drowning out the disappointed murmurs of his fellow inmates. His body, battered and beaten, finally surrendered to the encroaching darkness.

When he came to, he found himself in the prison’s infirmary, cocooned in three heated blankets. Yet the warmth did little to pierce the deep, bone-chilling cold that gripped him. The need to piss gnawed at him, but even that seemed distant compared to the icy numbness that had taken hold. 

“Welcome back to hell.” 

Sukuna raised his head from the pillows to find Uraume, the prison’s doctor. They were also the only person he tolerated, and somewhat close to since he ended up in the infirmary more than once. He hoped they considered him a ‘something’ after he killed a two-hundred pound guy for groping their ass in the cafeteria. How did he do it? He knew Uraume kept a pocket knife in their doctor’s coat and quickly swept it out and stuck it in the dick’s jugular. 

“How long have I been out for?” he asked, squirming his arm out of the blanket to rub his eyes. 

“A day.” 

“What?” Sukuna pulled himself out of the blanket by wiggling around like the fucking worms his cell mate Toji liked to collect every time they went in the courtyard to play. They’re better company than your grouchy ass, he said once. “How long was I in the ice box?” 

“Barely an hour.” Well, that’s just pussy behaviour from him. “They pulled you out before hypothermia killed you. What a way to die, am I right?” They chuckled, preparing some pills in a small disposable cup. “Here, take these. They’re nutrients.” 

“I could use actual food.” Sukuna downed them like a shot. God, he missed alcohol. “That blue-eyed bitch restricted my meals for a week.” 

“Fuck him.” Uraume took out a sandwich from their bag and threw it in Sukuna’s direction. “Just fake illness when you’re hungry. I’m always here to feed my favourite dog.” 

Sukuna snorted. “Go to hell.” 

“Already here.” Uraume clipped back their white hair with the black dyed red. Like someone smashed their head into the wall and the colour just bled to the sides. “Oh, this came for you.”  

Sukuna shoved the sandwich in his mouth and stretched his muscles before walking over, snatching the letter. It was already opened, a flimsy teddy-bear sticker hanging from the paper. “What the fuck is this?” 

“A letter.” 

“A letter? For me?” 

Uraume broke their attention from the computer to look at him. “Remember when you had me register you on that prison pen-pal bullshit after Toji received a pile of fan letters?”

Sukuna blinked. 

He definitely remembered being jealous when Toji got a letter from an artist who drew herself naked on paper for him, and a shit ton more asking for his dick size or when he’ll be out. Of course, Sukuna was envious of the attention. Plus, no one in prison made good company. He just wanted the taste of the outside world again after being locked in for five years now. Even if it was through ink on paper. 

But then Sukuna looked down at his first ever letter torn open. “Why is this open? Who read it?” If it was Satoru, he was going to rip his eyeballs from his sockets and feed it to Toji’s pet worm. 

“Relax. They’ve got to identify if there’s any substances attached to the paper, or any other shady shit. Whoever wrote to you is just a harmless nobody.” 

Sukuna frowned, bringing the letter up to his nose. It smelled like a plain envelope. No drugs, nothing.

He found purchase on the bed again, pulling out the folded paper and ironing the creases out on his leg. Here we go.

He began reading each word carefully. 

A week went by since you’d mailed your letter to Sukuna Ryomen. A week of pure torture to hear something back from the criminal. You’d relaxed on Sunday because the post offices are closed, but on Monday, you were at your mailbox, watching the mailman sort out letters and slip them through the boxes. 

Once he left, you dashed to your box and flipped through the coupons, flyers, newsletters—

Your breath hitched. 

Everything dropped from your hand except the cream envelope with an address from the prison. You didn’t care about reading it upstairs and quickly, yet carefully, tore it open from the side, reading the writing. 

Trying to read it. 

Sukuna had terrible handwriting. It made you giggle. 

You leaned against the mailboxes and murmured the words written under your breath. 

Hey, Y/N

I don’t know how to start a letter since I’ve never written one so don’t mind if I hurt your little feelings. Don’t know if you’re aiming to entertain me or bore me to death with this “dear diary” bullshit. I thought I’d get a nude, at the very least. Hell, Toji over here—yeah, the bastard who was on the news last year with a thing for setting houses on fire—gets way better fan mail every week. Pictures, drawings, mostly nudes. And I get your whining about rent and cockroaches?

Look, I may be locked up, but I’m giving you some advice here. Don’t fuck your landlord. You’ve got one eye? Good—use it. Hell, that’s already intimidating enough. Threaten the prick to call pest control, or better yet, trap those damn cockroaches and give him a taste. Stuff a few down his throat if he still doesn’t take you seriously. People respect action, not whining.

Speaking of. One eye? Really? Now, how’d it happen? Was it torn out? Still got some sight in it, or is it just gone? That’s gangster. Hot, even. I’d fuck a one-eyed chick. Maybe when I’m out we can cross that off my bucket list. Nah, I’m just playing with you.

Or maybe I’m not.

Think on it.

Hate (in a friendly way),

Sukuna.

P.S. Yeah, I took out some satanist scum who tried kidnapping one of my people’s kids. But don’t go thinking I’m in with those freaks. I’m just the Devil they wish they could be.

“Woah,” you breathed out, hugging the letter to your chest. This was it. This was what you were waiting for. A pull towards something real, something thrilling. It’s all you’ve been craving for eons now. 

“Whatcha got there, sweetie?” The voice snapped you back, harsh as nails against glass. Your landlord had wandered out of his door on the first floor, wrapped in a faded bathrobe and gripping his mug like some king holding court. “Made a mess on my floor with your papers.”

“Sorry,” you muttered, quickly tucking Sukuna’s letter back into its envelope and reaching down to gather the stray papers scattered on the floor. When you straightened, he was already in your space, close enough that the coffee on his breath made you flinch.

“Excuse me—”

“You’re excused.” His smirk widened as he leaned in, his nose grazing your neck. The greasy warmth of his breath made bile rise to the back of your throat. “Just wanna take a little bite out of you.”

Sukuna’s advice echoed in your mind. You’d never—never—think of following through with his revolting insinuation. But letting this sleaze get away with treating you like this? No. Not anymore.

“Step away,” you commanded, your voice low but unyielding. “Now.”

He blinked, then chuckled, dismissive. “Feisty today, huh? Got a letter from your boyfriend in prison, sweetie?” How did he know that? Fuck. Did he go through your mail before it was deposited? “Let me guess—you think he’s got your back now?” He leaned even closer, the stench of his laugh wafting in the air. “Come on, where's that one eye of yours aiming, sweetheart?”

“Next person who mentions my eye eats the dirt,” you snapped, every ounce of your resolve boiling up. “And as for what I’ve got—it’s something way out of your league, old geezer. So get the hell back to your apartment, and call pest control now.” 

For a second, he was stunned, face going pale as your words sank in. But you could feel Sukuna’s thrill, his twisted approval in the back of your mind. You’d tapped into something that wouldn’t settle. But then, “Well, I’ll be damned. Someone put on their big girl panties.” 

Your jaw tightened as you held your ground, taking steady breaths. You’d rehearsed this moment in your head, picturing a confrontation that ended with him backing down. But things never went as planned with him.

“I’m not here to beg,” you said evenly. “But I’m not gonna let you walk all over me, either. I pay rent. It’s your responsibility to keep this place livable.”

He snorted, raising his coffee mug and giving you a once-over that made your skin crawl. 

“Not for free, sweetheart. You’ve gotta give me something worth my time.” His eyes travelled down your body. 

Your pulse throbbed in your ears, but you squared your shoulders. “I’m already paying rent. It’s your right to ensure your tenant's safety.”

His face darkened, lips curling into a bitter smile. “Not when that tenant’s acting like a spoiled little bitch.” And then, with a flick of his wrist, he launched the mug’s contents right at you.

You dodged, but a few hot droplets scorched your arm, leaving a raw sting that only fueled your anger. He laughed, shaking his head with a mocking scowl. “Get the fuck out of my sight before I kick you out on the streets.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You turned on your heel, heading back upstairs with quick steps, forcing the tears back until you could lock the door behind you. Once inside, you slumped to the floor, breathing hard. The letter from Sukuna crackled beneath your hands, and you clutched it close to your chest, feeling the heat of humiliation turn into something fiercer, darker. 

“Damn it,” you whispered to yourself, pushing back to your feet with renewed energy. You marched to your desk, grabbed your notebook and pen, and let the words pour out, hurried and jagged. If anyone would understand this kind of anger, it was him—the one man whose entire life was carved from rage.

And this time, you wouldn’t hold anything back.

“Letter for you, Ryomen.”

Sukuna dropped down from his top bunk, snatching the letter right out of the guard’s hand.

“From your girl?” Toji asked from across the table, flipping a card, halfway to beating Sukuna in Blackjack.

“Not my girl,” Sukuna grunted, tearing into the envelope. But still, he smirked as he unfolded your letter.

Hey, Sukuna. 

Fuck my landlord to hell and back. I need you to know I’d kill him if I could get away with it. I’m trying to keep this “ethical” so they don’t cut off my letters, but let’s just, I hate the elderly. They should be rotting in retirement houses instead of owning properties and doing a shit job running them. That senile asshole threw hot coffee at me this morning. Burning. I nearly shattered the damn mug over his skull.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his fingers squeezing the letter hard enough to crumple the edges.

And now he’s saying he’ll kick me out, as if I have anything to pay him with. This place is a dump, anyway. I might hit up one of those shelters for women, maybe hop from couch to couch for a bit. My job at corner store’s giving me scraps; it’s not nearly enough to get by. So yeah, you could say I’m screwed.

And to answer your question about my eye—yeah, I’m blind in it. Got it from a real piece of work I used to call a boyfriend. He decided my face was fair game, and thought I could just live with it. But he's dead now. Overdosed last I heard from his brother. Good riddance, am I right?

Oh, and for that kink of yours you mentioned��sending my picture along with a little extra treat. 

Hate (because I’m about to go crazy here), Y/N

P.S. For all the things you’ve done, I can’t lie—the world you talk about sounds safer than this one. Well, except for you committing the most heinous crimes. 

Toji clicked his tongue. “Look at that dumbass grin on your face.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna muttered, flipping the letter over—and there it was: a stick drawing of a woman lying on a bed, two messy circles for her chest, legs spread wide, and what looked like . . . well, he didn’t need to guess. Sukuna went from grinning to outright laughing. “She’s hilarious.”

“Not just that. She’s sexy as fuck,” Toji said, holding up a photo, ripped clean in half.

Sukuna’s eyes flashed. He swiped the photo and pieced it back together, cursing himself for tearing through the envelope like a brute. But as the two halves reconnected, he felt his pulse kick up, hard.

“Well, shit.” You were more than just beautiful. The way your hair fell, the curves of your body wrapped in that short black dress, standing under a streetlamp with the city lights glinting around you . . . But it was the smile—the easy, teasing grin—that really did it for him. “I’m definitely jerking off tonight.” Respectfully, of course.

“Can we get back to the game now, or—”

“Fuck the game. I’ve got a letter to write.” And a plan brewing to get you out of that dump and right where he wanted you.

Your landlord was pronounced dead. 

An ambulance had arrived early in the morning, around nine, waking up every tenant. You were one of them, groggy from your sleep, and all the crying you’d done from realising how high rent was these days.

Apparently, he had a heart-attack, said one of the residents. 

He was eighty, said another. 

You stuck to the back of the crowd as his body was wheeled out on the stretcher. How could he have died just five days after you sent your last letter to Sukuna? It couldn’t have been him, could it? Maybe one of his associates? Given the man’s extensive criminal history, you suspected he had some serious connections.

As the crowd began to disperse a few minutes later, you joined them but didn’t head upstairs. Instead, you made your way to the mailroom.

And luckily, Sukuna’s letter was present. 

All he wrote was: 

You’re welcome. 

Neutral, 

Sukuna. 

You broke out laughing, or crying. Whatever it was, it felt good. So good. 

Hey, Sukuna!

These days, I’m feeling calm. Really calm. I’m sleeping well, eating better, even starting to enjoy work. Sometimes, I’m scared it’ll all get snatched away. By who? I don’t know. Life’s been that way, though. I’ve lost so much—my parents, my friends, even my left eyesight. At one point, I lost my will to keep going. But I guess some part of me held on, believing a better day would come.

Turns out, those days are here. Who would’ve thought a felon could make me feel less alone? I know it sounds crazy, but my life’s been full of surprises lately.

If you think you can’t bring happiness to someone, I’m here to tell you you’re wrong. I’m genuinely happy, and it’s thanks to you. I already think of you as a friend—and I hope you think of me the same way. You don’t get a choice in that, by the way.

Love (genuinely), Y/N

P.S. I’d like to come visit you sometime soon.

Sukuna lowered the letter, his eyes settling on the wall where he’d pinned up your picture. “Toji?” he called out, still staring at the photo.

Toji paused mid-pushup, raising an eyebrow. “What, bitch?”

Sukuna let out a low laugh, barely shaking his head as he spoke. “I think I’m in love.”

Hello, Y/N.

When I’m out in fifty years, I’ll give you a real surprise. And don’t write me any more of that sentimental crap, alright? Save it for when you visit. I’d rather hear it in person.

Hate (but maybe not so much), Sukuna

P.S. You’re beautiful.

You pressed the letter to your chest, biting your lip as warmth spread across your cheeks, your face aching from how much you were smiling. It was official—you were falling for Sukuna Ryomen. You’d have to look your absolute best for your visit. Just the thought of seeing him, hearing his voice, maybe even feeling his hand brush yours, made your heart race. You’d kiss him if they’d let you. And if they didn’t? What could the guards do? Throw you in jail? Now that would be ironic.

But fifty years . . . Would you really wait fifty years for Sukuna to be released? How high was his bail, anyway, that even his hidden cash stash wasn’t enough to cover it? He had to have some kind of pull with the right people, didn’t he?

With a sigh, you grabbed a piece of paper and began to write your reply.

Sukuna,

Fifty years is a lifetime, don’t you think?

Love, Y/N

Sukuna read the short note you’d sent, surprised by how much you’d poured into just a few lines. He noticed small, faded dots on the paper—tears, unmistakably yours. You’d been crying, and it didn’t sit right with him. His stomach tightened, but thankfully, he’d already secured your visit through Uraume, who handled it while Gojo was away.

Now, all that was left was seeing you.

He wondered how he’d keep his hands to himself after all the nights he’d spent memorising your picture, losing himself in thoughts of you. Every night before sleep, every morning when he woke, every time Toji was out cold and couldn’t hear Sukuna’s barely-stifled groans as he imagined you were there. God, he wanted to steal you away. 

The day of your visit finally came. Sukuna was led to the visitor room, wrists cuffed, flanked by two guards. He hadn’t set foot in this room since a couple of his associates had visited months back with updates on the family business and Yuji’s latest fiascos. They’d kept everything running despite his brother’s mess-ups, and Sukuna owed them.

He glanced down at his hands. Fifty years. He’d been scheming for a way out since he first set foot in here, but now, with you in the picture, the urge to escape was relentless. Bail was twenty million. Even if he could scrounge it up, he doubted he could get it done without tipping off the wrong people. No, his only real option was breaking out.

“Sukuna.”

A soft voice pulled his head up slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time his name was spoken with such warmth. 

“Y/N.”

He shot up from his seat, his eyes flicking to the guards stationed in the corner before letting himself drink you in. You looked stunning—a soft sundress, hair delicately curled, makeup enhancing every curve and angle of your face. His gaze lingered on your eyes, marvelling at the contrast: one foggy, hazy, while the other was bright and striking. A smirk pulled at his mouth, but he softened it for you. 

“Hey,” he whispered, the one word holding more emotion than he’d ever admit, especially with witnesses around.

“Hi,” you whispered back, eyes lowering down his muscled body, the pattern tattoos like rings around his wrist and with the first three buttons of his jumpsuit unbuttoned, you found the top of the rings on his pecs as well. His light-pink hair was brushed down, the tendrils poking his reddish-brown eyes. A peculiar colour. “Hi.”

He smiled. “You already said that, baby.” 

Baby. Gosh, you were even more nervous now. 

“They said I can’t shake your hand.” You looked at the cuffs on his wrists and tossed a glare at the guards. “Or hands.” 

“Fuck them.” Sukuna sat down and you followed. “You’re stunning.” 

You blushed. “Thank you.” 

“Not gonna compliment me back?” His deep voice was cocky, smug. You loved it. 

“You’re handsome and you know it.” 

“I sure do.” 

You chuckled and Sukuna watched you with a soft expression. “Thanks for . . . you know.” 

He understood the words you mouthed and smiled. “A little Ricin never hurt anyone.”

“How did you pull it off?”

His eyebrow arched in surprise. “Just because I’m stuck in this hellhole doesn’t mean I’ve lost everyone’s respect out there. Blood is thicker than water in my clan—except when it comes to my nephew. I just want to drain it out of him.”

Your own smile faltered. “Well . . . I’d like to have coffee with you. But fifty years, Sukuna, is too long.” 

He sighed. “I know.” 

“Isn’t there any way to get you out?” 

Sukuna saw the longing on your face and wanted nothing more than to hold it in his hands and stare at you for hours. He just couldn’t believe you were real. He would’ve killed you if you were cat-fishing him. “I really want to touch you,” he whispered instead. He did. He really fucking did. 

You pinched your lips in a smile. “Me, too.” 

Sukuna placed his hands on the table and grabbed both of yours. They were so soft and small. He wanted to kiss each finger. Knuckle. Vein.

“Hands off, Ryomen,” the guard warned. He didn’t relent, and simply winked at you. “I said hands off.” 

“Fuck you,” Sukuna spat back. 

“Visit’s over.” The pair of guards pried Sukuna away, making you reach out for him with a protest. 

“I’ll see you this weekend.” Sukuna winked and let the guards drag him away. 

You sat stunned before the officers escorted you out of the visiting room and apologised on his behalf. 

When the weekend finally rolled around, you found yourself standing at the prison gates once more, entering alongside a pair of guards.

Waiting by the visitor room was a towering figure with straight silver hair and striking blue-eyes. You got a closer look at the badge—Satoru Gojo. You’ve read the name in one of Sukuna’s letters complaining about him.

“Y/N. What a pleasant surprise,” he greeted, waving away the guards and pressing a hand on your back, leading you down the opposite direction. 

“We can chat another time, officer. I’ve got to meet Suku—”

“He can wait. Prison teaches a man patience. He’s got fifty more years left. Plenty to visit then.” Gojo opened the door and guided you inside. The shutting made your shoulders flinch. The lock clicking had dread pooling in your stomach. “Sit. Would you like anything to drink?” 

You eyed the dark setting bathed in a golden light from a corner lamp. There was a cart with a decanter set and a mini-fridge to the right. A bookshelf and a wardrobe on the left. “I’m fine, thank you.” 

Gojo shrugged and poured himself whiskey before taking his seat behind his table. You sat opposite him. “So, what’s your relationship with my favourite prisoner?” 

You blinked. “Uh, we’re just pen-pals.” 

“Lying to a police officer is a serious offence.” 

“I’m telling the truth,” you said. “We’re strictly pen-pals.” 

“I’ve read your letters to know that isn’t true, Princess. So unless you want to sit there and lie to my fucking face, I suggest you start using that mouth for good and tell me the goddamn truth.” He slammed his glass down, but his face remained smiling with false politeness. 

You felt suffocated in the office, eyes darting left and right for anything sharp in case he tried some other method to get you to talk. 

“I’ve been in this field for a decade now to know when someone is hiding something from me,” Gojo continued, taking a leisure sip from his drink. “I have a file on you, Y/N. You’re an only child, with no proper education or a stable job. You’re one bad decision away from being trafficked. You’re submissive, a follower, who if went missing, no one would look for.” Tears welled your eyes at his words. “And I know that bastard’s the reason you’re still living in that dump you call home.” 

That was the last nail in the coffin. 

“I’ve been following you since your first letter,” he said quietly. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to? Oh, Princess, you couldn’t be any more wrong.” He stood up and rounded his way to you. 

You quickly scrambled out of your seat. “Please. I don’t know anything. I—I don’t—Sukuna’s a friend, yes, but I’m not involved in any of his criminal activities.” 

“Friend?” Gojo spat out. “That man is the last person you’d ever want as your friend.” He stalked forward and you retracted. “He’s committed more crimes in his lifetime than any other man. He’s killed half the people in this country, extorted money from politicians, burned down houses for fun, and killed my father!” He grabbed the collars of your dress and slammed you back into his wardrobe door. A cry ripped from your throat. “And you, a nobody, has the audacity to call that fucker a friend? Sweetheart, you’re just a ploy, a pawn, a time-pass for him. A hole to warm his cock in.” A sardonic chuckle. “That’ll never happen since he isn’t getting out anytime soon. But, hey, maybe I can prepare you for him.” 

Your breath quickened, a whimper slipping past your lips. “How does that make you any better than him?” 

Gojo smiled and brushed his lips over your ears. “Because I have the power to get away with it.” 

Your eyes, frightened and flickering, dragged up to his blue-ones. 

In the blink of an eye, you slapped him across the face, taking him by complete surprise and broke free from his hands. He leaped towards you as you unlocked the door and ran out and down the hall, shouting for help. 

A pair of officers turned the corner. 

“Help, please!” You fell into the arms of one of them. “Please, he’s going to hurt me!” 

“Who?” one asked with concern. 

“Satoru Gojo!” 

They exchanged a look and briskly turned away, leaving you standing. Their spines straightened as Gojo walked down the hallway, flattening a hand down his chest. The duo saluted him and walked away with their heads down. 

Your heart sank. 

You had no power here. 

“I told you, Princess,” Gojo purred, prowling towards you, “this is my domain.” 

You cried out and ran towards the visitor’s room. The door knob was locked and could only be opened with a keycard. “Help!” You slammed your palms on the surface. “Please, someone! Help—ah!” 

Gojo gripped the back of your hair and pulled you from the door. “Perfect timing, actually. I’d like to see the look on Ryomen’s face before I split his woman on my cock.” He swiped the card and opened the door, pushing you inside but controlling you with the grip he had on your head. 

Sukuna was already standing and enraged, held back by two guards who struggled. He must’ve heard your helpless cries. You wish he didn’t have to. “Let her go, Gojo!” 

“Oh, I will,” said Gojo, “as soon as I’m done with her.” 

Sukuna growled, thrashing against his restraints. “You fucking prick, I’m gonna tear you in half you if you touch her!” 

“Like this?” Gojo squeezed your left breast and laughed. 

Sukuna elbowed one of the guards in his nose, momentarily seeking freedom to hit the other. Hope blossomed in your chest as he fought them off and made his way towards you. 

Gojo chuckled and pulled out his gun, shooting Sukuna in the leg. You jumped with a scream as he fell to the floor, clutching his thigh. “All this chaos for a common whore,” he muttered. “Come on, Princess. Let’s put you to good use.” 

“No, please!” You shouted as he dragged you away. “Sukuna, no! Sukuna!” 

“Y/N.” Sukuna reached his arm out, his hand curling into a fist and falling defeatedly onto the floor. “Don’t hurt her, please.” His face was squeezed in pain, as the guards kept him pinned to the floor. “Please! Don’t fucking hurt her—” 

The door closed shut, and the last sight before your eyes was Sukuna crying. 

Sukuna hadn’t heard from you in over a month. 

He’d also spend the month in the infirmary after Uraume did an extensive surgery on his leg. It hadn’t hit a vital artery. He believed Satoru’s aim was calculated to keep him alive. To continue letting him suffer. 

Sukuna also went quiet. He hadn’t spoken a single word to anyone except murmuring to himself. He read back on your letters, slept with the papers under his pillow, if he slept at all. 

Every morning, afternoon, night, in and out of his dry sleep, he was plotting a way to get out of this hell and find you. Would you even want to see him? Would you even care? Were you even alive? He’d dragged you into his mess, put you in danger, and fell into Satoru’s disgusting trap. 

“You need to eat something, Sukuna,” Uraume advised as they have been since his injury. They placed the tray in front of him. “At least eat the yogurt.” 

Were you eating? Were you still living in his house? Were you alive? That question rang in his head again. 

“For fucks sake.” Uraume brought forth a stool and sat next to his bed, staring at the side of his face. “What the hell do you want to do?” 

He wanted to kill Satoru first. Then escape with Toji since he was the only bastard he trusted in this place. Then find you and run away from the law as far as possible. It was a simple plan that required efficiency. 

“Are you gonna talk—” 

Sukuna shoved the tray aside, the food falling onto the floor. He was irritated by the questions outside and inside of his head. “I need to find her,” he mumbled to himself. “I need to know if she’s alive.” Please, baby, please be alive. 

“Everything all right in here, doc?” One of the guards stationed outside the door asked with his head peering through the door. 

Sukuna stared at him, then went back to Uraume. They met his eyes with their blank stare. They scanned down his body, to his injured leg, then back to his head. 

A sigh left them. “No,” they replied. “Do you mind helping me clean up the mess?” 

Sukuna gritted his jaw as the guard walked in, closing the door and crouching down, grumbling curses at Sukuna. Uraume stood from their stool and made their way to the cabinet, pulling out a syringe and a small vial. 

Sukuna's eyes lightened, spine straightening. A smile curved at his lip as they flicked the droplets from the tip of the injection and walked over, making small-talk about the weather. 

Suddenly, Uraume jabbed the needle into the officer’s neck and pushed down the plunger. He fell to his side, clutching his neck and staring up at them as they shrugged. Sukuna watched with pure delight as his body began to convulse, foam gathering at this mouth and dripping from the side. 

Then he stopped. 

“He’s dead,” Uraume said before Sukuna could ask. “Works the night shift so you won’t have a problem running into anyone else. Change into his clothes. I’ll drive.” They walked away to grab a face mask. 

“Why?” asked Sukuna. 

Uraume sighed, head dropping. “Because I fucking hate it here.” 

Sukuna was definitely going to hire them once he killed his Gojo, and his nephew. 

He quickly changed into the officer’s clothes, giving him a hard kick in the stomach that had Uraume rolling their eyes. 

Sukuna followed behind as they led the way. “Let’s take Toji.”

“Why?” they asked. “That’s a hassle.” 

“Just feel bad.” 

“And when did you start feeling guilt?” Uraume easily slipped past the security gate, waving to the officer who was busy on his phone. 

“I don’t know,” he said, smiling because he knew. Sure, you’d only touched him once, but your letters were what truly began to change him. Just the other day, he’d lost a round of blackjack, stacking his debt to Toji by a million, and instead of knocking the guy out cold, Sukuna shook hands and called it a ‘good game.’ “On second thought, let’s leave him here for the time being.” Until he got his money in check. 

Once they settled into Uraume’s car, Sukuna quickly discarded the officer's cap, tie, and badges. Uraume entered your address from the letters, and they drove in silence for the next thirty minutes.

When they arrived, the building matched your description: shitty.

Uraume stopped Sukuna before he could leap out of the car. They scanned the street for any signs of police presence. “Go. I’ll wait here.” 

Sukuna nodded and dashed out of the car, walking inside the apartment. There was no buzzer system, which meant anyone could stroll in, armed and dangerous. This was a problem. He needed to get you out of here and into one of his safe houses—a hidden place even his bastard nephew didn’t know about.

He hurried up the emergency stairwell to the tenth floor, slightly winded by the time he reached door 1090.

This was it.

With his hands gripping the edges of the door, he hunched forward, heart racing. Please, be alive.

Finally, he knocked.

He chewed the shit out of his bottom lip, hissing impatiently through his teeth. “Come on, Y/N.” He knocked again, his impatience boiling over. “It’s me, Sukuna! Please, open the door.” He pounded harder, fear creeping in with each passing second. The Sukuna Ryomen was . . . scared. “Goddammit!”

“Sukuna . . .?” 

He halted mid-breakdown and turned slowly, his heart dropping at the sight of you standing there with two bags of groceries. You looked so fragile, your complexion pale, and the radiance he remembered from your visit had completely vanished.

The grocery bags slipped from your hands and fell to the ground.

In an instant, you both rushed toward each other, and he lifted you off the ground effortlessly. You wrapped your arms around him, sobbing uncontrollably as he buried his hand in the back of your hair, inhaling the comforting scent of your body wash.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay, I’m here.” His eyes were directed straight ahead, and he was shaking. Terribly. “I’m here, sweetheart.” 

You pulled back, cradling his face in your small hands. Gently, you brushed aside his dark, mink-like hair, tracing the tattoos on his skin with your fingertips. “You’re alive,” you whispered, overwhelmed by relief. You couldn’t help but touch him, and he simply smiled, allowing you the closeness. “God, you’re alive. Sukuna—you’re really alive. How?”

“Of course, I am. I just needed to know you were alive,” he replied, his hands enveloping your cheeks. “Where did you go? Why did you stop writing to me?”

Your face went blank. “What do you mean?”  

“Your letters. You stopped writing to me.” 

“They . . .” Your voice cracked. “They told me you were sentenced to death.” 

He was taken back. “What the fuck?”  

Realisation dawned upon you. The second time you visited Sukuna, Satoru had literally dragged you out of the station, kicking you out the doors. He’d threatened to take you to his office next time, but since he had a meeting with officials that day, he’d reluctantly let you go. That didn’t stop you from sending countless letters, pouring your heart out until, two weeks later, you finally received a notification from the police station. Sukuna had been sentenced to death by lethal injection and was no longer alive. You’d cried for days on end. You imagined he had been cremated and reduced to ashes, stored away somewhere. The thought shattered you. For an entire month, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your house.

Until tonight. 

And he was here. Sukuna was here. He was alive. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing the area below your sightless eye. “Let’s head inside, alright?”

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his wrist. He held your hand tightly while using his other arm to carry your grocery bags. Once you reached your apartment, you opened the door and locked it securely. The deadbolt you had installed was a precaution against Satoru, just in case he showed up.

“I’m so happy you’re al—” 

Sukuna kissed you before the words could leave your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, moaning from the taste of his lips, the taste you’d been craving for months now. He didn’t allow you to breathe, didn’t pull away. You both stood there in the alcove, kissing for minutes, clinging to each other. He cupped the back of your head and drew apart from your lips, peppering kisses over your face, especially your foggy eye. 

“I don’t want to fuck you, baby,” he whispered in your ear. “I want to make love to you. For hours.” Your grip tightened in his shirt. “Then I need you to pack everything in a bag and run away with me.” 

“Run away?” You searched his dark-reddish eyes. “Run away where?”

His knuckles grazed your wet cheek. “Somewhere not even God can find us.”

You swallowed hard. “They’ll send out a manhunt, Sukuna. What if we get caught? What if they take you—”

He cut you off with a kiss. “No one is going to take me away from you. Do you get that?” His strong fingers moved through your hair. “I’d turn this world to dust before that happens.”

Your insides melted from the threat. “Take me,” you murmured over his lips. He kissed you. “Take me everywhere, anywhere, wherever, as long as it’s with you.” 

Sukuna lifted you effortlessly, carrying you like a bride as he kicked open your bedroom door. He set you down on the bed, then began stripping off his clothes, revealing the geometric tattoos that marked his thighs and torso. You were caught off guard by how quickly he moved, fumbling to take off your sweater and jeans. By the time you looked back at him, he was already naked, and your gaze dropped to what you could only describe as a gloriously, long erection. 

“Woah,” you whispered, feeling your mouth go dry. “You’re abnormally big.” 

“You can take it.” He leaned over you, tearing your panties without a second thought. Before you could protest about them being your favorite pair, he spread your legs and went down on you. “Oh, my god—Sukuna—wait—”

“Waited too long,” he growled, his mouth finding your clit as he buried his nose between your wet folds. He nipped, licked, and bit, his tongue plunging deep into you, creating messy sounds that filled the air. You couldn't form words or catch your breath, gripping the roots of his hair tightly.

When you came like a flood, Sukuna lifted your hips, making sure not a single drop of you was lost to the sheets. He let out loud, deep moans as he sloppily lapped at your sensitive cunt.

He wiped his glistening mouth with his fingers and then pressed them against your lips. You eagerly sucked on his warm, thick digits, noting the lustrous glint in his eyes. He pulled his fingers out abruptly. “Suck my cock.” 

Suck his what? 

You looked down and saw him leaking at the tip. You clenched your legs, unsure. He wanted you to take that into your mouth?

You licked your lips, managing to kneel while he stood before you. He took hold of himself, rubbing the tip against your lips. You instinctively flicked your tongue out to taste him, causing him to flinch. “Sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.” He seemed to enjoy it. “Just take it in your mouth.”

You nodded, wrapping your fingers around his hot, veiny length. You opened your jaw as wide as you could and slowly took him in. His head fell back, and he engulfed your face with his palms. Your performance was mediocre, and yet he was entertained.

His tip pressed against the back of your throat, making you pull back to cough. He laughed softly, brushing your cheek with his hand.

“Come on, baby. You need to get used to it.”

“I’ve never done this before,” you replied, your voice shaky as you reached for him again.

“Stick your tongue out.”

You took a deep breath and extended your tongue. He rested the head of his cock on it and started to move his hips slowly.

Slowly, you took him in, feeling his satisfaction as he gently rocked his hips back and forth. He tasted warm and a little salty, and you found your hand wandering between your legs, seeking some relief.

“I’m going to pick up the pace, alright, baby?”

You nodded in response.

“Don’t be embarrassed if you choke,” he said, hooking a stray lock behind your ear. “It’ll just me come faster.”

With that, he thrust deeper, and you gripped his hips tightly, struggling to catch your breath. He noticed and pulled back slightly to give you a moment, but it was brief before he pushed back in again. “You’re taking me so well, baby. Fuck.” His movements became more feverish, and you felt the pressure building as you choked and gagged, saliva escaping at the corners of your mouth. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come down your throat.” 

You tapped his leg, shaking your head.

“No?” He smirked. “You don’t want me to come down your throat?”

You shook your head again and pointed between your legs.

In an instant, Sukuna pulled out. He flipped you onto your chest, lifting your ass up in the air. Without a second thought, he thrust himself deep inside you, and you cried out his name into the pillow.

He felt so full, so thick, pushing into you with a force that made your breath hitch. It was everything you needed—so good, so fucking good. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. He filled you completely, driving into you with a fast rhythm that left you moaning, completely lost in the pleasure.

Your nails clawed at the sheets as his thick tip pressed against your womb, punctuated by the stinging slaps of his hands against your ass. He showered you with a blend of sweet and dirty words—“good fucking girl,” “cock slut,” “so perfect and tight,” “little whore”—and you pushed back, needing him deeper and deeper.

Sukuna released a torrent of warm cum inside you, still driving his hips against you, holding you securely by the waist. The sensation sent waves of pleasure through you, and he pulled out, flipping you onto your back. He bent your knees, driving himself back inside without hesitation. How was he still so hard?

Your hands cupped his flushed, beautiful face, a lazy smile stretching across both your lips. Sukuna leaned in, kissing you deeply before trailing his lips down to your neck while his hand found its way to your breast. “I’m not on birth control anymore, you know?”

“Good.” He pulled back to meet your gaze. “And don’t even think about getting back on it.”

“But we can’t afford the risk, Suku—”

“I love you,” he said, his grip firm on your jaw. Everything inside you exploded. “I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much that I’ll take every fucking risk.”

You moaned softly as he came again, your trembling fingers brushing against his lips. “I love you, too.” He kissed your fingertips, a promise in every touch. “I’ll take every risk with you.”

“Fuck yeah you will.” He didn’t pull out, his eyes locked on yours. “Starting with putting a baby in you.”

You happily accepted your fate.

Sukuna pulled the trigger, shooting another police officer in the back of his head. The sound of the gunfire mixed with the blaring sirens, echoing through the flickering lights of the corridors—a devious melody composed just for him. He chuckled low, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a grin as another officer lunged out, attempting to stop him—pathetic. A single shot rang out, and the man crumpled like paper.

The path to Satoru’s office was a long one, and the bodies he left sprawled out in his wake were only a brief distraction from the task at hand. He had things to do today, after all.

Another officer stumbled into view, eyes wide, panic evident. He didn’t stand a chance. Sukuna barely glanced at him as he fired, stepping over the man as he slumped against the wall. Blood splattered his shoes, but it was hardly the worst stain on his day.

You were going to be pissed. He could practically hear the biting tone, the disappointed scowl that’d meet him the moment he finally made it to Mai’s first birthday party. Sukuna scoffed as he shot a bullet straight through a door that dared open near him, knocking down yet another obstacle.

But this was necessary. He needed to do this.

Free Toji. Kill Gojo. And then, eventually, deal with his meddling nephew. Everything would finally align, and maybe—just maybe—he could stop all this. For you. For your daughter.  

Satoru’s office was close now. He could smell the antiseptic scent of the door, the false air of authority that seemed to reek from it. He cocked his gun, steeling himself. Because when he was done here—when he’d finally finished what he’d started—he’d make it up to you.

Or so he told himself, as another officer charged and met the floor with a hole in his skull.

Sukuna didn’t bother with the doorknob. He slammed his boot into the door, sending it splintering inward with a loud crack. The office was stripped bare; Satoru’s usual pile of clutter, the irritating stench of his cologne—gone. Only the dust of where things once sat remained on the shelves and desk.

The bastard had fled.

Sukuna’s jaw clenched as he surveyed the room. Gojo knew he was coming and had bolted like a coward hours ago. He pulled his lighter from his pocket, flipping it open with a flick of his thumb, the small flame dancing aglow. Without a second thought, he stepped to the heavy, pretentious curtains Gojo insisted on, pressing the flame to the thick fabric. It caught quickly, embers licking up and curling black around the edges as the fire took hold, consuming Satoru’s last pathetic hold on this place.

He turned and walked out, ignoring the smoke that was already billowing into the hall. The prison alarm was still blaring, red lights flashing down the cold corridors as he made his way to the cells. Every so often, he’d pause, assessing the prisoner cowering behind bars. Rapists, pedophiles, molesters, abusers, killers of innocent lives—he moved on from them. But when he found those who didn’t quite repulse him, he took a single shot at their lock, releasing them in a stream of confused, wary freedom.

As he approached the far end of the corridor, a familiar sight greeted him—his old cell. And standing behind those hard, metal bars, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, was Toji.

“Didn’t think you’d come back to this hellhole,” Toji remarked. 

“Not for long,” Sukuna replied, levelling his gun at the lock. He fired once, the lock shattering as the cell door swung open. 

Toji stepped out of his cell, took one look around, then paused. “Hold up.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, watching as the man crouched beside a loose brick in the wall. With a wry smile, he pulled out an old, scratched-up plastic bottle with a wriggling, sickly-looking worm inside. He tapped the side of the bottle, making the creature twist and writhe. “Almost forgot my little friend here.”

Sukuna barked a short laugh. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

Alarms blared louder as they navigated the winding corridors and ran past prisoners surging toward freedom. Some guards tried to block the path, but they were quickly swept aside by Sukuna’s bullets and Toji’s fists. By the time they hit the outer gates, the entire prison was pandemonium, prisoners scattering into the open like ants from a burning nest.

Outside, a sleek, black car idled just past the gate. Uraume sat coolly behind the wheel, watching the stampede of convicts with bored detachment. As they approached, Uraume rolled down the window, glancing at them with their nose slightly crinkled.

“I could smell you two from a mile away,” they said dryly, eyes flicking to the stains of blood on their clothes. “Maybe next time, schedule a prison massacre that doesn’t fall on your daughter’s birthday?”

“Just drive,” Sukuna replied, sliding into the backseat with Toji following. Toji glanced at Uraume with a quick nod, still keeping a light hold on his bottle, the worm twisting inside.

“Welcome back to the real world, Fushiguro,” they said, starting the car as they drove off into the night.

The road stretched long and dark, winding into the depths of a thick forest. The further they drove, the thicker the trees became, their branches curving overhead to cast everything in shadows. The road narrowed into a rugged trail, overgrown and wild. Uraume navigated it deftly, until at last, the forest opened up, and they could see the soft glimmer of moonlight on the water beyond.

Perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean stood their safe house—a dark brick estate against the endless stretch of water. Waves crashed against the rocks far below, the scent of salt and sea heavy in the air.

Sukuna looked at the house, then at Toji’s surprised face.

“This is where you’ve been hiding for the two years?” he asked as soon as they were out of the car. 

“Not for long if I fuck this up.” Sukuna slipped in through the garage, keeping his steps light. He had just one goal at this moment: reach the shower before you spotted the blood streaked on his clothes and the smell of gunpowder clinging to him. 

But as he shut the door, there you were, arms crossed, eyes sharp as they landed on him.

“Sukuna,” you started, an edge in your tone that he recognized all too well. “Do you have any idea what day it is? Look at you; you're a mess!” You gestured at the dark stains on his shirt and his unmistakable smirk.

Instead of trying to dodge the lecture, he listened, that faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched you, soaking in each scolding word. You were the one person who never held back with him, and it made something dangerous in him soften, something in him settle. “I know, baby,” he replied, pecking your cheek. “But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Barely,” you replied, sighing, though you couldn’t quite hide the relief in your voice. You glanced over his shoulder. “Toji, Uraume—it’s good to see you both.”

Uraume gave a slight bow, a wry smile still tugging at their lips, while Toji just gave you a quick nod.

You waved a hand, turning back to the kitchen. “Both of you boys—shower, now. I won’t have the two of you smelling like a prison while I’m trying to decorate my daughter’s cake. Go on!”

Toji gave Sukuna a knowing look and shrugged, as if to say, She’s right. Sukuna shot him a warning look, then followed up the stairs, chuckling under his breath as he imagined how you’d cornered him like this. 

Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out of the shower, cleaned up, feeling far lighter as he tugged on a fresh shirt and came downstairs, catching the scent of the dinner you’d prepared. 

He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your temple. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile that melted your anger as he pulled you close.

“Gojo got away,” he murmured. “He knew I was coming, and he ran like the coward he is. But I’ll find him. And I’ll make him pay for what he did to you. I swear it.”

You paused, looking up into his eyes, your hand settling on his cheek. “I know you will, Sukuna. But don’t miss the important things here. We’re what’s important now, not just revenge.”

The words took root in him, grounding him, but that flicker of rage still danced in his eyes. He pulled you close, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll never let him touch us again. I promise you that.” 

Just as you leaned in for another kiss, Sukuna heard the faint sound of your daughter stirring awake from her nap on the living room floor. Mai’s soft little whimpers broke the room’s quiet. Instinctively, he abandoned your kiss, his attention snapping to her as he practically floated over to where she was squirming in her pink dress, rubbing her tiny fists over her eyes.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured, scooping her up with all the gentleness he could muster. Her sleepy eyes blinked open, and he was rewarded with that toothy little grin she’d recently mastered, one that brought an uncharacteristic softness to his entire face. He pressed a cascade of kisses on her cheeks, nose, forehead—anywhere he could reach. “Look at you, sweetheart. All dressed up for your birthday, huh? The prettiest girl in the world.”

You laughed softly from the kitchen, watching as Sukuna held her close, stepping into an impromptu waltz around the living room, his steps surprisingly skilled. She squealed in delight, her small hands reaching up to his face as he spun her around. Even Toji, who had just come down from the shower, stopped in his tracks at the sight, a rare, amused smile tugging at his mouth.

Sukuna glanced up, catching Toji’s presence, and with a proud smirk said, “Toji, meet my daughter, Mai. She’s already got more spirit than most of the people you and I have met.”

Toji stepped forward, studying your daughter. He reached out a hand, and she looked at him with wide eyes, inspecting him with her natural, innocent curiosity. “She looks like trouble. Must take after her old man.” 

“Her mother, mostly,” Sukuna said in your direction, bouncing her lightly. “She’s going to have a whole world to handle, with us around.”

In the background, Uraume was setting the table, their usual precision in each movement. They threw Sukuna a blank look, brushing off their hands. “Now that the table’s set, if you’d all just take your seats, maybe we can have a peaceful birthday dinner without the talk of blood and violence for once.”

Sukuna chuckled, shooting them a dry look before turning back to his daughter. Holding Mai close, he took a seat at the head of the table with you beside him. He looked around, taking in the sight—the cake you’d just set down, the quiet chatter as Uraume and Toji exchanged comments, and his daughter babbling in his lap, still pawing at his face with sticky fingers.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt peace. 

The “Happy Birthday” song had been sung, candles blown out, cake shared, and Toji had crashed in the guest room, completely knocked out. Uraume, too, was resting in another room, finally allowing herself a few hours of sleep.

In your bed, the soft rise and fall of your daughter’s tiny breaths filled the space between you and Sukuna. She slept peacefully between you both, tiny fingers curled into fists as she dreamed. But you and Sukuna were both wide awake, eyes locked on each other in the moonlight. His hand drifted up, fingertips brushing your cheek. 

“Do you remember my first letter?” you asked.

A smirk began at his lips. “You mean the diary entry about the cockroaches in your kitchen and how you thought seducing your landlord was a better solution than paying rent?”

You laughed, covering your mouth to keep quiet, not wanting to wake your baby. He loved that laugh—the way it sounded like music only he got to hear.

“Or how no one with one functioning eye could ever be taken seriously romantically,” he added. “Debunked, by the way.”

Your laugh softened, and you looked at him with a smile that held a thousand memories. “Do you remember the last thing I wrote?”

“The part about Satanism?”

You laughed again, the sound bubbling up and melting into the dark. And as he listened, he couldn’t help but chuckle alongside, his thumb tracing along your cheek, taking in the moment like he was trying to memorise it.

You took a breath, glancing down before meeting his eyes again. “I said I was lonely as hell, remember?” Sadness wove into your words. “And . . . I was. Back then, I thought no one could ever really understand me. Until you did.”

Sukuna shook his head. “You were never meant to be alone, baby,” he murmured. “Not then, not ever. Not while I’m here.”

You swallowed, heart catching as you looked at the life you’d built, the fragile happiness that now lay nestled between you both. “I’m just . . . scared sometimes,” you admitted. “I’m scared of losing this. Of losing you. I don’t know if I could protect what we have.”

“We’ll protect it together,” Sukuna affirmed. “Nothing will take this from us. Not while I’m still breathing.” He leaned forward, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was deep, reassuring, exactly like the one he’d give you when you’d sealed your vows. When he pulled back, you met his eyes, a soft smile tugging at your mouth. 

“I genuinely love you, Sukuna,” you whispered, fingers brushing his sharp jaw.

He took them and gave a kiss to the tips. “And I genuinely love you most, baby.” 

Moments later, your eyes drifted shut, your breathing evening out as you finally slipped into sleep. But Sukuna stayed awake, his gaze never leaving you, or your daughter. 

This was the family he’d fought and bled for, the life he’d killed to create. And yet, an unsettling undercurrent of unfinished business tugged at his nerves. But tonight, he forced it away, just for a while. 

For now, there was no room for anything but the second chance he’d been given.

[postracehair]

a small request

max verstappen x reader | 2k

even world champions deserve love letters. after missing the mexico gp, you're determined to see max have a good weekend in brazil. maybe all it takes is a handwritten note.

cw: fem!reader, being in love, softness, a track-side kiss, love letters. and google translate, sorry to any dutch speakers.

a/n: was this inspired by that video from austin? yeah, it was! sue me! also, written/posted before the gp, so. no race details <3 xx

__

You miss race weekend in Mexico. It happens. You can't be there every weekend, much as you'd like to be. You're even more peeved about it after, considering you quite like Carlos and wish you had seen him earn what very well might be his last win with Ferrari. But you're mostly upset because Max, though he won't say so, could probably have used your support.

Years of experience have him calm, cool, and collected despite the team troubles. Flippant, some headlines say. Mad Max, others. But you know he's probably just tired. Tired of the media, of the FIA, of the churning conflict between him and Lando -- something you all knew was coming someday, but maybe not so suddenly. The longest season ever continues to drag and drag and drag.

"Twenty seconds was...Christ, Max," you say. You know what happened, of course. You watched what you could, saw the sharp moves around the corner and heard the radios. It never gets easier, watching him take risks like that. Usually, everyone else backs off, but McLaren can see victory on the horizon and won't let it go. You can't blame them, either of them, you just wish it was all a bit less tense.

"I know," he says, voice raspy over the connection. "I -- well, you know how I feel about it. Don't want to say anything in case the FIA is tapping my phone."

You laugh into your hand so you don't disturb the other people in the airline lounge, not entirely used to places like this, still. Max has told you over and over that it's absurd for you to spend your own money when you're coming to see him all over the world. When you told him you moved things around so you could come to Brazil, he booked you the nicest ticket, per usual.

"Oh, ha, ha," you say. "Don't give them any ideas, Mr. Community Service." You sigh. "Do you need anything? Be honest."

"Aren't you at the airport already? Your flight should be leaving in --" A pause, like he's checking his watch -- "forty minutes."

You glance up at the departures screen. He's right, but you don't give it to him so easily. "Know my schedule, do you?"

"Well, I booked your ticket, so I should think so."

"Your assistant booked it, you mean."

He hums and you picture him in his hotel room, maybe at the window, looking over the city. "I know your flight information. Don't be silly."

"I mean it, Max," you say again. "Is there anything I can do to make the weekend better?" It's a bit of a useless question and you expect him to answer with a snarky get me a new car or apply for the position of steward.

But he doesn't. He clears his throat.

"I'm just glad you're coming," he says, softly. "I've missed you."

You never doubt how Max feels about you, but he must be pretty tired to admit it like this. He's all about actions, this man. Making sure you have what you need when you're at the track, arranging your travel, remembering your schedule. He shows you how much you matter, and that's more than enough. He never wants to make you feel bad for having a life beyond being his girlfriend. And this doesn't, not really. It just makes you ache, fills your chest with the hopeless affection you've felt for him for so long.

"I've missed you, too," you reply. "But I'd like to be useful."

"Oh, I can think of a few things, then," Max says, all of a sudden all cheek. Such a boy, sometimes. A boy in love.

You can't help but laugh, face hot. "Hush, you!"

He huffs. A few beats of silence, the comfortable, well-worn kind. Sometimes, when he's halfway across the world and up late on the sim, he'll call you just to hear you breathe.

"Max?"

"I -- do you remember what you did for my birthday?"

He'd wanted something small, quiet. There was a lot of work to be done with the team but three weekends off meant you had a little time to yourselves. A few days hardly leaving his place, a dinner with some of the guys, a cake you made yourself, hand-delivered in bed. Gifts for a very wealthy man are difficult, especially since Max doesn't seem to want much.

"Oh, the pillow with my face on it?"

Max laughs. The lounge loudspeaker announces that your flight is going to board soon, so you gather your things but keep your phone wedged next to your ear.

"No, the other thing," he says. He clears his throat and summons some of that World Champion courage. "The letter."

You'd written him a fairly long love letter, thinking it would be a nice thing to carry to the races you couldn't be at this fall. It was tempting to be embarrassed about it when you gave it to him the morning of his birthday, but his cheeks had gone pink and he'd buried his face in your neck.

"Oh, that," you say. The airport is busier outside the lounge and you push your case in the direction of your gate weaving between. people.

"You could write me another, maybe."

Max is direct. He is honest, at work and at home, but this surprises you a little.

"You do know I'm about to get on a plane to see you, right?"

He huffs, and you imagine his cheeks pink, eyes bright. "You asked!"

"I'll write you another love letter, Max Verstappen," you assure him. "I'll write you a hundred."

"One is a fine start," he says firmly. "You should be boarding soon, and I've got to go to the press conference. Text me when you've landed?"

"Of course," you reply, eyes rolling though he can't see. "I'll see you soon, okay? Love you."

"Love you, liefje."

On the plane, you tear out some pages from your journal. You'd prefer to have some nice stationery like what you wrote on for his birthday, but maybe this is more romantic, more real. Making do with that you've got because he asked.

In the last one, you told him your memories of when you first met. How your stomach swooped when you made him laugh, how his blue eyes wouldn't leave your dreams. In this one you tell him about when you first realized you loved him. How absurdly early you were sure, how badly you wanted to tell him for weeks. The way you remember every second of when you blurted it out -- his face, his smile. His voice in your ear, telling you over and over, geliefde, ik houd van je, zo veel. I love you, so much.

"You're working hard on that," someone says. You look up at your seatmate, a woman a few decades older than you with a heavy accent.

You feel a little like you've been caught doing something illicit, but you just smile at her. "For my boyfriend," you tell her. "A love letter."

She flattens her palm over heart and sighs. "How lovely," she coos. "I hope he takes care of you, too."

We take care of each other, you want to say. You could tell her about how he sends you postcards from every country he goes to after you told him you like to put them on your fridge. You could tell her how sometimes you text him during his streams to make him laugh on camera. How he remembers your favorites, how he saves you his special team gear, how he sends you flowers all the time. How he likes to sit on the couch, your toes under his thigh, fingers around your ankle. How you've been learning Dutch and how he patiently corrects your pronunciation. You could go on and on and on.

"He does," you say instead.

__

The plane lands safely in Brazil, but the pilot tells you that there is no open gate and that you'll be sitting for a while. You text Max.

stuck on tarmac, will be later than expected! :(

He must be in media responsibilities still because he doesn't reply until you finally get off the plane.

go relax at the hotel. i'll see you for dinner!

You find your ride easy enough and take a deep breath. The letter you wrote on the plane feels heavy in your pocket, and you just want to see Max. To be near him again. To give him this small thing he asked for.

"Excuse me," you say to the driver. "Do you think we could go to the track, instead?"

You text Max's assistant to say you're headed there, hoping it's not too much of an inconvenience. You're told he's almost done, maybe an hour left, and when you arrive you're led to his driver rooms. His shit is everywhere, per usual. Max is quite neat except in here -- Carmen once told you that George is the same. Clothes strewn about, his race boots unlaced and left in the way, warm-up equipment in a pile. On the table are a few of his things -- his wallet, a notebook, some papers.

Wait a second. One of those papers looks...familiar. It's been folded in three, the envelope it came in nowhere to be seen. His name is scrawled on the blank side in your hand and when you tug it from the pile you can see that it's creased, the edges a little more worn than when you gave it to him a few months ago. Max Verstappen, three-time World Champion, actually carries around the love letter you wrote him. Brings it to the track. It's darling. You love him so much. You pull the new one from your pocket and set them side-by-side on the table where he'll find them.

You ask to be taken to the pit wall, please, so you can see whatever the drivers are doing on track. Some dedication, you're told. The timing ends up being perfect and you get there just as they're finishing. You lean on a gap in the barrier where, on Sunday, crew members will be holding timing signs as the drivers zip around the hot pavement. The crowd in the stands is loud, as always, and maybe you imagine it but it seems to get a little louder when you look out.

The guys are talking amongst themselves and a few of them wave at you. You spot Max as he turns away from Charles and you can't help but grin. His eyes meet yours under his cap and his entire face chances, softens, and he breaks into a jog. You lean out over the concrete ledge and meet him in a kiss that's more two smiles pressed together than anything else.

"This is a surprise," he says when he pulls away. Eyes sparkling, he shows no signs of rejoining the other drivers as they head to whatever their next thing is. Photos, probably.

"I missed you," you tell him. "I've left you something in your room."

"Oh?" He straightens the lanyard of your credentials with careful fingers.

You reach for him, palm on his cheek. His stubble tickles and he leans into it ever so slightly. It doesn't feel like there are thousands of eyes on you, not even a little.

"Yeah," you say. "As promised." Someone calls his name. "Go on, then. I'll be waiting."

He kisses you again, a quick brush of his lips on the corner of your mouth.

Later, you'll wake from your nap in the hotel room to those same kisses on your cheeks, your forehead. Max will gather you in his arms and tell you all the moments he almost told you he loved you, how he could hardly believe when you said it first. You'll tease him for how many times he's read that first letter and he'll cheekily say that's why he needs more. And you will write him more, you'll write him as many as he wants. As many as you can, for the rest of your lives.

But now, in front of thousands of screaming fans, he smiles at only you, boyish and pleased.

[deepestnightcolor]

Hear me out, the farmer's in need of a confidence boost and tries on some lingerie. Decides she should to get a second opinion and sends a pic to a friend, but accidentally sent the picture to her crush, Sam instead. Please tell what would happen next😋

ᴀ/ɴ: Here I am! Thank you so much for your time to request this. I hope you enjoy! I really thought this would be a shorter one, but I guess things escalated. Huh. Also kids, remember, you are beautiful the way you are and you all deserve a Sam in your life that will let you know that. Love you. ALSO I HAVE A NEW BANNER MADE BY @sashiavi WE THANK HER NICELY

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x Fem!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 4192 words

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: hints of sexting, masturbation, kissing, slobbering, pierced dick, some sort of mating press, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, dirty talk, more praise, lingerie

☾ ꜱɴᴀᴘꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ ☽

Sam’s fingers were shaking as he stared at the screen, disbelief written over his facial features in all bold letters. His lower lip wobbled as his blue eyes flicked from one corner to the next, up and down, side to side, trying to hammer every single detail into his brain, trying to tuck it away safely and forever. >>does this look ok? Feeling too ugly for it ☹<< the text below read – and Sam simply couldn’t believe how someone could have been so fucking wrong.? You see, he wasn’t in disbelief over how you looked. Sam had always been very much aware of how fucking hot he found you, how attracted he was to you, and how beautiful you were. He just couldn’t believe you couldn’t see what he saw. Didn’t he see how nicely the soft-looking fabric accentuated your chest? Didn’t you fucking see how it hugged your body in a way that made him envious, wishing that it were his hands in place of the lingerie you had put on. Yoba, all these details would be haunting him on lonely nights, and he was there for it. Your skin just looked so soft and the pout you were wearing on your face- Sam’s cock decided to make itself known by bobbing in the confines of his pants, but Sam had to set a record straight. >>I think you see a different picture cause you look absolutely AMAZING like holy fucking shit I just wanna have this picture in my brain forever and ever.<< He pressed “send” before he could form a thought that wasn’t fuelled by his dick and the outrage of you thinking this wasn’t anything but gorgeous.

His blue eyes trailed back up to the picture, pierced tongue wetting his lips that had started to feel dry when a text bubble caught his attention. You were typing. And then you weren’t. And then you were again. Sam had promised himself to pay attention to that, but he found himself letting his eyes follow the promising trails of your gorgeous body, the curves it offered. Yoba, what he would have given to touch you. He had barely even noticed that his hand had slipped underneath the waistband of his pants, gripping the length of his cock with still shaky fingers. He just couldn’t help himself! Not with how sweet you looked for him! A shaky breath left Sam’s lips as he gripped his cock tighter, allowing his hand to trace up and down, tip of his tongue sticking out as he tried to pace himself.

The poor man almost flinched when your picture suddenly slid upwards, making room for a new text: >>Omy Sam I am so so so sorry, I meant to send this to a friend fuck I am so sorry, please forget this<< Sam’s lower lip wobbled as he scrolled to find the picture gone. Another shaky breath left him as he leaned against the wall behind him, eyes closing as he desperately tried to remember the image, but his imagination and memory just couldn’t keep up with your beauty. A low groan left him, dick throbbing in sheer disappointment at the lack of attention as the blond’s hand had stopped its affections, numbly resting upon his shaft. Sam had been allowed a glance of heaven, and now he had been dropped back on the cold, hard ground.

But there was something that bothered him more than this sweet carrot that had been dangled in front of him being gone.

>>ok so I know that this pic wasn’t meant for me n all and that you are prolly really embarrassed rn, but I really meant what I said. You don’t just look ok, you look absolutely amazing like holy fucking shit.<< Sam watched the text bubble appear, just to disappear moments later. And there it was again, indicating you were typing. And then you weren’t. The blond allowed the metal ball on his tongue to glide along the back of his teeth, before a sudden idea popped into his head. >>wait.<<

The blond scrambled to get up from his bed, struggling out of his baggy jeans and peeling himself out of his jacket. It wasn’t long before he stood in front of the mirror with nothing but his boxers, snapping a picture of himself pretty much shamelessly.

It wasn’t long before the picture appeared on your phone, followed by a simple message. >>See? Now we are even<< >>But if you want me to prove what I think is true…<< >>Or we will never mention this again if you prefer my lips will be sealed, pinky promise.<< >>FUCK you are hot tho!! Absolutely beautiful!! Please never think anything else…<<

Your cheeks were still red with hot embarrassment, your eyes stinging with tears that had been welling up, but Yoba, did Sam look good. And what an opportunity that was! You squished your thighs together, heart pounding from seeing your crush exposing himself like this – for you, nonetheless. If you put your phone away now, you could forget all about this. Pretend this never happened. Crush on Sam from afar-

>>Come over in five?<< >>Count me in, darling.<<

He couldn’t believe how fast his legs had found his pants again, and how quickly he was wearing that hoodie again. But here he was, completely dressed and flying out of the door like a bat from hell. He didn’t even hear his mother yelling after him to close the door, the only thing he heard was the pounding of his heart and the crunching of grovel beneath the soles of his shoes. When had he even put on shoes? He didn’t fucking know, but he DID know that he needed to be there – needed to show you what he saw when he looked at you.

 Yoba, he had been crushing on you for so long, and now here he was. Standing in front of your door, ready to prove you that you were more than just okay. To him, you were perfect.

“He-“ he started when you finally opened the door, but the word, albeit small, got stuck in his throat in a way that forced him to cough. He had expected you to open the door wearing something, at least a shirt, but no. You were standing there, wearing the same lingerie you had revealed on the picture. The sound of blood rushing through his ears stopped all of a sudden, instead he could feel his cock hardening yet again, Adam’s apple bobbing as you looked up at him through your lashes, arm loosely covering your stomach. “Hey,” you croaked, lower lip wobbling as you looked up at him. “That ba-“

This time you were the one being shut up abruptly, but not by your own admission. No, it was Sam’s eager lips finding yours in a passionate kiss, his hands holding on to your cheeks in a way that gave you no choice but to melt into it. “You,” Sam breathed against your lips, “are,” another kiss met your lips, a tongue sloppily tracing over them, allowing you to taste the metal pierced through it for just a brief moment, “so beautiful,” he whispered, not giving you the time to respond when his lips already pressed against yours again, his tongue finding its home in your mouth.

A small moan left your lips, your hands running through the blonde mess of hair, fingers catching some stray strands and wrapping around them to tug Sam closer, toward you, to feel him press against your skin. Oh Yoba, how right that felt, how it allowed the embarrassment from before to slowly wash away. Not completely, but you had a feeling that Sam would be more than willing to help you ease into this further and further until you could let yourself go.

“You wouldn’t believe,” the blonde started now, his soft lips brushing down your cheeks, kissing your jawline until they found their way to your neck, “how I fucking felt seeing that picture. Yoba, baby, you made me shake.” You could feel your skin beak out into goosebumps at his words – the thought of someone like you having an impact like that on someone as handsome as Sam? On someone you had been crushing on for Yoba knew how long? That was hard to grasp, out of your wildest dreams- As if Sam had sensed your thoughts drifting off, he slowly pulled away from you, letting his blue eyes drag down your body slowly. It was hard for you to resist the urge to cover yourself, but something that rested within the swirls of blue made you stay strong – you even puffed out your chest a little. “Fuck.”

Sam’s hands were quick to slip under your butt, pulling a squeak from your vocal cords as he picked you up with quite the ease. “Bedroom?” He asked, just barely pulling away from peppering your neck with kisses. Yoba, it was hard to focus like this, pressed up against him while his lips were finding spots on your neck that made your flesh break out in goosebumps. “Down the ha-hall, third door on the left,” you murmured, collecting all of your willpower to not just let yourself get lost in the feeling of soft lips pressing against your pulse point, trying your very hardest to not just thread your fingers through Sam’s fluffy hair like a desperate, mindless whore.

But when your back landed on the bed and when you saw Sam removing his hoodie in one swift movement, tossing it aside with a lack of care in favour of letting his eyes rake down your body again you knew you were over with. To be fair, however, Sam wasn’t holding up much better. The sight of you alone made his heart stutter and flutter in his chest, and he didn’t even want to mention the pre-cummy mess that his dick had drooled in his boxers. The small jingle of his belt buckle made your eyes drift downward, tongue running over your lower lip as you laid eyes upon the bulge still hidden behind the thick fabric of the man’s jeans. You barely even noticed that Sam had shimmied out of them, eyes focused on the wet spot on his boxers.  Could you really have been the sole reason for this?  “I have never seen anyone so beautiful,” Sam whispered, his calloused hands running up your shins oh so carefully and gently, the blond allowing himself some time before they settled on the inside of your thighs, a small smile playing on his lips when he saw you shudder. He urged your legs open with gentle pressure before falling on his knees in-between them, his fingers picking up their journey on your body. Slowly sliding up your thighs, enjoying the conjunction between your crotch and legs, drifting along your hips and up your sides. His breathing had already grown heavier, lower lip bitten to stop it from trembling as he drank you in like a man close to dying of thirst that had just found an ample oasis. You almost had to squirm under his gaze, under his light, considerate touch, but by Yoba, did it make you feel good. “Look at those tits…” His chest was heaving and falling quickly now – it took the poor man so much to hold back. His cock was throbbing in sync with his heart, achy tip leaking pre-cum like its life depended on it. And yet he held back, he wanted, no, needed you to know what he thought of you. How highly he thought of you. How much you took his breath away.

The blond leaned down as if he was bowing for prayer, his lips finding home on your body again by pressing a gentle kiss on your stomach. The soft inhale coming from you made him smile again, and yet he stayed focused on the duty at hand. Slow kisses were pressed against your skin as he made his way upward, following along your lingerie when it came across his path. Lips met soft silk that kept your breasts hidden, but he didn’t mind. Quite the opposite – he decided to use the opportunity to let his tongue loll out, wet muscle dragging over the sweet fabric, tenderly wandering up your breast until it discovered your hardening nipple. His eyes drifted up to you again, giving you a soft smile and then he licked over your nipple, making your back arch off of the bed. “Look at you…,” he murmured, tongue drawing a small circle around the erect bud. Then he crossed the valley of your breasts with the same tender attention he had given to your chest, finding the other nipple to dote on it as well.

His hand didn’t remain resting, either. It started its journey again, but this time around it made its way down, locating the lacey waistband of your panties. When his eyes met yours again this time around, they were asking for silent permission. You barely could nod before you felt fingers dip down, calloused pads meeting wet folds, making Sam inhale sharply though his teeth. “Fuck, baby, holy fucking shit- you are so wet for me already? Shit.” Another sharp inhale followed the first, Sam’s long fingers gliding through your cunt, stopping just above your entrance and making their way back up.

The newfound attention had you writhe beneath Sam, not enough to have him slow you down, but enough to make him chuckle quietly against your tit. “That’s a good girl- hell, I didn’t think you could be any more breathtaking, but look atcha, look at your face, Yoba…I think I am in love.” His lower lip caught in-between his teeth again as his eyes fixed on your face, his fingers keeping up their teasing of your cunt, just so that he could keep seeing that expression resting on your face. Nose scrunched up, lower lip bitten, eyes flicking from his hand to his face, pretty lashes fluttering whenever you anticipated him to finally pay attention to your clit. “Sammmm,” you whispered, bucking up your hips when the pad of his pointer finger threatened to catch at your entrance again, “pleasssssssse-“ And how could he resist? You were wrapped up in lingerie, and you were the most gorgeous person on this planet and you said please-

“FUuuuuck,” Sam groaned when he felt your gummy walls suckle around his finger, eyes rolling back into his skull. If you were so greedy for a single finger already, how would you act about his cock? The thought alone made his penis twitch, the sticky fabric clinging to his head seemingly getting wetter by the second. The squelching noises that he coaxed out of your cunt with every thrust of his fingers were hot, but they were no match to your moans. They were fucking angelic, and he slurped and drank them up like his life depended on it. How could one human being be so entirely perfect and not fucking see it? It left Sam speechless, made his heart soar with something short of helplessness. He needed to show you. Show you how he saw you.

The kisses he planted all over you were wet and almost desperate, a second finger joing th one snuggly pressed up in your cunt. “My pretty girl,” he rambled, kissing your chest, your stomach, your collar bones, his fingers curling and pushing, poor boy slowly becoming frantic to coax these sounds out of you, to make you feel what he felt. “Pretty, pretty girl.”

His fingers were long, pushing and prodding at spots that made your world twirl. The sweet words being whispered at you didn’t help you trying to find your footing or the ability to speak, quite the opposite. The only thing that left your mouth were moans, body much too focused on chasing the source of pleasure, overwhelmed by where to start. The places where his lips fired up your already burning skin? Or should you have rather chased his fingers with your hips whenever they dared to pull out? Your body short handedly decided to react to all of it, squirming and bucking, arching and squeezing, tugging at hair as you moaned Sam’s name with a certain urgency. “Sam, please-“ “Please what, baby?” He breathed, his own breathing laboured as he licked a fat stripe up your cleavage, up your throat, pressing a needy little kiss to your lips. “Dick- I need your fuckin’ dick-“

You didn’t have to tell Sam twice. He had promised himself to keep it slow, but holy fucking shit. He was hard and he needed you or he was pretty sure he would die. “You sure?” He asked, already fumbling with the waistband of your boxers, heart taking a relieved leap the moment he saw you nod. His dick seemed more than ready to be released, the small wet smack as it hit your stomach only a small testimony of the fact. Sam was panting still as he looked down at you, allowed his eyes to really take you in once more. You didn’t look as untouched as you had before, slobber and hickeys, reddening bitemarks and flushed skin proving him that this wasn’t a dream, that he was really here. He finally allowed himself to slide his fingers out of you, greedy man not even hesitating before they had been slipped into his mouth, throat bobbing and jumping as he suckled them clean with small moans around them. It made your thighs twitch to see him like this, seemingly greedy for you in a way that no man before had been. “You really are perfect,” Sam spoke around his fingers, the wet digits resting on your thigh just moments later.

The blond looked down at you affectionately, small hiss leaving him when he wrapped his fingers around his hard dick, allowing the messy head to slide up and down through your wet folds, hypnotized by the wet sounds such a simple action elicited. Yoba, he had come in here with a crush, and he would leave with you imprinted on his heart and soul – and, to be fair and less romantic, on his dick. “Fuck, Sam, pleaaaase, just fuck me,” you whined again, making him swallow thickly. You really were something, weren’t you? And Yoba, how it melted him. How it melted his heart that you had grown comfortable. No hand covering you up anymore, instead one had found refugee holding on his hair, the other digging into the sheets beneath you. And that was how it should be. How you should feel. Confident to show yourself.

The grind meeting his cock made Sam groan lowly, small chuckle leaving his lips. “Growing impatient, are we?” To be fair, he was, too. So it didn’t come as a surprise that he couldn’t hold back any longer and let the head of his dick finally was lined up with your pretty cunt, Sam’s hips slowly pushing forward.

You gasped for air as you felt him slowly enter you, pushing you open with the thick girth of his dick. Your head fell back into the pillow, hair splayed out around you like a fallen halo. Did you fucking know what you did to Sam? Did you know how down bad you had him for him? Did you fucking know? Because he needed you to. Desperately so. He knew the moment he bottomed out inside of you, the moment he heard that loud, quivering moan – he wouldn’t leave until you would chant about how angelic you were.

“Tell me what you are,” Sam murmured, slowly pulling back your hips. Your eyes met his, orbs clouded with the pleasure of being speared on his dick, and even though his brain was fried enough to be ready to hump into you like a bitch in heat, he could still make out a hint of confusion. “Tell me what you are,” Sam repeated, pushing forward again, taking in how your tits jiggled, how your back arched and how your eyes closed in bliss. “I-I don- aaaah, fuck, Sam!” you gasped, the next thrust making you decide thinking definitely wasn’t worth it. But the blond had other plans. “You,” he began, thrusting forward a little harder, “are,” he hissed with a smack of his hips, “gorgeous,” he almost barked, making your eyes widen, lower lip trembling as you looked in the blue eyes of a man that was serious. “I am-“ There was no chance to finish your sentence, because something had snapped within Sam. His hips began to piston forward, dick drilling inside of your pussy as if he tried to fuck the words he had spoken inside of you. If you had planned on speaking the idea was discarded by now, low moans of Sam’s name leaving your mouth instead, shaky fingers raking down his back to leave some marks of your own. “Fucking beautiful,” Sam repeated between strained huffs, humping at you desperately, “can’t—fuck, your pussy is fucking amazin’, baby—I can’t, fuckshit, I can’t believe you aren’t seein’ this, baby, oohhh Yoba.” The squelching of your cunt was met with the aggressive smacking of the man’s balls as he pounded your cunt, one of his hands finally finding yours to intertwine your fingers. You let it happen, breathlessly moaning Sam’s name as you felt his tip kiss your cervix, forcing your eyes to roll back into your skull. His pierced tip bumped against your walls, your toes curling for him as you squeezed his hand. This wasn’t how you had expected your day to go – but you weren’t complaining. No, because every time you opened your eyes you were met with two pools of blue, clouded over with lust and oh so pussy-drunk, and yet you still always managed to make out the adoration, the earnest and even through a thin veil of tears that had slowly begun forming in your eyes you still knew neither would leave, because Sam’s thrusts made you feel it all.

The bed was creaking in protest to the way your bodies were intertwined, but neither of you could have cared less. Not with how good the both of you felt, not with the much more important things you had at hand. Sam was pretty sure he was on the brink of crying himself – your cunt clenched around him in a way that allowed him to feel every single of your twitches, even the slightest spasm, and he could feel your pussy trying to suck him back in whenever he pulled out just to impale you on his dick again. Your hands were still locked together, and you were sure you would never want to let go, not with how good Sam made you feel. But there it was, that coil in your stomach. Twisting and turning, growing with every damn thrust, with every bump of that smooth piercing against your walls, with every moan that tumbled from your lover’s lips. It became apparent that you wouldn’t last much longer, and given the look on Sam’s face, he wouldn’t either. You allowed your eyes to slip shut, feeling those lips all over your body again. Teeth biting and nibbling your skin, hot breath kissing sweaty skin. A sudden push against your leg forced you into a new position, low moan searing from your throat as you could feel Sam deeper, his thrusts becoming harder, more frantic, desperate, just like how you were feeling. You were teetering on the edge, breath hitching, eyes rolling, your back arching. “That’s it, baby, that’s it, that’s fuckin’ it, cum for me, baby, I can feel you clenching! I know you can, come on, pretty, come on, beautiful girl, cum over my cock, drench me- thaaaaaaat’s iiiiit,” Sam rambled, low laughed groan leaving his lips as he felt your little cunt spasming, your hips bucking and squirming as your orgasm took you. He was so close to bursting himself, thrusts becoming sloppy as he tried his very best to keep it up to take you through your high, but when he saw that look in your eyes, it was over with him. Thick spurts of cum painted your walls white, his cock throbbing against the clench of your walls, the whimper that left Sam high in pitch and pathetic in tone. His quick thrusts had become pathetic little humps, the blond completely whipped by the way your pussy was milking him. He couldn’t let his hips still just yet, needed to keep fucking forward, needed you to feel every inch of his twitchy dick, and you took it. Took it so well with your little twitches and bucks until he finally stilled to a halt.

The room had suddenly become pretty silent aside from heavy panting and the mild rustling of sheets. That was until Sam spoke up again. “Tell me what you are,” he forced between quick breaths, pressing gentle kisses to your face, kisses that silently told you how good you were, how proud he was of you. You smiled blissfully, because this time, you had an answer. “I am beautiful.”

[luciferanalyzestar]

Live Reaction: Ghostfuckers

Spoilers of course. I still hate the title of this episode. 0/10 for that alone. This post is just my unfiltered thoughts.

Look the other WLW couple in the Hellaverse! Forgot their names though.

Me thinking about how this show is slowly going downhill. /lhj Why is Blitz 'sulking' over Stolass?? Out of all the characters, he is sulking over the classist asshole who fetishize him for his species.

Man, I wish we saw more of that hard work. Not "yaoi." that overstayed its welcome. There is that Helluva cringe I love so much. /s

Ew. Blitz is fucking nasty. Ugh. More unfunny sexual jokes.

The American™️ experience.

Good!! Stolas is again, a classist species fetishizer. I do not Blitz that much, but he deserved someone better than the owl fucker. He needs to go to therapy first though.

Loona's attitude is fucking weird. She is 22 years old, why she calling Millie who is around 25-30 years old "grandma"??? If she was a teenager that would make sense, but she is an adult. Her insults suck pure ass. Like her calling Mooxie 'fat'. Send her ass back to that pound. /lhj

The word of the day is: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

Viv and the other writers need to learn new swear words.

The sex jokes are so bad. They are not even at high school level, more like middle schooler who laughs when seeing Bitch in the dictionary level.

This show overuses bitch too. There is no PUNCH to it anymore. It is like a sound bit at this point. I love this old man. Why does Blitz tell Mille to "Look out, he's a patriot!" like it is bad thing? He is a true definition of one unlike a certain party.

The song sucks. They truly peaked in Ozzie's and never returned to that level. YES MILLIE! Tell Blitz how you truly feel. That piece of shit has not paid you in weeks and was too busy buying cheap trash.

Remind of me of that faceless Squall moment in Final Fantasy VIII. I Never played the games though. I just know about it thanks to horror youtubers. I love me some good body horror. They finally took Blitz's mom out of the fridge. I am sorry but this scene is making me laugh. Her eye popping out is looks goofy. It like a zany cartoon from the 90s.

Backstory time? The dialogue is not natural in this scene. Blitz is saying some self-hating stuff and Millie is going "Do you remember" like she is Earth, Wind, and Fire. Imagine venting to someone about hating yourself and that you destroy everything you touch, and they say, "Remember how we met?" Blitz's response would be mines. "What?"

"Imps don't work for themselves, asshole."

I wish that show was still about this. A person from a lower class trying to work his way to the top. If that show would be more impactful and would be remember as the edgy demon show with an inspiring message that everyone would relate to or inspire to be. Not the sex joke obsessed demon show with awful writing and the main "appeal" is rotten yaoi. Anyway, the fight scene was fine. Loona looks off model when she has an happy expression. I am used to that aloof and pissed off expression she always have.

"He's my best friend."

Blitz is your best friend?? This is the most time y'all interacted with each other on scene. This is the first conversation Mille and Blitz has ever had. We are almost done with Season two by the way.

This show just loves to traumatize Blitz. I wish he relived his traumatizing experiences in a more natural way. Like seeing certain objects or hearing certain sounds makes him hyperventilate or sends him into the beginning of a panic attack. I have no issues with characters having trauma or PTSD, but it seems like Blitz's trauma is a part of his character to make him seem more interesting as the protag instead of telling how trauma can truly change and mold a person into something different. There are just sprinkles of this. Blitz puts a facade of being an foul mouthed asshole because he does not want to get attached to people, from the trauma of killing his own mother, and etc. I wish it was not this Clockwork Orange type shit. This is 100% a post for another day.

"Your level of insecurity is intoxicating." Rolando should visit the Hazbin hotel. The insecurity levels are off the charts in that place. /lhj "Tonight I'm Blitz Demon-Dicker!" That is pure cringe right there.

Blitz trying to have sex with the M&Ms was always creepy to me because the idea of a boss trying to sleep with his employees is gross. Stick to signing their paychecks, not being in-between their sheets. Blitz being jealousy of their relationship is fine; it should never have crossed into sexual territory.

Episode rating: 7.5/10

None of the jokes made me laugh which is the usual for me. That Blitz's mom scene is unintentional comedy though. Rewatching, it made me laugh again and of course there is a pin design of that scene too. This is Tilla's first real merch. Good for her. Of course they made merch for the one off. Someone is out there emptying their bank account to have a "complete collection" because they just love dropping merch back-to-back.

Lazy ass shit right here. Who in their damn mind would buy this? Better than that slurs shirt though. I have to talk about the Helluva merch, but they are doing recolors now. What is this a fighting game?

Back on topic, this episode actually kept my attention unlike Full Moon and Apology Tour. Watching those episodes made me want to start drinking. Just alright episode, one of the better ones for a season that was about to rot. I am starting to like Millie more; it is nice to see her talk to a character that is not Mooxie.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

hi! I'd like to make a request from that prompt list: "it's as if my entire life i have been sinking in a storm and you came and pulled me out." + with General Marcus Acacius, with him being the one to say that sentence, if that's alright. thank you anyway :)

The last few days have been hard for me, mentally, but I hope I managed to fulfill your request. Thank you, sweetie. ❤️ i'm sorry for all mistakes

warnings : a little bit of smut, unprotected sex (don't do that!), mentioning war, mentioning gods, fluff

prompts list here

No victory, no treasures, no victory parades, no favors showered on him by the Emperor's hands were comparable to what your gaze gave him. He searched for it in chambers full of men and women, who, drinking wine, admired everything he and his troops had brought back from another expedition.

No, these were just empty moments. Meaningless to Marcus, because he didn't want that. He only wanted to see the face he loved again.

And finally he saw you. Among other women, wives of senators and high-ranking officials. You looked at him with love and reverence, the glow of candles reflected in your eyes. Even more beautiful than when he left Rome.

You raised your glass of wine towards him, and he did the same. The gods were kind to him, he came home...

"What is troubling you, Marcus?"

Your delicate hand on his shoulder, then gently slid down as you moved closer to him. You rested your chin on his shoulder, snuggling up to his bare back. The warmth of his body always delighted you. You knew the tiny freckles on his body better than the constellations of stars in the night sky. 

My Marcus...

There was no answer. Only his hand rested on your knee, stroking it gently, and his eyes closed at the tender kisses placed on his neck.

"You're never able to fall asleep when you come home." You said quietly "Should I ask for a tent to be set up for you in the garden? You'll still be able to feel like you're among your legionnaires."

A small smile crept onto his lips. "And I would give up the sweetness of your body, love? Never." He turned his face to brush his lips against your temple "I'm sorry, this silence... It always makes me anxious. I can't sleep. I keep hearing all this..."

"War?"

Your fingers slid into his curly hair, so pleasantly soft. Marcus nodded.

"War, the screams of people, the sound of fighting... There's so much of it in my head."

"I wish I could take this burden off your shoulders, Marcus."

"You already do, my love. Just one look from you is enough to make me feel free."

He needed you, you could feel it. Wrapped in a sheet, you crept onto his lap. The cool night air seeped in through the open windows, but you didn't feel it. Soft and warm light filled the chamber, the scent of jasmine enveloped you both, and you stared into the face of your beloved man.

He had a few more wrinkles, a few new scars that you had already managed to kiss between intoxicating moments in the sheets, a few more gray hairs, but his eyes - they were still your Marcus's eyes.

General Marcus Acacius could command the entire army of the Roman Empire, but next to you he was your Marcus. He was the man you gave yourself to and wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

"I hate it when you're so far away from me." he mumbled, his eyes hungry for your sight, moving lazily over your face. "It's not fair."

"I don't like it either. I'd rather have you here, by my side, under me, inside me..."

Brown gentle eyes quivered slightly. Strong hands gripped your buttocks and pulled you closer, so that you felt his half-hard cock between your thighs.

"The Emperor should be sated by now. How much more of the world can you lay at his feet? Even maps have their limits."

"You deserve all of this..." you frowned in surprise. "You deserve the whole world, all the gold... I would lay this world at your feet, my love."

"I wouldn't accept that. I only want you. I want you to be mine, forever."

You took his face in your hands and came closer, kissing his soft lips tenderly. His manhood twitched noticeably near your entrance. 

So many months of abstinence meant that the first few days together were spent mostly in bed. If you had to go somewhere, Marcus always made sure you felt his seed flowing lazily down your thigh. Knowing that he had possessed you just before his meetings with high-ranking Romans gave him a sense of even greater power.

Marcus couldn't get enough of you, if he could he would spend the rest of his life not on the battlefield, but between your thighs with his cock buried deep inside you.

You rested your forehead against his, closing your eyes, your hand resting on his chest. You felt his heart beating hard under your fingers.

"So much rests on your shoulders, Marcus. I wish I had the power to take it away from you..." you whispered.

"You already do, my love. The fact that I hold you in my arms instead of holding my sword is a grace of the gods."

"The gods wouldn't make you fight. The gods wouldn't take you away from me for so long. The gods wouldn't risk your life." you replied defiantly. You risked the wrath of the gods, you loved him so much.

"They were the ones who allowed us to meet and be together. And they are the ones who will give us everything we need." Marcus' voice was soothing, flowing over you like sweet honey. "Oh, sweet creature... If only you knew..."

"What Marcus?"

"How much you mean to me, how you save me every day... It's as if my entire life I have been sinking in a storm and you came and pulled me out. Thanks to you I feel like I'm truly alive..."

Tears sparkled in your eyes and you blinked them away quickly. You couldn't have expected a greater gift from fate than this man.

When you spoke, your voice was trembling, "So let me save you once more. Let me take all the hardships off of you."

You slid your hand between your bodies. His cock was already hard enough that you guided it towards your center. You lifted yourself up slightly, your entrance still slippery from the last time you made love, and then you lowered yourself onto him. The wonderful feeling of his cock stretching you out took your breath away for a moment.

"Oh, gods..." Marcus moaned quietly, "You are everything, love. Everything."

You let him lose himself in you. You allowed him to find relief and solace. And when it was all over, Marcus fell asleep peacefully. You were his goddess, the only one he worshiped. The only one he lived for.

[pseudowho]

Did Mr. Haitch ask you out first? Or you asked him out first?

Also who had a crush on who first?

UGHH you guys are so cute. I wish all the love for you both. 💗

I feel bad for this one. I was utterly oblivious. He asked me out first. Pretty sure he fell first AND hardest.

I do not deserve this man. I would punch god in the face if it pleased @mrhaitch.

☝️ him turning up to tell me he loved me like

Love,

-- Haitch xxx

[wannaeatramyeon]

Jake Kim x Reader: Nightcalls

G/N. Masterlists

Jake doesn't drink often.

At least, he never did when you were together.

But you know he drinks more now, whether that's catching up with Sinu and the boys or for other reasons, you don't really know.

The only reason you do know he's drinking at all - is that he seeks you out everytime.

When your doorbell first rang in the early hours of the morning, you ignored it. Nothing good can come from answering unexpected visitors at 3am. Then the ringing stopped and your phone started buzzing - a message from Jake Kim.

He's on your doorstep.

You didn't have the heart to turn away the sweetest guy you had ever met, even if he did break your heart. You had split, sort of amicably, with promises to stay as friends and keep in touch.

Except it never really ends up that way, does it. He had faded from your life, not even a stranger anymore.

Yet-

Here he is. Slightly swaying in your doorway, alcohol on his breath, face flushed.

Damn. He looks better than you remembered, even if his lips are turned down and his eyes downcast. They look suspiciously red rimmed, like he's been crying. But Jake Kim doesn't cry, or what you mean is - he never cried over you. So what has upset him?

"Jake?" you say, even though there is no doubt who this man is.

He looks at you then, a sad smile on his face. "I've missed you."

.

.

The first time this happens, you lead him into your home and sit next to him on the sofa.

He caresses your face tenderly, expression wistful, and when you go to get him a glass of water, he falls asleep. You wrap his coat around his body and tuck him in, running your fingers through his hair.

You never drift back to sleep after that, instead staying in your bed tossing and turning wondering how do you deal with Jake, what will happen in the morning.

Turns out, he didn't intend to stay. You hear the creak of your floorboards and him quietly shutting your front door.

Before sun up, he had gone.

.

.

The second time, Jake kisses you.

In your doorway, he cups your face with those big strong hands of his, and brings his lips down to meet yours.

"This is a terrible idea," you breathe and you hate how much you've missed this.

"I know."

And he kisses you again.

.

.

You tumble into bed the third time.

It's mostly innocent. He lies there, eyes bright in the darkness, and strokes your hair, your hand, your skin.

He gently grips your chin and runs his thumb along your bottom lip before pulling you into his arms.

You fall asleep in Jake's embrace, and wake up to his absence.

.

.

"I tried," Jake murmurs, pulling your t-shirt over your head, "I really tried."

"Tried what?" You match his urgency as you unbutton his pants. It had been months since you last saw him.

The hope of a reunion faded after the first few weeks, even if you drifted asleep every night, wishing that the sound of your doorbell ringing would wake you up.

Perhaps tonight, the fourth time he had sought you out, you should have had more dignity than to fall back in bed with your ex, who only ever seems to contact you in the dead of night when beer has loosened his inhibitions.

But you're so weak for this man.

Weaker still, when he kisses you, rough and desperate, and whispers, "To stay away."

.

.

Jake doesn't tiptoe out in the morning.

He's far too much of a gentleman to do that, he loves you too much to do that.

But he also doesn't say anything else. No asking for a second chance, no promises to do better this time around.

It's a promise he wouldn't be able to keep and there's some things he just can't give in or give up no matter how much it kills him.

Big Deal, for one. He's their Leader first and foremost. He can never fully give you the attention you deserve.

You - are another. He has tried so so hard to give you up, then his defences weakened the first time with alcohol and he has used that as an excuse every time since.

'Just this once, it won't happen again,' Jake lies to himself, holding you in his arms. Lying to himself is easier than lying to you.

As long as you answer him, as long as you will open your door to him, as long as you'll have him; there'll be a fifth time and a sixth and a seventh and so forth -

Until history inevitably repeats itself, and this isn’t enough anymore.

[galaxyedging]

Pre-outbreak Joel Miller x older f!reader.

A little reverse agr gap Halloween smut with Joel.

The Hard on due to the Witch's Wardrobe

Even if you do say so yourself, the new porch looks amazing. The skeleton fortune teller is set up at her crystal ball. One that, when switched on, will reveal the spirits trapped inside. The webs have all been hung with your usual level of care. Spiders and bats hang from the newly installed beams, waiting for unsuspecting trick or treaters to get tangled in them. The dry ice machine is all set under the table to bellow out and welcome any guests. The meticulously carved pumpkins all sit with their various creepy grins. The candy bucket is all set up outside for anyone who finds the whole thing too spooky. Those who dare to knock will come face to face with the witch who lives there.

A sly grin plays on your lips at the thought of your costume. This year, you really are a witch. Well, you might have done a drunken spell after being inspired to reconnect with your witchy past after watching the latest episode of Agatha. It was a simple love spell. To some people, it would be as corny as using a wishing well. To you, it was more about self empowerment. Believing the words of the spell and that you did deserve love. Or at least a really good one night stand. That area has been lacking lately.

Even post menopause, your sex drive was still high. The building of the new porch did nothing to help. Four days of Joel Miller showing off his strength and competency. That man was enough to drive anyone feral. Especially when he actively listened to all your needs when it came to your new porch. His eyes never left your as his pretty lips pursed in thought. He rebuffed your jokes about being old and planning for the future with a ramp. Even when the building started, he checked in every step of the way. You often wondered if he would be that attentive as a lover.

The trick or treaters started early. Little toddlers dressed in age appropriate outfits braved the porch and you cooed over their princess dresses and superhero outfits. Especially the little girl who wore a Princess Spider Man outfit.

Then the older children came in their more scary attire. Among them was a vampire soccer player, complete with fake plastic teeth. She was accompanied by her father who’s costume puzzled you. He held a plastic bloody machete but his outfit was his usual jeans and t-shirt.

“Maybe avoid anything chewy, you know, with the teeth.” you nervously joke to Sarah.

Even in your sixties you still didn't feel like you had teenagers worked out. The last thing you wanted was to seem uncool. Sarah laughed genuinely as she took a piece of candy and you popped another one in her pail.

“And you are…?” you offer the bowl to Joel.

“A Contract-or Killer.” He beams at you at his own stupid pun.

“Funny.” You laugh even when you roll your eyes.

“He thinks he is. Oh, there's Marcie. Marcie!” Sarah skips off to her friend at the next house.

Joel watches her meet up with her friend and her mom. “They are having a sleepover once they've hit up a few more houses.” with Sarah safe his attention turns to you. “So your costume? Let me guess…sexy witch?”

The compliment short circuits your brain for a second. “I was going for a regular witch.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. You just look…I didn't want to not acknowledge the effort you put in.” Joel seems genuinely flustered.

Was he trying to flirt and he feels like you've spurned his advances? You might have thirty years on him but you definitely felt like he was checking you out on more than one occasion.

“So you're all alone tonight? On the scariest night of the year?” You prod.

“Yeah, I guess I didn't think of it like that. Do you have any spells to protect me?” There's a glint in his eye as he speaks.

“A couple by I'd have to stay close for them to work.” You emphasise your words by stepping forward.

“How close?” Joel takes his own step forward.

“Very.” You breathe.

Joel's broad shoulders are the only thing anchoring you to this plane at the moment. Your grip on them tightens as you ride him on your sofa. That was as far as you got once you discarded your bowl of treats in favour of a much tastier one. The spooky sounds CD has been cranked all the way up to hide your moans. You hope that they hide Joel's as well, as he moans and grunts beneath you with each bounce of your hips. Joel's right hand that had spit slicked his bare cock for you to take. It remained at the base with his thumb tuned up to graze your clit with each of your eager bounces. Your first orgasm didn't seem to phase Joel much apart from a gritted out ‘fuck’. It did jolt him into action to invert your positions. Instead of letting you take what you wanted he is now giving you what he wants you to take. Your toes curl in your black and white stockings as Joel jackhammers into you, now chasing his own release. Showing his hard earned stamina, he manages to draw another climax from you before he reaches his own, filling you with his red hot cum.

Maybe it wasn't your spell that brought Joel here tonight, but after that, you were definitely under his spell.

[cannibalcreeps]

This precious sad ghoul 💖

[stevens-pastrami-sandwich]

screenshot redraw YIPPEE 🐁🐁

We NEEDED to see more of the monkey sidekick having duo 💔 It's okay though, im not angry about this. *my nails dig into my fists*

[eikichi-supremacy]

good ending! gay love pierces through the veil of death yet again✌🏼

something something man is god to a dog ft. kuwameshi

I'm Your Man, Mitski

[uselessnbee]

what i wish people would also explore more when it comes to Percy is the other side of his feelings about his mom about family and his childhood but this fandom is too afraid to paint Sally even in the slightest bad light (even if it's not bad just acknowledging her flaws because she's a human being and not perfect) that no one will touch on that subject. like yes Sally is the best mom but she also isn't and that's the thing! She isn't perfect! but she tried her best but her best still got Percy hurt and it isn't her fault at all but that's the tragedy of it. i want Percy's feelings about this explored. how he grew up with a loving mom but an abusive step father. how his step father would humiliate him and call him stupid but then his mom soothed him and told him he's not the things Gabe calls him. how Gabe would hurt him and Sally would be there to make him happy and loved but at the same time she stayed with him. i want Percy's feelings explored about how he knows his mother loves him but her absence still hurt him. she would work so much to have money to raise him she did that for him but at the same time it meant Percy was left alone or with Gabe. Sally gave up so much for him, she sent him away to protect him but at the same time he was sent away from his mom. she's the only parent he has because his father is absent and Gabe is not actually a parental figure at all but she's also often absent in his life too and that must have left him with such mixed feelings because it's not all black and white! Sally's love protected him but also hurt him. Percy loves his mom so so so much but there's also this deep-seated bitterness and hurt and anger he never let himself feel and then the guilt for having those feelings because his mom loves him he knows that and she gave up so much for him and she married a monster that abused her to protect him, he knows that but it doesn't make it hurt any less. the mess his emotions are because he knows his mom suffered for him and did it from her love for him but he still desperately wishes she never married that monster that he wouldn't have to have the childhood he had with him that he wouldn't have to live with the trauma he was left with. this all is exactly what makes their relationship so fascinating and also heartbreaking.

or the idea of Percy having weird mixed feelings after Estelle is born because that's his little sister and he loves her with his whole heart and would do anything for her and wants only the best for her but there's also this little jealous monster deep down that wonders why she gets to have a loving mom and a loving dad and a happy normal life but he never got that. why does she deserve it but not him? why couldn't he have that too? doesn't he deserve that too? he was just a child too so why why why??? and then the guilt of feeling that way too it makes me want to scream. emotions are fucking messy and they can be really ugly and they can make you hate yourself and there's no way Percy's feelings aren't a mess when it comes to this and i want to see it explored so badly!

and with Sally too! her feelings about Percy because she did so much and tried her best but sometimes unfortunately your best isn't good enough and it still got her beloved son hurt and she hates it and feels so guilty but she just has to live with that but she can't help to wish it was different. that their lives would be different. better. normal. she can't help but to wish she didn't have to do the things she's done, didn't have to suffer so much just to protect her child. can't help to wish she didn't have to worry so much, didn't have to be so scared about Percy, didn't have to be terrified that one day he won't come back home to her, that she won't be able to hold her son anymore because he will be gone, she just wishes he didn't have to suffer so much, she just wishes and wishes and wishes

and i just wish people weren't so afraid to explore this because it's so heartwrenching and yes if you want something do it yourself but unfortunately i cannot write nor am i able to handle this topic in a way it deserves so i am left only with rambling about it on here thank you

[andi-o-geyser]

hey, sorry um. bad news i called the Kansas Regulatory Board on your boyfriend. yeah, the one who started dating you and is now taking you on a trip to Paris after spending over a year with you for individual treatment and then couples counselling with your ex-husband. i'm then going to personally throw a football at his head for being such a piece of shit therapist. sorry.

[carlyraejepsans]

they should've made my brother the older of the two of us. i mean he's smarter, he's cooler, he's bigger, he looks better than me, he's more determined than me, more analytical, more disciplined. of course, that'd mean I'd shrink into the background of my life like a rather pitiful peanut but hey, at least I'd have an excuse for it this time around

[cinnamonisclown]

[carcarrot]

LAURENCE HARVEY a.k.a. LARUSHKA MISCHA / ZVI MOSHEH SKIKNE (born october 1st, 1928 - died november 25th, 1973)

“I always believed in Laurence Harvey, even when nobody else did. Especially when nobody else did.”

“Most people imagined they knew and understood Larry with little trouble. That was a big mistake. They didn't know how deep and complex, how elusive, he remained behind his social mask.” - Paulene Stone, his wife

“I cannot yield to failure, it would make far too many people happy.”