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vivid-ink · 1 year ago

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Kinktober #1 - Handjob "Mission Accomplished"

fem!HumanReader x Neteyam or Lo'ak (you pick! 😉)

Summary: You've been asked to fill in for Norm on one of his Na'vi patient observations, except this isn't any old observation appointment... You need to collect a semen sample and the appointment doesn't go at all to professional plan...

Warnings: 🔞 Sexual content 18+, MDNI 🔞 Word count: 4.6k

Author's Note: Happy Kinktober everyone! 😁 I'm late with this prompt as it was completely unplanned. I got inspired late last night after posting Part 4 of 'The Love Shack' and this is what my brain spat out! As usual, my inability to write short drabbles means that what was meant to be a short, sweet kink-scene turned out to be 4.6k. I've not used any names in this piece, so you're free to imagine either Neteyam or Lo'ak as the male lead in this. Enjoy the spice ya'll!

Tagging some mooties who may be interested (no pressure though): @pandoraslxna @blue-slxt @adrianarose7 @vintaqestar @eyweveng @qcswrites @daeneeryss @oasiswithmyg @delacruzyari @teymars @neteluvr @sulieykte @teyamsatan

And OMG (I feel absolutely rotten for overlooking this until now) - Thank you to the incredible @cinetrix for her render of Neteyam which I've used in the story cover.

You swallowed tightly as Dr Blaise briefed you around the purpose of today’s observation and what was required of you. Your heart was galloping in your chest and you could feel yourself breaking out into a nervous sweat. It amazed you how unconcerned and unaffected she was about the whole thing.

“It’s a simple observation. We’re looking for any key physical differences in appearance, as well as any differences in physiological function.” Dr Blaise stated casually, “No swabs or bloods needed today. Just some notes, photos, and a semen sample. There are sample collection jars in the consultation bay already.”

A semen sample… Good Lord, she said that with all the nonchalance of someone asking for a saliva sample. Though you figured that’s what medical professionalism was all about, right? No awkwardness, no emotion, just plain science and fact.

When Dr Norm Spellman had said that he was writing a book about Pandoran Biology and Na’vi Physiology, you’d jumped at the opportunity to be involved. After all, Pandora was your home. It was the only home you’d ever known. As one of the only two human babies to be born on Pandora, you and Spider were the only generation of humans who’d never known the dying mother planet Earth.

Unlike Spider though who had taken to life on Pandora like a duckling to water, scaling trees, swinging from branches and pretty much adopting himself into the Omatikaya clan, you weren’t anywhere near as outgoing. You’d stuck to the medical labs and the avatar camp for majority of your life, rarely venturing out into the wilderness except to accompany the other scientists on their excursions. Perhaps the only similarity you shared with Spider was that you too were an orphan of war. Your parents had been on the frontlines of the battle between Toruk Makto and the RDA, and they’d met their maker on that fateful day.

You were just an intern currently, but the older staff and scientists were more than willing to teach you. Doing lab observations, drawing blood and other lab technician work was your job, so this morning’s appointment shouldn’t have been any different. And yet it was.

You’d never had to collect a semen sample before.

“Patient is a young unmated male, 23 years of age. Fit. Occupation is hunter-warrior. No pre-existing medical conditions and no recent injuries.” Dr Blaise rationally, handing you the clipboard and pen, “The patient has also been briefed about this appointment, so he knows what to expect and he’s aware he needs to produce a sample.”

“Right, understood.” You mumbled and the words were slightly hoarse. You cleared your throat, dislodging the sticky lump of uneasiness there.

Sensing your discomfort, Dr Blaise placed a heartening hand on your shoulder. Her eyes were kind and the crows’ feet at their corners crinkled as she smiled, “Look, the patient is friendly with the team, one of Jake Sully’s sons actually. So you needn’t worry about any hostility. You’ve done numerous observations and collected all sorts of samples. This is no different. It’s only awkward if you’re awkward. Besides, I’m sure you can understand why Dr Spellman didn’t want to conduct this particular observation himself, what with them being family friends and all.”

A giggle and snort left you at the humorous thought and you found you had to agree. Dr Blaise chuckled alongside you. It would definitely be ten times more awkward if the patient and medical professional were familiar with each other during this observation.

The fleeting moment of hilarity eased the nervous roil in your belly. Tucking your pen into the breast pocket of your lab coat, you took a deep breath and nodded, “Ok, I’ve got this. Thanks Dr Blaise.”

With two thumbs up and a wink, Dr Blaise turned and left you to depart down the corridor, her black pump heels clicking neatly across the hard floor.

Turning to the wall, you grabbed an exopack kit and hooked it to the leather belt around your hips. Tucking your hair behind your ears, you positioned the mask over your face and returned to the doorway that led into the consultation bay. The doorway was tall, much taller than you were used to. All the consultation bays were built big enough with high enough ceilings to accommodate the Na’vi and the avatars. While the main ventilation in the compound was suited to human lungs, the consultation bays were fitted with ventilation to suit their Pandoran patients. Scanning your ID card on the panel of blinking lights on your right, the door slid open with a hiss and you stepped into the bay.

The first thing that always hit you when you entered any of the consultation bays was the sterile scent of it. After a couple of years working here you’d think you’d have got used to it, but every single time the smell was like a synthetic slap to your senses. You wrinkled your nose in distaste. Everything smelled so chemical; too clean and too artificial. It was no wonder the Na’vi didn’t like being in here. If the smell was strong to your human nose, you could only imagine how much more potent it was to their heightened senses.

The second thing to hit you this morning was the sight of the magnificent creature that was standing in the corner of the bay, peering at the various medical models, instruments and books in the wall-mounted glass cabinet. He’d been facing away from you at first, but the sound of your footsteps had caught his attention and he turned to face you then.

A genial smile stretched across his face and he greeted you in a voice that was deep and warm, “Good morning, doctor.”

His use of English surprised you and while his words were accented, his pronunciation was clear. Go figure that Jake Sully would’ve taught his children to speak his mother tongue.

You gave a clumsy laugh and you were quick to correct your patient, “Oh, I’m not a doctor. I’m just an intern. I’m just filling in for Dr Spellman for this observation.”

Your patient grinned toothily at you and gave a nod of his head in acknowledgement, although his tone was teasing when he replied, “Alright Dr ‘Just-An-Intern’, where would you like me?”

You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up from your throat at his playful demeanour. You smiled at him. He was charming this one, handsome too. Like all Na’vi, he towered well above you in height at approximately nine and a half feet. Though you noted that he was very well-built. Courtesy of being a warrior, you supposed. Yes, he was muscular in all the places you appreciated in a male… You silently reprimanded yourself for your unprofessional thoughts.

“Just take a seat on that gurney for me.” You replied, gesturing towards the make-shift bed against the wall. Retrieving your pen, you began to scan through the notes at the top of the form on the clipboard, double-checking the patient’s details and ensuring everything on it was as it should be.

“Ah, do you want me to take my tewng (loincloth) off?”

Suddenly remembering the aim of the observation again, you felt hot blood rush to your cheeks and ears in embarrassment, “Umm, yes please.” And in a bid to stop your embarrassment running away with your courage, you launched into a rambling outline of the appointment agenda, “Today’s appointment is an observation around Na’vi male genitalia and sexual function. I’m going to need to make some notes and take some photographs of you, both in a r-relaxed and a-aroused state, and I’m going to need to collect a s-semen sample. If you feel uncomfortable at any point…”

He watched you attentively as you babbled onward, the smooth skin of your face and neck taking on a ruddy and flushed hue. He smiled to himself. You were shy and today’s agenda clearly made you uneasy. He felt a twinge of empathy for you. His father had told him that humans were private about matters of the body, especially where it came to sex and pleasure. The Na’vi held no such restraints; sexual freedom was celebrated.

He’d already removed his tewng and had perched himself on the gurney as instructed, unbothered and uncaring of his own nakedness. He was quietly enjoying your discomfort, but not in a rude or condescending manner. He actually found your unease rather endearing.

“Any questions?” Your prattling came to a finish and you took a deep inhale as if you’d squeezed every last ounce of oxygen out of your lungs rushing to finish your speech without taking another breath.

He graced you with another charming smile, “No. You may proceed.”

Willing yourself to get a grip, you walked on slightly shaky legs to the desk in the corner and plucked the glass tablet from its stand and returned to place it on the end of the gurney. You kept your eyes lowered to your clipboard, filling in the date and the time. You could see the striped cobalt of his muscular legs in your peripheral vision where he sat with his shins dangling off the gurney. For the meantime, you dared not glance any higher than his thighs…

Your eyes moved to a set of highlighted bullet points in the middle of the page that indicated questions the patient had to be asked.

You read the first question aloud, its meaning registering simultaneously in your brain as the words left your lips, “When was the last time you ejaculated?”

You fought the mortification that threatened to consume you and your mind struck up a chant of ‘stay professional, stay professional’ in your head.

“Yesterday morning.” His answer was composed.

“And was that with a partner or was it self-stimulated?” Fuck, maybe you should’ve read the questions before coming in for the observation…

“It was self-stimulated.”

“And do you have a preference for male partners, female partners, or both?”

“Female. Definitely female.”

His voice was a smooth, velvety rumble. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something in his tone stroked over you like an invisible caress that made something clench in your lower belly. You scribbled his answers on the page in a messy scrawl that had more to do with your nerves than your actual style of handwriting.

He continued to observe you as you worked. Your knuckles were pale where your left hand gripped hold of the clipboard and you were so focused, almost concentrating too hard on what you were writing. Nose twitching quietly, he parted his lips and scented the air around. The artificial smell of the bay was unpleasant, but a sweeter and much more appealing smell was filling the vicinity now. Your scent.

The blush on your skin remained and he was sure that if he reached out to touch you that your skin would be hot to the touch where your blood had rushed to the surface. He could smell hints of your perspiration and he could also detect a musky and moist feminine undertone. You were attracted to him… His masculine pride delighted in the realisation. Despite your human form, he found you attractive too.

Finishing up your notes, you settled the clipboard down on the gurney and mentally prepared yourself for the ‘looking’ part of the observation.

Eyes still glued to the brown leather of the gurney’s mattress, you declared your next action, “Alright, just stay relaxed for me with your thighs slightly parted. I’m going to begin the physical part of the observation now.”

“Sure.”

Your gaze travelled from the beautiful stripes on his outer thighs inward to the slightly paler blue of his inner thighs and finally, up to his groin. Suddenly, you didn’t understand why you were so nervous about this. He looked fairly… normal? Apart from the general larger size of everything and the blue hue of his skin, everything was as expected. Feeling a little braver now, you grabbed the glass tablet and took a couple of photos and then set it down to return to your clipboard.

“Is everything the same?” He asked out of the blue, “Same as with human males, I mean.”

You looked to his face instinctively and found his amber eyes trained on you, “Ah yes, more or less. Penis, foreskin, testes; everything expected is there and I haven’t noted any real differences in physiology apart from the lack of hair, but that’s consistent with the lack of body hair all Na’vi have apart from on your heads and tail tufts.”

Following the words down the clipboard sheet you came to a section that was titled ‘Texture and Sensitivity’. You paused. How the fuck were you supposed to assess those? The section didn’t have any required questions or sample questions to help you, and no suggestions either, just a space for you to jot down your notes. You looked from your patient’s body and then to his face, and when he gave you a small smile, your gaze shot back down to your clipboard sheet in embarrassment. Texture and sensitivity were tactile aspects. You didn’t really understand how you could assess them without touching the patient.

Evidently you were taking too long in your deliberation, because your patient’s voice sounded again with a gentle query, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, sorry. I’m just trying to work out how to assess the next bit.” You apologised sheepishly. You weren’t doing a very good job of appearing collected, you realised.

“What’s the next part?”

“Texture and sensitivity. So, what it feels like and which parts respond the most to touch.” You stated in as even a voice as possible. You huffed out a laugh then and shrugged, “It’s a tricky one because they’re tactile observations and I don’t know how to assess them when you can’t touch the patient.”

“Why can’t you touch the patient?” His response was clearly a surprise to you and he couldn’t suppress his grin as you goggled at him in shock, “You can touch me if it will enable you to do your job.”

You were almost about to say that you couldn’t possibly do that, but you stopped yourself. You were a med-science professional. The patient was consenting and your research required you to perform a physical examination. In a professional capacity, there was no reason you couldn’t touch the patient to achieve the intended outcome of the examination.

You remembered Dr Blaise’s words: It’s only awkward if you make it awkward. Fuck, you needed to swallow a bucket of concrete and toughen up. The sooner you completed this observation, the sooner you would be out of this uncomfortable situation.

Nodding resolutely, you agreed, “Alright, but you will guide me with your own hands. That way I can be assured that you’re only leading me where you’re comfortable to be examined.”

Your patient dipped his head in agreement, the tuft of his tail curling and uncurling charmingly on the gurney next to him. You set your clipboard down and moved to position yourself before him, standing between his knees. You lifted your eyes to his and they locked with his gentle gaze. Tentatively you offered him your hand and he took it, his large palm and long fingers engulfing it easily.

“So first up, texture?” He reminded, and you nodded.

Slowly, he brought your hand to his crotch and settled your hand over the shaft of his cock. It was very warm beneath your palm. Gently, your fingers tested the slightly springy flesh, noting how smooth and silken his skin was. At this closer proximity, you noticed that there was also spattering of bioluminescent freckles on the shaft. You made a mental note of that.

You touched the base of his cock, gingerly feeling around the length of it and you asked, “What’s the sensitivity like here?”

“I can feel it, but it’s not intense or anything. It’s more sensitive up here.” He guided your fingers nearer to the tip and you stifled a small gasp when he assisted you in pushing his foreskin back to reveal the smooth, dark purple head of his cock.

You’d never interacted with a naked man this close, human or Na’vi, and you certainly had never touched one in such an intimate place. Your body was starting to tingle in various places; in very unprofessional places. It was a surreal situation to be in and you found that you felt oddly calmer now than you were a few minutes ago.

Trailing the pads of your fingers over the smooth tip, you found it was moist and a little slippery. Your thumb tested the underside of it, “Sensation?”

A quiet hiss left him and you instinctively attempted to move your hand away, but his hold over your wrist kept it there, “That’s sensitive. That feels good.”

Your heart was still thumping and your cheeks were still warm, but it wasn’t nerves anymore that were causing your reaction. God, his skin was so soft and so warm… Your curiosity was growing now; your innate desire to explore taking hold of you.

You traced the raised rim of his cock head with your thumb and forefinger, watching as your patient emitted a rumbling groan. His hold on your wrist tightened and he began to move your hand over him. You intuitively wrapped your fingers around his cock. You felt entranced almost, caught up in the moment as you unwittingly began to enjoy the feel of him in your grasp.

The hot flesh in your hand was growing, elongating and engorging as the stimulation aroused him. You watched, amazed, as it swelled to its full capacity. The fingers and thumb of your hand could no longer meet each other. The girth of his cock was easily the same width as your forearm and by your approximations, it looked like it had also more than doubled in length from its relaxed state.

The erect shaft had lengthened out of his foreskin and it was a lovely shade of striated blue all over, except for a paler purple underside and head. In its aroused state, you discovered that while it shared structural similarities to a human male’s genitalia, it also possessed other aspects which were very different. The engorged shaft of his cock was ridged all along its length and as your hand smoothed up and down the column of it, you noted that the ridges were firm and palpable against your hand.

It was the most arousing thing you’d ever seen… Those ridges must feel so good inside for the woman…

You didn’t perceive his eyes on you, watching you as you explored his hard flesh. You were so engrossed that you didn’t even cotton on to the fact that he wasn’t even guiding your hand anymore. He could smell you, smell your arousal dampening between your thighs and the sight of your much smaller hand stroking and squeezing his cock was incredibly sexy.

You ran your enclosed hand in one full stroke from the base of cock and up to the head of it, fascinated by the ridged texture of it and the slippery, bulbous tip. However, your patient emitted a hissing intake of breath then and you jumped a little, snapping out of your thoughts.

“S-Sorry! Is that painful?” You stammered, shooting him a slightly apologetic frown.

He shook his head with a husky chuckle, “No, it’s just very sensitive. A lot more than earlier.”

“Where?” You asked, stroking him from tip to base and back up again.

“Everywhere. The ridges and the head especially.” His voice was notably breathier than before and his breaths were coming quicker, shallower and less even.

“That is fascinating.” You muttered, and your other hand joined in on your exploration. You fondled his balls lightly, observing the weightiness of them.

Your patient grunted and he parted his thighs a bit more. He leaned back to brace his weight on his palms behind him. He gave a small roll of his hips, which caused the top half of his cock to push and pull within your grasp. He moaned and the sound shot straight to the apex of your thighs. When you didn’t object, he continued the motion, thrusting lightly into your hands, both of which were now grasping his length one on top of the other.

Clear and viscous pre-ejaculate began to ooze from his tip, increasing in quantity with each roll of his hips. It was so copious that it was beginning to pool on the backs of your palms and drip down towards your wrist. Lord help you… there was nothing professional anymore about what you were doing… Not that your patient appeared to have any objections…

Still completely spellbound by the situation, your curiosity pushed a murmured query past your lips, “Is there always so much pre-ejaculate?”

“Depends. Generally the more aroused a man is, the more he produces.” He replied and when your bashful gaze lifted to meet his, he smirked wickedly.

You were such a pretty little thing to him, your smaller hands trying their best to keep hold of his slick cock. He knew that this was beyond the normal boundaries of the appointment. He knew that while you would’ve been required to touch him to examine him, stroking him off was probably not anywhere on the agenda. He suspected he was supposed to produce the sample on his own, but looking at you now, so enraptured by his body… How could he have resisted? And besides, he knew you were enjoying this as much as he was, your scent told him so.

You tightened your hold on his cock experimentally, squeezing harder. Each time the swollen head of his cock pushed out of your hands to greet you, you swiped your thumb over the oozing slit on its tip. He was panting heavily now, his impressive abdominals bunching and flexing as he continued to thrust his thick cock through your hold. The bioluminescent freckles that dotted his shaft were glimmering brightly and you never thought you’d ever use the word ‘beautiful’ to describe genitalia, but his cock was gorgeous.

All of him was gorgeous, truth be told…

You were attracted to Na’vi men. Ever since you were old enough to notice the opposite sex, you’d been drawn to male Na’vi. After all, you’d grown up on this moon, inhabited by and surrounded by tall, beautiful Na’vi. The humans who surrounded you at the compound and the camp were your family, and they were all much older. There were no men of your own species to look at or be attracted to. Spider was the only one of your generation and he was like your annoying, gross brother. Your attraction to Na’vi men had been an inevitable result really.

So now as you stood in the consultation bay, between the knees of this striking and aroused Na’vi male while he pumped his cock in and out of your hands, you’d never felt more validated and aroused in your life.

Your patient’s fingers were digging into the squeaky brown leather of the gurney now, straining slightly as his hips continued their onslaught. Your hands and wrists were completely drenched, soaking in his thick pre-cum. The slippery mess caused his cock to squelch obscenely as it slipped through your hold. The whole situation was so sensually explicit and you were never more thankful in your life than you were now that there were no CCTV cameras installed in the consultation bays.

You’d be expelled from your chosen profession for patient abuse… Though by the half-lidded, slack-jawed expression of pleasure on his face, he didn’t look much like he was being unwillingly abused…

A string of Na’vi curses left him then, followed by several panted moans. He abruptly pushed off his palms to sit upright and he stuttered, “W-Where is the container?”

A little stunned by his sudden and urgent tone, you stumbled in your own response, “The w-what? Oh, the sample jar?”

Panting heavily through parted lips, he nodded at you and you pointed to the desk on his left. You saw his gaze follow your eyeline and when he caught sight of the plastic collection jars that sat patiently waiting, he let out a hearty guffaw.

He reached for one and deftly flicked the already loosened lid from its mouth, still chuckling away between his huffing breaths, “It’s so small. You ready, doc?”

“For what?” You asked, realising only as the words left you what a dumb response it was as he handed the sample jar to you.

Your patient smiled at you and it was a salacious leer, all narrowed eyes and pointed canines showing, “You’re about to get your sample.”

One of his hands returned to guide yours, wrapping around your one remaining hand where it encircled his stiff cock. The pace of this rocking thrusts increased and he began to exhale with throaty moans that you swore made your own feminine core throb with desire. Gingerly, you held the collection jar up to him, being extra careful not to drop it.

With two more lurching breaths, his abdominal muscles contracted and his back bowed inward, his entire torso going rigid. You felt his cock harden impossibly before it pulsed and the breath he was holding left him in a coarse growl while his face twisted into an almost pained expression. His cock pulsed again and the first spurt of ejaculate missed the sample jar entirely, landing with a warm splat in the middle of your chest where the frills of your blue blouse peeked out from behind your lab coat. Quickly, his free hand grabbed hold of yours to position the jar better, while his other hand attempted to position his cock so he could shoot straight into it.

He was absolutely breathtaking in the midst of his orgasm. The luminous freckles on his face were twinkling and the striped cobalt skin of his neck and chest was glossy with a sheen of sweat. His cock continued to throb and pulse, emitting rope after rope of thick cum that splattered untidily over the mouth and sides of the sample jar.

You could see why he’d laughed at the size of it. There was no way the small jar could have held the full volume of what he was producing.

Coming down now off the high of his climax, your patient slouched against the wall behind the gurney, breathing hard. He caught your eye and he grinned indolently at you.

The adrenalin and heightened arousal in the atmosphere was fading rapidly now, and cold, hard reality was slowly returning to you. You looked at the pearlescent contents of the sample jar, which was still decently full despite majority of the sample not making it in there. You smiled to yourself.

Mission accomplished and what an exciting mission it was…

Carefully setting the jar down on the flat worktop of the metal sink next to you, you replaced the lid on it with sticky fingers and made a note to thoroughly wipe the jar down later before handing it to the lab techs.

Returning your attention to your patient, you smiled at him, suddenly shy again, “Thank you for your co-operation today. I’ll leave you to clean and freshen up. You can see yourself out after.”

His answering laugh was husky and he dipped his head at you, “I should be thanking you for your co-operation I think, doc.”

“Not a doc, remember?” You grinned at him and you were about to turn on heel to depart into the adjacent washroom when you heard him call out to you again.

“Hey Not-A-Doc, if you ever need another sample, I’m happy to provide another one, whether for med-science research or your own personal research.”

A girlish giggle left you and you felt your face flame again. You shook your head, making your way into the washroom to clean yourself up. He was a naughty one that one…

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tootiecakes234 · 8 months ago

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The Nanami brain rot has taken over😭

Here are random Kento Headcanons:

SFW:

You will not pay for a single thing whilst in this man presence and will feel completely insulted if you even THINK about paying yourself.

His nicknames for you: darling, my love, sweetheart, angel, my good girl🤭 and Y/N(only when he’s being stern with you)

Spoils you and I mean spoiled rotten. You have hyper fixations, he completely indulging you in whatever it is. You have a hobby, he’s providing all the supplies you need to fulfill it.

As soon as you start spending nights at his house, his bathroom is fully stocked with everything you might need, he keeps your favorite foods on deck and buys several changes of clothes for you to keep there.

He works and often but any free time he has is spent with you. You are the only reason he ever takes vacation time. He will whisk you away to a tropical island for a week and indulge you both.

He gets so tense from work sometimes and having you work out kinks for him and generally just give him much needed massages is his favorite thing in the whole world.

Nanami also really likes buying outfits for you to wear. And will lay out outfits for you to wear on random days.

If he has the time, he always cooks for you but he really appreciates that reciprocate that and cook for him on days when he doesn’t have the time.

NSFW

This man has 3 vastly different sides to him and bed and it’s really just depends on his mood which one you’re going to get.

You have the adoring Kento who worships your body like you’re a goddess. Kisses & caresses like you’re the finest of china. He has nights when all he cares about is your pleasure and he’ll be between your legs for hours without ever finishing himself.

Then you have the needy starved Kento that ravages you like, simply put, a whore. Will put your down on your hands and knees and fucks your mouth like a cunt. Pulls your hair while fucks into your from behind telling you how filthy and sloppy your cunt in in your ear. This Kento also borders the line of being an exhibitionist.

And the the 3rd kento that LOVES to tease you. Where he touches you all day, kissing your neck and behind your ear but when you get home will act like nothings happened and waits until you beg him to fuck you. The one that brings you to the brink of orgasm over and over but never letting you finish until you start crying. This kento is also borderline exhibitionist.

Not matter what side of his you get tho, afterwards he is right back to being the devoted boyfriend/husband with the immaculate aftercare.

Also think this man is very into anal play so beware of his slipping fingers and toys into no man’s land.

He will offer to bring in toys very early in the sexual relationship because he understand they are an enhancement to your pleasure and he’d never deny you. He also has toys he likes you to use on him as well.

Loves tying your hands together or to the headboard while he has his way with you. Usually uses of his ties to do so.

Anyways…. I can’t stop thinking about him. In my current daydream we are buying our first house together and these are re couple of the Headcanons I’ve imagined so far🤭

Also I didn’t proofread so🥺 don’t be mean.

Kento Nanami Masterlist

#imagine #jjk kento #kento nanami smut #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #kento x reader #kento nanami #kento #nanami kento #nanami jjk #nanamin #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami smut #nanami x reader

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 11 months ago

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pt IV good omens but all i know is i watched three episodes on a stream with you all

Three hours being in a server with good omens fans in the wild *insert random emojis to sound like optimum clickbait youtuber except this ain't clickbait*

Okay I woke up. Before everything just WASHES out of my brain, I'm gonna describe whatever happened last night best as I can, because that's what I do.

Some of you were unable to attend the stream, and were sad. But don't worry I got you guys here's the rundown:

people joined the server. people were confused. i was afraid. i was assured that i should be, which was meant to comfort me.

people introduced themselves. someone said they had worked in a brothel as a bartender, which was cool, they said they had many stories. they did not elaborate for fear of scaring the newcomers. The newcomers, aka, me, were already scared, and it was not of the brothel stories.

I brought an emotional support orange with me. It looked uncomfortable. I thought it would be rotten. It was not, but we would not know that until later.

@thescholarlystrumpet entered fabulously, and started the stream.

i didn't realise the show had started for a good two minutes because there was a random voice over that was telling us about Earth's star sign (Libra) and somehow that didn't compute in my brain as being part of the episode. I thought we were checking audio.

It turned out, the episode had begun, and everyone was acting like this is a completely normal way for a show to start.

We time-jumped from the fall of man to modern day society so fast that I got whiplash.

There were a lot of orgasmic noises. I asked why. I was told in no uncertain terms that those were screams of labour. I'm sorry to everyone who has given birth ever.

There were three babies. I tried to keep track, it was hard. I thought the Antichrist won prizes for tropical fish. I was wrong.

I fell in love with Crowley and his hips and was very gay on the chat. This was heartily applauded.

I didn't realise an hour had passed when the episode ended, which it seemed was to be a common theme. I said nothing happened which everyone found funny for some reason.

I was very concerned about Armageddon. Everyone assured me that it would take place over the course of the season. I asked why we'd speedrun through millennia in five minutes but eight days took several episodes. I was a naive fool. Time is a social construct and this show cares not for social constructs.

They fucked up the mission. This was also to be a common theme.

I begged for a break and had to shake my head to try and get the brain rot out. I did not succeed.

The second episode commenced. The intro concerned me, because the cartoon Aziraphale looked pregnant or like a chicken. I asked if Crowley had impregnated him. He had not.

The pornography scene had to be replayed because I was so lost and had not relished it properly.

There was a lot of crying on the chat. Every few minutes someone would say a normal sentence in English and everyone would respond with crying emojis. Needless to say, I was concerned. This was also to be a common theme.

I asked why we were talking about random children. I was told it was The Them and they were the Antichrist's friends. I liked the hellhound.

I wanted to adopt the Antichrist, and grew more thirsty for Crowley every time he was a casual accessory to murder. I'm relying on this fandom not to use this as evidence with the cops. The chat was not reassuring, they said maybe.

I thirsted for Crowley more. This was also to be a common theme.

Aziraphale was very cute, I realised. That was nice. It was not nice when he had gay panic and said mean things to Crowley and they broke up. This was also to be a common theme.

I got so gay for Crowley that I ate the emotional support orange. It was gaseous. The chat was concerned, and everyone got excited every time oranges were mentioned after.

The third episode was a fucking roller coaster. Crowley and Aziraphale were your average high school couple but biblical for 6000 years.

Both were casual accessories to murder, and sometimes the cause of the murders, before going out for a date. Crowley got horny and he stopped listening every time Aziraphale ate. This was also to be a common theme.

The chat was keeping count of the husband breakups. This was not nice.

The Bentley was silver in many scenes, and people were forced to concede that they saw it. I was smug.

Crowley was sexy. She served gender, or as some people in the chat said, she served cunt. Her hairstyles got better and better. No one liked the 60s one. I did. I like everything she does. I love him.

Things happened. The fandom infected me. Someone mentioned how the book said Crowley felt lonely. I was near tears.

Crowley walked down the aisle for Aziraphale. We all were happy.

The book case, the thermos, the bandstand. I was broken.

Everyone said very emotional goodbyes.

I made a post on tumblr that was absolutely incomprehensible but accurately conveyed my love for Crowley. I fell asleep.

Same time next week, I believe.

I hope this was an adequate summary of the livestream for everyone, I am broken irreparably and if anyone mentions the bandstand I will have to start drinking and not stop till I get a happy ending. I cannot afford alcohol. I will ferment grapes myself if I have to.

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ju-liczka · 4 months ago

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When it comes to Morgott we all can agree he is just build... different✨ (that shoulders five times his head *shivers*) So there are some of my thoughts if u wanna read them because they kinda explain my take on him in this drawing lol

I was thinking recently more about his fur and how it looks on his body. It's patchy, It looks rough and uneven... Even his tail when you look closer, It's shape is more defined by the muscles rather than the hair on it. Every artist drawing him gives him much more fluff and I truly think it's well deserved. And from the game design/lore perspective it's completely understandable. He is made to look grotesque, deformed, aged and ugly even... That's all intended... BUT!

I was thinking... What if it's mostly just lack of... maintenance? Lack of care. Malnourishment and neglect of a kind? We know that the Erdtree has a kind of sickening effects on Omens as well. Mohg is for sure holding up much better and I kind of don't believe they would be so much different from eachother (the influence of Formless Mother on Mohgs looks is after all not entirely known). He has more pride in himself and so he carries himself better than his brother that is still loyal and so close to the Golden Order. Mohg took his chance at getting away from the Erdtree and I think it is obvious that this freedom did him some good. I personally belive that Morgott could also achive such change if it wasn't for his deep rooted loyality to the Order and crippling self-resentment.

So to sum my thoughts up... What if he's just not thriving?

Just imagine this kind of idealistic scenario when he can finally put his needs first. When he can take care of himself or let others care for him. He puts on some more weight, rounding up his already muscular body giving it softer, healthier look. His furr thickens and follows up to the rest of his body not just limbs (could be just as thick as the rest or more like a soft fuzz maybe idk). His posture straightens, as with healthy body comes healthy mind. Of course, he is still an old man at the end of it. The years made their mark on his features and some of them are irreversable. But he is healing~

And I personaly love imaginging him in this healing state that unfortuntly is impossible to get in game. But game is game and fan work is fan work. And in my tiny rotten brain I give him little forehead kisses and tell him how precious he is uwu

#Dont mind me I just wanna have a reason to draw him more fluffy lol #Also my drawing does not make my idea justice #like I would love to draw some 'before and after' but I have no strength left T-T #Also more fluff means he can dress even less #no more needs for those rags #as if they hid anything anyway lol #elden ring morgott #headcanon #morgott the omen king #morgott the grace given #morgott #my art 💙

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randomwriteronline · 17 days ago

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"Sweet little one, standing upright, to me you appear dressed in white. But your red nose, what wonders it does: shortens your life the longer it glows."

"A candle," Velika smiled.

"Correct." Mata Nui replied. Then, he offered another riddle: "Which part of the bird has never soared the skies but slithers instead upon the ground, and swims on the surface of the water without ever getting wet?"

"The shadow."

"Correct. Two parents have five daughters; each daughter has a brother, and each brother has five siblings. How many members compose this family?"

"Eight."

"Correct. A beast of long legs, of strength filled to the brim - yet no eyes adorn its head, its intelligence quite dim."

"Pinchers."

"Correct. Today is the third of seven days. In seven years, which of seven will today be?"

"The fourth."

"Correct. I am that which cannot be touched, but inhabits all living things; I am what kills them, burning quietly, and through their mouths the plume of my combustion shows in the cold."

"Oxygen."

"Correct. Through my long black neck breathes my red heart, hacking out smoke as warmth from me departs."

"A stove."

"Correct. She who fights the winds and waves from the bowels of the seas to maintain her treasure so far away, thin yet heavy, weak yet invincible: who is she?"

"The anchor."

"Correct. A ship rotted upon the shore: each plank that fell away was slowly replaced, until it was remade completely new. Yet from the rotten planks, preserved adeguately, a second ship was constructed in the image of the original. Which one then is the true ship?"

"Both and neither," Velika smiled. He tilted his head in his hand, amused. "You're really not good at this."

"An 'and' is not an answer." Mata Nui replied: "Please choose."

"It doesn't matter, does it?"

"A rethorical question is not an answer. Please choose."

"The one from preserved wood."

"I see. A crow, dying of thirst, struggled to get water from a deep vase lodged in a pebbled shore. In its desperation, it began piling rocks upon one another; and so it saved itself. How?"

"By piling them in the vase, forcing the water upward."

"Correct. Swells all around you, like a glove fitting; never shall it hold you, cold embrace fleeting."

"Fog."

"Correct. An unusual farmer plows through a barren snowy field, sowing black seeds in quick succession; what he reaps is just one fruit which feeds many over the years, and never wilts, but only lasts as long as it is not burnt or faded."

"The written word."

"Correct. It is one of the visages by which we can be recognized, odorless, colorless, impalpable - and yet it can reach us far away."

"The voice."

"Correct. It is what the rich lack and poor have plenty of, what the strong fear and the weak have power over, what the happy desire and the dead need."

"Nothing."

"Correct. What am I doing?"

"Stalling me."

Mata Nui smiled: "Correct."

Velika did not move.

"It's useless, you know," he said, grin frozen upon his fake Matoran face as it struggled to hide his true one: "You can't stop me from my goal with these little guessing games of yours."

"I was under the impression you quite enjoyed making riddles."

"I made you."

"You helped. It was admirable, indeed; but it was not your labor alone. You are not one for the practical sciences, after all."

"I made you. You are a soul, a thinking brain. I allowed you to be that."

"You, and others."

"Does the fine print matter?"

"Of course it does. You would wrongfully claim full ownership over the universe entrusted to me otherwise."

"I made them. They are sapient because I allowed them as much."

"And you wish to destroy them now, as they are past their use, and for them to comply and go quietly to you, without making a mess, as otherwise it would be quite the inconvenience."

"Of course."

"Fathers owe their children as much as their children owe them."

"They're not my children," Velika laughed loudly as if that was the most hilarious thing he'd ever heard: "They are a successfully completed experiment! Archived and finished! I can't leave the mess of my previous project all over my desk if I want to start a new one, don't you think?"

Mata Nui did not move.

"You are awfully cruel in your insatiable curiosity." he noted simply. "Indeed, you are Teridax's father."

"I told you I don't have children."

"But we were your successors, were we not? A lonely god on a mindnumbingly long journey, one scientist in a team with delusions of grandeur."

"You are things I made. Things I gave awareness to. Nothing more."

"Nothing more?"

"Nothing more."

"Is this also your opinion of the universe within me?"

"Of course."

"Then you have no claim on us."

Velika raised his head from his palm and laughed. He laughed again, spitting out phonemes without a rhythm. He forced himself to laugh, because otherwise the confused wrath within him would have needed to explode in some other way.

"Pardon?"

"It brings a riddle to mind."

"I don't want a riddle. What did you just say?"

"Again, I was under the impression that you enjoyed posing riddles. At inopportune times most of all."

"Cut it. What did you say?"

"A woman bore her daughter, and decided it was not her duty to care for her: she still observed her growth over the years for sake of a morbid fancy, never intervening nor gaining any affection for her. At last the daughter found great happiness and fortune; and so her mother came, and demanded a part of her riches as compensation for giving birth to her. Was she right in requesting as much?"

"I said I don't want a riddle!"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Quit that! What did you say to me?"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"You insulted me, is that it? You insulted me?"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Shut up!"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Fine! Fine, you broken piece of junk, fine. Repeat it, I didn't listen."

"No, she denied custody and has no say over her nor her belongings."

"Correct."

"So? What did you say?"

"I said the exact thing you repeated with your answer." Mata Nui replied. "You have shirked your responsability towards us, and you have no right to decide of our fate."

"You are things," Velika hissed: "Things are made!"

"We are people. People are made, too."

"People are born! They are thinking creatures!"

"Are we not, then?"

"No! You are things that I have given sapience to! You owe me life! Obedience! You owe me everything you are!"

"Are we then yours?"

"Yes!"

"By what virtue?"

"By virtue of creation!"

"By virtue of birth." Mata Nui repeated. "A virtue that we have agreed holds no water when a parent abandons their children."

Velika's eyes burned: "You are made," he insisted. "Not born."

"People are made, too. They are engineered by chance, put together by two others. The creation progress requires time and resources; afterwards, the new being needs to be programmed and taught what to do, what not to do, through trial and error."

"It's different. It's completely different. I gave you that intelligence. In people it's innate."

"From when? From the moment your cells are assembled? From the second you develop eyes? From the instant you are brought into the world, kicking and screaming? There is indeed an ability, innate, for understanding tasks and languages; but it all has to be instructed. Neither of us were born capable of speech, yet we could understand a language of our own, for that is how we were both built."

"Do not equate yourself to me. You are code, bits and pieces of electricity, the vague hint of a self."

"On that same electricity is based the neural system that is your 'I'."

"But I am your maker. I created you. Not the other way around."

"And so? You have denied custody of us. You refuse to recognize our personhood. Are you not our parent who abandons us, our creator who destroys us?"

"I have no children!"

"Then we do not owe you anything."

Velika raised his hand and grabbed the air, right where a neck should have been.

"I will kill you," he threatened: "I will annihilate you."

Mata Nui held his gaze without flinching: "That you can."

They remained still.

The room was empty.

"I had such knowledge to share... But it would have been too long to tell, I am afraid." he only lamented. "I have lived a long life, all in all - sometimes it has even been pleasant. A lousy god such as myself will not make much difference by now, alive or otherwise: my people have moved on from any whims that may have moved my requests once. Go on then, if it pleases you."

The hand twitched, but did not close.

It spasmed, clutching, hardening, but did not close.

Velika clenched his jaw, tightening his fist, but it did not close.

He tried, and tried, and tried, and tried, and tried; but it did not close.

"I will kill you," he hissed. But suddenly he wasn't sure he could.

Mata Nui waited.

Nothing happened.

His hand of thought - invisible, impalpable, barely real - grazed his creator's chin and lifted it slightly with his fingertips.

"What is it that the brilliant man standing before the machine he has made to do his bidding - to labor away endlessly in his stead, to travel where he would not, to learn what he could not, to sing and write and draw what he cannot - fears most of all?"

The Great Being did not answer.

Silence stretched over the small endless space the word should have been spoken into through his voice.

Mata Nui smiled.

"Leave." he ordered. "There is no place in this world for a god that treats its people like toys."

Velika lunged forward and grasped the Ignika in his hands.

By the time other beings arrived drawn in by the horrid noises, the body writhing and raving had lost its limbs, its bones, maybe even its skin. It clung to the golden artifact still somehow, trying desperately to claw at it, break it, unleash its wrath upon it as it continued to mutate the creature into something less and less able to function the longer it remained latched upon its surface by its own stubborn volition; it howled wordlessly, voice cawing through what was supposed to be its mouth in a garbled attempt at speaking, but there was no mind behind the gruesome wailing - just a violent, infinite, senseless anger.

It shrieked at them when they rushed to put it down, partly frightened to death by it, partly trying to spare it from the anguished existence it was bound to go on to live - screamed something, something that could have been 'obedience', or close enough.

Mata Nui did not stir from sleep.

#bionicle #velika #mata nui #random writing #body horror tw #anyways i think velikas ultimate comeuppance should be reverting into a state of automata-like mindlessness no matter what

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ryemackerel · 6 months ago

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drawing angsty teen tom and matt was always so interesting for me because?? alright, tom didnt change ALL too much and has always been a goofy punk. but my brain short circuits everytime i think about how angsty teen matt was and compare it to him now. you’re telling me this guy is the glamorous one !!! and i forget its the same person GEHHAAHA

two separate drawings because i love drawing tom and matt‼️second image is a complete drawing version of those two silly doodles me and star did 🫶

also shout out to chase for introducing me to one of the alice in chains songs ever thank you brother 🫶🫶 im starting to love their music GUH

#eddsworld #eddsworld fanart #eddsworld matt #eddsworld matt fanart #eddsworld tom #eddsworld tom fanart #ew matt #ew matt fanart #ew tom #ew tom fanart #ryemackerel art thing #Spotify #creatures from mums basement

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johnwickb1tsch · 3 months ago

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Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 9

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER!!!

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight.

Nine. 九

You wake up the next day certain you will be fired. But when the axe does not fall, you relax slightly, going about your tasks. It occurs to you that maybe you should leave–but you don’t really want to, and only part of that has to do with your fascination with Donaka himself. The coming weeks seem almost normal, and you begin to think that Mr. Mark decided to be a gentleman about it all, and pretend it never happened.

What a fool you are.

Your first inkling of your idiocy comes when you are called into Mr. Mark’s office, after dinner, when usually you are hanging up your apron and calling it quits for the day.

You approach his massive carved ebony desk with folded hands, feeling all for like a naughty school girl. Donaka Mark sits behind it, every bit the lord and master of the house. He has discarded his suit jacket, the top buttons of his black dress shirt undone, so handsome it hurts. His eyes are sharp as obsidian knives upon you, and a cold chill runs down your spine as you come to stand beside him, as he directs.

That is when he produces the colorfully-covered journal you usually keep secreted in your underwear drawer, the little book dwarfed in his hands. Your heart does a swan dive–you hadn’t even realized it was missing.

He does not seem amused.

Maybe you can’t blame him. In that book, amidst your more pedestrian musings and accounts of your day, you have detailed every torrid little fantasy your rotten brain ever concocted about this man. Scorching alternate endings to all your encounters in which you were too smart, or too much of a coward to actually see through. Not to mention, the completely fictional bonus scenes too. It’s like an X rated love letter that rambles on for pages and pages and dear lord, it’s in his hands.

He throws the book down on his desk with a clap that makes you jump out of your skin. With narrowed eyes he looks up at you, his voice low and dangerous. "Care to explain this?"

Your mouth makes a perfect ‘o’ of surprise, your blood turning to ice in your veins. A flood of unbearable embarrassment washes through you, and you begin to shake like a leaf. Never in your life have you ever been so mortified, or, so angry, that he has that obviously private book in his hand.

"How dare you read that?"

Rage flares in Donaka's dark eyes, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he grinds his teeth.

"How dare I read this filth, written about me, in my house? I have every right."

You are quaking, tears in your eyes. The things you wrote about him in that diary...it’s not all filth. Some of it…is foolishly sweet. And he read it all. Your chest feels like it's pressed in a vice. You feel like you want to throw up...or just die, there on the rug of his office, rather than speak to him further about this. A timely earthquake would be most appreciated; a fissure in the floor to jump into, quite ideal.

Donaka takes in your reaction to his intrusion of your privacy with secret pleasure; he knows he's got you right where he wants you, completely at his mercy, humiliated and vulnerable.

He leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on your face, drinking in your misery. "I read every single word," he delights in telling you.

You look away, utterly unable to meet his eyes. "Congratulations, Sir," you rasp past the lump of sand in your throat.

Donaka can't help the cold smirk that appears on his face as he watches you look away, unable to meet his eyes. The way you address him as "sir" makes a shiver of satisfaction run down his spine.

“I've got to say, I'm impressed. I never would have guessed your imagination was so...vivid. You seem like such a nice girl.”

A shuddering breath escapes you. You’ve resisted him all this time, taking solace instead in writing in your journal. It was better that way. Safer. But this man is not the type to be satisfied with just words on a page. That's why...he runs a billion dollar corporation, and you...sweep floors.

Donaka watches your defeated gesture, savoring it like a fine dessert.

“Just what did you intend to do with all this?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you defend immediately. Dear god, you think. Please don’t let this man think I was planning a ‘Tell All’.

“This is a lot of energy gone into nothing?”

He doesn’t have to tell you. “It’s just…my journal. To clear my head.”

“Your journal. Of things that never actually happened?” It sounds pretty stupid when he puts it that way–you feel every pound of pressure he puts in that statement, and you think you really just might faint right there beside his desk. “Do you actually get satisfaction out of that?” He sounds genuinely curious.

You close your eyes, so you don’t have to look at his blazing dark stare boring into you as you nod.

“Just give it back, and you never have to see me again.”

He laughs at you, a cruel little chuckle that pierces you to the core. “No, this little treasure is never leaving this house. And you’re not going anywhere.”

You can do nothing but shake your head, trembling in your very bones.

“You’re brave in many ways, y/n,” he tells you, fingering the cover of your damning treatise on The Art of Being Creepy About Your Boss. “But in others? Such a coward.”

It’s the understatement of the century, and you can’t stand it anymore. You turn on your heel to leave–and a grip like iron encircles your wrist, so tight the bones creak. You get your first real taste of how strong this man is, when he jerks you down into his lap like you are a ragdoll made of straw. A yip of a scream escapes you, as he manhandles you like he owns you.

You feel so small, enveloped by his massive frame, his long arms wrapped around you.

"Let's have story time, shall we?" he says with a wicked chuckle, cracking the journal to a random page, and he begins to read the explicit scene you wrote starring the two of you, against the bookshelves, in the library. You can feel his deep, baritone voice vibrating against your skin as he recites, his arm around your waist holding you tight, preventing you from escaping.

“The strength in his hands makes me weak, those veritable paws gripping my thighs and lifting me, the desperate fury of his kiss pressing me back into the shelves so hard there will be linear bruises imprinted upon my skin. Perhaps I will look upon the souvenir tomorrow with equal parts pride and horror, still unsure if I am a victim, or if I welcomed the beast’s ravishment with open arms. Both feel true. The lush wetness between my legs suggests the latter, and as he explores my center with those long, blunt fingers I embrace the prospect of my ruin, bewitched by his skillful touch… Sweetheart, I’m flattered!”

You are dying in your mortification, your face on fire, your every nerve ending aware of this man. You physically cannot stand it, going feral in his arms, squirming in his lap like a fish on a hook, desperate to get away from this hell of your own making. It’s like pushing on a steel wall; he does not give a millimeter up to you.

"Forget travel writing, I think your calling is the x-rated romance novel," he congratulates you cruelly when you finally go still with exhaustion. And maybe it’s true–you can feel the bulge of his erection pressing into your behind, and fuck if despite your desperation, you start to ache between your thighs, your unhelpful lady parts casting their usual vote for what is undoubtedly a form of suicide.

He leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Look how you’re trembling. You’ve tried to deny it all along, but you want me."

"I want you to let me go." You push at his muscle-corded arm around you again, fruitlessly. You haven’t resorted to nails or teeth yet–somehow, you suspect you would not like the result of such an escalation.

Donaka's grip on you just tightens even more, squeezing the breath from you. “You know…something about reading this makes me think that’s not what you really want.”

Suddenly he stands, dropping you on his desk hard, tossing the little book away so that he can use two hands to pin you down. You might have screamed, had it not knocked the breath out of you. "I liked your ideas about this desk," he growls, taking your mouth in a punishing kiss, pressing you down into the wooden surface with his full bodyweight, his slender hips wedged between your legs. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole, starting with your mouth.

This. This is what you expected all along.

"Please, Donaka–" you plead when you are allowed to draw a breath. But his fingers in your hair control your head, pulling your lips to his again. His kiss is fueled by a fierce, primal hunger, his tongue delving deep into your mouth, seeking and claiming every inch of you as his own. His free hand moves over your body, exploring and caressing every curve and contour, squeezing the soft meat of your bare thigh, sliding under your panties to cup your ass.

"I'm not angry that you wrote the words," he snarls against your cheek. "I'm angry that you dared to deny me, lying to my face while you wanted me all along." His eyes lock onto yours, his gaze intense. "Your charade ends tonight."

“But I–”

You whimper as he tugs at your hair, forcing you to meet his eyes again. "No more excuses, you little coward," he snarls. "Did you think you were going to tame me with a potato chip?”

"I wasn't playing with you," you protest, on the edge of tears. "I never meant to hurt you!"

“Hurt me?” His tone is incredulous, but in that moment it dawns on you that that is indeed the root of his fury. He’d offered you sweetness, at least his version of it, such a rare and unheard of thing for him, damn near showing vulnerability–and you’d denied him. So now…you were getting the stick, and despite the flood of arousal between your legs, you weren’t really sure you liked it all that much. There were no straight lines with this man. Everything was a jagged edge, or a shade of grey.

"You didn’t hurt me, you infuriated me,” he insists, his lips on your neck. “You knew what I wanted, what I needed, and yet you still dared deny me." He returns to your mouth, his lips hovering just above yours. "You wanted the thrill of bedding the bad man, but none of the blame. That’s fine, bunny. I’ll be your villain.”

At hearing that you renew your struggle, trying to worm out of his grasp.

Donaka's grip on you tightens even more as you writhe, his weight crushing the breath from you, his hips pinning you like a butterfly on a board. There truly is no escaping him like this. “Give it up," he admonishes, his voice a low, dark rumble. "You wanted me to make you. I read all about it, and I’ll give it to you, sweetheart. I'm not letting you go. Fight me, I like it. Or submit, I like that too. Either way, you're mine tonight."

You’ve known all along that he is a dangerous enigma, and that was why you tried to exorcise your desire for him in words on a page, and not play with fire, not taunt the beast and offer him your tender flesh because you knew you would get bitten.

But deep down...God, you’d wanted it anyway. You’d wanted to know, just once, what it would be like to bare your throat to a man like Donaka Mark, wondering if he might find you enticing enough, worthy enough, to kiss rather than kill simply because he could.

“I hate you,” you hiss through your tears, but all you win is his dark laughter.

“You wish that you hated me, baby. I read all about that too.” He kisses you again, almost tenderly this time, though his hold on you is still bruising. He kisses your cheeks, savoring the wet tracks of your tears. “Don't cry. I’m going to make your wicked little fantasies come true.”

He kisses you, a deep, punishing lock of lips, and his hand disappears beneath your skirt. When he touches your soaking wet center he smiles against your mouth. You know it is not a nice smile, but still you moan as his thumb circles your clit confidently, as though he knows exactly how to handle you–as though you already belong to him. When he withdraws you watch with horror as he licks his thumb clean, his eyes all for you.

“Tastes like little liar,” he sighs with narrowed eyes. “But we’re going to fix that.”

You scream, when he savagely tears open the front of your dress, the black buttons flying to every corner of the room. He ducks to kiss your freshly bared skin, impatiently pulling down the cup of your bra, presenting your mounded flesh for his delectation. When his lips close on your nipple, his tongue flicking, you feel it simultaneously in your throbbing clit. An involuntary moan escapes you, and you know this is the beginning of the end.

“That’s my good girl,” he encourages between ravishing your sensitive flesh, his hips locked against yours. “Tell me all about it.”

“I do hate you.”

He laughs, a short bark of mirth before kissing you again. You feel him reach down to work his buckle and buttons and zipper, taking himself out with one hand, the other still holding you down. He’s so impatient he simply pushes your panties to the side, his thick tip sinking past your entrance with embarrassingly little resistance, you’re so wet. He growls as he bullies himself inside, lost in the sensation of you, drunk on the heady high of triumph at last.

When you open your mouth to protest he makes the final thrust that fills you completely, tearing a sound from your throat instead that sounds suspiciously like enjoyment. Your head rocks back against the desk as your body adjusts to this delicious invasion.

This is bad. Very bad. But it feels so very good.

He pauses for a moment to savor it, looking down at you with a smirk, and maybe you invent it out of desperation–but a smoldering warmth in his eyes.

You are so fucked.

“I just knew you’d have the sweetest little pussy.”

He kisses you, moaning in your mouth as he thrusts, losing himself as he wrecks you with his unfairly endowed cock. When his tip hits your cervix you flinch, your body still trying to get away, even while the rest of you has accepted the inevitable. “Too much?”

“Yes,” you hiss, still writhing beneath him.

“Be good then,” he warns you, his voice rough in your ear. “Or I’ll have to punish you.”

He ducks to your breast again, his tongue wreaking havoc as his thumb slips between you, moving in time with his manhood stretching you to perfection, hitting just the right spot like he was made for you…

“Fuck,” you pant, out of frustration and need and worst of all…the knowledge of absolute defeat.

You feel him smile against your skin, surrendering to pleasure while he works inside you once more. “Someone’s finally catching on…”

You let out a growl…but you’re not fighting him anymore, your back arched as you strain for the release that is building in your hips, that maddening promise of euphoria coiled in your loins, the gratification you’ve craved from this man since day one. The tightening of your walls around him wins you another ragged groan, his forehead pressed to your breastbone as he concentrates on making you cum first. A part of you wishes he’d just get off and leave you alone–but he’s not going to do that. There’s no way in hell, you’re in his claws and so you might as well wring every little bit of enjoyment out of it that you can, before you meet your inevitable demise…

“Come on baby,” he coaxes. “Give me what’s mine. From now on, this is where your pleasure comes from, and I intend to keep your schedule full.”

“This is not–becoming a thing,” you insist, short of breath, because it feels like he’s in your lungs.

He laughs at you, a wicked chuckle that raises your every hair follicle. “No? Do I have to keep you on the edge until you beg me for it, pretty girl? We could do this for days.”

Is it possible, to cum out of spite? You think it might be, as you wrap your legs around his narrow hips in a bid to control the timing of his thrusts. He lets you, caught up in the moment you start participating rather than fighting. You clench upon his perfect cock buried inside you, desperate to indulge yourself before he can torture you by withholding it.

Your orgasm takes mercy on you, rising to the occasion valiantly. The rapture of it destroys you like a chain explosion, filling your loins before ripping up your spine, hitting so hard you arch and lift him from desk for a few, beautiful moments of ruin. He moans with you, fucking you hard as your needy, turncoat of a cunt milks him, sending him over the edge to spill inside you. He fills you with hot spurts of his essence, his powerful body locked against yours as though to make sure you get every drop.

For a few long moments he collapses on you, his breathing heavy in the bend of your neck, his lips gentle behind your ear.

“Was that so terrible?” he asks you smugly, sitting up on his elbows to sweep the wisps of your sweat-plastered hair from your forehead. You close your eyes, lulled by the unexpected tenderness in his touch.

“I still hate you,” you sigh unconvincingly.

“Mmm hmm. I can tell. Are you on birth control?”

“Shouldn’t you have asked that beforehand?”

“Don’t be smart, just answer the question.”

You growl, winning that smirk that quickens your heart. He just thinks you’re cute, goddamn him.

“No, I’m not going bear your demon spawn,” you grumble with an eye roll.

“Hmm.” He smirks down at you, his eyes sweeping your face, then lower, and for a terrifying moment you can’t tell if he’s pleased by your preparedness, or contemplating the thought of filling you with his child. The latter scares you more than anything else he’s done so far tonight.

Spitefully you muse, “I kinda wish I had a venereal disease to give you though.”

Now he narrows his eyes. “Very funny.”

“You’ll find out, I guess...”

He puts his hand over your mouth; it's so big it envelopes the whole lower half of your face.

“Let’s have silence now.” You glare–and you lick his hand, though you don’t make a sound. He looks at it with a frown, then wipes it on your cheek.

“Come on.” He withdraws, righting himself, then you, papers fluttering to the ground as you make your dismount from the desk. Whatever he was working on is surely ruined by sweat…and other bodily fluids. He doesn’t seem to care, for the smug way he smiles at you.

You might have fallen, if not for his strong arm steadying your shaking limbs. He gives you a moment to find your legs, and as you rest against the solid warmth of his chest, enveloped by the spice of his cologne, you are consumed by the warring urges to kiss him and to hit him. This man. This man could prove to be the death of you through confusion alone.

He tilts your face up to his, surprisingly gentle now. It’s hard to believe this is the same man from five minutes ago, when he presses his lips to yours.

You try to button your dress, but it's a lost cause. Maybe it doesn’t matter, because he is pulling you away, towards the door. In the hallway you try to break off in the direction of your room, but he snorts at you, guiding you in the opposite direction with a hand on the back of your neck.

“I’m not done with you yet, bunny…”

“Donaka…” You only narrowly resist the urge to sob. “You won. Just let me go…” All you want to do is be alone to lick your wounds, and reflect on what the fuck just happened to you. Your thoughts are a complete jumble; you are a walking well-fucked vessel filled with shame and confusion and you hate to admit–total gratification. It all went by so fast and maybe deep down you wanted it but he just took you and you–

As though he knows you are trying to pick all this apart and doesn’t intend to give you the chance, Donaka jerks you to him, pulling you into a punishing kiss that melts your bones all over again. You make a small, kittenish sound that betrays your begrudging enjoyment. You swear you feel his smug satisfaction emanating from his pores.

“Don’t you get it yet?” he asks you darkly, a dangerous sparkle in his midnight black eyes. “You’re mine now.”

#donaka mark #donaka mark x reader #donaka mark x you #donaka mark x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #dark romance #plz be warned #have you noticed how much donaka mark laughs?#he is a very bad man #and he is having a very good time doing it

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cllsgnslider · 1 year ago

Text

google doc. ask prompts. open starters. aes. writing.

#******* beta editor. primarily iconless.#pinned.#𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 — top gun has rotten my brain completely.

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thepersonperson · 6 months ago

Note

I just want to say that I really love your analysis on Gojo and Sukuna a lot.

Can I ask for analysis of Sukuna and Yuji dynamics? It's okay if you take awhile to answer this.

(Answered as of JJK 262 using TCB Scans.)

Oh boy this one is fun!

I see Sukuna and Yuji as opposite sides of the same coin. They both have the same kind of tools but wind up at completely different conclusions because of their own personal biases.

By the way, thank you for breaking my brain anon. I'm going to consider this yet another part of my attempt to grasp Sukuna's character.

Sukuna's Loneliness Part 3 (Sukuna's hatred of Yuji is jealousy.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Click images for captions/citations.

Yuji and Sukuna's Shrine

Gege does this really clever thing where kanji used to describe a Cursed Technique (CT) have multiple readings, especially if you look past the initial proposed reading. In a way, this is teaching you how to read the text. The face-value reading, albeit true, hides another reading underneath.

Dismantle comes from the kanji 解 (Kai). This kanji can mean to unravel, to explain, to understand, to solve, to cut. It’s first introduced with chef knives which pushes the reader to interpret the meaning as “to cut”. However, this doesn't mean it's not carrying the other readings at the same time. The cutting is not simply cutting, it's a purposeful unraveling in search of an answer—in other words, dismantling.

Another good translation of 解 (Kai) would be Dissect. Though dismantle gets across a similar feeling, dissect invokes a more intimate and purposeful imagery to the cutting. Both of translations are good in their own ways. It's a matter of preference for which is better.

My point here is that the technique itself indicates the user is trying to understand something closely. The surface reading isn't sufficient for the user, the insides, the guts are what they're after. Both Yuji and Sukuna embody this desire to understand others in completely opposite directions.

Yuji, Human Golden Retriever

Yuji is wholly devoted to understanding others. He unravels the hearts of those around him by being himself. Similar to Sukuna, he also mimics people he admires. Not only in battle, but casually as well, pair bonding with just about anyone who will let him.

The mimicry aspect of Yuji here is very important because it demonstrates he is trying to understand other people on their own terms and not his own. Yuji engages everyone as themselves and accepts them as they are. Him having no braincells is a boon because it means he can absorb others' with ease.

I'm extremely fond of Yuji's pair bonding with Gojo in particular. In great length I've explained how Gojo's inability to deeply connect with others since his breakup with Geto was isolating and dehumanizing. Yuji is the first person since then to match his energy exactly and without question. Usually other characters get irritated with his shenanigans and can't follow him in conversation. Yuji consistently keeps up with him in that regard even if he's confused. In this way, Yuji has done the impossible, he has gotten past some of Gojo's emotional barriers and connected with him.

This type of seemingly impossible connection is not limited to Gojo, my other favorite being Junpei. Up until Yuji meets him, Junpei is effectively groomed by Mahito into hating other people. Mahito teaches him distrust and to see human ugliness first. Junpei starts to believe everyone is rotten and therefore ok to kill. But Yuji meets him by chance and does this:

All that time Mahito spent molding Junpei into someone worse flies right out the window because Yuji wins him over by being genuine. This is the crux of Yuji's character.

Yuji's Unyielding Spirit

Just about everyone is won over by Yuji's persistent unending good boy energy, even the people who try to kill him (Megumi, the Kyoto students, Choso, Hakari, Higurama, etc.). His most interesting converts are Higurama and Hakari in my opinion. This is because Yuji's steadfast devotion to others defies their world views.

After a lifetime's worth of heartbreak as a public defender, Higurama believes that deep down all people are hideous (similar to Junpei). He's ready to kill Yuji until he takes the blame for something he didn't do. It so thoroughly shakes him that he has a meltdown over the chapter and ultimately concludes he was in the wrong.

Yuji doesn't try to make Higurama understand him here. All he does is be himself and it forces Higurama to undergo character growth that ultimately results in him understanding Yuji.

Yuji does the exact same thing to Hakari but in a different way. Hakari believes in the selfish types who are passionate in their own pursuits. He's a lot like Sukuna in that way, he straight up calls Yuji boring for doing things on the behalf of others.

Yuji doesn't care though. He's got a clear goal and he's chasing it. Hakari knocking him down over and over does nothing. Unlike with Higurama, Yuji explains exactly how he sees himself and that if Hakari can't handle it, he'll keep getting back up until he accepts it. And it works. Eventually Hakari can see the "fever" of someone who is nothing like him.

These two converts best illustrate how Yuji is the embodiment of unwavering humanity. He does things for other people and he will keep doing things for other people even it brings him pain or death. If you don't understand that kind of mentality, he'll let you pummel him until you do.

Also notice how he never once tells his converts they are wrong to think the way they do. This acceptance of their differences is very important and will be coming up later.

Yuji's Love

Yuji connects with others through mimicry (and so does Sukuna). This, of course, is an expression of love. But what really sets his love apart from others' is his ability to perceive people and their emotions—he notices things about them no one else would.

I include the bout with Panda in this collage since their entire conversation occurs nonverbally. Yuji infers how Panda is feeling and what his goals are by sparing through a fake duel. All of this shows that despite Yuji's low general intelligence, his emotional intelligence is unparalleled. In a way, this ability of his to read others is him taking after both Kenjaku and Sukuna. But he doesn't use this insight to torment others, he uses it to befriend them.

This understanding of others is not limited to those Yuji is friendly with too. Hated people and things are something he is willing to engage without hostility.

I'm using the anime screencap because Yuji immediately accepting cursed objects, Sukuna's in particular, as something to be cherished instead of scorned really needs to be talked about more. And of course his acceptance of Todo (who is just like Sukuna for reasons we will get into later) is nearly just as important as him understanding Sukuna enough to utilize him against Mahito. These are both people, despised by most of the cast, that Yuji is willing to accept and work with on their own terms.

I often use the lens of analysis in which Umineko gave me: "Without love it cannot be seen." This is referring to how one needs to set aside their negative biases and assumptions to properly see the motives behind an action. It's sort of like giving someone the benefit of the doubt in your attempt to understand them. I think Yuji is the personification of this concept. And that's why Sukuna cannot stand him.

Sukuna, King of Miscommunication

The way in which Sukuna goes about understanding others is the polar opposite of Yuji and deeply perverse. It's like how a shark uses its mouth to explore the world. Instead of using his words, Sukuna uses his cutting to feel others out. And much like a shark, the exploratory bite and attacking bite are extremely different in action despite both resulting in the same level of harm or death when experienced.

Take notice of how happy Sukuna is when cutting his playmates. He doesn't kill them immediately and uses the information from his slashes to gain a better understanding of them. This is how Sukuna interacts with the world.

It's easy to dismiss sharks as evil since their bites do harm to humans no matter the context. But if you try to understand them on shark terms, they're actually pretty adorable. In other words, without love it (shark cuteness) cannot be seen. Please keep this in mind as I attempt to convince you Sukuna is peak gap moe.

Sukuna's Affection

Sukuna is very similar to Gojo in that he displays affection in very bizarre and unpleasant ways. But unlike Gojo who just verbally assaults people, Sukuna straight up assaults them. He's more than happy to give people compliments for their efforts, but it comes at the price of enduring his violence.

As you can see some of these compliments coincide with attempts to teach his opponent how to be a better fighter. And this is where Sukuna's affection shines the most—when he reaches out to his opponent and tries to connect with them and understand them through battle.

However...every single time Sukuna tries to bond with someone this way, they try to kill him. It's kind of hilarious.

He tries to connect with the Finger Bearer, a curse of all things. Rejected.

He tries to connect with Megumi after showing him his heart. Rejected.

He tries to connect with Higurama after cutting his limbs off. Rejected.

He tries to connect with Maki via an unhinged high-praise yapfest. Rejected.

No one here engages Sukuna's dialogue. They ignore his words entirely to focus on killing him. The only time anyone listens to him is if they're Uraume, actively dying, or Kashimo.

As you can see, Sukuna primarily expresses affection through violence. It's always accompanied by a smile and sometimes a backhanded compliment. No one can recognize this as affection because getting bit by a shark hurts regardless of intent. That being said, this affectionate violence differs greatly when compared to the violence inflicted out of aggravation.

Sukuna's Pickiness

Sukuna shows his displeasure through cutting as well. This usually occurs when people reach out to him without his explicit permission. Though Sukuna is eager to form bonds with others to some degree, he absolutely loathes when expectations are thrust onto him by another party.

That kind of relationship is transactional and not between equals. They don't want Sukuna for himself, they want Sukuna for themselves. Yorozu is the epitome of this and Sukuna treats her accordingly.

Notice how in both of these instances Sukuna's expression is the furthest thing from pleased. Yorozu does recognize his loneliness but disregards how he wants to deal with it. Sukuna cuts her to keep her away from him, not to understand her, and she doesn't get it. (Also note how he refuses to use his Shrine on her in their battle. Which we’ve established as Sukuna’s tool for understanding others. He wants so little to do with her it’s funny.)

Mahito also winds up on the receiving end of "get the fudge away from me" slashes despite initially bonding with Sukuna over Yuji's suffering. They inadvertently disrespect Sukuna's boundaries through unwanted contact, much like Yorozu, leading to this reaction. (To be fair, having your soul touched by a stranger sounds pretty upsetting.) Framing Sukuna's dislike of Mahito as an annoyed hostess vs a touchy patron in joke panels is a great way to illustrate how much he values this particular boundary.

Once again, Sukuna's expressions are very clear in their disgust. These cuts are to be read as hostile. When Sukuna cuts others in this manner, he is not trying to understand them.

Sukuna's Missed Connections

Now that we know how to read Sukuna's intent through how he cuts, we can also read his mood during fights and infer how he feels about other characters.

Jogo

In this post I kind of went over why Jogo wound up being favored by Sukuna. But let's break it down some more.

Jogo started in Sukuna's doghouse. His body language, facial expressions, and treatment of Jogo initially indicates Sukuna categorized Jogo amongst the likes of Mahito and Yorozu (he did touch his face without permission). Then Jogo said he wanted nothing of Sukuna, and everything changed.

Sukuna smiles at him and plays with him in the exact same manner he tried to with the Finger Bearer and Megumi earlier. He tries to coax Jogo into going all out while taking the time to figure out why he doesn't.

And perhaps learning from past mistakes, or Yuji (though he'd probably never admit it), Sukuna engages with Jogo on his terms—fire power. This mirroring is a show of respect and an attempt to learn more about Jogo.

This is the first time we see Sukuna do such a thing. And in return he gains a deeper understanding of Jogo for it while seeing him off into the afterlife.

Another first for Sukuna, he makes a meaningful connection through combat with Jogo who listens to him and accepts him as he is. Sukuna gasses him up while simultaneously putting him down, eventually ending on a genuine compliment, believing Jogo could've become an equal to Gojo Satoru. ...And then that blossoming relationship burns to ash by Sukuna's own hands.

This is where Yuji succeeds and Sukuna fails. Yuji's love builds and Sukuna's love kills.

The main takeaways from Sukuna vs Jogo are:

>Sukuna's facial expressions are a strong indicator of how he feels about someone. (Glaring at Jogo initially when he felt disrespected and then smiling at Jogo when he became interested in him.)

>Sukuna will offer aid to those who don't demand it of him. (Promising to kill all the humans in Shibuya on Jogo's behalf and giving permission for Jogo to boss him around if certain conditions are met.)

>Sukuna holds back during fights with those he wants to understand. (Playing with Jogo and trying to coax him into fighting harder.)

>Sukuna mimics others as a form of respect. (Fire vs fire showdown.)

>Sukuna is interested in the internal logic of his opponents. (Asking why Jogo doesn't use his domain and being intrigued by his attempt to become human.)

Keep all of this in mind as I use these points to revisit Sukuna's biggest missed connection.

Gojo Satoru

Jogo and Gojo as names are interesting in that they're inverses of each other if you go by the hiragana in Japanese. I think this was deliberate. It's not a coincidence that Jogo is someone Sukuna learned he was compatible with through fighting. Nor is it a coincidence Sukuna tried to understand him on his own terms in a way that killed him. This fight winds up being a blueprint for how Sukuna attempts to connect with Gojo Satoru.

The culmination of Sukuna's attempts to understand someone other than himself is Gojo Satoru. A whole 6 months in the making, the effort Sukuna puts towards others doesn't compare. He saw the potential in Megumi and found Mahoraga, blowing up half of Shibuya to tame it. He stole Megumi's body and subjugated his soul to obtain it, using his sister/Yorozu as calibration. And he explicitly states all this was for cutting through Gojo's Infinity.

All this prep work to kill one guy, and his loved ones are tormented for it. Gojo's prized student, Megumi (who Gojo treats like a son) is bathed in curses for days and has his sister murdered by his own CT. Sukuna picked through Megumi's memories as a part of this strategy, which means he has access to these two conversations.

A very selfish dream on Gojo's end, the desire for an equal he saw in Megumi more than any other student. In other words, a little piece of Gojo's internal logic that reveals a path for exploitation. And exploit it Sukuna does, deliberately wearing Megumi's face to mess with other sorcerers.

But that's probably not the whole truth here. Though Kenjaku and Yorozu understand Sukuna to an extent, they don't understand him fully. It's definitely true he used Megumi's face to better subjugate his new vessel and throw off Gojo. And it wouldn't be wrong to assume Sukuna did this out of malice. However...

Without love it cannot be seen gives me a framework to view these actions as something beyond hatred towards Gojo. It allows me to entertain a hypothetical where this a twisted display of affection. But it doesn't give me the evidence for this. So for this dissection, I'm using another important tool from Umineko: "Flipping over the chessboard." This refers to how one should try to see things from a different perspective.

For example, many people interpreted "The one who will teach you about love is..." during their fight being about Gojo trying to teach Sukuna love.

I decided to flip over the chessboard and came to the conclusion: The one who will teach you about love is...Sukuna.

I supported this claim with the conversation where Sukuna teaches love to Kashimo while alluding that Gojo needed teaching. And now I flip over the chessboard again. If Sukuna sees himself as a teacher of love, was Sukuna vs Gojo an attempt at education?

I reread the fight again and found this:

It's very clear that the one being satisfied in this instance is Gojo and by Sukuna. This battle is technically everything Gojo hoped for from Megumi. The potential of the 10 Shadows is maximized, Mahoraga is tamed, and the Infinity Gojo has longed for someone to pierce since Toji is obliterated.

The one satisfying him now is...Sukuna.

The one who will teach you about love is...Sukuna.

The parallel syntax and a definitive answer. I'm more confident that this is how the blank is to be filled. And that's why I don't know how to interpret this fight anymore.

This story repeatedly emphasizes how selfish Sukuna is. It beats you over the head with how self-centered and uncaring his conduct is. So why is it that he has seemingly gone out of his way to satisfy Gojo on his own terms?

There's not enough information. Did Sukuna hold back with Gojo because Megumi was still resisting him, or was it an attempt to mimic Yuji and connect with him? Did he use Megumi's body and face after reading his memories to better torment Gojo or was it give him satisfaction?

So I flip over the chessboard and go back to Jogo.

Gojo didn't ask anything of Sukuna just like Jogo. Neither of them asked to have their strength validated. Sukuna is the one who came after them.

Sukuna expressed his gratitude towards Jogo for wanting nothing of him by helping him with his objective. He killed all humans in the area as he promised and gave Jogo a chance to ask for more. Instead of slaughtering Jogo instantly, Sukuna played around with him while trying to understand him, all smiles, both backhandedly and genuinely complimenting him as he died.

...And it appears that Sukuna has done the same thing for Gojo too.

According to this post 龍鱗 (ryuurin) translates to dragon scales and "describes the basic application of Limitless, a strong defensive barrier like the scales of a dragon." This reference is also Buddhist in nature likening these scales/Gojo to a "dangerous divine power/authority", aka someone more than just a fish.

Now take this hidden meaning and Sukuna's 6 month long obsession with cutting through Infinity. Take how he describes the World Slash as something that reaches its target by making them the center of Sukuna's world. And remember that this solution is a modified Dismantle—the tool which Sukuna uses to connect with and understand others.

Sukuna made Gojo Satoru the center of his world in an attempt to understand him. He cut through Infinity in the exact way Gojo has always wanted to satisfy him. This could be read as flirtation since Sukuna has told Kashimo violence is how he loves. Just as he did with Jogo, Sukuna killed Gojo with his love.

The biggest difference between how Jogo and Gojo are treated is the complete lack of Sukuna in Gojo's afterlife. Jogo let Sukuna in and they bonded in death. Gojo seemingly kept Sukuna out, choosing to be surrounded by those he felt close with as a teenager, and waxed on about how it's hard to be understood. The irony is staggering.

It's possible that Sukuna expected Gojo to let him in during death so he could learn the unspoken secrets of his most favorite plaything. There’s also the possibility Sukuna was privy to Gojo’s afterlife scene and became acutely aware Geto still had Gojo’s heart entirely. (I don't think this the case since Sukuna is bright-eyed and smiling after that sequence.) Either way, Gojo failed to realize Sukuna was trying to reach him and inadvertently rejected him.

I flip over the chessboard again, revisiting Sukuna's lecture on love to Kashimo assuming that Sukuna attempted to teach Gojo love and failed. And now I don't know how to interpret his conversation with Kashimo either.

Is he simply saying love is worthless because all he values is strength? Or is he lamenting that each and every time he has tried to love his heart has been trampled? Could it be both?

Sukuna loves eating and humans are amongst his favorite meals. In that way, he does need someone else to be satisfied. Yet he insists on the contrary all while looking for companionship with anything that moves. Sukuna has gone his entire life not caring for others. But his fights with Jogo and Gojo demonstrate the opposite. Post-Gojo death, his expressions are ones of boredom and he is far more depressed. When his opponents most resemble Gojo, his smile returns.

Sukuna is too much like Gojo here, his 2 birds 1 stone approach to obfuscating his true feelings makes him very hard to read. It really doesn't help that instead of saying "I love you" Sukuna cuts people to pieces with a smile on his face. Forget about the gap moe. Sukuna is the most tsundere of sharks.

Umineko no Naku Koro ni (When the Seagulls Cry) is a visual novel about a person who is fundamentally misunderstood by those around them. They desperately want to be loved without being perceived, believing themself to be unworthy due to trauma and immutable characteristics given to them at birth. Instead of telling anyone these feelings directly, they play games akin to torture. They torment the ones they love over and over in hopes they'll see through their actions and understand them.

The Uncle vs Nephew Problem

What does Sukuna's inability to socialize have to do with Yuji? Well...everything. Remember that similar to Yuji, Sukuna rejected Mahito—the manifestation of the hatred between humans. Symbolically, this suggests Sukuna doesn't hate humans as much as he appears to. And from how he interacts with others, this may be the case.

Sukuna tries to be himself to connect with others and fails miserably. But Yuji? He breathes and makes 10 friends instantly. And even worse, he can fight others to understand them without killing them. Either with words or with fists, Yuji can make the connections using the very tools that isolate Sukuna.

So Sukuna falls back on isolation being strength. It's fine that he's all alone because it's what makes him strong. ...And in complete opposition to that philosophy (which is a huge cope), Yuji grows through his connections with other people.

Isolation vs Cooperation

Yuji is the undisputed king of running duos, in part because he can decenter himself at will to sync up with others. It doesn't matter how well he knows them or how long he's been around them, he will find a a way to be the best support they've ever received.

Sukuna doesn't believe in this kind of cooperation or other people. But he still respects Gojo and Megumi who do, so why does Yuji piss him off? I think it's because Yuji rubs his ability to love and grow from others in Sukuna's face, constantly.

Whether he's trapped in his body or on the receiving end of his friendship beatdowns, Sukuna has been present for each and every bonding moment Yuji has through fighting. Sukuna has an involuntary front row seat to Yuji's defiance of everything he stands for.

He's forced to watch Yuji learn how to Black Flash by cooperating with Todo. And since then, Yuji has learned to proc it with anyone he pairs up with.

Near death and with Nobara? No problem.

Things look hopeless and the shiestiest guy around is barely hanging on to his dead mentor's memento? 2 Black Flashes.

Yuji is even able to sync up with a guy he's never met, whose name he doesn't know to pull off this.

And of course we can't leave out Todo Aoi himself who maximizes Yuji's black flash efficiency.

This shakes Sukuna to the soul because holy fudge, Yuji is starting to become just as strong as him without mercilessly abandoning his humanity.

And that might mean Sukuna was wrong to suffer isolation in the pursuit of strength. That would mean Sukuna endured a lifetime of misunderstanding and loneliness for no greater purpose. In fact, he might be stronger if he had someone else to grow with. Which means he could've had love and strength.

That's a painful reality to confront. It's no wonder most of the black flashes Yuji lands on Sukuna are over his broken heart.

Selfishness vs Selflessness

Earlier I claimed that Sukuna and Todo are the same kind of person. This is because they're both extremely egocentric individuals who categorize people worth their time by boring or interesting. They both hate taking orders from the people they deem boring and go about understanding people through combat. And just about everyone hates them for being this way. The difference between them is Yuji and restraint with their opponents. (Todo doesn't outright kill the boring people, he just beats them half to death. And though he beats up the interesting people too, he allows them to grow for the next time.)

Note how Yuji matches Todo's communication style. He chooses to learn about Todo through combat and their relationship grows along with their strength, all without death. Yuji understands Todo and Todo understands Yuji. This is exactly what Sukuna has been trying to do.

Now Todo sees Yuji as his brother, aka someone with the potential to rise to his level and beyond. He doesn't mind at all that Yuji fights for others and Yuji doesn't mind that Todo fights to stave off boredom. Their relationship shows that someone as selfish and isolated as Todo (aka Sukuna) is capable of coexisting and growing with someone.

Sukuna rejects this on principle, going out of his way to destroy Yuji's bonds and ideals. He mocks his cog mentality and lectures him on this weakness. But like the fraud he is, Sukuna copies Yuji and obtains greater power by becoming obsessed with someone other than himself.

His fight with Gojo and the preparation up to it mirrors everything he hates about Yuji. Sukuna learns all about Gojo Satoru to find a way to kill him. He engages the fight on Gojo's terms and reaches out to satisfy him. And worst of all Sukuna grows through this—he upgrades his CT by making someone else the center of his world.

The fact this happened means Yuji was right about everything, so all Sukuna has left is denial. Yuji is boring, he's a brat, he's weak, he'll never reach his level. Because if he does, well, Sukuna's entire world view falls apart.

We saw this with Higurama and Hakari vs Yuji. Both of them eventually accepted that these differing ideas can exist together. Sukuna can't be like them since he keeps borrowing Yuji's tactics instead of sticking to his own ideas. He's defrauded himself and Yuji has to pay for this.

Rejection vs Acceptance

So that's the rub. Yuji is strong and properly loved through his unwavering good boy energy alone and this breaks Sukuna's brain. It's hard to read this as anything other than jealousy since Sukuna is watching Yuji obtain the things he's been denied using the exact same toolkit. And though Sukuna rejects Yuji for this, Yuji accepts Sukuna for what he is, just as he does everyone else.

All Sukuna has do is accept that Yuji's way of thinking is just as valid as his. But he can't since they're too similar. Yuji's existence forces Sukuna to confront a reality he's not emotionally equipped to handle. Instead of facing these emotional problems head on, he buries them and blames everyone else in a combination of envy and denial.

Deep down Sukuna knows he's in the wrong, otherwise Yuji's punches wouldn't shake his soul.

#cactus yaps #In summary: Yuji and Sukuna's dynamic is peak “pathetic adult has beef with a literal child”.#Yuji is more emotionally mature than his uncle and Sukuna is mad his nephew is better than him at something.#Sukuna also sees everything he could've had in Yuji and can't handle it.#Every time I reevaluate Sukuna's relationship with love I find something new and mind breaking.#I’m never going to stop thinking about Sukuna’s canonical negative rizz.#Once again I'm considering tagging this with the ships Sukugo and possibly Sukujo.#Gojo's pussy haunts the narrative but Jogo has insurmountable rizz.#Why are Sukuna and Gojo so Umineko? Also read Umineko there are cannibal lesbians. (Which is very Sukugo if you ask me.)#asks #ryomen sukuna #itadori yuuji #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 20 days ago

Text

A heart that hurts is a heart that works - Something Rotten sequel.

first part can be read here

Pairing: Dark!Joel Miller x afab!reader x Dark!Tess Servopoulos

Words count: 3829

Rating: Mature, absolutely NSFW and again, this shit is triggering. Please, read the tags carefully and if you're a minor don’t interact.

Tags/warning: This happens the morning immediately after the events of Something Rotten, pov second person, no use of y/n, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, heavy degradation, angst, smut, DUB CON/NON CON, reader is barely described, she has breasts and vagina, no mention of her skin tone, she doesn’t blush, she has hair but it’s not described, it is mentioned that Joel's clothes are too big for her (pics are just for aesthetic and don’t represent reader), the only thing is that reader's father died of lung cancer (like mine), depressive thoughts, as said in the first part: reader is held prisoner by Joel and Tess, on her leg is carved the word “pet” (Tess did it), use of a knife, groping, a large amount of bites, mention of wounds, mention of bruises, no kindness whatsoever towards reader, Joel and Tess are both EVIL, fingering (Tess receiving), oral (Tess receiving) spitting, nipples sucking and biting (it's not my ff if there is no attention towards nipples OKAY), unprotected p in v (both f receiving, wrap it up IRL), pussy slapping, cum eating, Joel comes on reader’s face, pissing, a little more scissoring, a little bit of chocking, squirting, brief insert of reader's thoughts in italics… I think it’s all 😅 If I notice I've forgotten something important I'll add it right away.

A/N: Title comes from a Placebo song called Bright Lights. It seemed right to continue with them since "Something Rotten" is also one of their songs. Anyway, I leave you the entire playlist that I listened to while I was writing both this and the first part and again thank you very much to those who recommended songs to me ♥️

There is something of my experience and pain in this so please be particularly kind. English is not my first language and I have no beta, I apologize for any mistakes. I hope you enjoy it, thank you so much to anyone who reads it.

[I started a tag list, if you want to be added let me know, I never tag people because I don't want to impose anything on anyone but if you like it I'm happy too ♥️ ]

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

Your mind is completely clouded. You open your eyes and for a moment you don’t remember where you are, you rub your eyes, feeling your aching body awaken, the pain of every joint coming back to you. You reach out and press a spot on your stiff neck, a stab of pain shooting up your brain like a gunshot and then sliding down your spine, making you grit your teeth to stifle a moan.

You shut your eyes as images of what happened flash before your eyes, a piercing pain taking over your head.

You don’t know how much time has passed but when you manage to sit up, biting the pain between your lips, you see a bright light coming in through the dirty window, a speck of dust stirring in the beam of light that illuminates the messy bed, the crumpled sheets and the two people lying on it. Tess is on her side, her arms folded, her hands resting on the pillow, near her head. There is always a kind of tension in her, you see it even when she is sleeping, in her huddled body that seems ready to attack and unleash its claws on anyone. She is wearing nothing but panties and Joel’s shirt left open, revealing the outline of her breasts.

She should disgust you, but instead as soon as you see one of her nipples poking out from under her shirt salive pools into your mouth. You put a hand to your forehead, overwhelmed by yourself, by what you feel and by a shame that creeps up inside you and makes your temples throb.

This is so wrong. Yet you would like to lace your lips on that little button and suck it, if only she would let you do it, if only she would let you lie next to her gently, allowing you to be the good pet she expects you to be.

Shifting your gaze to Joel doesn't help soothe your twisted mind. He’s on the other side, lying on his back, in his boxers, your eyes wander on the defined muscles on his chest, the softness of his belly, and a strip of sunlight hitting his abdomen highlighting hair leading to his groin.

He seems carved out of a block of marble, skimmed by scars, exuding power and sex, the tips of your fingers graze your swollen lips and you still feel his taste, the weight of his cock on your tongue, his relentless thrusts, his hungry eyes on you.

They must have fallen asleep, which gave you some respite even if you don’t feel rested at all.

You look at your thigh and it's still there, the pulsing sign that you should leave, just run while you can, sneak out of this place quietly and look for somewhere to hide. But you feel like a mouse in a cage, your body not moving an inch. You’re still untied; it would take nothing to reach the door and close it behind you. But what if they woke up? If they felt the bed lighten with your weight? You know they'd have you back in an instant.

Your brain, you can't decide whether very stupidly or very wisely, thinks that it is better not to make any risky moves to stay alive.

Helpless and desperate you lie back on the bed staring at the ceiling, the silence broken only by Joel's soft snoring.

Your arms spread across the bed as you sink into your thoughts and your fingers casually graze the knife abandoned on the sheets. The coldness of the blade sends a chill down your spine.

You have to do something for yourself. At least try. You cannot be so spineless. You move one leg off the bed, your eyes fixed on your captors, seeming not to notice anything so you move the other leg as well, letting yourself slide cautiously along the edge of the bed, finally resting both feet on the floor. You pick up the closest garment you can find on the ground, it's a Joel T-shirt, wide and long enough to cover your butt. You just have to get up, you can do it. Leaning your weight on your legs feeling your knees crack in the effort, you wonder what in your body is not sore. You are on your feet. Joel and Tess are motionless in the same position as before. You walk on the floor resting your toe and then your heel, silent and terrified like a prey trying to evade before falling into the lion's jaws, hoping that the wood will not creak under your gait. You reach for the door. You almost make it. Just rest your hand on the handle and lower it. A moment and you're out of here. As soon as your hand touches the cold metal you hear a voice behind you, “Where do you think you're going?”

You feel your heart falling out of your chest, freezing where you are, your eyes at the door, your breath getting heavy.

“Turn around”

You do it slowly, praying you don't feel a blow immediately afterward. Joel is standing in front of you. “Please” your voice is a barely audible whisper ”please.”

Joel reaches out, grabs you by the wrist “no fucking way”

He doesn't add anything more, he takes you back to the bed, forcibly lays you down and lies on top of you. His eyes look at you fiercely, he drops down next to your ear “maybe I was wrong about you, you're not the good pet I thought you were. Let me teach you your priorities straight“ he growls, his voice low, sharp.

His body weighs down on you, completely overpowering you, his legs blocking yours, his hands resting on the sheets on either side of your face.

"I give you credit for that. You were brave to think you could sneak away. But also incredibly stupid." His voice vibrates close to your ear, it is eerily calm and controlled, sounding as if it came from the darkest part of him, straight from his gut.

A lump rises from the pit of your stomach to your throat, sickening. "I'm sorry," you stammer, Joel's eyes lighting up with that sinister hue you now know like the back of your hand.

He retrieves the knife from above the bed and places the blade under the fabric of the T-shirt, cutting through the sleeves and tearing it from the neck to the hem, reducing it to a shred of fabric lying beneath you. You tremble when the icy blade touches your skin.

His boxer-covered erection presses against your thigh, against your wound.

Again you wonder what substance your mind is now made of because feeling him against you, demanding, claiming your body, makes your pleasure slide down your legs. You can feel it on your skin, a shiver, a wetness, a trickle of you leaving you to become his. You mold under him, relaxing your muscles, ceasing to resist, submitting to his stern eyes nailing you to the bed.

He takes your hands and intertwines them possessively with his own as his legs push between yours, forcefully spreading them apart.

He crawls on you like a rabid dog, inhaling your scent on your neck, down to your sternum, reaching your breast, licking the skin above your ribcage “You were Robert's, weren't you?”

His teeth close on one of your nipples, biting it, your back arches pushing against his mouth, demanding more. “This? It's mine now.” he whispers in a rough voice ‘This is mine too.’ he adds, twisting the other nipple, he moves one hand to your mound, grabbing it ”What about this wet pussy? She's mine too. I own you now. Make sure you don’t forget that, you little cock slave”

And you feel it again. The desire coursing down your body, clinging to your nerves, flowing into the middle of your thighs.

It lingers on you deeply. And you’re pleading at that. Before you sense your own voice saying it, like it doesn’t belong to you, coming out of someone’s else body “Please” you babble “please, more” as he run a single finger through your folds.

Everyone you knew died. Every person you loved is gone, ruined by the spreading epidemic. Except your father, who passed away a few years before the pandemic broke out, obliterated by lung cancer. You still remember his jagged, exhausted breathing getting more and more labored, small and thin, until it died out completely. You still remember the smell of the hospital room, the dimness, your gripped heart, your silent tears. It was something you never wanted to see, the moment when death takes someone. It stays inside, digs deep into you, rattles in the walls of your brain until one day it subsides and remains a creeping awareness you have to live with. A brick in your pocket that will forever weigh of absence, of pain, of lack.

And when you thought maybe you could make it, one day when the brick seemed lighter, pandemic came and your mother turned into a monster. From a fragile woman, still bent by your father's absence, to a ferocious beast with bloodshot eyes that tried to break your neck.

You had had to tear it down yourself, with your own strength, that thing your mother had turned into. And you couldn't explain it for days, or how you had done it, or what had happened. People were running around terrified, not knowing where to take refuge, not knowing if it would ever end. Until they came and loaded you onto trucks, promising to escort you to a safe area. What you were not told was that there was no solution, for some of you there was not even a place in the QZ. The epidemic took away not only the people you cared about but also your dreams, every hope you had for your future, every plan to become a good teacher, to accompany young minds in creating a better world. There is nothing left to create, only destruction.

You could have offered yourself as a teacher in the Qz but you had decided not to bow to a system that spread only government propaganda, instilling in kids that there was nothing else to believe in but FEDRA.

And even in the face of desperation the cruelty had not stopped, some soldiers had tried to take you at night, traumatized and without strength, you had been saved only by the good heart of one of your neighbors who had defended you. You had jumped out of the truck, along with him and some other people, looking for an alternative that would never come. They had fallen like skittles, one after another. You were tired of seeing it, the cold hand of death reaching out to everyone around you.

Your heart still aches horribly, but after all, a heart that hurts is a heart that works. And you're still alive.

He takes the finger away and shoves it in his mouth, enjoying the taste of you and then he’s close to your ear again grazing you with his beard and graveling “I knew you were a little slut,” Joel's heavy breath warms your skin, driving your being back into your body. “When I'm done with you you'll want nothing more than to be my brainless whore”

You’re bucking your hips against him, mindlessly, while he takes your body with his mouth and hands, furiously licking, biting and groping your flesh, moving impatiently over you on the bed and waking Tess up. She takes a few seconds to focus, abruptly recovered from a deep sleep, but then you hear her dry voice, “oh, are you having fun without me?”

Joel does not tell her that you tried to escape. which in itself is a miracle for you. He turns to her just a moment, leaving your nipple with a loud pop .

“Come” he tells her, and it's almost sweet. Almost. Tess comes crawling up on the bed like a feline and looks down at you, smiling cruelly.

“Lie on top of her, make sure this bitch doesn't move” Tess nods, he makes room for her, and she crushes you with all her weight, her scarred back against your tits, as if you were a mat, clinging to your arms as Joel watches the scene smugly "Quite a picture" he growls.

He pulls down Tess's panties, tossing them aside. He does the same with his boxers. “This is exactly what I want. Two pretty cunts all for me��

He stoops to observe you both, his eyes roaming your sexes, his thumb touching you first, a creamy river in between your folds, and then Tess. She snorts “will you hurry up?”

“mmm you're not wet enough honey, but we can fix that”

“Honey”, you think he is the only person who can call Tess that. Anyone else would be out of balls in a heartbeat.

He buries his face in her cunt and you feel Tess stiffen on top of you, her whole body reacting to the first touch of Joel's tongue. You seem to catch a glimpse of submerged fragility behind all that violence and resentment she always displays.

She grips your wrists in a vice as her hips rise toward Joel and a low, deep moan escapes from her throat.

Joel's fingers run hard and calloused over your folds, collecting what drips from you and spreading it over Tess's pussy, mixing your essences, then returning to lick her. And you can feel her, crumbling on top of you, conceding willingly, every muscle in her asking for more.

Each lapping of Joel's tongue on her vibrates over your body like a wave, Tess's butt sliding over your folds, crawling over your clit, giving you reflex stimulation.

“Mmmm just like that, baby, that’s fucking good”

She whines so sweetly under his ministration, an undertone so vulnerable and tender in her voice you almost think she turned into another person. And you are in the front row watching this, a silent witness to the other Tess, the one who still has a shred of humanity hidden within her.

It’s unique, you think, how sex with the right person, a person we care about, a person we share a path with, makes us. Defenseless, no mask to wear against the world. Even Tess, perhaps the coldest woman you’ve ever met.

“Nice and drippy” Joel murmurs, nuzzling at Tess’s cunt “fucking gorgeous”

He dips his nose in there, moving through her folds up to her clits, brushing the tip over it. “You smell so good, babe, such an nice mess for me to feast on”

“Fuck” Tess gasps “just fuck me”

“Yeah baby, I’m going to stretch you both so damn right”

Tess rolls her eyes in twisted need, impatient like the bossy woman she still is and you whine like the shy mess that you are.

So different and yet ready for the same cock.

You noticed the way Joel’s voice soften when he speaks to Tess, the intimacy between them is palpable, in this moment you’re just an appendage.

You want that desperately, belong to someone, to him, to her, to feel his voice and his whole body going unshielded for you.

Joel spits into his palm and takes his cock in his fist, pumping it and then tapping the tip on her cunt, once, twice, three times, rubbing it on her folds, lubricating it with her juices, before getting it all the way inside her. Tess's body arches so desperately over yours, merging with Joel's as he begins to thrust inside her.

She thrashes on top of you, clinging to your forearms, pushing you back against the mattress, her hips swaying over yours again giving secondhand attention to your clit, now so swollen and needy that each thrust you emit a moan in sync with her, shyly participating in her pleasure. You bend your neck slightly to one side to look at Joel standing before you, bronze and sculptural, a cruel god who leaves you breathless. His chest glistens in the dim sunlight streaming in through the window, revealing tiny droplets of sweat beading on him, a grin painted on his face, brows furrowed, lost in Tess's wet walls, focused on pounding on her special spot again and again.

“You like that huh? You like this cock splitting you, yeah, I know you do, fuck you’re so drenched I could take a bath in it, all slippery and warm...mmm baby, just like that. Take it.”

He rests a hand on her belly to hold her more firmly, a sense of possession different from that manifested with you, purer and deeper, made up of silent, recurring gestures between them. It's as if you feel it all the way down into your stomach as he sinks into her, the forced closeness making you almost delirious, sensitive and wanting.

Tess is almost at her peak, sliding on you now unceasingly, her back kneading your breasts, up and down, your nipples impossibly hard against her skin, she stammers "there- there- I'm almost there- oh fuck"

"Not yet, baby, hold it back" he challenges her and she growls in disappointment and frustration, as he comes out of her. Joel brushes against you "it's time to put this slut in her place. You want it huh?" he roars as he looks at you "I can see it from here, you're flowing like a fucking river, clenching around nothing like a whore”

His eyes sparkle with evil. He spits on your cunt, a glob of saliva right on your clit. He spreads it quickly over your entrance and thrusts into you unceremoniously, all the way down, in one breath-breaking stroke. "You're full now huh? Clench around my shaft, bitch”

You feel your walls strangle his cock, eager to hold him inside, to belong to him, to be broken through. "Yes" you moan, not even sure why you had tried to run away from this anymore. Tess wouldn't even need to hold you with her whole body but you'll never say it, the way she bounces on top of you drives you crazy. You are back on the scene now, eager, drunk with a dark, all-consuming desire burning in your veins.

He grips your hips hard, digging his fingers into your thighs, going out and back in you harder, deeper each time, using your cunt as his personal toy, beating on your cervix as if he were to fill it with bruises. And you don't care, welcoming each thrust as if it were the last thing you will ever receive.

Your mouth proceeds alone, bellowing and wailing each moan like an off-key song you can't stop singing, irrepressible, obscene, feverish.

"You're tight for a whore, pet, but don't worry, I'll take care of it." Joel grunts, Tess echoes you, her harsh voice protesting uselessly to let her finish, her legs wrap around Joel's waist claiming him but he is focused on ruining you now with the cruel and unrelenting force he has not reserved for her.

Her nails sink into the skin of your arms, you feel them barely disconcerted by Joel's stabs but a tiny part of your brain knows they will leave more marks on you.

There is nothing gentle about it, no attention, no care, just animalistic thrusts that make your body shake like an earthquake.

You are less, obviously less, but you are still something.

Tess turns on you, looking into your eyes, lowering a hand to your clit, rubbing it furiously and then colliding it with her own, clit against clit, pressed together in sloppy kissing, hips rocking back and forth, sliding up to the point where Joel joins obscenely with you, seeking on her own the finish Joel has not yet given her by using your body.

“Oh fuck, yes,” she screeches, "here we go little slut, give it all to me" biting your skin on the marks Joel left, on your neck, on your tits, sucking your nipples between her lips, unrestrained. She's a wild amazon riding you, untamed, fierce and mean, teeth, tongue and hips demanding no permission and taking from your body what they want.

And then again her hand descends between you to rub her clit as her knuckles press against yours, squirting letting out a guttural sound, flooding you, Joel's cock and the sheets.

Joel growls at the vision “oh that’s fucking right, babe, yeah spurt all over me, FUCK, so good”

And you lose yourself, your sanity flying out the window with your attempts to escape, you are caged by Tess's body, hammered by Joel's cock, you feel their eyes on you looking fiercely, them calling you their slut again and again, that's all you can do.

Tess pulls away from you, Joel holds you firmly by the hips, his face contorts into a grimace, he bites his lower lip as he thrusts himself possessively into you, reaches down and puts a hand around your neck, squeezing your pulse point, smiling cruelly as your air diminishes and your mind becomes rarefied “keep it up slut, milk me” and she scolds him “you can't cum inside her”.

“Fuck” he snorts "you're right". The grip on your neck loosens and you gasp, panting hard, trying to regain oxygen.

Joel slaps your pussy hard with his hand open, ordering: “on your knees, pet.”

You sit complacently on your lap on the bed, uncertain of what he wants to do. Tess is at your side, sneering.

“Stick out your tongue for me.” He says harshly, Tess's hand bends your back, making you squat, waiting.

“Good kitten” Joel grunts stroking his cock up and down, the angry red tip aimed at you. You don't realize it in time that long, thick, streaks of cum hit your face, your mouth, slide down your chin. You close your eyes just a moment before you feel his semen hit your eyelashes and run thickly down your cheek.

“Mmm now you look just like a proper slut” Tess giggles wickedly, then pauses "In fact no, we can do better". She grabs you by the arm, drags you naked as a maggot into the bathroom, and gets you on your knees inside the tub. “Hold still” she barks at you. You close your eyes, trembling, not knowing what to expect, until you feel something warm hit your forehead, run down your face, partially wash the cum off. An acrid, pungent smell makes its way into your nostrils. As soon as it reaches your lips you realize.

You open your eyes, clouded by Tess's piss, her degrading gaze penetrating your bones along with Joel's laughter, standing in the bathroom enjoying the show.

“Now you're perfect.”

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape , @baronessvonglitter

#dark!joel miller #dark!tess servopoulos #dark!joel #dark!tess #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel the last of us #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #joel tlou #joel miller au #joel miller angst #joel miller #tess servopoulos #the last of us

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