#not in the sense of “you were an accident”. more in the sense of i am not meant to Be here. probability-wise

[247-diaperboy]

Training the diaper boy

The world dissolved into a dizzying vortex, the black and white spiral on the screen a hypnotic dance that pulled me in, deeper and deeper, into a place where control was an illusion, and will a forgotten memory. The screen was everything. It was all I could see, and my thoughts were no longer mine.

It felt warm between my legs, the diaper filled with my own urine, a constant reminder that I was no longer in charge, that my body, was no longer my own.

The spiral turned, and with each rotation, a piece of me unraveled, my past, my identity, my sense of self, all dissolving into the swirling void. I tried to fight it, to look away, but it was no use. This was what he wanted. This was what I needed.

"You are getting sleepy," a voice echoed in my mind, "You are forgetting how to use the toilet. You are a baby. You are mine."

My fingers moved without my consent, tracing the outline of my diaper, the wetness a strange comfort, a new normal that was both terrifying and strangely liberating. I was his. I was a baby. I was free.

And as the spiral continued to turn, I knew that there was no going back, that the man I once was, was gone, replaced by something new, something… other. And the only thing that mattered now, was the swirling darkness, and the voice that guided me, deeper and deeper into the abyss.

The training has taken control over me in more ways than ever expected. To think I am a 23-year-old man. Or I use to be a Man. Now here I am laying on the plastic of the changing. A stark contrast to the warmth radiating from the massive, urine-soaked diaper beneath me.

I lay there, the absorbent bulk between my legs a heavy reminder of my public accident. "Waiting To Have My Stinky Pampers Changed at the mall by his daddy.

[bohemianblasphemy]

Can I help?

Castiel x fem! Reader

Sam and Dean have left for a case, leaving you to have a few quiet nights in the bunker by yourself- but your sleep schedule is out of wack, that is until Castiel checks in on you.

Contains: fluffy smut, oral (f! Receiving), doggy style, unprotected PinV sex, just kinda cute

A/N: damn this took me too long, I hope you enjoy! ✨

Sam and Dean had left for a hunt, leaving you to your own devices at the bunker. They were hesitant on bringing you with them -

Their claim of it being too dangerous for you- despite your stubborn protests as you had been on more than enough hunts with them before, the brothers weren’t having it.

As the old doors echoed, announcing the brother’s departure, The Men of Letters bunker turned into an eerie, quiet space. Looming walls that held so much history and mystery, an infinite amount of books to last a mortals lifetime.

Despite having the place to yourself, the first few nights made it difficult for you to sleep, the silence and loneliness making you toss and turn. Anything and everything you had tried to have a somewhat restful nights sleep didn’t make a lick of difference.

Another solitary night rolled around, the sun setting on the sequestered shelter. Dean had called to say they’d be back in a day or so, which brought on a sense of relief over your weary self- but it still meant that you had to endure a few more restless nights.

The shiny surface of the kitchen island had ingredients of your dinner scattered along it, slowing cleaning up as you waited for it to be ready to eat. You hummed softly and swayed along to the soft rock music playing from your speaker, acting as a distraction from the sound of silence that still echoed through the lonely halls.

Your tired, distracted mind didn’t comprehend the sound of fluttering wings- Castiel had manifested within the bunker, smoothing out his tan coat that he always wore- following the sound of music down the cold corridor.

As he turned the corner, his eyes fell on you- his icy blues watched as you danced around, cleaning the last spot of spilled food on the counter, the sound of your humming bringing a quirk of a smile to appear.

Cas always admired you; he’d encountered all kinds of beings in the many millennia he had been living, no one too different to catch his eye until he met you- someone that made him question all he’d ever known about humanity, an indent of his loyalty to the higher power.

“Hello.” Castiel’s distinct, unwavering tone standing in the door way, his hands smoothing out his coat.

The sudden interruption of your little dance party made you yelp in surprise, turning around to face where the disembodied voice was coming from.

When your eyes landed on cas, a shaking sigh of relief fell from your lungs- your heart still rapidly pounding.

“Dammit- cas, please knock next time…” you chuckled nervously as you put your hand on your chest, trying to ease your racing heart.

“Sorry, I didn’t know how else to announce my presence.” He stepped into the kitchen, watching as you served yourself a bowl of pasta.

“It’s okay, a knock will do for next time.” You were still turned away from him, trying to calm your nerves- not just from the adrenaline rush of being spooked, but cas’s presence made you on edge- he was an celestial being, a soldier of God, the object of your attraction... it felt wrong to have these certain feelings toward him but it was impossible to hold it back, like trying hold a door closed with your bare hands as a wild animal tried to force its way inside.

“What do I owe the pleasure of your company?” you turned and waltzed to the small dining table, sitting yourself down on one of the stools to dig into your dinner, your eyes followed as cas sat opposite you.

“Dean asked me to check on you, said something about you possibly ‘flying off the handle’, but I don’t remember ever you having a bicycle accident.” You chuckled at Castiel saying something like that, the idiom flying over his head.

“Figure of speech cas, I don’t own a bicycle. It means going a bit out of my mind, since I’ve been alone for a while without them.” Cas nodded at your explanation, seeming to understand deans words a little more.

It was silent between you two, except for the music continuing in the background and the clinking of your spoon on the ceramic bowl.

He stared you once more, the way you chewed and swallowed your food- the way you blew air on the steaming morsels upon your spoon before every bite.

“You right there angel?” You muttered, eyeing his gaze on your movements. He nodded. “I am fine, thank you for asking.” He didn’t pick up that you knew he was staring, not that you minded…

Another thing he noticed as you finished your meal was the multitude of yawning you did, sensing your sleep deprivation and exhaustion.

“You’re tired.” He noted, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. “You haven’t slept properly for the last few days.” It was like he was a behavioural analyst, and you were being profiled to filth.

“That obvious huh?” You took your bowl to the sink, him following close behind you as you washed your dishes. His eyes gazed at your hands and then back to your face, seeing every twitch and scrunch your facial muscles contorting into your expressions.

“You’re yawning a lot and your eye bags are slightly purple from the deprivation.”

Gee. Thanks Cas.

“You can be a little too honest at times, you know that?” You looked at him, your tone without malice.

“Honesty is good isn’t it?” He replied, tipping his head to the side. “Yes it is, it’s just-“ your body expelled another yawn, further proving his point.

“Why haven’t you slept?” He asked, watching as you dried your hands with a hand towel. You sighed softly, your tired pupils turned to his.

“It’s too… quiet. I thought I’d be okay but it’s just lonely.” You admitted. “I tried tea, meditation, magnesium - hell, I tried some army technique to fall asleep in one minute but I got bored.” You paused for a moment, looking at him again. “I don’t like being alone here…”

Castiel hummed in understanding, putting his hands in his coat pockets. He wanted to help, not liking that you were struggling to sleep, and on top of that being isolated from others.

“I can stay with you tonight.” His offer made the tips of your ears flush pink.

“I understand that you feel more comfortable with someone being here with you so, I’ll stay… if that’s what you wish of me.” He offered, his expression wasn’t as neutral as it had usually been, a small curl of his smile appearing.

“O-oh uh-“ you stuttered, your brain fizzled and the words failed you- the pink tinge on your ears moving down your face and neck as you continued to fumbled your words.

Castiel cleared his throat, about to turn on his heel as he wanted to conceal his own cheeks flushing. “Sorry that may not have been appropriate of me to offer, I can go if you’d rather-“

“No no- I want you to stay… please.” Your voice was soft, almost vulnerable as you reached for his wrist to keep him in place.

He turned back around to face you once again, seeing the need for a good nights sleep and something deeper than that- the soft twinkle in your eye had him detecting something more affectionate, which made his stomach fill with those hypothetical butteries.

All he did was nod in confirmation and give you a small smile. He watched as you yawned again, checking the time and seeing that it was starting to get late.

“I’m going to start to get ready for bed, um- did you wanna… go to my room? Settle in?”

Cas didn’t respond right away, his face going a little wide eyed. “If you’ll have me.” His stubbled cheeks were pink, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallowed his nerves.

“Of course I’ll have you…” you replied, letting go of his wrist to turn off the lights in the kitchen. “Cmon…” you stood in the doorway, watching as cas shuffled his feet along the hard floor after you. “You do know angels don’t sleep?” He walked along side you. “Yeah cas I know, it’ll still help knowing that you’re there..”

Castiel’s heart fluttered with those butterflies at your words, the thought of him helping you like this- being in such proximity to you in a very intimate way… heaven help him.

The pair of you reached your room in silence, the door closing behind you both with a loud bang that echoed the lonely corridors. “I’ll just get changed really quickly… do you mind turning around?”

“Of course.” He turns on the spot, facing the wall- standing as still as possible. The action made you giggle, thinking he looked like he go sent to stand in a corner for breaking a rule.

As you stripped yourself off and started to change into your oversized t shirt and pyjama shorts, Castiel’s mind raced of what you would look like, the sight of your bare skin and the curves of your body, how good you would feel under his fingers-

“You can turn around now…” as if he were under a spell he turned around, the heat pooling in his stomach as his eyes glazed over you…

“You look… comfortable.” He was trying so hard not to stare, but it was hard not to- the effortlessly beautiful human standing before him.

Smiling you nodded in agreement, moving over to the large bed in the corner- pulling the corner of your duvet to get under the sheets.

As you sat on the edge of the bed, you observed Castiel slip off his shoes, his tan coat and suit jacket laid flat on the desk chair to the side of him as he pulled his navy tie from his neck.

You peeled your eyes away, giving him the privacy to get himself changed. “Wait- cas do you even have clothes to change into?”

You looked up at him, your mouth parted in awe as Castiel stood before you in his white boxer shorts.

Seeing him like this, his torso on display- his near flawless skin, tufts of hairs along his chest and down past his navel… he was ethereal. “Is this okay? I can put my shirt back on if you’re not comfortable-“

“No no, that’s more than fine.” Your voice was soft, keeping watch as he came and sat by your side.

You both sat in silence for a moment, the faint sound of your breathing with his filling out the void of silence, the unresolved tension hanging over you two- practically begging for one of you to say something - anything to break it.

“Have you heard of um… pressure therapy?” You asked softly, your gaze falling to the small gap between you both. “What’s that?” He asked, his head falling to the side in curiosity. “I guess it’s like using your weight to relieve stress to the body and relax… like cuddling.”

“Are you wanting to cuddle with me?” Cas was straight to the point, no judgement or any undertone of malice. The blush of pink returned to your skin with a nod. “Lay down for me then.” He asked, seeing your body move to the furthest side of the bed where you normally slept, him following suit and lying down beside you.

There was still a small gap between you, it being extinguished as Castiel pulled you toward him. His arm wrapped around your waist, the grip just a tad too tight for you.

“Um Cas- a little too firm there…” you chuckle, smiling softly at him. “O-oh, sorry...” He softened his grip and smiled amusingly, his arm loosening but still wrapped around your back.

You positioned yourself comfortably against Castiel’s chest- one hand curled into your chest whilst the other rested on his bicep- the warm skin radiating through your palm.

The pair of blue eyes before you gazed down at yours, the hand on your back slowly making patterns against the material of you- the sensation making you scoot closer to him, your own hand softly moving along his bicep.

“This is nice…” you whispered, your breath fanning across cas’s collar which caused a shiver to flow through his spine. He hummed in agreement, bringing his hand up now to your face- pushing a few loose strands behind your ear. “Really nice…” his voice became low, his fingers running through your strands of hair before massaging your scalp.

An involuntary breathy sigh fell from your lips, the sound making cas’s chest pound - wanting to hear it again as he continued to rub your sensitive scalp. Those sighs continued to leave your mouth, cas’s thoughts becoming more than sacrilegious.

Your mind wasn’t exactly creating innocent scenarios either. The fingers on his bicep tightened slightly as you moved even closer, your chest pressed up against his…

“You look beautiful…” he spoke lowly- leering down at your relaxed expression as the hand on your hair moved down your back, landing on your hip. “Y-you look beautiful too.” You chuckled at your attempt at a flirty compliment, only for it to fall not so gracefully. “Dammit…”

Castiel chuckled, finding it admirable, His thumb traced slow circles around your hipbone. He watched as your breath hitched- the line between keeping this moment soft and sweet, and downright sinful blurring as the growing desire built upon you two.

A small mumble of your name and a curled index finger under your chin brought your attention up to him, the once light blue now navy pupils boring into yours. His intense stare spoke so many words, the way they flicked between yours and your lips.

“Can I?” He whispered, that longing look in his eyes drawing you in like a moth to a flame. Your quick nod was all that was needed as he wet his lips and leaned forward- capturing your lips in a needy, warm kiss.

It was as if the world had ceased to exist around you, the way your lips moved along each other perfectly made time stand still. He rolled you onto your back, moving himself to settle between your legs and wrapping them around his hips.

Castiel pulled away from your lips, watching as you chased them for more. “You feel so good.” he grumbled, pressing his kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

You rejoiced in his kisses, accompanied by his hands reaching for the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to feel the warmth of your stomach. “Wanna take it off?” You breathed as you gazed up at him. Castiel was enamoured with your flushed cheeks, plush lips and your hair sprawled out among the pillows- nodding as he pulled off your shirt, staring at your bare chest.

“So beautiful…” he whispered, starting to kiss down your chest- moving his mouth to mark your skin as he reached your breasts.

His mouth captured one of your hardened nipples, a hand raising up to pinch and grope at the other. You groaned his name, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth- feeling his teeth gently bite down on the peak of your breast. “I’ve wanted this, wanted you for so long.” You confessed. “You have no idea how much restraint I’ve had to endure to not put my hands on you…

“Can I keep going?” His voice had become husky, placing a wet kiss between your tits. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You demanded, earning a smirk from cas as he made his way further down your torso. His tongue ran down your stomach, leaving more wet kisses on your burning skin when he reached the top of your shorts.

Cas’s eyes flicked up, asking for your permission to take them off. When he witnessed your eager nod, his long fingers hooked under the elastic, pulling them down along your soft thighs.

“No underwear…” he groaned, seeing your bare pussy being revealed as he peeled off the pyjama shorts- the sheen of wetness on your core making his mouth water.

“All this for me?” The question quietly leaving his lips as he leaned his head forwards, nearing your glistening cunt. “All for you cas, only for you…”

“Only for me…” he repeated, no longer wanting to hold back as he connected his lips to your wetness, a hum of satisfaction as he tasted you for the first time.

The grip he had on your hips made it almost impossible to writhe amongst the sheets. His tongue weaving its way along your silken folds, flicking the tip of it against your sensitive clit to send shock waves up your spine- your back jolting off the mattress ever so slightly.

“Cas…” your mouth fell open as the call of his name like it was a prayer - making cas moan against your wetness. “That’s it… call out my name.” His words came out confidently, his mouth wrapping around your clit and sucking on it gently- hearing your whines echo through the air.

The quiver and twitching of your thighs around Castiel’s head indicated your release was near- your hips jolting as his tongue twirled that sensitive nub. “Fuck! Cas I’m gonna- gonna cum…” “Cum for me sweet girl… c’mon.” He listened as your breath hitched and your hands held his head in place, grinding yourself on his face as your orgasm washed over your body.

“C-cas…” you could only muster up his name, your chest rising and falling as stars filled your vision. Castiel’s grip on your hips loosened as he crawled up to come face to face with you. “Was that… good?” He asked almost too casually, as if he didn’t just gift you an absolutely mind blowing orgasm.

“You- you are incredible…” you muttered, sitting up slightly to capture his lips with yours. A hand snaked down his chest toward his achingly hard cock; squeezing his length softly. “Fuck…” he brooded, his hips involuntarily bucking up into the palm of your hand. “Your turn…” you whispered as you dipped your hand down his briefs.

“N-no…” he stopped you. “I can’t- I can’t wait any longer. I need to fuck you.” He was almost begging for it, needing to bury his cock in you. You bit your lip again, pulling his cock out of his briefs.

“Please, fuck me… I need it, need you.” You were aching for him, slowly moving your hand along him. Cas closed his eyes in pleasure, before he flipped you over suddenly. “I’m going to fuck you like you deserve… and you deserve only the best.” He praised you, kissing the side of your neck before he kneeled behind you, pulling you hips up into the air as he prepared to take you.

With your face buried amongst the pillows, your ass arched up in the air you felt Cas traced himself along your slit before sinking himself into you- the air exhaling from his lungs as the walls of your cunt squeezed around his cock. “You feel- amazing…” he praised, slowly rocking into you.

A long, pleasured cry left your mouth once more as cas moved, his hips snapping into yours at a faster pace.

“Fuck me cas- please, go faster…” you trembled, arching your back further. Castiel groaned your name as his grip on your hips grew tighter as his thrusts became stronger, hitting that spot inside you; Your moans of his name and pleads of more filled his ear drums.

He was on absolute cloud nine; the sweetest side of heaven couldn’t compare to this moment with you, bringing you utmost pleasure.

The thrusts became more ragged and sloppy, the heat within his stomach reaching its boiling point- his deep groans turning into whines. “S-shit, im so close…” he uttered, your velvet walls constricting around him as you neared your second orgasm. “Fuck cas, cum inside me…” you pleaded, the pads of your fingers reaching for your clit to quicken your release.

Castiel heard your cries as your second climax fell through you, which helped him finally fall over the edge. “s-so good, so good for me…” his cum filling up your tight cunt deliciously with a whiney, lusty groan of your name and a shiver running through his body.

Your body shook as he filled you with hot cum, exhaustion and satisfaction being the only things you felt in that moment. Cas let out a soft moan as he pulled out of you, pulling your torso up to be pressed flush against his chest.

“You are… exquisite.” He praised you once more, turning your chin to the side so he could kiss your lips again, moving his lips to your neck as he wrapped his arms around your torso. “I could get addicted to you, Castiel.” You giggled, eyes fluttering closed as you rested your head on his shoulder. “I’m already there.” He whispered hoarsely, chuckling softly as he pressed a tender kiss to your temple.

“Let’s get you cleaned up hm?” He suggested as he observed you nodding. “Then I can finally get that good nights sleep.” You chuckled, seeing Castiel’s sweet smile form on his face.

“Yes, you’ll sleep well tonight…”

Tags: @bluemerakis

[theelderhazelnut]

Rise of The Villains: The Advocate

Warnings: mentions of death

Words count: 1.5k

Pairing(s): None

Characters: Quan Chi, Raiden, Sonya Blade, Johnny Cage, Cassie Cage

Summary: Quan Chi is back from the dead, but his punishment is far from over. The Special Forces have captured him to use for their own purposes.

Author’s Note: Here it is! This series is best described as an AU of Rise Of The Villains (An au of an au lol). This takes place somewhere between MKX and MK11, and is not canon compliant. ALSO, writing from his pov is the medicine I didn’t know I needed.

Writing Taglist: @cassietrn @raresvtm @cloudofbutterflies92 @mids-stupid-shit @thedragonholder @tommyarashikage @malicedragoness @afraidofrabbits @ash-shark @darialovesstuff @bloody-arty-myths @vivilovespink @starneko123 @inafieldofdaisies @chaosrealm @voidika @aceghosts @euryalex @elderglocks @averytiredbitch @strangefable

Returning from the dead wasn’t really a good idea; at least not when it was about me. The silence among the corpses and, as they say, damned souls was where I felt most comfortable in.

Death was never an issue for me. I knew the rules of this board game. I knew which pawns to move and exactly which houses to move them to. And I would always stand up with a proud smile, and shake hands with death with pure confidence.

But this time was different. This time, the game was new. I didn’t know the rules. This time, Raiden slammed my fist down onto the table.

The path to the main headquarters was more crowded than I would usually prefer. Living eons in the Netherrealm had forged my mind to fit well with that incomparable isolation among jagged cliffs and eroded souls, so now it was doomed to endure the endless, lively chatter of humans everywhere. Every single one of them minded their own particular business. They blended together; out of my control.

I leaned my temple against the car’s window while my handcuffed hands subconsciously stroked the fabric of my uniform pants, silently getting accustomed to them.

“No longer allowed to open portals to your destination?” The Special Forces agent asked, his raspy voice was nearly unreadable.

My chest clenched. “But, still, I will survive a car accident.”

His green eyes lingered on me through the rear view mirror. My lips slowly stretched into a smirk. That was the fear I knew with my flesh and blood. At least something from home accompanied me this morning.

After about half an hour, a dark vast border of a fortified wall emerged from the horizon. I shifted to the middle seat to take a better look through the front window. As far as the eye could see, the wall stood persistently, stoically protecting what was behind. As we drove closer, I noticed that it wasn’t actually a wall. It consisted of angular observation decks, and tiny dots of light leaked through the concrete.

The winding road lead us towards an enormous gate. And soon, we were among armored vehicles and hurried soldiers. I got out of the van. The cold wind whipped my face. Immediately, the trigger of another round of headache came forward.

“This new face is in the biggest spotlight today! I’m envious.” Jonathan Cage nearly shouted, grinning from ear to ear while he wheeled a wheelchair.

“As you should.” I replied. The last thing I needed was him rubbing his hatred for me all over me with an unnatural cheerful tone.

“You even ordered first-class?” He whistled, and tapped the back of the chair. I sat down, and immediately, two soldiers tied my wrists, chestand ankles to the chair.

Mr. Cage wheeled me on a wheelchair through the hallways which were mostly constructed by metal, I presumed. The pale fluorescent lights leaking through the stiff folds of the ceiling and the floor were bright enough to bring any creature back to their senses immediately.

As we reached the very end of one of the many hallways, a metal gate slid open, and we entered a much darker room. It took my eyes a whole several minutes to adjust to the abrupt change of lighting.

“Here he is!” Mr. Cage announced.

Raiden’s white robe quickly caught my attention once he stepped into the dim light. His straw hat shadowed half of his face, per usual. The source of all of my miseries was a few meters away from me, but I was forced to sit on a wheelchair and just watch.

“After eons, you will make considerable use for the realms.” He began firmly. “Even though you are meamt to suffer the consequences of the long list of your crimes.”

“What makes you so certain of that?” The words came out without my knowledge. I let out a sigh and shrugged. “You couldn’t possibly think of a more easier punishment?”

“You are in the Special Forces’ grasp, Quan Chi.” Raiden raised his voice slightly as he repeated his words.

“And as your punishment, you will be working as a secret agent.” A female voice continued. General Sonya Blade stepped forward into the light, shoulders square and hands behind her back.

I would never predict this moment in million years. I held a hysterical laugh behind a sudden burst of a smirk. “You truly are so desperate, lord Raiden. Have you finally succeeded to kill your champions one after another?”

His nostrils flared, his lips creasing in a pout. “In fact, I have always been anticipating this moment to have your cooperation. And it has finally arrived, but not in a situation you certainly desired.” He spoke nonchalantly.

“And if I refused?”

“Your soul will forever be banished to the in-between.”

The blood in my veins froze. Raiden had never made such an existential threat to me, so now this was a sign of a gigantic dog on a leash, ready to be released.

“And how this current moment differs from being banished? Granted with the chance to live among humans is supposed to be…nurturing? Rewarding?” Fortunately, my voice remained tamed and neutral.

General blade dodged my teasing question firmly. “After a medical checkup, you will receive a set of essential gears. And you are also obligated to pass the shooting, and driving training.”

+++

The walk through the hallways wasn’t strange at all, having all eyes on me and all the necks craned up to take a look at the necromancer was quite a familiar sight.

In the inventory, a female voice parroted Mr. Cage’s words.

“They’re being too kind to you, baldy.” Cassie Cage stood up from her seat, sauntering to the circular table at the center. “Guns? That’s too much for you.”

“I am already too much for you soldiers.” I pronounced the last word slightly more emphasized, as though it was a rude insult.

“Talk after you survived a gunfight.”

I rolled my eyes and neared the table. My gaze roamed around the various weapons - which were mostly guns - arranged neatly under the intense fluorescent light. I had to squint a little.

“Have you ever touched a gun before?” She probably had guessed the answer, yet she seemed annoyed by the obligation to ask it aloud.

“After eons of studying, there still remains many fields I haven’t even peeped into.” I picked up a black pistol. “Do I have freedom in my choice?”

Ms. Cage shrugged. “You gotta learn how to handle all of these sooner or later. Most of them at least.” She crossed her arms. “Pick a pistol and a rifle for now. And let’s just get over with this training crap.”

+++

The training session was more of an issue than I had thought. That was the moment I learned aiming with a pistol is considerably more difficult than shooting a large green skull from your bare hands.

One more cylindrical obstacle hitting my shin was enough for my rage to flare. I tripped over and fell onto my elbows. My fist clenched around the pistol. It was all its fault, distracting me from numerous moving obstacles. My chest vibrated from the low growl that escaped my throat.

I turned onto my side, and opened my palms. The heat of rage coursed through my arms, morphing into several shooting skulls. The massive twirling cylinder staggered backwards, the background now visible through the burnt hole in it. The long shafts attached to it went flying in the air. A few of them struck the monkey bars. Targets on the wall collapsed, slamming against the floor with a thunderous clash.

Commander Cage slurped her drink. “Wow.”

I took a deep breath before sitting up on my knees.

“Where’ja wanna get the money from?” She vaguely gestured to the mess before her. “Come on, you’ll perform better on the streets. Like a dog chasing cars.”

“At least I don’t have a golden leash given by my mother.” I forced a smirk on my bitter expression. My chest heaved with my heavy breaths.

She shot me a glare before leaving the training room.

I stood on my feet, and adjusted my uniform. A part of me admitted that she was right; I was now going to chase cars and people like a dog. But since when did they collected the courage to spit facts in my face?

I gripped the fabric of my pants and stared at nothing on the floor. I was only one step away from tangibly tasting this new life. Everything was going smoothly around me and against me. Instead of wrapping it all around my finger, I could just sit there and have a young soldier order me here and there.

I stood up and walked up to the metal gate. At least I could show them why they made a wrong move by making me their secret agent.

[marshemillow]

I guess that's fair. To me it really just feels like everyone is dealing with grief in their own ways, and not all of it was something Rose did wrong, but it still hurt them. It makes sense in my mind because the show is obviously a metaphor for generational trauma, where former victims end up doing hurtful things entirely by accident and thus continue the cycle.

Maybe the reason it feels so off to you is the fact that Rose isn't there to defend herself. It's pretty obvious that she would be apologetic of all the damage she caused considering she literally WAS apologetic of everything when she was alive, but she's no longer around. All characters ever get from her is silence, and this is coming from characters who don't often face death or mourning, plus Rose has only been dead for less than 2 decades. That's nothing when you're more than 5,000 years old.

To me, it seems as though leaving her behind is the best course of action, because Rose is dead. At least, that's what I think they might have been going for.

I haven't seen all of the later seasons though, so it's entirely possible that I'm missing something, and I can't exactly say this interpretation is invalid. It would be a weird betrayal of the overall themes of the show if Rose just wasn't forgiven but her abusers were.

It's so weird to me that Steven Universe retroactively tried to make Pink Diamond into a bad person, like?? She was abused and neglected and manipulated, and no one saw her as anything important even after she 'died.' She was a toy to White and a funny little thing to Blue and Yellow. Her sisters liked her dances and her songs and her happiness, but they never really liked her — in fact, they tried for decades and centuries to smother anything individual about her. And they only realized they were wrong thousands of years later.

Personally, I think everything Rose did was justified. I wouldn't have handled that kind of abuse with even half as much dignity and grace.

[charafansmile]

Trying to do hw but my mind solely wants to think about how charas motivations only make sense if you look at it from the eyes of a child and that ignoring them being a kid is how the fandom got stupid ideas in it's head of them being a mass manipulator who's entirely evil even though the game beats it into our head they made the plan BECAUSE they loved the dreemurrs. Like obviously their plan was never going to work it was a bad fucking plan from the getgo and little kids are 1) stubborn and 2) not known for thinking things through????? People saw asriel call them not the greatest person and a say he wished frisk was his friend (which fair!! Charas plan did get him killed and was the catalyst for things going wrong!) And immediately jumped to making them abusive ignoring all of the evidence that chara did care about and loved monsterkind.

[gabbingwaves]

GRANDMA HUA???

You're out picking flowers and Grandma casually drops that she used to be part of that incredibly cursed cult village your most incessant stalker drew a whole entire picture book about and uses as a light moral bedtime story.

THIS LADY RIGHT HERE. Conversation under the cut.

Grandma Hua: Better than the past when you had to trade something just to get a bite to eat...

Rover: Exchange?

Grandma Hua: Hmm...When I was younger, in another village, they had the habit of exchange.

Grandma Hua: Exchange...What exactly are we exchanging...?

Grandma Hua: I can't remember...Every time I think of the word "exchange", I get the heebie-jeebies...

[brightclothesforwinter]

I made a hilariously ugly cake of dialectically debatable nomenclature* (cardemom, cinnamon, nutmeg, coffee butter icing, sugared walnuts), and I'm sure there is a relevant through-line in there about perfectionism and the fact that the taste buds don't care that I should never be allowed to plaster anything ever.

*me on Saturday, doing pre-cake research: "wait, half these methods make no sense... hold on, does sponge cake mean something different in the US?"

Bread though, man, bread is so much easier. Bread doesn't curdle even if it has eggs in, bread doesn't put you on a short timer the moment wet ingredients meet dry, hope you remembered to preheat the oven... I am so much better at bread. (Spouse points out that I have made a lot more bread than cake in my life, which is true by a factor of probably like 100.)

And yes also so, so Bothered by chapter 47. It's all just internal screaming, largely because like. yes, I did see that possibility, and was avoiding giving voice to it because maybe then it would go away, it would turn out to be something else, an accident, an external threat, anything but that - just, the fractures, the interpersonal - I mean, just, fuck. I absolutely trust you to resolve this but fuck. (Two for two on me being blindsided by the drop into the same character's narration, not because it wasn't clear from the outside that he was fucked up, not even because I didn't realise he was more fucked up than he appeared from the outside, but once again I was like, "yeah, we're seeing like half, two-thirds of this iceberg..." and we were not. Oh man we were not.)

I'm going to be over here dissecting this arc for craft reasons (once it's a little further through and I can STOP SCREAMING) because I'm having a major problem at the moment writing conflict of the 'nobody's right or wrong, everybody's fucked up and they don't understand each other perfectly (yet)' variety.

Anyway here's my usual bread recipe: 800g flour (about 1/4 rye, about 50g mixed seeds, the rest strong white bread flour), 60ml olive oil, 2tsp salt. 600ml water (1/3 from the kettle, 2/3 from the tap), 2tsp active dry yeast, 2tsp sugar. Makes two loaves in tins, bake 180C Fan for 30 minutes. If you're hand-kneading or not using tins use a lot less water, 75% hydration dough will not hold itself up.

I made bread for the first time this morning! I was worried that my yeast had died but on my third proofing attempt it finally did something bubbly. I let the stuff rise overnight in the fridge, which gave it this amazing yeasty fermented flavor that I loved. The crust isn’t lovely but the texture makes up for it. Overall solid 7/10 for first attempt!

Credit/blame goes to @chthonion and their fic The Harrowing, whose latest chapter featured fresh bread and finally made me use that yeast in my fridge!

[gregmarriage]

x files 1x08 ‘ice’ was so fucking funny for having mulder make a joke about the size of his dick in front of two other men, and scully touch a woman’s chest as part of a medical exam, then immediately share a lesbian look with her, that has nothing to do with said medical exam

[blujayonthewing]

thinkin about the time my mom said 'how SHARP is that KNIFE???' from the other room when I was slicing tomatoes and thinking about how using knives at her house ranges from 'annoying' to 'actively nerve-wrecking' because they're so fucking dull and also thinking about how many times she's fucking lacerated her own hand while cooking

[dead-believers]

i lied actually im perfectly fine. im completely normal

[the-lord-confessor]

Eight months. Eight months of courtly intrigue, the vultures circling like crows eager to feast on the bones of their enemies. Eight months of preparation, bracing for the worst and the best—both equally agonizing in their own ways.

Eight months of holding Rhaegar and Rhaella in their arms.

Now, as Daemon basked in the quiet peace of Rhaenyra’s presence, it all felt like a distant memory. The babe in his arms squealed, her pudgy fingers reaching determinedly for the strands of silver hair draped over his shoulder. Daemon shifted slightly, evading her grasp, only to find his tunic collar under siege instead. A dirty trick, he thought, eyeing Rhaella’s triumphant expression as she crammed a fistful of fabric into her mouth. Beside him, Rhaegar let out a delighted coo, amused by his twin’s victory, and Daemon huffed a quiet laugh.

“She’s got a grip like her mother’s,” he mused, tilting his head to catch Rhaenyra’s gaze. Even in silence, her eyes spoke volumes. And what of her brother?

Daemon glanced down at the boy in her lap, his keen, sharp eyes already seeming to weigh the world and find it wanting. His daughter fought and claimed; his son watched and waited. Together, they were the makings of a formidable pair.

“They will be terrors,” he predicted, though his voice carried a tenderness that softened the warning. His thumb traced absent-minded circles over Rhaegar’s small, untried knuckles. “Good. Let them be.”

Rhaella gurgled at him, losing interest in his collar in favor of gnawing on his fingers. Daemon allowed it, marveling at how quickly they were growing. Their once-fragile limbs were now sturdy enough to push up, roll over, reach, and take. He saw in them the first whispers of will and mischief, and more than once, he had caught Rhaenyra’s smirk—or his own—reflected in their expressions. These children were theirs in every sense, no matter what Otto Hightower and his ilk might claim. Fruits of dark magic, Otto had hissed from the shadows. Children of sorcery.

At the thought, Daemon’s gaze flickered up to Rhaenyra. She sat regal even at rest, her fingers skimming over a scrap of parchment detailing the Hand’s latest observations. He didn’t need to read the words to know their meaning. Otto’s schemes were as predictable as the tides, rising and falling with each failed attempt to loosen Rhaenyra’s grip on what was rightfully hers.

Daemon shifted Rhaella in his arms, gently nudging her hands away from his mouth and pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “Let him spin his little webs,” he murmured, his voice low, meant only for Rhaenyra. “Let him whisper in the ears of fools. If it keeps him occupied, I see no reason to stop him.”

The words had barely left his lips before he reconsidered, a sly smile curling at the edges of his mouth. “Though, if he were to suffer a tragic accident—”

Rhaegar made an inquisitive sound, his tiny brow furrowing, and Daemon chuckled, smoothing it away with his thumb. “Not for your ears, little prince.”

A weight shifted beside him. He didn’t need to look to know Rhaenyra was watching him closely, as she always did when Otto Hightower’s name crossed his lips. She would remind him, in that exasperated yet fond way of hers, that they were playing the long game. That there was no need for rashness, not when they had already won the greater war.

Daemon exhaled slowly, nodding once in concession. “Yes, yes. Patience.”

Her hand landed lightly on his knee, and his own moved instinctively to cover it, their fingers intertwining. He turned to her, the sunlight from their chamber windows gilding her skin in warm gold. Daemon had never believed in the gods or the idea that men were shaped for some higher purpose, but if ever there was proof of something greater in this world, it was Rhaenyra. His Rhaenyra.

“My girl,” he murmured, the words a prayer as his lips brushed her knuckles. “I could say it a thousand times, and still, I would hunger for the next. But you’ve always known that, haven’t you?”

His hand lingered, his thumb tracing the soft curve of her jaw. The twins stirred, a reminder of their presence, but he didn’t look away.

“Nothing has changed,” he said, softer now. “Nothing will.”

It wasn’t a promise. Promises could be broken. This was a certainty, unshakable and eternal.

Finally, he exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if shedding the weight of his confession. Then, because there were only so many moments he would allow himself to be wholly serious, he glanced back at Rhaella, who had reclaimed his tunic collar in her grasp.

“She means to strangle me, I think,” he remarked wryly, prying her fingers free with exaggerated effort. “A natural-born assassin.”

Rhaegar let out another tiny sound, perhaps a protest, perhaps a laugh, and Daemon grinned.

“Ah, but you’d protect your poor father, wouldn’t you?” He pressed his nose to the boy’s head, inhaling the warm, familiar scent of him. “Or would you join your sister in the act?”

A pause.

Daemon hummed in mock consideration, glancing sidelong at Rhaenyra. “If we’re not careful, they’ll be outmaneuvering us before they can even talk.”

The thought didn’t worry him. In fact, he found he rather enjoyed the prospect. Let them scheme, let them fight, let them carve their own path in the world. They would never want for strength, not with Rhaenyra as their mother. Not with him at her side.

Not with all they had built together.

Later, when the twins were asleep and more scrolls arrived, Rhaenyra’s shoulders were taut as a bowstring. Daemon moved behind her, his hands finding the knots of tension in her back. It was good to know that hands as bloodstained as his could still bring comfort. His fingers pressed gently into her palms, rolled over her thumbs, and worked the stiffness from her muscles in small, deliberate victories. His touch traced slow, absent-minded circles against the small of her back, a silent reminder that he was here, that he would always be here.

The missive in her hands was from another correspondent; a pompous spy, really. Rhaenyra was not what the letters claimed, not the crude caricature senseless men whispered about. He had heard the names a thousand times and had wanted to gut every man who uttered them a thousand more. The realm’s whore. The Stranger’s curse. Daemon’s mistress. Rhaenyra the Cruel.

“They are imbeciles,” Daemon murmured, his lips brushing her temple. “You were never the realm’s to claim. Never the gods’ to command. And certainly never theirs to shape in the image they wished. You were mine from the moment you first spoke my name like it meant something more than duty, and I was yours the moment I decided that nothing—no crown, no war, no man—would take you from me.”

He let out a quiet, breathless laugh, shaking his head as she kissed him, her love sweeter than he deserved. Always an archangel in her devotion. “Did I ever tell you? I’ve never known what to do with love. I was never meant for something so… good. And yet, I wake each day and find it here, in your arms, in our children’s faces, in the life we’ve built from the ashes of every godsforsaken thing they swore we could not have.”

His mouth found her fingers again, pressing a kiss to each knuckle, reverent. Then, softer, more certain: “Don’t mind them. You have won, my love. And in turn, so have I.”

𖤓 COME MORNING LIGHT 𖤓

(Starter with @black-queen-rising)

The morning light slanted through the sheer curtains, gilding their chambers in soft gold. Warmth lingered in the air—lavender and the faint ghost of last night’s embers—while beyond these walls, the city stirred to life. Vendors hawked their wares, the clang of a blacksmith’s hammer rang in the distance, and the laughter of children wove through the streets.

A morning like any other. And yet, here, all was still.

Daemon lay sprawled across their bed, his head resting lightly against the curve of Rhaenyra’s belly. His palm splayed over the taut skin, fingers tracing idle patterns, feeling for the quiet flutter of movement beneath. Their children were restless this morning, shifting and rolling under his touch, tiny feet pressing against his palm, asserting themselves already.

It should have amused him. And yet—

His Nyra was still. Too still. It was wrong.

She was never still, never quiet. A livewire, always in motion, her mind forever racing ahead, hands busy with the next battle to fight, the next thing to set right. And when she wasn’t, Daemon was there to wind an arm around her, to draw her into their back-and-forth, teasing smiles out of her, reminding her that she did not have to carry it all alone.

He could feel her watching him now. Not speaking, not moving. It gnawed at something raw inside him.

A muted kick against his cheek pulled him back.

"Ah," he murmured, amusement curling at the edges of his words. "So you do hear me. Hello, children."

He tilted his head, pressing a slow kiss to the swell of her stomach before continuing, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Listen well, my little tyrants, it’s your father and his unmeasurable wisdom talking. The first thing you must learn in this world is the art of proper mischief. Your elder siblings have done well enough, but I expect far greater things from you. That is why I must teach you something of utmost importance."

He drew back slightly, his thumb gliding in slow, soothing circles over Rhaenyra’s belly, as if already preempting any protests. "Now, this must be done right. No half-measures. When you are old enough, and strong enough, I want you to waddle your sweet little selves to Otto Hightower’s grave and piss on it. Both of you. At the same time, if possible. Think of it as a bonding exercise."

Above him, Rhaenyra exhaled sharply. When he lifted his gaze, her glare was waiting, violet eyes smoldering with barely restrained exasperation.

Daemon grinned, utterly unrepentant. "Oh, come now, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy it."

Her silence was pointed.

Daemon sighed, ever dramatic, and rested his cheek against her belly once more. "Fine, fine. But in my defense, if the old cunt were truly dead, we’d hear birdsong in the streets. Joyful music. The smallfolk would weep with happiness and build statues in your honor. Instead—" He gestured lazily toward the open window, where the city hummed on as usual. "No celebration. Clearly, the bastard still draws breath."

A sharp jab to his jaw made him chuckle, and Rhaenyra’s fingers threaded absently through his hair, the way one might stroke a lounging cat. By the Seven, he’d purr if he could.

"You agree with me, don’t you?"

Rhaenyra’s exhale was suspiciously close to a laugh.

Daemon grinned, victorious, and kissed the swell of her belly once more. "I knew you would."

His mirth faded after a moment. His fingers stilled in their gentle tracing, and he let his forehead rest against her skin, eyes half-lidded.

Something bad will come of them.

Despite all the good they set out to accomplish, despite all the battles fought, Daemon could feel it in his bones. A slow, creeping certainty.

And so he held onto the moment. Let it settle into his memory, let it burn into the backs of his eyelids—Rhaenyra’s touch in his hair, her warmth beside him, the ghost of her smile still lingering.

"You’ll be kind to her, won’t you?" Daemon murmured. "Both of you. Don’t make your mother suffer too much when you decide it’s time to greet the world. You are dragons, yes, but be gentle."

His free hand slid up, covering hers where it lay curled in the sheets. Together. Always together.

"She is strong," he said, as much to himself as to them. "Stronger than all of us. But she is still my girl, and I will not lose her. Not for you, not for anyone."

Daemon exhaled slowly, his breath warm against her skin as he pressed his lips to her belly once more, lingering this time as if committing the moment to memory. Then, with reverence, he kissed her knuckles, lingering over the rings he had gifted her on their journey to Highgarden. Another kiss followed against the fluttering pulse at her wrist, where the bracelet he had chosen for her coronation gleamed in the dim light, a perfect match to her crown.

Let the newlyweds fret over Westeros. Let the rest of the world scheme and claw.

For now, he would stay here.

They could worry tomorrow.

Tomorrow, when the Dornish lord arrived.

Tomorrow, when Rhaenyra’s smile would still be there.

Tomorrow, where they would still be safe.

[thisisvoided]

its weird being a person who very easily understands themes n ideas and creators choices wrt their games/movies/books or whatever and then seeing other people go "but i didnt like that they didnt do [insert thing here that goes against the entire point of that theme/event in the thing, which is obviously why they didnt do it]. like wow. even when theres obvious text and its right in front of you? thats crazy, dawg. anyways--

[roturo]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ OH! SO YOU'RE INTO OLDER MEN?

˚₊·➳❥ JJK MEN SHOWING YOU HOW A REAL MEN FUCKS! satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, toji fushiguro ✧˚ · .

tags: afab!reader, reader is mentioned as a female, use of nicknames (baby, princess, doll, slut, whore), cheating, degradation, caught cheating, getting caught, unprotected sex, blowjob, pussy slapping, mating press, breeding, age-gaps, virginity loss [...] rbs are appreciated!

satoru gojo (Daddy’s girl)

well, that’s the word he used for the little girl you're babysitting right now. he’s a great dad and husband. there’s just this tiny whiny little thing he couldn’t do right– and that’s loving his wife as he should.

like– it’s not that he doesn’t feel guilty, it’s just… well, you looked really cute in that mini dress, he and his wife have been fighting lately anddd– he could tell his daughter liked you more than her fatality of mother she has these days. she even called you mommy by accident once! and that was the last water drop gojo needed for the glass to break.

“Oh- I bet you’d love to be full of me right now.” His thrusts became messier each time he pounded on you, “Mhh, fill you up ‘n make me a daddy again– you’d like that princess?” you couldn’t even talk anymore with how good he’s making you feel– he had your legs pressed on the bed thanks to his arms, almost bending you in half, he was making sure that mating press works.

“Ffffuckk- You feel s’good baby” He felt your walls clenching again, no matter how many times he made you come, he’s making sure you’re coming again after he does. A not ending cycle for him. “Such a slut for me hm? Coming all nice and pretty to this house just to be ruined at night–” his words made you feel dirty, but the euphoria of it was stronger, “such” slap, “a nasty” slap, “slut” slap– “and all f’me” with those last thrusts your body couldn’t take it anymore, spasming and trembling while your poor hole was filled up again. gojo’s wife didn’t even bothered to break your little encounter, she suspected it long time ago.

all that was left was a wide grinning gojo satoru and some divorce papers.

suguru geto (Daddy’s best-friend)

you didn’t intend this to happen… you always knew your dad’s best-friend was hot. he’s geto, ‘cmon. he brings a new girl every weekend whispering in your dad’s ear swearing she’s the one this time.

he saw you grow up, turn into this beautiful and strong woman. so how he couldn’t love you? you were like a doll for him, so beautiful and radiant in every way. a porcelain doll he needed to protect, he couldn’t lose you to any dangerous or stupid man, he swears he would beat the shit out of the guy who breaks your heart first.

“Shhiiiitt– Heh– I can tell how tight your pussy is princess–” His cock was stretching the living shit out of you, touching places never in a thousand years you could imagine you would feel. “what d’ya think daddy would say if he saw his little girl being fucked by his best-friend huh?” your brain was a fuzzy mess, you couldn’t make coherent words to say, and just feel how good geto is making you feel. you couldn’t remember how many times he had made you cum with his toungue and he’s just starting to fuck your pussy.

“ ‘m such a lucky guy if i'm the first you’re giving this pussy to, don’t ya think so doll? marking it as mine, baby I swear you’ll need no man to ever fuck this pussy of yours again– shit I won’t need another woman for myself, you’re the one baby” those words filled your heart of a tingly feeling, making more butterflies roam around your tummy, touching yourself you could sense geto’s cock coming and leaving with every thrust, your brain full of air and in need of more of his cock.

he couldn’t resist himself anymore when he was next to you, his cock would get hard the minute he enters your house, and thankfully he has a pretty doll to release himself with.

kento nanami (Big Boss)

Nanami thinks he’s a good and mature guy– At least for his wife and kids… He has this aura of a serious and mature guy but inside every time he’s just this close to breaking it, just to say what he really thinks or feels.

the first time he saw you at work with your tiny skirts and tight blouses he didn’t mind any type of attention to it, you were another cute worker, that’s all. One of another– he can think other women are pretty too right? maybe even prettier than his wife… and nicer, and cuter, and more homely feeling to be a mom. but he wouldn't do anything he would later regret right?...

“You’re s’pretty baby, such a dirty whore for my cock mhm?” he had you pounding from behind, his desk becoming even messier than it was before, one of his hands keeping you laid down on the desk arching your back like if he’s trying to break it– a sudden ringing brought you back from your unconsciousness of nanami’s cock– he answered the call, not a single sing of him trying to stop thrusting into you.

“Yeah?” his voice was out of breath, almost sounding like a sigh when he answered the call, “Where am I? Huh– I’m at the office r-right now…?” he wasn’t even sure if he could keep this act, losing himself more in the feeling of your pussy clenching on his cock– “Oh yeah- I’m okay, uhh- the kids? yyeah, yeah, they’re with my mom right now–” the feeling of keeping up a call with his wife while fucking you made his cock twitch inside of you, feeling like a teenager kissing their crush for the first time. it was no surprise for him that his wife was cheating, but he wanted to keep it like that for the sanity of his kids. 

“Quit the act Kento– I know you’re fucking somebody else right now. See ya at home.”

toji fushiguro (Step-Daddy)

you hated when your mother started dating new guys. they just kept breaking her heart– but you just stopped telling her that it's okay to live without a partner, that she had you by her side, but well… this new man was something else i guess and you didn’t say anything for the sake of your own good mother.

you didn’t like him, but for the sake of your mother you pretended like you do– and let’s be honest, toji doesn’t like children, so when he first met you he wasn’t as social as others… your mom was just too good to simply let go– but the way you moved, talked, dressed caught his attention, and as time passes and he spends more time with your mom– he's no longer drawn to your house just to see your mother, but to see you. 

“Sshhiit- You’re making me feel s’good baby” the lack of air was making you feel giddy, but the way his cock twitched inside your mouth made your core get even wetter. “C’mon baby, ride my shoe,” you wasted no time before your hips started moving, trying to gain some friction and release that tingly feeling coming from your core. 

“D’ya think your mother would like to see her daughter being full of his step-daddy’s cum?” he gets one of his arms behind himself trying to gain some support while his other free hand caresses your cheeks while you continue sucking– this same hand moves out your head and frees his cock out of your mouth, a small strand of saliva connecting your mouth with it–

“Fuck– guess i choose the wrong out of you two”

[sonarspace]

⋆⁺₊ HOLLY, JOLLY, SINFUL

꒰ synopsis. where the krampus you feared is far from the monster in the stories, and santa isn’t the saint you thought he was.

content. santa/krampus au. sukuna x fem!reader. nsfw. rough sēx, orāl (f! receiving), hair pulling, multiple orgāsms, size kink, and possessive sukuna.

wc. 6k

an. a little spin on a christmas tale, i hope you guys like it. happy early christmas to those who celebrate <3

the north pole buzzed with a frenzy unlike any december before. the workshop, usually a well-oiled machine of holiday cheer, was on the brink of chaos. elves darted across the floor, their faces pale, their hands trembling as they struggled to stay productive amidst the rising tension.

toys had disappeared. not just a few, but sleighs worth of carefully crafted gifts, all set to be delivered to children across the world.

“gone,” whispered a senior elf, his voice trembling as he held up an empty inventory list. “every last one.”

“how could this happen?” another elf demanded, their voice sharp with fear. “no one gets past santa’s wards. no one.”

you worked silently, sorting a batch of unfinished trains, though your hands trembled as much as theirs. the tension in the room was suffocating, each whispered fear clawing at the edges of your composure.

you weren’t the most experienced elf—far from it—but even you could sense the weight of what had happened. christmas wasn’t just a season; it was magic, a promise of joy to the world. and without the toys, that magic would crumble.

“it’s him,” someone whispered behind you, their voice low and ominous. “krampus.”

the name hung in the air like a curse.

you’d heard the stories growing up, tales of a monstrous being who lived in the frozen expanse of the south pole. krampus, they said, was the shadow of christmas, a creature who thrived on misery and chaos. his four arms were said to be lined with claws, his horns sharp enough to pierce steel.

but no one believed the stories. not really.

until now.

the grand hall was quieter than you’d ever heard it.

rows of elves stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces illuminated by the warm glow of the towering christmas tree. despite the festive decorations, the atmosphere was heavy, the usual cheer replaced by unease.

santa stood at the head of the room, his crimson coat gleaming in the firelight. his sharp crimson eyes swept over the crowd, and the tension in the room seemed to deepen.

“this was no accident,” santa said, his voice cutting through the silence. “the toys have been stolen. and the wards around the north pole have been breached.”

a ripple of shock ran through the crowd.

“krampus has made his move,” santa continued. “and if we don’t act quickly, christmas will be ruined.”

the whispers began again, this time louder, more frantic.

“he’s real?” someone asked, their voice tinged with disbelief.

“of course he’s real,” another snapped. “who else could have done this?”

you stayed silent, your heart pounding as santa’s words sank in.

“we must retrieve the gifts,” santa said. “but the south pole is treacherous, and krampus is no ordinary foe. this will require courage—and skill.”

his gaze swept over the crowd again, lingering on the senior elves who avoided his eyes.

“who will go?”

the room fell silent.

your hands clenched into fists.

you could feel the weight of your fellow elves’ fear, their unwillingness to step forward. the journey would be dangerous, and the thought of facing krampus—the supposed monster of legend—was enough to send even the bravest elves into hiding.

but as the silence stretched on, something inside you stirred.

if no one else would act, then who would?

before you could second-guess yourself, you stepped forward.

“i’ll do it.”

the words rang out in the hall, louder than you’d expected.

all eyes turned to you, a mix of admiration, surprise, and doubt flickering in their gazes.

santa’s sharp gaze settled on you, his expression unreadable.

“you’re brave,” he said after a moment, his tone even. “but this will not be easy.”

“i can handle it,” you said, forcing your voice to remain steady.

before santa could respond, the air changed.

a sudden chill swept through the hall, snuffing out the candles in an instant. the elves gasped, their breath visible in the freezing air.

the temperature plummeted, and an unnatural wind began to swirl, carrying with it a deep, mocking laugh.

“so this is the great north pole,” a voice boomed, the sound reverberating through the hall like thunder. it was smooth and resonant, laced with cruel amusement.

“weak, fragile, desperate,” the voice continued. “you send a mere elf to face me? is that the best you can do, kenjaku?”

the air seemed to pulse with the weight of the voice, a presence you could feel but not see.

you glanced at santa, your confusion growing. kenjaku? who was that?

“show yourself, krampus,” santa growled, his jaw tightening.

the voice laughed again, colder this time.

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you? but no, not yet,” krampus said, his tone dripping with mockery. “come to me, kenjaku. or are you too much of a coward to face what you stole?”

the words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

santa’s expression darkened, his crimson eyes narrowing.

“i’ll come,” he said finally, his voice tight with restrained anger.

the meeting ended in a flurry of nervous energy. elves whispered among themselves, their voices rising and falling like waves as they tried to make sense of what they’d just heard.

you stayed behind, packing supplies for the journey. the staff santa had given you—infused with ancient christmas magic—felt warm in your hands, a faint glow emanating from its carved surface.

“are you sure about this?” one of the senior elves asked, their voice hesitant as they approached you.

“i don’t have a choice,” you replied, your voice firm. “someone has to do it.”

they nodded, though their expression remained troubled. “be careful,” they said before turning to leave.

you glanced at santa, who stood by the fire, his gaze distant. his usual commanding presence felt… strained, as though the weight of krampus’s words had unsettled him.

you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story—something he wasn’t telling you.

but there was no time to dwell on it. the journey to the south pole awaited, and whatever lay ahead, you would face it head-on.

the journey to the south pole was grueling.

the snow felt sharper here, more like shards of glass than soft flakes. the bitter cold seemed to seep through every layer of clothing, chilling you to your bones. this wasn’t like the north pole—the light, the cheer, the magic. this place felt… wrong.

santa led the way, his crimson coat stark against the endless expanse of gray and white. the silence between you was heavy, broken only by the crunch of snow underfoot and the howling wind.

“are we close?” you asked, gripping your staff tightly as its faint glow pulsed in your hand.

“closer than i’d like,” santa replied, his tone clipped.

you frowned. his usual steady demeanor felt off. there was none of the quiet confidence you’d grown used to—just tension, coiled and sharp.

“what is this place?” you pressed, glancing at the jagged ice formations jutting out of the ground like broken glass.

“krampus’s domain,” santa said. “his influence twists the land. the closer we get, the more dangerous it becomes.”

a shiver ran down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

the attack came without warning.

the ground trembled beneath your feet, the snow cracking and shifting as shadowy figures emerged from the storm.

“what’s that?” you asked, panic rising in your chest.

“bandits,” santa said sharply, his hand tightening around his staff.

before you could respond, they were upon you. their movements were quick and unnatural, their jagged weapons carved from ice glinting in the dim light.

“stay close,” santa ordered.

you raised your staff, its glow flaring as the first bandit lunged toward you. the magic coursed through you, sending a pulse of energy that knocked them back.

but there were too many.

you swung the staff again, the force of the blow sending another bandit sprawling into the snow. but for every one you struck down, two more seemed to take their place.

a sharp blow to your side sent you stumbling, the staff slipping from your grasp. you fell to your knees, gasping for breath as pain radiated through your ribs.

“help me!” you shouted, turning to santa.

but he wasn’t there.

your heart sank as you scanned the storm, the wind tearing at your cloak. “santa!” you called again, desperation rising in your voice.

there was no answer.

the bandits closed in, their twisted faces leering down at you.

“still breathing, are you?”

the voice was deep, smooth, and laced with a hint of amusement.

you blinked, your vision blurry as the storm raged around you. a figure crouched beside you, his sharp features coming into focus as the wind whipped through his wild, pink hair.

“who…” you croaked, your voice barely audible.

“relax,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

he leaned closer, his crimson eyes scanning your face with an intensity that made your heart stutter.

“bandits,” he muttered, glancing at the torn fabric of your cloak. “you’re lucky they didn’t finish the job.”

before you could respond, he slipped a thick cloak around your trembling form, his four arms moving with surprising gentleness.

“can you stand?” he asked.

you shook your head weakly, your body refusing to cooperate.

“figured as much,” he said with a faint smirk.

before you could protest, he lifted you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest. the warmth of his skin seeped through the layers of fabric, and you found yourself leaning into him, unable to resist.

“who are you?” you asked weakly.

“someone who doesn’t leave people to die in the snow,” he replied dryly.

the warmth of his shelter was a shock after the brutal cold outside.

he set you down on a plush couch near the fire, his movements careful as he adjusted the blanket around your shoulders.

“drink this,” he said, handing you a steaming mug.

the spiced cider was rich and warm, flooding your senses with comfort. you sipped it cautiously, watching as he crouched beside you.

“what were you doing out there?” he asked, his crimson eyes sharp and searching.

you hesitated, glancing down at the mug in your hands. “you wouldn’t believe me if i told you.”

his lips curved into a faint smirk. “try me.”

you swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts. “i came here with santa claus,” you began hesitantly, watching his reaction.

his eyes widened slightly, but not with disbelief. there was something else in his gaze—an intensity you couldn’t quite place, as if he were seeing you for the first time.

you felt the need to explain, to justify yourself. “i know it sounds ridiculous,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out. “but… santa claus is real. he exists for those who choose to believe in him.”

to your surprise, his expression softened. the smirk faded, replaced by something quieter, almost contemplative.

“and you believe,” he said, his tone calm.

“i do,” you admitted. “it’s not just about the toys or the magic. it’s about hope. about believing that even in the darkest times, there’s something good in the world.”

he nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “a rare thing, these days,” he said quietly.

his reaction surprised you. instead of mockery, there was understanding in his gaze, a warmth that made your chest tighten.

“so, you’re here with him,” he said after a moment.

“yes,” you replied. “santa sent me to find krampus and retrieve the stolen gifts.”

his eyes darkened slightly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than felt natural. it wasn’t skepticism or anger—it was something deeper, more intense.

how could kenjaku have someone like you by his side? your quiet strength, your rare beauty, your unwavering belief in something so pure. the thought ignited something sharp and bitter in his chest.

you shifted under his gaze, mistaking his silence for doubt. “i know it sounds ridiculous,” you said quickly, your voice trembling slightly. “but i promise, it’s real. everything—santa, the north pole, the magic—it’s all real.”

“i don’t think it’s ridiculous,” he said, interrupting you gently.

you blinked, caught off guard. “you don’t?”

his lips curved into a faint, almost wistful smile. “not at all,” he said, his voice low. “some things are worth believing in, even if the rest of the world doesn’t understand.”

his words lingered in the air between you, and for a moment, the storm outside seemed to fade into the background.

“you’re not what i expected,” he said finally, his voice softer now.

neither was he.

the storm outside had grown fiercer, the wind howling against the walls of the shelter as if the very land were angry. inside, the fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the room.

you watched your rescuer as he paced near the hearth, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the firelight. the tension in his movements was palpable, his four arms crossing and uncrossing as if he were fighting an internal battle.

“so,” he said, breaking the silence. “you came here with kenjaku.”

you frowned. “who?”

his gaze snapped to yours, sharp and incredulous. “kenjaku,” he repeated, his tone laced with disdain. “the man you call santa claus.”

your stomach twisted at his words, the weight of the name unfamiliar and wrong. “that’s not his name,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“it is,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “you’ve been lied to.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but the intensity in his gaze silenced you. there was no mockery, no smugness—only a simmering anger that made your breath catch.

“you don’t know, do you?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, softer. “what he’s done.”

“what are you talking about?” you said, your chest tightening as the weight of his words pressed down on you.

he sighed, running a hand through his pink hair, his tattoos glowing faintly as his anger simmered just beneath the surface.

“centuries ago,” he began, his voice steady but edged with bitterness, “i was chosen to bear the mantle of santa claus. the magic of christmas—the ancient power that keeps this world in balance—was mine by right. but kenjaku didn’t think i was fit for the role. he wanted it for himself.”

you stared at him, your mind reeling as his words sank in.

“he used forbidden magic,” sukuna continued, his voice darkening, “to seal me here, in the south pole. he took everything from me—my title, my power, my purpose—and left me to rot in this frozen wasteland.”

the crackle of the fire was the only sound as his words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.

“and now he sends you,” he said, his gaze narrowing. “to clean up his mess.”

“that’s not true,” you said, though your voice wavered. “he wouldn’t…”

“wouldn’t he?” sukuna interrupted, stepping closer. “then tell me, where is he now? why did he leave you to die?”

the question hit like a blow, the memory of the bandits and kenjaku’s disappearance flashing in your mind.

“maybe he had no choice,” you said weakly, though even you didn’t believe the words.

sukuna snorted, his expression twisting into a bitter smile. “you’re too kind for your own good.”

you looked away, the weight of his gaze too much to bear.

“you still don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “he’s been using you. just like he uses everyone else.”

the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the silence.

sukuna stiffened, his tattoos glowing brighter as he turned toward the door. his crimson eyes burned with anger, his four arms flexing as he prepared for what was coming.

“stay here,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

before you could respond, the door burst open, a gust of icy wind swirling into the room.

and there, standing in the doorway, was kenjaku—santa claus.

“so this is where you’ve been hiding,” kenjaku said, his voice smooth, almost amused.

sukuna’s growl rumbled through the room like distant thunder. “you’ve got some nerve showing your face here.”

kenjaku stepped inside, his crimson coat gleaming in the firelight. his gaze swept over the room, lingering on you for a moment before returning to sukuna.

“you always were dramatic,” kenjaku said, his tone sharp.

“and you always were a liar,” sukuna shot back, his voice venomous.

you stood frozen, your heart pounding as the tension between them crackled like static electricity.

“why did you leave me?” you demanded, your voice cutting through the standoff.

kenjaku’s gaze softened, though there was something calculating in his expression. “i had no choice,” he said smoothly. “the bandits were too many. if i’d stayed, we both would have died.”

“that’s bullshit,” sukuna spat, stepping forward. “you left her because she wasn’t worth the effort to you.”

“don’t listen to him,” kenjaku said, his voice soothing as he turned to you. “he’s krampus. he’s the reason we’re in this mess.”

“and you’re the reason she almost died,” sukuna growled, his voice low and dangerous.

kenjaku ignored him, his focus entirely on you. “he’s manipulating you,” he said, his tone firm but calm. “he wants you to trust him so he can use you against me.”

you hesitated, your gaze flickering between them.

“don’t listen to him,” sukuna said, his eyes burning as he looked at you. “you know the truth.”

you took a deep breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

“you left me to die,” you said to kenjaku, your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. “he didn’t.”

kenjaku’s expression faltered, the first crack in his calm facade.

“you don’t understand,” he began, but you didn’t let him finish.

raising your staff, you stepped closer to sukuna, the magic within it surging as you made your choice.

“she’s not yours to manipulate,” sukuna snarled, stepping in front of you as kenjaku’s face twisted in rage.

the fight was chaos.

magic crackled through the air, the room trembling as sukuna and kenjaku clashed. sukuna moved with raw power, his four arms striking with precision as his tattoos glowed with unrestrained energy. kenjaku countered with sharp, calculated attacks, his crimson coat billowing around him as he fought with a ruthless efficiency.

you held your ground, the staff in your hands glowing as you channeled your own magic. when kenjaku’s attacks threatened to overwhelm sukuna, you stepped in, the power of the north pole surging through you as you deflected the blows.

“stay out of this!” kenjaku snapped, his voice rising in frustration.

“no,” you said firmly, your gaze steady. “i’m done following your orders.”

sukuna smirked, his gaze flickering to you briefly before returning to kenjaku. “looks like you’ve lost your grip,” he taunted.

kenjaku roared, his attacks growing wilder, more desperate. but together, you and sukuna were unstoppable—a force that even the self-proclaimed santa couldn’t overcome.

the clash reached its peak with a deafening explosion of magic. sparks of crimson and gold danced through the air as sukuna’s raw power collided with kenjaku’s calculated strikes. the very walls of the shelter trembled under the weight of their battle, cracks snaking along the icy structure.

you gripped the staff tightly, its glow steady in your hands as you prepared to deflect another attack aimed at sukuna.

“is that all you’ve got?” sukuna snarled, his four arms moving with devastating precision as he sent a powerful strike toward kenjaku.

kenjaku staggered, his crimson coat scorched and torn, his sharp features twisted in frustration. his usual smug confidence had begun to falter, his attacks growing more desperate.

“this isn’t over,” kenjaku hissed, his voice laced with venom as he stepped back, his hands crackling with dark magic.

“oh, it is,” sukuna growled, his tattoos glowing brighter as he advanced. “you’re done hiding behind lies, kenjaku.”

you stepped forward, raising your staff. the magic within it surged, intertwining with sukuna’s energy as you sent a pulse of light toward kenjaku.

he barely had time to deflect it before sukuna was upon him, his fists slamming into kenjaku’s barrier with enough force to shatter it. the power of the strike sent kenjaku flying backward, crashing into the icy wall with a thunderous crack.

kenjaku struggled to rise, his movements slow and unsteady. his crimson eyes burned with rage as he glared at you and sukuna.

“you think this changes anything?” he spat, his voice trembling with anger. “you think you can take my place?”

“it was never your place to begin with,” sukuna said coldly, stepping forward.

you watched as sukuna loomed over kenjaku, his presence dominating the room. for a moment, you thought he might strike the final blow, but instead, he stepped back, his crimson eyes narrowing.

“you’re not worth it,” sukuna said, his voice low and sharp. “but you’re finished. you’ll never hold the mantle again.”

with a flick of his hand, sukuna unleashed a burst of energy that sent kenjaku hurtling out of the shelter and into the storm. the force of it was so immense that the very air seemed to ripple, the storm outside swallowing kenjaku whole.

silence followed, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

you lowered the staff, your hands trembling as the adrenaline began to fade.

“is it over?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

sukuna turned to you, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it. “it’s over,” he said, his voice steady.

the tension in your chest eased, and you sank onto the couch, exhaustion washing over you.

sukuna moved to the hearth, his four arms lowering as the glow of his tattoos dimmed. he leaned against the wall, his crimson eyes watching you closely.

“you fought well,” he said after a moment, his tone quiet.

“so did you,” you replied, offering him a small, tired smile.

his lips twitched into a faint smirk, though there was a warmth in his gaze that made your cheeks flush.

the journey back to the north pole was a blur of ice and wind, but this time, you weren’t alone.

sukuna walked beside you, his presence steady and protective. he carried the stolen gifts in a large sack slung over his shoulder, his four arms making the burden look effortless.

when you finally crossed the threshold of the north pole, the light and magic of the workshop washed over you like a wave. elves gathered in the grand hall, their faces alight with relief and joy as they saw the gifts restored.

but their excitement faltered when they saw sukuna. whispers rippled through the crowd, their eyes wide with fear and uncertainty.

“it’s okay,” you said, stepping forward. “he’s not our enemy.”

santa’s empty throne loomed at the head of the room, and sukuna’s gaze lingered on it, his expression unreadable.

“it’s yours now,” you said softly, your voice carrying only to him.

he glanced at you, his crimson eyes narrowing. “you think they’ll accept me?”

“they will,” you said, your voice firm. “because they’ll see what i see.”

his lips curved into a faint smile, and he stepped forward, his presence commanding as he approached the throne.

when he sat, the air seemed to shift, the ancient magic of christmas surging through the hall. the elves stared in awe as the throne’s glow brightened, its magic recognizing sukuna as the rightful santa.

the days that followed were a whirlwind of activity as christmas was saved and the gifts delivered. but when it was all over, and the workshop quieted for the long rest of the year, sukuna sought you out.

he found you in the quiet of your room, the glow of the north pole’s lights filtering through the window.

“come with me,” he said, his voice low and inviting.

you followed him without hesitation, his presence drawing you in like a magnet. he led you to his chambers—his now, as the new santa. the room was warm and inviting, the fire crackling softly in the hearth.

“you saved me,” he said, turning to face you. his crimson eyes softened, his tattoos glowing faintly in the dim light. “you trusted me when no one else would.”

“you deserved it,” you said quietly.

he stepped closer, his four arms wrapping around you as his lips curved into a smirk. “and now, i intend to thank you properly.”

the air between you seemed to hum with energy, his gaze locking onto yours as the distance between you disappeared.

his chambers were steeped in a heavy, intoxicating warmth, the flickering firelight reflecting off the deep crimson furnishings and casting shadows that seemed to breathe with the rhythm of the room. the air itself felt alive, humming with a raw energy that matched the man standing before you.

sukuna leaned casually against the ornate four-poster bed, his broad shoulders and muscular arms giving the impression of effortless power. his crimson eyes burned with an intensity that pinned you in place, their sharpness softened only slightly by the faint curl of his lips.

“you don’t need to stand there like a nervous little rabbit,” he said, his voice low and teasing, a delicious rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “come here.”

the way he said it—smooth and commanding, with a promise of something that made your stomach flutter—left you no choice but to obey.

you stepped closer, your heart pounding with each step, until you were standing in front of him.

“you saved christmas,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours as his four arms moved to surround you. the first hand slid to your waist, his grip firm but not overbearing, while another rested gently on the small of your back, pulling you closer. “and more than that… you saved me.”

“i didn’t do it alone,” you replied, your voice a whisper under the weight of his attention.

he tilted his head, strands of soft pink hair falling into his face as his smirk widened. his thumb traced lazily over your cheek, the pad of it brushing just beneath your lips, lingering like he was daring you to take a bite. “always so modest,” he murmured, voice like velvet dragged over steel. “but tonight isn’t about me. it’s about you.”

his words settled low in your stomach, molten and heavy, and before you could think to reply, his lips were on yours.

the kiss wasn’t gentle. sukuna didn’t ask—he took. his mouth moved over yours with a slow, deliberate hunger that left no room for hesitation. his tongue brushed against your bottom lip before sliding inside, tasting you, claiming you with a heat that left you lightheaded.

his hands—strong, calloused, and just the right amount of rough—moved without direction, as if instinct alone drove them. one slid up the bare skin of your back, tugging you against him until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you. another drifted lower, fingers curving to squeeze your thigh, pulling it higher against his hip.

the third tangled into your hair, twisting at the roots with just enough pressure to make you whimper against his mouth. the way he touched you—too many hands, too much strength—left you dizzy and burning.

“fuck,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to catch your lower lip between his teeth, giving it a playful tug before releasing you. his voice was husky, breath ragged, but his smirk never faded. “already trembling?”

“maybe you should do something about it,” you shot back, though your voice barely rose above a whisper.

his gaze flicked over you, crimson eyes glinting with something darker.

“oh, i intend to.”

before you could react, sukuna swept you up—two hands beneath your thighs, one cradling your back, the last trailing teasingly down your spine. he carried you toward the bed like you weighed nothing, the heat of his body seeping through every layer between you.

when he dropped you onto the plush sheets, he hovered at the edge of the bed, gaze raking over you with the kind of attention that left your skin flushed.

“strip.”

the single word hung heavy in the air, rasping low and deep, more command than request.

your fingers trembled as you pulled at the fabric, peeling away each layer under his watchful eyes.

by the time the last piece fell to the floor, sukuna knelt between your legs, hands spreading your thighs apart with an ease that made your breath catch.

“look at you,” he murmured, his pink hair falling over his forehead as his gaze darkened. thick fingers traced a slow path along the soft skin of your inner thigh, rough fingertips catching on each sensitive dip. “all spread out for me.”

his breath was hot as he lowered his head, lips brushing feather-light kisses over the inside of your legs, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

when he finally reached your center, he paused—close enough for you to feel the soft puff of his exhale, but not enough to satisfy the ache blooming between your thighs.

“mine,” he growled, voice vibrating against your skin.

and then his mouth was on you.

his tongue traced a slow, deliberate line from your entrance to your clit, flicking over the sensitive nub with a precision that left your head spinning.

you gasped, fingers flying to his hair, tugging hard at the strands of pink that curled between your knuckles.

he groaned into you, the vibration of his voice sending another jolt straight through your core.

“so fucking sweet,” he muttered against you, the words muffled by the slick heat of his mouth.

his tongue lapped at you in slow, torturous circles, switching between soft flicks and hard strokes that left your thighs trembling.

when his finger pressed into you—thick and unrelenting—you couldn’t stop the moan that slipped out.

his crimson eyes flicked up, locking onto yours. “louder,” he commanded, curling his finger inside you until he found that spot that made your hips jerk.

“sukuna,” you gasped, nails digging into his scalp.

his smirk widened against you, but he didn’t relent. another finger joined the first, stretching you just enough to make your toes curl.

“that’s it,” he purred, dragging his tongue over your clit with every pulse of his fingers. “say my name again.”

your breath hitched as heat coiled low in your belly, winding tighter with each stroke.

“sukuna,” you whimpered, body arching into his touch as the pressure inside you built to the edge.

“good girl.”

his tongue moved faster, fingers thrusting deeper until the coil snapped, pleasure flooding your senses so sharply that you swore you saw white.

you writhed beneath him, body trembling with each wave of release, but sukuna didn’t stop. his mouth and hands dragged you through the aftershocks, prolonging the heat until your legs shook violently around his head.

when he finally pulled away, his lips and chin glistened, and the sight of him licking your slick from his fingers sent another rush of heat flooding your core.

“fuck, you’re perfect,” he rasped, his voice rough and low as he hovered over you, his cock pressing against your entrance.

you could feel him—hot, thick, and far too big.

“you’re gonna take every inch,” he growled, tilting your hips higher as he teased your entrance with the tip.

his cock dragged through your slick folds, each shallow thrust making you ache with want.

“look at me.”

your eyes snapped to his, and the sight of him left you breathless. his crimson gaze burned with possession, pink strands of hair falling into his face as he slowly sank inside, stretching you inch by inch.

your nails dug into his shoulders as your head fell back against the pillow.

“sukuna,” you gasped, breath breaking as he filled you completely.

his name spilled from your lips in a breathy moan as he bottomed out, the thick press of his cock stretching you to your limit. sukuna stilled, letting you adjust, his four hands roaming your body in slow, reverent strokes—calloused palms smoothing over your hips, thighs, and breasts as if to memorize every inch.

“fuck,” he rasped, one of his thumbs dragging lazily over your swollen clit. “you’re takin’ me so well. look how deep i am.”

your eyes fluttered open just in time to catch the glint in his gaze, his crimson irises smoldering as he pressed down on the slight bulge in your abdomen.

“you feel that?” he smirked, applying just enough pressure to make you keen. “so full of me already.”

your head fell back, a soft whimper tumbling from your throat as he rolled his hips, the slow drag of him pulling out leaving you trembling.

“stay with me, baby,” he growled, catching your chin between his fingers and tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “i wanna see that pretty face while i fuck you.”

he snapped his hips forward again, the sudden force driving a gasp from your lips. sukuna’s smirk widened as he found his rhythm, each thrust harder, deeper—grinding against that sensitive spot inside that left your thighs trembling around his waist.

“goddamn,” he hissed, leaning down to bite at the curve of your shoulder, his teeth dragging against your flushed skin. “tight little thing. you were made for me.”

your nails raked down his back, desperate for something to hold onto as he drove you closer to the edge with every snap of his hips.

“sukuna—please,” you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for.

“please what?” he teased, dipping his head to suck a bruise just above your collarbone, his tongue flicking over the mark. “you gotta use your words, sweetheart.”

“i—” your voice broke as he angled his thrusts, the head of his cock brushing against that spot so perfectly you thought you might unravel on the spot.

sukuna grinned, reading the desperation in your eyes as if it fueled him. “ah, there it is,” he murmured, lips brushing against your jaw. “that sweet little spot that makes you fall apart.”

his pace quickened, hips pistoning into you with a brutal precision that sent molten pleasure ripping through your veins.

“you close, baby?” he growled, his voice gravelly as his four hands anchored you to the bed—one pressing down against your lower stomach, two gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, and the last tangling in your hair, tugging gently as he sucked at the curve of your throat.

you could only nod, your breath catching as the tension in your core coiled tighter, dangerously close to snapping.

“then cum for me,” he ordered, dragging his thumb over your clit in tight, merciless circles. “let me feel you.”

his words were all it took—your body arched off the bed, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you, white-hot and all-consuming.

sukuna groaned low in his chest, his thrusts growing rougher, sloppier as your walls pulsed around him, milking him for all he was worth.

“fuck, baby,” he snarled, burying himself to the hilt one last time as he came, the heat of his release flooding you, leaving you trembling beneath him.

for a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound between you the ragged cadence of your breathing and the faint crackle of the fire.

for a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound between you the ragged cadence of your breathing and the faint crackle of the fire.

sukuna leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips—a stark contrast to the bruising way he’d just taken you. his hands, once gripping you with unrelenting force, now traced gentle patterns along your waist, grounding you in the quiet intimacy that followed.

“an elf always belongs with santa,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough yet tender, as if the words carried a weight neither of you fully understood until now.

your heart skipped at the quiet conviction in his tone, warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with the fire crackling in the hearth.

you brushed a hand through his pink hair, letting the strands curl around your fingers as you smiled softly. “guess that makes me yours then.”

[vole-mon-amour]

I reached 30 tags so screw it:

if they made it like Silco and Vander had a fallout way before the Mom's death, it could've kinda worked 'cause Vi could've recognized Vander but not Silco, so Jinx still jumps into a stranger's embrace and Silco ends up raising her.

but then again, Vander tried to murder Silco WAY before that scene in the bar in s2. Vander looks way older, even though Silco looks completely different to what we see in flashback in s1.

it's like they didn't put any effort at ALL. it doesn't match. it doesn't make sense. was s1 good on a accident? should have they tried to at least get rid of inconsistencies? or don't go with the theory in s2? because so far it truly looks like "this is the story we wanted to tell" vs "this is the story we actually told" and now it's two completely different stories.

ugh.

I think ignoring s2 and treating s1 as a standalone might be the best choice here, cause s2 is definitely not going to work with the story they told in s1. what a shame.

The Vander/Silco Shitshow - generic, juvenile, and gimmicky slop

So, I think that Vander/Silco flashback was terrible. Tropey, careless, juvenile, clichéd bullshit that stripped away everything that made their season 1 story nuanced and poignant, while simultaneously ripping open a fat plot hole because the team got careless and did not catch the discrepancy between the story they'd written in their heads and the visuals that ended up on screen in season 1. This is just going to be a long rant post detailing the reasons I absolutely despised this flashback. Obligatory disclaimer that this is just my (strongly held) opinion.

1) The timeline plot hole

No, I'm not misusing the term. So a plot hole is an inconsistency in a fictional narrative that cannot be explained away by any plausible in-universe justifications. There are many moments of weak writing in Arcane that may be contrived, rushed, weird, convenient, etc. but aren't plot holes.

This Vander/Silco situation however. Oh boy. If you all remember, Season 1 opened with the bridge massacre, also known as the Day of Ash. Vander is shown cracking enforcers' skulls. He looks like this.

The sisters, seemingly recognizing him, ask him where their parents are. He gestures to their corpses, the sisters cry, Vander has his "violence is not the answer" epiphany, drops the gauntlets very dramatically to underscore this massive turning point of character development for him, then picks the girls up and leaves the bridge.

In episode 3, we are shown a flashback. Vander is trying to kill Silco in the river. He looks like this.

Let's compare this to how he looked like on the Day of Ash.

Yeah. According to the visuals shown in Season 1, the falling out of Vander and Silco seems to have occured in the past before the Day of Ash, evidenced by how much younger Vander looks. Unless Silco is a time traveller who jumped forward to the future to throw a molotov at the riot because he just loves violent extremism that much, or Vander took the time to shave his beard and apply heavy duty anti-aging lotion on his face before hunting Silco down, there are no plausible in-universe explanations for this inconsistency. Not to mention, if Silco and Vander were really as close as brothers and the sisters knew Vander, then it's impossible they wouldn't have known who Silco was.

Yet, in Season 1, that's exactly what we see - not a single sliver of recognition between Silco and the girls, nothing to imply they knew of his existence before episode 3. Not a single conversation between Jinx and Silco implied that he knew, let alone was close to, her mother. Nothing from Vi throughout the entire first season indicated that she knew of his past friendships with her mother and Vander. They acted like total strangers to each other.

Many fans already caught this inconsistency during the three-year gap after writers' comments online implied Silco was involved in the Day of Ash. We had hoped the writers would catch on to this discrepancy too and either iron out the timeline if they want to do serious flashbacks, or just avoid calling attention to it completely by not doing flashbacks of their falling out. Alas.

2) Leonardo Dicaprio pointing meme

Death to the everybody-knows-everyone trope and lines that only exist to invoke the "Leonardo Dicaprio pointing" meme. Throw them into a fucking fire. Boring, mind-numbing, clichéd, overdone garbage. Not every character needs to have some kind of half-baked relation with each other. Not every major incident needs to be tied back to the main characters. Not every single detail needs to be overexplained and justified and again, somehow tied to a main character. They are unnecessary, and make the world feel so much more claustrophobic and smaller than it should be.

"The enforcers actually commited the Day of Ash massacre because SILCO threw a molotov. Vander actually tried to kill Silco because of VI AND JINX'S mother. She knew both Silco and Vander personally and TOLD THEM to help her raise her kids. VANDER named Vi."

Bullshit like this really fucks with immersion, because it becomes clear very quickly that the world is only occupied by a small handful of real characters while the thousands of other people in it are nothing more than inconsequential set dressing and wallpaper. The story and world no longer feel real, vast, and immersive. And these forced "connections" between main characters are so obviously manufactured to generate "OUGHHH" and Dicaprio pointing reactions. Idk about anyone else, but it takes me completely out of the story when I can obviously tell the writing is trying too hard to blow my mind.

The girls' mom waltzing up to Vander and Silco and just. Fucking telling them to help her with her kids lmfaoooooooo. (OUGHH and they both really ended up raising her kids WOAGH😱🤯). Jinx's mom saying choosing a name is stressful because her child will feel stuck with it (GASP and Powder ended up changing her name WOOOOWW😱). Vander coming up with Vi's fucking name. (OUGHHHH HE REALLY WAS MEANT TO BE FATHER ALL ALONG WOADGHHGHDHDH🤯🤯🤯).

Fucking kill me. Arcane Season 1 was surprisingly good precisely because they DIDN'T, for the most part, resort to tropey bullshit like this. It had, for the most part, originality. Uniqueness. In fact all the strongest aspects of Season 1, aspects I loved, were deliberate subversions of overdone clichés. For Season 2 to resort to this kind of writing reminiscent of Disney slop is insanely disappointing.

I'm waiting for a character to unironically say, "What are we, some kind of League of Legends?" in Act 3 now.

3) "Ohhhhh so THAT'S why he did that!!!!!!!!!"

Also death to overexplanations and giving justifications for things that never needed justifications. You know what I was never confused by while watching Season 1 of Arcane? Why Vander adopted the girls. Why Silco adopted Jinx. Why both came to care for their girls so much, they were willing to sacrifice so much for them. I thought the reasons for those things were very clear and poignant in the first season. I never needed an extra on-the-nose justification for the adoptions in the form of, "they wuved yo mama". It's not only redundant, it's also one of the most tired ass tropes in fiction. To me, Vander taking in the girls and Silco taking in Jinx are so much more powerful if they really were just random guys with no real connection to the girls' parents.

But I've already seen some positive reactions to this flashback with "Ohhhhh so THAT's why Silco/Vander cared for the girls so much, now I understand😯🤯😓" mf what exactly did you not understand before??

4) Character motivations

The motivations of both Vander and Silco are made downright bizarre by this flashback. So Silco was hellbent on murdering Vi last season, despite being close friends with her mom whose death he may feel guilty for? Literally despised her and wanted to kill her the entire time with no hesitation lol. So Vander had that aforementioned dramatic moment of character development, dropped the gauntlets, realized violence wasn't the answer, and carried the kids to safety... then doubled back to violently hunt down and murder Silco? But not before shaving his beard and applying youthful lotion of course. Can't kill your bro while looking crusty. Then he failed to kill Silco so he just... went back to the kids and pretended like nothing happened? Lol.

Silco being close to, let alone loving, the girls' parents makes no fucking sense for his character. Vander knowing them at least makes sense, but casual friends would have sufficed. "I was lowkey crushing (?????) on your mom and also named you" just cheapened the entire Vander/Vi and Silco/Jinx surrogate father dynamic. Vander's motivation for killing Silco being yet another fridged woman is also weak as fuck. First Viktor with Sky, and now Vander/Silco. They really should have left this one up to our imaginations if this was the boring tripe they came up with.

[sleepyangelkami]

more vi plss!! (and reader is a pillow princess)

SAY IT .vi

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 1.5K

VI (ARCANE) X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - vi calls you exactly what you are, a pillow princess and in efforts to prove her wrong, you only end up proving her right. but that's fine, because that was all she wanted.

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, dom!vi, sub!reader, pillow princess!reader, fingering (r.receiving), praise kink, dumbification, dirty talk, alternate universe, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

it started off as a joke.

a simple joke that left your girlfriends lips. you'd been laying on your stomach across the sitting room sofa, words mindlessly falling from both your lips as you flipped through a magazine. she sat man-spreading across the arm chair, controller in hand. you always said she loved her video games more than you, but she'd always deny.

then you heard it, the joke spewing from her lips with a smirk on her face. "yeah, okay, pillow princess."

instantly, your head snapped up from your magazine. your glittery pen that you'd been circling clothing with dropped from your pretty fingers. "i'm not a pillow princess."

vi seemed to sense your distress. she set the controller down as the game conveniently ended. "well, i'm not saying there's anything wrong with it." she leaned back against the armchair, resting her hands behind her head. "i love that you're a pillow princess, believe me."

you wouldn't believe how many times she'd gotten off just by thinking about it. you were so good for her, so responsive. she hardly had to touch you and you were falling apart. sure, she loved watching your head between her thighs as you whimpered into her but there was nothing more she loved than watching you, hearing you. all of it.

you seemed butt hurt by the joke.

but vi swiftly changed the conversation, noticing the furrow of your brow.

vi knew how sensitive you were, how easily you took everything to heart and she didn't want you over thinking this. and her tactics proved right, by five minutes later you were showing her a pretty top you'd spotted on the coloured pages.

you didn't think much of it at first. in fact, for the next while, you didn't think of it at all.

perhaps you had too much in your head to contain so much information, you told vi that was why you talked so much.

it wasn't until vi had you pinned down against the bed, making out with you, that the moment popped into your head again.

you almost shut it out on accident, then it clicked. vi was kissing you deeply, her hands dragged at your hips, pulling and kneading the skin while you passed heavy breaths through your lips, kissing her back just as hard.

and suddenly, you had this urge to prove her wrong.

vi felt you shift, letting you take the lead.

she felt you turn you both over, you landed in her lap and suddenly, she was the one against the bed. her brows shifted in amusement. "what's this, baby?"

you shifted your hair to one side of your head so it didn't get in the way, you weren't really used to things like this. "jus' trying to prove something." you mumbled before reaching down and kissing her lips.

don't get me wrong, vi loved the feeling of you kissing her, whatever way you sat, laid or stood, on top or not. but she couldn't seem to shake the amusement as your mouth left hers, leaving a trail of kisses against her neck. "this have something to do with that joke i made before?"

your lips stopped momentarily at her neck, eyes gazing up. "'m not a pillow princess."

vi didn't understand why you were so adamant about it.

there was no shame in it. on the contrary, she adored it.

"yeah?" her brow cocked and she was looking at you this way that had you nodding, suddenly unable to speak. "y'sure, sweetheart? cause if i remember correctly..." suddenly, you were being flipped over again, beneath her all over again. "you quite like sitting there all pretty 'n taking it."

you could feel her hands trail down past your waist, kneading your thighs in her hands. "v-vi, 'm trying to―" you were cut off by the breath being caught in your throat.

vi's hand had trailed up your skirt, her fingers dancing over your panties. "you're trying to what, sweet girl?" you felt her fingers rub against your clothed clit. "c'mon, use your words f'me."

"vi!" you whined, feeling her fingers against you. she wasn't being fair, you were supposed to take charge but how could you think about anything when she was touching you like that?

a soft laugh left the girls lips as she pushed your panties aside, fingers gentle against your swollen bud. "love it when you whine like that."

you could only look up at her with your tinted hot cheeks.

she began to press gentle kisses against the nape of your neck, fingers trailing down to your hole, she rounded her fingers against you, collecting the trail of your slick across her digits. she made a fake gasp noise. "'n look how wet you are already." she couldn't help but smirk. "good girl."

two single words that set you off every time.

a gasp left your lips as she slipped her two fingers inside you at once. you suddenly moaned with pleasure.

vi was like a drug. every time she touched you, you found yourself addicted, begging and chasing for her to praise you. you'd do anything to please her but luckily for you, that meant just sitting there and taking it. you truly did wish you could be less 'responsive' but vi wouldn't take it any other way. her favourite thing to do was turn you dumb with her mere fingers, maybe even her strap.

your eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, feeling her fingers pound against your sopping cunt. "please, vi." you moaned out. "please don't stop."

"yeah? wanna be my good girl again, huh?" nudging your face with her nose, littering kisses on your cheek.

you could only whimper out with a nod. vi had this way of making you feel like you were high on magic. you couldn't help but want her in every way.

"then say it, angel." fingers pumping in and out, embarrassing squelching sounds bounced off each wall of the bedroom. "say you're my pillow princess."

she was met with a mere whine of dissatisfaction from you.

she feigned sympathy with a coo. "awh, i know, baby. my poor girl, jus' so mean, aren't I?" but the girl didn't care much for your whining and whimpering, she'd get you to say it before you came. "but you gotta say it, yeah? don't want me to stop do you?"

you pursed your lips closed. "mm-mm. please don't stop." you practically panted out, you could almost feel frustration build in your water line. "nnghh― please, vi!"

"four words." is all she whispered back, her palm grazed against your clit every time her fingers pounded into your entrance. "know you can say it, pretty girl. jus' need me to make you all dumb, don't you, baby?"

a whimper of her name was the only thing that left your lips, eyes screwing shut.

"close, sweetheart? 's now or never, baby. say it or i'll stop."

the feeling was knotting in your stomach, ready to unravel. you didn't want to but you knew better than to cum without following orders.

so you forced the damned sentence to pass your lips. "'m your pillow princess."

and a coo only fell from the magenta haired girl. "awh, know you are, sweet girl. see? my good girl always listens, doesn't she? huh?" vi tended to ask you questions while knuckles deep in your pussy, she knew you couldn't utter a single word. "you jus' need me to make your poor pussy feel all good, don't you?"

a breathless, "uh-huh." was her answer. "'m close!"

"yeah? gonna be good f'me 'n say please?" of course, vi had to make you beg for it.

"please!" you practically squeaked out as your back arched against the bed.

a chuckle left her lips. "you can do better than that."

and you really, definitely could. but vi had made you all dumb, exactly her plan. "please let me cum, vi. please, need it so bad. please." you repeated the word please in little whispers, unable to hold back the knot in your stomach.

"you're such a good girl, 'course you can cum, baby." she felt your spongy walls suddenly tighten around her fingers. "that's it, sweetheart, cum all over vi's fingers, 's a good girl."

vi pumped her fingers in and out of you, letting you ride out your high like she always did until you were squirming away from her.

she leaned against the bed with a self-loving smirk on her face, hardly glancing your way. you laid next to her, chest falling and rising as you panted out breaths. a beat of silence passed until you spoke up. "vi?" turning your head to her.

"yes, my pillow princess?" she teased.

instantly, a frown fell on your face as you crossed your arms over your chest. she wasn't being fair. "i was gonna say something, now i'm not speaking to you."

"oh, come on." she lifted your face by her thumb to make you look at her again. "no pouting or else i'll have to shut you up all over again."

an idea suddenly fell flat on your head.

your pout deepened.

vi only climbed over you with the smuggest of smirks on her face. "you dirty little slut."

main masterlist/vi's masterlist