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huggingkoalas · 1 year ago

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𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | natasha romanoff

pairing — ‧₊˚ avenger!natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary — ‧₊˚ natasha comes home to find an intruder in her house. the encounter takes an unexpected turn as authority gives way to desire.

word count — ‧₊˚ 2.5k

warning(s) — ‧₊˚ smut, roleplay, spanking, use of strap-ons, cockwarming, gunplay(?), ‘mommy’ kink, subspace/headspace, cursing, degradation, praising, teasing, pet names, established relationship, bottom!reader, top!natasha

authors note — ‧₊˚ phew i might've gone too crazy for my first natasha romanoff fic, oops? hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i did writing it <3

As Natasha reached into her pocket, her fingers found the familiar shape of her keys. She unlocked the door to her house with the key, the weariness in her muscles evident as she used more force than usual. She yearned for nothing more than to take a soothing bath and a well-deserved night of sleep after a long day of doing post-mission briefings and reports at the Avengers compound.

As she stepped through the wooden frame and gently closed the door behind her, she effortlessly kicked off her boots and let them fall to the side. She slipped her black leather jacket off her shoulders and laid it temporarily over the back of the sofa. She yawned and massaged her right shoulder with her left arm, groaning as she pressed on the sensitive spot.

It had been another exhausting day. Despite her love for her job as an Avenger, she had to admit that the long missions and overwhelming workload had begun to take its toll on her. The only positive aspect of her job was the joy she brought to children’s faces every time they saw her and called her ‘my favourite hero’. Furthermore, Natasha earned more than enough money to buy a house away from the compound. As much as she liked her team, she favoured the peace of being alone after a long day.

Lost in her thoughts about work, she suddenly felt the cold night breeze whisper against her skin. A moment of confusion etched on her face. Her eyebrows furrowed as she realized the patio doors leading to her backyard were ajar, casting a shadow on the hardwood floors.

Had I forgotten to close it?

I swear I closed it before I left the house.

Natasha walked towards the patio door, closed it and turned the lock firmly. She was not the type to forget things easily. She couldn’t get rid of the persistent feeling that something wasn’t right.

Just as she was about to turn away from the patio door, she noticed a trail of muddy footprints leading into the house from the backyard. Her heart dropped as she realized someone had broken into her home while she was gone. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of the intruder in the home with her at the very moment. With careful and silent steps, she traced the trail of prints with her eyes, leading her down the hallway.

Natasha slowly reached behind her back and pulled out her pistol from its concealed position in her waistband. Her mind raced, and adrenaline surged through her veins. Wrapping both her hands around the grip, her index finger rested on the trigger guard, pointing the gun at a slightly downward angle.

She mentally prepared herself for any potential confrontation. She took a deep breath, her senses heightened, and cautiously continued to follow the muddy footprints. The trail led her to her master bedroom, the door firmly closed.

With her back pressed against the adjacent wall, Natasha listened intently for any movement beyond the door. She closed her eyes, straining her ears for any sound. A faint and muffled shuffling sound barely reached her ears. Just as she was open about to the door, she took a long breath, steeling herself for what lay beyond her.

“Freeze!” She called out, pushing the door open with a swift turn of the doorknob. Her voice was authoritative and firm as she stared at the intruder, her hands maintaining a firm grip on the pistol.

Realization flashed across her face momentarily as she recognized the intruder’s face, though she masked it well. Caught off guard, you looked up with widened eyes as you saw Natasha pointing a gun at you. You raised your hands in mock surrender, standing tall with your head held high.

“It’s not what it looks like.” You tried to explain, steadying your nerves.

“Put your hands behind your back, now.” Natasha commanded, her tone unwavering as she ignored your attempts at explaining yourself.

You slowly lowered your hands and placed them behind your back. You didn’t seem daunted by the situation in the least. Natasha maintained a stern expression, lowering her pistol and holstering it back in her waistband.

She stepped forward, her expression hinting at a momentary diversion of her thoughts. The dim light from the window accentuated your features, and she found herself momentarily captivated by your beauty. Her gaze lingered for an extra beat. She couldn’t deny that you looked mesmerizing and absolutely ravishing.

“What’s your name?” Natasha inquired, her tone assertive but curious.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” Natasha repeated. “You don’t seem afraid at all.”

She stopped in front of you. As you subtly shifted your stance, your hair cascaded gracefully over one shoulder, giving her a whiff of your sweet vanilla perfume. Tension lingered between you as you met her gaze through lowered lashes.

Your eyes briefly travelled down, and you couldn’t help but notice a bulge between Natasha’s pants. A subtle swallow and a discreet bite of your bottom lip betrayed the mutual awareness of the heightened tension. You could see the impressive girth outlined through her pants. Her breath hitched as she saw the lust and need reflecting in your eyes.

“Face the wall.” Natasha ordered, ignoring the tension between the both of you.

A smile on your lips formed as an idea appeared in your head. You stepped closer to her, leaving no space between you two. You turned around, with your hands still behind your back, leaning back to press your ass to her groin.

“Guess you’ll have to arrest me like this, miss...?” You glanced over your shoulder, asking for her name.

“Natasha.” She responded with a shaky breath, her hands aching to grab your hips and press you against her. She tried to resist the urge to give in to her impulses, trying to maintain her professional demeanour.

Your breathing became laboured, your lips parting slightly. You reached behind your back and reached for Natasha’s bulge, feeling the outline of the strap-on. She groaned, a ‘fuck’ escaping her lips as she grabbed your hips and pressed your ass against her groin harder, giving in to the temptation.

“Such a fucking slut.” Natasha’s eyes were a mix of authority and desire.

“N-Nat-” You knew she’d be hot and bothered by your actions, but-

She leaned forward and pressed a hard kiss to your temple. “Shut up.” She whispered hotly in your ear. “Take your clothes off, now.”

You wasted no time removing your clothes, letting them fall around your legs as you kept your panties on. Natasha sat down on the edge of the king-size bed and patted her lap.

“Over my lap.” Her voice was void of emotion, and her words hit you like a bucket of ice water. You knew what was happening next and obeyed without saying a word, fear creeping into your stomach. Your stomach rested on her lap, your head and legs dangling beside her thighs. The rough fabric of her pants hitting your clothed folds made you shiver, your cheeks turning a bright shade of red.

She ran her hands over the curve of your ass, her touch light as a feather along the seam where flesh met lace. The delicacy of her touch caused goosebumps to form on your skin.

“I think you deserve ten spanks, don’t you agree?” Natasha retorted. It was a rhetorical question and you didn’t have the confidence to turn her down anyway.

She lifted your hips to push your panties down to your knees, trapping your thighs closed. Her hands, which had been so gentle a moment before, dug roughly into your ass, leaving crescent-shaped impressions on your skin.

A powerful smack echoed, and you arched forward with the force of it against your ass. Natasha’s thumb rubbed over your red and sore cheek. You tried to keep track of how many smacks she had given you so far, but after the third smack, your thoughts became blank as you moaned uncontrollably. As much of a punishment as it was, you couldn’t deny that you liked it when she spanked you. Even your hips pushed into her hands during each blow.

“I wish you could see yourself right now. Making a mess all over my thigh while I spank you like the naughty girl you are.” Natasha chuckled, finishing the last few blows on your bright red flesh. Taking a deep breath, you grit your teeth against the red-hot pain emanating from your ass.

“Such a good little slut for mommy.” She kneaded the supple flesh and leaned down to treat each of your cheeks to a kiss. “You did so well for me, good girl.”

You squirmed fruitlessly under her touch, whimpering as the sticky juices ran down your thighs. “M-Mommy..” You whispered, trying to angle your hips against her thigh to give yourself some pleasure.

“You’re not cumming on my thigh. On your knees for me, milaya devushka (sweet girl).” Her voice was honey-like, her hands gently scratching over your scalp. Her soothing touch lulled you slowly, and you hummed in response.

Releasing yourself from her lap, you knelt before her, her knees spread on either side of you. You steadfastly refused to acknowledge the pain beneath your flesh. The rough carpet dug into your knees, but the thought of obeying her was all that mattered to you.

Natasha stood up, quickly removing her clothes and tossing them aside. Your eyes looked up at her submissively, and your mouth salivated as your gaze fell on the strap-on around her waist. She sat back down, spreading her legs and pushing you closer to her body. Neither of you spoke, the room falling silent apart from the ticking sounds of the clock and steady breathing. She watches your body relax the longer you kneel for her, sensing the moment you slip into subspace.

“Do you know what cockwarming is, detka (baby)?” You nod slowly and open your lips, darting your tongue out. Natasha guides her length between them, and you moan at the heaviness of it, resting your cheek against her thigh. Your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes flutter shut. She watches you in your kneeling position, noticing your body swaying unconsciously.

She holds her body upright with an elbow behind her back, running her fingers through your hair. Your thighs ache, and your mouth is full of saliva, but eventually, you begin to relax into her.

“Good girl.” Natasha whispers, the praise slipping from her lips. She almost purrs with satisfaction as she feels you melt further into her. “So perfect for me.”

You don’t know how long you stay on your knees with her in your mouth. You whine as she begins to take your mouth from her, your fingers digging into her skin, trying to hold her in place as you swallow back her length.

“Shhh... It’s alright, you’ve done great.” Natasha smiles and brushes her thumb over your cheek. You let her pull you off of her and bring you into her lap.

You tuck your face into her neck, whining as you slowly release from the subspace. You begin to realize yourself aching with emptiness, and you whimper as her strap brushes against the sensitive, soaked skin between your thighs. You begin rocking in her lap slowly.

“Shit, so wet for me, hmm?” Natasha drops her hands to your hips and lets you rut down against her lap, grunting as your breasts bounce in her face as you move. She leans down and sucks one between her lips, grazing her teeth against the hardening nub softly.

“P-Please, Mommy.” You whine, arching against her. She nods as she reaches between the both of you to wrap her hand around the silicone. Soaked in your arousal and saliva, the both of you moan as she presses the head of the strap-on into your entrance.

Natasha cups your face and guides you into a kiss as she begins pressing inside, and you moan into her open mouth as she stretches you, the length thick and hard and hot as it sinks inside of you.

“Fuck, dorogaya (sweetheart). You’re so tight for me.” She murmurs, and you’re heavily panting as you settle in her lap, her length nestled fully inside you.

Clenching the walls of your pussy a few times, you groan as Natasha holds your hips, raising you on your shaking legs before dropping you back down on her length.

“Nat, I need… Please…” You can’t find the word to explain the way your thighs shake from exertion, or how your whole body feels like fucking jelly, but Natasha knows, she always does.

“I’ve got you, malyshka (babygirl).” Natasha murmurs. You whimper as she wraps her hands around your thighs. She helps you rise and fall on her length, thrusting her hips up quickly and deeper to meet you as you fall back down. She kisses you, lips wet and hot as both of your bodies are covered in a thin sheen of sweat. You can’t seem to think of anything else past the haze of arousal.

“M-Mommy, I’m close.” You whimper, and she drops her mouth to your neck, her tongue and lips sucking and her teeth biting. She breathes hotly against your neck, against the mark she’s just made.

You whimper and drop your forehead onto her shoulder, closing your eyes and moistening your lips. You’re sliding along her sweaty skin as she fucks you hard and fast, her fingers digging into the skin of your thighs as she helps you rise and-

“Cum for me, moya lyubov’ (my love).” Your breath comes in short gasps as Natasha wraps an arm around your waist and pulls your body as close to her as she can.

“Oh God-” You moan and cum hard, your whole body shaking as she continues to fuck you, splitting you open. Natasha trembles beneath you as you writhe above her. Breathing sharply, she murmurs words of comfort and praise to you as you tremble in her arms, coming down from your high.

Natasha lifts you from her lap and lays you gently on the bed. You hiss as you feel a hint of pain as she slides off of you. She lies down next to you and looks at you, giggling as she looks at your face after your orgasm.

“Well, that was something. I never thought you’d have it in you to try out one of my fantasies.” You smile softly and turn your head towards her.

Natasha laughs, and the sweet sound echoes through the room. “Well, I want to please you, detka (baby). Did you like it?”

“Of course.” You reach forward to stroke her cheek and kiss her gently. Natasha pulls back and presses her forehead against yours, sighing in happiness. “Can't deny that it was really hot when you were acting all commanding and authoritative to me though.”

Natasha's shakes her head, smirking. “Alright, weirdo. Get some sleep.”

“Yes, Mommy.” You teased, sticking your tongue out playfully.

After a few minutes of synchronized breathing, exhaustion catches up to you. Your breathing slows down and you fall asleep. Natasha pulls the covers over you, snuggling against your side and splaying an arm across your waist.

“I love you so much, Y/N.” She whispers in your ear, a soft smile on her lips as she falls asleep next to her beloved.

#lumi’s fics!#marvel #mcu #the avengers #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #black widow x reader #smut #wlw #fanfic #fanfiction

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cottonlemonade · 4 days ago

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He Realizes He Has A Crush

word count: 1539 || avg. reading time: 7 mins.

pairing: University AU!Sakusa x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

request: congrats!! for breakfast Im gonna grab a 12 then study with kiyoomi :) || fluffy, project partners with crush, Sakusa

Snow was not so bad. Snow you could have dealt with. Sideways gusts of icy cold sleet that slipped between the tiny gaps in your scarf and hair to trickle down your collar were unacceptable. You shivered and cursed the wind that stopped you from using your umbrella as a shield as you waited, frozen to the core, for the bus to arrive. The day just kept getting worse - and you didn’t want to go in the first place! Sakusa intimidated you. He was always in the top ranks of any exam, indifferent to most people he met and dubbed as quite the loner, but nonetheless carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone who knew how to spell entrepreneur and charcuterie. You guessed he couldn’t have been happy when he was paired with you for the semester’s most important project.

With slumped shoulders, you trudged onto the bus. It was mercifully warm, but the ride was too short to make any headway in drying your clothes, so when you arrived at the tall, imposing apartment building Sakusa had told you to come to, your drenched shoes had you slip a few times on the clean marble tiles of the lobby. The squeaking and squelching of your steps echoed in your ears as you hurried to catch the elevator.

“What happened to you?”, Sakusa asked with his usual frown as soon as he opened the door. It took you a moment to realize what was different about him. He wasn’t wearing his mask. Huh. So that scowl really did stretch all the way over his face. He watched with his arms crossed as you took off your shoes. Your socks were two different shades from the water that had pooled at the soles, and he noted the wet footprints you left behind. “Didn’t you pack an umbrella?”

“I did, but the wind was too strong.”

“Hm.”

He didn’t step aside.

“Are you really not gonna let me in?”, your voice was higher and more annoyed than you would have liked, but you were very cold and very wet and would’ve loved to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“There is a bathroom down the hall.”, he nodded to his right.

“Great.”

“Go take a hot shower, you must be freezing.”

You looked at him with stunned silence. In the meantime, Sakusa tilted his head and scanned you from head to foot.

“I’ll find you something dry to wear. Extra towels are in the cabinet under the sink.”

He walked off, leaving you to question if you heard him correctly.

The bathroom was smaller than you expected it to be in such a home. Peeling out of your wet shirt and pants, you looked around. Above the sink was a large mirror and a shelf lined with products, all of which from designer brands you’d only ever seen on pages of magazines. You examined the tubes and tubs a little closer and noticed that they were all men’s. Only one towel was draped on the warming rack next to the shower, just like only one black bathrobe hung on a hook behind the door, and only one fancy electric toothbrush was plugged in by the sink. To test your budding theory, you picked up the bottle of high-end cologne and gave it a quick sniff. Either all men of this family wore the same scent or… you were in Sakusa’s personal bathroom. It took you a solid minute to debate whether or not to put your cold wet underwear on the towel warmer while you showered, but in the end, you decided what the eye does not see, the heart doesn’t grieve over and moved his towel aside to make space.

Sakusa meanwhile carefully sifted through his closet. It was no use checking his sister’s rooms. They both had rather wispy figures, and even their looser clothes were highly unlikely to fit you. Turning a pair of black socks in his fingers, he now had to realize that his shirts and sweaters weren’t any different. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by having to tell him whatever he picked was too small. And so without further hesitation, Sakusa went into his older brother’s room, stepped over the clutter on the floor, and slid open the wardrobe. His brother was a boxer and built like a tree, so something in here should be big enough for you. Underneath a pile of numerous identical compression shirts, he found a slightly wrinkled, washed-out varsity hoodie and after a little more digging added some gray sweats. Refolding everything neatly and stacking them on top of one another, he brought it to the bathroom and knocked. While the clothes were pushed through the hand-width opening in the door, he told you that he would make some tea and wait in the living room.

Happy shuffles made him lower the book in his hand about 15 minutes later and with an inner pat on his back, he congratulated himself for picking something comfortable for you. A fluffy white towel was wrapped around your head, and you wiggled out of the monogrammed family slippers before settling down on the floor in front of the couch. He cocked a curious brow, wondering if he should slide down to sit next to you or not, but his social awkwardness was interrupted by your blissful sigh.

“Thank you.” You turned around to him with a bright smile and instead of leading on that it temporarily made his train of thought do an emergency break, Sakusa frowned and nodded towards your backpack.

“Oh, right!”

You pulled out your book, notepad, and a pen and flipped to the relevant chapter.

Originally, he suggested his home because, around exam time, the library was filled with the kind of last-minute desperate air of people who had no idea how to prepare and study throughout the semester. Focusing in that atmosphere would be impossible. Little did he know that watching you read, mouthing silently along with the words on the page and the marks left by your lip balm on the teacup was more distracting than anything the library could have thrown at him.

When you untied the towel from your hair, he studied with great interest how you gave it some additional squeezes to dry. You looked so at home sipping on your tea and studying at the coffee table, all bundled up in comfy clothes. He became increasingly aware - and bothered by the fact - that these were his brother’s. Maybe he did have something that would fit you somewhere in his room. Sakusa vaguely shook his head. It would be absurd to ask you to change, especially with no concrete reasoning or alternative readily available.

You could feel him staring. Nervously, you chewed your lips and, without meaning to, kept running your tongue over them. They still tasted like the almond-sugar lip scrub from his shower caddy you hadn’t been able to resist. Undoubtedly he had noticed and was thinking of ways to reprimand you for what was effectively theft! But in the end, you only used a little bit of it. He shouldn’t be mad about it! Maybe it wasn’t about the lip scrub at all, actually. Maybe he was annoyed because you were here in the first place. In his home. Everyone on campus knew how much he valued his personal space, but it wasn’t like you asked to be put on the project with him.

You’d been here less than an hour, and he hardly said more than a dozen words to you since you sat down. Did he already feel like you overstayed your welcome?

When you couldn’t take the silent tension anymore, you asked, “What?”

“What?”

“You’re staring.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You hungry?”

“I- am- what?”

“It’s almost dinner time, and we still have a lot of work to do. I’m guessing you haven’t eaten yet so I’ll order something. Is sushi okay with you?”

You sat back, resting your shoulders against the couch, and crossed your arms.

“Sakusa.”

“Hm?” He looked up from his phone when you turned around, talking more to the sofa cushion than him, in fear of what level of disgust or judgment you’d be met with.

“Why are you suddenly so nice to me?”

He placed the book from his lap on the coffee table and slid down to sit next to you on the floor. His dark eyes found yours and the usual frown appeared on his face.

“Am I usually not nice to you?”

You squinted and clicked your tongue, then hummed in thought, “Uhm… if you ever were, then it was never out loud.”

He studied you for a moment, before unceremoniously saying, “You smell nice.”

You furrowed your brow with a mixture of confusion and pity, “I smell like your shower gel.”

“Well… then I have good taste.”

You couldn’t help but snort and used this opportunity to come clean.

“I used your shampoo, too.”

He nodded. “I figured.”

“And your lip scrub.”

“I see.”

“It’s really good.”

“I know.”

“It’s sold out everywhere, I was just curious.”

“You can keep it.”, he shrugged.

“Really?”

“Yeah, you touched it now.”

“Rude.”

He chuckled. “So, dinner?”

a/n: request for @act-nat-ural I’m so sorry it took so long. I hope you enjoyed it 🌟

#sunnys university #sakusa x chubby reader #sakusa kyoomi x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu x curvy reader #sakusa kyoomi x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa x y/n #sakusa fluff #sakusa x reader #hq sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu sakusa

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aviiarie · 3 months ago

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˚ ₊ ‧ ♡ TIL DEATH DO WE PART — feat. kaveh event masterlist

synopsis. you were practicing your wedding vows near a grave, and accidentally brought a corpse back to life. trouble is, he now thinks you two are married. warnings. corpses. implied death. reader is arranged to be married. notes. request for @lowkeyren!! corpse bride au. gn!reader. 1.5k words.

The smell of fresh soil was thick in the air, rich and cloying, and filling your senses. It was only a few hours after the rain had tapered off, leaving the ground soft and moist beneath your shoes.

While the strong, slightly overwhelming scent managed to distract you from the anxiety thrumming beneath your skin, it came with an unfortunate side effect: mud. The further you walked, the more it stained the hem of your clothes, squelching uncomfortably under your feet. You tried to ignore the dirt that you knew must be caking the fabric, but every step into another puddle was yet another reminder of the mess you knew you looked.

Your wedding outfit, the one that your family had worked tirelessly to prepare, was near ruined.

Truthfully, you hadn't planned on running so far into the forest, only far enough that the ringing sound of wedding bells and nauseating scent of lilies were left fully behind you. Flowers and weeds alike were crushed underfoot in your haste, but by the time your frantic footsteps had slowed, you were already deep into the sprawling clusters of trees.

Emerging into a clearing, you finally halted in your tracks. Your lungs burned—from the chill of the night air, or from the exertion, you couldn't tell.

Your mind was still abuzz with anxiety and adrenaline clashing against each other in the back of your head. All you could think of was the horrified face of your fiance, soon-to-be husband, watching helplessly as you fled the alter.

He was a good man, a perfect gentleman; the kind of man you might have truly fallen in love with if you were given the chance. And with the way he had smiled at you when you met, he might have been able to fall for you too, but he wasn't given the chance either. Neither of you were given more than a few minutes alone, and a promise that you had a lifetime to properly become acquainted with each other.

The wedding rehearsal was supposed to be the practice, an opportunity for you to settle your nerves and make certain you could stumble your way though your vows without a mistake, but it ended in disaster.

Forgetting your vows was the first sign of trouble; dropping the ring was the second. Knocking over a candle onto the dress of your new mother-in-law was the final straw that broke away any hope of the day going smoothly. Before you could even process your mistake, the room was filled with shrieking as the woman tried to fan away the flames curling across her dress.

Humiliated, you had pushed past your shocked family, ignored the spluttering protests of your new in-laws, and left behind your soon-to-be husband behind.

It was a cowardly move, but you couldn't bear to stay any longer, when everyone was looking at you as if you had already failed as a spouse.

“It shouldn't be that difficult,” You murmur to yourself, pacing across the clearing. “Just a few simple vows...”

The vows themself were easy to memorize, but the moment you tried to voice the words, they would get tangled in your throat.

“With this hand... I...” You stopped walking, clearing your throat and holding your chin up. “With this hand, I will lift your wine—No, that's not right.”

A dejected sigh echoed through the space. There was no one around to see your frustration, but you knew you must make a rather pathetic sight, poorly reciting vows alone in a forest.

“Your wine will never be emp—Ugh, no! That's not right either!”

Between your attempts, you paced across the dirt, footprints sinking into the already soft ground. You needed to be better, you needed to get this right.

A hand fell to a hidden pocket at your side, holding the ring that you had failed to give to your soon-to-be husband. It was a simple silver band, glinting in the moonlight.

If not for your own pride, if not for your family, then you had to pull your act together for your fiance. You knew his stake in the marriage as much as you knew your own, and you knew he couldn't afford to search for a new spouse if you couldn't get it right.

You needed to get it right.

With a deep breath, you tried once more. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine.”

A chilling breeze swept through your hair, but you barely noticed it. You took a step forward, eyes locked on a curling root sticking out of the dirt. It almost looked like a hand, reaching out to you. “With this candle... I will light your way into the darkness.”

You knelt down on one knee, stretching out a hand to the root.

“With this ring—” Your hand closed around the root, slipping the ring over the 'finger' of the branch. “I ask you to be mine.”

As soon as the words left your lips, there was a shift in the air. It was subtle at first; the wind began to pick up, and the birds flocking in the trees flew away, as a shiver ran down your spine.

Before you could blink, the root started to move, twisting to wrap itself around your wrist. You cried out, trying desperately to tug your hand out of its grasp, but it held fast. As you looked closer, it appeared less like a root now, and more like a hand, gripping you tightly with gaunt fingers. As you pulled harder, it surfaced fully from the ground, revealing the skeleton of an arm connected at the wrist.

You let out a shriek at the grisly sight. In your panic, you jerked your arm hard enough to cause the skeletal limb to break away with a loud snap, the force of the movement sending you stumbling backwards. With a cry, you shook your wrist to get rid of the now-broken hand, hurling it against a tree.

You watched, frozen in fear, as the patch of dirt where the root—hand? skeleton?—had once stuck out shifted, like there was something pushing it from underneath. Another hand broke the surface, clawing at the ground to try and pull itself up.

The hand was followed by an arm, then a head, then a torso. What emerged was the lumbering figure of a man, his tailored suit in tatters and covered in dirt stains. The tears in his shirt showed an exposed rib-cage, the flesh already deteriorated and leaving his bones on display. Half of his body was skeletal—just like the arm that was now missing from his side—but the parts that still had skin clinging the bones were gray and colourless. The only part that wasn't rotted were the shiny hairclips pinned at the side of his blonde hair, although, they did nothing to disguise how dirty and matted it was.

The creature might have taken the rough shape of a person, but there wasn't a trace of light shining in his eyes. They were glossy and white and lifeless, as if he was nothing more than—

A corpse.

The wind began to howl, filling your ears. In between the noise, a chilling whisper broke through.

“I do.”

Your chest seized, heart pounding in your ears. The corpse's eyes were fixed on your form, his blueish lips pursed slightly. He lumbered towards you, each movement making your skin crawl.

You stumbled backwards, your back hitting the trunk of a tree. The bark dug sharply into the back of your clothes, scratching at your skin. Across the clearing, the corpse was still watching you, eyes lit up with a glint of... curiousity?

He moved forward again, and your breath quickened. You spun on your heel, pushing through the trees and past bushes and branches to run further into the forest. All you could hear was your own fractured breathing and pounding heartbeat.

The wind howled mournfully as you ran, ruffling your already tattered clothes. Behind you, you could sense the corpse slowly growing closer and closer.

You came to a bridge, almost stumbling and falling into the river below. Leaning heavily against the railing, you tried to catch your breath, even as your lungs burned. Your feet were aching, your chest pained, but you couldn't stop.

As you desperately tried to steady your breathing, the moment of pause made you notice how still the night had become. The wind had died down, the birds had dispersed, and the corpse was nowhere to be seen.

You let out a shaky sigh, scanning your surroundings, but your relief was cut short as soon as you turned around.

With a gasp, you found the corpse right in front of you, a dark expression shadowing his face. Up this close, he looked almost pretty, with delicate features and piercing eyes that softened as they fell on you. You could imagine him alive, with a reddish blush in his cheeks instead of the sickly pallour that his skin had taken on; a beautiful young man, instead of a walking corpse.

He reached out, gently placing his ice-cold hands onto your shoulders. With a thin smile, he leaned closer until you could feel his words on your skin.

“You may now kiss the groom.”

🏷️ taglist: @tragedy-of-commons, @mollzaj, @wystiix, @mikashisus.

#✒️ : avie's writing . ⊹ ˚ .#☆ — ghost stories.#—stellaronhvnters.#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #gi x reader #kaveh x reader #genshin kaveh x reader #kaveh angst

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after-witch · 1 year ago

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Horrorfest: Stay Out of the Basement [Yandere Monster x Reader]

Title: Stay Out of the Basement [Yandere Monster x Reader]

Synopsis: There's something in the basement and it wants you so bad.

For Horrorfest request:

“Theres something in the basement” trope

Word count: 671

Notes: yandere, monster

There’s something in the basement.

There’s something in the basement, and you don’t think it’s human.

There’s something in the basement, and you think it’s in love with you.

You don’t know exactly when your thoughts on the thing in the basement went from “It wants to kill me and possibly eat me” to “It’s fallen in love with me and probably doesn’t want to eat me.”

Maybe around the time that you started finding scraps of plants--vegetation and dirt with hints of flowers, scraggling things that barely saw any light--on your kitchen counter, complimented with a telltale track of dirty footprints leading to the basement stairs. Yes, that was around the time that you began to think whatever was in the basement had feelings for you.

The flowers (and dirt); then came trinkets. Little rocks, sometimes jagged, sometimes smooth. One morning, there was some sort of black stone, shined and polished. You didn’t want to touch it--something about it made your mind absolutely forbid it. You scooped it into the trash with a paper plate and took it to the curb that morning.

If the thing in the basement minded, it didn’t let you know. It only left more gifts. More footprints. More--and you swear this must be what it’s doing--signs that it exists and it likes you. Tapping noises from behind the doorway leading to the basement stairs--tap-tap, tap; jars of long-forgotten canned goods left in front of the door, black-mud streaks on the bases.

You haven’t seen it, but you know it’s there. And you know this won’t last forever. You know it won’t be satisfied with leaving gifts and trinkets and tap-tap, tapping to get your attention.

No one believes you. Not your parents, not your friends, not the police. Not the therapist you called out of desperation.

You’re alone--only oh, how you wish that were really the case.

There’s something in the basement.

There’s something in the basement, and it wants you.

There’s something in the basement, and it’s coming up the stairs.

Your fingers grip the edge of your comforter, but you don’t dare bring it up over your face. You want to see it coming.

And you know it’s coming. It’s only a matter of time now. You can hear it.

You first heard it coming up the basement stairs--thudding, thudding, thudding--and now you hear it coming down the hall. It’s not the steps of a person. It’s a heavy sound, almost dragging and--oh, someone help you--slightly damp. Like the basement. Like the sweat on the back of your neck, staining your pillow beneath you.

Like the stupid tears pooling at the edge of your eyes. What good would they do you? None.

They fall anyway when the half-closed door creaks open.

Your bedside lamp is on, and if you were smarter, you would have turned it off 10 minutes ago. It would be must easier to face this reality in the dimness of the night, if you couldn’t see exactly what was standing in front of you.

It’s tall and broad shouldered.

It has a mouth and eyes and a face, yes, and you might be tempted to call it humanoid. There are two arms and two legs, heavy and covered in something black, like it’s painted itself with dirt and mud. Its skin is splotches of green, dark and faintly damp, like moss growing at the edge of a swamp. Two yellow eyes blink at you and you don’t think you’re imagining it when your brain interprets its gaze as… fond. Loving. Wanting.

It opens its mouth and there are teeth--sharp--and you think it must be trying to smile. Trying to smile and then say something to you.

What finally comes out, warbled and deep, is your name.

You do pull the covers over your head, then.

Not that it does you any good.

There’s something in the basement.

There’s something in the basement, and you’re there with it now.

And neither of you will ever leave again.

#yandere #yandere monster #folklore writing #afterwitch writes #aw horrorfest #original stuffs #folklore

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allpiesforourown · 4 months ago

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I love your post about the three of them being forced to hunt together. I’m sure if you ask the two men they’d be claiming the other is the one third wheeling their date with Shen Yuan.

So true. I really love the idea of them all going hunting monsters because it creates this hilarious image of shen yuan writing down notes for his private encyclopedia, and Luo binghe and Liu qingge are two fit handsome young cultivators running around like chickens with their heads cut off because they're competing to see who can help shen yuan take notes better.

Luo Binghe: a-Yuaaaaaan~! I found FOOTPRINTS belonging to the creature you're writing about!

Shen Yuan: ohh nice, let me draw that and we'll measure its length-

Liu qingge: who needs a print, i found an entire feather it left behind

Shen Yuan: ohhh! We can take that back with us and preserve it!

Luo binghe frantically looking around: that's nothing .. I found.. uh... THERE! THE BEAST'S EGG

Shen Yuan: EGG!? WHERE

Liu qingge: DAMNIT . So close.

#svsss #shen yuan #luo binghe #liu qingge #role reversal au

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hotteoki · 11 months ago

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change of heart (j.w.y.)

pairing: suitor!wooyoung x princess!reader

genre: arranged marriage, medieval era, strangers to lovers

cw: one swear word

wc: 5k

notes: hi @daesukiii i was your secret admirer! i hope you like this fic i definitely went overboard on 😭 this was heavily inspired by the 'brave' movie!

synopsis: when you're forced into an unwilling, arranged marriage where your husband is decided by a competition with three contests, will an stranger be able to find his way into your life to befriend you and turn your future around?

you sat on your throne, picking at your fingernails while waiting for the clans to arrive. to your right sat your father, and to his right sat your mother, and your brother jongho sat in his throne to your left. he was trying to catch your gaze so he could apologise, except you had no intentions of forgiving him anytime soon. he had told your mother about your complaining towards this whole arranged marriage; since then, your mother had been keeping an exceptionally close eye on you, determined to make you look as “presentable for the suitors” as possible.

upon jongho poking your arm, you snapped your head to him, giving him the worst glare you could muster, which didn’t faze him at all. he gave you a gummy smile at your narrowed eyes, before leaning over to you, speaking quietly, “i am sorry, truly, but i thought it would be really funny… and it is!” he laughed at his own words, leaning back into his seat. you honestly had half a mind to snitch on him to your mother about the real reason why there were muddy footprints everywhere in the throne room yesterday. “i will kill you!” you whisper-shouted at him, sending him a threatening look, resulting in a harsh call of your name from your mother. you turned to her, and found her glaring at you with her index finger raised to her lips shushing you. you spluttered, gesturing to jongho, “he started it!” “it does not matter who started it! the suitors will be here in any minute and you are still not sitting up straight!” she responded sternly, facing the entrance of the room to indicate the end of the conversation. oh, you were so going to snitch on that little bastard.

before you could think of any other plans to get back at jongho, the grand doors to the throne room opened. out of instinct, you straightened your back and placed your crossed hands on your lap. the three clans marched in, each led by their leading lord and his son, who was to be a suitor for your betrothal. as the clans settled in their respective areas, you distinctly heard jongho scoffing at one of the suitors flexing his muscles. your mother began her speech about the three challenges the suitors will have to compete in for your hand in marriage. you blocked out her words, having heard it one too many times while she was practising, your eyes accidentally landing on possibly the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life. you prayed to every deity in existence you hadn’t stared at him for too long.

you waited impatiently for the first two lords to introduce themselves as clan park and clan kim respectively, unable to contain a smile forming when it was time for the third and final clan to introduce themselves. “your majesty, i present my heir and only son, wooyoung, who single-handedly took down a fleet of 1,000 men, and retrieved the ships the once-standing clan chun had stolen from clan kim and clan lee.” ‘wooyoung’ stood confidently, hands resting on the hilt of his sword, the tip of the impressive weapon pressed against the stony ground. when the focus was no longer on him, you caught sight of wooyoung shaking his head subtly, holding an aggravated expression on his face. you couldn’t help but tilt your head in confusion over his behaviour, but decided to push it to the back of your head, turning to look at your mother once more.

you took your seat on your throne, now moved outdoors to watch the first challenge: javelin throwing. the suitors took their places behind the line, each standing next to the javelin they chose. park youngjae of clan park was first. he swiftly picked up his javelin, throwing with ease, turning away without looking at where it landed to blow you an arrogant kiss, smirking at the loud cheers from the members of clan park and letting out a holler himself, flexing his muscles smugly again. you stared at him, appalled and disturbed at his actions, giving a pleading look at a laughing jongho, silently begging him to put you out of your misery.

next was kim chanwook of clan kim. he walked a few metres away from the line, before charging forward and letting go of his javelin. you had to contain your snickers over the pathetic landing a mere 20 metres away from the line out of politeness. you hadn’t even thought such a low score was possible. your father sucked in a deep breath through his teeth from beside you, “i would have run off in shame if i were him. poor guy.”

wooyoung was the final contestant. he tossed his javelin lazily, barely putting any effort in, scoring himself a solid 45 metres. you couldn’t help but find it impressive; despite his attempt at a weak throw, the distance of his javelin was a good score. good to know someone’s fed up as well, though, you thought to yourself. your father nudged you with his shoulder, leaning closer to you to whisper, “he definitely could have beat mister show-off here.” he gestured to youngjae. you nodded at his words, earning yourself a scowl from your mother. you were also almost certain you were the only one who noticed wooyoung scoffing at youngjae basking in the compliments from the circle of servants and maids alike who had crowded around him.

though you were glad you could relate to wooyoung about the ridiculousness of this all, you silently wished he would at least try in the competitions, deeply hoping he would be the winner, and allow you to take his hand in marriage.

you laid in bed, tossing and turning, unable to find comfort in your normally cosy bed. your mind constantly travelled to wooyoung, finding irritation in how he hadn’t spared a single glance at you all day, behaving as if the whole purpose of the competition wasn’t for you. perhaps that was a little hypocritical of you to think– hating this forced marriage yet wanting a slimmer of attention from one of the attractive suitors more than anything.

as you threw your thin duvet off, goosebumps travelled down your entire body for a second and caused you to shiver slightly. you swung your legs off the bed, hoping a walk around the castle corridors would soothe your head. retrieving the unused candle from your bedside drawer, you lit it up using the torch and stepped out of your room, eying up and down the empty corridors, only a select few soldiers standing near every entrance, seeming to be dozing off.

your hands trailed along the stone-built walls to support the dim lighting from your candle, attempting to ignore the pounding feeling in your chest over any dangers that could be lurking around the corners. despite jongho’s continuous convincing of how safe your castle was, your gut couldn’t help but send signals of something different about tonight. you paused in your tracks, debating whether to continue or not. breathing out through your nose, you listened to the voice in your head and turned around, deciding to return to your room after all.

you managed to make around fifteen steps before a body walked straight into you. you jumped backwards, instinctively shoving the candle in the person’s face, illuminating wooyoung’s stoic expression. “oh. it’s you,” you stated simply, silently berating yourself for acting so embarrassingly in front of him. he raised an eyebrow, “you are not asleep, princess?” you shrugged, “couldn’t sleep. then again, neither are you.” he looked away for a second, before focusing his gaze back on you, “that’s fair.”

the awkward tension in between you was palpable, neither of you speaking aloud, his eyes remaining on your figure while yours darted anywhere but him. “well, i shall see you tomorrow, then.” he manoeuvred around you, beginning to walk away from you. you couldn’t let this opportunity go now. you had to do something.

he turned back at you, sounding confused as he asked, “yes, princess?” you were just as confused as him for a moment, before letting go of his sleeve. you hadn’t realised you grabbed it in the spur of the moment. you opened and closed your mouth, attempting to form your words. he gave you a small smile, almost to encourage you. swallowing thickly, you ignored your flaming cheeks and answered him, “we have a courtyard. it is my favourite spot to escape a sleepless night.” you mentally pat your back, congratulating yourself for managing to speak to him without stuttering, sending him one last glance before turning back once more to return to your room.

“you have not told me its location.”

fuck.

you turned back around sheepishly, avoiding his expectant eyes while rubbing the back of your neck, “continue down this hallway and go down the corridor at the first turn on your right. the courtyard should be a few metres down.” your face was burning up, and it was definitely reddening. you could only hope wooyoung took it as an illusion from your candle and his.

he nodded with an amused smile, raising his eyebrows, “alright. thank you, princess.” he bowed slightly, leaving you to your own thoughts in the middle of the corridor as the light to his candle fades in the distance.

you sat at the empty dining hall, having woken up earlier than anyone in the castle. it was a habit you found yourself having picked up a week before the suitors arrived. perhaps the peace and tranquillity of being by yourself grounded you subconsciously.

needless to say, you weren’t expecting the grand doors to open slowly. you looked up from your plate, startled, only relaxing until you met the soft gaze of wooyoung.

“apologies. i did not realise anyone would be awake already,” he spoke with such tenderness you never thought was possible. “neither,” you replied, gesturing at the empty seat to your left for him to sit. he obliged, albeit hesitantly, clearly unfamiliar with what to do to get his breakfast.

you nodded once to the servant by your right, “he shall have the same as me, please.” she responds with a great bow, scuttling off to inform the cooks and other servants. your focus returns to wooyoung, who had his head tilted in curiosity. “what is it?” you ask politely, finding his unfaltering gaze unsettling. “nothing. i have just never seen a princess be so… kind to her servants.” you frowned slightly at that. the way you treated your servants earlier was the bare minimum, just how bad were the princesses he’s met before? his meal arrived soon enough, brought to him by a different servant, and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence.

“so what-” you were interrupted by the bursting of the grand doors to the dining hall, accompanied by loud clamouring from the rest of the suitors and their servants. wooyoung stood to move away from you so as to not be branded a cheater by attempting to get closer to you in private times.

“and what do we have here? our beloved princess and a sneaky little fox?” youngjae laughed loudly, but there was no humour behind it. he nudged chanwook by his arm, gesturing for him to chime in as well, though from his expression, it was more of a command from youngjae. “y-yes, it seems so, youngjae.”

he wrinkled his nose in disgust, “do not call me by my name.” he bumps past chanwook to loop an arm around wooyoung’s shoulder, squeezing around his torso, almost as a threat, “so? anything to say for yourself, jung? or will this be a problem i will have to bring up to the majesties-” “i asked for him.”

youngjae faltered at your now standing form, stuttering a little, “w-what? what, uh,” he chuckled nervously before continuing, “what are you talking about, princess?” you stepped around the corner of the table to stand in front of both wooyoung and youngjae, plastering a stern look, initiating the one permanently etched on your mother’s face, “i asked for him. is that a problem, park youngjae?”

he immediately stepped back, putting a distance between both you and wooyoung, bitterness leaving his tongue as he spoke, “no, it is not. you are the princess, after all.”

he left swiftly, yanking on chanwook’s arm to follow, leaving only you and wooyoung along with a few servants remaining in the room. you released the breath you had been holding, having lost your appetite now. “you didn’t have to do that, princess. i would have left on my own volition,” wooyoung murmured, finding it difficult to meet your eyes for the first time since he met you.

“is there a reason why i should not have done what i did?” you replied back with sincerity, beginning to doubt your previous actions. wooyoung was silent for a few seconds, and you thought he was trying to find a way to thank you, until he opened his mouth: “do not ever do that again.”

you blinked, and suddenly you were left alone in the dining hall.

what?

afternoon came and it was time for the second contest. you sat on your throne once again to watch the suitors take their places behind the lines, ready to run. you couldn’t help but frown at wooyoung’s lack of interest at you, a strong wave of deja vu washing over you .his eyes only trained at the finishing line in front; you thought you had been getting closer with each other, but at the same time, you weren’t so sure you wanted to speak to him at the moment either way.

the pistol rings and the suitors sprint off. your father hollers in excitement, cheering the suitors on, egging jongho to do the same as well. your breath hitched as the suitors got closer and closer to the line, approximately 30 metres away.

25 metres.

youngjae was in the lead.

20 metres.

wooyoung overtook him.

15 metres.

youngjae quickly regained his spot.

10 metres.

wooyoung ran with a sudden burst of energy.

5 metres…

4…

3…

2…

1…

youngjae won.

you exhaled sharply. wooyoung turned to your direction, meeting your strained face. he turned away immediately.

your mother jerked her head once towards youngjae. you swallowed with difficulty, getting up from your throne and making your way over to him, passing by wooyoung in the process. you didn’t bother sparing him a single glance.

“congratulations, young lord park,” you spoke stiffly, tempted to tug your hand away from him as he held it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “why, thank you, princess. do i get a prize now?” he barked out a greasy laugh, wiggling his eyebrows at you suggestively. “no,” you responded simply, retracting your hand from his grasp.

youngjae’s expression turned cold, his snarky attitude morphing into a disdainful one, “i see.” his eyes landed on wooyoung’s behind you, a smirk growing on his face. he looked back at you, “no worries, princess.”

you could practically see the gears running inside his head.

you found yourself sitting alone on the ground of your courtyard, a book perched on your lap. no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t focus on its contents. your mind was befuddled from the idea of having to marry youngjae, given the chances of that happening was growing with the way he had won both contests, and was likely to win the third one. you shuffled further backwards, allowing the shadows of the large tree engulf you whole, hiding you away from even the stars’ sights.

you closed the book, shutting your eyes briefly, focusing on the sound of crickets chirping quietly and the gentle swishing of the leaves, until the calmness was broken by two chittering servants walking past. you moved your ear to the general direction, hoping to eavesdrop in their conversation for some form of entertainment.

“did you hear lord jung’s talk with his son earlier? what was his name again?” “wooyoung,” the other servant finished for her friend, “i did hear. miyeon told me everything. he said he didn’t want to marry the princess, right? that’s why he’s losing on purpose.” you faltered at that, did you truly read into his behaviour too much? “i know. so unexpected! the princess is one of the sweetest people i’ve ever met, why would he not want to marry her?” you smiled at the servant’s words, finding it refreshing to have a good reputation amongst the residents of the castle.

“i suppose he thinks he’s too young to marry, and i agree with him. i mean, we’re both the same age as the princess, and i’d be mortified at the thought of having to marry so soon!” the two girls murmured in agreement, before the first servant continued, “i do feel horrible for the princess, though. she’s most likely to end up with the young lord park, and the heavens know what he’s doing to her.” your ears perked up, eyebrows furrowing over what she said. “what do you mean?” the second servant voiced your question out, seeming just as unaware as you.

“have you not heard the rumours? he’s been telling everyone about how the princess approached him and has been in an attitude because he rejected her.” you sat up completely straight at that, fighting the urge to cry out in bewilderment. “how do you know it’s just a rumour?” “my brother was there at the dining hall that day. he himself served young lord jung his breakfast. young lord park was the one who was turned down by the princess.” the second servant scoffed quietly, “how pathetic of him!”

“shush!” the first girl hissed, speaking much quieter now, “do not forget, we are still below the suitors, no matter how horrid they are. should they hear what we’re saying, they’ll come for our heads!” their retreating footsteps fade after a few seconds and you could only assume they had a silent exchange in glances to continue their gossip later, away from prying ears. you leaned back against the bark of the tree again. you had to tell jongho.

you never got the opportunity to. your mother spent the entirety of the next morning dressing you up in extravagant wear, chiding you for not presenting yourself as desirable for the suitors earlier. you were reminded constantly by her that you would have to prepare to be a suitable wife for your husband soon, no matter who he will be.

you didn’t see wooyoung either. he wasn’t present at breakfast nor did you see him during the time before the third and final contest; contrasting to youngjae, who seemed to be everywhere, flirting with the maids and proudly bragging about his archery skills, which was the sport of the day. chanwook stuck close to his father throughout the morning, whinging to him and looking like he was on the verge of tears.

you felt your mother pat your cheek with her palm, driving you out of your thoughts. her lips were pursed into a tense line as she caressed your cheekbone back and forth, beginning to speak in a hushed tone, “i know you do not want any of this, my daughter, but you must also realise it is necessary. breaking this betrothal could harm our kingdom deeply, you know this.” you exhaled deeply, shutting your eyes in defeat, “i do.” she nodded once in satisfaction, stepping back and moving to leave your room, “i shall see you at the field in a while, then.”

moving to your window, your eyes scanned the large field below. it was filled with men from the three clans, servants and maids from your own castle, the three lords bickering with each other by the front, and their sons, the suitors, standing behind a white line, facing a target stood up at a long distance from him. you noticed wooyoung was on the field, fixing the bow in his hand. judging from his nervous stance, you suspected he was not experienced in archery. almost as if he could hear your thoughts, his head tilted up to the direction of your tower, until he met your shocked eyes through the glass window of your room. you immediately recoiled backwards until your back touched the wall opposite the window, a few metres away from where you were just now. you swallowed thickly out of nervousness before making your way down to the field.

the conversation between the two servants from last night still ran wild in your head. if what they said was true, if wooyoung was truly losing on purpose, then this contest is pointless, for chanwook stood no chance against youngjae. you feel the frustration inside your body bubbling up, though you suspect it was mixed with the bottled up dread and anger towards marrying a complete stranger, his obnoxious behaviour only adding to it. “hey,” jongho’s concerned voice rang in your left ear. you turned to look at his worried eyes, his hand reaching for your shoulder, “are you okay?” you batted his hand away with a reassuring smile, “i’m fine.” he was about to say more, but was interrupted by the loud bellow of the starting horn to indicate the beginning of the contest. knowing his personality, he would bug you about what was bothering you until you gave it up, though.

youngjae pulled his string backwards, flexing his muscles intentionally to swoon the multiple servants standing behind him. deja vu kicked in for the second time when you saw wooyoung roll his eyes once again, and your frown morphed into a barely concealed smile subconsciously. before you realise it, youngjae had already released his arrow, landing on the red circle of the target, only a few centimetres away from the yellow centre. you were impressed by how he played off his embarrassment, however. he commented coolly about the scorching sun being in his eyes and locking eyes with wooyoung menacingly, almost daring him to do any better than him.

you didn’t bother paying any attention to chanwook, only concentrating on wooyoung’s microexpressions. your attempts proved futile when he carried a blank face throughout chanwook’s failing try, the wailing boy scoring himself null points when his arrow landed nowhere near his target. you wished you could say you ignored wooyoung the same way you did to chanwook, but you couldn’t. you were transfixed on his smooth movements and the way he seemed to tug on the string of his bow with ease, youngjae’s sniggers having no effect on him whatsoever.

you’ve already planned out how your new life with youngjae would be. you would have to worship the grounds he walks on, praise his every miniscule movement even if it was something as simple as breathing, stand by his side permanently to make him look good-

your nightmarish thoughts were cut short by your father’s whoops, along with jongho jumping up as well, their excitement so contagious even your mother was unable to help but stand and clap. you instinctively followed her movements, moving up to your feet but raising an eyebrow in confusion, what were they cheering for? that was when you saw it.

wooyoung’s arrow.

shot dead centre of the target.

you stared in astonishment, realising your previous assumptions about wooyoung being inexperienced had been entirely wrong. when you flickered your eyes to him, he was already watching you, and you would’ve said he was watching you emotionlessly had his sparkling eyes not given him away. you knew then, he was just as exhilarated as you were.

“it does not matter, though, does it?” youngjae’s voice boomed over all the music and cheering. the field turned quiet once more as everyone listened intently to his echoing words. “i won the first two contests. i win overall, no?” there were a series of agreeing murmurs, wooyoung’s bright eyes flashing with worry over them. “no.” for a moment, you wondered where the voice came from, until you realised from all the peering eyes that you were the one who spoke out.

you breathed in deeply, stepping down from the small platform and out into the sun, walking slowly and steadily towards the suitors. your mind was screaming for you to turn back around, to accept your fate with youngjae, to listen to your mother and simply be the perfect wife; but your heart overrode every indecisive word in your brain. “it wouldn’t be fair on woo- on young lord jung to discredit this spectacular win,” you gestured to wooyoung’s arrow, mentally cringing over how over-dramatised your words are, yet they seemed to be convincing enough for the people, as another wave of murmurs came about.

“princess-” “we shall have one final contest to determine the final winner,” you cut youngjae off short, finding delight in the way he begrudgingly shut his mouth. you allowed a few tense moments to pass before revealing, “a dance.” “a dance?!” he spluttered incredulously, spinning around to watch others’ reactions. “i don’t see a problem with it,” wooyoung retorted, speaking from behind him. “of course you don’t,” youngjae sneered at him. there was a deadly silence until your father clapped awkwardly, “well! if the princess decides on a dance, then a dance it shall be to decide the final suitor! whichever suitor– young lord park or young lord jung, wins the heart of our daughter shall be her future husband!”

you sat on the stool by your vanity, putting on your accessories and checking yourself in the mirror, doing anything to calm down the nerves in your system and your pounding heart. you heard a knock from outside your bedroom door and you called them in.

jongho, all dressed up in his princely attire, peeked around your door, coming inside and shutting the door behind him. he makes himself comfortable on the edge of your bed before opening his mouth, “choose jung.” you looked at him through your mirror wordlessly, before standing up to smooth out your grand ball gown. you dared yourself to ask, “why?”

jongho rolled his eyes, giving you an exasperated face, “i know you. you are my sister, after all. you like him.” he stood to help with your necklace when he saw you struggling, “besides, i hear things too, you know.” he didn’t need to say it aloud for you to know he was indicating the rumours youngjae started.

he stepped back, allowing you to turn around and look at him gratefully. “thank you, you can be really helpful sometimes when you’re not absolutely annoying.” he let out a loud laugh at your words, shrugging slightly. he held out his elbow for you to take, which you did, and he guided the both of you to the ballroom.

you loitered around the busy ballroom, eyes moving from one excited person to another. you were glad everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same when you couldn’t even find wooyoung. you already had a dance with youngjae earlier, and it was uncomfortable, to say the least. he spent the entire dance bragging to you about his achievements and gripping your waist tightly to bring your attention back to him whenever your eyes strayed.

you were worrying endlessly over your fate. if, by the end of the night, wooyoung hadn’t come to find you and ask for a dance, youngjae would be the automatic winner by default. he would indeed be the final suitor and become your husband.

“may i have this dance?” someone tapped your shoulder gently. you spun around to meet wooyoung’s awaiting eyes, and words couldn’t describe the relief you felt seeing his now familiar smile. “you may,” you placed your hand on his outstretched one, following his steps to the centre of the ballroom.

you allowed a few uncomfortable moments to pass before blurting out, “why are you doing this?” the question you had been pondering for the past few hours would finally be answered now. wooyoung unintentionally clenched his hand resting on your waist at your words, before he relaxed once more, his fingers tracing circles around the area he just squeezed on accident. “should i not be?”

you pursed your lips at how vague his answer was. he noticed your reaction and modified it, “i meant, as a suitor, is that not what i am expected to do?” you contemplated whether to tell him what you heard from the servants or not, before deciding on a half-truth, “i suppose it was odd, considering what you said that morning and the unwillingness you had been carrying for the past week. it left the impression you were not looking to marry me…

wooyoung chuckled at your hesitance, choosing to answer you truthfully this time, “ah, i see. no, princess, i merely would not allow youngjae to stir up rumours about me cheating my way into winning, which caused my harsh reaction. i do apologise for that,” he flashed you a comforting smile, “and you should know, princess, i actually do enjoy sports quite a lot. ironically, i am the best at javelin throwing and archery. well, not so much in running.” you laughed softly at his last comment.

“i will admit, ashamedly, i had been pretending not to be the athlete my father promotes frequently– not at all to do with you, princess, of course. i simply was not sure i was ready to marry yet,” wooyoung paused for a couple of seconds, sucking in a deep breath through his teeth and continuing, “after the second contest, however, i’ve had a change of heart, you see. what young lord park said…” he shook his head in disappointment, “how could i let such a vile man marry the sweetest soul i’d ever met?” you found yourself shying into your figure at his comment, head lowering to look at his shoes until he squeezed your waist gently, causing you to look up at his endearing face again.

“but i suppose it all boils down to your decision now, does it not?” he tilted his head playfully, his eyes twinkling with mischief. neither of you had to voice out the fact that wooyoung had already won from the start.

networks: @kflixnet k-labels kbookshelf neverendingdreams-net straykidsland @k-films @pirateeznet

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pretzel-box · 5 months ago

Note

Might I humbly request more streamer au Sebastian?? I don't have a specific prompt so honestly do whatever you'd like!

SEQUEL TO THE STREAMER AU

PART 1 HERE

Tags: Doubt, Comedy, Teasing, Slightly Fluff, Streamer AU

Words: 1,6k

You glanced at the message on your screen, your eyes narrowing in playful suspicion.

“Jellybeanie_?”

Even though it was just a jumble of words on the flat screen, you could almost hear the amusement behind the way Solace wrote your username. It was a name that carried a bit of a past, a digital footprint that had followed you through your early streaming days. Your father had given you the nickname "Jellybeanie" when you were young, and it stuck, especially during your awkward teenage years when you thought beanies were the pinnacle of cool fashion. There was a bit of irony there, considering the sheer volume of cringe it represented. You had done everything to erase that phase from existence, deleting your weird selfies, throwing the beanies out and pretending you’re too cool for silly headwear—except for the username. Somehow, it had become part of your identity, both endearing and a little bit embarrassing.

"Don't judge it, Shoelaced_Seb42," you shot back with a grin, your fingers flying over the keyboard as the heat of the moment pulled you in. You could only imagine what kind of story was behind his own name. Maybe it was a wordplay with “shoelace” and “Solace,” but “Seb42”? That was anyone’s guess. There had to be a story there, too—everyone had one.

His reply came almost instantly. “Careful, doll. I don't want to reveal my edgelord side in front of a cute bean like you.”

You felt a flutter in your chest, something warm and annoyingly familiar. Damn him for knowing exactly how to get under your skin—and damn you for liking

While you had no problem flirting with Solace during your nightly gaming streams, your real-life roommate was a different story entirely. It was a cruel twist of fate, really. Your fans always talked about how well you and Solace—a famous streamer with a massive following—got along. They called you "the perfect duo," and more than a few shipped you two. They didn't know the irony of the situation. Because in reality, when you weren't "Jellybeanie_", there was no Pressured_Solace, just Sebastian.

The Sebastian who would leave his empty coffee mugs all over the apartment. The Sebastian who would blast his music at ungodly hours, regardless of how many times you'd told him you needed quiet for your recordings. The Sebastian who seemed to have made it his life mission to be the most insufferable person you'd ever met.

You had moved into this apartment months ago, both of you, lured by the promise of a prime location and cheap rent—only to discover that you couldn't go five minutes without bickering over something mundane. The Wi-Fi. The thermostat. The last of the milk.

"Seriously, Sebastian," you muttered under your breath the next morning after your midnight chat with Solace, staring at the empty carton of milk your roommate left in the fridge. "Is it too much to ask for you to throw this out? Or better yet, buy more?"

Sebastian sauntered into the kitchen, tousled black hair sticking up at odd angles, a lazy grin on his face. "Morning to you too, sunshine," he said, ignoring your frustration completely. He tossed his phone onto the counter and grabbed a can of energy drink from the pantry. "Did you see my note?"

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. "Yeah, I saw it. It was crumpled up in the trash. Nice touch."

He just smirked, leaning back against the counter as he cracked open the can. "You know, I think you secretly love our little banter," he said, taking a sip and watching you with those infuriatingly bright eyes of his. He was definitely teasing you, his tone wasn't like Solace his…Sebastian was the ungodly opposite, annoying, mean and insufferable.

"Love is a strong word," you shot back, fighting the urge to hit him with the empty milk box. He had this way of getting under your skin, making you react, and he seemed to take endless delight in it.

When night fell and the cameras turned on, it was a different story. As Jelly you felt like you were seeing a different side of life by spending time with Solace. The witty banter, the playful teasing over the text messages—it felt real. More real than the stupid arguments with your roommate over dish duty or who got to use the bathroom first in the mornings.

You’d been doing collaborative streams with Solace for months now. What had started as a random pairing in a popular online game had quickly turned into a regular thing, and your viewers loved it. There was a chemistry there—an undeniable spark that had even you questioning what was real and what was just for show.

And the more you streamed together, the more you found yourself looking forward to those late-night gaming sessions. The way he made you laugh, the way he’d check in to make sure you were okay if things got too intense in-game. There was a kindness to him—a depth that you didn’t see in the Sebastian you shared your living space with.

“So, Jelly,” his voice crackled through your headset, bringing you back to the game at hand. “What’s the plan? You gonna carry us to victory, or should I start writing my will now?”

You chuckled, glancing at the chat as messages flew by. Your viewers were eating this up. “I don’t know, Solace,” you replied, your tone playful. “Maybe I’ll let you die first and then come in for the save. Would make for great content.”

He laughed, a sound that sent a small thrill through you. “Always thinking about the content. That’s why you’re the best.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the compliment, a smile tugging at your lips. Damn him. Why did he have to be so... nice? And why did you have to like it so much?

It was nearly 3 a.m. by the time your stream ended. You stretched, feeling the fatigue settle into your bones. As you stepped out of your room, you were startled to find Sebastian in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge.

He looked up as you entered, a frown on his face. ��Late night?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes, too tired to muster up a proper retort. “Like you’re one to talk,” you muttered, grabbing a water bottle from the counter.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence, the kind that seemed to fill every corner of the small apartment. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Do you ever… wonder what your online friends are like in real life?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful. “I mean, it’s easy to get along with someone when you’re just a username and a voice on a screen. But in real life… things are different.”

You studied him for a moment, unsure of where this was coming from. “Yeah,” you said slowly. “I guess you’re right. People can be… different.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned back to the fridge. “Anyway, good night,” he said over his shoulder as he grabbed a snack and headed back to his room.

“Good night,” you replied, watching him go. You couldn’t help but wonder about the sudden shift in his demeanor. The whole conversation was just a giant question mark and you didn't understand where the sudden question came from.

A week passed, and you couldn't stop thinking about that night in the kitchen. Your streams with Solace were becoming more frequent, and with every passing game, you felt that connection deepening. It was confusing. Especially after Sebastian's words from last week, you actually don't know much about Solace. What he looks like, what his job is, if he has a partner…God he could be a 65 year old man named Josh that drives a truck and eats Hamburgers every day for lunch. He could be anyone.

And then, one fateful night, everything changed.

You were streaming a new co-op game with Solace when a message popped up in the chat from a mutual fan. “Wouldn’t it be crazy if Jelly and Seb were roommates IRL?”

You laughed it off, typing a quick response. “Yeah, imagine that chaos!”

Seb responded with a chuckle, “We’d probably drive each other insane.”

But the thought lingered. Your eyes drifted over to his username again—Pressured_Solace. You hated the feeling of having a crush on someone who was out of reach, someone who had not a face and not a real name. And it crushed you not to know if you would ever know more about him. Wondering if all the flirting and the jokes were just a facade for the streams or if he actually tries to get close to you.

Your sudden silence must have been noticeable because Solace his voice came through your headset, concerned. “Jelly? You okay?”

You swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself. “Yeah, I… I just thought of something.”

“Like what?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Nothing,” you replied quickly, too quickly. “Just… something funny. I'll tell you later.”

But as you ended the stream, you knew there was no way you were going to let this go. Not without finding out the truth behind Solace.

The stream ended, the microphone turned off and you leaned back into your chair, fumbling with the cables of your headphones.

“Solace?” Your fingers moved on the glowing keyboard, texting him on discord. The most healthy thing was confrontation instead of confusion and you collected your courage to ask him for a picture.

“What's up, Jellybeanie!~”

“Can I get a picture?” It didn't take long till he replied with a spoiler-covered picture, adding a secretive emoji that holds a finger in front of their mouth. Your heart skips a beat, anxiety and excitement rushing through your mind and you click on the image with shaky hands.

It was a fish. He trolled you.

“SOLACE!”

“ALR ALR CHILL BEANIE!1!1”

He send another picture.

And in a single moment, it hit you hard.

And you screamed.

#sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #roblox pressure #sebastian solace fanfic #pressure #pressure x reader #streamer au

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reasonsforhope · 10 months ago

Text

"Sunlight dapples the once-denuded forest floor as saplings spread their branches and leaves overhead, slowly forming a lush canopy.

Beside each young tree, a sign notes its species. Lupuna, says one, the colloquial Peruvian term, and below that its scientific name, Ceiba pentandra — in other words, a kapok tree, known for its cotton-like fibers. Huito, says another sign, or Geinpa americana, which produces edible gray berries.

Each sapling is distinct, a reflection of the Amazon's stunning biodiversity, with so many different species that you might go acres without finding a repeat.

Yet this young forest did not spring up naturally. It has been carefully recreated by humans in an area that was, until just three years ago, a heavily contaminated moonscape.

This land was stripped of its dense vegetation by miners scouring the subsoil for tiny specks of gold, using mercury to separate the gold from the sediment. Many thought that a healthy forest would never thrive in impoverished, mercury-laden topsoil and that the piles of sandy tailings, the residue from the gold mining effort, and the pools of wastewater were irremediable...

"It feels good to see the forest grow back," says Pedro Ynfantes, 66, the miner whose legal mining concession of 1,110 acres includes this 10-acre patch of land where this young forest is located. "We don't want to deforest. When we had the opportunity to let the forest grow back, we took it. It's much better this way."

The opportunity he refers to came via U.S. nonprofit Pure Earth, which works with communities across the Global Southto remediate environmental problems left behind by mining, much of it illegal. Their biggest targets are mercury and lead contamination...

Security forces have launched anti-mining operations down the years, even blowing up the miners' equipment deep in the jungle. But most local politicians, including Madre de Dios' members of Peru's national congress, broadly support the miners, who are a powerful constituency in the relatively sparsely populated jungle region.

Restoring the forest

Pictured: France Cabanillas works for the nonprofit group Pure Earth, which is spearheading an effort to plant saplings in areas of the Peruvian Amazon that were devastated by illegal gold mining.

Now there's an effort to address the damage. Initially working with the region's legal miners, most of whom were here before the 2009 gold rush kicked off, the nonprofit group Pure Earth is using this patch of Ynfantes' land as a pilot project to show how the rainforest can be regenerated after the last traces of gold have been plucked from the soil.

It took a sustained outreach effort. Many miners are wary of or even downright hostile to foreign NGOs, which have repeatedly called for gold mining to be banned or severely curbed in the Peruvian Amazon — steps they say would cost them their livelihood.

"I am feeling optimistic," says France Cabanillas, Pure Earth's local coordinator, who has been appealing to the frustration of many miners at the heavy toll they have taken on the jungle and their desire to minimize their environmental footprint for the next generation.

"We still have a lot to do but this pilot is going well. Down the years, the miners have been getting a lot of stick but not much carrot when it comes to their environmental impacts," says Cabanillas. "We are offering them a carrot, allowing them to remediate their own impacts. Many of the miners do not want to be destroying the rainforest."

Before the miners plant the carefully-selected mix of tree species, they had to prepare the earth. Most of the topsoil had been washed away by the miners' heavy use of hoses.

That preparation involved adding biochar (burnt organic material) and even molasses, which contain fixed carbon and minerals, along with various other nutrients. The miners also had to dig tiny moats around the saplings to prevent all of this new planting from being washed away. Now, after three years, the forest is visibly coming back.

The rejuvenated rainforest also mitigates the impact of the mercury used by many of the illegal miners.

Research done by Pure Earth shows that the barren, sandy soil emits mercury. But in a rainforest, the ecosystem actually absorbs some of the metal, boosting public health."

-via NPR, April 2, 2024

#mining #illegal miners #gold #gold mining #peru #rainforest #ecosystem #mercury #environment #pollution #remediation #reforestation #good news #hope

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angry-geese · 1 year ago

Text

The Weight - Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: smut//not osha compliant. arranged marriage au. blood/cannibalism mention. biting/size kink. unprotected sex, creampies. afab reader

synopsis: an arranged marriage au where the reader chooses sukuna instead of one of the men from her village

word count: 10.3k

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since probably last february and I finally got around to finishing it lol

jjk masterlist

As mid-afternoon turns to dusk, you realize you have nothing to show for your hours in these woods. You know, reasonably, you should cut your losses for the day, and return home. In a little over an hour, it’ll be dark, and navigating these woods will become a challenge. But winter has come and gone with a vengeance, leaving food stores low. The thought of fresh meat is too much for you to quit now.

Fresh tracks mark the once-smooth creek bed. Deer. At least three. They’ve bedded down here, as evident by the smell, and flattened patches of grass. For several meters, the tracks nearly overlap themselves, before heading off in separate directions. It's been years since you’ve traveled this deep into the woods, and those few times were accompanied by your father, or uncle. Your solitude has you jumping at every rustle of a leaf, and snapped twig. It's when the woods fall silent that you need to worry. That means a predator is near. As long as you can hear bugs, or birds, you'll be okay.

Further ahead—maybe twenty yards—is a buck that stopped to drink from the creek.

You knock an arrow, lining the broadhead up with your target. Something feels wrong. The string feels too taut. It slips from your fingers prematurely. The arrow hits just behind the front shoulder, and—in theory—should puncture the heart. A shot like that—in theory—should drop an animal like this where it stands. Today it doesn't. The buck takes off running.

Between the footprints, and little droplets of blood, a clear trail is left behind. When you do finally come upon your prey, the crickets have fallen silent. The buck lays on its side in the grass, chest heaving. You ready your knife to put the poor thing out of its misery when something—someone—emerges from the treeline on the opposite side of the clearing.

Your body is moving before you can fully process the situation. You flatten yourself out on the ground, hiding under the cover of some bushes. If the man does see you, then he makes no note of it. He draws closer, stopping to kneel beside the buck. It’s too dark to make out his face. Something about him has the hair on the back of your neck on end. He hauls the carcass up onto his shoulder, turning to return in the direction in which he came.

The absurdness of it all has you frozen. You blink several times as if to make sure this isn't your mind playing tricks on you. Once reality sets in, you’re back on your feet, chasing after him.

“That's mine!” You say, hoping the volume of your voice is enough to scare off the thief. It isn't.

What you first assume to be another trick of the lighting becomes a horrifying reality as you notice the true size of the man. The man—being, or whatever he is—towers over you, completely dwarfing you in size. Mild annoyance is all that is visible on his face as he turns to you. From the deer, he rips out your arrow, tossing it at your feet. The broadhead has snapped off, as well as the shaft is bent. If you so desire, you suppose you could repair it. Not that you have any wish to. Sometimes it is simply better to cut your losses.

But you have more pressing things to deal with right now.

“And just what do you plan to accomplish, little lamb?” He asks. “A deer like this can weigh as much as a grown man. Do you plan to carry this back all by yourself?”

It’ll be tiring, but not impossible. Gutting and dressing it here would remove a lot of unnecessary weight, but would render plenty of valuable meat and organs useless. All that extra meat and skin could be used better elsewhere…

You are overcome with the urge to run, yet his gaze has your feet firmly planted on the ground. Your eyes fall to a small red splotch on his kimono—a blood stain. It can't be from the deer, it's far too old. It’s not until your knees knock together that you realize you’re trembling.

The action of him moving closer causes a cry of panic to leave you, unintentionally calling out for your father.

“What—who are you?!” You ask as you scramble backwards.

“I am Ryoumen Sukuna, the King of Curses, my dear,” he says. “Now, shall we get this back to your home?”

Fear threatens to overcome you. Even if you could draw an arrow in time, you doubt it would truly hurt him. Yet, in spite of your fear, you know he has no plans to harm you. Once you’re in sight of the village, he sets the deer down, and gestures for you to take the lead.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask. You’re certain the look on your face suggests you still expect him to eat you.

“Why do you ask?” He says. “Maybe I wanted the location of your home. It seems there are plenty of sacrifices here for me.”

“Wait a minute!” You say, eyes widening with fear. A mix of panic and guilt consumes you. “You can't-”

A look resembling amusement crosses his face. “I mean no harm to your village,” Sukuna says, “but in five years, I will return to claim what is mine.”

The strange man would vanish upon reaching the outskirts of your village, and in the nearly five years that follow, you would not once traverse so deep into the woods. On several occasions, you would try to retrace your steps, but would never once come across that clearing. When you would bring it up to your father, or any of the other village elders, your concerns would be brushed off, or outright ignored. Years would pass and slowly, achingly slowly, you would forget about the man in the woods entirely.

The coming spring brings your twenty-eighth birthday, and the looming threat of being an “older” unmarried woman.

If you had any say in the matter, you wouldn't get married at all. Plenty of older women exist, happily unmarried, yet your mother insists that you must find a husband. Any attempts to convince her that you’re fine with the way things are, fail. Once it became clear you weren't going to seek a husband on your own, your mother took upon the task of finding a suitor for you. Over the course of several months, meetings were arranged with various men, and with each rejected one, your mother grew more desperate to find the perfect match.

Your mother insists you're cursed. Your father thinks you’re simply unlucky. When you asked how marriage was supposed to fix that curse, she had no answer for you.

In the months prior to your birthday, your mother proposed a deal to you: meet with another man—the son of a wealthy merchant. That if this meeting went well, even if you didn't marry him, she would stop pestering you about getting married. Tired of her pestering, you relented, and agreed to meet him. And as the days draw closer, you only feel dread towards him.

The outcome of tonight has already been decided by you: failure. Whether your mother knows this or not is hard to tell. Judging her tense nature, you suspect she knows your plans.

“I was already married at your age,” she says, tightening your obi, “I used to have a dress just like this.”

“The difference is, you knew him already,” you say, “and I am meeting a stranger.”

“I am simply doing what I think is best for you,” she says. “This is your chance to get out of this village—to live a better life! Don't you want that?”

Her eyes meet yours in one last pleading glance. It makes you wonder; did she have such a conversation with her mother? Did your grandmother go through such trouble to match her to your father? Or did this come easier to her, than it did to you?

You suppose he’s handsome. The silks he wears are clearly expensive, with threads like woven gold. His features are sharp—what one could describe as noble, but you find him truly dull. But he is scrawny—squishy, with hands that show he has never worked a day in his life. The little conversation he makes is dreadfully boring. His father is an older man, with a graying beard, and sagging eyes. His mother is considerably younger, dressed in blue, with a small scar on her chin. Her silky black hair falls down her back. The little conversation you do have is short, but polite. The typical small talk you would have with a stranger.

Your mother does her best to talk you up. She’s gotten pretty good at that over the past few years. Your father interjects here and there, but it's your mother that does the majority of the talking.

“She’s strong. A talented hunter. Good with a knife.” Your father says. This time, you’re paying attention when he speaks.

Your potential father-in-law seems unimpressed with your father’s attempts to talk you up. Perhaps if you were a son, this conversation would go differently. If you were a son, your mother wouldn't be so stressed about you being married before 30. Your growing irritation mounts when you set down your cutlery, turning to look the old man in his eyes.

“And what about him?” You ask, motioning to his son. “Look at him—how is he supposed to give me a strong child?”

The energy in the room seems to shift entirely. Your father nearly chokes on his wine, but his eyes are firmly trained on your mother. She glares daggers at you, gripping her spoon so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

“What?” You ask. “I am the one getting married. Don't I get a say in this?”

Are you trying to screw this up? Your mother’s face seems to ask.

“A good father controls his daughter,” the man says, “especially one with such a sharp tongue.”

“I can serve this village, or I can control my daughter, but I cannot do both,” your father says, “she’s not a child anymore, she can make her own choices.”

That earns a small smirk from you. Leave it to him to stand up for you.

“That is exactly why this is so grievous,” the man says, “my son will not marry an old maid with an attitude problem!”

“And I will not have in-laws as insufferable as you!” You bring your knife down on the table, narrowly missing his fingers. This little outburst of yours at dinner will certainly have consequences. Your mother’s wrath is only the beginning.

They don't leave in nearly as big of a hurry as you’d expect from a man who was just threatened with a knife, but they do hurry out, making certain not to look back.

“Maybe we should have offered to let them stay,” says your father, “it’s not safe to be out on the road after dark.”

“We’re lucky to not have them send guards after us for that,” your mother says, and for once, you agree with her. “Threatening a man like that is a new low, even for you.”

After such a disastrous dinner, you’re not particularly eager to go find your parents. You linger towards the outskirts of your village for as long as daylight allows you to. Once it grows too dark to stay out, you begin the trek back to your home, praying your parents—or at least your mother—have simply gone to bed. Maybe your father will forgive such a night, but your mother certainly won't. Over the past year you’ve done enough to earn her ire, this will not help your case.

Sitting outside is your mother, her eyes trained on a dying fire. Although she doesn't acknowledge you, you know she’s noticed you. Part of you wonders if you should speak first. Would that even improve your situation, or simply make it worse?

“You win.” She says.

“What?” You ask.

“You win. I told you I’d stop after this, remember?” She asks. “Besides, I stopped liking him after that comment he made about your father.”

You still don't believe it's over. No tone of accusation clings to her voice, yet you can't help being suspicious.

“I don't get it.” You say.

“I just want what's best for you.” She says. “I want you to live a long and happy life. Are you really content to spend the rest of your life in this village? Stuck taking care of your brother and father?”

“That sounds like the preferable outcome,” you say, “compared to having in-laws I can't stand.”

“Where does he get off calling you an old maid anyway?” She says.

A small smile crosses your lips. This is about the best she'll get, and she knows this, a grin crossing her own face. A moment that should be one of triumph—at least for you—seems to be more sorrowful. The older you grow, the further apart you drift from her, and with that comes a strange, aching loneliness. You long for a time in your youth; the days when she would play dolls with you in-between house chores. You miss the tiny clothes she’d sew for them. The furniture made of timber scraps she’d hand paint. Oh how long has it been since she last braided your hair? Or brushed it? Or helped you wash it?

Did she have these same feelings about her own mother? Or was it easy for her? Does she too mourn those moments you used to share?

You don't remember her always looking this old. That’s not to say she isn't beautiful still—age does not nullify beauty. But she looks tired now. The dark circles under her eyes are more prominent than ever. The skin around her eyes crinkles when she laughs, or smiles. Her hair is littered with grays—like little silver threads. She looks like you.

From within the nearly pitch-black woods comes a scream; not that of an animal, but of man. When the scream rings out again, it’s much easier to understand. It’s a cry for help.

Emerging out of the treeline, and following the main road is a man, half hunched over and clutching his stomach. He makes it several yards into the village before collapsing. Enough blood pours from the wound on his side that you can smell it. A metallic taste lingers in the air, stuck to the back of your throat. Blood.

You’re the first to run over, followed shortly behind by your mother. The injured, shambling figure collapses upon the road. It’s only as you draw closer that you recognize him, albeit barely: the man from dinner. His clothes at one point in time were yellow in color, but are now stained a deep brown in color from a mix of dirt and blood.

“We need a doctor over here!” Mother cries out, her voice echoing against the wall of trees.

Someone must hear, because eventually a group of men burst out of a nearby house. They make quick work of rolling him onto his back, granting you a better look at his wounds. Three long slashes across his stomach. From your mother comes a gasp, followed by her clamping her hand over her mouth. The young man succumbs to his wounds before anyone is able to help him. He’s lost too much blood. People don't come back from that.

“Was he stabbed?” One man asks.

“Looks like knife marks,” comments another.

“Not a knife,” the oldest of the three says, “claws.”

“Do you think a mountain lion got to him?” You ask.

The oldest of the men shakes his head. “Cats like that don't get this close to towns. They avoid people if they can. A bear, maybe; if he got in between a mother and cub. But even that seems unlikely…”

This is why you don't go into the woods after dark. This is why you lock your doors and close your shutters tight when the sun sets. Bad things lurk out there, but they are not bears, nor are they mountain lions.

Something about the height of a person bursts from the treeline. Atop the legs of a chicken is a head only humanesque in the way corpses are. Sunken eyes sit atop a shriveled nose, and cracked lips. Its skin seems to be hanging off bone. Still, it takes you a moment to register that it’s fear you feel. Your palms prickle with sweat, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The urge to flee is nearly unbearable.

More of these creatures emerge from the direction of the nearly-set sun. They appear to come in all sorts of horrid shapes, and sizes, the smallest being no larger than a bird, and the largest about the size of a cow. Fear threatens to overcome you entirely. At least twenty of the creatures leave the treeline, although you suspect more remain hidden within it. The temperature must drop by ten degrees. It’s as if all the moisture has been sucked from the air. Those who dared leave their homes to look at the source of the commotion have now retreated, locking their doors behind them.

The collar of your dress jerks backwards as your mother struggles to drag you back towards the house. “Get your father!” She says. “Hurry!”

“What about you?!” You ask.

“Just get your father,” she says.

And you do so, running as fast as your feet will take you. The chilly night air renders your fingertips numb, and your face burning. He’s asleep in his chair, and wakes with a gasp as you shake him, motioning frantically to the door. The words that leave you are incoherent, but he must understand your panic. He retrieves his sword, telling you to lock the door behind him. You don't listen. You never listen, you can hear your mother say now. A sudden burst of light draws your attention—a nearby house has caught fire. Those strange, horrid creatures swarm around it like flies. Several neighbors have exited their houses, and begun throwing buckets of water upon the blaze, but the fire is too strong.

And from the treeline emerges that man from the woods all those years ago.

In five years time, he has not aged a day. His cruelly sharp features appear the same within the flicker of the firelight. They fall before him on their hands and knees, heads bowed in fear. You only realize you’re shaking when you move closer to the window, peeking out through the crack in the shutters.

The King of Curses, he called himself, all those years ago.

His mouth moves as if he's speaking, but you can only make out about half of what he says. The ringing in your ears is too loud to make sense of much.

“My offerings lessen, my shrine lies defiled,” he says, “and you humans sit here complacent. I gave you five years to make amends and this is what you do with it?”

You know, logically, that your father is going to die. He is no match for the creatures, let alone that strange man. You must do something. Even if it is beyond logic, or reason, you would not forgive yourself if you did not act.

“Then what is it you require of us?” Asks father, his hands trembling slightly. You can tell it’s more than just the dancing light of the fire. He is truly frightened.

“An offering,” says the King of Curses. “A sacrifice.”

“We have nothing to offer,” says father, “the river has run dry of fish—our crops have withered! We have nothing to offer, we’re starving regardless!”

The King of Curses eyes drift to your hiding place, before landing back on your father. “You said it yourself.” He says. “You’ll starve regardless. What difference does it make that you should give up one of your own? Won't there only be less mouths to feed?”

Your arrows rattle loudly as you pull one from your quiver, knocking it. From this angle, and sitting half crouched on the ground, you can't bring it to a full draw. Not only does that mess with your aim, but alter the power of the shot too. That can be accounted for. You adjust your angle to be a little higher—right above his head. When you release the string, the arrow gives way with a thunk! The shot is dead on; your arrow whistling towards the demon king’s head. He brings his spear up, knocking it aside. Several heads whip back towards you, their faces contorted in a mix of anger, and fear.

You’re not quite sure who grabs you first—it must be more than one person. Several sets of hands are upon you, dragging you from the house. Any attempts to fight it fail on your part, there are simply too many people to kick off. They drop you in the dirt beside your father. You don't dare look at him. You know his eyes are filled with fear.

“We’ll—we’ll put it to a vote,” says one of the elders. “All those in favor of sending this woman as an offering…”

Two other elders raise their hands. Then several of the men. Then, reluctantly, the mother of a neighboring family. Even more hands pop up after that. Although maybe a minute passes, it feels like hours. At least a dozen sets of eyes are on you.

“Out of all of you,” the demon king says, eyes following across the crowd that’s now gathered, “she was the only one of you to fight back, yet you punish such an action?”

Silence is the only response the crowd can conjure up. A groan so loud that the ground rumbles beneath it rings out as the house gives way, collapsing in on itself in a rain of ash and embers.

“Wait!” Your father cries out, “let me go in her place!”

Several more incomprehensible sentence fragments leave him. He pleads and pleads to no avail. The last view you get of your village is of the spirits retreating back into the woods.

It must be hours before your state of shock wears off. Dawn breaks bleak and gray over the horizon. The temple he brings you lies in ruin. You must be one of the first people to set foot in here in years. A cracked foundation gives way to walls overtaken by vines. Dust and ash layers the ground, and every surface imaginable.

Sukuna must not expect you to try to run. Nothing is done to prevent you from escaping. There are no doors to lock. No ropes or cages. The only real barrier of escape is the trek home through miles of woods. Should you wait until sunrise, the trip won't be impossible. It is the fear of what remains for you that prevents you from returning.

Would there even be anything to go back to? Is it even worth it after what they did? They did not hesitate as they offered you as a sacrifice. Whatever happens to them… they have it coming.

Such thoughts do little to comfort you. If anything, they make you feel worse. What little strength you have left goes into stopping the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. You manage. Barely.

Unable to find it within you to do anything else, you sit. Only a thin, woven mat separates you and the hard floor. Footsteps draw closer down the hall, the noise only amplified by the high ceilings of the temple.

Uraume. That’s what Sukuna called them. A strange being that looks human, but appears to be more than such. They enter the room, a shock a white hair visible before the rest of them is. They wear the kimono of an unmarried woman, in vibrant shades of orange, blues, and pinks woven in the pattern of flowers. Hooked around one arm is a pail of water. Under the other arm is a roll of cloth. Contained within the cloth is a mix of hygiene supplies; a sponge, comb, various vials of oils and creams.

Uraume treats you like one would treat a frightened animal. They kneel on the ground before you, leaving about the distance of a foot. When you don't flinch, or shy away, they move closer.

“You’re covered in ash,” they say, “let me help.”

With the sponge, they dab away the bits of dirt and ash that have caked to your skin. Human contact like this should, in theory, be intimate, but in this situation it feels like anything but that. Uraume’s touch feels cold, and clinical. With them comes a strange, uncanny feeling, like you are not looking into the eyes of a human, but of a corpse. The reason behind their kindness is a mystery to you. It feels wrong to question them, but you can't help but think there is something sinister behind their actions. Their casualness suggests this isn't the first time they’ve done this. That thought does nothing to comfort you, so you quickly push it aside.

Next, they move on to your neck, then down to the exposed bits of your chest, and shoulders.

“Such a beautiful dress,” they comment. You reply weakly, saying it belonged to your mother. Their response to that is little more than a hum.

They take your hands, scrubbing the dirt from under your nails with a small brush. After that, a comb is worked through your hair, taking great care to not pull on any knots that have formed. Once they can work their hands through your hair with no resistance, they stop.

Uraume leans back to examine their work, deeming you presentable. Gathering what they brought with them, they make their way towards the door, turning back once to say: “I’ll bring something to eat.”

The events of the night have left you without an appetite. You probably should eat something. It’ll be important to keep your energy up. The little adrenaline left within you has you jumping at any small noise, or shadow. Sleep feels like an impossibility right now.

About ten minutes pass before Uraume returns carrying a platter. Tea, pickled vegetables, a hunk of bread, a bowl of some kind of stew. It smells quite good, but you merely pick at it. Like your hesitation to sleep, you can hardly eat. Uraume sits with you, picking at their own food, but never finishing it. A million questions race through your mind, although you can barely bring yourself to ask them.

Would they even answer you? Or does this have a more sinister plan behind it?

Finally, you find enough of your voice to ask: “Where is…?”

“I’ve prepared a bath for master Sukuna,” they say, “he’ll be joining us shortly.”

Your attention turns back to the bowl in your hands, which soon slips through your fingers, breaking upon the floor. What little appetite you had is soured entirely. This is it. You’re nearly certain you’re going to die here.

Your attempt to clean up the mess is stopped by Uraume. They insist upon cleaning it themselves, taking great care not to cut their hands on the shards.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, shocked at how small your voice sounds.

“Master Sukuna likes to play with his food before he eats it,” they say.

Uraume leaves shortly after, taking the leftover dishes with them. You remain seated, eyes moving between the two exits of the room. One takes you to the entrance of the temple; you’re not certain where the other leads. The first is almost guaranteed to be guarded, though. Trying to run now is a bad idea. But when will you get another chance?

You will not sit idly by as death draws closer. Like the previous night, you feel as if you must do something. It was your own foolish actions that got you into this mess, says a small voice in the back of your head.

Trapped under your heel is a small pottery shard, left over from the shattered bowl. It’s small enough to conceal in your palm. Sharp. Better for stabbing than it is slashing, but it will be good enough at either. Once Sukuna returns, you’ll get your chance.

The rush of adrenaline has started to wear off now, rendering your arms weak, and your legs shaky. If you were to sit down now, you’re certain it would be a while before you get back up. It is the body fighting itself; fight or flight mode mixing with exhaustion. If you do not stop and rest, your body will give out on you eventually.

So you stand there and pace, clutching your shard of pottery close. Maybe thirty minutes pass in the time it takes Sukuna to enter, but it feels like hours. Adrenaline turns into fatigue.

Tears burn at your eyes again, but you’re able to blink them back. A mix of shock and betrayal has left you nothing short of exhausted. Sukuna’s towering stature only helps to make you feel like a lamb about to be devoured by a wolf.

“I trust Uraume has been of assistance,” Sukuna says.

Unsure of how to respond, you simply nod.

“What now?” You ask. “Is this the part where you’re supposed to eat me?”

That earns a laugh from him, although it’s strange sounding, as if the very action is foreign to him.

“Many decades ago, the people of your village—among others—would hold a festival during harvest season,” he says, “it was meant as a sign of peace. An offering in return to not raze their homes,

“The people of your village have grown laze, and complacent. They have forgotten their place as humans, and needed to be reminded of it. You are simply another offering. Something to tide me over.”

Sukuna draws close enough for you to feel his breath across the back of your neck. You shudder. Adrenaline courses through you once again.

This is it, you think, you are going to die.

In one last attempt to preserve your dignity, you aim for his jugular, and swing the shard of pottery towards it. A hand wraps around your wrist before it can make contact. A second set of arms are trapping you against his body before you can even register it. His breath is warm against your cheek, teeth inhumanly sharp in the dim light.

“You are entertainment.” He says.

That same set of sharp teeth drag up your neck. Some sick sense of pleasure runs up your spine at the feeling: being a little lamb in the jaws of a predator. It would take so little effort from him to render you lifeless that it’s almost comical. Adrenaline turns to delirium in your mind.

What happens if he finally grows bored of you? It’s not a matter of “if” in this case, it’s a matter of “when”. You have an idea of what will happen once he does.

You don't hear him leave, so much as you notice his lack of presence.

Sukuna is gone for most of the following day. In that time, you explore much of the temple in an attempt to gain your bearings. It’s sparsely furnished, and dilapidated for the most part, but there are some signs of life. On a lower level of the temple is a bedroom, where the bed alone is as big as a room in your home. Must be Sukuna’s. Another, smaller room appears to be Uraume’s quarters. A small kitchen branches off the hallway not far from this.

The later half of the day is spent trying to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. Thick woods surround the structure, spreading out for what must be miles. To the North is a creek. If you followed it, you might possibly meet up with the river by your village. Whether you could do so before nightfall is another question entirely. Finding yourself stuck in unfamiliar woods past dark may prove to be a death sentence.

Even if you could go back, would you want to? Their lack of hesitation towards sacrificing you still rings clear in your mind.

Sleep seems to be the best way to pass the time. There isn't much else to do around here. In the hours before dusk, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, and into the woods that surround the temple. You justify it by saying that fresh air will do you good, not that anyone asks you. The only person around to do so would be Uraume, though you don't see much of them.

Heavy fog settles upon the trees, causing the day to take on a quiet, sleepy nature. Little cream-colored mushrooms pop up through the layer of moss and dead leaves that blanket the forest floor. Carved out over years of use is a dirt path, barely wide enough for a person to walk through. Following it for about ten minutes brings you to a pond. At one end, the start of a small creek leads downhill. Little fish are visible just under the surface. Leaving your socks and shoes at the shore, you wade out into the water. It’s cool, but not chilly. The mud feels soft underneath your feet. Being outside helps settle your nerves a bit. Outright terror is replaced with uneasiness now. While not entirely better, it’s an improvement to your previous mood.

From the treeline opposite of the path you took, a figure enters the clearing. Sukuna. Adrenaline spikes through your body at the sight of him. Your pulse quickens, and fear prickles in your palms. Every cell of your being is telling you to run.

Sukuna motions with his hand for you to follow him. It is not an offer, so much as it’s a command. Following a short walk on a stoney path, you find yourself overlooking a rock cliff-face, and a small wood hut. Scattered about are several steaming pools, which bubble up from the ground, layering upon the cliff-face like stairs.

Sukuna undressed at the wood hut, leaving his clothes hanging upon the rafters. Your gaze remains firmly on the ground. You should not be seeing him like this. This feels far too intimate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long, but can't help it. The sight of his back alone is hard to tear your eyes away from; the muscles, the tattoos, the curve of his spine. There is a strange, supernatural beauty to him. You eye him with caution, yet curiosity.

Why has he brought you here? What does he want? Is this simply a ritual before he eats you?

Certainly, if you were to scream, no one would be nearby to hear you.

It strikes you just how easily his teeth could tear through your jugular. How his sharp nails could shred your flesh to ribbons. Sukuna is far faster and stronger than you, outrunning him is not an option.

Following his lead, you undress, and leave your clothes folded neatly upon a rock. Next comes the task of taking down your hair, and combing through it with your fingers, finding it still knot-free from the events of the previous night. Only then do you approach the largest of the three pools, and wade into it. At its deepest, it's a little above your waist. You could walk all the way across and never once have your feet leave the ground.

You settle upon a rock towards the edge, half submerged in the pool. The hot water feels nice upon your sore muscles. Your eyes trail ribbons of steam as they curl off the water. A wave of self consciousness rolls over you. You sink further into the water, crossing your arms in front of your chest. It’s up to your chin now. Sometime during this, it starts raining. The droplets leave little ripples across the surface of the water. Fall brings the smell of damp earth, and decaying leaves with it. Something that should be comforting only makes your stomach turn.

“You look frightened, little lamb,” Sukuna says.

Is it so obvious?

“I still don't believe this isn't some attempt to eat me.” You ask, though you’re not certain you want the answer.

“Had I wanted to eat you, I would have had Uraume make preparations.” He says.

You still don't believe him. How many people met their fate at his hands before you? There is no reason why you would be lucky—why you would escape your fate.

“Then what is it you want from me?” You ask.

His expression softens, shoulders lowering with a sigh. The space between his eyebrows is not so harshly creased anymore.

“I am not like the typical curses you have met,” Sukuna says, “I require your permission.”

“Permission for what?” You shrink back as he draws closer, stopping mere inches from you. He’d tower over the tallest man, let alone someone like you.

A kiss. Hungry, and overbearing, but a kiss nonetheless. Sukuna has to lean down, and you have to crane your neck up to complete the action. His movements feel stiff, clinical, as if he hasn't done this many times before. The action causes warmth to bloom in your chest, and spread out to your limbs. The hands that cup your face are nearly large enough to encompass it entirely. He tastes like wine, and something vaguely metallic. The thought that it might be blood crosses your mind for only a moment. You’d much rather think about other things.

“Will you devote yourself to me, completely and entirely?” He asks.

Funny, you think, had a human man asked you the same thing, you would have laughed in his face. Yet you find yourself bewitched by the King of Curses. Curious, and cautious all the same. This is not a feeling of love. It is something else entirely. You are a sacrifice, you remind yourself, this is the fate of a sacrifice.

“I devote myself to no man,” you say, “I don't see how you'd be any different.”

He hums in amusement, circling around you in the water. He stops behind you, slightly to your right. Sharp teeth graze across your shoulder. Large hands trace their way up your hips, then your body, coming to rest just below your breasts. You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the strange pressure that has built up. Your heart rate picks up in pace. Sukuna must be able to sense this. A low laugh leaves him as he pulls away.

“Well then,” he says, “do I have your permission to continue?”

Continue what? You wish to ask. As if against your mind’s wishes, your head moves in a nod. “Yes,” you say.

You can only imagine the look on his face as you have your back to him. He’s close enough you can feel the warmth radiate off his body. Is he pleased? Amused? Smug that all it took was a kiss to make you let your guard down?

Hands that should be calloused and rough are quite gentle with their touch. One comes to rest upon your hip, before trailing down to the space between your thighs. Seconds in and your knees seem to give out, your body supported only by him. One finger presses into you, then a second. You sigh at the intrusion. There’s little resistance as he presses into you. You’re too wet. Sukuna’s fingers are much larger than your own, though the stretch you feel is pleasant, not painful. Your thighs squeeze around his hand, drawing a low laugh from him. You can feel it rumble within his chest, which your back is pressed flush to.

Being so close to another being feels odd. The only intimacy you know is a platonic one. A familial one. This is different. Stronger. More intense. He finds the spot that makes you squirm and abuses it, toying with you like prey. It must be a game to him, you think, like cat and mouse. With one of your hands over your mouth, you try to muffle the lewd noises that spill from you. It’s a losing battle. All sorts of pleased sounding noises—from both you and him—echo through the clearing. Secretly, you’re glad this place is so remote. Should someone hear the lewd noises you’re making, you wouldn't recover from the embarrassment. He brings you just to the edge, but refuses to let you cross over. Frustration turns to desperation as you grind against him, chasing your own release. Sukuna doesn't appear opposed to your actions. He lets you work yourself up to—and through—your own release, the noises you make growing gradually more obscene until they come to a head in the form of an orgasm.

You remain in the water for a while afterwards. The layer of fog overhead makes the day take on a lazy, sleepy nature. His hands comb through your hair as you lay against his chest. Such a moment feels uncharacteristically tender for him. While you expect them to be sharp, his nails feel nice against your skin. The mouth on his stomach resembles a smirk, although the expression on his face is flat. Unreadable. A slight pang of disappointment shoots through you. You know it’s unreasonable of you to expect humanity from someone inherently inhuman. He does not—he can not—process things the way you do. Humans must appear so small and fragile to him.

You’re uncertain of how much time passes as you lay there, your limbs tangled with his. It doesn't feel like long enough. No time would feel long enough. You crave the touch of another being whether you want to admit that or not.

“It’s getting late,” he comments. Without another word, you watch as Sukuna dresses himself, and leaves.

You follow him as quickly as you can. You’re not quite fast enough, arriving back at the temple long after him. Dusk follows soon after.

You find no sign of the King of Curses upon your return. Finding yourself with not much of an appetite, you head straight to bed. Uraume stops by once to offer tea, but you decline, insisting you’re tired, and just wish to sleep. Whether or not they believe you, you can't tell. That’s about the extent of every conversation you have; polite, but short.

Sukuna must not need to sleep. Not in the same way you do. You dress down into your underclothes, leaving the rest folded neatly upon a chair. They’re not dirty, just slightly wrinkled from the events of today. You crawl into the bed much larger than you, and attempt to sleep. When he crawls into the bed beside you, you do nothing to protest.

As time passes, you grow used to his presence. Falling into a routine takes mere days. In that time, you don't see much of Sukuna, or Uraume. Maybe it’s for the best. You’re not certain what you’d say to either of them. You figure it best not to question what Sukuna gets up to in his free time. If the events at your village are anything similar, you figure it best to pay them no mind.

The longer you spend here, the more curious you find yourself. At least twice you find your way back to the hot springs. Familiarizing yourself with the surrounding woods has you growing more confident when navigating it. Animal tracks and trails reveal themselves, bringing more life to the woods.

Fall turns to winter. Rain gives way to snow, bringing in a bitter stormfront. It’s hard to tell how many days pass as the storm hits, rendering the three of you confined to the temple. Sukuna doesn't appear bothered at all by the cold, but you spend many bleak nights huddled by a fire. Sukuna approaches you on one of these nights; perhaps the bleakest and darkest one before the storm finally breaks. Your inability to leave the temple has you ready to claw out of your own skin. Never were you one to stay in one place very long.

Days have passed and you haven't spoken much to one another. Not since the day at the hot springs. You find yourself especially longing for them on a day like this, where the cold makes your joints ache, and your lips cracked. Winter is among your least favorite of the seasons. A hot and sticky summer day was always preferred over a day like this. Sukuna must sense it. He finds you curled by the fire, wrapped in an assortment of quilts and fabrics. You can't tell if it’s morning, or evening. Snow has rendered midday as dark as dusk.

You know you should get up, and toss more wood onto the fire. Should you let it die any further, it’s unlikely you’ll get it started again. Sukuna joins you in the room, sitting on the mat to your left. Finding yourself searching for warmth, you move closer to him. It’s an unconscious action at first. Once you recognize it, you can't find the willpower within you to stop.

You offer the edge of the blanket to him, basking in his warmth as the quilt is wrapped around both of you. One of his hands comes to rest upon your knee. Your gaze is trained on his face, while his remains on the dying fire.

“I don't suppose you do this to every sacrifice you get,” you say, not expecting an answer.

The corners of his lips twitch into something that resembles a smile. Much life his laugh, his smile is stiff, and rather foreign feeling. Like he hasn't done such a thing in centuries.

“You are different from the sacrifices I have received in the past.” He says.

You get the impression he is still figuring out what to do with you. Such a thought doesn't inspire confidence on your part, though you assume your situation could be worse.

You're nearly in his lap now. The hand on your knee soon moves upwards onto your thigh. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he palms himself through his clothes. Some sick part of you wishes to taunt him. To tease him in the same way he has done to you. You part your legs just enough to encourage him. There must be something wrong with you, you think, no normal woman would enjoy the company of the King of Curses.

This is not your typical virgin sacrifice. It is little more than that. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure. To fuck without the intent to procreate.

“I always assumed you wouldn’t have these… urges.” You say.

“Many things lost their potency,” he says. “Food was never enough to satiate, drink was never enough to quench thirst. Sex has remained the same. Primal pleasure never loses its potency.”

So he was human. At least at one point in time…

“Like I said,” he hums, “I am not like the typical curses you have met. I require your permission.”

“You have it,” you say.

Oh how dearly you wish to recreate the event at the hot springs. To feel the same build-up of emotions, and the following release. Such mindless pleasure has remained in your head, unable to be stifled by your own hands.

Off comes your kimono, guided down your shoulders by his hand. Your nipples stiffen when exposed to the open air. It is not the cold that has you shivering, but the expectation of what’s to come. His size, and calloused hands suggest his touch would be harsh, but you find to be the opposite. Sharp nails graze down your sides as he moves to kneel before you. You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

His own clothes are left among the growing pile on the floor. He pumps his stiffening cock in his hand, the head of which weeps across his palm. A different kind of heat blooms in your stomach.

Sharp teeth graze across your jaw, down your neck, before eventually nipping at your shoulder. A sting both painful and pleasurable radiates from the bite. Blood beads from the two points where he managed to break the skin, quickly lapped away by him. Part of your brain is telling you to push him away. The other part is telling you to expose your neck further. You’re not certain which to listen to as you lay under him, caged within his arms. Your breaths grow ragged, turning into quiet moans as his knee nudges your legs apart. This is different from the day at the hot springs. Sukuna is seeking something more—he is seeking his own pleasure this time.

A hand finds its way into your hair, gently tugging at it. Guided by his hand, you expose your neck further to him. He laps at the droplets of blood that form, sucking dark marks into the skin of your neck. Pain and pleasure overlap in your mind. Your thighs are a mess of your own slick, and the precum that leaks from the heads of his two cocks. It’s almost comical how you work yourself up in knots at only the slightest provocation by him.

You taste yourself on him as he kisses you. The bleeding from your neck has mostly stopped now. What remains will barely leave a scar. His lips trail down your neck, through the valley between your breasts, and down your stomach, before eventually stopping just shy of your cunt. The look of him alone has you growing as wet as a virgin; his hair disheveled from your hands running through it, the muscles in his shoulders appear more prominent now. His arms hook around your thighs, although he doesn't need to bother holding your legs open. You’d do it without prompt by him. Eager for your own release, and worked up into a soaked mess, you’d do anything to please him.

You shouldn't be enjoying it as much as you are. You know you should be afraid. It would take no effort from him at all to tear through your femoral artery, and let you bleed out. You would be helpless in the matter anyway; you’re nothing more than a little lamb trapped under a big bad wolf.

The feeling of his tongue is strange. With him on his knees, bowed in what resembles worship, has your stomach in knots. The lewdness of it all has you more worked up than anything else. A strange, pleasurable tension builds within you. He is not toying with you this time, but working you over. When you do finally cum, you cum hard, riding out your high on his face. The noises he’s making suggest he’s enjoying this almost more than you do.

He must be painfully hard now. The head of his cock is an angry shade of red, and leaking precum. Using his hand to guide him, the head of his cock presses into you. You’re too wet from his previous actions to notice much of a stretch. What little pain there is crosses over with pleasure in your mind. He groans as he sheathes himself within you fully. His expression softens just enough for you to take in the features of his face. He’s quite handsome now that you’re close enough to appreciate his looks. It makes you wonder what his life as a human was like. Was he royalty, or a commoner? What was his job? Did he ever have family?

You won't get an answer out of him no matter how hard you try. This is the most human the king of curses will ever appear.

His thrusts are slow at first. Lazy. More like grinding, not proper fucking. With as sensitive as you still are, this doesn't make much of a difference. You’re still a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. Judging by the noises he’s making, he’s not far from cumming himself. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and that seems to only encourage him. The muscles in his arms and shoulders gradually grow more tense before he shudders, then visibly relaxes. A warm sensation in your cunt follows soon after; he’s cum inside of you.

You lay like that for a while: limbs entwined, bodies curled around each other. He lets himself soften inside of you until the desire to pull out hits. You can tell your hips will be sore in the morning—whenever it decides to come. What little of his seed spills out of you is forced back in by his fingers. You assume it ties into his possessive nature. It must be a way of marking you as his. The fire has long since died out, though you find the warmth from his body adequate enough.

“I don't think I can walk,” you lie, “carry me?”

Sukuna feigns annoyance, but relents, carrying you to the bed too large for any human. You quickly find your way under the covers. He finds himself in the space beside you. Fatigue hits you soon after, yet you find yourself unable to sleep.

“You were human once?” You ask.

The mood in the room seems to shift entirely. Sukuna is not one for conversation. You expected no different from a man like him. He looks at you with mild annoyance, as if deciding on his answer.

“I was. Once.” He says.

Your fingers trace across the tattoos on his wrist. “Do you miss it?” You ask. “Being human, I mean.”

“I am far stronger now than I was when I was a human.” He says. “I no longer need to eat, nor drink. I have the gift of eternal life so long as I am smart with my actions. I do not miss the fragility that comes with humanity.”

His words almost irritate you. So much more exists to humanity than what he says, from little things like sharing a summer even with a friend, tearing into ripe persimmons. Spending an evening hunched over a stew pot helping your mother. Kisses shared between a lover in the woods, or out in the fields. Stories exchanged by firelight. Intricately woven fabrics and paintings that might as well be indistinguishable from real life. So many beautiful things exist within humanity. Maybe he’s been away from it so long he’s forgotten the extent of it.

Would the King of Curses even admit he’s lonely? Or would he be too prideful to admit such a thing?

“You're sad. Why?” He questions.

“Was just thinking about my mother. That's all.” You say. “She wanted me to get married before I…”

You’re mad at her. More mad than you’ve been at anyone in your life. Yet you wish for nothing more than her comfort in this moment. A wound exists that time won't heal. Anger is not productive in fixing it. Anger only makes it worse.

This time, you are the one to initiate the kiss. You wish for it to distract you, but it only amplifies the ache in your chest.

“If you were to lose what little fight you had left in you, then this would no longer be fun,” he says.

You grow used to the ever-present shadow that is Sukuna, talking to the space beside you as if he is there because hell, sometimes he is. He is more than a mere man. He exists on a level different from you or anyone else. Your existence at this temple feels less like confinement and more like living.

“Will you join me?” He asks one day by the river.

The two of you sit upon the riverbank, watching as the water swirls below you. Spring snowmelt, combined with a recent storm, has stirred up the river bottom, turning the water murky. What was meant to be a fishing trip has proved unsuccessful.

“I would be lying if I said I haven't grown used to your presence.” He says.

“Don't be getting soft on me,” you say, half joking.

The most emotion you get out of him is an amused sounding huff.

“I want you to join me,” he says, “not in life as human, but in eternity as a curse.”

“I will,” you say.

No thought is needed for your answer, nor is there any hesitation on your part. Sukuna simply nods. That is what love is to him. Devotion. Worship. Throwing away your humanity means nothing if humanity is so quick to reject you.

Gifts begin appearing around the temple after that. Priceless jewelry, and expensive dresses. Hair pins and cosmetics. Seasons pass in what feels like no time at all. Before you know it, your third fall here is quickly approaching. Winter comes and goes—uncharacteristically bitter this year. Spring brings a sense of rebirth. The ground thaws slowly, and plant life is in full bloom. Animal life returns to the surrounding woods, showing signs in every trail around the temple.

A hunting trip brings you further out into the woods than you’ve traveled before. You don't realize you’re nearing a human settlement until you’ve stumbled upon it.

The village has changed drastically in the time you were gone, so much so that you almost don't recognize it. A full blown mill has sprouted up along the river. At least twice as many houses stand now. Years ago this street was little more than a dirt path. Sometime over the years it has been paved over with river stones. Children play in the streets. Men walk home with pails of fish slung over their shoulders. These strangers notice you and pause, returning to their homes quickly.

Your house remains mostly the same. Age has not been kind to it. One corner of the roof sags, and the wood trim has grown bleached with time. The path up to the front steps is overgrown. Sitting outside, hunched over a wash bin, is your mother.

Her hair is mostly gray now. Wrinkles mark her skin, and her joints are knobby, but you would still consider her beautiful. The face of the woman she once was is still there. The clothes she wears are of rich fabrics, suggesting your family has not hurt for money. Her sturdy figure suggests they never lacked food either.

When she sees you, her eyes grow wet with tears. And it’s as if the weight of the world has lifted off your shoulders. You want to be angry at her. You want to unload years of anger upon her. You want her to feel just a fraction of the fear you've felt. But you can't bring yourself to do it. The look in her eyes tells you she’s felt all the emotions you have.

Her movements are laced with hesitation, as if she’s deciding whether or not you're real. One of her wrinkled hands takes yours.

“I love you,” she says, “and I am so sorry.”

“I know,” you say.

She invites you in for tea, setting the table up with the nice dishware—the kind she only uses for guests. The interior of the house hasn't changed much. Your room is eerily the same, as if it hasn't been touched since the day you left. Your father’s boots, and hunting coat remain by the door, although they look as if they haven't been moved in years. Makes sense, you think, hunting is a task that grows difficult as you get older. There comes a time in every hunter’s life where they grow old, and it becomes their turn to stay home and tend the fire.

“Where's…?” You never get the chance to finish your question, the solemn look on your mother’s face is enough of an answer.

“He passed,” she says, pausing to think, “two springs ago now? Maybe three.”

Believing you would never see them again, you grieved your parents long ago.This particular grief is like an old wound to you.

“The village looks prosperous,” you comment. A bitter tone clings to your voice.

“Yes,” she says, “the past years have been kind to us. I suppose we have you to thank for that?”

She sits across from you, her eyes still wet with tears. It feels like you are holding a conversation with a stranger. Your mother regards you with a certain weariness she only reserves for strangers. Maybe it would hurt more if you had more room within you for grief.

“He never stopped looking for you, you know,” she says, setting a cup of tea in front of you. “Even after the village held a funeral for you. He never wanted to believe it. Until the day he died, he was out in the woods thinking he could bring you home.”

“I was under the impression I wasn't wanted here.” You say.

“You know that’s not true,” she says. “What happened that night was a result of fear. The elders did what they thought would preserve the safety of everyone.”

“Except for me.” You say.

Fear. Right. To them, you were simply a sacrifice. You drain the last of your tea, standing from the table. Your mother stands as if to stop you, but freezes before she can.

“Does he treat you well?” She asks.

“Yes,” you say.

“Better than any human man?”

“Yes,” you answer, although you can tell she doesn't believe it.

“Do you love him?” She asks. “Does he love you?”

“I suppose so.” You say. “As much as he is capable of loving something.”

“But do you love him?” She asks again.

“As much as I am capable of doing so, yes.” You answer.

It is not the answer she wants, but the one that is the truth. With her hands folded in her lap, she nods solemnly.

That following night you leave your village not as a human, but as a curse.

Enough time would pass that the story of a young sacrifice would be forgotten by its people; what would remain, is a tale of a love so infamous that it survived centuries.

#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader smut #not osha compliant #jjk #my writing

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skyguys-princess · 7 months ago

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𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

❛ ʀᴇᴄᴏɴ ❜

PAIRINGS: Vader x Rebel reader

SYNOPSIS: After a successful mission, things take an... interesting turn.

WARNINGS: Explosions, rebel activity, the Empire...

NOTES: In this AU the Mustafar duel happened but his legs weren't cut off. He still has burns around his legs and further down, not as intensively.

TIMELINE: next

「 Force 」

You stood upon the boulder, detonator in hand. Staring at the weapons manufactory, the stormtroopers filtering in and out. You felt yourself suffering from a crisis of conscience, and couldn’t for the life of you figure out why. These were people responsible for slaughtering innocent civilians, even the ones that followed the regime. They didn’t show mercy, not a sliver of it. So why were you here second guessing yourself about blowing this abomination to the ground? The mission report didn’t require you to evacuate the people inside. But you felt something tugging at your heart. Have they ever hesitated when it came to collateral damage? No…

But you weren’t them, and you didn’t want to be. You held your head up high, grabbing your datapad from your utility belt. Hacking into the Empire’s systems which was surprisingly not as difficult as you thought. ‘That’s what happens when you hire boneheads for IT.’ Shaking your head amused, despite seriousness of the current situation. You set off the evacuation, the alarms started blaring. Flashing red as the factory workers and stormtroopers alike started filling out of the building systematically. Sharing confused looks amongst each other as they made their way to the designated evacuation point. Grabbing your binoculars from your backpack you scanned the building in infrared. After making sure there were no heat signatures left inside. You pressed on the detonator, hearing the click before the building shook. Collapsing in on itself, catching light. Startling the Imperials as they took cover, shouting amongst themselves. Feeling the heat from the explosion reaching you even from your distance. You looked down at them, giving a salute. “For the rebellion,” you whispered. The words being carried in the wind, before turning on your heels. Heading back for your concealed ship. Allowing your footprints to be distorted by the wind, no trace of you left behind. At least you thought.

[ Meanwhile ]

Darth Vader is pulled from his meditation by a tug from the force. His piercing eyes snapping open, a gnawing feeling tearing through his gut. He stood up, his cape following suit. He stepped off the platform in his meditation chamber. Smoothing his hair back out of his face before grabbing his helmet that rested on its designated stand. The cold lenses staring back at him, a constant reminder of who he is now and the responsibilities that came with that. Sliding it over his head once more, hearing it click. Securing its place as the respirator flooded the inside with oxygen, he took a deep breath. Before exhaling, the sound resonating around the room. Giving an even more dramatic tone to his mere presence. He let his heavy arms fall back to his sides. The weight of his worries weighing down his toned shoulders. He took one last deep breath to centre himself, before exiting his mediation chamber. Heading for the war room, as soon as the door of his private chamber slid open. Vader was met face to face, well face to chest. With a lower level officer, sent to fetch him no doubt. To be notified about whatever had happened to cause such a disturbance in the force. The officer spoke up hesitantly, his voice trembling. “I- I’ve been sent to retrieve you, Ad- Admiral Tarkin wishes to see you in the war room.” Vader look down at the man, no older than his early twenties he estimated.

Not much younger than himself, not that he would know that. His mask was worn at all times in public, both the physical and the metaphoric one. So much so that who he was before he’d adorned it was a distant memory now, essentially another life. Without a word, Vader heads to the war room. Leaving the officer frozen in fear in his wake. The soft stomping resounded through the hallways, alerting everyone in earshot of his encroaching presence.

While Vader stalked down the halls of The Executor, his cape the colour of night. Billowing in his wake, the stormtroopers that were making their rounds quickly darted out of his way. The sounds of his respirator echoing through the halls, and ringing in his head. A ringing he’d grown used to, it’d become background noise. While there were many things he hated about the suit. In moments like this, he appreciated the anonymity. Though deep down, in a corner tucked in his mind. He knew that was only part of its purpose. The costraphobic layers, served as a reminded. A reminder of his duty to the Empire, to Sidious. And of the betrayal that led him here, the scars he’d gained in consequence had faded. But still clung to his skin, digging their way into his very soul. What was left of it at least, taunting him. Of what he’d done, who he’d hurt. Betrayed, the lives he’d taken, and those that followed-

“Lord Vader,” the voice of Admiral Tarkin greeted him. His gaze shifted, looking up from his position in the doorway. To the Admiral, his gaze flitting to the projection lit. Exposing the damage to the manufaction plant, the hologram rotating slowly. His body was on autopilot as he stepped closer, analysing the image in front of him. “As you can see, the weapons manufactory plant has been completely levelled. No personnel were lost, an evacuation alert went off prior to the explosion.”

“Who set off the evacuation?” He questioned shortly, his words eerily even.

“Unknown. The perpretrator was able to compromise our systems, initiating the evacuation before the building was destroyed.” Tarkin’s words became a blur to Vader, his mind racing. As he felt that feeling from before tugging at his gut. He continued to stare at the projection, ‘this was a suspected rebel attack. But the MO is different, why evacuate the building if it’s supposed to be a message against the Empire? Why go through the effort of evacuation?’ He thought, crossing his thick arms over his chest.

「 You 」

I watch the ramp to my ship lower, and I took a deep breath. Steadying myself as I walked up the ramp, heading for the control panel so I could get out of this shit show as soon as possible. Something was… different. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, and that’s what’s worrying me.

I heard the whoosh as the ramp door closed. I start the engine, taking off slowly and steady. Keeping the noise down to a minimum, even though the factory was destroy I didn’t want to push it. After exiting the atmosphere I prepare to jump into hyperspace. I wrap my fingers around the lever, gripping it tightly-

I can’t see anything, blinking rapidly. Suddenly blinded by fluorescent lights, slowly the room comes into focus. Something rotating in front of me, when my eyes focused. It was a blueprint… to the manufacture plant I just blew up. Shivers climb up my spine as I hear a deep inhale, that sounded like a machine… or a man? “Hello little minx,” I jolt in surprise. The voice lingering in my mind.

“What the fuck…” I whisper. My eyes darting around, I’m back in my ship.

dividers: @vibeswithrenai + @chilumitos

taglist 🏷: @rabbitrabbit12321

(lmk if you want to be added or removed)

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #lord vader #star wars #vader #darth vader #darth vader x reader #darth vader x you #vader x reader #darth vader fanfic #[ mistress amidala works ]#war of hearts

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m3ridiem · 1 month ago

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“need you, felt you, saw you, love you.” —caitlyn kiramman.

warnings: dark romance, violence, cannibalism, manipulation, murder, obsession. if you're not into these things please skip it. xx

notes: no proofreading because i was too lazy to do it so... yeah;)

word counts: 1634 words.

caitlyn, caitlyn, caitlyn, where are you?

what had just happened? you had no memories left in your brain, you don't know what happened to you before you're here, laying down in a metal cold chamber with no space left in there, it's so small, narrow, just only fits to your body. yet, somehow, you managed to get up from the chamber, somewhere in kiramman's manor, maybe in basement, you could tell by the rotten red brick walls. you noticed that your whole body was numb as you walked out of the room, naked and dren, leaving watery footprints with every step you took.

the dim lights in basement led you to the upstairs, there's no one there, not even the maids. you straight up walked to her room so easy since you already memorized inside the manor. those footprints you left start to fade step by step, completely gone when you reached your girlfriend's room.

“... cait?” your feet stopped at the open-door frame, calling her name so sweetly, full of love, and carefully because you were afraid of waking her from bed. but you found silence in the room, no answers, no groans, just a little noise from the bird outside.

you made your way into the bedroom slowly, discovering that there was no one in bed, empty with the pillows placed so tidy. your gaze looked around, wondering where she could have gone at this hour, and minutes later you continued your search through the bathroom, hallway downstairs, and the main living room of the manor, just to find no trace of her.

an hour to two hours, two hours to three hours. it's probably so late at midnight, but you still couldn't find where was caitlyn gone. each room you came to, calling her name several times, hoping to see her in anytime you called.

boredom hits you so hard after hours of walking around, your gaze fixated on floor, didn't have any clue where you're gonna go, maybe bedroom again, or main living room again, or kitchen—

suddenly you heard some noises from the kitchen, unfortunately you couldn't tell whose voice was that since there's dividers between kitchen and dining room. but the noise sounds so... familiar, too familiar to guess even.

until you heard your name.

“i swear to god— hahh.. you look much prettier when you closed your eyes...”

the second you heard the sound, you already could guess the owner of the voice. your girlfriend. you're scared, hearing your name being called in between kisses, huffs, gasps, and whimpers. you're here, in the dining room that only separates the kitchen by two dividers. dirty thoughts and even the worst flooded your brain. caitlyn wouldn't do that... right? she would never, ever.

“my pretty baby... no one's gonna talk to you again, right? no one's ever gonna see your pretty face but me. you're safe with me... you're safe...”

of course the curiosity in your body wins over the fear. you took step by step, approaching the kitchen. caitlyn's voice became clearer and louder. you peeking out, hiding behind the divider and looking at her figure slightly, she's holding someone's unclothed body.

whose body is that? why did she called my name to the body?

a quick gasp escaped your lips as you widened your eyes, mouth began shaking with uncontrollable breath. caitlyn kissing all over your face, her hands carefully caressing your breast and trailing down to your stomach.

suddenly you caught a flashlight through your eyes, it was so bright, so bright that you couldn't even see anything. the light faded after 20 seconds, but you, you weren't in the kitchen anymore.

the room was so familiar, the walls, the ceiling, the bed. this is... caitlyn's bedroom.

“my pretty little thing... you know i love you, right?”

in a matter of seconds, you changed your direction to your front—where caitlyn sat on your thighs. you couldn't see her clearly due to darkness, the only light is from the outside. your breath caught in your throat, confusion started to come on your head.

her hand holding something, caressing it so dearly with slight smile. what is she doing?

“tell me you love me.”

“huh—” right before you could think, she yanked your hair so tight, and it hurts so bad. “cait, what are you—”

“tell me you love me, tell me you won't leave me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me.” her breath was heavy like a predator caught its prey after hours of chasing. “tell me you won't talking to another girl but me. fucking tell me!”

she leaned forward to you, you saw her grin growing wider, her hair strands messily placed on her forehead and cheeks. “you won't, right? you promised me.” her hands gripping your both wrists, a cold metal touching your forearm making you shiver.

turns out that it was a knife she had been holding on her hand.

her face expression was like demanding your answer.

you shake your head, “i won't, cait. i love you, i do love you so much.” fears flooding through your veins, tears began to pour down from the edge of your eyes. “i won't leave you, i—”

your breath hitched as you felt a painful sensation on your stomach, the feeling going deeper as you tried to continue your words.

“don't look away, look at me.” her voice was sharp as a knife, the same knife that she stabbed into your lower stomach. “aw... i know you won't baby. i know, you will never leave my side. not even a single chance.”

you gasped when she pulled out the knife, along with her hand choking your neck, preventing you from saying another word. “but i fear you're lying to me. can't trust people that easy, right?”

another stab in your stomach. you swore it was the most painful feeling ever, and the worse, you couldn't even scream or move or fight back.

“you will stay with me, forever, even when i die someday.”

stab, stab, stab, stab, stab, stab.

“say i love you and i'll stop.”

each of your breath becomes struggle as if the air starts to running out from your lungs. you feel numb, lightheaded, the strength drained from your body. your blood scattered here and there, ruining caitlyn's deep blue turtleneck and her leather pants, staining your white nightgown.

but somehow, after what she did to you, you managed to let out a sweet pretty line from your mouth.

“i love you, cait. i love you so much.”

your visions become blurry, seconds after that the light in your eyes is gone. there's no heartbeat working anymore. your eyes looked so empty as you stared at caitlyn.

caitlyn definitely has something to do with her bloodstained bed and your lifeless body. she has so much something to do.

she didn't regret what she had just done to you. her eyes were fixed on your cold body, the only part of you that remained because you were no longer alive. she let out a soft chuckle, her hands caressing your cheeks, leaving some blood behind.

“glad to know that i can keep you safe from everything now. they won't hurt you anymore, baby. and you'll never leave me again. you're safe with me. you're safe.”

she picked up your figure, bringing to the basement, laying you down on the big yet small refrigerator that only fits your body, preventing it from getting rotten.

sound of someone chewing something echoed through the kitchen. the flashback you had seconds ago realizing you that it was your last moment.

you were killed, by your own girlfriend, in her manor.

the fact that she killed you, couldn't even make you less loving her. you don't know why. perhaps because you loved her too much that you didn't even care for what was she doing to you, or perhaps her actions of manipulation towards you made you think that you were really safe with her, even when you're dead on her hands.

you're back at the same place before you had the flashback. caitlyn was no longer holding your exposed lifeless body like before. instead, your body was laid down pretty on the large countertop.

but something feels off.

you found caitlyn sits on the bar stool, devouring something so messy like she eats a whole thanksgiving dinner. you braced yourself to walk towards her, just to see her face, maybe.

“caitlyn...?”

smile on your face dropped in a second after you faced her. your breath shaking, eyes scanning her and your body that has been lost a little piece of it—your calf. half of your calf has been eaten by caitlyn, raw. she devoured it, taking a little break to breath every ten seconds, then eating the calf again.

you glanced at your body, it didn't get rotten like it supposed to. your body still remains the same as when you were alive. the only differences are those stabs artwork by caitlyn was covered by bandages, and of course, your half-eaten calf.

and soft sigh of relief comes out of your mouth. realizing that you'll live in her body, her stomach, her veins, until she dies one day. you always be with her. and you'll never leave her side, and her body. no one's gonna hurt you, or trying to separate you from her. hell, even when you're already dead, her manipulation still works on you without you knowing.

she looks so beautiful under the moonlight, gorgeous even. peacefully eating your pieces raw so dearly, full of love as you could tell by her small grin when she took a piece.

she's glad to have you in her stomach, and you're glad too, because you know you will never ever leave her alone forever, even if her body is buried under six feet deep inside the ground.

#m3ridiem works ⋆˚࿔#caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn x fem reader #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane x reader #lgbtq #lesbian

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writingwithfolklore · 1 year ago

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Following a Trail of Clues

Lots of plots have at least some aspect of figuring out a mystery or uncovering some hidden truth. While it may not be a traditional murder mystery, writing a plot that revolves around the gathering of information and uncovering of clues can be written using a lot of the same techniques.

1. You should probably plan it

If you’re strictly a pantser, give it a shot, but I have never been able to pants mysteries like this. I would recommend planning it from the beginning and saving yourself a lot of time and headaches trying to piece it together later.

2. Start with the beginning and end

When planning a mystery, I start with the beginning, and then skip to the point that they uncover the truth or figure it out and work backwards to fill out the middle. What is the last hint they need to uncover the full truth, then, what leads to that hint, rinse and repeat until we get back to that beginning you created.

For example, say the MC is trying to find their missing friend. The last point would be ‘they find their friend’, so that’s where we begin. Maybe right before that, they’re told the location, to get their location, they’ve kidnapped one of the bad guys who knows it, to get to him, they need to break into the evil lair, to find the lair, they need to spy on the organization, and so on.

3. Diversify the hints

I talk about this a bit in my post about written elements (here), but essentially, you’ll want to diversify how your characters get their hints. It will seem cheap if they find everything they need to know on conveniently spaced notes or journal entries (unless you can really justify that), or it’s all told to them by someone who happens to know it all (such as the ‘wise man’ trope).

Maybe they find the last clue written down, but the one before was told to them from a key character, and the one before was puzzled out through a riddle, etc. etc. Here are some places to find clues:

Someone else knows something

This could be either an ally or an enemy. Family members, friends they weren’t aware of, a hidden partner, seemingly a stranger who knows more than they’re letting on. If they are an ally, there should be a reason they haven’t come forward yet, or justification for why their testimony is where it is in a story. Maybe they are somewhat accidentally guilty in the mystery, maybe they are afraid to be involved, maybe they aren’t aware anything has happened at all.

If they’re an enemy, maybe your protagonists need to corner them, best them in a battle, talk to them away from their boss, kidnap them, etc. Consider why this person would betray their ‘side’ to provide a clue to the protagonists.

Journal entries, notes, letters, ledgers, or otherwise written down

Physical evidence—footprints, pieces of clothing left behind, an object, photos, drawings

Biological evidence--fingerprints, DNA, hair, etc. If your character already has access to the equipment for this, great! If not, consider how they could find this out.

A prophetic dream or vision (use in cases in which it would make sense for your character to have this, obviously)

A riddle, poem, or song, if you can justify it.

An educated guess (for small jumps)

Timing—if they can figure out a timeline, they may be able to figure out something else

Something is missing or off place. That’s odd, character always leaves their book on the bedside table, so why isn’t it there?

Any other ways to get hints or clues to your characters?

#writing #creative writing #writers #screenwriting #writing community #writing inspiration #books #filmmaking #writing advice #hints #clues #following a trail of clues #writing mystery #mystery #detective

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jinkslee · 9 months ago

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FORGOTTEN PROMISE

SUMMARY: you made a promise to Blade before you disappeared from his life forever. It's been a long time and you've long forgotten the past along with the promise you made — but not Blade. (Blade x f!reader)

WC: 1.6k

WARNINGS: asphyxia, rough Blade, blood, disemboweled bodies, a little bit angst, wip

AUTHOR'S NOTE: my first drabble (idk) that I crashed more than once, omg. enjoy reading, mates.

you carefully stepped over the lifeless body of an unknown cloud knight lying in the way. the salty metallic smell of blood hung in the air, and several viscous purple puddles covered the floor underfoot. a terrible picture opened before your eyes: heads and cut throats brutally smashed against cargo containers, broken limbs and gradually appearing on the bodies of cadaverous miasma with a characteristic putrid, sweet smell. despite the fact that there were countless corpses disfigured by the blade around, you did not feel the same nausea that appeared from the heavy stench of death. being a long-lived woman who has lived for decades, you have seen many soldiers loyal to the xianzhou alliance who have passed away: you saw them before the fatal battle with confident smiles on their faces and heard how the soldiers were escorted to the accompaniment of bitter female sobs and enthusiastic whistles from the excited crowd before they faced, after the defeat of mara, the curse of a long life continuing their existence in immortal, mindless bodies. the truth that I didn't want to accept.

moving with quiet steps along a suspiciously neatly laid out row of corpses, you occasionally looked back, as if mesmerized, staring at the bloody footprints left by shoes. but what you were worried about right now was not cleaning the damaged shoes, but something else — it was too quiet. despite your loneliness, it was as if you were naked, defenseless and vulnerable to something unknown. In front of something invisible and shapeless, which will overtake and sink sharp claws into the back at any moment. a golden ginkgo leaf landed on the toe of the shoe, slowly spinning in a gust of wind: withered, with barely noticeable cuts. here, one did not need to have psychic abilities and have the matrix of prescience ultima to understand whose handiwork it was. who left behind a mountain of mercilessly slaughtered bodies, as if hinting at his presence very close.

"no job was worth it..." you muttered out loud in fright, gradually retreating back on legs stiff with fear to the cherished exit. a few steps and finally a safe zone will appear. in the distance, the armor of the cloud knights who had arrived for the patrol could be heard ringing, which were clearly concerned about the sudden loss of a dozen of their comrades.

it was necessary to get out of lofu xianzhou as soon as possible, before he noticed you, learned of your presence on the ship. you'll have to hide your tracks, confuse your pursuer and get lost somewhere in the depths of space for the next few decades until everything settles down and your existence is remembered. it's like you were never born. should you inform the IPC that you are in danger and at gunpoint with one of the most wanted criminals? you reached into your pocket, trying to find your phone there. suddenly you bumped into someone with your back, hitting someone else's chest weakly.

"oh, I'm sorry! I..." you turned around to apologize to the unknown, but then froze in place. the fear that had bound the muscles began to spread deeper into the body, like roots breaking through the soil. your insides felt like they were twisting into a knot, and a viscous lump was coming up to my throat, blocking the oxygen. your heart was pounding somewhere in my temples, and the noise in my ears did not stop. Blade was standing behind him. he was exactly as you remembered him, and clearly had no intention of just saying hello after years of silence.

to run. inside, everything screamed that it was necessary to get away from him as soon as possible, while there was still no opportunity. you practically took off in the opposite direction, but someone else's hands gripped your shoulders tightly, pinning you with force against a nearby cargo container. you screamed softly when you hit the metal wall, closing your eyes reflexively. an unpleasant pain spread through my body, tingling in my suddenly numb muscles. you felt BLADE put his finger to your lips, telling you to be silent.

"really, I'm going to die like this," you thought in a panic, dreaming of falling into the ground without feeling pain. at any moment, you could lose your life if you just moved once more and gave a reason to the hunter right in front of you. but there was no feeling of the cold metal of the blade on the skin, no suffocating grip, only silence between them and the occasional footsteps of excited knights. it was only when you decided to open your eyes that you came face to face with your death. Blade was still gripping your shoulder tightly with one hand, pinning you back against the wall and glaring at you with displeasure. no, not just dissatisfied: in the scarlet eyes burned all shades of malice and hatred, which seemed to burn through your body.

"Blade..." before you could finish, you shrank back into the cargo container behind him when he abruptly pressed a bandaged palm to your lips. the cloud knights were very close, passing by a couple of containers nearby.

"you haven't changed a bit. even now, being on the verge of death, you can't close your mouth," Blade suddenly whispered with a hint of irony in his voice, grinning. after a couple of minutes, other people's voices gradually subsided, and now you are left alone, in the middle of a pile of decomposing knight corpses.

lowering his hand, he grabbed your chin and slightly lifted your head up, examining the familiar, refined features of a face stretched out from fright. it was as if he was making sure that he had caught the right person. a satisfied grin appeared on his lips, after which everything inside shrank again. after all, you got to know each other from the very beginning, it's just that everyone took this fact in their own way.

"it's been a long time since we've seen each other..." he drawled, putting his hand on your neck. unlike the monotonous voice, his skin was hot, as if burning, leaving an indelible mark near the throbbing artery. "hoping to get away from me by wandering around the universe in a panic? this overly idiotic arrogance suits you."

you were about to object when suddenly strong hands closed tightly around your neck, pressing on the artery. he watched with sadistic pleasure as you floundered in his arms in fright, desperately trying to save your own life: clinging to your palms with sharp nails, scratching bandages and glove fabric; trying to get your foot into the man's stomach so that he would have mercy. coughing and wheezing, you continued to try to push Blade away and take a breath of air, but the man remained steadfast.

"you made me a promise. however, you continue to pretend that nothing is happening," Blade said this time without malice, loosening his grip for a split second. it was not difficult for a hunter to end your life at any moment by making one simple move. but there was clearly an unknown reason why he was just harassing you to nip your will in the bud.

"i... don't understand..." you tried to say when the desired drop of oxygen entered your lungs. he was mocking. he was definitely enjoying what was happening, reducing the intake of air each time, listening to the quiet wheezing. that's exactly what you were thinking when your weakened legs suddenly lifted a couple of centimeters off the ground.

"really?" sarcasm was clearly audible in the chilling voice. Blade seemed to doubt the truth of the words. "have your memories become clouded in so many years? what a pity. i can help you remember."

the pressure on his neck increased, and the picture in front of his eyes began to float, drowning in mixed shades. Blade's silhouette became so blurred that it was barely possible to recognize his facial features. your legs were sluggishly beating against the metal wall, as if it was the last hope to reach his tormentor and escape from the suffocating embrace.

suddenly, everything stopped. you fell to your knees, convulsively inhaling as much air as possible into your lungs while tears involuntarily flowed down your cheeks. not out of happiness or resentment, they just appeared by themselves. Blade spared you.

"you know, i've changed my mind," he said, squatting down next to you. the man was not worried that you would decide to take off and try to escape from him again. In such a state, you would hardly be able to stand on your own, let alone run. "after all, centenarians have so much time to enjoy all the delights of life.… so during this period of time, you will definitely remember everything."

you stared at him blankly, trying to focus and ignore the annoying dizziness, but all attempts were in vain. the cyanotic bruises from the long fingers on his neck hurt, and it was completely unpleasant to touch them. Blade picked up your supple body and threw it over his shoulder, heading in the opposite direction from the escape exit.

"where... are we..." you asked almost in a whisper. your head felt heavy, it seemed like an unaffordable weight along with the rest of your body, your eyes were sticking together, and my mouth felt like a desert. you were about to lose consciousness after a few minutes of suffocation.

"what do you think?" obviously, it was a rhetorical question. you slowly closed your eyes, finally resigned to your fate, no longer able to keep your mind in mind. the last thing you could hear was Blade's satisfied grunt and a hand on your waist.

"to a place where you will remember and fulfill your promise to me. whether you want it or not."

#hsr #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #hsr x female reader #hsr blade #blade x reader #blade x you #blade x y/n #blade x female reader #blade honkai #honkai star rail #drabble #wip #honkai sr #female reader #y/n #x reader #fyp

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shintin · 1 year ago

Text

Forbidden Flames

↳ Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

One-shot

Summary: Satoru Gojo receives a letter, inviting him to a secluded cottage in the forest. Is it a trap by curse users or a haunting memory trying to scratch his wounds?

Or a story about how You and Satoru Gojo fucked after years.

Word count: +11 k.

Genre: explicit smut, romance, angst (Jujutsu Kaisen au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, reader-insert, no Y/N, post-breakup, soft Satoru Gojo, curse user reader, no death, too much fluff and kissing, cunnilingus, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex (c’mon! we all want this), multiple orgasms, hair pulling, tear licking, emotional trauma, emotional sex, no manga spoilers.

Notes: Hey there! I wrote this because Gege Akutami left an emotional mark on me. So, you know...

You can read the "Disclaimers" at the end.

Song Recommendation: Forbidden Flames Playlist

You can read my fics on AO3. If you have any questions, don’t be shy and ASK.

Back to masterlist

As the afternoon sun cast long shadows through the dense foliage, a mysterious man with stark white hair and a black blindfold stepped into the heart of the desolate wilderness. Satoru Gojo. The air hung heavy with the earthy scent of wet soil mingling with the musty aroma of decaying leaves, a reminder of the rainstorm that had visited the night before.

Every step he took got lost between the giggles and hisses of harmless curses hiding behind the trees with fear. The ground beneath his feet was carpeted with a mosaic of fallen leaves, their vibrant red, orange, and gold colors now muted and lifeless, as if drained of all vitality. Some of them, with still a breath to take, crunched beneath his weight, the sound of a heartrending dirge that reverberated through the desolation.

Tall, gnarled trees stood sentinel on either side, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers as if yearning to trap the unwary. Their towering forms were shrouded in darkness, their essence reduced to withered remnants. They whispered mournful laments in the wind, their voices carrying tales of forgotten sorrows.

The forest, once flourishing and thriving, now seemed like a tragic tableau frozen in time. The canopy above formed a suffocating barrier that only got disturbed by the man's ethereal presence. Wild ferns brushed against his legs, leaving behind a trace of dew upon his black trousers. The moist ground yielded beneath his every step as if reluctant to release its grip from his boots' footprints.

As he pressed further into the jungle, the darkness deepened, the path twisting and turning like a labyrinth of despair. The shadows grew longer, stretching out like grasping tendrils as if eager to ensnare his soul. The silence became oppressive, broken only by the occasional painful cry of a distant creature.

The cottage he had received its address stood as a solitary figure amidst the gloomy jungle, a crumbling monument to forgotten dreams. Its dilapidated walls whispered of lost hopes and shattered promises, its windows veiled with white curtains.

With his hands casually tucked into his pockets, he watched the scene before him, a twisted smile playing upon his lips. He thought it was a perfect place, a trap waiting to spring him. But who would be foolhardy enough to challenge the strongest of all times?

But wait!

He couldn't feel any cursed energy! His six eyes were dumb. There was only one who could blind their watchful gaze.

So, when Satoru Gojo approached the house, his heart quickened after a long time, anticipation and anxiety coursing through his veins. The stage was set, the elements conspiring to test his resolve. Would he emerge from this shadowed encounter unscathed, or would the jungle claim yet another victim, lost to the depths of its sorrow-laden clutches?

Satoru's focus fixated on the doorknob, a slight gulp revealing his hesitation. Taking a deep breath, he turned and pushed open the door. The scent of something sweet enveloped his nostrils, a reminiscent embrace that momentarily distracted his senses. However, as his eyes met the sight that awaited him, an unexpected revelation struck him with a force that resurfaced long-forgotten memories.

The inside resembled an aged hideout, with wooden walls and colorful chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting warm, dappled patterns on the worn tatami floor. In the center of the room, a round table took its place, adorned with a vase of delicate forget-me-not flowers. Flanking the table were two chairs. And then, in the small kitchen stood the person who had left a void in his heart.

"You're late," your voice rang out in a cheerful tone, beckoning him forward. "Come inside. It's chilly out." With your back facing the door, you stood at the counter, appearing preoccupied with unwrapping something.

Caught in a maelstrom of emotions, Satoru's thoughts fragmented like scattered puzzle pieces, their intended purpose obscured by the inner turmoil. His hand held the doorknob tightly, trapped in a state of ambiguity, unable to release its grip.

Was this a mirage? How could it be that when you seemed precisely the way he had traced the outline of your body in the air while lying in bed, unable to sleep?

Yes, of course, there were nights when the desire to run his fingers through your hair filled his dreams. It was inevitable; your scent permeated everything, even riding on the breeze. There were days fatigue misled him, mistaking weariness for the embrace, he craved, only to discover the hollowness within his very bones. Your body was no longer curled around him, no comfort, and in your absence, each day left him icy, with lips turning blue and hands yearning for the warmth of your touch. He felt adrift in a blizzard, seeking the faint flicker of a fire you had extinguished.

What the fuck is wrong with you, Satoru? Think! Is this a manipulation technique?

And then, as if compelled by an unseen power, you turned your head, causing his heart to skip a beat—countless beats. You were undeniably real.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Seeing you was akin to being hit in the knee with a bullet. Satoru's legs nearly gave way, his heart raced, and his hands turned clammy, almost causing him to collapse. He had never felt this urge to tear off his blindfold before, as your departure had happened so abruptly that he didn't have a chance to see you. Although he had committed every detail of you to memory, but this…this… witnessing it in person was an entirely different experience.

He stepped back, feeling the heaviness of the past, necessitating some distance. The harsh truths loomed, threatening to engulf him as he wrestled with the profound effect of your presence. Yet, he couldn't tear his gaze away from you, his mind struggling to comprehend the unfolding situation. The reality was so surreal, making it difficult for him to grasp that it was really occurring.

"Why are you just standing there?" you asked, holding a pack of his beloved Kikufuku mochis in your hands. A radiant smile graced your face, illuminating the damp room with its brightness.

He couldn't give two fucks about mochis when your face had that effect on him, always causing him to lose track of where he was, who he was, and what he might say or do. And that familiar smile, it killed him a little. His gaze remained there, lingering for too long, his concealed eyes giving away his thoughts. "Why do you have that look on your face?" you asked, tilting your head with curiosity and stepping closer to him.

As you stood before him, the closeness amplified the wave of emotions within him. Joy and disbelief raced through his veins. The fragrance that surrounded you, so hauntingly acquainted, sparked a rush of nostalgia.

Satoru Gojo was born with a specific purpose, a set of perfect eyes, and the weight of his lineage on his shoulders. He was reserved and calculated. When he mastered the Limitless technique, he concluded that infinite solitude was the only way to survive. Because how he could describe the experience of seeing everything, for when you see everything, you see nothing. An excess of color turns into pure black, an infinite void.

Yes, he was born with those six eyes. People never let him forget. But to you, his eyes were simply eyes. He recalled the first time you teased him about them and how his heart caught in his chest because he had never seen someone as vibrant and colorful as you.

It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but it was something like that. The first time he saw you, he felt it. An ache. Like a little electric burn. He felt his life changed.

Gradually, his loneliness began to dissipate. He found a place for himself in this chaotic world. With you, he could laugh, cry, joke around, and even be a brat. It was something no one could genuinely grasp—the feeling of finally being alive as a person. Before you, he felt he hadn't truly existed, merely scattered atoms in an indifferent universe following a predetermined path. But you changed everything. You dismantled and rebuilt him anew. You molded him, nurtured him, and despite him being the strongest, you kept him safe.

Without a noble title or material wealth, you were everything that went against the expectations of the Clan Elders. Yet, you stood faithfully by his side, precisely where he believed you belonged. Or at least, that's what he presumed.

Then, on that fateful day, the day he desperately wished was nothing more than a dreadful nightmare, reality unfolded before him. How could it be real? He stood there, confronted by the lifeless bodies of two Higher Ups and their protectors, with you covered in their blood. It was inconceivable. He couldn't accept that you were responsible for such a gruesome scene. Yet, you showed no remorse. You firmly believed it was the only solution, fed up with their destructive actions that brought ruin upon sorcerers deemed insignificant. You had accepted the notion that a problem without a remedy should be eradicated like an unwelcome weed.

On that day, he considered shaking your shoulders and demanding that you deny it all. He even contemplated going against everyone because what was the fucking point of wielding such power if he couldn't safeguard the woman he loved? The thought of quitting and escaping with you crossed his mind, too. He was willing to sacrifice everything: power, wealth, status, even his own life. However, you didn't desire any of those things.

His friend, Suguru Geto, once posed a question: Was he Satoru Gojo because he was the strongest, or was he the strongest because he was Satoru Gojo? At that time, he had no answer. A 17-year-old couldn't possibly find a response to such a profound question. However, when you entered his life, everything changed. Being the strongest lost its significance. He was just Satoru Gojo, and he was who he was because you loved him. His existence held meaning because you touched his life. He saw because he needed to gaze upon you. He spoke because he longed to hear your voice.

And then, similar to his best friend, after causing a bloodbath, you also walked out of his life. Yet, this time, it wasn't solely loneliness that engulfed him. It felt like one of his lungs had been taken away, and he heavied without you by his side through each passing moment. He became nothing once more. There was a hole in his life where you used to fit perfectly, and no matter what he did to try and fill it, nothing worked.

It was a strange anguish, a pain he never anticipated or conceived of. It consumed him from within, setting him ablaze with a profound emptiness. Then, defying the assumption that someone as formidable as him could experience sorrow, he was burdened with the task of erasing you. It was as if you were deemed nothing more than a blemish, a dishonor.

"What... what look?" he struggled to say, his voice tinged with a desperate yearning. Regret lingered in his tone as his words fell short. With a touch of vulnerability, he shut his eyes beneath the comforting confines of his blindfold, seeking refuge in the veil of darkness. Taking a deep breath, he consciously filled his lungs, using them as an anchor amidst the swirling storm of sensations enveloping him.

"That look," you remarked, your voice carrying a mischievous tone that floated in the atmosphere. "It's as if you don't trust me," you added teasingly. A few playful strands of hair escaped their intended position and delicately framed your face, casting a bewitching allure. An irresistible urge welled within him, compelling him to extend his hand and tuck those strands behind your ear—stupid muscle memory. However, he restrained himself, his hand suspended mid-air, resolute in resisting the magnetic pull of his desires.

"Why did you invite me here?" Satoru voiced, his grip on the doorknob loosening as the impact of reality settled upon him. The initial shock transformed into a lucid understanding. He wasn't oblivious. He knew that you were aware of his assignment to eliminate you. So, why? Was it because you recognized your unstoppable nature? Was it because you had realized that the blackhole existed within you, devouring everything you once held dear unless someone intervened?

"You could have refused to come, yet here you are," you whimsically remarked, a devilish glint in your eyes as you punctuated your words with a wink. You strolled over to the weathered table and set the pocket upon its aged surface.

"Cut it out!" Satoru snapped, his frustration mounting. "You know, I had no idea it was you!" His heart thumped in his chest, urging his feet to move forward, even as his mind screamed at him to flee. A sense of unease gripped him, acknowledging the futility of engaging in a battle he felt ill-prepared to win.

You turned towards him, a hint of a smile gracing your lips as your hands stayed concealed behind your back. Leaning against the chair, you arched an eyebrow, your eyes locked on him. "I have a feeling you knew it was me as soon as you arrived at the house," you declared, a jovial tone lacing your words. "After all, I'm the only one capable of concealing my cursed energy from you."

"We both know that I shouldn't be here. I—" Satoru's sentence dissolved, left unfinished, as your hand reached out, bridging the gap between you with a gentle touch. Infinity never worked with you. Even the very essence of the cursed energy recognized that you posed no threat to him. Furthermore, he would gladly provide you with any justification to touch him.

Lost in his reverie, Satoru suddenly became acutely aware of your presence. The magnitude of his longing and the depth of his yearning surged within him. In that instant, he recognized the immense emptiness you had left and how much he had missed you. Emotions swirled together, blending past and present, uncertainty and desire, in a delicate dance that would shape your fates.

"Why are you here, then?" you inquired, and his eyes met yours, reflecting the same yearning that dwelled in his heart. "Tell me, did you come in to kill me?" With a deliberate movement, you folded his fingers, molding them into the shape he would use to unleash his hollow purple. Bringing his hand close to your heart, you held it there. Despite the gravity of the situation, a soft smile adorned your lips.

He couldn't do this.

Taken aback by your unexpected gesture, Satoru swiftly withdrew his hand from your grasp. Anger and heartbreak swirled within him, entwining in a tumultuous storm. The realization hit him like a relentless wave, crashing against the shores of his consciousness. How had you drifted so far apart? When had the divergence between your paths become so profound that he failed to notice? The weight of your choice, to embrace the life of a curse user, to tread a road stained with blood, bore down upon him with a heavy burden. The pain on his face mirrored the fracture within his heart, a sense of loss mingling with a flicker of betrayal.

He wished he could say something. He wished he could start yelling, expressing all the thoughts and desires he had harbored since then—whether shouting, pouring out his heart, or expressing frustration. However, he adhered to the predetermined script you anticipated because he loved you unconditionally, unable to deny you anything.

"I didn't think so," you murmured, closing the gap between you, pressing your lips against his in a way that effortlessly eroded his resistance.

You tilted his face down, your hand caught somewhere behind his neck and the base of his jaw, and you kissed him softly and slowly, heat filling his blood with dangerous speed.

One of his hands naturally found its way to the back of your waist, holding you with a gentle yet possessive grasp, while the other securely clasped your arm, pulling you closer.

He felt incredible against you, your bodies fitting perfectly. Nothing ever came easier than kissing you. Every thought and worry wicked away, replaced by the feel of his mouth against your skin, his hand claiming your body.

In that moment, his eyes, his legacy, his clan's name, and the orders given about you faded away. This was his true purpose.

As your tongues entwined, a surge of electricity coursed through his veins, his body responding to the intoxicating enchantment of your touch. Your fingers traced the outline of his blindfold while others clung to his uniform as if he were your sole fulcrum in a world spinning out of control. Your back arched, and he embraced you tighter, his grip firm yet tender, his long fingers leaving an indelible mark upon your skin.

Breathless, as if you had just completed a marathon, you reluctantly pulled back from the heated exchange. Drawing him nearer, he yielded willingly, allowing you to guide him wherever you desired because wherever you led was where he believed to be his destination.

"Take this off," you beseeched, desperation and sorrow permeating your words as your forefinger lifted his blindfold and let it fall to the floor. His tousled hair cascaded softly over his forehead, unable to hide the azure eyes that had once captivated your heart.

In his eyes, tragedy and beauty could be seen, a stoicism that wouldn't be shaken, and childlike joy that couldn't help but flow.

He swallowed, and you shifted your hand to his ear, lightly grazing his earlobe with your pinkie before tracing down his jawline. There was no rejection, yet no clear confirmation either. Your hand brushed against his undercut as you continued.

"There you are," you whispered, your voice laden with kindness. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, a solitary droplet making its way down your cheek as you gently cradled his face in your hands. He looked down at you, counting each tear on your lovely cheeks.

He clasped your hand, kissing your palm before guiding it to rest upon his heart. It was the same foolish heart, steadfastly beating for you, never having faltered. Through teary eyes, you looked at him, and he remained struck by the sheer beauty that not even your tears could diminish.

As your bottom lip quivered beneath his touch, quickly, with a light sweep of his hand, he wiped away the tears that stained your stunning eyes. You missed him too, didn't you? Was it painful for you, too? Silly girl! You couldn't maintain your carefully constructed facades for more than ten minutes when it came to him.

The realization washed over him, dispelling any remaining doubts.

Without a second thought, he effortlessly lifted you, your legs encircling his waist while your hands secured around his neck. Engrossed in a fervent kiss, both of you surrendered to the moment as he clasped your back firmly, pulling you closer to himself, relishing the flavor of your lips.

Letting go wasn't an option when every fiber of his being had missed you.

Determined and resolute, he carried you out to a room he presumed to be the bedroom, even though it didn't matter whether there was a bed or a simple mattress; what mattered was the way your touch kindled a blazing fire within him, and he had no intention of bearing that flame alone.

Keeping you securely nestled in his arms, he forcefully kicked open the door and lowered you onto the welcoming comfort of the bed. The urgency to discard his black jacket left no room for delay. At the same time, your nimble hands deftly undid the buckle of your pants, but before you could remove them entirely, his hands moved with an instinctual hunger, swiftly stripping you of the garment and casting it aside as if propelled by an untamed fervor. The passion between you burned fiercely, filling the room with an all-encompassing energy that eclipsed any other thoughts or worries.

With a quick movement, he discarded his black t-shirt, revealing the well-defined curves of his chest that shimmered with a touch of sweat. His desire was tangible, his lust unmistakable as he straddled between your parted legs, his hands grasping your nape.

The taste of his lips met yours, initiating a sequence of fervent kisses that persisted without pause, each delving deeper than the last. The world around you lost its significance as your breaths synchronized in rhythm, the heat between your bodies escalating.

In the meantime, your hands moved swiftly, deftly unbuttoning your shirt.

As his lips briefly separated from yours, he uttered a whispered confession. "I hate how bad I want you," he admitted, his voice carrying a raw sincerity. However, before you could reply, his attention shifted to your neck, where his teeth gently grazed your sensitive flesh, leaving behind tracks of tantalizing nibbles and passionate kisses.

You couldn't help but release a gasp as pleasure and a twinge of pain electrified your senses, sending delightful shivers coursing down your spine. In the throes of passion, your hand curled into a fistful of his hair, a silent request for more. Call it masochist, but he loved it when you did this. He tenderly pulled at your hair in response, tilting your head back ever so slightly, baring more of your vulnerable neck to his hungry mouth.

Then, you did what came naturally to you. With a voice brimming with longing and ecstasy, you spoke his name, "Satoru," the sound slipping from your lips like a hushed prayer.

His actions came to an abrupt pause. His lips separated from your skin, and his grasp on your hair loosened as if a sudden realization had hit him like a splash of icy water. It was ironic how you still possessed this power over him, a power that could both thrill and unsettle him.

The sound of his name on your lips had become something he treasured, and damn it, he had missed hearing it again. Just like every fucking tiny thing he had missed about you.

With a sudden movement, he withdrew his head from the crook of your neck and brought his forehead close to yours. His hands found solace in brushing back strands of your hair with comforting strokes.

He shut his eyes, and in a whisper, his voice carried a hint of fragility, a rawness that tugged at your heartstrings. "Say it again," he pleaded, his voice breaking under the pressure of unexpressed sentiments. It was as if that simple word held immense significance, a lifeline to his heart that he desperately craved.

Without hesitation, you took a steadying breath, the name forming on your lips.

"Satoru."

"S-Say it kinder."

"Satoru."

"Say it slower."

"Satoru."

"Say it gentler."

"Satoru."

"Say it louder."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you wanna tell me you miss me."

"Satoru…"

"Say it as if you're annoyed that I eat so many sweets."

"Satoru!"

"Is this why you made the trip to Sendai just to get me those mochis?"

…

"Say it."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you ever cared, spared a single thought for me."

"SATORU."

"Say it as if when you lied in bed, you remembered something I once said."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if it hurt you too when someone said my name with yours."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if every time a door opened, you too expected me to walk out of it, that every time you cooked, you hummed my favorite songs."

"S-Satoru…"

"Say it as if you need me."

"Satoru."

"Say it again."

"Satoru."

"Again."

"…Satoru."

"Say it as if you want to tell me something important."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you want me to know you won't stay."

"Toru."

"No. Not like this."

"Satoru?"

"Please."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you want me to know you're gonna run away again."

"Satoru…"

"Huh. Better. Now say it as if you wanna tell that you slept badly without me, that you only dreamed of me, and in the morning, you woke up exhausted without having any desire to live."

"Satoru."

"You don't have a line, do you? No remorse. No regret. Not even a single thought for the man you left behind like a walking ghost. And you won't ever stop."

"Satoru."

"Once you were gone, they gathered all your belongings as evidence. See this hair tie on my wrist?" He lifted his hand. "This and your sweatshirt, which no longer carries your scent, are the only things I have left. Say it as if you still have that shirt of mine."

…

"Say it!"

"Sa-to-ru."

"Did you know that I actually thought if I messed myself up, went all self-destructive, and threw a massive tantrum, you'd come back? I mean, why should I bother taking care of myself? That was supposed to be your job, right?"

"Sa…toru."

"Oh, by the way, I completely wrecked that bench on the hill where you used to sit. And then I went ahead and destroyed the whole damn place, then just sat right there amidst the wreckage. I mean, why should I even give a damn when you stopped caring about me? Say it as if you get where I'm coming from."

"Satoru…"

"Yet you know what's funny? Ask me if I still love you like the first day?"

"Satoru?"

"It can't be just me, right? You can't be done with me. Tell me you love me."

…

"Okay. It's—"

"Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru…"

Everything he thought he knew flew right out the window. He had noticed the tremor in your breath and the shake in your voice, but the desperate murmurs of his name caused his eyes to flutter open. Your face was marked with the faint traces of tears, glistening in the light.

You blinked, revealing a spectrum of sadness and beauty unlike anything he'd seen before. The ability to convey so much with just a glance caught him entirely off guard.

Without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips against the curve of your cheeks, softly caressing them. Nuzzling his nose against your skin, he lovingly kissed away the salty tears, his tongue delicately brushing your face with a soothing touch. Each tender movement provided a comforting solace during your emotional moment.

As he lovingly attended to your tears, you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra. He paused, eyes widening in surprise. However, before any words could escape, you leaned in and kissed him. In that single gesture, you conveyed your desires, and he, in turn, found his answer within the depths of that passionate kiss.

As soon as his palms glided over your smooth skin, delicately capturing your erect nipple between his fingers, the bra was tossed somewhere amidst the bedding.

"Lie back," Satoru instructed. He then crawled onto you, your bare chests meeting. He supported himself with his arms on either side of your head to ensure he didn't crush you under his weight.

He positioned himself atop you, overwhelmed by the yearning that had built up in your absence. The thirst to have you beneath him had grown insurmountable. He had craved the sight of your body begging him to take you, the undeniable desire radiating from you.

He locked eyes with you, keeping you in his gaze as he absorbed every aspect of your beauty. The polished planes of your face shimmered with fresh tears, adding a new layer to the bliss. Your eyes were rimmed with redness, solely for him, and this sight rendered him speechless.

Because what if he accidentally stumbled upon the wrong words, and the magic vanished, snatching you away once more, leaving him with nothing but a pumpkin carriage and a single pair of shoes?

He didn't want his arms to be deprived of your warmth. Your touch. Your lips. God, your lips. Your mouth on his neck. Your body wrapped around his. He couldn't bear losing you again, and the realization was like a pendulum the size of the moon. It wouldn't stop slamming into him.

Blinking his white lashes, he swallowed back the fear building in his throat.

What an irony!

The strongest wasn't fearless.

With his knee between your thighs and his body pressing closer, he realized he was paying attention to nothing but the dandelions blowing wishes in his lungs.

"When we were together, I became you," he stated. "You became the reflection I saw in the mirror, and I liked it more. So, I stopped being myself. It was fine because I had you. But when you left, I lost myself along with you."

"Satoru," you called, your voice soft, so soft. He wasn't unfamiliar with the touch of women, but yours were gentler, yet deadlier than them all. "I'm sorry for bringing us to this point." You drew his form closer. The resonating beats of your heart were audible, pulsing deeply within your chest. "Will you ever forgive me?"

Your words unleashed a tumult of feelings within him. Goddammit. He wasn't lost before he met you, but he found himself after having you, only to get lost more after losing you.

Satoru's tears stung as they fell backward down his throat, burning as they went. "Kiss me, and I'll forget everything," he uttered.

And you complied. You kissed him as if swimming through rivers of honey, as if being dipped in pure gold, like diving into an ocean of bliss, and he didn't realize you two were drowning because he was too caught up in the current to notice. Nothing held significance anymore—neither rules, nor the room, nor even the entire fucking Jujutsu society.

All that mattered was this.

This.

This very moment. These lips. This delicate body pressed against his, and these warm hands always discovering new ways to hold his heart.

Oh, My!

He wanted so much more of you. He wanted every part of you. And he kissed you back. Like a mild breeze. Like cherry blossoms. Like a blue spring.

Again.

Satoru drew away. It remained a secret, but piecing himself back together hurt just as much as falling apart. It felt like an ache that needed to be soothed.

You were the cure, so his finger lightly grazed the corner of your mouth, tracing its shape, curves, and subtle crevices. As he kissed the corner of your eyebrow, he whispered your name. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear, causing a slight squirm in your body. He planted a kiss on your neck, just beneath your earlobe, and you tilted your head, inviting him in. Perhaps you resisted the urge to plead for more, for a faster pace.

You used to love this, remember?

His lips moved down the expanse of your neck, delicately tracing the sensitive skin of your collarbones. Not content to be passive, your hands ran down his back, roaming over his broad shoulders, pressing into his back dimples, and clutching his hips. With a handful of his hair, you pulled him closer, leaving small kisses on his neck, arms, and chest.

It was incredible. Being with you, touching you, having you like this. The adrenaline rush was so powerful and euphoric that it made everything feel within reach.

He muttered your name, his lips mouthing the letters, barely speaking.

He pressed his lips against your upper lip.

He ran his tongue along your lower lip.

He planted kisses beneath your chin, on the tip of your nose, along your forehead, temples, and cheeks across your jawline. Then he moved to your neck, behind your ears, and the space between your breasts. Delicately, he nibbled on your sensitive nipples, leaving a trail of kisses all the way down to your belly button until his entire form moved down your figure, disappearing as he shifted downward, and suddenly, his chest was hovering above your hips.

As his lips descended towards the hem of your underwear, he lifted his head right before crossing that boundary, locking eyes with you. His gaze carried a mix of intense reverence and a silent question.

You met his gaze, the unspoken understanding passing between you. Your nod conveyed an affirmation, a wordless permission to continue. With your approval, he lowered his head once again. Before you knew it, he skillfully used his teeth to remove that small piece of fabric while the captivating scent drove him wild with desire.

Having removed your panties, his lips continued exploring, leaving heated kisses and lingering caresses from your toes to your thighs. Firmly holding your calves, he parted your legs, creating just enough space for his head to fit between them.

Your thighs were lifted, obscuring him from your sight. All you could see was the top of his head, the curve of his shoulders, and the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he breathed. Eventually, even that view vanished as his lips closed around your clit, causing your head to fall back and muffled moans to escape your lips.

Satoru's large hands trailed down and up your exposed upper thighs and ribs, tightly gripping your hips to keep you in place. He delighted in how you squirmed each time his hair brushed against your groin, until his tongue slipped into your hole, and the taste of you made fireworks explode in the back of his head.

With his right hand pressed against your stomach, his tongue danced and teased, evoking ecstatic cries from your lips. His mouth explored the known territories you had never witnessed, yet he remembered them intimately.

While fully engrossed in eating you, he suddenly and intentionally slipped his middle finger inside, and his mouth fervently sought to suck the soul out of your essence as if seeking retribution for all the times he had jerked off thinking about you creaming around his shaft. That's why he left you on the precipice of climax, working his way up your body. Satoru was never cruel enough to deny you the release you craved, so his fingers remained ready.

With an eagerness to witness the pleasure etched across your face, he slowly ascended your body, his touch kindling a burning anticipation within you. Continuing his exploration, his adept fingers navigated their way to your most intimate region, gently pressing against the delicate entrance.

"Let me know if it hurts, alright?" he whispered, his nose caressing the skin of your stomach, placing sporadic kisses around your breasts and collarbones to alleviate any tension. His disheveled hair and moist lips were evidence of the indulgence in your sweet taste.

"Take it easy— ahhh!"

He wore a satisfied smile as two of his large fingers effortlessly slid into your slit. Your nails dug into the sheets, whimpers escaping your lips as his hand rhythmically moved up and down within your tight walls.

Your mouth opened in a soundless moan, and he peppered you with kisses all around. Tears glistened in your eyes, and tiny strands of hair clung to your sweaty forehead. When his thumb rubbed, and the fingers hit all the right spots, your throat wailed in frustration.

You firmly grasped his free arm and tugged him towards you, bringing him closer until he was on top of you. You might have turned into a cold-blooded curse user, left dead bodies behind, or broken his heart apart, but you were still the same girl beneath him. The girl who would laugh with joy and steal his treats. The girl who would fiercely fight by his side and protect him. The girl who would easily surrender and moan in his ear.

He pressed his lips against yours, a reminder of the residual sweetness on his tongue. Just like in the old days, a soft moan escaped your lips as soon as you felt your own taste. If this gesture could convince you to stay with him, why not revel in it? He willingly opened his lips, inviting you to delve deeper, your tongues intertwining and brushing against his teeth.

The stinging bitterness of the past was long gone. He had forgotten everything. Although there was something he knew he shouldn't forget, he couldn't recall why or what it was. With his hard length suffering in his boxers and his digits thrusting backward and forward, paying attention to anything else was hard.

Seeing your desperation for his touch proved to be his downfall. He could die from this, he decided. From wanting you, from the pleasure of being with you.

He wore a smile as you locked eyes and reciprocated with your smile. He pressed his forehead against yours, his skin flushed with heat. With his other hand, he held your head steady while your hands clutched his neck, your palms gliding over the area just above his neckline, and your fingertips tenaciously pressing against his undercut.

"Sato..." you managed to utter, your voice quivering with pleasure as the orgasm washed over you, consuming your senses. Waves of euphoria rippled across your body, inducing uncontrollable tremors. Amidst your release, a single tear broke free, tracing a glistening path down your cheek, much like the cascade of emotions that flowed within you.

While he remained atop you, his voice reached your ears, his lips near your earlobe. "Can you sit up?" he whispered, burying his face in the curve of your neck, allowing your ragged breaths to brush against his shoulder.

Still struggling to catch your breath, you managed to mumble, "Yeah, but..." However, before you could complete your sentence, the bedding beneath you shifted as Satoru pulled you into his arms, clutching you tight.

He exhaled and looked at you, but this time, there were stories in his eyes, thoughts, whispers, and feelings of things he had never told you. He looked like he was hanging on his sanity by a fraying thread—you.

He touched your flushed cheeks as if uncertain of your tangible presence. His four fingers caressed the side of your face with tenderness before sliding behind your neck, caught in that in-between spot below your ear, and his thumb brushed the apple of your cheek, then grazing your bottom lip.

He pondered the countless things your lips had done. They had touched, kissed, and pressed against sensitive areas of his skin. They had spoken lies and made promises, and the words they had formed, the shapes and sounds they had shaped, he yearned for them all.

Satoru inched closer, cradling you like you were made of precious crystals. Holding you and looking at his own hands as if he couldn't believe you were real and truly there.

"I'm right here, baby. Look at me," you whispered, grasping his hands and kissing them.

All six of his eyes obeyed and stared at you. Gone was the curse user targeting Higher Ups. This woman before him had never done anything wrong. You were perfect and kind, untouched by the horrors of death.

He took hold of your hands and pressed your palms against his face, reclaiming the tears you had bestowed upon him. With an eternity of love, he whispered your name in the softest of whispers.

What if this was a dream?

He shook, shuddered, splintered into teardrops, and you embraced him like no one had before. Overwhelmed by the intensity, he struggled to contain himself, but seeing you cling to him as you might never let go stirred something within him. It was a heady sensation, knowing that you were there, caring for him, desiring him, needing him in this way. It made him believe that this was indeed real.

Gently, you stroked his silvery locks of hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. Gradually, your arms became the arms around his neck; your lips became the lips pressed against his, your body the warmth he felt. Funny how the moment he felt your touch, it burned a hole right through his head and pulled all his thoughts out.

He wasn't even breathing, but he was alive, and he was kissing you. Deeply, desperately. His hands fervently caressed the small of your back as he lifted you onto his lap, and instinctively, your legs wrapped around his hips.

Then, it was your turn to reciprocate. You planted kisses all over him—his cheeks, eyelids, chin, the tip of his nose, and the space between his eyebrows. You trailed along his forehead and traced his jawline, covering every inch of his face. These kisses conveyed more than words ever could.

And you took your time.

As your mouth moved down his neck, he let out a gasp. It was a moment to relish. Your tongue continued to worship the hills and valleys of his well-defined arms, tracing the graceful curves of his collarbones. Inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin, you savored his taste. Your hands explored his abs, tracing along his navel and the delicate trails of hair beneath.

He broke apart with your small licks here and there, breathing hard, and stared at you dumbfounded. His mind remained hazy, unable to fully comprehend how your fingers toyed with the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Tilting your head to a side, you pressed your lips against his again, seeking him with a burning need, a new kind of desperation. Your other hand threaded in his hair, your lips so soft, so urgent against his, like fire and cinnamon exploding in his mouth.

Satoru nibbled your bottom lip in a flash before pulling back slightly. You were flooding his body with so much heat and desire. You parted your lips to sigh in his mouth, and that slight sound of pleasure drove him to the edge of madness.

Just as he was about to bring his mouth to your nipples, your hand suddenly slipped into his underwear and encircled his erectness pressing against your groin.

Oh.

Well.

He clenched his teeth, suppressing a groan. Oh God! He had fucking missed you holding his member in your palm. But you didn't stop at that. He gasped as you began to rub the tip with your thumb. His body ached everywhere as he tasted the colors and sounds that existed nowhere else. Your forehead rested against his chin as you continued to stroke his hardness up and down beneath his boxers. You were untamed, cruel, yet remarkably gentle.

"Take it off, Satoru," you whispered in his ear, your breath ragged. "I want you in me. Deep. Right. Now. Please."

He was beyond the reach of rational thoughts. Beyond words, beyond comprehension. The world was beyond understanding because nothing could ever compare with this. Nothing could ever capture the way he was feeling right now. He was left with only this very moment: You on his lap, your warmth against his hands, and your lustful eyes fixed upon him, making him absolutely insane.

Satoru held onto your waist with a firm grip, lifting you slightly, and in the blink of an eye, his briefs glided down his long legs until their whereabouts became irrelevant in the heat of the moment.

The wetness between your thighs was no longer a hidden secret, just as his hardness was revealed when you surrounded each other everywhere.

He watched as you reached down and guided his erection against your slippery entrance, making a few strokes to ensure the perfect alignment. His racing pulse could probably be felt in your palm and soon inside you.

Using both hands, he gripped your hips and pulled you downward, drawing you closer to him. A gasp escaped your lips as he entered you, always surprised about his size. He intended to allow you time to adjust, but you fervently clung to his neck, hitching your legs around his waist, urging him to penetrate you completely. A scream escaped your lips as you bit into his shoulder blade, but he remained composed, relishing the sensation of stretching you. He cherished the feeling of your inner walls squeezing him and the weight of your body against his balls. To be honest, he would stay like this forever.

Feeling your readiness, his hold tightened, and he started moving your body up and down. You cried out as you nestled your cheek into the curve of his neck, and he felt like dying and somehow being brought back to life in the exact moment, in the same breath.

Fuck! You were full of him.

He raised your thighs, stifling a groan that threatened to rip his throat as your lips met his. It left him bewildered, pondering why he hadn't perished, burst into flames, or snapped in half.

The room was consumed by silence, punctuated only by the sound of your heavy breaths. Your chests pressed against each other, colliding with the rhythm of your pulses.

As he sensed your arms tightening around him, he reciprocated with heightened strength, lifting and thrusting you with an intensity that transcended the bounds of restraint. Each movement struck the place he knew too well.

His teeth captured your bottom lip, eliciting a momentary jolt of pleasure. Your nails pressed into his shoulder as his fingers ran through your hair, pulling you nearer, immersing you in the fervent abyss of his mouth. The taste of you was a captivating fusion of sweetness and passion, an intoxicating blend that left both of you craving for more.

He kept trying to say your name, but he found himself unable even to catch his breath, let alone speak a single word.

The pace increased slightly; each thrust was hard, deliberate, wringing gasps, whimpers, and long, rolling moans from you.

Your eyes tingled with tears, falling fast down and traveling quietly down your cheeks. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs two parentheses in your mouth, touching your tongue and the saliva within. It was as if he had discovered an oasis in the vast expanse of a desert, gazing at you with eyes ablaze like fire reflected in water.

"I love you," he whispered over and over, his voice fragile and uneven. His lips covered yours in a tender kiss. He kissed you and tasted your tears, the lasting essence of pleasure in your mouth. He kissed you and kissed you until time toppled over, and your heads spun into a blissful oblivion.

Your head rested against his, and as you delicately nipped at his earlobe, he felt stripped down to his very core, just as he had unraveled you from within. Your sweet little tongue was frantic when you whispered, "I'm yours to love."

Something inside him melted. Hearing your words, he held still for moments, sucking in the air because he felt almost dizzy with satisfaction, running his hands over your thighs.

You. You belonged to him. You didn't erase the pain you had caused. You didn't fix everything you'd broken, but that wasn't what he needed anyway. All he needed was you, and with you, everything would be alright.

He firmly grasped your buttocks, burying his face against your shoulder as he sped up. He was shattered to pieces, but with you, he got put back together differently, better, and more himself than he ever could have been. Gritting his teeth, he succumbed to the impending climax. His hands glided along your back as you shuddered, your inner walls pulsating around him so hard that he couldn't hold back his release. With a growl, he thrust wildly, once, twice, until everything around you both turned to a world of vibrant colors and radiant light, where the sun shone, oceans sparkled, and Sakura trees bloomed.

Both of you were lying on a pillow, breathless and sweaty. Satoru's face was buried in the crook of your neck.

Your hand had delicately weaved its way into his hair, fingers stroking the silky strands as you both sought to ground yourself in the aftermath of your orgasms.

You rested your cheek against his head, your voice carrying a hint of breathlessness as you began to speak. "How is Shoko doing?

"She's probably smoking even more now," he murmured, his lips grazing against your shoulder as he pulled you closer. Despite the physical closeness, a deep ache echoed within him, yearning for an even deeper connection that felt just beyond his grasp. The desire to merge both body and soul, to be completely intertwined with you, was tangible in his touch.

His arms tightened around you as if attempting to bridge an unseen gap that couldn't be seen, but he could feel it. Each hug and touch was an attempt to mend the distance that pained him. The depth of his need reverberated through his being. It was visible in the depths of his eyes. It sucked to be this close yet feel so far from someone. But he didn't want to worry. As long as you were together, he believed nothing terrible could happen.

"Why probably so?" you asked, your curiosity piqued as you turned your head towards him. Your lips touched his soft, silky white hair. "Is it because of the numerous missions you're taking?"

"You seem to know every detail of my life," he remarked, turning his head towards you, the closeness so intimate that your noses nearly touched. His hand found its way to your arm, his finger tracing a path down its length, lost in contemplation.

"I've always kept tabs on you. I'm not even ashamed of it," you declared, your attention fixed on his ocean-blue eyes.

He let out a shaky sigh. "There's no longer a reason for me to stay in Tokyo like I used to," he whispered, his voice hinting at wistfulness. The words floated in the air, pregnant with unspoken meanings. As he locked eyes with you, his gaze transformed into a sea of emotions, reflecting a profound depth of feelings that transcended mere words.

"What about your students?"

"They're doing well even without me," Satoru said, his voice filled with fondness and melancholy. As his hand gracefully slid into your hair, he tucked back the strands that obscured your face, revealing the beauty of your features.

His thumb stroked your cheek in a soothing gesture. "Megumi came close to expanding his domain," Satoru continued, his voice filled with a hint of excitement. "Yuji would be thrilled to—"

"No, Satoru!" you interjected, your voice resolute. Your firm interruption halted his sentence as your face displayed a frown, your eyebrows furrowing with determination. "The answer is no!"

Satoru's hand dropped weakly onto the sheets, his fingers losing their previous touch. When his gaze met yours, a deep sadness flooded his eyes, turning the serene ocean within them into a turbulent storm.

He struggled to find the right words to make his case but couldn't resist trying to reason with you. "Come back with me. I have enough power and privilege to protect you—"

"I don't want your protection!" you exclaimed, your voice carrying a sharp edge that cut through his being. The words resounded with a harshness reminiscent of the day you decided to leave, which had left an indelible mark on both of you. It was a day that Satoru had always blamed himself for, haunted by the belief that he had failed to notice you drifting away.

His eyes, filled with sorrow, locked onto yours, silently begging for understanding as he summoned the bravery to express his deepest desires. "Don't you want a life with me?" he questioned, his voice brimming with the dreams and aspirations he had envisioned for both of you. "What about living in a house with blue shutters, windows overlooking the ocean, and—"

"How are you still such a wide-eyed, dreamy little boy, Satoru?" you remarked, your voice tinged with tenderness and sadness. As you spoke, your hand extended, interlocking your fingers with his. "Stop living in a fantasy world," you urged. The words pleaded for him to accept reality and let go of dreams no longer aligned with his chosen path. "Even if I had the chance to go back, I wouldn't want to," you continued. "The Jujutsu society is a broken bone that won't set right, and no matter how much you try to mend it, it won't work. I started hunting Higher Ups because I have a purpose. I can't be by your side."

As you raised your head, a glimmer of compassion and understanding shimmered in your eyes. The pain etched on Satoru's face was evident to you. In a gentle tone, you encouraged him, saying, "We've made different choices. Don't judge me because I never questioned why you didn't follow me. Our approaches may differ, but we share the same dream of creating a better world. So, I don't regret leaving, but if there's anything I regret, it's not cherishing every moment I had with you. But I'm doing it right this time. I'm memorizing every detail, so I have something to hold onto."

Your words bounced around in the fog of his head, blurring his senses, misting his eyes, and muddling his logic. In his bones, there was just ice. His entire being wanted to vomit. Reality slapped him in the face, punched him in the jaw, and dumped him into the ocean.

Until today, he thought he had fully come to terms with everything. He believed he had adapted to living with your absence, like a disabled person learning to avoid putting weight on his injured leg. However, deep down, he knew he was living on eggshells, always wondering when something would break, when everything would crumble.

But with your answer, stacks of sorrow grew inside him, settling on his bones as if a cable had twisted around his neck, a worm crawling across his stomach. It was the night, midnight, and the twilight of indecision. Too many pains to bear.

He realized how foolish he had been to believe he could simply blend in and lead an ordinary life.

Satoru.

Satoru Gojo.

Satoru Gojo, The Strongest.

The mere thought of it filled him with mortification.

He shook his head, coughing as his lungs were tormented, heaving strange, horrible gasps until his whole body spasmed into submission. His head was spinning, thoughts knocking into one another. With clenched fists, he fought against the misery, forcing it back down. Not again. Not again. Not again.

"Satoru?" you called out to him, and a thousand pieces of feeling stabbed you in the heart. Realizing how deeply he loved you kept hitting him in the face, the skull, and the spine. He ran a hand across his face and through his hair, displaying signs of wanting to scream, to break something, as if he was on the verge of losing his sanity.

You hugged him, bridging the gap between your bodies and leaning your cheek against his rock-hard chest. Your hands caressed his stomach as your lips left random pecks here and there.

"It's not just your shirt that I have," you expressed. "I also have our shared blanket from our room and a collection of photographs I'm too afraid to look at. I fear that if I see them, I'll go right back to you and beg your forgiveness."

You dropped a kiss on his chin. Then, on the curve of his shoulder and his shoulder blades. Five kisses down his throat, each softer than the last. You kissed his cheeks, hands, and eyelids for every moment of loneliness he had ever endured.

You continued, "My body hasn't realized we are no longer together. It calls out for you at night, unaccustomed to not having you tightly enveloping me like a second layer of skin."

He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to gain control of himself. "Why are you putting me through this?" he asked, his hand caught in his hair. "Why are you scratching my wounds?"

"Because I want to remake you again, Satoru. You should get broken apart and rebuild in a way that won't cause you pain anymore." You kissed the hand covering his mouth, not holding back. Keeping your head there, you leaned against his heart.

"It's not as straightforward as a simple yes or no," you said, your voice cracking as you spoke. "Let's just enjoy this moment together..."

A sudden searing heat flashed behind his eyes, and his heart leaped at your response. His hand trembled, and his eyes were willing and wanting but filled with sadness.

He shifted his gaze towards you, his eyes open, jaw clenched tightly, and muscles tense. Breathing heavily, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. The ache in his chest had grown more assertive, more painful.

You lifted your head and reached up to stroke his cheek. "Love is the most twisted curse," you murmured as you tilted his chin toward your mouth. He blinked rapidly. Words were whispered upon his lips that no one had ever spelled out for him. "And we are the most cursed of all, aren't we?" you told him, watching the movement in his throat and his effort to keep it together. It didn't take you long to kiss him again. Tenderly.

Unable to find the right words, he relied on the language of touch, pressing his lips against yours. A sigh escaped into your shared kiss, and you responded by kissing him even more passionately, almost desperately, as if trying to pass over your breaths to him. The taste of salt lingered on your tongues. The wet drops falling on your cheeks made his flesh burn. Unsure of whose tears they were, he continued to cling to you, even if it was almost for the final time.

The saddest world in this whole wide world was "almost." You almost came back to him. He almost had you. You two almost made it.

You woke up with a smile, feeling a pleasant warmth enveloping your skin, remnants of the memories from the previous night. The room was filled with a fresh ambiance, hinted at by the open window that welcomed a gentle breeze. The scent of damp earth filled the air, evidence of the rain that had visited during the night.

Letting out a sigh, you brushed your face against the pillow. Your hand instinctively reached out to where Satoru was supposed to be, but a pang of emptiness washed over you. He wasn't there, and your eyes flew open, a sourness clouding their once-serene gaze. Something felt wrong.

Suddenly, sitting up, a sense of panic pulsed through your veins. The realization dawned upon you—Satoru had left the bed, and his absence spoke volumes. Your glance darted around the room, searching for any signs of his presence, but his clothes were nowhere to be seen.

An agonizing grip took hold of your heart. Conflicting emotions wrestled inside you. You had voiced your decision to part ways, to not be by his side, yet the depth of your desire for him remained steadfast. The pain and the desperate desire for his warmth was a stark reminder that not wanting to be with him didn't mean you were prepared to let go of him completely.

The bitter yet undeniable truth surfaced: as much as you and Satoru were meant to be, fate had not deemed you to last.

You could still feel the lasting presence of Satoru's cursed energy, an invisible thread you could identify even blind. Simply by scent, you would recognize it. It was a power that transcends physical senses, one that would recognize it in death, at the end of the world.

You swiftly snatched your robe and hastened out of the room. And there he was, Satoru, fully dressed, his blindfold tightly secured, sitting still in a chair, facing the untouched mochis. The hair tie was also on the table, indicating that he had removed it from his wrist. You couldn't determine whether it hurt you deeply to see him letting go of a part of you or noticing that he had left his beloved treats untouched.

He wasn't looking at you, so you had time to observe things you hadn't noticed yesterday. He had visibly lost weight. His hair showed signs of splitting and thinning, probably due to stress. Nightmares didn't let him sleep. His uniform appeared wrinkled, and his breaths were unsteady. You knew it wasn't your place to worry about him anymore, but you couldn't help it. Taking care of him had become a habit. He appeared weary, displaying the same profound exhaustion you experienced, filling you with fear.

His shoulders quivered up and down, and you could tell he was crying even though he was silent as a corpse. Your heart quickened as you approached him. With trembling hands, you reached for his blindfold, a desperate attempt because, goddammit, you fucking loved his eyes.

"What are you—" you started to inquire, your voice fading as you recognized that your touch couldn't reach him. He had activated his Infinity. Manually. Deliberately. A wave of profound sadness washed over you, tears welling up in your eyes, yet you swallowed them back, resolved to keep your composure. Your hand hung suspended, mere inches away from him, a symbol of the unbridgeable gap that had grown between you.

Then, in a sudden movement, Satoru stood before you, donning a black jacket that draped his figure. His voice emerged raspy, filled with a raw intensity that conveyed the turmoil within his heart.

"I can't handle this anymore. I can't continue being whatever I am to you," he admitted, his words heavy with a sense of resignation. The understanding that the current situation was no longer viable had taken hold of him. "If you want things to remain this way, I can't ignore the fact that we are enemies at the end of the day." He subtly avoided meeting your gaze, averting his eyes from your messy hair and the persistent sadness in your eyes.

"Can you honestly believe that?" you questioned, your voice brimming with incredulity. You took a step forward, narrowing the physical gap between you. It was essential for him to grasp the magnitude of your anguish and directly witness the toll your choice inflicted upon your heart.

Satoru took a step back, his brows furrowing beneath the blindfold that veiled his eyes. "It doesn't matter what I believe," he declared.

Despite the barrier that prevented physical touch, you closed your eyes, driven by the overwhelming desire to bridge the divide. Ignoring the protective shield of his Infinity, you leaned in, your lips seeking his in a desperate act of defiance. Tears streamed down your closed eyes as he relinquished the barrier that kept you apart. You pressed your lush mouth against his. It never took him long to respond, to part his lips. He kissed you back, holding your head steady with his hand while his other embraced you tightly. He had your heart, and you loved him quite horribly, too. This fact always smacked you over the head so hard you felt dizzy.

You held each other tightly, his arms enveloping you as his fingers intertwined with your hair. In that stolen moment, you caught a glimpse of the life you longed for—a life filled with love. Having this every day was within reach, but the harsh reality of the jujutsu world loomed, casting a shadow over your fragile dreams. The awareness that he would be exploited until his final breath burdened you deeply. Unable to witness his suffering, you knew you couldn't change your decisions. You had to reset this Jujutsu World. For him. For his students. For the happiness you owed yourself.

As your lips reluctantly separated, a bittersweet trace of saliva remained between you. Satoru gripped your shoulders, and as you glanced up, you noticed his blindfold was damp, indicating the tears he had shed.

You lowered your head. "I wish you had never crossed paths with me," you murmured, keeping your gaze fixed on the ground until he reached out and lifted your chin.

"I wouldn't take that chance. Not in a million infinities. Because there was love, even if it didn't change anything, even if it made the pain worse, love was there," he said, staring at your mouth. "I'll love you in this life. I'll love you in death and in whatever lies after. And likely even beyond that," he whispered. The words did something to you. They burned something inside of you. You swallowed hard. A fire consumed your mind. "No matter what, I'll always love you," he declared, and pain filled your veins. You could feel it in your blood.

"Satoru," you whispered. Your eyes fogged up, but you blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears away. You couldn't let a second of this be blurry. You couldn't afford to allow any of this to slip away. His absence felt like a missing limb, and his longing for you was a bullet in the head. How could he still love you? How could he find relief in your touch?

"But if we meet again," he said, his thumb brushing against your earlobe. "Just kill me. Because I'll be forced to kill you, and it's the same thing." As if the longer he held you, the more he would want you, he let go of you.

The enormity of his duty and the unyielding constraints of the jujutsu world, forcing him to make an unbearable choice, hit you like a cold gust of wind, leaving you feeling isolated and abandoned. The chill of that moment seeped into your bones, and you couldn't help but wonder if he had felt this same frigid loneliness when you had left him behind.

Satoru walked towards the door, each step carrying the finality of his decision that settled upon the room. Pausing at the threshold, a silent plea lingered in his words. "So, please, I beg you to stay away from me." With those words, he severed the last thread that had linked you, leaving you with a deep sense of loss.

The door closed behind him, leaving you in an empty and heavy space with unspoken regret. You were alone again, bereft without him, half dead without him. You opened your mouth and screamed. You screamed and screamed until your voice cracked beneath the pressure. Until you feared your throat would shred from the force. You wanted to crawl outside of your body so desperately so that you could escape this feeling.

No one ever warned you how men with such pretty eyes, who smelled like vanilla, tasted like rain, and talked like silver, were the reason behind tear-soaked pillows, half-finished poems, and so many sad dreams.

One last shout ripped out of your throat, this one so full of pain that brought you to your knees. You crumbled. The raw sound tapered off, fading into a hoarse, staccato cry. You sucked in a deep breath, filling your lungs with oxygen you didn't want, but you were too lost in your grief to scream like you wanted to.

It seemed like Satoru Gojo's story had peaked, and anything that followed wouldn't hold the same significance to him. Because for him, there was before you, and there was during you. For some reason, he never thought there would be an after you. But there was, and he was in it. He would be in it forever.

Moving forward, he silently implored his bones to remain firm, to support him for the remainder of the day and beyond. He ventured through the forest, his steps disturbing the mud and leaves as his footprints gradually faded away until there was nothing but the empty silence of a long, lonely dusk.

Tag list: @istanuwow @anime-lover1234 @rentaldarling @enchantedforest-network

Disclaimers:

This creation draws significant inspiration from the incredible artistry of @animaybi (TikTok) and features quotes from the captivating writings of @starlightonthewaves (TikTok). Both of these talented artists deserve immense praise for their remarkable contributions.

Art is created by me.

Are you cursing me for writing this? :D

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