#one always lies and the other always tells the truth

[utopiastri]

Put That Guy in a SituationTM - look something about Landoscar in a 20/32 type situation has me hooked….trying to not let others on to their predicament, maybe it’s a bit embarrassing how it happened 🤔

hi anon!!! thank you for the prompt! i went a smidge away from my usual cutesy fluff for this one - your suggestion of embarrassment really sparked something in my brain, even if i took it in a slightly different direction. i hope you enjoy!!!

(prompt list here)

“Look, we just gotta act natural,” Lando says.

Or, well, Lando-as-Oscar says, because it sounds like Oscar’s voice and it’s Oscar’s mouth that’s moving, but it’s Lando that’s actually saying the words and–

Lando-in-Oscar’s-body huffs. “You’re having a crisis again aren’t you?”

“You know it’s weirder of you to be 100% ok with this.”

“It’s a body swap curse, mate, it’s not rocket science.”

Oscar runs a hand through his hair and cringes at the uncanny feeling of there being someone else’s hair on top of his head. “I understand the concept, Lando, what I’m struggling with is everything else related to it like, I don't know, how the fuck this happened."

“I don’t know. Do you reckon we need to have sex to break the curse?”

“What?�� Oscar squawks, “Why would we need to have sex to break the curse?”

Lando flushes. “I dunno. Just felt like the right solution.”

“Based on what?”

Lando mumbles something about seeing it online once and Oscar chooses to ask no more follow-up questions lest Lando tells him he learnt about it from some random porn he watched once. He heaves a sigh.

“Listen, like you said, we should just act normal. This whole thing is,” Oscar pauses to search for the right word, “Strange. And I’d really rather not bring anyone else into it to begin with.”

“Agreed,” Lando says before adding, “Hey, if we’re still like this for the race tomorrow and I win but in your body, does that mean you get the points?” Oscar glares at him and Lando pouts. “It’s a genuine question!” he whines.

Oscar’s about to point out they have bigger things to focus on than the effects of this on a race when Jon sticks his head into the room.

“Debrief in five, guys.”

“Sounds good, mate,” Lando says, in an accent no human being has ever used before.

Jon blinks at him. He turns to look at Oscar. Or, rather, he turns to look at Oscar who he thinks is Lando. Oscar smiles weakly.

“He’s, uh, trying to do an impression of me doing an Australian impression," Oscar lies, hoping it sounds vaguely believable.

“Oi!” Lando says, “My Australian accent’s mint.”

“Yes, Oscar,” Oscar says pointedly, “Your Australian accent would be mint because you are from Australia.”

Lando's eyes light up in realisation and he starts nodding furiously. “Right, yep, what he said, exactly.”

Jon blinks at both of them this time. He sighs.

“If you two are doing roleplay, I don’t want to hear about it.” Lando and Oscar both start spluttering, but Jon keeps on talking over both of them. “Just be on time for debrief.”

With Jon gone, Oscar breathes a sigh of relief. Or he starts to, until Lando pipes up.

“I still reckon us having sex will fix it.”

Oscar reminds himself that if he kills Lando right now, he’s possibly going to do irreparable damage to his own body.

The thought’s still tempting.

“Is there a particular reason you’re so desperate to have sex with yourself?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

Lando clearly wasn't expecting that question because he freezes. Oscar’s always hated how easily he flushes but right now, watching it brutally incriminate Lando, he can’t help but be grateful for it.

“I’m not fucking desperate to have sex with myself.” He doesn't sound like he's lying, but the blush on his face suggests he's not telling the whole truth.

Maybe…

His eyebrows raise. “So you’re only desperate to have sex with me then?”

Lando looks up at Oscar, eyes wide. He swallows.

Got you, Oscar thinks to himself.

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 27

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 1000

Masterlist

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My brain was an open construction site, impossible to organize. I had completely lost control of the situation, Lucy’s words replaying endlessly in my mind.  

I tried to avoid Alessia as much as possible at the start of the week, guilt gnawing at me from the inside. I had pretended to be at a construction site far from the city.  

And then came the climactic point: Thursday, the day we were to sign the papers to buy the house, marking the beginning of a new chapter together.  

Lucy had sent me a message on Monday:  

 "How are you today?"   

I should have replied with the truth:  "I have a knot in my stomach, I can’t stop thinking about what you said, I feel awful."   

Instead, I typed:  

 "I’m fine, thanks. And you?"   

A pitiful response.  

 "I see you’re not in the mood to talk. I’ll wait until you’re ready. And I meant what I said yesterday."   

I didn’t reply.  

I didn’t know what to say, how to respond, or even what to do. As usual, I fled from the problem, refusing to face it head-on.  

The days passed, consumed by painful questioning and endless self-doubt.  

By Thursday morning, I was utterly exhausted. I hadn’t slept a wink, spending the entire night thinking.  

I convinced myself that I needed to grow up, that my relationship with Alessia was solid, and that I couldn’t throw it all away for a fleeting passion. Lucy had confessed that it was more than just sex between us. Fine, but where would that lead? Nowhere.  

I also decided not to tell Alexia about my lapse. She would never forgive me.  

 "You look awful! Still not over your food poisoning?"  Alexia teased as she arrived.  

I had lied about food poisoning to explain my absence from the presentation in Lyon on Sunday morning. She gave me a playful wink and added:  

 "So, today’s the big day! You’re officially becoming a responsible adult with this house purchase!"   

If only she knew. I had wanted to tell her everything so many times, to confide in her. But I couldn’t. Lucy had asked me not to speak of our affair. And deep down, I was afraid of disappointing my friend.  

So, I stayed silent, bottling it all up.  

 "Yep, first purchase for a new life!"   

I delivered the sentence in a flat, monotone voice.  

 "Cheer up, Ona! At this rate, the notary might refuse to let you sign those papers!"  she laughed.  "I’m so happy you two are together. You’re perfect for each other!"   

Her words warmed my heart. She was right.  

That afternoon, I was supposed to have lunch with Alessia at the main square before heading to the notary’s office. It was the first time I’d seen her since the weekend, and I felt a deep apprehension. Could I lie to her, hide all this?  

She arrived with a radiant smile—the smile I loved so much, the one that always eased my doubts and instantly loosened the knot in my throat.  

 "Hi, my love! I missed you this week! Tell me everything, I don’t even know how it went in Lyon! Judging by your face, it must have been exhausting,"  she laughed.  

I was so ashamed.  

Still, I recounted the weekend briefly, changing the subject quickly. I was lying to her, something I had never done before. Our relationship had always been built on unwavering trust in one another. But I couldn’t tell her about this—it would destroy her. Destroy us.  

The lunch passed quickly. Alessia talked about her latest surgery, an open-heart operation on a newborn. She always impressed me—such a talented surgeon, yet so humble.  

As we sipped our coffee, my thoughts were interrupted by a laugh behind me, a laugh I recognized all too well. I turned.  

It was Lucy, seated at the counter, drinking coffee with two other men.  

My throat tightened. What were the odds of her being in this café?  

Actually, quite high, I realized. We were in the main square, opposite the town hall, in the most popular café-restaurant. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?  

Lucy caught my eye. She looked surprised.  

She stopped talking, excused herself from her companions, and walked toward us.  

No. Not this. What are you doing, Lucy?  

 "Hello!"   

She stood in front of us, a wide smile on her lips.  

 "Hello, Madame Bronze! Nice to see you again!"  Alessia replied warmly.  

 "Likewise! How are you?"   

Alessia answered, politely returning the question. I didn’t say a word—I couldn’t speak.  

 "What brings you here?"  Lucy asked.  

She was constantly seeking my gaze, while I desperately avoided hers.  

 "We’re going to the notary’s office! You’re looking at the future homeowners of your town!"  Alessia beamed. Proud. Beautiful.  

Lucy’s face darkened slightly.  

 "Congratulations. I wish you both much happiness. Goodbye."   

She turned on her heel, throwing me one last fleeting glance before walking out the door. A glance that electrified me to my core.  

 "You could have at least said something. I know you don’t like her, but still!"  Alessia scolded me.  

I suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable—clammy hands, a heart pounding uncontrollably. I felt hot and dizzy. The knot in my stomach that had plagued me all week was now unbearable.  

 "I’ll go pay, and then we can head out!"   

She got up to leave.  

I grabbed her hand abruptly, suddenly.  

I looked at her now.  

 "I can’t, Alessia."   

[snowseasonmademe]

Reminder

warning ‼️: smut !

word count: 4,258

paring: toxic situationship noni x black female reader

summary: as much as you tried to walk away from him, he always, always, pulled you back

note: a special request from my special @irishmanwhore . she requested this late at night a couple days ago, and i’m not the biggest lover of noni (for obvious reason🦷) buuuuttttt i had to cook up something for her. all i’m gonna say is, grab your plate because yall are about to eat gooooodddddd. as always, enjoy and tell me what you think !!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

London nights always felt heavier when you were alone. The streets, the clubs, even your own damn bed—nothing felt right anymore. Not since him.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

It had been months since you walked away. Months since you finally accepted that Noni would never call you his girlfriend, never give you the security you craved, never love you the way you needed him to.

You spent too many nights crying over him, replaying the same arguments, the same lies. I’m not cheating. I don’t even find them attractive like that. But who just casually has Rubi Rose’s number? Who texts other girls at 2 AM, only to turn his phone face down when you’re in the room?

You wanted to believe him. Every time he kissed your forehead, wrapped his arms around you, whispered, It’s not like that, you’re moving mad, you let yourself fall for it again. And every time, you regretted it.

Because the truth was, he never wanted you for anything more than convenience—sex, company, someone to show off when it suited him. He’d buy you gifts, take you on expensive dates, post half a picture of you on his story just to keep you quiet for a while. And for a moment, you’d let yourself believe it was real. That you were special. That you weren’t just another girl in rotation.

But then the cycle would repeat.

He’d disappear for hours—sometimes days—only to pop back up like nothing happened. You’d argue. He’d dodge every question, spin everything back on you, make you feel like you were crazy for even asking. Why do you always do this? You swear I’m some wasteman when I’ve done nothing wrong. And then, like clockwork, he’d find his way back into your bed. Because no matter how mad you were, how hurt you felt, one look from him, one touch, and your body betrayed you.

Everyone knew what it was. You weren’t his girlfriend, but you weren’t just some random. You were something in between, stuck in limbo, and no matter how much you wanted to walk away, you never could.

Until you did.

Yet every step you took away from him felt like you were being pulled back in.

And still, even now, even with Jessie waiting for you, you weren’t sure if you’d ever really left.

But you really like Jessie.

Jessie, with his safe hands and soft voice. Jessie, who planned dates and sent good morning texts and actually responded to messages on time. Jessie, who respected you. Jessie, who wasn’t him.

You liked Jessie. You really did. He was sweet, patient, the kind of guy who held doors open and kissed your forehead just because. He listened when you talked, remembered little details about your day, always made sure you finished first in bed.

But he didn’t make your heart race. He didn’t make your blood boil. He didn’t push you to the brink of madness, teetering between love and chaos the way Noni did.

Jessie didn’t know how to handle you when you had an attitude—he didn’t hit you with something slick and lowkey mean just to shut you up, to remind you exactly who you were dealing with. He didn’t grab your face with that rough grip, fingers digging into your skin, forcing you to look him in the eyes while he fucked the air from your lungs.

He didn’t choke you like you liked—like you needed. Didn’t know how to shut you up with one hand around your throat, making you gasp for breath just to prove a point. He didn’t slap your ass hard when you tried to ease how deep he was going, didn’t hold you down and make you take every inch.

Jessie was careful. Considerate. Gentle.

And it wasn’t enough.

And worst of all? He was a Chelsea fan.

You swore the universe was laughing at you. The first time you saw Jessie post a matchday photo in his blue jersey, you almost blocked him on sight. It felt like you were being haunted, constantly reminded of the man you were trying so damn hard to forget.

Jessie didn’t follow Rubi Rose. Jessie didn’t have to convince you he wasn’t cheating. Jessie didn’t gaslight the hell out of you and then send a designer bag as an apology.

Jessie was perfect.

And you were fucking miserable.

Tonight, you were supposed to go see him. He had been texting you all day, excited about some new restaurant he wanted to take you to.

But when you stepped outside, your heart stopped.

Noni was standing at the bottom of your steps.

His hands were tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, head tilted slightly, eyes watching you with that infuriating mix of amusement and ownership. Like he had always known you’d come back. Like he knew you never really left.

“You going somewhere?” he asked, his voice smooth, calm.

You sucked your teeth. “I’m going to see my man” you shot back, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing here? Don’t you have some Instagram hoes to lie to about not being with me? Or did you get me another Birkin to try and apologize?”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “You know you don’t want to go over there” he said, voice low, confident. “You don’t even like him” he said waking up the steps, to stand directly in front of you.

Your jaw clenched. “Get the hell out of my way Noni”

You stepped forward, placing your hands on his chest to push him aside, but he didn’t move.

He took a step closer instead.

His body heat, his scent—familiar, intoxicating—wrapped around you, making your head spin. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Turn around” he murmured, then paused. “And open the door”

Your breath caught in your throat. You swallowed hard.

This was the moment you had been dreading. The moment you had always known would come.

You should’ve walked away. Should’ve pushed past him, called Jessie, pretended you didn’t still crave the toxicity, the chaos, the him of it all.

But instead, your fingers curled around your keys.

And you turned around.

The key slides into the lock with a quiet click, and just as you’re about to turn it, you sigh, feeling the warmth of his body almost pressed against your back.

“Do you have to be that fucking close?” you murmur, eyes rolling as you focus on getting the damn door open.

Instead of stepping back, Noni moves even closer, his chest now fully against you, heat radiating through his hoodie. His voice is low, teasing. “Just open the door man”

Your breath hitches for a second, but you do as he says, pushing it open and stepping inside. You don’t even have to tell him to follow—he does anyway, closing the door behind him and locking it with a soft click.

You walk into the living room, placing your purse and keys down on the table, slipping off your coat. The silence in the room is thick, charged. When you turn around, he’s just standing there a few feet away, eyes locked on you like he’s taking in every inch, every detail he’s missed.

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna tell me what the hell you’re doing here?” you ask, folding your arms.

Noni exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly as he walks toward the open kitchen, still keeping direct eye contact with you.

“I know you miss me babes” he says smoothly, leaning against the counter like he owns the place. “And don’t try to lie—I know what my girl looks like when she misses me”

You scoff, stepping into the kitchen, resting your hip against the counter as you tilt your head. “Oh, I’m your girl now?” you ask, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why couldn’t you call me that to your friends? Or your fucking parents?”

His jaw flexes for a moment before he sighs. “Come on man, don’t do this right now” he mutters, shaking his head as he steps closer.

One hand comes up to your chin, tilting it up so you have no choice but to look at him. His other hand finds your hip, fingers pressing into your skin as he turns you toward him, your body now flush against his.

“I missed you too” he murmurs, a slight smirk on his lips as he leans in, trying to kiss you.

You turn your head away, heart pounding in your chest. “Noni what are you on bro?” you say, voice sharp even as your body betrays you, leaning into his warmth. “My man is waiting for me you know”

Noni chuckles, the sound low and smug. “Your man” he repeats, like the words are a joke. His hand tightens on your hip. “Your man is a fan of mine. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I treat his girl how she really wants to be treated” He tilts his head slightly. “I’m doing him a favor”

His audacity almost makes you mad again—until his lips find your jaw.

He starts slow. Kissing down to that sensitive spot below your ear, then lower, down your neck, before coming back up again.

Your breath hitches, a soft moan slipping out before you can stop it. His lips graze your ear, and then he whispers, voice thick with certainty, “You can’t find another me out there. Just come home.”

Your lips part, ready to say something—anything—but then your phone buzzes on the counter, just inches away.

The name Jessie Bear❤️‍🩹🐻 lights up the screen.

Noni doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. If anything, his grip tightens, his fingers pressing into your hips, keeping you locked in place.

“Go on, answer your man” he murmurs in a mocking tone, lips still grazing your skin.

You swallow, fingers shaking slightly as you pick up the phone. “Hey baby” you say, but your voice comes out unsteady, breathy.

“You almost here baby?” Jessie asks sweetly. “I know you’re late sometimes, just checking to see if you’re all good”

Before you can even process a response, Noni’s hands are moving—trailing up your waist, caressing your sides, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. His teeth graze your earlobe, and you feel a shiver roll down your spine.

Your breath catches. “Y-yeah, baby, um, I—”

Jessie’s voice softens with concern. “Are you okay darling? Do you need me to come over?”

Noni smirks against your skin.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus, trying to breathe. “N-no, baby, I’m just feeling a bit…sick” you lie, your voice weak. “Is it okay if we reschedule?”

“Yeah, that’s no problem babe” Jessie says, his voice filled with nothing but concern. “I’ll come by later with some medicine and food for you”

You barely hear him. The only thing you can focus on is Noni—his teeth, his hands, the way he’s completely unraveling you without even trying.

“Okay, thanks baby” you mumble, desperate to end the call. “Bye, I—I’ll see you later”

You hang up as fast as you can, barely able to process the guilt that should be hitting you right now.

But Noni doesn’t give you time to think.

His lips trail up to your jaw again, his grip on your hips tightening as he leans into your ear.

You shove him hard, smacking his chest with both hands. “What the fuck Noni?” you snap, heart still racing from what just happened. “Are you trying to get me caught up?”

He barely flinches, just catches your wrists with ease, his grip firm as he presses your hands against his chest, holding them there. His body is warm beneath your palms, his heartbeat steady—like he knew this was going to happen. Like he planned this.

“You got yourself caught up” he says smoothly, voice teasing, “when you unlocked the door like I told you to”

Your jaw clenches, anger bubbling to the surface as you remember everything—all the back and forth, the games, the manipulation, the way he kept you dangling on a string while acting like he was doing you a favor. “You don’t deserve to have me” Your voice is sharp, your chest rising and falling with frustration. “He does”

Noni just smirks, unbothered. “But I’m gonna have you” he says, his voice thick with certainty. “I’m the one you want, not him. You know that. And I’ve always known that”

You start to protest, but then he guides one of your hands downward—down to where his body is burning hot beneath his sweatpants, to the evidence of just how much he’s missed you. The moment your fingers graze the hard outline of him, your breath stutters, and his grip on your wrist tightens.

“You will always come back to me” he murmurs, like it’s a fact, like it’s inevitable.

His hands slide under your shirt, fingers trailing across your bare skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He moves to your back, then lower, down to your ass, squeezing firmly, possessively. The way he touches you, the way he knows your body—it has you biting your lip, fighting back a moan. But when his fingers dig into you just right, the sound slips out anyway, and your head tilts up instinctively, lips parting, searching for his.

He leans in, his lips brushing yours but not quite kissing you yet. He just stays there, breathing you in, his face so close you can feel the warmth of him, the tension stretching between you like a thin, fragile thread.

Then finally—finally—he crashes his lips onto yours, hard, almost bruising. He bites your lip, hands gripping you rough and firm, like he’s making up for all the time lost.

“You miss me?” he asks against your lips, his voice almost harsh, daring you to deny it.

Your hands are already at the hem of his hoodie, pushing it up, desperate to feel more. “Yes” you whisper breathlessly. “Yes I missed you”. You both continue to feverishly kiss and undress each other, gripping and kissing at any skin you could get your hands and lips on, until you’re both left in your underwear.

Without warning, he pulls away, spins you around, and bends you over the countertop with a force that knocks the air from your lungs.

“You feel how much I missed you, hmm?” His voice is low, gravelly, as he presses and grinds against you, his clothed hardness teasing against your covered, aching core. His hands roam your body, gripping, kneading, claiming.

Your hips move on instinct, grinding back against him, desperate for friction. He lifts he palm and lets down a sharp smack to you right ass cheek.

You gasp as his palm comes down hard on your ass, the sharp sting sending heat rushing through you. “Did I tell you to move?” Another smack follows, making you whimper. “I asked you a question”

“No” you whisper, voice small.

Another sharp slap lands, making your breath hitch. The sting lingers, mixing with the growing heat between your legs.

“I can’t hear you. Where’s all that attitude now?” His voice is amused, darkly satisfied with your sudden silence. “Did I tell you to move?”

This time, you answer with your chest. “No”

Your fingers clutch at the cool countertop, your body burning, your mind clouded with need. “Just fuck me already Noni… please”

His hands tighten on your hips, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he leans over you, his breath hot against your ear. “Ahh there she is. My girl” he says with a satisfied toned.

Noni pulls out his rock-hard dick, one hand still gripping your hips to keep you in place. With his other, he slides your panties to the side and drags his sticky tip along your soaked folds, teasing you.

“Huh, looks like she misses me too” he chuckles.

You want to turn around and smack him—how can he joke at a time like this? When you’re dripping, aching, needing him inside you? The teasing is unbearable, every slow drag of his pulsing tip along your folds making your body twitch with anticipation.

Enough. You can’t take it anymore.

With a desperate whimper, you push yourself back onto him, forcing his dick past your entrance. The thick stretch steals the air from your lungs, your walls struggling to accommodate his size as you sink onto him. Nearly half of his length fills you in one motion, and the burn is delicious, sharp and perfect all at once.

Noni lets out a deep groan, voice strained. His dick twitches inside you, stretching you open, throbbing against your tight, fluttering walls. His fingers digging into your hips, like he’s holding himself back from slamming into you fully.

But you don’t care about his teasing anymore.

You just want him to fuck you.

“Ahh, fuuuck, Noni” you whimper, gripping the countertop as pleasure shoots through you.

He doesn’t ease into it. The moment he’s inside you, he sets a brutal pace, each thrust deep, stretching you open without mercy. The sheer size of him has you gasping, your body struggling to accommodate the thick length that fills you to the brim. The sting of the stretch quickly melts into pleasure, your walls clenching around him, desperate to hold him in place even as he drives into you relentlessly.

His hand trails up your spine, his fingers dragging over the dip of your back before settling at the base of your neck. Then, in one swift motion, he wraps his hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head swim. The lack of air only amplifies the sensation, making your moans come out in choked, desperate whimpers.

Your bare chest is flush against the cold countertop, the contrast of heat and chill making your nipples pebble as you claw at the surface for stability. The force of his thrusts pushes you forward, your body jolting with every deep stroke. Each wet slap of skin against skin echoes through the room, the sound mixing with his ragged breaths and your breathless moans.

He groans, his grip on your throat tightening just slightly before he releases it, letting you gasp for air only to slam into you even harder.

“Does Jessie fuck you like this?” Noni grits out, his breath hot against your skin. “Does he fuck you this good?”

“No—fuck—no, Jessie doesn’t fuck me like you do” you cry out.

Unfortunately for you, your phone is still sitting on the counter, screen glowing faintly as it rests just inches from your trembling fingers. In the heat of the moment, you don’t notice when Siri, always too damn nosy, registers Jessie’s name and dials him without hesitation.

You remain completely oblivious, too lost in the symphony of sin filling the room—the obscene wet sounds of Noni’s thick length plunging into you, the sharp slaps of skin meeting skin, the way your moans mix with his deep grunts. It’s intoxicating, overwhelming, consuming. Your mind is drowning in pleasure, body pliant under his ruthless pace, your focus narrowing to nothing but the way he fills you, ruins you.

But then—a voice.

Soft at first, barely registering through the haze of lust. Then clearer, more distinct, like a sudden splash of ice water against burning skin.

“Hey baby, I was just about to be on my way over. Did you want the NyQuil tea or the liquid medicine? Because I got bo—”

Jessie.

Your stomach drops. The world tilts.

He stops mid-sentence. Silence hangs heavy, suffocating. And then you realize—he hears everything.

There’s silence on the line, but you know he hears everything. The way Noni is fucking you. The way you’re moaning. The wet, filthy sounds of your bodies colliding.

“Y/N… baby, what are you doing?” Jessie’s voice breaks.

You hear him start to cry. And still, you don’t care. Noni is fucking you too good for you to care.

He fucks you even harder, making sure you feel every inch of him. He lands three sharp smacks on your ass, his voice dark and taunting.

“This is how you like it right? Not that soft shit your man does?”

“Yes—fuck—you fuck me so good Noni. So fucking good” you whimper.

Jessie is still on the phone, his voice barely holding together.

“Y/N, why are you doing this to me? What the fuck man…”

Sniffling. A few more seconds of silence. Then— click.

Jessie hangs up.

Noni chuckles, gripping your waist tighter as he thrusts even deeper.

“Now we don’t have to worry about him interrupting us later.”

All you can do is lay there, moaning helplessly as Noni fucks you deep and hard. Every stroke leaves you breathless, your body arching into the overwhelming pleasure. Then, suddenly, he slows, dragging his thick length almost all the way out before slamming back in, making you gasp. His hands move to your lower back, thumbs pressing into the deep dimples there as he leans over you.

His voice is low, and calcualted, making sure you catch every single word.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, yeah? You won’t ever think about fucking another man again”

And then he does.

He picks up his pace, his strokes turning punishing—hard, fast, relentless. Each thrust forces you up onto your tiptoes, your body jolting with the sheer force of it. The sharp bite of pain from your hips being slammed into the unforgiving countertop sends a dull ache through your bones, but it only heightens the pleasure twisting in your core.

And fuck, the way his thick length drags along your walls, hitting deep, grazing that perfect spot inside you—it has your head spinning. But it’s the way his tip kisses your cervix, over and over again, that has you gasping, your legs trembling beneath you.

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

Your body is caught in a beautiful contradiction—blazing heat and sharp sting, unbearable stretch and overwhelming pleasure, everything crashing down on you at once. Your nails dig into the countertop, searching for something, anything to anchor yourself as Noni fucks you deeper, harder, making sure you feel every inch of him.

“Ahh yes” he groans, his fingers pressing bruises into your hips. He’s relentless, chasing his own pleasure, determined to pull you apart in the process.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, mixing with the lewd, wet noises of him plunging into your dripping core. Your moans are shameless, high-pitched and broken, filling the air as pleasure coils tighter and tighter inside you, threatening to snap.

“Noni—please—keep going” you moan, your voice shaking. “You’re gonna make me cum right now”

“Keep going just like this?” he taunts, rolling his hips a little extra, making sure you feel every inch of him.

“Yess—yesss, just like that!” you cry out, gripping the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles turn white.

For a split second, guilt seeps into your mind. Jessie. His broken voice. His pain. You know damn well you would’ve committed several crimes if the roles were reversed—if you had caught him, or worse, Noni, on the phone fucking someone else like this.

But the guilt doesn’t stand a chance.

It’s ripped away, shattered beneath the crashing waves of your orgasm.

“Oh my god—fuck—ahhh!” you cry out, your whole body trembling as pleasure tears through you, leaving you breathless, weak, undone.

Noni groans, his grip tightening on your hips. He wants to keep fucking you through it, wants to keep slamming you into the counter, but the way your pussy clenches around him—wet, tight, fucking perfect—it pushes him over the edge.

“Fuck—” His hips stutter, a deep, loud moan leaving his lips as he releases inside you, hot ropes of cum filling you up, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor. His thrusts slow, but he stays buried inside for a moment, letting you both catch your breath.

Your legs are beyond weak, your heart hammering so fast you feel like you’ve just finished an intense Pilates class. When he finally pulls out, he smacks your ass one last time, making you jolt. Then, before you can even think about standing, he turns you around and crashes his lips against yours.

The kiss is rough, desperate, his hands gripping your waist to keep you upright. Then, effortlessly, he lifts you onto the countertop, his body still pressed against yours.

You rest your head on his shoulder, trying to steady your breathing, trying to figure out how the hell you’re supposed to clean this up—his cum dripping down your thighs, pooling on the floor. And worse, the emotional mess you just left in Jessie’s heart.

But Noni’s deep, raspy voice pulls you right back in.

“Let me know when you catch your breath darling” he murmurs, his tone dripping with confidence. “I need to make up for what your boy wasn’t doing while you were acting like you didn’t miss me”

You groan, shaking your head.

“I did miss you” you admit, voice still shaky. “But fuck Noni, did you have to fuck with him like that?”

He smirks, completely unbothered. “I’ve done nothing wrong. You’re the one who cheated on your little boyfriend”

He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Now, can we stop talking about him? We have some business to take care of.”

And with that, he picks you up effortlessly, carrying you to your bed.

By the time the sun rose, Jessie was nothing but a forgotten thought.

[lanaroff]

Is it too late?

Paring: WandaNat x Daughter Reader

***************************************************************

It had all started as an impulse.

Y/N had always been a good kid. Straight A’s, a solid friend group with Peter, MJ, and Ned, and a happy life with her mothers, Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff. They were her everything—Natasha, the strict and disciplined ex-Black Widow, and Wanda, the soft, nurturing stay-at-home mom. Despite their differences in parenting styles, they both loved Y/N more than anything.

But something had changed the day she found out Peter Parker was Spider-Man.

It wasn’t just the shock of realizing that one of her best friends was out there risking his life to save people. It was the realization that she, too, could do more. She had potential—potential she was wasting by just going to school, studying, and hanging out. She was the daughter of two legendary heroes, and yet, she was doing nothing while people out there needed help.

That night, she made a decision. A reckless, exhilarating decision.

She snuck into Natasha’s weapons stash, her hands trembling slightly as she carefully picked up a pair of old batons and a small knife. They felt foreign but also... right in her grip. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, a mix of fear and excitement making her breath quicken. She wasn’t planning on killing anyone—just scaring the bad guys away. And so, with adrenaline rushing through her veins, she snuck out into the city, searching for trouble.

It didn’t take long before she found it—a couple of guys trying to steal a car. With her heart pounding, she stepped forward.

“Hey!” she shouted, gripping her weapons tighter. “Step away from the car.”

The men turned, laughing when they saw her. “And what are you gonna do about it, sweetheart?” one of them sneered.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She charged, using her mother’s training that she had picked up over the years just by watching. Her movements were raw, unpolished, but effective. The fight lasted less than five minutes, and when she stood over the groaning, defeated criminals, she felt something she hadn’t before—power. The thrill, the rush of stopping them, the knowledge that she had done something good—it was intoxicating. So she kept doing it. Night after night, sneaking out, fighting crime, helping others.

But she told no one. Not Peter, not MJ, and certainly not her mothers.

At first, it was easy. She balanced school, family, and her secret life. But as the weeks passed, the exhaustion started creeping in. Her grades slipped. She became irritable, snapping at her friends and avoiding her mothers. Family time, something she had always cherished, now felt like an obligation. And her mothers noticed.

The next day, at dinner, Wanda finally spoke up. “Y/N, is something going on?” her soft eyes full of concern as she sat across from her daughter at the table. “You seem distant lately.”

Y/N barely looked up from her plate. “I’m fine, Mom. Just tired.”

Natasha, sitting beside Wanda, exchanged a glance with her wife. Her sharp instincts told her Y/N wasn’t telling the full truth. “Tired from what?” Natasha pressed, her voice calm but firm. “You’re not in any sports, and school’s never drained you like this before.”

Y/N sighed, forcing her frustration down. “MJ and I had an argument,” she lied. She could feel the weight of their stares on her, the concern in Wanda’s gentle eyes, the suspicion in Natasha’s narrowed gaze. “It’s nothing, really.”

Natasha wasn’t convinced. She had spent years detecting lies, and her daughter wasn’t as good at hiding them as she thought. One afternoon, while cleaning Y/N��s room, she found something troubling—her daughter’s latest math test, covered in red ink. Y/N was exceptional at math; there was no way she would fail a test unless something was very wrong.

That night, Natasha confronted her.

“What’s going on with you?” Natasha asked, stepping into Y/N’s room and holding up the test. Her voice was measured, but there was an undeniable sharpness to it. “Your grades are dropping, you barely talk to us anymore, and now you’re lying? This isn’t like you.”

Y/N clenched her fists. “I’m fine, Mom. I’m old enough to make my own decisions. I know what I’m doing.”

“No, you don’t,” Natasha snapped, stepping closer. “You think you do, but you don’t. And whatever is happening, it’s affecting you. We’re worried about you, Y/N.”

Wanda, who had been watching from the doorway, stepped forward, her voice softer but no less concerned. “Sweetheart, we just want to understand. Please, talk to us.”

Y/N’s frustration boiled over. “There’s nothing to understand!” she shouted. “I’m not a little kid anymore! You don’t need to control every part of my life!”

Natasha’s jaw tightened, but it was Wanda’s wounded expression that made Y/N’s anger falter for a second. Still, she couldn’t back down. She couldn’t tell them. So, instead of staying home and dealing with it, she did the only thing that made her feel better—she went out to fight.

That night, long after Y/N had gone to bed, Wanda and Natasha lay awake in their room, both lost in thought. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated Wanda’s worried expression as she turned to her wife.

“She’s not okay, Nat,” Wanda said softly, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the blanket. “I can feel it. Something’s wrong, but she won’t tell us.”

Natasha sighed, staring up at the ceiling with a deep frown. “Yeah, because she’s lying,” she muttered. “That whole thing about arguing with MJ? I don’t buy it. I saw them together yesterday, laughing like nothing happened.”

Wanda bit her lip. “Maybe she just doesn’t want to talk about it yet. She’s seventeen, Nat. Teenagers go through things.”

Natasha shook her head, sitting up slightly. “This isn’t just a phase, Wanda. Her grades are slipping, she barely looks at us at dinner, and she’s exhausted all the time. I know Y/N. She’s not like this.”

Wanda reached for Natasha’s hand, squeezing it gently. “You think she’s in trouble?”

Natasha hesitated, glancing toward the door as if expecting their daughter to suddenly appear. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I know she’s hiding something.”

Wanda sighed, leaning her head against Natasha’s shoulder. “I hate this. She used to tell us everything.”

“She used to be a kid,” Natasha murmured. “Now she’s trying to be independent. But if this keeps up, we’re going to have to push her to talk.”

Wanda nodded, her heart heavy with worry. “I just hope we’re not too late.”

However, what Wanda and Natasha missed was that Y/N was not asleep, and that she was not at their house. She wa doing the one thing she thought was good for her. And she failed torealize how reckless she was being. She didn’t notice the men she picked a fight with were more than just common thugs. She was outnumbered, outmatched. And before she could react, a sharp pain erupted in her side, followed by another blow to her head.

For the first time since she started, she realized just how dangerous this was. Just how much trouble she was in.

As she collapsed onto the cold pavement, the world around her blurred. The last thought in her mind wasn’t about winning the fight or proving herself.

It was about her mothers.

And how much she wished she had listened to them.

[avbvee]

inside of u there are 2 horses

[svampira]

i dont think frociaggine is intercommunity slang i feel like everyone's taking what one blogger said at face value

[feelingthedisaster]

just two characters that are like chernobyl having a more healthy relationship than most of the ya romance books out there

[cs-oc-blank-random-posts]

there's a message for someone in the tags

(aimed/tw)

[acourtofquestions]

Dont be angry, Finnula said. Be smart.

[apollos-boyfriend]

one thing about me is that i’m ALWAYS thinking about chapter 4 kokichi ouma

[ask-tfa-ministry-of-science]

Remember when a anon asked u if u liked another bot romantically?

Yeah I'm another anon guessing but......

Is it wheeljack?

[[ Wheeljack gets to the com first; unable to resist joking, joshing, or any other branch of hooliganism, he answers; „he’s soooo in love with me, it’s adorable!“

Well. Perceptor can’t let that stand. Heavens, bots might get ideas. „He’s lying.“ ]]

[bylertruther]

people will see a character that was created to be a certain way from the very beginning before everything was even set in stone, then actually written that same way even before The Plot happens in the final product, watch their core personality remain constant all throughout a show's lifespan from beginning to end, and even watch it be highlighted as a Good and True thing to be proud of and that is inspiring to others and sorely needed and not something to ever change or belittle in one of the most emotional scenes of a season that doubles as a high point & character defining moment, and instead of thinking Hm Maybe This Character Just Is This Way And We're Being Told That They Should Love Themselves For It The Same Way Everyone Else Does And How They Once Did Too Before Their Insecurity Got The Best Of Them And Told Them They Should Change, they will instead call it repression and not his true self and something to be changed even though it literally just is who he is. and all of this happens in the show where we are repeatedly hit over the head with the "you should stay true to yourself and love yourself no matter what other people think or tell you you should be". where the motto is literally "never change" nd conformity is killing the kids. like. Okay ❤️

[moctor]

"In front of you stands two guards, one always tells the truth, the other only tells lies"

[sttoru]

Omg could we see reader getting jealous of Sukuna having sec with his other concubines? And maybe liek the other concubine rubs it in readers face?

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓��𝐆𝐒. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. angst (no comfort), suggestive \\ smut aspects. size difference. one tiny mention of reader being a crybaby. reader gets called ‘little one, brat’ \\ kuna’s an asshole! not proofread, excuse the grammar. no part 2. wc: 3.3k

you’ve been away from the estate for three days; three days too long for the king of curses. so much had happened while you were away to take some well deserved rest—a small vacation that sukuna had granted you because you needed it.

perhaps that was his first mistake. giving you permission to leave his side ended up being a bad decision. he hates that faint feeling in his chest, the feeling of missing something.

missing someone.

it couldn’t be. sukuna doesn’t have any weaknesses, and yet he can feel his body reacting to that unfamiliar emotion again. all because of you— that one human who always succeeds to occupy his mind.

he couldn’t let himself succumb to it—he’s not going to. sukuna is not going to let a mere human like you deter him from his superior identity that he’s had for decennia. he’s not going to let you have that power over him and his body.

and thus, when you return to the estate, you find yourself being laughed at. you were unpacking your luggage when two concubines stand at your doorway, hiding their evil smiles behind their handheld fans.

they don’t waste a single second and immediately rush to ruin your carefree mood.

“you know, you shouldn’t have returned at all,” the brunette giggles, her laugh sounding like nails scraping against a chalkboard. she looks to the other woman next to her before glancing back at you, “i mean—heh—lord sukuna definitely didn’t seem to mind your absence.”

you figure it’s just another way to get you riled up, so you do your best to ignore them. you put your packed kimonos in your wardrobe as your back faces the two.

yumi, the second concubine, nods along. she knows what she’s about to reveal will get on your nerves. and deserved, if you ask her. they had successfully caught the attention of their king while you were away. for the first time in a good while since your arrival in the estate.

the fact that they managed to spend quality time with sukuna again, is a wonderful first step to your downfall. one that will surely crumble your confidence as his so-called ‘favorite’.

“mhm,” yumi grins as she recalls the memories of her time with sukuna. time spent together that you were unaware of, “lord sukuna definitely didn’t seem to mind your absence when he had me in his bed last night.”

you freeze.

your brows furrow and the corners of your lips twitch. you don’t know if you should believe them—they could’ve lied about it for all you know. although, the voice in the back of your head had already rang the alarms.

guessing by the way they were dying to talk to you the second you came back - which never happens - you realise that they’re probably telling the truth. they’re only telling the truth to agitate you. it’s so painfully obvious, and yet so. . . hurtful.

“what?”

you don’t recall when you’ve choked up. you feel a lump in your throat. it shouldn’t even be there. you promised yourself to not get attached to a monster like sukuna.

so what if he went to bed with his other concubines?

but of course he’ll get pleasure from his other women when you aren’t around. he doesn’t feel any love, he sees it as worthless, so why did you expect him to not indulge himself? he still has his other concubines around for a reason.

you really shouldn’t be surprised by this revelation.

“what do you mean ‘what?’ - you heard me,” yumi shrugs, that cocky smirk still on her face. she’s clearly enjoying your reaction to everything she’s revealing. all the two concubines wanted to get out of this encounter with you, is to break that delusion of yours.

the delusional thought that you’re special to the king of curses—the delusion that sukuna considers you as something more than a toy to emotionally manipulate and play with until he’s tired of you.

“my lord spent all night with me in his chambers until the sun rose,” yumi continues without an ounce of shame. she bites her lip as she remembers the way sukuna had her body positioned on his large bed. for her, it was a dream come true.

though for you, it’s a living nightmare. even if you try to deny the fact that it physically and mentally hurts. there’s a painful twist at your heart—reminding you of the truth.

the truth being that you had truly thought that sukuna wasn’t really a monster of a man. you thought he was a different, more softer person around you.

you should’ve listened to the servants when they told you to not get tricked by sukuna’s special treatment, that he could easily manipulate you and make you do and act as he pleases.

“do you want me to explain it in detail?” yumi crosses her arms over her chest as she looks down at you with a menacing glare. both of the concubines are loving that face you’re making. that face of defeat that you’re attempting to hide from them, “how he held me and pleasured me until i—”

“enough,” you cut them off with your hands clenched into fists. you don’t want to hear another word. you’re already feeling awful; already, not even an hour into your return. you can never catch a break.

you have an urge to throw things around. you already feel stupid, and if you decide to throw a fit, you bet that you’d feel even dumber. you truly do not know why you’re getting this worked up about it.

maybe it’s because of the special treatment. the delusional thoughts you have about your relationship with sukuna. you really thought that you two had something special. an unofficial romantic relationship, perhaps, or something that resembles it.

a secret, unspoken deal where you’re promised his loyalty in exchange for your body and soul.

although, those dreams have been shattered this very instance. you’re once again reminded of the animalistic nature of the being called ryomen sukuna.

he told you clearly that he’d never tie himself to someone, a human no less. devotion to one person? why would he.

“out of the way.”

you push the brunette and her sidekick the other way. you’re going to confront the man yourself. or at least, you’ll try to. you can hear their sick laughs and chuckles fade into the background as you stomp your way towards sukuna’s chambers.

the other concubines seem to have gotten the gist. some peek their heads out of their rooms, grinning at you in victory. seeing your confidence slowly crumble and the realisation kick in - the realisation that your dear lord’s special treatment means absolutely nothing - is a sight for sore eyes to them.

you enter sukuna’s room and close the heavy doors behind you. you swallow the lump down your throat and try your best to look presentable.

no tears, you promise yourself. you’re not going to waste them on something like this.

“oh, it’s you, little one,” the familiar voice calls out. sukuna’s low and husky voice rings from his bed. he’s laid back against the many silky pillows, blowing smoke from his kiseru. he lays there like he doesn’t care about your reappearance at all.

he eyes you up and down, “how was your vacation, hm?”

sukuna asks like it’s the most normal thing to do. it seems like he’s trying to catch up with you, to ask you how you’ve been enjoying your time alone, though it also seems like he couldn’t care less at the same time.

“just absolutely fine, my lord,” you reply with gritted teeth and an obvious hint of sarcasm. there’s also a bitterness to your tone that doesn’t go unnoticed by the pink-haired man. he frowns—this cold greeting is not what he expected nor what he wanted to hear from your mouth. he expected you to at least smile at him like you usually do, but you didn’t.

on top of that, you seemed to be annoyed with him. that unexpected attitude of yours made something inside of him snap. it irritated him somehow; the fact that you’re so comfortable talking to him like that . . . it reminded him of the recent inner conflict he had which you were the cause of.

one of his hands tightens into a fist at his side. his jaw clenches and his eyes narrow into slits. you’re physically in front of him, which means that he’s also about to experience those complicated feelings again. the same ones he tried fleeing from by letting you go on a break, and by physically taking his mind off you.

he did the latter by taking his frustrations out on his other women. the stress that came with the thought of him possibly liking a human, relieved by pure animalistic sex.

that’s exactly what you’re upset about.

there’s an urge inside of sukuna to act normal. to ignore those difficult emotions and just treat you like he usually does. yet, another part of him is trying to protect his sense of superiority by trying to push you away.

there’s a war going on in his mind as he tries to calm himself down. you’ve always had this effect on him and it’s becoming unbearable. he has to show you, no - remind you, that you’re nothing to him. you mean nothing—nothing at all.

he’s the king of curses, you’re but a human. he’ll need to remind himself of that obvious statement as well. he’s got all the power in this situation. not you.

you cannot rule over him or his mind.

“you dare come back with an attitude? tch,” sukuna scoffs, nearly breaking the kiseru with his fingers as they squeeze around the solid material. he’s turning off whatever emotion present in his body. that doesn’t belong there anyway. he won’t care if you cry—he won’t care at all.

you notice the sudden change in sukuna’s tone as well. you’re sure you’re the reason for it. perhaps you crossed a boundary with how sassily you replied to him when he was simply asking you how your vacation went.

“my apologies,” you murmur with a sigh. you try to avoid getting on sukuna’s nerves any further, yet when you remember the words from the concubine, how she implied that sukuna had given her the best night of her life when you were away, you get mad again.

your eyes have a fiery look in them. you don’t want to get worked up. you don’t have the right to. you were warned from the very beginning to not get attached to an asshole like ryomen sukuna.

you’re to blame for feeling like this. it could’ve been prevented if you just weren’t so weak. if you just stayed away from him.

“did you have fun while i was away, my lord?” you continue, your voice shaking a little. you need the confirmation. you’re sure sukuna knows what you’re referring to by now, especially because of the way you’re acting out of character.

the king of curses raises a brow at your question. you sound even angrier, even more pissed off. he tilts his head after taking a deep inhale of the tobacco from his kiseru. he tries to figure out what you’re hinting at, “what are you—”

and that’s when everything fell into place. the dots connect.

sukuna’s jaw clenches. he realises that you’ve found out about him receiving services from his other concubines while you were away. there could be no other explanation behind your sudden attitude. besides, he knows how his other concubines could be. they must have told you the moment you came back.

normally, he’d say that it’s none of your business. what he does is up to him—he does not care about the consequences of his actions. though, seeing the slight hurt in your eyes, mixed with sadness and disappointment stirred something inside of him. he brushes that feeling away and stares at you intently, awaiting another comment. perhaps you’d cuss him out or bawl your eyes out in front of him.

either way, he promises himself that he won’t care.

sukuna is the king of curses. feeling bad for a human like you would only further tarnish his image, that image of superiority and power he has.

he’s a man of many needs. you should’ve kept that in mind when you left him. he wanted to keep you with him—to hold you down and refuse to let you leave—but that would be another sign of weakness. one sukuna could not manage to show.

when you departed, he was irritated by the fact that he had no one to turn to with his needs. from simple needs like wanting your company to sexual needs like craving your body.

keeping you by his side or letting you go; both decisions seem to clash. either way, there’s one thing he’s sure of, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it: he missed you.

sukuna can’t believe that he can feel an emotion like that. he can’t accept that fact. that’s why his irrational mind took over—his dark urges that strived to prove himself to still be the same old ryomen sukuna. the monster that did not need a single soul. the ruthless man that did not depend on anyone else, especially not a human. a woman like you.

he thought he’d forget all about you if he’s surrounded himself with other women. but, he was quick to be proven wrong, and that only caused to enrage him more and more.

every time sukuna fucked a concubine, his thoughts still manage to drift away to you. to how he wished that it was you he was holding.

nothing hit the same with the other women and that frustrated him. he’d keep them around in his room after he fucked their brains out, something he never allowed a woman to do except for you, yet kicked them out again after a few minutes.

it doesn’t hit the same.

you’re just different. your presence is soothing and calming to the chaotic soul of the pink-haired man. no one else could compare. that realisation made him feel inferior; a feeling he loathes.

sukuna’s red eyes glow. he hates seeing you look so defeated, but he cannot give in. if he tells you the truth, he’ll admit his weakness. he’ll admit that a human like you has completely taken over his brain. that’s no good.

if he doesn’t tell you the truth, he’ll save face. he’ll feel like himself again. his old self—the cold ruthless monster that he was before he met you. one without a soft spot for a human.

it’s an active dilemma that’s running through his mind as he slowly blows out another cloud of smoke. you cannot guess what’s going on behind those intimidating eyes staring you down.

sukuna tilts his head back and scratches his neck, smacking his lips as he makes his decision.

“yeah, i did. i had lots of fun.”

the words sting. they hurt you and make your heart ache in a way that makes you physically weak. you should’ve expected that answer. your shoulders tense up and your fingers curl around the material of your kimono—feeling a sense of anger and betrayal.

you can see a ghost of a smirk on sukuna’s lips, which only reminds you of his nature. his nature as an independent, aloof and cold man who likes to play with his prey. a natural disaster that knows no emotion, that shows no mercy to anyone.

you’re naive for thinking that you could be the exception. all of those times with sukuna were confirmed to be but a lie in that moment. as your gazes meet, you can now easily interpret what that look in those red eyes meant.

‘know your place,’

that’s what it means. you’re foolish, dumb. you take a deep breath to compose yourself after you’ve been made out to be a total fool. you should’ve listened to those warnings, you should’ve known that you were getting played.

this is exactly what sukuna desired to achieve. to build up your trust, to make you comfortable enough with him, to think you’re special and that he won’t need any other woman other than you — just to shatter your pathetic delusions when the time comes.

“tsk tsk. no need to look at me like that,” sukuna scoffs, a mocking laugh leaving his lips. he can hear a small voice in the back of his head telling him to shut up and let you go, to not make it worse, but who is he to listen to that irrelevant thought? he can decide for himself.

“y’ weren’t around, so the other concubines simply did their job by serving me,” he stares the other way, seemingly not interested by your presence anymore. his face is as expressionless as ever, “what do y’ think i keep them ‘round for, brat? for decoration purposes? hah, nah.”

another loud mocking laugh makes you nearly burst out in tears. you don’t know if it’s in anger or sadness. you take a deep, shaky breath for the last time. you unclench your fists and nod, accepting the reality check you’d just gotten.

it’s a slap to the face, but it helped you get out of your delusions. the delusions that sukuna is a man capable of loving someone, even if it is just for a tiny bit. this visit confirmed that there’s not an ounce of love or appreciation in that man’s body.

“i’m glad you had fun, my lord,” you answer after a bit of silence. you bow at sukuna in an attempt to stay polite while struggling with that inner turmoil. you don’t even glance up at him anymore. you need another break already.

sukuna isn’t dumb. you may think that you’re good at hiding your emotions, but you’re not. at least not around the king of curses. he’s spent enough time around you to realise that you’re going through a lot right now.

he’s the reason for it, yet he cannot bring himself to feel an ounce of empathy. he just looks at you with a blank stare, thinking that this is for the best.

“good night then,” you add and turn around to walk out of sukuna’s room. your steps are slow as you secretly hope to be called back, like sukuna would do every time you’d leave his room after an intimate night. you just want him to tell you that this was a test of some sort—a cruel joke.

you want to feel like his favorite again. you don’t want to be thrown away like this. you don’t want to be on the same level as all the other concubines. you want to stand out to him.

unfortunately, you don’t hear sukuna’s voice anymore. he lets you walk away without a care in the world. the heavy doors of his chambers close behind you and you feel your knees buckle. “fuck,” you cuss to yourself and clench your chest.

you lean back against the closed doors and try to regain your composure. crying can be done when you’re in your room—not in the hallway where anyone could catch you. you don’t want to give the other concubines more reason to bully you.

you drag your feet across the wooden flooring. all those times with sukuna, all those slight glimpses of his soft side that only you’re allowed to see— all of that is thrown into the trash.

you really shouldn’t have gotten so attached to him on an emotional level.

meanwhile, sukuna is silently sitting on his bed, thinking back to what just happened. he usually never doubts his decisions, but this is an exception. why couldn’t he just tell you the truth?

his mouth had moved before he could let his mind process all that he was feeling. a small part of him regrets it, though strangely, he couldn’t feel any real sympathy for your situation.

sukuna drapes an arm over his eyes, clicking his tongue at himself. he just wants to let the situation go, though his brain isn’t letting him to. the image of you standing at the edge of his bed, clearly hurt by his actions, flashes through his mind again.

he sighs. he’s sure that he’s going to forget about you soon enough. he needed an excuse to get rid of you for the sake of regaining control over his own being and he took the chance. he should be glad that he did—it meant that he’d be his usual self—with no weaknesses to look out for.

sukuna blows out another cloud of smoke through his mouth. as much as he’s proud of himself for not giving in to you, he can’t help but let his thoughts wander again. you’re probably crying in your room. he knows you’re sensitive. you would always cry about the smallest of things and he’d hold you (feigning reluctance) until you’ve calmed down.

he can’t do that now.

well, he can, but he won’t. sukuna has made his decision today: it’s power and status over you. that’s what it’s always been. you were but a toy he used to get a stronger grip on himself.

perhaps he simply is what people make him out to be; a monster. nothing more, nothing less.

[nikkisticki]

Mostly correct, but at the same time I find there's a mistaken belief that holding any form of anger or hatred will corrupt you, which I think is technically true if you take it to it's natural extreme, but once again I have to make the argument of self-responsibility.

Anger is a very valuable tool when applied correctly (a lengthy topic I won't go into but if you learn to use your emotional bursts rationally it can be very useful in various ways), and it's appropriate to get mad at fools for being fools. I'm not speaking towards actively attacking them, obviously, but when it comes to my blog where I'm not in the process of trying to talk to these people and actively attempting to avoid them, I don't think it matters as much as the joy I feel stringing together a fun insult (Although as my sweet ferny friend has pointed out, my angle of attack was a bit ableist and not really against the substance of their flaws.)

I entirely agree that being hateful directly towards them is entirely pointless with few exceptions (If you're in a situation where someone isn't ever going to change, what you say only matters to those viewing the conversation that's opinion will be potentially up for change. In that case, there is value in lowering yourself to their level and responding to their lukewarm insults with some spicy retort once you've already given them the chance(s) to be civil in scenarios where onlookers would respond positively to that), because ultimately the only way you'll ever convince them of anything is to make them ask the questions themselves.

As I said, I think you're right, but people choose to believe the things they are told. I believe it's ultimately just as dehumanizing to consider them as simply being "unable to see the propaganda for what it is because of a lack of education and active malice towards them" as to call them a pile of spare parts.

There is value in peace, but it is better to be a warrior in a garden then a gardener in a war, and I'm telling you for sure that these people aren't going to de-radicalize. The best option we have for the future is that they spend their whole lives hating imaginary enemies so they don't have to change and then die quietly, having only harmed people psychologically with their words and actions.

Edit: Which, when you consider they elected the people currently doing massive damage to people on the basis of wanting them to do damage to those people, it sort of strikes me that it's already long past that point.

At the very least, making people hate bigots isn't a problem that I see as being as problematic as the bigots themselves.

You know Elon probably saw this and was super mad he still can't fire Halli.

[svampira]

honestly im still mad at that one post acting as if frociaggine was some sort of fun gay term that the pope had somehow learnt and not just a regular slur