#reminds me of kick it era mark

[alloftheimagines]

joel miller | complications

masterlist | tag list

words: 2.9k warnings: 18+ | angst, near death experience, blood, reader has a traumatic birth w/complications, PTSD naturally, joel reminded of sarah's death, newbown baby (yes they can be spooky! but this one is cute and safe), (please just somebody take that poor man's pain away) (or not because then what would we write about?) (also he and ellie are a little estranged like in tlou2) prompt: I was thinking maybe Jackson! Joel era and pregnant reader and then she almost dies while giving birth to the baby! Gives room for a lot of drama and angst, and potential comfort right at the end for our favorite old man. tags: (i know it's been a while since I last posted so let me know if you want to be untagged) @sweetbabygirlsworld @m4tthewmurd0ck @domaniquessidehoe @spideysimpossiblegirl note: you can read this as pedro's joel if you so wish, but i am in my game!joel feels rn

“I can’t do this, Joel.” Your face creased with pain as another contraction wracked through you. You’d known that labour would hurt, of course, but you hadn’t expected it to come on this quickly, and so strong. You hadn’t yet passed the eight-month mark, and you weren’t prepared. Not even a little. You hadn’t even sorted the nursery yet, or found a crib.

Joel held your hand on the floor of your living room, keeping you supported while you braced against the couch. He brushed the hair from your face, calm and unreadable as ever, but even you didn’t miss the way his fingers trembled against your skin. “You got this, baby girl. I know you can.”

“Don’t think you have much of a choice.” Your doctor, one of the few midwives in town, lifted her head. She sat at your feet, peeling off her gloves after your examination. “You’re fully dilated. This baby is coming right now.”

“There’s no time to get to the infirmary?” you questioned, voice rising in panic. The contractions had barely started an hour ago, and sure, you’d left it a little late before confessing that they were getting painful. Ellie had rushed out not fifteen minutes ago to call for your midwife’s help, and now…

Now, the baby was coming, and all you could think was that it wasn’t supposed to be like this. The pregnancy had been a shock to your system. You hadn’t even been sure that Joel would want to go through with it after everything he’d experienced before. But he’d held your hand through each ultrasound, felt your belly for the first kick, and even when you saw fear — dread, even — cross his features, you could easily reassure him that this time was different. This time, it was safe. You’d lived in Jackson for over a year now, and it was the security of the community that had made motherhood feel possible. 

The midwife shook her head. “I’m sorry. You need to start pushing on your next contraction.”

“Oh, god,” you whispered, teeth chattering as the weight of the situation hit you.

“Hey, look at me.” Joel tilted your chin gently. “It’s gonna be just fine, darlin’. You just breathe and push, okay? We’ll do the rest.” 

“Right, just breathe and push,” you muttered. “Of course, you forgot the part about shoving a small human out of my hoo-ha.” 

He smirked, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Oh, right. That little detail.”

“I kinda hate you right now.” Just as you said it, another contraction hit, and your head fell back as you moaned. 

“Push now if you feel like you should!” your midwife reminded. Then, to Ellie: “Go get some clean towels, hon. Lots of ‘em.”

In the doorway, Ellie looked grateful to be given a job and scampered off. 

You did as instructed, dipping your chin into your chest as you pushed, pushed, pushed. A scream ripped through you at the pain it brought, each moment worse than the last. 

“You’re doing so good, baby. So good. She’s gonna be here so soon,” Joel whispered, his grip around you the only thing keeping you tethered to the here and now. 

Dizziness consumed you as your contraction finally eased. “Is she okay?”

“I’m seeing the head.” The midwife beamed. “Just a few more pushes, okay?”

Somehow, you breathed, and you pushed, and you felt your way through the pain as your body broke and mended and then broke again. Joel kept his grip on your hand tight, reassuring, but you saw him bite his lip toward the end and knew that he might have been just as terrified as you. 

The final push finally came, and you sunk back as the newborn's cry rang out.

“She’s here. You did it,” Joel murmured, kissing your clammy temple. He laughed into your skin, the sound of joy and disbelief sending a shiver through you. You tried to lift your head, to see your daughter, but everything felt wrong. Heavy. It still hurt, and black spots dotted your vision. 

“Le’ me see her.” Your words were slurred, your voice far away.

The last thing you heard was Joel calling your name, his voice raw and broken — terrified. 

***

“What’s wrong with her?” he demanded. 

“She’s bleeding too heavily. I need to get her to the infirmary.”  The midwife shook her head, handing him the screaming newborn. His screaming newborn. It had taken months to quell the panic of becoming a father again — not that he had ever truly stopped. Sarah had lived in his heart all these years, and Ellie was his daughter, even if she hated him for what he did. 

He made the mistake of looking at you, and the sight of the blood made him sick. So much of it. There was so damn much of it. He’d seen a lot of people bleed out, but he couldn’t remember ever seeing this much. 

“Shit," he cursed.

He didn’t know when Ellie had returned, but she stood wan and she’ll shocked beside him now.

“Please, take her.” He shoved the baby into her arms before lowering back to his knees to grab your hand. “Don’t you dare do this to me, baby. Not now.” 

“Can you carry her to the infirmary?” the midwife asked desperately.

He didn’t think twice, slipping his arms under your limp body. 

“Joel! She’s gonna be alright, right?” Ellie stuttered, and he heard the panic in her voice, too, as she swayed the baby from side to side, swaddling her in blankets. You were the closest thing Ellie had to a mother. If either of them lost you…

He couldn’t even try to find an answer, as much as he wanted it to be yes.

He gritted his teeth, hauling you up on shaky legs. Thankfully, the infirmary was only a few blocks away, and nobody was there to slow him down so late at night. 

He couldn’t make sense of it. One minute, he’d been settling down for the night after a long patrol shift. The next, you were curled up in pain, claiming the baby was coming. 

“Stay with me,” he pleaded, fingers curling into your old sweater. His old sweater, if he was being particular, but you’d stolen it from him so long ago that it smelled completely of you now: soap and fresh air. Blood. 

He staggered into the infirmary with that smell still in his nostrils, dampness spreading across his hands, and he damn near passed out on the threshold. But he wouldn’t, couldn’t, leave you, even when flashes of him holding Sarah this exact way raced through his mind. Even when a broken sob stuck in his throat, because he was holding on, and you weren’t, and she wasn’t, and why did he always have to be the one to watch the life seep from them? To end the night with nothing but their blood on his hands?

He set you down on the first bed he came to, drawing the alarmed attention of the nurses, who had a moment ago been ready to dose off on their night shift. In such a small community, they weren’t often needed after dark.

Behind him, the midwife called out orders, wheeling you away into the surgery theatre. He watched you disappear into a white-walled room, a tiny thing that never would have sufficed in the old world. 

In the old world, you probably wouldn’t have given birth in a living room. In the old world, he wouldn’t be stiff with a fear he couldn’t control, frozen with memories that refused to ever leave him.

He spun around and felt unsettled to see Ellie cradling the baby, mouth agape with the same cluelessness he felt. His baby. His. He had to be a father now, but he didn’t know how when you weren’t here with him. He felt like that thing he was always losing in his dreams was finally gone for good. Ripped from him one last time.

He couldn’t look at the baby’s cherubic face. Couldn’t even look at Ellie.

He couldn’t remember why he’d been so relaxed just yesterday to think of the little life you’d both been impatiently waiting to begin. Couldn’t remember how he’d found the strength to sing a lullaby to your bump, laughing when a foot kicked his palm as though telling him to shut the hell up. 

What the fuck was he supposed to do now? She was so tiny and pink and new, wrapped in bloody blankets, and he…

“Go give her to one of the nurses,” he whispered. 

“Joel—” Ellie made to protest, but he couldn’t hear it. Wouldn't.

“Ellie,” he snapped. “Go give her to one of the damn nurses. I can’t.”

“Well, you don’t have a fucking choice, because she’s yours now.” Ellie shoved her into his hands without warning. He tensed with the new weight, bile rising in his stomach. No. No. No. Everything he held, he broke. 

But then the baby let out a gurgle, her feet kicking his palm just like the night before when she was still safe in your belly, and he couldn’t keep from looking down at her. Couldn’t keep from seeing you in all her innocent features. Eyes, nose, even the fine tuft of hair on her head. 

“I can clean her down and check she’s doing okay,” a nurse offered, and suddenly, he was reluctant to let her go. 

And then he remembered you, the blood, your motionless body after so long spent screaming, Ellie’s hatred, Tess, Sarah, and he was glad for somebody else to take care of her. The further away that kid was, the better. He was a fucking curse, and she…

He scraped a hand over his face, pacing over to the surgery room. He didn’t dare march in, no matter how badly he wanted to. 

“She’s going to be okay,” Ellie said from behind him gently. “She’s strong, and I’m sure shit like this happens all the time.” 

“I told her we’d be okay,” Joel rasped out, face crumpling finally. “I told her that it would turn out alright, that we could be… That we could make something good here.”

“And you will,” Ellie said. 

He shook his head. “I might as well have killed her my damn self.” He looked down at his bloodied hands as though they weren’t his. They shook more than they ever had before. 

“Stop it! She’s going to make it. She has to!” Ellie’s yell took him aback, piercing in such a quiet, echoey space. She jabbed a finger into Joel’s shoulder. “And you have to hold it together. I know it’s fucking hard, alright, but you don’t get to lose it now! You can’t blame yourself for everything that goes wrong in our lives, Joel! That’s not how it works!”

He swallowed down his own self-loathing, head bowed. “I can’t do it without her,” he whispered. 

The rawness in his voice must have been visceral, because Ellie paused, her eyes filling with tears. 

And then she hugged him, tight enough that he thought maybe she was trying to keep him in one piece. He let out a ragged breath and held her. And then he did what she asked. He tried to hold it together. 

***

You woke to whispers and gurgles and wondered for a moment if you were dreaming. Your lids were heavy, body distant, and you couldn’t quite remember where you were or who was supposed to be with you. 

Until you prised your eyes open and found IVs plugged into your veins. 

“There she is,” a voice said softly. 

You blinked, searching for the source, and found it in a bleary version of Joel. He sat in a chair beside your bed, a tiny baby in his arms. His smile was shaky, distorted, and you didn’t know why. Not until he leaned forward and brushed your hair from your face with his free arm.

“Thought you’d left me there for a second.” 

“Is she okay?” Your throat was hoarse. 

He nodded. “Right as rain. It’s you we were worried about.” 

You frowned, trying to remember. One minute, you were pushing as though your life depended on it, and then the next, you were just… gone. 

“You had a heavy bleed. Needed a transfusion,” Joel explained finally. “But they reckon you’re gonna be okay, thank god.” 

“But she’s okay?” You stared at the baby nestled against his chest, not quite sure how she was here. When had this being growing inside of you become a real, tangible thing? How much of her life had you already missed?

Joel sighed impatiently. “Yes, baby. She’s perfect. Takes after her mom in that department.”

He moved to perch beside you so that you could get a closer look. He was right, of course. She was a little smaller than most newborns, but she was perfect. Pink apple cheeks, wide eyes, tiny fingernails. Looking at her felt like everything had finally fallen into place. You tickled her chin and her lips twitched with something content. Something right.

“How’s it feel, being a daddy again?” you asked gently, looking up at him. 

“Right now, it feels like hell. You can’t go scaring me like that.” He wouldn’t look at you, frown set firmly on his daughter. “Thought I was gonna have a heart attack."

“I’m sorry.” You couldn’t imagine how scared he must have been. After everything, you’d finally thought that danger, terror, was a thing of the past. You’d done a great job of ruining that, even if it wasn’t on purpose. Joel had lost too much before to deal with all this, and you had no idea how you’d cope in his shoes. 

He chuckled. “You’re sorry.” Shook his head. “I ain’t trying to make you apologise for almost dying, darlin’. You don’t gotta worry about me.”

“We said we could do this right,” you whispered. “I promised you it’d be different.” 

“Yeah, well… feels like things’ll never be different for me.” 

You snapped your head up. “What’s that mean?” 

“Nothin’.” He sighed, kissing your temple, and yet still, he wouldn’t meet your eye. “How about you get some rest? I’ll keep the little missus company.” 

“Joel.” You cupped his jaw, pleading now. Everything felt so wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Even though the proof was right in front of you, it was hard to believe your baby was happy and healthy after all the trauma you’d faced. “We’re not gonna start her life this way. Tell me what you mean.”

He placed the baby down in the crib beside your bed before pinching the bridge of his nose. “I keep having to plan a life where I’m alone again, and honestly, I don’t know how I’d do it if I had to. Not this time.”

“But you’re not alone. I’m right here.”

“But you weren’t. For a minute there, I thought…” His voice grew thick, and he shook his head. “Sarah’s gone. Ellie hates me. Why the hell did I think it’d be third time lucky? She’s not even a day old, and she almost lost her mom! And there was nothing I could do. There’s never anything I can do.”

Your heart ached for him. One day, you prayed he wouldn’t hold the responsibility of every single person he loved on his shoulders. Maybe he was right. Maybe you’d been foolish to go into this thinking it could be better. The world would never be safe, not even here in Jackson, and the pain he must live with every day sure as hell wouldn’t ease now he had another daughter to raise. 

You felt hollow at the thought that maybe he’d leave. You wouldn’t blame him, not really. You were scared, too. But you’d only found the strength to do this because you were together, and you’d survived the odds so far. If that stopped feeling true… what then?

Devastation must have been written all over your face, because he pursed his lips. “Don’t listen to me, baby. I shouldn’t be sayin’ all this. You’re barely out of the woods.” 

“I don’t think we can keep doing this if you don’t let some of that guilt and blame go, Joel,” you admitted. “I think your daughter is gonna need a man who doesn’t hate himself for every single thing that’s wrong in the world. You’re right. There was nothing you could have done to stop this from happening. It was my body, and things like this happened even before the outbreak. I can’t imagine how scared you were, love, but fuck, you can’t keep making it your fault. It isn’t. It never was, especially not with Sarah. And this baby? She isn't Sarah." 

He winced at her name, as he often still did. Collapsing back in his chair, he took your hand. Slowly, his lower lip began to wobble as he finally met your gaze. “I love you too much to lose you. And her… How the hell am I gonna do this?” 

“I can’t answer that,” you said. “We knew it wouldn’t be easy.”

He snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.” Then, he bowed his head to press a kiss to the back of your hand. “Gonna try to be better. I promise. I'll hold it together."

“You don’t need to be better, and you don't need to hold it together. You’re already a good man, and talking about all this is important - for both of us. And for her.” You squeezed his fingers tightly. “I love you so much.” You teared up as you looked at the baby dozing in her crib. “And god, I love her. Can you believe we made her?” 

He hummed. “What the hell are we gonna call her?” 

“And where the hell are we gonna put her?” you added, worrying at your lip. “We never even found a crib.”

He shrugged, teasing. “I’m sure we’ll find a corner somewhere.” He leaned forward, tracing circles along your arm. “We’ll make do. Between the four of us, we’ll find a way. I’ll cut the damn trees down and build us a place from scratch myself if I have to.”

You smiled, peace finally flooding your exhausted body. You saw Ellie standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed, and knew Joel was right. Your family was complete now. It would be a little broken at times, as all things were, but you’d do everything in your power to keep it whole. 

Even if it meant reminding Joel every damn day that he had to be gentle with himself.

[egglain-archive]

Dove, Darker Than Blood

Rating: E (18+) - mdni Pairing: Sukuna x Uraume Content: pre-canon (heian era), sukume origin story, true form sukuna, vaginal sex (oral, penetrative), creampies, double penetration in one hole (vaginal), very mild choking, marking (biting, cum, spit), multiple orgasms, marathon sex, soft sex turned rough, overstim, body worship, first times, soft & possessive sukuna Word Count: 10.4k

Summary: “Do you wish to be bed?” Uraume couldn’t keep eye contact, face burning under the warmth of Sukuna’s attention. “Look at me.” The roughness, the command of his tone made it impossible not to obey. He had never used that voice with them before—no, he was a different man with Uraume. They always knew that, deep down. But being under the weight of that authority—being at the mercy of the King of Curses was… exhilarating. “Would you let me take your virginity, Uraume?” Fuck.

A murder. A meeting. A question. An answer. A Heian era origin fic.

Red.

What a beautiful colour it was, all over the wooden floor.

Long brown tresses spilled from between veiny fingers, Sukuna’s large hand dwarfing the head they were attached to. The head, however, was no longer attached to anything. Vibrant vermillion drained from once-flushed cheeks, staining the kitchen floor ever-darker. Warmth pooled between black-nailed toes, blood from his ex-chef painting a pretty picture of an ugly end.

“You there.” Sukuna gestured with the severed head at a trembling maid. “Can you cook, woman?”

The woman hung her head low, measly tears spilling onto her now-crimson apron. “No, my Lord.”

“Tch. Useless.” The king’s grimace turned to another, who shook her pallid face immediately. Sukuna dropped the cook’s head, kicking it away with a grunt. “Absolutely fucking useless. Every one of you.”

The servants knew better than to respond. Knew better than to breathe. The room was still enough to hear a heart beating—and several were, rapidly. Sukuna turned on his heel, the squelch of blood underfoot enough to make the head maid gag.

“Find me a chef… and clean up this mess,” Sukuna announced to no one in particular.

As the king stormed off, red spilled into the hisashi.

***

Sukuna’s head rest heavy on a large fist, tattooed limbs sprawled out on the dais.

“Next.”

It had been a long morning of meagre meals. Bumbling cooks spilled bland boiled food in the entryway, one of his taste testers dropped dead, and three separate chefs had refused to cook meat (claiming it was “impure”). Sukuna had never felt less appetized.

He was just about ready to call the whole thing off—make a point of picking the meat off the bones of these cowardly cooks instead—as the last candidate stepped forth. A little thing, just a bit over half his size if he had to guess (not that his tallest servant reached any higher than his sternum). The chef fell to their knees to bow deeply at the foot of the dais, pale bangs sweeping the wooden floor.

Sukuna gestured his taster forward with two curled fingers. A mousy man ushered forth a large bowl, golden liquid sloshing as he carried it to the king.

“What is this?”

The taster placed the bowl on the stout lacquered table before Sukuna, bowing. “Sou—”

“Not you, fool.” He waved the man away, sitting up a little more to peer inside the bowl. “Chef. Speak.”

The white-haired cook spoke without raising their head, and yet their voice was clear. Calm. “Braised boar in a bone broth, my Lord. With local vegetables.”

Sukuna hummed, lifting the bowl to sip straight from the brim. Warmth spread from the tip of his tongue straight down to his stomach—it was good. Better than good, even. It reminded him of home—rather, what he imagined home would taste like. It was rich but simple. Well-made.

If this commoner can piece a dish like this together on their own, what could they make with the world at their fingertips?

Sukuna picked out a piece of meat with fat fingers, the flesh falling off the bone. He popped it into his mouth, reveling in the savory flavour as it melted onto his tongue. He bit back a satisfied groan, clearing his throat to mask his pleasure.

He set down the bowl, licking the pad of his thumb greedily. “Raise your head.”

The cook obeyed, hands folding politely on the lap of their white kimono. Pale lashes and short white hair framed a delicate face. Big burgundy eyes met his, and something in his gut stirred.

Interesting.

“State your name.”

“Uraume, my Lord.”

“Uraume, huh?” He let the name roll on his tongue, committing it to memory as he took them in. He turned to the maid holding his sake to the right of his dais. “Show Uraume around, woman. They start in the morning.”

As the woman rushed to usher his new chef to the kitchen, the king turned his intense gaze to the rest of the room.

“Everyone who wishes to keep their head, leave my sight.”

And so, the King of Curses enjoyed his soup alone.

***

Sukuna was right—not that he was ever wrong, per se—but the new little chef amused him more and more each day.

With access to a nearly endless supply of funds, every dish was something akin to a painting; each stroke was unique, elements curating a feeling—an experience. They put their brown-haired predecessor to shame. Sukuna had never been gladder someone was dead.

Three months had passed since their onboarding, and he had grown to like this Uraume. Aside from the good food, they had a strong spirit—not many of his servants could meet his eyes, let alone provide coherent answers to his questions. Needless to say, his days had been much more interesting as of late. He grew to look forward to his meals, even when he was full from the last one.

He had even started to opt out of having the maids deliver his food, requesting Uraume personally. It was better this way—they would explain the dish to him, taste it first, and then watch him eat. Not that he needed the company. But he’d grown to enjoy their silent presence. On occasion, he’d ask a question or two.

Which is how they had gotten here.

“A virgin?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

It had nothing to do with the dish—thinly chopped raw fish and vegetables pickled in rice vinegar—but Sukuna’s mouth was watering nonetheless.

“I was raised to become a monk, my Lord.”

“Is that what you wish to be? Why become a chef?”

“Being your chef is my honor, Lord Sukuna.”

“And the latter question?”

They looked down, hands squeezing together a little tighter where they were clasped in front of them. “There was an accident, my Lord.”

His brow quirked on instinct, and he hoped it didn’t betray his cold persona. It was unlike the King of Curses to show interest in anything other than himself.

“You are no longer pure?” He said it slowly, tasting the syllables. They left a complicated taste on his tongue—something bitter and rotten. Spoiled.

“No, sir. I…”

There was a long silence. Had it been anyone else, Sukuna would have grown bored—perhaps even beheaded the perpetrator. But with Uraume, it was exciting. He couldn’t help but lean in a little closer. Try to understand them a little more. It was like unraveling the wrapping on a gift, plucking jewels from an unseemly fabric satchel.

So he waited.

“I killed.”

Sukuna’s eyebrows furrowed.

Killing, to the King of Curses, was like breathing—he hardly thought twice about it. It was what he was made for, after all. He couldn’t help but laugh a little, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Uraume, bless their heart, jumped a little at the display.

“Troublesome for a monk indeed. How did that happen?”

“I was seeing spirits, my Lord.”

“Dead relatives?”

“No, my Lord. Curses.”

Interesting indeed.

“Cursed spirits? A little human like you?” He leaned forward, hands clasping over his bowl of namasu—he rested his chin on top. “A jujutsu sorcerer, then?”

“Jujutsu…?”

Something in his chest fluttered. His chef was like a baby bird—a dove so pure, so beautiful, so full of life.

He wanted to snap their wings.

“Come forth, Uraume.”

The chef came up on the dais, bowing deeply at his feet. Their pale bangs tickled the tips of his sensitive toes.

Sukuna hummed a pleased noise, reaching a large hand down to lift their small face with gentle fingers.

“Watch.”

He pulled his hand back a little, holding his index finger before their burgundy eyes.

“Open.”

At the command, light sparked above his fingertip. Thin tendrils of flame danced from the tip of his index down to the base, then weaved between his digits, lapping at the webs between his fingers. Golden light danced across Uraume’s soft features, their eyes trained on the movement with reverent fascination.

“The practice of siphoning the energy within you—the cursed energy—into something tangible. Honing it into a technique, as a sculptor uses a chisel to bring stone to life. That is jujutsu sorcery.”

He reached another hand down, pulling Uraume’s palm flat out. The dancing flame in his right hand took the shape of an arrow, and he set it forth into Uraume’s hand. Uraume’s eyes widened as the arrow danced along their palm and around their wrist, tracing the delicate bones of their hand. Sukuna chuckled a little, puffing up with pride at eliciting such a raw reaction out of his little cook.

“Most people who can see cursed spirits are cursed themselves; cursed with this power, or a curse themselves.”

“Which are you, my Lord?” The question was barely a whisper, large pupils still trained on the dancing flame.

“Both. Neither.” He chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve transcended the concept of these binaries. I’m beyond any sorcerer or curse of this age.”

“Teach me.” Those burgundy eyes were back on his. Bright. Unyielding. “Please, Lord Sukuna.”

If you were to ask Ryomen Sukuna, he would answer that he would never stoop as low as to become a teacher. There were professional tutors for that, surely. Arrogant weak sorcerers looking to make a living. Looking to make a name for themselves.

Sukuna Ryomen was a king. A God. He didn’t teach. He took. Plundered, maimed, massacred. He didn’t need a living—he had everything he could ever want, and he stole what he didn’t. And he sure didn’t need a legacy—he would never be forgotten.

“We start tomorrow.”

***

Uraume was strong.

Their powers, complementary to his flames, were that of ice. Each day, just after lunch, he met them in the courtyard and guided them through the exercises he used to explore his power in his younger days. He saw himself in them—potential. Something raw, waiting to be discovered. Something twisted, lurking just under the surface, raring to be unleashed.

Watching them discover themselves filled him with pride… and something else. Something dark that lapped at his insides—something he had yet to understand.

With another three months—now half a year since he hired them—Uraume had become more than a chef. He took his meals with Uraume, had them take on more responsibilities, and fired half his incompetent staff.

He liked it better, like this. They knew how he liked his baths (scalding and paired with the smell of incense). They knew what he liked to eat (meat, preferably human). They knew how to clean the blood out of his sokutai so it remained pristine. They combed his hair gentler than his handmaid did. They shared the weekly news over Friday breakfast.

He could get used to this.

And alongside the exceptional service, Uraume could fight beside him. Hold their own not only on the battlefield but in all aspects of life. They had big ideas—suggestions, improvements—not only as they pertained to him, but for all of Japan. Sukuna had never had a figure like this in his life; a mirror, someone he’d let critique him, make him better. He would have never allowed that. But somehow, Uraume had found their way under his skin… and he had no complaints.

Yet, there was always something there.

Something missing, buzzing like a fruit fly next to his ear. Barely there, but increasingly difficult to ignore.

He had grown… unsatisfied, somewhere along the way, in some realm he couldn’t identify.

He had everything his mind wanted—he had no qualms with his daily routine, no annoyances that weren’t swiftly sorted out by Uraume or a slash of his hand.

So why?

What was this restless feeling?

The palace was quieter nowadays. Without the “baggage” staff (the nitwits he had released from their duties), all that remained were the housekeepers, the gardeners, a handful of maids, and his concubines. He never cared much for the latter two, but they did the menial tasks he was too busy to think about—mend clothes, pour sake, get him off. Save for the last task, Uraume now had these jobs handled, rendering the few staff he kept useless. Now thinking back on it, he hadn’t called upon any of his concubines in almost four months.

Sex was like fighting, for him. A thrill, a power struggle, an outlet. It kept him level-headed; gave him a way to deal with his emotions that didn’t involve bloodshed… usually.

He hadn’t needed it in a long time. He got his thrill from the company he kept, from watching flame engulf ice in the courtyard. He didn’t need an outlet either—everything was so easy now. Uraume ensured it.

So why?

Reading in his chamber, he rolled the idea around in his head.

He had read the same line thrice now, and none of the words were sticking. His mind was hazy, cotton-filled, a sieve rather than a sponge.

He didn’t like feeling like this. On-edge. Wrong.

So, he did what he always did when displeased.

Slaughter.

He took a midnight trip outside of the boundaries of his territory. Normally, he’d come by daylight with his bow—train his eyesight, hone his aim, polish his strategy and patience. But not tonight. Tonight, he needed to feel alive.

Inside the bounds of his territory, all was still. Sukuna Ryomen was written in the rigid trunks of the trees, in the roots, in the soil. Anyone stupid enough to set foot in an unwelcome manner was promptly disposed of—cleaved so thoroughly that no power, jujutsu or otherwise, could piece them back together. These lands were an extension of himself. This was his domain. His turf.

The world outside his carefully curated home was chaos. In the golden age of magic, culture, and creativity, cursed energy reached an all-time high. Cursed spirits and jujutsu sorcerers fed off the changing times like parasites, growing in tandem from the shadows of society.

This, of course, caused a problem for the poor; cursed spirits massacred lowly fishing and farming villages, and jujutsu sorcerers were far too busy protecting the imperial core to deal with the hundreds of incidents occurring in the far corners of the nation.

Sukuna didn’t care much for politics, though he was not uninvolved—his hands were dirtied with the blood of countless clan heads and generals. The people had come to fear and revere him, and it was oddly… fulfilling. Humans mounted shrines, left out offerings of food, art, and weaponry in hopes of warding off his fabled wrath. These humans served as a source—a wellspring of labor, food, clothing, entertainment, and cursed energy. He fed off them (sometimes quite literally).

Though he was in no way a guardian, he had come to a sort of symbiosis with the villages bordering his territory. Over time, they had become an extension of his home. The aura shrouding their houses—his aura—warded most curses away. The weak ones, at least. However, the humans were left to fend for themselves against the stronger ones—those who hungered for power, to assert their claim over someone else’s possessions, like petulant children. In exchange for their piety, he lent a hand, when he felt like it. Had a little fun with the curses encroaching on their lands. By now, most knew to get themselves indoors upon his arrival, for when he let go, there was no difference between human and cursed blood on his hands.

This is where he found himself now, the woods just outside the border of a little farming village.

The smell of fear, the hushed prayers of the women and children, the low murmur of curses in the trees—it was intoxicating.

He let himself go, in a way he hadn’t in ages.

Throats ripped from bodies, bloodstained teeth prying open flesh. Screams mounted somewhere in the distance—human or curse, he couldn’t tell. Adrenaline pumped through raised veins, pulsing with each deafening pop of a spinal cord severing. Skulls imploded in his big hands, sticky innards spilling like juice from a too-ripe fruit between his fingers.

This is what made Sukuna Ryomen whole.

He returned early in the morning, bloodied and buzzing.

In his arms, the spoils of his adventure—gifts from the little humans, slightly soddened from the syrupy blood dripping from his chin.

And yet, the itch he sought to scratch…

“Lord Sukuna?”

Sukuna didn’t bother to wipe his soiled feet as he walked in from the courtyard. At the sound of that familiar tone, he looked up.

Uraume was looking at him, something unreadable in their eyes. Their hair stuck out a little—almost as if they had been sleeping when he returned. Sukuna Ryomen didn’t sleep, but if he did, he imagined he would be doing it now.

“Uraume.”

“Shall I draw a bath, my Lord?”

Sukuna looked down at himself. He was dripping muddy, filthy blood on his clean wooden floors. Two months ago, he wouldn’t have minded—in fact, blood was once a beautiful sight—but now…

“Yes… but don’t wake the others.” He wasn’t sure why he said it. Maybe he wanted Uraume to be the one to do it. Perhaps he always did.

“Of course.”

They plucked the offerings from his arms, bowing politely before taking their leave. He expected they’d be polished and put away for his later amusement. Against the wall, Sukuna took a few moments to steel himself before making his way to the baths.

Something was still wrong. It roiled in his gut like a spoiled meal, hummed in the back of his mind like a migraine that refused to manifest.

Why was he on-edge like this?

Why was he off?

Usually, killing did the trick, but whatever void there was inside him hadn’t been satisfied. In fact, attempting to cure his problem just made it worse when it didn’t work.

Fuck.

In the bathhouse, Uraume greeted him, steam and smoke filling the room. He let them strip him down, taking in their focused eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, knuckles straining against tan skin. He had never paid much mind when the other maids did this, but something about their slender fingers brushing against him—even through the thick fabric—affected him. It wasn’t unpleasant.

“Uraume.”

“Yes, my Lord?” They made quick work of folding his bloodied clothes and setting them aside. By supper, they would be brand new again.

He called upon them, but he wasn’t sure what he needed. Uraume was always so good at giving him what he needed, so long as he had the words to ask for it—but this was different.

“I’m uncomfortable.”

Uraume’s eyes widened and they backed off immediately, turning around to give him privacy in his nude state.

“No—not with you.” He placed a gentle hand on their shoulder, turning them around again. His brows were scrunched somewhere between pain and annoyance, but it wasn’t pointed at them. It was an unfocused irritation. And that only served to make it more irritating. Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose, worrying the skin there. “I just… there’s something not right. I’m missing something, and I don’t know what it is. I want to have it. No. I need to have it.”

Uraume ushered him into the water with a pensive hum, hand guiding him by the small of his back. Had it been anyone else, he would have cut it off… but instead, warmth spread through his spine down to the soles of his feet.

For a moment, it brought him out of his head, and back to the present.

Touch.

Right then, it was all he could focus on. It quelled the vibration in his ribs, the restless tension in his ligaments. It was a salve.

“Uraume.” He took a seat at the far end of the bath, four arms sprawling out onto the tile behind him. “Clean me quickly. Then wake the concubine—the short one with the curves and the mole. I want her in my chambers.”

Uraume looked at him, that strange look once again dancing in those big burgundy eyes.

“Yes, my Lord.”

Uraume made quick work of cleaning him, scrubbing him down with practiced ease. On special occasions, he’d receive a full body massage—the chef had a way with their hands that had the tension in his four shoulders melting away—but not this morning. Something in him stung a little, at that. But it was no matter; he’d get his physical attention elsewhere.

As soon as his hair was wrung out, the last of the entrails combed out, he was being plucked from the water. Uraume dried him gingerly and wrapped him up in his yukata.

“Can you comb your hair, my Lord? I’ll go wake your concubine.”

The displeasure mounted. Yet, he grunted an affirmation. Uraume gave him a last look-over, that faraway look in their eyes once again, before hurrying off.

Sukuna took his time “brushing” his slicked hair (shaking it this way and that, and then fixing it with his fingers) before making his way to his chamber. The morning was cresting, birds beginning to sing their song as sunlight bathed the courtyard and gardens in gold. The pond in the centre of the palace grounds glimmered, bouncing light in a way that grated at his nerves—it was too beautiful out to feel misery, and that only made him feel worse.

Opening the shoji screen to his room, he was greeted by his little concubine, waiting bowed on the floor obediently. He crossed the threshold and shut the door, not bothering to spare her a glance as he strode towards the large bed.

“Come, woman.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, beckoning her with two fingers to the spot between his parted legs. Without a word, she scurried over, kneeling between his knees. Well-manicured hands reached to untie his yukata.

A large hand slapped away two smaller ones.

The concubine—large eyes filled with hurt—did not look up to meet his eyes.

“My apologies, Lord Sukuna… I thought—”

“You thought wrong.” He looked down at her, running a large hand through long black strands of hair. She was quite beautiful. Plump, glowing—perfect to bear a strong heir. “Begin at my feet.”

He played this game sometimes.

Degraded those he slept with. Reminded them of their place beneath him, of their dispensability. On occasion, he’d reward them—let them cling to him as he kissed away tears, cock gliding home deep inside. Other times, he’d push them to the edge—face pressed to the pillows or neck in the crook of his elbow as he used them until he was satisfied.

He wasn’t sure what mood he was in now.

He slid his foot towards her, black-painted toenails wiggling impatiently. The concubine dropped her head, kissing a stripe from his second toe to the junction between his foot and shin. Sukuna watched as she groveled by his feet, playing with her hair. She kissed at the sharp bones of his ankle, then at the arch of his foot. She lifted it gingerly, kissing the ball of his sole and his heel, and he couldn’t help but imagine how her head would feel under it. The noise of her skull as he bore down on it.

He let her take each of his toes into her mouth—he didn’t care for it much, but he allowed it. She seemed determined to please him, and he appreciated that. She kissed up his shin and massaged his calf, and that felt quite nice. Yet, it paled in comparison to Uraume’s massages.

No, Uraume would have him falling back into the bed. Soft fingertips would pry tender flesh from tired bones, apply pressure in a way that had his muscles jumping. They would work their way up his quads with both hands. Dig their thumb into the supple flesh of his inner thigh. Work the adductor until he was melting, up, up, up, so dangerously close to—

Fuck

A whimper brought him back to the present— beneath him, his concubine was grimacing, black locks tangled tight in a white-knuckled fist. He dropped the hair like it was hot, rubbing her scalp as if to soothe the burn. Sukuna sighed at the teary look in her eye, another hand coming down to wipe her damp lashes dry.

“You did well.”

The concubine sniffled, and he sighed at the sound. He was hard, but the longer he looked at her dejected face, the more likely he was to lose his boner.

“Strip.”

The woman did as she was told, kimono pooling around her wide hips. Once again, he was reminded of her beauty. Supple breasts perked with the chilled morning air, nipples pebbling. A soft tummy, spilling over pillowy thighs, painted a delicious portrait. His eyes fixated on the mole just below her navel—the one he marked each time she was in his bed—and his mind couldn’t help but wander to a different one.

That one was beautiful. It was a light brown thing—small and freckle-like—jutting out against pale skin and short white hair on a soft nape. The curve of that neck was tantalizing; so pure and unmarked, save for that one little freckle. He wanted to sink his teeth into it. He wanted to suck on it, to paint that pale neck in his favourite colour.

“Lord Sukuna?”

The woman below him was offering up her breasts with sultry eyes. Four months ago, she would have been weeping into his pillows already, stuffed full and satisfied. Now, all he felt was indifference.

“Leave my sight.”

“Lord Sukuna, let me—”

“Call Uraume for me on your way out.” He stood, walking to the window. “I need to speak with them.”

He couldn’t help but feel a little lighter as footsteps receded and the shoji slid open.

But what the fuck was wrong with him?

He slammed his hands down on the windowsill. He wanted to feast. Wanted to fuck. Wanted to feel free from whatever this curse was that was weighing on him. The thrumming in his veins, the itch in his bones that had been following him for what felt like an eternity now, he wanted it gone.

He had it all planned out—a slender throat under his fingers, a tight cunt fluttering around him. Pussies on fingers, fingers in mouths, mouths on skin. Flesh in teeth. Supple skin between his incisors, that fucking freckle bruis—

“You called, my Lord?”

Uraume.

“Come in… and shut the door.”

He listened to their graceful movements—much softer than the concubine’s—and couldn’t help but grip the windowsill a little tighter.

Uraume.

It was always Uraume.

***

Uraume had never been summoned by a concubine before—let alone seen one, really, before today. Sukuna rarely seemed interested in matters of romance these days. He had little connection to others, sexual or otherwise, aside from them. Not that Uraume minded at all.

The man was standing by the window, back turned to them, yukata just as pristine as when they left him in the bath. The way his body was curved—like a bow drawn too tight—betrayed the evenness of his tone.

What did that concubine do?

They took a few tentative steps forward, falling into a deep bow at his feet.

When it came to Sukuna Ryomen, it was always better to err on the side of piety.

“Uraume…”

The voice was low and rough—almost breathless. Something fluttered in the pit of Uraume’s stomach.

“I’m here, my Lord.”

“I’ve been… unhappy. Plagued.” He said it slowly, as if trying the words for the first time.

“I’m sorry to hear that, my Lor—”

“Plagued by you.”

Something icy ran through their veins. It was as if their heart stopped, in that moment, frozen over.

They’d fucked up.

They’d fucked up.

Uraume pressed their forehead to the tatami, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Trying to blend into the floor. Trying to disappear.

“My apologies, Lord Sukun—”

“You’ve been invading my thoughts.”

A beat.

The king turned around, and Uraume could feel his heavy gaze raking over the nape of their neck.

“I can’t bear it any longer.”

Uraume’s head spun.

Their stomach was in knots, dropping to the tips of their toes.

Was this how they’d die?

Suddenly? On the floor of Sukuna’s chamber, without reason?

Why?

Short fingernails dug into the tatami, trying to steady the tremor puppeting their bones.

“I wish to bed you, Uraume.”

What?

All was silent for a moment, save for the rush of blood to their ears.

Just like that, a fire ignited somewhere below their navel, melting away at the ice in their veins. Their face heated, thankfully hidden by the tatami.

“Uraume. Speak.”

“Yes, Lord Sukuna.”

Uraume felt more than heard Sukuna fall to his knees before them, ground seemingly dipping under his weight. A large hand was dragging their face up, and four sharp eyes pierced into theirs. Searching.

“You are a virgin.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“You wished to become a monk. I don’t seek to take that from you.”

“That door is closed, my Lord. And… I’ve sworn my life to you, Lord Sukuna.”

He raised a large hand, silencing that thought. “Forget about that. Right now, you’re Uraume. Not my chef. Not my assistant. Uraume.”

They nodded slowly in his grasp.

“Do you wish to be bed?”

Uraume couldn’t keep eye contact, face burning under the warmth of Sukuna’s attention.

“Look at me.”

The roughness, the command of his tone made it impossible not to obey. He had never used that voice with them before—no, he was a different man with Uraume. They always knew that, deep down. But being under the weight of that authority—being at the mercy of the King of Curses was… exhilarating.

“Would you let me take your virginity, Uraume?”

Fuck.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“‘Sukuna’.” He stood, untying his yukata slowly. “As it’s your first time… ‘Sukuna’ will suffice.”

Uraume watched as big fingers made elegant work of undoing the sash, fabric slipping off him like water. They had seen his body many times before—but this felt distinctly different.

From the floor, Sukuna Ryomen was more than a man. Warm morning light warmed the edges of golden glistening skin. Thick veins hugged plush muscles—ran down his arms as they folded across his chest, spanned the hard plane where his abdomen met his hips, tracing the delectable lines of his waist. Short pink hair dusted a line under his navel, south, to frame twin tattooed erections. The bands on his skin, bands that had become synonymous with evil, danced in time with the rise and fall of his chest in a way that could only be described as divine.

Sukuna Ryomen was more than a curse, more than a sorcerer. He was an apparition—a God, a demon, something so ethereal and so twisted that it could have never been human. Yet, the way he was looking down at them—the hunger, the softness, the possession—was so real.

All four eyes pinned them to the ground, and Uraume could feel the stakes of his claim nailing into their flesh.

He was waiting for an answer.

Waiting for them.

“Yes… Sukuna.”

Sukuna hummed, low and pleased, extending a large hand to help them off the ground.

“Good. Now strip for me, Uraume.”

***

Sukuna had never seen a creature so… tantalizing.

He wanted to unwrap them. Wanted to tear off their robes, as childish as it was, to get to his gift sooner. But he had to wait. It was their first time, and he wasn’t going to rob Uraume of an unforgettable moment. He wanted them to be comfortable—especially being that he was not the easiest man to bed, even for the most practiced bodies. His impossible size and strength meant that relaxation and preparation were key; of course, with most of his concubines, he forwent this rule and took what he wanted.

But Uraume was not one of them.

They were special.

So he watched, hands balled into fists, as Uraume carefully undid layer after layer of their clothing. Sharp nails dug half-moons into his palms as they unveiled the bottommost layer, their white kosode.

“Sukuna...”

Sukuna’s throat went dry as the final robe slipped off.

He had never cared much about who graced his bed—so long as he had a warm hole and something to grab onto, he was pleased.

But this might just ruin him.

Where he was all hard lines and rippling muscle, Uraume was soft. Tender.

Pale skin reflected the morning light like porcelain. It looked so delicate, spanned the gentle curves of their body—the small mounds of their breasts, the divots between brittle ribs, the jut of their hips. Snow white hair framed now-blushed cheeks, round and glowing. That little brown freckle.

Everything about them was perfect. Pristine. A blank canvas.

He wanted to leave a mark. Needed to leave his mark.

He never bothered to ask pointless “may I?” questions; for him, sex was about taking. Extracting orgasm after orgasm from his partners, using their bodies for his entertainment. He never bothered to ask their preferences; he’d pry them apart on his fingers or his cocks, steal what pleasure he wanted from their mouths or holes or skin. He never bothered with pleasantries, with getting to know his partner; the act was a means to an end. And in the end, he always got what he wanted.

But this moment, as much as it was meant for him—to fix him, to fill the void in his life—it was equally Uraume’s.

So he took a half-step forward.

“You’re beautiful.”

Uraume flushed, and fuck did red look good on them.

“Tell me where I can touch you.”

“My—” they opened their mouth, then closed it. “Sukuna.”

“I’ve only bedded women and men—that I know of. Where does one touch an Uraume?”

Uraume cracked a grin, and Sukuna’s heart did a weak flop. He didn’t realize he was grinning too, until his cheeks started to hurt.

“You can touch me anywhere… I trust you.”

Something in him swelled—other than his cocks, which had been hard for what felt like the better part of an eternity now.

He took another step forward, coming toe-to-toe with his assistant. He brushed the bangs out of their face, then tipped their chin up a little more, to meet their eyes properly.

“I’m going to pick you up now.”

They nodded as two large arms encircled their waist, the other two supporting them under their thighs.

Thin arms flew up to encircle his neck, and Sukuna couldn’t help but admire how much more beautiful Uraume was face-to-face.

“Hurting my back looking down at you, little one.” He chuckled lowly.

Uraume bit back a retort. Sukuna took the opportunity to lean his forehead against theirs, reveling in their heat.

“You’ll need to bear with me as I prepare you.”

“Prepare?”

“Stretch your little virgin hole for my cocks.”

Uraume shuddered in his grasp, and Sukuna couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Wrap your legs around my waist.”

They obeyed, as they always did. Sukuna’s dicks twitched, clear precum already beading up.

“Good. I’m going to lick you now. My fingers will slip in easier if you’re wet.”

“Okay…” It came out a little breathless, and Sukuna chuckled softly as he brought Uraume over to the window.

The morning mist over the courtyard was stunning. Uraume rested their head against his shoulder as they looked out the window, and Sukuna couldn’t help but press a kiss to the top of their hair. Big hands massaged the backs of slender thighs, then slid up to massage their glutes. A fat tongue lolled out of his lower mouth, licking its lips.

“This alright?” Sukuna whispered into their hair as he held them open, big thumbs brushing along the ridge where thigh met labia.

Uraume nodded against his shoulder.

The tongue pressed up, up, up, laying flat against Uraume’s cunt. At the first contact, they jumped a little in his hold; Sukuna apologized with gentle kisses to their forehead. He didn’t move for a moment, letting them get accustomed to the warmth and wetness of his tongue.

Slowly, it laved back and forth over their entrance. Now it was Sukuna’s turn to shiver.

Fuck.

Uraume had been preparing his meals for half a year now—each one more delicious and exquisite than the last. But this…

This did not compare.

Why does the parched man yearn for cold water?

Because it’s delicious?

Because he needs it to live.

Sukuna groaned into Uraume’s hair just as they gasped into his shoulder, pointed tip of his tongue dipping shallowly into them over and over again.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Forget cooking.

He’d be feasting on them from now on.

He had plans for their first time—he wanted it to be beautiful, to take Uraume in the morning sunlight. To hold them open and lick them with his second tongue. To whisper praises in their ear and gaze into their eyes properly.

But he couldn’t help himself.

Sukuna was dropping them onto large pillows and climbing onto the bed before he could process what he was doing. He felt as he did in the woods—a predator homed in on their prey, the adrenaline of the hunt dizzying his mind, washing away all restrictive rationality.

Uraume closed their thighs upon impact with the mattress, and Sukuna would not be having that. Big hands pried slim thighs apart, pinning them open in an iron grip. His second set of hands held open pretty, puffy lips, splaying the blushed flesh below. He was transfixed.

He couldn’t help but let his mouth fall open, watching as a thick wad of saliva dripped from the tips of his split tongue to their little hole, fluttering under the attention. It was tantalizing. He blew a puff of warm air against the wet skin and reveled at the tremble of pale flesh beneath his tanned hands. He ran a large thumb down their center, applying just a little pressure on the spit-slicked entrance.

“Sukuna…” The voice was small, winded.

Crimson eyes met burgundy, and a growl tore through his throat.

They were wrecked.

Hiding behind thin hands, Uraume’s once-pale skin now flushed his favourite colour.

He wanted to swallow them whole.

He wasn’t sure who gasped louder when his tongue—his proper tongue, hot and drooling—met their cunt. He licked a stripe from just under their entrance up to their clit, coaxing the sensitive bundle of nerves to stiffness. One set of ruby eyes traced the movement, but the other set was transfixed on that beautiful face. He wanted to commit this to memory.

Commit them to memory.

He worked his tongue slowly, sloppily. He lapped at their entrance greedily, until all he could taste was himself on their skin, then ran the flat of his tongue over their clit repeatedly. He watched for each little gasp, each stroke that had them whimpering into their palm. The tip of his nose met pubic bone as soft lips wrapped around even softer flesh. He kissed their clit so reverently, open-mouthed and passionate, eyes rolling back a little at the heady taste.

Fuck—fuck—fuck—

“Feels weird—Sukuna…”

Sukuna hummed an acknowledgment into their clit, and a hand was finding purchase in his hair. He pinned them down a little rougher as they began to shake, massaging their thighs in calloused palms as he sucked at their sweet skin.

And they were keening.

A gush of bittersweet slick was running down his chin and Sukuna rushed to lap at the trembling hole as it spilled. A large thumb pinned down their clit as Uraume rode through their release, saliva lubricating the small circles he rubbed into it.

“That’s it… let go for me.”

He rubbed and sucked on the fluttering entrance until their skin jumped, until they tried to scramble away in oversensitivity.

Sukuna lifted his head up ever-so-slightly, wet lips and hot breath ghosting over raised skin. Glassy burgundy made his heartbeat stutter, and he was aching. He needed to take them. Needed to see how they’d look speared on his cocks, feel the flutter of their sweet little hole around him.

“Good, no?”

Uraume was pulling him up by the hair, and Sukuna bit back a smile as soft lips worked his own. If Uraume wanted to taste themselves on him, so be it. A dry hand engulfed their small jaw, forcing their mouth open to slip his tongue inside.

Uraume’s sweet, small tongue felt so soft pinned under his. He stroked it from the tip to where it disappeared into a hot throat. His hand followed the movement, slipping from jaw to neck, pads of his middle and ring fingers coming to rest overtop their racing pulse. He ghosted his fingers down to their collarbone, tracing the jutting bone, before slipping down the hard plane of their sternum.

“You’re so beautiful.” His large hand moved to hover over a small breast. “May I touch you here?”

Uraume nodded, and Sukuna pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of their mouth as rough skin met soft flesh. Their breast was so squishy, so delicate under his big hand—he massaged it now, squeezing and palming at it with a care that bordered reverent. He couldn’t help but watch—his hands were so big. So large that they obscured the breast completely. Heat coiled in his gut, an ugly possession that he tamped down.

Uraume was like a doll in his grasp, something so beautiful and fragile, now pinned under hands that were forged to destroy. They gasped as big fingers found a rosy nipple, pinching and rolling it experimentally. Sukuna flicked his gaze between the movement and their flushed face, pressing a kiss to their heated cheek. His second set of hands held them steady around the waist, so large as to almost span the entirety of the circumference.

He kissed his way down their neck and chest, all the way to their other nipple. He pressed a kiss to the poor neglected thing, tongue slipping out to lave over the bud. His fingers worked its twin a little rougher now, pinching and squeezing the tender flesh of their breast in his big hand.

His lover shuddered beneath him, and he tugged both nipples at the same time—one with his fingers and the other with a harsh suck—and Uraume whimpered.

Sukuna was dizzy with hunger.

He was being so good to them—so patient.

Surely, he deserved a reward.

Hands were pulling at his hair—trying to yank him away from sensitive nipples as he popped most of their breast into his mouth, sucking at delicate skin with a pleased hum.

“Sukuna—”

He shifted his mouth to the other breast, switching to roll the now-moistened bud between calloused fingertips.

“Yes?”

Their flesh was so sweet. So soft, so perfect. He worried the dainty nipple in his mouth with gentle scrapes of sharp canines, and didn’t miss the way Uraume’s heart raced beneath his touch.

“Stop teasing...”

Their thighs were shifting, squeezing and rubbing together to apply pressure of any sort on their little clit. Sukuna couldn’t help but laugh at the pathetic gesture.

“Open your legs. Let me see that precious hole.”

Uraume flushed but complied, bringing their knees up and out. Sukuna hummed his approval, one of the hands around their waist slipping down to caress their soddened folds. Deft fingers slid from their perked clit to their soaked hole, circling their entrance slowly.

He pulled off their breast with an obscene pop, moving to press a chaste kiss to their bitten lips.

“Be good and keep those legs open.”

Uraume nodded as he worked their lips with his, slow and sensual. His thick middle finger applied pressure to their fluttering hole, breaching their entrance slowly. They sucked in a breath, and he hushed them with another press of his lips, slowing his finger to let them adjust.

They were so fucking tight.

“Focus on my lips. Relax your body.”

One knuckle in and they were clenching around the intrusion, inexperienced muscles trying to reject the finger pushing its way inside. Slowly, he pressed in further.

A metallic tang tainted his mouth. Four eyes flew open as sharp teeth dug into his lip, Uraume bearing down as his finger bottomed out. He sucked in a breath through sharp teeth, extracting his lip to lick his wound with a chuckle.

“Took my finger well.”

Uraume was looking up at him with blown pupils, lips bloodied and parted, and it took everything in him to not throw their legs over his shoulders and take them right then.

His two hands on their breasts settled for smoothing the skin with gentle thumbs. The finger inside them curled up a little, caressing their soft walls slowly until Uraume melted into the bed. He pulled his middle finger almost entirely out of their now-pliant body before pressing back in. He kept it slow, let them adjust to the pressure of his moving finger, as he pressed more kisses to those bloodied lips.

“How’s it feeling?”

Uraume moaned into his mouth, and Sukuna was on fire.

The middle finger increased in pace, the pad of his thumb coming up to rub loose circles around their clit. As soon as they were sufficiently wet, he slipped another finger inside. Nails scratched at his scalp, Uraume’s slender fingers tangled in his hair for support.

He repeated the process until Uraume was clenching around four fat fingers, drool gathering at the corner of their mouth and eyes glassy.

“Trying to swallow my hand whole, huh?”

Sukuna wasn’t much better off himself. Both cocks were angrily red now, slobbering against Uraume’s slender thigh.

“Sukuna, please—”

They were spreading their legs, so wet around his fingers. He couldn’t bear it any longer. He pulled his fingers out, strings of Uraume’s syrupy release connecting each digit. He rubbed it over his lower cock, hissing at the touch.

“Shh… I know. I know.”

He was lining himself up, soaked cockhead running up and down their slit slowly. Each drag against their clit had them whimpering, each nudge against their hole had them gasping—Uraume was a symphony of pleasure on the precipice, and Sukuna couldn’t help but tease them a little longer than he should have.

Uraume was rocking back into him impatiently, pulling him close by the hair. The audacity. Sukuna couldn’t help but grin, stilling where he was bumping against their hole.

“Sukuna—”

“Uraume.”

Burgundy pierced into him, kiss-bitten lips pressed into a defiant line despite the drool glistening at the corners.

“Do it properly.”

Sukuna barked out a laugh.

What a fascinating little human.

“Properly?” He gathered them into his arms, leaning down to press a kiss to their temple. “I’d break you, little one. Split you right in two.”

Uraume whined, pressing back into him encouragingly. Sukuna stilled the movement with a big hand on their hip.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Then show me.”

He pulled back, sitting up to look at them properly. The way they were looking at him was so honest. Their pupils were blown, pale skin now flushed and sweat-sheened all over. It was so raw. So delicious.

“You’re going to regret this.” A big hand—one that rested on their breast—brushed sweaty bangs back from where they were stuck to their forehead.

“I hope so.”

The way they grinned at him had his heart stuttering—they were so full of fire for someone made of ice.

“Once I start, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.” He mumbled, caressing their cheek with a thick thumb.

“I’m counting on that.”

Sukuna could never deny them.

He took a deep breath, then pressed in. The squeeze was almost impossible—it gripped him, sucked him inside in a way that had his head lolling back and his eyes pressing shut.

Fuckfuckfuck—

Someone was moaning continuously, and in his sex-addled brain, he wasn’t sure which one of them it was. He wanted to stop—wanted to let them adjust to the impossible girth—but he couldn’t slow his hips. He pressed and pressed and pressed, all four hands gripping at their waist and hips to pull them into him.

When cockhead met cervix, Sukuna whimpered.

Deep in this pussy was the closest to heaven he had ever been.

The neglected cock on Uraume’s abdomen was weeping, precum filling the dip of their navel.

“Move, Sukuna.”

Sukuna did not take orders. He cut tongues loose from bodies for even making suggestions—he commanded, not complied.

But fuck was he seeing stars.

His hips stuttered deep within them, bumping against their womb with each little thrust. He wanted to enter it. Wanted to feel it wrapped around him. Wanted to paint it white.

Hands were pulling him down by the hair, and his big arms slid to hug them as he pressed his large chest to theirs. He was thrusting so shallowly, the squeeze too tight to move like he so desperately needed to.

He whined into pale hair, and those hands were working his scalp so deliciously. His hips wrenched back and pressed in deep, and the drag had tears welling up in his eyes. Everything was a blur—his whole body was alight, skin prickling and hairs standing on end.

Soft lips met his neck, then his shoulder, and he was squeezing his eyes closed so tight that he was seeing colours behind closed eyelids. His hips moved faster, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, copious amounts of precum slicking the way. Uraume muffled moans into his shoulder, and it only served to make him ache.

He was drilling into Uraume now, grunting into the top of their head animalistically. The cock sandwiched between them slipped deliciously against Uraume’s slicked tummy, twitching to match the one lodged deep inside them. Their walls were so wet and warm—sopping with their impending climax. His abs tensed and untensed rhythmically, dancing on the edge between pain and pleasure as he forced down his release.

Pink lips unlocked from his skin, and Uraume was throwing their head back into the pillows. Sukuna chased their warmth with his mouth, pressing kisses to their pulse. His canines ached to sink into something—mark and mar that pale perfect skin, paint it in his crimson. He thrust a little rougher, slowing down to pound and stretch them properly.

“Sukuna—”

It was so beautifully broken, more of a gasp than a word.

He hummed against their neck, brows knit in concentration.

I know.

I know.

I know.

Ankles were wrapping around his waist, and two big hands flew to support trembling thighs.

Sukuna grunted in their ear, and they were soaked. The tight hole clenched down around him, spasming as slick gushed out around the thick shaft. He pistoned into them, moaning with each rhythmic contraction onto his cock.

It was so wet.

So good.

So good.

So good, so good, so good—

Sukuna Ryomen prided himself on his sharp wit and battle-hardened mind; his decisions were quick and never wrong, always alert and on-guard. He was a bloodied blade, ever-sharp, always swinging at the strongest. Nothing caught him by surprise, no one got the best of him.

Uraume’s release snuck up on him.

It knocked the wind out of his lungs.

They were cumming so hard—shaky thighs squeezing around his waist, release dampening the sheets below them as they squirted all over his cock. He was being sucked in so deep. As tip kissed womb, sticky and sloppy, all he could do was melt. His balls squeezed, pleasure shooting from the tips of his toes and the top of his head down to the tip of his too-stiff cocks.

And he was cumming.

His climax tore through him like a heart attack, and he tensed—rope after rope of his seed shot out of him, gushing onto the entrance to their womb. Rhythmic clenches of Uraume’s release coaxed more and more cum out of him, milking his full balls. The divot of his glans dug further into swollen cervix with each shaky jolt of his hips, and his mouth was falling open against their shoulder.

Uraume was moving against him, almost riding him through his high, and Sukuna had never felt so useless. A small hand was weaseling its way between their bodies, rubbing and tugging at the neglected erection on Uraume’s stomach.

He was cumming so hard that he couldn’t see—eyelids open or shut, his vision blurred, all his senses homed in on the pleasure ravaging his cocks. All he could do was lay there and take it, cum shooting all over their chest and spitting into their womb.

Gentle kisses woke him from his stupor, pressed to his jaw and cheek.

Sukuna blinked back prickly tears, eyes stinging from the intensity of his release. Cum was still dripping out of him, drooling uncontrollably.

“Can’t stop—”

Faraway and ruined, he couldn’t recognize his own voice.

Uraume laughed, something musical and light, and soft fingertips were dancing down his back. A shiver ran down his spine, and his cocks twitched, dripping out the last of his release pathetically.

“It’s okay.”

Uraume hugged him close. His too-sensitive cock was trapped under his flinching abdomen, but he hugged them back, gathering them into his heaving chest. Their scent, their pulse under the tip of his nose, was intoxicating. Though the cock between their bellies softened, the one nestled inside Uraume was hard as ever.

“Again.”

Uraume tensed in his arms before barking out a laugh incredulously.

“Sukuna—”

“I told you.”

He pulled back, taking in that flushed expression—so wrecked.

Just for him.

“Once I start, I can’t stop.”

***

Uraume had lost count of how many times they’d finished.

Sukuna Ryomen was many things, but he was not a liar.

They hadn’t stopped. Not even for a moment.

He had been inside them for hours now, learning their body intimately. He had been so pliant, at the beginning—so patient and warm, letting them get used to his love. But somewhere in the middle, something clicked. Some switch was flipped irreversibly inside him.

Sukuna Ryomen was a beast.

Sukuna caught his breath by stealing the air from their lungs. He stayed buried so deep inside them that they were an extension of one another. They were overflowing around his massive shaft, and coated in cooling cum from the neglected second cock on their stomach—marked inside and out.

It was too much.

If they came one more time, they weren’t going to be able to move anymore.

Muscles trembling, they flipped onto their swollen stomach. Their clit was throbbing between shaking thighs, their nipples painfully hard as they lifted themselves onto their elbows, shimmying away from Sukuna to hide in the pillows. The drag of his cock out of their abused hole had their eyes rolling back into their skull. They left a dark trail of cum and slick on the mattress, and they could feel Sukuna’s eyes on their splurting hole.

“Is my little dove trying to fly away?” He chased them up the mattress, nose tracing the column of their neck before nipping playfully at their shoulder. “How cute.”

Uraume whimpered, so full. How Sukuna was still hard, now throbbing against their ass, they had no idea. That fat cockhead was nudging them open again, despite their closed legs. Sukuna’s knees bracketed their thighs, and he was slipping inside. The squelch of their juices around his thick shaft was obscene.

Uraume would have felt embarrassed. If they could have. With each inch of Sukuna’s length, their mind got hazier, replaced by the impossible stretch.

“So fuckin’ tight for me.”

A big hand was palming at their ass, watching it jiggle under his touch. Uraume buried their face into the pillows to muffle a broken whine.

“Think you can take both now?”

Uraume’s eyes were rolling back into their skull at the thought, and Sukuna didn’t miss the way they were clenching around his length.

“Did you just cum a little? Oh, baby—”

The saccharine in his voice, the cooing concern, was so degrading. It shot right to their clit.

A second cockhead was nudging its way between the mounds of their ass, sparks shooting up their spine when it nudged against their already too-full entrance.

“Open up for me.”

That rasp left no room for argument, and Uraume was pressing back into him with a groan.

The tip breached their entrance, and it burned.

Sukuna was splitting them open, tearing them straight in half.

He was pressing impossibly deeper—not giving them even a second of respite between each mind-numbing inch—hissing through his teeth.

As soon as he bottomed out, their stomach prodded by two fat tips, he was moving. It was rough, fast, needy.

Sukuna Ryomen, the imaginary two-faced God, was nothing more than a dog in heat.

He humped them with little grunts, tonguing at the beads of sweat rolling down their neck from now-matted hair. Those full balls spanked their sensitive clit with each thrust, and the filthy noise had them impossibly wetter.

“You’re mine.” He growled against their shoulder, more felt than heard, sharp teeth grazing over the tender flesh there. “Mine, ‘raume.”

A large hand beneath their tummy slid down further. Pleasure shot to their clit as a thick finger worked it hard and fast, matching the chaotic pace of his thrusts. The air was being punched out of their lungs with each bruising knock to their cervix and spongy G-spot. Uraume couldn’t do anything but grip onto the pillows for dear life.

“Gonna mark you up so good.”

Precum heated their insides, flooding their deepest spots and soiling their abused cervix. Another big hand found their ass cheek, palming at it before pulling it aside to bare more of their overstretched hole. Just like that, he managed to press in a little deeper. Uraume didn’t have to turn around to know what Sukuna was watching it—watching himself enter.

Being pinned down and fucked—used like a toy—had Uraume’s eyes fluttering back. If Sukuna was making any sense, Uraume couldn’t register. Their mind was a litany of curses, an incoherent cacophony of cries, a paean of praise and prayer.

Everything was hot, everything was tingling, and they were so soaked in sweat and spit and slick that it felt like they were drowning.

Their release ripped through them. They were squirting on Sukuna’s cock before they could even moan his name. The wet slap of his balls against their leaking cunt was pornographic.

Sukuna groaned against their nape. Pain tore through the sensitive skin there, and Sukuna was biting them—bearing down on the tender flesh with big canines. Just like that, they were being filled. Sukuna was cumming harder than he had before, seated so deep inside that Uraume could feel his semen filling their womb. Uraume’s jaw fell open to scream but no sound came out—a whimper escaped from behind their uvula, like a wounded animal.

Sukuna’s twin cocks twitched and bucked wildly inside as he pumped them full. Cum flooded out of their overflooding hole, painting their ass and Sukuna’s pelvis a sticky, milky white.

Sukuna pulled out and flipped them over in one swift movement, final dribbles of cum painting their clit and belly. Red eyes bore into their flesh, taking in their post-climax debauched state. Uraume pressed their legs a little tighter together, bashfully.

Sukuna wasn’t having it. Thick fingers squeezed gently around their neck. Uraume’s eyes shot open, and Sukuna pulled back from the kiss to watch as their eyes fluttered at the headrush. Their lips parted, red and puffy from biting on them, and Sukuna looked ravenous.

“Spread those legs and open that mouth.”

Uraume, in no condition to protest as the hand clamped a little tighter, obeyed.

Sukuna spit onto their exposed tongue.

“Behave.”

Sukuna released their throat, free hand coming down to flick at their cum-coated clit. Uraume’s hips bucked with a whimper, their legs opening wider shakily. Sukuna hummed his approval, rewarding their obedience with a soothing thumb on their sensitive bud. He dipped into Uraume’s gushing hole, gathering up cum to slick the movement of his thumb against their clit. He watched the movement, transfixed, before leaning down to mouth at where Uraume’s ear met their jaw.

“So full of my seed...”

Uraume whimpered, writhing in his grasp at the teasing of their overstimulated body. Their neck was throbbing where Sukuna bit them earlier, and their skin was so impossibly hot that it felt like they were burning alive.

It was too much.

Once again, they attempted to wiggle away.

Once again, they failed.

Sukuna’s big hands were grabbing at their thighs, yanking them around like a doll. He lifted their legs onto his shoulders, pressing a kiss to each ankle with a wicked grin.

“I told you.We’re not stopping any time soon.”

***

Sukuna gazed down at his work of art.

The sun was low in the sky now, courtyard swathed in orange. The sky was a vibrant pink, a waking dream as day faded to night. Yet, Sukuna noticed none of it.

No. His eyes were elsewhere.

Uraume lay prone beneath him. Their small asscheeks were red and shiny with sweat, faint handprints on them from his rough handling. They were looking back at him, pupils blown and glassy, and he heated under their gaze. Puffy lips curved into a smile, and Sukuna couldn’t help but smile back, placing a steadying hand between their shoulders.

He wanted to keep them here, like this, forever.

They were so beautiful. Glowing.

Broken.

His little dove, with broken wings.

He felt so warm, so full, at the sight. The hole in his heart… it was them.

Seeing them here, under him, he finally felt fulfilled.

Complete.

His hand slid up to their nape, teasing the short pale hair there. His thumb brushed along the column of their neck, skimming the edge of his masterpiece.

That freckle.

Around that little mark, a ring of indents—two sets of large teeth framed the mole, red and spit-shined.

The mark itself? His favourite colour.

Burgundy.

[chenlesfavorite]

you will never be forgotten, my dearest. park jisung.

— summary : jisung is an artist who got kicked out by his family due to him not wanting to follow his family and become a doctor. it just wasn’t what he wanted. he wished to tell stories with his paintings, though that changed once he fell in love with you.

— pairing : artist!jisung x fem!reader

— genres : romance, angst

— extra : regency era, death, illness, marriage

— author’s note : one of my friends suggested this artist idea to me and i was like… “yes” (ty maggi) so! here we are! if there’s any mistakes, please lmk so i can fix them!!

— word count : 2.0k

reminder that this is pure fiction and not an actual depiction of how they act.

“Jisung, you shall never succeed if you continue as an artist. Do you not realize how bad this is? Our great family name of doctors will be ruined, because of you.” Jisung’s mother’s voice was faint as she spoke to her eldest son, her expression carried a worry.

“I’m very aware, mother. But this is the path I wish to choose. It is my passion, to tell many tales with my art.” Jisung replied as he stood in the hall, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he looked at his parents, knowing this would be the last time he would ever see them.

“Very well, Jisung. From now on, you are no longer part of this family. Survive out there in the best way you know how to.” Jisung’s father spoke harsh words, ones without any sorrow in them. No sorrow that he was losing his eldest son. The son he was always proud of growing up, sharing with everyone that he will one day, become a great doctor.

Though, that wasn’t what ended up happening. Jisung fell in love with art, and art is what he desired to do, he would do it until he couldn’t no more, until the end of time. Art was the most beautiful thing to him.

A beauty nobody understood. A complex beauty that only he understood. He wished people could see art the way he saw it. The stories they told— the emotions they were expressing.

Nobody understood.

Until he met you.

One year has passed since he was disowned by his family. However, his passion for art never died, he was praised, admired by others. Even earning the respect of well-established artists whom he has long admired.

He was marking his presence in society, leaving behind a legacy of his artworks. His pieces were already beginning to inspire the younger generation, motivating them to achieve the same greatness as Jisung.

Due to his impact on society, he was invited to a ball, hosted by the L/N family. The L/N family carried a high name, one that was highly respected, people lowered their heads even at the most distant sight of the family. Nobody would dare to turn down an invitation from them or even utter the words no.

Jisung was hesitant to accept the invitation, but alas, he eventually found himself standing at the entrance of the L/N family estate, a grand manor that oozed of an important presence.

As he stepped inside— he was greeted by the grand chandelier above which was casting a soft, golden glow over the room, his footsteps echoed on the smooth marble floor. The air carried a hint of a jasmine smell.

“Welcome to the L/N manor.” A woman’s voice was heard— Jisung stopped his glancing of the entrance and looked to where the source of the voice came from and once his eyes found the voice, he was starstruck.

The only daughter of the L/N family— Y/N.

He was deeply captivated by your beauty. The way you shone in the light and carried yourself with grace charmed him. He felt truly enchanted. From that initial meeting, he knew you as his muse.

Upon the arrival of all the guests, the ball commenced. You were quite a popular pick for dances throughout the evening— you finished one dance with a potential suitor only to return to the ballroom floor with another partner almost instantly.

Jisung, being the wallflower that he is, took notice of your every move. His eyes were unable to stop following you, to him, you were the piece that he was missing. That his art was missing.

The way every step you took was with the utmost elegance, your polite demeanor adding to your grace. Why, Jisung was absolutely mesmerized by you. You were the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. You reminded him of flowers, blooming in the spring. Like beautiful forget-me-nots or azaleas.

As the violinists slowed down their playing and the music began to fade, Jisung knew what to do next. He approached you and extended his hand, asking, "May I have this dance, Lady L/N?"

“Yes, you may.”

Though, you aren’t exactly sure how you and Jisung ended up in the gardens of your manor right after the dance. Perhaps it was the way he led you throughout the dance, his elegant moves, and the way his hand held onto yours. Your hands fit perfectly together as if they were carefully sculpted for the other.

It wasn’t exactly ladylike to lay on the grass while in a ballgown but you’re alone with Jisung, who had no intention of judging you or calling you out for it, as he does not mind it anyway.

You didn’t understand why you felt so connected to him despite you meeting only today. Only hours ago. But he felt so familiar like you’ve known him for years. Perhaps this was the work of fate? Was this a fated meeting? You didn't know but you sure hoped it was because you weren’t able to get him out of your mind.

“You look quite out of it, do you have something on your mind?” Jisung spoke in a soft tone, turning his attention from the stars above to you, letting his gaze fall onto you. “Guess you could say that. You... don’t feel like a stranger to me at all, Jisung, it feels as if I’ve known you for years. Does that make sense?” You replied, turning your head to face him.

Jisung chuckled, placing his hand on your cheek. “Mhm, ‘course it does. I feel the same, Lady L/N.” You giggled, a twinge of blush creeping up on your face. “Please, just call me Y/N.”

“As you wish, Y/N.” He whispered, taking back his hand that was resting on your cheek. The two of you return your attention to the stars above you. You sat up once you noticed a specific alignment of stars— you pointed to that constellation. “Look, Ji! It’s the Lyra constellation. The constellation that tells the story of Orpheus and Eurydice!” You exclaimed, your lips forming into a smile.

As Jisung gazed up at the night sky, he noticed the constellation glimmering above. But, his attention quickly shifted to the bright smile on your face. Your smile had a magical quality that seemed to make his heart skip a beat. “Orpheus and Eurydice? What’s their story, I’m intrigued.” Jisung asked, sitting up.

“Orpheus was the son of the muse Calliope and the god Apollo, he was very skilled in playing the Lyre, he could enchant any wild beasts and even the rocks would soften to the melodies he played. But once his wife, Eurydice died, he was overwhelmed by grief. A grief so strong that he went on a journey to the Underworld, convincing Hades and Persephone to allow Eurydice to return to the world of the living. But they set a challenge for him, Orpheus must not look back at Eurydice until they have both reached the world above. As you can guess, Orpheus surrenders to doubt and casts a backward glance, losing Eurydice forever. It’s rather tragic.” You explained the full story to Jisung, who carefully listened to every single one of your words.

“Ouch, I can’t imagine what Orpheus went through because he lost the love of his life.” Jisung replied, his voice lowered.

From that meeting at the ball, you and Jisung continued to have regular promenades or you’d watch him paint new artworks. You loved it when he explained to you why he painted that or why he added that specific detail to the work. It wasn’t long before Jisung started to court you— he earned the approval of your father rather quickly.

And one day, he showed you an artwork that he worked on for a long time. It was a portrait, of you. You were stunned once he showed you it, your hands slapped to your mouth as you looked at it. He got every single detail of yours down, the art piece looked exactly like you. The work he put into it was astonishing. He captured your beauty perfectly.

“Ji, it’s... wow, I don’t even have the words to explain how beautiful it is.” You said, your eyes getting watery. “This is the most special thing anyone has ever done for me.” You couldn’t hold yourself back as you hugged him tightly and brought your lips up to his, exchanging a short but sweet kiss.

"I have one more gift for you, Y/N," Jisung said with a warm smile, causing you to slowly release the embrace. You were both confused and curious about what more he had planned, to you, that portrait was more than enough.

To your surprise— Jisung got down on one knee, took out a box, and held it up towards you, opening it to reveal a dazzling ring. “My dearest, I truly believe our meeting was fate, that the stars aligned us and we were made for each other. You have made me enjoy my life more than ever, so now I ask of you, will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”

That’s when the tears started to roll down your cheeks, but they weren’t tears of sadness, they were tears of happiness. “Yes! A thousand times yes, Jisung!” He got up from the ground and gently took your hand, sliding the ring on your finger.

"I love you, so, so much," Jisung whispered as he gently cupped your cheeks, drawing you closer to him. His lips met yours, and the kiss was filled with nothing more than the pure love the two of you share for one another, your hearts bound together.

But, the wedding never happened.

Just two weeks after you got engaged to Jisung, you caught an illness. Your fate was sealed. Death was at your doorstep.

You were bedridden, unable to do anything. You couldn’t get up and you could barely speak, half of the time you weren’t even conscious but you were asleep. Jisung was by your side the entire time, praying to whatever deity he could to heal his soon-to-be wife.

He knew you could barely speak so he didn’t wish to hurt your voice by making you talk to him, instead, he wrote letters to you. Each one of them described what he did today or how the day was, even asking you questions in the letters— if you’re feeling better, what you dreamed about, etc.

However, one letter specifically made your heart burn. It read,

“Y/N, my dearest. How are you feeling? The doctor said your body is slowly recovering and perhaps there’s hope that you’ll be well again. Hearing those words come from the doctor made me so unbelievably happy, I can’t wait to stargaze with you again, water the flowers with you, and do all the stuff that you like that you haven’t been able to do because of your illness. I sincerely hope you recover before our wedding that’s in just a week! I can’t wait to see you in a beautiful white gown, walking down the aisle, looking stunning. I will never forget that day, believe me. I’m going to cherish every second I have with you. Just imagining that day makes me so excited. Well, I won’t bore you any longer, rest well, my dearest.”

And rest well, you indeed did.

“It’s done.” Jisung says, as he brushes the final stroke of the painting. A sad smile on his face as he admires it. “You’re still painting her?” His friend, Jeno, speaks up, standing behind Jisung with his arms crossed.

“Shouldn’t you move on, Jisung? She’s with the angels up in heaven now, not here anymore.” Jeno carries on, placing a hand on Jisung’s shoulder as he stares at the painting of you. It’s been years since you died, but Jisung’s love for you did not die.

He still captured every single detail of you in his paintings, each one of the paintings including a small hint of a thing you liked. In this painting, he painted you in a beautiful white wedding gown, walking down the aisle with your favorite flowers in your hand— and with your smile that made him fall in love so deeply with you. That bright smile you always carried.

“As long as I’m alive, she’ll never be gone.”

After all, when an artist falls in love with you, you never die.

[egglain]

Dove, Darker Than Blood

Rating: E (18+) - mdni Pairing: Sukuna x Uraume Content: pre-canon (heian era), sukume origin story, true form sukuna, nonbinary uraume, vaginal sex (oral, penetrative), creampies, double penetration in one hole (vaginal), very mild choking, marking (biting, cum, spit), multiple orgasms, marathon sex, soft sex turned rough, overstim, body worship, first times, loss of virginity (uraume), soft & possessive sukuna Word Count: 10.4k

Summary: “Do you wish to be bed?” Uraume couldn’t keep eye contact, face burning under the warmth of Sukuna’s attention. “Look at me.” The roughness, the command of his tone made it impossible not to obey. He had never used that voice with them before—no, he was a different man with Uraume. They always knew that, deep down. But being under the weight of that authority—being at the mercy of the King of Curses was… exhilarating. “Would you let me take your virginity, Uraume?” Fuck.

A murder. A meeting. A question. An answer. A Heian era origin fic.

Red.

What a beautiful colour it was, all over the wooden floor.

Long brown tresses spilled from between veiny fingers, Sukuna’s large hand dwarfing the head they were attached to. The head, however, was no longer attached to anything. Vibrant vermillion drained from once-flushed cheeks, staining the kitchen floor ever-darker. Warmth pooled between black-nailed toes, blood from his ex-chef painting a pretty picture of an ugly end.

“You there.” Sukuna gestured with the severed head at a trembling maid. “Can you cook, woman?”

The woman hung her head low, measly tears spilling onto her now-crimson apron. “No, my Lord.”

“Tch. Useless.” The king’s grimace turned to another, who shook her pallid face immediately. Sukuna dropped the cook’s head, kicking it away with a grunt. “Absolutely fucking useless. Every one of you.”

The servants knew better than to respond. Knew better than to breathe. The room was still enough to hear a heart beating—and several were, rapidly. Sukuna turned on his heel, the squelch of blood underfoot enough to make the head maid gag.

“Find me a chef… and clean up this mess,” Sukuna announced to no one in particular.

As the king stormed off, red spilled into the hisashi.

***

Sukuna’s head rest heavy on a large fist, tattooed limbs sprawled out on the dais.

“Next.”

It had been a long morning of meagre meals. Bumbling cooks spilled bland boiled food in the entryway, one of his taste testers dropped dead, and three separate chefs had refused to cook meat (claiming it was “impure”). Sukuna had never felt less appetized.

He was just about ready to call the whole thing off—make a point of picking the meat off the bones of these cowardly cooks instead—as the last candidate stepped forth. A little thing, just a bit over half his size if he had to guess (not that his tallest servant reached any higher than his sternum). The chef fell to their knees to bow deeply at the foot of the dais, pale bangs sweeping the wooden floor.

Sukuna gestured his taster forward with two curled fingers. A mousy man ushered forth a large bowl, golden liquid sloshing as he carried it to the king.

“What is this?”

The taster placed the bowl on the stout lacquered table before Sukuna, bowing. “Sou—”

“Not you, fool.” He waved the man away, sitting up a little more to peer inside the bowl. “Chef. Speak.”

The white-haired cook spoke without raising their head, and yet their voice was clear. Calm. “Braised boar in a bone broth, my Lord. With local vegetables.”

Sukuna hummed, lifting the bowl to sip straight from the brim. Warmth spread from the tip of his tongue straight down to his stomach—it was good. Better than good, even. It reminded him of home—rather, what he imagined home would taste like. It was rich but simple. Well-made.

If this commoner can piece a dish like this together on their own, what could they make with the world at their fingertips?

Sukuna picked out a piece of meat with fat fingers, the flesh falling off the bone. He popped it into his mouth, reveling in the savory flavour as it melted onto his tongue. He bit back a satisfied groan, clearing his throat to mask his pleasure.

He set down the bowl, licking the pad of his thumb greedily. “Raise your head.”

The cook obeyed, hands folding politely on the lap of their white kimono. Pale lashes and short white hair framed a delicate face. Big burgundy eyes met his, and something in his gut stirred.

Interesting.

“State your name.”

“Uraume, my Lord.”

“Uraume, huh?” He let the name roll on his tongue, committing it to memory as he took them in. He turned to the maid holding his sake to the right of his dais. “Show Uraume around, woman. They start in the morning.”

As the woman rushed to usher his new chef to the kitchen, the king turned his intense gaze to the rest of the room.

“Everyone who wishes to keep their head, leave my sight.”

And so, the King of Curses enjoyed his soup alone.

***

Sukuna was right—not that he was ever wrong, per se—but the new little chef amused him more and more each day.

With access to a nearly endless supply of funds, every dish was something akin to a painting; each stroke was unique, elements curating a feeling—an experience. They put their brown-haired predecessor to shame. Sukuna had never been gladder someone was dead.

Three months had passed since their onboarding, and he had grown to like this Uraume. Aside from the good food, they had a strong spirit—not many of his servants could meet his eyes, let alone provide coherent answers to his questions. Needless to say, his days had been much more interesting as of late. He grew to look forward to his meals, even when he was full from the last one.

He had even started to opt out of having the maids deliver his food, requesting Uraume personally. It was better this way—they would explain the dish to him, taste it first, and then watch him eat. Not that he needed the company. But he’d grown to enjoy their silent presence. On occasion, he’d ask a question or two.

Which is how they had gotten here.

“A virgin?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

It had nothing to do with the dish—thinly chopped raw fish and vegetables pickled in rice vinegar—but Sukuna’s mouth was watering nonetheless.

“I was raised to become a monk, my Lord.”

“Is that what you wish to be? Why become a chef?”

“Being your chef is my honor, Lord Sukuna.”

“And the latter question?”

They looked down, hands squeezing together a little tighter where they were clasped in front of them. “There was an accident, my Lord.”

His brow quirked on instinct, and he hoped it didn’t betray his cold persona. It was unlike the King of Curses to show interest in anything other than himself.

“You are no longer pure?” He said it slowly, tasting the syllables. They left a complicated taste on his tongue—something bitter and rotten. Spoiled.

“No, sir. I…”

There was a long silence. Had it been anyone else, Sukuna would have grown bored—perhaps even beheaded the perpetrator. But with Uraume, it was exciting. He couldn’t help but lean in a little closer. Try to understand them a little more. It was like unraveling the wrapping on a gift, plucking jewels from an unseemly fabric satchel.

So he waited.

“I killed.”

Sukuna’s eyebrows furrowed.

Killing, to the King of Curses, was like breathing—he hardly thought twice about it. It was what he was made for, after all. He couldn’t help but laugh a little, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Uraume, bless their heart, jumped a little at the display.

“Troublesome for a monk indeed. How did that happen?”

“I was seeing spirits, my Lord.”

“Dead relatives?”

“No, my Lord. Curses.”

Interesting indeed.

“Cursed spirits? A little human like you?” He leaned forward, hands clasping over his bowl of namasu—he rested his chin on top. “A jujutsu sorcerer, then?”

“Jujutsu…?”

Something in his chest fluttered. His chef was like a baby bird—a dove so pure, so beautiful, so full of life.

He wanted to snap their wings.

“Come forth, Uraume.”

The chef came up on the dais, bowing deeply at his feet. Their pale bangs tickled the tips of his sensitive toes.

Sukuna hummed a pleased noise, reaching a large hand down to lift their small face with gentle fingers.

“Watch.”

He pulled his hand back a little, holding his index finger before their burgundy eyes.

“Open.”

At the command, light sparked above his fingertip. Thin tendrils of flame danced from the tip of his index down to the base, then weaved between his digits, lapping at the webs between his fingers. Golden light danced across Uraume’s soft features, their eyes trained on the movement with reverent fascination.

“The practice of siphoning the energy within you—the cursed energy—into something tangible. Honing it into a technique, as a sculptor uses a chisel to bring stone to life. That is jujutsu sorcery.”

He reached another hand down, pulling Uraume’s palm flat out. The dancing flame in his right hand took the shape of an arrow, and he set it forth into Uraume’s hand. Uraume’s eyes widened as the arrow danced along their palm and around their wrist, tracing the delicate bones of their hand. Sukuna chuckled a little, puffing up with pride at eliciting such a raw reaction out of his little cook.

“Most people who can see cursed spirits are cursed themselves; cursed with this power, or a curse themselves.”

“Which are you, my Lord?” The question was barely a whisper, large pupils still trained on the dancing flame.

“Both. Neither.” He chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve transcended the concept of these binaries. I’m beyond any sorcerer or curse of this age.”

“Teach me.” Those burgundy eyes were back on his. Bright. Unyielding. “Please, Lord Sukuna.”

If you were to ask Ryomen Sukuna, he would answer that he would never stoop as low as to become a teacher. There were professional tutors for that, surely. Arrogant weak sorcerers looking to make a living. Looking to make a name for themselves.

Sukuna Ryomen was a king. A God. He didn’t teach. He took. Plundered, maimed, massacred. He didn’t need a living—he had everything he could ever want, and he stole what he didn’t. And he sure didn’t need a legacy—he would never be forgotten.

“We start tomorrow.”

***

Uraume was strong.

Their powers, complementary to his flames, were that of ice. Each day, just after lunch, he met them in the courtyard and guided them through the exercises he used to explore his power in his younger days. He saw himself in them—potential. Something raw, waiting to be discovered. Something twisted, lurking just under the surface, raring to be unleashed.

Watching them discover themselves filled him with pride… and something else. Something dark that lapped at his insides—something he had yet to understand.

With another three months—now half a year since he hired them—Uraume had become more than a chef. He took his meals with Uraume, had them take on more responsibilities, and fired half his incompetent staff.

He liked it better, like this. They knew how he liked his baths (scalding and paired with the smell of incense). They knew what he liked to eat (meat, preferably human). They knew how to clean the blood out of his sokutai so it remained pristine. They combed his hair gentler than his handmaid did. They shared the weekly news over Friday breakfast.

He could get used to this.

And alongside the exceptional service, Uraume could fight beside him. Hold their own not only on the battlefield but in all aspects of life. They had big ideas—suggestions, improvements—not only as they pertained to him, but for all of Japan. Sukuna had never had a figure like this in his life; a mirror, someone he’d let critique him, make him better. He would have never allowed that. But somehow, Uraume had found their way under his skin… and he had no complaints.

Yet, there was always something there.

Something missing, buzzing like a fruit fly next to his ear. Barely there, but increasingly difficult to ignore.

He had grown… unsatisfied, somewhere along the way, in some realm he couldn’t identify.

He had everything his mind wanted—he had no qualms with his daily routine, no annoyances that weren’t swiftly sorted out by Uraume or a slash of his hand.

So why?

What was this restless feeling?

The palace was quieter nowadays. Without the “baggage” staff (the nitwits he had released from their duties), all that remained were the housekeepers, the gardeners, a handful of maids, and his concubines. He never cared much for the latter two, but they did the menial tasks he was too busy to think about—mend clothes, pour sake, get him off. Save for the last task, Uraume now had these jobs handled, rendering the few staff he kept useless. Now thinking back on it, he hadn’t called upon any of his concubines in almost four months.

Sex was like fighting, for him. A thrill, a power struggle, an outlet. It kept him level-headed; gave him a way to deal with his emotions that didn’t involve bloodshed… usually.

He hadn’t needed it in a long time. He got his thrill from the company he kept, from watching flame engulf ice in the courtyard. He didn’t need an outlet either—everything was so easy now. Uraume ensured it.

So why?

Reading in his chamber, he rolled the idea around in his head.

He had read the same line thrice now, and none of the words were sticking. His mind was hazy, cotton-filled, a sieve rather than a sponge.

He didn’t like feeling like this. On-edge. Wrong.

So, he did what he always did when displeased.

Slaughter.

He took a midnight trip outside of the boundaries of his territory. Normally, he’d come by daylight with his bow—train his eyesight, hone his aim, polish his strategy and patience. But not tonight. Tonight, he needed to feel alive.

Inside the bounds of his territory, all was still. Sukuna Ryomen was written in the rigid trunks of the trees, in the roots, in the soil. Anyone stupid enough to set foot in an unwelcome manner was promptly disposed of—cleaved so thoroughly that no power, jujutsu or otherwise, could piece them back together. These lands were an extension of himself. This was his domain. His turf.

The world outside his carefully curated home was chaos. In the golden age of magic, culture, and creativity, cursed energy reached an all-time high. Cursed spirits and jujutsu sorcerers fed off the changing times like parasites, growing in tandem from the shadows of society.

This, of course, caused a problem for the poor; cursed spirits massacred lowly fishing and farming villages, and jujutsu sorcerers were far too busy protecting the imperial core to deal with the hundreds of incidents occurring in the far corners of the nation.

Sukuna didn’t care much for politics, though he was not uninvolved—his hands were dirtied with the blood of countless clan heads and generals. The people had come to fear and revere him, and it was oddly… fulfilling. Humans mounted shrines, left out offerings of food, art, and weaponry in hopes of warding off his fabled wrath. These humans served as a source—a wellspring of labor, food, clothing, entertainment, and cursed energy. He fed off them (sometimes quite literally).

Though he was in no way a guardian, he had come to a sort of symbiosis with the villages bordering his territory. Over time, they had become an extension of his home. The aura shrouding their houses—his aura—warded most curses away. The weak ones, at least. However, the humans were left to fend for themselves against the stronger ones—those who hungered for power, to assert their claim over someone else’s possessions, like petulant children. In exchange for their piety, he lent a hand, when he felt like it. Had a little fun with the curses encroaching on their lands. By now, most knew to get themselves indoors upon his arrival, for when he let go, there was no difference between human and cursed blood on his hands.

This is where he found himself now, the woods just outside the border of a little farming village.

The smell of fear, the hushed prayers of the women and children, the low murmur of curses in the trees—it was intoxicating.

He let himself go, in a way he hadn’t in ages.

Throats ripped from bodies, bloodstained teeth prying open flesh. Screams mounted somewhere in the distance—human or curse, he couldn’t tell. Adrenaline pumped through raised veins, pulsing with each deafening pop of a spinal cord severing. Skulls imploded in his big hands, sticky innards spilling like juice from a too-ripe fruit between his fingers.

This is what made Sukuna Ryomen whole.

He returned early in the morning, bloodied and buzzing.

In his arms, the spoils of his adventure—gifts from the little humans, slightly soddened from the syrupy blood dripping from his chin.

And yet, the itch he sought to scratch…

“Lord Sukuna?”

Sukuna didn’t bother to wipe his soiled feet as he walked in from the courtyard. At the sound of that familiar tone, he looked up.

Uraume was looking at him, something unreadable in their eyes. Their hair stuck out a little—almost as if they had been sleeping when he returned. Sukuna Ryomen didn’t sleep, but if he did, he imagined he would be doing it now.

“Uraume.”

“Shall I draw a bath, my Lord?”

Sukuna looked down at himself. He was dripping muddy, filthy blood on his clean wooden floors. Two months ago, he wouldn’t have minded—in fact, blood was once a beautiful sight—but now…

“Yes… but don’t wake the others.” He wasn’t sure why he said it. Maybe he wanted Uraume to be the one to do it. Perhaps he always did.

“Of course.”

They plucked the offerings from his arms, bowing politely before taking their leave. He expected they’d be polished and put away for his later amusement. Against the wall, Sukuna took a few moments to steel himself before making his way to the baths.

Something was still wrong. It roiled in his gut like a spoiled meal, hummed in the back of his mind like a migraine that refused to manifest.

Why was he on-edge like this?

Why was he off?

Usually, killing did the trick, but whatever void there was inside him hadn’t been satisfied. In fact, attempting to cure his problem just made it worse when it didn’t work.

Fuck.

In the bathhouse, Uraume greeted him, steam and smoke filling the room. He let them strip him down, taking in their focused eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, knuckles straining against tan skin. He had never paid much mind when the other maids did this, but something about their slender fingers brushing against him—even through the thick fabric—affected him. It wasn’t unpleasant.

“Uraume.”

“Yes, my Lord?” They made quick work of folding his bloodied clothes and setting them aside. By supper, they would be brand new again.

He called upon them, but he wasn’t sure what he needed. Uraume was always so good at giving him what he needed, so long as he had the words to ask for it—but this was different.

“I’m uncomfortable.”

Uraume’s eyes widened and they backed off immediately, turning around to give him privacy in his nude state.

“No—not with you.” He placed a gentle hand on their shoulder, turning them around again. His brows were scrunched somewhere between pain and annoyance, but it wasn’t pointed at them. It was an unfocused irritation. And that only served to make it more irritating. Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose, worrying the skin there. “I just… there’s something not right. I’m missing something, and I don’t know what it is. I want to have it. No. I need to have it.”

Uraume ushered him into the water with a pensive hum, hand guiding him by the small of his back. Had it been anyone else, he would have cut it off… but instead, warmth spread through his spine down to the soles of his feet.

For a moment, it brought him out of his head, and back to the present.

Touch.

Right then, it was all he could focus on. It quelled the vibration in his ribs, the restless tension in his ligaments. It was a salve.

“Uraume.” He took a seat at the far end of the bath, four arms sprawling out onto the tile behind him. “Clean me quickly. Then wake the concubine—the short one with the curves and the mole. I want her in my chambers.”

Uraume looked at him, that strange look once again dancing in those big burgundy eyes.

“Yes, my Lord.”

Uraume made quick work of cleaning him, scrubbing him down with practiced ease. On special occasions, he’d receive a full body massage—the chef had a way with their hands that had the tension in his four shoulders melting away—but not this morning. Something in him stung a little, at that. But it was no matter; he’d get his physical attention elsewhere.

As soon as his hair was wrung out, the last of the entrails combed out, he was being plucked from the water. Uraume dried him gingerly and wrapped him up in his yukata.

“Can you comb your hair, my Lord? I’ll go wake your concubine.”

The displeasure mounted. Yet, he grunted an affirmation. Uraume gave him a last look-over, that faraway look in their eyes once again, before hurrying off.

Sukuna took his time “brushing” his slicked hair (shaking it this way and that, and then fixing it with his fingers) before making his way to his chamber. The morning was cresting, birds beginning to sing their song as sunlight bathed the courtyard and gardens in gold. The pond in the centre of the palace grounds glimmered, bouncing light in a way that grated at his nerves—it was too beautiful out to feel misery, and that only made him feel worse.

Opening the shoji screen to his room, he was greeted by his little concubine, waiting bowed on the floor obediently. He crossed the threshold and shut the door, not bothering to spare her a glance as he strode towards the large bed.

“Come, woman.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, beckoning her with two fingers to the spot between his parted legs. Without a word, she scurried over, kneeling between his knees. Well-manicured hands reached to untie his yukata.

A large hand slapped away two smaller ones.

The concubine—large eyes filled with hurt—did not look up to meet his eyes.

“My apologies, Lord Sukuna… I thought—”

“You thought wrong.” He looked down at her, running a large hand through long black strands of hair. She was quite beautiful. Plump, glowing—perfect to bear a strong heir. “Begin at my feet.”

He played this game sometimes.

Degraded those he slept with. Reminded them of their place beneath him, of their dispensability. On occasion, he’d reward them—let them cling to him as he kissed away tears, cock gliding home deep inside. Other times, he’d push them to the edge—face pressed to the pillows or neck in the crook of his elbow as he used them until he was satisfied.

He wasn’t sure what mood he was in now.

He slid his foot towards her, black-painted toenails wiggling impatiently. The concubine dropped her head, kissing a stripe from his second toe to the junction between his foot and shin. Sukuna watched as she groveled by his feet, playing with her hair. She kissed at the sharp bones of his ankle, then at the arch of his foot. She lifted it gingerly, kissing the ball of his sole and his heel, and he couldn’t help but imagine how her head would feel under it. The noise of her skull as he bore down on it.

He let her take each of his toes into her mouth—he didn’t care for it much, but he allowed it. She seemed determined to please him, and he appreciated that. She kissed up his shin and massaged his calf, and that felt quite nice. Yet, it paled in comparison to Uraume’s massages.

No, Uraume would have him falling back into the bed. Soft fingertips would pry tender flesh from tired bones, apply pressure in a way that had his muscles jumping. They would work their way up his quads with both hands. Dig their thumb into the supple flesh of his inner thigh. Work the adductor until he was melting, up, up, up, so dangerously close to—

Fuck

A whimper brought him back to the present— beneath him, his concubine was grimacing, black locks tangled tight in a white-knuckled fist. He dropped the hair like it was hot, rubbing her scalp as if to soothe the burn. Sukuna sighed at the teary look in her eye, another hand coming down to wipe her damp lashes dry.

“You did well.”

The concubine sniffled, and he sighed at the sound. He was hard, but the longer he looked at her dejected face, the more likely he was to lose his boner.

“Strip.”

The woman did as she was told, kimono pooling around her wide hips. Once again, he was reminded of her beauty. Supple breasts perked with the chilled morning air, nipples pebbling. A soft tummy, spilling over pillowy thighs, painted a delicious portrait. His eyes fixated on the mole just below her navel—the one he marked each time she was in his bed—and his mind couldn’t help but wander to a different one.

That one was beautiful. It was a light brown thing—small and freckle-like—jutting out against pale skin and short white hair on a soft nape. The curve of that neck was tantalizing; so pure and unmarked, save for that one little freckle. He wanted to sink his teeth into it. He wanted to suck on it, to paint that pale neck in his favourite colour.

“Lord Sukuna?”

The woman below him was offering up her breasts with sultry eyes. Four months ago, she would have been weeping into his pillows already, stuffed full and satisfied. Now, all he felt was indifference.

“Leave my sight.”

“Lord Sukuna, let me—”

“Call Uraume for me on your way out.” He stood, walking to the window. “I need to speak with them.”

He couldn’t help but feel a little lighter as footsteps receded and the shoji slid open.

But what the fuck was wrong with him?

He slammed his hands down on the windowsill. He wanted to feast. Wanted to fuck. Wanted to feel free from whatever this curse was that was weighing on him. The thrumming in his veins, the itch in his bones that had been following him for what felt like an eternity now, he wanted it gone.

He had it all planned out—a slender throat under his fingers, a tight cunt fluttering around him. Pussies on fingers, fingers in mouths, mouths on skin. Flesh in teeth. Supple skin between his incisors, that fucking freckle bruis—

“You called, my Lord?”

Uraume.

“Come in… and shut the door.”

He listened to their graceful movements—much softer than the concubine’s—and couldn’t help but grip the windowsill a little tighter.

Uraume.

It was always Uraume.

***

Uraume had never been summoned by a concubine before—let alone seen one, really, before today. Sukuna rarely seemed interested in matters of romance these days. He had little connection to others, sexual or otherwise, aside from them. Not that Uraume minded at all.

The man was standing by the window, back turned to them, yukata just as pristine as when they left him in the bath. The way his body was curved—like a bow drawn too tight—betrayed the evenness of his tone.

What did that concubine do?

They took a few tentative steps forward, falling into a deep bow at his feet.

When it came to Sukuna Ryomen, it was always better to err on the side of piety.

“Uraume…”

The voice was low and rough—almost breathless. Something fluttered in the pit of Uraume’s stomach.

“I’m here, my Lord.”

“I’ve been… unhappy. Plagued.” He said it slowly, as if trying the words for the first time.

“I’m sorry to hear that, my Lor—”

“Plagued by you.”

Something icy ran through their veins. It was as if their heart stopped, in that moment, frozen over.

They’d fucked up.

They’d fucked up.

Uraume pressed their forehead to the tatami, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Trying to blend into the floor. Trying to disappear.

“My apologies, Lord Sukun—”

“You’ve been invading my thoughts.”

A beat.

The king turned around, and Uraume could feel his heavy gaze raking over the nape of their neck.

“I can’t bear it any longer.”

Uraume’s head spun.

Their stomach was in knots, dropping to the tips of their toes.

Was this how they’d die?

Suddenly? On the floor of Sukuna’s chamber, without reason?

Why?

Short fingernails dug into the tatami, trying to steady the tremor puppeting their bones.

“I wish to bed you, Uraume.”

What?

All was silent for a moment, save for the rush of blood to their ears.

Just like that, a fire ignited somewhere below their navel, melting away at the ice in their veins. Their face heated, thankfully hidden by the tatami.

“Uraume. Speak.”

“Yes, Lord Sukuna.”

Uraume felt more than heard Sukuna fall to his knees before them, ground seemingly dipping under his weight. A large hand was dragging their face up, and four sharp eyes pierced into theirs. Searching.

“You are a virgin.���

“Yes, my Lord.”

“You wished to become a monk. I don’t seek to take that from you.”

“That door is closed, my Lord. And… I’ve sworn my life to you, Lord Sukuna.”

He raised a large hand, silencing that thought. “Forget about that. Right now, you’re Uraume. Not my chef. Not my assistant. Uraume.”

They nodded slowly in his grasp.

“Do you wish to be bed?”

Uraume couldn’t keep eye contact, face burning under the warmth of Sukuna’s attention.

“Look at me.”

The roughness, the command of his tone made it impossible not to obey. He had never used that voice with them before—no, he was a different man with Uraume. They always knew that, deep down. But being under the weight of that authority—being at the mercy of the King of Curses was… exhilarating.

“Would you let me take your virginity, Uraume?”

Fuck.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“‘Sukuna’.” He stood, untying his yukata slowly. “As it’s your first time… ‘Sukuna’ will suffice.”

Uraume watched as big fingers made elegant work of undoing the sash, fabric slipping off him like water. They had seen his body many times before—but this felt distinctly different.

From the floor, Sukuna Ryomen was more than a man. Warm morning light warmed the edges of golden glistening skin. Thick veins hugged plush muscles—ran down his arms as they folded across his chest, spanned the hard plane where his abdomen met his hips, tracing the delectable lines of his waist. Short pink hair dusted a line under his navel, south, to frame twin tattooed erections. The bands on his skin, bands that had become synonymous with evil, danced in time with the rise and fall of his chest in a way that could only be described as divine.

Sukuna Ryomen was more than a curse, more than a sorcerer. He was an apparition—a God, a demon, something so ethereal and so twisted that it could have never been human. Yet, the way he was looking down at them—the hunger, the softness, the possession—was so real.

All four eyes pinned them to the ground, and Uraume could feel the stakes of his claim nailing into their flesh.

He was waiting for an answer.

Waiting for them.

“Yes… Sukuna.”

Sukuna hummed, low and pleased, extending a large hand to help them off the ground.

“Good. Now strip for me, Uraume.”

***

Sukuna had never seen a creature so… tantalizing.

He wanted to unwrap them. Wanted to tear off their robes, as childish as it was, to get to his gift sooner. But he had to wait. It was their first time, and he wasn’t going to rob Uraume of an unforgettable moment. He wanted them to be comfortable—especially being that he was not the easiest man to bed, even for the most practiced bodies. His impossible size and strength meant that relaxation and preparation were key; of course, with most of his concubines, he forwent this rule and took what he wanted.

But Uraume was not one of them.

They were special.

So he watched, hands balled into fists, as Uraume carefully undid layer after layer of their clothing. Sharp nails dug half-moons into his palms as they unveiled the bottommost layer, their white kosode.

“Sukuna...”

Sukuna’s throat went dry as the final robe slipped off.

He had never cared much about who graced his bed—so long as he had a warm hole and something to grab onto, he was pleased.

But this might just ruin him.

Where he was all hard lines and rippling muscle, Uraume was soft. Tender.

Pale skin reflected the morning light like porcelain. It looked so delicate, spanned the gentle curves of their body—the small mounds of their breasts, the divots between brittle ribs, the jut of their hips. Snow white hair framed now-blushed cheeks, round and glowing. That little brown freckle.

Everything about them was perfect. Pristine. A blank canvas.

He wanted to leave a mark. Needed to leave his mark.

He never bothered to ask pointless “may I?” questions; for him, sex was about taking. Extracting orgasm after orgasm from his partners, using their bodies for his entertainment. He never bothered to ask their preferences; he’d pry them apart on his fingers or his cocks, steal what pleasure he wanted from their mouths or holes or skin. He never bothered with pleasantries, with getting to know his partner; the act was a means to an end. And in the end, he always got what he wanted.

But this moment, as much as it was meant for him—to fix him, to fill the void in his life—it was equally Uraume’s.

So he took a half-step forward.

“You’re beautiful.”

Uraume flushed, and fuck did red look good on them.

“Tell me where I can touch you.”

“My—” they opened their mouth, then closed it. “Sukuna.”

“I’ve only bedded women and men—that I know of. Where does one touch an Uraume?”

Uraume cracked a grin, and Sukuna’s heart did a weak flop. He didn’t realize he was grinning too, until his cheeks started to hurt.

“You can touch me anywhere… I trust you.”

Something in him swelled—other than his cocks, which had been hard for what felt like the better part of an eternity now.

He took another step forward, coming toe-to-toe with his assistant. He brushed the bangs out of their face, then tipped their chin up a little more, to meet their eyes properly.

“I’m going to pick you up now.”

They nodded as two large arms encircled their waist, the other two supporting them under their thighs.

Thin arms flew up to encircle his neck, and Sukuna couldn’t help but admire how much more beautiful Uraume was face-to-face.

“Hurting my back looking down at you, little one.” He chuckled lowly.

Uraume bit back a retort. Sukuna took the opportunity to lean his forehead against theirs, reveling in their heat.

“You’ll need to bear with me as I prepare you.”

“Prepare?”

“Stretch your little virgin hole for my cocks.”

Uraume shuddered in his grasp, and Sukuna couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Wrap your legs around my waist.”

They obeyed, as they always did. Sukuna’s dicks twitched, clear precum already beading up.

“Good. I’m going to lick you now. My fingers will slip in easier if you’re wet.”

“Okay…” It came out a little breathless, and Sukuna chuckled softly as he brought Uraume over to the window.

The morning mist over the courtyard was stunning. Uraume rested their head against his shoulder as they looked out the window, and Sukuna couldn’t help but press a kiss to the top of their hair. Big hands massaged the backs of slender thighs, then slid up to massage their glutes. A fat tongue lolled out of his lower mouth, licking its lips.

“This alright?” Sukuna whispered into their hair as he held them open, big thumbs brushing along the ridge where thigh met labia.

Uraume nodded against his shoulder.

The tongue pressed up, up, up, laying flat against Uraume’s cunt. At the first contact, they jumped a little in his hold; Sukuna apologized with gentle kisses to their forehead. He didn’t move for a moment, letting them get accustomed to the warmth and wetness of his tongue.

Slowly, it laved back and forth over their entrance. Now it was Sukuna’s turn to shiver.

Fuck.

Uraume had been preparing his meals for half a year now—each one more delicious and exquisite than the last. But this…

This did not compare.

Why does the parched man yearn for cold water?

Because it’s delicious?

Because he needs it to live.

Sukuna groaned into Uraume’s hair just as they gasped into his shoulder, pointed tip of his tongue dipping shallowly into them over and over again.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Forget cooking.

He’d be feasting on them from now on.

He had plans for their first time—he wanted it to be beautiful, to take Uraume in the morning sunlight. To hold them open and lick them with his second tongue. To whisper praises in their ear and gaze into their eyes properly.

But he couldn’t help himself.

Sukuna was dropping them onto large pillows and climbing onto the bed before he could process what he was doing. He felt as he did in the woods—a predator homed in on their prey, the adrenaline of the hunt dizzying his mind, washing away all restrictive rationality.

Uraume closed their thighs upon impact with the mattress, and Sukuna would not be having that. Big hands pried slim thighs apart, pinning them open in an iron grip. His second set of hands held open pretty, puffy lips, splaying the blushed flesh below. He was transfixed.

He couldn’t help but let his mouth fall open, watching as a thick wad of saliva dripped from the tips of his split tongue to their little hole, fluttering under the attention. It was tantalizing. He blew a puff of warm air against the wet skin and reveled at the tremble of pale flesh beneath his tanned hands. He ran a large thumb down their center, applying just a little pressure on the spit-slicked entrance.

“Sukuna…” The voice was small, winded.

Crimson eyes met burgundy, and a growl tore through his throat.

They were wrecked.

Hiding behind thin hands, Uraume’s once-pale skin now flushed his favourite colour.

He wanted to swallow them whole.

He wasn’t sure who gasped louder when his tongue—his proper tongue, hot and drooling—met their cunt. He licked a stripe from just under their entrance up to their clit, coaxing the sensitive bundle of nerves to stiffness. One set of ruby eyes traced the movement, but the other set was transfixed on that beautiful face. He wanted to commit this to memory.

Commit them to memory.

He worked his tongue slowly, sloppily. He lapped at their entrance greedily, until all he could taste was himself on their skin, then ran the flat of his tongue over their clit repeatedly. He watched for each little gasp, each stroke that had them whimpering into their palm. The tip of his nose met pubic bone as soft lips wrapped around even softer flesh. He kissed their clit so reverently, open-mouthed and passionate, eyes rolling back a little at the heady taste.

Fuck—fuck—fuck—

“Feels weird—Sukuna…”

Sukuna hummed an acknowledgment into their clit, and a hand was finding purchase in his hair. He pinned them down a little rougher as they began to shake, massaging their thighs in calloused palms as he sucked at their sweet skin.

And they were keening.

A gush of bittersweet slick was running down his chin and Sukuna rushed to lap at the trembling hole as it spilled. A large thumb pinned down their clit as Uraume rode through their release, saliva lubricating the small circles he rubbed into it.

“That’s it… let go for me.”

He rubbed and sucked on the fluttering entrance until their skin jumped, until they tried to scramble away in oversensitivity.

Sukuna lifted his head up ever-so-slightly, wet lips and hot breath ghosting over raised skin. Glassy burgundy made his heartbeat stutter, and he was aching. He needed to take them. Needed to see how they’d look speared on his cocks, feel the flutter of their sweet little hole around him.

“Good, no?”

Uraume was pulling him up by the hair, and Sukuna bit back a smile as soft lips worked his own. If Uraume wanted to taste themselves on him, so be it. A dry hand engulfed their small jaw, forcing their mouth open to slip his tongue inside.

Uraume’s sweet, small tongue felt so soft pinned under his. He stroked it from the tip to where it disappeared into a hot throat. His hand followed the movement, slipping from jaw to neck, pads of his middle and ring fingers coming to rest overtop their racing pulse. He ghosted his fingers down to their collarbone, tracing the jutting bone, before slipping down the hard plane of their sternum.

“You’re so beautiful.” His large hand moved to hover over a small breast. “May I touch you here?”

Uraume nodded, and Sukuna pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of their mouth as rough skin met soft flesh. Their breast was so squishy, so delicate under his big hand—he massaged it now, squeezing and palming at it with a care that bordered reverent. He couldn’t help but watch—his hands were so big. So large that they obscured the breast completely. Heat coiled in his gut, an ugly possession that he tamped down.

Uraume was like a doll in his grasp, something so beautiful and fragile, now pinned under hands that were forged to destroy. They gasped as big fingers found a rosy nipple, pinching and rolling it experimentally. Sukuna flicked his gaze between the movement and their flushed face, pressing a kiss to their heated cheek. His second set of hands held them steady around the waist, so large as to almost span the entirety of the circumference.

He kissed his way down their neck and chest, all the way to their other nipple. He pressed a kiss to the poor neglected thing, tongue slipping out to lave over the bud. His fingers worked its twin a little rougher now, pinching and squeezing the tender flesh of their breast in his big hand.

His lover shuddered beneath him, and he tugged both nipples at the same time—one with his fingers and the other with a harsh suck—and Uraume whimpered.

Sukuna was dizzy with hunger.

He was being so good to them—so patient.

Surely, he deserved a reward.

Hands were pulling at his hair—trying to yank him away from sensitive nipples as he popped most of their breast into his mouth, sucking at delicate skin with a pleased hum.

“Sukuna—”

He shifted his mouth to the other breast, switching to roll the now-moistened bud between calloused fingertips.

“Yes?”

Their flesh was so sweet. So soft, so perfect. He worried the dainty nipple in his mouth with gentle scrapes of sharp canines, and didn’t miss the way Uraume’s heart raced beneath his touch.

“Stop teasing...”

Their thighs were shifting, squeezing and rubbing together to apply pressure of any sort on their little clit. Sukuna couldn’t help but laugh at the pathetic gesture.

“Open your legs. Let me see that precious hole.”

Uraume flushed but complied, bringing their knees up and out. Sukuna hummed his approval, one of the hands around their waist slipping down to caress their soddened folds. Deft fingers slid from their perked clit to their soaked hole, circling their entrance slowly.

He pulled off their breast with an obscene pop, moving to press a chaste kiss to their bitten lips.

“Be good and keep those legs open.”

Uraume nodded as he worked their lips with his, slow and sensual. His thick middle finger applied pressure to their fluttering hole, breaching their entrance slowly. They sucked in a breath, and he hushed them with another press of his lips, slowing his finger to let them adjust.

They were so fucking tight.

“Focus on my lips. Relax your body.”

One knuckle in and they were clenching around the intrusion, inexperienced muscles trying to reject the finger pushing its way inside. Slowly, he pressed in further.

A metallic tang tainted his mouth. Four eyes flew open as sharp teeth dug into his lip, Uraume bearing down as his finger bottomed out. He sucked in a breath through sharp teeth, extracting his lip to lick his wound with a chuckle.

“Took my finger well.”

Uraume was looking up at him with blown pupils, lips bloodied and parted, and it took everything in him to not throw their legs over his shoulders and take them right then.

His two hands on their breasts settled for smoothing the skin with gentle thumbs. The finger inside them curled up a little, caressing their soft walls slowly until Uraume melted into the bed. He pulled his middle finger almost entirely out of their now-pliant body before pressing back in. He kept it slow, let them adjust to the pressure of his moving finger, as he pressed more kisses to those bloodied lips.

“How’s it feeling?”

Uraume moaned into his mouth, and Sukuna was on fire.

The middle finger increased in pace, the pad of his thumb coming up to rub loose circles around their clit. As soon as they were sufficiently wet, he slipped another finger inside. Nails scratched at his scalp, Uraume’s slender fingers tangled in his hair for support.

He repeated the process until Uraume was clenching around four fat fingers, drool gathering at the corner of their mouth and eyes glassy.

“Trying to swallow my hand whole, huh?”

Sukuna wasn’t much better off himself. Both cocks were angrily red now, slobbering against Uraume’s slender thigh.

“Sukuna, please—”

They were spreading their legs, so wet around his fingers. He couldn’t bear it any longer. He pulled his fingers out, strings of Uraume’s syrupy release connecting each digit. He rubbed it over his lower cock, hissing at the touch.

“Shh… I know. I know.”

He was lining himself up, soaked cockhead running up and down their slit slowly. Each drag against their clit had them whimpering, each nudge against their hole had them gasping—Uraume was a symphony of pleasure on the precipice, and Sukuna couldn’t help but tease them a little longer than he should have.

Uraume was rocking back into him impatiently, pulling him close by the hair. The audacity. Sukuna couldn’t help but grin, stilling where he was bumping against their hole.

“Sukuna—”

“Uraume.”

Burgundy pierced into him, kiss-bitten lips pressed into a defiant line despite the drool glistening at the corners.

“Do it properly.”

Sukuna barked out a laugh.

What a fascinating little human.

“Properly?” He gathered them into his arms, leaning down to press a kiss to their temple. “I’d break you, little one. Split you right in two.”

Uraume whined, pressing back into him encouragingly. Sukuna stilled the movement with a big hand on their hip.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Then show me.”

He pulled back, sitting up to look at them properly. The way they were looking at him was so honest. Their pupils were blown, pale skin now flushed and sweat-sheened all over. It was so raw. So delicious.

“You’re going to regret this.” A big hand—one that rested on their breast—brushed sweaty bangs back from where they were stuck to their forehead.

“I hope so.”

The way they grinned at him had his heart stuttering—they were so full of fire for someone made of ice.

“Once I start, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.” He mumbled, caressing their cheek with a thick thumb.

“I’m counting on that.”

Sukuna could never deny them.

He took a deep breath, then pressed in. The squeeze was almost impossible—it gripped him, sucked him inside in a way that had his head lolling back and his eyes pressing shut.

Fuckfuckfuck—

Someone was moaning continuously, and in his sex-addled brain, he wasn’t sure which one of them it was. He wanted to stop—wanted to let them adjust to the impossible girth—but he couldn’t slow his hips. He pressed and pressed and pressed, all four hands gripping at their waist and hips to pull them into him.

When cockhead met cervix, Sukuna whimpered.

Deep in this pussy was the closest to heaven he had ever been.

The neglected cock on Uraume’s abdomen was weeping, precum filling the dip of their navel.

“Move, Sukuna.”

Sukuna did not take orders. He cut tongues loose from bodies for even making suggestions—he commanded, not complied.

But fuck was he seeing stars.

His hips stuttered deep within them, bumping against their womb with each little thrust. He wanted to enter it. Wanted to feel it wrapped around him. Wanted to paint it white.

Hands were pulling him down by the hair, and his big arms slid to hug them as he pressed his large chest to theirs. He was thrusting so shallowly, the squeeze too tight to move like he so desperately needed to.

He whined into pale hair, and those hands were working his scalp so deliciously. His hips wrenched back and pressed in deep, and the drag had tears welling up in his eyes. Everything was a blur—his whole body was alight, skin prickling and hairs standing on end.

Soft lips met his neck, then his shoulder, and he was squeezing his eyes closed so tight that he was seeing colours behind closed eyelids. His hips moved faster, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, copious amounts of precum slicking the way. Uraume muffled moans into his shoulder, and it only served to make him ache.

He was drilling into Uraume now, grunting into the top of their head animalistically. The cock sandwiched between them slipped deliciously against Uraume’s slicked tummy, twitching to match the one lodged deep inside them. Their walls were so wet and warm—sopping with their impending climax. His abs tensed and untensed rhythmically, dancing on the edge between pain and pleasure as he forced down his release.

Pink lips unlocked from his skin, and Uraume was throwing their head back into the pillows. Sukuna chased their warmth with his mouth, pressing kisses to their pulse. His canines ached to sink into something—mark and mar that pale perfect skin, paint it in his crimson. He thrust a little rougher, slowing down to pound and stretch them properly.

“Sukuna—”

It was so beautifully broken, more of a gasp than a word.

He hummed against their neck, brows knit in concentration.

I know.

I know.

I know.

Ankles were wrapping around his waist, and two big hands flew to support trembling thighs.

Sukuna grunted in their ear, and they were soaked. The tight hole clenched down around him, spasming as slick gushed out around the thick shaft. He pistoned into them, moaning with each rhythmic contraction onto his cock.

It was so wet.

So good.

So good.

So good, so good, so good—

Sukuna Ryomen prided himself on his sharp wit and battle-hardened mind; his decisions were quick and never wrong, always alert and on-guard. He was a bloodied blade, ever-sharp, always swinging at the strongest. Nothing caught him by surprise, no one got the best of him.

Uraume’s release snuck up on him.

It knocked the wind out of his lungs.

They were cumming so hard—shaky thighs squeezing around his waist, release dampening the sheets below them as they squirted all over his cock. He was being sucked in so deep. As tip kissed womb, sticky and sloppy, all he could do was melt. His balls squeezed, pleasure shooting from the tips of his toes and the top of his head down to the tip of his too-stiff cocks.

And he was cumming.

His climax tore through him like a heart attack, and he tensed—rope after rope of his seed shot out of him, gushing onto the entrance to their womb. Rhythmic clenches of Uraume’s release coaxed more and more cum out of him, milking his full balls. The divot of his glans dug further into swollen cervix with each shaky jolt of his hips, and his mouth was falling open against their shoulder.

Uraume was moving against him, almost riding him through his high, and Sukuna had never felt so useless. A small hand was weaseling its way between their bodies, rubbing and tugging at the neglected erection on Uraume’s stomach.

He was cumming so hard that he couldn’t see—eyelids open or shut, his vision blurred, all his senses homed in on the pleasure ravaging his cocks. All he could do was lay there and take it, cum shooting all over their chest and spitting into their womb.

Gentle kisses woke him from his stupor, pressed to his jaw and cheek.

Sukuna blinked back prickly tears, eyes stinging from the intensity of his release. Cum was still dripping out of him, drooling uncontrollably.

“Can’t stop—”

Faraway and ruined, he couldn’t recognize his own voice.

Uraume laughed, something musical and light, and soft fingertips were dancing down his back. A shiver ran down his spine, and his cocks twitched, dripping out the last of his release pathetically.

“It’s okay.”

Uraume hugged him close. His too-sensitive cock was trapped under his flinching abdomen, but he hugged them back, gathering them into his heaving chest. Their scent, their pulse under the tip of his nose, was intoxicating. Though the cock between their bellies softened, the one nestled inside Uraume was hard as ever.

“Again.”

Uraume tensed in his arms before barking out a laugh incredulously.

“Sukuna—”

“I told you.”

He pulled back, taking in that flushed expression—so wrecked.

Just for him.

“Once I start, I can’t stop.”

***

Uraume had lost count of how many times they’d finished.

Sukuna Ryomen was many things, but he was not a liar.

They hadn’t stopped. Not even for a moment.

He had been inside them for hours now, learning their body intimately. He had been so pliant, at the beginning—so patient and warm, letting them get used to his love. But somewhere in the middle, something clicked. Some switch was flipped irreversibly inside him.

Sukuna Ryomen was a beast.

Sukuna caught his breath by stealing the air from their lungs. He stayed buried so deep inside them that they were an extension of one another. They were overflowing around his massive shaft, and coated in cooling cum from the neglected second cock on their stomach—marked inside and out.

It was too much.

If they came one more time, they weren’t going to be able to move anymore.

Muscles trembling, they flipped onto their swollen stomach. Their clit was throbbing between shaking thighs, their nipples painfully hard as they lifted themselves onto their elbows, shimmying away from Sukuna to hide in the pillows. The drag of his cock out of their abused hole had their eyes rolling back into their skull. They left a dark trail of cum and slick on the mattress, and they could feel Sukuna’s eyes on their splurting hole.

“Is my little dove trying to fly away?” He chased them up the mattress, nose tracing the column of their neck before nipping playfully at their shoulder. “How cute.”

Uraume whimpered, so full. How Sukuna was still hard, now throbbing against their ass, they had no idea. That fat cockhead was nudging them open again, despite their closed legs. Sukuna’s knees bracketed their thighs, and he was slipping inside. The squelch of their juices around his thick shaft was obscene.

Uraume would have felt embarrassed. If they could have. With each inch of Sukuna’s length, their mind got hazier, replaced by the impossible stretch.

“So fuckin’ tight for me.”

A big hand was palming at their ass, watching it jiggle under his touch. Uraume buried their face into the pillows to muffle a broken whine.

“Think you can take both now?”

Uraume’s eyes were rolling back into their skull at the thought, and Sukuna didn’t miss the way they were clenching around his length.

“Did you just cum a little? Oh, baby—”

The saccharine in his voice, the cooing concern, was so degrading. It shot right to their clit.

A second cockhead was nudging its way between the mounds of their ass, sparks shooting up their spine when it nudged against their already too-full entrance.

“Open up for me.”

That rasp left no room for argument, and Uraume was pressing back into him with a groan.

The tip breached their entrance, and it burned.

Sukuna was splitting them open, tearing them straight in half.

He was pressing impossibly deeper—not giving them even a second of respite between each mind-numbing inch—hissing through his teeth.

As soon as he bottomed out, their stomach prodded by two fat tips, he was moving. It was rough, fast, needy.

Sukuna Ryomen, the imaginary two-faced God, was nothing more than a dog in heat.

He humped them with little grunts, tonguing at the beads of sweat rolling down their neck from now-matted hair. Those full balls spanked their sensitive clit with each thrust, and the filthy noise had them impossibly wetter.

“You’re mine.” He growled against their shoulder, more felt than heard, sharp teeth grazing over the tender flesh there. “Mine, ‘raume.”

A large hand beneath their tummy slid down further. Pleasure shot to their clit as a thick finger worked it hard and fast, matching the chaotic pace of his thrusts. The air was being punched out of their lungs with each bruising knock to their cervix and spongy G-spot. Uraume couldn’t do anything but grip onto the pillows for dear life.

“Gonna mark you up so good.”

Precum heated their insides, flooding their deepest spots and soiling their abused cervix. Another big hand found their ass cheek, palming at it before pulling it aside to bare more of their overstretched hole. Just like that, he managed to press in a little deeper. Uraume didn’t have to turn around to know what Sukuna was watching it—watching himself enter.

Being pinned down and fucked—used like a toy—had Uraume’s eyes fluttering back. If Sukuna was making any sense, Uraume couldn’t register. Their mind was a litany of curses, an incoherent cacophony of cries, a paean of praise and prayer.

Everything was hot, everything was tingling, and they were so soaked in sweat and spit and slick that it felt like they were drowning.

Their release ripped through them. They were squirting on Sukuna’s cock before they could even moan his name. The wet slap of his balls against their leaking cunt was pornographic.

Sukuna groaned against their nape. Pain tore through the sensitive skin there, and Sukuna was biting them—bearing down on the tender flesh with big canines. Just like that, they were being filled. Sukuna was cumming harder than he had before, seated so deep inside that Uraume could feel his semen filling their womb. Uraume’s jaw fell open to scream but no sound came out—a whimper escaped from behind their uvula, like a wounded animal.

Sukuna’s twin cocks twitched and bucked wildly inside as he pumped them full. Cum flooded out of their overflooding hole, painting their ass and Sukuna’s pelvis a sticky, milky white.

Sukuna pulled out and flipped them over in one swift movement, final dribbles of cum painting their clit and belly. Red eyes bore into their flesh, taking in their post-climax debauched state. Uraume pressed their legs a little tighter together, bashfully.

Sukuna wasn’t having it. Thick fingers squeezed gently around their neck. Uraume’s eyes shot open, and Sukuna pulled back to watch as their eyes fluttered at the headrush. Their lips parted, red and puffy from biting on them, and Sukuna looked ravenous.

“Spread those legs and open that mouth.”

Uraume, in no condition to protest as the hand clamped a little tighter, obeyed.

Sukuna spit onto their exposed tongue.

“Behave.”

Sukuna released their throat, free hand coming down to flick at their cum-coated clit. Uraume’s hips bucked with a whimper, their legs opening wider shakily. Sukuna hummed his approval, rewarding their obedience with a soothing thumb on their sensitive bud. He dipped into Uraume’s gushing hole, gathering up cum to slick the movement of his thumb against their clit. He watched the movement, transfixed, before leaning down to mouth at where Uraume’s ear met their jaw.

“So full of my seed...”

Uraume whimpered, writhing in his grasp at the teasing of their overstimulated body. Their neck was throbbing where Sukuna bit them earlier, and their skin was so impossibly hot that it felt like they were burning alive.

It was too much.

Once again, they attempted to wiggle away.

Once again, they failed.

Sukuna’s big hands were grabbing at their thighs, yanking them around like a doll. He lifted their legs onto his shoulders, pressing a kiss to each ankle with a wicked grin.

“I told you.We’re not stopping any time soon.”

***

Sukuna gazed down at his work of art.

The sun was low in the sky now, courtyard swathed in orange. The sky was a vibrant pink, a waking dream as day faded to night. Yet, Sukuna noticed none of it.

No. His eyes were elsewhere.

Uraume lay prone beneath him. Their small asscheeks were red and shiny with sweat, faint handprints on them from his rough handling. They were looking back at him, pupils blown and glassy, and he heated under their gaze. Puffy lips curved into a smile, and Sukuna couldn’t help but smile back, placing a steadying hand between their shoulders.

He wanted to keep them here, like this, forever.

They were so beautiful. Glowing.

Broken.

His little dove, with broken wings.

He felt so warm, so full, at the sight. The hole in his heart… it was them.

Seeing them here, under him, he finally felt fulfilled.

Complete.

His hand slid up to their nape, teasing the short pale hair there. His thumb brushed along the column of their neck, skimming the edge of his masterpiece.

That freckle.

Around that little mark, a ring of indents—two sets of large teeth framed the mole, red and spit-shined.

The mark itself? His favourite colour.

Burgundy.

[tinytennisskirt]

i really really really need more mark rebellato patrick and art head canons like i haven’t been able to stop thinking about the ears scenario pls!!! something about their rooms, how they became friends, the whole shebang please and thank you

(sorry it just makes me SOB)

Mark Rebellato Era Headcanons: Misc and Out of Order

First off, the hc that started this-

little Art worried about the boys at school making fun of his ears, his mom walking him into his room at Mark Rebellato tennis academy, her hand on his back, pointing at Patrick saying, “look at that boy’s ears. just like yours. you have nothing to worry about.”

Art's mom packs him a ton of candy every year and Art swears to her he eats it over the course of a month or two, but the truth is he and Patrick usually sit down and eat it all in one go, the first night back to school. It's ritual.

Patrick has gotten into a fight three times over Art-related incidents. Someone makes fun of his swing more than once? Someone says some shit about the shape of his head or his ears? Anyone decides to say anything negative about his best friend?He's not just going to let them talk like that about him in any shape or form. He's used his racket, his fist, his elbows, he has gotten detention over it, but it's always been worth it.

They are partners for every project. Every single project. And if they aren't? Best believe they go behind the teacher's back and switch out partners to be each other's. they're called on to present and they get up together every time without fail, to every teacher's dismay.

They also are every teacher's dismay. When the boys aren't in a class together or in the same tennis group, they do all they can in their power to fix that. Forget their dorm room, they had their parents pay to secure the fact they'd stay bunkmates. The poor teacher in the staffroom conversing with the other teachers being consoled by other teachers of the boy's past, saying, "Hopefully they've matured over the summer." But they're always a little rowdy. A little too talkative.

Art is fairly studious. He gets things done in time, he gets good grades. Patrick too, but Patrick swore off studying when he first got there. He'll review his notes, but he relies a lot on his memories and note-taking, which is why his grades are mediocre. But not bad.

The day after the Kat Zimmerman thing, Patrick holds it over him to get Art to do stupid things like call him 'sir'. It lasts only a day because Art reminds Patrick that he caught HIM doing the same thing first and soon Patrick is calling Art 'sir'.

When Patrick gets a little homesick, he never outwardly displays it. It happens, it's normal. Art can tell, but never says anything about it. When he knows Patrick is getting that way- he puts on some 80s rock CD that Patrick really likes- it reminds him of the stuff he heard growing up.

They are each other's ultimate wingman. School dance? Needing to ask someone to it? The other is setting things up like a mastermind. They pull strings, they do what they need to do behind the scenes and almost always, they end up with the date to the dance they wanted.

They fight over who can have what celebrity crush. They're watching a movie and an insanely hot woman pops up on screen, they both shout 'mine' over the other. It's happened a few times in movie theatres, nearly getting kicked out for both the yelling and the slight shoving that goes on afterward.

Little itty bitty Patrick Zweig who has a poster he wants to put up. He's not a super shy kid but he doesn't know Art yet. Itty bitty Art Donaldson with the very same poster, putting it up on the wall and it's their first real conversation. It's when they know they're going to be best friends. The poster gets moved from Art's side of the room to the middle after that. And the poster gets put in the same spot in the room every year until they graduate. The colour is faded, but it's still there. Technically it's Art's, but when they graduate Patrick is the one to take it. After everything that went down later in their life, Patrick still has it. It's in the glovebox of his car.

The boys put on trashy white girl music when they're hanging out alone in their room. Late 90s, early 2000s pop. Patrick will be playing some stupid video game and Art in his bed reading over some tennis book. They know all the words and it's completely of their own volition. They won't tell anyone about it and they keep it low enough that other rooms can't hear. It surprises Tashi later in life when Art is humming along to the songs she listened to when she was younger.

Their moms make them take back-to-school pictures every year. The first photo was taken at Christmas break when the boy's parents came to pick them up to find they'd become best friends and the tradition picks up from there. Their parents each have their own copies of the boys every year standing in the same position. Patrick with double thumbs up and a big grin and Art with one hand up like he's waving, a small smile on his face. The copies that the boys possess are drawn all over with devil horns and mustaches.

And speaking of that, Patrick for sure is the guy who doodles over almost everyone in the yearbook he dislikes. Pictures of jerks, he's got their faces all ugly and marked up and hot girls get a few hearts and some words written on it. When he wants to remember how a person actually looked, he just looks at Art's yearbook.

Art knowing Patrick likes boys too, but they never talk about it. Patrick is never into Art and Art never has it in his head that Patrick likes him- you know that awful thing that happens when you find out someone is a little gay and you start worrying they like you? They never have that. It's written off so easily, they both hardly ever think about it, but it's known.

They are so serious about board games never play monopoly with them in the time between class and lunch because they will get really loud about it.

Thinking maybe Patrick's parents divorce sometime around grade ten and yeah, he's a teenager and he's not really wanting to show emotion, but it's really hard. And Art, without centering Patrick out too much about it, really helps him through it. Listens to him without any judgment and they know that they are the only people in the world who can be vulnerable with each other and be completely understood. Without having to worry about their masculinities. They can tease each other all they want over petty little things of the sort, but in times like this they just listen and talk.

April Fool's day is a biggg day for them. Everyone at school is worried about what they might have in store when Patrick and Art are around. They first go all-out on each other. Shaving cream while the other is sleeping, air horn wake-ups. Rigged sinks that spray water. And on the outside, plastic wrap on the doors, party snaps under toilet seats, fake mice, fake snakes, fake money planted. It's a little bit of chaos, but it all gets done early enough to all be done by noon.

The boys talk like girls about their crushes. When Art has his first kiss, Patrick demands details. The taste of the girl's lip gloss, when, where, did they make out? Did he get to touch her boobs? Immature little questions.

[eiightysixbaby]

How do you think our boys would react to reader wearing a cute little dress and getting hit on? Do they yell at the guy for daring to speak to their girl? Rough sex in the bathroom to remind them who they belong to? Wrapping reader in their jacket so no one else can see them? So many yummy possibilities 🤤

see, I think how they react completely depends on how you react. however, conveniently enough I think each possible response you gave coincides well with one of the guys, so I’ll write this that way 😏

Steve is the one who confronts the guy for trying to hit on you. Specifically King Steve era Steve, but it just works for Steve in general. “Do you know who the hell you’re talking to?” he’d say, stepping towards the guy and pushing you to stand behind him. “That’s my girlfriend, so I suggest you keep it moving.” Meanwhile the guy’s trying to steal glances behind Steve, still throwing crass comments your way. If he gets mad enough, he grabs the other guy by the collar of his shirt, holding him in place, staring him down like he wants to kick his ass. No one tries to pick up his girl, not on his watch. “Leave her the fuck alone, buddy. One more comment out of you and I’ll make sure you fucking regret it,” he says, and his voice is unsettlingly calm but firm. You don’t want him to get into a fight, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the way he so fiercely protects you. He basically shoves the other guy away, discarding him like the trash he is, leading you away from him and walking behind you cautiously.

Eddie is the one who fucks you in the bathroom to remind you that you’re his and only his. This works even better if you’re a brat and let the guy flirt with you, going along with it to rile Eddie up. But really I just think that Eddie having to watch someone else hit on you would make him so furious he’d just have to prove that he’s the only one who can make you feel so good, regardless of if you entertained the flirting or not. He grabs you by the wrist, pulling you into the bathroom and barely even shutting the door before he was all over you. He has you bent over the counter, hiking your dress up and sliding your panties to the side before just sinking himself right into you. “Who do you belong to? Huh, baby?” he grunts, one of his hands fisted in your hair, holding your head up so you’re looking at him in the vanity mirror. “That’s right, you belong to me. And I’m gonna cum inside this pretty pussy, wanna be leaking down your thighs all night so everyone else knows you’re mine,” he growls, and you swear his words alone could make you finish.

Jonathan is the one who gives you his jacket, wrapping it protectively around you to keep other wandering eyes at bay. “Leave her alone, she’s not interested,” he says to the other guy before guiding you away, and arm wrapped firmly around you. He doesn’t want a fight, knows that this guy would probably bloody his lip and blacken his eye in an instant if given the chance. He doesn’t want to subject you to that, and so he just hurries away with you. He secures his jacket over your shoulders, looking back over his to make sure the guy isn’t following - or watching you. “You okay?” he asks you, holding you close to him, unwilling to let you go too far now. He knows you can hold your own, knows you can tell a guy where to shove it if need be, but he still hates the idea of any other men trying to flirt with you. His jacket both shelters you from unwanted glances and marks you as his, so it’s a win win.

[hufflepuffsthunderdome]

Chipped Nails

Pairing: Dude Ranch Era!Tom Delonge x Fem!Reader

A/N: I’ve never written for a real person before and now just characters so it was definitely new! Please lmk if you think I wrote Tom badly - other fics I’ve seen write their whole personality as ‘haha 2000s skater boy make sex joke’ which I get but I don’t love. Like they’re real people even with their childishness. I have a part two coming to this and more blink stuff!

Summary: Y/N won’t let Tom go out with his nail polish chipped while Tom struggles to keep his feelings under wraps! Read part 2 here

Tom could hear the sound of the hairdryer going in Y/N’s room, catching a glimpse of her shadow moving around through the crack in the door. He laid on her bed, throwing a ball up and down in the air as he waited for his friend to get ready.

“The guys will be here soon you know?” he whined, kicking his feet off the end of the bed as he threw the ball higher, almost dropping it on his face when he looked up at the sound of the door opening.

“Would you stop complaining,” Y/N laughed at her friend, as she made her way to her vanity to do her makeup, dumping her products on the table and sitting down, “I’ve literally taken 5 seconds.”

“Ugh that’s too long,” Tom cries out exasperated, waving one hand around as the other keeps throwing the ball higher and higher each time.

“Damn remind me never to sleep with you then,” she laughs, turning around to look at Tom who’s face has gone bright red at his friend mentioning sleeping with him. Regardless of the thick layer of sarcasm Tom can’t help the flustered feeling that seeps into his chest at the mere mention of sex coming from Y/N. The butterflies that start to spasm in his stomach are by no means a new development in their friendship, they’ve been happening for years now, seeming to get both more intense as more impossible to act on as the years go on.

It’s been like this for as long as they’ve known each other, Tom’s been infatuated with Y/N since he first saw her, but as he found himself getting to know her more and becoming closer friends, he found himself completely lost as to how to get those feelings out of him.

Mark talked him out of his depressive rambles of how deep in the friend zone a while ago, but even as his 18-year-old angst passes for his slightly less cliché 21-year-old angst, he just can’t bring himself to say anything.

As he finds his mind wandering he brings his hand up subconsciously and starts twisting his lip piercing around, too in his own head to notice Y/N’s dreamy gaze locked on his face until he puts his hand up and she gags.

“Ew Tom,” she sits down on the bed in front of him and grabs his hand, “your nail polish is gross!”

Tom pulls his hand away in a vain attempt to dampen the heat he feels rushing to his cheeks again, “dude what the fuck? They look fine.”

“They’re chipped as fuck,” Y/N laughs, taking his hand again gently, “how do you plan on getting the girls with chipped nails Tommy?” She scolds playfully, eyebrow raised.

“The girls don’t care what they look like,” Tom smirks as he holds his hand up and wiggles his fingers, “just how they feel.”

She lets out a noise of shock, pushing his shoulder as he flops back onto the bed, “that’s gross! You kiss your mother with that mouth do you?”

He leans up on his arm to look at her, shaking his head, “nah, just yours.”

“Wow Tom. Such a charmer you are, remind me again why you don’t have a girlfriend” she rolls her eyes smiling at him, grabbing his arm to pull him back up again and closer to her, “come on then gimme your hand.”

She leans over to her vanity and grabs a bottle of black nail polish, opening it and placing the bottle in one of Tom’s hand as she holds the other. As she begins to paint his nails Tom stares in awe at his friend. His heart races at the feeling of her hand in his, soft and small compared to his large, calloused hand, his skin tingles where her fingers are each time she pulls away to move his hand slightly.

She looks so beautiful like this, hair falling in front of her face as she leans over slightly to look down at his hands; he imagines pushing it back behind her ear, letting his hand linger on her cheek as he leans in to kiss her. She’s got the prettiest lips, painted in lipstick that he so badly wants to let her leave all over his everywhere.

He’s got it bad, he knows that, but for the first time since they’ve met he wants to do something about it. Feeling bold, he moves his hand to hold hers, making her stop and look up at him through her hair.

He goes to say something but can’t, nothing charming or smooth or even stupid is coming to mind as he stares blankly at her lips. He feels her hand squeeze down on his gently as her eyes flutter closed almost in slow-motion, and together they’re leaning in.

“HEY HO! LETS GO!” violently shakes the pair from their moment as Y/N gets up startled and fumbles around on the bed to find her phone where the ringtone is blasting from, hands shaking as she tries to act casually.

“Hey hoe,” Mark’s voice sounds at the other end of the phone, Y/N barely hearing it over the sound of her heartbeat in her ears, “what the fuck are you guys doing? We’ve been calling you both for ages.”

“Ya’ll really have a warped perception of ages,” she mumbles bending down to put on her shoes as she puts the phone on speaker, “we were just getting ready.”

“Y/N was just doing my nails,” Tom yells as he grabs his jacket and quickly walks towards the door, “can’t be jacking you off without a fresh mani can I?”

[woozten-x]

mark x female reader first kiss fluff?

Kiss of Warmth | Mark Lee

[ m.list including other neos! ]

─ Synopsis: On a snowy day, Mark Lee is there to keep you warm regardless of the cold.

─ Genre: Tooth-rotting fluff literally!!, One-Shot, REQUESTED

─ Concepts: snowball fight, first kiss au, just reader and mark falling for each other (literally and figuratively), idk why but love with mark reminds me of winter, blonde mark because ive been in my markf era since then

─ Count of Words: 1.8k

─ Inspiration of the Work: Ultimate Bliss by OnlyOneOf

❒ a/n: tysm for requesting my lovely anon! this is my FIRST ever request and i am so happy to have someone interested <3<3 i was so excited to write something for you, so ive already had a scenario planned out the night before HAHA i hope this is to your liking, anon! :)

＞＜

Winter snowfall drops from above, the contact of some of the particles landing on your bare face causes you to shudder from the freezing cold. Instinctively, your limbs press closer against your body, hands hidden away in the pockets of your puffy jacket; the hotpack in your grasp slightly warming you from the cold battle of winter.

Despite the difficulty of the weather, you continue to wait patiently on the bench waiting for the one who promised to meet you. Looking down, your woven hat keeps your head warm and you let your feet kick at the snow underneath your feet. The sheet of snow flies into the air from the motion, the make-shift snowfall you created catching your attention for a brief moment; you continue to kick your feet, a childish yet attentive gaze captured at the repetition.

“Did I keep you waiting?” The familiar voice distracts you from your playful antics, turning your head to see your boyfriend - Mark Lee. Blonde strands of hair are captured by a red beanie, the layers of winter clothing dressing him up; a tint of red dusting the tip of his nose and cheeks from the cold. His pink lips uplifts into a captivating smile, one you are too familiar with and so in love with.

“Nope!” You get up from the bench, the yearning for his body warmth and to showcase your affection through physical touch for Mark, overtakes you. He approaches you, footprints imprinted in the white ice; he instantly opens his arms once he grows closer to you, a grin expressing from your beautiful face held a glow that Mark wishes to protect and love until the very end.

Stumbling towards him like deer on ice, you hear Mark’s laughter once he captures you into his arms. Your own laughter intertwining with his own, you rest your head against his chest to completely melt into his touch; his body heat welcoming you into a familiar serenity, the one place continuously thriving and bringing such joy for you.

Although the two of you only started dating recently, you felt like Mark has been in your life for years already. Time slows down each time in his presence, your own heart pleasantly beating against your chest as a reminder of how much you learned to love him; was this a normal feeling or was it the honeymoon phase of your relationship?

“Is something on your mind?” Mark asks, warm breath caressing the helix of your ear and you instantly shake your head at his inquiry. You look up at him with the same bright grin, “I am just so happy to see you. You know that, right?”

Mark’s round eyes become aflame, a kindling campfire within and one that holds an endearing amount of warmth. He tightly holds onto your waist, “Now I know. I’m glad, I would do anything to make my girl happy.” The cliche nickname and overwhelmingly cheesy words leaves his lips without any thought whatsoever. Instantly, his nose scrunches up to reveal his cringe.

Laughing at his reaction, Mark joins along with a few chuckles escaping him. To your dismay, his phone rings and he furrows his brows - “Damn. Who is bothering me right now?” He mutters out, seeming to be disappointed at the interruption of his time with you. “Go check! Maybe Jisung is burning down the dorm or something just as important.” You lightheartedly spoke, not sharing any negativity towards the unexpected; Mark is with you, it is the least you can ask for. Pulling away, you notice the pout replacing the smile Mark held.

As an attempt to comfort him, you pat him lightly on the chest and Mark gives you an apologetic smile before taking out his phone to answer. Watching your boyfriend place the phone on his ear and speaking into the phone, you could hear his friends on the other line; oh, they are always bothering your poor boyfriend, you can’t help but pity him.

Though, it is quite amusing to see the easygoing Mark become a little tense and strict with them however. Losing interest in eavesdropping into the conversation once realizing it wasn’t serious as the two of you expected, you glanced at the snow underneath your feet; an idea sprouting above your head, a mischievous smirk growing on your face at your plan.

Carefully walking away from Mark to not act too suspicious, you lean down and begin to collect snow to mold into a ball. Your palms and fingers become numb once you pick up ice, but it was worth it - well, you hope it is. Sometimes, these types of moments are bound to have sacrifices, especially for the cost of Mark’s reactions.

Hearing Mark end the conversation, he looks at you from behind. “What are you doing over there? Did you find something in the snow?” He curiously questions, similar to a child wondering about possible treasure buried in the snow. Smirking and turning around to face him, he is slowly approaching you with curiosity evident on his handsome face.

You made extra sure you don’t throw the snowball at his face. Lifting up your arm and swinging, the white ball hits his chest and he stops in his tracks in surprise - “Woah! Did you just throw a snowball at me?” Mark’s eyes are wide, lips parted in surprise but there is a hint of amusement regardless of his astonishment. You laugh, “No~ I think it was something else!”

“Oh yeah?” Mark scoffs, you took notice of the smile on his face when he begins to lean down to build a snowball in his hands also. Before you could waddle off to take cover behind the bench, Mark had hastily created one and thrown it directly at you. The impact hits you on the back and you scream mixed with laughter, beginning to create more snowballs to continue the challenge against your boyfriend.

Throwing another at Mark, “This is war, Mark Lee!” You proclaim and you see him creating more snowballs also. Your snowball hits his shoulder and you see the visible shudder running along his spine, some snow touching at his neck; he looks up at you, “Y/N, you are going to regret this!”

You aren’t sure how long you hid behind the bench, throwing snowballs at the blonde male as he stood in the wide open and doing his best in dodging each one. You can’t help but roll your eyes, finding Mark to be a show-off; but, the joy glowing around him is one you can’t openly complain about. He is far too adorable for your own heart with his boyish smile and purposeful attempts in getting hit to protect the smile on your face.

Of course, the unexpected occurs due to Mark’s luck. As you throw another snowball towards his legs, you did not expect Mark to miraculously trip and fall. Shocked, you are standing up from behind the bench - “Mark!” You call out the dramatic sequence of events looking like some stupid scene of a movie. Maybe to an onlooker, it would be a tragic love story.

Seeing his dark colored jacket collapse into the white snow, you scurry over with worry expressing from your features. “Are you okay?!” You hurriedly say, ready to pick him up from the cold floor; however, such plan had completely fallen apart when you somehow slipped and lost balance. Toppling on top of him, you hear Mark groan underneath you once you collide with him and you panic.

“I am sorry!” You begin to scramble, lifting yourself up but feel a grip on your waist. Slowly you look down to meet Mark’s eyes, snow contrasting the blonde locks of hair overcoming his forehead; unbelievably so, Mark held a very serious expression. Locked in a very intimate position, you have forgotten about the cold surrounding the two of you.

His eyes observe your face, longingly staring at your lips before flickering up to your eyes - “Are you alright?” He asks the question solely meant for him considering his situation, but he seems more worried about your state than his own. Nodding slowly, you realize the proximity between your faces; warm breath reaching you, his laundry detergent feeling more overwhelming than a simple hug.

Reality struck your boyfriend, his eyes slightly widening and he slowly sits up with you moving and taking a seat in his lap. “I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable,” He says quickly and his hands are disappearing from your waist. Flustered, he folds his hands behind his back and tries his best to lean away from you to avoid any discomfort for your sake.

You slowly shook your head, “No, no…You are okay…Right?” You try to change the topic. Seeing Mark avoiding your eyes, he quietly nods; you aren’t sure whether he is blushing or it was the cold snow cursing his pale skin from falling. Maybe it is both. Without thinking to get up, you stuff a hand in the pocket of your jacket to take hold of the hotpack.

Thankfully, it remains warm and you are moving it towards Mark’s lips. Instinctively, he turns to you from the warm touch, relief evident in his eyes. You smile at him, “You aren’t hurt right?”

Mark didn’t say a word. Eyes observing the beauty he dreams of every night and looking forward to during the day, he is somehow growing a desire to have your warmth instead. Lifting up a hand and wrapping his fingers from your wrist in a gentle grasp, he moves the hotpack away from his face and slowly leans forward; as he begins to move, you are feeling your breath stop.

Softly, his lips place against your own for a short moment. His warm breath caressing your face and you remained frozen until he pulled away, his eyes fluttering open to meet sight of your gaping face; regret overtakes his expression, Mark shyly looking down - “I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to kiss you…I should have asked…Sorry–”

Tenderly, you place your hands on his face, the lingering warmth of your lips growing a sudden desire you’ve never felt before. You slowly turn him to face you, “I want to kiss you more.” You admit and his lips twitch up into a smile. Before he could reply, you are capturing his lips with your own to prevent any words leaving his lips.

Head tilting to deepen the kiss, you melt into the very warmth of your boyfriend. You feel his hands placed on your waist once again, squeezing you lightly as the two of you kiss amongst the white snow surrounding the two of you.

All ice cursing is melted away, the warmth of Mark Lee’s is enough to have you at bliss.

[sainzfilm]

🛳️ stuck with you - pierre gasly 🛳️

summary: money is money, you lived by that motto. what if your ex shows up on your doorstep with the cruise tickets you booked way before the two of you broke up?

taglist: @svechyaho @squderia @idkiwantchocolatee @koufaxx @melonunicornbby @myescapefromthislife @slut-era @pachiibatt @estevries @dan3avocado @sidcrosbyspuck @barzysreputation @uhhevie @mick2mercedes @mehrmonga

check out my winter wonderland celebration!

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Pierre grabbed your arm, turning you around to face him, “Just listen to me, Y/N! It’s not like that, I swear!”

“Pathetic, Pierre,” You scoffed, pulling your arm back and frowning, “I’m just…done. You barely put shit into this relationship, I can’t do this anymore.”

“I’m going to try more,” He pleaded, looking in your eyes, “I promise, I will.”

Shaking your head, you smiled sadly at him, “That’s all you ever do, break promises, Pierre.”

“So, this is it?” Pierre chuckles bitterly, running a hand down his face, “This is how we end?”

“It’s for the best, Pierre,” You muttered, grabbing your purse and looking at him one last time, “Thanks for…everything.”

Pierre didn’t move from where he stood, watching you leave and feeling his heart ache from the loss of what could have been his greatest love.

December 20th. Just a few more days until Christmas – and marking a year since you and Pierre broke up. Well, a year since you broke up with him.

“I don’t get why you called me,” You mumbled through the phone, nearly folding your clothes, “To remind me that I broke up with Pierre a year ago?”

“Because it’s nice teasing you,” Sabrina, your sister, chuckled, “Plus, he hasn’t dated since you broke up with him.”

Rolling your eyes, you stashed the clothes inside your suitcase and stopping upon hearing the doorbell ringing, “Hold that thought, someone’s at the door.”

Throwing your phone on the bed, you ran down the stairs and opened the door, eyes widening from the person standing in front of you, “You…what are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, pumpkin,” Pierre grinned, leaning against the doorframe, “Didn’t expect to see me coming?”

Laughing in response, you looked at him and raised an eyebrow, “Why would I want to see you again?”

“Good point,” Pierre shrugged, ducking under your arm and hanging his coat on the rack, “I definitely wanted to see you again.”

“Just great,” You mumbled, closing the door and crossing your arms, “My house has an unwelcome guest.”

Kicking his shoes off and sitting on your loveseat, Pierre waved two tickets, “Remember these? The ones we booked way before…you broke up with me?”

“Oh Jesus, dumb mistake of me leaving those with you,” You frowned, looking at him, “What’s your plan?”

Pierre clicked his tongue, waving the tickets around, “I know that you’re quite the thrifty gal, so think of it as me trying to give us a shot again.”

“No way, Gasly,” You laughed, shaking your head, “I’m not getting back with you, I’ve done my time.”

“C’mon, Y/N,” Pierre sat up, looking at you intently, “A year…just made me reflect on things, I want to try again.”

Smiling sarcastically, you raised a finger and ran up the stairs, grabbing a pillow and screaming through it. He’s absolutely using your thriftiness against you – he knew damn well that you can’t say no, not to him but the tickets.

“Fuck this, I could just book another room away from him,” You muttered, zipping up your suitcase and walking down the stairs, “Just keep your distance from me throughout the cruise.”

Pierre grinned, clapping his hands and grabbing the suitcase from you, “Brilliant decision, Y/N. You’re stuck with me until the 27th.”

Pushing him out the door, you rolled your eyes and locked your house before getting in his car and putting on your seatbelt, “You’re going be to the death of me.”

December 24th. Four days since you were stuck inside a boat – with your ex-boyfriend, who was definitely trying to rekindle the flame between you two.

“So, what do you say…” Pierre trailed off, fixing his hair in the mirror, “We check out that Christmas eve thing?”

Sitting up on the bed, you set your book down and looked at him, “Maybe, maybe not.”

“You know, it’s going to be fun,” He smiled, sitting on the couch, crossing his legs, “You can’t deny that you’re enjoying the cruise.”

“Okay, sure, I won’t lie and I’m definitely enjoying the cruise,” You replied, shrugging, “But rain check on that Christmas eve thing, I’ll catch up if I feel like it.”

Pierre nodded with a smile, grabbing his phone and wallet before exiting the room. Laying back down and staring at the ceiling, your thoughts bounced from ‘Jesus, here we go again with the butterflies.’ to ‘He’s going to hurt you all over again.’

“God damn it,” You exclaimed, sitting up on the bed and running your hands through your hair, “You broke up with him for a reason, Y/N!”

Picking up your phone, you scrolled through your photos – playing mini golf with Pierre, going on the slides despite being scared shitless, beating him at laser tag, and late night arcade adventures.

You couldn’t deny how much fun you’ve had over the span of four days, and you definitely cannot deny the fact that maybe the feelings never really left in the first place.

Running a hand down your face, you shook your head and made a beeline for the bathroom, changing into a blue silk dress and fixing yourself up in the slightest. As you checked yourself one more time in the mirror, you grabbed your phone and hurriedly exiting the room with a few minutes ‘til midnight.

“C’mon, pick up, Pierre,” You muttered through the phone, making your way past people, “Excuse me, sorry!”

Muttering incoherences, you shoved your phone back inside your purse. As Pierre turned around, he could swear he felt the air getting knocked out of his body upon seeing you amidst the crowd. It was as if time slowed down, the only thing that mattered was you.

“Excuse me, pardon me,” Pierre mumbled, pushing past people and calling out to you, “Y/N!”

Turning around, your eyes lit up and smiled, making your way to him, “Pierre!”

Pushing past people, you stumbled in his arms and laughed softly, shaking your head, “I’m not too late, aren’t I?”

“No, of course not,” He chuckled, helping you stand up and putting his hands inside his pockets, “It’s still 5 minutes until Christmas.”

“I’m not talking about that,” You mumbled, avoiding his gaze and laughing nervously, “I mean like…I’m not too late for…us to try again?”

Looking at you with a small smile, Pierre reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, “Never.”

“But, not too fast,” You smiled, looking up at him, “Under one condition, though.”

“Oh, I already know what you’re going to say,” He grinned, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand, “I’ll be better this time around. No more broken promises.”

Laughing, you leaned your head against his chest and mumbled, “Don’t mess up this time.”

“Trust me, Y/N,” He muttered, kissing the top of your head and holding your face in his hands, “I’m never letting you go this time.”

Hearing the people around you greeting each other, you took in a deep breath and looked in Pierre’s eyes as he leaned in to kiss you passionately.

You couldn’t help but smile throughout the kiss, pulling away for a moment to whisper, “Merry Christmas, Pierre.”

Pierre smiled brightly, leaning his forehead against yours, “Merry Christmas, mon ange.”

[9w1ft]

so many signs

so i had this thing in the back of my mind that i wanted to share a little bit about, because i think it’s highlights a little bit of karlie’s easter egging prowess

so as many of you know, i have had a certain piece of jewelry identification that’s been top of mind for awhile. a mysterious (and hilarious) evil eye necklace that karlie first wore on her birthday last year, august 3rd, 2022:

it took a long while to identify but with the help of @kwyw and @corneliastvendor and input from many more, we diligently settled upon a match with the brand Mejuri.

so

…i dunno if you remember, but back at the beginning of the year @kwyw also pointed out that there was an extra connection, between this evil eye necklace and the amulette de cartier:

both talismans of Courage.

the amulette de cartier has its own place in kaylor lore (if it’s new to you you can read about that here and here and here). but, veterans of quarantine kaylor remember how this rep era necklace made a unique surprise appearance during lover/folklore era, ultimately coinciding with karlie’s 2020 pregnancy. which, given the symbolism of the necklace, i think made a lot of thematic sense… being pregnant during the height of a pandemic is scary and, speaking from experience, i as well found myself in search of things to give me that extra peace of mind.

so seeing the necklace have that Courage keyword connection, i couldn’t help but uhhh, have a feeling so peculiar. now, with the gift of more (celebratory) information, let’s take a look at all the times karlie has worn this necklace (*reminder that some of these may be a day off because of the big time zone difference between me and the US):

August 3rd, 2022 — (as pictured above) karlie’s birthday, she writes “cheers to new beginnings xx”

September 2nd, 2022 — this therabody promo, which many of us got a kick out of after midnights was announced, first because she mentions 3am (the name of the extra version of the album) and the word midnight and second because this tiktok is set to the tune of ABBA’s “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! A Man After Midnight”

November 19th, 2022 — a post captioned friyay, notably, wearing a loewe shirt, the designer who she wore to the met gala

December 11th, 2022 — to a celebratory kode with klossy event for her young scholars

December 13th, 2022 — she wore it as part of several instagram stories she had up on taylor’s bday (thank you @kwyw for the reminder 😆)

December 18th, 2022 — she posted this the same day she posted the photos of her josh and levi at the ice skating rink (mikey and misha were there too) before heading to japan.

February 3rd, 2023 — february.jpg

and then, at the met gala on May 1st, wearing loewe, she announces her pregnancy, and tells everybody that she is nearly 8 months along!

now, if we are to assume that she is 8 months along this may, we can count back ( 7mo along in april, 6mo march, 5mo feb, 4mo jan, 3mo dec, 2mo nov, 1mo along in oct, 0mo sept) and see how in order to have conceived in september, prep for that would likely have started in… yes, the month before. august! aka… when she first debuted the evil eye necklace!

and when you look back at all the phrases and contexts accompanying her posts with the piece, you can kind of see how the necklace works in concert with her setting her intentions, potentially celebrating milestones like finding out, telling people, hitting the 5 mo mark which is when the majority of pregnancies become more stable, etc… this is all to say, and this is just a simple thing but, i feel confident in saying that this necklace was in fact one way of her hinting at her next child, since all the way back in august 2022 ☺️ and since it’s an eye necklace? well, 😌 all the more nice of a feeling.

[sunflowerabyss]

Charms of Fate: Chapter 8

Paring: Remus Lupin x Fem!Professor!Reader

Series Masterlist

Plot: Amidst the echoes of a bygone era, you return to Hogwarts years after parting ways with Hogwarts. What begins as a journey fueled by nostalgia transforms into an unexpected reunion with Remus Lupin, now a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. As the past intertwines with the present, the two former classmates navigate the complexities of grief, the resurgence of friendship, and the unwritten chapters of their shared history in this tale of rediscovery and the magic that binds them together.

Warnings: none? idk. fluff

________________________________________________

In the quiet loneliness of his thoughts, Remus found himself consumed by your presence. Since that day in his cluttered office, the memory of your touch lingered like a gentle flame, a constant warmth that danced on the edges of his consciousness. The soft imprint of your lips on his skin became an indelible mark, a sweet reminder that traced his every waking moment.

The thought of you became a steady companion, accompanying him from the moment he opened his eyes until the time he surrendered to sleep. Even in the realm of dreams, you painted the canvas of his subconscious, integrating yourself into every corner of his mind.

As the days unfolded, Remus recognized a profound truth within himself—he was undeniably, irrevocably in love with you. It wasn't just a fleeting infatuation but a deep, soul-stirring affection that colored the world around him. Your laughter echoed in his mind; your smile etched into the very core of his being.

Yet, amidst the beauty of this newfound emotion, a quiet fear lingered. Remus knew the dangers that lurked within him, the potential for harm that his condition held. He longed for you, yearned to fully embrace what blossomed between you both, but the specter of his own perceived monstrosity held him back.

In the stillness of the night, as the moon cast its silvery glow over his thoughts, Remus couldn't escape the magnetic pull you held over him. Love had taken root, entwining its tendrils around his heart, leaving him to navigate the delicate dance between desire and restraint.

________________________________________

The air around the Hogwarts grounds held a crisp, autumnal chill as Harry and Professor Lupin strolled along the bridge, the gentle rustle of leaves accompanying their conversation. As Harry kicked a pebble along the path, he decided to broach a topic that had been lingering in his mind.

"Professor," Harry began tentatively, "can I ask you about my parents?"

Remus' features softened by the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, nodded and offered a small smile. "Of course, Harry."

Harry took a deep breath before plunging into the inquiry. "What were my parents like? I mean, really like?"

Remus sighed, the weight of memories settling upon him. "Your parents were remarkable people, Harry. James was a bit of a troublemaker, always up for a prank or mischief. But beneath that exterior, he had a heart of gold. He was fiercely loyal and cared deeply for those he loved."

Harry's curiosity prompted him to ask, "What about my mum? Did you know her well?"

"Lily," Remus spoke her name with fondness. "She was an extraordinary witch, talented beyond measure. More than her magical prowess, though, Lily was an uncommonly kind woman. She was there for me, offering her support without judgment."

Harry's gaze dropped to the pebble he kicked along the path. "Did Professor (L/N) know my parents too?"

Remus nodded, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "Yes, she did. Lily was her best friend all throughout Hogwarts."

Remus's eyes softened with nostalgia as he continued to share tales of your and Lily's enduring friendship. They stopped, both leaning against the railing, looking out over the forest.

"Lily and Professor (L/N) were inseparable," Remus reminisced, a distant smile on his face. "They complemented each other in the most magical way. Lily's vivacity and warmth balanced (Y/N)'s quiet strength."

He paused, momentarily lost in the memories. "I remember seeing them together, often sitting by the fireplace, engrossed in discussions about magic, life, and everything in between. Lily's fiery spirit and (Y/N)'s calm wisdom created a dynamic that was a joy to witness. I'm sure if you asked, Professor (L/N) would love to tell you more about their friendship." Harry hummed, nodding his head slightly.

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves as if nature itself was eavesdropping on the tales of camaraderie. Remus's voice held a blend of gratitude and longing. "Your mother and father, Harry, were a steadfast friend to everyone. In times of trouble, they would face challenges with you, hand in hand. Their friendship was the kind that left an indelible mark on everyone lucky enough to witness it."

Harry, intrigued by the connections that existed between his parents' generation, couldn't help but wonder about the dynamics between his Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms teacher.

"Professor," Harry asked tentatively, "were you and Professor (L/N) friends?"

Remus's expression softened as he delved into the memories. "Yes, Harry, we were friends. We met during our time at Hogwarts. We belonged to the same house—Gryffindor."

"How did you know each other? For how long?" Harry asked.

He continued, "We were just acquaintances at first, at least until your mother finally let your father take her out. It wasn't until our last year at Hogwarts that I considered her a really good and close friend."

Harry's curiosity persisted, and he asked, "What happened after Hogwarts? Did you stay in touch?"

Remus's expression shifted, carrying a touch of melancholy. "After your parents… after that fateful night, things changed. The entire wizarding world was struggling with the aftermath, and each of us coped in our own way. Unfortunately, she and I lost touch over the years. Life took us in different directions."

He added, "I regret the distance that grew between us. I feel having her close would have made it easier."

Harry, the curious boy he was, pressed on. "Professor," he asked cautiously, "did you… love her?"

Remus sighed, his gaze distant as he weighed his words carefully. "Love is a difficult emotion, Harry. She was, and is, a remarkable person. She was my confidante, a dear friend." Someone I trust.

Harry, sensing there was more to the story, pressed on. "I mean, did you ever love her romantically, Professor?"

Yes. I have loved her since the day I met her. Nothing has changed.

Remus hesitated at Harry's more personal inquiries, glancing nervously as if questioning the appropriateness of the conversation. Harry, undeterred, waited for an answer.

With a sigh, Remus began, "Harry, should you really be asking such questions?" Harry, ever the inquisitive teenager, leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. "Well, I suppose I could say it this way--if I were to love her, it would span a thousand lifetimes, and even then, it wouldn't be enough."

[duckyfruitbat]

Oh Hey, Some Delisted Sonic Games

If there's one thing that anyone knows about the Sonic franchise, it's that the games have been up and down since 2006. On one hand you get games like generations and colors, on the other you get Boom and Shadow the Hedgehog, that's also their nose picking hand. There's even a name for this era, fans call it the Sonic Dark Age, and wouldn't you know it, some of these games have been delisted by Sega. A list of Sonic games that can only be played with either the original hardware, or good old piracy for those less legally inclined.

Quick disclaimer; for some reason there are a bunch of spin offs lumped into this era, racing games for example. Since they're not mainstream titles, they won't be included. There is also a lot of fan discourse as to when the dark age ends. It ranges from anywhere between 2009 to today. I'm sure I'll touch on those at some point in the future.

It goes without saying that the dark age was kicked off with the release of Sonic 06, infamous for being glitchy, not well optimized, and having a strange story with clashing character designs. It's very strange seeing proportional human designs alongside Sonic and friends. I could go on beating this dead horse, but I can't do much with a grease stain that's now a permanent mark on the floor. All we need to know is that it is one of the games Sega delisted as part of some spring cleaning back in 2010.

Two others were The Secret Rings, and The Black Knight, two games that were originally a part of a story book trilogy that put the characters in story book settings. The third game was cancelled due to poor reception and sales of the previous two, looking through the reviews, there were a lot of control issues.

Sonic Unleashed has recently had a resurgence in popularity, but at the time it didn't get much love due to the were-hog parts clashing heavily with the regular Sonic levels. It also had the typical issue of games back then wanting to be God of War.

Finally there's Sonic Boom, a game that was supposed to be the head of a multi media movement for the franchise. It was hyped up with all the tie ins. There were of course the toys, the comics and the show were very well received, and then the game came out on WiiU and it was was buggy, poorly written, poorly animated, and on a platform that was hemorrhaging money for Nintendo. The story behind how this game became the way it is is an epic saga full of miscommunication, deadlines, and fickle minds. It's honestly a miracle this game was even released. It was only released on WiiU and support for the console ended just this past April, so unless you have one of Nintendo's worst selling consoles, you're out of luck.

Most of the games listed above have been in Sega's shame corner for some time now, rereleases are unlikely except for maybe Unleashed. Their appeal is mostly for the novelty of playing a bad game, which is always a fun idea if you wanna see how much a game can struggle.

Now of course little old me wouldn't endorse piracy, I would never remind everyone how easy it is to download an emulator. While also reminding them to keep their anti viral software and computer up to date. You wouldn't download a car after all right?

[talktaurean2meblog]

AEW Collision 9-21-24

This is just a little write-up on All Elite Wrestling's Saturday show, Collision. It's no surprise that I'm trying to become a better fan of their product and that includes watching more often.

It was a solid show, actually, and a lot of folks said it blew Dynamite out of the water. SHEEH.

We begin the action with a Ring of Honor Tag Team Title Match between the reigning champions (Sammy Guevara & Dustin Rhodes) and Undisputed Era (Mike Bennett and Matt Tavern*)

I don't know the most about either team but Sammy and Dustin got the jump on UE before they were even all the way up the ramp. Let the madness begin! Its a gimmick match, but i didn’t catch the specifics.. maybe the name will come back to me, at some point..

Dustin was, at one point, currently grinding a belt buckle into someone’s face.. Apparently this is Dusty’s old one and it was gifted to him after his passing.

A Buckhouse Brawl? I believe that's what it was? And the last one hasn't been a thing since 2020. I thought that Undisputed Era might get a sneaky win.. that was my initial thought, about this match. This damn crash test dummy Sammy, later on in the match, caught a steel chair to the head… and I'm pretty sure this is the type of straight shot that is outlawed in most promotions. At least.. I thought?

Right after, UE pulled off a nasty doomsday device outside the ring. Sammy's rotation (or over rotation?) had me scared for a second. Dustin went through the table on the outside, and barbed wire was definitely involved, some way. Sammy got to give a running cutter, jumping from the ring and landing on the table that was set up outside. Whew.

Jesus Christ, when will Tony Khan stop this mf from taking all of these over-the-top bumps??? He just fell from a ladder.. We JUST  got back from commercial At this point, Dustin has both men in a vice grip via pliers at the nuts.

Almost everyone is bleeding right now.. Its almost hard to watch… I don't know if that's because I'm not truly a "sicko" or not... Or if it's because it's ACTUALLY over the top. There's a “this is awesome” chant at 13 min into the match. Mike Bennett tried to make a comeback, tried to get a cover on Rhodes, but Guevara breaks up the pin. Dustin is, unbeknownst to me, wrapping barbed wire around his right boot.. Very slowly, i might add. He does this while completely bloodied in the face and kicks mike in a nuts while he’s in the corner…

Sammy is, at the closing moments, at the top of the ladder. He went for a Swanton bomb, I believe, and got the cover over Mike Bennett to retain. The goal of this match seems to have been to put on a crazy opening tag title match but also to get Sammy .. somewhat.. closer to being over/show that Dustin can still go.

2. Conglomeration had a backstage segment, including Mark Briscoe, Kyle O'Reilly, and Hologram, but it was Interrupted by Premiere athletes, I think. We're still learning these names.

3. Evil Uno also has a backstage segment about a future match against Mox, I believe. But tonight, is all about him and Darby Allin. Darby is still on Mox's radar, for some reason, too. Darby walks up.. Talking about a war coming? The prior beatdown on Private Party is referenced also. Darby said he has no plan of laying down and dying… he's a future world champ, he adds.

“Remind me what you can do.. Show me you got that dawg in you”

This was a quick moment of beauty from Darby Allin, towards Evil Uno.

For the Conglomeration's match, we have Mark Briscoe and Kyle O'Reilly (joined by Rocky Romero), and with Hologram. The masked wrestler is on a ten match winning streak, according to commentary. They took on the Premiere Athletes (Tony Neese, Ariya Daivari, and someone else I don’t know?)

Grand Slam is coming up on Wednesday this week!

Apparently, AEW 5 is also coming up and that's where Britt Baker is returning. Mind you, we have not seen hide nor tail of that women since she did what she did in between those ropes against Mercedes Mone at All In at Wembley a few weeks or so ago. But AEW 5 is October the 2nd. Title Tuesday is October 8th?

It was a lot going on, so I didn't have many thoughts. Hologram is insane, in between those ropes, and i mean this honestly. He was playing a little bit of cat and mouse with Tony, and he looked so quick and speedy while doing it. I disassociated for a little bit (ADHD), but Briscoe got the pin and not before some crazy shit from Hologram, attempted interference by Smart Mark Sterling Kyle O doing what he normally does.. The damn thing.

3. We were eventually blessed with a MxM Backstage Segment. I love this shit so much for them…

They stole Max Castor's jacket last week.. And gave it a "makeover". Apparently, next week they’re going to do the Grand Slam Finale and reveal it, a la NYFW. I love them so much.

Bang Bang Gang (with Daddy Ass) did a little promo segment backstage, in response, about twenty or so minutes later.

4. At some point we get Mariah May vs Lady Frost in an Eliminator Match. Not too much to write home about, for this one. Short match, good stuff by Frost, a predictable win for this new "champion".

Lady Frost? Oh yes ma'am, that bob is BOBBING. MM is wasting time blowing kisses at Nigel over on commentary and LF attempted like 3 pins on her as soon as the bell even rang.

No surprise, Mariah May lives to hold that belt around another day.

Around this point, is when my "old lady senses" started tingling, letting me know that it was almost my bedtime. So I did finish the episode, but as a casual watcher. No notes.

What should/promotion should I watch/comment/react on next?

Should I start doing the whole show? Or just break down a match or two? We've got some goooooood shows on the horizon, folks.

[billdecker]

I’ve spent nine months perfecting my 40th birthday party playlist and I think I have it. It’s split up into kinda eras/musical obsessions of my life and songs that mean a lot to me/remind me of people no longer in my life, so here we are...

Seven Nation Army - The White Stripes

I Predict a Riot - Kaiser Chiefs

Apply Some Pressure - Maximo Park

Banquet - Bloc Party

Michael - Franz Ferdinand

Mirror Kissers - The Cribs

Take Me Out - Franz Ferdinand

Somebody Told Me - The Killers

Fell In Love With a Girl - The White Stripes

One Step Beyond - Madness

The Sound of the Suburbs - The Members

Jilted John - Jilted John

Anarchy in the UK - Sex Pistols

Teenage Kicks - The Undertones

Ever Fallen in Love - Buzzcocks

Going Underground - The Jam

Rock the Casbah - The Clash

Once in a Lifetime - Talking Heads

It Doesn’t Have to Be This Way - The Blow Monkeys

Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Tears for Fears

The Look of Love - ABC

Wishing I Was Lucky - Wet Wet Wet

Breakout - Swing Out Sister

Yes Sir, I Can Boogie - Baccara

Dancing Queen - ABBA

Best of My Love - The Emotions

Got To Be Real - Cherly Lynn

Never Too Much - Luther Vandross

Boogie Wonderland - Earth, Wind & Fire

You To Me Are Everything - The Real Thing

The Snake - Al Wilson

Move On Up - Curtis Mayfield

Land of 1000 Dances - Wilson Pickett

Do I Love You - Frank Wilson

Get Ready - The Temptations

Reach Out, I’ll Be There - Four Tops

My Girl - The Temptations

I Can’t Help Myself - Four Tops

This Old Heart of Mine - The Isley Brothers

Ain’t No Mountain High Enough - Diana Ross

I Wanna Dance With Somebody - Whitney Houston

Respectable - Mel & Kim

London Nights - London Boys

When Will I Be Famous? - Bros

Never Gonna Give You Up - Rick Astley

You’ll Never Step Me From Loving You - Sonia

Too Many Broken Hearts - Jason Donovan

Love in the First Degree - Bananarama

Venus - Bananarama

One For Sorrow - Steps

All That She Wants - Ace of Base

Love to Hate You - Erasure

Love Shack - The B-52′s

Sweat (A La La La La Song) - Inner Circle

Baby I Love Your Way - Big Mountain

Shine - Aswad

Would I Lie To You? - Charlie & Eddie

Return of the Mack - Mark Morrison

Save Our Love - Eternal

Stay - Eternal

Naked - Louise

Maybe - Emma Bunton

Mi Chico Latino - Geri Halliwell

I Turn To You - Melanie C

Out of Your Mind - True Steppers, Dane Bowers, Victoria Beckham

I Want You Back - Mel B, Missy Elliott

Re-Rewind - Artful Dodger, Craig David

Scandalous - Mis-Teeq

Flowers - Sweet Female Attitude

I Know Where It’s At - All Saints

Never Ever - All Saints

Stay - Lisa Loeb

I Quit - Hepburn

Drop Dead Gorgeous - Republica

Trouble - Shampoo

Bitch - Meredith Brooks

You Oughta Know - Alanis Morissette

Celebrity Skin - Hole

Weak - Skunk Anansie

Don’t Speak - No Doubt

Torn - Natalie Imbruglia

I Want It That Way - Backstreet Boys

Crazy For You - Let Loose

Love Me For a Reason - Boyzone

Keep On Movin - Five

Be the First to Believe - A1

Love Here I Come - Bad Boys Inc

I’m a Man, Not a Boy - North & South

House of Love - East 17

Let’s Get Ready to Rhumble - PJ & Duncan

If I Give You My Number - PJ & Duncan

I Should Be So Lucky - Kylie Minogue

Never Too Late

Step Back in Time

Better the Devil You Know

Spinning Around

Can’t Get Blue Monday Out of My Head - Kylie, New Order

Girls & Boys - Blur

Connection - Elastica

Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana

Creep - Radiohead

Song 2 - Blur

Your Woman - White Town

Bitter Sweet Symphony - The Verve

Change - Lightning Seeds

Trash - Suede

A Girl Like You - Edwyn Collins

Disco 2000 - Pulp

Common People - Pulp

Country House - Blur

Mulder and Scully - Catatonia

World in Motion - New Order

Three Lions - Baddiel, Skinner & The Lightning Seeds

Wannabe - Spice Girls

Say You’ll Be There

Who Do You Think You Are?

Spice Up You Life

Stop

Old Before I Die - Robbie Williams

Rock DJ

Millennium

No Regrets

Angels

Babe - Take That

Once You’ve Tasted Love

It Only Takes a Minute

I Found Heaven

Could It Be Magic

Everything Changes

Pray

Relight My Fire

Two Can Play That Game - Bobby Brown

I Luv U Baby - The Original

Don’t Give Me Your Life - Alex Party

Never Let Her Slip Away - Undercover

When I’m Good and Ready - Sybil

Ride on Time - Black Box

The Rhythm of the Night - Corona

No Limit - 2 Unlimited

Get A Way - Maxx

The Key The Secret - Urban Cookie Collective

U Sure Do - Strike

I Breathe Again - Adam Rickitt

Spaceman - Babylon Zoo

Red Alert - Basement Jaxx

Feel It - The Tamperer, Maya

Freed From Desire - Gala

Mr Vain - Culture beat

What Is Love? - Haddaway

Gypsy Woman - Crystal Waters

Finally - CeCe Peniston

Free - Ultra Nate

Dreamer - Livin Joy

Let Me Be Your Fantasy - Baby D

I’m Alive - Stretch n Vern

Set You Free - N-Trance

disco tits - Tove Lo

Coconuts - Kim Petras

Outside - George Michael

It’s a Sin - Pet Shop Boys

Relax - Frankie Goes to Hollywood

Gimme Gimme Gimme - ABBA

Total Eclipse of the Heart - Bonnie Tyler

Let’s Dance - David Bowie

Temptation - Heaven 17

Gold - Spandau Ballet

Karma Chameleon - Culture Club

Club Tropicana - Wham

I’m Still Standing - Elton John

Uptown Girl - Billy Joel

Young at Heart - The Bluebells

Come On Eileen - Dexys Midnight Runners

I Could Be So Good For You - Dennis Waterman

Amarillo - Tony Christie

Delilah - Tom Jones

The Best - Tina Turner

All Around the World - Lisa Stansfield

The Time of My Life - Billy Medley, Jennifer Warnes

Especially For You - Kylie, Jason

Perfect Moment - Martine McCutcheon

Chains - Tina Arena

A Design For Life - Manic Street Preachers

Yes - McAlmont & Butler

I Do This All The Time - Self Esteem

Zombie - The Cranberries

This Charming Man - The Smiths

Paranoid Android - Radiohead

The Wonder of You - Elvis Presley

Don’t Look Back in Anger - Oasis

Baby I Love You - The Ramones

[multifandom-re-write-01]

Meeting Chwe Boyoung

Summary: Nari meets someone she never expected to meet. (Boyoung x Nari crossover) Based on Boyoung's post, The Multiverse

A/N: I didn't tag anyone in this because this is a post we've already read before in the previous blog - it changed a little bit, but nothing big, so I didn't tag anyone ^^

A soft knock was heard behind Nari’s bedroom door, making the woman call out gently for the person to come in. She assumed that one of the members must have come back to the dorm early from their dinner outing; Nari felt like staying back at home to relax rather than go out with the others - goodness, the poor woman has been slightly overworking due to NCT 127 and WayV preparations as well as NCT as a whole in general (not that the public is aware of, having preparations for their next NCT comeback and all…).

When the door opened, she did not expect to see a young woman sniffling, face stained with dry tears and looking very defeated. Nari had no idea who this young woman was, but at the moment, she looked very defeated, sad, and in pain - Nari’s motherly instincts kicked in despite not knowing who she was. “Oh my…” Nari felt her eyes soften at the sight of the young woman, reminding her of the Dreamies. “Are you alright, honey?”

“N-No!” the stranger whimpered, bursting into tears. Instantly, Nari held her arms out for a hug, the young woman falling into her arms as she cried heavily. Seeing her cry made her think of Jisung for some reason; must be because she looked around his age.

“Aiyaa~” Nari cooed, patting her back comfortingly. “It’s okay, it’s okay, let it all out, take your time honey, take your time~”

She doesn’t know how long the two stayed in their position; the stranger hugged Nari around the waist tightly as the two sat on Nari’s bed, but eventually, the cries stopped, and the woman pulled away from Nari to wipe her face sheepishly. “Are you okay?” Nari asked her calmly, helping brush loose strands of hair away from her damp face.

“Y-Yeah, I should be okay now,” the woman smiled at her sheepishly. “Thanks…”

“No worries,” Nari smiled back, moving to rest against her headboard. She stared at the young woman curiously. “Now…can I ask why you are here? I’ve never seen you before, and I have no idea how you came here without me hearing the front door opening…” A thought entered her mind that made her pout. “Are you a relative of one of the members who I didn’t know about? If so, that is very low of them, and I will scold them later for that.” Nari tried to think of which member would do this. Her face darkened at another suggestion. "If you're a sasaeng -"

“No, I’m not…I’m not a relative of the members,” the stranger admitted with the smallest cringe. "And I'm not a sasaeng. No way..." She lifted her hand up to show the Sling Ring to Nari. “I’m from another universe.”

“Ohhh?” Nari leaned forward to stare at the jewellery with interest. She recognised it, being a MARVEL fan and all, so her interest was piqued.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “In my universe, I’m Jaemin’s childhood best friend -” Her face flashed with pain momentarily, seeming to reminisce on a painful memory, “-and together we’re in NCT. I’m the only female member in NCT.”

Only female member in NCT?

"Prove it," Nari narrowed her eyes at her suspiciously. "Tell me something about NCT that the public doesn't know."

Boyoung blinked. "Uh...Johnny Oppa once danced to Barbie Girl shirtless while he had those extensions in his hair during Gimme Gimme era. Mark Oppa had recorded it and sent it to the Dreamie group chat."

No one knows that except the members.

“That’s cool,” Nari grinned, holding her arms out to her side. “Because that’s me in this universe, the only female member in NCT.”

“Really?” the stranger tilted her head in curiosity, Nari internally cooing at the cute action, “Can I ask what your name is?”

“Oh, of course!” Nari beamed. “My name is Park Nari.”

“My name is Chwe Boyoung. I thought I was going to meet another version of me, I didn’t know I’d meet a different person…”

“Can I know who you’ve met already?”

Boyoung recounted the events from when she had her disagreement with Jaemin in her original universe (Nari pouted at the fact Boyoung couldn’t see how amazing she truly was), all the way to leaving the recent different-Jaemin in his universe all alone. “How peculiar,” Nari mused once she heard the whole story. “You’ve met the version of you if you didn’t grow up in your upbringing, being happy and all that, and then you met an angry version of yourself that didn’t move on from the past and pushed people away, and then you met a universe where you…” Her smile faltered, “...unfortunately lost the battle to your hardships…”

“And now I am in a universe where I don’t exist,” Boyoung added dryly.

“Eh, it’s alright,” Nari waved off, “I’m pretty sure there’s a universe where neither of us doesn’t exist, and we’re just someone’s imagination.” Nari blinked at what she just uttered. She had no idea why she said that…

“Right, anything could happen…” Boyoung agreed, snapping Nari out of her mini confusion.

“But you know what I can see in your journey?” Nari asked her with a raised eyebrow. The young woman copied her action.

“What?”

“How they all speak the same message.”

“Which is?”

“Gratification, and moving onwards,” Nari answered in a reflective tone, waving her hand absently as if it was nothing - when really, it was something to take in. “That you have the chance to move on and become a better version, that you should be grateful for where you are.”

“...huh…” Boyoung blinked. But Nari could read her better than Boyoung thought; she can see the small denial in her eyes despite the journey she’s been through in the past few hours.

“And you know what I’m going to say?” Nari smiled cheekily with a wink.

“The same things the other universes said, I presume?” Boyoung returned with a half-hearted eye roll.

“Well, it’s because it’s true,” Nari shrugged, relaxing back against her headboard. “You need to see that you are not who you used to be, you’re not the old you that was lost and weak; but you’re a new person who can move on and become better - and people around you have seen it, except you. And I bet you, through these multiverse travels, you’re realising how lucky you are right now, and how grateful you are, right?”

“...right…” Acceptance and defeat are reflected in the young woman’s eyes. It reminded Nari of when she had to confront for the first time that she was constantly pushing people away, not letting anyone through her walls and into her heart. It wasn't until it had to be literally yelled at to her for her to realise the seriousness of how guarded she was to even her own members.

“So, what are you going to do?” Nari asked rhetorically, speaking the answer quickly before Boyoung could say anything. “You’re going to go back home, admit that you’re changing for the better, an show the members how grateful you are,” Goodness, Nari needed to express this to her own members as soon as they came back from their dinner outing.

“You’re such a mum,” Boyoung snickered. “Are you the mother figure in NCT?”

“Yeah, I am,” Nari smiled fondly at the thought of her members. “How interesting is that? I’m one of the older members in NCT and seen as an older sister or mother figure, but you’re the maknae of NCT. You must be so lucky having the members loving you.”

“Same to you,” Boyoung nodded. “You’re their role model, they love you a lot and would do anything fo you, I am guessing.”

“Right,” Memories of the members wanting to help her in certain situations played in the back of her mind. “I love them just as much…”

“From what I can see, there’s always something that’s trying to pull us back,” Boyoung noted thoughtfully. “Mine is my upbringing…do you have any struggles?”

“Oh, you know it!” Nari giggled in bittersweet. “Um…I tend to put a barrier up between me and people, so I don't get close to them. I tend to push people away and not show my true emotions and thoughts. So, people mistake me for being cold and rude.”

“Really?” Boyoung gaped. She had no idea they were similar.

“Yeah,” Nari winced, scratching the back of her neck. “Uh, it's a habit I had growing up, to be honest. But the members are trying to help me open up to people, especially Taeyong - I don't deserve him, I swear -”

“Huh? You and Taeyong Oppa?” Boyoung interrupted her with a confused frown.

“Ohhh…” Nari’s eyes widened slightly in realisation. “You know how you and Jisung have a thing going on? Well, in this universe, I am in a relationship with Taeyong.”

“Really?” Boyoung almost squealed, even going as far as to jump on her spot on the bed. “You and Oppa? Wooowww what is it like?”

“It’s great!” Nari perked up. Although she tried not to, a big smile was forming on her face at the thought of her lover. “We’re best friends, have helped each other in our lowest moments and everything…I really love him. I don't know where I would be without him.” Ever since the two decided to open up themselves to change and become their true selves, while also communicating with one another, they have been unstoppable.

Nari moved to sit beside Boyoung again instead of against the headboard, nudging her shoulder lightly with hers. “You should do that with Jaemin.”

“Jaemin and I aren’t -” Boyoung winced.

“I know, pabo,” Nari rolled her eyes. “But he’s still your best friend, the one who hasn’t given up on you. He deserves to be acknowledged as well, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Boyoung grinned small. “I’m really lucky to have him and the others in my life.”

“Aren’t we all?” Nari joked, referring to all versions of Boyoung (and maybe even herself), the two giggling briefly. “So…you know why you’re travelling through universes now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Boyoung sighed, seeming to relax her shoulders as if a weight was lifted off of them, “I know now.”

“That’s good, that’s good, I’m glad~”

Just then, a new portal opened up, having heard Boyoung’s longing and accepting heart to go back home for good. “Time to go home, I guess,” Boyoung seemed to have recognised it was a portal to her original universe, hopping off Nari’s bed quickly to stand in front of the portal. Nari moved quickly after her in an attempt to get a closer look at what Boyoung’s universe looked like. From what Nari could see, it was another version of her own room, it was just decorated to Boyoung’s style - and Nari can definitely see the room scream out Chwe Boyoung.

“Remember what you learnt in these travels, Boyoung,” Nari reminded her in a motherly tone. “Don’t let this all go to waste.”

“I won’t,” she assured the older woman with a smile. “I’ve learnt my lesson.”

“That’s good,” Nari nodded.

“Can you do something for me?” Boyoung requested, turning around to face Nari, her back to the portal.

“Anything!”

“Make sure to tell the members how grateful you are to have them in your life and to love them unconditionally,” Boyoung shuffled in her spot shyly. “The members deserve the whole world.”

“They do, they really do,” Nari almost whispered, feeling emotional from the love they both clearly had for their members. Nari was glad to have met Chwe Boyoung. If only she was from Nari’s universe; Nari would have treasured her and looked after her and loved her the way she deserved. And maybe through Boyoung, Nari would have learnt to appreciate the members a few years ago and be open to them - or maybe she and Boyoung would both be stubborn and not open up until years later. Who knows?

With one last wave of goodbye, Boyoung walked through the portal, back home.

The sound of the front door being unlocked echoed in the quiet dorm, followed by the loud laughter of the members and them teasing Doyoung like usual.

Nari was quick to fulfil Boyoung’s request.

“Noona!” Haechan cheered, dashing to her side before Doyoung could whack him for teasing the older member. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too in those few hours!” Nari snickered, pressing multiple kisses on the top of his head that made him laugh at the ticklish feeling. Although the 127 maknae was a bit confused to receive such physical affection, he couldn't complain. “Love you~”

“Mh, love you too, Noona~!”

“Hey, do we get this treatment as well?” Johnny pouted, hand flying to his heart dramatically. Rolling her eyes, she pulled away from Haechan (ignoring his whines) to hug her American best friend tightly. “Whoa,” Johnny raised his eyebrows at the intense love he was receiving, though returned it. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” she hummed, moving away from him to hug Jungwoo next who accepted her hug with a squeal. “I just wanted to remind you guys how much I love you and am grateful to have you in my life.”

“Don’t worry, we feel the same,” Jaehyun assured her as it was his turn to receive a hug from her.

“I know,” she nodded, “But I still wanted to express my love and gratitude to you guys.”

“And we’ll happily accept it,” Taeyong declared, swooping forward to encase his arms around her waist, pressing kisses all over her face. While she giggled at her boyfriend’s affection, the others groaned in mock disgust.

“Alright, keep it PG, here, we have some kids!” Yuta teased, nodding in Mark and Haechan’s direction. As everyone laughed at the teasing and continued to joke around with one another, Nari admired them all in the arms of her wonderful boyfriend, leaning her head on his chest.

Yes, she was very lucky to have them in her life, just like how Boyoung was lucky to have her members in her life.

Masterlist

[daydreamerdrew]

ok, catching up on Shazam! (2023):

issue #5:

I liked the opening with Mary rescuing Billy, but I didn’t like that she didn’t immediately realize how serious his condition was. even though this book isn’t using the Pre-Crisis bit of characterization that Captain Marvel can’t fight women, the scenes where he was fighting the gorillas and robots while Mary was fighting Queen Bee reminded me of Golden Age scenes, like in “Pin-Up Boy” in Whiz Comics (1940) #48, where Mary has to fight a female villain when Cap can’t. also, even though I like Mary and I like her intelligence being emphasized, her figuring out that the gods were manipulating Billy didn’t really work for me. I think it would have made more sense for Billy to have pieced that together because of how strange their different influences felt. anyway, at this point I’m remembering that when this book started I was hopeful that this plotline with the gods wouldn’t last very long.

issue #6:

I liked that the various items the kids used to become the new Squadron of Justice, like Bulletman’s helmet and Ibis the Invincible’s Ibis-Stick, have an actual history and aren’t just random items, i.e. Bulletman and Ibis the Invincible were previously heroes in this continuity. that there was already “a growing divide between your dual identities, each beginning to refer to the other as ‘ he’ rather than ‘I,’” and it’s going to get more dramatic appeals to me. I noted that this was happening back when the first issue came out, and I figured then that Mark Waid wasn’t going to go this far and that language was a compromise, like calling Billy “the Captain” instead of “Captain Marvel.” this moment is actually immediately followed by the Captain addressing Billy’s siblings as “kids.” I know that many fans have soured by now on emphasizing the age difference, but I think there’s an interesting way to do it- there was legitimately an age difference between Billy and Captain Marvel in the original comics- and I wonder if that’ll be an element in how this division is made more dramatic.

issue #7:

I don’t enjoy this book’s attempts at being absurd, like with these dinosaur accountants. I really like that Billy is in his school’s A/V club! I had liked the part of the story in the Shazam! Fury of the Gods movie that the Vasquezes were struggling financially, we’ll see how this house crisis works for me.

issue #8:

I think what made the financial situation in the movie compelling was the intense personal stakes of Billy being afraid that the Vasquezes won’t be able to afford having everyone and will kick him out when he turns 18. which was helped along by Asher Angel’s performance. I think I lack the prior investment in this comic era’s version of Billy to get really into this. I do like that this issue ends with Billy and Zeus on more positive terms, because I don’t really like the concept of Billy being in conflict with his empowering gods.

Issue #9:

I like Billy’s podcast getting more focused. he seems a little unprepared for his interview on Jack Ryder’s show, which isn’t much like the uber-competent radio reporter of the Pre-Crisis continuity that I know and love. regardless, I like that this issue focused on Billy as a broadcaster, and put that in the modern context of “content providers” and the idea what “sincerity is a plague” in the news profession. similarly, that “Your transformation dazzles people enough so they won’t catch you, but cameras aren’t so easy to confuse” also worked well along those lense, as the ‘dazzle’ thing is how Billy’s transformation worked Pre-Crisis. and I particularly really liked that this issue paralleled performing on TV with that Billy could “act like someone else entirely if [he] wanted to,” with the reality that as the Captain he’s Billy “Less so every day lately.”