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kykyonthemoon · 4 months ago

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Where This World Decays

In the sinful and ruined city of Linkon, he met her. She was the family he had sworn to protect with his life. Still, he lost her. Years later, the girl who appeared before him seemed to be an entirely different person. She recalled only his name, while she had forgotten their childhood together. His pip-squeak from the past was dead. The person by his side was now an SSS-level praedator. Regardless of what she became, he would always protect her...

A corrupted councilman. A praedator in the guise of an enforcer. Could there be a safe haven for them in this world?

── .✦ Caleb x MC

── .✦ Tags: R16, AU, dystopian world, dark themes, crimes & mild violence, mental issues implied, trauma, corruption, angst with a little fluff, hurt/comfort, death and resurrection, murder implied, childhood friends, open ending.

── .✦ Word count: over 5000w - a short story divided into five parts.

── .✦ Ky Ky's notes:

MC’s name in this story is Asteria, a name Caleb gave to her when they were little. I chose this name after the titan Asteria in Greek mythology, who is Perses’s wife (Perses is Caleb’s codename in the current event story).

This story is submitted to the Love and Deepspace [Desire Savage, Embrace Tomorrow] Fan Art Contest.

Your support on my X is always appreciated <3

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic (closed for the time being)

…Recent attacks in Linkon have targeted officials, as per reports…

…The body of an LCBI enforcer was discovered in an abandoned warehouse near the Southern District last week. Another enforcer has been reported missing.

…Hydra, an SSS-level praedator, is said to be behind the assaults. The exact identity of Hydra remains unknown. However, new witnesses believe Hydra is female, not male as initially mentioned.

…Up until now, the councilman of the Northern District has yet to respond to charges and pressure from other parties…

The screen in the room grew black. The buzzing noise from the old radio vanished with it. Everything became silent. Beyond the glass pane, the city of Linkon twinkled like stars, delicate in the dense, hazardous night.

He strolled around the room. There was not a wrinkle or a stain on the white uniform he wore. It did not belong here. Yet he needed it as a shield to protect this old watchtower, to protect the person he loved.

He passed through the ages-old door, which led to a darker and colder chamber. There were more than a dozen other antiquated CCTVs on the wall that he had connected to a network, though the only red dot he cared about was in the center, in this room. His gaze landed on the corner. A modest bed was placed there, bound to the floor with chains. On the pure white mattress lay a petite sleeping angel, as if she felt no agony from having her wings shattered and being imprisoned in this place.

He approached her, gently as he wished not to wake her. He sat down on the edge of the bed, removed his glove, and stroked her face. Her drenched hair was brushed aside, revealing the face engraved in his dreams. The touch awoke her. When she turned, the shackles that held her began to creak.

“Caleb?…” She called to him, half asleep. As long as she called, he would always be there.

“How are you feeling, pip-squeak?”

She did not respond straight away. Her eyes opened slowly. As the dark chamber loomed in front of her and the heavy shackles pushed down on her, she appeared fully awake.

"Caleb? Why are you here?"

She struggled to break free from her bounds. However, the more she moved, the more anguish she experienced. He grabbed her hand and softly caressed it.

“Stay still, pip-squeak. You’ll be fine.”

“What happened, Caleb? Did I… Was I in a Frenzied State again?”

His eyes met hers for a moment, then he tried to avoid this uneasy conversation by consoling her more.

“Do you want anything to eat? How about braised chicken wings? I’ll make it for you right away.”

But she was restless. Her voice rose as she called his name:

“Caleb! Tell me! What happened? How long have I been here?”

“Not for long, pip-squeak,” he lied. “You barely realized I was gone to the center of the city and back.”

"I feel like I've been sleeping for forever…" She spoke again. "Can I go outside?"

His fingers gently caressed her heated face. Her entire body felt on fire.

"Just wait a little longer. When you feel better, I'll take you out."

She seemed displeased. However, her expression immediately became quite miserable, to the point that his heart felt like it was being cut and torn apart, as she said:

“Please, Caleb… I don’t like this room… It’s cold… And lonely… Let me out, will you?… Let me stay in my old room… You can chain me there if you want…”

She knew very well that she had him in the palm of her hand. Name it and he would not refuse her anything. But at a time when her safety depended entirely on him, he had to hold her tight, even if it made her angry with him.

Caleb averted his attention away from her depressed expression.

“Stay here for just a few more hours, pip-squeak.”

Like a smoldering fire waiting for the wind to blow, she raged in an aggressive manner. Her pupils dilated, and she laughed in a new burst of mania.

“I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE!”

She was faster than him, stronger than he was in this state. She leaned toward him and pushed him down on the bed. Her physique, ever so much smaller than his, was now utterly dominant. She repeated her words over and over again:

“Let me out! Caleb! I want to be out!”

Her hands clenched into fists, crumpling his uniform. Like a child demanding candy, she poured her anger on his chest. One blow at a time. She could have suffocated him if she had wanted to. He did not protest, instead softly wrapping his arms around her waist, holding her still against his body. When her frenzy subsided, she would collapse on his chest, then he would take his entire world in his arms.

Even so, her frenzy was getting more and more out of control. She had torn off the old shackles a few days before and fled outside. It would require more serum doses to handle her. She would eventually wreck this bed, too, sooner or later.

Fingers crossed that he would get things all sorted out before she did so.

“Caleb hates me, right?” She kept punching him, while a scorching tear streamed from her eyes onto his lips. It felt like salt. “Caleb hates the way I am now, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t hate you, pip-squeak,” he replied. His fingers found her face and wiped away the jewel-like tears. “I promised I would always protect you.”

He made that promise since they were little. The fact that she was a praedator did not change it.

II.

The first time he met her was when they fought over a rotten apple. In the Southern District, a place steeped in sin and chaos, homeless children like them could only survive on what others had discarded. Seeing her so hungry that she almost fainted, he stopped fighting and cut the still nice portion of the apple for her. From then on, she followed him around like a little shadow. She had no idea who she was or where she came from. Perhaps her entire family had died. Nobody came searching for her, and even if they had, she would not remember. She simply knew that following him would lead to safety and better meals.

“I’m Caleb. What’s your name?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t even remember your own name? What should I call you then?”

“Anything you want.”

He raised his head. Through the hole in the ruined canopy above him, he saw the stars dancing together. Perhaps she was like those stars, beautiful and out of his reach. She did not belong in this rotten world.

“Or, I could call you Asteria,” he said after a long moment. “My teacher in the past said it meant star.”

She said nothing. But perhaps she preferred being called pip-squeak, a moniker he had only come up with after a kind man had taken them under his wing. They lived together in an old watchtower. The area had seen its heyday before the Southern District fell into ruins. At least now, they had a roof over their heads.

Caleb once had a family, but there was little joy to recall. The only things that were etched in his mind were of the violent beatings he had from the adults who exploited his Evol to commit unlawful acts. He could control gravity. That was how he evaded the praedator assault that year. He ran away, never looking back at his family as they screamed.

Now he had a new family. For a while, but still a family.

He taught Asteria how to read and write. She learned quickly. She also enjoyed climbing to the top of the watchtower to watch the sunset. However, when she was younger, she had to ask him to use his Evol to bring her up there. He liked having her depend on him, having her follow him around. He liked being the big brother who always protected her.

But he could not safeguard her forever.

That day, the rain poured down as if to wash away all the filth in the Southern District. Asteria, his star, had gone insane and bolted outside. Her small figure faded into the white curtain that the sky had dropped on the ground.

Many hours later, the rain stopped, and he located her in a slum on the outskirts of the area. She lay in a pool of blood that was not her own. He almost lost control.

“She’ll be fine,” the old man said. He was the keeper of this watchtower, the one who had been looking after them both. “Whoever she attacked should be worried by now.”

“She attacked someone?” Caleb asked. He had not yet learned what she was.

“Didn’t you already know? Your sister is a praedator.”

Despite the fact that the sky had cleared, he remained there as if hit by lightning. He glanced at her sleeping figure on the bed for a long, long time. And he convinced himself that her innocence was genuine, that it was not a facade to hide the devil inside her. It was all a twist of fate.

She awoke the next morning, completely clueless with no recollection of what had happened since her disappearance in the rain.

“You're still unwell. Just sleep a little longer, you'll be fine.”

He lied to her. He lied to himself. She obediently curled up in his arms.

“Caleb… Will you stay here?”

Her hand intertwined with his.

“Stay here, and don’t leave me alone, will you?”

He pledged to protect her. Always.

III.

The watchtower keeper who shared their living quarters died soon after. He left the place, along with some cash and his things to two teenagers who were not his blood kin. Only Caleb and Asteria remained, relying on each other.

She became aware that she was a praedator as she grew older. When she was in a Frenzied State, she locked herself in her room and threw the key to him. The more she pushed him away, the more he wanted to get closer and shield her with his own hands, as he had promised. He was willing to be her victim. She never bit him, no matter how upset she was or how many times she assaulted or wounded him.

His Evol was quite effective in keeping her in place. When the frenzy dissipated, she gently slumped in his arms. When she awoke, she would have no memory of what had happened. However, the wounds on Caleb's body did not lie. She noticed them, despite his best efforts to conceal them.

“I am a monster…”

“Hey, don’t say that. You didn't choose this.”

“Compared to being a praedator, death seems to be a much happier choice…”

The wind blew on the watchtower. They sat together, watching the city of Linkon on the horizon, crimson by the dying day. He turned to her and said:

"I'm glad you survived. So we could meet."

She looked at him for a moment, then smiled. Perhaps the best thing she had known since becoming a mutant was him.

“Caleb, lower your head.” She told him. He was surprised and inquisitive about what she was up to. He did what she requested and bowed his head toward her.

Asteria put a metal necklace on him. The pendant was a dog tag with some claw marks on it. He looked at it, then back at her.

“For you,” she smiled. “I saved up the allowance you gave me to buy it.”

He fiddled with the necklace, grinning again.

“I gave you the money I got from my part-time jobs to buy food and things for yourself. Yet you bought me a gift.”

She extended her hand to him and said, "If you don't like it, give it back to me."

“Nooope.” He grabbed the string and slipped it under his outer shirt. “It belongs to me now.”

The sun was fading. The lights encircled them like stars. Neither of them said it aloud, but they both secretly wished that this serenity would last a little longer, just a little longer.

Yet, the merciless night separated them in an onslaught by the praedators.

IV.

He could not find her anymore. The fact that he had lost her, possibly forever, drove Caleb insane. He wandered around calling her name. He turned over each frozen corpse along the way, only to find some relief that it was not her. He followed the hourly news updates, not daring to miss the casualty count or the identities of the praedators. Yet she was gone.

He came to the conclusion that, in order to protect her, he must have power. He was a brilliant young man with a talent for winning people's hearts. Shortly after the incident, he was adopted by an upper-class family in the Northern District. From then, he began to climb the political ladder, eventually rising to the position of a councilman.

He had to. He must gain the authority, the status, all means to find her. And he did. One day, she came before him as an LCBI enforcer. She recognized him in the crowd, yet she could no longer remember any of the memories they had shared, not even the necklace wrapped around his neck.

He never asked her what had happened since their separation. She did not mention it either. But he could put together the events based on what she told him and his own private investigations.

Asteria had been captured by an organization known as Ever while on the run. They had imprisoned her in a facility far away from Linkon. They must have known the truth about her. During their cruel, inhumane experiments, she had perished. She had died no less than ten times.

And they learned her secret: she was a praedator capable of reviving herself. Each time she returned from hell, her abilities were enhanced. Until one day, she was powerful enough to shatter all the chains and bring Death to those who had repeatedly murdered her. No one survived at that secret base of Ever. Human or praedator, there was no one left alive.

Her frenzy passed, and she discovered the file on herself in a pool of blood. She was unfamiliar with everything except the old photograph tucked inside the file. She must have had it with her when she was brought here. It was her, standing next to a boy with a smile as warm as the sun. That familiar feeling rushed into her heart like an unexpected invader. She broke into tears, without knowing why. Her tears obscured the wording on the photograph: Asteria and Caleb, together forever.

She wandered barefoot, seeking for him. She remembered nothing, except the urge to find him, to be with him. She joined a crowd of refugees streaming into Linkon's city center. Another attack had just broken out, and she had not hesitated to defeat the praedator who stood in her way. The LCBI became aware of her after that occurrence. They came for her, and she accepted to take part in their training program.

It was hard to cover her secret from the enforcers. However, she had successfully deceived the LCBI several times when they were attempting to pursue her other alias, the SSS-level praedator known as Hydra. She even led them to believe that Hydra was a man in the Northern District. Her secret was probably known to only one person: Caleb.

Ever since their reunion, he had been keeping an eye on her. Whether she was Asteria of the LCBI Operations Sector I or Hydra - the praedator; everywhere she went, everyone she interacted with could not escape his gaze from this watchtower.

The first thing he did when he gained both wealth and authority was to quietly renovate their old watchtower. It was not only a shelter, but also a place where he had watched her since she returned. He connected a dozen CCTVs together, each with a surveillance camera positioned in every area he suspected she might frequent. The area she resided in, the office where she worked, and the woodland where she wandered in her Frenzied State... For her, seeing him again was a stroke of luck. For him, it was a meticulously considered chess move.

He granted himself permission to watch over and protect her from a distance. Every time Hydra caused trouble, he was the one who cleaned up the mess. Asteria believed she had thoroughly removed all evidence. However, because she had no recollection of her Frenzied State and relied only on her phone to track where she had been, she had left behind some clues. That was when he got involved.

His chess game appeared faultless. He would soon have complete power over Linkon's government. He would build a secure city for her, a place where praedators would have their own community, completely under the control of the political party he led. Hydra would be declared dead by then, and no one would dig up her secret again.

Caleb was willing to assassinate an opposition party member in order to achieve what he wanted. The politician's death was believed to be related to the praedatos. Ironically, the LCBI sent Asteria to investigate. She was accompanied by another enforcer. Their investigation lasted for months, during which many other praedator attacks across the city broke out. In a moment of negligence, Asteria let her colleague discover her secret. He confronted her, and she was enraged.

“You… You really are a praedator! You fooled the LCBI, and all of us!”

In his hand was a spray that revealed any praedator's true self when they inhaled.

“No… I didn't… I don’t want this to happen…” She shivered, attempting to fend off the frenzy that was slowly taking over her mind.

“I’ve been secretly gathering evidence on you for months… Hydra! You can’t get away now!”

The enforcer lunged at her. But she was familiar with all of the LCBI equipment and how her colleagues fought in combat. She would not be captured that easily. In the struggle, she knocked him out at last.

“Go home, pip-squeak. I’ll take care of things for you.”

Caleb appeared out of nowhere, like a ray of light that she instantly stretched out to catch. He sent her back to the old watchtower. When she woke up, she had no recollection of any of it, while her colleague had been reported dead.

“Did I… Did I do it?… All I remember was going to the meeting place after that colleague asked to see me… After that, I'm not sure what else happened… Did I…”

Her tears fell. She buried her face in her hands, saying over and over again, “I’m a monster!”

“No,” he reassured. He drew her into his arms and rubbed her back, which was quivering from emotion. “You didn’t do it, pip-squeak. You’re not a murderer.”

For the true murderer was him. Anyone who knew her secret could only reveal it in their grave.

Asteria was devastated. Her Frenzied State continued returning, breaking the pattern that had always existed. She had no choice but to obey Caleb and remain in the watchtower, while everyone else assumed she was missing.

“I will take care of this.”

She only needed to rely on him.

“Pip-squeak, trust me…”

Back in the dark chamber where he had convinced her to stay, he kissed her hair as her head rested on his chest. Her frenzy subsided, leaving just an exhausted Asteria lying unconscious on top of him. Her fingers were still gripping the dog tag around his neck, which served as a reminder of the life she had forgotten. He slowly sat up, loosening the shackles that bound her and picking her up. He took her into the next room, where her comfortable bed awaited.

She trusted him, without a question, despite the fact that she failed to recall their past. She always knew he would do anything for her, and she was safe here.

He tended to every wound she had made while struggling with the shackles. She turned slightly. Her hands sought his and drew him closer.

“Stay… Caleb… Don’t leave me alone…”

He kissed her bleeding hand.

“I will always be by your side.”

In her dream, she witnessed a Linkon without praedators. There, she and Caleb spent their entire lives together, never once apart. There, she was just an ordinary girl staying with the person she loved. When she opened her eyes, reality rushed in with the wind from the open window, carrying with it the familiar unpleasant smells of this place and the blaring sound of sirens.

She got out of bed and gazed at the usually deserted street below the watchtower. A crowd of people were dashing through the neighborhood. Sirens blared red across the block. Another strike occurred fairly near to the watchtower.

Asteria could smell blood, and the scent of the frenzy was not coming from within her. The shattering and shouting were so close. She knew right away that she had to act. Caleb had removed her communications, but her guns and some LCBI supplies remained in the watchtower. Carefully armed, she exited the building.

What she was doing may harm herself, reveal her whereabouts, and perhaps expose Caleb's scheme. Yet she could not abandon her neighbors to face the vicious praedators who had arrived without an invitation. She estimated how long it would take for the military and LCBI to come, and it might be a bit late. She chose to act alone.

On the way, she rescued a little girl who had been captured by a praedator. The child held her neck, constantly asking to be taken back to her family.

“Miss, can you take me back to my brother?… Please help me… I can’t find my brother anymore…”

And so she took the little girl’s hand and found a way back to her house. Fortunately, her brother noticed them. He hurried to embrace his sister and thanked Asteria for her kindness. They held hands and ran away after that.

If she and Caleb had found each other again back then, things would have been so different.

She might not have become Hydra. Whenever she went on a frenzy, he would have taken care of her. They would have just lived a normal life, only the two of them in the watchtower. His hands would not be drenched in blood for her.

Without Hydra, things would have been so much easier.

If they hadn’t been separated, if she hadn’t been subjected to countless experiments, if she hadn’t died and resurrected so many times…

Those thoughts took over Asteria, rendering her heavy steps. Her head ached. Each scene of memories stained a dreadful crimson came back to her like a movie. They were not clear, but the emotions were so real that her entire body shivered in anticipation of the upcoming frenzy.

“No… Not now…” She whispered. Footsteps were approaching her. Asteria gripped the gun in her hand, alert.

“Are you lost, beautiful?”

The man appeared from the dark as he spoke. He was a praedator.

“Oh, an enforcer? But why aren’t you wearing an LCBI uniform? Where did you come from, love?”

Asteria did not respond to him. She leveled her gun at him, but everything around her began to spin.

“Not an enforcer, huh?… Wait... You are a…”

She heard him say it. Word by word. Praedator.

“No… I'm not…”

She wanted to deny it. She was just a human. She was an enforcer. She was Caleb’s pip-squeak.

“Looks like we’re the same kind. My group is just hanging out in the Southern District. Wanna join us?”

The praedator moved toward her. A moment later, so soon, she was seen walking out of the alley, leaving behind a corpse whose smile was still present.

She was a monster. Any attempt to deny it would simply make it worse.

Asteria departed the Southern District as soon as the LCBI arrived. She left behind the city of Linkon, where Caleb had promised her a home. She headed into the darkness, into the forest.

In the form of a praedator, she ran fast, she left everyone else behind. The more she ran, the more conscious she became. Perhaps this was who she truly was—a monster, a sinner.

Caleb would return to the watchtower and find out she was gone. He would be devastated. He would be broken again. Then he would pick up the pieces of his heart and move on, just as he had moved on after losing her before. She would disappear from his life once more, this time forever.

Little did she know, he had never ceased from being broken.

Even when he found her, even when she was in his arms, he was never completely healed. For she had forgotten him. Day after day, he held onto the hope that the new memories he made with her would outweigh the past, that they would fill the void in his heart. Yet every time she looked at him and failed to see the boy whom she had grown up side by side like a shadow, he was broken once more. The only thing he could do for her was to keep her from everyone who would hurt her; LCBI, Ever, or anyone else.

Then she drifted away from him, like a star in the sky that he could never reach.

He watched the red dot on his phone screen. He decided to miss an emergency meeting. Apparently, someone had dug up a significant amount of evidence against him. Yet, he did not bother to defend himself at the time. Asteria came first above anything else.

He sped after her trail on the screen. The red light flickered in the dense forest and then went dead. The tracker he had put on her was removed.

He would lose everything. He would lose her. Overcome with emotion and terror, he continued to search, and got to her before anyone else.

“Pip-squeak… Let’s go home.”

She was sitting on the edge of a cliff, where a large waterfall nearby poured silver moonlight into a deep abyss below. She turned to face him, smiling.

“You always find me, even when I threw away your tracker.”

“Of course.” He took a step toward her, offering his hand. “I’ll always find you, no matter where you run to. Let's get back now,” he repeated. “To our safe haven…”

“Safe haven? There’s no safe place. As long as I'm a praedator, there’s no place for me to hide…”

“You still have me, pip-squeak. You always have me!”

All of the emotions that had been building up over the years were about to burst. He wanted to embrace her and comfort her till everything was all right again. If she was not satisfied with the old watchtower, he would build her a new home. This time, he would ensure no one would ever find her again.

She slowly rose up to face him. She grinned.

“You should have let me die, Caleb. We should never have met again.”

Her sins would not vanish since she could not truly die. Perhaps this cycle of life and death was the most ruthless curse for someone like her. And she did not want to pull him down with her.

If only he had already considered her no longer existed in this world, wouldn't that be better?

There was the sound of helicopters approaching them, closer and closer. It was the LCBI. Soon, they would have the entire area surrounded.

Even as he stood on the edge, he stretched out to her with calmness. He had already calculated in his mind how to turn the tables; a series of lies to cover up the truth. With his current authority, he could help Asteria vanish from Linkon to a new life completely free of worries. Yet she did not see it the same way as him.

“I was planning to leave without saying goodbye,” she said. “I was planning to walk out of your life in silence. But it would be nice to see you one last time before disappearing. I… I really wanted to see you…”

The sound of footsteps on dry leaves was very close to them. There were about a dozen people racing in this direction. Caleb reached out to Asteria again, then softly spoke:

“Wherever you want, I will help you get there. Even if you prefer to be alone, I'll stop following you. You've always trusted me. What about this time? Let me handle everything for you.”

It was because he would destroy himself for her that she wanted to leave him forever. Asteria gave him a weak smile: “Thank you for always taking care of me…”

The footsteps became closer. The loudspeakers and sirens blended together. It was too late. He reached for her. But he failed to catch her hand.

“Farwell, my Caleb.”

She turned away and let herself fall into the tremendous waterfall.

Don’t go… Don’t leave me alone…

He watched her. Then he leaped.

“Caleb! Use your Evol to get me higher!”

“At your service! How far do you want to fly today?”

“Can you get me to the top of the watchtower?”

“Sure! But be careful or you'll tumble, pip-squeak!”

“I won't! I absolutely trust you, Caleb. Even if I fall, you'll catch me right away.”

She fell. In front of him. As when they were children, he used Evol to keep her suspended in the air, before his crashing body enveloped hers. She was astonished, yet she clung to him like she had done in the past.

If Asteria was no longer here, what was the purpose of the world he had designed for her?

There was no turning back. He, too, would leave everything behind, allowing them both to plunge into the cold, raging torrent that awaited them.

* *

In the following dawn, the entire city of Linkon was awakened by a series of frightening news reports:

…A warrant for the arrest of two individuals was issued last night.

…The SSS-level praedator Hydra has been identified as Asteria, a former LCBI enforcer. This is also the person who was reported missing during the investigation last week…

…Caleb, the councilman of the Northern District, is involved in the recent crimes. According to the most recent intel, he and Hydra are accomplices.

The two were last seen at Meteor Waterfall shortly after midnight last night. As of now, the investigation has not progressed further.

For your own and the city of Linkon's safety, please contact the LCBI hotline immediately should you have any information regarding Hydra and Councilman Caleb…

-The End-

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novashelby · 1 month ago

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Like Fine Wine-Tom Hardy x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hardy Warning: Perhaps language? Innuendos? Honestly, I didn't mean it, but this is a total crack fic. He's also not very sober and he's forgotten he's veg. I don't know if I should apologize or not for this garbage. It was suppose to be sexy. Word Count: 1k Summary: After being stood up, Tom Hardy saves the day.

Please feed your writers with comments. We like snacks.

She wasn’t one to fuss over much. Life sort of just happened and that was that. What was the point of bitching? However, after spending hours doing her makeup and hair, ironing her favorite dress, and squeezing on her favorite heels, she couldn’t help, but feel a bit miffed. Sorry. Something came up. Rain check? When she heard the ding, she was excited to flip over her phone, but with each word, she felt her chest cave in. Dating was getting tiresome. Week after week of flops. He’d already been about forty-five minutes late, and her? On her second glass of red wine that began to stain her lips. “Prick,” she whispered, throwing her phone in her bag and sitting up straight. He wasn’t even man enough to call for the reservation earlier that day.

Someone once told her, if he wants to, he will. And he clearly fucking didn’t want to, that was bloody fucking sure. Opening the menu, she sighed as her eyes glanced over the options. It was a bitch of a place to get in, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to misuse her pulled strings. But as she contemplated between a filet mignon or braised pork…or maybe the mushroom risotto? The back of her head jumped through hoops debating whether or not bitch him out. And when her fingers gripped the menu so tight, she no longer could feel the tips, she slammed the menu down and grabbed her phone. Her face scrunched as she furiously texted: I don’t know if your mother has ever told you or not, but maybe you shouldn’t be 45 minutes late just to fucking cancel! Have a nice life and maybe stay single.

Oh, and one more thing, fuck you.

With that, she blocked the fucker and turned off her phone, slamming it back in her bag. She wasn’t just going to get the most expensive steak, but that side of cheesy mashed potatoes and shrimp, too. The waiter came over, empathetic, and offered a glass of house wine for free. She mumbled a thank you, “could I put in an appetizer as well?” He hummed and flipped open his pad. “Crab cakes-oh! And the salmon bites. That’s all.” And when he started to walk away, she called him, “and you know what, I’m probably going to get dessert, too. Extra chocolate lava cake, two scoops of ice cream, and some extra syrup on the side.”

She handed him the menu, and sunk down in her seat, sipping the wine, staring off into the distance. Of course she was wondering what was wrong with her, but nothing was wrong with her. Men these days just aren’t…men. All I want is one to look at me and think, yes, I want her.

As she wallowed in self pity, eying each dish as it came out, there was someone eying her. Just at the bar, he sat slightly turned, sipping his drink. He loved an independent woman. A lady not afraid to be in her own company and enjoy good food. Especially that much fucking food…fuck. He wasn’t judging, of course. Impressed, more like it. And to be honest, quite hungry as well. Her main course came out and she dug in, not caring if the grease coated her lips or if little pieces of meat stuck to her face.

A beautiful woman doing what any beautiful woman should do, enjoy good food and good wine. The way she licked her thumb and closed her eyes everytime a new piece went into her mouth. He slid off the stool and fixed his black sports jacket before shooting down his drink, and taking long strides her way. When he approached, she was too busy sucking the meat off the bone to notice he pulled the chair opposite of her out. It screeched against the marble floor. If he was any less sober, he would have fallen into the table.

Her eyes fluttered up, and she paused, the bone dropping to the plate. Both their drunken eyes met. What a dumbass, she thought, scrunching her face as he gave her a toothy grin and wiggled his eyes a bit. “Can I help you?” She wiped her mouth, and tossed the cloth on the table.

He leaned in, pointing his finger at her, and in a long slur said, “you look like you need a woman like a man like to share-that wasn’t it.” He blinked, swallowed and shook his head. “A man like you needs a cake like me to share that woman.” That’s when he reached over and swiped her cheek with his thumb and licked it. The man was so drunk, he forgot he was bloody fucking vegan.

She sat up, looking around for her waiter, wondering if anyone else saw this strange man. But when she looked back at him, through her drunken haze, she realized she knew him from somewhere. Not quite sure where, but somewhere. Tilting her head, she asked, “do we know each other?”

His toothy grin widened as he took her spoon and shoved it into her lava cake, digging out a big ol’ slice. The chocolate dripped down, making little spots across the table. He shoved it in his, making a mess. His crisp white shirt was stained, and the chocolate coated over and between his teeth. Reaching back over, he stabbed the cake once more before motioning her to move in. “C’mere,” he said. “C’mon!” A bit too puzzled to question, she slid her chair over and he grabbed her face, puckering, squeezing her cheeks to open her mouth. Once her mouth opened just enough to fit the spoon, he shoved it in. Choking slightly, she dabbed her mouth with the napkin.

Conflicted, she grabbed her phone and searched, swearing she knew him. But she was having a hard time believing it. When typing the name, his picture showed up and she compared. Looking at the phone, looking at him eating her cake. Slowly, her eyes mooned, but before she could say anything, the waiter said, “Mr. Hardy, we called you a taxi. They’re out front.” He slowly got up, wobbling a bit. Reaching over, he tapped her cheek.

“Thank you for this beautiful night,” he said before sighing. “Why should it end here?”

She looked at the waiter and at him, and hummed. “Pay for dinner?”

He took out his wallet, fumbling with his card all while saying. “Take the cake…and the bottle of wine.” She didn’t argue, shoving the wine in her purse and holding the cake to her desk, hurrying after him.

#Tom Hardy #tom hardy fanfiction #Tom Hardy fanfic #Tom Hardy x you #Tom Hardy x reader #x you #x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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egglain-archive · 8 months ago

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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.

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.

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—

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.

#sukume #sukuna x uraume #jjk smut #sukuna smut #uraume smut #jjk sukuna #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jjk uraume #uraume #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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cherryapplefish · 2 months ago

Text

Summer Thoughts

Caleb x Reader

Rated: E for everyone

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: yah you call Caleb ge/gege in here. no, it's honorifics because your character starts off as 8! view this in the way you guys read about girls calling older guys "oppa" please. it's not meant to be anything more than that. caleb and mc are written as children here half the time. hope this helps.

You never actually learn how to ride a bike.

And you don’t figure this out till you’re 13.

At this point in your life, you’ve only gone bike riding with Caleb. He was the one who taught you so of course he’s the one who takes you.

“Why do you need to learn,” he asks, brows furrowing together half in confusion and half in annoyance. You huff and stomp your foot. You’re eight and all the other kids in the neighborhood know how to ride a bike but you’re still sitting on the back of Caleb’s.

“You can just ride with me. I’ll take you wherever you need to go,” he continues. You roll your eyes, crossing your arms as you try to seem serious. Like a grown up.

Caleb just stifles a laugh as he tries not to look away but you can see the mirth sparkling in his eyes and it makes you want to reach out and smack him for being so mean to you. You want to be taken seriously and:

“The other kids left me because they didn’t have a seat for me and I didn’t know how to take yours. Teach me, gege.”

You whine, switching up tactics and latching your arms around his in an attempt to act cute. Caleb usually always gives in if you’re cute enough and when he doesn’t react, you press your cheek to his arm, squirming against him like the child you are.

“Please. Please. Please.”

Caleb sighs before a soft smile spreads across his face. He reaches out, fingers ruffling your hair before agreeing.

That had been then.

Now, you’re thirteen and stomping back inside with scraped knees and tears tracking down your cheeks. You purse your lips to keep them from quivering and head straight for Caleb.

He pokes his head out of the kitchen when he hears the door slam and alert him of your presence, his eyes bright.

“Hey pipsqueak- woah, what happened to you,” he says, setting down the wooden spoon he’d been using to stir the pot of braised pork he’d been making for dinner. He can see the way your cheek is redder on one side compared to the other and immediately makes his way over to you.

You meet him halfway there and before he can get another word out, you sock him in the arm. You barely leave a mark but Caleb hisses in surprise, rubbing the spot.

“Hey! What was that for? What happened,” he asks. There’s concern in his gaze as he reaches out to pull a leaf out of your hair. It’s clear you’ve taken a pretty bad tumble and for some reason, it’s his fault.

“You’ve been using your evol on me when we ride bikes haven’t you,” you ask and he freezes. You can see the guilt flash across his face before he schools it into a practiced smile. The jerk! That was confession enough!

“You caught me,” he answers, a cheeky grin on his face. He anticipates your movements before you do, fingers wrapping around your wrist that threaten to punch him once more. His grip is tight but not bruising and you huff as you try to pull away but he doesn’t let go and so instead you try the other one.

Caleb knows you inside and out so he stops that arm too and now, the both of you are standing in the middle of the living room. You, huffing with anger and embarrassment, and Caleb, guiltily smiling with both of your hands in his.

“Caleb! Do you know how embarrassing it was? I fell. As soon as I got on and tried to push, I fell because you didn’t bother to teach me properly,” you argue and you see the guilty look on Caleb’s face before he pulls you into his chest. He wraps his arms around you, patting the back of your head.

“Aw, I’m sorry pips,” he says but you can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “I just got scared every time I saw you leaning to one side so I used my evol. I didn’t think you actually couldn’t ride a bike without my help.”

It’s a half truth, he thinks as he bites back a laugh when you begin to hit his back. It’s fine. He’ll let you get out all your anger as long as you rely on him for help.

“It was so embarrassing, ge,” you complain before slowly you fist your fingers into his shirt. “I scraped my knees and fell on my face. It hurt a lot.”

Caleb knows. He’d seen it all when you came in and pursing his lips together, he pulls back to examine you properly. Normally, he’d cup your face and get a good look but he doesn’t want to risk hurting you more than you already feel.

With a soft sigh, he strokes your cheek.

“I’m sorry pipsqueak. I really am. I’ll make it up to you and actually teach you how to ride a bike okay?”

You look away when he pulls back, fingers still fisted in his shirt but you nod anyways.

As long as he actually taught you.

Caleb is a liar.

He still never actually taught you how to ride a bike and now, you’re 22 and staring Caleb down as he pats the backseat of his bike with a grin.

“Jump on, pips,” he tells you and you cross your arms, huffing as you turn your nose up.

You think back to thirteen and scraped knees and immediately get mad at him.

“Don’t wanna,” you argue and Caleb laughs. You’re tugged in by nothing but you’ve been around Caleb long enough now that you know he’s using his evol to pull you closer. You don’t even yelp as you’re lifted onto the seat but you do look away as you cross your legs.

It has Caleb laughing even more. He took pleasure in watching you be an absolute brat.

“You’re not still mad I never taught you how to ride a bike are you,” he asks and there’s that same sparkle in his eyes from all those years ago.

After he had promised, he had made excuses.

He was too busy to teach you. He was too tired to go outside and they could build models instead. He would just take you on the back of his to save time.

It’d been excuse after excuse and before you knew it, Caleb had gone off to Skyhaven for college and you still hadn’t learned how to ride a bike.

Could you have learned on your own? Yes but…but it was scary when you didn’t have Caleb around to catch you. And so you’d never learned.

Now, that unfulfilled promise comes back to mind when Caleb suggests a bike ride along the river.

When you huff in response, his grin widens.

“I’ll teach you next time,” he promises and you glare at him and he loves it because at least your gaze is back on him once more.

“You said that last time!”

“I mean it this time,” he replies, his grin wide and full of delight. You have to look away in case you melt and agree like you always do.

He leans over then, one arm wrapped around your waist to steady you as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“Promise,” he whispers softly into your skin.

You smack him away, a complaint on the tip of your tongue but you hold back and instead, your fingers curl into his shirt.

“Just pedal,” you grumble, forcing him to face forward as you press a burning cheek to his back. Your eyes glance over the glimmering river as the last of the sun's rays sparkle across it but you’re too focused on how warm Caleb’s back feels, the sound of his laughter vibrating in his chest.

You press closer, hold him tighter just as he had wanted, and inhale.

Somehow, even after all these years, Caleb still smells like home.

i don't know how to ride a bike and if caleb were real, this is exactly how i imagine caleb would react lmaooo

"You don't need to learn. Just ride with me."

excuses because he wants you to hug his waist hahahahah

#caleb #caleb x you #lads caleb #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #love and deepspace #fanfic #today on ren shutup #also the gege thing is honorifics to me in this situation #caleb just adores mc because that his baby for the first 2/3 of this #no discourse on my blog i'm here for fun and wont be discussing any opinion on this #anyways while im still yapping in the tags #ive been really into writing #thanks for making this fun everyone #i hope you enjoyed my hc into a snippet of caleb and mc's childhood together

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egglain · 8 months ago

Text

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

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.

“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.”

“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.”

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.”

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

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.”

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.

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…”

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.”

“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.”

“We start tomorrow.”

***

Uraume was strong.

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

He could get used to this.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.”

“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.”

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.

“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.

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

“Yes, my Lord.”

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.

“Come, woman.”

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—”

He played this game sometimes.

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

Fuck

“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.”

“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?

“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.

***

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.

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.”

“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.”

“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.

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.

But Uraume was not one of them.

They were special.

“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.

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

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

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.

“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.

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.

But he couldn’t help himself.

“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.

Commit them to memory.

Fuck—fuck—fuck—

“Feels weird—Sukuna…”

And they were keening.

“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.

“Good, no?”

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

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.”

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.”

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.

“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.

“How’s it feeling?”

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

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—”

“Shh… I know. I know.”

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.”

“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—

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.

“Sukuna—”

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

He hummed against their neck, brows knit in concentration.

I know.

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

It was so wet.

So good.

So good, so good, so good—

Uraume’s release snuck up on him.

It knocked the wind out of his lungs.

And he was cumming.

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.”

“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.

Sukuna Ryomen was a beast.

It was too much.

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

“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 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.

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

“Gonna mark you up so good.”

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’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 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.”

“So full of my seed...”

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.

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.

dividers by @cafekitsune

#⤷ 𝔩��𝔦𝔫’𝔰 𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔰 ᝰ.ᐟ #sukume #sukuna x uraume #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #uraume #sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jjk uraume #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fic #jjk fanfic

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miredball · 2 years ago

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sydcarmy meeting as kids au!!!

the berzatto kids help out at The Beef on the weekends. it’s fully a mom and pop operation. mikey’s there so naturally richie’s there too and they’re both teenagers and richie mans the counter all rowdy and loud but boyish and charming and old ladies love him

nat buzzes around donna eager to be useful but donna shoos her away or straight up just ignores her the whole day pretending not to notice nat tugging on her shirt saying please mom please

at the end of the day she sits on a stool at the counter mopey and sad but then richie asks her to count the register because he says he’s “fucking godawful” and she feels a little less useless after that

mikey being the oldest works in the kitchen. first he’s prepping vegetables or making the sauce and at some point their dad stops trying at all so he has to pick up the slack and starts to miss more and more classes to help out at the restaurant

one time he’s running out for school in the morning when he sees donna at the dining table sobbing into her palms saying no one wants to help her and she has no one and everything’s always on her on her on her (one person called out sick). mikey misses another big test and has to redo another year

CARMY! carmy is the shiny baby of the family that everyone teases will “make it out”. he doesn’t really know what it means but he sees how it makes his mother scoff and she’s always meaner to nat after

he loves being mikey’s little sidekick, always the one to get this and grab that and stir the sauce carmy don’t fuck up! he’s growing to be hungry for the noise and smell of the kitchen but he’s also little so uncle cicero ushers him out from the hot burners and sharp knives whenever he can

on the less busier hours of the day carmy draws or does homework at one of the tables. mostly he draws. he’s usually quiet but will share the rest of the seats when some customers ask are these seats taken?

mikey brings him in early one the morning and shows him how to braise meat. he does everything his big brother tells him to do and everything punctuates with a makes sense in his head and he’s little but he just gets it

carmy gets pulled into the line and next thing he knows he’s ten years old grabbing bread and butter and his beef and he’s got two wrapped sandwiches on a tray

richie tells him who it’s for and he brings the food out to a smiley dad and laughing daughter in their Sunday’s best

the girl has beads in her hair and they click and clack together when she turns her head to look at him when he says hello

he gives them their tray and stands next to richie behind the counter nervous and tries not to stare at the two people eating the food he made

he fails at the try-not-to-stare part but it’s okay because they get a bite in and the girl’s eyes widen, a little jokey to make her dad laugh but also a little real, and she’s nodding her head while she chews like she’s trying to process what she’s tasting and he hears her say “cool” and her dad asks “you like it?” and she says mmhm and takes another bite and carmy feels something full and bright growing in his chest

carmy grabs his sketchbook and color pencils under the register and draws an Italian beef sandwich over a checkered blue wrapper. he tries to remember everything mikey told him about braising beef and served au jus and writes it all down on the sides. at the end of it he tacks on the word “cool” and draws a cloud around it

#childhood friends are everything to me and I know the general consensus is sydney LIED but..what if she didnt❤️#just imagine their ages except that one part where I say he’s ten..it feels like a ten vibe!#sydcarmy #sydney x carmy #sydcarmy headcanons #childhood friends au #the bear fx #the bear season 2 #sydney adamu #carmen berzatto #natalie berzatto #richie jerimovich

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creative-frequency · 1 year ago

Note

Raphael reacting to being given a surprise little peck on the cheek? Just a brief and sweet little thing and the kisser is already gone before he can really do anything.

The devil really has a soft spot for you 😌

Raphael x GN!Reader: Seal the Deal with a Kiss

One natural lifetime of good health and adventure for a mortal soul. Not a bad contract as they were, if a tad on the ordinary, honest side. Not exciting, amusing or new in any aspect.

“Are you ready?” Raphael asked, eyeing over your frail body and emaciated features. This disease had shrivelled you into a ghost, made each breath potentially the last. The suffering had simmered your soul into such a delicious feast. The price seemed almost too cheap for such an enticing prize.

You nodded sharply and Raphael snapped his fingers. Hellfire surrounded you as the binding magic of the contract strengthened your muscles, weaved the broken skin together and ripped the ailment from your bones. Your heart was beating faster, stronger and every breath was longer and steadier than the last. Your body filled out the hollows left behind by the sickness. Even your hair became lustrous.

You stood there, staring at your now straight fingers and turning your arms over to see the unmarred skin. “It really worked!”

A smile ghosted the devil’s lips. Oh, how that soul would be braised with life when he finally claimed it.

“Of course. Now, off you go. Play and live your life,” he mused.

“Thank you, Raphael,” you breathed out.

For a second, Raphael thought you were going for a handshake. Instead, you swiftly pushed up on your toes and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Without another word, you were gone and the stunned devil tried to blink away the surprise. Haarlep would have a ball teasing him about this.

When the door closed after you, Raphael made one final addendum in your contract: for the kiss, he would loan you his infernal powers so you might have a better chance at surviving the awaiting adventures.

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x you #raphael x reader #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction #asks #requests

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witchywolfewood27 · 3 months ago

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MY STUCKY BABBLE 💕 Let me know if I should add to this! Which direction I should go! Don’t kind all the errors and crap grammar!)

Scarlett leanes again the kitchen counter in the Avengers compound. Her usual dark red hair, in a messy bun, draped down her shoulders as she waited patiently, tapping her foot against the carpet. It wasn’t even 6am yet and here Scarlett was awake, no proper sleep from the night before. Scarlett knew someone would Eventally make there presents known, but it was Saturday and on Saturdays Scarlett didnt usually see the rest of the team till closer to 9 or 10am. Buttt not Steve! Nope, that super soldier didn’t sleep in to save his life. After his 5am jog, he found himself in the same kitchen Scarlett stood in.. She was looking down at her phone, typing away at something. With the rain drops shook away from his head of hair, he needed a hair cut, he actually allowed his hair to grow up into a shag, like Bucky’s. A smirk spread across Steve’s face as he entered the kitchen and saw Scarlett. Tony’s new assistant, okay, maybe not JUST Tony’s but the whole team had grown to love the sweet little intern. Her red hair was squally in a messy bun as she worked with who ever she was assigned to for that day, with her cute round glasses on her nose and a pen tip in her mouth. She was so sexy with her innocents age she didn’t even know it..

“Good morning, Doll.” Steve greeted Scarlett as he walked past her to the fridge and grabbed out a cold water. He began chugging it, Steve’s gaze on her never faltered. As always, she was too shy to make eye contact with him but she was comfortable enough to at least not to stumble over her words as much as she did when they first met.

Scarlett gave a nod and a soft hum. Steve knows Scarlett wasn’t willing to make conversation before her daily coffee fix. But Steve wanted to give her a little push today. “After I shower, would you like to go grab braise with me? I know this diner-“

Before Scarlett could answer Steve’s question, bucky entered the kitchen with a tired look. He looked awful, like he’s recovering from a hangover. “Coffee..” He grumbles. Scarlett told away from Steve to check off the press was ready. Scarlett has convinced Tony to buy a coffee press very large coffee press because coffee and a coffee press is so much better and stronger than a coffee pot obviously. Scarlett turned and pushed down the coffee press washing the grounds fall to the bottom of the glass beaker. You could smell the aroma of coffee as it wafted their senses. Scarlett grabbed 3 cups out of the cupboard. Steve couldn’t help but watch as Scarlett lifted herself onto her tippy toes to grab the mugs out of the cupboard. Steve eyes narrowed as they trailed down her body seeing as her oversized gray sweater lifted just slightly enough to see her lower back, soft skin he had been wanting to touch. Steve clenched his fists to fight himself and grabbing her and claiming her there in the kitchen in front of Bucky, but he didn’t look away. Bucky was beginning to wake up just ever so slightly. His eyes looked up and looked at Steven and followed Steve’s gaze. Bucky smirked knowingly at Steve, knowing exactly what he was thinking because Buck was, of course, thinking the same thing. Scarlett was a gorgeous woman full figured our glass. She was beautiful. She was also very spontaneous and childish at sometimes. Somehow, she convinced Tony to allow her to not have to wear shoes while she worked. She used her work, barefoot as long as she was in the compound, people got used to it eventually Scarlett pours , coffee, and all three mugs. She holds out a mug to Steve, and he gladly takes it with a warm smile. Bucky grumbles a thank you as he takes his bug from her. She smiles and walks over the fridge, pulls out a strawberry creamer and pour straight into her coffee, she takes her first drink of coffee and hums satisfied Little did she know these little noises caught Bucky and Steve’s attention.

Bucky, he was bold enough to speak first after a little bit, “I like your hair form like that, Doll, you should wear your hair down more often it suits you.” Bucky complemented.

Scarlettt eyes widen as she processed what Bucky had said to her blush spread across her face. Her cheeks began warm. She looked down, and she adjusted her glasses as she always did when she was nervous. She even went as far as tucking a ringlet behind her ear. “Thank you James.” Scarlett’s eyes flickered to Steve who looked…. She couldn’t place his expression. Was he glaring at bucky? She fluttered to lashes and put a gentle hand on steve’s shoulder, Steve snapped his head at scarlettt and softened his expression. “Yes, Steve, I’d love to have breakfast with you.”

Steve’s eyes widened, he didn’t Execpt her to say yes. “Great! That’s great! Uhh, let me go and-“ he began chugging the hot liquid and puts the mug in the sink. “-ill uh, go get ready. You can wear what you’re wearing, by the way.” Steve said as he walked away and out of the kitchen with a boyish grin on his face. She couldn’t help but giggle at Steve. “He’s like a little kid.” Scarlett stated.

#plus size reader #stucky #steve rogers x plus size reader #bucky barnes

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peachjagiya · 10 months ago

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I still haven't been able to watch today's episode, wretched client meet ups 🤬. Can someone please give me a tiny little summary of what all transpired coz I won't be able to watch it rn and I am getting very curious 🥺?

Straight from the end of last episode into this one. They go to an omakase place, JK on bike, Vmin in car. It's dark at this point. Tae calls Namjoon to send him Come Back To Me to listen to.

They have sushi and all kinds of Japanese food. Vibes are very relaxed. JK is laser focused on food. haha.

Back at villa, JK invites Tae to swim but Tae is feeling full so he chills on the pillows while JK and Jimin go have fun in the pool. JK hopes Tae will join them, Tae does not and goes to bed.

JK and Jimin get out, it's cold, they stand in front of a fire pit. Jimin suggests ramyeon, JK isn't sure, they decide to take showers and see how they feel after. They do not have ramyeon, but run upstairs to go to bed. They flop on the same bed but after a little while laying seperately, JK gets into the floor bed.

Morning. JK takes picture of Tae sleeping. Tae asks JK to massage his neck. JK takes a call from his eomma. Jimin asks JK for tweezers for a hair he has growing on his face.

Braised spicy chicken restaurant. Boat. Tae is out of it on the boat, still in pain, so watches Jimin and JK snorkel. They see fish. They then go fishing, all three of them, and only Tae catches anything.

Then they lay and watch sunset in the boat net thing.

I swear I've missed something huge but that's my recollection.

#my asks #are you sure

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sinssmut · 2 years ago

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Game: Tale of Food

Characters: Chicken shroom pot, Braised pork hock (I don't remember their other names I'm sorry)

Genre: Top male reader

Minors and fem aligned dni

-----------------------------------

Chicken shroom pot is our beloved buff husband for sure. He's very caring around you and even insists on doing aftercare for you even though you top. You take care of him of course, but you always end up falling asleep with your head on his plush chest as he strokes your hair soothingly. You wake up to breakfast in bed after loving nights like this.

He's not silent in bed, but he doesn't moan often either. He grunts like he's the one topping and makes sure to give you loving praises, never leaving you questioning how good you make him feel. He loves missionary because looking into your eyes makes him feel warm and fuzzy no matter how hard you're fucking him. He also really loves touching your chest while you pound him, massaging your pecs as you lean over him. "Maybe a husband is just as perfect a fit in my life."

Our other buff himbo is quite the opposite. Pork Hock is a restless sub, constantly writhing and whining under you with his eyes screwed shut. He can't even catch his breath, you just make him feel too good :(

He loves feeling powerless and small in your hands. Let them roam as much as you please- he won't complain. Manhandle him, squeeze his tits, dig your fingers into his hips to hold him still, slap his ass; he's into it. His favorite positions are mating press and doggy style. Push him into the mattress with his ass sticking in the air and watch him pathetically try to fuck himself back against you when his brain goes numb. Make him hold his legs to his chest and the burn in his thighs will make him cum twice as hard.

Overall if he's not walking straight tomorrow, he's in bliss.

#tale of food smut #sub bottom himbos #buff sub men #buff bottoms #top reader #gay smut #dom reader #gn reader

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itsthatpearl · 11 months ago

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Layout idea from @secret-smut-sideblog 🩸

Hannibal x F!OC

His Amuse-Bouche

Chapter 8: I Spit On Your Grave

AO3 LINK

Bethany makes a shocking discovery

Word Count: 1.2k

NO BETA READER IN THIS PART BC I AM A DUMB BITCH BUT I TRIED MY BEST TO BETA MYSELF

TW: THIS IS A HORROR FANFIC. MAJOR DEAD DOVE. SPECIFIC TRIGGERS ARE LISTED IN EACH CHAPTER, BUT THEY CAN SPOIL THE STORY, SO IF YOU WANT TO ENJOY THE HORROR AS BEST AS YOU CAN, GO STRAIGHT TO THE STORY.

SPESIFIC TRIGGERS: Mental health issues (depression, ptsd, anxiety, social anxiety, panic attacks and dissociating), unethical relationships, distressing impulsive thoughts, sexual tension, sexual themes, sex, vague talk about bodyfluids, horror, gore, cannibalism, vore, death, rough language, violence, forced surgeries, forced amputation, alcohol, needles, forced injections, light emetophobia,

----

“And then you add the wine” he smiled as he guided me with the cooking. He stood behind me holding me close while I prepared our dinner: “Joues de Boeuf Braisées au Vin Rouge” which meant braised cheek in red wine, in this case, a full-bodied Cabernet Sauvignon. “Can you cut the vegetables?” I asked the man behind me. He kissed my cheek and inhaled my scent slowly. “Ordering me around my own kitchen now, are we?” he purred into my ear. I bit my lip, closing my eyes and tilted my head back. “Yes, and now you are disturbing me, which can lead to the food burning” I smiled, eyes still closed. He kissed my neck softly and I could swear I felt his lips curl upwards into a grin. “We can’t have that, my dear sous chef. If you burn the food, I might have to punish you” he muttered and nipped my ear. I gasped loudly as my hand flew to grip his hair behind me. “Dr. Lecter, I am too delicate for such words” I smirked, opening my eyes and looking at the stove in front of me. “You know I don’t want to burn these cheeks. They came from a very important cheeky little swine and I would hate if their sacrifice would go to waste” I grin. Hannibal chuckled quietly and nodded. “As you wish, chef. I will cut the vegetables”

Dinner was hectic. We ate quickly and ended up in the bedroom even quicker. After a few minutes of stumbling onto the bed while taking off our clothes I has laying fully naked under his lips. “Desert is served” he muttered and kissed my earlobe. I bit my lip and moaned loudly. “W-what are we having, my love?” I smirked. His lips started wandering down my body stopping to lick my nipple. “Tonight we are having a delicate tiramisu, each layer a revelation of sweetness and texture, leaving a lingering richness on the palate that invites further exploration of every element” he smirked and nipped the nipple before going further down to kiss my stomach. I opened my mouth gasping for air. “Dr. Lecter, I didn’t know you could talk like that” I grinned back.

He lowered down my body once again and answered with a soft kiss right over the sensitive bud of nerves between my legs. I threw my head back. Fuck. He was just so good at it. Each swirl of his tongue, each push of his fingers, each move took me closer and closer becoming undone. I gripped his hair as he licked, sucked and fucked me. My heart started to beat louder as I felt the burning become sweeter. Silent gasping and whimpering evolved into desperate cries. “Please, please, please, oh gods ” I cried out. He smiled into my soft flesh. “I got you, Bethany” he whispered. With a loud moan I climaxed gripping his already sweaty hair. I felt the gush of fluids coat his face as he calmed his moves down.

This was followed with sensational lovemaking, me coming a few more times and his desperate and needy thrusting ending in a beautiful mutual orgasm that left us both too tired to move from the sweaty pool we had made the bed. Hannibal held me close as I kissed his chest, eyes closed almost asleep already. “I have an appointment tomorrow and I need to leave early in the morning. I will be gone until dinner time” he muttered. I smiled and lifted my head from his chest to look at him. “I will cook dinner then” I muttered and gave him a slow kiss. After a short make-out we both fell asleep listening to each other's heartbeats.

I woke up slowly. I looked at the clock groaning. Hannibal had left for an appointment with a patient an hour ago. I ate breakfast in silence, which worked for me. I wasn't a morning person and wanted to just get over with the routine. I was getting used to my new legs and walked stiffly around the house with a cane. I went inside his study, as it was my favorite place in his house. It was peacefully furnished full of dark colored velvet and ebony. I sat behind his desk. Patient records. Neatly laid down full on display. Is mine here too? I carefully started to go through the pile. Bethany Rivers. Bingo . I opened the file. Shit. Did I really talk about these things like that? I don’t remember I was in this bad condition… I read through the file re-living the moments I had talked about. Okay enough. Back to the pile you go, I am no longer this person. I looked back at the pile and stopped everything.

Ethan Rivers . The file said “Ethan Rivers” in big letters. With shaky hands I took the file and opened it. And there he was. Looking right back at me. My father. It had been so long since I saw his face. Why the FUCK does Hannibal have a file of him here? I opened the first page.

“Ethan Rivers, a 45-year-old male. Patient presents with a pronounced and chronic pattern of behaviors consistent with psychopathy. His psychological profile is characterized by the following: lack of empathy and remorse, manipulative and deceptive behavior, grandiose sense of self-worth, impulsivity and irresponsibility, persistent antisocial behavior. Conclusion : patient embodies the quintessential traits of a psychopath. His lack of empathy, manipulative tendencies, and persistent antisocial behavior make him a dangerous individual. His interactions are marked by superficial charm, but underneath lies a predatory nature that seeks to exploit and dominate. Constant vigilance and appropriate interventions are recommended to mitigate the risks he poses to society.”

I looked at the diagnosis in shock. Why didn’t Hannibal tell me he treated my father? I continued his patient diary. It was full of my father talking about himself. Obviously. That fucker never asked how I was. It was always about his cars, his friends, his life.

Then suddenly my mouth hangs open. “ The patient has responded positively to neurotoxin treatment, with pronounced hallucinations. He believes that killing his ex-wife and her husband is necessary to alleviate his suffering. After carefully assessing Ethan's responses to our sessions, it's evident that my influence has successfully redirected his motivations. He now exhibits a compelling drive towards achieving goals that align more closely with my own interests. This transformation underscores the efficacy of our therapeutic approach and reinforces the depth of trust Ethan has placed in me."

He manipulated my father into killing my mother and stepdad. I flip the pages to see the last one:

"Having successfully integrated Ethan into our therapeutic journey, I now have the opportunity to extend my influence to Bethany, his daughter. With Ethan and others no longer in her life, Bethany's vulnerability becomes a canvas for my endeavors. She has ignited a fascination within me. I have already talked about her psychiatrist, Dr. Mixer. If all goes well, Bethany will be my patient at the end of this month."

The text was written the day it all happened. I had been in therapy with Dr. Mixter for my anxiety. Later that night I would be utterly alone after my father kills my parents, and later that month Hannibal would become my psychiatrist. He did all this to get me to be his patient. He manipulated me into thinking I was cured. I looked at my legs and felt rage starting to storm inside me. This was not “a cure”. He ruined my life. He ended my life.

And I would end his.

----

NOTE:

I myself am not a professional and tried to get facts checked as best I could. My own father has ASPD so I see him alot in Beth's father but wanted to make it obvious Hannibal made Ethan worse and manipulated him. REMEMBER THAT PEOPLE WITH ASPD/OTHER SIMILAR DISORDERS ARE NORMAL AND NOT AUTOMATICALLY MURDERERS!!! THIS IS A HORROR FIC SO IT IS DRAMATICAL!!!!

I don't want to spread false knowlege so this is just the "hollywood horror" -style diagnosis shit.

----

Next chapter

#horror #fanfic #hannibal #hannibal smut #smut #hannibal fanfiction #horror fanfiction #hisamusebouche #itsthatpearl

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er0dedc0pper · 1 year ago

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Marinette being French Canadian would actually be so fucking funny. In my head she’s Chinese, indigenous and French. Just like me! And her life is a living hell, like the bullying and straight up hate crimes committed by québécois would be insane. Especially if she’s in rural Canada, like your Asian, NDN and not a supporter of the colonial state? Fasts way to beat up. Like rural Marinette is so important to me, imagine living in the bush you’re whole life than moving to a major city where you’re chosen as it’s protector. Like I literally get sick by how much concrete and asphalt is around me when I go to the city, Mari will literally DIE.

Her parents and aunts would definitely run the local Chinese restaurant back home! I feel like the majority of Maris family would live on reserve, but I do think she wouldn’t. For the record I see both her side’s being Native, their just mixed with different cultures! No because I’ve had moose stir-fry with rice and it’s so fucking good. My mom told us that her struggle food as a child was braised pig feet with Kraft dinner 😭 and that’s the most Chinese NDN thing I ever fucking heard…

And Socqueline is definitely the cousin that actually live in Paris so she helps her baby cousin adjust to city life! And the contrast of bullying techniques would absolutely baffle Marinette. Like wdym you’re not going to drag her through the mud with you’re atv? French society is extremely elitist so the majority of her bullying would be more verbal and socially isolating. Don’t get me wrong, they definitely pull her hair and push her down the stairs! It’s just not at the degree she’s used too…

UGH, also her being more aggressive with her affection is so funny. Like calling Adrien stupid and ugly when she’s absolutely swooning over him… or her hitting the shit out of Nino an Alya when she laughs… Like she’d definitely be more crass, but still respectful! Since she was raised to have respect for everyone, regardless of her stance on their general personhood. And I hate to stereotype Native women, but Marinette definitely knows how to fight! Not that she starts them, more as self defence… her parents definitely celebrate her first day with no fighting at school!

But it would be nice to see her actually appreciate getting a better education, especially with how rough it can be here in Canada. I definitely feel like she would excel academically! It’s just a funny concept I love, she would interact differently with her environment and people around her! All while maintaining that classic Marinette Charm!

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #certified yapper #NDN Marinette Dupain Cheng #this au lives in my head rent free

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katsukiswiife · 1 year ago

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The other woman

Part 1

A/N: this is a Karl x Tom/ Karl x Ann fiction, all are based off teachers at my school and is completely satire 😭 Not proof read!

Kissing, angst, cheating, internalised homophobia, crying, age-gap (Karl is in his 60s and Tom is in his late 30s), drama, lmk if theres anything i missed

It was a mistake. The kiss was a mistake. Karl felt so conflicted with his feelings, but one thing he knew is that it was a mistake. He and Ann had been having a secret relationship for almost a year now, and everything was going great! i mean imagine working as a teacher in the same building as your partner who is also a teacher? sounds great, right? it isn’t, it was, but not anymore.

When Karl first met Tom everything seemed 100% platonic, they were just friends! not only that, but they were both men! and had a rather big age gap. But then a few weeks ago, Tom started being more touchy. Karl ignored it at first, thinking it was just Tom getting more comfortable around him, like they were becoming better friends even though Karl knew Tom was gay and had a thing for older men, but then the small comments happened, small compliments about his hair or how strong he was and even sometimes Tommy would be full on flirting with him! Karl knew he should’ve just ignored him, he was with Ann for christ’s sake! but that didn’t seem to stop Tommy from kissing him in his office, didn’t stop Ann from walking in either.

At first, neither Karl or Tom noticed Ann walking in and standing in the door way. “no, we shouldn’t.” Karl said, pulling away from the kiss. “Come on, i’ve seen the way you’ve looked at me… i know you like me too” Tom replied with confidence. “No, i’m with Ann!” Karl said. “Yeah but when you’re with her you’re thinking about me, aren’t you?” Tom replied, getting all smug. “We’re both men! we shouldn’t be together… i’ve never even thought about being with another man before i met you!” Karl said, oblivious to his girlfriend listening to everything he was saying. “so you admit you think of me that way?” Tom said with a smirk. “No i-“ Karl sighed, stressed and tired from work and whatever the hell was going on now. “just- just leave me alone for now.. i need some space to think about this” Karl said, turning towards the door only to see his girlfriend standing there with tears in her eyes. “A-Ann…?” he whispered softly before getting interrupted by Ann turning around and smelling the door closed.

She wanted to cry, all she wanted to do was cry. She opened the bathroom door and started at herself in the mirror. Tom? really? why did he have to cheat on her and why did it have to be Tom? he promised he wouldn’t do anything like this, let alone with her co-worker who she’d even call her friend! Well at least before, they were definitely not friends now. She had to pull herself together, she had a class to teach soon so crying wasn’t really an option.

Wiping away her tears with toilet paper she opened up the bathroom door and walked over to her classroom. She was teaching two classes today at once as they both were learning the same thing and the other classes teacher wasn’t available to teach at the moment. She braised herself before entering the classroom, hearing all the kids go quiet and stand up from their seats, greeting her. She starter talking about god knows what and told them to work at skole studio so she wouldn’t have to talk in front of them anymore, afraid of having a break down knowing that if she did the person she’d have to talk to would be Tom considering its part of his job.

She couldn’t think straight but was taken out of her thoughts from two students in front if her, Amaris and Max. “Ann, my chrome book won’t work so i can’t exactly work at skole studio, could you take it down to Tom for me?” Amaris asked, Max besides her as emotional support or something, Ann could care less at the moment. “Yeah of course, ill be right back you and Max can just share their chrome book until i figure out a solution with.. Tom” She said, her demeanour changing at the thought of talking to Tom after what she just saw. “Okie, thanks” They both said as they walked away. Ann got Amaris’s chrome book and got up, quickly mentioning that Max was in control of making sure the class was quiet and if anyone messed around they would have their name written down before walking out of the classroom, closing the door behind her.

#teachers #angst #infedility #satire #Karl x Tom #homophobia #tom is a twink

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youngbuckreezy · 21 days ago

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Osso Bucco

This was my submission for the NYC Midnight 2024 Short Story competition. It didn't place, but I'm still really proud of it.

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Did you know people’s tongues actually loll out like a cartoon when you choke them to death?

Straight up. There he is—sprawled on my bathroom floor, heavy and still. Once, he was Jonathan Powers. My work bestie’s new boyfriend. The so-called "Artisan," as Carol liked to brag. A sculptor or some pretentious bullshit.

I want you to know, I really tried to understand what this beautiful, blue-eyed man did for a living. I went to his “The Artisan” website and saw his shitty, abstract sculptures and out-of-focus, black and white “art” photography. I also saw his admittedly alluring portrait that showed his pretty blue eyes and tousled hair and his delicate, expressive hands. I came to the single-minded conclusion that, behind the mysterious professional brand of The Artisan, that his actual last name had to be something like Rockefeller-Rothschild-Washington VII. Family money, you know.

Carol was obnoxiously happy about dating a so-called “artist”. “Oh, me and The Artisan had a really fun night! Oh, me and The Artisan tried anal!” or whatever bullshit she’d been on about.

I decided to entertain her excitement, so I threw a dinner party last month to meet him. I made Osso Bucco for him. My hit. When you make Osso Bucco right (and I always fucking make it right), when you braise the veal shanks for just long enough and use some of the braising liquid to flavor the bed of risotto, it tastes like a warm fireplace in your mouth.

Anyway, I invited half a dozen friends to my house, spent 400 dollars on veal shanks and nice wine (for cooking and drinking), and after I had dramatically removed the lid from my lovingly polished Le Creuset dutch oven for effect and showed my guests the beautiful, unctuous, steaming pot of veal stew, this mother FUCKER rolled his FUCKING EYES AT ME!

Can you imagine the temerity? The gall?? But he wasn’t done! Then he went on a five-minute tirade about how veal is cruel. About how it’s inherently immoral to torture a baby animal for the sake of flavor. He ruined the whole FUCKING vibe! I may as well have thrown it out the window that night, everyone was so fucking bummed out.

To be a mediocre artist with a trust fund is one thing. To step on the crowning moment of my dinner party to talk about a bummer social justice topic is yet another. But for him to be a judgmental little fucking prick about it...

His throat feels just as delicate as it looks under my thumbs.

He scratches and claws at me. He didn’t know what I was doing at first. No one thinks you’re choking them to death when you start choking them to death. At first he thinks it’s a joke. He smiles, and his blue eyes flash and it makes me want to fuck him, too.

He smiles and says, through his rapidly closing windpipe “Hey, what the fuck man?”

I keep smiling. And keep fucking squeezing. A couple seconds later he realizes it’s not a game. He stops smiling and fights me. I stop smiling too. He’s thrashing. He goes for my eyes with his hands, trying to gouge them out. It’s too late. As his delicate, artisans hands weakly paw at my face I headbutt him in the nose and keep squeezing until I hear a snap.

I see tears in his eyes as the life leaves him. I keep squeezing, and squeezing and squeezing. He’s so beautiful. He’s just a squirming, blue-eyed animal. He doesn’t have any real last words. Just the ones I imagine a lot of people get.

What the fuck, man?

I take a big, deep, belly breath. I hold it for four seconds. I release a healing breath into my extremities. I find my center. I am at peace. I am safe. No one is judging me.

Not any FUCKING more, anyway.

I look down at my tile floor again. No one. Nothing. Black and white tiles that as you stare shift and form patterns and grids that weren’t there before... I take a look in the mirror and fuss my voluminous chestnut hair back into a neat-ish pompadour and emerge from the bathroom.

I’ve been drinking all day, I haven’t eaten, I’ve been slaving over a hot fucking stove to make Osso FUCKING Bucco for you people.

I descend the stairs and walk into my dining room. No one’s talking. Five faces stare at me. There’s Carol, my friend from work. Next to her is Lee, a photographer I worked with one time whom I really liked. Across from Lee is Lou, their boyfriend (Lou brought over some wine that matched my menu. What a sweetheart!) There’s my little cousin Lindsay, always nice to see her, and then I’m at the head of the table and Jonathan is...

“Is Jonathan okay? It sounds like there was some clatter in there...?” Carol says.

Of course. I’d gone to check on him in the bathroom. I’d gotten some Non-GMO (blech) wine specifically for him, and it didn’t seem to be agreeing with his stomach. I’d told him to use the master bedroom on the second floor because that’s where I keep the Pepto...

“Yeah, he’ll pull through. Just knocked some stuff out of my medicine cabinet. So much for artisan’s hands! Hahaha!” I say.

Carol doesn’t seem reassured. Dumb fucking bitch.

Lee looks at me, like they’re framing a photograph. Their thoughtful eyes stare at me under their heavy brow.

“Is everything okay, Lee?”

They shift in their seat a little bit. Lou puts a big hand on Lee’s thigh.

“No, um... are you sure everything’s okay up there? He’s been gone for a minute.”

So perceptive, Lee. Look at you go.

“I just spoke to him, Lee. I was reaching to get him some Pepto Bismol for his sudden onset diarrhea and some things slipped out of the medicine cabinet. Is that alright with you, Lee?”

I wait patiently for their response.

“Yeah, one hundred percent man. Let’s um... let’s eat! What have you brought out for us? That dutch oven is really beautiful, by the way.”

“Oh how nice of you to say! Good eye, Lee.” I look down at my gorgeous, polished, sky blue Le Creuset dutch oven. I catch my hand shaking notably as I reach for the lid.

“Haha!” I say. “Just the shakes.” I take a sip from my wine glass and wink. Chuckle from the crowd.

I lift the lid off the dutch oven. A plume of steam emerges. Eyebrows rise from the effect. Everyone leans in to see what I’ve made.

“Oh, um... Is it Osso Bucco again?” Jonathan says. “I’m really trying not to be an asshole here, but... Didn’t we talk about this last time?”

No, Carol. It’s not Osso Bucco. Look with your worthless eyes...

There it is, Osso Bucco, cooked perfectly right. The veal shanks sit, gelatinous and sumptuous from the long cooking time, with just a bit of browning on top from twenty minutes in the oven with the lid off...

That can't be right. I made chicken. I remember. I spatchcocked it—spent all day butchering the thing. Gloves on, blade steady, I sheared through its joints, cut out the spine, then pressed into the collarbone. I put my weight into it, squeezing and squeezing until the hyoid bone finally snapped.

“Hey... Are you okay? Do you want to sit down? You don’t look so good.” Lindsay squeaks. She has the same chestnut hair color as me, and it hangs down beautifully to her shoulders.

I slump down into my chair, exhausted.

“Yes of course I’m FUCKING okay, Lindsay! We can’t all be like YOUR MOM throwing holiday FUCKING gatherings every other FUCKING WEEKEND can we? This is STRESSFUL!” I say, assertively. She shrinks.

I drink some wine and feel myself choke up. I’m closing my eyes; biiiiiiiig deep belly breath. Hold for four seconds, release a healing breath into your extremities. I am safe. No one is judging me.

I hear a chair shuffle. I open my eyes. Carol is standing.

“Where are you going, Carol?” I say, calmly.

She freezes. “Um... I think I’m going to go upstairs and check on Jonathan if that’s okay.”

A migraine builds in my head. I sip from an empty wine glass. Carol stands stupidly, halfway in and out of her chair, waiting for me to dismiss her.

Pathetic

I reach for the bottle in the center of the table and try to pour myself another glass. I pour the last measly drops out of the bottle.

Alcoholic motherfuckers come to my house and drink all of MY expensive booze.

“No, Carol. Sit back down. Jonathan is fine. I’m just going to go to the kitchen and get dinner... I made the Osso Bucco for a different thing, later. Been drinking, haha!” I take a healthy sip from Jonathan’s glass.

“Why do you have a black eye?” Lee says.

I’m taking a big belly breath. Taking a big, deep, healing, fucking, shitting, belly breath and breathing it into my extremities. No one is looking at you. No one is judging you. Everyone is happy with your dinner party. Everybody likes you.

The wine glass shatters in my hand. Five faces stare at me in varying states of horror. Jonathan is staring at me with his delicate, manicured Artisan’s hands gripped to his chest. There’s a look of mad confusion, but a gentle patience behind it. As if he’s saying I see you. I understand your outburst. I judged you.

Lou leans his big body past Lee and whispers to Lindsay “Is he okay?”

A large mass of blood and glass falls from my hand and Lou wretches immediately. He stands to go to the bathroom. “I’m gonna be sick!” He says.

“Downstairs bathroom, please!” I say.

He shuffles off down the hall to the correct bathroom. Thank you, Lou. You are just the sweetest.

“I’m just going to go to the kitchen. Carol, please don’t go anywhere.” I stand slowly and walk to my kitchen, a cloth napkin stuffed in my hand to soak up the blood.

I turn the little catty corner to my kitchen. I ought to be looking at my kitchen. What I’m looking at is a wound. A gash. A purulent, flaming, dripping, reeking, fucking, shitting, barfing open sore.

The smell hits me first—a rank, nauseating stench that makes my stomach churn. I take a step into the kitchen, and the full horror comes into view. The chicken I spatchcocked earlier lies half in the sink, hacked and mutilated, its skin shriveled and yellowed, its exposed flesh dry and cracked like old parchment. The corpse of the bird sits atop a teetering pile of sauce pots—six or seven of them, Calphalon non-stick, each filled with failed attempts at risotto. The rice inside is congealed and lukewarm, forming pale, gummy masses under the cold, sterile glare of the overhead lights.

And then I see them: cockroaches, speckled across the chicken and the pots, their bodies slick and gleaming as they skitter over the mess. A faint squeaking fills the air, mingling with the sound of my own breath catching in my throat.

“Do you want me to call someone?”

Lindsay’s quaking voice cuts through the stench like a blade. I turn to see her standing in the doorway, clutching her chest. Her pale skin is flushed, her eyes rimmed with tears. She stares at me with something between pity and fear.

“Call someone?” I say, too calm. “Do you want to fucking CALL SOMEONE, Lindsay?” I lunge closer, voice rising. She shrinks, but I grab her twig arms, yank her cute little face up to mine. Lou emerges from the bathroom and sees me.

“What the fuck man!?” He says and hustles over to me.

“Oh my fucking god somebody help!”

Carol you stupid fucking bitch!

“Please just calm down...” Lindsay sobs. “I’m sorry I made you think about my mom. I’m really sorry.”

I vomit on her. A jet of crimson erupts from my mouth—wine and bile, sharp and burning. The acid stings my throat, the reek of alcohol thick in the air. Lindsay screams and squeals and tries to get away, but my hands are like vice grips on her arms. She sputters and sobs in my face. I spit.

What would I even do with a mirror that big, someone says.

There’s a powerful knock at the door. Pounding, throbbing, insisting. Someone says. The FBI are here. Someone says. They want to talk to you. someone says.

Sit him down, I don’t know what’s going on. I think we need to call an ambulance.

He’s dead? Like dead, dead? You, like, checked for a pulse?

JUST CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE, LOU

Shut the fuck up, Carol.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Carol strides toward me, her face blotchy and raw, flushed with streaks of red. Tears, snot, and a smear of blood cling to her skin, her features swollen with grief and rage.

Take a big deep belly breath. Everything is fine. Everyone is happy to see you.

“Carol, please fix your hair.”

Carol screams, her fists striking my chest in weak, frantic bursts. The words tear from her throat, over and over, until they collapse into a broken mantra: "I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING." She sobs, shuddering, her hands trembling even as they keep pounding against me.

Lou pulls her off and clutches her. She looks very comfortable in the crook of Lou’s arm. They’d be good together. Lee comes back and looks at me with confusion and disgust. They’re holding half a dozen pill bottles in their hands. “Are you taking all of these?” They say, shocked.

The FBI agent in the room wants to talk to me about the disappearances. Says that his colleague talked to me last month, checked out my alibi.

Carol sobs uncontrollably, her body wracked with heaving breaths. Lee, Lou, Jonathan, and the FBI agent close in around her, murmuring reassurances, hands on her shoulders, steadying her as she wails. She chokes out the words between gasps—"I thought you were my friend! Why would you do this?"

The FBI agent turns to me, his voice calm, measured. He asks a series of questions. Each time, my answer is the same.

Yes.

Carol asks where the bodies are. Lee and Lou demand to know what I did. Lindsay, Mom, Jonathan—everyone is asking, voices layering over each other, pressing in.

Jonathan tries to ask too, but he can’t. His tongue is too swollen, big and purple, hanging from his mouth like a big, angry cock. His eyes bulge with the question anyway.

What the fuck, man?

But I tell them not to worry.

Because he was just a beautiful, squirming, blue-eyed animal. Delicate little paws. Squirming. Begging. Crying.

Cried.

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