#that could be dangerous in the wrong hands with the dangerous part facing himself

[keferon]

Eh okay so. My brain is absolutely cooked so you will probably just have to ignore the linguistic fuckups

Jazz and Prowl learning to communicate because language barrier is a thing >:D

Previous part

Jazz sometimes thinks that somewhere along his career path he lost the bar separating normal from...well...everything else.

After all he's seen, heard about, and done, he's not sure exactly how to measure what's weird and what's normal. He has..the general idea.

His own. And it's so convoluted and fucked up that he'd rather jump into a volcano than try to explain it to anyone else. Jazz thinks the little colorful aliens around him are weird as hell. He thinks they sound weird, he thinks they look weird, and he thinks he must be going crazy.

And then this big black and white robot catches his eye and Jazz's first thought is not "what the fuck??"

His first thought is

"Thank God! Someone's normal!"

Whoever this guy is, he sounds like he knows what he's doing. And most importantly, he looks just like Jazz. Well, not exactly. But close enough. After all, Jazz knows that his organization wasn't the only mech maker on the entire planet. Other countries were making Mechs too, and Jazz hadn't seen even half of them.

But he can recognize a giant robot when he sees one, okay?

The thought that another mech could be an alien doesn't even enter his mind.

So used to the constant presence of huge piloted robots around him, he looks at this one and clings to its appearance as something familiar and easily explainable. His brain says, we know how this works. There's a robot and inside the robot there's another person. It's the way it's always been. The sky is blue, the grass is green and the robots are human-piloted. It's that simple.

The guy takes him to the far corner of the room and says something. Jazz…doesn't understand..

The mech's face contorts in a surprisingly believable display of concentration. How...who built this robot? How could they make it frown?

He hears something else being said to him but again can't understand a word. Why won't this pilot get out of the mech to talk to him? Jazz doesn't have his communication frequency but surely they could at least shake hands. There must be some reason. Maybe something wrong with the air? Is it dangerous to be outside? This guy should know better, he's been here longer than Jazz, it seems.

(Damn it, whose idea was it to make a mech with a face, it's so distracting)

He rushes to activate the external speakers, because he and this guy obviously speak different languages, but it never hurts to try, right?

"So uh, I don't think you can understand English?"

Mech frowns again, trying to pick up on something familiar in a language that's apparently new to him. But finds nothing. Jazz lowers his horns sadly.

Oh well. Fuck. As if being stuck in an unknown place with unknown creatures wasn't enough, he can't even talk to anyone! How is he supposed to get out of here? Which way should he even go?

The mech waves his hand to get his attention and then pulls out a tablet and a stylus from..where ?

Jazz somehow manages to overlook the fact that the tablet is made to fit the mech's size. His head is still feels a bit…off..after that portal thingie.

"Charades it is then."

____________________

An hour and a half later, Jazz finds himself staring intensely at the screen in front of him with a surprisingly neatly drawn chart on it.

"So uh. Motion."

The other guy nods and starts drawing a walking mech. Then something that looks like a very unusual car. Then a submarine. Jazz gets a little lost looking at how skillful he is with the stylus.

Honestly, he's a good artist!

The guy points to the sketch of a walking mech and says

" Motion."

Then points to the drawing of a car driving and the columns of the chart.

"Motion-rotation" he points to the car again.

That must mean "driving" huh? Jazz nods understandingly.

Mech moves his finger to the submarine.

"Motion-Water."

Ah, it must mean swimming. Jazz nods once more, feeling like a wind-up dummy repeating the same motion a dozen times.

The mech makes a quiet humming noise and then points to the chart

"Motion. Sky."

And then gives Jazz the stylus?

Uh, what is he... Oh, he wants Jazz to figure out what it means.

"Motion" and "sky," right?

Jazz takes the stylus? Pencil? Thingie.. and very carefully draws out a crooked scribble of something only remotely resembling an airplane. The mech arches an eyebrow and looks like he wants to laugh.

Jazz shrugs awkwardly and tries to add windows to the airplane, but ends up making it look more like a severely fucked up caterpillar.

Mech snorts.

Jazz kicks him in the leg.

The airplane begs for a merciful death.

Jazz didn't really expect to get into a language class but he has to admit that whatever language he's learning now is a surprisingly easy one. It only took the other dude half an hour to show him the basic concept and from there it became a game of associations.

There were simple definitions. Like size, quantity, speed, emotion and so on.

There were signs that automatically turned the whole sentence into a question or a statement.

There were modifiers that Jazz defined in his head as positive and negative.

Positive speed - fast.

Positive size - large.

Positive direction - forward.

Positive time - future.

There were also basic words for senses, emotions and whatnot, also with modifiers.

Mouth-positive - to speak

Brain-positive - to think, but negative-brain-do-positive - to learn.

Huh.

And it's so neatly organized that Jazz wondered if this language was designed specifically to be easy to learn.

Let's see....

Mouth - positive, effort - negative.

"Easy to speak."

The guy nods contentedly and starts talking back, while pointing to the appropriate columns of the chart to make it easier for Jazz to understand.

"Creation-positive. Purpose. Person-negative-knowledge. memory-positive-effort-negative."

Jazz frowns, concentrating on his finger.

Oh. Created. For those who don't know it. Easy to learn.

He was right. The whole thing is waaaay too awkward to write poetry but learning it is a delight.

Jazz leans over the chart.

All right, well, let's see.

“Name. You. Question?”

The other guy smiles and pokes at the chart

"Me.Motion-sound-negative.Negative-eyes-positive-someone."

Walk quietly. searching?… Sneaking?

Oh, it's not "to sneak" it's "to prowl"

"Prowl" nods affirmatively. Jazz smiles at him and looks at the chart again. Okay. How to say “music”?..

“word-knowledge-negative.”

He stops to make a gesture with his hands, as if playing an invisible piano while humming a tune.

Prowl nods

“Sound-positive-positive-hearing.”

Jazz chuckles

“A whole two positives eh? Okay then. Uh. You don't look like you listen to jazz....so..”

“Me. Name. Sound-positive-positive-listening.”

Prowl raises his eyebrows. (Jazz is jealous, he wishes he had eyebrows too.)

“You're a musician?"

Jazz quickly shakes his head while simultaneously muting the outside speakers to a barely audible level and turning on one of the songs on his playlist.

Prowl twitches in surprise when he hears the melody.

Jazz waits for the intro to finish playing and then points to himself

“Creation-negative..uh..Sound-positive-positive-hearing. Jazz. This...”

He pats himself lightly on the chest.

"..is me. Jazz."

Prowl straightens up slightly

“Oh, you're not a musician, you're the music.”

Jazz nods cheerfully

“Yes yes!”

“Jaaz?”

“No no. Jazz.”

“Ah. Jazz?”

“That's right.”

Prowl draws a portal on the screen.

“You teleported here. What happened?”

Jazz hangs back, trying to construct an answer in his head. Good thing Prowl seems to have infinite patience

“So, I uh. What was 'fight'? Movement-pain-positive? I fought these things...”

He takes the tablet from Prowl and draws a crooked blot with a bunch of tentacles on it. Then thinks for a bit and adds big teeth and a lot of eyes. He's not really sure how to draw those eyes properly, so he just scatters them randomly around the monster area.

Prowl doesn't seem to be that amused by Jazz's drawings anymore, in fact, he suddenly becomes very somber.

“Quintessons.”

He pokes at the monster

“Name-Quintessons. Number-question.”

How many?

Jazz scratches the back of his head

“So uh...a lot?....number-positive-positive-positive-positive-positi...you get the idea.”

To be convincing, he dramatically spreads his arms out to the sides depicting something very large.

Prowl looks alarmed.

And unconvinced.

“How did you survive?”

Jazz laughs pretentiously

“Ask them how they survived.”

Prowl makes the “you can't be serious” face. Jazz isn't quite sure what exactly is confusing him. Mechs are designed to kill Quintessons, aren't they? Judging by his movements, this pilot must be damn good at controlling his mech, and that kind of guys usually fight on the front lines.

He decides to put that thought aside for later. There are more important things right now, like...oh shit, where is he even going??

Jazz leans over the chart again

“Uh. Right. Question-we-move-up-place” Man, how to specify... “Knowledge-negative?”

Prowl, linguistic gods bless him, understands him and starts gesturing over the chart in response

Okay. Ah. I-move-up. Planet-creation-positive.

'I'm heading home' or 'my home planet'.”

Jazz instantly perks up.

“Oh that's great, I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to go there too.”

Prowl is speaking in a language he's unfamiliar with, so he's definitely from another country, but hey, who cares as long as it's on Earth, right? He just needs to get there and he'll find his own way from there.

He watches the space debris flicker by outside the window. Even the stars are unfamiliar, Jazz can't find any constellations he knows.

One of the little purple creatures says something and Prowl steps aside to chat with them. Jazz leans back and settles into a more or less stable position. Then does the same thing, but with his real, human body. Hell, his head still feels really fucking weird after that teleportation.

He opens the comm channel and just listens to the static for a couple minutes in the faint hope that the engineering department will find a way to contact him.

Nothing.

He sighs.

“1061 on the com. In case there's any way you can hear me...ah shit. You guys won't believe what happened...”

[heavenlyraindrops]

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter One

also on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag to find other chapters | warnings: pre- s1 (for now), profanity, mentions of death and addiction

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter One:

The undercity was certainly something.

Especially at night, when shadows extended their smoky tendrils to allow those dabbling in unsavoury business to lurk, gloomy buildings hiding things you’d be safer off not knowing within. People milling about, going about their private, dangerous business.

Water splashed across the street as your foot landed in a puddle, ankle twisting the wrong way as you tore through the filthy streets, enforcers hot on your heels. All this for heckling an officer? You clutched your shawl around you as the wind almost buffered it away.

It was ridiculous.

After bumping into a large man, a mother and her child, and knocking over a crate of sludge-y creatures, shouts trailing after you, you found an alleyway to disappear into. You scrambled up some wooden beams, eventually emerging onto the flat roof of the low, squatting building. You watched the idiotic Pilties run straight ahead, missing your small detour entirely, and scoffed, stepping away from the edge.

You turned, and made your way across the rooftops of Zaun. 

You’d reached an impasse. Well, not really- nothing a simple jump couldn’t fix. You squinted down into the dusty darkness of the narrow alley below your feet. This part of the undercity was silent- but you could hear the lapping water, and knew you were close to the river.

Vaulting over a concrete bar and pushing off with your feet, you landed on the other side of the gap with a thud. The roof shook, and you yelped as a tile slid off the edge, and crashed into the darkness.

Holding your breath, you heard nothing. The water continued to rumble. You turned to leave.

Until- 

“Fuck.”

You froze in horror. 

Creeping back towards the piped edge of the roof, weight on the backs of your feet, you peered into the darkness. The glowing end of a cigarette burned orange. You gulped.

A man emerged, stepping into your view. His brow was furrowed. Your hands were shaking. “I-I’m sorry!” You called out, and he scowled. 

“You nearly hit me!” He almost-yelled back. But taking a look at your face his expression softened. Against better judgement, you slid down the pipe, feet landing on the ground with an oof.

He looked at you, eyebrows raised. Someone in the undercity coming down to personally apologise for something like that instead of laughing in one’s face and running away was rare. He looked at the apologetic look on your face, and watched as you opened your mouth to speak while also stretching out your hand.

“I’m sorry…”

He reached for your hand too, ready to dismissively accept your apology and move on with his night.

“…But can I have a cigarette?”

His expression dropped.

You lazily took the cigarette from his hands and took a long, deep drag, tendrils of smoke curling from your mouth. At his frown, you moved it from your lips to speak.

“What? You don’t have herpes, do you? I’m not going to get it, am I?”

Wordlessly, he shook his head. You studied his face. Strong features, blue-green eyes. He wasn’t half bad looking.

I wouldn’t mind getting an STD from him.

Without a single reaction to your rather graphic thought you took another drag on the cigarette, before handing it back to him. “Thanks. Not everyone here knows that sharing is caring.”

He laughs, guarded, and then stops himself, surprised such a sound even came out at your words. You smiled at him sweetly. “And sorry for almost hitting your head and bashing it in with a tile. Though it wasn’t my fault, was it?”

“I suppose it was an accident,” he said stiffly, a strand of hair falling in front of his face. He dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his heel. “Miss…”

“[name]. Janna, I really needed to calm my nerves.” You stretched, arching your back like a cat, feeling the bones pop and muscles stretch deliciously. The man wet his lips, looking out at the street through the alley.

“And why would that be?” His voice was smooth. You readjusted your shawl. 

“Some enforcers were chasing me. The usual.” You let out a slow sigh, going to leave the alley without as much as a goodbye. He didn’t say anything, just watched you leave.

You planted a foot out into the street.

“That’s her!” 

You whipped your head around, watching a gaggle enforcers charging towards you. A scream tore from your lips you rushed back into the alleyway. The man grabbed you as you almost crashed into his chest.

“Fucking run!”

Shimmying up the pipe, you were back on the roof. You didn’t spare a turn to look back as your heavy lunges rattled the roofs, leaping over bars and gaps. You turned and saw an enforcer slip through a gap in the roofs, crashing into the street below. The man from the alley was just at your shoulder. Without a sparing a second you turned and left.

Once you were certain you’d lost the enforcers you stopped, chest heaving, and slumped onto the ground- roof- beneath you. The man stayed standing, eyeing you with an unreadable expression.

“Okay,” you gasped, turning over. “Now I’m actually sorry.” Coughing while trying to catch your breath you extended a hand. “Do you have water or something? I’m sorry.”

He let out a heavy sigh, not knowing how to behave in this situation as he took out a flask, crouching down and holding it out to you as you continuously mumbled apologies. You gulped down the water inside. “It isn’t poisoned, is it?” You sighed, wiping your mouth as you handed it back. He sat down as he took it, joining you on the slanted roof. 

“You only think to ask that after you’ve downed half the thing?” His voice was filled with amusement. You ignored him.

“I’m sorry, mister…”

“Silco.”

You stared at him as he took out another cigarette, patting his pockets for a lighter. Without a word you took one out, flicking it open and pushing down to activate the flame. You held it in front of his face. “I’m sorry, Silco.”

The cigarette lit up. You studied his profile, mainly the line of his sharp nose as he inhaled deeply.

“It’s fine. Why do you keep apologizing?”

“I got you involved in a chase with enforcers after almost dropping a tile on your head and taking your cigarette.”

“You didn’t have to take the cigarette,” he muttered, miffed. You ignored him, the lighter snapping shut. “And my plans for the night have been ruined…”

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. He looked at you, chuckling. “I’ll make it up to you somehow, if you want.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Such generosity is rare.”

“Not generosity. Justice.”

He laughed again, at your dramatics this time as he rolled the cigarette in between his long fingers. “Right. Justice.”

“So, one favour.”

“That’s a dangerous offer, [name].” A thought struck him, and he furrowed his brow. “Don’t tell me you’re from topside.”

You stared at him for a minute, then scoffed. “Of course I’m not. What makes you think that?”

“Your naivety.” He blew smoke from his lungs, and you watched as it curled over the rooftops. “It’s not a good idea to go around offering favours to strangers.”

“I’m as much of a trencher as you are, Silco,” you scoffed.

At this, he suddenly grabbed your wrist. You stared at him in shock as his lip curled, expression furious. You blinked, unmoving. 

“Zaunite.”

“Wh-what?”

“Use Zaunite. Not the name they gave us.” His grip on your wrist loosened before falling away completely. You nodded.

“Right.”

It fell silent.

“And I’ll never cash in that favour.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“Because, it’s a stupid idea. If anything, I’m doing you a favour.” Another drag. You turned over to look at the sky.

“Thanks… I guess?”

He chuckled again, smoke curling from in between his teeth. Your face felt warm. “You’re strange.”

“So I’ve been told. What exactly were the plans for your night that I so rudely ruined?”

He didn’t say anything.

“I hope you weren’t visiting a cathouse.”

He groaned, and you laughed, snatching the cigarette off of him. He didn’t stop you. “Certainly not. Not for the cats, at least.”

“The cats?”

“The women, [name].”

“Well, what else would you go there for?”

“You’d be surprised.”

You frown. “Right… so no prostitutes.”

“Definitely not. It’s an immoral practice.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “A trencher with morals. I see.”

“Zaunite,” he said through gritted teeth.

You shrugged, sucking on the cigarette. “Well, I don’t care. They’re just making a living.”

“And what would you consider immoral?”

You blew out a cloud of smoke, and for a moment you considered saying something that he’d agree with, racking your brains for an appropriate answer. He clearly hated topside…

“What those Pilties are doing. Their prejudice against us,” you said proudly. He gave a small laugh.

“Right. Everyone thinks that. Something unique, please.”

You stayed silent. “Well… I do believe capitalising on addiction is quite immoral.”

“Ironic, considering that cigarette you’re holding.”

“There are extremes.” Your voice was low, and it was clear there was a story behind the subject. He didn’t press you, simply watching you put out the cigarette on the tin roof, your appetite for nicotine crushed.

After a quiet moment you spoke. “My sister was pregnant. Some… drug lord got her hooked onto something.” You rested your head down. “It was dangerous. They don’t make it anymore.” He hummed silently. “I lost both her and the baby. And she was all I had left, so…”

“The father?”

You scoffed, and that told him more than he needed to know.

“That… drug… business owner… whatever he was- he didn’t need money. He was filthy rich,” you spat. “A-“ your eyes slid to Silco- “A Zaunite, hoarding money, sucking life out of his own people, and not sharing a single drop. I hate that bastard.”

“What became of him?”

“Business crushed, killed by enforcers.” Your response was curt.

He hummed. “Well, in that case, I certainly won’t go down that path.”

“…I suppose I won’t work in a brothel either.”

“Or own one,” he added. You laughed.

“Or own one.”

You sighed gently, standing up. “Well, I hope whatever business you missed gets resolved. Goodbye, Silco.” You made to climb down to the street.

“Wait-“

You looked up.

“You said you don’t have anyone. If you’re ever… looking for company, go to the Last Drop. Tell the bartender you’re looking for Silco.”

Your eyes enlarged as you stowed the name in your memory. “The Last Drop,” you repeated, then nodded.

“Goodbye, [name].” 

You smiled again, and dropped down into the crowd.

When you looked back up to the sky, to the roof, he was gone.

-

[knoepfl]

Bound by Grit: A Dance of Power and Defiance

Characters:

• Salo: A bitter, wheelchair-bound enforcer from Zaun, struggling with his vulnerability and defiance.

• Reader (Female): A headstrong woman from Piltover, tasked with caring for Salo, challenging his temper while asserting control in their relationship.

Trigger Warnings:

• Themes of physical disability and recovery.

• Power dynamics and control in relationships.

• Mild violence (rough handling of the wheelchair).

• Strong language and tension-filled interactions.

• Themes of emotional vulnerability and resistance to help.

Masterlist

Words: 743

--- The spires of Piltover glistened in the waning light, their golden peaks brushing against the fading orange of the sunset. Inside the cramped apartment, the air felt heavier, weighted by tension and unspoken words. The only sounds were the faint creak of wheels rolling over polished wood and the occasional clink of metal.

Salo maneuvered himself near the window, his wheelchair cutting a deliberate path through the room. He stopped just shy of the glass, his hands gripping the wheels tightly as he stared at the city below.

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. The sharp angles of his jaw were illuminated by the fading light, but his expression remained unreadable.

“You’re glaring at the city again,” you said, your voice cutting through the silence.

“And you’re still here,” he replied without turning, his tone flat.

You pushed off the frame and approached him, your boots echoing softly on the wooden floor. “You’re welcome, by the way, for keeping you alive and somewhat functional.”

Salo’s lips twitched, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “I’m touched by your unwavering dedication.”

“Not dedication,” you corrected, stepping behind him and placing a hand on the back of his chair. “Obligation. Someone has to make sure you don’t fall apart.”

Before he could retort, you spun the chair sharply away from the window, forcing him to face the rest of the room.

“Don’t do that,” he snapped, his hands gripping the armrests as he glared up at you.

You smirked, leaning down so your face was level with his. “What, this?” You pushed the chair forward slightly, making him jolt.

“Enough,” he growled, though his voice lacked the venom you were used to.

You straightened and walked around to face him, planting yourself in front of the wheelchair. “If you don’t like it, do something about it.”

His eyes narrowed, dark and dangerous. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, your arms crossed as you leaned against the edge of the table. “But you let me take control, Salo. You hate it, but you need it.”

He scoffed, his hands releasing the armrests as he forced his expression back into something more neutral. “Need is a strong word.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Really? Then why don’t you prove me wrong? Get out of that chair and walk away.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but you didn’t look away. His jaw tightened, and his hands returned to the wheels, gripping them like lifelines.

“Careful,” he said, his voice low. “One day, I might surprise you.”

You stepped closer, standing just inches from him. “I’m counting on it.”

Before he could respond, you crouched down in front of him, your fingers brushing against the wheel of his chair. The proximity was intentional, the balance of power shifting as you met his gaze head-on.

“You’re not helpless, Salo,” you said, your tone softer but still firm. “But until you decide to fight for yourself, I’m in charge. And you’ll listen.”

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. The tension between you was palpable, a silent battle of wills.

Finally, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. “You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re stubborn,” you shot back, standing and moving to the other side of the room. “But we make it work.”

You grabbed a small toolkit from the shelf and walked back to him, kneeling by his chair to inspect the mechanisms. “You’ve been grinding the wheels again,” you muttered, adjusting the tension with practiced ease.

“Occupational hazard,” he said, his voice lighter now.

You glanced up at him, catching the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

When you finished, you stood and placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning down so your face was close to his ear. “One day, you’ll thank me for this,” you murmured.

Salo tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours. “Don’t hold your breath.”

You smirked, stepping back and pushing his chair toward the center of the room. “Let’s see if you can roll yourself to the table without complaining. Consider it training.”

He muttered something under his breath but obliged, his hands gripping the wheels as he maneuvered the chair forward. You watched him, arms crossed, a sense of satisfaction blooming in your chest.

This was your domain now, and while Salo might resent it, you knew he wouldn’t trade it for anything. ---

[dnangelic]

this is such a delicate and obscure headcanon but daisuke is absolutely the sort to be sure he's handing people scissors or other sharp implements by the handle, which leaves him holding onto/pointing the threatening part at Himself

[wyvernest]

mating szn

part 1 (part2)

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!gf!reader

warnings: smut, fluff, scent marking, primal play, rutting miguel, possessiveness, reader is ovulating

summary: miguel comes home feeling extremely needy

You're preparing dinner when you hear the opaque glass doors of your shared mansion open for your lover to come in. It's almost midnight, and it doesn't take you longer than a few seconds to realize how tired he has to be.

Miguel walks into the open kitchen, frowning. 

"Baby! I missed you!" You jolt to him, pans clattering dangerously as you throw them aside, careful enough not to ruin your work but swiftly enough to get to him as fast as possible.

You curl your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes, pressing your chest flush against his hard pecs. His hands grab at your hips, absentmindedly and by habit.

"What's wrong?". You place a gentle, loving hand on his cheek, trying to meet his gaze. But he's not looking at you. His eyes are darting all over your face and body, brows still creased. 

He could feel it, your scent. A collection of the whole day, everything you've done. The food, the places you've been. He feels like it's been so long since this morning, when he woke up beside you, kissing along your neck. 

He feels a surge of blood rush from his heart and through his lucidity, a shot of adrenaline inexplicably taking over him.

You don't smell of him anymore. Anger bubbles in his chest as he thinks of all the people you must've talked to around HQ, who didn't smell his strong musk on you, who had no idea you belonged to him.

He's never felt like this before. He brushes the unfamiliar feeling aside for a moment, grounded by the silent plea in your eyes.

"I'm good. Just a bit tired." He brushes wild strands of baby hairs out of your face, finally matching the loving look you've greeted him with from the start.

He leaves you to finish the meal and steps into the shower, hoping that an ice cold stream would cool him down. Only it doesn't do anything but worsen the situation.

The second he feels the water spray hit his body, he flinches, unlike the usual relief he gets. His skin is abnormally feverish, the ghost of your body in his arms taunting him further into madness. He soon finds himself desperate to get out, to be reunited with you and the warmth only you could ever provide for him.

Images of your supple body breaking in his embrace flood his already lust crazed mind against his better judgment, and he feels his cock fatten slightly at the memory.

When he takes it in his hand, he nearly starts bucking his hips into his hold, sensitive and insanely needy. He imagines you in the bathtub with him, arching your back over the edge, spreading your legs for him to pound his cock into you under the hot stream, your moans echoing and ringing into the stone tiles.

He can't take it anymore. His body aches for your touch and attention.

Exiting the shower, he pulls a pair of loose boxers up his thighs, the only thing he can tolerate with the fever that has taken hold of him so suddenly.

And then, he focuses on the image of you, standing where he left you, gently stirring in a bowl. You're wearing one of his t-shirts, draped down to the middle of your thighs and over your elbows, an oversized dress. 

He approaches you, wrapping his arms around your front and waist, dropping a fraction of his weight on your back just to keep you from moving or fighting against it. You throw your head back, closing your eyes.

His head drops to your neck, kissing here and there, exhales smoldering hot on your throat, stopping momentarily to deeply inhale your scent. Among all others, there is a distinctive smell of you, of your arousal and need for him that drives him mad.

"Wait- Miguel, let me finish this-" You protest, your creamy tone betraying your true intentions. 

He groans, kissing your naked shoulder, his hands squeezing your form in front of him. 

All tasks are ultimately abandoned as he pushes you against the counter, his defined abs hitting your back, the marble surface cold against your thighs. He presses his fat, hard cock up against your plush ass, his hands fondling your breasts through his shirt, groaning low and quiet in your ear. 

With his biceps curled and constricted around your navel, your body goes limp in his hold, trembling ever so slightly as his warm, broad palms squeeze the soft flesh of your tits. He pushes them together, massaging gently, almost experimentally. He flattens them with the heels of his palms softly, only to them constrict his fingers around them so perfectly, fondling and groping away.

"Mm- Miguel, oh-" You breathe out, finding balance on your hands, arching your back into him. You feel your core pulsate with need, swelling up under his movements. You're almost completely wrapped up in his massive body, with nowhere to go. 

And just then, you accidentally knock a knife off the counter, startled when it hits the marble floor with a loud clank. He jumps, backing up from your body. Your face is flushed, eyes half lidded, breath heavy, nipples perked under the thin cotton. Landing back to your senses, you move to bend down and pick it up.

His eyes automatically snap to your round ass and the dark wet spot on your panties that invites him so blatantly to shove his cock in between your pussy lips. 

He can't help it. He can't control himself anymore.

Balance leaves your position as you feel his rough, eager hands grip your hips, harshly pulling you back into him. The plumpness of your ass hits the girthy shaft of his cock, but before you can look for the lost balance with your hands in front of you, he thrusts his erection up against your clothed cunt, making you whine in need.

"Ay, mi amor-" His voice is rugged and satisfied, laced with a deep groan. A broad palm hits the side of your behind, making the tender flesh ripple against his hard-on. "Te necesito muchísimo ahora." (I need you so badly right now.)

You yelp, perplexed, instinctively grabbing his wrists for balance. He pulls you up with your back against his chest, splaying a cursory hand across your abdomen, sending shivers thundering down your spine and butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"Miguel!" You playfully fight against his possessive hold, "Is this your way of helping me prepare dinner?!" You free yourself, giggling and letting a wide smile take over your features. Stepping back and extending your arms in front of you in an attempt to shield yourself from him, you chuckle wholeheartedly.

Seeing you resist, he lets out a defeated exhale.

"Fine. I'll be good, lo prometo." (I promise). He motions for you to come closer and trust that he'll behave. Letting your guard down, you approach the counter, eyes fixated on his playfully.

He feels your body heat nearing him, so comfortable and tempting. The smell of you, and everything that drives him crazy about your presence alone. His breaths deepen and quicken abruptly, his cock straining in his boxers, twitching freely against the material, begging to be enveloped in your wet warmth.

He looks down at you like a panther about to pounce, waiting for the perfect moment to do so. Your smile curls wider, eyes shining with lust and a teasing playfulness. His body dwarfs yours, his shadow alone making you feel puny. His shoulders are tense, the same way they are when he's on top of you, riding you into next Tuesday.

He shifts to place a clawed hand on the counter, the sharp edged digits tapping against the surface catching your attention momentarily in the corner of your eye. He exploits the split second it takes you to look down to his arm, snapping and squatting to grab your thighs, throwing you over his shoulder.

"NO! You promised! Miguel! The food!" You try to reason, throwing any and each accusation you can think of, knowing that you definitely don't want him to drop it and leave you alone, truly. And he knows it. 

And that's when he feels it. With your ass on his bulky shoulder, he can smell it. Your arousal, dripping hot. His fat cock finally hardens completely, its monstrously girthy shaft poking through the shorts. 

You're ovulating.

Groaning ruggedly, he delivers a rough spank to your plump ass before pushing two fingers over the wet mound of your clothed pussy, running them over your slit, teasingly, collecting more of your scent.

He swears the only thing stopping him from fucking you raw right on the kitchen floor is your comfort.

"Okay! You win! Put me down, I'll let you fuck me."

Without a second thought, he places you back on the floor, hands on your hips, talons grazing your tender skin deliciously.

His eyes have reddened, pupils blown wide, exhales hot and labored. You don't want anything more than to wrap your arms around his neck, to press yourself into him, to feel his hard abdomen on your stomach, his pecs on your soft tits, his mouth on your neck.

But you want to see more of how needy he is.

You jolt to the stairs with no warning, climbing the winding wooden steps like a cat. You hear him behind you, his weight put onto each movement as he chases close behind, the staircase creaking under him.

Looking behind before reaching the hallway of the first floor of your mansion, you feel your panties dampen at the sight of the man and the sheer size of him, massive shoulders slightly hunched forward in focus and adrenaline, his height successfully making you stagger on your way to the bedroom.

divider by @cafekitsune

HOPE YALL LIKE IT IMMA CONTINUE ‼️‼️

a/n: primal play is thoroughly discussed beforehand. insisting that your partner has sex with you even after resistance without having discussed the aforementioned resistance is abusive.

[liloinkoink]

one thing i think people get wrong about Martyn in the life series is he really isn’t loyal

like yeah, we all know him as the Hand, following the Red King as far as their shared grave, but that is… truly the outlier and not the norm with him

i mean, let’s take a brief look at other seasons. i can’t speak to Secret Life, as it came out when i was incredibly busy and i haven’t yet had time to watch it, but what about the others?

he won Limited Life because he’s a chronic traitor! he betrayed Scott, his ally for the whole season, so that he could win, and said he’d been planning it / wanting to do it the whole session. spent a whole season protecting and helping Scott, and laughed in his face to betray as soon as he saw a shot to do so

Double Life was a whole mess of Martyn and weird loyalties. just one example: he spent all of the first session hanging out with Pearl in favor of even looking for either of their soulmates, with no regard for how he’d been putting his soulmate in danger. when their soulmates dumped them due to being ignored all session and stormed off, he dumped Pearl just because. one session in and he’s betrayed both his soulmate and his day one alliance!

Last Life he teamed with the Southlanders and then made the Shadow Alliance in secret, so he was on two teams and never truly committed to either. he tried to kill Grian basically immediately when he got boogeyman, for example, and in the final fight he tried to lure Ren to himself by offering to team and then tried to blow Ren up

of course, i’m simplifying and ignoring a lot. he doesn’t earn the loyal reputation for nothing. he does a lot of things to help his teammates, like giving a life to Ren in Last Life, trying all season to win Cleo over for all of Double Life, or working to protect Scott for all of Limited Life. it’s not like Martyn doesn’t play the part of a loyal friend well, but, well.

the thing about Martyn is that he’s selfish. he’s basically always going to prioritize his own survival over anything else. he’s never going to roll over and die, especially not for another person. he’s good at looking loyal, because having allies will help you survive, and he knows making outright enemies is a bad idea. he knows he can’t make it obvious he’s a traitor, because then he’ll certainly be killed. but, when it comes down to the wire, he will generally bail at the last minute to save his own skin rather than protecting the people around him. when his loyalty is tested, nine times out of ten, he will not only fail, but do so completely without remorse

it doesnt take a lot to become Martyn’s ally, and once you’ve got a foot in the door, he will take his allegiances seriously (at least, to a point). but it takes effort to really earn Martyn’s trust. and, even when it looks like you have, there’s no guarantee he won’t yank the rug out from under you if he decides having you alive is more detrimental to his survival than seeing you dead

and yes, you can especially see all of this in Third Life. Martyn was absolutely not instantly ride or die for Ren—for a lot of the earlier episodes, he won’t say he’s on Ren’s team or that he lives at Ren’s base, and often tells other players he’s simply Ren’s employee rather than teammate and that he’s wandering or homeless. he trusts Ren so little due to Ren’s inability to keep a secret or stand up for himself that even Ren acknowledges in the third session that Martyn is probably going to leave him and find someone else. Martyn’s loyalty had to be earned, and it very nearly wasn’t. if Ren had taken a session more to grow a spine, Martyn probably would have left

but Ren became an ally that Martyn could rely on, who could stand up for himself and keep secrets. it became more beneficial to Martyn’s survival to have Ren around, so he stayed with Ren for the rest of the season, and committed hard to their kingdom. Ren earns Martyn’s trust by becoming a more dependable ally, and because of that, Ren earns Martyn’s loyalty…. probably

(half related, bc i want it in the post and i don’t know where to put it: after the execution, two sessions after Ren officially earns Martyn’s loyalty, Ren admits to being genuinely convinced Martyn was going to take him out of the series as soon as Ren gave him the chance!)

because yes, even here, even after Ren earns his trust and Ren trusts Martyn to execute him and they become King and Hand, Martyn was okay with killing Ren to save himself. Martyn has said he was going to betray Ren in the final session of Third Life. his entire plan was that when he and Ren hit the final 5, he was going to kill Ren. end Red Winter, usher in Red Spring. even the most loyal version of Martyn was a traitor!

now, you can decide for yourself if you believe he could have actually gone through with this—he and Ren were 6th and 7th out of the game, after all. maybe he wouldn’t have been able to steel himself. maybe his loyalty would have, for once, been too strong to kill Ren.

but it’s very possible that even the most loyal version of Martyn—the version of Martyn who has created this “loyal” image of Martyn in fanon—was only loyal because he died too soon to show his true colors

[greengoblinswifey]

You’re My Religion- Father Charlie Mayhew x Fem!Reader

summary— what begins as a confession turns into a heated encounter at the altar with your mother’s priest. they say god forgives all but after this, you’re not so sure.

warnings— EXPLICIT CONTENT. degrading kink, praise kink, daddy kink, priest kink, unprotected sex, creampie, face fucking, face slapping, spanking, spitting, blasphemy, gaslighting, mentions of hell, mentions of drugs.

a/n— written while listening to religion by lana del rey. this is longggg but worth it <3

You stepped into the dimly lit church, your heels echoing off the stone floor, drawing the eyes of everyone already seated. Your mother sat in the front, her lips pressed into a tight line, her eyes narrowed in disapproval as they roamed over your outfit, lacy, white, and far too revealing for the sanctity of the place.

You could feel the heat of judgmental stares as you made your way forward. A white garter peeked out from beneath the hem of your dress, resting against your thigh like a silent rebellion. It wasn’t just the dress; it was everything, your lateness, your attitude, your recent choices. Smoking behind the house had been the last straw for your mother, who was determined to have you confess your sins to Father Charlie Mayhew. You’d done worse but she hadn’t found out, might as well do as she asked.

Father Charlie stood at the altar, his presence imposing yet alluring. He was young for a priest, with sharp features softened by the flickering candlelight. His eyes briefly lingered on you as you approached, dark and inscrutable, before his expression returned to one of serene composure. His hands clasped in front of him, holding a Bible, as though the words inside it could shield him from whatever thoughts were swirling in his mind.

You slid into the pew beside your mother, her disapproval palpable. “You’re going to talk to him after the service,” she whispered sharply, not even glancing your way. "You will confess and make things right."

You barely heard her. Your attention was fixed on Father Charlie. Something about the way he looked at you, even for just a second, made your pulse quicken.

He stood at the pulpit, his voice echoing through the quiet church as he continued his sermon. The congregation sat in attention, but his eyes kept flickering toward the front row, toward you. You sat beside your mother, legs crossed, the lacy white dress slipping higher as you adjusted in your seat.

His words wavered for a moment, his gaze slipping to where your dress had risen, revealing more of your thigh. You could feel his eyes on you, feel the subtle heat of his attention even from across the room. A wicked thought crept into your mind, and slowly, carefully, you parted your legs, revealing the scarlet lace of your thong.

For a brief moment, Father Charlie’s voice faltered. His eyes caught the sinful glimpse of red beneath your dress, and he quickly looked away, clearing his throat. His fingers tightened around the Bible, knuckles white as if he was trying to anchor himself to its holiness.

He paused, then spoke, his tone harder now, deliberate. “We must be wary, brothers and sisters, of the dangers of lust, of temptation. Of the Jezebels who seek to lead good men astray with their wicked ways.” His words cut through the air like a blade, but his gaze briefly darted to you once more, betraying the battle raging beneath his composed exterior.

Your mother shifted beside you, her disapproving eyes narrowing as she looked over at you, suspicion flickering across her face. She didn’t know what you had done, not fully, but she felt something was wrong. The sermon had taken an oddly personal tone, and she wasn’t oblivious to it. You could feel her judgment creeping in, but it only fueled the excitement that stirred within you.

Father Charlie continued, though his words seemed to be more for himself now than the congregation. “We must resist. Resist the lure of sin, no matter how enticing it may appear. For we know that the path of temptation only leads to destruction.”

As he spoke, his eyes met yours again, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire room had disappeared. There was no congregation, no mother, no church. Only the two of you, caught in the tension that simmered between righteousness and desire.

As the sermon ended, Father Charlie closed his Bible, but the tension between you lingered in the air. You bit your lip, feeling his gaze burn into you even as he tried to avert his eyes. Throughout the sermon, you had kept your legs parted, teasing him, the red lace of your thong on full display. He’d stolen glances, his composure faltering more than once, but somehow he had managed to make it through. Now, with the service over, the real test was about to begin.

Your mother, determined to show her righteousness, practically dragged you over to him. Her hand clutched your arm as she led you to the front of the church, where Father Charlie stood, his posture stiff and his expression carefully neutral.

“Father,” your mother began, her voice stern, "this is my daughter Y/N. She’s been...not of God lately. I’ve begged for her to come here so she can cleanse herself, confess her sins, and find her way back to the Lord.”

Father Charlie’s eyes flicked to yours for a brief second before he straightened, clasping his hands together. “I understand,” he said, his voice smooth and steady, though there was an undercurrent of something else, something darker, in his tone.

“Since she found her way into church late,” your mother added, giving you a pointed look, “I trust she can find her way back home. Keep her as long as you need, Father, until you’re sure she’s, renewed.” Her eyes darted to your dress, her distaste clear, before she turned to leave.

As she walked away, you watched the door close behind her, leaving you alone with Father Charlie. He stood there, silent for a moment, before finally speaking. “Confession is a powerful thing,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “It requires honesty, humility. Are you ready to confess?”

You gave a slow, deliberate nod, your lips curling into a soft smile. “I think I have a lot to confess, Father.” Your voice was low, teasing, as you looked at him through your lashes.

His jaw tightened, but he motioned for you to follow him to the confessional booth. Once inside, he slid the screen between you, his silhouette barely visible through the latticework. “Speak, my child,” he said, the formality of his words clashing with the tension between you. “Confess your sins, so that you may be forgiven.”

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to push further, testing the boundaries. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," you said, your voice soft and sultry. “I’ve been thinking wicked thoughts. Lustful thoughts.”

He was silent on the other side, but you could sense his tension, feel the weight of his conflicted desires.

“I’ve done things, drugs, other things,” you continued, your tone growing more seductive. “Things I shouldn’t. With people I shouldn’t.” You shifted in your seat, your legs parting slightly, knowing full well he could sense it even if he couldn’t see. “Sometimes, I just can’t help myself. The temptation is too strong.”

Father Charlie cleared his throat, clearly trying to maintain his composure. “Temptation is the Devil’s work," he said, though his voice wavered. "You must resist it.”

You bit your lip, leaning closer to the screen, your voice barely above a whisper. “But what if I don’t want to resist?”

There was silence. You could hear his breathing, shallow and uneven. His hand shifted, and you imagined him clenching his fists, fighting the very thing you were offering. “You must,” he finally said, though it sounded more like a command to himself than to you.

You leaned back in your seat, a mischievous smile on your lips. “But daddy, don’t you want to help me?”

His breath hitched, and you knew you had him. At the same time you both exited the booth, his face looking flushed as he did.

As the tension grew between you and Charlie, your fingers brushed lightly over his chest, feeling the warmth of his body beneath his clothes. You leaned in, close enough that your lips barely touched his ear. “Daddy,” you whispered, your voice filled with temptation, “I’ve been such a bad girl. A dirty sinner. Punish me. Give me a preview of eternal punishment.”

His breath caught at your words, his hand grabbed your hair as he pulled you back to face him, his eyes dark with restrained desire. “You don’t know what you're asking for,” he growled, though his grip on you betrayed his true thoughts.

You smiled up at him, your lips curling in a teasing smile. “I think I do,” you murmured, arching your back to press against him, your hand slipping around his neck as you pulled him even closer. “Right here, in front of the cross, I don’t care.”

Charlie’s eyes flicked toward the large cross behind you, but his gaze quickly returned to your lips, unable to resist the pull. “You’re going to hell,” he muttered, before gripping your waist firmly, lifting you onto the altar as if he couldn't control his actions any longer.

Your legs parted naturally, and you wrapped them around his waist, pulling him in as his lips finally crashed against yours. The kiss was intense, filled with the heat of everything you both had been holding back. His hands roamed over your body, but even as he touched you, he still kept control.

“You're such a bad girl,” he said between heated kisses, his voice low and commanding. “here, of all places.”

You grinned against his lips. “I wanted you,” you admitted breathlessly, “and I knew you couldn’t resist, I always get what I want.”

Charlie’s grip tightened, his hand moving to your throat in a possessive hold. “You need to learn some discipline,” he growled, pulling you closer. “And I’m the one to teach you.”

Your pulse raced as you felt his control over you grow. The cross behind you seemed to sway slightly, but all you could focus on was the fire between you. His hands were everywhere, and every touch made your breath catch, your desire building with each second.

“You wanted to be bad?” he whispered harshly against your ear, his voice filled with both heat and command. “Then you’ll have to take what comes with that.”

Before you could respond, the cross behind you shifted, tilting dangerously. You gasped, glancing back just in time to see it tumble forward, crashing to the ground. The loud thud echoed in the church, but neither of you moved, the sound only fueling the intensity between you.

With one final, wicked smirk, Charlie leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “There’s no turning back now.”

He shoved you to your knees and you ripped your thong off, your fingers dipping to your sopping pussy as he rid himself of his robes and presented himself bare in front of you. “Suck this priest cock,” he demanded. Without waiting for a reply, his cock was sent into the back of your throat making you gag.

“That’s it little bitch,” he groaned, “take whatever the fuck I give you.”

You took him in, your mouth working around him, your cheeks hollowing as you surrendered to his brutal rhythm.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice thick with desire. “Just like that. You’re doing so well.” The way he spoke made you want to please him even more, and you found yourself pushing back against him, eager for more.

But then he pulled back, looking down at you with a mixture of pride and mischief. “I think you need a little discipline,” he said, the hint of a smirk on his lips. Before you could respond he grabbed your hair and pulled you over his knee as he sat at the altar, he then delivered a sharp smack to your ass, making you gasp.

“Did you like that?” he asked, watching you closely. You nodded, a thrill of excitement coursing through you. “I thought so,” he replied, his hand coming down again, the sound echoing in the church.

“Let’s see how many more you can take,” he taunted, giving you another hard spank, each one leaving a burning sensation behind. The mix of pleasure and pain made your head spin, and you found yourself craving more.

“Daddy,” you gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I can take it. I want more.”

“Such a naughty whore,” he chuckled, the heat in his gaze intensifying. “But I’ll give you what you want. Just remember, you asked for it.”

He placed a kiss on your ass before his hard hand came down again, causing you to yelp. He chuckled darkly at the sounds you made before he gripped your jaw, making you open your mouth and spat inside. He continued his assault on your ass whispering darkly to you.

“This is what you like? Is this what whores like you enjoy? To be violated by their priest? Hmm?”

“Y-yes father,” you moaned, feeling his sharp hand come down again, you weren’t sure how much you could take but you didn’t want to let him know.

“Alright whore, back on my cock, make me cum and maybe I’ll give you what you so desperately desire.”

As you knelt at the altar, the irony of the moment didn’t escape you. Typically, this was a sacred space meant for prayer and reflection, a place where you sought forgiveness and guidance. But here you were, on your knees, not in a plea for redemption but in a silent prayer of your own worshipping the man who stood before you. Worshipping his big, thick, leaking cock. Thank God for him.

The flickering candlelight casted shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the way his lips curled into a smirk. You felt a thrill rush through you, knowing how wrong this was, yet wanting it more than anything.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice low and teasing. You got to work, spitting on his cock and taking him as deep as you could in your throat as tears left your eyes, as you did so he ripped your little dress off you making you gasp. The little sounds you made on his dick made him moan in pleasure. You continued sucking and not long after he held your head own as you gasped for air and came down your throat.

He clearly hadn’t released in a long time because there were still small ropes of his cum he pumped onto your face. With a smack, his hand came down across your cheek then he spat on you, making you stick your tongue out.

“Disgusting whore, you’re fucking filthy, sent from the devil himself.”

“Make me yours then,” you panted and Father Charlie smiled down on you.

With a swift motion, Charlie gripped your waist, bending you over the altar. The cool wood pressed against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat building within you. You felt exposed, your heart racing as you heard him move behind you.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “So willing to give yourself to me right here in God’s house. I wonder what He would think of this.”

You could barely focus on his words as anticipation coursed through you. “I don’t care,” you managed to reply, your voice breathless. “Just please, Father.”

He chuckled, positioning himself behind you, and for a moment, you felt the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders. “You might need to repent after this,” he teased, his tone playful yet filled with raw desire. “But I’m sure God will forgive me for what I’m about to do, you, a fucking slut, not so much.”

You shivered, knowing this was all so wrong, yet feeling every bit of it was right for you. “Just take me,” you urged, your body craving his touch.

As he pushed into you, a loud gasp escaped your lips. The sensation was overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and guilt flooding your senses. He was so deep inside your pussy, tearing you apart with a burning stretch. “Holy—” you started, but he interrupted.

“‘Thou shalt not commit fornication,’” he quoted, almost mockingly. “But we’re not fornicating, are we? We’re just, exploring.”

You could only moan in response, the feeling of him filling you pushing all thoughts of right and wrong from your mind. “Yes daddy,” you breathed, lost in the moment. “Just exploring.”

He began to move, his thrusts deep and steady. “You know, sometimes the line between sin and pleasure is blurred,” he murmured. “But I think we’re in good hands. God will forgive me, won’t He?”

“God can’t see us,” you managed to say between breaths, feeling yourself getting closer to the edge.

“Exactly,” he growled, picking up his pace. “And you’re going to come for me. Make it worth it, bitch.”

He slapped your ass harshly, making you moan and open your eyes to look at the holy water on the altar that fell to the ground and splashed on you. You could swear it burned your skin.

As the pleasure washed over you, the world around you faded, leaving only the sensation of Charlie’s body against yours. You felt yourself tightening around him, waves of ecstasy crashing through you until, with a final gasp, you came undone.

“God, you’re beautiful when you’re like this,” he praised, his voice thick with lust. He pulled out, letting you catch your breath for a moment before lifting you effortlessly. “Now, let’s take this to a more fitting spot.”

With that, he guided you toward the chair where the priest would usually sit, its authority mixed with your reckless abandon. He sat back, pulling you onto his lap in one smooth motion. The air was electric with anticipation, and you could see the flickering candles casting shadows around the room, the only witnesses to your sin.

“Get ready to worship,” he growled, guiding you down onto him. As you sank onto his length, a loud moan escaped your lips. The thrill of the position combined with the sinfulness of your surroundings sent a shiver down your spine.

“Look at you, taking me right here,” he said, gripping your hips. “You’re my little slut, aren’t you? Just my bitch to fuck.”

You nodded, feeling the words stir something deeper within you. “Yes, I’m yours,” you breathed, moving your hips to find your rhythm.

He thrusted up into you, each movement deliberate, as he leaned closer. “And you love it,” he stated with a smirk. “You love being my temptation, my little distraction. If God didn’t want me to be tempted, He wouldn’t have created you for me to enjoy. This tight, wet, leaking pussy for me to enjoy.”

With each thrust, the sensation built, and you felt the heat of his words mingle with the heat of your bodies. “You’re going to take all my cum inside you, aren’t you?” he commanded, his tone a mix of dominance and desire. “You want me to fill you up, to pump my cum into your tempting little pussy?”

“Yes, father,” you gasped, your body responding to his every word. The sensation of him filling you pushed you closer to the edge once more.

Just then, the cross above you trembled, tilting ominously before falling upside down. A collective gasp echoed in your mind, but you were too lost in your desire to care. The flickering candles burst into flames, sending wisps of smoke into the air as if the universe itself was reacting to your sinful act.

“Look at that,” he chuckled darkly, his thrusts relentless. “Even God can’t help but take notice of what we’re doing here.”

“Just don’t stop,” you urged, feeling the intensity build again and tears fell from your eyes. The mix of danger and pleasure was intoxicating.

“Never,” he promised, his eyes dark with lust. “I’m going to fill you up, and you’re going to remember this forever.”

With a few final powerful thrusts, he buried himself deep inside you, moaning your name as he released, filling you completely.

As the final waves of pleasure rolled through you, you both collapsed against each other, your bodies slick and exhausted. Breathing heavily, you felt the weight of the moment settle in. The reality of what just happened hung in the air, a mix of satisfaction and consequence.

Charlie pulled back slightly, his gaze locking onto yours, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. “You know this is all your fault, right?” he murmured, his tone both teasing and dark. “You tempted me, made me filthy.”

You shivered at the heat of his words, the intensity in his eyes igniting something deep within you. “I didn’t make you do anything,” you replied, a challenge in your voice. “You wanted this just as much as I did.”

He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart. You made it impossible for me to resist. Look at you, so innocent yet so depraved.” His fingers traced your cheek, a contrast of softness against the edge of his words. “You walked into this church, dressed like a temptation itself, and now look where we are.”

His gaze flicked toward the now-upside-down cross, a symbol of your defiance. “You should be ashamed, everyone would chastise you if you said anything,” he continued, his voice lowering to a husky whisper. “But I know you’re not. You loved every second of it, just like I did.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words. “Maybe I did,” you admitted, unable to hide the thrill coursing through you.

Charlie straightened up, adjusting his posture, the authoritative presence returning. “Good. Remember that when you’re here alone, naked and exposed.” He smirked, taking a step back, his eyes dark with desire. “You think this is the last time I’ll see you? You’re wrong. You’re mine now. Your very being belongs to me. I am your God now.”

“You’re my religion,” you whispered.

With that, he turned, walking away toward the back of the church, leaving you breathless and alone. You stared at the cross, the flickering candles around it now extinguished, a stark reminder of the boundary you had crossed.

Naked and vulnerable, you felt a mix of fear and exhilaration wash over you. The reality of your actions hung heavy in the air, but the thrill of the moment lingered in your veins.

[hxnbi]

⸻ ღ ❝ THE NIGHT THEY WAITED ❞

synopsis. wind breaker boys and their reaction when they realized you hadn't come home

ft. ren kaji, hajime umemiya, haruka sakura, jo togame, choji tomiyama x gn. reader (separate)

contents. fluff, angst/comfort, established relationship

REN KAJI ─ ✦.° ✩

KAJI is all but distracted with his own thoughts until he realized that hours passed, and yet, you still had not returned. That alone was enough to worry him, pulling out the lollipop in his mouth and trashing it. Not even the sweet taste of the candy could mask the sour taste pooling in his mouth at the thought that you might be in danger.

He debated back and forth in his own mind whether he should find you and ensure that you are safe, or trust that you are capable and able to handle yourself. Even pacing back and forth in the comfort of his own home with an expression of distaste and blatant cuss words being thrown like clockwork.

Kaji is very easily overstimulated by loud noises (though the ear-piercing rock music he plays on his headphones begs to differ), so the second you return with a wide grin and a voice of steel, he immediately tenses, greeting you with a nod. His eyes, however, betrayed his calm exterior, showing just how much he missed you.

“Sorry for being late, Kaji!” you called out, taking off your shoes and entering the living room where Kaji sat. “Did I worry you?”

Clearly awaiting your presence, he shook his head, but his eyes told a different story, and you saw it.

"It's alright," he murmured.

You sighed, looking a bit sheepish. "I’m sorry if I worried you. I just got caught up helping Mrs. Tanaka with her groceries. Her cart tipped over in the market, and I couldn’t just leave her to clean it all up by herself. Then she insisted on making me tea as a thank you, and, well, you know how chatty she can get."

Kaji’s expression softened. From all the causes he had concocted to himself prior about your odd absence about what could’ve happened to you, he was just relieved that you were here, at this moment, here, with your attention solely on him. “Tch...” he said quietly, reaching out to gently squeeze your hand. “I just missed you, that’s all,” he said softly, his voice barely audible, like he was embarrassed that he had worried so much over nothing. It was so unlike him to be this vulnerable.

Kaji ran his fingers through the middle part of his hair. 'Shit...' He reached out to take your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

You smiled, squeezing his hand back. "I missed you too, Kaji. Let's have a quiet evening together, just the two of us! You know, there was a movie that Ms. Tanaka reckoned to watch with amazing music! Wanna try?”

His shoulders relaxed, and he gave you a small, genuine smile. "That sounds perfect."

HAJIME UMEMIYA ─ ✦.° ✩

The second UMEMIYA realized that you weren’t there to visit him at Furin at the exact time, moment, and second that you always did with a bright smile and cheerful greeting, he felt a sense of unease digging into his gut. At first, he brushed it off from you not having enough time and merely forgetting to tell him. But when Umemiya came home that evening, his heart already pounding with worry, only to see an empty apartment, it only augmented his anxiety that something might’ve been wrong. Still, he remained positive. But hours would go by, and still was no sight of the person Umemiya now utterly craved to see.

Anyone who dared to piss the leader of Furin that day would face his utter wrath, but when it came to you, his anger melted into pure elation and relief, as the moment you stepped through the door, his eyes widened, taking one step another the other to embrace you right into his arms. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself to save his own life. In truth, it was never a question that Umemiya was very physically affectionate, but his reaction tonight was on a whole new level that caught even you off guard.

Before you knew it, you were led to the couch, where Umemiya began to grill you, jumping straight into your lap and nearly knocking you over from the unexpected force. That is, if the couch didn't cushion your landing.

“Where have you been?! What have you been doing! And without me?! I-I was worried sick…”

You sheepishly met his gaze with a grimace, apologizing for not telling him that had plans that day with friends, and saying that you were just caught up in a conversation with the nearby shop owner and helped him to close shop that day, as he was rather on the older side and wanted to spend some extra time chatting.

"Ugh, you always do this! Do you know how worried I was? I thought something happened to you," Umemiya whined, his arms wrapping tightly around you. "You can't just disappear like that..."

He wouldn’t let you go, he can’t let you go. 

With a sigh, you steadied yourself on the couch as he straddled your legs, his face falling next to your hips as he smothered you with his weight. “Ume....” you murmured, running your fingers through his hair. “You know that’s never going to happen.” 

Umemiya’s worried aura was quick to disperse as a small pout tugged at his lips. Every inch of him seemed to revel in the joy of having you back. Umemiya’s hands roamed your back, your arms, and burying his neck in your neck, as if to reassure himself that you were really there. He locked his arms around your waist when you attempted to make an escape from the ticklish feeling of his messy, visibly unwashed white hair brushing against the skin of your collarbone. 

“Ume! That tickles.”

“Too bad, you’re not getting away that easily.”

You smiled. During times like these, he really did look like a puppy.

HARUKA SAKURA ─ ✦.° ✩

The very second his heightened senses kicked in, SAKURA tried to keep calm. Key word, he tried. However, his actions would beg to differ once anyone would see him pacing back and forth, waiting for a certain person to come through that door. The worry that you hadn’t returned yet, even when the sun was past its peak, worried him to no end. What if you were confronted? What if you got hurt? What if… you left him?

His foot tapped against the floor in a rhythmic sound, keeping his arms crossed. Sakura tried to play it cool, but the second you walked through the door, he couldn’t hide the relief in his eyes. You looked to be fine, but what if something happened and he wasn’t aware…? Was there something he—

“Sakura,” your voice broke through the corridors of his mind. “I’m sorry about today, my friends wanted—“

“About time you showed up,” he clicked his tongue with a roll of his eyes.

But you noticed the softening of his gaze, the slight tremor in his voice. He stood there, arms crossed, attempting to maintain his usual aloof demeanor, but the faint tremble in his lips gave him all away. And as you walked closer, you saw the unfurling of his arms, his hands itching to reach out to you. Finally, unable to hold back any longer, Sakura pulled you into a tight hug, his face buried in your hair. His long arms circled you, making their way around your back.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. 

He pulled you closer to his chest and you could feel his heartbeat slowly accelerate. But that wasn’t enough for Sakura to let go. You hugged him back just as tightly, feeling the tension in his body slowly melt away. "I missed you too, Sakura. I’m sorry I worried you."

The second those very words exited your mouth, Sakura pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Tch, you can go wherever the hell you want. Just next time, just promise me you’ll let me know, okay? I can’t stand not knowing where you are or if you’re safe.”

You nodded, touched by his unusual sense of concern for you. “I promise!"

"Hah... The hell are you smiling like that for...?" For a moment, you could see Sakura breathe a sigh of relief. 

“If you even know how to text me, that is.”

Sakura’s face exploded. “Y-YOU!!! I know how to use a phone!!”

"Really? Then why don’t you ever reply to my messages?"?"

"HUH??"

Safe to say, he wasn’t very impressed.

JO TOGAME ─ ✦.° ✩

There was a moment of worry when you didn’t show up on time. At first, TOGAME tried to keep himself busy, to focus on anything other than the gnawing concern that something might have happened to you. But the moment you stepped through the door, Togame felt as though a weight was lifted off his shoulders—quite literally. 

You looked to be okay, he thought, and without thinking, he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, his arms wrapped tightly around you. No questions asked, just pure, unfiltered affection. And a rather unexpected welcome home that you were hardly expecting. 

You took a moment to process the actions, eyes darting around restlessly before landing back on the man standing before you. “Well…” you began with a sheepish smile, “I was walking here, and I saw this new food stall that I’ve never seen before. So I went to check it out! Guess I lost track of time, aha...”

When you peered up, your eyes met the pupils of the man who, earlier, felt as though he had almost lost everything. 

“I’m sorry, Jo,” you murmured, bowing your head. “I should’ve texted you when I had the chance. I’m seriously so sorry for worrying you—”

“No… no, you shouldn't be sorry,” he shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “This is my fault,” he muttered to himself, unbeknownst to you. Something that, deep down, he truly felt that way.

You heard his voice crack like fragile shards, the lump in his throat betraying his true emotions that were so contrary to the aloof facade he puts on in front of others, with his embrace tightening, as if ensuring to himself that you were really there. Togame was so distracted that when he finally let go after what felt like an actual eternity, he saw the bag that you were holding in your hand.

“I- What’s that? I-In your hand.”

“Huh? Oh, this? It's something I brought just for you! I thought of you immediately. They had all sorts of interesting treats, and I remembered how you love trying new things. So, I wanted to get something special just for you.” You laughed nervously, holding up the bag as if to emphasize your point. “I knew that you liked matcha, so I got a portion just for you—”

He hugged you again, not even allowing you a chance to finish speaking. This time, you entirely relaxed your muscles, a smile slowly making its way onto your face as you melted into his embrace, rubbing softly at his lower back.

He cleared his throat, finally pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, reluctantly letting you go. Just for a moment. With a yearning expression, he gazed at you from top to bottom. But it wasn’t so much an expression of worry, but one of pure gratitude. You always thought of him first, and he did the same. As if ignoring all the outside noises, Togame placed his hands gently on the sides of your face, his eyes met yours and shared a smile.

“Welcome home, my love,” he repeated with a tenderness that made you feel truly at home.

CHOJI TOMIYAMA ─ ✦.° ✩

“Choji! I’m back! Oh? Guess he’s not here…” You arrived at your home, but everywhere you looked, appeared to be empty. That is, until a certain someone came up from behind you and snaked his hands around your waist, his breath tickling your ear.

“Well, well!? Did I surprise you?!” CHOJI exclaimed with his signature carefree attitude.

You turned to face him with an exasperated look. “Choji…”

Choji burst into a fit of giggles, but his grin instantly faltered when he saw the tears welling up in your eyes and dripping to the once pristine flooring. “W-Wha— w-why are you crying?!” he exclaimed, his hands fluttering around you in a panicked attempt to comfort you, not like that would work.

Feeling overwhelmed, you lightly shoved him away, “You scared me half to death, Choji!” But that wasn’t enough to push him away, as he curled back right into your arms, locking his arms around your waist to ensure that you weren’t going to escape.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were going to take so long to come back home…” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

“H-Huh?”

“I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just... I wanted to surprise you. I missed you so much… because you didn’t come back, and I couldn’t wait to see you. It's been too quiet around here without you."

"Choji..."

You could see the genuine concern in his eyes. The hearts and stars in his pupils were replaced with worry, so far removed from the usual carefree manner and joy he carried himself with. You didn’t expect Choji to be so worried about you coming home a bit later, but that was an assumption that you never should’ve made. Why wouldn't Choji assume the worst after all the crap he’s been through?

You nestled into his arms, "I missed you too, Choji. It feels good to be home." You took a deep breath, calming yourself as you looked at him. The sincerity in his pupils—the trademark puppy eyes—melted away your initial shock, and you sighed. “It’s okay, Choji. I’m happy to see you. I’ve missed you too. I’m sorry about not telling you earlier.”

Choji’s eyes that were so bright widened with guilt, his hands still hovering as if unsure whether to reach out again. His expression softened, and a grin from ear to ear spread across his face. “I promise, no more sneaking up on you,” he said, a hint of his playful nature returning. “I just wanted to make your homecoming special.”

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. “Well, it definitely was something different.”

He pulled you into another hug, this time more gentle, and you could feel the tension melting away from both of you. “Welcome back,” he whispered, his voice filled with warmth and love. “I’m so glad you’re here. But don’t ever disappear without telling me next time, please~!”

You could hear him pouting, making you laugh. And as his arms spread wide, welcoming you in, you lightly scoffed at Choji’s antics before immediately entering them.

You threaded your fingers through his soft, curly locks of hair, brushing his bangs out of his eyes as he smiled contentedly.

“Yes, yes, I promise.”

©hxnbi. comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated ♡

[jjk4isen]

ꗃ 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝟏𝟎𝟎𝟎 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐖.

❝ you're not a curse, you have never been. you were my blessing and my salvation– the best thing that has ever happened to me. you cleared my skies and showed me how it was to love… and be loved. ❞

summary: when your entire village faced the king of curses' wrath, you were sure you'd be as good as food for him but life decides to weave the strings of fate and intertwine yours with the very person who tries to cut it short.

desc: 8.6k words, f!reader, sfw, angsty angst hehe, major character death, cannibalistic thoughts (sukuna is a cannibal after all), takes place in the heian era, true form sukuna, bit ooc bc we know his ass isn't capable of love, ! slightly gory parts!, this is canon bc i said so, kenjaku isn't known as kenjaku yet – he's still known as noritoshi kamo, yorozu mentioned, basically just me raw dogging the storyline during the heian era lol.

notes: this took way longer than it should but i battled like three burn out sessions to write this so lmao. also does anybody get the aot reference in the title? this might MIGHT have a part two if i can think of a good plot to mirror it. if you get the reference, you'll alr know what it's going to be titled :P

must be horrifying isn't it? being a mere human amongst sorcerers and curse users capable of destroying and killing— powerless among the powerful whose thirst for yet more power remain a bottomless pit of unquenchable desire.

in this state of the world, your life wasn't your own. it belonged to the people who were strong enough to kill you or considerate enough to spare you.

and among dangers looming throughout, one triumphs all. one whose name was even powerful enough to send curses back at just the mention of it.

ryomen sukuna. feared by curses and non curses alike. the ruthless evil entity who feeds off of humans. there is no doubt about him being the king of curses, capable of having any being in the palm of his hands.

including you.

your village faced the wrath of the king of curses himself, not a brick was intact nor a rock left unturned. and what's even worse? he didn't have any reason for his destruction. he just did it out of his sheer will.

perhaps you should consider yourself lucky to have your life spared, along with some other women and children. all the men were gone without traces — maybe for the better.

trapped in the basement of the castle’s kitchen, you await your fate to be eaten.

what was that you said before? lucky? no, you realise how horribly wrong you were. the wails and cries of terror as yet another person was dragged out of the small room was enough to ring in your ears forever.

the sudden quietness that followed soon after was enough to suffocate you.

the room was dark, wet and disgusting. it reeked of decomposed bodies and blood. nobody was fed well and even if one or two loaves of pitiful bread were thrown into the small cell, it wasn't nearly enough to feed a group of starving people.

at least the number keeps decreasing day by day.

you'd notice how the people who cried, begged or fought back were likely speeding up their deaths so you kept to yourself, waiting for your turn, even if it's just a while later.

after what you think was a couple of days came your turn. you had lost your perception of everything in this tiny suffocating room; you might as well be dead.

you heard some loud clanks of the metal door and suddenly, a harsh pull sends you essentially flying towards whoever was grabbing you.

“this is the last one” you heard a gruff voice say as a light shone inside. it felt like ages since you saw any sort of light, of warmth. in a way, you were relieved. your suffering must be finally coming to an end.

“its this one isn't it?” a low voice asks as they being a lamp closer to inspect you. your eyes were opened and after a long while, you saw again.

“why is she in such a weakly state?” the person holding the lamp grimaces at your sight. through your hazy vision, you could still make out the white hair, perfectly in place. they were beautiful.

“well that ain't my fault is it?” the big creature yanks your arm and you fall wherever it does.

suddenly shards of ice fill the room and the fire from the lamp is put out. in its place is a glowing icy caricature of the creature, holding you intact.

as terrifying as cursed techniques can be, they were also mesmerising. the beautiful fridgid sculpture leave you in awe; the rough hand holding your arm was now frozen and unmoving.

“now.” the icy person leans down, meeting your eye level, you hadn't realised the dim moonlight illuminating the ice crystals in the room “what shall we do with you?”

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

the next time you're concious enough to make out your surroundings, you find yourself in a small dimly lit room. it was heaven in comparision to the previous one.

you scrumble towards the small lamp and take in the warmth. you had no idea where you were, what happened or what would happen but for now, you were alive. barely, but alive still.

weakly, you sit on the floor— there isn't anywhere else to sit anyway. upon hugging your knees you notice an apparent bruse on your arm. the same place where you were grabbed, the memories come back slowly.

did the white haired person save you? could you maybe have a chance at life?

no, being in captivity by the king of curses himself tells you enough that you weren't going to make it out of here alive. well, it's not like you necessarily want to either. your home and the people in it were gone, some of whom you witnessed their end.

it's only fair for you to meet the same fate as them.

the sound of the door unlocking interrupts your thoughts, then in came the person with snow like hair.

“finish this” they hold out a tray of food and set it down next to you. you only lean away defensively.

without so much of another word, they make their way towards the door that is, until you decided to stop them.

“you saved me didn't you?” it had been a while since you even heard your own voice and you don't miss the way it sounded more resigned than it had ever been.

“do not be fooled. it is all in consideration for my master. finish the plate” with that they walk away, leaving you with even more questions than before.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

when the certain white haired person decides to show up, they look pleased with your health. well, it should come as a no surprise since they keep feeding you — overfeeding you in fact. and you know why.

fatten up the stock so that it's in top shape when it's time to consume it.

“follow me” they say, holding the door open.

obediently, you follow the person you owe your life to, for now anyway, and they lead you through alleys and stairways you had never seen before.

only sounds of footsteps and your exhausted huffs can be heard in the hallway filled with various markings on the wall. you don't even want to know what they mean.

“so… how do i call you?” you manage to ask, maybe if you try to get close to them, maybe they can help a second time.

don't kid yourself.

no reply comes and you feel heat rush to your cheeks from embarassment. but hey at least you tried.

your wandering eyes missed to see them stop before a certain door and you crash into them with a grunt. they must be well built because the impact did not faze them at all.

“sorry” you rub your nose that was sore from bumping your face into their back.

“i go by uraume. i am master sukuna's loyal servant. beyond this door is the garden and you are to take a walk twice a day to build up your stamina. i shall be checking on you daily.”

“why should i need to do that?”

“do as you are told. now go” they open the door for you.

beyond the door is a garden too beautiful to belong in the palace of such an abominable being. flowers of all kind adjourn each corner, flourishing in all their bloosoming glory.

the sky was as clear as can be, with the sun brightly shining as if it's wishing people a good day. the birds chirping and the gentle breeze that brushes through your hair reminds you of your home back in the village and your heart aches a little.

“thankyou” you turn back but uraume is now long gone.

gee must people be so cold around here?

you stroll along the garden, savoring your time outside in so long. how long has it been exactly? you couldn't recall. maybe you should ask uraume the next time they come around.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

only this time when uraume does show up, they don't lead you towards the garden. instead, you find yourself at the door of the king of curses’ throne room.

uraume doesn't say a word and only ushers you in.

is this doomsday? you recall the screams of fear from the people you used to share a home with. the look on their faces, their nails desperately clinging onto the prison bar while pleading for mercy — all of that for naught.

and the silence that followed.

it's possible that the well timed meals and the strolls you took in the beautiful garden was the mercy your people begged for but never got.

maybe you should be thankful you even got to have those.

“master is impatient. you should go in right this instant” uraume insists. something about their behaviour tells you if you don't do as told, you'd have a fate worse than what you could ever think of.

with all the courage you could muster, you unlock the door and take strides into it, as confident as you could make it seem.

the four armed monster looms in front of you, starting down at you as if you were only a mere bug.

perhaps you were — small and helpless, under the mercy of the predator who had seen you.

you bow politely, it seemed like it was the only appropriate thing to do.

sukuna thinks you're pathetic.

just a mere human and not worth his time. there was only a small reason as to why he hasn't had his way with you yet.

your flesh and blood.

to him, you smelled hauntingly sweet and hypnotisingly alluring. that was what drew him to your village in the first place — the hunt for the sweet scent that awakened all his senses, although he doesn't have any idea why.

sukuna is a curious being, he seeks to know the mysteries of the world — one of the reasons why he's so wise, adding to his strength.

so until he has his answers, he plans to keep you around. after that, he can enjoy your flesh however he wants.

just you standing mere feet away from him was enough to tempt him to bite you already. how would it feel to sink his teeth into your skin and have your blood flow down his throat? sukuna couldn't wait until he has the chance to do so.

“leave.” the monster only dismisses you after staring at you so intently, he might as well be staring deep into your soul.

you look up at him in confusion, why would he call you here without any particular reason?

“do your ears not work, human?” sukuna says, rather impatiently.

“lower your gaze and know your place, fool” he practically growls and you look away faster than the speed of light. one more bow and you're bolting out the door.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

your stay at the palace was a cycle of eating, sleeping and taking strolls. it was beginning to get monotonous, boring even. but its much better than facing the king of curses ever again.

you still had no idea why he called you to his throne room and honestly, you don't even want to find out why.

life wasn't so bad — the flowers were beautiful and smelled lovely, the meals were scrumptious and your sleep? well nightmares were inevitable but there were nights when you slept like a log.

and unbeknownst to you, a certain four eyed creature could be seen watching over you. no, observing you. its only right for him to observe his prey right?

it's not out of the goodness of his heart that when you whimper and cry out in your sleep because of a weak nightmare curse looming over your head, he kills it with only a tilt of his own. no, it's only because that curse deters your well being, hence your development to reach your full potential to be a perfect feast for him. nothing more.

weak human, you don't have the means to kill such a low grade curse or even see it. so why were you special? what makes you so different than the other filthy beings with no cursed techniques roaming the earth? sukuna still couldn't tell.

he's aware though — of your silent fear and unspoken resentment you have towards him. he's aware of your quivering soul whenever you sense his presence. he's aware of your desire to escape this place.

but he's also aware of how your smile becomes a little more genuine when you smell a particular flower in his garden. he's aware of how your eyes soften when you see the setting sun. he's aware of how you tried to get close to uraume and only get shut out. he's aware of you.

and that angers him to no end.

what infuriates him even more is how that pathetic servant thinks he can talk to you, and with such ease too. how dare he speak lowly of you? that's a direct insult to him isn't it?

‘you mean less than a concubine?’ sukuna scoffs at him for even comparing you to one.

so the next time he calls the council for a lecture, he doesn't even blink one of his four eyes when the said servant in question gets slashed by his formidable cursed technique.

the room grows thick with the smell of blood that was now splashed all over the carpets and tapestry hanging on the wall—a grueling task for the cleaners later.

“every tongue that rises against my prey shall fall.” the headless body of his once loyal servant serve as testimony to his words.

the palace may be big but rumours flew around: another servant ruthlessly executed by the monstrous beast. even the people under him weren't given an ounce of consideration.

is it a coincidence that it was the same person who cornered you just a day ago? you don't ponder.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

after the ruthless slaughter of your village and everything in it, it didn't take long for sukuna to find his next target.

it wasn't anything new to anybody at all that he was a bloodthirsty beast, revelling in chaos and ruin. one after another, his victims were crushed mindlessly and so easily, it made you sick how powerless other people are in comparison to him.

out of all his battles and countless destruction, one prominent opponent was the fujiwara clan.

they were an elite clan, taking pride in the strength of their squadrons. the world held its breath upon hearing of the battle, maybe they had the potential to rival the king of curses.

the outcome didn't change though. sukuna remained prevalent—bringing the sun, moon and stars at his feet. the five empty generals did not even measure upto him.

the battle must have been so agonising to the point where the authorities were willing to hold festivals in his honour, out of utter terror.

it was at this harvest festival where sukuna had encountered a certain shameless sorcerer who was on her way to be completely obsessed with him.

yorozu had only one goal: to alleviate sukuna's loneliness with her love — something she believed only she was capable of.

thus why she leeches onto him, much like a hick. perhaps sukuna doesn't see her as a threat or he deems her powerful enough, he didn't get rid of her, for now at least.

however, her dreams were short lived.

yorozu sits next to sukuna in his throne room, enticing him with gentle nudges of her exposed chest. her haori was united and her hair fell graciously past her shoulders all the way down her chest.

she only shrieks in horror as she stares at the uninterested man. “you look different… you are different!” she screams angrily.

sukuna only hums in response, deep in thought of how his little prey has been holding up. despite his festivities and celebrations, you were there in the back of his mind, like an itch that cannot be quite scratched.

she stares at him, stepping back further and further “it couldn't be…”

yorozu brings herself to her knees, looking up at sukuna desperately. “i have so much more to teach you about love and the ultimate strength and solitude that it brings!”

she rises, her eyes were erratic, anyone would be afraid of her outburst that was about to come. anyone but sukuna.

“im the one who will teach you about love. that is my purpose and my goal. now tell me, who is it that is taking away your loneliness?”

sukuna raises a brow. it's possibly the only time he indulges yorozu’s antics and also the last.

“i will find out who it is! it doesn't matter if i have to tear this palace apart” yorozu violently darts out the room in search of something, anything. to her, if it was powerful enough to move sukuna then she would have no trouble finding whatever it is.

and she doesn't. not because you're too powerful but rather because of the lack of it. you stuck out like a sore thumb with no cursed energy running through your body, weak and unarmed just strolling across the garden— like the pathetic human you are.

sukuna arrives at the scene, ever observing, ever thinking.

“that is not true love” yorozu mutters, her fists were clenched on her sides as her gaze burnt into you who was unknowing of the fury burning inside her.

“you're mistaken, sukuna. i will show you what real love looks like!” yorozu screams, making her way towards you who could only stare at her in fear, frozen in place.

it would take sukuna less than a blink of his eye to stop her but he was intrigued. what would he feel if you were to be killed? would he feel pain? anger? the beast always finds his answers so he waits.

and what was that about true love? does that woman think he was capable of it? with you, no less? she sees you, a mere human, as a threat so that must mean something.

yorozu lands on you, digging her nails into your skin, blood gushing out of it. sukuna admires the sight.

you scream in agony as she continue to scratch through you and into you with ease. a maniac expression forms on her face at your slowed breaths and now silent helpless whimpers.

but before you were completely gone, sukuna gets rid of her. you were too busy holding onto your life to tell how he did it but one blink was enough for her to be gone and another makes you realise you were caged in the arms of the four armed monster.

“interesting” you heard sukuna say, before your lashes flutter and your eyes close against your will.

sukuna holds your limp body in his arms protectively with calculated gentleness as if a slight jerk would hurt you. well, in your state, it would.

upon watching you get torn apart, sukuna realises he isn't as heartless as he deemed himself. it drives him angry. how could a being as weak as you would have the capability to move him? how could you inflict pain onto him when you're the one who's at his mercy? he scoffs at how ridiculous it is all.

but when his eyes land on you– your fragile body almost lifeless and bleeding, his only thought was towards your safety and not towards devouring you, albeit the sweet scent of your blood tempting him and calling out to him to drink it.

he stares at his hands tainted with the pretty crimson colour, glistening in the sun but it pales in comparison to the way your eyes were shut as if you were only asleep. sukuna sighs, alright then.

his reversed cursed technique flows through his body into your own, healing the deep tears and cuts. he only hopes you aren't too angry at him for waiting that long to step in.

your staggered breathing was replaced with slow even ones and your wounds disappeared as if they had never been there in the first place. a peaceful expression forms on your face and all of sukuna's eyes soften.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

the next time you awaken you find yourself in the comfort of your own room making you doubt if everything that happened was a vivid dream. and you would have believed that doubt if not for the person sitting in the corner of your room, his four arms folded into each other.

you flinch upon seeing him and sit straight up, a groan escapes you involuntarily from your sore body.

“you're awake, brat” his deep voice sends shivers down your spine.

you nod slightly, your eyes on anything besides him.

“how are you feeling?” this makes you jolt your head towards him because did he just ask about your well being? you would say you misheard but the frown and distaste on his face only confirms that he was, in fact, concerned about your condition somehow.

“im feeling alright” you say quietly, still a bit afraid of the man sitting in your room who could easily overpower you if he wanted.

“i should hope so. your weak body didn't take much to heal as easily injurable as it is” he sneers from the shadows that enveloped him.

“so it wasn't a dream?” your voice shook a little which doesn't go unnoticed.

“no. i have taken care of the matter. you may rest at ease” he rises to his feet, he looks way too big to feel safe around. you hug your blankets a little tighter. wait, when did you even have that many?

“do not fear. i do not intend to harm you.” two out of four eyes narrow at you and how scared of him you looked. sukuna doesn't like how that bothers him.

“how do i know that?” your eyes didn't meet him, rightfully so, if it was anyone else who questioned him, sukuna would waste no second getting rid of them altogether.

“it is i.” a viable answer – one that doesn't need any further explaination. sukuna maybe a merciless hard hearted being but he's also a man of his words. anyone who knows him would be aware of this fact.

“but i don't know you.”

he supposes you're right. in a way, nobody knows him. this was also why he remained so strong despite people and sorcerers alike sharpened themselves while fighting him. he did not have an opening to allow them to kill him.

“then you can start from this moment forward.”

“i don't want to.” for the first time, sukuna faces disappointment; but it's a different kind of disappointment. normally he would be discouraged at how nobody was able to stand a chance against him but now, he feels helpless. much like he was the prey and you're the predator.

“and your reason for that is?” ever so curious, he glowered at your body which had somehow become smaller amongst the sheets of blanket you're enveloped by.

“because then… then i will grow to understand you. if i do understand you then that would mean id find out you have a heart. someone with a heart would never… would never…” your voice trails away and you look horrified by the memories flooding your mind.

“so i don't want to know you.” you muster up enough courage to stare into his eyes, all of his eyes and sukuna can feel your soul tremble.

he only watched silently as you fidget under his watchful gaze. great. he's at a loss by someone who's terrified of him, how much more could you hit a blow to his pride.

without a word, he steps out of your room and he could hear you exhale. he huffs in annoyance at how tense you are in his presence. and your words. they might as well be your cursed technique attacking him with every enunciation that came from your mouth.

and they were working.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

the world was somehow shifting. you couldn't exactly pinpoint where or how but it was.

“master has assigned you a new room that would be more comfortable for your stay” uraume says, standing in front of you in a polite stance. “please allow me to guide you there.”

if this is his attempt to make you forget about all the destruction he caused, for whatever reason, it was futile. he was irredeemable.

your thoughts might have been apparant on your face because uraume continues, “master says he does not have an ulterior motive. he simply wants you to be comfortable.”

since when did that beast care about other people's comfort except for his own?

“fine then, show me” if he offered, then there's no problem in accepting. heck maybe you should be taking advantage of his hospitality and ask for whatever you desire. he has put you on death's row and wiped of everyone you knew after all.

you were led to a room that was closer to the main area of the palace, a stark contrast to the basement of the kitchen — where you started from.

pieces of beautiful art were decorating each corner, finest tapestry hanging from the walls, and the curtains? they were of the best material you had ever known. no doubt, this was a room that exceeded even your dreams.

uraume opened the closet revealing kimonos of various kinds, from silk to linen to satin— every kind was there. “i was not aware of your taste so i assorted various kinds.”

you were amazed at the room, the materials – everything but these measly riches don't bring lives back and the monster certainly wasn't capable of any empathy so the words saying he has no ulterior motive were nothing but empty to you.

“what? have i been promoted from prey to concubine now?” the word alone makes you sick to your stomach but it's the only explanation that makes sense.

“you are very wrong. master does not keep concubines. it is only an extension of his kindness.” you laugh, sukuna? kindness? please.

four eyes narrowed at your bitter laugh, sukuna stands in the doorway, each of his two arms folded in each other. he has lost count of how much disrespect he tolerates from you but strangely, it does not give him a drive to kill, only annoyance.

a brow raises when you turn around after being aware of his presence and your laugh, as mocking as it was, dropped into a frown.

seeing how speechless you are, he huffs. from out of nowhere, he conjures up a bow and an arrow to go along with it. sukuna moves stealthily, one step and he's already next to you.

the bow and arrow are shoved into your hands “i have heard you are exceptionally good with these” sukuna says, his voice was low and calculating – if you hadn't known better, you'd say it quivered a little.

he wasn't wrong though, you had to hone some sort of hunting skill for food. life wasn't kind and you learnt it the hard way. nevertheless you felt safer with some kind of weapon you were familiar with, even though they won't be of much help against a sorcerer.

“master’s very own bow and arrow” uraume interrupted, their face had an expression of shock you had never seen on them before. there was an engraving on them– the same mark that sukuna had on his body.

“why give me this?” you ask and receive no answer. not because sukuna doesn't want to answer you, he simply doesn't have a reason. he just wanted you to have it. it felt natural. he'll be damned before he ever admits that to you or even to himself.

“what if i use it on you?” you press on, clutching onto the wooden weapon tightly. “what if i wanted to fire this at you?”

“i would let you.”

it caught you by surprise. why? you want to ask but you also didn't want to hear his reason. you don't want to know him. the little barrier you had put between you both is the only thing giving you leverage against such a vicious being, you couldn't afford to have it break down.

taking a quick abrupt step back, you line the end of the arrow to the bowstring and pull on it with an expert ease, aiming it at sukuna. uraume was about to step in but sukuna waves them off. as if the most feared curse user couldn't defend himself.

he could already have you breathing your last breath in a mere second if he wanted to but of course, he doesn't. he just stands there unmoving. his lack of response to your threat made you all the more aggravated.

“aren't you going to stop me?”

“no. proceed with whatever you intend to do, i shall not stop you.” sukuna's folded arms fell to his sides, giving you an open target for his heart.

now you should be firing your arrow with no hesitation right? you have hunted down countless moving targets from as small as a bird to something as big as a deer.

and they were running while you manage to hit a bullseye – every single time. so now this unmoving big target within just a few meters would be a piece of cake. it's your chance to end the tyranny of his wicked rule and him altogether– a chance that had not been granted to anyone who stands against him.

but your hands wouldn't move. they wouldn't let go of the string to propel the arrow towards him. they were frozen in place. you would have doubted uraume’s technique being in play but no signs of ice crystals found themselves anywhere near.

sukuna waits and you wonder if he was ever this patient.

your hands tremble, slowly letting your form down. why couldn't you just do it?

“human–”

sukuna's words were cut short by a swift arrow flying towards him. he didn't make a move to avoid it.

your trembling hands were now perfectly stable holding the bow. your breathing was calm, collected even. if anyone were to see you now, they'd wonder who the beast is. empty eyes deadpan at your target.

sukuna stares back, his cheek bleeding from the graze of the arrow. unlike your soul-less face, a satisfactory smile creeps onto sukuna's. “you didn't miss, did you? you aimed here on purpose.” his hands caress the small wound in awe.

“next time i wont.”

“as i have said, i will not stop you.”

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

the new room was comfortable, all your needs were tended to and your conduct exceeded your desires. you were treated equal to a queen, if you knew how.

and uraume, sukuna's loyal servant, was now your own. they were still very distant though, not speaking more than they needed to. not like you really minded anyway.

uraume was there to observe. they were under strict orders to keep you safe and also report your daily status to sukuna. you weren't exactly aware of this part but there's no harm done so by logic, there wasn't a problem with it either.

sukuna finds the corner of his mouth twitch when uraume mentioned that you sang obnoxiously loud because you thought nobody was around. he'd have loved to hear that himself.

the amusing brief about you was however rudely interrupted by a strange person brave enough to march directly into the throne room unannounced.

“you're from the kamo clan aren't you? have you come to die a meaningful death?” sukuna's thirst for battle heightened upon seeing a sorcerer from one of the three main clans in jujutsu. maybe finally, he can have a strong opponent and enjoy the fight without having it end too early.

but the man only chuckles “no, i have come here to negotiate with the almighty king of curses himself”

sukuna frowns, now staring at him unamused “you do not have anything worth a value to me. fight or die a pathetic death.”

“i will do neither of those.” noritoshi kamo, stands face to face with sukuna without a hint of fear in his eyes and that makes sukuna curious. just what kind of offer does he have to be so bold?

“prove that you are worth my time you filthy scum” sukuna glowers at the man, getting more and more impatient by the second.

“how about that prey? how is your little prey doing?” kamo smirks and it's enough to tempt sukuna to cut through his skull but no, he refrains because anything that involves you, sukuna doesn't take it lightly.

“speak up or i’ll have you slashed.” sukuna remarks impatiently.

“it would be a shame to have her taken away from you isn't it?” the old man sneers.

the next thing he knows is his ragged breath and a sharp pain across his chest, kamo falls to his knees. sukuna’s technique had manifested a cut through his chest, although not deep enough to end him. with blood oozing out of the fresh cut and his mouth, he still has the courage to glare at the four eyed creature.

“you must not value your life” sukuna says nonchalantly, leaning against one of his hand, the grotesque sight was nothing new to him at all.

“your reign is coming to an end isn't it?” kamo laughs, although it comes out through splutters of blood. “no matter how powerful you are, you are not immortal sukuna, you still won't defeat death!”

as if sukuna is one to fear death. sukuna only sighs, revelling in the bloodied state of his intimidator.

“and your little human toy won't either” that earns a reaction from him. sukuna's eyes narrow at the pitiful man fighting for his life.

“what are you suggesting?”

“what if i tell you– that there is a way for you to be immortal? and that it's possible to find her in every lifetime?”

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

everyone who knows sukuna knows that he does not get hurt. or yet, there's nobody who's strong enough to hurt him. generation upon generation, sorcerers have teamed up to get rid of him but with no luck. not even one of them could land a hit on the ferocious being.

all the more reason for you to be speechless when he returns with a huge hole in his stomach, bleeding continuously.

it was during your stroll that you saw him staggering over to his room.

okay maybe that was a lie. maybe you'd heard that a very prominent sorcerer in the jujutsu society had challenged him. you didn't know much about that world but it was enough to worry you, even if sukuna was undefeated.

so maybe that worry brings you into a situation where he arrived just while you were taking a stroll in the garden. you definitely didn't purposely take longer to watch the birds fly back to their nest in hopes of making sure sukuna returns. definitely not.

that's also NOT why you're knocking on his door boldly.

the door opens, revealing a confused sukuna. your eyes dart down to his injury but it seems the blood had stopped, still looking nasty regardless.

you wince just by looking at it but sukuna interrupts your unwarranted examination. “eyes here human. what do you want?”

for someone who's supposed to be prey, you're bold because in the next moment, you find yourself pushing through the door and asking him to sit down.

yes. you— a mere human, barged through his room and asked him to sit. when he doesn't comply, you walk up to him, pulling on one of his hands, guiding him towards his chair and sat him down. and strangely, no hint of protest came from him – not even a grunt or a growl.

with familiar ease, you call in uraume and ask for an emergency kit. they hesitate but comply regardless.

your expert hands slowly disinfect the wound and start stitching it up, not even sparing a glance at the man who just watches you and lets you do whatever you want to him.

“where have you garnered skills to do this?” sukuna asks mid stitch and it's only then that you realised he hasn't done so much as flinch. you could imagine how painful it would've been for a normal human but apparently this counts for nothing to him.

“when you're desperate enough, you just know” the last string goes through his flesh and you tie a knot, snapping the thread off. your movements slow when you realise you're touching him– skin and all, with your own.

your eyes lock when you search for his and they stare back. this time, you don't see a vicious brute but in its place, you see the eyes of a man. and not just any man, if you allowed your thoughts to wander you'd say it was the same look of a man capable of love.

but you don't – you look away. and sukuna's could feel a slight pull in his chest.

“human.”

“i have a name”

“human.”

the disregard for your name only makes you roll your eyes in annoyance. the man only chuckles at the sight.

“you do realise i can heal myself?”

a pause. of course how could you forget? reversed cursed technique they call it? all these magical powers granted to them made no sense to you at all. you only stare at the wall dumbfounded as sukuna downright laughs at your humiliated expression.

“why didn't you stop me then?” your grumble only amuses him further.

“perhaps because i wanted you to acknowledge how foolish you are?” his tone was teasing and not a hint of malicious intent was within it. a smile creeps on your lips and sukuna could swear his heart rate accelerated.

“i could show it to you if you're curious” your wide eyes give him all the confirmation he needed. sukuna rises on his feet, the prior horrid injury long forgotten.

“you could… take off the bandages. if they aren't effective anyway since you can heal” you shrug, trying to brush off your wholly service that was in fact not required in the first place.

“i rather they stay.” his hands graze them gently and you could swear he smiled at the pitiful mounts of cotton plastered on his abdomen.

“come. allow me to show you what im capable of.” he offers you a hand, out of the many he has and his shoulder slumps in relief when you take it without any protest.

he takes you outside and leads you towards your favourite spot in the garden. you don't let yourself wonder if it's a coincidence or not.

“see that fruit?” he gestures to a ripe apple hanging on its tree – super red and just the perfect size.

“yeah want about it?” you tilt your head towards him curiously making sukuna more enthusiastic to show you his perfectly crafted technique.

an invisible slash cuts the single fruit out of the tree, making it fall. it was barely noticeable and you'd think it fell on its own if not for the perfect slices it has all while it landed in the palm of your hands.

your wide eyed gaze only delights the man responsible for it. you take one slice off and admire the precision “you did this?? no way!”

sukuna heaves his chest proudly. strangely, your adulation to his antic gives him so much more satisfaction than wiping out an entire village.

“wait till you see this” sukuna takes a step back, his lips quirking up into a tight smirk upon seeing your expectant expression.

he places his hands together and gestures up signs that were not familiar to you. “fuga « open »” his low voice chants while fire manifests into the palm of his hands. he moulds the flames skillfully as it takes the shape of an arrow – a fire arrow.

and you're left with your mouth agape, he was truly terrifying. such bright flames don't even burn him but instead falls into his command.

sukuna likes the way you stare at him in wonder and was tempted to tell you that he created this very technique in honour of you and your bold decision in grazing his cheek with your arrow but for now, he holds his tongue and lets you admire as long as you want.

when the flames burn away, you're still in a haze— staring at the man in front of you with diluted pupils: one might think you're in love.

as sukuna focuses his eyes into your own, he's certain he could see into your soul which grows a little more familiar to him everytime he sees you. no it's not how he feels the familiar terror in someone's soul when they tremble in fear of him just as he was about to take their life.

it's not the same shudder of fear he used to feel when he's around you. this time, it's inviting. he feels he could be stripped of his technique and just be a normal being if it meant he could submerge himself in it.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

sukuna used to anticipate how he would die. he wanted to meet someone who would be strong enough to give him a formidable death fit for the most evil being to tread the world. news of fresh generation of strong sorcerers would excite him.

but the moment he knew he was entranced by you, that prior excitement was now replaced by fear. not fear for his death but rather, for yours. if anything were to happen to him, who would protect you?

it doesn't help how his enemies were catching hints on his possible weakness now. it all started with that damn bastard from the kamo clan, whom sukuna swears to kill. him and everybody else that could pose as a threat to you, he swears he will kill them all.

a little part of him also starts to fear for his own end. he fears that no matter how long he lives, he might think he doesn't have enough time with you. how could he when you're here, showing the sides or the world he never knew existed? the same world you weaved with every gentle word you say, no matter how insignificant.

sukuna can't get enough of the small smiles that were appearing more frequently when he reaches out to hold your tiny hand in his big ones.

he can't get enough of your soft snores when you're asleep in his chest– no more nightmares haunting your sleep because as long as he's around, any curse would have to fight him to get to you. no curse was bold enough to do so.

and mostly, he can't get enough of your small gentle strokes across his face. your touch was feather light and curious but so so loving that even when your hands were about to be pulled away, his own grabs them and makes them stay.

sukuna has nothing at all to base it off of, but if he had to name what he's feeling right now, it would be along the lines of complete devotion to you – in other words, he suspects it's the feeling these weak humans and yozoru keep preaching about: love.

and he's not denying it– not to himself at least or he can't. during his recent battles, he observes himself ending it as quick as possible.

instead of luxuriating in the thrill of battle, he finds himself rushing to kill his opponent – to end it as quick as it was humanely possible because every second he spends away from you is a second wasted.

he was becoming more precise and ruthless now that he has something to protect.

that's why even when you ask about his murder streak and if he could lessen it, he just ruffles your hair and tells you not to worry.

any sorcerer who has gotten close enough to land their sights on you were brutally tortured until they give up on their life altogether.

however, life can be funny at times. his own fear for your well being is possibly responsible for the curse that now latches onto you, consuming and draining the life out of you and sukuna's forced to watch as you slowly became a husk of who you used to be. so really, it's not funny at all.

he feels helpless and he is. none of the cursed techniques he has could exorcise the curse blooming inside you and spreading through your veins.

he has been warned before and he didn't care. he never fathomed to ever find someone to love so he traded his soul for his fervent reign – a binding vow: any being whose soul remotely gets near his own would ruin itself without any means for its resurrection.

another condition of the vow was for him to forget about it only after it was too late. at the time the vow was made, sukuna had thought, no, he'd known he lucked out by a power at the price of such a feeble condition but now… now he knows how gut wrenchingly wrong he was.

sukuna slumps in defeat at the sight of your weak body fighting itself. all his four hands encased one of yours as he listens to your staggering breaths that slowly becomes more faint than the last.

for the first time, no matter how tainted his hands were of from the numerous people he murdered in cold blood, sukuna finds himself praying; not for salvation or forgiveness but for your suffering to be placed onto him instead.

he has just found happiness with you, and in you, had just started to learn how to love someone so much that all his wicked ways were something he wished he never did. he had been stupid and arrogant – too arrogant. he was sure the heaven and whole generations of people he killed were now laughing at him drowning in his own misery. how the tables have turned on him and humbled him.

“kuna..” your barely audible voice mades him lean closer to your face, one of his large hands coming up to caress your face delicately.

“human. save your energy” sukuna scolds but his tone was not demanding by any means. it was desperate, desperate for just one more second of you.

a faint smile ghosts your almost now deathly pale face “it's not your fault.” you manage to cough out through staggering breaths.

sukuna's world might as well stop. it was his fault, everything was his fault. from the moment he caught a whiff of your sweet sweet blood to when he looked at you as nothing but prey to the moment when you became the sole reason for his existence, it was all his doing. he has taken you and tangled you amidst the string of despair.

his head shakes in denial, no words coming out of both his two mouths. so much to say, so many ways to say it but nothing.

but you know, the four pupils staring at you take the form of hearts, and that tells you everything. it could be just an illusion you'd heard people speak of on the verge of death but it's enough for you.

your sweet blood slowly looses its essence as you close your eyes, the last light inside you leisurely fading away.

“oi human” sukuna calls but there was no response.

“answer me” a plea.

still no answer as your hand slowly goes limp in his own. there was silence and nothing. so much of nothing that was unfamiliar in the otherwise air of curiousity that always surrounded you.

“human.” sukuna's voice wavers as his hands come to cup your too peaceful face. he searches for any signs of life but he finds none. before he knew it, a drop of water landed on your clueless yet beautiful features, then another and another.

the monster was crying. not just crying – he wept.

his entire body shakes as he lets out his pain, holding onto you desperately as if that would bring you back.

“human” he dries away his own tears on your face and brushes away the hair that dared hide even a portion of it.

“you're not a curse. you have never been. you were my blessing, my salvation. you are the best thing that have ever happened to me. you cleared my skies and showed me how it was to love… and be loved.”

sukuna trembled in grief at your loss. the king of curses– reduced to a man in love.

perhaps he wasn't the cannibal here. perhaps you were the one who slowly teared him apart and consumed his very being– merging yourself into his core without him even realising it.

but one thing he knows for sure is that if he were to do it again, he'd let himself be devoured entirely by you. over and over again. to be loved is to be consumed and he's offering himself to you, flesh and bones on a silver platter.

“until next time, my love.” he leans in and places a fragile kiss onto your forehead and that's the first and last time he has a taste of you.

with the last drop of your blood running dry and the absence of the warmth that made you, you; sukuna finds his answer – the reason why your blood tasted so sweet was because he was made to crave it. something he could quench his thirst with but never getting the chance to do so; a punishment perfectly fit for him.

“your deal. i shall agree to it on a condition” sukuna glowers at kamo who only smirks with an ‘i told you so’ written all over his face. sukuna would have slashed him to bits if it weren't for the agreement he agreed to take up on.

“i shall trade my soul to become a curse only if i get reincarnated exactly a thousand years from now” sukuna proposes, no, commands. it is said that a soul is reincarnated only once every thousand years and he wants to make sure he finds you in the next lifetime. maybe then, he'll have enough time with you and if he's lucky enough, be able to love you without bounds.

“that could be arranged” kamo quirks his head in a way sukuna despises. “but she'll have no memory of you. you're proceeding with this knowledge, yes?”

sukuna only narrows his eyes and ignores his question “that is not all. erase her existence from the minds of everyone besides me. generations hence, no one shall know who she is. her name shall be removed from every mouth that speaks of my reign.”

kamo smiles lazily “your soul is not worth that much sukuna”. the man strolls freely in the room, not minding the looming presence of the king of curses. “however, a binding vow could be arranged.”

great. another binding vow. but if that means he'll meet you in a thousand years time, he'll vow as many times as required.

“the grounds of the vow is as follows: you shall be reincarnated only if there appears a vessel suitable to withstand you.” kamo proposes. “your fingers will be cut and hidden in vast areas across the world and you shall only succeed in full reincarnation if you find them and consume them, all while being suppressed by the vessel.”

sukuna frowns and kamo only laughs “do you agree to the vow knowing all the risk it carries?”

conditions and regulations were a pain but nothing could stop a man desperate enough to give up his soul twice. “very well” sukuna agrees.

and that is how the heian era and sukuna's legacy came to an end; sealing himself – and the memories of you only he carries with him – into his twenty fingers, each of which turned into cursed objects scattered far and wide like pieces of puzzle waiting until the time comes for it to fit itself together again.

[jaewritesfic]

Melon AU Part 4

Cass is quietly adamant that her new cling-on be taken to the Batcave, no matter the concerns Bruce raises.

If he's honest, his protests fall a little flat even to his own ears. The fact of the matter is that he looks at the midnight apparition she holds and just…can't bring himself to fight very hard.

The creature clings to her like a desperate child, claws curled into her cape in a way that's bound to leave holes. Bruce hasn't caught so much as a glimpse of the face since it grabbed onto Cass, head resolutely tucked into her shoulder. That long sinuous tail is wrapped around her waist and down one leg as if the slightest disconnect could wrench them fully apart.

She was right, it's scared and it needs help.

Bruce almost thinks convincing Commissioner Gordon to lift the police barricade at the end of the alley will be the difficult part, but he's proven wrong. Gordon is more than happy to foist the situation off onto the Bat colony, it's just a matter of figuring out actual transport.

It's not that Bruce doesn't want the creature in the Batmobile. It's that nobody is sure the creature will respond well to someone other than Cass being in proximity to it.

Bruce may be feeling distinctly sympathetic, but he's still not comfortable leaving his daughter totally alone with something strange, unknown and dangerous.

He doesn't want Cass alone with it - them. They probably won't respond well to anyone but Cass being close enough to be in a car with them.

Ultimately this culminates in Bruce pulling the Batmobile around and trying to be very. Very. Quiet.

The shadow creature hasn't raised their head from Cass’s shoulder once, so hopefully as she climbs in the back with her clingy cargo they won't notice they're not alone.

…nobody is going to claim this is a good or creative plan. It's kind of just the only option they can think of.

The creature clicks and whines as she climbs in, aware and nervous about the enclosed space probably, but they don't raise their head or move.

If anything they just wind themselves around Cass a little tighter.

“Shhhh,” Cass hushes gently. “Car. Take us to safe place. I promise.”

Bruce is used to her cowl enough to be able to tell she's glancing at him in the rear view mirror.

Thankfully, the Batmobile can autopilot to the cave. His presence is solely because he refuses to leave her alone with their new…guest. That means he can sign at her.

Did you get a better look at the injuries?

She shakes her head minutely. Hm. Bruce had feared that was the answer, considering how fast the creature had plastered themselves to her.

Do they seem to be losing a lot of blood?

A tiny shrug. Not a yes, not a no. Bleeding, but not gushing. Or maybe she's not sure how much without a visual, though if it was egregious she'd feel it even with the suit.

The heat of it, the slickness.

Bruce decides the shrug is a tentative good sign.

“Let's play questions,” Cass says suddenly, hands rubbing gentle, comforting back and forth patterns against a back so dark it looks like a void. “Nothing scary. Get to know you questions.”

There's no answer, but it doesn't seem to faze her. Of course not. She's Cass.

“Will you play? Tap once yes,” she says softly, tapping the creature's back with her index finger once, “And twice for no. No is okay. You can say no.”

There's a long moment where Bruce watches them in the rear view and nothing happens. Then Cass's cowl shifts in the way that means she's smiling.

“Thank you. Pronouns first, okay? One for she-”

She taps once.

“Two for he-”

She taps twice.

“Three for- oh. Thank you. Good boy. I'm she.”

The rest of the family exposes themselves as listening, quiet murmurs and exclamations over the comms at the new knowledge that their creature considers himself male.

Bruce isn't surprised that his kids have been listening with baited breath.

“From Gotham? One for yes, two for no.”

She hums softly, going back to petting his back gently.

“Me neither at first. Home now, like the back of my hand. Can show you all the best spots. Like burgers?”

There's a long pause. Bruce suspects the creature is having a hard time believing she's talking about and proposing such casual topics.

Eventually she smiles again. “Me too. Will buy you Batburger, I promise. Nectar of the gods.”

An odd little vibration goes through her new friend, audible as well as visible. It seems almost like a weak laugh.

“....bets on shadow noodle’s favorite Batburger order?” Dick asks over comms.

Bruce purses his lips not to huff in amusement. They're almost to the cave, he'd like to stay incognito until then. He wouldn't want to alarm any shadow noodles.

Masterpost

[aquaticmercy]

Beautiful Mess

Summary : Bucky tries to cook you a food you’ve been craving. It goes wrong, but it also goes right.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader (she/her) 

Warnings : food, mild cursing? and lots and lots of fluff! 

Requested by : anon 

Word count : 1.5k

Note : It’s my first fic in 4 years and boy I forgot how good it felt writing for fun. Thank you to the anon who requested this! (I said it would be >1k word blurb but I got over the limit and I hope you don’t mind!) Enjoy!

Requests are open!

“Shut up,” Bucky grumbled, aggressively poking at the smoke alarm with the end of his rifle case. He stretched on his toes, metal arm whirring as he tried to reach the obnoxiously tall ceiling. 

‘Oh this is wonderful,’ you had been giddy with joy when the two of you viewed this apartment, ‘I love the high ceilings, don't you, Buck?’

He had chuckled and agreed that day. For all he cared, the ceiling could be as high as the atmosphere allowed if it meant it made you happy. But now he was thinking maybe your next place should have, at the very least, a reachable ceiling on his tip toes. 

The shrill beeping had been going on for what felt like an eternity. Bucky Barnes has never been known for his patience, and now it was wearing dangerously thin.

Clearly, he hadn't thought any of his actions through. The rifle case was too flimsy, and it bent under the pressure of each jab. If the alarm didn’t stop soon, it wouldn’t just be his sanity at stake— the neighbours would probably come knocking on the door asking if they needed to evacuate.

"Great idea, Barnes. Brilliant," he muttered to himself, throwing a desperate scan around the room. His eyes landed on the bo staff you kept in the corner— a weapon from your training collection. 

“Perfect,” he said to himself, practically lunging for it. Surely, you wouldn’t mind him using it just this once. It was just a stick, right?

Grabbing the staff, he reached up again, tapping the alarm with its tip. His strength— which usually worked in his favour— became his single greatest enemy. With a loud snap, the white disk detached completely, wires dangling from the ceiling as the alarm finally went silent. A part of him took in the quiet bliss for a moment before realising the repercussions. He’d have to contact the building super, then pay the fees, and since he’s off for a mission in a couple of days, he had unintentionally given you a bit more life admin work around the house.

He cursed under his breath, staring at the detached alarm hanging limply in his hand.

He tossed it into the kitchen trash bin, as if hiding it there might make the problem disappear.  For a moment Bucky just stood there, staring at the mess around him, trying to make sense of how things had spiraled out of control.

He ran a hand through his brown thick locks, ones you had asked him to grow out again. He sighed. How did it go so wrong?

All he wanted was to do something nice for you. Just one thing. You’d been so good to him— so patient, especially after he'd returned from weeks of missions worn down and, admittedly, a bit grumpy. You greeted him with nothing but warmth, even though you were probably as tired as he was.

And then there was the food. Bucky still wasn’t sure why he'd been craving bland, 1940s-era meals, the kind no modern person could possibly enjoy, but you indulged him anyway. When he’d mentioned how much he missed a particular meatloaf recipe, you made it for him. He could tell from the look on your face that you were struggling not to spit every bite out, but you powered through for his sake. And when he’d told you about his mom’s molasses cookies, you had taken the time to bake a jar that tasted just like the ones from his childhood.

It was perfect. You were perfect.

So why couldn’t he get this right?

You'd been talking about focaccia earlier this week, your eyes lit up in childlike wonder as you told him about how you used to experiment with different toppings. He’d taken a mental note of that moment, thinking he could surprise you by making some himself.

He glanced around the kitchen. Flour dusted on nearly every surface, olive oil splattered on the counter, and a sad, burnt dough resting on the baking tray. 

Bucky sighed, leaning back against the counter, staring at the mess with a mixture of frustration and helplessness.

You’d probably laugh at this, he thought as a self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He could already hear your teasing voice, reminding him that not everything had to be perfect.

But still, he wanted to get it right. 

He glanced at the clock. You’d be home soon. He had maybe thirty minutes to try and salvage this— or at least clean up the evidence before you walked through the door. 

Priorities, he thought.

He cracked his knuckles, pouring the excess dough to a new baking tray. He thanked whatever gods still existed that he had accidentally made way too much dough. Not even waiting for it to rise, he shoved it in the oven and reshaped it into something that didn’t look like a science experiment gone wrong.

“Okay,” he pressed a palm to his forehead as if that would magically clear his mind. “Focus.”

He realised the oven was too hot, and that was probably why it burnt. 

Very smart, Barnes, he thought to himself, about time you used basic logic.

As he fumbled with the oven dials, he heard the familiar sound of your keys jingling at the front door. His heart sank. Shit. She’s home early.

Frantically, Bucky darted toward the flour-covered countertops, grabbing a towel to wipe down the mess. But there was no saving kitchen wreck—not in under thirty seconds, anyway. 

You stepped through the door, humming softly to yourself as you dropped your heavy bag with a thud. You stretched your shoulders, straining a little from the weight. Tossing the keys to the side, you noticed how uncharacteristically quiet it is in your home.

As you moved deeper into the apartment, you saw why.

It was your boyfriend, standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, holding a flour and oil-coated dish towel like a deer caught in headlights.

The corners of your mouth lifted. “What on earth?”

“I can explain,” a red plum blush coloured his cheeks, raising his hands in defense. You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to the crime scene.

“Wait…” your eyes widened, “are you trying to make focaccia?” 

“Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly. “I thought I could surprise you with it, since you’d been talking about how much you love it. But, uh…” He motioned to the oven. “It’s not exactly turning out the way I planned.”

You let out a soft laugh, one that melted Bucky's heart, that made his chest thrum with joy. You took the towel from his hand, squirming then dropping it when you touched the part of the fabric that was very sticky with congealed liquid, clearly a mix of olive oil and flour. “I can see that,” you teased, quickly wiping your hand as you bent down to be eye-level with the dough. “What is this? An attempt at modern art?”

Bucky groaned, covering his face with his hands. You looked around the room, seeing your bo staff on the floor, and his (hopefully unloaded) rifle by the dishwasher. “Did you shoot it?” you joked.

“No.”

“Did you hit it with my stick?”

“It’s a disaster,” he complained, exasperated.

You took a deep breath and then giggled, your shoulders shaking as you leaned against his shoulder for support.

“I tried, okay?” he grumbled, part mortified, part relieved, and fully, thoroughly, embarrassed. Still, he could feel his heart flutter as he watched you laugh.

You cupped his cheeks affectionately. “I can’t believe you went through all this trouble just to make me bread.”

He shrugged, his expression softening as he looked down at you. “I just wanted to do something nice for you. You’ve been so good to me. I thought I could, I don’t know… return the favor.”

Your heart melted at his words. You didn't care about the focaccia, or the mess in the kitchen. It was about the fact that Bucky had gone out of his way to try and do something sweet for you— even if it clearly went south.

“Bucky,” you said softly, standing on your toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I love that you tried.”

He sighed in relief, wrapping his strong arms around you, pulling you into his warm chest. “I just didn’t want to screw it up.”

“You didn’t,” you reassured, resting your head against his shoulder. “I didn’t even know you knew what focaccia was,” you teased.

He chuckled, burying his face in your hair. “I’m still not sure I do.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him “Tell you what, I’ll make you an offer. I’ll show you how to make focaccia, and we’ll order takeout in the meantime.”

Bucky’s smile widened, as he peppered kisses on your face, overwhelming you with as much love as he could possibly give, “That sounds perfect.”

You threw him a clean kitchen towel once you were able to escape his affectionate attack, not that you wanted to. “Now help me clean up, Buck.”

He grabbed the towel and started in the corner as you started chucking empty olive oil bottles into the trash bin.

Wait, trash bin-

“What the hell is the fire alarm doing in the trash, Barnes?” 

Bucky froze, turning to you with wide eyes. “I can explain.”

You tried to suppress a laughter, piecing together the clues, “Did you break it?”

He raised his hands in defense. “It was beeping, and I didn’t mean to rip it out of the ceiling…”

“You tried to kill it with my staff, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

You smiled. Oh, what a beautiful mess you had found yourself in.

-end

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

28 / 1.7k / soap soulmate au, part 5

...

Soap stares at his name where it's inked across your skin. You should be his enemy. He's sitting across from you, your interrogator in this dimly lit weapons closet. You refuse to look at him. But his gaze bores into you anyway, intense on your eyes, your lips, the cuts and bruises on your face. He wants you. But he can only have you once you've given him the information Captain Price needs.

"Tell me where Alejandro is," he says. "That's all you need to do."

A muscle in your jaw twitches when he mentions Graves' name, but you bite your tongue. You won't let him shake your resolve like he did in Las Almas. You should've killed him on sight.

"What Graves is doing to Alejandro--you know it's wrong." Soap’s gaze is steady. You're so close. He wants you so badly it hurts. "He's not a good man.”

"You have no idea what kind of man he is," you say.

"I know exactly the kind of man he is," he growls. "I saw what he did to the people in Las Almas. He called them dirty cops and had them executed when they said they didn't know anything. Innocent people. In front of their families. Their children." Soap's hands curl into fists on the table between you. "He's not the kind of man who deserves your loyalty."

Your cuffs clink as your arms flex against the chair. "You wouldn't understand."

"You're right. I wouldn't." Soap's knuckles pop, his voice low and dark. All his life he's waited for you. Now Graves--fucking Graves, who betrayed Soap and his team and tried to murder them all--is somehow the one keeping you from him. "I don't understand what you see in that bastard."

You say nothing, eyes trained on the far wall.

Soap's shoulders tighten. "You're just a tool to him."

"I’m a soldier. I choose to follow orders. So do you.”

"You're following his orders. You think that makes you a soldier, being a weapon? No. Makes you a damn dog."

You say nothing.

Soap grips the table until it creaks. "You think he cares about you.”

"It doesn't matter if he does or not."

"It does so bloody matter. You’re no’ some pawn he can just throw away." God damn you. He wants to grab you with both hands and shake you. To hell with this interrogation--he's got half a mind to lock you down somewhere padded until you get it through your skull that you're not worthless. He scowls at you. "You're better than this. You have to be."

Cold irritation seeps through your mask. "Am I?" Soulmate or not, he doesn’t know you.

At the look on your face, Soap's scowl deepens. He's going to kill that bastard, and he's going to do it slowly. "What about Graves is more important to you than the innocent lives he took? Does that mean nothing to you?”

"Orders are orders."

Soap's voice drops to a dangerous pitch. "Look me in the eye and say that.”

You don’t. You tell yourself it’s because he has no power over you. He can’t tell you what to do.

Soap crosses his arms. "'S what I thought. You're bluffing."

"I'm not."

"Bullshit. Graves is nothing but Shepherd's lapdog. Gettin’ paid to commit goddamn war crimes.”

"Shut your mouth," you snap. "You have no idea what happened--"

You stumble on the next syllable and go silent, realizing suddenly that you're looking him in the eye.

Johnny's a man of impulse, and it takes all the self-control he has to keep himself in place the moment you lock eyes. The pull he feels to you right now is overwhelming. You're in reach. He leans forward. Those brilliant blue eyes of his see all the way down into your soul. They’re just the same as you remember--eerily vivid, pupils blown, with his jaw set hard.

"What happened to what, darlin'?"

You shift, skin prickling. You want to cross your arms over yourself and clap your hand over the soulmark on your neck. "You don't know what happened in Al Mazrah."

"You were ambushed."

You nod, remembering that night of the mission. You've seen your squadmates die before. It's a hazard of the job, part of being a mercenary. But that night--seeing so many Shadows gunned down before they could so much as draw their weapons--it still haunts you.

"Shepard didn't know. It wasn't like we-- it was supposed to be a simple transport mission."

"It was a black bag op."

"That's what Shadows do. We take missions people don't like. Someone has to step in where you military dogs won't."

"Where was Shepherd when it went tits up, hm?" Soap's lip curls. "No air support on an illegal op. He left you to be killed. And now he needs someone to blame. It's not gonna be him taking that bullet. It's gonna be you."

"Captain Graves can handle it."

Soap lets out a rough sigh. Your insistence on Graves is rubbing him raw. You could have died on that op two months ago. And then what? He'd have never met you, only found your name later in stone on some memorial somewhere. The thought makes his chest go cold and his blood run hot. It could still happen. If he can't tear you away from this bloody mercenary work, you'll never be his. Christ. He can't let that happen. He won't. You're not going back to the Shadow Company. He'll tear Graves into pieces before he lets that happen.

He fixates on your soulmark again. Why can't he focus on getting the information Price needs? All he can think about right now is the scab on your lip, the way your pupils dilate when you look at him. Your body wants his even as you're spitting venom. The fire in you matches his own, and he wants more.

"Graves isn't here," Soap tells you. "And I'm not takin’ chances. You’re not going back to Shepherd, and you’re sure as hell not going back to Graves. You're mine."

You pull on your cuffs, hating the way the possessive note in his voice makes your stomach flip. "You don't get to decide that."

"Neither do you.”

"Isn't a matter of choice. It's a matter of what you’re gonnae do about it."

You swallow and watch his gaze track down your throat. He's close. When did he lean in? Why aren't you pulling back?

No, you tell yourself, you’re not scared. You’re in control. You lean a millimeter closer. "You can't keep me here."

His eyes brighten, gaze so intense it warms your skin. "Careful, darlin'. You don't want to throw down that gauntlet."

"And you expect me to tell you whatever you want to know? Fuck my career, fuck my squadmates?"

"If you weren't so damn dense, I'd--" He mutters another string of curses in that thick Scottish accent, standing from his chair and pacing the tight room. "You don't understand what I'm offerin’. You don't need them. You have me an' mine."

He circles around to your side of the interrogation table and kneels next to you, his expression an open plea for you to listen. You stare down at him with your heart suddenly in your throat. You can't backpedal. You can't look away.

He searches your face. Even roughed up, even pissing him off, you're beautiful. Damn it, he's going to do something stupid if he doesn't control himself.

He keeps his voice low and even. "You were expendable to them. You're expendable to Graves. You're no' expendable to me." He reaches up to you, and you go still. His hand is hot on your skin. His grip is surely strong enough to break bone. But only his thumb drags along your lip. His eyes follow the motion. "Your loyalty should be for people who care about you. I'm on your side, ya wee shite. Just tell me how to get to Alejandro and I'll get you out of here. I'll make sure you're safe. That's all I need to know."

You stare down at him. Your heart beats in your ears, and his pulse hammers with yours. You can feel it through his thumb against the sensitive skin on your lower lip.

Johnny wants you so badly you almost give in. He thinks he's telling the truth--that he'll protect you. But he doesn't know any better. You're not who he wants you to be. You're not soft. You're not good. Why does he act like he can see something redeemable in you?

Being his soulmate doesn't guarantee you a goddamn thing. Promises don't afford you any more protection than you've already given yourself. You know that very well. People aren't reliable. Soulmarks don’t fix everything. They’re just ink.

Whatever he sees when he looks up at you makes something cold and sharp settle in his chest. His throat constricts. He's pushing, he knows he is, and it's the wrong move with you. He's never been this desperate for anyone.

"Darlin'. Don't do that. Don't shut me out." His voice wavers just like his resolve. He'd protect you to his last. You refuse to see that, and he can't make you.

You look away, pulling away from his hand. "I don't trust you."

Johnny's stomach drops, and he digs his fingers into the metal chair to stop himself from digging them into you.

You want him. He can see it in the set of your shoulders, how tight you hold yourself when he's close to you. You want him despite yourself, and you still refuse. It doesn't matter how rational a decision it should be to accept his help. There's something else happening in your head that's keeping your walls up, and he's starting to realize it's not just Graves. It can't be.

He watches you for a long moment. He doesn't want you to hurt, but he's not stupid enough to believe you'll soften up and come around with time. You're a soldier.

Finally, Soap stands. If you don’t tell him what he needs to know, you’ll remain a hostage, and won’t be able to have you. He won’t accept that.

"Fine," he says, pushing his way out the door. "We’ll do this the hard way."

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / [part 5] / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12

more Soap / masterlist tag

[sgojoenthusiast]

angel.

✧.* toji fushiguro x reader

summary:

toji who never cared where he put it before. Ass, tits, hand, mouth, pussy. It was all the same to him. Until, that is, he met you.

cw: smut, oral, blowjobs, creampie, rough, sucker for simp toji tbh, orgasm denial ish

word count: 1.7k

likes, comments & reposts are deeply appreciated! <3 enjoy.

-`♡´-

Toji who never cared where he put it before. Ass, tits, hand, mouth, pussy. It was all the same to him because the outcome was all the same. He’d come, and if she did too then that was that - he’d still get his shit together and leave before the glimmering beams of light began to intrude through the curtains and illuminate her face for just long enough for him to remember it.

To him, sex was never a romantic thing. It was simply a relief. A few brief moments of bliss before the almost immediate realisation of life dawned on him and he’d go back to his typical Monday stresses - his kid, the bills, what he was going to eat tonight, who he was going to kill.

But then, you came into his life. Oh, sweet, bewitching, perfect you. Now, his life had a purpose once more. Now, he woke up with something other than death in his bloodied, war-zone mind. He almost felt unworthy that a real-life angel had been sent to him from above - what had he done to deserve it? You were an animated depiction of the dictionary definition of beauty.

Not only had you invaded his life and imposed all of your perfect elements onto him, such as the way you cared, the way you spoke, and the way you behaved, but you had also completely disfigured the way he fucked.

He couldn’t bear the idea at first. The concept of defiling someone so utterly perfect with all of his corruption and sin was unfathomable. He was a vile guy, yeah, but not even he could tarnish such purity as yourself. However, when the two of you got back to your place after a long date, and he walked you up to your apartment for your own safety (he tells a lie - there was a very slim chance of any danger proposing itself to you in the short walk to your apartment. He simply just couldn't part your side just yet), how was he supposed to ever resist you when you turned around to face him before slowly undoing the top buttons of your blouse as you took his hand and led him straight to your room?

That night, he fucked you in every imaginable way possible - yet the idea of finishing anywhere but inside of your cunt made him feel ill, and has done ever since.

Why would he come anywhere but deep inside of your pussy? Why wouldn’t he want to fill you up to the very brim, stuffed full of his come until it was spilling out uncontrollably? The mere thought of it left him perplexed.

In moments like this, where you’re on your knees with your delicate hands gripping onto his thighs and your soft tongue gliding over the veins of his cock - he found it gruelling to refrain from spilling himself into the back of your throat.

His hand rested on your head, not applying any force to allow you to set your own pace. His head was thrown back and his eyes scrunched in a murderous delight. Every second he spent keeping himself from finishing was a second he struggled to pull you off his dick and throw you onto his sheets.

There was nothing wrong with your mouth - fuck, was there nothing wrong with your mouth - it felt like he was finally experiencing the heaven he’d never truly seen. But when he said that the thought of coming anywhere but your pussy made him ill, he meant it.

You’d asked him so nicely to suck him off, as well. Gotten on your knees the second he got home from his mission as your hands hesitantly danced around his belt, awaiting his approval. He could see the disappointment in your eyes flash for a scarce moment when he asked you to get up - yet the squeal of delight that escaped your parted lips when he scooped you up into his arms and threw you over his shoulder as he began to head for your bedroom made up for every fraction of disappointment he caused you. So how was he supposed to

“Does it not feel good, Toji?” You asked, coaxing him out of his stupor. His head snapped down to look at you with puzzlement in his eyes, asking you all the questions floating about on the tip of his tongue with just one single glance, yet you heard him all the same. “Just, you haven’t came yet and you’ve hardly made any noise.”

Guilt washed over him in waves as he stared at your saddened eyes pouting up at him in confusion. That guilt began to dim when standing next to the conflicting lust he felt at the way his cock throbbed threateningly from the way you were looking up at him with that captivating pout as your hand lazily continued to stroke his cock.

“I.. Fuck, angel. I just can’t do it.”

“What do you me-“ Before you could finish your reply, Toji had you raised in his arms once again as he tossed you onto your bed.

“I gotta cum in this pretty cunt, angel. I can’t explain it, I just have to. Please let me come in your pussy.” He pleaded with you, eyes wide and swimming in oceans of desire. When you slowly nodded up at him, still feeling the lingering surprise from the sudden switch of positions, he wasted no more time talking.

There was no room for questions, not when his tongue was being shoved down your throat and his tip was prodding your hole. How had you gotten so wet just from sucking on his dick? He almost resented himself for not tending to your own needs earlier, but if anyone else had such a filthy mouth wrapped so delightfully around their cock - they wouldn’t be able to think straight either.

A string of curses fell from his lips as he pushed himself inside of you, his forehead resting against your own as your lips parted in pleasure from the way he poked that perfect spot inside of you almost immediately.

He couldn’t ever help himself. You were so magnetic. The way you were sprawled on the mattress as he lifted himself up and threw your leg over his shoulder as he began to pound his cock deep inside of you - it was like streaks of heaven beamed down on you, worshipping you as they should.

The feeling of your pussy helplessly stretching around him, combined with his previous denial of his own orgasm was sending him into an unavoidable spiral - one he was sure he’d feel the effects of for the rest of his days. If he could spend the rest of his life with you looking so angelic underneath him as he thrusted his hardened cock in and out of your wet pussy, he would take that offer in a heartbeat - no matter the cost.

You felt so good around him, sucking him in as if it was the last thing you’d ever do. Toji was no better, his relentless pace and screwed-shut eyes demonstrated that he was losing himself in his pleasure. His hand that wasn’t wrapped securely around your leg reached down to begin stimulating your clit, toying with it so teasingly.

If Toji couldn’t handle it, then you sure as hell couldn’t. Your hands were scrambling for some sort of stability - needing something that could keep you securely in the grasp of sanity’s hands before you succumbed.

Your moans merged with Toji’s, a mixture of broken whines and disgruntled groans echoed throughout the room as you borderline began to scream around his cock - your hands quickly moving to cover your face and muffle your sounds as a sense of rationality clicked in your brain when you realised that your neighbours were most likely either having one hell of a laugh or phoning the police due to a suspected murder scene occurring in your apartment.

Toji wasn’t satisfied though. He couldn’t come outside of your pussy, and he couldn’t come without the sight of your face and the reverberating noises that left your swollen lips. When had he become so picky? He grumbled words of disapproval as his hand left your pulsating clit in order to force your hands above you - the room immediately flooding with the sound of your moans once more - much to Toji’s delight.

He could feel his impending orgasm begin to creep up on him once more, and so he wasted no time as he lifted your other leg over his shoulder and put all of his force into his harsh thrusts. His hand went back to your clit - desperate for you to finish at the same time as him. One after the other, he kept pounding and pounding your poor, abused cunt until there was nothing but a puddle of wetness and a hole practically moulded into his cock.

It was always the familiar feeling of your pussy tightening around him, signalling to him your own orgasm, that sent him those shockwaves of pleasure as he braced himself for the heavy ropes of cum that he was about to fill you up with at any given moment - his pleasure building up at an unstoppable pace as he began to pant out a warning to you.

“Fuck, angel. Gonna come in this slutty little cunt of yours, yeah? Better keep that shit in this time.” He demanded, his voice carrying an authoritative tone that left no space for discussion - not that you could when your entire body had ceased to function at the intensity of your orgasm.

Truly, there was no feeling quite like the one where he was stuffing you full of his cum. He was certain that he’d never get enough of it. Not when it had him throwing his head back with a rough groan and one of his hands gripping the sheets in a deathly hold.

He was so overtaken by his orgasm that he hadn’t processed the feeling of falling onto his back - a gentle hand pushing his chest and silk sheets embracing his back. Nothing could ever change the fact that your lips pressed against his own, could pull him out of a lifelong coma - so when he recognised the press of your soft lips against his own, his eyes sprung to life and his hands flew to your hips - which had somehow found themselves mounted over his torso.

“You wanna fill me up again, handsome?” You laughed, like a goddess above him. He doesn’t think his dick has ever gotten that hard so fast before.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

a/n: came out of hiding for this one

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟsgojoenthusiast

[feinyan]

DATING HEADCANONS featuring. satoru gojo, itadori yuji, megumi fushiguro and toge inumaki.

some random small dating headcanons involving the jujutsu kaisen boys. no tags, just fluff. enjoy.

gojo, who would sacrifice the world and everyone in it for you. who knows the dangers of letting himself be so vulnerable with someone, but can't help but want to offer everything to you. he would do anything for your smile, for the moments you give him which he treasures so closely to his heart. gojo, who cannot keep his hands off of you. who, to be frank, does not understand the concept of personal space. whos constantly finding an excuse to slide his arm around your shoulder, your waist, or to hold your hand. gojo, who spoils you!!! so so so much. who sees something thats hellishly expensive that you'd even slightly like and doesn't think twice before buying it. who brings you bags of goodies or expensive designer stuff he thinks you'd look just right in when returning from overseas missions. gojo, who to no surprise, loves to tease to get reactions out of you. who doesn't know how to quit it. he's just so fond of your flustered face, or the way you stare at him with pouty eyes after he says something that makes your heart race. gojo, who loves to switch up the nicknames he uses on you. who calls you princess when you're pouty, or calls you ma'am when you're upset. who in a whiny, dragged out tone says "babyyyyy," when you say no to something stupid he suggests.

itadori, who is the most respectful, sweetest boy ever. it doesn't come as a surprise, but hes soooo polite with everything he does. he holds doors open for you, walks on the close-to-road part of the sidewalk when you walk together, holds your bags for you, or buttons up your jackets. small, yes, but meaningful things. itadori, who loves to take pictures of you!!! who is constantly changing his lockscreen to different photos of you, because ohhh, you're so cute and you look good in everything! he can't decide what to stick with. itadori, who is sooooo gentle with you. who knows he could hurt you on accident, and dies a little at the thought of that. he treats you with so much care, his touch is so gentle regardless of if its in the way he holds you or kisses you. or does anything really. itadori, who gives you his first for everything. who wants to be yours for his lifetime, and experience everything he possibly can with you. despite knowing the dangers he could be to you, and knowing that wanting you forever is selfish, but he can't help himself when you mean just about everything to him. itadori, who cannot hide things for the life of him. who buys you a cute gift for an upcoming special occasion, and immediately blurts it out that he got you it the moment he sees you. or who gets told something thats a secret by someone else, and says "okay, don't tell them i told you, 'kay? but,"

megumi, who tries soooo hard to impress you. who puts more effort into his training, or offers to do something he usually wouldn't when you're around. he's not even sure if he notices the change himself, but his classmates like yuji and nobara sure do! megumi, who is constantly glued to your side. unintentionally following you around, or offering to hold your things or walk you places just so he has the opportunity to be with you just a little longer. megumi, who not so secretly adores the attention you give him. who grumbles about your touch, or constant hand holding, but if you're not clinging onto him he'll complain, "it's cold today. my hands are freezing," even in the scorching hot. who pretends to not listen to your babbling in his ears, but proves you wrong by bringing up something you'd mentioned you like even briefly in a conversation weeks later. megumi, who lends you his clothing and can't help but stare. if it's cold, he'll slide his jacket over your shoulders and a scarf around your neck. sure, maybe he's freezing his ass off, but he can handle it if it means seeing you happy. megumi, who doesn't understand why you want him. but he understands fully why he wants you. who pictures you as someone made for him, who can't get every little interaction you two share out of his head. who denied his feelings for so long yet came to accept them. he knows he wants to be someone you're able to rely on, or can turn to when you want to feel safe. he would give you everything and try his hardest for you, even if he'd never admit it.

inumaki, who sends you little screenshots from his games that remind you of him. who see's a cute, whimsical little creature in a game and thinks 'cute. i should show this to s/o' inumaki, who has his phone on him constantly so he can text you. who is constantly sending you messages, or finding excuses to talk to you, and is surprisingly good at communication for someone that's unable to properly speak. inumaki, who makes up for your lack of verbal communication with displays of affection. who simply enjoys your presence more than anything. who stands closest to you no matter what you're doing, holds your hands all the time or follows you around. inumaki, who despite not being able to speak in anything other than ingredients, is a d1 yapper. looooves to text you silly shit, and yeah .. he plays a lot of online games, so sometimes he'll accidentally treat you like a homie instead of a s/o. whoopsie!! but its never serious. who drags you into his pranks, but always has to deal with the consequences himself :( inumaki, who wants to share his hobbies and interests with you. watching mukbang together, inviting you to play games even if you have no idea what you're doing. he loves to tease if you're not very good, or 'accidentally' make you lose if you're winning against him. accidental "drop the controller" slips from his lips, but hey, maybe if he's feeling nice he'll offer a win out of pity.

@ feinyan

[rainyyynightssss]

Twisted Wonderland

Reacting to you trying to go back home

Characters: Overblotters

Notes: Yandere/Toxic themes involved

"Crowley thinks he might've found a way for me to get back home!"

Riddle Rosehearts

He looks at your smiling face and something in him breaks. He should be happy for you, he really should. This is what you had wanted from the beginning. To see your family and friends. To be free of magic and almost getting killed by overblots.

But you should've been happy here. He'd order his card soldiers to keep the rose garden in prim condition for you to gaze upon whenever you visited. The birthday parties always included a dish you liked. You got along well with Trey and Cater. Sure, Riddle was strict with his rules, but he grew more lenient with you. Surely, you could see that.

"That's wonderful news. And you're...happy to leave?" He tries not to let his voice crack as he grips one of the legs of the table they had just used to share dinner together. Apparently for the last time.

"Of course, I'll be happy to see everyone back home. It is a bittersweet feeling though. I'll miss you all." He chooses to ignore the 'all' part of your phrasing for a moment. You'd miss him and isn't that enough reason not to go?

"We'd all miss you as well....I, especially,-"

"But I think it'll be good for me to go and be back with my family, you know?" You add and he tenses again. He knows well how important family could be, and he also knows how burdensome they are. His mother forced him to adhere to strict guidelines, and while it shaped him into the respected house warden he is today, it also made him afraid. Terrified, even, that everything would go wrong if the rules were not followed.

Perhaps that's what you needed. A healthy dosage of fear and some rules to keep you in line. You were his perfect rose, blooming and unblemished. You had always managed to drag him away when he got too deep in his studies and talked him down when his face became as red as the flowers in his garden. But now your edges have grown frayed. You're trying to go back to your roots but he'd rip you out of the ground, thorns and all, to keep that from happening.

"Right. Well, it's gotten quite late and it wouldn't be proper for you to walk back to Ramshackle this late at night." He sensed your confusion even before you could voice it. You've taken plenty of late-night walks before and this would hardly be on the top list of most dangerous things you've done at the school.

"I can walk back-"

"I insist. I couldn't let you go...to your dorm! This late." Riddle shakes his head and covers his blushing face with a hand as he stands up from the table. "I have a room for you. If you'll take it?" He offers his hand to you, hoping you will miss the small trembles.

You smile at him again and take his hand, sending warmth even through his gloves.

"Just for tonight." You nod. Riddle gives you a small, though tight at the ends. His rose didn't need to know about the details of their stay, only that it was going to last longer than they thought.

"Of course. Although I must make sure you have an adequate stay. Rules indicate that guests should have the most hospitable experience, no matter how long that takes to fulfill." Riddle answers with ease and you see nothing wrong with it. His rose would blossom even more under his careful watch.

Leona Kingscholar

"And?"

The notion of you leaving was laughable to him. You had already managed to barge your way into his life, ruining his plans at the Spelldrive competition, ruining his nap routines, and ruining his pride as a prince. And he wouldn't have it any other way. Though the latter is still mostly kept intact.

You look at him, seemingly flabbergasted by his dismissal.

"And...that means I'll likely be leaving soon." You tell him. He sees your small frown. You must think he doesn't care that you're leaving. But it was quite the opposite. As much as he would never admit it to himself, he cares so much that he denies any possibility of it happening. He knows you don't actually want to leave.

Leona watches you sit up from his bed that both of you had been lying in for the past few hours. He grasps your wrist before it can leave the sheets. His grip is tighter than usual. Leona had always been like that. He demanded respect and expected you to follow. You, of course, were not so willingly submissive to him but that made it all the more fun for him to make you.

"Ruggie isn't going to be back 'till later tonight. I've got more sleep to catch up on. Especially after you bothered me last night." Leona tugs your wrist to bring you back closer to him while he rests his other arm under his head.  Last night you had came to him, clearly anxious about something and didn't want to be alone. Anyone else he would have turned away with a scoff, but he's found over time that he has a hard time refusing you. As long as it didn't involve you trying to run away from him.

"Are you even listening to me?" You narrow your eyes at him and he smirks.

"I have and it sounds like a buncha nonsense. Go back to sleep and maybe you'll forget your dumb ideas in the morning." Leona grumbles and pulls you to his chest. He hears you huff but you don't resist, lying back down beside him. He doesn't know exactly why you're having these kinds of thoughts but it doesn't really matter to him. If you want to run, he is glad to give his precious prey a chase.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul's hands freeze in the air, his fork and knife about to cut into the juicy salmon that had been plated beautifully in front of him. He glances up at you, his smile also frozen on his face, as you were just talking about how much you enjoyed Night Raven College and the Mostro Lounge. All until you abruptly switched to this topic he thought he was doing a good job at evading.

"Ah, isn't that...delightful?" His words would have come off as calm to anyone else, but you notice the slight strain in his voice. You always seem to see right through him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you-"

"Upset me? No, quite the contrary. I think it's wonderful the headmaster has finally secured your passage back home." Azul muses and goes back to cutting his salmon, though it's obvious that his cuts are a bit more jagged.

"Yes... he said it could be any day now." You respond carefully. You try to offer him a smile as you take another sip of the drink he gave you on the house. He could see the small ounce of hope in your eyes of going back to your world. That wouldn't do.

"Is that so?" Azul takes a bite of his food, swallowing before adding, "It's really too bad you won't be able to go then." He continues eating, ignoring your confused eyes as if he didn't just say the strangest thing.

"Why wouldn't I be able to go?" You ask slowly. "I mean, the transportation might be difficult but-"

"It has been a while so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you forgot." Azul sighs and dabs his face free of any smudges with his napkin. "You may not step out of the bounds of Night Raven College by any means, including the Dark Mirror."

"According to who?" You let out a disbelieving laugh.

"According to Article 3 Section 5 of the contract you signed." Azul takes another bite of the salmon, not letting himself react when you slam a hand on the table.

"What contract?! I never signed anything!" You snapped. He remains as calm as ever. This time, you couldn't read him, couldn't even see his eyes through the glint in his glasses.

"You must remember when you agreed to work in the Mostro Lounge for a couple months. I had you sign an employment contract. I warned you about reading it through to the end. A suggestion I don't give to most poor, unfortunate souls in this school." Azul answers.

He did indeed give you the small packet to look through and recommended reading it all. It wasn't his fault that Floyd made a commotion in the kitchen just as you started reading the end portion. Azul urged you to sign it while he dealt with the mess that Floyd undoubtedly caused and you did, just missing the statement that required you to be on-call even after your employment ended, and being on-call meant you always had to be within a certain range of the lounge.

"You can't be serious." You utter quietly with wide eyes, realizing exactly what he was talking about.

"I'm afraid I am. But don't fret too much. I think you'll come to like it here." Azul smiles again. A smile that's hardly recognizable.

He watches you jump up from the table and storm out of the lounge, passing confused customers who glance back at him. He takes a drink from his glass. Azul isn't worried about you walking out. You couldn't leave here, leave him, anyway. And if you tried to hide from him, he would just send Jade and Floyd to hunt you down. You have become one of his prized possessions, and he isn't going to let you go that easily.

Jamil Viper

"Really? It's about time." Jamil comments as he starts chopping the vegetables you prepared in a bowl.

He had invited you to try some new recipes with him that he'd then distribute to the Scarabia students. For the past few months, you had been inviting yourself into their kitchen, much to Jamil's annoyance. You always offered to help him and he always declined, especially when it came to Kalim's meals. He was not going to lose his job over a pretty face. You respected his refusals but you still liked to watch him for some odd reason. Today, he finally decided to let you help him.

He appears to be half paying attention to your words while you're stirring the stew. "Haven't you been waiting a while?"

"I have. Crowley's been pushing off researching but I finally made him go through with it!" You look quite proud of yourself and if Jamil wasn't so irritated, he might have thought it was cute.

He simply hums in response and continues swiping his blade through the onion, each cut sharper than the next. He should be fine with you leaving. People come and go, after all. It would make things easier for him as well. He would stop getting distracted so easily, riddling his fingers with knicks from the blade when his thoughts drifted off to you.

"Kalim also promised to help me pack my stuff. He's eager for me to see my family." He sees you smile absentmindedly as you stir. Jamil's hand clenches tighter on the knife.

"Of course he did." He mutters to himself. Kalim got everything we wanted, didn't he? He got the wins, the praise, the Housewarden title. And now he was going to send you off. Jamil bet he was even encouraging you to go and like always, Jamil would just have to accept it. Only this time, he wouldn't. Jamil never got anything he could have to himself, always having to share with Kalim. You would be the one thing he could keep just for him.

"That reminds me, I needed to ask you something," Jamil says and you look back at him. He takes a step closer to you and leans forward, whispering the name of his unique magic. His lips widen into a smirk as he watches your irises fade to red.

"You'll be staying here, won't you?"

Vil Schoenheit

He raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow as he works to pluck yours with tweezers.

"Hm? That's not the line, darling," Vil says. In your hands is the large packet of paper that contains Vil's script for his upcoming film. He had asked you to practice lines with him. You agreed and in exchange, you asked him to put some makeup on you. It was something he's been wanting to do anyway so he obliged. All was going well until you dropped this bombshell on him.

"I know, I was trying to figure out how to tell you and I accidentally just blurted it out," You sigh.

"Mhm. And Crowley has- Close your eyes, now - provided a way for you to get back home safely?" Vil asks as he moves on to your eyes, brushing an eye shadow across your lids that matches your skin.

"I don't know if anything about that man is safe, per say, but he did seem pretty confident about this." You respond as you keep your eyes closed for him. Vil shakes his head with a small 'tut'. The headmaster didn't exactly have a track record for reliability. He voiced exactly this to you.

"Crowley may just end up sending you on a one-way ride to nowhere. There's no telling where he could send you, why not wait for a few trial runs?" He places a hand under your chin. "And besides, why do you need to go home so badly?" Vil puts the palette back down and takes a tube of lipstick in his hand.

"Well, I want to see my fam-" You're forced to stop talking until he finishes applying the lipstick, "I want to see my family and finish everything I had going on there."

"If that's the case, I don't see what you could do back home that you're unable to here. And if you want to see your family, shouldn't you make sure your travel is safe so you can get back to them in the first place?" Vil questions as he wipes the small smudge of lipstick from the bottom of your lip with his thumb.

"That's...true." You nod reluctantly. Vil smirks a bit as he moves his hand towards the back of your neck, his thumb tilting your head up so you can look at him properly.

"Correct. And if I'm not mistaken, you've built quite the life here, haven't you?" He watches you slowly nod and he soothes the back of your neck with gentle fingers.

"You really want to throw that all away?" Vil looks down at you with questioning eyes even though he already knows the answer. You shake your head.

"No...but I also know that's something I'll have to do if I want to go home." You tell him firmly. Vil lets out a sigh and turns away from you for a moment.

"If you say so, but at least let me leave you with a parting gift." He turns back towards you and presents a small perfume bottle with a fancy font across the lid that you can hardly. It would no doubt cost hundreds in the market.

"My own creation that I've been working on. You're the first to have it." Vil says as he hands it over. You take it with a bright smile.

"Thank you! I'll try it on as soon as I get back to Ramshackle." You respond excitedly as you move to stand up from his makeup chair but he places a gentle hand on your wrist.

"I'd like to hear your critique as soon as possible. You are my perfect model, after all." He says with a glint in his eyes. You didn't seem to have any problem with that and sprayed a few spritz of the perfume on yourself, promptly passing out in the chair. You would get it through your head eventually that you belong here. You just need a little more convincing.

Idia Shroud

"Hold up, what?"

Your sudden words caused him to press the wrong button and his character gets brutally killed by one of the forest monsters in the game. You wince and put down your controller, turning towards him on his remarkably soft couch.

"Yeah...sorry to tell you so late but it looks like it could be soon." You say and Idia tosses his controller to the side, facing you as well.

"So you're gonna go? Just like that?" He asks in shock. You only recently just started playing video games with him in his room. Before, you had to practically beg him just to play a game with you when you were both in different dorms. It took a lot of convincing but he soon gave in after some persuasion from his brother. Once, you showed up to his room to see if you could play in person and he stared at you with wide eyes for about five seconds before slamming the door in your face, apologizing later over text.

He was unbearably anxious around you at first but he got used to the idea that you wouldn't judge him so easily. So he showed you another side, his more competitive and ill-mannered side to see if that would make you go away. And you still didn't. You instead embraced him for it. So why now were you just going to forget about all that?

"I-I mean I have to," You were clearly caught off guard by the intense look in his eyes, "I have a home and a family and friends-"

"Yeah, yeah, sure but what about everything you have here?" Idia insists.

"Everything I have here?" You ask.

"Y-Yeah, those first years, Grim, your dorm, me- many other things!" He stammers out. It would be way too cringe to mention himself deep down he hopes he's one of the things that could keep you here.

"Of course I'll miss everyone, but I miss everyone back home too," You say. Idia sighs deeply as he throws his head back on the couch.

"You're reallly set on this, huh?" Idia asks. You bite your lip and nod.

"But I still-" You try to add but he cuts you off.

"No, I get it. I wouldn't wanna be around me either." Idia sighs again. You look at him with wide eyes and fervently shake your head.

"No, it's not like-"

"You must have better friends back home if you're so desperate to see them again." He adds as he looks away with a frown. You don't notice him peeking back at you. You sigh and tilt your head so you can fully meet his gaze.

"Look, I'll talk to Crowley, see if he can push it back a bit." You tell him. He looks at you curiously.

"Are you sure? I don't wanna pressure you if-"

"No, it's okay. I want to spend more time with you and everyone anyway." You give him a small smile and he smiles back. He could play the pity card all day if it meant you'd stay.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus pauses in his steps, looking at you with a wide, curious gaze.

"You're leaving?" He utters. The two of you had been enjoying your nightly walks together back to Ramshackle. After one too many fights and attacks happening after hours on campus, he thought it best to escort you back home. He could easily teleport you both back to your dorm, but it gave him a good excuse to be around you more.

"Yes, hopefully it'll be soon. I'm excited to go back!" You smile enthusiastically and Malleus can only offer a grimace back.

"I suppose you could say I'm a little surprised. I thought you were happy here. Did I assume wrong?" He asks as he continues walking you to your dorm. Normally you would have never been able to keep up with his pace but he always kept a slower one for you.

"Oh no, I am happy here. My friends have been wonderful and I'm glad I'm friends with you. There's just some things I could do without." You mention offhandedly as you gaze up at the moon. He looks down to see it reflected in your eyes. The moon is wondrous but all he can see are the eyes that pinned a man who could never yield so deeply. You managed to befriend a dragon who is intimidating in every manner. That kind of connection isn't so flimsy that it could be dismissed by thoughts of departure.

"Things such as what?" Malleus perks up at the idea of solving one of your problems. As powerful as he is, there are a number of things he can't help you with. He couldn't do anything about your assignment getting deleted after your internet 'crashed' or about the friendship problems you once had with the Heartslabyul boys, but he's always eager to listen, just as you always do with him.

"It's just some rowdy guys from Savanaclaw who are still mad about the Spelldrive competition. They've been bothering me a bit but it's not a big deal." You tell him and he stops the both of you this time with a hand on your shoulder.

"Bothering you? For how long?" Malleus didn't mean to turn his hard glare on you but he couldn't help the fury building up inside of him. Many of the students already noticed your looming shadow that often followed you around like a lost puppy, which was usually enough to keep them from trying anything. Malleus isn't naive enough to believe that students at this school are always on their best behavior when he has his own business to deal with in the Diasomnia dorm. However, he swiftly and discretely took care of any nuisances that he happened to notice. He didn't think you were keeping anything from him.

"Like I said, it's not-" You try to soothe him but his glare only hardens.

"For how long?" Malleus repeats and he doesn't plan to a third time.

"For about a month now...but I can handle it myself!" You insist but he ignores the latter half of your sentence as his face morphs back into a gentler one.

"So that's what's been burdening you? I wish you'd have told me sooner but it's no matter. I'll take care of it." Malleus assures you.

"I mean that's one thing, but I have other reasons-" He cuts you off with a pat on your head as the two of you stop in front of Ramshackle's doors.

"You don't have to ruminate on it any longer. Do try to tell me about any other troublesome students in the future. I'll handle them and anyone else who tries to ruin your happiness here at Night Raven College." He vanishes in a flurry of lights before you can say a word. Any serious notion of you leaving is unthinkable to him, and if you do come up with more reasons, he'll make sure to take care of those as well.

[katszumi]

“you know, your eyes kinda resemble a ruby.” you slurred your words. your chin rested in the palm of your hand, elbow digging in the table below you.

bakugou snorted, his eyes never wavering from yours. “what made you think of that shit?”

you lifted your shoulders, quickly dropping them.

“do i need a reason?”

“to be thinking about nonsense? yes.” he answered his own question. his response caused an eye-roll out of you.

you grabbed the small glass in front of you, finishing the shot you set down earlier to save for later.

“that’s your fifth shot of the night.” bakugou intercepted the silence. he sat upright in his chair, his arms folded across his chest.

you gulped the remains of the liquor, swiping your tongue across the bottom of your lip.

“and you’re on your what? like second?” you remarked.

bakugou wasn’t a drinker. everyone knew that. he preferred to be sober, always offering to be the designated driver whenever the group wanted to have a night of fun.

but tonight was his pro-hero debut party. all of his friends and old schoolmates were there, so he figured if he were to drink, tonight was the perfect time.

also, who was he to decline having a drink with a pretty girl?

his eyes glanced at your now wet lips which unfortunately didn’t go unnoticed from you. “two is plenty.”

you leaned forward, reaching your hand towards bakugou’s shirt. your fingers grazed the top button of his shirt. slowly, you unfastened it. “there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun, katsuki.”

due to the sudden proximity, he could smell the alcohol coming from your breath, but he couldn’t bring himself to resist your actions.

you continued to the second button. “take this time to relax.” you raised your hands once more, your fingers now grazing his neck to uncuff the collar of his shirt.

now, you leaned away from him, returning to your previous position. “now you look like a man that’s ready for the night.”

bakugou dropped his shoulders and leaned back in his chair, turning his head sideways. he couldn’t refuse the blush that was coming onto his face nor could he hide it. he knew you were staring right into his soul. he was also aware that you loved to tease him like that.

“unhinged. i swear you are.” was the only thing bakugou could muster.

ever since he’s known you from u.a, you were always that daring girl who was so unpredictable. there was never a dull moment with you.

but that was also what made you so dangerous for him.

a laugh parted your lips. “been called worse.”

“bullshit.” he called it, looking into your eye once again. “like what?”

“irresponsible,” you started count on your fingers.

“i can see it.” bakugou shared his input.

“arrogant,”

he rolled his eyes, “heard my fair share of that one too.”

“impulsive,”

“accurate.”

“provocative.”

bakugou moved his head in a notion like he was deciding between two things. “nah.”

you furrowed your brow, squinting your eyes in confusion. “what is that supposed to mean?”

“provocative sounds like a slutty word.” he simply responded. “i think you know you’re attractive, and you know how to use it to your advantage. not a bad thing at all.”

you paused for a moment, your lips parting from shock. a small grin began to form on your face. “did bakugou katsuki just call me attractive?”

the male scoffed, “don’t act like this is news to you. ‘m sure you heard it plenty times before.” he brushed it off.

“just didn’t think you of all people would willingly say that.”

bakugou chuckled to himself. he raised his finger in the air, indicating for the server assigned to your table to bring him another drink.

“unlike you, not everyone needs five shots of liquor in their system to confess something.” undoubtedly, it was shot taken at her, one that you couldn’t refuse the growing smile on your face.

“oh? since when did you decide to get so bold?”

“someone’s actions tend to rub off on me.”

“they must be foolish.”

once again, bakugou’s ruby eyes lowered to your lips. undeniable. how could his heart ever stand a chance when you treat him this way? did you not understand he loved a challenge?

“yeah, an irresistible fool.”

“please, i’m anything but a fool.”

“don’t flatter yourself; who said i was talking about you?” he opted to lie.

you leaned forward slightly, “with the amount of times you keep staring at my lips, it’s not hard to notice it’s taking everything in you to resist me.” your voice lowered in volume, for his ears to catch only. “therefore, irresistible.”

bakugou took his time to respond, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smirk. “this must be that arrogant side of yours coming out.”

“one, not necessarily arrogance if it’s true. two, i’m attractive and i know how to use it to my advantage.” you recited his own words.

“this something you do with all your flings?”

you gave him a playful confused look. “do what?” intentionally, your voice had an innocent tone to it.

“drink with them. tease ‘em. nearly undress them. flirt with them in front of an audience?” bakugou could feel his patience slipping. like a sand hourglass, only a few grains left at the top waiting to fall to the bottom.

it had to have been from the shots that made him so precariously bold. but he couldn’t walk away. not when he has you in the palm of his hands— maybe even the other way around.

you propped your elbow on the table once more, cupping your own cheek. you gazed at bakugou through your lashes.

“if i had other flings, you think i’d be here with you all night?”

“don’t know. good question actually.” purposely, he played stupid.

you paused. “there are no others,” you knew that was the answer he was searching for. luckily for him, you didn’t mind giving it to him. “just you.”

bakugou nodded slowly, basking in the information. he could feel his heart flutter from the confession, a huge wave of relief washing over him.

“good. was startin’ to think you were actually considering the guy over at the bar.” of course, bakugou plays it off as a joke. even with the small liquor in his system, it was still difficult for him to admit his true feelings.

but you were fine with it. because even with the guard he pretends to have up, you can feel even with the slightest touch how much he cares for you. bakugou may be loud, cheeky, maybe a bit conceited, but he wasn’t a good liar. you always saw through his facade no matter what lies he decided to spew.

you scoff. “oh, shut up.” you fight a smile. “the guy at the bar doesn’t have the ruby eyes i like so much.”

“here you go with this stupid shit.”

-

i ’d do anything to flirt with katsuki late at night, both of us tipsy. god please im beggin