#the thoughts of a tired fellow human being

[my-stories-vault]

Chapter 6 ~ The Supernatural Wars.

Pairing: English Dean Winchester X English Reader

Blurb: When the residents of this Earth found out that they were but a draft in God's numerous stories, they decided to make noise in hopes that their creator would return. Nothing can be louder than the begs of the powerless, the cackles of the ruthless, or the unending destruction left in the wake of the most merciless wars any universe can ever see—here the bloodshed never ends. So, tell me how can two young soulmates, then, find love's shade of red under all this crimson gore?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Language, gore, voilence, major and minor character deaths, thoughts of suicide (not graphic), substance abuse (alcohol and cigarettes), mentions of wars (I mean, it's in the name).

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Chapter 6: Out Of Control.

It was nothing like you'd ever witnessed. People roamed in broad daylight, milling about teeming lands of grass, laughing and chatting. The land hugged a castle in the center and then was surrounded by more trees equidistantly from all sides in a circle.

The castle was nothing like yours. While you had been given a towering apartment building that only looked like a castle, this palace was an actual freaking castle. All that was left to make it royal were actual ponies and rainbows and princesses.

Well, you supposed you were sorta a princess now that this place was also technically yours . . .

'Aren't people scared of being zapped by lightning?' you asked premierly. It was only you, and every one on Dean's team in one of the BMWs while the other Leader was in his Baby with the whole of your team. "Bonding" as Sebastian liked to call it; you just thought that he was having way too much fun with the rearranging of people - it was too much power.

'The place is warded,' Raya said. 'And for what wards can't keep out, magic does. Angels don't see anything but a clearing right here.'

'Magic?' you frowned.

'We have in-palace witches, of course,' Dakota said with a smug grin. He was supposed to be the charming fellow.

From what you'd learned till now from this lot was that no one except Sebastian stayed with Dean majority of the time. There wasn't a "team" per se, just various team-ups based on which hunter was free when; for instance, Raya, Reed, and Dakota hadn't been hunting when they were offered this almost month-long "case".

Another uncomprehending discovery on your part was that taking care of Dean was no one's full-time job here. Not even Sebastian's. Everyone was free to do whatever they pleased so long as they finished their hunting quota and didn't disobey Dean if he ever issued an order. It was mostly democratic here, many suggestions were heard before Dean picked one.

Hell, even Dean had a hunting quota. Apparently, he didn't spend much time in one place. Always moving from one place to another, and he was popular for taking the toughest cases and wars. Even when the pager was quiet, he would venture out for the smaller cases alone and finish off nests in the dead of the night - not returning to his palace for months sometimes.

'That's . . . ?' Wrong. But you couldn't say it.

You were prosecuted for giving away a land that was a liability to humans and Dean was trustworthy after using witches on the land that he lived on? How was that fair?

None of Dean's team were unfaithful, was how.

'Cool, right?' Reed said, stoicly - you didn't know if he was being sarcastic. He was a taciturn, grumpy man who was dating the insolent Raya. They had two children out of wedlock in the Hunter's Programme.

'It is cool,' Sebastian said. 'We believe in believing that even monsters are tired of these never-ending wars like we are. I mean, don't you like imagining a world where there were peace?'

'Peace is a myth,' Raya said. 'Do you really think all our problems will go away without the wars?'

'No, but we would have simpler problems,' countered Sebastian. 'Like, what should I eat today? Or should I ask the girl out? I shouldn't be thinking about my will as soon as my first paycheck comes in.'

'If we don't have wars,' you indulged, 'wouldn't we all be jobless?'

'Maybe,' Sebastian said. 'But we would have lives.'

You couldn't imagine that. Your whole life, you'd worked to be a Leader of the wartime. As a hunter, a world without monsters was purposeless to you. You would have no reason to exist anymore - it will all be empty, a complex nothingness.

Your mother disapproved of these notions as well. She had encouraged Seth to chase a monster that would lessen the problems of humanity, but wouldn't eradicate them. She believed in playing smart. Just like she approved of B/F because B/F had selected a strategic monster.

The couple had awed everyone for their large achievements, and they had saved about a million lives, only not the world.

This was also the reason why Dean peeved her. Because he saved the world by murdering Amara. While those words won't ever see the light of the day, you could clearly see her mouth twitch at the corner upon Dean's name.

It was an expectation you had to make true too; you had five years for it, based on the loose timeline your mother had given you.

'We are here,' Reed said, as the car pulled to a stop in front of the proud castle, amongst the abundantly stretching greenery. The double doors were set apart from the driveways by a graceful staircase.

Raya and Reed were holding hands as they hurried out of the car and sprinted up the staircase as if the car was on fire - you assumed they were just that happy to see their children. The staircase was already occupied with people coming out of cars before and after yours, and some others who were going to and fro between the castle and the grounds. Dakota took his sweet time unloading his bags and then headed for the group of girls chatting across, on the staircase.

Your people were collecting at the tail end of your car, with their bags, huddled, waiting for your instructions. Sebastian was waiting for you to get off so that he could park. Your three cars had followed Dean's Impala to get spots in the garage just around the corner.

'I know what you're thinking,' Sebastian said. He could guess that any person would be nervous or intimidated.

You sighed. 'If they'd given the New Law before we traveled cross-continent, they would have saved our time.'

He snorted. Okay, he didn't know you were thinking that, but then he should've known you'd think little beyond work. 'Right. Well, we can only focus on what time we do have now.'

'True. But they also wasted resources,' you frowned.

Sebastian was about to politely ask you to suck up when it struck him - your definition of resources.

It wasn't money or weapons, all the Leaders were inherently filthy rich. You were talking about people as resources. As he tried, he found the thread of your trauma and pain laid under layers of weathered masks.

'That's always a tragedy,' Sebastian said soberly. He took your shoulder and squeezed making you almost jump out of your seat. You blinked yourself to a glare.

'That's right,' you said, brushing off his hand, not so subtly; Sebastian realized his mistake.

You left Sebastian to mull you over while you retrieved your bags.

You already knew the rooms and the ways to reach them, courtesy of the blueprints Sebastian lent to you. You would make good use of them since there weren't maids to tend to people exactly like they had done at your place.

You set your jaw before you could bring yourself to knock next to the nameplate. Sebastian's cheerful face peeked out and then his half-naked body greeted you as he let the door open. You tried not to gasp at the inappropriateness.

'Come on in,' said the towel-clad man.

You checked the hallway to see if you could drag someone else in. When you found no scapegoat, you opted to leave the door open when you took three measured steps inside.

'What's up?' he asked, in front of the mirror, drying his hair with a smaller towel. The rest of his body was still dewy after his apparent shower.

You averted your eyes to the full-length windows that oversaw the balconies. 'I-I-I didn't see any Offices on the blueprints.'

'Oh,' he threw his hair towel on the bed that was already cluttered with various objects. Your mind was already trying to decide how you would clean the place if the room were yours; the hand towel would go in a hamper for one.

'I'll take you in five,' he said, walking to the bathroom to hopefully dress up. 'Make yourself at home,' he said over his shoulder before shutting the door.

Your gaze swept over the room - it didn't make sense that a Governor would own this. You contemplated taking his words to heart and cleaning the area. Your dignity immediately vetoed the idea. You settled for closing the door and waiting outside.

'Have you ever seen a shirtless man?'

Your wide eyes met his curious ones. 'Excuse me?'

Sebastian shrugged. 'Beside me.'

Could you have him arrested too?

'I will not be answering that,' you huffed.

'You kinda just did,' he said.

'Do you have no manners?' you were exasperated.

His lips curled, 'Table? Sure I do. Social? Iffy.'

You rounded on him, squaring your stance. Your heels allowed you to reach a little above his chin, but he still had to look down at you.

He pressed his lips to not chortle.

'Listen, Mr Slay,' you said with the edge of a threat, 'I don't know how you operate with Mr Winchester, but you will treat me with the utmost respect from here on forth - is that clear?'

Sebastian wanted to add, "Or what?" but he decided that he'd played with you enough that day. If he was going to annoy you, he might as well let you grow a gradual immunity to him. Matter of fact, that was how he got Dean to like him.

'Yes, ma'am.'

It took him another minute before he could get you to the trailhead at the edge of the forest behind the castle.

'You go straight for five minutes and go left for another ten minutes. Yours is the one on the border.'

'You've made Offices in the jungle?' you asked, feeling horrified.

'Sets the tone,' he said casually. 'I'm going to go eat. If you see a monster, you've gone too far.'

You were too prideful to ask for better guidance, so you watched him jog away while you unslung your bow.

You didn't think you were lost, you knew the way back, you just didn't know the road forward. You'd been walking for twenty minutes and to no avail, there wasn't a single house in sight. You didn't reach the first person until ten more minutes of mindless excavating, it was around the time you'd been considering giving up and heading back anyway.

'Hey,' you said, trying not to be too expressive of your relief. 'Hi, I'm with the castle. Could you tell me where the Offices—?'

The woman in front of you curled back her lips in a growl-cum-hiss, her monster teeth descending over her make-believe ones, her eyes synthesizing into snake-like slits that were feral from going hungry for days.

You slid to your knees when she charged and you easily stabbed her with your arrow into her heart, the silver twisting with your wrist. You got out from under her to be jumped on by someone from behind. The forest floor smacked into your cheek and you grunted, but your hand had found your dagger and it was already inserted backward into her body, you twisted it to let the second, partnering Vetala crumble atop you. You crawled out from under her, dusting your dagger off from her caved-in chest cavity.

You sensed the presence before the hand encased your shoulder. You whipped about with your weapon raised, and it clanged against another sliver-iron blade before it could decapitate . . . Dean.

His eyes looked beyond you and on the two dead bodies. He seemed impressed; Vetalas were superior in strength, and agility, and had a great venomous bite - if you didn't act fast, you would never act at all. Besides silver, you learned that ravenous hunger was also a weakness for them, as it was for most monsters in this warring world.

'You're a good fighter,' he said.

'You don't have to sound so surprised,' you gritted, adding more weight to your evenly curved knife to prove your point. It didn't budge Dean's strength but he raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement.

'Duck,' he calmly said. And you released all energy from your feet to fall even before you'd fully processed his words. You heard the shriek above your head as Dean used his silver sword to impale the newcomer. You were more focused on Dean's feet though, there was another set behind him, in an attacking stance, gaining on him.

Your legs swept out Dean's from under him. He lost his balance and fell backward right onto the monster, knocking the male to the ground. You used your momentum to somersault diagonally over Dean's frame, your faces aligning a foot apart for a second before you were straightening and plunging the dagger down so that the rousing Vetala would never wake again.

'Was that completely necessary?' Dean groused as he sat up.

'No; just as your surprise wasn't,' you said, feeling smug. Your expression fell when you heard more unseen hisses follow.

'How big can a Vetalas nest be?' you asked.

'With our economy and luck?' Dean scoffed; shouting: 'Run!'

He was on your tail, his sword flashing dangerously. You kept an arrow nocked in your bow even if you planned to use your daggers primarily - since if you shot a Vetala, they'd need the weapon twisted into their hearts to fully die anyway.

Dean was shouting instructions from behind you until you reached a rope ladder. You started climbing at a run. Dean forewent the rope and was clawing his way up the bark, somehow faster than you were.

By the time you reached the top, Dean was kneeling with his sword raised, his eyes trained under you. You scrambled to get your legs on the platform that was made over the branch of this tree. Dean's sword swished inches below you and got stuck into the Vetala's heart that had chased you up. Dean let it go with a twist and it fell atop its partner who screamed in grief and horror. You cut down the rope ladder so none of them tried to climb up again.

With delay, you noticed the railing; it was a watchtower that Dean had shooed you onto.

'Help me dismantle this thing,' Dean ordered, already striking blows on the screws that held your platform up with a pocketknife.

'We lost them!' you exclaimed in alarm.

'We compromised our position,' he said, nodding towards the trees beyond the enormous trunk of the one you were on. 'If we leave this place, they'll track us back to our treehouses.'

You couldn't argue with that logic no matter how much you'd've liked to. Even now, the Vetalas were clamoring under your position for a drop of blood and the flesh of your meat.

'I,' you swallowed with difficulty. 'I don't know how to swing away.'

'I know,' Dean said, untying a knot around the trunk. 'I remember.'

It took you a moment to stare at his profile to understand that that was the exact reason he'd left a rope ladder for you to climb up with; no one else from his side knew about your climbing problem yet. You pulled yourself to your feet and started working on the other ropes.

'How long were you watching me walk off the wrong path?' you asked, unable to keep disdain from your voice.

He shot you a "get-real" look. 'I wasn't. I saw you from my window, and then I saw the monster. I brought you here instead of the offices so we wouldn't lead them in.'

'How did you know it was a monster?' you demanded next.

He gave you a wan look. 'No human walks on the ground unless it's enchanted, Y/N.'

He said it so obviously that you felt like facepalming. If you see a monster, you've gone too far.

Monsters are usually kept away from human civilizations unless they've gone feral. Or unless you walked into their territory. You were so used to owning the lands that you didn't realize that all the humans would be on the trees here. If you'd run back, you would've easily exposed all the treehouses to the Vetalas, so Dean had given you a lucky break by saving you.

'Thanks,' you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up. Dean either didn't hear you or he ignored you; either way, you were grateful.

'Do you trust me?' he asked when all the ropes and screws were undone. He held up a hand for you to latch onto, his other hand grasping onto the single last rope that still kept you uplifted on the teetering platform. You had your own hands clutching the bark of the tree as if that would keep you from falling the thirty feet. Heights never made you nauseous until they resembled death.

Between death and Dean, you would gladly choose the latter; 'No. But I don't have a choice.'

His lips curved into an almost snarl, he shook his head. 'You're unbelievable,' he said, guiding your hand around his waist so that you were holding him from behind.

'Thanks,' you said pettily. You didn't see Dean's eyes roll.

'Hold tight,' he said, checking your grip.

You had to stifle your yelp of terror when he let go of the rope and the construction under you unravelled. But you were already flying. Dean's hands changed branches, and your eyes squished shut, holding onto him like a vice. Wind rippled your pony in short bursts and every rise and fall made your stomach swoop with fretful adrenaline.

'Alright, get off,' Dean tapped your hands, panting from exertion. You opened one of your eyes like a cartoon character and glanced around him to check that it was indeed safe to let go. You then pushed away from him like he was made of hot coals.

He turned with a sigh and a hand through his hair. He laid a critical eye on you while he caught his breath. He wouldn't be winded normally, but with the added weight, he'd felt the strain in his arms and the roughness on his palms.

'How do you not know how to climb trees?' he demanded.

You frowned, 'You didn't care before.'

'I didn't know you were a Leader then,' he pointed out.

Your lips curved further down. 'I'm a quick study, Mr—'

'That wasn't my question,' he cut you off, stubbornly waiting for the correct answer.

You exhaled sharply, your eyes veering over his shoulder. '. . . We didn't think it was important.'

'We?'

'My mom,' you sighed. 'In her defense, we didn't think I was going to ever be deployed.'

'You were next in line after Gordon,' he reasonably said. 'You were the most significant candidate. Even Seth knows how to climb trees.'

You crossed your arms. 'That's different. He's a Firstborn.'

'And you were first-in-line. It would be acceptable if you didn't know how to make ground-level construction, or even underground, for that matter. But you were an heir to Europe - you should know about treehouses!'

Ground-level houses were a feature of Asia and underground was a strong suit for America. Treehouses were a proud European quality. So on and so forth. While all the Firstborns were compulsorily made to learn all forms of living, the first-in-lines were given the education of the Continents which they may or may not rule one day.

Your parents just found that a waste of time and energy, especially on you. They were gamblers of sorts, risk-takers for a better word - and they took the risk of never educating you about treehouses, letting your skills instead be used on the battlefield just because there was a large chance you'd never leave America and instead serve as a hopefully valuable hunter to your brother for the rest of your life.

'I'll learn it,' you assured Dean with a taut jaw.

'That's not the point,' he said, exasperated with you. 'You almost got yourself killed.'

You winced at the accusation. 'I understand that I threatened the sanctity of the Offices. I'll refrain from entering until I learn—'

'You're not listening to me,' he said, an octave higher as if you weren't physically hearing. 'You almost died.'

'I know. That's bad rep, I get it.'

'No!' he threw his hands up in frustration. 'It's like talking to a wall,' he turned away, telling no one. Your fuse sparked as it often did around Dean.

'Excuse me?'

He met your steely gaze. 'Is anger the only way I can get you to speak human?'

'If you mean irrationally, then you're on the right path,' you said, your hand on your dagger that you barely resisted the urge to pull on him.

'Do you ever listen to yourself?' he got in your face despite noticing your hand on the offensive.

It was with a magnanimous effort that you kept your mouth shut. You felt like your head would explode with the veins throbbing in it.

He was your superior. No matter how much you hated it, that was the truth now. And you couldn't talk to a superior the way you would talk to everyone else . . . 

'Sorry,' you bit, lowering your eyes. It was a blow to your ego.

He took a literal step back in surprise. A wave of disturbance disrupted his fury. It was exactly what you should've said, but it was exactly what you wouldn't.

His brows creased. 'I'll . . . Let me drop you back at the compound.'

'As you wish, Mr Winchester,' you obliged.

He hid it from you, but his face fell. You had been his last interaction that didn't treat him like he was always right; you weren't supposed to treat him so formally, like he was so separate from you, so far removed. He felt like an alien again. His loneliness hit him square in the chest again, like the last person who could've understood him, failed.

It's your fault. Must be; he pushed you too far. He shouldn't expect anyone to get it, anyway.

No one needed you.

You were under the impression that the whole day, you would work with the people and then, at night you could practice on trees.

So far, Dean had left the palace for a high-profile case, in unspoken words, leaving the palace in your hands. But no one seemed to need you.

For example when there was a problem with the supplies; someone called Sebastian, even though you were standing right across the room. A supply run was organized and no one asked you on it.

All the major meetings were happening at the Offices. All of them were impromptu. By the time the news could reach you at the palace, they would already be done with it, and be gone on their separate ways for different cases.

Everyone kept going and coming back like waves of the ocean, chatting among themselves happily. Since your team's rooms were on a shared floor with some of the hunters, they'd been included in the hunts. But there was no place for another Leader.

You considered taking a case of your own, but as luck would have it, Dean banned you from cases without a treehouse skill. Something which you contemplated storming over to him about - but that would only make him angrier with you, you'd decided. He was your superior, and he could do what he wanted with you.

You tried to sway some of the crowd in your favor by going to a weekly bonfire. Not only did people refuse to talk to you properly, but they also talked behind your back, literally, and you heard several of them spreading ill-meaning rumors about you. You didn't bother showing up to make friends or save face again.

As a last resort, you dedicated all your hours at the camp to the safer side of the forest where children aging from five to fifteen would learn the skills to be hunters. Technically, they didn't have a category for you either, or any equipment to teach you. So, you picked a tall tree you liked, requested for nets from Salem, the instructor, and started learning on your own - experience was a better teacher than any human, anyways.

Benny's gifted gloves were stashed in the drawers of your room, so you were operating with the torn and abused training gloves from the basket they had at the entry of this little training center. They were abysmal: they stunk your hands and would occasionally slip on the rope—but you didn't want any reminders from the night Lay died.

You'd refused a harness from a concerned Salem and told her that a net shall suffice you. You would not be treated like a child.

If you wanted to be respected, you needed to earn it.

This was the line you would repeat every time you fell into the net with a force that would punch the air out of your lungs. The net was so hard that it also started leaving a small patchwork of bruises across your skin. It would have been good fodder for children to laugh at, had you gone in front of them - but you weren't leaving the training center without climbing a significant fucking portion of the tree.

'Lady L/N?' Salem called up to you. You were one-fourth of the way up on the tree.

'Yes?' you called back. Your body was hot and burning from the exercise that day. Your head was slightly faint from falling and from being forced to climb in a horizontal manner all day. Your fingers seemed to be developing ulcers. And the worst of all was the sweltering sweat that seemed to ooze from every available pore of your skin.

'We're closing!'

The students were sent home around seven but Salem tended to wait back until eleven. For the first time that evening, you looked up and saw the night sky.

You remembered having lunch at four, with the other children of the centre. You also remember how you took a plate, flustered with all the points and whispers in your direction, and ducked into Salem's cabin to have a quick quiet scarf down before you headed back to your training post - the tallest tree in their program.

You dared to look down now - it made your heart drop to your stomach when you actually saw the height difference. You swallowed, focusing on the mini Salem Rodriguez on the ground.

'Hand me the keys,' you said, like every day. You would be locking up.

She nodded. You tightened the hold of the rope around your right hand and prepared to let go with the other. She stepped back and made a motion to throw the object high into the air (at least seven feet, attributed to how tall the tree was).

A moment later, the keys came sailing across the air and you pushed off the bark on the swinging rope to catch it mid-air. You had to slide down a few paces and swing more to the right before you could reach it with a hand in the air.

You were so happy that you simply caught it that you forgot you were hurtling back towards the tree. Your right side slammed hard into the thick wood, your knuckles scraping harshly against it to make you lose your grip. And you fell.

Face-first, this time. The net hit your left side and you moaned in pain.

Salem wanted to rush forward like she did with all her other students - they would wear a harness and rarely fall on nets which hurt - but she knew how you would scold.

You took a minute before you shakily pulled yourself up, groaning. Some sweat got into your eye so you had to blink harder.

Salem gasped, 'You're bleeding!' She couldn't control her mother-hen instincts now; she walked, gracefully on one of the thin tightropes, balancing herself flawlessly.

You glanced down, but couldn't find a wound - then again, your eyes weren't focused. Your free aching hand reached your forehead brushed away the sweaty hair, but came away with blood. Your temperature was so warm from the exhausting day that you didn't feel a difference between the two.

Oh. A head wound, you frowned.

'I'm fine,' you protested as Salem crouched over you. She examined you despite it.

'It's not deep,' she breathed out. 'But you're bleeding a lot. I think I have a first-aid in the office.'

'Please,' you exclaimed. 'I don't need your help.'

She seemed to disagree. You silenced her by raising your hand.

'Shut the place,' you handed her the key back.

What a wasteful night, you thought. With much more effort and much less elegance, you walked out of the net.

You were brisk as you fled the center and practically ran across the safely marked trail back to the palace. You burst out of the trees and took the backdoor into the palace.

You were anxious to get to your room without any encounters - you didn't need anyone to know that you were injured even without going to any hunts. None of them would get hurt tree-climbing.

In your haste, you crashed into a large wall-like body. You cried out when it affected your right side this time. You stepped away holding your right hip.

When your eyes shifted from the chest your face bumped into, your eyes found the boisterous Sebastian.

'Sorry,' he laughed in amusement, but it died out soon. In the dark, it wasn't apparent, but when his eyes raked over your body, he stiffened.

'I wasn't looking,' you said, your own way of apology. You dropped your hands to the sides to not appear weak.

You made to rush past him when his hand caught yours. You hissed in pain when it tugged on your throbbing left side. He dropped it immediately.

'What's wrong?' he asked.

'Nothing,' you emphasized. 'If you could please keep this to yourself . . . .'

He raised his hands in surrender.

'Should I send Selina to—?'

'No!' you half-yelled. 'I can take care of myself!' You almost ran after that. Away from these meaningless concerns, away from this annoying and senseless small talk.

The hot water beating your body felt so much better. The whole time, you were fighting tears of frustration. Fighting, and succeeding.

This was just a minor setback, right?

Of course. Even if you had your own palace, you would have to learn treehousing and tree-climbing at some point.

People would need me there, your irritation barked back.

You hadn't done a single productive work in two weeks since you arrived here. Nothing noteworthy except the tree lessons.

You tried to console yourself by considering how well you were doing with the hammocks - the first lesson in treehousing. If you could sleep in a hammock all night without falling - it would be a success.

That happened once a week, at the center. The one time you'd gone, you'd managed your four hours without meeting the net they'd set under the trees. Of course, the real challenge would be to sleep much longer in there, like all the children were supposed to - but you were an adult, sleep was foreign to you anyway.

After that one night, just to make yourself feel a bit better, and to practice, you'd been constructing a hammock in your bedroom every night and sleeping in it in spite of having a perfectly well-constructed, largest-sized bed they could find.

You ruffled for something comfortable in your walk-in closet. You wouldn't admit this to anyone - and no one needed to find it out either - but you liked sleeping in shorts and a loose top.

The only advantage of less workload right now was that you didn't fall asleep atop a pile of books or papers, and certainly not in your work clothes. Now, you actually had time to change and time to choose where you wanted to fall asleep.

You picked the satin shorts and the buttoned shirt that was two sizes too large on you - it was your brother's, and when it got too small on him, you stole it. It was old enough that the print had been stripped after multiple washes. It was the only piece you owned of his; it comforted you on dismaying nights as such.

You also treated your wound and downed a painkiller along with a granola bar from your nightstand to avoid acid reflux from the medicine.

You were trying to decide whether you would read a political book or a monster book in bed when there was a knock on the door.

You froze first, in surprise. Then, you were annoyed.

Sighing, you headed for the door and hid yourself behind it, only letting your face pop out.

It was Sebastian.

'Are you decent?' he asked.

'I'm in my night dress,' you gritted out.

'So decent,' he pushed your door in, forcing you to open it wide.

You huffed, 'How dare—?'

'I see you bandaged it,' he pointed to your head. 'Good.' He suddenly shone his pocket torch in your eyes, 'Doesn't seem like a concussion.'

You batted his hand away, 'Mr Slay—!'

'Did you eat?' he cut you off again. 'You must've taken an Ibuprofen.'

'What does that have to do with your invasion of my privacy?' your voice was razored, and your eyes were daggered.

'I'm hungry,' he said innocently.

It threw off your anger. Just like Dean, Sebastian was another person who dared to play with your anger. At least you could scold Sebastian for it.

'I'm very close to filing a complaint that will blotch your reputation darkly, Mr Slay,' you warned.

He pressed his lips. To you, it seemed in fear. But he was actually suppressing his smirk because he thought it was funny.

'Maybe I phrased it wrong,' he said. 'Would you like to have dinner?'

You blinked in bewilderment.

Of all the things, you did not expect a dinner invitation.

'The kitchens are closed,' you pointed out. 'The cooks have gone to bed.'

The last dinnertime was ten o'clock. It was eleven-thirty now. You usually missed dinners these days because you would stay out till midnight to practice. In the mornings you would be ravenous with your breakfast - going in during the first slot at six while most hunters couldn't be bothered to be drug off their beds until ten.

There, Esmeralda, the Head Chef, and the only person native to this palace you could somewhat tolerate besides Salem, would whip you up something special before you made your way to the center again as the first student around eight - again, most kids wouldn't show up until ten.

'Aw, I think you'll like our new cook,' he said, with a grin that made you suspicious.

You debated the consequences of your actions before your curiosity won you over in Sebastian's favor.

He only gave you enough time to put your fluffy slippers on before he was chatting your ear off all the way down. You barely heard a word because you were fuming at him for not letting you change, and throw some make-up on. He said the food would get cold and that that would hurt the chef's feelings—something you didn't want to risk.

Inside the large, cavernous space of the kitchen, a single station was making the sound of pots and pans. One half of the room was dedicated to five hundred stations for cooks to either help the Head Chef cook food or to help themselves - after all, the palace consisted of about a thousand people.

Not all the stations were always used, with one-third of them leaving for hunts almost daily. But it was very useful in the days of balls and such.

The other half of the room was long tables of the mess which was only full to its capacity in peak hours. Other times, it was groups of people scattered about, laughing and chattering at the only time of the day when none of them had to worry.

Now, the room was empty. Emptier than the mornings. You never came to kitchen except in the slots because you didn't know how to cook - so, you'd never seen it like this before.

There were about five or six groups of people sitting wide apart, having cooked for themselves. Their disheveled appearance indicated that they'd returned from hunts. You envied them for that.

Sebastian led you away from the mess and towards the only working station on the other end. As you drew closer, you wanted to run away that much farther because you recognized the face.

'Hey,' Sebastian greeted. You wanted to clap a hand over his mouth because you still hadn't decided whether you should run or not.

A point that ran moot when the "chef" spared a glance from his skillful work.

Was there something this man couldn't do?

Dean's eyes locked on yours, and he stilled for a second.

'Hey,' he said, suddenly wary. 'What's she doing here?' he didn't look away from you.

You wanted the earth to open up and swallow you. His eyes danced down your figure and you became extremely conscious of your clothing choice.

To make matters worse, 'Cute shorts,' he smirked tiny.

Sebastian chuckled. 'You don't mind feeding another mouth, do you?'

Dean shrugged. 'So long as she tells me what happened there,' he gestured to his own forehead.

Another deep blush took root in your face. You were trying to remember a time more embarrassing than this. Both the boys were looking in your direction for an answer.

'I fell,' you said, your voice so low that the sizzle of the pan ate it.

'What?' Sebastian said.

You frowned scathingly. 'I fell during tree-climbing, okay?' you ground out, bracing yourself for depreciating laughter.

. . . None came.

'Too bad,' Sebastian said, leaning against a counter. 'So, we were on this pagen God case,' he started, and launched into a detailed narration of his recent-most case with Dean, with animated hand gestures and all.

It happened so fast that you needed a second to process it - he switched topics so quickly as if it didn't matter to him. How could this not matter to him - this was fuel against you - this made you non-perfect to be a Leader . . .

Dean only paid one ear to him, adding a comment or two to tell you the real version instead of Sebastain's exaggerated one.

You didn't know what to do with yourself. You weren't comfortable enough to lean against a counter, so you settled for standing stiffly still, with your hands by your side, as if in attention, about to start a march.

Dean added food to three plates when he was done and gave one to Sebastian, allowing him to take a breath. He gave you the other plate and walked away without a word.

'C'mon,' Sebastian enthusiastically said. 'And then,' he resumed, somehow still with some energy, 'Dean, the hero, saved the child by swinging over the inferno and grabbing the child by one hand. He threw the kid in the water and then swung back only to kick the monster in the chest and poof!' he made waves of fire with his free hand to indicate the incineration of the Feral.

'I'm not a hero,' Dean interjected, grabbing the first seat on the first table of the mess he first came across.

You didn't say a word. Once again, you were envious. Hunting sounded like such a blast and a good vent. It made you scowl harder at the food as you took your seat against Dean's.

Sebastian hovered for a second. 'Anyways, bye.'

Panic seized you, and you snapped your head up in alarm. Dean seemed to have the same reaction: 'Where are you going?'

'Oh, I promised I'd drink with the B2,' he winked. 'You know, Boa and Baz,' he explained when he saw the uncomprehending look on your face. 'Thanks for dinner, boss,' he saluted mischievously. And he walked away with his plate.

You never thought you would be upset with Sebastian leaving.

Now you were alone with Dean. He seemed just as upset as you. So he focused on his food, grumbling some curse words for his right-hand man.

You decided that if you shoved food in your mouth, it wouldn't have a place for your foot to go in.

First bite in, and you almost moaned. Your decorum held up, but you were flabbergasted by how delicious the meal proved to be. While you disliked the cook deeply, his culinary skills were extraordinary.

You tore off a few more bites of your scrumptious burger, wishing you could have good meals like this every day.

You loved Esmeralda, but she was an excellent European cook, and Dean's taste seemed to be more American. It reminded you of your homeland . . .

'Is it good?' his voice startled you for no reason. There was a thread of insecurity in his eye as if your response would matter.

You gulped your mouthful and nodded slowly. 'Yours is the second-most tasty burger I've ever had.'

He seemed equally offended, amused, and curious. 'Who's the first?'

You hesitated but he had so kindly cooked for you. Surely, you could repay in answers. Even if they were very personal.

'My father,' you admitted.

He looked surprised.

You offered a friendly smile, 'He cooked once for me. Well, if we're keeping count, he's cooked fourteen times for me.'

Dean tried hard to keep his poker face. If he knew that he could get you talking with food, he'd have done it a long time ago.

You seemed pensive. 'They were my rewards. For doing well in my training.' You mused then, 'Clearly a hard man to please.' You chuckled sadly then. 'I wonder what I did to get this,' you lifted your plate to show him with a self-criticizing smile as if that was supposed to be a joke.

His heart took a hit.

'I can cook for you as many times as you want,' he blurted out before he could think about it.

It confounded you. Your eyebrows raised, 'That's not necessary, Mr Winchester. I'm sure you have better things to do.'

Your walls had gone up again.

He couldn't stop himself, 'Can't you just take it when someone's being nice to you?'

'You don't have to do me a favor,' you repeated, getting more defensive.

He realized that the moment was lost. It made him sad and frustrated. And the most annoying part was that he seemed to care. For an inexplicable reason, he couldn't help but feel like he needed to care about you. And it was very vexing that you wouldn't let him - that you made it so hard for him.

'Fine,' he mumbled hotly.

With the atmosphere ruined, you both ate in silence.

He was getting up after he practically inhaled his food when another group passed by.

'Hey, D-dawg!' one of the men uttered.

'Hey, Sonny,' Dean grinned.

'Some of us are heading to the waterhole to kill some wraiths and have some dives. One day job. You in?'

'Hell yeah,' Dean said. 'Meet me out in twenty.'

They all approved in murmurs and exited lazily, laughing and cheering. Dean also felt excited, his previous tiredness disappearing.

His quota for the week was done, but he wouldn't say no to some extra adrenaline. Plus, it had been ages since he got time to swim at the nearby lake. It would be a good way to wind down after the Leviathan fiasco which was just calming across his continent.

It struck Dean that it would be a simple hunt. Despite his earlier anger, he turned to extend that invitation.

Only to find you had slipped away.

He saw you at one of the sinks, putting your plate in the dishwasher and then scuttling out of the kitchens without another look in his direction.

He sighed. If you wanted to be difficult about this, he couldn't help you. Slightly miffed, he cleared his own utensils and went to grab his hunting duffel.

You didn't see Dean for another month.

Mostly because you changed your schedule a little, allowing you to avoid the castle outside of the five hours where you needed to sleep for four and do the shower stuff for the other one. You were putting in extra hours at the training center because you were pissed about being benched on hunts. You'd even requested Esmerelda to store some food in the fridge for you at night which you could heat up in the mornings before anyone came to the kitchen - running a microwave was as far as your culinary genius went.

You were now proud to say that you could climb the trees - slowly, but without a freaking rope. You could construct a treehouse alone even if it took you a little more time than the natives to make and find the raw materials on your own. You could swing amazingly, lifting your own body weight gracefully; it was the best part so far.

Today was the first day at your Office after Salem had officially cleared you.

You adored your treehouse.

It had two windows for cross-breeze, and a desk with a chair that had excellent lumbar support. You had your own coffee maker. And even a little material to make your own hammock if you decide to sleep over. There was a short balcony with a railing that faced other treehouses in the area; you could see the Offices slowly filling with people who yelled platitudes to each other.

As the first one there, from four in the morning, you saw it all unfold in front of you, observing more than interacting. You also kept your door open as a sign of welcome . . . even though no one took you up on that.

Until noon, that is.

A lean, muscular figure trotted in.

'Hey! You're working!' Sebastian said as if cheering.

You shot him a dirty look.

'Hi, Lady Y/N,' Selina said, pleasantly, and much more formally. She subtly nudged Sebastian to behave.

As if Sebastian would ever change.

'Ms Doll,' you acknowledged, 'Mr Slay.'

'How have you been?' Selina asked softly.

'Good,' you smiled, meaning it for the first time. 'Did you climb up?'

She seemed to blush at that. 'Mr Slay was kind enough to offer a ride.'

'Ah,' you nodded. Selina or Sal or Lay hadn't needed to learn the tree-related stuff, and Boa and Baz knew how - they'd taken classes with Seth before joining your team. Most warriors knew how, yet as there had been a large possibility (according to your mother), that you would only be a wife to someone and not a Leader yourself, she had told you to learn it (when) if it was required.

You had stopped telling her that even if you were never a Leader, your chances of becoming a wife were slim to none. You had seen enough marriages to know how that shit ended.

'How can I help you two?'

'Well, I've been looking for you,' Sebastian said. 'Do you know we're hosting a fundraiser?'

That sent a jolt through you.

'Excuse me?'

'Tomorrow night, actually,' Selina gently said. 'You've been so busy at the center that we weren't sure you knew.'

So that was why you shouldn't avoid the people you don't like; it comes to bite you back in the ass.

'Well,' you paused, trying to swallow that pill. 'Thank you,' you said, mannered even if you felt like a deer caught in the flashlight of the hunter who would murder it.

'I don't think you feel good anymore,' Sebastian said. Selina nudged him again.

It nettled you enough to compose yourself. 'I will be there.'

'With whom?' he asked back.

Selina hurried to add, 'The theme is a masquerade. Everyone's with a date.'

'A theme?' You'd never had a theme before!

'Hunters like fun,' Sebastian shrugged. 'It was my idea,' he added, probably just to annoy you.

You scowled furiously at him.

Dressing was not the problem. The date thing was.

As if grasping for straws, 'What about Boa and Baz?' They were celibates. They'd sworn off dating and marriage and in general everything like that because of their magnanimous commitment to their Continents. It ran in their family.

'They're coming together,' Selina said. 'You can go with anyone platonic as well.'

'Would you like to go with me?' you asked, earnestly and relieved.

She turned tomato red. 'I, um, I—'

'She's going with me,' Sebastian said to her. 'As a date,' he had no qualms about declaring it.

Of freaking course.

It was all you could do to not let your face fall.

'I see.'

'I'm sorry,' she comforted.

'Please don't be,' you quickly stopped her. 'I'm happy for you,' you meant that, with like five percent of your heart. The other ninety-five was judging her choice.

She seemed to know your heart, but she gave you a tentative smile.

'Anyways,' Sebastian said. 'Dean hopes you'll show.'

You couldn't figure out if he was lying or not.

'We'll leave you to your first day. We hope it's good,' Selina said. You were grateful for her.

They turned to leave, Sebastian guiding your Chief Medic off to the grounds.

You sullenly twirled your dagger in your hands. You didn't want a date, but you didn't want to be the only person who showed up without one either.

Then again, you loathed the whole notion and concept of needing another person to do anything.

Oh, how Sebastian found new ways to torment you.

That same evening, you noticed the lights flicker on in the treehouse right in front of you. The closest one to you, and the farthest from everyone else's. In fact, even yours was a bit ways away from the others'.

People walked from one treehouse to another on ropes. There was a single rope to walk on, and two to hold at the midwaist level while you did. Only a few treehouses had planks to cross with. Most people swung away if they could. All child's play for natives here, of course.

You didn't know who the treehouse belonged to until a tall man walked out to light his lamp; you hadn't even known he'd been in there the whole day in the first place—he must be stealthy despite his large frame. You gazed at him, slightly distracted, impressed by his broad shoulders and bowlegs that went on for days, a lean waist, and a muscular build.

It wasn't until the soft glow of the fire that lit up his face that you realized you knew the man.

As if sensing your eyes, he looked up to catch your stare.

You couldn't look away fast enough. You pretended to get busy with the files on your table - you'd been given a stack from the treasury to distribute income amongst the hunters. You were on the eightieth file. The ones done neatly stacked by your feet. You would ask Boa to pick them up the next day.

When you sneaked a glance up, he had disappeared inside. You let out a breath you didn't know you had been holding.

Don't be a coward, your mind yelled at you. You had to talk to Dean anyway to tell him you were ready for hunts.

Grabbing a fortifying breath, you marched across the tightrope - or well, you trembled on your feet like a toddler walking for the first time, with a death grip on the side ropes. You were very happy when you reached the solid ground of his balcony.

You knocked on his door rhythmically.

When it swung in, he paused, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

'Y/N,' he said, a shiver ran down your spine, seemingly affected by his deep baritone.

Maybe there's a nip in the air, you attributed it to the climate.

Anyhow, it should be annoying that he would call you by your name. Formalities are necessary in colleagues.

As if demonstrating, 'Mr Winchester. Hello.'

'Hi?' he asked, more than said.

'I would like to discuss my joining on the hunts.'

'With me?' he quirked a brow, stepping in.

'Yes,' you told his turned back. You wished he would talk face-to-face. 'Who else?'

Sebastian, Dean thought.

'Right,' he didn't put up a fight though. 'How good do you fight?' he asked, retaking a seat in his chair.

'Well,' you said. 'My record is a nest.'

Dean opened his mouth but changed his words last minute. 'Are you gonna come in?'

You were reluctant. 'You didn't invite me in,' but at least you stepped inside.

Dean sighed. This woman.

'I don't care, okay? You can walk in any time you want.'

'If that's what you want,' you folded your hands in front of you.

He hated that posture of yours. He moved on.

'How big a nest are we talking?' he asked.

'Thirty in vampires, or seven Wendigos,' you smirked. 'Give or take.'

Dean liked those numbers. 'A night?' he confirmed.

You shrugged, but he could feel the smugness radiating off of you. 'Solo,' you added.

He nodded, sold. 'Alright. You can start when we have a hunt for you in the foreseeable future,' he told you. 'Or you can join a group that's going.'

'Oh,' you said, shoulders drooping. 'I thought, uh, I could start after the fundraiser?'

'Look, you and I - we only get cases no one else can take. If it gets too much for me, I'll let you have one, okay?' Dean said. 'For now, I'm good, so maybe you can entertain the idea of joining others.'

That diminished your hopes further. Dean took extra cases with people because he finished his own with bonus time; he was that good.

As for the other people: after that bonfire, you knew you weren't welcome.

He was essentially saying that you would never be hunting.

Figures, your heart panged; they never have needed you - only because you can climb now, doesn't mean that they'll start needing you. They must have far better people who can replace you here.

'Thanks,' you said with a tightness.

You looked beautiful.

A crimson satin gown that hugged your figure exactly, it had a sweetheart neckline so it perched at the end of your shoulder blades delicately. It touched your skin till your knees, curving to your body curves and slanting smoothly towards the floor. After your knees, it flared out backward like a train and grazed the ground from there. It was frilled, giving the gown a passionate look. It had white gloves that came up to your elbows.

Your hair was done up in curls, a few left out, purposely messy, that framed your face like curtains. And the make-up made you look like a doll.

These people didn't fail to make you feel like one too—like you were breakable and replaceable.

Patriarchy, one; you, zero. These were the same Governors who had wanted your advice back at your castle - in your jurisdiction.

With Dean's strong presence, many conversations had turned to compliment you and never returned to what actually mattered.

What was even more degrading was that they started to woo you. It was different to bring it up during the Debutant Ball; it's a devious occasion where everyone can unofficially court you. But this is a fundraiser, and you are not up for fucking auction - if only someone could tell these horny, lonely bastards.

You flounced out to the balcony with your third drink in your hand. May Lay forgive you from the Heavens above - but you were getting slammed if this is how everyone was going to treat you for the rest of your Leadership.

Your hopes to be alone and have a pity party were squashed when you saw Dean on the balcony, doing what you were going to.

Before you could turn around and hide in another corner, he noticed you.

'Y/N, hey.'

You silently cursed the Universe.

Your smile was strained as you walked towards him.

'Mr Winchester,' you said.

'Having fun?' he asked, dully.

You were about to lie through your teeth when you noticed that his attention was already elsewhere. He was looking at the moon, eyes lost, and expression contorted with . . . grief.

'. . . Are you?'

He snorted, sipping from his flute. 'Yeah. I'm the life of the freaking party.'

He was; everyone wanted two cents of his time. You wished you could be in his lieu. What was his problem? He had everything.

'What's wrong?' you pried.

He took a deep breath. 'I can't stand it.'

'What?'

'The fanfare,' he frowned. 'Doesn't feel like much time has gone by since Jess—' he couldn't finish the thought, so he finished his drink.

Okay . . . you were wrong - he didn't have everything. You had to remind yourself that people cared about more than their work.

You had just the one response but saying "sorry" had gotten you nowhere last time.

'Handling grief is the only thing that practice can't perfect,' you said.

He gave you a strange look for that.

'You sound experienced.'

'Aren't we all?' you gave him the ghost of a smile.

'You're doing a really bad job of comforting me,' he claimed. 'If that's at all what you're doing.'

'It gets easier, if not perfect,' you shrugged.

'So give it time?' he scoffed. 'That's your big brilliant advice?'

'No,' you said. 'Forgive yourself, it'll get easier.'

'What does that mean?' he stood straighter.

'Everyone doesn't move on for a different reason,' you said. 'You have survivor's guilt.'

'You don't know anything about me,' his jaw clenched.

'You're a survivor,' you informed him, 'like me.'

A buzzer cut his answer short. He fished out a pager, already distracted from you.

'I need to go,' he murmured seriously.

He rushed away before you could ask him if you could help.

You hadn't even finished your drink when you sensed a presence behind your back.

'Everything okay?' you asked, turning, expecting Dean.

But it was the French Governor: Neel Simone. He was a hateful fellow who had taken an apparent fascination with making your life hell.

'Lovely night, yes, Lady?' he said or sneered.

'I've had my fill,' you said, gesturing to the gorgeous scenery from the balcony. 'I'll let you have yours.'

He blocked your side-step. You shot him a glance of caution.

'Cut the shy girl crap,' he definitely sneered this time.

Your brows shot up.

'This is all your fault,' he accused. He stumbled a few steps towards you which was when the stench hit you, making you cringe immediately.

'You're drunk.'

'Well, I was supposed to be the Leader,' he snarled. 'But then you come along! Older by a fucking month!' he spat at your feet.

A piece of information floated to you.

'You're a Secondborn.' One of his ancestors was once a Leader, you recalled. His older sister had passed away when she was young.

Complicated and stupid rules dictated that only a Firstborn man could replace your Leadership. You were a Temp only till that time when a Firstborn man turned mature. Even a Firstborn woman won't take your place because what was the point of replacing a woman with another when they could wait out for a man on the horizon?

Unless of course, any woman, Firstborn, or Secondborn, or just off the street - whoever she was, if she married a Firstborn man already in the ruling, then no one could replace her.

A Secondborn won't ever replace you now because it was too overwhelming to shift between Leaders, man or a woman. The only way another Secondborn would replace you was if you were fired, or if you died.

You grew wary as you got the feeling as to why Mr Simone was here.

'They send a wussy like you from America - this was my only chance!' he yelled drunkenly, advancing on you.

Your weapons are in your purse, sitting next to your date's, Esmeralda's, purse, along with the damn masquerade masks. (Yes, you asked your sweet, sassy, widowed cook to go with you platonically.)

He had over three inches on you. With your heels, you covered that difference and then some. His inhibitions were lowered which would make throwing him off the balcony easy if you placed a kick right.

But then, like an arrow it struck you, Not my jurisdiction.

'Walk away while you can, Mr Simone,' you requested, as sternly as you could. He may not be able to kill you, but people will believe him over you, no questions asked.

'You're threatening me!?' he grabbed you by the shoulders. His bad breath hit you full force and you tried to step back, but he had an ironclad hold on you. You were extremely uncomfortable with proximity to this man.

'A weakling like you - how dare you - how dare they!?'

You were surprised his cries weren't drawing out any people; the ballroom was adjacent to this balcony. Then again, the music and chatter were booming from the inside, and the translucent glass was vibrating in celebration the last you'd seen it.

'I'll show them I'm worthy,' he bared his teeth. 'I'll show them I belong instead of you! You can't even lift a fucking finger against me!'

To your shock, he didn't attack you the "traditional" way. You realized with a shudder of horror that he was talking about assaulting you as another way to prove his manliness. His lips zoomed towards yours like a smelly insect you'd never want in your mouth.

You did what any woman would to a freaking rodent - you smacked him - across his cheek, making his skin ripple there.

His hands on you loosened.

'You bitch!' came his cry; to you, it sounded afar. Your ears were buzzing with anger - all you felt was disgust.

You didn't let him come any closer after that. Your kick landed on his family jewels, and he let loose a shuddering screech, falling to his knees.

You grabbed him by his hair and dragged the man forward to the edge, raising him to his knees by his joke-worthy strands, twisting them painfully.

'This is why I'm the boss, bitch!'

'I'll have your job!' he gritted out.

You were afraid of that. You smashed his head on the cement railing, breaking his nose. You gritted your teeth when his blood stained your glove.

'Say that again,' you dared him. 'In fact, go ahead. Tell them you got beaten up by a girl,' you teased. 'The one you're supposedly good enough to replace.'

His bloodshot eyes watched you with hatred.

'Here's what you're going to do,' you said. 'You're going to go in and pretend this never happened. Make a weakling's excuse for your nose.'

'I'll file a complaint,' he said with a watery smile, trying to assert his dominance even when he was on his bony knees.

You snorted in amusement - men never learn, do they?

'Go ahead,' you encouraged again. 'Then, I'll have no qualms about killing you like your most tormenting nightmare. And I won't make it easy either - I'll haunt you to the ends of the earth until you are begging me to take your pathetic excuse of a life!'

His eyes widened in realization.

'You attack me, I attack you,' you explained to his alcohol-addled brain. 'Even-Steven. You have my job . . . Well, nothing's stopping me then, is it?'

Suddenly, he started laughing.

It made you nervous.

You heard a sound when you realized that the music had halted. There were whispers behind you.

A terrifying prickle on the back of your neck gave you a clue.

Your hand released his head. As if in slow motion, you whirled about.

Officials were staring in your direction with disapproval, all their lips set in frowns. Dean, in lead of them, had donned his mask back on, but he had a grim look in his eyes, his jaw clenched in an anger you'd never seen on him before. He must realize what a huge mistake he'd made vouching for you to Mr Singer and Mr Turner now - and he must loathe you for breaking his unsaid trust.

Your previous threat was null and void to Simone because you'd just been found on the scene of crime literally red-handed. Now, whatever way the man twisted the story, they would believe him - because what proof did you have?

Your stomach seemed to fall out of your body, in fact, it felt like you were free-falling yourself. Tears started to corral in your e/cs.

You were doomed.

Your hands came to hold you up, crossing in front of your chest. This time, you wouldn't stop yourself from crying, even if you would go do it alone.

Because you'd just cost yourself your career.

If only you'd run instead of . . . .

'Excuse me,' your voice wobbled.

For the first time in years, you were crying openly—without covering your face. Tears were streaming down steadily, and you could only pay so much attention to know where you were going. You were also vaguely aware of people parting to make way. You heard your name being called, but it chased you away faster.

You thought of going to your room, but your heart had other ideas. Your legs carried you away towards the forest.

To the training centre: The Treexcel School.

You saw the lights on at Salem's treehouse, so you ducked out of that path. Heading, instead, for your tree. You didn't know what you would do there - it wasn't like this contraption of a dress would allow you to climb anything.

But you found yourself curling up at the base of the tall grace of nature. Sitting on the ground felt nice - natural. None of that swaying in the air, holding on for your dear life.

You missed underground activities.

After tonight, I might get deported. There, problem solved.

Your parents won't even accept you back in America after the stunt you pulled and Europe won't want to see your face now . . .

It was as if a dam snapped in you. The weeks of suppressed toils and troubles came a-knocking, knocking your heart down. Loss and grief ravaged you - all that journey, all that wasted time and hopes, all those lives . . . And it's all on you.

Despite having lost people along the way, you couldn't help but fear your mother's looming disappointment the most still. It was as if someone was squeezing your breath out as if your lungs were articles of washed laundry someone was twisting.

You hid your cries in your knees when your legs came up to your chest - helping you keep yourself together because it felt like you were falling apart.

And you let it happen because it may be the last time you're allowed to feel it.

A/N: What an ass, that French dude 😑. Btw, how do you think Dean will react 👀?

Tag List.

@hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear @emma1998sblog

[possiblyi4657]

It's 2024. I come home after a rather awful day at work. I sit down at my desk with a cup of hot chocolate, and for some goddamn reason- despite swearing to myself that ill never touch twitter again- i open that godforsaken platform and check my timeline.

Jack Manifold has logged into the DSMP???? And he and Tommyinnit wrote a really nice finale??????

WHAT TIMELINE AM I LIVING IN???????

[possiblyi4657]

ITLL HAPPEN. HE WILL WIN THIS TIME.

jimmy solidarity will win Limited Life (trust me)

[badolmen]

Incredibly frustrated by how condescendingly jaded my uncle can be but I’m being so brave about it <- not blowing him up with my mind even though I want to

[dangoulains-devotion]

every time I have to wade through inane ship wars where people are willfully ignorant to the depth and facets of cloud strife's character, circumstance, and story just so I can find some cool screenshots or fanart my 'cloud is ace' agenda simply grows more potent out of spite

[kikiutau]

RYOMEN SUKUNA: How to Get With Your Boss 8 Days Before New Years

CEO!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader Synopsis You're a chronic overtimer at work and a chronic virgin at home. On night of Christmas Eve, you have the lucky unfortunate pleasure of stumbling across a huge fight between your hot boss and his wife. Safe to say their relationship is over. But as fate (and your ever-reliable right hand man, the elevator) would have it, being in the right place at the right time might just lead to a New Year’s resolution you've been yearning for for years: the overdue expiration of your v-card. Genre Modern au, Office Romance, 18+, Smut, Fluff  Content/TW fem! reader, cheating, unprotected sex, voyeurism, things going up into cooch that shouldn’t be in the coochie in the first place, virgin! reader, thigh fucking, food play, rough sex, slight misogyny, degradation, dirty talk, dumbification, humiliation, ooc sukuna because this is an au without trauma (we I stan), spanking, unprotected sex, manhandling, cum eating, squirting, pissing, age gap Word Count 17.4k

Author’s Note: Happy New Years guys! Consider this my gift to you all for the new year! I hope you all enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it Divider by @/cafekitsune

Tuesday, December 24

Christmas Eve

Fuck. Rubbing your swollen eyes, you glared at the circled number on the calendar. A few more days until New Years. And more specifically, 8 more grueling days of a lonely holiday season. A tired groan escaped past your lips. 

Feeling the growing tension in your back from being hunched over for hours on end, you leaned back on your chair hoping to release the pressure. Disregarding the mountain of paperwork on your desk, you haphazardly moved them aside to reach for your cell phone. 

“Ah!” The universe seemingly out to get you, the screen brightness blinds you for a moment. 

You heard a slight thud, signaling to you that the phone you dropped ended up on the floor. Still recovering from eye assault, you don’t grab it right away. Through slight squints, you glanced down at your fallen device. 

12:01 

Wednesday, December 25

Christmas Day 

You let out a quiet “yay.” If there’s one date you were looking forward to, it would be this one. It’s a well-deserved and long awaited break for a distressed and tired office worker like yourself. Working overtime frequently is starting to take a toll on your mental and physical well being— if it hasn't already. 

Acknowledging the time, you tell yourself that now would be a good time to start packing up and heading back home. You quickly put on your coat and grabbed your bag, leaving the heaps of files, binders, and loose papers on the desk as a fuck you, capitalism! You don’t get paid enough to care anyways. On a more important note, your sweet, soft bed is beckoning for your arrival.  

Right as you headed out of the building, you dug through your bag looking for your phone. “Where,” you dug further, “is it?!” 

A frown graced your lips. ‘I… left it in the office, didn’t I?’ you thought to yourself. ‘What an idiot.’

Begrudgingly, you picked your foot off from the ground, and started to slowly make your way back to the Gates of Hell, disguised as those intimidating, tall, glass doors you see more often than the doors of your own home. 

As you walk through the lobby, only the clicks of your heels against the cold marble floors can be heard. The lack of human presence sends a small shiver down your spine. During normal working hours, the lobby is usually filled with the sounds of similarly disgruntled employees complaining to their fellow co-workers. 

But now, the only thing gracing the place was you. Even the janitors and security are nowhere to be seen. Well, it makes sense considering the time. You were the anomaly here. Only a masochist gets off of work at 12AM when everyone else who works the normal 9 to 5 gets off of work at 4:59. 

Well no, you wouldn’t say you're a masochist. You don’t get off to pain. But you were a perfectionist. And you had a tendency to care almost too much about how your co-workers perceived you. So if it meant getting off of work late, you didn’t mind as long as you can get all your tasks done in a timely manner. Besides, you didn’t have anyone to go home to. So why not just stay at work where the heaps of paperwork can accompany you instead.

All your coworkers were sane enough to head home the moment the clock strikes at 5. They’ll stay an hour more if they have to. And for those working overtime, the latest they’ll stay is 8. But, they’ll all shuffle out by the time the sun fully sets, leaving you all alone at your desk. 

Honestly, the only other workaholic besides you would be your boss. Your mind lingers at the thought of his muscular frame, pink slicked back hair, tattoos, and the very apparent large bulge—

Hold on. Stop. He’s your boss. 

And isn’t he a married man? 

You chastise yourself. 

Once you stepped in, your hand instinctively reached for the button with a clear “48” inscribed besides it. Standing in the well-lit elevator, you waited for the doors to close. 

One second passes. Two seconds passed. Then three seconds. Four Mississippi. Five Mississippi. Six Mississippi. Seven— 

“Oh come on!” you rolled your eyes. Tapping your foot, you reached for the button to close the doors and started spamming it like you would when it comes to pressing the attack button on Genshin. “If you don’t close this second, then I’m going to pluck out your buttons and cut your walls with my box cutter!”

The moment that threat left your mouth, the elevator doors closed with a small ding. Ah, even the elevator knew better than to incur the wrath of a stressed out office worker. 

You watched the small panel in front of you change numbers in chronological order second by second. 

1

2

3

4

…

Is it just you or is the elevator slower than usual? 

After what seems to be a long time, you arrived on your floor. Coming to a full stop almost aggressively, the elevator shakes momentarily giving you a heart attack before opening its doors in a slow manner.  

Clenching onto your chest, you make your way out of the wretched box of metal, holding a middle finger up towards the horrid man made product. 

The elevator closes its doors with a ding as if it were responding to your obscene hand gesture. 

You quickly made your way to your usual area, bending down on your knees to grab your missing phone. 

A new message!

You opened the message app to see who texted you. 

Friend

Heyyyyyy girlie! So 😏There’s this guy at my workplace. 

Single. And he doesn’t look half bad. 

And you’re single and mingling. 

Sooooo I was wonderinggggg

If I could set you guys up?  

Y/N

.-.

Uhhhhhh

You typed out “sure.” Although, you contemplated hitting Send. Too distracted with your thoughts, you failed to hear the ding in the background as well as the angry clicks of heels marching past you. 

“YOU ASSHOLE!” 

The sudden scream caused you to flinch. What the hell? 

A male voice interjected. “If I’m such an asshole, sign the goddamn papers.” 

Oh, you recognized that voice. And you hoped you were fucking wrong. 

Curiosity got the best of you and from your position, you slowly peaked up from underneath your desk, to check if you're wrong. God you hope you were. 

Nope. Congratulations! You win a front row seat to watch this couple dispute— against your own will!

At the other end of the room stood your boss in all his glory; his hair was disheveled and the buttons of his dress shirt were unraveled, revealing a window of opportunity for you to see his well defined pecs. Furrowed brows and an annoyed frown decorated his tattooed face. In front of him, there was a woman dressed in a bodycon type dress, hugging all the right curves, revealing her hourglass figure. Although her face was turned away, you could probably guess that her expression was one far from happiness. 

Ok, now you are sure the universe has a personal vendetta against you. First the phone, then the elevator, now this. Not wanting to get caught by any means, you quietly stayed underneath your desk, waiting for the opportunity to leave once the bickering couple finishes their quarreling. 

“You know… None of this would happen if you would just…” the woman’s voice cracked. “Sukuna… You’re so cold-hearted. This wasn’t the marriage I wanted for us.” 

Sukuna scoffed, starting to feel an onset of a headache. He glared at her momentarily, taking a second to decide whether to rip her to shreds with his words or to let the matter go gracefully. If anything, he wanted to be home right this second—not arguing with his wife at his workplace in the middle of the night. Yet, he decided on the former. He spat out, “At least I didn’t cheat.” 

“At least he loves me! With him, I know what love feels like. Unlike you!” his wife exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger towards the man. 

One of Sukuna’s eyebrows quirks up. “Loves you?” He takes a few steps towards the woman. “He has a wife and two children, Silvia. If he loves you, then why hasn’t he left them for you.” 

The tears Silvia tried to hold in the whole time finally spilled down her cheeks. She couldn’t give him an answer because deep down, she knew her husband’s words were true. His words washed over her like someone threw a bucket of ice water to her head. 

Looking up at her husband, she crashed her lips into his. She could no longer bear the ice cold feeling that had enveloped her heart. But at the very least, she could comfort herself with the warm body of the man she currently abhors. 

Unexpectedly, Sukuna did not push her away. Their lips remained interlaced as he pushed her down onto one of the desks, leaving scattered papers on the ground. Your heart sobs for the poor unsuspecting owner of that very desk. 

Sukuna impatiently tore her dress off as she clumsily worked on the rest of the buttons of his dress shirt. A needy whine escaped her throat when he ripped her panties off. “T-those were expensive,” she mumbled. 

In response, he spun her around onto her stomach, forcefully bending her top-half down until she felt her pebbled nipples against the cold, hard desk. He spanked her left ass cheek, chuckling at the slight bounce. Another smack. And another. 

Much to Silvia’s displeasure, she couldn’t hold in her unabashed moans. Even if Sukuna’s indifference towards her made him absolutely terrible at daily affection, she had to admit: This man is a literal sex God. Not once has she left the bed unsatisfied. 

Silvia wiggled her hips, trying to get away from her husband’s abusive onslaught. In which Sukuna responded with a spank on her bare pussy. “You know,” he bent down to her ear, “I should really punish you for being such a disobedient little slut, whoring yourself out like that.” 

Seems like the man relishes in degrading both his employees and his wife.

“Please,” she begged. She pushed her ass towards Sukuna’s bulge, tempting him to punish him even more by rubbing against him. 

Now that’s a real masochist right there. Your thoughts come to a full pause when you hear Silvia moan, “Oooh FUCK!”

Sukuna, not one to respond well to taunts, pinches her clit. Happy with her reaction, he gives her slight reprieve, massaging the sensitive area with his thumb. She jerked at the sensation, her body trembling against his. 

A laugh echoes within the room. “I can’t believe you’re getting off on this,” Sukuna mocks. He toys with the wetness on his fingers, tapping his pointer and thumb together, watching the way the wet strands stretch every time he pulls them apart. “This is supposed to be a punishment. And you still find pleasure in this?” 

Spank. 

“I must have trained you really well, haven’t I? I hope Mr. Nakamura enjoyed my cum dump while it lasted.” Silvia whimpered in response. 

Spank. 

Sukuna’s eyes glared at her reddened ass. “Speak.” 

“Y-yes!” 

Sukuna let out a little hum, circling around Silvia’s poor, abused clit. Tears—whether it was because of pleasure or pain—dripped down her cheeks. “I’m sorry!” she cried. “I–” 

“But even your lover wasn’t enough for you, huh? Here you are, desperate running back to me like a cockdrunk slut,” the tattooed man mocked. “This is a little pathetic, even for you.” 

No longer able to deal with the edging, Silvia disregarded his insults, letting go of whatever pride she had left as she pleaded her husband for more. She turned head back towards Sukuna, panting for just something, looking at him with glazed eyes. 

Sukuna huffed, stopping his ministrations. He examined her face; her skin was unblemished with hues of blush red, decorating the area around her eyes, nose, and lips. Her lips were slightly swollen as were her eyes. But even then, it did not take away from her apparent beauty. 

He married her two years ago. Not out of love but rather out of obligation. In spite of his appearance adorned with numerous tattoos, Sukuna was quite conservative when it came to relationships. The old fucks at those board meetings suggested—no, pressured— the then, 29 year old man to get married as fast as possible. Tired of their constant prodding and pushing, he ended up marrying one of the girls that was introduced by one of the board members he was on good terms with: Silvia. 

Sukuna was a person who held great belief in his morals. He found cheaters lousy. And he found those who criticized cheaters but then proceeded to cheat even lousier. If there’s one thing he hates in the world, it’s hypocrites. And he was not about to become one himself. Perhaps it was due to such morals that he remained a faithful husband even if he never felt an ounce of love for this woman— any woman. 

Lust, sure. But love? Love was something so vulnerable, so unpredictable. He lived with Silvia and slept beside her for all those years. Not once did Sukuna’s heart waver in the slightest. At most, he could admit that the relationship was comfortable. Silvia was a good wife during their time together. So, at the very least, he treated their marriage as a duty and gave her the utmost respect. 

Right. Respect. That’s why he was so angry at his wife who he did not love. She disrespected him. Thinking about it, Sukuna could feel his suppressed rage beginning to simmer. And looking at his Silvia’s horny expression, it gave him enough of a will not to submit to her pleas so easily. 

Reaching towards the pocket of his suit jacket, he pulls out his beloved Caran d'Ache Léman fountain pen. He pressed the cool metal towards her slit, causing her to flinch. Slowly, he inserts the rounded point of the pen into her wet cavern. 

“Sukuna!” Silvia pouted, unhappy with her current position. Licking his lips, Sukuna rolled his eyes at his wife. 

Leaning down towards her, he smirked. “I’m so sorry sweetheart,” he sarcastically replied. “I thought you wanted more. Was I mistaken?” Feeling his wounded pride swell with glee, he continued moving the pen in and out in slow motions. 

“I– This wasn’t what I meant!” she stammered. 

Spank. 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. “Manners.” 

Silvia groaned, burying her face into her arms. Picking her head back up for one last ditch effort, she pleaded once more. “Please please plea– FUCK! Pleaseeee, can you fuck me? I- I can’t get off.” 

Sukuna shrugged, a playful smirk gracing his lips once more. “I don’t need to fuck you for you to get off. You sure found other alternatives during our time apart, didn’t you? I’m certain Mr. Nakamura’s cock was smaller than this pen. And yet you went back to him, again and again. So…” 

Heart pounding, Silvia shook her head needlessly. She wanted to refute him but with how overstimulated she felt, she could not even muster a single coherent thought. Sukuna continued on with his ministrations, moving the pen further into her in a downwards motion. “I’m pretty sure you can get off to this.” 

Feeling the slight nudge of the pen towards her g-spot, Silvia unwillingly slips into pure bliss. Blood rushed to her head as she was brought to pure ecstasy. Sukuna sounded out her moans, purely focusing on her pussy fluttering witlessly around his fountain pen. Consumed by momentary pettiness, he slipped his pen out of her, refusing to fuck her through her orgasm. However, he waited for her to catch her breath.

Silvia went limp after the shockwaves of her orgasm had subsided. Using the strength that’s left in her arms, she shakily turned around towards her husband. There, he stood with the same indifferent expression she despised. She reached out to him, hoping to continue. Much to her dismay, he stopped her, holding onto her wrists. Before she could even say anything, he placed the christened pen into her hands. 

“My lawyer will come to your residency tomorrow. Make sure to sign the divorce papers by then,” he stated, showing his soon to be ex-wife the same poker face he’d show to his company’s board members. 

Almost robotically, Sukuna made his way towards the elevators. Luckily for him, he didn’t have to wait for it to come as it was already on the floor. If this elevator was sentient, then at this moment, it recognized that this man was the very man that could scrap it from its existence in just one word. Feeling scared—if it could even feel—the elevator quickly opened and shut its door at an unbeatable speed to prevent incurring Sukuna’s wrath. 

A few minutes later, Silvia followed suit. Finally alone, you crawled out from your hiding spot. Your brain short circuited for a while, slowly trying to wrap your head around what happened. When it did…

“What the fuck.” Your mouth fell wide open. “What the fuck.” You put both your hands on your head. “What the fuck.” You paced around in a circle. “What the fuck.” Your head whipped towards the desk the two lovers were previously copulating on. Underneath, you see the sheets of paper haphazardly decorating the floor. In the corner of your eye, you could also spot the lacy black panties Sukuna’s wife left on top of said papers. 

Oh. Hell. No. 

So that WASN’T a hallucination? An audible groan echoed throughout the office floor. At this point, there was no doubt about it: The universe wants to murder you. 

You gave a silent apology towards the elevator who was trying to save your sanity earlier. Unfortunately, you were too stubborn to recognize its efforts. Looking back down at the device that has caused you misfortune, you swiped upwards reaching the home screen. After experiencing your boss' intimate moments with his wife against your will, you suddenly lost the will to continue living, muchless go on a double date. In fact, you don’t feel like going anywhere at all with the amount of bad luck you have at the moment. 

Y/N

.-.

Uhhhhhh

Sureygyciwbcuibiwcleboi

Friend 

Great! 

I confirmed with the guy. 

Is the 26th okay for you? 

Well, crap. Did you incur the wrath of some God out there? You must have mistakenly sent the text message while you were struggling to crawl to the dark ends of your desk. Giving up on your current situation, you decided to submit to whatever fate has decided for you. You quickly sent a “ok” before moving on to clean up the stacks of documents on your desk since you were already back where you started. 

Finishing up, you proceeded to put on your coat, preparing to leave. In the corner of your eye, however, you were once again reminded of the intimate scene. Your chest stirred with an uncomfortable feeling. If the employees came back to work days later with papers on the ground AND a pair of black panties, these nosy folks will surely start talking. 

Feeling a sense of pity for the about-to-be-divorced man, you feel your humanity telling you to help Sukuna out. As stern as he was, he was a fair and competent employer who treated his employees well (as long as you didn't get on his bad side). Besides, everyone has days where life simply falls to shit. Sukuna’s just happens to be on Christmas Day (and so is yours). 

Grumbling, you open one of the pull-out cabinets below your desk to grab tissues and disposable chopsticks. You then slowly made your way towards the hazard zone. Quickly, you clipped the panties with the chopsticks, throwing it in a nearby garbage bin. As for the papers, you quickly shuffled it into one pile, not caring if they were out of order. For the unfortunate pieces of papers that were tainted with what’s possibly Silvia’s bodily fluids, you threw those out. You assumed your coworkers would much rather face the problem of a few pieces of their paperwork being missing than have to touch the ones christened by cum. 

Not all heroes come with capes. In this case, it came in the form of a traumatized overtimer. Not wanting to waste anymore time, you made your way towards the elevator. Somehow, the elevator seemed to be working as normal the second time you used it. Making your way towards the exit, you let out a breath of relief. That relief of yours ended when a familiar voice called out to you. 

Slowly, you turned your head to the source. Ah, it’s the devil’s work at play. Mustering whatever strength you had left, you quickly graced the man with your customer service smile. “Hello, Mr. Ryomen. Heading home?” 

He responded with a curt nod. “It’s late. I’m surprised you’re still here. I didn’t see you by your desk.” From how close he was to you, you could have sworn he narrowed his eyes for about a millisecond. 

The hairs on your neck became stick soldiers; your smile faltered slightly. Running through your mind for excuses, you finally landed on: “I was occupied in the printer room.” You pray to your ancestors that he didn't catch on to your lie. 

You assumed your excuse was enough, considering he no longer lingered on the topic. You’re caught off by what he says next though. 

“Since it’s so late, let me give you a ride home.” 

Your customer service smile dropped as you’re now fumbling to make another excuse. Feeling flustered you blurt out, “Oh no, it’s okay. Thank you so much for the offer though. I actually live nearby so I’ll be–” 

Rrrrrrrumble

“You’re going to walk home in this weather?” A teasing smile appears on Sukuna’s face. 

Feeling defeated, you let out a nervous chuckle. “I suppose not.” 

In Sukuna’s expensive-looking car that probably cost more than your yearly salary, you curse whatever deity is out there for your current position. It was probably 2AM right now, yet why the fuck was there still traffic at this time in the middle of the highway. 

“It seems a lot of people are trying to head back to their families for Christmas,” Sukuna blankly stated out of nowhere. You slightly jumped at his sudden comment, not expecting him to speak after sitting in awkward silence for a good 20 minutes. 

You hummed in agreement. You also assumed that the sudden snowstorm had something to do with the onslaught of traffic. You kept that thought to yourself though, not wanting to entrench yourself into further awkward small talk with Sukuna. Bringing your attention back to the traffic, you wondered if the insistent begging in your head would get the cars to move any quicker. Unfortunately for you, it was to no avail. 

Glancing to the window on your right, you tried to distract yourself with the scenery of cityscapes. Your plan was foiled when you noticed Sukuna’s reflection in the mirror. Pretending to look outside, your gaze centered on the enticing image. Sukuna seemed to have fixed his unkempt hair, keeping it in the usual slicked back hairstyle he usually adorned. The same went for his white dress shirt that he seemed to have buttoned up, leaving the top two unbuttoned. 

You focused on his hands. One on the steering wheel, impatiently tapping against the leather; the other hand on the gear shift. You wondered how it would feel if he fingered you–

Stop. 

You could feel your ears burn with embarrassment. Save your horny thoughts when you’re not a foot away from him. ‘Not now,’ you tell yourself. Trying to move on from your thoughts, your eyes focused on something else. You slowly made your way up to his face where now you could see him looking right at you. You jerked your head downwards, avoiding looking at his reflection staring right into your skull. 

Wait, does that mean…? You slowly cranked your head towards the direction where the man was sitting, only to be faced with him looking straight at you. 

“Who would have thought I’d be spending Christmas with my favorite employee?” he drawled, emphasizing the favorite.  

You got caught off guard. Luckily, you recovered fairly quickly. “Who would have thought I’d be spending Christmas with my favorite boss?” you quipped back. 

He barked out a laugh, “I’m your only boss, princess.” .

Chuckling, you shrugged. “Still stands.”  

“You got any plans for Christmas? You must be looking forward to spending time with your family and friends,” he comments. 

You swallowed the imaginary ball in your throat. “Ah, well. They’re all overseas. So, I probably won’t be seeing them this year. The plane tickets are horrendously expensive this time of year.” 

“At least you have that boyfriend of yours from the sales department.” 

“Pardon?” 

A bewildered look occupies your face. What boyfriend? You’ve been alive for a good 23 years and you have yet to even hold hands with a boy. At this point, you’ve gotten your PhD degree in singleness. Flustered, you shook your head. “I-uh. I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

He smirked. “Good to know.” 

Did he just play you? 

“Mr. Ryomen!” His deep laughter fills the small space. When it subsided, he gave you a cocky grin.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop teasing you.” He reached one of his hands towards your face, brushing a strand of stray hair behind your ears. Before you could say anything, that hand is right back on the gear shift. 

Thankfully, the traffic in front started to clear up. During the drive, you probably learned more about him than you did working 4 years at his company when you started as an intern at 19 years old. For one, he has a younger brother. He also has a hobby of tinkering with motorcycles. And if you didn’t already assume earlier on in your career, he clearly had a fondness for fucking with people (and fucking his wife, but you keep that to yourself). Thankfully, the apprehension you felt earlier was completely dispelled by the casual conversation he started.

Before you knew it, he reached your apartment complex. You promptly thanked him for the car ride, making your way out of the vehicle. “Have a Merry Christmas, y/n.” 

“You as well,” you responded. Your tongue immediately sour when you remembered the fact that Sukuna was getting divorced during the holidays (not that he knew that you knew). Oh crap. Why did you have to say that? It felt as embarrassing as telling the movie theater employees “you too” when they tell you to enjoy the movie. Luckily, Sukuna didn’t seem phased, as if he didn’t serve his wife divorce papers on Christmas day. He simply smiled, nodding in your direction before driving off. 

Thursday, December 26

You sipped on your cocktail, staring endlessly at the shiny chandelier hoping it would cure your boredom. A part of you also hoped the shiny thing would fall right on top of your date.  

“So I’m looking for someone who would…” Blah blah blah. 

You drowned out the sounds of your date’s rambling. This self-absorbed piece of shit. All he would talk about was himself. His next favorite topic being the type of girls who turned him on and the type of girls who turned him off. Then all you could remember was his ramblings about how “women nowadays are not the same anymore…” Something along the lines of that. Fed up, you have half a mind to just straight up tell him to date his own mother rather than trying to find a poor girl to be his in-home maid and incubator. You held your tongue, knowing nothing good would occur from initiating a fight with this guy. 

My god. Where did your friend even find this narcissistic bastard? You start to question HER taste in men. Purely based on appearance, the blabbermouth looks decent. But even his face card couldn’t fix his trash personality. It’s like covering yourself with perfume when you haven’t taken a shower in a month. 

You pray to your ancestors, hoping for someone to get you out of this blind date. It was as if your prayers were answered when a familiar pink-haired man walked out of the restaurant’s private rooms with another man who you could only infer to be a client. You didn’t know if it was your ancestors working some magic or if it was simply pure coincidence. If it was the latter, then it seemed too improbable to be mere chance.  

You didn’t even need to yell out a “help” when Sukuna excuses himself from his current conversation, making his way towards you. You jutted out lips, pouting almost dramatically. You only hope Sukuna could decipher the desperate energy leaking out of your eyes. 

“Ms. y/l/n, did you forget you had an appointment with me?” Sukuna looked down at his watch. “In fact, you’re late.” 

“Wait, you can’t just–” 

A menacing glare shuts up the good-for-nothing. Taking this opportunity, you quickly grab your belongings, interlocking your arm with Sukuna’s, not even giving your date a chance to say goodbye. 

Once again, you're in Sukuna’s vehicle once again. Although this time it’s red instead of the usual black you noted to yourself. “I thought you said you didn’t have a boyfriend,” Sukuna teasingly comments.

You grumbled, “He isn’t my boyfriend. My friend just happened to set us up on a blind date. Well, you know how it went. Anyways, how did you know I needed help getting out of there?” 

“You were never good at hiding your emotions,” Sukuna answered. “Not now. And certainly not then.”

“Really? I didn’t even get slightly better?” you prodded. “Am I really that obvious?”

“Yes.” To him. Although he wasn’t one to linger on office rumors, he couldn’t help but notice the comments in regards to you. People said you were a vivacious one; that’s one rumor he could agree with. Some said that you were dating someone from the sales department; he thought that was true, until you debunked it yesterday. Many of your co-workers called you hardworking; he agrees. Quite frankly, you had a clean reputation. Almost too clean. So clean and perfect, in fact, he almost forgot about the 19-year-old, hot-headed intern who possessed an ego so inflated it rivaled a 10-foot pole. 

Flashback

Sukuna (28) grumbled, impatiently pressing on the elevator buttons. Fuck, one day he’s going to completely replace this box of metal with a more efficient elevator. Just as the elevator doors were about to close… 

“Wait! Bro! Can you hold the elevator doors for me?!”  

Although he certainly looks like the type to close the elevator doors on someone, he’s not completely heartless. Besides, he wondered which employee was brave enough to casually call him “bro.” Quickly, Sukuna clicked the button to open the doors. 

Unfortunately for the desperate girl on the other side, she watched in distress as the space between the two doors got closer and closer together until… closed. 

“Fuck!” She kicked the elevator doors. “You nincompoop!” 

Just as the insult left her mouth, the elevator immediately opened its door, leaving a wide- mouth country girl staring right back at red-piercing eyes.

‘Oh. A new face.’ Sukuna thought. 

The girl gulped, deciding whether or not she should ditch the elevators for the flight of stairs instead. Essentially, would she rather face humiliation or kill herself walking up 40 flights of stairs before her interview. Suddenly she remembered the wise words her mother told her before she walked through the TSA gates: You must walk through life as if you have the balls of a cis-gendered male tiger. 

Whatever that meant. So, the elevator it was! 

She stepped into the confined space shared by the other remaining person staring bullets into her head. Cold sweat adorned her back as the elevator doors closed. 

“So who’s a nincompoop?” 

‘Ah fuck,’ the girl cursed in her head. ‘I should’ve just taken the stairs T^T’ She tried to calm herself down by chanting her mom’s advice. ‘Balls of a tiger. Ball of a tiger.’

Finally getting a proper look at the guy, she almost pees her pants. This guy was definitely over 6ft. 6’3? 6’4? 6’5? At her measly 5’0 ft, she couldn’t tell for sure. And the man had very noticeable tattoos adorning both his face and his arms from what she could tell. Did she bump into a gangster? 

No matter. It’s not like she hasn’t come across gangsters in her high school days. In fact, she once chastised a gang member at her school once so confronting them wasn’t an issue— except this time it was a grown adult man two heads taller than her. 

The girl huffed, puffing her chest out, trying to be intimidating (although unknowingly having the opposite effect). “You are,” she plainly stated. 

“Hn?” Sukuna clicked his tongue. Rolling his eyes he flicked the girl’s forehead with his finger, “Are you a child? When I was in grade school, not even the kids would call me that.”

'Yeah, I'd doubt they'd say anything to you with that face of yours,' she thinks to herself, silently. Thankfully. Unfortunately, it would turn out to be her only wise decision from this point on.

Sukuna scanned the girl, starting from her broken heels, to her dress shirt that’s improperly buttoned, finally landing onto a youthful complexion staring right back at him. The audacity of this girl. “Are you lost, brat? The middle school is four blocks away,” he mocked. 

Okay, now that was pushing it. “Rude!”  Looking deeply offended, she pointed a finger towards the man. “Fuckwad! Asshat! Jackass!” Sukuna had never heard so much profanity come out of a girl’s mouth before. Even she had him admitting to himself that her colorful sailor vocabulary probably rivaled his. 

It was hilarious. 

He lets out a loud cackle. Judging by the furrow of the girl’s eyebrows deepening, he probably pissed her off even further. 

Ding 

“Hmph.” Sukuna watched as the girl marched out. Although very quickly, she snapped her head back at Sukuna. “You! I’m going to report you!” 

Sukuna's coy smile widened even further. “Go ahead.” What was HR going to do? Fire him? 

(P.S. At this point in time, Sukuna's small company didn't even have a human resources department. He WAS HR. )

His answer made the girl more frustrated, as she audibly groaned. “Whatever,” she muttered. 

Hearing another ding, Sukuna quickly asked, “What’s your name?” 

The girl’s head perked up. Her annoyed face contorts to one of apprehension. The elevators are close to closing before she yells out–

“y/n”

Flashback Ends 

Sukuna couldn’t contain his grin when remembering the first time they met. “What’s so funny?” you questioned, almost creeped out by his sudden grin. 

“It’s a secret,” he says. Not wanting to pry any further, you let him be. Much to your dismay, he brought you to your apartment complex fairly quickly, meaning your conversation was cut short once again. You could feel your heart throb. Wait… did you feel disappointed? Sad? You couldn’t exactly pinpoint the exact feeling. You admitted that it was unfortunate these conversations will come to an end though; the two of you will probably go back to the monotonous role of employer and employee who only spoke on matters regarding work. 

Your walk up to your apartment was melancholy at the very least. You thought about how your relationship with Sukuna changed over the four years you knew him for. Your meeting didn’t start off the greatest with the man relentlessly teasing you. Even if you were the one who caused it to occur in the first place. That’s a fault you stubbornly won’t admit to though. 

And then when you got hired as an intern, your spirit was undeniably fucked when you found out the man who teased you in the elevator was the CEO and founder of Ryomen Tech Corporations. 

Thankfully for you, Sukuna wasn’t one to hold deeply held grudges. Although unfortunately for you, the teasing did not stop at all. He’d make those annoying comments to irk you and you’d banter back, unable to hide your apparent dislike for the man. Things like hierarchy was definitely less structured back then when the company only contained a small team of 13 people. 

When you interviewed, the company was still a new tech startup at the time. Before that, Ryomen Sukuna worked as a freelance coder and web developer (and hacker)  after graduating from a small university for a few years. Impressively, despite having nothing to his name, he was able to push his way through. Ryomen Tech Corp. became a million dollar company in a span of a year. Year by year, more investors came shuffling in, and profits continued to rise exponentially. As of right now, Sukuna's net worth is in the billions, an achievement unheard of in four years. 

Stepping back and surveying Sukuna's extraordinary achievements within four years, you couldn't help but acknowledge his competence and admire his success. Despite his teasing nature, you discovered he possessed a charismatic charm when interacting with investors, clients, and other industry leaders.

That Sukuna felt detached, almost unrecognizable. It was hard to believe that the man who mercilessly teased you was the same individual responsible for such remarkable feats. You felt a tinge of selfishness, clinging to the hope that things would remain unchanged, that your relationship could continue as before.

However, his marriage brought an abrupt halt to this illusion. Visits to your desk for lunchtime teasing dwindled, leaving you to eat alone, bereft of the familiar rumble of his cackles and the cacophony of laughter from your colleagues. The teasing text messages, once a constant, gradually decreased, until his name sank to the bottom of your contact list. Soon, he faded from your life as subtly as he had entered it.

You didn't reach out to him, either. Perhaps it was your tendency to put yourself on a moral high ground, or perhaps it was your wounded ego, but you convinced yourself that pursuing a relationship—even a platonic one—with a married man was inappropriate.

Fumbling through your bag, you searched for your keys. Where. Is. It. You dug through your bag more haphazardly, your heart starting to race. Why. Does. This. Keep. Happening. Your search for your keys came to a small pause however when you noticed your phone rang. 

The caller ID on the phone's glowing screen displayed a name you had almost forgotten, buried beneath a haze of forgotten memories. It was as if a sudden gust of wind had swept away the fog, bringing that name back into sharp focus.

Nincompoop

Without giving much thought, you quickly picked up the phone. “Hello?” you answered. 

The familiar voice responds back, one that was deep and reminded you of velvety red wine, one that immediately quells your beating anxiety. “I think you forgot something, princess.” Just from his voice, you can tell he probably has his signature annoying smirk on the other end of his call. Quiet from disbelief, you didn’t answer. "Hello?" he prompted gently, concern lacing his voice. 

Silence.  

Geez. Did you forget how to speak? 

Panicked, you moved from your spot, only to unknowingly stub your toe at one of the trashbags by your neighbor’s bag. “Ow!” you exclaimed. Was there steel in that thing? You let out a pained groan, bending down to pat the outer layers of your shoe, hopefully aiding with the pain. Side note: It did not help. 

Hearing that you were present on the other end, Sukuna mumbled something on his end. You were unable to catch what he said though. By the time the pain subsided, you noticed that the call ended. 

Wait. What did Sukuna say, again? 

​​A sudden jingle broke through your thoughts. You looked up to see Sukuna standing by the elevator. He held up a set of keys, dangling them in front of him. "Found these in my car," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Seems someone forgot something."

Your jaw dropped. So, that's what he meant. He found your keys.

Sukuna bent down to eye level with you, slowly examining you from head to toe. “You okay?” he asks. 

“Uh huh. I just stubbed my toe. I’m alright now.” Your face is burning with shame. “Anyways, you didn’t have to come all the way up here. Thank you though.” You gave him a slight nod, taking your keys from his hand. Grabbing your arm, he helped you up. Feeling the heat spreading to your ears, you thanked him once again. ‘If there’s a merciful God out there, please bury me six feet underground right now,’ you pleaded in your head. 

"No problem," he said. Sukuna paused, his gaze lingering on you. "Besides," he added, a playful glint in his eyes, "Wouldn't want you wandering around aimlessly, now would I?"

You felt your cheeks burn even hotter. "Very funny," you muttered, trying to regain your composure. You turned towards him asking, "Would you like some water or snacks? As, uh, thank you." 

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. Knowing you were the type of person who didn't like to owe favors, he accepted. Besides, a part of him was curious about what your living space was like. They say someone's home is a reflection of one's personality. Wait... When did he become so nosy?

You led him into your apartment, feeling a strange flutter in your stomach. This was definitely not how you expected your evening to unfold. You were about to offer him a seat by the living room couch when you noticed his gaze on the framed photographs on the wall. 

He pointed to one photo. “Your parents?” 

“Yep,” you grinned. “I look like them, don’t I? “ 

His gaze lingered on your face, tracing the shape of your eyes, noses, and lips. “You do. Compliments to your mother,” he breathed, a genuine admiration in his voice. 

“T-thanks,” you stammered, avoiding his gaze. “She always said I looked more like my dad.”

Sukuna chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through the air. "I beg to differ," he said, his eyes twinkling. He gestured towards the couch. “Mind if I sit down? My feet are killing me.” You quickly offered him a seat, feeling a strange mix of nervousness and excitement. In the meantime, you went into the kitchen to prepare his snacks. 

The familiar hum of domesticity filled the small apartment as you carefully gathered your items on the counter. You busied yourself with arranging the fruit platter on the kitchen counter — apples, grapes, strawberries, and cherries. You tried to focus on the task at hand, but your mind kept replaying Sukuna's words. “Compliments to your mother.”

What did that even mean? Was he just being polite? You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He was sitting on the couch, his long legs stretched out, looking relaxed. He was running a hand through his hair, a contemplative expression on his face. Sukuna leaned back against the cushions, gazing at the ceiling. “You know,” he began, his voice a low rumble, “I was thinking... about relationships.”

You, startled by his sudden observation, almost choked on your saliva. “You were?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Seeing your parents' picture got me thinking. How do people... how do they know when they've found the right person?”

You set down your knife, intrigued. “I don't think there's a single answer to that question.”

Sukuna nodded in agreement. “Maybe not. But what do you think?”

You pondered this for a moment, tapping your fingers on the kitchen counter. "Well I can’t speak for others but for me, I value respect and communication. I think when it comes to finding that person, maybe a little bit of luck comes into play."

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. "Luck?"

"Luck and timing," you continued, "meeting the right person at the right time and place. There was a book I read in high school where two of the characters were refugees in war and they ended up falling in love with each other. But by the end of the book, I couldn’t help but wonder: Were they truly in love, or did they simply convince themselves they were in love due to the shared circumstances? If there was never a war in the first place, would they fall in love all over again if they were to meet each other under different circumstances?”

You continued to ramble. “You’ve read the hunger games right? Or at least familiar with the movies?” Sukuna nodded, motioning you to continue. “I’m going to use Katniss and Peta as an example. If they weren't forced to fight for their lives in the arena, would they still have fallen for each other? Would their love story have blossomed under different circumstances? Or was it the shared trauma, the constant fear of death, that forged their bond?"

Sukuna watched you intently, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. He thought of his own marriage, a gilded cage built on societal expectations and a desperate need to conform. He paused his thoughts, focusing on the girl in front of him, a rare vulnerability creeping into his eyes. "But you know sometimes…the most profound connections can be born from the most unexpected circumstances,” he confesses quietly. 

“Oh yeah by the way. I got divorced today,” he says out of nowhere, in the most nonchalant manner. 

The cup of water you were sipping on suddenly clattered in the sink. You ended up choking because the water went down the wrong pipe. “What?!” 

“My wife was unhappy with our marriage. She cheated on me. I told her to sign the divorce papers yesterday. And today she signed it,” Sukuna answered as a matter of fact. 

You knew. 

You were there when he had that argument with Silvia, unbeknownst to him. But hearing him tell you is a whole different story. “I’m sorry that happened,” you automatically responded, after recovering from your near death experience. 

He let out a laugh. “Don’t be,” he shrugged, almost too nonchalant for your comfort. 

You carefully laid the fruit platter and an unopened bottle of wine on the living room coffee table. You then positioned yourself beside Sukuna, maintaining a slight distance. He reached for a plump grape, popping it into his mouth with a satisfying crunch.

"Since I'm letting you in on a secret," Sukuna began, his gaze fixed on the remaining grapes, "let me know one of yours. Like how the breakup with your boyfriend went."

"How many times do I have to tell you I don't have a boyfriend?" you retorted, a touch of exasperation in your voice.

Sukuna smirked. "Currently you don't. But surely you had a lousy boyfriend back in college?” 

You shook your head.

“High school?” 

You shook your head once more. 

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief in his expression. "Never?"

"Nope," you confirmed, feeling a strange sense of pride in your solitary existence. Then you remembered the endless ramblings of your mother and aunties about finding a boyfriend, reverting that feeling of pride back to a familiar dejection. 

Feeling a sudden wave of defensiveness you start to ramble making excuses why you weren’t dating—why you have never dated. “I’ve never been sought after romantically in my teenage years. And even when my friends set me up on blind dates, it would never work out. At some point I just assumed I wasn't built out for romantic relationships so… ” 

You practically word-vomited on the spot, your mind unable to keep up with your mouth. From your sexual history (or rather lack of), to the countless of failed blind date stories, to that one boy who rejected you in highschool… all of it came spilling out. 

The more you rambled, the more you wanted to dig yourself into a hole. But even then, you continued to talk, almost against your will as you had a poor habit of avoiding awkward situations by rambling… only to make it more awkward for yourself by the end. 

“A-anyways,” your whole ramble, rant, whatever the fuck that was, finally coming to an end. 

While you were mentally hitting yourself in the head, Sukuna, on the other hand, seemed to revel at your current mental state, the corner of his mouth raised.

“So you’ve never orgasmed before, huh,” he drawled, his smile almost menacing. Ah, fuck. Was he going to now tease you relentlessly with that newfound information? 

“So what?” you exclaimed, your arms and legs now crossed. “ It’s not my fault my body is literally built for failure in both departments of romantic love and self love.” 

Sukuna had an unreadable expression on his face. 

Immediately feeling some sort of regret, you tried to remedy the situation. “O-oh. It’s uhh not a big deal though. I could always go out and find a one night stand to help me with my needs. I-I mean…” Crap. You couldn’t even look the man in the face. 

While your face was turned away from him, you heard the pop of the bottle cork. Curious, you watched as Sukuna poured himself a pretty tall glass of wine. He took a long sip, the red liquid swirling in the glass.

Silence. 

He set the glass down on the coffee table, the sound echoing unnaturally in the sudden silence. You finally dared to look him in the eyes, your heart pounding in your chest. His eyes were narrowed, a predatory glint in their depths.

“You know,” he said, his voice stretched out in a long drawl, “If you would like, I can offer myself as a demonstration.” 

Your breath hitched. "What?"

Sukuna, leaning closer, his breath fanning your face. “Do I have to repeat myself?” 

Almost as if your body had a mind of its own, you found your lips millimeters away from his. Just as your lips were about to touch, you pulled away. With a soft thud, you fell back onto the couch, your hand covering the lower half of your face. “I-uh. I don’t know how to…” you paused for a moment before whispering, “I’ve never kissed anyone before.” 

Sukuna's gaze, intense and predatory, swept over you. “Well, then,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, “it seems like I have my work cut out for me.” He caresses your hand with his thumb before leaning down, his whole body on top of you. 

Bringing his lips to your hands, he teasingly licks it to get a slight reaction out of you. He then gently nips the skin, his teeth grazing your knuckles. Making out with the back of your hand, a rush of warmth flushed throughout your body as you imagined the same sensation on your lips instead. 

You jumped a bit when you felt his tongue once more. Slowly, he traced his tongue towards your fingers, then entwining his hands with yours, pulling it away from your face. Sukuna’s gaze then flickered towards you, watching the rheumatic motions of your chest rising and falling. 

He pulls your hand towards his chest.

“Can I keep going?” 

Your heart pounded in your ears, a quick, rhythmic beat that drowned out the howls of the wind outside. Breathlessly you answer, “Please.”

Sukuna cursed, his warm hands on you almost immediately. His lips parts, closing the space between you two. 

Sweet. With a tinge of bitterness from the red wine. You tell yourself how you could get drunk on his taste; he tastes so much better than the cocktail you were sipping earlier on your blind date.   

Trying to keep up with him, you hesitantly imitate the kisses he gave your hand earlier. You feel a faint smile on his lips which brings flutters to your stomach. Feeling slightly more confidence, you keep going. 

Just as you clench the back of his shirt, Sukuna pulls away from you. “Smart girl,” he whispered. “Are you up for another challenge?” 

Not waiting to hear for your response, Sukuna reaches for the fruit platter, specifically breaking off the stem of one of the cherries. He places it on his tongue before coming back to meet your lips once again. However this time, you find his tongue meeting with yours. 

You involuntarily moan, feeling almost overwhelmed at the moment. Pressed up against him, you could feel his erection pressed against his thighs. 

Even though the two of you were already pressed up against each other, Sukuna somehow manages to deepen the kiss between you two, teasing you with his tongue. You squirm at the sensation.

Feeling Sukuna push the cherry stem towards your tongue, you push back the stem with a competitive vigor. Thus, starting the battle of dominance between the two of you. 

Surprisingly, Sukuna is the first to part from you, sitting straight up on his knees. He stuck his tongue out showing you the knotted cherry stem sitting right on his palate. 

Fuck. 

He places the knotted stem on the coffee table before turning towards you and smirking. “A souvenir for remembrance,” he teases. Sukuna turns his attention back towards you, giving an onslaught of kisses down your neck. In the meanwhile, he hikes your skirt down, leaving you only with a pair of panties left to cover whatever dignity you had left.

“She’s soaked,” he whispers, talking to himself as if you weren’t in the room. Almost by instinct you closed your legs, only for him to spread it apart for his perverted eyes to see. 

“I want to see you touch yourself,” he bluntly stated with absolutely no shame at all. “It’s the least you can do after I gave you such an intricate lesson.” 

You turn immediately red at the memory. 

He pecks your flushed cheeks, before moving to peck your nose. “You’ve done such a good job for me so far,” he praised. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed now~” 

“W-Who said I was?” you stubbornly stuttered out loud, trying to hide your nervousness (although failing majorly). 

Sukuna laughed before helping you out of your shirt. And before you know it, your bra is off within seconds, leaving you bare for him to witness. The only piece of clothing you have left is the panties he oh so graciously left on, although you doubt it did anything to hide how naked you felt. 

Sukuna bites his lips, the corners of his mouth raised ever so slightly. ‘She’s going to be the end of me,’ he thinks, watching you as you hesitantly reach for your tender breasts, squeezing your pebbled nipples. 

He snaps the band of your panties, then slowly—almost teasingly—raking it down your thighs. Sukuna licks his lips, staring at your wet, leaking pussy. He almost swears it called his name. 

Moving one hand down, you reach for your clit, softly circling around it. You focused on looking at your hand, almost physically unable to look up at Sukuna, worried your heart would stop if you were to see his face. 

You continue to pleasure yourself, although unable to reach your high. Much to your displeasure, you never had the experience of reaching an orgasm ever since finding out about the wonders of womanhood at the age of 16. Sure you’d watch videos and read tons of articles on how to reach an orgasm, but never once have it worked for you. At some point, you accepted the fact that you were physically incapable of orgasming. 

Under the careful watch of Sukuna’s eyes, he seemed to have noticed you have reached a plateau. “Here, let me help you,” he murmured. Taking your hands in his, he guides you, pressing your fingers down firmer on your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

At some point, your hands ended up clenching his wrists, as he directly played with your clit instead. Suddenly feeling a new sensation, you panic. “Haa! Ngh! W-wait. I feel like I’m going to–” 

He keeps going. And in that moment, you lose yourself. Completely. Your body spasmed underneath his watchful gaze, like a predator watching its prey. And underneath that primal gaze was one of sadistic pleasure, just waiting to strike.

Sukuna bites the insides of his mouth, trying to hold himself back from listening to the voices in his head, telling him to pound you down on the couch at this very moment. He clenches his hands into a fight fist, drawing blood. 

Million of thoughts surges through his head. It’s like a tangled mess of desires and reason, pulling him in every direction at once. He wants you. He can’t deny that. 

However, as much as he yearns for you, he reminds himself of the facts. You’re not here for that. He wasn’t here to be your lover, or to play the part of some fairy-tale prince in the background of your life. No. In fact, he’s far from that. If anything, he’s like a starving wolf just waiting to devour you at any moment. 

Sukuna was doing you a favor. That’s all it was. He’s not a romantic interest. It was simply a one night stand— just minus the fucking. And wouldn’t it be so much better if you remember your first time with the person you choose to love rather than an impulsive decision to fuck around with your boss one night. Yeah. He nods to himself internally. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Sukuna silently waits as you come down from your high. Labored breathing fills the room. 

“How is it?” he asked smugly. 

You take a few more gulps of air before answering. “Good.” 

“Just good?” 

You pouted at his teasing. “What? Do you want a rating?” 

Sukuna laughed in response. “I wasn’t expecting that but now that you mention it, I’m curious.” 

Smiling, you rolled your eyes. “4.9 out of 5.” 

Sukuna’s eyebrows raised. “4.9? Where did my missing 0.1 go?” 

From your position, you playfully kicked the side of your abdomen. “It’s for your ego. Someone needs to keep it in check.” 

Sukuna chuckled darkly, clearly entertained by your response. “Is that so?” he mused, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose it’s a good thing you’re the one keeping it in check, then.”

You raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-wary. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He doesn’t answer. His only response was playfully taking a bite on the same leg that kicked him. Feeling the strong urge to respond back to his teasing, you take your other free leg to nudge the prominent bulge in between his legs. 

A low groan escapes his lips. “Fuck. You’re going to end up murdering me in cold blood one day.” 

To your surprise, he slides himself off the couch and stands up. 

“Wait!” You grabbed his wrist before he could walk away from you. “But what about you?” You reach for his erection, only for him to stop you. 

“Don’t worry about me, princess.”

Your eyes filled with worry. “But I want you to feel good too.” 

You watched as Sukuna cursed under his breath. He pushes you back down on the couch, joining you once more. “Safe word is red. Red to stop, yellow to slow down, got it?” 

You nod. Unbuckling his belt, unzipping the zippers of his trousers, he finally gives himself slight relief when he takes out his cock. 

8 inches in all its glory. Hard. Flushed red, with a bead of pre-cum peaking through at the tip. 

In your head, you do a mental backflip. Never mind. You take it back. You don’t think that’ll fit anyways. 

“Close your legs together,” he says, interrupting your thoughts. Although he says that, he’s the one closing the gap between your legs, proceeding to place them on his shoulders. Speechless, you watched as he brought his cock closer and closer to you until he’s placing it between your lips, coating his appendage with your cum. 

“Haah... Oh!” You're surprised when he drags his cock over your clit, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. You could have sworn you got even wetter than you already were. 

Once wet, Sukuna takes his time, slowly sliding his cock between the plush flesh of your thighs. He groans, his head falling back as you watch his Adam's apple throb. 

Sukuna starts out slow. Apart from your labored breathing, you could hear the wet faps everytime he moves his hips, gliding his cock cover your wet cunt. A sob of pleasure washes over you when his cock brushes against your clit. You came, your entire body convulsing with overstimulation. 

By this time, Sukuna had quickened his pace, the couch sliding across the floor with each drag of his hips. With his cock pumping in and out, he gave your thighs the same hue of red as the flush on your cheeks. 

“I’m going to–” With a loud groan, Sukuna came. Thick, hot strands of his cum splattered on your stomach, with a few drops reaching your breasts as well. He continues to half-heartedly thrust until his high faded. Panting heavily, eyelids fluttering, he takes his sweet time memorizing the image of your body rightfully decorated with his seeds. If he were to be hit with a truck right now, he would die a happy man. 

Snapping back to reality, Sukuna gently places your legs down, turning towards the coffee table to grab a few tissues. When he glanced back towards you, his eyes widened. 

You were sat up—prettily so, he might add—licking his cum off your fingers. At the sight, Sukuna Jr. became hard again, ready for round two. Sensing his stare, you looked right back at him, a smirk adorning your lips. Maintaining eye contact, you gathered the rest of his cum on your fingers, licking it once more. 

'What a damn minx,' the man thought, unable to take his eyes off you. His eyes darkened, wanting to revert back to his primal urges to just take you for himself. 

Fuck him. 

Sukuna smashes his lips against yours, tasting the remnants of himself. But no matter, because all he could focus on at the moment was you.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifts you effortlessly and carries you to the bathroom. 

Once inside, he places you on the vanity. “Let’s not go any further he tells you,” he insisted, nudging his forehead against yours. You cocked your head to the side, confused. “If we go any further, I don’t think I can control myself.” 

‘Then don’t,’ you thought. 

Sukuna was really hanging on his last thread here. Thankfully for him, you just nodded, deciding to not push the matter any further. 

Friday, December 27th 

Cold. 

It was cold. 

The warmth of the blankets is the only thing that keeps the biting chill of the morning from nipping at your cheeks and nose. You snuggle deeper into them, wishing you could just stay there forever. As you shift, you feel the soft, steady pressure of his arm around you. You awaken, heart quickening, not used to another human presence in your bed. 

Noticing who the person was, you immediately relaxed. Although that came to a quick stop, once you noticed the shirtless torso staring right back at you. Glancing down, you realized you were naked too. 

Fully awake now, you race through your memories of last night. Right after your… uhh… Sukuna’s assistance in helping you further understand your womanhood, he brought you to the bathroom. You two then made out on the bathroom vanity. Then, the two of you showered. He was shampooing your hair and then… blank. 

You couldn’t remember anything after that. 

Crap. 

You looked at the man beside you, his face impossibly serene. His hair is adorably messy, strands falling across his forehead, and his lips are slightly parted as soft breaths escape him. The sight makes your heart swell, bringing a grin to your face. 

Carefully, you reach out, feeling mischievous, you gently booped his nose. The contrast between your cold touch and his warmth stirs him. He scrunches his nose, his lashes fluttering as he slowly blinks awake. His sleepy eyes meet yours, and lazily blinks for a few seconds. He then wordlessly nuzzles his face against your neck, breathing in your scent. 

A soft, muffled groan escapes him as his nose brushes against your skin. “Cold,” he mutters groggily, his voice a deep rumble that makes you giggle. Despite his complaint, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he wraps his arms around you tighter, effectively trapping you against his warm, bare chest.

“Good morning,” you greeted, running your fingers through his messy hair.

“Mornin’,” he yawns back. 

For a moment, the two of you linger in the warmth of the blankets, both wordlessly agreeing that you guys would much rather stay in your current positions for the rest of the day. But the sound of your alarm buzzing from the nightstand breaks the spell. He groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Nope. I refuse. Let’s just call in sick.”

You laugh, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “We can’t do that, Mr. CEO. Come on, get up.” He pouts in response and you can’t help but inwardly squeal at how much he seems to resemble a sulky cat. 

Reluctantly, he loosens his hold, and the two of you begin to prepare for the rest of the day. After a quick shower together and a few shared glances in the mirror, you both finish getting ready. 

The two of you step out into the crisp morning air, making your way to his car as frost glimmers like delicate lace on the windows under the pale light. He starts the engine, the heater sputtering to life and gradually filling the cabin with warmth as you settle into the passenger seat.

The drive to work is quiet and peaceful, with soft music playing on the radio. You steal a few glances at him, watching the way his hands grip the wheel and the faint concentration in his expression. It’s then you notice he’s wearing the same suit as yesterday—a subtle reminder that he hadn’t planned to stay the night. 

The car rolls to a stop in front of the towering company building, its sleek glass exterior reflecting the soft light of the winter morning. He parks in his usual reserved spot and turns to you with a warm smile. “Alright, don’t miss me too much,” he teases.

You roll your eyes playfully, getting out of his car. “Trust me, I won’t.” 

Inside, the hum of the office quickly pulls you into the rhythm of the workday. Emails flood your inbox, and tasks pile up as you try to focus, but it’s no use. Your thoughts keep drifting back to him—his voice, his annoying smirk, the way his hair was still slightly messed up this morning, and his cock.

Stop. 

You find yourself staring blankly at your computer screen, rereading the same line of text over and over. 

“Mr. Ryomen! How can I…” 

Your ears perk up at his name, and before you can stop yourself, your head turns toward the source of the voice. From your desk, you catch a glimpse of him on the other side of the room. He’s speaking with one of the department heads, his expression serious yet calm as he listens. Occasionally, he nods or gestures slightly with his hand. But it’s the subtle quirks you notice—the way his lips twitch as if suppressing a smirk, or how he adjusts his cufflinks absentmindedly. 

For a brief moment, he glances in your direction. You immediately snap your eyes back to your screen, your cheeks burning, praying he didn’t catch you staring.

But then, you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching. You keep your eyes glued to your monitor, trying to make yourself look busy, but it’s no use. You can feel him before you even see him.

“Daydreaming already?” his voice rumbles softly, a teasing edge to his tone.

Your head snaps up to see him standing beside your desk, hands casually tucked into his pockets, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“N-No, of course not,” you stammer, straightening in your chair. “Just...focused.”

“Focused?” he echoes, raising a brow as his eyes flick to your screen. “On an empty email draft?”

You glance at the monitor and cringe inwardly. “I was...thinking about how to word it,” you say quickly, trying to salvage your pride.

He chuckles, leaning in slightly so only you can hear. “If you’re this distracted, maybe I should’ve kept you in the car a little longer.”

Your face grows impossibly hotter, and you glare up at him. “Aren’t you busy?” You shoo him away with your hand.

“Plenty,” he says smoothly, his grin widening. “But I couldn’t resist checking on my favorite employee.” Before you can respond, he straightens and takes a step back. “Carry on, then.” With that, he turns and walks away, leaving you flustered and unable to focus for the rest of the day.

Usually, you would take the overtime—but not today. Today, the idea of staying longer just feels unbearable. You left the minute the clock struck 5. You practically race to the elevator, your pulse quickening with every step. The doors close behind you with a soft chime, and as the elevator descends, you feel a small sense of relief wash over you.

By the way, on your walk home, you stopped by an adult store. From there, you quickly bought a dildo (you tried to find one a similar length and girth as you know who) and scurried your way back home. 

Saturday, December 28th 

You came into work on a Saturday, mainly because there’s a pile of leftover paperwork that you didn’t manage to finish before you left yesterday. And you blamed Sukuna for it. 

The quiet hum of the building is quite a stark contrast to the bustling energy it usually has during the weekdays. You manage to finish fairly quickly with no distractions, particularly with the absence of a certain pink haired tattooed man. By the time you’re done, you stretch your arms above your head, the tension in your shoulders easing as you stand and walk around to shake off the stiffness from sitting too long. You glance at the clock—it’s still early enough for lunch.

As you head to pack up your things, you’re startled by the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up to see Sukuna, eyes scanning the room with mild curiosity.

His eyes land on you, widening. “You’re here on a Saturday?” he asks, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Yeah, just wrapping up some stuff,” you answer, grabbing your bag and shrugging. “Had a little bit left from yesterday.”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, walking over to you. “Well, since you're done with your ‘extra work,’” he says, “how about joining me for lunch in my office? I could use the company.”

You hesitate for a second. You're not exactly opposed to the idea, but considering the guy who’s asking you out to lunch is the very person driving your head mad, it's not exactly the easiest invitation to accept.

But then again, it’s just lunch, right? 

You offer a half-smile, trying to mask the lingering uncertainty. “Alright, I’ll join you,” you say, trying to sound more casual than you feel.

Sukuna smiles back at you, the corners of his lips twitching upward in that signature smirk. He walks towards the elevator with you following suite.The two of you step into the elevator, the soft chime signaling its ascent. For a moment, the only sound is the soft hum of the machinery. 

Suddenly, the elevator jerks, causing you to stumble slightly. Sukuna grabs you by the shoulders, steadying you as the lights start to flicker. You glance over at Sukuna, who doesn't seem too alarmed, but the furrow of his brow tells you he’s noticed it too.

"Did it just stop?" you ask, voice laced with surprise.

"Seems like it." His voice is calm, though you can detect a hint of frustration in his usually smooth tone.

You both glance at the display, watching as the floor numbers refuse to change. 

Fuck you, elevator. 

Sukuna pulls out his phone, his fingers swiftly tapping away on the screen. “I’ll text maintenance,” his tone is clipped. You watch as his fingers fly over the keys, typing a quick message. He pauses for a moment, then taps send.

Luckily for him, maintenance responded to him immediately. Sukuna scans the text message for a few seconds before raising his head to look at you. “Apparently, the whole building is out of power. It'll take about half an hour before the power starts running again.”

You blink, trying to process the information. "The whole building?" you echo, glancing at the elevator walls as if expecting the entire structure to come crashing down.

He gives a nod, his gaze narrowing as if he’s already over the inconvenience. “Yep. Looks like we're stuck here for a while.” He pauses, checking the time on his phone before sliding it back into his pocket. Sukuna’s lips twitch into a half-smirk as he takes a step closer, the space between you now noticeably smaller. “Well, guess it’s just you and me, then.”

“Well, you're not exactly the worst company to be stuck with, though,” you admit. You find yourself thinking about that one time you were stuck with Alan from finance and Jeffrey from HR. Alan, bless his soul, stayed silent in a corner the whole fifteen minutes, trembling out of fear. On the other hand, Jeffrey was consistently trying to flirt with you the entire time, probably breaking a few HR protocols here and there. The irony. 

You scoff thinking about it.  

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, his gaze flicking over to you. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You got a problem with being stuck in small spaces or something?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question. “Huh? Oh, no, nothing like that," you quickly reply, trying to brush it off. “Just... thinking about some interesting elevator experiences I’ve had.”

He smirks, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, clearly not buying your quick explanation. “Hmm, sure. Sounds like you’ve got some interesting stories,” he muses. 

Closing the space between the two of you, he traps you against the walls of the elevator, leaving you no room to move. “Speaking of interesting stories, I heard from a few little birdies you left early yesterday.”

You stiffen, taken off guard by the sudden proximity. His smirk deepens as he leans in just a bit closer, his breath warm against your cheek. You can feel the pulse of his presence more than ever now, the space between you thick with tension.

“Did I?” you manage to say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Maybe I just had things to do.”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, his gaze intense as he watches you carefully. “Is that so?” His tone is teasing but holds a hint of something more dangerous. He doesn’t move back, instead, his hand gently rests against the railings behind you, trapping you in place. “I find it funny how Ms. Overtimer decided to leave at 5 o’clock sharp. She couldn't have been trying to avoid someone, was she?” 

What was this? An interrogation? 

You swallow, unable to escape the directness of his gaze. “N-no. Like I said, I had stuff to do.” 

His smirk deepened. “And what would that be?”

You flushed, thinking back on your nightly activities yesterday. The voices from the “How To Give A Good Blow Job” video you were watching yesterday echoed through your head. 

What’s important with a blow job is to use lots of saliva to make it really wet. 

When you approach a penis, it’s very important to…

Go all the way, but don’t just lick the tip.

You don’t just lick it like a lollipop or like an ice cream cone, you really put it all in your mouth.

The next thing you thought of was the porn videos you watched right after that, as you tried to imitate the actions of the porn star on the dildo you just bought. 

As you snap back to reality, you’re faced with Sukuna’s arrogant looking face staring right back at you. “I’ll tell you what I did,” he rasps into your ear. “The moment I got back home, I fucked my fists, pretending it was you.” 

His hands reach underneath your shirt from the back, gliding over the hooks of your bra. “I thought of your drenched little pussy, bouncing on my cock, clenching around me, cumming again and again, just begging for more.” 

Your pussy throbs from his words. Before you know it, you wrap your arms around him, kissing him like your life depended on it. 

At some point you parted for air, gazing up at him through hooded eyes. Playing with his trousers, you bend towards his ear, whispering, “Do you know what I did? I bought myself a dildo, the size of your cock.” His hold around you tightens. Teasingly, you bite his ear, causing him to groan. “Do you know how hard I worked yesterday? Trying to suck that piece of plastic because I wanted to surprise you with a good time.” 

You can’t even get another word out when Sukuna’s mouth is back on yours, trying to devour you until there’s nothing left of you but a damn puddle. Just when he’s about to strip you of your shirt, the elevator door gracefully opens as if it wasn’t stuck just moments ago. 

It didn’t even take a second before Sukuna pulled you into his arms, bringing you straight into his office. 

Safe to say, the two of you enjoyed each other for lunch. 

Sunday, December 29

You’re sitting on your couch, eyes glazed over as you skim through another round of work emails, when one subject line catches your attention: "New York Business Trip". Curious, you open it, expecting some mundane update or meeting schedule. 

Surprisingly, your company is sending you and a few others to New York for a new client. The email outlines everything: flight details, accommodations, and a packed itinerary filled with meetings. You blink a few times, rereading the email to make sure you’re not imagining things.

Ah. 

Well, you should probably get to packing. 

Monday, December 30 

The flight to New York was mundane at best. Luckily no crying babies were on the flight. 

By the time you got there, it was already nighttime. Tired and exhausted, you and your colleagues made your way to the hotel.

You quickly fell asleep, your mind rather occupied with work.

Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna had also flown into New York a day prior for his own business engagements. 

Tuesday, December 31

The client offers you a sincere handshake as they prepare to leave. After stepping out, a collective sigh of relief fills the room.

As the door clicks shut, one of your coworkers slouches dramatically in their chair, their voice heavy with complaint. "Ugh, I’m so tired. Do we really have to work so close to the new year?"

Another coworker, ever the optimist, chuckles and leans back in their chair. "At least we're in New York for the new year. I mean, that's gotta be pretty exciting, right?"

A third coworker, always the one with the best ideas, perks up with enthusiasm. "Why don’t we just celebrate tonight? Let’s hit a nice restaurant and make the most of being in New York. Who’s in?"

The idea quickly gains traction, and with a few enthusiastic nods, plans are made. The team agrees to head out together to celebrate.

You all decided on a restaurant by the pier, away from midtown which tended to be one of the busiest parts of the city during the new year. Drinks are poured, toasts are made, and the atmosphere quickly shifts from business to pure enjoyment. The laughter grows louder as more wine flows, the chatter about work now replaced with stories of company drama. 

“Jeffrey from HR got fired!” 

“No way! What happened?” 

“I heard he got caught trying to buy drinks with the company card!” 

“I heard he got caught harassing some of the female staff!”

“I heard…” 

“Classic Jeffrey,” a coworker mutters, shaking their head. “The guy was a walking HR violation. Good riddance.”

You laugh. “Funny, considering he’s HR himself.” 

Another coworker, slightly tipsy, raises their glass. “To Jeffrey’s unemployment!” Everyone laughs, raising their glasses in solidarity.

The conversation shifts as someone notices a familiar pink-haired man, sitting at a table behind you with a relaxed, almost amused expression.

"Wait, isn't that…?" One of the coworkers squints, their eyes widening. "Mr. Ryomen?!"

The room falls quiet for a split second, and all eyes turn toward him. There's a brief, stunned silence as the reality sets in. Sukuna raises a brow, sensing the sudden shift in attention. "No need to act so formal, people," he says, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "This is a celebration, not a board meeting. Dinner’s on me." At his words, the initial awkwardness disperses, a collective cheer erupting around the table. 

Sukuna's gaze drifts toward you, and for a moment, the chatter around the table fades into the background. You look up at him, your eyes meeting his. The night continues, the laughter growing louder as more wine flows and the atmosphere grows more relaxed. Your coworkers are clearly enjoying themselves, their inhibitions loosening as they drink and joke.

Somewhere between the third round of drinks and the jokes about Jeffrey, Sukuna leans closer to you, his voice low as he addresses you. "You wanna head out?"

You glance around, noticing that the group is becoming more boisterous, a little too drunk for comfort. You nod, slipping out of your seat quietly, unnoticed in the haze of celebration.

The two of you walk side by side, his hand slipping into yours as he gently tucks it into the warm pocket of his winter jacket. Ending up by the pier where you can enjoy New York City’s cityscape alone, the two of you stood by the railing, the city lights shimmering in the distance, reflecting off the water below. The noise of the city feels distant here, leaving just the sound of the waves lapping against the shore and the occasional hum of passing traffic. 

Sukuna stands close, his presence comforting and intense, but there’s an unspoken ease between you now. He watches you looking at the skyline, almost entranced by the city lights. He's entranced by the way your gaze softens, the flicker of wonder in your eyes, as if the city itself holds a kind of magic just for you.

His gaze drifts down to your face, the way the soft glow of the lights highlights your features, and for a moment, he forgets the world around him.

“You like it here?” he asks, his voice low, almost lost in the wind.

You nod, taking in the sight of the towering buildings, the lights that make the city pulse with life. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice quiet, but content.

Sukuna smiles, a rare, almost gentle curve of his lips.“You know,” he begins, his voice a bit more serious now. 

You turn to face him. “I like you,” he admits, his voice steady but low, the sincerity in his eyes undeniable. “More than I should.” 

Your face shifts to one of surprise before a smile spreads across your lips. “And?” you ask, a teasing edge to your voice as you try to coax more out of him.

Sukuna’s expression falters for a moment, a look of surprise crossing his features, as he didn’t expect for you to react so playfully, before his usual confidence returns. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming yet somehow comforting, his gaze never leaving yours. 

“And…” he murmurs, taking a breath as if steadying himself for something more. He tilts his head slightly, a small, almost playful glint in his eyes now. “This confession has been long overdue.” 

You cock your head to the side. “And?” 

Sukuna rolls his eyes. Cradling your face with both his hands, he pulls you gently toward him, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes soften, the playful glint still present, but there’s a sincerity now that you can’t ignore.

“Goddammit, woman,” he mutters, although there’s no trace of frustration or anger behind it. “And,” he starts again, voice quieter this time, “I want you.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

“I need you.” 

Another tender kiss, this time to your nose, as if savoring the simple closeness of you.

“I love you.”

‘I've loved you ever since your stubborn ass appeared in that elevator,’ he thought. 

Without another word, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s slow, deliberate, and full of all the things he hadn’t been able to say. The world around you seems to fade as the moment stretches on, leaving only the two of you, suspended in the quiet of the city night.

Sukuna closes his bedroom door behind you with a soft click, turning towards you once he locks the door. Crossing the short distance between the door and you with a few, casual strides, he helps you out of your coat, carelessly leaving it on the floor once off. Not even moments later, the rest of your clothes soon followed the fate of the discarded coat. 

Your body was bare before Sukuna’s affectionate gaze; vulnerable and utterly exposed to his wandering eyes. “You’re soaked, darling,” his silken cadence carrying a hint of teasing. It’s no surprise though, considering he fingered you in his car on the way to his New York City penthouse. 

“Put it in already,” you whine, tired of waiting. In fact, you’ve waited for exactly a week ever since the man took your first kiss and first orgasm. 

He bites your thighs in response. “Don’t you know patience is a virtue?” 

“Funny, I don’t remember signing up to be virtuous,” you muttered. 

He laughs in return. “Well, it’s not too late to start, but you might want to hurry.” You rolled your eyes. This man is insufferable. You start self-pitying yourself for falling for this man’s charms. 

Sukuna begins to pepper kisses down your thighs, before reaching the wet mess between your legs. He gives your cute cunny a wet, sloppy french kiss, causing you to squirm. Sukuna’s hands, however, found themselves wrapped around your thighs, preventing you from squirming away. 

Just when you’re about to reach your high, he parts from you, a frustrated whine permeates the air. He playfully tsks at you, shaking his head with a smirk. “What did I say about patience?” 

“I don’t want to hear that from you!” you exclaimed. “You’re impatient and far from virtuous, you pervert.”

“Me? Impatient? I held out for 4 years. Just when I could take you for myself, I cockblocked myself for a week.” He taps the head of his cock on your slit. “If anything, I’m the epitome of virtue.” 

“That’s bull– AH!” Your head smothered in the crook of his neck, legs trembling, your upper body falling limp to the dull aching pain in between your legs. 

On Sukuna’s end, he hisses from the way your virgin walls tighten around his length, his eyes half-lidded. “Shitt…” he curses breathily, the tightness of your pussy is almost too much for him. With the addictive way your walls wrap around his cock, he can’t help but yearn for more. He snaps out of his mind-fucked haze when he hears your quiet sniffles. 

Sukuna gently distracts you by petting your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he shushes you softly, the warmth of his hand grounding you. He licks away the tears threatening to fall from the corners of your eye. 

“You're an animal,” you croaked out. His fingers continue their gentle path through your hair, the action tender but possessive. 

“Shouldn’t that be obvious by now?” he murmured, silencing your whimpers with a deep kiss. One of his fists, curled so tightly, draws blood, as he holds back a debauched smile from appearing on his face. His breathing is labored, each exhale coming out in sharp bursts, but his eyes—those predatory, crimson eyes—remain locked on you with an intensity that borders on dangerous. The control he’s desperately clinging to is beginning to fray. That debauched smile of his still doesn’t quite break free, but if you were to open your eyes, you can see it lurking, threatening to spill over at any moment. 

Right. This is why he was so hesitant about claiming you as his. Because once he did, his possessiveness would consume him entirely, and no amount of restraint could keep him from acting on the wild urge to mark you, to own every inch of you. It’s why he had kept his distance, why he had let the silence stretch between you for so long. But now, with you so close, with your scent filling his senses, it was clear he had waited too long.

The struggle within him intensifies, the weight of his desires battling with the need to maintain decent dignity, but seeing the frown on your lips tugged on his fucked-up sense of morals. So, he patiently waits until your legs are no longer trembling. Kissing the palm of your hands, he asks, “Can I start moving now?” 

You respond with a breathless yes. As you wished, he started moving with carefully curated, slow thrusts. Your mind fills with confusion, unable to figure out the difference in the waves of twisted pain and pleasure you feel with each drag of his hips. 

Sukuna bends down to your tits, taking your pebbled nipple in his mouth, while teasing the other one with his hands. “So fucking tight,” he rasps, parting from your sensitive bud, leaving only but a string of saliva. 

God, this pussy will be the end of him. You will be the end of him.

‘Aren’t you the most prettiest thing,’ he thinks to himself.  

On the other hand, you feel too overwhelmed to even think. You pant through each tactful thrust of his, your hands clutching onto his bed sheets to ground yourself. Feeling the specific drag against your g-spot, you let yourself go without warning. 

Feeling your pussy clench wildly around his appendage, Sukuna curses, attempting to pull out but ultimately failing when your cunt just sucks him right back in. A choked up laugh bubbles from his throat, as he submits himself to pleasure, releasing his sperm right into your cavern. When he pulls out, he savors the scene of your stretched hole pulsing wildly yet clenching around nothing. 

Sukuna gives you a quick kiss on your lips, symbolizing a job well done, before walking towards his mini fridge to get beverages for the both of you. Disregarding your aching lower half, you sat up from your position, watching your lover—butt naked—tinkering with the items in the fridge. 

You stare into space when you think about how… soft he was with you. You almost wonder if somehow a ghost took over his body the few times he was intimate with you. You knew that man had a penchant for torturing his bed partners with pleasure. It was almost common knowledge with anyone who has interacted with anyone from Silvia’s high society circle. Or any one of the Sukuna’s past flings. You, neither in Silvia’s circle nor friends with any of Sukuna’s past flings, only relied on the words from a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a… you get it. 

Anyways, his gentle demeanor with you almost deceptively deceives you of his true nature in bed. As delighted as you were by his ability to approach you with such surprising gentleness, you wanted to know the full extent of Sukuna’s… bedtime habits, so to speak. 

There’s a saying: Curiosity killed the cat. 

So don’t say this narrator didn’t warn you beforehand. 

You snap back from your thoughts when you realize Sukuna was heading back towards you with two bottles of water. He opens the cap for you before handing you one of the bottles, placing the edge of the bottom on your forehead, a gesture that takes you by surprise. The coolness of the bottle against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, sharply contrasting the lingering memory of his body heat pressed so close to yours.

You take the bottle, mumbling a quiet thank you, before taking a few sips. He hums in response, proceeding to take a drink from his bottle himself. You watched his Adam's apple bob with each swallow, the movement oddly captivating. 

“Don’t you think you’ve been holding back?” you stated as a matter of fact. 

He stops drinking, looking at you over the rim of his bottle, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing your words. The silence hangs between you, thick with anticipation. Slowly, he lowers the bottle, twisting the cap back on. His gaze never leaves yours, sharp and calculating, like he’s trying to read the real meaning behind your statement. 

“You’re way too eager to push me,” he murmurs, his lips licking off the excess moisture from the liquid. “You should be more worried about your wellbeing than the rumors floating around about my sexual preferences.” He sits down on the edge of the bed, putting a strand of hair behind your ears. 

You slap that hand away, pouting. “Well, if you’re not going to fuck me properly, I’ll just go find someone else to do it,” you state, preparing to stand from your spot and pretend to leave the room. 

Sukuna clenches the empty plastic bottle in his hand, the sound of crushed plastic permeating in the room. 

“Sit down.” He pats his lap, motioning for you to take a seat. 

The command is simple, but it cuts through the air with a force that makes your body freeze, your movements halting mid-step. There's no mistaking the tone in his voice—low, dangerous, and absolute. The room feels smaller now, the air in the room somehow thickens.

You hesitate, eyes flickering between his clenched fist and the way his gaze remains locked on you, as though daring you to challenge him. And despite yourself, you do end up sitting on his lap, his arms immediately cradling you against his body. He grazes his teeth on your shoulder, before actually biting, drawing blood. 

Startled, you flinch. However, with Sukuna’s arms wrapped around you, you couldn’t move nor could you run away. 

“You’re being such a brat,” he slurred, sounding drunk on your smell. He brings his other hand to caress your cheeks, “And here I thought you were my good little girl.”

Your heart quickens with excitement, the pulse in your chest pounding louder than ever. It’s a heady mix of anticipation and the raw thrill, the tension between you both so thick it’s almost suffocating. 

"Am I not being good enough for you?" you asked with a hint of mock innocence, feigning ignorance. You intwine your hands with his, nuzzle your face into the palm of his hands. 

“If you were, we wouldn’t be in this position,” he rasps, his self-control hanging by a thread just waiting to snap at the right moment. Your breath hitched slightly when he runs his large, calloused hands around your sides before stopping by your ass cheeks to fondle it. His voice was low and husky as he spoke, filled with a barely restrained lust. "You're being a dangerous tease right now, love.” 

“Dangerous?” you mused, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. “Why am I so dangerous?” You began to slowly grind your hips against his, gently rocking in his lap. 

Sukuna's hands clenched tightly on to your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he felt your body move against him, creating a torturously good friction. “Precisely because of this,” a hint of a growl escaping from his lips.

You purposefully let out a loud unabashed moan as you continue to rub yourself against his tattooed thighs, hoping to crumble whatever’s left of his self-control. Pushing out his cum from earlier, you smear it all over his thighs. “Oops,” you gasped, faking your astonishment. “Sorry for making such a mess, Kuna. You know I couldn't help myself,” you taunted, unknowingly signing a sealed deal for the absolute annihilation of your body for the next morning come. 

Snap 

The very next second, you’re thrown onto the bed. You look behind you where his large and strong frame hovers over yours. You don’t even get a chance to savor the look on his face when he grabs you by the hair, pushing your head face down into the mattress. 

“That’s it. Shut it, you cock hungry slut.” 

Oh! So there’s that sadistic pervert of a man you know and love. 

Inserting his fingers into you, he starts targeting your g-spot, probing at that one spot on purpose! 

“That’s enough!” you protested, your legs shaking from quite possibly overstimulation.  

He doesn’t stop, pretending as if he didn’t hear. After a while of constant whining on your end and absolutely zero reactions on his, you attempt to crawl away from him, the sensation far too overstimulating for you. Your plan comes to a foul stop however, when he drags you back with a sharp pull by your legs. 

Your head snapped back to look at him, his eyes burning holes into your skull, looking absolutely furious with you. “I thought you wanted to fuck around and find out?” A hand comes down onto your ass cheek. “I’m giving you exactly what you asked for, so why are you running away?” 

Exactly, why are you running away? You give yourself a mental prayer, before deciding to absolutely stop using your head and to start thinking with your cunt instead. 

Sukuna presses his body up against yours, his weight almost knocking the air out of your lungs. Practically accepting the position you're in, you wholly welcome his cock sliding into your needy pussy. 

“You’re probably the best cock sleeve I’ve come across so far,” he groans. “Probably because of that slobbering pussy of yours.” He forces two fingers into your mouth, a mad grin spreading across his face when he feels your tongue swirl around his digits. “Right,” he thrusts even harder, causing you to gag on his fingers, “and I can't forget about that slutty mouth of yours.” 

Fuck. Was it just you or did his cock just get bigger while inside? 

You can’t even focus for long when he’s prone boning you into the mattress like the pleasure-drunk sadist he is. 

Each time he looks down at you with those glazed eyes.

Each time he pushes into you. 

Your mind goes blank from pleasure. 

The vulgar sounds of flesh on flesh echoes in your ear, filling up your head til you can’t think of anything else. 

Panic arises in you, snapping you out of your euphoric haze when you suddenly feel the need to pee out of nowhere. With a sudden surge of clarity, as if flipping a switch, you quickly inform Sukuna of your urgent matter. Or at least you try to— through the moans, pants, screams, and incoherent ramblings. 

Weirdly enough, even through all that, he surprisingly understands your intended message quite well. Although his response is not one you expect. 

 “Go ahead,” he sneers. “Squirt, cum, piss as many times as you want. The sheets are dirty enough already.” 

“...Ngnhh. It feels… strange… good. O-h fuck!” You squirt—or was it piss, anywho it didn’t matter what it was—for the nth time that night. You're unsure how many times you came so far. But then again, who’s keeping count? 

“Say you love me,” he mutters under his ragged breaths. 

You don’t seem to process his words though. Thoroughly fucked over, the only sounds you make are absolutely obscene. “Ngh oh~ hahhh!” 

“Louder,” he demands, his cock pummeling into your aching cunt. “Say you love me. Come on. Say it feels good.” 

“Haa! Hngh! Oh!” Only unabashed moans escapes your lips, your mind too fucked to comprehend his words. 

“Did I already fuck you dumb?” he mocked, clearly unimpressed with your lack of decorum. That’s a lie. He’s reveling in pure joy 

Suddenly, he changes his pace, going obnoxiously slow.

You writhed in response, whines escaping your mouth. “Nooo,” you protest, missing the fast pace already. 

“No?” Sukuna slowly pulls out until his tip is only part enveloped by your warmth. “Weren’t you begging me to slow down earlier though?” 

You don't even remember if you said that. In fact, you can't recall any of the jumbled words that came out of your mouth. And for all you knew, he could've just made it up.

Fucked as you were, you could only respond with a mumble of incoherent whines.

In response, he spanks you, your pussy clenching in response, making him grin. “Aww, does my pretty little slut like that?” He spanks you one more time, pleased when your walls clenched around him once again. 

Now that he’s got your attention, he repeats his orders to you once more. Through thick tears of pleasure dripping down your face, you whisper, “I love you, Kuna.” 

Fuck. 

Now, you were really going to be the death of him. 

Not giving you a second to breathe, he pulls you towards the edge of the bed. Then, almost effortlessly, he holds you in the full nelson position. You’re surprised when he walks you towards the glass windows of his bedroom. From there, you could see the whole entire city of New York, its lights shimmering like a sea of stars beneath you. The skyline stretches far and wide, towering buildings casting long shadows across the streets, their lights flickering in rhythm with the pulse of the city. But more than that, you see the fucked-up position you're in, reflected in the glass windows. 

“Since you enjoy the view so much…” Sukuna slowly positions his cock to your needy cunt. You squeal the moment he penetrates, his heavy and thick cock mercilessly berating your slutty walls. “Enjoy it while you can!” 

He brings you down on his cock, harder with every pound. Expectedly, your vulgar juices trickle down his 8 inch cock with every drag of your hips, creating a white ring around the base of his cock. 

“Kuna– I- ngh! Tooo-oooo d-deep! It’s too much!” 

Your words cause Sukuna to chuckle. Too much? Too much? Your pussy sure didn’t think so, welcoming each thrust with open arms, even greedy for more. It sucked in his cock so well, getting tighter every time he tried to pull out. 

You interrupt his trance when you start chanting his name over and over again, the only warning he has until you squirt all over his cock, his floor, and his penthouse windows. He follows suit, pulling out his cock, and allowing his cum to join the mess you have already made. 

Feeling light-headed, he thirsts for air, deciding that your lips was the only remedy he wanted—needed, at this moment. 

In the midst of your kiss, fireworks sprung into the night sky, painting the sky with their brilliant lights. The colorful splatter of light shines through the windows of Sukuna’s New York penthouse. 

Wednesday, January 1

Your attention was briefly drawn to them as they sparkled and crackled above, their explosions echoing through the silence of the night.

Sukuna, his breath still coming in warm pants, looked up at the fireworks only momentarily before returning his crimson eyes back towards you, intense and unwavering. 

He places you down, his hand gently cupping your jaw, turning your head to the side. As the fireworks painted the sky with fleeting brilliance, Sukuna's lips found yours again, grounding you in a moment that felt timeless—far more profound than the fleeting lights above.

Author’s note: My apologies for any grammar mistakes in advance 🙇‍♀️ The fic ended up being longer than I expected, so I had to cut/summarize several scenes to ensure everything would fit on Tumblr.  Here are some of the plot points that I skimmed over (that were originally supposed to be stretched out into proper scenes): A shower scene y/n learning how to give a blow job using a sex toy Phone sex between the two the day y/n got the business trip email  And of course, the office sex scene

There’s a few more but that’s a secret for now haha. Anyways if any of you all are interested, please let me know

[the-faceless-bride]

Some Of my current ideas and obsession Blurbs (if you find any of them interesting, I'm open to hearing ideas 👀👀)

Part 2 ->

Imagine being a demon...

Imagine Part of your power has to do with death, corruption, and seeing who someone was when they were alive... as a demon, the death of Rengoku Kyojuro broke you. He was such a beautiful, loving, caring man. Giving such an unfair and unfortunate death... you just couldn't accept this...

Imagine You bring him back as he springs up after your ritual. His hair was a mess, covered in dirt, his clothes ripped. He gasps for air as if it was the first he's had in centuries... "Poor unfortunate soul, so sad, in need... come allow me to give you a second chance."

Imagine His horror. Him. Now a Demon. Tethered to you. Unable to die again unless you give him permission to do so... he tired. Sat in the sun. But while he felt weak and itchy, he didn't die. He hated it. Hated himself. He hated you. You who, while yes, didn't have malicious intent. Who gave him a second chance at 'life' as you called this... you who brought him back and unlike when he was alive in his final moments felt no pain, no hunger, he hated you.

Imagine slowly helping him come to terms with his eternal life. From Enemies (one sided) to Lovers letting him stay with you in your small hidden village of other demon families that have also been brought back and tethered to you. Still fulfilling his dreams, taking down the demons who "lost their humanity and deserved their eternity to end."

Imagine the conflict you face, when His once friends and found family find him... a demon... still classic Kyojuro but yet so different... what do you do? An angry group of Hashira Pillars cursing you for what you did to their friend. Kyojuro broken and ashamed of what he is once more at the heart break of his friends being scared of him, some of them hating him all together...

Imagine him calling out to you, help him. Make them listen. Please. His Angel... his little firefly... please make them understand. He can't bare the way they look at him... help him... he needs you.

Rengoku Kyojuro × demon Reader Trope: Enemies to lovers

Now also Imagine being a demon...

Imagine being a demon who was so desperately, hopelessly, in love with Gyomei Himejima. Hopelessly devoted to a man who didn't even know you existed. You watched him at night, singing your sweet song and lulling him to a deeper sleep each night. Wishing nothing more than to one day be able to caress and memorize every inch of his mind, body, and soul. Wishing to kiss his soft looking lips...

Imagine desperately trying to deny what you know is true... you've heard it from your fellow demon 'friend' over and over again. And tonight, you were desperately trying to hold on to your dreams... "[name] just face it... he's a Demon slayer. A hashira. And to him, you're a monster... that something no amount of love is going to change. You'd be better off not thinking about him anymore. If you really love him, you'd let him go... besides a pretty human girl will probably catch his attention sooner or later..." You hang your head as tears fill your eyes, it's not true... it's not. He could love you. He could...

Imagine one day, you run into him in the Forest. The Forrest trees are so thick that the completely block out the sun, it's only a small section of the Forest. You liked to come here to lay in the flowers, and apparently Gyomei had thought the same...

Imagine He needed a quiet place, today had been a very hectic day. No peace and quiet today at all. He'd simply sat under a particularly large tree, focusing on his breath. You'd sat so unbelievably still. Not wanting to move and risk ruining this perfect moment. You were so close. You'd never been this close to him before and it made every part of your cold body ache.

Imagine accidently rustling the flowers catching his attention instantly, and he jumps to stand in a defensive position. You quickly kneel head pressing to the ground as you apologize for disturbing him, and not wanting any trouble. But oddly he doesn't attack you and instead he apologizes for startling you. At first you were confused. But then it clicked, you Had not attacked him like a demon would. He's blind. He doesn't yet realize you're a demon... this was it. Your chance. To speak to him. To hear him address you... to hear him say your name...

Imagine Pretending to be human, making it seem like you were a measly human girl who came here to sit in the flowers to relax... and this was how it went for some time... days turn to weeks, and weeks turn into months. You'd been keeping this secret of yours for 3 months, your love for Gyomei stronger and flame of obsession brighter. And he'd become so open to you. Telling you almost eveeything... sure you'd felt guilty lying to him... but you just couldn't let him. Go...

Imagine one evening, the sun setting, the fireflies and the colorful flowers surrounding you... you gain the courage to confess... stilling your heart of how much you admire him, you know that he way not feel the same way... but even if he'll never belong to you... that's OK, you are happy to just dream and be his dear friend... but to your shock and joy he accepts your confession. He's gained feelings for you. You could almost cry... but then... in an instant the happiness... your happily ever after was ripped away from you in an unfortunate series of events "Dearest... your hands are so cold..." - "GYOMEI!" A his friend Mitsuri calls out her foot steps quickly approaching, more footsteps following behind. "AWAY DISGUSTING MONSTER!" she cries her sword just barley missing you as your arm is severed clean off. And instantly Gyomei's face goes through so many emotions... worry, Confusion, shock and finally realization... and he let's you go. You dash away vanishing... "Gyomei! Are you ok?! That awful creature tricked you! She must've planned to devower you then and there if I hadn't noticed your absence! Are you OK my friend!?" The sounds of other Confused voices all speaking over each other planning to find you... Gyomei thinks of her question... is he OK?... honestly... he doesn't know...

Gyomei Himejima × Demon Reader Trope: unrequited love/Forbidden love

[pastelclovds]

Hi, I have unholy things to say about AM!

It would SO easy to fuck this robot stupid like this guy hasn't ever felt even touch his whole life and now he's got sensitive parts that feel oh so good when you play with them.

He doesn't know how to control the noises when you slowly stroke him or maybe he just doesn't care how loud he's being. When he cums, he begs for you to keep going, he doesn't want this beautiful feeling to end ever.

(aka I need this super computer to whimper my name and sob as I make him ejaculate again and again—)

i firmly believe that if am were to have a physical body that is capable of feeling sexual pleasure, he would become hyper sexual and want sex three times a day at most. when he gets a taste of that delicious climax, he’d want more and more until either you or him get tired. if you fuck him reeeally good, there’s a 50/50 chance he’d lessen the other five human’s torture by 1%.

i’m picturing that meme where two people are resting in a bed, one person is smoking a joint after ravaging the other person until they look like a damn skeleton. spoilers: the one smoking is you and the skeleton is am. 😂

@pulpbeing my fellow am fucker, what are your thoughts?

[raindotdrop]

🔞 vergil x reader | whole new breed

‧₊˚♡ summary: you were turned into a devil to save your life after a fatal attack. adapting to this new form has been okay⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯until you experience your first heat.

‧₊˚♡ word count: 2.2k

‧₊˚♡ content & warnings: smut | fem reader | piv | heat cycles | fluffy, they're in love | first time writing smut after reading so many hahahah hii

The transformation you underwent from human to devil, it was never meant to happen. You didn't know it could happen.

You were meant to die months ago, but your lover didn't allow that.

It was a brutal mission. While your fellow hunters were panicking, already grieving you⎯it took Vergil minutes to recite an ancient ritual. The man sacrificed his own flesh like it was nothing, then watched you rise from your bloody spot on the ground, ready to rejoin the fight.

He reduced fate to a joke that day, spitting into death's embrace for trying to claim you. Claiming you is his job.

Your devilish transition has been relatively easy. You look the same, sound the same, act the same. Really, the only difference is your strength. Nothing feels heavy or tiring to you anymore, nothing hurts.


Except for one thing.

Does it hurt? You aren't sure. It's... distracting, if you had to describe it. Day by day, you've been feeling more feverish. Needy, lonely, grumpy, dripping. You've forgotten the names of everyone else in your life because Vergil is dominating your foggy thoughts.

He's been working for days straight now, leaving you to worsen in your shared bed. Normally, he answers your every demon-related question and tends to you, but he's gone.

Without him present, the mere thought of him leaves you humping whatever smells like him the most. His pillow is drenched in your fluids, his clothes held up to your nose as you orgasm.

An obscene amount of slick pours from between your legs at all times, to the point where you've ditched bottoms. Your nipples are too sensitive to be covered, too. If it's fabric and not your fingers then it hurts.

Something is definitely wrong, but you don't care about all that human side versus demon side junk. You want Vergil. You don't want this frenzy to end on its own, you want him to come home and fuck it out of you.

On his side of the bed, everything is soaked. You're pathetically attempting to finger yourself at different angles and speeds because you're praying you can replicate the way he does it. Laying flat on the sheets is how you've chased your past few highs, any other position is too much of a chore.

His scent is growing stronger, your fingers pump in and out as you're buried face down in a pair of his boxers. The musk is so powerful all of a sudden, it's as if he's there. You're cumming from the intensified smell alone, shaking harder than you have in hours. Nobody warned you about the sensitivity your senses would develop.

Before you even lift your head from the bed, you're blindly reaching out for another piece of clothing to destroy. Someone grabs your wrist before you can.

With a jolt, you look up, and none other than Vergil is looking down at you. He seems to be studying you moreso than anything else.

"So I was off. I predicted your cycle would strike next week, not now..." he muses aloud, but you barely understand him. Despite Vergil being the one to grab your wrist, you've turned the tides so you're clinging onto him instead, both hands gripping him. Almost in disbelief, as if letting go means he'll vanish.

You roll onto your back using his arm as an anchor, revealing your glistening breasts to him. You're trying to tug him down onto you to no avail, whining rather than greeting him. You blink up at him, as he observes the way you leak like a waterfall from his proximity.

"Beautiful," that word kills you inside. You keep yanking at his arm, animalistically, your demonic side obscures every single word you've learned. "I would have relieved you days ago, had I known. Well, I⎯⎯"

"Vergil!" you cry out in frustration, the only word on your tongue.

Pity flashes on his features when he sees how much discomfort you must be in. Vergil had taken up extra work so he could free up his schedule during your first heat. It pains him to see his incorrect calculations lead to this.

Of course, it makes his pants feel tight and fills him with almost as much desire as you (if that's possible), but he wishes he could have guided you through every single step with care, not be invisible while your heat worsened. You must have been so confused...

"Vergil, please!" you snap him from his thoughts. Propped up on your elbows now, your eyes are watering. Sobbing, almost, and you're sucking on his fingers.

Every cell in your body craves him so much, it feels like you're going to explode. The confusion you felt from your heat's onslaught is long gone, replaced with a 'this is so right' feeling the moment Vergil entered the room.

His wet fingers pop from your mouth and stroke your cheek, coating you in your saliva. The affection in that gesture is your saving grace, you know he's going to please you from that touch alone.

"Alright. I won't keep you waiting." he says, his tone is more gravelly now that he's fully realized what he's going to do. This was unexpected, but he isn't objecting whatsoever.

Your body is so sensitive from the amount of climaxes you've inflicted on yourself, that when Vergil begins to shrug his coat off, you can't tell if you actually just orgasmed from the sight or not. The pulses around your body intensify as he reveals his bare arms to you. Do you want to watch him strip, or are you so impatient you want him to just fucking take you already with his clothes barely hanging on? It's unclear. You begin to paw at his thighs, trying to shred the fabric off.

"Eager little thing..." he coos, swatting your hands away so he can undress with no obstacles. He's stripping faster than ever before, but to you, it feels like he's moving in slow motion. Every second that he's not inside of you feels like a thousand years of emptiness. "I'm here now, don't worry." Despite his reassurances, he's the one who's worried, hoping you aren't in any pain.

Once his cock springs out, leaking precum from the feral sight enticing him, you lunge at it. Instantly, the whole length is wrapped around your lips. You're too distracted to properly suck him off, shaky hands touching him with no rhyme or reason.

Vergil chuckles. "Now, this isn't about me," he says, knotting his fingers in your hair so he can pull your mouth off. You put up quite a fight, common sense clouded by desire. Your mouth isn't the hole that's begging for him, it's just the nearest one, so it reaches in without thinking.

"We have time for that another day." The force he had to apply, it has you tumble backwards on the bed. Gasping on your back, you're already kicking at the air, aching to be close again. Drool stains your chin because you just tasted him after imagining it for so long and your body is screaming for seconds.

You see him sitting at the foot of the bed, fully bare. The sheets beneath him are coated in your release. His precum joins the mix as he rakes over your figure, mind racing with thoughts of how he can tame you when you're like this. It's a challenge that leaves his cock straining in the air.

He sternly says your name right before you try crawling back, and you freeze.

"Lay back."

The authority in his tone gets through to you, so you rest your back on the damp pillows. It takes every ounce of self control not to clamber over to him, but you know he's a man who should be listened to.

"Good girl." You twitch. He notices. "I'll fix this. Allow me,"

Relaxing in this state is impossible, but as you lean backward, the shaking in your body eases up. He kneels in front of your quivering form, still searching for any signs of pain, knowing how long your heat was left unchecked.

Your devil side is shrieking at you to touch him, but your human side finally triumphs over it, laying back so he can ravage you. Stilling yourself, breaths steadying...

An experimental hand of Vergil's rubs at your folds and all that progress is undone. You arch into the mass of pillows behind you, whimpering out, "Vergil.. please, more..!"

"I have to see if you're ready." his stern tone remains, guiding you through this the way he always intended to.

He gathers up slick, feeling you up. Obviously, you're wet enough for him to fold you over and pound you right there, but he still has to confirm for himself. Your comfort matters so much to him, even like this. Once he realizes the extent of your wetness, the fact your pussy has been getting stuffed all day, something primal ignites within him.

"I am... please, I'm so.." your begging doesn't even make sense, but the sweet sound of it nearly has Vergil trip over his words, betraying the composed way he presents himself.

"Yes, you're ready. The things you must have done before I arrived..." he trails off, having to stop himself because that imagery is dangerous territory. "You'll have to show me, next cycle."

His toned arms position themselves near your neck, a snug embrace that you nuzzle into. He wants to hold you if he's going to ruthlessly breed you, never letting you forget how much he loves you.

If only he knew that every moment you're alive is a personal reminder of his devotion, whether he's there or not. His ritual, his sacrifice, his refusal to let you die is why you're here. His love for you transcends biology and reality itself. Human or devil, you're his.

His tip smacks at your entrance and it sends you spiralling. His eyes are fixed on your face, so it takes some positioning to find your hole. He's a demon too⎯the way your face is coated in tears, slick, plus a mixture of his spit and yours, drives him absolutely wild and he has to inhale your scent just like you did with his boxers.

"So beautiful," he echoes his previous words as he buries himself to the hilt, your walls all but absorbing him. The tears of joy that stream down your cheeks are kissed away by his busy lips. You begin to utter out a 'please', which he swallows right up. "No need to beg, I'll give you everything."

He kisses you like a man starved, fucking you hard into the mattress. His upper and lower halves work in tandem to make up for lost time, whispering praises and consuming you.

He doesn't have to hold back anymore with your newfound demonic endurance. To say he's drilling you is an understatement. Everything feels shaky but so right. The sensitivity of your heat-riddled body already has you clenching and cumming around him. Less than a minute in, and you're not ashamed. You're already trying to embrace the next one.

"Let it out," he grunts into your jaw, peppering kisses to it to mask his own sounds. He wants to focus on you, not him. Vergil tells himself you'll receive five climaxes minimum before he comes close to his, but you're making it difficult for him. "Let it all out, that's it... let me care for you, my vixen."

One arm holds you close, but the other has a more important role down at your clit. It rubs circles into the nub, and you're fluttering around his cock again. You feel his length twitch uncontrollably in response, on the verge of emptying himself inside you.

Vergil knows he can't actually impregnate you unless in his devil trigger form. He spent time researching how this moment will unfold for you.

"You'll be safe," is how he expresses this to you, unable to hold back any longer.

You're breathless when your walls are splattered with his seed. He spurts and spurts with no sign of stopping⎯your heat absolutely impacts the one you mate with, you discover.

As you're filled, he pulls himself out so the stream of cum can reach your torso as well. Your stomach leading up to your breasts is coated, then your expressive face. If a body part exists, it's marked by him. Vergil's grunts grow louder than your lustful cries for one singular second before he bites your neck to muffle them.

The fire inside of you feels quenched for a few seconds, like you can finally resume your daily life, before it snaps right back to being unbearable.

You rub yourself against Vergil's weeping cock, silently begging for another round. It's not enough. Will anything be enough? You don't see an ending to this rut, just an urgent dream of Vergil stuffing you again. His cum trickling out isn't a finality, it's lubrication for the rest of the night.

Picking up on your unrest, he repositions his hips with ease. "You and I will be here a while," there's another nip to your neck to accompany the rocking of his hips, "best to get comfortable."

[wally-darling-hyperfixation]

CUT!!!!! Actor Wally x Stage Hand GN Reader

Pics are from frillsand on tiktok. I love their actor concept. Though I’m sad they stopping but it’s understandable. Anyway to keep with pics. Puppets are seen as lesser than humans by most. Ok love ya byyeeeee

🎬 You are honestly tired of this. Every time one of your fellow employees seems to be awful to the other puppets besides Wally, he yells cut and then yells at them. You can understand his anger , you were angry too . These are actors making a show. They should be given respect. You even yelled at a fellow employee yourself because you were sick and tired of the discrimination against the puppets. They are alive and feel and should be treated better

🍎Wally started noticing you when he was about to yell at someone for being mean to Poppy when you threw down your clipboard and yelled at them instead saying how you felt and how they are alive and feel and should be treated better. The other employee ran scared cause you were red in the face and looked like you were about to punch them. Wally watched you straighten up your outfit and bend down to pick up the clipboard. He like you and how you stood up for the puppets. He called the manager over and told him to give you a raise and have you be in charge of all things related with the puppets.

🎬The director gave you a new job of working with the puppets and helping them in the work environment. He also gave you a raise which you were shocked about. But you had no complaints. It made you closer with the cast. Helping them with their lines. Making sure everyone got what they needed. Yelling at coworkers if they didn’t follow exact instructions and threatening to tell the higher ups. The one person who seemed to avoid you in the whole thing was the main star Wally. But you didn’t hold it against him. Everyone is their own person or puppet so they can do what they want.

🍎Wally was enamored by you. You are the only human to have stuck up for his friends and every time you came near butterflies were in his stomach. He had to leave whenever you were by. His friends noticed and asked him about it and he said it was nothing just didn’t want to be in the way is all. But he watched from afar and was happy he and his fellow actors are in good hands . Your really pretty hands. Wally pats his face when he thought that and just went back to work

[starsinmylatte]

I am fellow of Rick flags Sr lover I I don’t know if you are still taking requests for Rick flags if you are not then please disregard this but if you are

I was wondering if I could ask NSFW alphabet X and K thank you so very much. I really do hope you enjoy your day and I love your work 

Hi, hi! I absolutely am still drooling about this man taking requests for him 🙂‍↕️. Thank you for the super sweet compliments! 💕

Cw: fem!reader, Breeding kink/pregnancy kink, age gap, brat taming, overstim

X: I really thought about just leaving the screenshot of his crotch close-up here with nothing else added…. but allow me to elaborate. This man is HUNG. Rick Flag Sr has a massive Flag pole (ha) with big, heavy breeding balls to match.

He’s circumcised and only slightly above average length, but his girth is no laughing matter, even when he's flaccid. 100% a shower; you know exactly what he's working with. Rick has to prepare his partners extensively to take him, or they just have to be ready for the stretch of a lifetime.

No part of this man is small, and his military service has left him deliciously toned. His biceps are the best pillows in the world, and if you kiss along the contours of his muscles or scars, his hefty cock gives a delicious little twitch. Rick’s body is toned because of his occupation, not for vanity reasons, but he can't lie and say that he's not flattered (and more than a little aroused) when you show appreciation for his rugged body.

K: Oh, I've been waiting for this one. With a dedicated partner he loves, Rick develops the breeding kink of all time.

Before falling for you, Rick would've said that he's too old and jaded to do any of that shit ever again. He’s a tough army man who had a son at a very young age with a wife he grew to dislike, and that's gonna leave some deep scars. He likely missed out on a lot of her pregnancy and Rick Jr’s childhood because of deployments, and he also has a lot of guilt around that. It only gets worse when his son dies in Corto Maltese….. but

You come into his life and show him the love and understanding that he didn't think he would ever receive from another human. His pain and guilt are eased immensely by your gentle, soothing compassion and sparkling intelligence as you work through any relationship hurdles. Rick begins to understand more and more about himself and why his marriage failed (caused by both faults from him and his ex-wife), and you encourage him to be an even better man.

Rick finds himself considering marriage once again, but he still winces every time he thinks about how you're a younger woman and would probably want children. You're too aware of his pain to bring the subject up, but he worries that staying with him would rob you of the joys of motherhood. However, that all disappears one night.

Rick had been invited to countless family gatherings since his string of tragedies but couldn’t bear the thought of being stuck in a room full of happy people who pitied him. Through your gentle support, he finally agreed to give a very small get-together a try, which is how Rick found himself knocking on the door of his cousin's house one night for dinner around Christmas.

It took a moment, but a man who vaguely resembled a very tired, younger Rick with no beard opened the door, chuckling softly. "Sorry, the little one is not happy at the moment. We're running behind and haven't even started cooking yet."

It had been so long since Rick had seen his family that he didn't know they had just welcomed their first child. He froze and was prepared to reschedule for another night, but your eyes lit up, "Oh, it's not a problem at all."

Before Rick could blink, you had already introduced yourself and offered a hand in the kitchen. In no time, you were giggling and chatting with his cousin's wife, rocking their baby in your arms as the other woman stirred a pot simmering away on the stovetop. Rick was sitting on the sofa, drinking a beer and conversing with his cousin, but his warm, brown gaze was fixed on you. You looked nothing short of angelic underneath the glow of the Christmas lights as you cooed at the baby in her little holiday outfit. Something just clicked in his brain, and he understood. He wanted to see you just like this, except in your own home, with your baby.

From there, it only took a few days for Rick's brain to devolve into visions of you swollen with his child, waddling around your home as you nested and decorated the nursery. He wanted to massage your aching back and breasts, to pamper you like a goddamn princess- no, a queen who wanted for nothing. Rick had gone from casually looking at rings to feverishly checking the shipment status of one, all so he could do things correctly and set a diamond on your pretty finger before giving you his baby.

Age Gap: You cannot look me in the digital eyes and tell me Rick didn't immediately pop a boner when Ilana said that she liked older men. He is absolutely not one of those old creeps who wants some innocent girl with no life experience, but there's something so goddamn hot about a strong, capable younger woman who freely and clearly chooses him above men her age.

A little bit of teasing/brat-taming also turns him way the hell on. Use your wit to be snarky, and don't be surprised if you find yourself thrown on the bed with Rick coaxing orgasm after orgasm from your tired body with his hands and tongue.... just wait until you get to the point where he gives you his heavy, aching cock.

NSFW alphabet link here!

[bountycancelled]

ANTIFRAGILE

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

opla zoro x reader

in which, even though it doesn't seem like it, zoro cares (alot, about you, specifically)

genre: one shot, gn! reader, short

requested: yes! tysm (reqs are still open for anyone<3)

a/n: idk, enjoy I guess? (unedited)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"need any help, darling?" Sanji's flirtatious voice rang out from behind you, disturbing your damn near embarrassing attempts at lifting a box.

you huffed as you dropped it once again, turning to face Sanji as you shrugged him off with a wave of your hand. "no no, I wouldn't want you using your hands for something that isn't in the kitchen. I can manage."

an unconvinced Sanji nodded before walking off, leaving you and your own stubbornness to deal with the heavy lifting. the truth of the matter was, that you definitely did need help, but you'd be dammed to hell before accepting any.

it seemed as if you had some sort of problem accepting yourself for who you were.

you were by far the most stealthy individual anyone had ever met, most people didn't even know you were in the room until you had a knife to their throat. you were the resident idea person in high pressure situations, and what you lacked in strength, you made up for in technique.

ah yes, strength. if there was one thing that you could not accept that you didn't have, it was physical strength. you were never the type to brute force your way out of a situation zoro-style, bit it would still be nice to have the option of doing so.

it wasn’t as if anybody in the crew made you feel bad for your lack of strength, it was more so an internal issue within your own psyche.

what could you say? you were tired of having to ask your fellow crew mates to help you do something as simple as carrying something from point A to point B. you were tired of feeling useless every time more hands on approach was needed. but that all ended today. (well, you hoped that it all ended today anyway)

after what felt like and probably was an eternity you could finally lift the box that you had set your eyes on, sure you had taken so long that Luffy had forgotten that he even wanted it but you had done it nonetheless and you were proud of yourself. that pride however was short lived with your body ache in a way that you never thought possible.

you knew, or at the very least, you thought that you knew how much your body could take, but said body had no problem humbling you the second you had gotten a little too confident in skills that you didn't have.

you weakly limped towards your room, ignoring the sympathetic look from Sanji, the "you shouldn't have done that but I still feel bad" look from Nami, the soft pat on your back from usopp, Luffy not even noticing your current state, and Zoro's blank cold stare with what you could only hope bubbled with a bit of concern.

you would be lying if you said that you weren't trying to impress a certain green haired individual on the crew with a knack for using swords in unconventional ways. but your little schoolgirl crush was getting to the point where it was causing you physical pain, and you needed to get your mind out of its delusion.

Zoro was not going to give you attention just because you lifted a heavy bo–

your self chastising session was ended prematurely by a knock in the door, that kind of sounded like an alien life form trying to imitate a human custom. you let out a small 'come in', not being entirely suprised to see Zoro on the other side. (after all, he's the only in the crew who would care or even think to knock.)

what you were suprised to see however, was the plate of food in his hand. it was your favourite dinner which he had threatened Sanji to make which he placed on your desk, walking out just as quickly as he came.

before he left, he looked at you over his shoulder, seemingly contemplating if he should say what he wanted to say.

"you shouldn't push yourself to do something that's dangerous for you body. you're... more talented than you give yourself credit for."

you smiled to yourself, unable to not feel the butterflies floating around in your stomach, but his last words sent you over the edge.

"I don't want to see you hurting. ever."

[possiblyi4657]

I dont have much to say, but today was my day of birth and i am now 19!

oh and i started working on this mc build

if i fly high enough i can see every build i built so far and i think my world's coming along well.

Im not done with the little cherry blossom park area just yet so im not posting it until i am at least 60% happy with it, but trust me when i say it's gonna look super cool when im done with it!!!

[the-monkeies-girl]

*reader talking with Malcolm's wife, and she complements readers hair beads made by the female apes*

Reader: aw thank you, I never get compliments often *side eyes caesar*

Caesar: *gives the "bitch what" look*

This is the funniest thing because imagine that night, you're in the nest tangling your hair out of the beads and Caesar is watching with baited breath because he genuinely does think that you are beautiful. Like, he's aware he does not verbalize it often, he knows that you called him out earlier in front of Humans. You're deathly quiet as you pull the beads out, almost placing them down pseudo-aggressive.

"You... are angry."

"You think so?" Caesar is quiet and huffs out of his nose from minor frustration. Why... Were you like this sometimes? He did not know, he did not understand but he chose to press on regardless, "Why?" "No reason, just tired I think. Long day at the dam helping my fellow Humans." You uttered, turning to face him finally and unbuttoned your flannel shirt so you could snuggle into an oversized t-shirt for bed. "You know, they're just so nice."

Ah. So... That's what this was about. His green gaze falls to your bare chest and then back to your eyes as you're holding the t-shirt in your hands, raising an eyebrow, "What? Do you have a staring problem?" Anger flares for a moment as does his nostrils at the absolute audacity of the tone that you used. "I... Do not understand... Why you are being this way." "Would it pay you to give me a compliment?" You uttered and slid the shirt on much to Caesar's digression as he was no able to see less of your bare flesh. "You know, we humans, as tough as I might appear to be. We like that. Compliments. Telling us that we're pretty, or funny, or smart---"

"You know I feel that way, why is it important for me to say it constantly?" "I'm not asking for constant." You rolled your eyes and trailed towards the nest and quite frankly, threw yourself in and tangled yourself into the animal hides that kept you warm when Caesar was not with you. "Geez, you really don't get it."

Caesar grunts, following you into the bed and before you're aware of what was happening, you're pinning flat on your back and he's hovering over you with a hand on the entire scape of his stomach, your skin lighting itself on fire in sudden arousal as you made eye contact with him and felt yourself sink back a bit a the intensity. The nest creaked under you at the sudden shift in weight as Caesar commandeered you and almost had you in a straddle.

"Do you want to hear how much I want you?" You were going to utter a yes but nothing came out, surprised by the bluntness of his words. He was brash, this you knew very well, but he kept these thoughts to himself for a reason you figured, having pressed a bit too far into the rabbit hole but there was no denying that the hold he had on you was exhilarating. "How much... Your scent... Drives me..." Caesar drew his head down and rested it in the crook of your neck. "how I want to... pick at your skin with my teeth. Every... single... part..." Hot and heavy breathing erupted between the two of you as you squirmed out of heady arousal, Caesar's voice tearing into the deepest piece of his baritone that he was capable of reaching and it felt like he was rumbling against you like thunder. All the more enticing, all the more alluring. "You do not understand the want I have to always be near you, to have myself inside of yo---" "I-I was just asking you to call me pretty every once in a while, Ceasar. No-nothing that serious." Swallowing softly, you knew exactly where his sentence was going to end and cut it short out of minor embarrassment that he was able to get you so flustered with just tones and words. He got quiet above you and let his hand drift upwards to encase one of your breasts that caused you to arch against him. "You are pretty."

Well, that was better than nothing, you chuckled to yourself, feeling the heat rise in your navel as you pulled your arms around him to tug his larger body against yours without reserve.

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 12)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie📍 Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smutty💦

Part 12 Eddie

Brady tried to cut some corners to bring you and Alastor down but ends up just hurting himself.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, still not smut cuz we’re waiting for the special moment, po-po, 5-0, down at the gun club, not an accurate portrayal of 1930s New Orleans Leadership, mystery kisses, brief thoughts of violence, illiteracy, @minkdelovely」

MDNI 👮 🚓

Edward Freeman met Kenneth Brady when the younger man was partnered with him. He was bright eyed, and had a sense of justice Freeman appreciated. He was already tired of the rigamarole of police work, so the fresh energy reinvigorated his early days and long nights. It was rather pointless though, police work, given the people in charge weren’t fans of cracking down on the illegal booze business. It was making too much money under the tables and in handshakes.

The nation was still reeling from the crash of the market nearly two years prior. Any way to get ahead, to stay with your chin above the rising waters, well… what harm is there really in feeding your family? The end justifies the means, right? And Brady didn’t seem to disagree too much with that sentiment. 

So when the typically stringent, but otherwise soft spoken and relaxed, Brady began to…devolve into someone a little too myopic, Freeman wasn’t quite sure how to handle him. They’d been rather laissez-faire about the morality of things for so long. They tried to keep violence at a minimum so their fellow citizens could enjoy their city. That was the extent of it. But, Brady was becoming obsessed. 

It started normally enough. Brady bringing up a missing husband. Later on, a missing bartender. Soon he was snooping on to other’s cases, convinced something was connecting them. 

But, given the times and the character of such people, well, Freeman couldn’t quite understand Brady’s fervor. Sure. Some of them probably ended up under backyards and in the water. Hell, quite a few of them he’d have helped do away once he got the real dirt on them. A conspiracy? Or a mass killer? That seemed implausible at best. There was simply no indication of a grande scheme. 

Brady kept pushing. Walking the streets at night with ears open and eyes peeled, for any inkling of what was going on. 

He just couldn’t accept that sometimes people leave town or jobs. Very few of them were actually reported by loved ones, even the ones that had them.

Then came along the widow Dupre, watery eyed and shaking about her missing adult son. Who, from what they’d uncovered, was a real piece of work.

Freeman let Brady start his investigation, but as it became clear he was adding it to his pile of random disappearances, Freeman had to step away. He could see the obsession ruining his friend. 

At a rare dinner with the families, the stress on Brady’s wife’s face was visible for all to see. She cornered Freeman in the kitchen when he went for more coffee, asking if Brady was stepping out on her or if he truly had been working so hard on something big. 

He hardly knew what to say. Neither were true. He’d been working late, but on a wild goose chase. 

When he dragged a clean cut and confused woman into the station, Freeman knew he’d really lost the fucking plot. 

“She’s his accomplice. I know it. Her fella is the man. I’ve got him fingered.” Brady pointed at you through the closed door. You weren’t listening to their voices in the hall, the name still ringing in your head. The name you'd both sacrificed to keep secret. 

Alastor.

Freeman hissed, “You can’t arrest people for knowing a guy! A boogie man at that, Kenny. Come on.” 

“I have her confession for prostitution. It’s all clean and by the book. And, I have a witness.” Brady tapped Freeman’s arm with the back of his hand and led him down the hall to another room, “He saw her and her guy throw a body in the river.”

Well, shit.

“You found a body? The Dupre son?” Freeman considered what he’d said. The river? Why the river? Bodies didn’t always make it to the sea. It’d be a sloppy misstep for this supposed murderous mastermind.

Brady sighed, his parade a little rained on. “...No, but I have a witness right there. And, I got the name of her fella. I just need to find which station he’s at and I’m off to the races. I bet you my house this guy’s good for it.”

Ah, so. He had next to nothing. Freeman just nodded and took a calming breath. “Alright, are we starting with the woman or this guy?”

“Oh, for sure her.” Bready turned to open the door, but Freeman shot his hand out to stop him. 

“And this is the one who gave you the runaround?” Freeman had heard so much about you already, he wanted to prepare himself for whatever tricky shrew was waiting for him. He followed his partner through the door and took you in fully. Your stare was distant and glassy. You’d been crying and you seemed to be shaking slightly from the cold of the room as fall’s night air slipped in through the window. 

You could, reasonably, be his daughter. A similar age for sure, similar build, same hair color. Same penchant for the wrong kinda guy, apparently.

He recalled all of the ways Brady had spoken about you. The image in his head was a bird faced woman with sharp eagle eyes and tight lips. Someone decidedly ugly with a permanent scowl and mischief behind quick glances.

And here was a woman, vulnerable and quite nice to look at it. Hair obviously groomed well when not manhandled by cops, and a rather handsome dress which indicated a good personality by the current standards. The shoulders had flat bows that let their ribbons fall onto your bare shoulders. Feminine. Suitable. Not much skin showing. otherwise. A burlesquer seemed to the kind who didn’t wear clothes often, but he supposed everyone has a work uniform after all. Even the nude dancers. Who was he to judge you for your professional clothing requirements? You were here and modest and that’s what mattered.

He took a seat, sliding the folder Brady had set down into the space in front of him. “I hear you’re not too fond of disclosing your personal information.”

It had been several hours since you’d arrived, and now they chose to grace you with their presence? You’d been tossed into a room and left alone for so long, it seemed more like punishment than bureaucracy.

Brady’s bright blue eyes only get clearer and darker with every ounce of anger you inspired in him. An angry sea churning up violently behind his mean mug. He was practically sneering at you. 

“Can you blame me? The men in this city are certifiable. Case in point, this hound you call a cop.” You had the forethought to keep your shoulders pulled inward, gesturing with your chin.

“Detective.” Brady corrected. 

“Same thing, jackass.” Eyes rolling, you pushed back against the chair causing the front legs to lift for a second. Returning your glare to him, you honed in on the messy details. You remembered his hair well from that first meeting in front of the cafe. It clearly had become oily and weighed down from less frequent washing. The skin under his eyes was looking dark and thin. “You look like shit, by the way. Should sleep instead of bothering honest performers.”

“Ha, there you are. True colors shining through finally.”

“How was my mom? Not much of a talker.”

“Fu-,” Brady flinched forward, chair squeaking against the linoleum floor. It took a tensing of your arms to keep from openly reacting.

“Ya’ll, enough. Now, don’t be too sour with us. We’re just working off your own words,” Freeman opened the folder to find your confession. It had been typed nice and neat and labeled DOE, JANE. He turned it to you briefly, eyebrows hitching as if to ask if you remembered it. You glanced at it long enough to see the conversation and names and nodded. Yes, you’d had that conversation. Brady must have typed it mostly from memory, you thought, or he had some quick shorthand. He brought it back to face him and as his eyes roamed the sheet, his shoulders stiffened. He wasn’t seeing what he was expecting. “Could you-?,” he motioned for Brady to point out the part of your last conversation that constituted a confession. Brady tapped a line of text. 

BRADY - Tell me about the dates Tommy arranged. DOE, JANE - Apparently many of the dancers agreed, got a cut. I had no idea about it until he introduced me to a man who was very forward. I insulted him and ran off. Lost Tommy good money, apparently. BRADY - And who was that? DOE, JANE - S something. Mister Stein? I honestly wasn’t listening much after I realized what was happening. BRADY - And then he knocked you around? DOE, JANE - Yeah. Got me good. BRADY - And… the next date. Last time anyone saw Tommy. Tell me about that. DOE, JANE - Tommy said he’d kill me if I didn’t go. So I did. Promised me he’d stay with me for protection. But as soon as he got his money he left.

Freeman’s head lifted slowly from the paper to look at you over the folder, across the table. Your arms were crossed, makeup smeared and running with long dried tears. Your hair mussed. His head turned with a crawl, weighted down with a steel ball of apprehensive horror, to look at Brady. He was leaning on the table with both elbows, staring at you like you’d busted out his car window and shot his dog. 

“Can I speak to you for a moment?” He pushed back, resting his hand on Brady’s shoulder and walking out. In the small room that looked into the interrogation room where the male witness fidgeted, he set the folder and your words down. 

He motioned for Brady to close the door behind him. As soon as the latch clicked into place, he smacked the table. 

“That isn’t a confession! It’s a fucking victim statement, Kenny.” He looked through the one way glass at the man seated, “And he wrote a witness report?” He gestured with his head, the man Brady called Joseph sat quietly waiting for their return. His clothes were pulling at the seams, his fingernails crusted with dirt. 

Brady nodded, “Yeah. He came in yesterday and after he told me what he saw he wrote it down there and signed.” He was pointing to a piece of paper he’d left on the same table Kenny was now trying to use for stability. Trying was the keyword. His disbelief was dizzying. 

A small laugh, petulant and bordering annoyed, left his lips. He grabbed a pen, wrote something down, and brushed past him. Freeman marched into the witness room, Brady closely following behind.

“Sir, do me a favor and check I’ve spelt your name properly on this paperwork please.” He held it up. The man looked, found where Freeman's finger was pointing, and nodded.

Freeman looked at Brady with dead eyes, the shutdown of his feelings was an automatic attempt by his body to try and keep from grabbing Brady by the shirt in a fit rage, and turned the paper to reveal the name written to Brady. 

Josanna. Written neatly in block letters. 

Without breaking eye contact with Brady, “And just refresh my memory, sir, what was your statement in regards to again?”

Joseph cleared his throat, “I saw it happen. Down by the river.”

“Saw what happen?”

“The crime.”

“What crime?”

“The one with the guy and the girl. It’s all in there.”

Freeman shoved the written statement into Brady’s chest, “You have half a second to get to the captain’s office before I do.” 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“That man can’t even read his own name let alone write. From what I can tell he’s a random homeless you plied with confiscated booze. What is going on with you?” The gray haired man bellowed from his chair, hands resting on a large pot belly. 

“What does that matter! It’s an illegal hooch den! Naked dancers! Race mixing! She admitted she-,” Brady was pacing a small three foot by three foot square in front of the desk. Freeman had his arms crossed while seated.

“A victim told you she was assaulted. And I-,” the captain leaned back in his chair, “You know exactly how we feel about the wet spots in this city. The, uh, race thing is another issue but— Kenny, you’re one more rogue act from losing your beat. Do you not get that?”

“Rogue? I’m doing legitimate police work. I’m investigating crime! What the fuck is happening here?!” He stopped pacing long enough wave an apology to his boss for the language. 

Freeman sighed, long and heavy. A huff of breath that somehow conveyed his disappointment better than words.

“I decide what constitutes police work and this is not that.” His boss shook his chair side to side, thinking about how to get Brady in line. “It comes straight from the commissioner and the mayor above him. We aren’t to hound the bars under our purview.”

‘I’m not!” He started up pacing again, hands up and open in genuine confused frustration. 

“You’re harassing their dancers! Stalking around their establishments at night freaking people out!” He laughed in disbelief, “Her manager is outside now. Had to shut down for the night because of your little show.”

Brady put his hands on his hips and faced away from the captain. His face enough alone to have him dismissed. 

“I know she’s involved. I know her guy did it. And I know someone’s killing people. Lots of people.” He said it confidently into the corner of the office.

“Kenny. Enough.” Freeman shook his head and stood to leave. 

“One complaint about you and you’re being chained to a desk. Cut her loose, apologize, and go home. I don’t wanna see you anymore tonight. Your freaky little eyes are getting under my skin.” His captain removed his small rounded glasses and rubbed his hands down his face, exasperated his life had come to telling men to stop doing their jobs.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

While you were here anyway, and Brady shooed off Joseph, Freeman decided to speak with you again. He offered you a nod and took Brady’s seat.

It was hard to be friendly, you found. Every minute or so you had to sniffle, nose running long after the tears dried up. Your eyelashes stuck together when you blinked.

“I’m afraid I didn’t get your name, sir.” You sniffled again, hands warming your arms.

Freeman leaned over and offered you his hand, “Detective Eddie Freeman.” You shook it, keeping your hand rather limp to give the appearance of weakness.

“I just-,” he laughed as he set his hand on the table, clicking his ring twice out of habit, “I gotta ask. Did your fella kill Tommy? Are you in some kinda trouble?”

With a scoff and a shake of your head, you found yourself, “No,  but I wish he had. What’s the point of being good if people assume the worst of you anyway?” Reaching out for his hand again, you held his large one in both of your smaller ones, “At least if he’d killed him I’d be sure Tommy’s never coming back to keep his promise.”

Your mother always taught you to make yourself small. Remind the people you needed to believe you that you were not a threat. Play the part they always pigeon holed you into. It was easier than fighting the assumptions. There was power in deception. 

“Your pal is really ruining my life. Even more than Tommy.” You squeezed, 30% strength.  

When you looked up at him, he could only find you to be the image of pitiful girl, “Let me check some things and I’ll have Kenny sending you on your way, miss-?”

“Doe.”

“Right.” His ring rapped against the bright wooden door frame, two times, and your brief time knowing Freeman ended. 

The paralysis set in as soon as the door was shut. You could hear Alastor’s name echoing around in your head, the sound so sharp it made fresh tears well. Brady had heard it, of course. It was for nothing. You worked so hard, kept his name off of your tongue despite the way it always felt so good there. 

Conjured images of Alastor barging into the police station haunted you. What would he say in anger? Brady wasn’t crazy, he was smart and lucky. Nothing could be worse. Alastor could say anything while mad, and Brady could make conclusions he had no business jumping to.

And then he was there in the room with you, and you had to return to the moment and try to calibrate yourself. Who were you now? He already knew you weren’t the damsel in distress, he knew you weren’t weak and frail. Right?

Maybe you’d just be yourself, like you’d let slipped earlier. Your mouth opened and his hand flew up, “Don’t. Shut it.”

“Excu-”

“I’ve been told to apologize and send you home.”

“Oh? And are you?”

Brady smiled, and for a moment you forgot how scary that should be. “No. You’re a liar and you’re aiding a criminal. But you work in a place I’m not supposed to bother. Luckily for me, Alastor’s work surely isn’t one.” Your eyes rolled. Hearing him say the name was like hearing a dog sing opera. Unsettling and unnatural. Perhaps a little impressive from a distance. Unfortunately you were front row and center.

Time with you felt so rare, he wanted to keep you a little longer but couldn’t think of what to say or do. Briefly he entertained grabbing you and violently shaking you until you confessed. He managed to find the strength to bury that down, mouth opening instead in preparation for words he didn’t have yet. 

“Can I go home now?” Rubbing your arms to make it clear how uncomfortable you were, you cut him off like he had you. Not that he had anything to say. 

Brady motioned with his thumb down the hall and said, “Your guy isn’t here to pick you up. Funny name by the way. I got a complaint for an Alastor last week. Socked some man for no good reason. Sounds like a violent fella, kinda guy with a temper when someone speaks I’ll of his lady, or fiancée, I’m told…Anyway, dropped the case since the guy wouldn’t give any more information but maybe I should follow up.”

“Are you so sure I have one, a guy that is?” You simply couldn’t admit Alastor was yours. Never. Not for Brady. “No one’s coming for me. No one’s punched anyone for me either. Though, I’m flattered you think I’m worth the charge. Am I free to leave?” The little tug of your lips into a halfhearted grin warmed you. It was thrilling, lying to his face when you both knew the truth.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t let you take this moment from him. He’d made a massive victory in this personal war and your nonchalant attitude was making something in the back of his skull itch. Somewhere beneath his bone. A new sensation.

A brief and violent flash of knocking the smirk off your tear stained face startled him. You noticed him swallow hard, expression shifting from amused to bewildered. From the outside, all you could read was a frightened widening of his eyes.

“Brady…? If you’re waiting for some man to collect me, I’ll be here all night.” Your voice was softer now, while you couldn’t uncover what was happening in his head, you could tell he was in some kind of turmoil.

A man unable to control his face was often a man unable to control his hands.

His legs lifted his body up and dragged him over to the door.  He opened it, slowly, before leaning against the wall beside it to ensure you passed him in close quarters. He knew he couldn’t keep you there forever.

Maybe this Alastor was a real rough fellow. So cruel he wouldn’t even care if his dame was in a bind. The kind of man to abandon his closest allies when cornered. Maybe he really wasn’t coming for you. Which was fine, he told himself. He’d be seeing him soon.

Following you out, he took the walk as an opportunity to warn you again.

“This won’t end like you think it will.” He said it too loudly for how close he was to you, “It never does for the women.” He stopped at the station’s front desk and leaned into the glossy wooden counter, “Oh! I almost forgot! Congrats on the engagement.”

Turning to say a harsh good night, you caught yourself and turned back, exiting through the station doors without another word to him. No need for polite pleasantries anymore. The game was well and truly over for you. 

“Oh thank god,” Johnny was sitting on the steps of the station and jumped to his feet when you came out, a sight you weren’t expecting. You stopped, confused. He smiled seeing your brows knit and eyes wander past him in search of someone else, “I was going to bail you out but they said there wasn’t any need. Alastor is waiting for you.” 

Like a leak in the hull of your iron-sided ship, it seemed the second Ruth so sweetly dripped that name into Brady’s waiting maw the ocean was spilling in. Every time you heard it fall from another person’s mouth the breach in your metal barriers tore wider. If the Titanic could sink in calm weather what luck did Alastor and you have in the tempest of Brady’s fervor?

“Oh…,” you tried to hide the dejection. He sent Johnny? That was smart, but, why did it sting?

Perhaps it was his six sisters, or maybe he was genuinely a good man, but Johnny’s heart ached at the pitiful tone. He leapt up two steps, “He wanted to come! But I told him it was a bad idea. Tempers and all that. Don’t need any more issues for you tonight. Though admittedly he didn’t seem mad, necessarily.”

A slow nod. Johnny told Alastor what to do? Your eyes looked to the left, that was an odd mental image.

“Thanks, Johnny. I need to return to the theater first.” Your hand reached out for his arm and gave it a squeeze, “I appreciate you.”

“Dont mention it. And your bag is with Alastor.” He let his hand come to yours, “He’s kind of a mess, that one.”

You tensed, accidentally pinching his arm in a flit of panic before drawing it back, “Did he drive home like that?”

He shook his head and handed you the card, “He said,” a pause as his eyes rolled up to search for the exact words, “to tell the host you’re there for him. Called it the Golden Dish, but the card doesn’t mention anything like that…. Sorry, I didn’t think to ask more questions. Like I said, he seemed out of sorts.”

You looked down to inspect it, nervous at the sudden introduction of a paper trail. Nodding, you finally took it with both hands. The face was rather plain: an address in the corner with just the number and street, and an interlocked G and D in the center. Turning it over, you found a pink lipstick kiss stained haphazardly across the back and a small squiggle. Your thumb ran over the clipped right bottom corner. 

What was the Golden Dish? And who was kissing Alastor’s business cards?

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

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[reaching-writing]

In A Week

His throat felt tight. He scowled, shaking his head, and took a breath. It wouldn’t matter, soon enough. Either he would fix everything or he would die. Simple logic. Either way, it would cease to be a problem before long.

He was betraying Gotham City. He was betraying his principles, his most deeply held convictions. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it in the slightest.

Bruce's sons are dead, his body is broken, and his mind is in shambles. Not for nothing, though, he is the Batman, and he is never out of back-up plans. Unfortunately, this back-up plan involves summoning an otherworldly entity and trading away the very essence of his being.

As it turns out, his soul is worth a lot more than he'd initially bargained for.

-

Important Tags: Temporary Major Character Death, Marriage Contracts, Ghost King Danny Fenton, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Crack Treated Seriously

AO3 Here or Read More ⬇️

-

The Watchtower was nearly silent, save only for the quiet scraping of John Constantine’s chalk against the metal floor. He’d been working on the summoning circle for nearly an hour, under the watchful eyes of an unmasked Batman.

Bruce looked back down at the book in his lap, twisting the wheelchair around to look over Constantine’s work one more time. He surveyed the chalk circle with tired, dark eyes, and he could feel Constantine’s own gaze boring a hole into the side of his head. He pointedly did not turn to look at him.

“That’s it,” Bruce said quietly, moving his wheelchair backwards. He rolled further from the circle, nearly backed against the Watchtower’s control panel, and released a slow breath through his nose. “You don’t need to stay.”

“Like hell I’m leaving,” Constantine said, but his tone lacked any bite. He tossed the chalk aside and stepped back, seemingly looking over his work once more. After a long pause, he turned to look at Bruce, his expression grim. “I know I said it already, but this is a stupid fuckin’ idea. Proper bad.”

Bruce snorted humorlessly. ‘Bad’ didn’t even begin to cover it. It was the most idiotic, poorly-conceived plan he’d ever dreamed up, and he had no other choice. Constantine clearly knew that, too, if the dark circles under his eyes were any indicator. They’d both been awake for days, planning and refining the details of a final Hail Mary that would almost certainly get them killed.

Bruce was ashamed, but he didn’t care. The slim chance of success was worth it. If there was even a possibility of hope, they had to try. He owed it to them.

“If it were that bad of an idea, you wouldn’t still be here,” he finally said, though the words felt sour in his mouth. He didn’t want to push Constantine to leave, but it would be cruel to allow the man to stay and die alongside him.

Even so, he found it difficult to prod the man into leaving. Despite his reputation as the Batman — an uncaring, unfeeling vigilante — he still felt human emotions. He tried to not let them cloud his judgment, of course, but he could hardly deny the icy trickle of fear that gripped his throat. Death was always a possibility on the streets of Gotham, but here in the Watchtower, it had always felt so distant. Now, faced with the inevitability of it all, his fingers trembled and his chest was cold. He was afraid.

Constantine scowled, his fingers twitching towards his coat pocket before pausing with a jerky movement. His fingers shook with the tell-tale stress of nicotine withdrawal, and his eyes lingered on the circle, as if deep in thought.

“…I’ll be honest, Bats,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, “I don’t see us walkin’ away from this one.”

And that was the crux of it. If John Constantine, a man who openly mocked demons and frequently weaseled his way out of soul-binding contracts, had such low expectations… Bruce carefully schooled his expression, privately mourning the absence of the cowl. He still couldn’t bring himself to wear it.

He said nothing. There was nothing to say, not really — he was asking a fellow Justice League member to die with him. He had fallen so far in just a month without—

His throat felt tight. He scowled, shaking his head, and took a breath. It wouldn’t matter, soon enough. Either he would fix everything or he would die. Simple logic. Either way, it would cease to be a problem before long.

He was betraying Gotham City. He was betraying his principles, his most deeply held convictions. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it in the slightest.

“Let’s do it,” he said quietly. The candles around the chalk circle flickered, as if registering his statement. He didn’t dare to meet Constantine’s eyes, his gaze focused solely on the small dagger in his lap. He wrapped a shaking hand around the hilt, the fabric around the hilt rough and scratchy against his palm. He took in another slow breath, his heartbeat steady in his chest.

Constantine made a quiet noise. Without any aplomb, he stepped forward, his back to Bruce, and held out an old book. He slowly began speaking, an old Latin chant, with another language that Bruce didn’t recognize mixed in.

“Eliru, reĝo de la damnitaj. Gustumu la sangon, kiu fluas el via sindonemo. Accede ad nos, rex. Accede ad circulum regni tui!”

The candles flickered from orange to green, their acidic glow flaring up and sending shadows dancing around the Watchtower’s command room. Bruce gritted his teeth, leaning forward from his wheelchair and holding his hand out, the dagger primed to strike at his palm.

“Eniru la rondon trankvile kaj aŭskultu nian rabataĉeton!”

Bruce yanked the dagger across his palm, hissing as the blade bit into the thin skin and muscle. His blood spilled over the floor, coating the edge of the circle, and he was hit with the sudden, gut-wrenching realization that this was it. They’d long since passed the point of no return.

The circle glowed white as Constantine’s chanting reached a crescendo. He was almost shouting the final words of the spell, and the white light started bleeding into green. The toxic color of the Lazarus Pits filled the room, just as the sound of static began to surround them.

Bruce dropped the dagger, his stomach dropping as the temperature began plummeting. He nearly turned around to check the Watchtower’s monitoring system, purely on instinct, before he realized that his back was still warm. The cold was not a mechanical failure, but simply the result of the entity they had summoned. It was the icy touch of death’s king, not the reaching void of space.

The green light grew nearly blinding, and Bruce faintly heard Constantine shout before he, too, was drowned out by the light and deafening static. He squeezed his eyes shut, nearly flinching away, and felt a breeze of cold air against his face. The blood on his palm had frozen in place, and the wound burned as if the skin had been cauterized.

Spots danced across his vision when he finally opened his eyes again, the light gradually fading away to reveal a man. Bruce felt a chill run down his spine, but it was not the cold.

The King of Ghosts was tall, that was the first thing he noticed. The entity had broad shoulders and wore a crown wreathed in green flames. His hair tumbled down his shoulders in waves of cascading white, flowing strangely as if he was underwater. His skin was pale and pallid, as if he, himself, was a corpse that had been left in a cold body of water. At that, Bruce looked down at the entity’s fingertips, which were a ghastly black color at the tips. He wondered if the King of Ghosts had once been alive, maybe in the early days of humanity, and had died of hypothermia in a snowbank somewhere.

The King’s face was stern, with the tell-tale wrinkles of age at the corners of his eyes and the sides of his mouth. He couldn’t have been more than 40, but there was a look in his green eyes that spoke of a bone-deep weariness. He wore a long, dark tunic, but it glimmered strangely, as if it contained the stars from a far-away galaxy. Behind him, there was an enormous pair of glowing, white wings, their light nearly blinding to look at. The King held a thick book, though it snapped shut as he seemed to realize that he was, very suddenly, in a new place. His green eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he made eye contact with Bruce.

Finally, he spoke, his voice deep and faintly buzzing with that familiar static. “...You must be Mr. Wayne. I wondered when we would meet.”

“You know who I am?” Bruce asked without thinking, but he internally winced as soon as the words left his mouth. He couldn’t give away how utterly lost he was, how much of a disadvantage he was at.

“Gotham’s local bird-keeper, of course I know who you are,” the Ghost King said, his tone warm. “Your flock is lost to you now, but they still fly in my domain. They are what you seek.”

Bruce’s breath left him all at once, as if he’d been punched. He couldn’t speak, his eyes wide.

The entity continued on, perhaps uncaring for his shock. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I’ve been expecting to meet you for a while. Maybe that’s a strange way to open a conversation… It has been many years since I’ve spoken to- well, a mortal.”

Thankfully, Bruce didn’t need to say a word, as Constantine stepped forward, holding up his spell book. “‘Ello, your Majesty. Er, you already know what we want, so how’s about a trade? The book, in exchange for… Well, y’know.”

The Ghost King raised a white brow before his eyes narrowed. “John Constantine… I’ve been meaning to speak with you, as well. You have saved me a trip to the mortal realm. It isn’t every day that I get to accomplish so much with just one meeting.”

Bruce froze, his heart sinking. He’d known what to expect, but to hear the King say it so bluntly… He cleared his throat, fighting to keep his composure as those intense, unblinking eyes returned to him.

“Constantine doesn’t have anything to do with this, he’s here in an unofficial capacity,” he said quickly, his words steady despite his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. “He is…”

“I’m like his lawyer, here to negotiate on his behalf, your Majesty,” Constantine said smoothly, pulling a cigarette out of his trench coat’s pocket. He leaned down and held it up to one of the candles, still glowing a deathly green, and lit it. With that, he straightened up, taking a deep drag, and breathed out a cloud of smoke. “Pay me no mind, yeah?”

The Ghost King huffed, his head quirking to the side like a bird. “We will address the matter of your soul at a later date, then, magician. And no, the book is not a fair trade. For now, I’d like you,” he pointed towards Bruce, “to tell me what I can do for you.”

Bruce refused to allow himself to be taken aback. He nodded, gritting his teeth for a moment before releasing the tension in his body.

“One month ago, the Joker learned of my secret identity. He took me and my sons hostage, and…” Bruce paused. Flashes of blood and bone flashed behind his eyes, and he could almost hear a high-pitched, shrieking laugh. He would never forget the sound. “My sons are dead. Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake-Wayne, and Damian Wayne. The Joker killed them. I want them back.”

The King hummed, a strange sound that hovered somewhere between static and the crashing of waves upon a distant shore. “The dead do not often tolerate being disturbed.”

“Come off it, mate- erm, sir,” Constantine cut in, sharply correcting himself as the King sent him a dark look. “Your, uh, your Majesty.”

“I invite you to finish your statement, John Constantine,” The King of the Dead said slowly, the room growing colder as he watched the magician. They were rapidly losing control of the situation.

“I just meant, uh-” Constantine floundered, his eyes wide as he held up his hands. “Those kids, they aren’t resting, are they? They’re probably raising hell trying to get back ‘ere.”

The King rolled his eyes, waving a hand towards Constantine absentmindedly. Ghostly chains wrapped around the man’s ankles, sending him toppling down to the floor with a sharp yelp. He opened his mouth to shout, his cigarette falling to the ground, and a gag appeared around his head.

“The adults are talking now, John,” the King intoned, a sparkle of mischief twinkling behind his eyes. As Constantine let out a muffled yell behind the gag, the King turned to Bruce.

“You are not the first to request an audience with me, in regard to your sons,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards before settling down into a neutral countenance. “Though she could not bargain with me, not as you can.”

“Who was it?” Bruce asked before he could think better of it. He immediately went still, hoping desperately that the entity wouldn’t somehow use his words against him. He wasn’t seeking information, he was seeking a deal.

“You are familiar with her. You belong to her, and in a way, she belongs to you,” the King said, waving a hand idly. A glowing green figure appeared beside him for just a moment, their features too foggy to make out clearly. It was a woman wearing a tight cocktail dress, a cigarette raised to her lips.

The image vanished after a fleeting second. “She is the spirit of Gotham City. It is within her shadows that you roam, and within her walls that you bled. She watched the demise of your sons, and she brought their spirits to my realm, when it was time. She is called Lady Gotham. She is… fond of you and your cohort.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. The spirit of Gotham City… The fact that a city could even have a spirit was news to him, but he tried to move past the surprise as quickly as it had occurred. Lady Gotham’s favor was an intriguing prospect, and he was privately glad that someone had been waiting to help his boys when they’d finally passed, but he moved on.

“She requested an audience with you. Did she bring…” He couldn’t quite finish his sentence. He hated to imagine his kids, dead and scared and confused, standing before this imposing entity without any way to defend themselves. It made him sick to his stomach.

“She did not bring them before me, no. She begged for their return to the world of the living, though, and she mourned when I told her that I could not help her.” The Ghost King looked mildly uncomfortable at the thought, his lips pursing together. “If it is any comfort to you, they have not been frightened. Inquisitive and upset, perhaps, but never frightened. They know what happened to them.”

Bruce’s breath caught in his chest. Out of everything he had been expecting from the King of Ghosts, it was not comfort. Cold indifference, perhaps, or even derision. His hands shook, even as he balled them into fists to rest in his lap. He nodded slowly, trying to settle his nerves.

“...Are they happy?” He asked very quietly, unable to speak any louder. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Either way, he didn’t think that the answer would be pleasant to hear.

The King seemed to sense this as well, and his features softened. His pointed ears lowered. “They were happier in the mortal realm. Death is difficult for ones so young, but there have been people to help them adjust. They have not been alone.”

The pain that had rested in Bruce’s chest for the last month finally made itself known. As if a dam had finally broken, had finally worn away after years of damage, and his eyes burned. His vision blurred slightly as the tears finally welled up, and he fought to breathe around the lump that had suddenly taken up residence in his throat.

There was a moment of silence before the King stepped closer, pausing at the boundary of the circle. A flicker of movement behind his figure had Bruce looking up, and he watched as the entity’s wings shuffled slightly, reminiscent of an uncomfortable bird.

“For what it’s worth, I am… sympathetic to your struggle,” he said, his eyes creased in sympathy. “After hearing Lady Gotham’s case for their revival, I spoke to a few of my closest colleagues. They have agreed that the death of your children was not meant to happen.”

Bruce blinked, the tears spilling over his cheeks. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe, and his entire body felt hot. He was safe, but for some reason, it felt like he was watching his boys die all over again. “...What?”

“The passage of time is a tricky thing,” the King explained, gesturing out in a straight line. “Some things are meant to happen, some are not. Certain timelines must never come to pass, for the good of our reality. Part of my job is ensuring that, well, those timelines cease to exist. Whether that means removing troublesome players or correcting a fatal error, my duty is to the continuation of my realm. Do you follow?”

“You said… You said that they weren’t- they weren’t meant to die,” Bruce said numbly, meeting the King’s eyes with disbelief. “Then why did they?!”

To his surprise, the King did not scold him. In fact, he merely inclined his head, looking sufficiently guilty. “Your sons died because of an error within the timeline. It can be reversed with a bargain.”

Constantine shouted behind his gag, squirming violently against his bindings. He scooted closer to the circle, slamming his hands against the floor, and Bruce frowned.

He sent a look towards the King, motioning down to Constantine. The entity sighed before waving a hand, and the gag over the magician’s face fell away.

“-mph, finally… Right, your majesty, if this whole situation happened because of a ‘timeline error,’ then why does Batman need to make a deal to fix it?!” Constantine argued with a dark scowl, which would have looked more intimidating if he were not tied up and laying on the floor.

His argument had merit, and Bruce realized with a start that he had hardly been thinking. It was difficult to think rationally when he was so vulnerable, but he needed to remain impartial. He was grateful for Constantine’s presence, despite his brusque nature.

“I asked the same question,” the King answered, a frown marring his features. “As it stands, there is a balance to all things. You seek the return of the life and body of 4 souls, and doing this would aid in fixing this timeline, but there is always a price to keeping the balance. To be clear, I couldn’t bring them back under normal circumstances.”

“But you can bring them back?” Bruce pressed, his heart leaping up to his throat. The entity nodded. He leaned back in his chair, falling slack with relief.

“But there’s a price,” the King reminded him. “To bring your sons back onto the mortal plane, as they were, you will first surrender to me your soul, along with your life, death, and eternity.”

“Hold on a fuckin’- mphff!” Constantine started speaking, but the gag jumped right back into his mouth. He shouted behind it, his face crumpling in rage, but the King paid him little mind.

“Do you understand this term?” The King asked seriously, meeting Bruce’s gaze evenly. “Your life will not be your own, not after this. Your death and eternity, even less so.”

He gritted his teeth, watching the entity with narrowed eyes. He didn’t need to truly think about it, not when the lives of his sons hung in the balance. He nodded.

“I understand. Is that your only term for their revival?”

The King looked sad for a moment before shaking his head. “Well… It’s complicated. In accordance with the laws of the Infinite Realms, I must bring a soul to trial for this timeline error. After conferring with my counsel, we have agreed that the Joker is responsible. I will be taking him into the Realms to stand trial and atone for his crimes. He has also killed 4 of Lady Gotham’s knights, which is yet another breach of Realm law.”

“You aren’t asking me for permission for this, are you?” Bruce asked, though he suspected that he already knew the answer. “I’m not able to just hand over another person’s soul.”

“Ownership doesn’t matter in a criminal trial, it’s more like extradition,” the King explained patiently, gesturing with his hands. “You signing over your soul is not a matter of ownership, it’s more like a work contract. I fulfill my end, you fulfill yours. In the Joker’s case, he is being prosecuted for using knowledge of the Infinite Realms to kill Gotham’s protectors.”

“So I’ll work for you, once this deal is complete?” Bruce asked, raising a brow and deliberately ignoring any mention of the Joker. He hadn’t been entirely clear on what soul ownership meant, and Constantine had been vague in his explanations as well. It seemed like eternal damnation, which suited him just fine, but he wanted to be sure.

“Well… The things that I have requested from you are required to restore balance, but in the interest of cooperation, I will tell you that I have no specific plans for your soul,” the King said, looking almost sheepish as he admitted it. He rubbed the back of his neck, gesturing down at Constantine, and said, “Despite what this one might tell you, I did not answer your summons for nefarious purposes. I hadn’t even realized that it was you summoning me.”

The way the King spoke was interesting. For whatever reason, Bruce got the feeling that this entity was familiar with modern language and mannerisms, if only because of his strange insistence on being polite (except, of course, to Constantine).

Finally, he sighed very quietly. “Will you let me see them one more time, then? Will I have any time here on Earth with them?”

The King’s face softened, his green eyes creased with sympathy. He nodded. “Of course. Mr. Wayne, I don’t seek cruelty. You will have at least a week with your children before I return for you, I can promise you that.”

A week. It was such a short span of time, but it was more than he’d ever hoped for. He fought the tears that threatened to reappear as he nodded, a smile barely tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A week is… Thank you. I appreciate that, more than you know.”

The King smiled. With a flare of green fire, a small stack of papers appeared in his hands, and a pair of reading glasses appeared, already perched neatly on his nose. He adjusted them and shuffled through the papers, organizing them neatly in his arms but presumably not reading any of them. Had he already drafted a contract in preparation of their meeting?

Finally, he stepped up to the boundary of the circle and leaned closer to Bruce, extending the papers out to him. He took them after a moment of hesitation, glancing down to see…

“King Phantom? Is that your name?” Bruce asked curiously, unable to really help himself. He skimmed the terms, finding that there wasn’t very much legalese in the way that he had been expecting. The terms were clear.

“That is what I’m called, yes,” King Phantom said, and though Bruce wasn’t looking up at him, he could hear a smile in his voice. “I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself properly. That was rude.”

“Mhm,” Bruce hummed, not paying it much mind, but paused on the section about the King’s responsibilities towards him. The language was worded strangely, less like a work contract and more like…

Something wasn’t quite right.

In exchange for all services rendered (see Section 3, “Phantom’s Responsibilities”), both parties will enter into a formal courtship, to begin one week from the signing of this contract.

“Did you write this?” He asked slowly, raising a brow as he looked up at the entity.

“No, my mentor wrote it,” King Phantom said with a smile, and a few things clicked into place. Ah. Bruce schooled his expression with some difficulty. “He and I spoke about this after meeting with Lady Gotham, and he drafted those in preparation of this summoning. Is something wrong? I haven’t had a chance to look over it, but I can.”

“Your mentor?” Bruce pressed, ignoring the question.

“The Master of Time, Lord Kronos, known as Clockwork most recently,” the King explained, gesturing with frostbite hands as he spoke. “He is a dear friend and a trusted confidant. He has taught me much over the years.”

Bruce hummed. He examined the list of his own responsibilities towards the King and was pleased to see that the entity had not lied — he had a week from the moment of signing the contract to get his affairs in order, in preparation of leaving the mortal plane to get ‘accustomed’ to the Infinite Realms.

Finally, he asked, “Would it be possible to allow Constantine to review this?”

The King snorted and waved a hand. In a flash of green, the bindings vanished and the magician leapt to his feet with a scowl.

“Damn it all…” Constantine leaned over Bruce’s wheelchair and yanked the contract from his hands, grumbling quietly as he looked through the papers.

While he was occupied, Bruce thought to ask one more question. “One of the terms in your section said that you would return my sons and myself to perfect health. Why?”

The terms of the contract had been shockingly accommodating for Bruce’s side, to such an extent that he wondered just how valuable his soul was. What would his eternity look like, under the Ghost King? Was it really that bad, that even the contract writer had felt bad for him? And if that was the case, what would the courtship be like? He shuddered at the idea.

“It seems fair, doesn’t it?” King Phantom asked with a frown. “You didn’t ask for this situation, and your injuries are the result of a horrible error. This contract seeks to fix that error, in its entirety.”

Bruce hummed, considering the answer. Throughout their conversation, Phantom had been surprisingly kind to him, always answering his questions patiently and showing sympathy for his situation. He wondered about pushing that kindness, ever so slightly.

He glanced over to Constantine, confirming that he was still reading through the papers, and met the King’s eyes again.

“You were human once, weren’t you?”

Beside him, Constantine stiffened, his eyes going wide. He slowly turned to look at Bruce, his expression dangerous, but Bruce paid the magician little mind.

“I was, yes,” the King said, nodding. He smiled after a moment and gestured to his form, saying sheepishly, “Most of this is the result of shapeshifting. Ghosts are just stronger spirits, and we can change our forms as we see fit. The wings are a ghost thing, I did not have them when I was alive.”

“How did you die?” Bruce asked, and Constantine let out a high pitched, strained sound. He was rapidly shaking his head, clearly trying to get Bruce’s attention.

King Phantom recoiled, his green eyes catching on Constantine’s panicked figure. After a tense moment, he smiled.

“I see. Well, for one, please don’t ask any other ghosts about their death. It’s considered rude. For two, most ghosts are the result of a violent or sudden death. That is all I will say about my death, lest I risk giving the magician a heart attack.”

“The- the magician is fine!” Constantine spluttered, but his white knuckled grip on the papers in his grasp said otherwise. He jabbed Bruce’s shoulder with his elbow, shooting him a dark look.

Bruce pointedly did not apologize. He had established that King Phantom wouldn’t hurt him, at least not until the contract was settled, and he was curious about the entity’s temperament. If he was going to spend eternity with this creature, he had to know more about him.

“Freezing to death doesn’t seem violent,” he observed idly, gesturing up to the King’s dark fingertips. To his surprise, the ghost only laughed.

“Again, shapeshifting. Besides, my core- that is, my soul’s essence- is partially responsible for my appearance, and I have an icy core. The frostbitten appearance isn’t an indicator of my death, though we can go through all of the violent deaths if you really want to guess.”

The most sensitive topic that he could think of was a ghost’s death, and it was one that Constantine had insisted that he needed to avoid. Now, in the wake of the King’s lighthearted but polite nature, it seemed like it wasn’t too much of a taboo.

“Murder?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Drowning? Blunt force trauma? Starving?”

“You’re good at this game, but still no.”

Bruce snorted. He smiled slightly, internally considering the many ways he had almost died.

“Poison? Falling? Blood loss?”

“Three more incorrect guesses, Mr. Wayne. Come on, really think.” The smile on the King’s face seemed genuine, and the way he leaned down, as if excited to hear his next guess, suggested that he, too, was having fun.

“Dehydration? Disease? Animal attack?” He racked his brain for causes of death that would have been especially relevant near the beginning of mankind. If Phantom was that old, he likely had died in a common way.

“None of those, either, but I’m confident that you’ll find it.”

Bruce paused. He leaned back in his chair, thinking seriously about it. There were a few more that he had not seriously considered due to the more modern nature of their applications, but maybe that was what he was missing.

“Suicide?”

“Not quite. You’re getting warmer, though.”

He had his answer. He steeled himself, ready to ask his question and receive some kind of reaction from Phantom. The entity still seemed engaged, his long ears perked up and his eyes bright. It was strange to see such an expression on a (presumably) millennia old creature.

He met Phantom’s eyes evenly and said, “Electrocution, your Majesty.”

Phantom’s lips quirked upwards in a small, sad smile. He nodded. “You are correct. Well done, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce suppressed the urge to smile in return. He’d expected that selling his soul would be a more unpleasant affair, but Phantom had an even temperament and even a sense of humor. He was surprised by both, frankly.

“Bruce,” he said quietly. “Call me Bruce.”

“As long as you call me Phantom, none of this king or majesty business,” the entity said with a wider smile, stepping back from the edge of the circle. His wings were relaxed now, no longer held so tightly against his back. The white feathers glowed ever so slightly, and Bruce had to remind himself not to stare.

He nodded, glancing back to Constantine, who was staring, slack-jawed at the contract. Bruce glanced down at the page and immediately identified which term had caught the magician off-guard, and he cleared his throat.

“It all looks fine, right, John?”

Constantine met his eyes, finally closing his mouth. After a beat, he nodded. “Yeah- yeah, it looks… fine. Bats, are you sure?”

“It seems fair,” Bruce said, pointedly not discussing the clause that Constantine had been examining. If the King hadn’t read the contract, then this could only work out in Bruce’s favor.

The magician looked at him for a long moment before finally nodding, his expression twisted with pity. He handed the papers over to Bruce, saying quietly, “You’re a good dad, mate.”

“If I was, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” Bruce said very quietly, accepting the small stack of papers. He looked up at Phantom with a steely gaze. “Alright, you have a deal. How do we sign?”

“You may be familiar with other forms of contract signing,” Phantom said, gesturing to Constantine. “Demons and fae often seal their contracts with a kiss. I find that unprofessional and, frankly, very cruel. We sign the final page and shake hands. Is that acceptable, Bruce?”

He briefly wondered if Phantom’s lips would have been cold before immediately shutting down that train of thought. Instead, he nodded. “That’s fine with me.”

King Phantom smiled, exposing sharp teeth as he did. He waved a hand and another flash of green light appeared, summoning a quill and a pot of ink. Both objects floated in the air before him, seemingly weightless, and he grabbed the quill. With a quick dip into the ink pot (which, disturbingly, seemed to contain Lazarus Water instead of ink), he signed the final page of the contract before handing it off to Bruce.

The quill was cold against his fingers. He shuddered, holding it tighter, and dipped the tip into the Lazarus Water. It was more viscous than he’d realized, and it clung to the end of the quill like honey. He lowered it down to the page and slowly penned his signature, his stomach dropping as he did.

Finally, the papers glowed a bright, toxic green, and the King smiled. He held out a hand, and Bruce took it. It was as cold as he’d expected, but soft to the touch. They shook once, and the deal was sealed.

There was a quiet moment of tension before Bruce felt an overwhelming sense of finality. He released Phantom’s hand, clutching at his own chest, and took a slow, deep breath. A tingling sensation ran up and down his spine, which was strange for a beat before he realized that he could feel it. He laughed softly, in disbelief, and slowly stood up from the wheelchair.

Phantom watched him with a soft smile, his head tilted to the side. The ghost stepped closer, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, and said very quietly, “You should head back home. They’re waiting for you.”

With that, the King of Ghosts vanished, his form dissipating like smoke, and there was a thick silence left in his wake.

“I can’t believe you just did that, you bloody fuckin’ idiot,” Constantine huffed, his tone incredulous. He stepped closer to Bruce, digging a cigarette out of his trench coat and immediately lighting it. “You just sold yourself to the fuckin’-”

“We read the same contract, didn’t we?” Bruce asked with a smirk. “He’ll probably realize what happened before he comes to collect me, but still.”

“Being engaged to the bloody Ghost King is still crazy!” Constantine spat, throwing his hands up in the air. He took a heavy drag of his cigarette before groaning. “You know how pissed he’ll be? Bats, you’re mental-”

“According to the contract, it’s an official courtship, not an engagement,” Bruce corrected mildly, unable to help but smile. He stepped away from the wheelchair and breathed in deeply, noting that his legs felt better than they’d felt even before his encounter with the Joker.

“I’ll let you clean this up,” he said with a dark smirk. “I need to get back home.”

Constantine sent him a miserable glare, but nodded. “Fine. Go hug your kids… Bloody nutcase.”

That was exactly what he planned to do.

-

(If you liked, be sure to leave a comment or just reblog! An extended chapter is available on my AO3 and you’ll be able to follow the rest of the fic there. Thank you for reading.)