#unnatural nature study

[fortunaestalta]

[heironymus-lex]

The man who invented cigarettes must have been an academic, the natural telos of a cigarette is to be smoked with a cup of coffee while trying to connect two sections of a paper which will both speak to the third section but have no intuitive bridge between them

[start-with-words]

PARLOUR BOARDER (noun) - an archaic term for a privileged category of pupil at a boarding school.

Harriet Smith was the natural daughter of somebody. Somebody had placed her, several years back, at Mrs. Goddard’s school, and somebody had lately raised her from the condition of scholar to that of parlour boarder.

- Emma by Jane Austen, Vol. I, Ch. 03.

[whowritessometimes]

Back and Forth - Art Donaldson x Reader

A Stanford!Art Donaldson and Stanford!Reader fic :) Kinda slow burn, very soft very sweet.

Word Count: 3.9k

---

The California summer sun beamed down on the court, making the colors of the advertisements and signs around you appear almost neon. Upbeat music flowed through speakers that you couldn't quite place, embodying the feeling of the tennis matches that surrounded you, the back-and-forth beat pulsating through your head. It was almost overstimulating, but this was your normal.

You were pre-med at Stanford, volunteering at some local tennis camp to fill your summer and add fodder to your resume. You didn't do much, occasionally helping some rich, pompous kid stretch out their wrist, or their knee, or their ankle, or whatever. The days blurred together, they all spoke to you in the same condescending way. For most people, it would be mind-numbing.

But it was exhilarating. You had this intrinsic love for tennis, you always had. Perhaps it was that love that led you to signing up for this gig, and not the resume experience. But you would never admit that to anyone. You had played tennis for fun your whole life, with your family growing up, with your friends in high school. It was only when you shattered your wrist sophomore year that you had to stop.

It sucked. It sucked at the time, and it sucked now. You weren't professional-level at tennis, not like these people, but it was nice to have a hobby unlike anything else people expected you to do. The pre-med thing, the reading, the studying, it came naturally to you. And it wasn't like you didn't enjoy it, and it wasn't like you weren't good at it, but you loved tennis. And every now and again, you missed it.

So here you were. Your head followed all the heads in the crowd in a practiced, synchronized, subconscious back-and-forth. There wasn't really ever a crowd, the games at the program were often informal, the audience often consisted of coaches and other players. But this was a unique match, Stanford's players engaged in a captivating display of athleticism. It was almost like a dance, the way they seemed to know the moves of the other before they made them. You could feel the intensity from your tent by the end of the bleachers.

Stanford's star player (well, one of them)—Art Donaldson. You'd half-watched him play from your tent whenever you weren't working. He was elusive, but undoubtably one of the best there. You had never spoken. He was enigmatic, focused on his training and on helping others. He had perfect technique, people said. Now, you had the chance to really see how he was. And he was. Top of his game.

Usually.

The air was thick with humidity. Your gaze flickered between the players, boredom warring with the gnawing anxiety that always hummed beneath the surface during matches. Then, a sound sliced through the rhythmic thwack of the tennis balls—a sharp cry of pain.

Your head snapped left like a whip, your heart leaping into your throat. There, sprawled on the opposite side of the net, lay Art. His face was contorted in agony, one hand clutching his ankle at an unnatural angle. His racket lay a few feet away, as forgotten as the polite pleasantries that had filled the air before the match.

The shitty plastic chair beneath you creaked in protest as you scrambled to your feet. Ignoring the surprised yelp from the equally shitty excuse for a supervisor you'd been assigned for the summer tennis program, you sprinted across the court. Dust billowed in your wake, blurring the vision that was already swimming with a mix of dread and the adrenaline rush that always came with seeing someone hurt.

You skidded to a halt beside him, kneeling. His eyes, usually bright with playful competitiveness, were screwed shut, teeth clenched as he fought back a string of obscenities you knew all too well.

"Hey," you said, forcing your voice to remain calm despite the tremor running through your body. He flinched at the sound of your voice, a flicker of something akin to fear crossing his normally confident expression.

"Hey," he managed to rasp out, opening one eye a sliver. He tried to push himself up, but his face crumpled again as a fresh wave of agony shot through him.

"Don't move," you ordered, the calmness in your voice surprising even you. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. His skin was slick with sweat, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from his injured ankle.

"'S bad, huh?" he breathed, a flicker of vulnerability in his voice.

The concern in his eyes sent a jolt through you. It wasn't just the pain; it was the fear.

"Don't worry," you said, your voice softer now, "We'll get you checked out. Just...hold still."

Ignoring the sting of sweat in your eyes, you carefully slipped your arm around his waist, offering what little support your slight frame could provide. Heaving him halfway onto your leg, you began the slow, agonizing walk towards the medical tent. Each step sent a spike of pain through Art's leg, reflected in the way he gritted his teeth and winced with every movement.

The supervisor, finally spurred into action, scurried behind you, muttering something about ice packs and paramedics. But your focus remained solely on Art, on getting him to help as quickly as possible.

You knew what it was like. Maybe that's what spurred your immediate action, your need to help him recover, to keep playing. You knew what it was like.

The antiseptic sting of the medical tent assaulted your nose as you hovered beside the injured player. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he clenched his jaw with each prod from the trainer.

"Think they all saw that?" he finally rasped, a hint of amusement battling the pain in his voice. You blinked, surprised by his oddly timed humor.

"Doubt it," you played along, a small smile tugging at your lips. "'S not like you're Art Donaldson or anything."

A sheepish grin replaced his grimace. "Thank god."

The trainer finished his work, leaving you and the injured player alone in a tense silence. He cleared his throat, his gaze meeting yours for the first time.

"So," he began, trailing off as he stared into the ceiling of the tent. There was something in his expression, the physical pain, the fear that comes with injury, the odd quiet of an unfinished game.

"So," you mimicked, sitting next to him in another shitty chair.

Something hung in the air, something all too familiar to you. He turned his head to look at you, to make eye contact, keeping his body flat on the cot. You realized then how close you were. Close enough to see his eyes, the sharp point of his jawline, the strawberry blond of his curls.

You averted your gaze, looking out into the brightness of the tent entrance. The typical ambiance of the outside seemed to be drowned by the odd intimacy you'd created together, the silence between you and Art seemed to be the only noise you could hear. His shoddy breathing, despite his attempts to pretend he was okay, only brought you back to when you felt the same way he did, all those years ago.

A blush crept up your neck. You fumbled for something, anything, to break the charged silence in the tent. "I, uh, broke my wrist sophomore year," you blurted, surprised by the words leaving your lips. "Tennis, ironically. One minute I'm playing—probably terribly—and then I'm in the ER holding a bag of frozen peas. And, I don't know, I guess I'm just saying... I get it. Sort of."

"You trying to distract me?" he asked, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," you admitted, a hesitant smile mirroring his. "Is it working?"

"Yeah, actually," he conceded, leaning back on the cot. "Tell me more."

You felt a genuine laugh bubble up from your chest, the first since the moment you saw him crumpled on the court.

---

And that was really the last time you saw Art. Suffice to say you hadn't forgotten about the encounter. It was actually stupid, how often you thought of it. He didn't even know your name, but you remembered the timbre of his voice, the softness of his gaze.

In your defense, he was hard to avoid. Now that the spring semester had started, tennis season was in full swing. His picture was plastered around the most of the facilities you frequented, future NCAA champion Art Donaldson.

The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming jasmine hung heavy in the crisp California air as you hurried across the bustling Stanford campus. The semester had sprung with a vengeance, bringing with it the usual flurry of activity—overloaded backpacks, animated discussions about last night's party, and the ever-present anxiety of looming deadlines.

Today, however, an extra weight sat on your shoulders. Your pre-med advisor dropped a last-minute surprise: mandatory tutoring for a struggling athlete. Juggling med school coursework with a part-time job at the campus health center was already a tightrope walk, and adding this felt like a precarious extra step. But you managed it, as you did most things. How you had some semblance of a social life was a mystery. And maybe your very obvious lack of a love life was why you thought about Art so often. You didn't have time to psychoanalyze yourself, though. You barely had time for whatever this tutoring session was about to be.

Reaching the designated classroom, a small, windowless space usually reserved for last-minute group study sessions, you took a deep breath before pushing open the heavy door. The sterile light inside momentarily blinded you, but as your eyes adjusted, a sight unfolded that caused your breath to hitch in your throat. Sprawled across a cluttered table, papers piled haphazardly around him, was a man who you'd spent the better part of the last few months thinking about.

There, unmistakably, was Art. His signature strawberry blond hair, slightly longer than you remembered, covered with a backwards baseball cap, curled at the edges, framing his face. A deep furrow creased his brow, a testament to the frustration radiating from his hunched form as he focused on a massive biology textbook. An unsettling warmth bloomed in your chest, a reaction entirely too potent for a tutoring session.

The memory of him sprawled on the opposite side of the tennis court last summer, his ankle twisted at an unnatural angle, flickered across your mind. The panic that had gripped you then seemed almost comical now. The sterile environment and the way his eyes had held a curious blend of pain and something else—gratitude, maybe?—all formed a vivid memory you hadn't realized had imprinted itself so deeply.

His presence filled the small room, unexpectedly stealing your breath and injecting a jolt of something entirely different into the monotonous routine of your day. A shyness spread across your face, tinged with an unfamiliar nervousness as you cleared your throat, the sound echoing awkwardly in the sudden silence.

A slow smile took over his features as he looked at you, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. For a moment, you were caught in that smile, a memory resurfacing from the hazy days of summer.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice warm. He reached a toned arm, pulling out a chair for you.

"Hi," you blinked, momentarily flustered by the gesture and the echo of familiarity in his voice. There was a moment of tension in the air, of uncertainty, of a strange sense of reconnection. Finally, you managed to force out the words, "How are you?"

"My ankle's a lot better now, if that's what you're asking," he replied with a playful glint in his eyes. His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long, making you hyperaware of the way your heart hammered against your ribs.

"You remember me?" you blurted out, the question leaving your lips before you could stop it.

"Course I remember you," he said, his voice laced with amusement. You couldn't ignore the way his eyes flickered from your face down to your body, and back up. Blatantly checking you out. And you could hear his smile in the way he spoke, warm and genuine, sending a familiar flutter through your stomach. The memory of his teasing laughter in the sterile medical tent resurfaced.

"Right," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You shifted in your chair, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of his gaze on you.

The next hour or so unfolded in a way that surprised you both. Art's initial confusion melted away as you hovered next to him, animatedly explaining each concept. Social life, love life, Art Donaldson, you couldn't explain. Biology, medical stuff, sports, you understood.

And he was beginning to as well. Time became a forgotten entity, measured only by the turning of pages and the occasional frustrated groan from Art. He wasn't the cocky athlete you'd half-imagined, but someone with a genuine curiosity about the world around him and some kind of depth hidden beneath his confident facade on the court.

Finally, Art leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "We should probably call it," he declared, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied groan. He thanked you, looking into your eyes as he said your name, the syllables dancing off his tongue in a way that made you feel like it was more than a word you had offhandedly mentioned to him.

"Yeah, sure," you replied, your voice softer than you intended.

The study sessions became a regular occurrence. The two of you exchanged numbers, only to arrange meetings, you reminded yourself.

But whenever he called, you found yourself talking about so much more than biology. It started with him asking how you were, a simple courtesy that somehow felt more genuine coming from him. Yet, as you replied, a comfortable ease would settle in. You'd find yourself laughing at inside jokes, dumb stories, the kind that wouldn't be particularly funny to anyone else, would mindlessly tumble out, fueled by the comfort you felt in his presence. It was a kind of nonsense, a space where you could just be yourself, and somehow, it felt like everything and nothing all at once.

---

Now, it was late, and it was finals week.

Papers and textbooks were scattered across your desk, a battlefield of scribbled notes and highlighted passages. You were in the trenches, neck-deep in the intricacies of biochemistry, desperately trying to cram information into your sleep-deprived brain.

Suddenly, the familiar buzz of your phone cut through the silence of your cramped dorm. You fished it out of your pocket, a flicker of annoyance battling with the ever-present hope that it might be a break, a distraction from the relentless onslaught of scientific jargon. Gratefulness shot through you when you saw Art Donaldson's name on the screen.

You answered the call. His voice crackled through the phone, laced with desperation. "I need your help," he blurted out, completely unlike his usual easygoing self. "What the fuck is molecular cell biology?"

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "In general?" you replied, already picturing the hours that it would take to explain the subject. Finals be damned, apparently.

"Can you just come over?" he groaned. "If you aren't doing anything."

You glanced back at the flashcards on your desk. "I'm not doing anything."

So here you were, knocking on the door of Art Donaldson's dorm. You heard rustling from the other side, making you wait just a beat longer in the dimly lit hallway. You rocked back and forth on your heels, chewing the inside of your cheek and rethinking your current appearance. The oversized Stanford hoodie, mess of your hair, and lack of makeup now seemed ill-fitting for a meeting with the boy who had somehow winded his way into becoming your crush. You felt like a kid again, back in high school.

You were starting to worry you had the wrong room until the door swung open, bathing the hallway in a golden, hazy light. There stood Art, moving his large frame out of the way to gesture you into his room with a short greeting and a "thank god." You didn't know what you expected, really, but there you were, slinking a little too closely past him as he stood in his doorframe. You felt his breath on the back of your neck as he stood behind you, guiding you to his tiny desk in the corner of the room. His hands ghosted over the small of your back, and you felt his warmth, despite him not actually touching you.

The room itself was small. It wasn't unlike yours, or any of the others on campus. But it somehow felt smaller with Art next to you, burying his face in his hands every time you patiently explained a concept you'd gone over already. His face. He was so close to you now, the quiet of the night and the room only making you feel closer.

The energy of this study session felt so different from all your others in the past. You weren't in a classroom, or meeting him after practice in the library. You were seeing another side of Art, the part of himself he didn't publicize. Every freckle, the stretch of his faded t-shirt over his body, the curls he brushed out of his eyes every now and again, the way he flexed his callused hands as he cracked his knuckles, a nervous fidget.

It felt like time slowed down. You labored over the biology textbook, finding practice questions and asking him some of your own. You were gentle, cautious. Maybe it was the weird intimacy of the moment, maybe it was the lack of air in the cramped dorm. Your voice was soft, and you couldn't help but notice how the tension Art held over the phone and when you entered the room melted away. Did you do that? You felt this reciprocation, possibly imagined. But whenever you cracked a dumb joke, he'd laugh and put a hand on your arm. The contact always made you freeze. The touch was a reminder he was real, he was tangible. Every fleeting gaze, every smile in your direction.

You had almost reached the end of the chapter, and Art was getting almost every practice question right. You fidgeted with a sheet of his messy notes, reading it over to continue some rant you were on about RNA.

"...made up of nucleotides, which are ribose sugars attached to nitrogenous bases and phosphate groups..." You trailed off, looking up from the papers only to find his gaze already on you. How long had he been looking at you? And the way he looked at you...

"Do you want to take a break?" He tilted his head.

You quirked an eyebrow, unable to fight your smile. "Sure."

He got up with an over-exaggerated sigh and stretched his arms over his head, exposing the bottom of his toned abdomen. For a moment. He reached under his desk, pulling out a box of some cheap canned beer. He popped the tab of a can, taking a long draw and passing it to you.

You looked away from his watchful eyes as you took a sip. Your face heated as you took into account the fact you were drinking from the same can he had.

You winced. "God, that tastes like ass."

"Sorry." He laughed, taking the can from you. Warm, callused fingertips brushing against yours.

"I didn't take you for a Steel Reserve kinda guy."

"What did you take me for?"

"I don't know. Gatorade?"

"Okay." He shook his head. "No more for you."

"Wait, wait, okay, I take it back."

He held out the can for you again.

"Mhm."

"Still taste like ass?"

"It tastes like what I imagine WD-40 tastes like."

You felt your heart swell as he laughed at that. You hadn't noticed how the two of you now sat impossibly closer, thighs brushing, shoulders sending sparks whenever they met. The half-empty can of beer felt like a nervous talisman being passed back and forth between you. Dumb jokes tumbled easily from your lips, punctuated by laughter that echoed weirdly loud in the quiet room. Finals week stress had completely evaporated, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the shitty beer.

It was so easy, talking to Art. Easier than it should have been, considering you were explaining the intricacies of cellular respiration to a man who once thought mitochondria were a type of pasta. But he listened, truly listened, his eyes locked on yours. You caught yourself getting lost in their depths, a dizzying kaleidoscope that mirrored the nervousness in your stomach.

He leaned in, as if to hear you better, and you mimicked the movement unconsciously. The space between your faces shrunk, the air thick with unspoken words. His gaze did its familiar dance—right eye, lips, left eye—and this time, it lingered on your lips a beat too long.

A sudden self-consciousness washed over you. Should you pull back? This wasn't your intention. But before you could overthink it, Art's lips were hovering over yours, a question in the way they hovered, hesitant but hopeful.

"This okay?" His voice was impossibly low, breathy, quiet. His eyes raked over your features, eye contact shifting from left to right, back and forth. His hand, warm and calloused came up to cup your cheek, grounding you in the moment.

"Yeah." You breathed.

The kiss, when it came, was soft and unexpected. More of a tentative exploration than a passionate assault. It tasted of desperation and relief, of unspoken feelings finally finding a voice.

Your hands moved from your sides to toy with the curls on the back of his head, earning a barely audible groan from Art. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, his other hand moving down to pull you impossibly closer by the small of your waist. His touch was shy, tender.

After what felt like forever (and you wouldn't have minded had it been), you pulled away slowly, breathless, a blush painting your face. His eyes searched yours for some unknown answer. For a long moment, the only sound was the ragged rhythm of your breath.

A slow smile spread across his face, mirroring the one blooming on yours. "God, you're so pretty."

Leaving Art's dorm room felt like navigating a dream. Your head spun, a mix of the cheap beer and the potent aftertaste of the kiss. Your lips still tingled where his had been, a brand new sensation that sent shivers dancing down your spine. Relief, sweet and unexpected, washed over you. Months of stolen glances, late-night calls disguised as study sessions, and a simmering tension that had threatened to consume you—all of it had culminated in that single, electrifying kiss.

As you walked down the quiet hallway, a giddy smile stretched across your face. It wasn't just the kiss itself, though that replayed in your mind in a loop—hesitant, searching, then deepening with a shared sense of discovery. It was the way he'd looked at you afterwards, his eyes soft with unspoken emotions, mirroring the whirlwind in your own chest. A nervous flutter remained in your stomach, a delicious mix of excitement and uncertainty.

But beneath it all, a quiet confidence bloomed. He felt it too. This wasn't just some fleeting moment, a stolen kiss in the dead of night. It was a turning point, a bridge crossed, and the future, once shrouded in the haze of exams and unspoken feelings, now shimmered with possibility.

[rosierin]

a hair toning intervention | atsumu, osamu, suna

synopsis; osamu comes home with brown hair and atsumu feels personally attacked.

his solution? changing his hair too, duh.

a/n; this was super fun to write bahahaha

i've seen a few versions of this historical miya event in other fics before and thought i'd do my own version hehe. hope it made ya smile as much as i did!!!

also, this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

(Y/n) was midway through opening a bag of crisps when the front door swung open.

She looked up—only to freeze completely.

Her lips parted. The crisp never made it to her mouth.

Beside her, Suna and Atsumu both gasped in unison, equal parts stunned and horrified.

Osamu strolled in casually, tossing his keys onto the counter like nothing was different.

But something was different.

Very different.

(Y/n) blinked. “Wait. What.”

Atsumu, gawking, stared at his twin like he’d grown a second head.

Suna, frowning, tilted his head. “There’s something… wrong with this picture.”

Osamu raised a brow. “What?”

(Y/n) stared. Then she turned to Suna. Then to Atsumu. Then back to Osamu. As if making sure they all saw the same thing.

Then she pointed at him. “Your hair!”

She couldn’t believe her eyes.

The silver was gone.

Not just dyed over—completely gone! Chopped off, neatly styled, the strands a deep, natural brown that she had never actually seen on him before.

She gaped. “Osamu—you’re a brunette again?!”

Osamu blinked, like he had forgotten to mention it. “Oh. Yeah.”

“OH. YEAH??” Atsumu finally snapped out of his daze, gesturing wildly. “SINCE WHEN??”

Osamu shrugged. “Since this mornin’.”

Suna let out a low whistle, staring at him like he was some kind of glitch in the matrix. “You look like a different person."

(Y/n) grinned, stepping closer, eyes shining.

“No way,” she breathed. “This is so weird—but in a good way! It’s your natural colour, right??”

Osamu nodded, feeling a little shy.

She studied him properly, still trying to process the change. It completely altered the way he looked—not in a bad way, just… different. Warmer. Softer, somehow.

She clasped her hands together, practically bouncing on her feet. “You look so handsome! It suits you so much!”

Atsumu recoiled like he’d just been personally attacked.

“No, it don’t! It’s like he’s a teenager again! I hate it!”

(Y/n) immediately whipped her head toward him. Glared.

“You shut your mouth,” she scolded. “He looks great.”

Osamu blinked at her. His lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the sudden wave of enthusiasm.

Then, as if embarrassed, he rubbed the back of his neck, mumbling, “Uh. Thanks.”

(Y/n) beamed.

Atsumu groaned. “Ya can’t be encouragin’ this! He looks like some responsible adult now, it’s unnatural!”

“Maybe ‘cause I am a responsible adult.”

“No, yer Osamu, you ain’t supposed to change!”

Osamu rolled his eyes. “Yer bein’ dramatic.”

(Y/n) nodded in agreement. “I agree with Osamu."

“Yuck,” Atsumu muttered. “Feels wrong hearin’ those words together.”

Osamu smirked. “Get used to it, blondie.”

That’s when it happened.

Atsumu froze.

The gears in his head started turning.

And then, a sudden, creeping realization dawned on him.

He was now the only twin with dyed hair.

The only one with unnatural colour.

Osamu was now the twin with the “normal” hair.

His face fell.

(Y/n) saw the exact moment the identity crisis hit him.

Atsumu looked at Osamu. Then at himself in the mirror. Then back at Osamu.

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"Well, now I have to do somethin’ to mine."

Suna groaned. (Y/n) sighed. Osamu smirked.

And just like that—Atsumu’s hair crisis began.

The next day, Atsumu dragged (y/n) aside like he had breaking news.

Serious. Grave. The end-of-the-world kind of serious.

“Alright.” He exhaled. “I’ve thought about it.”

(Y/n), halfway through sipping her morning tea, already regretted being here. “Oh no.”

Atsumu ignored her.

“I’m changin’ my hair.”

(Y/n) closed her eyes briefly. Then sighed, muttering, “God, give me strength.”

At that exact moment, Suna and Osamu strolled into the room—mid-conversation, chuckling about something irrelevant.

“Oi, you two,” Atsumu called, waving them over like a man with a mission. “We’re talkin’ hair.”

Suna paused, glanced at Osamu, then back at Atsumu.

“…No thanks.”

Osamu snorted. “Yeah, I’m good. Haven’t even eaten breakfast yet.”

Atsumu ignored them too.

“I’m thinkin’… platinum. Ya’know— white.”

Suna let out a long, suffering sigh.

Osamu rubbed his face. “….No.”

(Y/n), already knowing where this was going, rested her chin in her palm. “Here we go. Tell us more, Lady Gaga.”

Atsumu continued undeterred.

“Or!—pastel pink.”

Suna, without missing a beat: “You’d look like a rejected K-pop star.”

Atsumu frowned.

Osamu smirked. “Yer gonna look like an anime protagonist.”

Atsumu scowled harder.

(Y/n) sipped her drink, silently agreeing with both assessments.

Atsumu, ever determined, pressed on.

“What about black?”

Suna arched a brow. “You think you can handle the responsibility of dark hair?”

Atsumu hesitated. “What the hell does that mean?”

Osamu smirked. “It means ya talk too much to pull off the mysterious bad boy look.”

Suna nodded. “Yeah, you’re too loud. Feels illegal.”

Atsumu scowled.

(Y/n) tilted her head. “You don’t have to change your hair, you know. Blonde suits you.”

Suna’s smirk widened. “Plus, you know what they say about blondes…”

Osamu snorted. (Y/n) bit back a laugh.

Atsumu immediately tensed. “I’M NOT DUMB.”

A beat.

Looks were exchanged.

Nothing was said, and yet everything was said at the same time.

Atsumu’s eye twitched. “You guys are NO HELP. Gimme actual suggestions instead of bein’ mean!”

(Y/n), having had enough of this nonsense, finally spoke up.

“…Why don’t you just tone it?”

Atsumu blinked. “What?”

“Toner,” she repeated. “It keeps your blonde, but it takes out all the brassiness so it looks cleaner.”

Atsumu stared. As if she had just started speaking another language.

“…What the hell is toner?”

Suna’s mouth twitched. Osamu looked away.

A second later—

The two of them BURST into laughter.

Giggling. Giggling like schoolgirls.

Osamu actually had to hold onto the counter. Suna covered his face, shoulders shaking.

(Y/n) exhaled. “Oh my god.”

“What’s so funny?!” Atsumu demanded.

Osamu, composing himself, barely managed, “there's no way."

Suna wiped a tear. “You’ve been blonde for YEARS and you’ve never used a toner?”

Atsumu crossed his arms. “No, ‘cause I didn’t know it was a thing!”

“Oh, we know.”

(Y/n) decided to take pity on him. For now.

“Listen,” she started, talking slow like she was explaining something to a child, “you know how your hair sometimes looks a little… yellow?”

Atsumu’s eyes narrowed. “What do ya mean, a little yellow?”

Suna, entirely unhelpful: “She means it looks like piss.”

Atsumu whipped around. “Excuse me??”

Osamu, still grinning, leaned against the counter. “He’s got a point.”

(Y/n) bit back a laugh. “The toner will fix that.”

Atsumu scoffed. “My hair ain’t piss-yellow.”

Suna, deadpan: “It is.”

Osamu, nodding: “Yeah.”

(Y/n), “Yeah, a little bit.”

Atsumu looked personally attacked.

Osamu clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, ‘Tsumu, it’s time"

Suna nodded solemnly. “We’re helping you.”

(Y/n) smirked. “For the greater good.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes, but the seed was planted.

“…Fine. Let’s do it.”

And just like that—the Hair-Toning Mission was officially set in motion.

(Y/n) stood at the sink, reading the instructions on the toner bottle, while Atsumu sat on the edge of the bathtub, fidgeting like a restless child.

Behind them, Osamu and Suna loitered in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching like they were witnessing history in the making.

Atsumu sighed dramatically. "This feels like a mistake."

(Y/n) didn't even look up. "You say that like you didn't beg me to do this five minutes ago."

Osamu snorted. "It probably is a mistake, but we're already here, so."

Atsumu whipped his head around. "Shut up! You abandoned the twin hair pact first!"

Osamu raised a brow. "Atsumu. That pact existed when we were ten."

"It was fifteen, actually!" Atsumu threw his hands up. "Ya betrayed me!"

Suna hummed. "Hate to break it to ya, but (y/n) is actually doing you a favour. Your hair’s been looking… rough."

Atsumu scoffed. "My hair is fine."

(Y/n) sighed. "Atsumu, honey, do me a favour and look at yourself in the mirror."

Reluctantly, he turned.

There, under the bright, unforgiving bathroom lights, his unnatural yellow-blonde hair looked even more tragic than usual.

He blinked. “…Oh.”

Suna immediately started laughing.

Osamu clapped a hand on his shoulder, mock sympathy written all over his face. “Happens to the best of us."

(Y/n) clapped her hands together. “Alright, enough existential crisis. Let’s fix it.”

Atsumu grumbled but sat still as she gloved up, mixing the toner with developer.

The moment she picked up the brush, he flinched.

"Yer sure this ain't bleach?"

(Y/n) paused. Then, with a deadpan expression—

"Oh, my bad. This is actually hair remover. Hang on, lemme just—"

Atsumu's eyes bulged.

“WHAT?!”

Osamu and Suna cackled from the doorway.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes. "I'm kidding, dumbass."

Osamu leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Honestly, the bald look might suit ya."

Atsumu pouted. "Yer all evil."

(Y/n) finally started applying the toner, brushing it through his roots while trying not to laugh at the sheer amount of facial expressions he was making.

It didn’t sting, but Atsumu sure acted like it did.

"Oh my god, this smells so strong—"

"It's literally just toner, Atsumu."

"It feels weird—"

"That's because you never take care of your hair."

"Wait— Is my scalp tingling? What if I'm allergic?"

(Y/n) paused mid-brush stroke. "You literally bleach your hair every few months. You're fine."

Suna barely held back a laugh. "He’s dying, (y/n). It’s over."

Atsumu gasped dramatically. "I CAN FEEL IT SEEPIN’ INTO MY BRAIN."

Osamu rolled his eyes. "That would imply ya have a brain."

Atsumu scowled. "I hope my new hair looks so good that you cry about it."

Suna smirked. "If it turns out bad, I'm sending pictures to everyone we know."

(Y/n) sighed, fighting the urge to smack all three of them. "Can you clowns hush up for five seconds?"

Atsumu huffed. "Fine. But hurry up."

(Y/n) worked quickly, coating every strand with precision, her hands expertly weaving through his hair.

Atsumu, for once, actually sat still.

It was oddly quiet.

(Y/n) blinked, pleasantly surprised. "Are you actually being patient?"

Atsumu smirked, leaning back into her touch. "What can I say? I like the feel of yer hands in my hair."

Osamu physically gagged.

Suna made a loud retching noise. "Get a grip."

(Y/n) dropped the brush onto his lap. "Do your own hair, then."

"NO, NO, I TAKE IT BACK—"

(Y/n) sighed. "Shut up and let it sit."

Atsumu grumbled but obeyed.

And so, the waiting game began.

Suna leaned back against the counter, smirking. "So, worst case scenario, his hair turns purple, right?"

(Y/n) smirked. "Or green."

Atsumu sat up violently. "WHAT?"

Osamu chuckled. "Relax. Probably won't happen."

"PROBABLY?!"

Suna snapped a picture of his panicked face. "That one's goin’ in the archives."

Atsumu groaned, head in his hands. "I shoulda just gone pastel pink."

(Y/n) patted his head. "Too late now."

Atsumu leaned over the sink, staring at himself in the mirror.

And for once—he was speechless.

His blonde was still there, but softer, cleaner—less like an overripe banana and more like an expensive golden shade straight out of a salon.

Slowly, he ran a hand through his freshly toned hair, tilting his head to admire it from every angle.

A pause.

Then—

“HOLY SHIT, I LOOK GOOD.”

Osamu groaned. “Here we go.”

Suna sighed. “What have we done?"

Atsumu. Did. Not. Care. He was in love with himself.

He fluffed his hair. Styled it. Messed it up, then slicked it back. Different angles. Different expressions.

He even leaned in closer, squinting. “Damn. Who’s that fine piece of—”

(Y/n) reached forward and physically turned his head away from the mirror. “Enough.”

But even Osamu had to admit, it looked better.

Suna gave a slow nod of approval. “I hate to say it, but it’s actually… not bad.”

Osamu hummed. “Yeah. It's definitely an improvement.”

(Y/n) grinned, stepping up to Atsumu.

Then, to his horror—

She pinched his cheeks.

“Aw, you look lovely!” she cooed, mockingly.

Atsumu’s entire expression dropped.

"Hah—?!"

(Y/n) giggled, giving his face a playful squeeze. “You look adorbs 'Tsum 'Tsum!”

Atsumu, gaping, stared at (y/n) with disbelief written all over his face. "'Aborbs'? ''Tsum 'Tsum'? Are ya kiddin' me?"

He whipped around to Osamu. “How come he gets normal compliments, and I get treated like a toddler?” Atsumu pouted. “I demand a redo!”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes.

“Fine.”

She released his cheeks, crossed her arms, and tilted her head slightly.

Then, with a perfectly smooth, slow smile—

"You look hot, Atsumu."

Atsumu’s brain short-circuited.

Was that steam coming off his head?

A blink. Then another.

His ears turned red.

(Y/n) smirked.

From behind them, Osamu and Suna absolutely lost it.

“HE’S WHIPPED.”

“HE’S SO GONE.”

Atsumu snapped out of it, scowling. “THAT AIN'T FAIR! SHE TRICKED ME! THAT WAS SORCERY— SHE— I—”

Suna, grinning like a demon, leaned closer. “Heart racing, 'Tsumu?”

Osamu smirked. “Sweatin’ a little there, 'Tsumu?”

Atsumu whipped around, unable to articulate. “SHUT YER TRAPS, BOTH OF YA.”

(Y/n) just shrugged, entirely unfazed. “You did ask for a real compliment.”

Atsumu covered his face with his hands. “Yer killin' me, woman.”

Osamu patted his shoulder. “You’ll live.”

Suna leaned in, voice dripping with amusement. "Go on. Just say, “Thank you, (y/n), I am hot.”’

Atsumu flung an empty shampoo bottle at him.

(Y/n) laughed.

And just like that—the hair-toning adventure was complete.

[gallus-rising]

i totally understand why ppl ship Laios and Kabru, i get the appeal, but to me that doesn't probably capture depths that their Freak Behaviors would create if combined in such a way

Kabru has just enough sense to not stick his dick in (that particular brand of) crazy, but he is still studying Laios like a bug. imagining him in situations. rotating him in the fantasy microwave. etc. he's thoroughly observed Laios in his natural habitat (dungeon), currently observing him in his unnatural habitat (civilization). he's seen Laios' family dynamics, has been sucked into his friendship circle, subtly interrogated fellow victims. there's only one thing left

he's never seen Laios Fuck

is this, perhaps, the singular aspect in life in which Laios is normal? is he his normal abrasive self or a conscience and tender lover? what does Laios think foreplay is? would he even register someone making moves on him in the first place? are dog collars involved at some point?? oh god what if the dog collars aren't even a sex thing for him--

imagine, you are an elven government spy here to seduce state secrets out of the mysterious king of the golden kingdom. months of pretending to care about his special interest are starting to pay off. after a banquet (you specifically were chosen for the job because of your immunity to poisons) he shyly invites you back to his chambers. this is it! the two of you are being shadowed, as would be expected for the king's first illicit encounter with a foreign dignitary, but you've finally done it!

Some Guy just walks in and starts taking notes while giving you the world's most intense Weezer Blue stare. you nervously, yet seductively, try to ask the king if he likes being watched or something~ ;) "haha yeah Kapru likes 'studying my habits' sometimes :)" oh god this isn't even a sex thing. with every second the Guy becomes increasingly distressed. Laios is just happy to be here

[stealingyourbones]

While taking an unorthodox cut through the woods to head to the library, something shiny on the forest floor catches Jazz’s eye.

It looked like a polished ore, a glimmering white platinum sheen that nearly glowed with how reflective it was. The strange energy it gave off set Jazz’s senses on full alert. She’d never seen anything like this in the Zone or anything she’s studies.

As she walks toward it she began to feel strange. Her hearing feels oversensitive but it isn’t like overstimulation. She can hear the plants growing. Her vision momentarily wained but then strengthened. It was like she was nearly blind all her life and now got glasses but it was wrong. Looking at the strange metal she could now see odd imperfections and dullness in places she couldn’t see before.

She was so distracted looking at the nicks and dings to the metal that she tripped, throwing her arms out to catch a nearby tree. To her shock and horror, the force of her arm grabbing the tree was a million times more than she expected, instead of feeling a firm sturdy pine against her fingers, it felt like she was pushing through soft kinetic sand. Her arm pushes through the wood, severing the tree from its now stump and throwing the several dozen foot tall tree a hundred feet where it acted like a giant sledge hammer, causing a cascade of fallen birches and pines in its wake. Not only that, but she was now floating one foot above the ground, her tumble sending her upwards instead of plummeting to the dirt below. It felt no different than standing on solid ground, it feels as natural as breathing which made it feel unnatural all over again. She looked from her shaking hands to metal whose energy she could now hear as an audible screeching hum.

What the hell is happening?!?

(Platinum Kryptonite gives regular humans kryptonian powers permanently)

[odoraful]

𝑨 𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑫𝑰𝑬

⟡ content: xiao x gn!reader; sfw; fluff; established relationship; xiao has certain powers that i will not disclose since it will spoil the fic, but it will be very obvious when you read it !; 1.5k words

⟡ a/n: couldn't for the life of me come up with a one sentence summary for this so unfortunately there is just the title to go off of 😔 also chibi xiao for the banner because it matches the vibe of the story hehe i hope you enjoy mwah !

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“If anything happens-”

“Just speak your name and you’ll be there.”

You finished off Xiao’s sentence with a soft smile.

Xiao’s protectiveness was second nature to him. Though he knew you were capable of fending for yourself, it never felt right for him to let you go on long travels without reiterating his promise to you. Especially now when you were heading to another nation where its threats were unfamiliar to him.

“But I won’t need to because nothing will happen to me,” you continued, flicking the clasps of your travel bag closed. “That is, unless the alchemical materials in the laboratory become sentient and decide to attack.”

Xiao gave a pout. “My concern is with the monsters of Dragonspine, not inanimate objects.”

His unwavering sincerity meant he seldom reciprocated your jokes, particularly when they revolved around your own safety. He had always thought that this would make him appear too stiff. Little did he know that it endeared him to you even more.

You walked over to Xiao, taking both his hands in yours. Eyes meeting his serious, amber gaze, you gently kissed the spot between his brows, trying to smooth out the furrow that had made its home there. He tensed ever so slightly before relaxing, still getting accustomed to your open affection.

“I’ll always be accompanied by members of the Knights of Favonius,” you detailed. “And I’ll be staying in the city whenever I’m not doing my training.”

Conceding to your rational arguments, his frown melted away with a sigh. The sharpness on his face was replaced with a softer expression as you squeezed his hands. He let out a low hum, focusing on the weight of your hands in his own. After your leave, it would be a little while until he would be able to feel this once again.

“I’ll be alright, Xiao.”

Your voice resonated through his head. Sweet and reassuring.

Of course everything would be alright. It was you after all.

However, there would be nothing stopping Xiao from being who he was either.

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There always seemed to be a pleasant breeze in the City of Mondstadt, neither too strong nor too cold. You were thankful for the window in your room facing outwards into the street so you could always enjoy the fresh air. The accommodation in Angel’s Share tavern was modest, with all the essential features for a visitor like yourself. A bed, a cupboard for storage, and small writing desk below a window.

Today, the winds cooled your skin, toying with loose strands of your hair, but never disrupting the papers on your desk below as you worked.

After tidying up the notes from that day’s alchemical training session, you brought out a fresh piece of parchment. Dipping your quill into the black ink pot, you began to write, taking care so your handwriting wouldn’t be as illegible as your study notes.

Dear Xiao…

To ease your boyfriend’s worries about your status, you also each promised to write to each other. Fortunately, with Liyue and Mondstadt being neighbouring nations, mailing could be sent and received within a few days. Verr Goldet would certainly be surprised to see Xiao skulking around the lobby, secretly waiting for a letter addressed to him.

Too engrossed in your penning, you failed to notice company joining you by your open window.

A small bird landed on the sill with unnatural grace. It hopped curiously, head tilting one side then the other. It was only until it gave a chirp did your head shoot upwards.

“Archons!”

You placed your hand over your chest in surprise. The bird let out another chirp, ruffling its own feathers. A laugh bubbled out of you, amused by how frightened you were by such a harmless creature.

Placing your pen to the side, you leaned your head in your hand and observed the bird.

“You nearly scared me to death, you know that?” you said to it, lifting your brows in mock scolding.

You hadn’t seen a bird like this before. Its plumage was a mixture of teals with purple around the top of its head. Maybe it was a native bird of Mondstadt. You’d have to ask Albedo about it during your training session tomorrow.

The little bird didn’t move. It simply stared back with unblinking eyes.

You were no animal whisperer, yet something about its stance made it look like it was anticipating something. Your natural urge to pet cute things took over and you slowly reached out a hand towards it. That seemed to be the correct response as the bird quickly met the palm of your hand, nuzzling under your touch. You chuckled, rubbing small circles into its head with your thumb.

The bird gave another chirp, quieter this time but satisfied, nonetheless.

“You might be the cutest bird I’ve ever seen,” you mused aloud. “I should keep you to myself and take you home with me.”

From under your palm, the bird squeaked. It almost sounded alarmed. You lifted your hand curiously, and it hopped out of your touch. Its head swivelled around, looking between you and the window behind it. It came to a decision and unfurled its wings, taking flight into the open air.

You stood up and stuck your head out of the window, following its path before it blended in with the clear blue sky and disappeared from your sight.

You flopped back down into your chair, the wood creaking beneath you. The inked greeting you wrote at the beginning of your letter had dried down, settling into the parchment. Smiling to yourself, you picked up your pen and continued to write.

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The little teal bird could only make it to Stone Gate before it had to make a stop.

Away from the eyes of any merchant or traveller passing through, it landed on one of the cliffs that lined the edges of the board walk.

If it were to land where there would be citizens present, it would probably cause a spectacle for what it was about to do next.

Wisps of green energy formed and coalesced around the bird, covering its body. The once tiny form grew larger and larger, reaching human size. Once upon a time, the transformation would have been much faster—almost instantaneous. But it had been a long time since he last used this power.

No trace of the little bird could be found as Xiao’s human form materialized.

Immediately, he fell to his knees. Partly because the transformation had been strenuous to concentrate on, but mostly because of his own embarrassment.

It had been less than a week since your departure, and Xiao could not wait for your first letter. He had to see for himself that no harm had befallen you.

He covered his beet-red face with both gloved hands, letting out a flustered groan.

His act would have been utterly blown had you kept him with you like a pet. The thought of him using up the last of his power and transforming while with you was too mortifying of a scenario. He also harshly reminded himself that you had not called him cute but rather the bird, and therefore there was no reason for his heart to be beating so fast.

How foolish of me... Of course nothing bad happened, he thought to himself. He had seen you unscathed, diligently studying, and even writing this week's letter for him.

Xiao took a moment to regain his energy and steady his heart. He gazed out at the landscape of Dihua Marsh. The remnant sensation of your warm hand caressing his feathered head left goosebumps on his skin. He had missed your soothing touch. Though, it just wasn’t the same compared to his human form. He couldn’t wrap his arms around you, feel you relax in his hold, or smell the scent of your perfume.

Xiao quietly admitted to himself that he preferred that you held his normal self. And because of that, he would be responsible and wait out these remaining four weeks until you returned to Liyue. That would be his first and last instance of spying in on you. Besides, he had your letters to look forward to.

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[slut4megantheestallion]

──Crimson Devotion

Trueform! Sukuna 𝐱 Original Vampire!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings. fem! reader, vampire!reader (Reader is an original) heian era, trueform! Sukuna, smut, rough sex, cockwarming, degradation, possessiveness, fingering, blood drinking, mention of compulsion,finger sucking, edging, Overstimulation, light Aftercare, multiple orgasms, Dom!sukuna.

You had been in Ryomen Sukuna's service for years, though it felt like mere days in the grand span of your immortal existence. Time had little meaning to you after living for over a thousand years. You had seen empire rise and crumble, witnessed men become legends before turning to dust. And yet, in all that time, nothing fascinated you quite like him.

Sukuna was unlike any other being you had encountered. Humans feared him, sorcereers despised him, and even curses cowered in his presence. He was destruction incarnate - both a man and a monster, adorned with four roving eyes and a grin that promised ruin.

You had chosen power to serve him for one reason alone: Power.

As an Original vampire, you were an apex predator, feared in your own right. But cursed energy was something beyond even your kind's understanding. It thrived in ways that defied nature, and Sukuna was its pinnacle. You needed to learn from him, to study him, to determine whether such power could be wielded against your enemies- or if it was a threat to your existence.

Sukuna had accepted you into his court without question, though he regarded you with mild intrigue. Unlike his concubines and warriors, you did not flinch under his gaze, nor did you shrink in fear when he turned his attention to you. You were beautiful, yes- so much so that even his followers whispered about the ethereal maiden in his presence. But there was something else.

Something unnatural.

He noticed it almost immediately. The way you moved too gracefully, too effortlessly, like a wraith gliding through his halls. The way your skin reminded flawless, untouched by time or battle, despite having lived through so much bloodshed. The way you indulged in the lavish feasts at his table yet never seemed to be sustained by them, your appetite always restrained, as if something else - something unseen - was what truly fed you.

Sukuna was not a patient man, but he was a curious one. And curiosity for him always led to something dangerous.

Despite the many souls that lingered within Sukuna's domain, you remained an enigma. You were neither servant nor concubine, not bound to him in the ways others were. He had not claimed you, nor had he given you a position of true power, yet you stood above the others.

A maiden, they called you. Untouched. Pure. Otherworldly.

It was ironic. You were far from innocent, having left a trail of blood and ruin across centuries. And yet, the image suited you well- the delicate, untouchable beauty draped in silks finer than what even his concubines wore. The way men gazed upon you, only to avert their eyes in shame. The way women envied you, whispering about how Sukuna never laid a hand on you, despite keeping you close.

He liked that you unsettled them.

But more than that, you unsettled him.

Sukuna was not the kind of man who tolerated uncertainty. He conquered, he devoured, he took what he wanted without hesitation. And yet, with you, there was restraint. Not by choice, no- had you been like the others, he would have had you beneath him long ago, ruined, and marked beyond recognition.

But you were not like the others.

And that fascinated him.

There were moments - brief, fleeting moments - where he thought he might have glimpsed something beyond the facade. The flicker of hunger in your eyes when blood was spilled in the arena. The way your breath hitched when a warrior collapsed, his lifeblood seeping into the dirt. The way your lips parted, as if some long-forgotten instinct was clawing to the surface, demanding to be fed

Sukuna had never been one to deny indulgence. He thrived in gluttony, in excess, in the destruction of self restraint. And yet, you resisted.

You did not falter. You did not break.

Until the night, he caught you.

── დ ──

It was feast time in the grand hall, the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine thick in the air. The low hum of conversation blended with drunken laughter, the sounds of pleasure and indulgence filling the space. Servants scurried refilling goblets, bringing forth more food, ensuring none of Sukuna's favored suffered even a moment of dissatisfaction.

At the head of it all, Sukuna sat on his throne, legs spread lazily, a golden chalice in one of his four hands while the others toyed with the concubines vying for his attention. They draped themselves over him like silk, whispering sweet praises, offering themselves as though they were gifts to be unwrapped. Their fingers traced over his skin, their lips pressed again his arms, his shoulders, hoping to be chosen tonight.

But his mind was elsewhere.

You had not come to the feast.

It was not unusual - you often avoided these gluttonous displays, never outright refusing his invitation, but always making some excuse to slip away before the night fell into drunken debauchery, Sukuna let it slide, entertained by the challenge you unknowingly posed. But tonight, something felt different.

He watched his concubines drown themselves in wine, their bodies swaying with intoxicated ease. The celebration carried on, loud and frenzied, yet his focus lingered beyond the candlelight hall, where the torches no longer reached.

Where were you?

One of his concubine - young, delicate, with flushed cheeks from too much wine - staggered away from the group, giggling as she slipped past the drunken guards. Likely searching for air, or perhaps to steal a moment of rest before returning to her master's side.

She was alone. Vulnerable.

And in the shadows, you watched.

You had been lingering in the corridors, unseen, as you always were. But tonight, hunger gnawed at you in ways you could no longer ignore. The scent of blood - hot, rich, laced with wine - called to you, sharp as a blade against your senses. You had fed recently, but not enough. Never enough. The restraint you prided yourself on wavered, a beast within you stirring, aching, demanding release.

You followed her.

Your steps were silent, effortless, as you stalked through the dimly lit halls. She was oblivious, humming softly to herself, her pulse loud in your ears.

Sukuna, still seated on his throne, lifted his goblet to his lips- but then he stilled.

His four eyes narrowed.

He felt something shift in the air. Something primal. Something predatory.

His lips curled.

So this was it.

This was what you had been hiding.

And he was going to see it for herself.

── დ ──

The young concubine wandered further into the dimly lit corridor, the drunken haze in her mind dulling her senses. Her silk robe swayed as she moved, bare feet padding softly against the cool stone. She had no destination- perhaps she sought a moment of solitude away from the rowdy feast, or maybe she was simply lost.

But she was not alone.

You followed soundlessly, a shadow moving between the flickering torches. You could hear the steady drum of her heartbeat, the sluggish pull of her breath as the wine thickened her blood. She smelled sweet, ripe- a perfect temptation laid bare before you.

Your hunger, once controlled, now prowled within you like a caged beast.

It had been too long. You had denied yourself for too long.

The game began

You let the tips of your fingers graze again the stone walls, just loud enough for the sound to reach her ears. The soft scrape sent a shiver down her spine, her steps faltering.

She turned, brows furrowed. "Hello?"

Silence.

A beat passed. She swallowed, shaking her head at herself, before taking another step forward.

You moved faster. This time, a whisper- so faint, so ghostly - brushed against her ear.

"Are you lost?"

She gasped, whirling around. Nothing.

Her breath quickened. The hallway stretched long and empty before her, the candlelight casting shifting shadows along the walls. A chill ran down her spine, the once- comforting haze of wine replaced by something colder.

Something wrong.

She hurried forward, her steps uneven, the quiet pressing in around her. She could feel eyes on her, a presence lurking just beyond sight.

And then-

"Boo."

You were suddenly there.

She shrieked, stumbling back, hands clutching her chest. Her wide eyes met yours, and then she exhaled a breath of relief, laughing shakily.

"Oh gods, it's just you." She tried to steady herself, but something about the way you stood- the way you watched her- made her skin prickle.

You didn't speak.

Didn't blink.

You simply stood there, still as death, your face bathed in flickering torchlight.

The concubine swallowed thickly, shifting uncomfortably under your stare. She had always feared you, though she never admitted it aloud. There was something off about you, something that unsettled her in ways he couldn't explain.

"You scared me," she tried to joke, forcing a small laugh. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

Still, you did not answer.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. Something isn't right.

Before she could take another step back, your voice finally came.

"Don't move."

The words weren't spoken- they were woven into her mind, sinking deep, commanding.

Her body locked in place.

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

Panic flared in her wide, helpless eyes as she realized- she couldn't move. She couldn't screm. She was trapped within herself, unable to do anything but feel.

Feel your fingers brushing her hair aside.

Feel your lips ghost over her pulse.

Feel the sharp, piercing pain as your fangs sank into her flesh.

Her muffled whimper vibrated against your mouth, her body trembling as warmth flooded your tongue.

And god- the taste~

It was ecstasy. It was fire and silk, rich and intoxicating, sweeter than the finest wine served at Sukuna's feast. The pleasure of it curled through your veins, deep and consuming, a hunger you had denied for far too long finally being sated.

Her body slackened, her pulse fluttering under your hold.

You moaned softly, drinking deep, savoring, every drop as her life poured into you.

She was yours.

Completely and utterly-

"Well, well."

A voice, low and amused, shattered the moment.

Your eyes snapped open, fangs still buried deep, as the presence of another loomed behind you.

A shadow cast in red and black.

A smile lined with sharp teeth.

Sukuna.

── დ ──

His voice was deep, threaded with amusement, but beneath it lay something darker- something possessive.

Your body tensed. The concubine in your arms was nearly limp, her pulse weak but still present, your fangs still buried in the soft flesh of her neck. You could feel Sukuna's gaze burning into you, devouring every detail- the way your lips were stained crimson, the way blood dripped down your chin, trailing past your throat to pool at the swell of your breasts.

Slowly, you withdrew your fangs, licking the punctures clean, sealing the wound with a flick of your tongue. The concubine let out a soft, breathless whimper, her body slumping as you finally released her.

A heavy silence hung between you.

Sukuna stepped forward.

Your breath hitched - not in fear, but in something else, something dangerous.

"You've been keeping secrets from me, maiden." His voice silk over steel, teasing yet edged with something sharp.

You turned to face him, eyes dark with hunger still not fully satisfied. "And you've been watching me."

He smirked. "Oh, don't look so surprised. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"

His four eyes roved over you, drinking in the sight - your heaving chest, the flush of pleasure still fading from your cheeks, the way your pupils were dilated with bloodlust. He inhaled, catching the lingering scent of the concubine's life essence on your lips.

"And here I thought nothing could surprise me anymore," he mused.

You wiped the corner of your mouth with your thumb, unfazed. "Does this not frighten you, my lord?" You took a step closer, deliberately slow, watching his gaze darken. "Or does this excite you?"

His grin widened.

"Come here."

The words weren't a request. They were a summon.

But you didn't move.

Sukuna's amusement flickered into something sharper, something more demanding. His four arms flexed, muscles coiling like a predator about to strike. "Now."

Still, you met his gaze without wavering. The tension between you thickened, charged, stretching unbearably tight.

And then, in a blur of motion, he was on you.

Faster than you expected, faster than a mortal should be- one of his hands wrapped around your throat, another grabbing your waist, pulling you flush against him. The heat of his body was intoxicating, his scent laced with wine, blood, and something purely him.

"That little display back there," he murmured, voice dark and velvety as his thumb brushed over your racing pulse. "It was entertaining."

His lips hovered dangerously close to yours, teasing, taunting. "The way you drank from her... the little moans you made." He chuckled, low and deep. "Do you even realize how beautiful you looked?"

Your breath shuddered.

His grip tightened, not enough to hurt- just enough to remind you who was in contact now.

"And yet," he continued, his tongue darting out to lick a stray drop of blood from your collarbone, "You didn't come to me first."

You swallowed, pulse quickening.

Sukuna smirked.

"Tomorrow afternoon. My throne room."

His voice held no room for argument.

You tilted your chin up slightly, not willing to appear submissive. "And if I don't come?"

His smirk widened. "Then I'll come find you myself."

With that, he released you, stepping back, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before turning away.

You stood still, watching as he walked off, leaving you alone in the corridor.

Tomorrow.

Whatever he had planned, you knew it would be dangerous.

And yet... you couldn't help but anticipate it.

── დ ──

The next afternoon

You had spent the entire day in your chambers, the heavy drapes drawn shut, isolating yourself from the world outside.

Yet no mater how still you sat, no matter how you willed your mind to silence, you couldn't stop thinking about last night.

The warmth of fresh blood trickling down your throat, the way the concubine's pulse had fluttered beneath your lips like a caged bird before it slowed... the way Sukuna watched you, his gaze dark with something you couldn't quite name.

You had fed.

You had savored.

Any yet.. it hadn't been enough.

A dull ache thrumned beneath your ribs, hunger curling are your senses like smoke, whispering, tempting-more, you need more.

You exhaled sharply, trying to suppress the gnawing craving, but it lingered, stubborn and insatiable.

Then, a knock at the door.

It was faint, yet you heard it as clearly as if it had been a thunderclap.

You straightened, smoothing down your robe before moving to the door, unlocking it with a soft click.

Uraume stood before you, their expression unreadable as always, yet there was a glint of knowing in their cold eyes.

"Master Sukuna requests your presence."

Your fingers twitched at your side's.

It wasn't a request.

You knew this summons was inevitable, and yet, a silver of unease slithered down your spine. Sukuna was not a man to summon something without a purpose.

And you already knew what this was about.

Still, you maintained your composure, tilting your chin slightly. "Of course."

Without another word, Uraume turned on their heel, leading you down the vast corridors of Sukuna's domain. The air was thick with the scent of incense and faint traces of blood, the dim lighting casting long, shifting shadows along the walls.

Your heartbeat was steady, but your mind was racing.

Last night, Sukuna had seen you.

And he had not been repulsed.

No, he had been entertained.

Something inside you told you that today was a test - a game in which the rules were his to control.

As you entered the throne room, your eyes imma found him.

Sukuna lounged upon his grand throne, the golden light of the torches flickering over his tattooed skin, casting sharps shadows across his sculpted form. His robe was loose, draped over his powerful frame, his four arms resting lazily at his sides.

And beside him, a concubine knelt.

Your gaze flickered to her, she was adorned in delicate silk, her skin flushed from the wine she had no doubt been given, her breaths slightly uneven. She wasn't looking at you- her head was bowed in reverence towards Sukuna, awaiting his attention.

You frowned slightly.

This was different.

Sukuna was not one for subtlety. If he had summoned you here with a concubine present, it was for a reason.

His eyes locked onto yours the moment you entered, sharp and unreadable, but that smirk-that damned smirk- was still carved onto his lips.

"So you did decide to come," he drawled, amusement lacing his tone.

You remained poised, meeting his gaze with cool indifference. "You summoned me, my lord. It would be unwise to ignore such a call."

His smirk widened slightly, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest of his throne.

"Mm. Obedient today, aren't we?" His voice was deceptively casual, but you could feel the weight of his scrutiny, the way his eyes traced over your form as if searching for something unseen.

You did not respond.

He exhaled a short chuckle, his gaze flickering towards the concubine at his side.

"Tell me, my little maiden... does she tempt you?"

The words were unexpected.

Your brow furrowed slightly. "What?"

Sukuna's hummed, shifting slightly in his seat, his many arms flexing lazily. "Does she tempt you?" He gestured toward the concubine with an elegant flick of his fingers.

The woman remained still, unmoving, but you could hear the steady thrum of her heartbeat, the scent of her blood mingling with the rich perfume of incense in the air.

Your throat tightened.

You knew what he was doing.

Your hunger from last night had never truly been sated, and Sukuna knew it.

He was testing you.

You kept your expression smooth. "If this is meant to be some sort of trick, my lord, it is a poor one."

He laughed at that, low and indulgent, like he found your resistance adorable.

And then, before you could react, one of his hands moved.

A sharp slash of his clawed fingers- and the scent of blood filled the air.

You inhaled sharply.

The concubine gasped, her body trembling as a thin, precise line of blood bloomed across her throat- not deep enough to be fatal, but deep enough to bleed.

Rich, warm, fresh.

Your breath hitched.

Sukuna watched you, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

"Go on," he murmured, his voice low, dangerous, and dripping with amusement. "Drink."

A shiver danced down your spine.

He was playing with you.

Tempting you.

Daring you.

The hunger inside you roared, the scent of fresh blood stirring something deep, primal in your core.

You clenched your fists. "You're cruel, Sukuna."

He grinned. "Oh? But you don't seem very disgusted, maiden. In fact..." He leaned forward, resting his chin upon one of his hands, voice like a purr, "I think you want it."

You swallowed hard.

The concubine whimpered, swaying slightly, her eyes glassy from wine and pain.

You could hear the blood pulsing from her wound, calling to you, enticing, inviting.

And then Sukuna's voice, teasing, coaxing.

"Drink, little vampire. Show me what you really are."

Your breathing was shallow.

You were losing control.

And he knew it.

── დ ──

The moment the scent of fresh blood fully filled your senses, your control snapped.

Your veins darkened, creeping like ink beneath your skin, eyes glowing a deep, predatory crimson. Your fangs fully extended, gleaming under the dim torchlight, and your lips curled into something no longer human- a hungry, primal snarl.

Sukuna stilled.

His breath hitched for just a moment.

And then he grinned.

Pure, unrestrained awe danced across his features as he watched your transformation. His keen eyes traced every shift, the way your bones sharpened, the way your beauty twisted into something ethereal yet so monstrous.

"Now, that... is exquisite."He murmured, voice thick with dark amusement and something else. Something possessive.

Before the concubine could even process what was happening, you moved.

In the blink of an eye- faster than human sight you could track- you were there.

The concubine barely had time to gasp before your hand gripped the back of her head, tilting it sharply, exposing the wound sukuna had so generously gifted you.

"P-Please-" she whimpered, eyes wide, caught between terror and the lingering haze of intoxication.

You didn't hesitate.

Your fangs sank into her throat, piercing flesh effortlessly.

The moment her blood spilled into your mouth, warm and rich, a deep moan rumbled from your chest. The taste was intoxicating - filling, divine, but it was the sensation, the act itself, that sent a wave of pleasure rippling down your spine.

The concubine gasped, her body tensing, then shuddering as you fed. Her whimpers morphed into someone softer, her breath hitching with each slow, deep pull you took from her veins. The mixture of pain and pleasure melted into something blurred, a trance- like state overtaking her mind.

Sukuna watched.

Her fingers gripped the armrest of his throne, his smirk fading into someone darker, something hungrier.

The way you drank from her, the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed each mouthful, the low, breathy moans slipping from your lips- it was obscene.

And he wished - no, he ached - for it to be him instead.

"Tch... look at you," he purred, voice dripping with amusement but laced with something thick with desire. "Like a beast finally set free."

You did respond, couldn't.

Not when the hunger was thus overwhelming, not when the concubine's pulse was weakening beneath your lips, the taste of her blood sending sparks of ecstasy through your very core.

Your hands tightened against her trembling form, and you drank deeper.

The concubine let out a breathy whimper, her body sagging as her strength began to slip.

Sukuna chuckled, tilting his head as he observed every detail of the masterpiece before him.

"How many times have you done this, I wonder?" He mused, eyes gleaming. "How many have you lured into your embrace, sinking those fangs into their flesh, making them yours?"

You finally pulled away, gasping sharply, a shudder raking through your body as the last traces of euphoria from feeding faded into someone sated yet still longing.

The concubine's body went limp, slumping into your arms, her chest rising and falling in shallow, weakened breaths. She was still alive, but barely.

You let her drop unceremoniously to the floor, her head lolling to the side, blood still trickling from the wound you left behind.

Your lips were stained red, glistening with the evidence of your indulgence.

A single drop of blood rolled down from the corner of your mouth, tracing the curve of your chin, slipping further down to the swell of your chest, vanishing into the fabric of your robe.

Sukuna groaned, one of his hands clenching into a fist.

"You truly are a sight to behold."

You turned to him, breath still heavy, eyes dark with something unreadable.

"You don't seem horrified," you murmured, voice huskier than before, thick with the remnants of your feeding.

Sukuna laughed, the sound rich and full of delight.

"Horrified? Oh, little maiden... you must take me for a fool." He leaned forward, resting his chin upon his palm, his other hands flexing in barely restrained temptation.

"Do you think I fear monsters?" He grinned, sharp and dangerous. "I am one."

Your gaze remained steady, though something deep inside you twisted at his words.

"Then why summon me here?" You asked, though you already knew the answer.

Sukuna hummed, eyes raking over you, taking in the lingering traces of your true form, the blood still wet against your lips.

"Curiosity," he admitted. "You have been under my roof for so long, yet I never knew what you truly were. Imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon such a rare little creature."

His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips.

"And now... I must test you."

You narrowed your eyes slightly. "Test me?"

Sukuna exhaled a dark chuckle, rising from his throne with slow, delicate movements.

The air in the room shifted.

"Oh, yes," he murmured, stepping toward you, his sheer size and presence making the space between you feel small.

"You see, I am not one to let precious things slip from my grasp." He raised a hand, fingers lightly brushing over your jaw, tilting your chin upward.

"And you, my little vampire... are far too precious."

Your breath caught a sharp, unfamiliar sensation curling in your stomach.

Sukuna's eyes gleamed, his smirk widening.

"Tomorrow night... you will come to my chambers."

A pause.

"And we will see just how hungry you truly are."

── დ ──

The next night…

The hour was late, the palace silent except for the distant flicker of torches lining the halls. You stood before Sukuna’s chamber doors, heart steady, expression unreadable. Despite the calmness you portrayed, there was something else humming beneath your skin—anticipation.

Not of fear. Never fear.

But of what he had planned.

After last night, you knew Sukuna did not view you as something to be feared or destroyed. No—his gaze held something far more dangerous: ownership.

And you were going to test that.

Taking a final breath, you pushed the doors open.

Sukuna sat at the far end of the room, bare-chested, lounging against the grand silk-covered bedding like a king awaiting his conquest. His crimson eyes gleamed with expectation as he observed you enter, slow and poised, yet undeniably predatory in your grace.

"Ah," he exhaled, amusement flickering over his lips. "My little monster finally arrives."

You said nothing, your gaze drifting over him. The candlelight cast deep shadows over his sculpted form, illuminating the inked markings that twisted along his skin. His lower arms rested lazily at his sides, but his upper set of hands flexed slightly—restrained temptation in its rawest form.

"You look at me as if you are already planning your next meal," Sukuna smirked, tilting his head. "Tell me, do you wish to drink from me, little fangs?"

Your tongue flicked over your lips, slow, calculated.

"Would you allow it?" you murmured, stepping closer, your voice a low, enticing hum.

Sukuna’s smirk widened.

"For you?" He chuckled, watching the way your eyes darkened with barely concealed hunger. "I may consider it. But first…"

Faster than human sight could track, he was in front of you, towering over your form, his heat overwhelming.

"I must punish you for keeping such a secret from me," he murmured, his voice dangerously smooth as he grasped your chin between his fingers, tilting your head back.

Your lips parted slightly, eyes half-lidded as you met his unwavering gaze.

"Punishment?" You echoed, feigning innocence.

Sukuna laughed, dark and rich.

"Oh, you are far from innocent, maiden."

His thumb brushed over your lower lip, his touch deliberate, testing. Your fangs barely grazed his skin as he did so, and his gaze flickered—a brief, sharp glint of something ravenous.

You held his stare, unmoving, unblinking.

Then, you bit.

It wasn’t deep, just a shallow scrape of your fangs over his skin, but the reaction—

Sukuna groaned, low and deep, his grip tightening.

"Fucking hell," he exhaled, eyes dark with something primal.

The taste of him—potent, rich, unlike anything you had ever indulged in—spread over your tongue, warm and intoxicating.

It was addictive.

You licked the wound slowly, savoring the faint trail of crimson left behind.

"So you do enjoy pain," you murmured, voice dripping with amusement.

Sukuna growled, pushing you back against the wooden frame of his bed, his body pressing flush against yours.

"You have no idea what I enjoy, little monster."

His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"But I will show you."

A shiver ran down your spine as Sukuna’s lips ghosted over your ear, his voice thick with promise. His fingers trailed along your jaw before gripping your chin, forcing you to meet his crimson gaze.

“You’re trembling,” he mused, a dark chuckle vibrating from his chest. “Excited? Or afraid?”

You swallowed hard, refusing to answer, but the wicked smirk curling his lips told you he already knew.

Before you could gather your thoughts, his mouth crashed against yours—hungry, demanding, possessive. His fangs grazed your bottom lip, threatening to pierce, but he didn’t bite. No, he wanted you to beg for it. Sukuna thrived on control, and right now, he was savoring the way you melted under his touch.

He pressed you harder against the wooden frame of his bed, the solid structure creaking under the force of his body caging you in. His hands roamed over your curves, fingers digging into the fabric of your robes before slipping beneath, seeking bare skin.

“You’re always so obedient,” he murmured against your lips before dragging his tongue along your jawline. “But I wonder… just how much will it take to break that composure of yours?”

One of his hands slid between your thighs, parting them effortlessly. His fingers ghosted over the soft flesh there, teasing. You sucked in a sharp breath, your body betraying you as heat pooled low in your stomach.

“Look at that,” he mused darkly, his fingers barely grazing your core. “You act like a proper little maiden, but you’re already soaking for me.”

Your lips parted, a protest forming, but Sukuna silenced you with a sharp slap to your thigh. Not enough to hurt—just enough to make you jolt.

“Don’t even think about denying it,” he growled. “I can feel it.”

A single finger slid through your folds, gathering the slickness pooling there before he lifted it to his lips, sucking it clean with a groan. His eyes never left yours.

“Sweet,” he purred. “Just like I expected.”

Your face burned, shame and arousal intertwining, but Sukuna wasn’t finished toying with you. His hand returned to your core, fingers pressing against your entrance but not pushing in.

“You want more?” he taunted. “Then ask for it, little monster.”

His words made your pride bristle, but your body ached for him. You bit your lip, refusing to give in so easily.

Sukuna’s expression darkened. “Still stubborn?”

Without warning, he pressed a single thick finger into you, the stretch making you gasp. He didn’t move—just held it there, buried deep inside you.

“Come on,” he cooed mockingly. “Tell me how badly you need me.”

Your breath hitched as he curled his finger, pressing against that sensitive spot inside you. Your legs trembled, hands gripping at his arms for support.

“Sukuna…”

He hummed, adding a second finger, stretching you further. “Say it properly.”

You swallowed your pride, your need for more outweighing everything else. “I need you.”

His grin was pure sin. “Good girl.”

His fingers started moving, slow but deliberate, thrusting in and out of you, slick sounds filling the room. You bit your lip, trying to hold back your moans, but Sukuna wouldn’t have that. His free hand gripped your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.

“Let me hear you,” he ordered. “Or I stop.”

A soft moan slipped past your lips, and Sukuna’s smirk widened.

“Better.”

His pace quickened, fingers working you open, building that unbearable tension in your stomach. But just as you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled away.

A whine of frustration left you, but Sukuna only laughed.

“Not yet,” he teased. “I haven’t had my fill.”

His hand gripped your hips, effortlessly flipping you onto the bed. Before you could react, he was on top of you, parting your legs with his knee, his heavy length pressing against your soaked core.

“You’ll take me like a good little thing, won’t you?” he murmured against your ear, teasing the head of his cock against your entrance. “And you’ll thank me for it.”

His voice was pure arrogance, but gods, you wanted him.

“Sukuna…” you breathed.

He chuckled, dark and knowing. “That’s what I thought.”

Then he pushed in, inch by inch, stretching you to the point of delicious pain. Your back arched, a strangled moan leaving your lips as he bottomed out, filling you completely.

Sukuna stilled for a moment, savoring the way you clenched around him. Then his hand found your chin again, tilting your head to the side.

“You want something else, don’t you?” he mused, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “Go on. Take it.”

He tilted his head, exposing his throat to you—a silent command.

Your fangs ached, your hunger mixing with the pleasure, and with little hesitation, you bit down.

Sukuna groaned at the sharp pain, but instead of stopping you, his hips snapped forward, setting a brutal pace as he fucked you through the overwhelming pleasure.

Blood and pleasure. Pain and desire. It was intoxicating.

And Sukuna wasn’t finished with you yet.

── დ ──

The taste of him was intoxicating—rich, potent, unlike any mortal blood you had ever consumed. It burned through you, filling you with something far more than just sustenance. Power. Desire. Possession.

Sukuna groaned, his grip tightening on your hips as he rutted into you with brutal precision. “That’s it,” he growled, voice thick with pleasure. “Drink, little monster. Take what’s yours.”

Your fangs sank deeper, his blood rolling down your throat like fire, making your body shudder. The pleasure of feeding intertwined with the overwhelming sensation of him stretching you open, filling you so completely it left no room for thought. Just raw, unfiltered sensation.

Sukuna’s hips slammed into yours, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through your core. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the dimly lit chamber, mingling with the wet, sinful noises of him fucking you. He was ruthless, taking you like he owned you—like he had always owned you.

His hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back and forcing you to release his throat. Blood smeared your lips, and he took a moment to admire it, his gaze dark with something primal.

“Look at you,” he mocked, dragging a thumb across your lips before shoving it into your mouth. “Greedy little thing. Is that what you wanted? To be filled in every way possible?”

You whimpered around his thumb, your body trembling beneath him. He smirked, pulling it free only to grip your throat again, pressing just enough to make your pulse quicken.

“Answer me,” he ordered, punctuating his words with a particularly deep thrust that made you cry out.

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice breaking under the pressure of pleasure. “Yes—Sukuna, please—”

“Pathetic,” he sneered, but the way his cock throbbed inside you betrayed how much he enjoyed it. “So desperate for me. It’s almost adorable.”

He shifted, forcing one of your legs over his shoulder, allowing him to press even deeper, hitting that devastating spot inside you that had you seeing stars. Your nails raked down his back, desperate for something to hold onto as he drove you closer and closer to the edge.

But just when you were right there, when your release was seconds away, he stilled.

You let out a strangled whine, body trembling, hips bucking against him in protest. “No—don’t stop—”

Sukuna chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Oh? You thought you could come that easily?”

His hand slid between your legs, fingers pressing against your throbbing clit, teasing but not giving you what you needed. “You’ll come when I allow it. Until then, you’ll suffer.”

Your body burned with frustration, pleasure denied just as it was about to crest. He watched you struggle, your hips twitching, your breaths coming in ragged gasps, and he reveled in it.

“You look so pretty when you’re desperate,” he murmured, dragging his tongue along your throat. “Maybe I should keep you like this a little longer. Keep you begging.”

You whimpered, your pride warring with your need. But Sukuna was relentless. He pulled out almost completely before slamming back in, his pace brutal, unforgiving. Your walls clenched around him, trying to pull him back in, but still, he refused to let you fall over that edge.

Your eyes met his, hazy with pleasure. “Please,” you whispered, barely audible.

Sukuna’s smirk widened. “Oh, now you beg?” His fingers tightened around your throat, possessive, claiming. “Say it properly.”

“Please, my lord,” you gasped. “Let me—let me come—”

His eyes darkened with satisfaction. “Good girl.”

And then he shattered you.

His fingers pressed against your clit, his thrusts turning erratic, deeper, rougher. The pleasure slammed into you all at once, overwhelming, consuming. Your body arched, your vision going white as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

Sukuna groaned, your walls clenching so tightly around him that it nearly dragged him down with you. But he wasn’t done yet.

“Fuck—” he growled, driving into you with a few more ruthless thrusts before burying himself to the hilt, his release spilling deep inside you. His grip on your throat tightened momentarily, his body shuddering against yours as he filled you completely.

For a moment, the world was nothing but harsh breaths, the lingering echoes of pleasure, and the warmth of him still inside you.

But Sukuna wasn’t finished with you yet.

His weight pressed down on you, his cock still buried deep, still hard. His smirk returned, slow and dangerous.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement. “You’ll keep me warm for a while, won’t you?”

His hips shifted slightly, making you whimper at the sensitivity. He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, little monster,” he purred. “I’m far from done with you.”

── დ ──

Your body was spent, trembling beneath Sukuna as the aftershocks of pleasure pulsed through you. But he had no intention of letting you rest. His cock throbbed inside you, still buried deep, still claiming every inch of you as his.

You barely had time to recover before he moved again, slow but deliberate, his hips rolling against yours. A pathetic whimper left your lips as overstimulation sent sharp jolts through your body.

“Sukuna—”

“Shh,” he hushed, dragging his fingers along your sensitive skin, tracing the marks his teeth and hands had left behind. “You can take it. A little monster like you was made for this.”

His fingers slid down to your already sensitive clit, circling it lazily, teasing. Your body jolted, overstimulated and raw, but you were too far gone to protest. All you could do was cling to him, eyes hazy, breath ragged.

He took his time, savoring the way you twitched and shivered under him, the way your body molded so perfectly around him, like you were made to be ruined by him.

“You feel that?” he murmured against your ear, his voice a dark purr. “My seed dripping out of you? What a fucking mess.”

He pushed your legs further apart, making sure you could feel every inch of him pressing against that devastating spot inside you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body caught between exhaustion and pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

“Such a needy thing,” he continued, lips ghosting over your jaw. “You wanted to be filled, didn’t you? Now look at you. Too fucked-out to even speak.”

A sharp thrust had your back arching, a gasp ripping from your throat. Sukuna groaned at the way your walls clenched around him, and his control slipped.

His pace turned brutal again, each thrust knocking the breath from your lungs, sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core. He was chasing another release, dragging you along with him whether you could handle it or not.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your lips, his grip on your thighs bruising. “Say it.”

You barely had the strength to speak, but you forced the words out, voice broken and hoarse. “I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“Sukuna—I’m yours.”

His eyes darkened with satisfaction, and he rewarded you with his fingers pressing against your clit, working you toward another unbearable high.

Your body tensed, teetering on the edge again, and then—

Release tore through you like fire, like lightning, a white-hot explosion of sensation that left you trembling and utterly wrecked. Sukuna followed moments later, spilling deep inside you with a guttural groan, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You were both spent, breathless, bodies tangled in the aftermath of pleasure. His weight pressed you into the mattress, grounding you, and for once, he didn’t immediately pull away.

Instead, his lips found your throat, softer now, less demanding. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your thigh, his usual arrogance dimmed by something almost… possessive.

“You did well,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, his breath warm against your skin. “I might just keep you.”

You let out a weak, breathless laugh. “Might?”

Sukuna smirked, but there was something in his gaze—something deeper, something claiming. He wasn’t just saying it to tease you. He meant it.

“You’re mine now, little monster,” he said, voice low, final. “And I don’t share.”

You knew better than to think he was just talking about this night. This was a declaration, a claim that ran deeper than flesh and pleasure. He had no intention of letting you go.

And maybe… maybe you didn’t want him to.

Sukuna pulled you closer, his arms locking around you in a way that almost felt protective. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply, as if memorizing your scent.

“Sleep,” he murmured. “You’ll need the rest.”

And with the warmth of his body wrapped around yours, the steady rhythm of his breath against your skin, you let yourself drift into the darkness, knowing that when you woke, he would still be there.

Because now, you belonged to Sukuna.

And he never let go of what was his.

[fortunaestalta]

[axeeglitter]

1K Story: Altered to Obey

Ethan Cole adjusted the cuffs of his pristine Lila dress shirt as he stepped into the dimly lit bar. The scent of aged whiskey and faint cigar smoke clung to the air, mixing with the hum of conversation and the low thrum of music. It was a place he wouldn’t typically set foot in; too raw, too unrefined for someone of his stature. But after the week he had endured, he needed something different, something to drown out the stress clawing at his mind, and this bar was the closest to his apartment. Which mean he’ll be able to go to sleep fast after he drank some glasses.

Sliding onto a barstool, he signaled the bartender and ordered a whiskey neat. As he sipped, letting the amber liquid burn down his throat, he barely noticed the man who had taken the seat beside him and gestured the barman too for a drink.

“Rough day?” his voice drawled.

Ethan glanced sideways. The man was striking, dark-haired, well-built, dressed in shirt and suit adjusted to his size perfectly. His tanned skin and rough face showed the years in a perfectly natural and mainly way.

There was something about him, an effortless confidence, a magnetism that felt both inviting and dangerous.

“You could say that,” Ethan replied not intending to as he exhaling sharply. “More like a rough week. You?”

The man smirked, swirling the drink in his glass before taking a sip. “Oh, I’ve had my fair share of long weeks. Name’s Adrian, by the way.”

“Ethan.” They clinked their glasses in an unspoken toast before Ethan continued, “So, what do you do, Adrian?”

Adrian tilted his head, as if considering his words carefully. “I guess you could say I’m in between things right now. Figuring stuff out. Trying to sign a deal for a new job. I just need my client to show up in time, but he tends to be … late.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Clients and punctuality. Am I right?”

“Yea.” Adrian said with an easy grin as he took another sip. “And you? You look like you’ve got your life all figured out.”

Ethan huffed a small laugh. “I’m a lawyer. A lot of long hours, negotiations, and making sure clients gets the best deals possible.”

Adrian studied him for a moment, then smirked. “A real man of order and control, huh?”

“I try to be,” Ethan admitted, downing the rest of his whiskey. He felt the warmth settle in his chest, loosening the stiffness in his shoulders.

Adrian leaned in slightly. “And yet, here you are. In a place like this.”

Ethan exhaled through his nose. “Guess even control freaks need to unwind sometimes.”

“Well,” said Adrian as he downed the remains of his glass “to the pressure we need to unwind then!”

Adrian chuckled, flagging the bartender for another round. As the drinks kept coming, their conversation flowed more freely. They discussed everything and nothing, places they had been, people they had met, philosophies on life. Ethan found himself enjoying the company more than he expected. Adrian had a way of listening that made him feel like the most interesting person in the room.

As the hours slipped by, the edges of Ethan’s mind began to blur. His thoughts felt sluggish, his limbs heavy. The warmth of the alcohol had morphed into something thicker, more clouded. He tried to focus on Adrian’s voice, but the words became distant echoes.

“You alright?” Adrian’s voice broke through the fog.

Ethan blinked, realizing he had swayed slightly on the stool. “Yeah… just a little out of it.”

Adrian smiled, slow and knowing. “Maybe you should call it a night.”

Ethan nodded absently, attempting to push himself up. The floor felt uneven beneath his feet. The world tilted, shadows stretching unnaturally under the streetlights as he stumbled outside. The cool night air did little to clear his head. His breath came slower, heavier. He barely registered Adrian’s silhouette lingering near the entrance, watching as Ethan staggered down the empty street.

After a couple of meters, Ethan turned left on the empty dark streets to cut to his apartment as fast as he could. His head spinning and his vision blurred by the alcohol. Ethan took a pause, holding himself against a brick wall just behind the bar he spent the night in, his eyes were heavy and his breath getting slower and slower and then, darkness.

The last thing he felt was the sensation of the ground rushing up to meet him before everything faded to black.

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A dull throbbing pain settled in Ethan’s skull as he regained consciousness. His body felt heavy, sluggish, his limbs refused to obey him. Blinking against the dim light filtering into the room, he tried to move, only to realize he couldn’t. Panic jolted through him as he became aware of the tight restraints biting into his wrists and ankles. He was bound to his bed.

His breathing quickened, heart hammering against his ribs as his eyes darted around the bedroom only to realize it wasn’t his bedroom either. It was modern but minimal, dark walls, a single dresser. The lights of the late dark night casting shadows through the velvety curtains. As his sight ran left and right, he saw a chair in the corner of the room, standing still in the shadows. A tall figure sat hidden in the darkness, watching him. Only the eyes were glowing in a weird alluring reflection, something Ethan couldn’t take his eyes off. Something dangerous and alluring at the same time.

A slow, deliberate smirk spread across the shadow’s face as he leaned forward into the faint glow of the bedside lamp. “Morning, mister lawyer. Or should I call you, jury 28?.”

Ethan swallowed hard; his throat dry. “Adrian? W-what the hell is this? Let me go.”

Adrian tilted his head, amusement glinting in his eyes. “I’m afraid I can’t do so. Not yet.”

Ethan struggled, yanking at the restraints, but they held firm. His breathing turned ragged. “If this is some kind of sick joke…”

Adrian stood, his presence looming as he took slow steps toward the bed. “It’s not a joke, Ethan.” He reached for a weird looking device sitting on the bedside table looking like a pair of high-tech goggles. “But don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you, if that can reassure you.”

Ethan thrashed, a fresh wave of terror coursing through him. “No! Don’t you dare! I’ll sue you. You don’t know who you came for. No get your hands away from me. Fuck off, don’t!”

Adrian pressed a firm hand against Ethan’s chest, pinning him down with ease on the soft mattress. “Shhh. Relax. Fighting won’t change what’s coming.” He lifted the headset over Ethan’s face, ignoring the muffled protests. “Just let it happen.”

The world went dark as the device settled in place. At first, nothing but pitch black. Then, a spiral. Slowly turning, hypnotic in its endless motion. A low hum filled his ears, rhythmic, steady, invading his senses.

“Ethan,” Adrian’s voice was different now, calmer, smoother, slipping into his thoughts like silk. “Just breathe. Focus on the spiral.”

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut beneath the headset. “I-I won’t…” but as hard as Ethan tried, his eyes opened and started to focus on the spiral in front of him. He tried to stop listening to Adrian’s voice but he couldn’t. it was like it was speaking directly in his brain. Ethan felt like he was losing his grip on reality and he was terrified about what could happen now. His body started to relax. It felt like thousands of ants were crawling on his legs, getting higher and higher as long as Adrian’s voice was echoing in his ears. Ethan hated how much this sensation was getting harder and harder to fight. It was like he was slowly but surely falling asleep without being able to fight this urge to close his eyes and to listen. “Ethan, I’m going to count from five to zero. With every number, your body will get more and more relaxed. You’ll stop thinking, you’ll feel good and relaxed. When I’ll reach zero, you will fall asleep, but you’ll still be able to listen to me and do everything I tell you to do. Let’s start now, Ethan. Five.” A sudden pressure wrapped around his skull, a weight sinking into his mind. His muscles slackened slightly.

“Four.”

His heartbeat slowed, his mind fogging over, as if something was gently pressing against his thoughts, making them heavier.

“Three.”

His struggles dulled. The spiral pulled at him, luring him into its endless depths. His breaths became shallower, steadier.

“Two.”

A deep warmth spread through his limbs. A strange, heavy calm wrapped around his mind, thick and inescapable. He knew he had to resist, had to fight, but… it felt so much easier to let go.

“One.”

His lips parted slightly. His thoughts drifted, floating like dust in the air. Something inside him frayed, unraveling at the edges. His body was still awake, still bound, but his mind… In a last attempt to ask for help, a faint moan, barely audible, escaped his opened and relaxed mouth. “Please…”

“Zero.”

Ethan’s mind slipped away, sinking into the black void of sleep. His body remained, breathing steadily, waiting.

Adrian leaned down, whispering against his ear, his voice the only thing tethering Ethan to reality. “Good boy.”

Ethan did not react.

Adrian grinned, trailing a finger along Ethan’s cheek. “You hear me, right?”

“Yes, master.” Ethan’s voice was monotone, distant.

“Interesting, the whole Master thing wasn’t planned, but I won’t complain about it” said Adrian with a smile creeping on his manly cheeks. “You will listen. You will obey.”

“Yes, master.”

Adrian took a step back, admiring his new puppet waiting for his orders. “Perfect.” He said as a bonner started to grow the front of his pants.

“Stand up.”

Ethan’s body obeyed without hesitation as Adrian finished to unfastened the restraints.

Like a marionette on strings, Ethan rose from the bed, his movements slow, precise, guided by an invisible force. His vacant eyes stared ahead; his mind still locked away in the depths of obedience. Adrian watched with satisfaction, adjusting his coat before motioning toward the door.

“Follow me and don’t talk to anyone.”

Ethan’s legs carried him forward, his shoes padding against the cold floor. The dimly lit hallway stretched before them, and he moved mechanically, shadowing Adrian’s every step. They exited into the quiet, empty streets, the neon glow of a hidden tattoo parlor flickering just ahead. Adrian led him inside, exchanging a knowing glance with the heavily tattooed man behind the counter.

“This the one?” the tattoo artist asked in a deep rough voice, eyeing Ethan’s blank expression with curiosity.

Adrian smirked. “Yeah. Let’s get started.”

The backroom was small, cluttered with ink bottles and buzzing machines. A single chair sat in the center.

“Get your clothes off and sit down on the chair” said Adrian as he watched Ethan taking his suit off piece by piece until his athletic naked frame was standing still in the middle of the room. Ethan’s body then turned left and sat on the cold leathery chair without moving. “You won’t move no matter what happen. You’ll stay still and you’ll wait for my orders.” Continued Adrian as another vicious smile creeped on the corner of his lips. “Yes master. I will wait for your orders without moving.” Answered Ethan in a monotonous tone. Adrian leaned in, brushing his fingers along Ethan’s forearm. “Time to give you a proper look, Ethan.” “Damn bro, remind me not to piss you off. This dude is gone” said the tattoo artist in a cheerful tone as he grabbed his tattoo gun. “Don’t worry bro. Ethan here is having a special treatment.”

The hum of the tattoo gun filled the air as the artist began his work. Ink soaked into Ethan’s pale skin, swirling into intricate designs, dark and bold. Adrian watched as his canvas took shape. Sleeves covering his arms, ink snaking over his chest, his ribs, his thighs. Black and gray patterns wrapped around his thin frame, etching a new identity and personality onto his flesh.

Hours passed. Ethan’s body sat still, accepting every stroke of the needle without a single flinch. His pristine skin was gone, replaced with artwork that exuded raw masculinity, danger, desire, dominance. Adrian ran a hand over the fresh tattoos, admiring the transformation before turning back to Fernando. “That’s perfect. I just think some more modifications could perfect it all. What do you think?” Adrian said in a cheeky vicious tone as his sight landed on Ethan’s untouched cock and shaved pubes. “I got you!” said Fernando as he turned around to grab a gun looking device. “I knew I could have trust in you!” said Adrian as he fists bumped Fernando gloved hands. In the blink of an eye, Fernando positioned the gun at the tip of Ethan’s cock head and with a syringe and a bit of pressure on the trigger, a loud SNAP resonated in the room as a huge silver Prince Albert was now lodged at the tip of Ethan’s cut cock. Fernando then went higher on Ethan’s body and grabbed his left ear as he Snapped a golden earing on his lobe before doing the same with the right ear. Adrian took a step back to admire Ethan’s tattooed and pierced body. He smiles as he saw Ethan still breathing but disconnected body standing still on the chair, still waiting for Adrian’s next orders. “Step 1 done.” Said Adrian as he started to walk back close to Ethan’s limp body. “Now let’s start Phase 2.” He continued as he grabbed a vial full with a shimmering green liquid in his front right pocket. “Can I borrow you this?” He asked Fernando as he grabbed an empty brand-new syringe sitting on the counter next to him. “Thank you, my friend.” He said as he emptied the full vial inside the syringe.

He tapped the side of the needle, then pressed the tip against Ethan’s arm. “This is where the real fun begins.”

The injection burned as it entered Ethan’s veins. A slow pulse rippled through his body, spreading from his core outward. His muscles twitched, tensing involuntarily. His breath hitched as heat surged beneath his skin, his frame trembling as unseen forces took hold.

Adrian stepped back, watching eagerly. “Can’t wait for you to wake up and see this new you.”

Ethan’s shoulders jerked as his collarbones cracked and widened, his frame forcefully expanding. Muscle swelled beneath his skin, his pale complexion darkening slightly as veins thickened beneath the surface. His arms spasmed, biceps ballooning outward, triceps growing dense with corded muscle. His forearms pulsed as tendons strengthened, his once-slender fingers stretching longer before thickening, his palms roughening into something rugged and powerful. His nails darkened slightly, the tips squared and strong, as if built for labor.

His spine arched violently as his torso grew, his ribs reshaping to accommodate his new bulk. Each vertebra popped in succession, elongating him inch by inch until his feet dangled over the edge of the chair. His chest heaved, expanding outward with each deep, shuddering breath, his pectorals thickening into powerful slabs of muscle. A dusting of hair spread across them, brown curls sprouting and thickening at the center. His abs rippled into sharp definition, each ridge of muscle perfectly sculpted, his obliques cutting deep lines down to his widening pelvis.

His legs then started to crack before getting longer and thicker, his thighs surged with power, tearing the fabric of his skin as muscle bulged outward, letting some stretch marks along the way. His calves tightened, taking on a hardened, athletic shape, while his feet stretched, toes curling as they expanded in size. The skin thickened slightly on the soles, his heels broadening to match his newfound proportions.

Adrian’s smirk widened as Ethan’s groin started to pulse, his cock twitching as the change overtook it. His length shifted, shortening slightly but growing far thicker, veins protruding along what remained of the length. His balls swelled heavier, fuller, resting against his inner thighs with a new weight. The prince Albert got closer and closer to his thickening balls and the skin and muscle around the fresh wound started to heal like the cauterization process had taken place years ago.  His pubic hair darkened, thickened, curling wildly in an unkempt display of masculinity. A rich, musky scent began to rise from his body, sweat forming at his chest, his pits, his groin. Something earthy, raw, undeniably masculine.

Ethan’s face was the last to change. His jawline cracked and restructured, sharpening into something chiseled and strong. His cheekbones grew more pronounced, his nose widening slightly to match his bolder features. His lips swelled subtly, taking on a more natural pout beneath the shadow of his thickening facial hair. His brown eyes fluttered momentarily, shifting in hue; turning a deep, striking shade of steel blue before cooling down into a bluey grey. His once-light hair darkened, roots shifting to a rich, dirty blonde, strands thickening and taking on a slightly tousled, effortlessly rugged appearance. Stubble then started to grow on his new cheeks as his face finished to shift into this new appearance. Ethan’s body then started to spasms and twitch on the chair. His muscles spasming and relaxing again and again. His brand-new tattoos engraved in his flesh started to glow a faint green, the same color as the vial. The stretch marks all over his body that appeared because of the sudden growth started to disappear slowly but surely. And after a couple of minutes, Ethan’s body stood still on the chair, as relaxed as before. But his skin was now a healthy golden hue. All the freshly engraved tattoos were now healed perfectly and his prince Albert Albert was now there for good.

Adrian exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he admired his work. “Damn, Ethan… I have to say, prison did me good, but this?” He smirked, gripping Ethan’s chin and tilting his head to inspect his new face. “This is art. I’m sure you’ll be a favorite!”

Ethan remained still, brain still asleep and trapped in his new changed body, body settling into its new form. Adrian chuckled, dragging his fingers along the thick ridge of Ethan’s bicep before giving it a firm squeeze. “You’re gonna be perfect.”

“Well, I guess we can go now. Thank you Fernando. And as always,…” “Yes I know the song Adrian. You were not here and I haven’t seen you since you got out of jail.” “Thank you my friend.” Answered Adrian as he gave Fernando a stack of money before turning back to Ethan still laying in the chair in his new modified body while Fernando got out of the room. “Now Ethan, get up and put this on!” Adrian said to Ethan’s relaxed body.

Still trapped in a trance, Ethan moved with robotic precision, reaching for the pile of clothes Adrian had laid out for him. A pair of tight, worn-out jeans, their denim stiff with sweat and musk. A black tank top, just as ripe, the fabric clinging to his muscular torso, a pair of well-worn converse shoes and a black and white hat. Lastly, a metal cock ring and a thick buttplug sat on the table. Ethan grabbed them. For the first time since all of this happened. Ethan’s body stood there for a couple of seconds without moving the plug and the cockring in hands. Almost like he was hesitating on putting them on. But only one word from Adrian was enough to put Ethan back into the stated of obeisance. Ethan plunged the plug in his tight ass in one soft move before grabbing his thick short cock, passing his Prince Albert through the ring and then locking it around his girth.

Adrian leaned in close, inhaling the scent of submission clinging to Ethan’s newly transformed body. “Perfect. Now, follow me.”

The night air was thick with the scent of the city as Adrian led Ethan through the winding streets, neon lights flashing in puddles along the pavement. The bass of a distant club thrummed through the ground, growing stronger with each step they took. The entrance was unassuming, just a black door with a crimson light above it, but the moment they crossed the threshold, the world shifted.

Inside, the club pulsed with life. Men, drenched in sweat, bathed in dim lights, moved against each other, their bodies slick with heat and pleasure. The air was thick with the mingling scents of cologne, liquor, and raw masculinity. Ethan followed Adrian through the crowd without question, weaving past wandering hands and hungry eyes, until they reached a private changing room in the back.

Once inside, Adrian locked the door and turned to face Ethan’s waiting body. “Sit.”

Ethan dropped into the chair in the center of the room. His new body was still unfamiliar to him, the weight of his muscles shifting with every small movement. Adrian pulled out his smartphone from his suit pocket, his fingers tapping against the screen.

“This part,” Adrian murmured, stepping closer, “is where I make sure you fell what I felt. Trapped in a jail and forced to be fucked. knowing I wasn't strong enough to break free.”

The spiral appeared on the screen, glowing faintly in the dimly lit room. The moment Ethan’s eyes locked onto it, his body stiffened, his mind immediately drawn into the swirling depths of light. Adrian crouched beside him, whispering into his ear.

“You’ve already come so far,” he cooed. “But now, it’s time to let go completely. Because of you, I have lost five years of my life. And you thought you could go ahead with yours like nothing happened? No… You took five years from me and because of you, jury 28, I was put in jail for five fucking years!! I think it’s only fair to give you a bit of your own medicine. With a bit more for the mental struggle you indulged. That’s what you asked for, remember? Now don’t worry. I’m not a monster. I won’t do anything bad to you. In fact, I think you’ll enjoy your time a lot. In jail we have something we call the biatch. Basically, it’s someone not too muscled, not too strong. And we fucked the shit out of him to get our nerves down, doesn’t matter if he wants it or not. Well, let’s say. I didn’t want it at first. But I’m pretty sure you’ll enjoy it after a while. At least I hope for you. You were straight, right? Yea not for long anymore … Now listen to me Ethan, from now on, you are not Ethan anymore. You are Joey. The brand-new gay biatch at this club. You’ll come here and dance and get fucked every night for the next five years and after every shift, you’ll come to my apartment and give me the money you made. You love to get fucked by men. For Joey, every cock is a gift and you want to honor them all in any way you are asked. When I or anybody will call you a good boy, you will cum handsfree and it’ll be the best orgasm you ever felt. Also, when someone touches your nipples, you’ll feel like you are fucked by the biggest cock ever in all the right places. It’ll be painfully orgasmic for you. To finish, every time you’ll cum, you’ll fall back into this trance state where you’ll remember your mantra and that Joey is your new reality: I am a gay biatch who loves to get fucked on stage for money. I love cocks. Cocks are my only focus in life. I love to get played with. Now I’m going to count down from five to zero. With every number, you’ll feel those instructions cementing themselves in your brain. When I will reach zero, it’ll become permanently ingraved in your brain. When I say wake, you will wake up from that trance you are in and be mentally free but your body will still belong to me. And when you’ll cum, you’ll go back into a trance like this one where your new personality and identity, Joey, will be the one in control. You’ll be able to feel everything but you won’t have any control in the situation. Say I agree if you understood everything.” “I- I agree m-aster” answered Ethan in a monotone voice interrupted with fear undertones. “Perfect. Let’s starts the countdown then”.

“Five”

Ethan’s muscles tensed as he unconsciously tried to fight it, his jaw clenched as drops of sweat started to form on his forehead.

“Four”

His breath hitched, his pupils dilating as the spiral filled his vision.

“Three”

His body slumped slightly, tension giving way to relaxation, his mind sinking deeper into the void.

“Two”

His lips parted, a soft exhale slipping through. Thoughts slowed. Resistance faded.

“One”

His shoulders dropped, his head tilting slightly forward.

“Zero. Wake up boy.” Ethan’s breath came in short, panicked bursts. His hands trembled as he ran them over his body, his fingers pressing against his foreign skin, his unfamiliar face. “No… no, this isn’t real. This…” He looked up; his eyes wild. “What did you do to me?” Seeing that Adrian was not answering, Ethan repeated, this time screaming louder. “WHAT THE FUCK!! WHAT HAPPENED!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!!” screamed in panic Ethan as the reflection in front of him mimicked his movement? He tried to get up but his legs weren’t listening. Only his head was able to move. Adrian laughed as he saw Ethan finally taking all the details of his new self. He smiled when he saw tears shining on Ethan’s cheeks before dying in his stubble. “Don’t worry Ethan. I know you are scared but you shouldn’t be. I told you you would have pleasure. And even if I went to jail because of you, I’m not a monster. No, I see myself more like the Karma. You see, you sent me to jail for a mistake I did in my youth, I sent you to jail for something you did, kinda… I’m sure you’ll enjoy this don’t worry.” As he finished saying that, Ethan stood frozen on his chair, impossible for him to slightly move even one of his toes. He was totally at the mercy of Adrian and he hated being so helpless. Adrian got closer and stood behind him, putting his hands on Ethan’s shoulders as he started massaging them cheerfully. Now let’s see what happen if I do… that!’ Adrian said as he moved his hands doesn’t Ethan’s chest in a quick movement and his fingers went pinching with force Ethan’s sensitive nipples. All of a sudden Ethan felt like something huge penetrated his virgin ass. He couldn’t understand what was happening as he didn’t see anyone or anything in the mirror reflection. Just himself, mouth opened and moaning in pain and pleasure as he kept on feeling the sensation going faster and faster. At this moment, he felt his cock getting hard under his jeans only to feel a weird tugging sensation at the base. Adrian went on and opened the fly for Ethan to see that his proudness, his huge cut cock was no way smaller than it used to be. Going from 8 inches hard to only 3 inches now. But worst, he saw something shimmer at its tip. “The fuck!! What have you do-ne… hAaaaaAaAhaaAAA” said Ethan while being interrupted as Adrian pinched his nipples once again. “I told you you would have a good time! But now I think it’s time for you to start your shift.” Continued Adrian as he pinched and twisted Ethan’s nipples one more time, sending a wave of pleasure down his body and making his cock leak one more time. “Please Adrian don’t do that to me. I’m sorry, I was just doing my job I don’t want to feel that and be trapped like that. I don’t want to …” “Good boy” said Adrian as he took a step back from Ethan’s body. Like if something had flicked in Ethan’s mind. His eyes unfocused for a moment as he blinked a bit. Cum started to erupt from his frozen body and splattered on his mirror reflection. His prince Albert moving up and down with every orgasm he felt. Ethan felt everything. His body had betrayed him. He tried to ask for Adrian to free him and turn him back one more time but no sound came out of his mouth. Instead, he was frozen watching his reflection starting to smile and turn his head in Adrian’s direction, smiling even more as he contracted his dick to make his cummy prince albert jump with every movement. Ethan was trapped in his own body, feeling everything but not being able to move. He was trapped.

“You’re mine now, Joey” Adrian whispered. “And I’m going to make sure you repay me for for everything you took from me.” “Don’t be late for your shift. Tonight, you have three private dances and maybe a fourth one if you are fast enough. But I know you love your job, so go ahead and go on stage, good boy!” As he finished his sentence, Joey stood up and started to walk on the stage. His muscled body moving in rhythm with the music as the front of his jeans got soaking wet with his second orgasm. Joey loved his life and serving his boss in this club. He was lucky to have someone like that taking care of him and making sure he was scheduled every night of the week for several months in advance. He loved his life, clueless that a couple of hours ago, he didn’t exist and was a straight lawyer about to break into this industry. Ethan stood frozen feeling his body cumming as he got up to go on stage and started moving his body, showing his ass and dick to every client giving him a five-dollar bills. He hated it all, but he couldn’t do anything. Every time someone called him good boy, he felt his body cum handsfree in his jeans and every time the orgasm receded, he felt Joey getting stronger and stronger. It’s gonna be a tough five years of service.

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Hey guys!

Here’s the story you voted for as part of my 1k subscriber celebration! It was inspired by @onebecorrupt3975's submission:

"A recently released prisoner decides to take revenge on the young lawyer who put him behind bars. Using secret mind suggestions, he gradually corrupts him, making him indecent. Eventually, the lawyer quits his job and transforms into a horny thug. Hope you like it!"

I had an absolute blast writing this one, as it’s something I don’t often do. Thank you so much for all your messages and ideas for this event! I’m looking forward to doing more of these, so be ready for another one real soon!

Take care of yourselves, and once again, thank you so much for your likes and reposts.

As always, feel free to send me messages or inbox me if you have ideas! :)

See you!!

[lvmimis]

“Oh, you’re here!”

Izuku’s voice snaps you out of your waking reverie, and his hands placed gently on your shoulders help steady you once again, bringing you from the sometimes cajoling, sometimes shrill siren call of nostalgia back to the present day. He leans close, letting his chin rest gently on the top of your head and somehow knows to hesitate before asking you any other question. He’s followed your gaze by now, and sees where you’ve been staring, your feet still planted firmly in your tracks, and it’s easy to tell that the old Non-no shirt, series 5, that the meta war refugees got him over a decade ago, pressed unnaturally wrinkle-free and clean and put behind glass have sent you back to that unfortunate era. 

You nod slowly, and his hands slide from your shoulders down the sides of your arms, gripping you gently. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks. 

His voice is soothing and steady, unlike your just slightly shakier one as you ask,

“I already know your answer to this, but…,” you turn to him slowly, and look him in the eyes, “would you do it all again?”

Izuku stiffens for just a moment, not out of hesitation in his response but because of the gravity of your feelings for him at that very instant. He knows that even if he’d sacrifice himself in a heartbeat for even a fraction of that responsibility again, it’s one of the things that scares you the most about him, even if it’s the thing about him that’s also most loved by you.

After all, you’re the one that framed the shirt to put in his study, himself being content to just keep it in a suitcase among all other extra clothes and keepsakes he lugged with him from his old apartment to your new home together.

You are the one who reminds him that his sacrifices mean something, and even if they are natural to him, they should not be taken for granted by anyone in the world he’s sworn to protect.

Taking in a short but deep breath, and letting out an exhale, he answers.

“Yes, I would do it all again.”

He worries you’ll frown but instead you smile to yourself, then step forward to wrap your arms around him. A little confused about the suddenness of your emotion, but also warmed, he lets his arms wrap around you to keep you close.

You stay like this together for a few moments, Izuku practically forgetting why he’d come looking for you, and you practically forgetting why you’d come into this room in the first place, just basking in the fact that your bodies still breathe life on the same plane, at the same wavelength, and you still have each other to hold in a world that is safe and better for all of his efforts.

[boltwrites]

I need a Logan/Wade/Reader fic where reader is dating Wade (before movie) and meets Logan, sees how he acts with Wade, and makes a ton of “just fuck already” jokes that Wade (ofc) encourages and it pisses Logan off until he does one day (reader included lol) 😏

A/N: i'm going to have to make a part 2 for this, since this is pretty much solely humor and reader making fun of wade and logan. i will be making a part 2 for the smut, though. mark my fucking words.

some things to note: reader is stated as polyamorous and LGBT (no specific label is mentioned). also, lots of sex jokes and fourth wall breaks lmao.

You were used to Wade bringing around some strange characters. Usually, they thought he had drugs or something (which he did, most of the time. Until they all mysteriously went missing right before his birthday party. Almost like his unsavory lifestyle was suddenly sanitized for wider consumption. Hm. Weird.) Sometimes they wanted money - other times it seemed more likely that Wade was holding them for ransom and relapsing into his merc days. But that wasn't really your business.

The point to your opening statement was: you didn't really want to fuck Wade's friends. Astonishing, really - you went to high school with a group of weird kids that all turned out to be some flavor of L,G,B or T and as such, you either wanted to or did fuck most of them. But Wade's friends? They just lacked a little something-something. Al was too old and too high most of the time. Yukio and her gruff girlfriend were far too young for you. Colossus was too Russian. Vanessa was Wade's ex - which would have been hot, honestly - but you weren't the biggest fan of how the two of them handled the post-breakup, and therefore she was off limits. But Peter... maybe...?

No. No, if you fucked Peter, Wade would never let you hear the end of it.

So, you were typically relegated to Wade, and Wade alone, which was more than fine by you. That insane healing factor meant the man could go all night, and he was naturally (or, unnaturally. Mutantly?) ribbed for your pleasure. Nice.

So when he came back from his most recent world-saving (multiverse saving?) adventure, you expected him to bring back maybe some kind of bright-eyed teenage sidekick, or a wacky off-the-wall team up, like Dopinder.

Ah, right, Dopinder. God, you would have fucked him. Sadly, the man was staunchly monogamous like some kind of fucking freak.

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, when you walked into Wade's unbirthday party? He had company. And the company? Hot. Old. Man.

Oh no. Your fucking weakness.

You'd really never forgive Wade for evaporating Cable before you had a chance with him.

Maybe this was his make-up present.

And said present - or, man, shouldn't objectify - could not take his damn eyes off Wade. Glaring at him, huffing a little half-chuckle when Wade insulted someone with a joke, rolling his eyes as Wade recounted some story of their conquests with exaggerated arm movements and wild, unnecessary additions.

Oh my god. Oh my god? Did Wade fuck him before you could? That bitch!

You scoffed to yourself as you threw your jacket on the coat rack - or was that Peter? Who gives a shit. You were on a mission. You sauntered straight up to Wade, no greeting or preamble, and tossed your arm around his shoulders, setting your ass down right in his lap.

"Oh, hell yeah! There's my sugar ass-" Wade grinned at you, and you just rolled your eyes and planted a big kiss on his bald forehead. Thank god, he'd stopped wearing that dumbass hair. It made him look like a social studies teacher. And not a good one - like one of the ones that just took the job so that he could coach the JV boy's soccer team, and he's not even very good at that. Anyway.

Wade wrapped an arm around you, and you adjusted yourself on his lap, hazarding a glance over at the man sitting next to him. His eyes flit from Wade to you, then to Wade again, brow scrunched a little closer together than when you'd first seen him.

"Wolvie, meet my little discord kitten. And you-" he broke the fourth wall, just to look you straight in the eyes. "This, is the big bad wolf. Er-ine. Yeah. Yeah, that works."

"Wade," you replied, trying not to think about the fact that he just looked into your eyes like you were a camera on the Office. "You never told me you were bringing home a third. I would have brought the nice strap."

The man - Wolvie? Wolverine? Whatever - choked on his beer, and shot Wade a confused, accusatory glare.

"What about the-"

Wolvie gestured in the direction of Vanessa, and Wade's eyes widened, his mouth actually fell open. And this time, it wasn't fake or sarcastic shock, but actual, genuine emotion.

"Oh, no no no - that metal skull of yours really is dense, isn't it, peanut?" He knocked on Wolvie's forehead with way more force than he would use on any normal human, and the man batted Wade's hand away like a pissy tom cat, lip curled over his teeth in a growl.

That was. Hot. Ok.

Wade continued talking anyway - as he always did.

"No, Vanessa? Lovely lady, don't get me wrong - but that ship sailed loooong ago, my temporally-challenged friend," Wade sighed, squeezing the arm that was around your shoulder. "No - that relationship was, as the kids say - 'lacking in communication and emotional openness' - oh, and she made me feel like chicken shit for not being a superhero!"

"Babe, you did that to yourself," you shook your head at him. Really - Vanessa and Wade had just grown apart. She'd looked into more gainful employment, and Wade had followed, struggling to integrate into whatever the fuck "proper" society was. What really happened was that Wade blamed himself for her death and tied way too much of his self-worth to their relationship. And Vanessa - well, she just didn't feel safe with him anymore. It wasn't her fault; it was the PTSD. But it still hurt him. It was better for the both of them to part ways. You always knew Wade still held a torch for her, but you didn't mind much in a relationship sense. You were polyamorous - your man loving multiple people didn't bother you. What did matter was the fact that for Wade's mental health - or what little of it remained - he shouldn't be trying to get with that woman again.

"Yeah! I know! I was getting to that - shh," he pressed a finger to your lips and you kissed it, which made him go "aww" before returning to his rambling. "Anyway, while I was on this beautiful journey of self-discovery, I realized so many things, buttercup."

He sighed, cupping your cheek. "The Avengers are absolute booty ass - without their mainstay former drug addict, I'm afraid they lost out on the crowd of little white girls that want to fuck older men, and we all know that demographic is vital to the longevity of a franchise. Furthermore, the Honda Odyssey fucks hard, which means I have to re-examine my vehicle-related inherent biases. Oh, and also - I'm not a hero. Can't pretend to be some kind of 'normie.' So I'd rather be a freak with the rest of the rejects."

Wade gestured to the rest of the party, and your grin widened, arms wrapping tight around his neck and pulling him in for a stupid, sloppy kiss. God, that's what you'd been trying to tell him for goddamn ages. Thank fuck, the whole multiverse just had to be threatened for him to realize it. You should have expected it - that's just kind of how men are.

Wolverine cleared his throat, and you pulled away, patting Wade on the chest. The older man looked at the both of you with trepidation, like he might be interrupting something. Your heart skipped a little - he really did like Wade, didn't he? Well -

"That's great, baby," you patted Wade's cheek. "Glad you had to experience whatever is closest to death for you to realize what's really important. That's so incredibly healthy and absolutely viable in the long-term."

Wolvie chuckled, grinning at both you and your boyfriend. Oh no - not only was he hot, he was pretty. That stupid little cat ear hair wasn't helping, especially not when he was laughing at your joke.

You took the opportunity to raise your leg just enough to brush your calf along the inside of his knee, and his eyes immediately flicked to yours, smile faltering as he calculated whether to lean into it or shy away.

"Thank you, I so appreciate you, baby-boo-" Wade nuzzles his nose against your cheek and you giggled, biting your lip to quell your laugh as you tried to watch both boys. "But if I remember correctly, before we went on this plot-hole addressing rant, you said something about the good strap?"

He waggled his hairless brows, and your gaze flicked between the two of them again - Wade, eager and grinning; Wolvie, tense and most certainly blushing.

"Yeah," you sighed dramatically, waving your hand in the direction of the refreshments table. "Unfortunately, the food at this party isn't bottom friendly. Shame."

"Fuck!" Wade cursed, head snapping forward in frustration. "I knew Peter forgot something! That insensitive metrosexual!"

You snorted, shook your head as your gaze pulled to Wolverine, you dragged your leg just a little higher.

"Oh, don't worry about it. If your friend here wants, we could recreate your favorite Lonely Island music video."

Said friend's brow knit, his jaw clenched as he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, as if you'd translate your Wade-speak for him.

Thankfully, your boyfriend did it for you, with an exaggerated gasp for comedic effect.

"3-Way (The Golden Rule) (Featuring Lady Gaga & Justin Timberlake)?" He cried, leaning over so that he could smush his face closer to yours. You waggled your eyebrows suggestively.

He all but squealed, kicking his feet to the point where he almost launched you straight out of his lap.

"You hear that, Logan-boy? It won't even be gay - with a honey in the middle there's some leeway," he gestured to you dramatically, jazz-hands and all.

"It might be a little gay," you whispered in Wolvie - Logan's? - direction.

Either way, it seemed like something one of you said made the poor man short-circuit. He was just looking at the two of you like Wade was regrowing a baby head.

"It is, like, a genuine offer," you clarified for him. "We're not fucking with you - well. Wade's always fucking around."

"Oh, but I am so serious about this, babygirl. Wanna find out if that 207th bone is also adamantine, let me tell you-"

"Shut your whore mouth," Logan hissed at Wade, and you heard the man's teeth click as Wade's jaw snapped shut. What?

"Hey, did he just listen to you when you told him to shut up?"

Logan raised an eyebrow, but gave you a curt nod as answer. Your head whipped from one man to the other.

"You two definitely fucked already!"

"Oh-"

"What did he tell you?" You cut in, finger raised as Wade tried to speak. His eyes widened, and his lips closed like he had no control over them. Your jaw fell open. You turned to Logan like he was some kind of evil sex magician. Which - maybe he was. Or maybe that was a different man from the same movie that no one knows how to write because someone actually gave him an accurate accent. How would you know?

"We didn't fuck," Logan clarified. "We fought. Hard."

"It was the only way around the Hays Code censor!" Wade cut in, words spilling out like he only had a few seconds before Logan shot him another look that had his mouth shutting and his pants tightening.

You rolled your eyes. "Sweetie, the Hays Code was abolished in 1968," you patted his cheek like you were talking to a child.

"Tell that to the mouse!"

"Well," you did your best to get this trainwreck back on track. "Anyway. What do you think, hmm?"

You directed your question at Logan-Wolvie-Wolverine. It was so hard to learn somebody's actual name when Wade just threw nicknames out like candy.

But still, the man frowned, lips pursed as he considered the proposition. His lips twitches as he swirled the bottle of beer in his hand, like he could find the answers in the foam that swelled there. He shook his head, then took a sip, smacking an "ah" before the bottle hit the table with a thump.

"Eh. What the hell."

Oh. Fuck. Yes.

[ms-demeanor]

I appreciate you starting a conversation about the harms of homeopathy, and I just want to mention that homeopathy/alternative medicine is also largely BS when it comes to treating our pets. A lot of essential oils and herbal remedies are toxic to cats and dogs even in small quantities, but people still try using them as flea and tick prevention because they don’t want to use “toxic” medicine that actually works. CBD isn’t FDA approved for dogs because it’s not been proven to be effective and safe, but a lot of folks have pushed me to try it for my dog because he’s on medication for extreme anxiety. Some folks will seek out animal chiropractors to “treat” their dog’s IVDD or hip dysplasia instead of pursuing pain management or surgical treatment. People think that vets look at their pets and see dollar signs instead of an animal needing treatment and turn to snake oil salesmen instead. It’s maddening.

Yeah that makes me fucking crazy.

@drferox and @why-animals-do-the-thing are great resources on tumblr who have spent a ton of time discussing animal woo in the past; both have slowed down on posting because life is hard and tumblr is tumblr, but both have done a lot of excellent writing about things like animal training, raw pet food, vaccination, and how to be a good human to your pets. If you've got questions about animals, search their archives and you're probably going to find a ton of useful information.

Folks, I swear veterinarians aren't coming for your wallets and they are generally criminally under-compensated for the work that they do. They're brilliant professionals who are driven by passion and fucked by the market.

Sorry i went to go find some studies on dogs and cbd and i ended up finding a reprint of a small study from the american holistic veterinary medical association and I found this on the pdf and i'm going to murder somebody

for those who are not aware young living is an essential oil mlm largely targeting mormon housewives that was started by a man whose child died being drowned at birth in an at-home-water-birthing incident and who himself likely died of cancer he tried to treat with essential oils.

This is one of those things that's like a big flashing neon sign that the study/journal you're looking at is a hot pile of bullshit.

Anyway. Yeah. Research supporting the safety and effectiveness of CBD on dogs is pretty thin on the ground. Your pets depend on you. The choices you make determine their health and wellbeing.

Listening to woo-peddlers who tell you not to vaccinate, or who hype up untested "healthy grain free diets," or who promote and sell cbd in absence of evidence of its effectiveness is putting your pets hands in the health of someone who doesn't care about your pet, they just care about profit.

Also, while I'm here: don't feed your dog grain free foods unless they have a diagnosed allergy, grain free foods can lead to liver and kidney problems, dogs are more omnivorous, not obligate carnivores like cats and grain is not bad for their diet nor unnatural for them to eat, and there are very few brands that have done decades of feeding tests on dogs (Royal Canin, Hills Science Diet, Pedigree, Eukanuba, and Iams) and none of them are Blue Buffalo.

Appeals to nature are extremely common in online woo discussions of pet food and vet care. Your dog is not a wolf and does not need to eat like a wolf. Your cat is not a lion and does not need to claim territory like a lion.

Vaccinate your pets, don't let them wander, feed them tested diets, and listen to your vet's advice on their care.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Masking

Wandanat x autistic!fem!reader

Summary: You exude confidence when running the tight ship at the Avengers compound, but it's all just a mask.

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: Masking, sensory overload, emotional fatigue, mild dissociation, comfort and care

Authors note: I hope no one minds that I made reader autistic it just felt right as I started writing this that she was autistic and masking. This was a request!

The Avengers compound was a constant whirlwind of movement and noise, but you had long since mastered the art of blending in. You moved through the halls with precision, shoulders squared, steps confident, your words clipped and efficient.

You had to be.

People looked to you for guidance, for leadership, for a presence that commanded the room without hesitation. There was no room for uncertainty, no space for awkward pauses or misplaced words. So, you adapted. You studied the way others spoke, the way they carried themselves, how they reacted in different scenarios, and you replicated it to perfection.

Every interaction was a practiced routine.

Eye contact—just enough to seem engaged, but not too much. Staring was off-putting, but looking away too quickly made people think you were nervous or disinterested. So, you held it just long enough, counting in your head before glancing away naturally.

Tone—firm but not aggressive. You had learned that being too direct made people bristle, but if you softened your words too much, they assumed you lacked confidence. So, you struck the balance, keeping your voice even and controlled, modulating it just enough to sound natural.

Expressions—carefully controlled, mimicking the right amount of stern authority. You had practiced in the mirror, adjusting your face to reflect the reactions people expected from you. A smirk here, a raised brow there, the occasional chuckle when the situation called for it.

Gestures—purposeful. Too much movement made you look nervous; too little made you seem robotic. You had calculated how to stand, how to walk, how to use your hands when speaking so you didn’t come across as stiff or unnatural.

Masking.

It was second nature now, the shield you wore as part of your role. No one questioned it. You were strong, competent, unshakable. That was the version of you the world expected, and so that’s what you gave them.

But it was exhausting.

Every second of the day was a mental checklist, a constant game of social equations running in the background of your mind. It wasn't just about getting through conversations—it was about making sure you performed correctly. That you didn’t linger too long after saying goodbye. That you responded with the right words when someone made a joke. That your body language wasn’t too rigid, but also not too relaxed.

The longer the day stretched, the heavier the mask became.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, your limbs felt like lead, your skin raw from the effort of pretending. The lights in the halls were too bright, the voices around you too sharp, grating against your senses like nails on a chalkboard. You were aware of every thread in your clothing, every distant conversation, every flicker of movement in your periphery. It was all too much.

But still, you smiled when necessary. Still, you nodded in understanding when someone spoke to you. Still, you held yourself together, as if the mask weren’t suffocating you with every passing second.

Because out here, you had no choice.

Out here, you were the person they expected you to be.

But behind closed doors?

That was a different story…

By the time you finally stepped into your shared penthouse, the weight of the day dragged at you, your mask slipping the moment the door shut behind you.

Wanda was the first to notice. She always noticed.

"Hey, love," she said softly from the couch, her voice laced with warmth. Natasha glanced up from the kitchen, her sharp green eyes flicking over you, assessing.

And just like that, you melted.

Your shoulders sagged as you toed off your shoes, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. No more forcing yourself to stand just right, no more careful control of your expressions. Here, you didn’t have to pretend.

"You good?" Natasha asked, but she already knew the answer.

"Masking all day," you murmured as you padded toward them, already reaching for the comfort only they could provide.

Wanda opened her arms without hesitation, and you collapsed into her embrace, letting yourself be guided onto the couch. Natasha joined, her hands gentle as she pulled your legs over her lap. You settled between them, head resting against Wanda’s thighs, feet tucked under Natasha’s warm hands.

The tension bled from your body almost instantly.

Wanda’s fingers combed through your hair, her nails scratching lightly against your scalp in a way that sent pleasant shivers down your spine. Natasha traced absentminded patterns against your ankle, grounding you further.

"You wanna talk about it?" Natasha asked, but she didn’t push. She never did.

"Not really," you admitted. "Just need to… exist for a bit."

Wanda hummed in understanding. "Then exist, my love."

And you did.

The three of you fell into a comfortable quiet as a nature documentary played softly on the TV. You stared at the screen, body limp and content between them, your energy slowly recharging in the warmth of their presence.

It wasn’t long before your thoughts spilled over, unfiltered now that the mask was gone.

"Did you know that sea otters have a special pouch in their armpits where they keep their favorite rock?"

Natasha’s thumb stroked lazy circles against your ankle. "That so?"

"Mhm," you nodded, shifting slightly against Wanda’s lap. "And sometimes they pass their rocks down to their pups, like family heirlooms."

Wanda let out a soft laugh, her fingers never pausing in your hair. "That’s adorable."

"You’re adorable," Natasha muttered, her voice fond.

You huffed, but a small smile tugged at your lips. "Also, Mantis shrimp can punch with the same force as a bullet. Their punches are so fast they create tiny bubbles that explode with light and heat."

Natasha let out a low whistle. "So, basically, shrimp with superpowers."

"Exactly! Just like Wanda" You smiled up at your girlfriend who was smiling fondly back at you. 

“Yes, Malyska, exactly like me.”

They let you keep going, let you ramble about whatever popped into your mind, never interrupting, never acting like it was too much. They simply listened, soaking in the way your voice animated with excitement, how your face lit up when you shared something particularly interesting.

And with every fact, every gentle touch, every soft hum of encouragement, your battery slowly recharged.

Here, there was no need to mask. No need to perform.

Here, with them, you could just be.

[ravennawritesfanfiction]

Imagine Being a Loyal Patron of the Theatre des Vampires and Catching Armand's Attention

Pairing: Armand x Reader

Word Count: 1933

Summary: You visit Theatre des Vampires and you notice things are exactly what they seem. You catch Armand's attention.

For months you had watched Santiago come out on stage and tell everyone what they were about to see was real and that he loved them for it. Every night, audience after audience was splattered with red syrup. Every night ending with a murder, a couple of hundred witnesses none the wiser. Assured by the same man that had previously stated that it was real, now telling them it was fake. Patrons convinced that the victims were part of the cast. Willful denial. 

You had been one of them once. However, you quickly realized you couldn’t fake that kind of terror. The fear that was palpable in the air. The look of impending death. In the end, Santiago had them greeting death like an old friend. It was not natural and you were hooked. 

You started watching the cast more intently. Their eyes were unnatural. The way that Santiago spoke to the victims, still he wasn’t the most interesting theater cast member. Each night he would “fly” up to the catwalk, the man up there never failed to meet your gaze. At first it seemed coincidental, like he was looking in your general direction making it appear as though he was looking at you. Then it didn’t matter where in the audience you were, he found you. You stopped watching the shows. Your eyes searching him out in the darkness. His calling to you. 

You attended every performance for two years. You had learned a few members' names. You had met Sam in the ticket booth; he sold the tickets to the shows he wrote. He always had your stubs waiting for you, the spot expertly tailored to your mood of the day. Each offering a new view of the shows you had memorized. It didn’t matter where you were sitting, you were still in view of him. It was as if Sam could read your mind. 

You had met all of the cast over the years. They were all particularly nice to you. It was hard to tell if it was the frequency of your patronage or if there was something more sinister at foot. After all, you knew they were actively killing people every night. Did they know that you had figured it out? That Theatre des Vampires wasn’t just clever or avant garde? 

Tonight was different. Sam wasn’t alone in the ticket booth. He didn’t have your ticket waiting for you. And as you approached, you were met with four unnaturally alluring eyes. The man for the catwalk.

“Would you accompany me tonight?” no introduction. Just an inquiring look that felt like a challenge. “We mean you no harm.” he softened his approach, likely noting that you shifted your weight towards the door. 

“On the Catwalk?” you were confused. Perhaps there would be a terrible accident resulting in you falling to your death. The only one that could tie the theater to the string of missing persons plaguing Paris.

“Yes, on the catwalk. No, you will not fall to your demise.” He smiled both breathtakingly stunning and terrifying. They knew. You had to realize how monumentally bad this was for you. 

“You never have anyone up there with you, save Santiago occasionally. So, why me?” you weren’t digging your heels in exactly, but you weren’t entirely ready to follow a vampire into the dark without knowing so much as his name. 

“We have been doing this for a hundred years. And no one had figured it out. If they did, they never came back, let alone returning every night.” He looked at you as if you belonged under a microscope, fit for study.

“So am I more of a curiosity or a threat to you?” your posture was as far from at ease as one could get. 

“Neither, Ma Cheri. You are more special than you know,” his eyes looked earnest.”Now, will you join me tonight? Otherwise we have a regular ticket for you.” you wanted nothing more than to say yes. It was an uncontrollable impulse. 

He led you into the theater, through the crowds of patrons and vampires. Celeste eyed you suspiciously. Santiago looked like a cat that was about to eat the canary. You were both mystified and terrified. As you approached the stairs to the catwalk, the actors were now far scarier than you had ever thought them to be. 

“Enjoy the show.” Santiago purred into your ear as you passed him, the hair on the back of your neck stood on end. He who had not yet been named led you up the stairs to the area you would be spectating from.

He stood there in silent appraisal, looking out over a sea of fresh spectators. You sat there appraising him. Even in his outward youth, you could see all of his countless years. You had so many questions but made no move to voice them. He volunteered nothing. 

The show began as it always had. Santiago addressed the audience and started his monologue that wound up with him flying up to the catwalk. This time, when the spotlight shifted, you were in it as well, and you saw something that both blew your mind and completely disarmed you. Santiago was not truly harnessed in. It was clipped to a random loop that looked like it could have been a harness, but in the end you realised that Santiago really was flying about the theater. Your dawning realisation was met with a wink before dropping back down to the stage. Your head was spinning. 

The rest of the play passed in a monotonous blur. You memorized the lines, knew all the queues. The only difference was now you could watch the mystery man up close. He was unmoving. He has a script with him, though he didn’t reference it much. The director?

The night’s victim was brought out and from here you could see the glimmering fangs. The screams echoed up here. The blood that made it onto the stage was visible where you had never seen it before. The body was dropped through a trapdoor and you could see down below the stage. You felt your legs give out. The ringing in your ears overpowered Sanitago’s closing remarks. You never felt the ground. Rather, two strong arms wrapped around you breaking your descent. 

“I told you you wouldn’t fall.” he offered you a soft smile as you fought back the tears of your own panic. You wanted to pull away, You wanted to puke. Too many feelings fighting to be the first released. “I’ll let you go if you promise to stay calm.” You looked at the theater, still full of patrons, and nodded.

“I need air.” you were gasping and your vision was fading to black around the edges. Like a brain shortcircuiting. You were gasping, panicking and grasping at anything to try and stay grounded. As it happened, the only thing for you to cling to had been him. 

“Let’s get you outside.” He helped you down the stairs, all but carrying you. You passed the theater vampires who appeared amused by your reaction to tonight’s show.

“I don’t understand.” you stated once the cool air of the night pricked your skin, reviving you into the nightmare your brain attempted to escape.

“Of course not. You were just faced with the impossible. All of the things you were taught are fiction just became fact.” he shifted away to give you space and was intrigued to see you moved with him, having to be near. 

“Why show me at all?” you looked at him as though this answer would solve all of life’s greatest mysteries. 

“Because you saw and accepted what no one else would. You saw a coven of vampires , pretending to be human, pretending to be vampires and called bullshit. But you kept coming back anyway.” He was the supernatural being, but looked at you as though your existence was the impossible one. “No it’s my turn, why?”

“Ummm,” did you lie and risk him calling you on it or answer honestly?

“Honestly.” he laughed as you jumped. It wasn’t the first time he had done this, but this time it was unnerving. 

“Two reasons I guess. First, I was curious about the impossibility of it all. And then there was you.” you glanced his way to gauge his reaction, but you found none. 

“Me?” It was a mock surprise. “You risked being right and possibly dying for it because of me?” the more he pondered the admission, the more confused he became. Surely he had known what your answer would be, but knowing and understanding did not equate the same thing.

“Yes, I guess so. Though the possibility of death didn’t occur to me until tonight.” he stood there looking at you slack jawed.

“Maybe you are a bit of a curiosity.” he joked, you relaxed.

“Two impossibilities?” You looked at him and made eye contact for the first time. He was saddened that this may not have happened. If only you could have known that Santiago had been the first to realise you knew. It had taken Him and Sam both to stop Santiago from following you home that night and draining you. 

“My name is Armand.” he offered, still searching your eyes for a flicker of home. “I have a question, if you’d permit me.” he looked so young, your heart felt like goo in your chest. You nodded for him to continue. “Would you ever consider joining me?” he looked slightly to your side, breaking eye contact.

“For a show or joining you more definitely?” Big difference.

“As my companion. You’ve called to me every night just as I have called to you.” he returned to your gaze.

“What does it mean to be a vampire’s companion?” even the world felt supernatural.

“The closest thing humans have is a spouse. Though a companion is far more than that. The life of a vampire is a lonely one. A companion is a shelter from that loneliness. A comfort in the dark painful existence.” for the hundredth time tonight you asked yourself why you. You hardly felt qualified for the task, though you understood the loneliness Armand described. 

“I do not wish to rob you of your mortality. I only long for your companionship for as long as you'll grant me.” It wasn't as if you had anything to lose. You had your flat and your own suffocating loneliness. 

“I accept. I will join you as your companion along with everything that comes with it.” maybe you were signing your own death warrant, but you quickly realized that you  didn’t care. “How does this work?” Armand closed the miniscule distance between you until your noses were touching. 

“However, you are comfortable.” he smiled as he stroked your hair. “But first, there is one thing you have to see.” He stepped back from you far enough for you to see his whole face. Out of nowhere, two sharp fangs appeared. 

Your response was unexpected. You pulled him in for a kiss, fangs bared and all. And he let you. 

“I agreed to be a vampire’s companion and you thought that your fangs were going to be the deal breaker?” you giggled and he just shook his head at you. Taken by the complex little creature you were. “I do have one question.”

“Anything.” he looked at you like you were the entire galaxy.

“Your place or mine?” you found yourself in a strange apartment before the syllable died on your lips. “Yours I guess.” You answered your own question.