#(answers purposely left vague for fun

[experiment-dsmp]

Extremely, like you've actually lived it

There's a small pause where you debate on how honest to be. But the moment you open your mouth to speak, the truth floods out.

"It's insanely clear." You say as you start shaking. "It's as if I've actually lived it. I still feel the tusk impaling my body. The isolation. The squirming vines under my skin. Even the beak tearing off chunks of my flesh." You start to tear up as you speak.

You didn't get it. Why werr they so clear? Why did it feel as if you've actually lived through those? Would anyone else remember? How would they act?

Before you can voice your worries Puffy's hugging you tight. Her fur… no, her wool was incredibly soft. You don’t even think twice on returning the hug best you can without irritating your broken leg.

“How would you like to live with me?”

The question caught you off guard. “What?”

She laughs a bit. “You know, join me in my tunnels, learn their layout, have that your home.” She pulls back to move your hair out of your face. “Maybe we could even be a family.”

This came at a weirdly pleasant surprise. But..: was it what you wanted? Sure, a family sounds nice, but living in an underground tunnel system didn’t.

(Poll length increased to a week to reflect how long between updates its been better. Also increases the amount of answers I may get)

[societyfolklore]

Thank Me for the Ache

Title: Thank Me for the Ache

Pairing: Loki x Asgardian!Female Reader

Summary: You wanted Loki. You wore his colors. Laughed too loud across the feast hall. Thought you were clever, subtle. But Loki has seen your type before. So when you're summoned to his chambers, you think it's working. You think you're ready. But this isn’t a seduction. It’s an undoing.

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI,  SMUT, Dark!Loki, Non-consensual somatic manipulation, vaginal fingers and fisting,  Dub-con elements, Power imbalance Loki's Sadistic dominance,  Loki uses magic for restraint, Mocking language / degradation, Crying during climax, Pain + pleasure overlap, Humiliation kink.. NO beta... just filth

  A/N:  This is all because @mischiefmaker615 read the my Steve Rogers fisting fic and went ‘how about a Loki version’ and this… this was born… So here it is...

You’d heard the whispers long before you ever dared to look him in the eye.

In the quiet corners of court, behind veils and under breath, women spoke of Prince Loki with a reverence that bordered on fear. They giggled about the way he touched, talked about it being elegant, devastating, slow like honey poured over a blade. They said he didn’t fuck; he composed. That his fingers were poetry, his mouth a promise, his cruelty a slow climb you begged to crest. That once you were beneath him, nothing else would ever satisfy.

You’d hung on the words of those who claimed they’d had him. The breathless as they told stories of nights so indulgent, so perfectly unrelenting, that they hadn’t walked properly the next day. Of excruciating ecstasy, of painful pleasure, of delight so sharp it hurt, of the way he could make you sob just from the pressure of a single knuckle. How he would whisper against their skin, how he made them come until they cried. How he smiled when they shook.

But not all spoke with delight. Some women turned pale at the mention of Loki name, eyes clouding with something unspoken. They made vague excuses and left the room as if summoned elsewhere. No one pressed them. No one ever asked them what happened behind that locked chamber door. And maybe that was answer enough.

It should’ve warned you.

But curiosity is a dangerous thing. And desire, worse still. It carves out the part of your mind that whispers caution and fills it with something hungrier. Something bold.

You’d never been the kind of beauty men chased through gardens. You knew that. But there were things they did say about the softness of your eyes, your posture, the way you looked when you listened. You’d been told once you had an agreeable innocence. Something quiet men liked to imagine breaking. Something they liked to take.

The boys you had known before? They kissed like dogs. Rough hands, too much spit, hips that chased their own release and never yours. They didn’t know the weight of anticipation, the art of restraint. You wanted something else. Something with purpose. Something with control. Something with teeth.

You wanted him.

So you began to linger. You wore his colors, dresses in forest green, deep gold, obsidian black. Not overtly, not all at once, but enough that someone paying attention might notice. You took to the upper libraries, pretending to study volumes of politics or history whenever you thought he might pass through. You timed your walks in the gardens. You paused outside the halls near the throne room, near the last public spaces before the families private sections of the palace. You positioned yourself where his shadow might fall.

You told yourself it was just a bit of fun. He'd never take real notice of someone like you. Someone unremarkable, from an unremarkable family. Not when so many others were worthy, better suited, more obvious choices. All you had  A harmless crush, a passing fancy. A daydream stitched into silk.

But nothing about wanting Loki ever truly was harmless. 

~#~#~#~#~#~ It had started like any other evening in the feasting halls; harp music, gold wine, laughter spilling across the long tables as the court gathered beneath Asgard's torched ceiling. You sat lower than the royal dais, of course, among lesser ladies and honored guests, but you’d placed yourself well. A seat angled just so. Legs crossed. Gown cut high on the thigh; your skin bare just where it counted.

You’d been working at it, honing the act, the performance. Over the last few weeks, you’d practiced the art of flirtation like a student chasing perfection. That playful, teasing smile you’d seen more experienced women wear? You’d tried it on in mirrors. Polished the way your laugh curled out of your throat. Learned how to touch an arm just long enough to be noticed.

Tonight was your boldest attempt yet.

You laughed too easily at the nobleman seated beside you. Let your fingers brush his arm, just once. Not because you wanted him, but because you could feel eyes on your skin. From above. From the dais. From him.

Prince Loki sat beside his brother, all dark hair and sharp cheekbones, quiet behind the rim of his goblet. He hadn’t spoken a word aloud, but you felt him. Watching. Assessing. Unblinking.

And gods, your body reacted.

Heat flared in your cheeks, racing down your spine and flooding through your blood until it pooled low; aching, insistent. That little hidden pearl between your thighs throbbed like it had been called by name. Just from the way he looked at you. Just from being seen.

You swore you could feel his gaze like a brand. It stripped you bare across the tables, set every inch of skin aflame. Your thighs pressed together, subtle and instinctive, but it did nothing to ease the slow pulse building between them. It was maddening, the way he could awaken something inside you without even moving.

You felt the nobleman's hand settle on your leg- polite, possessive. A touch that might’ve thrilled you once. Now it felt distant, dull. You dropped your gaze to it, unbothered, and then looked back toward the dais.

He was gone.

You blinked, pulse skipping. One moment Loki had been there, the next his seat sat empty. Like smoke, like shadow. Slipped between moments without a trace. A strange emptiness bloomed in your chest, cold where the heat had just lived. Your stomach twisted, hollow and tight. Had he seen too much? Or not enough? Had your display turned him away or lured him in?

Your mind raced through every look, every smile, every moment from the past weeks. Had you misjudged? Were you a fool draped in green silk, playing at games you didn’t understand?

You looked away. Reached for your wine with fingers that felt colder than they should have. Maybe you’d overplayed your hand. Maybe you’d never held anything at all.

But then a maid appeared behind you.

“His Highness,” she said, voice low so the others wouldn’t hear, “has requested your presence in his chambers.”

You nearly dropped the goblet.

The words struck like thunder through velvet. Your breath caught, your entire body going still. Heat raced to your cheeks, your pulse a frantic flutter in your throat. Your heart stumbled, then began to pound hard enough you were sure the maid could hear it.

But somehow, you managed a graceful nod. Rising smoothly to your feet, smoothing the front of your gown, controlling the tremble in your hands like your life depended on it. No stumbling. No squealing. Just a polite smile, a murmured excuse to your companions, and a slow, measured turn toward the darkened hall.

But inside? You were already running. Breathless. Drenched in disbelief. Burning from the inside out.

He’d seen you. He’d chosen you.

You stood before the towering door, heart hammering against your ribs, palms clammy despite the chill in the corridor.

For a wild moment, you considered turning back. Not out of fear, no, not entirely, but from the wild flutter of not knowing what waited on the other side. Was this truly happening? Or would you step inside only to be mocked, laughed at, dismissed as another foolish girl with dangerous fantasies stitched into her skin?

But the door was already opening.

Soundless, smooth. Drawn by some force that felt older than you. The darkness beyond beckoned like a breathless story, pages ready to be turned.

The room beyond glowed gold and green. Candles burning low in sconces shaped like twisting serpents, casting long shadows against the stone. The scent of old books, aged parchment, and something darker lingered in the air, thick like smoke, heady like spiced wine. Silks pooled over carved furniture, emerald and black, rippling like oil under flame. There was a hum in the walls, a tension that vibrated at the edge of hearing.

A single chaise near the hearth. And him.

Loki lounged like he’d been expecting you for hours. Still in full formal dress, robes draped carelessly over the arms of the chaise, his collar open at the throat to reveal a glint of pale skin and the suggestion of muscle beneath. One leg bent lazily, the other extended, foot planted firm like he was claiming the floor beneath him. There was nothing casual about the way he sat- it was studied, deliberate, designed to command.

His fingers flexed along the armrest, slow and unhurried. His gaze, when it finally slid over to you, was unreadable. Patient. Predatory. He didn’t smile.

He looked like a man waiting to begin something he had already planned to end.

Like he owned the room.

Like he owned everything. 

Your breath stuttered. You felt your body pull tight, spine straightening in response to something instinctive and ancient. A shiver ghosted up your neck, and your hands clenched at your sides without your permission. Every inch of your body was screaming caution and invitation at the same time.

Your throat felt too tight, your skin too hot. Part of you wanted to turn and flee but more than that, deeper than anything else, you wanted to earn whatever came next. You wanted to be chosen again, touched, seen, undone.

You took a step in.

He didn’t rise. He didn’t need to.  The door shut behind you, sealing you in with a soft finality. Your hands twisted together, all that feigned confidence bleeding out under the weight of his gaze, every drop of your boldness dissolving like sugar in heat.

“For someone who’s worked so hard to catch my eye,” he drawled, voice a dark ribbon of silk laced with scorn, “you do look dreadfully uncertain now that you have it.”

You stiffened. Swallowed. The air in your throat turned thick, smoky.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming with something cruel and amused. “Dressing in my colors. Lurking in my path. Casting glances like lures, as if I were some creature easy to bait.” His fingers drummed lazily on the armrest, each movement precise, deliberate. “Seduction, little thing, is meant to be mutual. A dance. But you… you’ve skipped the steps entirely. Offered yourself up like a lamb on a platter. A tribute left at the mouth of the fire, praying the flame notices.”

Your face ignited. A rush of heat surged through your chest, down your belly, pooling thick and aching between your thighs. You felt bare, foolish, burning- and still, you didn’t move. Couldn’t. You were utterly, helplessly caught.

He rose with slow elegance, the shift of his body all predator, all purpose. “Shall I unwrap the gift ribbon by ribbon?” he mused, stalking forward, voice curling against your skin like smoke. “Or tear into it, teeth and all, and see if you’ll still beg to be opened?”

“I- ”

A flick of his fingers.

Silence.

Three soundless steps and he was close enough to steal the air from your lungs.

“So many want to share my bed,” he murmured, his voice a blade near your ear. “But most have no idea what they ask for,” he murmured, gaze raking over you like a blade. “We’ll see if you’re just another desperate little girl, or something… more delicious. Something worthy. Let’s test how well you handle what you so clearly, so pathetically, crave. " You nodded. Not because you were brave.

But because you still believed this was a game you could win.

He circled you like a shadow unfurling, slow and certain, each step deliberate. There was no sound beyond the soft rustle of fabric and the low crackle of firelight, but the air vibrated with tension like a bowstring pulled taut and trembling.

You didn’t dare move.

Every cell in your body trembled with anticipation, nerves drawn tight and shivering beneath your skin. He hadn’t touched you-not yet- but already you were unraveling beneath the weight of his attention alone.

“You wanted a bedroom game,” Loki murmured, voice curling around you like silk over a blade. He tilted his head, green eyes gleaming with amusement and hunger. “Is that what you thought this would be? A bit of courtly fun? Stolen kisses and whispered flattery?”

He stepped closer, his breath warm at your cheek. “Let us be clear, little thing. This is not a dance. This is not some breathless fairytale.”

His fingers ghosted over your hip, a gliding tease. “You offered yourself up thinking I might be charmed. But seduction is a shared art... and I’ve yet to be entertained.”

He stepped close. So close you could feel the ghost of his breath against your lips, warm and teasing, as though even his exhale knew how to make you tremble. One hand rose with slow precision, his fingers gliding in a featherlight graze along your collarbone, then lower still. The touch barely registered at first, but it left a trail of fire in its wake- searing through your skin, coiling heat down your spine until your breath stuttered and your back arched subtly, helpless to the way your body reacted.

“What are you hoping to prove, I wonder?” he murmured, voice soft as velvet and twice as binding, the words brushing your cheek like a secret he was planting beneath your skin. “That you can tempt not only a prince, but the God of Mischief himself?”

His mouth hovered, achingly close to yours, and your lips parted instinctively, chasing contact that never came. His eyes glittered- cruel, amused, intrigued- and for one suspended second, it felt like the world narrowed to the space between your mouths.

Then he smiled. Slowly. Cruelly. Like he'd just won the very first portion of this very long game.

“This,” he breathed, voice silk soaked in sin, “is where the fun begins.”

And with that, he moved behind you, hands rising to your shoulders like a sculptor approaching fresh marble. The heat of him at your back made your skin prickle, anticipation flaring bright and breathless across every inch of you.

His touch was maddening. The first tug of silk slipped the gown from your collarbone. His fingers, long, elegant, terrifying, dragged the straps down your arms, exposing the tops of your breasts. His knuckles grazed your skin as he worked, and every brush of contact lit your nerves afire.

“You’re already pink,” he murmured, voice amused as he leaned close to your ear. “Flushed and gasping, and I haven’t even begun. Tell me- do you always tremble this easily, or is it just me?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but no sound emerged only a breathy gasp as the fabric slipped further down your torso.

“Hmm,” Loki mused, voice like silk against your skin. “I can see it, you know. The way you try so hard to stay composed. But I think we both know you’re not used to this.”

The gown pooled around your waist, baring your chest to the firelight. Cool air kissed your nipples, already peaked, and Loki’s smile grew darker.

“Inexperienced,” he said, almost to himself. “Delicious.”

You whimpered, the sound quiet, barely more than a breath but he caught it. Fed on it. One hand moved to your waist, and he began to draw the gown lower, down your hips, over your thighs, until the silk lay forgotten at your ankles.

He stepped back then, gaze raking down your now-bare form, an examination. His hand, lingering as he moved, trailed across your skin gliding from your hip to your waist, up the curve of your side like he was committing every inch of you to memory. There was nothing hurried in the touch, nothing careless. It was as if he wanted you to feel his claim in every pass of his palm, his fingers brushing deliberately over sensitive skin, leaving a wake of gooseflesh behind. You shivered, not from cold, but from the slow, searing weight of his attention. His presence was everywhere, all around you, and still somehow- devastatingly- not close enough.

The chamber had shifted when you hadn’t been looking.

The fire had grown larger, licking higher in the hearth, casting golden light that danced in wild shadows along the stone walls. The chaise was gone, as if it had never existed. In its place, the center of the room had been cleared, made sacred. A thick velvet blanket now stretched out before the fire, deep green and edged in gold thread, soft as clouds and wide enough to cradle you both.

The shadows pulsed along the edges of the room like sentinels. Watching. Waiting.

Loki said nothing. He didn’t need to. A single tilt of his chin, a flick of his gaze to the blanket, and your body obeyed.

Barefoot, you moved forward with slow, unsteady steps, heat prickling along your spine. You were shaking. Flushed. Still breathing too hard. The air felt thicker here, dense with expectation. You could feel the heat blooming high in your cheeks, curling in your belly, dripping low between your thighs.

The blanket welcomed you.

Soft, decadent, warm from the fire. You knelt first, then let yourself lower further, thighs parting just slightly as your trembling spine met velvet. You didn’t dare look up.

But you felt him.

He moved with purpose, the faint rustle of heavy robes announcing his disrobing like a prelude to something unholy. The fabric slid from his shoulders and hit the stone floor with a sound that echoed but somehow final. Like the closing of a door behind you, sealing you in. You risked a glance, unable not to, and the sight drew the breath straight from your lungs, he was bare from the waist up, alabaster skin shimmering gold beneath the firelight, his body all sculpted muscle and languid threat. His chest rose slow and steady, like he wasn’t even pretending not to enjoy this.

But the black trousers remained.

Deliberate. Controlled. Denied.

Loki caught you staring and the corner of his mouth curled into a knowing, predatory smirk. “You’ll have to earn that,” he murmured, voice like velvet soaked in danger- a promise and a threat interwoven into silk. “Though judging by how you’re looking at me, I imagine you’ll beg first.”

He moved beside you, each step unhurried, a stalking god in no rush to end your torment. When he knelt, the heat of him settled beside your thigh, his gaze devouring and cool and endless. His hand reached out with unnerving calm, fingertips grazing the sensitive inside of your leg with a featherlight stroke.

“Now,” Loki said, voice low and deliciously wicked, each syllable painting promise across your skin, “let’s see what you’re really offering. And whether you’re quite ready to be devoured.”

He did not rush. Not ever.

He leaned over you at last, his breath warm as his lips finally pressed against yours. Slow. Possessive. Kisses that curled under your ribs and lingered low in your belly, unwinding you like silk ribbon with every calculated stroke of his mouth. Your moans came easily an eager sounds that seemed to amuse him.

His hands began to move with purpose, stroking over your chest, fingers grazing the swell of your breasts before circling your nipples - already hard, already aching. His thumbs flicked once, twice, drawing a gasp from your throat. His mouth never stopped moving, drinking in every sound you made, as if collecting proof of just how easily you could be undone.

Each kiss was deliberate, laced with scrutiny, each touch a measurement. You felt appraised, studied, like a delicate instrument in the hands of a composer, one who knew just how to play you to the edge.

Then his fingers drifted lower.

Down your ribs, across your belly, until at last they slipped between your thighs.

You were soaked. Wet and wanting, your cunt already throbbing with every uneven breath. His fingers slid easily through your folds, and the sound they made, a slick, obscene glide, sent heat rushing to your cheeks.

“I wonder,” Loki mused, low and silken as his fingers circled your entrance, “if your innocence will survive my fingers, little thing.”

He pushed inside. One long finger, deeper than you expected, deeper than you’d ever known. It filled you, stretched you, the pad of his finger brushing something high and tender inside that made you gasp aloud.

“So tight,” Loki purred, lips grazing your jaw. “Perhaps your gift is being untouched- ripe and unspoiled. All mine to carve open.”

The word 'unspoiled' echoed in your mind, catching in your chest. His voice made you remember the whispers of the other ladies. How no one compared, how once he'd had you, nothing else would ever be enough. If this was what he deemed untouched, pure… then those awkward, fumbling boys you’d let paw at you in the dark hadn’t even left a mark. The thought sent heat flooding to your cheeks, down your spine, pooling low and molten between your legs. "You will open for me wont you?" 

You whined at the feeling, hips rocking down instinctively, your breath stuttering with the pressure. His finger moved slowly, deliberately, curling just slightly. You couldn’t help it, the moan that broke free, thick and needy, the way your body clutched around him as if trying to pull him in deeper, demanding more. Your thighs quivered, your spine arched, your fingers curling tight in the velvet as your body responded before your mind could catch up. The ache swelled deeper, throbbing and relentless, a desperate craving to be filled more, to be split wider, taken further, anything to quell the unbearable need.

"Yes.." Your own voice all breath and shaking. 

"Good.." 

The second finger joined the first with cruel precision. He didn’t scissor right away. No, he took his time. First he pumped them together, slow and merciless, sinking them deep until the thick press of his fingers curved just right, brushing against that devastating place inside you that made your whole body jolt. The sensation wasn’t just pleasure- it was obliteration. Your back arched helplessly, your thighs clenching, your fingers tearing at the velvet beneath as if you could anchor yourself to the floor.

He kept his gaze fixed on your face, drinking in every twitch, every stuttering gasp, his smirk only deepening as you writhed for him. Again and again, he drove them in, dragging the pads of his fingers along that soft, shivering place deep within that made your eyes flutter and your mouth fall open.

“There,” he murmured, rich with cruel satisfaction. “Oh, that’s the spot, isn’t it? I do so love watching you try so hard to be good… so desperate to behave while your body begs to be broken.”

Only once your arousal began to peak. Your thighs trembling, your cunt clenching. Only then did Loki  begin to scissor them, stretching you wider with deliberate cruelty. The burn bloomed, sharp and searing and good. His hand was larger than yours- his fingers longer, thicker- and your body strained to take them.

“Do you feel that?” he asked, voice a velvet razor against your ear. “The trembling? That’s not fear, darling. That’s your body learning. Wanting.”

His voice was distant, like a bell in fog. You were too caught in the heat blooming through your core, the way your walls gripped him tight as he pumped in and out, slow and merciless spreading wide only to close and push back in. 

By the time the third slid in, your body was already slick with need, your entrance fluttering in anticipation. And yet, despite how wet you were, it still stung- a sharp, stretching burn that made your thighs tremble and your breath catch. The pain bloomed alongside pleasure, one feeding the other until the distinction between them blurred. His fingers pushed higher, claiming more space with agonizing intent, and this time, his thumb found your clit with a slow, deliberate press that made your entire body jolt. The ache dissolved beneath the pleasure, melted into something hotter, deeper- something you could no longer resist.

You gasped and moaned, your head foggy and your limbs heavy with the overwhelming sensation. But any time you reached for him, to feel the warmth of his skin, to grind your hips up into his palm and chase some ounce of control, he pushed you back down. Hands firm and unyielding, a silent command that you would take only what he chose to give. He kept himself just out of reach, denying you the smallest sliver of reciprocation, of reassurance. Denying you the satisfaction of knowing whether your flushed, writhing body was affecting him even a fraction as much as he was you. Whether your soft little cries and trembling thighs made him throb beneath his leathers. It was maddening- the not knowing- and it only sharpened the ache inside you, twisted it tighter, made the emptiness more unbearable and the hunger more savage.

His thumb circled. Teased. Flicked. The friction was unbearable yet perfect. You whimpered, hips jerking helplessly as he worked you open, pushing in and out in steady, cruel rhythm. His fingers curled with precision, pressing against a place deep inside that made your vision flash white and your stomach drop with need. A place that sang when he touched it, that made your toes curl and your jaw fall slack.

Every breath came out a cry; raw, shuddering, wracked with unbearable need. Every motion he drew from you wrung another wave of trembling heat through your belly, your thighs twitching, your back arching off the floor.

And still, he gave you no rest, no mercy, only more. More touch, more sensation, more of his cruel and calculated rhythm.

“Come, then,” Loki murmured against your ear, voice molten silk wrapped around a blade. “Or can’t you? Shameful thing. Is that why you flirted so sweetly from across the hall? Because no one’s ever done it right?”

The heat broke. It shattered inside you, a sharp crack of white-hot sensation that tore a scream from your throat. Your orgasm crashed through you- wet, violent, unrelenting- your body clenching hard around his fingers as your hips jerked and trembled, muscles seizing with the force of your release. It truly was excruciating ecstasy. Too much and yet not enough, like your skin couldn’t hold you together.

You gasped, sobbed, breath catching in your chest as the waves rolled on, drawn out by the exacting motion of his fingers. For a moment, your vision blurred, limbs going slack.

You thought it was over. That this torment had reached its peak. You lay back chest heavy hard, your own hands raking through your hair expecting his fingers to leave, for the sound of his remaining clothes being shed to follow. 

But Loki only laughed, low and dark and utterly amused by his ruination of you 

“Oh, you’re trembling already?” he purred. “And here I thought you were ready to be ruined. Silly little thing- did you think surrender came so cheaply?" 

You were still gasping, the aftershocks of release trembling through your limbs, when his fingers began to move again. Slowly. Purposefully. Spreading apart, stretching you anew with terrifying patience.

You barely had time to register the sensation before your body seized again, breath catching in your throat as the stretch returned with brutal, deliberate clarity. There was no rhythm this time. No rocking or pumping. Just pressure. Just intrusion. Loki's fingers didn’t thrust, they pried. He pressed them apart, splaying them wide inside you like he was mapping your limits, measuring your weakness. Your cunt spasmed around him, still fluttering from the orgasm he'd ripped from your bones, and the pain bloomed all over again. A wicked, fresh burn that licked along your inner walls and curled into your belly like hot wire.

“Prince?” you gasped, the word barely more than a broken whisper. A plea. A warning. A mistake. It scraped up your throat, dry and cracked, already knowing it would do no good.

“Shhh,” he cooed, voice soaked in false sweetness, like syrup laced with poison. “Why stop now, little one? You’re doing so well.”

You barely noticed the fourth finger until it was there. Slid in during your dazed breaths, buried to the knuckle, an intrusion so smooth and cruel that it took a beat too long for your body to recognize the new, brutal depth.

Your form, still boneless and pliant from the release he’d pulled from you moments ago, accepted it at first- soft, open, trusting. But the moment your mind caught up to the betrayal, your body tensed like a bowstring. Panic surged. Your breath snagged, your legs twitched, your thighs shaking as your body tried and failed to close around the impossible fullness.

“No, no… wait…”

You tried to shift your hips, to squirm away, but his free hand flattened against your stomach, pinning you down with that impossible strength of his. His palm was heavy, steady, fingers splayed in quiet command, possessive in the way only a man who had already claimed you could be. The subtle press of his thumb at your hip bone made your entire body lock in place, trembling under his hold. You couldn’t move, not even a twitch, not when his touch made the blood in your veins feel molten.

The weight of his gaze was even worse. It pinned you like a knife through silk- cool and clinical, detached but somehow ravenous. His eyes roved your body like a scholar documenting a sacred rite, a botanist watching a flower bloom under fire, full of fascinated cruelty.

“You came on my fingers like a wanton thing,” he said at last, dragging each syllable like velvet over barbed wire. “Moaning, clenching, so desperate to be filled. And now you think I’m finished?”

The words stung more than his fingers. They rang in your head, echoing the stories whispered through the courts. How his hands alone could reduce a woman to tears.

You shook your head, lips parting to plead again, but he cut you off with a smile so cruel it made your stomach flip.

"You wanted a bedroom game. You wanted me. Well, darling, this is what that means." 

He didn’t wait. He moved.

His fingers curled and spread, pushing deeper, knuckles grinding against the trembling rim of your entrance as he forced the four digits wider. The stretch was obscene. More than that- it was invasive, carnal, so impossibly filling it felt like you were being remade around him. Pain bloomed, vivid and hot, sharp enough to draw tears from your eyes as your walls clamped down, instinctively resisting the intrusion, trying to protect you from exactly what you’d invited in.

“Please- Loki… it’s too- ”

“Too much?” he echoed, mock sympathy dripping from his tongue. “Oh, sweet thing. This is just my hand. And you’re not even close to being finished."”

The thrust came slow but thorough, the width of his knuckles dragging against your inner walls, forcing them apart inch by aching inch. You sobbed beneath him, hips twitching in protest, but the slick between your thighs betrayed you, shining and wet and wanton.

“Imagine what I could do,” he murmured, bending low to your ear, “with even a sliver of seiðr.”

Your cunt clenched in response, torn between panic and raw, aching desire. The pain hadn’t lessened- not truly- but it had shifted, evolved into something darker, deeper. It had transformed, melting at the edges, folding into the heat curling inside you like smoke, wrapping tight around your spine. Every time he pushed in, the burn flared- sharp, relentless- and every time he spread his fingers, something wild and wordless inside you broke open, screaming and begging and blooming.

It was painful pleasure. It was excruciating ecstasy.

And still, he gave you no reprieve.

You could feel yourself dripping around his hand, a humiliating betrayal of your body's desperate hunger. The pressure was maddening. He didn’t move fast. He didn’t relent. Just slow, merciless pulses of his fingers inside you, stretching you to the brink of yourself.

You wanted to say stop.

You wanted to beg for more.

And you were terrified that he knew exactly which one you meant.

He didn’t stop.

You were still blinking through tears, gasping from the last punishing stretch, when his hand shifted again, twisting slightly, testing. And then you saw it, his thumb folding in tight, tucking flush against his palm. A moment passed. Your body recognized the shape before your mind could comprehend.

“No, no- please,” you gasped, feet kicking at the ground, heels skidding across the blanket in wild, useless protest. You tried to squeeze your thighs together, to crawl back, scramble away from him. But you didn’t get far.

With a flick of his fingers, Loki’s seiðr shimmered across your skin. Invisible bonds seized your legs, arms, hips, holding you open like an offering. His power lifted you, just slightly. Your spine curved upward, suspended by nothing, as if you were weightless and laid bare upon air itself. You hovered on display, trembling, powerless.

At this angle, he made sure you watched. Watched as his long fingers coned together again, glistening and wet, and began their descent toward your ruined cunt. The sight was too much, and you turned your face away, ashamed, overwhelmed- only for his free hand to grab your jaw, firm and unyielding.

“Don’t be shy,” he crooned. “This was going to be your gift to me, remember?”

You whined as you felt the press of his knuckles at your entrance once more, your body instinctively tensing, even as heat pooled and coiled inside you all over again.

He pulled his hand free slowly, watching your body spasm around the retreat. You sobbed at the emptiness and the sting, thinking- hoping- that it was over.

But Loki was admiring the way your slick clung to his fingers, hand glistening with your arousal. He hummed in amusement, cocking his head as if examining a trophy.

Then, without a word, he summoned a glass vial into his hand. A thick, golden oil glimmered inside. He popped the stopper, pouring the warm liquid over his fingers, hand and wrist, coating the same hand that had already broken you so thoroughly.

You whimpered, head shaking as he leaned back over you. He smeared more of the oil over your cunt, the heat of it seeping into your swollen skin. It should have felt soothing. Instead, it only heightened your sensitivity. Your body quivering, torn between craving and rejection. “Please…” you whimpered again, voice cracking, lower lip trembling under the pressure of his grip on your jaw. Your legs trembled in their bonds, heart stuttering with every breathless second that passed.

“Don’t be so stubborn,” he murmured, letting go out your face while his other hand was rubbing the oil in slow, lazy circles. “You're so pretty like this,” he murmured. “Tried so hard to earn a glance, a touch...I'm going to make sure you remember what my touch is like." 

He pushed back in.

All his fingers slid into your ruined cunt again, this time smoother, deeper, guided by the slickness of oil and the humiliating evidence of your own desire. He twisted his wrist, angled his knuckles, pulsing in slow strokes as your hips trembled beneath the magical restraints.

You were crying now, gasping, body arching as he forced you wider. Each push flared the burn into something sharp, and yet your walls pulsed around him, greedy and terrified. It was too much.

Too full. Too deep. And yet…

“You’ll do this,” he growled. “Your Prince commands you take it." He was watching your chest, timing your breathing, the pressure always there as adjusting moving.. 

The pressure changed.

You felt it- his hand, the heel of it, nudging at your entrance. The widest part. Your breath caught, lungs seizing as the burn reached a fever pitch. You were just a mess of quiet, pleading whines for him now, your eyes fixed on his face, too frightened to look at what was happening between your legs.  "Stop fighting it," he rasped, his voice raw and dark with hunger. "Stop clenching and let me in."

The stretch was agony wrapped in desire, the true excruciating ecstasy he’d promised. Your body rebelled, trying to reject him even as it betrayed you, muscles loosening inch by trembling inch under the pressure of his persistence. Every nerve burned. Every throb felt like fire and silk mingled into one brutal, brilliant torment. You sobbed, shivering, the pleasure so intense it almost disguised the pain- or maybe the pain had simply become another kind of pleasure.

And then- you were full.

Not just stretched. Not just filled.

You were wrapped around his wrist.

Your cunt fluttered wildly, spasming around the impossible shape lodged inside you, the muscles clenching in helpless surrender. Loki’s eyes gleamed with possessive triumph as he watched you unravel, the edges of his mouth curled in a satisfied sneer. Your own mouth was parted in a silent, choked whimper. Too breathless for a scream, too overwhelmed to speak.

"Well now," he drawled, voice low and electric, "look what you’ve done. Such a pretty little ruin, all for me."

He began to move.

Not fast. Not rough. But deep. Deliberate. Fisting you slowly, dragging the weight of his hand through your ravaged core, curling and twisting, pulling soft sobs from your throat with every cruel slide.

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. You were nothing but sensation- raw, shuddering, overwhelmed.

Loki leaned down, grinning, breath ghosting across your sweat-slick face. “I told you you’d come on my hand,” he whispered. “You were just too naive to know I meant all of it.”

Loki reached down. Found your trembling hand. Guided it to your belly.

“There,” he said, pressing your fingers into the bulge beneath your navel. “Feel that?”

Your eyes widened. He was inside. So deep you didn't just feel, but you could see him through under your skin.

He reached down, curling his fingers around your trembling hand, the one you could no longer lift on your own. Gently, deliberately, he guided it toward the obscene stretch of your body where his wrist still rested, buried to the base inside you. As he began to pull back, he coaxed your fingers to wrap around his glistening forearm.

“Now,” he murmured darkly, eyes gleaming with that cruel mirth. “Push it back in for me, pet. Let’s see how eager you really are."

He guided your trembling hand to the base of his wrist again, and you watched- horrified and entranced- as your fingers clenched weakly around his slick forearm. Your body quivered, hips twitching as you obeyed, pressing his fist back into yourself, inch by agonizing inch. It was obscene- some perverse, sacred act of submission and Loki relished every flicker of doubt in your eyes, every catch in your breath. "Deeper… all the way, until I tell you to stop.”

The stretch was unbearable, the burn renewed, but you followed his order, pushing until your palm kissed your folds, until you felt him.

Right into your deepest part.  "There you go.." You felt yourself spasm and clench around him.. a strangled noise leaving you before his hand went to your chest and Loki got you to let go and pushed you back onto the blanket... your body shaking.  "Perfect little puppet aren't you?"  His hand dragged down your body, stopping to pinch your nipple making your hiss and whine again... his hand slid between your thighs again, rubbing soft circles over your clit as his fist remained buried inside you. You keening, body twitching like a live wire.

His fist didn’t move- not yet- but his other hand was merciless. The pad of his thumb dragged across your clit, slow and exacting, like he was testing the response of a new instrument. And you, broken and stretched and shaking, responded just as he wanted, hips twitching, thighs trembling where the magic still held them wide, the pitiful gasp that left your throat making him chuckle darkly.

“There it is,” he murmured. “You’re learning, pet.”

He didn’t thrust, not in the traditional sense but the way his wrist twisted, how his fingers curled and shifted deep inside you.

It was worse. Better. So much.

Every movement was measured cruelty.

Every breath he let out was soft mockery.

“I wonder if they’d even recognise you now,” he purred, lips grazing your cheek as his fingers rolled lazy circles over your soaked clit. “The sweet thing who used to flutter her lashes and play at innocence from across the hall. Look at you now trembling, open around my wrist, chasing your own ruin like it’s the only thing that matters.”

You sobbed again, you didn’t know if it was from shame or pleasure or both.

But your body knew.

You could feel the tension building, slow and relentless. Your walls were fluttering around him, trying to draw him in even further, as impossible as that seemed. Your thighs clenched against the invisible hold, your back arched despite your exhaustion. It was happening again.

“Loki- please- ”

His voice was velvet-wrapped iron. “Yes,  little offering. Show me what you can do with a fist inside you.”

He pressed his thumb harder, just slightly, and your climax tore through you.

It wasn’t a sweet thing. Not gentle or kind. It was savage like being split apart and remade in the same breath. Your cry was hoarse, half-scream and half-moan, as your entire body convulsed under his hand. Your cunt spasmed wildly around his wrist, clenching in desperate, greedy pulses as the wave overtook you.

He didn’t let up.

Not when your breath faltered. Not when your thighs quaked. Not even when fresh tears spilled from your eyes.

Loki watched you unravel with the hunger of a starving god- fascinated, reverent, cruel. And when you thought maybe, just maybe, it was done. 

You weren’t sure when he removed his hand. One moment he was buried so deep inside you it felt like you’d never be whole again and the next, he was gone. The sudden emptiness was unbearable. Your cunt pulsed and clenched in the absence, as though panting in time with your ragged breaths.

But you did feel the press of his palm over your belly- slow, possessive- and the other hand curling behind your neck, lifting your head slightly. Warm liquid poured past your parted lips, water, maybe laced with something else. It soothed your throat, made you blink in startled confusion. A spell swept over your body, faint green light cleansing the worst of the mess, though the ache, the soreness, remained untouched.

You felt lifeless. Too warm. The heat of the fire next to you licked at your bare skin, but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t find the will to try.

His hand smoothed over your stomach once more, fingers splaying like he still wanted to leave an imprint. Then, just as cruelly gentle, he pressed a single kiss to your jaw.

“Next time, we’ll try something more advanced,” he murmured.

You blinked, slow and hazy, watching him kneel beside you. One of your hands, still numb and trembling, reached out- dragged by instinct more than thought- and brushed against the front of his trousers.

Nothing. No hardness. No arousal. Nothing.

Loki chuckled lowly at your confused, devastated expression.

“I told you,” he said, rising smoothly to his feet. “You’ll have to earn that.”

You scrambled, dazed, pulling the blanket around yourself like a shield. You didn’t know what you were feeling only that it twisted inside you like shame, like heat, like a raw and bleeding kind of hunger. After everything- after all of that- he hadn’t even...?

“But you have promise, pet,” he added lightly, buttoning his shirt like nothing had happened at all. “I’ll send the maid to help you get dressed. I think it’s time you returned home.”

You blinked again, throat tight, mind spinning.

“Can’t have my newest darling wandering the feasting hall,” he continued with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Someone might make the mistake of touching what’s mine. And we don’t want another mess tonight, do we?”

You just stared at him, stunned and aching, the tremble in your limbs growing worse. The ache between your legs throbbed- deep, insistent, cruel- and still, you didn’t know what this was. What you were now.

He was already at the door.

“I’ll have balm sent in the morning,” he said as he glanced back over his shoulder. “You’re going to be sore for a few days. Don’t touch yourself. It’ll only make the ache worse.”

He paused, letting the silence stretch, the flickering firelight casting sharp shadows across his features. Then, softly almost fondly he added, “You should be proud. Few endure such devotion on their first night.”

And then he left.

Left you by the fire, shaking. Ruined. Used.

What had you gotten yourself into?

And was there a way out?

TAGS: @tinytroublemaker @yesiamthatwierd @trojanaurora

tagging cos maybe they'd like to know: @kathren1sky-blog and @28bohemianmoons

[slightly-knot-insane]

A Little Bit Rusty [part 2]

[ m!monster x fem!reader ]

a/n: continuation of this short drabble, now with more plot, hehe. also, i imagined this monster as some kind of dinosaur hybrid, but i'll still keep it vague enough for readers to imagine whatever they like ^^ content: nsfw, some steamy moments with clothes on, fingering

You left his apartment before he woke up, figuring it will be less awkward than to have breakfast together and spend the morning in silence avoiding each other's gaze. The night was so good, though, you think as you enter the museum, your workplace.

It's hard to focus on paperwork you left unfinished yesterday in order to have fun with your co-worker, aka supervisor, aka mentor. It's very hard not to think about his long monstrous tongue or his teeth biting your inner thighs.

"Good morning..." You jolt up immediately recognizing your mentor's voice. You didn't notice when he entered the office. He is standing a few steps away from you, like you have a disease. "Are you... okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" You are truly surprised with his question. Last night was fantastic.

He suddenly stands with his back straighter than before - if that's even possible. "R-right. Good to know." And then basically runs away.

Maybe he didn't have such a good time? He sure didn't act unsatisfied. You chuckle looking at him trip over his own legs.

It's a busy day, Saturday, and the museum is full of people. You both have tours to lead, but since you only started working, you are mostly free or assisting him.

You actually love listening to him, since he's very eloquent when talking about archaeological findings, especially about bones. He is especially charming with kids and can make them laugh easily. But as soon as he lays his eyes on you, he blushes or stutters. It's so entertaining seeing him flustered you can't help but on purposely make his job even harder.

You shorten your skirt, pull your blouse down to expose your bosom, and tighten the belt around your waist to accentuate your curves even more. When he sees you the next time, his jaw drops like a malfunctioning lid. Luckily, his group is enjoying some free time exploring the science room so he has time to quickly approach you.

"You, um..." he tries to form words, ask you something very polite probably, but you bite your lip and his pupils dangerously dilate.

He pushes you behind 'staff only' little door in the next room and shoves your body against the wall. It is so cramped in there and you can't move - not that you want to. This 'rusty old man' how he called himself, is all but out of practice, and you get wet just thinking about what he could do to you right now.

"I'm not blind," he growls and pushes his clawed hand into your hair pulling your head backwards. He licks your neck along your jugular. "You're toying with me."

"You think?" your sarcastic remark is cut short by his hand sliding between your thick thighs and lightly touching your mons pubis.

"Why did you leave this morning?" he asks you but doesn't let you answer because he pushes his tongue inside your mouth. All you can do is moan and suck. "Why?" he repeats letting you catch your breath.

"I-I'm not sure," you reply, mind hazy, "I wanted us to think about everything, I guess. Analyze things."

"I see," he hums as his finger slithers inside your panties and rubs your lewdness while his other hand grips your hips. "I recon we're both done thinking."

He pulls his finger out and licks it with the tip of his tongue. Your pussy throbs.

"We should get back to work," he says, blushing again, returning to his old flustered self... and kisses his wet finger before exiting the storage room with a naughty wink.

[ part 3 ]

[malsmind]

please. .ᐟ not in the mood part 2

fwb!chris sturniolo x reader

summary: chris makes it up to you

warnings: swearing, smut at the end, oral (f recieving) fingering, biting, hair pulling, that's all i think LOL

author's note: idk chat, i dont fw it

wc: 2.3k

english is not my first language!

you left chris's that night, annoyed with how your night went. of course, you could've just told chris to stop, knowing you weren't in the mood to have sex, but you genuienly believed you could get there, and you just had too much on your mind to really get into it, so you kept trying. chris's reaction left you in disbelief at the lack of understanding and how he treated the situation, like it was a huge problem that he didn't get his relief that night.

purposely, you didn't text him back, letting him know that you were not too happy with his actions. you thought about apologizing, but you really didn't have to defend yourself for not getting horny, but for wanting to try. you went out that after leaving chris's place, drinking with friends to forget about your evening with chris, trying to have some fun. but no matter how much you laughed with your friends, dancing to the loud music, taking shot after shot, you still couldn't help but feel bad about the situation, telling yourself it was your fault even though it definetly wasn't.

you barely slept after getting home from the party, tossing and turning in bed, fighting the urge to text chris back. to your luck, the alcohol in your system helped you fall asleep after the few restless hours of overthinking. when you woke up, you decided to check your messages. you did last night too, you just didn't answer any of them.

the time on your phone read 5:27PM. you sighed when you read what chris had sent you, literally two minutes ago -

you couldn't help but chuckle to yourself when reading his texts. you've never seen chris act like that, blowing your phone up for a whole night, giving up when you didn't answer, then trying again the next day. what really surprised you was how desperate he was on trying to fix his mistake. in the whole four years you've known chris for, you have never seen that man wanting to make up for something he did, let alone beg for something.

you knew you shouldn't give in, you knew he was being unreasonable with you last night, but unfortunately, he meant too much to you to just cut off. it was a one time occurence, he always made sure you were comfortable with what was happening, whenever it was happening, so you thought his frustration last night deserved a hearing out. you sighed, rolling out of bed and typing out a message before sending it to him.

'omw'

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

you arrived at chris’s place shortly after you sent the text. the evening was settling in, the light outside dimming as the sun dipped behind the horizon. the street was quiet, and you stood in front of his front door. you got a little nervous, still not super happy about how things went, but you knocked anyway. chris opened the door, greeting you with a half-smile, he seemed unusually nervous but still trying to act casual. “hey,” he said, his voice low, not quite meeting your eyes. “thanks for coming over.”

“yeah, no problem,” you replied, stepping inside. “wasn't really planning on comin' over after... last night.” you gestured vaguely, not wanting to fully revisit what happened the night before. chris closed the door behind you and looked at the floor for a second. “i know,” he said quietly, taking a breath. “listen, i was an asshole, like for real. i shouldn't have said the things i said. i obviously know you can't control it and flip a switch to be horny whenever you need it. i was being a dick about it n' i'm sorry."

you sighed. last night had had honestly hurt your feelings a little, making you feel guilty for something you have no control over. it didn’t help that he was insistent when you tried to explain how you felt, telling you you wasted his time. the whole thing had been frustrating, but there was no denying that chris wasn’t usually like that, so you heard him out.

“it wasn’t just what you said,” you said, trying to explain again. “it was more that you weren’t hearing me, you know? i should've told you, yes, but i came over so we could fuck and all, so i wanted to keep trying and get in the mood... i dunno..” you tried to explain,

“i get it,” he said quickly, meeting your eyes now. “i wasn’t thinking about you—I was thinking about myself, and what i wanted. ’m sorry for that..."

him apologizing made this whole thing even more intense than it already was, surprising you. you didn't think he'd ever apologize for something when he was usually pretty careless about most things anyway, but you felt a little lighter just hearing him admit to his mistake, actually caring, which also surprised you. "it's okay. i just didn't like the way you spoke to me, made me feel like shit to be honest.."

chris nodded, his expression serious and surprisingly empathetic, like he really regretted his words and actions. “yeah.. i know.." he sighed. "i had a rough day, not gonna lie, and i let it out on you cause i was pissed. 's obviously not your fault, i was just being stupid."

you nodded, a small sigh leaving your lips. you really saw how he was trying, apologizing for what he'd done. it meant a lot to you. "can i make it up to you? i know theres nothin' i can really do to take the shit i said back or whatever... but can i try and make it up to you?" chris asked, his voice genuine.

you raised an eyebrow. “make it up to me?” you huffed out a chuckle, curious on where this was going. chris making something up to you? oh wow, he really meant it, he really was sorry.

“i was thinking we could go for a walk on the beach. sun's setting right now. i know you like that shit, so...” he said, a little less confident now when he heard what just came out of his mouth, but he really did want to make it up to you. fuck buddies or not, you guys were still friends after all.

you mulled it over for a second. part of you wanted to just keep things simple, not overanalyze it. “alright,” you said, your lips twitching into a small smile. “not goin' soft on me, are you?"

chris scoffs, a small smirk forming on his face at your words, "shut up, kid. don't make me take it back." you chuckled, grateful that the awkward tension was slowly slipping away.

his smirk faltered a little, clearing his throat. you noticed some slight nervousness in his gaze, tilting your head to the side, waiting for him to get out what else he wanted to say “we could... watch a movie together after. like when we're back. if you want to, of course. you don-"

"i'd love to." you cut him off, chuckling at his suggestion. he nodded, a little embarrassed but still amused. “okay.. okay, great."

you followed him outside, and the two of you walked in comfortable silence toward the beach, your steps slow and easy, like you’d done a hundred times before, just not with chris. it felt a little strange at first, that undercurrent of last night’s tension still lingering, but the evening air helped clear your head. the sky was painted with streaks of pink and orange, the waves crashing in the distance. it wasn’t the most perfect beach walk you’d ever had, but it was nice enough.

you walked a little further, the sand crunching beneath your feet. "y'know, i didn't think you'd apologize, let alone try to make up for it." you chuckled a litte, looking over at him "oh come on, i'm not a complete asshole. like, i know what i did was shitty, i wasn't jus' gonna leave it like that."

you nodded, another small chuckle leaving your lips. you kept walking in a comfortable silence before you heard chris sigh, “i really am sorry."

"i know, chris. it's okay. i really appriciate you doing this, and apologizing." you reassured him, seeing the way it took some weight off of his shoulders.

you took a deep breath, letting the ocean breeze wash over you. the conversation fell quiet as the two of you watched the sun set fully beneath the horizon. it was an easy moment—no pressure, no expectations, just the two of you standing there in the silence. you could tell that chris was really trying, and that meant something.

when the sun had set, the two of you headed back to his place. you walked in, throwing your phone down on the coffee table before plopping down on the couch. chris followed you, sitting down on the couch next to you, picking up the TV remote. "what you wanna watch?" you shrugged, not too sure yourself. "anything. as long as it's not some horribly scripted action movie." he nodded, huffing out a laugh. when he finally decided on a movie, he put the remote down, leaning back against the cushions next to you.

the movie started, but neither of you focused on what was playing on the screen. dramaric music and dialouge coming from the TV, but it seemed inaudible as your eyes were on his, drowining out everything around you. chris felt the same, but unlike your eyes, his didn't keep the eye contact up, his gaze darting down to your lips and you couldn't help but smirk a little. "we're not watching that movie, are we?" you rasied your eyebrows at him, his eyes meeting yours again as he shook his head. "fuck no."

before you knew it, his lips were on yours, capturing them in a hungry kiss. you pulled him closer to you, hands slipping under his t-shirt, your fingertips soft against his skin sending a shiver down his spine.

chris's hands roam your body, deepening the kiss as his tongue slips past your lips. you moan into the kiss, your hand sliding out from underneath his top, tugging at it. chris breaks the kiss when he feels your hands tug at the fabric, pulling it over his head quickly before his lips land on your neck, kissing and biting at the skin. your hands find his hair, tangling your fingers in it, tugging lightly. your back arches off of the couch when chris slowly kisses his way down your stomach, pushing your shirt up with his hand before he moved it up to squeeze your tit. good thing you were too lazy to put a bra on this morning...

chris's kisses and nibbles on your lower stomach, right above the waistband of your sweatpants were painfully teasing. you were definetly in the mood tonight, and you definetly didn't want to wait. "chris hurry up." you whined, your hand gripping his as it kept kneading your tit. chris smirked against your skin, his eyes darting up to meet yours. "impatient tonight, huh?" his hot breath against your skin as he spoke only made you needier. luckily, chris remoced his hand from where it was, sliding down your body. he pulled back, and you lifted your hips up for him as he tugged down your pants, your underwear following.

chris pushed your thighs apart, hands sliding up and down the flesh as his lips placed soft kisses up your inner thighs. he sucked on your skin, sinking his teeth into it before pulling back with a wet pop. "not gonna make me eat you out for twenty minutes and fake moan again, are you?" he joked, and despite the way his words made you feel last night, you found it funny. you scoffed out a laugh, rolling your eyes at his comment. "get to it or i'll go home and leave you here alone and hard again." chris chuckled, his eyes staying on yours as he buried his face between your thighs.

you sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling of this tongue making immediate contact with your clit, circling it. "oh fuck.." you breathed out, your fingers tangling in his hair again, earning a groan from chris, sending vibrations trough you. he slipped two fingers into your wetness, curling them up. his tongue focused on your clit, licking, wrapping his lips around it and sucking until you're a mess of whimpers and moans, real moans.

hearing the real emotion behind your moans, how you were actually turned on and in pleasure encouraged chris, his tongue and fingers working on you skilfully, tongue lapping at your pussy while his fingers continuesly curled up to hit your sweet spot. your grip in his hair tightened, your moans coming out between gasps, growing closer to your orgasm faster than expected. "don't stop, fuck, please..." you gasped out, and chris groaned against you, reassuring you that he was nowhere near stopping.

you bit your lip, trying not to moan too loud as your orgasm washed over you, your thighs threatening to close around chris's head, but his hands held them apart before they could.

even after finally cumming, chris didn't stop. you tried to wiggle away, whining at the overstimulation of his tongue never slowing down, but even then, chris only kept going. his name left your lips in small gasps, tugging on his hair but he grabbed your wrists, pinning them down on each side of you on the couch, "didn't get to hear your pretty moans last night. cmon, give me more.." and he kept going...

even after offering him to suck his dick, let him fuck your mouth, whatever you two usually did, he didn't stop.

you were in for a long night.

© 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

@middlepartmatt @emely9274 @impossiblecollectorcat @staargazr @sllutty-sturniolo @shadowthesim237 @sturns-mermaid @courta13 @grace-sturnz @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @ncm9696 @rcklessheavn @sophand4n4 @amyiasturnl @ivysturnss @loser41ifee @helpimateenagerinlove @angvl3tears

[savaralyn2]

Hey. I read on some dunmeshi groups that, allegedly, Ryoko Kui has explicitly expressed (on twitter) her distaste or annoyance towards shipping, specifically Farcille. Do you know if there's any truth to that? 🥺

Not that I know of? She's not active on twitter anyways. Most I've seen on her stance on shipping is via some relatively recent interviews where what she said basically amounted to "I try not to write based on how fans will react to it, otherwise the story may become less fun/interesting. In general, I will leave things to fans imaginations and how they conceive things themselves" Which is pretty consistent with the answers she gave for a lot of the questions at her Q&A signing event, how things turned out/how they could turn out in the future is left vague on purpose, and if fans wanna think that certain ships work out or don't, its up to them, as she didn't intend for a specific outcome.

[writingwisterias]

Day 6: Mutual Masturbation

RE2! Leon Kennedy x AFAB! Reader Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Masturbation, Phone Sex, No Outbreak AU, Roommates, Friends - Lovers Masterlist

His work had been rough since he started at the police department he never really had time to just breathe and chill out. His apartment listing was cancelled before he showed up, so he ended up having to find a new one quickly with his jeep filled with his belongings. You were nice enough, the place was clean and you allowed him to get settled even making him a small lunch every day leaving a note claiming you made ‘too much’. He was glad he chose here to live, that his life gravitated towards you. However, as the two of you grew to know each other the more comfortable you got around each other. It now wasn’t uncommon to return home often finding Leon walking through the house in just a towel, water dripping down his chest as he smiled at you. You always tried to hide the growing blush that you are surprised didn’t turn into a permanent feature on your face. 

Leon slumped against his bed, his uniform discarded throughout the house like a trail to find him. He was so sick of the immature teenage boys who decided doing crimes was fun; having to spend most of the patrol finding and apprehending them. Today was just one thing after the other. He would pick up his clothes eventually, but he looked down at his cock. It had been a while since he used his hand to give himself some release, often doing it after a particularly hard exam during college to help loosen his body and the more he thought about it, the more it seemed tempting. He remembered vaguely you talking about taking a trip out of town, you had sent him a few texts in your absence making sure he was okay and just general chatter. You were currently his only friend after all, but your absence meant he could do this without the fear of you walking in. Or hearing the noises that left his lips as he brought himself to a finish.  

He worked quickly to strip himself off, his cock already hardening in just excitement of being touched. Normally he would have prepped himself more, spitting in his hand or using some cheap lube he purchased to help ease his movements but today his intention was speed. He worked slowly, squeezing the base a few times watching it harden further the more he touched it. His tip making an appearance and leaking pre cum already. He began to imagine what your touch would feel like, embarrassment creeping in as he followed the thought process. You didn’t deserve his dirty thoughts and imagination as he touched himself to you.

His phone vibrated on the nightstand, “Fuck sake” he grumbled as he shot his hand out attempting to find the device. He answered it with a grumble, his tone frustrated and short before he even looked at that caller ID. “Someone’s grumpy today” Your voice chimed in. Leon’s eyes widened his other hand dropping his cock quickly as his fuzzy brain tried to find the words to respond. “It-uh- been a rough day,” He said. Your chuckle was so sweet as he heard it through the speaker, his cock jumping at the sound. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if he continued to touch himself as you rambled about your day. His thumb toyed with his tip, spreading the pre cum around making it shine in the dim light of his bedroom as he listened to you ramble. 

He tried to mute his noises, hiding his face against the crook of his arm and biting it in desperation to keep quiet. “Leon, are you sure you are okay? You haven’t said much today, and you sound distracted…I can call you later” You said, your voice changed to a softer tone almost sympathetic. “No no it's fine - just - fuck” He moaned. Your eyes widened in shock at the phone as you listened to him, the mysterious wet noises that you could hear in the background of the call suddenly had a purpose. “Leon- are you..?” You asked him, and the sentence was left unfinished for him to connect the dots. His whimper was first, the sound causing your pussy to throb. “Shit- sorry - I…just” He stumbled on his words, the embarrassment of getting caught flooding his system as he looked at the caller ID. “It’s okay” 

The words shocked him, it wasn’t okay. He shouldn’t have answered the call whilst he was preoccupied he should have ignored it and answered when he was finished. “It’s not…I was just stressed at work and you always make it better. I’ll call you back “ he stumbled out, his hand now so far away from his weeping cock. “NO- wait Leon.. don’t hang up” You suddenly called out. His eyes widened in shock at the desperation of your tone. He waited for you to explain yourself, he heard rapid shuffling on the other side of the as you moved around. You coughed nervously as you settled into place. “Leon…can-can you describe what you were doing, please? W-what were you thinking about?” you asked, your breathing hitched as you touched yourself.

Maybe it’s because you couldn’t see him whilst you doing this that was making you so bold. “I-I was thinking about you” he spoke bluntly. You whimpered at his words, the sound making his hand return to his cock as he pumped it slowly. “I never thought you would..what was I doing?” 

The conversation felt scandalous as he balanced the phone against his collarbone, trying to think of a response. You whimpers were heard through the phone as you spread your lips, your fingers getting coated in your cum as it spilt out of you. “Leon?” You questioned. He cursed himself for taking too long to reply, your voice sounded scared like you had read the situation wrong and you should have just hung up the phone. “Your pretty hands were around my cock, they were so good as they touched me” he whimpered. You imagined his puffy cheeks all flushed red, his plump lips parted slightly as he let out these perfect noises. Your fingers began to circle your clit just like Leon’s rubbed his tip. 

The both of you let out loud groans, the cheap phones cutting out as the sounds became more frequent. Neither of you spoke, focusing on the sounds you both as you worked hard to bring each other closer. “Leon-are you close?” You panted. The coil tightened the closer you got, desperate for release but eager to wait for him. “I-I am, sweetheart.” he groaned. You nodded, not that he could see it, as your fingers picked up their pace. Circling faster and flicking over that one spot which made your lower half go fuzzy. “Let me hear you, please, as you cum” he begged.

He must have shifted, his voice clearer on the phone as he asked you. You whined filled the room as they crackled through his speaker, your moan following as your orgasm shattered through you. Leon moaned as his balls tightened, the vein in his cock throbbing as he began to decorate his chest with his load. “Fucking hell” he groaned as he chilled out. Your chest heaved with every breath as your body finally relaxed against your hotel bed. “Same time tomorrow?” you chirped. Leon chuckled, the sound deep and coarse as he calmed down. “Sure thing, sweetheart. Can’t wait until you come home now” he teased. You smiled at the ceiling, glad that instead of ruining what the two of you had - you made something new out of it. 

“I’ll look forward to my greeting”

Taglist: @kasueli @luvrgreyy @michellekmsh @miss0giarra @cinnabunnysavvy @redollface @my-loved-figure-skates @drawboo22 @luvlouiee @moth-quasar @nyxxoxo @misswynters

[milkyrrr]

(Inspired by @mono-the-robot artwork)

Awakening

Emptiness. Silence. Darkness.

Nothing. That's all Eclipse felt when he died. He didn't want anything. He didn't wish anything. Only rest in peace.

What was he feeling when he suddenly woke up? He could feel his whole body itching and aching with pain. He couldn't even make a sound to express how uncomfortable he was. He didn't understand what was going on. Some kind of noise that seemed to be trying to get through the vacuum to his auditory module, the darkness gradually dissipating in front of his visual module and turning into a vague veil before his eyes... Where is he?.. What is happening?.. Is this life after death?..

The body gave in to the movements with difficulty. Eclipse could barely move a finger, let alone turn his head and look around.

Hunger. This is the next thing he felt after the aching pain all over his body. He felt hunger with every cell of his body, with every atom of his existence. Is it possible? He's an animatronic, they don't need to eat food!

But...

It was a wild hunger. The desire to tear apart. Biting into someone's throat. To hear the screams of agony and horror of the victim.

What is it? Had the kill code awakened in him? No, Eclipse did not deny, he always had a craving for murder, he literally consisted of it, but it seemed to him that he put this thirst for murder and the suffering of victims into Bloodmoon, partially getting rid of it in himself. He wanted to be smarter than his dumb father and... brothers? Children? Eclipse didn't care about these family ties. He considered Bloodmoon to be nothing more than a creation that got out of control. Oh, if he had been a little more far-sighted then, he and Bloodmoon could have made a lot of chaos. Perhaps his plan could even come true.

But that was in the past. He died. So why does he feel this way then?

"....ke up..."

What?

"......Wake up....."

Where did that voice come from?

"Wake up, Eclipse."

Eclipse felt an electric shock run through his body. And then finally he heard himself. He screamed.

And he saw.

"Oh, I see you're already awake," nodded someone standing in the shadows, quickly clicking something on some device and turning off the flow of electricity. Eclipse felt his arms and legs become lighter. He was able to get up and sit down on the table where he had been lying all this time. Oh, that's it. He was literally strapped in without being able to move. That was the reason of the strange pressure on his whole body.

Head tightened into a ring of pain. Eclipse growled in displeasure, clutching it and squinting. It hurted so much. Unfortunately, it doesn't feel like life after death. It usually doesn't hurt after death. At least, not in such a "mortal" way if that was even possible.

"I'm hungry," Eclipse said irritably, realizing that he wasn't alone in this strange dim room, "I don't know who you are and nor do I care, because you're going to die right now."

The animatronic abruptly jumped up from his bunk, rushing towards the shadow in the dark. But suddenly his whole body shuddered and froze just a few inches away from the stranger. Eclipse opened his eyes wide in amazement.

Those eyes....

"What is it? Why did you stop?" He heard the sneer in fusion's voice.

He knew this guy. This dumb fusion... They didn't cross paths personally, but Eclipse knew of his existence.

How... what... Why?...

"Why?"

"Why what, dear? You should word your questions more precisely if you want to hear accurate answers," Ruin cooed playfully, bypassing Eclipse and finally appearing in full height in front of him. His mutilated body left a lot to be desired, there was a feeling that it was enough to bend this little man for him to split in half. But for some reason, Eclipse couldn't hurt him.

"Why did you remade me? Without a purpose? For fun? In order to use in your stupid doomed to fail plans? What do you want from me?" He growled in displeasure. Head still hurt. And hunger burned inside. Eclipse roared in angrily, slamming his fist hard against the iron wall, leaving a small dent.

Ruin didn't even flinch.

"Don't worry, my dear Eclipse. I'll give you a purpose. I am your purpose," he took Eclipse's face in his hands, forcing him to bend over, "Oh, I see... I see this anger and hunger in your eyes... You're just gorgeous," he whispered enthusiastically.

"My perfect creation. Don't worry, this is just the beginning of our rise. Very soon our eclipse will cover the sun, the moon, and no one will stop us. Come on, my errand boy. I know how to satisfy your hunger..."

[galene-gothic]

𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝖺 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎?

୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ I hope this reading found you in good health, every reblog is appreciated and thank you for everything :) ˖♡ ˎˊ˗ ꒰ 🐇 ꒱

˗ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗             PAID SERVICES

⸼ ۫ ︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 1 ꒱

Some sort of an event happened in the past, that's what people are discussing. Whatever happened seems to have caused you a lot of confusion. I honestly feel like people were purposely trying to cause chaos in your life in order to have some drama in their lives. These people seem to either have been/are close to you or just a close witness to the situation. They're saying good things about you, they're talking about how you released your sorrow, resentment or just negative emotions in general. They're saying that you've left your past behind. I just heard 'this boy', I have no clue but the drama might have included some boy. They're saying that your motivation and enthusiasm are returning now. They're saying that you've accepted the situation. They're saying that you're choosing to focus on the positives of life. They're saying that back then you were trying your best to have a positive attitude towards life and make what you could out of it. They might have witnessed you crying or expressing your sorrow, anger or whatever on the verge of tears. They're talking about how you've grown out of it. They're saying that you've grown to respect yourself now and have a lot of courage. The people who put you in such a situation might've been victimizing themselves and might've successfully guilt tripped you to a certain extent but you seem to have recovered from the guilt. They're talking about your endurance and your morals. They are saying that your views have changed or seem to have changed. There's another group of people, likely the ones who made you go through such a traumatizing time. They're saying that you lack self-awareness. They're saying that you only care about yourself. They're saying that you've not accepted what you've done and believe that you've been falsely blamed. I'm getting that it's because while some of it was your fault.

The way they dealt with the situation and treated you was much worse plus they seemed to just need an excuse to criticize you when they weren't even that affected by the situation. People who had nothing to do with the situation might've gotten involved too. Like, supposing you dated your friend's crush, the whole friend group might've turned against you when it didn't even affect them at all. Some of you might've trouble regarding education, some of you might've been forced to drop out or dropped out on will too, for the rest, you're just having difficulties with your studies. People are talking about it. The people who legit pray for your downfall are saying that you have unrealistic dreams and plans. They're saying that you don't have realistic goals and lack the motivation and discipline to work on your career. Someone saying that you're not someone who wants to work solely for money, you're not the type to be like 'as long as I get money, I don't mind giving up on my dreams' or atleast that's what they think and are talking about. Whatever everyone is saying seems to be assumptions mostly. People from the past who know nothing about who you've grown to be. I'm getting some sort of a pause for you. Gap year from work, education or social media. People who literally have nothing to do with you are gossiping about how you lack direction in life. For those of you who aren't dropouts or are not taking gap years, you might give really vague answers when asked about what you wish to do in the future. You might say things like "I haven't thought much about it yet" or "we'll see" or you might be unsure about what field to study next and you might accept it and sometimes vocalise it "I am not sure what to take yet". People wait for you to post so that they can have something to discuss or make fun of. People from the past are slowly beginning to see that your perspective is changing and you're gaining enlightenment.

The tea here isn't about what they're saying, it's more about how fearful they are of your growth and how many people have their eyes on you. People who literally do not know you but know the people or one of the people who tried their best to traumatize you tend to follow you, your friends, your love interests, etc. just because they're obsessed with you. Like, these people went off to college in the same or different places while you could not afford it, their college mates and friends follow you, the guy you were seen hanging out with, etc. I'm getting a very karmic vibe here. I'm not sure what or when but them looking at you and talking shit about you is weighing them down and lifting you up, little by little. Things are rebuilding for you. You're independent and friendly and the new people in your life see that. You know, the first few days at a new school, college or work. If you're pretty, you realise that you're pretty because of the way people act towards you and the things they say. You might suddenly have those moments "maybe, I am even more attractive than I originally assumed". People are obsessed with you and watching you. They're trying to strategize your every move and keeping tabs on you. Someone here legit dreams about getting a revenge on you and some imagine being better than you, being chosen by someone over you. Even if people do not say that they're mad at you due to external validation from people, they make it obvious and they literally form bonds based upon their jealousy masked as hatred towards you. They're mad because of the support you receive from others. Some of these people regret it because they never imagined you actually leaving them and letting go of them completely. While, one of them was definitely praying on your downfall and still is, the rest, they were just trying to poke some fun to excite themselves. The tea is that people have so many different assumptions about you at this time because they have no clue as to what you're doing, who you're with, etc.

⸼ ۫ ︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 2 ꒱

Some of you here are from Pile 1, someone here is praising you, they're saying that you're mature and grounded. I think that this is someone close to you because you actually do seem to be this way. They're saying that you're generous and social. They're saying that you're practical and care about material objects. They're saying that you have a good nature and intentions. They're saying that you're nurturing and emotionally intelligent. One hint as to who is praising you, it is someone you've talked to when you didn't do your routine or felt unproductive. You likely told them that you didn't get your work done that particular day and they likely told you that it's okay to have those days as long as you do not make it a habit. Some of you might be balancing between two or more different streams of income and they're saying that you are trying to harvest better time management skills. This person understands you very well, they're saying that you have a personality that is very balanced and traits that often contradict each other. You're the coldest warm person, warmest cold person, nicest mean person, meanest nice person, logical and emotional, etc. all at the same time. They're saying that you've gone through many ups and downs in life but always try to balance things out. They're saying that you try your best to keep your grace under pressure until you finally crack and burst.

They're also saying that you struggle with balancing though. This is definitely someone who knows you well. They saw you finally being able to mentally leave a situation. They're saying that you're releasing past hurts and pain. They're talking about your sense of independence and courage. They're so proud of you and your growth and they feel happy to be able to witness your growth. They're saying that you regained balance and control over yourself and your life again. This person has a lot of love for you. The connection between the both of you is likely platonic. This person really admires you for walking away or distancing yourself from past situations. You still seem to be healing though. They have a lot of faith in you. They're talking about your friendliness and ability to grow. They're saying that you're efficient and most likely will be successful in the future. This person knows that you felt used by people even if they do not speak about it. While, this person talks highly about you, there's someone else who's talking shit about you. They're saying that your relationships are very short lived and that you're superficial. They're saying that you're a bitchy person who has no friends (I'm getting that it's not like you cannot have friends, it's just that you don't have a lot of them or people extremely close to you right now.)

If you do, they're not aware of that, I'm getting that this person is likely making other people hate you along with them. If you guys had a break up, people are talking about that. There's a lot of gossip going around currently. This pile definitely seems to have had a falling out with friends or something. I just heard "if she's sad, she tries to drag your mood down too". You guys might have started your healing journey around children or are healing your inner child. Some of you have different projects that are helping you heal better. There's also a chance that some romance changed your perspective, people are not talking about it but it's kind of a confirmation for some of you. People are saying that you lack a vision for the future. They're saying that you do not have enough drive to go after your dreams and stay consistent. People are also talking about your failed long distance relationship. For some of you, it might've been just a situationship but they're not fully aware of that. A group of people are talking about how you've lost direction. They're saying that you'll get nowhere in the future, I just heard it's 'neighbourhood karens'. Someone is saying that you're going through an unrequited love. People are saying that you have blocked emotions and legit tell people not to talk to you so that you feel alone. They're saying that you hurt their feelings, made them sad and are exaggerating everything you've done to them even though they've done worse to you.

⸼ ۫ ︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 3 ꒱

People are saying that you're a social climber. If you go to school or college, juniors are talking about how mean you are. People might even be slutshaming you behind your back. The funny part is that so many of you here are probably virgins. They're saying that you lack/lacked financial stability and stayed friends with people just for their money. People are saying that you're out of control. They're saying that you're obsessed with status and use people. People are also saying that you act like you don't need anyone. The person or people who are talking trash about you are people who are still crying over spilt milk, likely people from the past. Someone is talking about how you have large sums of money and are likely stealing money from others. If you went to a sleepover recently, the person might've lost some money and talked shit about you behind your back. These people tried their best to guilt trip you in the past and it did work for a while but it stopped working after a while. They're still blaming you for everything. I'm getting that people tend to feel lower than you and then act like you're the problem. You might have betrayed them or they might have betrayed or both. This is someone you trusted who let you down. You might have done something that hurt one person in the group and the whole group turned against you is the scenario I'm getting. You might have almost completely hid yourself away from the world. These people are not open to change, they take everything as a personal attack and are still the people that they were a few years ago. You, on the other hand are the type to grow every single day. I'm getting that for some of you, you used to talk shit about others with this person or group of people but as you started growing older, you started feeling like it didn't align with your personal values and you might have called them out.

Maybe, you just refused to talk shit about others but they were like "oh, you think you're better than us/me?" Let's just say that they failed to understand you but they fear you strongly. They know that you have a lot of hidden secrets, there are so many things that they're trying to figure out about your life. You've withdrawn and are silent but you are often not like this and they feel like you're going to come up with something in full force. You naturally attract attention even if unwanted and right now you do not want attention, you want peace but when you come out of this period of solitude, they don't know what's going to greet them. They were in your life for pretty long until you had a falling out, they were always confused when you entered those periods of solitude and jumped into conclusions but everytime they did that, you did something surprising so they're naturally confused when it comes to you and your life currently. Everytime they ignored your potential, you proved them wrong. They spread misinformation on you but well you have something you have been working on that they can pick up on intuitively and they're so curious and feel like when you do step out of the self isolation or whatever, you're going to be so big, they will not know what to do. However, some of them are trying to reassure themselves and the rest that you lack potential for any of that. They think that you might've hidden agendas against them. These people cannot let go of you, mostly because if one of them doesn't bring you up, the other does. You're rising above the problems and their bitchiness. You've realised how worthy you really are and you think that you've gotten over the worst already and they can pick up on it too. You do not give them the time of the day. Your life improved in some way after they left your life and they know that.

It could be anything, something as small as your first job or something as big as a successful business, however, either way you're ahead of them in some way, regardless of whether they accept it or not. You've let go and learnt from the past to a certain extent and you're trying to fully release, they feel like their fears will come true. Their biggest fear is you realising your worth and achieving success. The amount of resilience you have is something that they cannot deny. Some of you are taking a break from school, college or work, maybe it's been one or two years now, you're still growing something for yourself though. They know that you have an ability that they lack, self awareness and acceptance, you're very much the 'yes, what I did was wrong but I forgive myself' kind of person while they're the 'yes, everything is my fault' while denying everything and refusing to look into themselves and their actions. I just heard that you're on your way to become a ten. You know and manage to take time out when you burn out, they aren't like that. They're too scared of being behind in life even though something like that doesn't really exist. They're burnt out and not content. Their life is tiresome because of some routine, I just heard 'rat race'. You're taking a lot onto yourself and someone else is talking about how hard you are on yourself and appreciating your efforts. Some are talking about how beautiful, nurturing and respectful you are. You're growing, please continue doing so.

[katerina-marie]

The Tragedy of a Duality

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader and (Past) Ryomen Sukuna x Female Reader

Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3, Chp 4, Chp 5, Chp 6, Chp 7 (Final)

In the present, you are a sorcerer and the cherished wife of the Honored One. In an era long gone, remembered by only one, you were ordinarily human and the beloved bride of the King of Curses. How fitting it would be, in an evening of destruction, to have your heart torn in two.

Content: JJK Universe and Canon Events (tho tweaked to incorporate reader), Fluff, Angst, Flashbacks, Ambiguous ending, Violence, Death, Female reader but left descriptively vague, No use of y/n, True Form Sukuna in the past, Itadori Yuji is Sukuna's vessel in the present but nothing inappropriate b/n reader and Itadori as the vessel, Will add more CW to each chapter if needed.

WC: 6.1k

A/N: A flashback, some cracky humor (cause it all goes downhill after this), and Sukuna's POV.

Chapter 6

You are not certain, but you think it is close to evening by the way darkness begins to creep onto the walls of your bed chamber. 

A throbbing ache feels as though it may nearly split your skull, and it slithers down behind your eyes and nose. There is a chill to your body that has persisted since the last time you fell asleep, and if you request one more blanket from the servants, you worry they might consider putting you in the fire completely as nothing else seems to suffice. You briefly entertain the idea. Anything, really, if it will get the aching of your muscles and joints to cease. The only small mercy of being struck with an illness is the way you are left relatively unbothered to burrow beneath your mountain of blankets and slip in and out of feverish slumber as you please. 

“Would you care to tell me why I had to wait until now to hear from Uraume that you have been bedridden?” 

Were unbothered, it would seem. 

“Bedridden is a bit extreme, Sukuna. It is just a fleeting sickness.” 

Still nestled under your blankets, you manage to open one eye and peek out. Your husband stands just before your bed with his upper arms crossed and his others hidden beneath his white robes. There is no humor to soften his face, and you let out a small sigh of defeat. 

“I will be alright,” you assure him. “I asked Uraume not to say anything to you before you left yesterday after our midday meal, so please do not be cross with them.” 

“And I may ask again; why?” 

You try to smile at Sukuna this time, but you suspect it might be a little lopsided or dazed—something fever induced. “Well, it is nothing overly concerning and I am being well cared for. Besides, I did not want to get in the way of whatever conquering or pillaging or other kingly duty you were whisked away for.” 

Sukuna does not reciprocate the haphazard grin on your face, nor does he bristle at the way you try to poke fun at him. “That is foolish of you.” 

You gawk at him. “Well, that is rude. If you will not be kind, go off elsewhere and I will find another to listen to my complaints.” 

You are only half-heartedly disgruntled by his brusqueness, but you go to throw a blanket back over yourself nonetheless when you feel his hand seize your wrist. He bends at the waist to hover over you, and his eyes do not let go of yours. “You will inform me immediately the next time you are ill.” 

This time, your eyes narrow and indignance sharpens your voice. “And for what purpose would that serve? You are very busy and we have perfectly adept staff who are able to answer my beck and call. You do not need to waste time tending to me, Sukuna.” 

Your vehemence drives his back upwards. His arms hang still at his sides and you can see his jaw clenching. “It would please me to do so, should you give me the opportunity.” 

The words freeze whatever curt retort you have ready on your tongue, and you blink at him, admittedly dumbfounded. 

“Do you think I would not?” Sukuna asks, and you don’t particularly like the way his voice sounds almost hurt. You open your mouth, ready to speak, but you aren’t sure if you should be apologizing or offering some kind of explanation because if you are being very honest, you are not quite sure if he would have spent the day at your side while you languish in sickness. 

“Ah,” he murmurs, and this time there is no denying that you have wounded him. “I am sorry that I have acted in a way that makes you think so.” 

If you look back on the last six months of your marriage, there is not any true example that would sway you into believing one way or another. Sukuna has his moments of tenderness with you, but they do not hide away his tendency towards terseness or foul moods, though that is mostly reserved for his communication with others. 

“It is not that,” you tell him slowly, and you finally feel ashamed when surprise makes his brows lift. “I am afraid I have hastily made an unfair assumption. I apologize.”

Sukuna does nothing for a moment but look at you, but eventually he nods and takes a step back. “No apology necessary. I will leave you to rest.” 

Your heart lurches in your chest when he turns to leave and you see something akin to disappointment on his face, so you quickly claw your way out from under your blankets to sit up and call his name. 

“Please wait,” you ask of him, and you are grateful when Sukuna does pause at your door. “I would like it if you would lay with me.” 

He hesitates, and now exposed to the cool air of the room, you shiver. 

“If that would please you,” he says quietly, and Sukuna is already slipping into bed before you can blink. You shuffle over to make room for him, but he is quick to draw you against his chest and tighten the blankets around you both. The heat that radiates off his skin is delightful, and you make a noise of contentment as you wiggle in as closely to him as you can get. You feel a pleased rumble in his chest under your cheek and it brings a smile to your face. 

“Thank you,” and you whisper it into his skin. 

The two of you remain silent and still underneath the blankets for long enough that sleep begins to steal you away, but Sukuna’s voice just happens to catch you before you drift off. 

“Being gentle,” he starts, and it sounds as though he is a little unsure of himself. “It is not in my nature. It is not something that comes obviously and easily to me.” You lean your head back so you can look at him, and you are thoroughly wrecked when you realize there is vulnerability in his eyes. You cling to him a little tighter then. “But for you, because there is nothing that will ever come before you in terms of what is important and precious to me, I will do my best and try.” 

Tears sting your eyes and something like love surges inside of you, and nothing—not even the pain in your head—would keep you from pressing your mouth against his. Sukuna allows it, returns it with equal fervor, but pulls away from you sooner than you would like. He smiles at the whine you let out and the pout that turns your lips down, and you feel his hand cup your neck as he urges your head back down against his chest. 

“Hush now and rest.” 

You scoff, a tired breathless thing, but your tone is affectionate when you tell him, “what a terrible monster you are.” 

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

The grand reveal of a not-dead Itadori to Fushiguro and Kugisaki takes place as planned the following day. The two take it a little better than you anticipated, though you still cringe through the entire surprise that you unsuccessfully tried to convince Satoru not to do. They stare in disbelief and shock as Satoru ushers Itadori out from the cramped storage bin he’s in. They don’t say a word as their friend waves at them with a wide grin on his face, and before you can protest, Satoru simply laughs and encourages them to have a good day in training before bounding off to who-knows-where, leaving you to gently reassure the three of them and offer a brief explanation for the whole situation.

“So, you knew the entire time?” Kugisaki questions, and skepticism is all over her face as she stands with her hand on a cocked hip. The three first years hover around you under the tree in the corner of the training field, and both Kugisaki and Fushiguro look as if they’ve aged five years. “Gojo-sensei didn’t lie or hide it from you?” 

“No,” you say with an adamant shake of your head. “I don’t think he’s capable of keeping a secret like that from me. Not that it would be in his best interest to do so.” 

It’s not speculation that has you telling her such. Many times over the years Satoru has proven his inability to lie to you, or even distort the truth in a way that could be considered deceptive. All it takes is a knowing look in his direction and Satoru is spilling his guts. 

“Yes, alright! It was me that broke Nanami’s glasses. Please don’t tell him! I already sold out Kugisaki for it.” 

“Oh…no. That is not an engagement ring I’ve been hiding under my pillow. Why would you ask that?” 

“So, I maybe, kind of told Suguru you find his technique disgusting and that’s why he won’t partner up with you for assignments anymore, but hey! Don’t be mad. Now you’re with me!”

Or even last night for instance, after each of you exchange apologies for the earlier fight, Satoru hurriedly explains that he didn’t intentionally hide the fact he fed Itadori the second finger and just simply forgot to mention it. You laugh nervously and quickly forgive him again as you try to hide the fact that you have forgotten about that particular detail. Nanami must have chastised him in some way, and you suppose you're grateful. But really, you just want Satoru to stop looking at you with that kicked puppy expression. 

You shake your head of the memories and look back at your students. “It almost never ends well for him, so it’s not something he does often.” 

Fushiguro scoffs and shoots you an exasperated look. “Does he at least learn his lesson and apologize?” 

His words exasperate the last lingering bits of guilt you still feel from yesterday’s argument, and you wince as you try to come up with a reply that would restore the image of Satoru’s character.

Kugisaki beats you to it and throws her head back in laughter. “What a sight that would make! Gojo-sensei begging your forgiveness with a bouquet of flowers in hand!”

Itadori gags and Fushiguro looks like he feels the same. 

“Pathetic and sad is exactly what that would look like,” he says, and he starts to walk away with Itadori to avoid any more talk of Satoru and grand romantic gestures.

You sigh defeatedly and use a hand to wave off Kugisaki’s suggestion. 

“There’s really no need for such extremes,” you say. “Besides, Satoru knows better than to get me flowers.” Your face puckers like you’ve smelled something rancid.

Kugisaki doesn’t have the chance to respond before Itadori is snapping his head towards you so harshly and abruptly that you would worry for the bones in his neck if there weren’t black tattoos suddenly taking over his face. You’d say Sukuna nearly looks stunned stupid if offense didn’t have him gaping at you.

“You do not care for flowers?” 

It doesn’t come out as a question so much as it does a demand for an explanation, and you are perplexed as to why such an asinine topic of conversation could possibly prompt him into coming out. Especially when he looks grumpier now than every other time you’ve seen him.

Fushiguro and Kugisaki, on the other hand, look very much like they’ve seen a ghost. 

“Uh, no,” you tell him, and Sukuna’s head recoils back like you slapped him. “I don’t like them. Something about the pollen or whatever itches my nose and makes my eyes water. I avoid them the best I can, honestly.” 

Sukuna can only blink at you, and it isn’t until you lift your hands in a tentative apology that laughter begins to build in his chest. It rises in volume exponentially until he rears his head back, and it bursts out of him in a way that is nearly hysterical. It makes the hair on your arms stand up, and you, Fushiguro, and Kugisaki take an uneasy step back from him. His laughter cuts off and when he turns his eyes back to you, they are wide in their excitement and his grin is full of teeth.

“Well, that is new!” Sukuna thunders, and you have no earthly idea as to what he could be referring to. “You did always know how to surprise me.” 

And just as quickly as they appeared, the tattoos fade, and within a moment, Itadori is shaking his head and looking to you for clarification. You shrug because it’s not like you have any to offer. 

After some gentle reassurance of their safety, you coax your students onto the training field to spar with one another while you watch from under the shade of a tree. With your thoughts scattered between all manner of things, time passes without you perceiving it, and Satoru is waltzing back onto the training field an hour later, munching on an apple and looking as though he has no care in the world.

“How are my beloved students doing?” he asks when he takes his place by your side, though he stands just a bit farther than he usually would. You give him a hesitant smile and wave a hand towards where Kugisaki has just dealt a particularly harsh blow to Itadori’s side as she cackles. Fushiguro watches from a few feet away, looking very much like he’d rather be anywhere else. When Satoru calls to them in greeting, all three turn and offer waves and ‘hellos’ in varying levels of enthusiasm. 

“Just fine,” you tell Satoru, and he bats his lashes at the pointed look on your face, “though they would probably do even better if their esteemed teacher actually showed up to teach them.” 

Satoru shrugs in a what can you do attitude, and you roll your eyes as you swipe the apple from his hand to take a large bite of it. The remaining tension between you two eases, and you’re thrilled to see the small makings of a smile on his lips.

“Fruit thief,” he complains, and you giggle around a mouthful of apple. 

Suddenly, a loud curse and an exclamation of surprise sound out from where the students are on the field. When you and Satoru spin around in that direction, Kugisaki is sprawled out on the ground face towards the sky and laying farther away from the other two than what should reasonably be possible. Fushiguro stares with a haunted look on his face. Itadori is breathing heavily and looks just as shocked. When he glances down at his hands as if they could explain what happened, you notice the slits under his eyes flicker shut and a pool of dread settles in your stomach. 

Satoru looks at you briefly before he’s striding out onto the field with hands buried in his pockets. 

“Yuji,” he calls, though there’s no discipline in voice. “Let’s not try and throw our peers halfway across the field, okay?”

All three students laugh, albeit nervously, as Satoru goes to check on them, and you are left to worry about what in the world could have set off Sukuna. 

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

There are a number of things you could blame your lack of reaction on, but you would probably just chalk it up to plain exhaustion if you live long enough for anyone to ask. 

While Fushiguro and Kugisaki are somewhere up above on the highway fighting two curses, you and Itadori handle one under a bridge in a shallow ravine. You manage to dodge the first blow from the curse across from you, but your limbs are already weary and the ground is slick, and you aren’t quick enough to defend against the second one. In a final moment, you throw your arms up in some meaningless way to protect your face and clench your eyes shut. You have a split second to anticipate the pain before a great force has knocked you to the ground and into the cold earth below.

“Move!” Sukuna growls in your ear, and it takes you a beat to recognize that the weight at your back is him. You think his hands might clench into your shirt and maybe it’s his nose in your hair, but you have no more time to consider it as he is up and off of you as soon as you blink. 

You push onto your hands and peer over your shoulder where the curse now sits in a pile of ash. When you sit up completely, Sukuna is standing off to your right and looks down at you, his face completely devoid of any emotion. His shirt is torn at the elbow and singed in a couple spots. He rolls his shoulder twice, loosening the muscles there, and though he makes no move to help you up, his hand clenches and unclenches rapidly. You get up on your feet then.

“You are unharmed?” he asks, and there’s a rough edge to his voice that you don’t recall being there before.

You glance up at him in the middle of sweeping dirt from your arms and hands, a fruitless attempt since you’re covered in an amount of mud that only a shower would fix, and he is clearly expecting your immediate answer. 

“I’m alright.”

Sukuna nods once and then shifts away from you to sweep his eyes along the edges of the trees and further down the ravine. You recognize the meticulous way he scans the scenery, deeming it clear of any remaining threats, and the action tugs at something in your chest. Satoru tends to do the same thing anytime the two of you go on an assignment together, and you always tease him for his over precaution. 

“Thank you,” you add quietly, because the extra protective measure certainly isn’t for himself. Sukuna doesn’t turn back or respond to your gratitude, but his lower eye takes glimpses of you out of its corner. 

“Can I ask you a question?” you blurt out. 

Sukuna doesn’t respond right away. All that fills the silence is the trickling of a nearby stream and the faint crackling rustle of the tree branches above your head as they sway slightly in the evening breeze. But then he is angling his chin to glance at you over his shoulder. “If I am not mistaken, you just did.” 

He sounds less than enthused, but curiosity has been eating you alive since the very moment Sukuna first made himself known to you, and so the words tumble forth with no hope to stop them.

“What happened?”

Surely he must know what you are referring to, and you see Sukuna’s shoulders heave with a great sigh. He splays his fingers wide, and the veins and tendons in his hands pop in a way that looks painful. With an eerie slowness, he turns toward you and levels you with a look that has you immediately regretting the question.

“Do you really wish to know?” The edge of his voice is nearly taunting, almost tempting. 

No. Yes. Maybe. It’ll keep you up at night if you don’t know, but you worry you’ll never sleep the same again if you do. 

Sukuna must see the indecision on your face, and he makes the choice for you.

“Well then,” he begins casually, but his demeanor as he starts to walk towards you is anything but. It takes all your concentration to stay rooted to your spot even though instinct tells you to flee. “To what extent will your curiosity be satiated?”

Anxiety is churning your stomach, and something about this is very wrong. His movements are predatory in their preciseness, and his eyes are narrowed, hardened by something unknown to you. He is different. Something has shifted, and you wouldn’t have called Sukuna kind, but whatever keeps the ferocity of his anger-adjacent emotions in check is long-gone. When he comes to a stop an arm’s length apart, he smirks and it is cruel.

“Would it thrill you to hear that I know how you taste?”

You feel the color bleed away from your face because surely he can’t mean—

 “And certainly in more ways than you are thinking.” 

His eyes track the bobbing of your throat when you swallow loud enough for you both to hear. At the same time, your foot slides backward in the mud to maintain distance, and his follows suit.

“Or,” Sukuna emphasizes, and his eyes flare wide. “How would you feel if I told you that the blame for your death lies at my feet?” 

It’s the first confirmation you get for something you have suspected—that if what he says is true, you died centuries ago—but the implication that it’s Sukuna’s fault is something you hadn’t considered, and the idea is terrifying and prompts more questions that you don’t have the gall to ask. 

“Nevermind,” you tell him. You look out around you and then up at the highway to see if you can spot Fushiguro and Kugisaki anywhere, eager to be done with this conversation. But Sukuna is not done with you, and he creeps just a little closer. 

“But you want to know,” he croons, and now your heart is starting to race and the fine hair on your arms stand straight. “Shall I describe to you how you used to mewl and beg when I had you under me? Or that you liked when I would sink my teeth into that spot where your neck meets your shoulder.” 

Sukuna tilts his head, and the innocence of it is such a harsh contrast to the severity of him. “Tell me, does that husband of yours do the same?” 

“Please, stop.” Normally you’d hate the weakness in your voice and the way it nearly comes out in a whimper, but you don’t care, not when your only priority is getting away from him. You take a hurried step back and your heel slips, and there is a sickening swoop in your stomach as you begin to pitch backwards.

But in a movement too quick for you to see, Sukuna catches you around your upper arms. You dangle back in his grip as he lowers his head so closely to yours that your noses almost touch. His eyes burn red, his mouth is twisted into snarl, and he must be able to feel the way your breath stutters out over his face. Sukuna bows over you, and behind his head, the midnight blue of the night sky encompasses the view of your peripherals. In the back of your mind, you take notice of the fact that you don’t feel the prick of his nails against your skin.

“Do you dream of me?” Sukuna whispers, and it is hushed and frenzied and derisive. His eyes dart down once to your lips. “Do you have nightmares about what will happen when I get a hold of that last finger? Whom do you think I will come for first—you, or your beloved?”

You wrench yourself back with a sob, and Sukuna somehow relents. His hands leave your arms as rapidly as they came, but you stand steady and upright when he appears a couple feet away. 

“Ah,” Sukuna chides, and satisfaction makes his expression haughty, though there is something mournful hiding in the lines of his face. “You remember me now; a monster—evil, if you do say so yourself.” Shame passes over you quickly as you realize he heard the tail end of your argument with Satoru. 

 “Well, I am pleased to meet your expectations.” He sneers at you as he shoves his hands into his pockets, and you hear fabric tear. If you didn’t know any better, you would say you wounded him. 

But that can’t be possible, not when he is what he claims to be and what you accuse him of. You are reminded now of what a pointless endeavor this is. Whatever it is you want to call it—a latent curiosity, a brief musing for passing boredom—is irrelevant, as is whatever tragic history that may or may not have occurred a thousand years ago. There is plenty of reasonable doubt for you to conclude that only a shred of truth might hide in between the vitriol Sukuna spits. As for the scant moments of tenderness, where his eyes bleed longing and every inch of him yearns to touch you, you dismiss them as fleeting instances of torment in the name of entertainment. Gentleness would be a facade he wears and something he couldn’t be familiar with. Monsters don’t know such things. 

“Nevermind,” you say, and this time your voice is firm and unwavering. “I don’t want to know.”

Silence follows and Sukuna is unfazed by your answer. He doesn’t try to persuade you, and you think he sees the finality in your face. The lowering of his eyes and the clenching of his jaw might betray the emotion he’s working to keep concealed—disappointment, regret, misery—but he turns and begins to walk away before you can study him any further. 

“I will leave the brat over here for you,” he calls and then slips into the darkness of the trees. There is something resigned and dismissive in the sound of his voice and the way he waves a hand over one shoulder, and it leaves you to wonder what will happen the next time you meet Ryomen Sukuna.

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

When you whisper “I’m sorry” into the skin between Satoru’s shoulder blades, it is hours after you return home muddy and exhausted from your assignment, and enough time has passed since the two of you went to bed that you both should already be asleep. Satoru might have been close to it with the groggy way he says your name, but he stirs nonetheless and twists under the covers so he can face you instead. 

“What for?” he asks. His eyes blink heavily, and his hair is almost long enough now to tangle in his lashes, the white of them making where one ends and the other begins nearly indistinguishable. “We already apologized to each other, remember?” 

You appreciate the softness on his face and how forgiving his voice is, but you still shake your head. “You deserve a better apology. My feelings at that moment wouldn’t have changed, but I shouldn’t have let my temper get in the way of discussing things with you.” 

Satoru’s answering smile is a little sad, but he still reaches for you so he can wrap his arms under your neck and over your shoulder. He tugs you once more so your head leaves your pillow and is cushioned by his bicep instead. His embrace is as warm and comforting as you always know it to be, and you skim your nose against his collarbone to breathe in the lingering scent of his soap and shampoo. Doing so lowers the volume level of the noise in your head. 

“Well, then I owe you one too. I am sorry. I was being childish.” You feel Satoru tighten his arms around you and his chest expands against yours as he inhales deeply. “You have to know that you are the most precious thing to me. There is nothing else. I do not mean to coddle you or doubt your capabilities in any way. And I trust you implicitly.” He leans back slightly so he can look down at you. “There is no word fitting to describe what I would feel if something happened to you. So please, forgive me when I am unbearable. It is only because I love you.” 

It strikes you then that love could take the form of overprotection and possessiveness in a man who has already lost someone dear to him to a greater evil, and you hate that you now understand the feeling so well. 

You can only nod in response, mostly because tears are pricking your eyes and you are one second away from having your breath hitch in your throat, so you quickly duck your head to hide against him. Satoru, in all his perceptiveness, would certainly not miss it if you started crying, and you don’t know how to describe to him that those tears come from so many different things: exhaustion—mental and physical, anxiety, an overwhelming love for him, and shame that you hurt someone, even if one could argue he deserves it. 

But Satoru knows you too well, and his voice is full of concern when he asks, “did something happen earlier?” 

“Whom do you think I will come for first—you, or your beloved?”

“No,” you lie, and the hypocrisy of your conversation with the first years a while back isn’t lost on you. If anything, it’s what drives a single tear to break free from your lashes and dart over the bridge of your nose. You hope Satoru doesn’t feel it when it drops onto his skin. 

“Are you sure?” 

You’re not, but you don’t have the wherewithal, the energy, the bandwidth, or any type of capability to discuss that with him. Maybe later. Maybe another day. But for now, you are determined to put away any lingering thoughts of a monster with pink hair. You refuse to give into the fear he certainly tried to strike in you, unwilling to let it needle its way any further into the marriage you have now, regardless of whether or not you were part of another in some previous lifetime. 

So, you suck in a deep breath and blink away any moisture from your eyes because you are in the arms of the man you love, and when you shift back to look at Satoru, the smile on your face is effervescent and genuine. 

“I am sure.” 

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

The simple mind of Itadori Yuji is utterly dull and painfully boring. There is nothing for Sukuna to do but contemplate the decisions that now find him trapped, and that—combined with the incessant chattering of the other two sorcerers beside the brat—is why he misses every sign of your approach. 

He doesn’t pay much attention when the white-haired one stands up with a moronic grin on his face, and Sukuna does not think that whatever suddenly catches the boy’s attention will be anything worth it. That is, until, the first images of you cross Itadori’s mind and Sukuna’s entire being is jolted so jarringly that he is in control and looking at you for the first time in a thousand years faster than anyone in the room can anticipate.

You are as stunning and magnificent as the day he first saw you, and your expression is nearly the same this time around; wide eyed, lips parted in a way that you probably don’t mean to be enticing, and Sukuna is lost in you all over again. Maybe it’s delerium—elation—that makes memories of the past flash in front of him as he drinks you in, and for a minuscule second, Sukuna is back under a pear tree.

But devastation is quick to follow when he realizes that recognition is not flickering in your eyes when your gaze meets his, and despite how you try to hold yourself strong and still, your limbs tremble and you lean away from him. Sukuna has spent a millennia mourning you, and regrettably, he wonders just how many lives of yours he missed while split into pieces across the land. He thinks it’s fitting penance because of what he let happen to you. However, in this moment you meet again, you seek out another, one who is not him and whose face is responsible for the smile on your lips that spurred him into movement just before. 

You belong to another, and you do not remember him.

Then, in the morgue, it’s the first time Sukuna is alone with you in centuries. He saved the brat whose body he borrows, only because he knows how your heart is soft for the lives of mortals, and once upon a time it opened up for him who is not. You thank him, and Sukuna knows he is powerless to anything you ask of him.

 You are only an arms reach away, and the combination of your scent and the way your mannerisms are familiar bring him as close to giddiness as he can allow. And then, however far-fetched, Sukuna thinks you might reach out and touch him, and he is ready to lean forward and accept your hand.

But Gojo Satoru is at the door, and when you turn to look at him, Sukuna is all but forgotten. The way you smile and preen for him is abhorrent, and in an unprecedented move of cowardice, Sukuna releases control back to Itadori Yuji, if only so he doesn’t have to watch as your husband stakes his claim on you. 

And then he hears you arguing with Gojo, and it dashes whatever pleasant emotion was building inside of him at the unexpected opportunity to see you. For once, Sukuna thinks he might be grateful for Itadori Yuji when he effectively ends the conversation. The vehement hatred in your voice and the words you spat repeat viciously inside his head, and Sukuna is demanding that Itadori flee the room so he no longer has to look at you. It pains him. You pain him. And truthfully, that has to be the underlying reason for why Sukuna lashes out at you in the middle of a ravine on a dark night. 

He relishes in the brief connection of your bodies, and allows himself the smallest inhale of your scent before he can bear it no longer and throws himself from you. Sukuna is torn between his anger at you and his need to concern himself with your wellbeing. Instead, he takes to diligently scouring the surrounding trees to ensure there isn’t hidden danger lurking. 

When you ask him in a voice that is timid and unsure to explain to you what really happened a millennium ago, fury mounts as Sukuna hears your words play back again inside his head. Did you deserve to know something so sacred to him? Would you carefully listen or trample all over the truthfulness of it, considering it as nothing more than an unfortunate story? Sukuna doesn’t know if he’s able to withstand that kind of wound from you tonight, and in a poor attempt at self protection, he does what he’s best at—what is in his nature. 

There are tears running down your cheeks that you don’t seem to notice. You look at him in fear and trembling, and something inside Sukuna despairs. You don’t know that there has never been a need for you to cower under him. That once long ago, you meet his fury and ire with bared teeth of your own, fiercely strong and unafraid. You can smooth away Sukuna’s temper with nothing more than a stroke of your skin against his, but you will not. Not with the way you’re looking at him now, and Sukuna knows he’s put you on the path of hating him. 

He does not know the point of it, or what benefit doing so serves him. Sukuna supposes it’s because he has no idea what to do with you now. There is no feasible path he can see that would bring you back to him. He knows your loyalty would never broker space for him in your heart after already dedicating yourself to Gojo Satoru. He doubts the white-haired sorcerer would share you, and Sukuna detests the idea of it even more.

To follow through with his threat and rip your lover from you would only further sway you into the camp of others who conspire against him in this age and obliterate any hope that you would willingly come to him. That aside, inflicting you with the same pain of loss that he experienced after your death is too cruel, even for a creature like him. 

In a last ditch attempt, Sukuna could surrender himself completely to the authority of today’s jujutsu (Gojo Satoru, again) and remain obediently imprisoned inside Itadori Yuji in exchange for getting to watch you from afar. He thinks he owes you that at least; a long-lived life with the person you love. 

But that idea wars with Sukuna’s very being. He would never prostrate himself so lowly and submit himself to be controlled in such humiliation. But he always swore that nothing would come before you, and there is no else worthy of his complete submission than you. Though, Sukuna worries this alternative would drive him to the edge—if not into complete—madness. Subjecting himself to a lifetime of watching you love another the same way you once loved him seems like an effective way of destroying himself. 

Thus, Sukuna remains directionless and hides in the coverage of the trees. He wants to watch you for just a moment longer before he has to give control back to the brat. It aches him to see how you wipe tears from your cheek and then roll your shoulders back to shake off any lingering emotion. The sight is so familiar, so quintessentially you, but only in a time before this, and he desperately wishes he was still there.

Ryomen Sukuna misses you, even when you are standing right in front of him.

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

A/N: I am sorry if this chapter felt unpolished compared to the rest. As soon as I started to feel better on Friday, my toddler got sick and has been since then. I didn't get to devote the same amount of quality time editing this chapter as I would have liked, and I don’t anticipate that changing until my little one is better. If the final chapter isn't posted on Wednesday like I originally planned, it should only be a day or to delayed (but I don't think it will be).

Thank you all <3

Taglist (open): @kalopsia-flaneur ; @kafanizdakicokiyi ; @rosso-seta ; @lululala06

[sinisterexaggerator]

Fair Recompense

Tech x Gen! Reader

Warnings: None. Small bit of fluff and a kiss.

Word count: 1.3k

Notes: I decided to write a series of "goodbye" ficlets where the reader takes / removes something from each of CF99 as they part ways, however this one, along with Wrecker, deviated a little bit from that path. In this case, the story is left open-ended.

Crosshair || Echo || Hunter || Wrecker

---

Luck was your business, born into a family who owned a bit of property on Ord Mantell. While most had to search out creative ways to eke a living, you had it made.

As the proud owner of a spacious hangar, it meant you did not have to want for much. Credits were earned not by hard work, but by allowing patrons to dock their starships; there were never enough empty bays to go around.

Still, you were fair; you did not make it a habit to overcharge. Not only that, but you offered droids, specialized equipment, and your mechanical expertise when needed to those who could use a helping hand to make repairs.

It was here that one particular man caught your eye. While his companions found better things to do, this clone remained.  Besides being one of several million replicas of a long-dead bounty hunter, he looked familiar to you. You vaguely recalled witnessing his chiseled mug somewhere on the HoloNet; he was plagued by notoriety for a Riot Race he had won back on Serolonis, yet you failed to mention it.

Tech was his name; he did not pay you any mind as you watched him work from day-to-day. You were careful not to get too close, hoping that he would not take notice of your studious appraisal – at least at first.

Then, you found it was hard to capture his attention, even if you desired to strike up a conversation. So caught up in his own affairs, he barely seemed to register your presence except when rent was coming due.

You asked about his travels, and what he liked to do for fun. You offered him fresh Jawa Juice, and even tried to inquire about his ship.

Answers were scant, his patience sparse when it came to what he perhaps thought was frivolous small talk that served no purpose, or so it seemed. You had become so enthralled with him that your heart felt heavy in your chest with each rejection, even if it was only something you yourself perceived.  

Determination took hold as you decided to attempt a different tactic, hearing that he would soon take off on another mission for Ciddarin Scaleback. Word traveled fast in these parts, and rumors had begun to circulate; Tech was wanted by the Empire, but as far as you were concerned, his secret was safe with you.

“Tech?” you asked, more so to alert him to your approach. He turned; he was undeniably handsome, no matter that his gorgeous brown eyes rarely lifted from off his datapad.

“Yes, what is it?” he questioned offhand, fiddling with some unknown sequence of code that was reflected within the transparisteel lenses of his round goggles.

“I hear you are heading out tomorrow,” you remarked, twisting your foot against the flattop of your hangar; you kept your hands behind your back on purpose.

“Do not worry, I shall settle our bill before we vacate the premises,” he reassured you dryly. He did not give you a second thought, or even a second glance.

“I’m not worried,” you shyly stated, admiring the distinctive features of his face. “I want to give you something,” you timidly informed him.

Tech’s forefinger pressed against the bridge of his eyewear, pushing it snug against his nose. Finally, he looked at you, amber-colored eyes even more beautiful up close, or as close as you dared.

“I do not understand,” he replied, his tone neither harsh nor excited. It was an honest declaration on his end; suddenly your palms were sweating, your hold loosening on the item stowed away just out of sight.

Tech arched a brow, taking note of the minor change in your appearance with muted curiosity, yet he could not keep from adding his two credits. “You appear to be ‘under the weather,’” he said laconically, Tech’s tone changing to emphasize the usage of this specific idiom. “Perhaps you could do with some rest.”

“I’m— I’m fine, really, I—” You bit your lip, gazing at him as if there was a gulf the size of Yavin Prime between you; you felt like you might cry, however asinine the notion. “I brought you a laser-caliper, since you keep having to borrow mine,” you whispered.

“Why?” he asked; it was a sincere question, Tech unsure how he had earned such a gift when he had done nothing to warrant this show of kindness.

You brought the small tool out from behind your back, fiddling with it in your hands. You hoped your answer would be good enough to satisfy him. “Because— because you need one of your own,” you humbly offered.

“And what do you want in exchange?” The query baffled you; you had not thought that far ahead. Should you want something? All you had wished to do was make his life a little easier.

You glanced about, anxious, and suddenly unsure. Was this somehow too forward? Was it obvious you had grown to enjoy his company, however short he was with you? Were you making a fool out of yourself?

“To see your eyes,” you blurted out. The man paused any movement, his attractive countenance, as always, an unreadable mask of what you assumed to be near-cold indifference.

“I beg your-?”

“-Please,” you interrupted, your voice laced with desperation. The word had exited too quickly from your lips; you felt ashamed.

“I’m sorry—” you corrected, not knowing which way to turn, which way to walk in order to rid yourself of this overtly embarrassing predicament.

“The recompense you have requested seems fair,” Tech asserted plainly.

You mildly gasped, a small intake of breath that caught in your throat. The tall, handsome clone strode forward, holding out his hand to take the laser-caliper.

“And a kiss,” you added, too brazen for your own good; you presumed you had pushed your luck too far. Still, you waited, your wincing becoming more defined the longer his silence stretched between you both.

“Fine,” he answered tersely, causing your eyes to widen and expand. He stood before you, inactive, delaying his departure back to where the Marauder camped, eager for his tending.

Slowly, thoughtfully, you extended your arm, gifting to him the laser-caliper you had promised. He took it from you, taking the time to inspect it before squarely staring through to your soul.

“Well?” he asked, both hands full up with his datapad and the tool now in his possession. Nervously, you searched his face, then you sought to do what had previously been thought unthinkable.

Meticulously, and with the utmost care, you lifted and removed Tech’s goggles from off his nose. Once loosed from his ears, you were deliberate with your intentions; you made sure not to pull a single strand of his curly hair.

Though you now appeared mostly as a blur, Tech could still make out your expression. He noted you looked pleased, and in turn he felt slightly amused, his feelings marked by the smallest upturn of his shapely lips.

“Now?” you asked, afraid he might change his mind at any moment.

“Now is as good a time as any,” he responded, Tech going so far as to tilt his body forward, his mouth mere centimeters from your own.

You craned your neck, taking a new liberty, your free hand meeting the turn of his cheek. You cradled his firm jaw in the crook of your palm as you unabashedly lingered, pressing into the soft flesh of his downy lips.

Then, he surprised you; he had clipped his datapad to his belt in one fluid motion, the backs of his gloved fingers tracing the curved line of your jaw. His caress extended from the base of your ear to the start of your soft neck; you could not help but to relax at his welcomed touch.

Your eyes closed as he attempted to deepen your kiss, the sound of your heartbeat drumming in your ears as you allowed Tech to take the lead.

It would last longer than you had ever hoped for, stealing your breath away. Once you found the wherewithal to break free of your shared embrace, Tech gave you the equivalent of a knowing smirk.

“Truth be told, I thought you would never ask.”

[patroxlos]

in another ask u said that reader feeds into his insecurities and worsens his abandonment issues could u explain it more? also loved how we got to know reader more in the last chapter it helps build character and made me think abt how much deep the reveal is gonna be (angst coming? 👀). tnks for the food💕

the angst will be coming! and they will be miscommunicating so much more than they are right now! im excited because ch8 is significant to establish the reader's motive >:) but to answer your question...

SUMMARY:

all will be revealed as the story progresses >:) i was intentionally vague in that ask because it hasnt been revealed in the story yet what caused you two to fall nearly out years ago, but that said im a yapper HAHAHA

your role as his childhood friend is significant bc u are tied to his past in japan, a place and culture he has very conflicting feelings about

he thinks you don't need him in your life esp because you're so confusing and indecisive about what you want from him

you both were very toxic for eo during your situationship.

If you want to see me yap about Kenji's abandonment and attachment issues, keep reading.

There is narrative purpose as to why I figured a childhood friend would fit in well with Ultraman: Rising's plot in itself

the movie is very family-centric, and a lot of how kenji achieves peace with himself in the film is by reconnecting with the past, be it his family or the culture he left behind

while i figured that it would be fun to write a reluctant team-up to lovers, bc ill be able to play around w kenji's personality pre-Emi, i also didnt see the place of a romance forming while he's struggling being a single mom

but i also wanted the story to take place during the movie's run bc i wanted to include Emi since she plays a big part in us learning who Ken is, so writing a fic that starts after the film didnt feel in the cards for me

since kenji grows as a person by the end of the film through making peace with his conflicting identities and his tumultuous past, i thought having a childhood best friend would make sense since i dont think he has the space to introduce anyone new in his life

bc reader is a childhood friend who he is meant to be close to, i cant write kenji interacting with reader the same way he is at the start of the film because there is a familiarity that breaks down his walls— which caused me to have a dilemma about how to characterize him

it also made me a bit sad that i cant write full-on ken sato the "egomaniac" bc i think thatll be fun since he's such a boyfailure

but that means that we see a softer ken when he interacts with reader, someone who is a bit more vulnerable with showing that he strives for further connections in his life even if he wants to look like he can do it all by himself

Kenji feels alone and disconnected from everyone, including you

it's also clear to the audience that kenji doesnt have any friends, and anyone he's friendly with is probably friends with him on a surface level. Ami states in their first interview that he is known as someone who keeps others at a distance, and who is untouchable

the team behind Ultraman: Rising did state that there is a deleted scene where he is clubbing, which is meant to show that he feels alone even in a sea of bodies. and his dad in the movie isnt surprised that he is throwing parties at his house, so it just clues us in that he probably lived life with very shallow connections and has filled his time with materialistic pursuits (e.g. his car collection...what he need a mclaren for)

i decided to make the reader someone from the 1% for two reasons: first being so that i can explain why her and kenji meet up over the years (i see a lot of friends who migrated to north america only once a year and we're still close!), and second, because i wanted you to be on the same playing field if not higher playing field than him.

Ken puts up the front that he doesn't need anyone else, but he is insecure about how he thinks you don't need him.

bc u have ur own things going on!! u have ur own friends

what makes it worse is that u genuinely think that kenji is the same. u think that since he's very successful, he would have his own thing

i havent touched up on it much yet, but it's very evident to kenji that you will readily pick yourself over him, which isn't a bad thing but it reminds him when his dad picked Ultraman over keeping his family together

ken feels like he can never be anyone's first choice or priority, and your situationship messes this up further

I haven't touched much on what happened between them yet in the story because it's building up to it, but

it soon feels for ken that youre only seeking him out on convenience. that he doesnt matter to you beyond what his body can do for you

bc spoiler: you are the villain in the situationship! you're the one who insists that everything is casual yet you keep the line blurry

^ karma is gonna get to u soon in the main storyline ure gonna be dry heaving when u realize u actually do want something with him

your constant back and forth with him will be revealed in the flashbacks... you not wanting more than a casual relationship yet youre talking abt what it would be like if you two got married???

Spoiler but during the situationship years, you're also the first one to say "I Love You" ROMANTICALLY yet youll later on backtrack and say that you didnt mean it in that way

can you blame him for getting confused and insecure about where you stand and whether or not he actually matters to anyone.

it doesnt help that his presence in your life is actively harming your reputation and career.

in ch8, it's briefly mentioned that ur media hate train is caused by ppl who are paying for bad press abt u starting from when you were 18. if you remember ch3-4, kenji freaks out abt a new article abt u two, and ch6 he was conscious of what others were saying.

one thing i want to elaborate in a separate post is that ken is AVOIDANT ATTACHMENT and reader is written to have DISORGANIZED ATTACHMENT.

Even if Kenji is avoidant due to his trauma of abandonment (e.g. self-reliant, avoids social connections), he can't help but yearn to be with you

so it's so confusing to him bc with everyone else, he would want to leave first. and he's close to leaving you so many times

yet you keep making these promises, saying sweet things about how much you need him, that he cant help but get roped into it a bit

When he is younger, he's fully aware that it is not a healthy mindset, but even if you're just using him at least it means that he still gets to be in your life. It makes him feel needed.

in the present timeline, sometimes those thoughts definitely cross his mind but at present he is focusing on maintaining the boundary you guys set about strictly being friends

So far I hope you caught in the story [as of ch8] from the subtext or dialogue that

in the present timeline, you are both 26 years old

the situationship started when you were 16 and lasted until you were 23

bc ure both high profile starting when you were 18, and u both publicly seem a lot closer than what ure claiming to be, it is well-documented that you two kind of go back and forth with each other (think justin and selena/shawn mendes and camila cabello)

(a new photo recently surfaced of shawn and camila together at Copa América and ppl were kind of confused as to whether or not they got back together again after breaking up for like the fourth time and i was like omg... home base core...)

when you both were 23, three years ago, you two had a really bad falling out caused by your previous situationship

it caused you officially end it for good, and while you maintained your friendship for those three years you weren't able to properly see each other face to face (partly. bc covid is canon in the fic HAHAHA but i havent talked abt it)

yall dont know how to act around eo anymore like why a little eye contact making u nervous .... yall had ur privates in eo's mouths (kenji munch next chapter soon promise hihi)...

since it is revealed that a large part of the hate train against you is paid for by people who want you out of power, kenji as much as possible wants to avoid being seen as more than friends with you atm bc he's worried it will derail your career

SORRY if it felt like I didn't say anything at all since I don't want to reveal too much at this stage lmao but I can do my best to elaborate on any points of interest!

[dokidokitsuna]

A Cat Most Curious~

-So it turns out I was right about the Curious Cat way back when. They were basically an Ironwood 2.0: enjoyable and engaging as a supporting character, deliciously evil as an antagonist, with surprisingly sympathetic motivations…all undermined by contrived emotional stakes and an anticlimactic character arc, and capped off by an ignominious death. T_T Fortunately, by the time they got viciously mauled I was too jaded about RWBY to feel anything beyond vague annoyance.

-They’re still my favorite aspect of Volume 9, though, and the only Afteran that really left an impression on me. So I’m trying to give them a role in NeverFell…something very close to the end of the story, after the Gods come back to Remnant, but before they’re ultimately defeated. Someone to help usher in the 2nd Era of Magic and show Team RWBY around.

-Do they have to be anthropomorphized for this purpose? No, but it’s fun, so why not? ^^ Tbh, once I thought up that crazy hairstyle I couldn’t help but go through with this design~. I don’t know if it’s actually physically possible…it might be. It was inspired by a type of friendship bracelet knotting pattern, BECAUSE THE CAT IS A FRIEND 😤

-...In truth, they’re more like an amoral spirit-type character, a being who simply craves knowledge and will aid whoever seems to have the most to give. The RWBY girls will have to employ some clever strategy to keep them on their side…

-Much like the god who created them, Curio here has a sort of existential rivalry with their twin sibling, the Jabberwalker. While they seek answers to questions, it simply provides unintelligible “information”, which they find much more irritating than its destructive habits. Meanwhile, the Jabberwalker just wants the Cat to stop fixing things and let them stay broken. Essentially, the direct descendants of Light and Darkness are Order and Chaos, respectively.

[nameless-victory]

Belatedly answering the 50 Lamb Questions posted by @transtistic in regard to tbos!Lamb/Butcher !!

I've had this rotting in the drafts for way longer than intended, and I just...completely forgot about it. Oops. Well, better late than never! Some of the answers here are left a little vague on purpose as I intend to expand on them more later. Also beware this is EXTREMELY long </3

Feel free to ask me other stuff about my Lamb that aren't related to this as well! I love talking about my strange and off-putting son-daughter /aff

// Usual tbos AU warning for mentions of cannibalism and a bit of body horror and the general stuff discussed in cotl + the 50 questions

1. Does your lamb go by any name other than The Lamb? If so, what?

Obviously, we mainly call them Butch or (the) Butcher, and their official title is "The Butcher of Souls", but in-universe they usually go by Butcher or just "the Lamb". They also still identify with their birth name, but they haven't shared it with anybody.

2. How old was your lamb when they were sacrificed?

In their mid to late 20's.

3. How long was your lamb held captive by heretics before their sacrifice?

Around ten years.

4. Did your lamb kill anyone prior to their first death? If so, who?

[Answered!]

5. When your lamb mourns a dead loved one from their past.. who is it?

Mainly themselves. Lots of identity issues with this one

6, 7, 9. Who raised your lamb? Where was your lamb raised? A village? A prison? Constantly on the run? How or where was your lamb caught?

They were raised by a flock of other sheep in a village buried deep within Darkwood's forests. It was far away from the Old Faith's gaze, so their life was rather peaceful and unaffected by the heretics' antics. That is, of course, until The Horrors happened👍

8. Did your lamb have any specific skills pre-sacrifice?

They learned how to sew, chop wood, wield an axe, and do a few other things when they were still alive. Those skills still show their uses today.

10. How did your lamb feel with their head on the pedestal? Afraid? Relieved? Angry?

Scared, betrayed...And shortly after, absolutely furious.

11. Does your lamb have any notable or unique features?

I assume it'd be the sideways horns and the fully red eyes! And that their execution scar is thicker on one side than on the other because of the way their execution went, though it is covered by the bell regardless

12. How tall is your lamb?

They are tall for a sheep...which is to say average, slightly leaning towards short. The most threatening creature you know has to look up to talk to half of their followers /j

13. Is your lamb petite? Curvy? Fucking jacked?

They're just pretty average, kinda skinny(?) They're strong enough to wield a battle axe as well, but it's not really visible + part of it is just the godhood power-ups anyway. I just like how unassuming they look when they can actually kick your ass. Even if it doesn't make too much sense, it ties into the whole wolf in sheeps clothing motif which I like for them. Idk the words to describe it sorry, just go look at their ref💔

14. Is your lamb's wool pure white?

Nope, it's grey! And the lighter patch on their head is supposed to be the result of a birthmark. Idk if either of those things work like that irl, but I make the rules here /j (also fun fact the actual color I use for their wool is a desaturated purple, so I've also joked about them being straight up purple before)

15. How does your lamb prefer to keep their wool? Short and shorn neat? Wild and untrimmed? Be honest are there branches in that bitch?

They keep the wool on their head/their 'hair' very long! They have completely refused to cut it after their sacrifice. This has lead to a couple deaths in Anchordeep, because when their wool gets wet it becomes so fucking heavy that they literally cannot swim out if they're pulled under water, but it's sentimental. (Also...yeah, probably.)

16. Do you base your lamb on any specific species of sheep? If so, which?

Unfortunately no </3 somehow they draw inspiration from both a bull and a wolf in certain aspects but not any actual sheep...Huh.

17. Do they use their own wool for anything?

Not really, not much of it to use if they never cut it in the first place

18. On a scale of one to ten how floppy are their ears?

It' a 1-4 I fear, stiff as hell ears smh </3 (Their ears do move a lot when they're emoting though)

19. Do they bear any traits of forced domestication? Is their tail docked? Was their ear tagged? Do they have scars from being shorn (and nicked) against their will? Were they ever painted with or assigned a number rather than a name?

Yes, their tail is docked.

20. What do their horns look like?

They're based off bull horns! I just think it looks cool :3 They do kind of function as weapons as well, so that also comes in handy. Except when they get stuck on the doorframe.

Insert joke about them being just as prone to anger as a bull

21. Was your lamb born male, female, intersex, or do you have no opinion on their sex at birth?

That's for them to know, and for you to never find out /j

22. Does your lamb use pronouns other than they/them? If so, which ones!

It/its as well! I don't correct people if they unknowingly use she/he for them because in-universe they honestly wouldn't care, but they do prefer the neutral ones. Still, they don't mind too much about being called by other gendered terms (sir/miss etc) in either direction.

23. Are they capable of having children and would they want to have children?

I assume they cannot (thanks to unknowingly getting themselves "sick" with The Horrors Beyond Mortal Comprehension and in turn fucking up their body to an extent even they are still unsure of) but I am certain they wouldn't want to even if they could.

24. If they were to be a parent or are, what epithet would they have their child use? Mom? Mama? Dad? Baba? Nony? Abba?

As I said they wouldn't want a kid, but hypothetically...no it'd probably still be just "Lamb"☠️

25. Do they wear something other than the canon cloak?

Yes! They got the beserker fit because I thought it would fit their personality, and also their whole TOWW-inspired outfit under that. They sewed it themselves from scraps + pieces of their old clothes the first night they spent at the red crown's cult.

26. Does your lamb wear jewelry or makeup?

Nah. If you'd call either the bell or the bell silencer jewelry then yes, but those both have practical uses so to them it probably wouldn't count.

27. Is your lamb flirtatious?

Generally polite/charismatic for the sake of getting their way? From one point onward, yeah. Actually flirtatious? No.

But hey, do violent threats also count as flirting? If so, then maybe, but only towards a select few.

28. Did your lamb have any partners pre-sacrifice?

Nope, didn't get much time to look into that before things went to shit. They're also aromantic, so even if they did have the time to think about that, they probably would've preferred not to engage in romance either way.

29. Did your lamb take any followers as a partner?

Followers no. They did not take anyone else either but one could still argue the opposite /hj

*Additionally for the last 3 questions, they do value the platonic relationships (or sometimes secret-third-things that do not conform to common labels, take your pick) + family they have more than they could value (or really understand) romance, and that's enough for them to feel fulfilled, or at least as fulfilled as someone in their situation gets. This is also just me hitting them with the arofication/irl projection beam. Can you guess my own stance on romance /j

30. Who is your lamb's second in command or closest follower?

Tulip and Sfish, their two (and only) disciples! Tulip is a black palla cat, Butcher's first follower, and works at the cult's morgue. Sfish is one of the gods who went into hiding during the god war, whom Butch ran into in Anchordeep and eventually befriended. He sometimes helps with crusades and co-leading the cult. He has existed longer than the Goat but is basically our version of the Goat. Sfish is my friend @//maddiespadez's OC and Tulip is also based off my other friend (@//tin1xxia on insta) who helped with parts of her design process + ideas for her story :3

However I think it would be blasphemous not to include the Fox in here as well. Fortunately he's not in the cult, nor does he even know where it is, but he's had quite the influence on certain decisions being made.

31. Is your lamb ever honest about their feelings or past? With who?

No <3 they've mentioned some small aspects of their past to trusted friends, but only one person knows about their whole past, and it's not because they told them.

32. Is your lamb merciful? Did they ever refuse to spare someone? If so, why?

To their loyal followers + their family/friends? Yeah! Very much!! To anyone else? Well let’s just say they hold their grudges.

33. Is your lamb trustworthy?

No!!!!!! That doesn’t always mean they’re actively out to get you or cause you harm, but they will mostly just do whatever they decide is best and not tell you if they know you’d disagree.

34. Is your lamb quick or slow to trust others?

Very slow. They're polite to their followers and the other vendors/npcs, and they obviously do place some trust in them, but they only actually fully trust like three people they've known for centuries, and even then they keep some secrets.

35. If your lamb could pick a cult job other than leader what would it be?

If it was up to them, they would not be working. But if you insist, they'd be either a musician/bard or a lumberjack.

36. Is your lamb a good cook?

They must be at least somewhat good at it to have kept the followers fed in the early days of the cult, but I don't think they have any special talent. They did eat mainly grass and berries before the cult though, so I imagine it was Ratau who lent them a recipe book so they could learn to actually cook for the cult. Also, it's mostly the followers cooking for themselves now, and Butcher doesn't cook any of the food they themselves eat either...so I suppose there is a genuine chance my guy has literally forgotten how to cook after so many centuries of not cooking.

37. Does your lamb let cult members cook or heal or do they restrict them from certain duties?

They have a dedicated cook, I think it's actually Yarlen! And I've not really thought about it, but there's probably doctors too, and followers are expected to handle more trivial/common health issues without help from the leader or their inner circle, but super serious stuff is handled by the disciples due to them having greater experience, being centuries old and all. And also sometimes you gotta keep secrets. Potentially dangerous materials, like mushrooms + ambrosia for example, are also locked away from the access of regular followers.

38. What is your lamb's favorite food or dish?

Heretic hearts were the best. But since we kind of ran out of those a while ago, God Tears or just fresh meat also act as a good replacement.

39. Does your lamb eat meat/fish/eggs?

They exclusively eat follower meat because anything else just doesn't sate them anymore. The Horrors Beyond Mortal Comprehension👍

40. What is your lamb's stance on cannibalism?

It's dangerous and harmful to both your body and your mind and it's entirely prohibited in their cult and discouraged!

...Unless you're Butcher or like 2 of their friends, then it's a-ok. No hypocrisy in this house.

41. What about their stance on torture?

Not worth the time usually, they'd much rather just get things over with if they have to kill someone. There's approximately 5 exceptions to that rule, but even then they were not directly involved in the torture for the most part. Trapping people in the psychological and literal hell that is purgatory can occasionally be an accident.

42. Would your lamb ever kill a cult member?

Yes, and they sure have. They do prefer to dispose of them in ways aren't as messy for them through.

43. How does your lamb deal with dissenters?

Eating them is of no use because they lack any devotion for them to actually feast on. When they were newer to the leader bizz, they lacked the charisma needed to properly reeducate them, and by the time their leader persona improved they had already found a simpler solution, so they don't even bother anymore. Sacrificing them would concern the followers. Killing them directly gets their cloak dirty. So they just lure them away from the cult in the night and throw them to the Fox. It shouldn't do much for him either, but for whatever reason he enjoys it more than them. He is just weird like that...but it has proven useful. It also gives them an excuse to visit him.

44. What is your lamb's favorite weapon? Their least favorite?

They main the battle axe because it was familiar to them from even before the sacrifice. I headcanon the crown defaults to whichever weapon best suits its bearer instead of starting as a sword, so Butcher naturally just got the axe from the beginning. They also like the dagger, but more so for intricate work rather than combat, and they probably enjoy a few other weapons (gun/blunderbust + mace/hammer), but the axe is on top.

I also think their least favourite would actually be the sword. They're so used to wielding heavy weapons that when they try to lift a sword they horribly overshoot it and throw it straight into the ceiling, Noelle Genshin Impact style.

45. Would they ever let a follower embrace their dark desire to eat poop?

No, for hygiene reasons. But also you're getting fed to the wolves for asking that as well, second worst sin after dissent /j

46. What is your lamb's favorite season?

I don't think my AU has seasons, at least not in Butcher's lifetime (because of the whole theory that the god responsible for the seasons changing was killed alongside the others so they just kinda. Froze on the spring/summer we have in-game) but maybe that'll change with the next game update?

47. Is your lamb's favorite color something other than red?

I think it would be green.

48. How does your lamb really feel about death?

Funnily enough, I think they're pretty chill about it most of the time. You live and you die. Unless you're special, then you live and you live. They've gotten used to that cycle a while ago, not much to stress about. The only people they care about now are immortal anyway.

49. Does your lamb use substances? Are substance banned from cult grounds?

[Answered!]

50. Freebie! Tell us any headcanon you want!

Well they really love music! They can play the drums and a mandolin as well :3

They're self taught on both of them and way too stubborn to ask for help though, so I assume (especially for the mandolin) that they got good at playing exclusively through years of trial and error and fucking around until something worked. Fortunately, when you're immortal, you get a lot of time to practice. They're hoping to learn more instruments in the future, maybe a lyre or a violin but they'll probably need to find someone to teach them that.

[lxmelle]

Gojo Satoru Q&A thoughts.

So these leaked early on X/formerly Twitter, but some of the Japanese are sensitive to spoilers (it’s rather frowned upon) so I didn’t have anywhere to dump my thoughts but here 😅

Spoilers for the GIGA special Gojo Satoru book ahead. (Only a few I wanted to comment on - I’m sure someone would’ve posted all 33 questions and the answers already 😆)

Apparently Gojo looks like he is a cat person but he probably likes dogs. Gege uses a lot of vague/uncertain language here. (I guess he’s making it as if Gojo is a character of his own right and not that he, as the creator, knows everything about.)

My HC: to me it seems, like on the surface, he may appreciate an aloof character, but he probably likes someone loyal and won’t leave him.

Maybe that’s what he is like as well; he as a “dog personality” would be doggedly loyal to one person and, uh, he has a good nose too. Y’knowww… Good nose … for sniffing out the specific cursed energy of his friend Geto Suguru, lol. 😂

Honestly, I’d like to think that after this life, they both learned how to be more sensibly and healthily codependent for their next life / in the afterlife.

So: Don’t let Geto run away again Gojo… Geto isn’t the kind of person you can just leave alone. 🥺

And Geto, don’t leave Gojo behind again, he doesn’t think you’re replaceable, so don’t think you’re unwanted or that you need to save Gojo & leave on your own again.

Gojo was born special and was both feared and revered in equal measure. Separated from his parents from a young age he likely didn’t know of friendship and companionship or unconditional love until Geto came along. He didn’t interact with friends because of his status / background. He was brought on missions and his education was pretty strict. Because he was clever, it was probably dull pretty quickly.

He was likely treated like there was always a barrier around him and that he needed to be nurtured as a talent/resource/figurehead without much love as a human being.

Geto was probably one of the first people to see him as Gojo Satoru as well as who he was as a sorcerer. This was probably new to him, and he experienced / felt it enough to feel very attached to Geto. His ease was shown in his carefree, happy attitude and smiling expressions throughout HI.

Gojo probably got away with many things in his childhood as he tried to rebel and have fun. Didn’t have anyone he could stand head to head / toe to toe with until he met Geto.

Gojo was wealthy. Had a salary too. And, very likely didn’t know of loss or poverty. The former, until Geto left. The latter, never did. My HC is that it made it difficult for him to sympathise with strife / struggling to achieve something... seeing as he never knew what insecurity could feel like? It made things more challenging for him to develop empathy. Further, as a talented genius who grasped things easily, it’s true that Gege described him as a talent from birth and Geto was more of a talent through hard work. Gojo could not relate to others until he experienced suffering and loss himself. 😢

His only complex was probably being unable to stop Geto. For the first time he wanted something but he couldn’t have it. To be given everything but being able to do nothing. Realised people have pride and wills of their own and their lives ought to be respected.

After Geto left, Gojo became more aware of his responsibility for the next generation of sorcerers. This was thanks to the wound... I guess.

“To be given everything, but be unable to do anything.” comes to mind - this is in reference to his DE unlimited void. Doesn’t it encapsulate what Gojo was? He, on the surface, had everything... and yet, it also bound him. Trapped to be this person that fulfilled a role. The latest chapter with Yuji and Sukuna touches on that. Riko’s life paralleled this to some degree too - treated as special from birth to fulfil some purpose.

Gojo probably only ever really wanted one thing and it was his friendship with Geto, but he couldn’t have it. He could not save his best friend. He was supposed to be strong - but it wasn’t enough just to be strong. Alone.

It is no wonder he had a complex. He hung onto remnants of his best friend for years. I’ve read some Japanese twitter users lamenting on how it’s strange to change their first-person pronoun just because a friend mentioned it. Gojo became a teacher because of what happened. So it really cut him deep to have witnessed Geto leaving and him being so helpless.

That’s all I had to say. Sorry for the abrupt end. 🫡

[completeoveranalysis]

[3]

Oh! Yes ok, confirmed: the items are being stored for future usage. Or perhaps even just one future usage, on The Big Future day? Trade them all in for a good result maybe?

OH and we can see the Mokona cases! The two little glass domes to Yuuko’s left are what the Mokonas were stored in at the start of the series. That’s a fun touch. 

…?!?!?

AHHH???

AHHHHHHH WHAAAAAAAAAAT

HELLO FULL BREAKDOWN MODE WHAT ARE WE TALKING ABOUT

OK OK OK OK OK OK OK OK

So Yuuko is talking about the time very very early on (volume 1 even?) when Watanuki found the Clow Staff in storage, which she explained even then was just a replica - and apparently that’s still true, but Yuuko has THE ACTUAL

THE REAL

THE GENUINE WAND USED BY CARDCAPTOR SAKURA IN HER STORE?

LIKE

LIKE

YOU SEE?? YOU SEE WHAT THEY'RE DOING TO ME?!?!?!

I am going completely off the rails in my own brain here but oh my goodness. Crossover event of the century. Sakura left her actual staff here in exchange for a wish. 

You can see AGAIN how Clamp are always always shining a spotlight on the suggestion that 'Cardcaptor Sakura might be the mother of Lava Lamp and Watanuki' even if some of the details don’t quite match up. Like, Yuuko said that she had never actually met Lava Lamp’s parents, and yet she has Cardcaptor Sakura’s staff. I suppose she doesn’t directly say that she met Cardcaptor Sakura, and the staff could have been left here by other means - or both statements are true, and Cardcaptor Sakura just isn’t related to Lava Lamp and Watanuki. 

I am going to be completely consumed by this mystery until they finally give the real answer because they’re so careful with how vague it is every single time. AND THEY DO IT ON PURPOSE FOR THIS EXACT REASON.

[introvert-in-hell]

The Final Chapter

Parrot finally finds out the Director's identity however, it may be a little bit more than he initially bargained for. It would be hard to create such a big narrative so quickly with only one author after all! (KWW Director Reveal Fic...)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66002026

The sun had risen and set again since the Director first appeared. Leo and Derap were dead, they had been shot in just the same way as Nufuli‬ had been not a day before. He had made the grave mistake of running ahead and leaving them within range of the railgun and the director had somehow fired it again.

The Director had captured him, stripped him of all his items, and thrown him into some sort of prison cell.

He had inspected the cell, there wasn’t much preventing escape save for the guards outside of it. It was nothing like any of the well-designed prisons of the server, there was nothing but the chains that bound him to the wall and the cramped obsidian room. It seemed like nothing more than a holding cell.

Escaping however was practically out of the question, it would be downright easy after his experience in Proton but he needed to know who the Director really was. 

There was nothing to do now but wait.

Parrot wasn’t sure how long had passed before the guards opened the doors and hauled him out. Wherever they were keeping him was relatively large as he had been dragged through several massive halls. They were a bit reminiscent of the halls of BAT headquarters however here they were completely barren.

After a few more empty hallways and staircases Parrot was dragged into what seemed to be a conference room. The guards tied him down to a chair facing away from the door and left him there.

The room was a bit bigger than his cell but not substantially more. There was a pretty big table with chairs around it, one of which he was stuck in. The rooms was made from the blackstone and was only broken by large windows that were obscured by massive sheets of snow. Glancing upward he noticed the ceiling was made of a mixture of grey and purple glazed terracotta.

Soon enough he heard the door creep open and three people walk in. He hoped one of them was the Director but it was impossible to tell who based on footsteps alone. Someone was wearing dress shoes that made a loud regular clacking as their owner walked and someone else was wearing what sounded like some sort of more practical boot. He could barely hear the third person they were walking lightly, barely making a sound with a quick bouncy gait.

Two of the footsteps stopped just out of view of him but the person wearing boots kept walking and the Director soon came into view and wandered over to the opposite end of the table from him and sat down.

Before Parrot had time to question them, the steady clicking of dress shoes filled the room and a second invisible figure in identical armor walked to the right side of the table.

There wasn’t any time for the him to process that there may have been more than one director before the third person also in the Director’s armor detored over to him and grabbed his face. Parrot could feel claws digging into his skin and blood pricking up to the surface as the invisible person inspected his face for an uncomfortable moment before dropping it and continuing to the left of the table as the Director to Parrots right coughed into their hand.

Parrot was still in shock when he finally found the words to speak, “What- there’s more than one of you?

The Director on the right spoke, “It takes more than one architect to craft a good story”

Parrot was getting slightly frustrated at the lack of clear answers, “Why did you kill Wifies?”

“That Wifies had to die.” the left one replied

“And the others, bro they were my friends!”

The director in front of him rose, “They stopped serving their purposes, they had to be written out” 

“Bro stop being so vague and give real answers for once!”

the left one began moving to sit on the frame of their chair, “What's the fun in that -” 

  “- when you will know everything in time” The right Director continued in perfect stride after the left Director  

The one across the table walked directly in front of Parrot in the thin gap between the table and his chair. They sat down directly in front of him on the table and bent down slightly so they could look into his eyes while still looming over him. Parrot looked away.

The Director pulled his spyglass from their inventory and hooked the eyepiece under his chin with a gentleness the other hadn’t shown. He guided Parrot’s head up to gaze into the empty chasium where his face should have been.

“Who are you?” Parrot whispered

The Director's voice changer sparked to life as they spoke with a familiar affectionate tone, “I think you already know.”

Parrot had a guess but he really did not want to be correct. 

The particles of invisibility started to stutter and stagger around the director and the invisibility fell away, leaving Parrot staring into a very familiar pair of purple tinged brown eyes.

Parrot was yet again completely lost for words, his faithful ally and one of his oldest friends. Who he had seen die.“w- Wifies?”

Wifies didn’t respond but he smiled. Not in the same way Parrot remembered, this one seemed slightly more cruel. He withdrew the spyglass, sending it back into the void of his inventory, and replaced where it had rested against Parrot's face with his hand, wiping some of the tears Parrot had begun to sheed.

Parrot glanced around the rest of the table to see the other two Directors, “Ken? Wato? What’s going on?”

“This Universe is dying, It needs a suitable ending.” Wato said in his normal voice.

“We also needed a field test!” Ken called

Parrot was beyond confused, “A field test?”

Wifies slid away from him and further up on the table, “For my memory transfers.”