#<- bottomless pit <- starved <- starved <- starved

[skunkes]

just like it used to be

[java-lava]

Me; “You can’t seriously be hungry, I JUST fed you! I WATCHED you eat the whole thing!”

My new puppy; “You have never fed me in my life! I am a starving baby! See! *smacks her bowl with her paws* Food bowl is empty! You have NOT fed me! Shame on mama! Shame for a thousand years!”

[yandere-daydreams]

Not-So-Scary Moments With The Yan. Genshin Boys (Sumeru + Fontaine Edition).

Characters: Alhaitham, Neuvillette, Kaveh, Tighnari, Cyno, and Wriothesley.

Word Count: 2.7k.

TW: Borderline Shitposting, Prolonged Imprisonment, Varying Levels of Emotional and Physical Abuse, Codependency, Mentions of Stalking, and Unhealthy Relationships.

Alhaitham

It took Alhaitham about ten minutes to drag himself out of bed, his staggered footsteps audible through the thin walls of his apartment.

It took twenty for him to haul himself through his morning routine – water running somewhere in the distance and porcelain clattering against marble countertops as he washed his face and tried to work some life into himself. Alhaitham usually wasn’t so lethargic, but he’d had a rough week. There’d been a sudden influx of paperwork for the Akademiya’s sole scribe, and every second he didn’t spend buried under new legislation and requests for increased budging was, instead, dedicated to one of his many personal research projects. By the time he’d gotten home last night, it’d been all he could do to make sure you hadn’t starved to death and drag himself to bed.

He usually would’ve kept you waiting for a few more minutes, but an agitated grunt marked an end to his normal patterns. In a moment, he was braced against the doorway to his own study, his eyes narrowed half-hearted towards where you sat in his leather-padded chair, your feet propped on his desk. There was an book open in your lap – one of his, something about metaphysics and ley line abnormalities and how both tied into the Inazuman politics. He eyed it wearily before speaking, his voice still deep with exhaustion. “Where did you put my hearing aids?”

His tone was accusatory, his irritation visible. You put on your sweetest smile. “Where did you put my novellas?” you signed, thinking for a moment before adding, “Bitch?”

“They aren’t ‘novellas’, they’re—” He cut himself off with a scoff. “They’re filth. I don’t want you rotting your brain with smut.”

“The plots are very—”

“The plots are half-baked excuses for paper-thin characters to fondle each other in locations you can tell the author didn’t take the time to properly research and—” His gaze flickered to you, his frown deepening. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“You’ve read them?”

There was a long beat of silence.

Finally, he let out a labored sigh. “The dozen or so I couldn’t be bothered to throw away are in a cabinet underneath the kitchen sink. It’s locked – the code is your birthday. Now, where are my aids?”

“You fell asleep with them on last night,” you said aloud, abandoning his glorified textbook and pushing yourself to your feet. His hand shot to the side of his head, finding the metallic cuff only slightly displaced by having spent the better half of the night on his head. As you passed him, you paused, pressing a kiss into the corner of his scowl and pretending to ignore the muffled groan he let out in response.

Neuvillette

Of all the sights you thought you might see after arriving in your wonderous new nation, the Iudex of Fontaine standing over your drained bathtub with a look of potent remorse written across his expression was not one of them.

You’d imagined yourself strolling through the walls of the Opera Epiclese in vivid detail, been able to picture exactly what you might’ve seen standing below the Tower of Ipsissimus or above the bottomless pit that was the entrance to the Fortress of Meropide, but even after you’d found yourself in the smothering care of Monsieur Neuvillette, you never would’ve been able to conjure this sight. He usually insisted that you bathe together, going so far as to have an in-ground tub that could’ve easily been mistaken for a hot spring installed in his (until recently neglected) personal residence to better indulge the habit. Thankfully, the trial he’d been presiding over had run long today, and you’d been able to save yourself an hour of his calloused hands running over your body, of his eyes burning into your skin with a nearly inhuman focus. You knew he’d be disappointed. Irate, even, depending on how his trial swung.

You hadn’t expected him to be so… sulky about it.

Half-lidded eyes, a slight pout tugging at the corner of his lips as he lingered idly in the doorway between your shared bedroom and the in-suite bathroom. Steam and silence laid heavy in the air – the latter you were eventually forced to break as you fiddled with the hem of your robe. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, hoping more to break the tension than to make him think you were genuinely apologetic. “It was getting late, and I didn’t know when you were coming home. I didn’t think you’d take it so personally.” When he didn’t respond, you braced yourself for the worst. “If you’re angry, please say so. I… I’d rather get this over with now, if it’s all the same to you.”

His expression softened. He let out an airy sigh and, with only a moment of hesitation, closed the space between you. “I’m not angry.” A pair of lean arms wrapped around your waist, his face soon buried in the crook of your neck. You heard him inhale, and did what you could to suppress the shudder that ran up your spine at the thought of him basking in your scent. “I’ve just been… looking forward to it, I suppose. Your taste relaxes me.”

Immediately, you went rigid. “My… taste?”

“Mhm.”

“Neuvillette,” you started, very slowly, giving your own mind time to catch up to the dread slowly building in the pit of your stomach. “Have you been drinking my bathwater?”

He was quiet for a not inconsiderable amount of time.

Finally, he pulled away from you just far enough to speak. “…no?”

For your own sake, you decided to believe him.

Kaveh

“Kaveh.”

“Not now, treasure.”

“Go to bed.”

“I will, in another hour.”

“You need to get some sleep.”

“I’ve already told you – I’m fine.” He narrowed his eyes, expression contorted by concentration. “Knight to B4.”

“Kaveh,” you repeated, leaning across the table. “You were showing me your blueprints.”

“Oh.” He blinked several times, looking over the sheet of blue paper marked with chalk drawings and near indecipherable hand-writing. “Were you impressed?”

Your frown irked, but you swallowed back your exasperation and pushed yourself to your feet. Slowly, you took him by the hand and, when he failed to protest, guided him out of his own seat and towards the room you were usually restrained to, when he wasn’t home. He’d kept himself awake for the past two nights, every moment of the past forty-eight hours devoted to finishing his proposal for a wealthy commissioner’s summer mansion before its upcoming deadline and, now that the coffee had been drained from his system and his adrenaline had been given time to fade, he was practically a shell of a man – all dark circles and hunched posture and disheveled blonde hair.

Sleep deprivation was, by far, the worst thing he could inflict on himself. At least he was happy after he drunk himself into oblivion. This was just depressing; as miserable for him as it was for you.

With a dutifulness you shouldn’t have had to show to your lover-turned-stalker-turned-captor, you brought him to his bed and watched as he collapsed onto it, what little strength he had to hold himself up immediately dissolving. With a sigh, a roll of your eyes, you turned to leave, but a hand lashed out from the crumpled heap and caught you by the wrist. “Stay with me?” His voice was muffled by layers of sheets and blankets, but clear enough. “Please?”

Usually, his bids for affection were met with bitter neutrality or, on your worse days, spiteful condensation. Usually, you would’ve torn yourself out of his hold and made sure he knew that he’d ruined any chance of living out his little domestic fantasy the second he decided his obsession was worth more than your happiness. Usually, you would’ve hated him that much more for daring to ask.

But, he could barely hold his eyes open and when you failed to immediately recoil, the sloppiest, most lovesick smile you’d ever seen plastered itself across his lips. It was his turn to pull you forward, this time; to drag you onto his bed and into his chest. With a satisfied sigh, he slotted his chin against the dip of your shoulder and draped his arms around your waist – an old position. A relic of better times you’d never been strong enough to completely dicard. “When it’s time to draw up the plans for our home,” he mumbled, only half-audible. “I won’t so much as breathe until its perfect.”

You opened your mouth, but didn’t say anything.

He’d already fallen asleep.

Tighnari

He glanced once at the thick packet of ink-marked parchment you’d slammed in front of him before looking back to you, his expression disparaging. “And this is supposed to be…?”

“A custody agreement,” you answered, grinning. “Alhaitham put it together during his last visit.”

“We don’t have any kids.”

“It’s for Collei. If I ever leave you,” and, to be clear, you would be leaving him, as soon as you figured out how to get away from a man who poisoned your tea whenever you so much as suggested entertaining a future that didn’t include him, “I want weekends and summers.”

“She’s nineteen.”

“Which is why we’re letting her pick who she wants to spend holidays with.” You tapped the front page with your knuckles. “Honestly, dear, if you weren’t going to so much as read the documents, we could’ve scheduled this for another day.”

His ears twitched, his tail sweeping across the floor in irritation. “Even if this was legally binding – which, by the way, something assembled by a scribe would not be – I would never give you weekends. That’d be too much travelling for a girl in her condition, and I don’t want her to feel like she comes from a broken home. Moreover, according to Regulation #531 as passed by the Grand Sage last year, you would have to get Collei’s signature before—”

“Check page twenty-seven.”

You watched him scowl as he thumbed through the pages. A second later, his ears flattened against his scalp, and he took to muttering under his breath. “Traitor.”

“If you don’t want your aggression towards the dependent party used against you in court, I’d suggest you sign on page four, seventeen, and thirty-two.”

You left his villa half an hour later with a with a new imprint of his fangs on the side of your throat and a signed document in-hand.

Cyno

“You have kidnapped me.”

“Technically, I was only—”

“You’ve blackmailed me, imprisoned me, and tortured me.”

“You can’t still be hung up on—”

“You’ve branded me with your name, forced me into your bed, and made me play out all your delusional, fucked-up fantasies—” You took a deep breath, pursed your lips. “—but if you show up to a black-tie event wearing that, it will be the worst thing you’ve ever done to me.”

He looked down, as if considering his attire for the first time. He was in his usual uniform – which was to say, shirtless and barefoot, his hair windblown and a fine layer of sand still coating what little he was wearing. You could only be thankful his polearm wasn’t slung across his back, but you knew he’d make it past the door without it. “The way I dress has never been a problem before.”

“There’s a difference between hunting down rouge scholars and going to a banquet being held by a literal god. Archons, Lesser Lord Kusanali herself might be there.” You gasped, dragged your hands over your face. “Everyone who’s ever gone to the Akademiya will absolutely be there.”

For all his many faults, he could never stand to see you in pain. There was a brief delay, a moment of unsure shuffling, then his arms were wrapping around you, his chest slotting against your back has he pulled you against him. “It’ll be alright,” he muttered, speaking into your shoulder. “If anyone so much as attempts to insult you—no, if anyone tries to talk to you at all, I’ll strike them down in the blink of an eyes.”

His comfort was stale, but you forced yourself to relax. At least enough to speak. “You know,” you mumbled, letting your hands drift to your temples. “Dehya was hired by an up-and-coming scholar, a few weeks ago. I’m not sure how long her contract was, but there’s a chance we’ll see her tonight.”

There was a beat of silence, then another.

“Cyno?”

“I’ll change.”

Wriothesley

You could hear him trudging up the metallic stairs to his office; his footsteps heavy enough to drown out the soft music flowing out of his century-old gramophone. His head emerged from the curving staircase, first – his hair somehow more disheveled than its usual state of barely-tamed chaos – then his chest, his tie undone and his collar terribly mangled, as if he’d spent all day indulging the worst of his nervous habits. He was baring his teeth, his pale cheeks flushed with anger and his eyes narrowed into a pointed glare. It wasn’t quite the reaction you’d hoped for (in your wildest dreams, he would’ve managed to sink his beloved fortress before he ever reached you), but it was close enough.

You moved to stand, to greet him with the warm embrace he usually demanded, but he was already in front of you, already pinning you to the back of the lounge you’d been splayed across with a single fist planted less than a hair’s width above your shoulder. “You,” he growled, leaning in close enough for his breath to fan over your skin. “Do you know how many journalistsI had to deal with today? They were everywhere. I couldn’t go a step without tripping over some— over some glorified tabloid.”

“So, your meeting with Monsieur Neuvillette went well?” His scowl deepened, and you let out your most faux innocent laugh – a chiming, bubbling thing he’d never been able to stand. “You shouldn’t scowl like that, love. All those photographers will have to find a new model if you manage to give yourself frown lines.”

He jolted, but forced himself to shut his eyes, to let out a long, ragged breath. When he did face you again, he’d regained a degree of his composure – just enough to meet your smile with his own tight-lipped grin, more teeth than anything. “I’ll let you off easy if you tell me how you did it now. Before I decide it’d be faster to strangle an explanation out of you.”

“I didn’t break any rules, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You paused, folded your hands over your lap. “It was all thanks to our great and benevolent duke. Contacting people outside of the fortress has gotten so much more efficient ever since you decided prisoners should be able to send letters without administrative vetting.”

He buckled visibly, his shoulders falling as he lean towards you, his face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder. “You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” There was a raspy chuckle, a hand on your thigh, squeezing just hard enough for his anger to shine through the playfulness of the gesture. “I think I’ve earned the rest of the day off, and I think you’ve earned—”

The door to his office swung open before he could finish, a masculine voice calling up from the voice below only a moment later. “Your grace, t-there’s a reporter here to see you! She says she’s been told not to leave until she speaks to your partner!”

“That’ll be Charlotte,” you half-sung. “She seemed like such a nice girl in her letters. It’d be a shame to keep her waiting.”

When he failed to answer, you brought up both hands and cupped his face, cooing as you used your thumbs to quirk the corners of his mouth upward.

“Just remember to smile for the camera this time, alright?”

[dahliakbs]

Damian Wayne x Child! Reader (Part 1) - This won't do —⁠☆

Synopsis: after seeing the state of your apartment Damian pulls some strings and changes your life on step at a time.

Masterlist , Pillager Of Art

"Are your parents attending the pta meeting?" Damian asks.

After seeing the wretched state your house was in Damian chose to stand at the door.

The moldy yellow floor of your apart was covered in dirt and whatever substances you managed track back into the house. The walls in the same sorry state with a moldy yellow wallpaper that was covered in nasty cracks and stains that could never be removed.

The tiles of your flooring were covered in a bottomless pit of clothes and whatever else was in that pile. Your window didn't show some immaculate view of Gotham City instead it was closed off with would. Glass shards left on the floor in front of the window after a stray bullet was shot through your window.

"Oh my Dad, he's not coming" you say as you make your way towards your kitchen.

Damian couldn't bare looking into the kitchen to see what mess was made in their so he chose to stair the ceiling instead.

"Why not?" He tilts his head to the side, he was told by Alfred that events like these were the only way to see how your child was progressing and apparently it was mandatory for parents to attend so why weren't your coming?

"Oh, my parents are dead" you said as if It didn't bother you and it didn't.

Your mother had sadly passed away during child birth.

Your dad tho...

He was a piece of work, never cared for your well-being AT ALL. You basically raised yourself in this house. The only reason you hadn't starved yet was because your father left food in the cupboard for you to use (mostly unhealthy cheap food).

You barely ever saw your dad and when he died you hadn't even noticed, not like he ever came home anyway. The only way you knew was when the news broadcast came on and you saw a blurred out image of a man that vaguely resembled your father.

There were several gunshot holes scattered around the figures body and by the looks of it he was probably just getting off of work before the death occurred.

The situation never bothered you, having no adults around was a blessing if anything.

"My parents can't come but I'll wait with you until your dad does" you replied and gasped when you found what you were looking for.

"Dami you have to try one" you turned to him with a cup of ramen noodles in hand.

"No thank you, aren't there other options?" he asked as he began to list off foods he'd already eaten before.

Safe to say, you hadn't even know those foods existed or eaten anything that wasn't microwavable.

This wouldn't do.

When he left your house that evening he made it his mission to find a way to get you out of that situation.

And that he did, when the day of the PTA meeting arrives Damian is oddly quiet. Not as if he talked much anyway.

While you both waited for his dad to finish speaking with the teachers he'd a held a tight grip on your hand as if to silently tell you not to run off anywhere.

"Dami I still don't know why you told me to bring all my stuff with me, are we having a sleepover?" You asked, you were told to bring all necessities which means that you needed your tooth brush and whatever you could salvage from that mess of a house.

"You'll know when we get there" he said calmly which only made your excitement grown even more. He was already pretty used to your energetic behavior so this was nothing.

At last the meeting had finished and you were all exiting he building.

"Is this the friend you told me about Damian" his father spoke up only to receive a nod in return.

You had never noticed how eerily similar they look but now that you were stood right before him you realized noticed the shared features.

"(Reader) right" Bruce got down in one knee so he could speak to you at eye level. Now, extending invitations to join the family weren't an everyday occurrence but if his son was so hard pressed on your living conditions and even brought up good points as to why you can't live there.

Plus he knew you were a good kid.

"A little Birdy informed me of your living conditions and they wanted me to extend an exciting offer to you" he spoke to you in a way that made your excitement peak.

You were so excited that you hadn't even noticed when you got in the car or when you arrived at the manor or when you arrived at Damian's bedroom door.

For you everything went by quickly, so quickly that when you woke up the next morning you couldn't even remember why you were in Damian's house or why you were currently bundled up across from his sleeping face.

He must've bundled you up while you were asleep. He was always considerate but rarely ever showed you that side of him.

"Dami, I need to go home" you said groggily.

"Your not going anywhere" he instantly replied.

"But I can't stay here forever, I need to go home" you said in a worried tone but he only raised a brow.

"I knew you weren't listening" he sighed.

"Just go back to sleep" he waved his hand in front if your face which seemed to do the trick because you were knocked out within seconds.

And just like that you were silently adopted into the family.

[jjk4isen]

ꗃ 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝟏𝟎𝟎𝟎 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐖.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

including you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

at least the number keeps decreasing day by day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

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

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

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

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

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

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

don't kid yourself.

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

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

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

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

“why should i need to do that?”

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

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

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

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

gee must people be so cold around here?

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

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

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

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

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

and the silence that followed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

sukuna thinks you're pathetic.

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

your flesh and blood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and that angers him to no end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

however, her dreams were short lived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

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

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

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

you nod slightly, your eyes on anything besides him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“but i don't know you.”

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

“then you can start from this moment forward.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

and they were working.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i would let you.”

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

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

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

“aren't you going to stop me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“human–”

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

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

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

“next time i wont.”

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

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what are you suggesting?”

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

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“human.”

“i have a name”

“human.”

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

“you do realise i can heal myself?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“answer me” a plea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sylustful]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ A Slice of Heaven for the Sinner

"there is no love purer than mine."

he is heartless, unforgiving, and cold. he takes and takes and takes because it's his given right. you are no exception. when the two of you meet in a nightclub, he watches you with intense interest, his eyes devouring your soul without even touching your skin... but when he does, there's no going back for you.

ೃ⁀➷ TAGS: vampire! Sylus, pure but bold reader, corruption, dubcon (reader secretly gets off on being scared and forced), size difference, heated make out session in the car, manhandling, pet names (ie. sweetie, babydoll, pretty girl, dollface)

ೃ⁀➷ MIKI'S NOTES: Sylus is an asshole but he's really nice, i promise. this is my first post on tumblr so please be nice. smut will happen in the next part, i just wrote too much for the build up to it that i decided to make it a two parter ksjfdjf anyway, have fun reading!

here is part two.

ೃ⁀➷ WORD COUNT: 3053

Sylus is hungry. starving, actually. like a bottomless pit opened up in his stomach and nothing can satiate his hunger. hunger for what, exactly? he doesn’t dare share; but he can feel his fangs tingling, his body vibrating, and his mouth watering at the sight of a beautiful young lady on the other side of this club. the strobe lights do nothing but irritate him and make his concealment in the shadows more difficult than he wished, but nightclubs like these were always a reliable source of fresh, young blood. though, in the recent past, all blood to him has tasted icky like tar and stuck to his teeth.

but when he saw her, it felt like fate was calling to him. seeing her face was like meeting an angel, watching her dance like a siren, and god… the way she talked. her voice a sweet honey dripping into his ears and sticking in his brain. Sylus watched her hands moved up her body and sway her hips as if he were watching one of many symphonies he attended, his gaze focused and eyes drilled to her fingers playing his favorite instrument. he wanted to make her sing. he wanted to know what beautiful music her moans would create, pressing his fingers into her skin like notes on a piano, pressing his foot down to make her voice resonate throughout his dark bedroom.

but he had to be patient. good things come to those who wait; and while in most cases, Sylus was the type of man to just take and take, he wanted to savor this woman. his eyes followed the veins tracing under her skin, his ears perked up to listen to the blood flowing through her body and her firm heartbeat. his fingers clenched tightly to his pants, his own blood racing and boiling with adrenaline that he could feel himself getting lightheaded.

but he had to wait.

it amused him knowing that you were none the wiser to the sinful thoughts he had about you. how would meek, little kitten like you run away from him? would you let him chase you? push you down into the dirt and let him ravish your small and trembling body? his fingers twitched again, his cock growing in his pants and pushing against the seams. Sylus moved his hands up his thighs, pushing against his hardness for some kind of friction, and he bites his lip to suppress a groan. a part of him wanted to just grab you right now, force you to sit and watch him jack off to you. your wide and curious eyes watching how his hand jerks and squeezes his dick like it was the most interesting thing in the world to you. or maybe you would be scared, begging him to leave you alone and call him disgusting.

“hi.”

his eyes widen, looking up to you. holy shit, you’re hotter up close.

wait a second. what the fuck? he doesn’t say anything at first, dumbfounded that the gods actually answered his prayers.

you furrow your eyebrows. “hello…?”

he clears his throat, shifting in his seat and picking up the whiskey he ordered two hours ago - it’s watered down. “evening,” he replies, smiling at you.

“you’ve been staring for a while,” you tell him, sitting down next to him and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

he lets out a curt chuckle. “i hope i haven’t frightened you with my gaze.”

Sylus feels as though he could fucking bust in his pants just from her closeness. he could smell her perfume, like a bouquet of roses just waiting to be picked and set in a vase. would she like roses? could she prick him with her thorns? he couldn’t help but flash a devious grin at you.

you laugh, crossing your legs - fuck, you have good legs - and rest your chin in your hand. “i felt as though if i didn’t come over here, you would’ve burnt me to a crisp with how hot your eyes were boring into me.”

oh, he wanted to burn you. mark your skin with his name with a hot iron so everyone could know you belonged to him.

“well, now you’re here. so, am i as intimidating as you think?” he asks, crossing his own legs to hide his aching erection growing harder and more painful.

Sylus watches your eyes drag up his body; the way his shirt clung to his body like a second skin, his suit jacket lazily hanging over his shoulders, shoes polished enough to shine under the strobe lights. he prided himself in how he dressed, making sure that his presence and influence could be felt no matter where he was in the room. he watches you bite your lip, clenching his fist to restrain himself from reaching out and tugging the lip from your teeth to bite himself.

“you are indeed a scary man,” you admit breathlessly, your eyes eventually meeting his but you still keep your gentle smile. “but i feel like you like knowing you’re scary.”

God, if you’re listening, let Sylus fuck you without restraints. let Sylus drag you out of this stupid fucking club with these stupid fucking people and take you back to his place so he can give you the most mind-blowing sex of your life. he wants you. he fucking needs you.

he then leans in to you, tilting his head to the side and grinning at you flinch and back away from him. your hands stay together as they rest in your lap, your fingers unconsciously pulling your skirt down. a part of him wanted to rip the flimsy fabric to pieces and bend you over the table and fuck you in front of everyone at the club, but he knew better. settling for a brush of his fingers against your cheek, careful not to cut you with his sharp nails. one day, he’ll actually cut you and lick the blood from your cheek. your skin felt soft and smooth under his fingers, moving them down to your neck and staying there. he could feel your blood pumping underneath him, speeding up at his touch, not sure if it was from fear or excitement, maybe both.

“i’ve never been to a nightclub before,” you whisper to Sylus, watching his eyes stare at your neck. “i wanted to stay home and study for exams but my friends dragged me out here.”

he laughs at this, pulling his hand away and back to holding the cup, rubbing his thumb up and down the glass. “studious little girl, i see. i applaud you for your dedication to the academics.”

your stomach flutters at his praise and you fidget with your skirt a bit more, looking down. “it’s not like i don’t like to party or think it’s lame, i just don’t really care about going out when i’m perfectly fine at my dorm.”

Sylus rests his chin on his fist, watching you needlessly explain yourself. he doesn’t care why you came here, he’s just glad that you are. but it comforts him slightly knowing that you aren’t a social butterfly like he is. “i completely understand, babydoll, don’t worry,” he reassured her with a nod. “i feel the same way as you.”

careful. don’t scare the prey. give them the space they need to make their own decision. lull them into that false sense of security and safety before pouncing. he makes sure to watch her body language, the way she relaxes at his reassurance and eyes light up with satisfaction. her nodding in agreement and then…

“i’m glad you do, really, not a lot of people understand the struggles of being a homebody,” you says with a sigh of relief, laughing a little.

bingo. caught ya.

Sylus then reaches out his hand to her, giving the purest smile he could muster and says, “so, why not ditch this place and go somewhere more… quiet? i got this really cool place i go to when i want to cool my head and relax on my own.”

└───❀*̥˚───❀*̥˚┘

this is crazy. you’re crazy. you’re fucking insane. are you serious? driving to a random place with a random stranger? what if he’s a serial killer who murders young women? surely it isn’t just his devilishly good looks that is illegal about him. you don’t even know his name!

you quietly groan into your hands and internally bash your head against the wall as you try to reason with the logical part of yourself that everything is fine. maybe he’s actually a nice guy who just wants to show you the cool place he mentioned? he did say that he didn’t like crowded places like you. true kindred spirits! this man is fine - both literally and figuratively. he looks like the type of guy who could keep you safe if someone else tried to murder you.

you can hear the man chuckle and you turn to him, raising an eyebrow. “what’s so funny?”

“nothing, sweetie, don’t worry,” he replies in that sensual, deep voice that has heat pooling between your legs.

everything about this man just screams evil energy yet you can’t take your eyes off of him. the way his forearms flex as he grips the steering wheel, the veins in his hands twitching with blood flowing through it. it was like he melted into the car with how dark everything was, his figure merging with the shadows as if he was a monster lurking for prey. you swallow at the thought that you might be his prey tonight. it’s terrifying. he’s terrifying. his aura grips your throat and fills your body will oil, mixing with your blood and tainting it. his blood red eyes catching yours every so often, forcing you to tear your gaze away from him out of embarrassment, only to look back at him out of stupid curiosity. you curse yourself for not even thinking about jumping out of the car. you’d be injured but you’d at least not have to worry about him killing you in a forest or something. but a small part of you, a part you don’t like to recognize, is thrilled at the danger of this man.

his tongue swipes at his teeth, flashing razor sharp fangs like a trophy at you. whether it was on purpose to scare you or a habit he developed, it stirred an uncomfortable warmth at the pit of your stomach. you can’t pull away from his pearly whites, his tight skin and strong jawline. you can’t stop staring at his lips and imagining it bruising yours with relentless attacks against your mouth. what is wrong with you? you never thought of anyone like this before. you finally gather the strength to look away again, your thighs clenching together and hands fiddling with your skirt. you now kind of regret not putting on lingerie. well, you didn’t think you had to considering you were just going to dance with your friends and not go home with anyone. yet here you are…

“so… you’re not some serial killer out to get me, right?” you ask in a half-joking manner, the tip of your mouth twitching. you internally smack yourself, realizing your stupid question.

the man bites back a smile as he replies, “would it comfort you if i said no?”

no, no it wouldn’t.

you adjust in your seat, feeling your thighs sticking to the leather and curse under your breath. the man reaches back, using his strong thigh to keep the steering wheel steady as he grabs a blanket from the backseat to give to you, gesturing with his eyes to your seat. you stare at him flabbergasted before hesitantly taking the blanket and shifting around, eventually finding a comfy spot and sighing with relief at the soft fabric under your skin. you mutter a ‘thanks’ before looking back down, your cheeks flushing pink.

“it’s a spot you can park your car at to view the city from a high vantage point,” he says suddenly, turning to you. “there’s a streetlight with a camera that cops use to make sure people don’t do weird shit.”

you meet his gaze, processing his words slowly before nodding. “oh, i see.”

fuck, are you genuinely stupid? how are you this bad at conversations?

you try to say more but the man just laughs, reaching over to give your thigh a gentle squeeze, leaving you breathless and your skin burning. “i know that you’re skittish, i’m surprised you actually accepted my offer to come with me,” he says again in that gentle tone, rubbing his thumb on the outer part of your thigh. “i wish i could do something to make you feel more safe around me.”

you stare at his hand taking up 70% of your leg, your mind spinning at his fingers pressing into the fat of your inner thighs. you want him to move up. to touch you more. to just fucking fuck you with his fingers and make you scream because you know damn well he knows his way around women. you want it. you want him. at this point, death be damned because you’re going to have sex with this man tonight and if he kills you, oh well.

the two of you eventually make your way to the spot he was talking about and he backs into the parking space, popping open the trunk and unlocking the doors. the man steps out first and before you can even process anything, he’s already opening the passenger door for you and extending his hand. you take it, your stomach fluttering again at his skin brushing against yours, the size of his hand completely enveloping your own. you step out of the car and follow him to the back, a cold feeling returning to you as he lets go and sets up the blankets and pillows in his trunk, pushing the seats back for more space for the two of you to sit. he then sits down at the center, smiling at you and gesturing for you to sit with him. you blush, taking his hand once more and taking a spot between his thighs, his arms staying at his sides so as not to touch you. he’s a gentleman, of course.

the view is wonderful. absolutely breathtaking. the lights of the city flashing like fireworks and showcasing the beautiful Linkon you know and love. the skyscrapers, apartment buildings, and homes, grocery stores and malls, it’s all in your field of vision and you reach out, almost cupping it into your hand. you watch his hand slide down your arm, meeting your hand and cupping it as well.

“Sylus,” he says, his breath fanning against your shoulder and you shiver.

his name, you think.

“Sylus,” you repeat slowly, that warm feeling coming back into your stomach and you lean back against him. “sounds dangerous.”

he chuckles, using his other hand to cautiously snake around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him, resting his chin on your shoulder and nuzzling his nose into your neck. “you sound divine when you say it; like it was made for you.”

you turn to him, and he looks to you, a tension filling the air as you stare at each other. you want to kiss him. you really, really want to kiss him.

Sylus tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and leans into you, his lips brushing against yours and you reciprocate, letting out a shaky breath before he presses them harder, moving his hand to the back of your neck to keep your secure. your eyes flutter close, opening your mouth for him to enter with his tongue and he kisses you like no one has every kissed before. it’s a breakthrough, a significant point in human history. he kisses you with a fever, a heat that bubbles under your skin and lights you up like a firework. Sylus bites your bottom lip and pushes you down onto the floor of the car and hikes up your thigh, bruising your skin in his grip and keeping it hooked around his waist. Sylus is urgent in the way he kisses you, as if you’ll disappear into foam if he doesn’t kiss as much and as deeply as possible. he gnaws and growls and takes you, forcing you to reciprocate his violent assaults on your mouth and skin as he kisses down your jaw and neck, nipping at your skin in which you groan and tug at his hair.

“how are you this fucking sexy?” he huffs against your neck, his hand moving up your leg to grip your panties, pulling it tightly against your core and you whimper. “you’re just begging me to fuck up this body, aren’t you, dollface?”

you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, looking down at his tussled hair and glowing red eyes, his sharp fangs shining in the moonlight. you want him to hurt you. to bruise and cut your body, to manhandle you like the doll he says you are. but before you can answer him, he devours you again, forcing his tongue into your mouth and almost choking you with it, drool falling down your cheek as your eyes close again, unable to do anything other than take what he’s giving you. you tug at his shirt, arching your body into his touch and whining into his kisses, signaling for Sylus to give you more of whatever he’s offering. you feel him tightening his hands on your body, squeezing your hips and pressing your already dripping cunt against his cock, gasping at how hard he was.

“tell me what you want, pretty girl,” he whispers to you, kissing back up your cheek and hooking his thumbs under the waistband of your panties, tugging again. “fucking tell me what you want me to do to you.”

your breaths are shallow and quick, mind fuzzing at the pleasure melting your brain and causing you to struggle to form even a single, coherent sentence. “i don’t… i want… hah- i need you.”

Sylus chuckles, two of his fingers pressing against the wetness soaking the thin fabric separating you and him, your hips bucking into his hand. “oh yeah? you want my fingers fucking this pretty cunt?”

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Vampire hero x flirty villain but it’s HEAT SEASON *disappears*

“Shit, you’re a mess.” The villain crossed their arms in front of their chest and tilted their head, clearly amused.

“Yeah, listen…” The hero took in a deep breath. It was worse when they spent time with the villain, it always got worse too. Usually, they would hook up with a stranger but that simply didn’t satisfy them anymore.

The hero didn’t know what was wrong with them, they’d been “alive” for long enough now, they had dealt with this several times and had never had any problems. However, that had changed. And the hero hated change.

“You’re not sick, are you?” The villain took a step towards them. Slowly, they came closer and closer.

“No…no, I’m fine, I…hey, let’s just fight, okay?”

“You seem a little distracted.”

“I’m not.”

“Honey, you’re looking at everything I have to offer except for my pretty face.” The villain was in front of them now and the hero tried to keep their eyes on the villain’s. “I’ve done a little bit of research on vampires. Either you’re starving or…”

The hero grabbed their hand.

“Don’t say it.”

The villain’s smirk widened.

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” the villain said. Their fingers traced the hero’s jawline. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, darling. It’s only natural, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but…” the hero began. They couldn’t control their thoughts, couldn’t control the daydreams about what they’d do with the villain.

They used to think this was a good thing, a pleasurable thing. But it had turned into a curse, had turned into a bottomless pit.

Deep down, the hero feared they had fallen for the villain. They feared they couldn’t be satisfied without them.

“Honey…” the villain said. They were everything the hero wanted in a partner. Intelligent, protective, flirty. They’d known each other for a while now. “You can’t fight in a state like this. I’ll end up on top of you and we’d reach the same outcome.”

The hero squeezed their eyes shut, trying to ignore their criminal libido. They hadn’t even thought about their actions. It was as if their body had carried them through the streets and to the villain’s apartment.

“I can’t ask that of you, it’s not right.” The hero grabbed the villain’s shoulder in search for something to stabilise them. They could feel their pulse banging in their ears.

“But I was the one suggesting it.” The villain caught the shell of the hero’s ear with their teeth softly. They bit down but released them just as quickly when the hero let out a quiet moan. “And you came to me…”

The hero was quiet. They touched the villain’s neck and caressed it, losing themselves to the feeling of someone actually caring about them.

“I can’t always control myself,” the hero whispered. “The biting or sometimes scratching, I can’t—”

“Hmmm,” the villain hummed and the hero was surprised to see a satisfied smile glued to their face. “I’m into that. So, don’t hold back, got it?”

“Are you sure you—?”

“If you’re really desperate we can do it on my desk, right here,” the villain suggested. They pressed the hero’s hips against the table and the hero could only attempt to whisper the villain’s name when they pressed their knee between the hero’s thighs. “What do you think?”

The hero didn’t know if they wanted to bite or devour the villain. Probably both.

“Y-yes, here is totally fine.”

“What a good vampire you are, hm?” the villain whispered against their ear. Their hand crawled up the hero’s thigh, slowly, agonisingly. “Three taps if it’s too much for you. You choose a safe word.”

The hero nodded.

“What do you want in return? Money? Information?”

“In return,” the villain said, their fingers playing with the hero’s underwear, “I want you to beg for it.”

Thus their affair began.

[latin5mamii]

Mall date- Jude Bellingham

Genre: fluff;

Summary: A mall date with your boyfriend is more tiring than he expects...

Author's note: cute bf alert!!

You and your boyfriend loved going shopping together, and what you loved the most was the trip to get to the mall, especially if it’s a long drive.

He loves to drive and talk about anything with you,listening to music and singing along, even if he’s not a professional singer,thank god.

You settle into the passenger seat of Jude's car, the anticipation of the day ahead adding a sparkle to your eyes. The radio plays softly in the background, blending with the soothing hum of the engine as Jude navigates through traffic.

"You know," Jude starts with a playful smirk, "I still can't believe you listen to this stuff. Do you secretly enjoy torturing me?"

You laugh, shaking your head. "I just like what I like. And besides, your taste in music isn't exactly cutting-edge either."

He chuckles, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat. "Fair point. But at least my singing isn't as bad as yours."

"Oh, please," you retort, feigning offense. "I'm a hidden talent waiting to be discovered."

Jude lets out a dramatic groan. "Don't quit your day job, love."

The banter continues as the journey progresses, punctuated by shared stories and easy silences that speak volumes about your comfort together. You steal glances at him when he's focused on the road, admiring the way his features are softened by the sunlight streaming through the window.

When you reach the mall, Jude parks the car with a flourish, flashing you a grin before opening your door with exaggerated gallantry. "My lady," he quips, offering his arm.

"You're such a dork," you laugh, linking your arm with his as you walk into the bustling mall.

Inside, you indulge in leisurely shopping, Jude eagerly helping you pick out clothes and occasionally holding up questionable items for your opinion. "What do you think?" he asks, modeling an outrageously patterned shirt.

"It's... bold," you reply diplomatically, struggling to stifle a giggle.

He throws it back on the rack with a mock sigh. "Guess I'll stick to football jerseys."

You continue browsing, occasionally getting stopped by fans who recognize Jude. He graciously poses for photos and engages in light-hearted conversation, his charisma shining through as he thanks them for their support.

As you explore the mall, Jude's stomach starts to growl. "I'm famished," he declares dramatically, checking his watch with feigned surprise. "How long have we been shopping?"

"Not long enough for you to starve," you tease, rolling your eyes playfully.

"I'm a growing lad," he insists with a wink. "I need sustenance."

You find a cozy cafe where you settle into a corner booth, sharing a hearty meal and swapping stories about your day. Jude delights in ordering an indulgent dessert, his eyes lighting up at the sight of a towering sundae topped with whipped cream and sprinkles.

"You're going to regret that later," you warn, amused by his childlike excitement.

"Nonsense," he replies with mock indignation, digging into the dessert with gusto. "I have a bottomless pit for a stomach."

You laugh at Jude's antics, shaking your head affectionately as he continues to devour the ice cream with unabashed enthusiasm. He insists on finishing every last bite, occasionally getting a dollop of whipped cream on his nose or chin, which only adds to your amusement.

"You're making a mess," you tease, handing him another napkin to wipe his face.

"I can't help it," he replies with a sheepish grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Ice cream brings out my inner child."

"I can see that," you say, chuckling softly. "But you're my favorite child, so it's okay."

He mock-gasps in mock-offense, dramatically clutching his heart. "I'm honored to hold such a prestigious title."

After the snack break you literally find your boyfriend almost falling asleep on his feet waiting for you to get out of a shop.

“You literally spend hours running all over a football field and now you’re almost falling asleep, are you serious?”

“Shopping with you is tiring,more than a football match”

He says stroking your head and bringing it close to his shoulder. You can't do anything but wrap an arm around his waist and hold him tightly to you.

[wileys-russo]

jenni hermoso, ”please let me do it”, restaurant or a bar (date night)

please let me do it II j.hermoso

"guapa we are running so late!" your girlfriend impatiently moaned from the bottom of the stairs, swinging her keys around on her finger with a jingle and tapping her foot.

you rolled your eyes at her words, fixing your hair and looking yourself over with a happy nod, grabbing your bag and with another roll of your eyes jenni's phone which she'd left on charge.

"no we're not mi amor, the reservation is for seven thirty." you smiled as you descended down the stairs, holding up her phone as her eyes widened momentarily and she grabbed it off you.

"hey wait you told me seven!" the footballer realised with a frown as you glided past her with a chuckle. "i did, so you'd be ready by seven thirty." you grinned over your shoulder as she scoffed.

"me? so that i would be ready in time? who was i just waiting on then!" jenni crossed her arms with a huff and a quirked eyebrow as you chugged a glass of water.

"you weren't waiting because we're not late." you smiled, rinsing out your glass and stacking it in the dishwasher, kicking it closed and grabbing your bag.

"princesa that does not even make sense!" jenni threw her hands up as your smile only widened, plucking the keys from her hands as she stared at you in disbelief.

"vamos hermoso, or else we will be late." you jingled her keys teasingly as you walked backwards toward the front door. "oh you are so-" she trailed off with a snicker and a shake of her head, racing after you as you opened the front door.

~

"what are you thinking mi amor?" you glanced up from the menu to meet your girlfriends eyes. "what are you thinking?" you asked with a knowing smile, the grin which met it only confirming your suspicions.

“i am thinking i cannot decide so we should share.” jenni wiggled her eyebrows as you rolled your eyes playfully, you knew all too well what that meant.

“so i am thinking that means you want to pick both dishes and then eat most of them, and i just get the leftovers or what you cannot finish?” you teased as the brunette gasped clutching at her chest.

“princesa you make me sound so unromantic.” jenni tutted as you shook your head. “we’ve been together long enough for me to know all your tricks baby, and all about that bottomless pit you call a stomach.” you laughed softly, eyes raking again over the menu.

“order the two you want and i pick the entree?” you suggested as jenni sighed happily. “mi amor what would i do without you?” she reached across the table to take your hand.

“starve probably.” you winked as the older girl chuckled and poured you both another glass of wine.

“what?” your girlfriend asked, mouthful of food and eyebrow raised as you stared on in disgust. “you do know cariño the restaurant doesn’t close for another two hours, and this is not an eating contest.” you teased, corners of your mouth curving upward.

“i had training today i am hungry!” the brunette again spoke with a mouthful as you shook your head. “swallow then speak!” you warned sipping at your wine.

“well, you are the expert on that right bebita?” jenni purred as you choked, hand coming up to grab the few drops of wine which fell from your mouth.

“shut up and eat your food idiota.” you warned once you’d recovered, tattooed fingers tracing up your arm as you pushed them away with a sigh.

“another one?” you questioned as poured herself a second glass of wine, still more than able to drive though it was rare mid week for her to drink very much at all.

“sí mi preciosa, we are celebrating!” jenni raised her glass and waved for you to do the same as you did so curiously with a raised eyebrow.

but catching the look in her eyes, that mischievous twinkle you knew all too well, and the cheeky grin which shone at you across the table, you knew you were in trouble.

“jenni you didn’t, por favor.” you lowered your glass but not before she clinked hers against it. “you already know i did.” she winked and not even moments later the lights dimmed slightly and seeing a candle head your way you wished the ground would swallow you up.

you winced waiting for the singing but it never came, the cupcake left in the middle of your table as the waiter gave you both a kind smile.

“in honour of your wedding anniversary, the wine is on the house tonight.” he informed with a nod, jenni thanking him as he took off, a few of the couples nearby congratulating you both with raised glasses as you smiled awkwardly and jenni made her toasts with them one by one.

“smile princesa, you have such a pretty smile. just like you smiled at me at our wedding! oh i remember it like it was yesterday.” jenni sighed happily as you shot her a glare.

“was it in your head? considering we’re not even engaged!” the midfielder hissed as you kicked her shin with your heel. “you need to stop telling places it’s our wedding anniversary for free desert!” you shook your head in disbelief as jenni rubbed her ankle with a smile.

“i didn’t!” jenni protested as you scoffed and gestured to the cupcake in the middle of the table.

“i did it for free desert and free wine, i was angling for free dinner but you win some you lose some!”

~

“you really are unbelievable.” you bit back a smile as your girlfriend danced her way through the parking lot toward her car in an attempt to make you laugh, waving around the takeout box with the cupcake inside.

“unbelievably…sexy? talented? fast? strong?” she stopped in front of you, making muscles and pulling faces as you shoved at her chest.

“more like annoying, stubborn, arrogant-“ you started to list off on your fingers as she gasped. “jenni, no!” you warned, backing away as she cracked open the takeout box with an evil smile.

“please let me do it, vamos princesa.” jenni advanced on you, your back hitting her car as she grinned wickedly and stopped with her chest pressed against yours, slowly grabbing out the cupcake.

“please mi amor please no!” you begged with pleading eyes as her taller body caged you in. “okay cari.” you relaxed at those words, the cupcake lowered as you smiled and leaned in to peck her lips.

“just tell me one thing?” you nodded and waited for what she had to say, only it never came as the cake was suddenly smashed into the side of your face, your girlfriend tossing the wrapper over her shoulder as you gasped in shock.

“does it taste as good as it looks princesa?”

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Baki Short Stories: Courtship

Yandere Pickle x Afab Reader

TW: creepy coworker and yandere behavior

Buy me a coffee?💕

A sigh escaped (your name)’s lips as she meandered down the street towards her home. She hadn’t planned on being at work for so long, but her boss peer pressured her into staying past her shift… and now she paid the consequences.

She clutched her lunchbox to her thigh for more of a sense of security through the dimly lit streets. (Your name) just had to pass by this alleyway and she was in the clear…

A low groan drew her from her musings, her head snapped toward the dark alleyway. The hair on her arm stood straight up in pure fear. (Your name) was certain her heart just went still for a straight minute.

“H-hello?” She meekly asked the dark abyss of the alleyway. This was like something out of horror movie and she would be the first idiot to die… she should just walk away. Curiosity always killed the cat.

And then another pained whine came from the darkness… was it an injured animal of some kind? Her heart ached at the thought. Maybe she’d shine a light down the alleyway to see what made those pained noises.

(Your name) pulled her phone out of her pocket and activated the flashlight on it. She then shined the light down the alleyway, her eyes wide at the sight before her.

It wasn’t a dog that groaned in hunger but a man. A man covered in jagged scars sat curled up beside a dumpster. His large, tanned body curled up into a ball. His golden eyes filled with fear when he looked at her. Was he homeless?

(Your name) slowly made her way toward him, careful not to scare him even more than he already was. Her eyes softened at how he cowered when she neared him.

“It’s okay… I won’t hurt you.” (Your name) continued to tip toe towards the large man until she was only a few feet off him. He only trembled in response, his golden eyes studied her in anticipation. And that’s when a loud growl from his stomach reached her ears, a sympathetic smile on her face.

The young woman slowly reached into her lunchbox and handed him her uneaten sandwich. The man’s eyes widen in surprise before he hesitantly took the sandwich from her.

Now that she could see his face a bit better, she realized this man was bewitchingly beautiful. It was as if he was from another world.

The man hesitantly sniffed the sandwich before he gingerly took a bite. His eyes lit up at the taste of honeyed ham and swiss, his abnormally long tongue darted out to lick the sauce from between the sandwich.

(Your name) could only stare in wonder at the odd man. Was this the first sandwich he’s ever had? He was taking apart each layer of the sandwich rather than eating it all together. Despite how bizarre this was, it was also kind of endearing.

(Your name) quickly handed him the fresh fruit and vegetables to try to put something else in his bottomless pit of a stomach. How long had he been hungry? She felt horrible for him…

(Your name) watched the man scarf down his food like a starving animal. His body language no longer showed fear, an expression of relaxation on his face. She wondered if he may be mentally impaired.

(Your name) sat with him for a bit, his putrid scent was a bit much for her to handle, but he seemed so lonely.. how could she not feel bad for him?

The man turned his completely attention to her. His head tilted to the side while he studied her pretty face. His golden eyes and mannerisms reminded her of an owl.

(Your name) sat with the man for a few more minutes until she decided to leave. It was getting late…

“Good bye, mister. Take care, okay?” (Your name) smiled brightly at the man, the man tilted his head off to the side. Poor guy… she hoped he stayed safe.

The man’s golden eyes watched the young woman leave. Pickle purred, his golden eyes studied her small form.

The primitive man slowly trailed behind her, the giant careful not to alert her of his presence. Pickle didn’t want to scare his future mate!

He wondered if he should start courting her since she had courted him… maybe some fruits would do? She seemed to like fruits!

Poor (your name) had not a single clue in the world of the trouble that was about to brew in her life.

.

.

.

Small rodent and avian carcasses were left on her step. It was a bit difficult to differentiate what they once were since their bodies were so mangled, but she was able to piece together what they were due to the feathers, blood, and fur that was mixed all over her doormat.

This was all so incredibly strange... Were these left behind by the local cat? Was it a token of appreciation for feeding it? (Your name) had not a clue on who or what could’ve left this on her step. She didn’t think a cat was capable of such brutality, but it was hard to imagine another human, leaving this too…

(Your name) grimaced when she picked some of the remnants of the small animal carcasses, a few guys spilled out when she did so. This was so gross.

The young woman scrunched up her face and distaste. she then began to clean up the mess and discard the carcasses into her trashcan. She would probably have to bleach her whole front step to get the putrid odor of death away after work…

“Meow!”

An orange tabby cat mewled at her. Its little orange body brushed against her in a soothing manner. She smiled a bit at the fluffy feline before she bent down to run her fingers through its small head.

“Hello, tiger. I haven’t seen you in a bit.” The cat simply purred in response, its tail rubbed against her legs to scent her. (Your name) indulged the cat a bit until she knew she had to leave for work. “Sorry but I have to go to work. I’ll see you later!”

(Your name) gathered up her belongings and hurried down the street to walk to work. The orange tabby sat on her step, it’s tail ticked back and for like a clock. It’s small pink nose sniffed the few remains she didn’t scoop up in interest. The cat then began to lick up the bloody remains.

Pickle whined from his spot in the forest. She didn’t like his gift… was it not to her liking?

Pickle snarled, his bloody canines flashed under the light as he watched the cat lick up the remnants of his gift. That wasn’t for that animal… it was for his mate. Perhaps she would like something bigger?

Pickle observed the local cat that (your name) doted on. He’d start with that creature that hogged her attention… then he’d set his sights to bigger game.

Pickle stalked forward toward his prey, but the cat tilted its head at him. The tiny animal sauntered over to him and brushed its head against his leg.

It dumbfounded Pickle. The Neanderthal scooped up the small house cat and stared at it. The cat’s purrs never ceased as it maintained eye contact with him.

The two creatures blinked at each other until the cat leaned forward and licked Pickle’s nose. Pickle furrowed his brow at the rough feeling but didn’t entirely reject the gesture.

Pickle changed his mind. He was fond of this tiny creature that purred like him. Pickle sat on the grass with the cat now in his lap. The cat rubbed its head over his palms to pet it.

Pickle would find something else to hunt… something much larger. He didn’t think (your name) would like if he harmed her companion.

.

.

.

“So I was wondering if you’d let me take you out on a date yet, (your name)?” (Your name) sighed and glanced up from her computer at her manager, Kenji. He was a nice looking man but (your name) had no interest in dating anyone at the moment. She was quite happy just caring for the local cat and tending to her indoor plants.

“Sorry, Kenji. I don’t have any interest in dating.” (Your name) bowed her head a bit to Kenji. “Thank you for the offer-“

Kenji sighed, the young man leaned his beefy forearms onto her cubicle wall. His dark eyes narrowed a bit before he muttered, “you’re going to end up alone. You’re still young and pretty. Don’t you think you should give this a chance? You might not get another.”

(Your name) furrowed her brow at Kenji in confusion. What on earth did he mean by that?

As if Kenji could read her mind, he chuckled. “Everyone thinks you’re a bit odd, (your name). You daydream an awful lot and you feed the cats. The other workers all think you’re going to end up being a cat lady.”

(Your name) frowned and turned her attention back to her computer, which made Kenji click his tongue. The brunette then went on his way.

Kenji swore he’d get her attention soon… he’s liked her for awhile now. And he’d do anything for her to notice him… anything.

Kenji smirked. Thank goodness she lived in isolation, it’d be easier to corner her since no one would hear her screams….

.

.

.

(Your name) made her way home, unaware of a presence following behind her. The young woman walked down the dimly lit streets toward her house with no awareness of her surroundings.

Pickle scuttled around in the shadows. His eyes narrowed at the man that followed (your name). His nose sniffed the air, his head cocked to the side in confusion. Was this a challenger?

Pickle quietly stalked forward behind the man. The man too focused on following (your name) to notice the Neanderthal behind him.

(Your name) eventually made it onto hee quiet street. The young woman hummed a cheery tune, unaware of the Kenji who was just a few feet behind her.

The man made a move to grab her but he was soon pulled into a giant, muscular chest. The man almost screened but a large hand was shoved over his mouth.

Kenji slowly looked up, his dark eyes wide in horror at what held him like a snake. This was the caveman from the news…

Pickle tilted his head in curiosity. What was this small man planning to do with his mate? Pickle may not have been from the modern world but he was familiar with the laws of nature. And this man didn’t have good intentions for his mate…

Pickle bared his fangs at the man, his golden eyes glowed like a burning fire under the street lights. Pickle was terrifying… and his sudden appearance may have caused Kenji to urinate himself a bit.

Pickle turned his head to glance at (your name) who made it safely to her house, far enough out of ear shot now to what was about to happen.

Kenji tried to swing his fist up to punch Pickle but Pickle simply snapped his head off to the side. Pickle cooed a bit at the dead body now in his arms.

This was his competition? How disappointing…

Pickle carried Kenji toward the sewers. The caveman threw his body into the manhole before he jumped in after.

Perhaps he’d leave more gifts for (your name) later? He wondered if she’d like a pelt… he could show off his nest skills to her! She’d be so thrilled to se show hood of a provider he was!

But first he’d take care of this body. Pickle was feeling a bit peckish after all…

.

.

.

(Your name) hummed as she watered her various tropical plants in her home. The inside of her house felt much like a tropical rainforest for the various rare plants in her home.

(Your name) owned various orchids, a few vibrant flamingo flowers, and some lovely begonias. But her favorite was her monstera. She babied that plant the most. The young woman considered at her most prized possession since it was her largest plant.

She felt so at peace taking care of these plants. Her plants are better company than most people. She found it hard to be around other human beings, since they were always so conniving. She knew that at least plants would never betray her or try to harm her.

(Your name) hummed as she continued to tend to her plants. Unaware of Pickle who sat perched on a tree branch outside her window. The Neanderthal has recently found a way in through her bedroom but he preferred to wait until she wasn’t home.

It was much easier for him to find places where they could store young and to scent the outer perimeter of her house when she wasn’t around. Pickle made sure to keep her home extra safe.

The various plant life was a plus to him. It made him feel like he was at home himself… he was so flattered that his mate was so understanding of him.

Pickle would be sure to be wonderful to her once she accepted the last part of his courtship.

.

.

.

A few days have gone by and Kenji was no longer at work. (Your name) and her coworkers thought it was very strange. He never missed work.

A few had tried to call him, and one coworker even went to his house, but there was no reply. It puzzled them all. Where could he have gone?

Kenji was a bachelor so he didn’t have any roommates or a girlfriend. And no one in the office really knew his family either… it was a shame.

(Your name) felt bad about being relieved from his absence. She no longer was harassed on a day-to-day basis for a date. A part of her feel guilty, but the other part not so much.

(Your name) continue to type away on her computer, unaware of the caveman that sat on the rooftop of the building across the street from her. His golden eyes studied her as she worked diligently on her assignment.

Pickle placed his chin in his palms, the caveman purred. His mate was so cute… she seemed much happier now that the weird man was gone.

Pickle glanced down at the fresh bear pelt beside him. He would leave this for her at we home today and then he would start to bring her many more until she accepted him.

Spring time was coming soon and pickle was determined to mate.

.

.

.

A few weeks have gone by since the disappearance of Kenji now. It was spring now… and he was still missing.

Missing posters of Kenji were now set all over the city. There was absolutely no trace of him anywhere. (Your name) felt as if he was a ghost, because he disappeared into thin air.

The police broke into his apartment to find a body, but nothing was found other than old food and all of his belongings. There was talk that he might have been murdered or kidnapped. But who on this green earth would want Kenji of all people?

This matter didn’t help the young women feel any safer in his community anymore. In the last few weeks she felt as if there was always a pair of eyes that were on her. No matter where she went or where she was, she felt like she was being studied like a lab specimen. It made her skin crawl sometimes.

(Your name) clutched her lunch box close to herself and bit her lip. She didn’t feel safe anywhere she went. Her home no longer felt safe. She swore some of her belongings were missing and it drove her insane.

(Your name) had only a handful of panties left now… which was odd since she had just bought some new ones recently. She even took apart her washer to examine if they were lost in one of the crevices but to no avail…

But who would steal her undergarments? Kenji was no longer in the picture so it couldn’t be him… and he was the only man who was interested in her… she should stop thinking about this.

(Your name) wished she could shrug it off but she couldn’t. Especially with the various animal pelts left on her door step.

Who was bringing her bear and deer pelts? She couldn’t bring herself to throw them away but she has just been shoving them into her garage. She didn’t know what else to do with them… she would feel bad if she threw away someone’s hard work.

(Your name) sat on her door step with her orange tabby, Tiger. The cat purred while she pet him. Lately she had noticed that the cat had put on a few extra pounds… has someone else been feeding him?

(Your name) patted Tiger’s little tummy in wonder. She didn’t have any neighbors around so it was strange that the cat had gained some extra cushion…

And that’s when a rustling in the bushes drew her attention. (Your name) snapped her head towards the bush, a giant man stepped forward. His golden eyes transfixed on her. It was the homeless guy she met months ago…

(Your name) glanced at the pelt in his arms in shock. Was he her stalker?!

Pickle gave her a toothy grin. The Neanderthal set the pelt in front of her before he began to dance. (Your name) could only sit still in shock while Pickle continued to dance before her.

Then it all clicked. Pickle was not a homeless man. He was the Neanderthal from the news a few months back… and he wasn’t stalking her. Pickle was courting her.

(Your name) froze when Pickle paused his dance, the Neanderthal cooed softly at her. His long fingers tilted her chin up to look at him.

And that’s when he licked her nose just like a cat. His eyes filled with wonder.

(Your name) remained frozen, even when he scooped her up into his arms to carry her into her garage where the various pelts lied.

Pickle finally had her… he finally had his cute little mate.

[obesogen]

You introduce yourself to someone

"Hi, so-and-so, I'm ..." and you think that you say your name,

but your plump hands, slightly sweaty,

and your swollen forearms, encroaching on small wrists,

your upper arms role-poly like the Michelin man,

and your wide, sloppy, drooping gut,

which is in theory fully covered by a shirt

barely tho;

your deep, wide belly button visible through thin fabric, stretched taut, 12x getting too small,

and let's not forget your double chin,

your soft pillowy neck roll,

your dewlap, a perfectly closed collar of squishy fat that

your tiny features sink into–

these things say

hi so-and-so,

i'm super obese, morbidly obese, obese class III,

i'm permanently disabled by how fat i have become

i'm the fattest person you have ever had to speak to

i'm the fattest person you have ever seen in person

and not on the tv freak show

hi so and so, i'm severely mentally ill

hi so and so, i'm traumatized

hi so and so, i am addicted to food

hi so and so, i have no impulse control

hi so and so, i'm ... what's your name again?

you are no one, nothing,

all you are and all you can ever be is gloriously obese beyond the frenzied imaginings of our starving ancestors who carved the venus of willendorf

you are stuffed to the point of near-bursting; even the backs of your neck rolls are frosted with stretch marks. the body always finds somewhere to store fat, and with all the usual spots so filled to the brim, you notice eventually even your forehead is fat; a deposit of soft tissue that furrows above your brows, like a sharpei.

Not long after you got a second mobility aid for out in public, a powerchair with a capaciity of 1100 pounds and hydraulic suspension and tread on its 8 tires like a tank, you started using your old one around the house, always on the verge of breaking down under the additional 200 pounds you carry beyond its rated 500 pound capacity. Not long after, unthinkingly, you just stopped walking, out of sheer bone-idleness. You couldn't say when your last day on your feet was, you surrendered sooner than that day came, comfortably dependent.

Months later, you dimly attempt to recall when you last moved, standing, from one point in space to another. Until the last month, you could still, barely, haul yourself up using a bar to support and balance yourself. From being pushed up out of your powerchair with a forward lift, to the belly gathering momentum and sliding down, to you standing shakily and taking one shuffling step to reposition your body so you can transfer from one big chair to another big chair, and from one big chair to the big motorized bariatric hospital bed.

Now, just 20 pounds later, you can't move your blob body hardly at all below your greedy mouth with its greasy, parted, mouthbreathing lips and beyond your wriggling sausage link fingers. You cannot move any other part of your body without needing help. You are not to your knowledge paralyzed really in any way, you just shamelessly became too fat to lift your own arms, you press a button on a remote that must be attached to your fat hand since if you drop it you couldn't even retrieve it with a string, you are just that weak– so thoroughly inhabiting how obese you are through the total abdication of all decisions.

Once the support bar began to gather dust and was eventually packed away- you become adjusted to transfering from place to place using motorized cranes and winches, your fat slab form filling huge slings with tough straps, prone and helpless, drowning beneath countless rolls, lovingly oiled machinery creaking as it hefts your megafat body.

Your muscles are so weak and your limbs are so heavy. You still have the urge to to struggle and sweat to lift another treat to your bottomless pit of a stomach. You are estimated to be able to hold several gallons in there before feeling sick from fullness.

Most days you simply lie expectantly and grunt with your mouth open, eating everything you are given by any of your staff or acolytes, and sucking melted ice cream sludge from one tube, or chugging diet coke or (regular) mountain dew from 2 different (fountain) tubes.

Turns out there's more than irony to research suggesting artificial sweeteners like aspartame provoke intense cravings for actual sugar.

You are fat beyond reason. Only the most depraved massive, disabling, immobilizing obesity fetishists could find your tremendous doughy body, with a belly so outsized you must be buckled into powerchairs and scooters and even the shower chair. If you don't endure the humiliation of being buckled into the modern day litter which drags your fat around, your unwieldy pannus threatens to upset your vehicle, tipping you forward and pulling you down– you know you would be left on the floor gasping, unable to even sit up, defenseless, amorphous.

And besides,

you forgot your name anyway

years ago,

dont you remember? my

pitiful

swollen

hog.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

helloo! I just saw your Valentine's Day event and was wondering if I can request for a milk chocolate no.17 with sanji? thank you in advance and hope you're having a nice day!! 💖

... I went over 1000 words again...

I decided to make this one vanilla, I hope you like it!

Sanji x GN!Reader

1.3k words

Prompt:

I don’t deserve you, but I want you. Is that so wrong?

Sanji being doting was hardly unheard of, it was seemingly in his blood. Lately, however, it had been borderline excessive. It was normal for you to receive an extra treat or drink when Sanji was serving meals and snacks, but now you were on the receiving end of some special treatment. Rather than getting a share of what everyone else was having, he was making food specifically, and only, for you. 

Admittedly, it had taken you a while to notice the behavior, with Luffy being the one to call attention to it when he realized that you had gotten extra food. Naturally, he’d wrapped himself around Sanji while loudly demanding some, too. 

Sanji had yelled at him that he literally just ate and not every single thing that comes out of the kitchen needs to go to him, but it was a losing battle. Resulting in Sanji having to abandon the conversation you two had been having to make your bottomless pit of a captain something to eat lest he “starve to death”. The bickering had been funny, but you couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that Sanji had gone out of his way to make something just for you.

It made you feel special, though you couldn’t be sure why he suddenly started doing this. Before he began acting this way, he’d been borderline avoidant of you for a while. What had changed?

The doting had only ramped up from there. Every time the ship docked at a populated island he would come back to the ship with a gift for you, and that was excluding the instances where he’d talked you into exploring the town with him. On those occasions, he’d bought you numerous gifts if you so much as looked at something for too long. Any attempt to dissuade him would be shot down with him insisting that you deserved it and he wouldn’t be discouraged. 

On top of that, he’d been awfully touchy. If you were walking together, he’d insist that you hold his arm so that “you don’t get separated”. Whenever you were in close quarters, he’d take any opportunity to brush up against you. When he would pass behind you, he would place his hand on your lower back. Again, not abnormal in and of itself, but the frequency of his touches was noticeably higher than it usually would be.

If this was anyone else, you would easily come to the conclusion that this person was crushing on you hard. But, with Sanji, it was harder to determine that. He was a chronic flirt, at what point could his actions truly be considered unusual? Was this a serious interest he was taking in you, or was simply being extra nice to you because you were all crewmates? Without a full on confession, you felt stuck in a will-he-won’t-he limbo. What you wouldn’t give to guarantee that this would end on the ‘will he’ side.

All of this led you to tonight. Sanji had invited you to come taste test some new dishes. You aren’t sure why he insisted on doing this in the middle of the night, but who were you to question a culinary genius?

But the most likely answer was that he was praying Luffy would be asleep and wouldn’t disturb you two this time.

Dim lights are shining under the door as you make your way to the kitchen. The sound of dishes clanking against the table could be heard from the hallway. Before the door was even open, several delicious aromas flooded your senses. Oh, you were definitely going to enjoy this taste test.

You quietly slip into the kitchen and are a little surprised at what you see. You’ve been present for Sanji’s food experimentation before, and never before did it come with a beautifully set table and candles. Rather than a collection of miscellaneous dishes, there were only two plates on the table sitting opposite from each other.

Sanji was standing at the kitchen counter adding the finishing touches to a decadent looking cake, and he was so focused on icing it perfectly that he had yet to notice that you were here already.

For the most part, barring a couple of fashion atrocities, Sanji liked to dress well, but he looked especially refined right now. He’d ditched his typical three piece suit, instead settling for some black dress pants and a silk shirt that was only buttoned up half way. The rolled up sleeves accentuated his defined forearms, making them downright difficult to tear your eyes away from.

Needless to say, you were feeling painfully underdressed in your pajamas. What can you say? You thought this was about to be a glorified midnight snack session, not a candlelit dinner.

Before you could attempt to sneak out and put on literally anything else, Sanji finally saw you. He tensed, likely surprised that you got the drop on him, but quickly recovered and turned to face you properly. He smiled so warmly that it distracted you from your previous embarrassment.

“You’re here! I’m glad, I was worried you might change your mind,” he averted his eyes, and there was a noticeable red tint to his face. 

“I would never pass up on an opportunity to try some more of your food.” Doing so would be simply insane. You scratched the back of your neck as you glanced down at your pajamas again, “So, uh… Should I go change? This looks like it might be a bit more than a taste test.”

“No!” Sanji all but shouted, only to backpedal into a softer tone, “No, you don’t have to do that. I think you look breathtaking.”

You decided to internally agree to disagree on that point. Though you couldn’t help but notice how he neglected to confirm or deny that this invitation was for something more than what he initially said it was.

Sanji took the cigarette he’d been smoking and snuffed it out in an ashtray before approaching you directly. Once he was in front of you, he hesitated for only a moment before taking your hands in his. Your heart rate increases as you begin to think you know where this is going. Was this actually happening? Is he going to confess?

“I don’t deserve you, but I want you. Is that so wrong?” The words were spoken so softly that you wondered if you heard him right. He continued, “I know that I’ve said things to this affect countless times before, but I’m not saying this just for the sake of flattering you. I mean it. Even if it is wrong and selfish, I can’t go on denying the truth. I love you.”

The gray-blue eye that had been locked onto your intertwined hands drifted up to your own eyes. Many emotions hung onto his every micro-expression. Fear. Adoration. Distress. Relief. Trepidation. Excitement. A dominant emotion ebbed into all of them. Love.

There wasn’t a doubt in your mind as to whether or not he meant it. You felt like he’d all but bared his soul to you, and he probably would do just that if he could. Every word of that was true, you knew it.

This was an intensely romantic moment. Ideally, you should maintain the atmosphere by responding in kind with your own touching confession.

Unfortunately, the excitement from him admitting his feelings may have fried your brain. Instead of carefully chosen words, you launched yourself at Sanji, wrapping your arms around him and pressing an almost frantic kiss against his lips.

The force of the action made both of you lose your footing and collapse into a heap on the ground. You pull away, worried that you may have hurt him. For a moment he just stares ahead with a blank, shocked look on his face. Then it morphs into a grin and- literal hearts appear in his eyes?

And then it’s his turn to all but attack you with a kiss of his own. You’re pretty sure he’s completely forgotten about the dinner.

[chibsandchill]

How to secure a future

Fandom: HOTD (House of the dragon)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x AFAB!reader (no use of Y/N or pronouns)

Summary: Aemond’s delusions about besting his Uncle in combat comes real, and he lives out the aftermath of the war in a cabin with you. Only, it’s not enough. 

Warnings: Obsessive behavior, Aemond Targaryen, mentions of Daemon, allusions to sex, descriptions of murder and gore, metaphorical self-harm, unhealthy relationships, Aemond has truly given in to the delulu, toxic behavior and mindset, spelling and grammatical mistakes (English is my second language), allusions to cannibalism, Aemond baby-traps you, etc

Masterlist

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

If Aemond knew anything it would be obsession. That gut-wrenching longing, the want for more;  the bottomless pit of darkness – a starved beast rattling rusty bars, frothing at the mouth for more. Every inhale heavy with hatred and jealousy, his blood thick as tar with envy, he was a mere shell of a man driven only by the desire to possess. To conquer. His uncle – Daemon – was much the same. His brother too. Though, Aemond thought himself cut from a different cloth. Same material, same maker, but Aemond was driven by love, he ached for the chaos that the chase brought. He thirsted for the blood of your enemies, a thirst that could never be quenched. 

Or could it? 

Had he not cut his beloved uncle from cock to eyes he might have asked for advice. Perhaps then he would be more like the prince his mother wanted and less like a rabid beast drowning in a sea of longing. Wave after wave threatened to pull him under. Sometimes he wanted to let it take him. There could be pleasure in that too. Is there a better death than one in pursuit of you? You’d cry so sweetly over his corpse. 

No, 

the thought disgusted him. He was the one deserving your affection, your tears, your pain. All of it. All his, his, his, his. 

Alas, 

Daemon, his severed cock and all his wisdom (for all the good it did him) laid buried beneath hundreds upon thousands of men in an unmarked grave, and so could not say much at all. 

If only his mother knew what Aemond was truly up to when he said he’d take Vhagar for a flight. She’d cry. Perhaps even strike him. He wouldn’t feel it, so he’d let her. Her words couldn’t hurt him anymore than the back of her hand could – not even his brother’s depravity elicited a reaction from him anymore. Their blades grew as dull as the scars they had left behind, more akin to a cold summer’s breeze than a sword through the gut. How could they hurt when you cut him so deeply? When you looked past him as if he was one of many in a crowd but you’d move so sweetly against him when he visited you at night; when you looked at him and saw nothing, but he looked at you and you were everything. 

The dragon fire in his heart was helpless against the cold left in your absence, he was a man without purpose, with naught but envy, envy, jealousy and longing and spite keeping him at your heels. Even when you were in the same room did he long for you, burn with envy at the sight of your friends sitting next to you, of your cousin who smoothed down wayward hairs, of your uncle who pushing in your chair, of the clothing that clung to you, of the very air you breathed, the blood in your veins, everything. There was not a thing he did not envy for their closeness to you, and not a thing he had not thought of tearing away so he could take his rightful place. 

Were he a better man he would write you poems. Mountains of them. Through mangled hands and bloody fingers would he write scroll after scroll declaring his love and devotion in flowery prose and sweet, sweet words that dripped with adoration. 

But Aemond was a dragon prince and he dealt in chaos, burning possession and fiery jealousy. It was all blood and gore and violence, but Aemond liked to imagine that before the war when he still had that softness to him that his grandsire made sure to beat out of him, he’d woo you with soft hands and smiles and flirtatious words spoken through giggles at grand events, and kisses stolen in gardens. 

But you saw through the flames and violence and saw Aemond for what he was. You had to. You did. He knew you did. He covered you in blood and through a wobbly smile and tear-filled eyes Aemond swore he saw your future together. 

And he grabbed a hold of that future with no intentions of letting go. 

“Honey, I’m home.” 

Aemond locked the door to the cabin behind him. Swinging from his hand was an unlit lantern. It sparked to life without much protest and a pleasant glow lit up the room. Gaunt faces drawn with unsteady hands on water-logged parchment stared down at him from where they hung precariously from rusty nails lodged in moldy walls. It hadn’t begun to smell yet – the mold – but the air was humid. 

“Aemond.” 

“Hello.” He placed the lantern on the kitchen table. It shook under its meager weight. Aemond would have to get you a new one for the new house. “Did you miss me?”

“Like a prisoner misses the headman.”

“Time has not dulled your tongue, my love. I’m glad.” 

You hummed. 

“Have you eaten?” He asked. 

“Yes.”

“Good. I brought dessert.” 

Aemond set the table. Two plates, both cracked, and a fork for you and a spoon for him. You have no glasses, not anymore, so he brought two wooden mugs with him. The handles have splintered from overuse but they served their purpose. He brought two lemon squares dusted with powdered sugar and candied lemons from the kitchens. Perhaps you’d even taste one of them this time. 

The smell filled the room, but you didn't move. 

Aemond let out a sigh as he placed the treats on the plates. “It’s your favorite.”

“Were. They were my favorites.”

His eye twitched. 

“My cousin used to steal platters of them from the kitchen the night before my nameday.” You mused. Aemond knew this already but said nothing in fear that you’d go back to silence. The sweet lilt in your voice warmed him ever so pleasantly. “They were my favorite because they were hers.” 

“Would you rather I bring something else?” 

“Candles. I don’t like the dark.” 

Odd, considering how you clung to the shadows of the room to avoid him. Aemond loved the chase. You knew that. 

“Of course.” He agreed with a dip of his head. “Anything you want.” Within reason. 

“Anything?” You pressed. “I want to go outside.”

“No.”

“Why? The war is over, isn’t it? Aemond, please, I haven’t seen the sun in months.”

The real answer was on the tip of his tongue, but he’d never let them go. You wouldn’t like it. And for what did you need the sun when he was here? He brought a lantern, did he not? He was your sun, and your moon and even the stars. In this cabin nothing could hurt you without his permission, no one could find you and take you away, nothing to leach the warmth from you or dull your smile. He could not shine like you, so he had to bring it with him, unlike you who shone like the brightest star whenever you entered a room. He had lived for far longer than a few months in darkness, with mere glimpses of your light and warmth. The gaping hole in his chest had festered and rotted the longer he carried on, but no longer. Each day when you smiled at him as he entered the cabin tore the corruption from him, your laugh cleansed him off the darkness gripping him. He was reborn by your grace. 

“Perhaps tomorrow, darling.” 

You huffed. 

“Oh. I almost forgot.” Aemond pulled out a locket from his pocket. It was made of gold and lined with red rubies. “I had this made for you.” 

His chest burned as you moved out of the shadows. They clung to you, tugged at you with their dirty fingers. Your steps are almost silent against the floor, but the rattling of chains is louder than thunder. 

A precaution. 

“What is it?” Your fingers curl around his wrist. 

The words died in his throat. You were so warm, your touch soft as silk against his scarred wrist. he had never known a gentle touch before you. Gentle did not make dragons strong, and they certainly didn’t create strong towers capable of withstanding a dragon’s attack. But he had no use of dragon fire in here, or twisted claws, or strong walls to keep you out when all he wanted was to have you closer. 

Here he was simply Aemond. And he was almost… content. 

Almost. 

“It’s a locket.” He cleared his throat. “Look.”

He flipped it open to reveal a portrait he had commissioned of the best artist in King’s Landing, and on the other side he had your favorite flower preserved. A token of his love; everlasting. Much like the flower it would never wilt, never change. He burned for you now just as he did before. He was as addicted to you as his father had been to the milk of the poppy before he passed. You consumed his every thought. 

“Oh, Aemond.” You whispered. “It’s lovely. Thank you.” 

You pressed a kiss against his cheek whilst placing your hand on the other one. Wildfire spread under the skin you touched. 

“I understand it can get lonely-”

He didn’t (couldn’t) understand, but his mother made sure he was a skilled diplomacist, and so he spat out the words as though they were poison. You were two parts of a whole, how could you be lonely when all he wanted, all he needed was you. 

“It’s okay! Truly. I like it here.” You rushed out. 

He allowed himself to bask in your touch. His clenched fist relaxed, but despite your light, your warmth, your love, the root of his darkness could not be touched. In a way, he didn’t want you to. He feared that if you reached that part you would be tainted, or worse, you would take it from him. That part allowed him to do what it takes to love you like you deserve. 

But you never would find it. He had torn at himself until he was in a thousand pieces, drifting in the wind after you. Gradually he stitched himself together, then tore the stitches and created himself anew. Mangled and broken did he wander two steps behind you, darkness oozing from the crude stitching and infested wounds. Truly a monster. Until he made himself whole again. For you. Like you. In your image he made himself anew. He tore the wings from his back, the claws from his fingers and the fire from his chest so that he may never burn you. He tore himself from the sky so that he might see you one last time. Again and again he tore flesh from bone, bone from flesh, until he began to resemble what you needed, what you desired. A thousand layers of flesh to hide the remains of a beast unworthy of you. 

Still, he could tear at himself until nothing remained, could press himself against you until all that remained of him was fading warmth, and it still would not lessen the longing he felt for you, the heart-crushing need to be closer. The seeds of doubt, of what-if’s threatened to undo all that he had made himself. 

If he allowed you but one candle, would you cast him aside? If he was not your light, would you cast him aside? He was nothing without you. Would you think the sun’s warmth superior to his? It would steal your affection, and he would be forced to wander the darkness alone again. Though he did not think he would survive this time, for he had been shown what being with you was like. 

“Good.” He managed to choke out, dull pressure growing behind his eyes at the reminders. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” 

“How- how is my mother?” 

“Thriving. Your father hired that gardener from Dorne.” Aemond placed his hand over yours. 

“Good.” You smiled with glassy eyes. “Good. That’s… good. I’m… happy for her.”

 Aemond nodded. 

He would never tell you the truth. 

Your mother carried that same unnatural warmth as you, and her blood felt like fire. Your father felt like ice. How the mix created you, Aemond would never know. The gardener had heard them. He tasted like the desert – dry, hot and awful. 

It was one of the best nights of his life, and he had left you unable to walk properly for days after. 

Now they could never take you from him. 

Their weakness disgusted him. How easily they had abandoned you. Aemond would not stop protecting you even in death. 

“Yes. Will you eat with me?”

“Oh. Thank you for the gifts but I’m not hungry.” You pulled away from him and he was once more plunged into the icy depths that was being parted from you. His skin crawled with the absence of you. 

His teeth ground together. “That’s fine.” 

“I had a lot of dinner. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” 

It wasn’t. Did you think him incapable of providing for you? 

The lemon squares dripped onto the floor. They coated his fists. 

“I- Maybe next time.” 

“Do you not love me anymore?”

Tense silence fell over the room. 

“What?” You asked, stunned. 

“Do. you. not. love. me?”

“O-of course I do!”

His eyes burned. “Is there someone else?”

“Aemond! What’s gotten into you?! There’s only you.”

“Is it the farmer?” 

“No!” 

“The stable boy?”

“No! Aemond, please! You lock the door every time you leave. There’s no one else.”

“It’s me then.” 

“Did Aegon say something to you? Is that why you’re behaving like this?” Your face reddened, but for all the wrong reasons. 

Disgust coiled in his stomach as his brother’s name left your mouth. 

“My apologies.” He inclined his head. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I shouldn’t have accused you of such filth. I knew you would never betray me like that.”

Aemond felt like a fool. Somewhere along the way he had miscalculated, had missed a piece of corrupted flesh and stitched it along his love and devotion to you. He knew you loved him. Of course you did. You were meant for each other. Two pieces of a whole torn apart by cruel gods. He would need to tear it out, and begin anew. Once more would he bathe himself in blood and fire to become worthy of you. 

You shook your head. “It’s okay. I understand.” 

He barely heard your words. He felt as though he was underwater.  Drowning, drowning, drowning. It was dark, cold, silent, and you were not there. 

How could he cement his place next to you? He had coiled himself around you after you joined together, had left himself inside you so not even that would tear you apart. As you slept he would press himself closer to you, his hold would tighten like a snake coiling around prey until you whimpered, and yet he was not close enough. His knees felt weak. It could never be enough, this would never be enough. Surely there was a way. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

“Let me make it up to you.” He heard himself saying. 

“There’s nothing to make up for.” 

So understanding. 

“Even so. I’ve missed you.” 

A sharp inhale, and then his lips were on yours. It felt like coming home, like completion. The missing piece returned to the puzzle. He had spent hours trying to put the feeling into words, and yet came up empty-handed. There weren’t a lot of thoughts swirling around his mind when he was pressed against you like this. Not when his hands had already begun to wander down your waist until he gripped your hips. You let out a surprised sound but you welcomed his touch, your own hands coming up to rest on his chest. 

Somehow you make it to the bedroom. Aemond shrugged off his coat and shoes before pushing you down on the bed. Your pupils are dilated, a delightful blush coated the apples of your cheeks, and you were smiling at him again. 

Oh, that smile. 

“Gods.” He whispered. 

Aemond’s hands shook as he began unlacing his shirt, then his trousers, his shoes. They were all thrown in a pile. They didn’t matter. His hands were steady, sure, and gentle as he pulled at the frail strings holding your dress together. It came undone easily enough, and pooled around your hips. 

Just as he leaned down to kiss along the curve of your neck, the lantern went out. It mattered not to Aemond who was used to the darkness, and he knew your body like the back of his hand. Your head lulled to the side and you sighed softly. 

And if a few weeks after that night you greeted him in tears when he returned for the night with the beginnings of a swollen stomach, then that was no one’s business but his and yours. 

[0bticeo]

may the odds be in your favour | coriolanus snow/fem!reader.

summary:

“stop playing pretend,” he murmurs, voice like a knife against your throat. “you want something from me.”

you lick your lips and watch as his gaze subconsciously trails down to your mouth. such a pretty mouth, bitten red to mimic the bold shades the likes of clemensia dovecote dons. such a lethal one.

“let's work together, coriolanus snow.”

or: your family has fallen from grace and you need the money from the plinth prize to survive. the catch? coriolanus snow needs it too. may the odds be in your favour.

part one. part two. part three. part four. part five.

cw: mild gore, unresolved sexual tension, manipulation, coriolanus snow himself.

wc: 1940.

you know the bottomless pits of hunger all too well. this country’s name may be panem, but you haven’t seen a glimpse of bread in weeks - nor anything that resembles a decent meal. not really. you’re six years old and the last one standing of the proud ash dynasty. ashes to ashes - most of your family’s dead, the capitol’s been blown to smithereens and you’re watching a man sever your father’s arm.  

here goes: those are the darkest days of the capitol, and hunger drives people mad. you’ve seen bodies litter the streets, clothes and limbs torn to shreds. you’ve watched the imprints of teeth in the skin and looked up to your father - is that normal? can people really be driven that far?

they can. man - an animal gifted with reason, but an animal, still. man, draping himself in ornate clothes and heady perfumes and intricate social codes. man, reduced to a starved beast, self preservation kicking in to ensure his survival.

so you watch, barely hidden behind the column of a ruined building, as your father’s corpse gets desecrated before your very eyes. you think you might’ve screamed. you think you might’ve collapsed, fallen to your knees, tender skin splitting open under the asphalt beneath. the man-beast above your father’s corpse startles and looks at you. even from this distance, you see an abyss gaping at you. 

then, there are hands upon you. then a hand grasps your wrist and tugs , urging you to stand, to run.

this is the first time you meet tigris and coriolanus snow. it won’t be the last.

***

in the dark of the night, you look at the many, many cracks of your ceiling and wonder what the best course of action would be. the end of the year creeps by, closer and closer, inevitable. with it, the plinth prize. enough money to get you and your mother food. enough money to get her a proper treatment.

you hear her coughing from her room and grimace. tuberculosis eats away at her. you fear you might not have enough time to save you both. 

you press your palms against your eyes. think. focus. the hours tick by, the night darkens, deepens. should you fail to get the damn prize, your mother would die - that you cannot let happen. you will not let it happen, not after everything you’ve been through, not after you had to recover your father’s mutilated corpse weeks after his death. sometimes, you can still smell it, the foul stench of rot eating away at who was once one of the most powerful men of the capitol. 

“there’s only power,” you mutter in the cold darkness of your room, your breath drawing a soft plume of white. it’s cold. you don’t feel it biting at your skin. the knowledge of your family’s downfall has frozen what was left of your innocence, the cold hard enough to shatter it.

cold. snow. it always comes back to him, in the end. coriolanus snow and his cold, cold gaze. you have a feeling he’s not as cold as he thinks he is. he hides it well. well enough to be on top of your class - a place you regularly snatch from him with a pretty smile. 

coriolanus snow, the one whose silhouette you see etched in the back of your mind, tall, arrogant, shoulders squared up in defiance, all lean muscles and carefully studied poise. doesn’t have one curl out of place, and if he does, it’s deliberate.

you sit up in your bed, covers pooling at your waist. you have half a mind to wrap them around your shoulders. the cold’s getting to you. snow always lands on top. 

until it melts.

as of now, there’s not enough fire in you to burn him. it wouldn’t be in your best interests to do so. he’s bloody brilliant, perhaps more than you. what neither of you have in riches, you make up for in wits and charisma and pretty, pretty silver lies. 

you sigh and fall back on the bed.

better strike a temporary alliance until you deem it necessary to end than to directly oppose him.

***

the next time you see him, there’s a heavy weight in your satchel and he hasn’t eaten in a day and a half. oh, he hides it well enough for the rich kids of your entourage. what do they know of hunger, those spoiled little brats? those with enough money to afford wasting away entire steaks?

so there he is, the proud coriolanus snow, leaning against the wall, arms crossed before his chest. blessedly alone. you make your move.

“hungering for something other than power?”

his eyes widen by a fraction, the movement near imperceptible. a quick glance around the hallway - you’re both alone. 

“what do you want?”

his gaze is withering, scorching hot as you make your way towards him, fingers dipping in your satchel. as you come closer, you allow yourself to take him in. something deep in you purrs in contentment when you see his jaw tick. oh, you’ve caught him off-guard, and he loathes it. with an imperceptible start, you realise this is the closest you’ve come to get a read on him. you’re quick to press the wrapped loaf of bread in his arms.

“don’t fall just yet.”

he doesn’t mention it, after. but you catch his gaze lingering on you. studying you. watching you. who you talk to, how you talk. how you carry yourself, the way you stretch your sore neck after pouring over your assigned anatomy volume for biology class. the way your fingers trace the bones, barely pressing on the page. he watches the way you lean back with the shadow of a smile after countering plinth’s arguments in rhetoric class. 

he watches and watches, and you feel the weight of his gaze on your back. 

you watch him, too. study him the way he studies you, carefully, subtly.

you find there are many things you have in common with coriolanus snow. a proud name. cunning. ambition. families fallen far, far below capitol’s standards, struggling to make do with what little’s left of your dignity. putting together scraps of past glory and playing pretend because you cannot afford to show weakness. you’re short on money, after all. only a miracle could save you.

(you’ve stopped thinking there was a benevolent entity above and resorted to only trusting in yourself. no miracle will get you and your mother out of the pit of misery the war threw you in. the plinth prize? that is something within reach. that is something within the realm of your abilities.)

here’s the catch - you’re one and the same, two sides of the same chipped coin. your family’s estate is close to his - close enough for the both of you to be able to take a glimpse through each other’s life with a simple glimpse through your respective windows. close enough for you to see dear tigris collect tiles from the bathroom walls. you’ll recognize the motif on the buttons of snow’s shirt come morning. 

he sees you, too. sees how your fingers dig into your arm whenever food’s on display, how you press your thumb ever so subtly against your stomach to muffle its growls. sees how your gaze lingers on the infirmary’s mahogany door - your mother’s sick, and the cure is one you cannot afford. sees how your gaze goes from one piece of decadent riches to the next, cold and calculating.

“what is your game?” he asks you, one cold january morning, voice like silk against your ear.

to your credit, you don’t shiver upon feeling his breath against the fine hairs of your neck. your face is as cold and emotionless as the marble statue you’ve focused your attention on. icarus reaching for the sun. from this close, you think his features bear a striking resemblance to snow’s.

you turn towards him, a half smile on your lips.

he looks back, abysmal. you see the beast beneath, the one that yearns for power.

you glance around the hallways. you’re alone.

“you’re smart enough to figure it out, snow.”

his eyes narrow by a fraction. there’s fire in those eyes, a devouring ambition. miscalculate and snow will burn you. would you rise from your ashes?

he leans in closer, until each inhale fills you with the heady scent of his cologne. if it takes everything in you not to lean into him, you will never tell. his hand is on you, then. he’s reaching out, seizing your chin and tilting back your head. 

“stop playing pretend,” he murmurs, voice like a knife against your throat. “you want something from me.”

you lick your lips and watch as his gaze subconsciously trails down to your mouth. such a pretty mouth, bitten red to mimic the bold shades the likes of clemensia dovecote dons. such a lethal one. 

“let's work together, coriolanus snow.”

something flashes in his eyes. his grip tightens on your chin. you don’t hide your pain. a soft noise escapes from your throat. from where you stand, a breath apart from each other, you can almost feel the sharp lines of his jaw. your fingers twitch, eager- eager for what?

“why should i work with you ?”

his gaze pins you down, rare butterfly to be studied, treasured, tucked away in a secluded collection. (his?) it trails down the silver necklace resting against your collarbones, down to the small pendant - a bird, wings spread wide.

you close the distance, lips brushing against his jaw. you feel his other hand raise and press against your hip, steadying you.

“because it heightens our chances of getting what we want.”

that damn plinth prize. his lip quirks, torn between scowl and smile. 

when he releases you, you find yourself missing his touch.

careful.

***

the morning after, you kiss your mother goodbye and open the door to… coriolanus snow. he’s there, waiting, one hand behind his back, the other extending a rose. it’s a white rose, as pure as snow. before you know it, before you can scramble to pick up the bits of your ruined composure, you blurt out:

“what are you doing here?”

here, in your waste of a home. here, where only a door separates him from the evidence of how far you’ve fallen. here, in your home-

he’s stepping forward, gently tucking the rose in your breast pocket, nimble fingers slowly, carefully easing themselves between the layers of fabric. you still, breath hitching in your throat. his hand is warm. you can feel it, even under the thick expanse of your winter uniform. before you know it, he pulls back a little and smiles, sharp edges hidden behind the pleasant curve of his lips. 

“ much better.”

you blink. his eyes are of the deadliest shade of blue you’ve ever seen, shimmering away to lure you in. to meet his gaze is to throw yourself to the sharks willingly. you’d like to think you’re not as foolish as to do so. that you wouldn’t be taken aback by the inevitable betrayal.

what you didn’t expect is that you would be the one betraying yourself so quickly.

that night, when you come back from the academy, after having been escorted home by an exceedingly pleasant snow, you lay in bed and try desperately not to think of the way his hand had felt against your breast. of how quick you were to lean into his touch.

you fail, and bite your lips until you taste blood on your tongue. 

foolish. 

the next morning, you keep the rose in your breast pocket.

[manicplank]

Ways The Noise Has Died

I have a headcanon that The Noise can die and respawn. (He's cursed, but sometimes he takes advantage of it.) These are just some of the ways he's died. He does a lot of stupid shit.

Hit by car: 3

Lung cancer: 2

Throat cancer: 1

Fallen from building/height: 2

Shot by police: 7

Drowned: 1

Execution by electric chair: 1

Eaten by alligators: 2

Smashed by piano: 2

Killed by Peppino: 15

Heart attack: 3

Diabetes: 3

Fire/burns: 5

Explosion: 22

Spontaneous combustion: 4

Eaten by shark: 1

Poisoned: 1

Internal bleeding: 2

Septic shock: 2

Execution by guillotine: 2

Bleeding out: 4

Head trauma: 5

Forgot to breathe: 18

Killed by Toppin Monster: 3

Mauled by bear: 1

Ate something inedible: 6

Forgot to eat (starved): 3

Alcohol poisoning: 6

Dehydration: 3

Eaten by tigers: 1

Strangled by Pizzahead: 2

Stung by bees: 1

Run over by boulder: 1

Struck by lightning: 2

Led poisoning: 2

Ate paint: 3

EDIT from replies:

Killed by Noisette: 1

Radiation exposure: 2

Choke on food: 12

Organ failure: 7

Froze to death: 1

Allergies: 3

Land mine testing: 2

Food poisoning: 28

Jetpack failure: 6

Sucked into black hole: 1

Inhaling carcinogenic gaz: 7

Talking back to his mama: 1

Banished into the shadow realm: 2

Dark magic spell failure: 4

Touching electric plug with a fork: 5

Stunt failure: 35

Edit from replies 2:

Got skewered in a magic trick gone wrong: 11

Got caught in a mousetrap: 6

Rat poison: 25

Burned alive: 4

(Feel free to suggest ways he's died. Silly little bastard is always up to no good.)

Hit by a train: 2

EDIT by replies 3:

Washed out to sea: 4

Battle with Doise: 1

Fallen into volcano: 7

Mocked Pepperman’s art: 3

Sucked into tornado: 3

Kicked by cow: 1

Crushed by his crusher: 4

Ate Fake Peppino’s food: 2

Slipped on banana peel: 18

Rabies: 4

Pissed off Dougie Jones: 1

Shot by alien raygun: 3

Crushed by tree: 1

Buried alive: 3

Shot by Vigilante: 2

Knife juggling: 4

challenged God to smite him: 1

Fallen into bottomless pit: 7

Eaten by piranhas: 3

Bitten by zombie: 1

Air balloon crash: 5

Tried to light his fart on fire (gone wrong): 1

[toomanyideasandfandoms]

Hello!

I have come to add my subpar ideas to the Death-Seeking Creator (which I will shorten to DSC for my own sanity) AU! Ignore them if you'd like!

Someone else mentioned the adrenaline junkie aspect, but what about other stuff that they've (maybe) evolved into, given their godhood likely having effects on their organic parts?

For example, what if dying is now the only way they can sleep?

I can see Teyvat or maybe even their own biology trying to keep them safe by altering them to need less sleep, as well as making them more alert and heightening their senses.

This, however, has gone a bit too far - they can't sleep anymore due to all the deaths they've suffered, body so keyed into survival mode that they can't physically find it in themselves to rest no matter how hard they try, and drugging them doesn't work anymore after Kaeya's sleep potion escapade.

The longer they're alive, the more and more unstable they become due to the restlessness, leading them to seek their next 'nap' even more desperately.

After like three weeks without a death, they just scream 'I can't take it anymore!' and self-delete with a sharp rock or whatever, only to then pop up somewhere else bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, having just experienced the equivalent of a full night of rest.

Or what if it's that they don't experience hunger instead, after who knows how many poisonings and attempts to eat being interrupted by the sudden appearance of an executioner?

Decadent, exquisite, utterly perfect meals are being laid out at their table once they've been 'accepted', only to touch absolutely none of it since they just can't feel hungry when they've been awake too long.

Yet as soon as they revive, they're practically starving, shoveling whatever slop is around into their face with the mindless urge to sate the bottomless pit in their stomach, half-mad with the returned urge.

This has led to them occasionally just showing up in the middle of the wilds post-mortis and joining a pack of friendly animals in eating a dead thing, much to the horror of the local populace and probably their 'acolytes'.

Bonus points if they offer said horrified onlookers a piece, like, 'want some? You can kill me after if you finish it all :)' just because they viscerally enjoy traumatizing their shitass betrayers.

But that's just my dogwater take. I can't make you do anything with it. Feel free to salvage parts of it and make something infinitely more useful.

Omg you devious devil I absolutely love all of this!!! Gold star for you!

While I haven't really thought about that particular aspect of DSC, I definitely can see some of this happening! Plus you are right to suggest that them being a god would mean they have no use for sleep or eating. Though I would believe that it's mainly their survival instincts, something they choose to ignore or even override once fully submerged into death seeking, that is to blame for this. Once they've been accepted they just refuse to do so because they want it to lead to another death (which wouldn't happen since they lost the need for it once isekaied).

Also that image you described of the creator eating a dead animal with a pack of animals is absolutely amazing. While it doesn't fit DSC too much I absolutely can see that for more of a wild animal creator au, one where they aren't being hunted but because of the fear of potentially being hunted they decided to become one with nature. Eventually ending up evolving into something more beastlike and even losing the ability to talk since it's not needed. Oho imagine the look of awe the characters would have seeing their creator becoming intuned with Teyvat.