#KEEP RAMBLING MY EARS ARE YOUR PROPERTY NOW

[little-tealing]

WAAHH THE ANGST THESE TWO GIVE ARE ASTRONOMICALLY GORGEOUS

(honestly, I need to catch up because the kr fandom is brutal with their spoilers and I'm not okay)

...maybe I'm just a little judgemental towards casey because I believe she's already had her chance to choose between what's "good" and "doing what's right."— a great example would be her denial when judging moriarty as a character (before the whole memory spiel); as a detective, she failed to comprehend to search for the bigger picture and focused solely on getting answers out of moriarty (understandable, she's human after all and just couldn't believe someone close to her would do such a thing) and didn't bother to tell people off when they'd hailed her as their saviour for "killing" him, especially when she already had her own doubts of being saved by him (as mentioned). She was so fixated on wanting to know what went wrong that she forgot to do the one thing she was passionate about— dig deeper, which again, is proven to be incredibly difficult with how witty and sly moriarty is. also how literally no evidence was left behind after the crime scene crumbled and got buried.

on another note, I personally like to think that casey didn't reveal his return to the public solely because she's already seen how his existence turned a kingdom upside down. not to mention, kunst auction house happened before the memory arc, so it's safe to assume that she still stood with her side of justice— especially with the whole, "I'll arrest you" thing.

opinion wise? casey is a well built character, but she lacks real and emotional responses to certain situations, while having completely logical ones in others (in terms of her character at least)— especially with the whole marriage arc; I know rudger probably doesn't care that she tried to kill him— but she did nonetheless, and I'd say that's pretty worthy for never wanting to show your face to someone again (especially if you believe what they did is right— post memory arc). She's trying to make amends but rudger clearly doesn't want the end of it, which is why I prefer the whole executioner idea thing— she's going to have to realise he's wrong (by law) eventually, whether or not he's saving people. (another interesting divergence that we could potentially see is casey siding with him over the “law” she swore to abide— grr, come on sayren, bring back my girl)

as for the acts of murder— she wouldn't have felt pity if she believed what he was doing was the right thing. rudger constantly takes up the role of being an executioner for people who he believes (and rightfully so) deserves it.

this discussion did make me realise that casey is no different, considering the fact she was so god damn ready to put an end to moriarty.

which correlates with the whole "bird cage" god thing— we've been told (as of the time this was posted) that rudger wants this barrier gone, and we (the readers) were told that the barrier in a sense was lumensis trying to control the development of humans; but I don't see why sayren would use such powerful language just to imply that he was trying to save all of humanity. looking at everything rudger's been through, it's starting to seem like he wants to destroy the gods and the world they've created, instead of lumensis alone.

then again, this is another thing that befuddles me— who is the antagonist of his story? does he even have one with all the possible endings that we've been predicting for? there's casey, surna, the heretic god, lumensis, the church of lumensis and there's even the possibility of himself. (credits to @/stonespears because *chef kiss* that idea of him just formatting his og life like a phone is 🤌🤌)(edit: the gist of this idea is that he returns to his og world with no memory of what happened)— honestly speaking though, although casey's one of the characters with the most screen time, I can't really see how she'd play a part in the life rudger has set out, especially when we already have characters with lesser screen time but a major role for suspense etc (grander, surna, rene). not jinxing this because I beg you sayren, don't offscreen my watergirl.

++also your annoyance is very relatable— especially as an mtl reader, I must say some comments on chapters make me want to pull my hair out/lh

(please keep talking to me, I love these kinds of conversations jebdkndksndnd :dies:— also, I sometimes get the feeling I'm not saying what I'm thinking, so I'm a little sorry for that jahaha,, )

+++ and omg thank you for rambling this much with me, you have no idea how much I appreciate it.

(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)/♡

this entire conversation makes me want to start a discussion about machiavelli—because rudger babe, taking that name after pulling everything as moriarty was not a good idea; especially with the whole, "killing for a reason is killing nonetheless" idea (from the irl Machiavelli).

on casey selmore & ludger cherish:

the more i read into the novel, the more i wanna scream at the manhwa for missing out the context for caseys grievance over moriarty/ludger, and thus making the readers think she is annoying for it. despite their rivalry/bickering before moriarty was deep into the things™️, considering caseys personality, she still prolly saw moriarty as her best friend (or someone who gets her the most). and if my best friend suddenly changed 180° and became a notorious villain, yet still trying to save me when we were supposed to be nemesis, i as someone whose whole career is pursuing the truth would also wanna chase them into the end of earth and make them confess their reasons. ludger's assessment of casey obsessively chasing him out of her pride may contain a part of truth, but i find it unfair to say that's her whole deal. (if you are familiar with ace attorney, i dont think its incorrect to say their relationship after falling out is similar to phoenix wright and miles edgeworth after DL-6.)

spoilers for 268+: i personally dont think casey was at fault for falling for moriartys bit when for his whole life lying is his whole expertise and the gods also bless him with auto crits on deception.

spoilers for 356+: i do hate that casey was the one who ended up apologizing when between the two, ludger was clearly in the wrong. i suppose at the time it made sense since casey needed ludgers forgiveness for closure and full mental recovery, so i wont dwell much on this.

spoilers for 497+: since ch268, casey was the only one actively trying to mend their relationship while it became clear and clearer in ch497 that ludger was the one actively pushing her away. i think after the moriartys bit, ludger ended up seeing himself as someone who is irredeemable and one day poetic justice will become his downfall. based on ludgers past behaviors during their reichenbachs falls and now his last convo with casey, he seems to be building casey up to be his executioner. i dont wanna say this is end game foreshadowing or ludgers death flag but fuck if thinking about it doesnt make me screaming crying throwing up eating drywall.

[zarameraki]

🖊️💌 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗽𝗲𝗻-𝗽𝗮𝗹 🖊️💌

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 prisoner sukuna x his penpal 𖥔 just plot with porn 𖥔 mentions of abuse 𖥔 mentions of sexual assault 𖥔 pussayy eating rawr but also u suck his dick so 𖥔 uraume and toji found family 𖥔 he would kill for you 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw

: ̗̀➛ words: 10k?? idfk it's long (read on a03 here)

: ̗̀➛ notes: happy halloween, mamas! 🎃 i know ive been MIA for a while but thats because i wasnt feeling creative. but now ive dumped a 10k sukuna fic on you for you to read at 3 in the morning. this one's got a kick to it yall. its long but give the bitch a chance, shes good. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

So, this was where you’d ended up—on a site for writing to prisoners. A pen-pal with an inmate.

How lonely did you have to be to fill out your info, pay a yearly fee, and do this? The answer: really, really lonely. Orphaned, friendless, and scarred from a relationship that had left you with broken ribs and a blind eye. And as if to top it all off, you wanted to reach out to a criminal. I guess you deserved at least that small bit of connection.

You scrolled through inmate profiles, noting their crimes—arson, theft, cybercrime, drug trafficking, money embezzlement, and so on. None of them were charged with homicides or serious offences.

One profile did catch your eye. The smirk in his mugshot suggested he’d probably killed someone and managed to evade the cops before they could pin anything on him.

“Sukuna Ryomen,” you whispered, clicking on his profile and staring at a laundry list of crimes. “Aggravated assault, drug manufacturing and distribution, kidnapping—Jesus—extortion, cybercrime, Satanism . . . what the hell?” You chuckled as you scrolled further. “Bank burglary, vandalism of religious properties—so that’s the Satanism part—illegal possession of firearms, stalking?”

Why was this man even on this website, given his long list of crimes?

You zoomed in on his mugshot. Was it wrong to find him attractive despite his record? He truly embodied the term “bad boy,” though he didn’t look like a boy at all. He was ruggedly handsome with hollowed eyes. His light-mink hair was swept back, with a few strands falling over his forehead, and he wore a single hoop earring in his left ear. Black tattoos marked his nose bridge, jaw, and the centre of his forehead, while narrow-eyed designs were inked on his cheekbones.

You wondered if he’d get any letters, given his long rap sheet. Maybe delusional women like you, who’s pussies sang for high-profile criminals, sure. 

Licking your lower lip, you picked up a piece of paper and a pen, tapping the end against the sheet as you continued to study his face.

Then you started writing.

Hello, Sukuna Ryomen, 

My name is Y/N. 

You thought it over. For now, you'd keep it light before diving into your deeper issues. It felt easier to share your thoughts with someone you’d never meet face-to-face than with a stranger in a bar whose only interest was getting into your pants.

You kept writing.

Dear Sukuna Ryomen,

I’m currently living in an apartment complex that’s in desperate need of renovation. I’m harvesting cockroaches—no, I’m not eating them; the fuckers just won’t stop nesting in my kitchen cabinets, and I’m tired of spending money on pest sprays. On top of that, I’m pretty broke, barely managing to keep a roof over my head. I’ve even considered trying to seduce the landlord into reducing my rent, though I doubt any man would find a woman with one working eye appealing. I noticed you have an extra beneath your real eyes. Care to share?

Anyway, this is my first time writing to someone like you, so apologies if it’s a bit awkward. I wish I could send a nude, but I’m pretty sure you’d wish you were blind after that. I feel like I’m rambling like this is my diary, so I should probably wrap it up. If you want to write back, feel free. I don’t mean to sound privileged, but I’m lonely as fuck.

Thank you (?),  

Y/N

P.S. About the Satanism—care to explain?

You didn’t bother proof-reading and folded the letter into an envelope, sealing it with a lick. From your drawer, you pulled out a pack of old stickers—remnants of your childhood—and placed one where the envelope met. You wrote the prison address provided on the website and added the stamps you’d bought during your walk, which was your final push into becoming a prison pen-pal. After selecting Sukuna Ryomen on the site and uploading your ID and other required documents, you waited for your profile to be approved. 

After three days of waiting, you sent out the letter first thing in the morning and anxiously awaited a response.

Sukuna’s fists collided with the inmate’s face, each strike more brutal than the last. Blood splattered across his knuckles as the crowd of orange-clad convicts roared with twisted delight, their voices a chorus of vile encouragement. “Finish him!” they taunted, while others jeered at the barely conscious man, urging him to get up and fight back, to aim a desperate kick at Sukuna’s balls.

“Sukuna!” A guard’s voice cut through the chaos, and soon the officers were pushing through the throng, shutting the prisoners who dared resist their authority. “Get up, now!”

“Fuck off!” Sukuna snarled, his lips curling into a sneer as he shoved the guard aside. He watched with cold satisfaction as the man lay still, blood pooling beneath him. All this because the idiot had the nerve to laugh when Sukuna missed a three-pointer. Now, the bald bastard had paid the price for his arrogance, and Sukuna breathed in the aftermath—his own dark victory painted in blood and broken bones.

Officer Gojo Satoru strode into the circle, handcuffs gleaming in his hand. 

Sukuna's eyes narrowed at the sight of the blue-eyed bastard, a wave of hatred surging through him so fierce he could almost feel his fingers tightening around Satoru's throat. The very thought of choking the life out of him fueled his dark desires.

Satoru’s father—the man responsible for dragging Sukuna down, catching him red-handed with crates of cocaine at the border, and sealing his fate with a fifty-year sentence. If Sukuna had known the old man’s spawn would end up as a deputy officer here, watching his every move with those piercing eyes, he would have never shown up to that cursed delivery. But no—he had wanted to play the good boss, personally seeing his precious cargo off. Now, every day behind bars was a constant reminder of that one fatal mistake, and Sukuna’s rage festered as he thought of the traitor, Yuji. The little fuck who sold him out would pay dearly, and Sukuna was already plotting the perfect revenge.

His own fucking nephew sold him off. Motherfucker wanted the throne for himself—an empire Sukuna built with his bare hands. 

“Throw him in the ice box,” Satoru commanded, his voice dripping with that infuriating smugness. The officer roughly cuffed Sukuna’s wrists, shoving him forward. “Cool down, Big Guy. You’re not going any—”

Before he could finish, Sukuna rammed his forehead into Gojo’s nose, relishing the satisfying crunch as the lanky bastard staggered back. The inmates roared with approval from where they were restrained by the other officers. 

Gojo chuckled, dabbing at his bleeding nose with a pristine handkerchief, the kind only a spoiled little bitch like him would carry. “You think that’s funny?” he asked, his tone laced with condescension.

“Hilarious,” Sukuna whispered, a dark grin curling at his lips.

“Okay,” Gojo replied with a casual shrug. Without warning, his fist slammed into Sukuna’s jaw.

Once.

Twice.

Three fucking times.

The officers stood by, indifferent, as their captain unleashed his fury. For them, it was just another case of self-defence.

Sukuna finally collapsed to the ground, his vision swimming. Gojo leaned over him, his voice a venomous hiss. “Who’s laughing now?” A final, vicious kick to Sukuna’s chest left him gasping for breath. “Keep him in that freezer until he’s begging to be let out. No meals for a week.”

Sukuna’s vision blurred as he glared at Satoru’s retreating figure, the ringing in his ears barely drowning out the disappointed murmurs of his fellow inmates. His body, battered and beaten, finally surrendered to the encroaching darkness.

When he came to, he found himself in the prison’s infirmary, cocooned in three heated blankets. Yet the warmth did little to pierce the deep, bone-chilling cold that gripped him. The need to piss gnawed at him, but even that seemed distant compared to the icy numbness that had taken hold. 

“Welcome back to hell.” 

Sukuna raised his head from the pillows to find Uraume, the prison’s doctor. They were also the only person he tolerated, and somewhat close to since he ended up in the infirmary more than once. He hoped they considered him a ���something’ after he killed a two-hundred pound guy for groping their ass in the cafeteria. How did he do it? He knew Uraume kept a pocket knife in their doctor’s coat and quickly swept it out and stuck it in the dick’s jugular. 

“How long have I been out for?” he asked, squirming his arm out of the blanket to rub his eyes. 

“A day.” 

“What?” Sukuna pulled himself out of the blanket by wiggling around like the fucking worms his cell mate Toji liked to collect every time they went in the courtyard to play. They’re better company than your grouchy ass, he said once. “How long was I in the ice box?” 

“Barely an hour.” Well, that’s just pussy behaviour from him. “They pulled you out before hypothermia killed you. What a way to die, am I right?” They chuckled, preparing some pills in a small disposable cup. “Here, take these. They’re nutrients.” 

“I could use actual food.” Sukuna downed them like a shot. God, he missed alcohol. “That blue-eyed bitch restricted my meals for a week.” 

“Fuck him.” Uraume took out a sandwich from their bag and threw it in Sukuna’s direction. “Just fake illness when you’re hungry. I’m always here to feed my favourite dog.” 

Sukuna snorted. “Go to hell.” 

“Already here.” Uraume clipped back their white hair with the back dyed red. Like someone smashed their head into the wall and the colour just bled to the sides. “Oh, this came for you.”  

Sukuna shoved the sandwich in his mouth and stretched his muscles before walking over, snatching the letter. It was already opened, a flimsy teddy-bear sticker hanging from the paper. “What the fuck is this?” 

“A letter.” 

“A letter? For me?” 

Uraume broke their attention from the computer to look at him. “Remember when you had me register you on that prison pen-pal bullshit after Toji received a pile of fan letters?”

Sukuna blinked. 

He definitely remembered being jealous when Toji got a letter from an artist who drew herself naked on paper for him, and a shit ton more asking for his dick size or when he’ll be out. Of course, Sukuna was envious of the attention. Plus, no one in prison made good company. He just wanted the taste of the outside world again after being locked in for five years now. Even if it was through ink on paper. 

But then Sukuna looked down at his first ever letter torn open. “Why is this open? Who read it?” If it was Satoru, he was going to rip his eyeballs from his sockets and feed it to Toji’s pet worm. 

“Relax. They’ve got to identify if there’s any substances attached to the paper, or any other shady shit. Whoever wrote to you is just a harmless nobody.” 

Sukuna frowned, bringing the letter up to his nose. It smelled like a plain envelope. No drugs, nothing.

He found purchase on the bed again, pulling out the folded paper and ironing the creases out on his leg. Here we go.

He began reading each word carefully. 

A week went by since you’d mailed your letter to Sukuna Ryomen. A week of pure torture to hear something back from the criminal. You’d relaxed on Sunday because the post offices are closed, but on Monday, you were at your mailbox, watching the mailman sort out letters and slip them through the boxes. 

Once he left, you dashed to your box and flipped through the coupons, flyers, newsletters—

Your breath hitched. 

Everything dropped from your hand except the cream envelope with an address from the prison. You didn’t care about reading it upstairs and quickly, yet carefully, tore it open from the side, reading the writing. 

Trying to read it. 

Sukuna had terrible handwriting. It made you giggle. 

You leaned against the mailboxes and murmured the words written under your breath. 

Hey, Y/N

I don’t know how to start a letter since I’ve never written one so don’t mind if I hurt your little feelings. Don’t know if you’re aiming to entertain me or bore me to death with this “dear diary” bullshit. I thought I’d get a nude, at the very least. Hell, Toji over here—yeah, the bastard who was on the news last year with a thing for setting houses on fire—gets way better fan mail every week. Pictures, drawings, mostly nudes. And I get your whining about rent and cockroaches?

Look, I may be locked up, but I’m giving you some advice here. Don’t fuck your landlord. You’ve got one eye? Good—use it. Hell, that’s already intimidating enough. Threaten the prick to call pest control, or better yet, trap those damn cockroaches and give him a taste. Stuff a few down his throat if he still doesn’t take you seriously. People respect action, not whining.

Speaking of. One eye? Really? Now, how’d it happen? Was it torn out? Still got some sight in it, or is it just gone? That’s gangster. Hot, even. I’d fuck a one-eyed chick. Maybe when I’m out we can cross that off my bucket list. Nah, I’m just playing with you.

Or maybe I’m not.

Think on it.

Hate (in a friendly way),

Sukuna.

P.S. Yeah, I took out some satanist scum who tried kidnapping one of my people’s kids. But don’t go thinking I’m in with those freaks. I’m just the Devil they wish they could be.

“Woah,” you breathed out, hugging the letter to your chest. This was it. This was what you were waiting for. A pull towards something real, something thrilling. It’s all you’ve been craving for eons now. 

“Whatcha got there, sweetie?” The voice snapped you back, harsh as nails against glass. Your landlord had wandered out of his door on the first floor, wrapped in a faded bathrobe and gripping his mug like some king holding court. “Made a mess on my floor with your papers.”

“Sorry,” you muttered, quickly tucking Sukuna’s letter back into its envelope and reaching down to gather the stray papers scattered on the floor. When you straightened, he was already in your space, close enough that the coffee on his breath made you flinch.

“Excuse me—”

“You’re excused.” His smirk widened as he leaned in, his nose grazing your neck. The greasy warmth of his breath made bile rise to the back of your throat. “Just wanna take a little bite out of you.”

Sukuna’s advice echoed in your mind. You’d never—never—think of following through with his revolting insinuation. But letting this sleaze get away with treating you like this? No. Not anymore.

“Step away,” you commanded. “Now.”

He blinked, then chuckled, dismissive. “Feisty today, huh? Got a letter from your boyfriend in prison, sweetie?” How did he know that? Fuck. Did he go through your mail before it was deposited? “Let me guess—you think he’s got your back now?” He leaned even closer, the stench of his laugh wafting in the air. “Come on, where's that one eye of yours aiming, sweetheart?”

“Next person who mentions my eye eats the dirt,” you snapped, every ounce of your resolve boiling up. “And as for what I’ve got—it’s something way out of your league, old geezer. So get the hell back to your apartment, and call pest control now.” 

For a second, he was stunned, face going pale as your words sank in. But you could feel Sukuna’s thrill, his twisted approval in the back of your mind. You’d tapped into something that wouldn’t settle. But then, “Well, I’ll be damned. Someone put on their big girl panties.” 

Your jaw tightened as you held your ground, taking small breaths. You’d rehearsed this moment in your head, picturing a confrontation that ended with him backing down. But things never went as planned with him.

“I’m not here to beg,” you said evenly. “But I’m not gonna let you walk all over me, either. I pay rent. It’s your responsibility to keep this place livable.”

He snorted, raising his coffee mug and giving you a once-over that made your skin crawl. 

“Not for free, sweetheart. You’ve gotta give me something worth my time.” His eyes travelled down your body. 

Your pulse throbbed in your ears, but you squared your shoulders. “I’m already paying rent. It’s your right to ensure your tenant's safety.”

His face darkened, lips curling into a bitter smile. “Not when that tenant’s acting like a spoiled little bitch.” And then, with a flick of his wrist, he launched the mug’s contents right at you.

You dodged, but a few hot droplets scorched your arm, leaving a raw sting that only fueled your anger. He laughed, shaking his head with a mocking scowl. “Get the fuck out of my sight before I kick you out on the streets.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You turned on your heel, heading back upstairs with quick steps, forcing the tears back until you could lock the door behind you. Once inside, you slumped to the floor, breathing hard. The letter from Sukuna crackled beneath your hands, and you clutched it close to your chest, feeling the heat of humiliation turn into something fiercer, darker. 

“Damn it,” you whispered to yourself, pushing back to your feet with renewed energy. You marched to your desk, grabbed your notebook and pen, and let the words pour out, hurried and jagged. If anyone would understand this kind of anger, it was him—the one man whose entire life was carved from rage.

And this time, you wouldn’t hold anything back.

“Letter for you, Ryomen.”

Sukuna dropped down from his top bunk, snatching the letter right out of the guard’s hand.

“From your girl?” Toji asked from across the table, flipping a card, halfway to beating Sukuna in Blackjack.

“Not my girl,” Sukuna grunted, tearing into the envelope. But still, he smirked as he unfolded your letter.

Hey, Sukuna. 

Fuck my landlord to hell and back. I need you to know I’d kill him if I could get away with it. I’m trying to keep this “ethical” so they don’t cut off my letters, but let’s just, I hate the elderly. They should be rotting in retirement houses instead of owning properties and doing a shit job running them. That senile asshole threw hot coffee at me this morning. Burning. I nearly shattered the damn mug over his skull.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his fingers squeezing the letter hard enough to crumple the edges.

And now he’s saying he’ll kick me out, as if I have anything to pay him with. This place is a dump, anyway. I might hit up one of those shelters for women, maybe hop from couch to couch for a bit. My job at corner store’s giving me scraps; it’s not nearly enough to get by. So yeah, you could say I’m screwed.

And to answer your question about my eye—yeah, I’m blind in it. Got it from a real piece of work I used to call a boyfriend. He decided my face was fair game, and thought I could just live with it. But he's dead now. Overdosed last I heard from his brother. Good riddance, am I right?

Oh, and for that kink of yours you mentioned—sending my picture along with a little extra treat. 

Hate (because I’m about to go crazy here), Y/N

P.S. For all the things you’ve done, I can’t lie—the world you talk about sounds safer than this one. Well, except for you committing the most heinous crimes. 

Toji clicked his tongue. “Look at that dumbass grin on your face.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna muttered, flipping the letter over—and there it was: a stick drawing of a woman lying on a bed, two messy circles for her chest, legs spread wide, and what looked like . . . well, he didn’t need to guess. Sukuna went from grinning to outright laughing. “She’s hilarious.”

“Not just that. She’s sexy as fuck,” Toji said, holding up a photo, ripped clean in half.

Sukuna’s eyes flashed. He swiped the photo and pieced it back together, cursing himself for tearing through the envelope like a brute. But as the two halves reconnected, he felt his pulse kick up, hard.

“Well, shit.” You were more than just beautiful. The way your hair fell, the curves of your body wrapped in that short black dress, standing under a streetlamp with the city lights glinting around you . . . But it was the smile—the easy, teasing grin—that really did it for him. “I’m definitely jerking off tonight.” Respectfully, of course.

“Can we get back to the game now, or—”

“Fuck the game. I’ve got a letter to write.” And a plan brewing to get you out of that dump and right where he wanted you.

Your landlord was pronounced dead. 

An ambulance had arrived early in the morning, around nine, waking up every tenant. You were one of them, groggy from your sleep, and all the crying you’d done from realising how high rent was these days.

Apparently, he had a heart-attack, said one of the residents. 

He was eighty, said another. 

You stuck to the back of the crowd as his body was wheeled out on the stretcher. How could he have died just five days after you sent your last letter to Sukuna? It couldn’t have been him, could it? Maybe one of his associates? Given the man’s extensive criminal history, you suspected he had some serious connections.

As the crowd began to disperse a few minutes later, you joined them but didn’t head upstairs. Instead, you made your way to the mailroom.

And luckily, Sukuna’s letter was present. 

All he wrote was: 

You’re welcome. 

Neutral, 

Sukuna. 

You broke out laughing, or crying. Whatever it was, it felt good. So good. 

Hey, Sukuna!

These days, I’m feeling calm. Really calm. I’m sleeping well, eating better, even starting to enjoy work. Sometimes, I’m scared it’ll all get snatched away. By who? I don’t know. Life’s been that way, though. I’ve lost so much—my parents, my friends, even my left eyesight. At one point, I lost my will to keep going. But I guess some part of me held on, believing a better day would come.

Turns out, those days are here. Who would’ve thought a felon could make me feel less alone? I know it sounds crazy, but my life’s been full of surprises lately.

If you think you can’t bring happiness to someone, I’m here to tell you you’re wrong. I’m genuinely happy, and it’s thanks to you. I already think of you as a friend—and I hope you think of me the same way. You don’t get a choice in that, by the way.

Love (genuinely), Y/N

P.S. I’d like to come visit you sometime soon.

Sukuna lowered the letter, his eyes settling on the wall where he’d pinned up your picture. “Toji?” he called out, still staring at the photo.

Toji paused mid-pushup, raising an eyebrow. “What, bitch?”

Sukuna let out a low laugh, barely shaking his head as he spoke. “I think I’m in love.”

Hello, Y/N.

When I’m out in fifty years, I’ll give you a real surprise. And don’t write me any more of that sentimental crap, alright? Save it for when you visit. I’d rather hear it in person.

Hate (but maybe not so much), Sukuna

P.S. You’re beautiful.

You pressed the letter to your chest, biting your lip as warmth spread across your cheeks, your face aching from how much you were smiling. It was official—you were falling for Sukuna Ryomen. You’d have to look your absolute best for your visit. Just the thought of seeing him, hearing his voice, maybe even feeling his hand brush yours, made your heart race. You’d kiss him if they’d let you. And if they didn’t? What could the guards do? Throw you in jail? Now that would be ironic.

But fifty years . . . Would you really wait fifty years for Sukuna to be released? How high was his bail, anyway, that even his hidden cash stash wasn’t enough to cover it? He had to have some kind of pull with the right people, didn’t he?

With a sigh, you grabbed a piece of paper and began to write your reply.

Sukuna,

Fifty years is a lifetime, don’t you think?

Love, Y/N

Sukuna read the short note you’d sent, surprised by how much you’d poured into just a few lines. He noticed small, faded dots on the paper—tears, unmistakably yours. You’d been crying, and it didn’t sit right with him. His stomach tightened, but thankfully, he’d already secured your visit through Uraume, who handled it while Gojo was away.

Now, all that was left was seeing you.

He wondered how he’d keep his hands to himself after all the nights he’d spent memorising your picture, losing himself in thoughts of you. Every night before sleep, every morning when he woke, every time Toji was out cold and couldn’t hear Sukuna’s barely-stifled groans as he imagined you were there. God, he wanted to steal you away. 

The day of your visit finally came. Sukuna was led to the visitor room, wrists cuffed, flanked by two guards. He hadn’t set foot in this room since a couple of his associates had visited months back with updates on the family business and Yuji’s latest fiascos. They’d kept everything running despite his brother’s mess-ups, and Sukuna owed them.

He glanced down at his hands. Fifty years. He’d been scheming for a way out since he first set foot in here, but now, with you in the picture, the urge to escape was relentless. Bail was twenty million. Even if he could scrounge it up, he doubted he could get it done without tipping off the wrong people. No, his only real option was breaking out.

“Sukuna.”

A soft voice pulled his head up slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time his name was spoken with such warmth. 

“Y/N.”

He shot up from his seat, his eyes flicking to the guards stationed in the corner before letting himself drink you in. You looked stunning—a soft sundress, hair delicately curled, makeup enhancing every curve and angle of your face. His gaze lingered on your eyes, marvelling at the contrast: one foggy, hazy, while the other was bright and striking. A smirk pulled at his mouth, but he softened it for you. 

“Hey,” he whispered, the one word holding more emotion than he’d ever admit, especially with witnesses around.

“Hi,” you whispered back, eyes lowering down his muscled body, the pattern tattoos like rings around his wrist and with the first three buttons of his jumpsuit unbuttoned, you found the top of the rings on his pecs as well. His light-pink hair was brushed down, the tendrils poking his reddish-brown eyes. A peculiar colour. “Hi.”

He smiled. “You already said that, baby.” 

Baby. Gosh, you were even more nervous now. 

“They said I can’t shake your hand.” You looked at the cuffs on his wrists and tossed a glare at the guards. “Or hands.” 

“Fuck them.” Sukuna sat down and you followed. “You’re stunning.” 

You blushed. “Thank you.” 

“Not gonna compliment me back?” His deep voice was cocky, smug. You loved it. 

“You’re handsome and you know it.” 

“I sure do.” 

You chuckled and Sukuna watched you with a soft expression. “Thanks for . . . you know.” 

He understood the words you mouthed and smiled. “A little Ricin never hurt anyone.”

“How did you pull it off?”

His eyebrow arched in surprise. “Just because I’m stuck in this hellhole doesn’t mean I’ve lost everyone’s respect out there. Blood is thicker than water in my clan—except when it comes to my nephew. I just want to drain it out of him.”

Your own smile faltered. “Well . . . I’d like to have coffee with you. But fifty years, Sukuna, is too long.” 

He sighed. “I know.” 

“Isn’t there any way to get you out?” 

Sukuna saw the longing on your face and wanted nothing more than to hold it in his hands and stare at you for hours. He just couldn’t believe you were real. He would’ve killed you if you were cat-fishing him. “I really want to touch you,” he whispered instead. He did. He really fucking did. 

You pinched your lips in a smile. “Me, too.” 

Sukuna placed his hands on the table and grabbed both of yours. They were so soft and small. He wanted to kiss each finger. Knuckle. Vein.

“Hands off, Ryomen,” the guard warned. He didn’t relent, and simply winked at you. “I said hands off.” 

“Fuck you,” Sukuna spat back. 

“Visit’s over.” The pair of guards pried Sukuna away, making you reach out for him with a protest. 

“I’ll see you this weekend.” Sukuna winked and let the guards drag him away. 

You sat stunned before the officers escorted you out of the visiting room and apologised on his behalf. 

When the weekend finally rolled around, you found yourself standing at the prison gates once more, entering alongside a pair of guards.

Waiting by the visitor room was a towering figure with straight silver hair and striking blue-eyes. You got a closer look at the badge—Satoru Gojo. You’ve read the name in one of Sukuna’s letters complaining about him.

“Y/N. What a pleasant surprise,” he greeted, waving away the guards and pressing a hand on your back, leading you down the opposite direction. 

“We can chat another time, officer. I’ve got to meet Suku—”

“He can wait. Prison teaches a man patience. He’s got fifty more years left. Plenty to visit then.” Gojo opened the door and guided you inside. The shutting made your shoulders flinch. The lock clicking had dread pooling in your stomach. “Sit. Would you like anything to drink?” 

You eyed the dark setting bathed in a golden light from a corner lamp. There was a cart with a decanter set and a mini-fridge to the right. A bookshelf and a wardrobe on the left. “I’m fine, thank you.” 

Gojo shrugged and poured himself whiskey before taking his seat behind his table. You sat opposite him. “So, what’s your relationship with my favourite prisoner?” 

You blinked. “Uh, we’re just pen-pals.” 

“Lying to a police officer is a serious offence.” 

“I’m telling the truth,” you said. “We’re strictly pen-pals.” 

“I’ve read your letters to know that isn’t true, Princess. So unless you want to sit there and lie to my fucking face, I suggest you start using that mouth for good and tell me the goddamn truth.” He slammed his glass down, but his face remained smiling with false politeness. 

You felt suffocated in the office, eyes darting left and right for anything sharp in case he tried some other method to get you to talk. 

“I’ve been in this field for a decade now to know when someone is hiding something from me,” Gojo continued, taking a leisure sip from his drink. “I have a file on you, Y/N. You’re an only child, with no proper education or a stable job. You’re one bad decision away from being trafficked. You’re submissive, a follower, who if went missing, no one would look for.” Tears welled your eyes at his words. “And I know that bastard’s the reason you’re still living in that dump you call home.” 

That was the last nail in the coffin. 

“I’ve been following you since your first letter,” he said quietly. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to? Oh, Princess, you couldn’t be any more wrong.” He stood up and rounded his way to you. 

You quickly scrambled out of your seat. “Please. I don’t know anything. I—I don’t—Sukuna’s a friend, yes, but I’m not involved in any of his criminal activities.” 

“Friend?” Gojo spat out. “That man is the last person you’d ever want as your friend.” He stalked forward and you retracted. “He’s committed more crimes in his lifetime than any other man. He’s killed half the people in this country, extorted money from politicians, burned down houses for fun, and killed my father!” He grabbed the collars of your dress and slammed you back into his wardrobe door. A cry ripped from your throat. “And you, a nobody, has the audacity to call that fucker a friend? Sweetheart, you’re just a ploy, a pawn, a time-pass for him. A hole to warm his cock in.” A sardonic chuckle. “That’ll never happen since he isn’t getting out anytime soon. But, hey, maybe I can prepare you for him.” 

Your breath quickened, a whimper slipping past your lips. “How does that make you any better than him?” 

Gojo smiled and brushed his lips over your ears. “Because I have the power to get away with it.” 

Your eyes, frightened and flickering, dragged up to his blue-ones. 

In the blink of an eye, you slapped him across the face, taking him by complete surprise and broke free from his hands. He leaped towards you as you unlocked the door and ran out and down the hall, shouting for help. 

A pair of officers turned the corner. 

“Help, please!” You fell into the arms of one of them. “Please, he’s going to hurt me!” 

“Who?” one asked with concern. 

“Satoru Gojo!” 

They exchanged a look and briskly turned away, leaving you standing. Their spines straightened as Gojo walked down the hallway, flattening a hand down his chest. The duo saluted him and walked away with their heads down. 

Your heart sank. 

You had no power here. 

“I told you, Princess,” Gojo purred, prowling towards you, “this is my domain.” 

You cried out and ran towards the visitor’s room. The door knob was locked and could only be opened with a keycard. “Help!” You slammed your palms on the surface. “Please, someone! Help—ah!” 

Gojo gripped the back of your hair and pulled you from the door. “Perfect timing, actually. I’d like to see the look on Ryomen’s face before I split his woman on my cock.” He swiped the card and opened the door, pushing you inside but controlling you with the grip he had on your head. 

Sukuna was already standing and enraged, held back by two guards who struggled. He must’ve heard your helpless cries. You wish he didn’t have to. “Let her go, Gojo!” 

“Oh, I will,” said Gojo, “as soon as I’m done with her.” 

Sukuna growled, thrashing against his restraints. “You fucking prick, I’m gonna tear you in half if you touch her!” 

“Like this?” Gojo squeezed your left breast and laughed. 

Sukuna elbowed one of the guards in his nose, momentarily seeking freedom to hit the other. Hope blossomed in your chest as he fought them off and made his way towards you. 

Gojo chuckled and pulled out his gun, shooting Sukuna in the leg. You jumped with a scream as he fell to the floor, clutching his thigh. “All this chaos for a common whore,” he muttered. “Come on, Princess. Let’s put you to good use.” 

“No, please!” You shouted as he dragged you away. “Sukuna, no! Sukuna!” 

“Y/N.” Sukuna reached his arm out, his hand curling into a fist and falling defeatedly onto the floor. “Don’t hurt her, please.” His face was squeezed in pain, as the guards kept him pinned to the floor. “Please! Don’t fucking hurt her—” 

The door closed shut, and the last sight before your eyes was Sukuna crying. 

Sukuna hadn’t heard from you in over a month. 

He’d also spend the month in the infirmary after Uraume did an extensive surgery on his leg. It hadn’t hit a vital artery. He believed Satoru’s aim was calculated to keep him alive. To continue letting him suffer. 

Sukuna also went quiet. He hadn’t spoken a single word to anyone except murmuring to himself. He read back on your letters, slept with the papers under his pillow, if he slept at all. 

Every morning, afternoon, night, in and out of his dry sleep, he was plotting a way to get out of this hell and find you. Would you even want to see him? Would you even care? Were you even alive? He’d dragged you into his mess, put you in danger, and fell into Satoru’s disgusting trap. 

“You need to eat something, Sukuna,” Uraume advised as they have been since his injury. They placed the tray in front of him. “At least eat the yogurt.” 

Were you eating? Were you still living in his house? Were you alive? That question rang in his head again. 

“For fucks sake.” Uraume brought forth a stool and sat next to his bed, staring at the side of his face. “What the hell do you want to do?” 

He wanted to kill Satoru first. Then escape with Toji since he was the only bastard he trusted in this place. Then find you and run away from the law as far as possible. It was a simple plan that required efficiency. 

“Are you gonna talk—” 

Sukuna shoved the tray aside, the food falling onto the floor. He was irritated by the questions outside and inside of his head. “I need to find her,” he mumbled to himself. “I need to know if she’s alive.” Please, baby, please be alive. 

“Everything all right in here, doc?” One of the guards stationed outside the door asked with his head peering through the door. 

Sukuna stared at him, then went back to Uraume. They met his eyes with their blank stare. They scanned down his body, to his injured leg, then back to his head. 

A sigh left them. “No,” they replied. “Do you mind helping me clean up the mess?” 

Sukuna gritted his jaw as the guard walked in, closing the door and crouching down, grumbling curses at Sukuna. Uraume stood from their stool and made their way to the cabinet, pulling out a syringe and a small vial. 

Sukuna's eyes lightened, spine straightening. A smile curved at his lip as they flicked the droplets from the tip of the injection and walked over, making small-talk about the weather. 

Suddenly, Uraume jabbed the needle into the officer’s neck and pushed down the plunger. He fell to his side, clutching his neck and staring up at them as they shrugged. Sukuna watched with pure delight as his body began to convulse, foam gathering at this mouth and dripping from the side. 

Then he stopped. 

“He’s dead,” Uraume said before Sukuna could ask. “Works the night shift so you won’t have a problem running into anyone else. Change into his clothes. I’ll drive.” They walked away to grab a face mask. 

“Why?” asked Sukuna. 

Uraume sighed, head dropping. “Because I fucking hate it here.” 

Sukuna was definitely going to hire them once he killed his Gojo, and his nephew. 

He quickly changed into the officer’s clothes, giving him a hard kick in the stomach that had Uraume rolling their eyes. 

Sukuna followed behind as they led the way. “Let’s take Toji.”

“Why?” they asked. “That’s a hassle.” 

“Just feel bad.” 

“And when did you start feeling guilt?” Uraume easily slipped past the security gate, waving to the officer who was busy on his phone. 

“I don’t know,” he said, smiling because he knew. Sure, you’d only touched him once, but your letters were what truly began to change him. Just the other day, he’d lost a round of blackjack, stacking his debt to Toji by a million, and instead of knocking the guy out cold, Sukuna shook hands and called it a ‘good game.’ “On second thought, let’s leave him here for the time being.” Until he got his money in check. 

Once they settled into Uraume’s car, Sukuna quickly discarded the officer's cap, tie, and badges. Uraume entered your address from the letters, and they drove in silence for the next thirty minutes.

When they arrived, the building matched your description: shitty.

Uraume stopped Sukuna before he could leap out of the car. They scanned the street for any signs of police presence. “Go. I’ll wait here.” 

Sukuna nodded and dashed out of the car, walking inside the apartment. There was no buzzer system, which meant anyone could stroll in, armed and dangerous. This was a problem. He needed to get you out of here and into one of his safe houses—a hidden place even his bastard nephew didn’t know about.

He hurried up the emergency stairwell to the tenth floor, slightly winded by the time he reached door 1090.

This was it.

With his hands gripping the edges of the door, he hunched forward, heart racing. Please, be alive.

Finally, he knocked.

He chewed the shit out of his bottom lip, hissing impatiently through his teeth. “Come on, Y/N.” He knocked again, his impatience boiling over. “It’s me, Sukuna! Please, open the door.” He pounded harder, fear creeping in with each passing second. The Sukuna Ryomen was . . . scared. “Goddammit!”

“Sukuna . . .?” 

He halted mid-breakdown and turned slowly, his heart dropping at the sight of you standing there with two bags of groceries. You looked so fragile, your complexion pale, and the radiance he remembered from your visit had completely vanished.

The grocery bags slipped from your hands and fell to the ground.

In an instant, you both rushed toward each other, and he lifted you off the ground effortlessly. You wrapped your arms around him, sobbing uncontrollably as he buried his hand in the back of your hair, inhaling the comforting scent of your body wash.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay, I’m here.” His eyes were directed straight ahead, and he was shaking. Terribly. “I’m here, sweetheart.” 

You pulled back, cradling his face in your small hands. Gently, you brushed aside his dark, mink-like hair, tracing the tattoos on his skin with your fingertips. “You’re alive,” you whispered, overwhelmed by relief. You couldn’t help but touch him, and he simply smiled, allowing you the closeness. “God, you’re alive. Sukuna—you’re really alive. How?”

“Of course, I am. I just needed to know you were alive,” he replied, his hands enveloping your cheeks. “Where did you go? Why did you stop writing to me?”

Your face went blank. “What do you mean?”  

“Your letters. You stopped writing to me.” 

“They . . .” Your voice cracked. “They told me you were sentenced to death.” 

He was taken back. “What the fuck?”  

Realisation dawned upon you. The second time you visited Sukuna, Satoru had literally dragged you out of the station, kicking you out the doors. He’d threatened to take you to his office next time, but since he had a meeting with officials that day, he’d reluctantly let you go. That didn’t stop you from sending countless letters, pouring your heart out until, two weeks later, you finally received a notification from the police station. Sukuna had been sentenced to death by lethal injection and was no longer alive. You’d cried for days on end. You imagined he had been cremated and reduced to ashes, stored away somewhere. The thought shattered you. For an entire month, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your house.

Until tonight. 

And he was here. Sukuna was here. He was alive. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing the area below your sightless eye. “Let’s head inside, alright?”

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his wrist. He held your hand tightly while using his other arm to carry your grocery bags. Once you reached your apartment, you opened the door and locked it securely. The deadbolt you had installed was a precaution against Satoru, just in case he showed up.

“I’m so happy you’re al—” 

Sukuna kissed you before the words could leave your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, moaning from the taste of his lips, the taste you’d been craving for months now. He didn’t allow you to breathe, didn’t pull away. You both stood there in the alcove, kissing for minutes, clinging to each other. He cupped the back of your head and drew apart from your lips, peppering kisses over your face, especially your foggy eye. 

“I don’t want to fuck you, baby,” he whispered in your ear. “I want to make love to you. For hours.” Your grip tightened in his shirt. “Then I need you to pack everything in a bag and run away with me.” 

“Run away?” You searched his dark-reddish eyes. “Run away where?”

His knuckles grazed your wet cheek. “Somewhere not even God can find us.”

You swallowed hard. “They’ll send out a manhunt, Sukuna. What if we get caught? What if they take you—”

He cut you off with a kiss. “No one is going to take me away from you. Do you get that?” His strong fingers moved through your hair. “I’d turn this world to dust before that happens.”

Your insides melted from the threat. “Take me,” you murmured over his lips. He kissed you. “Take me everywhere, anywhere, wherever, as long as it’s with you.” 

Sukuna lifted you effortlessly, carrying you like a bride as he kicked open your bedroom door. He set you down on the bed, then began stripping off his clothes, revealing the geometric tattoos that marked his thighs and torso. You were caught off guard by how quickly he moved, fumbling to take off your sweater and jeans. By the time you looked back at him, he was already naked, and your gaze dropped to what you could only describe as a gloriously, long erection. 

“Woah,” you whispered, feeling your mouth go dry. “You’re abnormally big.” 

“You can take it.” He leaned over you, tearing your panties without a second thought. Before you could protest about them being your favorite pair, he spread your legs and went down on you. “Oh, my god—Sukuna—wait—”

“Waited too long,” he growled, his mouth finding your clit as he buried his nose between your wet folds. He nipped, licked, and bit, his tongue plunging deep into you, creating messy sounds that filled the air. You couldn't form words or catch your breath, gripping the roots of his hair tightly.

When you came like a flood, Sukuna lifted your hips, making sure not a single drop of you was lost to the sheets. He let out loud, deep moans as he sloppily lapped at your sensitive cunt.

He wiped his glistening mouth with his fingers and then pressed them against your lips. You eagerly sucked on his warm, thick digits, noting the lustrous glint in his eyes. He pulled his fingers out abruptly. “Suck my cock.” 

Suck his what? 

You looked down and saw him leaking at the tip. You clenched your legs, unsure. He wanted you to take that into your mouth?

You licked your lips, managing to kneel while he stood before you. He took hold of himself, rubbing the tip against your lips. You instinctively flicked your tongue out to taste him, causing him to flinch. “Sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.” He seemed to enjoy it. “Just take it in your mouth.”

You nodded, wrapping your fingers around his hot, veiny length. You opened your jaw as wide as you could and slowly took him in. His head fell back, and he engulfed your face with his palms. Your performance was mediocre, and yet he was entertained.

His tip pressed against the back of your throat, making you pull back to cough. He laughed softly, brushing your cheek with his hand.

“Come on, baby. You need to get used to it.”

“I’ve never done this before,” you replied, your voice shaky as you reached for him again.

“Stick your tongue out.”

You took a deep breath and extended your tongue. He rested the head of his cock on it and started to move his hips slowly.

Slowly, you took him in, feeling his satisfaction as he gently rocked his hips back and forth. He tasted warm and a little salty, and you found your hand wandering between your legs, seeking some relief.

“I’m going to pick up the pace, alright, baby?”

You nodded in response.

“Don’t be embarrassed if you choke,” he said, hooking a stray lock behind your ear. “It’ll just make me come faster.”

With that, he thrust deeper, and you gripped his hips tightly, struggling to catch your breath. He noticed and pulled back slightly to give you a moment, but it was brief before he pushed back in again. “You’re taking me so well, baby. Fuck.” His movements became more feverish, and you felt the pressure building as you choked and gagged, saliva escaping at the corners of your mouth. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come down your throat.” 

You tapped his leg, shaking your head.

“No?” He smirked. “You don’t want me to come down your throat?”

You shook your head again and pointed between your legs.

In an instant, Sukuna pulled out. He flipped you onto your chest, lifting your ass up in the air. Without a second thought, he thrust himself deep inside you, and you cried out his name into the pillow.

He felt so full, so thick, pushing into you with a force that made your breath hitch. It was everything you needed—so good, so fucking good. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. He filled you completely, driving into you with a fast rhythm that left you moaning, completely lost in the pleasure.

Your nails clawed at the sheets as his thick tip pressed against your womb, punctuated by the stinging slaps of his hands against your ass. He showered you with a blend of sweet and dirty words—“good fucking girl,” “cock slut,” “so perfect and tight,” “little whore”—and you pushed back, needing him deeper and deeper.

Sukuna released a torrent of warm cum inside you, still driving his hips against you, holding you securely by the waist. The sensation sent waves of pleasure through you, and he pulled out, flipping you onto your back. He bent your knees, driving himself back inside without hesitation. How was he still so hard?

Your hands cupped his flushed, beautiful face, a lazy smile stretching across both your lips. Sukuna leaned in, kissing you deeply before trailing his lips down to your neck while his hand found its way to your breast. “I’m not on birth control anymore, you know?”

“Good.” He pulled back to meet your gaze. “And don’t even think about getting back on it.”

“But we can’t afford the risk, Suku—”

“I love you,” he said, his grip firm on your jaw. Everything inside you exploded. “I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much that I’ll take every fucking risk.”

You moaned softly as he came again, your trembling fingers brushing against his lips. “I love you, too.” He kissed your fingertips, a promise in every touch. “I’ll take every risk with you.”

“Fuck yeah you will.” He didn’t pull out, his eyes locked on yours. “Starting with putting a baby in you.”

You happily accepted your fate.

Sukuna pulled the trigger, shooting another police officer in the back of his head. The sound of the gunfire mixed with the blaring sirens, echoing through the flickering lights of the corridors—a devious melody composed just for him. He chuckled low, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a grin as another officer lunged out, attempting to stop him—pathetic. A single shot rang out, and the man crumpled like paper.

The path to Satoru’s office was a long one, and the bodies he left sprawled out in his wake were only a brief distraction from the task at hand. He had things to do today, after all.

Another officer stumbled into view, eyes wide, panic evident. He didn’t stand a chance. Sukuna barely glanced at him as he fired, stepping over the man as he slumped against the wall. Blood splattered his shoes, but it was hardly the worst stain on his day.

You were going to be pissed. He could practically hear the biting tone, the disappointed scowl that’d meet him the moment he finally made it to Mai’s first birthday party. Sukuna scoffed as he shot a bullet straight through a door that dared open near him, knocking down yet another obstacle.

But this was necessary. He needed to do this.

Free Toji. Kill Gojo. And then, eventually, deal with his meddling nephew. Everything would finally align, and maybe—just maybe—he could stop all this. For you. For your daughter.  

Satoru’s office was close now. He could smell the antiseptic scent of the door, the false air of authority that seemed to reek from it. He cocked his gun, steeling himself. Because when he was done here—when he’d finally finished what he’d started—he’d make it up to you.

Or so he told himself, as another officer charged and met the floor with a hole in his skull.

Sukuna didn’t bother with the doorknob. He slammed his boot into the door, sending it splintering inward with a loud crack. The office was stripped bare; Satoru’s usual pile of clutter, the irritating stench of his cologne—gone. Only the dust of where things once sat remained on the shelves and desk.

The bastard had fled.

Sukuna’s jaw clenched as he surveyed the room. Gojo knew he was coming and had bolted like a coward hours ago. He pulled his lighter from his pocket, flipping it open with a flick of his thumb, the small flame dancing aglow. Without a second thought, he stepped to the heavy, pretentious curtains Gojo insisted on, pressing the flame to the thick fabric. It caught quickly, embers licking up and curling black around the edges as the fire took hold, consuming Satoru’s last pathetic hold on this place.

He turned and walked out, ignoring the smoke that was already billowing into the hall. The prison alarm was still blaring, red lights flashing down the cold corridors as he made his way to the cells. Every so often, he’d pause, assessing the prisoner cowering behind bars. Rapists, pedophiles, molesters, abusers, killers of innocent lives—he moved on from them. But when he found those who didn’t quite repulse him, he took a single shot at their lock, releasing them in a stream of confused, wary freedom.

As he approached the far end of the corridor, a familiar sight greeted him—his old cell. And standing behind those hard, metal bars, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, was Toji.

“Didn’t think you’d come back to this hellhole,” Toji remarked. 

“Not for long,” Sukuna replied, levelling his gun at the lock. He fired once, the lock shattering as the cell door swung open. 

Toji stepped out of his cell, took one look around, then paused. “Hold up.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, watching as the man crouched beside a loose brick in the wall. With a wry smile, he pulled out an old, scratched-up plastic bottle with a wriggling, sickly-looking worm inside. He tapped the side of the bottle, making the creature twist and writhe. “Almost forgot my little friend here.”

Sukuna barked a short laugh. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

Alarms blared louder as they navigated the winding corridors and ran past prisoners surging toward freedom. Some guards tried to block the path, but they were quickly swept aside by Sukuna’s bullets and Toji’s fists. By the time they hit the outer gates, the entire prison was pandemonium, prisoners scattering into the open like ants from a burning nest.

Outside, a sleek, black car idled just past the gate. Uraume sat coolly behind the wheel, watching the stampede of convicts with bored detachment. As they approached, Uraume rolled down the window, glancing at them with their nose slightly crinkled.

“I could smell you two from a mile away,” they said dryly, eyes flicking to the stains of blood on their clothes. “Maybe next time, schedule a prison massacre that doesn’t fall on your daughter’s birthday?”

“Just drive,” Sukuna replied, sliding into the backseat with Toji following. Toji glanced at Uraume with a quick nod, still keeping a light hold on his bottle, the worm twisting inside.

“Welcome back to the real world, Fushiguro,” they said, starting the car as they drove off into the night.

The road stretched long and dark, winding into the depths of a thick forest. The further they drove, the thicker the trees became, their branches curving overhead to cast everything in shadows. The road narrowed into a rugged trail, overgrown and wild. Uraume navigated it deftly, until at last, the forest opened up, and they could see the soft glimmer of moonlight on the water beyond.

Perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean stood their safe house—a dark brick estate against the endless stretch of water. Waves crashed against the rocks far below, the scent of salt and sea heavy in the air.

Sukuna looked at the house, then at Toji’s surprised face.

“This is where you’ve been hiding for the two years?” he asked as soon as they were out of the car. 

“Not for long if I fuck this up.” Sukuna slipped in through the garage, keeping his steps light. He had just one goal at this moment: reach the shower before you spotted the blood streaked on his clothes and the smell of gunpowder clinging to him. 

But as he shut the door, there you were, arms crossed, eyes sharp as they landed on him.

“Sukuna,” you started, an edge in your tone that he recognized all too well. “Do you have any idea what day it is? Look at you; you're a mess!” You gestured at the dark stains on his shirt and his unmistakable smirk.

Instead of trying to dodge the lecture, he listened, that faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched you, soaking in each scolding word. You were the one person who never held back with him, and it made something dangerous in him soften, something in him settle. “I know, baby,” he replied, pecking your cheek. “But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Barely,” you replied, sighing, though you couldn’t quite hide the relief in your voice. You glanced over his shoulder. “Toji, Uraume—it’s good to see you both.”

Uraume gave a slight bow, a wry smile still tugging at their lips, while Toji just gave you a quick nod.

You waved a hand, turning back to the kitchen. “Both of you boys—shower, now. I won’t have the two of you smelling like a prison while I’m trying to decorate my daughter’s cake. Go on!”

Toji gave Sukuna a knowing look and shrugged, as if to say, She’s right. Sukuna shot him a warning look, then followed up the stairs, chuckling under his breath as he imagined how you’d cornered him like this. 

Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out of the shower, cleaned up, feeling far lighter as he tugged on a fresh shirt and came downstairs, catching the scent of the dinner you’d prepared. 

He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your temple. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile that melted your anger as he pulled you close.

“Gojo got away,” he murmured. “He knew I was coming, and he ran like the coward he is. But I’ll find him. And I’ll make him pay for what he did to you. I swear it.”

You paused, looking up into his eyes, your hand settling on his cheek. “I know you will, Sukuna. But don’t miss the important things here. We’re what’s important now, not just revenge.”

The words took root in him, grounding him, but that flicker of rage still danced in his eyes. He pulled you close, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll never let him touch us again. I promise you that.” 

Just as you leaned in for another kiss, Sukuna heard the faint sound of your daughter stirring awake from her nap on the living room floor. Mai’s soft little whimpers broke the room’s quiet. Instinctively, he abandoned your kiss, his attention snapping to her as he practically floated over to where she was squirming in her pink dress, rubbing her tiny fists over her eyes.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured, scooping her up with all the gentleness he could muster. Her sleepy eyes blinked open, and he was rewarded with that toothy little grin she’d recently mastered, one that brought an uncharacteristic softness to his entire face. He pressed a cascade of kisses on her cheeks, nose, forehead—anywhere he could reach. “Look at you, sweetheart. All dressed up for your birthday, huh? The prettiest girl in the world.”

You laughed softly from the kitchen, watching as Sukuna held her close, stepping into an impromptu waltz around the living room, his steps surprisingly skilled. She squealed in delight, her small hands reaching up to his face as he spun her around. Even Toji, who had just come down from the shower, stopped in his tracks at the sight, a rare, amused smile tugging at his mouth.

Sukuna glanced up, catching Toji’s presence, and with a proud smirk said, “Toji, meet my daughter, Mai. She’s already got more spirit than most of the people you and I have met.”

Toji stepped forward, studying your daughter. He reached out a hand, and she looked at him with wide eyes, inspecting him with her natural, innocent curiosity. “She looks like trouble. Must take after her old man.” 

“Her mother, mostly,” Sukuna said in your direction, bouncing her lightly. “She’s going to have a whole world to handle, with us around.”

In the background, Uraume was setting the table, their usual precision in each movement. They threw Sukuna a blank look, brushing off their hands. “Now that the table’s set, if you’d all just take your seats, maybe we can have a peaceful birthday dinner without the talk of blood and violence for once.”

Sukuna chuckled, shooting them a dry look before turning back to his daughter. Holding Mai close, he took a seat at the head of the table with you beside him. He looked around, taking in the sight—the cake you’d just set down, the quiet chatter as Uraume and Toji exchanged comments, and his daughter babbling in his lap, still pawing at his face with sticky fingers.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt peace. 

The “Happy Birthday” song had been sung, candles blown out, cake shared, and Toji had crashed in the guest room, completely knocked out. Uraume, too, was resting in another room, finally allowing herself a few hours of sleep.

In your bed, the soft rise and fall of your daughter’s tiny breaths filled the space between you and Sukuna. She slept peacefully between you both, tiny fingers curled into fists as she dreamed. But you and Sukuna were both wide awake, eyes locked on each other in the moonlight. His hand drifted up, fingertips brushing your cheek. 

“Do you remember my first letter?” you asked.

A smirk began at his lips. “You mean the diary entry about the cockroaches in your kitchen and how you thought seducing your landlord was a better solution than paying rent?”

You laughed, covering your mouth to keep quiet, not wanting to wake your baby. He loved that laugh—the way it sounded like music only he got to hear.

“Or how no one with one functioning eye could ever be taken seriously romantically,” he added. “Debunked, by the way.”

Your laugh softened, and you looked at him with a smile that held a thousand memories. “Do you remember the last thing I wrote?”

“The part about Satanism?”

You laughed again, the sound bubbling up and melting into the dark. And as he listened, he couldn’t help but chuckle alongside, his thumb tracing along your cheek, taking in the moment like he was trying to memorise it.

You took a breath, glancing down before meeting his eyes again. “I said I was lonely as hell, remember?” Sadness wove into your words. “And . . . I was. Back then, I thought no one could ever really understand me. Until you did.”

Sukuna shook his head. “You were never meant to be alone, baby,” he murmured. “Not then, not ever. Not while I’m here.”

You swallowed, heart catching as you looked at the life you’d built, the fragile happiness that now lay nestled between you both. “I’m just . . . scared sometimes,” you admitted. “I’m scared of losing this. Of losing you. I don’t know if I could protect what we have.”

“We’ll protect it together,” Sukuna affirmed. “Nothing will take this from us. Not while I’m still breathing.” He leaned forward, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was deep, reassuring, exactly like the one he’d give you when you’d sealed your vows. When he pulled back, you met his eyes, a soft smile tugging at your mouth. 

“I love you, Sukuna,” you whispered, fingers brushing his sharp jaw. “Genuinely, your wife.”

He took them and gave a kiss to the tips. “And I love you most, baby. Genuinely, your husband.” 

Moments later, your eyes drifted shut, your breathing evening out as you finally slipped into sleep. But Sukuna stayed awake, his gaze never leaving you, or your daughter. 

This was the family he’d fought and bled for, the life he’d killed to create. And yet, an unsettling undercurrent of unfinished business tugged at his nerves. But tonight, he forced it away, just for a while. 

For now, there was no room for anything but the second chance he’d been given.

Genuinely, by you.

[temiizpalace]

☆┊MONOPOLY? MONOPOLY.

SUMMARY: monopoly. the game infamous for destroying friendships and relationships. it wouldn’t hurt to play a game or two, right? how do your acquaintances suffer during the game?

CHARACTERS: all dorms (+grim)

GENRE: fluff, crackfic

WARNINGS: cursing

PLATONIC or ROMANTIC, PLATONIC ORTHO + GRIM

NOTES: my sister punched me in the stomach cause i bought her property

reader gender is not specified, reader is yuu

SPENT THE ENTIRETY OF THE GAME IN JAIL

no matter what they did, no matter how many times they wished to try, they always landed in jail. even when he’s finally free after seven knows many turns, he’ll pick up a card, and it says go to jail. jeez, what did he do?! this game sucks, i don’t see the appeal. is he so much of a bad guy the game wants to keep him locked up forever? its hurting his feelings. why do you want to keep playing?? can he just quit? he doesn’t wanna play anymore. fine. he’ll keep playing. just make sure you win or else you’ll get an earful..

spoiler alert: you lose and now he’s disappointed

riddle, deuce, jack, malleus, silver

LAUGHS LIKE AN EVIL VILLAIN WHEN SOMEONE LANDS ON THEIR PROPERTY

oh dear, how poor and unfortunate are you? such a shame really. oh well! fork over the cash, prefect! it’s nothing personal, just a simple game of monopoly. you can spare a couple hundreds, couldn’t you? surely you weren’t planning on winning, right? all is fair in love and war they say! he’ll make it up to you later, but it’s just better to pay— what’s that? no money? BANKRUPT? how sad. you snooze ya lose. better luck next time, you were no match to begin with. he’ll take what’s left, thanks! much appreciated 🫶🫶

he’s just competitive he’s sorry please don’t hit him with the board please— NONO WAIT—

ace, ruggie, azul, jade, jamil, epel, idia, lilia, grim

IS HOARDING ALL THE LITTLE HOUSES

they’re so cute! not very detailed, but he can make a nice village out of them! oh. you need them for the game? can’t you use.. something else? please let him keep them. if you want them back you’ll have to pry them from his cold dead hands. here, use these thumbtacks! they basically look like houses! why’s he so attached to the tiny plastic primary colored houses from this game? unsure, but he likes em. hands off <3

if you play on the floor watch your step

deuce, cater, floyd, kalim, rook, sebek, grim

USING THEIR WAD OF MONOPOLY MONEY AS A FAN

at first, this game seemed.. childish. however, who is he to say no to victory? just look at all the currency he holds in the palm of his hand, practically basking in wealth. tsk, tsk, wipe that pouty face off of your face prefect. he’s just playing the game after all. not his fault you can’t save your money. my, my, it’s getting hot! excuse him as he fans himself off with his hundred dollar bills. he would share if he can, but it looks like his hands are full. needless to say, he is suffering from success over here.

ace, cater, leona, ruggie, azul, jade, floyd, jamil, vil, epel, idia, ortho, lilia, grim (they all on my list. better watch themself)

BRINGS UP PERSONAL SHIT DURING AN ARGUMENT OVER PROPERTY

will bring up moments from each others past mid-argument cause they’re just petty like that. don’t look at him like that! not his fault you decided to ramble about your middle school days— HEY. DONT YOU DARE BRING UP HIS BABY PHOTOS. NO. NOT THE PHOTO. NONONONONONONONONO AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

pieces are in fact flung to the ground

ace, leona, azul, epel, sebek, grim

ABOUT TO FLIP THE BOARD

barely holding it together. he is this close to just grabbing the board and throwing it to the ground. he wants to tear up the currency and toss it down the paper shredder while screaming his lungs out. this game is absolutely SHIT. don’t ever bring it in his sights again, he will lose it.

riddle, jamil (depends), epel, sebek, grim

TRYING TO PLAY NORMALLY

it’s just a game guys, relax. sure, it’s not ideal, but let’s not try stabbing each other over a simple game of dice and money? seriously, it’s not that deep. as long as you’re playing together, he’s having a fun time. that’s all that really matters to him in the end! you’re having fun, he’s having fun, it’s a win-win. while chaos ensues, he’s pretty good at being levelheaded and the voice of reason so hopefully it doesn’t blow up in his face.

trey, jack, silver

A/N: monopoly almost got my cousin divorced fun game 10/10 would play again. so many fics in the draft hopefully they come out soon 🧌🧌🧌

date published: 8/20/24

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[quarterlifekitty]

I'm very new to your blog(introduced through people I follow reblogging your work) so I've seen a few things and enjoy it a lot

Though one is always like lingering in my head and likely won't go away until I get this out(Excuse my rambling)

It's your hybrid fic with Ghost as a cougar and reader as a cat.

You don't have to make another or anything if you don't want to, but I guess I just keep wondering what happens next.

Like does Ghost stalk the house now that he's kicked out, waiting for a chance to come back in? Do Soap and Ghost ever directly interact with each other?

Stuff like that.

Have a good day/night

I’m happy you liked that one!! I thought about it last night

In the version where Soap comes in, Simon was never allowed in the house by Price. Because he’s a dangerous wild animal.

I imagine Simon stalks the edges of the property, watching his princess through the windows and seething mostly. But he also tries to make himself useful— he kills all the predators that try to get onto the property. Price hasn’t had issues with the foxes going after his chickens in months.

And he’s laying fresh kills on the doorstep. Which John does not like. It’s bloody. But… he doesn’t want to just dispose of it. Why waste it when a poor bunny gave up their life? It’s fresh and clean, so he does end up skinning it and processing it. He cooks up a healthy portion of it for you and Johnny, laying the plate in your favorite basking window.

Simon watches with interest from the tree line as you come up to sniff at the new meal. He can tell that’s the rabbit he got for you. His ears flatten and he bares his teeth to the night air when he sees Soap follow you up. That’s for mama. Not you. He expects the bastard to just dig right in anyways.

He’s surprised when Soap pushes the dish towards you, then turns around, peering out the window and scanning his eyes over the property. He’s trying to protect you while you’re eating and vulnerable— so he hasn’t lost his instinct after all, Simon thinks. Soap narrows his eyes when he sees Simon lurking in the dark, and then he smiles. You’d told Johnny about him. What he looked like.

You keep trying to offer up the food for Johnny, and he keeps smiling and shaking his head. It’s not until you yawn and leave to go by the fireplace to sleep (not before you share a sloppy kiss) that he eats up what you left behind.

Simon feels some type of way about that. His possessiveness gives way a little bit.

Meanwhile, John is having second thoughts about Simon. He can tell there’s a reason he hasn’t had any issues with foxes and wolves lately, and you really enjoyed the fresh meat. Simon was keeping you fed and protected even from a distance. Maybe he’ll set up a catio or something….

[quitealotofsodapop]

Just thinking of Peaches canon hyperfixation of plans and medicine and just... going into a rant whne he visits DBK's place the first time over some rare plant Redaon had cultivated and DBK jsut... standing in the background with a soft smile on his face as he sees his xiandi happy to talk about medicine and plants again and reminiscing on the times he'd talk his ear off when they were kids about the medical properties of various ingredients in the teas they'd make

Oh gosh this idea was cute I had to write out some dialogue for it;

referencing this post I made about catnip/cat plants with lmk characters;

DBK: "I wonder why Brother Azure acted so oddly when i sat next to him at dinner. He didn't drink that much." Wukong, sniffing: "Oh easy! You use Mao Bo He to keep away the flies right?" DBK: "Yes? It's one of few herbs that works for me." Wukong: "Mao Bo He causes mild intoxication and feelings of elation in cats! Lions are just big cats after all." DBK, surprised/amused: "So Brother Azure was drunk off my insect repellent?" Wukong, getting excited: "Yes! In a way! There's some other plants that cause a similar effect but it's different for every individual- oh... sorry." DBK: "For what?" Wukong, nervous: "I've been told I... get too excited when discussing herbs and treatments like that," DBK, smiling: "I have no issue in hearing you describe them. You clearly hold much joy for the subject." Wukong: "You don't think I'm annoying?" DBK: "Not at all. If I had, I would have said so. My ancestor was a herbalist himself after all. Now, tell me xiandi, what can I use to keep the flies away that won't make our proud Brother Azure turn into a kitten at the mere scent of me?" Wukong: (*tail wags happily as he charges up the infodump*)

Later in the Peach Soup au as Peaches is receiving training from DBK.

Peaches: "Oh! Thats a Zhi Zi!" DBK: "Hmm?" Peaches, pointing to a flower in the courtyard: "Gardeniae jasminoides. Sometimes its called a gardenia or a cape jasmine. It shows up in some of my books." DBK, knowing smile: "Really? Red Son collected some plants during his time learning under Guanyin. I had always assumed it to be a regular jasmine plant." Peaches: "That's ok! They look really alike and smell nearly the same! One way to tell them apart is to check the leaves. Smooth leaves mean Jasmine, Toothed leaves mean Gardenia!" DBK: (*fond chuckle!*) Peaches: "Oh sorry! Was I rambling? I apologise if I got a little carried away." DBK: "Not at all! Where did you come across such knowledge by the way?" Peaches, little bashful: "My uncle Sandy introduced me to different tea blends when I was younger, and from there I wanted to know more about plants and herbs and how they help people. I was actually hoping to become a doctor or a pharmacist before all of this... monkey business happened." DBK: "It's never too late to return to your passion. You always wanted to heal people, xiandi. Even back then." Peaches: (*shy smile as he realises what DBK means*)

It leads to a rare moment where Peaches discovers something positive he shares with "old him". Who knew Sun Wukong was a nerd back then too?

DBK is elated to see this side of his little brother live on - Wukong had put aside many dreams due to the War, and herbalism was sadly one of them. Wukong did continue to pursue medicinal knowledge after the fact, but his duty as a king and near-god had kept him anchored.

Peaches has lived 18 years with no such anchor. DBK is excited and cautious to see what path he chooses.

I love these guys so much

[demonicnarwhale]

Final project for my alternative digital print class, I chose to draw in a much more fun and free sort of style and with what I'm comfortable with the most, color palettes. But I also wanted to play with text and try to evoke the character's personalities or even vocal inflictions or whatever through the text's visual properties.

ALSO YES SOME OF THESE WILL HAVE ACTUAL WORLD BUILDING TID BITS LIKE PLACE HOLDER NAMES AND LOCATIONS AS THESE STEM OFF OF THE COLLECTIVE WORKS I MADE IN THE BFA LINK TO CHECK THAT POST OUT HERE:

BFA GALLERY WAHOOO

Also note!!! While I know it's good to double-check and reread blurbs of text, since none of these ideas are solidified, I feel like it's interesting to keep things like off the top of my head so it's like fresh or whatever, so enjoy my ramblings and attempts to make things make sense through lack of better words but instead me grabbing your shoulders and shaking them.

All the digital prints are on 18 x 24 Drawing Pad paper (i think pastels, as a friend let me take them teehee)

Helen D - The host of her own radio show for the town, she serves as the no-nonsense lady that wakes the folks up and also eases their fears before they rest. Also dabbles with (or also owns? still figuring that out) the newspaper editorial thing for the town. She's your ears and keeps everyone in the loop, if people listen. I still gotta think about her and some of the other Pickle Inspector gang. Like AD? I have little to nothing with him (but since this is getting more into oc territory I could just... mess with him a bit more hmm). Also the thing she's holding is Chinkokawa my friend showed me and I couldn't help myself. Thank you Chiikawa you're a real one.

Ichiro Okamoto - As his name Ichiro suggests, he's the supposed 'first son' of his parents. However as of now, he's the only child and I thought that was funny teehee. The crab is yes, a hint at the rising sun for Japan and it's not to say he's an imperialist, but as a Japanese-American he feels the need to "out do" other Japanese (Americans) he finds himself in the company of as to show he's a "true" Japanese fucker. So he's prideful but also uses the fact he's Japanese as some bragging rights. (Literally he will claim to be more Japanese than Hiroka/HK even though she's an actual immigrant/first generation whereas he's second). He talks big and acts immature to claim he's still young at heart. But it's just him being an asshole for the sake of being a nuisance. Basically he tries to be that 'pick-me' type of person who will emphasize their ethnicity (as someone who IS HALF JAPANESE AND HAVE ENCOUNTERED PEOPLE LIKE THIS, I thought it'd be interesting to try and figure out that sort of part of him. Not everyone can be "saints". As this is Ichiro, not Itchy. Many of the folks in Catalyst, are obviously from my Intermission AU, but now I'm slowly but surely trying to change into their own characters in a sense as they're all set in a whole different world, with different backstories etc. (that and i think ive mentioned before but I cannot highlight this enough: My interpretations and designs for these characters is different from other people's so its bound to have derailed into a "yeah uh I'mma do my own thing")

Desmond Sterben - Haha funny German name. That's it. He's the town's grave keeper, maybe runs a small excuse of a church even though no one's really an avid follower of Christianity/Catholicism (god i seriously cannot care enough to decipher the difference between the two groaugh another time I will but what the fuck ever its like lobsters vs shrimps, they're like the same but different at the same time. Like I know there's the whole "2nd coming of Jesus" distinction but whatever no one here cares for that, I'm DERAILING) But yeah you know the drill, strict religious up bringing that's lead him to scorn religion unless it helps him or he's facing some issue he's backed into a corner. (like that allusion(?) to church goers dressed all fancy for Church but its all some facade or self righteousness whatever oh my god yes i am rambling) I'm going to think a bit more on him and this outtake on religion but loads of dramatic, romanticized and theatrical scorning yadda yadda. Imagine those renaissance paintings i guess

Sharkbait moment with DA BABY BOY!!! Conn is his name if we're talking leprechaun or leprepace? (still figuring out if he just takes after his pa's biologically in regular Intermission so Trace and Fin, or if I'll sprinkle some carapace, as in Catalyst, he's the son of Hiroka/HK and Ferdinand or Finbar?? *Fin is French + Irish teehee* and Finbar is just, it makes sense but it's like, too on the nose lol, and Ferdinand's meaning makes my head squeeze nicely. But uh, yeah Conn or "Connor" in this world (Conn: verb, describing the act of controlling a ship haha get it) is the baby boy. And gets TWO dads and ONE mom, lucky lil guy. Connor is an excuse for me to draw the three succeeding and failing at parenthood as I think their trio thing they got going on is fun to me.

PI - Name is still being looked into... but Cotard's Syndrome is simply the song from Willwood I often listen to that make me think of him or Die/Desmond. I don't quite know how to describe the connections but there's so much going on in his head that I think the feelings of him having a splitting (hAH) headache, hell if it's really bad it's a migraine has him feeling like he's dying/dead and is just stuck in some jank ass limbo. Hopefully you can see or make out a lotus-like shape with the flaps being the petals. But at the same time, I was looking at citrus slices like grapefruit (flesh) and I just went with that too. Also the hands trying to come out of his head (i promise, maybe, to redraw this even better) to play off his whole different time selves/parts. Yay cool more to think about in terms of his mentality and such. All I do know is that through his big brain or well, abundance of creativity that's bound to make his head spin and go into overdrive thus the migraines. And through dreaming while it's cool he's fluent? awake? whatever you call it, it tends to lead to him waking up with fits of terrible headaches yadda yadda physical toll, muscle tenseness yeah yes cool. Also this is totally not an excuse for me to indulge in shipping him with Clubs Deuce. What??? Head full + a head in the clouds (ain't no way I'm saying head empty, there's something there c'mon...) make me go ooogy boogy. But alas, that's for another post where I can wallow in the relationships I wanna dive into with Catalyst from lovers to friends, to foes to familial, how I'll go about it?? No clue lol. IM CLAWING AT SCRATCH AND SNOWMAN'S PARTNERSHIP??? RELATIONSHIP THING??? LIKE I NEED TO SHARE IT, ITS NOT ROMANTIC OR PLATONIC BUT ITS LIKE THEY'RE VERY MUCH USING EACH OTHER AND ORIAGUH THERE'S SO MUCH I NEED TO DEVOLVE WITH SCRATCH FIRST TOO OAUGH MY GOD. OH OH OH OH AND FUCK ASS BLOOD N BOOZE / DROOG X BOXCARS GROAUGH FUCKKKKKKKKKK

Ok that's all for Catalyst / Small Town Intermission, I'll make another post for the other projects in this class and another art class as they don't have a part in the story and such yay.

[elysians-adventures]

My Muse

Chapter 3: 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

➺ Confiding in your 'devotee' isn't the best option... good thing you chose his friend instead.

Elliott has met the new farmer, and quickly becomes infatuated. He attempts to keep his focus on his writing-- and fails, over and over, rather becoming a lovesick poet.

Pairing: Elliott x Farmer!Fem!Reader

➺ previous chapter masterpost next chapter

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

 

Elliott held his pen between his fingertips, slowly tapping the paper as he thought. Ink blots stained the ivory sheets, and no words seemed to flow out as before. The paper was filled with scrawls, poems and rambles, now tarnishing it with splodges of ink.

It had been a few days since you had first stepped foot onto Pelican Town; and it seemed as if you invaded his thoughts. 

At first, he hesitated even conversing with you– hoping you wouldn’t find him weird for coming up to you every time he had the urge to (which was concerningly frequent, it seems he has grown quite fond of you.) Yet, he hasn’t seen you since you last returned his belongings to him. It was driving him, frankly, insane. 

 

It was a rainy day, the petrichor smell filling his small shack. The windows remained open, droplets cascading onto his oaken flooring: a distinct sound drumming in his ears. The light pitter-patter of raindrops managed to distract himself from his newfound obsession, focusing on the environment outside his cabin. Usually, he’d stay cooped up inside, yet today he had an irresistible urge to go out and meet you. To deliver once again. He was apprehensive to.

Only when he slipped his red coat on, and wrapped his neck with a green scarf did he realise he was truly about to go through with it. He was acting like a dog on a leash, and he had no say in the matter– simply going as his body forced him to. 

 

When he arrived on your doorstep, he was sporting wet hair alongside a dewy face. Elliott could feel his ginger hair clasp his cheeks, sticking to them like glue. He found cover under your house, standing next to a small wooden chair a right’s side way from him. 

It was still early morning, the sun barely peeking above the dark clouds as he made his way onto your property. He felt more relaxed here, near your presence, than he did across town. He also felt guilty for feeling so, and had no explanation if you were to pull your curtains back– unveiling the man standing there. 

 

For a while, he watched your parsnip buds dance in the rain’s arms as you slept peacefully inside your home, simply breathing in the fresh smell of the farm. He should go, shouldn’t he? The man wanted to stay. He had some control however, and simply left a letter inside your letterbox once more.

 

 

You arose as the sun shone dimly, like a fading lantern in the sky. The clouds seemed to have crowded and gushed water down onto the soft earth. There was a light yawn, before you continued with your morning routine. You got dressed, brushed your teeth, breakfast… by the time you had gotten outside, an hour had passed. 

There wasn’t much to do on the farm, the parsnips had been watered by the rain (you assumed it would work as well as fresh water from the pond nearby… or would it ruin the harvest? You decided to hazard it), and from last day’s work from cutting down trees until you felt exhausted: now a nice clearing had arisen. 

 

There was one thing to do, and which you looked forward to as well (apart from the last time you had gotten that letter…): checking the letterbox! You opened it, and almost swelled in joy from seeing a paper in it. It seemed to be soaking wet, and damp to the touch. You removed it carefully from its envelope, careful to not ruin it more than mother nature has. 

 

Most of the writing is illegible, or incomprehensible, but you can make out a few phrases: 

 

 

—-------------------------------------------------------------

If I were told to give a reason why I love you to each of the stars, I would run out of stars.

—------------

—-----------------------------

And yet, only you —---------------------- sweetheart.

I wish you can for—------------------------

—-----------------------

 

Admirer

 

 

The writing was either scrawled on, or ruined by the rainwater. But from what you could tell, it seemed to be the same person as yesterday. Once again, you worried. This time it surely couldn’t be from Zuzu, right? The delivery times were fast, sure, but not this fast. Sluggishly putting it back into the envelope, you considered your next actions. 

 

It would be better to tell someone, right? If someone was actually ‘admiring’ you, you couldn’t keep silent lest something happened. However, you don’t know anyone close enough here to confide in. Telling your parents would be a bad mistake, considering they don’t live here and would be worried for your safety. The only person you could trust… Elliott? 

 

Lewis knew you through family ties, but telling an old man about this situation seemed– wrong, to say the least. And Elliott seemed like an intelligent man, he’d surely know what to do, right? After all, being an author, one must assume he has some wisdom to share. So, after pocketing the letter and mentally preparing yourself; you steeled yourself to tell him…

 

But you couldn’t. You didn’t know why, but something in you refused the idea vehemently. Involuntarily, you crumpled the paper in an attempt to remove this worry from your mind. After all, you had been here only three days. Who’d believe you?

Leaving yourself in this situation was worrying, but you decided that ‘out of mind, out of sight’. So, you worried yourself onto your next task, that you procrastinated yesterday.

 

Seeds.

 

You had to go to… what was it called again? Pear’s? Pierre’s? And buy some seeds with the scraps of change your old friends had given you. Honestly, you didn’t know what to buy. You were a newbie in anything farming related, only having read up on a dozen guides during the bus trip here. It was spring, so obviously something that grew in spring. But what?

Marnie! You remembered the neighbour that lived downwards from you, having a ranch and a small self-sustained wheat farm. She should give you help, right? 

Your footsteps squeezed against the mud as you made your way towards the ranch, branches and bushes becoming more prevalent as you continued downwards your property. You’d have to remove all of this one day– you realised. 

 

As you continued, a certain distant ginger-haired person piqued your interest. It wasn’t Robin, or Elliott (though, it could be argued Elliott’s hair is more chestnut coloured), but another person you had heard of from word of mouth. Leah. 

Lewis had summarised everyone’s relationships with each other during the briefing you had when you first arrived here, and you knew Elliott and Leah were close. If you had gotten along so well with the former, you’d surely get along with the latter.

 

She seemed to notice you as well, adorning a shocked expression on her face as she came in contact with the new farmer. 

“Y/N! I heard so much about you!” She shouted over the distance, coming closer in a light jog. Your first impressions of her were already good, smiling at the optimism she displayed. 

Hitting off a conversation, you completely forgot about your task for the day, rather going on to the topic that you had been trying to avoid. You were chatting to her so casually, though, your words simply slurred into one another until you got onto your time in Stardew Valley.

 

“How’s Pelican Town so far for ya?” Leah questioned, crossing her arms behind her back, expectant to an answer.

“It’s been going great! The air here is so fresh, and I feel relaxed… most times at least,” a light chuckle, before your face dropped slightly, “Though, something’s been bugging me.”

As a response, Leah cocked her head to the side slightly, listening intently now.

“I’ve been getting letters, but I don’t know who they’re from. Either someone from my old city or…” you trailed off, deciding it was best not to accuse any of the residents of a town you had just entered face-to-face to one of its own residents. It was disrespectful, especially since you had little to no basis on these accusations. 

Leah asked: “Letters? Can I see them?”

“Sure, yea, one sec, it’s pretty beat up…” you pulled out the crumpled note from your pocket, handing it to the curious artist. She took it from your hand, taking it out from the envelope and opening it. It was dryer now, but the semblance of the rain was still prevalent. 

 

Leah glanced over the writing, reading it out loud in a hushed tone. She gazed at it, and blinked. Once, twice.

“Sorry, can I keep it for a second? I’ll give it back to ya…” Before giving you time to respond, the woman had folded it up still in her hand, giving you a small wave before carrying on her light jog now opposite from where she was previously going.

 

The entire situation left you confused. What? Why did she take it? You barely had time to open your mouth. Yet, a part of you was relieved the letter had been taken off your hands; it seemed as if it was a burden on your shoulders. But again, what use did she have for it? Your heart dropped; thinking she was going to report it to Mayor Lewis. That was the last thing you wanted to be done, and the worst thing that she could do.

 

In truth, however, Leah recognised the handwriting from the countless drafts she had received. And she herself was confused. 

[acinginsomniac101]

Fuck it. Let me just vomit my personal AU abt Pressure this ONE time and never post for another year. Not gonna throw in my pathetic 5 OCs into the ramble though. Mostly just thoughts on Sebastian and his dumb lil downfall haha dum dum.

So my brain always considers the fact Pressure is a game loop. You die and you get sent back to the start. You can succeed and get the crystal, get outta there. But you can also always do that again. Sebastian always acknowledges your death, always acknowledges and has been able to differentiate the first one to the different ones you have after.

Same with any friends you play with, other expendables. They died many times like you, gotten the crystal and escaped so many times before. That is pretty much the core to my AU.

Sebastian never stops you from getting the crystal because he doesn’t have to worry about it ever completely lost. A new run will start, there’s always another chance. In this AU, he’s stuck in what is practically an endless timeloop due to the supernatural properties of the Blacksite. Once he entered, with such prolonged exposure—He’s become a part of it, essentially. He still hinders you back because the blaring red screaming of the alarms are hurting his eyes and a fucking nuisance to his ears. Even though the dread of losing is all has left him, the anxiety still lingers on.

But he’s a stubborn one. The sensation of dread when expendables took the crystal for the first time, when he tried to stop and killed them—when it just kept happening. Always scavenging, surviving, squeaking through it all. The more times expendables escaped his grasp and got into the submarine, the doom of not making it time? That was a fairytale now. Sebastian knows as of now UrbanShade won’t be able to retrieve the crystal successfully—as long as this timeloop where everyone’s memory is maintained, there won’t be successful “true” attempts.

But unfortunately for Sebastian nor any entities down here, the timeloops binds them to this cursed fate of roaming what is essentially a labyrinth of a flooded hell. Sebastian won’t be able to escape, having filled Painter with false promises of freedom whether he intended it or not.(sorry Painter Sebs dngaf abt you in my book💀) Sebastian is a man in denial, dragging a false hope that he can escape a timeloop. Even as he gains new knowledge, he will keep scavenging for data for an answer. Always roaming, always restless. So in a nutshell he’s like William Afton in UCN but he’s innocent(abt the 9 murders) and he wasn’t the father lmao.

I guess other thoughts now. I like to think personally Painter is like a teenager. The way he speaks feels like a kid to me—A fatherless kid, literally. He’s emotionally vulnerable and naive, and I think he looks up to Sebastian like how a kid sees a superhero. The friendship is onesided, and Sebastian takes full advantage of that admiration in question. Painter believes in Sebastian’s lies of freeing him, that promise keeps him lingering even as his files corrupt and his AI breaks down slowly.

Oh, and the thought about Mr.Lopee. He gives me an idea that he was some old business partner or acquaintance of Mr.Shade for sure. Something along the lines of some muddiness latervm, but carrying respect. I think Mr.Lopee personally wants to mess with Mr.Shade as a ghost now. So he helps the player but also helps Sebastian out, truly neutral and trying to see what brings him the most entertaining outcome. I like to also think he’s the one betting with Sebastian on which expendable lives and what not, hence the “you owe me..” voice line from Sebastian.

I don’t have too many thoughts on Navi. She doesn’t have a established personality much yet but I’ll probably have more thoughts on her when she has actual voice lines in the next update.

Alright bye I’ma go back to rotating OCs in my brain.

[galactic-ambitions-jester]

Congratulatory Mayhem

Toxic Chaintober 2024 Day 30-31: Mayhem, Gratitude (Free Day)

(The stream starts, you can see Marx grinning ear to ear)

Wassup @/kirbyoctournament! The finals just concluded and now we’re celebrating the final four! Valfrey, Starstruck, Noir, and Rope MF! And I’m live at the party! - Marx

(Camera shows the party, which has groups of people talking and partying about, including Dokutaro, Valfrey, Rope MF and Okidogi who were listening to the rope facts that Rope MF was saying. Camera moves closer to this group)

This rope is…. That is… (rope rambling can be heard) - Rope MF

(Valfrey, Dokutaro and Okidogi can be seen taking notes as in the background, Uther is terrified. Marx moves on to the next group… Noir and Kieran)

So yer willin’ ta do anythin’ fer yer sister? Dang you got lucky you have a sister that doesn’t lie to you. - Kieran

… will it even matter if I’m the one who lied to keep her safe? I bet your sister lied to keep you safe, you seem impulsive to me anyway. - Noir

SHUT IT! SHE’S THE ONE WHO DECIDED TO LIE TA ME! And Juliana just went along with it! They never planned ta tell me about the ogre! They saw her and didn’t even think ta tell me! - Kieran

… and you made a deal with the devil. Trust me, it never goes well. - Noir

Shut it! At least Dokutaro didn’t lie ta me! He didn’t right? - Kieran

(Noir doesn’t respond, he can’t think of anything to say to Kieran, and Marx decides to talk)

Yeah, I don’t think so. Try to think about what Noir said here, buddy. - Marx

(Uther finally moves toward Noir and Kieran but immediately pales when he sees Marx)

………****, it’s him! On second thought, byyyyyye! - Uther

… - Noir, Kieran and Marx

Well, uh um, moving on, bye you two… - Marx

(Marx moves again but this time heads towards Lady Celestine, Sir Arthur and Fecto Flora)

Haha hoot! The one time we defiled GSA property was fun, hoot! Are you feeling okay, Flora dear?- Lady Celestine

And it disturbed Sir Uther so much that he outright left! - Sir Arthur

Yes it did, hi guys! - Marx

Oh well hello there! Did you come to talk? - Lady Celestine

O-oh hey there… - Fecto Flora

Enjoying the party so far? - Marx

Yep! - Fecto Flora

Good to know! It’s for everyone anyway! - Marx

That’s true!~~ - ???

Huh? - Marx

(Camera then moves to reveal the speaker which was Fezandipiti, who was with Cosmo)

Yippipiti! Tis I! - Fezandipiti

Oh more company right Celty? - Sir Arthur

(Camera moves to see Celestine, who was talking to Munkidori)

I see, I see. Care for a cup of tea? - Lady Celestine

I don’t see why not. - Munkidori

Maybe I should excuse myself right now, bye! - Marx

(Static, then boots up again. This time showing Valfrey and Okidogi trying to tie Uther up with a rope, or chain in Okidogi’s case. Offscreen these comments can be heard: )

My rope should be used correctly! - Rope MF

Tie him up! Tie him up! - Marx

Go Oki! Show us why you’re the muscle of our group! - Dokutaro

Tie the lemon limed loser up! - Lady Celestine

(Camera still shows Valfrey and Okidogi, but this time they’re working together to capture Uther who somehow hasn’t run out of breath)

To the right! - Okidogi

And from the left! - Valfrey

And crisscross! - Okidogi & Valfrey

(It now shows Uther who was trapped in ropes and toxic chains, courtesy of Dokutaro and Rope MF)

Thank you, thank you! One and all! For supporting anti-Uther! Now does anyone have any ideas on what to do now that we caught him? - Marx

How about we make him… mochi dance? - Dokutaro

(Offscreen, Starstruck can be heard hosting a karaoke session)

Wanya! Let’s add some karaoke to this party! - Starstruck Dee

US! We want to karaoke! - Marx

(Static, then boots up again to reveal the gang belting out lyrics while Uther is dancing the chicken dance and and can only say mochi)

Don’t know where, don’t know when~ 🎵🎶 - Marx

But I know we’ll meet again, on some sunny day~ - Dokutaro

So why don’t we rewrite the stars~~ - Sir Arthur

Say that you’re made to be mine~~ - Lady Celestine

It’s no big deal, yeah no big deal! I feel at home in a place that shouldn’t be real - Valfrey

Wanya! It’s no big deal! - Starstruck Dee

I’m a heartstomper! - Fezandipiti

Stompin’ on hearts if you wanna get away - Munkidori

You’re gonna need a head start! - Okidogi

Mochi, Mochi! - Uther

(Static, then everyone can be seen on the camera)

Byyyyeee!! - everyone

Songs featured:

Sung by Valfrey and Starstruck: “No Big Deal” from “Amphibia”

Sung by Marx and Dokutaro: “We’ll Meet Again” from “Gravity Falls”

Sung by Celestine and Arthur: “Rewrite the Stars” from “The Greatest Showman”

Sung by the Loyal 3: “Heartstomper” from “Amphibia”

Ocs and AUs featured

@metagalacafe - Fecto Flora

@kirbybecomesastarwarrior - Lady Celestine & AU interp of Sir Arthur

@starflungwaddledee - Starstruck Dee

@desultory-novice - Noir Fontaine

@gethoce - Valfrey

@quanblovk - Sir Uther (loser)

@mint-termsandconditions - Rope MF

@tealmaskmybeloved - TC! Kieran & prompts

//The reason why the “Free Day” prompt is “Gratitude” is because this one shot is a thank you gift to everyone. For the first Kirby OC Tournament that I spectated, it was so much fun and enjoyable to interact with everyone! So thank you everyone and keep up the good work!

[intcritus]

Grasping Itachi by the jaw, Fushimi shamelessly shuts his rambling up to slick his tongue into their mouth and kiss them heatedly. The room was silent now, all he wished for with his growing headache, the fixations of his lover were sometimes adorable but right now, he was in need of a decent amount of quiet and a long nap. Itachi, as beautiful and smart as he was, sometimes forgot that not everyone had the same energy as him. A shame, Fushimi would have loved to remain awake with him and talk on about his teas but Fushimi only had so much to spare after his week of travel, meetings and family dramas.

"My love... I love you. Be either go to sleep with me... or read in silence. I am not awake enough to understand the depths of your teas at this moment." His eyelids were heavy - sleep was a desire he very much wished to grasp in both his hands right now. "Forgive me, my heart - but I am exhausted."

It's not a surprise that he melts immediately at the kiss, discussions of fresh tea leaves and their properties fluttering away like his next breath. And while he should feel indignant, Itachi had long since learned that once he got on about something he was passionate about, it was hard to get him to stop. If he was being honest with himself, his husband did look tired and the feline felt a little guilty about keeping him up.

❝ ━ I apologize, let's get some rest. ❞Closing his book, he sets it to the side, dog-earing the page. How tenderly his heart beats as he shifts, laying his husband down then snuggling into his chest, soft, deep rumbling vibrating in his throat and against Fushimi's chest.❝ ━Rest well, my love. Later, tell me about your trip, okay ?❞ Maybe he can go ramble with Seiji, or even better Murazaki, since the man seems so intent on teaching his child. It would be remiss of him to neglect part of their family, right ? And if he spent the entire time intimidating the man, well that was his business, wasn't it? Shifting, he nuzzles into his husband's neck, making himself comfortable before letting sleep take him.

@nvrcmplt

[sadnesslaughs]

To elves, humans are essentially toddlers. Short-lived, impulsive and constantly forgetting lessons. As an elven guardian assigned to monitor a human kingdom, your job is basically glorified babysitting. You're centuries old, and you’re so, so tired of reminding them constantly every few decades.

A flash of blue light danced by Javik’s feet, startling him. Once the light settled back into the grass, he cautiously stepped away from it, feeling a tingling in his toes from having brushed against it. The boy whimpered, scared he had set off a magical trap, only to hear the soft words of the elven guardian call out to him.

“Twenty-two,” Levirin said, not even looking up from the book he was reading. He flipped over a page and sighed. “Javik, have you considered trying a different route? If you wish to leave the village, it would be wise to go somewhere not directly in my line of sight.” The magic ignited again, this time revealing a set of runes that encircled the city. “You’re lucky. It only causes an uncomfortable sensation in humans. Had you been a goblin, you would be in two pieces.”

Javik pouted, the boy remaining frozen, not budging from his spot by the border of the village. The grass tickled his feet as he watched the elf. The white-haired elf looking no older than thirty-eight years old, despite having lived over six hundred years. Levirin’s thin face glancing up, meeting the boy's, giving him a puzzled look before he realized what Javik was doing.

“I’m not a dragon. You can’t just hide yourself by standing still. My eyesights better than that. Go back inside the castle gates before I drag you inside.” He said, flipping another page, his eyes falling again to the book.

The boy wandered over, carefully stepping closer to the elf. He twiddled his fingers, before leaning over the elf’s shoulder, peeking at his book. The words written in elven text, which only hurt the boy’s brain with their confusing swirls and scribbles. Still, Javik persisted in trying to read it.

THWACK. The book slammed shut, stopping his rude peeking. “It’s awfully rude of you to stare at another person’s property. Javik, what is it that you seek beyond my barrier? What could a newborn want?”

Javik pouted, crossing his arms, making it clear he hated the newborn comparison. “I’m six.” He said, as if that made any difference to the elf. To the elf, six years felt like a few days ago at best, not making him sound as mature as he wanted to sound.

“Oh, sorry. Six entire years. You’ve lived through no wars, no conflict, and no dead kings. How could I forget the experience you have?” He said, before noticing Javik’s lip wobble, giving a small sniff. “Javik, why are you constantly coming out here?” He wouldn’t say he was worried about Javik to his face. He had only known the boy for two years. That was hardly enough time for any friendships or care to develop, at least in elves. But in truth, he cared. He cared about all the humans in the village, and he would do whatever he could to stop Javik from trying to leave without someone watching over him.

“Annabella’s mom is really mad at her. We were playing with her necklace, and she accidentally threw it outside of your magic circle thingy. I want to give it back to her, but every time I try to get it, you stop me from leaving. She really needs it back. It was her grandmother’s and her mom is really sad and… and..” Then the snotty tears came.

Levirin grimaced, searching his pocket for something Javik could wipe his nose with. When he found nothing, he collected a leaf, checking its size before offering it to him. “Here. Now, why didn’t you ask me to look for you?”

“B…Because everyone says you're busy and that I can’t ask you because you don’t have time for me and you have to keep us all safe.” He rambled, half sucking in tears as he did. “Elves don’t like humans either, cause we pull their ears and stuff.”

“Nonsense, I don’t hate humans. I only find them confusing.” He admits, getting off the stump he had been sitting on. “Where did she drop it? I’ll fetch it for you. Also, next time something like this happens, tell me. Don’t keep trying to run past me.”

After a short walk, Javik pointed to a bush behind a set of trees. The elf nodded and crossed his barrier, wandering over to the bush, crouching before it. He pushed aside its thorny leaves, searching around inside until he snagged his finger on the chain. With a quick pull, he freed his hand, collecting the necklace with it.

When he handed it over to Javik, the boy couldn’t contain his excitement, running in circles around the elf, who wandered back to his stump. Without a word, he sat himself back down, opening his book once more.

“Thank you so much, Mr elf. She’s going to be so happy. I can’t wait to show her.” Javik grinned.

“Levirin is my name. Not Mr. Elf,” He corrected, only to give the boy a nod. When the human went back into the safety of the town gates, the elf allowed himself to smile. “Only thirty more years until I can retire. I can’t wait to see my family.” He clutched the book close to his heart, the book containing a bunch of written tales from his children and wife, each giving him a recount of their daily lives while he was away. Every year a new one would come, and this was the tenth. “I should start writing my book soon. Maybe I’ll tell them about Javik.”

The next day, Levirin woke from his four hours of sleep, heading back to his position outside of the city walls, only to find a basket sitting atop his stump. He squinted at it, wondering if it was merely a trick caused by the bright morning sun, only to get closer, seeing it indeed was a basket. He pushed his dagger against its lid, flipping it open, expecting a snack or creature to jump out. When nothing attacked, he leaned over it, finding a small piece of bread and some fruits.

He sat down, confused by the gift, suspecting someone had poisoned the food, only to find a note. The note written in charcoal, with crude elven symbols that had been drawn up by someone who didn’t know the first thing about elven calligraphy. “That doesn’t mean anything.” He murmured to himself, trying to work out where this gift came from, only to recall Javik peering over his shoulder yesterday, possibly trying to read the symbols.

“Ah. It’s from him.” He smiled, collecting a piece of bread from the basket, eating it as he watched the morning sunrise.

[lex-play]

Light My Soul on Fire pt 3

~*~

“Izuku-kun I’m so sorry,” Fuyumi Todoroki cried out through the phone.

“It’s not your fault Fuyumi-san. I mostly wanted advice. How on earth did you keep Shouto from cooking?!” Izuku held the phone to his ear as he headed for the train station.

“Well,” Fuyumi sighed. “Our kitchen had doors, so we just put a deadbolt on them to keep him out. We tried regular locks at first but he learned to pick them.”

Izuku groaned.

“You see now why we wanted to rent a place for you two?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “Do you think if I lock the plug for the stove and oven when I leave the house it would stop him?”

“Lock the plug?”

“Yeah. I’m going to the hardware store now, I could buy a really small lock and put it through the hole on the plug so he can’t just plug it back in.”

Fuyumi hummed. “That could work. Although he might just buy bolt cutters.”

“If he buys bolt cutters and sets my apartment on fire again I won’t be able to keep living with him,” Izuku sighed.

“Shouto is my best friend and I really want to help him maintain some independence but I have to consider my own health and safety. Not to mention the property damage and the potentially irreplaceable damage. What if Mighty gets caught in it next time?”

Izuku caught that he was rambling and stopped from saying anything more with a sigh.

“I’ll talk to him,” Fuyumi said after a moment. “I don’t think he’s really considering the potential repercussions and I’ll try to make sure he does in the future.”

Izuku sighed, relieved. If anyone could talk some sense into Shouto about this, it was his sister.

“Thank you. I’ve gotta go, Fuyumi-san. I’m at the train station.”

“Alright. Thanks for calling me Izuku. Bye.”

~*~

<I’m here! I’ll be over by the extinguishers so you can tell me when you’re here.

Izuku bought a soda and followed the employees instructions to where they kept the fire extinguishers. There weren’t that many different types, but there were enough that it made Izuku feel overwhelmed and confused.

“Hey there Freckles,” a deep voice came from his right, and Izuku jumped, startled.

When he turned his head, Bakugou-san stood there, less than a foot from him, a mischievous grin on his face. Izuku had to crane his neck sharply to meet his gaze, and a shiver traveled down his spine at how small he was next to the firefighter.

Izuku swatted at his arm before he could think about it.

“That was mean! You startled me!”

The alpha(?) chuckled. “I couldn’t help it. You looked so deep in thought.”

“Rude,” Izuku huffed. So, which one should I get?”

Bakugou-san’s gaze followed Izuku’s pointing finger to the veritable wall of fire extinguishers. He snorted and moved towards it. As he did, Izuku took a moment to study him.

He’d known the man was tall and broad, but he hadn’t realized how tall and how broad. The firefighter had to be at least six foot five, if not taller. And his shoulders!

Izuku’s brain conjured up an image of those shoulders flexing above him, naked and sweaty-

He shook his head sharply, embarrassed at himself. He’d always known he was weak for shoulders but he hadn’t quite realized how much until that moment. Izuku was grateful for scent blockers. If not for his patches, the whole store would be able to scent his arousal and he’d probably die from the embarrassment.

They were in the middle of the store for God’s sake! And Bakugou-san probably wasn’t even interested in Izuku that way. He wasn’t anything special, after all.

Izuku was pulled from his musings as something was pushed firmly into his gut. He grabbed it on instinct, glancing down to see that it was a fire extinguisher.

“Oh!” Izuku looked up at Bakugou-san with a smile. “Thank you!”

Bakugou-san looked down at Izuku pensively.

“Let me take you out.”

Izuku felt like his brain had short circuited. There was no way the hottest man he had ever seen in his life was asking Izuku on a date.

“Well I fucking am. Got a problem, Freckles?”

Izuku froze and glanced up at the firefighter sheepishly.

“Was I muttering?”

Bakugou-san snorted a laugh.

“Yep. You do that often?”

“Unfortunately.”

Bakugou laughed again, this time a little louder. “You’re cute, and I’ve been thinking about you all fucking week. So let me take you out.”

Izuku’s face heated, and he smiled.

“O-ok.”

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Heyo love, can i request a smut where Mean Aemond fucks his innocent wife on the garden, please? ily ❤️

heya lovely, this idea...this holds a special place in my heart (just like you) 💓 hope you enjoy this x

A Flower to Ruin...

PAIRING: Cruel!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Tyrell!Innocent!Reader

WORDS: 2,516.

WARNINGS: mean/cruel!Aemond, degradation kink, female f*ngering, p in v sexual intercourse, swearing, NSFW. MINORS DNI.

A/N - I keep getting carried away, this was meant to be a small blurb, no plot & yet… here I am rambling away.

Having married the notorious one-eyed Prince, was a reality you did not dream possible. Although your House [Tyrell] was a meek one, it could and would gratefully offer endless wealth, a highly valued asset to the Crown, undoubtedly. Your betrothal nonetheless, was planned, a guaranteed means that further heightened the riches now shared with the newly appointed King, Aegon the Second, for the betterment of the realm.

And as romanticised as you'd dreamt of your surreal betrothal to the Prince Regent: such idyllic thoughts and daydreams that contaminated your mind, were vanquished with reality. For your husband, was a cruel man indeed...

Aemond Targaryen, was very much an unnerving man. Of all the rumours and whispers that would occasionally reach your innocent ears, of the infamous Kinslayer, you were keen to ignore such hearsay, remaining blissfully optimistic about your fiancé. However, much to your dismay, your initial impression of Aemond was one that stirred an internal debate inside: was it terror or lust that made you feel so uneasy around him?

The lingering yet blatant wound of his absent eye, although hidden beneath the feeble leather of an eyepatch, the red trail of a healed scar remained... And was somewhat chilling. Being frank to yourself, it did not falter your attraction towards him, however. He had a handsomely, chiselled face, the ethereal Targaryen features were most exemplified on him. Even from a distance, you could tell that his height would tower over you, his mass lean and toned. Just by his sheer demeanour, one could easily decipher that he was a warrior trained.

And when he spoke, he was stoic and monotonous, it seemed he was not impressed nor was he disappointed. The man was an enigma, impossible to decipher his raw emotions and pure intent. Was he pleased with you? Was he satisfied with this arrangement? Would he ultimately love you?

Overtime, in the following months proceeding the lavish, royal wedding, it remained impossible to say. Aemond, much to your relief, took pride in performing his husbandly duties. However, you'd grown familiar with his approach towards you, it was one filled with almost a sweet bitterness, gaining amusement in intimidating and humiliating you, and yet to some level he remained cautious with you, as though not to completely frighten you off. He kept you lingering for more, like bait on a hook.

It drove you mad, yet you'd never forged the courage to confront him, for fear that you would displease him enough to leave, wounding his ego. In truth, he was not a violent nor terrible husband either, he was committed. You had no plausible reason to complain. And yet, he treated you as though you were an inanimate object, his property, hurrying to his beckon call always, like some lamb to its shepherd.

Even in his absence, you had missed him. Only gone for a few days, for a hunting round with the young lords and knights of the realm, you'd disappointingly concluded that your feelings were one-sided. He did not miss you, how could he miss you? Aemond showed no sentimental attachment towards you, except that you were bound his loyal wife, before the laws of men and Gods... Or so you had convinced yourself.

****

"So I thought I'd find you here, my rose-" The sudden, abruptness of his deep voice had caught you off guard. Startling you, as you hastily cast your attention towards him from the open book resting in your lap. Slowly, he'd strolled towards you, hands firmly placed behind his back, as he found you nestled beneath a hidden canopy, sprawled on a silk, picnic duvet, across a freshly, cut grass-patch, beneath the cool shade offered by the blossom tree above.

"F-Forgive me, husband. I did not realise you had returned... Had I known I-" You stutter, as you attempt to gather yourself to stand.

Aemond stops you, surprisingly insisting you remain where you are, as he himself cowers down instead, laying himself beside you.

A few seconds of sheer silence are exchanged, as Aemond's attention shuffles from the stems of grass he distractedly picks at, to the neat, floral bushes onwards. You observe him longingly, a warmth fills your heart from his much anticipated presence, secretly embracing his return, as a thoughtless, faint smile appears on your face.

"H-How was the hunt, my Prince?" You utter, in a meek attempt to initiate some kind of conversation. Aemond looks onto you sternly, still his face remains stoic, although somewhat irritated, as he huffs in annoyance.

"Abysmal...Most of the bastards drunk, only myself, Criston and a few of the Kingsguard actually went out for the hunt. Waste of time when I could have been-" Aemond pauses, his words stopping in his tracks, as his gaze returns to fall upon you. His only surviving eye, lingers over your body, before resting upon your face once more. You could've sworn you saw a slight upturn curve of a smile, although one filled with that familiar glint of arrogance.

"When I could have been fucking my needy, whore of a wife."

The harshness yet deviousness of his words had caught you by surprise, feeling your cheeks turn scarlet, as you flustered and adjusted in your seated position. You felt a dull, aching pang between your inner thighs, a familiar feeling that you'd grown weakly accustomed to.

Gods, what was only a few short days, felt like long, agonising weeks since your husband had filled you. You were indeed, needy for him, for the sex had always been a pleasurable event, something you'd often looked forward to for many nights to come since your consummation. Although, this being the first since you'd both been spared some time and distance apart, you'd grown even more susceptible for his cock. Desperately craving for him during the dark, lonesome hours in the night, you'd attempt to sate yourself in his stead, however failed miserably...

It was not the same.

Remaining speechless, you’d often found yourself at a loss of words, or stuttering ambiguous sounds as Aemond tended to you. His rough hand slowly reaches up, caressing your clothed thigh, before hiking up the dress where his hand disappears beneath the garment. The flesh of his palm meets the sensitive spot of your inner thigh as he begins to trace soft circles.

“Gods, how I’ve missed you. Surrounded by all those impotent cocks, envisioning you begging for me, was the only thing keeping me sane.”

Your eyes begin to flutter before shutting, the tenderness of his words in conjunction to the lightness of his fingers, sent shivers down your spine. Sensing his hand etching closer towards your entrance, tugging at the undergarment, as the tips of his fingers graze over your moist folds.

"Although, it seems you might have been suffering as well..." His tone was low, yet amused. The smirk now prominent on his chiselled face, however was fleeting, as he returned to yet another stiff expression.

"Part your legs," He firmly uttered. From the early months of the marriage you'd learnt not to disobey, for your husband was a firm believer in justified punishment.

Doing as told, like any meek, obedient wife, you'd obeyed, spreading your legs, distant enough for his arm to snake over your thigh closest to him, where his hand remained over your cunt. Laying his weight over you, as he remained turned facing you, laid by your side, and you still propped up. The novel that you'd deeply immersed yourself in a few, mere minutes ago, now strewed across the grass, its existence no longer of significance.

"Hmm-Needy, little thing aren't you? My deprived whore-"

As he spoke, the tips of his fingers began to plunge in further into your folds, slowly encircling inside.

"Tell me, my sweet, pathetic, little wife, how desperate have you been for me? For my cock, hmm?"

"A-Aemond-" You thoughtlessly stutter, your pelvis motioning forwards, urging for more of his touch.

"Can't even think for herself, look at you. You were wet before I even began... Tell me, whore, have you touched yourself in my absence?"

His fingers delved deeper, now two, long digits inserted, pumping in and out in slow, sensual motions. His fingers massaging your walls within, as your wetness began to pool.

"N-No-" You lie, fearful that Aemond would think less of you, that you were incapable of living freely and dignified without him, even if it was for a few, short days. Aemond relished in how you'd hopelessly yearn for him, dependent on him, a loyal wife vulnerable for her dutiful husband. He loved to remind you repeatedly, growing hard thinking that only he could make you feel this way.

"Lies-" He venomously spat, urging his fingers to plunge in deeper, with a greater verocity and speed than before, causing you to jerk involuntarily, earning a loud, thoughtless moan.

"Quiet, you whore- Should someone hear us, you will be left cockless and deprived. Now tell me the truth-"

Even in the short span of time Aemond had grown acquainted with you, he knew you unlike anyone else in the realm. To some deeper, more meaningful degree, you had appreciated how intimately he had grown to know you, and often, he would use it to his advantage. Reading you like some feckless book in the citadel's library.

"Y-Yes, husband," You quietly stutter, your arms stretched back supporting you, as your legs remained widely apart. Gods, was it destined that you'd found the perfect, hidden spot to read in the gardens this fine day...

"Mhmm- Just as I'd thought. Now tell me... How badly do you want me to fuck you senseless?" Just as the last word had escaped his lips, his fingers shoved in deeper, the knuckles of his hand now grazing the entrance of your drooling cunt.

"So-So very much-" You hiccuped, your breath hitching in your throat audibly, as you attempt to steady your breathing, your chest heaving, accentuating your plump breasts and slight cleavage. Aemond's eye [whenever you granted yourself the chance] you had noticed it flicker from your face to your blatant show of breasts: undoubtedly, most infatuated by them.

"You are going to need to convince me harder than that, that was pathetic, even for you- Beg for me, my insolent wife."

"Hmm-" You'd hopelessly moan, your walls throbbing against your husbands steady, yet swift motions.

"Please, Aemond- I-I need you. It-It's been so very hard, these past few days. Y-You’d been gone for s-so long-" His pacing eases, as he insists on you to speak coherently, eager to hear what you have to say.

"F-Fuck- I need you inside of me. I could not do what you can, I-I cannot satisfy myself, as y-you do so-so very well.”

As your head was lunged backwards, looking upwards towards the rustling leaves, flowers and sky above, you casted your attention once more downwards, gazing upon Aemond, whom remained cockily smiling up at you. Ever so pleased with your honest response, it seemed.

"Hmm."

Shoving his fingers in deeper, his pace now had hasten: shifting in your seat, as your hips instinctively bucked forward. You could feel his fingers just grazing over your tight, sweet spot, with each pump, earning more mindless moans and pleas for his name [or more so indirectly, for his cock].

Without a second to waste, Aemond pulled his hand from your drenched cunt, causing you to moan from the sudden release of the tension. His fingers glazed in your wetness, sparing a moment to take in your scent lingering from his fingers, before seating himself up on his knees, between your thighs. Hiking your dress up, as he eagerly pulled your private garments down, he'd adjusted his position swiftly, undoing his trousers in a haste simultaneously.

Cowering down over you, as he softly laid your back down against the linen and grass, his 'clean' hand reached over towards your face, his thumb gently stroking the side of your flustered cheek. He'd often spare a sacred moment, closely watching you from above, during sex, as you both immerse yourself in each other's attention, taking in all the fine details up close and personal.

"No need to say more, my wife-" Feeling his hardened cock, grazing your glazed entrance, that same potent, aching sensation stirring once more.

"You need not suffer any longer, and neither must I. I have taunted you and myself enough."

In a swift yet vigorous motion, Aemond thrust his long, pulsating cock deep inside, burying it cosily within. Your tight walls had immediately clenched onto him, like a key latched to a lock. You were made just for him, it was undeniable and he knew it.

"Fuck-" He'd breathlessly growled, as you unsteadily pant against his sturdy pace. His backward and forward motions felt unruly, as he heavily laid on top of you, your knees brought up, instinctively wrapping around his lean waist.

"Feels so tight around me, look at how much you crave for me, whore. No matter how often I pry you open, how much I fuck or fill you up. You are always desperate for more-" One hand rests on the ground for standing support, just beside where your head rests.

"Selfish, little whore. Your body still aches for me, and it naturally shows. You cannot hide it from me-"

You could muster no logical words nor any comprehensible thoughts, incoherent and ignorant to any lingering, perverted eyes. You had missed your husband dearly. Each breathless word that spilled from his filthy mouth in this very precise moment, was the honest truth, there was no point to deny or retaliate against him.

"I-I do not intend to, ever," You breathlessly whimper, gripping Aemond's cloaked, muscular shoulders, feeling your nails dig into his dense clothes.

Earning a menacing, short chuckle from Aemond, his raw thrusts grew faster and regular, his breathing heavier and louder. You could feel yourself edging closer and closer until reaching the final, much anticipated peak. Unconsciously lunging yourself closer, burying your face into Aemond's chest, as you continued to grip onto him tightly for support. Feeling his weight, in return falling into you, pinning you down, as his cum shoots itself inside, coating your walls as he satisfyingly fills you up with his seed.

As you both hastily cleaned and redressed yourselves up as best as you could, you'd noticed the grass patches where your weight and hand prints had rested, left a noticeable imprint on the ground, triggering a faint, heartfelt smile from you.

Aemond helping you up form the ground, as you folded the soiled duvet and book, he'd begun to carefully pluck out each of the small, dry leaves and petals that had somehow mingled in your unkept hair. A faint, sincere smile beaming across his face as he longingly gaped down above you, fixing the misplaced strands of hair.

Although, he had often taken pleasure in hurling cruel words towards you, his love was genuine and unrelenting. He was a loyal and dutiful husband, and it was plenty more than what many of the lords of the realm would offer their wives.

[tipsydipsydo]

➳ Wolfdog Hybrid! AU

➳ name/title-kink for the term 'Alpha'

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Gender of the Reader: female

Word Count: 1.2k

Rating: 18+

Genre: Smut/PwP

Warnings: Dirty Language + Dirty Talk; Petnames; Mentions of Oral (fem. receiving); verbal Degradation; Praising; the Term 'Alpha' as a Title for Jungkook; Doggy Style; Dom-Sub-Dynamic (Top! & Dom! Jungkook x Bottom! & Sub! Reader) ; Teasing; Begging; Spanking as a punishment; Mentions of unprotected Sex & Knotting & Creampies/Cumplay

A/N: I had this drabble idea since two or three months and I thought, it would fit the one request I got pretty well. I hope y'all like it! 🤗

Reviews/Feedback is appreciated! 💕

Status: barely edited

[Links]:

BTS Smut Drabbles

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「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

"Jungkook, I have a question."

With these words you broke the comfortable silence between you and your Boyfriend. The addressed one pauses his actions of cutting the fruits into small pieces and puts the knife aside, looking up to you and hums questionly before a curious "Yes?" follows.

Right now, you are standing behind the kitchen island and keep stirring the pancake dough in that big blue bowl with a wisk while you think about the right words to start this conversation.

These kind of stupid and silly thoughts are running through your mind since the last week and won't leave you alone anymore, no matter how hard you try to push them into the last corner of your brain. You need to know the answer or you'll go crazy pretty soon.

"Well... You and I know that you're a shapeshifting hybrid, actually a wolfdog-hybrid to be more clear. Uhm... and to come back to my original question, I wonder since several days if the term 'Alpha' is... doing something to you? Like, if the word 'Alpha' has some kind of effect on you or does the use of this term activates something in your hybrid nature? I am asking because you're a wolfdog-hybrid nevertheless, which means that you might have some inborn wolfish traits or behaviours that distinguish you from other, for example purebred dog-hybrids. In conclusion, do you like to get called 'Alpha' and could I use it as a cute nickname for you? Of course only if you're okay with- Uh? Jungkook, is everything okay?"

Your nervous non-stop rambling and the aggressive stirring of the dough caught all of your attention and made you awfully clueless. You didn't recognized how Jungkook's usual so sweet and soft aura slowly begin to crumble. Now a thick and heavy, in sexual tension and hunger dreched aura surrounds your boyfriend which you still haven't noticed yet.

An inhuman, almost brutish snarl caught you out of your thoughts and lets your body freeze up within seconds. Suddenly, you feel like a tiny fawn caught in the headlights. Your eyes moves instantly to Jungkook, who consumes you with a dark, predatory-like gaze.

He has shifted halfway. His pointy ears and his tail are showing now, covered in brown fur. Jungkook is breathing quickly, it seems like as if he has to fight with his inner wolf to control himself. His eyes aren't soft and brown anymore, his iris shimmers in icy blue hues now. His nostrils are flaring, his hands are cramped into fists and it looks like as if he has a though time to suspress the urge to bare his sharp canines to you.

All the tiny weels in your brain starts turning and the things slowly clicks together. You gulp dryly, the realisation hits you harder than expected. Well, as you can see it now, the Term 'Alpha' activates indeed something in him...

Out of Jungkook's throat flees a raspy chuckle, he can't deny that your taken aback and speechless sight amuses him a little bit. Someone who takes such momentous words into their mouth should be able to deal with the consequences as well.

"Yeah, Baby. I like to get called Alpha. Especially when you do it, as my mate. I want you to scream 'Alpha' for me, I want to hear you beg your Alpha for his cock. Only your Alpha can stuff that greedy, little pussy of yours like it deserves. Do you understand me? I am your Alpha."

~

Your face is buried into the countless pillows you have in your shared bed, trying your best to balance your body on all fours without collapsing into the sheets. Your biceps are trembling dangerously, it seems like your elbows won't work anymore soon.

"K-Kook, please I beg you, please give me your cock finally! I-I can't hold-", you sob into the pillow underneath your squished cheek. Even though you already came three time on your boyfriend's tongue, you are still greedy. Almost as if you're an insatiable hybrid bitch in heat. It seems to be never enough for you.

You wiggle desperately with your hips, in the naïve hope to get at least some of Jungkook's cock into your leaking cunt. He's been teasing your swollen and painfully sensitive pussy for the past ten minutes now, making you mewl whenever he intensifies his cruel actions and circles your aching clit with the tip of his dick every now and then.

A huff in despite and a warning growl are the answer to your impatient behaviour, next to the harsh spank which follows on your right buttcheek.

"What did I told you? How are you supposed to call me, Slut?", he snarls at you in anger and spanks you once again, which elicits some pathetic whimpers from your lips.

Before you met Jungkook, would be scared and frightened to death if a carnivore hybrid ever had talked to you like this. But after all, it's Jungkook, your soulmate, someone you trust with your whole life.

Now it's sending you shivers of exitement down your spine and the thrill of upsetting your Alpha makes your hole clench around nothing, so even more of your juice is dripping down onto Jungkook's dick.

"I-I'm sorry, Alpha! I didn't meant to anger you, it was my fault! Please... Please discipline me for my embarrassing behaviour. I'll be a good bitch for you for now on, I promise!", you cry out in a trembling voice, words slightly muffled by the pillows. It takes all of your mental strength to resist the urge to push your hips back, begging Jungkook nonverbal to fuck you. God, you're so unbelievable greedy, you should be ashamed to be such a cockslut for your Alpha.

Jungkook hums in satisfaction as he hears your remorseful words. As a reward, he massages your slightly bruises asscheek gently and gives you a dozen soft kisses on your spine.

"Good, very good. That's what I like to hear, Princess. I hope you can keep your promise and won't disappoint me more often today."

The moment you're about to open your mouth to approve his statement, only a high-pitched moan of relief is coming over your lips and fills the room. Finally, oh finally he's entering you with his dick and stretches you out in the best ways possible. It feels like heaven, now you can die happily with this fat cock stuffed up your pussy.

"You were so impatient and begged so pitifully for my cock, now you'll take everything I give you, yeah? Gonna fuck this pretty little pussy up! Stretching it nicely around my knot and ruining her with my loads of cum until it spills out next to my dick. Simply just to stuff it back into your gaping cunt with my fingers. Oh yeah, you like that, hm? Clenching so greedy around me to keep me in..."

His lips twists in a filthy smirk, showing off his fangs and licks over them before he slams his hips with all force back against your ass.

You're such a good little bitch for you Alpha.

[kitsuneregin]

Hot (Yandere!Hongjoong x Superhero!reader)

Warning: obsessive behavior, Stabbing, swearing

Summary: In a world where superheroes are the norm one obsessive fan gets a once in a lifetime interaction with his favorite Hero. Though to her it may seem to be a simple fan interaction little does she know how much he truly loves her.

Hongjoong’s pov

It was late, I had just got off work from the local cafe. It was a slow day mostly because of another villain attack, ever since humans started gaining superpowers all over the world crime rate has increased greatly, though thankfully with criminals gaining powers, there were also normal civilians and even those in the emergency work force who gained powers to balance out the crime rate.

Now people with superpowers has become normal, though it’s a rarity as well, only 20% of the earths population has superpowers. Because the percentage is so low heroes were treated in higher regard than that of politicians, ambassadors, and even royalty. I’m one of those who praises heroes, especially the heroine Y/N. She’s one of the strongest heroes to have appeared, with the ability to control ice, she dawns a gorgeous baby blue unitard with a pure white fur coat, and baby blue thigh high boots. At least she used to…she sold the coat and boots for charity which I was lucky to grab. She just now prances around in a skimpy almost completely see through unitard and some baby blue stilettos.

I sigh as I look through endless articles of her, complementing her appearance, her nice gestures to her fans, her ability to stop villains, and look good in a bikini photo shoot. I adored her, though I’ve yet to meet her in person, she’s known to be quick with her crime halting, as so to cause less damage to public property thus it’s hard to get a genuine good look at her. I was half home when I was suddenly pulled into an Alleyway, two buff looking guys cornered me as I coward in fear.

“Doesn’t look like he has much on him…” one of the men said the other smacked his lips, “Take what you can from him…I’m keeping watch” the guy walked away as the other’s hand began to glow, it got extremely hot, he has lava powers. I could feel tears prick my eyes as he inched his hand closer to my face. This is it…I’m going to die.

.

.

.

.

.

.

It’s cold…freezing actually, I open my eyes and see that the area is covered in snow and ice, don’t tell me…is it really her? “I can’t stand low life thugs like you, you know you’re weak so you pick on those who are weaker” that voice, that sultry, sexy voice. I look up to see her my ice goddess, my hero, my Y/N. She had the two thugs frozen from the neck down and a huge ice block a few broken off pieces lay next to her feet.

I scramble to my feet as she turns to me and struts over, she’s shorter than me, though her heels are missing, she placed her hands on my face, it felt like I had my face against dry ice. “Are you ok?” She asked, I nodded to stunned to speak. “What’s your name?” She asked. I took a moment before answering her “Hongjoong…my name is Hongjoong, I-I’m a huge fan, I love how you stop crime and-“ I was rambling, like an idiot in front of her. She smiled at me “Hongjoong, do you feel safe getting home by yourself?” She was so nice.

The idea hit me like a train, this was my only chance…I couldn’t lose this. I shook my head no, “ I’m embarrassed to actually say no” I sheepishly smiled. Y/N cooed at me before patting my shoulder, “I’ll walk you home then” she said as we walked together. A million voices were ringing in my ear, I’m walking with my favorite hero of all time, she’s actually going to my house…this has to be a dream. Before I knew it we reached my tiny home. “This is it…er…would you like to come inside for some ice coffee or some iced drinks” I offered. Y/N shook her head “I appreciate the offer but I have to get going” she smiled. No, I’m so close, she here in my reach. I clutch my pockets and felt something, I had a switch blade in my pocket, I had forgotten I carry it everywhere I go.

Without a second thought I tackle her to the ground and pull out the switch blade in my pocket stabbing her in the side. Y/N was stunned enough for me to quickly drag her into my home, I throw her to the ground and run to my thermostat turning the heat on high as I could, then did the same to my space heater. I turned on anything that produced heat making it scorching in here. Y/N got up and tried to freeze me, but she couldn’t. Every villain and hero have great powers, but they aren’t invincible. Y/N had ice powers, but that meant that she was weak to any type of intense heat. The broken pieces of ice proved so as she had to sneak attack the lava thug in order to save me.

“Hongjoong! What the fuck?!” She barked as she clutched her side, I smile at her “I’m sorry I…I can’t let you leave, I love you so much, I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt…” I felt a sense of joy course through me as I bent down held her face. “You’re mine now”

[apocalypticgargoyle]

I read the edgy!karl, I’ve just finished reading the alt!dream, WHEN IS GEORGE GONNA BE NEXT 😩😩

*cracks knuckles* the hcs that everyone has provided me with has hella prepped me and I'm ready. this is dedicated to 🍭 anon, whose fanart always steals my entire heart. i love u babe

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐄. ᶤ 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐤!𝐠𝐧𝐟

± pairings: punk!Georgenotfound x fm!reader

± word count: ~3300

± warnings: smut (18+), language, tattoo work, sadism, pain kink (if you squint), domination, mentions of needles, asphyxiation

song recommendation: Cent Fois by Alice et Moi

George’s mind wandered to his curiosity of the shop across from his tattoo parlor; bright neon signs advertising the local psychic. It was a stark contrast to the dark, wet city housing the businesses. Each night he locked up, he found himself standing on the other edge of the street, staring at the signs and draperies peeking from behind the glass windows and considering shedding his skeptical nature just for one night.

While your business was alluring in and of itself, his true draw to the place came after he had spotted you moving into the apartments above. Your clean appearance completely juxtaposed the business you ran. In his opinion, all natural healers and psychics were born scam artists only focused on the quickest way to pinch a penny.

Yet day after day, he found himself having to tear his eyes from your business just to get home or he would actually venture inside. He was rather subtle about his fascination when it came to his co-workers and regular customers, but each day he prayed you would wander in, requesting some kind of tattoo in a place hidden from outside eyes.

A place he’d like to see again in a less professional setting.

You flipped the textbook page after finishing your paragraph, highlighting a date you were looking for before leaning towards your notebook and scribbling down the fact. You gnawed on the end of your pen absent-mindedly, positive you still didn’t know what your professor had been rattling off about in class a few hours prior. Your sights drifted up to the incense burning across the store from you, the stick on its last few centimeters of wood as the smoke went stale.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, debating if you should light another or wait until morning. You capped your marker and stretched your back, the bell over the door letting out a telling chime as a man peeked in.

You leaned over the counter, closing your books. “Good evening! Welcome to After Life. Can I help you find anything?” You rambled, your mind flashing to the sheet of paper tucked into the frame of your bathroom mirror so you didn’t forget the basics of customer service.

The man stepped further into your view, stuffing his fists in his jean pockets as he walked closer in a cautious motion. His dark t-shirt advertised a band you had vaguely heard of, but couldn’t think of a song even if your life depended on it. What really drew your attention were his tattooed arms; branches from a grand tree twisting every which direction to peek out from beneath his sleeves; bright floral designs and litters of birds decorating the dark wood limbs. You bit back a smile at the small mushroom tattoo near his wrist that seemed to be out of place.

The laces of his Chuck Taylors grazed the floor before he was standing in the middle of your store, looking around briefly. “I actually co-own the parlor across the street. I realized I never welcomed you officially,” he stated, hints of nervousness reflecting in his tone. His accent was calming and husky from the season change.

At the mention of the tattooist across the street, your memory flashed to the various walks of life that found themselves in your store after getting work done. You also thought of the fact that you had seen the man before you break up fights in the street stretching between your properties. The tall muscular people seemed to have no effect on him as he’d pull them apart like school children on the playground.

You pushed your books further to the side. “Oh yeah, that’s right! I should have come over and introduced myself, so don’t worry about it,” you eased, swatting the air of his comment.

He chuckled softly before reality seemed to snap into his head, making him step forward and extend a hand to you. “I’m George, by the way,” he introduced. You took his hand, muttering your own name and hoping your attention span would hold for long enough that he would be entered into your long-term memory.

His hand was calloused in yours, something that you wondered came with the job or if he was some kind of carpenter in a past life of his. You gently pulled his hand closer to you, slipping your hold out of his to look at his palm. He tittered nervously, peering at the flesh with you. Your finger traced along the mounts in his hand, finding Jupiter to be the most prominent. “That checks out,” you mumbled to yourself, nodding softly.

His eyebrows perked up. “What? Am… Am I gonna meet a tall dark stranger and take a trip across the sea?” He joked, making you smile as you looked at his Sun line.

“I didn’t peg you as an Outlander fan,” you chided.

His brows flattened for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip and playing with his snake bite piercings. You found it hard to look away from him. “Honestly, I wasn’t. A girl I was fooling around with really liked it. I don’t know…” he trailed off, making you giggle.

Your nail grazed along his heart line. “You guys were just fooling around?” You quirked, eyes meeting his. His expression narrowed smugly as if urging you to continue. “Your heart line begins below your index finger. You’re not the fooling around type.” He let out a snort. “You fall in love easily too.”

He sighed with a slight sparkle in his eyes as he looked at you. You couldn’t tell if he was amazed or mocking you again. “Well, yeah. That’s…” He paused with a swallow, biting back a grin as if he was uncomfortable, but didn’t retract his hand from you. “... That’s why we’re not anymore,” he admitted. He leaned his elbows on the counter as you sat in your chair. “What else does it say?”

Your lips curled into a soft smirk, his curious eyes trailing over your face as if to watch your brain work. “You have a fire element hand which indicates that you’re confident and passionate. Maybe a bit cocky sometimes,” you teased, making him chuckle with you. You could feel his eyes on you, sending heat to your cheeks as you tried not to focus on the mount of Venus under your touch.

You wanted to ask him about his sexual indulgences, mainly because of the prevalence of Venus in his palm. “You have a mount in Jupiter, which means you’re a natural leader, and rather dominant.” You looked up at him again, watching as he bit back a smirk, seemingly understanding the subtle innuendos behind your statements.

George seemed to have some kind of effect on you, your thoughts clouding with the idea of what his snake bites would feel like against your lips. He smelled like cigarette smoke, but there was no discoloration to his skin to suggest he was the one smoking. He watched you through the hair threatening to dangle over his eyes, his gaze hinting at an attraction he had for you below his collected form. “Go on,” he murmured, voice soft and wispy as the space between the two of you seemed to warm.

You made a conscious effort to keep your sultry thoughts at bay as your thumb brushed over the area you had been avoiding telling him about. “You’re driven by desire,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… very in touch with your sexuality and you thrive on your indulgences.”

You couldn’t help but meet his eyes, the dark irises swimming with some kind of cocky smugness at what you had just told him. He pulled away from you, gently standing up. Part of you wished the counter between the two of you would vanish just so you could be pressed up against George at the mercy of his driven mind. “I feel it's only fair I tattoo you now,” he quipped, making your eyebrows raise. Your confidence shriveled yet you swore you wouldn’t let him know that fact.

You chewed on your lip, looking up at him with a hint of suspicion. “Oh, I’ve never been tattooed,” you avowed, voice carrying the slightest bit of your coaxing nature.

He smirked. “I’ll take care of you, I promise,” he cajoled, teeth playing at his piercings again as you were sure he was already undressing you with his eyes. “You read me, I’d like to do the same.”

And how could you refuse such an appealing offer?

You leaned back on your elbows, your skin sticking to the leather chair beneath you as you watched him pull back his hair, elastic band dangling from his white teeth. Despite securing back his locks, bits of his bangs still hung over his forehead. You liked the interior of his parlor, maybe because it was only the two of you.

George began to fill small caps of dark ink. “I think you should get some crystals in here,” you teased, making him smirk. “I could hook you up.”

“What, like a salt lamp?” He joked, pulling on a pair of dark plastic gloves.

You snorted, lying back and looking up at the ceiling. “It might be good. Lighten the place up a bit.” George swiveled his chair closer to you muttering some kind of line about only getting them from you, but his words fell silent on your ears as his hand pushed up your shirt. You were silently thanking whatever divine force above for swaying you towards slinkier lingerie earlier that morning.

You knew he could see the lacy edges of your bra by the way his eyes nonchalantly flashed up to you before laying out his template on your ribs. You could feel hints of his warm breath against your skin as he studied it. “You can look at it if you want,” he stated.

You shook your head, wanting him close to you as long as he could be. “I trust you,” you muttered, your eyes meeting his again. His tongue pressed against his cheek as he struggled not to smile at your statement. He had promised to cover a small scar for you and by the way he explained it, you were ready to be in his hands. You wet your lips as he adjusted the speed on his tattoo gun. “Will this hurt?” You asked, tucking one of your arms behind your head.

The look of unadulterated lust that he gave you made your toes want to curl. “Probably a bit. It feels good sometimes, though,” he answered. He came closer to you, resting his forearm on your stomach to angle himself in the right position. At the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, you swore your body was on fire. It took everything in your power not to moan. It could have been the adrenaline pulsing through your veins, but his soft breath and the anticipation of the needle made you feel like a junky. “I’ll be gentle, darling,” he leered, his accent muddy and low. He let the needles drag against your skin and you bit your lip, trying not to hiss at the pain. His eyes met yours. “See, not bad.”

You let out a breathy wheeze. “Shut up, you sadist,” you quipped, his chuckle coming out rather roguish as he focused on the work in front of him. Your nerves were more focused on the way George’s hands were barely caressing your body as if teasing and hinting at what he could do to you.

You drew in a sharp breath as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Shhh shh. It’ll be over soon,” he cooed, his voice sending goosebumps spreading across your body as his lips tugged into a light smirk. By your palm reading, you knew he was enjoying having this much control over you.

Part of you found it almost torture when George would look at you with soft and lusty eyes for merely a second before his gaze jutted back down to his work, murmuring soft praises about how well you were taking the pain. You would go under the needle anytime he asked, just to receive the sultry treatment he gave.

He was so close, you could have driven your fingers into his dark hair if you wanted. “How did you get this scar?” He asked, cleaning off some of the ink before continuing.

“A knife fight,” you answered without missing a beat, making him scoff. “Actually, I fell into my grandma’s glass table one time. My cousin was teaching me the Electric Slide,” you corrected, making him laugh, shaking his head slightly as he filled in a spot.

He let his tongue dart across his lips. “That’s so cute. Did you ever get it figured out?” To this you shook your head, the both of you laughing. You let out a groan as the needle dug into another area on your ribs, the sound making his eyes dart up to you. He leaned off of you, slipping one of his gloves off. “Wanna hold my hand, sweetheart?” He joked, but you took his offer, squeezing his hand in yours when it got painful enough. You held it close to your chest, hoping he would feel your heartbeat quicken each time he looked at you.

As he finished up his work, his thumb brushed against your hand absent-mindedly. You could tell by the way he gripped your hand as well that he enjoyed that the tattoo hurt you. Most of your mind was excited by how easily he was stirred up by you, while the rest was completely unsurprised and even threatened to bite out that he was a cliché.

When he was finally satisfied, he cleaned you up and stuck on a SecondSkin, biting back a grin at his work as he pulled you up by the hand he was holding onto you with. You couldn’t help but smile at how excited you were to see, swinging your legs over the side of his hair and walking towards his mirror. You held your shirt up, chewing on your bottom lip as you grinned at the ink. George rested a hand beside the mirror, watching you beam at his work.

All of his lines were flawless, your scar completely disappearing within his shading. You’d pitched the idea of an ode to the Creation of Adam. While it was cliche, what better to fit in the space below your breast and give George the impression that you were cultured. Yet you told him he could do whatever he wanted to it, resulting in one of the hands resembling a skeleton and the other holding a sucker. As you praised him, he shrugged off your comments, murmuring about it being his pleasure. He reached out his free hand, letting his thumb smooth over one of the edges of this bandage, which brought you closer to him.

Your cheeks warmed at the close proximity to him as his eyes grazed over your body before meeting your own. His hand moved from the bandage to your back. You leaned on your toes, pressing your lips to his. The tension between the two of you dissipated as he hungrily reacted, pulling you against him and savoring your moans as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

George’s hands moved down your body, swiftly hooking around your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist to bring you back to his chair. Your hands moved into his hair, letting it loose and wrapping the band around your wrist. The leather was cold as your back pressed to it. George leaned back to pull his shirt over his head, revealing more of the tree painting the expanses of his skin.

If you weren’t so eager to be touched by him, you’d be studying the work of art.

As his lips met yours again, you ground your hips against his, eliciting a moan to vibrate through his chest. You raked your nails down his back, trying to further draw out reactions from him as his hands attentively played with the lace of your bra, fingers ghosting over the skin pressing against the cups.

His lips left yours only to travel the length of your jaw and inch his way toward your waistband. Your pants were discarded with a swift tug from him before he pulled your thighs flush against his, grinding his hips against yours, hands gripping onto your sides to keep you in place. You tilted your head back, relishing in the friction as your body screamed to finally feel him take advantage of you.

You reached between the two of you, tugging at his zipper as your hunger for him escalated. His tongue flattened against your collarbone before his teeth pressed into your skin. You could feel his arousal through his jeans at the sound of your whimpering.

He pumped himself in his hand before pressing into you, the feeling of him inside of you making your head spin as if you were on some kind of ecstasy. Your moan came out needy and desperate as he thrust into you, gripping the edge of the leather seat as his breath hummed against your skin. Your fingers threaded into his hair, raking your nails down his neck as he groaned in your ear at the feeling.

One of his hands grasped your wrists together, pinning them above your head while the other wrapped around your throat. His eyes burned into yours as he leaned back, leaning his weight on your wrists and squeezing your throat, the lack of oxygen making each of your senses more heightened as he pounded into you.

Your moans of George’s name were grated as they slipped through your mouth, his relentless pace and intense hold nearly making you drool from the stimulation. By the practice of his actions, you wondered how long he had been stewing on demolishing you in this way.

He loosened his grip on your neck, leaning down to press his lips against yours, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip just to hear you groan from the rough action. You rolled your hips against his, letting him slow his pace to reach deeper within you. A sadistic grin spread across his face as he rubbed a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the makeup smudging around your eyes from his antics and the heat between the two of you.

He pressed his lips to your neck, wrapping his hand around the edge of the chair again to drive himself into you, the new angle muddling your mind and vision as your body ached to come undone. You sank your nails into his back, earning his low, raspy whispers of your name.

At his praises, you came, tugging on his hair as he bit into your shoulder again, basking in the feeling of you clenching around him.

The next day, George stretched his shoulders, peering through the front window of his shop. His mind sparked with the feeling of your legs around his waist and the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He could practically hear you whimpering his name in his ears as he went back to touching up a fading tattoo on his friend’s arm.

“OW, George,” Clay rumbled, thigh flinching at the jab from George.

George snorted, his mind still on the high he got from your pure trust in him as you laid out on his chair. “I’ll give you something to bitch about,” George grumbled, releasing just how gentle he was during your tattoo. The way your voice got soft and quiet when he rolled over a spot that was rather tender already would most definitely be a guilty pleasure of his.

Clay barked at him again as George jerked his hand, fulfilling his promise. “I’VE BEEN NICE TO YOU ALL MORNING.”

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