#craig when I CATCH YOU

[scootkiddo]

joel clung onto his world when he lost his

ellie clung onto her world when she lost hers

[shroomerr]

Missed my girl <3

Just some miscellaneous drawings I’ve compiled of my south park oc!

[razzle-zazzle]

My favorite flavor of teen to young adult creek is when they're so down bad for each other that it makes them insane. Stupid, even.

[sp-growingpains]

Small muscle study with my girl! It's about time I get her body type right!

Also goofy little doodles~

Jean talking to others about her best friend:

Jean the minute she sees him:

[terra-mala]

Here's the south park storyboard I did this past spring, kinda late but I had to re-render it out and figured I'd share it now-

[robobee]

wait and another thing..if Craig was so convinced ellie couldn't defeat 6'5 Owen then 1) he should've hired a manlet 2) they could've swapped Owen and Nora's scenes... they got rid of jordan and his girlfriend anyways + it would've been the same thing but ellie uses her immunity to fight against someone she may not have had the physical capacity to fight otherwise... but of course not ellie HAD to be incompetent while the men get to bulldoze entire hospitals and be mysteriously uninjured

[tamtron]

yipee yay!!

called Pixel :3 we matchin on disc now teehee!! We are Tammy and uhhh Leslie :D grins

[robbysreaders]

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader   word count: 2k and i have so many other ideas, lmk if you want more parts! notes: this one goes out to the nonny in my inbox when i asked for ideas! i kinda blended both your ex!reader and babydaddy!jack ideas! hope you enjoy!

You ended things amicably — as amicably as two people can when love’s still there but the capacity to hold it isn’t. Jack didn’t have space for you, your kid, his job, and his trauma. Something had to give.

But you co-parent well enough. There are bumps, but the rhythm is there.

Usually, handoffs are easy. He comes over, eats dinner with you both like old times, then wrangles Beau back to his place. But today’s different — off-cycle. You’re headed to the airport for a work trip, and Jack’s just wrapping up a shift, so you agree to meet at the hospital.

It feels strange walking in. You haven’t been back since the two of you ended things. There are plenty of familiar faces… and a few new ones.

The second Beau sees Jack, he’s wriggling out of your hand.

“Beau—no running in the ER—” you start, but he’s already barreling toward his dad.

“Oof, kiddo, remember we said soft hugs?” Jack laughs, catching him easily, hoisting him up into his arms.

Dana and Robby round the corner just then.

“Hey, look who it is!” Dana says, but Beau clams up, burying his face in Jack’s neck.

“Sorry, you know kids. He’s shy this early,” you say, brushing a hand down Beau’s back. “Be nice to Dana and Uncle Robby, baby.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve seen either of you around,” Dana says, pulling you into a quick hug. “I only get my Baby Beau fix from Instagram stories now.”

“Oh, I figured Jack would still be throwing his infamous backyard parties,” you say, trying to keep it light.

“Nope, those petered out. What’s it been—three years?” Robby glances at his watch, then at Jack with a pointed look.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize what he’s referencing.

Samira passes by next, lighting up at the sight of Beau. “Hi, Beau! Didn’t know I’d get to see you today!”

“Hi, ‘mira,” Beau murmurs, a soft smile still pressed into his dad’s shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt, Jack—could I get your opinion on something before you head out?”

Jack looks around. You jump in before he has to juggle.

“I’ve got a few minutes. I can set him up in the lounge?”

Jack nods, grateful. “That would be amazing. It’ll just be a minute.”

As you head down the hallway, you catch a whisper from a pair of interns behind you.

“Damn, didn’t know Abbot married a hottie.”

Dana’s voice cuts in, dry: “Not married. She’s smart enough to not sign a contract with a guy who’s half in love with his job.”

You finish laying out Beau’s coloring book when Jack slips into the lounge, pouring himself a coffee, rubbing at one eye. That tired, end-of-shift look still gets you.

“You know, you could’ve told me you were d-a-t-i-n-g,” you say.

“Huh?” he blinks. “Want a cup?”

“I’m running late,” you wave him off. “And I don’t mind — I just think maybe we should tell each other when new stuff like that comes up. For his sake.”

Jack straightens, confused. “I have no idea what you're talking about. And you didn’t give me a heads up about Carl or Craig or whatever his name was.”

“Chris. And yeah, I should’ve told you. I did tell you, eventually. I’m working on being better about communication, and I’d hope you’d want the same.”

He sighs, then pulls you just outside the lounge, out of earshot.

“Okay, I don’t want to make you even later, but if we’re going to talk, then talk. Don’t allude to stuff — just say it.”

You exhale. “I thought maybe you and Samira were… seeing each other. From the way she spoke to Beau. And the looks from Dana and Robby—”

Jack actually laughs. “She’s 29. I’m her attending. We grab coffee, I mentor her. Sometimes when I have Beau, yeah. If that bothers you, I’ll keep it in mind. But I’m trying to be a good doctor. A good mentor. A good… whatever to you. And it still feels like I’m messing it all up. So just—don’t assume. Talk to me.”

You flush. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just stressed.”

He twists a strand of your hair between his fingers, gently. “Y’know… would take a lot of stress off both of us if you moved back in. We could split the chores. Carpool. Coordinate pickups. Plus, I can think of a few stress relievers we used to be real good at…”

You swat his hand. “Okay, sure. Ha. Ha. I’m going to say bye to Beau. See you Saturday.”

On your way out, you pass Dana outside on her cigarette break.

“You know, a couple doctors I know say those things kill you.”

She exhales a laugh. “Not if this job kills me first. Life’s too short already to deprive yourself of the things — or people — you love.”

“Sure, Dana.”

“Any time, missy. And just so you know… he’s different. He’s been going through it, but he’s doing the work. Seeing that therapist. Doesn’t come in as much on his days off. There’s some… balance there now.”

“Sure, Dana. Bye, Dana.”

But the thought lingers.

Two days into your trip, you’re feeling a bit lonely. It always hits harder when Jack has him. You don’t usually FaceTime when they’re together — boundaries. But this feels like an exception.

you: how’s my boy? jack: i’m doing great. how’s my girl? you: 🙄 you: how’s Beaujack: see, you gotta be more direct. a man could get confused jack: he’s great. hit a double. got a popsicle. we’re watching transformers for the 80th time. classic boys night. you: bad time to try to facetime?

Incoming Call: Jack Abbot (ICE)

You swipe to answer, suddenly aware of the dark circles under your eyes, still in the hotel bed after a full day of networking.

“Mooooommyyyy!” Beau’s voice shrieks through the phone. “I did so good at baseball and then got a treat and Daddy made pasta and we’re gonna watch a movie!”

“That sounds amazing, baby! Are you having a good time?”

“The best! When do you come back?”

“Three sleeps.”

“And then we have Mommy and Daddy time?”

“Of course. You think about what you want to eat, okay? I’ll pick it up on the way.”

“Okay. And then we all sleep here?”

You pause. “No, baby. Remember? I sleep at my house, Daddy sleeps at his. You sleep at either.”

He gets quiet. Your chest aches.

“Alright, time for jammies and teeth. Go get ready, kiddo.” you hear shouted from the other room.

“Okay, bye Mom!” he says, dropping the phone.

Jack’s face replaces the ceiling. “I like hearing your voice in the living room again. Makes the house feel full.”

“Jack. You gotta stop.”

“Just saying. Beau’s not the only one who likes the sound of you here. My offer’s still on the table.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure, Jack. Hey… would it be okay if I called again Friday? I know we don’t usually, but… I miss him.”

“You’re never a bother. I could strap the iPad to my chest, have you join us for the whole day.”

You laugh. “God, Jack. You really know how to make a girl’s night better.”

“Oh baby, don’t I always.”

“Bye, Jack.” you roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling when you hang up.

--

The weather turned halfway through your drive from the airport, and between the stop for food and the hike from the only available parking spot, it feels like you swam the last block.

Jack opens the door barefoot, in joggers and a hoodie, towel slung over his shoulder.

“Hey,” you breathe.

“Hey,” he says, eyes flicking down to your drenched clothes. “Jesus.” He reaches instinctively for your bag, handing you the towel, hand brushing yours. “C’mon. Let’s get you warm.”

You step inside. Beau’s already wrapped around your legs before you can shrug off your coat. Jack disappears into the kitchen, already dishing out dinner.

“You don’t have to—”

“Just eat,” he says, setting a bowl in front of you. “You’re freezing.”

You sit. The food’s still warm, garlicky, comforting. You glance up at him. “You’ve gotten better at this.”

“Ordering takeout?” he teases, leaning against the counter.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No… this.” You wave a hand vaguely at the house — the toys in the living room, the quiet rhythm of it all. “The parenting. The life stuff. You don’t seem rattled anymore.”

He gives a half-shrug. “Had to be better.”

You eat in companionable silence while Beau chatters from his spot at the table, recapping his week in half-sentences and excited tangents.

“Mom, can I watch a show while you finish?”

“Dad’s house, dad’s rules,” you say, looking to Jack.

“Sure thing, kiddo. But grab your gifts for Mom first — then one episode.”

Beau vanishes.

“Gifts?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Jack shrugs like it’s nothing. “Just some stuff he made. He’s proud of it.”

The silence that follows stretches, not quite awkward, but thick with something unspoken.

Then Jack says, low and clear, “I miss you.”

You look up, startled. Heart catching in your chest.

“I know I don’t say it often. Or the right way. But I do. I miss you. Not just the idea of you being around — you.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been thinking about how it felt, before things got hard. And… how lately, it’s been feeling like that again. When you’re here.”

You put your fork down, gently. “Jack…”

“I’m not asking to go back. Or to pretend the last few years didn’t happen. I’m just wondering if maybe we could try something new. Something more intentional.” He gestures faintly in the direction of Beau’s room. “We’ve already rebuilt the foundation, haven’t we?”

You study him. The steadiness in his eyes. The quiet way he’s offering — not demanding.

Finally, you exhale. “I didn’t think I’d get another version of you.”

“I didn’t think I had another version to give,” he says softly.

“So… what are you saying, exactly?”

“I’m saying I want you back,” he murmurs. “In the way that counts. I want to build this life with you — not just pass each other in it.”

You reach up, cup his cheek. “That’s a really nice speech.”

“I practiced,” he grins.

“You’re still kind of an idiot.”

His smile widens. He brushes a damp strand of hair off your forehead. “I said I’ve grown, not become a completely new person.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Okay. So how do we do this?”

“What?”

“I’m not just moving back in and jumping into bed with you, Jack. You still have a lot to prove.”

“Of course,” he says, straightening a bit. “I was thinking… maybe a family movie night tomorrow? Something easy.”

“Okay,” you nod. “I like the sound of that.”

“And if that goes well, maybe a grown-up movie night? I’ll wine and dine you. And we can make out in the back row like teenagers.”

You laugh, big and genuine. “I think I like the sound of that too.”

“God, I missed your laugh.”

The silence that settles then feels different. Full, not tense.

Then Jack says, almost too casually, “Oh — I’m switching to days.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

“Robby and I talked. Figured I’d use this week off to reset my sleep schedule. I start the day shift officially tomorrow.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “Jack…”

“This isn’t about you. Well — a little. But it’s mostly about Beau. Nights just aren’t sustainable anymore, and I want a more stable schedule for him. It’s time.”

You reach up, fingers brushing the side of his hair. “Okay. But only if it’s right for you. I never wanted you to give up what you love.”

“I’m not giving up what I love,” he says, voice quiet but sure. “I did that three years ago. I’m just rearranging things now — so I don’t lose it again.”

You don’t answer with words.

You just kiss him. Soft. Certain.

And when Beau comes racing back in with a construction-paper-wrapped something clutched in his hands, he skids to a stop and grins.

“Are you guys kissing?”

Jack smirks against your forehead. “Yeah, bud. I think we might be.”

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

sassy jealous best friend (to lover) bob???😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

This...I might write different things surrounding this concept

You dating someone else was fine. Totally fine.

Bob had mastered the art of pretending. He clapped when you said you had a date. Smiled (sort of) when you gushed about your new relationship. Made exactly one snide comment about the guy's cargo pants before coughing to cover it up.

Sassy? Sure. Petty? A little. Jealous...Bob? Never.

it was totally fine. Until it wasn’t fine. Until this new guy — Greg... Craig... fuck Bob didn't know he just knew it was something aggressively beige, reached across the table and stole Bob’s joke. You’d just made some sarcastic comment under your breath, something sharp and clever like you always did, and he had the audacity to reply with Bob's line before he could. The one Bob had been saying to you for years. His joke. Your eyes crinkled. You laughed but it wasn't your true laugh. Bob picked that up immediately.

And Bob felt it — that weird punch to the gut like something private had just been aired out in public. Afterward, he cornered you in the hallway like a man on the verge of a minor breakdown. “You can’t let him do that.” You blinked. “Do what?”

“Steal our material,” Bob snapped. “That line? That’s our bit. That was born during a Taco Bell drive-thru at 1 a.m. and you know it.” You stared at him like he was saying the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard. “Are you seriously mad that my boyfriend made me laugh?”

“I’m mad he’s cosplaying as me,” Bob said, arms crossed. “And doing a shit job at it.” You raised an eyebrow. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “I’m just… possessive... of quality banter. That’s rare. We have a system. We have rhythm. You can’t just teach that to a man who unironically uses the phrase 'no cap'” You laughed despite yourself. “Bob.” His voice softened. “He doesn’t know you.” This completely took you back, you blinked up at him. “What?”

“He doesn’t know what your laugh sounds like when it’s real. He doesn’t know how you ramble about bad plots to the shows you rewatch even though you've seen the episode a million times or that you pretend not to cry at commercials, but your nose always gives you away. He doesn’t know the scar on your hand is from trying to rescue a cat that bit you immediately.” He swallowed and took a deep breath. “I know.”

Your heart flipped. You tried to keep your voice steady. “So what? You gonna say something?” Bob looked like he was about to. He stepped closer — but you could tell he had to force himself to stop. “I don’t want to make things worse,” he mumbled. “Not if you’re happy, you deserve to be happy...actually happy.”

You reached out, fingers catching his sleeve to start fidgeting with it like you do when you're nervous, Bob picked up on this quickly and moves his hand for you to fidget with his fingers instead. “I was... But now I’m thinking about how I've never had inside jokes and drive-thrus with anyone that isn't you and the fact that I still sleep in your shirt you let me 'steal'.” He blinked. Your voice dropped. “What if I was just waiting for you to say something?”

Bob looked like you’d hit him with a revelation and a sledgehammer all at once. Then he smiled. Not cocky. Not smug. Just real. “Well,” he said, stepping in, “guess it’s time I get my joke back.” And when he kissed you — soft and sure — it felt like the punchline you’d both been building toward for years. Bob felt like he was floating with you in his arms, on his lips like this for the first time, and now he will never be able to let you out of his arms.

As always if you like my work, please let me know! Reblogging, commenting, and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work, and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Requests are open <3

Tagging:

@msfirth

@my-name-is-baby

@metalarmsandmanbuns

@live-love-be-unique

@disillusioniary

@you-bloody-shank

@sarcazzzum

@itsjustisa

[stellamarielu]

So I've had this Pope Cody fic idea swimming around in my brain, and I'm not sure what to do with it, so I'm dumping it on y'all. I'd love to really hash it out into a multi part series but I fear I won't be able to commit, so please just take this half assed explanation of the idea instead!

It starts when you move into the neighborhood, right across the street from the cody's. You inherit your grandmother’s house after she passes, and while it's old and could use a few renovations, you're just happy you don't have to pay rent anymore.

Then, just like she does anytime some new moves onto the street, Smurf invites you over for dinner. She's always mindful of her family’s appearance to the neighbors, trying to win them over and get ahead of any concerns they might have over the constant carousel of questionable visitors and over the top ragers taking place at the Cody household.

You accept the invitation and the whole night Pope watches as you fall for Smurf’s phony whimsy— fake smiles and compliments sent your way across the dinner table. While he would normally roll his eyes at the sucker on the other end of her antics, tonight he can’t help but watch the naive glimmer in your eye, and the way you sit so politely in your chair as Smurf attempts to woo you over.

He obsesses over it— the way you look so out of place in their kitchen. Your smile is real. Your laugh is genuine, and very pretty. He’s drawn to you, drawn to your novelty. Your innocence. Fascinated by your perception of life, and how pure everything must be in your eyes; your inability to see Smurf’s deception, the ease in which you giggle at Craig’s inappropriate jokes, the gentle way you avert your eyes, and the shy smile on your lips when you catch Pope’s stare lingering on you.

So after that night at dinner, he starts watching you. It's harmless really. Glancing out the window every so often to see if your car is in the driveway. Staying in his truck for a few extra minutes after he gets home, observing you through the privacy of his tinted windows. Noticing that you leave your blinds open far too long after the sun goes down, peering through your kitchen windows to watch as you do dishes, or eat alone at your dining room table.

One day he’s pulling into the driveway when he notices you across the street. The trunk of your car is wide open and your lugging groceries bags by the handful out of your back seat. He barely has time to contemplate his decision before he appears next to you, surprising you with his presence and almost making you drop the groceries in your hands.

He greets you abruptly. Taking the bags from you effortlessly, like the brown sacks filled to the brim with ingredients weigh absolutely nothing. He stands, waiting for you to lead him into your house, so you do, leading him up the porch and through the front door.

You show him to the kitchen, where he places the bags on a table, making a quick, simple comment about the house being nice. You reply with a "thank you" before rambling on about how it's your grandmother's old house and it could use a lot of work.

In an effort to prove the home is a bit of a fixer upper, you mention the handle on the kitchen sink broke clean off that morning and you still need to call someone out to fix it. He immediately brushes past you, inspecting the broken sink without a word. Then, with a simple, "I can fix it,” he’s lugging in a tool bag and repairing your sink in record time.

You talk to him in the few minutes it takes him to fix the issue. Asking him simple questions with each one earning you a curt response.

"Should I call you Andrew or Pope? I noticed your mom calls you Andrew, but your brothers call you-" "Andrew."

Nonetheless you get to know him a little bit. It's enough for him to offer help anytime you need it. The water pressure in your shower is shit? He's on it. You need to update a few light fixtures? He's there to make sure you don't have to lift a finger. Patchy drywall in the garage? Looks brand new in one afternoon. It becomes his new hobby— fixing your house— being around you.

He spends so much time at your place working on projects, that your relationship blooms naturally. It feels almost like taking in a stray dog; extending a hand just for him to sniff around it until he eventually warms up to you.

You ask him more questions until you realize he doesn't like answering them very much, so instead you tell him about yourself. You allow his reactions to your words, the way he watches carefully when you bring up certain topics, to direct the course of your conversations.

You learn the easiest way to get him to talk is by making him food, the company of sitting across from someone during a meal somehow makes him feel a bit more comfortable. He opens up to you little by little over home cooked meals at your dining room table, the ones you insist he eats because he's spent all evening working hard and the least you can do is feed him.

He never turns down your offer, always accepting with a kind smile and letting his guard down long enough to clear his plate.

There's a safety in the meals you prepare for him— the way you sit peacefully across from each other. It's different from the way Smurf cooks for him. When she does it, it's manipulative, a reminder that she holds power over him, that he needs her to take care of him. But with you, it's an extension of gratitude. An attempt to get to know him. It's so innocent— endearing. He becomes addicted to it, staying longer than he needs to while working on something just to ensure you'll invite him to stay for dinner.

He fills his time with quick meals in your kitchen and little projects throughout your house until the boys find a job.

He's busy scouting and planning, and you start to notice he's around significantly less. He's shown up on your doorstep like clockwork everyday for weeks, and now all of a sudden you haven't seen him in days.

Until he knocks on your door early one morning. It's the day after the job, and he's noticeably banged up. With an open cut on his cheekbone and a black eye he just stands in front of you, apologizing.

He's not really sure how to communicate why he hasn’t seen you in days, or why he’s even at your door. All he knows, is that he just wants to see you. To watch the way you smile at him— to be reminded that he's not all bad. That there's some kind of hope hidden in the way you make him lasagna and let him fix your kitchen sink.

Of course you ask him what happened. You ask him if he's okay, but he doesn't respond, just stares. And the next thing you know, you're inviting him in for breakfast. No more questions, just an offering of quiet connection over eggs and fresh fruit.

[bitters-n-sweets]

invisible — andrew "pope" cody x fem!reader When Baz offers you a job only you can do, you find yourself stepping up to the game just so Pope would look your way.

warnings: reader is jealous of cath, cath is alive here, reader gets mildly hurt, established relationship, hurt/comfort, reader is a lifeguard who also steals masterlist

It hasn't been long since you and Andrew started dating. Andrew was sitting on the sand watching his brothers surf when you—the lifeguard—showed up. Andrew wasn't sure what exactly happened, but between your figure shielding him from the sun and your hot bathing suit, he's pretty sure you rattled something in him.

"You good?" "Do I look not good?" "You look like someone who hasn't blinked in twenty minutes." You tilt your head, "But don't get me wrong, you look good." And Andrew stared longer than he should have.

Since then, every time his brothers would go surf, he'd come. Only so he could see you, and so you could talk to him.

It's not your first time at their house—the Cody house, but it always smells like weed, old wood, and expensive body spray. And it's always noisy. You’ve learned to walk through it like you belong, chin high, shoulders loose, eyes sharp.

"Hi Smurf." You greet her in the kitchen, putting down a paper bag of goodies. "Only the best for you."

Smurf gives you a knowing smile. The bag is filled with expensive lotions, bath bombs, soaps, skincare products—goodies you "received" from the latest elite spa house opening near the beach.

"Oh, baby, you spoil me." Smurf gives you a kiss. "You sticking around, honey?"

"For a bit."

You make your way to the pool, where Andrew is drinking a beer with his brothers.

"Hi." You gently tap his shoulder to catch his attention, and he gives you a small smile.

"Hi. What are you doing here?" He kisses you gently.

"Just came back from my shift, and dropped some stuff for Smurf." You take the beer he offers and sit next to him. "Wanted to come say hi."

Andrew's smile lingers. "Well, hi."

You lean against his shoulder, and it feels good. This version of him—quiet, grounded. Like maybe he doesn’t always have to be on edge. Like maybe you’re part of the reason why he can relax a little.

You watch as the brothers play basketball in the pool and wince when someone gets punched, and now Craig has a nosebleed. You throw him a towel and cold beer as a compress.

"Thanks."

Not long after, you hear the crunch of tires on gravel and car doors slamming. It's Baz, with Cath and Lena. Lena runs to Smurf to give her a hug, and your stomach twists when you see Cath.

It's not a secret that Andrew used to love her. Maybe he still does, and you really don't want to think about that, but it's hard not to when he immediately exits the pool to approach her, get a conversation going.

And you're not sure how to play the game. Should you be the possessive girlfriend and try to blend in? Force yourself into the conversation so Andrew would realize you're still there, and so Cath would get the hint not to mess with your man anymore?

"Don't let it get to you." Deran says as he sits by your side. "You're good for him."

You offer a small, grateful smile. "Thanks."

Deran's nice to you. He's surfed with you a couple times, and you've covered for him when he has his rendezvous.

You set the bottle down and stand, brushing your hands off. You walk slowly, back toward Smurf’s kitchen, passing Cath and Andrew talking about whatever.

"Need some help?" You offer her.

"Sure, honey!" Smurf smiles, glad that someone finally has the sense to help out around the house. "You know how to make an apple pie?"

"No... but I can follow a recipe perfectly?"

Smurf chuckles, "Alright, I'll walk you through the steps."

While you chop some apples, Baz approaches you in the kitchen. Everyone else is still by the pool, so no one can hear your conversation. You have a feeling he's gonna bring up something serious.

"Hey," He starts. "Got a sec?"

You glance at him and back at the apples. "What, job talk?"

"Something like that."

He sits near you and glances at Smurf. "We got a situation, and we need your help."

A situation means a bad situation.

"There’s this guy. Likes to flash cash but doesn’t trust anyone connected to us." Baz starts, "Doesn’t know you, though. So..."

"So you want me to..."

"Distract him." Baz finishes the sentence. "Nothing bad. Just enough time for us to get what we need. You’re smart, you’re good at reading people—and more importantly, you're just his type."

"What's this?" Andrew steps into the kitchen, wondering why you're all talking about some secret.

You know how Andrew feels about bringing outsiders in the job. So you have a feeling Baz wants this to be a secret, though everyone in the room knows Andrew is going to find out one way or another.

"What were you guys talking about?"

"Nothing," You say, continuing to chop apples. "I'm just... trying to help out."

"Help out with what?" He peers at Baz. "With a job?"

Baz sighs, "Look—"

"We don't bring outsiders into this, Baz. It's family only."

"We need her—"

It stings a little, but you understand. You've only been together for some months, and even now you're having doubts. It just hurts especially when—

"Why don't you get Cath to do it?" Andrew suggests, "I'm sure she can do it."

You bite the inside of your cheek. You keep repeating to yourself, she's married to Baz, that's why, she's family. It's normal.

"Cath doesn't want anything to do with this, you know that." Baz says. "Besides, she's the guy's type. Pope, she's perfect for this."

"No, you're not getting her to do this." Andrew refuses on your behalf. "She's never done something like this before—"

"So that's it, huh? Pope Andrew has spoken—"

"Okay, now you're just being an ass—"

"Okay!" You snap. "It's fine, I'll do it."

Baz nods and pats your back, while Andrew just stares at you, as if asking what are you doing?

"You're not doing it."

"Yes, I am."

"Baby—"

You sigh and drop the knife. "Smurf, I'm sorry, I need to go."

She gently smiles and lets you go, with Andrew chasing after you, calling your name.

Truth is, you’re not entirely sure what you just agreed to. All you know is Andrew hadn’t looked your way since Cath arrived—not until it was about a job. And now that he wants to protect you, now he suddenly sees you?

You’re not proud of it. But something bitter and small inside you wants him to see what it looks like when you stop waiting for him to care.

You tug at the hem of your tight black dress and check your reflection in the window. Lipstick still perfect.

Baz’s voice still echoes in your head from earlier in the van, "He likes ‘em pretty, confident. Play it cool, laugh at his jokes. Keep his attention long enough for the boys to hit the back room. 15 minutes tops. That’s it."

You inhale slow and deep, steadying yourself. You’ve done reckless things before. Hell, dating Andrew Cody probably tops that list.

Andrew steps out of the car, sighing silently. "You don't have to do this."

"I already said I would." You don't look at him.

"I mean it." His tone softens. "Just say the word, and I'll get you out of here."

You swallow the lump in your throat. "I'll see you in 15." You say before turning on your heel and making your way to the bar.

You can hear Andrew angrily slamming the car door shut.

The bar isn't too crowded, but enough for you to make your move without anyone being suspicious. The bartender clocks you, then nods subtly toward the far booth. Leather jacket, rings, he has the face of a man who’s gotten away with too much, too often.

You smile anyway, practiced. "This seat taken?"

"It is now." He looks over without thinking too much.

You flirt for a while. Laugh at his jokes that aren't funny. Run a hand on his chest while you do it. You swirl your drink with a straw and lean forward like you’re enthralled, even as your stomach churns.

After a while, you check the clock on the bar. It's only been 10 minutes.

"Hey, let's get out of here." He says, his head buried in your neck suddenly.

You try pushing him away, but he just chuckles and pulls you in more.

"No, wait—"

"Come on," He mutters, "I know what this is."

And you realize he thinks you're a prostitute. Baz set you up for more than just a distraction.

Your heart hammers. You push at his chest, but he just laughs. He pulls you out to the back door, and despite your protests, you can't shake his grip away.

Then suddenly as he drags you in the alley, he's gone. Ripped away from you like a rag doll, thrown hard into the pavement. You see Andrew on him in seconds, slamming the guy's head into the wall, fist after fist.

"A— Stop!" You know better than to say his name. You grab his arm and Andrew finally hears you.

When he looks back, his face is twisted with fury—and fear. For you. For what almost happened.

"You.. you followed me."

"Yeah," He says, panting, "Of course I did."

There’s a long silence. Then you step forward, still shaking, and kiss him. "Let's go home."

Back at Andrew's place, you fix the scratches on his knucles after punching that guy, and he rubs your wrist where he had his grip on you.

The air is tight. The job was a success, Baz had texted “clean sweep” ten minutes ago, but you feel bad because you've made Andrew worry about you. Why couldn't you just talk to him about Cath?

Andrew sees the tears in your eyes and soften. He kisses your hands, then your wrists. "Where else did he touch you?"

"M-my neck." You say.

Andrew peppers kisses along your neck, and you circle your arms around him. "Did he kiss you?"

You shake your head, now looking at Andrew and your heart almost breaks at the way he's looking at you. Like you're made of glass and dynamite at the same time.

"Good."

And then he kisses you. It's passionate, full of longing, care—the kind of kiss that tastes like I was scared he could've hurt you. His hands cradle your face. Your fingers clutch his shirt.

"'M sorry, Andrew." You mutter as you break the kiss, "I shouldn’t have gone. I just—I wanted you see me."

"I know, baby, I know." He says while kissing your neck, down to your chest. "Let me take care of you now, yeah?"

You nod, letting his hands roam your body and up your dress.

"I always see you."

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

DREW STARKEY & CHARACTERS MASTERLIST ౨ৎ

𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐗:

𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛 - ☀︎ 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩 - ☾ 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩 - ☆

A/N: finally created a masterlist for drew & rafe (and other characters if requested), so i hope you enjoy !! fics are posted in chronological order from oldest to newest (top to bottom), series will be updated when i begin to do any !!

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐖 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐘:

ONE-SHOTS —

the prank that backfired (sort of?) ☀︎

drew starkey x fem!reader

reader and drew decide to play a prank on the obx cast for her youtube channel. they do the “asking to have another girl over” prank, which results in a very angry obx cast who are out to get drew.

i think he knows ☀︎ ☆

drew starkey x fem!craig!reader (daniel craig’s daughter)

daniel craig introduces his daughter to his co-star drew starkey at the after party for the ‘golden globes,’ and they do more than just hit it off.

you were, faking? ☀︎

drew starkey x gn!reader x obx!cast

the unspoken prank war between the obx cast finds a new pair in the lead when Y/N and Drew decide to pull a fainting prank.

head over heels ☀︎

drew starkey x fem!reader

in which drew starkey is head over heels in love with his girlfriend, y/n.

this was a prank? ☀︎

drew starkey x fem!reader

y/n pulls her family into a trending prank where you pretend to embarrass your partner in front of your family…i wonder how drew reacts?

not your bro ☀︎

drew starkey x fem!reader

y/n decides to use some ‘unusual’ nicknames for her boyfriend, drew, except it drives him insane.

my masterpiece ☀︎ ☆

drew starkey x plus size!fem!reader

after drew catches his girlfriend crying about the hate she’s receiving, he decides to show her exactly how much he loves her.

waiting ain’t easy ☾ ☀︎

drew starkey x fem!reader

after 6 gruelling months of long distance with drew, y/n decides to surprise him on set.

bigger than the whole sky ☾ ☀︎

drew starkey x fem!reader

while filming an emotional scene, y/n receives devastating news about her mum, leading to a heartbreaking breakdown on set as her boyfriend drew and their co-stars comfort her.

SERIES —

nothing to see here yet…

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍:

ONE-SHOTS —

i’m not him ☾ ☀︎

rafe cameron x fem!reader

in which rafe snaps at reader during a heated argument and she flinches, her past trauma resurfacing. rafe breaking the main promise he made to her: to not be anything like her father.

all mine ☆

rafe cameron x fem!reader

rafe has to give his bratty gf an attitude adjustment. maybe a little teasing should work?

i get you ☀︎

rafe cameron x fem!reader

rafe and weird!reader are one of the strangest couples in the obx. nobody has any clue how the cunning and cruel rafe cameron is dating the epitome of sunshine. but rafe just gets her, and she just gets him.

animals ☾ ☆ (potential series !!)

rafe cameron x fem!kook!reader

in a world where obsession blurs the lines between love and hate, y/b and rafe cameron are locked in a toxic game of desire and dominance. as the tension between them reaches a boiling point, rafe’s possessiveness and y/n’s defiance threaten to expose the truth—some animals can’t resist the hunt.

mess it up ☾ ☀︎

rafe cameron x fem!reader

rafe realises he’s been neglecting his girlfriend to hang out with the guys, so he pulls out all the stops to make it up to her.

someone to stay ☾ ☀︎

rafe cameron x fem!reader

when rafe’s girlfriend doesn’t show up to his safe house during a hurricane he fears the worst, and wonders if he’ll get to tell her that he loves her.

linger ☾ ☀︎

rafe cameron x fem!reader

a sweet, introverted bartender and obx’s very own troubled golden boy share an unspoken connection—until jealousy, misunderstandings, and unspoken feelings finally push them to confront the truth.

crazy ☾ ☀︎

rafe cameron x fem!reader

y/n knows exactly what makes rafe angry, and after a fight she uses it to her advantage.

million reasons ☾ ☀︎

rafe cameron x fem!reader

rafe cameron’s fear of love/commitment pushes y/n away—until he realises losing her is far worse. desperate, he finally confesses his feelings and gives her a reason to stay.

him & i ☾ ☀︎

rafe cameron x fem!reader

rafe confronts the pogues after they try to get his girl to turn on him—big mistake.

subtle is a strong word ☀︎

rafe cameron x fem!reader

rafe uses a tiktok trend to his advantage.

block me out ☾ ☀︎

rafe cameron x fem!reader

haunted by her ex’s cruel words, y/n wishes she could block herself out. but rafe sees her differently—like she hung the stars in the sky.

fear of water ☾ ☀︎

rafe cameron x fem!reader

after an abusive past, y/n struggles with toxic communication in her relationship with rafe. when fear pushes her away, love teaches her to stay.

blowing smoke ☾

rafe cameron x fem!reader

after rafe betrays her trust, y/n exposes his lies at a party, humiliating him in front of everyone—and walking away without looking back.

begin again ☾ ☀︎

rafe cameron x fem!reader

a revenge plan turns complicated when y/n falls for rafe cameron—the one person she was never supposed to love. but was it ever just revenge?

favourite crime ☾ ☀︎

rafe cameron x fem!reader

trapped in a deadly chase through the desert, y/n kills to save rafe—forcing them to confront love, heartbreak, and the ghosts of their past.

SERIES —

nothing to see here yet…

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!reader attend tudum

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

enjoy this requested fic <3

Bulbs flashed brightly as y/n stepped a high heeled foot onto Netflix’s red carpet. The attention of the crowd shifted to her, everybody’s eyes falling on her black minidress and dazzling, camera ready smile. From the opposite end of the carpet, an exceptionally loud holler caused y/n’s head to turn, her gaze locking with the familiar blue eyes of the holler’s source.

“There she is.” Drew murmured, his voice inaudible over the crowd, but y/n could tell exactly what was going through his mind. Y/n felt her cheeks warm as Drew’s eyes raked over her, a cheesy grin spreading across his lips as he noticed the details of her outfit. Y/n winked at him before returning her gaze back to the crowd of onlookers, their hands full of cameras and microphones and their voices all clamoring for her attention.

“Y/n!” An excited reporter waved at her, a wide smile on her face. “Do you have a minute for an interview?”

Y/n smiled back at the reporter before stepping to the side of the carpet to greet her. The fans crowding the barricade around her screamed excitedly, y/n letting out a chuckle as she waved at them before standing in front of the reporter and her camera.

“Y/n, it’s so good to see you here back with Netflix!” The reporter smiled.

“It’s so great to be back here with everyone.” Y/n nodded, gesturing to the Netflix stars that lined the red carpet.

“You look absolutely amazing— of course— could you tell us a bit about your look?” The reporter asked.

“Aww thank you.” Y/n cooed, laughing bashfully as she glanced down at her outfit. “Well,  I wanted to keep it nice and simple. You can’t go wrong with a little black dress, of course.”

“Oh, of course.” The reporter agreed, her attention catching on a ribbon of familiar fabric adorning y/n’s hair, the same fabric tied into a bow on the back of y/n’s dress and on her heel. “I love the little bow details… the pattern looks a little familiar to somebody’s suit.”

Y/n felt her cheeks warm, letting out a little giggle as she glanced over her shoulder towards where Drew posed on the carpet, the gray plaid of his suit the exact pattern of y/n’s bows. She had wanted to surprise him, so she coordinated with his stylist to get some excess fabric to use in her own outfit. Judging by the smile on his face when he saw her, he most definitely noticed.

“Haha, yeah.” Y/n grinned. “I thought it’d be fun to coordinate.”

“Well you guys both look stunning.” The reporter grinned. “But I have to ask about the reason you’re here today: Knives Out. What can you tell us about that?”

“Oh jeez, I’m not sure what all I can say, you know?” Y/n laughed. “I mean it’s a mystery with lots of questions and twists— the classic Knives Out elements— but it also is something so different and unlike anything else we’ve seen before.”

“That sounds so, so exciting.” The reporter said. “Now, as I’m sure you know, you’re not the first Outer Banks alum in the Knives Out franchise. Your costar Madelyn Cline was in the previous installment, did you two talk at all when you found out you’d be joining the world of Knives Out?”

“Oh yeah.” Y/n nodded. “Right after I found out I got the part I immediately called up Madelyn and she was so excited… she might’ve been more excited than me.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet.” The reporter said. “How was it working with this absolutely star studded cast?”

“A-ma-zing.” Y/n said dramatically, a wide smile on her face. “It was so surreal to get to act with these people who are the absolute best of the best when it comes to their craft.”

“I can only imagine.” The reporter said. “There were so many new amazing faces, to the franchise but we have to talk about the Daniel Craig. I mean you’d met him before when your husband, Drew, had worked with him previously in ‘Queer’, but it has to be so different actually acting next to a legend, right?”

“Oh, it was amazing getting to work with Daniel.” Y/n said. “I met him about two years ago when I went to visit Drew on the set of ‘Queer’ and—”

Y/n was interrupted as the crowd exploded into loud cheers and excited screams.

“You talking about me?” A voice whispered behind y/n, causing her to jump before turning around to see Drew’s grinning face. Y/n immediately relaxed, her eyes rolling playfully. Drew chuckled, resting his head atop hers as he squeezed her in a hug before pulling away, but keeping his hand draped around her waist.

“All good things, I promise.” Y/n grinned up at Drew as he smiled back at her.

“Well, Drew, this is just perfect timing because I was just about to ask y/n about the next season of Outer Banks.” The reporter said. “How are you guys feeling about this being the last season? Sad? Excited?”

“A mix.” Drew said. “This has been such a huge part of my life— of all of our lives— I mean, I grew up on this show, I got married on this show, so it’s definitely bittersweet.”

“I agree.” Y/n nodded. “I’m so excited to see what they do for this conclusion but I’m definitely gonna miss it.”

“So, with this being the finale, I think everyone is wondering if Caroline will be making an appearance in this last season.” The reporter asked, mentioning y/n’s character from the show. After leaving at the end of season three, fans had been clamoring for more of the romance between Rafe and Caroline that had been cut short far too soon.

Y/n laughed, Drew turning to look at y/n with an inquisitive quirk of his brow.

“I don’t know, I guess fans will just have to tune in and find out.” Y/n said coyly, shrugging her shoulders. Drew let out a playful and dramatic groan, which caused y/n to giggle.

“Well, y/n and Drew, it was so nice to talk with you guys and we can’t wait to see Wake Up Dead Man and the final season of Outer Banks!” The reporter said gleefully.

“Thank you for having us!” Y/n said, waving to the camera, Drew joining in before planting a quick kiss on her cheek and leading her away with his hand around her waist. Drew leaned down to whisper something in y/n’s ear that caused her to laugh, the two of them continuing down the red carpet side by side.

taglist: @ladyatwalmart @lilfreakjez @starkeyslutzz @maiya-16 @wolfcin04 @rana030

[householdcryptid]

Omg you’ve rotted my brain with on-call nurse reader x pope!

I’m watching AK from the start now, I’m almost done season one and like 😍😍 I love the concept so much

I especially like imagining how everyone reacts to her being into Pope, like everyone expects her to be into Baz or even Craig, but nope, she’s head over heels for Pope and nothing will change that

Like remember in one of the first episodes when Smurf asked Nicky, ‘if you had to choose one to be stuck on an island with, who would it be?’ Imagine the reaction to nurse reader answering pope haha

I also love the idea of Pope being obsessed with someone that is equally obsessed with him… he deserves it… but anywayssss

Okay, hope you don’t mind my rambling, I’m done for now!

please! ramble all you like! you're sooo right btw he needs someone equally as obsessed with him as he would be with them. my freaky little guy :)

sorry this ends so abruptly! i could not for the life of me figure out a better ending, so my sincerest apologies.

CW: smurf being YUCKY, uhh blood sort of, Pope Stare, nothing else I don't think ! she's a little 900 words

Spending time at the Cody house is not something you prefer to do. You think it wouldn’t be so bad, if Smurf weren’t there. The woman is nice enough, but there’s an air about her that makes you feel unwelcome. Like she’ll be damned if you feel like anything more than an outsider.

You’d only showed up for your check, but of course she’d insisted you stay for lunch. You’re starting to think said lunch is never coming.

Watching the boys wrestle each other in the middle of the pool is mildly amusing, at least. Not to mention it gives you a good excuse to ogle at Andrew. He’s different, since he got back from Folsom. You guess that makes sense, in a way, but it hurts your heart a bit to see him be so… closed off again. Not that he was particularly open before, but at least he’d been sleeping somewhat normally then.

You twitch forward the next time he climbs out of the pool. Blood drips from his mouth, falling in little rivulets of red down his chin and chest. It shouldn’t make your stomach twist like it does, you think, but God help you it’s kind of sexy.

You’re just opening your mouth to tell him to let you have a look at his mouth, for medical reasons only of course, when Smurf’s voice rings out.

“Sunshine, Nicky,” Your teeth grind together and you force a smile. “Would you come help me in the kitchen?”

It’s clear it isn’t so much a question as it is a demand, and if only for Nicky’s sake, you hop up and trail after the woman. You can feel Pope’s eyes on your back as you walk away.

Nicky is sweet, if a little naive. She trusts Smurf, you wish you could tell her not to.

“D’you always cook like this?” She asks the older woman in an incredulous tone, sprinkling salt on thick cuts of beef.

“My boys have big appetites.” Smurf replies from where she’s piping deviled egg mix into halved eggs. You watch from the corner of your eye, hands busy mixing coleslaw, when you catch Smurf’s smirk.

“If you were ship-wrecked on a dessert island, and you could only choose one,” Smurf starts, tipping her head to the side some, faux playful. It makes your skin crawl. “Who would you pick?”

The way she talks about her sons makes your stomach wrench with disgust. What kind of mother asks questions like that?

“Other than J, of course.” She goes on to clarify, uncaring of the slight discomfort in Nicky’s gaze. “I’m only asking, you’re a beautiful young girl.”

Nicky glances at you, before trailing her eyes to where the boy’s are drying off outside by the pool.

“Baz is… pretty cool.” She replies, a sheepish little smile playing at her lips.

You swallow down a snort of amusement. If Nicky knew how frequently Baz stepped out on Cath, you think, he wouldn’t seem so cool then.

“What about you, Sunny?” Smurf turns, giving you a plastic smile, her eyes sharp.

Your skin prickles with discomfort, your hands stilling for only a moment. You take a second to stall, look out at the boys yourself, just as Nicky had. Andrew is staring again, expression blank as he towels at his hair. You smile faintly, shrug a shoulder.

“Andrew, probably.”

Smurf tenses for only a second, the tiniest crack in her porcelain mask, before her smile widens, calculating.

“Interesting.” She hums, wiping her hands on the rag slung over her shoulder.

“Why?” Nicky asks, frowning, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. She seems to notice her mistake when both you and Smurf look to her, and she falters. “Well- I mean, he’s a little… scary, isn’t he?” She laughs, looking nervous.

“Not really,” You shrug. “If you don’t know him, yeah. I can see why you’d think that.” You cut a glance at Smurf, whose smile has faded. She looks at you like you’re a problem, something she needs to remove.

Nicky opens her mouth to reply, but the glass door slides open and Smurf’s smile returns.

“Smells good, Ma.” Craig grins, side stepping around you to grab new beers for everyone from the fridge.

Andrew hovers close to your side, but not close enough to touch, nursing a beer. He doesn’t say anything, not that you expect him to, but you turn to give him a smile anyway.

“Mouth okay?” You ask, as casual as you can manage, nodding to him.

He seems a bit taken aback by the question, eyes flickering across your face for a second.

“S’fine.” He mumbles, shrugging a shoulder, noncommittal, but his eyes soften just a touch.

His head tips to the side some, gaze flicking from you to his mother and then back again, a silent question residing in deep pools of hazely green.

You shrug, roll your eyes, wave a hand vaugely. Silent conversations are a common commodity with Pope, something you became accustomed to years ago.

Smurf’s eyes burn into the side of your skull, but you won’t give her the satisfaction she’s after. You know to be wary, but not fearful. Showing fear is like rolling over to show belly to Smurf.

It's easy to ignore her, when Andrew is giving you that look. Like nothing in the room is as interesting as you are. How can you care about his neurotic mother when he’s looking at you like that?

[ccazimi]

Currit in Sanguine Nostra

pt. 2

cw: vampirehunter!sukuna x vampire!reader, dubcon, enemies to...enemies with benefits (??), blood obviously (blood drinking, bleeding, blood as lube), violence/fighting/gore/graphic descriptions of injuries, sadism/masochism, forced starvation, captivity, bondage (usage of muzzles/chains), knifeplay, wounding/cutting, degradation, feet stuff (reader humps his foot), humiliation, mild voyeurism wc: 12k a/n: this was so long i decided to just split it into parts :3 also i imagine sukuna to look like this in this fic

songs i listened to while writing this part

snarler - craig wedren, anna waronker

teeth - lady gaga

your addiction - night club

the wretched (remix) - nine inch nails

The first ever encounter with each other — that fight was brutal, messy.

Sloppy.

It was nearly midnight, in a long abandoned warehouse district at the outskirts of the city that Sukuna had tracked you into. Once bustling with activity, now a ghost town of rusting metal and crumbling brick.

The warehouse buildings have collapsed partially, some with entire walls missing, leaving jagged edges and exposed beams of twisted metal. Old rotten crates and broken machinery litter the ground, shards of shattered glass glinting in the faint, cold pools of light — flickering streetlights and and the occasional neon sign of an abandoned convenience store.

The place feels like a fun house in a fair, long warped shadows stretching over the debris.

And under the rain that falls in thick sheets, pouring relentlessly and drowning out the sound, you and Sukuna fight like wild animals.

None of the precision, the careful strategy or finesse one would perhaps expect from the final heirs of two ancient bloodlines—one born to hunt, the other born to feed.

Supposedly this feud started as far back as the Heian Era, possibly even longer. But none of that matters right now.

Right now you are just two inexperienced predators trying to kill each other.

You underestimated him—just another silly human, you thought. Hiding behind metal weapons, barking empty threats.

But you're the vampire. He’s the human - he should be prey.

And yet, Ryomen Sukuna is anything but.

Even in his own inexperience he’s a natural at what he’s supposed to be, making up for the lack of night vision with other senses that have been trained to compensate instead, keen enough that they could rival a vampire’s. He doesn’t need to see too well when he can rely on his hearing, on his quick reflexes, even his nose.

The rain proves to be a disadvantage as well, making the ground too slippery for you to effectively bolt at high speeds.

And soon the ground is splattered red, slick not just with rain.

Your fight was so primal, almost delirious in its intensity, that no words were even shared — just snarling and screaming and grunting and the thrashing of bodies and squelching of torn flesh.

Finally the deciding moment has come, where Sukuna pins you to the ground, thinking he has you. Broken glass cuts into your back, embedding itself into the skin, through the gaps of your already shredded top.

You’re no stranger to pain, though it does enrage you all the more.

So you fight dirty, spitting and digging your clawed nails across his face, that visceral yet satisfying feeling when you feel the nails, still filthy with the blood of your last kill, piercing into the soft, delicate flesh of his right eye.

The feeling could only be described as…gelatinous.

Sukuna’s agonized roar is instant, the pain blinding and white-hot. Blood runs down his face, and the smell of it that’s been teasing you all night, invites you to finally bare your fangs, ready to go for the killing bite.

But even with his right eye useless, Sukuna refuses to let go of his weapon, and when he catches the glint of your teeth, without thinking his blade is shoved into your mouth, pushing down on the hilt to plunge it upwards.

At the same time you reflexively bite down with all the strength left in your jaw — only to feel the sickening crack of bone breaking against steel.

It feels like you’ve bitten into broken glass.

With a strangled cry you shove him off, stumbling to your feet immediately as he gets to his knees, blood still gushing from his ruined eye, grabbing his weapon.

Your tongue flicks over the jagged remnants of your fang, that empty space where the tooth used to be, the iron of your own cold blood coating your mouth.

You limp back into the shadows as he staggers to his feet.

It’s only later when you’re sitting at the bar of a high-end nightclub, still absentmindedly running your tongue over the now healed stump of your left canine, you process that fight.

Born to an old, dwindling vampire bloodline, you were raised in secrecy, always moving place to place to avoid hunters. The traditional legends of aristocratic vampires always made you scoff — you and your family who had lived like ghosts, hiding in abandoned buildings, remote villages, or underground.

Despite it you were taught pride in your lineage — reminded that vampires are superior to humans, that they should never beg, never bow.

If a vampire “asks” something of a human, it’s not really a question.

Perhaps this was the reason you’d grown to have a taste for the luxuries of the modern age, hanging around neon lights and penthouses, carrying yourself with quiet arrogance. Though it’s an confidence born from survival, not entitlement.

You must believe you’re above humans, for your survival.

You’d heard of Sukuna before, known for years that he was supposedly your enemy by blood alone, but you hadn’t really given much more thought to it, especially not after your parents were murdered.

You were raised that in a world that wanted you dead, sentimentality was not an option — not even to mourn losses.

You were taught only to keep moving forward.

So that’s what you did when you found them with stakes driven through their hearts, limbs already turning to ash. Perhaps their deaths didn’t shatter you because they never let you believe they’d always be there in the first place.

Their battles didn’t particularly concern you, and you had better things to do than go on some drawn out hunt for revenge, and to avenge your family.

Well, that was before.

Because after that encounter, you decided nothing else mattered except Ryomen Sukuna.

A few months later, you feel more confident this time around that you’ll be able to kill him. And you don’t know for sure, but you have a strong feeling that he’s been tracking you as you roam city to city.

Sukuna’s learned a few things about you — that you enjoy cities, particularly those with good nightlife. Clearly a preference since your kind won’t necessarily burn in the sun, or anything as dramatic as the human stories always make it out to be.

Rather you all tend to be allergic to sunlight, some more than others. Your photosensitivity is noticeable, but not the worst — nothing more than some itchy hives and sneezing. Sometimes you get watery eyes and a runny nose too. It really just passes off as a normal pollen allergy.

On the other hand, you’ve picked up a few things about Sukuna as well — most notably so far that there are two things that matter to him above all: his ego and pride.

You suppose that conspicuous injury you gifted him might almost be as humiliating as your own chipped fang.

Almost.

Nothing can compare to the offense of breaking a vampire’s fangs. You’ve grown a habit of hiding them now even when around others like you, just so they won’t notice it.

And eye isn’t quite enough payment for that, you think.

So you arrange a trap, meticulously leaving a deliberate trail of blood and bodies to mark your presence, obvious enough for him to follow but still vague to the point that’ll keep him guessing. The trail leads to somewhere that’s sort of unusual for you — the countryside, far from the city, to a large sprawling mansion.

It’s a bit rundown, sort of the middle of nowhere, and likely abandoned some years ago.

Perfect.

You don’t have to wait long, only till the second night when he arrives.

The second round begins rather…slow.

Sukuna enters the mansion and though nothing has shifted out of place, he can feel it — your presence, permeating the atmosphere. You stand on the upper floor that overlooks the main entrance, watching him from the shadows.

It’s dark, even the moon is just a sliver of a crescent in the night sky, hardly enough to offer him any light.

You can see perfectly fine, though.

Sukuna can sense your gaze on him from somewhere in the pools of darkness, but he doesn’t react, preferring to let you guess whether he knows you’re here or not.

And you pick up what he’s trying but frankly you just can’t help yourself.

“Looking for someone?”

He doesn’t turn but you can see him smile in the dark, showing off those perfect set of teeth.

Annoying.

“Are you hiding from someone?”

You scoff.

Hiding. He’s trying to agitate you on purpose.

And it won’t work.

“Maybe I just like to play with my food.”

He hums. And then—

So quickly that you barely have time to dodge, something slices through the air.

The silver bullet buries into the drywall right where your head was a second ago.

Sukuna just laughs. “Oops. I guess I like to…play with my food, too.”

You’re honestly impressed by how good his aim is, even with his right eye socket scarred over.

But you’d never admit that, so you just chuckle lightly. “Well if you want me, you’re gonna have to work for it.”

And so it begins.

He hunts you through every hallway, every corridor, every shadow-drenched corner of the mansion. You circle one another—silent, stalking, both knowing one wrong step could mean the end.

You try to bait out another shot. A few, even.

Nothing.

Either he’s toying with you, or he’s saving them. Maybe both.

Frustrating.

And when long enough passes with no sound of his revolver, desperation creeps in.

So you take the risk. A deep inhale and a sharp turn—stepping fully into view, right across the hall from him.

Silence.

His hand rests on the trigger, steady, but he doesn’t pull it. Doesn’t even flinch.

You grit your teeth, muscles tensed, wondering if you can close the distance before he fires when suddenly, he smirks.

And lowers the fucking gun before rolling his eye.

The gall of this man.

“That’s the best you’ve got? Trying to jump scare me?”

You stare at him venomously, and though he can’t see it too well in the dark he can feel your disdain practically radiating from you.

“I could kill you right now before you could even do anything. But that feels kinda cheap, doesn’t it?”

“You’re welcome to try,” he says amicably. Then his eye glints, widening with a sudden thought, and he grins like he’s just remembered something delightful. “Oh- wait! I've got something to show you, almost forgot…”

He pulls out the silver chain tucked into his shirt, and at the end of it, something catches your eye.

White, and pointed…

Your fang.

You look up at him, momentarily speechless as his grin widens and he holds your tooth between his fingers like it’s some trinket. “Took it as a little souvenir to, you know…remember you.”

Needless to say, you are fucking livid.

“You disgusting bastard,” you hiss, synapses firing as rage floods them.

And just like that you’re across the hall in half a second, lunging towards him in your blind fury.

“You PIECE OF SHIT, I’LL RIP YOUR OTHER EYE OUT AND FUCKING EAT IT—”

You’re fast, and you’re strong. And Sukuna knows how to use this against you.

Instead of meeting you head on he pivots just in time, grabbing your wrist so that your own momentum sends you crashing into the dusty wooden floor. You’re back on your feet instantly, but then a flash of silver, and hot, searing pain in your side.

It spreads across your skin, numbing and tingling, and you start to feel sick.

Because of course a silver blade wasn’t enough, the bastard had to lace the tip with wolfsbane.

It’s not deep enough to kill, but definitely enough to slow you.

You snarl, still trying to throw him off, but Sukuna once again twists your momentum, forcing you into a corner.

This is bad. Now there’s nowhere to dodge, nowhere to effectively use your speed.

You lunge again, aiming for his throat this time, but either he’s faster than you expected, or the poison’s slowed you down.

There’s a crack and powerful kick sweeps your legs right out from under you, and just like that you’re on your back, his weight pinning you down, one hand wrapped around your throat.

Sukuna’s eye is burning with excitement, as he looks down at you triumphantly, panting slightly.

“That was fun. Wanna go again, or are you gonna pout now?”

You try to break free, but his other hand comes up — only now you realize it’s gloved. You don’t have time to think before he presses it to your jaw, holding you in place, and the pain flares from his touch.

Silver-lined gloves.

You hiss, though the poison is taking its toll on your body and your cold skin is now clammy, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

He laughs, leaning down slightly at your lips curled back in ferocity, eyes slitted as you try to jerk your face away from him in vain. His grip only tightens making your flesh burn, a pathetic cry clawing out of your throat.

“Careful, sweetheart.” The bare hand comes up to your lips as he holds your face in place, thumb brushing over it to pull your top lip back, inspecting your broken canine with interest. “You keep baring those pretty little fangs at me, and I might just have to take the other for my collection.”

You tremble with rage only contained in your flesh because of this incapacitating toxin invading your body. If not for that wolfbane—

“I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking murder you and you know what? I won’t even eat you, I’ll just leave your body to fucking rot in the dirt—” you sneer your promise, fingers twitching at your sides.

He looks down at you condescendingly, like you’re a petulant child throwing a tantrum that only entertains him. “That’s the look. Keep that anger — it looks real good on you.”

That’s the last thing you hear before another sting to your side of a syringe plunging into your skin, before you pass out.

When you come to a few hours later, cold, shivering, and throwing up — he’s nowhere to be seen.

The game stretches on over the next two years— you, with your chipped fang and him, with the scarred-over hollow where his right eye used to be.

Despite the damage, neither of you falters. If anything, the wounds only sharpen your instincts. Refine your roles.

The hunt evolves—more complex, more elusive… more intimate.

Along the way, more of your kind fall to him and Sukuna earns a name. Whispers trail in his wake, rumours thick and grotesque of one of the most brutal vampire hunters of the century.

A man who doesn’t just kill—but lingers.

Draws it out, torments.

Vampires captured and kept alive, tortured until boredom finally drives him to end it.

Every one one of them have been found with their left fangs broken off and missing.

And your resentment festers.

How ironic—his reputation, his rise, all built on traits borrowed from the very monsters he claims to despise.

Cunning. Patience. Sadism. A thirst for blood too, just not human blood. That, perhaps, is the only line he hasn't yet crossed.

You? You’re no innocent - far from it. But at least you never pretend to be anything other than what you are.

Your trail is just as red, just as damning.

But your victims? Almost always men.

From nameless beggars to powerful CEOs that send media and authorities into a frenzy— Their throats, torn open, their arteries drained.

And always—always—their right eyes, gouged out.

The floor is cold against your cheek—slick with dirt and blood. You're sprawled out, face-down, cheek mashed to the concrete beneath the unyielding press of his boot. Your wrists burn where the silver chain bites into them, pinned behind your back.

You should’ve known better - you did know better.

After years of sensing him at the edges of your life—always watching, always circling, he vanished.

No signs, no whispers, nothing.

The absence felt like a blade hollowing you out from within.

You told yourself someone else must’ve gotten to him. But of course, that wouldn’t do.

He was yours, yours to chase, yours to kill.

So you hunted him down this time, tracking him like prey.

This one’s on you.

You should have been suspicious when you found him waiting in a warehouse that looked eerily similar to the first one you ever fought in.

Except this one is brighter.

Bright fluorescent lights hum overhead, too white and clinical. Even with your eyes shut, the glare bleeds through your lids, stabbing at your pupils.

Every nerve in your body is lit up with pain, every inch of you aches and throbs.

“I’m starting to think you like being under me. Is that it?”

His taunting voice comes from somewhere above you.

“Just fucking kill me already, will you?” you grumble, words muffled against the ground.

“Hmm… I don’t know.”

The pressure of his boot lifts from your skull—only to be replaced by his knee, driven mercilessly into the small of your back.

You're pinned, caged.

“I kinda like seeing you like this,” he murmurs, voice dipping with lazy amusement. “Helpless. Right where I want you. So many things I could do with you…”

You can’t see him, but the smugness in his tone tells you everything. That fucking smirk is absolutely there.

Your laugh comes sharp and bitter. “God, you’re disgusting.”

“Oh, I must be,” he replies easily, “if even a bloodsucker’s saying it.”

You just scoff.

He leans in close, voice dropping to something low and velvety. “Can’t wait to spend some quality time with you…”

And then something hard cracks into your temple, with a sickening crunch followed by a split second of agony, before your vision tilts again and once more everything goes black.

You figure it’s been a few days at least, by the time you wake up. No human would survive the type of brain damage he no doubt inflicted on you when he literally split your skull open.

But you’re not a human, you’re a vampire — albeit something like that is still a serious enough injury that instead of seconds or minutes, it takes days for your body to repair the delicate tissues of your brain.

You’re still a bit dizzy and disoriented as you blink, clearing the fog from your mind while assessing your environment.

It’s a cellar or basement of some sort. A dim bulb flickers at the other end, on the verge of giving out.

The second thing you notice is something on your face — tight leather straps digging into your skin, a cage or barrier of some kind bound over your mouth.

The bastard fucking muzzled you.

Immediately you scream his name in rage — or at least you try to, though the metal cage distorts your sounds and all you produce is, “Hh-kuh-na!”

You try to move but your arms are still bound tightly behind you, aching from the position they’ve been kept in for so long, The cuffs are not silver, you note.

But the shackle around your ankle? That one is — and you quickly learn that when you try to unfold your legs, the metal digging into your skin and burning.

Soon enough you hear a door open and the sound of heavy footsteps.

“Finally awake? Thought I hit you too hard for a second.”

Your snarl of his name is once again muffled, but the scathing hatred in your eyes speaks volumes.

Sukuna steps in, closing the door behind him before crouching down with his hands on his knees, to be at your face level.

“Hmm, what was that?” he coos. “Try again. Really put your heart into it.”

You’re already feeling on edge, restless and tired at the same time, but then you smell it—

The sharp metallic scent of blood.

Just a little, but enough for your eyes to dilate and your body to scream at you, reminding you that you’re hungry.

Three days of intense healing, and no blood.

But you force yourself to sit still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you struggle.

“When I get out here….” Your voice is hoarse, but venomous all the same. “I will kill you.”

“Hah,” he snorts. “Bold statement for someone who can’t even stand up.”

He crouches fully now, getting dangerously close. You jerk back instinctively but the sharp bite of the silver shackle digging into your ankle makes you grit your teeth in pain, reminding you why that’s a mistake.

Sukuna watches, single eye gleaming before he leans in further, fingers grazing along the leather strap securing the muscle.

“You look adorable like this.” He pauses, grinning when your eyes narrow further, smoldering with anger. “Almost tame.”

You catch another whiff of it — warm, rich, fresh — and your tongue coats itself in saliva. But you dig your nails into your palms, taking a breath, forcing yourself to stay grounded and shoot him a smirk, speaking slow and sharp.

“Take off this muzzle and you’ll see just how tame I am.”

He just chuckles and with that slight movement you catch the scent of his blood again.

Torture.

You can’t help your eyes from darting around, trying to see where the source is coming from. Sukuna catches your gaze drifting downwards, toward the wrist covered by his sleeve.

“Oh? You’re already looking? Thought you’d last a bit longer.”

And just to rub it in your fucking face he rolls his sleeve up, dangling his cut wrist right in front of your muzzled mouth. The blood drips slowly, deliberately trickling down.

Instinctively your head snaps up, fangs baring as you once again try in a futile effort the lunge forward, and rewarded with the same burning in your skin.

“Fuck. You.”

He leans in, voice dropping to a murmur as you intently track the blood droplets sliding down his skin. “You sure you don’t want any? You look a bit…hungry.”

Your lips widen into a cold sneer behind the metal cage. “I’d rather die of hunger than drink a drop of your filthy, vile blood.”

He stares at you for a moment, before calmly sighing and standing up to leave again. “Better get comfortable, then. This might take a while.”

And once again you’re left in the dark, with nothing but hunger gnawing at your insides.

The cruel irony of it all is that yes, you’d much rather die of hunger— but you can’t.

Instead you’ll starve, slowly desiccating till you’re barely conscious, but alive all the same. Forever in a perpetual state of never ending hunger.

There will be no death to release you.

Over the course of the next four days you feel yourself withering — hunger chewing and growling from within you, so cold that it feels like even your bones are chilly.

And tired. So, so tired.

You hear his footsteps from time to time outside the door, vaguely wondering if he’ll open the door. He never does.

By the time he comes back, your limbs are leaden, mind hazy. The hunger is no longer an ache, as it is a roaring void, tearing at you from inside.

You barely flinch when the door creaks open again, head lifting slightly towards the sound, though your body makes no effort to move.

“Still alive? Tough little thing, aren’t you?”

As if you could die even if you wanted to.

You don’t offer any response, not even able to muster enough energy to glare at him. He steps closer, slowly, like he’s approaching a carcass.

“Not much fight left in you now, huh?”

He crouches again, watching you with interest. You’re alive, but barely.

And finally you move — just a small twitch of your fingers, and a sharp inhale like you want to say something, but don’t have the energy to get the words out.

Sukuna doesn’t let up. “Go on. Curse me. Say you’ll kill me again. Give me something.”

Nothing. Even in your weakened state, you have enough pride to not give him that.

If a reaction is what he wants, it’s what he won’t get.

He clicks his tongue in annoyance before tilting his head. “No? Then how about I give you something instead?”

There’s a soft ripping noise, like a band-aid being torn off, when the scent hits you.

Blood.

Your body shudders involuntarily, once again you’re digging your nails into your palms until they’re sure to leave crescent-shaped indents.

And of course, he notices immediately, face lighting up with amusement. “…Oh?”

He holds his wrist up to you again like an offering.

“C’mon. You don’t need to act tough anymore — I know you’re starving.”

Your jaw clenches as you follow the slow trickle of blood, wishing desperately you had it in you to tear your eyes away from the sight. But you follow its unhurried path, entranced, mouth dry.

“Just a sip. All you have to do is say the word.” Sukuna’s voice is low, mocking, trying to worm its way into your skull.

Your breathing quickens. Would one sip really be that bad?…

“I’ll even take the muzzle off.”

That makes you move.

Your eyes flicker to his, sharpening with a spark of resistance despite everything. The spark only lights up further when you see how smug he looks.

“…Go fuck yourself.”

His grin widens, teeth flashing.

“There she is.”

And then, he fucking sits fully, leisurely stretching his legs like this is some pleasant, casual conversation. Like it’s a picnic date at the park or something.

Like he isn’t slowly destroying you from the inside out.

“You should be grateful, you know, that I’m even trying here.” Then he snickers meanly. “A lot of owners don’t bother to go to such lengths for their pets.”

If there was any blood left in your hollow veins, it would be sizzling right now.

You want to lunge at him, tear his throat out, watching him choke on his own blood before bleeding out in the most pathetic manner.

But you barely have the strength to lift your head.

Still, you strain out the words, barely a whisper.

“Don’t want your…filth…on my tongue.”

You feel it for a second, genuine anger sparking in him, before it quickly passes through and he stands up again.

“Fine. Be a stubborn bitch — we’ll see how long you last.”

He turns and walks away, casually calling out over his shoulder right before he shuts the door. “See you in another few days. If you’re still awake, that is.”

The door closes, darkness once again swallowing you whole.

It’s been nearly a full week now, when he comes back one more time.

You deteriorated even more within the span of those few days — body weak and brittle, like a dried leaf waiting to be stepped on. You think you’ve started to go mad because you swear you can smell blood, even when there’s nothing, no one else, in that cold, empty cellar.

Your pride has been warring with need for too long, and one side is losing, slowly but surely.

When the door opens again, you’re too far gone to react even the slightest. Not even a single twitch of your fingers.

Sukuna gives you a mocking sigh. “Damn. You’re really letting yourself go.”

He crouches down in front of you again, slowly, like you might to some injured animal bleeding out in the forest. “What happened to all that fire? All that lovely talk about killing me?”

You want to lift your head, shoot him a glare, spit some nasty words, but your body won’t obey.

The hunger is too much now, inside your bones where your marrow should be, clawing at the caving in walls of the hollow cavity that is supposed to be your stomach.

Sukuna watches closely for any sign of resistance, but there is none.

And then he speaks softly, like he’s indulging a kid. “How about I make this a bit easier for you, hm?”

There’s a cruel amusement under the gentle facade of his voice, lingering underneath like poison.

You barely register the movement — the soft tug of leather straps, and the metal cage loosening, falling away.

Your lips automatically part, but no sound comes out. There’s nothing left for you to say.

Then a quick flash of metal, and the scent invades your nostrils.

Hot, flowing, rich.

Sukuna holds his wrist out, the fresh cut welling with blood in slow, thick, droplets. The most alluring shade of red against his tan skin.

A violent shiver skitters down your spine, and you can feel your fangs involuntarily slipping out.

“Poor thing. You’re barely holding yourself together.” His voice drips in faux sympathy, as he watches you twitch.

His other hand moves, swiping into the cut before he swiftly lifts it to your face, pressing bloodied fingers to your lips and smearing it red.

Everything stops.

One drop, one single drop, makes its way through, onto your parched tongue, and its like fire in your veins.

Your body comes alive that moment, every nerve, every deadened muscle, every ounce of hunger roars awake, all at once, dilating your pupils till your eyes are just black voids.

Another shuddering breath, a twitching in your muscles.

“That’s it,” he whispers, watching, entirely too pleased at your reaction as his wrist hovers, just barely out of reach from your mouth.

Your body moves on it own, pure instinct, and no thought as you lunge forward with a low snarl, right fang sinking in, the broken one following soon enough as you close your mouth, latching on completely to his wrist.

And you drink.

Greedily, messily, obscenely sucking and slurping like a wild animal. The taste of his blood is intoxicating, flooding and reviving your starving flesh, pulling you out of that hollow abyss.

You hate yourself for it, but you can’t stop.

Sukuna watches, letting you feed, with a slow smirk.

“There we go. See? That wasn’t so hard.”

You want to rip yourself away, but his blood is too much, too necessary, too good.

No, not good.

You’ve drank hundreds of men’s blood before, but nothing compares to his.

What an evil, cruel twist of fate that his blood is divine — salty, sharp, with a savory mouthwatering fullness, and the slightest hint of sweetness to compliment it all.

Its like ambrosia.

Your grip tightens, as you practically moan in ecstasy, fangs sinking deeper into his warm flesh — you need more, you need—

Suddenly, he yanks his arm back.

You choke, barely stifling a whimper that almost slips out as the warmth is ripped away. Sukuna looks down at his wrist, amiably inspecting the puncture wounds, before glancing back at you.

Your lips are stained crimson, breathing ragged, eyes still looking at him with that almost desperate need.

And he laughs, victoriously. “That’s my girl.”

The taste him still lingers on your tastebuds, in the air — it’s not nearly enough to quell your appetite.

“Just a little more. Isn’t this what you wanted?” you try to convince him, attempting to hide the need in your voice.

You may be missing a fang but there’s still enough venom in one of your fangs to have at least somewhat of an effect — though you suppose that if he willingly let you drink, he must’ve already taken an antivenom.

Still, you try your luck.

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “You should have more shame, being so greedy. You’re lucky I even gave you this much.”

Sukuna stands to his full height again.

Panic rushes through you.

“Fuck, please Sukuna? I’ll give you whatever you want—”

He scoffs coldly. “And what could you possibly have to give me?”

You stare with wide eyes, unable to think of an answer immediately, and soon he’s leaving again, the sticky blood drying on your face.

The door slams closed.

This time, the hunger doesn’t dull away, neither does it weaken you. In fact you think it only grows stronger as the hours pass, keeping you awake and restless and craving.

For hours you sit in that dank cellar, your mind replaying the taste of his blood in your mouth until it becomes all you can think about, a tunnel vision of the only way out.

Giving you that taste was his mistake because now there’s a newfound strength forged from the motivation of sinking your teeth into him again.

Draining him for all he’s worth.

You tug against the metal keeping you captive — the cuffs around your wrists, the silver shackle around your ankle.

But you’ve got blood in you now, and that’s enough. Enough for you to heal.

With the phantom taste of him lingering in your mouth you finally push yourself — there’s sickening cracks of your joints dislocating, but even the blazing pain isn’t enough to deter you. It’s nothing compared to the satisfaction of your limp hands pulling out of the cuffs, one step closer to getting what’s yours.

Now, the hard part.

You squeeze your eyes shut, taking another deep breath as you position yourself. The silver cuff is still blistering hot against your skin, but you don’t hesitate.

Not now, not when you can practically taste him sweet and raw in your throat.

You twist. Hard.

The first crack isn’t enough — you grit your teeth, let out a strangled cry that echoes in the cellar, and then do it again.

The world goes white for a second, as you gasp, vision blurring from the sheer, excruciating pain — and still, you don’t stop.

Because now you’re not some starving creature crawling in the dark.

You’re a predator, one that he gave just enough of his blood to remember what that feels like.

Pop. The joint gives way.

You scream through gritted teeth, bile burning up the back of your throat, but you don’t stop. You slam your foot against the ground again, and again, twisting until the bones slide just enough — just enough for the slick burn of metal to scrape over torn skin.

And then you’re free.

You collapse against the floor, gasping, sweat-soaked and trembling, your limbs mangled but already knitting together, muscle by muscle, tendon by tendon, driven by that stolen taste of him inside you.

You stagger to your feet, every movement agonizing, shaky, but determined.

You can still feel him. His pulse. His scent. That infuriating grin of his when he left you here like some half-starved mongrel.

It’s insulting almost, that when you reach the cellar door, it’s unlocked.

But it makes your job easier, so you don’t complain.

You creak it open, and instantly the scent of his skin hits your nose though he’s nowhere in sight.

So you follow it, tunnel visioned on the prospect of finding him and just sinking your teeth into him.

Driven by vengeance, craving, maybe even some fucked up part of you that think his blood belongs to you now.

You can barely think straight by the time you’re pushing open his door, your mind tunneled in on one thing alone- the promise of his blood, hot and pulsing, spilling down your throat.

The embalmer’s job will be easier when they find his body — pale, empty, and drained dry.

You peek inside.

Warm light spills from the open bathroom door, casting a golden sheen across the contours of his bare back. He’s facing away from you, wearing nothing but low-slung black sweats that cling to his hips like a sin.

Droplets still bead along his skin, glinting on muscle, his pink hair darkened and slick from a recent shower.

If you weren’t so ravenous — if you saw anything other than a cure to the ache gnawing through your chest — you might’ve paused. Might’ve taken in the sight of him and thought, briefly, cruelly…

Beautiful.

But right now, nothing exists beyond the hypnotic thrum of his heartbeat, a slow and steady beacon that tugs you forward, that dares you closer.

You linger behind the door, silent, calculating. Waiting for him to move — to shift, to turn, to slip into just the right position.

One clean strike. That’s all you need.

No games. No snarling, clawing mess like the last time.

Just blood.

But then, there’s a subtle shift in the air, and the slightest stiffening of his spine.

Your stomach drops.

He shouldn’t know you’re here. It’s not possible — not for a human, not against your kind. You were made to hunt in silence, to kill before the prey ever knows what touched them.

Still, you don’t falter and he doesn’t turn.

And then—he moves. Slowly, casually.

He sits at the edge of the bed, back still to you, elbows resting on his thighs.

Exposed and vulnerable.

Perfect.

Just as you’re getting ready to pounce, Sukuna completely throws you off base—by pure, stupid luck.

He leans back onto one hand, legs spreading ever so slightly, just enough for the faint shape forming beneath his sweats to catch your eye. His other hand moves lower, casually palming himself through the fabric.

You should move. You know you should.

But something invisible roots you in place. Your hunger simmers beneath your skin, thrumming like static, but your bloodthirsty gaze is locked—utterly transfixed—on him. On the slow, almost lazy drag of his hand over the swelling bulge, coaxing it with idle strokes.

Your body betrays you.

There’s a strange heat building inside you, crawling up your spine, prickling across your skin. It shouldn’t be there. Not when you’re here to feed. Not when your only goal is to strike clean and fast and end this.

But it’s him.

Your breathing falters when his eyelids lower, chin tilting back just slightly as a quiet exhale leaves his parted lips. The light catches on the water still clinging to his shoulders, muscles shifting beneath his skin with every languid movement.

Through the fabric, the outline of his cock becomes more prominent. You can see the shape of it now, the thickness, even from where you stand.

Sukuna tightens his grip, and that’s when you catch it—the faint, almost acrid scent in the air. Slightly metallic. Slightly alkaline.

You suck in a silent breath, stomach flipping when you realize what you’re smelling.

Then he starts to rut slowly into his hand, sighing as the friction builds, and his voice cuts through the stillness, casual but low with strain.

“If you’re gonna do it, do it. Or are you too…” A cruel little grin curves his mouth. “Distracted, now?”

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

You’re on him in an instant—before the last syllable even finishes, slamming your full weight into him. The bed creaks under the force as you straddle him, one hand fisting into his damp hair, the other clawing his shoulder, nails digging in deep enough to make him hiss through his teeth.

“Don’t fuck with me, Sukuna,” you growl, pupils dilated, lips curled in a snarl. His heartbeat is a war drum beneath your hands, loud and intoxicating, and every one of your senses is alive with it—drunk on it.

His grin only sharpens.

“Then stop staring like you wanna fuck me and kill me, sweetheart. Pick one.”

To your irritation, you don’t even have to yank his head back—he tilts it on his own, baring his throat with an infuriatingly smug laugh. A mocking little motion, like he’s offering himself up on purpose.

“That’s more like it,” he murmurs.

And then your fangs sink in.

A soft, distinct crunch as teeth break through muscle and vein.

The instant his skin gives, blood rushes into your mouth—and it’s intoxicating. Thicker, hotter than anything else you’ve ever tasted. Rich and pulsing with life. Almost scalding.

The puncture wounds tighten slightly around your fangs, muscles resisting before stretching open, your jaw clenching as you bury deep—even your cracked fang pushing in with a sharp throb.

His blood is... pure. Potent.

Undiluted, unlike the thin, lifeless taste of most human blood. It tastes like something alive.

Like power, like violence.

The absence of that sharp medicinal tang—no trace of the antivenom you expected—flickers across your thoughts.

But the moment passes. Irrelevant.

Your body’s already screaming for more.

You drink greedily, copper heat washing down your throat, his pulse drumming against your lips. Your grip tightens.

Sukuna doesn’t flinch.

You suck harder, lips sealing tighter over the wound with a wet, obscene sound. Blood flows freely now. Your body trembles, senses blown wide open, muscles twitching as strength floods into you—but even as it does, something gnaws at you.

It still isn’t enough.

There’s a maddening itch, deep under your skin, pulsing low in your gut. A hunger that persists no matter how much you drink.

A raw, aching need that grows stronger, fiercer.

You notice everything.

His heartbeat skipping slightly under your mouth, the way your thighs grip his hips tighter, almost involuntarily. The rake of your nails down his back, searching for purchase, something to ground you.

You drink, and drink, and drink—and yet, the ache won’t go away.

Sukuna notices, of course. His eyes heavy-lidded, dark with knowing amusement, watching as you fall apart in real time, the tremble in your thighs, the desperation in the way you hold him.

He shifts beneath you—just slightly—but it’s enough. Enough for you to feel the hard outline of his arousal pressing right against your core.

And still—not enough.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Sukuna’s voice is low, almost gentle. But there’s that ever-present curl of amusement beneath it. “You’re still hungry.”

You growl against his neck, fangs still sunk deep, refusing to acknowledge whatever smug bullshit he’s whispering now.

His skin burns under your lips. His body is flush against yours, scent heavy in your nose with every inhale—clean, musky, tinged with something spicy and masculine.

It makes him taste even better somehow—complementing the copper tang in your mouth like wine pairing with a rich meal. You have to smell him to taste him fully.

The most disturbing part isn’t the blood. It’s that he’s letting you take it. Letting you drink him dry, take as much as you want.

And if your mind were clearer—sharper—you’d be suspicious. Hell, you’d be insulted.

You tremble.

Because despite the feast, despite the rush of strength, the power flooding your veins like molten heat—you’re still not satisfied.

The hunger claws deeper.

And the awful, rising truth starts to sink in, that maybe it’s not just his blood you crave.

Maybe you’re starving for something else entirely.

Sukuna’s hand moves—slowly, deliberately—dragging rough fingertips across your scalp. He threads them through your hair, the pressure grounding, possessive. His fingers massage along your roots, a slow, sensual gesture that sends an involuntary shiver down your spine.

The other hand slides up your hip, ghosting along your side before settling at the small of your back, easing you down closer, pressing you into him—

That’s when it hits you.

You snap back, instinct lashing out. You tear your mouth away, blood slick on your lips, and shove at his chest hard enough to make him grunt as you push yourself back.

Your breath comes quick. Your head swims. Your mouth tastes like heat and iron and him.

The hand tangled in your hair slips away, settling instead at your waist—not stopping you, but not letting you go either. Possessive and anchoring.

His neck is still bleeding, slow trickles slipping down the curve of his throat, the skin around the puncture turning a deep shade of red-purple, bruised and tender.

You’re not sure what you feel.

Dazed. Disoriented. Blood-drunk.

Angry. Irritated. Frustrated.

Warm.

Too warm.

Sukuna grins up at you, lazy and smug, his eye catching the light just enough to glint with something unreadable.

“Ahh, there it is,” he hums, like he’s been waiting. “Now you get it.”

You fight the urge to recoil—to put space between your bodies—even as the haze lingers, even as your mind reels, trying to make sense of what the hell is happening to you.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” you breathe, your voice hoarse and thin, raw from drinking. Your lips are still slick with his blood. “I should kill you.”

And you mean it. You’ve done it before—taken blood from men, used sex like bait, like a weapon, left them cold and emptied by the time you were done. It never mattered, never lingered.

But this—this is something else entirely.

You try again to pull away, to snap the illusion, but this time his grip tightens. Not roughly, not harsh—but firm. Deliberate. He’s not fazed in the slightest by the open wound on his neck or the fresh blood on your mouth.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs, voice low, almost affectionate. “Then you’ll keep starving. Just like you are right now…”

His fingers drift lower, dragging over your waist, brushing the tops of your thighs. Teasing. Knowing.

Your head spins.

“Just shut up,” you snap, though the words come out thin, like you’re already losing ground.

You fed long enough that the venom should be kicking in by now. But it isn’t.

Maybe he’s built up a resistance—modified something in his blood. It wouldn’t be out of character for a hunter like him, someone who turns his own body into a weapon.

“Mm.” His fingers inch higher along your thigh, nails grazing over the fabric in a light, scraping touch that sends a sharp jolt through your nerves. “You don’t even know what you’re hungry for, do you?”

You grit your teeth, refusing to rise to the bait.

“It’s... not whatever the fuck you think it is,” you mutter, jaw tight. “You must’ve laced your blood or something—”

You’re trying to rationalize it. Trying to explain away the curl of heat low in your belly, the way your skin burns where he touches you.

His chuckle is low and cruel.

“Didn’t have to.” His voice dips to a taunt. “You gorged yourself on my blood after I left you starved for days—like a filthy, mindless little animal.”

His hand slides higher, creeping toward the center of you, and you shoot him a glare sharp enough to cut.

But you still don’t move.

“Tell me something I don’t kn—”

“Shut up.”

His voice slices through yours, dark and final. His grip tightens on your thigh—fingers digging into flesh—not playful anymore.

“If I wanted to hear you run your mouth, I’d fucking ask.”

Your lip twitches. Your eyes narrow into a venomous slit. But you don’t interrupt.

Not yet.

“That blood you drowned in?” he murmurs, tilting his head like he’s about to deliver a punchline. “It flooded your veins. Your muscles. Your heart…”

His smirk deepens, a slow cruel carving across his face.

“But when all your precious organs had their fill—guess where the rest ended up?”

“Right—” His hand fully cups your clothed sex now, before pressing into your clit with the tips of his fingers. “Here.”

You gasp at the sudden pressure against that sensitive bundle of nerves—electricity crackling up your spine.

All at once, you’re excruciatingly aware of every ache in your body, most of all the one blooming between your thighs—tight, pulsing, centered on that single point he’s still pressing down on with cruel precision.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, almost bored. “How long’s it been since you felt this? Since you actually needed?” His scoff is pure venom. “What, years? Bet your body just gave up going into heat altogether—until now.”

That’s what finally snaps the last thread of your restraint.

Your eyes darken, and a vicious smile cuts across your face like a blade. Bitterness burns like acid on your tongue, venom sharpening every syllable.

“Look at you,” you sneer, voice laced with poison. “You talk like I’m some starving beast—but what does that make you?”

Your tone drops, cruel now, twisted to mirror his own.

“A man so desperate for control he gets hard watching a half-dead monster squirm on his lap?”

You laugh—cold, guttural, mean.

“That’s pathetic.”

His expression shifts. Something twists behind his eyes. The lazy smirk vanishes, replaced by a deep crease between his brows—his crimson iris shrinking to a pinprick of rage.

You only lean in closer, fueled by the spark of danger.

“Tell me,” you whisper, voice thick with mockery, lips brushing his. “Did it make you feel powerful, starving me like that? Watching me suffer, weaken, beg?”

You grind your hips deliberately into his hand—now limp and fallen to your side—mocking him with your body, even as it betrays you with heat.

You tilt your head, lashes fluttering.

“Or did it just turn you the fuck on?”

His fingers twitch under your thigh.

“I think I hit a nerve.”

And then—just to twist the knife—you drop your voice to a whisper, every syllable soaked in contempt.

“…Maybe you wanted to see me like this. Needy. Weak. Because deep down, you know it’s the only time I’d ever want you—”

It happens fast.

Sukuna lunges.

But you’re already moving, twisting away—only for him to anticipate it, catching your wrist mid-swipe as you aim for his throat.

You snarl, feral, baring your fangs as you twist and struggle—but he’s stronger.

Of course he is. Vampire or not, you’re still a woman. And he’s a man carved from violence and dominance.

He wrenches your arm behind your back and yanks you in, spine arching painfully as he traps you against him. You snap toward his shoulder—teeth meeting only air as he shifts—and then—

His hand clamps the back of your neck, shoving you down hard into the mattress.

You buck, claw, writhe—but his weight pins you mercilessly.

“Fuck—get the hell off me!” you spit, claws tearing at the sheets.

But Sukuna only laughs. A low, rich sound that rumbles against your spine.

“Why?” he whispers, his breath ghosting hot along your ear. “Scared?”

You growl and slam your elbow back, desperate—

And then you feel it.

A sharp kiss at your throat—cold. Burning. Paralyzing.

Silver.

It must’ve been hidden beneath the bedding—because of course the bastard would sleep with a knife under his pillow.

Your breath catches as the blade’s tip glides across your skin in a slow, almost tender caress. Even that featherlight touch bites sharply against your hypersensitive nerves, lighting them up like fire.

Sukuna hums, clearly entertained. “Thought so.”

His grip in your hair tightens painfully, yanking your head back until your throat is exposed, vulnerable.

“You know what’s funny?” His voice is low, almost musing, edged with cruel amusement. “For all your mouth. All your fucking posturing—”

He presses the flat of the silver blade just beneath your jaw, and the threat of it steals the breath from your lungs.

“—you still end up right here.”

Your breath trembles, a furious mix of rage and something deeper, darker, coiling low in your stomach. Something instinctual and shamefully real.

The knife tilts ever so slightly—just enough for the point to kiss your skin, teasing the possibility of a cut.

You don’t dare move.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, satisfied. “Hold still.”

Your fingers twitch. You could fight—should fight. But the weight of him above you, the glint of silver at your throat... you’re pinned. And you both know it.

The edge of the blade shifts—and this time, it bites. A shallow line, but enough for crimson to bloom and trail slowly down your throat.

You grit your teeth, jaw locked tight, forcing yourself not to flinch.

But he feels it. The way your body tenses beneath him. And it thrills him.

“Not so tough now, are you?”

The blade drags lower, agonizingly slow, skimming the line of your throat, across your collarbone, down your sternum. It sings along your skin, a thread of fire in its wake.

“Nothing but a weak, pathetic, blood-drunk little leech.”

You snarl—but it sounds broken. Frayed and fragile.

Sukuna clicks his tongue, mockingly. “Still got fight in you?”

And then—without warning—he flips the blade, and drags the edge down your chest, slicing through both fabric and skin in one fluid stroke.

Down, down, down—until your shirt splits beneath the pressure. The cold rush of air hitting your exposed skin only amplifies the heat.

You suck in a breath, jaw clenched as the knife cuts a shallow path across your sternum, not deep, but just enough to sting.

“Fucking pervert,” you mutter hoarsely, your voice barely holding together.

He doesn’t reply.

He just keeps going—dragging the knife horizontally now, the blade peeling the torn fabric away from your chest, slow and deliberate. It climbs, tracing up the valley between your breasts like he’s unwrapping a present—leisurely, merciless, fascinated.

A searing line is traced up the swell of one of your tits, and you put all your focus into keeping your breath steady, because the slightest inhale only pushes the delicate mound of fat further against the burning blade.

You stiffen completely when the tattered top is pulled away completely, air brushing against your nipple.

Sukuna watches it harden further with fascination, a cruel smirk curling his lips. “Oh?”

Because he notices everything, to your humiliation. You shiver, despising how your body reacts despite everything.

Hate how much he enjoys it.

“You like this, don’t you?” His tone is taunting, disgusted, but there’s a cruel entertainment beneath it.

You can’t say anything, much more focused on the sharp silver that’s much too close to your areola for comfort. Then with the slightest shift of his wrist the blade moves, the tip of it scraping against the sensitive bud.

You inhale sharply, body reflexively jerking against him as the prickling lances through your chest.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” he chides, circling the blade delicately around your breast before continuing downwards.

“Go to hell,” you spit, voice thick with both vitriol and bitter lust.

The knife descends, running over the curve of your ribs, the delicate dip of your stomach, leaving a trail of burning goosebumps in its wake.

“I’d drag you down with me.”

Another shudder as the blade presses lower, a lump forming in your throat. Another jolt of pain and there’s a shallow cut right below your navel.

Blood wells, reminding you of his control.

His free hand slides up your thigh, just enough to make you hyper-aware of how helpless you are.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you whisper, trying not to audibly pant.

Sukuna just chuckles, running the flat of the blade over the cut, smearing your own blood across your skin.

He watches as you try to shrink away, eyes glinting, before his grip tightens, forcing your hips to still.

“Say it.” His voice is quieter now, something that frays your nerves further.

Your heart pounds. “Say what?”

The blade presses lower, and you feel cold fear beginning to surge through your veins.

“Say you need me.” His nose is in hollow beneath your jaw now, brushing against the skin, as the words crawl down your spine like icy.

“Say you want me.” The tip of the blade drags lower, slipping just beneath the hem of your waistband—dangerously close to something far more intimate.

“Or I’ll carve the truth out of you myself.”

And though you throb between your thighs, your mind is wracked with a new wave of anxiety.

Yet still your pride, your stubborn ego refuses to force the words out of your mouth, so you keep silent, choking on them.

Sukuna just sighs and pushes the metal into your panties.

All thoughts of defiance are exorcised from you as the silver brushes against the vulnerable, soft flesh of your folds, down till it nearly touches your clit.

You yelp at the pain. “S-Stop!”

Partially because it fucking stings, but partially because for a second that jolt of burning heat almost felt…good.

Curse your pathetic, needy cunt that can’t tell the difference between pain and pleasure.

And it only reminds you of the hollow, aching hunger that grows in you. Sukuna, watching you so closely, knows it too.

You break.

“…I need you,” you breathe.

The bastard presses the blade against your sex again and you wince, desperately trying to jerk your hips away. “Louder.”

So finally, you spit through clenched teeth, “I need you.”

The moment the words leave your lips — strained, humiliated, dragged from the deepest part of your throat — Sukuna stills.

Then he laughs, finally pulling the blade back out from your thighs, giving your body a second to relax. Still the sting of silver, the heat of your blood — it lingers.

And the worst part, is that you feel colder without it. You can’t ignore the arousal that’s pooled in your panties, so much so that it feels uncomfortable.

“That’s what I thought.” His voice drips with smug victory. “All that fight, all that snarling, all those ugly words — and look at you now.” The blade presses under your chin, forcing your head to tilt up and look directly into his face. “Whimpering out the truth like a good little leech.”

You want to say something , anything, but the opportunity is stolen from you when you feel his other hand, fingers dragging through the blood seeping from the wound below your navel. The pressure is deliberate, just enough to make it hurt, to remind you of what he’s done to you.

“You’re making such a mess,” he muses, voiced soaked in condescension. “Bleeding all over yourself. Over me.” His fingers travel lower, slow and purposeful as they slide into your panties, where the heat is unbearable. “Dumb little thing.”

He smears it on your clit, using the tacky liquid as lube to rub tight aggressive circles on the swollen nub.

You gasp, lips falling open as the relief lights you up from inside. His other hand keeps the blade pressed under your chin, forcing you to meet his eye so he can watch as you try to keep your own gaze focused.

“You’re lucky I’m merciful,” he purrs, before taking two fingers and abruptly pinching your abused clit to elicit a wince from you. “Go on, leech. Say thank you.”

“…Thank you,” you say quietly, nothing on your mind except his touch where you’ve been needing it most.

He smiles, and then without warning, the sensations stop as he pulls his fingers away.

His weight disappears, leaving an unbearable cold where his warmth once was, in more places than one.

“Now get the fuck off my bed.”

You watch him, blinking in confusion, brows furrowing as desperation clouds your judgement. “Wh-Why? You can’t—”

“Dirty leeches get to stay on the ground where they belong,” he says coldly, clearly trying to suppress a grin.

You stare at him, body thrumming with unfulfilled need, like a wound he only ripped open even wider. Your fingers dig into the sheet, pride once against warring against pulsing ache between your thighs, cool skin burning with need and making your head spin.

You feel like you have a fever.

God, what the hell did his blood do to you?

“…You’re fucking joking.” Your voice wavers, but it’s not weakness — it’s rage. Humiliation.

Sukuna only tilts his head, regarding you like a roach he’s already crushed beneath his heel but is still alive for some reason.

“You think I’d let you defile my bed? After you whined like a bitch in heat just for me to touch you?” he scoffs. “Have some dignity, leech.”

Your breath turns sharp. Hot. Your body betrays you, trembling ever so slightly. The shame burns worse than silver, spreading all over you.

“You’re fucking sick.”

“And you love it.”

You hate that he’s right.

You grit your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response as you force yourself to move, dragging your shaky limbs off the bed, only to collapse onto the cold, hard floor.

You hear his quiet chuckle before he walks to the edge of the bed, sitting back down beside where you’re on the ground.

Then—

“But I’m not evil. It’s clear you can’t even think straight with the condition you’re in.” He leans down, cupping your chin to look into your glaring eyes, swimming with desire. “Though I can’t help you if you keep your pants on, can I?”

You frown a bit, not the slightest clue where this is going, but the gentleness in his touch and the promise of his words coaxes your heat-addled brain to tug at the waist of your pants, pulling them off to leave you in just your panties.

You look back up at him expectantly.

“Good girl,” he says almost affectionately, and you feel yourself wetten further in anticipation. “But, a leech like you doesn’t deserve my fingers, let alone my cock or tongue.”

Just like that your heart sinks in your chest, into the pit in your stomach as something wicked creeps across his features.

“You’re worth nothing more than my—” His bare foot shifts between your legs, tattooed ankle lifting up between your thighs, applying pressure there. “Feet.”

Your eyes widen, cheeks heating up till it almost hurts as you open your mouth to protest, save yourself the last bit of your dignity.

“N-No.” Your voice shakes just a little despite your efforts, mouth pulling into a pout as tears sting your lash line.

Sukuna hums, a condescending little sound that makes your skin crawl with equal parts shame and heat. His foot presses in just a little more, sending a pulse of sensation through your body that makes you shudder violently.

“No?” he mocks, tilting his head. “Oh, but look at you, leech. Dripping—” he shifts slightly, grinding against the soaked fabric of your underwear, and you choke on a breath, “—like the desperate little parasite you are.”

You look down, suddenly noting that he strangely…actually has nice feet. Long, prominent bones, veins running their length. They’re a lot like his hands.

And somehow the fact that you can actually see the appeal only sickens you more.

You shake your head, trying to summon what’s left of your pride, but the second you do, his foot pushes, forcing a gasp from your lips.

His grin sharpens. “You can’t even pretend to hate it.”

You squeeze your thighs together instinctively, but the movement only traps him there, pressing deeper against you. Your breath stutters, shame and pleasure warring violently inside you.

Then he laughs, shaking his head like he’s watching something pathetic try and fail to crawl away.

“Go on then,” he taunts. “Show me just how low you’ll go. If you want it so bad, you can grind against my foot like the filthy little leech you are.”

Your heart slams against your ribs. ���I—I won’t—”

He lifts it away just slightly, just enough to take away the friction, the heat, the pleasure that had you teetering on the edge. The loss is unbearable, your body screaming in protest.

And he sees it. He knows.

His smirk is pure, unfiltered cruelty.

“Oh?” he coos, feigning innocence. “Then I guess you don’t need my help after all.”

He moves to pull away entirely—

And before you can stop yourself, your hips jerk forward, chasing the friction, the pleasure, the relief—

He catches it instantly.

He freezes, pressing back in an instant, and your stomach drops as you realize what you’ve done.

His smirk turns razor-sharp, eyes gleaming with victory.

“That’s what I thought.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, resting your forehead on his knee, chewing on your lip.

You want this. You know it, and he knows it.

So with a shaky breath you lift yourself to quickly slide off your panties, kicking them to the side. “You’re disgusting,” you mutter, a half-hearted attempt to somehow deflect the degrading nature of what you’re willingly choosing to do right now.

He hums, looking down at you over the bridge of his nose with that unbearable smirk as you straddle his foot again. “Hm. Do tell me more.”

You can’t stand looking at his face right now, so you turn your head, leaning your cheek against his sturdy leg instead as you push your hips down, pressing your soaking cunt onto his foot.

It feels horribly good, and slowly you begin to undulate your hips back and forth, seeking the friction of the ridged metatarsals and tendons on his foot catching against your clit.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Sukuna snickers, watching you with interest, at the soft gasps falling from your lips. “If only your ancestors could see you now. How far your bloodline has fallen.”

You scowl a bit, speeding up your movements so that the pleasure can drown out his words and the soft clicking noises of your pussy. “Just….s-stop talking. Please.”

“Why? It was a compliment.” Sukuna lifts his leg again, angling his foot a little to move it in time with your grinding, pulling a soft moan from you. “I, for one, think you look good like this. Like you’re finally where you belong, y’know?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to ignore him as you lean back on your hands, this new angle making it easier for you to rub your clit against him.

For a few seconds he doesn’t say anything either, even as your movements start growing more frantic. You open your eyes to look at him, just to find his eyes trained squarely on where your sticky cunt is sliding obscenely along his foot, his skin glistening with your arousal.

And it’s the fact that he looks painfully aroused himself, that he’s not quite as unaffected as he’s been pretending to be…

The sight makes you cum abruptly with a choked cry, hips thrusting faster and faster as your orgasm shoots up through your spine, the wet sounds growing noisier, as your pussy twitches and leaks an embarrassing amount of slick.

Your movements slow, as your orgasm finishes, leaving you to close your eyes again and catch your breath. Sukuna removes his foot, looking looking down at you and the juices that coat it.

“Eugh. God look what a mess you made.” Then he smirks deviously, gaze shifting to your mortified form, still reeling from your orgasm as you sit back. “I should make you clean your filth with your tongue.”

Your eyes widen to shoot him a look, already shaking your head when he laughs.

“Don’t worry. You should be grateful I’m not that sick.”

You don’t reply, just looking at him quietly, growing more and more aware by the second that your clitoral orgasm provided temporary reprieve just to heighten that horrible ache inside of you. Yet before you can even open your mouth to voice your concerns, he’s standing up.

“Where…are you going? That’s it??”

Sukuna stops in the doorway, shoulders loose, head tilted, and for a second—just a second—you think he might change his mind. Might turn around and give you something.

But then he snorts, sharp and derisive, slicing straight through your chest.

“Jesus,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Listen to yourself.”

He glances over his shoulder, and the look in his eyes is nasty—not the usual smug amusement, not even condescension. Just pure, unfiltered disgust.

“You’re still fucking dripping, aren’t you?” His lips curl in a sneer. “I already fed you, you don’t expect me to fuck you too, do you?” He laughs, slow and cruel. “God, you really have no fucking shame.”

Your face burns, humiliation crashing into you, but you refuse to let it show. You square your shoulders, jaw tightening. “You’re the one who—”

“You what? Made you?” His grin widens, something wicked in it. “Oh, come on, leech. Don’t be fucking pathetic. You were already soaking before I even touched you. You should be grateful I even let you rub yourself off on me like a stupid little parasite.”

He laughs again, shaking his head. His tone turns mocking, singsong. “Poor thing, all hot and needy, and still so fucking empty.”

Your nails dig into your palms. You hate him. You hate how much you want to hurt him. How much you want him to hurt you.

But most of all, you hate how easily he thinks he can win.

So you lift your head, tongue curling around something venomous. “Guess that makes two of us, huh?” you sneer.

Sukuna’s expression flickers—just a flicker—but you catch it. And it feeds you.

You hum, tilting your head, letting your gaze drop deliberately down his body before dragging it back up, slow, like you’re assessing him. “Or what, was that little act supposed to convince me you don’t want it just as bad?” You scoff, eyes glinting with something sharp and mean. “Please. You’re the one who gets hard over starving me out.”

His jaw tightens. Just a twitch. A flex of muscle. But you know him well enough to see it for what it is—annoyance.

Good.

“You act like you’re above it,” you murmur, voice like silk laced with barbed wire. “Like you don’t need it.” You shift, slowly stretching out your legs, like you aren’t still burning between them. “But I felt you, Sukuna.” Your voice dips, taunting. “I smelled you.”

His fingers twitch at his sides. You watch it, the way they flex—like he’s already imagining wrapping them around your throat.

But you’re not done.

“You like this just as much as I do.” Your smile sharpens. “No—probably more.”

A slow blink, a long inhale and then Sukuna’s lips curl again, his expression smoothing into something infuriatingly condescending.

“That’s cute,” he drawls. “Really. But let’s get one thing fucking straight—”

He moves before you can react, crouching down in front of you, one strong hand gripping your jaw. Hard. Forcing you to look at him.

“I could ruin you.” His voice is low, deadly. “Make you beg until your fucking throat is raw. And I still wouldn’t let you have it.”

His thumb brushes your bottom lip, a mockery of something tender.

“Because you don’t deserve it.”

Then, just as quickly, he shoves your face to the side.

“Oh, and—” He swipes his fingers through the mess between your thighs, then flicks it at you with a lazy smirk. “Clean yourself up,” he mutters, before sticking his fingers into his mouth and licking them clean of your arousal.

You don’t flinch, don’t let him see the way your breath shudders.

You just lift your chin, eyes locked onto his, and smile sweetly.

“Don’t forget to clean yourself up too,” you purr. “Can’t have you walking around smelling like me.”

He snarls—a real, actual snarl—but you only grin wider.

And then, with a final glare, he turns, disappearing into the bathroom.

Leaving you alone and aching.

^divider by kazicide

[troublcmakcrs]

//it's time for... the episode 😔