kallesque - Tumblr blog

kallesque

fuck around and find out

sideblog for reblogs, general incoherency, and some of my works. adult. main blog currently shadowbanned at https://kalopsisms.tumblr.com/

66 posts

Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.

Last Seen Blogs

ghostofthehell

SpeedDemon01

twilitdragoneye

Twilight in my eyes

tikhondownichi

IDIOT

smallbcarly

sbc

cookmyproject

CookMyProject

kallesque · 4 days

Text

Change of Pace - Dottore x reader

Note: Same reader as Tomorrow and all that. Approximately three weeks after 'Tomorrow'. "Fuck it all" *softens your Dottore*. I need this man to kiss my hand or I will murder someone. Keep this out of character ai bots or I'm sending you all Taenia solium eggs

Tags: fem reader, reader from Fontaine, burnout, overworked, soft, very mild gore (mentions taking brain samples), comfort, fluff, they're both bad at this

MINORS, AGELESS, BLANK BLOGS DNI

Your samples were long past saving by now. How long had you been staring at the plate containing the biopsies, twenty minutes? The light was burning through your vision, making everything swim in your mind. But it was needed for the fixation in the next step. If you ever made it that far.

Hours of work, wasted because of your own inability. The clatter caused by your head hitting the table echoed ruthlessly while you fought off images of a dismayed Dottore. One thing was anger, disappointment was another matter entirely.

Maybe doing tissue analysis of your own brain would've been more valuable, at least then someone might figure out what was wrong with it.

A hand wrapped around yours, gently prying open your fingers before taking the scissors away. Sight was unnecessary to discern the owner as only a single other warm body frequented this section. Your eyes remained shut, now empty hand feeling along the table for its previous quarry.

If nothing else, dead samples could still be used verify that the technicalities worked, even if the data would be misleading.

"You're barely lucid, in which case I'd prefer if this waited until tomorrow. You're supposed to be handling raimei angel extracts later in the protocol, and stunning yourself would be unfortunate," Dottore was clearly trying, voice so uncharacteristically gentle it felt all manners of wrong.

It only made you sigh in desperation, how hard he was trying compared to you, his dedication unwavering regardless of the objective he put forward.

"I'm fine, I just need a moment. You wanted the initial assessment this week," your voice was muffled enough that it would hopefully hide the exhaustion.

The low chuckle he let out caused a shiver to run down your spine. It was something he'd done more as of late, a pleasant change of pace since the talk. You could almost see the charming smile that would no doubt accompany it, the glittering light in eyes you'd been fortunate enough to glimpse once.

There was no time to open your eyes and check, a warm palm coming to rest on the back your head. The light tremble in his hands made your chest tighten so long as you imagined it to be caused by worry instead of damage.

"You've been staring at nothing for an hour, hardly the best use of your time, and certainly not an indication of someone who is 'fine'."

An hour? Oh, the samples were beyond salvageable if that was true. Everything would've died in the wells by now. A pit dug itself out in your heart, tearing at what had otherwise reluctantly been dedicated to the harbinger. Thoughts of disaster were many, magnitude rivaling divine intervention according to what little remained awake of your consciousness.

Dottore was tugging at your wrist, hand swallowing yours with ease. For being a scholar, his hands spoke of a much different past than others bearing the same title. Another question that would at other times stoke the embers of your curiosity.

Did he want you to stand? Begrudgingly, your body attempted to follow where he lifted your arm. At the feeling of warm lips pressed to your wrist your eyes flew open in disbelief. The visage was the closest to divinity you'd ever gaze upon, in this fact alone were you without doubt. From where you were, the light behind him formed a halo, illuminating his tousled hair. His eyes were closed in silent devotion for but a moment.

Without the beaked mask, he was a completely different man. The large burn that covered a quarter of his face drew your attention first, but it was the crinkles around his eyes that made him look so painfully human.

"You are in no condition to work, this can bear to wait a day or two," his voice remained steady, the only thing you could safely cling to, too lost in committing to memory what he showed of himself.

"Are you certain, Dottore? If I just… ninety minutes of rest, a full cycle should be enough and then I can start over. We still have-"

"We still have plenty of time, dear. I told you, this isn't my most pressing project, so working you to the brink of destruction would be folly."

And that was enough to pacify you. The fact that he'd used a term of endearment, however questionable the choice, kept you smiling through the familiar corridors of the Palace, tucked securely under his arm and away from view. Under any other circumstance, this would've felt humiliating, but for today there was no fight left, only a dull yearning that had tears prickling your eyes.

It never became more than dozing off against him on a couch in his chambers. But that was enough, the heat from his body and his low mumbling while he read from a book soothed your frayed nerves.

94 notes · View notes

kallesque · 13 days

Note

Could we get some Dottore x escaped experiment reader? Gn if possible, doesn't even have to be smut. I just can't find anything along those lines and I like your writing style :)

i. note — hehehoho i might have uuuhhh used this ask as an excuse to go off a lil and try something new teehee °ᗜ°) but this was really fun to write!! thank you nonnie for the suggestion, and thank you very much for liking my stuff enough to req something!!! i hope u all enjoy ii. includes — dottore, gn!reader iii. cw — unhealthy and toxic dynamics, no dialogue, mentions of cannibalism, mild body horror, one (1) dead body, not quite stockholm syndrome but maybe kinda, reader is a mess and dottore is not a good person (shocker). minors do not interact. iv. wc — 2k

To humans, running is what they do when they’re late to work, when they’re working out, or even when they’re playing games at recess as children. To predators, running is what they do in order to secure their next meal. To prey, running is what they must do so they can escape from the predator’s clutch in one piece, to not end up as a mangled corpse serving as someone or something’s food.

You have more in common with prey than you have with humans, despite being one yourself.

It hasn’t always been that way. One moment you were enjoying the warm afternoon sun of your home region out on a walk, and the other you found yourself thrown over someone’s shoulder with a bag over your head.

You always find yourself reminiscing, yearning to feel the warmth you felt that day— minus the incident. You used to be a model citizen; someone people would rely on.

A shame no one helped you when you desperately needed it.

Your own mind is all you’re left with, as you’re clumsily tripping over your feet, rocks scraping your skin and blood trickling down your legs. The feeling is almost peaceful; but after running for so long, and with how often you’ve gotten yourself in this exact situation, you’re starting to second guess your motive for running in the first place.

Is it a form of entertainment, are you growing bored of the four padded walls engulfing your five senses at all hours of the day that you feel the need to get the energy out of your body like a hamster does by using the wheel in its cage? Is it to leave the predicament you found yourself in after trusting someone you, under no circumstances, should have trusted?

Or is it because you gradually have come to find yourself sharing more similarities to a dog, begging its owner to even unenthusiastically throw a plastic frisbee for a smidge of attention to fulfill your need to be seen, to be heard, and now you feel the responsibility to own up to that label you inflicted upon yourself?

The lines between reality and your thoughts have blurred so much it frightens you.

...Or, rather, it should scare you. After spending so much time in your own head, one would find that it’s surprisingly easy to come to distrust your own mind. You’re not sure if you should believe what goes through your head, even less believe what you feel. But at the same time, you’re all you have. You have no choice but to trust yourself, even when you shouldn’t.

Only a select few are aware of how dreadfully strong and outright stubborn the human mind can be, whether it be from their own personal experience or from seeing others slip into a state like yours.

Unfortunately for you, He’s familiar with your situation. Painfully familiar.

…

Sometimes you wish you were a luna moth. Delicate and radiant, people would be torn between praising you for your beauty and shunning you away for the crime of looking different than what they’re used to. You wouldn’t be a butterfly, would not conform to what society wants you to be. You would be able to be who you want, look however you want to without worrying over other’s opinions.

The people that did like you, though, would treat you with care and would do everything in their power to make your stay in this world a pleasant one. A stay that would only last a week.

Not long enough for you to become familiar with the horrors that await humanity. Seven days filled with nothing but genuine smiles, void of empty promises.

You’d crawl out of your cocoon, eat good food, find someone to help continue your bloodline, then die somewhere peaceful and hope that your crumbling, decomposing body will bring relief to someone desperately needing something to eat.

But you’re not a moth.

…

It’s unbearably cold when you come to your senses. Peeling your eyes open, you glance around to find yourself surrounded by cold limestone, barely illuminated by the cave’s entrance just a few feet away. The hairs on your skin rise from the wind guiding snow through the passageway, making you curl into yourself in a pathetic attempt to keep your body’s temperature from dropping too low.

You look down at yourself; your pants are ripped at the hem, and you see messy splotches of brownish red staining the fabric and your skin, going all the way down to your calloused feet. You’re not sure how long you’ve been out for, but it must have been at least an hour given how the bleeding from the numerous scratches and gashes on your legs stopped without any assistance.

The cave felt completely foreign to you, but even then, it brought you more comfort than He had. Or at least you think it does.

You feel free. Despite the way your body shivered endlessly from the wind howling into the cavern, despite the dull but searing pain that made it feel like your feet were scorching that traveled up your legs, despite the way you couldn’t move your lips from how dry and cracked they were, split from sheer cold.

You think this is the most freedom you’ve felt since you’ve gotten yourself stuck in His maw.

...

The wind is reduced to a soft, soothing melody when you wake up again. Almost calming enough for you to drift off to sleep a second time, but a nagging feeling in the depths of your gut told you that it was a bad idea to fall unconscious this time around, so you try to shake off the numbness in your limbs instead of succumbing to the call of the void.

Standing up proves to be a challenge as your legs buckle under your weight. You catch yourself before you fall, holding onto the rough formation of a rogue stalagmite; it’s a struggle to hold yourself up, but at the very least you didn’t give yourself a concussion.

The pain isn’t completely unwelcome, though. Your feet are throbbing, and the palm of your hand holding yourself up with the help of the stalagmite stings. As you blink the drowsiness away and the blood begins to flow through your limbs correctly again, you straighten your back to take in your surroundings properly.

The cave’s entrance was filled with thick snow. There was enough that it would reach your stomach should you walk up to it, ignoring the snow that fell into the grotto, and not the snow that partly obscured your way to the outside world. You can’t see much outside, only the faint outline of pine trees wavering in the distance, far enough that you can only barely make out their form.

Looking away from the blinding whites outside, you notice how utterly desolate the cavern is. Not even a single trace of a life was left behind in this cold, worn hollow. Maybe it’s better this way. You’re not sure you would have appreciated seeing even a wild hare or a fox in here, much less a bear.

Sitting down on the rocky ground again to give your legs a break, you take a moment to think back to what got you here in the first place.

You faintly recall rusty medical equipment, convulsing organs, and seeing Him jot down notes. You remember a plate being handed to you, the vague image of a man covered by a stained sheet of what used to be white, and the bile that rose to your throat when your gaze focused on what was on the plate itself.

Everyone knew the Doctor was a twisted man, but you doubted He was twisted enough to force someone to cannibalize one of their peers.

Clearly, you were wrong.

Then, you remember making a mad dash for the thick iron doors of his laboratory. By the grace of god, you were able to leave; and you now found yourself in this desolate cavern, tucked away from civilization.

As far as you were aware of.

But you shouldn’t trust your mind. You knew this, yet you also knew not to trust yourself when you told yourself you couldn’t trust yourself. Simultaneously believing in logic and being a mess of paradoxical jargon— it exhausted you to think about. So you try not to.

Whether by a stroke of bad luck or because of something else entirely, your dull sense of hearing picks up the faint sound of snow crunching beneath boots. Your hands and legs scramble to take you where you can hide as much of yourself as you can behind a rock formation, and you stare out of the cave’s entrance, holding your breath.

The sound becomes louder. An almost gentle woosh noise accompanies the scrunch of snow, and soon after it stops, you’re able to make out a blurry figure approaching the cave’s entrance. The icy flakes make way for Him at His command, hand waving to get rid of what was keeping you physically separated from Him.

The pure white snow behind His body glinted off his intricate accessories, the light forming a halo so otherworldly that it left you utterly breathless.

His boots make a soft clicking noise against the limestone as He steps into the grotto, your safe haven for however long you had been here— now not. Not a single word left His lips as he assessed your rugged appearance.

You wish He would smite you right then and there. He was most likely able to, and with ease, but you doubt He would willingly discard one of his longest-running experiments for disobeying a rule that you had broken many times before anyways.

Your jittery gaze follows His movements as He outstretches His arm, offering you a gloved hand, silent.

Did he know how much you simultaneously trusted and distrusted your own judgement? You stare at His hand, unmoving, heart racing against your ribcage— torn between bolting away, into the darkness of the cave, or intertwining your fingers with His, allowing Him to take you away voluntarily.

This was mercy either way. You could either die at the hands of whatever lurked in the shadows of the grotto, or you could die at the hands of the man that brought you so much pain it morphed into comfort, solace. He stood, unmoving. Observing you.

You knew Him well enough to know that He was taking mental notes on your behavior even now, outside of the familiar comfort of his lab in Haeresys.

Both options were foolish, but you weren’t exactly known to be in the sanest state of mind.

Pulling your arms away from your body, you bring a shaky hand up to take ahold of His, allowing Him to pull you up to your feet. You almost fall as a result of your nerves, but thanks to His quick reflexes you find yourself tucked in his arms, cheek pressed up against His navy cravat. The hand that wasn’t holding yours comes up to pat your head, gently untangling the knots that had formed in your hair. You melt into His touch, eyes fluttering shut to bask in the warmth He provided.

As you stand there with Him, knees weak, body upheld by His will alone, you shove down the thoughts that brew in the forefront of your mind. Usually you would welcome the noise, even be grateful that you, at the very least, had yourself to lean on. But you find yourself wishing to lean on Him more than yourself, both literally and metaphorically, keening at the comfort He brought you.

You knew you couldn’t trust your mind, so why not trust His instead? If you couldn’t rely on your own instincts, judgement or thoughts, then how bad would it truly be to let someone other than you become fully responsible for your wellbeing?

...

You were neither a moth nor human.

You were a dog.

47 notes · View notes

kallesque · 13 days

Text

Tomorrow - Dottore x reader

Note: Dottore isn't his usual self here, I'm aware. This is meant to be with my so far unknown to everyone OC, but this scenario fits x reader format. Written in Tumblr drafts as I lay in bed. Keep this out of character ai bots or I'm sending Trypanosoma brucei after you.

Tags: comfort?, soft, gn reader, skin to skin contact happens twice that's it, they are not in a romantic relationship (yet), pining

MINORS, AGELESS, BLANK BLOGS DNI

You'd never had reason to set foot in The Second's chambers, had never imagine you would either. It made the intimacy of this moment far greater than you cared to process. He was heavy when he leaned against your smaller frame, one arm slung across your shoulders for support.

Both of you remained quiet while Dottore fumbled with his keys, your eyes flickering to his gloved hand. It still trembled. How long had he been awake by now?

It had been at least four days since the door to his laboratory had been open to anyone but his segments. Not even you had been allowed in, a sentiment that made everyone uneasy. And he despised sleeping in there.

It had always infuriated you how he failed to maintain his own body. The act should theoretically hold the same value as any other system maintenance. Theory and practise rarely aligned, a fact you knew by heart.

A gentle nudge against your shoulder set your body in motion, pushing open the door and leading your superior inside.

It had a surprisingly homely feel to it, causing your steps to falter briefly as you looked around. Most of the furniture was fashioned from dark wood, creating an almost intimate feeling. Shelves filled with books lined the walls, an occasional ornament lingering amongst the tomes.

His desk looked well worn, polish having long since matted. A smile tugged at your lips, it resembled him in many ways.

Your musings were cut short when Dottore shifted his weight, pulling away from your body with a slight groan. His hands rubbed at his lower back, a habit you'd observed despite countless claims that nothing somatic was ailing him.

"Don't"

It was a simple command, his voice a little rougher than usual. The fact that he hadn't asked you to leave threw you off.

"Is there anything you need, Doctor?"

Dottore mumbled something under his breath, making you sigh in defeat. Even now, undoubtedly at his weakest point in a long time, there was no real aid for you to provide.

Uncomfortable with merely standing around, you went to draw the curtains, leaving only a tiny crack for natural light to enter. It made the situation worse, heat pooling in your gut at the sheer familiarity of the gesture.

Dottore had sunk to his knees when you turned back around. His face was pressed into the edge of the mattress, the characteristic mask discarded on the ground.

His hair had grown to an unruly length. When had he become this unkempt? Your fingers itched to run through those locks.

"Doctor, if there's nothing I can do, I'll take my leave"

The gloves had been discarded as well. No matter how many times you saw his hands it didn't ease the sting behind your eyes. It looked painful. Burnt skin, thin scars, and crooked fingers all spoke of a past best buried. His back straightened at the sound of your voice.

"Tomorrow. It'll be finished tomorrow"

A cryptic message, but you didn't feel like prodding. Not with how he seemed to dwindle in the darkness. His hands moved to unbutton the blue shirt, letting it unceremoniously fall to the ground.

"Okay?"

Your feet carried you closer against your will. The curiosity he praised you for would forever remain a curse.

His skin looked ashen. A trick of the light no doubt, that much should be logical. It didn't help the unease feeling spreading through you.

"Come by tomorrow. The laboratory. I must show you."

With every word his shoulders slumped further. He was as muscular as you'd expected, perhaps even more so with how little sustenance you saw him consume.

Objectively, he was beautiful. Subjectively, you could hardly process the sight. Outstretched hand already reaching towards him. He tensed when your palm made contact, his skin surprisingly warm.

Scars ran across his shoulders and back, oh how you yearned to map them and hear their stories. His was a life lived.

In a moment of folly, you pressed your lips to his shoulder, feeling it rise with the sharp intake of breath.

"Tomorrow then."

You left his chambers with practised nonchalance, your gait a mirror of The Second's. You could still taste his skin on your lips. Had your faith been intact, you would have prayed tomorrow never came. Tonight would have been enough.

#il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore #zandik #dottore x reader #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact #oh GORGEOUS

89 notes · View notes

kallesque · 15 days

Text

aaahhhh….. crowttore x cat hybrid!reader ft a segment-core……….the brainrot is taking over me

46 notes · View notes

kallesque · 16 days

Photo

Game Concept: JRPG set in the US but the developers know nothing about America

67K notes · View notes

kallesque · 16 days

Text

no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part seven: in which the obscenely wealthy resident makes himself a permanent fixture to your list of problems, even after you find comfort in the normality of Snezhnaya's city (and its firewater)

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will most likely not be romantic interests)

notes: cuz i set fire to the rain but rain won't fucking catch fire fuck's sake (slowburn), gn neutral sarcastic legend sick of ppl's bs reader, slightly suggestive

series masterlist

author's notes: *throws this chapter at u like its crumbs and ur pigeons on the pavement*

reblog the crumbs my pigeons <3

word count: 5134 words

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚*

Snezhnaya was so cold. Bitingly, piercingly, mercilessly cold. But the city was warmer, more welcoming. Despite the icy wasteland surrounding it, the rows of shops and frosted-over streetlights boasted an almost friendly atmosphere, tinny music trickling through the cracks of some of the doors and stalls advertising ‘the greatest hot chocolate ever sold!’. Childe took hold of your hand under the guise of not wanting to lose you when you passed through a particularly busy street, but neglected to let go even after the crowd dispersed. You let him, and dragged him into a cosy bookstore piled high with well-loved stories. He insisted on carrying every book you chose while you browsed, following you through the shelves with hardcovers piled high in his arms, leading the owner of the shop to shoot the two of you a knowing glance you didn’t particularly like. A clothes shop nestled into a corner also caught your eye, and after a pleasant half hour of perusing the finest selection of furs and suits and dresses you’d ever seen you left with a brand new cloak to replace your lost one, black with silver clasps and a fur trim that would have been expensive enough to haunt you for a week or so, if Childe hadn’t sneakily paid for it the moment you picked it up. He led you to the city’s landmarks; the frozen fountains and an ice rink you refused to step onto, and you even let him drag you into a tavern.

“Eleven, please. I’m far from a good drinking partner.” Your protest sounded weak even to your own ears; you were quite curious to try the infamous Snezhnayan firewater, and the tavern was wonderfully warm.

“Don’t shoot it ‘til you’ve tried it,” he cheerfully replied, pulling you through the door by your joined hands and steering you towards a table near the window. The place was rowdier than you’d expected; a bard sang and danced on a tabletop, strumming a ukulele while the clattering of coins hitting the surface melded with the people’s laughter and clapping hands. You were reminded of the irresponsible, green-clad bard from Mondstadt who’d avoided you at every turn yet shone onstage. Before you knew it, you were laughing and knocking back a drink yourself, leaning back in your seat and letting your voice join the cheers and chatter. Childe marvelled at how much more relaxed you were outside of the palace, the tenseness in your shoulders gone and the sceptical furrow between your brows softened, one arm hooked around the back of your chair while you swirled your drink with the other hand.

“Say, Eleven,” you half-yelled to be heard over the ruckus. “What possessed you to join this Archons-forsaken association?”

“Quickest way to become a better fighter.”

You laughed under your breath, downing the rest of your drink. No more for you tonight, that was certain; pleasantly tipsy was one thing but you were far from keen on being flat-out drunk.

“Is that so?” You quipped back, appraising him thoughtfully. “You know, Eleven, I’ve heard some gut-churning things about you,” you mused, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the table. “That you’re a bloodthirsty maniac. A murderous villain. That your only home is the battlefield.”

His breath caught in his throat. Here you were, tearing out any last semblances of goodness he still thought he had and laying them before him, tattered and bleeding. And you did it all with that small, thoughtful smile. The ambience of the tavern flickered like a faulty speaker, his ears filling with anxious static.

“I think you’re more than half-decent, though.” Alcohol certainly loosened tongues. The cacophony of the bar came rushing back.

You stacked a few coins on the table to pay for your drink, heedless of the relief coursing through his veins like the most potent drug. You knew. He didn’t know how, but you knew about the savagery lurking so near to the surface of the charm that had once come so naturally to him but now took an effort to maintain, and you didn’t hate him for it. More than half-decent. You might as well have called him a prince. He felt giddy, drunk on your praise.

Breaking out of his trance, he firmly pushed your mora back in your direction and paid for the drinks himself despite your objections. You bickered over the matter the entire trek back to the palace, settling into the easy familiarity of squabbling back and forth with him. He accompanied you to the dining hall, too, claiming he had nothing to do at all even though Pierro was getting impatient at the lack of progress he’d made on tracking the Geo Gnosis; after all, what significance did godhood hold compared to you and the divine splendour of your laughter?

You found Arlie idling just outside. Preposterous, that she’d be reduced to dawdling around in hopes to see you, but there she was nonetheless, with the last plate of your favourite dessert that she’d snagged before a poor recruit could get his hands on it to boot. All damning evidence of her budding affection. Pleasantly surprised to see her, you made to introduce her to Childe.

“Oh, Arlie! I didn’t expect to see you today.”

She and Childe’s gazes met over the top of your head, the latter stupefied at seeing one of the most high-ranking Harbingers being referred to so casually, and by you, upholder of titles, no less, while the former shot him a formidable glare that warned him to hold his tongue lest she rip it out for him. She nodded shortly at your introduction.

“Childe and I are familiar.”

You hummed and pursed your lips. Surely this was ample confirmation that she was a Harbinger.

“Lovely, we’re all friends here then,” you said with just a touch of sardonic humour. “Why don’t we take lunch together?” You suggested, mostly as a way to further observe their dynamic and gather more evidence to support your theory. Arlie handed you the plate without ceremony.

“I’ve already had lunch, but I’d be happy to accompany you.” Even if she found Childe exuberantly foolish.

“I could eat,” Childe seconded, slinging an arm around your shoulders, not missing the way you beamed at her little gift.

Thus you found yourself seated under a gazebo in the palace gardens, pointedly ignoring the strained tension between your two companions while you admired the snow you’d once lamented and contentedly ate the berries from your pavlova. What a funny situation. You weren’t quite sure how you’d ended up befriending two higher-ups from a supposedly dangerous organisation and willingly spending time in their company over a plate of such exquisite dessert, but you supposed life had a way of being funny like that.

“Do enlighten me as to how the two of you know each other,” you said, waving your spoon vaguely. They let an ear-splitting silence fall, tense and rigid. You pointedly ignored the on-edge atmosphere, taking another bite of your pavlova.

“Well?” You prompted.

Childe clenched his teeth momentarily. “We were assigned on the same mission this reconnaissance cycle.” Arlie offered a non-committal hum of agreement.

“Interesting. And why is it that you seem on the verge of lunging at each other with the intent of causing as much bodily harm as possible?” You asked in a deceptively innocent tone. Childe wished you weren’t so clever sometimes, while Arlie turned her head away to hide her smile.

“Enough about us,” she interjected, leaning forward slightly to adjust the insignia you had pinned to the shoulder of your new cloak. “Tell me how you liked the city.”

“Snezhnayan firewater certainly lives up to its reputation for being extremely potent,” you replied with a shrug, setting aside your empty plate. “And Lord Eleven has similarly scandalous reputation outside the palace,” you added slyly, just to push his buttons. A bit of payback for not telling the truth about how he knew Arlie.

He choked on air. “What?”

Arlie raised an eyebrow. “What, indeed. Care to explain, Childe?”

“Not really,” he responded airily, tugging at his collar and clearing his throat. One advantage of Arlecchino being disguised like this was that he could somewhat safely dodge her authority under the guise of protecting her alibi.

Childe was saved from describing the reason for his less-than-ideal reputation when a young recruit, barely eighteen from the looks of it, came marching hurriedly towards you. Apparently the Director of the Harbingers himself was requesting Childe’s presence, and he left with more than a little reluctance and a wave goodbye. Arlie watched him rush off and allowed herself a moment’s satisfaction at the timely intervention. You touched her shoulder to catch her attention again, a small leather box in hand.

“I bought you something from the city,” you said, offering it to her. She stared at it in silence for so long you feared you might have offended her, when really her mind was spinning with the implications of you buying her a gift.

You swallowed nervously. She still hadn’t accepted the gift from your outstretched hand, staring blankly at the little box.

“Do you not want it?”

“I do,” she all but snapped, finally taking it. “I was… surprised, is all.”

A four-leafed brooch lay inside, gleaming black metal inlaid with red gemstones that glittered as they caught the light.

Her silence left you a little nervous, and you found yourself rambling uncharacteristically to fill it. “The merchant was adamant that it’s crafted entirely from the finest silver, but I didn’t test it in the lab yet. But I can confirm that the jewels have a purity of at least seventy five percent, and it’ll fetch a handsome bit of mora if you choose to sell it”-

“Thank you. It’s…” Stunning? Lovely? Beautiful? Arlecchino was truly at a loss for words, and fought not to stare at you. What a warming thought, that you’d spotted a little trinket and your mind had conjured her as a recipient for a gift. How lovely, to think that she occupied your thoughts enough to become a regular visitor. “It’s exceptionally well-made.”

You beamed. “I’m glad to hear that. You seem to prefer black and white clothing, I think the red will serve as a striking contrast.”

“Indeed,” she agreed mechanically, offering you the barest hint of a smile. You could tell her the sun rose in the west and paper was inflammable and she’d probably agree at that moment. A part of her despised how much power that gave you. You took out your pocket watch.

“Ah, perhaps we should go back inside,” you suggested, rising from the bench and brushing away the layer of snow on your shoulders. “According to my observations, the temperature drops quite rapidly at around this time, and I have a few letters to write.”

Arlie quickly excused herself once inside the palace (to ruminate alone over her gift), leaving you to take a pile of your best parchment and a pot of your smoothest, most pigmented ink to the Regrator’s library. It took a moment of fumbling with your stationery to kneel and get the door open, but the sight within was as rewarding as it had been the last time you stumbled upon the place; bathed in the late afternoon’s pale golden light, the fire crackling merrily and glinting off the silver etched into the bookshelves, chairs comfortable and inviting. You gladly dropped into one of them, sighing contentedly as the plush leather enveloped you, and began penning addresses onto envelopes with magnificent blue and purple quill you’d received from your friends as a graduation gift. You still didn’t know where such a large, vibrantly coloured feather could have come from.

Sumeru – Sumeru City – The Akademiya – Scribe Alhaitham

Mondstadt – Mondstadt City – Mona Megistus

Inazuma – Watatsumi Island – Sangonomiya Kokomi

Liyue – Wangsheng Funeral Parlour – Director Hu Tao

Fontaine – Opera Epiclese – Duellist Clorinde

With some reluctance, you also marked an envelope Inazuma, Narukami Shrine for Yae Miko. The contract you’d signed all those years ago to provide her publishing house with what she called ‘light novels’ would never end.

How far-flung your friends seemed, scattered throughout Teyvat with seemingly no rhyme or reason. Maybe you’d take to travelling again once your diploma was finished, a vacation of sorts to see everyone … You filed that thought away for later contemplation.

For a while, the only sounds in the library were the scratching of your quill on parchment, the slight rattling of the stained glass windows as the late afternoon breeze whooshed by and… faint talking? You frowned slightly, glancing up from your writing. Two voices, vaguely familiar and gradually rising in volume; an argument, then. How irritating. You ignored it for as long as you could, until the shouting was clearly decipherable and loud enough to make your quill pause every few sentences to rearrange your thoughts (you and Lisa’s correspondence was mainly in the form of original poetry, and the distraction was making it even more difficult to find a rhyme for ‘Harbinger’.) The noise grew unbearable, and with an aggravated huff you left your things laying on the armchair to ascertain the source and perhaps ask them to quiet down.

Honestly. People’s utter disregard for a library’s rules is intolerable.

After spending some time weaving through the towering bookshelves and past iced-over windows, angry voices growing louder and louder, you finally located the culprits.

It seemed you wouldn’t be asking anyone to quiet down, considering the argument was between Signora and the Regrator. Just your luck, really. Resigned to sealing the envelopes and finalising the calculations of your lab report back at the dorm, you turned to leave only for them to fall silent.

“(Name?)”

You cursed under your breath and pivoted on your heel to face the mortifying situation you’d found yourself in.

“My lord, my lady,” you managed after a strained moment of trying to collect yourself. “I heard shouting”- Signora and the Regrator shot each other a heated glare- “and thought it might be wise to investigate.” You conveniently left out the part where you’d gotten so riled up that you were quite prepared to admonish whoever it was. They didn’t need to know that.

“Nothing to worry about,” the Regrator assured smoothly, brushing invisible dust off his shoulders. He wore velvet today, supple and sophisticated, while Signora sported a lavish fur collar that she angrily swept back around her neck. You had to admit her elegance indisputably came naturally to her; even with her face twisted into a frown and no one to impress, she still radiated an effortless air of refinement and superiority.

The Regrator was different. Those endless eyes, that deliberate half-smile, his tasteful-bordering on-excessive attire, the guarded disposition… all of it hinted at a man who’d started low and clawed his way to the top. You were willing to bet he still had the blood under his fingernails to prove it, and wondered if it haunted him at all. There wasn’t any hint of remorse in his polished smile or fathomless eyes. An apprehensive shiver ran up your spine, and you averted your gaze.

“If you’ll excuse me”-

“No, no. Sit down, little one, we could use a mediator,” Signora cut in, gesturing towards an empty chair with a tilt of her head, never once breaking the intense glare she pointed at the Regrator. You sighed, thinking of your yet-to-be-delivered letters and the lab report that still needed writing.

“As much as I’d love to act as the referee for your dispute”- the Regrator had to suppress a genuine laugh at your carefully derisive wording, while Signora let an imperceptible, fond smile take over her face- “I’m afraid I have some rather urgent matters to attend to.”

“Surely not so urgent that you’d risk upsetting us?”

How he managed to sound so innocent yet sly was beyond you. The mischievous slant of his lips betrayed the true intention behind his deceptively benign tone; to embarrass its recipient for his own entertainment. Not to mention how breaching etiquette felt akin to throwing yourself to the sharks when it came to him. Something about the Regrator exuded propriety and demanded a similar demeanour to be maintained, unlike the rest of the Harbingers around whom a certain degree of sarcasm could safely be upheld; Childe could even be described as friendly, and despite the Doctor’s terrible reputation and a justifiable ego thanks to his unparalleled intellect your mutual inclination towards scientific progress made him more approachable, while Signora had yet to berate you for any lapse in politeness, instead regarding you with a sharp smile and an air of superiority that made it quite clear to you that she found you funny. Demeaning, really.

Still, your current problem was how to escape the cage of social obligation Regrator had managed to weave.

“I’m afraid so, Lord Regrator,” you confirmed drily, offering him and Signora a shallow bow. “Here’s to hoping your dispute comes to a swift and satisfying end.”

You moved to leave, gladdened by your evidently inoffensive departure. He couldn’t have that, of course; you’d caught his interest and he’d decided to indulge in his curiosity.

“Allow me to join you,” he proposed, falling into step next to you. Signora let out a very audible tsk. You couldn’t help but agree with her.

“I really don’t think that’ll be necessary”-

“Many of the best things in life aren’t,” he responded, guiding you towards the door with a hand on your back. Annoyed by him trying to steer you, you sped up and went to collect the letters; the Regrator, undeterred by how you’d shrugged away his touch, took the stack of envelopes from you. Wary of accepting any help from a Harbinger, you attempted to retrieve them with an array of pleasantries such as ‘there’s really no need, I can carry them myself’ and ‘you’re really too kind’.

To no avail; in the end, he even managed to nick your satchel right off your shoulder and carry it the entire way back to your dorm, much to your embarrassment. You supposed it was only polite to invite him inside, not that you’d expected him to graciously accept your invitation and make himself comfortable in the armchair across the fireplace. You didn’t miss the way his fingers traced the patches of embroidery you’d painstakingly made along the seams, rows of tiny colourful flowers stitched for the purpose of improving your dexterity before a particularly finicky experiment and maybe even to leave a mark of your stay here; the fact he’d noticed them at all indicated an impressive attention to detail that made you wonder what else might stand out to him about your living space. Perhaps he found your accommodations excessively modest. The thought amused you no end; a rich boy out of his depth would never not be funny, after all. He seemed utterly at ease, though, content to watch you shed your new cloak and pick out leaves and cups for tea without any conversation, those dark eyes following your every move.

“You’re staring quite intently, my lord,” you remarked, handing him a cup of tea and wrapping your gloved fingers around your own.

“Beauty should be appreciated, no?”

You laughed under your breath, hoping you weren’t blushing at such a clichéd line. “I suppose I walked into that one,” you conceded, resting your weight against the edge of your desk and wondering how best to broach the topic of why he accepted your invitation to come inside. He smiled and lifted the teacup to his lips, as if aware of your internal dilemma. You cursed every aspect of his polished personality for making you feel like you had to be especially polite.

“Is the tea to your liking?”

“Delectable,” he assured. That vexing half-smile on his face was starting to get on your nerves; it was as though he was contemplating something awfully hilarious about your countenance that you weren’t aware of.

You offered him a nod of acknowledgement, turning to sort through the pages upon pages of calculations you’d made for your next experiment. It pertained to the various elemental crystals that apparently gave Vision holders extra power; a relatively recent discovery you’d made in your last year at the Akademiya and one you were quite proud of. It still needed further testing before you could guarantee the benefits of using them and how to do so, but the theoretical efficiency you’d calculated was very high at a whopping ninety-four point seven per cent. You really were quite proud of this potential breakthrough, and were excited to share it with the Doctor, someone who’d appreciate the complexities of an experiment even before it came to fruition. Maybe you’d gift Childe a gemstone of the Varunada Lazurite variety after the testing stage was concluded, since he was so incessantly obsessed with improving his combat prowess. You doubted Arlie’s illusionary magic would benefit from such a crystal, though. It didn’t quite shock you as much as it should’ve that you were so casually thinking of gifting a Harbinger something, as though you were friends. Perhaps you did consider them friends. Your brows furrowed infinitesimally. How bizarre.

The Regrator interrupted your musings with a slight laugh.

“I must know what’s on your mind to have such a puzzled expression cross your face.”

Embarrassed by his scrutiny, you cleared your throat and neatly stacked your paperwork into the wooden case to avoid looking at those eyes.

“Nothing at all,” you insisted. “Just my research.”

It was becoming a familiar lie.

“Well then, do enlighten me,” he said, peering up at you over his glasses. You paused in the act of rewriting a horribly complex chemical equation with the correct stoichiometric ratios. You couldn’t believeyou’d made such a foolish mistake, and you grimaced at the thought of the ridicule you would’ve no doubt received from the Doctor if you ended up submitting it.

“I doubt it’ll be of much interest to you, my lord.”

“I suspect I may surprise you yet,” he replied, gazing up at you expectantly.

You drummed your fingers against the wooden surface of your desk, deep in thought. From your perspective, common sense dictated that you should not under any circumstances share the details of your research lest someone apply for a patent of the invention before you, and thus take all the credit for the discovery. You suppressed a shudder of revulsion at the thought. No, the Regrator was not to be trusted with the minutiae of your research.

Celestia’s sake, he’s a banker. He’s not to be trusted, period!

You turned to face him, the beginnings of an idea just barely discernible in the quirk of your brows, the smile on your lips that was a little too devious to be written off as merely polite.

“Why not enlighten me with details about your work instead?”

You sly little trickster.

He surveyed you with a half-smile not unlike the one on your own face, impressed by your deflection.

“Hm. Seems we’ve hit an impasse,” he remarked, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in the armchair, the picture of immovable and infuriatingly self-assured calm. A side effect of being rich, you supposed, watching him get comfortable with mental sigh. You’d hoped he’d be on his way soon; evidently that would not be the case. “We’re both unwilling to part with the secrets of our trade.”

“Yes, quite,” you agreed with a laugh you couldn’t suppress. It was amusing to think that the Regrator, a man who obviously dealt in meticulously worded phrases with a penchant for hiding his true intentions behind walls of elegance, was being forced to get straight to the point with no purposeful stalling whatsoever. Because of you, no less. Oddly enough, he found himself not quite as incensed as he would’ve expected at being the subject of your hilarity. Perhaps that had something to do with how agreeable mirth looked on you, softening the ever-present suspicion even if only for a moment.

What an interesting little thing you were turning out to be.

He watched as your eyes began to wander in the silence that followed, first to your window and the glowing flowers sprouting from the cracks around it, then to the fire in the hearth where it lingered for a little longer, along the walls, tracing the silver lines engraved on them, before finally resting on his hand. He wondered which of his many rings you were so fixated on.

“Perhaps we should both retire for the night, my lord,” you suggested, tearing your gaze away from the diamond ring you were still quite interested in testing. He raised his eyebrows, his smile turning devious.

“What, together? I didn’t think you were so forward, (Name.)”

You almost wished his insinuation was lost on you. It wasn’t, tragically, and you had to contend with the mortifying ordeal of flushing crimson and briefly debating on whether to say the first thing that came to mind, if nothing else to rile him up as much as he did you (‘Well, I wouldn’t oppose to the idea unless you did.’)

Damned banker and his damned dirty mind…

His fingers were still running over your little garden of embroidered flowers, eyes crinkling ever so slightly at the corners from the wideness of his smile. Abandoning any semblance of courtesy, you opened the door and gestured pointedly at him to leave. Your fear of the Harbingers seemed inconsequential compared to the sheer magnitude of the frustration they caused you. You could only maintain a façade of perfect grace for so long, after all.

“With all due respect, my lord”- (how wonderful you sounded without anything to filter your opinion of him in that moment. Even if said opinion was decidedly negative) – “I’d like you to leave. You’re disturbing me. And there’s a cursed redox apparatus I need to wake up at an ungodly hour to check on.” You muttered the last part testily under your breath, dragging a hand down your face and lamenting the fact you hadn’t waited until later to set it up.

“Come, now. Surely you won’t just kick me out like this?” Regrator implored, sounding more relaxed than upset. “The night is young. Let us at least have a proper conversation.”

How you longed to understand why he insisted on pestering you. Surely he had better things to do. Although, you mused to yourself as you openly sized him up, maybe he’ll leave if I talk to him. Just for a while.

“What would you have us speak of?” You asked wryly, folding your legs to perch cross-legged on your desk chair. “It doesn’t seem likely that we’ll find a shared topic of interest.”

“Why ever not?” He returned, raising his eyebrows. “Do you have such a negative impression of me that you think I can’t keep up with you in conversation?”

“Of course not. I never implied that, my lord.”

He laughed at your swift denial. Clearly you were still apprehensive of his status as a Harbinger, not that he blamed you.

“I hear you’ve received an invitation to the annual gala.”

Your face contorted at the reminder, brows drawing inwards and a frown tugging your lips further away from a smile as your jaw tensed.

“Ah, yes. I’d almost forgotten about that. Lady Eight was so kind as to invite me.” Your real meaning was clear despite the unwavering civility of your words: Lady Eight could very well eat her left shoe. Beautiful women can really get away with anything, you mused to yourself.

“Yet you seem less than overjoyed by the situation,” he remarked, sliding one of his rings up and down his finger as he watched you.

With a sigh, you rested your elbows on your knees and your chin in your hands, proper posture be damned to the lowest ring of hell. “It’s just not my scene, I suppose.”

“Uncomfortable with large crowds of people?”

You scowled at the floor in response to his mocking tone. “Displeased by the public’s general idiocy, more like,” you muttered under your breath, hating the Regrator just a little more for coaxing you into revealing your weakness then taunting you for it.

The Regrator was beginning to think that he enjoyed your scorn even more than your artificial flattery. He’d be hard-pressed to think of a more artful way ridicule his opponent in a verbal altercation without being too direct and ruining the element of subtlety he so valued.

“But you’ll still be attending, no?”

“Unless divine intervention occurs for the first time in this century, yes, I will.”

“Good, good,” he all but purred, relaxing even further back in the armchair. You glowered at the floor. Your armchair. That he was sitting in. He effectively snapped you out of your trance of gradually building wrath with his next question.

“Would you do me the honour of a dance, when the gala does roll around?”

It took a moment of unconvinced staring for you to realise that he was, in fact, being serious.

“If you insist, my lord.” You were confident in your ability to sneak off and prevent such a thing from ever happening, in the unlikely scenario that he even remembered. He smiled entirely too cunningly for your liking, as though he knew exactly what you were planning. You shook off the feeling, rising to your feet when he did the same and throwing a mental celebration when he made his way to the door.

“Let’s not make this our last conversation,” were his parting words before he left. You consoled yourself with the fact that speaking to the Regrator was intellectually stimulating if nothing else, what with having to constantly dodge his questions and avoid offending him too much while making sure your own pride didn’t end up bruised. A raven warbled outside your window, and you cracked the window open despite the sigh of frigid air that sneaked its way into the room to feed it.

“Hello there, pretty,” you murmured, scattering an array of seeds and nuts across the windowsill and watching as the raven, one of the flock you’d so tenuously befriended, hopped across the stone and pecked at your offerings. You hadn’t expected them to be so open to human interaction, but the ravens were quite comfortable with waking you at dawn with their incessant squawking and arriving at your window in a flurry of black feathers to demand more food. You liked them, with all their melancholy glory and sharp little eyes and the symbolism of death they were so often associated with. There were worse visitors clad in ebony to have, you decided, an image of the Regrator appearing in your mind’s eye.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚*

cult members taglist peeps: @viridian-coffer, @vvzhyxx, @darifes, @whore-of-many-hot-men, @aenishas, @love13tter, @crownohomo, @redcherrypineapple

if you want to be added or removed then please reply to this post or the series masterlist post !!

127 notes · View notes

kallesque · 19 days

Text

frankly this whole plagiarism thing sapped my motivation to write today... i guess it works out because my exams start up soon but damn. slinking back to my corner of the void, i think.

#♡. fiddler on the roof

4 notes · View notes

kallesque · 19 days

Text

hey, chosodolls deactivated! thank you to everyone who helped me to reblog/commented, the kind words were very very appreciated after a rough day. i'm still appalled that they merely deactivated without even apologising (i'd directly messaged them about it earlier) but i'll take what i can get, i suppose. 💀

i don't know for sure, but i'm pretty sure there's a good chance that their other fics were stolen/they were planning to re-upload stolen writing, because when i looked at their WIP list the titles and wordcounts were already in place and... oddly specific?? not a good look on them. i can't stop them from coming back under a different alias if they ever so choose to, but i hope they're not fucking stupid enough to steal writing again.

anyways, thank you for helping out and acknowledging me! :)

hello! @chosodolls recently stole one of my dottore x reader fanfictions from ao3 (all 10.8k words of it), changed a few pronouns and character names and uploaded it as a sukuna x reader fanfiction on tumblr, under their own name. i had no idea until i received a comment in my ao3 from a kind anon informing me of the stolen writing. i'm genuinely appalled. 💀 i don't know what to do about this because i can't force them to take their fic down, but i'm hoping people will see this and hopefully keep an eye out?? and not consume the stolen writing, because i worked hard on it and having it stolen is genuinely enraging??

my original fic is here at https://archiveofourown.org/works/55032457 I didn't upload it on Tumblr yet because of the wordcount, but you can verify the original belongs to me if you go to my AO3 linked in my other works here and check the dates. I've written previous fics for genshin impact x reader before. Check the dates. They only uploaded today.

chosodolls retitled their fic "EAT ME DOWN TO THE MARROW! ; sukuna r", and it's glaringly obvious that it's stolen from me if you compare the writing. 😭😭

Please don't ignore this. I write my content for leisure, for free, and for people's enjoyment. I do NOT write for people to steal and reupload. You should be ashamed.

So sorry for clogging up the tags. I'm not sure how else to get this noticed. I didn't really try to gain a following or an audience or anything on Tumblr because I was merely writing for recreation in my own little corner... but that doesn't fucking mean you can steal my writing.

It's deathly ironic that chosodolls tells people not to steal their works yet stole mine??

Anyways, please take notice. Reblogging for reach would be greatly appreciated.

#♡. fiddler on the roof #♡. kallis talks #was deeply frustrated earlier but now i've sort of calmed down #probably because of my medication #idk it was deeply disheartening to get right out of a concert and see this #i was already tired from performing but...???#at least they deactivated!#undeniably salty that they didn't bother with an apology though

377 notes · View notes

kallesque · 19 days

Text

chosodolls retitled their fic "EAT ME DOWN TO THE MARROW! ; sukuna r", and it's glaringly obvious that it's stolen from me if you compare the writing. 😭😭

Please don't ignore this. I write my content for leisure, for free, and for people's enjoyment. I do NOT write for people to steal and reupload. You should be ashamed.

It's deathly ironic that chosodolls tells people not to steal their works yet stole mine??

Anyways, please take notice.

377 notes · View notes

kallesque · 19 days

Text

chosodolls retitled their fic "EAT ME DOWN TO THE MARROW! ; sukuna r", and it's glaringly obvious that it's stolen from me if you compare the writing. 😭😭

Please don't ignore this. I write my content for leisure, for free, and for people's enjoyment. I do NOT write for people to steal and reupload. You should be ashamed.

It's deathly ironic that chosodolls tells people not to steal their works yet stole mine??

Anyways, please take notice.

377 notes · View notes

kallesque · 19 days

Text

EDIT: THE PAGE IS DOWN, thanks for helping me report!

chosodolls retitled their fic "EAT ME DOWN TO THE MARROW! ; sukuna r", and it's glaringly obvious that it's stolen from me if you compare the writing. 😭😭

Please don't ignore this. I write my content for leisure, for free, and for people's enjoyment. I do NOT write for people to steal and reupload. You should be ashamed.

It's deathly ironic that chosodolls tells people not to steal their works yet stole mine??

Anyways, please take notice. Reblogging for reach would be greatly appreciated.

377 notes · View notes

kallesque · 19 days

Text

Hi, this person stole my fic nearly word-for-word, switched fandoms and character names, and uploaded it without permission. Ironic of them to preach about not copying their works when this is what they've done. I'm not sure what I can do other than report it and tell op to take it down, but please take note?? the original fic was a dottore x reader at https://archiveofourown.org/works/55032457 that I didn't upload on Tumblr yet because of the wordcount, but you can verify the original belongs to me if you go to my AO3 linked in my other works here and check the dates.

I'm honestly appalled. Don't fucking do this.

EAT ME DOWN TO THE MARROW .ᐟ ; sukuna.r

synopsis ; you just accidentally told a cat that you wished to keep it, not knowing the consequences that would come with it.

mya ; gawd this is like the first dark (if it can even be called that) longifc iʼve written on here so pls pls pls dont let it flop. this was originally 3rd pov! but like halfway or more than halfway through i switched to 2nd pov so don't be confused if you see "she" or "her" where its supposed to be "you" lmao. im not satisfied w the smut in this but i cannot be bothered to redo it. forgive me if there are any mistakes its currently 2 am

warnings ; fem!reader, au – no curses, angst, demon!sukuna, soft sukuna, he's very ooc hehe, heʼs also a kitty at the start, you can clearly see i have never owned a cat before thru this fic, sukuna has a forked tongue and claws, waitress!reader, orphan reader!, cringey?, demon/human, mentions of violence, harrasment (not sukuna), forced? spoon feeding (good intentions i swear), falling in love, possessive sukuna (but what's new), crazy sukuna (again what's new), sharing a bed, manhandling, unprotected sex (stay safe ppl!), afab! terms used, coming inside, teasing, love confessions, sexual tension, p in v sex, oral sex, cunnilingus, kissing, biting, overstimulation, rough sex + lmk if thereʼs anything else ! ♡

word count ; 10, 875 words.

ITʼS easy to lapse into the quiet embrace of exhaustion in hours like this, when nights settle into you like a chill that cuts deep. it makes you want to curl up into a corner and hide away, huddling for warmth. something about staring into the expanse of the night sky arching overhead always makes you feel distinctively small — a child once more, curled up on rickety wooden floorboards beneath a threadbare blanket.

you shake the feeling off. there are bigger things to handle — more pressing issues at hand. your head already aches at the prospect of another late shift in the bar, but money is money. you need it for rent, need it for food — so you push the fatigue down in favour of trying to focus, ignoring the repetitive voice in your head that saps your energy by reminding you of how living is a chore. you keep walking instead, your pace quickening now that evening has well and truly fallen.

a shadow swoops past the corner of your vision. you startle and flinch back with a small yelp, but then it settles on the ground in a flurry and your vision focuses as you peer at it, shoulders relaxing once you realize. you laugh breathlessly, more frazzled than anything, “oh.”

itʼs a cat.

the animal settles a few steps before you, looking up at you. streetlights flicker, casting a faint glow over soft pink fur and shiny red eyes — red? that seems unique — before it meows at you, loud but not aggressive. the cat resembles more of a tiger cub than it does a kitten. it doesnʼt seem to agitate when you inch closer, merely continuing to fix its gaze on you.

your breath leaves your mouth in a puff of vapour, the cold air stinging at your cheeks as you bend down slightly, “hi,” you say to the cat, self-consciousness rising when you realise what youʼre doing — talking to a cat, really, what has your life become?

itʼs still watching you, as if expecting something, so you settle lamely on a: “what are you doing here?”

the feline eyes you again, puffing its chest up briefly as it vibrates on its spot. of course, thereʼs no reply.

this is stupid.

still, youʼve always liked cats.

youʼre not too surprised by the presence of the cat after all. thereʼs probably scraps and shreds to scourge for in the alleyways surrounding the bar, bits of food and prey to pick at. itʼs a decent place for cats to hang around for, you suppose.

oh, right — the bar.

you glance at the cat again, who is seemingly content watching you. when you take a step forward to resume the walk to your shift, it follows with a motion, youʼd only describe as striding, and you nearly laugh, endeared, “i have to go to work,” you tell it, but the cat merely continues to keep pace, unsurprisingly fast, “you canʼt come in with me.”

still, it follows until youʼre standing at the back of the establishment, numb fingers fumbling with keys through thin gloves to turn the lock and let yourself in. you glance back briefly, making sure the cat hasnʼt attempted to slip in with you, but when your gaze scans the frosty concrete. itʼs disappeared. oh, well.

you head deeper in, and the door clicks shut.

━━━━

if youʼd been exhausted earlier, youʼre close to passing out now.

activity in the bar dies down at around three in the morning and youʼre ripping off your apron as soon as your shift ends. you step into the bathroom to freshen. your eyes nearly slip shut as you lean over the sink to wash your hands, and moving to splash cool water on your face. tonight has been rough.

when you glance up, you pause for a moment, to take in the haggard reflection that greets you in the mirror. you look tired —from sleep deprivation or malnutrition, you canʼt tell. perhaps it's both. the smile youʼd firmly pasted on as youʼd served drinks and waited on tables flickers now, giving way to downturned lips and dull eyes, and for a minute you canʼt help the bitterness that crests and crashes over you.

you have to remind yourself to be grateful. youʼve come so far from being a frightened child alone in an orphanage. you have an apartment to go home to — however shabby it is, itʼs something, and you also have a job. waitressing isnʼt much, and tips make a significant amount of your pay, but as long as you smile a little sweeter, tolerate the leering stares and suppress your disgust at the men who come in and treat you like a pretty little object — you can pay rent. tolerate it.

your grip goes white-knuckled on the sinkʼs edge. you suck in a breath, then steel yourself for the walk home.

within the hour, youʼre curling up in bed and sleep finds you the moment your head hits the pillow.

━━━━

when you wake up at noon, the cat is at your window. soft pink outline the first thing you register as light stabs your eyes, making you hiss and squeeze your eyes shut again.

a few seconds pass, you blink them open again in perplexion when you process what youʼd just seen. the feline is still there, perched calmly on the wide windowsill, clawed feet on the wooden board. it meows at you and you sit up in confusion, blanket slipping down from your torso, “i donʼt remember leaving the window open…”

it tilts its head and makes a meowing sound. a closer look furthers your conviction that itʼs the same cat from yesterday night. itʼs not just the crimson hue of its eyes that gives it away, or its uniquely pink fur, but the quality of its stare. piercing, assesing — human-like wouldnʼt be the right word. something more. you ignore the shiver that slides down your spine as you inch closer to the window, batting the thought away.

once again, the cat doesnʼt skitter off of at your acknowledgement. instead, it tips its head back and begins to preen, seemingly serene at the attention. you are still bewildered at the open window and how youʼd somehow managed to sleep through the night without waking up from the shivering winds outside — but you chalk it up to carelessness and exhaustion.

“what are you doing here?” you opt to ask the cat. it pauses slightly at the sound of your voice, then resumes its motion, picking between its fur as you watch it. you have bits and pieces of general knowledge on felines — knows that theyʼre intelligent enough to remember scents and vocal tones, associating people positively or negatively. you had always found cats to be intriguing creatures.

“do you want something from me?” you ask, “because i havenʼt done anything for you.”

the cat meows again and your eyebrows furrow. it watches you intently as you slide out of your bed, moving further away to pick out your clothes for the day, exiting the bedroom briefly to change.

the catʼs gone when you come back, nothing but cold air and an empty window sill greeting you.

huh.

absentmindedly, you slide the window shut and set about contemplating food for the day. the portion of last nightʼs pay youʼd removed and set aside, doesnʼt leave much to work with. but maybe…

you recount the money. calculate and deflate a little at the conclusion. itʼll have to be canned food again today.

━━━━

you spot the cat again when you exit the convenience store, flimsy plastic bag on your arm, a few measly cans of food stacked inside. you had scraped together enough money to buy a sandwich as well, unable to pass up the opportunity of actual fresh food… well, as fresh as it could get. it leaves you purchasing less of the canned food, foolish in retrospect as theyʼd last you longer, and hunger is nothing new to you by now.

the cans clank together as you settle on the ground in a corner of the street, tucked into the mouth of an empty alleyway, too impatient to take the full walk back home. the feline settles on the ground next to your knee, claws clicking on cold cobblestone. you murmur a soft hello to the cat, far more familiar with it now, and begin to unwrap your sandwich, marvelling at the temptation of warm bread and actual meat within. youʼre so hungry by now that it actually hurts, not having eaten anything for… how long, now? youʼve forgotten, but it doesn’t matter.

youʼre about to lift it to your mouth to eat when you pause, looking at the cat still settled at your side. it seems perfectly content to stay still and watch you, but…

a sigh leaves your lips as you make up your mind, breath fanning out before you in the crisp air. you rip off a corner of the sandwich, making sure to include some of the meat inside before you hold it out carefully to the cat, hoping it doesn’t startle, “…i don’t know if you’re hungry,” you say, oddly nervous, “but we both deserve some proper food every now and then, huh?”

a beat passes, then two. the cat seems to be assessing you. youʼre about to put the food down and draw your hand away, hoping that’ll make it easier to accept — but then it seems to come to a conclusion, a curious meow sound leaving the cat as it takes a quick step forward and bites the food off your hand, its sharp teeth missing your hand by a breath. you jump, then laugh softly as you finally take a bite of your own portion.

━━━━

the cat starts to frequent your everyday life after that. you grow used to it, growing more comfortable as you chat to it idly from day to day when it makes its appearances. it’s rather intelligent, as all cats are — but you like to think that your cat is uniquely special. it’s foolish — but you know it recognizes you by now. why else would it keep coming back? why else would it accompany you to and fro from work, picking at bits of your food, eating from your hand?

once, you’d attempted to touch its head, noticing a dry leaf sticking up awkwardly. to your surprise, the cat had nestled into your touch, pushing it’s head against your hand, turning this way and that as you’d petted and soothed.

oh, it’s so foolish. but you like its company. it makes you feel less alone, somehow — a small comfort in an empty, dingy apartment, on nights when you go hungry and wake up to the cat at your window. it never enters your room, merely taps on the glass to indicate its presence to you, stepping courteously aside for you to slide the pane open before it steps up onto the sill.

“where do you go at night?” you ask it once, feeding it a piece of apple from a bag of fresh fruit youʼd been saving up. although, you knew cats are solitary creatures, the idea of your cat being alone, bugged you, “do you have… a pack? — i think itʼs called. i always see you alone.”

the cat perks up at your question. its fur ruffles almost indignantly, as if insulted that youʼd dare insinuate it needed a pack. you laugh, “no, i didn’t mean it like that. come on…”

in response, it devours the last bit of fruit you offer, bumping its head against your hand after, expectant. your lips quirk up, amused, and you let the cat lean into your palm, fingers idly scratching at its head, “i’m glad you’re here,” you murmur softly, “you’re all i have right now too. isn’t it funny?”

you watch crimson eyes blink shut a few times, the feline evidently relaxed, “i like having you here,” you whisper. you know that it won’t understand you — not fully, anyway, but when it trills, low and raspy — you want to hope it can.

━━━━

winter softens ever-so-slightly into spring, but the cold remains cruel. instead of snow, there’s rain — freezing and sharp as it slices straight through your coat and soaks into your hair. another overnight shift at the bar leaves you stumbling home past two in the morning, debilitating tiredness weighing you down.

youʼre not sure how much more you can take. dealing with unruly drunkards was one thing — so long as you kept to herself and stayed cautious, you could manoeuvre around them just fine.

but sometimes, there were worse men.

sometimes, saying ‘no’ wasn’t enough to discourage them.

tonight, youʼre eternally grateful to the security guard who had intervened and thrown the man out before things could escalate, but the memory of grasping hands and a grating, harsh voice makes you shudder in revulsion and fear. it’d been made worse at the end of your shift when you noticed the storm outside, having no umbrella with you — but you had eventually settled into a numb sort of hopelessness, deciding to just deal with it and brave the downpour. tolerate it.

the chill bites deep past your bones and into the marrow, and youʼre pushing wet hair out of your face every few seconds as you walk. the innate paranoia of being attacked and harassed lingers, fresh from the incident at the bar.

your clothes are waterlogged and dripping all over the rug when you step into your apartment, leaning heavily on the doorframe for a moment before your knees give out. it’s a miracle you manage to get the door locked, a miracle that you manage to drag herself further past the living room and into your bedroom to pick out dry clothes.

it takes you a few minutes to realise what’s wrong. you don’t want to acknowledge it, but when you realise that youʼre still practically numb with cold, it sets in with wretched certainty: of all nights for this to occur on, the heat in your apartment has chosen this one to go out.

god, youʼre not sure how much more of this you can tolerate. exhausted, hungry and cold— what are you doing with your life? it’s no better than how things had been like at the orphanage. in the end, youʼre still incapable of change, unable to escape reminders of her past. there was no starting over.

perhaps it’s this final realisation that makes you draw a shuddering breath.

then, you crack.

youʼre not sure how long you spend sobbing on the ground, face pressed to the floorboards and tears dripping down your face. you are sure youʼre a mess, but did it matter? you were alone; no one here to bear witness to your soaked clothes, face stained with tears and snot, voice cracking on your cries as you trembles from the cold. the storm continues to rage outside, thunder rattling your very bones as lightning splits the sky.

eventually, the tears stop. youʼre left staring numbly at the ceiling, rolled over on your back. what now? you think to yourself, too tired at this point to try and move. i don’t know what to do anymore.

it’s through the haze of your own thoughts that you grow aware of a faint sound. you furrow your brows, trying to focus on it. a faint tap-tap-tap.

and it’s coming from the window.

youʼre on your feet before you know it, sliding the pane open to stare wide-eyed. the cat blinks at you, equally wet and bedraggled, scarlet eyes still bright. it meows and the sound is lost to the storm outside, but youʼre already moving to grab a dry towel from the basket of clean laundry in the corner, “i—“

your words get stuck in your throat, so you try again, “i’m sorry, i,” you hiccup, “it is pretty horrible out there, huh?” you can feel the tears building up again, “i don’t know why i’m crying, i really am sorry — oh, god, come in here. the storm is awful.”

youʼd already been reaching for the cat, but it’s only after you say the words “come in” does it react, stepping up compliantly inside and letting you bring it into your room.

you slide the window shut again and sink down onto the floor rather dazedly, towel spread on your lap, and the cat hops off the window sill to nestle into the dry fabric. thank god it’s intelligent, you muse, watching how it drags its head and fur against the towel to dry off.

“i don’t know if i’m allowed to have you in the apartment but i couldn’t leave you outside,” you tell the feline, voice still raw from crying, “i’m sorry it’s not very warm in here.”

the cat pauses its movements, head flicking to stare at you. deftly, it takes the corner of the towel into its mouth — still mostly dry, and drags it over to you hand. you laugh wetly, “i should dry off, you’re right.”

there isn’t any hot water in the apartment but you shower anyway, rinsing the remnants of your shift off and scrubbing away the tears and grime. youʼre still shivering when you get out, practically about to collapse when you make it into bed, but at least youʼre clean and dry. the cat is settled next to your pillow, snuggled comfortably, “i wish i could keep you,” you mumble dizzily, vision swimming with fatigue.

and youʼre not sure if it’s just the oncoming fever that’s setting in, but when you huddle into bed next to your cat, you find that it’s not so cold anymore.

━━━━

youʼre delirious when you awake, cheeks hot and flushed with fever. there’s a gnawing hollowness in your belly — not painful, exactly, but wrong nonetheless.

it’s likely hunger. and though you knows you needs the nourishment, you just can’t find it in yourself to get up out of bed and scavenge for sustenance. it would be pointless and draining, when you know there’s likely no food left in the apartment.

still, you can feel the scratchiness in your throat, dry and parched from the lack of hydration. the least you could do was get some water.

it’s hard enough to sit up, your entire body screaming at you in protest as you pad across the floor to open the door of her room. youʼre dizzy both with feverish heat and freezing cold as you stumble into your living room, but the sight that greets you has you truly questioning your sanity.

the first thing that hits you is the smell of food. it’s impossible, but it’s still there when you inhale again, blinking at the bowl on the table. it’s been so long since youʼve had an actual hot meal that you don’t even believe it’s real — but that’s clearly steam curling up from a dish that looks distinctively like soup. it smells delicious.

that sentiment is quickly crushed underway, however, by the presence of the man sitting at your table. pink tousled hair rests on top of his head, clothed in a crisp black shirt and slacks that are clearly of fine make. his hands rest casually on the table before him, and when he shifts to look at you, you catch the sight of claws, ebony and sharp.

you blink at him, actually dumbfounded for a moment, “what… the fuck.”

at that, his head tilts to regard you, and he grins, sharp teeth flashing, “ah, you’re awake. come over here, i made food for you.”

ignoring his words, you stay put, “who are you, and why are you here? ”

he doesn’t reply for a moment, and you continue to stare, gaze shifting into a hostile glare as you survey him warily. some kind of markings decorate his face, lending his visage an element of something you can’t quite describe — transfixing you the way a prey animal would freeze in headlights. there are patches of black scattered on his arms and across his torso, and when you glance closer, you realise; theyʼre some kind of inking. and when you gaze closer, you spot something sat snuggly on top of his hair and wrapped loosely around his legs...

cat ears and tail.

no.

you meet his eyes and instantly flinch back when scarlet bores into your own. something about the way he looks at you, piercing, assessing—

no.

his grin widens, “you let me in,” he says simply, and youʼre left horrified as the realisation dawns on you, “you never did give me a name, did you? smart little thing. names have power, after all.”

he beckons you over to the table again and you take a numb step forward, still half-convinced this is all a hallucination, dreamt up from the depths of your feverish mind. he purrs your name and a shudder rolls down your spine, “no fear of that from you, however. you may call me sukuna now.”

halfway through your movement, you realise what youʼre doing and stops abruptly, the man — sukuna — chuckling as he notices it, “come here,” he repeats, “i don’t bite.”

“leave,” you snarl, fingers curling into fists as you stare him down, gaze simmering in fury. your head aches, pressure building somewhere behind your eyes as you stride forward, jabbing a finger into his chest, “i don’t want you here.”

“ah?” he muses. you hate the way his voice sounds, low and lilting, how unnervingly soothing it is. his eyes flicker down to your hand, noting how it trembles ever so slightly, “don’t be like that, honey. you were so nice to me before.”

your jaw tenses, “that was — that was because i didn’t know you were a — whatever the fuck you are. why choose now to reveal yourself. why do this at all? ” there’s so much you want to say, indignance and anger and betrayal spilling out from you in an incoherent jumble, fury flaring higher when he doesn’t even react. “tell me, damn you.”

sukuna raises a brow and gestures at you. an invisible force propels you back, settling you firmly in the chair next to his as you hiss and thrash, “calm down.”

he doesn’t even have to touch you to make you feel defenseless, metaphorical hackles raised as you turn to snap at him. talons gleam as he slides the bowl over to her, “eat.”

infuriation claws up your throat, “no.”

“hmm,” sukuna says, something dangerous in the rasp of it, “no? ”

“not until you explain yourself.”

“what is there to explain, darling?” he catches your glower, and puts his hand up in mock surrender.

“answer me,” you growl, moving to get up again. he casts you a glance and the invisible pressure pins you back in place, unable to move, “what is this? what are you doing?”

“making sure you eat,” he says matter-of-factly, as if there’s nothing wrong. as if he isn’t an intruder in your house, making himself at home with such ease it sets your blood boiling, “or, a more general explanation: taking care of you.”

“why? ”

“you’re starving,” he informs you, “you’re sick. look at you. you barely have anything, you didn’t need to feed the cat idling after you out of mere curiosity. i noticed it each time, you fell asleep hungry each night.”

you bristle. “i don’t need your pity. this isn’t any of your concern — none of this, in fact, is your concern, you—”

“yes, it is,” he says amusedly. as if he’s privy to some sort of understanding youʼre not yet in on, and it makes you scowl, “you invited me into your home. you said you wanted to keep me.”

you flush at the reminder, “so what? i was half asleep then, it doesn’t count—”

“your intentions did,” he corrects you idly, “don’t you know what it means when a demon accepts all that?”

you don’t know where to look when he draws a little closer, barely hearing him over the slam of your heartbeat — a demon? there’s too much to process. where do your eyes go? the razor-edged teeth, widened in a smile too mad to be calming? the ears calmly resting on his head? inhumane and beautiful and terrifying ? the claws? his blood-red eyes?

you end up tearing your gaze away entirely.

“i am yours now,” he tells you, “to keep, whether it makes sense or not.”

his fingers slide along your jaw, the ghost of a taloned touch nearly brushing the corner of your lips.

“and you’re mine.”

you slap his hand away with a glare, “i — you can’t just do that.”

the demon merely stares at you, waiting for you to process. you continue, tears welling up in your eyes, hot and frustrated, “this is the only home i’ve ever had, i worked so hard for it — and you’re just going to come in here and overtake it because you can? why did you accept? ”

“poor little mortal,” he croons, “i wanted you. can’t it be that simple? you fed me so easily when i was nothing but a wild cat to you, from your own hand, as if you weren’t trembling with hunger. you said i was all you had. so, i don’t regret keeping you company. i don’t regret any of this. ” his eyes blaze, unapologetic and shameless, “why wouldn’t i want to be yours?”

“but–but why now?” you choke, flinching, “you watched me all those months, and—”

“i couldn’t do anything until you expressed your desire to have me,” the demon explains, “but now i can. there’s nothing you’ll ever have to want for again, if you’d just…”

sukuna reaches for you again, clawed thumb brushing beneath your eye to catch the tear that glistens there. he licks the salt off his finger, and you shiver at the sight of his tongue, long and forked and decidedly not human. you recoil as he purrs, cradling your jaw in his hand, “let me take care of you,” he says, viciously delighted.

you tremble in his grasp, the adrenaline rush slowing and giving way to everything else — the fever dulling your senses, the exhaustion, the hunger roiling in the pit of your stomach. you sniffle, an embarrassingly pathetic display.

“eat,” the demon says again, softer now.

you shake your head wordlessly, the motion weak, and he huffs, breath hot against your skin, “you’re stubborn, darling.”

“i do not trust you,” you tell him, and he chuckles, reaching for the spoon himself,

“you will.”

━━━━

sukuna ends up feeding you.

itʼs humiliating. your cheeks burn when the spoon presses against your lips, and when you try to move away, to snarl, to snap at him — the demon takes it all in stride, fingers firm as he squeezes your jaw, coaxing you to open. itʼs clear how much he is enjoying this, and itʼs clear how much youʼre not.

you grit your teeth, “stop looking at me like that.”

“like what?” he grins, letting his claws dig into your jaw just a little. you flinch at the pinpricks of pain, lips parting slightly as a sound of protest escapes your throat. before you can react, he’s sliding the spoon in and forcing you to swallow the soup down. begrudgingly, you have to admit it’s good, even if you won’t express it verbally.

sukuna is triumphant when you glare at him. it makes you seethe a little more, “you’re not very nice.”

“oh, no,” he croons, “did you think i was nice, my darling?” the spoon prods at your lips again and you hiss in defeat, shaking in frustration as you open your mouth to let him feed you, “i adore you, it’s true. there’s nothing i wouldn’t do for you, but…” he draws the spoon back for another spoonful, “i do like seeing you squirm.”

the next spoonful is in your mouth before you can even reply. he continues to feed you, relentlessly — it seems to delight the demon to no end that you’re swallowing up the food, even if it’s through gritted teeth and resentful glances. it’s only when the bowl is drained does he relent, fingers loosening from your jaw as your eyes flicker in irritation.

“i hate this,” you mutter, to yourself more than anything — but sukuna’s brow quirks up and he stops you before you can shift away.

“hate what?”

“i don’t need you to take care of me,” you snap, “i was — i was doing just fine by myself, and —”

you jerk when the sharp edge of a talon graze the side of your face, a lock of your hair twirling around the demon’s fingers as he speaks, “you don’t like depending on people,” he muses, “but i am not a human who will fail you. this isn’t pity. don’t bar yourself from indulging in what i can give you simply for your foolish human pride.”

your arms cross, defensive, disbelieving, “so you don’t have an ulterior motive?”

his eyes twitches as he smirks, “such as what, my darling?”

you flounder uselessly for a moment, “i don’t know. to kill me? curse me? bind me to some sort of detrimental pact? sleep with me?”

the demon looks like he’s suppressing a chuckle, and you resent him all the more for it, “would you like me to answer your questions one at a time?” he asks, tauntingly soft and smooth. he drops the lock of your hair and you stand from the chair, backing away from the table as he speaks.

sukuna takes a step towards you, “no, i’m not going to kill you,” the distance between them suddenly shrinks, and you’re retreating another pace to maintain it.

“i don’t see why i’d curse you, either.” the fear written across your face makes him scoff, “that’s never quite been my preference. i prefer driving people into self-inflicted madness. curses are too… boring.”

that little comment does nothing to settle your nerves.

“bind you? no, it’s already done,” he says languidly, amusement still in his voice, “as i said earlier, i’m yours and you’re mine. i’d hardly call that detrimental.”

your back hits the wall and he’s closing in, pressing nearer against you, eyes dark. he bows his head, clawed fingers brushing your hip as his hands settle on your waist to tug you towards him. when his head dips lower, you feel his lips against your skin, heat exhaled into the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

you lift a hand, weakly batting his face away, “what… what about the last one?”

he’s undeterred, sinking back down. when you feel his teeth scrape against soft flesh, lips closing down to suckle at your neck — you have to steel yourself against the unexpected flicker of pleasure, the heat that coils low in your core. “sukuna.”

“mmh? that one?” he sounds almost a little annoyed at your disruption, words ringing low and raspy against your skin. he pauses, one of his hands sliding up your waist, claws dragging lightly through the fabric of your shirt, “i’d be lying if i said i didn’t want to. but that’s not the only thing i want from you.”

you tangle your hands into his hair; yanks him off your neck with some effort, his eyes simmering with mirth and something else when they meet yours. something darker, hungrier. ravenous. “elaborate.”

“i want all of you,” he tells you, as simple and as convicted as a prayer, “everything you are. i want you to belong to me. is that enough for you? must i explain further?”

the way he looks at you is intense, promising, speaking more than his words could ever convey. you feel warm, burning up even in the chill of your freezing apartment.

“that’s enough,” you say, and flees before he can grasp at you again. you find yourself in the bathroom splashing water on your face to cool your cheeks down, the sound of his laughter ringing in your ears.

━━━━

it’s hard to stay angry at sukuna.

there’s always food now. whenever you look for something, you find it. the water in the shower runs hot, and you haven’t felt hunger in weeks. you’d managed to convince the demon not to follow you to and fro from the bar — “i need space sometimes, you know?” — and he’d huffed, offended but not forceful, and obliged reluctantly.

it’s odd having someone to come home to. whenever you’re home from waitressing, he’s always awake and awaiting you. do demons even need to sleep? to eat?

the first night, he’d watched languidly from your bed as you paced, “if you don’t get off, i’ll just sleep on the floor,” you threaten. he casts you a mock-hurt expression, red eyes piercing as he beckons you closer again, “there’s no need to be so dramatic. we can share just fine.”

“you take up too much space,” you snap, taking a heated step nearer. sukuna’s eyes flash, watching you intently as you stride back and forth, “i can fit,” he teases, an undercurrent of another sentiment you can’t quite place in his voice, “don’t be so stubborn. i can keep you warm.”

“no,” you grit out, but then he’s moving too fast for you to comprehend and curling his fingers around your wrist, a tug sending you tumbling down onto the bedding next to him. he’s curling up around you and dragging you back into him before you can protest, your back pressed to his chest and his arm laid over your hip to keep you in place, “isn’t this better?” he asks, a little taunting.

“…”

it is warm. comfortable.

“go to hell.”

you hate how his voice makes you relax, makes you go all soft and pliant and limp. he presses a kiss to the nape of your neck, and the grasp on your waist tightens, “sleep, my dear.”

begrudgingly, you do. you hate to admit it but it’s the most peaceful sleep you’ve had in months.

━━━━

“you don’t want to touch me?” he asks, teasing, “you liked petting me. stroking me.”

“when you were a cat, ” you respond scathingly, eyes flickering sideways from your phone screen to where he sits next to you on the couch. you’re reading — some mindless novel you’d pirated off the internet on a whim, brain blanking into a pleasant daze as your eyes scan the words with no real intent.

he leans a little closer, pressing up to your side, “you’re captivating when you’re riled up.”

“and you’re rather touchy today, aren’t you.”

“no more than i am on any other day,” he lilts, dark and low, “and only to you.”

he’s always touching you. hands on your waist, lips ghosting your jaw and neck, pulling you into him possessively, devotedly. still, sukuna never ventures too far — some kind of instinct, perhaps, or careful observation. you’ve felt his scrutiny before, a scalpel sharp and unyielding behind what seems like careless, caressing touches, mindful of how far he can go with you, how long he can tread the line between his desire and your caution.

“so,” he continues, “you won’t touch me? not at all?”

a sigh leaves your lips. “greedy,” you admonish, more tolerance than temper.

you catch cruelty in the curve of his lips when they curl up crookedly, his hand wandering closer to wrap around your waist, “but aren’t i, though?”

the jab of a talon makes itself known through the fabric of your clothing as it closes down, but he pays no heed as he presses your back into the cushions, scarlet eyes selfish when he looks at you. he smiles mirthlessly when he leans over you, sneering. your breath catches in your throat, “you’re all i want. how do you expect me to stop?”

it’s moments like this that should frighten you.

it had, at first — his savagery, the snarl of shining teeth, blood-red eyes on you. you’re not sure when caution had dulled into something softer, when the shiver that trickled down your spine at his touch shifted from terror to trust. you remember his response when you’d hissed that you would never entrust such a sentiment to him: you will.

you wish he was wrong.

still, you lift a hand to smooth your thumb over his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, his soft ears, “i’m touching you now,” you murmur, “are you satisfied?”

sukuna huffs, leaning into your touch, crimson veiled by dark lashes as his eyes flutter shut, “never. but you knew that.”

oh, you do.

━━━━

he’s on you the moment you step past the threshold of the door, hands gentle on your face though there’s fury in his eyes, “who.”

no longer do you flinch when his talons drag along your skin, tracing the mottled bruise that forms dark beneath your eye. red meets red when his gaze catches the blood still-damp at the corner of your lip — he’s enraged, but not at you. “it’s okay,” you tell him, vaguely detached, “it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

at least it’s the truth. somewhere on the walk home, you’d started feeling less like a person and more like an out-of-body experience.

sukuna grips you tighter, pressing you close to him. your name rolls off his tongue and you blink, “tell me who did this to you.”

“drunkard at the bar,” you finally mutter, looking away, “i promise it’s okay—”

“no,” the demon cuts you off, and there’s no room for protesting in that tone, “it's not.”

he curls his fingers against your jaw, angling your face up again. then, he leans down and kisses you.

it’s harsh and desperate. you feel his tongue— that inhumane thing — pressing at you, licking up the blood, tasting yourself on his lips. the air in your lungs sets ablaze, yearning curled bright around each bone in her ribcage.

you kiss him back.

sukuna licks his lips when he pulls back, and you see the mania in his eyes before you hear it in his voice.

“is he still there?”

it takes you a moment to reply, trying to regain your voice, “i don’t know. security guard threw him out, but i left from the back—”

“no matter.” he presses another kiss to your eye, over the purpling bruise there. his voice drops dark with promise, “i'll find him.”

you’re too dazed to figure out just what he means, but then he’s gone, so you simply close the door behind you and try not to think about how that had been their first kiss, wandering to the kitchen to look for ice.

━━━━

the demon is in bed the next morning, holding you as if he’d never left. his lips graze your cheek before you slide out of bed to get dressed — a new addition to routine, surely, but one you find yourself not minding.

you receive a text over breakfast. another waitress from the bar, a tentative friendship that had been blooming recently. karma really went for the guy who attacked you last night. honestly, I’m glad to hear it.

your eyes slide to sukuna, sitting opposite you. your fingers move across the screen. i didn’t hear of anything. what happened?

it’s on the local news, comes the reply. he was attacked by a bunch of wild cats.

you suck in a breath. the next text pops up within a moment. had his eyes clawed out. he was found bleeding somewhere in an alley — no idea what he did to piss those cats off, though.

the demon is staring at you when you look up again in a few minutes, having made enough small talk to end the text conversation easily. you lock your phone with numb fingers, then meet his gaze.

“does it bother you?” he stands, shifting closer. the bruise throbs, aching and painful beneath your eye, pain blooming afresh now that you’ve regained your senses, “what i did to him?”

“you didn’t have to,” you say, unable to tear your eyes off him. unable to look away.

when he sinks to his knees before you, it’s reverent. the way he holds you like you’re holiness defies his very nature; blasphemous as he professes his worship through violence, “he hurt you,” he smiles and it’s frenzied, full of teeth, “so i hurt him worse.”

you should be terrified. he echoes the sentiment when his hands settle on you, palm pressed to your neck as his fingers fit loosely around your throat, “are you not scared?” he asks. his eyes bore into yours, daring you to flinch away.

instead, you lean into his touch, letting the heel of his palm dig into your windpipe a little more. his eyes darken at the sight, flickering back up to gaze at you. there’s something different about it now.

“i do not care how much blood you have on your hands,” you inform him coolly, “as long as you wash it off before you come to bed.”

he’s audibly amused at the response when he closes in, grasp never wavering, “of course, my dear.”

━━━━

it’s a little past midnight, only a few more hours to the end of your shift. work has been thankfully tame tonight, a good amount of tip money coming your way without the unpleasantries of smiling through drunken antics and poorly-executed flirtation. it’s a rare phenomenon, but you’ll take it. the bruises on your face have faded enough to look presentable, so you’d gone back to work despite a disapproving glance from sukuna.

it’s at the same time that the thought of him crosses your mind that you catch a flash of familiar pink in the corner, double taking in shock. it takes you a moment to confirm that it’s him, pausing in the middle of the bar to study him in confusion before he takes mercy on you and waves you over, giving you an excuse to approach the table he sits at.

he looks… normal. it's the first thought that you register; his claws are nowhere to be seen, nor his fluffy cat ears and tail. an earring dangles from one ear, glowing red as you fix your eyes on it for a breath — your attention is caught next by the leather harness that encircles his throat and torso, mouth going dry.

sukuma grins when he catches you staring, teeth blunted as well save for the pointed canines. his eyes are still red. you find yourself relieved at that, relaxing a little when you stop before him, “hi,” you say, a little more breathless than you’d anticipated, “can i help you with anything?”

“just a moment of your time, if you’d be so kind as to indulge me.”

you glance around the bar, noting how its patrons today have been fewer in number yet more generous with tips — you wonder vaguely if it’s his doing, pushing the thought to the side, “i can,” you acquiesce, sliding into the seat opposite his and setting your empty tray down, “what’s this about?”

sukuna eyes you, hungry. drawls his answer out like the slow drag of a cigarette, heat creeping up and over your skin, “must i have a reason to come and visit you, my darling?”

his gaze slides over you, drinking up the sight of you shamelessly. you lean back as you shiver, thankful that the tinted lights hide the embrassment in your features somewhat, “if anyone else looked at me like that,” you start warningly, fidgeting with your hands.

“i would rip them to shreds for daring to,” he says a little too smoothly, too eagerly, “but you wound me, my dear. i’m not just anyone. i’m yours.”

“you are also distracting me from work,” you scold, moving to stand. your attempt at nonchalance is pitiful — seen right through when he snickers, reaching for you. you bat his hand off your sleeve, frowning.

“not even a minute more to spare?”

it’s not a plea, not exactly — but it compels you nonetheless, breaking your resistance down. damn him and your affection.

“…” you sink back down into the seat slowly.

“that’s what i thought.” he reaches for your hand, leaning across the table to press a kiss to your knuckles, lips dragging over the sensitive skin there as you tremble.

“sukuna,” you chastise, yet you can’t find it in yourself to pull away, “what are you here for?”

the gaze that catches yours again is no longer languid, restraint thrown to the wind by now. he looks at you like he wants to eat you alive, simmering with a craving too fervent to name, biblical in its sacrilege. greedy, you think, watching him, like a prey in the maw of a beast.

“you,” he tells you, suggestive. his lips are warm against your knuckles. there’s no use for softness from a demon in this den of vices, but he presses his cheek against your skin anyway, breathing in deep and then exhaling, “it’s only ever you.”

cause and effect; he lives for the result and reaction, watches you turn shy as the implication sets in. yet you're stubborn, “i'll go home with you when my shift ends,” you tell him firmly, “are you satisfied?”

“oh, never,” he echoes, leaning back and crossing his arms, “but you knew that.”

━━━━

it becomes something of a game. an experiment to see who cracks first.

the lights in the bar drape him in crimson when you glance at him. as you wait on tables and serves drinks, he lurks in the corner and waits. sukuna watches you with shadowed eyes and an air of feigned disinterest despite the hunger dripping from his canines, guilty and red and ravenous.

his stare is calculative, scrutinising. you turn away a little too sharply to reflect normalcy and moves away to the bar to collect another round of drinks.

distance does precious little to lessen the burn. you can feel his eyes on you all the way as the clock ticks through the night.

the walk home is held in silence. you take sukuna’s hand into yours and his eyes flicker with something like bemusement before it yields to indulgence, fingers tangling into yours tighter as he dogs your steps like a slavering beast.

“it’s cold today,” you remark at the door to their apartment — you wonder when it had become theirs and not just yours — and he slides his thumb over the shadows beneath your eyes, looking at you in that way again. you half-expect something more, teeth and claws and consumption, but sukuna lets go, lets you pad to the warmth of the bedroom, lets you wash up and shuck your work uniform off in favour of an old shirt and sleep shorts.

when you step into the bedroom and click the door shut behind you, your mind slows with anticipation. sukuna lounges on your bed, lithe and languorous — though the look in his eyes betrays it all as they follow you, tracking you. a predator watching his prey.

the claws are back. so are the teeth and ears and tail, and you don’t admit it — you think you like him better this way — inhumane, unnerving, all for you.

you don’t move from the door, cloaked in shadow. when he sweeps his tongue out across his lips, his voice promises hell to pay, “come over here,” he coaxes, and it’s controlled, leashed restraint clawing at its binds.

desire turns to desperation; when you inch closer, within reach, sukuna pounces.

the bedding is soft beneath you as you stare up at him wide-eyed, held down by a hand on your waist as another moves like a serpent to angle your face the way he wants it. you don’t have time to react because he’s leaning down to seal his lips against yours within the space of a breath. something presses against the seam of your mouth, appealing for entry insistently until you let his tongue fill your mouth — tracing the edges of your teeth, drawing back to nibble on the plush of your lip.

you make a sound, soft and unconscious. sukuna allows you to suck in a breath before he’s diving back in for more, pupils dilated and blown wide. it’s obscene, nothing kind about it at all. desperate and drowning, heat infecting your veins like the slow, saccharine creep of rot. he tastes it on the wine-goblet of your mouth, drinks in the fervour like the heat death of a star. kisses you until you’re dizzy, feeding on you like a parasite.

he hisses when he pulls back to behold you, hellfire eyes dark. “you’re so…” he doesn’t finish the sentence, the words melting against your skin as he presses worship into your jaw and down your neck. the outline of him is seared into your brain, a scar forming in the shape of his love when his tongue lavishes along your throat.

you squirm and the grasp on your waist tightens, pinning you down. the demon smiles like a knife at the sight; scrapes teeth over your jugular and watches you tremble as he blows on the spit-slicked skin.

impatience intercepts the thrum of your rapid pulse as his claws shift lower, hooking into the band of your shorts. sukuna tugs it away from your skin and lets it snap back into place sharply, making you jump and yelp, “tease,” you huff, eyes narrowing.

he kisses along your collarbone, sweeter than the last, then bites down until he tastes blood, “you like me,” he tells you arrogantly as tears spring to your eyes, making the world blur. you blink hard and attempts to refocus, watching how a lock of pink falls over his eyes. he licks over the bite marks he leaves, and it’s as soothing as it is savage, “you love me.”

your laugh is weak, incredulous. but he doesn’t seem to mind, “do i?”

“you tell me,” he purrs. he’s shifting you to the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees on the floor before you with an intent far more convicted than any prayer. you only realises what he’s going to do when he tugs the fabric of your shorts down, your undergarments following suit as the cold air kisses your skin and you try to squeeze your thighs shut.

he holds you open mercilessly, slotting his body between your legs. the icy tip of a claw drags down your thigh for a moment and he watches with satisfaction when your skin gets irritated at the touch.

“i know i love you,” sukuna croons, and it’s with this confession that he dips his head and licks up against you, hot and hungry.

you’re outcast instantly from your own mind and into the blur of a storm as he kisses and sucks, devouring you with animalistic intensity. your back arches involuntarily, hips attempting to lift off the bed when a hand presses flat against the soft of your abdomen and holds you down. helpless, your hands wander for a tether, curling tight into the sheets, “you — you — ? ”

sukuna laughs and you feel it reverberate through you, sending another tremor of pleasure up your spine. your heart thrums in the cavity of your chest, “me,” he rasps, voice a spill of liquid heat. he suctions his lips around your clit and sucks until you cry out, feeling his claws dig into your ribs as he keeps you trapped flat to the bed, “you’re delicious. just lie back and take all of me.”

he moves to hook your legs over his shoulders for easier access, apprehension and anticipation warring within you when you realise he has full control now. autonomy given over to the demon like a deal signed in sacrilege, nothing left but depravity when he continues to eat you out like a man starved.

only when his tongue prods at you do you jerk like a skittish animal. he delights in it; works you open slowly with careful precision. you feel the appendage twitch within you as it slides deeper. thicker, longer than a human’s, sparking a flame within you that has you arching — unsure if you’re leaning into the feeling or away from it.

he drags it out and presses it in again shallowly, thrusting languidly as you whine, “it's so much, please—”

“already? but you're being so good for me,” he hisses, squeezing your hips tighter as he stares into your hazy eyes, “don't look away.”

then he’s plunging in deeper and making you cry out, devouring you with his slick tongue and soft lips. you feel the jut of his teeth as he pulls out briefly and slathers his tongue over your clit in a filthy kiss, then sucks you back down. desperate wouldn’t be enough to describe it.

and it goes on. he has you pinned down securely, hips squirming fruitlessly beneath grasping talons as he gives and gives and gives. you’re reeling as he drags you closer and closer to the inevitable, pressure building up deep within as your thighs begin to tremble and he grows more fervid, more insistent.

“come on,” he snarls against you, voice raspy with self-indulgence as he builds you up to an inescapable precipice, “just give in. give yourself to me.”

everything you are. i want you to belong to me. is that enough for you? must i explain further?

it’s the harsh command and the recollection of his words that bring you over the edge. you stifle the cry that strains in the back of your throat, but a whimper breaks past the barrier of restraint and slips into resonance regardless. your eyes squeeze shut against the blur of stars behind dark eyelids, breathing heavily as your senses return to you and you stare at the demon, half-disbelieving.

there’s nothing soft about his expression when he looks at you anymore, only a desire that strips you into open vulnerability. he slides his tongue free from your body, painfully slow and teasing — letting you detangle yourself from him. he reaches for you again, thumbing at the worn hem of your shirt with an insinuation that makes you go weak.

you lift your arms obligingly when he climbs back up beside you and pushes the loose stretch of your shirt up and off your body, tugging you closer so that you’re backed up into the pillows fluffed at the headboard. licks his lips as his eyes lock with yours, and you lick your lips too, knowing it’s you he’s tasting on his tongue.

sukuna’s attention is rapt as his hands bracket your body, sliding up to your chest to toy and tease until you’re whimpering, trying to bat his hands away from oversensitive flesh. he’s smug at that, the slant of his smile a menacing slash.

another kiss, open-mouthed and promising more to come before he shifts to undress himself. you lean forward to assist, unbuttoning his shirt before watching him discard the rest of his clothes on the floor, a brief gesture with his hands making them disappear into thin air. you raise a brow, trying to rescue a remnant of coherence amidst the hedonistic thrill creeping over you, “if you could do that the whole time, then why…”

he cages you between his arms again, unable to resist the magnetism between his lips and your skin for long, “you don’t like undressing me?” he whispers it lowly, a breath from her ear. your entire body flushes, blood rushing dizzily — both at the proximity and the words murmured like a sanctified prayer.

a hand slides into the fall of your hair and you feels his talons scrape lightly at your scalp as he pulls your head back to bare your throat to him once more. rather than kiss you as he’d done earlier, he merely nuzzles into your skin, breathing you in. you feel the ears on top of his head rubbing at you lightly as he stuffs his face closer into the crook of your neck.

sukuna purrs in amusement when you don’t respond to his earlier question, settling between your legs to tease at you with the length of himself. a gasp shivers free from your lungs and you squirm, nowhere else to hide, laid bare completely to his mercies.

“look at you, ” he tells you, snarling reverence in the ridges of his teeth. he laughs at your restlessness, but when he lines up and finally pushes himself in, it makes you go limp.

still sensitive from his earlier ministrations, the feeling of his cock stirs up the feverish burn simmering low in your core, cracking you open, ice and heat intertwining through your bloodstream. it’s not quite painful, moreso an ache that unravels you and sends you spinning into chaos. you gasp and grab at his forearms, spine coming away from the sheets in a quiet plea for more— but clawed hands press you back down into the unyielding softness of the bed beneath them, holding you down tightly enough that you know your skin will bruise by dawn.

he gives it to you slowly at first. so slowly that you feel like you could die, nails scratching at his forearms in need, “i — please,” you beg, lost to the effulgence of pleasure, wanting more.

“hmm?” he plays at ignorance, raising a brow as he feeds you another inch, cock dragging over live nerve endings that make you twitch in need. you narrow your eyes, vision spinning. holds his gaze for a moment, seeing the triumph that gleams darkly at you, the sadistic curl of his lip. he draws out a little and presses back in at a torturous pace, just only enough to set you on edge and giving you no gratification.

“you said i’d never have to want for anything again if i had you,” you bait.

“oh, i did, didn’t i?” he remarks amusedly, “i’ll have to make good on that promise, then.”

his hips roll forward, burying himself in you entirely, all the way to the limits of your capabilities, “so what do you want, my darling?”

struck dumb, you can only cry out as you scrabble for articulation, trying to remember how to speak.

“do you want it faster? harder? do you want me deeper? ” he nips at your ear, cruel and teasing, “tell me.”

you shudder at the feeling, submerged in a haze of rapture so scorching it leaves the taste of bliss on your tongue, “it's just — just you, whatever you do, more, please—”

sukuna leans down to hiss into your ear, grip tightening on you as he splays his fingers across your abdomen and keep you still, “needy little thing.”

he’s bigger than you’d expected but you welcome the stretch as he strikes you hot and deep, making you whimper out again. the pace he sets borders on the boundaries of punishing, and you press up against him, a gasp rasping raw in the dark of your throat. sukuna moans as well, drunk on the feeling of you; inebriation at its finest. the cascade of his voice betrays his worst intentions, the insatiable lust that drives him deeper, harder. it shreds at his composure, turning his breathing ragged. it’s erotic and it’s euphoric — nothing holy about it.

the fine sheen of sweat that slicks his skin glistens in the warm glow of the bedroom’s lights, and you’re nothing but captivated. when he shifts his free hand down to work against your clit in rough movements, a jolting exhale leaves you in a gasp.

“let go, sweetheart,” he rasps, the very embodiment of temptation. he drives deep again, pressing back deliciously into a spot that has you seeing stars, and you break beneath the sensation, coming apart in his hands as your climax crests like a wave. he holds you, keeps you from drowning in the tide as your lips part around the shape of his name. sukuna moans at the sound of it, continuing to pump into you desperately as blinding pleasure turns you raw and tender.

when you come down from the haze of your orgasm, sukuna thrusts forward sharply and you tremble at the overstimulation, nails digging into his skin, the rhythm of your breathing jagged.

he kisses your temple in response to your silent plea and fucks into you, strokes slow and deep. it grows unbearable, pleasure and pain twisting together in a wash of heat. the slick sound of it reaches your ears as if coming from far away, and you're helpless to the continued onslaught, squeezing and fluttering around him as he continues, “that's it, darling, take it all,” he rasps against the curve of your neck, unrelenting.

the hand on your abdomen shifts a little lower, pressing into your stomach at the same time his cock grinds against your sweet spot from within. the resultant jolt of pleasure pulls his name from your lips again as you come a third time, spasming as he spears you open mercilessly.

your eyes cast down to watch how he sinks into you, feeling him so deep that you can barely breathe. and he doesn't stop, not until he's emptying himself into you, filling you up as he comes, making sure to maximise every last movement for your pleasure. you feel him drip down from between yourr thighs — but it's the way he's still hard inside you that has you whining.

“you–you're still,” you start, disbelieving. your voice pitches airier than you intend it to, stuttering in confusion as he ruts his hips into you, resuming a slower pace.

then he's closing in to kiss you again, teeth catching on your lower lip, “oh, i thought you knew this by now,” he grins, lifting your thighs and pressing them wider to drive into you at a new angle, “i'm never satisfied.”

━━━━

you sleep past dawn and all the way into the afternoon. the sun is high in the sky when you finally lapse into consciousness, and you shift confusedly for a moment wondering why your body feels so heavy. at least the pillow your cheek is pressed against is warm, making you curl up and press closer into it.

the question banishes itself when you feel the pillow laugh, the vibration of it reverberating right against your face, and…

oh. so, not a pillow.

you blink your eyes open, drowning in red almost instantly. sukuna meets your gaze, seemingly amused at your faint surprise as his fingers card through your hair. his other arm drapes possessively around your waist, tightening slightly when you move.

your mouth goes dry, tongue smoothing moisture into the cracks of your lips before you speak, “you’re still here.”

he raises a brow, “where else would i be?”

you try fruitlessly to escape his grasp, but he keeps you in place. absentmindedly, you feels a flash of gratitude that he’d cleaned the both of you up last night and redressed you — at your insistence— seeing as you’d been too spent to do anything.

when you realise the demon isn’t letting you go, you grumble and slump back into his shoulder. he turns to nuzzle into the side of your head, and you reluctantly decide that getting up can wait a little longer.

“…i don’t know,” you mumble sleepily, sighing. a pause has you nearly slipping back into the dredges of exhaustion before you shake yourself awake again, “you need to let me off.”

to your surprise, his grip loosens and you manage to sit up from the bed.

the moment you stand, however, your legs promptly give out. the demon is moving like quicksilver, catching you before you can hit the floor and tugging you back up into his arms — not before you hear him chuckle, dark and amused, “i thought that might happen.”

“liar,” you accuse, “you knew that would happen. you just wanted to see me struggle.”

sukuna shakes his head in mock disappointment, “oh no, you’ve seen right through me.” he lays you down on the bed before him again. scarlet eyes sweep down the expanse of exposed skin, lingering on the varying bruises and bites littered across your collarbones and neck liberally. you catch him staring, hands rising to feel at your throat self-consciously, “is something wrong?”

it’s then that you realise the look in his eyes is enjoyment, “no…” he muses, “but i should have left more marks.”

claws curl around your wrist, tugging your hand away as he bends to kiss the hollow of your throat, letting his teeth scrape against it, “one would’ve looked so pretty right here.”

“stop that,” you murmur, cheeks flushing hot as you swat him off, grazing his skin.

he tilts his head at you, hunger flashing dark in crimson eyes again, “don’t be cruel,” he needles.

“you’re one to talk.”

sukuna’s hands wander to your hips again, “me? cruel? never.”

you scoff.

the chords in his throat shift beneath his skin and you draw your eyes back to his in time to watch him speak again, “i love you,” sukuna tells youintently, leaning down until his lips are hovering a breath away from yours, the heat of his mouth closer than any god. it makes you shiver when you bear witness to the revelation, no caution nor careful reserve — it spills from his lips, raw and rife with rapture.

“i love you too,” you respond, and then you let him devour you.

#genshin impact #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #il dottore #genshin impact x reader #don't??? do this????? jfc.

187 notes · View notes

kallesque · 30 days

Text

“i could fix him” could you fix me instead? i’m suffering

47K notes · View notes

kallesque · 30 days

Text

5K notes · View notes

kallesque · 30 days

Text

if i get one billion notes on this post ill hunt down whoever caused the final note and kill them myself

8K notes · View notes

kallesque · 1 month

Text

the cadence within [il dottore x reader] — prologue.

The quickest way to a man’s heart is through the fourth and fifth ribs. But few men would allow you to just skewer them like that, and Dottore was no exception. So you took the old fashioned route. No, it wasn’t through the stomach; it was through sheer force of charisma alone. However, charisma is shaped like a double edged sword. Not until it was too late, did you realize you’d been cut.

co-written with noodsies, however, they’re shy and wish to stay anonymous! ♡

author's note: this fanfiction will contain mature content, including explicit sexual acts, violence, dottore himself, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

"Check," you whispered.

Queen to C6 check, in response to white's bishop checking on F3. Your D7 pawn guarded your queen, but your bishop was stuck in B8 while his king was vulnerable on A6. His only other piece was a knight on A4.

Did he blunder?

After placing down the chess piece, you glanced back towards him, your eyes searching his face for any readable signs or expressions. There were none, save for the hint of amusement that remained eternally etched into both his features and demeanour.

You mentally sighed. Dottore was as indecipherable as ever, leaving you confused about what to do with the nagging itch that tugged at your heart. You tried to push it aside, to dig a hole and bury the feeling six feet underground where it was never to resurface again, but you found yourself unable to. Instead, you found yourself caving into that emotion, the tension thickening the very air that now felt suffocating to breathe in, each of Dottore's answers only leaving you with more questions to ask—none of which you should've paid any mind to, yet you still couldn't resist, barely holding yourself back from asking the one thing you really wanted to know.

You coughed softly, clearing your throat before speaking again.

"My turn," you tried to steady your voice and sound as confident as possible, pushing past the dryness in your mouth. "Question nineteen, are you going to continue with your plan?"

It shouldn't even matter. If you were being rational, you wouldn't have bothered to ask that; whether or not he planned to continue should not affect your judgement in any way. He had done enough wrong as it is, committed far more crimes than could be excused or remotely justified.

Still, you couldn't help but succumb to your own weakness, the question leaving your lips alongside a silent prayer that you hadn't exposed your intentions—be it the one to put an end to him, or the far worse one, the one to give up on your original task. The task you should adhere to, despite your traitorous feelings wanting to get in the way. But you were not strong enough.

Dottore's silence permitted you to keep ruminating over the same thoughts that had ceaselessly plagued you each time you faced him, the same thoughts that had insidiously grown in intensity throughout your interactions, leaving you to realize far too late that at some point, your actions towards him became genuine.

"Perhaps," Dottore responded at last. You fought to keep your face neutral, trying your best to mask your disappointment at his answer. As much as you had wanted to, you were unable to deny that you had indeed wanted him to say 'no.'

As shameful as it was, you pushed for a different answer.

"You're supposed to answer yes or no," you stated, keeping your tone light and indifferent.

How ludicrous, you thought. Your job was to pretend to be interested in him, yet here you were, desperately trying to act like you weren't.

"Unfortunately, Y/N, I can't do that," Dottore replied. "The answer is dependent on certain variables."

"Like what?"

"That's not a yes or no question." His face did not betray anything, yet you could hear the smirk in his voice, evident in the satisfaction he spoke with.

"But—"

"—My turn," Dottore interrupted, and though you wanted to protest, you had to maintain an air of calmness, leaning back in your seat as you waited for him to speak.

"Question nineteen," Dottore drew out each syllable with emphasis, "you are planning to kill me, aren't you?"

His sentence caused you to freeze, a chill running down each ridge of your spine as you shivered, goosebumps breaking out over the surface of your skin, your hair standing on end as you stared at him, motionless, eyes wide.

That wasn't a yes or no question. He knew. Dottore knew.

You didn't need to see yourself to know that blood had drained from your face. There was no need for you to say anything; even if he hadn't already known, your expression alone would be enough to confirm that everything he just said was true.

"Go on. Why don't you answer me?" His voice was sharp enough to cut through the pounding of your heart, the pulsating of the organ reverberating in your eardrums being the only sound to muffle the deafening silence of the room.

"Oh, come on, Y/N," Dottore continued. Though the syllables reached you, your mind struggled to process the meaning behind them. "Did you think I wouldn't know?"

Dottore scoffed, indignant.

"I find it rather insulting that you think so lowly of me."

"N-no," you scrambled to find the right words. "I don't—"

"—Is that so?" he said, cutting you off while clicking his tongue in mock disapproval. "Do you have a more plausible explanation for that gun strapped to your thigh, then?"

Your heart sank, his words the anchor that plunged it into the bottomless pit in your stomach. It felt like the life was drained from your body, rendering it an immobile marionette whose strings dangled from the tips of Dottore's slender fingers. As if his words were coated in a paralyzing agent, you couldn't bring yourself to speak further or move an inch. The only reminder that you were still alive was the harrowing thump of your pulse, each beat accelerating faster than the last.

How did he know? No matter how hard you thought, you couldn't figure it out. You had done everything as instructed. Pantalone had given you the perfect weapon to use—a gun loaded with bullets meant to destroy both visions and delusions—to put an end to him and his crimes once and for all. The weapon was small, it was dainty, and you had it carefully attached to your thigh for ease of use. It shouldn't have been noticeable, the clothes you wore were just loose enough to conceal the slight bump, so how?

And what was more pressing than how, was the question of just what Dottore was planning to do with this knowledge. The urgency that question posed was unmatched by anything else, the answer pertaining to whether you would live or die.

You couldn't help but wince, unable to conceal your expressions any longer. Dottore had seen through it all, seen through all your plans. You were dead, and you could only hope that your death would not be as unpleasant as some of the others by his hand. You knew what he was capable of, and you knew he was capable of far worse.

"I didn't think so." Dottore's words were firm. Unwavering. And in those very seconds you were forced to accept the reality that you were going to die. This was the end.

"Go ahead," Dottore said, slowly holding out his hands with both palms facing you. "Shoot me."

What?

"I won't stop you," he finished his sentence. You were still gaping at him, but he was gazing back straight into your eyes, unflinching.

"Is this a joke?" you breathed, unable to comprehend what was just said to you.

"Is that your final question?" Dottore returned, his words somehow snapping you out of your daze and paralysis for a split second. You instinctively reacted by reaching to your thigh, pulling out the gun that had been created for this very moment and aiming it directly at him.

You tried to still the tremble of your hands as your index finger hooked onto the trigger, tensing it frozen so it wouldn't pull.

A moment went by.

"Is that all?" Maybe you were imagining things. You had to be, but you couldn't help but feel his eyes scan your face, searching for something.

Just what was he looking for? Could it be the same thing you sought?

"Allow me my final question, then."

You couldn't help but anticipate, that minuscule flame of hope, that lingering spark that refused to be snuffed out, flaring back to life.

"Sure." Your voice was low, but you knew that he had heard you, nonetheless.

"Question..." Each second felt like it had been split up into millions, leaving you to experience time a microsecond at once. You were breathing heavily, your blood pulsating in your ears and adrenaline rushing through your veins. "...Twenty."

"There is something stopping you, isn't there?"

next chapter soon...

#genshin fanfic #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin x you #dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore

136 notes · View notes

kallesque · 1 month

Text

the cadence within [il dottore x reader] — prologue.

co-written with noodsies, however, they’re shy and wish to stay anonymous! ♡

author's note: this fanfiction will contain mature content, including explicit sexual acts, violence, dottore himself, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

"Check," you whispered.

Did he blunder?

You coughed softly, clearing your throat before speaking again.

"My turn," you tried to steady your voice and sound as confident as possible, pushing past the dryness in your mouth. "Question nineteen, are you going to continue with your plan?"

As shameful as it was, you pushed for a different answer.

"You're supposed to answer yes or no," you stated, keeping your tone light and indifferent.

How ludicrous, you thought. Your job was to pretend to be interested in him, yet here you were, desperately trying to act like you weren't.

"Unfortunately, Y/N, I can't do that," Dottore replied. "The answer is dependent on certain variables."

"Like what?"

"That's not a yes or no question." His face did not betray anything, yet you could hear the smirk in his voice, evident in the satisfaction he spoke with.

"But—"

"—My turn," Dottore interrupted, and though you wanted to protest, you had to maintain an air of calmness, leaning back in your seat as you waited for him to speak.

"Question nineteen," Dottore drew out each syllable with emphasis, "you are planning to kill me, aren't you?"

That wasn't a yes or no question. He knew. Dottore knew.

"Oh, come on, Y/N," Dottore continued. Though the syllables reached you, your mind struggled to process the meaning behind them. "Did you think I wouldn't know?"

Dottore scoffed, indignant.

"I find it rather insulting that you think so lowly of me."

"N-no," you scrambled to find the right words. "I don't—"

"—Is that so?" he said, cutting you off while clicking his tongue in mock disapproval. "Do you have a more plausible explanation for that gun strapped to your thigh, then?"

"I didn't think so." Dottore's words were firm. Unwavering. And in those very seconds you were forced to accept the reality that you were going to die. This was the end.

"Go ahead," Dottore said, slowly holding out his hands with both palms facing you. "Shoot me."

What?

"I won't stop you," he finished his sentence. You were still gaping at him, but he was gazing back straight into your eyes, unflinching.

"Is this a joke?" you breathed, unable to comprehend what was just said to you.

You tried to still the tremble of your hands as your index finger hooked onto the trigger, tensing it frozen so it wouldn't pull.

A moment went by.

"Is that all?" Maybe you were imagining things. You had to be, but you couldn't help but feel his eyes scan your face, searching for something.

Just what was he looking for? Could it be the same thing you sought?

"Allow me my final question, then."

You couldn't help but anticipate, that minuscule flame of hope, that lingering spark that refused to be snuffed out, flaring back to life.

"Sure." Your voice was low, but you knew that he had heard you, nonetheless.

"There is something stopping you, isn't there?"

next chapter soon...

136 notes · View notes

Statistics

We looked inside some of the posts by kallesque and here's what we found interesting.

Average Info

Notes Per Post

130K

Likes Per Post

73K

Reblog Per Post

56K

Reply Per Post

644

Time Between Posts

2 days

Number of Posts By Type

Text

Note

Photo

Explore Tagged Posts

Fun Fact

Tumblr is available in 18 languages.