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mayurilover · 14 days

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XOXO, YOUR BIGGEST FAN

As per the results for my vote, here it is! But I never said it wasn't going to be angst~~~

Please leave a comment! It'll gimme motivation to score well in my exams swear UwU

I saw you and I just knew, one day you'd be my man. XOXO, your biggest fan.

Ryomen Sukuna was once known for his suave talent on the screen, for the thefts of more than hundreds of drama fans’ hearts everywhere, for his signature shark grin and trademark tattoos.

Ryomen Sukuna was once known for his lead role in the fantasy series Malevolent Shrine, directed by his half brother Kamo Choso, together with the uprising star Gojo Satoru.

Ryomen Sukuna was once known for the tragedy that ruined his life forever and kidnapped him within its dark, depressive grasp to never let him go and completely vanish from the public eye.

I'd kill for you, over and over, I will and could and can. XOXO, your biggest fan.

Ryomen Sukuna’s name was once known to cause crazed stampedes at any store, restaurant or mall he blessed with his presence, but now when he walked hunched and slumped into his stained sweatshirt barely anybody batted an eye at the man who was more dead than alive now.

Ryomen Sukuna's figure was formerly spotted immediately everywhere he went, especially with YOU, his dearest darling angel at his side, a magnet attracting eager, frenzied paparazzi and die hard fans. He couldn't have been more proud to show you in all your glory off to the crowd, to lay claim on you and just prove his undying love for you in front of everyone…once upon a time.

Ryomen Sukuna's expression of easy, lazy smirking from his acting days officially disappeared to be replaced by a face with an emptiness that rivaled the void and had completely forgotten any other emotion long before everyone saw the photo at his final interview on a subject he had no wish to talk about: you and your death.

I know she's hurting us, but don't worry, I've got a plan. XOXO, your biggest fan.

Ryomen Sukuna whose answer to the Jujutsu Tech Weekly’s question of what he regretted most was turning down directors Jogo and Hanami’s offer to collaborate in a movie together, but really? He regretted ever convincing you to stop hiding your secret marriage and step into the limelight with him.

Ryomen Sukuna who can boast about his natural acting talent, charisma and success with all the proof in the world to back it up, but he would never say he was one for observance, not after he missed all the signs of an obsessive, insane stalker tailing after him and his precious, pretty wife.

Ryomen Sukuna who wonders what would've happened if he had just BOTHERED to reply and open the thousands of fan letters he used to get - would he have seen the letters his so-called number one fan had sent him, seen the signs of a despairing delusional madness that drove her to start hunting them both down from the shadows? Would he have paid more attention to the way doors seemed to always be unlocked when the both of you headed home, the missing personal items, the defaced pictures online of his wife?

As they all like to say, into the fire from out of the pan. XOXO, your biggest fan.

Ryomen Sukuna's temper his frequent viewers, family and friends were more than familiar with that made itself known when he publicly threatened whoever was breaking and entering into your shared home with something more physical than lawsuits; but how was he to know she'd take it the wrong way and somehow convince herself that his wife was putting him up to it, to make his one and only out to be the villain of this imaginary love scenario between her and him, to declare herself his “saviour”?

Ryomen Sukuna's decision to move to a new, more private and secure manor by the coast was supposed to protect you from the strange unknown figure lurking outside the house and everywhere you went. Supposed to. Somehow they found out his new home address anyway, and the only one who knew it was Choso, who swore up and down he told nobody and nobody could have possibly known.

Ryomen Sukuna's management (namely, his irritated manager Kenjaku) who finally succumbed to his harsh insults and furious demands and investigated who's been following them around lately: the truth shocked everyone to the core (could it possibly EVEN be the truth?!) when Fushiguro Tsumiki was arrested.

She might bear your son but you and I will start a clan. XOXO, your biggest fan.

Ryomen Sukuna ignored all the warning signs, the final letter with the ominous words of “I'll be the one to teach you love” and the Fushiguro’s protests of her innocence in favour of announcing the big news to the press and celebrating the new beginning in his and yours romance story, this time with a new addition to the family.

Ryomen Sukuna rarely slept before, preferring to stay up late memorising lines and terrorising the crew, but now was just operating on caffeine and quick naps in his worry during your pregnancy. Did he cry when baby Yuuji was born? Yes, and in his delight - although he pretended otherwise - he never noticed that one guest at every one of his conventions with an agitated expression and a hysterical, hateful grudge against you.

Ryomen Sukuna thought the business with his crazy fan stopped when he had his loyal Uraume taking care of his family on the rare occasions you didn't insist on coming to watch him work and hired a secretary to go through and filter all his letters, or maybe he was just preoccupied with watching Yuuji grow up and showering you with all the love his rough, rugged self could give…because he certainly didn't notice the new “security cameras” being set up at his house.

What a fatal mistake.

We'll be alone eventually, a couple and no longer a ban. XOXO, your biggest fan.

Ryomen Sukuna who staggered back and nearly killed the messenger when he heard the news, who raged internally against whatever cruel god had decided to deal him this fate: you and Yuuji had somehow disappeared when driving back from the park and even though police searched high and low you both were nowhere to be found.

Ryomen Sukuna whose world shattered when the two most important people in the world to him were declared dead. Despite Choso’s frantic persuausion and attempted comforts he vowed to never return to the world of stardom, not after his celebrity status got you both killed. He disappeared into the sea of ordinary lives, all signs of vibrancy and life gone right down to his iconic pink hair; he dyed that black, black as his heart and as black as the sky the day his darling went away, the day the letter arrived.

Ryomen Sukuna who imagined the police might make your deaths more real and not so nightmarish when they found your body, but never this way - what sort of sick bitch would send him a parcel containing the severed fingers of you ans Yuuji with a heart signed “Always your girl, Yorozu.”

I'm yours, you're mine, your wife's gone, just say she ran. XOXO, your biggest fan.

Ryomen Sukuna who now wanders the world, alive but alone, so ready to once love what he had had. A fate crueler than him has revealed itself, for they never did catch whoever had done the deed. The last time anyone had ever seen Sukuna at all was at the trial where Tsumiki was released.

Ryomen Sukuna who's played his fair share in horror movie of twisted endings and gruesome grief, but nobody ever told him real life was inspiration for the dark content. Everybody's long forgotten him as he slid into the role of background cameos but he never forgot how even with his fame and money he could never save you and Yuuji, much less avenge you both.

Ryomen Sukuna's half assed attempts at suicide never seemed to work out and he's nothing more than an angry shell of his former glory now. He even tore down both your photos in a fit of rage once; the man in the mirror wasn't him, surely?

They hunted in my basement but never searched my van. XOXO, your biggest fan.

Ryomen Sukuna who is now known for his infamous brutal homicide of one Fujiwara Yorozu with his bare, bloody hands who approached him at a shady bar and whispered she had done away with the devil, won't he ascend to Heaven with her now?

“FXXK YOU, I'D RATHER FALL TO HELL WITH HER THAN BE DRAGGED TO ‘HEAVEN’ BY THE LIKES OF YOU!”

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mayurilover · 26 days

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Happy boop day🥰

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mayurilover · 27 days

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Kirara Hoshi 🤭

Honestly I was gonna do another character but she just came to my mind when drawing 😭

#jjk anime #artwork #ibispaint art #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #kirara hoshi #jjkmanga #jjk hakari #hakari kinji #kirara x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #art

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mayurilover · 28 days

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Man my back hurts like hell from hunching over drawing this 😭 but anyways here's a drawing a sukuna 🤭 hope yall enjoy it!

#sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk anime #jjk manga #jjk fanart #jujutsu kaisen art #jujutsu sorcerer #king of curses #ibispaint art #artwork #digital art #anime #artists on tumblr #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader

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mayurilover · 29 days

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Kashimo fanart 🗣

Did it for someone on reddit who asked for a kashimo drawing. I did like a ask on redit for people to give me any jjk character, and ill draw them lol out of boredom

#jjk anime #artwork #art #digital art #ibispaint art #jjk #jjk manga #jjk kashimo #for you #jujutsu kaisen art #jjk fanart #jjk fandom

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mayurilover · 1 month

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king of curses

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mayurilover · 1 month

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I finally finished 🥲

the clothes were giving me a hard time with rendering them 😭, but the outcome was a good 💕

Edit:

Had to fix the lighting in the drawing cuz it looked a Lil too bright around the face 🙏 that's why it might look a lil different than before

#jjk anime #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #jjk #jjk season 3 #jujutsu kaisen art #jjk fanart #ibispaint art #digital art #artwork #for you #anime #drawing #art

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mayurilover · 1 month

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Process so far, I'm scared to render the clothes 😭

#jjk #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk anime #jjk manga #jjk season 3 #work in progress #ibispaint art #artwork #digital art

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mayurilover · 1 month

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Just some art work that I'm doing of gojo satori from jjk

#jjk #artwork #sketch #gojo satoru #jjk angst

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mayurilover · 1 month

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adagio for strings 2/4

↷ ˊ- true form!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

< previous | next >

"i'm not a crook!"

' - wc: 3.7k

you look more yūrei than human with how you stagger down the winding path, your breaths short and quick and shaky. the moon looks at you like how a mother would when her child is up to no good. she hides behind thick clouds to obscure her light in an effort to keep you from reigning carnage, but you move. to hell with the moon, you think, squinting your eyes to make out the dark shapes ahead. i don’t need a mother to guide me, much less the fucking moon.

you drag your feet across sharp stones hardly wincing, like a crippled animal on broken legs. the weight of your weapon is the only friend you have left, and you swallow the noise that crawls up your throat. you don’t know what it might’ve been. maybe a scream or even a sob, but it doesn’t matter now that the village is close. your eyes adjust to the darkness and you recognize the water well, the stone steps, the statues of yokai that are supposed to protect from natural disasters. you nearly bark a laugh at the irony.

is this what it takes to become a ghost story? you soak in the silence as you limp. in a hundred years or so, you think that farmers will warn their children about playing outside after dark, lest they want to be stolen by a pauper turned vengeful by those who damned her. it feeds your delirium and takes your mind off the ashes. this is only fair. an eye for an eye. considering the years of verbal and physical torment, you find this generous. mosquitoes swarm your space when you stumble over the steps of the first house.

it’s a humble thing, nothing impressive about it, belonging to either a cowherd or a farmer, but there are no sandals or scattered tools on the porch to confirm. after a quick assessment of the surroundings, you slip through a crack between the sliding doors. this’ll work, i’ll make it work. the inside is just as bland upon entering. you scoff, disappointed. there are no pots or paintings or portraits to take, no trophies to collect, but you find grass cushions around a low table for eating. tell-tale signs of life. they encourage you to move.

it doesn’t take much time to find a room, the only room, at the end of the sandalwood hall. you press your ear against the door, heart hammering in your chest, and wait for a few seconds. it remains silent. you pull back to stand face-to-face with the thin paper. a serpentine tongue flits across cracked lips. you don’t know what you’ll see inside. maybe a man and his wife, perhaps a family, sleeping soundly in proper, padded mattresses. they are probably dreaming about silly things, like conquering demons with sharp teeth or becoming the next shogun.

hot jealousy swirls in the pit of your gut. it bends and snaps unnaturally, dragging its claws along the walls to tear apart your innards. dreaming of silly things is such a fucking privilege. you are more than happy to rip it from them.

but your hand never touches the wooden frame, held back by a ubiquitous force. cicadas whine for you. you blink with a bit of clarity and, for the first time in a while, think twice. your anger comes down to a slow simmer, diluted by a cold wave of realization. you don’t know what you’ll see inside. it repeats like a mantra in your head. you are thin and weak and don’t know how to fight. the words don’t feel like yours, but you listen. a man might draw his sword and strike you down. a woman might scream her head off. what then? the hand around your hatchet loosens its grip.

it repeats, you don’t know what you’ll see inside.

your jaw is tight when you turn away, refusing to waste your chance on a bunch of strangers, before leaving as quietly as you came. realistically, you aren’t capable of fighting more than one person at a time. adrenaline has a timer that you don’t want to test. plus, there are people more deserving of death, like the kamo women. you consider it but decide that they’re not worth the effort. their esteemed estate sits at the top of the hill, and you’ll likely succumb to exhaustion before reaching it. the female seller is also out of the question; you don’t even know where she lives.

your best bet at revenge is the butcher, knowing that his house is tucked behind some trees down the street. you hesitate a little though. he is strong and powerful with burly arms that can snap brittle necks like yours, surely from experience. he is a challenge far greater than climbing a thousand steps for two women who know nothing about fighting. at least then, the playing field is even. but you remember how scared he was, and how his cowardice ran so deep that he had cried to a clan to get rid of you instead of doing it himself.

dried leaves crunch where you step. a grasshopper jumps away disturbed. that is one thing you hold over his head, it seems, one thing that makes you stronger than a man of muscle.

the walk is short. you reach it in just under five minutes minus the limping. you know that he earns more money than a cowherd and a farmer combined, if the size of his house is anything to go by. he must also be smarter because the door doesn’t budge when you try to slide it open, almost as if he anticipated your imminent arrival. but death doesn’t come knocking politely, and neither should you. you remember how you joked about squeezing through a hole in the back wall, rumored to have been from a strike meant for his prostitute wife. you’ll use it tonight to deliver the punchline.

you round the house and find the secret entrance. it’s boarded so poorly, almost as if he had just filled it with a couple of large rocks from the river and called it a day without bothering to take extra precautions. it takes the same amount of effort to pull them down with sanguine-wrought claws. luckily, the hole is large enough for a person to slip through, and you silently thank his wife, keeping your hatchet close. you hope she’s doing well wherever she is. you haven’t seen her at the market since the rumors have stopped, but you’re not overly concerned. she wasn’t kind to you either.

immediately you notice the air is different inside, almost stagnant. it’s colder too. hairs behind your neck stand on end, but you don’t let it deter you.

you explore the home with light steps. every once in a while, tatami floors creak underneath your feet. you freeze when they do and wait for frantic movements, but there’s none. you take a moment to calm yourself before continuing. in the kitchen, you find the butcher’s most prized possession: his cleaver. it rests on the wooden table abandoned by its owner. you approach to trace the metal. it’s cool to the touch and still sharp despite all of the flesh that it has cut through. this must have cost a fortune, you think. metals are hard to come by.

it would be a valuable thing to have by your side. it’d scare both people and animals more than a rusty hatchet with a weather-stained handle, and you’d never have to live in fear until the day it also deteriorates, but you don’t think that will happen for a long, long time. it’ll serve a message to the rest of them too. you’ll get to spend your final days eating peaches and melons offered out of fear, before being taken by the shogun’s army for a necessary execution. your fingers tingle. i’ll teach myself how to use you, and you reach for the foul weapon.

but your spine straightens at the sound of shuffling from somewhere deep in the house. it’s faint. horribly so, but you hear it. blood rushes to your head. you turn around half-expecting to see something behind you, but the space is empty. the shuffling continues, only this time a little louder, coming from the eastern hall with a single bedroom at the end. the butcher, you breathe shakily, forgetting the cleaver. it must be the butcher. he’s awake. you are tempted to run out of the house, tail tucked between your legs, but you swallow your fear. this bastard is the reason you’re sleeping without a roof tonight.

you exit the kitchen and walk towards the room, your weapon ready. the shuffling grows louder, more frantic. you focus your energy on standing upright, eyes burning from the effort to make out the darkness of the hallway. your hand glides along the wall for guidance, dust collecting at your fingertips. you only stop when you feel the familiar wooden frame of a door. when you hesitate for the nth time, the cold air curls around you with its tendrils, urging you forward. it whispers incoherent things. unable to resist temptation, you slide it open with one swift movement.

you think you’re ready for the butcher. you expect to find him twisting back and forth on his futon, or practicing his secret swordsmanship with ungraceful feet, or maybe even pacing the room like all men do. you’ve already thought of a million ways to catch him off-guard, and one of them might have worked if it'd actually been the butcher in the room, but nothing could have prepared you for this. there’s a large mass that’s darker than darkness, hunched in the far left corner, morphing between shapes as if it can’t decide between looking human or plant or animal.

you refuse to take your eyes off of it, like a sick audience for a sick show. the creature contorts unnaturally, bending this way and that before groaning a loud, horrible sound. it bounces off the walls in powerful waves that strain your ears. hissing, you don’t think twice before stepping back, but it’s already too late when tatami floors creak under your feet. immediately it silences, changing form in a blink. it is thinner and taller, closer to a corpse than anything, with features still indistinguishable in the dark. your mouth goes dry.

“what the hell—” it lunges forward. you fail to dodge.

the force of the fall rattles your bones, pushing out the air in your lungs. there is a resounding thud from where your hatchet falls. you aren’t given a chance to recover before it digs its long, black nails into your shoulders, drawing liquid copper, and claws at your flesh. the air is metallic on your tongue when you screech in pain. the creature shakes in turn, mimicking a laugh, and pushes against the lower half of your body to render it useless. you’ve only ever felt like this once in your life, when you had sleep paralysis as a child. the old sensation is ingrained in your memory, and it resurfaces only now.

a coil snaps in your chest. “get off me!” you scream, thrashing violently. your hands curl into fists that jab at its sides. the creature doesn’t take a definite shape. you might as well be hitting air, but your efforts aren’t entirely futile. it recoils just enough for you to twist to your side and frantically search for your hatchet. when you see it in the far end of the hall, just a few arms-length away, you scramble towards it in desperation. but the creature is relentless. it grabs your ankle and pulls hard, dragging you further into the dark. no. no no no. you fight the paralysis that threatens to consume you, and with one final burst of strength, you kick.

you aren’t exactly sure why the creature lets go, wailing as if it came into contact with hot coal, but you don’t have time to ogle at how it presses itself against the wall in fear. you push yourself back on your feet and wobble quickly towards your weapon. when it’s back in your possession, you hold it tight until your knuckles turn stark white. this time you have no intentions of dropping it. your lungs burn when you breathe, and you’re sure you injured something, but you don’t dwell on it for too long. adrenaline has a timer.

you bare your teeth when the creature approaches. you’re ready to raise the hatchet. you remember the laws of nature when it lunges again, and you dodge. the strongest survive and forget the weak, who are branded for death the second they leave the womb. it runs through your veins like forbidden ichor. those gnarled hands shoot forward with inhuman speed, intent to kill, but you move just in time. you need to be the strongest in the room to win. the creature’s strikes wildly, its steps unpredictable. you cough blood at a particularly hard hit to your side. you need to be the strongest.

the creature falls forwards when you slash its legs. taking advantage of its vulnerable position, you rush forward and watch as it scrambles for footing, before you pull the hatchet up high. it looks at you then. though it lacks a proper face you think that it’s trying to mimic human emotion. you don’t know what it wants to evoke within you, but you hope it knows that it’s useless when you look back without a hint of remorse. the hatchet hits the juncture between its neck and shoulders, digs deep into black, warping mass, and comes off clean from the other side.

you watch it dissipate into nothing as if it was never there. the silence is nearly deafening. i did it. i killed it. your feet move before you could process what just happened, or what you just killed. the world blurs around you. when you pass the kitchen and catch a glimpse of the cleaver, you remember the butcher. he feels like a distant memory. you doubt he’s even alive anymore if the creature had been here the entire time. when you step out, the cool air hugs you tight. it’s still dark. you wonder if any time has passed at all.

when you reach the bottom step, you collapse forward and get a mouthful of dirt. adrenaline leaves your system before you get a chance to say goodbye, replaced instead with bone-deep exhaustion. your body remains glued to the ground as it succumbs to the exertion, fading in and out of consciousness. you dropped your hatchet again, you realize through the haze. you summon enough strength to prod at the space beside you. you swipe left and right, up and down. nothing. your vision blurs with unshed tears.

the pain is unbearable, gripping you like a vice and unwilling to go. even breathing is a difficulty on its own, with each inhale accompanied by a sharp pain in your chest. you know the injury is lethal. you wonder who will find your body first in the morning. maybe a child or a seller. you wonder if they’ll celebrate your death with sake or fresh meat before dumping your body into the river. maybe they won’t want to waste anything at all, so they’ll leave you here to rot and go about their day. before you could enjoy your pity party, a gruff voice cuts through the silence. “pathetic. that thing was hardly a curse.”

you blink, startled. a few tears fall and mix with the dirt. you don’t dare to look.

“what happened to that spirit of yours? don’t tell me you’ve given up. get up.” it’s harsher now, like the sound of sharpening two swords.

what else is there to lose?. you force two arms under you, shakily planting your hands to push your upper body off the ground. you find a pair of feet, attached to two strong legs, a solid waist and—

your eyes widen in horror, and for the first time in your life you see a real monster. he possesses four— four— arms, two of which hold weapons you do not recognize, a second pair crossed over his chest. all four of his eyes watching you with disgusting amusement. he reeks of arrogance and condescension, etched in the grooves of his hideous face and the criminal tattoos worn with pride. you don’t know what kind of expression you’re wearing, but he laughs at it so loudly that you wonder how no one has woken up yet.

no, not again. your breaths turn rapid, eyes full blown and wild. i can’t do this again. this guy is different from the one in the house. i can’t— you could only imagine what he sees. a woman with sunken cheeks and torn skin, dressed in dirt and bloodied, battered garbs, lying on the brink of death. you come to think that he’s here to finish you off. at least one of you is enjoying themselves. “there you go,” he purrs, smiling sharp with pointed teeth stained red. “you nearly had me worried. it’d be a shame if you died already.”

you want to scream with what little voice you have left, but it only comes out in short, pained grunts. the monster notices this. carelessly, he throws his weapons behind him to crouch in front of you. he abandons them so easily that you wonder how he thinks of himself so highly that he can fight without them. he’s still massive from this angle, and your neck hurts from the effort to crane up at him. he props a now-free hand on his knee and rests his chin on its palm. “sounds painful,” he drawls, dripping with feigned concern. “need some help?” you simply stare.

“did you forget how to speak?” you think for a moment before shaking your head. “then speak.”

“i c-can’t,” you nearly punch the words out of you.

a heavy sigh blows over you as he massages the bridge of his nose, grumbling something under his breath. the situation is almost comical. you can’t discern between his anger and disappointment. they blend so well together that you think he only feels both simultaneously, one unable to exist without the other. you aren’t surprised if that’s the case. everything about the monster came in pairs. two arms, two faces. of course he’d feel double the hatred over you. you just don’t understand why he hasn’t killed you yet. a creature like him doesn’t look like he’s capable of patience.

“you know,” his eyes narrow to thin slits. “you cause a lot of trouble in these parts. you’re like a fucking spawner, creating a bunch of pitiful curses.” so he’s not going to help you. the monster leans in to grab your face with one hand, squeezing your cheeks tight until your lips pucker. it feels like he’s trying to shatter your jaw with how much pressure he uses. “bet you don’t even know what curses are.” you don’t, but the word is familiar. you think that he catches the glint of recognition in your eyes, because his smile turns devilish.

“it’s a shame that you’re ugly,” he continues, humming to himself as he turns your head left and right. “you barely got any fat on you. you’re giving me close to nothing to work with.” fear shoots down your spine at his words, suddenly realizing the full extent of your vulnerable position. you think he notices that too because he simply chuckles and offers no clarification. his large hand crawls up the side of your face before tangling itself into your matted hair. he pulls back harshly and you wince.

“tell you what. i’ll give you food, water, and a bed if you make a deal with me.” his promise is vile. he takes advantage of your silence knowing full well that you’re unable to ask for its conditions.

but still, you weigh your options. there is nothing left for you here in this small village. no family or friends to remember, no home to turn to. you were never liked by the residents either, and you doubt you ever will be no matter what you do. plus, people will think that you have something to do with the butcher’s disappearance. although you were supposed to, you’d still be falsely accused for a kill that wasn’t yours, which you still think is highly unfair. you’d be doing everyone a favor if you disappear anyways.

so you look at him with the last bits of your bravery and nod. he grins fiercely, pleased with your decision.

“uraume,” he says. your eyes widen when a familiar figure materializes from nothing. the monk-child, who you saw at the market, the one that gave you your first pomelo. when they stand side-by-side over your collapsed form, something in your mind clicks. this four-armed freak is what leaves the village so restless. when sellers and ladies aren’t complaining about you, they talk about him. the “cursed object.” you still don’t know what that means. uraume’s expression is just as unreadable when they study you for the nth time.

“prepare a room at the temple, and cook twice as much for dinner,” he orders, his eyes raking over you. his companion, who you’re starting to believe is his servant, bows their head and mutters a humble “yes sir” before dissolving into air. you gape, eyes are fixated on where they stood. the monster merely chuckles at your ignorance. his grip on your hair loosens, and he pushes your head back into the dirt, surely leaving a mold of your face for the sellers to marvel over the next morning.

you don’t know about the other hands hovering over your back, expelling enough energy to seep through your robes, past your flesh, and into your bones. “you don’t understand now, but you will soon,” his voice is hypnotizing, bleeding through the static in your ears. you feel your ribs click back into place, and you taste earth when you gasp. “i’ll make you an expert in curses.”

exhaustion finally pulls you into its arms. it is your last embrace for a long, long time.

(masterlist) | listen to adagio for strings!

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mayurilover · 1 month

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mayurilover · 1 month

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Princess Yue as the Moon Spirit in a style inspired by Alphonse Mucha.

🌸 This piece is available as a print here! 🌸

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mayurilover · 1 month

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You’re a Curse Baby Pt.7

Jujutsu Kaisen imagine (reader insert)

Warnings: Fighting, blood, hella guilt tripping, death, questioning ones life, digestion?

GIF is not mine!

Pt.6 Pt.8

AN: I will not lie, I had a hard time getting Mahito’s character down so I apologize if he’s OOC, I tried. Also I tweaked the script again because baby curse needed their own spotlight (step aside Yuji).

Keep reading

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mayurilover · 1 month

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NOW SPELL: ANGEL Z-E-L-D-A WRONG! TRY AGAIN.

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mayurilover · 2 months

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🔞 MDNI | Kinktober: Mirrors 🔞

🎃 Shunsui x Male!Reader 🎃

TW: use of a mirror, sub!reader, doggy style sitting up (sitting back on knees), slight edging, creampie, cum leaking.

tags: @tehyunnie @lufenianwol @bleachbrainrotbro

“Look at yourself,” he whispered. Through the haze of desire, your half-lidded gaze found itself on the large, rectangular mirror positioned at the edge of the bed. You could see everything. The way your cock leaked precum, the rolling of your hips as his met yours in a slow, continuous loop, how utterly flushed your face was, and the soft yet firm grip his hand had on your face. Shunsui’s thumb gently stroked your cheek, and he kept his eyes on the mirror in front of the two of you.

His hips suddenly jerked, and a sharp moan ripped from your throat as his dick buried itself deeper in your ass. The promise made beforehand of taking things slow was long forgotten as his hips crashed against the back of yours, and the sharp sting of his balls slapping against the curve of your ass caused you to elicit another moan. The sensation caused your tip to weep further, and your jaw clenched slightly in response. The pleasure slowly built up, and you could see it with the way more and more of your precum slid down your shaft. Just a little more and you’d be in complete bliss.

Shunsui knew this, but he wasn’t going to let the moment end so soon. His thrusts shifted to an agonizingly slow pace that made you whine in protest, but he only chuckled. “You’re being needy tonight,” he whispered. His chin rested on your shoulder, hand tightening slightly as he held your face, watching your expressions in the mirror. He loved the way you looked. Adored how flushed your skin was, the way he could see your body clenching with pleasure, and how your cock constantly wept with arousal. The sight made him feel sorry for wanting to prolong this. Almost, that is.

“Please, Shu,” you begged softly. The pleasure coursing through your veins felt like too much to bear right now. “Please, let me—.”

“Not right now,” he said, silencing you. He chuckled again when you whined in protest, again, and he ignored the way his guilt twisted inside of him. As much as he wanted to bring you over the edge, he couldn’t. At least not right now. With his hips gyrating slowly and his thrusts practically making you want to sob in irritation, he kept his eyes on the mirror. The older man wanted to watch himself ruin you. He watched as you began to squirm against him a little, and his grip on your cheek tightened just enough to not harm you, but to keep you still. “Please, you have to stay still.”

Your body obeyed, remaining still as he slowly slid in and out of you. The pace he was going at was still painfully slow, as if he was edging you on purpose. Honestly, you wouldn’t put it past the man to tease you in such a way, but still, it felt a little unfair without any hint of a warning. Not that you could do anything about it now, so you let yourself enjoy the feeling and tried to ignore the uncomfortable tightness of your cock.

Then, as if on cue, his hips bucked a little faster. As much of a surprise as it was, you only moaned and moved in sync as his pace quickened. A bit of relief washed over your body at the feeling. Maybe now you could reach that blissful ending you craved so much. “Shu,” you moaned, your voice calling out and pleading for him to go just a little faster. Hearing you only caused him to thrust into you faster now, the sound of his balls smacking against the curve of your ass echoing in the bedroom. It mixed with your moans, and he loved it—almost as much as he loved watching himself fuck you in the mirror.

Shunsui’s pace was almost brutish, teetering between his usual softness and that rough side of him that you loved so much. You couldn’t take it any longer, and the feeling of your balls constricting had you groan out as white, hot pleasure swarmed your body, finally coaxing you over the edge and into release. The older man watched your cock slap against your abdomen as he fucked into you, and his eyes lit up as you came without warning, cock twitching as thick ropes of cum spurted out.

Your body clenched, causing your hole to tighten around his dick, and he groaned softly in response as he slowed his movements down, yet continued with his thrusts. The sight of you coming undone and clenching around him was enough for him to finally spill into you with a grunt, and he waited a few seconds, emptying himself entirely before pulling out.

He was careful when laying you down on the bed, and his eyes roved over your fucked out form, taking in the sight of your sweat and cum-stained skin. Shunsui’s eyes lit up yet again when he moved around you, taking in the way his own cum slowly seeped from your ass. He then looked back at the mirror, eyes lighting up yet again when he spotted a few drops of your cum on the surface. It excited him and he sighed, knowing he would have to wait for you to recover before going at it again, but he was a patient man.

In the meantime, he helped you, cleaning you up just to ruin you in front of the mirror, again.

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