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#felt like the end of the fucking world for a second there :| this is literally so embarrassing i'm sorry
greenglowinspooks · 13 hours
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(DCXDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 5)
Tw: torture scene (GiW agent receiving), general angst, canon-typical violence (DC), nobody is having a good time
Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually
(Masterlist/subscription post)
It was pretty easy for Danny to forget that Dr. Crane was a rogue at times.
Most of the time he wasn’t comically evil, like what he’d expect of a Gotham rogue. He was helping Danny, even if only because he didn’t want to be taken in by the GiW as well. He was even downright nice most of the time, or at least neutral.
Sure, he had a strange obsession with fear and psychology, but that wasn’t really out of the ordinary for Danny. It didn’t feel like living with a rogue, just like…staying with a distant relative, or something.
He seemed like just an ordinary person.
Today, though, Danny was brought back to reality.
The GiW agent they’d tracked down together writhed on the ground, screaming in pain and terror. Scarecrow was sat a few feet away, setting up a syringe of the antidote he’d made.
After a few more moments, he injected the man with the antidote, watching him like a hawk the entire time.
Suddenly, the man surged forward, lunging at Scarecrow with a feral scream.
Unluckily for him, though, he was still weak from the fear toxin in his system, and from the beatings he’d received prior. Scarecrow easily wrestled him to the ground, settling himself on the broad part of the agent’s back with a vice grip on one of his arms.
“Let’s try again,” he said sharply, all of the warmth Danny had grown used to gone from his voice. “Where is the GiW base of operations?”
The agent took several shuddering breaths before spitting at Scarecrow, defiance and hatred written all over his face.
For just a moment, the room was utterly silent.
“Fine, have it your way.”
Scarecrow began to twist the man’s arm further. It wasn’t long before the agent began to squirm, then writhe, beneath him. Danny’s stomach churned.
“You know,” Scarecrow began, almost conversationally, “there are plenty of jobs that one can get without the use of their legs, especially with the level of education you have. Anything that doesn’t involve hard labor, really.”
The man’s face was beginning to turn red in his struggle not to scream. He took in gasping breaths, the way that his mouth moved almost reminding Danny of a goldfish.
(He felt awful for the comparison, but it was true.)
“However,” Scarecrow continued, “I find you’d be rather hard-pressed to find a job without the use of your arms. Especially in a place like Gotham, where you can always be replaced by someone eager to do your job for even less money. Of course, you could most likely coast off of savings and severance pay for a while, but…”
He leaned closer to the man’s head, his voice lowering.
“Would you be able to live like that? To live with yourself, if you no longer have a purpose?”
He allowed the agent a few seconds of rest before increasing the pressure on his arm. The agent gasped, letting out a strangled hiss. His arm bones were making fascinating noises in response to the strain. Danny felt sick.
“You seem like a rather driven young man. I’m sure your family would hate to see you unmotivated, directionless. Would they resent you, do you think?”
“Fuck you, you—”
The man was cut off by his own scream as Scarecrow finally allowed his arm to break, audibly splintering into thousands of useless shards of bone.
He had the exact pressure memorized. Clearly, he had done this before.
This was wrong. This was wrong.
Shouldn’t Danny step in, do something?
“That won’t heal cleanly. Even with the best medical care in the world, you’ll end up with permanent damage.”
The man below him wheezed and sobbed, choking on air as Scarecrow let go of his arm carelessly, letting it flop back onto the ground.
“Just the sort of thing something like you deserves,” Scarecrow hissed, his voice cold.
“You tortured a child, and you enjoyed it. You laughed with your friends about it. In your notes, one of your friends complained about the screaming,” Scarecrow brought his leg around, grinding his boot into the man’s broken arm. He howled in agony, writhing uncontrollably.
“Was it inconvenient to him, do you think? Too loud? If you were joking about it, clearly you thought so, too. I could fix that as well.”
He drew out another needle, this one once again filled with fear toxin.
“Scarecrow, wait,” Danny choked out.
Scarecrow turned to look at him.
Even his posture was different than usual. He looked… stiff, more like an animal than a man. When he tilted his head at Danny in a silent question, it looked like something in his neck had snapped, his head lolling to the side.
Danny wondered if he was consciously moving like that, or if it was habit at this point.
“You—we don’t have to do this. We can get information some other way, right? You don’t have to…”
Danny looked down at the GiW agent below Scarecrow. He didn’t even have it in him to glare up at Danny like he had before. Instead he laid limply on the ground, tremors rolling through his body uncontrollably.
“We’ve exhausted every other option and you know it,” Scarecrow said, his voice low, “this is the only way we can move forward.”
“Still, I—I don’t,” Danny swallowed, his throat tight, “this isn’t—this isn’t right. Isn’t there some other way to do this? Like—a truth serum, or something?”
“Truth serums are notoriously unreliable. They’re almost as bad as lie detectors. We’re much more likely to get a reliable result from this.”
Danny just stared at the GiW agent and his splintered, ruined arm. He began to weakly wriggle in Scarecrow’s grasp, which was graciously ignored.
He vaguely remembered himself doing the same thing when he was on the operating table; even if he knew there was no chance of escape, he still thrashed and screamed, desperate to get away. The jagged I-shaped incision on his torso felt uncomfortably warm.
What was there left to say?
“The Bat does the same thing at times, you know,” Scarecrow said, “him and the rest of his brood. By using my toxin, I’m actually lessening the amount of permanent damage that I’m doing. Physically.”
“Still, that doesn’t make it right,” Danny said desperately. “Even if—even if everyone in the world did this, it wouldn’t make it right.”
Scarecrow hummed.
They were both silent for a moment.
His next words were gentle, absurdly so when compared to the scene in front of him.
“I would love an alternative. But…”
He shrugged, hand coming to rest on the break in the GiW agent’s arm. Even without applying any pressure, the man stopped squirming immediately.
“There aren’t any other options,” Danny repeated, his voice flat and his body numb.
“Yes,” Scarecrow said. “I’m sorry.”
There was a pause. No one moved a muscle. Eventually Scarecrow spoke again, his voice strangely empty.
“You can stand outside and keep watch, if you’d like. At such a short distance their radars won’t pick us up.”
Danny said nothing, leaving the room silently.
He sat outside for quite a while.
He was grateful that Scarecrow had, with his help, dragged the agent to one of his previous hideouts. It was soundproofed, after all.
He was glad that he didn’t have to hear the rest of what Scarecrow did to the man.
After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Crane left the building, joining him outside. He guided Danny back to his beat up old truck and they drove home in silence.
“Did you at least…do you know where they are, now?” Danny asked as they entered the apartment, his voice small.
“They didn’t share the details of all of their locations with any one person. I know where one of their locations are, but not their main base of operations.”
Danny felt disgusted. With himself, with Dr. Crane, with the GiW.
He was disgusted by the agent, too. Did he just hate the restless dead so much that he would prefer to be tortured than to give them the upper hand? Did he really think he was in the right?
Was there a chance that he was?
Danny felt very, very small, and very stupid. Stupid and weak and cowardly.
“Danny,” Dr. Crane spoke, his voice soft.
“I’m truly sorry that this is happening to you. I really, truly wish that you didn’t have to endure my company. I…”
He fell quiet. Danny wondered if he was just saying this to pacify him, or if he truly meant it. He wondered if it really mattered in the end.
After a few moments of silence, Dr. Crane sighed, looking truly pained.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Danny was quiet.
“I’m going to bed early,” he finally said, turning away and leaving without a second glance.
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vlrspace · 2 days
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there was never a time where the atmosphere was this thick with tension, gojo thinks, never with you at least.
his slender fingers dug tightly into the leather covered wheel, white brows meeting in the middle of his forehead as his cerulean eyes focus on the road ahead. how comical, of course it’s raining outside, accompanied with purple and white strikes appearing across the sky.
gojo gazes at you from the corner of his eyes, he’s desperately trying to ignore the churn of his heart at the sight of you. soft arms wrapped around your frame, fully embracing yourself and seeking comfort in a pair of arms that aren’t his. streaks of maskara coating the red apples of your cheeks, as you lean your head against the window.
he can’t decide what’s worse; the fact that you haven’t even spoke, let alone look at him ever since you two left or that he can’t find anyone else to blame, but himself.
truly, he hadn’t known about the invitation of his ex girlfriend by his parents. a vicious move on their end, just to taunt you with the thought that gojo could always do better than you.
his ex, who is a true golden girl, the definition of a perfect woman every parent desire their children to be with. however, she was far from the ideal partner, with her cunning and self absorbed nature. sure, she’s beautiful and comes from a wealthy family, like gojo, but she only ever cared about putting up a good show for the world. everything with her were non existent, unlike with you.
gojo is aware of how, unfortunately, his parents aren’t particularly fond of you and frankly, he doesn’t care.
the familiar silhouette of your home is visible in the distance and the white haired male tries to calm down his thoughts, to centralise them about making you stay with him. gojo thinks that it’s ridiculous how tied to you he really feels, how dependent he is on you and in such short time as well. six months were enough to make him obsessed with you, it’s utterly pathetic.
the buzzing of the engine comes to a stop and you get yourself ready to exit the car, but gojo locks the car before you even could reach the handle. the action makes you turn towards him, confused and nervous as you wait for him to talk.
“i’m so sorry” his sentence comes out shaky and breathless, his body wholly facing you, blue gaze never wavering away from yours. “i’m so fucking sorry” his shoulders are shaking, pools of tears leaking from the corner of his eyes.
with quiet sobs, he reaches for you, his hands carefully placing themselves on your waist, softly cradling you closer to him. the action makes your eyes widen, you’ve never seen gojo so vulnerable before. he threw his tie on the backseat the second you two entered the vehicle, along with his suit and his button up is halfway undone.
“you deserve so much better” his words are barely audible between the hiccups, his forehead gently pressing against yours as a hand comes up to wipe your tears away. “so much better than me”
gojo blames himself for the way his parents treated you at the dinner party, you realise, belittling you and throwing snarky remarks in front of everyone when his ex arrived. even though gojo stood up for you and got into an argument with his family, those words still hurt you.
“but i don’t ever want to let you go, you’re my everything. i didn’t know what home felt like till i met you, what love really was. i don’t have to pretend to be someone else when i’m with you and you make me feel whole” the desperation of his voice makes your heart break, you can feel his hold on you a little unsteady. “it’s you that i want, you make feel a better man and i love you so much it makes my heart hurt” he stutters out, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips, before pulling away from you.
“i don’t care what they think, i belong with you” your breath hitches in your throat as his words hit you with full force. not only that, but there is no hesitation in his voice and his face is full of seriousness.
“satoru..” you whisper out finally and reach for your seatbelt. swiftly unlocking it, you throw yourself at him, lips pressing against each other feverishly.
your hands curl around his neck, fingers disappearing in his white hair and you feel him wrap around your waist and move you into his lap. gojo’s tongue pushes into your mouth, salvaging every inch he touches. one of his hands cradles your cheek, thumb gently stroking your soft skin and you feel his other hand slowly moving you against him.
you’re the first one to pull away, just barely a few inches between you, gojo’s hips thrusting upwards to meet yours in the middle. both of your breaths are heavy and the atmosphere is now filled with a different type of tension. the sound of rain sounds distant, you can’t seem to care about the on going storm outside anymore. all you care about is gojo, the love of your life.
“i love you so much” your words are whispered against his lips as he leans up to capture yours in a kiss again.
if gojo wasn’t so occupied with you right now, he would laugh at his parents’ poor attempt to break you two apart. he knows his parent finally realised, how much you mean to him and the growing fear within them taken over.
satoru would do anything for you, even if it meant abandoning the great gojo empire just to be with you.
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@/vrlspace, 2024
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chelseeebe · 3 days
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‘til the world caves in: something in the orange
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mdni 18+. smut. exfamous!steve x female reader. zombie apocalypse au! mentions of guns and violence throughout. no use of y/n!
a/n: this is my new iteration of the apocalypse au! i dabbled with it before but actually rlly like this one, matter of fact, most of the chapters are written already lmfao:) the famous part rlly is just there for this oneee specific scene i had in mind for a later part but it’s something different i guess
nobody cares who you are in the apocalypse. well, maybe except for you.
life before the outbreak had been weird enough for steve, his band had just started their rise to fame when all this shit went down.
it wasn’t exactly where he wanted to be at 19 but money and fame weren’t anything he was gonna say no to.
and then news broke that people had started eating each other’s faces and now he was no longer this up and coming star, rather just some guy trying to stay alive with some girl he’d met fleeing new york.
six years was more than enough time for them to become best friends, travelling through various camps and groups of people before they ended up somewhere in the middle of indiana.
steve’s never been here before and he wishes he wasn’t here now.
there’s nothing for miles and now robin’s leg is fucked, he thinks it might be the end.
the buttfuck town of hawkins indiana would be their demise.
they’d collapsed on the fence of some building, too dehydrated and tired to care. accepting a certain death as robin cries softly next to him, their fingers entwined as death awaits.
they were pretty delirious when they were picked up by some group. a tall man with a thick moustache and a lady with a sweet voice, helping them across town to their compound.
he’s not entirely sure what had happened when they’d arrived, he’d been bustled into a room and remembers collapsing on the bed with a pounding in his head before blacking out.
-
turns out he was out for days, waking up in the dark confines of a tiny box room with nothing else around him. admittedly, the lack of robin in his immediate vicinity scared the shit out of him.
all he can remember is that her leg was infected and her head was starting to hurt which was never a good sign.
a small, curly haired lady bursts into the room, startled to see him standing, “oh! you’re awake! great,” she smiles.
“where am i?” he asks, like a petrified child.
“you’re in hawkins,” she nods, “you were in a pretty bad state when we found you.”
nothing had ever felt so befuddling, jolting him back into survival mode as he realises his bag was nowhere to be found.
“where’s robin? we need to.. we have to go,” steve rushes, fearing the worst.
“she’s good, i think she was in the cafeteria.. we can go and get some food if you’d like?” the kind lady offers, pity in her eyes.
he nods, sceptical as he follows her out of the room and through the massive doors. there’s laughter from the other side, amazed at the sight of the light bulbs glowing white. electricity. nothing like the candles and flashlights they’d been using for years.
robin jumps up from the table the second he walks through, hobbling over with a few grunts and groans.
“you’re awake! oh my god steve, i’ve been so worried,” she frets, throwing her arms around his neck, trying to ignore the stares from the strangers in the room.
“you’re okay? i thought..” he exhales, not wanting to finish his sentence. “i don’t know.. fuck,” now robin was here and alive and in his arms, the overwhelming feeling of ten people gawping at him sinks in.
there’s nothing familiar about this place, it’s nothing like the places they’d stayed in, it feels like before.
“come get some food,” robin ushers, placing her hand on his back and very slowly walking to the table, “it’s nice here,” she leans in to whisper, “everyone’s super nice, they even have electricity!” she marvels, helping him to the empty seat.
she pushes her plate towards him, beans and some sort of meat. he hadn’t had a substantial meal in what felt like months, living off of foraged cans and jerky.
the crowd seems to back off at this point, leaving him and robin to eat. to try and digest this place despite feeling like he was in some crazy dream.
“we found some stragglers, out at the old school,” he hears a voice from behind, talking about himself and robin, “they were in pretty bad shape.”
steve doesn’t look around, continuing to eat his portion of robin’s dinner instead.
turns out he didn’t have to, as you arrive at his table, shotgun still strapped to your back and a thick layer of dirt all over your face.
“you the new guys?” you ask, looking between him and robin.
“yeah,” answering for the both of them, “robin,” extending her hand to meet yours.
you shake it, with a small, wary smile before turning your attention to steve, eyes narrowed as if you’re trying to place him.
“i remember you,” smiling with the side of your mouth, sizing him up. “steve harrington,” saying his name with such conviction, “newest member of in motion, weren’t you?”
he’s surprised that anyone would even care to remember him or the shitty boy band he was coerced into, “i mean, i was.. doesn’t really matter now though, right?”
you hum and he’s not sure whether it’s positive or not, “i used to be a fan,” steve couldn’t fathom someone like you ever being a fan of the shitty corporate pop he used to make. “maybe you can perform for us some day.”
it’s the first time in years that anyone has recognised him from before. unsure of how it makes him feel.
-
steve had presumed that he and robin were doing pretty well, they were alive weren’t they?
he’d found out that actually, neither of the two knew a single thing about proper, adequate survival skills and had gotten by with some grace of god.
he could shoot a gun, at least he thought he could. they typically just aimed and shot and hoped for the best rather than all of this.
you kick his feet further apart, barking shoulder width into his ear for the umpteenth time. it’s pretty hard to focus when you’re standing right behind him with your soft lips brushing against his ear every few seconds.
robin takes to it like a duck on water, keeping her arms straight and the gun in line with her eye. how the fuck does she know all of this shit?
steve fires and subsequently misses the makeshift target, cursing under his breath with a nasty side eye to robin who hits it straight in the drawn on face.
“steve,” you warn, walking over to him with a slight frown, “keep it steady, that kick back is no joke.”
he pulls a face, realigning the gun to his eye and tries again.
missing the target entirely this time.
“okay,” you sigh, the feel of your arms wrapping around his startle him for a second before the rest of your body presses against his back.
oh god.
it’d look pretty weird if he popped a boner while on shooting practice, he thinks.
it’s not as if human contact is a thing he encounters regularly, how was his body supposed to know the difference?
your chin rests on his shoulder, peering over at the target, hands coming to sit atop of his sweaty ones as you aim for him.
“that good?” you ask, breath tickling his ear.
it felt good, felt very good actually. your chest flat against his back, his breathing falling into to time with yours.
“ye- yup,” he flutters, almost choking on the words.
steve get it together.
“so go,” you order.
his finger presses the trigger, the bullet flies through the target, straight between the eyes.
“there you go!” you celebrate, the warmth of your body on his disappearing as you come to join him at his side.
he and robin share a look, robin’s smirk was unmistakable, steve knew what she was thinking, somehow he always did.
“go again, just you this time,” nodding with encouragement.
his thoughts are jumbled, preoccupied with the want for you to touch him again. just this time, maybe somewhere more private.
but he does it. the painted on silhouette is hit straight through the forehead, garnering a whoop from robin.
“you’re getting the hang of it,” you smile, fingers brushing over his as you take the gun from his hand. it makes him shiver, electricity pulsing between you. “don’t worry, we can come back out here another day,” sharing a look that lingers just a little too long.
you collect robin’s gun and announce something about lunch but steve can’t focus, still attempting to collect himself from a puddle on the floor.
“man, if you don’t get in there, i’m going to,” robin quips, slapping him quite harshly on the back.
“fuck off,” he hits back, trying to shake the loud, intrusive voice in the background of his mind.
there wasn’t much time for love and relationships while he had to fight the undead. a small part of him wonders if maybe now it’s possible, in here, with you.
okay, he’s definitely getting ahead of himself.
-
you don’t help steve’s delusions when you join him and robin at their table for breakfast, making sure to slide into the seat directly opposite just so he can try not to choke on his food.
“you guys settling in okay?” you ask, not really looking at robin at all, eyes glued to his.
“y-yeah, it’s nice here,” he sputters, trying to focus on the bowl of porridge in front of him.
“good,” you smile, sickeningly sweet.
robin’s foot swiftly connects with his leg, coughing on his mouthful as he returns the favour. he knows what she’s getting at, he’d divulged his fantasies to her a couple nights ago.
they’d been allocated separate rooms but hadn’t dared to separate yet, holing up in steve’s bed as they got used to this place.
you look up again, as if you want to ask something, “i think uh.. a few of the kids found out you were in a band and they wanted to know if you’d sing for them at some point?”
steve narrows his eyes, not forgetting that you’d already revealed yourself as a fan, “they asked?” quirking his brow.
your lips pucker, jabbing at your food in an attempt to hide, “well..” looking up at him through spindly lashes, “maybe not just them.”
he feels this intangible sensation in his chest, a burning that aches his insides.
“okay,” he smiles, managing to keep it down, “i’ll sing for y- them,” hoping no one pulls him on his freudian slip, cheeks burning scarlet.
your eyes light up, the whole world encapsulated within your iris’, a sight he already dreamed of.
he feels like a teenager again, wondering if the pretty girl on the other side of the table liked him back.
-
“ready?” you nod, slinging your backpack over your shoulder.
steve’s been anxiously awaiting his first shift on watch, scared about the prospect of accidentally fucking up and someone dying or something like that.
so for his first shift, he’d been graciously paired with you on the back wall. he’s been told there’s never much action there, usually a few stray infected but nothing too serious.
it doesn’t help that you’re in some ridiculously skimpy vest with the tightest pants he’s seen. there’s not a chance in hell that he’ll be able to keep his mind focused.
the pair of you stroll over to the wall, climbing the rusty old tower and relieving argyle and will from their positions.
grateful that you were given the evening shift as the hot july sun is setting and the breeze is beginning to kick in.
you immediately slump into the camp chair, slinging your bag from your back and kicking your heavy boots off, clunking against the metal as they land.
“so.. now we just sit here?” steve asks, cocking a brow at your relaxed disposition.
“yup,” nodding along as you squint up at him. “back wall’s never too exciting, i bet we don’t see a soul.”
“yeah.. okay,” he nods too, taking a seat in the adjacent camp chair, praying for a quiet night.
time ticks on for what must be hours, the courtyard had gone quiet and all he can really hear is your gentle breaths and a cricket somewhere in the long grass.
it must be gone 2am by now and you’d not seen a single thing, not even any infected.
steve can feel your eyes on him, not daring to look over until you start speaking.
“bored yet?”
he shakes his head, he wasn’t. this was pretty exhilarating if he was honest. every time you spoke to him, his heart rate seemed to soar.
“no, no this is nice.”
“the quiet?” you question, tilting your head to the side.
“yeah.. i feel like i haven’t really stopped since we got here.”
there’d been copious amounts of training and the like since he had properly recovered. nancy had shown him how to tie and set up traps. dustin had attempted to explain how you guys had power, though he couldn’t really grasp it.
and you, you had shown him how to shoot and fight and how to use a knife correctly rather than just flailing it around and hoping for the best.
“you’re not a bad watch partner, some of them are so annoying,” rolling your eyes in jest, snickering quietly.
steve smiles, genuinely. he hadn’t really experienced anyone other than robin’s company for a long time and while he loved her to death, it was nice to speak to someone else.
“you’re not too bad yourself,” shying away after his pathetic attempt at flirting.
there had been a fair amount of consideration and a perhaps a little bit of delusion but he had dwelled on it and came to the conclusion that he really liked you.
probably more than he should do at this point.
you pout your lips, considering something before starting, “you know.. there’s something else we could do to pass the time..”
he stares, befuddled for a moment until the glint in your eye makes it all click.
“oh,” is all that comes out of his suddenly very dry mouth.
there’s a flash of hurt and maybe embarrassment on your face, “or not.. i mean- i was just.. forget it,” squeezing your eyes shut as your palm hits your forehead.
“no! god no! i didn’t think you’d want to.. y’know, here..” terrified that he had screwed up his one chance.
not only would he have to leave hawkins, he’d probably have to curl up and die somewhere out of sheer embarrassment and regret.
“i wouldn’t have asked if i didn’t want to,” you shrug, uncurling from your blushing state.
steve almost falls from the rickety chair, “of course i do.. is it a good idea?” motioning over the wall somewhere, “with the watch and stuff..” eager to not disappoint the rest of his new group mates.
“we haven’t seen a thing all night.. we’re not being relieved for another few hours.”
“i don’t.. i don’t think i’ll need a few hours,” hell, ten minutes would be fairly optimistic.
a smirk nudges at your lips, standing from your chair to perch in front of him, hands on his shoulders as you take one last quick peek around.
“you’re sure?” you ask, as if he wasn’t gazing up at you like some pathetic puppy dog right now.
“so sure,” nodding enthusiastically. hesitant to touch you until you smile down at him, egging him on.
“get on the floor,” you instruct, still leering over the metal barriers, “just in case.”
he does as he’s told, sitting back against the wall with a lopsided grin as his heart rate increases tenfold.
it’d been years since he’d had sex. he supposes there was that one girl at the third or fourth camp they were in but she was pretty weird and a little obsessive. it only happened once and then he couldn’t bring himself to do it again.
but you’re smiling now, resting on his thighs and he thinks his heart might give out. there’s no certainty that he’ll even be able to last long enough for you to get any enjoyment from it but he’s willing to try.
a moment passes, eyes locked as you lean down, pressing a gentle yet excited kiss to his lips, it’s more human contact than he’s had in years.
you waste no time, fumbling with the button on his pants, sighing as you pop the button, waiting for him to return the honour.
steve lifts both of your bodies, barely kicking his jeans off before you sit back down, his fingers tingling with pure excitement as they unbutton your pants.
they end up somewhere in the pile of discarded clothes, focusing your attention back on his lips, carelessly connecting your lips.
your hips rock back and forth, sending a deep grumble from his throat to yours as his dick twitches in his boxers. he might as well not even bother to actually have sex, he was about to cum right then and there.
it’s made worse when your middle and index finger slide into the waistband of his boxers, struggling to stay afloat as you tug the material down just under his balls, cock springing up the second it’s freed.
you position your hands on his shoulders, looking down at him with wet lips, the only sounds are the crickets watching this degeneracy.
your hands find their place on his shoulders, holding yourself up while his fist finds his cock, lining himself up with your entrance, heart rate skyrocketing as you gasp above him.
his fingernails graze your skin, leaving indentations in the soft flesh, unable to contain the husky groan that escapes his lips.
your palm slaps over his mouth immediately, eyes wide as your hips rock, “you have to be quiet,” you hush though the smirk tugging at your lips tells him you’re not angry.
steve feels electric, pulsing through his veins with every slight movement you make, garbling into your palm when your pace quickens.
bouncing on his cock, making the entire structure creak and wobble.
he realises now that it’s silent, how obvious the sounds of sex are, skin slapping against skin as you squeak and grunt alongside it.
you’re insane, keeping your hand firmly over his mouth as you use his shoulder for leverage, rolling your hips and squeezing around him.
he’s about ready to cum already, there’s no surprise there. but he’s trying his hardest to hold out, to let you get something from this before he blows his load.
clinging on to your hips for dear life as they roll, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks while he turns to utter mush behind your hand.
“oh shit,” you whine, clit nudging against his pubic bone, louder than he could ever be.
that’s it, hearing you whine sends his stomach lurching, with barely enough time to life your body from his lap before he explodes.
hips stuttering into the air as you watch with bated breath, still covering his mouth as a series of expletives tumble out, muffled and breathless.
steve’s never felt so embarrassed and yet so good all at once, the back of his head thwacking against the metal panel as he floats back to earth.
you rest atop of his thighs, nibbling on the skin of your bottom lip. there’s a silence that makes him want to crawl up the side of the barrier and let infected rip him apart.
he wants to apologise for his premature ejaculation, a little ashamed that he couldn’t prove himself to you but before he can conjure up the appropriate apology, your finger tilts his chin upwards, to meet your eyes.
you stifle it for a minute before bursting into a fit of giggles, “it’s okay.. maybe next time.”
albeit a very vague promise of a next time, steve starts to beam, still catching his breath as you shuffle off of his thighs, pulling your panties on as you lay back on the floor, gesturing for him to join you.
dawn breaks around the two of you, the birds rising to sing their song as you lay on the uncomfortable metal grates next to him.
it’s so serene, a picturesque view peeking from outside the little hut.
this is a feeling steve had thought he may never experience again, content with his life despite the rest of the world crumbling outside of the walls.
it’s something in the orange hue, an aching feeling that he owes to blind optimism. a spark of hope, remnants of a fear to lose anyone else.
to lose you.
your tongue pokes from the side of your lips, sighing softly, “there’s something i have to tell you.”
he turns, watching your face fall. apprehensively awaiting the harsh truth you were about to unleash.
“go on..”
this time you sigh loudly, exhausting the air from your lungs, “my ex.. lives here too. he’s out on a run to fort wayne at the moment but, they’re due back anytime now and i just need to pre-warn you that he’ll probably be a bit of an ass when he finds out.”
relief washes through his body. was that it?
crazy psycho exes weren’t something new to steve, albeit a long time since he’s had to even think about anything like that, but he doesn’t care.
“oh my god,” he exhales, “you scared me.. i thought you were ‘bout to say something crazy,” chuckling at his preemptive fear.
you whack his arm, “i’m being serious,” turning your head to glare at him, “he’s not.. the nicest person and he definitely won’t be nice about this.”
“what’s wrong with him?” steve asks, genuinely. they’d crossed paths with a lot of fucked up people in the six years since this had started but he had never believed that anyone truly bad could live somewhere as nice as this.
those places always seemed to crumble, he’d seen it enough times to know. people had taken the apocalypse as a means to become awful people, dictating the lives of everyone around them as if you weren’t all trying to do one thing.
survive.
you sigh, scrunching your nose, “he and his uncle have been here from the start of it all, helped build this place to what it is now. but his uncle, wayne, left a year back.. went to try and find his brother, eddie’s dad.. and now eddie’s just eternally pissed off about it.”
steve contemplates your words, knowing he’d probably also be incredibly infuriated too. family, real blood family, was a rarity nowadays. most people had lost most, if not all of any semblance of family by now. he was astounded to arrive here and find real family, joyce had her sons, nancy had mike, even lucas had his sister.
“oh.. that’s.. it’s understandable, i guess,” not quite finding the right words.
you nod, biting on the inside of your cheek. you’re holding something back, steve’s not sure what and he’s certainly not going to ask now. unwilling to ruin the moment.
“why’d you guys break up?” considering if he’d like to get in the middle of some complicated, messy situation.
for you? definitely.
“i dunno.. he was just so angry, he let it consume him,” a certain twinge of sadness to your tone.
“and he took it out on you?”
you scoff a little, “me and everyone else.. look, does it help if i say that he probably won’t shoot you?”
steve hums, “not really.”
that does it, brings your smile back as you crack up shaking hysterically as you turn back to the sky.
“i still think you should sing for us all,” changing the subject completely.
steve groans, wiping the layer of sweat from his forehead. before all this, he would’ve said that he preferred summer but now that there were corpses roaming the streets, he definitely favoured winter. that stench is something he’ll never forget, rotting flesh and hot july sun were not a good mix.
“didn’t i already agree to sing for the kids?” he teases.
you’re interrupted from any further begging as nancy’s voice rings out from below, “hey guys? you there?” worry embedded into her voice.
“shit,” you hiss, shooting up as you grab your pants. “sorry.. sorry,” apologising for your lack of clothing and the accidental fright you’d given them.
“oh wow okay,” nancy bites from down below, laughing her head off, jonathan covers his eyes to give you a little privacy as you pull your jeans on, “how’d i know that you two were gonna fuck this up?”
“yeah yeah, shut up,” you rush, cheeks burning as you jump into your clothes.
steve shuffles over sliding his pants back on as he turns beetroot red, not only was this his first shift, it was also the first time he was showing everyone that he was a capable person to keep around. he’s not so sure they’ll agree now.
nancy and jonathan climb up the ladder, a bemused expression shared across their faces, “quiet night?” nancy asks, cocking her head to the side.
“something like that,” shrugging off her quick remarks as you grab your backpack and shove steve’s into his chest.
the two stand there gawping as steve flushes, stepping into his sneakers and attempts to hurriedly brush his hair into place. he wants to be embarrassed, really, but he’s still riding the high of you even kissing him.
“see anything interesting?” nancy bites, eyebrows raised expectantly.
“nope.”
“mhm i bet,” she smirks, her lips pursed as you shuffle past her, ignoring the smug look on her face as you climb down the ladder.
steve gives them both a little wave, still trying to hide his reddened cheeks as he follows you down from the perch.
you’re waiting for him at the bottom, tugging him away as the pair watch from above. it takes everything in him not to turn around and smile.
“y’wanna shower?” you ask, breaking the silence as you enter the building.
he damn near jumps into the air, clicking his heels together, suppressing his excitement with a simple nod, bounding along behind as you pull him along the corridor.
he’d take any shift if it meant ending up with you.
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mlmxreader · 2 days
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Can't Let Go | Dean Winchester x gn!reader
『••✎••』
↳ ❝ Dean Winchester with "Just close your eyes and go to sleep, I'll still be here" please ❞
: ̗̀➛ Dean loves you, but he can't let you go even though he knows he'll hurt you.
: ̗̀➛ swearing, mentions of violence
•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•
You were fucking exhausted as you opened the motel room door, throwing your bag down with a huff and kicking your shoes off before wriggling out of your ripped and dirty jeans and slinking underneath the thin duvet.
A sharp sigh coming from the back of your throat as you closed your eyes and wished the world would fall silent for once. 
You were wide awake when you heard Dean get out of the shower, and although you were too tired to stand upright, you managed to wave your hand lazily to show him that you were still awake.
You just wanted to sleep, after dealing with a werewolf that did not want to get caught, you felt like you had fallen flat on your face and couldn’t get up.
Dean didn’t even question it, he knew better than anyone in the world what that feeling was like, and he didn’t bother to get dressed as he got into the bed behind you, waiting for you to turn onto your side before he pulled you as close as he possibly could.
His arms settled limply on you, one underneath your body and one over your hip as he yawned softly and pressed his face to the back of your neck; he was glad that you had kept up your end of the bargain, at least.
The deal was to meet him at his motel room the second that you were finished with your hunt in exchange for him letting you borrow his shirt for the day after yours had been ripped and torn.
You wriggled around a little, pressing your ass against his groin as you sighed and drifted one hand to meet his, the other resting under your head as you finally closed your eyes; you were hardly concentrating on anything else except the feeling of his arms around you.
It seemed like you had not felt that for years, even though the last time you saw Dean was only two weeks ago; but as hunters, you were rarely afforded that kind of time together. 
You sighed again as you rolled onto your other side, your forehead smacking into his for a moment and making you both quietly laugh before he grumbled and fidgeted to get closer to you; it was physically impossible, but you both still tried desperately.
Seeking warmth and comfort as much as you could, especially given how cold it was inside and how the motel had no heating whatsoever.
“I never wanna deal with a werewolf again,” you muttered, halfway into a yawn.
Dean almost laughed as he buried his head against you, his hair tickling your chin. “I feel ya - that shapeshifter Sammy and I took down… eugh.”
You wanted to laugh, although your body would only allow you to produce a yawn as you raised your leg and dropped it over his hip. “‘M exhausted, can’t lie.”
He nodded, licking his lips as he hummed ever so softly. “I can tell - you haven’t even kissed me yet.”
“Maybe later,” you whispered, letting your hand drift to his hair and gently rake through it. “You smell good…”
“Motel soap,” he chuckled. “Best in the world at getting out goo.”
You smiled, shaking your head fondly as you fought against the urge to close your eyes. Dean could tell more than easily as he moved his hand, letting it flop down just above your hip. “Are you not cold?”
“Not really,” he mumbled. “But just close your eyes and go to sleep, I’ll still be here.”
“Would you-” a sharp and harsh yawn made its way through you, forcing your eyes to water and your mouth to ache slightly. “Would you mind singing to me? I know you don’t like it but… could you?”
Dean slowly nodded as his eyes drifted shut. “Home is a friendly space, home is a familiar face inside the door, all curled up on the bedroom floor. Home is where I find the bed, some place to lead my head to morning comes, singing here comes the sun. Does it matter where I go or what I do? I can’t lie, you know it’s true, it ain’t home without you. Some people spend their days, lost in a heartless haze out in the cold if I may be so bold, that life is not for me ‘cause every day I see a better way and I can surely say…”
As he trailed off, he pulled away slightly to look at you, and he smiled; you were sound asleep, your head tilted slightly and your eyes tightly shut. Your breathing was steady and even, and your body was limp to the touch.
He was glad, as he knew how little sleep you got - usually around the same that he did - and that you deserved it a lot more than he did; all the times he had fucked you around, cancelled plans and gone out hunting when he really shouldn’t have - he hardly deserved you. 
He had been loyal, of course he was, Dean was always so loyal to those he loved; but he knew that he was far from good enough to be with you. You were everything; you were smart and kind and brave and loyal, and he was just loyal.
Even though you tried to convince him a thousand times over that he was all of those things and more. You never got through to him.
Dean knew that you were too good for him, but he couldn’t bring himself to let you go; you loved him so much, he knew that, just as he knew that you would always be loyal to him.
He couldn’t let you go, even though he knew that he would only hurt you in the end; he knew he would hurt you, but he wouldn’t - couldn’t - allow you to let go. 
So he snuggled down, pressing his lips to your throat as he closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh, hoping to get some sleep before the morning when you left. 
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fushiglow · 18 hours
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a short fic for the prompt: satosugu + first time 🔞
I HOPE YOU ENJOY BABY'S FIRST NSFW FIC!! thank you for the prompt, @lmskitty 🫶 sorry for desecrating it with my utter silliness, i simply cannot help myself. i hope the fluff at the end makes up for it?!
(yeah it's even longer than last time, enjoy 1000 words 💀)
content warning: nsfw, bad oral sex lol
‘How does it feel?’ And wasn’t that just the million dollar question? Truthfully, Suguru couldn’t exactly say it felt good. In fact, the way Satoru was suckling at the end of his cock bordered on painful. He assaulted that sensitive bundle of nerves with suction on the wrong side of ‘just right’. Miraculously, Suguru was still hard. Maybe it was because the image of Satoru on his knees left no space for anything else in his brain, or maybe it was because all the blood in his body was being forcibly siphoned to his dick from the force of Satoru’s sucking. He’d already started mentally preparing himself to approach Shōko with the most mortifying request of his life — because there was no way the vacuum of Satoru’s mouth wasn’t going to leave bruises. In fact, ‘Are you using Blue or something?’ Satoru pulled off him with a painful pop, a confused crease between his brows. ‘What?’ Perhaps not then. Suguru wondered how to phrase it without hurting Satoru’s feelings, chewing at his lip and hoping he passed for horny. ‘Maybe… Do you want to try going a little deeper?’ The more Satoru opened his jaw, the less he’d be able to latch on like he was trying to extract Suguru’s cursed energy through his cock. That was Suguru’s logic — and for precisely 0.2 seconds, it seemed like it was sound. But then Suguru bumped against Satoru’s soft palate, and it was over before it had even begun. Satoru wrenched himself away, falling back onto his heels with a heave that shook his entire body. His hand shot to his lips and he mumbled into the back of it. ‘Fuck.’ Really, Suguru should have known better than to open his mouth when Satoru was furiously blinking away tears, but when he looked at the glistening saliva that reached not even a third of the way down his shaft, he couldn’t help himself. ‘Is that it?’ The reaction was instantaneous. Blue eyes flashing like raw electricity, Satoru clambered to his feet, yanked down his boxers and practically shouted, ‘You have a go if you think it’s so easy!’ Idiot. Suguru had no need to feel intimidated by the thick, angry-looking cock bobbing in front of his face because, in case Satoru had forgotten, taking things down his throat was what Suguru did best. ‘Fine,' he said simply, feeling more than a little smug. Holding Satoru steady, Suguru peered up from under his eyelashes as he surged forward, keen to see the exact moment he rocked Satoru’s world by swallowing him whole. He was so confident in the unique skills derived from his technique that he failed to account for one key detail. Satoru was not, in fact, a metaphysical ball of cursed energy that would glide down his throat without lubrication. Inevitably, there was painful resistance. Satoru hissed, jerking his hips away from Suguru to nurse his chafed cock between his fingers. ‘Shit,’ Suguru rasped, cheeks burning as much as his throat. ‘Shit, I’m sorry—’ ‘It’s fine.’
There was a moment of strained silence where they refused to look at each other, both tending to their bruised egos. Surprisingly, it was Satoru who offered an olive branch first. Wearing a little pout on his lips, he dropped into the space next to Suguru with a huff. ‘We really fucking suck at this, huh.’ The unintentionally apt choice of words hovered in the air between them for a moment. It only took a shared look and a twitch of Suguru’s lips to shatter the tension like glass. All at once, Satoru launched himself in Suguru’s direction, tackling him to the bed and holding him tight as they descended into fits of laughter. Suguru wondered why he’d ever felt nervous about being honest with Satoru when it was as easy as breathing now. ‘That’s actually the whole problem, Satoru.’ He shot his boyfriend a wry smile. ‘You fucking suck a little too much.’ Satoru snorted, thumping him in the chest. ‘At least I know you’ve gotta get a dick wet before you try shoving it down your throat, you asshole.’ Suguru conceded the point with a snort of his own. When their giggles died down, they fell into a comfortable silence, their bodies pressed together just so. Finally, a voice piped up from somewhere in the crook of Suguru’s neck. ‘Let me try again.’ Satoru pushed himself up with some urgency. ‘I’ll do better this time.’ His face was open and vulnerable, but the resolve shining in Satoru’s blue, blue eyes spoke of his eagerness to please. It made Suguru’s heart swell with something they hadn’t yet put a word to. When he spoke, his voice was a little rough. ‘You don’t have to.’ ‘But I want to,’ Satoru insisted. And Suguru found that he felt the same. He wanted to please Satoru. ’Me too.’ Suguru would never get sick of seeing that rare, soft smile. It never lasted on Satoru though. ‘You know, Suguru,’ he said, voice taking on a dangerous thoughtful tone. ‘They say it takes 10,000 hours to master a skill.' A wicked grin overtook his lovely features. ‘But I’ve never met one I couldn’t master in less than 30. Wanna put that to the test?’ God, Suguru wanted that very much — and Satoru clearly knew it. ‘You might have the head-start, Suguru,’ he snickered, eyebrows waggling. ‘But by the end of tomorrow?’ Those blue eyes positively gleamed with mischief. ‘I’ll be able to swallow balls even better than you.’ Suguru arched an eyebrow, grin threatening to split his face in two. ‘Better than me?’ ‘Not just you.’ Satoru shimmied down the bed, sliding his hands over Suguru’s body in a way that started all of his blood rushing south. ‘I’m gonna become the best fucking cocksucker this world has ever seen.’ Knowing Satoru, he could probably do it, too. The thought rendered Suguru’s words a little strained. ‘Always so cocky, Satoru.’ Finally settled between Suguru’s thighs, Satoru gripped him by the base of his cock, flashing Suguru the arrogant grin that always made him weak in the knees. ‘Lie back and look pretty, and you’ll find out why.’ That blue gaze was something fierce, like Satoru was starving and Suguru was a five-course meal. When he pressed his tongue to Suguru’s length and licked a long, slow stripe from root to tip, Suguru actually groaned out loud. ‘Watch and learn, Suguru.’
and then they practised and practised until they all sucked and fucked happily ever after 🥰 thanks to gojo blowjo the sloppy tip suckler for the extra inspiration this time loooool
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if you wanna submit a prompt or request, head over to my retrospring — make sure to read the guidelines first!
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mattsdollie · 3 days
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Overacheiver
warnings !!!
arguing, swearing. angsty, use of y/n if you squint, nicknames, tiny bit of fluff at the end :3
tiny plot explanation ! teenage y/n gets in an arguement with her father, shes finally had enough and storms out of the house. she ends up calling matt.
this is my 2nd ever fic i've made if there are any mistakes, please tell me !
WORD COUNT ; 754
y/n is now in her last year of highschool, shes always been an overachiever to try to win her parents' validation, but it just never worked. since she was in 1st grade, she got golden medals, she won spelling bees, she tried her best to get number 1 student in all her classes but she only ever got second place.
now i'm in my last year of school, all these certificates and medals just piling up in my room, yet my parents have never once thought to congratulate me, let alone be proud of me.
9th grade throwback
i get to pick what stream i take for the rest of my life. i've always loved science, but my parents keep pressuring me to take coding and ICT.
"i don't want to do programming, though," i said, tears filling my eyes as my father shouts at me. "i've been working in this industry for years. technology is taking over the world. programming is the future." he said, sternly and coldy, in a loud tone.
i just sigh as i feel the tears drop down my face. knowing i can't do anything to change my future, considering the fact my father wants me to do programming instead of what i love learning, science.
present
it's been an overwhelming weekend. all I've been doing is studying, and every time i come out of my room, my parents just end up screaming at me for not doing all the chores, knowing i have two other brothers who just rot in their rooms all day, playing games with their friends.
i started to dread coming to school, i barely had friends, all my friends had their main friends. sofia has danielle, ariana had emily. me? i had no one, except my boyfriend, matthew sturniolo. he has been by my side since 7th grade. being there for me everytime i had an argument with my father. even though i love him, i felt like i was bothering him, burdening him even, when i texted him to just go out, i felt like i was forcing him.
today, obviously, me and my father had another argument because i wanted to switch classes to an advanced science class. "why, you want to go to that class because all your friends are there isn't it?" he replied to your request, shouting at you for just speaking to him. "my friends?" you say shakily as tears threatened to fall out of your eyes. "*my friends?*" you said again, sternly, and raising your voice, your vision goes blurry from the tears that are overflowing in your eyes. "i barely have friends dad, you really think i want to switch classes because of my 'friends'? i dont have time to make friends." you shouted back at him, tears flowing down your face. your nose, eyes, and ears turning red. "i do everything in my will to try to make you proud and you just treat me like your shitty fucking maid. im so fucking tired." you said, voice hoarse and wobbly from shouting earlier.
you storm out of the room, grabbing your bag that had your phone, wallet, and headphones. you put on a jacket so you don't die from hypothermia, since the weather has been freezing recently.
you've exited your house 30 minutes ago now, trying to get as far away from home as possible. you pull out your phone as you sit at a bus stop. you text matt.
"matt, can you pick me up please?" you press enter, followed by you sending him your location. you put your headphones on, mitski was playing. making you cry even harder.
you feel your phone vibrate, its matt. "im on my way, stay put okay? i love you so much." the message read out. you stare at your phone, as you feel your tears roll down your cheek, to your chin.
"i love you more, matt." you reply.
by now, Matt has already picked you up. You both are lying in his bed. you curl up into a ball and matts arms wrap around you. "You wanna tell me what happened?" matt whispered. you whined, not being able to get over the heated argument with your father. "Okay, pretty girl. i'm gonna get us snacks, and we'll watch a movie, yeah? im sure that will cheer you up." he smiled, giving you a kiss on your temple. "i love you so much," you say, your voice shaky. "i love you more." Matt replied, almost reassuringly.
THE ENDDD !!! the arguement totally were notttt based off the ones i had with my dad 🫡
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copepods · 4 months
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i love suns and pebbles canon dynamic in my head its kind of weird and fucked up and i wish more people depicted it as that (tag ramble incoming)
#i have a lot of thoughts about suns as a character#since theres not much from them in the story its mostly headcanon though#i think suns is someone who desperately wants to be liked and admired#like maybe theyre one of the youngest in their local group (i think theyre in a separate neighboring group to moons)#and they're not really used to being looked up to in any capacity#so pebbles is the first person who really respects them in that way and because of that they have this weird contradictory relationship#where sometimes suns relishes in that dynamic a little too much and holds the power over pebbles head and gets a little mean#and sometimes because suns still wants pebbles to keep liking and admiring them they can get a little too indulgent of him#hence the gold pearl. i think suns gave it to him bc they wanted him to find some kind of happiness but there was also a selfish element#'if i give this to him he'll like me more' etc#i dont think suns is intentionally cruel i just think they had never had that kind of relationship before and fucked a lot of things up#after spearmaster they start to get better at it esp since spearmaster is kind of a second chance for them. so suns learns to be kinder#on pebbles' end. i like to think pebbles was a lil infatuated with them. esp because he felt like they were the only one who understood him#unreciprocated tho. suns cared about him but more from a mentorly point of view than anything#kind of a weird thing where he looked up to them as an authority figure but also really kind of wanted them to be on the same level#in conclusion: toxic robot yuri can be cool sometimes#text#rain world
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tacagen · 10 months
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to clarify what i mean by the tag 'eobarry ig?'. i dont ship them as in two sided attraction (i dont even think im able to ship anything at this point because of burning hatred for everything amatonormative and the only character dynamic i respect being friends to enemies), i consider barry to be too traumatised by thawne into being homophobic for that to ever work but GOD AM I OBSESSED WITH THAWNE'S OBSESSION. like that is the thing that Gets to me the most. so i think that perception is similar to the perception of someone who ships them but i dont actually ship them hence the 'ig?'
also. i hc thawne as aroace (with the possibility of a small romantic exception for barry. possibility because idfk the distinction between romantic and platonic myself and never(fully |pl|) felt either ok) because im aroace! the mf is queercoded SO much that cw couldnt even write in so called thawne-iris wedding episode (aka one of the first modern attempts to get him a romantic interest) A SINGLE KISS. and dont get me started on his appearance in 7th season of LoT, imagine being in the background of one of the main characters realising and coming out as ace and INSTANTLY disappearing before they turn around to look at you and discuss whether youre romantically/sexually attractive or not. i dont care about whatever shit they wrote for him further he is THE ace icon and i will die on that hill
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teruthecreator · 2 years
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note to self: never tell family any personal decisions or plans you have. literally just do it without them knowing and tell them after it has happened
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nowendil · 2 years
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hm. i really do wish i didn't get overemotional over doing laundry as often as i do but here we are
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kingkonoha · 5 months
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“WELL, WE SHOULD PROBABLY FUCK, RIGHT?”
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♡ — SUMMARY; you & gojo are both sealed away in the prison realm. with nothing else to do, you might as well start fucking, right?
♡ — CONTENT; 18+ ONLY // MDNI — fem! reader, unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (fem receiving), missionary, degrading nickname, best friends to friends with benefits, bickering, slightly jealous gojo, you & gojo are both the strongest sorcerers in the world.
♡ — A/N; based on this drabble (: I love this man sm, I’d do his taxes for him btw // also, pls don’t repost my gif!
♡ — WC; 3k
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“This is all your fault, Satoru.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Okay, so I was distracted,” Gojo kicked up his feet, placing his black boots across a pile of dusty skeleton heads as if he was at home, relaxing on his plush couch, and not trapped inside of the prison realm. “If I remember correctly – and I do remember correctly because it happened thirty seconds ago – you were distracted too. Who knew that seeing your dead classmate would throw you off?”
“Throw me off?” You frowned, moving around a pile of bones to sit down somewhat comfortably. “You nearly passed out. I saw it with my own eyes, Satoru.”
“Oh,” Giving a small chuckle, Gojo tilted his head a bit as he smirked. “So you could see that, but you couldn’t see the weird guy with the two short ponytails almost obliterate you?”
“I don’t remember that. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“See this?” Gojo lifted a skull pressing against his right leg, and he dangled it in front of you. “This would’ve been you if it wasn’t for me.”
“You dumbass,” you paused, rolling your eyes, “because of you, we’re both gonna end up exactly like that skeleton. You do realize we’re trapped in here, right? No way out?”
“Calm down. Someone will save us. I have faith, don’t you?”
“Hell no,” a small sigh fell from between your lips, “and you know what? I hope we don’t get saved. The fact that we let ourselves get captured like this is embarrassing. I absolutely cannot leave this stupid box and look another sorcerer in the eye after this. I’d rather die.”
“You’re pretty dramatic,” Gojo sighed. “I hear you, though. We really screwed this up. We should’ve picked different careers. I could’ve been a really nice basketball coach.”
“I would’ve been a coffee shop owner.” Distracted by your own what-if daydreams, you mistakenly leaned back on a pile of skeletons, nearly jumping out of your skin once you remembered that you were indeed lying on a pile of skeletons. “Shit! I gotta get outta here, I can’t do this.”
“Just calm down, it isn’t so bad.” As Gojo adjusted himself, he grunted. “Remember when you dressed up as a skeleton for Halloween? You manifested this.”
“I should’ve never taught you that word,” frowning, you stood up, glancing around the dark inner workings of the prison realm. “How can you relax in a place like this? Aren’t you uncomfortable? Or at least a little bit scared?”
“Hmm, no.” Gojo grinned.
“I shouldn’t have asked. You’re too stupid to know when to be scared.”
“Ouch,” Gojo said dramatically, a hint of amusement coating his words. “Ya know, I’m glad you’re not a coffee shop owner. You’d probably toss random shit in someone’s coffee, sweetheart.”
“Oh my god, please shut up.”
“You shut up,” Gojo retorted childishly.
Deep breathing exercises had certainly come in handy during moments such as this one.
Although years upon years had passed since you and Gojo were kids, running around in Halloween costumes and splitting popsicles, it felt as if no time had passed at all whenever you two held a conversation.
Even so, how exactly did it come to this?
Gojo never truly had an ordinary childhood — you were the only normal thing in his life at the time — but you grew up rather unextraordinary.
A normal girl, one who went to school and did her classwork before sneaking off to a secluded lake in the late afternoons with Gojo, skipping rocks and eating sandwiches together.
It was a beautifully plain life. One that was ripped away from you by curses and sorcery.
The only silver lining that truly existed was your old classmates; the dear friends you made once you attended Jujutsu High all those years ago, and in particular, a dark-haired, mellow guy.
“Must’ve been really hard for you,” Gojo suddenly mumbled, “seeing Suguru again. You two had gotten pretty close, right? Up until he . . . left?”
“What’s up with the mumbling? Now isn’t the time for you to get jealous.”
“I’m not,” Gojo mumbled once again, turning his head away from you. “It’s not like that was the real Suguru anyway. Our Suguru is gone for good.”
“Yeah.” The sad tone of your voice is what grabbed Gojo’s attention. One thing that was stronger than his jealousy over you and Geto’s old fondness for one another was his deep concern for you.
“Hey, c’mere,” Gojo smiled softly, facing you once again.
“Huh?” You raised your eyebrows.
“I said come here.”
Hesitantly, you walked over to where Gojo was stretched out among the bones, sitting down on the ground beside him as best as you could with all the skeletons around. As you looked at him, it was rather impossible to understand how he could relax so comfortably.
“Come closer,” he held his arm out, waving you over.
“Why? What for?”
“‘Cause I wanna hold you, so just come here.” Suddenly, Gojo leaned up a bit, grabbing ahold of your wrist before pulling you on top of him.
With his other hand, he gripped the back of your thigh, moving your leg over his hips as he leaned back. He sighed with contentment once you were fully on top of him. Releasing your wrist, the white-haired man touched the side of your face, slowly guiding your head to his chest. “See? Isn’t this better than laying on those skeletons?”
“I guess so,” you mumbled against his chest.
“Why are you so tense?” Gojo guided his hand across one of your shoulders, and he started to rub it.
“Hard to relax when you’re trapped in the prison realm,” you paused. “Not to mention I’m literally laying on top of you.”
“So? We hug and stuff all the time.”
“This is more than hugging, and we’ve barely done that,” you smiled softly. “Kinda nice, though. You’re pretty warm.”
“You’re pretty warm too. And really soft.” With his other hand — the one that never left your thigh — Gojo slowly stroked you, gliding his hand up and down, but not daring to touch your ass just yet.
But he wanted to. Desperately.
Suddenly, Gojo shifted his body, squirming just a bit.
“You okay?” You questioned, lifting your head off of his chest to look at his blindfolded face. “Want me to get off?”
“No, not at all, everything’s fine,” Gojo lied.
Truth be told, his dick was starting to harden in his pants, and he could barely stand it.
“Oh, okay,” laying your head back down on Gojo’s chest, you spoke once again. “Satoru? What are we supposed to do until someone saves us? Just sit here and wait?”
“No, that’s a bad idea,” Gojo said.
“Then what should we do?”
Before he answered, Gojo placed his finger underneath his blindfold, pulling at it playfully.
“Well, we should probably fuck, right?”
It took a moment for Gojo’s sinful words to fully sink in. Upon realizing that you had heard him correctly, your head snapped up, your eyes widening with utter shock.
“What?”
“You heard me, sweetheart,” Gojo smirked. “No need to make such a big deal out of it. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Yes, but . . .” You paused, darting your eyes across the vast, skeleton-filled, dark space. “Here? Of all places?”
Gojo shifted once again. He gripped his pants, but he truthfully wanted to grip his cock instead.
“I’d fuck you anywhere,” Gojo said lowly. “I just think it’s time we finally fuck each other, don’t you?”
Suddenly, his large hand gripped the back of your head, and your best friend shoved his lips against yours.
“Hmm,” Gojo moaned softly, kissing you passionately with those sweet, feathery lips of his. Kissing you — finally, after so many years of dreaming about it — was a magical experience. Before, he never believed in soulmates or seeing fireworks when kissing someone — until now.
“Shit, you’re so . . .” His words trailed off as he pulled away, his warm breath patting against your pretty face.
“Satoru,” you mumbled against his lips, “I didn’t know you thought of me this way. I didn’t think that I’d be someone you’d wanna sleep with.”
“Really? Why’s that?” As Gojo spoke, he took off his blindfold, staring at you — then your lips — with those vibrant, ocean-blue eyes of his.
“We’ve barely even hugged,” when you frowned, just a little bit, Gojo wanted to kiss your pouty lips over and over again until his mouth was sore.
God, he wanted you in ways he couldn’t even begin to vocalize.
But he’d certainly try.
“And I thought I was being obvious this entire time,” Gojo paused. “Whenever we would fight together, side by side, do you know how hard it was to concentrate? All I could ever focus on in the middle of battle was trying not to let myself get distracted by you. Hearing you grunt and groan, just watching the way you’d move. I’ve always wanted to take you home with me once the fight ended, toss you on my bed, and find out all the noises you can make; see how loud you can get. I just gotta hear you moan for me, baby. I have to.”
Running his thumb over your soft mouth, he slightly pulled down on your bottom lip, all before he leaned in again, moving his thumb away and replacing it with his lips.
This time, when he kissed you, he didn’t hold back. That sweet tongue of his entered your mouth as if it was on a mission, and he swirled his tongue around yours, enjoying every little surprised noise you made just as much as he enjoyed tasting your delicious mouth. He’d kiss you forever if he could.
A small part of him hoped that the two of you would never get released, and he could spend eternity with his tongue sloppily flicking against yours.
A pair of large hands suddenly gripped your ass. When you gasped, pulling away from Gojo’s lips, he smiled. You were just too cute.
Who knew that the prison realm would actually turn out to be heaven?
“You’re so tense,” Gojo said with a hint of a teasing tone. “Has no one ever touched you like this before?”
“People have — I mean, I’ve done stuff before, it’s just . . .”
When you failed to finish your sentence, Gojo took it upon himself to finish it for you.
“It’s just that no one’s ever made you feel good before,” his sly grin only grew. “Right?”
“I-” you stammered, “that’s none of your business.”
“Lay down.”
“Why?” You asked, your curiosity at its peak.
“I wanna eat you out, sweet girl. Now lay down.” Gojo’s hands moved from your ass to your hips, and he lifted you off of his lap and laid you down next to him.
He then flipped over on top of you, giving you another kiss — a little, quick one — before he started to impatiently unbutton your pants.
“What kinda best friend would I be if I just let you keep living your life without having had a proper orgasm?” He said, shrugging off your bottoms. “Told you not to waste any time with all those shitty guys. You should’ve been with me from the start.”
“Yeah, yeah,” rolling your eyes, you sat up on your elbows, looking down at the sorcerer between your thighs, who slowly pulled down your underwear and held your legs open. “You’re not the first guy who has said a bunch of hot things to me, but then failed to deliver-”
You were interrupted by your own unexpected gasp, as it was elicited from your throat thanks to Gojo’s skillful tongue, which had swiped right across your clit.
He was such a tease; that tongue of his could work wonders. And it did. He flicked at your clit rapidly, and during every quick stroke, his eyes never glanced away from your face.
You started to squirm, but he held onto your thighs, convinced that absolutely nothing in this world could make him want to stop eating your pussy. Not when it tasted so undeniably good.
“Had no idea this pretty pussy was so damn delicious,” he pulled away, mumbling against your wet folds. “Should’ve done this a long time ago, baby.”
When he dived back into your pussy, he licked and sucked, sucked and licked. Good god, you tasted amazing. So, so amazing. He couldn’t help but moan as he made a mess of your pussy; your juices and his spit decorating his face.
“Oh my god, Satoru,” you moaned, “I’m close-”
Once again, your words were cut off by your own uncontrollable moans. That sweet orgasm was brewing right in the pit of your stomach.
You expected him to pull away once you warned him about your approaching orgasm, but he didn’t. Instead, he pressed his calloused fingertips into your plush thighs even harder, and he ate your pussy as messily as possible. Licked at it more rapidly. Sucked on your clit more hungrily.
“Cum in my mouth,” he moaned out in between licks. “Don’t hold back; I want it all. Cum in my mouth right now.”
“Gojo!” You called out. Last warning.
Instead of pulling away, he reached forward, grabbing ahold of your soft tits. With his fingers, he flicked at your hard nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt.
And with that, you arched your back off of the hard ground, moaning his name over and over again like a sinner praying for forgiveness.
Gojo lapped up your juices as if he was dying of thirst. He’ll be damned if he missed even a single drop of it.
“Damn it,” he said as he detached his lips from your swollen clit. “I wanna eat you out over and over again, but I gotta fuck you. I just gotta know what it’s like to be inside of you.”
Gojo sat up on his knees. He unbuttoned his pants. When he pulled them down, along with his boxers, his hard dick flung out.
You couldn’t help but stare at the mesmerizing large dick. The tip of it was red and swollen, precum dripping from his aching hole. Two long, thick veins ran along his member.
“You’re so big,” you stated, darting your eyes between his hard cock and handsome face.
“It’s okay,” Positioning himself in between your legs, he said, “I’ll make it fit, baby.”
When he pressed the tip of his dick against your awaiting hole, it felt like he was stepping through the gates of heaven.
One hand was placed next to your head, holding himself up, while his other hand gripped your hip.
His dick slid inside of your soaking wet pussy as if it belonged there; pieces of a puzzle coming together. The sinful moan that fell from between his lips was beautiful.
He couldn’t help it.
Not when your pussy was so tight, wet, and warm.
“Hmm, hey baby?” Gojo whispered, his warm breath patting against your ear, soft white hair tickling the side of your face. “You called me Gojo instead of Satoru earlier when I was eating your pussy. I want you to moan it again for me, over and over again. Can you do that?”
You nodded eagerly.
“Such a sweet girl,” he gave the shell of your ear a quick little lick. “So, so sweet.”
He didn’t wait too long to start thrusting in and out of you once your pussy had adjusted to his size. He simply couldn’t. Not when you felt so utterly amazing.
With his lips still close to your ear as he fucked you, the chatty man whispered all sorts of dirty things. And it only made you moan even louder.
“I could fuck you just like this forever. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He grunted, slamming himself inside of you at a quicker pace. “Sorry if I’m being too rough. I can’t help it, baby. Your pussy’s driving me crazy, just like I knew it would. I knew my best friend would feel this good. Who else other than me would know what to do with a pussy like this? Hm?”
“Gojo,” you called out, gripping his shoulders for dear life. “Gojo, I can’t- I’m gonna cum again!”
“Already?” He smirked, pulling away from your ear, his face only a few inches away from yours. “Gonna cum all over my dick? Make a mess?”
You didn’t respond — you couldn’t respond — not when he rhythmically fucked you like a doll, the tip of his dick reaching all the right spots inside of you.
“Shit,” Gojo suddenly groaned. “Think I’m gonna cum too, baby. I can’t hold it . . . Can’t fucking hold it much longer. I’m gonna fill you up. Stuff that pretty pussy with my cum. No one else will get to.”
“Please do it,” you stammered out with a whine, struggling to speak from the way your body was being pounded into. “P-Please!”
Suddenly, Gojo felt your pussy tighten around his cock. A wave of pure bliss washed over you, making your toes curl as you moaned his name in broken syllables.
The prettiest tears started to fall from your eyes. Gojo kissed them away.
His own orgasm was approaching quickly, building up in his lower stomach, dick, balls, and even his thighs.
“I’m so close — I’m right there, baby. I’m right there. Shit — I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum right inside of you, baby — there’s so much of it. I’m cumming-”
Feeling your cum coat his cock as your pussy milked him pushed him right over the edge. He moaned so loudly, it would have been entirely unsurprising if someone could have heard it from outside of the box.
He shot ropes upon ropes of warm, thick, pearly cum inside of you. His dick throbbed with every pulse, spilling every last drop of his semen into your stuffed hole.
“Baby,” Gojo whined lowly, attempting to catch his breath. “I didn’t think I’d ever stop cumming. You drive me crazy.”
“Can we go again?” Looking into his eyes with a pleading glance, you said, “I need more, Gojo, make me cum again. Please?”
“Did I just turn my best friend into my little slut?” Smirking, Gojo leaned down, kissing your lips once again. It was his favorite thing to do. “I’ll make you cum as many times as you want, sweetheart. We might be here for a while, so why not?”
Suddenly, Gojo lifted you, switching your positions until you were sitting right on top of him, his dick still inside of you.
“The prison realm doesn’t seem so bad anymore,” you grinned.
Gripping your hips, Gojo’s eyes scanned over your beautiful body, admiring the perfect view as you started to ride him.
Perhaps, he would have to thank Kenjaku someday.
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🏷: @allofffmypeaches @manjiroswifo @yourusernames @armani78 @darkphoenix3432 @komonika
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zarameraki · 2 months
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♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧ 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱'𝘀 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 ♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧
: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 sukuna is a mafia kingpin 𖥔 teasing grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 pregnancy trope 𖥔 he'll burn the world for you 𖥔 "my wife" 𖥔 he's a great dad 𖥔 mentions of miscarriage 𖥔 mentions of physical and sexual assault 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 he loves eating you out 𖥔 anal play (yup.) 𖥔 last warning: mdni!
: ̗̀➛ words: 6.0k
: ̗̀➛ notes: no bc i love you all so much. it's insane how much you guys have supported my toji fanfic & and my nanami fanfic. i'll def be writing a part two to both of those masterpieces (yes i have self-confidence). as someone who's always imagined sukuna as a mafia leader, i decided to say fuck it and write it. please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy! (p.s. pregnancy trope>>>)
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You never thought you'd be married to Sukuna Ryomen, let alone carrying his kid again. Yet, four years deep into this forced marital mess, thanks to your father owing a hefty debt to the kingpin of the underworld crime syndicate, here you were.
“Look at you, Mrs. Sukuna, radiant as ever!” chirped one of your husband’s associate's wives. You had studied a name list last night, but it all escaped your memory after you passed out from sheer exhaustion.
Sukuna wasn’t keeping a hawk's eye on you like he used to when you first stepped into the public eye. Gone were the days of his glares if you messed up a name. Never once had he laid a finger on you at home, despite your assumption that forgetfulness would earn you a beating.
“Thank you." You forced a smile at the woman, your patience waning as the mayor's birthday party stretched on. It was almost the end of the night, and your feet were protesting from traipsing around in flats. All you craved at that moment was your bed, pronto.
The woman and her husband attempted to capture Sukuna's lukewarm attention through political discussions and expressing gratitude for the illegal artillery shipments from your husband's syndicate. They made no effort to acknowledge your existence by his side.
Your hand rested on your belly, a mere eight months into your pregnancy—a new personal record. The first time you conceived, Sukuna demanded an heir, and you willingly agreed, knowing that the child would provide some distraction in the expansive estate that felt like a cage. Unfortunately, at the two-month mark, you experienced a miscarriage.
Feeling Sukuna's knuckles lightly tapping your back, you straightened your posture momentarily, only to slouch again almost instantly. It was futile. The discomfort of your swollen and cramped belly made it nearly impossible to maintain a poised demeanor in the midst of the party.
Disobeying Sukuna meant facing inevitable death, a fact well understood in his dangerous domain, and you had never dared to challenge that.
"Let's go," Sukuna said, cutting through the incessant chatter of the couple. He didn't grasp your hand, only your fragile wrist, a gesture you didn't mind. Yours was not a typical love; he, Sukuna Ryomen, a most feared monster in the criminal underworld, and you, a sacrificial lamb, a trophy collected three years ago, a means to his heir.
"I'm sorry," you whispered as you exited the venue, heading towards the limousine surrounded by fifteen armed guards under Sukuna's command. "I'm so sorry—"
"Get in the car." He held the door open for you, signaling his guards to disperse and take their positions in the Jeeps parked behind.
Silencing yourself, you cautiously settled into the back seat, and Sukuna joined you, slamming the door with force. His anger was discernible, and the memory of that night, losing your second unborn child to a kidnapping, plagued your dreams. You were uncertain if the nightmares were about Sukuna's wrath upon finding you or the horrors his enemies inflicted on you during your 48-hour captivity.
Sukuna noticed your struggle with the seatbelt and contorted his body toward you. Your fingers released their grip on the belt, allowing him to pull it taut and secure it snugly around your midsection. Click. He withdrew, distancing himself from your face that had been mere inches away.
“Tedious fucking party, anyway,” Sukuna grumbled, his left ankle casually perched on his right kneecap. He always adopted a specific posture, his elbow leaning against something, cheek resting on his knuckles, and his narrow eyes a rich brown that could almost pass for a deep shade of red. He exuded an unrelenting air of intimidation.
"I agree," you unintentionally voiced your thoughts, earning a sidelong glance from him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
His attention barely lingered on you as the car roared to life. You breathed a sigh of relief, stretching out your legs and leaning your head back against the seat's shoulder. Your palm absentmindedly traced circles on your belly. Goosebumps peppered your skin from the frigidness in the car, stirring an involuntary shudder.
"Turn on the heater," Sukuna ordered the driver in his smooth, languid baritone.
"Yes, sir."
As warmth gradually surrounded the backseat, you hummed a small "Thank you" and closed your eyes, enjoying a few moments of peace.
Disorientation clouded your senses, and you dispelled it by rubbing your eyes and using your knuckles to prop yourself against the headboard. A couple of contractions ripped through your gut, causing you to groan and hiss through gritted teeth.
The enormous room was devoid of Sukuna, its black silk sheets hinting at the luxury covering you. The fireplace casted a warm glow, and a soft, dim golden light spilled from the lamp onto the floor.
In the first year of your marriage and pregnancy, your bedroom was located three doors away. You were tended to by on-site nurses and doctors, surrounded by an entourage of maids for company. Days were spent aimlessly wandering the estate, occasionally crossing paths with one of Sukuna's mistresses, their curious smirks evident as they exited his room.
The second year brought a subtle shift. You still slept alone, but now there was a surprising addition of joining Sukuna for dinner. Positioned diagonally from him, an air of restrained silence hung above your head. Yet, between the utensils clattering and quiet chewing, Sukuna's glances toward you and your five-month-old belly revealed your anticipation for the impending arrival of your child.
One of your maids had been instructed to lure you into a private conversation in the back garden, and before you could react, a group of men clad in black drugged you and forcibly removed you from the cage, which in that cruel moment felt like a sanctuary.
Most details of the monstrosities forced upon you in that warehouse have been compressed by your mind—the merciless physical and sexual assault endured for hours. They callously bragged that raping Sukuna's Ryomen's wife was a personal victory, cackling like bloodthirsty hyenas as you bled from your legs. In the thick of your suffering, you lost your second child in a pool of your own sweat and feces.
When Sukuna discovered you, when he annihilated every man along with their bloodlines, you were left as a mere shell of a woman, practically lifeless. You've existed as a walking corpse for quite some time now. Following that dreadful night, you attempted every conceivable means to end your own life—drowning, leaping out of windows, creating a makeshift noose from bed sheets and tying them around balcony railings, teetering on the edge—but every attempt proved useless. Sukuna consistently interfered at the last minute, sweeping in and enveloping you in his arms as you wept until unconsciousness claimed you for days.
Therapy provided some relief, as did the medications. Sukuna heightened security measures tenfold, keeping only those workers who served during his father and grandfather's reigns. He moved your belongings into his bedroom, sleeping by your side with a gun beneath his pillow. There were times when you would doze off in the library while reading, only to wake up in his room.
Two years seemed like an eternity in the slow process of healing, both physically and mentally, from the torment that had befallen you. Stepping into the garden was a reminder of the progress you had made, yet the hope that blossomed in your womb now filled you with a different kind of fear.
You needed your baby. Even if it meant risking your own life during childbirth. The only thing that mattered was the precious life you carried within you, and as long as your baby took that first breath, you'd welcome death with open arms.
Sukuna's bedroom door creaked open, revealing his presence.
Mink-colored tendrils of hair obscured his eyes, disheveled from their usual spiked stance. The stark white of his dress shirt was marred by the unmistakable stains of someone else's blood, and a gun dangled casually from his grasp. In the subdued lighting, his facial markings, inked tattoos designed to mask the scars of his tormented childhood, appeared more ominous than ever.
Without acknowledging your ogling, he briskly entered his bathroom.
You slipped back under the covers, pulling the comforter up to your chin, soothing the sharp twinges in your belly. The rhythmic sounds of his shower served as a background melody. Sukuna took an eternity to freshen up, nearly two hours passing before the door finally creaked open. You had kept a close eye on it, lost in your own world and trying to ignore the persistent contractions. No complaints, though – you were at the eight-month mark, and this baby was determined to make its entrance into the world.
Draped in a sleek black silk robe, Sukuna strolled toward his side of the bed, his eyes locking onto yours. "Why are you still awake?" He tilted his head as if studying an unfamiliar creature. He always regarded you with a curious interest, unearthing some new revelations about you.
"Cramps," you whispered in the dimness, even though the first rays of morning sun began to seep through the curtains.
Sukuna strolled to his side of the bed, lifting the comforter to settle down. "Do you take any medication for it?"
You shook your head. "I don't want to take any risks."
"So you're just going to endure the night with a migraine?"
Your husband seemed oblivious to the concept of cramps. He hadn't bothered to educate himself about your pregnancy or even familiarize himself with basic menstrual cycle terminology. You hesitated to bring attention to his title and position, but he was, after all, born from a woman.
How could he not know?
"Answer me," Sukuna demanded, fixing you with a cold, indifferent gaze. How could two simple words carry such a heavy, intimidating weight? Your entire body shuddered, and you swore you felt your child kick in response to his attitude, causing you to clench your teeth.
"Cramps . . . are something women experience during their period and pregnancy. They're sharp, unpredictable pains in your gut and back," you explained, finding a position that eased the cramps and calmed your baby. "It's worse when you're pregnant—like someone attached a taser to your body without a switch to turn it off."
Sukuna's brow furrowed, and he seemed pissed off as if he held a vendetta against cramps. "Will it have any consequence on the baby?"
You were really trying to be patient. “The baby is the reason why.” 
He ran his hands wearily down his face, casting a stern gaze at the ceiling, his breath quickening. "Is there any way to relieve the pain? Besides medication?"
“Well,” you said slowly, “when I first started menstruating, my mother used to place a warm rubber bottle on my stomach.” The recollection of nights spent groaning, tossing, and turning with your hand clutching your stomach brought a smile. After her passing in high school, you found yourself managing the household, dealing with your drug-addicted father, and taking care of yourself all on your own.
"Come here."
Startled, you shifted your focus to your husband, who raised the comforter like a makeshift tent with one arm. "You don't have to—"
"Come here."
With caution, you edged closer, lying flat and holding your breath. Sukuna propped himself up on one elbow, resting his temple on his knuckles while adjusting the blanket up to your neck. His left hand glided up your sweater and settled on your swollen belly.
An immediate sense of relaxation cocooned you, your eyes closing as warmth radiated from his palm onto your skin. The sensation passed through to your child, who quit kicking within seconds, seemingly recognizing their father's touch. It dawned on you that Sukuna hadn't touched you since you conceived, and you hadn't realized the volume of your misery and longing until this moment.
"Feeling better?"
"Mm-hmm." You nestled your face close to his neck. All you managed to whisper, your voice tinged with brokenness, was, "Please, don't let go."
Sukuna responded only with silence.
You'd woken up screaming bloody-mary.
The security team and maids hurried into the bedroom, their eyes widening at the sight of blood staining your clothes and darkening the black sheets. In a swift response, the doctor and her team of nurses rushed in while Uraume, Sukuna's trusted aide, calmly called for your husband from a corner of the room.
In the heat of your excruciating screams, five nurses attempted to guide your breathing and encourage you to follow a pattern. Guards carefully lifted you into a sitting position, and Uraume decisively cleared the room of all men. The doctor swiftly removed your sweatpants and panties, covering your lower region with a sheet, and instructing you to push.
Your body felt numb, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and a black vignette closing in on your vision. Your head swayed left and right, on the verge of dropping if not for Uraume's unwavering support. Despite the intensity of your grip, they held steady, their only reaction being a stream of muttered curses amid the chaotic scene.
"I can't—Uraume—"
"You will, Mrs. Sukuna. You have come this far. Giving up now is not an option."
"I don't want to die," you whispered akin to a prayer.
"You won't," they softly replied. "He won't allow it."
Uraume, a silent figure from the past, now stood by your side, offering support and encouragement. The connection with them had been minimal, limited to the formalities of a marital contract signing. They had simply muttered, “He’s not half as evil as they say,” to you before packing up the papers and leaving you in the room with Sukuna.
The room buzzed with affirmations, reassuring you that they could see the baby's head and urging you to push with each breath.
The sound of the baby's cries stirred you awake.
You snapped to attention at the sweet, reassuring sound, realizing that your baby was close to arrival—alive and ready to face the world. Following two heartbreaking miscarriages and the pain endured as Sukuna's wife, the bearer of his lost children, you were finally on the cusp of welcoming motherhood.
"Two more pushes!" The doctor's voice cut through the air.
"AGH!" A guttural growl escaped your throat as you grappled with the harsh sensations. Your body trembled, and waves of fiery discomfort overflowed through your core as you exerted yourself to bring your baby into the world.
"Come on," Uraume whispered. "You can do this, Mrs. Sukuna."
You let out a powerful cry and strained with effort, bringing forth new life. The baby and you were crying at the exact wavelength, competing against who could be louder. The nurses and attendants, familiar faces from your previous pregnancies, clasped their hands in prayer for a safe delivery. Tears of relief streamed down your face as you pushed for your own well-being.
"Blanket!" the doctor urgently called out, prompting a nurse to rush over with a soft cream blanket. "Push!"
With a final, determined push, the weight lifted suddenly.
The slippery sensation of delivering the child and the immediate release of pressure left you slumping against Uraume's shoulder. As they laid you down, the doctor directed the staff to tend to you while the baby's cries filled the air.
The doctor approached through your hazy sight and gently laid your newborn on your chest. Overwhelmed with emotion, you showered your baby with kisses, tears of joy streaming down your face. Your little one was here. They were finally here.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Sukuna," the doctor announced as the cries of your newborn gradually faded into the background. "It's a girl."
You drifted into unconsciousness.
The soft cadence of Sukuna's voice filtered through the foggy boundaries of sleep, causing you to slowly come back to life.
“Why is this brat refusing to sleep?” you heard your husband grumbling.
With a laborious effort, you rubbed your eyes, summoning the strength to lift your head from the comfort of the pillow. The scene unfolded before you—Sukuna, the most feared criminal, pacing at the foot of his bed, cradling your crying newborn daughter in his arms, unsure of how to handle his little foe.
"What do you want? Food? You don’t have any teeth yet, little miscreant."
"Sukuna . . ." you whispered, a gentle plea for attention.
Your husband's gaze snapped in your direction, relief washing over his features as he realized you were conscious. "Thank fuck." Moving swiftly, he approached and took a seat at the edge of the bed.
His brown-reddish eyes lingered on the delicate scene unfolding before him—the intertwining of your index finger with your daughter's tiny, rattling fist. A calming magic seemed to stem from your touch, instantly soothing the cries to soft sniffles.
"Already playing favorites, I see," he remarked with a teasing tone, a wry smile on his lips.
"I have to feed her." Your voice was hoarse from the relentless screaming during the delivery. A series of deadly wheezes followed when you coughed, frightening your baby once more. Her cries started again, blending with the impatient curses of her father.
He gently placed her in the cradle, his strength used to prop you up against the headboard. The room carried the scent of coconut soap, your body freshly washed, the sheets beneath you brand-new. You were also dressed in a new set of panties and a nursing bra.
"Are you sure you have enough nutrients in your body to feed her?" Sukuna asked, holding your baby girl as you unclipped the front left cup. Rather than wasting your breath on a response, you focused on helping your daughter latch onto your nipple.
You winced once she caught it, then melted back as she started drinking. “I’m fine,” you finally answered. “Body . . . hurts.”
"No shit. You pushed an eight-kilo baby out of you." Despite the crude sarcasm in his tone, Sukuna tenderly caressed his knuckles over his daughter's cheek.
"Did you want . . . a girl?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I'm sorry," you mumbled, adjusting your baby onto your lap. "I assumed you'd prefer a boy as an heir."
"I'm not my father," he declared, putting an end to the conversation. "She's got your eyes."
Your daughter gazed up at you with a curiosity remarkably similar to yours. You smiled down at her, grateful she had made it. Grateful that Sukuna wasn't throwing a tantrum over the gender of your child but instead cupping the top of his baby girl's head and brushing his thumb across her forehead.
“You got a name for her?” Sukuna asked.
“Yes, but we can brainstorm if you don’t—”
“You carried the child, you birthed her, you will name her. Whatever it is, I agree.”
Something dead stirred inside your chest. Swallowing hard, you shared the chosen name, "Nobara."
He nodded in approval, and as he pronounced her name, Nobara responded with a wailing cry. "Her tantrums will be the fucking death of me." Sukuna took her into his arms again.
"Support the back of her head and rub her back. She needs to be burped," you advised.
He grunted but followed your instructions. Moments later, a tiny burp from Nobara made you chuckle, earning a slight eye roll and a hint of a smile from him.
"I'll take the next few weeks off to help you recover from the aftermath and the stitches," he announced, rising and walking towards his work desk, where he settled into a large leather chair, cradling your newborn.
You nodded appreciatively, easing yourself down.
"Oh, before I forget," Sukuna mentioned as you settled into bed, "I've arranged a new doctor for you."
“Did you fire the last one?”
“I fired at her, yes.”
Your eyes widened. "What? Why would you—? What?"
He shrugged, cradling the back of your newborn's head. "She suggested an additional stitch for you. Said it would make things 'tighter' down there for me."
Your face flushed. “So . . . you killed her?”
"Yes," he confirmed, his gaze fixed on you with those penetrating eyes, "I don't need a mere doctor questioning whether I'd still enjoy having sex with my wife after she gave birth to our child."
“But . . . you have mistresses. Don’t you?”
He lifted a brow. “I had mistresses up until . . . ”
Up until the kidnapping.
Sukuna never spoke of the crime after he’d saved you. Instead, he expressed his commitment through actions: sleeping beside you, teaching you how to handle a handgun, keeping a protective arm around your waist at social gatherings. Occasionally, you swore you felt him run his fingers through your hair as you slept.
"I wouldn't mind if you did," you admitted, a voice inside contradicting your words. "Given what my body has been through, I would find myself repulsive for pleasure, too. I understand if you feel disgusted."
Sukuna halted the gentle strokes on your daughter's back and straightened up. "What the fuck did you just say?"
An icy shiver ran through you, momentarily numbing the pain. "I-I just assumed—"
"You know, you make a lot of assumptions about me, wife. It gets under my fucking skin that you'd ever believe I could raise a hand on you. Day and night, every hour and minute, even now, in your presence, my mind is consumed with ways to kill the fear that's taken root in you.” He was infuriated yet vulnerable, with Nobara sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. “Everyone I’ve ever met has done nothing but fear me like I’m a curse on their soul, and while I’m flattered of the monster they’ve painted me out to be, I refuse to let my wife and daughter see me in that light. Do I make myself clear?"
You . . . nodded. 
“And for your information, I had mistresses up until I married you.”
You took in a sharp breath, processing the confession. "But those women—"
"Spies," he clarified, his voice low and steady. "They operate undercover in my clubs, keeping an eye out for potential threats. I haven't fucked anyone since the day I put that ring on your finger." He offered a small, almost imperceptible apology to your baby for cursing.
"Oh."
All you ever heard were twisted stories about the Sukuna Ryomen, a young man who, against all odds, slaughtered his own father to ascend the throne of the underworld criminal realm. Whispers spoke of a chilling childhood, where a mother's desperate attempt to suffocate her son in his sleep. The scars etched into his skin, concealed beneath a tapestry of dark markings, bore witness to the brutal initiation rites inflicted by vengeful uncles. In his domain, everyone prayed to see him buried six feet under.
Which is why you felt sympathy for your husband. He was lonely. Too lonely. Despite all the riches and influence surrounding him, he was stuck in a fortress where danger lurked around every corner. He had no friends, no one he could truly confide in—except perhaps Uraume. Opening up about his emotions wasn't in his nature. He kept the tough exterior, convinced that being a monster, a curse, was the only path to earning respect and recognition.
But just now, when had cut himself open in front of you and bled a human color, he was Ryomen. Your husband. The one who just became a father. A man wrapped in a comfortable robe with his hair combed down and his skin clean of dirt and blood as he held his daughter, as he gazed at you like you two were the only people meant fighting for in his treacherous world.
Sukuna noticed your silence, tuned in to your steady breaths, and lowered his lashes. "You'll ask me to touch you. Not just for the sake of having another child but for your own pleasure. If I'm not around and you need me, you will call, and I'll rush home. If this little brat gives you any trouble, I'll handle it. Hell, maybe I'll let her in on a bit of the family business for a head start."
"No," you murmured, absorbing everything he'd just said. "Not now. I want her to enjoy a proper childhood."
"Is that a demand?" Sukuna tilted his head slightly, another method of asserting authority. Yet, after all he'd shared about dropping everything for you, about making love to you, the fear in you started to dissolve bit by bit.
"Yes," you affirmed. "It's a demand."
A small smirk played on Sukuna's lips as he rose from his spot, circled the bed, and settled down beside you, with Nobara resting peacefully on his chest. Summoning all your strength, you turned to run your fingers over your baby's soft cheek and tiny, parted lips.
“She sleeps like you, Mr. Sukuna.”
“Ryomen,” he corrected, his arm covering his eyes as he breathed with a slightly open mouth. “My wife will call me Ryomen.”
Teasingly, you asked, “Is that a demand, Ryomen?”
His arm shifted low, and his reddish-brown eyes softened, stealing your breath. “Only from my wife and daughter.”
You smiled, closing your eyes. “Goodnight, Ryomen.”
In response, he wrapped his strong arm around you, pulling you close to his side, his two girls snuggled against his body.
In the beginning, you knew you didn't belong in the hell Sukuna ruled. Your father's mistakes, pilfering drug shipments and peddling them locally, had sealed both his fate and yours. With thoughts of fleeing the disgrace your father brought upon your family, you had started packing, desperate to escape the clutches of your old man.
The following night, Sukuna and his henchmen barged into your cramped apartment, wreaking havoc on every piece of furniture. Rocking in the corner of your room, Sukuna casted his shadow over you like the God of Death, bathed in your father’s blood.
Crouching down to your eye level, he tipped your chin up, leaving a splotch of blood. He used the collar of your sweater to wipe it away. In a hushed confession, you revealed the hidden drugs under the sink and floorboards, along with your father's buyer list folded in the cereal boxes. Sukuna grinned and ordered his underlings to retrieve the concealed items. Then, the chilling question hung in the air: "Are you going to kill me, too?"
"I'm tempted," Sukuna replied, "but not to kill you." His gaze fixated on your left hand, and he raised it, studying your ring finger. "You will pay for your father's crimes with your life." He held your hand in front of your face. "You will take my last name." His smirk widened, revealing perfect teeth. "Isn't that the cruelest form of death, love?"
Unconsciousness claimed you then, but after seven years of marriage, enduring unimaginable hardships, and finally welcoming a baby into the world, your answer was clear. The true torment wasn't caused by the man you once perceived as a monster but rather by his enemies.
"How am I supposed to know if Mr. Munchkin wants more tea? He's a fucking stuffed toy. Can't talk, you know?"
"Ryo," you warned, perched on the armrest while busy crocheting baby socks for your little one on the way.
Nobara, wielding a rubber, squeaky hammer, stood up from her seat, giving her father a bonk on the head each time he let out a curse. And you often heard the squeak of the hammer around the house.
Nobara's tiara was slightly askew, frustration evident in her curled lips and bared teeth. She was growing increasingly irritated with her father's lack of understanding about the rules of her tea party. "Mr. Munchkin wants tea, Papa. Give him tea! Give him tea! Give him—"
"Fine, I surrender. Here, you little bastard. Take the whole fu—damn pot." He shoved the plastic teapot towards Mr. Munchkin, a well-loved cat stuffed toy you had gifted Nobara on her last birthday. "Happy?"
"Cup," she insisted, pointing at the tea cup in front of Mr. Munchkin.
Sukuna sighed and poured the water from the kettle into the pink plastic cup.
"Me too," Nobara added, settling back in her kiddie chair. Sukuna had barely taken his seat before she had him on the floor. "Hurry!"
"May I pour for the other toys first, Your Highness?"
"Not toys. Friends."
Sukuna shot you a helpless glare, eliciting a chuckle from you. He filled the table with tea, and Nobara, holding her small cup, clinked it with her father's, followed by her collection of stuffed animals. Sukuna reluctantly mimicked the gesture. Instead of sipping the tea, he downed it like a shot.
“Papa!”
“Ryo, come on.”
There wasn’t any winning with his girls.
Sukuna reluctantly poured himself another cup, sipping it with an air of reluctance that mirrored a princess. Despite his resistance to the make-believe tea party, you couldn't ignore the genuine affection he showed toward his daughter. He would nod attentively when one of the stuffed animals "spoke," laughed along with Nobara, and even beautified himself with a glittering tiara, a feathered pink scarf, and deep purple-painted nails.
Sukuna was, without a doubt, a fantastic father. It came as no surprise that Nobara's first word was 'Brat.'
That night, you kissed your daughter goodnight and tucked her into her bed. Sukuna joked that he’d spent every last bit of his wealth decorating the brat’s room, filling it with the latest toys, and stacking her closet with whatever clothes she laid her finger or eyes on. She was truly the princess of her father’s heart.
"She's asleep," you informed him.
"I'll give her a kiss in a minute. Just need to finish this," Sukuna replied, pouring over his documents.
Letting out a sigh, you shuffled over, rolled back his chair, and settled onto his lap. He continued reading as you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your cheek on his shoulder, peering at him through your lashes.
"I want you, Ryo," you murmured.
Sukuna paused, lowering his gaze to meet your cheeky smile. "Later."
"It's late."
"I have to finish—" He halted as you began kissing his neck, moving up to his jaw and cheeks, tracing the contours of his face tattoos.
"Please, Ryo," you whispered near his ear.
How could he refuse you anything when you appeared so stunning, radiating with the joy of expecting another child in your four-month-old belly?
“Take off your robe and get on the bed. Spread your legs for me.” He gave your ass a little smack as you happily skipped away, shedding your clothes and clearing the bed to settle in. With a grin, you opened your legs, propping yourself up on your elbows.
Sukuna stood up from his seat, loosening his robe as he did. He sighed, watching the moisture forming between your legs. Pregnancy seemed to heighten your lusts, and Sukuna was always ready to fulfill your needs.
“What pretty, wet cunt,” he whispered softly, leaning in to kiss your chest, trailing down to your stomach, your hips, your calling clit. 
Over the years, you realized Sukuna enjoyed pleasuring you more than the opposite. He feasted on you like a starved man, whether it happened in the back of the limo, in a guest room during a party, or just minutes before a crucial meeting in his office. He insisted it was his way of relaxing, often pleading with you to spend a full hour on his face as he ate you out and drank every drop of your release. It had turned into a daily routine for him. And for you.
“Oh, Ryo, yes, yes. Right there—ah!” Your back arched off the mattress when his tongue drove into your hole, flicking and exploring your clamping walls. His mouth was latched to your pussy, sucking it in, his cheeks hollowing rapidly. Your fingers tightened in his hair, hips voluntarily grating against his face, his sharp nose rubbing over your swollen clit. 
Sukuna drew back as you came down with a muted cry behind your hand and lapped at the flow of your juices pouring out of you. His lips shone as he leaned over and gently kissed you, allowing you to taste yourself from his tongue. “If I don’t fuck you now, I will die.” 
“Hurry, then.” 
Sukuna pushed himself inside you, and that first wave of pleasure hit you so strongly that you sank your nails in his back and cried out heavenwards. He groaned and grunted, thrusts growing speed, his plump balls smacking against your ass. You loved that he fucked harder, faster, driving you to the brink of ruination. 
After you'd healed from Nobara's birth, he would always make sure to get at least ten orgasms from you. From midnight to early morning, he'd fuck you in every possible position. But his favorite was always missionary, where he could have his eyes on you, writhing and whimpering beneath him, telling him it’s too much, he's too thick, all while using your heels to draw him in even closer.
Sukuna curled his arm around your waist and sat you up on his lap, thrusting up into you as you coiled yourself around his neck. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Your cunt was made for me, love. Your cunt was fucking made for me.” His hand threaded to the back of your head, grasping your hair and drawing your face back so you were looking him in the eyes without wavering, without bowing your head. He needed to know you didn’t fear him when he fucked you like this. It was an unspoken check-in, and when you smiled drunkenly, only then did he let you return to embracing him. 
“Are you close?” you whispered. 
“Not yet. I want to come in your ass.” 
You shivered despite how scalding and sweaty your bodies were. “Do it.” 
“Yeah?” 
You nodded. “Please.” 
Sukuna dragged you off his cock so you could get on all-fours, raising your ass up for him. He’s only ever been in your sacred spot a handful of times but never finished himself inside it. It appeared that tonight you were both a little extra spellbound.
Mounting himself behind you, Sukuna unfurled your ass and spit on his fingers, stroking the puckered hole. He gathered the creamy liquid dripping out of your pussy to lubricate the spot. His middle finger stretched you out, followed by his ring fingers, pushing in and out until he knew for sure you were prepared for him. 
Sukuna’s steel-hard cock pushed into your tiny hole. The sight of it expanding to swallow his girthy size almost made him come right there and then. He started to move in sluggish movement, grabbing onto your waist. His hips cruised, brushing against your ass, making you impatient and push yourself back. 
“Understood.” He chuckled and dug his nails into your skin, dragging out to the tip and shoving himself inside. Your face pressed into your pillows, crying and trembling as he abused your asshole non-stop. “You’re taking me so well, my love. Oh, fuck, fuck.” He rutted into you like a beast, claiming your body, rubbing your clit from the front, spanking your ass, brandishing you over and over again. 
You both snapped in unison. 
Sukuna sagged over your spine as he bucked in every last bit of his sloppy seed. His lips kissed your shoulder blades, holding you up by one arm. Gently, he pulled out, his cock growing floppy until you flipped onto your back, hair sticking to your sweaty, flushed face, belly slightly swollen, your tits larger in size, his release mingled with yours seeping out from your holes. 
“Fuck, I love you,” he whispered, cupping your face like he didn’t just fuck your soul out of you. That smirk you’d come to love appeared on his lips. You reciprocated back, stretching out your arms so he could lean down and kiss you sweetly on the lips and cheeks and toss in a praise or two for what a good girl you were as he slid into you again, slower and more intimate with his game. “I fucking love you, Y/N.” 
You smiled against his lips that continuously whispered the three beautiful words and said, “I love you, too, Ryomen,” before sealing it with a long, lasting kiss.
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inkskinned · 9 months
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
#every time someones like ''AI will replace u" im like. u will have to fucking KILL ME#there is no replacement here bc i am not filling a position. i am just writing#and the writing is what i need to be doing#writeblr#this probably doesn't make sense bc its sooo frustrating i rarely speak it the way i want to#edited for the typo wrote it and then was late to a meeting lol#i love u people who mention my typos genuinely bc i don't always catch them!!!! :) it is doing me a genuine favor!!!#my friend says i should tell you ''thank you beta editors'' but i don't know what that means#i made her promise it isn't a wolf fanfiction thing. so if it IS a wolf thing she is DEAD to me (just kidding i love her)#hey PS PS PS ??? if ur reading this thinking what it's saying is ''i am financially capable of losing this'' ur reading it wrong#i write for free. i always have. i have worked 5-7 jobs at once to make ends meet.#i did not grow up with access or money. i did not grow up with connections or like some kind of excuse#i grew up and worked my fucking ASS OFF. and i STILL!!! wrote!!! on the side!!! because i didn't know how not to!!!#i do not write for money!!!! i write because i fuckken NEED TO#i could be in the fucking desert i could be in the fuckken tundra i could be in total darkness#and i would still be writing pretentious angsty poetry about it#im not in any way saying it's a good thing. i'm not in any way implying that they're NOT tryna kill us#i'm saying. you could take away our jobs and we could go hungry and we could suffer#and from that suffering (if i know us) we'd still fuckin make art.#i would LOVE to be able to make money doing this! i never have been able to. but i don't NEED to. i will find a way to make my life work#even if it means being miserable#but i will not give up this thing. for the whole world.
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steddiealltheway · 6 months
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It had started out as a joke.
Okay, well Steve is pretty sure it started out as a joke to alleviate some of the anxiety before facing Vecna.
It was an innocent joke, too. Or somewhat innocent considering it was made right before they were just going to kill Vecna and maybe die in the process.
Eddie had said, "Hey, Steve?" And when he turned around, Eddie asked with a teasing smile, "A kiss for good luck?"
And Steve, in front of Robin, Nancy, and Dustin with an axe on his back, had just shrugged and walked up to him, planting a kiss right on his lips and lingering for a few seconds before pulling away. He whispered, "Good luck." Ignoring Dustin's whispered what the fuck.
"Make him pay," Eddie had kind of mumbled out in shock, and Steve just nodded, turning back to find Robin's jaw dropped. He just gave her a look that said What? It could be the end of the world. Sue me.
She had just raised her hands in defense while Nancy tried to hide a wide smile.
Later when Steve found Eddie's lifeless body in Dustin's arms, he didn't hesitate to press his lips against his again, trying to breathe life into him. When Dustin shouted something about feeling a pulse, Steve lifted Eddie up like he weighed nothing, and marched him to the gate, determined to save him.
After he was placed in a hospital bed next to Eddie, he was chastised a bit for working through the adrenaline and straining his own wounds while carrying Eddie. But Steve didn't care that it meant it would take a few more weeks for him to completely recover because Eddie was alive. And that's all that really mattered.
The first time Eddie went to physical therapy, Steve smiled at him and asked, "A kiss for good luck?"
Eddie laughed but reached out for Steve who bent over and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. It felt different this time. Less like the world was ending and more like a promise that everything would be okay.
Even after Steve was discharged from the hospital, he would come back for Eddie's physical therapy, offering a kiss for good luck before waiting for him to come back and tell him about the progress he was making.
But as his physical therapy sessions decrease as he gets used to his scars and new limitations, Steve finds himself still lingering around him.
He thinks Eddie notices. With the way he lingers around Steve as well, sneaking glances at him every so often, eyes dipping down to Steve's lips more often as he talks, he's sure Eddie knows what's on his mind.
So, it's really not a surprise when one day Steve, Robin, and Eddie are hanging out and Robin backs up with a piece of popcorn in her hand, she says, "Go long," to Steve, and Eddie asks, "A kiss for good luck?"
Steve doesn't hesitate to give him a quick peck before turning back to Robin and gesturing for her to toss him the piece. She frowns momentarily before tossing it.
Steve is almost upset when it lands in his mouth because it means no more chances of a good luck kiss.
But Eddie just smiles and says, "Maybe our kisses really do bring good luck."
Steve can't help but laugh a bit and nudge his shoulder as he grabs a piece of popcorn out of the bucket and leans back to toss it in Eddie's mouth.
Eddie leans forward this time, and Steve kisses him sweetly before pulling back and asking, "Ready?"
Eddie nods and opens his mouth, catching the popcorn easily.
Steve thinks that maybe their kisses really do bring good luck.
When Steve turns to Robin with another kernel, she jokes, "As long as you don't kiss me." But there's something in her tone that lets Steve know that they're talking about this later.
And soon, Eddie is leaving, and Steve can't help but kiss him again saying it's just good luck for the drive back to his new trailer. And of course, it's dark out, so maybe Steve puts a little more into this kiss than usual before they're both pulling away, breathing heavily into the small shared space between them. Eddie says, "Good luck here," before kissing Steve again and turning quickly to leave.
Steve lingers for a moment in the doorway, making sure Eddie drives off safely before closing the door.
"What the hell was that?"
"Jesus, Robin, how long have you been standing there?"
Robin crosses her arms. "I literally hugged him goodbye right before you two decided to make out in front of me. And since when has that been happening, dingus?" The hurt in her tone is loud and clear.
Steve leans back against the door with a sigh. "We've been doing the good luck kiss before all his physical therapy sessions. It's not a big deal though. It's just good luck. And tonight was the first time we've kissed for something other than physical therapy."
Robin's eyebrows furrow. "Steve, at one point he had PT three days a week. And how many sessions did you miss?"
"None," Steve confesses quietly.
"Oh my gosh," Robin says and walks to the living room.
"It's not like that!" Steve argues, following her.
Robin turns around and says, "Yes, it's not like you two have kissed multiple times for the past few weeks just for 'good luck' and nothing else."
Steve sighs and crosses his arms. "It's exactly like that." He pauses and looks away. "Okay, maybe I'm a little kiss-starved, but it doesn't mean anything!"
Robin worries her bottom lip as she stares at Steve looking conflicted. "Have you ever thought that maybe it might mean more to Eddie?"
Steve freezes before shaking his head. "It doesn't."
"Steve-"
"It's just not like that between us, okay?"
Robin stares at him for a few more seconds and quietly says, "You know that it's okay if it is, right?"
Steve nods, not really taking the words to heart. He doesn't feel that way about Eddie. Sure, he likes kissing him and seeing the way he lights up right before they kiss and the way he lingers after but...
It's just not like that.
Steve sighs and looks down. "I'll let you know if anything changes though, okay?"
"Okay," Robin says, sounding a little more satisfied with his answer. "Now you have to help me with my romance problems."
Steve sits back as he listens to Robin rant, trying to ignore the way she still associates him and Eddie with something romantic. And really the kisses are... they're just for good luck... Right?
-:-:-:-:-:-
Steve thinks that maybe the kisses are less for good luck the next week after he starts hanging out more and more with Eddie. They've started asking, "A kiss for good luck?" for just about everything - Eddie getting up to get him and Steve two Cokes, Steve grabbing a blanket for them to share, every time they say goodbye, when one of them shifts on the couch or bed to get more comfortable. Anything really.
But now the good luck kisses are no longer verbally prompted. Sometimes, Eddie will look at Steve, and he'll just know he needs the good luck. Or sometimes Steve will look at Eddie, feeling a random need for good luck.
Usually, it never goes beyond the intensity of their first goodbye-good-luck kiss. And they have a mutual silent agreement to have no good luck kisses in front of the kids. Robin is fine - although that comes with a question about his feelings and whatnot which Steve actively likes to avoid.
It's not like he's in denial about the fact he enjoys kissing Eddie. He's just very much in denial about how much he likes kissing Eddie, and he would like to keep it that way until Eddie finds someone else or ends this... whatever they have.
Unfortunately for him, he's forced to think about it when he gets a little too careless during a movie night with The Party.
Everything was going fine really. Steve had even managed to slip three good luck kisses to Eddie when the kids were away from them. And really, they both needed it because dealing with the kids was sometimes hell.
But Steve really had no excuse when he sat down next to Eddie and openly kissed him in front of all the kids. He only realized his mistake when he pulled back and noticed Eddie staring at him with wide eyes.
"Uh, what was that?" Max asks, looking somewhat delighted at the new development.
Steve quickly explains, "It was a good luck kiss."
"See! I told you guys I wasn't lying!" Dustin shouts excitedly at everyone.
Steve and Eddie turn to give him an unimpressed look at the same time.
Dustin holds his hands up as his voice gets a little higher. "What? They didn't believe me when I told them about it before."
"Okay, now we believe you, but what was this good luck kiss even for?" Will asks.
Eddie shifts next to Steve uncomfortably, but Steve easily answers, "Good luck with dealing with you guys. Plus, I needed good luck getting comfortable."
"Good luck getting comfortable?" Lucas clarifies slowly, not even trying to hide his smile.
"Yes," Steve says exasperatedly. "Now can we watch this movie?"
"Are you two dating?" El asks.
Steve tenses up and glances at Eddie.
"No," Mike says, tone dripping with sarcasm. "Friends kiss each other all the time for good luck."
Will shoots him a look. "When we were just friends, didn't you literally ask me for a good luck-"
"Hey," Mike says with wide eyes as he turns red. "Not helping."
"We're not dating," Eddie states and starts the movie, "But we are watching this movie."
Steve feels his heart sink at the confirmation. Why the hell is he so upset about Eddie telling the truth? Because that's exactly what it is. The truth. They're not dating so Steve isn't allowed to get upset.
For the rest of the movie, Steve tries to get into the plot, but he can't when Eddie is sitting right next to him, reminding him of what he said.
When the movie ends, Steve immediately gets up and starts cleaning up the mess left by the kids and hurries off to the kitchen to work on the mess in there too. He needs to call Robin.
He scrubs at the countertops and half-heartedly waves at the kids when they yell their goodbyes and rush out the door. He gets stuck at one spot on the counter that won't give and scrubs at it harshly until a hand rests over his.
"Hey," Eddie says softly. "You okay?"
Steve slowly turns to face him and lies, "Yeah. I'm fine."
Eddie's eyes lower to his lips momentarily, but he doesn't lean in. "Are you sure?"
Steve nods in response and turns back to the counter.
"Um, good luck with this."
"I'm going to need it," Steve says, leaning in to stare at whatever is stuck on the counter. He pauses when he realizes what Eddie just said and turns around. "Good luck with the kids."
"I'm definitely going to need it," Eddie says dramatically huffing.
"I could take half of them, you know."
Eddie shrugs and moves closer to him. "Or you could do something else for me."
"Yeah?" Steve asks with a smile, "And what's that?"
"Give me some extra good luck."
Steve snorts as Eddie smiles brightly at him. But he wraps his arms around his shoulders and says, "Extra good luck coming right up."
And this kiss... it feels... different.
It starts out sweet and slow like usual, just a soft press of their lips together before they readjust to get a better angle. But Steve remembers the extra Eddie requested and runs a hand through Eddie's hair, pressing in closer. Eddie's hands wrap around his waist as he turns and presses his back against the counter.
Steve breaks the kiss with a gasp, needing more air and filled with slight shock as all his feelings for Eddie suddenly rise to the surface. He pulls back to look at Eddie for a second, taking in his blown pupils and pink cheeks as he whispers, "Jesus H. Christ."
Steve doesn't waste a second before he kisses Eddie again, immediately deepening the kiss but cradling Eddie's face in his hands, trying to offset the desperation of the kiss with the gentleness of the touch. He wants to let him know we have more time now. Unlike their first kiss, and unlike any of the other ones that Steve couldn't suck it up and admit were real, this is the start of something new. Something-
A loud car horn goes off outside causing Steve and Eddie to break apart, but they linger in each other's arms, both staring, knowing they have more to say but not the time in this moment.
"I have to go," Eddie whispers.
Steve nods, but neither of them moves.
The horn goes off again, and Steve reluctantly moves away, grabbing Eddie's hand to drag him to the front door. He waits a second and says, "Eddie..."
"I know," Eddie says and leans in to kiss him gently. "I'll be back, okay? As soon as I drop the little demons off."
The car horn goes off multiple times in an obnoxious rhythm that Steve guesses is Dustin's own creation. He kisses Eddie on the forehead and opens the door. "Good luck."
"God, I'm going to need it."
Steve watches as Eddie jogs to the van yelling, "I'm coming! I'm coming! It's not like you guys are near your curfew so zip it!"
Steve smiles as the van takes off and Eddie blows him a dramatic kiss.
As soon as they're out of sight, Steve races to the phone and calls Robin.
"Robin speaking," she answers, sounding as if she wants nothing to do with the call.
"Hey," Steve sighs with relief.
"Thank god. I thought you were going to be some telemarketer or something. What's going on?"
"I have feelings for Eddie," Steve confesses immediately.
There's a rustling sound and Robin sighs, "You finally realized it."
"Shut up."
"You know I'm right."
It's true, but Steve isn't going to admit it.
"So, what made you realize?" Robin asks.
Steve leans back against the counter. "He told the kids we weren't dating which I couldn't let go because it hurt so damn much. Then, I kind of figured out when I basically stuck my tongue down his throat."
"Gross. You know I hate that phrase," Robin complains.
"And that's why I say it," Steve says with a smile that slowly turns into a softer one as he thinks about Eddie. "I think I'm going to ask him out."
"I wonder if he'll say yes," Robin jokes. At least, Steve hopes she's joking.
"That's a joke, right?"
"Yes, dingus. I'm pretty sure you guys have been sort of dating in the form of excuses this whole time."
"Don't make fun of us."
Robin snorts. "I'm not, I'm just stating the facts."
Steve sighs, trying not to give away again that she's right.
"I'm happy for you guys," Robin says with an obvious smile that Steve can hear. "And thank you."
"For?"
"Realizing it before I had to knock some sense into you."
Steve rolls his eyes affectionately, knowing she can probably tell even over the phone.
"And for telling me. Which hey, how are you feeling about it?"
Steve shrugs. "I mean, I'm scared, you know? None of my relationships work out, and I need this one to be different."
"I think it will be, but I was more asking about how you're dealing with the knowledge that you like guys."
Steve huffs, "Yeah, I'm not dumb. I knew I was attracted to Eddie, I just didn't want to get emotions involved. I thought you knew this."
"Hello, I'm the same person who couldn't tell that Vickie was into girls as well."
"That's true," he shifts the phone to his other ear and says, "God, I can't believe we're having this conversation over the phone."
"I prefer it to the dirty Starcourt bathroom floors."
"I don't," Steve says with a fond smile.
"Eliminate all the trauma before that moment, and yeah, maybe I do prefer it. Even on the floor."
"I can drag you into the Family Video bathr-"
"Not a chance, dingus," Robin says immediately.
Steve laughs and pauses before saying, "Thanks for letting me take my time to figure it out. Sorry that I was kind of an asshole before."
"You're always kind of an asshole. It's part of the charm."
Steve smiles and says, "Well, then I'm going to be an asshole and tell you I have to hang up, so I can prepare for this life-altering moment."
"Gosh, you two are both so dramatic. You're absolutely perfect for each other."
“Goodbye, Robin,” Steve sighs.
“I would wish you good luck, but I’m not there to kiss you!”
Steve groans as Robin laughs. “I’m hanging up.” He does just that after he hears Robin shriek with more laughter.
She’s never going to let him live this down. (Not that he minds really.)
When Eddie comes back later, the first thing Steve says is, “I need a major good luck kiss.”
“For what?” Eddie asks with a small smile.
“So this really amazing guy will say yes when I ask him out.”
Eddie smiles and wraps his arms around his waist. “You think I’m amazing?”
“So presumptuous of you, assuming I’m talking about you,” Steve jokes.
Eddie raises his eyebrows.
“Okay, yes. I’m talking about you.”
Eddie smiles and says, “Well, I don’t think you need any good luck then.”
“Yeah?” Steve asks with a smile so wide it almost hurts.
“Definitely. But I’m going to give you some extra good luck just in case.”
Steve kisses him with a smile, pulling back immediately to ask, “You’re saying yes, right?”
“I thought I said I was giving you extra good luck first.”
“Eddie.”
“Yes,” Eddie replies and frowns. “But now what am I giving you extra good luck for?”
“Us? Or maybe we could just call it making out.”
Eddie makes a face and sticks his tongue out. “Bleh, no. No making out in this relationship. Just extra good luck giving.”
Steve laughs and leans in. Giving his boyfriend as much good luck as he can.
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grox · 5 months
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Someone in the replies of that death grips post brought up ween as being a meme band too and like. Yeah. But as someone who went to both ween and death grips this year the difference was palpable and the difference was upsetting. Ween wasnt being treated as a fucking, like, lookatme! fest, wasnt treated like a literal joke to be seen going to, they weren't throwing WATER BOTTLES at them, weren't making them end the concert early, and it genuinely, truthfully felt like everybody was there because they love ween, or at least like ween, and want to, see ween (Except for me, I went because I wanted to go to wisconsin.. But I was still fucking loving it!) Everybody was feeling themselves, and frankly thats because ween.. isnt black music. Black people couldn't get away with being ween. And thats what the post was fucking about, gecs, nin, none of that would be taken seriously if the musicians were black. Once a black artist whos just a liiiiittle bit experimental gets known the most fucking annoying white people in the world start latching on, liking shit "ironically", for the fucking lulz or whatever. Before arbitrarily deciding one day to turn around and say some shit like.. "Okay we talk shit buttt this shit smacks!!!!" Mf doom jpegmafia fuck man mario judah even X. The soundcloud rap empire. But death grips specifically there's just this HUGE fucking air of disrespect for the craft, the fucking PEOPLE behind it that's so fucking prevalent maybe its my fault for opening reddit but god damn these people are insane. How do none of these people ever stop for 1 second and just, like, consider: What would MC Ride think? Does he particularly enjoy seeing the 24th lollipop boy? Is he happy that theres people playing tech deck in the pit? And you should be considering this. How the fuck do you think he feels? It's his fucking concert! Somebody please kill anthony fantano!
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xxsabitoxx · 5 months
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Megumi is the type of man to get really shy during acts of affection like hugging, holding hands, kissing, etc. But won't show any signs of that shyness when he pounds you disrespectfully into the mattress.
You hadn't expected it. Hell, he had been too shy to even initiate half of the "firsts" in your relationship. You still recall how red he was when you kissed him for the first time, how his lips wobbled when you pulled away because he didn't want it to end just yet.
That didn't stop Megumi from being the one to initiate your first time together. It had been full of flushed faces and mildly awkward fumbling but it was great and you enjoyed every second.
You still smiled thinking about those first times.
Those nights where you felt like the only two people in the world as you learned every single inch of each other's bodies. You still could feel the butterflies in your stomach as you two experimented to figure out what you liked and what you disliked.
Now, you could proudly say you knew Megumi's body like the back of your hand. You knew what got him going, where he was sensitive, his deepest and darkest desires, everything that made up his essence.
Which is why, when you had finally convinced him to be a bit rough with you, you had been mildly shocked when he didn't hold back. Not that you had wanted him to, fuck no, you had been very adamant on him giving it his all because you could take it.
But you had still expected him to show some restraint.
Megumi, on the other hand, threw every ounce of self-restraint he had out the window when you had begged him so sweetly.
He had seen you in battle, over the years he had learned you really are durable. Which was why his lust clouded mind didn’t bother holding back when you asked him to be rough.
Megumi felt guilty when you could barely walk the next day, but at the same time he felt pure satisfaction because of it.
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