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attapullman · 4 months

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whodunit? / one

Summary: the one where everyone annoys bradley and we might have a suspect?

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: 18+ only! f!reader, food and alcohol mentions, swearing, 80s inaccuracies, police inaccuracies, bank inaccuracies, I was born in the 90s i'm so sorry

mo's note: our favourite hometown sleuths are back! thank you to everyone who came into my messages and walked through the massive rewrites i did for this chapter. also how do we feel about bob wearing leather bracelets? lmk

prologue / one / two / whodunit? masterlist

“Did you really have to bring them along?” Lieutenant Bradshaw (or Lieutenant Mustache as many of the patrol officers - and yourself - fondly called him) rolled his eyes before spearing the men beside you with another glare.

“Eat my shorts,” Fanboy muttered under his breath, scuffing his Reebok Pumps against the government-issued linoleum. Bradley was a bit older, and didn’t grow up here. While you and he got along when your dad invited him over for the occasional dinner, he had nothing but disdain for the amateur crime solvers he annoyingly had to deal with when cases weren’t open-and-shut.

Or when you requested their help. Bradley was still annoyed with you. The police had this handled.

The muttered insults and eye rolls had been shooting back and forth since you walked the several blocks from the bank to the police station. Your father had offered you in a ride in his cruiser, but is there anything more embarrassing? Besides, that short walk had provided you plenty of time to catch up your childhood friends on what all had happened that afternoon.

You left work early on Friday to attend the city’s fundraiser to restore the old movie theater off the town square. About as fancy as the town got, members of neighboring towns joining in on the festivities. You had changed in the employee bathrooms and went on your way, meeting up with your parents and then some friends. Which had quickly turned into ditching the stuffy money raising event for the bar and then beers on a friends back patio. And then you spent most of Saturday hungover on your parent’s couch - their converted garage was very cost efficient - before remembering today that your paycheck was still in your locker on your way to get mushroom soup for dinner. You had your eye on the new The Kinks album, and the record store was on the way home.

But once you entered the bank - your key turning in the lock and the metal shutters lifting - the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Something was whack. Sure enough, the large metal vault behind the teller stations was slightly ajar and all the money deposited the day before from the fundraiser (to be picked up by a carrier since the town vault was too small for such a big deposit) had disappeared into thin air - a lone Andrew Jackson against the linoleum.

Where had $150,000 gone?

It was a small town. Something you lamented about often - the closest roller-skate rink was miles away - and the technology wouldn’t catch up for another decade. The bank still utilized practices from when your dad was in high school. It was a miracle a robbery hadn’t taken place since your grandmother’s generation. But wasn’t that Malibu Ken on security supposed to keep that ancient vault safe?

Your temples are starting to itch from rubbing them, trying to massage the stress from your brain. Your one The Kinks album short, dinner is ruined, and your Sunday veg out has now turned into wanting to rip the mustache off Bradley’s face if he asks you to recount exactly what you saw one more time.

As he often does, it’s Bob’s soothing voice that softens the tension. “Instead of pointing fingers at your Captain’s daughter, let’s think about who had access to the vault. Who else has a key?”

Thank god for the voice of reason.

Twenty minutes later there’s a short list of bank employees gathered and Fanboy is asking how well you know everyone. Bradley shoots another death glare. He is the one asking the questions.With one hand on the lieutenant’s arm, you go over everyone.

Julie is extremely pregnant and it would be a miracle to pull off something like this. Devon is far too dumb to even think to rob a bank (last week he asked you how to open his cash drawer - he’s worked there two years). Barb and Kevin are out of the question, from across the room where they talk to a deputy they seem distraught beyond reason. Your managers are some of the best people you know. And Jake on security…surely someone is already got him in for questioning. That really only leaves -

“Has anyone talked to Richard?”

All three men look at you bewildered. “Who’s Richard?”

You scoff. For being the only person without any sort of mystery solving under your belt in present company, you seem to be the only one who knows everyone in this town. “Richard Ito?” Blank stares. “The senior teller? He’s literally worked at the bank since the 50’s or somethin’ like that.”

While the three men sputter with various excuses, your dad walks in. He comes over and ruffles your hair, saying he’s already called your mother and explained the situation. Great. Bradley sits a little straighter, while Fanboy and Bob slouch a little more just to irritate Bradley that little bit further. It works. You can barely stifle your giggle. You’ve missed them.

“How’s it going over here?” The police captain’s eyes roam over the various notes strewn over Bradley’s desk. Bold lettering of $150,000 catching his eye. This was so bad. Your group catches him up, various details from the past hour together, your dad’s mustache twitching every time he frowns. Nothing this big has happened since he was a deputy. Or ever.

“Fuck.” The one word perfectly expresses the situation.

Your dad pulls a chair over from another desk and sits beside you, putting distance between you and the thriving hub of testosterone you’ve spent your afternoon with. Protective on the job and off.

“I met with that security guard…Jake?” Seresin, you quietly remind him. “Yeah, yeah, him. Absolutely no help. It was there this morning when he did his rounds at 7, but he’s short a guy and was training the replacement most of the day on the opposite side of the building.”

“Cameras?” Bob chimes in.

The captain gives him a withering look. “They haven’t been replaced since you were in diapers. The last one with any good quality cut out last week. Repair guy is a week out.”

A collective groan. Your dad’s frustration is palpable. He’s the captain, it’s his job to keep the town safe, but also to reassure the townsfolk that he will ensure justice. And with little to no evidence and the money the town has been raising for the past year completely gone, a wildfire of gossip will engulf the town in no time and no one will feel secure.

“Captain, don’t worry, I’ll get all our best guys to interview the rest of the bank employees, maybe some of the nearby businesses, and we’ll have this solved in no time,” Lieutenant Bradshaw reassures his superior officer, straightening up his notes and motioning to one of the patrol officers to take his list of suspects.

Fanboy eyes up the tall, broad officer, measuring up the way his wavy auburn hair catches the florescent lights. Oh fuck, he’s getting to the diner to interview Danielle before this guy.

Already halfway out of his seat, Bob grabs onto Fanboy’s bicep to stop him from sprinting to the diner. The curly-haired sleuth gives him a glare, annoyed that he is that transparent. But really Bob just wants to sit with his high school crush a little longer.

Your dad gives a quick glance at the list, giving the final order for his squadron to head out, when he frowns.

“Honey, Richard isn’t on this list. Did he quit?” You shake your head awkwardly. “Given what happened, we should talk to him.” He scribbles a name and hands the list back to his officer, pushing back his chair to join them for questioning. He presses a kiss to your hair and promises to be home before the nightly news.

Three pairs of eyes bore into you. “You want to fill us in, honey?”

You fiddle with the knee of your Levi’s 501s, suddenly aware of the small hole forming. While you pointed a finger at him earlier, having to explain the Richard sitch to anyone sucks.

Richard was in his late fifties, a graying, miserable man with such a chip on his shoulder that you were surprised he didn’t stoop more. Growing up he would deposit your hard earned lemonade stand money into your meager account, a scowl always on his face. You were honestly surprised returning from school and he was still there. The most tenured employee and still just a senior teller.

It wasn’t your fault Barb and Kevin chose you over him for the assistant manager position. You went to school for business with a background in finance; you worked as a teller to get yourself through school. You were bubbly and pleasant with the customers. As Barb had put it, “It would be stupid not to choose you.”

Richard did not have the same sentiment. After thirty years of service, he gets passed up by a grown child? You flinch thinking about the hateful glance he’s given you for the past ten months. His resentment flowed off him in waves, stinking up the small bank lobby. He tried to soothe his anger with gambling, and now was dangerously close to foreclosing on his home. A fact you unfortunately know after hearing him plead with Kevin for a loan while looking for more deposit slips.

If you were a detective you’d put Richard at the top of your suspect list. Not sure how he’d get into the bank without a key, but motive and access were there.

Bradley seems to think the same, and is already out of his seat, grabbing his cruiser keys and sprinting after your father to question this Richard guy first. Surely this must be the culprit. “Gotta bounce, gang!” The sleuthing duo to your right giggle and you hear mutterings of teacher’s pet under their breath.

“Well boys, if Bradley’s out there catching criminals, what are you doing?”

It’s your bluntness that they’ve always liked. Raised by a police captain, it’s no nonsense and straight to the point. But despite their respect for your mannerisms, cheeks turn pink and they scramble to prove their worth. If the police were interviewing witnesses, how were they going to get their payday?

Amused by the blundering men in front of you, you try to think of something other to do than go home and deal with your fretting mother, a can of mushroom soup short. You didn’t even grab your paycheck. Was it too early to go to the one bar in town and drown your sorrows?

Before you can justify drinking before dinner and someone ratting you out, the door to the precinct slams open and an air of pomposity drowns the room. Oh goodie, Vaughn Carmichael. He’s worse than Malibu Ken.

Slicked back greying hair and a face that only a mother could love, the city manager was annoyingly one of your father’s closest confidants when it came to town business. You weren’t sure how your strait-laced father could stand being in a room with a man who believes he built Rome in a day. He manages a township of less than five thousand people. If you gave a shit, you could do his job. But instead he walked around like a god reincarnated, telling anyone who would listen about his big ideas. His only redeeming quality was choosing his second-in-command Natasha.

While Vaughn walked in with enough hot air to inflate the station, there was a nervous edge to his snarky smile. “Has anyone seen the Captain?” Several officers mumble about him being out. Vaughn looks disappointed, surely here to get the latest scoop on the largest crime to sweep the town in decades so he could lead the gossip rings. His beady eyes sweep the room, taking in the scuffed floors and overdue paperwork, straightening his godawful mustard tie, and then locks on you.

“Sweetheart! How are you holding up?” Oh great, the whole Stop n’ Shop must have heard you were involved. “Came to see if your old man needed anything from the knowledge hub that is me.”

It physically hurts to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

Bob lifts himself from the hard plastic chair and extends a hand politely, the sleeve of his camel jacket exposing the leather bracelets on his wrist from . Vaughn wrinkles his nose. For someone wearing a mustard tie and a suit half a size too big, it’s bogus he’s judging Bob’s attire. Fanboy’s highlighter green ball cap is much worse.

The city manager shakes the hands of the two men, vaguely aware of their existence, before continuing on about his own experience with the robbery. You know, the one he isn’t part of at all. “Just dreadful really. I’m just as shaken as the rest of the town. And to think all the money for the restoration just, poof, gone. Knew we should have gotten rid of that rotting back door ages ago. Guess the restoration will be on hold permanently.”

“Whoa, whoa, freeze! What back door?” Fanboy pipes in. No one has mentioned a back door up to this point. “And how do you know the thief used it?’

The older man’s eyes tighten just a fraction. Steely charcoal stilling the circle. And then it was broken, that smug smile back in its place. “Ran into the Seresin kid while trying to track down the captain - my good friend - and he mentioned that’s how they determined the thieves got in.”

Why hadn’t your dad mentioned that?

Suddenly bored being the oldest person, Vaughn Carmichael taps you on the shoulder like you’re old chums, sparing the boys an unimpressed look. “I must go, I have meetings all day tomorrow and must prepare. City manager stuff, you wouldn’t understand.” The three of you give him a look to say you don’t want to understand.

Watching him stroll out of the precinct, shaking several hands, he pauses just a moment before pushing through the heavy black doors. “Boys?” Fanboy and Bob turn to him, unimpressed. “Why don’t you leave the real detective work to the professionals.”

The vein in Bob’s temple flares. Fanboy accidentally snaps the pencil he was using to jot down notes. Vaughn Carmichael, such a peach.

Shaking your head to clear the stench of Givenchy Gentleman from your nostrils (could the man choose a more pungent cologne?) you look back at your hired sleuths to process the information that just landed in your laps.

“We need to find out about the back door at the bank.” Fanboy underlines back door several times on his notepad.

Bob furrows his eyebrows at you. “Wait, you don’t know about this back door? You’ve worked there for years.”

“If I did would I be saying we need to find out more?” Your hand lands on your hip in annoyance.

Fanboy nearly gags with how much tension has been lying between the two of you since high school. Even worse now that you’ve both grown out of your awkward teen phases. “Quit your bickerin’, grannies. Who does know about the back door?”

No one on your staff had ever mentioned a back door. In all of your years of training and now as assistant manager it has never come up. But Vaughn pointed out the one person who knows the building inside and out. Even knows when you mistakenly leave your lunch dishes in the sink to soak for too long.

“We’ve got to go see Jake Seresin.”

A collective groan. “Really?”

“Okay, we all know he’s the worst, but he’s been doing security for the bank since high school. He definitely knows everything about this mysterious back door.” You nudge Fanboy. “I promise I’ll protect you from your bully.”

“He wasn’t our bully! He’s just an ass!”

But you’re still snickering as you gather up your bag, picking a stray piece of lint off your quarter zip. All these years later and they’re still avoiding Jake like the plague.

The two follow you out of the precinct, aimlessly following where you’re pointedly heading. Bob runs a hand through his hair before replacing his ball cap, unsure what direction this case has taken.

“So what makes you so sure that Jake is even gonna talk to us? Especially if he’s already spoken to the police?”

You take a right, longingly looking at the record store where your beloved album lies, unpurchased. This day was bogus. How could you be so dumb forgetting your paycheck in your locker? In another dimension your mom is making your third favorite dinner, you’re listening to “Do It Again” on your bedroom floor with a cigarette, and the only worry in the world is making sure your alarm goes off tomorrow.

Fuckin’ gnarly, dude.

You make another turn, your Docs trudging over the pavement.

“He might not talk to us. But there’s one person he will definitely talk to if we can convince her.” They give you an impatient look. “We’re going to go see Cassie.”

“Who the fuck is Cassie?”

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nickfowlerrr · 1 year

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series masterlist

part one • part three • part four • part five

happy golden days of yore • 2

pairing: dark!bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. 18+ ONLY. later parts will contain noncon smut. 40s misogyny? pet names. masturbation. creepy bucky.

words: 3k

notes: part twooooo. let me know what you think 🖤

You’d thrown away the burnt cookies and quickly made a new batch, letting them cool off to the side as you started on your dinner. You were planning on just heating up one of the frozen pizzas you’d bought, but figured it’d be nicer to make an actual meal for your impromptu host.

You tossed the caesar salad together out of the ready to mix bag into a larger bowl and after moved to drain the pasta and lower the dial on the burner that held your homemade marinara meat sauce.

The oven dinged and as you bent down to get the bread out, you felt eyes on you. You stood and placed the tray off to the side of the counter, slightly checking your shoulder to see if he really was there.

“Smells good,” he complimented as he met your eye.

“Thanks,” you returned politely. “I haven’t made this in a while, so hopefully it tastes good, too.”

You looked at him as he leaned his back against the counter, his arms across his chest as he watched you. His hair was damp and pushed behind his ears, the stubble remained, and he was dressed in a dark-green cable knit wool sweater and black joggers. It was funny how he looked slightly more inviting now, the softness of his sweater making him appear softer, too, not so intimidating. At least from a far. But he still had this air around him… something that gave you pause about getting too close. You didn’t want to be dramatic, but he had an essence of danger. You’d decided you’d wait for the storm to pass and head back home. You were sure it’d be better for both of you the sooner you headed out.

“Do you want salad?” you asked, getting ready to make his plate. It was his home, after all. It felt rude to just say, ‘Hey, dinner’s done. Help yourself.’. But maybe that was just the old school, ‘women need to serve the men’ way of thinking your grandparents had instilled in you, not maliciously, but still a mindset you’d been trying to shake since high school, when you first realized how ridiculous that thinking was. Still, serving him just felt more polite.

He considered you another moment, you could still feel his heavy gaze on you as you had your back to him, waiting for his answer.

“Yeah, whatever you made is good,” he told you. He pushed off the counter and made his way to the table, taking his seat at the end before his eyes returned to your figure once more. It was unnerving, him watching your every move, but in all fairness he knew nothing about you and was really just going on your word that you were John’s granddaughter. For all he really knew you were just some stranger who’d broken into his home so you couldn’t really blame him for being weary of you. If that’s what all the staring was about.. Either way, what were you going to do about it?

You set the bowl of salad down in front of him before getting his plate and filling it with pasta and sauce. You grabbed the tongs and set a couple pieces of the still warm bread on his plate.

“Enjoy,” you smiled smally as you set it down for him.

“Thank you,” he said, sounding sincere. “Seriously, I was just going to heat up a can of soup. It’s nice to have an actual meal.”

“Of course,” you responded. “Like I said, it’s the least I can do.”

“Would you mind grabbing me a glass of water, sweetheart,” he asked as you walked back to get your own plate, the request giving you half a second of pause.. And there was that pet name again.. You brushed it off and nodded.

“Sure,” you agreed, filling two glasses, one for each of you. You handed one to him and set the other on the opposite side of the table. You finished making your plate and made your way to your seat.

“This is really good, doll,” he praised after taking a bite. “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in a while, I forgot how good food could really taste.”

“Glad you like it,” you laughed lightly, looking down at your plate, mixing your food around before you took a bite of your own.

You ate mostly in silence, but as you were finishing your food, decided it would be an okay time to ask him some questions.

“So..if you don't mind me asking, what is it that you do for work?”

He gave you a cross look, brow raised as he examined your face carefully.

“You really don’t know?” he asked skeptically.

“Should I?”

He paused another moment before looking down, lips pulling into a bit of a frown as he thought, giving a small shake of his head.

“I guess not,” he said before returning his gaze to you. “I, uh. I work for the government. Kind of. With the government, really. I told you my name is Bucky, my full name is James Barnes,” he finished slowly, as if waiting for you to connect the dots, eyes never leaving your face, wanting to see the moment you’d put it together.

It took a second, but then it all clicked. You thought he looked familiar, but you didn’t think for even a second where you remembered seeing him before.

“Oh,” you breathed, “you’re…oh.”

You weren’t sure what to say. You were sitting across from the Winter Soldier. You were eating pasta with the Winter Soldier. Fuck, you essentially broke into the home of the Winter Soldier, you were surprised you were still sitting there breathing.

It did explain the danger vibes he was giving off earlier and the imposing presence he seemed to have so effortlessly. Plus he had a metal arm. You don't know how you didn’t realize it sooner. It was clear in front of your face.

“So, you come home after being away for however long and find some stranger in your home and don’t automatically assume the worst?” you said, trying to relieve the tension creeping into the space between you.

“Well I did come in armed,” he smirked lightly. “But I don’t think many suspicious characters are going around decorating, baking cookies, and playing Christmas music in the houses of their targets.”

“Ah, right,” you nodded. A part of you felt relieved that this stranger was actually a well known Avenger and not some sketchy guy you’d be spending the night with. It dwindled some of your trepidations.

“I didn’t say this before, but I'm sorry about your grandfather. I didn’t really know him all that well, but he seemed like a good man,” he offered.

“Thank you. He was,” you smiled.

“Were you two close?”

“Yeah. He and my grandma raised me. After she passed in 2018, it was really just him and me. I had moved out on my own a few years ago, but we still saw each other all the time. It’s been kind of weird, honestly.. The being alone. Not alone like, alone, but like.. no family. Ya know?”

“Yeah,” he nodded almost solemnly.

“Shit, that was really insensitive,” you chided yourself, “I’m sorry.”

“You really gotta stop apologizing all the time, doll. I didn’t take it any kind of way,”

You looked away then, smiling awkwardly at your plate before taking it to the sink to wash it.

“So you’re not scared then?” he asked out of the blue.

“Sorry?” you questioned.

“You know who I am. You’re not scared?”

“I mean, even if I was, I’m kinda stuck here til the storm blows over, so,” you joked to cover your discomfort at his question. You could feel his gaze burning into you all over again. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was staring. “Did you want more? I think I made a little too much,” you tried to change the topic.

“No, I’m alright. Thank you,” he replied as he got up. You were a little surprised when he started putting the leftovers in the glass tupperware you’d set out. He brought the empty dishes to the sink and you washed them as he put the food in the fridge.

“I baked more cookies,” you told him. “Didn’t burn ‘em this time. There’s plenty if you want any,” you finished, nodding to the plate of cookies on the counter behind you.

He grabbed one and waved it at you with a small smile before he walked out to the living room.

You finished washing the last of the dishes and put them to dry before you stored the cookies away in a christmas tin to keep them fresh.

You grabbed more water and turned the light off, leaving the kitchen. As you entered the living room, you felt yourself heat up all over noticing you’d forgotten to take your laundry upstairs earlier. You’d sorted your delicates and regular clothes as you folded them so there was a pile of your socks, bras and underwear on display next to your pile of shirts and sweaters. You didn’t want to make a big deal out of it and embarrass yourself further so you acted like you didn’t even notice as you threw them all together and swiped them up to take them to the room you were staying in. Bucky was sitting on the chair near the fireplace, a book in his lap, but he wasn’t reading it. He was looking at his phone, doing something else, so you just hoped he hadn’t noticed. And if he did, you just hoped he didn’t mind too much. Not that it was entirely mortifying but he was a man of the 40s and you weren’t sure whether or not he’d gotten accustomed to the times by now or if this was as scandalous as you felt it was.

Bad enough you’d let yourself into his cabin and made yourself at home, but you just seemed to keep adding more to the situation.

“Bucky,” you spoke softly, gaining his attention nearly instantly. “I’m gonna head up, call it a night. It was, uhm, nice meeting you,” you said with a little, nervous laugh. “And again, I’m really sorry for just intruding like this. Thank you for not kicking me out, I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it. Anyone would be lucky to come home to the likes of you. Be crazy to kick you out,” he said with a smile as his eyes ran up your body to meet your own.

Your eyes went slightly wide at his response, but you again reminded yourself that he was used to the ways of the 30s and 40s and you were sure he didn’t mean to come off so..well, like he was.

You forced a smile and turned to head to the stairs.

“Your cookie was delicious, by the way,” he added as you began to ascend the stairs, causing you to turn to him once again.

“Oh, good. Glad you liked it,” you smiled again. “Have a good night,” you bid as you continued up the stairs.

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As you were putting away your laundry, you realized that something was missing... You were sure you had washed your silky black thong. It was your favorite pair and you vividly remembered folding it and putting it on top of the pile of your delicates when you were folding the clothes earlier. You thought maybe you’d dropped it when you were coming upstairs and peeked your head out to check the floor of the hallway, but you were too nervous to check the stairs or go back down and check the couch. You huffed when you couldn’t find it and accepted you must’ve dropped it downstairs. You’d get up early in the morning to look for it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go back down there now just to grab your elusive thong.

Instead you headed to the bathroom and got ready for bed.

It was still freezing in your room despite the fire burning downstairs. You plugged in your space heater before crawling under the covers, but that didn’t stop you from tossing and turning for a while before you finally fell asleep.

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You weren’t sure how much later it was but you were sweltering under the blankets you had on. You kicked them off of you in a haphazard haze, desperate to feel cool again as the heat threatened to consume you. You pulled your sweater off like you were on fire and threw it off the side of the bed. You were facing the wall and kept your eyes as shut as you could, not truly wanting to wake up fully.

You wanted to just fall back asleep, but your throat protested. You needed water so begrudgingly forced yourself to sit up and grab your glass off the bedside table. Bucky must’ve turned the heater on, something you were trying to avoid. As you took a sip, you noticed the door to your room was open. You had been sure to close it when you went to sleep, so you were taken off guard. The only other person in the house was Bucky, but he was nowhere to be seen. You don’t know why he would’ve opened the door, but you convinced yourself it was a safety or security thing and not something creepier. You got out of bed and looked out into the dark hall, finding the door to Bucky’s room ajar. You changed into sleep shorts and crept back to bed after pushing your door more closed, but not shutting it completely either.

Something was pulling at your mind to stay awake now, but you didn’t know why. Despite that small part of you trying to fight the urge to go back to sleep, you were back under in a matter of minutes.

Sometime during the night you recalled feeling a chill run down the side of your hip and along your thigh before you tossed over and pulled one of the blankets further across your body.

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If she closed the door back shut, he told himself he would just go back to bed. That would be it. He wasn’t trying to be a creep, but fuck he just couldn’t help himself.

That seemed to be a more and more common thought he was having today. Like when he saw your thong on the couch earlier just out in plain sight, tempting him to feel it, touch it, take it. So he did. What harm could it do?

The beating of your heart and the soft sound of your breathing just across the hall from him had been keeping him up. The image of you, thoroughly worn out and curled up under the covers was a sight he was suddenly desperate to see. He had opened your door, just to peek in. That’s all he was planning on doing. But when he saw you, laying there, sleeping so peacefully, innocently, he couldn’t help himself. You looked like an angel. He walked in further, not making a sound. You were completely bundled up, and he suddenly realized you must be freezing to have all those clothes on. He ventured out into the hall and kicked the heat on, the first time he’d done that all year. It should warm up soon enough. And then maybe you’d lose some of those bulky layers that were keeping your figure from his sight. He wanted to see the softness of your skin again, to watch the rise and fall of your full breasts with every breath you took. Maybe he’d get lucky and you’d lose the sweats, too..

So when you didn't shut the door completely after you got up, when you unknowingly blessed him with the sight of you stripping off your sweats, your thick thighs and ass on display for him, albeit briefly, as you changed into those little shorts, he couldn't resist going back in. It was like, even if just subconsciously, you wanted him to. To see you all laid out like that. Thin tank top, no bra, little shorts that rode up your ass, soft flesh just begging to be admired, rubbed and squeezed in his hands. He’d never seen anyone so perfect. You tossed again in your sleep, your back to him now as you laid on your side. He inched closer. And closer still until he was inches away, hovering over your body. His hand moved of its own accord, smoothing up your thigh, reveling in the goosebumps that rose on your skin. Just as soft as he thought you’d be. He ran his hand up and down softly a few more times, tickling you in your sleep. Your breath hitched ever so slightly before you let out the sweetest moan he’d ever heard. Suddenly, his briefs were too tight and he was about to burst out of his sweats. He slipped a hand in his pants and lowered his sweats just enough to let his erect cock spring out. He leaned closer to you, ensuring he didn’t make a sound as he let his cock head touch your bare thigh. He rubbed against you, slowly so as not to disturb your slumber, but up and down your thigh until you rubbed back against him while you readjusted in your sleep. Your ass rubbed his cock and he quickly jerked away before his precum leaked on your unsoiled skin. He was controlling his breathing best he could, but it was still heavy, almost shaky as he forced himself to leave your room. The second he walked into his own, his hand was jerking his cock hard, squeezing and fisting himself tightly, all the thoughts and images running through his mind were solely revolving around you.

#dark!bucky barnes x curvy!reader #dark!bucky barnes x plus size!reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky x curvy!reader #dark!bucky x plus size!reader #dark!bucky x reader #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky x reader #soft!dark bucky barnes #soft!dark bucky x reader #dark bucky smut

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titaniasfairy · 4 months

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oh simon’s so possessive…

cw: fem!reader, possessiveness, creepy men, slut shaming for a bit , possessiveness (again), breeding kink, aftercare

he doesn’t share food. his best mate could be starving and begging on his knees to just let his LT give him his mashed potatoes but simon would not budge. claims he needs the nutrients despite him eating 3,000 calories a day.

doesn’t share his tea either, but you could expect that from a brit. this man has a whole cabinet in the break room dedicated to his tea bags, sugar, herbs, etc. and don’t even think about using his milk when the regular gallon has gone bad or ran out. simon writes his name in bold sharpie across the carton, marking his property.

it’s like he was never taught the word ‘share’ in pre-school. you don’t even think you’ve heard him say ‘share’ before. it was no use telling him “sharing is caring” because that man in fact did not care and he’d scoff in your face if you uttered the phrase.

need an extra sip of water? sorry! simon’s already drinking the last bit while you’re asking him for some.

lost some socks in the drier and need to borrow one his millions of black ones? no can do! he can’t have an uneven number of socks! even if you pinky promise with a cherry on top he’ll tell you that he can’t trust you.

even down to the most minute of things, simon riley would not give up his stuff for anyone. you recall captain price asking him for a pen to sign some documents, but simon sent him packing.

but there was one thing he especially didn’t share: his lovers.

simon had never been broken up with in his life, he simply wouldn’t allow it. the relationship wasn’t over until he told his partner it was. so when you agreed to start seeing simon casually, it was like you were placed on lockdown.

it wasn’t like he didn’t trust you to be faithful, no no. he didn’t trust any man with eyes, hands, or a cock to be around you. you were just that precious to him.

despite you telling him repeatedly that this was only a “casual” thing (your definition of casual meaning occasional hookups and dates), simon treated the ordeal like you were a princess destined to marry your knight in a skull balaclava.

you were given the best treatment: flowers he picked from outside, dinner he cooked just for you, and not to mention the plethora of clothes and jewelry he donned you with. it was like having a sugar daddy- minus the creepy old man.

and the sex, oh it was heavenly. every time simon laid you down in bed you saw the pearly gates. his hands being the most holy thing to exist while he worshiped you at the altar of his bedroom and his cock blessing you with his love and mercy.

but this was most definitely casual, right? you were mostly in denial but would never come to terms with it.

when it came to you, simon was a different kind of possessive. not the “don’t touch my things” or “i’m not sharing” type, but the ravenous “i’ll gauge your eyes out and feed them to you” kind of possessive.

everywhere you go, simon’s not far behind. you will never be untouched unless you ask to be and there will always be a hand holding yours or an arm wrapped around your waist. it was like being with simon in public was like having a giant man surgically attached to you.

and so help him god, if anyone looks at you wrong they will hear about it! simon has no use to be scared of confrontation, given his massive size and downright scary voice. not to mention the whole skull mask was enough to get a grown man pissing his pants.

you two were in the grocery store, looking for ingredients for a new soup you wanted to make. while in the checkout line you could feel yourself needing to pee badly, and excused yourself to the nearby restroom.

on any normal day simon would wait patiently near the bathrooms, but seeing how long the checkout line was he relented on letting you go alone.

you peed, washed your hands, and reapplied some of your lip gloss in the mirror. before you left you adjusted the skirt you were wearing that fell to the middle of your thighs, simon loves it when you wear skirts, especially the ones he bought you.

after drying your hands you left to go find simon, before being startled by a man. he was about 5’10” to 6’0” with a medium build, but it was obvious he was a bit older. maybe mid to late forties.

“oh! i’m sorry i didn’t see you there.” you smiled at him and tried to move out of his way. he didn’t budge. “oh- excuse me sir.” still no movement.

“aren’t you a sight?” he stared down at you, eyes focused on your chest. you thought that he might be just trying to give you a compliment, some older men are like that.

“thank you mister, now if you’ll excuse me-“

“what’s your name baby?” god where was simon when you needed him?! you looked around and asked for help with your eyes, but no one seemed to notice you.

“i asked you a question, now.” you lied and gave him a fake name. ‘maybe he’ll just go away now’ you thought. he gave you a creepy grin and grabbed the hem of your skirt.

“isn’t that a little too inappropriate for a grocery store? or were you just asking for someone to-“

“what the fuck do you think you’re doin?’ you fuckin’ mad?” simon finally intervened the shit show that was unfolding.

“well your lady here needs to learn that if she doesn’t want attention then she shouldn’t dress like it.” he gestured towards your outfit. simon stepped in between you two to stop him from looking.

“she’ll dress however the fuck she wants to, and if you don’t get away from er’ , you’ll be dressing for your own funeral, lad.” simon put his hands on the man’s shoulders and you just can’t bring yourself to stop him. he just looked so much taller and bigger than the man that was just towering over you like a hawk watching its prey.

“you ever heard of keeping your hands to yourself?” simon’s accent gets thicker with each sentence while he begins to redden with anger, even through the skull balaclava.

“sir, that’s enough.” a store manager separates simon and the man. he takes your hand gently and leads you to the car.

“you alright, luv?” he only wanted you to be safe.

later that night, simon’s fucking you rough. his hands and gripping your hips like a vice and his cock his ramming into your sopping wet pussy. you can feel his fingertips begin to leave bruises while his lips work on marking your neck and collarbones.

“gotta make sure everyone knows you’re mine, darlin’”

your back arches and your freshly manicured nails are scratching his back, giving him the marks he oh so desires every time you touch him. simon’s name hangs from your lips like foliage once fell from ancient gardens, your eyes rolling back to your skull.

every sound you make just eggs him on further, his grip switching from your hips to the back of your knees. simon pushes your legs back to press up against your chest, giving him a deeper angle to thrust into.

“you feel unreal, babygirl. gotta keep you all to myself, you’re too good to give up.”

your moans are so pornographic to the point where the neighbors might complain. you or simon don’t seem to care, too caught up in the feeling of euphoria that only the two of you can give each other.

after a few minutes of ruthless fucking, the coil in your tummy begins to tighten and your legs shake in simon’s grip. you don’t even have to tell him that you’re close before he’s encouraging your orgasm.

“come on, luv. need to feel you cum on my cock, angel.” simon’s fingers graze your clit and you’re done for. your legs spasm and your hips buck into the air, releasing your sticky fluids onto simon’s pelvis and his cock. he lets out a visceral moan and pushes your legs farther back to behind your head, impaling you faster and harder then ever before.

“gonna fuckin’ fill you up. give you a baby, yeah? make sure everyone knows who you belong to. all mine. have you swell up with my kid. that’ll show em’ right?”

he fills you up fast while he’s speaking, simon’s cum shoots into your womb and you’re completely overstimulated. you cry out incoherent pleas while you clench around him with a powerful force.

simon shushes you and kisses you softly while you come down from your high. he strokes your face and tells you that he’s right here and it’ll be okay. this is what’s so special about him, his ways of ruining your body and immediately stitching it back together with a golden thread.

he lets himself sit inside your for a few minutes before pulling out and cleaning you up. but not before he gets all of his extra seed inside you, using his fingers to scoop up any excess. “gotta make sure it takes” he says.

simon doesn’t share, not even the things that are supposed to be casual.

#simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mwii #cod mwiii #cod mw3 #cod mw2 #call of duty

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for-a-longlongtime · 8 months

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On Dieter, Goya's Black Paintings, and Pedro on Talk Art

Alright y'all, it's Saturday evening, I have nothing better to do (I actually do but I don't feel like it), so welcome to my mini TED Talk about 'how to pay too much fucking attention to the Pedro cinematic universe'. None of this is new, and maybe everybody already knew about this, but I didn't... so here's a nerdy tangent courtesy of googling/wikipedia-ing.

I was reading a Dieter!fic (this one right here by @chaoticgeminate - go read her writing!) earlier today, which refers to the 'Saturn Devouring His Son' painting - that giant mural Dieter is working on in The Bubble:

(his brush isn't even touching the wall tho, ha)

The original 'Saturn' by Goya

The fic mentioned its part of 'The Black Paintings', so I got curious and started googling. I'm no art major or expert, so please allow me to just paraphraze the Wikipedia page. 'Saturn' is part of a group of 14 Goya paintings that are called Pinturas Negras/The Black Paintings. They "portray intense, haunting themes, reflective of both his fear of insanity and his bleak outlook on humanity" --this was late in Goya's life, and was connected to several illnesses he had experienced (and the fear of relapsing) and political turmoil in Spain at the time (post-Napolean war, changing Spanish government, etc.

Trivia fact 1: Goya actually made these paintings right on the walls of the Quinta del Sordo (so-called Deaf Man's villa) where he was staying -- so I love that Apatow had Dieter also paint right on the walls.

Trivia fact 2: while Goya was living in this villa, he actually became gravely ill (again) - not by a pandemic obviously, but it's hard to not link that loosely to the COVID period. He had never intended for these 'Black Paintings' to become public; "these paintings are as close to being hermetically private as any that have ever been produced in the history of Western art" (the murals were eventually transfered to canvas by other folks once he had moved out of the villa). Switching back to The Bubble -- I love how the tragic influence of Goya's illness(es) and art/things 'made at home away from the world, not intended for an audience' (so obviously, in a bubble) has that connection to the COVID experience and how many folks were suddenly homebound, along with the burden of illness in many ways (lord knows this all did a serious number on our mental health). In the movie, Dieter and the others do not want to go into isolation again, but that solitude is what eventually led him to painting on the walls in his room. This is not a 'grand discovery' of any kind, but I got a kick out of the parellels once I read up on it - and honestly makes me appreciate the movie a bit more, haha.

Not happy about another quarantine period.

Alright, more hyperfocusing after the cut:

Some googling led me to a post from last year by @nicolethered (gifs in this post are hers), and she included screencaps of the walls of Dieter's room (during that drug scene), which I hadn't even noticed while watching the movie. Upon taking a closer look, I noticed they're outtakes from other pieces of Goya's Black Paintings! I thought that was really cool, they sure worked on the details with that set (there's one more that's shown in a different shot but I can't exactly figure out which outtake that is):

First one is a mirror image from Two Old Men Eating Soup and the second one is basically Satan aka 'The Great He-Goat' from the Witches' Sabbath painting. Which IMO makes for fucking hilarious perfection a.k.a. trivia fact 3 -- because we all know about Dieter and his little emotional support goat, LOL. Excellent connection.

*insert sound bit from Hot Ones interview* : "Just let me love you!"

Anywaaay there's more. The Bubble was shot during Feb 22, 2021 to April 16, 2021, right? Pedro has spoken about how his input in shaping Dieter was mostly regarding his outfits (the Crocs, the robe, etc). But then I suddenly remember the Talk Art interview he had done in 2018, and how he namechecks 'The Dog' by Goya - and lo, guess which painting is actually part of the 14 Black Paintings? Yeap - the dog! So I checked the podcast and he was asked, 'if you could be any painting, what painting would you be?' by Russell. Here is the painting, and below it is what he said on Talk Art:

'The Drowning Dog' by Goya

"I think… it's a Goya. Yeah, old school. I think it's called 'Dog Buried in Sand' or something like that. It's so… I remember feeling it was such a visual representation of helplessness, in such a… come on, let's all admit that helplessness is a very recurring feeling for many of us, you know what I mean? When it comes to so many things. I guess… I was in Spain, in Madrid, and I was 20. And I went to the Goya museum. What's interesting about it is that the head of the dog is really quite small and sort of adorable, it looks like a stray mutt, and the painting - if I can remember it correctly - is very rectangular. There's so much above him, like the world just seems so big. It's quite incredible, isn't it? I know it's really sad, and sort of dark, and maybe I really like enjoy perceiving myself like..." (He gets interrupted by Russell, and then continues;) "Yeah, he's certainly not dying, it's sort of - it's a moment", (then interrupts himself with;) "Maybe he's totally dying, there's no way that dog is getting out of that. That dog is SO fucked. Anyway, that's the painting that represents my life". (All three of them burst out into laughing.)

If you're still reading this - I am impressed with your dedication to my silly little post, haha. Anyway, I just thought it was so striking that there basically is a straight line from the painting he mentioned in Talk Art to what Dieter is painting in the Bubble. Makes me wonder if perhaps he - or even Russell/Robert - had any input in that part of Dieter's backstory.

Thank you for attending my TED Talk on artistic analysis of Dieter Bravo during COVID, we now resume your regularly scheduled program for Saturday night. 🤪

(Have I been smoking because a local dispensary actually had 'Mando' bud? I sure as fuck have and I blame that for this post.)

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codename-adler · 5 months

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first snowstorm of the winter here in Montréal, Canada so…

Foxes vs. the great white shitstorm

Kevin: PTSD from the-skiing-accident-that-never-was bc that’s how far his trauma goes BUT will brave the snow if accompanied bc Exy is an interior sport thank u mom for that one. chances are he also probably bunkered down at the Foxhole court beforehand so he wouldn’t have to witness a single snowflake nor be separated from his one true love. bunker supplies include a shit ton of OJ bc the man is fighting away the flus and the colds like it’s The Plague Part II: 1347.

Matt: has to be stopped by Dan, once again, from buying a snow plow to fix in front of his truck. like every place where winter = snow, the PSU campus is severely unprepared for the onslaught, it’s like they’ve never seen this shit before and if I could just help out the community that way it would be a win-win for everybody Dan don’t you get it? it’s still a no, so Matt proceeds with unleashing his energy outside, alone, grumbling and building snowmen (and snowphalluses once Nicky joins in)

Nicky: DECKS THE HALLS EVERY-FUCKING-WHERE, FA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA. it’s tradition for him to wait until the first snowfall before decorating for Christmas, as a compromise (if it truly were up to him, 1st of November would be Christmas Tree Day, but he made a deal with the twins who, despite despising their birthday, would absolutely not have Jingle Bells and and holly on November 4th). the thing with Nicky is, he exhausts himself very, very fast and loses focus/productivity in the blink of an eye, so all you see is a path of garlands and pine needles leading to a zoned out Nicky munching on frootloops in a beanbag. the Foxes will have to finish what he started.

Allison: during daytime? fab as ever, hyped to get out her winter outfits and order another 3k of winter gear, boots, scarves, gloves etc. for herself. then she shops some more for the Foxes, some genuine bougie shit, some wtf shit to make fun of this season's chosen victims (see: Kevin always, a little bit Neil to chase away the nightmare of the past year, and this year's winners: Dan and Aaron). but once nighttime hits? it's war time. it's UGLY time. thermo one-piece suit, the old 3XL PSU Foxes men's sweatshirt Seth bought himself in his first year, tight braid shoved under a tight camo sports balaclava, spy goggles slapped on her naked-bar-fake-lashes face, heavy duty boots, and snowballs. yes, snowballs. starting this year, she's initiating the Yearly Foxes Snowball War. she's got her Santa bag ready and full of compact snowballs as she goes down the hall, breaking and entering every Fox dorm and obliterating them unprovoked. queen behavior. conquering among the squeals of Matt Aaron Kevin the vanquished!

Renee: hater mode activated. it's only for the first snow, it's only for one day, but it's brutal. her smile is tight, her socks are fucking wet by noon and she's had it. the little gremlin dives under a pile yay-high of blankets, destroying one or two of her advent calendars and eating 25-50 pieces of chocolate to sate her ire. she's the only one safe from Allison's assault, she's only asked if she'd like to join in the snowball fight instead, which is a hard no from Renee. next year, though, Allison's provided her with the same tech-gear and she's ready to unleash her anger on her unsuspecting teammates. but only after the chocolates.

Dan: nope. nope nope nope. she's so cold. so cold. she's craving warmth wherever she can, making the Foxes jump when she shoves her iced hands or feet into them. she's bundled up in layers upon layers of clothes. she's drinking coffee and tea by the gallon. she's scrambling for every lip balm she can get her hands on. she's making soup, and soup, and more soup. spicy ramen, three beans, lipton, chicken cream, veggie mix. she's got 2 thermos at all times, one hot drink, one hot soup. soup mama.

Aaron: first victim of cold season. if there's a snowflake, Aaron's got snot. no amount of ginger shots, garlic nostrils, citrus slices or soup can prevent the inevitable. man down by sunset, congested af, broody and pitiful. everybody makes fun of him, most of all Neil. look at the hot shot doctor bested by a lil cough-cough. the one year he didn't get sick so early, he had to get the new flu shot bc he's premed. needless to say, man down again.

Neil: ultimate x-games galore, here he comes! for the first time in his life, he's allowed to indulge, and try out every winter sport under the sun. Exy's still his wife, but man is snowboard up there with snowshoes-running and ice-skating and sledding. he's monstrously good at hockey, to Kevin's great disappointment. he thinks he'd have quite liked being a hockey player hadn't it been for Exy. and the mafia. anyways, he's unstoppable, he's exhausting, he's everything. he's Barbie.

Andrew: tiny emo beef man is fucking-A-ready. winter tires ON, tire chains ON, windshield cover ON, broom and shovels ACQUIRED, hot chocolate cupboard FULL, cleated boots SHARPENED, hotshots warmers STACKED. and then he just- doesn't move. not one iota. absolute pillow princess without any fucking involved. that man is not getting out there, despite the Foxes' wailings of needing a ride, needing groceries, needing a hand. he is ready, doesn't mean he's involved. c'mon, the dude's got multiple plans for a zombie apocalypse, you think a little snow's gonna stop him? yes, actually.

and that's all folks... for now. fuck /yeah/ snow!

#*plucking a flowers petals* i love snow i hate snow i love snow i hate snow #aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #neil josten #andrew minyard #kevin day #aaron minyard #nicky hemmick #matt boyd #dan wilds #renee walker #allison reynolds

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alter-koker · 1 year

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Francisco Goya 'Two Old Men Eating Soup' 1819-1823

Spongebob 'Chocolate with Nuts' 2002

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dearestrenny · 1 month

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Your Lips and Me — Oneshot… ish thingy

The kid is crying on the swingset, and also the highest in class. The parakeet hasn’t moved its wings yet, all good things come to pass. I think of sunshine, and roses in bloom, but you’re off sitting with another someone in another room.

Trina hummed while she cooked dinner for her small family. Marvin was with a friend in the living room, and Jason was up in his room doing whatever 10 year old boys do in their room. She couldn’t help but notice how handsy the pair in the living room was; They held hands and sat shoulder-to-shoulder. As far as Trina knew, Marvin despised any type of physical contact unless it came from Jason, who also despised touch.

Marvin mentioned that he became friends with the other man in the living room, Whizzer, because he felt pretty lonely without having friends. Trina really enjoyed Whizzer’s presence, but she always had a weird feeling about him. She was glad that Marvin was being social, though.

That’s alright, dear, keep digging your grave, dear. I didn’t know that you were lonely, I thought you’d agree.

Trina placed the lid over the pot for a moment to check up on the men in the living room. The two were laughing over something, but immediately stopped when the lady walked in. The weird gut feeling was back for her.

“I was just checking on you both. Dinner’s almost ready,” Trina said while pointing her thumb to the kitchen. Marvin slumped back on the couch, and Whizzer nodded to acknowledge her. “If you’re both still hungry, I’ll make desert. Jason probably won’t eat it, knowing how he has a really low metabolism.”

“That would be great, thank you, Trin,” Marvin added. Trina hummed in response, walking over and placing a gentle peck on Marvin’s lips. Their kisses have never been long, as for Marvin’s wishes. His lips only started to feel forbidden more recently. “You should go, I don’t want you to accidentally overcook anything.”

“Oh, yeah, I should go check up on the food.” Trina headed back to the kitchen, and the men started talking again. She sighed, something feeling heavy in her heart. There was something off, that was for sure. She was too scared to try to call out her feelings.

But when I saw your lips, I knew it didn’t belong to me.

Trina continued to cook some food when Jason came downstairs. It was clear that he had just awoken from a nap, since his hair was all over the place and his clothes were horribly wrinkled. He was rubbing his eyes when he made eye contact with Trina.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Trina mumbled, stirring the soup and turning off the stove. Jason waved, then looked over at the two men. Jason was also visibly aware of who Whizzer was, and he didn’t like the older man very much. He also had a weird feeling, expressed to his mother.

“Does he have to always be here?” Jason messed with his hair and sat at the dining table, pulling the chess board close to him. Trina shrugged, pouring the soup into bowls and placing them aside. Jason looked over before heading back to set up his chess game. Trina called the men to the dining room, and they ate.

It was pretty tense. Jason was eating slowly while focused on his game, Whizzer and Marvin giving each other stares from across the table, and Trina observed every move made. The way that the two men stared at each other…it reminded her of wanting. The gut feeling got horrible.

“Marv,” Trina cleared her throat. Marvin looked away from Whizzer and looked at the lady. He also cleared her throat to give her the knowledge that he was listening. “You keep looking at Whizzer, is something wrong?”

“I’m fine.” Marvin said no other word, then looked down at his soup and continued to eat. Trina looked at Whizzer, who wasn’t visibly paying attention to her as well. He looked up eventually, and looked at her. He knew he was about to get asked the same question.

“I’m alright too, thanks for the concern, though.” Whizzer picked up his spoon and stopped staring at Marvin. She sighed, scarfing her food down before standing up and heading for the kitchen without another word. Trina was pretty confident that she heard Marvin starting to talk once more, perhaps about her. She really loved him, but she felt as if he didn’t love her back. She held her love away.

Your mother reports your father’s blue, dear, and your father reports he’s fine. Your mother withheld her love from you, dear, I try withholding mine.

Trina had leftover soup and didn’t want leftovers tomorrow, so she packed some soup in some containers and placed it in a plastic grocery bag. She walked past the men that were still at the dinner table and walked out to talk to the neighbors. The Applebaums were lovely, and they liked her. They felt like family to her, to say the least. The lady knocked on the door and left the soup on the doorstep with a little note. She smiled gently before walking back home.

When she headed back, Whizzer and Marvin were back on the couch, watching a show together. They were giggling like school children, but stopped when Trina opened the door. Trina didn’t say a word to them, just placed her house keys down and walked back to the kitchen to start making her desert for them.

The neighbors love me, they tell me I’m great, but you’re off with another floozie in another state. That’s alright, dear, you go on digging your grave, dear.

Trina sat at the dinner table, where Jason still sat. He looked up from his game, then went back to focusing. “You seem distraught.”

“Don’t worry about it, Jace,” Trina covered up. He stopped for a moment, pinching his queen between his fingers before throwing the king off the board. He smiled out of satisfaction, then looked over at his mother. She didn’t talk to him like she normally would, and that was out of the sorts for the younger boy.

“I feel like this is about dad and Whizzer. I don’t like that,” Jason jeered. Trina nodded in response, looking over at the men. They obviously couldn’t hear the mother and son, and they were in their own bubble. Whizzer was joking a ton about how “attractive” Marvin was.

Trina’s gaze moved over to Marvin’s lips and how they moved. He grabbed Whizzer’s hand and pressed his lips against the skin on his hand. Trina rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. “I don’t think you should be involved in this, Jace.”

“I’m not totally inept with feelings, mom,” He attested. When his mom didn’t respond, he nodded and got up. He looked at Whizzer and Marvin, then scoffed. “I’ll leave you alone for now.”

With that, Jason grabbed the chess board and packed it up, then walked out of the room. Trina was left alone with her thoughts, and she just sat there for a small moment.

I didn’t know you’re so…attractive. I thought you’d agree. But when I saw your lips, I knew they didn’t belong to me. Nice day, nice life, precious few people squawk. Nice. Good friends, high life, isn’t it fun to talk? Nice.

The oldest just snides, he’s loudly wailing, and the parakeet still can’t fly. Your mother reports your father’s failing; true, he has failed to die.

Whizzer walked into the kitchen and waved to Trina who was still at the table. She gently waved back, standing up and walking over to the kitchen.

“I was just getting some water. Mind if I stay the night? My roommate isn’t very pleased with me right now. Marvin said to ask you.” Trina could’ve taken to opportunity to tell Whizzer to go away, to stay with the roommate that was upset with him, but she couldn’t help but say yes. “Thank you, Trina. You’re an amazing friend.”

He grabbed a glass of water and left. Trina sighed and stepped outside for a moment. The Applebaums were finally home and they had taken the soup she packed. They spotted Trina outside, and walked over.

“Hey, Trin, why the frown?” Mrs. Applebaum一who’s name is Chana一started a conversation. Trina shrugged, then rested her back against the house wall. “Is it about that man that Marvin is seeing?”

“He isn’t seeing him, they’re just friends.” Mr. Applebaum一who’s name is Saul一raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t look at me like that, Marvin’s a nice man.”

“But is he faithful, Trina?” Chana gently rested a hand against her shoulder. Trina thought about that for a moment, then shrugged gently. “You deserve so much, dear, the thing that you don’t deserve is an unloving man.”

“I don’t think he’s unfaithful,” Trina replied. Chana looked over at Saul, then shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I love him. Marvin wouldn’t do that to me.”

“Alright, Trin, we’ll trust your word on it. Please tell us if he does anything wrong to you, though.” Saul patted her shoulder, and walked off with Chana. Trina watched them walk off, then stepped back in.

The neighbors love me, they saw I’m a clown. It’s awful dressing in my blue carnation when you’re out of town. Pay no mind, dear, just go on digging your grave, dear, I didn’t ask to be your own mother; your lips were the key.

Trina decided to walk over to Marvin. She gently tapped his shoulder to place a peck on his lips before heading over to the kitchen. His lips felt forbidden after that talk. It felt right, but it also felt forbidden.

But when I saw your lips, I knew they didn’t belong, no, they didn’t belong, I’m sure they didn’t belong to me.

(Should I post this on ao3??)

#falsettos #falsettos musical #jason falsettos #marvin falsettos #whizzer falsettos #trina falsettos #whizzer brown #falsettos oneshot #i should post my oneshots here more

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midnightponderingsblog · 1 month

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What we once were. Part 1.

(Set after the Prisoner of Azkaban)

After Buckbeak landed deep in the forbidden forest, Sirius dismounted the magnificent creature, approached his hiding spot, and waited for Remus to appear. To take him home.

Remus told him via owl to wait in their hidden spot, a hidden cave tucked deep inside the forbidden forest. A place they had frequented then they initially began…whatever their relationship had been back then. A relationship full of secret touches, stolen kisses and midnight visits.

He waited anxiously for Remus to come, night turned to day, and then to night again. Just when he began to fear Remus would not come, there it was, the crack in the night air to announce Remus’ arrival through apparition. Their reunion was brief, Remus scanning his face searching for something, he must have found what he was looking for as he confidently stated “come on Pads, let’s take you somewhere safe.”

He tentatively took Sirius’ hand, and with a crack, both men stood outside a small cottage nestled in a rolling set of green hills. The smell of grass and something distinctly earthy rolled over the pair, the wind creating a sharp chill in the evening air and the sound of long blades of grass rustling due to the weather surrounded the men. Remus pulled his cloak tighter around himself and quickly glanced at Sirius, concern evident on his face due to the temperature and him being dressed in tattered prison robes.

Remus opened the door of the cottage and both stepped into a small hallway, immediately Remus flicked his wrist, using his wand to alight the candles in the hallway.

To the right of them, a small front sitting room in brown and red hues, the walls covered in bookcases. A small brown sofa along the far wall, with a maroon armchair to the left of the door. On the wall on the right, a small window with old brown curtains and a pinboard adorned with photographs.

To the left of the hallway a small staircase led upstairs, Remus hung his old cloak over the end of the stair banister.

Remus led Sirius to the end of the corridor, into the small yellow kitchen. White cupboards that needed a fresh lick of paint ran to the left and straight from the kitchen door. Plants littered the windowsill, upon closer inspection Sirius realised they must be used for cooking? Basil, Thyme, Mint and many others where the neat, handwritten labels had worn off through watering and repotting. A pair of pink scissors sat in a small metal pot at the end of the windowsill, he remembered buying them for Remus over a decade ago, he thinks?

“Tea?” Questioned Remus.

With alarm, Sirius turned to face Remus, surprised at the question that had pulled him out of his thoughts. Memories of happier times he had so carefully shoved deep down suddenly were at risk of bubbling to the surface.

“Of course, I haven’t changed that much Moons” Sirius retorted, anything to force a sense of normalcy between the two.

God he had missed his Moony. His beautiful, kind, compassionate and caring Moony.

Remus carefully set two steaming mugs of tea on two mats, on the blue wooden table in the centre of the kitchen. He waved his arm encouraging Sirius to sit next to him. Sirius’ stomach began to churn, he realised then that all he had eaten on the run were small mammals his animagus form had caught. And that was days ago.

“Small sips darling,” Remus murmured, his hand on Sirius’ right arm. Remus turned a deep shade of red as he pulled his arm back in embarrassment.

The warm liquid rolled across his tongue, heating him from the inside out. Sirius took this time surveying his Moony, although 12 years older, he was as beautiful as ever. A constellation of freckles across his face, warm reddish-brown curls across his head and silver scars across his face and neck disappearing below his collar. New lines, new freckles, new scars, new signs of ageing. But the same old Moony, his warm and comforting Moony.

“Pads, you need to eat. I have chicken soup or…”

“Soup sounds amazing Moons, Merlins beard I’d eat that plant on the windowsill if you’d let me!” Sirius moaned.

As the soup bubbled away on the hob, Remus swayed his hips listening to a slow, classical song on the muggle radio and rain that was pattering on the rattling windows. “Eat Pads,” Remus stated as he thrust a bowl of the steaming liquid in front of Sirius, before taking one for himself.

Once the soup had gone, and both men were fed and full Remus looked Sirius in the eye and sniffed. “Pads, you need a wash. The smell is repulsive!” Sirius rolled his eyes aghast, “Rem you have always found me irresistible don’t deny it” before shooting Remus a wink.

Remus took his hand, guided him up the wooden creaking stairs and guided him into the bathroom upstairs opposite the top step. “In” Remus stated before shooting him into the room and closing the door behind him.

Sirius turned on the shower, and stripped off his tattered, grotesque prison uniform. He shot himself a tentative glance in the mirror. Tattoos littering his body, matted black hair tumbling from his head and Merlin’s beard his physique. His arms thinner than ever before, his stomach concave inwards with ribs sticking out of the side. Collar bones pushing forcefully out of his skin and the muscle that once bulked his body out long wasted away.

Sirius stepped under the warm spray and watched years of grime disappear down the plug hole, the water ran black, then brown and finally, clear. The minty smell of his Moony’s body wash surrounded him as he scrubbed until his skin felt raw. Uncapping the pineapple scented shampoo, he massaged the foam into his scalp. Finally, he stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself in a navy fluffy towel revelling in the comfort of the fabric. Remus must have slipped the door ajar as he was washing, a neat set of flannel pyjamas lay just inside the door, under the pile was the large knit jumper Sirius used to wear on the cold winter evenings up in the dorm tower.

The clean, warm fabric clung to his body providing well-needed comfort. It almost made Sirius want to cry, bile filled his mouth and his heart began to race. Sirius wiped his eyes and took a deep breath deciding to search for something to wash his mouth out, he found a new blue toothbrush under the sink and used Remus’ toothpaste, the mint assaulted his tastebuds, revelling in the cleanliness Sirius washed his teeth again before placing the toothbrush next to Remus’ in the pot.

Finally, he pulled on a pair of blue fluffy socks that he must have missed when changing and, with a deep breath, went to open the bathroom door.

#wolfstar #marauders #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #remus loves sirius #remus and sirius

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azureashes · 8 months

Text

The Queen of Curses

As promised, the long awaited sequel! This is a gift fic for the awesome, amazing, epic, kind, lovely, warm, and all around makes the world a better place @xxdoncrazyxx. Happy belated birthday! <3

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18+ Minors DNI

Sukuna//Reader - a sequel to a Goddess for the King of Curses

TW: size kink, triple penetration (kinda), drowning, death, impalement (is that a word?), corruption, mindbreak, lots of blood, lots of cum, sexual slavery, violent death, dubcon I guess, (although reader is pretty into it... psycho XD), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, also yandere

„Serve?“

Your voice barely reached your ears. It came out distant, as if someone else had spoken.

“Mm,” Sukuna dismissed with a casual wave of his hand, leaning back on someone else’s throne, one leg crossed over the other, crown and scepter tossed carelessly at his feet. Power was his crown. He had no use for the trinkets of weaker men.

“They’ve served me well enough,” he frowned, displeased by your hesitation. “Now it’s your turn to serve them.”

You knew your voice would falter if you spoke, so you said nothing. Weakness did not arouse Sukuna’s pity – if he had such a thing – it merely provoked his sadism.

“Don’t tell me there’s a problem… goddess,” the last word was spoken on a sneer as he lifted his chin, the black markings on his face twisting along with his twisted expression.

You swallowed thickly and glanced up at where the cursed spirit sat, perched on the seat of power that only yesterday belonged to a man who had ruled at least a hundred miles in every direction. Today, his skull served as Sukuna’s soup bowl.

Two of Sukuna’s arms relaxed on the elaborately fashioned golden armrests, a third propped up his chin, while the fourth was held out towards you, a single finger beckoning you closer. You had consigned yourself to being his toy, and even after all these months of travelling with him, he had not yet grown tired of your old moniker.

Did he do it on purpose? To remind you that your worth wasn’t nearly as elevated as you had once imagined it to be? Or did he simply relish the knowledge that he had brought a goddess – even a fake one – to her knees? You bit your lip, your mind racing to piece together a suitable reply. The only matter was, in the year since Sukuna had knocked your self-worth from that pedestal, you’d been scrambling along on the floor, trying to piece it back together and figure out where it really belonged.

You were a woman, not a goddess, he had said. And the devil of it was, you only felt like a woman when his crimson eyes were burning into yours as he forced himself onto you. It wasn’t always pleasant, but you savored it all the same. Every scar he left on you was like a badge of honor. Proof of your lived experiences.

But to share you with his lackeys? You didn’t care who or how high-ranking they were. You didn’t care if they were powerful enough for Sukuna to feel they deserved you as a reward, you didn’t want to share your body with anyone but him. Being his vessel was the only worth you had left.

“I simply did not realize,” you began slowly, lifting your chin to return his gaze through half- lidded eyes as you swept towards him in response to his beckoning, your skirts swirling around you as you did so. “That my Lord was in the habit of sharing his possessions with others.”

You marched up the two steps towards the usurped throne solemnly, your eyes never leaving his, until you came to stand in front of him with all the poise of your upbringing. Sukuna lifted a hand towards your face with a deceptive gentleness, his sharp, black fingernails scraping past your cheek as his fingers raked through your loose hair.

“My possessions?” he purred, as if pleased you had come to think of yourself as such. His hand closed into a cruel fist as he jerked you forward by your hair, sending you face first into his lap. You supported yourself by bracing yourself on his knees, but his unforgiving grip did not allow you to rise.

“I do with my possessions what I will,” Sukuna reminded you, his voice serpentine and cold in your ear. “Or else, I break them and throw them away.”

The burning pain in your scalp was not even the beginning of what you knew he could do to you, and you cursed the warmth coursing through your treacherous body, a body that had come to learn that pleasure and pain were devilishly intertwined.

“Then forgive me,” you whispered, turning your face towards him with difficulty, “That I would rather be broken than be made to submit to someone other than you.”

He could be angered or pleased by your defiance, there was no way of knowing, and frankly, you no longer had the sense of self-preservation to hope for either.

The moment held, the air between you taut like a hunter’s bowstring as he frowned at you. You wondered what he was looking for as he searched the depths of your eyes. He would find nothing there but sincerity.

Something shifted in his gaze, and his frown deepened. You could not say whether he was puzzled or surprised, but when his brows furrowed, you were acutely aware that the scales had tipped against you.

“Your insolence reminds me, we need to break in the dungeons, don’t we?” A cruel laugh fell from his grinning lips. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I bet you’ll feel right at home.”

He dragged you down the three steps to the hall and then along further passageways. Some of his minions glanced at you in surprise, but they knew better than to look for too long. He dragged you down roughly hewn steps that led into darkness, and you stumbled along behind him, struggled to find your footing on the irregular stairs. You were greeted with a darkness so thick it was almost palpable against your face.

Apart from the moans of prisoners deeper within the underground prison, the flickering of the torchlight in Sukuna’s hand was the only sound that met your ears.

You started as a heavy, barred iron door swung open with a deafening creak like a cat’s yowling and with a flick of his wrist, Sukuna sent you tumbling headfirst into a prison cell, your face striking the uneven slabs of stone roughly. The iron bars slammed shut behind you with a deafening clatter, rattling the walls with their weight and as you turned to Sukuna, you could see that his maniacal sneer had returned.

Whatever had been puzzling him, throwing you into the dungeons seemed to have taken his mind from it. “Rot here, then, if you’re so insistent. If you won’t feed my men, you might as well feed the rats.” His eyes sparked maliciously, “Or are you too good for them, too?”

You gingerly wiped at the blood on your forehead but steeled yourself and turned to offer the demon a curtsy.

“Thank you, my Lord,” you glanced up at him, wondering what was going on behind the bloodlust in his eyes, behind the ever-present hunger for violence. “I will do my best to enjoy my stay here.”

“At least cry, won’t you?” Sukuna frowned, the pleasure vanishing from his face. He gave you a disappointed look then turned away from you with a yawn, suddenly bored, “Die here then for all I care.” And with that, he ascended the steps and was gone, the thick oak door to the dungeons falling shut behind him and robbing you of what little light there had been.

There was no point crying, you knew. Sukuna could abide your tears, your screams, and your begging. What he could not stand, was boredom. And so, that was what you would offer him in the face of whatever he sought to torment you with. If he wanted a reaction out of you – if he wanted you to alleviate his boredom – he would only achieve that by giving you something you wanted in return.

At least, you hoped that that was how it would work.

--------------------------------------------------

Several weeks passed before Sukuna seemed to remember you. And when you were brought out of the dungeon, hungry and dirty, your hair a ragged mess and your clothes disheveled and torn, you blinked and shielded your eyes from the torchlight – your senses overcome. You were given little time to adjust, however, and hastily ushered down one hallway after another. The further you walked from the prisons underground, the more extravagant these walkways became. The more intricate the sconces, the more elaborate the rugs beneath your feet.

The curses you had grown somewhat close to over the year of travelling together cast sympathetic looks as they led you to what you could only assume was a main hall of sorts. You ran your fingers through your tangled locks and tried to rub the grime from your cheeks. If they had taken you out of the damp dungeon, it could only mean you would now be presented to Sukuna once more. You could only hope he would not attempt to give you away again.

As the black-lacquered, double doors were opened to allow you entry, the grandeur of the opulent room met your eyes, a stark contrast to the stone and iron you had become reacquainted with over the last few weeks. Thick, maroon-velvet brocade hangings were draped from tall windows that ran from floor-to-ceiling, their tassels were woven from gold thread, just like the intricate gold filigree detailing spread across the elaborate curtains themselves. The floors were of marble tiling, interlaid in a mosaic pattern. Tapestries lined the walls, carrying the history of the country Sukuna had conquered, meaningless images now.

All this splendor was lost on the King of Curses, who would have been every bit as imposing and awe-inspiring if he were in a dilapidated hut. As it was, he lounged against an armchair made of the same velvet as the curtains, as women crowded around him in varying states of undress. A buxom blonde with glittering dark eyes stood behind him, her hands sliding down the defined muscles of his chest, across those black markings you often traced with your eyes, and on bolder nights, gingerly, with the tips of your fingers.

Beside her stood a brunette, with eyes of emerald, hanging from his neck, her tongue tracing the prominent veins that ran along the thick column. Two women sat on the floor at either side of him, one resting her head against his knee, the other with an arm draped over his thigh, pressing her heavy breasts up against his calf. Each of them had auburn hair, like polished copper and freckled, sun-kissed skin. Twins. Yet another beauty stood at his shoulder, with skin dark as sin that glowed like burnished bronze in the light of the sun. Long lashes curtained her dark eyes, veiled with mystery and allure. Her thick, coiled hair framed her head like a halo – an image divine.

But the woman you could not tear your eyes from, was the one perched on his lap. Her silks had fallen to her waist, revealing pert, full breasts and skin like the purest cream. She turned to look at you as you entered, flushed cheeks, sky-blue eyes, hair like liquid ink – in short, she was a vision of beauty like no other. She smiled at you, a pitying, taunting smirk and yet, all your eyes saw were her swollen, well-kissed lips.

You dragged your eyes away from her, a haze of red seemed to cover your vision and you knew you could not allow yourself to be baited into an emotional response. Various other women were spread throughout the room, all equally beautiful. Some lie on their backs, panting with exhaustion, others leaned against the furniture, apparently collecting themselves, while others still were completely motionless – likely unconscious. You did not let yourself consider the alternative state they might be in.

Clearly, Sukuna had made recent use of them. You were aware that he had taken to collecting women after you, although generally you kept to your own chambers and were spared having to interact with them. He took noblewomen of his pleasing, generally the daughters or young wives of the deceased lord or king. If she survived the first night, she was rewarded with the honor of joining his harem – where she would be allowed to repeat the experience until either her body or psyche wore out. Some did not last the night, others survived but lost their minds – which bored Sukuna - and a select few took to their new lives with vigor, like the inky-haired harlot currently warming the cursed spirit’s lap.

Steeling yourself, you straightened your spine and returned your gaze firmly to Sukuna, refusing to allow any feelings of inferiority to creep into your mind. You were his first conquest. And though he might have a collection of queens and princesses, you were the only goddess he had yet to claim, rags or no.

“You called, my Lord?” your voice betrayed no hint of emotion – as level as your gaze.

Sukuna grinned at your non-response, revealing sharp canines and that same glee in his eyes that could always be found when he had thought of a new way to hurt you.

“Well, well, well… look what the cat dragged in.” His voice had no use being that sultry, it had no business sending that familiar heat pooling in your stomach after all he had done to you. His deep baritone seemed to penetrate your very skin.

The tangles in your hair, the stains on your face and clothes, you were as out of place as a swine in an ablution chamber and yet – you refused to be beaten. You were his first, you had to be special somehow. After all, for who else would Sukuna put on such a show?

Sukuna wrinkled his nose as he waved a hand in front of his nose, as if there were an unpleasant stench drifting over from you. “Looks like you’re still alive - even if you don’t smell like it.” His sadistic smirk was still apparent at the edges of his mouth. The women broke into gleeful titters, joining in on his mirth at your appearance.

All he wanted from you was a response. For you to burst into tears. To beg his mercy. Even anger would do, you supposed. And yet, you couldn’t. You wanted something from him as well. And perhaps it was suicidal arrogance that prevented you from giving into him as he wished, but you were willing to take that risk, gambling everything on the hope that he would give to you a piece of himself that he gave to no one else.

You wanted to be something to him. Anything.

“I could not afford to delay, when summoned by my Lord,” you responded smoothly, showing no sign of the discomfort you felt.

“Is that so?” Sukuna purred, resting his temple against the knuckles of his left hand.

“And yet, what makes you better than these morsels?” he mused, running his clawed fingers through the silky, black locks of the woman on his lap. “That you dare to defy me?” Clearly, he still recalled where your last conversation had left off.

You doubted the women present were aware of how literally Sukuna used the term “morsels”. It was a game to him, and you needed to play your pieces carefully, all while figuring out the rules – as viable to change as they were at his passing whim.

“I would not dare, my Lord,” you murmured quietly.

“Then serve my men, brat.” His smirk disappeared and, in its place, an inquisitive light sparked in his half-lidded eyes. Why shouldn’t you be made to serve others, he seemed to ask. Why would you be reserved for him alone?

You wondered if this was still about rewarding his underlings, or simply about drawing a line between the two of you – once more showing you your place.

You weighed your words carefully, “I am ever in service to my Lord, and deem myself unfit to divide my attentions as you propose.”

Before Sukuna could respond, a sharp laugh, malicious and high rang through the room. “You dare to defy our beloved lord?” The woman in his lap gave you a once-over her expression making no attempt to hide what she thought of you. “You poor thing. Like a drowned rat making demands.” She had a melodious, lilting voice but its airy quality was dampened by the mean-spirited manner in which she spoke. She had to know who you were, and as such, fully intended to take you down as a final stepping-stone to becoming Sukuna’s favorite.

As if Sukuna had such things.

“Look at you! You reek of filth and whatever droppings have piled up in the dungeons. Do you really think you deserve a place in Lord Sukuna’s harem?”

She sidled from Sukuna’s lap, so focused on you she failed to see the frown forming on his face.

She flipped her lovely hair over her shoulder, “Serving our master is an honor bestowed upon our royal bloodlines.” She gestured vaguely towards the women in the room. “How dare you put on such airs when you’re clearly nothing but a filthy whore? You’d do well to be grateful to be in his mere presence, and spread your legs for whoever he commands, –“

Her speech was cut abruptly short when Sukuna’s large hand closed around her head, his fingers almost meeting at her face. His displeasure emanated from him in dark waves of cursed energy visible to the naked eye.

“Who gave you permission to speak?” his voice was dangerously low, soft almost, and yet it reverberated throughout the room – a clear threat.

It happened almost too fast to follow, the muscles banding along his forearm flexed, half a whimper escaped her lips as her eyes sought yours in a panicked plea for mercy through the gaps in his fingers, and then his hand closed into a fist and blood spurted violently in all directions. You flinched as the spray of blood spattered across your face and clothing. The women jumped to their feet, screaming.

“Know your place, fool.” Sukuna growled, as he released his hold on the lovely woman, and she crumpled to the ground – her silky hair all that remained of her once-lovely countenance. As the woman fell away from between you, Sukuna’s scarlet eyes, still burning with displeasure beneath furrowed brows, connected with yours.

You held his gaze as chaos erupted all around you. There was intention in his gaze, that he knew what he had done, and could not take it back. He had ceded ground to you. He had flinched first. For all he played the part that you were meaningless to him, he had killed a member of his harem for your sake, and that truth weighed heavy, undeniable between you.

Even as the remaining ladies tore for the exits, screaming and sobbing, you raised a hand and spoke simply and clearly, in a compelling manner you could not unlearn after all your years at the temple. “Ladies.”

A spellbound silence fell over them, as they took in your standoff with Sukuna, the way your eyes were fixed unwavering on one another.

“You are as yet in the presence of our Lord,” you reminded them. They seemed to come to their senses, even as you could hear a few of them sniffling behind you.

Sukuna lifted his chin, apparently at ease with you taking control of his harem. He leaned back into his chair, his eyes contemplative.

“Remove her from our Lord’s presence,” you admonished them, giving them a purpose to overcome their shock. As if startled awake, they shuffled towards the young woman, and after at first being indecisive as to how to proceed, one group took hold of her hands as the other grabbed her ankles and she was carried from the chamber, one way or another. The remaining women hovered uncomfortably.

“Get out,” Sukuna dismissed with a wave of his fingers, his penetrant gaze still fixed wholly on you.

They were all too willing to leave and had departed within seconds, leaving none but the two of you in the expansive hall.

Sukuna regarded you warily for a moment, taking you in from head to toe before beckoning you closer with a single finger. “Come.”

You approached, your chest constricting with feeling. You wanted so badly to mean something to him, for him to give you a new identity after having stripped away your old one. You did not so much as flinch as you stepped through the puddle of blood and drew closer to the fearsome giant of a man seated before you. You slowed just before him, but Sukuna took a crushing hold of your hip and drew you closer still, until you stood between his legs and looked up at him, his nose a breath from yours.

Up close, you looked right into his sanguine irises, glowing with bloodlust, and another kind of hunger still, a hunger you could not help but feel was reserved for you.

“She was right, you know,” Sukuna muttered, his breath ghosting over your lips. “You really are a filthy whore.”

“So long as I am yours,” you whispered back earnestly, your gaze wandering from his probing eyes to his full lips, “I would gladly be less than that still.”

He seemed to consider that, discontent with the direction the conversation was taking. It was just as you had thought earlier, he did not take favorites. But if you were not a favorite, and also not a dispensable member of his harem… then what were you? “You do not bore me,” Sukuna frowned, his hand closing around the nape of your neck, his fingers curling into your tangled hair. “That is why I keep you, nothing more.”

In a moment of weakness, you responded to his callousness with bleeding sincerity. “I need you,” you confessed, your heart rioting in your chest at the thought of being so vulnerable in the face of his unfailing cruelty. “I need you to tell me who I am. What I am. I need to be yours to be anything at all.”

Sukuna seemed to be taken aback at your unprompted confession. He scowled, baring his canines, “You are nothing to me, I’d as soon crush you as fuck you.”

It was truth, plain and simple, and more of a response than you had expected him to entertain. You sighed, resigned, and leaned into him, your hands sliding over his powerful shoulders, your fingers curling into his hair. You knew you could not win. But at least you were in his arms, that had to count for something. “Your wish is mine as well, Sukuna-sama.”

When your lips touched his, he seemed unable or unwilling to play this game any longer. He closed his fingers in a cruel grip on your hair – a hold he seemed to favor -, controlling your movements. He leaned into the kiss, devouring you as promised, consuming and dominating you until you felt your knees go soft as butter – unable to support you. Sukuna’s grip on your hair and hip seemed to be all that was holding you aloft. As if to make good on his threat, you felt his sharp canines bury themselves into your lip, felt blood gush forth and drip down your chin, even as Sukuna sucked at the bleeding gash, drinking down your blood hungrily. The stabbing pain seared through you, accompanying a rush of endorphins to your mind – a mind that could make no sense at all of the jumbled mess of emotions spiraling through you.

Sukuna was the one who had taught you everything you knew about pleasure, and he had taught you that pleasure and pain went hand in hand. You were certain he could push you over the edge by inflicting pain alone. And so, even as Sukuna wounded you and drank of your blood, you could not help but moan into his mouth, light-headed and delirious with need.

You did not see how Sukuna’s eyes slid open, how he regarded you with a questioning gaze. How he began to grasp the truth of your confession - that you needed him to claim you far more than you desired to live. You relished pain, and might even welcome death, in exchange for identity – an identity only he could bestow.

Why did you become more interesting the more he dealt with you? Whenever he felt bored, he only had to summon you to sink his teeth into you, literally and figuratively.

“What will I do with you?” he muttered, scarcely realizing he had spoken against your mouth until you whispered back, “I find myself wondering much the same. Every time you look at me,” you swallowed the blood that pooled in your mouth, “every time you touch me.”

Sukuna took you in from head to toe through half-lidded eyes, as if truly seeing you for the first time since you had stepped into the hall. The clawed fingernail on his thumb traced along your hipbone and he frowned. “There’s not much left of you.” There was no pity in his voice, only complaint.

You did not respond. He was certainly aware of the fare that was to be expected in the dungeons. You’d always come out a little worse for the wear, but this was the first time he had left you there for weeks, and you had grown thinner as a result. But that was only to be expected, surely, he knew that?

“Tch,” he scowled, “shouldn’t a goddess be more resilient?”

“I’m not a goddess,” you reminded him.

“You are whatever I say you are,” his eyes burned with challenge, “Don’t forget it.”

You could not look away, you could not speak, you could scarcely breathe. Something had changed. You did not know quite what it was, but the standoff seemed to have passed and, in its place, there seemed to be a sense of acceptance, an admittance of the fact that your identity was somehow intertwined with his own, against all odds.

You were recalled to the moment as Sukuna snapped his fingers and a cursed spirit, sickly green in hue and covered with boils, spirited out of thin air at your side.

“Prepare a bath,” Sukuna frowned.

The cursed spirit stumbled over himself as he folded the hands of his six arms in a show of obeisance, mumbling a hasty agreement before disappearing altogether.

You waited awkwardly as Sukuna beheld you, his clawed hands running along your form, feeling where flesh had given way to bone during your stay in the dungeons. Your lip bled still, though he paid no heed until it dripped onto the back of his hand. An irritated sound escaped the back of his throat, and he brushed a thumb over your lip, sending coils of dark energy into your torn lip, sealing the flesh closed once more. His cursed energy was like the kiss of ice and sent shivers down your spine, without fail, each time he used it on you. It was a wonder that a force so malevolent was capable of healing at all, and you could feel it pulsing within you, more faintly with each beat, until it dissipated inside you.

You could not help the choked sound that escaped your lips. You had missed him. His touch, his cruelty, the taste of his dark energy. He was far more intoxicating, far more potent than the noxious smoke you had seen the priests partake in on occasion. And far more dangerous.

“You’re weak,” Sukuna scowled, as if confronted for the first time with the reality of your human nature.

You felt heat rush to your face. Hopefully he had not heard the shameful sound you had made. It would not do for you to appear desperate.

“I am only mortal,” you admitted, hoping to distract from your misstep, “you have proven the weakness of our kind at great length these last few years.”

“You dare complain?”

“No, my lord. I simply state the obvious. My kind is not enduring.”

“Hmph.” He released you finally, and your skin almost immediately mourned the loss of his touch. “And yet, you have lived where other women have died.”

You could not quite wrap your mind around that admission. Had he attempted to torment other women the way he had with you? And had they died at his hands? You did not quite know what it would take to kill you. Before Sukuna, you had had no experience with illness, pain, or death. And now, it seemed a given that when Sukuna took you apart, he would put you back together again. When he split your flesh open, he would seal it once more. Why did the others die? Or rather, why did you survive?

Before you could put the matter to question, a pop and wisps of green smoke announced the return of the imp along with other cursed spirits that seemed female in nature.

They had spirited along a large tub of water and several glass bottles of varying tinctures and perfumes. At a nod from Sukuna, they tore your robe from your shoulders, revealing your grimy, naked form to the attendants present – and worse, to Sukuna’s watchful, crimson eyes. The spirits crowded around you, some with rough rags, others with coarsely bristled brushes, and others still taking the various bottles in hand to spill their contents on your head, your shoulders, on the rags they held. Without waiting for a signal, they began scrubbing at your body, purging you of the filth of the dungeons. Thin, spindly fingers massaged your scalp, verbena-scented suds spreading through your hair. The rags and brushes seemed to scrape the skin from your flesh and yet, you could not truly pay them heed, entranced as you were by the way Sukuna’s gaze followed their hands as they scrubbed at your back. His eyes taking in the trace of the suds they drew over your abdomen, the thorough washing between your breasts, soap suds trailing down the length of your legs, the rag washing between your thighs…

It was a different kind of humiliation, to be so intently observed by him, to be so naked in the middle of the hall for all present to see. And even without looking at him, you could feel his gaze on your skin, the way it prickled beneath his intent stare. Finally, they poured bucketfuls of warm water over you, washing away the suds. Sukuna seemed not to care that the scarlet rug running the length of the hall was soaked, or that water was pooling at your feet and flowing towards him. Did he ever care for consequences, when he wanted something?

He crossed over to you and traced your protruding hipbones with a long, black fingernail once more. His frown revealed – likely without his knowing – that he somewhat regretted putting you away for so long. He liked to sink his claws into you, to bury his fangs in you… He could hardly do that when you were almost nothing but skin and bone with no soft flesh to fill his hands with.

His eyes traced your form leaving a trail of burning desire on your skin as his gaze burned a path up your navel, over your dripping breasts, your exposed collarbones, your swollen lips, before at last meeting your eyes. The very world around you seemed to flicker like a mirage as you held his gaze and in the blink of an eye, you were no longer standing on sodden carpet, but in the baths attached to his very own chambers, where innumerable candles were set all along the perimeter of the room, on tables, counters, and windowsills. The flickering, dim light filled the chamber with equal parts light and shadow, that flickered on your faces in turn.

In the center of the room was a basin in the ground, lined by emerald tiles, each with a golden pattern swirling through the green. The basin itself was a bath of sorts, large enough for three at least. It was filled with steaming water that was pale mint in color – an herbal bath it would seem. Rose petals were scattered across the water’s surface, and the scent of earthy herbs as well as a faint note of citrus wafted over in the steam to greet you, almost beckoning you closer.

The sound of water sloshing caught your attention and you turned to see Sukuna lowering himself into the bath. He leaned against the slabs of stone behind him and rested an arm on either side of himself as he released a barely audible, content sigh. Your expression softened. He really was always at attention, braced for violence, muscles tensed in anticipation of battle. You could imagine how the steaming bath water must provide him some rare relief.

He ran a hand through his russet hair and your gaze caught on the droplets of water that seemed to trace down the prominent veins of his muscular forearm. At ease, as he was, his head tipped back, his unruly hair swept back by the residual water of his hand, you were dazed by his inhuman beauty. His features were undeniably those of nobility, a king in the truest sense, you could not help but ask yourself how it was possible for a man so cold and cruel to be so undeniably beautiful. Even the black markings on his face only served to accentuate his bold features.

His dark lashes lifted, and those carmine eyes seemed to pierce right through you, pinning you in place. Unable and unwilling to escape from his all-encompassing gaze, you merely stood before him, drinking him in. He did not beckon you closer, or say so much as a word, but the command in those eyes was clear. “Come.”

And so, you did.

Dipping your toes into the water, the warmth seemed to pull you in, melting you down to your very bones as you stepped fully into the bath. You were keenly aware of his eyes on you as you lowered yourself into the murky waters of the herbal bath, concealing your nakedness. Heat rushed through you that you could not fully attribute to the temperature of the water. You hoped he would not see that the tips of your ears had gone red - and that he would not recognize it for what it was.

You drew closer still, drawn in by an inexplicable magnetism as if his dark essence were a black hole sucking in your very soul. He never took his eyes off of you for a moment, and the effect was intoxicating as he waited, watching, like a predator tolerating his prey frolicking before him in a delusion of safety, not yet in a mood to disillusion it.

You had missed him. You always did. His power was your lifeline. His invincibility, your shield. In his shadow, you were safe from all but him. And you never wanted to be safe from him – as foolish as you recognized that sentiment to be. Water dripped from your fingers as you reached for him, gingerly tracing the inky markings on his face. You ran a delicate fingertip along the line of his jaw, traced his cheekbones with your thumbs, followed those symbols line for line until you could draw them with your eyes closed. When your fingers journeyed lower exploring those same markings on his chest, he tipped his head back, relishing in the sensation.

You remembered the blonde whose hands had brushed past these same markings and your stomach burned with a nauseating, possessive ire. You wanted to purge her touch from his skin, wanted to burn her very image from the scroll of existence until nothing remained but a scorch mark. You leaned in closer to him, replacing your fingers with your lips, and trailed mindless kisses along those symbols, and then, growing bolder still, traced them with your tongue. When a wordless murmur of appreciation spilled past Sukuna’s parted lips, you glowed with pride.

“On your knees, goddess.” Sukuna growled, overcome with desire. What little patience he had, decidedly spent.

You acquiesced, sinking to your knees, the water just above your elbow. He opened his eyes, taking you in, the goddess kneeling in the water before him, water dripping from your hair, disappearing between your breasts. The way your eyes were caught on his shaft, the head of it just peeking out from the water’s surface.

“Well?” he began, seeing your hesitation - that ever present mocking tone painfully apparent. “Should I call in someone else?”

Your eyes snapped towards him, irritated, and he grinned in the face of your upset. You lifted a hand to his member and wrapped your fingers around it - frowning because of course your fingers didn’t close around it - and pleasing him with your mouth, as he was clearly expecting you to, would be a herculean effort. You could see, even without looking at him, that challenging grin on his face and the malicious spark in his eyes.

You alleviated his boredom, he had said, but the thing was – you liked surprising him. You reveled in the expression he made when you defied expectations. When you jumped headfirst into whatever he expected you to balk at. And ever since he had broken you so thoroughly on that table months ago, you no longer feared pain – you feared only abandonment, being discarded as a pawn that had outlived its use by the only one that could seal every split and crack within you with nothing more than his dark aura. The one who could fill you so thoroughly with himself, with his cursed energy, that you thought you might forget having ever felt empty.

The lives of the world were forfeit, their villages were forfeit - all that mattered was staying by his side, drunk on his power, for as long as you were able.

You bowed your head beneath the water and held your breath as you licked up the underside of his shaft, slowing as you reached the bulbous head and broke through the water’s surface. You traced the tip of your tongue along its slit. Sukuna hissed and his head tipped back once more. His muscles tensed, and this time, it was your turn to grin. Using both hands, you cupped his shaft again, and closed your mouth around the head of his cock. Your jaw immediately ached at being stretched so wide but the grunted curse that echoed throughout the bath chamber spurred you on. Water dripped from your face, and you knew you would have to time your breathing precisely to survive this encounter.

Your hands ran along his length with your movements as your head bobbed up and down. Up – you inhaled through your nose, swirled your tongue around the head, twisted your hands, and breathed. Down – your ears filled with water, you exhaled, took him in as deep as you could, and squeezed the remaining length of his shaft between your hands. Again. Again. Again. The guttural sounds that fell unguarded from those proud lips hummed right through you like the most potent drug, driving you to continue. You were feeling quite skilled and proud of yourself, you could do this – you could have him helpless beneath your ministrations.

And then one of his hands gripped the back of your head.

Panic was the first thing that shot through you. Sukuna, in the throes of his lust, would not care if you could breathe. A second hand fell on your shoulder, and you opened your mouth to remind him that you were human, that you were breakable, that you could die – but not fast enough. One moment you saw him, his head still tipped back, two arms resting on either side of him as the other two held you firm, and the next – nothing but water as that impossible length thrust into your mouth, straight towards your throat. You gagged underwater and thrashed, trying to free yourself, if only for a moment, to breathe, to try again with warning, but Sukuna had no cares for your distress. He was concerned only with his own release and if he registered your existence at all, then only as a means to an end.

He attempted again and again, to penetrate the narrow canal of your throat, each thrust only worsening the sensation, your body rebelling against such abuse. Water splashed everywhere as you writhed, desperate for a breath of air, but by the third thrust your throat gave way with an awful popping sound, dulled by the pressure of the water against your ears. The awful penetration was intense, it hurt so terribly that your core tightened in false anticipation of the pleasure that usually followed on the heels of pain.

You struggled to regain some semblance of calm, knowing only a level head would help you hold out long enough to breathe again. But each time he thrust into your throat, your body convulsed in protest, and your lungs burned for air. He pushed your head down with more force as he approached his release, his hips bucking as he drove more forcefully into you, not noticing as your thrashing slowed, your strength ebbing.

You dimly felt his release, as if from beyond a veil. You heard a growl of pleasure, loud enough to shake the walls, loud even through the water. You felt the way his shaft twitched as copious amounts of thick, bitter fluid gushed down your throat. You registered distantly the way it continued pulsing against the walls of your throat even in the aftershocks of his pleasure. And then you felt nothing at all. Not even a sense of relief when his cock finally pulled free from your lips.

Sukuna exhaled, a breathy sound of relief, slow and drawn out – rough around the edges. He dragged a hand through his hair as the world came back into focus. The cool air of the chamber in contrast to the dizzying warmth of the bath, steam still rising, made him acutely aware of each droplet of water where it clung to his skin. He felt alive, powerful, every inch of him thrumming with an energy he only knew when he gave in to his baser urges with you.

You.

Sukuna cocked his head to the side as he took in the sight of you, your wet hair clinging to the skin of your back as you floated, face down, in the bath before him. He frowned. You were not weak. He knew that. Or else, how could you dare to tempt him, knowing you were not a fitting receptacle for his lust – knowing the most fleeting of touches was enough to cost you your feeble life?

You approached him readily, spread your legs for him willingly, and only rarely begged for your life in the face of certain death – uncertain if your climax or the reaper would reach you first.

“Tch.” The sound left his lips unwillingly. He wasn’t ready to let you go yet. You had been the first of his harem, and he was ever expanding it, hoping to find another like you. But there didn’t seem to be another temptress like you on the face of this wretched earth, one who craved him above all else. Above any mortal bonds, misguided virtues, or sense of identity or dignity. You clung to him like he was your salvation – and not your destruction. Your desperation amused him. Everything about you did, and he was not ready to go back to being bored again.

He buried his long fingers into your thick hair, black, sharp fingernails scraping against your scalp as he pulled you out of the water, towards himself. You were alive, albeit barely. And his clear, sanguine gaze roamed the length of you. He was ancient, and he had seen nearly everything there was to see in his centuries of existence. If he didn’t crave the sensation of blood on his skin with a maddening intensity as he did, the mortals might have considered him a god. As it was, he liked the insides of people better than their outsides.

You were a rare exception, he mused as he dragged a pointed, black talon upwards along your skin, past your hipbones, up your navel, along the curve of your swollen breasts, teasing along your collarbones, before drawing to a stop at the prominent veins running down the column of your lovely throat – all the more appealing to his eyes for its fragility. Like glass so thin it might crack with a breath. If your skin tensing beneath his touch was not proof enough, the pulse beneath his finger confirmed – you were alive, still.

Good.

He was far from done with you.

He flipped your positions with no regard to your unconscious state. Your upper body sprawled along the marble tiles, water dripping from you and pooling beneath you as he positioned himself between your legs. Two powerful arms braced on either side of your immobile form as one of his hands gripped your hips, lifting you to meet him as the fourth hand spread your legs for him.

You would have enjoyed this, he thought, if you were awake.

The head of his cock, alert and ready for a second round, prodded at your entrance. Sukuna’s ruby eyes were fixed on your expression, waiting for the moment you jerked back to life. Would it be with a scream of agony or ecstasy? The not knowing was as delicious as the anticipation. He knew he could bring you back from either.

His second cock sprang to life, rubbing against your slit and brushing against your clit as the first member made its way inside you with slow, lazy thrusts. He released your hip and placed a hand against your back, his spread fingers mirroring the bones of your ribcage. He could crush it beneath his hand as easily as he had the head of that shrew who had mouthed off against you. Ruining the moment that had been weeks in planning.

How he had wanted to drag you before him. To see the jealousy in your eyes as he adorned himself with meaningless whores. He had wanted to fuck them in front of you until you begged him to stop – or to take you instead – or to… what? He didn’t know, but he would have eaten up your response regardless. You were terrified of him, he knew, but instead of running from him, you ran towards him.

He ran his tongue along his teeth, hungry for you again. He was beginning to realize it was a hunger that could never be sated. A hunger that might be turned against him if anyone caught on. If you commanded anything more than his passing interest, would you be considered his weakness?

He remembered the feel of the blue harlot’s skull imploding beneath his fingers. Blood gushing to the floor, shards of her skull cutting at his hand, only for the scrapes to be healed immediately by his cursed energy. And between the dripping blood, your eyes meeting his evenly, boldly, unafraid of the sudden display of violence.

Were you his weakness?

The thought prompted something akin to anger within him. He had no weaknesses. With a violent thrust, he sheathed himself within you. Halfway inside you, the head of his cock barred by the end of your velvet core, Sukuna was met with a burning need for more. To prove to himself, to you, to anyone who would dare to surmise otherwise – that you were nothing.

The shaft of his second cock rubbed against your clit, as it slid up and down your belly, the head of his member nestling between your breasts – caged between them and the cool, wet marble beneath you. With each thrust, it slipped up and down between your mounds, heightening Sukuna’s pleasure. The first member pounded into you with abandon, sledgehammering into your body, your unconscious body slamming against the marble with each reckless thrust.

Your eyes flew open in shock as a violent cough consumed you, expelling the water from your lungs. The burning sensation between your legs and a fiery agony in your core confirmed, you were up to your throat in Sukuna’s cock. Drowning in him in an entirely different way. You tried to brace yourself against the marble and lift your body, but Sukuna’s callous hand against your back crushed you back down to the ground ruthlessly, the marble cracking beneath you – or was that just your ribs?

There was pleasure too, ungodly pleasure through the pain. The kind you relished. You groaned despite yourself. Sure, you had nearly died only moments ago. But that was moments ago - almost an eternity ago already. Now you were being crushed beneath him, beneath his gaze, beneath his ministrations.

You turned your head to the side, the only freedom of movement you were allowed and met his eyes. You were reminded of that day so long ago, when he had taken you in your own temple, against a table not quite so hard as the marble beneath you. The way he had met your eyes with a curious gaze then.

This was different.

There was a burning fury in his eyes. A demonic possessiveness. As if the devil had been taken by the devil. He seemed intent to burrow his way straight through you. To prove something to someone, likely himself. Did he want your body, your blood, or both?

How badly you wanted to give whatever it was he would ask of you.

Your lips fell apart and nothing but short, breathy gasps fled your mouth each time he rolled his hips and plowed into you, his grip on your back for purchase, as another held onto your leg still, opening you wide for him as he thrust deeper into you, turn for turn.

A feral growl burned from his chest as the messy, slapping noise of skin against skin echoed through the chamber, water splashing over both of you.

There was an end to your cavern, but Sukuna did not seem to care. His pleasure took precedence over your anatomy, he pounded against your cervix, not caring when your body shook violently with pain, except to pin you more firmly in place.

How your brain was capable of processing such torturous pain at the same time as the heights of pleasure, you did not know. Your mind was a foggy place filled with nothing but the steam of the chamber, the water growing even hotter with the energy rolling off of him in waves and the scent of him, the feel of him, all around you. This would be a good way to go, a dark voice whispered within you.

That second cock pulsing between your breasts, rubbing against your clit again and again in time with the violation of his thick, thick shaft within you was an unholy combination that teased you higher and higher, until you cared not for the pain, for the trembling of your rebellious body. It didn’t understand - the pain was worth it, it was delicious.

The syllables of his name burst from your lips in small, delicious, agonized gasps, as the heat coiling within you tightened further and further into a madness only his brutality could release you from.

You fell from the precipice, shattering around his monstrous cock, at the very same moment that he penetrated your cervix.

Whether it was a scream of climax or of agony, you could not say. It started as one and devolved very quickly into another. But Sukuna was far from satisfied.

Even before your climax had truly ended, the agony tore through you. Tears pooled and streamed from your cheeks in mere moments. The pain was too much. You were too weak. You whimpered miserably. Hot tears mingling with the cool droplets of water that had dripped to the marble.

“Now, now…” Sukuna purred, his mask of mockery not firmly in place through his brutal anger, “don’t give up so soon.”

You sucked in a pained breath as Sukuna slid out of your womb only to bite down on your tongue, muffling a pained scream as he slammed back into that inviolable part of you.

He lifted your face from the marble, drool and tears falling from your face, contorted in pain. “Didn’t you say you were my whore?” he tutted. “What use is a whore if I can’t even fuck you properly?”

There was rage you could not place. Why was he so angry? Had he been holding back all this time? Was this what Sukuna was like when he gave in to his urges? Was this what he needed of you?

“What was it you wanted again?” he growled into your ear. “Identity?” The playful mask was more firmly in place now, concealing the fury that still thrummed beneath the surface.

“Is it worth this?” You felt his tip brush the opposite wall of your womb and bit down on a whimpering sob.

“Aw,” Sukuna mocked, slowing. “Do you want me to stop?”

You knew, without knowing how, that he would kill you if you agreed. This was some sort of twisted ultimate test. A game he was playing with himself, to find out what you were worth.

You’d be damned if you were going to lose.

You were losing sensation in your legs, your ribcage burned – there was definitely something broken – and your throat burned still from his earlier abuse, but you had a fire of your own within you that refused to cool. A blaze that sometimes wanted to swallow the world and spit out the ashes. You’d been raised a goddess, abandoned as an appeasement, and twisted into a slave and a whore. No pain of the body could compare.

There was nothing you couldn’t take.

“Why?” you seethed, your eyes meeting his with the combined, burning resolve of the Furies of legend, a growl of your own building in your throat, “getting tired?”

He did pause, then, his wrath giving way – however briefly – to surprise. He stilled, his lips curved into a smirk, and then his shoulders shook as he tipped his head back with laughter. It echoed against the walls and fell, cruelly metallic, back to your ears.

“That’s the spirit!” he barked, finally, and using his grip on your hair as an anchor pummeled into you. With even less regard for your well-being, he clearly had every intent of impaling you on his cock – in the literal sense of the word.

A slit on his abdomen teased open, a smirk playing against your posterior, that long, thick tongue you had become very familiar with teasing between the mounds of your backside, seeking out the puckered entrance beyond. One of Sukuna’s hands drew back to clap against the smooth skin and the resounding sting seemed to spread upwards and through you. But it was so tame in comparison to the pain of your insides being rearranged, that it was almost a sensation of relief.

His tongue prodded at your anus and penetrated the tight ring of muscle with something like a laugh as the wet, thick muscle, slid along the tight walls within you, sliding deeper than should have been possible, in and out, further and further along with each poking thrust, wriggling deeper inside of you, tasting every inch of you.

You were completely out of your mind. With the one cock pleasuring itself between your breasts, the tongue inside of your intestines, and the second cock stretching the walls of your womb to their outer limits – it was a wonder you were still conscious at all.

Your tongue lolled out of your mouth and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He was everything, he was everywhere, there was nothing and no one but him. He could have you, he could consume you, he could kill you and keep your corpse to fuck as he pleased. There was nothing he could ask of you that you would not give. They had been lying to you all along, you knew, the Great Evil was your purpose, not to vanquish, but to be consumed completely by it. No heaven could compare, the goddess Terraria be damned. She would have gotten on all fours for him, too, if she could – begging for the favor of his cock.

But she couldn’t, because he had chosen you and you alone.

And then he tore through the walls of your womb.

There was a scream so loud it hurt your ears. You wanted to ask for it to stop but couldn’t work your mouth to form the words – and then you realized you were the one screaming. The anguish was like nothing, the delirium of the pain was addling your brain. You wondered if you were dying.

Sukuna did not stop.

Your scalp burned from him dragging you up by the hair without pause. Your leg ached as he arched it up and used it to anchor himself as he pumped deeper and deeper into you. How you had the presence of mind to register either of those sensations was a wonder to you.

Your scream was never-ending, the need for breath was secondary. Sukuna laughed, loving the sound of your agony. He bent low to kiss the throat that bled such a beautiful, awful sound and then he bit into your flesh, eyes gleaming at the scarlet ambrosia that spilled from your lovely veins.

He tore into you, pain upon pain. Through your stomach, up your esophagus – and now you could truly feel him in your throat.

And then he came with a shudder, a groan of release reached your ears, soft and intimate and lovely. You felt his release everywhere – or rather you no longer knew where one part of you ended and another began. So attuned to his sensations, his desires, his lust as you were, you too, climaxed through the pain, tremors running through your body as he let you drop back onto the cold tiles. You were in heaven and hell at the same time. It was so like Sukuna to take you there.

You opened your eyes blearily and recognized that the marble had indeed cracked. Just like your ribs. A cough tore through you, pain intensified exponentially by your ravaged insides and when you spit up the blockage, your eyes focused enough to recognize – blood and cum.

When he finally pulled out of you, the one thing stemming your bleeding was torn mercilessly away and blood gushed forth from you with abandon. Blackness tinged the edges of your vision almost immediately at such sudden loss of blood, as your body registered how thoroughly it had been wrecked. Sukuna’s second member, still pulsing, pulled away from between your breasts and the tongue that had been nestled inside your intestines also slipped back out, disappearing inside Sukuna’s abdomen once more. He took hold of you, almost gently, by your shoulders, and turned the two of you back around until you were draped limply over his chest as he leaned back against the cracked marble. He curled your wet hair around his fingers thoughtfully, as the thumb of another hand stroked your shoulder almost comfortingly. You noted dimly that you had been right, this was a good way to go. His eyes fell to yours, meeting your gaze with an intensity you had not thought possible.

When his eyes roamed over you and stopped between your legs, you followed his gaze. It was so much more blood than you had realized. The minty green water was spoiled almost all the way through with coils of thick, red blood. Enough to dye almost the entire bath. There was nothing beautiful left of this bath chamber.

“Why not ask me to stop?” Sukuna murmured, so quietly you only heard it because of how close his lips were to your ear.

You swallowed thickly. You were tired. Tired, physically, of course, but also tired of the lies that had built up your entire life. Sukuna had been the only truth in your life – a brutal, cruel, ruthless truth. But a truth, nonetheless. Was it so strange that you would rather be a true whore than a false goddess? Maybe your sense of gratitude towards him was foolish and mistaken, but it was there.

“I didn’t want you to.” You admitted, your voice almost lost with your fading consciousness.

Sukuna was silent a moment, stroking your hair away from your forehead as your eyes fluttered closed, listening to his heartbeat as your own faded away.

“Do you still want it?” he muttered, almost hesitating despite himself. That his hesitation was for your sake went completely over your head. With great difficulty, you opened your eyes one last time in confusion. “Identity?” he added, a frown on his beautiful, proud lips, the black markings on his face smooth as the plane of his forehead as he regarded you distantly, making a decision you could not possibly weigh. “I won’t take it back even if you beg.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but your body lacked the resources to bring them to life. Instead, you nodded with what strength you had left. You would always want identity - a true identity - given by none other than Sukuna himself.

Then your eyes closed for a final time as an exhausted breath fell silently from your lips. Sukuna watched you quietly a moment longer, considering your request. A lock of pink hair fell over his forehead as he ran a hand up and down your lifeless arm.

You did not know what you were asking for, but he did. It would be cruel of him, selfish. He paused in a moment of uncharacteristic, unprecedented mercy. But when did he deny himself something he wanted?

Mind made up, he lifted a hand and poised a black fingertip over your chest, beneath which your heart lay hidden, resting at last. All concern for your eventual regret dismissed, Sukuna dragged the sharp talon over your skin, splitting the flesh and revealing the life-giving organ beneath. Why not bind you to his side for all eternity? It was what he wanted and what he wanted was all that mattered.

He cut open your heart, revealing the chambers of the muscle in their final twitches of life. A black smirk twisted his features. Why not? Why not treat himself? Why not enslave you?

He curled the fingers of his hand into a fist, piercing the palm of his own hand until he drew blood. He opened his fist and watched with eager greed as the inky blood that had pooled in his palm dripped down into your open heart.

It took only moments for his cursed energy to do its work. It swirled around you, sealing your heart back shut with a snap, sewing your skin together above it until not even a blemish remained. Your back arched as your heart pumped Sukuna’s blood through you, tainting your own. Your very body raised off of him slightly, lifted upwards by the dark energy coursing through you, healing every wound and injury throughout your ruined body.

The flow of blood that had been spilling out between your legs ceaselessly, stopped abruptly, and the red and green water dissolved into nothing but an inky black surrounding the two of you. Sukuna’s smirk gave way to an unapologetic grin as he watched you change before his eyes, beneath his hands – entirely his. Unbreakable now.

With a gasp, your eyes flew open as a different kind of pain surged through you – a pain akin to anger at its very extremes. Light shone from your form, intermingling with the darkness, burning through your skin. An anguished groan left your lips as you fought the foreign influence, but it was fast, it was powerful. It was Sukuna himself inside you – although in an entirely different way.

And because it was Sukuna, you let him have you. You let him flow through every inch of your being and embraced him – alive, elated, enlightened. It wasn’t unlike a climax to have him delve so intimately into your being, settling into your very nerves, your pores, between your cells. You were alight with him and it was euphoria like nothing you had ever known.

When the delicious torment had finished coursing through you, leaving nothing but the tantalizing tendrils of his being lingering just beneath your skin. You were suddenly awake like you had never been before. Awareness flooded you, of the birds beyond the bath chamber, the water dripping onto the tiling, and Sukuna’s heart thudding darkly, so close to you. You turned on him – suddenly ravenous for him. Needing ever more of him to replace the cursed energy that had stopped coursing through you with such intensity. You wanted him to give you more, to consume you or let you consume him – you weren’t sure which.

You straddled his hips and pinned him against the marble at his back – suddenly stronger than you had ever been – and pressed your mouth to his, with a hunger like nothing earthly. Still, there was an anger within you, just beneath the surface, like a living being, waiting to be provoked to life. His anger, you realized. It was the rage you glimpsed every now and then between his mocking smiles and punishing caresses. An emotion that always lived with him – one you now shared.

You groaned into his mouth, running your tongue along his teeth, biting at his lip, teasing his tongue with your own – coaxing him to fight back, to battle with you, to play with you. But he merely leaned back with a smirk, enjoying your little rush of need. He kissed you back leisurely, slowing down when you needed speed, and gentling his touch when you craved wild, reckless abandon. The damned contrarian. He was doing it just to upset you, you knew.

A growl built in your throat, and he heard it, his grin widening.

“Well, would you look at that?” he muttered, the surprise in his voice causing your eyes to open as well. His expression gave you pause, stemming the raging need within you.

Something was wrong.

You didn’t know what he was seeing, but the look in his eyes scared you, more than anything you had experienced since you had come to know him. It made you feel like you had made an awful, irreversible mistake. It made you want to tear the skin from your face without quite knowing why.

“Looks like there was something of the divine in you after all, goddess.” There was a mocking tone to his low voice, his hushed murmur intimate and forbidden. His breath against your ear sent an icy shiver racing down your spine. His cruel intonation, just the way his voice sounded when he was testing the limits of your capacity for pain, heightened your sense of alarm. Something was terribly, terribly wrong and Sukuna sounded as if it was not at all a surprise to him. You whirled towards the water trying to see a glimpse of your reflection in its inky black, trying to see what he had seen. You held your breath, waiting for the ripples to settle, waiting in horrified anticipation.

And there it was. Whatever he had done to you had changed you. There were black markings on your face, not unlike his own, if somewhat more delicate in appearance, across your collarbones and wrists as well, the design of which cut off abruptly here and there. Your hair and your eyes, too, had gone an inky black, not unlike the water the two of you were submerged in. But interlaced through the black locks were strands of white, stark in contrast – and almost cruel to look at. Just like your left iris, which seemed to have been cut through a third of the way with white, leaving that eye half-black, half-white.

You did not need Sukuna to tell you what it meant. He had turned you into something demonic with his cursed energy, but it had not been able to take over completely because somewhere within you, unbeknownst to you, the power of the goddess had slumbered.

The temple had not been lying to you.

Your world turned on its head as you struggled to come to grips with the meaning of this awful realization.

Sukuna’s hands curled along your waist to meet at your midsection. You saw in the water’s reflection the way he watched over your shoulder as your hands dragged down your face in abject horror. Ever a grin on his lips at your torment.

“You knew this?” you gasped in disbelief. Had he not been the one to disillusion you? To tell you that you were no more than a woman?

Sukuna bent his head to nip at the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Have I ever pretended otherwise, goddess?” he teased against your skin.

The nickname was jarring, and you suddenly realized why he had never given it up. He had known all along what you were. And perhaps destroying your belief in yourself, was how he had broken you down in the first place, defeating you with barely any effort at all. Had you truly attempted to fight him after he dispelled your divine barrier or had that simply been enough for you to concede defeat, convinced you that you were in the wrong place, fighting someone else’s battle?

Now here you were, in the arms of the very one generations of worshippers had prayed for you to defeat, tainted entirely with his blood, his energy. Already, he was parting your legs again, ready to partake of you, liking you even more in this tainted state.

You tipped your head back against his shoulder despite yourself, still wanting him, despite everything. Still willing to give yourself over to the evil that you had been cautioned against your entire life. “Am I a goddess, Sukuna?” you whimpered, the vaulted ceiling above you blurred as tears pooled in your eyes.

His fingers found the apex of your thighs, fully healed now.

“Not anymore,” he laughed cruelly, and you felt your heart breaking into pieces. His fingers slid along your slit, pleased to have been gifted a blank, uninjured slate.

“Then, what - ?” Tears spilled over your cheeks but the question died on your lips as his fingers found their way inside you. Your eyes slid shut and a breathy moan echoed throughout the chamber as your back arched in pleasure. Whatever he had done to you had heightened your sensations exponentially, as your body responded to him in a way that was wholly unnatural, as if every inch of your being was poised in limbo, waiting perpetually for his touch, waiting to submit to him always.

“Mine,” was the answer growled into your ear. The reverberations burned into you through his chest, his voice vibrating through your ear, down your exposed throat.

And then he took you as if that was the only thing that was true, the only thing that mattered.

----------------------------------------

Power.

It spilled out of you, from your very fingertips. Part Sukuna and part something that was entirely your own. Something had broken within you. You saw now, the pieces that made up your being. The divinity, the curse – and the broken woman between the two. All of those were you.

When Sukuna re-entered his harem, with you at his side, a hushed silence fell over the assembled. You had no patience for the harlots before you. Too many of them, no different from the girl in blue who had learned her lesson too late. They, all of them, had made eyes at Sukuna and worse – plotted to have you removed from his side. Sidling up to him coyly as you had seen. They didn’t know about the undying rage within you, how you waited for it to be provoked, to justify a lashing out of power, to give reason to the destruction you longed to unleash.

You saw her one moment, a lovely blonde – the same whose fingers had traced the markings on Sukuna’s chest - whispering something to another behind her hand, her eyes on you. The next moment, the candlelight flickered, and a scream tore through her as the ground at her feet softened, drawing her in. Horror filled her eyes as she struggled to make sense of her predicament. Some eyes amongst the gathering flicked towards you, piecing two and two together.

You made it slow; it was more satisfying that way. She sunk down to her knees, clawing at the flagstones around her, begging for help, but her friends only staggered backward, terrified to be the next to face your ire. She was up to her neck before she turned her helpless gaze toward you, begging for mercy.

But you weren’t feeling merciful.

You did not even glance at Sukuna as the rest of them turned towards you, unsure where to place you, struggling to make sense of the changed hierarchy. But it had changed, and you were feeling charitable enough to educate them on it.

Darkness seemed to gather wherever you focused your anger, your power. And the cursed spirit that was looking at you in disbelief was next. Lest the fools think only mortals were under your thumb.

Not being human, he caught on a bit quicker, and almost immediately began begging for his life. His gaze caught between Sukuna’s mirth and your wrath. Burying him alive would be boring – you had already done that once. What if you crushed him as Sukuna had done? You wondered what that would feel like. You concentrated the air around him, formed it into a solid, invisible cage, and shrunk it bit by bit. You watched the agony contort his face, watched his body shrink in turn, until blood spilled from the split skin of his crushed form – until his bones broke; until there was nothing left to hurt. His screams had abated, and that was the end.

Tch.

You searched for your next target and found that everyone in the room had gone silent and had fallen to the floor, prostrating to you. You frowned and turned to Sukuna, suddenly understanding his awful, murderous boredom. There seemed to be nothing worse.

There was a broken, bitter part of you that mourned your lost mortality, your lost divinity. A part that only found relief when someone else was screaming. Sukuna would understand, and he did. It was ín the subtle inclination of his head, the smirk that teased his lips. His scarlet irises were pleased. He seemed so taken with you that you found it hard to care for the parts of yourself you had lost.

He nodded towards the plateau before you, upon which sat a throne that seemed to have been built into the very ground itself, large enough for two to sit comfortably side by side. It was overlaid with gold, but you suspected stone or iron lingered beneath that. It was the only explanation you could come up with for the formidable seat. High-backed and elegant, intricate designs were fashioned into the metal, inlaid with rubies and diamonds, and cushioned with embroidered red velvet. It was the throne he had sat upon when demanding you service others, but that memory felt centuries old. Distant, irrelevant.

This was the largest kingdom Sukuna had conquered to date and the throne room represented that accurately with its luxury. The palatial chamber was built in such a way as to carry the voice of whoever sat on that throne to every corner of the court. Structured so that wherever you stood, you faced the central figure perched upon that seat of power. The fool who had ruled here had seen to that, assuring that no one dared to turn their backs on him, assuring that he had all present in his view from his elevated seat of power. Perhaps, it was justified in a sense. This kingdom was a hub of trade and wealthy in resources. Not only that – it was located central to the neighboring kingdoms, strategically situated for negotiation, attack, or defense, but Sukuna cared little for that. A throne was no better than chains to him.

Sukuna glanced over his shoulder at the assembly and the bloodlust glinting in his ruby irises was a warning enough to have them scrambling to clear the room. A command they read clearly.

Cowards. Bloodlust of your own still itched in your fingertips, and you longed to see what havoc you could wreak.

The king of curses led you up the few steps to the throne, stopping just before it. He withdrew a hand from where it rested in the crook of his white robe and took hold of yours. Lifting it up to his mouth, he brushed his lips over your knuckles, an action that sent shivers up your spine.

“Rule over this rabble for me,” he commanded, tightening his grip on your hand. Your gaze slid, unbidden over the throne beside you. He wanted you to rule? You could not fathom if it was kindness, generosity, or another form of punishment you had yet to wrap your head around. His mouth was set determinedly, and his eyes peered at you with no hint of that malicious mirth that usually lined his lovely scarlet eyes. There was nothing but earnestness within them, join me, they seemed to say, be on my side. Do as I do.

You held his gaze a moment and understood. He had no interest in ruling, in holding court over his subjects, in negotiating trade and regulations. His only interests were on the battlefield and between your legs. Rule for him and leave him free to cleave through his enemies, their screams echoing in his ears – his own version of nirvana.

You envied him for a moment, suddenly taken with a bloodlust of your own. How you would like to be beside him, cutting down the legions as you had seen him do. Blood and screams thick in the air. Afterwards, you would sate your lust with him in your tents. Each of you ravenous and still drenched in blood. Grappling for dominance until he overpowered you and the two of had had your fill of each other. Bloody and content until you did it all again the next day.

You still weren’t certain how much of these new facets of your personality were your own and how much of it was the natural consequence of Sukuna’s blood within you. It would be too simple to assume it was all his influence and you held no accountability for the dark desires burning within you. In truth, you knew a part of you had enjoyed this even before he had changed you so markedly. You had always enjoyed the display of power that was his wrath on the battlefield. And when his eyes had met yours on your travels, when he had taken you with blood still on his hands – you shivered at the thought. You had enjoyed that even when you were human. Even when you were divine.

But it wasn’t a goddess or a slave he was asking you to be now. Not even a reward for his loyal minions. No, now he was asking something else entirely.

“A queen?” you said quietly, turning from the throne to your maker. “Is that the identity you would bestow upon me?”

He smirked and took hold of your shoulders soothing his thumbs over the tension in your muscles. “I’ve stayed here too long,” he muttered, changing the subject as his hands meandered down your form and untied the sash around your waist. He pushed your robe from your shoulders leisurely, offering no explanation for his actions. Queen or goddess – he could have you whenever he wanted you, however he wanted you. He turned you, entirely naked now, towards the throne and you followed in the direction his hands guided you, struggling to understand what he was after.

He maneuvered you onto the throne, on your knees, holding onto the high back of the solid seat as he positioned himself behind you, his lips at your ear. You felt wickedly exposed and out of place and so you sighed with relief when the frigid air at your back was replaced with his solid, heated form. You wanted to kiss him, but his hand snaked around your neck, taking hold of your chin as he turned your face away from him, giving him access to your throat instead. He nibbled at your ear and nipped his way down your throat as he freed himself from the confines of his trousers, ready to take you on the very throne he was giving you. He ran his hand along his members, and the two fused into one. The very sight of his impossible girth had your heart dropping into your stomach. You could never have taken that before he had turned you.

“Would you like that?” he asked, as he sunk into you slowly, inch for delectable inch, running his tongue along your pulse as he did so. “For them to call you a queen?”

You moaned in delirious ecstasy. You could never have enough of him. Your insides made way for him, welcoming him, needing him. He had changed the very essence of your being. You needed him the way you needed air and water – he could take you anywhere, any way at all, and you would thank him for it.

You arched your back and rocked against him impatiently, feeling him filling your core more completely, and could not help the whines of pleasure that spilled freely from your lips. Sukuna held the sides of the high-backed throne and crushed you between himself and the soft velvet, allowing you to fuck yourself on his cock with a desperation you would have taken care to conceal before. His canines buried themselves in your throat, prompting fresh blood to spill forth and he closed his mouth over the wound, drinking it down greedily.

He rolled his hips into you, his need as great as yours, prompting more needy whimpers from you. It was never enough with him.

With reckless abandon, the two of you found your own rhythm as you pushed against him, driving yourself to new heights. You could feel him within you, deeper than should have been possible, you could see him bulging through your skin, see exactly how deep he was, and you pressed a hand to your skin in awe as you felt him thrust into you with abandon. The head of his shaft was within your very ribcage, you noticed dimly, intoxicated with lust and pleasure. The kind of penetration that had killed you once, but your new body could take the pain. Your new body was made for him.

Gasping, panting, you fell from the heights of ecstasy, tumbling down headfirst through shockwaves of pleasure. When Sukuna suddenly, unexpectedly, pulled away from you. You had less than a moment to grieve the loss of content as he slipped out of you and took hold of your shoulder, turning you until you were sitting properly on the throne. You looked up at him, confused and still dizzy with pleasure. This was where he belonged, standing over you, all enigmatic lethal beauty, looking down on you like a god in judgment. His cock in his hand, his face flushed with lust and desire, intensity burning in eyes as red as your blood that dripped from his lips – the sight of him had your pulse singing in wanton need - and then he came.

His copious seed doused your form entirely. Warm, sticky fluid gushed over your face, over your chest and legs – all over the throne you sat on. Shock and humiliation set in as you tried to make sense of what had transpired. Sukuna braced himself, still, with one hand on the back of the throne as he leaned over you. His cock still dribbling ejaculate onto you. He panted, catching his breath, and then his expression broke into a grin as he took in the sight of you.

Like a cum-drowned mouse.

He took hold of your chin and kissed you on the lips with a tenderness that belied your current state. “No matter who calls you a queen, sweetheart…” he purred, lingering at your lips, heedless of the sticky, white liquid dripping from your chin. “Don’t forget that this is the throne you rule from.”

He leaned lazily over you, reaching down to retrieve the crown on the floor, one he had discarded since occupying the castle. One that had remained there, worthless because Sukuna had deemed it so, and placed it on your dripping head.

“Don’t forget that you are my whore.”

You glanced up at him, your eyes full of wonder despite yourself. He was cruel – and you loved him for it.

“I might forget anyway,” you replied boldly, not bothering to make an attempt at cleaning yourself up. He was clearly enjoying the sight.

His ruby eyes glinted with mirth and malice – a sentiment you recognized now. That sensation you also felt every now and then. Give me a reason, it seemed to say, give me the slightest excuse to unleash my rage on you.

It was tiring keeping it in all the time. You understood.

You crossed your legs paying no mind to the stickiness between them, one over the other, every bit the stature of a queen, even crowned in gold, and robed in his seed.

“You’ll have to come back and remind me.”

A true laugh, short and surprised, fell from Sukuna’s lips. “Oh, I will,” he promised, his grin evidence of how much he was enjoying you. “You can be sure of that.” Both a promise and a threat – and sweeter than any lover’s confession.

Heat pooled in your belly at his assurance, and then without so much as another word, he disappeared.

He was truly gone. He hated being kept indoors, he hated courtiers, and he hated his own clean hands. He needed to be tearing into something, you knew, and so you understood when he went back to war like a lion to his prey. You could not ask him to stay.

You washed yourself and cleaned the throne – and then you ruled.

You oversaw all matters of state that so bored Sukuna and made sure his kingdom flourished. You were determined to have his approval when he saw the progress his capital had made. There was pleasure in all affairs of government for you. You seemed to have a natural affinity towards it. You soon established a reputation as a ruler who was equal parts harsh and fair. You did not relish taking the last sheep of some poor farmer, and so the peasants tended to welcome your rule. The rich and powerful, however, were another story entirely. As were the miscreants who resorted to crime. You relished the moments when a fool came to challenge you. You delighted in all the different ways there were to take a head from a body.

But those challenges soon came to be few and far between as word spread quickly – the Queen of Curses was not to be toyed with. Any slight, real or imagined, was met with a quick and cruel response. Their caution drove you mad with the need for violence. What was the purpose of the power buzzing in your veins, if you had no one to eviscerate with it? More often than you cared to admit, you envied Sukuna’s freedom on the battlefield. What you wouldn’t do to feel someone’s pulse slowing beneath your palms, to feel their blood running between your fingers. If you did not have challengers and fools to punish, what were you to do with this craving for bloodshed?

When boredom became too much to bear, you brought people out of the dungeons to fight to the death in the courtyard square. 18 prisoners fought one another, and you promised the victor freedom. It was a brilliant sight. Your eyes lit up at their desperation, their cunning – their violence. It reminded you of your beloved.

And when the victor kneeled before you, to receive your royal pardon, all exhaustion and weariness – you killed him, of course. There was no lie. It was a freedom, of sorts.

And of course, it would not do for word to reach Sukuna of you pardoning prisoners. On the contrary, you hoped he would hear of your cruelty, of your violence. You hoped it would make him lust for you and bring him back home.

And sometimes, it did. When he heard tell in hushed tones of the Queen of Curses’ latest cruelty. Some horror beyond imagining meted out on whoever had been fool enough to offend her, he hungered for you with a passion that left a trail of broken women in his wake – and still his lust was not sated.

He would be haunted by the image of you, that once pure, innocent face of a goddess stained with blood and smirking in pleasure as you took some fool apart piece for piece. As you murdered and tortured and wanted more still, as you listened to screams the way he did – as songs of praise to your power. And the need to take you, to fill you, to wreck your body with the ravages of his lust drove him to impatience and distraction – and nothing in the world could keep him from you then.

You knew this, of course.

And every time you meted out punishment, crueler than the last, you hoped this was the one that would bring your cursed king home. Because even if all the world called you the queen of curses, you were never more content than when you were his whore.

#sukuna #tw dubcon #tw humiliation #tw degradation #dead dove do not eat #sukuna x reader

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