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@nyursi
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐈. MASTERLISTㅤ𝐈𝐈. INFOㅤ𝐈𝐈𝐈. RECENT
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DISTURBIA. MAHITO / M!READER
summary. in the golden age of jujutsu, mahito had you, and lost you. a thousand years later, he seeks to bring you back.
wc. 9.1k
tags. smut | sub bottom mahito, top reader, heian era!mahito & cursed spirit!reader (manifestation of fear of night/absence of light), reader had a cult/worshippers. mention of blood & gore. mahito with a pussy, size difference, breeding kink, mention of babytrapping. fingering + oral (mahito receiving), doggystyle, exhibitionism (mention of others overhearing), jealousy, praise, multiple orgasms (mahito receiving), creampie, ahegao (?), god kink (reader), temp play (reader is naturally cold)
notes. obligatory ooc warning. also, i made up a lot of lore for the reader('s abilities), so scroll down about halfway to skip it and get to the good part :)
[ requested ]
RAHUL KOHLI as Sheriff Hassan MIDNIGHT MASS | S01E01
𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐖.
remmick x m!reader
summary: Grief makes you do foolish things. Like wandering out at night after dark, singing to ghosts and the trees they hide behind. But even worse– the devil listening, rambling on with false stories about how he knew your father before he died, and letting him follow you home.
warnings: mature, slowburnish, suggestive/nsfw, subtle d/s, dead dove, dubcon, blood, manipulation, stalking, violence, feeding, brief mentions of graphic violence/gore, grief, remmick is actually creepy as hell, reader is wary but still naive, saliva as an aphrodisiac, drugging, dysphoria, fingering, trans!reader/m!reader, feminine terms for anatomy, dacryphilia, pathetic man alert, remmick is a certified munch, remmick acts all cocky but goes weak in the knees for blood, oneshot(?), not beta read, itsy-bitsy plot holes to lore that don't exist if you squint, author is struggling to tag.
wc: 9.5k
(a/n): i’m not too proud of this fic, but i spent too long on it to trash it. maybe i'll revamp in the future. i took some inspiration from the story little red riding hood (specifically from into the woods, but without the child part) and put my own spin on it. first good chunk is just an introduction for you to get to know the character a bit, (i hate making x reader fics w/o the character having any personality. also, transmasc black/native!character, specifically choctaw (mother is black, father is indigenous). i hope i did enough research to write more than five paragraphs of this. might be some slight lore and time-period inaccuracies for plot but enjoy.
(likes, comments and/or reblogs are welcomed and encouraged!)
⸄࿆࿆⸅ྃ⸄࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆ ⸅𓊆†𓊇⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄࿆⸅⸄࿆࿆⸅ྃ
Low hanging branches of the underbrush tore at your legs as they carried you forward. Knocking against a tree, a yelp is wrenched from your throat as the bark tears into the cotton thinly blanketing your arm. Still, your hand digs into the dampened dirt, pushing you off the ground. You stumble forward with weakened resolve, ragged breaths swim with the sound of branches snapping like bones. You don't bother turning back to see if he's following you, the mere shadows of his presence sinking into your skin in his stead. Sucking in a shallow breath, the air around you seemed to thin. Flashes of your mama blanket your vision– her sweet songs, her teasing words, her loving arms. You couldn't bother to choke back the sob that bloomed in your throat. The same little words seemed to be the only thing pushing you forward. Just make it to the door. Make it, you have to. All the while, the low whistle whispers past the trees– following you. His voice. Nothing mattered anymore. Not your abandoned hatchet shrouded in dirt, not your legs burning as they hauled you forward– just those porch lights, just that door. Just your mama sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware of your absence, your empty bed. Nothing mattered, not even the swift crack sent to the back of your head, or the sound of your body hitting the ground. All of this could've been avoided if you had just heeded your mama’s warning–
“By nightfall, stay out of them woods.
That’s the devil’s playground.”
–┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈–
Sunlight pierced through the shabby planks of wood nailed together by a faded dream of home, the light spilling onto the dust-kept floors. The low voice of your mother rang out, “Get that thing off my table,” she nagged, nodding her head toward the red cloak blanketing the dining table. “I didn't spend hours sewing that damn thing together for you t’just leave it wherever.” She sighed for a moment before her attention returned to the blade beneath her palm. She blinked away tears, holding her head back away from the freshly-cut onions on her cutting board and brushing wet, thin hands onto her lavender slip. “Make sure you get all your work done, chores n’ all that.”
You shuffled forward out of the shadow cowering from the sunlight, skin of sienna. Your clothes draped over your body, long and heavy like you'd been wearing someone else's, not quite meant to fit you. Your hair fell over your face, braided into all sorts of different ways. Some twisted, string netting over the hair, some braided with beads and charms hugging them tight, and a few locks interwoven with feathers from ravens and crows falling over your collarbones. The two most noticeable braids of your hair were much longer, flowing down over your back nearly to your waist. Long, just like your daddy’s. You pull the red hood from the dust-ridden table– worn and chipped, holding it in your hands for a moment. She had woven in black, leather strings that overlapped the collar, where you'd pull it tight. Most likely taken from her corset. Tribal patterns laced the material, the hood lined with grey wolf fur. A fond memory of him setting the fur on the back of the dining room chair etches into the back of your mind.
“You know how I feel about you just leavin’ anythin’ on my damn table,” she huffed, her hand settled at her hip as she leaned against the wooden counter. A stray curl fell over her cheek– her raven hair pulled into a bun as she smiled, doing her best to fake annoyance. It'd been sweltering all that day, and mama had spent all her time cleaning without pause. She refused to have the house any other way than spotless. Your daddy stepped forward, brushing the curl from her face and behind her ear. You watched with a smile as your daddy leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on her forehead, her arms wrapped around his neck. “Habit, I’m sorry.” His voice was gruff and thick, as if it was snuffed deep in an ashtray. “Won't happen again, pisa achukma.”
The closest memory of him flickers like an open flame, but the moment it greets itself to the confines of your mind, you snuff it out– your eyes flitting to your mama’s face growing stoic. She folded her arms over her chest in mild irritation. She’d looked different than how she used to last spring. Her weight had dropped– her body nearing frail and thin. Her eyes looked tired, sunken. She brushed a few crumbs from a dented wooden chair with mild irritation before plopping down in her seat. The on-stretching silence was then interrupted, her voice cutting through your thoughts like a clearing.
“We gon’ talk now or do I gotta keep playin’ mind reader?” Your mouth grew sour, tongue pliant and useless. Right. The incident. Your eyes fall over your new hood– to the burned edges that had ripped into the rim of the cloak, to where it's singed and scorched black on what used to be your father’s blanket his mother had gifted to him– who you couldn't even give the courtesy of naming your grandma on account of never being blessed the chance to meet the woman. “Y’can’t just keep this ‘vow of silence’ up forever, baby. I know it hurts, god, I know–” she sucks in a breath, her hand on her chest. Head held high as always. She'd never break in front of you– she swore it. “But you are all I got left now. We gotta play this safe, okay?” The floorboards creak beneath her feet as she steps forward. How small you must look to her– eyes tired, heavy. “All that pain and nowhere to put it,” she'd say.
It'd been nearing a few weeks since what happened to daddy. If you blinked, you could still smell copper in the air, bitter beneath your tongue– how the fire stained the red of his blanket, burning into a thick smoke of black, Daddy throwing Mama that hatchet, woven in red patterns and string– tossing away his only defense, how his body burned; the sick smell of flesh peeling away like an onion. You weren't there for all of it, just the aftermath– rushing out of your Aunt’s with bare feet onto the paved bedding. Mama’s cries pierced your ears, almost drowning out the sound of those white men laughing. Tires skid against the dry dirt coughing up dust, circling around his burning body in their trucks like wolves to a lamb. Predators to prey. Soft thumbs brush away fallen tears you hadn't realized were welling in your eyes, blurring your vision. Those almond eyes, big and brown, blinked away the salty beads of tears staining your lashes.
“Look, y’know I'll always be there for you. I got you no matter what we goin’ through. This ain't the first time we've gone through shit together, and it damn sure won't be the last. I was here when you told me you were–” she pauses, resting her hands on your shoulders and squeezing lightly. She crooks a finger beneath your chin, pulling your gaze upward to meet her own. “You’ll always be my baby,” she hesitated. “My son.” Her eyes were teary, dark brown eyes darting between your own. “We're all we got now. I need you to know that. Don't go dark on me, too, okay? Anyone else but me.” You found yourself nodding slowly, a tear trickling down your cheek. For weeks, you had kept yourself numb after what happened. And yet, warmth enveloped you as she wrapped her arms around you. “‘S gon’ be okay. We'll be okay.” Your hands were splayed over her back. Your fingers met the cotton of her slip dress, the pad of your index tapping slowly, three times. You could feel her smile against the crown of your head, pressing in with a small kiss. “I love you too.”
The smallest memory tickled the back of your mind, of you and your daddy’s hideout. Where you'd camp under the stars guiding moonlight over their makeshift fort. Maybe that's how it happened– the memory of his fingers strumming his guitar trickled down and broke open and shattered all sorts of reasoning in your mind. Any sensibility out the window for you to end up here. Going out at night was forbidden, now that daddy was gone. A sharp pang of defiance hit your chest. You refused to bury the last parts of your daddy's memory. His body was enough.
So you waited. Waited until the sky fell into night, until the hallway had gotten quiet and mama's soft snoring was all that filled the silence. And it did. The sun had soon faded with the bright, blue sky washing into black, the stars burning into a clouded night. You slowly pulled the front door closed, tucking your daddy’s worn hatchet into his gun holster, a large hole torn into the leather to fit the handle. Just in case. You crept off of the front porch and onto the grassless, beaten path, fresh oil lamp in hand. You'd been down this road countless times, the leaves on the trees swaying in sync with the blades of grass. The burning glow of fireflies led you toward the underbrush off the path.
The path mama said you're not supposed to leave. The path your daddy carved out for you that mama didn't know about. Make no mistake– your daddy wasn't careless. He had rushed out of the house that day yelling your name until his voice was hoarse only to find you running up to him with big, doe eyes and grinning from ear to ear, cupping a frog in your hands that you found by the riverbank beyond the trees shrouding the edge of the house. How could he stand there, chest heaving laboriously and deny you of your curiosity? There was only one rule– Don't cross the white line. A rule he had made very clear since you were old enough to sit out on the porch by yourself. You remember watching him draw a line in white chalk across the somber edges of the forest from your little makeshift tent.
Branches and leaves scratch at your legs, your fingers brushing against the skin of the trees like home. Red and white paint spotted them– an indicator you and your daddy used to find your way back home. You pushed deeper into the darkened woods, past the cypress trees. Your nails scraped at the roughened bark, hurried footsteps into the bed of grass. You hummed a soft song, voice high and sweet, cracking open for the first time all month like yolk breaking free from its shell. A song your mama taught you that she learned when she was a girl. “Through the dark, I wade,” you muttered. “As if in its glory days.” Brushing the hair from your face, the sweat begins to slick your skin. “Knowing all my tears and rage,” you hummed, high and reminiscent. “Could load a revolver.” Firelights burned bright in darkness, the sound of rushing water lulling you in deeper. Almost there. Hand prints in red and white paint stained the trees from when you were a mere girl. Before the thought of being able to become something higher struck your fancy. Before you had bound your chest in bandages, and long before the ache in your ribs had faded with time.
Mama used to tease you, saying that you didn't have much to show. Said they were itty-bitty, like yellow buds of magnolias before they'd even got to bloom– before white petals fell open with age. That was before she knew, before you told her. Suddenly all those small teasing words fell short. She had grown quiet. “You know I love you right?” her voice was soft as milk and honeydew, cupping your cheek. She held you like glass, so fragile and easy to break. Because you were. “No matter what you call yourself. You'll always be mine.” Her weary arms wrapped around your small frame. Almost as if the universe knew before you did. Your curves were stunted– chest small and unfulfilled, yet your hair grew in their stead, falling past your shoulders like silk. When daddy passed, you’d cut a large amount– the hair around your face no longer needing to be pulled back behind your shoulder blades. Mama helped braid and twist the rest of it, like she had seen some foreign girls have them. Yet you kept the pools of hair down your back long, braided tight. As if you’d left that part of yourself behind– who you used to be when daddy was still breathing softly against your skin as you laid your head out on his chest that warm day in May.
You stopped in your tracks. A small glint of glass catching your eye, the rust had set heavy on the oil lamp. You moved forward slowly, kneeling before your hideout. It'd been a long time since you'd visited, the candle burned to the end of its wick, curling in on itself as if it had spent its flame waiting for your return. Your eyes catch on the line drawn with chalk right at the edge of the tent. Pushing the lamp smothered in ash and wax aside, you replace it with the one fresh from the house. Crawling inside, you made yourself home again beneath the old blankets soaked dry since the skies last mourned daddy’s passing with you. Digging your hands under the pillows and blankets, you pause the moment your fingers brush against it– the strings of daddy’s guitar. Slowly, you pulled it into his lap– its body too big and bulky for you to blanket it comfortably, not meant for the two of you to slot together like daddy did with it. You hook the band over your shoulders while soft pads of skin strum at the cords, a low hum thrumming into the open air. The air shifts, a push from the wind blows the stray hairs from your face. Your nail scratches at the strings, palm hugging the nape of the guitar. Thin fingers press deep into the cords and the guitar whines. The sound of voice flies high and soft into the air like lace, intricacies falling from your lips.
“Slip off down to sleep,” you murmur. A song you'd nearly forgotten, your eyes fall shut as you serenade the sky with practiced words. “I’ll be waitin’ for your open arms– with cold to keep, until you feel yourself dragging down–” The hush of leaves blowing in the wind seemed to slow, the woods growing quiet. Your strumming grew louder, bolder as your voice rang out. “–the fitted sheets. Your home is nothing more to me than shelter for your heart– a heart that bleeds,” you hums. “It bleeds for me.” Your hand slows against the open void of the guitar. For a moment, there's nothing but the low whisper of the breeze slotted between the leaves and blades of grass. For a moment, you don't notice the air shifting, cold settling on your skin, only feeling your fingers pin the cords of the guitar.
A chill crawls down your spine, making itself known. It forces your eyes open with a quiet gasp. And then, you see it. How the cypress trees seem to bend and groan around it, the fireflies’ lights dulling. A figure– a man. Tall with broadened shoulders and stalk still. The silhouette stood there, shrouded in darkness. Almost as if he was waiting for you to notice his presence. As if the chill in the air wasn't enough of an introduction. He just stood there– with his weight leaned against one leg, hands sewn into his pockets.
It was surreal– unnerving, even. No croaking of the frogs leaping from the river’s edge, no chirping of the crickets– just silence. You could hear the thump of your heart, blood pounding in your ears as you remained still, frozen like a deer at the end of a rifle’s barrel. Adrenaline began to pool within your stomach, your gut twisting into knots. For a moment, you almost convinced yourself it was just an odd shadow, until the figure cocked his head, his arms rising into a slow clap. Each clap sent an echo cracking through the forest, the man beginning to amble toward you.
“Now that was just beautiful. Truly,” You stumbled, forcing yourself to rise to your feet– your hand swiftly grazed the hatchet in your makeshift holster, hood slipping from your head, folding back against your neck. The man paused with raised hands, halting any further movement closer toward you, just a few feet before the line drawn in chalk. Shadows clouded his face from the neck up, pale skin making itself known in the moonlight. A man– a white man. “Woah woah, hey. I don't mean no harm,” he soothed with a deep southern drawl, the words dripped from his lips as if his voice had doused a fire in honey. “I just happened t’hear yer singin’ as I was walkin’ by. Didn't wanna scare y’off.”
You take your time eyeing the man before you. His collar was loose and near sweat-drenched, the glint of a small, gold chain wrapped his collarbones, the light blue cuffs of his sleeves pulled tight at his wrists. Dark suspenders lined his torso and down his back, a makeshift band splayed across his chest, presumably for an instrument on his back. You stayed quiet, white-knuckling the hatchet at your side. The man ducked his head forward and out of the shadows, short black curls slicked his forehead in sweat. Every move the man took was measured, yet deliberate. “My name's Remmick.” You slid the hatchet from the holster, gripping it by the nape of wood just before the blade. Nothing about this man was natural. His lopsided grin gave him the chills and he seemed more relaxed than normal to be threatened with a hatchet. What's a white man doing in the middle of the woods at night, anyway? By himself?
Every inch of the man rang false, every part of your body screamed danger. The man's deep, brown eyes seem to shine in the dark, darting down to your iron-grip. “No need to be on high alert. I swear, I meant no harm. S’just–” he spoke, his body language suddenly shifting as he gestures into the open air. “Well, when I heard yer voice, I was just curious– I mean that was a damn near siren call. Thought I was bein’ lured in by some angel, maybe worse.” he chuckles. The corners of his mouth curl upward with awkward, yet playful amusement, like he'd been waiting for you to laugh. Your gaze flits to the glint of his teeth briefly, unsure.
You remain unmoving from your place, feet anchored into the dirt behind the line. Remmick’s smile fades, nodding his head softly in understanding as his finger undulates across the side of his neck, the sound of his nail lightly scratching skin filling the silence between you. “My mistake, didn't mean’ta set ya off ‘r nothin’.” he reluctantly turns on his heel, glancing down at the guitar in your hand before he leaves. You let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding as the man takes a few steps away and “–Wait a second,” he pauses, spinning right back around and sauntering forward. Your nerves rake up against your spine, defensive. “Is that–? Nah, it can't be…” You must've made a face of obvious confusion, because the man jabs a finger at the guitar in your hand. “Sorry, s’just– I knew a man who had a guitar just like that one in yer hand. Ah, what was his name again..?” He pressed a finger to his lips as if he was trying to recall something. Just this once, you leaned forward, eyes hopeful. “Started with’a…S–” You took a step forward, finding feeling in his legs. “You knew my daddy?” you asked, sucking in a breath of desperation.
Hook, line and sinker.
Remmick pauses, not quite looking in your direction as he nods along. “Yeah, yeah I knew ‘im. We was good friends.” he paused, like he needed to collect his thoughts. “Not for long, heard somethin’ happened. Matter a’fact, I was actually headin’ this way to check up on ‘im.” Your heart dips in disappointment for a moment before the man speaks again, “Wait a minute– yer his…” You don't miss the way the man’s eyes roll over your frame, and you swallow down a shudder of humiliation.
“Son. I'm his son.” You fill in with false confidence, voicing pitching up. Who on earth would believe that? Swinging the guitar over your shoulder to rest against your back, your hand fidgets at the holster at your side, slowly pushing the hatchet back into its leather. Remmick gives an absent nod in understanding, hand resting over his hip. Pretending not to notice. “Well, I hope he's all right–” Deciding to hopefully spare yourself from words of lithe pity, you quickly interject, “He's dead.” You did your best to hide the tremble of a newborn doe’s legs in your voice, unsure why you're willingly offering up so much information at the mere mention of your daddy.
The man’s small smile falters for a moment, settling into a deep frown. You could comment on how something had shifted in the way he looked at you. Maybe with understanding, maybe sadness, maybe something more. “Ah,” He bows his head in respect, dragging his hand against his chest and over his thin, mussed dress shirt. “‘M sorry for yer loss…hm, that there’s’a real shame.” he sighed. There was a beat of silence before you spoke again– spoke more than a few words for the first time in weeks. “How'd.. how'd you know him?” you asked, suddenly growing confidence in his voice. Even bold enough to take a step forward. The man stood still for a moment, his eyes flicking to your dirt-washed leather boot breaching ever closer toward the line with a small smile that made your stomach swirl with unease. He tilts his head, curious.
Quiet for a moment, as if he'd been enjoying the silence– how you lingered with bated breath. “Yer sure bein’ careful not to step on over this line. Why is that? What's it for?” he questions, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Y’sure yer supposed to be out here on yer own so late at night?” You stilled in confusion at how hard the conversation had shifted, and whatever brief connection you had flickered– dimmed. You gave a brief and uncertain nod. The man mirrored the tilt of his head, doubtful. His eyes squinted, casting a sliver of moonlight over his eyes. “Nevermind,” you mumbled, feeling dumb for prying at old stories about some man and a ghost. Twigs crunched beneath your feet as you slowly pulled away, his eyes trailing after you. “Sorry for askin’. Goodnight, sir.” you muttered awkwardly, shuffling away from him and the interaction alone. As you walked away, his voice echoed behind you. “I could tell ya. Nothin’ but small stories to share…but I'd rather tell ya while I make sure you get home okay. S’not safe to be wanderin’ out alone in these woods.”
You paused, pulling your gaze from the trees before you and turning on your heels once again to face him. This time, you stepped closer than you had before, your boots toeing a hair over the line. This wasn't foolish, was it? You'd be getting home safe, swapping stories with a man who knew your father…but at the cost of him knowing where you live. You could already hear Mama’s voice, shrill and angry. “What did I tell you about strangers? Let alone a white man?! I don’t give a damn if he knew the first lady– you don't talk to strangers!” You hesitate, briefly giving him a once-over with furrowed brows. “You're not… some kinda killer or thief are you?” Remmick gives a dry chuckle, hollow, as he steps forward. Only a few inches bordered the space between you two. “You think your daddy’s the type to be friends with men like that?” he asks, the question not needing a response. Your hand laced around the handle of your hatchet falls to your side, shoulders dropping slightly with a small sigh.
You turn on your heel, eyes never leaving the man as you wait for him to follow before he speaks again, “That mean I'm chaperonin’?” The question slips from his lips like a joke, but he makes no effort to move, his hands pulled tightly behind his back, as if he was genuinely waiting for an answer. You slowly nod, “It's fine, I don't mind,” you insisted. “If my daddy trusted you, I guess I can too.” The man gives a borderline wolfish grin, walking over the threshold languidly. He took his time, keeping himself a few steps just behind you, voice low and lazy. “Lead the way, darlin’.”
You ignore the way the nickname had sewn shivers into your spine, along with the small brush of heat sent straight to your stomach. Your boots crunched against the brittle rocks beneath your soles, the shudder of the leaves in the wind filling the silence. You didn't have to turn to know his gaze was fixed onto you. His footsteps were quiet, eerily quiet for a man that walked without a care in the world or a place to be. You ignored the unsettling presence stretching into the air, deciding against your better judgement for dry, small talk.
“So, how'd you meet my dad?” You didn't bother to crane your neck to speak, figuring there'd be no need to. It did nothing to ease the sickly feeling in your gut festering as the man rasped behind you. “Got into some trouble I couldn't get out of.” he answered, oddly dry. There was a stark difference in how he'd been acting a few minutes ago to now. For a man who seemed to know a lot about your daddy, he sure spoke of him in few words. In fact, the only consistent sound between them were his ragged breaths, seemingly only growing louder. Almost as if he was…getting closer? You couldn't help but sneak a glance at him.
He had been walking behind you the same distance as before, but he looked…off. Looked distracted, as if the distance had been intentional. You watched as his eyes lazily shifted from the trees to the lake, occasionally down the beaten path you'd been walking. It didn’t look like he was waiting for anything to happen, no. Besides, it was rare for wolves and bears to keep company on this side of the woods, let alone any man. No, in fact, it was like he was memorizing everything around him. He rolled his wrist in his palm, his thumb brushing over a vein. The grip he had on himself looked tight, strained. You could see his jaw clenching from the spill of moonlight. Was he in pain? Why would he be? Why now? His eyes snap to meet your own, the slight cock of his head causes you to quickly pry your eyes away from him like skin from an open flame. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment at getting caught openly ogling the man, hoping you hadn't given him any false promises or ideas. You hesitated to open your mouth again to break the silence, but it seemed he’d noticed the uncomfortable stretch of silence between you two this time, speaking first. You could feel his eyes sliding down over your frame, a little longer than necessary. “That’s'a real nice cape you got there, fits ya real nice.”
“Thanks,” you whispered, bowing your head slightly into a nod. You tried to keep your focus on the path ahead, your hand brushing against familiar trees stained with you and your daddy’s handprints. If he noticed, he made no mention of it, continuing on about your clothes as you peered past the branches and leaves shrouded in shadows. “Reminds me of that lil’ story they read to li’l lads much younger than you, ‘Little Red Riding Hood’,” he droned. Quietly noting the slight shift of his accent, you hum in response, making sure you didn't come off as dismissive despite your desperate longing for silence. He continues on, and you make no effort to shut him down from the unnecessary amount of conversation between the two of you. It'd be impolite.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of it,” he carried on, no doubt unaware of your complete lack of interest in a discussion about your appearance. You had enough of that already. You decided not to comment on how much he spoke of you compared to your daddy for only knowing you a short while. “A lil' girl, skippin’ about in the woods for her mama to go visit her sick grandma…” he pauses, and you could hear his tongue slicking over his lips. You restrain yourself from a full-body shudder in case he’d notice, and he pushed on, his steps a little louder with every drag of his feet. “Basket full of bread n’ everythin’ else, and then she runs into this… big, bad wolf.” A sick feeling settles into your stomach again as the sound of his tone shifts a little lower and into something foreign. Your pace stutters almost imperceptibly– almost, the hairs rising at the nape of your neck. You quickly blanket the sudden fear with a scoff, ignoring how your throat runs dry. “Right, so if I'm supposed to be ‘Red Riding Hood’, does that mean you’d be the big bad wolf?” you ask, burying the question in humor over your terror, not even bothering to hide the brief look over your shoulder.
There’s a small flicker of something dark and heavy pooling in his eyes– like oil as he laughs, too hearty to settle your nerves. As if it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. It was beyond eery. Some strange man who showed up out of nowhere, walking you home with promises of stories about your daddy, only for him to ramble on about children's tales. “I just think she was mighty impolite. Thing is– lil’ Red could’ve just shared some of her treats. Not like it would've harmed anybody,” he rambled on, as if he wasn’t drinking the terror itching beneath your skin. “‘S awfully rude to chat up a storm ‘bout someone else’s hot meal in front of someone starved of one.” His voice had sunk into a deep rasp, pulling fear out of you like wool from a spindle.
You halted in your tracks, the lights of your front porch luminous in the far distance. Spinning around to face him like bullets locked in a chamber, your voice cut through his, sharp– the kind of tone your daddy taught you to use when you meant business. “Thanks for walking me home, sir,” you could hear the slight tremor in your voice, falling short of the business end. Remmick falters, his legs sputtering into a stop, the smile he wore long gone. Whether it was the trees’ branches curled over his head or your imagination, a shadow had cast over his eyes. “I can get there myself now.” you reassured him, keeping your forced smile brief as you gave a curt nod off. He cocks a brow, amused. “Well, I didn't walk all this way just to be left here in the woods without makin’ sure you made it to the door.” he stated. His tone was definite, not combative– almost like he was testing how far he could push your courtesy, which had already been stretched thin. “I'm sorry to have wasted your time, but I really should be going now.” you bowed your head, stepping backward. He follows, taking a step forward in turn. “Y’really don't get it, do you lambkin?” Any shred of playfulness had been stripped from his voice, his tone bare and heavy. “I had no intention of lettin’ you up n’ leave, not without a lil’ taste, anyway.”
An echo of dread sinks into your bones, shaky legs stumbling backward. And again, he follows, his hands still clenched behind his back. Every inch of your body is screaming to fight, run, anything to get away from him. The air between you grew thick as fear settled into your nerves. Remmick inhales, breathing in deep. “Y’know, I can smell you from here. Can hear yer lil’ heart beatin’ out of yer chest there.” he rasped. Instinctively, your hand clutches your hatchet, drawing it from your holster. He clicks his tongue, sauntering forward. “I wasn't lyin’ when I said I find it rude to dangle a hot meal in front of someone starved.” he confessed, now close enough to flick a lock of hair from your face. The moon filtered through the clouds, revealing a silver lustre over his eyes. Saliva lined over his chin, thick and white as his voice rumbled. “‘N yer all I got, lil’ Red.”
Without hesitation, you grip the splintering wood of your hatchet, swinging it deep into the cave of his shoulder, the wedge of it dipping into his collarbone. Blood rolled from his shoulder in waves, drenching his sky-washed, collared shirt in nothing but red. Remmick howled in pain, staggering as he clutched the handle protruding from his shoulder. “Fuck!” he growled, chest heaving something fierce with eyes drawn back to you. Slowly, he wrenched the hatchet from his flesh, and the sound of his bones slickened with blood cracking drew in nausea from you as you watched. You don't bother lingering, fleeing down the small incline and toward those porch lights that felt miles away. You spare a glance behind you to see Remmick just standing there, throwing the hatchet down into the softened dirt. Fire had burned over those silver, moonlit eyes as he called for you, his voice echoing through the forest. “Runnin’ will get ya nowhere, lil’ lamb. There ain’t nowhere you can hide under moonlight where I won't find you.”
And here you are, your legs burning like wax to a flame. Your hand shot out to shield you from a larger branch nearly thwacking you in the face. Closer, I can see the light. The trees seemed to part for you like water as you pushed forward. You ignored the burn of your lungs as the air grew thin, grasping at the air desperately to catch your breath. Your heart pounding with fear was an understatement, every ounce of blood in your body singing to get home. And then, darkness. You could hear your body fall to the ground with a reverberated thud.
┄─━ ࿅ ༻ ♱ ༺ ࿅ ━─┄
Your head swam, nausea never fading. A small blur of Remmick sat across from you, and too many fingers to count strum at the banjo in his lap. You did your best to blink into your vision focus. “Where is..where I–” Remmick’s head shot up, his voice ringing out like bells as laughter bubbled into the open air.
“Ho–ly shit. Almost knockin’ the livin’ daylights outta you must’ve givin’ you a concussion there, sweetheart.” He's quick on you before you can blink, gentle hands grazing over… something over your ankle. Something tight, numbing. The stark comparison to how he'd been before to now made your head spin. Your head burns white-hot with pain, your eyes sliding your gaze over him to watch as he hovers above you. “Careful how yer lookin’ at me there, darlin’,” he admonished, pulling his hands away from you and settling back into his chair, his arms folded over the back as he leaned forward. “Ain't nothin’ stoppin’ me from killin’ you and takin’ what I want–” your gaze fell down to the cotton sheets you sat on, your back against the headboard while he continued on. “But I consider myself’a gentleman. Yeah– I need you to know me.” Your eyes fluttered closed, wanting nothing more than to drift off. You would've– if it weren't for the snap of Remmick’s fingers pulling you further into consciousness. “Ah-ah, hey, don't go noddin’ off on me now. Where are you?” His words slipped into your head as you stirred, realization sinking in. Where are you? Your eyes darted from the walls to the soft bed beneath you. Not your walls, not your bed. Not your home. “I..I don't–” Remmick nods. “That's right, you don't know.” he scolded, like he owned the right to be disappointed. “I oughta think that would've woken you up a lil’ faster there, lambkin.”
And it does. You jolt forward from the bed, snagging your foot at the edge of the mattress as you tried to pull your legs underneath you. Your eyes drift down to the rope tied firmly around your ankle, caught on the bed post. Your boots had been taken off, tossed into the corner of the room. Remmick's eyes follow your own, untangling the rope tethering you to the wooden leg, his movements slow and languid– like you weren't trapped with him. You hauled your legs from the edge, pulling away from his touch like a burn. He pulled away as well, leaning back against his chair. Silence laced the air between the two of you. No, he’d been quiet, like he'd been waiting for you to speak. Not that you needed permission. Your lips part with a slight tremble, voice dry and brittle. “Are you going to kill me?”
He pauses, allowing silence to linger once again, possibly entertaining the idea. “I could. ‘M capable. I mean, what would yer old man say ‘bout you talkin’ to strangers?” Your mouth grew sour, the taste swimming over the bed beneath your tongue. “Don't talk about him.” you grit out, the words snapping from your jaw. The walls around you seemed to creak and groan, breathing you in, tasting your defiance. Or maybe you were just deluded. Remmick stood, pulling his chair around to sit properly. He leaned back with a tilt of his head, legs spread and inviting. “Careful,” he warned, words short and stern. “Y’ain’t got no one here to save you now, lil’ lamb.” Remmick leaned forward, that red sliver in his eyes returning. “Now, I've been nothin’ but kind to you. Gave you my name– my company. There's nothin’ I hate more than my gifts bein’ taken for granted.” he rumbled.
Your tongue laid pliant in your mouth, useless. Didn't seem like the time to be mouthy, anyway. Deft fingers drew over the wooden footer, tracing lines and patterns near your foot. “You ain't give me as much of a ‘hello’, singin’ high n’ sweet over yer daddy’s guitar. Took my interest in you as a threat.” he drawled, almost melancholic. “‘S been years since I shared company with anyone...” he trailed off. Scarred knuckles graze the bare skin of your ankle. “Since I've eaten. Properly.” he admitted. “‘M tired of settlin’ for filth. Need me somethin’ sweet…” he murmured, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes flit to meet your own.
Terror settled into your skin, drawing your legs tight over your chest. He sighs, slipping his hand away. “I can strike a deal with you, y’know. You wanna know what really happened to yer daddy.” he avouched. “Wanna know the names of the sons of bitches that killed ‘em too.” his voice dips low, telling. Your ears perk up slightly, enough for him to notice. “If you give me what I want, I'll give you everythin’ yer pretty little beatin’ heart desires and more.” he tempted, sin spilling from his lips with practiced ease.
Anyone else knew better. Anyone else would say no to those sweet little words– knew they sunk into your soul with a weight you couldn't carry. But you didn't care about knowing better, there was nothing else you needed to know besides curing the heartache he'd left you with. Mama's words fell on deaf ears as you sighed. You leered at the man before you, measured. He looked sweaty, shirt stained of moisture and blood from the gash you had given him earlier, the shirt torn open from his shoulder. Looked as if it'd been healing up nicely while you were knocked unconscious. Shock couldn't have been drawn any more from you. You knew what he was when saliva dribbled from his mouth, fire burned within his eyes– he was the devil, coming before you to bear you his humble gifts. “What is it you want?”
“Ain't it obvious?” he asked, with a tilt of his head. A habit he had, you noticed. He didn't elaborate, not needing to with the way his eyes raked over your frame. “Tomorrow morning, you’ll wake up to a name. Whether it's carved into a wall, inked into a sheet of paper or whispered into your ear...you’ll know it was me who gave it to you,” he stated. “‘N after yer done, I'll be there that night after you’ve killed him to give you another– that n’ more.” You sputter, cutting through his words as your brain tried to process what he was saying. “Wha-what happens if I can't kill him in a day? What If I need time?” He grins, wolfish– the same grin he gave you in the woods. “Then it'll take as long as it takes, darlin’. If y’need my help, just whisper my name after sunfall n’ I’ll be there. But no matter how long it takes, I'll still be there after every kill. To take what's mine.” You let in a shaky breath. “I'll do it.
“‘M sure you would at the thought alone darlin’, but I need t’know you mean it. I need a first.” he avowed, nodding in a matter-of-fact way. “A first?” you parroted in confusion. He nodded again, “A first of yours. Somethin’ you've never offered up, never shared. First kill, first shed of blood…” his gaze kept to the floors before his next words, locking on your own. “...first kiss.” A shiver runs down your spine as you mull over sharing any of your firsts with the creature– the devil. The silence doesn't last long, as he speaks again with a sickening, polished grin.
“So, what's it gonna be?”
┄─━ ࿅ ༻ ♱ ༺ ࿅ ━─┄
Red fell from your shoulders as he loosened the strings of your cloak, unburdened by the memory of your father as your mind begins to cloud in need with his lips on your own, his tongue pushing past teeth. Remmick’s hands were slow pulling away your dark and dirt-mudded shirt, unbuttoning the cuffs. “Sweet boy,” he murmured, low and heavy. “So good for me.” he cants, and he's wrong. You were being anything but good, spread open under the devil’s touch, far from home as your mama slept sound. Couldn't even leave a note, not that you would've. Not that you could bare your shame to the disappointment in her eyes, after coveting your lust– your need.
You're pulled away from the thought as a finger hooked into your bandages wound tight over your chest. You made a shamefully poor attempt to stop him, your hands too heavy and heated. The bandages barely fall from your skin before his mouth is on you. He moves to the dulled swell of your chest with rapt attention, his tongue laving over a nipple, the back of your hand rushes over your mouth as you stifle a moan. “Ah-ah, none of that now,” he rumbled, reverent. “You ain't gon’ rob me of hearin’ you fall apart for me pretty.” His teeth graze over, nipping at the bud and you honest-to-god whimper, writhing in his arms. He gives the other the same treatment– the same attention and care, a peek of his tongue sending you further over the edge. His jaw slacks, moaning into your skin as he moves his head down, down, down past loosened bandages. You made a noise of protest, head slumped against the pillows. “I don't– I'm not…I can't–” He hushes your sweet cries, the words uselessly slurred on your tongue.
“Yer body don't gotta be made to sin for me to crave it, darlin’.” Your head lolls to the side, granting him easy access. His lips trail over your skin, your throat bare and open for him. A whimper breaks out from deep in your chest, fire thrumming in your veins, your stomach pooling heat only he could swim in. “See, sweet thing?” he hums, tongue lapping at the soft of your neck. “Look how easy you open up for me once you see how good I can make it for you.” His hands strum heat from you with the barest of touch, your body caving in to want more than anything. “Such a pretty lil’ thing, all limp and wantin’...” Nails rake over the expanse of your tummy, fingertips tracing your wants like a man starved. Your eyes flutter, coated in a clouded haze when he reaches below your navel. Your head swims, hesitance no longer holding you back as you card soft fingers in his hair. He groans– like you were sin handed to him over silver.
He made himself room between your thighs, thighs bracketing his face. Tasting you wasn't enough, he needed to be buried into your bones. He hardly needed invitation for what he was doing to you, your head turned mush at every touch. You threw an arm over your face, humiliation burning into you under his scrutiny, those dark eyes stilled over you. “Don't feel shame, lambkin,” He coos softly, pulling your arm away. He guides your hand over the slack of his jaw, caving into your touch. “Feel me.” Your lips trembled as you spoke, and god– is that how you sounded? Your voice was all high and sweet as you spoke. “‘M not made right– don't look how I wanna down..down there.” Remmick glowered, like he couldn't bother to hide his annoyance in your words. Like you had no right.
His hands showering you in warmth as he pulls you apart further– your thighs open wide. “A meals’a meal, darlin’. You think ‘m gon’ complain how it's made?” he chuckled, the sound reverberating through you as he pulled away your slacks, tossing them without a care in the word. He marveled at the sight of you, cunt soaked beneath thin cotton. “Fuck,” he groaned, tugging away your underwear. “You might be more than I can handle, sweetness.” He blew cold into your skin, reveling in the way you shuddered beneath him.
His tongue bathed in you, hooking your legs over his shoulders as he lavished your clit with attention. He relished how your back bowed, whining softly into open air. He laved over your cunt, salt-slick from his insistence. “Oh, you treat me so sweet,” he panted, starved. “Wound up with heaven in my hands.” His thumb rolled over your clit, roughened hands pushing you further sensitive. “All it took was talkin’ you into it a lil’, showin’ you how good it could be.” You were anchored in the feeling of him, his hands– his touch the only thing keeping you leveled. Your name left his lips against his will, wanting to keep the letters buried beneath his tongue. “So, so good. Laid out all pretty for me.” He choked back a whimper at your taste, salt melting away to your sweetness, innocence on his tongue. He knew you could be good like this, he just had to dig it out of you a bit. Your stomach coiled, taut with heat as you white-knuckled his curls.
Your chest burned, only satiated by Remmick’s tongue– his touch. “Please, it hurts,” you sobbed, tears staining your cheeks. He pauses, slowly pulling back with slight worry. “Hurts without you touching– make it go away, please.” you begged, the small tremor of your lips sealing your need. His mouth opened in a silent “ah” in understanding, hand cupping your jaw softly. “Forgot about that. Y’Had me worried for a minute there, sweetness,” His thumb trails over your lips, pushing past them and sitting heavy on your tongue. You sigh, appreciative– grateful for his attention. Something you'd never come to know without the foreign heat pooling in your tummy. “A lil’ somethin’ I forgot to tell you when I showed you my lil’ magic trick– when I do it, yer body is commanded to need me– my presence, my touch. Me. You were made mine before I even got t’lay my hands all over you, lil’ lamb.”
His words were garbled under your open sobs, the way he wanted you. “Oh, don't you worry now, it'll wear off. Eventually.” he mutters, mouth on you once again, drinking you in. Seconds pass into minutes of him wrenching pleasure out of you, his mouth coated in slick. It’s only when he wrings you of your first orgasm does he give you more. Then, and only then, does he push those thick fingers past the tight ring of your cunt. You cry out, lips all puffy and pink. He doesn't stop, just slows. Pushing, pushing them into you. You instinctively wrap your hand around his wrist, not stopping him, just holding it there. Bracing. He sighed into the soft of your neck, your blood pulsating beneath your skin. “Been waitin’ for somethin’ like you for long, long time…” he whispers. “I can feel fire in your blood, sweetness. Can feel how it's pulsin’ for me.” His eyes flit to your own as he manages to tear himself from your neck. “Can I, pretty? Would’ya be so kind, hm? Jus’ a lil’ taste…please–” he babbles, his resolve cracking like porcelain. You feel yourself nod, unsure what you're even agreeing to, not even really caring. All that occupied your mind was heat, pure and raw. It was an afterthought when you felt Remmick nip at your neck, blemishing the skin. And then…
Teeth prick your skin as he sinks his teeth down, deep into your throat bared for him. Your mouth opens, the air peeled from your lungs as cold washes over your skin. Something trickles from your neck, fervid. And Remmick groans, something guttural. Tears blur your vision, echoes of Remmick lapping at your skin keep you lucid. He growls, muttering beneath your skin, something ancient. Some words you recognized, most you didn't. “Cho milis rium (So sweet to me),” he keens. “Mo uan milis, tha thu cho math. Cho umhail. (My sweet lamb, you're so good to me.)” His fingers piston into you without falter, curled to reach that sweet spot. You let out a broken sob, mewling into his ear. A shuddering breath is pressed against your shoulder, mumbles of ruin, broken in and soft in your ear. “So pretty– so good, fuck,” he lets out a breathy moan, a desperate, filthy thing. “Needed this– needed you, ‘n yer so sweet–”
He mouthed over your wound, hot breath coating your skin. Your eyes flutter shut, the sound of him fading in and out with your consciousness. He taps your thigh, insistent. Grounding. Your eyes open with warped focus, blurred, feeling something grinding into you– someone. Remmick had been rutting against you, peppering sloppy kisses along your jaw with blood-slickened lips. “Don’t go passin’ out on me, now. Need you nice n’– fuck, warm–” He was desperate, filthy words spewing from his tongue. “Need’ta fuck you. Tell me I can, don't stop me now, please.” his control wavered, slipping out of his grasp and coming undone over you. You nodded, and he swallowed dry. “Say it. C'mon, tell me.” he pleads with a languid grunt, the words rushed– as if shame burned his tongue in needing to beg you for it. “Need you,” you whisper, face flushed as warmth filled your head.
You don't know when you feel it. Maybe after the deep groan into the quiet, or the grip around your thigh, or maybe the first push– his hips sinking closer against you. Pressure. Filling you, holding you captive. It's slow at first– its release, before you feel it again, and again, and again. His cock pumping into you, those dark brown eyes shining slivers of red as he gapes at you. You writhe, whimpering soft. He hushes your small cries, his arms wrapping over you, hand cupping at the nape of your neck. It's enough for you to pull yourself from the haze, enough for you to cling to him. Heat builds in your tummy, and you clench around him, fervent. He moans into the shell of your ear, nothing but filthy squelching coating silence. Your nails bite into his back, digging into his shirt. Why does he still have that filthy thing on? You whine, fuckdrunk, and he notices with a huff of laughter. “I gotcha, sweet thing, fuck– I'll give’ya what’ya want.” he drawls, fucking into you with an unwavering pace. “Please, please–” He growls, a litany of filth spilling from his lips.
White brushes over and paints your vision, Remmick’s hips still snapping into you with fervor, wringing you dry of your orgasm and through the aftershocks of pleasure. Your hips fuck into the air, overstimulated. You weep, soft like silk. “Shh, s’okay. I can make it good, I promise, I'll make it so good.” he groans, greedy and debauched. He comes, pulling out and fucking slick and cum onto the sheets, like he didn't deserve to ruin you any further– to pump you full of sin. He sighs, his high settling as he brushes away tears from your eyes. The two of you pant into the open air, your skin sticky and glossed in sweat. A moment passes, a beat of silence, nothing but your sniffles before he returns. You hadn't even noticed he was gone. Something cold presses into your inner thigh, wet. It laves over your skin as your vision blurs, fighting sleep. “S’Alright. You can rest,” he assures, fingertips brushing over your navel. “You’ll see me again real soon.” The words etched into your consciousness as your vision blacked, exhaustion taking over you.
It’s only when you hear nails rake over the wood beside you do you startle awake, gasping a lungful. Your eyes dart around only to find yourself…in your room? Peering down at your chest, you half-expected bare skin, only to be covered in the same clothes you'd worn before. You scan the room, finding everything exactly how you had left it, except for two things– Your daddy's guitar posed in the corner of your room, leaning flush against the mahogany of the closet door. That, and your hatchet– buried deep into the cracked wood of your dresser. Your eyes roll over to where you'd heard the scratching in your sleep to see letters carved into the wood beneath the windowsill, forming a name. Donovan Greene.
Your jaw sets, lips pressed into a thin line as you toss your bed sheets aside, swinging your legs over the edge of your bed. You're thrown off by the sound of your mother hollering from the kitchen echoing into the narrow hallway, muffled by your bedroom door.
“Baby! Get up, you got work to do!”
helloooo i fell for your writing style 😭 i love it sm and saw your req is open so i want to test my luck dhwkkqoq. can i ask for bottom m!rd with sunday and aventurine 3p? reader loses a bet so he must take them both 😚 i wanna see reader being double penetrated when aventurine and sunday mock each other (maybe out of jealousy..) just ignore me if u feel uncomfy. tysm for your works, love them and you! have a nicee day/night 🥰
bet — sunday & aventurine
sunday x male reader x aventurine
requested!
you lost the bet.
a stupid card game with rules you barely understood, egged on by aventurine’s sweet-talking and sunday’s little smiles. you just played like a fool, confident you could bluff your way through.
but oh, you were wrong.
you should’ve known that the moment aventurine explained that there could only be one loser, all while looking at you with that signature grin of his!
“this is absolutey rigged,” you huffed, brows furrowed as you sat between the two of them, the game laid out on the table—some convoluted mess of cards and chips with rules only they seemed to understand.
— Summary: Childhood friends with the strongest sorcerer. But high school separates you, but oh! When you two became older, you met again. You thought Satoru was still Satoru. But guess, you are wrong!
— Warnings/Tags: Yandere!Satoru, Reader is older than Gojo (2 year gap), Ooc Gojo (?), Childhood friends to lovers, smut, semi-public sex, marking, Mentioned multiple rounds, Mostly Vanilla lol.
— Words: 2.4k
— A/N: yeah, perhaps this isn't one of my best works,, writerblock and work really drains the living shit out of me. but really, i enjoyed writing this. requests are now open btw! I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoy writing this !! <3 (spoilers, a new oc is coming up !)
— Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Male!reader.
You’ve known Satoru since practically diapers. From your childhood, you remembered vividly that you were known to eh the energetic one while Satoru was more of the quiet one.
You remembered that day you met with his blue eyes, informations about his curse technique, everything. Your parents, well. They expected you two wouldn’t be so close, in their eyes, you were two years older then him and you too were weaker then him. They thought Satoru wouldn’t even want to play with you or even took a glance. But they were very very very wrong.
Despite that you were older then him. Somehow, you were more like the child then Satoru. Satoru himself? He was like the older one. Even if people doesn’t know much about them, it’s was so easily mistaken between who’s older and who’s younger. Not to mentioned, Satoru was also slightly taller then you.
“Gojo!!” You were giggling as you showed the white haired boy the frog in your hand as the frog let out a small sound. “I found a little frog!! Take a look!!”
Satoru looked at you, titling his head, slowly inspecting the certain “frog”. “...That’s a toad.”
“But it’s cute, right!” You smiled brightly at him. He can practically saw small stars inside of it, thought he doesn’t say it. Satoru loved it that you were smiling at him.
Only at him. No one else. Only him.
However, when highschool roles around. Specifically in Tokyo Jujutsu, it’s somewhat difficult to believe that you and Satoru was somehow, separable. You were close with Kento Nanami and Yu Haibara. Personally, in your eyes. Satoru already had his own friend group. Seguru Geto and Ierie Shoko. So why would you bother him so much since he already had more friends? Besides, in Tokyo Jujutsu, he was practically famous! Even once, you saw one of the teachers got embarrassed simply by looking at him.
But that decision might be the stupidest thing you’d ever do.
When you went to a mall with Nanami and Haibara. Time really messed with you, the first energetic child now become more of the calm one. You were looking at Haibara who was eagerly running around while Nanami, who was beside you kept pinching the bridge of his nose. Muttering about something you cannot really heard since the mall was rather filled by many.
“He has too much energy...” Nanami rubbed his face, you just chuckled beside him.
“Guys!!” Haibara eagerly walks up to you, grabbing your hands as he squeezed it. “I founded a photo booth right around the corner! Wanna check it out?”
“Yu—” Nanami was about to capture Haibara’s wrist, only for him to run away quickly. Nanami groaned as he followed the brown haired male’s steps.
You were just laughing to yourself seeing how funny and amusing the scene is to your eyes. Really, it’s fun to see both of them almost like tom and jerry whole you were just trying your best to not make a bigger scene. After your laugh, you were about to follow both Nanami and Haibara.
“[Name].”
You stopped mid track, your eyes widened and you felt your body tensed up. That voice... sounds so familiar. You immediately turned your head, you saw... no one. Nobody. Where you hearing things or that was actually someone calling you? You don’t really know, you were still puzzled by who’s voice it was—standing alone though many people were walking around you. It felt weird... you stood there long enough for Nanami and Haibara to go up to you. Their face was showing clear concerned. But you brushed them off.
“Just! Hearing... things. Nothing to worry!” You shrugged to both of them. Trying to act calm. But you knew; someone was watching you.
Time sure flies fast.
You lost Haibara. But still having Nanami, that’s now becoming more quiet from the past years. You can’t blame him, you also grief a lot since Haibara was the sunshine, with him not being around. Soon enough, you and Nanami slowly grew apart. Making you feel lonely most of the time.
You also heard about what happened to Satoru after years of basically silence. Honestly, you had your own urge to talk with him, but your parents wanted you to focus on school. Even so, that same voice that called you, the first time you heard it in the mall was played repeatably in your mind. Or what it actually that same voice kept calling you? You don’t really know, you just kept your mouth shut since there’s practically no one you can speak with.
And years of work, you now, found yourself to be a sorcerer. Working in the same high school you use to attend, a lot of students love you, and some hated you. The students who loved you said that though you’re strict, you were kind to them. Having actual effort in teaching them, while those you hated you? Yeah. The strict part—but some also had respect on you. Some saying you were better then a certain teacher that many girls in Tokyo Jujutsu often say was “too-handsome-to-be-a-teacher”.
It was a normal day in your class, you taught some of the students about basic stuff, and training. As the bell rang, before you could dismiss the class, a tall male came to the class. All of the students were gasping as they stare at the sorcerer who was standing with a stupid grin in his face, white haired, blindfolded eyes… Wait. Satoru—!?
Students already rose from their seats. Running to Satoru as if he was like an idol who would hiatus for a very long time after their first appearance. You just stood in your desk, he was like you remembered, his features were like you remembered. He’s just taller now, maybe—even taller then you. Satoru greets the students, like they were friends since forever, until that covered eyes of his stared at you, straight to your soul. It… hah?
“[Name].”
That voice… Satoru’s voice was similar—no, identical to that voice that often called you. Making you froze, slightly tensed up. You saw him walked up to you, you just looked at him, it was clear he was taller then you. Some of the students, who looked at both of you actually surprised to saw you being somehow shorter then you, when they knew you were older. But they didn’t really expect that you were shorter then him—now, that doesn’t really matter for your current position.
Satoru’s hands both clamped over your shoulder, you flinched. “Goj—”
“Let’s make out.” His voice was loud enough to be heard by every student in your class, your eyes widened, heck. Even some sorcerers took a peak from the door, Satoru doesn’t care probably, because you were literally being thrown to his shoulder before he dashed with a blink—!
“GOJO—HEY! PUT ME DOWN!!” You were practically yelling while you turned your head back. But the male seemed to be stubborn, unwilling to let go.
“Satoru, [Name]. I didn’t call you by your last name.” That was all he said, before he found an empty room, immediately locking the door. How did he even get access to the key…?
You were practically manhandled by Satoru, his hands, surprisingly bigger then yours, grabbed your hips before giving it a squeeze, you swore it will bruise later on. Satoru’s right hand, originally on your hip moved to your chin. You were now face to face with the man once your childhood best friend that grew apart, Satoru sighed as he pulled his blindfold. You then met with his blue eyes, your eyes widened for a second, your hand slowly tried to reached his black cloth.
“Ah, Goj—Satoru, your—" “I know, [Name].” Satoru held your wrist, giving it a tight squeezed that make you yelp. He led your wrist to his lips, placing a kiss—almost hesitant.
“[L.Name] [Name], finally… I got my hands on you. Again,” he empathize that word, you slightly titled your head. Satoru leaned forward, his teeth slowly contacting over your skin. Not enough for blood to flow but enough to make you gasped. “It’s been painful seeing you around him.”
Your legs tightened around his waist, you tried to said something, but Satoru pushed his index and middle finger to your mouth as he licked the place he had bite. He then slowly unbutton your shirt—placing wet kisses and some bite marks along the day. Your hands moved to his hair, as you yelp from the pain, but it felt good. Fuck, or were you just horny?
“Seriously, you were distant when we were in highschool,” Satoru let out a bitter laugh, his free hand moved down, almost urgently trying to unbuckled your belt. “Especially when you’re with them.”
“Sa–Satoru…” You whimpered, Satoru’s breath reached your ears. You gasped when your crotch, clearly show a tent forming was squeezed by him. A smirk played on his lips the moment Satoru unzipped your pants, letting it fall to the ground.
A whine escaped your lips when Satoru bit your ear. You haven’t or couldn’t see it, but you swore there’s a lot of marks in your body at this point. Satoru crashed his lips against yours, a moan escaped your lips as his tongue easily dominating yours. Such of a heated kiss that you failed to notice that fact Satoru already ripped your boxers as he continued to kiss you breathlessly.
The kiss wouldn’t end if you haven’t pulled his hair, a thin thread of saliva connecting between yours and Satoru’s lips. For a moment, you two just stare at each other. It felt a little… uncomfortable, to say the least. Just him, staring at you slowly ticks you off.
“…What?” You broke the silence. Satoru playfully rolled his eyes.
“Admiring you, but it seems you’re impatient,” Satoru let out a chuckle, you raised an eye brow—soon enough, you felt a fingers, specifically three, entered your hole. “You barely changed…”
His fingers thrust right into your prostate. Almost immediate, you thought at least he would go slow. But he doesn’t choose that route—his fingers opening you up—scissoring you so much as if he prepared you for war. You wrapped you wrapped your arm around his neck, resting your head over his shoulder as you let out a quiet whines. You don’t even know if this room was able to muffled you voice.
You felt your orgasm was close. Your hands clutched over his backed clothes, your cock already spitting precums but Satoru pulled his fingers away with a grin, while a disappointed whine escaped your lips. You were about to protest—really, however it never happened when you felt something already rubbing your hole. You looked down as your eyes turned from weariness to horror.
How big was that!? 9 inches!? It’s also thick… who the fucks need a penis that big!?
“It’s big isn’t it?” Satoru rested his head on your chest, with a grin that you’d gladly slap him. For now, you couldn’t. “Hit my back five times if necessary.”
You felt his cock entered your hole—fuck, he haven’t even moved a single inch but you already felt your own dick twitching. Honestly, you can lie that it felt weird that you were about to get fucked by your own childhood best friend, and you also can’t lie that it also excites you. Satoru’s hand tightened around your hips, letting you adjust abit before thrusted his cock. A moan escaped your lips as you met with your climax. Your cum stained your shirt, it felt humiliating thought no one was watching.
Even so, Satoru smiled, he rested his head over your shoulder—taking your right hand and intertwining them with his—his pace was unforgiving. Your arms tightened around Satoru’s neck, your hands clawing his still cloth back. And your moans spilling out, you tried to remind yourself—mentally scolding yourself that there’s a chance people could hear you, now, it’s too late to think about it. You just kept on moaning like an animal in heat.
“[Name]…?” Satoru placed a kiss over your shoulder, making your dick twitched. “I’m close… can I fill you? Pretty please?”
“Fuck, damnit fine—fine! I’m—I’m coming!”
Soon enough—you were met with another orgasm, a loud moan escaped your lips. Begging no one would hear you, Satoru continued his unforgiving pace—your toes curled, you’re still sensitive after all. Satoru then paint your asshole white, it felt so warm—too warm for cum. A disappointed whine escaped from your lips when he pulled his cock out, your hole was dripping. With Satoru’s cum. You looked up, meeting with the blue eyes from your childhood. Seemingly dark with something—you swore you see hearts as his pupils.
“So? How was it?” Satoru’s eyes were back to normal when he spoke.
You sighed at his words. “It’s my first time, and you just went out and—”
“You’re a virgin!?”
“…Yeah?”
Satoru smirked, you saw those similar pupils resurface—he held both of your wrist and put them on top of your head as you felt his tip rubbing your rim. “You’re so innocent… I promise I’ll be gentle this time.”
Every part of your body was sore as you come out from that room you’ve had multiple rounds with Satoru. He was beside you, holding you so tightly, almost as if you’d go by a blink.
Not with this jelly legs—!!
Just right the moment the two were out, Yaga Masamichi. Was patrolling around the halls and saw you, giving a wave.
“[L.Name]!, it’s rare to see you coming home late.” He came up to you, giving Satoru a nod.
“Wait, what time is it?” Your voice coming out raspy. You swore you’d beat the living shit out of this dumbass so called “strongest”
“It’s currently… ah, 6:45 P.M.” Masamichi said casually. Your eyes widened, Satoru in the other hand, held back a chuckle.
“I— 6:45!?” Your voice was practically echoing around the halls. Satoru smirked, guiding you to go out from the school. Not even giving Masamichi a glance. His eyes were just on you. Before he carried you—your body in his arms while your hands on his chest.
“Rest.” Satoru told you, you should of just refuse. But you nodded, you make yourself comfortable as sleep slowly taking over you when your head was on his chest so prefectly.
“Mine.”
Rich Fanboy! Nanami x Cosplayer! Male Reader
Notes: I'VE BEEN GONE FOR TOO LONG SO I HOPE THE WAIT IS NOT LONG ENOUGH!!! This was in my drafts but never really made anything new... I don't know what to write, any suggestions will be appreciated!!!!
Word Count: 3000
Warnings: Smut! Size kink, unprotected sex, crossdressing, feminization, mirror sex, slight out of character (?) Nanami, Manipulation sex, breeding kink,
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Kento Nanami. A name known far and wide, especially among the wealthy. To most people, he seemed like the perfect man. He was mature, kind, and deeply respected. He had the kind of money others could only dream about. Everything about him seemed flawless, from the way he dressed to the calm way he spoke. People believed he had everything. Money, manners, and a quiet charm that made him very likable. Among the rich, he was the richest. His life was full of luxury, comfort, and things most people would never have.
He lived in a mansion that was the biggest and most beautiful in the whole area. It looked like something from a movie or a fairy tale. The garden around the house was full of flowers, trees, and perfectly trimmed bushes. Every flowerbed looked like it had been painted by a master artist. A team of gardeners worked every day to make sure everything looked perfect. Inside, his house was just as beautiful. Servants kept everything clean and running smoothly. They were always present but never in the way. Everything worked like clockwork.
But even with all of this, Nanami felt something was missing. He had no family. He had never fallen in love. Romance had never made its way into his life, even though people often tried to get close to him. He also had a hard time talking to children. Their loud voices and quick energy didn’t match his slow and thoughtful way of living. Because of this, he often felt alone. He lived in a house made for many people, yet he walked its halls by himself. He was surrounded by beauty, but his life lacked real connection.
Most people believed Nanami was perfect. They thought someone with his lifestyle couldn’t possibly have any problems. But that wasn’t true. Behind his calm face and perfect life was a secret. A secret so dark that if anyone found out, it would destroy the image the world had of him. It was something only he knew. It followed him wherever he went, like a shadow that never left his side. This secret made him feel trapped. He often stared out of his mansion windows, wondering how long he could keep living this lie.
Each day started exactly the same. At 8:00 a.m. sharp, Nanami would wake up. The sunlight came in softly through the tall windows of his bedroom, making the walls glow gold. He opened his eyes slowly, groaning quietly as he stretched his arms. His bedroom was clean and modern. Everything was black, grey, and white, creating a quiet, serious feel. His bed was large, with soft pillows and perfect sheets that looked untouched. Even in sleep, he stayed neat.
The room was silent. Not even the sound of birds could be heard through the thick windows. He got out of bed and walked across the cool marble floor. Each step made a soft sound that echoed through the quiet room. The floor was shiny and smooth, reflecting the morning light. He walked down the grand staircase with slow, even steps. Every part of his routine was carefully planned and followed.
He entered the kitchen, which was full of stainless steel counters and high-end appliances. It was spotless, like something out of a design magazine. Nanami cooked his own breakfast, as he liked the calm it brought. The smell of bacon and eggs filled the air as he moved around the kitchen with ease. He toasted a slice of bread until it turned a perfect golden color. His breakfast was simple but delicious. Sitting alone at a long mahogany table, he ate slowly. The quietness around him made the meal feel peaceful but also a little sad.
After breakfast, he went back upstairs to shower. His bathroom looked like something from a luxury spa. The walls were marble, and the glass shower let warm water fall like rain. The hot water helped him feel more awake, washing away the last bits of sleep. He dried off and put on one of his many suits. Each one was tailored perfectly to fit him. He tied his silk tie and looked in the mirror. The man staring back looked strong and sure of himself. But even in the mirror, Nanami could see something missing in his eyes.
He left the mansion and went about his usual duties. Meetings, events, and quiet drives in the city filled the day. He moved through everything with a calm and steady presence. People nodded at him with respect. Some smiled in admiration. Others watched him with envy. But none of them really knew him.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky with soft shades of orange and pink, Nanami returned home. His car, sleek and black, pulled up to the grand gates of his estate. The iron gates opened slowly, and the car rolled along the cobblestone driveway. The mansion stood tall at the end, glowing in the warm light of the evening.
He parked in front of the large entrance and stepped out. His suit still looked perfect, even after a long day. He walked into the house, and the quiet met him like an old friend. Servants greeted him with soft bows. He nodded back, barely noticing them. He was tired. All he wanted was to lie down and rest.
He walked up the stairs, each step echoing softly in the empty hall. When he reached his bedroom, he opened the door and was greeted by soft, golden lighting. The room looked just as he had left it. Calm and neat. He took off his shoes and slipped out of his blazer. Then he unbuttoned his shirt halfway, showing his chest. He dropped onto the bed, the soft mattress hugging him gently. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to relax.
Then, his phone pinged.
The screen lit up with a notification.
It was an Instagram Live.
He blinked, surprised. His heart skipped a beat when he saw who it was.
You.
One of the most famous cosplayers in the world. A person he admired for a long time. Nanami didn’t usually watch livestreams. But this time, he tapped the notification without a second thought. The screen loaded, and there you were.
You were wearing a costume. A pair of cat ears on your head. A cat tail. And, strangely enough, a maid outfit. You smiled brightly at the camera and waved. “Hi everyone!” you said in a cheerful voice.
Nanami stared.
Your smile lit up the screen. It felt warm and real. The kind of smile that could make anyone feel seen. It made his chest feel tight.
Your face was beautiful. Not in the usual, polished way celebrities looked. But in a softer, more honest way. Your eyes were bright and full of life. Your lips curled into a smile that made his heart race. Your cheeks had a soft pink glow. Your hair was dark and shiny, falling gently around your face.
Nanami felt himself blush. He knew he shouldn’t stare. But he couldn’t look away.
To him, you were perfect.
There was something about you that felt different from the people he usually met. Maybe it was how real you were. Or how your energy felt so alive, even through a screen. You weren’t rich like him. But you had something he didn’t. Joy. Passion. A connection to people.
He wanted to talk to you. To get to know you. To be near you. The thought was strange. Nanami had never felt this kind of interest in someone before. Not like this. Not so fast. But he couldn’t deny it.
He wanted you to be his.
He watched quietly as you laughed and answered comments. You seemed so happy. So full of light. As if the world had never hurt you. As if everything was still fresh and exciting. He envied that. But more than anything, he wanted to be part of it.
Even if just for a moment.
As the livestream continued, Nanami laid there, eyes locked on the screen. For the first time in a long time, his heart didn’t feel so heavy. Something inside him stirred. A tiny spark in the dark. He didn’t know where it would lead. He didn’t know if he would ever meet you.But one thing was clear. His life of quiet routine and cold perfection had just been shaken by something simple. A smile. And it had changed everything.
He then felt his shaft grew in length.It was tenting on his pants. It's his first time to feel this, especially because he felt this for you. He was ecstatic to see this charming, boy wearing ridiculous costumes in front of a camera for views, maybe even money. This unnerving feeling made him want to do something, something he never knew he wanted; needed to do. "Shit, what is this..." some words slipped out of his mouth, breathing heavily as the dent grew larger, it became very uncomfortable at this point. He finally gave in, he released the zipper for a thick, long shaft to come out, twitching every time his heart skip a beat. He looked at it, tense whether he should do something about it or not. "Fuck it," He whispered to himself, soon warming his cock with his hands, and start to move up, then down repeatedly as you speak across the screen. To his eyes, it felt like he was facing you physically, something that he wanted, needed just for him to feed on. His continued motion caused him to finally finish, cum spurting to his face.
He tensed up again, and sighed, not cause of relief, but because of something else. He thought of something, and that something included you. He wanted you. So after that very thought, he immediately picked up his phone again, and called some of his "friends".
"Yes, sir?" the other guy on the line spoke, Nanami straightened his back, "This person named Y/n, search him up and find his details, call me immediately afterwards," he kindly spoke the the other, hinting something. "Noted, sir. I'll immediately report as soon as we find out." The line ended, Nanami sighed and leaned back to his chair, "I need you, Y/n"
The very next day your information was given to him. Your phone number, full legal name, age, location, everything. He wanted to call you for a "business proposal" of some sorts. He held the paper your number was written on. He was very hesitant at first, thinking you would feel weird talking to him. But at the end of the day, he dialed in your number, and pressed the call button. The ringing tensed him up, the continuous ringing gave him an unsettling feeling. The ringing soon came to a stop, for a warm voice to come up after, "Hello?" You said, seemingly confused of a sudden call of an unknown number. "Greetings, my name is Nanami Kento," Nanami spoke up, "This talk should be conducted physically, though I do not have the power to do that. Anyway, I'm here to propose a business proposal." He waited for a response, you were shocked that you were talking to the most richest business man in all of Japan, but you were unsure as to why he would ask you, a cosplayer, for a business proposal? "I-i'm sorry sir, but i'm afraid i'll have to-" "300 million yen, nothing more, nothing less." You of course is shocked, what is this job that could pay you almost 2 million dollars? And why does it have to be you? You were pretty tight on the budget, considering you used all of your money for costumes, "O....k?" you muttered slowly, unsure of your answer, before you could talk back, "Good, then that is settled, I will provide you my location, make sure to be there at exactly 7 p.m." The call soon ended. You're still in shock, what the hell is this guy thinking? Well, at this point, you don't have any choice but to go... I guess.
6:30, you arrived early before the expected time. You waited outside a grand, luxurious looking hotel. Was it a hotel, or one of his buildings? You shrugged off the question and waited. your peac was soon interrupted by two men in black, shades planted to their face. "Are you, Y/n L/n? Please come with us." The one spoke, you silently followed them across the wide lobby to an elevator. The ride was taking too long, "wait is this a penthouse?" you thought to yourself. And yes it was, what did you expect from the richest man to have? a rented motel? The elevators shifted open to reveal a modern looking room. A piano to the side, a fountain, and the biggest windows you have ever seen. Your eyes glowed with the sight you were seeing. Your sight seeing was soon cut off short by a tall man walking towards you, "Ah, your here. You two, leave." His voice was commanding, he sounded chilling. He patted you back, seemingly acted out to follow him.
He led you to a room, the smell of sandarwood filled your lungs. But what caught your eye was a costume, a bikini along with a semi-transparent babydoll dress. You didn't question it, but just decided to still follow him inside. He soon walked up to a piece of paper, along with a pen, "Just sign this contract, don't mind reading it all," You obliged and followed, signing it; what's there to lose? He then spoke up again, "I never told you this "business proposal", but it'll pay you a lot, doubt that you'll decline at this point," he muttered, slowly taking off his watch, walked near you and leaned in, "I want to fuck you." The words slipped out his voice made you flinch. Why would he want that? Would you just sell your body for money? "I-I..." you stuttered, "You have no choice anyway, you signed the contract." You sighed, but you also wanted it at this time. You blushed, and gave him a silent nod. That nod meant a lot to him, he chuckled caressing your jawline slowly. "I gave you a gift," He looked over to the lingerie, "Wear it for me," He whispered closely to your ears, this sent a shiver down your spine, but it made you crave him even more. You went up to it and walked towards the bathroom. Nanami sat down on a chair, "No, strip in front of me." You noticed the large mirror covering the entire wall behind Nanami. You followed, and took of your clothes piece by piece, and showed your hard dick. It was small, but Nanami liked that even more. Your blush made him feel a lot more tense.
A lot more hungry.
As soon you wore it, he rushed into you and kissed you. It wasn't soft, it was rough, leaving you no space and time to breath. He held your face, and you held his hand. This intense kissing session made you fall to the bed, with his arms grazing your figure. He kissed your neck to your collarbone. He took off the dress along with the bra, playing with your nipples as he kissed your body. Your moans made him become hard even more. You touched his hair, it was hard with the gel still intact and the sharp loose ends at every side of his head. You never knew you would end up this way, slutting over a rich man that's happening to be fucking you this very moment. His groan vibrated to your body.
His kissing soon came to a stop, and reached up to you, "Suck me" He commanded, his hand over your head. His musky scent made you fall into a trance-like state, something you must follow, something you cannot control. So you fully gave in, pusehd him down the bed, and zipped down his pants. You saw his enlarged dick spring out, precum spilling, matching the beat to his heavy breathing. You leaned in, and sucked. Your tongue was a professional at this, you never knew you could do such acts. You sucked in and out, circling around dick as the musk scent of his pubes covering his penis. You rammed your face to his dick, you don't care if you looked like a whore at this state, all you wanted was to taste him fully.
He held your head tightly, "Stop, I want to save my babies for your pussy," He smirked, lifting your head to face him. He carried you up, off the bed as you two stood in front of the massive mirror. He took off the rest of his clothes, touching your body like pottery, following your shape, your size, your curves, you. "You look so beautiful, darling," He continued touching you. Without any hesitation, he came inside of you. It was slow, but it felt painful to you. You didn't flinch, you wanted to feel him fully. You held in your pain, holding his chin down for him to look at you. Every thrust made you feel different, with his face looking at you every thrust. You looked at yourself in the mirror, you looked in deeply to your eyes, you looked different, you don't look the same. You wanted him, but do you really want this?
Thrusts soon turn into pushes, you leaned in to the mirror as Nanami held your body close to him. Hi thrusts grew stronger, more than you could handle. Your moans turned into screams, yells, but you liked it either way. Each thrust made you feel different emotions, sadness, happiness, anything. One last thrust, you felt something warm and wet come inside you. Your eyes felt like popping out. His chin rested against your bare shoulders, "You'l be living with me from now on. Don't worry about your life, I'll make it better, if you give in to me." You faced him, and rested your arms to his shoulders, "One question though,"
"Why me?"
DAYS IN THE SUN
summary: You were never supposed to be anything more than the strange one. The wrong one. The boy in too-short sleeves and too-sharp stares, tucked away in a village that never wanted to understand you. But when your father goes missing, you don’t hesitate. And when you find him imprisoned by a monster— a beast with too many arms, too many eyes, and a curse so old it hums in the walls— you make a deal. You stay. And slowly, something unexpected begins to bloom between all the thorns.
pairing: the beast ! ryomen sukuna x belle ! male reader
content warnings: 18+, romance, fluff, angst, smut (oral + penetrative), bottom trans male reader, transphobia (implied, not explicit), emotional hurt/comfort, mild violence, trueform sukuna, canon-typical blood, sharp-toothed tenderness, trauma, enchanted furniture, redemption arc, flower language, they kiss a lot.
word count: 7.4k
best viewed in dark mode
DAYS IN THE SUN
summary: You were never supposed to be anything more than the strange one. The wrong one. The boy in too-short sleeves and too-sharp stares, tucked away in a village that never wanted to understand you. But when your father goes missing, you don’t hesitate. And when you find him imprisoned by a monster— a beast with too many arms, too many eyes, and a curse so old it hums in the walls— you make a deal. You stay. And slowly, something unexpected begins to bloom between all the thorns.
pairing: the beast ! ryomen sukuna x belle ! male reader
content warnings: 18+, romance, fluff, angst, smut (oral + penetrative), bottom trans male reader, transphobia (implied, not explicit), emotional hurt/comfort, mild violence, trueform sukuna, canon-typical blood, sharp-toothed tenderness, trauma, enchanted furniture, redemption arc, flower language, they kiss a lot.
word count: 7.4k
best viewed in dark mode
Another idea!! Okay so, delinquent reader x a childhood friend who made a mistake.
Oc and reader were completely inseparable since childhood after their parents introduced them to each other. Oc was an energetic kid, always begging his parents to meet up with reader, while the reader was more shy. But him being shy didn't mean that he hated the company, actually he absolutely adored the other, looking up to him in a way. Everytime they would play oc would effortlessly make temporary friends on the playground, and everytime his playground friends tried pushing Reader away since he was quiet oc wouldn't allow it.
Until they started highschool, oc made friends with the “popular” kids. He started hanging out with them more and more, slowly pulling away from reader. Until one day he got an ultimatum, either to stay with them or reader, and he chose the popular kids. What oc didn't know was that his new friend group would start bullying reader, at first he's shocked, trying to stop it, but after a while.. he just starts silently watching.
This causes the reader to disappear from school for months after it got severe (bullying was for a few years). But when he came back, he was different. Snappy, temperamental, a delinquent. Oc seeing this realizes how much he's changed, that he's no longer the cute shy kid that looked up to him. Oc starts trying to fix things, but you choose if it works in this fic or not.
I'm so fucking sorry this is so goddamn long 💀
-💀
𝗔𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀? 𝗖𝗮𝗻 𝘄𝗲 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀? 𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝘅 𝗗𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗠𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 just realized I never made a title for this oh my god anyways heres the updated version
You weren’t supposed to come back.
That was the unspoken rule, wasn't it? Once you vanished—after the bruises, after the rumors, after the final time someone shoved you down the stairs and Elian just stood there—you were gone.
No one expected to see you again. Not the teachers. Not the kids. Certainly not him.
But here you are, pushing open the gates of West Ridge High like you own the damn place, teeth bared in a half-lazy, half-daring grin. It’s not real, of course. Just something you wear now, like your beat-up leather jacket and scuffed boots and that permanent slouch in your shoulders that says just screams problem starter.
And yeah, maybe you do start problems
Your hair’s longer. You’ve got a lip ring and bandages across your knuckles from a fight you didn’t win, but refused to lose. The office staff barely recognize you when you sign in.
Elian definitely doesn’t.
You catch him staring during first period.
It’s almost funny, the way he freezes when you walk in. Like a ghost just entered the room instead of a guy who used to braid clover chains for him during recess.
You take the seat furthest from him, ignoring the way he keeps glancing over like you might evaporate if he blinks too long.
Too late for that.
You’ve already disappeared once.
By third day back, everyone knows not to mess with you.
Not because you’re loud. Not because you fight much, though you have made a name for yourself in backlot scraps behind the gym. It’s just the way you are now—quiet like thunder in the distance. People hear it, and they don’t wait to see the storm.
Except him.
He corners you behind the vending machines after school, his hands stuffed deep in his hoodie pockets like he’s scared you’ll break his fingers if he tries to reach out.
"Can I—" he starts, but you already know.
You don’t look at him. "No."
He flinches. "You don’t even know what I was gonna say."
"Doesn’t matter."
There’s a pause. You hear him shift, like he’s about to walk away. But then—
"I didn’t choose them over you. I—" He exhales, and it’s shaky. “I thought I had time. I thought you’d always be there.”
That stops you. Just a beat.
You turn, finally meeting his eyes. They're the same ones that used to sparkle when you brought him wildflowers. Now they're red-rimmed. Guilty.
"You watched me get torn apart," you say, voice low. “For years. Not once. Not twice. Every damn day.”
He swallows hard. “I was scared.”
"So was I."
Another pause.
He looks at you then—not like you're some broken thing he wants to fix, but like someone he misses. Truly, achingly. Like he’s been walking around half-alive and only just found the part of him he lost.
“I never stopped—” His voice cracks. “You were my best friend. My only real one. I just... I got so caught up trying to be liked. Trying to be safe.”
You’re quiet for a long time.
Then, without thinking, you say it.
“You could’ve been safe with me.”
After that, he doesn’t push.
Not for a while.
But you notice things.
An extra juice box left beside your locker. A sticky note on your desk that says “math test Friday” in familiar chicken-scratch. Someone tripping in the hallway only for Elian to be at your side a second later, ready to fight whoever touched you—until he realizes you handled it first.
You don’t say anything.
But when you sit down at lunch one day and find him already at your usual spot, tray untouched, hands clenched in his lap, waiting—you pause.
He looks up.
Just once, he smiles. A little lopsided. A little broken.
“Hey.”
You sit across from him.
You don’t say anything.
But your leg brushes his under the table, and this time, you don’t pull away.
Healing isn't clean.
You still snap at him some days. Still storm out when something hits too close. You still hate the way he flinches sometimes—like he's expecting the worst from you.
And he still cries sometimes. Not in front of you, but you hear it in the way he says “I’m sorry” like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
But he shows up.
He listens.
He doesn’t ask for forgiveness. He just stays.
And maybe… maybe that’s enough for now.
Because there’s a quiet night—late spring, air smelling like rain—where you’re sitting on the hood of his mom’s car, both of you staring at the stars like you used to, and he whispers—
“Are we still friends?”
You don’t answer right away.
But you lean your head on his shoulder.
And it’s the first time he doesn’t cry when you touch him.
BLADEROT
“w-wait! ‘s t-too much hng!” you let out, tears streaming down your your face as your enemy roughly thrusted his cock in and out of your cum-filled hole. how many times has he cum? how long have you guys been going for it? you’ve lost track of everything, incapable of matching the stamina he has in his body and dick. you’re not even sure, at this point, how his dick was able to remain hard for several hours straight.
“pleeeassee…. ‘m gon’ cumm!” you sobbed, but his answer was the same— an increase in speed from his movements. unable to take it, you came, your body twitching as spurt after spurt spilled from your sensitive and overstimulated cock.
“h-hugh…! i js came!!” you gasped and your hands moved behind, attempting to stop him from moving. however, you were met with a harsh slap on your ass, causing for you to let out a loud moan. “you can take it,” he whispered, pressing his chest against your back. he continued to move, uncaring that you’re practically crying.
“just one more,” he said, his movement no longer precise and you could feel his cock twitch inside already, a sign that he was close to cumming. you could only cry and moan in response, too overwhelmed by the pleasure you’re feeling, as he continued to move his hips. one particular harsh thrust and a tight clench from your hole, he was finally cumming. thick spurts of cum spilled his cock, infiltrating your guts in white. you whimpered at the feeling and looked behind you, your eyes locking with his red ones. suddenly, you feel his cock twitch again and you see him grin.
oh no.
“you shouldn’t have looked at me like that.” you heard him say before thrusting once again, not even caring that there was still a load of cum inside you.
what a fine night it is.
𝜗ৎ. 🍓 FALLING FOR WAR ?!
ໃ𑄺. paring : god of war mydei x mortal warrior male!reader
ໃ𑄺. synopsis : You are nothing but a mortal warrior—fragile, fleeting, and yet, you have defied the God of War himself. Mydei has crushed entire civilizations under his heel, yet no matter how many times he cuts you down, you rise again, bloodied but unbroken. He should end you, make an example of your defiance, but instead, he finds himself enthralled. Your stubbornness is infuriating, your resilience intoxicating. So, he decides to break you in a different way, to make you surrender, not to war, but to him. And when he finally has you beneath him, trembling and breathless, you realize that even the strongest warriors can fall.[GOD OF WAR SERIES.] ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა
ໃ𑄺. warnings : nsfw/smut, man handling, size kink, rough mydei, anal sēx, mild dumbification, multiple of rounds, semi-public sēx, creampie, blowjob, face sitting (reader reviving), praise, degradation, squirting, mild dubcon and slūt shaming.
ໃ𑄺. note : this took forever to write because its my first time writing male reader.
You should have died days ago.
Maybe weeks.
Time blurred together in the haze of blood and broken bones.
Again and again, Mydei’s sword had torn you open. Again and again, his fist had driven you into the dirt like a nail.
A Purrfect Team
Big Cat Hybrids x GN! Cat Hybrid! Reader
wi wi wi we we wi u ya ya is this basically zootopia? nuh uh no its not
🐾 You never thought you would ever see yourself, a little cat hybrid, working at a big firm like Apex. Being a mild-mannered kitty from the country, city life wasn't really something that you thought of often.
🐾 That was until you got a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get a job that offered a lot of pay. Your family's fishing business needed some help so you decided to take it.
🐾 You packed your things, bid goodbye to your family, and headed off.
🐾 The subway ride to the office building was a long and stressful one, but eventually you made it !
🐾 Inside was bustling with all sorts of hybrids walking and flying about doing whatever business they were dealing with. Coming up to the front desk, you ask the Secretary Bird hybrid sitting on the other side about your first day.
🐾 She looks up from her ledger and back down to blink at the little thing wearing what seems to be a flannel instead of a proper dress shirt.
🐾 "Ohhh, you're that kid from outta town. Just sign here then take a seat over there while I call someone to show you around." She chirps, picking up one of the many landlines and punches in some numbers.
🐾 After a bit of waiting, a snow leopard hybrid sauntered over to where you were sitting, holding a clipboard that seemed miniscule in his paw
🐾 "So you're our new assistant, huh?" He looks at you with piercing blue eyes. He looked at you up and down like he was considering whether or not he'd eat you or something.
🐾 He bids you to follow him in a tired, gravelly voice. Now and again you'd see him take glances at you as you waddle after him trying to match his speed. He was a big guy with big strides !
🐾 "You're going to be working with me and my colleagues up at upper management, so I expect you to be settled as soon as possible, understood?" He rumbles, going into an elevator as you nod, quickly heading in as well.
🐾 As the elevator went up, employees went in and out on your way to the top. You tried to ignore the fluffy tail that curved around your legs softly as if protectively shielding you against the people piling into the small area.
🐾 Eventually, the two of you arrived at your designated floor and entered one of the doors in the sleep hallway. A lion, black panther, and a tiger hybrid perk up and look at you, hearing the door open.
🐾 Big cats..this will be interesting ...
He so shiny
lonely alpha trucker who picks up a pretty omega hitchhiker yes yes do you see the vision
he spots this pretty boy walking along the highway and pulls over, leaning out the window to shout out, "ya need a ride, sugar?" the tension between them is obvious as soon as pretty boy climbs into the truck, blushing at the distinct scent of alpha permeating the cab, like leather and tobacco and peppermint.
they keep up casual conversation until nighttime falls, trucker offering to share his sleeper since the seats are very uncomfortable to sleep on. pretty boy snuggles in, gasping as rough hands grip his hips and pull his ass back against the hard ridge of trucker's cock. he can't help his whimper of "alpha", pulling a groan from the older man behind him.
moments later his cunt is split open on fat alpha cock, trucker pushing his legs down into a mating press and pounding relentlessly into his tight heat. pretty boy's moans and cries mingle with trucker's grunts and groans, a symphony of pleasure filling the small sleeper cab.
"such a gorgeous little knotsleeve," trucker growls as he picks up the pace, groping at pretty boy's tits. "gonna- fuck, gonna bust, baby..."
"knot me, knot me, gimme your knot, please," pretty boy begs between his noises, crying out as trucker grunts and finally shoves his fat knot inside his cunt. he trembles apart, cumming on trucker's knot with a sharp cry, squirting harshly as his hole clenches tight.
i'm too tired for more but hhhhh you see the vision
another late night horny post . . tw; stepcest, dubcon(?), ftm!reader, bottom reader, unspecified male character, masturbation with a vibrator, porn watching, getting caught by stepbro, pussy caressing (is that a thing?)
any male character you love — made with satoru in mind . . not proofread ,, got lazy at the end
fem dni,, minors read @ your own discretion,, reblogs and likes appreciated ♡
blood in the water.
m! yandere prince x gn! knight reader ♡ mdni 18+
cw — blood, betrayal, obsessive themes, lack of autonomy and unbalanced power dynamics. 2.4k wc.
a/n — well well well
you can barely make him out through the mist.
a heavy and decadent cloud of perfume rolls over the warm waters of the royal banya; makes it difficult to chart your course to where your prince is. you narrow your eyes, glimpse the outline of his frame, solid and familiar, beyond the swirling haze that's descended over the pool's surface.
"moy knyaz," you clear your throat. my prince; the title rolling off your tongue like honey. "i've arrived with the supplies you asked for."
he spares you a glance over his shoulder, the movement causing gentle ripples in the water around him. you think briefly, like a fool, that he will wade to the edge of the pool to meet you where you stand. you lower your head, gaze drawn respectfully low.
"ah, sweet knight." you can hear the smile in his gentle words; that familiar lilt of felicity, all soft at the edges. "there you are; i was almost beginning to worry," he hums. "whatever took you so long?"