You’re kidnapped from Sukuna’s estate. He does not take it well.
(Warnings: Kidnapping, murder, he’s pretty tame in this one ngl, dark, yandere, obsession)
After living with Sukuna for so long, you’ve gotten used to his invincibility. There were no guards to secure his estate for he was the protection himself. No one would dare steal from the King of Curses.
Until now, when you were plucked from his estate with barely a scuffle.
The cell they stuffed you in lacked any charm. Mold grew in the corners and the iron bars smelled of rust and rot. You could not see the sun, they must have taken you far underground. Maybe as a ploy to keep you hidden.
If your head wasn’t burning, you may have pitied them for wasting their efforts.
A tray slid through the bars. You blink at it, not taking the bait.
“Eat.” An unnamed man rasps out. You couldn’t make out his face, but you know he was part of your kidnapping.“It’s not poisoned.”
You don’t believe a word he says, but you knew the food wasn’t poisoned. Why would they go through all this trouble of locking you away to just kill you? You simply rejected the food because you were spoiled.
Living with Sukuna made you realize the finer aspects of life: Delicious food prepared by his chef, sweet wines and tender meat. You highly doubt you could confidently say you enjoyed Sukuna’s company, but you appreciated his culinary taste.
The sludge melting in the tray could hardly count as food. It was a meal fit for swine.
“So what plans do you have for me, if it isn’t the guillotine?”
He laughs, squatting down to meet your eyes.
“Did that monster fuck you dumb?” He goads. “I think you can figure it out.”
You already know. You are the sole concubine of the greatest calamity to ever consume your country. There was worth within you. These people looked to exploit that.
It was a good plan, unfortunately for them, it would backfire.
“We already sent your ransom to the King.” He spits the word out with vile and you can taste the hatred that lurks beneath his tongue.
“Hopefully he’ll make a proper payment before we send him his whore’s fingers.”
There was a history of resentment behind his eyes. A charred family, a burned village. Another crime Sukuna would never pay for. But since Sukuna wasn’t here to answer them, he directs that resentment towards you.
He burned your village too, you want to say, but your words wouldn’t matter to this man. He considers you a perpetrator since you chose to spread your legs rather than burn with the rest.
You can’t fault him for thinking that way.
You examine your hands. “It’d be a waste of fingers. He won’t answer to any ransom.”
The King of Curses cares only for himself. By now, he’s probably found another one to warm his bed. You were nothing if not replaceable.
“For your sake, you pray he does.” The man warns.
He leaves you in that cell and the door slams shut behind him. You glance at the tray he failed to take. In a few minutes, the rats would scarf it down. It hardly mattered to you.
This is where you would die. Whether you would be killed or slowly starve to death, forgotten.
Something tightens in your heart. Your eyes burn. Something’s stuck in your throat.
A part of you is happy with your tears. For years, you assumed you didn’t have any left.
It proves you’re still human.
~
You wake up to smoke.
Faint. Far away. It’s a familiar scent—one that’s plagued your nightmares for years and years.
You can hear screaming too. You can’t make out the words but you can hear the fear in their voices.
Lift yourself off the dirty cell floor. You shift forward, trying your hardest to pick up on whatever calamity was attacking your captors.
Eventually, that calamity finds you.
The door doesn’t so much as open as it does falter. The metal creaks and falls as he pushes through like it’s made of paper.
You stare at his two sets of arms, his bare chest, and those red eyes. You blink once, then twice.
It’s not a mirage.
“You came?” You can only ask.
Sukuna only glances around your cell. He eyes the floor in disgust.
“You reek.” He gruffs out, but his hands don’t hesitate as he lifts you up into his arms.
You’re pliant in his grasp, letting him bring you into his chest. Out of pure exhaustion, you rest your head on his warm shoulder. The scent of fire clings onto him.
Sukuna walks out of the cell in confident strides. You force yourself to peek out to see the destruction he caused.
Fire looms everywhere. You can see what used to be bodies, half burned on the floor. He’d come alone and yet he’d done enough damage to destroy a city.
You can’t bring yourself to look anymore and you bury your head back into his shoulder.
“Uraume will guard you from now on,” Sukuna says. “Disciplining the lowers is a pain.”
Uraume shouldn’t have to guard you at all because you are not supposed to return. Sukuna wasn’t supposed to bring you back. He was supposed to forget your existence entirely and move onto another poor soul to torture. You should be dead.
Subconsciously, your hand grips his bicep.
“Why…did you come back for me?”
For minutes he doesn’t respond. He continues his walk until you’re back outside. The sky is bright and blue, clashing with the fire that singes the trees. He must have burned down the entire forest. Whether it was out of rage or something else, you couldn’t be sure.
“I cannot allow anyone to break what’s mine,” he finally tells you. “It’s an insult.”
You close your eyes as he continues to walk back to his estate. You can hear his smile through his next words.
Whumper grabbed Whumpee by the roots of the hair and wrenched their head back so they could speak in their ear, while their other hand ran down Whumpee's torso.
“You have no idea what it means for me to have my hands on you. Not really. Would you like to find out?”
Fake relationship but it's a prisoner and a guard. The prisoner desperately needs some favours. The guard enjoys the "affection" and power play.
Until the guard starts falling for their own lies and starts thinking that maybe, they both mean it. They break out the prisoner to start a new life... what will the prisoner do, now that they are free and the guard whose whims they've had to entertain for so long is no longer protected by their surroundings?
Bonus (It Came To Me In A Dream): It's a fantasy death row, and the guards have some say over who gets to be this week's public entertainment on the gallows, making the whole thing a literal life-or-death matter for the prisoner...
When Thor gets banished to Midgard, he learns that omegas get treated very differently here. Omegas are a protected commodity to be purchased like exotic pets, and anyone who cannot afford to own a personal omega, can pay to visit one in an “Omega Cafe”. However, soon Thor finds that these fancy shops hide the nasty realities that omegas really face.
For the Thormegaverse fest day 9: heat / rut agency
Warnings for all the red room horribleness, implied child abuse, child death, implied non con.
What if Clint and Natasha were in the Red Room together?
There are boys and girls in the red room.
Their training is distinctly the same but very different. Natasha doesn’t notice this, until she does. Boys are different and are treated differently to how all the girls are.
Despite their shaved heads, the shorts and T-shirts’ that are the same, she knows that there is something that’s not the same about the way they’re treated.
Mealtimes are evident of this, Ballet is another.
When they’re made to fight each other, the girls are paired with a boy and they’re made to train harder. She hears the trainers say the programs are for girls, that they’ll be sent to Odessa before long and the boys to Siberia for real training.
She later learns that Odessa is whore school and Siberia is exile.
One boy stands out more than the others for her.
She’s paired up with him in class, her fight style makes him on the back foot before he stands still and lets her hit him, one, two, three punches before she stops, and then he takes her hands and shows her more effective ways of taking him down.
“You’re pulling your punches,” he whispers when their out of earshot. “They’ll know. Hit me here, or here,” he shows her on his body, “they won’t hurt me as much but still look like we are working hard.”
Natasha nods, secretly pleased she doesn’t have to hurt this boy.
He seems to be drawn to her, and he always seems to know how to be paired with her because it happens more.
“I’m Clint,” he whispers one night as they’re marched through the halls in lines of two.
She smiles quickly, as he flashes a grin back at her.
“Natasha,” she chooses.
They’re split into their gendered dormitories and as she goes to sleep she whispers his name. She decides she likes the sound of it on her lips.
.
Natasha makes her first kill and she can’t stop her hands shaking.
There’s blood on her hands, face and it’s warm as it dries on her skin.
She’s made to keep training, even as they drag the body away. She’s not the only one that kills that day, but they don’t speak of it.
Their group of 32 is now 16. Eight boys stand by eight girls and she desperately looks around for Clint.
Her eyes land on his face, like hers streaks of blood cover over it. He’s got a cut above his eye, and a blank look on his face.
She tries desperately to get his attention but fails as they are split up again at night.
It seems he’s forgotten about her.
They’re all awake that night, no one daring to sleep, lost in their own thoughts of the horrible day.
Every now and then the clank of their handcuffs pulling against the bed head. Natasha feels bone tired.
She can’t describe it, she goes to sleep tired, she wakes up tired and this, today she doesn’t have the words in any language she’s learning for how she feels.
They say she shouldn’t be feeling anything but proud. She is the victor and she should act as such.
There’s a noise above her head; someone is in the vents. She positions herself so she can look up into the grate, and sees Clint’s face above her.
She waves tentatively at him, and if she didn’t know any better she’d think it was relief on his face. He gave a little wave back, and then leaves the way he came.
.
They spar together more readily now. Just when she thinks she’s got him, he pulls out a ridiculous move that makes her think he would probably will in a game of chess.
As he holds her in a locked position on the floor, he makes her laugh with a joke.
They’re caught. Punishment ensues.
They’re sent outside to dig holes, the snow making the task feel impossible.
“I had a brother, I think,” he says conversationally.
She pushes the shovel into the hard ground and hates that she still can feel Yelena resting on her as they watched TV.
“I had a sister, once,” she replies.
He turns to her. “I’m going to get out of here one day and find him,” he confesses. “Even if I have to dig my way out.”
He sticks the shovel in and angrily digs.
“I want to find her too,” she tells him quietly, “but I think she’s buried out here somewhere.”
Clint looks up, and gives her a sad smile.
“We can find her,” he says, hopefully. Natasha wishes she felt it.
The guards order them to stop, move onto the next hole, and as he rolls the body in Natasha wishes she turned away.
.
Boys and girls are separated as they grow.
They see each other around but it’s not the same as when they were younger.
She misses him, her only friend in the whole world as she’s forced to make alliances and truces with girls she does not trust.
It’s hard, and lonely.
She wonders of him and how he’s going; and then pushes down the feeling until it becomes something else.
.
After her first stint in Odessa, she thinks she’ll never see him again.
She’s lost herself or who she was and it’s perhaps not a bad thing. He would hate who she’s become.
She feels dirty, unclean and no amount of scrubbing has touched the tainted parts of her soul.
She’s outgrown the small dorms and beds she used to lie in, and looking up she can’t believe that he ever fit in the small vents that line the roof.
Natasha is told that she’s back because they have a mission for her. They say she is the only one that can do it, that she has a sniper as a back up.
She suspects it’s likely a test, as all things are.
Short dress and high heels greet a man fifty years her senior.
Revulsion curls in her gut but she turns it into a smile. Using all the techniques she knows, she takes him to the hotel.
She is the Black Widow.
Even if she does not want to be.
She kisses the man and his body goes limp as soon as his hands touch her breasts.
Warm blood on her face reminds her of her first kill. She’s shocked as she realises that the sniper shot early. Natasha hasn’t had time to extract the information.
The mission has failed.
She makes a hand signal to meet her in the alley, she’s going to kill whoever the sniper is.
They’re going to send her back to Odessa and she’s terrified.
They can do so much more to her.
She clenched her fists as he drops down from above.
“Hello,” the easy grin is familiar and it takes her a second.
Clint swings his sniper rifle over his shoulder and stands in front of her.
(warnings: dark content, implied kidnapping, implied noncon, masochism)
I really like the idea of soulmates in the JJK world. They're rare, but the reason why they're so coveted is because they are the only person in the world who is immune to their soulmate's cursed technique.
Being Gojo's soulmate would be like hitting the jackpot, at first. You're a regular person, with no cursed energy. Maybe you and Satoru's hands bump into each other while you're at a cafe, grabbing your respective drinks. To you, it's just an accident. You apologize, make your way out.
To him, it's like submerging himself into an ice bath. For the first time in years, someone had gotten past his limitless technique. It was so unexpected, and real, and so warm.
Your hands were warm.
It's the thrill of it that gets him first. The unexpected. No one's ever come close to him. He is the summit of the mountain. The strongest. And yet, there you were, effortlessly able to bypass his barriers without even trying. With women, with Geto, he'd always have to turn his technique off. He'd have to let them do something to him. You could do anything to him, and his powers wouldn't even stop you. You could kick him, punch him, bite him. Anything you wanted, and for once, he'd be powerless to stop you.
He can't detect you with his six eyes. It makes the hunt even better when he catches up to you. It's days of stalking and harassment and the touching that finally makes you snap and slap him.
It hurts.
It hurts and he fucking loves it.
He already made up his mind days ago, but this only cemented it. When he finally takes you home, to his bed, it's euphoric. You scratch and bite and scream and hurt him over and over again. Hours later, when you've passed out from sheer exhaustion, he has more bruises than you do. They'll fade eventually, but that's okay.
