Vinnity

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

[vinnitysins]

ITS NOT AN X READER OF YOU GIVE ME A NAME OR ANY KIND OF DESCRIPTION ABOUT MY APPEARANCE. LIKE TF YOU MEAN MY NICKNAME IS "Ella" AND THE COLOR OF MY HAIR AND EYES ARE RED.

GIRL THE ONLY THING YOU'RE GONNA SEE IS THE RED LIGHT OF THE AMBULANCE WHEN IT TAKES YOU TO THE ER SO THEY CAN TREAT YOU FOR THE BLOOD CLOTTING IN YOUR VEINS GOING TO YOUR INFLAMED ASS

[umbrellaslut]

Zanka with a big breasted reader that almost always wears cleavage showing stuff pls💔 nsfw and fluff if you could

You’re ruining him . ʚ♡⃛ɞ

His surprisingly tidy room was quiet except for the low hum of the old fan spinning overhead. Zanka stepped inside after another long shift, setting lovely assistaff near the door, shoulders tense, and immediately stopped when he saw you.

You were reclining on the battered couch, tank top pulled low and loose, your heavy breasts barely contained —and on full display like always. The deep cleavage drew his eyes before he could stop himself.

He clicked his tongue, looking away sharply. “…Tch. ya really gotta wear shit like that..?”

His voice carried that lazy Southern lilt, but it was rougher than usual, trying to sound unbothered. You noticed the faint pinkish flush creeping up his neck anyway.

You stretched lazily, only exposing yourself more to his dark gaze. Zanka exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. He crossed the room in a few strides but stopped a couple feet away, arms crossed over his chest like a shield. His gaze kept flicking back down despite himself.

“Comfortable?” he spat out flatly, though his ears were turning red. “Yer showin’ half yer damn chest . Ain’t exactly subtle.” He tried to look anywhere else—at the wall, the floor, the fan—but his eyes betrayed him, lingering on the soft swell of your breasts and the way they rose and fell with your breathing.

You sat up a little, leaning forward so your cleavage became even more pronounced. “You don’t like it?”

Zanka’s jaw clenched. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly fighting the heat rising in his face. “Didn’t say that,” he muttered. His accent thickened just a bit when he was rattled. “..it’s distractin’. Makes it hard t’ think straight when ya got them out like ya own the place.”

The blunt words slipped out before he could filter them. He looked almost annoyed at himself for saying it aloud.

You beckoned him closer with a finger. He hesitated, then stepped in anyway, dropping down onto the couch beside you with a heavy sigh. The moment he was seated, you shifted so one heavy breast pressed warmly against his arm.

He stiffened immediately. his face turning impossibly pink

His hand twitched like he wanted to push you away, but instead it slowly rose, hovering uncertainly before settling on the side of your breast. His palm was rough and warm, fingers spreading instinctively to feel the weight and softness.

“..heavier than they look,” he said under his breath, voice low and rough. The flush on his cheeks darkened as he gave a tentative squeeze, thumb brushing over the exposed skin. “…Always pushin’ ‘em up like this. Yer doin’ it on purpose.”

You could feel how fast his heart was beating. Zanka tried to keep his expression neutral, but the way his breath hitched when you moved against his hand gave him away.

He leaned in despite himself, forehead nearly resting against your cleavage as he muttered, “…Tch. Look at ya. Gettin’ me all worked up over some damn cleavage.”

His mouth hovered close, hot breath fanning across your skin. Then he gave in—just a little—pressing a firm, almost reluctant kiss to the top swell of your breast, followed by another, slower one. His tongue flicked out briefly, tasting you, before he pulled back with a quiet curse.

“…Yer trouble,” he grumbled, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he pushed the thin fabric of your tank top further aside, exposing more of your chest so he could bury his face between your breasts with a low, frustrated sound.

He nuzzled there, rough and needy, the cool mask cracking as he inhaled your scent. One hand kneaded your left breast while his mouth worked the other—kissing, licking, and occasionally sucking a faint mark into the soft flesh, all while trying and failing to hide how affected he was by your body.

When he finally tugged his pants open after fumbling with the button for 30 seconds and pulled you onto his lap, he was hard and throbbing. He guided himself inside you with a sharp inhale, grip tight on your hips.

“…Fuck,” he breathed, accent thick and strained. “So fucken’ soft… squeezin’ me like that.”

He kept his face turned into your chest as he thrust up into you—deep, controlled strokes that made your breasts bounce heavily against his cheeks. Every time they smacked lightly against his face he’d let out a quiet, embarrassed grunt, cheeks burning.

“…Quit movin’ ‘em so much,” he muttered, even as his hips snapped harder. He was clearly flustered, trying to stay composed but losing the battle with every roll of your body.

You rode him steadily, holding his head against your cleavage. Zanka’s hands roamed your back and sides, occasionally coming back up to squeeze and support your breasts as he chased his release.

He came with a low, muffled groan buried between your tits, body tensing beneath you. Afterward, he stayed right there, face nestled in your cleavage, breathing hard and trying to regain his cool.

“…Yer gonna be the death of me one day,” he said quietly, voice rough and a little hoarse. The Southern drawl lingered as he added, “But I ain’t complainin’.”

[heartkaji]

nerdjo’s a fool for his pretty, high maintenance girlfriend.

I. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #107 : “BUT TORU, I DON’T GET IT..”

11:57 am location: SC/MATH 3020 (Vari Hall, Room B)

you’re supposed to be solving laplace equations. instead, you’re sending satoru doodles of you pregnant with his child.

satoru gojo is jacques marie mage glasses & messy blanche hair & forearms thicker than his head. he should be studying—god, he should be, but his pretty girl is texting him mid-lecture & satoru’s something of a fool for you so he foolishly decides, who is he not to reply ?

and his replies are earnest. always earnest. too punctuated, too grammatically correct.

toruu : You’re the cutest girl in the world.

toruu : Pay attention, okay?

his first message makes your heart swelter & bloom. the second makes it drop to your ass.

but satoru gojo is honey mouthed & heart-achingly sweet. and when your boyfriend asks you to focus so sweetly, how could you not obey?

so you open your notebook & close it right back.

you : toru i tried :( i don’t get ittttrt

toruu : Send me the question.

and you do. along with a selfie of your cute pout, of course. satoru’s reply comes in in an instant:

toruu : Gorgeous girl.

toruu : Okay, try isolating the variable first.

you do as he says. satoru’s instructions always come easy-sweet. sugar coated & simplified like he’s talking to the softest girl in the world. & perhaps he is.

toruu : Good. Now distribute.

toruu : Yes. That’s it. Keep going.

toruu : That’s perfect, baby. My smart girl.

your cheeks grow mushy & sticky & heart-wrenchingly soft.

satoru gojo is going to be the death of you.

II. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #126 : LOVER BOYS DON’T IGNORE THEIR GIRLFRIENDS !

time : 1:48 pm. location: york lanes ( indoor mall )

“satoru hasn’t texted me in fifteen minutes.”

“they faces killing me why nobody give a fuck.”

you ignore shoko & her bitter response. you’d rather die than argue with a bitch & her bad bob. you lean to rest your head on suguru’s shoulder, who’s much more empathetic & strokes your hair lovingly.

“isn’t he tutoring right now?”

and he is. somewhere across campus, in a cramped corner of the scott library, gojo satoru is bleary-eyed & suffering.

he’s supposed to be explaining calculus to confused first year yuuji itadori. but his phone, face-up & gleam-screened on the mahogany table, hums and vibrates with desperation.

1 new message: princess 🧸💗 1 new message: princess 🧸💗 1 new message: princess 🧸💗

satoru’s jaw is tight. there’s crescent shaped crevices in his palms & his knuckles rouse rash red. his focus flickers. he catches a glimpse of your latest message: the preview of a selfie, that low adorable angle where you’re peering at your phone from under your lashes & your lips jut out in a ‘where are youuu’ pout.

fuck.

“uhh, gojo?” yuuji’s biting his pencil again before he points it at the vibrating device. “aren’t you gonna answer that..? i dunno, it looks important.”

it is important. it’s you. but if satoru answers now, poor yuuji’s paid tutoring session would immediately be over.

“it’s fine, yuuji. let’s focus on finding the derivative.”

and it is fine. because gojo satoru is a man of logic. a man of discipline. a man of pa—

princess 🧸💗: i always knew you’d get tired of me one day

princess 🧸💗: it’s okay. thank you for everything toru 👍

gojo satoru grabs the phone faster than you can say go pandas! his thumbs fly over the screen, ever precise, ever trembling.

toruu: Baby, please don’t say that.

toruu: I’m almost done. I’ll be with you in ten minutes. I’ll buy you that Drake meal you wanted.

toruu: I love you. Please wait for me?

back at the mall you’re reading his text. and god, your heart bubbles up like soda pop. “he’s coming,” you murmur into suguru’s shoulder, scrolling past his text without a reply.

“great!” shoko cheers with fake enthusiasm, taking a puff of her vape (suguru’s complaining that the pineapple & kiwi she blows make his poutine taste sour-ish, & she shouldn’t be vaping anyway, but guess what? shoko doesn’t care!)

“now can we stop acting like it’s the summer hikaru died?”

“no.”

instagram’s algorithm is always on your side. you’ve opened the reels tab to find a video of a rainy window, a quote captioned over it: ‘if he wanted to, he would. silence is a choice.’ simple. short. effective.

you add it to your story. suguru catches a glimpse of your screen & chuckles.

“y/n,” he sings your name, tutting. “you’re gonna give the boy a heart attack before he even hits the common area.”

“he deserves it.”

satoru gojo has already viewed your story. he shows up within the next five minutes.

III. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #167: BABY, I’M BORED.

time : 3:58 pm. location: science & engineering building

there’s solution bubbling pink in a flask. in lab four, the air’s sticky with the sweat of too many boys with glasses & a half-drunk energy drink rotting in the corner.

gojo satoru is huddled over a circuit board with two other boys who look like they haven’t seen sunlight in days.

nerd #1 points at the monitor : “if we adjust the frequency here,” he’s muttering, “the entire wave function collapses. it’s an impossible solve, gojo.”

“it’s not impossible. you’re just missing the constant.”

gojo satoru is the god of lab four; formulas on his fingers & equations on his tongue. he’s leaning over now, fingers on the screen when the heavy steel door swings open,

“hi, toru!”

you’re all soft perfume & clicky heels & smile as sweet as sugar. satoru’s head snaps up instantly—his glasses slip down his nose, & he flicks them back upward, eyes glimmering in the fluorescent light.

“hi sweetheart,” he breathes, “you’re here early.”

the other nerds are staring now, and for good reason. how did gojo satoru—who’s paperbacks & friday nights spent bent over research papers—pull a pretty thing like you ?

“are you doing science ?” you’re already across the room, arms around his neck as his palms press you flush against him from the side. your perfume’s sticky in his lungs. “why’s that line so squiggly? you guys should make it straight. it’d be much prettier.”

nerd #4 winces. “actually, that’s a representation of—“

“you’re right, baby. it would look prettier. have a seat, okay?”

you hum an okay! & plop yourself down on his lap. nerd number 3 & 2 exchange glances. nerd #1 asks, god, me when ?

the group discussion starts up again. satoru is half-science half-yours—his thumb traces circles on your thigh as your feet kick in his lap, & you’re asking one too many questions while satoru tries—tries to pay attention.

“toru, what does this button do?”

“that’s the power supply, baby. please don’t touch it.”

“but it’s glowing. can you make it glow pink ? i think it should glow pink.”

“noted. you’re squirming, princess.”

and you are. nerd #4 wonders how you’re still balanced. the discussion continues but you’re a constant background noise of ‘toru, look at this tiktok’, and ‘baby, i think the lighting’s washing me out.’ you try to touch a wire. gojo catches your hand mid-air & cups it with a kiss.

you flop against his chest. “satoru, i’m bored.”

& satoru is tired. exhausted, really. he’s fighting the rash creeping up his neck as nerds one to four watch you pout in his lap like a spoiled child. “i want matcha. can we go get some?”

you can’t. because this is a project due in twelve hours. because satoru has only so much time to lock in—

“alright, let’s go.”

nerd #3 is distraught: “huh—?! gojo, you can’t leave now, we’re in the middle of a breakthrough!”

satoru doesn’t even look around. he’s smoothing your skirt after you hop off his lap, your bag already slung over his shoulder. he’s leading you out by the hand; “sorry guys. i’ll send my solution to the group chat. brief me on the updates later?”

the door swings shut. nerds one to four are in awe.

“holy hades. what just happened?”

“may God protect them from my jealousy.”

“wallahi i need a bad bitch on my lap.”

“you can’t say that, man. it’s ramadan.”

# UNIKAISEN

princess meltdowns , end.

© HEARTKAJI. do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload

[epicderpface]

\( ᐖ)/ bestfriend nerd!jo is a pretty boy

milky hair, supple complexion, lean build.

teasing words, soft tone.

but nothing about the way he fucked was pretty.

“oh my… oh fuckkkk,” he groans into the crook of your neck, sinking into the warmth between your legs like your essence was heaven sent, fringed ivory lashes fluttering.

the two of you were supposed to be studying for uni finals together right now. both of your mom’s were childhood best friends, expecting the two of you to hit it off eventually around middle school if they kept nudging the two of you closer.

to make a long story short—the two of you didn’t get along at the start. gojo was irritated that he had to pick up your slack in school, and you were inconvenienced in tolerating the presence of a pubescent boy with his voice at least six octaves too high. sometime after graduation, when gojo started to grow into his lanky limbs and find his social standing, you felt something in you drawing towards him.

that shit-eating grin, the sleeper build, the charming and casual confidence.

one tipsy frat party later at the university you both fought tooth and nail to get into where he couldn’t stop staring down at your cleavage with those frightening frosted irises of his, you’d dragged him to a bedroom and rode him like you’d been fantasizing for months. with him milked and drained, you had left with an afterglow.

and it was fucking intoxicating. his slender cock that could reach the sweet spots no other guys could, his taunts that made you dizzy, his soft hands tracing the length of your skin…

neither of you could get enough.

now? the only way to describe your… involvement, would be friends who fucked. friends with benefits. sneaky links. whatever you could call that grey area.

your palm comes up to cover his mouth and muffle his moans. peeking up and over his shoulder to your closed bedroom door, you grit your teeth and huff, digging your ankles into the small of his back. “quiet,” you hiss. “my mom is quite literally downstairs,” you rustle beneath your breath.

sheepishly, he teasingly grins, all pussy-drunk and cute, making your heart cinch. pale cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide. “sorry, baby. i get carried away when you’re squeezing me l-like thattt,” he contests all-whiny, leaning down to connect your lips to his.

they slot over perfectly, like they were made for each other. he tastes like the slice of pumpkin pie your mom had given him that he’d finished in no less than three bites.

your legs tighten around his tapered waist, the base of his cock swelling inside of you when he buries himself to the hilt. he groans into your mouth, which rattles around the cavity of his chest, his bulbous tip sweeping pre-cum against your puckered cervix and dragging against your g-spot. god, you’re so plush and warm he might cum inside you. again.

you’d slapped him when he did it last time.

“m-might have to put a muzzle on you,” you giggle softly, stroking his tongue with your own.

“can do…” he pulls away and huffs against your cheek, a shallow thrust leaving him breathless. “can do whateverrrrr you want to me, pretty.”

pretty. you could argue that he’s the pretty one here.

his hands find the velvety underside of your thighs, before he’s pinning them to your bare chest. starstruck blue eyes appraise you in this new position—puffy folds slick with your mixed arousal glistening in the gentle bedroom light, your core fluttering around his length just an inch deep, desperate to be fucked. a lewd display for your childhood bedroom littered in soft pastels and plushies, but neither of you seem to mind.

suddenly, the air is knocked from your lungs when he slams a practically rough stroke into you, punching a groan from your gut.

“t-toru! i said soft, or else i-i,” you stutter, eyes nearly rolling into your skull. “can’t keep it in…” you trail off under your breath, nearly succumbing to overwhelming pleasure.

flushed cheeks, he chuckles all low and indulgent. “jus’ can’t help it when you’re all adorable and fuckable like this,” he admits, swiping a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead. “makes me wanna rearrange your guts.”

you whimper, watching as a glob of spit falls from his lips and hits your clit. warm, wet—you’re dizzy and twitching beneath him.

but then, he’s pistoning his cock inside of you, stretching you wide and full of him. you jostle and moan unabashedly. he tosses a pillow on top of your head, pressing it down over your face. “sorry, baby. you’ll j-just have to keep quiet for me,” he sighs dreamily, watching his cock disappear between your silky folds, dick spasming when you tighten up. you just swallow up every inch he gives you. so needy. so pretty.

all his to ruin. and he’ll make sure of it.

© this work is a repost, not stolen. do not plagiarize, translate, or feed my writing to ai. all writing belongs to me, and all characters belong to gege akutami.

[actuallyyoshiki]

| SYNOPSIS: Spoiled concubine!reader who knows she can do almost anything without any consequences.

Tags: Concubine!reader x true form!Sukuna, slightly bratty reader, use of petnames like "little thing", fluff.

Wc: 1.2K

The light in Sukuna’s throne room was always strange near dusk, as if the architecture itself bent time inside these walls.

Heavy silken drapes framed windows carved from black volcanic stone, filtering the setting sun into long ribbons of molten gold that fell in slanted stripes across the floor. Dust motes drifted lazily in the still air, suspended like starlight, catching on the polished edges of weapons mounted along the walls— blades soaked in a hundred forgotten wars.

The silence was complete. Not just quiet— sacred. The kind of silence that only power could enforce.

No guards. No priests. No servants.

Just you.

And him.

You sat perched sideways on Ryomen Sukuna’s lap, silk robes pooling in elegant folds around your thighs, legs curled across his like a favored pet— spoiled, soft, untouched by the filth of the outside world.

Your head rested near the hinge of his shoulder, close enough to hear the slow, effortless beat of his heart through the thick fabric of his robes. Every rise and fall of his chest reminded you he wasn’t human. Too steady. Too calm.

He held a scroll in his lower right hand, some crumbling ancient text written in blood or something like it, while his upper arms draped lazily along the throne’s armrests, his free arm loosely curled around your waist, anchoring you in place without pressure.

You fed him.

Not because he asked. But because you could.

Beside the throne, a golden bowl rested on a carved pedestal, filled with slices of chilled fruit, glistening with honey and powdered snow-ice. You plucked a piece, a slice of blood-orange, edges rimmed in gold from the chill, and held it up to his lips.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t pause in his reading. He just opened his mouth and accepted it, tongue brushing against the tips of your fingers as he did.

You watched the way his jaw moved— slow, disinterested. Like even this act of indulgence bored him.

You huffed a little under your breath. “A thank you would be nice.”

Still, he didn’t look. Another page turned.

A single deep-throated hum was your only reply, somewhere between amusement and disregard.

You popped a sliver of pear into your own mouth out of pure defiance, licking honey from your thumb as you glanced at him sidelong.

His lower eyes flickered to the motion, then returned to the scroll without a word.

You smirked.

“Do you know,” he said suddenly, voice low and lazily regal, “how many would kill to sit where you sit?”

That voice. Always like velvet soaked in wine— silken, cold, and dangerous.

He didn't look at you when he said it. But the weight of his words fell heavily over your bare shoulders.

You considered him. The angular, terrible beauty of his face, all sharp lines and inhuman markings, eyes layered in red and black like concentric storm clouds, mouth curved in the kind of smile that made grown men kneel or run.

He was not beautiful in a mortal sense.

He was something older.

And you had the audacity to touch him like he was yours.

“I know,” you replied, soft and smug, running your thumb gently over the edge of the next fruit slice. “They’d kill for far less.”

That made him glance up, just briefly.

Four eyes cut toward you, gleaming like coals in the low light. A flicker of something sharper passed through them— approval? amusement? possession?

You didn’t flinch. You never did.

You smiled sweetly and slipped another bite of fruit toward his lips.

This time, he didn’t open his mouth right away. Just stared at you, eyes unreadable.

Then, deliberately— he leaned forward and took it from your fingers, lips brushing against your fingertips once again on the way.

A slow, deliberate mockery of reverence.

His upper left arm moved lazily, trailing fingers across your thigh through the layers of silk, drawing idle circles that made your pulse flutter despite yourself.

Then he spoke again, a quiet purr of menace wrapped in velvet:

“Then be grateful, little thing.” A pause. A smile sharp as razors. “I’m not a generous man.”

And here’s where you should have submitted. Should have bowed your head and whispered thanks. Should have played the part of the silken plaything, trembling with gratitude for his indulgence.

But you had long since outgrown that.

Instead, you tilted your head, lips curling into something bold, almost bratty.

“You keep saying that,” you murmured, twirling a slice of chilled mango between your fingers, “but I don’t see you tossing me aside.”

His smile deepened.

“I could.”

“But you won’t.”

You popped the mango into your mouth yourself this time, licking the juice from your thumb while holding his gaze.

“I talk too much,” you said lightly, “I steal your sake, I wear your robes when you’re gone, and I took a nap on your throne once.”

He raised a brow.

“…Twice.”

That made his top left eye twitch. “You slept on my throne?”

“Briefly.”

“Like a cat?”

“More like a queen.”

A beat passed.

Then he laughed.

Low. Real. Unforced.

It rumbled through your spine like distant thunder, and you felt the shift in his body beneath yours, the relaxing of his shoulders, the way his lower arms released the scroll, letting it curl shut against his thigh.

He was focused on you now. Fully. Which was dangerous.

You should’ve behaved.

You didn’t.

You reached for another slice of fruit, but this time, as your fingers curled around it, they trembled.

Not visibly. Not much.

But enough.

The kind of tremble that came not from fear. But from feeling.

The intimacy. The weight of being seen. The realization that this man— this god, might really never hurt you.

And that might be the most terrifying thing of all.

One of his hands caught yours. The calloused hands of one who had killed hundreds, no, thousands of people. Of the one who had people kneeling before him in fear.

Before the fruit could fall. Before you could speak.

He held your wrist with impossible gentleness, like you were spun sugar and silk threads. The chill of the fruit still clung to your skin.

He raised your hand to his mouth— eyes never leaving yours, and pressed a kiss to your palm.

Not cruel. Not mocking.

Just... quiet.

His mouth was warm, the faintest scratch of his fangs grazing the tender skin between your fingers. You felt your pulse stutter against his lips.

And then, still holding your hand:

“Don’t tremble.”

You smiled faintly, just on the edge of breathless. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“I know.”

His voice had shifted. Not sharp. Not amused. Something else. Something close to... possessive affection.

You rested your forehead against his, your wrist still in his grip. And for a moment, the world outside the throne room ceased to exist.

No war. No worship. No blood.

Just this.

The silence of a king and his spoiled, brattish favorite.

-

More Sukuna Ryomen over here, or other characters.

[skwx-ang]

IF FATE HAD OTHER PLANS

Wifies had posted again, fuck I'm crying guys. Anyways this is also a continuation cause holy fuck my D3rlord3/Derek posts had sky rocketed overnight damn.

Anyways: Spoiler ahead for those who has not watch part 2 yet, be warned.

Now playing: Babydoll, Drag Path, Sparks, May you never forget me

D3rlord3 groans as he grips his head. His mind feels like someone is hammering down his brain non stop repeatedly, his vision flashing in different images. The dinosaur's extinction, the cold war happening and another war coming in the future.

A laugh, low and unnerving, echoed through the walls inside the room, "It seems like you found us."

The king turned his head towards the terrified poet, who stared at the knight in horror and despair, "Do you feel happy that the person you expect finally appears? Are you joyful, my little poet?"

D3rlord3 suddenly screamed in agony, as he pounded into his golden helmet. His knees buckled, the poet scrambled to her feet, ignoring the pain that shot up to get legs. Before the knight could fall, he was caught by her.

The poet breathes, her hand holding him while the other holds the side of his head, cradling him. "You came... Why? I told you so many times to not come!" She said as tears began prickling her eyes, her shoulders shaking as sobs began escaping her mouth.

The man stared up at her, despite being hit with the endless knowledge, his vision unstable, he still held himself together to get a better look at her. "I have never expected...for you to be so ethereal." His hand lifts and holds her cheek.

Droplets of tears fell into his armor, yet he did not care. His thumbs brushed a tear, "I have always wondered...what you would be. I ignored your warnings, I kept going, just because...I wanted to see you."

More tears began to flow out the poet's eyes, "You would do all that for a stranger as I?" A chuckle erupts from her throat between her sobs, "You're always unpredictable."

"It seems like I have given you enough time to see each other. I am impressed by you, golden knight. But I hope this is a warning you must not forget, for I would strike again, if not obeyed."

The poet felt herself getting pulled, she looked at her arms and legs seeing shadows pulling her. Her breathing quickens and looks back at d3rlord3, he, in response gripped her arms tight, afraid that he wouldn't see her again if he let go.

She smiles at him, "I believe in you, that you'll find a way." His grip tightens, "No. Don't say that—"

"Promise me, that you'll find me again."

"..."

"I promise."

She gets pulled back, as d3rlord3 desperately tries to reach out for her, her golden locks slowly getting swallowed by the shadows. His last vision was the king's face, before losing consciousness.

Avery looks at d3rlord3 and decides to ask, "By the way, who was the girl you mentioned in your book?" This catches the Knight's attention, "What?" Avery coughs, "The girl you mentioned in your book. You quote, 'She talks in poetry, her voice soft as she sings her stories. She once told me, she would create a ballad of me.' That's the exact words inside your books. I'm kinda impressed I memorized that, props to me I guess."

D3rlord3 stays quiet as he stares at the other before him, Avery could feel nervousness crawling up his skin at the Knight's silence, he gulps, "I mean basically, you did have two whole pages dedicated to her—"

"She..." This immediately shuts the slime, "...was the reason why I continued in the first place. She saved me on many occasions. I owe her."

"What...what happened to her?"

"Gone. Taken away from me before we could even have the chance to know well. I promised her that I'm going to find her, that's why I'm in this place and many other places."

Avery noticed the Knight's hand into a fist, he looked angry and regretful, "Did you love her?" That question seems to hit d3rlord3 as he stayed quiet longer than both of them expected.

"...I loved her before I could meet her."

D3rlord3 stared in horror at the two yellow eyes that stared right back at him, his body went rigid hearing the king's plans laid out on him. Avery was to be its vessel, and used it to transfer himself to the physical world. If he doesn't do anything right now it will—.... Wait...

"Where is she?"

That one question almost made the entity laugh, "You cared for a woman you met once, a woman who you only know through the voice in your head. Yet you already devoted yourself to her? I have never expected someone as smart as you could easily be this desperate."

"Where. Is. She."

This wasn't a question anymore, it was a threat. The king sighs, "I suppose I would let you see her before I send you off, take it as a departing gift." Something appeared at d3rlord3 peripheral vision.

As he turned his head, he saw her. The poet. Kneeling and seemingly praying, he could hear her whisper and mumble under her breath, he could not get what she was trying to say through her prayers. Her golden hair fell over her entire body like a curtain, protected and concealed.

D3rlord3 took a step forward, the clank of his armored shoe made the poet stop, her back was at him, slowly she turned her head towards his direction. His eyes met a pair of gold ones.

No. Not the gold pupils that you see in a normal person, her eyes were wholely yellow, from her pupils towards her sclera. She looked like a deity who descended from heaven to bless the lands below, merely by her presence. Her appearance alone could sway living and non living things, just as Orpheus could sway both with his music.

The moment their eyes met, the knight wasted no time and bolted towards her, and the moment she stood up, sh was already engulfed in a hug. Warm. He held so gently and carefully, afraid that if he held tighter she might break and disappear once again.

No words were exchanged between them, because they both knew that their presence together told more than it ever was.

Their moment was cut off the king in yellow, "Time's up. I have given you enought time to see her." The two stared at it, wide eyed, "Wait—"

Before he could get another word, he felt his body fall. He looked up to see the poet desperately trying to reach out for him, before she disappears.

The poet kneels to the void ground, her body shaking, starely at the floor. The king only stared at her trembling form, amused. "Why did you..." She whispers, "To give you false hope. Do not think that you had the chance to escape from me. Remember, you are already a part of me, we cannot be separated."

The poet choked before letting out a cry, "This wasn't what I wished for."

D3rlord3 walked around the old village, the same village he once roamed at his first quest. The ground was covered in white glass, seemingly frozen in time. Other than the ground, nothing new changed.

He already obtained the spell to get rid of the king in yellow, hidden in a barrel beneath the glass floor. Before he could go back to the halls, his eyes caught something.

Not from afar, was a tree. If he remembered correctly, there wasn't a tree at that spot before. It was behind one of the abandoned houses, but what caught his attention more was another barrel hidden directly under the tree.

He didn't think twice and immediately strutted towards it. He mined the glass next to the barrel, as he opened it he was greeted by two books. One was titled the king in yellow, it was the origin of the king. It seems like a story book.

The other book was untitled, d3rlord3 stared at it before opening.

"Journal entry no.1,

Things were normal back in the village, the people in their usual routine, so was I. I would often go to the center if the village and play my lyre, and sing ballads. Kids and grown ups would gravitate towards me as I play my instrument. It made me happy, people liked my music. Some said I was beautiful, it also made me happy."

"Journal entry no. 2,

Two months later,

A commotion was happening in the village, the leader was saying something about his new discovery. My family dragged me out to see. The leader, told us about an entity. He told us, that he found in his ancestors belongings, a story of a king who can grant any wish, he said if we summoned the said king, we can all make our wishes. Some were skeptical of his words while some belived him. My family were one of those skeptical, none took him seriously and we all left."

"Journal entry no. 3,

Five months later,

The words from our leader seemed to made it into the minds of people as they began to belive in the story of the king in yellow. My parents, too, are starting believe in the propaganda."

"Journal entry no. 4,

Nine months later,

Everything is getting strange, the leader had ordered the village to change the color of our houses into yellow, to appeal more to the king. Everyone obeyed and slowly, the once vibrant village had covered in bright yellow paint. Although I adore the color yellow, I must admit it is a sire in the eyes with too much of it."

"Journal entry no. 5,

One year later,

The leader established a statue above the once fountain. It was the structure of an angel, covered in yellow materials. It seems like another way to appeal to the king. I feel like everyone is getting out of hand with these."

"Journal entry no. 6,

One year and 3 months later,

The leader had appointed me to sing beneath the statue every morning, he said something about the king enjoys music. I do not know if it is only me, but everytime I go near the statue, I've felt off."

"Journal entry no. 9,

?????,

This wasn't supposed to happen, everyone is gone. I don't know what to do. I saw it. The king, he appeared in front of me, he used everyone. He told me to be his vessel. I don't know why, I don't what he means but it hurts, my mind hurts. It hurts so much. Make it stop."

"Journal entry no. ?,

???????,

I had lost count, how long have I been stuck in this place. I'm scared. I'm scared being alone with it. Everything is so empty, I'm at the verge of insanity."

"Journal entry no. ?,

???????,

I saw in a vision, was a man. He was a knight, in golden armor. He was persistent, stubborn, brave and quick witted. I see him going through obstacles, then at the village. I see him entering the gate, I see him go insane. And I see him finding this book. I know you're reading this, and I advise you to go before it's too late. But knowing you, you would only go forward. Can I be honest? I had written tgousands of songs, from tales of heroes to tales of romance, in truth, in all my years of being alive, I have always wanted to be like the ones in my stories. The ones that ends with their true love. I was romantic yes, but isn't all poets are? I don't want to end up as Orpheus, to find the person he loves only to lose her. I don't want to wander lands singing sad ballads. If ever we have the chance to meet, would you willing to take me as your consort? It is sudden yes, for a stranger like me. But I have already loved you before I met you.

Sincerely,

The poet (name)"

D3rlord3 slowly closes the book, his hand trembling. He tucked the journal inside his bag, before walking towards the giant yellow gate, an exit towards this village and its remains.

"I'm sorry Avery. Until next time friend." Derek said as he watched his friend fall into the vast endless void. "And selfless, you're willing to sacrifice yourself to stop the king?" A familiar voice exclaimed, the knight turns around to see a familiar face smiling towards him.

He didn't rush towards her, he stood and stared. "Why did you do that?" (name) asked, "It's the only way to stop it and to save Avery." He replied, his hand gripping her journal, she caught sight if it, "It seems like you found it."

"Yeah."

He looked at her, hope in his eyes, "Does that mean you're finally free?" She looks at him, a sad smile plastered on her face, eyes looking down. "Back when the king took me, it tried to make me its vessel but it didn't work. The backlash, as I became part of it. What I see is it sees, to everything I do it's there. And you killed it—"

"Meaning you'll die alongside it." Derek finished, (name) nods, a solemn expression plastered on her face. Tears start to blur the Knight's vision, with many years if torture he finally let himself break, his breath shaky.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—I...! Fuck! I didn't know."

"It's okay. I'm happy. I finally broke free from its grasp, I should be thanking you." Derek snapped, "NO. This isn't what I planned, you're supposed to be free not...not this."

Derek starts to walk towards her, just as he stepped closer, the place around them changed. Instead of the endless void surrounding them, it was replaced by a field of flowers. The atmosphere turned water, as if they were underwater and were allowed to breathe.

Several strands of (name)'s hair began to float around her, haloing her like a deity. The knight could not help but stare in awe, he slowly lifted her hand, he bowed his head, as if pledging loyalty.

"We didn't have much time to know each other personally. But I knew who you are. If only fate had given us different plans then—" before she could finish, warm lips pressed against hers, Derek's mask was lifted to show the bottom of his face.

He pulled away, "I know. But even in our little time, I already knew I had fallen in love with you." Tears start to escape out of (name)'s eyes as it flows up. "I just wanted to save you."

"You already saved me."

"I'm glad."

Suddenly her body starts to float, the girl looks at her self before looking back, he was holding her hand, letting her float as he anchored her down.

"Maybe if fate had given us a chance, maybe in our next life, would you look for me again?"

"I promise."

She smiles at him, "Then I'm relieved." He lets go of her hand, and watches as her body ascends up, her figure growing smaller before the light finally engulfs her, leaving him alone.

The scene changes as he was back at the endless void he once stood, he stayed there standing and thinking, before letting out a sigh.

"Yeah, I hope fate gives us a chance."

And then he could hear a flatline.

RIP D3RLORD3/ DEREK HUTCHINS 2025-2026

Bruh his death makes me sad. I wanna cry dude, Holy peak of a story. Props to Wifies for creating such an amazing arg series, and his hard work along with the people who helped him.

[glass-wing202]

ʚɞ 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝙰𝚔𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜

ʚɞ He is a 22 year old man and he is my wife. Just my wife, though, he isn't cut out to be a housewife I'm afraid. Still love him. This is long. I have many thoughts. ʚɞ CWs: Implications of trauma, very slight implications of abuse, major character death. Almost all fluff, but there are some killing game related headcanons at the end, so some things will get angsty.

Non-Killing Game:

Wolfgang spoils you absolutely rotten. Food, jewelry, clothing- Whatever you can think of, he has gifted you. If you two are out shopping together and he sees you eyeing something in the window? He will go in the store and buy it. You can't decide between one thing or the other? He'll buy you both. You're craving something but you don't want to order it yourself? It's already on the way. It'll be a miracle if you don't become a brat this point.

As you could probably guess, Wolfgang's love language is part gift giving but I also imagine the other part is quality time. Of course, he appreciates receiving words of affirmation, but there are some days he returns from work completely exhausted. In those moments, he just needs to exist in your presence and shut out the loud, unrelenting thoughts in his head. He adores parallel play and loves to read a book or watch TV while you do something else nearby, enjoying the comfort of you simply being close.

Wolfgang's kisses are usually quick and tender - he is a busy man, after all. They mostly come in the form of quick pecks on the cheek when he's leaving for work, gentle kisses on the forehead before you fall asleep, quick pecks on the lips. However, there are times when he's supposed to rushing out the door where he will linger for a moment or two, ever so gently cupping your face in his hands and holding you. You will blink when he finally pulls away and gasp quietly at how red his face is. Before you can say anything, he's already out the door.

You will sometimes catch Wolfgang staring at himself in the mirror a little too long. You will come to get used to that look in his eyes - slightly glazed over, distant, unfocused, but undoubtedly haunted to some extent. You will also learn to walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso from behind, and rest your head on his shoulder. The weight will become a comfort in these moments. It will keep him grounded and reassure him that he is in fact himself in this moment - with you.

Despite having a fairly comfortable childhood and being coddled - resulting in his nonexistent ability to do everyday chores - he does try. He is a gentleman, so the idea of making you do all of the work around the household doesn't sit right with him. He will do his best to cook for you, often looking up many recipes and cooking videos to try his best to make something edible - Pinterest will become his best friend. He will do the dishes if you cook dinner (and make sure to buy new plates to replace the ones he breaks every so often). He will dust, playing classical music in the background. He often doesn't notice you lingering around corners or standing behind thin doors in those moments, oblivious as you watch or listen with a warm smile.

While Wolfgang displays himself as cool and collected most of the time, even he isn't immune to moments of jealousy. If he sees someone getting a little too forward and bold for his liking, he will swoop in and excuse the two of you with a polite yet tight smile, whisking you away with a not so subtle hand on your side or waist.

Wolfgang drinks almost exclusively wine and, even then, its very sparsely. He doesn't particularly enjoy alcohol nor the idea of being drunk. You could count the amount of times you've found him drunk on one hand, even after being together for a while. Wolfgang is usually a more solemn drunk and tends to be very lethargic and quiet. He prefers to cling to you or cuddle when he's intoxicated, letting his usual cool facade slip and be vulnerable with you. When the next morning comes around and his hangover leaves him displeased to be stuck in bed with a migraine, you are there to take care of him. "Thank you, my love. I don't deserve you."

When you two first start dating, Wolfgang was definitely driven to take you out on expensive, more luxurious dates. You'd often find yourself in high class restaurants, shopping trips at name brand stores, even the occasional romantic getaway. But as time goes on, you two will settle for more casual dates. Movie nights in, cooking dinner together, playing board games - Wolfgang will grow to realize that money and excessive outings isn't all it takes to impress you, that you simply appreciate being with him.

Wolfgang's parents had an extremely tumultuous relationship. Because of this, when you two do argue, Wolfgang does his best to remain calm. If he does slip and maybe raise his voice a bit too loud or say something he feels is too harsh he will feel very guilty afterward, in spite his stubbornness. He is almost always the first to apologize and will do his best to make it up to you. If you start crying? Wolfgang instantly forgets how angry he was, no matter how much, and will forget the argument in favor of comforting you. You two might disagree (passionately) at the moment, but he never wants you to see you in pain.

Compliments? He gives them constantly. He loves to give out words of affirmation. "You are breathtaking..." He'd murmur against your shoulder as he stood behind you, admiring you in the reflection of the mirror before a night out. "I must be in heaven..." He'd utter against your lips after a deep kiss, his hands holding your waist to keep you pressed against him. His lips are parted to let out soft breaths, his gaze almost dazed. "You have no idea how much I missed you, darling..." He'd sigh, settling his head on your lap and letting you card your fingers through his raven hair. His eyes drift closed as he takes your hand and brings it to his lips, brushing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "I long for you every second I'm away from you. You consume my thoughts, my love."

Wolfgang struggles to sleep at times. You will stir with the feeling of the sheets and mattress shifting as it loses the weight of Wolfgang. You'll watch through half-lidded eyes as Wolfgang splashes his face with the bathroom door open. He pauses for a moment to once again stare at the mirror, now more scornfully. It is then you call his name oh so softly. He looks guilty, shameful, as he walks over and lays back down to crumble in your embrace. He chokes back tears against your chest, squeezing his eyes shut desperately. "I'm sorry... You shouldn't have to see me like this." No matter how much you reassure him, it takes a long time for him to truly accept it.

Killing Game:

Before the truth of the game revealed itself, Wolfgang was still horrified to see you after the incident on the train. There was a part of him relieved - you were there, with him, safe. But you were also caught up in this situation alongside him, stirring a fear in him he hadn't felt in a long time.

Wolfgang never leaves your side. You two essentially become joint at the hip. It is a mix of Wolfgang's general concern for you safety as well as his paranoia. He is the oldest, the most relied upon, the leader. What kind of leader would he be if he let you out of his sight and allowed something to happen to you? He would never forgive himself.

As it says in the game, Wolfgang does spend quite a bit of time at the Pachinko machine. It is mostly to keep his mind off of the game - even for a brief moment. After a day or two, Wolfgang has won quite a few prizes. It is in his nature to spoil you, so you will be receiving the majority of those prizes. When he brings you back a teddy bear, it becomes the thing you sleep with every night.

When roommates are given and Wolfgang is paired with Ulysses, he doesn't complain. That'd be rude, after all - no matter how much he had been paired with you instead. But when Ulysses poses the idea of swapping roommates, he jumps at the opportunity. You give up rooming with Wenona so Ulysses can take your place and gladly join Wolfgang in his room. He gladly assists in moving your belongings, clearing off his desk and picking up the stray blazers around his room to make space for you.

Wolfgang is far more physically affectionate in the game than he ever was outside - it isn't a high bar, but it is noticeable. He will your hand in his, fingers locked together firmly. When you are upset, you will feel a hand on your back, easing you, an assurance to catch you if you fall. At nights, he will hold you from behind, his face nestled into the space between your neck and shoulder. He needs to feel you to be certain that you are still with him.

You are completely and fully distraught after finding him in the boiler room. So distraught, in fact, that Ingrid and Jean had to drag you away as you screamed and cried your lungs out, kicking to try and get back to his body still halfway dipped in the water. Diana tried her best to console a devastated you, holding you as you finally let yourself be hit with a wave of despair.

The trial is a blur. You can barely process what is happening or what is being said. When Damon asks you to relay what had happened that morning, you do so - briefly shaking off the weight off your grief to maybe get some semblance of justice for Wolfgang. Your eyes dart to his portrait, that red x that crossed over his face made your stomach churn.

You refuse to even watch Eva's execution, turned away even as you felt the flames and heat loom behind you. After it, Damon approached you. His movements were stiff and you watched numbly as he shoved his hand into the pocket of his jacket and retrieved an envelope. He shoved it into your hands. "I found it in his dorm. It had your name on it." He didn't give you the time to say anything before he was gone, stepping into the elevator.

You eye the envelope warily. Written on the front in ink was, indeed, your name. It was undoubtedly his handwriting - written in a single line, messy, inelegant. A contradiction to everything he presented himself as, but, in this moment, it was the most beautiful thing you'd seen. You waited until you returned to the two of yours's room to even think of opening it. You lay in the bed, hugging the teddy bear to your chest. Your fingertips traced over the grainy paper of the envelop, hesitant. But you opened it, eventually. Watching the seal tear from the front, you gently pulled out the contents - a single sheet of paper. You unfolded it with care, reading the words he had clearly taken the time to make legible.

"To my dearest,

I received a note from an anonymous individual in relation to my blackmail. They have requested to meet and I fear I would be quite the hypocrite if I did not show. If something is to happen to me, please, stay strong. If there has one thing I have come to know for certain it is that you are stronger than I have ever been, even at your weakest. There is so much I want to say, to tell you, but I also fear all of those things cannot properly be put into words. I fear that if I were to try, those words would haunt you. So I will leave you with this: Take care of yourself. If not for yourself, then for me. You are and always will be my everything. Please, live the life we wanted.

With all my love,

Wolfgang."

[serotonins-stuff]

Enjin gets extra whenever you blow him kisses.

This man will pull every muscle, almost click joints out of place, and damn near fall over just to catch them.

It starts simple. With you peering down at him from your balcony. Innocently waving goodbye as he backward-walks toward the jeep.

The others just walk past — unfazed by this routine.

With cute precision, you lean over the railing — palm closing against your lips before flicking outward, sending him a kiss.

He swears your lip print materialises right then and there — whooshing and swirling through the wind like a graceful feather.

His body goes into receiver mode. Eyes wide and tongue darting over his upper lip.

With absolute confidence, his palm outstretches — arm reeling back as he waits for it to reach him.

He does a little hop — before clutching the air like he’s snatching something priceless straight out of it. His palm is greeted with a familiar warmth.

Call him delusional, but it's there.

Wasting no time, he plants the Bluetooth kiss on his chest where it matters most. Where he keeps every piece of you safe, tucked right over his heart.

The gravel beneath his feet crackles when he takes a step back.

His favorite is when you send him rapid fire kisses. Just so he can act like he's fired at.

He'll catch the first few, easy-peasy.

But your pace picks up — messing with his accuracy. Because they aren't being caught, the kisses collide straight into him.

His shoulders jerk back violently, like he's being hit by a physical force. Each kiss gracing his body with sweetness too much to bear.

"Ah. I've been hit!!" he'll scream, voice echoing through the empty space.

The best part?

Looking up to see you grinning. Shaking your head like he's being unreasonable.

Yeah. He's being a silly man.

But he's your silly man.

A/N: yeah yeah, he's back :)