Proffesional Daydreamer

Return

You spend the next year training as a miko. You sell what's left of your car, get a ride to the nearest train station — in the same town as the hospital — and go back to Niigata for a weekend, just to handle your belongings. You've gotten used to not having much, so a lot of it is sold, and the rest is divided by sentiment, use, and whether the two overlap. The things you don't want to lose but can't bring with you are packed away and left with one of your few relatives. What's left is mostly books, practical clothes, and your computer, the last thing being a matter of continuing your programming on the side, but there are a few trinkets. A Nintendo DS, a few pieces of jewelry, and two stuffed toys — a Venomoth from your childhood, and a Snom from much more recently. All of that is packed up into a large suitcase, a backpack, and a pair of cardboard boxes, then taken back to your new home.

You get to know the people in town in between learning how to run the shrine and learning its history. There are centuries of records, and you can't read the originals of the oldest ones. You mean that literally, you can't even look at them, they're so fragile. But you can read the copies that are made regularly, both as backups and as compensation for linguistic drift. Part of your training is making your own copy, in fact, so you get a lot of practice in calligraphy. You ask the kannushi about a digital copy, and she hums and agrees as long as you don't mean photographs. You order some archival quality CDs and start typing.

You also start writing up your own experience over the last winter, which turns out to be the longest single continuous interaction with the shrine's god in all its written history.

Over the winter, when it's too treacherous for an old woman to climb the path, you bundle up and go to the honden to make the offerings for her, and perform the New Years rites as she taught you alone.

A full twelve months after your service at the shrine began, the kannushi declares you ready for initiation. You undergo ritual purification and dress in the shrine's traditional variant of a miko's ceremonial outfit, the familiar greenish-white of raw silk for the kosode, an especially dark red hakama, a chihaya shawl with four points to the cut — the back drape more rounded than the front — and a large red circle on each corner, and kanzashi hairpins with silk fringing silver in a familiar feathery shape. You're given no makeup, not really, but a drop of honey-based ointment is applied to your lower lip and you're warned not to lick it off.

There are no offerings prepared, those will be presented elsewhere. Then the kannushi hands you a decorated lantern, unlit, and leads you toward the honden. Halfway there, she stops and turns off the path, or at least off the main path, since it seems there's a much smaller one leading down into the valley. It's not easy in the traditional shoes, but the path is worn just well enough to manage, and you make it all the way to the Shinboku without falling or dropping your lantern.

The kannushi brushes away the growth and dirt on a single paving stone set at the roots of the tree, and you kneel on it, settling into wait while she retreats. You'll sit here overnight, at the mountain god's tree, lighting the lantern at sunset, and meditating on why you chose this path.

For you, that means remembering the months of last winter. The way he healed your injuries, the way he took care of you while you were ill. The way he went from not caring about or for your method of preparing venison to insisting you make it your way for him too. The way he listened to you read, interrupting to ask questions because he didn't understand, and the way he insisted you pace the story so you wouldn't hurt your throat again. The way he went through the graphic novels after you read them but never asked you to tell him those stories too…

"You came back," he rasps.

You open your eyes and look up. His face is lit from below by the flickering lantern, and his eyes flash with nightshine in the shadow of his cheekbones. He looks… beautiful, you think. You always thought that, but in a distant sort of way. But you've missed him, and the first sight of him hits hard.

"Yes. I work at the shrine now. The red house."

"Why are you here now?"

"I finished my training. This is my initiation."

"No," he snaps, and you recoil slightly. Does he not— "Why are you here now? I told you to be gone before full spring. It's full spring!"

And then it hits you.

The symbolism of this whole event, dressing in his colors and his materials, waiting in the heart of his territory, on his doorstep. A traditional miko's initiation seals her relationship with a kami. It's a metaphorical wedding.

You're a bride, and you knew it when you agreed to this. That doesn't mean you were expecting him to answer.

In the records, the miko of his shrine traditionally present themselves in the summer, when the nights are warmer, or in the fall. In the records, he almost never attends the event, preferring to ignore it and claim the offerings at the honden. And when he does come to see the bride, he takes their lantern and leaves without speaking.

But he spoke to you. And it's spring.

The way he got further and further away as the weather got warmer, the way he looked through those manga — explicit manga — after you read them but never where you could see… He only says he's a god because humans granted him that title by transitive property. He's old, maybe immortal, but he might not be divine the way humans think of it, and he's definitely not ethereal. He has needs.

And it's spring.

"I know," you say softly.

"Then why—!"

"That is why. Do you remember what I told you about human families?"

He steps back, but his antenna reach harder toward you. "Which part?"

"The part that's like Sam and Rosie. Like Aragorn and Arwen. The human girls that come here at night, dressed like this, that's why. It's symbolic, an offering like the food at the shrine. You don't have to take it. I know you never took the fish when it was cooked."

"It was ruined," he complains, sounding almost defensive.

"I tried those recipes, I didn't like it much either. You don't have to take the offering. But it's yours if you want it." You lift the lantern, then get to your feet. "I'm yours if you want me."

He stares at you for a minute, antenna quivering and wings twitching like they're trying to unfold away from him. Then his eyes blaze, and he snatches the lantern out of your hands.

Your heart sinks. He doesn't want—

He sets the lantern back down on the stone and reaches for you. "Close your eyes," he hisses.

You can't disobey.

Arm-shaped iron bands wrap around your shoulders and under your knees, and your feet leave the ground, requiring you to clench your toes to avoid losing your sandals. If your head wasn't tucked against a hard surface, something fluffy brushing across your forehead, you might get whiplash at how fast you're suddenly moving, and there's a hollow booming sound every other second or so.

Your sense of time is blurred, it might be only a couple of minutes or several long ones later, when your feet touch the ground again, and he tells you to open your eyes. You do, and you find yourself surrounded by familiar stone. You've never seen this chamber before, and you have a feeling that it's behind the cloth curtains he told you not to go past and that, in fact, you never even found. There's a faint breeze coming from somewhere you can't see, an oddly sweet musky scent in the air, and a crank lantern wrapped in yellowish cloth lighting up the room. Several sanbo stands sit by a wall, most piled with small shiny things, but one holds the Lord Of The Rings books and the marinade instructions you printed for him — just photos of a deer and a yakiniku grill — and another has the kettle you used the most, while the yellow sleeping bag hangs from the ceiling. The centerpiece of the room is the enormous nest, three meters across easily, a round frame of sticks and vines laced together and padded with some kind of stuffing in raw silk sacks and the pelts of deer, rabbits, and a couple of bears, laid over with a patchwork of fabrics. Silk and linen and cotton and fleece, some stitched together and others big enough to cover a good-sized stretch on their own.

This is his room. This is where he keeps the things he likes the most. His shiniest treasures, the books you read to him and the bed you slept in.

There's a tugging at your hair as he slides the antenna kanzashi out of it, then he goes over and sweeps one of the sanbo clear of shinies and sets the pins down on it. The wing-patterned chihaya comes off next, and he hangs that from the ceiling with silk threads. "You make yourself look like me," he rasps.

"Yes. It's tradition for the maidens at your shrine." You glance at the kanzashi as the ribbon tying your ponytail in place is added to them. "You didn't know we were for you?"

"They never said."

"We thought you were taking the lanterns the way you took the sanbo." You gesture to the little altars. "Because you didn't want the offerings themselves. But… why did you go see some of the miko but not others?"

"I came to see the ones that smelled right." He lowers his head to sniff your neck, antenna patting at your ear and hair. "You smell right."

His claws aim for the tie of your hakama and you quickly undo the ties before he can cut them off. "You still didn't take them," you whisper.

"They didn't make me want them. They didn't come to me in spring." Your hakama fall, but they don't hit the floor. Instead they land on more strings, and when you step out of them, you almost trip, because your tabi appear to have been stitched to the floor, so your feet come out of those too. You're left in your underwear and your kosode, and he slides the latter off your shoulders to hang the lot up with the chihaya. "You made me want you, and came when I needed you."

"Then why did you send me away last year?"

"Because you wanted to leave!" he snarls. You hold very, very still, and he shudders, sniffing your neck again and peels the last of the fabric wrapped around you off. These he doesn't hang up, and he sniffs at the seat of your panties like a teenage junkie with a bottle of glue, before tossing them into his nest and leaning against your back. "If you had stayed longer, I wouldn't have let you go at all."

It's not anger, you realize. It's hurt. "I came back. I'll always come back."

"You won't leave again."

"I belong at your shrine. On your land."

"Mine," he repeats.

"Yours." You turn and kiss him.

You've been careful not to lick away the honey ointment on your lips. It's hours old by now, and most of it has sunk in or worn away anyway. But there's enough sweetness left to catch his attention, and it baits him into tasting your mouth. He catches onto the trick immediately, but isn't at all put off. Instead he grabs your face with both hands and holds you still while he alternates between gentle, if slightly mechanical kisses, and clumsy but enthusiastic attempts to stick his tongue all the way down your throat. Since his tongue is noticeably longer than a human's, he gets fairly close to managing the latter.

"Humans do this when they mate, right?" he asks breathlessly. "I've seen."

"We do. Did you learn by watching?" He definitely seems like he's mimicking something he's only seen from the outside.

"And those picture stories," he agrees. "I'm doing it right, right?"

"You have a good idea to start with. Can I show you more?" You take his wrists in your hands and tug them down to your shoulders, then take over the kiss, demonstrating how to mold your mouths together and how to explore instead of just diving all the way in. He learns quickly, and enjoys it if the way he's crooning into your mouth is any indication.

You lose track of things after a minute or two, then your feet find themselves lifting over fur-covered twigs and your ass is planted on a swath of flannel, and the mountain god is kneeling over you. You've never seen beneath his wings before, not really, but now they're shrugged off his shoulders and hanging behind him. He wears nothing, showing off velvety skin marked by scattered scars, and a thick trail of fluff matching his neck-crest trails down from his navel to between his legs. There's enough volume that if he were calm you might see nothing but soft white pelt, but he is most certainly not calm, and the proof is… intimidating.

Bluntly speaking, his cock is monstrous. Skin flushed pink going into deep red at the glistening tip, longer both your fists stacked and thick enough around you might struggle to close your fingers around it, and knotted nearly twice as wide at the base like the fantasy toys you used to giggle over with your university roommate. You raise your hand to touch it, and find perfectly ordinary skin, silky smooth and hot with the blood running under it, pulse detectable in the prominent vein just under the surface.

He lets you for just a minute, then he pulls your hand away with a squeak and pushes you back against the nest, going down with you and nuzzling at your neck. His tongue sweeps over the faint marks on your throat where his bite never fully faded, then out along your shoulder and back in across your collarbone. He takes his time plastering his scent all over your neck, wings periodically flicking behind him, and the longer he takes, the more your blood heats.

Finally he moves lower. His hands trace over your breasts, carefully keeping his claws held back from your skin while his fingertips follow the curves, brush the peaks into stiffening, while he squeezes and kneads. Then he lowers his head and wraps his tongue around your nipple. His antenna immediately start twitching wildly. He glances up at you, pupils blowing out so much that his eyes are all shine and no glare, then closes his mouth on your breast and starts to suck.

You can't stop the moan. "Shinchuu-sama—"

"No," he growls, raising his head. "Tomura."

You blink in confusion, mouthing the syllables to yourself. Mourning?

"Tomura. Say it."

"Tomura," you whisper.

He croons, pleased, and resumes sucking. You slip your fingers through his hair, thumb brushing across the tip of his ear, and he suckles harder, his hip coming down on your thigh and starting to rub.

"You like that, Tomura?"

His wings flick and flutter as he looks up and nods, and he gives your nipple a solid lick before moving to the other one to repeat the treatment. He takes his time, and doesn't stop until you're thoroughly oversensitized and panting with need. Then he lifts his head again and cups the tender flesh with his palm. "This is… ideal. You liked that, right?"

You wonder what he means by ideal, when he seemed to pick the word so carefully, but you don't ask. Instead you nod with a smile and brush your thumb on his cheekbone. "You're very good at that, Tomura."

…You've never seen him smile before. It's an awkward expression, so wide it shows all of his teeth and forces his eyes into crescents, and it probably should be unsettling, but it radiates so much happiness that it's endearing instead. You want to kiss him again.

You'll have to do that later though, because he's moving away, or rather moving down. He pushes your legs apart and hunches between them, pressing his nose to your folds and inhaling deeply. You shudder at the touch, then shudder harder when he uses the knuckles of his curled fingers to spread you open. The air in the cave is cool, but his breath is hot where it puffs over your flesh. His tongue is even hotter, and your lungs hitch and your fingers twist in the bedding when he starts to lick. He's thorough, exploring every millimeter, and he finds your clit without you having to say a word. He promptly starts mouthing at it, testing your response to different kisses and licks with his antenna flicking like the needle on a geiger counter. And like a geiger counter, the faster they twitch the more intense the reading. You'd wonder how he can tell if he wasn't driving every thought out of your head before you can form it. The instant before you come, he breaks away. You open your mouth to protest, maybe to beg, but before the complaint can form, his nose smashes against your clit and the entire length of his tongue shoves into your entrance. The unexpected change in stimulation pushes you unceremoniously over the edge, and his wings flare up in surprise as you clench and ripple around the long muscle.

"What was that?" he demands, wide-eyed.

"Wha— agh… What was what?"

"That! The… squeezing thing!"

You have a sneaking suspicion that his level of experience is even lower than you had assumed, even accounting for observation. "That was an orgasm. I came."

He blinks. "That's what coming is?" You nod, and he briefly looks proud of himself, then his expression turns dismayed. "Can you do it again? You're not tired already?"

"I can go again," you assure him.

"Good." With that serious pronouncement, he crawls back up your body and settles between your legs properly, rutting his hips a few times. "Need to mate you now."

You wrap your arms around his neck and nod. "I'm ready. Go slow, okay? You're really big and I'm small."

"Try," he mumbles distractedly. He reaches between you and takes his cock in hand, then presses the broad tip against your pussy. You both moan, and he trembles with effort. Slowly, he starts to work his way inside.

Your eyes water and you bite your lip at the stinging stretch, and it doesn't stop. He pauses, panting, after a few centimeters, but only for a moment, and it's not enough time for you to adjust, so the burn builds until he hits the barrier of your cervix, forcing the air out of your lungs.

Only then does he stop, and he looks down between the two of you in confusion. "What…?"

You suck in a breath and look down as well. He's as deep as he can get, but there's still two fingers' width of space between you and his knot. Not to mention the fact that you're so overstuffed you still haven't started to adjust. You're… disappointed. "I to— Told you I'm… nng… small… I'm sorry…"

"But that, haah, that doesn't make sense… That's where…" He trails off and shifts a tiny bit, then notices your quiet whine of pain and freezes. His eyes blaze red and paralyze you like a sparrow faced with a viper. "Relax," he hisses. "Don't hurt."

Just like you always do when he looks at you like that, you obey. Your body releases tension in ways you didn't even know it could, and the discomfort of being all but split in half on his cock finally fades in favor of a slow wash of euphoria that has you moaning. "Tomura…"

He starts to croon. Then his hips shift and your lungs are emptied again as he slides deeper, the head of his cock squeezing past your cervix. He keeps going, and your cunt stretches exquisitely to accommodate his knot, leaving the fluff at his base to tickle your clit. Dimly you realize exactly what his command to relax did to your body, and it's proven when you look down at the touch of his hand on your belly to see your insides bulging outward under the pressure of him.

"Good mate," he coos. "Take me good. Feel nice?"

His words are stilted, not like he's not sure if he's saying the right thing, but like he's struggling with the function of speech in general, but the look on his face suggests he expects an answer. You reach up and kiss him.

"Feels nice," you agree hazily. "Go ahead, Tomura. Give me everything."

Whatever sense of restraint he was clinging to for your sake is released, and he starts to thrust. His pace is fast, desperate, without rhythm, and you might be concerned about getting off if he was built like a human. But he's not. The fluff at his base teases your clit, and the knot on his shaft goes just deep enough to cram itself up against the sweet spot inside, so every stroke hits everywhere you need it to. You're wound up too tight to think in no time at all, and you cling to his neck while he squeaks a little louder with every thrust, and when you crash over the edge, he follows seconds later. Seed floods into you in a rush of searing heat, so much that it froths out around him, and he locks into place, spreading his wings to shelter the entire nest while he trembles against you.

You pet his hair slowly, soothingly, combing the fingers of one hand through the tangled locks while the other does the same to the crest around his neck. You aren't sure what kind of aftercare he needs, and you don't really expect he does either, but you're not about to skip out on at least trying. He seems to like this well enough, if the way he rubs his nose against your neck and chirps is any indication.

After several minutes of simply existing in each other's arms, he reluctantly starts to shift away. When the sticky mix of fluids begins leaking out of you faster, he fixes you with another hypnotic glare. "Close," he orders. "Keep it."

Your insides tense instantly, not a cramp but your womb sealing back up, and you nod to signal that his command worked. He's already slipping out of you, and a glance down at his hips shows him slowly retracting back into the fluff. When you check with your fingers, you find that his command must have also prevented your pussy from staying molded to his size and shape, and you muffle a sigh of relief.

"Tomura? Could we go take a bath? It's just fine inside me, but it's unpleasant when this dries on the skin." You hold up your slicked fingers.

He regards you for a moment, then nods slowly and scoops you into his arms, standing easily and trotting out of the bedroom and through the tunnels. The smell of sulfur is nostalgic, at this point, but him stepping into the water with you is new.

You scrub your hands clean quickly, then undo your ponytail and retie it into a bun higher up, away from the water. Once that's done, you can clean the rest of yourself. Then you turn to look at Tomura. He's perched awkwardly just at the edge of the pool, his wings held high behind him, and watching you intently.

"You don't want your wings getting wet?" you ask.

He shakes his head. "Can't fly when they're wet. Need to be able to fly."

"Need?"

"You can't, so I have to. Not safe to be stuck on the ground." One claw points to the scar on your shoulder.

You cover the mark with your hand, then nod solemnly. "Can I help you wash anything else?"

His cheeks flush red and his eyes light up, and he points to the fluff between his legs. Well, you are a bit curious about just how well-hidden everything is… And the answer turns out to be completely. You're not sure how that works, but it doesn't matter.

Once you're sure you're done leaking, he lifts you out of the water and carries you back to the bedroom, tucking you into the nest and curling up around you. You're certainly tired by now, but there's something left to do.

"Tomura?"

"Mate?"

You can't fight the silly smile that comes with that address. "How long until sunrise?"

His antenna twitch for a moment. "…Four sticks."

It only took a few minutes to get from the Shinboku to the cave, didn't it? Definitely no more than ten… "Would you be willing to go to the shrine for me? There's food laid out for you. For us. And I'd like to send a message to the kannushi."

"I don't want to talk to another human."

"You don't have to," you assure him. "I can write it down on paper with some charcoal. She won't be waiting there at this time of night anyway."

"Haven't got paper… Bark?"

"As long as it's light-colored and flat."

He grumbles a bit, but leaves the room and comes back with a scrap of birch bark the size of his spread hand and a burnt stick, then watches you write. "What does it say?"

"It's a request that she leave extra food at the shrine. Kinds that aren't normally offered. I want to cook more things while I'm here this time."

He jerks away, baring his teeth. "While you're here?"

"Yes?" You look up at his narrow eyes and pinprick pupils. "Tomura, you're my husband and I will never leave you, but I physically can't stay here in this cave with you forever."

"Why not?!"

"Do you know why I left the first time?" He shakes his head, and you reach out to lace your fingers between his. "I was getting sick, Tomura. Humans aren't meant to live in the dark, and we're meant to eat many different things, not only a few. You've seen deer lick at salt rocks, haven't you?"

He nods slowly, unwillingly.

"They need it. I was like a deer without salt. If I had stayed much longer, another few weeks maybe, my bones would have started getting hollow and brittle, and after that I would have had other, worse problems."

"But if this other human is sending food to the red house for you—"

"Do you remember almost sixty years ago, there was a human that got stung by a wasp and hit her head on your tree? You brought her here, healed the wasp sting, and bandaged her head?" He nods again and you squeeze his hand. "That was her. She's eighty-two years old. She'll only live a few more, and I'm the only other person who works at the shrine. There won't be anyone else to bring food once she dies, because that will be my job."

He's silent for a few minutes. "You're mine. You have to stay…"

It's not rage. It's fear, the anticipation of grief.

"Have you ever been down the path from the shrine? To the bigger red buildings?"

He nods. "I took some of my things from there, once…"

"That's where she lives. Where I live. And the town that the fake tengu came from, just around the edge of the valley, is where we buy food. I promise not to go any further away than that." You're not going to try to explain hospitals to him right now. "And those red buildings are yours too, so you can come there whenever you want."

There's another few minutes of silence, and you twitch the charcoal stick between your fingers nervously. "You have to stay here until summer," he finally says. "You can go outside for light if you need it, but you can't go back to the red buildings before spring is over. I need you."

"Okay, Tomura. I'll stay here until spring is over."

"Good. Write your message."

You do. You tell the kannushi that the lantern was left at the Shinboku, that your new husband is very attentive, and that your duties as a miko require you to remain where you are until the end of spring, so you would appreciate supplies being sent, with a list attached. You hand the bark to him when you're done and kiss him on the cheek, then lay back down and close your eyes as he turns to leave.

You're happy this way.

Happy with him.

"I love you, Tomura," you whisper.

"What is that?" he asks, stopping in his tracks. "Humans say that, what does it mean?"

"It means—" A yawn cuts you off. "It means I want to spend my time with you. I want to share food and stories and other things with you. I want you to be happy, to see you smile. It means you're the most precious of treasures to me…"

Not even when another boy—some leaf shinobi with a pretty mouth and messy hair—touched your elbow during a joke, and you laughed.

He crushed a metal fence post with one hand that night.

Didn’t feel it.

Didn’t care.

But Kakashi noticed. Kakashi always noticed.

He pulled you aside after a briefing. His voice was low. Not teasing. Not warm.

“Be careful around Gaara.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“He’s… quiet. Too quiet. Like a blade left under a pillow. You forget it’s there until you’re bleeding.”

You laughed, soft. “He just has a crush.”

Kakashi didn’t laugh back.

It happened on a night heavy with heat.

The air was thick. Your tiny apartment window was cracked open, but the breeze had died hours ago. You lay in bed with your pajama shorts riding up your thighs, sweat sticking your shirt to your skin, one leg kicked out from under the blanket. You couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t relax. Not after the patrol. Not after the way your body buzzed, exhausted but wound tight like something was about to happen.

And it was.

Because Gaara had been waiting.

He didn’t knock.

Didn’t call your name.

You heard the soft slide of the window opening—the faint, deliberate whisper of wood on wood. You sat up too late. By the time you reached for a weapon, for a scream, for anything—

He was inside.

Crouched. Still. Watching.

Then moving.

You didn’t even hear the floor creak beneath him. Just the sudden heat of his body crawling over yours. You landed flat on your back, his hands braced on either side of your head, his hair hanging down, those sea-glass eyes locked on your face with something wild burning deep in them.

“Gaara?” you gasped. “What the fuck are you—”

His hand clamped over your mouth.

“I had to,” he whispered.

His voice was shaking. Not with rage. Not like when he fought.

With need.

“I tried staying away. I did. But every time I see you smile at someone else, I want to kill. I want to hurt them. I want to bury them. But I don’t. I don’t. I come here instead. I watch you sleep. I watch you breathe.”

You struggled under him. Your legs kicked, your fists hit—but he didn’t budge. His body was lean and dense, pure muscle coiled in silence. The gourd wasn’t on his back. He didn’t need it.

His hand slid down. Fingertips trembling against your bare stomach.

“I want to know what it feels like,” he whispered. “To be inside someone warm. To be wanted. To be held.”

Your stomach turned. But your chest ached.

Because his voice cracked.

You opened your mouth to scream. His fingers pushed into your waistband.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, tears already gathering in his lashes. “But I need this.”

You sobbed into his palm. But your hips tilted.

You didn’t mean to. Reflex. Shock. Pity. Curiosity. All of it.

His eyes widened. He felt it.

You were warm.

And wet.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. And then he pushed inside.

No warning. No rhythm. Just pressure, stretching pain, something blunt and needy driving into you with all the skill of someone who’d never done it before. You cried out, legs jerking, body clenching down around him.

“F-fuck,” he gasped, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re tight. So tight—I c-can’t—”

He tried to thrust. Failed. Hips stuttering, he began grinding instead, small desperate movements that made your cunt throb and burn, the intrusion thick and clumsy but deep. He whimpered.

You sobbed. But you didn’t push him off.

His hands fisted your sheets.

“I just wanted to feel love. Just once. Just once.”

He moaned, tears slipping down his cheeks as he humped against you, cock twitching inside you, your walls clenching as if trying to pull him deeper. His breath hitched.

“Why are you letting me?” he choked. “Why are you still warm?”

You didn’t answer.

You just wrapped your legs around his waist.

And he broke.

He sobbed into your neck as he came, hot and fast, hips jerking, his cock pulsing inside you, thick streams of cum flooding your cunt until it leaked out, sticky between your thighs. He collapsed onto you, face buried in your chest.

Shaking. Crying.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

You didn’t say a word.

You just stroked his hair.

Because he wasn’t a monster.

There's only three secret buttons for the demo

First the belt you don't have to do anything at all, it's clickable at the start of the date

Second the cookies you can pick anything until you get to the screen with bake/journal/feed birds/box. You want to pick "Bake" and it's there

Third the blush you can also pick anything until you get to the screen with bake/journal/feed birds/box. You want to pick "Journal", you can pick anything until after the date, you need to pick "Nah" to inviting him over. Then pick "Distract" and "Shoo Away" until you're packing your bag pick anything until you see the pen and jounal pick the "Pen" and hover over his face. If you don't click the button you will get the ending "He didn't mean it"

For the "You had enough" ending you want to pick anything until after the date, then pick "Nah" to inviting him over. Pick "Distract" and then "Shoo Away" and pick anything until you reach the choice to stay calm/cry/grab gun. Pick "Grab His Gun" and "Don't Stop" and "Don't Stop!"

For the "You were heartbroken" ending you only need to refuse to go on a date with Kevin. Play the game until you reach the choice to reply to Kevin. instead of yes, I should, click "Nah" and then "I'm not interested" and you'll get the ending.

For the "He didn't know his own strength" ending you want to pick anything until after the date, then pick "Nah" to inviting him over. Pick "Distract" and then "Bring Inside" and you'll eventually get the option to threat or plead, choose "Threaten" and you'll get your ending.

For the "You were a deer" ending you want to pick anything until the date, pick anything until you get to the choice busy/lonely/hard/okay, pick "Okay", then pick "Taxidermist", after the date end it early and choose "Nah" then "De-escalate". When you're home pick "Relax" and "Refuse" to pack, you can pick anything to pack. "Start to cry" when Kevin is telling you what to do. Say "It's nice", then pick anything until the choices don't do anything/get help, pick "Don't do anything". Finally pick "Lower your hands" to get your ending.

The missing cgs for dream gallery are a small route for Spike. They aren't easily found since you need to have all the endings and to restart the game to interact with them. (I've also fixed this so they show up at endings instead and you can't miss it)

How to get the Spike cgs:

Get all the endings first!

Start a new save, you'll get a new interaction with the creature pick "Ask for name", forward until you wake up.

Start a new save again, and pick "Ask if they hate you", forward until you wake up.

Start a new save (The game crashes if you pick cut-dick for junk, sorry ;w; I might upload to twitter)

That's all, Spike will be nicer to you and ask about your day everytime you start a new save

Other things:

Choose "Adventurer" and pick "Lighter" when packing your bag to get another CG.

You can see Kevin's tail behind the toilet block

Choose "Ask About Cat" and Kevin will send you a photo of their cat.

Follow the "He didn't know his own strength" ending but instead "Plead" and choose "I'll Do Anything" for more CG's

Follow the "You were a deer" ending except invite Kevin over and choose "Kiss" and he'll make fun of you

Some of the concept gallery won't unlock because I ended the demo early

If you try to "Lower Your Hands" with high hate Kevin will yank them back up and tell you off

Requests: OK! **I only write m!reader-insert stories. fem!reader requests will be declined/deleted

Characters I Intend to Write For:

Miguel O'hara

Ryoumen Sukuna

Fushiguro Toji

Zenin Naoya

Gojo Satoru

Getou Suguru

Todoroki Touya/Dabi

Matsuoka Rin

Zagreus (Hades Game)

Tag Lists

Tag List Google Form OR send an ask/comment on a story with your add request, and I can add you to the list myself🫡

“Anything?” Gojo trilled, patting Yuuji’s shoulders frantically as he stood behind him and beheld the wooden tub covered in sigils. 

“Uh…” Yuuji tried to focus on Sukuna’s presence inside of him. He didn’t seem intrigued or frightened, nor did he seem too bothered with the idea of them trying to smite him down with a sealed god–he was, however, annoyed that Yuuji continued to poke and prod at him. 

Piss off, runt. 

“Yep. Nope. Sukuna doesn't care,” Yuuji sighed. “He's getting all pissy now that I'm bothering him, though.” 

Gojo laughed and patted Yuuji's shoulders a few more times before all but twirling towards the bound box. “Well, that's a pretty good sign that he's not the one that did this, then! In that case,” he started, walking up to the seal papers keeping everything locked down, “let's pop ‘er open.” 

Before Yuuji could even wonder if that was a good idea, the white-haired witch used an overzealous amount of cursed energy and disintegrated every scrap of seal paper. 

Yuuji braced for impact. Surely something terrible like a bankai or a spirit bomb would send them flying once the coffin came undone. Surely they'd pay for this, for unleashing whatever godly spirit laid locked up for far too long, only to release it back into the modern age and–

“Huh. Weird.”

Yuuji cracked open an eye and saw the dull shine of tattered onyx fur, and his control slipped with a blitz of vertigo. 

Markings flared across his skin as he stormed toward the coffin, heart howling with thoughts and memories crashing through a shared mind; a face he didn't know but knew so well bloomed at the forefront of it all, eyes framed in pointed scarlet, skin bathed in ancient, dappled sunlight.

They reached the edge of the coffin and gripped the edges, splintering the wood as they took in the sight; crimson and curse decay pooled around a figure, curled up and half-submerged. Several black, tattered tails spilled free from the tub, no longer crushed from the force of the lid sealing them inside, but they were bent awkwardly and matted with whatever tincture lay at the bottom.

Then there was the so-called god in the middle of it all–you. Still. Quiet. Curled up in a haori far too big for you. Eyes closed. Almost peaceful.

Confusion tore at Sukuna while nausea ripped through Yuuji; he couldn't bear to look at such a morose scene.

So, Sukuna pushed him aside.

[Heian Era]

You were never supposed to be anything more than a trinket. 

You were a gift from some family trying to show off for Sukuna, so much so that they offered him a delicacy, something he surely didn't have yet–a yokai. A kitsune, to be more exact. One with peculiar black tails. 

Sukuna found it interesting, and similarly desperate, to be brought such a creature as tribute. Certainly, it was meant to be seen as a high honour, yet somehow it felt…off. Why would humans give up something so powerful? 

Unexpectedly, it'd be you who told him. 

They submit me for the sake of convenience and mockery, your withering voice whispered where no one else could hear. You sounded weak. Tired. Maybe afraid, yet brave enough to reach towards the king and unveil the intentions of the men who brought you before him. 

Sukuna's eyes flicked to you, his feigned interest in what the sorcerers said falling straight into dismissal. You were much more intriguing. 

“Oh?” Sukuna asked, a smile creeping onto his face. The speakers ceased their jabbering and stared at your back with fierce intensity. Sukuna grinned wider. Oh, how he loved the way fear twisted mortal faces. 

You didn't shift or crumple into yourself under the eyes of so many, however. You pushed on with what little energy and life you had, so intent on dragging that clan through the mud. 

What I say is true, you assured simply. I expect to die today–

“Speak so everyone hears you, fox,” Sukuna commanded.

“--so I–I–” you coughed and cleared your throat, trying to rid your voice of the scratchy, weakness it struggled through. “I wish to not die with regrets.

"They have rendered me ill and unable to produce children, they see the black of my tails and regard me as an ill omen; yet they bring me to you, daring to spin sweet tales about the value of such an offering. But they lie,” You hissed. Your eyes glinted with molten malice, and Sukuna fell captivated.

“They throw me to you as they would diseased meat to dogs.” 

The courtyard fell silent, and Sukuna basked in it. You really were such a little troublemaker. A quietly chaotic force of nature. 

The king stood, rolling his shoulders as he did, and his pride flared as you dropped to your knees before him in respect. He walked to you and patted your head as one might a child's before appraising the sorcerers stood before him. 

“What a disappointment,” Sukuna sighed, raising another hand. The couple took up position, pooling their cursed energy in hopes of fending off the monster standing before them. The effort was quite cute. “Here I thought your clan might actually earn my mercy.” His hand dropped as the two lunged. Then, the two clansmen fell, too, both in neat, vertical halves. Quite overkill, yes, but he had a point to make. 

Where he expected a reaction from you, he got nothing. Only panting and poorly-stifled coughs came from you, racking through the entirety of your skin and bones frame. Sukuna could see it up close now, the way your body trembled from fatigue, the sickly greying of your skin, the scent of disease clinging to you. 

That wouldn't do. Sukuna liked his things to be in good shape. 

“Uraume,” Sukuna droned as he stared down at you, “fix this.”

It took some time, but you managed to recover. It was an unnerving experience, with the way Uraume tended to you with sincerity. Perhaps it was genuinity born from their devotion to Ryoumen Sukuna, but you greedily soaked it in, filling your stomach with the care they offered you. 

Sukuna didn't bother much with you, not that you really minded; you were much more content to be fed and forgotten than hunted down by the creature that supposedly took ownership of you without enforcing it. If he didn't cause harm or good, if he simply existed somewhere else and forgot you breathed the same air as him, you'd still be at peace. 

But he was more intrigued than you gave him credit for. 

“Ho? So this is where you scamper off to,” Sukuna hummed, leaning over you as you dozed in the nice little spot you'd made for yourself in the garden, right under the crimson cover of a maple tree. You jumped the slightest bit, your daydreams and sunbathing interrupted by the brute’s silhouette eclipsing the sun, but you settled again quickly. The beast of a man wasn't a cause for panic in your little world, after all. 

“Does it displease you?” You inquired, fixing your hair and straightening out your robes. 

Sukuna held onto an overhead branch of the tree as he looked down at you. “Pets are supposed to play in the yard, aren't they?” He smirked as you pursed your lips and flicked your tail before calming it with hasty pets. “What, you don't like being my pet?” 

“I would not refer to myself as a pet,” you countered as the man sat down with you and leaned against the tree. The king's presence calmed you. With him, you knew you were invincible. 

“Pft. Then pray tell what your damn role is around here.” One set of arms folded behind his head while the other set crossed over his chest. “Pets are freeloaders. Pretty sure that's exactly what you are.”

You huffed. “Freeloader. Tch. How rude.” 

“Lookit that. You're copping an attitude now that you're fat and fed. Used to be so much more polite.” 

“Fat and–I am not fat.” You headbutted his side lightly, something that would make more sense had you been in your fox form. You grinding your forehead against him suggested this was more of a human move, however. “I am perfectly normal now. I was brittle and nonexistent prior to now. This is a grand improvement.”

Sukuna scoffed a laugh and looked down at your head pressed up against his side. “Thanks to me,” he boasted. 

“Yes,” you agreed. You held onto his haori and looked up at him, placid and intense. “It is thanks to you. I would not be here if not for your mercy and intervention.” 

Sukuna raised a brow as he regarded you. “Hm. And what will you do to repay me?” 

“My very presence grants you luck, good fortune and fertility.” You tilted your head. “I already repay you by being here.”

Tch. But the gardens and surrounding lands did look more lush and lively since your arrival, he couldn't deny that fact. But he was a king; he could always ask for more and expect to get it. 

“What more?” He prodded.

Your tail flicked as you thought. “What would you ask of me?” 

“Something you haven't given another,” Sukuna replied. Ugh, your flowery, poetry-y, bullshit speak was rubbing off on him. 

You stared at him, gemstone eyes glinting with earthen hues and shards of gold in the yawning afternoon sun. The leaves bristled just perfectly, letting in dapples of citrus sunlight as if trying to make this moment something special, as if to burn your ethereal presence into history for all eternity. All this, just while you thought of what to give him. Perhaps a riddle is what you wanted. Perhaps purple prose suited your fancy. Perhaps it was something else. 

You sat up, carefully raising yourself onto your knees before leaning up towards the hulking king. He turned his face to you in interest, feeling a sort of natural energy begin to pool around the both of you, reaching from the far depths of the earth and the wide stretch of the sky to converge on your existence as you framed his face with gentle hands, and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

It lasted only a second. But a second was long enough to catch the scent of petrichor and petals on your skin, to indulge in the heat of wildfires raging in your soul, to feel the blasphemy of you against him; then, you parted. 

“For now,” you murmured, and Sukuna swore he saw your single tail fan out into nine, “I give you my divine favor, Ryoumen Sukuna.”

You wondered if your favor was enough. He'd been gone some time, off to accept a duel from the snotty shitheads Sukuna had received you from. Apparently, having two of the eldest boys murdered rubbed them the wrong way. Sukuna was glad for it, you knew–the man lived and breathed for a fight. 

Of course, you stayed put. Uraume assured you'd be fine on your own, and Sukuna reminded his staff they'd all be eaten alive by the king himself if anything uncouth were to take place in his absence. It was more so that Sukuna didn't like the idea of idiots touching his stuff than it was the notion you were important to him, from your understanding. 

Regardless, the time alone left you restless. That king made you invincible. Without him, you were nothing more than the scared kit locked away in darkness, never to emerge lest your stubbornness trick them. But things were different here. Everyday was filled with unknowns and uncertainties when the two you'd forged fragile bonds with fell absent. 

So, you thought of how to repay Sukuna. Your divine favor would only do so much, after all–you didn't think a man like that really needed the extra luck, but he seemed more than intrigued by the manner of delivering the blessing; you remembered how he looked at you, eyes half-lidded, shielding you from the inferno burning out of control. He grumbled something low in his chest, just loud enough that you heard: 

You better be here when I get back.

“Ah–” The thrill those catastrophic words gave you nearly led to stabbing yourself with the needle. You tutted and regained focus, continuing to carefully embroider the sleeves of one of Sukuna's many plain black haori.

You learned how to sew and embroider from watching an elder from that clan work her magic on old, tattered clothes. She never spoke to you nor regarded you, but she never turned you away the rare times you watched her fix garments; you thought it was beautiful–the art of turning something mundane into something meaningful.

Though you wondered if Ryoumen Sukuna, the most powerful sorcerer, the most feared man alive, had a desire for anything useless and meaningful. 

The answer came quickly. You'd found yourself void of confidence when the monarch returned to his palace after (obviously) winning whatever duel he'd agreed to; you weren't sure if you were to congratulate him, celebrate him or something more. On top of that, he'd eventually find that haori you'd slaved over for days, and you weren't sure you could take the heartbreak of dismissal. 

However, those fears were quashed when, from a new little secret garden hovel, you spied the man donning the very haori you slaved over; it wasn't a flashy piece, you didn't want to subtract from the marvel that was the king of curses, so you opted for using black, shimmery thread to weave intricate twisting trees and blackened blooms along the sleeve. Only if the design caught the light would one be able to notice it. 

But that was enough for you. Knowing he accepted such a meaningless gift was reassuring of your place in his world. 

So, you finally let Uraume convince you to stay in the room they'd prepared for you. 

“No need to be nervous,” you hummed, that undying urge inside you to take care of something helping you soothe the young woman's nerves. You fixed her hair, your deft fingers carefully slipping strands into place before sliding a decorative pin in to hold it all together. You took a step back to appraise her, Sukuna's latest concubine. 

“I–thank you.” Sachiko blushed fiercely and bowed the slightest bit, not risking a deep bow for the fear of her hair falling loose. “I can see why all the girls love you.” 

You laughed, low and warm. “Well, it's hard not to love someone who takes care of you, no?” Gently, you tilted her chin up and leaned in, carefully examining the red lacquer staining her lips. The colour matched her kimono and the gems in that exquisite hairpin keeping dark locks at bay. “But I'm glad. I know it's difficult to find respite in these times.” 

Sachiko held her breath as she looked over the natural paint of crimson adorning your eyes. “I-I, um–yes, I do agree.” 

You hummed and carefully fixed the smallest smudge on the corner of her mouth. “Mh. So I hope you do your best to please him.” 

“I will!” Sachiko promised. “But–I wish to–may I give you something?” 

“Of course.” 

She gathered her kimono up in her hands and leaned up toward you. You leaned down, expecting a secret or hushed words, but perfect red lips pressed against your skin instead. And you were dumbfounded; you'd never been kissed before. You'd never had a lady show that interest in you. 

Sachiko got down from her tiptoes and hid her mouth with her sleeve. “Just for good luck!” She squeaked before bowing and hastily running through the doors where Sukuna would no doubt be waiting for his woman for the evening’s events. 

You looked at the doors sliding closed and caught a glimpse of Sukuna stood before the young woman, his frame swallowing hers as you looked on. And you caught a glimpse of his eyes, his stare of shock and utter vexation–clearly, he'd seen the short woman give you a kiss for good luck. 

You turned away, choosing to abandon the girl to her demise as your fingers ghosted against your lips in wonder. 

He showed up in your chambers later that night. You were still awake, quietly embroidering another haori; this time, it was for Uraume. They insisted they didn't want to burden you, but they crumbled under your more insistent insistence, and accepted the offer on the condition it looked subtle and muted. 

Sukuna padded toward you, hardly bothering to announce himself or ask to join you (ugh, how annoying) before plopping himself onto the futon beside you, sighing as he laid down. 

“I see you finished early,” you commented, jumping the littlest bit when large hands caught your flickering tails. He didn't hurt you, no; he was simply an overgrown toddler with a penchant for examining whatever wiggled before him. 

“That woman kissed you,” Sukuna answered, unhelpful. “Ruined it.” 

“Ah. Well. I didn't expect it either.” You cleared your throat, feeling an unexpected bubble of embarrassment rise in your chest. “I have…I've never been given a kiss before. Not from what I can recall, at the very least.” 

“The hell are you talking about?” Sukuna grouched. “You planted one on me in the gardens.” 

“Giving is not receiving,” you corrected, flicking your tail so as to hit his face. “I've never given a kiss on another's lips, regardless. Though I find myself wondering why I–” 

You yowled when he yanked your tail like he meant to rip the thing off, and you whirled on him, eyes drawn into slits and chunky fangs bared as you dug your nails into his wrist in an effort to make him let go.

Yet the king looked unfazed. He sat up and  tugged you closer by your tail, yank after yank, ripping an impressive collection of vexed noises from you until his broad hand caught you by the throat. You clawed at his wrist and forearm, scrambling to find purchase, idly wondering if he'd finally had enough of you and sought to put you down after dirtying one of his concubines–

But he kissed you instead. His lips were warm and dry, not quite soft yet not unwelcoming. Sukuna knew what he was doing, too; his tongue licked at your bottom lip before pushing inside to finally taste you and taint you from within just a little bit. 

Your grip on him laxed the slightest bit, and you even eased into his hold as he, too, refused to harm you further. If you weren't aware of his malevolent spirit, you might've thought him gentle in that long, simple moment–a special brand of “gentle” that was wholly Sukuna's. Kind, but jagged around the edges. 

He started pulling back, though, and you followed after his touch like a bewitched maiden chasing after the lips of a lover. You nipped at the air like that'd do something for you, but soon settled on leaning into the hand holding you still, even if your throat scratched and ached because of it. 

You found Sukuna's calm stare watching you when you opened your eyes a crack. For once, you thought he looked content; the cruel, mocking lines of his face had smoothed and relaxed, and that annoying, cocky smirk he'd been born sporting had been replaced with a placid, normal lilt. Even the inferno blazing in crimson depths eased into pools of yawning embers–warm and spirited, yet contained. 

The sight relaxed you despite the confusion it brought to your rationale. 

“That,” Sukuna said, so odd and quiet, but powerful and judicial. “Is your first.” His thumb stroked against the side of your neck, pausing to feel the pitter patter of your heart thrumming under his mercy. “It'd serve you to remember that.” 

You nodded shallowly. “Of course.” 

Pleased, he let go of your quite breakable neck and moved like he was about to get up. You grabbed at his hand and pressed his palm to the side of your face like he was cupping your cheek. Your insistence on touching gave the beast pause, but he settled again, content to let you keep him hostage for as long as you wanted.

And you indulged in the simple favour. You nuzzled into his palm with a very fox-like chitter as a bassy, quiet trill of a purr lazily rolled through your chest, eventually reaching Sukuna himself. It somehow had him feeling content. Relaxed. Like he was basking in the warmth of the sun. 

“I request another,” you chirped, and Sukuna quirked a brow. 

“Another?” 

“Kiss.” 

Sukuna twitched a smirk. “It'll cost ya.” 

“Oh?” 

“Give me another blessing.”

“Anything?” Gojo trilled, patting Yuuji’s shoulders frantically as he stood behind him and beheld the wooden tub covered in sigils. 

“Uh…” Yuuji tried to focus on Sukuna’s presence inside of him. He didn’t seem intrigued or frightened, nor did he seem too bothered with the idea of them trying to smite him down with a sealed god–he was, however, annoyed that Yuuji continued to poke and prod at him. 

Piss off, runt. 

“Yep. Nope. Sukuna doesn't care,” Yuuji sighed. “He's getting all pissy now that I'm bothering him, though.” 

Gojo laughed and patted Yuuji's shoulders a few more times before all but twirling towards the bound box. “Well, that's a pretty good sign that he's not the one that did this, then! In that case,” he started, walking up to the seal papers keeping everything locked down, “let's pop ‘er open.” 

Before Yuuji could even wonder if that was a good idea, the white-haired witch used an overzealous amount of cursed energy and disintegrated every scrap of seal paper. 

Yuuji braced for impact. Surely something terrible like a bankai or a spirit bomb would send them flying once the coffin came undone. Surely they'd pay for this, for unleashing whatever godly spirit laid locked up for far too long, only to release it back into the modern age and–

“Huh. Weird.”

Yuuji cracked open an eye and saw the dull shine of tattered onyx fur, and his control slipped with a blitz of vertigo. 

Markings flared across his skin as he stormed toward the coffin, heart howling with thoughts and memories crashing through a shared mind; a face he didn't know but knew so well bloomed at the forefront of it all, eyes framed in pointed scarlet, skin bathed in ancient, dappled sunlight.

They reached the edge of the coffin and gripped the edges, splintering the wood as they took in the sight; crimson and curse decay pooled around a figure, curled up and half-submerged. Several black, tattered tails spilled free from the tub, no longer crushed from the force of the lid sealing them inside, but they were bent awkwardly and matted with whatever tincture lay at the bottom.

Then there was the so-called god in the middle of it all–you. Still. Quiet. Curled up in a haori far too big for you. Eyes closed. Almost peaceful.

Confusion tore at Sukuna while nausea ripped through Yuuji; he couldn't bear to look at such a morose scene.

So, Sukuna pushed him aside.

[Heian Era]

You were never supposed to be anything more than a trinket. 

You were a gift from some family trying to show off for Sukuna, so much so that they offered him a delicacy, something he surely didn't have yet–a yokai. A kitsune, to be more exact. One with peculiar black tails. 

Sukuna found it interesting, and similarly desperate, to be brought such a creature as tribute. Certainly, it was meant to be seen as a high honour, yet somehow it felt…off. Why would humans give up something so powerful? 

Unexpectedly, it'd be you who told him. 

They submit me for the sake of convenience and mockery, your withering voice whispered where no one else could hear. You sounded weak. Tired. Maybe afraid, yet brave enough to reach towards the king and unveil the intentions of the men who brought you before him. 

Sukuna's eyes flicked to you, his feigned interest in what the sorcerers said falling straight into dismissal. You were much more intriguing. 

“Oh?” Sukuna asked, a smile creeping onto his face. The speakers ceased their jabbering and stared at your back with fierce intensity. Sukuna grinned wider. Oh, how he loved the way fear twisted mortal faces. 

You didn't shift or crumple into yourself under the eyes of so many, however. You pushed on with what little energy and life you had, so intent on dragging that clan through the mud. 

What I say is true, you assured simply. I expect to die today–

“Speak so everyone hears you, fox,” Sukuna commanded.

“--so I–I–” you coughed and cleared your throat, trying to rid your voice of the scratchy, weakness it struggled through. “I wish to not die with regrets.

"They have rendered me ill and unable to produce children, they see the black of my tails and regard me as an ill omen; yet they bring me to you, daring to spin sweet tales about the value of such an offering. But they lie,” You hissed. Your eyes glinted with molten malice, and Sukuna fell captivated.

“They throw me to you as they would diseased meat to dogs.” 

The courtyard fell silent, and Sukuna basked in it. You really were such a little troublemaker. A quietly chaotic force of nature. 

The king stood, rolling his shoulders as he did, and his pride flared as you dropped to your knees before him in respect. He walked to you and patted your head as one might a child's before appraising the sorcerers stood before him. 

“What a disappointment,” Sukuna sighed, raising another hand. The couple took up position, pooling their cursed energy in hopes of fending off the monster standing before them. The effort was quite cute. “Here I thought your clan might actually earn my mercy.” His hand dropped as the two lunged. Then, the two clansmen fell, too, both in neat, vertical halves. Quite overkill, yes, but he had a point to make. 

Where he expected a reaction from you, he got nothing. Only panting and poorly-stifled coughs came from you, racking through the entirety of your skin and bones frame. Sukuna could see it up close now, the way your body trembled from fatigue, the sickly greying of your skin, the scent of disease clinging to you. 

That wouldn't do. Sukuna liked his things to be in good shape. 

“Uraume,” Sukuna droned as he stared down at you, “fix this.”

It took some time, but you managed to recover. It was an unnerving experience, with the way Uraume tended to you with sincerity. Perhaps it was genuinity born from their devotion to Ryoumen Sukuna, but you greedily soaked it in, filling your stomach with the care they offered you. 

Sukuna didn't bother much with you, not that you really minded; you were much more content to be fed and forgotten than hunted down by the creature that supposedly took ownership of you without enforcing it. If he didn't cause harm or good, if he simply existed somewhere else and forgot you breathed the same air as him, you'd still be at peace. 

But he was more intrigued than you gave him credit for. 

“Ho? So this is where you scamper off to,” Sukuna hummed, leaning over you as you dozed in the nice little spot you'd made for yourself in the garden, right under the crimson cover of a maple tree. You jumped the slightest bit, your daydreams and sunbathing interrupted by the brute’s silhouette eclipsing the sun, but you settled again quickly. The beast of a man wasn't a cause for panic in your little world, after all. 

“Does it displease you?” You inquired, fixing your hair and straightening out your robes. 

Sukuna held onto an overhead branch of the tree as he looked down at you. “Pets are supposed to play in the yard, aren't they?” He smirked as you pursed your lips and flicked your tail before calming it with hasty pets. “What, you don't like being my pet?” 

“I would not refer to myself as a pet,” you countered as the man sat down with you and leaned against the tree. The king's presence calmed you. With him, you knew you were invincible. 

“Pft. Then pray tell what your damn role is around here.” One set of arms folded behind his head while the other set crossed over his chest. “Pets are freeloaders. Pretty sure that's exactly what you are.”

You huffed. “Freeloader. Tch. How rude.” 

“Lookit that. You're copping an attitude now that you're fat and fed. Used to be so much more polite.” 

“Fat and–I am not fat.” You headbutted his side lightly, something that would make more sense had you been in your fox form. You grinding your forehead against him suggested this was more of a human move, however. “I am perfectly normal now. I was brittle and nonexistent prior to now. This is a grand improvement.”

Sukuna scoffed a laugh and looked down at your head pressed up against his side. “Thanks to me,” he boasted. 

“Yes,” you agreed. You held onto his haori and looked up at him, placid and intense. “It is thanks to you. I would not be here if not for your mercy and intervention.” 

Sukuna raised a brow as he regarded you. “Hm. And what will you do to repay me?” 

“My very presence grants you luck, good fortune and fertility.” You tilted your head. “I already repay you by being here.”

Tch. But the gardens and surrounding lands did look more lush and lively since your arrival, he couldn't deny that fact. But he was a king; he could always ask for more and expect to get it. 

“What more?” He prodded.

Your tail flicked as you thought. “What would you ask of me?” 

“Something you haven't given another,” Sukuna replied. Ugh, your flowery, poetry-y, bullshit speak was rubbing off on him. 

You stared at him, gemstone eyes glinting with earthen hues and shards of gold in the yawning afternoon sun. The leaves bristled just perfectly, letting in dapples of citrus sunlight as if trying to make this moment something special, as if to burn your ethereal presence into history for all eternity. All this, just while you thought of what to give him. Perhaps a riddle is what you wanted. Perhaps purple prose suited your fancy. Perhaps it was something else. 

You sat up, carefully raising yourself onto your knees before leaning up towards the hulking king. He turned his face to you in interest, feeling a sort of natural energy begin to pool around the both of you, reaching from the far depths of the earth and the wide stretch of the sky to converge on your existence as you framed his face with gentle hands, and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

It lasted only a second. But a second was long enough to catch the scent of petrichor and petals on your skin, to indulge in the heat of wildfires raging in your soul, to feel the blasphemy of you against him; then, you parted. 

“For now,” you murmured, and Sukuna swore he saw your single tail fan out into nine, “I give you my divine favor, Ryoumen Sukuna.”

You wondered if your favor was enough. He'd been gone some time, off to accept a duel from the snotty shitheads Sukuna had received you from. Apparently, having two of the eldest boys murdered rubbed them the wrong way. Sukuna was glad for it, you knew–the man lived and breathed for a fight. 

Of course, you stayed put. Uraume assured you'd be fine on your own, and Sukuna reminded his staff they'd all be eaten alive by the king himself if anything uncouth were to take place in his absence. It was more so that Sukuna didn't like the idea of idiots touching his stuff than it was the notion you were important to him, from your understanding. 

Regardless, the time alone left you restless. That king made you invincible. Without him, you were nothing more than the scared kit locked away in darkness, never to emerge lest your stubbornness trick them. But things were different here. Everyday was filled with unknowns and uncertainties when the two you'd forged fragile bonds with fell absent. 

So, you thought of how to repay Sukuna. Your divine favor would only do so much, after all–you didn't think a man like that really needed the extra luck, but he seemed more than intrigued by the manner of delivering the blessing; you remembered how he looked at you, eyes half-lidded, shielding you from the inferno burning out of control. He grumbled something low in his chest, just loud enough that you heard: 

You better be here when I get back.

“Ah–” The thrill those catastrophic words gave you nearly led to stabbing yourself with the needle. You tutted and regained focus, continuing to carefully embroider the sleeves of one of Sukuna's many plain black haori.

You learned how to sew and embroider from watching an elder from that clan work her magic on old, tattered clothes. She never spoke to you nor regarded you, but she never turned you away the rare times you watched her fix garments; you thought it was beautiful–the art of turning something mundane into something meaningful.

Though you wondered if Ryoumen Sukuna, the most powerful sorcerer, the most feared man alive, had a desire for anything useless and meaningful. 

The answer came quickly. You'd found yourself void of confidence when the monarch returned to his palace after (obviously) winning whatever duel he'd agreed to; you weren't sure if you were to congratulate him, celebrate him or something more. On top of that, he'd eventually find that haori you'd slaved over for days, and you weren't sure you could take the heartbreak of dismissal. 

However, those fears were quashed when, from a new little secret garden hovel, you spied the man donning the very haori you slaved over; it wasn't a flashy piece, you didn't want to subtract from the marvel that was the king of curses, so you opted for using black, shimmery thread to weave intricate twisting trees and blackened blooms along the sleeve. Only if the design caught the light would one be able to notice it. 

But that was enough for you. Knowing he accepted such a meaningless gift was reassuring of your place in his world. 

So, you finally let Uraume convince you to stay in the room they'd prepared for you. 

“No need to be nervous,” you hummed, that undying urge inside you to take care of something helping you soothe the young woman's nerves. You fixed her hair, your deft fingers carefully slipping strands into place before sliding a decorative pin in to hold it all together. You took a step back to appraise her, Sukuna's latest concubine. 

“I–thank you.” Sachiko blushed fiercely and bowed the slightest bit, not risking a deep bow for the fear of her hair falling loose. “I can see why all the girls love you.” 

You laughed, low and warm. “Well, it's hard not to love someone who takes care of you, no?” Gently, you tilted her chin up and leaned in, carefully examining the red lacquer staining her lips. The colour matched her kimono and the gems in that exquisite hairpin keeping dark locks at bay. “But I'm glad. I know it's difficult to find respite in these times.” 

Sachiko held her breath as she looked over the natural paint of crimson adorning your eyes. “I-I, um–yes, I do agree.” 

You hummed and carefully fixed the smallest smudge on the corner of her mouth. “Mh. So I hope you do your best to please him.” 

“I will!” Sachiko promised. “But–I wish to–may I give you something?” 

“Of course.” 

She gathered her kimono up in her hands and leaned up toward you. You leaned down, expecting a secret or hushed words, but perfect red lips pressed against your skin instead. And you were dumbfounded; you'd never been kissed before. You'd never had a lady show that interest in you. 

Sachiko got down from her tiptoes and hid her mouth with her sleeve. “Just for good luck!” She squeaked before bowing and hastily running through the doors where Sukuna would no doubt be waiting for his woman for the evening’s events. 

You looked at the doors sliding closed and caught a glimpse of Sukuna stood before the young woman, his frame swallowing hers as you looked on. And you caught a glimpse of his eyes, his stare of shock and utter vexation–clearly, he'd seen the short woman give you a kiss for good luck. 

You turned away, choosing to abandon the girl to her demise as your fingers ghosted against your lips in wonder. 

He showed up in your chambers later that night. You were still awake, quietly embroidering another haori; this time, it was for Uraume. They insisted they didn't want to burden you, but they crumbled under your more insistent insistence, and accepted the offer on the condition it looked subtle and muted. 

Sukuna padded toward you, hardly bothering to announce himself or ask to join you (ugh, how annoying) before plopping himself onto the futon beside you, sighing as he laid down. 

“I see you finished early,” you commented, jumping the littlest bit when large hands caught your flickering tails. He didn't hurt you, no; he was simply an overgrown toddler with a penchant for examining whatever wiggled before him. 

“That woman kissed you,” Sukuna answered, unhelpful. “Ruined it.” 

“Ah. Well. I didn't expect it either.” You cleared your throat, feeling an unexpected bubble of embarrassment rise in your chest. “I have…I've never been given a kiss before. Not from what I can recall, at the very least.” 

“The hell are you talking about?” Sukuna grouched. “You planted one on me in the gardens.” 

“Giving is not receiving,” you corrected, flicking your tail so as to hit his face. “I've never given a kiss on another's lips, regardless. Though I find myself wondering why I–” 

You yowled when he yanked your tail like he meant to rip the thing off, and you whirled on him, eyes drawn into slits and chunky fangs bared as you dug your nails into his wrist in an effort to make him let go.

Yet the king looked unfazed. He sat up and  tugged you closer by your tail, yank after yank, ripping an impressive collection of vexed noises from you until his broad hand caught you by the throat. You clawed at his wrist and forearm, scrambling to find purchase, idly wondering if he'd finally had enough of you and sought to put you down after dirtying one of his concubines–

But he kissed you instead. His lips were warm and dry, not quite soft yet not unwelcoming. Sukuna knew what he was doing, too; his tongue licked at your bottom lip before pushing inside to finally taste you and taint you from within just a little bit. 

Your grip on him laxed the slightest bit, and you even eased into his hold as he, too, refused to harm you further. If you weren't aware of his malevolent spirit, you might've thought him gentle in that long, simple moment–a special brand of “gentle” that was wholly Sukuna's. Kind, but jagged around the edges. 

He started pulling back, though, and you followed after his touch like a bewitched maiden chasing after the lips of a lover. You nipped at the air like that'd do something for you, but soon settled on leaning into the hand holding you still, even if your throat scratched and ached because of it. 

You found Sukuna's calm stare watching you when you opened your eyes a crack. For once, you thought he looked content; the cruel, mocking lines of his face had smoothed and relaxed, and that annoying, cocky smirk he'd been born sporting had been replaced with a placid, normal lilt. Even the inferno blazing in crimson depths eased into pools of yawning embers–warm and spirited, yet contained. 

The sight relaxed you despite the confusion it brought to your rationale. 

“That,” Sukuna said, so odd and quiet, but powerful and judicial. “Is your first.” His thumb stroked against the side of your neck, pausing to feel the pitter patter of your heart thrumming under his mercy. “It'd serve you to remember that.” 

You nodded shallowly. “Of course.” 

Pleased, he let go of your quite breakable neck and moved like he was about to get up. You grabbed at his hand and pressed his palm to the side of your face like he was cupping your cheek. Your insistence on touching gave the beast pause, but he settled again, content to let you keep him hostage for as long as you wanted.

And you indulged in the simple favour. You nuzzled into his palm with a very fox-like chitter as a bassy, quiet trill of a purr lazily rolled through your chest, eventually reaching Sukuna himself. It somehow had him feeling content. Relaxed. Like he was basking in the warmth of the sun. 

“I request another,” you chirped, and Sukuna quirked a brow. 

“Another?” 

“Kiss.” 

Sukuna twitched a smirk. “It'll cost ya.” 

“Oh?” 

“Give me another blessing.”

If it’s just a nibble you’d just taste dirt and bitterness I think haha. And depending on how close you are to him, he’d either be flustered beyond belief or just downright very uncomfortable hahaha.

💛Is Mychael’s blood blue because some irl creatures have blue blood due to their blood having copper instead of iron or was it for aesthetic reasons? [Source] It was definitely for aesthetic purposes more than anything, since I wanted him to blush a non-human color. One of the earlier concept sketches had him blushing bright magenta haha.

💛What does Mychael smell like? [Source] I’d describe it as freshly cut grass with a hint of log fires. Like camping in summer if that makes sense.

💛Does Mychael purr? [Source] Since im honestly a sucker for the purring trope i'll say hell yea tbh hahaha. His would be a really low rumble I'd imagine. He can also occasionally let out a low trill or those ‘mrrp’ sounds when he’s caught off guard or surprised but it's rare since he's real embarrassed when he does it.

💛Is Michael ticklish? [Source] Considering he’s never been tickled before,,, I think he’d go into shock if you did that to him💀 But to answer your question yeah I think he’d be the most ticklish person you’ve ever met haha. He’s either gonna accept his fate or go down fighting😔

💛Does Mychael snore in his sleep? [Source] He’d be a pretty quiet sleeper I think!

💛Does Mychael get sick? Since he’s not human, he doesn’t get sick like we do:

He’s aware we call it being sick, but his term is ‘feeling withered/wilted.’

He doesn’t have a temperature, but his skin turns pale and blemished like a diseased plant, and gets kinda slimy and cold like a frog’s. Here's a visual of how he looks like sick.

No energy, no appetite, barely talks. Very zombie-ish.

He gets real drowsy and dazed and the only thing to motivate him is seeking out warmth.

He just needs sunshine and sleep to get better so you’d find him laying out in the sun during the day and hiding away in blankets at night, sleeping it off. He only eats once a day, since his body needs rest rather than sustenance.

He gets sick like... once every few years that's how rare it is but when it happens it knocks him out for like a week </3

💛Does Mychael fear metal? What phobias does he have? [Source 1 & 2] No, he doesn’t fear metal and iron wouldn't hurt him! His phobias/fears are: snowstorms, thunder/lightning and water wells. In no particular order :-) (Oh, and trains/train whistles.)

💛Does Michael have any food that he hates? [Source] Anything spicy! He can handle some spice, but anything that gives heat on your tongue he’d definitely be put off since it makes him physically ill.

💛Mychael's life cycle: [Source] His life cycle is very different from a human’s.

💛Does Mychael have his own languge? If so, what does it sound like? [Source 1 & 2] He actually has his own language, but speaks in English (or your own language if you’d prefer!)

His language sounds very animalistic; a lot of growls, hisses and clicks. It’s like hearing a cat verbally communicate with those sounds. If you guys are familiar with Toki Pona, (here’s a video for reference.) the simplicity is very similar in terms of vocab and sentence structure. Considering the limitations of those same growls, hisses and clicks, plus how little he communicates in his own language, it’s not a complex system but he speaks it regardless. He wont be speaking it in-game hence why im okay answering the question.

💛Can Mychael read? [Source] Yep, he can read! He talks about it some more in Day 2.

💛Can Mychael swim? [Source] He’d be able to swim, yeah.

💛How much does Mychael know of human customs/cooking/inventions? And does he like/dislike some of them? [Source] He knows enough to make a living for himself. He’s really into DIY and crafting, but if anything gets more complex to the point it goes over his head- he’d just abandon it. As for human customs he knows even less; it’s kinda touch and go what he does and doesn’t know ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ For example, he's seen cars and phones but doesn't understand how they work. Traditional stuff like crafting/cooking/gardening is easier for him to grasp.

💛Does Mychael have any religion/belief? [Source] I’ve played around with this concept in my head! I did want to explore a unique kind of religion/belief Mychael has but,,, eventually I kinda settled on the idea that Mychael broke off from that way of thinking? Or something like that. It can be accepted that he used to have a religion- or never had one to begin with. it's a tricky subject for me anyway </3 But feel free to have your own interpretation!

💛Does Mychael have any superstitions? [Source] His biggest superstition is respecting the forest and whatever happens in the forest, stays in the forest. (That is until you came along and made him break his own rule. Whoops.)

💛What's Mychael’s wardrobe like? [Source] He’s not much for fashion; as long as he thinks it’s practical and comfortable he’d wear it. He wouldn’t be a fan of clothes that’re less weather-resistent though, since he clearly needs stuff that could stand the wilderness.

He doesn’t accessorize much either, preferring to keep simple and be as drab as possible to attract less attention. But I think he’d love to try nail polish :-)) He has a lot of hats and scarves though.

💛Would Mychael be willing to wear a dress? [Source] I’d like to think he’s tried em before! He kinda had to scrap by when it came to clothes so he wouldn’t be picky in his early days.

Nowadays, he probably thinks they’re nice to wear but impractical for his daily chores, so he mostly sticks to tops and bottoms. But he won’t be opposed to it.

💛When did Mychael start knitting and why? [Source] He’s been knitting for a few years, so he’s kinda advanced. As for why, he finds it relaxing especially after a long day, and usually does it before bedtime. Plus he just loves being bundled up in warm things in general.

💛What is Mychael's favorite thing to knit? [Source] His favorite thing to knit are beanies!! :-D

💛What are other craftsmanship does Mychael do? [Source 1 & 2] He’s tried out woodworking, sculpting, candle-making, pottery etc. Knitting just happens to be his favorite of all the things he’s tried haha. Assume Mychaels an expert at gardening too!

💛Does Mychael ever overwork himself to the point of almost passing out? [Source] He definitely used to! It’s not easy making a living out in the wilderness; especially when he only had himself to rely on. Thankfully he doesn’t need to go through that anymore; he’s made a pretty nice home for himself since then. He's been thru a lot. Sopping wet cat energy.

💛How long has Mychael been in his home/cabin for? [Source] Previously he’d wander around like a nomad before finding himself a home. He’s only settled down into his cabin in the woods for a few years, it’s still a work in progress by his standards.

💛Does Mychael like stargazing? [Source] He’s more of a daytime person tbh! At night he’d prefer to stay cozy indoors. When you spend half your life sleeping outside in the cold. You don't miss it much despite the pretty lights in the sky.

💛What kind of music does Mychael listen to? [Source] Hm! He rarely listens to music, so he doesn’t have a preference tbh. If he had to choose- Perhaps something more upbeat and dancey since it’s a nice change from the quiet, but only for short periods. He’d probably enjoy whatever you’re listening to if you give him the chance :-)! Lyrics don't matter as much to him. He'd just enjoy it based off the sound.

💛What are some of Mychael's favorite scents? [Source] Top 3 would be the smell of old books, honey and (strangely enough) gasoline??? But the last one is soso rare for him he finds it exciting when he happens to catch a whiff, even if he has no idea what it is haha.

If you happen to be the type to wear perfumes/scents, he’d quickly associate the smell with you and have it be another one of his favorites :-)

💛How would Mychael react if he found a lost child in the woods? [Source] He’d be surprised for sure. His part of the woods is pretty untouched by humans, so to find one wandering this far is definitely a shock to him. If the kid was too scared to let him approach, he’d have to use a tiny fraction of his ability to calm them down, so as not to leave any side effects (younger minds are more vulnerable to it). If the kid wasn’t scared and asked if he was some sort of woodland fae/goblin creature, he’d go along with it and say he’s come to rescue them.

After making sure the kid is alright, he’d either try to find the parents straight away or bring them home if they needed food or rest. He wouldn’t dare adopt a child willy nilly, and if there was no other way, he’d probably drop them somewhere like a police or fire station (he can’t really differentiate between them, just that they respond to emergencies).

Overall he’s not opposed to being around children, just not used to it.

💛I see Mychael as a very docile and friendly creature- but in the 3rd ending of the game "Playing Pretend" left me with a doubt... Would he really be a bad guy? [Source] You’re not wrong! Mychael’s not the most violent, even if he is capable of it. In Ending 3 he just… panicked. Though don’t underestimate the things he’d resort to when he realizes how attached he’s getting to you :-)

He’s calm and composed… until he isn’t.

💛How many creatures/people has Mychael found "affected" by those mushrooms that the MC came across? [Source] You’re not the first, that’s for sure! He definitely knows about them, but finds it unnecessary to tell you (at least for now). He was quick to dismiss your doubts on how you lost consciousness, giving you an easy explanation even if he had to lie.

Most of the time he lets the incapacitated creatures be; “it’s the will of the forest,” after all. Although he does break that rule when he finds humans that’re still alive (in this case, you!) in his forest, but that’s very very rare.

💛How would Mychael act if MC introduced him to their friend? MC told their friend that Mychael wouldn't hurt them but the friend is still a little scared and weary of him. [Source] Definitely wary of them too. He kinda trusts you, but can he trust them? He’s met his fair share of humans; not a lot of them were as accepting as you. He can try to lower his guard but your friend would need to convince him themself.

💛Mychael & MC in Day 1 of the game. [Source] Mychael, as a person, is quite solitary in nature; he likes being alone and you’ll find out why. He does however desire company and he’s only realized just how pleasant having someone around can be (hence his reaction for the Bad Endings in Day 1 if you wish to leave/run away).

You grow closer to Mychael as you hang out with him and do little things that he appreciates. Example: The first thing that boosts you to immediate friend status is your willingness to accept his physical looks, something that’s never happened to him before. Little things like that mean a lot to him and motivates him to prolong your stay.

If Mychael met a more grouchy/mean MC on Day 1 he’d probably not be as attached. He’d just save you, feed you and send you home when you ask hahaha. Of course, this will change as he gets to know you better, at that stage he’ll be willing to overlook your flaws like any upstanding yandere.

💛How would Mychael react if the player character was already in a relationship with someone else? [Source] At his current attachment in Day 1 [Friend status], he’d be respectful about it! A little overprotective but mostly curious what dating and marriage is all about. He’s not familiar with it outside of whatever knowledge he happened to pick up.

Now if he’s grown obsessed developed feelings and found out afterwards though…

💛Can you date Mychael in this game? Or not? [Source] I mean that's the goal! ¯_(ツ)_/¯ If his responses in asks currently give off a platonic vibe, that's because they are.

As of Day 1, Mychael's feelings towards you are positive but mostly platonic [Here's a visual affection level chart]. His bad endings show his desperation for company rather than you reciprocating any romantic feelings.

As I update the game, his responses will most likely be more romantically-driven. The game is a slow burn after all :-) He's a yandere- but a yandere who hasn't fallen in love yet. Though I do plan on adding a platonic ending bc sometimes u just wanna kiss a bestie without any romantic feelings attached.

💛What made you think of the pet name ‘Firefly’ for MC? [Source] It honestly just came to me as I was concepting the game ;v;! Other pet names Mychael would’ve used were: turtledove, poppet and sweetpea. He would switch it up in the initial draft but sticking to one makes it more special I think.

💛What does Mychael think about femboys? [Source] He doesn’t really mind nor care how you present yourself :-0! In fact he’d find it strange you asked that at all after you explain what it means dhfjsjf

💛Does Mychael have a gender preference? [Source] Not at all! His favorite genre of human is you :-) Plus gender talk goes way over his head. He's too busy thinking about survival to mind that stuff. Anything you identify with he's absolutely okay with <3

💛How would Mychael feel about someone a lot shorter than him? [Source] He had to admit he forgot adult humans come in your size,,, he wouldn’t think much of it though! He’s just excited to make a friend :-)

💛What would Mychael's "ideal type" be? [Source] I think he’d be more attracted to gentleness, I think. Someone who is kind despite a harsh reality; willing to understand a creature like him and someone he trusts he can drop his guard around.

But even if you don’t fit that criteria, he’d still like you as long as you accept him for who he is! There’s no need to worry about changing yourself to fit his preference <3

💛How did the player get to Mychael’s home? [Source] I always imagined it as piggyback to be honest! But bridal carry, a fireman’s carry, over-the-shoulder, whatever you guys are comfortable with he’s definitely capable of <3 He may be shorter than most (Dolly’s note🌹: His height changed since this ask so maybe not anymore lol so let's change it to 'He may seem weak') but he's strong.

💛Is MC permanently affected by the mushroom ring they stepped in? How much power does Mychael hold against it? [Source] No, MC is not permanently affected by the mushroom ring they stepped in. In one of the bad endings, the influence of it over you is stronger than what Mychael can fight against, hence he releases you as he sees it as the forest already claiming you fully. He can do nothing else to save you.

That’s why he insists on you staying for dinner, and is surprised when you say yes, as he really thought he lost you already for a moment there :-) Past that choice, the mysterious ‘purple’ influence no longer affects you, as Mychael had successfully distracted you long enough for the mind-altering effects to wear off. He just needed the right thing to say to keep you grounded. Lest you wander off and end up in the ground </3

💛If we asked, would he talk to us in his own language? [Source] If he were to talk in it you wouldn’t be able to differentiate one word to another, they all sound the same hahaha.

💛Can we research what type of fae creature Mychael is? Will he be okay with it? [Source] He might be apprehensive at first, but if you ask the right questions he’d probably answer just enough to satiate your curiosity. Don’t be surprised if he leaves out certain things though, he doesn’t want you to think he’s a freak. 💔 He doubts you'd find anything in research though but who knows

💛Do you think Mychael would be a good teacher, when it comes to knitting? [Source] He’s never taught anyone before but he’d be happy to! (He’d probably be a very hands-on teacher cuz he’s bad at explaining–)

💛What if you knitted something for Mychael? [Source] If you knitted something for him he’d probably wear it/look at it multiple times throughout the day getting butterflies in his stomach.

💛If MC brought him to a secret river as a gift would he go? [Source] The thing I’d correct is Mychael would bring MC to a river instead of the other way around hahaha. MC is the poor meowmeow who got lost in the woods on Day 1. Their ass would not!! know any secret rivers

💛How would Mychael react if MC threw him a surprise party, to celebrate his birthday or to celebrate the day they both met? [Source] I think he’d love it a lot!! He’s not one to celebrate much if anything, but he’d be so happy if you threw a little surprise just for him :-) Especially knowing he gets to spend time with his favorite person in the world for such a special occasion <3

💛Is there any fun activities that Mychael would drag MC to? [Source] Oh for sure! He’d probably take you outdoors a lot and show you all his favorite spots in the forest :-)!! He’d probably bring you along to do his daily errands if you’d allow it haha

💛What would Mychael say if I were to take two slices of bread, put his head in between and sweetly ask: "what are you?" The answer lol

💛What would Mychael’s reaction be if MC tried giving him spicy food? [Source] If you try to give him a spicy dish, he’d definitely smell it first before he even tastes it. He’d just politely decline in that scenario.

💛What is his opinion if MC is the type to snore? [Source] He's definitely the kind of person to have the TV on in the room even if their not watching- just to have some noise around the house. So if MC were the type to snore… he’d probably find the sound strangely comforting? He’d find it jarring at first but grow used to it quickly.

It’s nice to hear you and know that someone is around after being alone for so long, especially when he’s up during late nights <3

💛How would Mychael feel about an MC who steals and wears his sweaters? [Source] He’d find it strange why you’d wanna steal when you can just ask– he’d also find it very endearing. Should he be concerned that you're a potential thief?? Or just worry about how cute you look?? a moral dilemma

💛Is there any type of clothing that Mychael likes to see on MC? [Source] I’d imagine he’d like clothes on MC that are more earth-toned perhaps, greens and browns that remind him of his forest and such. :-) Loose clothes are a bonus too cuz it makes you look comfy around him! i think he'd be a fan of animal-themed clothes too; pawprint socks or a fox cap or a rabbit hoodie- something like that.

💛What is Mychael’s love language? [Source] This is assuming MC and Mychael have been friends/lovers for a while; When you’re on the receiving end: Offering Gifts 🎁💖

He’s never had anyone be around as long as you have; he’s kinda new to the gifting thing but does so with a lot of enthusiasm!!

Whether it’s something he made or found, knowing he chose it for you is what makes it soso special.

He just loves the idea of being able to give something that was a part of himself and insert it into your life if that makes sense.

He also loves doing it because he believes you deserve to have nice things with all his heart :-)!

If he’s not sure what to gift you he’d rely on pretty little knickknacks he thinks you’d like but still be on the safe side; flowers, jewelry, decorations and accessories.

But if he does figure out your interests he’d do his best to accommodate! Books, toys, tools and clothes… he has his means of getting stuff he can’t make himself.

The idea of you keeping his gifts as a sign of friendship/love makes him really happy!!

Lowkey if he sees you using/wearing/displaying a gift he gave in the past he’d be purring non-stop.

When he’s on the receiving end; Words of Affirmation 💬💕

We know how he feels about his physical appearance so this is a no-brainer. His self-esteem isn’t the best :’-)

Being alone/isolated as he is, he might confuse physical affection but nothing is more clear to him than words straight from your mouth about how much you mean to him <3

At first he wonders if you truly mean what you say when you talk so positively about him, but then he slowly starts to believe it.

Do not underestimate the impact of one (1) compliment as simple as “You look good today, Mychael.” He’d remember it for at least a week.

It’s a bit of a guessing game to figure out what gets him the best. If you praise his skill at something his response would be, “Oh I guess I got good at it. Thanks, firefly :-)” but if you praise his looks and mannerisms you’ve hit the jackpot.

Blushing, stuttering, avoiding your gaze level of embarrassment.

If you’re really close friends or basically dating, he will absolutely ask for your opinion on how you feel about him from time to time, just to get reassurance from you.

Overall nothing gets him better than just hearing positive remarks from a loving source aka you :-) <3

💛How would Mychael react if we made him some lunch while he was knitting and feed it to him? The cute illustrated answer

💛How would he react to a very clingy MC? [Source] If you mean very clingy, he’d be pretty tense about it, to be honest. He’s not used to physical touch but doesn’t mind it; if you take it easy and ask permission (so he doesn’t get overwhelmed) he’d be more okay with it! Just respect him when he asks you for space every once in a while <3

(Dolly’s note🌹: I can only guess but I think this answer is if you're still in the friend status because if this applies even in the obsessed status, the below Q&A would so funny in comparison)

💛But is Mychael clingy? This guy? Clingy? Nahhh. Nothing to worry about, anon :-)/s Here's a visual of his clinginess, he's very clingy yes lol.

💛Is Mychael the jealous type? [Source] It’s rare for him to feel jealous, but I’d imagine when it does happen he’d feel it very intensely on the inside. But you’d probably be none the wiser 💔

💛How would Mychael react if we confess our feelings to him? [Source] Bold of you to assume he won’t be the one to confess first 🤨

💛Does Mychael like to be kissed? [Source] His kind arent accustomed to physical affection. Does he even know what kissing is??? Thats for me to decide and you to figure out 👀 BUT He’d love getting kisses! On the cheeks especially :-) But careful not to overstimulate him; he’s kinda like a cat when you pet ‘em too much and they get all frazzled. Kisses on the lips he's less inclined but doesn't mind em time to time. Maybe like a peck or two. And here's a gif of pampering Mychael's face with kisses &lt;3

💛Does Mychael know about marriage customs in human civilization? [Source] He’s familiar with human marriage the same way a young kid would be; involves inviting people, dressing up and wearing rings for some reason?? How strange to go to such lengths when you could just be around that same person the rest of your life and still be the same??

He doesn’t put much significance on it personally. Unless…? 👀 💛What would Mychael do if MC took care of him while he was sick? [Source] He’s not used to asking someone to care for him, but in this state if MC offered to help he’d honestly just ask you to keep him warm too with zero assumption as to what you might think. He’s just a little too out of it to be embarrassed about it. Example of providing him warmth.

💛Would Mychael let us hug him when he’s sick or would he push us away? Although, would this make us sick? [Source] He would! I’d say he’s the most physically clingiest when he’s sick. He’s basically sleepy all the time and other than seeking warmth, he doesn’t communicate much.

And no, we can’t get sick from him and vice versa, since our bodies are different from his. So no worries about getting yourself sick when you’re around him!

💛What would Mychael do if the MC got ill? [Source] Oh he’d be worried beyond belief! He wouldn’t leave you alone for a second.

He’s not familiar with human sickness, but he’d do his best to provide whatever it is you need. Hot soup, warm blankets, he’d even risk going to get medicine for you if you ask.

-------------------------🍄🍄🍄

Some facts I didn’t add as Cheea didn’t give a direct answer to some questions, like Mychael’s family, since they’ll eventually be answered in the game <3

'You were impressive this morning.'

A sigh left your lips, spitting into the basin as you hurriedly finished brushing your teeth. 'Evening to you too, your majesty.'

'Attitude, brat.' Sukuna purred, his claws brushing across your bare back, watching the shivers shoot down you spine and the gooseflesh ride in his wake. 'Why you bother covering up during the day is beyond me.'

'I'm well aware of your opinions on shirts, Sukuna.'

Slowly, you turned to face him, wary of any sudden moves the curse may interpret as an attack. He's half naked, as usual.

His upper lip curled in a sneer, sharp teeth almost reflecting the moonlight pouring in through your window. 'Ridiculous things, how you fight in them is beyond me.'

'Is that true? Or you just wanna show off?'

Over the weeks that Sukuna's been paying you these night-time visits, you've grown desensitised to the danger you're actually in. You know you'd be dead if he wanted you dead, so why not have a little fun with it?

The curse's grin could have swallowed you whole, his hand suddenly clasped around your throat, forcing you to his eye level with his other hand digging into the flesh of your back, leaving you to wonder of he drew blood.

'You like what you see, twisted little brat.' His breath fanned your face, presence looming over you. You can feel the power rolling off him in waves, power you couldn't possibly rival. You were helpless compared to this creature.

So why go out crying?

A smile curled your lips even as he restricted the air in your lungs, making your head feel floaty. 'I'm starting to think you do too. You haven't killed me yet, bastard curse.'

Sukuna laughed, and now, you're sure he's drawn blood, you can feel it sliding down the curve of your back in tiny rivulets from where his nails broke your soft skin.

'You don't have the power to back up this kind of foolishness, boy!' He snapped.

Your heart stuttered with the growl in his voice, and despite any kind of better judgement, you melted into it further.

'Then why come here every night?'

'Why haven't you told the sorcerer?' Sukuna countered, his grin turned knowing. 'The brat, the Six Eyes, any one of them could stop me from doing this, you've had ample chance, and you've told, no one.'

You averted your eyes, ears growing warm as Sukuna eased his grip, only to yank your head back by your hair, teeth and tongue assaulting your neck.

This. This is why you've told no one. Gojo would know in an instant that you'd let the King of Curses in your pants, or worse, Sukuna would tell everyone himself, and you couldn't stand that kind of embarrassment, even if the choice had been amazing sex, or die.

Sukuna laid you out on your bed, stealing the breath from your lungs as he nipped at your ear lobe.

You could feel Sukunas presence everywhere you went. From dusk till dawn, in your home, the market, or even in other churches you felt your gods eyes on you (Not that you were complaining). You felt it most strongly in your family's temple though. When you were on your knees before his statue, hands clasped in prayer, whispering his graces into the ether, you could almost feel him standing behind you. His divinity pouring over you and almost making you feel holy in the process. Oftentimes it felt like you had a connection to him none of his other worshippers did. You assumed that power was why you were one of his very rare high-priests.

You were thinking about your connection to your god as you cleaned his altar. Meticulous in your attention to detail, making sure everything was perfected for your god. You swore you could feel his eyes burning into your back, looking over every detail of you. You were semi convinced someone was behind you, but when you looked you saw nothing but pews. You sighed to yourself, leaning against the altar. “You know my lord,” you spoke to the wind, “Sometimes I feel your presence so strongly, I would bet money you’re actually, actively, staring at me.”

You felt a cold chill run up your spine. As if thousands of spiders were running up your spine. You weren’t scared, per say. You did touch your spine to make sure they weren’t actually there though. (They weren’t). Sukuna was the father of spiders, so feeling them was oftentimes a sign from him. But, to feel so many, and so intensely? That was new, even to you. You looked around the room, then at the Marble statue towering over you. “Said something you liked, did I?” You asked, walking over to the stone. The marble was an immaculate pure white, and of mastercraft quality. You had always been in awe of this stone. The artistry of it was so fine, the robes looked soft, his hair looked fluffy, and his eyes held an intensity that made you hold your breath. 

You were unreasonably possessive of this statue. You had taken immaculate care of it since the temple had come into your care. You felt connected to it in ways your words could never fully articulate. But right now? You wanted to sully it. You wanted to see it smeared in filth and viscera, they way he would have looked fresh out of war. You caught yourself grabbing the sacrificial knife on his altar before you snapped out of it. “What the fuck?” you muttered to yourself, grabbing your now throbbing temple. You looked at the statue again. “What are you trying to make me do?”

You felt the overwhelming urge to bleed on your god overtook you again. This time accompanied by the feeling of spiders exploding out of your spine. You know this is what he wanted. You walked over to the carved marble, knife in hand. You touched the clean marble one last time, before slicing your hand open and painting the stone with your blood. You felt a white hot rush of blood fill your head as you did so, silently muttering out Sukunas name in a soft prayer, playing into his plan beautifully. 

Sukuna manifested behind you slowly, watching as his adorable little priest smeared his human blood on Sukunas divine idol. You were too lost in your ritual to notice the presence. It was too familiar to you to really ring any alarm bells anyway. It wasn’t until you felt hands on your hips that your danger signals went off, snapping you out of your fervere. As you looked up, the spiders left your spine and the fire left your veins, leaving you with dry ice in your blood instead. The man(?) before you was tall, taller than any mortal you had ever seen. His hair was fluffy and pink, and his body could rival most Greek gods. He stared down at you with intense, violently red eyes and held you in place with all four arms.

You didn’t need a scripture to tell you you were in the presence of divinity. “You’re terribly unobservant, Y/n.” Sukuna purred down to you, “I could have hurt you if I wanted to you know.” you tried to collapse to your knees, fall into a prayer and apology for what you had done to his idol. But, Sukuna held you up. “Oh, lamb, what's the rush? There will be plenty of time to be on your knees later.” That implication could have made your heart explode from your chest.

“Sukuna..” you whispered, as if confirming his identity would make this experience anny less terrifying, (and, maybe a little exciting, but you weren't ready for that conversation yet).

“Bold of you to say my name.” the God before you purred, one of his four hands dropping to grab your semi-hard cock. “You should say it again. I like how it sounds coming from you.”

“Sukuna..” you muttered, more confidently this time. Your brain may have been lagging behind the reality of the situation, but your body would always follow Sukunas order. It was ingrained into your very DNA to follow his every word. 

“Very nice…your voice is so pretty, Pet.” Sukuna said, grinning down to you as he worked you through your pants. Subconsciously you bucked into his hand, liking the nickname a little too much. “Oohh, eager now, are we?”

“Yes..” you admitted, seeing no point in lying to a being that already knew the truth. He didn’t need godly powers to know you were needy. God, when was the last time you’d been laid? It had to have been awhile. Between all your time spent at the temple and the fact that you were, well, a man into men, left your dating pool sadly small. you-OH, that felt nice. Sukuna had moved your head to the side and began to leave possessive marks wherever he could reach on your neck. 

“I’ve been watching you for a long time Y/n,” Sukuna purred into your ear, one of his hands unbuttoning your pants and pulling your clothes down just enough to free you from the growing pressure. “You really are something, you know? So diligent in your worship.” he added, wrapping a clawed hand around your now fully erect cock. “You follow scripture to a t, you bring to followers, to the flock, really, you’re the perfect high priest.”

His praise was setting you on fire. Or maybe that was his hand working your cock that made you feel so hot. Either way, you were losing your grip. You nodded at your gods words, panting as you bucked your hips in time with the strokes of his hand. 

“And yet, everytime I look at you, I can only think of one thing.” Sukuna said, one of his free hands moving to grab your ass. 

“What was that my lord?” You questioned. 

“That boy is far too pure to be in my temple.” Sukuna answered. Your breath hitched as Sukuna shoved two of his fingers into your mouth. You sucked on them as if your life depended on it, bringing a smile to your God's face. He pulled his fingers from your mouth, only to then press them into your entrance. First one, then the other.  “I figured it was time to do something about that.” he muttered as he began to work you open.

You had to agree. You’d agree to anything right now, to be fair. One of your hands reached out to touch a holy being in a very unholy place, only for yet another one of your gods seemingly endless hands to snatch your wrist. “Did I say you could touch me?” he growled.

“Please..” you whimpered, groaning as he stretched you out. Your watery eyes finally met his burning red ones. “I want to make you feel good too…” Sukuna seemed pleased by that.

“You will.” he promised, removing his fingers from you and dragging you to his altar. “Promise to be a good boy for me?” He hummed. You nodded excitedly, leaning forward for a kiss. To your surprise, yes, but more so Sukunas, he indulged you, pulling you close by your hair and shoving his tongue into your mouth, you moaned into the kiss, pressing your body into his. He bit your lip hard enough to draw blood before pulling back, leaving you breathless. 

“Not bad.” he admitted, bending you over the altar. “But I came here for something more than a kiss.” He said, ridding you of your pants and all but ripping your underwear off. He dropped to his knees behind you, wondering to himself if this is how you felt when you prayed for him. He leaned forward, his impossibly long tongue licking at your entrance. You moaned out at the stimulation, gripping the altar cloth as you were rimmed by divinity. Your blood burned with the desire as you got lost in the feeling, slowly feeling Sukuna lick the tension out of you.

He spit on your hole one last time before pulling away. You made the mistake of looking back as he took off his robe, spitting in his hand and rubbing his own very hard and very big dick. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” You huffed, “You’re not putting that thing in me!” Sukuna rolled his eyes at your protests. Mortals.

“Thousands have taken it before you, and just as many will after. You’ll be fine, just relax.” Sukuna assured you.

“So you’re saying I’m not special?” You questioned. Sukuna looked at you like he physically could not believe a mortal was talking to him like this. Probably because he couldn’t.

“I’m sorry Y/n, I think you’ve forgotten your place.” Sukuna said, closing the gap between you and lining his tip up with your entrance. “I think I should show you back to it.” He muttered as he shoved himself in. You couldn’t hold back the scream that left you if you tried. Even with the spit, you felt like you were ripped in two, the burning overtaking you. 

“OH, you fucking dick!” you yelled, definitely forgetting your place. 

“That’s no way to talk to a God, now is it Y/n?” Sukuna purred, thrusting into you. It was anyones guess if the moan that left you was from pleasure or pain, but your guess was a mix of both. It burned, the way he stretched you out in ways you were not fully prepared for. Soon though, your body adjusted to the intrusion. You relaxed and the burning pain gave way to a soothing pleasure. You caught yourself softly moaning out Sukunas name as if it was a prayer. 

“See? I knew you could handle it, Lamb.” Sukuna chuckled, one of his hands finding its way around your throat, giving the perfect amount or pressure. You would have responded, but Sukuna had just found your prostate and whether he knew it or not was pummeling into it. You were struggling to find footing in a sea of ecstasy and warmth. 

“Uhnn, Fuck-” you moaned out as Sukuna pulled you up by your throat, two of his hands finding your hips to keep you steady and his final free hand wrapping around your cock. He set a brutal pace, one he matched with his hand. Your moans joined a chorus of skin meeting skin and Sukunas growled to make a symphony of sex. You felt a knot in your stomach growing ever tighter and tighter. Your hand flew up to your own throat, landing on Sukunas hand as you fucked yourself onto him.

“You sound so pretty.” Sukuna praised, “I always wondered what you’d sound like on my cock.” he muttered, his hand massaging your cock faster.

“M-My lord, I’m gonna-!” you tried to speak.