#The Wiles of Men and Women | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

katerinaaqu · 3 months ago

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Ruthless Justice

This fic is dedicated to my dear friend @artsofmetamoor as a gift! She had also expressed an interest to the events of the murder of the suitors but I decided to take it into a more tragic level; the excecution of the 12 maids and I added some random emotional scene afterwards! You are warned this fic includes dark themes!

The cries that filled the room were deafening. The young ears of Telemachus could not bear them. The slave women were forced to clean up the room from the corpses of the blasted suitors that nearly killed him and took the kingdom of his father. It was the first time Telemachus had killed. He still couldn’t believe it how easy it had been! It was almost easier than hunting wild goats and deer in the mountains of Ithaca! Some part of him had felt a wild pleasure, almost hedonic gladness, when he had stabbed that first body and continued. This hedonism increased by the happiness he felt that he was helping his father, that he was useful. He felt pleasure for this justice that was finally prevailing in the halls of his house; finally the constant harassment and insults his mother and himself had gone through was punished and he had finally found his father. He had witnessed his brain and his ferocity, his dexterity and cunning first hand! So far he had only heard of it from others that had met him and yet now he had actually seen it before him; his father who was no longer at the prime of youth he had managed to clean the hall of 108 men 10 or even 20 years younger than what he was. Some part of Telemachus wondered; how was his father in his prime? How much more ferocity in battle he possessed? How much more wits and wiles could he loom in short amounts of time?

However now that the first thrill of battle had gone, now they had finished cleaning the chairs of the hall with sponges and water, Telemachus was shocked at their own strength and results. He looked around at the hall that was basically full of wrapped bodies; the bodies that used to belong to vigorous, young nobles and his father now stood at the hall, hard as the stones that built that very palace. Odysseus was not a tall man (that much was a surprise to Telemachus, for from the conversations he had heard about his father’s strength and name he had expected him to be as tall as he was, perhaps taller), he barely stood at average height, maybe a little less, but his physique showed the power that his hardships built upon him. His raven hair, which had already started turning silver from time and hardships, was curly like his own and long till his shoulders; those strong shoulders burnt by sea and sun. A thick bushy beard was hiding a strong jaw line and mouth shut tightly closed. However Telemachus particularly noticed his stone look as the onyx eyes of his seemed soulless like glass even if they burnt with hatred and anger. Right now he could see before him a man who lived up to his name; “The Anger Bringer”. Odysseus was indeed enraged; that much Telemachus could tell. The almost full day of slaughter seemed to have created a curst thick like salt upon his face, just as thick was the blood that had splattered it, the blood he didn’t have much time to clean. And yet, despite all that, he seemed to stand naturally within that chaos; like only a war veteran would stand naturally amongst corpses and cries. He remained there as the lamenting women were literally dragged and pushed at his feet as he stood at the podium of the throne. He seemed like a judge; a ruthless judge ready to pass judgment. Telemachus had seen him angry, hopeful, crying, tender and then ruthless in his killing but now he was truly disturbed at the shadow that had passed over his face. He saw then the one that had come from war; the Sacker of Cities… Odysseus looked down at the maidens crying and struggling, as if they were insects.

“I took you to my home…” he said, his voice cold as ice and sharp as a knife, “I gave you a bed, fed you, dressed you…made sure you would want of nothing while you were under my roof… I respected your wishes…never mistreated you and this is how you repay me? By mingling with my enemies…the very men that wished to violently claim my wife and kill my son?”

Every word was a hammer upon a nail. Telemachus felt a shiver down his spine. He wouldn’t want to be to the other end of that look that was for sure! The women seemed pale like bed sheets; like the sheets that were covering the bodies they had gathered with their own very hands. He saw the other two helpers of theirs; the two herders Eumaeus and Philoetius, standing over the crying maidens, watching at their master with pride. Telemachus had never seen so much wild triumph to the old face of Eumaeus’s before. Never.

“Eumaeus….” Odysseus addressed him, “What is the punishment for treason?”

“Death, my lord” his voice didn’t even hesitate

“Quite so…” Odysseus nodded.

He glared at the slave girls like a hawk.

“Normally I should drag you all out and stone you to death!”

Odysseus didn’t have to yell. All he needed was to speak in that low voice that boiled with anger, like the bubbling water in a cauldron. And yet that was more than enough to emphasize his anger.

“However we have caused enough ruin already! And I shall not even spare one single sacred stone of this palace for you!”

One could wonder whether he was about to say he would sell them away or something of similar manner, which would already be cruel enough. However the king of Ithaca said;

“Philoetius! Bring me a long piece of rope! Eumaeus, help me bring these treacherous women out! They shall be hanged!”

The word sounded as terrible as I was clear and the women broke to a woe Telemachus had never heard before (and, by gods, had he heard enough woe in his house ever since he was a baby!). The screeches and the cries they released along with their already blood-painted hands trying to claw themselves out of the swine herder’s strong grip, nearly made him throw up.

“Father!” he protested, “you can’t be serious! They are just helpless women!”

His father’s onyx eyes stuck within his own and Telemachus felt that same shiver down his spine. There was fire in those obsidian eyes! The same fire of earth that had forged the volcanic glass that gave his eyes their color seemed to be now burning deep inside those black orbs; it was though a cold fire that burnt like the ice burns the skin!

“Is the betrayal of a woman less serious than the betrayal of a man?” his voice was sharp as a broken sword; sharpness you wouldn’t know where it would cut you the worst; the actual blade or the broken tip

“N-No…” Telemachus stammered, “B-But…”

His voice was being drowned by the shrieks of the women. He couldn’t stand it.

“Does the dagger being wielded by a woman draw less blood when it stabs you in the back than the one wielded by a man?”

“Father please!”

“Stay back, Telemachus!” his father commanded, pushing him out of his way, “You are not to see this!”

Telemachus felt his heart clench but he held his ground.

“No, father, I shall help you” he said determined, “If I am to become king of this land, I must help justice prevail!”

His father eyed him once more but Telemachus stood his ground. He was Odysseades Telemachus. He had to live up to his father’s legacy. Odysseus eyed him in wonder for one second but he did not protest his request any further. Part of Telemachus had wished he had. However he knew he had to be strong and stand by his father’s side. The cries of the female voices still haunted his ears as they went out to the trees of the garden. Odysseus pointed towards the direction of one of the trees. Telemachus gulped. He knew that tree. He had played so many times around it when he was a kid! He had named it “Troy” at some point, running around with his horse (in other words a stick he fantasized to be his horse when he was five) and he would yell at the people of Troy to open their gates for him, like he had imagined his father would be doing, on occasions scaring the birds that sat on the branches. As he grew older he would climb and sit on them, joining those birds, and looking over to the horizon as if waiting for a ship to appear, as if waiting to see the sails of the 12 ships of Ithaca arriving.

How weird indeed that Odysseus chose that particular tree for the execution hall to be built behind it! Telemachus never made that connection so strongly before!

As the men dragged the women out to their final spot; behind that said tree lay the dome of court where a small, confided space, where the women tied up with one single piece of rope from the throats like cattle being led for slaughter were crying and moaning. Telemachus felt his stomach turn. Oh, Athena, he prayed silently, please give me strength to do what I must! He felt then a gentle touch upon his shoulder; like the sun warming him with his rays. His racing heart slowed a bit in beat and he breathed in deeply. Yes, he could feel Athena’s reminder of his own strength. Yes, he had to do it. He was his father’s son. No one dared to speak at that moment. Apart from the endless woe of the women that were about to be executed, it almost felt like a macabre ritual that was about to happen. The women were forced to their final resting place; the narrow hall that was closed up by the neatherd and the swineherd. Telemachus held onto the end with both hands and sighed again, feeling weirdly calm. It was as if all his essence had gone numb. He was self-conscious that his father was looking at him. He almost felt him regretful as if he tried to release him from his task but Telemachus made a mechanical move with his head to stop him. I am Odysseiades Telemachus, he thought, this is my duty! Instinctually he looked towards the sky.

“May this be no clean death…” he heard himself whispering, breaking the silence and the cries of the women, “…that I take the lives of these women…for they were wishing for my head…both mine and my mother’s…when they betrayed us and lay with the suitors…”

His father made half a step forward. Telemachus had made his resolve

He threw the rope over the dome and pulled with all his might.

The cries stopped to give their place to chocking sounds.

Telemachus didn’t cry. He only sighed and closed his eyes.

Soon the haunting sounds stopped.

There was only the creaking of the swinging rope…

~ ~ ~

Telemachus chocked and coughed as he threw up the little contents of his stomach behind a bush. How strange, he thought, he didn’t feel the need to do that when he killed all those men he hated by his father’s side and yet he reacted upon an execution he performed with his own hands. It was, maybe, because he always learnt to respect women and protect them. Quite frankly he never raised a hand against a woman before in his life. And now he had, with one fateful move he had removed the lives of 12 women he considered helpless. And yet that moment of clarity it was as if Athena was speaking through him; these women are not innocent, he thought she said to him, they betrayed you and your father, they betrayed your mother’s secrets and led to more torment to her. They conspired to kill you.

“Then why…?” Telemachus thought, “Why was this so difficult?”

He felt two warm, calloused hands on his shoulders and looked up. He faced the tired look of his father’s; his face full of the blood of the victims they had killed. In one moment Telemachus felt self-conscious and realized he could possibly look similar to this. He turned his look away in shame. What would his father think? What would he say for his weakness? Instead, though, he heard him whisper:

“I am so proud of you, my son…” the voice echoed somewhere in his soul, “I understand that was not an easy decision to make…”

“F-Forgive me…f-father…” Telemachus stammered trying to stop the sobs that were chocking him, “I…I wasn’t strong enough…”

“You’re wrong, Telemachus” his voice was whispery and yet adamant, “You are strong, much stronger than any man I have seen so far. I understand the task that I placed upon you was not a pretty one or a pleasant one. And yet you fulfilled it with the bravery that many men didn’t show in thousands of wars. I am proud of you…”

Telemachus realized what had bothered him so much; his father indeed didn’t seem to separate women from men before the ruthless justice he threw upon them. Telemachus was taught to protect and respect women. However when Odysseus arrived at the hall and ordered the demise of 12 women with hardly even blinking disturbed him. How much had he changed? This was not the father that his mother was describing…nay, he wasn’t the father he had met in the hut of the swine herder that embraced him and kissed him like he were his own soul. He saw some of that father he met right now, to the father trying to console him but before? A few minutes prior he saw an executioner; not the father he knew and loved.

“But how much do I know him, really…?” Telemachus realized, “I first saw his face a few days ago… What kind of man is he? Really?”

Odysseus patted his son on his shoulders and helped him straighten himself. They walked past the tree where the women still hanged like doves from a hunter’s stick. Telemachus couldn’t look up at the blackened and bloated faces of death. Not Odysseus. Odysseus looked up steadily and steadfast. There hardly was a reaction on his face apart from a wrinkle playing between his eyes. He seemed tired, sure, he wasn’t feeling pleasure he wasn’t smiling and yet Telemachus wondered; does this man have nerves of steel or a heart of stone to look up so calmly? How much horror had he seen so that this gruesome sight wouldn’t make him avert his eyes?

“How…?” he whispered, “How can you take this…?”

His father was silent for one second until he finally decided to talk.

“One can get awfully accustomed to the face of death…when they have seen so plenty of it…”

His voice was almost dead; as if he was just stating a simple fact such as that the sun rises from the east rather than talking about the lives of people. That rubbed Telemachus in the wrong places even if he didn’t want to admit it.

“Sometimes…” Odysseus continued, “I feel like my heart has turned into stone… Sometimes I feel like it has no more space apart from you Telemachus…”

It took him a few seconds to realize what his father had just said. Perhaps not even Odysseus himself had realized it!

“What about mother, father? What about her?”

There was silence for one second. However that silence seemed to Telemachus more cruel than any other eternity in Hades’s kingdom!

“Father!” he urged

“Of course, your mother too…” Odysseus finally whispered, “I love her more than life itself! I did everything I could so I can come back to her…to you…”

“You doubted her!” Telemachus whispered in cruel realization, “Oh, gods! I don’t believe it! You doubted her! Even after everything she went through for you!”

“No!” Odysseus immediately retorted, “No, I didn’t doubt her! Not really…it is just…”

“Just what? I don’t believe you! After all these years she waited!”

“I know this” Odysseus retorted almost calmly, “Or rather I absolutely know now. However I needed to make sure…beyond any shade of doubt. This is why Athena encouraged me to hide who I was from your mother, even if it tore me apart inside…”

“But…why…?” Telemachus was almost in tears and he was struggling really hard to keep them under control. “Why would you even doubt her so?”

They had spent years on their own and for as long as he could remember his mother was always waiting, crying and expecting a miracle. He didn’t remember one day to see his mother genuinely happy. She was smiling or complimenting his accomplishments but he had never seen her truly happy; all their life was darkened by the shadow of his father’s absence; of the lack of information whether he lived or not and now his father said that he had doubt, no matter how small it was?! Odysseus sighed deeply and looked at his son. His eyes were almost pleading even if his voice was steady.

“Son…” he said gravely, “I spent years out there…years of ordeals and pain and…many of them changed me… I cannot say much…not now…however there was someone…a woman…”

He gulped. He almost seemed ready to cry himself.

“She…she did unspeakable things to me…for years I endured hoping to come back to you and your mother… She…she kept on planting doubts in my head for years… I didn’t believe her…I didn’t want to believe her! And yet…yet all those years… Telemachus I couldn’t do otherwise! My brain was rejecting what my heart knew… And so I had to make these two come together… I had to…! Please! Perhaps one day I will be able to explain to you…and then you will understand…”

His father began walking away but Telemachus, in the heat of adrenaline and battle didn’t seem ready to let go. Not yet.

“Does this have to do with some goddess Calypso?”

His father froze and then he saw him turn around and saw another emotion he never saw before; fear. There was pure terror on his face. All color had left it; his eyes as wide as plates.

“Where did you hear that name!?” his father croaked out, “Telemachus! Where?!”

“Father…” Telemachus was more concerned and surprised than pitiful at that moment, “Look at you! You’re pale! You didn’t turn pallid when you ordered the execution of these women and yet you lost all color at the name of that woman!”

“Telemachus!” Odysseus called out desperately

“Tell me what happened father! What does this woman have to do with this?”

“I can’t!”

“Please tell me! What did that woman do to you to make you doubt your own wife?!”

“I can’t! I CAN’T!” Odysseus’s voice rose in a constant crescendo, he held his head with both hands as if suddenly his head was splitting in two

“Father, please!” Telemachus urged, “Who is that woman? Who is Calypso?”

“Telemachus!” Odysseus grabbed the shoulders of his son

Telemachus nearly whelped feeling the unbelievable strength of those hands, squeezing him in almost bruising grasp but he didn’t make a sound. He stood his ground. He was his father’s son.

“Where did you hear that name?!”

“Y-Your friend told me about it…” Telemachus finally replied, “I traveled, father. I myself tried to find the answers that I was seeking…and in my travels I visited Pylos…and Sparta…there I met your old friend… He said he had a dream in which you were trapped at the island with some goddess Calypso, but he didn’t know more… You remember him, don’t you? Menelaus the king of Sparta…”

“M-Menelaus…”

He took some breaths and he seemed to find his composure. He slowly released his son. Telemachus noticed that indeed some color had returned to his face. How much had that woman done to him to make his father react that way?! How many horrors had this man experienced to the hands of that goddess so that he would turn pale in terror even if he was completely unhinged by more than 100 vigorous men?

“Yes…of course I remember… Menelaus…he was one of my closest friends…in Troy.” That little recollection somehow calmed him down, “I…I haven’t heard of him for years… Th-Thank gods that he is fine…”

“He is in good health from what I could see…” Telemachus couldn’t lie, he didn’t know much on Menelaus but he knew that ‘fine’ was not exactly the word that described him, “He misses you a lot, you know… He didn’t speak with so warm words for anybody else…”

A sad smile spread to Odysseus’s lips.

“I remember… Menelaus was a really dear friend to me…”

He passed his hand over his face to mop some of his sweat.

“Forgive me, Telemachus…I really didn’t want this feeling to be inside me in the first place but…please understand me…that’s all I ask. That and some time… I will explain everything when I can…”

Telemachus breathed in, defeated.

“I will not pressure you, father…” he finally said, “I understand it is hard. Forgive me for insisting… It is just…”

His father’s arms wrapped around him. That moment he stopped being the heartless judge. He was the caring father again..he was the one Telemachus first met; the caring, protective father…

“Please don’t apologize…” he murmured to his son’s ear, “You have every right to be angry…you have so many questions… I promise you, my son, I will do my best to answer them all…just not yet…I can’t…not yet…”

He pulled back and looked at his son’s eyes.

“Okay?”

Telemachus smiled sadly. Suddenly his own accumulated frustration from the events of the day was evaporated. He needed this breakdown and somehow he knew his father needed it too.

“Okay” he nodded in agreement.

Odysseus patted his shoulders.

“Good.” He said, “Let’s go in now and we must order to get ourselves cleaned now. We must, sooner or later, cleanse ourselves from this murder for we both look like we went mad!”

Telemachus scoffed a bit. He began following his father; never daring to look back towards that grim execution place.

“She didn’t ask, you know…” he suddenly said

Odysseus stopped and turned around.

“What?”

“Mother. When I told her about king Menelaus’s vision, she didn’t ask. She didn’t make any inquiries. She didn’t doubt your integrity not even for one second…”

He saw his father’s chest palpitating almost suddenly. His face almost twisted with another unspoken sob. He turned around, showing Telemachus his back.

“Thank you…” he murmured

Telemachus managed to see one tear running down his father’s bloodstained cheek. There was so much behind that silent cry! Telemachus knew his father was keeping many things inside; perhaps he even blamed himself for everything. He didn’t know. He only hoped that with that last comment, he managed to give him some peace of mind. Apparently either he was right or Odysseus was a very good actor indeed, for he was back to his previous steadfast and calm self. He was once more the king.

The King of Ithaca

The Anger Bringer.

***

Not much to say here. Homer said most of it before me.

I found it disturbing and interesting how it was Telemachus the one to pull the rope of the execution so I thought to add a bit ore angst to this and show this aftermath whirlpool of emotions that could be going on inside hm.

And of course Odysseus and the years of torment, especially Ogygia.

Also in the Odyssey Rhapsody 17 Telemachus does mention to his mother how Menelaus saw Odysseus imprisoned by Calypso but Penelope didn't react to it much. She either believed not much of it in her sorrow or at the same time she felt no need to react at the name of another woman because she trusted her husband.

Hope you like it.

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winterspellsfrozenkit · 10 months ago

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So, I LOVE Epic: This Musical and I'm excited for some of the songs in the Circe Saga, but one of TWO songs that I absolutely DESPISE in this musical is coming out and I'm so stressed out about it.

"There Are Other Ways" and "I'm Not Sorry For Loving You" make me so frustrated because it looks like they fall into downplaying the coercion and abuse Odysseus went through because the abusers are women. AND I HATE THAT.

"There Are Other Ways" is a song between a person who has power to force a person into doing what they want (Circe) and their victim (Odysseus), who can only comply. And from what I've read it has the line "There's no puppet here."

It's really clever writing because if you know the story, you know Odysseus is in a precarious situation and he was told by Hermes that when she asked to sleep with him, he needed to do it. Here's three different translations of the moment Hermes tells him "Don't you tell her no" with the warning from Hermes bolded:

"'And I will tell thee all the baneful wiles of Circe. She will mix thee a potion, and cast drugs into the food; but even so she shall not be able to bewitch thee, for the potent herb that I shall give thee will not suffer it. And I will tell thee all. When Circe shall smite thee with her long wand, then do thou draw thy sharp sword from beside thy thigh, and rush upon Circe, as though thou wouldst slay her. And she will be seized with fear, and will bid thee lie with her. Then do not thou thereafter refuse the couch of the goddess, that she may set free thy comrades, and give entertainment to thee. But bid her swear a great oath by the blessed gods, that she will not plot against thee any fresh mischief to thy hurt, lest when she has thee stripped she may render thee a weakling and unmanned.’

“ ‘And I will tell you of all the wicked witchcraft that Circe will try to practice upon you. She will mix a potion for you to drink, and she will drug the meal with which she makes it, but she will not be able to charm you, for the virtue of the herb that I shall give you will prevent her spells from working. I will tell you all about it. When Circe strikes you with her wand, draw your sword and spring upon her as though you were going to kill her. She will then be frightened, and will desire you to go to bed with her; on this you must not directly refuse her, for you want her to set your companions free, and to take good care also of yourself, but you must make her swear solemnly by all the blessed gods that she will plot no further mischief against you, or else when she has got you naked she will unman you and make you fit for nothing.’

"I will tell you all Circe’s fatal wiles. She will mix a drink for you, blending drugs with the food, but even so she will fail to enchant you: the powerful herb I will give you will prevent it. Let me tell you the rest. When Circe strikes you with her length of wand, draw your sharp sword and rush at her, as if you intend to kill her. She will be seized with fear. Then she’ll invite you to her bed, and don’t refuse the goddess’ favours, if you want her to free your men, and care for you too. But make her swear a solemn oath by the blessed gods that she won’t try to harm you with her mischief, lest when you are naked she robs you of courage and manhood.”’

He had no choice in the matter. It was a "you will have to sacrifice yourself OR you will never get your men back and you won't be safe if you don't do it" moment. While Circe's not telling this directly to Odysseus, it's still COERCION because he knows if he says "No, I want to be faithful to my wife" Circe will harm him. But a lot of people don't know that and are going to continue to perpetuate the idea that Odysseus cheated on his wife. 😒 And they're going to use that line of "There's no puppets here" as "proof" that Odysseus cheated.

If you can sympathize with Ovid's later adaptation of Medusa as a victim of Poseidon, but refuse to acknowledge Odysseus was as much a victim of Circe AND Calypso and claim he's cheating... Please, ask yourself: why is that?

#epic: the musical #epic: the circe saga #odysseus was a victim #i will die on this hill #odysseus loves his wife #odysseus chose penelope over helen of troy #all the man wants is to go home to his wife and son #odysseus #odysseusxpenelope #epic circe saga #odysseus of ithaca #coercion #circe #circe saga #epic the musical #jorge rivera herrans #tw coercion #tw sa

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akaridream · 1 year ago

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please my prince (vegeta x reader)

tags: vegeta x time patroller! reader, vegeta x saiyan! reader, mentor-mentee dynamic, afab reader

warnings: explicit content, MDNI; he’s kinda mean but not too bad, good girl, princess, bitch... but no spoilers for the fun stuff

Vegeta had loved the female Saiyan battle suits since the day he hit puberty. The briefs left little to the imagination, showing off many warriors’ favorite assets. Though the story was that they allowed the most freedom of movement, attracting the eye of a potential mate was never too far from a Saiyan’s mind. As you stood in front of Vegeta stretching during a lull in your training session together, he admired your cheeky attire. You had the firm glutes and quads of a powerful warrior, after all. Your efforts shouldn’t go unappreciated. And they certainly didn’t.

Though your training sessions were productive, they were always plagued with an air of tension. As noble a warrior as he was, Vegeta was not immune to the wiles of a female, especially one of his own Saiyan heritage. Something inside him stirred at the sight of your tail swishing, hypnotizing him and making him wish he still had a tail of his own to flirt back at you with. His mind-numbing attraction to you made training sessions an exercise in self-control. When was the last time he had even seen a female Saiyan, let alone one of your impressive power? What would happen if he overstepped the line and made a move on you?

Little did he know, you also struggled to maintain your composure around him. With his widow’s peak and chiseled body, he was a living picture of Saiyan perfection. His narrow waist and hips were well balanced by wide shoulders and a tower of wild hair. His silhouette made you claw half-moons into your palms at the sight. How could any man be so fucking hot?

It was quite the privilege to train with him, too. Only a handful of Time Patrollers had adequate power levels to satisfy the prince. You had the honor of becoming his first Saiyan trainee, garnering special treatment, but not with extra leeway or praise. Vegeta’s regimen bordered on cruel, only because he knew you could handle it. He saw the fire, the passion for battle that blazed in your rich black eyes. He felt the immense power behind your blows. He heard the rage of the oozaru in your battle cry.

“Saiyan men crave strong women,” he recalled telling Kakarot once, and there was no denying it. You were strong. And he craved you.

Many shameful nights, he had gone to the locker room showers at the Patroller Academy with a raging erection thanks to you. Too proud to relent, however, he opted for a cold shower rather than gratify himself. Tonight was shaping up to have the same outcome. The sun had set and the gymnasium at the academy had long since cleared out, leaving only you and your mentor to train on the wrestling mats. The air conditioner had kicked off after dark, leaving you to pine over a shirtless Vegeta with drops of sweat racing down his pecs. You breathed deeply into your stretch, closing your eyes and folding forward to touch your toes. Vegeta closed his eyes too, if only to keep them off your ass. He still had plenty of combinations left to drill into you, he couldn’t deal with a hard-on now. There would be no hiding it in his compression shorts.

“Come on, you’ve slacked off long enough,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sick of you wasting my damn time. Run the last combo again.”

You continued to stretch, unperturbed. “I’m feeling tight and trying to avoid pulling a muscle,” you snarled. “Plus, I know you’re enjoying the view.”

Vegeta’s face caught on fire, making him turn his back to you. “Shut the hell up, woman! The only thing I’m enjoying is knocking some sense into that smart mouth of yours.”

The tip of your tail twitched and your heart began to race. If there was one thing a Saiyan loved as much as a physical fight, it was a good verbal spar.

“Yeah yeah, I might take you more seriously if you had landed a solid blow on me today. Pretty sure I’ve blocked just about everything you’ve thrown at me,” you said.

Vegeta scoffed and turned back to you. Annoyed, he kneed you in the butt, knocking you off balance. You squealed and rolled forward into a somersault.

“The fuck was that for?” you asked, peering up from the ground at a smug mentor.

“Didn’t block that one, did you?” Vegeta said, raising an eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes. “I could have swept you if I wanted. But I don’t want to continue to show up my own teacher. He’s got an ego the size of this planet, don’t want to bruise it.”

“Just get off your lazy ass and run the combo!” he roared as he stood over you. “Why the hell I tolerate you, I don’t even know.”

You smirked and got to your feet, wrapping your tail around your waist. “Like I said, you enjoy the view, Prince.”

Unamused, he came at you with a flurry of powerful blows before you were ready. You managed to dodge and block them, then came in with the combination you had been practicing. He blocked then countered with a swift palm strike, sending you flying. You landed on your feet, then launched back at your mentor, throwing in a wicked elbow straight for his head. With almost no effort, Vegeta slipped past you and kicked with a grunt. You barely leaned back in time, watching his muscled calf fly straight past your nose. Before you could recover, he grabbed a fistful of your black hair and smashed your face into the mat, knee on your spine for good measure. You groaned and tried to get up to no avail.

“Pathetic,” Vegeta growled. “Bragging about your blocking ability but you didn’t see that coming.”

“Because that was a dirty move, Jeet.”

He scoffed and pressed his knee harder into your back. “Do you think Frieza fights clean? Or how about Janemba? Or maybe you think Broly will fight honorably?”

You continued to struggle between his weight and the floor but he kept you pinned. You looked up at him over your shoulder as he leaned down to your ear.

“You’re weak. Just admit you can’t handle my training and give up.”

“Fuck you,” you grumbled.

“Huh? Couldn’t quite hear that, sweetheart. You want me to go easy on you because you’re no stronger than an infant earthling?”

Your nostrils flared and you clawed into the mat. Rage bloomed from deep within you and your hair began to glow blonde.

“I said fuck you Vegeta!” you roared as you threw him off and across the mat. A glint of pride flickered across Vegeta’s face as he stood and barreled towards you with another attack.

You traded blow after blow, matching his power and speed. You gritted your teeth as you sparred and he continued to block your every move.

“That’s it! Push it harder! This is your life you’re fighting for! I’ll send you through the roof if you hold back on me!” Vegeta yelled in your face. He watched as your eyes glowed with intensity in Super Saiyan form, hitting your stride as you fought.

You grunted with each strike, crying out in annoyance as he easily deflected you, then gave you a shove just to show how much of a gap there still was between your power levels. Teeming with frustration, you balled your fists and breathed deep, building your energy.

“I’m not holding back!” you barked with a fully charged punch. You caught your mentor on the cheek, but just barely, causing him to stumble for a moment. You lunged in with a swift knee to his solar plexus, driving him straight back and onto the ground. One knee on his chest and the other by his hip, you pinned him to the mat, crossing a forearm over his neck and holding one of his thick biceps down. His eyes narrowed as you panted over him like a raging bull, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“That punch was not part of the combo,” he snarled.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Princess. Did you think I was gonna fight clean?”

“Tch, you damn brat!”

Vegeta’s eyes flashed blue, his hair flaring to a brilliant gold as he quickly reversed your positions, rolling you onto your back. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them next to your head while he straddled one of your legs. His face was dangerously close to yours before you knew what happened.

Your breaths mingled in the thin air between you. Hearts beating wildly, you watched the inky black return to his irises as yours did the same. You unwrapped your tail from your waist and allowed it to brush against Vegeta’s leg. The golden glow faded from you both and you realized just what you were feeling against your thigh.

“V… Vegeta, are you…” you panted.

The look in his eye grew dark as his gaze darted to your lips. Bristling with a different energy, you extended your neck to meet him with a searing hot kiss.

His grip on your wrists grew tight as he mashed his lips back against yours. He allowed his weight to press into you as you kissed, his tongue beginning to explore.

“The hell was that for?” he breathed against your mouth. Your tongue met his and teased him, drawing him into you.

“You were practically begging for it.” He let go of your wrists to tangle one hand in your hair, giving him leverage to attack your mouth just how he wanted. His tongue was hot yet soft, enticing you to chase and play along. Your hands couldn’t stay off his body. You traced down his sides, feeling the dips between his sculpted muscles. You made your way to his hips, then his taut buttocks, gripping and urging him to drag his hardened cock against your leg. Vegeta chuckled.

“A prince begs for nothing, you damn minx,” he growled.

You moaned as his tongue swirled against yours. “Tell me you’ll fuck me, Vegeta.”

He kissed his way to your neck, sucking and nibbling your tender flesh. “Hmph, now who’s begging?”

You whined as his free hand started to explore over your breastplate. “I… I’m not begging.”

“Really?” He chuckled darkly. “Then what do you call those noises, hm?”

You started to move your hips, searching for friction against your throbbing clit. “I’m not some submissive little girl,” you said.

Vegeta stilled your hip and sucked a mark onto your collar bone. “No, you’re just a Saiyan bitch in heat who wants the prince to satisfy her.”

You roughly grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked him back to your mouth. “I’m not that desperate, especially not for you.”

He denied your kiss and held your gaze. “Your actions speak louder than your words, woman,” he said, ghosting a finger over your slit. Your throat tightened as he pressed against your throbbing clit, trying not to let him know just how needy you really were. But as he locked his eyes with yours, you couldn’t ignore the intense, pulsing desire you felt for him, allowing a moan to fall from your lips.

“Fuck, so what if I am?” you whined. “What if I do want you that bad?”

He smirked. “You gave in to me so easily. Why the hell should I reward you?”

“Because you want me, too.”

He snickered and graced you with a rough kiss.

“You think you’re that special, huh?” he said.

You gave his lower lip a gentle bite, eliciting a low groan and hard drag of his cock against your leg.

“Not really. But I think I know a horny man when I see one.”

Vegeta smirked and repositioned himself between your legs, humping against your clothed core agonizingly slowly. A hot breath escaped you and your nails dug into his hips.

“Mm, Vegeta,” you moaned.

“You’re going to take me like a good girl, you got it?” he asked, creating a blissful rhythm against you. You nodded. “And you’re going to let your prince use you just how he wants, right?”

You nodded again. “Yes. You can have me Prince Vegeta.” Pleasure was building quickly as he dry humped you. Your whines echoed through the empty gym, reminding you that anyone could walk in at any moment.

Another desperate kiss betrayed the prince’s feelings: he needed you, too. He stripped off your armor, leaving you in a strappy sports bra and your briefs. He rolled you onto your stomach and ran his hands up the backs of your thighs.

“If it wasn’t for this perfect ass of yours, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” he said, thumbs brushing against the bottom of your buttocks. He gave a light smack, making you bite your lip and wiggle your hips.

“I knew you loved it,” you teased. He gave a harder smack as your tail began to flit excitedly.

He removed your briefs slowly, revealed your muscular ass in all its glory. “The fact that it belongs to the hottest Saiyan woman I’ve ever seen doesn’t hurt either.”

You grinned as he tossed your briefs aside, his eyes devouring your drooling slit. Your tail swished with an enticing rhythm. Vegeta couldn’t keep his hands off you and he ran his calloused palms over the developing spank mark before gliding a fingertip over your most sensitive parts.

“Need it, my prince,” you sighed.

His cock ached. “You’ll get it when I decide you’re ready.”

He plunged a finger deep into your velvetty walls, but it only served to make you want more. You craved the deep stretch his cock would provide. Vegeta twisted his wrist as he withdrew his finger, then penetrated back into you with force. The slick, shiny arousal coated his finger and began to drip down his knuckle as it rammed against you. Your tail wrapped tightly around his wrist, urging him to continue.

He positioned you with one leg bent up and your ass arched high into the air, a gorgeous angle to see your aching pussy. Impatient and painfully hard, Vegeta added a second finger, scissoring the pair apart as he pulled out from you. The pressure against your insides caused you to cry out and press your forehead hard into the mat. You balled your fists and moaned his name as he gradually stretched you further.

“Please, need your cock,” you breathed between moans. Vegeta gave a dark chuckle and began removing his shorts. You watched him over your shoulder, his cock heavy and thick as it sprang free. You salivated at the sight.

“Can I have you in my mouth?” you asked, starting to sit up.

He grabbed the back of your neck and returned your face to the mat. “No. I want you like this. Now get your ass up nice and high for me.”

You obeyed, arching your back to display your cunt for the prince. He kept his hand on your neck as he caressed your backside, then allowed his cock to rest against you.

“Good girl. Now take me. Take me like the bitch you are.”

He teased your entrance with his cockhead, dragging it to brush against your clit then back to your awaiting slit. On his knees over you, he firmly started pressing the head into you, watching it disappear, then reappear with your arousal covering it. He moaned your name in praise as he pushed himself in further.

“That’s it, take my cock,” he panted. Your back muscles clenched as he sheathed himself.

“Fuuuuck, you feel so good!” you cried. “Fuck me Prince, please.”

Vegeta’s hips rocked into yours as he bottomed out, giving you the delicious stretch you craved. Your tail instinctively wrapped around one of his thighs as he withdrew. Your eyes squeezed shut in pleasure as the prince worked up to a rough rhythm, pounding you into the mat.

“Ahh! Fuck yes, fuck yes Vegeta,” you moaned as your hands clawed the mat for purchase. You dug your elbows in and threw your hips back against him as he fucked you, flesh smacking flesh in a sinful sound that echoed off the concrete walls.

“Your cunt is perfect,” he grunted. “Fucking perfect.” He watched each thrust ripple through your ass, driving his quickly approaching orgasm. Laying over you, he kissed, sucked and bit at your shoulders as he fucked you. His cock drove deep and hard making you whine in delight.

“Keep making those sounds for me, princess,” he commanded in your ear. “Knew you’d be a good girl, knew you’d beg for your prince.”

“Mm, anything for you Vegeta. Wanted you to fill me up for so long!”

His speed and power increased as he neared his climax. His breaths were short, exasperated gasps of pleasure accentuated by groans and moans from deep in his throat.

“You want me to cum in your tight little cunt? That what you want?” he asked, biting at your ear. You couldn’t even form words and only nodded and moaned.

He grunted with a fiery passion as he pounded you with bruising force. He held your hip firmly in place, fucking you like he’d never get another chance. His sounds became more broken, more honeyed until he finally snapped his pelvis against your plush ass with a guttural moan.

“Gahh, ahh ah ahh!” Vegeta cried out, nearly knocking the breath out of you as he came with powerful final thrusts. You whimpered beneath him, squeezing his pulsing cock with your walls. He panted desperately as he came down from his high, collapsing fully onto you while staying sheathed in your heat. As your tail loosened its grip on his thigh, he reached down to twirl it between his fingers. The intimate gesture filled your stomach with warmth as he laid his weight into you. Once the prince caught his breath, he brushed your wild hair away and nuzzled into the back of your neck.

“Fucking perfect, perfect little cunt. But now that I’ve gotten my way,” his voice rasped. “It’s your turn, my princess.” Your heart jolted at his suggestion.

“Not tapping out?” you chuckled as he played with your tail.

He scoffed. “Just because I come first doesn’t mean you don’t come at all. Need to feel you shaking in my arms.”

Vegeta finally pulled out from your pussy, causing his cum to spill out and onto the mat, leaving you empty, but not yet spent. You rolled onto your back and sat up, finally stripping off your bra. The prince’s eyes grew hungry at the sight of your breasts. Vegeta returned his lips to yours in a slow, sensual kiss, surprising you after how forcefully he had fucked you. His hands roamed all over your neck, into your hair, over your nipples as he lapped at your tongue. You wrapped your arms around his muscled shoulders, pressing chest to chest as you made out, steamy breaths in between kisses.

Vegeta sat back on the mat with his legs wide and invited you to sit between them, back against his firm pectorals and abs. He brushed your hair away and bit your ear before breathing sweet nothings into it.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “So incredibly sexy, it’s been driving me mad.” You sighed as his hands caressed your skin, kneading your thigh and breast as he kissed your neck. “Took you damn long enough to make your move, you know,” he said.

You laughed and melted into his touch like a wilting flower. “Oh, you know Saiyan women. We like to tease. But I just couldn’t keep my hands off you any longer.”

Vegeta licked and sucked your skin, his head dizzy at the soft mewls you let out. His fingers began to tease your sensitive entrance, still slick with his cum. He traced around the perimeter, then upward over your clit. You shuddered and moaned.

“That’s it, princess. Let me make you tremble,” he growled.

He pinched and pulled at your nipple with one hand and worked your pussy with the other, dipping his fingers deep inside and using the heel of his palm to rub your clit. You writhed against his chest and clawed into his thigh while he twirled your tail around his hand. He gave it a light squeeze, sending a pulse of pleasure up through your spine.

“Mnnh, Vegeta, you’re so fucking good,” you breathed as he finger-fucked you. You matched his rhythm with your hips as the intensity began building. You turned your head to the side and kissed him feverishly, moaning into his mouth. The taste of his tongue was addicting.

His fingers slid into you with the most perfect friction, hitting your sweet spot thrust after thrust. Vegeta wrapped an arm around your waist, as if any space between your bodies was too much. He pressed his head against yours as you chased and humped his hand. You clutched his bulging forearm, guiding him to touch you just right.

Feeling the steady approach of white-hot bliss, you squealed. “Mm! Gonna cum!”

“Do it. Cum for me. Cum for your prince.”

You called his name, clinging to him tightly as the rush came. “Haaahhh, fuck Vegeta!” you cried out. Your back arched like a cracking whip and shock waves of sweet euphoria crashed over you. Your body quaked just like he wanted, making him chuckle in pride.

“That’s it,” he cooed in your ear as he stroked your tail and nuzzled against you. You clenched his fingers within you as he pressed his palm into your clit, coaxing out more shuddering pleasure. “That’s my princess.”

“Goddamn, that was so good,” you praised, collapsing into him completely as the aftershocks pulsed through you.

He kissed your shoulder, licking the salt of your sweat. “You’re too fucking loud, you brat. You want the whole city to know what we’re up to?”

You laughed and shoved Vegeta to the ground so you could lay on top of him. “I don’t give a shit. They deserve to know who made me cum so hard.”

He smirked and held you against his sweaty chest. “Damn right.”

“And you weren’t exactly quiet either, Prince of all Saiyans,” you teased, feeling his cock had hardened again. You reached down to stroke it, but he caught your wrist and brought it to his lips.

“I have self-control when I need to.” He closed his eyes and kissed your wrist and fingers. “We should hit the showers for the night.”

You hummed and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you made quite a mess of me. Thought you might be interested in another round, but if you don’t have the stamina-”

His eyes shot open and he squeezed your hand. “I didn’t say we should hit the showers separately, did I?”

dbz masterlist

#vegeta x reader #prince vegeta #vegeta #vegeta smut #dbz smut #dbz vegeta #dbz x reader #dbz xenoverse #dragon ball xenoverse 2 #time patroller #time patrol #super saiyan #saiyan reader #afab reader

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uhzuku · 1 year ago

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╰─▸ ❝ 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢’𝐦 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫. ❞ ──── 𝐟𝐭. 𝐰. 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐠.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted and more, everything I ever searched the stars for…” he whispers in your ear through a pleased sigh, “I love you.”

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: honkai star rail | 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: welt yang/reader, past nanook/reader | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: nsfw ; minors dni | 𝐰/𝐜: 3.12k.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: age gap, creampies, previously established relationship, reader and welt have been together five years pre-caelus and have known each other at least fifteen, oral sex ( fem receiving ), riding, choking ( male receiving ), marriage proposals, reader catching feelings.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 !! — @sangokokomis.

𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐬: kinktober 2 <3 also sorry but i suffer from can’t-do-pwp-bc-i-love-plot disease

— 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 !!

Out of thousands upon thousands of years, so few men and women had met the Aeons in comparison to those that did not. Even fewer were selected by the deities to live closely with them — and many, many years ago, you yourself been chosen for such an opportunity.

As a priestess of destruction, you’d had many long days to accustom yourself to the personality of your deity, far used to the occasional outbursts and fits of rage that could turn to silent ponderings within moments. You’d seen hundreds come and go, less than a dozen stay, and had long acquainted yourself with his many lesser followers. That being said, it had also been several long years that you’d been sent away from your official post by him, destined to infiltrate those which sought to destroy his plans, and those several years had been filled with nothing but annoyance. You missed your home, missed your Aeon, and you missed your former work. Life as Nanook’s high priestess was a good one, and life in his bed even better — but now you were on the Astral Express, feigning a life as a crewmember that a lesser associate of yours had long killed all while wearing her face thanks to the magics of Phantylia. One of the Express’s leaders had been attracted to the silly girl, and because of that he’d now fallen victim to your own charms and wiles, which was why he was serving you even now.

Your head falls onto the back of the couch behind you, your glass of wine held in one slightly shaky hand as Welt Yang buried his face between your spread legs to taste the slit between them. Your eyes remain closed and your breathing deep and easy as you bask in the attention he was lavishing you in, and with a soft sigh you lift your glass to your lips and take a sip.

When you’d arrived here, the girl whose face you’d stolen was still in the early innocent stages of a romance with the man, and you’d more than taken up the mantle she’d desired and had captured his heart and his cock with nothing more than a few wicked games veiled with false sincerities, so overall the fact that they’d not fucked yet was benefactory to your cause; Aeons knew what would have become of you if Yang had felt suspicious over his ‘lover’ because you clenched your cunt differently while he was inside it than the woman he was actually in love with — that being said, playing the part of a virgin when you’d not been one for centuries had been hell.

Still, you’d played your part beautifully.

The ways in which Welt Yang touched you were far different to the touches of Lord Nanook; where your Aeon could be vicious and cruel, a man at his core who sought blood and bruises, Yang was gentle and soft, preferring a romantic setting over one of chaos. You hated it at first, feeling lazy at how simple it all was, but eventually after a few years you came to enjoy it; the next many years spent hiding in plain sight as your Aeon commanded would only consist of suffering if you yourself felt that Yang’s lovemaking was such, so why not enjoy it while you could? Kafka had also advised that you find a bright spot in wherever you were located; she’d been in a handful of ‘missions’ similar to these — and despite how well you knew her to be able to lie, you trusted her. So far she’d given you no reason to think otherwise.

“Eager tonight, Mr. Yang?” you ask softly through a smile, finally breaking the silence that had only been punctuated by the wet noises of his talented mouth on your cunt while spreading your legs further apart ever so slightly. You feel him grin against you before tossing one of your legs over his shoulder, managing to worm his way closer to you as you knew he liked.

“I’m always eager for a taste of what only you can give me,” he replies, murmuring the dead woman’s name like she was his god. You ignore it, humming softly and trying to calm your racing heart as his tongue rolled expertly over the thousands of nerves between your legs. The urge to buck up into his face was growing stronger than ever, and your grip on your glass tightens almost enough for it to shatter.

Welt moans against your cunt, drunk off of the taste of you, and you let out a soft noise that has him doing exactly what he’d done to coax it out of you the first time. One of your hands rushes down to bury itself in his hair, fisting around a handful, and he moans into you again as you submit to your own urges and start rolling your hips up into his face. Your wine sloshes in your glass as you squeeze your eyes shut so tightly that tears start to spring up, and you whisper out curses and pleads as a spot in your belly starts growing tighter and tighter, and he changes nothing — an experienced lover, Welt knew just what he was meant to do.

With a sharp wail, the leg over his shoulder curls around his head and holds his mouth to your cunt, your body spasming as you squeeze him. His eyelashes flutter slightly as he relishes the feeling of your thighs pressing in tightly around him all while continuing to taste you, and one of his hands comes up to rub small circles on your skin as you cum for him.

After a moment, the feeling slowly fades and the afterglow kicks in. Standing up, Welt takes your wine glass from you carefully, helping you finish drinking what wine you had left as he also assists in removing your robe and baring yourself to him. As the last dregs roll into your mouth, he captures your lips in a kiss, and you can taste yourself on his lips before your juices blend with the wine. A few stray droplets escape your mouths and begin running down your chin and throat before rolling across your bare breasts, and Welt is quick to swallow what’s in his mouth to chase them with it, his tongue flicking out to capture each droplet before finally closing on one nipple. You whimper softly, weak cries falling from your kiss-swollen lips as his tongue curls around the sensitive bud.

“Bed,” you whisper quietly, and he grunts against you in agreement. The two of you make your way over to the bed you shared, Welt kicking off his shoes hastily as you abandon your robe on the couch completely.

He nudges you gently and you fall back onto the thick blankets, pretending to be offended as you prop yourself up on your elbows, and he laughs as he unbuckles his belt and lets his pants fall to puddle on the floor. Your gaze falls upon his cock, hard and weeping, and your lip darts out to wet your lips before you spread your legs invitingly. His brown eyes darken a few shades and he tugs his shirt up and over his head before taking his rightful place between your thighs, his thick length slapping against your cunt as you’d both desired as he begins kissing you again.

A soft pressure makes itself known as he slips a hand between the two of you and begins pressing his cock inside of you; you just close your eyes and relax into the mattress as the ever so familiar feeling of him filling you washes over your body. The two of you wait a moment, basking in the feeling and allowing your body to adjust before wrecking each other as always.

“I love you,” he whispers through a smile, and you laugh a little to yourself.

“I know,” you reply, and it’s enough for him as he begins to gently move, rolling his hips against you in a soft rhythm he knows you enjoy. Soft sighs and moans fall from your lips as he drives himself deep inside over and over again, an ever familiar fire building in your belly as he slams against your sweet spot over and over; the bastard had memorized its placement a long time ago, much to your shock.

“Yes, yes — fuck, please!” he moans above you, his eyes squeezed shut from the feeling of being inside. You lock your legs around his waist instinctively as he slowly picks up the pace, letting out sharp cries of pleasure. You don’t notice him open his eyes, nor do you notice him gazing down at you in adoration as he brings you closer and closer to the edge or the excited glint in his eyes as he grips your waist and rolls the two of you over so you sit on top of him — but you don’t have to have noticed any of these things to know what he’s wanting as he bucks his hips up into you.

Lofting yourself up, you keep pulling up until the tip of his cock pops out and only brushes against your hole before dropping back down all at once, gasping as you’re filled and then shivering at the loud, shouted moan Welt lets loose; Aeons, you hoped no one heard. Last time he’d cried out like that while the two of you were fucking, Himeko had burst in in a panic with her weapon in hand, thinking he was under attack, only to find you with your wrists and ankles tied to the top bedposts so you’d be completely spread openand Welt balls deep inside you.

Breakfast the next morning had been interesting. March and Dan Heng hadn’t understood why things were so awkward, but thankfully hadn’t commented on it.

“Fuck, that’s good,” you whimper, lifting your hips and slamming them down on him over and over again. You can feel the tight grip Welt has on you, one hand on your waist and the other squeezing your hip, and you catch your bottom lip between your teeth and bite down a little as the tightness in your belly grows. “Fuck, ‘m close — W-Welt!”

“Y-Yeah, I know — c’mon, sweetheart, just a little more!” he moans, his eyes rolling back a little as he fucks up into your dripping hole. His nails dig into your skin as you slow the manic bouncing to a deep grind that smashes his fat tip against your cervix, causing you both to let out equally deep cries of pleasure. He curses again, and you grab his shoulder with one hand while wrapping the other around his throat, choking him. His hips stutter up into you instinctively and he lets out a strained groan, but other than that he has no reaction to it.

“You shouldn’t trust me so blindly, Mr. Yang,” you purr softly, gently tightening the grip you have around his neck. He lets out a gasped moan and tightens his grip on your hips, a blissed out grin on his face and a flush on his cheeks, and laughs a little even while his air is restricted.

“And why not? You’d never hurt me, Mrs. Yang,” he gasps, and your eyes widen as your grip loosens in shock. Breathing heavily, he looks down at you hopefully through sex-mussed hair with a bright smile.

You ask shakily, “D-Do you mean-?!” and he nods.

“Yes. It’s been five years of bliss with you at my side, so marry me,” he begs softly, his eyes warm and genuine. “Marry me, take my name, let everyone know that I’m yours and you’re mine.”

“Everyone — Everyone already knows you’re mine, Welt,” you whisper truthfully, heart racing. You’ve both stopped the carnal movements you’d shared before, still connected in the most intimate ways, but still as your mind raced as fast as your heart. A proposal? Was he absolutely insane?

Were you?

Marrying him would be an unbreakable cover. You’d never be questioned, no one’s thoughts of your loyalty to the Express would ever falter. Should there ever be a suspicion of a traitor in the midst of the crew, you’d never be considered — the wife of Welt Yang, a traitor? Impossible!

So… why were you hesitating? Your Aeon wouldn’t give a damn and demand you take this opportunity, Phantylia would mock you for your hesitance, Blade would call you a fool for not jumping for it, and Kafka —

Well. Maybe of all your secret allies, Kafka would actually understand. Despite the exterior mask she shrouded herself in, the woman felt strongly. It was not a ‘maybe’ — she would understand.

You may have been a priestess of the Destruction, but you were still a priestess. Marriage was a vow more sacred than any other save a life debt, even to followers of Nanook. You’d blessed more marriages in your many long years than you could possibly remember, as well as the children that followed — whether these marriages be of love, stratagem, convenience, arrangement, or any other means. The bond between spouses was something you dared not tamper with.

But would he suspect you if you said no?

You’d managed to ease more of your own personality into that of the girl you’d hidden as over the last many years you’d been on the Astral Express and during the three in which you’d been in a relationship with Yang. You’d ushered her ended life into a new era as a woman, helped her personality grow beyond the grave, and you couldn’t thank your past self enough for the insight to do so. If Yang had proposed when you’d first arrived amongst the Astral Express Crew, the girl would have cried and said yes immediately, full of excitement that overflowed into every action she made, a reaction very unlike the one you were having right now. Now you’d made certain the come across more subdued and less explosive, and better yet you’d had a trailblazing expedition that Himeko and Welt both considered traumatizing ( a few people died, who the hell cares? ) to the girl who used to be.

You’d jumped on that opportunity as quickly as a viper strikes its prey with a killing bite. Why were you not greedily snatching this one up as well? What was happening to you to make you falter in such a way?

“You — You don’t have to say anything now, I know the proposal is sudden,” Welt mumbles softly, averting his eyes.

You’d been quiet too long.

“Don’t bother,” you reply, watching him wince. Smiling, you say, “Yes. I’ll marry you,” and watch him light up.

“You will?” he asks, smiling serenely, and you nod through a soft smile of your own.

“I will. I’ll marry you, I’ll take your name — and should we consider it, I’ll bear you a son,” you promise quietly, as is the oath of marriages amongst the Destruction ( though changed ever so slightly; you’d learned over the years that Welt Yang was no man desiring strictly obedient partners — a child would have to be a decision you both made in his mind ).

For some reason, the thought of using any child you share with him doesn’t present itself in your mind as another means of cover or of digging your claws deeper into the Express.

Welt just laughs. “Son, daughter, both or none — I don’t need any children, only you.” Your eyes start to water a little at that, surprising you; when you’d attempted to make such a promise to the Aeon you served, his reaction had been vastly different.

You were glad the room was dark enough for him not to notice — hopefully. If he does, he doesn’t say anything, and you appreciate it.

He sits up and presses his lips against yours in a slow kiss, blatantly conveying his love for you in every movement. More tears well up. You ignore them.

“Welt,” you whisper against his mouth, and he pulls back a hair’s width. “Make love to me.”

His eyes, soft and gooey in the meagre light like melted chocolate, gaze up at you with an unhidden adoration that makes some part of you inside ache. What was this feeling? You’d been feeling it more and more lately, and you didn’t know why.

Hmm. Perhaps matters of the philosopher.

The two of you resume your previously abandoned movements, this time slower and more rhythmic, imbued with the romance that Welt so openly craved. He moans soft utterances of your name and declarations of love that make your heart suddenly sting. You cannot return them, you aren’t meant to, but Aeons above… you want to.

You can feel yourself teetering over the edge, Welt able to make you cum like even Nanook had never managed, and you fight off a sudden rush of tears as he whispers his love for you yet again as he fills you up, his thick cum a hot weight inside that has you following suit quickly. He holds you through your orgasm, fucking you through it as well even as it sends him into overstimulation, and as you finally come down he pulls out, watching the way his thick spend dribbles out of your messy hole before laying down beside you, content. The two of you could bathe tomorrow morning, for now you were both too tired.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted and more, everything I ever searched the stars for…” he whispers in your ear through a pleased sigh, wrapping his arms around you, “I love you.” His hands, rough from use over his many years, toy with your own, and you close your eyes and bask in the feeling of him lacing your fingers together.

“And I you,” you murmur softly, eyes slightly wet as he nuzzles his face into your neck and begins to ease into a deep sleep, and as you glance over to where your phone rests on the bedside table. A harsh light fills the room as the screen lights up with a message, likely from Kafka, requesting an update before she made a move on Herta’s Space Station; Welt, ever-trusting, only hides his face in your neck as you slowly reach over with a trembling hand and turn the phone face-down.

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling as your fingers toy with the hair at his nape without you even realizing it. His breathing has evened out, and he’s clearly asleep — content and happy in your arms while also with you in his. You look down at him, then sigh again. You’d been doing that a lot lately, Aeons knew why.

“Sorry, Mr. Yang, but I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.”

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © { 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 } 𝐛𝐲 𝟒𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

#welt yang x reader #welt yang x you #star rail x reader #star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai: star rail x reader #honkai: star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #— kinktober_23.♡

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austinslounge · 3 days ago

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girl thank you for bringing up the hate Austin gets for no reason. It’s so confusing. Imo I think the hate comes from jealousy and the assumption that pretty people are automatically arrogant dicks and unfaithful partners but I’d like to hear your take

Yea girlie, I am totally ready to have that conversation if anyone else is wiling to because to me it's just gotten out of control. 🥴 I've usually kept quiet on this topic because I don't like to complain or vent too much on my blog about silly things like this, but it's to the point now where I just have to say something.

This man has been getting hate for years, and for absolutely no good reason at all.

Some people hated Austin even while he was dating Vanessa.

He's even been called a clout chaser, when hello, Ashley T. hooked them up together and Vanessa had her eye on Austin! She admitted it herself!

Then, after the Aunessa breakup, Austin was blamed for that too! Even though, we really don't actually know what the reason was for their breakup, or even who actually broke up with whom or how it happened!

Then, people called him a cheater and just assumed that Austin cheating was the reason for the Aunessa breakup, even though, there's been ZERO proof that has come out in nearly 5 years since their breakup that he cheated on her.

Then, he's been bashed for dating KG, even though, I'm almost 100% sure that she went after him! (We've seen how she operates)

Then -- there was the whole stupid "Elvis voice" thing. 🙄 That "joke" has been run into the ground for two whole years, and it's almost like beating a dead horse at this point. That man has been bullied for over two years for the voice thing, even when he doesn't even sound like Elvis! And so what if maybe he got stuck in a voice inflection for a little while? It happens to a lot of actors. Why is he the one getting so much hate? Instead of bullying him, people should have been showing him compassion and just given him more time to acclimate to his more typical way of speaking again.

Then there are also the people online who say that they just "don't like him" because they think he's "creepy" or they don't like him "just because". 😒 Like wtf? 🥴 They don't even have a real reason to hate the man, but they are so proud to say that they dislike him. This man is one of the kindest people in the industry. I'm thinking, what on earth are they smoking?

He's also been called "pretentious", "arrogant", and "phony", but yet, if you watch even just one interview of Austin (even pre-Elvis), you'll see that he's one of the sweetest, most down-to-earth and genuine celebrities out here. Other people who have worked with him or met him also echo that same sentiment.

Now, he's getting blamed for the breakup of his costar and her fiancé just because they're currently filming a movie together, and there's absolutely zero proof of them having anything romantic off-camera whatsoever. 🙄

I'm just thinking, what on earth is people's problem with this man? If anything, he's been very private, he minds his business, he works hard, he's never been involved in any scandal, he minds his manners and treats everyone with kindness and has never been one of those jerk celebrities who act entitled. I'm just trying to figure out where people are getting their reasons to hate this guy from?

I think you have probably hit the nail on the head girl. I think most people take one look at Austin and assume that someone that good-looking just has to be a jerk, a cheater, or extremely arrogant. But he's totally the opposite!

I also agree with you that part of it is jealousy too. But a lot of the people saying these things about him online are women! 🥴 It's almost like women these days automatically judge good-looking guys as bad guys or smthg. Heaven forbid a guy be hot and actually a nice guy. Those men do exist! If Austin were ugly or even just average-looking, I kind of feel like the opinion on him would be totally different.

It just makes me so sad when I see people on Twitter or online just going in on him for absolutely no good reason, and making up lies in order to justify their hatred of him, because he is so not how some people assume him to be. 😔

Thoughts anyone??

#austin butler #asks #sorry for the thesis #yes I went there #some things had to be said

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blues824 · 1 year ago

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Imagen a female sanami in the Remarried Empress(she is a female emporor ) .

💨She was a commener in the corrupt nothern empire where she lead a successful revolt angains the rulers and won the love of the people who made her empress where she took inspiration from navier as a empress and became a loved emporor (she doesn't like the title empress a lot so took the title of emporor ).

💀Navier and her are friends it started with the sanami mc sending letters to navier asking for help how to be a emperor and navier finding the cold war hero empror not so scary after the letters becoming friends with the emporor.

💨Navier of course invited her to the eastern empire new year Ball and when she arrives she gets intedused as the emporor of the northern empire dressed in a suit walking menacingly to navier and bowing to her shocking everyone .

(she never bowed to anyone so it's shocking because of her hated for the previous leaders in her country but she holds the same respect for navier like ubuyashiki she doesn't like it she doesn't even like that she is the emporor but does it for the people. )

💀Imagen rattrash hearing the emporor of the Northern empire is coming and hearing how good the emporor is stopping poverty and bringing a golden age in a few years tinking she will flirt with the emporor (she doesn't know yet that the emporor is a woman ).

💨Sovieshit feels threatened by her from a commener to the most loved emporor in the northern empire she had achieved a lot in a few years what not even he could do so when she is invited by navier he gets nervous his poor fragile masculinity is hurt because of her .

💀Heinley likes her for her power and how from commer to emporor she went saving a empire from coroptune seeing her as inspiration for when her becomes king and fan girs seeing her next to navier and becoming friends with her especially when she helped them escape.

💨Kosiar first did not trust her sending letters with navier after all she wants killed the previous empress with her own hands in a public execution and became emporor but fel in love with the warrior emporor after seeing her take care of the northern empire and he finds te scars beautiful and show what she did to free her empire .

💀Ergi was sent by heinley to spy on her(fun fact I keep forgetting about heinley his older brother ) seeing if she would atack the western kingdom but seeing her only care for her new empire making it grow and falling in love with her she doesn't care about things most females do and seeing her scared and being proud of them makes him fall in love with her more.

(so seeing rattrash compared to her is day and night one went from commoner to respectable emporor and the other from slave to the worst empress in the eastern empire )

💨Kaufman was send to bring peace towards the new emporor being woried about the visit only to be met with a good emporor and her agreeing on peace and trade fro the people of her empire he catches feeling for the emporor especially when she asked him to send books of his country for the people of the northern empire so they can learn their language.

💀Imagen during the diner party the sanami mc makes a remark to sovieshit when she hears rattrash using the you hate me because I'm a commener exuse that she band slavery and helps the people in need and saying to rattrash that she was a commoner so she has no excuse using that saying that instead of playing the victim show she is a strong woman.

💨Imagen later on rattrash crying that the sanami mc baned slavery played the victims of slavery a good amount of money from the slave owners and if they could not pay she gave the now free people the nobles their titels are and thought them how to read write and how to live a normal life wile sovieshit doesn't even pay or her depth.

💀How would everyone react to seeing the sanami mc being covered in scares and being very muscley compared to other women she brought the northern empire to equality women and men are worth the same .

💨Her helping heinley and navier start up there new empire and making a contract with them for peace and trade and that she would be welcome in her empire and will aid them in wars .

Trigger Warning: Mention of pedophilia in Rashta’s scenario.

Sovieshu Vict

It was no secret that you were powerful, and he has met you a few times. You had been invited to multiple different gatherings when discussion was required for the wellbeing of the entire continent of Wol. You were definitely very intimidating, and your scars just added to your very scary aura. When he learned that his wife had invited you to the New Year’s Party after he added a mistress into the household, he was genuinely terrified.

Your story was well known among all, commoner or not. You actually used to be a commoner before you gathered each village on the outskirts and stormed the emperor’s palace and killed each person inside unless they swore their undying loyalty to you. Once the imperial family was dead (they had no heir yet), you were voted to be the empress. However, you instead took the title of Emperor because of the Northern Empire’s tendency to favor the emperor more. You did not like the position, but you needed to teach someone to inherit your empire and rule it justly, as you were not married and thus could not produce an heir.

When you arrived, everyone was shocked by your appearance. Not only did you have scars, but you wore a suit instead of a gown. Not just that, but you went up to Navier and bowed to her without acknowledging the actual Emperor. For the entirety of the night, you stuck close to Her Imperial Majesty. You remained quiet, opting to give head nods as a greeting. Sovieshu once caught your glare, and you looked unamused, to say the least.

Of course, there is the dinner party that you were invited to. Rashta was crying right before, clinging to Sovieshu and saying that she should be invited and that it was just because she was a commoner that she wasn’t allowed to be there. You walked up and, with your usual pissed-off face, explained that you went from commoner to ruler of a country and the reason she wasn’t invited was because she held no political power or influence over anything.

During the meeting with Duke Kaufman, Navier, Sovieshu, and a few other officials, everyone else noticed that you and the Empress were the only ones who spoke his native language. That’s when you explained the dynamics of your empire: slavery is banned, corrupt nobles had their titles revoked and those titles went to former slaves who helped during the rebellion, women and men had equal opportunity, mages were treated normally and received sponsorships from you to go to the Academy of Magic, and in all schools it was required to study another language. Sovieshu was surprised at how many things you changed about the Northern Empire, because he remembers how horrible the outskirt villages were. He felt inferior, and he did not like that.

Rashta

She heard of your future arrival, and she knew a few things about the Northern Empire post-rebellion. However, she did not know the extent of your actions and how they affected not only the commoners of your empire, but also the commoners in other kingdoms and empires on the continent. You were referred to as the Emperor of the Northern Empire, and typically a man takes on the role of ‘Emperor’. You will have to excuse her for thinking that you were a man.

Because of her status as a slave before getting tangled up in the trap, she was not informed of many political happenings. Most of what she heard came from word-of-mouth, which, as we know, isn’t reliable and is often very opinionated. The Northern Empire was said to be rather barbaric, especially the outskirts. The people there were rumored to resort to cannibalism because they were so poor. But, you changed that by leading a rebellion and killing the imperial family and claiming the throne. Because of you, she was at least given a designated place to sleep under Viscount Lotteshu’s ownership for fear that the slaves and commoners would rise up against and overpower the empire’s forces.

You were, of course, invited to the New Year’s Party, and you definitely stood out. Rashta was shocked and scared of your appearance, not just because of your scars but the fact that you were a woman instead of a man. You see, because of her unique charm and the fact that she looks [and acts] like a child, a lot of men fall for her [it’s giving pedo, but whatever]. Anyways, you were wearing a suit and you had a lot of scars. Your eyes were wide open and you walked over to Navier, further terrifying the mistress… who let out a gasp of pure shock when you bowed to the empress. You stuck close to Her Imperial Majesty, not even sparing Rashta a glance. Her plan was ruined: she was going to try and gain your trust and sympathy, as it would be very beneficial to her if she had the Emperor of the Northern Empire on her side.

A few days (?) later, there was the banquet amongst state and imperial officials. Rashta was begging Sovieshu to let her go, but Navier had refused as she held no political power or any sort of influence. Plus, her guest list was also full because she invited you. Outside of the door, the mistress was crying and clinging to the Emperor, saying that it was because she used to be a commoner that she wasn’t allowed to be in attendance. That’s when you walked up in yet another suit, this time with your katana, and went to open the door, you told her in an annoyed tone that it was because she wasn’t important to anyone besides gossipers who loved to talk shit about the imperial family. You then walked in, feeling yourself tense up in anger when you heard the childish wails.

After the dinner, you heard about everything that happened with Viscount Lotteshu and Rashta. You were surprised to hear that she, too, came from nothing. However, you didn’t think it was right to use it as an excuse for everything. Sure, you hated the concept of slavery, but you used that hate as well as sympathy to take over and create laws and regulations as well as build up your reputation. You did not shed a single tear through it all, not even when your brother turned against you. But, here Rashta was, crying over anything and everything while being nothing but a mistress.

Navier Trovi

When you became the Emperor of the Northern Empire, she was the first one you wrote to. After all, you had no experience with being the ruler of anything, let alone an entire empire. She actually had really good strategies when it came to winning over the hearts of her people, although she is still viewed as an icy-cold empress. Because of this friendship (not an alliance… yet), she invited you to the New Year’s Ball. After all, the Grand Duke Kaufman would also be attending and it could be a good chance to talk about trade across the Continent Wol.

Up to this point, she has met you a few times and has seen what you look like. You both get along fairly well, with the occasional disagreement as two people in power over different empires have. Once you arrived at the party, however, she saw that you had gained even more muscle as well as more scars, and you were wearing a suit. Navier knew you were different from her husband as a ruler, as you trained your military yourself. Anyways, you walked over to her and kneeled in front of her: a sign of respect in the Northern Empire. Your empire has come so far because of your hard work, and while you might not like being in the position, you are doing your best.

You stuck close to her for the majority of the night until she and Heinrey had their little conversation where he asked her to dance. When that happened, you were kind of on your own and you decided to make friends with a few of the nobles from the Eastern Empire. You kept an eye on the Emperor’s mistress, however, as she seemed to be the type who would backstab you when she had the chance. In your endeavor to save the Northern Kingdom and turn it into a peaceful empire, you had met many Rashta’s, but not very many Navier’s, so you tended to stick to the Navier’s as you knew that they could help you and your land.

Now, the Empress knew that one easy way to make an alliance with your empire was to have a noble of high standing marry you and become your consort. She first thought of her brother, as when you both met a few years ago you both got along very well. But, when Grand Duke Kaufman asked you to dance, she couldn’t help but notice the chemistry between the two of you. You let your guard down, and he actually made you smile! It was the first time she had ever been able to see it, but little did she know that Kosair also had managed to make you smile many moons ago. Duke Ergi would manage to make you smile very soon in the days to come, but Navier wouldn’t find out about it until you made your choice between the three men.

At the dinner, you were sat next to the Grand Duke, and to say that you were happy to have another ally was an understatement. However, before you even entered the dining room, you saw that Rashta was crying out about how she wasn’t invited just because she was a commoner. Navier was about to see what the commotion was when you stepped in and said that you were once a slave and then a commoner. You shed no tears in all the work that you did and you even had your brother betray you but you still didn’t cry. You were an emperor, while she was a mere concubine without influence. You basically told her that she had no right to cry until she was in charge of something, and you then turned to bow towards Her Imperial Majesty before entering the room.

Heinrey Lazlo

His brother had sent him to acquire the possibility of an alliance between the Western Kingdom and the Northern Empire, as your military would prove to be as beneficial for them as their wealth would be to you. At the New Year’s Ball, you had the chance to meet Prince Heinrey, as you stuck close to Navier for the entire night. This man was squealing about how his newfound crush (Navier) was hanging around and gained the respect of his newfound hero (yourself). Of course, he didn’t secure the alliance, as you didn’t know if you could trust somebody who 1) was known to be a womanizer and 2) associated himself with the womanizer known as Duke Ergi. He did, however, manage to plant the seed in your mind; the possibility of you marrying Ergi might be slim as of right now, but it could turn into something beneficial for both lands.

Now, he had never had the pleasure of meeting you face-to-face, so he was definitely shocked by your appearance. You had scars covering your face and hands, you had a suit on which was unheard of for a woman, you had a very muscular build as well. From the tales he had heard, you train your military yourself and lead the infantry sanction as you like to fight hand-to-hand and sword-to-sword. When you took over, you stripped the nobles of their titles and gave them to some loyal followers who were slaves before the revolt. You didn’t even want to be the emperor, but you stayed in the position because you didn’t trust anyone else to take over as you thought it would destroy the vision you had in mind. No, you would pass it on once you had a child, and because of that you were an eligible bachelorette.

Your formal introduction was one of surprise, as you bowed to him. You both could sense that the other was special in a unique way. Your blood was unique, and you could tell that he was a bird with your experience with Kasugai Crows. You were a target because of your marechi blood, as it could go for a lot on the black market. Any descendents you may have will also have this trait, which adds to the flocking of men to your palace to try and win your hand in marriage. It isn’t everyday that you could say you were wed to or had children with someone of marechi blood who was also an emperor.

A friendship blossomed between the two of you, as you were able to understand him while he was in Queen form and he could sense who you were based on your blood alone. When birds sent to Navier were shot down, they would instead be delivered to you and your guest chambers where you would hide him in your haori and walk to Her Imperial Majesty’s chambers for a ‘cup of tea’. In order to give them some privacy, you would bow before taking your leave. You were just glad that you were able to make your friends happy, but there was still one thing you had left to do.

When the divorce happened, and Sovieshu ordered that Navier be kept inside, you gathered your best guards that you had brought with you and disguised yourselves as the guards standing outside of the ex-Empress’s tower. Once your cover was blown, you fought with all of your might, none of the other guards standing a chance against your bloodthirsty hands. You did not hold back, and your sword was soaked with the blood of many who will never see their families again until they, too, inevitably, die. That’s why you were feared by all, as you did not hesitate to kill someone who has wronged you… as long as there was justifiable cause.

Kosair Trovi

You didn’t always get along with him, as your anger issues often clashed with each other. Screaming matches would always erupt between the two of you whenever he visited your empire, but you then started training your military and your schedule was too full to pay him any mind. He remembers the time where you once invited him to join the ranks for the day, and he then understood the discipline that was instilled within you and your soldiers. You sparred against one of your greatest generals, and you got a new slash across your arm, starting from the bottom of your hand to the crease in your elbow. Kosair was genuinely worried and rushed to patch you up, and you both were flustered by the close proximity.

This ‘friendship’ went very far, actually. It was through him that you got into contact with Navier, as you needed assistance with running the Northern Empire. Now, we all know how he gets about his younger sister, so you gave him your solemn vow to respect and honor her as she deserved. When he left the Northern Empire, you both continued to exchange letters… some of them starting to get into flirtatious territory. It had been a while since you both saw each other, so you couldn’t help but feel like a hopelessly in-love protagonist being held back from her lover. Just kidding. Your duties as the emperor were keeping you from traveling too much. That was, until you got the invitation to the New Year’s Party at the Eastern Empire. This is where Kosair hailed from, so you felt yourself get a bit excited about possibly seeing him.

Unfortunately, he was not present at the party, but he did show up later to visit his sister. Since it had been a while since the last time you saw each other, he was surprised by the sheer amount of scars you had on your arms now. He bowed down to you, gently taking your hand in his and placing a kiss on the back of it. The sheer contrast in the textures of your skin was shocking to the both of you. His skin was soft and gentle, while yours had marks that told stories that not even words could portray. You remember that moment from How to Train Your Dragon 2 where Hiccup’s dad says, “you’re as beautiful as the day I lost you”? That’s kind of what he does, as you haven’t seen each other in a while.

Now, unbeknownst to the two of you (moreso him than you), two men saw this happen and they got very jealous. Kosair was not the only man trying to seek out your heart. The Grand Duke Kaufman as well as Duke Ergi witnessed the kiss upon the back of your hand, and they saw how familiar you were with each other, so they realized that they would need to step up their game if they wanted to get your attention. This caused a rivalry between the three men that wouldn’t stop until you made your decision. After all, you needed to choose because you needed an emperor consort and an heir. Any extravagances that you can think of, the men tried on you.

Because this is Kosair’s scenario, we are going to assume that you chose him. You know him, you trust him, and you eventually married him. This man is a trophy husband and he knows and lives for it. When you got married, he moved to the Northern Empire. It was a day of celebration for not only the empire, but also for Heinrey and Navier. You invited Duke Ergi and Duke Kaufman out of respect, and the latter did attend. The former, however, did not, as he was busy tricking Rashta. If you know, you know. You both did attend Heinrey and Navier’s official wedding in the Western Kingdom, and you were finally able to pay the new Queen back by giving them both advice on how to create the Western Empire.

Grand Duke Kaufman

You both first met at the New Year’s Party… technically. You both have technically met before, when Luiptian officials came to the Northern Empire to discuss trade with you. However, you did not have a formal introduction to him. So, when he asked you to dance with him, you were very hesitant. Dancing with a stranger left you vulnerable, so you had your guard up. You both spoke with one another as the black suit you were wearing blended with his clothing, and you both found your hearts beating faster and in-sync. He was surprised that you knew so much of his native language, and you explained that it was an academic requirement in your empire to know at least one foreign language fluently.

During your stay in the Eastern Empire, you got closer to the Grand Duke. Each time you both passed by each other, he would stop to bow, take your hand in his, and place a kiss on the back of it. He’s even seen you training with the guards that went with you, and you are as harsh as you are diligent. He sprinted over when he saw that one of your guards had slashed your arm. Luckily, there wasn’t even a scar to do his skills in magic. But, he was able to see all of your other scars with the close proximity. He’s surprised to hear that you didn’t want them gone, as they told stories of bravery and conquest and hard work, but he finds it admirable.

When he gave an explanation for the love potion to Empress Navier, you were present in the room. You volunteered to try it to test its potency when Kaufman said it would be better if he tested it out. After all, it would be disastrous if the Emperor of the Northern Empire fell in love with either the Empress or himself (👀). The only problem was that the potion was very potent and very effective… to the point where the antidote did not work. He looked at you first once he drank the liquid, so he was entranced. It was embarrassing to have said that Sovieshu was handsome to get him off of your guys’ back, but in reality he didn’t like that the Emperor stood so close to you. That’s when he realized what the love potion had done to him.

For the next few days, Kaufman found himself wanting to remain close to you. It took everything inside of him just to part with you for a few minutes. You did not mind his company, however, as he offered good advice for your empire. Unfortunately, because of his longing to be next to you at all times, he witnessed Lord Kosair placing a kiss upon the back of your hand. The Grand Duke almost landed a punch to the Master of the Trovi House’s face, shouting that he had no permission to touch you. However, you caught his fist so that no damage was dealt. You took him by the hand and led him to a room where you asked him what the fuck happened. Long story short, the potion took over in this passionate moment and he kissed you. Needless to say, considering this is Kaufman’s scenario, you reciprocated.

Anyway, your relationship progressed quickly. When he had to go back to the Kingdom of Luipt, he asked you to go with him. However, your own ship was docked next to his, and you had to depart to your own empire. You declined his request, as you had no heir and thus could not run away with him. That’s when he came to a very fast revelation. He asked you to marry him. To say you were surprised would be an understatement. After all, you had only really gotten to know each other for just a few weeks. But, as we know Sanemi to be, you were crazy too so you accepted his proposal. Two weeks after getting to the Northern Empire, you received a ring and a note in a bottle via pigeon. The note proved to you that you chose the right man to be your husband, and you immediately started making preparations.

Ergi Claude

You met because you both ran into each other in the palace corridors. The womanizer in him caught you and tried to rizz you up. You weren’t having any of it and grabbed a dagger from your sleeve. You held it to his neck as you demanded him to let you go. It infuriated you how he just gave you a smirk before making sure you were upright… and how fast your heart was beating from the encounter. You were headed to the training grounds, though, so you couldn’t dwell on it too much. Now, what you didn’t know was that Prince Heinrey of the Western Kingdom had ordered him to spy on you to see if you would attack them. So, this chance encounter was just him evaluating how hard it would be to get close to you.

Unfortunately for him, Rashta kept him from observing you or even meeting you again for quite a while. She would get jealous whenever she saw the Duke try to seek you out, so she would get his attention and drag him to her chambers to speak with him. She would make up an encounter she definitely didn’t have with Viscount Lotteshu just to bring Ergi’s attention back to her. However, fortune pulled an Uno Reverse Card on the young mistress and she was caught up with speaking to Sovieshu to be able to see that Ergi had gone in search of you. He did manage to find you… right when Kosair planted a kiss on the back of your hand and Kaufman punched the man. You were, understandably, overwhelmed by the situation and so Ergi stepped in and led you away. That is where you had a formal introduction to each other, no blades drawn. Though, he did see the katana that you kept sheathed at your hip.

Now, he was not invited to the dinner with all the nobility, as he held no power within this Empire nor any significant power in the Western Kingdom. He guessed (correctly) that you would be attending that, so he just went to the other party. However, his mind couldn’t get off of your first *actual* conversation. It was rather civil, but you didn’t respond to his slightly flirtatious words. You were better equipped that time. He learned your name and your story, and it was as clear as day that you were Rashta’s opposite. Rising up as a slave to overturn the entire system, killing the king and queen of the Northern Kingdom, taking the throne, turning the kingdom into an empire, stripping the nobles of their titles and giving them to your most trusted subjects, abolishing slavery, teaching everyone to read and write, training your military yourself, etc., all while thinking without emotion. Yeah… you were definitely different from Sovieshu’s concubine.

After the ruined dinner, you went to the garden to sort your mind out. You had a lot to think about, considering you were here to negotiate trade and alliances and such. Ergi found you there, and you looked radiant underneath the moon’s glow. With confidence, he sat next to you on the bench. He tried not to scare you, but because of your intense training you were able to sense that he was there anyway. You both started a conversation that eventually led to him asking if he had any chance of winning over your heart. You gave it some thought over the next few days, but before you could give your answer you had to depart for your own empire. The Duke accompanied you to the dock, and asked if you had an answer. You said that he would know once you did, and so he kissed the back of your hand before your departure.

Once you returned to your own kingdom, you immediately met with your advisors to ask if this marriage could bring any sense of prosperity to the empire, or if it would be of your own choice anyway. Your empire was doing exceptionally well, but since it would be a noble of another kingdom that you would be marrying, it could possibly mean that there would be an alliance between the Western Kingdom and the Northern Empire. After all, the Western Kingdom is known for the multitude of gems and wealth. The Northern Empire is known for its military strength. So, you immediately wrote to Ergi. The only word you put on the page, however, was yes.

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gilverrwrites · 2 months ago

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Sorry no brain function tonight just a little mermaid-esque AU, only instead of a Prince, it’s Pirate Captain Slade Wilson.

His men catch you in their nets whilst fishing one day. They're none too pleased to find you, It’s bad luck to have women on board, even fish women, could be a siren those are really bad news but Slade is instantly intrigued. He’ll be damned if he’s gonna throw back a treasure like you, and if his men have a problem with that, they know where the plank is.

So perhaps he keeps you captive, or maybe you too are fascinated by this strange large human like none you’ve seen before with his silver hair, and a single eye bluer than the Indian Ocean. Whatever the reason, you stay.

Adjusting to human legs is hard upon a ship, the spray of the sea often tripping your transformation. Other times because Slade grows impatient with your tripping and balancing and so he throws you over his shoulder when he’s in a hurry, big ol’ hands wandering a little too close to your cavern, but never as close as you’d like.

The fact that you can’t talk isn’t a huge issue, because Slade talks a lot. Pompous nonsense if you were to ask his quartermaster Deadman Todd, but talk nonetheless. And his voice is so smooth, so authoritative, it’s like the shore on a stormy day and you could listen to it endlessly.

He tells you about his mute son back on shore though, and teaches you hand signs to help you communicate with him. At dock he ‘obtains’ books he thinks may be to your liking, using them to teach you how to read and write. But books aren’t the only things he brings you, he likes to dress you up in shiny jewels and fine skirts that show off your cleavage and your legs when you’re skipping around the deck, winding up his men with your unapologetically feminine wiles. Your free-spiritedness, while often endearing does grate their nerves often. This is an adventure for you, a strange fish-fetishist fantasy for their boss, but it’s their lives.

To placate his men and return the favour of Slade’s gifts, you chart maps for them, directing him and his crew to the locations of long-lost treasures and suggesting routes that will keep them away from the dangerous creatures that lurk beneath.

Until one night a bad storm hits, all but capsizing the ship, knocking many men overboard.

Despite your silent arguments, Slade instructs you to wait it out below deck, and reluctantly you agree until you hear that he too has been buried by your salty mistress. Without hesitation you dive in after him, collecting his scattered men and bringing them to the surface until you find your human.

As the tempest begins to calm, Todd helps you to hoist every man with a pulse back aboard. It takes 3 men to haul their deadweight captain, and you spend far too long attempting to breathe air back into his lungs but just when things look like they might never be the same again, he pulls through.

By sun up everyone is hammered, singing shanties and making the most of their 2nd, 3rd, 10th chance at life.

Everyone but you and Slade, who had hurled you over his shoulder the first chance he’d got. Who’s taken you back to his quarters, thrown you on his bed, stripped you off your finery and laid siege to your body the way he’d been craving since he’d first seen you in that net.

Oh ho ho and don’t get me started on Deadman Todd and his fancy for the rebellious daughter of rival Captain; Roman Sionis ;)

#or Captain Sionis and the thief he caught red-handed trying to steal from him #gilverrrambles #slade wilson #slade wilson/reader #slade wilson x reader #deathstroke #deathstroke/reader #deathstroke x reader

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lalunanymph · 2 years ago

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BACK TO US — h. shuji

𖨆♡𖨆 hanma shuji x fem!reader

╰┈➤ thrown into an arranged marriage with toman’s second man, you slowly come to find that not even your lost memories will stop him from getting what he wants. and what he wants is not you.

cw. HEAVY ANGST, illnesses, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of abortion, explicit smut, dubcon (blurred consent), mentions of food, blood, injuries (someone gets stabbed but it’s not reader), mentions of alcohol, mentions of cheating, heartbreak, mentions of death, MINORS/AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI

╳ playlist ╳ masterlist

#7: throw me down to zero (part 1)

Six Years Later

As much as Shuji wanted to stop the course of time, it was a formidable foe.

Days melded into months, and soon, a year had passed by. Many of his men had given up hope on ever encountering the elusive Mrs. Hanma, and Kisaki had put a stop to his efforts, citing that he needed to focus on his job rather than chase a ghost from his past.

Year after year passed, and he had taken to wearing your tiny wedding ring on his pinkie finger—the same one your uncle slash father had almost sawed off before you came to his rescue. Needing to keep a part of you close to him.

Shuji had sold away the penthouse in Akasaka, preferring to move upstate.

The bloody years passed like a mirage, filled with senseless violence, evading the police and more dead bodies piling up on his death count. Sometimes, he would bring faceless, nameless women back to his seedier penthouse and fuck them until they screamed his name. But, he would never pursue anything deeper.

A few of them were brave enough to try. After all, an unmarried yakuza underboss was a great catch for these malnourished, drug-dependent girls unwittingly roped into a life of sin. But, he never gave into any of their charms or wiles.

I’m married, he would murmur after a round of fucking, the act of holding those girls close to his chest perfunctory rather than necessary.

Where is your wife? Their wide eyes, sometimes tinged in betrayal, other times in curiosity would never fail to incite a rush of disappointment in himself. Shuji was still married, despite what everyone said. You had never served him the divorce papers, and he had never formally separated from you.

It was funny how the majority of his marriage was spent in separation. He had only been together with you for less than six months. And yet, those six months would always outshine the six years he had without you.

So, he told those simpering, startled whores that his wife went missing; that he never lost hope she would return someday.

“You need to move on,” Kisaki, years older and more weary than when he started out in this life, intoned from the next sofa across from him. A silver band dangled from his neck, a sign of matrimony to another gang princess that took over your duties to expand Toman. Hanma clenched his fists and averted his eyes away from the innocuous but offensive sight.

Shuji chuckled, running his fingers through his shorter hair. The blonde streaks still remained, but the differences in him were severe. Sometimes, he no longer recognised himself in the mirror.

Gone was the cocky, arrogant twenty-seven-year-old who cared for nothing but his next hit of adrenaline. In his place, a world-worn thirty-four-year-old man inhabited the fine lines of his spent face; housed in the crease of his brow.

Though everyone around him—including himself—was older now, Shuji could not help but feel as though he was still that same scared man who had lost his wife to his own foolish actions all those years ago.

“Easy for you to say,” Shuji scoffed. “Tsumiko is your life. It is always simpler for someone at the top to look down on those at rock bottom.”

Kisaki scoffed and took a sip of his gin and tonic.

“Funny how you can catch a traitor on the run in Milan, but can’t search for your wife. Are you sure she’s even alive at this point?”

An icy finger of dread ran down his spine. He hid it with an uneasy grin. “Fuck off, Tetta. Stop being a pessimist. Of course, she is alive. I would know if she died.”

It was the truth. Deep down, underneath the layers of fear and anxiety for your safety, Shuji held on tightly to this truth. He may not know where you are, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that you were still alive.

Kisaki pursed his lips. “If you say so, Shuji.” A surrender born out of exasperation. The Reaper narrowed his eyes.

“Why? Do you know something?”

Swirling the clear liquid in his glass, Kisaki pondered for a moment. “Matsuno. He left us a few years ago, right? Saying he had a family to take care of?”

“Yeah,” Shuji’s confusion grew palpable. “What about that bastard?”

“Well… there are reports that he has a son. A squirt with dark hair. But, the boy calls him ‘oji-san’ instead. Thought it was weird.”

A child who called his own father ‘uncle’? There was a lot to unpack in Kisaki’s statement.

“Oh. Could be a bastard born out of wedlock or something. Matsuno seems like the type.”

Kisaki shrugged and downed the rest of his glass, wincing slightly at the burn. “He’s based at that apartment complex in Minato. You know—the one where students shoot drugs in the alleyways during their free time.” The leader of Toman did not notice his underboss going rigid. “Dodgy as fuck. Wouldn’t be surprised if Matsuno sired a bastard there. That place is crawling with neglect.”

“Minato, huh?” Shuji tried to tame the loud siren going off in his head. “Did they say what the boy looked like?”

Those ice blue eyes turned flinty. “The fuck am I supposed to know? He’s got dark hair just like his father.”

Shuji did not know much about Matsuno Chifuyu as a person, but from his observations, the third division leader was notorious for his expensive taste. The best wine, the flashiest restaurants and the shiniest showgirls.

He was a man of excess, and to hear that he was dwelling in Minato, of all places, perhaps even in the same downtrodden neighbourhood Shuji grew up in, was practically unheard of. Something wasn’t right.

“I’m heading home,” he muttered crisply, standing up and straightening his suit. “I have to brief the boys tomorrow on that raid and get you those numbers.”

Kisaki was barely listening to him, nodding. “Sure. Bye.”

Shuji grunted and high-tailed it out of the room. He drove back home in a fugue, blood humming with questions rather than the amount of alcohol he consumed for tonight.

His phone rang and he was surprised to find Touma on the other end.

Throughout the years, Shuji and his real father-in-law had grown closer, the two men bonding over their missing wife and daughter. He would catch up with Touma in izakayas over dinners of greasy karaage and Asahi beer, sharing everything he knew about the woman he was arranged to marry. The same one he fell in love too late with.

In turn, Touma revealed to him your mother’s pregnancy album, the same one Meiko painstakingly curated the day she found out she may not be strong enough to bring you into this world unscathed.

He had given it to Shuji with a tremble in his lower lip. Perhaps this will make you feel closer to her.

The grieving man had read through the letters, touched the ultrasound pictures, hearing whispered hopes and dreams your mother had for you before her untimely demise. At this point, he could recall your mother’s very first letter to you by heart.

My dear daughter,

What a strong fighter you are! Your kicks are as strong as your Oto-san’s love for Fumiko Enchi. If you don’t know who that is, he will share it with you one day when he returns from a different land. It is my sincerest wish you would meet him someday and bond with him—to forgive him. You see, your Oto-san is not like your Oji-sans.

He’s softer. Kinder. And he has no stomach for bloodshed. Do not hold him to fault for leaving us. He was forced to after your Oji-san claimed me and I had to choose him over his own brother. I love them both equally, but my heart will always belong to your Oto-san.

I love you. Grow strong and healthy!

—Your oka-san.

Shuji answered his phone, Touma’s voice flooding the darkened interior of his car.

“Son? I tried calling but you didn’t pick up.”

He scoffed, thankful that the older man was not here to see how his golden eyes softened infinitesimally at that slip of endearment. “What do you want, old man? Are you drunk again?”

“No, no,” Touma murmured. Shuji was about to ask him what exactly the fuck he wanted if it wasn’t an invitation to an izakaya for drinks and food when the older man revealed the next words that almost made him crash into a barrier.

“My sources have spotted Y/N. They say she’s in Minato.”

Shuji slammed the breaks, veering onto the side of the road where the mudflap of his Spyder bumped into the curb.

“What?”

“Yes,” Touma exhaled. He sounded relieved. “They said she was taking the train and that she looked well. Do you know what this means?”

Shuji suddenly felt cold all over. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, overwhelmed by the intensity of his own emotions.

“It means—”

“I have to go.” He abruptly ended the call, silence resonating around the cocoon of neon lights from his dashboard and flickering street lamps ahead.

There was a knife twisting in his gut, piercing through his ribcage, the tip touching his tender heart. My Y/N is alive.

His thoughts were static, autopilot taking over and he drove off in a funk; unable to shake off the reality that six long years of trying to find you and someone had just handed over his salvation without him having to fight for it.

Shuji didn’t trust this sudden serendipity.

He blinked back the tears and exhaustion, driving until he found himself right in front of his condo.

After parking his trusty old Spyder in the garage, he punched the code to his penthouse into the elevator with sluggish movements. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. My Y/N is alive. The ride up was silent, and the moment the tiny bell dinged, the doors opened to your sweet face.

The lump in his throat thickened, unshed tears glistening in his eyes as he hungrily drank in your portrait.

Shuji remembered how happy he was to have stumbled onto your Instagram profile that was still on public mode, despite there being no updates.

The last post, dated almost a year since the wedding day, was of your figure silhouetted by bright sunshine. A shy smile illuminated your face, your grin gentle and sweet as your body was slightly turned away from the camera, eyes cast to the ground. Your custom-made wedding dress fitted you like a glove, and Shuji found himself unable to tear his eyes away from your curves.

Drinking them in. Remembering how they felt under his touch when he swayed with you on the dance floor.

He didn’t compliment you—not even once—during your wedding day.

It was a year too late for him to do anything besides sending your photo to a printing shop and blowing it up into a portrait, placing it by the front door for him to admire the moment he came home.

He didn’t care how the stray women he let warm his bed perceived him. Shuji was blatantly still grieving over his wife, and nothing they did or said could change that fact.

Staggering towards your visage like a man to the altar, Shuji nearly crumbled to his knees. Your sweet smile never faltered, and he recalled with aching clarity the comments underneath the last post to ever grace your feed.

You look so beautiful, Y/N-chan!

I hope Shuji-san treats you well!

Hey, is everything okay with Y/N? She hasn’t posted for years…

It’s so weird. I hope she isn’t dead!

We shouldn’t be idolising scum like this. She’s probably dead in a ditch. Good for her.

Wouldn’t be surprised if her husband killed her. He scares me.

Shuji-san would never do that!

He’s the Reaper of Tokyo. What else do you expect from him?

He touched the gilded edge of the portrait, the tears breaking and flooding down his face. The knife in his gut twisted deeper.

Minato. His Y/N was alive in Minato.

You had hidden right underneath his nose in the one place on Earth he dared not return to. This whole time he had extended his resources to various countries he believed you would seek refuge in, going so far as to follow an anonymous tip off that you were seen in the middle of Seoul and search for you for days when you had been in the next city all along.

A train ride away.

Shuji thought he could’ve doubled over and puked with disbelief.

He straightened up, ignoring the spasm of pain right in his chest and picked up his phone. Touma answered within a few rings, his voice hoarse.

“Shuji—?”

“Flowers,” he breathed.

He heard rustling in the background, like the older man was getting up from bed. “Flowers? What are you talking about?”

The Reaper discarded his veneer of death for one night to don the robes of a foolish, mourning lover when he said, “What flowers should I bring for Y/N?”

A minute silence passed across the line. Shuji pressed the receiver harder to his ear in case Touma decided to speak up. After another beat, he exhaled.

“Roses. Women love roses. Red ones.” The older man paused. “Stay safe, Shuji-kun. L/N Dan is still out there and if he found out that our Y/N is alive…” Touma didn’t have to finish his sentence.

The name of the new Blood Phoenix leader sent a chill up his spine. Ruthless and more bloodthirsty than Tomio, Dan was not a person to dismiss. The last Shuji had heard was that your cousin was expanding the Phoenix empire to South Korea, leaving a wake of cruelty and destruction everywhere he went.

Any whiff of your name and existence was sure to bring his attention; the wolves descending on your vulnerable neck. It was in this instance he was glad you had aborted his baby—he would have no idea what would be the outcome if you truly did have a little baby boy named Shusei who would be a contender to his uncle’s position.

Shuji had to be careful not to compromise your safety.

Touma sounded choked up when he broke the younger man’s train of thought with a soft: “Good luck, Shuji-kun.”

After discovering your whereabouts, Shuji had to brace himself to return back to his tiny neighbourhood in Minato.

He did not know what to expect—the same run down streets? Graffiti on the walls? Prostitutes walking the streets in broad daylight?

Years had passed since he had stepped foot into the district, the last time being when his father passed on and he was forced to return and bury that bastard’s body. Shuji felt the familiar knot in his chest when he drove past dwindling skyscrapers that devolved into dilapidated flats. The roads became rockier, more potholes appearing as signs of the city council’s neglect.

His flashy Spyder drew looks and stares, but he ignored them all. Dressed head to toe in black, Shuji knew he must look like one of those high end thugs who would set fire to a family if their debt repayment was missing a single cent. In short, his stature and luxurious clothes would keep other wannabe thugs off his back. He parked his sportscar by a curb, tightening down on security by snapping on a steering lock to his wheel and stepped out into the cool, September air.

All that was left to do was to start walking.

He bowed his head low, a bouquet of fresh roses left in his car boot, ready for when he would finally see you. Hanma wasn’t an idiot. He knew the sight of him with flowers as an apology might trigger your fight or flight response. I have to play it smart. It’s been six long years—surely you would forgive him if he explained himself to you?

I hope so. He was positive you would at least hear him out.

Practising what he would say to you, Hanma found a quiet distraction in his thoughts.

He always hated this side of Tokyo.

With its decrepit walls and the promise of violence in the air, it hit a little too close to home.

Memories of the life he lived before meeting Kisaki flashed in his mind—the shambles of his parent’s marriage, his mother’s bruised collarbones, an empty refrigerator with nothing but beer in it and the numerous cheap herbs on the kitchen table that could never quite get rid of her arresting cough.

As a man of thirty-four now, the memories occasionally took a hold of him and he allowed himself to be lost in the recollections of his delinquent youth. From beating up scarred drug dealers in the alley to picking fights with over twenty other boys, Shuji was reminded of his harsh upbringing that led him to seek violence and stimulation for the rest of his life.

The same reckless need that eventually drove you away from him for the past six years, two months, ten days and six hours.

Fingering the wedding ring he still wore around his pinkie, Shuji darted his brilliant golden eyes around the dingy space, wary of petty robbers wanting to make a quick buck.

He passed by a narrow alleyway where he used to shoot drugs with some homeless teens, and rounded the bend towards a row of shop lots, completely absorbed in the thought of you that a sudden yell nearly made him jump out of his skin.

“—fucking brat!”

Shuji pressed himself to the wall in time to find an old shopkeeper exiting a rundown convenience store and brandishing a fruit knife, chasing after a boy who could not be older than six, his reedy, pleading voice drowned out by the other man’s thunderous roar.

“You get back here, Shusei!”

As if in slow motion, the raven-haired kid spun around, and locked eyes with the shell-shocked Toman leader.

Golden eyes as bright as morning sunshine on a face that Shuji could draw straight from memory.

Your lips and his nose and eyes.

A little boy that was the perfect amalgamation of you and him.

Shuji didn’t give himself time to think. He jumped the gun, lunging at the older man and gripping the back of his shirt to halt his advancement towards the small boy.

“Oi! Who the fuck do you—” Hanma dragged him back and drew his fist, squarely landing a blow into the murderous man in his face, subduing his rage and replacing it with his blood spurting onto the ground. It was a quick fight, and Shuji kicked the man’s unconscious body, careful to pick up the knife and wrap it in his suit jacket so he wouldn’t wake up and have more bright ideas of revenge.

Turning around, he came face to face with a smaller figure, staring up at him with unconcealed awe.

If his gut was right—and it was rarely ever wrong—this boy was his son. The knife in his soul twisted deeper.

“Hmm,” he murmured gruffly, keeping his stance relaxed and non-threatening to not scare this young child away. “Shusei, huh?”

Barely even three feet tall, the young boy puffed out his chest, narrowing his eyes and trying to stare down this far more intimidating older man. “Yeah. And what’s it to ya, huh?”

Shuji could’ve smiled at his poor attempt at mocking his father’s deep voice. It wasn’t everyday that a man wandering down the street would find his tiny carbon copy glaring menacingly at him. But, after years in Toman where he had encountered the weirdest shit, there was nothing much that could rattle the weary yakuza leader.

Except for the next question he eagerly wanted an answer to.

“Why the hell were you chased around with a knife?”

Despite how tough his son wanted to appear, he still had his good manners intact (your influence, no doubt). Golden eyes the colour of a setting sun lowered, curtains of despair and humiliation no six year old should have clouded his gaze.

“I… did not have enough change. Mommy wanted bread together with jam. It’s been a while since she had strawberries.”

Hanma hated the squeeze in his heart. Hated how the hopelessness pervaded every pore in his body, leaving him vulnerable and gaping at the sniffling child.

“Is your mother, perhaps… L/N Y/N?”

At the mention of your name, the little boy paled. Children were never good at hiding their reactions, and before he could hightail it out of here, Shuji was quick to grab the back of his shirt, caving the young heathen in the circle of his arms.

“H-hey—fuck off and let me go, mister!”

Hanma tried not to be a hypocrite and tell him off for his language, but at the fast sinking realisation that you had in fact made him a father (albeit leaving this truth in complete darkness) was enough to kickstart his latent paternal instincts.

“Clean your mouth, kid—s’not good to swear.”

Too late to start being a good male role model in this poor, lost boy’s life. But, it was easy to rope the smaller child into his embrace and haul him from the ground. Shuji held the thrashing boy close to his chest, wincing when his slipper clad feet collided into his ribcage.

“Let go of me! Let go of me!” Shusei screamed, nearly taking his ear off. Shuji winced, but never loosened his grip. If he did, he had the sinking knowledge that he would never see you ever again.

“Okay, listen—ouch—hey! Listen here, kid.” The boy was yanking on his hair, slapping his face, and Hanma was starting to wonder if he was hallucinating this entire ordeal, and if he was, in fact, wrestling with some other schmuck’s brat. “I know your mother. Y/N. Can you take her to me?”

At the mention of your name, Shusei quietened. Hanma glanced at the subdued kid, and he forced a hollow laugh.

“Hey. What’s with the sudden silence? You good—”

“Mommy is sick.”

Three words. And like the cadence of a morose foretelling that was prophetic in nature, it did not stop Hanma Shuji from cursing the fates. It didn’t stop him from wanting to raise his fists and scream at the sky to absolve him from these punitive consequences for his hasty actions that resulted in history repeating itself.

He always thought that Hanma Shinzo was the pinnacle where all evil flowed for leaving his dying mother after abusing and cheating on her for years. And yet, here he was—doing the exact same thing he swore he would never do to a woman he loved.

It sickened him right to the gut that Shuji nearly placed his son down on the ground and walked away; a coward through and through with no other intention than to scrub his conscious clean of the sins he committed towards an innocent girl.

But, one look at the forlorn expression on his son’s face, and Shuji knew that this was his comeuppance. He had to face the music for those horrible actions he committed towards you; coming to terms and taking responsibility for the pain he inflicted on someone who did not deserve it.

It was as much as he owed you for all the horrors he knowingly heaped onto your life.

“Can you take me to her?” His hoarse voice came as no surprise, glistening tears about to fall from his aureate eyes.

Shusei flitted those same hued orbs towards him, a wary expression no six-year-old should ever have lining his face. “Mommy told me never to talk to strangers or let them near her. She says bad people are always after her.”

Again, Shuji had to contend with those neverending pangs of regret. Partly because of your cousin’s efforts to kill you before your son—his son—could contend for the Blood Phoenixes seat and mainly because of his inability to let you go. Hiding his eyes behind a pair of shades he hastily scrounged from his coat jacket, Shuji did not want this young boy who shared his blood to know how much he had royally fucked up his mother. Nor did he want a kid to comment on his red-rimmed eyes, the tears pooling fiercely in his lash line.

“I’m not a bad guy.” Miraculously, his voice remained steady. “Trust me, kid. I just want to see how your mom is doing.”

Those small shoulders burdened with years of worry sank, and eventually, Shusei nodded. “Okay. But, promise me you won’t hurt my mommy?” In a gesture that echoed your childish antics, Shusei stuck out his pinkie in his face with a completely serious expression. Hanma didn’t trust himself to speak, a lump forming in his throat.

So, he silently twined his pinkie around a smaller one, the gleam of your wedding band stark against his son’s finger.

The sun was setting and Shusei was still not home.

Shards of worry fractured in your chest for your son’s well being, and you stood up from your cocoon of blankets, shoving your sore feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers that have seen better days. The idea that the money you gave him to buy a loaf of bread and some jam could be the cause of him either being robbed or hurt was enough to send you into a frenzy of worry.

Clamping down on an errant groan, you shoved your arms into a thick cardigan, about to head down to the store to take your son home when the doorknob rattled. Years of vigilance made you grab a small knife, hiding it behind your back as you waited for the door to turn.

When it fell open, you let out a cry of relief at your son’s familiar silhouette.

“Mommy!”

“Shusei,” you almost sobbed, catching him in your embrace and lifting him into your arms. “You were gone for so long, baby. I was so worried.” Frantically, you checked his face for any lacerations, heart throbbing painfully at the idea that you had let your sweet boy wander off into the world as an irresponsible mother when it was your duty to take care of him.

However, the ache in your joints was a huge enough force to render you immobile on most days, and there was nothing you could do but share some of the burdens with your baby. Even if he was a child and deserved to spend his entire formative years as carefree as possible.

Suffering was a bitter taste you knew very well in this life.

On some days, the guilt would chew you up so bad you could do nothing but sob into your pillows. In this humourless twist of fate, you had managed to escape the prison of your old life only to be locked in the cage of your failing body. Giving birth to Shusei almost took your life, and if it wasn’t for Chifuyu’s kindness in sending Kazutora’s wife to help you deliver in your small bathtub, you were sure you would’ve died on that day you were supposed to bring your son into this world.

Slowly, you rebuild your entire existence with the crumbs of mercy others gave you in this life; working hard as a waitress under a different name to save enough money and rent a tiny apartment in the outskirts of Tokyo, far enough from the towering skyscrapers in the heart of Minato. Far from the man who had ruined your entire life.

But, was it still far enough?

You had harboured small hopes that Shuji would soon forget you and would stop trying to chase after your memory. It was why you chose to change your name across every legal document; why you told your son to be wary of any person who had access to your past life as a Blood Phoenix princess.

Those hopes were soon dashed when your baby boy lifted his face from the crook of your neck, pointing at the door. “Mommy, someone here wants to meet you.”

Your veins turned into ice and your heart literally stopped. There, right in front of you, with his eyes downcast and his face half-hidden in shadows was the man straight from your nightmares. Shusei cried out in pain when you wrenched him violently from the ground, shielding him behind your fragile body.

The knife in your hand went flying, aimed right for his chest.

Shuji had barely stepped into the small, cramped apartment when a piercing pain exploded around his arm.

A loud fuck! ricocheted around these walls when it dawned on him that a knife was currently sticking out from his limb. He turned his flashing eyes to the culprit, about to reach for his gun and lodge a bullet right in the fucker’s brain who did this when his anger screeched to a halt.

Right in front of him, trembling from head to toe as if rocked by an inner earthquake, the love of his life stared straight into his soul with absolute fear in her eyes.

“Shusei, run!” you cried and the little boy didn’t think twice to follow your command. He zipped past Hanma with dizzying speed, and before he could turn around and call for his son back, a blunt force snapped his head to the side.

You had taken a pan from the little stove by the door, repeatedly swinging it into his face.

“Fuck—stop! Woman! Hey—!”

Shuji tried hard to fight against his instinct to retaliate and slam his fists into your face or stomach so that you would stop hitting him. The best he could do was stand still, arms raised as he deflected blow after blow directed to his head. You were relentless, fueled by terror and motherly protection to keep Shusei safe from any perceived threat.

“Y/N, stop—ow!”

You kneed him right between his legs and he went crumpling to the ground. Not even the pain of a six year heartbreak could deter the fiery ache spreading down his groin, and he moaned, raising his pleading eyes in time for you to swing the pan down on his vulnerable head.

But before his brains could splatter onto your cheap linoleum floors, he lunged forward, grabbing your wrists and twisting it with just enough pressure to elicit your sharp yelp. The sound of metal clanging onto the ground was loud, but nothing could compare to your deranged sobs, your slurred pleas that begged for him not to hurt you once the reality set in that you were completely and utterly defenceless.

“Please, Shuji, please, please. Don’t kill me, d-don’t take me away from Shusei. He’s all I have and I-I can’t leave him an orphan. I’m begging you, please don’t take me away from my baby—”

Your words caught in a tremendous breath when he wrapped his arms around you, folding right down to his knees, his face pressed into your belly.

Assuming the position of a sinner beseeching for forgiveness.

You were nailed to the spot, completely still when instead of hurting you like how he had promised all those years ago in that incriminating video, his broad shoulders were shaking with great tremors; the front of your shirt dampening with tears.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he moaned like a man who was finally allowed to taste a drop of honey after years of starving in a desert. “My love. My baby. Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

Shuji’s choked sobs drew you to a stunned blank, and you could not fathom moving, not when he reached forward to clasp your hips, running his large palms down your back as if he wanted to trace your outline with his disgusting touch once more.

You snapped out of your fugue, pushing him away and scrambling far enough back into the apartment to brace your trembling body against the kitchen counter. Deprived of your warmth, Shuji curled forward on his hands and knees, a puddle of his blood growing on the floor that was ignored by him when he bowed deeply, face almost pressed to the ground.

A dogeza.

You had seen this position numerous times before from men begging your father for supplication and mercy. Never was it directed towards you. And never was it from the one man who had led you down this life of penniless despair, pregnant with his child and now a woman with a target on her back, all for the sole purpose of existing in a loveless world.

Nausea rose in you, heavy and insistent, and you turned your face away from his gesture.

“I will never forgive you, Shuji.”

He remained bowed low, not lifting his eyes from the ground. “I know.”

The raw emotion in his voice took you aback, and you zeroed in on the tears running down his face, fogging up his glasses.

“I know you will never forgive me, but I’m stupid enough to try.” He lifted his face slightly, unable to look you right in the face when he murmured, “You have no idea how glad I am that you are alive, Y/N.”

Your hands shook, and you bit on your tongue, the anger warring with despair that begged for you to evade his pressing expectations and run away. Take your baby boy somewhere else and start anew away from Tokyo. Away from his father that remained on his knees, hoping you would forgive him.

Those agonising memories of the sins he committed towards you flashed in your mind, as fresh as the day you had experienced them.

His mistress’ lipstick on his cheek, her name on his phone, the emotional abuse he directed towards you, the intimidation tactics he used to keep you quiet and pliant.

The nights he spent brutalising your body. The taste of his betrayal—hot and serrating on your tongue; cutting you right to the bone and leaving you bleeding, crying on a train to a prefecture far enough to evade the suffocating hold of the underworld you had fled from. Those sleepless sufferings you endured as the baby he gave you grew in your womb, soon welcomed into a life of destitute and uncertainty which was the best his mother could give him in her current fragile state.

Everything you held close to your heart—your marriage, the burgeoning love you felt for him, the hope of building a good family to replace the love you never received from your abusive father—was lost because of his selfishness.

Hanma Shuji had ruined your life because like a fool, you had given him the permission to. You willingly handed him the keys to your damnation all from the startling mistake you dared commit by falling in love with a man who couldn’t—wouldn’t—catch you.

You had succumbed to his fake love; his lies and his deceit.

And for the rest of your life, you would pay a heavy price for it.

Discreetly pulling open your kitchen cabinet, you retrieved a knife from the corner of your eye, holding it in front of you. Nevermind that the blade was trembling and you could barely see through your tears—you wanted nothing more than for the broad of his back to leave your life forever.

“Last warning, Hanma. Get out. You’re not welcomed here.”

The silence stretched on. Eventually, he raised those unnervingly stunning golden eyes and pinned them onto you. His blood was flowing freely now, and warning chimes were going off in the back of your head. What happens if he bled out to death in front of your home? Would that alert the authorities and put you in jail?

Oh, fuck—what would happen to Shusei?

A mother could not parent from behind bars, and you were reminded of your startling reality as an outcast of society when you dropped the blade, hitching a sob.

Silence stretched on, born not from mutiny but mutual despondency. For Shuji, it was when he realised the depth of fear he incited in the woman he loved. And for you, it was when it sank in heavily that you could not hurt him because if anything happened to you, Shusei would be left all alone.

“I won’t do anything to hurt you—promise,” Hanma rasped. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m not going to hurt you, or our son. I’m here to make amends.” To your surprise, he stood to his full height, ripping the knife from his arm and tossing it carelessly onto the ground.

Your stunned expression did little to deter him, and there was nothing you could do but gaze fearfully at him as he ambled slowly towards you. Shuji did not reach out to you or make any sudden movements, mindful of your reactions as if you were a cornered prey and he was the perceived predator.

“Please,” you whispered when he got close enough to reach out and touch your waist. “Don’t hurt me. I-I promise I stayed away. I didn’t—” you swallowed hard, tears slipping down your cheeks despite your best efforts at holding them in. “—I did as you wanted me to and kept away from you. Please. Don’t kill me.”

Every fibre and nerve of Shuji’s body was screaming in self-condemnation for the pain which he put you through; the fear he struck into you from his heinous actions.

Your terrified, wide-eyed stare did not lift from him, and he remained mute, stewing in remorse.

“Is it because you heard me conversing with Kisaki?” His familiar, deep voice sent pangs of agony through you.

Imagine this—you had spent almost half a decade trying to convince yourself that what you did for your son was the best by pushing his father out of his life; someone who despised you with every fibre of his being for merely existed in his world. And now that same man was staring at you with haunted golden eyes, gaunt cheekbones and mused hair; begging you for forgiveness.

“I would never hurt you, Y/N,” Shuji’s voice was barely above a whisper and he kept a safe distance from you so as not to leave you overwhelmed. “I… you have stolen every thought from my mind since the day you left me. I am in terrible agony over what I did, and nothing I say can ever amend for the horrors I committed to you, so, please—” Shuji bowed forward, his head hung low. A gesture of penance. “—please accept me back into your life so I can help you anyway you would let me.”

You surprised him with your soft scoff. Closer now, Shuji could plainly see how much time and strife had taken a toil on your features. No longer was there a glint of innocence in your beautiful, wide-eyes. Your lips, which always housed a sweet smile just for him, were downturned with a few lines crinkled in the corners. You looked older and more world-weary. But, no matter how hard life wore its effects on your countenance, Shuji still believed that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“Shusei and I have no need for you,” you muttered coarsely, fighting hard to keep the hot tears from spilling down your face. “You have done enough damage, Shuji. Please, leave us alone, now. We are better off without you.”

Hanma Shuji knew for a fact that was a fucking lie. The dining table in this cramped apartment was strewn with pink papers, signs of overdue bills; your pallor was sickening and your eyes were sunken from a lack of sleep and malnourishment. He didn’t have to put his son on a weighing scale to be cognizant that no six-year-old should be this light and look that downtrodden.

“Did you know the shopkeeper down the street was chasing our son around with a knife because he didn’t have enough change?” Hanma’s voice was deathly steady.

He studied how your eyes sparked with various degrees of emotion—fear, anger, disappointment, dejection—and continued on. “I don’t pretend to know exactly how you are suffering, my love, but I do know for a fact that I have the means for helping both you and Shusei. Please. Let me back into your life. I want to give you both the best resources and help I can. I… I want to come back home, Y/N.”

Home.

The moment that heavy utterance left his lips, Shuji thought he would’ve broken down.

Home wasn’t his cold and unfeeling penthouse where there lingered no trace of you, not even a wedding photo of the both of you because he had been such a cruel bastard to deny you the joys of photographing your big day.

It was waking up to your smile. Watching you sit on the kitchen island while he cooked wearing nothing but his t-shirt and your soft beam. Making love to you on the California king bed and hearing the whisper of his name leave your swollen lips.

Home was the woman he loved with all his soul, but did not show her the depth of his true devotion before he let his careless actions destroy her.

Destroy the only home he had ever known.

You could stand there in silence, or continue hitting him with your frying pan, but there was one thing he was certain of: his little family was suffering, and Shuji would not stand by idly to watch it happen. He had to do something, even if you protested against it.

But, before he could seek amends and beg for forgiveness, you hunched forward with a cry of pain, grasping the front of your belly.

“Y/N—!”

“Mommy!” Shusei cried and darted past his shell-shocked body, supporting you in his smaller arms. As if he had done this a million times before. You doubled down onto your knees, coughing violently, your entire frame heaving. The colour leached from your face and your hands were shaking, for a split second, the older man wondered if you were having a severe panic attack.

But, the moment you started jerking, Shuji knew it was not a fit of terror, but something else. Something completely insidious.

“Pills!” Shusei yelled, pointing at the cabinet. “Blue pills!”

Shuji jolted into action at his son’s horrified scream, and lunged towards the cabinets, violently prying each one open to rummage through the contents, all while Shusei was sobbing and begging for you to wake up.

Finally, he found a bottle of blue pills and rushed to hold onto you, coaxing your face to his. The whites of your eyes were exposed, your entire body trembling.

“What do I do?!” he bellowed, wild eyes flashing onto his son who was standing rooted to one spot, crying in fear.

Shusei could not reply, his wails loud, a lost little boy who was terrified for his mother.

Hanma had no time to react. He uncapped the bottle and shook out two pills as per the instructions, shoving it into your mouth and holding your neck up so you could swallow. He encouraged you to ingest the pills by pressing down on your jaw, and when he felt the minute movement of your throat under his palm, he exhaled noisily.

The drugs worked instantly. Your shivering stopped and you went lax in his arms.

Shusei walked over to him, face streaked with tears. Shuji was sweating bullets, and he wasted no time in lifting you up into his arms.

“Hospital,” he murmured to the smaller boy. “Let’s go and take your mommy to the hospital.”

“Oji-san said to not go to hospitals.” Chifuyu. Hanma inwardly spat on the other man’s name.

“We have to, bud,” he tried his hardest to reason with the stubborn boy. “Your mommy needs medical attention.”

But, Shusei stopped him with a crumpled fist holding onto the back of his suit jacket. “Mommy doesn’t have any money.”

So this was what it was all about.

Hanma shook his head. “I’ll pay. Now, come on. We’ve got to go, Shusei.”

His son followed tentatively behind, and Shuji made sure to strap you securely in his Spyder, his arms aching from carrying you down the darkening streets. Shusei sat in front with him, and in a fit of irrationality, he extended out his hand, outstretching it to the younger boy.

Shusei stared at his exposed palm with wide, golden eyes. “You have writings on your hands.”

His son's first touch on his calloused palm filled Shuji with such remorse and happiness, the two emotions clogged the back of his throat. “Y-yeah,” he steadied his breathing. “It’s ‘punishment’ and ‘sin’. Do you know what those two words mean?”

From the corner of his eye, Shusei shook his head. Shuji lifted his hand and patted his son’s hair a little too quickly, still unused to physical touch that was not born from violence. The last time someone had remotely touched him with love was six years ago, when he held a piece of his future in his arms. A future that was now riddled with an illness he needed a doctor to get to the bottom of quickly if it meant she would still be here with him.

“It means I’m here for you and your mommy.” The lump was back in his throat. “It means anyone who dares to touch the both of you will face my anger and punishment. I will protect you two, okay?”

Shusei did not speak, his silence unnerving for a six-year-old. Just how fast did my baby boy have to grow up?

“Okay,” he eventually said in a small voice. “I trust you, mister.”

Mister. He smiled. “Let’s get your mommy feeling better, okay, Shusei?”

This time, Shusei’s nod was a little bit stronger. More trusting.

“Okay, mister.”

You woke up to bright, fluorescent lights and an inexplicable ache in your heart.

Turning your head to the side, your eyes landed on Shusei’s sleeping form. Exhaling in relief, you reached out to him in pain, bringing your baby boy to your chest. The slight movement woke him up, and his sleepy eyes snapped into lucidity, a stuttered cry leaving his lips.

“Mommy,” he tightened his tiny arms around your neck, squeezing with as much strength a six-year-old could muster.

“I’m here, baby,” tears stung in your eyes, your voice hoarse with exhaustion. “I’m so sorry, baby. Mommy will be stronger, okay? I’ll be strong for you.”

Shusei nodded, still loving and soft despite his age where boys would want to be separated from their mothers as quickly as they could. You appreciated every loving gesture, knowing that it may be the last one you would get from your baby.

What people did not tell you about motherhood was that it was a battlefield filled with losses—a loss to one’s own self, their ego and pride. From those hard lessons came beautiful moments such as these, and you cherished your health faltering if you would still receive Shusei’s love with such open arms.

“I’m here,” you soothed, holding onto him, running your fingers through his soft hair. “Mommy’s here, Shusei.”

You were completely blind to the man who stood in the corner of the room, hesitant to reveal himself. His golden eyes never left your figure, and he was about to leave when you felt a stirring of movement and lifted your own gaze, pinning him to the spot.

Shuji noticed the rigidity that settled over your features, your eyes flashing. Before he could open his mouth to speak, another voice interrupted him.

“Hanma-san.”

Matsuno Chifuyu walked in, older than when he last saw that bastard, his eyes hard and cold as diamonds. “What are you doing here?”

“Oji-san!” Shusei sprung out from your arms and straight to Chifuyu who lifted him up from the ground, putting two and two together from your stony silence and Shuji’s reticent expression. Those golden eyes were latched onto his son, flashing with unbridled jealousy, and Chifuyu’s lips flattened into a tight grimace, not finding it the least pleasurable he was caught between this family spat that was six years too late.

He spared you one look, quietly asking are you sure you want to do this?

You imperceptibly nodded. Chifuyu turned his frosty glare back to Hanma. “I’ll be right outside.” If you hurt her again, I will kill you.

The warning was implicit, but Shuji heard it all the same. His jaw tightened the second the other man in your life walked by him, the casual intimacy Chifuyu showcased was enough to tell Hanma without words how special Matsuno was to you.

Hot pain flashed in his chest, and he struggled to keep his expression neutral.

“You’re bleeding.”

Shuji glanced at his stained and throbbing arm, shrugging. “The wound’s surface level. I’ll live.”

A silence descended over you both. You could not stare at him for long, preferring to peel your eyes to the ceiling. Memories of when you first woke up in a hospital after your accident played in your mind like a sickening reel—and how he had treated you the weeks after made the hatred you firmly held onto flare back up again.

This time, Shuji did not have a hard, callous expression like he did before. It was tempered with regret and forlornness, the bags under his eyes heavy. He looked older, you realised. Fine lines were etched on his forehead, his bleached locks shorter, giving him a more mature air. The years had not been kind to him, either.

“I thought you aborted our baby.”

You flinched inwardly at the pain lacing his tone. Keeping your eyes peeled to the ceiling, you fingered the hem of your hospital gown, fidgeting under the thin blanket.

“I didn’t. I couldn’t go through with it.”

The silence stretched on.

Finally, he exhaled shakily, taking one step forward.

“Why did you leave me?”

The question that haunted his thoughts for the past six years, which plagued him in shades of grief, regret and anger, fell from his lips like a mouthful of poison, perforating the room with cold discomfort.

You pried your eyes from the ceiling to fix them on his.

How many times have you envisioned this moment? Intrinsically, you knew that your past would catch up with you. No matter how much or how long you ran, it would always be there, looming like a great beast, waiting with its jaws wide open to swallow you whole.

It’s like he doesn’t even remember the shit he put me through. You closed your eyes, anger rippling across your features.

You opened them again to find a bouquet of fresh red roses by your side table, encased in an expensive vase. The fresh scent tickled your nose, and you tamed down the urge to reach for it and cradle it to your chest, inhaling the sweet fragrance like a foolish little girl.

The curve of your frown and rigid shoulders spoke of a strength Shuji did not see from you before. The scared, terrified thing he was forced to tie his life with on that fateful wedding day was replaced by a woman forged from the fire, her steeliness and durability sharp as a blade that cut right through the heart of the matter.

“You don’t have the right to know that.”

Fire filled his eyes, and he took another step closer. “Like hell I don’t. I deserve the right to know why the fuck you upped and left and made me think you aborted my son. I was so fucking worried, Y/N. I spent six fucking years trying to search for you, to apologise and tell you how much I—” he sucked in a sharp breath, dropping his gaze, the anger replaced by remorse. “—To tell you how much I missed you and that whatever happened before our marriage meant nothing—”

A loud shattering resounded in the quiet, and he gaped at the fragments of ceramic and porcelain right at his feet. The scattered red rose petals on the ground resembled droplets of blood, each one born from a wound he committed unto you that still stung no matter how much time had passed by.

Your chest was heaving rapidly, tears beading in your lash line. Shuji took one step back, clamping his mouth shut. Unable to believe how you had intentionally wanted to hurt him.

“Get out.” You shook your head, refusing to look at him. “Don’t pull me into your twisted games anymore, Shuji. Get out if you are not going to take accountability for the shit you did to me. Just fucking go.”

The crash brought Chifuyu running back into the room, his disbelief rolling off in pungent waves that stung Shuji’s eyes and ego.

“Y/N—”

“Please, leave me alone,” you gasped, your shoulders starting to shake. The IV drops which were hydrating you, impeded your ability to turn around, so you settled for swivelling half your body to the side, refusing to meet either man’s eye.

Chifuyu took a step forward, but it was Hanma’s hand on his shoulder that kept him from moving closer.

“I’ll go.” He dropped his hand. The lump in his throat was harder to swallow around, much like the fact that you completely despised him even after all these years. Shuji hung his head forward, conceding defeat for now.

“I’ll go.”

Chifuyu watched him step out, and the moment the Reaper’s presence left the hospital ward, he turned back to you, wanting to ask if you were alright when your shining eyes and completely petrified stare made him stop.

Fresh tears cascaded down your face, your lower lip wobbling hard. A sob fought to burst from your chest, but you closed your eyes, shaking your head hard to fight back the cresting hurt.

“Shusei,” your hoarse voice knocked him out from his grim reverie. “Is he okay?”

“He’s at the hospital playground. I’ll go get him?”

You stopped him with a shake of your head. “I don’t want him to see me like this any longer.” Turning your glistening eyes to him, you expelled a shaky sob. “I’m sorry, ‘Fuyu. I tried to keep my tracks clear.”

His expression fractured and his half-smile was filled with sadness. “It’s not your fault, Y/N. I should’ve kept a closer eye on the both of you.”

Chifuyu walked closer to you and sat down on the edge of the bed. He took your hand, thumb rubbing slow circles into your skin, his calmness a relief from the scare of seeing the face of your past right in the flesh.

“He won’t hurt you,” your best friend promised. “He won’t as long as I’m here.”

You nodded, eyes cast low. “I’m sorry for pulling you into my shitstorm. You shouldn’t have to take care of me when you have Suki and the baby at home.”

“Well, if I lost you, who’s gonna listen to my lame jokes?” Chifuyu’s attempt at lightening your mood managed to draw a smile from your jaded lips. “Suki will kick me out if I make one more dad pun. You’re all I have left.”

It hurt to laugh, but your dear friend had that effect on you.

“The doctor said you shouldn’t skip out on meals or your seizure medication anymore,” Chifuyu started to scold, and you scoffed, dropping your hold on his hand. He touched your shoulder, trying to get you to meet his eyes. “Y/N? Hey, c’mon—do you need me to loan you some money to tide you over? I have some to spare and you don’t have to pay me back, okay?”

The guilt consumed you alive, and you could not look directly at him, the shame burning you whole. For a Blood Phoenix princess to be reduced to a beggar for scraps still stung no matter how many years passed; no matter how many times you had to plead life on your knees to spare you and your sweet baby boy some providence so you both would not starve.

“I can’t,” you murmured, unable to look at his earnest gaze. “Suki will kill you. I don’t want to get on her bad side.”

“Suki adores you,” he tried to argue. “She would be fine with me helping you for a bit.”

You forced yourself to stare into his diamond blue eyes that were unabashedly brimming with sincerity. “‘Fuyu, I owe you far too much. I’ll figure it out.” Exhaling, you settled back onto the soft pillows, regretting how much you were enjoying these little luxuries. “First, I have to pay off this hospital stay and I’ll return you back the money I owed for last month. Just let me get out of this pinch.”

Chifuyu’s next words almost made you choke on your spit. “I checked with the hospital. Shuji-san paid off your bill in full.”

Your eyes flitted towards the shattered vase and discarded roses you had thrown in your fit of anger.

Swallowing down the rising emotions, you nodded, trying and failing to keep your face neutral and disinterested. “I see. Thank you for letting me know.”

I don’t even know why that bastard came back, Chifuyu muttered. I don’t know how he found out about you in Minato.

You didn’t hear him, completely lost in your thoughts, mind whirling a mile a minute on the implications of Shuji’s visit and actions. What was he playing at? You felt the familiar bite of pain in your chest whenever you thought about your ex-husband for a little bit too long. Why would Shuji come back for me when I’ve made it clear I know the truth?

Closing your eyes, the pinch in your brow was pronounced.

Perhaps after this stunt you pulled on him, you may never find out the real reason why Shuji returned despite the years that passed.

And in this instance, you honestly could not tell if that thought thrilled or terrified you.

Shuji drove back in a numb fugue.

His entire chest hurt, eyes forlornly traced onto the road, mind flashing with traitorous images of your snarl; how his baby boy looked so happy coddled in another man’s embrace while he was pushed to the side, a stranger to his own family.

The curdling hatred warred together with the pressing sadness, and he thumbed his cheek, hand cradling his chin while his elbow rested on the Spyder’s window ledge. He carded his hand through his tousled hair, and breathed in deeply. At the next traffic light, Shuji lit up a cigarette, the waves of nicotine mingling with the bitter truth right in the back of his throat.

She hates me.

Your sweet face disintegrated once more into a terrifying glare and he closed his eyes, almost missing the light turning green.

He pressed down on the pedal, corners of his lips twitching.

As if on cue, his phone rang, and he picked it up, not surprised to find Touma on the other end.

“How’d it go?”

The images of scattered blood-red rose petals filled his mind again.

“Great,” he muttered dryly. “She wants to get married again and come back to live with me. We’re renewing our vows and Shusei is g’na be the ring bearer. You’re invited, of course.”

Touma didn’t speak for a few seconds. “I took it that she threw a fit.”

Shuji’s sour silence spoke volumes.

“I think you need to give her a bit more time,” he coached. “She’s scared, Shuji-kun. Show her she can trust you.”

What a bunch of bullshit. Shuji scoffed and turned down the familiar road back to Tokyo’s blinding lights.

He stopped at the side of the road when the tears got too hard to peer through, and Touma recognised his stifled silence.

“I’ll be rooting for you,” he mumbled and reminded the younger man again: “Give her time.”

Shuji put the phone down without saying another word. It wasn’t entirely fair that the burden was on him to bridge the gap between his family, but he had to give it a shot. You were worth it—the life he could lead with you and Shusei was his dearest goal.

So, he woke up the next morning, and drove back to Minato.

Unabashedly, he used his resources to find out which school Shusei went to, and waited for him outside the gates. Standing at 6’5 and wearing shades that hid his perturbing gold eyes, Hanma waited for his son while ignoring the stares of the other parents. Neither you nor Chifuyu was here yet, and he suspected that between your two shifts and Chifuyu’s rounds at the docks (he did his digging), Shusei was often the last student to go back home.

The school bell rang, shrill and insistent. One by one, students flooded out, happy parents greeting their children and ushering them onto bikes, into cars, to take them back home for a quiet afternoon filled with schoolwork and preparations for the next day.

Hanma kept his eyes rigidly peeled for a familiar mop of dark hair and golden eyes. He waited, and waited, lifting a brow at a mother who eyed the tattoos on his hands with dismay. She scuttled away the second she felt his unnerving eyes on her, mumbling an apology.

Thankfully, no one else intercepted between him and waiting for his son.

Only when half an hour had passed by and there was still no sign of Shusei did the Reaper get worried for his son.

Hanma peeled himself from the hood of his Spyder and lumbered into the empty school halls. Stray teachers and students alike paused in their conversations when he passed by, his attention solely trained on finding Shusei. The silence exacerbated the heavy fall of his dress shoes, his eyes and ears trained for the slightest hint of danger that his baby boy may be facing.

His instincts guided him to the middle of the school where a field was, and he heard the commotion before he saw it.

In the centre, surrounded by boys twice his height, his son was standing rigidly still.

Hanma’s stomach twisted, and he was close enough to hear snatches of their altercation.

“... he’s gonna cry again?”

“Maybe next time we should shove his head down a toilet bowl—”

“Mommy ain’t here to save you,” one of the goons sneered.

“Yeah,” another one retaliated, a similar smirk on his face. “Probably whoring herself out—”

At the tallest bully’s words, his son swung. The other boy stumbled back with a loud cry, holding his bloody nose.

Like his scream was a trigger, the other boys were in an uproar, poised to attack Shusei five to one when Shuji cleared his throat. Standing tall, with his trench coat billowing in the wind and shades on, he cut an imposing figure walking towards them menacingly in the middle of the scorching hot field.

Shusei straightened, holding his fist to his side, those golden eyes like his father’s widening. “M-Mister—?”

“I would advise you to not touch my son next time.” He slowly rolled back his sleeves, implicitly showing them his signature tattoos, Sin and Punishment gleaming dangerously under the hot sun.

A stuffy silence fell over these wannabe gangsters who undoubtedly recognised the ink on his skin.

“That’s the Reaper of Tokyo!”

At one of their comrade’s trembling words, the bullies paled, their pimply, heinous faces slacking in disbelief.

Hanma stopped in front of the tallest one, cocking his head to the side. With a flick of his hand, he lifted the boy by his throat, his school-shoe clad feet dangling in the air. Tightening his grip, Shuji ignored the gasps reverberating across the field, focused on the child’s puce face.

“Touch my son again, and I won’t hesitate to blow a bullet down your head. Consider this a warning to your parents, too.”

Like the boy weighed next to nothing, Shuji tossed him aside, lifting his shades up to fix them with those fiery eyes burning like molten gold. “Who’s next?”

A tense silence flitted past the group, and within a few more seconds, they scattered like ashes in the wind, screaming and begging for forgiveness. The last one to pluck himself on his feet was the pronounced leader of this little ragtag gang, and he stumbled away, sobbing like a baby, utterly reddened with humiliation.

Shusei was the last one left, and Hanma expected the boy to stare at him in fear. Not in wonder like he currently was now, those golden eyes latched onto his father’s exposed hands and the tattoos that marked them.

“Y-you’re the Reaper?”

It appeared that his reputation preceded him.

Shuji tossed his mini-me a smile. “Yeah.” He turned serious, getting down on one knee to assess any damage done to his son. “You okay?”

Besides a streak of dirt on his cheek, Shusei was barely harmed. He nodded enthusiastically, a sliver of your innocence in the curve of his upturned lips. “Yeah.” He paused in hesitation, and Shuji did not expect his boy to say this with such awe in his little voice: “Are you really, truly my tou-san?”

Fuck, he heard me. Shuji tried to not show his malfunctioning emotions, unsure what to say—what could he even say to a child he had not raised but was inexplicably born from a part of his soul? Shusei was as familiar to him as his own breath, one he did not know he was holding until he felt like he was suffocating.

In answer, Shuji drew his son’s smaller body into his embrace, beyond relieved that the boy did not push him away.

“Yes,” Shuji inhaled the innocence from his hair like a man starved for affection. “I am.”

Shusei remained rigid in his arms, and he was almost afraid to pull back, terrified that he had crossed a line with his son.

But, when he let his baby boy go, Shusei was staring at him with wide, unflinching eyes.

“Mommy said she ran away from you,” he whispered, in a voice fragmented with loss no young soul should have to go through. “That you’re dangerous and you didn’t want her.”

His heart squeezed, and Shuji reached out to tenderly cup his son’s head, a bittersweet rush of self-hatred and loathing flowing freely through his stuttering chest. “I did want her. And you. I spent six years searching for the two of you.” The older Hanma’s expression clouded over with regret, the sun’s rays bringing the tears in his eyes to stunning clarity. “I made so many horrible mistakes. I hurt your mommy and she left me. I thought I lost you two. I’m so sorry, Shusei.”

Shuji bowed his head forward, tears trickling down his face and onto the dry grass underneath his knees. “Can you forgive your tou-san?”

For a split second, he could hear nothing but the roaring of blood in his ears. The field was silent, grass rushing in the wind. A cool breeze touched the exposed wetness of his cheeks, and he nearly flinched from how vulnerable his position was—on his knees, head bent, waiting for his son’s forgiveness.

But, when Shusei’s thin arms wrapped around him, Shuji swore he felt like the whole world came back to life.

He had no shame when he held onto his baby, sobbing into his tiny shoulder, a broken shamble of a man who was held together by a person so precious to him, Shuji wouldn’t even hesitate to take multiple bullets for his boy.

Shusei’s small hands clung to him, and he didn’t protest when Shuji lifted him into his arms to make up for all those times he could never hold his son.

As if he were trying to condense six years into an hour, Shuji took his baby boy on adventures he had always secretly wanted to go on with his own father. They ate burgers and ice-cream at a drive thru, went for a walk in the park and Shuji even managed to brace Shusei on his shoulders, his tiny fists in his father’s hair as the pair meandered by the riverside, watching plump ducks lazily bobbing up and down the water.

“Mommy could never take me out like this,” his son divulged, his wistful expression hidden from Shuji’s sight. Shusei’s weight on his shoulders barely bothered him, and he hummed, silently steeling himself for the younger boy’s next words. “She’s sick. I don’t like it, but I can’t help her. Mommy cries all the time, too.”

His heart twisted, the knife plunging deeper. “She cries when she thinks I can’t hear. I do. I just want her to smile.”

Shusei’s childish innocence coupled with the tragedy he befelled upon his own sweet wife was almost too much for Shuji. He nearly dissolved into racking sobs in the middle of the park but managed to hold onto his composure, peeling his reddened eyes to the distance, where the sun was dipping past the horizon, shading the clouds in raging orange.

“Shusei? Can you promise me one thing?”

“Yeah, tou-chan?” Shuji smiled sadly. How readily he calls me daddy.

“Take care of your mommy.” The lump in his throat felt like it was throbbing. “Even when daddy is not here. Take care of her, okay? I want her to be happy.”

He heard Shusei hum. “Okay.”

When was he last allowed to just be a child and not someone’s caretaker?

Shuji set his son down, eyeing a random, discarded ball on the ground no doubt left by some errant kid and careless parent. He lunged forward to grab it, smiling widely to offset his red eyes. “Bet you can’t catch it!”

Shusei cried out in excitement, accepting the challenge with a boyish grin and running towards his father, clinging onto his pants leg.

Raucous laughter painted the scene, a father and son making up for lost time by staining their palms with grass and skinning their knees by taking one too many tumbles onto the hard ground.

If Shuji had a say in his own fate, he would never want this moment to end. He would never want the smell of freshly cut grass to leave his skin, or the wounds on his palms to heal over if it meant he could have another day like this with his own son.

But, good things came with a time limit, and evening was soon settling in. You were surely losing your mind trying to figure out where your baby went and Shuji did not want to stress you out more than he already did.

He took his son by the hand and drove him back home, all the while he tried to keep the warmth of the setting sun on his cheeks, and memorise how Shusei’s smaller palm fit in his.

The apartment complex he spent half his life in loomed in the distance, stealing the last of hope in his lungs. I fucking hate this dump. He had no choice but to reluctantly unbuckle Shusei’s seatbelt and lead him up the stairs to your unit.

Predictably, you opened the door with a distraught expression, and it was almost worth the slap to his face that he received when he saw your realisation set in; when you came to terms that perhaps, Shusei had not been kidnapped as you suspected and enjoyed the time spent with his biological father.

“Is he hurt?” you murmured, inspecting the cuts on your baby’s palms, anger welling deep in you at the idea that your sweet boy may have gotten injured under his own father’s watch. Shuji did not answer, extending his own palms sheepishly to show you similar lacerations as if it would melt your stony rage and appease your bad perceptions of him. It was a shitty explanation, but hey, it was the best he could come up with.

“We found a ball.”

Your lips flattened at his answer, and you couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Shusei, go wash up. Mommy needs to speak to your uncle Shuji.”

“Why do you call him ‘uncle’?” Shusei whined. “He’s my tou-chan!”

Those words left you rigid with disbelief, your eyes flashing. Your minute anger dissolved into a tight smile and you coaxed your complaining baby boy to go and wash up, while your rage festered and simmered, directed towards the man behind you who had gone nervously quiet.

Once Shusei had locked the room door and was washing up, you turned to Shuji, nostrils flaring; an expression of rage so foreign on your sweet face, that he almost thought you were possessed by a demonic being.

“What the fuck did you tell my son?”

His sweet wife never once swore in front of him. He was in deep trouble now. But, Shuji refused to be bowed down by your anger, meeting it head on with his own stubbornness.

“The truth. I told him nothing but the truth. I just don’t get why you said that I wanted to hurt you when you know that’s not true.”

Your eyes were flinty like hard diamonds, narrowed at him. “Why does it bother you so much? That is my truth. You didn’t even want this marriage in the first place.”

The longer Shuji stared at you, the more he realised your strength was just a front. Behind the clenched jaw and tight fists, your heart was long broken, a similar echoing crack right in his ribcage calling out for you; yearning for you to let him back in so he could tend to your wounds the same way he had no doubt you could for him.

“Y/N, you know that’s not true—”

You shook your head, arms tightening around your chest, drawing attention to your heaving breasts.

Fuck—why were you in such a pretty little blouse and short skirt? Shuji was so preoccupied trying not to get his brains splattered on your kitchen floor from another round with the heavy frying pan that he failed to realise what you were wearing.

The bitter words tumbled out from his mouth before he could stop them. “Going out for a date with Matsuno?”

Your eyes flashed again, but you did not reply to him.

Turning your head to the side, you let Shuji stew in his jealousy for a few more seconds, unwilling to break it. Eventually, you gave a deep sigh.

“Shuji, this won’t work. I still won’t forgive you, so—please. Leave me and Shusei alone.”

“Tell me,” he urged, stepping forward, crowding you with his body heat. You refused to flinch back from the strong scent of his cologne, or the warmth emanating from his broad chest. “Tell me what I need to do to fix this.”

Your jaw ticked. “Nothing. Just leave us. We’re better off without you.”

Shuji reached out to touch your arm, and you nearly bolted when he wrapped his fingers around your wrist, holding you firmly to his side. His golden eyes were wide and beseeching.

“Please.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “Please tell me what I have to do. I will do anything to come back home.”

The seconds ticked by. You couldn’t breathe.

Your eyes lifted off the ground, fixated on his pleading golden ones. The words tumbled out from your mouth before you could stop them—before you could think them through; their implications as subtle as a bomb which went off between your tense figures.

“I slept with Chifuyu the very second I found out you cheated on me.”

His grip on your wrist went slack.

“It was when you were on your mission, after my visit to Tomio,” you lifted your head, goading him to react. “You want to know the best part?”

Your words were darts of poison, each one more venomous than the last, meant to inflict as much as injury onto his ego as possible. “I liked it. And he liked it, too. He didn’t care that I was still in love with you, or that I was heartbroken from your shitty actions. He didn’t even care that I was pregnant with Shusei when we did it.”

Every shade of anger and repulsion flitted across his face. He did not hide his disdain, and you thought this would be it—you would be dead on your feet.

But, Shuji did not give in to his anger. He clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring and staked you to place with his narrowed eyes. “So? You think I give a fuck?” he gritted his teeth. “I deserved it.”

You deflated at his blatant refusal to take the bait. If the idea of sleeping with another man could not deter Shuji, you weren’t sure what would.

“‘Sides. He never made you cum from just a kiss.” Those warm, large palms glided up your side, and you shrank back, teeth bared.

“Don’t touch me.”

Shuji remained undeterred, brilliant eyes at half-mast, soaking in the lines of your body. “He could never make you squirt.”

A flash of heat ignited in the base of your belly when he curled his hand underneath the plush globe of your ass, squeezing lightly. “Don’t you see, doll? We’re perfect for each other.”

Shuji’s confession was laced with desperation when he exhaled, “I love you—“

“Don’t lie,” your harsh rebuttal left him rooted to the spot, his blood running cold. The vitriol in your tone down to your defensive stance spoke volumes of your latent hatred for him. He dropped his hands and stepped away, scalded by your frostiness.

“I hate you. Get out of my fucking life, Shuji—you seemed to have no problem doing that when you chose that homewrecker over me.”

One second, you were squaring your shoulders in the middle of the living room and the next, your back hit the kitchen counter ledge. Shuji did not give you time to speak—time to think—before his mouth bruised itself on your parted ones, kissing your protests away soundly.

“Shu—“ He slipped his tongue into your parted mouth, and you gasped, unwittingly twisting your fingers in his hair when you felt the steel rod of his cock rubbing against your clothed pussy. The words you spouted meant to demolish his hopes only spurred on his desires.

It was just your fucking luck that of all the days you decided to wear a short skirt, your ex-husband had to come back in the picture and ruin the careful structure of the life you rebuilt after his destruction.

Shuji moaned into the heat of your breaths, tasting the residue of your poisonous words in the rolls of your tongue.

“Mmph—Shu…”

He reached in between your bodies, groping fistfuls of the flimsy cotton; stuffing his hand in between your thighs. You mewled when hot and grabby fingers roughly pushed aside the seat of your panties, finding drops of your arousal and spreading it through your seam. Your back arched like a cat, hips circling.

“Fuck,” your ex husband moaned, sounding crazed at the promise of your sweet supplication.

Sweat rolled down his face, fogging his glasses and staining his collar. Despite that, Shuji did not care, plundering your mouth over and over again with desperate kisses and nips, needing to drive you insane like how you so effortlessly brought him to the edge of his sanity.

What you were doing snapped into you a second too late.

You shouldn’t be encouraging this.

Mistake your mind screamed like a siren. Stop this mistake now.

But, your body was firmly in the drivers’ seat. You tugged him closer by his tie, messily sucking on his lower lip. “You don’t mean it,” he groaned in his deep, husky voice. Warm palms slid onto the rise of your ass, lifting you onto the counter and parting your thighs further so he could nestle snugly in between them.

Shuji bit your lower lip sloppily. Desperately. “You don’t hate me. I know you don’t.”

Your fist crumpled in his pristine dress shirt, leaving wrinkles as you pawed off the buttons with frenzied abandon. “I do. I hate you.”

“No,” Shuji almost moaned, feeling the warmth of your palms bleed into his bare chest. Finally—you were touching him. “You don’t. Because you love me like I love you.”

He ripped your panties into tatters, fumbling for his belt with his free hand. The sound of his zipper punctuating the air sounded like a crass remark; reminding you of the mistake you were soon to commit. “No!” You sobbed, moaning brokenly when his teeth caught on your pulse point. “I hate you!”

“Don’t say that,” he murmured in a strained tone. The warmth of his cock lovingly stuffed itself into your waiting walls and the both of you cried out in ecstasy and relief.

Shuji started thrusting, ignoring your paltry shoves against his shoulder—you didn’t mean it anyway.

Tears beaded in your lashes and you hiccuped a loud sob, angling your hips to take more of him deeper into you. “I don't,” you cried, shaking your head from side to side. “You’re an asshole! Son of a bitch, y-you… you hurt me, Shuji.”

His thrusts turned softer, kisses less bruising and more apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, brushing his lips onto your forehead. You hiccuped a loud sob. “I really am. Please, forgive me.”

You shook your head, dislodging a deluge of tears that melted onto his tongue. “You’re not. You hurt me s’bad Shuji—a-ah! Oh, yes! There, right there, Shuji.”

The smell of his musk and skin was overwhelming, bleeding into your pores. Come tomorrow, everyone would know how you had fucked your ex-husband because they could smell him in your hair, on your skin.

Your blunt nails stabbed into his shoulder and he cursed loudly, dragging his tongue up the length of your throat. Lines of red bloomed on the expanse of his back, your sweet whines and mewls driving him closer to the edge.

“God—fuck, so good for me,” he moaned, pressing his sweaty forehead to yours. His mind fuzzy at the edges from your addictive pussy squeezing down on him like a champ. “Perfect f’me, my sweet girl, my Y/N. My love.”

You choked out a scream of his name, face and pussy equally dripping with uneding streams of wetness. I hate him so much. “No. Y-you don’t get to say my name. You don’t deserve it.” Sobbing softly, you pressed your tear-stained cheek into his shoulder. “You don’t deserve me.”

Shuji’s thrusts grew sloppier, hips stuttering. “I know I don’t. I know. But I wanna try, baby. I wanna make it up to you.”

Those words. It reminded you too much of the promises he broke. Your mind snapped back into reality. Fully comprehending the position you were in and how his cock was moulding into your walls, you suddenly came to your senses. With renewed vigour, you tried to push him off you, but Shuji held on, getting sucked into the vortex of your presence and the tight grip of your addictive pussy.

“Let me go!”

He trailed his lips down your jaw. “Never. Never letting you go again.”

“Please!” You were fully bawling, unable to believe how he could do this to you—still try to manipulate you by leveraging on your feelings for him. Hanma Shuji was your weakness, and you despised it. “Please, just let me go!”

Your words renewed him, and those strong hips continued to snap into you, never ceasing their unending wave of scorching hot pleasure. “Never,” Hanma whispered like a devotee, your name a prayer on his sinner’s lips. “I will never let you go again, my Y/N.”

You screwed your eyes shut, fighting back the weakening defences. The barriers that were falling brick by fucking brick to let him overwhelm you again with his intensity and broken promises.

Something crashed to the ground, shattering into pieces and you muffled your scream into his shoulder.

“I hate you!” you wailed, uncaring that Shusei was in the next room. “If I could do it all over again, I—hngh, fuck—I w-wish I never remembered you after the accident!”

In a flash, the heat of his body was ripped from yours.

He stumbled backwards as if someone had slapped him, the tremble in his lower lip pronounced.

You snapped your mouth and knees shut, hiccuping back a sob.

For the longest minute, neither of you said anything because there was nothing left to say.

You had made your point quite clearly.

Shuji's chest rose and fell rapidly, his golden eyes brimming with betrayal. He unglued his limbs and swiftly tucked himself back into his pants, sloppily buttoning his shirt, and tugging his suit jacket back on, straightening it with more force than necessary.

Your mouth was dry, eyes wide and fixed on his broad back as it turned and staggered towards the door.

He paused, unable to swivel around and face you, the tattoo of Punishment tensing against the brittle wooden frame.

“I’m sorry,” Shuji whispered, more to himself than to you, his expression hidden from your prying eyes; the downward slump of his shoulders seeming to carry the full weight of his sins that almost broke his entire back.

The words you wanted to say were lodged in the back of your throat. Slowly, you tugged your skirt back in place, trying hard to ignore the achingly empty, gaping sensation of your previously stretched-out pussy; eyeing the broken shards of a plate scattered across the floor with trepidation. There was no noise in the apartment beyond both your heavy breathing.

“I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done to you, Y/N.”

Before you could speak, he wrenched the door open and briskly walked out into the night, slamming it shut again and leaving you alone in the aftermath of his visit.

You sank to your knees, reaching for the broken shards and methodically plucking it from the floor with your bare hands, refusing to let the sting in your eyes overflow; preferring to sensate the sharp bites of pain on your physical body instead of the ones on your soul.

“Mommy?”

Your teary gaze lifted to Shusei who was by the door, watching you with those innocent, golden eyes that had seen too much. He was dressed in his favourite elephant print pyjamas, and you had blood on your hands.

A painful smile cracked across your face, and you got back to your feet, ignoring the thin rivulets of red streaking down your wrists.

“I’ll be with you in a few minutes, baby,” you tried hard to not let your thick voice break. “Mommy needs to clean up.”

Your sweet boy watched you toss the shards into the garbage bin and washed your hands free of blood, the water pricking the open wounds.

“Did… did tou-chan leave?”

You couldn’t turn around to face him without breaking down at his faultless question. So, you nodded.

“He did.”

Shusei walked over to you, footsteps dragging and in a small voice, he asked: “Will he come back?”

The lump in your throat was impossible to ignore and you sniffed softly, tears breaking down your face. You couldn’t let your son see you like this; he had suffered enough from the pain you carried and deserved to be an unperturbed, sweet little boy for as long as he could.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, not wanting to break his heart at the possibility that his own father would not come back for him; reminding your baby boy and you of the right choice you made today to keep Shuji as far away from you two as possible.

He was nothing but pain. He would bring you nothing but sorrow.

“Trust me, Shusei,” the lump in your throat was tempered with grim finality. “We’re better off without him, anyway.”

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