#This was all i had time for before the rain came in

[spookyboogieanarchist]

Similar thing happened to me recently. Sick as hell. Spent All Day in the lab performing experiments that won't work. Outside it is freezing rain and I am Not looking forward to the walk home. I have to leave the lab before I specific time with All of my stuff because it locks at some point and you are able to leave but not re-enter. Put on my past experiment, gather up lab book, pen, laptop, keycard, phone. Leave lab and walk back into office. Start calling my parents bc ive been meaning to for a while. Gather up the bits from open plan office: laptop charger, bag, coat, keys, wallet? must be inside bag. Although I distinctly remember just dropping it on top of my bag when I came back from lunch. Now I'm standing in the atrium of the biology department, searching through my bag with my phone clutched between my shoulder and face. Ah fuck, no wallet. Still got a little time before the lab locks so rush back inside thinking I must have taken it with me for some reason. No wallet. Across the atrium and back into the office. Check everywhere. No wallet. Why would one of my coworkers have stolen my wallet? Back to the atrium and check bag. No wallet. I rinse and repeat these actions whilst trying to hold a civil conversation with my parents for 20 minutes. I'm exhausted. I'm so unwell. I still have to walk home. I'll just have to give up. Defeated I head to biology reception and hopefully ask about a handed in wallet. Weird for one of my coworkers to take my wallet from my stuff and hand it in but,, possible? They say no but if they find it they'll email me. Great. ADHD strikes again. Trudge back to the atrium and pull on my coat (goose down, will not survive the freezing rain). And Lo! Wallet is within the sleeve of my coat! I had simply tossed it on top of my stuff after lunch and on picking the coat up it had slipped down the sleeve to the very end! Run to tell reception I've found it and they don't need to keep an eye out. Bag on shoulder. Freezing wet walk home

Oh I was the subject of one of God's little tricks today

[strayingawayy]

why does your love feel like loneliness?

the rain tapped against the window, but inside, the room was still — like time itself had frozen, suspended in a moment too long held. you stood by the window, eyes lost in the blur of falling water, a reflection of the storm that churned inside you.

and then, the door creaked open.

hyunjin stood in the doorway, framed by the dim light spilling from the hallway. his gaze met yours, but it wasn’t the soft gaze you remembered. this one was heavy with things unsaid, things unspeakable.

he didn’t move, and neither did you.

finally, he spoke, his voice low, like he wasn’t sure if it was his own or the weight of everything he had left unsaid. “you’re here.”

"where else would i be?" you whispered, though you weren’t sure if you were asking him or yourself.

his hands clenched at his sides. his eyes flickered over the room, over you. it was like he was afraid to look at you too long, as if the sight of you might break something fragile inside him.

he stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click. the sound lingered, stretching between you like an unsolvable riddle. you didn’t want him here. not really. but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, either. there was nothing left to say, and yet all you could hear was the hollow echo of your own heartbeat.

"you said i could tear it up. that when it hurts, i could tear it up," you said, voice shaking just enough for him to hear. your words hung in the space between you like smoke.

he flinched as if your words were a slap, but didn’t speak. instead, he stepped closer, his gaze glued to your face, but avoiding your eyes, as if scared of what he might see there.

"you told me to," you continued, staring out the window again, though you couldn’t stop the bitter laughter that bubbled up in your throat. "you told me to build memories, but then you just… left. like it was nothing." you turned to face him. "what was it to you, hyunjin? was i nothing but a scribbled note you could toss away when it got too hard to read?"

a silence fell between you. his lips parted, but the words that came didn’t feel like they belonged to him. "i never meant to hurt you," he said softly, like a confession, but the weight of it felt hollow.

"you never meant to," you echoed, the sharpness of the words surprising even you. "but you did."

he looked away then, as if ashamed to be seen. his hands trembled at his sides, and you saw the distance in the way he held himself. there was something behind his eyes — something you used to be able to read. but now? it was a labyrinth, and you were trapped outside.

the scent of him lingered in the air, like a memory of someone else. you wondered if he even noticed anymore. if he remembered when you were the only one who knew his scent by heart, when his skin was your favorite place to hide. but now — now there was something else.

"why does it feel like this?" you found your voice breaking, and your hands clenched at your sides. "why does your love feel like loneliness?"

he didn’t answer at first. instead, he took a step closer, and you could feel the pull between you, like gravity was trying to bend the laws of the universe just to bring him closer. but you didn’t want him near. not like this.

his voice was barely a murmur. "i didn’t know how to love you, not the way you wanted."

the words sliced through you, and you took a shaky step back. "then why did you tell me to stay? why did you ask me to build something with you if you weren’t even going to try?"

"i tried," he said quickly, his voice strained, but the doubt that lingered in his words said everything. "i thought i could do it. i thought maybe i could give you what you needed. but every time i tried, i felt like i was just tearing everything apart."

"and so you left." the sentence wasn’t a question. you knew it already. it was his way of loving — of running away before the hurt got too deep.

his eyes flickered with pain. "i didn’t leave because i stopped caring," he said, but his voice wavered, unsure. "i left because i didn’t know how to keep loving you. how to make it something real."

but you didn’t have to leave," you whispered, eyes stinging. "you never had to leave."

the silence stretched between you like a chasm, deeper than anything you had ever known. you looked at him, and there was no clarity. no understanding. just the shadows of things that had once been, and a void too vast to fill.

"i was always afraid it would be like this," he admitted, his voice broken. "i thought i could laugh it off. but now... i don’t think i can."

you watched him, the weight of his words pressing on your chest, the emptiness inside you a mirror to his. he didn’t love you like he should have. he loved you in fragments, in parts that didn’t fit. he loved you in ways that kept you at a distance, a love that never came full circle.

and yet…

you didn’t know if you could ever love him the way he needed, either.

"you never stopped loving me, did you?" you asked, voice trembling, but there was no answer — not one you wanted to hear. because you already knew.

you turned away, your back to him, not out of anger, but exhaustion. "why did you love me, only to hide it from me?"

"i didn’t know how to let you in," he whispered, the words almost lost in the quiet. "i didn’t know how to love without destroying it."

and there, in that silence, you understood. his love had been a shadow, a ghost that could never fully exist in the light. it was always half there, half hidden, too afraid to be real.

the rain outside picked up, a quiet symphony of sorrow that mirrored the aching emptiness between you. you didn’t turn around when you heard his footsteps fade. you couldn’t.

somewhere, in the distance, the faintest whisper of spring seemed to brush against the cold, but it was too far away. too late.

the door clicked shut. the room was silent again.

and this time, you didn’t cry.

___

ty to my sweethearts @hwajin @astraystayyh for this one ❤️‍🩹

[syverse]

i depend on you // ft. katsuki bakugou

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

bakugou can't bring himself to hate you, even after you left

warnings&a/n: if this is bad LEAVE ME ALONE PLEASE!!! got suddenly verrrry inspired by that one drawing on tiktok and maybe i misinterpreted it in the writing but shoot me who cares. this is like my first time writing something and actually finishing it i get so discouraged and give up. if you hate this i will never do this again.

In his life, there's a lot of things that Bakugou hates. He hates simple and unavoidable things like the rain, and he hates specific things like people who rely on everybody around them. He hates weak people, hates getting up too early in the morning, hates being too involved in other people's lives if he doesn’t necessarily have to be. But, as he sits alone at his desk, forced to listen to the obnoxious and overbearing sounds of society in Tokyo despite how late it is, Bakugo can’t think of anything he hates more than you. 

He spent a lot of his life loving you. He loved things like your unwavering conviction to do the right thing, he loved the look in your eyes when you stole glances from each other during class dinner back when you were both in highschool, and loved the way you whispered his name like a prayer when it was just the two of you under the covers of your shared bed. It was hard at first, but as the two of you grew together, so did his love. He learned to love through the sound of your laughter and the feeling of your gentle hands intertwining with his. Nimble fingers pressing into the palms of his hands before flipping them over and placing feather-like kisses on his fingerprints, he tries to swallow the bile that claws its path up his throat.  

Along with the symphony of nightlife outside of his agency, he can also pick out the faint sound of a news reporter being broadcasted on a billboard next to his building. Pictures of your face are shown on the large screen, along with the headline “PRO HERO TURNED VILLAIN” and Bakugou holds his breath for as long as he can. His phone lay flat on his desk in front of him, buzzing every few seconds from concerned friends and family members, but the blonde doesn’t dare to touch it. It had been at least a week since your departure from his agency, and the news had spread to all of Japan at this point, but the news and media were still eating it alive as if they were starving. 

Bakugou’s eyes glue shut as he wishes for memories of you to disappear, and for the heavy dread in his gut to fizz up and die out. He curses himself for not picking up on it sooner, the fact that you would leave. Looking back on it, he’s pretty sure he could put his finger on the exact moment when you started to fade away. When the universe in your eyes started to blur each time you looked at him, when the sense behind your touch became hesitant instead of gentle, and when your cheeks no longer touched your eyes when you smiled. He should’ve said something. Should’ve done a lot of things to at least delay your disappearance, but Bakugo was familiar with the fact that he was never good with words, and the fact that his heart was bottomless with fear of him making it worse. 

Bakugou absolutely hates you for leaving him here. He hates that he can’t throw every single I love you that came out of his mouth into a little box and set it to ashes, hates that he has to go back to home and still smell you on his bedsheets, hates that even though you’ve made it clear that you’re never coming back, he still patiently waits with bated breath to hear you whisper his name again.  So, as Katsuki picks himself off of his desk and drags himself to the elevator to return back his house, his house where you don't live anymore, he tries to convince himself to forget you, and ignores the way his tongue instinctively traces the letters of your name on the roof of his mouth.

[alexusonfire]

Songbird in Iowa

Robyn (The Roommate) x Fem!Reader

A/n: @end0r4 chose Robyn for One-Night Stand and then I couldn't stop thinking about it. Huge shout-out to @daydream-cement for the confidence boost 🧡 Enjoy some smut y'all!

The walls of Studio 13 thrummed with music, its patrons oblivious to the sheet of rain pounding the streets outside. It had been a miserable drive here, the Uber getting lost twice before finally pulling up to the front lot. After waiting in line for nearly thirty minutes (cold, with slightly damp feet), your party had finally been granted access.

A couple hours passed, and you found yourself sitting at the side bar, nursing your third drink of the night. You weren't one to venture out this way often, the club scene not really yours. A friend of a friend had invited (then promptly abandoned) you, and the rest of the gang had dispersed quite some time ago. After yet another woman made a low-ball drunken pass at you, you considered heading out, the idea of sprawling on your couch with some popcorn and a scary movie sounding much more your vibe.

"Gin, on the rocks.”

The tone caught your ear; sharp, commanding. You peeked over your near-empty glass at the 60-something woman who'd sat next to you; her shaggy mullet and leather jacket implied she was from out of town, which only attracted you further. The bartender plopped the drink in front of her, and she thanked him with a few coins in the tip jar before taking a sip. Feeling eyes on her, she turned to meet your gaze; after giving you a once-over, the smirk on her face indicated she liked what she saw.

“What are you drinking, sweetheart?”

“Whiskey sour.”

She signalled again to the bartender, who swiftly made you another drink. She passed it over to you, then raised her own in cheers.

“So…” you began after a smooth swallow, one the elder woman followed with her eyes, “what brings you out on a dreary Friday night?”

“New to the area, figured I'd see what it was all about.” She turned to face you, her knee bumping against yours. Neither of you moved to correct it.

“Where you coming from?”

“New York. The Bronx, specifically.”

“Mmm, big city girl. What brings you to lil old Iowa?” you asked with a tilt of your head.

The woman clicked her tongue and smiled. Her hand slid forward to meet yours, intertwining your fingers on the wooden bartop.

“New adventures. New people. New… conquests.”

You bit your lip, endearing the woman to you. She reached forward and gently pulled it out, chuckling when you playfully nipped at her thumb. You downed the rest of your drink, she following your lead, before she leaned forward to crowd into your space.

“Wanna get the fuck outta here?” she asked, her voice deep and sultry.

“Yes.”

The tab was paid and you were promptly pulled off your seat. She waved down a cab and gave the driver her address, never once letting go of your hand. Not one for public displays, you waited until you reached her front door to push her up against it and kiss her soundly. She welcomed your tongue in her mouth, much to your delight, while her hands skittered up under your shirt, the heated skin warming them from the cold.

“You gonna let me get you inside or do you plan on fucking me on the front porch?” she drawled, her arms still wrapped around you.

“Well if you're into a bit of exhibitionism…”

She chuckled and pulled back, somehow managing to unlock the door while you licked and kissed at her neck from behind. Stumbling in less than gracefully, she shushed you with a finger to your lips.

“Gotta be quiet, my roommate's a real stiff.”

You giggled in response and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before kicking off your shoes. Heart racing with anticipation, she led you up the stairs, turning left into her darkened bedroom. Shuffling sounds came from your right, then the hiss of a match being lit. The soft glow of candles began to illuminate the walls, and you watched as she moved from her dresser to her bedside table, lighting the final one before blowing out the flame.

“Romantic.” you mused, beginning to unbutton your shirt.

“I know how to woo a woman.” she replied “and that's my job, thank you very much.”

She bat your hands away and continued snapping open the buttons, leaving open-mouthed kisses to the newly bared skin. Humming in appreciation, you tangled your fingers in her messy hair, massaging her scalp as her teeth scraped against your breast. You went to ask her something, then paused as a realization hit you. Laughter bubbled in your chest, and she looked up at you quizzically when you snorted.

“What?” she asked, her hands poised to remove your bra.

“I don't know your name.”

She stared at you for a moment, then burst out wheeze-laughing. You snickered along with her, trying to keep your voices down as best you could.

“I… I suppose that would be a good thing to know.” she chuckled. “I'm Robyn.”

“Oh, like the songbird. Pretty.”

Robyn blushed, not quite used to receiving compliments. Eyeing the small flame of red on her cheeks, you used her momentary distraction to your advantage. Slowly, piece by piece, you began to remove her clothing; first the jacket, then her shirt. The clink of her belt buckle felt a bit too loud in the silence, especially as it hit the floor.

She was a voluptuous woman, curvy and soft, and it made your mouth water.

She grumbled something about wanting to get you undressed, starting to fumble with the clips on your back before finally managing to pull the bra away from you. Now it was your turn to blush as she admired you for a moment, her knuckles lightly caressing the side of your chest.

Unwilling to wait any longer, you pushed her down onto the mattress, then sunk to your knees in front of her. Nudging her legs open, you placed a soft kiss to her inner knee before smiling up at her.

“Sing for me, won't you?”

Your eyes remained locked on hers while your fingers traced the band of her underwear. She nodded her silent permission, lifting her hips so you could slide the garment from her. Her glistening curls sent heat through your veins; eager to please, you wasted no time in burying your tongue between her folds. Robyn moaned, threading her fingers through your hair to bring you closer. She rocked her hips into your mouth, so warm and inviting, her head thrown back as you explored her. Paying careful attention to each sound, you licked and sucked where she seemed to like best, your nose occasionally pressing against her clit making her throb with want.

“There, just like that… oh such a good girl…”

Heart fluttering, you finally laved your tongue over her clit, eliciting a pitched squeal. It didn't take much longer until her thighs clenched in tune with a final yelp, and she soaked the bottom half of your face. You lapped up everything you could, greedily licking her clean as she came down from her high. Gingerly, she pulled your head back, tilting it up so you'd face her; your chin shined with her release, lips tilted up in a lazy smile as she caressed your cheek.

“You have a stunning singing voice by the way. I wouldn't mind another performance…” you said, your voice low and hungry. Robyn chuckled breathlessly and pulled you into a kiss, a thrill running up her spine at the taste of herself on your mouth.

“You first, sweetheart.”

She tugged you up and made quick work of the rest of your clothing, then pressed her palm on your lower back to bring you down to her lap. Thighs settled on either side of hers, she rolled your nipple between her thumb and forefinger, carefully watching your face for a reaction. Pleased to see you enjoyed it, she promptly brought her tongue down on the other one, switching back and forth between the two until you wiggled from overstimulation.

You were wet, and she could feel it drip down onto the crease of her thigh.

Satisfied with how worked up she'd gotten you, she removed the rings from her fore and middle fingers, then slipped them into you one by one. She gave you a moment to adjust to the stretch before slowly pumping them in and out of you, your little whimpers spurring her on.

“C'mon baby, ride em for me.” she whispered, using her other hand to encourage the rocking motion. You pressed your mouth to hers in a searing kiss as you picked up the pace, clinging to her shoulders for support while you ground down on her over and over again. She could tell you were close by your stuttered movements, and all it took was her thumb brushing your clit to toss you over the edge.

Robyn couldn't bring it in herself to care about her new roommate as you came with a loud cry; the vision of a woman satisfied in her lap was her favorite thing in the world, and she'd be damned if a potential scolding would get in the way of that. She brought her fingers to your mouth and watched intently as you swallowed them to lick them clean, your hazy eyes and soft moans riling her up once more.

“I'll get us some water, then you best be prepared for my second act.”

--

Hours later, you flopped back onto the pillows, panting, sated. Robyn lay beside you, stroking your hair and giving you what you'd come to find to be her signature smirk. She closed her eyes as she waited for your breathing to even out, her hands running over still-trembling muscles. You weren't sure how long you both lay there, silent, simply content to be in each other's presence.

Once your heart rate had finally settled and you assumed Robyn to be asleep, you shuffled backwards and made to slip from the bed, surprised when you felt warm fingers wrap around your wrist.

“You got somewhere to be?” She asked, her one eye popped open.

“Uhm… not really no. Besides my own bed.”

“Well then, get back in here. No point in sending you out to the cold. Might even have you for breakfast in the morning.”

Chuffed, you crawled back into her waiting arms and tucked yourself under her chin.

“Mmm, you really do know how to woo a woman.”

Robyn simply gave you a small squish, then let the exhaustion settle in. She was fully asleep within minutes, you following not far behind.

--

Early morning sun settled on your face, blinking you awake. Robyn's steady breathing sounded from beside you, nearly lulling you back under before you begrudgingly slipped from beneath the covers. Near-silent, you gathered your haphazardly thrown clothing and re-dressed, taking one last look at Robyn and her wild hair before leaving the room. Tip-toeing your way down the stairs, you almost congratulated yourself on a ghosting-well-done… that is, until you noticed the pale, doe-eyed woman in the kitchen.

“Oh… um… hello.” you said, giving her an awkward little wave.

The woman simply stared at you, half-hiding her face behind her mug.

“You must be a friend of Robyn's.” The woman finally replied.

You had to admit, when Robyn had referred to her roommate as a “stiff”, you had expected someone a bit more… overbearing perhaps, even rude. This woman seemed as timid as they came, if her inability to maintain eye contact was any indication.

“Ah, not really. More so… acquaintances. I was just leaving.”

Awkward silence hung in the air, the pale woman seeming to have nothing to respond with. You inched your way to the front door, stuffed your shoes on, and left without another word.

--

“At a bar? Isn't that dangerous bringing a stranger home?”

Robyn sighed, worried she may have actually crossed a boundary with Sharon by bringing someone home in the indecent hours.

“Look, I wasn't planning on it, she was just… anyways. I'm sorry if you're uncomfortable with it, I should have spoken to you about it first.”

“Oh well… don't worry about it.” Sharon waved it off, sipping at her second coffee that morning, “if it was a man I might be more worried, but a woman is… well. A woman.”

Robyn quirked her brow at Sharon's odd giggle, but let it slide, relieved she wasn't about to be kicked out.

“When do you see her again?”

“Um. I don't think I will.”

Sharon looked confused, something Robyn found highly amusing.

“Did you get her phone number?”

“No.”

“Her address?”

“Definitely not.”

“... an email?”

“Sharon, it’s not the nineties anymore.”

“Well this all seems silly… you sure sounded like you liked each other.” (Robyn sputtered in her coffee) “Maybe you should go again next weekend and see if she's there. I could always stay at Tanya's house for the night.”

Robyn sighed, but when she thought of your lilting smile and wicked tongue, she couldn't help but ponder the idea.

“Maybe… Maybe I will.”

[dee-writes-anime]

Chapter 5: A Test of Worth

FEATURING Ryomen Sukuna x Witch!Reader

SUMMARY You face the most grueling challenge yet as Sukuna’s labyrinth tests your wit, strength, and resolve. Confronting illusions, traps, and your deepest fears, you prove your worth with ruthless determination. As the night ends, Sukuna’s growing intrigue leads to a charged, intimate encounter, leaving you to question not only your place at his side but also the dangerous pull between you.

CONTENT WARNINGS Scenes of magical combat, branding, and physical harm inflicted on a character, exploration of fear, identity, and mental resilience, including a confrontation with deep-seated insecurities, explicitly described moments of mounting intimacy, including non-explicit physical contact and suggestive dialogue, power imbalances and themes of dominance that reflect the reader’s precarious position in Sukuna’s court.

PLAYLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

The days leading up to the test blurred together, each one steeped in a stillness so profound it felt as though the estate itself held its breath. The air, always heavy with power, carried an edge now, sharp and bristling, as though it had grown impatient with the passing time. Shadows stretched longer, whispers lingered in the corners, and the faint hum of energy beneath the surface seemed to pulse with a rhythm that mirrored my own. 

Each morning, the choker waited for me on the table beside my bed. Its crimson gemstone pulsed faintly, the light flickering like a heartbeat, steady and unyielding. I had yet to touch it, yet I couldn’t escape its presence. Its energy threaded through the room, subtle but inescapable. 

It wasn’t a gift. 

It was a command. A tether. 

Sukuna’s sharp, mocking words echoed in my mind—cryptic promises of a test I couldn’t yet define. Whatever he had planned, I knew it wouldn’t be fair. Fairness had no place in his court, and I had no illusions that this was anything less than a challenge designed to break me. 

The concubines, once eager to claw at me with their words, now avoided me altogether. Their sharp tongues had given way to wary silence, and even Kaede, whose barbs had once been constant, offered only fleeting glances before slipping into the shadows. It wasn’t fear—not exactly—but a reluctant acknowledgment of something they couldn’t name. 

Uraume, however, remained constant. 

They shadowed me as always, escorting me to meals or delivering bundles of fresh herbs for my rituals. But something had shifted between us in the weeks since my arrival. Their presence, once distant and impassive, carried a quiet weight now—a steadiness I hadn’t realized I’d come to appreciate. They said little, but their silences were no longer cold. They lingered longer than before, their gaze more searching, as though trying to decipher the shape of what I was becoming. 

When the knock came that morning, shattering the quiet of my quarters, I knew the time had come. 

I opened the door to find Uraume waiting, their expression as composed as ever. But I had learned to read them better now, to see the subtle tension in the line of their shoulders, the faint crease at the edge of their brow. 

“It is time,” they said, their voice quieter than usual. 

The words sent a ripple through me, sharp and undeniable. For a moment, I lingered in the doorway, the weight of the moment pressing down like the first drop of rain before a storm. 

“I suppose it is,” I said softly, stepping back into the room to prepare. 

Uraume didn’t follow, but they didn’t leave either. They stood just outside the door, their presence a steadying anchor as I turned to face the bed. 

The dress waited for me there, its crimson fabric catching the pale light of dawn that spilled through the narrow window. The color was deep, almost black at the edges, and the gold thread that traced intricate patterns across its surface gleamed like fire. Beside it, the choker rested atop its velvet cushion, its gemstone pulsing faintly as though it had been waiting all along. 

I picked up the dress first, letting the smooth, heavy fabric flow through my fingers. It was finely crafted, its surface cool against my skin. The bodice was structured, designed to cling tightly, while the skirt flowed in ripples that moved like water. The slit ran high, baring more than I would have chosen. 

It wasn’t just a garment—it was a declaration. 

Sukuna’s declaration. 

I dressed with care, each movement deliberate. The bodice fit snugly, molding to my frame in a way that felt equal parts empowering and suffocating. The fabric whispered against my skin as I adjusted the skirt, the slit exposing my leg with every step. 

The choker was the last piece. 

Its gold band gleamed faintly in the dim light, smooth and flawless, while the gemstone glowed with an inner fire. I hesitated, my fingers brushing the cool metal before lifting it from its cushion. 

The moment I fastened it around my neck, the world shifted. 

A wave of energy rippled through me, sharp and electric, sinking deep into my chest. It wasn’t painful, but it was startling—a visceral reminder that the choker wasn’t just an accessory. It was alive, and it had claimed me as much as I had claimed it. 

I turned toward the mirror in the corner of the room and froze. 

The crimson and gold of the dress gleamed in the pale light, the gemstone at my throat glowing like a caged flame. My hair, loose and wild, framed a face that was both familiar and foreign—sharp eyes, set jaw, and the faintest flicker of defiance. 

The person staring back at me looked as though they belonged in Sukuna’s court. 

“Are you ready?” 

I turned to find Uraume standing in the doorway, their pale eyes scanning me with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. But there was something else there, too—something warmer, more human. 

“Do I look ready?” I asked, a faint edge of dry humor in my voice. 

Their lips quirked faintly, almost imperceptibly. “You look... prepared,” they said after a pause, their tone as even as ever. 

The faintest flicker of amusement warmed my chest. “That will have to be enough.” 

Uraume inclined their head, stepping aside to let me pass. “Then let us proceed.” 

We walked in silence through the twisting halls, the air heavier with each step. But as we turned a corner, Uraume spoke again, their voice low and deliberate. 

“You’ve endured much to come this far,” they said, their gaze fixed ahead. “Do not falter now.” 

I glanced at them, surprised by the quiet conviction in their tone. “Do you doubt that I will succeed?” 

“No,” they replied, meeting my gaze briefly. “But it is not the test alone that concerns me.” 

“What, then?” 

Uraume was silent for a moment, their expression unreadable. “What comes after.” 

The words lingered between us as we approached the final chamber, their weight pressing against my chest even as the doors loomed ahead. 

Before I could respond, Uraume stopped, turning to face me fully. “Whatever happens,” they said, their voice quieter now, “remember: this test is not only of power. He watches everything—how you act, how you think, how you endure.” 

I held their gaze, the weight of their words settling deep. “And if I fail?” 

Their lips quirked faintly, almost a smile. “Then you won’t need to worry about what comes next.” 

The carved doors began to open, the air shifting as the choker’s pulse quickened. Uraume stepped back, their presence steady and grounding as they gestured for me to enter. 

“Good luck,” they said simply, their voice softer than I had ever heard it. 

I nodded once, my fingers brushing the gemstone at my throat as I stepped forward. The doors closed behind me with a low, resounding thud, sealing me inside. 

The doors closed behind me with a low, resonant thud that seemed to echo endlessly, as if the stone itself were reluctant to let the sound fade. The air beyond the threshold was stifling, a dense and unrelenting weight that clung to my skin like the damp heat of midsummer rain. Each breath felt laborious, the space pressing down on my chest as though the labyrinth itself sought to remind me of its dominion. 

The choker at my throat pulsed steadily, its crimson gemstone glowing faintly in the oppressive darkness. The light fractured against the walls, casting jagged patterns that moved like living veins filled with molten fire. The polished stone beneath my feet shimmered faintly, its cracks and etched lines writhing at the edges of my vision, forming patterns too deliberate to be natural. 

The air wasn’t still. It shifted subtly, carrying with it a low, vibrating hum that was felt more than heard. It threaded through my bones, a resonance that was too steady to be random and too faint to pinpoint. It wasn’t silent, either—far from it. The whispers returned, distant at first, their fragmented voices drifting on a wind that didn’t exist. 

They were soft, indistinct murmurs, just enough to brush the edges of awareness. As I moved forward, their guttural tones grew sharper, each wordless syllable laced with something primal, something old. They weren’t human—no. These voices carried a weight that transcended mortality, a purpose I couldn’t yet discern but felt instinctively. 

The floor was unnaturally smooth beneath my feet, its polished surface gleaming as though freshly lacquered. The jagged cracks that marred it ran in intricate patterns, their sharp edges illuminated faintly by the choker’s light. I let my gaze follow them, tracing their twisting paths as they coiled like veins feeding into the labyrinth’s heart. It wasn’t random. It was too precise, too deliberate. 

Ahead, the corridor opened into a wider space, where the path splintered into three. Each new path was darker than the last, their arched entrances yawning wide like the mouths of beasts poised to devour intruders. The shadows within were absolute, a blackness so dense it seemed to ripple outward, swallowing even the faint crimson glow of the choker. 

The whispers grew louder here, their tones shifting into something harsher. It was no longer an indistinct hum but a discordant symphony of guttural sounds, layered and grating, clawing at the edges of my thoughts. They moved around me like threads of smoke, wrapping themselves tighter with every step. I couldn’t tell where they began or ended, but they felt alive, insistent. 

I stopped at the crossroads, my hand instinctively brushing against the choker. Its pulse quickened, its energy a steady thrum that resonated through my skin. Closing my eyes, I drew a deep breath, forcing the tension in my chest to ease as I sought the core of my magic. 

The labyrinth didn’t welcome my power. It resisted, the oppressive atmosphere dulling its edges, making each thread of energy harder to grasp. It was like reaching into water for something just out of reach, the currents pulling it away the moment my fingers came close. But I didn’t stop. I let the whispers fade to the background, their claws scratching but not sinking, and pushed harder, weaving the familiar threads of magic into something steady. 

When I opened my eyes, the corridors stretched before me, silent and waiting. The oppressive air lightened—barely—but the whispers didn’t retreat. They lingered just at the edge of perception, a constant reminder that the labyrinth was not a place of comfort. 

I scanned the three paths. The leftmost felt restless, the whispers clawing harder when I looked in its direction. The rightmost path was too still, its silence like the coiled body of a predator waiting to strike. It was the middle path that drew me—its shadows deeper, its air colder. There was something deliberate about it, as though it had been chosen for me before I even arrived. 

I stepped forward, my voice a quiet murmur in the stillness. “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve planned.” 

The air shifted immediately, sharper now, like the first breath of winter stealing into an autumn night. The whispers grew louder, their tones brimming with anticipation as though the labyrinth itself leaned in to watch. 

The first steps were deceptively uneventful, but that only made the tension worse. Each footfall was swallowed by the polished floor, the sound too soft, too unnatural. The walls pressed closer as I moved, their jagged patterns pulsing faintly with crimson light. The energy within them rippled like the skin of a disturbed pond, alive and waiting. 

I reached out to brush my fingers along one of the carvings, curiosity overriding caution. A sharp jolt of cold energy shot up my arm, snapping like static before retreating. I pulled my hand back, my breath hitching at the sensation. The labyrinth wasn’t just alive—it was watching. 

Whatever magic held this place together was old, raw, and unyielding. 

I paused, my gaze sweeping the shifting lines that ran along the walls. It felt like they were guiding me, leading me forward into the belly of the beast. Each step carried the weight of inevitability, as though the labyrinth itself had already decided where I belonged. 

The whispers clawed harder, their voices rising into a crescendo of guttural tones. They were incomprehensible but filled with intent, their weight pressing against my thoughts like a heavy hand on the back of my neck. 

I reached the first turn, and the corridor split again into three. The same choice. The same shadows. 

But this time, I didn’t hesitate. 

I stepped into the middle path, the cold air wrapping around me like the embrace of a ghost. The choker pulsed once, its light flaring faintly before settling back into its steady rhythm. 

The labyrinth didn’t just want me here. 

It needed me to follow. 

Each step resonated unnaturally, the sharp sound of my footfalls too loud in the smothering silence, as though the stone beneath me were mimicking my movements, mocking my presence. The walls, smooth and dark like obsidian lacquer, seemed to narrow, pressing closer with each breath I drew. The jagged patterns etched into their surface writhed faintly, their crimson glow flickering like embers that refused to extinguish. 

The air grew heavier, clinging to my skin like damp silk. The faint hum of the choker at my throat became sharper, its pulse thrumming in rhythm with the tension coiling in my chest. It was warning me, though of what, I couldn’t yet tell. 

The change came suddenly, a shift as sharp as the crack of a blade through still air. My breath hitched as the sound followed: a high-pitched hiss that sent every nerve alight. 

I turned just in time. Black spikes of jagged stone erupted from the ground ahead of me, their edges gleaming like the polished teeth of a predator. They shot upward with deadly precision, the force of their movement stirring the stale air into a gust that swept past my face. 

I moved instinctively, my steps quick and controlled, the hem of my robe whispering against the stone as I retreated. My pulse thundered, but I kept my breathing measured as the spikes shuddered and began to retract, grinding against the floor as if reluctant to yield. 

The faint, grating sound lingered in the air, a bitter reminder of how close I had come. 

“Predictable,” I murmured, my voice low but steady. A faint smirk curled the corner of my lips, a deliberate act of defiance against the labyrinth’s clumsy attempts to rattle me. 

The corridor stretched ahead, darker now, the oppressive shadows curling like smoke at the edges of my vision. The air grew colder with each step, each breath forming faint clouds that lingered for only a moment before fading into the void. 

The first glyph emerged. 

It began as a faint impression on the wall, its jagged lines barely discernible against the dark stone. But as I approached, its crimson glow flared to life, cutting through the darkness with a brilliance that seemed to sear the air itself. 

I stopped short, the hum of the choker quickening against my throat as the glyph’s energy coiled outward. Tendrils of crimson light unfurled from its edges, twisting like the limbs of an ancient tree, their movements deliberate and predatory. The air vibrated faintly, a low resonance that rose from the floor beneath my feet and traveled upward, pressing against my chest like the steady beat of a war drum. 

The glyph wasn’t static—it was alive, its lines shifting and reforming as though testing my resolve. 

I extended a hand, summoning a faint glow of magic to my palm. The light spilled outward, soft but steady, pressing against the encroaching tendrils. For a moment, they recoiled, their movements faltering. But the glyph flared brighter in response, its energy lashing out like a whip, striking against the edges of my magic with a sharp crack that vibrated through my arm. 

I stepped back, my fingers curling tighter as I steadied my breath. The air around me felt sharper now, alive with intent. 

“Alright,” I murmured, my voice calm despite the tension winding tight in my chest. “Let’s see what you’re hiding.” 

I extended my magic again, threading the faint glow from my hand into the glyph’s jagged lines. Its energy resisted immediately, sharp and cold, sending a biting sting up my arm. The sensation was as precise as a blade’s edge, but I didn’t pull back. 

Instead, I whispered the first incantation. 

The words slipped from my lips in a steady cadence, each syllable weaving into the glyph’s restless energy. The resistance was immediate and fierce, the tendrils snapping outward in renewed aggression. They clawed at the edges of my magic, trying to unravel it, but I held firm, layering the spell with the precision of a calligrapher’s brushstroke. 

The glyph faltered. Its jagged edges softened, the tendrils retreating slightly as the crimson light dimmed. The hum in the air lessened, the oppressive pressure lifting as the glyph settled into place with a faint, pulsing glow. 

“One down,” I murmured, the faintest edge of a smile tugging at my lips. 

The second glyph was different. 

Its glow was darker, almost bloodied, and its tendrils coiled thicker, their movements slower but deliberate, like a predator circling its prey. The energy radiating from it was heavier, denser, wrapping around the corridor like a silken snare. 

It struck before I could reach it. 

The tendrils lashed out, faster than I expected, slicing through the air with a sound like a blade drawn across a whetstone. I barely had time to summon a barrier of light, the arc flaring to life as the tendrils collided with it. The impact was fierce, reverberating through the corridor in a resonant crack that echoed like thunder. 

“Impatient,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes as I studied the shifting lines. 

The incantation I spoke this time was sharper, cutting through the glyph’s resistance with a precision born of necessity. My words wove into the coiled energy, slicing through its defenses as the tendrils writhed and twisted. They lashed out again, but this time I met them with a surge of raw power, pushing them back with deliberate force. 

The glyph shuddered, its edges fracturing before collapsing inward. Its crimson light dimmed, fading into the stone as its energy dissolved completely. 

The final glyph loomed ahead, its presence heavier than the first two combined. The air around it vibrated faintly, a low hum that resonated through the corridor like the tolling of a distant bell. 

Its tendrils were darker, slower, their movements deliberate as they reached outward. This wasn’t desperation—this was malice, controlled and calculating. 

I stepped closer, the glow from my magic brightening as I extended it toward the glyph. The tendrils recoiled slightly, their sharp edges flickering like the glint of a dagger. 

“You’re not going to win,” I said, my voice low, deliberate. 

The first incantation slipped from my lips in a steady rhythm, the words sharper now, their cadence slicing through the oppressive energy. The glyph flared violently, its tendrils snapping toward me with enough force to crack against my magic. The collision sent a jolt up my arm, but I held firm, the rhythm of my spell quickening as I pressed harder. 

The tendrils fractured under the force of my magic, their edges splintering into shards of light that dissolved into the air. The glyph shuddered once, its crimson light flaring before collapsing entirely. 

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with the remnants of what had been. 

I exhaled slowly, the glow from the choker at my throat softening as the tension in the air finally eased. The whispers returned, softer now, their tones less insistent as they urged me forward into the waiting darkness. 

“Not bad,” I muttered, the faint smirk returning as I stepped forward. “Let’s see what else you’ve got.” 

The corridor narrowed the deeper I went, the jagged walls pressing closer like the ribs of a beast intent on swallowing me whole. The oppressive darkness was heavy, alive, and clung to my skin like wet silk. Each breath felt laden with the weight of something unseen, the air sharp and cold as though drawn straight from the depths of a winter storm. 

The whispers had grown quieter, but their absence was no comfort. Silence in this place was never empty—it was full of malice, a quiet promise of what was to come. The faint crimson glow of the choker at my throat cast restless shadows on the walls, its rhythmic pulsing the only sound beyond the blood pounding in my ears. 

When I reached the chamber, the shift in the air was immediate. The stillness here was absolute, so profound that my own presence felt intrusive. The floor beneath me was smooth, polished like lacquered wood, but cold enough that I could feel its bite through the thin soles of my shoes. 

At the center of the room stood a mirror. 

It was an impossible thing, its jagged obsidian frame rising like the bones of some ancient creature. The glass shimmered faintly, its surface rippling as though it were a pool disturbed by an unseen wind. The pale light it emitted was cold and ghostly, casting a faint glow that barely reached the edges of the chamber. 

I approached cautiously, my steps slow and deliberate. The closer I came, the heavier the air grew, pressing down on my shoulders like the weight of a sword left too long in its scabbard. My breath was shallow, each exhale curling faintly in the icy air before dissipating like smoke. 

The choker hummed louder, its pulse quickening as though warning me. 

The whispers returned, faint and insidious, their guttural tones threading through my thoughts. But they no longer clawed at the edges of my mind—they spoke directly, their words incomprehensible but laced with venom. 

I stopped a few paces from the mirror, my hand brushing the edge of the choker as if to steady its rising energy. The glass rippled once, the pale glow intensifying until it filled the chamber with blinding light. 

When the light faded, I was no longer alone. 

The figure in the mirror was me. 

But it wasn’t. 

Her features were mine—her sharp cheekbones, her narrowed eyes, the curve of her lips—but twisted. Her skin was pale, too pale, as though the blood had long since drained from her veins. Her lips, once neutral, curved into a wicked smile that was as foreign as it was cruel. But it was her eyes that sent a chill racing down my spine. 

They burned a deep, unholy red, the light seeping out like cracks in lacquer, spreading through her face in jagged veins that pulsed in time with the choker. 

I opened my mouth to speak, but she moved first, stepping forward as though the mirror’s surface was no barrier at all. The glass rippled like water as she emerged, her movements smooth and deliberate, her presence overwhelming. 

"Who are you?" I demanded, though my voice felt weaker than it should have, thin against the weight of her aura. 

Her smile widened, exposing teeth too sharp, too predatory. “I am you,” she said, her voice low and edged with malice. “Or the part of you you’ve tried so hard to bury.” 

I stiffened, the words sinking into me like barbs. 

She tilted her head, studying me like a predator might a wounded animal. “You’ve built walls, haven’t you? High ones. Strong ones. But you know as well as I do that no wall holds forever.” 

Her words struck with precision, but I forced my spine to straighten, my chin lifting as I glared at her. “I am not afraid of you.” 

She laughed then, the sound low and hollow, echoing in the chamber like the tolling of a temple bell. “No, you’re not afraid of me,” she said, stepping closer, her red eyes gleaming with something too knowing. “You’re afraid of becoming me.” 

The room darkened, the pale glow of the mirror snuffed out like the last breath of a dying fire. The shadows on the walls stretched and twisted, forming shapes that writhed and clawed at the edges of the chamber. Her words cut deeper than I wanted to admit, each one dragging me closer to the edge of something I couldn’t name. 

“I’m nothing like you,” I said, my voice firmer now, though my hands trembled at my sides. 

Her smile sharpened. “Aren’t you? Or do you just tell yourself that to keep the truth at bay?” 

The darkness closed in, the chamber disappearing entirely as the ground beneath me fell away. I stood alone in an endless void, her form the only constant, her red eyes burning brighter as she stepped closer. 

“You like control,” she continued, her voice soft now, like a serpent’s hiss. “You cling to it like a drowning man to driftwood. But control slips. Power corrupts. And when the time comes…” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You will fall.” 

The words were colder than the air around me, a blade pressed against the most vulnerable part of myself. My magic stirred violently within me, surging to the surface like a storm desperate to break free. 

“No,” I said, my voice sharper, louder. “You’re wrong.” 

She tilted her head, her smile unwavering. “Prove it.” 

The tendrils of my magic coiled outward, a glowing storm of raw energy that rippled through the void, aimed directly at her. But she didn’t move. She raised her hand, her red eyes narrowing as her own power mirrored mine, the two forces colliding with a deafening crack. 

The void shuddered, the energy around us surging violently as the impact sent me stumbling back. She laughed again, the sound cruel and mocking, as though she had already won. 

“You’ll never escape me,” she said, her form rippling as though the shadows themselves were holding her together. “I am the part of you that always lingers. The part you cannot destroy.” 

Her form flickered, unstable now as I summoned the full weight of my magic. The choker pulsed in time with my power, its crimson light flaring so brightly it eclipsed her entirely. 

“You don’t own me,” I said, my voice low and unyielding. “And you never will.” 

The magic surged outward in a final, blinding wave, swallowing her scream as her form shattered into shards of light. The void collapsed, the weight of the chamber returning as I fell to my knees, my breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. 

The mirror was gone, its jagged frame reduced to ash. The chamber was silent again, the oppressive weight lifting as the choker’s hum quieted into a steady pulse. 

I pressed a hand to the ground, steadying myself as I forced my breathing to slow. My hands still trembled, the echo of her words clawing at the edges of my mind. 

But I was still here. And she wasn’t. 

Not yet. 

Not ever. 

The oppressive quiet lingered as I rose from the ground, the weight of the shattered vision still clinging to my skin like cold ash. The chamber around me felt hollow, emptied of the malicious energy that had filled it moments before, but the air remained heavy, charged with anticipation. 

The choker pulsed faintly, its crimson glow flickering like a guttering flame. Its rhythm steadied as I stepped forward, the faint sound of my footsteps swallowed by the smooth stone beneath me. 

Ahead, the chamber opened into a corridor, its walls darker than ink, etched with faint lines that pulsed faintly as I passed. The symbols were ancient, jagged, their shapes writhing as though alive, yet they carried a resonance that settled uncomfortably against my chest. 

The corridor stretched endlessly, its shadows shifting like restless waves. My own shadow flickered and danced alongside them, but it was longer, deeper, as though something unseen walked with me. 

The air grew colder, sharper, until it felt as though I were breathing ice. Each step felt heavier, as though the floor itself were dragging me back, resisting my forward momentum. The choker’s hum grew louder, its energy thrumming against my skin, as though it too could sense what lay ahead. 

Then the corridor ended, and the world opened up. 

I stepped into a vast arena, the space impossibly large, its edges vanishing into a horizon shrouded in shadow. The ground beneath my feet was smooth black stone, polished like obsidian, its surface reflecting faint ripples of crimson light that stretched across the floor like veins. The sky above was a void, darker than the deepest night, broken only by faint cracks of red lightning that tore through the darkness without warning. 

At the center of it all, Sukuna waited. 

He stood atop a raised platform of jagged stone, its edges sharp and uneven, as though the earth itself had been wrenched upward to serve as his throne. His crimson robes pooled around him like blood spilled across the rock, the intricate gold stitching glinting faintly in the light of the arena. 

He looked at me as I entered, his four eyes gleaming with a predatory light. Two were half-lidded, almost bored, while the other two burned with sharp intensity, tracking my every movement. 

“You made it,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence like the edge of a blade. The sound reverberated through the arena, low and mocking, carrying with it a weight that settled heavily in my chest. 

I stopped a few paces from the platform, my chin lifting as I met his gaze. “Disappointed?” 

His grin widened, sharp and humorless. “Not yet.” 

The arena was alive with his power. 

The cursed energy coiled and surged, stretching outward like claws seeking to claim everything in its path. It was raw, untamed, and impossibly vast, yet he stood at its center as though it bent to his will alone. Sukuna’s form was sharp and commanding, his four eyes gleaming with an intensity that made the air around him vibrate. 

The jagged edges of his platform crumbled under the weight of his presence, shards of stone dissolving into the swirling mass of cursed energy that pulsed like a second heart. It wasn’t just power—it was dominion, an absolute command over the forces that shaped the world around him. 

I had faced countless dangers, had stared down curses, traps, and illusions without flinching. But this was different. 

This was Sukuna. 

He wasn’t merely strong. He was something more—something that transcended the boundaries of mortal and monstrous, a force that could not be ignored, could not be denied. 

My chest tightened, the air around me sharp and electric as his crimson eyes locked onto mine. Two half-lidded, almost dismissive, while the other two burned with a focus so sharp it felt like a blade pressed against my throat. 

“You’ve held your ground,” he said, his voice low and cutting. “But that alone won’t save you.” 

The cursed energy around him surged, thickening into a storm that rippled outward in jagged waves. The ground beneath my feet trembled as the tendrils lashed out, their edges gleaming with a deadly light. 

I moved instinctively, my magic coiling outward in a burst of light that met the tendrils mid-air. The impact sent a shockwave through the arena, the force reverberating through my bones as the energy dissipated into smoke. 

But Sukuna didn’t stop. 

Another tendril formed, larger and sharper than the last, its edges slicing through the air with a high-pitched wail as it surged toward me. I raised both hands, summoning a barrier of light that flared to life in a blinding arc. The cursed energy collided with it, the impact so strong that cracks spidered across the barrier’s surface. 

I gritted my teeth, the strain burning through my arms as I held the barrier steady. His power was relentless, pressing against mine with a force that felt insurmountable. 

But as I stood there, the choker pulsing steadily against my throat, I couldn’t ignore the realization creeping into the edges of my mind. 

I wasn’t just fighting him—I was watching him. 

The raw intensity of his power was undeniable, a force so immense that it seemed to reshape the air itself, bending the world around him to his will. There was no hesitation in his movements, no faltering in his control. He wielded his strength with the ease of a master craftsman shaping steel, each strike deliberate, each surge of energy perfectly timed. 

It was terrifying. 

And yet, I couldn’t look away. 

A flicker of something unfamiliar stirred in my chest—not fear, not entirely, but something close to awe. He was unlike anything I had ever faced, his presence overwhelming yet impossibly commanding. 

The cracks in my barrier deepened, the cursed energy pressing harder as Sukuna stepped forward, his grin widening. “Is that all you have?” he asked, his tone laced with mockery. 

The words sent a jolt of anger through me, snapping me back into focus. I pushed harder, the light from my barrier flaring brighter as I forced his energy back. 

“You talk too much,” I said, my voice sharp as a blade. 

His laughter rang out, low and resonant, echoing through the arena like a tolling bell. “And you’re still holding back,” he said, his crimson eyes narrowing. “Don’t insult me with half measures.” 

The cursed energy surged again, twisting into a monstrous form that loomed above me, its jagged edges bristling with lethal intent. I braced myself, the choker’s pulse quickening as I summoned the full weight of my magic. 

The light coiled around me, sharp and electric, as I released it in a burst that tore through the cursed energy. The arena trembled, the force of the collision sending shards of light and darkness scattering like shattered glass. 

Sukuna’s platform cracked further, the edges crumbling as he stepped forward, his grin sharper now. His power had receded slightly, coiling tightly around him like a predator waiting to strike, but his presence remained just as overwhelming. 

For a moment, we simply stood there, the air between us heavy with unspoken tension. 

His gaze held mine, sharp and searching, and I felt the weight of his scrutiny as though he were peeling back the layers of my defenses. But instead of faltering, I stood taller, the pulse of the choker steadying me as I met his gaze head-on. 

“You’re stronger than I expected,” he said, his voice quieter now, though no less commanding. “But strength means nothing if you don’t know how to wield it.” 

The words stung, but there was no cruelty in them—only truth. 

And for the first time, I felt something shift within me. A flicker of respect, grudging and reluctant, but undeniable. He wasn’t just testing me—he was shaping me, forcing me to rise to the challenge. 

And I hated that I was impressed. 

The air between us crackled with tension, the silence heavy and expectant as his grin softened into something colder, more calculating. 

The air was still, the oppressive hum of the cursed energy fading as the arena fell into an uneasy silence. My chest heaved, each breath sharp and deliberate as the last traces of my magic coiled back into me, steadying beneath the faint pulse of the choker at my throat. 

The obsidian floor was scorched and fractured, the remnants of our clash etched into the stone like the scars of a battle neither of us would forget. I stood at its center, the weight of Sukuna’s gaze pressing against my shoulders as he stepped closer, his cursed energy trailing behind him like the ghost of a storm. 

He stopped just a pace away, his towering form casting a long shadow that swallowed the fractured ground between us. His crimson eyes gleamed, two half-lidded with a lazy satisfaction while the others burned with something sharper—something almost like respect. 

“You’ve done well,” he said, his voice low and resonant, carrying the weight of a command even when it wasn’t one. 

I straightened, refusing to let the exhaustion creeping into my limbs show. “Did you expect me to fail?” 

His grin widened, sharp and predatory. “Failure would’ve been disappointing. But you didn’t just succeed. You... entertained me.” 

The words sent a ripple of unease through me, though I masked it with a slight tilt of my chin. “I didn’t come here to entertain you.” 

“And yet you did.” His gaze lingered on me, his grin softening into something colder, more deliberate. “You’ve proven your worth. You’re stronger than most. Smarter. And you’re still standing, which is more than I can say for anyone else who’s faced me in this arena.” 

There was no mockery in his tone now, only a quiet intensity that made the air between us feel heavier. He wasn’t taunting me. He was measuring me. 

“I have no need for weaklings,” he continued, his voice soft but sharp, like the edge of a blade drawn close to the skin. “But you’re not weak. You’ve earned my protection.” 

The words hung in the air like a verdict, heavy and immutable. 

I met his gaze, my chest tightening at the weight of his declaration. Protection. It wasn’t a gift—it was a claim. A mark that would set me apart, that would bind me to him in ways I wasn’t certain I wanted to explore. 

“I didn’t ask for your protection,” I said, my voice steady despite the tension coiling in my chest. 

His grin sharpened, his crimson eyes narrowing. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.” 

The heat of his cursed energy flared briefly, a sharp reminder of the force he wielded with effortless precision. And yet, even as his presence pressed against me, I felt no fear. Only the faintest flicker of something dangerous and unfamiliar—a grudging respect for the man who had tested me and found me worthy. 

“Tonight,” he said, his tone shifting into something more deliberate. “You will join me in the great hall. There will be a feast to mark your survival—and to introduce you to the lords of my lands.” 

I stiffened, my mind racing at the implications. This wasn’t just an acknowledgment of my strength. This was a proclamation, a public display that would tie me to him in the eyes of his court. 

“Is that a command?” I asked, the faintest edge creeping into my voice. 

He stepped closer, the grin on his face widening until it was all teeth and sharp intent. “It is,” he said simply. 

The weight of his words pressed against me, heavy and unyielding, but I didn’t falter. I met his gaze head-on, the pulse of the choker steadying me as I inclined my head slightly. 

“As you wish,” I said, my tone smooth but edged with defiance. 

His laughter rumbled through the arena, low and sharp, echoing off the fractured stone like a storm rolling through the hills. “Good,” he said, his voice carrying a note of approval that sent a faint shiver down my spine. “Don’t keep me waiting.” 

With that, he turned, his crimson robes trailing behind him as he strode away, his presence retreating but never truly gone. 

I stood there for a moment, the adrenaline in my veins giving way to the steady thrum of exhaustion. The choker pulsed faintly, its energy quiet but constant, as though echoing the weight of his claim. 

The feast wasn’t a choice. It was another test. And I would meet it head-on. 

I always did. 

The corridor leading back to my chambers felt impossibly long. My limbs were heavier than they should have been, the aftermath of the arena’s trials pressing against my bones like the weight of an unseen hand. The faint hum of the choker at my throat was steady now, a rhythmic pulse that mirrored the lingering tension in my chest. 

When I reached my door, I expected silence—the familiar emptiness of a room that had become my sanctuary. Instead, Uraume was waiting for me, their pale, frost-colored eyes sharp and unreadable as they stood just inside, their hands folded neatly in front of them. 

“You’ve returned,” they said, their tone even but carrying an edge of something I couldn’t quite place—relief, perhaps, or satisfaction. 

I closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment to steady myself. “Did you think I wouldn’t?” 

They tilted their head slightly, a faint quirk of their lips suggesting the barest hint of a smile. “Lord Sukuna does not test those he expects to fail,” they said simply. “But even so, it’s… good to see you in one piece.” 

The admission caught me off guard. Uraume was always precise, deliberate, their words carefully chosen. But there was a softness to their tone now, a quiet acknowledgment of something unspoken between us. 

“Was there ever a question?” I asked, my voice lighter than I felt. 

They glanced at me, their expression shifting briefly before settling into their usual calm. “Perhaps not. But you’re not finished yet.” 

I straightened, the tension in my chest tightening again. “What now?” 

Uraume stepped forward, their gaze steady as they studied me. “Your chambers have been moved,” they said, their voice measured. “Lord Sukuna has decided that you will reside in his domain of the estate.” 

The words landed heavily, their weight sinking into me before I could fully process them. Sukuna’s domain. The part of the estate I had only glimpsed in the labyrinth—the space where even the air felt alive with power, and where only Uraume had ever been allowed. 

I stiffened, my mind racing as I searched their face for some hint of explanation. “Why?” 

Uraume inclined their head slightly, their expression betraying nothing. “He did not offer one. But it is a privilege few would dare question.” 

A privilege. The word tasted strange, unfamiliar. Being moved closer to Sukuna wasn���t just a shift in status—it was a statement, one that would echo through his court like a tolling bell. 

“Come,” Uraume said, their tone softening slightly. “I’ll take you there.” 

I hesitated for only a moment before nodding, the weight of the choker against my throat steadying me as I followed them into the corridor. 

“You’ve impressed him,” Uraume said after a long silence, their voice quiet but deliberate. 

I glanced at them, my brow furrowing. “I didn’t think he was the type to be impressed.” 

“He isn’t,” they replied, their lips quirking faintly. “Not easily. But you’ve earned his protection. That is no small thing.” 

I studied them as we walked, their expression calm but carrying an edge of something warmer, something I hadn’t seen before. Respect. 

“And you?” I asked, my tone lighter than I felt. “Have I earned yours?” 

Uraume’s lips twitched again, the faintest suggestion of amusement. “Let’s just say I’m not displeased with the outcome.” 

The corners of my mouth lifted despite myself, the tension in my chest easing slightly. “That almost sounded like a compliment.” 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” they said smoothly, though their tone carried a warmth that hadn’t been there before. 

The corridor twisted and narrowed as Uraume led me deeper into the heart of the estate. The walls here were darker, smoother, their surfaces gleaming faintly in the dim crimson light that spilled from the flickering braziers. The faint hum of power that always lingered in the estate sharpened in this space, the air heavier, colder, and more alive. 

Uraume walked a step ahead, their movements fluid and precise as always, but their presence felt warmer, less guarded. They had said little since delivering the news of my chambers being moved, but their gaze lingered on me more often now, as though they were measuring my reaction. 

When we reached the doors, I faltered. 

The wood was rich and dark, polished to a gleaming finish that reflected the faint crimson glow of the sigils carved into its surface. They were unmistakable—Sukuna’s mark, etched with sharp precision, their edges gilded with gold that shimmered like fire. The handles were sculpted from smooth bronze, their shapes curling like the tendrils of a twisting vine. 

Uraume turned, their pale eyes meeting mine with an unreadable expression. “These are yours now,” they said simply, their voice carrying a faint edge of something almost like approval. 

With a fluid motion, they pushed the doors open, revealing a space that left me momentarily breathless. 

The room beyond was vast and open, its design a deliberate blend of opulence and serenity. The polished wood floors gleamed like lacquer, their dark surface reflecting the warm glow of the lanterns that hung from the ceiling. Their frames were crafted from fine silk, painted with delicate scenes of blooming wisteria and cranes in flight, their soft light casting shifting patterns across the room. 

The walls were panels of smooth, dark wood interspersed with delicate shoji screens, their translucent paper faintly illuminated by the flickering light outside. The screens were painted with intricate scenes—crimson dragons twisting through storm clouds, golden peonies blooming amidst sharp black thorns. 

The ceiling was high and vaulted, its beams carved with intricate designs of curling vines and blooming chrysanthemums. Gilded accents caught the light, their delicate details shimmering faintly in the low light of the room. 

At the center of the space stood a low platform bed, its frame carved from dark wood and lacquered to a mirror-like finish. The mattress was thick and plush, covered in silk bedding dyed deep crimson, with intricate gold embroidery tracing patterns of curling flames and jagged sigils. A heavy fur throw was draped across the foot of the bed, its texture soft and inviting against the sharp elegance of the room. 

To one side, a tokonoma alcove displayed a single scroll, its fine calligraphy drawn in bold black strokes that flowed like water. Beneath it, a simple yet elegant arrangement of seasonal flowers rested in a lacquered vase, their delicate petals adding a faint, fresh scent to the room. 

On the far side, an area had been prepared for my craft. Low shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of rare herbs, bottles of tinctures, and neatly bound scrolls bearing unfamiliar sigils. A finely carved wooden chest rested nearby, its surface painted with swirling dragons and phoenixes, containing tools I recognized immediately—mortars, pestles, and other implements of alchemy. 

A lacquered table sat beside the shelves, its surface inlaid with gold leaf in the shape of curling vines. A thick candle rested at its center, its pale flame flickering faintly, surrounded by small bowls of polished obsidian and ivory. 

Opposite the crafting area was a wardrobe larger than anything I had ever owned. Its sliding doors were made of lacquered wood painted with scenes of a night sky, the stars rendered in glimmering gold. Inside, rows of silk gowns hung neatly, their vibrant colors ranging from deep crimson to shimmering gold and midnight black. Each garment was adorned with intricate embroidery—golden peonies, silver cranes, curling dragons—that spoke of wealth and power. 

A small vanity stood near the wardrobe, its surface adorned with gilded brushes, carved combs, and polished bronze mirrors. Bottles of perfume rested beside them, their glass delicate and painted with fine floral designs. 

Every detail was deliberate, each piece carefully chosen to create an atmosphere of refined elegance. This was no longer a room for survival—it was a space for someone meant to be seen. 

I stood at the center of the room, my gaze sweeping over the space as the weight of Sukuna’s decision settled heavily on my chest. This wasn’t just a gesture—it was a declaration, one that tied me closer to him in ways I wasn’t yet ready to name. 

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Uraume’s voice broke the silence, carrying a faint edge of amusement. 

I turned to find them watching me, their pale eyes sharper now, though their expression remained calm. 

“It’s excessive,” I said finally, though the words lacked conviction. 

Uraume’s lips quirked faintly, almost a smile. “Excessive is his way.” They gestured toward the wardrobe. “You’ll need to choose something fitting for tonight.” 

“Tonight?” I asked, the tension in my chest tightening again. 

“The feast,” Uraume said smoothly. “Lord Sukuna has summoned the lords of his lands to witness his newest... acquisition.” 

The word sent a ripple of unease through me, but I forced myself to meet their gaze. “And you’re here to help me prepare?” 

They inclined their head slightly, their expression softening. “He has tasked me with ensuring you’re ready.” 

“And you’re fine with that?” 

Their pale eyes narrowed slightly, though their tone remained even. “I respect strength. And you’ve proven yours. That’s more than I can say for most in his court.” 

Their words carried a quiet weight, an unspoken acknowledgment of something that had shifted between us. Whatever tensions had existed before, they were gone now, replaced by a growing camaraderie rooted in mutual respect. 

“Let’s begin,” Uraume said, gesturing toward the vanity. “We have much to do before tonight.” 

The gown Uraume had chosen for me shimmered like molten fire under the soft light of the room. The fabric was a deep crimson, darker than blood, with subtle patterns of curling dragons embroidered in gold thread that glinted faintly with every movement. The long, trailing sleeves fell gracefully past my wrists, their edges lined with intricate black and gold designs that mirrored the jagged sigils of Sukuna’s domain. The skirt flared slightly as it reached the floor, pooling like liquid silk around my feet. 

The high collar was structured, drawing attention to the line of my neck where the choker rested. Its crimson gemstone pulsed faintly, the color so perfectly matched to the gown that it seemed deliberate—a part of the ensemble rather than an artifact of power. 

Uraume had styled my hair into a series of elegant loops and coils, held in place with gilded pins adorned with delicate designs of peonies and flames. The style was intricate, yet it left a few strands loose to frame my face, softening the overall effect. The final touch was a golden hairpiece shaped like a dragon coiled around a glowing red stone—a subtle echo of Sukuna’s sigil and a reminder of whose domain I now inhabited. 

When I caught my reflection in the polished bronze mirror, I barely recognized the person staring back. The outfit, the adornments, even the confident tilt of my chin—it was all deliberate, calculated. A statement of power, control, and defiance wrapped in silk and gold. 

“You look… fitting,” Uraume said as they adjusted the drape of the sleeves. 

“Fitting for what?” I asked, my tone sharper than intended. 

They met my gaze in the mirror, their pale eyes calm but knowing. “For someone meant to stand at his side.” 

The path to the dining hall was different from the winding corridors I had grown accustomed to. This section of the estate was wider, grander, the walls lined with golden screens painted with intricate scenes of mythical beasts and blooming gardens. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, their soft glow casting shifting patterns across the polished wood floors. The faint hum of energy that filled the estate was sharper here, heavier, as though the very air recognized the weight of what was to come. 

Uraume led the way, their footsteps silent against the gleaming floors. I followed, the choker’s pulse steady against my throat as we reached a massive set of lacquered doors. The black and crimson wood gleamed in the low light, their surface adorned with jagged gold patterns that mirrored Sukuna’s sigil. 

And there he was. 

Sukuna stood just outside the doors, his crimson robes pooling around him like the embers of a dying fire. The gold embroidery along the edges of his sleeves caught the light, glinting faintly as he turned his head toward me. His four eyes studied me, two half-lidded and bored, while the other two burned with sharp, predatory focus. 

“You’re late,” he said, though his tone carried no real accusation. 

I stopped a few paces from him, my chin lifting as I met his gaze. “I wasn’t aware there was a schedule to keep.” 

His grin widened, sharp and dangerous. “There’s always a schedule. You simply don’t know it yet.” 

His eyes drifted over my gown, the faintest flicker of amusement curling his lips. “You clean up well,” he said, his tone laced with mockery. 

“Is that your idea of a compliment?” I shot back, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly. 

“Take it however you like,” he replied, his grin sharpening. 

The air between us crackled faintly, the tension unspoken but tangible as he stepped closer, his cursed energy brushing against my senses like a claw trailing over silk. He extended an arm, his movements deliberate, his gaze never leaving mine. 

“Shall we?” 

I hesitated, my chest tightening as I glanced at his offered arm. The gesture was calculated, a public display that would tie me to him in the eyes of everyone beyond those doors. To take his arm was to step fully into his world, to acknowledge the claim he had made on me. 

His grin widened as though he could read the thoughts flickering through my mind. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid.” 

“Of you?” I said, my voice steady as I met his gaze. “Hardly.” 

With a deliberate motion, I slid my hand through his arm, the fabric of his robes cool and smooth beneath my fingers. His cursed energy flared faintly at the contact, a pulse of power that rippled through the air around us. 

“Good,” he said softly, his tone carrying a quiet approval that sent a shiver down my spine. 

The doors opened before us, their movement silent but commanding as the dining hall came into view. 

The space was immense, far larger than I had expected. The polished wood floors stretched endlessly, their surface inlaid with golden patterns of dragons and phoenixes that seemed to twist and writhe in the flickering light. The walls were lined with ornate panels painted with vibrant scenes of battles and celebrations, their colors rich and deep, each detail a testament to Sukuna’s dominion. 

The ceiling was vaulted, its beams carved with intricate designs of clouds and flames, their edges gilded to catch the light of the massive chandeliers that hung above. Each chandelier was a masterpiece, its frame sculpted from blackened bronze and adorned with hundreds of glowing orbs that floated within their embrace like captive stars. 

A long table stretched down the center of the room, its dark surface polished to a mirror-like sheen. Golden trays and dishes were arranged with precision, their contents a feast of unimaginable variety—roasted meats glistening with glaze, bowls of fragrant rice, platters of fresh fish adorned with delicate garnishes, and desserts crafted with such detail they looked like works of art. 

The lords of Sukuna’s lands were already seated, their finely tailored robes a riot of colors and patterns, each one vying for dominance in their display of wealth and power. Their conversations faltered as we entered, all eyes turning to us as the weight of Sukuna’s presence swept through the room. 

He didn’t stop, his steps slow and deliberate as he led me forward, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as the whispers began. 

And I, with his arm beneath my hand and the choker pulsing faintly at my throat, held my head high. 

The whispers followed us as Sukuna led me to the head of the table, his steps unhurried and deliberate. Each lord seated at the grand table turned their gaze toward us, their conversations stilled, their faces a mix of forced neutrality and barely concealed discomfort. 

The air grew heavier as we reached the raised dais at the far end of the hall. A pair of high-backed chairs awaited us, their frames carved from dark wood that gleamed faintly under the golden light of the chandeliers. The intricate patterns etched into the chairs’ surfaces mirrored Sukuna’s sigil—jagged lines curling in chaotic yet deliberate designs. 

Sukuna gestured smoothly to the seat at his right, his crimson eyes flicking to me with an unspoken command. 

I hesitated for only a fraction of a second before taking my place, the weight of his presence settling beside me as he lowered himself into his chair. His cursed energy radiated outward like a tide, brushing against the edges of the room and pressing down on the gathered lords with a force that left no doubt as to who ruled here. 

The lords sat stiffly in their places, their brightly colored robes and polished ornaments doing little to mask the unease that rippled through their ranks. They didn’t look at him directly, their gazes dipping respectfully whenever his eyes swept across the table. But when their attention turned to me, the tension in the room sharpened. 

“Lords,” Sukuna said, his voice low and commanding, carrying effortlessly across the vast hall. “Tonight, we feast not only to honor your service but to welcome someone... new.” 

His words were simple, but the weight they carried pressed against my chest like an iron hand. 

A lord seated halfway down the table cleared his throat nervously, his jeweled fingers gripping his cup tightly. “A... new arrival, my lord?” he asked, his voice strained with forced politeness. 

Sukuna’s grin widened, sharp and deliberate. “Indeed.” He turned his gaze to me, the sharp intensity of his crimson eyes settling on my face. “Allow me to introduce her. The one who survived my labyrinth. The one who stood before me and did not fall.” 

The lords exchanged uneasy glances, their discomfort tangible. 

A woman seated near the far end of the table leaned forward slightly, her elaborate hair ornaments swaying as she studied me with a frown. “A witch,” she said, the word sharp and dripping with disdain. “You’ve brought a witch to your side.” 

The silence that followed was deafening. 

Sukuna’s eyes flicked to her, the lazy amusement in his expression hardening into something sharper, colder. “Careful,” he said, his tone soft but laced with menace. “You’re not seated here to question my choices.” 

The woman paled visibly, her gaze dropping to her plate as she murmured an apology. 

But the damage had been done. 

The other lords’ discomfort grew thicker, their whispers returning in hushed tones as they exchanged glances, their expressions tight with a mixture of fear and repulsion. 

“A witch,” another lord muttered, his voice barely audible but carrying just enough for me to hear. “What does he see in one so... low?” 

The words struck like a blade, but I didn’t flinch. Instead, I lifted my chin, my gaze sweeping across the table to meet theirs. 

Sukuna laughed then, the sound low and sharp, cutting through the tension like the stroke of a blade. “You question my choice?” he said, his grin widening as he leaned back in his chair. “Tell me, which of you would have survived what she has? Which of you could stand before me and not crumble?” 

The lords averted their gazes, their discomfort turning to outright fear as his cursed energy flared briefly, a warning that rippled through the room. 

“I thought so,” Sukuna said, his voice dripping with mockery. “You may not understand my reasons, but you will respect them.” 

His eyes flicked to me again, his grin softening slightly as he inclined his head. “And if you doubt her worth, feel free to test it. I’m sure she would enjoy the opportunity to remind you why she’s here.” 

A faint murmur swept through the table, the lords exchanging wary glances but saying nothing more. 

“Good,” Sukuna said, his tone light but carrying the finality of a command. He reached for the golden cup in front of him, raising it in a smooth, deliberate motion. “Let the feast begin.” 

The lords followed suit, their movements stiff as they raised their cups and murmured their assent. 

As the first course was brought to the table, Sukuna leaned closer to me, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “They fear me, but they fear you now too,” he said, his tone laced with satisfaction. “Let them choke on it.” 

I glanced at him, my chest tightening as I caught the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. There was no kindness in his words, no attempt to soften the tension in the room. But there was approval, grudging and sharp, like a blade honed to perfection. 

And for the first time, I realized that I wasn’t just surviving this feast. 

I was winning it. 

The night had dragged on, a slow parade of courses and cautious conversation. The lords and ladies of Sukuna’s lands were masters of veiled words and subtle glances, but the tension in the room hung thick, heavier than the richest dish placed before them. 

Despite their attempts at decorum, the undercurrent of discontent was clear. It was in the stiffness of their movements, the too-careful placement of their words, and the sidelong glances they cast in my direction when they thought I wasn’t watching. 

Sukuna, for his part, seemed to revel in it. He sat at the head of the table like a king surveying his domain, his grin sharp and his four eyes gleaming with amusement as he observed their discomfort. 

I matched their stares when they dared to linger, my spine straight, my chin high. I had no intention of faltering beneath their scrutiny. Let them watch. Let them judge. Their opinions meant nothing to me. 

The meal was nearly over when it happened. 

A lady seated near the far end of the table rose suddenly, her silk robes pooling around her feet as her jeweled ornaments caught the light. Her face was painted to perfection, her lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she addressed Sukuna. 

“My lord,” she began, her voice honeyed but carrying a sharp edge. “We have followed you without question. Served you faithfully, even when the cost was great. But this…” Her gaze flicked to me, her smile curdling into something sour. “This decision to place a witch at your side—surely you see how it demeans your station?” 

The room froze. 

The other lords stiffened in their seats, their gazes darting nervously between Sukuna and the woman who had dared to speak. The air grew heavier, charged with the faint crackle of cursed energy that rippled outward from Sukuna as he turned his gaze toward her. 

It wasn’t a sudden burst of rage—it was slow, deliberate, like a storm gathering on the horizon. 

But I didn’t give him the chance to respond. 

I rose from my seat, the smooth fabric of my gown whispering softly against the polished floor as I turned to face her. My movements were slow, deliberate, the pulse of the choker at my throat steady as I let the weight of my presence fill the space. 

“You dare to speak of demeaning him?” I asked, my voice low but razor-sharp. The faint pulse of my magic rippled through the air, coiling outward like the hiss of an unsheathed blade. 

The lady stiffened, her painted smile faltering as she took a small step back. “I meant no offense, only to—” 

“To what?” I interrupted, my tone colder now. “To question his choice? To question me?” 

Her mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out. The lords seated nearby averted their gazes, their discomfort now replaced with outright fear. 

“You think your station protects you,” I continued, my voice soft but dripping with venom. “You think your pretty words and painted face give you power.” I took another step closer, my magic curling around me like smoke. “Allow me to disabuse you of that notion.” 

The choker pulsed sharply, its crimson glow flaring as I extended my hand. The air between us shifted violently, the magic coiling outward in jagged tendrils of light that lashed against the woman’s skin. She gasped, stumbling back as the energy struck her, sharp and unrelenting. 

“Do not mistake my restraint for weakness,” I said, my voice low and deadly. “I could destroy you where you stand. But that would be too kind.” 

The tendrils of magic shifted, tightening around her arms as the crimson light seared against her skin. She screamed, the sound sharp and shrill, as the sigil of Sukuna burned into the flesh of her forearm—a permanent mark, jagged and cruel, glowing faintly with the remnants of my power. 

The room was silent, the weight of my magic pressing down on the gathered lords like an iron hand. 

The woman fell to her knees, clutching her arm as tears streaked the paint on her face. “P-please,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “I meant no harm—” 

“Silence,” I snapped, the magic still coiling faintly in the air around me. “Remember this pain. Remember your place. And do not ever question him again.” 

I released the tendrils of magic with a flick of my wrist, the glow dissipating as the air grew still once more. The woman remained kneeling, her head bowed, her trembling hands cradling the mark on her arm as though it might burn through her entirely. 

The other lords sat frozen, their faces pale, their gazes avoiding mine as though meeting my eyes would summon the same fate upon them. 

I turned to Sukuna, my chest tight as I forced my breath to steady. He was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite place—amusement, certainly, but there was something else in his gaze, something sharper. 

“Are you satisfied?” I asked, my voice calm despite the lingering hum of energy in the air. 

His grin widened, slow and deliberate. “More than you know.” 

Sukuna leaned back in his chair, his crimson eyes sweeping over the stunned lords and ladies before returning to me. “Well done,” he said, his voice low and approving. “It seems you’ve finally made yourself understood.” 

The tension in the room remained thick, but no one dared to speak. The lords sat in their places, their gazes fixed firmly on their plates, their earlier discontent now replaced with silent, trembling compliance. 

I sat down slowly, smoothing the folds of my gown as I reclaimed my place at Sukuna’s side. The choker pulsed faintly against my throat, its rhythm steady, as though echoing the quiet triumph that lingered in the air. 

For the rest of the night, no one spoke out of turn. 

The grand dining hall faded into silence behind us as Sukuna and I stepped into the shadowed corridors of the estate. The faint hum of cursed energy lingered in the air, sharper here, as though the labyrinth itself stirred at his presence. His stride was unhurried, confident, each step echoing faintly against the polished floors. I walked beside him, acutely aware of the space between us—or rather, the lack of it. 

“You didn’t have to escort me,” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. 

He glanced at me, his grin widening just enough to send a ripple of unease down my spine. “No, I didn’t,” he replied smoothly. “But I wanted to.” 

“Why?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. 

“Why not?” he countered, his tone carrying that maddening edge of mockery. “Surely you’re not afraid to be alone with me.” 

“Afraid?” I scoffed, lifting my chin. “Hardly.” 

The low chuckle that followed sent a faint shiver through me, its sound reverberating in the quiet space between us. “Good,” he said softly, his crimson eyes gleaming as they flicked to mine. “Because if I wanted to harm you, little witch, I wouldn’t waste my time walking you to your door.” 

My chest tightened at the words, but I didn’t flinch. Instead, I met his gaze head-on, forcing the tension in my body to steady. “You speak as though your intentions are so much better.” 

His grin sharpened, his voice dropping into a near-growl. “Better? No. But more interesting, perhaps.” 

The air between us grew heavier, the charged tension thickening as his cursed energy brushed against me like a claw trailing over silk. I refused to falter, though the pulse of the choker at my throat quickened in response. 

“You enjoy this,” I said finally, breaking the silence that had stretched between us. “This game of intimidation.” 

“Of course I do,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “But tonight, I’m not trying to intimidate you.” 

“No?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. 

He slowed his pace slightly, his grin softening into something more deliberate, more dangerous. “No,” he said, his tone quiet but charged. “I’m trying to see what lies beneath all that fire of yours.” 

The words sent a ripple of heat through me, but I forced my voice to remain steady. “And what do you think you’ll find?” 

He stopped then, his towering frame casting a shadow over me as he turned fully to face me. The air grew colder, heavier, as his crimson eyes locked onto mine. “Power,” he said simply, his voice low and sharp. “Strength. Defiance. But there’s more, isn’t there?” 

I clenched my hands at my sides, the weight of his gaze pressing against me like an iron hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t you?” he asked, stepping closer. His cursed energy coiled around us like smoke, its weight suffocating and intoxicating all at once. “You may fool the lords with your bravado, but you don’t fool me.” 

My breath hitched, though I refused to let it show. “What is it you think you see, Sukuna?” 

His grin widened, his eyes gleaming with something sharper than amusement. “A spark,” he said, his voice softening into a near-whisper. “One that could burn the whole world down if you let it.” 

The words hung heavily between us, charged with an intensity that made the corridor feel smaller, the air thicker. My chest tightened, the pulse of the choker quickening as I held his gaze, unwilling to look away. 

“And what if I don’t want to burn the world down?” I asked, my voice quieter now, but no less steady. 

“Then you’re lying to yourself,” he said simply, his tone carrying a dark certainty. “Because the fire in you won’t be contained forever. It’s only a matter of time.” 

The gilded doors to my chambers loomed ahead, but I barely registered them. Sukuna’s presence beside me was all-consuming, his cursed energy wrapping around us like smoke, brushing against my skin with a heat that sent shivers racing down my spine. The soft pulse of the choker at my throat quickened, matching the tempo of my heart as the space between us grew thicker, heavier, with each step. 

When we reached the doors, I stopped abruptly, turning to face him with a defiance that felt more like instinct than thought. “This is where I leave you,” I said, my voice steady despite the tension simmering in the air. 

He tilted his head, his crimson eyes narrowing with something darker, more deliberate. “Is it?” he asked softly, the corner of his mouth curling into that maddening, predatory grin. 

Before I could respond, he moved. 

His hand slammed against the door beside my head, the force rattling the gilded wood as his other arm snaked around my waist. The movement was smooth, practiced, leaving me pinned between the cool surface of the door and the searing heat of his body. The scent of him—smoke and something sharp, like scorched steel—filled my lungs, intoxicating and impossible to ignore. 

I gasped, the sound barely escaping before his crimson eyes locked onto mine, their sharp intensity stealing the breath from my chest. His cursed energy coiled around me, pressing against my senses like a physical weight, making the space between us feel impossibly small. 

“You think you can dismiss me so easily?” he growled, his voice low and rough, a dangerous edge lacing every word. “I don’t think so, little witch.” 

The heat radiating from him was almost unbearable, his frame towering over mine, his presence swallowing the air around us. The hand braced beside my head curled slightly, his clawed fingers dragging faintly against the gilded wood as though testing the strength of the barrier between us. 

“Let me go,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended, though the sharpness in my tone refused to waver. 

“Let you go?” he repeated, his grin widening as his other hand tightened around my waist, pulling me flush against him. “Is that what you want?” 

The air between us crackled with tension, the pulse of the choker against my throat steady and insistent as his cursed energy pressed harder, wrapping around me like a vice. My hands twitched at my sides, caught between the instinct to push him away and the maddening pull that drew me closer to him. 

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” I said, my breath hitching as his nose brushed against my temple, his movements slow and deliberate, his lips hovering just beside my ear. 

“You don’t?” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less dangerous. “Then allow me to enlighten you.” 

His teeth grazed the shell of my ear, a sharp nip that sent a jolt of heat coursing through my veins. I sucked in a breath, my pulse racing as his grip on my waist tightened, his thumb brushing deliberately against the curve of my hip. 

“You belong here,” he said, his voice rough and thick with want. “With me. At my side. You’ve felt it, haven’t you? That pull?” 

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat as his lips ghosted along the edge of my jaw, his breath warm and searing against my skin. My hands moved instinctively, bracing against his chest, but the heat of him burned through the fabric of his robes, sending another shiver racing down my spine. 

“I’ll make it simple for you,” he growled, the sound vibrating against my skin as he leaned closer, his lips barely brushing the corner of my mouth. “Say yes. Accept your place at my side.” 

The words were a command, dark and demanding, but there was something deeper in them—a hunger that matched the fire burning in my chest. My breath hitched as his crimson eyes bore into mine, the sharp intensity in his gaze making the world around us blur, fade, until there was only him. 

“And if I don’t?” I asked, my voice quieter now, though the defiance in my tone refused to falter. 

His grin sharpened, the hand braced against the door curling into a fist as his cursed energy surged, pressing harder against my senses until I was drowning in it. “You will,” he said simply, his voice low and certain. “Because you know as well as I do that this is where you belong.” 

The tension between us was suffocating, the heat of his breath brushing against my lips as his gaze flicked down, lingering there for a heartbeat too long. My chest tightened, the pull between us maddeningly irresistible, the pulse of the choker pounding like a second heartbeat. 

“I’ll consider it,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. 

His grin widened, sharp and triumphant, as his hand slid from the door to my chin, tilting my face upward. “Do that,” he murmured, his tone dripping with dark amusement. 

Then, without warning, his teeth found my ear again, a sharp, deliberate nip that sent a jolt of fire racing through me. My breath hitched, my hands curling into fists against his chest as his tongue flicked over the spot, soothing the sting before he pulled back, his gaze gleaming with satisfaction. 

“Goodnight, little witch,” he said, his voice a velvety growl as he stepped away, the absence of his heat leaving the air cold and empty. His cursed energy lingered, brushing faintly against my senses as he turned and disappeared down the corridor. 

I stood there for a moment, my back pressed against the door, my chest heaving as I fought to steady the wild thrum of my pulse. The choker at my throat pulsed faintly, its rhythm slower now but steady, as though echoing the weight of his words. 

And for the first time, I felt the faintest flicker of something dangerous. 

Not fear. Not defiance. 

But want.

dividers by @strangergraphics

AUTHORS NOTE This is my first time really delving into an action heavy chapter, so please show me some grace T-T though I really hope you enjoy it regardless

TAGLIST @slutlight2ndver @surielstea @duhhitzstarr @arcanefeelings @numbuh666 @tejan-sunny @lavenderandoranges @after-laughter-comes-tears @maomimii @theplacetoputfics

[waterlilyspad]

Breaking our Solitude (Chapter 2)

Summary: After a miracle Jayce returns to life in a dead world, it's now up to Viktor and Jayce to start over, hopefully for the better.

Going to errmm loose it your honor.

(Actually, sobbing and kicking the wall, more fluff, flashbacks, are they lovers? Worse. Post season 2, Alternate universe Jayvik)

Above Piltover, beyond rain and wind, and cityscapes of dread and horror sat a perfect patch of time and space. Quiet and chaos, dragon flies and insects flew fluttered along the patchy expanse of grass and life. Here is where Jayce kneeled, his hands now empty, two of his fingers missing entirely as they had been snapped off with the hammer from years of melding with the material. His mantel had now been passed to another and all that was left now was this. His perspective stuck staring out at the horizon now dimming into twilight. Unobscured by the staff of his hammer, he stared out in a quiet contemplation completely bathed in solitude. Existing like this didn’t feel like much, he remembered feeling something at the start of it all perhaps, dread or anger, maybe even despair but now all he felt was quiet and calm, emotions were all but a fever dream now.

After being turned into this, Viktor continued his conquest of Rune Terra bringing every life form to his perfect combine. Meanwhile Jayce spent his first hundred years adjusting to this. He was trapped in those moments before you wake up in morning. A mix of content before drifting off back into the void only to momentarily wake again, it wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t anything either. However, when Viktor returned and became increasingly present in his life, he felt himself wake just a little more than he did otherwise. He liked hearing that voice, something about Viktor’s tone was always soothing. Whatever the hell just happened earlier that day it was all just noise and a hazy memory now. The advent of Jayce looking at himself should’ve been mind-bending and yet it wasn’t. The thing that was however was Viktor’s touch. For the first time in nearly centuries Viktor’s hand laid on his shoulder, so many feelings that had been long since forgotten came back like an eruption of color, for a second purpose was given then it wasn’t. Was this sadness? He felt that empty creep in again and succumbed to it like always. His mind faded back to a dark sleep like the sun creeping down further and further till the colors in the horizon turned to night. Jayce was just that a fading twilight, a shell.

“This should be a monumental moment, conquering the golden boy of Piltover, but it’s not, I am truly sorry it has come to this Jayce, but rest knowing this will be the only place I will not touch in my new world, Farewell.” That mechanical all-encompassing voice rang through Jayce’s ears. What should’ve been a dream was instead a dark void of voices and sounds of memories, not really the sights of them. He stirred awake like usual shortly after, this time noticing the sky was hazy with shades of purples and dark blues. The sun was about to rise, it’s too early to try and think, he should just go back to sleep. But as he peered out to an unobscured horizon, he suddenly noticed Viktor sat just barely out of the corner of his eye next to him, watching the sky beside him. “The sun is about to rise and when it does all of this will never be again.” Viktor said slowly, his words never really registered in Jayce’s mind, but just because they didn’t doesn’t mean he felt they were nothing. In truth he revelled in the sound of company. “I’m giving myself the permission of forgiveness, and hope that wherever you are that you can forgive me too.” Viktor spoke softly before standing and walking in front of Jayce before kneeling. “I’m sorry for robbing you and everyone of this planet a chance to live.” Viktor said his eyes filled with sorrow, “After the sun rises a black hole will appear, it will consume all of this before collapsing into itself.” He explained as his words went into one ear and out the other.

But Jayce was only focused on one thing, those eyes, those pretty golden eyes. He wondered what reaching out would be like, now without 2 fingers, would it even feel nice? What did feeling even feel like? He couldn’t recall.  “After it does, a new world will be made, and with it perhaps new life. I'm sorry I couldn’t fix any of this, I don’t think I could if I tried.” Viktor said as tears ran down his cheeks. “We have some time before the sun rises, perhaps it’s time I tell you something I should have said sooner.” He said his hand wiping his face as he moved in closer than he ever has before. “All of these years, and centuries of nothing I realized that I respected you so highly Jayce, you were everything I wasn’t, not that I didn’t find some kind of worth in myself but that, I wanted to be where you were.” He explained as Jayce silently sat. “If you're still in there, which I hope you aren’t, I haven’t even allowed myself to touch you, paying you company after all of this was all I’d allow myself and even then, it was inherently selfish.” Viktor said as the tears came to a halt, he felt his throat tighten as he continued to explain. “Because up here beyond everything and everyone, you and I were exactly where I wanted us to be.” He said softly as Jayce watched.

Something began to register in Jayce’s mind for once, Viktor’s words slowly began to make sense, it was almost unsettling. Was this feeling? He thought to himself as Viktor scooted closer, his hand resting on Jayce's large still clasped hands manipulating them slowly to move, Jayce felt fire dance between his fingers, if his eyes could light up, they would. He felt Viktor’s cold fingers interlace with whatever fingers he had left, his arms positioned back slightly as Viktor closed in. Sitting between Jayce's legs, their fingers interlinked as he slowly rested his forehead to Jayce, the act of which blew fireworks off in Jayce’s mind. So many sensations in the matter of seconds, touch this is what touch felt like. Viktor continued, “What I’m trying to say is Jayce Talis…” Viktor spoke, his voice softening to a whisper, he swallowed the lump in his throat hesitating to speak, “I…” He choked before wincing, his face relaxing as he sighed his eyes half lidded moved to meet Jayce’s still concentrated ones, “I…I’m so selfish.” He whispered before pressing his lips to Jayce's unmoving petrified ones.

[prongslqvr]

lulls to sleep ~

summary: you have trouble sleeping, and he lulls you to sleep.

warnings: so cute, james with you in bed

notes: please help the writer! reblog and follow me, I do all the requests! 🦌

It was a cold winter morning, and the rain had soaked the large glass windows of the castle. James usually didn’t care about the rain—unless it interfered with Quidditch practice, then he would curse every drop—until he met you.

Just the fact that there were thunderstorms near you made your body shiver and your heart race, which is why James was always by your side. Today was another rainy day in the week, and he hated it because it disrupted Quidditch and, most importantly, you.

Nights were hard without him when it rained.

Today, he stayed by your side the whole day, making jokes or playful remarks to cheer you up. But night came quickly, and he tried to distract you from it. "Love, remember that golden snitch I caught just before time was up, huh?" — "Do you prefer Slughorn or Minnie?"

Your bath was relaxing, warm, and long. When you came out, James was already standing at the dormitory door, waiting for you to open it. When you opened it, he gave you the biggest, most loving smile. And just that sparkle in his eyes behind his round glasses made you feel loved. So very loved.

You returned the smile, letting him in. You lay on the bed first, and moments later, you felt a weight beside you. That feeling of fear melted away, leaving only the true love between you two.

That night was the best of your life, the harsh sound of the rain outside blending with the loud laughter in the air. Bedtime was approaching, and the sleepy feeling in your body too, and James noticed. "Maybe it’s time to sleep, beautiful." — "But... I want to stay with you a bit longer..." your sleepy, needy voice.

"A deal; I’ll rock you to sleep, and when you wake up, I’ll be the first thing you see, hm?" You agreed.

You snuggled into his chest, feeling sleep take over. James' voice was soft and a bit sleepy too. He started:

"Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur... happy kitty, sleepy kitty, purr, purr, purr..." At first, you laughed a little, not believing you would fall asleep to a lullaby. But even before he finished, you were already asleep.

[vanfleeter]

The Gift of Flowers - a soft Jake blurb

How he did it, you would never figure it out. He kept this talent of his a secret from you in order to keep the surprises coming your way. No matter how hard you tried, he still had you surprised whenever you went to open a cupboard door in the kitchen or walked into a different room. He was sneaky and he was determined to keep it that way. Always catching you off guard and it was one of his favorite things to do. Instead of telling you how he pulled up such a trick, he’d simply grin at you and wink. Normally his playful teasing was met with an annoyed eye roll or smacking your lips.

When the two of you had started dating a handful of years ago, he learned all of your favorite things. Movies, books, food, your favorite color, etc. He committed everything to memory. One thing he never forgot was your favorite flower.

At first he started just simply buying them whenever you two went out on dates or just because. He kept the ‘just because’ part going over the years and giving it a twist.

It was just after the first year of being together was complete and he wanted to surprise you with your favorite flowers. There was no date coming up or anything of importance, but it didn't matter to him. He did it because he loved you and because he enjoyed seeing that smile on your face when you found them.

He somehow had managed to leave your apartment very early one morning to sneak out to the flower shop to buy you flowers and hide them before you could wake up. He wanted to brighten your day so he hid a thin bouquet of flowers inside of your medicine cabinet, knowing you’d find them when you opened the mirrored door to grab your toothpaste.

He was right because you came back out to the bedroom with a shy smile on your face. He’d only smile and kiss you, shrugging his shoulders when you asked how he did it, “That’s for me to know.” He says.

“Well thank you,” You say, kissing him again. “I love them.”

“I’m glad you do,” He says.

“You won’t ever tell me your secret ways, will you?”

Jake shakes his head. “Never. It’s more romantic this way.”

He continued doing it more after that. The next time you found flowers from him, they were in the cupboard where you keep the coffee mugs. There was a bouquet of them sitting in a mug. Pulling them out of the cupboard, you smell them and smile at the sweet scent before taking out your phone and sending him a picture of the flowers.

You: How long have they been here?

Jake: Not long ;)

You: How did you get them into my apartment? You’ve been gone for three days.

Jake: I have my ways.

You: That’s creepy, but also sweet. They’re beautiful. Thank you.

Jake: You’re welcome. I’ll be home soon.

On random days you would find flowers in your car, sometimes resting on your reading chair, or a new bouquet in a vase on the kitchen counter note attached and written in Jake’s handwriting. Part of you was convinced that he was a magician, Houdini in fact, with the ways that he slipped in unnoticed, left the flowers, and slipped right back out as if he was never there.

Soon it changed from not only giving you beautiful bouquets, but he would start leaving individual flowers in the pockets of your coat. You remembered one morning on an April morning, as you put on your raincoat, you stuffed your keys into the right pocket when you felt the soft petal against your fingertips.

Pulling the flower out of your pocket, you smile when you see the beautiful color standing out against your skin. You send him the photo of the flower and he instantly replies back:

Jake: A little beauty on this rainy and gloomy day.

You smile again, sticking the flower back into your pocket and heading out into the pouring rain.

Some mornings you would wake up to a single flower placed delicately on the nightstand beside your bed. Once he left one on the pillow beside your head for you to see when you woke up the following morning. Though he refuses to go into your purse, he left a flower inside of it. You discovered it when you were looking for your wallet at the coffee shop.

As he left you flowers in the most random of places, he hadn’t realized you were saving them, hiding them away in your jewelry box. That is until he went in to retrieve a necklace to match your outfit for the evening. Lifting the lid to your jewelry box, he doesn't find your necklace or the multitude of rings you own, he instead finds all of the flowers he has given you over the years. You had cut them from their stems, storing them inside there and letting them dry out.

“I refuse to throw them out,” You say from the doorway.

“I'm surprised you kept them.” He says.

“Hmm, guess I surprised the surpriser.” You say as you kiss his cheek. “I hope you never stop surprising me with them. Though how many other places can you surprise me with them?”

“I have some ideas in mind,” He says. “But I will never stop giving them to you. I love the smile it brings to your face when you find them.”

“Hmm, guess I’ll have to take a page out of your book.” You say, leafing through the dried flowers and picking out your necklace. You place a delicate kiss on his cheek. “What's your favorite flower?”

“I don’t need flowers,” He says. “I find joy just by gifting them to you.”

You clip on your necklace before reaching up to fix the collar on his shirt. “Think of your favorite flower.. Maybe you’ll wake up to some of your own.” You wink at him, kissing his cheek once more and leaving the bedroom.

Jake looks back at the dried flowers and scoffs. “I might like tulips,” He says as he follows you out of the room.

[violetflowers55]

Hot & Cold - Chapter 4

(Dr. Phosphorus x fem!reader)

Synopsis: As much as you want to move on from last night, Phosphorus is making it really hard by looking so hot during battle. He even ends up saving you during battle, so you thank him later on in the bathroom.

Notes: Deviation from canon timeline and events from here on out.

CW: graphic violence (not as graphic as the show), more burning. very minor smut

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alexi pulled up to Nina and The Bride’s location, and everyone rushed into the decrepit mansion looming ahead of you. Inside, you found The Bride, chained up and duct taped.

“It’s a trap of some sort!” Phosphorous shouted.

You all fanned out, preparing for an ambush any moment. After seeing no signs of anyone, Flag ripped the tape of The Bride’s mouth to ask where they were.

“They’re gone!” she shouted.

They bickered for a moment until G.I asked her where Nina was. G.I ran to find her while Phosphorus melted the chains of The Bride.

“Circe and the Sons attacked you… and then they just left you here alive? Why would they do…”

Realization hit you all at the same time.

“Everyone, back to the castle, now!”

You all ran back to the van and got in, this time trying to accommodate for Nina’s new bathtub. Alexi sped off towards the castle, literally running one of the Sons over when you arrived. The Bride and Flag went out guns blazing, casually walking as they shot down the Sons. One guy with a machine guy tried to shoot down Phosphorus, and you watched as he stood to the side and melted the bullets before they even got near him. He lunged forward, punching through the guy

“Shish Kebob!” he laughed as he set the guy on fire.

Fuck, that’s hot.

Distracted, a bullet hit you square in the chest. You looked up to see a 30-year-old loser with a gun standing in front of you. A mixture of shock and horror spread across his face as he watched the bullet fall from your chest, like he had just thrown a coin at you.

“Ow,” you said, walking towards him. Really, it felt like an extra hard flick, but that still pissed you off. For the first time since you had been incarcerated, you let your skin turn to steel. He kept shooting as you walked towards him, but every bullet bounced right off you. As you got closer, he started to run, realizing his gun couldn’t hold you back. You reached out your hand, extending your metal whip from your wrist and wrapping it around his neck. To your delight, he screamed like a baby as you pulled him close. Using his own gun, you shot him point blank in the chest. Poetic justice.

A shout came from behind you as another basement dweller tried to slam the back of your head with the butt of his gun. You whipped around, relishing the fear on his face before you uppercutted him. Your steel hand sliced through his jaw deep into his head. His limp body fell to the ground with a squelch as you removed your fist. God, it had been too long since you took out some asshole men.

Another battle cry started to approach you, but was cut off before he reached you. You turned to see a Phosphorus burning straight through the head of a guy holding a grenade. Releasing the guy, he looked back at you, admiring your new look.

“You should really wear that more often.”

Even in the middle of a fight, he couldn’t stop flirting with you. Before you could retort, bullets began raining down on you. The two of you took cover with the others behind the water fountain.

“You know, most people say thank you when someone saves your life.”

“Not now!”

“That’s ok, I can think of a lot of ways you can thank me later. Wink” he whispered in a low voice, pointing at his face.

Luckily, G.I interrupted the conversation.

“Are these Nazis, General?”

“Yeah G.I. These are Nazis,” Flag answered, seemingly happy G.I’s obsession with Nazis could be put to good use.

A grin grew across G.I’s face as he began shooting like crazy. His abdomen detached and he flew up in the air. Seeing him switch to three guns on each arm, Flag shouted at everyone to hit the dirt. You knew he wouldn’t injure you, but you followed suit anyway. G.I spun around, shooting endless bullets, laughing gleefully over finally being able to shoot Nazis.

Suddenly, with a flash of purple light, he exploded. You gasped as the air cleared to reveal Circe.

“Well, that’s enough of that.”

She blasted the bunch of you by the fountain, sending you flying a few feet. She flew straight for the princess’s bedroom. You started to rise to chase after her, but Weasel beat you to to it. Just as quick as she flew in, she fell back out the window with Weasel on her. Laying on the ground, he viciously scratched away at her back. Phosphorus walked over to her and lifted her chin up.

“I love a good barbecue,” he said before pressing his palm into her face.

Goddamnit, why does he have to be so hot while torturing people?

“You wanted monsters, you got monsters,” The Bride said while Flag watched on in horror.

Eventually, the two stopped and Circe was secured to be sent back to… wherever she was going to go. The princess ran out of the castle, heading straight to Flag and throwing her arms around him. She kissed him, very passionately, much to everyone’s surprise.

“Thank you,” she broke away from him to address the rest of you, “Thank you all so much. I do not know how I can repay you for saving my life.”

“You don’t have to do anything, it’s our job,” Flag responded.

“No, I must do something… a banquet! Yes, we will throw you a banquet to thank you all.”

“Ah, I’m sorry Ilana, but I need to get Circe back to America and these guys back to Belle Reve.”

“We just saved a princess’s life, and our thank you is going back to prison?” Phosphorous angrily chimed in.

“Hardly seems fair,” The Bride agreed.

“Maybe next time we should just let her die. We’ll just go back to prison either way,” you added.

The princess giggled, amused by everyone’s antics. “Surely they have earned one more meal of non-prison grub?”

“Jesus Christ, fine! We’ll stay for the banquet. But we’re leaving right after.”

Everyone made little noises of excitement, even The Bride. Ilana hugged Flag, then ran back to the castle, presumably to order her servants to prepare a banquet. Flag turned to you, looking at your blood-covered hand and blood-stained clothes.

“You need to clean up first.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You opted for a full shower to fully cleanse yourself. The showers at Belle Reve sucked, so you took an extra long time in the shower, enjoying the normal water pressure and steaming hot water. You even treated yourself to their fancy shampoo and conditioner. After all, you helped save the princess’s life. You’d earned fancy shampoo.

When you fingertips started to wrinkle, you forced yourself to step out, wrapping yourself in a plush towel. You stared at yourself in the mirror, brushing your hair and inspecting the fading burns on your neck.

A knock on the door interrupted you. You shouted back that you were in there, but the door swung open. Phosphorus walked in, closing the door behind him.

“What the hell Phosphorous?! I’m in here! What if I was on the toilet?”

“Then at least you wouldn’t be wearing that towel,” his words were teasing, but his tone seemed serious. He stood by the door, hands in his pockets.

“Ugh. What do you want?”

“You never thanked me for saving your life,” he moved behind you, looking at you in the mirror.

“Because you didn’t save my life.”

“Really? A grenade exploding right on you wouldn’t put you out of commission?” He moved closer, placing his hands on the countertop on either side of you. Yet, he didn’t touch you. Somehow, that made the butterflies in your stomach flutter even more than if he was touching you.

“Injure me, maybe, but it wouldn’t kill me.”

“Mm. Then you can thank me for saving you from being injured,” he leaned in close to your ear, still staring at you in the mirror, still not touching you.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

“It’s ok if you can’t say the words. I can think of a few ways you can thank me,” he slid his hands towards you, finally touching you.

You gasped as he ran his hand up your stomach and cupped your breats. Even through the thick towel, you could feel his heat. He pressed a kiss right below your ear, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror, watching for your reaction. Seeing your slack jaw, he pulled your towel down, groping your bare breasts. You moaned as you felt his handprints burn into your skin. He pressed his pelvis into your behind, exciting you even more. Then, he suddenly stepped back, disconnecting from you. The sudden lack of touch was dizzying.

“You’re welcome,” he said as he moved toward the door, the teasing tone in his voice returning.

“Thank you,” you managed to get out as he opened the door. You thought maybe that would get him to stay. As he left, you could’ve sworn he was actually grinning. He closed the door behind him, leaving you wet and horny.

“Goddamnit,” you cursed him as you unwrapped your towel to get back in the shower, deciding to put the detachable showerhead to good use.

[pixellezz]

arcane characters taking you out on a first date!

[[ fluff :3 ]] contains: ᴠɪ , ᴄᴀɪᴛʟʏɴ , ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ , ᴊɪɴx , ᴍᴇʟ -- ᴠɪ !! 🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ - definitely a movie theatre or bowling. - she'd be a nervous wreck, always asking you if you were enjoying yourself. - she'd pay for everything, and if she didn't have enough money to pay, she'd threaten to beat up the manager, obviously not near you. - she wants you to have the best time possible. " you having a good time? " please say yes- please say yes- ᴄᴀɪᴛʟʏɴ !! ‧₊˚🩵✩ - dinner date. - she'd take you out to a high-end restaurant, paying for everything. - she'd be all dressed up, definitely. - after- she'd walk you home, in the rain, with an umbrella as she held your hand. the definition of a rom-com. " goodbye, i had a wonderful time with you tonight... " ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ !! °˖𓍢ִ໋❇️ - she'd take you out to the last drop. - she'd be nervous at first, but when she realized you were having a good time, she'd be way less up-tight. - you two would be drinking and gambling, just having fun overall. - if she kept winning, she'd blame it on you, calling you her 'lucky charm', and always bringing you with her to gamble. " y'know, i might take you out more if you keep making me win, " ᴊɪɴx !! ‧₊˚🩵✩ - she'd bring you to her hideout. - definitely would be showing off her bomb collection, even if you were a little concerned about it. - she'd do your hair and nails in her style, blue and pink nail polish and a braid. - before you came over, she'd install more lights. don't want her date falling off due to the lack of railings. " ooh! look at this one, i love this one!! " ᴍᴇʟ !! °🥂⋆. - you know those places where you take your date to an art studio with alcohol? she'd take you there. - you two would get the best noxian wine. - no matter if you were good at painting or bad at it, she'd make sure to compliment you. - if you didn't want to keep your painting, she'd take it and hang it up in her room. " that is a wonderful painting, dear, you're doing amazing, "

[ladyantiheroine]

Goodwill Towards Men (And Women)

Summary: It's Christmas Eve in Gotham, and the lonely Bruce Wayne is visited by an old friend who disappeared the year before. Read on AO3.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Selina Kyle

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 5.3k words

Tags: Christmas fluff, wholesome, melancholy, reunions, mistletoe, love confessions, tooth-rotting fluff, cozy, sweet, yearning.

Author's Note: These two deserve a sickly sweet happy ending, dammit.

“The blizzard is looking awfully severe,” Alfred said. 

The butler gazed out the window onto the deep blue night. Gotham was blanketed with white slush, the sky a dark blur of snowflakes and high-pitched winds. No doubt even that the large and illustrious Wayne Manor could be snowbound by morning.

“Well, that’s Gotham for you,” Bruce said. “It blizzards in winter, rains the rest of the year.”

The Wayne heir was seated on the red couch in his lounge. After his final Batman outing of the year, he traded his bat suit for pajamas, a robe, and a pair of warm knitted socks. He sat with his feet propped up by the crackling fireplace with a detective novel opened in his lap.

Alfred had convinced him to take some time off from vigilante work until the new year. Bruce has agree to it, but only because it seemed like most of Gotham’s criminals had dialed back their activities this December. On his last few patrols, Bruce only came across a few petty burglaries and muggings. At one point, he got so bored and was tempted to chase down a car going over the speed limit.

Regardless, Gotham had seen its lowest holiday crime rate in a long time, and that was the only reason Bruce agreed to a break. Perhaps it was because of the blizzard. Perhaps it was because of the fiasco with the Penguin that took place one year before. It seemed like Batman wasn’t needed this Christmas season.

Bruce had to admit, it was nice, if a bit strange, to be spending an entire evening at home with no plans. A dinner of warm soup and a robe fresh from the dryer felt comforting on a frosty winter night. It brought him memories of childhood Christmases, of old holidays songs ballooning from his family’s record player and sipping hot chocolate.

However, Bruce quickly realized the downside to too much free time: Boredom. One chapter into the book he was reading, and he’d already guessed the killer and the entire plot twist. The power was fuzzy due to the storm, so Bruce couldn’t watch television. He sat in a massive house with nothing to do.

Alfred lifted a white-gloved finger to the window and drew a smiley face in the condensation. He chuckled to himself, then turned to the Christmas tree in the corner and adjusted one of the flickering lights.

“If not for the storm,” he said. “Perhaps you could have thrown a party. Invited Gordon, perhaps Dent, a few others. Sounds like a much better way to spend Christmas Eve.”

Bruce shrugged.

“Even if there wasn’t a storm,” he said. “Harvey and Jim have families. I’m not going to take them away from them on Christmas Eve.”

“It is good to spend this time with family,” Alfred agreed. He flicked his eyes over his shoulder. “But that includes you too, Bruce.”

Bruce smirked and raised an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you my family, Alfred?”

“Of course, sir. But I don’t think an old man like me alone is fit to keep a man like you entertained.”

“Don’t speak so badly about yourself, Alfred.”

“All I’m saying,” Alfred turned to face him. “This is not a night of the year to be alone with your employee.”

Bruce pursed his lips. The butler had a point.

Alfred shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I told you to rest and I’m giving you trouble.”

“No, Alfred,” Bruce said. “It’s fine. You’re…you’re not wrong.”

The old man nodded, then straightened his coat as if to brush the topic off.

“I’m craving a mug of hot coco,” he said. “Would you like me to make you one as well, Master Bruce?”

“Yes, Alfred. Thank you.”

The butler promptly dismissed himself from the lounge and headed to the kitchen. Bruce slapped his book shut and set it down on the coffee table. He leaned back with a sigh and watched the snowflakes whirling on the wind outside the window. The heat from the fireplace warmed the bottom of his feet.

He mulled over Alfred’s words in his head. The old man wasn’t wrong. Bruce did often feel a creeping loneliness glimpsing him just over his shoulder. Wayne Manor, and its adjacent Batcave, were large and cavernous, filled with long hallways and towering ceilings not meant to contain just one person. His home echoed even the faintest footsteps, reminding you of all the empty space there was.

Sure, Alfred was excellent company. But he was Bruce’s butler as much as his surrogate father, and he could only give him so much. And on nights like this, without a vigilante mission to distract him, Bruce was left alone in Wayne Manor with all its silence and ghosts.

He recalled the last few times he had real guests over. Not just business associates from Wayne Enterprises, but friends he brought over simply for the company.

One name that came to him was Vickie Vale. The sharp and intelligent reporter who used to work for the Gotham Globe. She saw right through him, knew he was more than he pretended to be, and the first person he allowed himself to get close to.

As much as they cared for each other, Bruce was not completely surprised that the relationship dissolved. It was hard to reconcile Bruce Wayne with Batman, not to mention the stress of seeing your loved one walk out the door every night and not knowing for sure if he’d come back alive.

Vickie had left Gotham a long while ago now, no doubt thriving in her photojournalism career somewhere else. In a better city, with better people. Perhaps sleeping in the arms of a man who suited her better. One who was as open as a book with no messy complications that demanded her to contend with, who didn’t require her to stay up at night worried if he would make it home in one piece.

Bruce sighed and rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t been right for Vickie. It seemed like he wasn’t right for a lot of people. 

He struggled to imagine someone who would understand, who knew what it was to have this other half. To disappear into someone else as the night fell, someone else that the world could never see.

Then, something flickered like an old, dusty bulb in his head. A memory, two faces that came together, one of a meek blonde secretary and the other of a thief clad in stitched black leather.

“Selina Kyle.”

Her name fell from his mouth. It had been a year since he uttered it and it felt both strange and familiar on his tongue. Selina. Another intelligent, bespectacled blonde who wasn’t fooled by Bruce’s brooding billionaire front (Alfred joked that he had a type). Her memory brought back physical sensations. Her blonde curls in his fingers, her red lips on his mouth, her feline purr in his ear.

Bruce hadn’t thought of her in twelve months. Or, more accurately, hadn’t allowed himself to think of her. Probably because on some level, he knew she had…well, sunk her claws into him more than any other woman. His past paramours had either been temporary flings or public stunts. Simply decorations for his carefully crafted playboy persona. Vickie had come close to something genuine, but even that couldn’t last once Bruce and Bat became one before her. The duality didn’t make sense to her.

But Selina…got it. 

Bruce had sensed it even before they learned each other’s identities. Before the masks were unveiled, it’s like they were kindred spirits. Two unusual people—freaks—playing the role of normal adults in the daylight.

But once night fell…the bat and the cat came out to play.

Selina innately understood Bruce in a way no one else did. She knew what it was to have this darker half, this Mr. Hyde to one’s Dr. Jekyll. To know that certain things could only be achieved by putting on a mask and calling yourself something other than…well, you.

The last time Bruce spoke to Selina, he made her an offer: Stay with him. Live in Wayne Manor, where they could finally join as equals. But Selina refused, and with Penguin defeated, she disappeared into the darkness. All that was left of her was a black cat that found its way to Bruce from an alleway.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Bruce heard a soft meow from the door. He turned to see the black cat, the one he found just last year, sauntered into the room. It leapt onto the couch and curled into his lap.

“Hey there,” Bruce said softly. He grinned and stroked a hand down the cat’s back. The creature purred and nuzzled into him.

He named the cat Lucky, as it was believed black cats were bad luck, but hoped the name would cancel that superstition out. Lucky had been living in Wayne Manor, mostly keeping to himself and licking from milk bowls that Bruce left out.

For a moment, Bruce entertained the fantasy that Selina had left Lucky behind purposefully. Like a substitute, since she couldn’t stay herself. As pleasant as Lucky’s company was, Bruce imagined what this year’s Christmas would look like if Selina had chosen to stay with him. He pictured her seated next to him on the couch, the two of them close together in comfortable silence. Lucky would nestle on Selina’s lap while she flipped through her own book, sipping eggnog from a mug. She would be in a lovely nightgown and robe, maybe some cat slippers, curled next to him like they were an old married couple.

Bruce chuckled. After all this years, he didn’t think he had that kind of sentimentality in him. But he kept imagining it, her blonde frizz resting on his shoulder, dozing off in the warmth while the outside world drew colder and darker. The scene in his head made something curl into him, made something tighten in his chest.

“Coco, Master Bruce.”

Alfred’s voice snapped Bruce from his reverie. Alfred appeared in the doorway with two steaming mugs in his hands.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce said as his butler handed him a mug.

The old man took a sip from his own cup, wiping the brown residue from his mustache. He glanced down at the black feline in Bruce’s lap.

“Good to see Master Lucky has come out of hiding for Christmas Eve,” he said.

The two of them sipped from their mugs. Alfred finished his quickly and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief.

“I’m feeling a bit tired, sir,” he said. “I think I may go to bed early tonight. Unless you need anything else.”

“I’m good, Alfred,” Bruce said. “Thank you. Get some rest.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

Alfred disappeared down the hall. Bruce set his half-full, lukewarm mug on the coffee table. He sighed and absentmindedly pet Lucky between the ears.

He hadn’t thought of Selina for a year. And now that he started, he couldn’t stop. Her name looped in his head like a record,

Selina. Selina. Selina. 

Bruce’s eyes wandered over to the liquor cabinet in the corner of the room opposite to the twinkling tree. A strange part of him felt crude for craving a glass. Christmas was a time for hot chocolate and eggnog, not bitter brown whiskey.

For a brief moment, Selina’s mischievous voice whispered in his ear. One glass won’t hurt, will it? 

He smirked.

He wondered where she was spending the holidays this year. Was she staying in a better apartment in a better city? Was she still running her hands along diamonds and art exhibits? What did she want for Christmas? Maybe some new collars for her cats? A new coat to keep her warm when she walked home in the chill? A new pair of boots when the old ones worn out from nights running on rooftops?

Bruce halted his thoughts. He was doing it, wasn’t he? He shook his head to rattle the images from his head. There was no point in fantasizing about a woman who wasn’t his. Selina made her decision clear that night in the sewers.

Miss Kyle has been a mousy secretary once, one who berated herself for her loneliness and single life. And it made her miserable. Becoming Catwoman was possibly the best thing that happened to her. She was finally free, uninhibited, unashamed. And Bruce was not one to try and declaw a wild creature.

After all, was he not also a wild creature who didn’t want his wings clipped?

Bruce gently moved Lucky off his lap and stood up. The clock on the mantle told him it was nearing midnight. Tomorrow was Christmas and Bruce needed some sleep.

Before he could put out the fireplace, he paused. His ears perked up, listening past the crinkle of the flames. There was a faint sound coming from the library. Bruce paused for several moment, listening just beyond the door.

One of the perks of becoming a vigilante was that your senses were sharpened. You trained your body to see and hear better, to detect enemies faster. And every one of Bruce’s instincts were telling him someone was in the library.

He began taking quiet steps towards the library. His hands were slow on the doorknob, turning it and pushing it open, all the while his ears perked.

The library was pitch black, save for the moonlight spilling from the arching windows. There was a thickness in the air. Space being taken up, oxygen being sucked up. Bruce stepped inside and flicked his eyes around.

“Someone here?” he called.

A cold breeze brushed through the room. Bruce found a lightswitch on the wall by the door and alighted the room. In a split second, he saw a shadow disappear behind one of the bookshelf. Maybe he was just seeing things, but he swore he saw the zipper of a black leather boot.

“Come on out, now,” he said. “Show your face, and I maybe I won’t call the police.”

No verbal response. Bruce moved slowly into the library, his socks quiet on the wooden floor. Meanwhile, Bruce heard a click that could only come from a pointed heel on a hard wood floor.

“You know,” he said. “If you’re going to break into someone’s home and steal from them, it probably helps to have practical shoes.”

Bruce turned and walked down an aisle between two shelves. He could hear a very soft breath on the other side of the shelf. They were the kind of double-sided shelves that public libraries had. Slowly, he pulled a large, thick book from the shelf. He peeked through the gap into the aisle over.

There, just as he suspected. In the book-sized gap, he saw a swath of black latex with silver stitiching.

It was her.

Catwoman.

Suddenly, the feline thief rushed out of the aisle in the direction of the library door. Bruce darted out the aisle to see Catwoman’s leather silhouette running toward the exit. He hurled the heavy book at the door, and it just missed her head as it pushed ti shut and activated the automatic lock. 

“Shit!” Selina hissed.

Bruce hurried over and as Selina tried to pull open the heavy door. She sneered down at the hefty, hardcover volume on the floor.

“The Complete Works of William Shakespeare,” she read on the cover. “That thing could have knocked my head off.”

“My apologies,” Bruce said. “If I knew I’d have to stop you, I could have picked some Charles Dickens.”

Bruce trailed his gaze over her. Clearly, it wasn’t just Selina’s wit that hadn’t changed. For a brief moment, Bruce felt like it was twelve months prier, and he was sitting on the couch in the parlor, across from a smirking blonde secretary who made his heart skitter. Or dangling from a building while she sneered at him through a mask.

A normal man would have been shocked to find someone breaking into his home. To see someone from his past emerge from the shadows after a year.

But Bruce was not normal. And neither was the woman in front of him.

“I thought you were dead,” he said.

Selina turned to face him and held his gaze. Bruce’s eyes were soft and his hands were where she could see him. No hidden bat toys on him. Her posture loosened a little when she realized he wasn’t going to fight her.

“I thought you would have better security,” she said. “You’d think the richest man in Gotham would have more cameras.”

“Why would I? It keeps interesting company out.”

A brief smirk crossed Selina’s lips.

“I thought you’d be asleep by now,” she said. 

Bruce slipped his hands into the pockets of his robe. His eyes kept flicking to the whip looped around her belt.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” he said. “No one sleeps tonight. Children are up waiting for Santa Claus. And apparently I’m up waiting for cat burglars.” 

He glanced up to the glass hole Selina cut from the glass ceiling. It was just big enough for a person of Selina’s size to shimmy through it with a rope. Miss Kyle was thin, but the hole was still large enough to send a flurry of moonlit snowflakes inside.

Bruce brought his gaze back down to Selina.

“Care to explain why you’re letting a draft into my library?” he asked.

Selina wouldn’t look him in the eye. She gazed to the side on the carpet and shrugged.

“Just came back into town,” she said. “Someone else has already snatched up my old apartment…and the hotel rooms have gotten pricier since last year.”

Selina pursed her lips and Bruce sensed there was an “And” she wasn’t saying. She came to Wayne Manor to steal. Money, jewels, anything she could use to get a warm place to sleep for the night.

But she’d been to Wayne Manor before. She knew the estate was remote, not the place you stumble upon by accident. And it wasn’t like Bruce Wayne was the only guy in Gotham with rich valuables lying about his house.

Selina didn’t just steal from the first house she saw. But Bruce kept his lips sealed.

“I guess this is the part where you call the cops and arrest me,” she said. “I’m sure the GCPD still wants me for the murder of Max Shreck.”

Call the authorities. Another thing that a normal man might do in these circumstances. But once again, Bruce was not a normal man. 

Bruce shook his head.

“You know, Selina,” he said. “If you needed some extra cash, all you had to do was ask.” He took a few tentative steps closer to her. “I know you’re not the kind of woman who likes to rely on men for that stuff. But there’s nothing wrong with asking a friend for help. I wouldn’t expect anything in return.”

He stopped a few feet in front of her and waited for a response. Selina’s eyes flicked him up and down.

“I didn’t think you considered me a friend,” she said. “After the way I left you last time.”

When she rejected his proposal to stay with him. When she was shot multiple times. When she disappeared after electrocuting Max Shreck.

“No hard feelings,” he assured her. “I understand why you left.” He chuckled a little and shook his head. “Honestly I’m…I'm just happy to see you’re okay. You know, after all this time.”

Not just okay. Alive. Back from the dead like a literal Ghost of Christmas past.

Something softened in Selina’s eyes. She reached up and pulled the stitched mask off her head. Her blonde frizz sprung free from the latex. A puff of snowflakes fell from the hole in the ceiling.

“It’s freezing in here,” Bruce said. He turned and unlocked the library door. He held it open for her. “It’s warmer in the parlor, if you’d rather talk in there.”

Selina raised an eyebrow, a smirk creeping onto her face.

“Just promise not to lock the doors while I’m in there,” she said.

“Promise not to break my windows,” Bruce retorted.

The two of them retreated into the parlor and Bruce shut the door behind them. He kept waiting for Selina to pounce, to race to nearest door and get out. Instead, Selina’s eyes glazed over the fireplace, the Christmas tree and the lights strewn about the walls.

“Does the whole manor look like this?” she asks.

“Just about,” Bruce said. “Alfred likes to decorate.” He nibbled his lower lip. “And I kind of do too.”

Selina smirked and turned on her heels to face him.

“A big house,” she said. “A lot of work for a home with only two people in it.”

“Well…I haven’t been as busy as usual. A lot more time on my hands recently.”

“You poor thing.” Selina sauntered closer to Bruce. “Gotham hasn’t been feeding its…nocturnal animals, recently?”

Bruce snickered.

“I guess even criminals need a holiday, do they?” he said.

At that moment, a loud gust of wind past the windows and made the glass shake. A chaotic swirl of snowflakes past the window, mingling in the mist that obscured the horizon.

“That blizzard is getting worse,” Bruce said. “How the hell did you travel through that?”

Selina twisted her lip.

“I caught a ride to Gotham,” she said. “Wasn’t so bad when I got here.”

“Still, weren’t you freezing? I don’t know how temperature controlled that catsuit is.”

Selina didn’t respond. Her eyes lingered at the window, the dark evening that was growing fatally cold as the time ticked past midnight. Bruce could tell what she was doing. She was calculating the risks of leaving, going back out into the streets and trying to find a lodging before hypothermia could get her. Shivering on the road like a stray cat.

Bruce just couldn’t let that happen.

“Selina,” he said.

Selina turned to meet his eyes. Round, pale blue eyes like moonstones. The kind that could glow in the dark. See through the dark.

“I won’t ask you to stay,” he said. “But, if you need somewhere warm to stay for Christmas…you’re welcome here.”

Selina looked at him for a long moment. Bruce didn’t expect a yes from her. She came and got what she wanted. She had no reason to stay and he didn’t expect her to.

So it was a pleasant surprise when her eyes flicked him up and down, twisting her lips in consideration. She sauntered up closer to him, close enough that she would almost sense his heartbeat under his robe.

“I’ve got most of my stuff in storage,” she said. “I really don’t want to go to sleep in this thing.”

Bruce glanced down at the right leather clasping her from head to toe.

“I don’t have any women’s nightwear,” he said. “But…I’ve got some oversized shirts that might be more comfortable.”

Selina smirked and grazed her hand down the back of Bruce’s head.

“Sounds cozy,” she said.

Her voice was a low breath on his lips. Bruce was going to tell her that Wayne Manor had several bedrooms that could serve as a guest lodging, but that thought escape him.

“That California king you mentioned at the charity ball,” he said. “I managed to snatch it up after Shreck’s shut down.”

“Really?” she said.

“It’s nice. But…I don’t think it was made for one person to sleep in.”

Selina pet her fingers through his hair and pressed her other hand to his chest. Her fingers brushed just under the folds of his robs over his white undershirt. 

“Big house of lights, big empty bed,” she mused. “You’ve got a lot of empty space that needs filling, Bruce.”

Bruce pressed his forehead against hers.

“Yeah, I do,” he said.

The two of them were quiet for a few minutes. Selina’s eyes flicked up to the diamond chandelier on the wall. That’s when she saw it, handing from the center point of the ornate fixture: A leafy fleck of green with white berries in a red bow.

Selina looked at Bruce.

“Did you put that there on purpose?” Selina asked.

“If I say yes, will you think I’m clever for it?” he asked.

Then, Selina’s smirk softened into a smile. She cupped a hand on the back of Bruce’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss. Bruce’s heart riccochetted in his ribs. It had been so long since Selina kissed him that he’d almost forgotten the effect it had on him. He melted into her, a small sigh escaping his throat.

When their lips came apart, Bruce was red as a cherry and he knew even the dim chandelier lights couldn’t hide. Selina giggled at his expression.

“I guess you were right,” she said. “A kiss can be deadlier if you mean it.”

Bruce felt something cool on his lips. He touched his bottom lip with his finger and it came back rouge red.

“Fresh lipstick,” he said. “Do you freshen up for all your robberies?”

“A girl likes to be put together,” Selina said.

“Did you come here planning to kiss me?”

“If I say yes, will you think I’m clever for it?”

Bruce chuckled and threaded his fingers between Selina’s. Within a few minutes, the fireplace was reduced to a smouldering woodpile of smokey wisps. Upstairs, the door to the master bedroom was firmly shut.

~

Selina woke to sunlight on her eyelids. It took her a few moments to recollect where she was. The bedsheets beneath her body were freshly clean, the mattress thick and fluffy, the duvet of luxurious silk. If a woman like her was sleeping in a bed like this, that meant there was one place she’d stumbled back to.

Sunlight spilled from the arching window of Bruce Wayne’s bedroom. It draped across the bed as Selina sat up and rubbed her eyes. Her makeup was still on, as she saw her eyeliner and mascara black on her fingertips. Clearly, she was too distracted last night to wash up in the bathroom.

Her mind gathered together the memories form last night. She returned to Gotham, and what started as a robbery of Wayne Manor ended with her stumbling into bed with Bruce Wayne. She smiled and her lips buzzed with memories of smearing his skin with rouge.

While it was sunny on the snow outside, it was still late December and a wintery chill ran through the house. Selina was dressed in one of Bruce’ oversized shirts and her underwear, her suit a pile on the floor. She quickly found one of his spare robes on a hanger and wrapped herself in it. It was warm, despite benign fresh from the wash, it still smelled like him.

Downstairs, she heard music playing from a record player. One of those Christmas oldies that languished in the air like the smell of coffee. As Selina approached the kitchen, she heard a sizzle of a pan and the savory scent of bacon.

In the kitchen, Alfred was standing at the stove cooking. Bruce sat at the table, drizzling maple syrup onto a tall stack of chocolate chip pancakes. He sat up straight, his eyes alighting when Selina sauntered in.

“Just in time for breakfast,” he said.

Selina pursed her lips and grinned. She wasn’t sure if she’d be staying long in the morning, but the third plate and silverware set up on the table across form Bruce told her otherwise.

“Merry Christmas, you two,” she said.

Alfred moved the bacon off the pan onto a plate, then turned to face Selina. Over his uniform was a white apron with cartoon Santa Claus on the front.

“Miss Kyle,” Alfred said. “I take it you slept well.”

Selina’s face flushed warm and she glanced at Bruce. He slowed his mouth over a forkful of pancake and gave her a wink. He must have informed Alfred with morning that they had an unexpected guest. Selina grinned.

“Yes, I did,” she said.

“Take a seat. Pancakes are ready, and bacon will be soon.”

Selina tightened the knot on her robe and took a seat across from Bruce at the table. She reached for the stack of pancakes and began piling her plate.

“Hope you don’t mind I borrow the robe,” she said.

“Of course,” Bruce said. He gave her a sly look. “Only if you remember to return it.”

Selina returned the look.

“No promises,” she said. She shrugged. “I can be a bit forgetful.”

Alfred brought over the plate of bacon and Selina’s stomach audibly gurgled. She stacked a few strips on her palte, drizzled her pancakes, then went to eating. At some point during breakfast, she noticed some spots of color on Bruce. His neck. His jawline, a faint one on his cheek. Little remnants of Selina’s lipsticks where she kissed him there…and there…and there…

Selina finished her bacon and wiped the grease from her lip with a napkin. She reached across the table and rubbed at the stain on Bruce’s cheek.

“I made a mess, did I?” she said.

Bruce scoffed and glanced shyly at his lap.

“Alfred was teasing me this morning,” he said.

“As he should.”

The two of chatted for an hour more until both their plates were scraped with syrup, grease and smudges of chocolate. Alfred put their dishes away in the washer before excusng himself to the bathroom. Selina glanced at Bruce across the table and fiddled with a loose thread on her sleeve.

“I guess I should be leaving soon,” Selina said. “The blizzard is past. It should be safer to commute outside.”

“On Christmas Day?” Bruce said. He reaced across the table and placed a hand on hers. “I don’t know I can allow that.”

Selina raised an eyebrow.

“You want to spend Christmas with a thief,” she said.

“I want to spend Christmas with Selina Kyle, the woman I fell in love with.” 

Those words sent a tremor through the room. Selina’s eyes widened and her lip parted. Even Bruce seemed a little thrown off by what he said. But he pursed his lips and squeezed her hand. 

“I’ve missed you, Selina,” he said. “I’ve missed you since last year and I’m not ready to watch you leave again.”

There was something pleading in his gaze. Selina felt something strange curl in her stomach. It was an unusual situation to find herself in. Someone was asking her to stay. Someone wanted, pleaded, for her to stay in their company. She couldn’t recall a time in the past that someone longed for her like that.

She bit her bottom lip and grinned.

“I guess one more day couldn’t hurt,” she said. “Only if Alfred is cooking dinner. That man is magic in the kitchen.”

“He is,” Bruce said. “He’s making a Christmas turkey with mashed potatoes. Open a bottle of red. Have some Christmas pudding for dessert.” He smiled. “Maybe you should stay for New Years too. I’ve already ordered a bottle of champagne and Alfred and I aren’t finishing it on our own.”

Selina covered her mouth while she tried to suppress a laugh.

“Is this a visit or a vacation, Bruce?” she said.

“It’s an invitation,” Bruce said. His face softened. “My offer from last year always stands, Selina. I won’t make you do anything, but…I want you to stay. I want to make you happy. You deserve it after…well, everything.”

Selina’s heart squelched in her chest.

“I can’t promise I’ll behave,” she said. “I’m not the girl I was last December, Bruce. I’ve changed a lot. I can’t promise that Catwoman didn’t come with me when I returned to Gotham. And she’s not an animal I can tame.”

“I hope so,” Bruce said. “Gotham’s been awfully boring without her.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” Selina pursed her lips. “I’ll consider it. I’ll give you until the new year to convince me.”

Bruce grinned and squeezed her hand.

“Challenge accepted.”

[moregraceful]

#rattling the windows of the nyt LET ME IIIIIINNNNNNN I WANNA READ THIS SO BADLY STOP PUTTING INTERESTING ARTICLES BEHIND A PAYWALL (@proceedwcandy)

no worries comrade I got you anytime 🫡 if the Athletic did not want me to wholesale copy and paste their articles then they should consider not putting ads in the app that I pay money for

What Sharks players got wrong (and have learned) about living in San Jose By Corey Masisak Mar 31, 2023

The idea for this edition of The Athletic’s ongoing series of stories called “What I Got Wrong” came from Nico Sturm.

Like Sturm, I recently moved to San Jose — it will be 15 months ago on April 10. When someone asked him early this season how he was adjusting to living here, he responded with, “It’s colder here than I expected.” Sturm began his NHL career in Minnesota, with a brief stop in Colorado last season.

Save for a 10-month hiatus in Charlotte, North Carolina, I spent my entire life living in the Northeast, or close enough to it — Pennsylvania, Washington, D.C. and New York City. I’d been to San Jose for work a few times, to San Francisco for work once and spent a couple days at an NHL owners’ meeting on the 17-mile drive (Spanish Bay, though the hotel I stayed at felt a million miles away from the majesty of those golf courses, both literally and figuratively).

The day I was offered the opportunity to move here and cover the Sharks, I didn’t know a lot about the area — all of my time in San Jose was spent downtown. I did a lot of research before actually moving out here, but a few things still surprised me. Like Sturm, the weather was one of them.

We have what I’d consider three seasons here, which is more than I expected. I thought it was going to warm and … slightly less warm. I love that my collection of hoodies and vests and other spring/fall-related clothes didn’t get left in boxes at my mom’s house in Western Pennsylvania. I love that there was snow on the mountains behind the foothills on March 30, even if there has been a lot of rain in 2023.

The other thing I got wrong was the food. My expectations were, let’s call it measured, after living in Manhattan for most of the past 10 years. I knew about the spaghetti at OJ’s and the burritos at La Vic’s, but there is so much great food here, and so many people, a lot of whom I’ve never met, have helped me discover it.

So when I had to think of an idea for a “What I Got Wrong” story, I remembered that chat with Sturm. And I thought, what if I ask a bunch of Sharks what they got wrong about living here?

Some of the answers are similar. Some are not. Marc-Edouard Vlasic wins the award for making me laugh the hardest with his very unexpected response.

What did you know about San Jose before moving here?

Erik Karlsson: I came here at least a few times. I didn’t know much. I knew Santana Row, and the area around it. I knew Napa was close, and San Francisco.

Logan Couture: I didn’t know where it was. I thought it was near Mexico. We didn’t learn a lot of American geography. I started watching more Sharks games on the bus in Ottawa when Jamie McGinn got drafted, but I never looked it up on a map. That obviously feels dumb now looking back at it, but I was 18.

Marc-Edouard Vlasic: Nothing.

Noah Gregor: Nothing. The Sharks – that’s about it.

Kevin Labanc: I knew absolutely nothing. I thought it was going to be a beach town, like San Diego.

Mario Ferarro: Nothing.

Matt Benning: I thought we were in a drought? That’s about it.

Nico Sturm: What did I know about San Jose? The tech bubble. That’s about it.

Oskar Lindblom: I knew about Santana Row, but that was pretty much it. And the weather was always nice.

Steven Lorentz: I wasn’t a huge California expert, but beaches and palm trees and warm weather. Also, with San Jose, I just knew it was Silicon Valley.

Kaapo Kahkonen (He rattled off a bunch of places. Kahkonen clearly did more homework than his teammates): I grew up in Europe and when I was younger, my goal was to play over here. I’m not saying I did research on every NHL city, but I did learn about California, the Midwest, the East Coast.

Jacob MacDonald: Just that it is ridiculously expensive. That was one of the first thoughts I had. Then a couple of the guys talked about how nice the weather is. Somebody the first couple of days I was here was complaining about how cold it was. I was like, “It just snowed eight inches at my place in Colorado. I think we’re doing OK here.”

Radim Simek: I knew Tommy Hertl. Other than that, nothing. I knew it was in California. It was pretty crazy. I started talking to them in like January or February and I signed my contract in May. I was just trying to learn English. I didn’t have time to learn about (the city).

What did you get wrong, or what surprised you after living here?

Karlsson: How beautiful it is. I think the nature is pretty hard to beat anywhere you go, or at least anywhere I’ve been that’s not a tropical island. I just like the mountains the greenery and the ocean. You get a lot of different things that you don’t in most other places in the U.S.

Couture: Around the time I got drafted, they had the San Jose Stealth lacrosse team, and my dad reffed some games here. And I came out for some camps, so we talked about the weather first off, just that it was incredible. It was such a different day-to-day life than I was used to. The people are different, the food is different, the culture is a bit different, although Ontario is very multicultural now. There are a lot of good places to eat. I’ve learned over 14 years that you can get every type of food in a lot of good restaurants. And the people are extremely nice. At first, I thought it was going to be different than Canada, but people are really nice here as well.

Vlasic: I didn’t know you had to pay for your water. That surprised me. You pay for the water and it’s crap.

Wait … so you didn’t pay for water in Quebec?

No. We have huge dams up north, and the water is fantastic. You can drink it right out of the faucet. It doesn’t rot your pipes. At one point, I was like why are all my silver kitchen faucets corroded? There’s so much corrosion. But I have to pay for it? And I can’t drink it? There’s a lot of calcium in it. That shocked me. But the weather is very nice. And the people are very nice. It’s very dog-friendly here, and I really enjoy that. Quebec is (dog friendly) but not as much as here. I can bring my dogs anywhere here.

Gregor: I know it hasn’t been as good this year because of the way we’ve been playing, but the fans are unbelievable. I never really expected a California team to have fans show up and support us like they do here. I know a lot of my buddies from around the league always say when they come into the Shark Tank and it’s bumpin’ it’s one of the best arenas in the league to play in.

Labanc: I remember asking one of the guys here, like what should I pack? Should I just bring shorts, or will I need long sleeves and sweaters? I thought it was just going to be 70, 80, 90 degrees all year round but you get here and find out that the winters are colder. It can get pretty chilly. You can see snow on top of the mountains. There’s so much to do around here, and it’s nice to be in a community where people are so involved. It’s not like one big town, it’s a bunch of little towns spread across the area.

Ferraro: The immediate thing was California, so I was like warm weather always, beaches everywhere and celebrities like Hollywood. But then I realized that California is very big. The weather does get cold, and the beaches aren’t out your front door, and Hollywood is a five-hour drive. But, the weather is still phenomenal and way better than anything I dealt with in Toronto, there are still beaches and I don’t mind commuting to them. The nature, the views, the mountains, there are a lot of great things. So it exceeded my expectations in the end, but when I first came here for a camp and was staying in a hotel in downtown San Jose, it wasn’t quite what I expected. Now that I’ve lived here for three years, I know I like it a lot.

Benning: I didn’t have a lot of expectations. Everywhere you go is different. Coming from Tennessee, I guess I thought the Cali lifestyle is pretty laid back, but in reality people are always going here, working hard. Maybe at the beach, people are just chilling out, but from what I’ve seen people work a lot here and they work hard.

Sturm: The weather has not been what I expected. I thought it would be a little warmer throughout the winter, though all the guys have said this was not the usual. So the weather, and how multicultural it is. It’s really a melting pot. I guess that’s because of the location, right? And the tech industry. It’s really an interesting mix of people, so that has been interesting. That wasn’t something I realized before coming here.

Lindblom: It didn’t really surprise me, but I have a dog and we go on a lot of walks, and there’s just a lot of beautiful nature around here. A lot of new places to see. The longer I’m here, the more I like it.

Sturm: There are a lot of different backgrounds here. It’s been interesting to learn about all the diversity here. It’s just a really cool community. I was definitely wrong about all the sunshine. It’s been freakin’ raining like, all the time and a little chilly, but otherwise, it’s been great.

Kahkonen: The guys have said that it has been raining way more than normal this year. That’s the only thing I’ve really been surprised about.

MacDonald: I was right about it being so expensive, but it’s just such a nice place to live. It’s sunny all the time. That’s one of the things I loved about Colorado too was all the sunshine. Everything here is really close. That’s one thing I didn’t expect. Depending on where you live, either rink is like 5-10 minutes away. Colorado was the opposite — everything was super spread out.

Simek: I’m not a big fan of big towns or shopping areas. But I was surprised by the people. They are so friendly here. It is much different than in the Czech Republic. Also when you order things, they come so quick here.

Do you have a favorite place after settling in that you didn’t know about before moving here?

Karlsson: I live in Los Gatos now, so I’d say that. It’s close to the beach and to the mountains. It’s easy to get anywhere from there. I was surprised there was a neighborhood like that. Well, there are numerous neighborhoods like that here.

Vlasic: Tahoe. I like to go on the Nevada side. It’s a little quieter.

Gregor: Carmel for sure is my favorite place. I hadn’t heard of it at all and I’ve been there about three times in the past year alone. I just love the small, kind of European vibe to it. You’re right on the beach. It’s my favorite spot in the area.

Labanc: Napa. It’s just … I love going up there. Lake Tahoe, like if we want to get some snow around Christmas time, we head up to the mountains. And definitely Carmel-By-The-Sea. That’s a beautiful spot. That definitely wowed me the first time.

Ferarro: I think it’s the 17-mile drive, Pebble Beach, Carmel. That whole area is sick. Santa Cruz isn’t my go-to but it’s still really nice. I also really like Campbell and Los Gatos. Even downtown, I don’t hang out there a lot, but there are a couple nice museums I’ve been to.

Sturm: I don’t know if it’s a hangout spot per se, but my girlfriend and I really like Boba Guys on Santana Row. It’s funny, because we’re both coffee drinkers, so we’d go to Starbucks every day in Minnesota, and I was spending $15, $16 every day. So we got this really nice Swiss coffee machine from Europe. Now I haven’t been to Starbucks all year because of this coffee machine … but now I spend $15 at Boba Guys instead.

Lindblom: I drove down to Santa Cruz, and that was really beautiful. It was fun watching the surfers in the water. Back home, we don’t really have that. Half Moon Bay was really nice too, and all the wineries around. It’s different from what I’m used to.

Kahkonen: There are a lot of opportunities for hiking or walking on the beach. The one really cool thing we did was the 17-mile drive and saw Pebble Beach, Carmel. We went for lunch at the golf club there. I don’t really golf, but that was pretty cool. So I guess I’ve been surprised by just how many things like that there are to see here. I’m also a big wine guy, and there is a lot of that around. I read somewhere that all this snow is going to be good for the vineyards, so maybe there will be some really good vintages in a few years.

Some more Nico lore from Corey Masisak's Sharks coverage:

The only thing he knew about San Jose before moving there was the tech industry

After moving to SJ he was surprised by the weather & the level of multiculturalism. He also mentions the tech industry has "an interesting mix of people" lmao

He & his partner used to spend $15 for coffee at Starbucks in Minnesota but after they bought a home coffee machine they stopped going to Starbucks & spend $15 at Boba Guys instead

From this article: www . nytimes . com/athletic/4367590/2023/03/31/sharks-san-jose-living/ (the other players' answers are also pretty interesting/funny - peep Vlasic complaining about having to pay for water vs. in Quebec)

BOBA GUYS????? BOBA GUYS FROM MY FANFIC?????

My favorite thing about this article is how they continuously doxx themselves. My second favorite part is how they all sound so scared by how friendly Californian are. Sorry Sharkies it is in our culture to be nice and not haters!

You know I did read this article way back when it was published and the ONLY thing I internalized was Pickles complaining about the water. Because he is RIGHT. The water in San Jose SUCKS. It's undrinkable!! It tastes so bad!! I wrecked more than Britta container bc of the calcium deposits. I had to throw out a tea pot at one point. And it's like why am I paying for something that is destroying every part of my bathtub. HE IS RIGHT TO COMPLAIN

thank you anon I forgot about this article and it's a delight!!

[fidgetspringer]

The first page of a sketchbook is like the first pancake. Always a bit fucked.

[lucalicatteart]

 sculpted a strange shimmery two headed snail, speckled with wild flowers on it's shell~

[lynx-doodles-indie-games]

FINALLY got the designs of the canon iterators nailed down. credit to @/poppy-purpura for the inspo with purple sig! it has nestled itself into my brain and will not leave. please. someone send help. it's tearing up the blankets.

i've also been playing with features of medibang and using ancient digital coloring tutorials so the colors i initially used got warped. below the cut are my colors and the sketchbook sketch that inspired this!

[brklynbxby]

The air, far from offering the clarity they sought, was thick and stifling, like the charged moments before a thunderstorm. Every breath felt heavy, burdened by emotions neither of them could escape. Somewhere down the street, laughter and muffled music spilled from another bar, a cruel reminder of a world still spinning while theirs seemed frozen in this moment of heartbreak. Above them, a faint drizzle began to fall, cool droplets settling on their skin, unnoticed by either of them as they stood in the suffocating weight of their words.

Mena’s tears streamed down her face, glistening in the dim light like rivers of molten glass, their warmth stark against the cool night. But it was the silence between her words that struck the loudest, filling the space like a dark chasm, impossible to bridge. Milo stood rigid, his fists clenched at his sides, the ache in his chest radiating outward like a bruise. His voice, when it came, was low and gravelly, raw from the strain of unspoken truths. “Mena,” he said, his tone laced with incredulity, “do you even hear yourself?” He laughed, the sound bitter and jagged, devoid of any mirth.

“I’m not a fucking mind reader,” he said, his voice rising, sharp enough to cut through the tension in the air. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing, piercing hers with a gaze that demanded answers. “I know you, Mena, or at least I thought I did. But how am I supposed to piece together this mess? This jigsaw puzzle built on half-truths and unspoken feelings? You needed to tell me that night wasn’t just some drunken mistake. That it meant something to you because it did to me.” His words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting, as the drizzle turned to a steadier rain, dampening his hair and plastering stray locks to his forehead.

He shook his head, his voice breaking as he continued. “You say you left him for me. But where were the words, Mena? I laid myself bare to you, I told you everything, and you gave me silence. And even after you left James, you had time to post some happy little picture with him —” He choked on the words, unable to finish. Milo’s voice softened after taking a moment to regain, but the despair in it was no less sharp. “So, is that it? When we feel ashamed, we let the people we love burn because pride comes first? I’m so glad I meant so much to you,” he said bitterly, his jaw clenching. “Maybe this was a bullet dodged. Maybe we never would have worked... You say you still need me,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rain now falling in earnest, “but all I see is someone who doesn’t know what they want.”

The rain seemed to pour harder, soaking through his clothes and mingling with the tears he refused to shed. For a moment, his eyes locked with hers, searching for something—anything—that might salvage what had been lost. But the weight of it all was unbearable, the truth cutting him deeper than he thought possible. The words she had spoken, words he might have once longed to hear, now felt like a cruel twist of fate, reopening old wounds and leaving him more confused, more broken, than before. 

His question was legitimate and Mena hated that she had no real answer to it, at least not one that would make up for any of it. At least, not any that she hadn't given, that she had needed time to process it all, that she had been scared. "And I thought you understood that I felt the same way. You were supposed to know me, to know what it meant for me too." How could they have hurt each others that way, when it seemed like they had both loved each others. "I didn't want to loose you," she said once again. She wished she was back in the bar now, people closing out on her, sound drowning her thoughts. Because this was too painful and following him outside had been a mistake, one she could never forget. Would she had kept the status quo much longer? That was something she didn't know but she felt like she wouldn't have, would have followed her heart. "You were drunk Milo and then you never said anything about it again. I thought you had been too drunk to know or something." They had been drunk together plenty of times and that line had never been crossed so she didn't know what changed that night for Milo.

"I slept with you Milo. I cheated on someone with you. I couldn't say the words because I was ashamed of how quickly I was ready to throw everything away for you but it never meant I didn't love you." In her mind, back then, saying the words seemed bigger than hooking up with him. She thought he would know that she wouldn't do such a thing lightly, just like he seemed to have thought she would know he wouldn't do such a thing lightly. It seemed like they might not have known each others as well as they had thought, or had been too stupid to see through it all. The woman wanted to hold onto something, her feelings overtaking her and she wished she could still feel the sticky wood from the bar inside. Mena needed something physical to anchor her and all she could think about was how her elbow had rested on something wet back then. Now there was only openness around her and it was too much.

The way Milo laughed as he repeated her words, paraphrased them, how she took her time because she was afraid that it would ruin them, hurt her even more. Hadn't she been right? They were left with nothing because of their actions of that night. But then he said he was trying to survive her and the breath was knocked out of her. She hadn't imagine that her actions hurt him that much, hadn't considered that the scars could run as deep as hers. It create such duality in Mena, the sudden realization that they needed each others as deeply and that yet, it could only hurt them. His words left her speechless and dizzy, her mind running in every directions at once.

"You think this isn't hard for me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. She wanted to reach out to him, needed to comfort him, like she had always done in the past but she had never been the cause of such anguish from him. "That it's not killing me that you're here with someone else, someone who belongs to a place that used to be ours? I stopped going to that place and everywhere we went because all I saw there was the emptiness you left with me." She was crying now, from anger, hurt, frustration and probably so many other emotions she couldn't discern at the moment. "I left James because of you, for you. And I went back to him not because I loved him but because I couldn't be alone. And I lay next to him in bed and think of you. I needed you, still do." Her hand went to her mouth, the weigh of her words being too much.