#and its been breaking EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME

[wizardchampion]

There is no way there wouldn’t be famine, breakdown in manufacturing, and a completely unrecognizable culture.

Modern society and production is extremely interconnected and complex. Each thing you can see in your house was designed in one country, its raw inputs mined in another, its components manufactured in 3 different places, shipped to another country to make whole thing, etc. All of this would break down, because it would take time to figure out how to keep production going, keep shipping going, keep everything running with only half the population.

Remember all the problems the Evergiven caused, and it was just one ship blocking the Suez Canal for a few days? That was just one shipping lane blocked. The impact of half the population being gone is unimaginable.

I can’t imagine the impact on food production. Specialist medical equipment. So thus, it likely would cause death and famine of surviving people.

Even if it didn’t cause famine, house prices would tank, neighborhoods would empty out, as suddenly we have double the housing stock needed, stocks would tank, so suddenly the older population would lose their life savings. Massive deflation halting production causing massive economic downturn. Hard to get a ton of goods. All of this would have a huge impact on the material culture. On top of that is psychological impacts on the survivors. Think of what Black Death did to culture.

Then, five years later once everyone adapted, suddenly the population is double. The initial snap might cause famine and death, but the second DEFINITELY would. Food has a growing season. It’s not like they could suddenly double the food production. Even if somehow in Iron Man’s snap he increased the food stock, they still have to figure out where to store it and ship it to get it to people, etc. There is no way this wouldn’t cause famine.

Also, massive homelessness and loss of worker rights. All of a sudden, half the world needs a job, but it’s not like industry can just instantly start production again for double, and hire all these people right away. All of that would take time, so it would cause massive unemployment and homelessness. The government would need wide reaching programs.

On top of it, where would all of these people live? A bunch of houses would’ve been abandoned, it’s not like a house abandoned for five years would be habitable.

Also, huge inflation, as there would suddenly be double demand for goods, as manufacturing can’t instantly make them. Loss of workers rights, too. Remember how part of the factors contributing to the renaissance was negotiating power of workers after the population was halved? The opposite would happen here. Workers would have no negotiating power.

The globalized world is infinitely interconnected. It can’t just start and stop.

TLDR: the first snap would cause breakdown in goods, massive deflation, economic downtown, lack of goods, huge psychological impact on culture, and likely famine

Second snap would cause massive famine, homelessness, huge unemployment, loss of worker rights, and rapid inflation

The thing is that the most interesting and novel invention of the MCU is a universe where billions of people turned into dust and then were physically reconstituted on the spot five years later, in a world that had just barely adapted to their absence.

That is wild. That is intense! That is a series of pathos-ridden emotionally complex doorstoppers waiting to happen. Half the entire world! All dead! And somehow we coped with that! And now we have to cope with them all being back?

A whole street of empty houses--surely not everyone there became ash. Some of them moved to better places, now opened by the mass mortality. Some of them died afterward. Who will live there now? Even if inheritances are reversed by resurrection, surely leases aren't renewed. What the fuck happens to everyone who remarried?

What happens to the children snapped back to a world where their parents didn't survive, or the reverse?

But they had to then hastily smooth over this utterly batshit sci-fi premise and get the world mostly back to normal working order as rapidly as possible, without too much emphasis on how literally every person in existence has been placed in a mason jar by a narcissist and shaken twice in five years.

So they could get on with more superhero whack-blam business, which is customarily done against a background of Normality.

This is, tragically, the most Comics thing these movies have ever done.

It is beyond satire that they did this immediately before and during a worldwide pandemic that everyone was pressured to smooth over and 'return to normal' about within 2 years if not sooner.

[tojisteddy]

Sweet Ride | smut, 18+ MDNI, 1.2k words, softdom!Toji x sweetheart!reader

You’d been 3 months into your relationship when Toji Fushiguro finally realized that you, for some odd reason, loved letting idiots fuck you.

It must’ve been where that very minuscule masochism kink came from. Had to be.

He’d noticed the way you’d get shocked when he went to pay for— well- everything. Didn’t matter if he lost a shit ton from gambling and losing that day, didn’t matter if you went over your own set budget, didn’t matter that you didn’t ask because you didn’t want to look money hungry or if you quickly pulled out your card and paid. He’s sending $300 to you to make up for it. The man. Was going. To pay.

Toji also noticed the way you’d shy away when you realized he was actually listening to the words that came out of your mouth. Informing you that he hated that coworker of Sherl just a little bit more than you did. Plainly telling you ‘no’, he didn’t just want to see just your hair bone straight- he wanted to see your curly hair that framed your face (when you wanted to of course) and that he thought you would look good with any hair color not just the jet black. Or when you only went to make food that he liked,

“But this is what my ex-“

“—Mama, what do you really wanna eat? Tell me or we’ll both starve tonight.”

Truthfully, it irritated the fuck out of the man.

He didn’t get it, how someone so precious got treated like shit on multiple occasions. He kept reminding himself that you weren’t the problem, those fucking dick wads were.

But the irritation jumped back out when you rode him. He knew after that first time (just a week ago) that those fucking idiots didn’t know what the fuck to do with you. He’d cock his eyebrow up at you because he simply couldn’t hide the vexation of it all.

“You don’t like it Toj?” Your voice was hoarse, curls falling over your face, a pout forming.

It was clear the way you moved your hips back and forth, held yourself and didn’t use him for leverage, you rode your ex’s to get them off and nothing more.

More sins against God.

There had to be a scripture about it somewhere, “Never let thou spouse ride-ith you in cowgirl without her cumming.” Or something— the man didn’t know. He knew for a fact, only a bitch would never let a woman cum while she’s riding him.

“Toji? ‘M sorry, it must not be good.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to relax, not be too touchy. “ ‘S just harder cause you’re so… so big. ‘Nd I- fuck- mmm- don’t think I’ve ever had time to relax like this. I must be takin too long.”

Shit, you frowned, big brown puppy eyes looking down at the green eyed monster and his heart ached. He nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck, his poor pretty baby. Sweet doll, don’t you worry your little head. Your Toji would fix this little problem tonight.

And when you two were done, he’d beat the fucking breaks out of each and every single one your exes.

It would cleanse the soul.

“ ‘S okay baby, yer doin good. Need you to relax f’me. Want you to take a little bit more though, hm? You can take it, right? You’re a good girl.”

You bit your lip, nodding in agreement.

Such a good girl. Toji’s sweet ‘nd good girl.

Tojis hands pulled you closer. “How do I get ya to relax then? Can you tell me?” You felt your cheeks heat up, shaking your head and attempting to hide yourself in his neck. But Toji kept you still, playfully bumping your foreheads together with a chuckle.

“Let’s find out then,” His hands wandered, up and down your sides, then one staying at the small of your back, the other making its way to your pretty tit in his hand. Slowly massaging it in his palm. “Maybe you like it here?”

You whimpered in his mouth and Tojis scar moved upward in amusement, green eyes low. He left a trail of kiss from your cute cheeks, down to your jaw. “Or here?” Down to your neck, taking a few nibblies here and there. “Or here?”

You let out a soft moan, finally nodding your head.

“Words, mama.” He was stern but you felt the grin against your neck.

“T-there feels— feels so nice Toj.” The man hummed at your words, being sure to praise you with an array of kisses and hickeys for the world to see tomorrow on your neck.

“I-I can move now?” You asked. You felt so full with what he was giving you, but you felt so good with every little kiss the aching tip and veins of his member gave to your walls.

“Course doll.” He enterwinted your fingers, “Gotta take it nice ‘nd slow baby, don’t gotta go fast.”

You gulped, gradually lifting yourself up and down and rocking your hips back and forth, then repeating the motion. Your hands left his large ones, starting to use his shoulders as leverage, “There you go ma, there you fuckin go.”

He hissed, you were a god damn waterfall down there. Toji didn’t even know how the fuck you were still managing to keep him insider everytime you’d move up so just the tip was in, and slamming back down. When you tried to go faster a large calloused hand came down to your ass.

“B-but Tojiii,” you whined, slowly swiveling your hips one time to get a curse out of him. “Wanna make you feel good too.”

“ ‘Nd I ‘ppreciate Doll, I do. You feel so fuckin good too ma, but it’s not about me tonight, ‘s about you. Need you to really feel it deep in your pretty pussy.” He gave you a few thrusts, matching your rhythm creating the most beautiful smack smack smack your bedroom has ever heard.

“Take what you need babygirl.”

Toji had a way with words, he’d gotten a pornographic moan from it alone. Your nails dug into his shoulders, the meat of your thighs jiggling every time you came down. Slick drenching Toji’s cock, your thighs were burning but you kept moving. Chasing your high with every bounce on his fat fuck.

“Goooood girl, now you got it doll.”

“I can— I can take more Toji.” You stammered out.

“I’d loooove that sweetheart— shit ma- but not tonight. Ngh— This is just enough.”

“But—“

“-Aht,” he grumbled, helping you move your hips as you got just a tad too slow for his liking, “don’t bite more than you can chew. Come on, you can make yourself and your boyfriend cum, can’t you?”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, you were grinding and slamming yourself down what you could take as hard as ever getting a loud from Toji. You were such a good and fast leaner, the man would have to keep you. Train you to do other things, soon enough you’d be able to take all of him. You were fucking pulsing like a over worked heartbeat around him as a wave of emotions smacked you over the head, a string of fuck fuck fuck and Toji Toji Toji leaving your mouth.

The man growled, giving your ass a few harsh smacks as he rapidly thrust into you. You never knew when you were cumming so you never vocalized it.

You’d work on that too.

Quickly pulling out, spurts of his cum hit your stomach. You both were panting messes, Toji’s pink lips meeting your temple, then your soft full lips.

“Good fuckin job, mama.”

a/n: ride the dragon by fka twigs

most recent masterlist

[venusalexian]

solet • let me do this for you

part 1

barça femení x teen!reader, alexia putellas x teen!reader

in which you finally let someone in, and Alexia accepts that she’ll be having a bigger role in your life than she first expected

Ale had driven you to the grounds this morning, as she tends to do now if she has a free day when you have a game. You were so excited for this game. Your grandpa had recuperated well from his surgery, even if he now needed some extra care, and Ale’s presence in your life had become a constant. You couldn’t believe this was your life now.

You went into the game eager to win, to score, to lead. By half time, you had scored once and provided an assist. You were on fire, but everything changed when you stepped into the tunnel and Ale was waiting for you, a worried frown in her face.

“Solet, I need you to stay calm while I tell you this, okay?.” She said. “Your neighbor called, they’ve had to take your grandma into the hospital because she fainted. They firmly believe she’s going to be okay. I will drive you to the hospital right now if that’s what you want.” You can’t believe she’s even doubting it. There is no way you’re making it back out into the pitch now.

“Please Ale, let’s go.” You rush to the locker room to get your things and run all the way to Ale’s car, impatient.

“It’s all gonna be okay, I promise.” Ale says as she lays her free hand on your arm, the other on the steering wheel.

You really want to believe her, but you don’t really think she has the ability to fulfill this one. You don’t respond. You just lay your head against the window and let its coldness ground you to reality.

As soon as you get to the waiting room you make a beeline for your grandfather, who sits in a corner. He’s recuperated from his surgery, but he still can’t stand for long periods of time and needs help remembering to take his meds.  You break down as soon as you’re in his arms.

”Oh, mi niña, everything’s gonna be okay. She was awake when they got her into the ambulance. It was just a big scare, but she’s going to be okay.”

You nod against his chest but don’t detach from his hold. You won’t believe it until you see her with your own eyes and doctors confirm it, but you appreciate the comfort of his words. You turn a bit to look to your left. Ale is talking with your neighbor. She has her capitana face on. That relaxes you further.

You hate how unhelpful you’re being. You should be more composed, asking questions, making sure your grandpa is also okay, planning for any contingencies that might come from this incident. But you can only cling, and cry, like a child. So you’re happy to see that Ale has taken control of the situation, because at least somebody has. You’ve been trusting her with more of yourself and your life over the past months, and you’re so, so glad about it now. She looks over at you, and you know she understands what it means to you. The guilt of your impotence stays, but the pressure eases and you let yourself just fall.

Alexia is looking at you and seeing a kid. A strong, resilient kid. But a kid. So she takes charge, and she accepts that caring for you is coming more naturally to her every day. And as she waits with you for news about your grandma, she gradually also accepts the role she wants to play in your life. More than she’d let herself in the past, more than she’s ever said out loud.

“So… Why are the kids talking about you adopting another kid?” Marta approached Alexia with a massive smirk at the end of training.

“Yeah Ale, I thought you’d at least talk to me before you got a kid outside of this team.” Oh, Irene was having too much fun with this conversation.

“First of all, there is no another, I don’t have any kids, period.” A chorus of ‘hey’ and ‘rude’ was heard from the other side of the room, most notably (and loudest) by Vicky and Jana. Alexia just rolled her eyes. Apparently, the whole team was a part of the conversation now. “And secondly, I have not adopted a kid. I’m just… mentoring.”

“Mentoring? Is that what they call it now? Mentoring is driving a kid to and from practice?” Jana continued teasing her.

Alexia had gotten into the habit of driving you when she could especially to and from late night practices, thinking that it was much too late for you to be out taking public transportation.

“Or staying to watch those practices?” followed Sydney, who’s joking character was coming more and more out as she became more comfortable with the first team.

Now, Alexia knew how to perfectly justify this one.

“I am captain of this team, I have a duty to check in with the B team and source for talent.” she answered, feeling smug.

“Oh, and is having Sunday lunch with her and her family a form of recruitment?” added Vicky, who had become closer with the teen and had taken to chatting with her on occasion.

Alexia actually didn’t know how to respond to this one. She had taken your grandmother’s invitation a couple of time when you had Sunday morning games and she had a free weekend. She loved getting to know you more by spending time with you and your grandparents. And although she thought you pressured yourself too much, she saw herself reflected in your protectiveness, diligence and sense of responsibility toward your family and team.

“Better yet. Why did your girlfriend text me asking if I could give her more information about the kid because she wants to make a good impression when you bring her over for Sunday dinner at your mom’s this weekend?” added Ingrid.

Alexia muttered “traitor” as the locking room erupted in chaos. Everyone knows how much it means for their protective and family-oriented captain to introduce people to her family.

“Okay, enough. I care about her, yes. And she doesn’t have too many people on her corner, so I decided to become one.”

Everyone softened at that, understanding the importance and vulnerability of the statement.

“Now, no more social chit-chat about my life or you’re all running three times as much before practice.”

The soft expressions were replaced with groans, complaints and the occasional soft object thrown at her. Oh how she loves her fútbol family.

Your neighbor has had to leave; she has her own family to care for. So it’s just you, your grandpa, and Ale. Each sitting on a seat to your side. The doctor comes out after a half hour of waiting. The good news is that she’s okay, she’s awake, and there is nothing life-threatening. It feels like a toll has been lifted off your shoulders. But then he continues: it was a big fall, a symptom of an underlying heart condition. It means more medication and the possibility for this to happen again or other bad things. You feel dizzy again. You only hear bits and pieces of the rest: needs more monitorization, will need more constant care for a couple of weeks, she’s gonna stay overnight, you’ll be able to see her soon. You cling to the last part to stay in touch with reality.

Ale sees you drowning, so she asks, “Do you trust me to help, to take over now and help you through this? Let me do this for you?”

You nod. You need her to. You don’t even have any space in your worrying to overthink what this means or why she’s willing to do all this for you. You need her now, and the rest will come when everything’s more calm.

“I’m gonna make a few calls, okay? Can I tell a couple of people what is going on? The girls, mami and Olga are all worried. I won’t say much, just a quick update, okay?”

You nod again. You haven’t uttered a word since you got into Ale’s car. You can’t. So when she nods back, you hide your face in your grandpa’s chest again. You try to distract yourself with happier memories until you can see your grandma again. Thinking of her still hurts, so you focus on your team, your friends, and the people in Ale’s life you’ve met in the past weeks.

You felt dizzy from anticipation. You kept bouncing your leg in the passenger seat, and checking your outfit on the rear-view mirror. Ale noticed your fidgeting and laid her free hand on your shoulder.

“Are you nervous?” her eyes didn’t stray from the road but you noticed her half-grimace. Ale is not the best at not asking obvious questions, but you know it’s because she doesn’t know how to start the conversation otherwise.

“Yeah, I just…” you also grimaced, feeling like a little kid. “I want them to like me.” you mumbled, embarrassed.

“Oh, solet. They will. Mami is a natural caretaker, she’ll take you under her wing immediately. And Alba and Olga will just love having one more person to team up with against me.” Ale rolled her eyes, fondly.

She exudes a different type of softness when she talks about the women in her life, even when she fakes being annoyed at their antics. Her response calmed you, though.

Ale was absolutely right, of course.

As soon as you entered Ale’s home, her mom was giving you a massive hug and when she pulled away, she told you how beautiful you are and that she was really excited to meet you. You were blushing again. She hugged her daughter next, and then motioned for you both to go to the living room while she finished cooking. You offered to help, and you were rewarded with a wide smile and a pinch to your cheek. Ale got a quip that “she ought to keep her instead of her daughters if she keeps this helpfulness up”.

You’re still flushed when you reached the living room with Ale to find her sister and girlfriend sitting at the table in conversation. They stood up when you entered the room. Her sister moved to you, hugged you and introduced herself. You opened your mouth to do the same but she interrupted before you could utter a word.

“Oh, I know who you are. Ale won’t shut up about you.” You both turned to her, but she was too busy kissing her girlfriend to notice. Alba covered your eyes and shouted. “Women, not in front of the kid!”

You smiled as Alba moved away her hand and smiled back at you, all nerves forgotten by now, replaced by warmth. Ale and Olga were walking towards you both now, Ale’s hand on the small of her back. Olga hugged you, and her smile was just as warm and soft as Ale’s. 

“Yeah, Ale hasn’t shut up about you. We’re all really excited to meet her mini-me.” And there you were, blushing again. Had Ale really referred to you like that? Before you could ask, Ale’s mom called the four of you to finishing setting up as dinner was ready.

Conversation during dinner flowed. Ale was right, you had nothing to worry about and the night went perfectly. They all asked about you, eager to get to know you better. Alba and Olga did use your presence to rile Ale up. They shared embarrassing stories as she blushed and covered her face.

“I’ll lose my tough captain facade, stop.”

“You never had one to begin with, Ale”

By the time dinner ends, you couldn’t even believe you had been so nervous to meet them. Ale and Olga offered to drive you home. As you and Olga waited for Ale to finalize some arrangement with her mom, she put her arm around you, as the night had unexpectedly cooled and neither of you had come dressed for it. You basked in the comfort of her warmth and touch.

“I’m so glad Ale brough you over.” You looked up to the older woman, her smile exactly like Ale’s. “She is right, you know? You’re such a solet. I’m so glad you have each other.” Before you could respond, Ale was ushering you both inside the car and the motion of the road and the fullness from dinner lulled you to sleep. You miss their smile at your sleeping form, and their unspoken understanding of their care for you.

By the time Alexia finishes texting and calling, she has a plan. Alexia does well with plans, likes to prepare for things. But she has to talk to your grandparents first, and she doesn’t know how that conversation is going to go. Alexia is also quick on her feet, though, and works with what’s given. Knows how to fight for what she thinks is right.

It doesn't take long for a nurse to come by and lead the three of you to your grandma’s room. You cry again when you see she’s okay. You can’t cling to her like you did with your grandpa, so you’re content to sit by her side and hold her hand while she asks questions about the game, and you do your best to respond to her. Your words are stilted, but Ale and your grandpa smile because it’s the most you’ve spoken in hours.

After some more assurances, your grandma convinces you to go down to the cafeteria with your grandpa to have dinner. You’re hesitant to comply, but both her and Ale reassure you and don’t accept no for an answer. You give them one last glance to reassure yourself everything is okay befor eyou leave the room.

Alexia is nervous to be left alone with your grandma. She needs to start the conversation she knows is coming and despite the encouragement from her family, she isn’t sure to be ready for it. She doesn’t have to be, though, because your grandma beats her to it.

“She needs you.” There’s a heavy silence that follows; Alexia doesn’t know how to respond.

“She needs you because she’s a kid but doesn’t accept it. We both know that this incident means that both I and my husband need more help than she should be burdened by. She’s stretched thin enough, she already does too much. We want her to have fun, be a kid, a student, a footballer. Not a nurse, or a caretaker. She can’t do that if she’s constantly worried about us. And I know you know all this.”

Alexia stands seriously and silently and measures her words before speaking. She knows what’s next, but this is not her family, she doesn’t want to overstep. But if directly asked for her input, she’ll do it. She’ll take care of everything. For you. 

“I do, yeah.”

“We need that kind of help but it can’t come from her. So will you help? I’ve seen you grow closer to her, she admires you so much, relishes your attention and care. If we ask you for it, if she agrees, are you ready for this?”

Alexia doesn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

She can see the tension leave your grandma.

“Good. Now we can talk specifics. What’s your plan? Tell me and then we can tell her together.”

In the morning after you, Ale and your grandpa went home to sleep –Ale taking the couch even if you insisted on her taking the bed–, it’s Ale also who drives back to the hospital and brings your grandma home when she’s released. All four of you sit in the living room and when you try to fuss over your grandma, all three of them reassure you she’s okay.

“Mi vida, we have something to discuss.” Your grandma starts, and you squirm, uncomfortable at being out of loop.

“Alexia and us have a proposal for you, mi niña. We’ll do only what you want us to, but we think this is the best for all of us, and especially you.” You don’t respond to your grandpa, just nod, the anticipation driving you crazy. Your grandma takes over the conversation again.

“We love you so much, mi vida. We love how kind you are, how responsible, and how much you care for us. But your grandpa and I need more help, and we want you to not be burdened by it.” You’re about to protest –they’re not a burden, would never be, you love them and you’ll always care for them–but Ale stops you.

“Ssh, solet, listen to what we have to say first, okay?” You nod again instead of responding.

“So remember when I made a few calls yesterday at the hospital? I set up a couple of things. First, there is a home-care medical team that will be taking care of your grandparents from now on. They’re the best, but we still get to pick who’s going to be coming to stay with them for continued care. You’ll be part of that decision too.”

You exhale, thankful that Ale took over arranging this service. Deep down, you know that even if you would have tried your hardest, your grandparents need specialized care you wouldn’t be able to provide.

“And we also thought something else, but we’ll only do this if you want to and completely at your pace.” You become uneasy again at their own nervous expressions.

“Mi vida, we’ve thought that you spend so much time moving from here to the city, and it’s not benefitting you in your studies, or your football career, so Alexia kindly offered an arrangement that we think will work for all of us.”

“Solet, I’d like it if you moved in with me.” There is nothing but shock in your expression now. You have no idea how to respond, this being the last thing you expected from this conversation.

“We were thinking you could stay with me over the week, so you can go to a school that is more understanding of your football career, like many of your teammates, and be closer to the training grounds. You’ll come back to stay over weekends with your grandparents, so you’ll still see them a lot. And you can obvious tell me anytime you wanna be with them, and we’ll make it work so you never feel detached.”

You stop her nervous rambling with an obvious question, still in shock.

“You really want me to move in with you? Are you sure?”

Her smile is so, so soft again. Her eyes so kind, but also somewhat exasperated, she can’t believe you don’t understand how much she cares for you yet.

“Yes, solet. And before you ask. Yes, I’ve talked to Olga, she also thinks this is good. She’s in and out of the house these days because of work in Madrid so she thinks this is actually good for us both, apparently I don’t struck her as someone who lives well alone.” She rolls her eyes when she shares that part, but she’s still smiling.

“And, avis, you think this is best for all of us? Because I’ll still miss you a lot, but you’re right that I’ve been struggling these days.”–you finally admit–“And I guess if there’s a professional caring for you here and I can call you anytime and come often, then, I guess, it seems like a good solution to me too.”

All three of them smile widely at you, glad that you see the same things they do.

“Yes, mi niña, we do. And this is always your home, you can be here as much as you want to.”

“Okay” You say, and it feels definitive, the start of something.

—

an:

so here’s the second part of solet! it took me a bit longer than expected but I wanted to do a good job at setting everything up and it made it longer than i initially expected.

this is the end of setting up the arc, and stories from now on will be just instances of solet’s life :)

I already have some ideas drafted, but I’m super eager to get requests and asks about this world of what kind of things you’d like to see from solet’s life.

thank you for reading!

xoxo, a.c.

[scarfanon]

As the Umbrage lay bound to the operating table, they couldn't believe that the Jokester of all people had captured them. "B-but you're nobody! The most destructive thing you've ever done was flood an insurance office with shaving cream!" "Yes, and do you know why?" "W-what?" The jokester leaned in, glaring into his eyes. "I perform acts of petty crime as a public service. It keeps the heroes in practice, it breaks up the monotony of everyday life and gives the people something to talk about. And if it inconveniences some greedy stockholder, all the better. But YOU," He roughly gripped the Umbrage's face. "You hurt the people in my neighborhood. You killed the supers with whom I've built up a repertoir." "Heh, so what? They were expendib-" "THEY WERE MY FRIENDS! Nay, they were like FAMILY to me!" "So what now? You're going to kill me?" "Oh no, I'm not a murderer like you. However," the Jokester picked up a syringe. "By the time I'm finished with you, you're going to wish I were..."

A week later, a body was deposited before a local hospital. Though it was still alive, all of its limbs, sensory organs, and everything else non-essential for the body to live had been surgically amputated. DNA testing revealed them to be Arnold McGerber, AKA the Umbrage, and further investigation failed to locate any family, immediate or otherwise. The Umbrage is still on life support, and though he is conscious, he is unable to communicate.

You pretend to be a small-time villain. At most, you annoy the local supers, but your crimes never hurt anyone. To you it's all good fun. Things change when a truly sadistic supervillain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.

[on-wine-dark-seas]

The Invitation

Dedicated to the little Black girl who wanted to be all things when the world told her she was nothing. You are everything. 🍯

🪧 Summary: Heian Era. One full moon, Sukuna meets a dancing storyteller at the Hida Harvest Festival. But after a tragically violent evening robs her of everything, she winds up in a strange alliance with the King of Curses as his guest. 📚 Series: Sonder ⛩️ AO3: The Invitation 🔞 Rating: Explicit ⚠️️ Warning[s]: Rape/Non-Con [not from Sukuna don't worry], blood, gore, description of wounds and dead bodies, cannibalism, recreational drug use [ganja, psilocybin, opium], slow-ish burn, hurt/comfort, PTSD, revenge, catharsis, eventual romance, eventual smut, Ryōmen Sukuna is his own warning. 💋 Pairing[s]: Sukuna x The Writer [⛩️🍯] 🎧 Playlist: [ the invitation ] ⛩️ AO3 𑁍 Parallax OCs 𑁍 Sonder OCs ⛩️

🖋️Author's Note: Well, we've arrived at the moment of truth[s]. Enjoy. This entire chapter is just 16.5k words of self-indulgent smut courtesy of Sukuna's absolutely batshit stamina, my untutored sexual ardor [giving way to a nigh insatiable sexual appetite], and a lot of fucking feelings we've been tap dancing around the whole story.

Y'all are about to learn some shit about me. Mainly, how I like to get down when my pleasure is wholly my own. See you on the other side. —Muse

⚠️️Warning[s] for this chapter⚠️️ EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT. References to sexual trauma [remember, this shapes how Sukuna and I get down], Sukuna's two glorious cocks finally make their debut, Sukuna uses multiple mouths, ALL FOUR HANDS ON DECK [and DICKS], masturbation, spit-as-lube, cum as lube, vaginal AND anal fingering, cunnilingus, squirting, analingus, blowjobs, cock and ball worship, double penetration, double creampie, rough sex, mirror sex [REAL THIS TIME], choking, possessive biting [it's Sukuna], talking-while-fucking, trauma-informed body exploration and worship, praise kink, the hot pleasures of jealousy real and imagined [again, it's Sukuna], rounds on rounds oh my god. Recreational cannabis use. LOTS OF AFTERCARE. COMFORT. FLUFF.

🍯 IX. 金契 Bonded by Gold

Everyone is mesmerized by the fireworks.

     Sukuna does not care, save that they illuminate Asiri’s face in bursts of radiance, the dying sparks fading to nothingness in her dark eyes. She’s looking at him as if the world around them means nothing and he is everything. He is used to reverence, but that is reverence born from the seed of fear.

     This is something else. Something so much more fragile, so much rarer. He won’t name it; he can’t name it, for fear that if he does, the world will take this from him too. So he basks in it, allows himself to enjoy this oasis of humanity before his curse finds its fangs at her throat and destroys her.

     Sukuna takes a deep breath.

     “Do you know what you’re asking?” He growls out. His lower eyes flick to her lips, full and stained the deep, bluish red of spilled blood in the cold.

     “No,” she breathes as the fireworks burst above them, the crowd’s awed murmuring rising to an excited cheer. “But I know I want this. I know I want you.”

     Why, he wants to ask her. Why him? He is the last thing she should want. But here she is, telling him and fucking meaning it. His lower eyes drag their gaze down from her lips to her throat, sees the fluttering of her pulse beneath that tender skin. He wants to sink his teeth into her, taste the coppery sweetness of her misplaced devotion. He can break her; he knows he can, and part of him wants to for the sheer pleasure of it all. But he can do something else too: he can make her his. Inextricably. He can ruin her tonight, and every day after. Undo all the damage Takeshi has done and imprint himself upon her again and again until her thoughts are as consumed by him as his have been by her for months. Her and that alluring storm inside of her that he wants to hold in all four of his hands so very badly.

     He reaches for her, and she does not pull away, does not recoil in disgust, and does not look upon him with abject fear. All the things he has come to expect are absent in her lambent gaze. When his knuckles brush the soft contour of her cheek, her eyelids flutter, the corners of her mouth lift, and he watches as she leans into his touch slightly, unthinking.

     Sukuna inhales, watches her tense before he leans down, bringing his face close to hers. His lips trace her ear in a teasing caress with feathery weight.

     “I am going to take you,” he says to her, and delights in her quiet intake of breath, and the resulting shiver that makes the earrings dangling from her lobes sway prettily. “Again, and again. And then I’m going to bind you to me. Is this acceptable?”

     It is as close to a marriage proposal as Sukuna himself understands it, and as close as he dares. He half-expects her to decline, to have some good sense and run screaming in the other direction before willingly offering her throat to the tiger she mistakenly thinks is tame. But she is not a wilting flower with bruised petals any longer, nor is she prey.

     She’s something more. Something divine. Something he wants with a yearning that kindles to the furnace in his soul.

     “Yes,” comes her whisper, so delicate the roar of the crowd nearly steals the thrill from him, and Sukuna feels something thrumming in his blood that he can almost call delight. It’s heady and wicked, and he thinks of all the ways he is going to bind her, until he tames the storm inside her for himself. Until she is his and no other’s.

     “Good,” he murmurs, malevolent pleasure making his voice a deep, ominous purr. “Very good.”

     He lingers there for a moment, and then she turns her head. He sees the shadowy luster of her eyes beneath her lashes, and then he feels her lips brush against his cheek. Soft, tentative, exploratory and curious. He moves his head, feels her gasp as his lips meet hers. A soft kiss, he decides. Let her enjoy this last bit of sweetness before he shows her what she has so boldly asked him to give her.

     “Come,” he murmurs against her mouth. “Let’s go home.”

     She doesn’t correct him, she simply nods, wordless and heavy-lidded as he draws her away from the crowd, away from the bursts of fireworks, away from the world neither one of them have ever had a chance of belonging in. The crowd yields open to allow the King of Curses to pass. Rippling murmurs and whispers follow when it’s seen that his hand grasps hers. Sukuna does not care. He’s sure the Zenin brat has run home to report to his father that the King of Curses has taken a foreign sorceress as his wife. Never mind that it’s a lie, the bait will do as it is meant to do and lend legitimacy to her challenge for a duel.

     And then, when the Zenin brat is dead, Sukuna will see just where his lost flower intends to go. He does not dwell on that eventuality too long, focusing instead on the searing present. Her hand is so small in his, delicate bones malleable in his grip, but he holds her with the gentleness of a breeze cupping a stray feather. He retrieves Akechi, mounting and pulling her up in a fluid moment that sees her settled once more in front of him, sharing the saddle. He secures an arm around her waist, but unlike before, his hand splays across her ribcage, the warmth of his palms seeping through the silk. He can feel her heart fluttering in her chest, beating against it like a trapped hummingbird. He can feel the expansion of her inhales and exhales, the change in her breath as they lurch forward, following the lantern-lined path toward the forest.

     They pass beneath the first torii gate, the one that is more recent. Erected to mark the border of his territory. The hills may belong to the people, but the thick, velvety darkness of the forest belongs to the God of Hida, naught else.

     Asiri shifts in the saddle, leather creaking in the quiet as they slip through the tree line, the festival forgotten, leaving only the two of them and the moonlight to guide them back to the shrine. Sukuna knows this path by rote, and easily guides Akechi over treacherous ground, picking the familiar path.

     They pass the clearing, though it is completely different. The entire place is blackened as if burnt, trees splintered to kindling, and cratered depression in the center where the remnant of a burned-out wagon still stands.

     “I did this,” Asiri whispers, her voice tinged with fearful awe. Sukuna resists the urge to draw her closer, as if to keep her safe from the memory of her own brutality, but he knows that’s the last thing she needs in this moment.

     “Yes,” he says, his voice pitched low. “And I will teach you to do it until you can stay conscious. And even do it multiple times in a day if you wish.”

     Asiri lets out a wry laugh, and he feels her heart flutter against his possessive palm.

     “When would I ever be in a situation where I’d need to do that kind of damage multiple times a day?” She asks him. Sukuna doesn’t answer. He wants to tell her that if she intends to continue to practice jujutsu, there will be plenty of situations, but he knows she still believes that Takeshi Zenin is the only life she will take with her strength. She doesn’t know that she has initiated herself into a world that will demand she wash her hands in blood or be slain herself.

     He will teach her this lesson, or her duel with Takeshi will.

     Tonight, however, he has his mind on more pleasurable pursuits.

     The rest of the ride slips by quickly, and still Asiri’s heart hammers against his hand. When they pass the ghostly glow of the hitodama of the massive torii marking the entrance to the shrine grounds, he feels her pulse race, hears her try to stifle a soft sound that sounds almost like anticipation. He shares a smirk with the preternatural dark, Akechi’s hooves marking the return of the shrine’s lord and master, clipping on the smooth stones of the courtyard.

     The shrine doors open, and Oboro, Okoi, and Uraume come out to meet him. Ren is already waiting, and he tosses the boy the reins without thinking. Oboro, Okoi, and Uraume bows respectfully as he dismounts, and helps Asiri down to stand. He does not greet them except to give a curt order that he and Lady Asiri are not to be disturbed for the remainder of the evening.

     Asiri catches a glimpse of Oboro’s surprised and questioning glance over her shoulder as Sukuna leads her inside. The shrine doors shut behind them, and they pass through the brazier-lit halls toward his bedchamber, stopping at the closed shoji door leading to his inner sanctum. Asiri stares at it, trying to calm her breathing and steady her mind and pulse.

     “Before we cross this threshold, Asiri,” Sukuna’s voice cuts through her daze and she looks up at him. “I would have your consent that this is what you truly want. Nothing will change if you choose to refuse: you are the one who requested this, after all. And if it is what you truly want, I would have you tell me now.”

     Asiri swallows hard.

     “It is, my lord,” she whispers. One of Sukuna’s hands lifts, caresses her cheek.

     “Then so be it. Understand this: out here, you are wholly your own, free to avail yourself to the shrine as you wish and explore as you wish. But when we cross this threshold, within the sanctity of my bedchamber, you belong to me alone. Is this acceptable?”

     Asiri stares up at him, willing herself to bear the weight of his gaze, how his face looks so stern, so much like a god and yet she has seen the humanity that softens the harsh lines no matter how he hides it.

     “Yes,” she says softly. “But only on the condition that you belong to me too, my lord.”

     There it is: that slow, predatory grin, the hooded look in his eyes, hiding a secret she longs to be the keeper of since she’s trusting him with the handling of her broken body. His eyes gleam like droplets of blood in the firelight, cupping her face in his hand, running an unhurried thumb over her cheek.

     “Thou, and no other,” he affirms. “Is this acceptable?”

     “Yes,” she whispers. “Lord Sukuna?”

     His name brings him up short and he looks at her with deadly expectancy.

     “Is this something you truly want too?” She asks him. Sukuna smiles in that easy, arrogant way and slides open the door.

     “Let me show you,” he says, and guides her inside, the door shutting behind them.

     The bedchamber is lit by a single hanging lantern, which throws a beautiful lattice shadow over the center of the room and warmed by a large brazier. Outside, the trees rustle and whisper with the wind and thunder rumbles in the distance. Sukuna glances down at Asiri, brushes his fingertips along the back of her neck.

     “Remember to breathe,” he tells her and there’s a teasing edge bleeding into his voice, a little derisive, but those crimson eyes bleed warmth as she looks up at him. Asiri nods and focuses her beathing. Thunder rumbles again. Sukuna frowns. Not her, then?

     “I am breathing, Sukuna,” she tells him, and he smirks. So his lost flower has some control at last. Good.

     He pulls her close, delighting her gasp as he lifts her feet from the floor, crushing her against him.

     Their lips meet, and Asiri feels something steal the very breath from her lungs as his kiss turns hungry. It is nothing like the petal-soft gentleness he accorded her earlier in the evening, amidst fireworks and a crowd.

     This is ravenous, and Asiri, heaven help her, she wants him to devour her. She wants to be the tender prey between his sharp teeth, wants him to bite into her and taste her until there’s no trace of her left.

     She kisses him back. She has been kissed before, and has kissed, but never anything like this. Sukuna does not yield to her, holding her against him as she makes a moaning sound when his tongue traces her lower lip, tugging it gently between his teeth.

     She’s panting, now. Dizzy with the heat swimming the rich currents of her blood, dripping down between her thighs. She squirms in his arms, rubbing her thighs together with an almost pained whine. Aching.

     Sukuna chuckles darkly, and then sets her down.

     Slowly, he guides her to the mirror, sees her gaze flinch away from her reflection. The last time she was here, only the light of the Divine Flame had illuminated them. Now, the soft light of the lantern shows them in full.

     “Look,” Sukuna tells her, and she does. She is his, after all.

     In the mirror, she stands clad in the soft white and blue of his kimono, her lips love-swollen from kissing, a few braids escaping her hairpin. Looming behind her is Sukuna, still clad in the deepest black. One of his hand spans over her belly, crawling upward as he begins to loosen and untie her obi with another. Deft and swift—these are his garments, after all—the obi slips free as his front hand grasps her kimono to pull it open. The lush weight of her breasts strains against the silk, then bounces free. Asiri watches his reflection, sees the flare of excitement in his eyes at the sight. Her nipples pebble as the cool air pricks against them. Sukuna watches their reflection, feels her ribcage expand as she inhales, feels her shiver as she exhales.

     The kimono whispers over her skin as it slides from her shoulders, pooling around her bare feet. Sukuna sucks in a breath at the sight of her as she steps from the fabric and turns away from the mirror to face him. He looks down but keeps his eyes on her reflection. He can take her all in at once.

     And take her in he does.

     Asiri tilts her head, smiling slightly.

     “I want to see you too,” she tells him. For a moment, Sukuna simply stares at her as if she’s the first naked woman he’s seen. She’s clad in naught but her dusky skin, that collar of shells and coins, waist beads, and her anklets. He finds it erotic, reaching to run a hand over her skin, finding it feverish and sensitive. He traces her collar bones, the curve of her shoulders, the band of scar tissue over her bicep that matches the band of black ink on his own.

     He cups her breast, feels her heart leap, sees that old fear surface in her eyes. He stops.

     “Šetû,” his voice isn’t sharp, but there’s an edge of command in it. “Stay with me.”

     For a moment, she is trapped, but then she breathes again, and meets his gaze.

     “There is no shame here,” he reminds her. “Only simple desire. Inhale, then let it go.”

     She shuts her eyes briefly and nods, allowing him to continue as she regains ahold of herself. Sukuna strokes her skin tenderly like one would a nervous animal brought into the home. She shivers, calms, and meets his gaze. The fear is gone, quieted by the weight of the decision they’ve made together. Her skin is so soft. Sukuna passes his thumbs over her nipples.

     She cries out in surprise, back arching into his touch automatically.

     Sukuna smirks. His hands grasp her waist, giving it a generous squeeze before guiding her to the bed, down until she obediently lays back. Here, on his bed, Sukuna takes her in once more.

     Asiri reaches up and grasps the hairpin, taking it out. Her braids tumble over the pillows and over her shoulders. Gold, bistre, burnished umber, contrasted against the white linen bedding. His lower eyes study every curve and slalom, every bend, fold, and stretch mark. He commits her to memory because they will never be lovelier than they are in this moment. He notes more tattoos. A symbol on her right arm: a hand with an open eye in its palm. Asiri shifts on the sheets, and he sees another tattoo. A peacock limned along the length of her right thigh, all the way up to the hip. So, not a criminal, then.

     Sukuna begins to undo his own sash, and Asiri watches him, her breathing even, but her pulse is telling a wilder story. He never breaks her gaze as he slides his kimono off, revealing his bared torso first, followed by everything else. He knows she hasn’t seen all of him, and he expects her reaction to be as it has been with others before her.

     Asiri’s eyes widen as she takes in Sukuna—all of him—for the first time since she caught a fleeting glimpse in the hot spring.

     She starts with his face. His gaze, as always, is inscrutable. She lingers on his lips, watching them part in a breath. She notes the dusting of color in his cheeks, his even breaths. She studies the bold limning of ink on his form, following the lines until her gaze comes to the maw on his belly. She tilts her head, but then her gaze slips lower and—

     “Oh!”

     The cry shocks her, and makes his jaw tense. Asiri’s eyes are wider now as she sees both of Sukuna’s cocks, fully erect to the point of straining. She studies them with scarce-concealed awe. They too bear black markings, sharp and bold, following the curves. She sits up, crawling to the edge of the futon. Her gaze flicks up at him and there is a strained intensity in his eyes, his jaw tight.

     “May I…?” She whispers. Sukuna gives her a nod. Asiri reached for him, but it’s not his cocks she grabs, which surprises him. Of the few that have shared his bed, that’s always what they want to touch first. Instead, Asiri stands on the futon, and reaches for his face.

     She cups his face with her palms, stroking the bone-like plating. Sukuna’s brow pinches slightly and a look of concern crosses her features, a question forming. She begins to take her hands away, but he quickly grabs her wrists, making her gasp. A wordless look, and she continues her exploration.

     “Sukuna, lay down for me,” she says. “I want to do this properly.”

     Sukuna smirks at her, even with his face cupped between her hands and him grasping her wrists.

     “Is that a command I hear?” He asks, menacing in his expression, but there’s a teasing edge to it all that makes her give him an arch look.

     “You are very tall,” she huffs. “Lay down.”

     Sukuna chuckles and Asiri yelps as he takes her into his arms and lays back on the futon, settling her on top of him. Her thighs spread over his torso automatically, and she’s dizzy from the sudden contact as she realizes how close they are.

     How naked they both are.

     Heat burns across her face before she swallows hard.

     Sukuna props his top arms behind his head, his lower hands settling on her hips.

     “Go on, mayoi-hana,” he purrs. Asiri purses her lips at his smirk but reaches for his face again and resumes her exploration of his body, tracing the markings on his face with her fingertips, before settling on his lips. Without breaking her gaze, Sukuna presses a kiss to the pads of her fingers as if in private worship. She bites her lip, tracing her fingertips along his throat, settling on the pulse. It’s as steady as a heartbeat. He’s not the least bit anxious. It makes her even more nervous. His lower hands are still on her hips, warm palms seeping that unusual heat into her.

     She traces the markings over his shoulders, biting her lip on a little grin. Sukuna smirks. He knows the source of her private excitement. So he has been on her mind all this time, then. Good. This will make this moment all the more savory on his tongue. She rounds her touch over the strong muscles of his top shoulders, and biceps. Frowning, she makes a gesture.

     “Hands?” She asks. Sukuna grins. One of his lower hands leave her hips and he presents it to her. She shoots him a look and he makes a shrugging motion. He has plenty of hands to spare.

     She traces his palm, his fingers, the thick band of ink around his wrist. She’s about to continue when that hand suddenly seizes her wrist, making her gasp. He smirks again. She tugs once and Sukuna relents before her hands settle on his chest, gliding over every muscle and curve. When she goes lower, she shifts backward. The maw on his belly is closed and Sukuna looks at her with an almost innocent expression. Her brows knit.

     “Open for me?”

     Sukuna doesn’t know why but the way she says those words makes both his cocks twitch. The maw parts its lips and she traces it with her fingertips. It smiles at her, all fangs and tattooed tongue, which slithers out to lick her hand. She yelps and Sukuna lets out a pleased chuckle. In her annoyance, Asiri shifts again, and sits directly on top of it. Sukuna’s eyes flare brightly, his grin turning sinister.

     “What do you hope to accomplish, little flower?” He asks, and watches as Asiri shivers when the tongue slithers out of his belly to trace a wet path along her inner thigh. His lower hands clamp down on her hips, holding her in place.

     “Sukuna…” She whispers, and Sukuna holds her gaze, his expression suddenly deadly.

     “Mine,” he murmurs, and the tongue slips above, the tip taking a slow, agonizing path through her folds.

     A low, desperate moan slips from her and spirals into the air as she braces herself on his chest, digging her little nails into his skin. Sukuna does not move from that easy recline, watching as her body folds over, bringing her closer to him. His hands slide reverently over the curves of her rear, cupping and then grasping and then spreading her wide, exposing her to the tender onslaught of his massive tongue.

     Asiri trembles, and a whimper ekes out of her as her hands scrabble for purchase, torn between wanting to escape the mounting pleasure of his tongue with each idle pass over her clit, and wanting to push back against it. She has never done anything like this before, has never had anything like this done to her, and she sits up slightly, shooting Sukuna a pitiful, plaintive look, lip quivering.

     Sukuna meets her gaze with the impassive amusement of a god in his domain.

     “Something the matter, mayoi-hana?” He coos to her. “Regretting your decision to give yourself to a monster?”

     Asiri shakes her head, mouth dropping open in a soundless cry as Sukuna’s tongue circles her clit. Maddening, desperate, and utterly irresistible. She keens, rocking her body in his arms, giving herself unto the sensations unfurling in her body like a supplicant. Sukuna chuckles as she pushes against his grasping hands, seeking more.

     “Oh fuck…” Her voice drags out of her roughly, trails toward the ceiling, her nails digging into his skin again. One of Sukuna’s upper hands comes from behind his head, pushing a stray braid from her face. He studies her, his tongue still slipping through her folds, circling her clit, holding her steady as she trembles.

     He watches as her face melts into an expression of agonized ecstasy.

     “Oh fuck,” she whines, as she listens to the tongue slipping back and forth, back and forth, so wet and slippery and sticky. “Right there, oh…kar a tsaya…pleasepleaseplease…” The words shiver out of her in a husky, throaty moan. Sukuna strokes her back tenderly, holding her gaze, lambent with tears of insurmountable pleasure.

     “And there you are,” Sukuna groans, pressing the flat of his tongue against the whole, swollen, slippery mess of her cunt as she spills and spills against his tongue, shivering as he squeezes her rear. He strokes the tongue back and forth, adding pressure. She keens weakly, burying her face in the firm muscle of his chest.

     “You’re fucking soaking, little flower,” he coos, relishing her taste on his tongue. He wants to drink her down, and he does. He chuckles when she rocks her hips, whimpering at the friction.

     For a moment she simply lays still on his chest, listening.

     Badump.

     Badump.

So steady, and strong, and loud. His breathing is like a cavernous wind to her, his chest expanding. He has expended no effort and already her skin shimmers with a thin sheen of sweat. The room looks hazy in her vision, and her lids are heavy, a small smile on her face.

     Is this what it was supposed to be like?

     “Hey,” Sukuna growls. “Don’t tell me you’re done already?” He laughs, and Asiri grins at the vibration of it under her.

     “No,” comes her quiet, slurred response. “But this is nice, Sukuna. Thank you.”

     “We aren’t done,” he growls. Asiri laughs, sitting up, biting her lip when Sukuna slides his tongue back into the maw of his belly, grinding against her swollen sex every step of the way. He grins when she swats his chest.

     “I know,” she breathes. “Give me a moment…”

     Sukuna heaves a sigh, rolling his eyes.

     Asiri feels wonderful. There’s something about the world that feels new, and she feels charged with energy. Thunder rumbles outside, and lightning flashes through the shoji leading to the engawa. Sukuna takes her in as she looks down at him, smoothing his lower hands over her thighs, then back up. Her expression softens, dark eyes soft and blurred, those kiss-swollen lips parted, giving her a look of soft reverent wonder. His hands smooth up her waist, delicate and knowing. He has butchered humans aplenty and is intimately familiar with their form. But that had always been meat for consumption, for nourishment.

     Šetû Asiri is for worship.

     His hands continue their journey, cupping her breasts. She doesn’t freeze; the old fear does not rear its head in her beautiful eyes. She’s here with him. Her hands come up, settling on his forearms, smoothing up to touch his wrists. She lets him continue, biting her lip on a small sound as he drags his palms over her nipples.

     “The first night I saw you,” Sukuna says, “I thought you were a dream spirit. A trick of the fire.”

     Asiri laughs as one of his hands settles on her throat, large enough to circle it and hold her fast by that delicate column alone.

     His other hand smoothes over her shoulder, behind her head to dig his fingers into her hair.

     “It was your smile,” Sukuna says. “There was something sharp about it, like a blade unsheathed. And then it was your eyes. You know more than you let on, and all your secrets are kept there.”

     His lower hands lift her hips, and she obliges. She feels the blunt tip of his cock nudging her lips apart. Her eyes widen briefly. So big, but she’s dripping all over him already. She understands now what his aim had been with his tongue.

     “And now?” She whispers, her voice tremulous. Sukuna tenderly strokes her hip and begins to slowly ease her onto him.

     “Now it’s the rest of you,” he murmurs.

     Asiri’s head tips back as she feels him begin to stretch her. She remembers that night, feels herself clench. Sukuna freezes.

     “Šetû.”

     She comes back to herself as she feels his hands roving her tenderly, grounding her.

     “Eyes on me,” he tells her, and she nods. “Breathe for me, mayoi-hana, just like I taught you.”

     She breathes, and he relishes the feel of her ribcage expanding in his grip, and as she exhales, she relaxes, and he pushes her down.

     The sound that comes from her likely wakes the entire shrine.

     “There you go,” Sukuna coos and she’s sobbing, holding onto his forearms to anchor herself. “You’re doing so well. Let me in…”

     He groans deeply when she is fully seated on him, and she lets out a high-pitched wail. She pants, leans her head back and lets out a sound.

     “Sukuna…” She calls out, dragging his name through her throat like a desperate beseeching prayer to her gods, and without thinking—

     Crack!

     She yelps, and Sukuna hisses when the slick, wet velvet of her cunt grips him so thoroughly he thinks he may not get his cock back. His hand immediately palms her ass, warm from his strike.

     Asiri rubs her backside.

     “Mscheww!” She hisses through her teeth, annoyed, and swats his chest. “What was that, eh?!”

     Sukuna laughs.

     “I wasn’t sure if…” He laughs at her expression. “Ah, the way you moaned my name was like music…”

     Asiri stares at him, eyes narrowed.

     Sukuna tries to quiet his laughter. “It won’t happen again, mayoi-hana, I promise.”

     Asiri swats his arm lightly.

     “We can consider it retaliation for your little flower stunt,” he says. Asiri’s mouth opens and before she can retort he lifts her hips. She moans, making him grin harder, gripping his forearms so tight her knuckles drain of color.

     Up. Down. Slow, so achingly slow.

     His name spills from her mouth, dripping with a pleasure that frightens and exhilarates her all in the same scintillating turn. Up and then down until she realizes why this feels so familiar. She forces herself into a semblance of clarity, looking down at him. He grins at her, sees recognition flit across her features like a glint of light. His lower eyes slide down her body, watching as her waist begins to undulate of its own accord, and soon she is lifting herself up and down. He relaxes his hold on her, watches her find the rhythm and the pleasure it brings.

     Asiri has never felt anything like it. Sukuna is big…so big she doesn’t understand how he’s able to fit even as slick as she is, but her body accommodates him as the pleasure begins to build.

     Faster.

     Sweat beads on her skin, and Sukuna’s eyes chase the path before one of his palms splits into a mouth, tattooed tongue chasing the droplets between her bouncing breasts before he captures one, sealing his mouth over her nipple to lash at it with his tongue.

     “Gnh…!” The sound is choked out of her as the additional sensation pricks at her nerves like electricity along her skin. She moves faster; up and down, a bouncing rhythm she’s familiar with, but not with a man inside of her.

     Not with the God of Hida inside of her.

     His name becomes a mantra she flings heavenward, and Sukuna relishes the sight of his cock vanishing inside of her only to come out gleaming and slick, the black markings stark against the engorged flesh.

     “Don’t give up on me, now, mayoi-hana!” He growls at her, moves to strike her again, but stops himself, and instead grips both curves of her ass, digging his fingers into the ample flesh hard enough that it will bruise. Spurs.

     “Gambare,” he purrs. Asiri doesn’t stop, but now she screams his name, begging, pleading. A hand slips between them, a tongue lashing at her clit with every movement. It’s enough. Her cunt seizes around him in a series of quivering flutters, and there’s a wash of slick that soaks the dark, blush-colored hair around his cock. Sukuna holds her steady as she shivers, mewling, her vision unfocused.

     Sukuna keeps her on his cock, burying himself deep as she spends her energy trying to cram her soul back into her body. He sits upright, and she moans as his hips shift, his cock dragging against her sensitive walls. Her legs tremble as she tries to wrap them around him. His hands roam her sweat slick body tenderly, as if he is indulging himself. He clucks his tongue as her head lolls, and she struggles to meet his gaze.

     “Don’t tell me you’re finished already?” He coos in that nettling tease that always goads her pride, and he grins as her gaze sharpens and she glares at him. He pulls her closer.

     “No,” she whispers, trembling hands coming up to cup his face. Sukuna allows her to touch him, and she’s careful of his lower eyes. Again, that soft look in her eyes, the tender parting of her lips. The reverent wonder as she threads her fingers through his hair as if he is something precious.

     As if he matters to her.

     It blooms in his blood like magma, the answering twinge in his chest when she drags her touch to his ears. She rubs the lobes, and he tries to keep his eyes from fluttering. Her hands travel down his throat, slick with sweat. She lingers there, feeling his pulse.

     “Masoyí…” She whispers and Sukuna’s brow furrows in confusion. It is not a word he knows.

     She draws his head down, pushing up slightly to kiss him. He obliges her, tasting the salt of sweat on her lips, tugging the tender flesh between his teeth. Alive, she is as tender and delicious as he imagined. Had he decided to eat her in the beginning, he has no doubt she would have been delicious.

     But now, he does not want to devour her flesh and bone. He wants to possess them.

     “I want more,” she says to him as he presses his forehead to hers, their noses rubbing against one another’s.

     “Think you can take it, mayoi-hana?” He asks her. She smiles, giggling when he swipes his tongue over her lower lip.

     “Gambare.” She says to him. Her accent is different, but he chuckles nonetheless hearing his own words thrown back at him in this instance. With a lissome speed he lifts her off of him, mindful of her gasp. She makes a small sound of protest at the loss, but he lays her on her back, spreading her legs wide, exposing her slick and swollen cunt to his full sight.

     He licks his lips as she adjusts, sitting up on the pillows to watch him.

     His lower hands grasp both his cocks, and he begins to stroke himself. Asiri’s hand reaches down, her eyes watching in carnal fascination as his hands pump both his cocks. She tentatively spreads her soaking folds with two fingers, revealing her clenching hole and noting with delight that he grips himself harder, pumps faster.

     “Come back?” She asks. Sukuna freezes in place, all four eyes focusing on her, then flicking down to her cunt, spread open so prettily for him, dripping and melting all over the sheets, her inner thighs shining with it.

     He wants nothing more than to folds her legs back and slide both his cocks into her, but his tongue craves another taste of her, and she watches as he shifts and adjusts, bringing his face level with her cunt. His mouth hovers above her as he watches her. His lower eyes keep watch on the sheen of slick all over her lips and fingers. His jaw works, and then he spits on her cunt. She gasps.

     He leans in, meets her pussy in an open-mouthed kiss. She moves her hand, and his mouth keeps her spread for his pleasure. He looks up at her as he devours her cunt, and she’s unable to look away, her breath coming in fits and starts.

     He pulls away with a wet pop, flicking the tip of his tongue over her swollen clit before he adjusts, pressing her thighs against his shoulders to push them back. He’s delighted at how easy she folds in half for him. A flexible dancer, he’d almost forgotten. He drinks in the sight of her cunt and the puckered bud of her asshole winking at him.

     “Exquisite,” he breathes, watching her sex quiver before him, lowering his head.

     Asiri lets out a shrill squeal when she feels the firm, slick muscle of his tongue swirling around that puckered rosebud. She shudders, the sensation new and confusing, but then…

     “Oh…” She breathes. Sukuna’s tongue pushes past that tight ring of muscle, loosening and relaxing her. “Oh…” A longer moan, and Sukuna feels her entire body seemingly melt into the futon, her head falling back against the pillows as her eyes roll back and then shut.

     “Fuck…” The word comes from her gut as Sukuna’s slides two fingers into her pussy, and one into her asshole, slow and deliberate, working her open in stages.

     “Sukunaaaa…” She moans, feeling delirious from the sensation. It aches, but in the best way an ache can feel. She squirms in his grip, but he’s holding her still, her entire nether-region at the mercy of his mouth and hands. His fingers pump slowly, and she can hear the soft, sticky noise of her pussy growing wetter, can feel her entire body vibrating as the heat begins to coil and coil and coil, white-hot in her belly.

     He pulls his mouth away from her cunt long enough to chuckle, his breath making her pussy lips quiver.

     “Louder, mayoi-hana,” he breathes into her sex, his eyes watching her arch, spreading her thighs wider for him. Longing colors every shade of her undulations.

     “I want Heaven itself to hear who you belong to,” he whispers, nipping playfully at the slick lips of her pussy before his mouth fastens on the bud of her clit, sucking rhythmically in tandem with his pumping fingers.

     Asiri begins to yelp: short, staccato sounds that match his pace, and then she dissolves into begging, tossing her head, reaching down to grip his hair. He grunts from the sudden tug, then growls into her, relishing the bite of her demands that he bring her shuddering to climax.

     But he doesn’t. He prolongs her torment, pushing her toward the edge, then drawing her back.

     “Zagi, Sukuna, please…!” Her voice breaks on a frustrated sob, tugging at his hair but his head won’t budge. He rolls her clit between his lips playfully, slowing his fingers before spitting again, watching it drip down to her asshole.

     He adds another finger.

     Asiri’s back bows from the bed, and her legs come down, heels pressed into the hard muscles of Sukuna’s shoulders as he sucks her clit again and again. Fingers fucking into both of her holes until the coiled heat inside of her snaps outward.

     She screams his name while chanting a refrain of yesyesyes just like that.

     Sukuna relishes the splash of slick that coats his face as he sucks at her cunt greedily, then pulls away with a satisfied groan, licking his lips and wiping his mouth with a smug laugh.

     Asiri lays on the bed, breathing deeply, her body boneless and pliant. Sukuna sees the pillows moist with tears…or drool, he can’t really tell. She turns her head to look up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded, her smile slipping across her face as if it will slide off if she isn’t careful.

     “Still with me?” Sukuna asks with a toothy grin. Asiri sits up, arms trembling. His grin is at once cruel and tender and he leans in, slotting himself between her thighs. Asiri is still as he closes the distance between them. His face is one kiss from her own. She doesn’t break his gaze, seeing the flaring crimson closer than anyone ever has and lived to tell about it.

     “Always,” she whispers, and regrets it. Sukuna blinks, almost as if the word confuses him. As if she confuses him. For a moment she thinks he may pull back, may put a stop to this exploration of their shared pleasure, but instead, he lowers his gaze.

     “Then you’re going to take all of me tonight, mayoi-hana,” he says. “Turn over on your hands and knees.”

     She blinks; eyes wide. Sukuna makes a face.

     “It will be more comfortable in this position, I promise,” he assures her. “After you feel it, I promise I will do other things to you that will make you sick with desire at the most inopportune moments at the mere memory.”

     “Zagi…” She ekes out. Sukuna grins, understanding the meaning.

     “You have no idea, but you will.” He pats her thigh with his lower hand. “Up.”

     Asiri gets up, frowns when he doesn’t back away, resulting in her pressed against him, and he grins at her playfully before easing back to help her maneuver onto her hands and knees.

     “This feels…undignified,” she murmurs, yelping when she looks over her shoulder and Sukuna spreads her thighs wide with his knees. She eyes the black bands of ink around his thighs. Later. She’ll attend to other things later. She’s curious about what it feels like to be taken by him in full.

     “Sex is not about dignity, it’s about desire,” Sukuna says, a set of hands engulfing her hips, smoothing over the tender curves of her rear, spreading her open. He spits into her asshole, and she hisses from the sensation. His thumb massages the saliva while he spits into his hand and strokes his slick, top cock.

     “Do you desire this, Šetû?” He asks as he guides his cocks into her. She arches her back in response, exposing herself fully.

     “Yes,” she shivers out as his cock presses against her asshole, the other nudging itself into her cunt. “I desire little else these days.”

     Sukuna hooks a brow, watching with deep satisfaction as he begins to feed both his cocks into her holes, watching her stretch around him. He grits his teeth, growling as the fit becomes a snug one.

     “Oh? Is that so? So you’ve wanted me to fuck you for a while, then.” Sukuna’s tone is casual even as Asiri makes an anguished noise that dissolves into a helpless moan of wordless pleasure.

     Sukuna grins, then leans his head back and groans as his hips finally sink flush against her rear. He holds her hips but then slides his hands up to grip her waist.

     “I’ll take that as a yes,” he breathes out, pulling his hips back.

     “Sukunaaaa…” Comes her keening moan. Sukuna laughs, stroking his thumbs along her skin in a soothing manner. He drives his hips forward.

     Asiri screams, her head dropping between her shoulders, her hands reaching to grip the headboard, nails digging into the carved wood. Sukuna narrows his eyes. She’s so tight around him, clenching as if she doesn’t want to let him go. If he’s not careful he might indulge her and just stay buried in her until the world crumbles around their ears.

     He takes a moment to stroke her with his hands, tracing the tattoo limned into her nape, the curves of her ass split so prettily around his cock. He growls.

     And then he begins to take her.

     But is it taking when she gives so willingly? He does not know. He only knows that he sets a punishing rhythm, and Asiri throws her braids over one shoulder, gripping the headboard and enduring him. Every strike of his hips against her ass, his balls slapping wetly against her swollen clit, punctuated by her throaty moans…all of it serves to nourish him in ways he never thought he’d want from another living soul.

     Lust is a serpent whose bite had never taken a permanent hold in him. But this is beyond lust. Asiri is reclaiming her body’s pleasure one obscene cry of his name at a time. And he is her personal god, answering those plaintive, beseeching calls to him.

     “Yes!” She cries. “Oh yesyesyesyes, just like thattttt…” One of her hands splay against the headboard, and Sukuna listens as her nails drag against the wood, leaving shallow claw marks. He takes a smug pride in knowing that her pleasure is so great that she must mark the site of its birth. He pulls her back and forth along his cocks, reducing her to high-pitched keening notes, and mindless begging in her mother tongue.

     Sukuna groans at how tight she is. Gods, the grip she has on his cocks should be decidedly unfair. He wants to bury himself inside her depths every minute of the day. Every fucking night. He wants to wring her limp of her sweat, of her tears, of these beautiful songs no one will ever be able to make her sing save for the King of Curses himself.

     One hand encircles her throat, a firm but comfortable grip and she gasps, but then moans.

     His thumb slips into her mouth as he pulls her head back, the arch becoming absolute as he forces her to meet his gaze while he pounds into her. Again and again.

     “Open your mouth,” he growls, eyes flaring. Asiri doesn’t think—there are no thoughts in that pretty head of hers in this moment, he’d wager—and he spits into it. She moans when it hits her tongue, and he leans down to devour her mouth with his own. She kisses him desperately, he kisses her ravenously. Between their hungry mouths, their saliva trails, a wet smacking and devouring to accompany the rhythmic slap of skin against skin as Asiri’s eyes glaze over with that softness that makes the center of Sukuna’s chest twinge, not in discomfort, but exhilaration.

     Briefly—very briefly—he thinks about her smile, about how she must look just opening her eyes in the morning, still clinging to sleep. The smell of her hair when they rode to the festival. Her laughter when he tells a particularly grisly joke. Those dark eyes, glimmering with secrets as she dances. He wants all of her, all of the time, and he’s beginning to think he might be driven mad from it all.

     He fucks her harder, holding her tight to him as she pants and squeals for him.

     “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop…” She whimpers, begging him as he feels her pussy and ass clench around him. She’s so full—feels more full than she could ever imagine one person possibly being.

     Tears slip from her eyes, and the King of Curses licks them away, growling at her to take it.

     And she does. She takes it deep, she takes it hard, and most of all, she enjoys it.

     So this is what it’s supposed to feel like… Her dazed, fuck-drunk mind thinks, the thought spinning like smoke on the breeze beyond the reach of clarity. Everything about that horrible night feels like another lifetime. Sukuna’s touch, possessive and tender and cruel and all-consuming, burns it away. The rot that has been a festering wound within her, burning under the onslaught of his hands. The self-loathing, torn out at the root with his teeth. All of it, undone, undone, undone.

     “You’re close, aren’t you?” He growls and her eyes are wide. She can’t speak, only sob out a plea that he give her something—anything.

     “Go ahead and come for me, mayoi-hana,” he growls into her skin, sucking marks into her neck, tugging her earlobe with his fangs. “Let me feel how much you want this.”

     Her climax shatters like a star within her, and thunder rattles the temple walls, the wind howling in harmony with her screams.

     Sukuna can’t take it. He shoves her down, hammers her with powerful thrusts, chasing a climax that he wants to bury so deep inside of her that any other after him will feel the splinters of his soul within her like barbs.

     “Oh, Sukuna…” She gasps when all four of his arms come around her, crushing her body to him, burying both his cocks deep as they twitch, filling her; filling her until it leaks between her thighs, slick and sticky.

     The storm unleashes its fury as he holds her tight, and they breathe with it—through it—sweat-slick skin slipping against one another. Asiri is limp and boneless in his arms, eyes heavy-lidded as he slowly begins to untangle their limbs. The process of slipping from her results in a mess, and him having to catch her before she tumbles. He lays her down gently, and she gladly hugs one of the massive pillows, catching her breath. Sukuna smirks down at her, already feeling refreshed, his cocks slick and dripping. Asiri peers up at him before she moves, quickly.

     She leans in as Sukuna watches her with sharp, predatory eyes. Then, in a moment of carnal curiosity, she licks a drop of pearlescent and salty come from the tips of both his cocks, looking up at him. His jaw tenses and a low sound comes from him. She bites her lip and pulls away with an almost secret smile, as if she cannot believe her own boldness.

     “How do you feel, mayoi-hana?” He asks, reaching to cup her chin, tilting her gaze back up to him. Asiri shamelessly leans into his touch, now, still smiling. It is the look of a woman who has realized that she is not a broken thing. Sukuna sees her come to the realization as her gaze meets his.

     “Sated,” she murmurs, still biting her lip with a girlish smile. “For now.”

     Sukuna grins slowly at that, stroking her jaw and carding his fingers through her braids to examine the flushing purple bruises forming on her neck from where his mouth claimed her tender flesh. Then, he moves off of the futon, retreating to the partitioned wash room. He doesn’t bother to dress, and Asiri takes that moment to truly observe him.

     Sukuna is, for lack of adequate description, beautiful.

     Her eyes trail over him from head to toe and she thinks to herself that he is perfectly made. Whatever features she once found grotesque are in fact the keys to his perfection. Every muscle and sinew, every movement…he is everything self-contained in one flesh; an entity wholly unto himself. She looks away briefly, wondering why her heart hurts and feels so full at the same time; why it races and skips and skids as if every movement and gesture he makes yanks it from her chest. The sight of him fills her with something she cannot name. It is not lust, nor is it anything that could be called true admiration. Joy? No, even that fails to do it justice.

     She decides not to think of it, now.

     Sukuna returns with a bowl, an ewer, and a wash rag. Asiri watches as he wipes her down, smiling as she sinks into the pillows.

     “I want more,” she whispers. Sukuna gives her an incredulous look.

     “You have probably scared every cursed spirit in the forest out into the hills with your delicious screaming; are you sure you can handle more of me?” He asks dryly.

     For a moment, Asiri says nothing.

     “Yes,” she breathes. Then Sukuna watches as she breathes, shutting her eyes. Her cursed energy flares, moving around her body, slipping between her thighs. His eyes narrow. There’s no way she’s…

     Her hand follows, and his gaze sharpens: main eyes on her face, his lower eyes tracking the movement of her hand.

     “Clever,” he snorts, lower eyes dropping to her cunt automatically as she adjusts, her thighs spreading wider. He can see the glistening trail of his seed all over her.

     Asiri takes two fingers, spreads her lips open and Sukuna nearly cracks his teeth his jaw is so tight, but he doesn’t move.

     She gathers the commingled juices, slipping her fingers around the lovely shape of her cunt, trapping her swollen clit between her knuckles. Back and forth, spreading his seed all over her, grinding her hips. She whines in pleasure and he watches.

     It doesn’t take long, and Sukuna finds himself breathing with her as she strokes herself to climax, moaning for him and giving him a show; and he watches that lovely hole clench and flutter and spasm and spill her essence and his all over her stroking fingers.

     Her eyes flutter open, and she lets out a pleased little sigh before bringing her fingers to her lips.

     Sukuna’s hand snatches her wrist, startling her, and she stares at him with wide, eager eyes as he brings her slicked fingers to his lips, sucking them down to the knuckle, relishing the taste of both of them on his tongue. It’s almost enough to stir him again, but he wants a break. He’ll not rush any moment of this, and they have the entire night to themselves. No one will disturb them. Still, he will admit that was the sexiest thing he’d seen anyone do in front of him without prompting or commanding.

     He retrieves the rag from her and pulls on his hakama. Walking to slide open the shoji leading to the engawa. Outside, a steady downpour is going, rain dripping in curtains from the upturned edges of the pagoda roofing. The engawa remains relatively dry, and the air is pleasantly mild and cool against his skin. He retrieves a long lacquered case, and takes a seat outside.

     Not to be left behind, Asiri climbs out of the futon, and in lieu of anything else, grabs Sukuna’s black haori, throwing it over herself. She comes to join him out on the engawa and he looks up in the midst of…her brows furrow.

     Sukuna is crushing pungent, green flower buds of ganja into the bowl of his kiseru. He glances up at her as he snaps his fingers over the crumbled flower, igniting it as he inhales. He breathes out a cloud of reaper gray, the air pungent with the burning flower. He gazes at her standing there, naked under his massive haori. With that same preternatural grace, he rearranges himself and she goes to him, settling in his sphere. He passes her the kiseru wordlessly and she takes a draw, holding in a cough before releasing it.

     Almost immediately, she feels sluggish and languorous.

     “Mmm…” Comes her pleased hum as she watches rain pour out in the garden, lightning occasionally illuminating the entire scene. She leans into Sukuna, and one of his arms comes around her as he smokes. Asiri feels something lower in her mind’s defenses along with her eyelids. There’s a light feeling in her limbs and chest and she bites her lip on a mindless giggle. Sukuna’s lower eyes flick down to her, and the corner of his lips lift.

     “Sukuna,” Asiri breathes. Sukuna hums in acknowledgement. “When you found me that night…why did you save me?”

     Sukuna frowns. She wants to do this now? He sighs, exhaling smoke. He supposes there’s nothing to lose at this point.

     “I didn’t save you, Šetû,” he breathes in a reluctantly laconic tone. “You saved yourself, I merely watched. Had you died that night I simply would have eaten you.”

     Asiri’s eyes widen. It’s callous, but it’s honest. It still stings. Sukuna has never been one to mince words not matter how much they hurt. She breathes deep, ignores the stinging prick of tears in her eyes before blinking them away.

     “But I knew you wouldn’t die,” Sukuna continues and Asiri looks up at him. He’s watching the rain, the embers of his kiseru still burning as he passes it to her. “Uraume wanted to know why I refused to heal you, and the truth is Šetû is that I knew you were more than capable of doing it yourself. I knew it from the first moment I tasted your cursed energy the night we met. I knew you had it in you to dig out of the shallow grave that pitiful Zenin brat left you in.”

     “You were testing me,” Asiri breathes. Sukuna dips his head in a nod.

     “In a sense,” Sukuna says nonchalantly. “Once you healed yourself, I brought you here to get answers. I saw the residuals of cursed technique usage around the site of the attack, but I knew if you survived, you could give me a name.”

     Asiri takes another drag.

     “Why was it important to you to know who attacked me?”

     Sukuna growls.

     “I invited you and your family as my honored guests. I had planned to formally hire you to entertain me. Zenin attacking you was a direct insult to me, violating the tenets of my hospitality, such as it is.”

     Asiri leans her head against his shoulder.

     “When he was raping me,” she says. “He said I was your creature. Said you’d hired a foreign sorcerer to aid you. At the time I didn’t know what he meant. I had no idea who you were, not really.”

     Sukuna snorts. “And do you know who I am, now, little flower?”

     Asiri smiles. “You are mine,” she says with a mischievous twinkle in her dark eyes. Sukuna stares down at her with his lower eyes and says nothing.

     “You promised,” she reminds him. He snorts.

     “So I did,” he grumbles. “And what does it mean to belong to Šetû Asiri, I wonder. What glorious sights will I behold while beneath you?”

     Her cheeks burn and she looks away when he grins to see his joke land exactly where he intended. He nudges her gently.

     “You are no one’s creature,” he tells her. “Least of all mine. Too stubborn.”

     She nudges him back, annoyed when he doesn’t budge.

     “But I am yours,” she says. Sukuna turns the full of his gaze upon her.

     “Thou, and no other,” he reminds her. She smiles at him, leaning her head against his shoulder again. The rain sounds like a waterfall, but it’s muted against the lush grass. For a moment they sit in silence, listening to it, breathing with it.

     A question forms in Sukuna’s mind, one he finds himself reluctant to ask. There’s only two answers to his question, and only one he wants to hear.

     He remains silent.

     “Sukuna,” Asiri says quietly. “More.”

     Sukuna’s brows go up. “Insatiable little minx,” he teases. “Tell me what you want.”

     Asiri pulls away from him, watches as he taps out the ash of his kiseru and replaces it in the lacquered box. She sits on her heels.

     “I want to taste you,” she murmurs and that draws the full of his gaze again, hard and sharp and unblinking.

     “What?” He asks quietly. Asiri gulps, taking a deep inhale.

     “Your cocks, I want to taste them…” Her cheeks burn. “Every part of you, really. You are so…”

     Sukuna smirks and leans back on his lower hands, one of his upper hands beckoning her closer. For a moment, Asiri wants to resist him, but he looks too much like some god out of an old myth, reclining in leisure. She closes the distance slowly, once again wondering what she must do. She tries to remember any frame of reference before that horrible night. Sometimes her cousins would visit brothels on their travels, and she tries to remember the glimpses of that life she managed to catch. Women far bolder in sex than she, gossiping about sex.

     Nothing in her memory is helpful.

     “The night won’t last forever, mayoi-hana,” Sukuna growls impatiently.

     Asiri shoots him a look.

     “Mscheww. Jirgin da ya kawo Bilal shi ne jirgin da ya kawo Musa.” She snaps back impatiently and Sukuna’s eyes go wide. Then he tips his head back and laughs. While he laughs, she reaches for the waistband of his hakama, loosening it and freeing one of his cocks, already straining and hard. It bobs, veined and tattooed, and she marvels at how big it is. To think it was inside of her not too long ago. Sukuna watches her as she reaches and wraps her hand around the base of the shaft, but her fingers don’t meet on the other side.

     She strokes him once, gaze sharpening when a strained sound comes from Sukuna’s chest.

     Again, up and down, squeezing tighter, and Sukuna’s lids lower slightly, a lazy smirk curling his sensuous mouth. Asiri watches as a bead of pearlescent seed forms at the tip of his cock and then, as before, she leans in and licks the droplet.

     Sukuna groans from the contact, still somewhat sensitive from earlier. Asiri smiles, gives a circling lick around the head, slow and indulgent. Sukuna lets out a soft, reverent swear at the sight of those dark eyes looking up at him, his cock in her grip, her tongue swirling and eager to taste him.

     She lowers her head, coming down to the heavy sack of his balls. Sukuna’s eyes widen as she brushes her lips against the sensitive skin, tests the weight of them on her tongue, lifting his cock and stroking as she sucks one into her mouth, blinking up at him.

     “Fuck…” Comes his guttural growl. “You are so gods-bedamned beautiful, Šetû. Perfect, just like that.”

     She sucks on one, then the other, relishing and lavishing every part of him that brings her pleasure, tracing the seam between them with her tongue from front to back. He hisses when her tongue tickles close to the back, and the sight of her with them resting on her lips is enough that he wants to spend on her pretty face at least once.

     Asiri explores some more when her lips close around the head of his cock. For a moment, that’s all she does, but her tongue rolls against the head and Sukuna’s hips shift slightly, the small muscles in his thighs twitching from the effort of trying not to lose control as Asiri explores this new avenue of pleasure. Slowly she lowers her head, and inch by inch he enters her mouth.

     “Yes…” Sukuna breathes out in a harsh hiss. “Just like that…”

     Asiri takes as much of the shaft into her mouth as she can, pausing to find out how to work her stroking hand in tandem with her mouth. She pulls up, hollowing her cheeks to hold the head longer while her tongue lashes back and forth across the tip. Sukuna grits his teeth on a groan.

     “Faster…” He hisses reaching to grab her head and force her down. He hears her choke and cough slightly as the thick head of his cock bumps the back of her throat. Then he pulls her up and she looks up at him, eyelashes fluttering.

     Down. Choke. Cough. Wince. Drool.

     Up. His cock glistening with her drool. Eyelids fluttering. Groaning.

     Down. Choke. Drool. Cough.

     Up. Down. Up. Down. Faster.

     In the privacy of his engawa, Sukuna watches as Asiri’s head bobs in a fluid rhythm in his lap, taking to the task of pleasing him with eager relish. She strokes and sucks him, relishing the taste of their commingled fluids. She looks up at him, eyes glimmering with something akin to admiration and pleasure at having pleased him.

     “Fuck, that’s good…” He praises, only slightly winded. “You sure you haven’t done this before?”

     Asiri pauses long enough to shoot a smirk with her eyes alone, tracing the veins of his cock with the tip of her tongue.

     Down. This time, Sukuna forces her further, until he feels her neck relax in an effort to get the head of his cock past the tight entrance of her throat. Once there, he feeds the rest of his cock to her, watching tears run down her face as he sheathes himself in her throat, her nose pressed against the soft, downy blush-colored hair at the base. He holds her there until he feels the small muscles of her throat working in swallowing motions, relaxing her jaw until he hears the wet, sticky sound of her drool dripping down her chin and soaking the heavy sack of his balls.

     “Oh fuck!” Sukuna groans. “Fuck yes. That’s it.” His head tips back and he moans louder, pulling her up as she makes a high-pitched gasp for air and then she’s down again.

     Her head bobs faster, and he leashes her by her hair, guiding her until all he can hear is the lewd, wet sucking noises of her mouth and the deep, guttural sound of her choking as he fucks her beautiful face. And what a beautiful face it is. Sukuna thinks she has never looked better, her full lips stretched around his cock, tears in her eyes, drool dripping down her chin and neck as she struggles to take him deep every single time he pushes her head down.

     Faster.

     Deeper. One hand shifts to feel that bulge in her throat, stroking it tenderly. She gags, but then forces it down.

     The rain pours. There’s a rapid series of wet squelching and sucking noise as Sukuna reduces Asiri to the pleasure of her lips, tongue, and throat, and Asiri relishes being used for his enjoyment. She relishes pleasing him.

     Faster. Deeper. Choke.

     Sukuna’s breaths come heavier, and he feels the telltale tingle at the base of his spine. He’s so close.

     Tears runs down her face as Sukuna forces her down with a primal sound that is right at home in the wild places of the earth,; right at home in the storm raging just steps away from them. His cock fills her mouth, pulsing and twitching, and she holds her breath as copious amounts of his seed paints her throat. Hot enough that it nearly shocks her into coughing, and plentiful enough that what doesn’t make it down her throat fills her mouth and leaks from the corners, dribbling down her chin. A beautiful, messy creature.

     Sukuna waits until the last spurts and twitches subside before he pulls her off of his cock, listening with residual pleasure as she gasps desperately for air, lips swollen and glistening with seed and saliva. She licks her lips, sitting back on her heels and swaying as she regains her composure.

     Sukuna lays where he is, breathing deep.

     “Fuck…” He murmurs quietly, catching his breath. “Ah, you are more than I could have dreamed, Šetû. Where did you learn such obscene skills?”

     Asiri shrugs. “I didn’t. I simply…guessed what to do.”

     Sukuna hooks an incredulous brow.

     She reaches forward, runs a fingertip over his softening cock making him hiss. He glares at her but does nothing to stop her.

     “It’s pretty straightforward in its workings,” she says matter-of-factly. Sukuna snorts. He won’t argue that. It’s rare he meets virginal women who know anything about the body. Though he remembers telling her this was a dance for which the steps would come easy to one such as her.

     He smirks, and with that frightening speed, leans up, reaching to pull her into his lap, freeing his other cock. Divining his desire, Asiri lets him maneuver her, hooking her legs over the elbows of his lower arms, before dropping her unceremoniously on his cock.

     She screams, but she’s already wet and tender for him as he stretches her pussy again. He wraps his arms around her completely, keeping her folded in half and crushed against him. He has complete control and he sees none of the fear in her.

     She trusts him.

     “Sukuna…” She whines. “Sukuna, I can’t…too big…”

     Sukuna laughs and without preamble begins bouncing her helplessly on his cock. Asiri wraps her arms around his neck, fingers gripping his hair. Sukuna murmurs against her mouth.

     “I saw potential in you,” he repeats his earlier words amidst her whimpering as he slows his pace to torment her with deep, languorous strokes. Up and down, a wet, sticky sound as her pussy is parted around his thick cock again and again. So big…so fucking big. She almost feels too full.

     “But not just for sorcery,” he continues. “I wanted to taste you on my tongue, wanted to feel you split on my cock just…like…this…ngh!” He punctuates those last words with a hard, pounding thrust.

     Asiri’s mind is wiped. There’s only the King of Curses there, occupying her every fleeting thought. She babbles mindlessly.

     “Sukuna, don Allah zan yi komai kawai...don Allah…” She sobs. Sukuna doesn’t understand and he grins at her in the dim light, only the glow of his eyes visible.

     “Are you begging?” He mocks. “You think you can just beg me in any tongue that flits into that pretty head of yours and I’ll just concede to your demands?”

     She’s crying, but not out of shame or embarrassment or anger, but the pleasure. God, she feels like she’s coming apart.

     And that’s exactly when Sukuna reaches between them, strumming her clit cruelly with his thumb. He wants her to come apart. Wants to run his hands through the shattered bits of starlight that is her soul, and fuse them to the gold of her own strength.

     There’s a high, keening wail that competes with the thunder and lightning, and then a clamping of lust-slick, velveteen muscles. Sukuna lets out a surprised groan and chuckles.

     “Oh, how magnificent: she’s crying and coming all over my cock again…and she thinks we’re done.”

     The night stretches endlessly it seems. When she comes, it undoes the last of the chains she’s carried since autumn. The guilt, the grief, the fear…all of it melts away as Sukuna gathers her in his arms and carries her inside, sliding the shoji shut behind him. He heads to the partitioned bath chamber, pulling a lever to bring water into the massive, beaten copper tub from the rooftop cistern. He lights the incense and coals beneath the tub.

     Asiri is vaguely aware of his actions, head lolling against his chest as he strips her of the haori and abandons his hakama. She feels him move, and then they sink into the bath. He arranges her between his legs, and the warm water immediately makes her melt.

     Asiri doesn’t question it, she simply leans back against him. Sukuna shifts, spreading his upper arms along the edge of the tub to rest, his lower arms around Asiri, pulling her back against him.

     “Won’t your belly mouth drown?” She asks lamely, her words only slightly slurred. Sukuna blinks, nonplussed. Ah, she’s still inebriated from the ganja. What a stupid question. He doesn’t dignify it with an answer, reaching for a wash rag and an earthenware jar of soaps and oil.

     Asiri leans forward as she piles her braids atop her head. Sukuna looks down, sees the mark on her nape clearly in the lantern light. He reaches, traces it with his fingertips much like she’d done with his own tattoos. And like her, he doesn’t ask her what this mark means. He feels something powerful about it, something resembling protective warding. A barrier seal, perhaps?

     “My mother called it psychic armor,” Asiri says in a lazy tone. She smiles, drawing her knees to her chest to rest her cheek on them. “She and someone designed the mark to protect me from harm by those who harbor ill thoughts about me.”

     Sukuna says nothing, tracing the black limned marking with a reverence one paid to gods.

     Gods…like him.

     Goddesses…like her.

     “And now you command the sky’s wrath,” Sukuna murmurs in an amused tone. Asiri laughs softly.

     “Yes,” she agrees. “I command the sky’s wrath…as my grandfather did.”

     “So you knew you were a sorcerer,” Sukuna says darkly. Asiri, sensing his displeasure, sits up and shakes her head.

     “No,” she says in her defense. “My grandfather’s gift had always been a paternal one. It had only ever manifested in the men of his line. It had been my parents’ hope that the gift died with my grandfather. Islam has taken root in my homeland and they frown upon such magics in their faith. It had been Amadou’s hope that it passed to him.”

     Sukuna begins to understand, now. It must have galled Amadou to see such a gift passed to one who was not supposed to have it…and Sukuna has learned that it’s precisely that kind of spiritual and secret greed that forces the universe to dispense a lesson in the form of beings like her. And beings like him. Sometimes those lessons were permanent in nature.

     “That was another reason we had to leave,” she says softly. “Had it gotten out that I had his gift, it would have destroyed my family.”

     Sukuna’s lip curls. “Sounds like your family was no better than the Zenins or any of the other sorcerer clans who care more about breeding sorcerers with certain techniques rather than training the sorcerers available to them to be good at jujutsu.”

     Asiri snorts and laughs as well.

     “Yes,” she says softly. “Still, Amadou never held it against me. And for a long while, whatever the shaman had sensed in me, was quiet. For a few years, I was just Šetû. Just a marokiya with…quirks, I suppose.”

     Sukuna’s lower hands cup her breasts beneath the water and she takes comfort in his touch as it roves over her, rubbing her abused muscles into tenderness.

     “Now you are more.” He says in that deadly quiet finality. But it doesn’t scare her anymore. It thrills her.

     “Now I am more.” She agrees, and believes it.

     After their bath, Sukuna helps her dry off, and leers at her shamelessly. She smiles shyly, squeezing out her braids before pushing them over one shoulder. She leans over to adjust her anklet. Sukuna watches her and thinks he can get used to seeing her in this bedchamber.

     Not as his guest, or pupil, or ward. Not even as food.

     Something more.

     Asiri leans back up, her gaze snagging on his.

     “What is it?” She asks, her tone one of hushed expectancy, her expression guileless. Sukuna wants to take all that softness in her and put it inside himself for safekeeping. The world will take it from her otherwise, but within his soul, he can keep her safe.

     He doesn’t answer.

     They return to the futon, and Asiri mounts the empty, rumpled sheets, and he watches her, briefly on her hands and knees as she attempts to smooth the rumpled bedding. He gets a glimpse of her swollen and abused cunt, and feels his cocks getting hard again. She sits back on her heels and looks at him.

     “Sukuna?” She ventures. “You haven’t been a shit to me for a full five minutes, are you sure you’re alright?”

     That brings him back and he frowns.

     “Watch your tongue, brat.” He warns. She hooks a brow at him, tilting her head. She doesn’t respond but she does climb out of bed to stand before his full-length mirror. He joins her as she observes herself. She runs her hands over various planes of her body, squeezing and pinching. He turns her to face him and she looks up.

     “Say something,” she says.

     “I want your throat around my cock again,” he responds without missing a beat.

     Her eyelids flutter and her mouth opens and then closes.

     “That’s funny,” she breathes. “I wanted both your cocks inside me again.”

     That bloodthirsty grin spreads across his face and Asiri wonders if this is the final sight of his enemies before he slaughters them. He places his hands on her shoulders, turns her to face the mirror. She meets his gaze in their shared reflection, watches as all four of his hands caress her reverently, learning every contour that shapes her. The darkling Galatea to this monstrous and possessive Pygmalion.

     For the second time, they sink to the floor together, one of his arms wrapped around her waist as she folds her knees under her and he spreads her thighs. Without breaking her gaze in the mirror, one of his hands slides between her legs, fingers tracing her cunt.

     She shivers, and he feels the first pearls of moisture form. Lightly, he moves his finger forward and back, lightly grazing her clit. She trembles.

     Back and forth.

     Her eyelids flutter.

     Back and forth.

     A small, restrained groan. More wetness.

     Back and forth.

     She falls forward onto her forearms, exposing herself further.

     Sukuna hears the music he has come to love the most: the slick sound of her cunt waking up just for him. He dips a finger in, carefully. One would think after hours of this, the tissues would become numb to overuse, even injured, but he watched her use reverse cursed technique to heal herself earlier while bringing herself to climax. Who knew beneath that soul scar was such a devilish and insatiable little minx?

     She shifts, spreading her thighs wider. Sukuna eyes watch her in the mirror, his lower eyes watching his fingers gather her juices with each thrust.

     Another finger.

     “Oh,” comes her soft moan. A few droplets spill.

     Dripdrip. Against the wooden floor, glittering like obscene dew. Sukuna licks his lips. He wants to devour her, and he wants to fuck her.

     “I love how wet you get for me,” Sukuna groans. “Hotter than a forge and wetter than tears. I’m going to enjoy this.”

     Another hand presses against her back, deepening her arch, and she bows herself for him obediently—eagerly. Sukuna is quietly impressed with her flexibility, though he should not be surprised.

     Asiri focuses her vision and looks up; comes face to face with a captive dream spirit in a position of vulnerable supplication, the God of Hida on his knees behind her, his cocks swollen and straining, pearly drops of seed beading at the tips. With his main eyes on hers in their reflection, his lower eyes flicker down as he spreads the curves of her ass apart and admires her, circling his thumb around the puckered bud and smirking when it clenches from the contact. She’s more pliant now that he’s prepared her and used her.

     The maw on his belly parts in a hungry grin, the tattooed tongue rolling out of from between the fangs like a serpent. Saliva drips from it like acid, splattering onto the small of her back, and she shivers.

     Then, it slides between the spread globes of her ass, teasing the puckered hole.

     “Oh fuck…!” She whines, watching in the mirror as the tongue slides up and down, saliva dripping all over, making a messy of her. The tip of it pushes that puckered bud and he feels it give, stretching slightly, and Asiri’s eyes screw shut as she whines helplessly while the massive tongue pumps in and out of her in shallow thrusts. There is only her voice, and the wet, sticky sound of his tongue.

     “Look how beautiful you are,” Sukuna praises with the mouth on his face, the other preoccupied with her asshole. “On your hands and knees for me, at my mercy, and whining like a whore for me to fuck you. Are you still mine, Šetû?”

     He shapes her name like a leash and collar, and she lets him slip it around her throat. Lets him pull it tight, demanding her submission.

     “Yes,” comes her strained, desperate whimper as he adds another finger to her cunt, fucking both of her holes with rhythmic pumps. She keeps whimpering. It’s unfair that he can do all of this to her, bring her to such unimaginable pleasure that it feels almost criminal to enjoy it. It feels like the sweetest taboo.

     “Keep talking, little flower, I want to hear how much you belong to me.”

     “Ciki…na…masoyí…” She begs, her dark eyes pleading with his in the mirror. Sukuna will never tire of that lambent, plaintive  gaze she gives him, as if he holds the very air she needs to breathe and will do anything for one, desperate inhale.

     “Come for me,” he murmurs. “Come for me and I’ll give you exactly what you crave, mayoi-hana. Drench me as only you can.”

     And she does. That light circling of her clit, his pumping fingers, that fucking massive tongue, and the silken honey of his voice all serve to bring her shuddering to climax and she watches in the mirror as he withdraws his fingers, sucking her juices from them indulgently. The tongue lolls and the mouth on his belly grins in satisfaction.

     Asiri’s body quivers both in anticipation and in the aftermath of her climax.

     Only then does her fill her with his cocks, feeding one and the other into both her holes. This time, there’s more give, the slide slick between them, and he sinks into her much quicker and smoother, hands pulling her hips back until she lifts her head, eyes blurred and unfocused.

     “Stay with me, Šetû,” he grits out, pulling his hips back and driving forward. Long, throaty moans tear from her, more hoarse than before—he’s had her screaming for most of the night—and he holds her head up with one hand, not allowing her to look away from their reflection.

     Asiri is mesmerized by the sight. Sukuna’s face is flushed in the cheeks, sweat gleaming on his brown skin. The muscles of his abdomen work as he pumps himself in and then out of her, again and again, until the sound of skin meeting skin is all there is, as loud as her cries for more. Louder than the storm that is both her doing and not.

     “Oh fuck!” She moans, words trailing as she endures him. “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop…” She begs and chants, bracing herself even as he holds her by the throat. Tears slip from her eyes again, and another arm bands around her waist, leashing her more securely so that he can pound her more thoroughly.

     In and out. Again and again and again. She hopes he never stops. She hopes he wrings everything out of her, until all she knows is to belong to him.

     Plapplapplapplaplapplaplap—

“You want this,” Sukuna tells her, but it’s a question also, the only sign that he wants her reassurance as much as her surrender. “You need this…”

     “Yes,” she ekes out, the words dragging like a chain through her throat straight from the belly. “Yes…!”

     And she means it. Something moves through both of them as he plows her, like a dark wind.

     Another hand, stroking her clit while he stuffs her full, relishing those tight confines of her body, and the look of absolute bliss in her reflection. For his part, Sukuna looks like some feral beast, all teeth and maw and growling, but he pulls her up to him, holding her suspended against him so he can kiss her, and drink down her cries like rare wine. His lower eyes watch their reflection, wanting to commit this moment to memory.

     His lips travel down, and he sinks his teeth into the tender meat of her shoulder, just enough to bruise. She cries out and shudders in his arms. He tightens his bite, breaking the skin, and the coppery sweetness of her floods his mouth as she mewls in pain. He licks the wound he’s made, the closest thing to an apology, but also a self-indulgent excuse to continue to taste her in every way he can.

     “Mine,” he growls, unthinking. The one thing in the world Asiri is that she is to no one else. He won’t let her be anyone else’s after this.

     “Yours,” she whimpers, her voice warbling with her tears; agreeing, pleading, begging for it to be true. Begging him to make it true; her eyes shining with tears and his heart stinging from that other look in her gaze that makes him feel more naked than he is right now. As if she’s looking at his soul and not him. As if the rot of his own curses within his viscera does not repulse her.

     He presses his fingers against her clit, trapping it and stroking it relentlessly.

     “Give me one more, mayoi-hana,” he pants. “Gambare, gambare.”

     She gives him two. And then one more, breaking in his arms as she dissolves into helpless sobs, the pleasure insurmountable.

     And then he fucks her harder. He wants to undo everything that bastard Zenin did to her, wants to strip it away so completely that she does not remember the pain of that violation, only the pleasure of his touch, only the pleasure of being his.

Just as he is hers. Gods she’s had him since their eyes met that night and he was inevitably drawn into the invitation of those beautiful forest pools in her beautiful face.

     Love.

     That realization is what sends him over the edge, and in their shared reflection, two people who do not find themselves worthy of love, find themselves tangled within it like moth wings in the gossamer of spider silk. Sukuna spends himself inside of her again, his thrusts ragged and staggered as he groans loudly, thoroughly sated as he claims her in full. Though not nearly as copious as the first time, it is still a generous amount and he watches with satisfaction as it drips out of her onto the wooden floor. He groans again, deep and from the belly, tipping his head back and panting, muscles twitching, body gleaming with sweat.

     Their reflection is like erotic art. His limbs tangled with hers, her spread and impaled on him. Heaving together in their shared breath, mouths seeking one another’s like breathing.

     Sukuna slides out of her with a low groan and her soft whimpering mewl.

     He has strength aplenty, but he knows she is at her limit from the dazed look in her eyes. He carries her back to the futon, wiping her down with a clean rag before joining her. He douses the lantern with a swipe of her hand, plunging the room into the softer, dimmer light of the brazier, which burns low, mounted on a plinth.

     Asiri stretches out along the bed on her stomach, eyes already heavy with fatigue, body limp and boneless and replete.

     Sated.

     “Sukuna,” she murmurs, her voice slurred. “Thank you for…”

     Her eyes slip closed as she shivers and he turns to look at her. Has she fallen asleep so quickly?

     “Sorry,” she mumbles, then giggles and shivers again before Sukuna pulls the covers over them both. “Aftershocks.”

     He sucks his teeth but the annoyance has no bite to it. He watches her as she blinks slowly at him, her smile lazy and dreamy. For a moment, he almost says something to her that he has said to no one before, but instead he decides to watch her in silence. She reaches for him, clumsily finding his face before stroking it.

     “You didn’t have to save me,” she tells him. “But you did. I don’t think all of your bad reputation is warranted.”

     Sukuna grins. “Oh, it is,” he tells her. “But I have been known to follow my interests and whims.”

     Asiri adjusts with a soft groan.

     “And am I an interest or a whim?” She asks him. Sukuna reaches over, traces his fingertips down the length of her spine, over the curve of her hip. Asiri watches him with expectant, guileless eyes, her skin glowing in the aftermath of their rigorous fucking.

     “You are…something else,” Sukuna admits. “What that is, I cannot readily say. If you want me to call you my lover, I cannot. That has never been something I could give to anyone.”

     Asiri’s brows furrow. “I do not want you to call me that if that is not what I am. I merely ask…am I interest or whim?”

     Sukuna brushes a braid from her face.

     “Interest,” he replies and Asiri smirks as if he has just told her a delicious secret.

     “Interest is good,” she murmurs. “Interest means you think of me often.”

     Sukuna snorts. “Hardly.”

     “Sukuna, you don’t fuck someone the way you just fucked me if you don’t think of them. You think of me. It’s alright.”

     Sukuna’s nose wrinkles and he frowns. Asiri laughs, rolling onto her back. She laughs like she’s just heard the sweetest joke, or learned the most ridiculous information about someone she hates. She laughs and he sees that sharp smile of hers from the first night they met. Perhaps a night of vigorous fucking was part of what was needed to get that spark back.

     “I think of you often, too,” she admits when her laughter quiets and she lays on her back, staring at the ceiling. She turns her head to look at him.

     “I think of how you looked at the harvest festival, like you wanted to be anywhere else. I think about how you and Uraume came to our camp, and how I felt so honored that you’d even be interested or curious about us. I think of you and your fire, helping me reclaim the map of my body’s pleasure. And I’ll think of you long after all of this is done.”

     Sukuna lays back with a sigh.

     “And what will you do?” He asks. “When all this is done? Where will those dancing feet take you?”

     Asiri rolls closer to him, and Sukuna marvels at how different she is compared to when they first met. Seeing her relaxed and comfortable in this state is…

     “I don’t know,” she says softly. “I hadn’t thought that far…” She stifles a yawn behind her hand.

     “That is a problem for future Asiri to handle,” she mumbles and carves out a space at his side. Sukuna surprises himself when his arms automatically come around her and he folds her into his embrace, hauling her on top of him so she can lay there. His lower hands slide down to cup her rear, his upper arms wrapped around her, hands smoothing up and down her back.

     The rain pours outside, and Asiri’s eyes lower, sleep calling stronger with every breath, Sukuna’s breathing and heartbeat lulling her deeper.

     “Goodnight, masoyí…”

     That name again. He wants to ask her what it means.

     Sukuna feels her breathing even out, and then hears a light snore indicating she’s asleep.

     He watches the rain through the windows a while longer, and soon, shuts his eyes.

     The rain stops at some point in the night, just before dawn. The brazier’s fire has died down to a few embers, leaving the room much cooler. There’s a lingering scent of sandalwood in the air…and sex.

     Sukuna slips from bed just as dawn begins to bring color back into the world. He watches Asiri, who lays unmoving amidst the rumpled bedding, her face relaxed in sleep, her breathing deep and even. Reluctantly, he turns away from her and heads to the engawa. Outside, water drips from the pagoda roofing, and there’s a feeling of freshness in the air as he breathes deep. The hot spring is steaming, and he contemplates waking Asiri to join him for a soak. Instead, he opts to have a contemplative smoke from his kiseru and head back inside.

     She’s still sleeping.

     Sukuna tries to ignore her presence, but all he can think of is everything from the night. Her whimpering, her moaning, her eagerness to please and be pleased. Her taking joy in something that had been tainted for her for so long. He thinks of that name she called him before slipping into sleep. The same name she called him when she held his face in her hands and looked at him as if she were looking upon—

     He cannot even lie to himself and say he’s imagining it, and it irritates him.

     Never has he needed anyone to satisfy him. He has been a solitary creature since his mother abandoned him for death when he was barely old enough to understand what death actually is. He has lost track of the years, and the only thing he knows is the velvet crimson of the blood that stains his soul so dark he fears Asiri will fall prey to his curse.

     He can protect her from anyone. From everyone. Just not himself. So he must make sure she is strong. Otherwise, it will be him stealing the light from her eyes, even when he doesn’t intend to.

     He sits on a low stool, and he watches her. She’s unmoving in her sleep, lips parted as she breathes. She shifts rarely, content to stay curled amidst those sheets, as if the they are the tattered remains of a cocoon that birthed her exquisite form. She lets out a soft moan, brow pinched as she rolls onto her side, her back to him. His eyes follow her movements, lingering on the limned mark on her nape.

     Psychic armor.

     Sukuna has heard tell of a sorcerer, more myth than anything, called the Marquist. They specialize in tattoos for sorcerers. He has heard of sorcerers meeting with this mysterious figure, but no one speaks of it directly. He deduces that most of the truth is locked behind a series of complex and iron-clad binding vows. Still, he lingers on Asiri’s tattoo a moment longer, and wonders.

     His lower eyes snap to the door as it slides open. Uraume is there, a tray laden with a teapot, a small jar of honey, and a cup. Sukuna knows the contents of the tea, and watches as they glide inside and set the tray on the low bedside table.

     “Lord Sukuna,” they greet with a reverent bow. “Shall I prepa—”

     Sukuna holds up a gentle forestalling hand, then puts a finger to his lips indicating silence. Uraume’s lilac gaze drifts like snowfall toward the sleeping Asiri, a small, nigh imperceptible smile curving their mouth. It is a fondness Asiri herself has earned from them, and not just because she has enamored their lord.

     “Understood, my lord,” they say, and excuse themselves from the room. Sukuna doesn’t even hear them leave down the hall. He’s trained them well in stealth.

     His gaze returns to Asiri, who sleeps continuously, and he wonders what her answer will be when her vengeance is done.

     I’m going to take you, and then I’m going to bind you to me.

He hasn’t offered the Pact of the Wheel yet, and he’s reluctant to do so. Not because he does not want to be bound, but he cannot fathom what will become of her being bound to someone like him. Everything he touches corrupts eventually. He does not want her to be one of those.

     Asiri’s eyes flutter open, drawn from sleep by the rapidly cooling sheets that mark Sukuna’s absence. Sunlight floods the room, and she stretches indulgently in the bed, groaning from the ache in all her parts. Her inner thighs are sore with each movement, quivering in protest when she tries to lift her legs. There’s a stinging soreness on her shoulder and she sits up abruptly when she feels the wound of Sukuna’s bite, scabbed over. There’s a few bloodstains in the sheets, dried to the color of rust. She bites her lip on a smile before she turns and lets out a scream when she sees Sukuna seated on a stool, still as statuary, and watching her intently.

     She presses a hand to her chest in a gesture to calm her hammering heart and steady her breathing.

     “How long have you been up?” She asks, her voice coming out split and reedy, hoarse. Her throat aches, and she looks at the teapot, the steam curling from the spout, the jar of honey. It’s been so long since she’s had honey. Without thinking, she pours herself a cup, adding the honey and stirring. Then, she drinks it down, soothing her throat. There’s a bitterness to the concoction but her thirst makes for a sharp contrast. She knows what kind of tea this is.

     “Long enough to know that you snore,” Sukuna says dryly and she makes an affronted sound, but there’s mirth dancing in her eyes as she crawls from the bed, testing her strength as she stands. Then, she comes to him. Sukuna moves like poetry, his thighs spreading, all four arms moving to allow her to step close, before his lower arms close around her, squeezing her thighs and rubbing her tenderly. Her hands come up, cupping his face, stroking the bone plate with a tenderness that aches, her eyes studying his, seeking to know him even more than he’s allowed up until now.

     He tilts his head and she presses her face closer to his, brushing his lips with hers. Sukuna, ever-ravenous, does not allow her to stop there, and his mouth claims hers as they kiss, and this time there is no starvation in it; no desperation. Only the tender aftermath of everything that wasn’t said the previous evening.

     “Thank you for last night,” she whispers against his lips. “I hope I pleased you as much as you pleased me, my lord.”

     Sukuna’s hands are all over her.

     “More than, mayoi-hana,” he murmurs, nipping her lower lip and making her smile. “You’ve an appetite that could rival my own, I think.”

     Asiri laughs. “High praise indeed, from the King of Curses himself,” she says and laughs when a mouth spawns on one of his hands to nip at the curve of her ass. She swats him gently on the shoulder.

     “Come,” he says, and for a moment they both freeze, remembering the activities of the previous night. Asiri’s cheeks flush dark with heat and she looks away, suddenly shy at remembering all the things she willingly did and let be done to her body. Sukuna simply picks her up, carrying her outside.

     To the hot spring.

     They soak for some time, and Asiri admits that she needs this. Her body melts with relief and unlike before, when fear an uncertainty made her shy, she curls against Sukuna’s body, an arm around her waist, a hand on her thigh. She feels her eyes get heavy and she rests her head on his chest. It only takes a second, but Sukuna knows she’s fallen asleep again, her body weary from the hard usage he knows she’ll come to crave in time.

     He lets her sleep while he leans his head back, staring at the rain-washed blue sky. Colors seem brighter, even the birdsong seems hopeful. He looks down at the sleeping girl curled into him and tries to imagine life before her. He can’t seem to recall, but he imagines it was rather dull.

     He strokes her body, listens to her murmuring, and she yawns but does not try to move. Sukuna chuckles.

     “Hopeless,” he mutters, but there’s no heat or bite in his words or tone. Only an amused affection he did not know himself capable of, only the fruits of interest rather than whim.

     Do you dream of me, mayoi-hana?

Sukuna lets himself guiltily hope for once in his life. Hope that she does dream of him, and that all of those dreams are pleasant. Hopes that those dreams lead her to the answer she seeks, the one he needs to hear.

     Stay.

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[heliosunny]

Lucky Egg Anaxa? Unless someone has already requested it

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Anaxa x Reader

The Lucky Egg Dispenser was tucked in the corner of a bustling shopping district, wedged between a neon-lit café and a magic supply store that specialized in beginner-friendly spell kits. You had walked past it dozens of times, always amused by the ridiculous concept—spend a few credits, get a mystery egg, and see what hatches. Most people treated it as a harmless novelty, something fun for kids and collectors.

But today, for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you stopped in front of it. Before you knew it, you had inserted the required amount and turned the crank.

With a soft chime, an egg rolled into the collection tray. The display screen above flickered with a message:

Congratulations! Your egg will hatch in 3 days. Take good care of it!

Three days? Most of these eggs were just decorative trinkets with tiny charms inside. This one… felt different.

Tucking the egg carefully into your bag, you exhaled.

Three days.

The egg sat on your bedside table, warm and pulsing like a second heartbeat in the quiet of your apartment. It had been two days since you got it from that stupid Lucky Egg Dispenser.

At first, you thought it was just some novelty, something that would crack open to reveal a mechanical pet or a glowing stone. But this thing… it felt alive. You caught yourself staring at it more often than you’d like to admit, your fingers hovering just above the shell, feeling the faint warmth it gave off.

What was going to hatch from this?

"Guess I'll find out tomorrow."

The next morning, something was different.

The egg had grown warmer. The glow had intensified, flickering like a candle on the verge of going out. You reached out, fingertips brushing against the shell. The moment you touched it, a sharp crack split the air.

You jerked your hand back.

Another crack. Then another. The shell was breaking apart, jagged lines spiderwebbing across its smooth surface. You barely had time to react before the egg burst open with a sudden flash of light.

And then, he was there.

Slumped on your bed, half-covered in shattered shell fragments, was— a person. Or, at least, someone who looked like a person.

His hair was damp, strands clinging to his face as he slowly pushed himself up. His single eye locked onto you, intense and piercing, while the other was covered by a dark, ornate eyepatch.

"You’re mine now."

"...What?"

"You picked my egg. You waited for me. That makes you mine. Obviously. The name is Anaxagoras by the way."

You opened your mouth to argue—but his gaze pinned you in place.

"Tch. You look surprised." His tone was blunt, unimpressed. "What, did you think you were getting a pet? Some tiny, harmless thing?"

You had no words. None at all.

"Doesn’t matter." He stretched, rolling his shoulders as if testing his own body. Then he turned to you again.

"You’ll take care of me, won’t you?"

There was no hesitation in his voice. No doubt. Just the unshakable confidence of someone who had already decided the answer.

You said nothing.

Just stood there, staring at the strange man who had just hatched from an egg on your bed like this was normal.

Nope.

Not dealing with this.

Slowly, carefully, you took a step back. He tilted his head, unimpressed.

"Running away?"

You didn’t answer. Just kept backing up until you reached the door to your room. Your fingers found the handle, twisted it, and I slipped out, shutting it behind you. The lock clicked into place.

You stood there for a second, listening.

Silence.

Maybe… maybe he’d disappear if you left him alone. Maybe this was just some weird, elaborate illusion. A trick of the mind. You’d go outside, take a walk, come back, and your bed would be empty. The egg would be gone. Everything would be normal again.

With that thought, you grabbed your coat, shoved your hands into the pockets, and left the apartment.

The city was the same as always. The hum of magic-powered trams, neon signs flickering in the afternoon haze, people moving through the streets. You walked like nothing was wrong, like today was just another normal day.

Stopped by a café. Got a drink.

Browsed a bookstore, ran your fingers along the spines of titles you weren’t planning to buy.

Took the long way home.

You didn’t check your phone. You didn’t think about the locked door. You didn’t think about the man who definitely wasn’t real still sitting in your room.

At least, you didn’t think about it until—

"Why do you look so surprised?"

There he was.

Standing right in front of you.

Same hair, same eye, same outfit he had hatched in. Like he had walked right out of your apartment and followed you the entire way.

"I’ve been following you" he said, tone completely matter-of-fact.

"Wha—"

"You didn’t notice?" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "That’s pathetic. If you can’t even sense when you’re being followed, you’re clearly incapable of protecting yourself."

"Well?" He crossed his arms. "Aren’t you going to say anything? Or are you just going to keep pretending I don’t exist?"

Your brain was still trying to catch up.

He was real. He was standing in front of you, completely unfazed, like it was the most natural thing in the world to hatch from an egg and then casually stalk you through the city.

Before you could react, a gun materialized out of thin air, appearing in his grip. No incantations, no dramatic movements—just instant manifestation.

BANG

You flinched hard. The sharp crack of the gunshot echoed through the street, causing a few distant heads to turn. But before panic could set in, you noticed what he had aimed at.

A fly.

Or at least, what used to be a fly. Now it was nothing more than a tiny burnt mark on the pavement.

Anaxa exhaled, looking mildly annoyed as he lowered the gun. "Sorry. It was annoying."

You just stared at him.

Then at the gun in his hand.

Then back at him.

"You—" Your voice came out strangled. "You just shot a fly."

"Yeah. I did." He blinked at you, as if waiting for you to say something less obvious.

You ran a hand down your face, trying to process. "You shot a fly."

"And?" His eye flicked toward you, utterly unimpressed. "You should be thanking me. That thing was buzzing near your ear for at least five minutes. It was bothering me."

You inhaled sharply. "You shot a fly."

"You’ve said that three times now. Are you broken?" He narrowed his eye slightly, scanning you with what almost looked like genuine concern. "Did your brain short-circuit? That’s unfortunate. I just got you, and you’re already defective."

You just gaped at him.

He sighed, shifting the gun between his fingers before it disappeared—vanishing just as easily as it had appeared. "Anyway. Let’s go."

That snapped you out of it. "Go where?"

"Home." He gave you a look like you were the weird one for asking. "Obviously."

You took a step back. "I don’t even know you!"

"That’s not true. You know my name. I’m Anaxagoras. You’re mine." He tilted his head. "And you’re not very smart if you think I’m letting you wander around alone when you clearly can’t defend yourself."

You blinked rapidly. "I—"

"Case in point," he continued smoothly, as if you hadn’t even tried to argue. "You didn’t notice me following you for half the day. You flinch too easily. And you look so unguarded it’s almost laughable. What if someone else had found you before I did? You’d be dead by now."

You exhaled sharply, gripping your temples. Your brain was fried. Completely and utterly fried.

There was a man—a man who hatched from an egg—standing in front of you, casually materializing and firing a gun like it was nothing. And now he was acting like you were some helpless child who couldn’t be trusted to walk outside alone.

This was too much.

You needed a reset. Something normal. Something grounding.

Food.

Maybe if you sat down and ate something, your brain would start working properly again.

You grabbed Anaxa by the wrist before he could start walking. He tensed slightly at the contact, glancing down at your hand, then back up at you. "What?"

"We’re eating first" you said, already dragging him toward the nearest restaurant.

"Eating?" His brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t resist. "We can eat at home."

"I am not going home with you yet. We are going to sit down somewhere, I’m going to eat something warm, and you are going to—" You glanced at him, realizing you had no idea if he even needed food. "—do whatever you want, I don’t care."

Anaxa made a soft tch sound, clearly unimpressed, but let you pull him along anyway. "Fine. But if this is some attempt to delay the inevitable, it won’t work."

You ignored him, spotting a small ramen shop on the corner and steering him inside. The place was cozy, filled with the rich, savory scent of broth and fresh noodles. You picked a table and sat down, finally letting go of his wrist.

Anaxa sat across from you, looking around briefly before his eye settled back on you. "You look less stupid now."

You sighed, rubbing your face. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You were about two seconds away from mentally shutting down," he stated bluntly. "Now you look like you can at least function."

You scowled but couldn’t even argue. He wasn’t wrong.

The waiter came by, and you ordered your food. Anaxa didn’t order anything, just resting his chin on his hand as he watched you with that same unreadable expression.

You drummed your fingers on the table. "You’re really not gonna eat anything?"

"I don’t need it," he said simply. Then, after a pause, "But if you tell me to, I will."

You frowned. "That’s… weird."

"No, it’s not."

"You just said you don’t need to eat."

"I don’t." He tilted his head slightly. "But if you want me to eat, I will."

You stared at him. "That’s even weirder."

He shrugged, unimpressed.

The food arrived, and you dug in, hoping the warmth of the broth would help ground you. Anaxa, true to his word, didn’t touch anything. He just sat there, watching you, like he was analyzing every move you made.

It was unnerving.

"Can you not stare at me like that?"

"No."

"...Why?"

"Because I want to."

You groaned, shoving another bite of noodles into your mouth. This was going to be a long meal.

You sighed, slurping up the last of your noodles, and set your chopsticks down. The warmth of the broth helped, but it didn’t magically fix the fact that there was still a man who hatched from an egg sitting across from you, staring like you were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Anaxa hadn’t moved once. Hadn’t blinked much, either. He just sat there, elbow on the table, chin resting on his hand, eye locked onto you.

It was weird. Unnerving. You needed a distraction.

Dessert.

You got into another place, ordered something sweet, hoping the sugar rush would give you enough energy to deal with whatever the hell this situation was. When it arrived—warm, fluffy pastries drizzled with syrup—you picked one up and took a bite, savoring the taste.

And then you looked at Anaxa.

Still watching.

You sighed through your nose. “You’re really not gonna eat anything?”

"I told you. I don’t need it."

You narrowed your eyes, then, on impulse, grabbed a piece of pastry and held it up to his mouth. “Then just chew it. For my sake.”

He blinked, seeming vaguely surprised. “You’re feeding me now?”

“You’re the one acting like a guard dog,” you muttered. “Might as well feed you.”

For a second, you thought he was going to refuse. But then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned forward and took a bite straight from your fingers.

…That was weirdly intimate.

But before you could dwell on it, Anaxa started chewing.

And kept chewing.

His mouth was still full, but you pushed another piece at him, and he took it without hesitation. Then another. And another.

It was ridiculous.

His usually sharp, composed expression was ruined by how much food he had stuffed into his mouth. He was chewing mechanically, like he wasn’t even used to the act, but he didn’t stop you from feeding him.

By the time you were down to the last piece, his cheek was slightly puffed out from everything he had crammed in there.

You tried to hold back a snort. “You look stupid right now.”

Anaxa just gave you a blank look, still chewing.

Then he swallowed everything in one go, setting his elbows on the table. "Are you satisfied now?"

You shook your head, unable to hide the grin tugging at your lips. “That was the funniest thing I’ve seen all day.”

"I fail to see how that was funny."

“You chewed for a full minute straight.”

"And?"

You just laughed, shaking your head as you finished the last bite for yourself.

At least now he wasn’t just staring.

You leaned back in your chair, feeling a little more grounded now that you’d had a full meal. Maybe warm food did help. At least, you could think a little clearer now.

Anaxa, meanwhile, had finally stopped chewing and was watching you with that same expression.

You exhaled, finally letting reality sink in. This wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t an illusion. This wasn’t something that would disappear if you ignored it long enough.

You did hatch something from that egg.

And now he was here.

And judging by how he had been acting all day—stalking you, critiquing your survival skills, eating just because you told him to—there was something deeper at play.

“So. What are you?”

Anaxa raised a brow. “That’s a stupid question.”

“No, really. What are you? I get that you came from the egg, but what does that mean? What does that make me?”

At that, he tilted his head slightly, watching you like he was reevaluating something. Then, without a word, he lifted his hand.

A faint glow flickered between his fingers, and something materialized— A thread. No, not just a thread, something more like a bond. It shimmered in the dim lighting of the restaurant, thin but undeniably real. It stretched between his hand… and you.

“So” you muttered, “the egg really did choose me.”

"Obviously." He flicked the thread lightly, watching how it pulsed in response. "The moment you turned that crank, it was decided. You’re my master. This bond is proof of that."

“Master?”

"That’s what I said."

You stared at the glowing thread, then back at him. “So… what can you do?”

Anaxa blinked, caught off guard by how fast you got to the point. “You’re not even going to question it?”

“Would it change anything?”

He considered that for a moment. Then smirked. "No. It wouldn’t."

“Exactly.” you muttered. “So? What can you do?”

His smirk widened slightly, amused by your directness. He let the thread fade and leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table.

"Many things."

“Like?”

"Fight. Kill. Protect. Track. Destroy. I can eliminate threats before they even think of harming you. I can ensure no one so much as looks at you the wrong way. I can wipe out anything that stands in your path."

“That’s a lot of violence.”

"Is that a problem?"

"I don’t need a walking weapon."

"That’s unfortunate. Because that’s what you got."

You exhaled, looking at him for a long moment. "Alright, then. If you’re mine, then I should be able to make requests, right?"

"That depends on what you ask."

“Good,” you said, finishing the last sip of your drink. Then you locked eyes with him. “Because I think we need to set some ground rules first.”

Anaxa blinked again. Then huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh. "Fine. This should be interesting."

A few days had passed since Anaxa hatched, and while you were slowly getting used to having him around, he was still ridiculously overbearing.

You’d barely gone anywhere alone—if you so much as turned a corner without telling him, he was suddenly there, watching, waiting, making sure you weren’t about to get yourself killed. It was suffocating.

But also kind of funny.

Because for all his sharp instincts and deadpan remarks, Anaxa wasn’t exactly used to regular human behavior. And that gave you an idea.

A prank.

Something harmless. Something just to see how he’d react.

So as you walked side by side down the street, you subtly reached for the ice-cold bottle of water in your bag, already planning to flick some at him. Just a little—nothing crazy.

"Don’t think about it."

You froze.

Anaxa hadn’t even looked at you. He was still facing forward.

Your grip on the bottle tightened. “What.”

"You heard me."

You frowned. “Did you just—read my mind or something?”

Anaxa finally glanced at you, looking unimpressed. "No. I simply predicted your next move."

“…Excuse me?”

"Your expression changed three seconds ago, which means you had a new thought. Your hand moved slightly, signaling intent. And given your recent behavior, it's likely something irritating." He sighed. "I’ve already accounted for every possible action you might take in the next five minutes. Trying to surprise me is a waste of time."

You gawked at him. “That is insane.”

"No, that is intelligence." He smirked slightly, just enough to be infuriating. "You should try it sometime."

Your jaw dropped.

Oh, it’s on.

You weren’t sure how, but you were going to catch him off guard one day. Even if it took years.

You had tried. So many times.

You planned. You strategized. You executed.

And yet, every single prank attempt on Anaxa had ended in humiliating failure.

The moment you so much as thought about messing with him, he knew. It was like he had a built-in prank radar, and no amount of creativity or misdirection could fool him. He would predict everything.

You threw a pillow at him? He caught it without looking. You put salt in his tea? He smelled it instantly. You tried to trip him? You ended up tripping instead.

At this point, you had no choice but to admit defeat. For now.

So you gave up on pranking him and focused on something else: a dungeon run.

It was a routine thing. You ran dungeons occasionally to rack up points, earn some cash, and hone your skills. Anaxa had been glued to your side since hatching, but this time, you left him at home.

Not because you were scared of bringing him—he was probably the best bodyguard in existence—but because you needed to do something on your own.

You headed out with your usual party, braving the stormy weather as you entered the dungeon. It was a decent run—some challenging fights, some good loot. Nothing too crazy.

But what you didn’t account for was how long it would take.

By the time you and your party emerged, the rain had gotten worse. Heavy drops soaked through your clothes, chilling you to the bone. And, of course, you had forgotten your umbrella.

So you huddled under one of your party member’s umbrellas, standing very close to stay dry. Maybe even a little too close. You laughed at something they said, nudging them playfully, completely unaware of anything unusual—

"You're awfully comfortable with them."

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

Turning sharply, you found Anaxa standing just a few feet away, completely unfazed by the downpour. His hair was slightly damp, but his expression was the same as always.

In his hand was your umbrella.

“...Why are you here?”

"You forgot this." He held up the umbrella, his voice calm. But then his gaze flickered toward your party, who was still standing close. "And I was curious."

Your party members exchanged glances, sensing the tension in the air. One of them awkwardly cleared their throat. “Uh… is this a friend of yours?”

Anaxa didn’t answer. He just watched you, waiting.

For what, you weren’t sure. But the storm wasn’t just in the sky anymore. It was standing right in front of you.

You let out a quiet sigh, feeling the weight of Anaxa’s gaze on you even as you turned back to your party.

“Guess I’ll head home. See you guys later” you said, waving them off.

Your party exchanged looks but didn’t question it. “Yeah, see you. Don’t let your friend glare us to death on the way out.”

You shot them a dry look but didn’t bother defending Anaxa. Mostly because… yeah. He was definitely glaring.

Without another word, you took the umbrella from his hand, popped it open, and started walking. He followed silently, his footsteps perfectly in sync with yours.

The walk home was… tense.

Not that he said anything. If anything, his silence was worse. Normally, Anaxa was either making sharp remarks, throwing blunt observations at you, or predicting your next move like some smug, all-knowing entity.

But right now?

Nothing.

By the time you got home, his hair was damp, strands clinging to his face from the rain. You frowned, tossing your wet jacket aside before turning to him. “Sit.”

Anaxa raised a brow. "What."

You crossed your arms. “Your hair’s wet. I’m blow-drying it.”

He blinked once. Then, for whatever reason, exhaled through his nose like he found that amusing. But he did as you said, sitting down without complaint.

You grabbed the hairdryer, plugged it in, and stood behind him, fingers threading lightly through his hair as you began drying it.

Still, he said nothing.

You huffed, ruffling his hair as you worked. “Alright, what’s your deal?”

"What deal."

“You’ve been quiet this whole time.”

"No, I haven't."

“Yes, you have.” You fluffed his bangs to dry them faster. “You’re usually the one lecturing me about every little thing I do. But now? Silence.”

Anaxa remained still, letting you dry his hair.

You sighed. “Look, if this is about the dungeon thing, I was just doing my job. That’s all.”

"I know."

…That was it?

You frowned, turning the dryer off and running your fingers through his now-fluffy hair. He still hadn’t moved.

But something about the way he sat there—the way he let you do this without a single complaint—felt off.

Like a storm had passed, but the tension still lingered in the air.

Even after everything—the rain, the silence, the weird tension—you and Anaxa somehow ended up bickering before bed.

It started with something stupid. You didn’t even remember what exactly, but it spiraled into another one of your usual back-and-forths.

"You should be more aware of your surroundings."

“I was literally fine.”

"You were unaware of my presence."

“Because I wasn’t expecting you to stalk me in the rain like some horror movie villain.”

"A lack of expectations leads to vulnerability."

You groaned, flopping onto your bed. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Anaxa.”

His eye twitched. “Anaxagoras.”

“Anaxa.”

"Anaxagoras."

“Anaxa.”

"Anaxagoras."

“Anaxa.”

"Anaxa—"

Silence.

You blinked.

Anaxa blinked.

You stared at him. His expression remained eerily neutral, but you could see the moment he realized his mistake. His jaw tightened just slightly, and he looked like he was mentally rebooting.

Slowly, painfully, his eye closed in resignation.

“…Fine.” His voice was low, grudging. “But only you may call me that.”

You grinned in triumph, stretching out on the bed. “Good.”

He exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms as he stood near the doorway. His usual sharp gaze flickered toward you, but this time, he didn’t say anything else.

Not even when your breathing slowed.

Not even when sleep pulled you under.

You fell asleep easily, comfortably.

Anaxa, on the other hand, remained wide awake.

His eye lingered on your peaceful form, watching, thinking. Even as the room settled into silence, he made no move to rest.

Instead, he simply stood there, keeping watch—like he always would.

You woke up feeling well-rested—until you turned your head and saw the towering pile of books stacked haphazardly around your room.

What. The. Hell.

You groggily sat up, rubbing your eyes, only to see more books. They were scattered across the floor, some open, some closed, some stacked so high they threatened to topple over. The smell of ink and old paper filled the air.

And right in the middle of this chaotic mess, Anaxa sat calmly on the floor, flipping through yet another book.

You stared at him in horror. “What… is all this?”

Without looking up, he turned a page. “Books.”

You inhaled sharply. “I can see that, Anaxa.”

"Then why did you ask."

You groaned, pushing aside a book that had somehow made its way onto your bed. “Where the hell did you get all these? We don’t own this many books.”

"I retrieved them."

“…From where?”

He finally looked up, "From various sources."

That was not an answer.

Your headache worsened as you stared at the sheer number of books surrounding you. Titles about history, science, politics, philosophy, technology—some about this world, others about subjects that made your brain hurt just looking at them.

Wait.

Your stomach dropped. “Don’t tell me you—”

"I read them all."

Your jaw dropped. “In one night?”

"Yes." He closed the book he was holding and grabbed another from the pile. "Most of them were inefficiently written, but I extracted the necessary information."

You pressed your palms against your temples. “That’s not normal.”

"Neither am I."

You groaned, glancing around at the literary apocalypse that had consumed your home. “Please tell me you at least plan on returning them.”

"No."

“ANAXA—”

You inhaled deeply, staring at the absolute disaster of books flooding your home. You couldn’t live like this.

So, naturally, you went for the most drastic measure possible.

“I’ll burn them.”

Anaxa, still flipping through a book, barely spared you a glance. “No, you won’t.”

You grabbed the nearest book and held it up threateningly. “Watch me.”

That got his attention.

Before you could even think about setting it on fire, Anaxa moved.

One second, you were holding the book. The next, it was gone—snatched from your hands so fast you barely even registered it. He tossed it back onto the pile like nothing happened, his gaze sharp.

"Do not." His voice was firm, not angry, but absolute. "You lack the authority to destroy knowledge."

“I lack the patience to live in a damn library.” You glared at him. “Clean this up, or I swear—”

Knock. Knock.

Both of you froze.

The air in the room shifted instantly. The argument forgotten, tension replaced it. You exchanged a look with Anaxa. He was already on alert, his body subtly shifting into a more defensive stance.

You exhaled, stepping toward the door. “It’s probably nothing—”

"Wait."

But you had already turned the knob.

The door creaked open, revealing a figure standing just outside—a man draped in a dark cloak, his face shadowed. Something about him felt wrong.

Before you could even greet him, his hand moved.

BANG.

A gunshot rang through the air.

The man jerked back, staggering. He didn’t fall—just hissed, clutching his side before his eyes flicked toward Anaxa.

Anaxa, who had already drawn a gun, his aim perfectly steady, his expression cold.

The man clicked his tongue and, without another word, ran.

You barely processed what just happened before Anaxa stepped forward, his eye narrowing as he watched the figure disappear into the streets.

"Tch. Coward." He lowered his gun but didn’t put it away.

You swallowed hard, adrenaline still rushing through you. “…What the hell was that?”

"An attempted murder."

Your heart was still pounding, but something caught your eye—a small object glinting on the ground.

You bent down, picking it up. A badge.

The design was strange—an unfamiliar symbol etched into the metal, a twisting shape that made your head hurt if you stared at it too long.

“…Anaxa” you called, turning it in your hand.

He glanced down, eyeing the badge. Then, recognition flickered across his face.

"I’ve seen this before."

You blinked. “Where?”

"One of the books." He turned away, stepping over the scattered mess of texts he had dragged into your home. "This symbol belongs to a cult. A rather peculiar one."

A cult? That explained why that guy felt so… wrong.

You frowned. “What kind of cult?”

Anaxa picked up a book, flipping through the pages until he landed on the one he wanted. He held it up, showing you a faded illustration of the same symbol. “They believe in the revival of an ancient being. One that is expected to bring the world to a ‘new state.’”

“Define ‘new state.’”

"Destruction. Rebirth. The usual nonsense." He snapped the book shut. "They offer human sacrifices to fuel their goal. An inefficient and foolish method."

You exhaled sharply, gripping the badge. “Why would they come after me?”

“They weren’t after you.”

“…Then who?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced at the badge again, then at the scattered books around him.

"They may have sensed something about me."

That alone was unsettling. If he was their target, then what exactly did they know?

----

Tracking them down wasn’t difficult.

Anaxa was efficient. Between the books he devoured and his own unsettling ability to predict outcomes, it didn’t take long to find their gathering spot.

A massive, ancient tree stood before you, its gnarled roots twisting through the earth like veins. The air was thick here, charged with something unseen.

“This is the place” you murmured, gripping your weapon.

"Naturally." Anaxa stood beside you, his stance casual, but you knew better. He was ready.

Shadows flickered beneath the tree’s canopy. The distant sound of hushed voices reached your ears.

“So. What’s the plan?”

He smirked slightly, rolling his shoulders.

"We do what we must."

And with that, you both stepped forward, disappearing into the darkness.

Anaxa moved like a force of nature.

One moment, the cultists were gathered in their eerie chants, their cloaks blending with the shadows beneath the great tree. The next, gunfire rang out, and bodies crumpled before they even realized what hit them.

"Pathetic." Anaxa’s voice was cold as he reloaded effortlessly, stepping over a fallen figure without a second thought. "They waste their lives on delusions."

You weren’t paying much attention to his massacre—you had your own job to do.

Slipping through the chaos, you avoided direct combat, focusing instead on the scattered documents and maps tucked away in makeshift altars. The more you could find about their leader, the faster you could end this.

Because in the end, that was the goal.

Not revenge. Not heroics.

Just peace.

You weren’t interested in whatever twisted faith these people had. And neither was Anaxa. He wasn’t fighting out of righteousness or hatred—just cold efficiency. Every bullet he fired, every movement he made was meant to erase the problem.

Because problems like these?

They got in the way of your life. His life. Your shared, quiet, normal life.

You rifled through some notes, eyes scanning messy handwriting about their leader’s whereabouts. Not far. Just deeper into the forest, a hidden ruin beneath the roots of this very tree.

You turned back to Anaxa just as the last cultist standing let out a strangled gurgle, collapsing to the ground.

“Find what you needed?” he asked, as if he hadn’t just slaughtered half a cult.

You nodded, holding up the documents. “Yeah. Their leader’s underground.”

"Then let's be done with it."

The underground ruin was exactly what you expected—dark, damp, and crawling with the last remnants of this cult.

You and Anaxa moved fast, cutting through whatever was left of their resistance. It wasn’t much. The ones left behind weren’t fighters—they were zealots, clinging to their faith even as they died screaming.

Eventually, you found him. The leader.

A gaunt, hollow-eyed man draped in ornate robes, standing before an altar, his expression eerily calm despite the carnage surrounding him.

"You are too late," he murmured, his voice carrying through the chamber. "The cycle will begin anew. The great one—"

BANG.

Anaxa shot him in the leg without hesitation.

The man let out a choked scream, collapsing onto one knee. His breath turned ragged, but his eerie smile didn’t falter.

"You cannot stop what has already been set in motion," he rasped. "Sacrifices have been made. The gate—"

Anaxa was in front of him in an instant.

You barely saw him move. One moment, he was standing beside you; the next, he had grabbed the man by the front of his robes, yanking him up with ease.

“I am not interested in your nonsense” Anaxa said, voice eerily calm. "You have wasted my time"

Before the cult leader could respond, Anaxa's hand—no, his fingers—sank into the man’s chest as if the flesh and bone were nothing. A sickening crack echoed through the chamber as Anaxa pulled his arm back, widening the gap in the man’s torso as though he were tearing paper apart.

You watched as the cultist’s chest cavity split open, ribs snapping under Anaxa’s grip. A hollow, gaping wound remained where his heart should’ve been.

The man let out a wet gasp, eyes wide with shock, before his body twitched and fell slack.

Anaxa let go. The corpse hit the ground with a dull thud, utterly ruined.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders. “Well. That’s one way to do it.”

Anaxa shook the blood from his hands, not even sparing the body another glance. "I took the most efficient route."

Of course he did.

You stepped past the corpse, glancing at the ruined altar. Whatever ritual they had planned—whatever insane goal they were working toward—died with that man.

Anaxa turned to you, wiping the last of the blood from his fingers.

"Shall we go home?"

By the time you got home, exhaustion was hitting you hard.

Your legs ached, your head pounded, and all you wanted was to collapse into bed and not exist for a few hours.

But then—

You opened the door.

And there they were.

The mountains of books Anaxa had hoarded still sat in your home like a damn dragon’s treasure pile.

You stared at the disaster before you, something inside you snapping.

“Nope,” you said, voice flat. “I’m done. I’m burning them.”

"No, you’re not."

“I am.”

"You are not."

“I am, Anaxa. I swear to every god and force in this world, I am setting fire to this damn mess—”

Before you could even think about moving toward your lighter, Anaxa appeared in front of you in an instant, his hands gripping your wrists, effectively stopping you in place.

You struggled, glaring up at him. “Let me go.”

"No."

“Anaxa.”

"You lack the capability to properly organize this knowledge. It is better under my possession."

“Oh my god, I don’t want to organize it, I want it gone—”

Anaxa leaned in closer, his face inches from yours. “You are being irrational.”

Your breath hitched, and suddenly, you were very aware of how close he was.

His grip on your wrists was firm, his fingers pressing against your skin—but not painfully.

“You hoarded like, a hundred books in one night. I think that’s way more irrational than me wanting to burn them.”

"Incorrect. My actions were logical. Yours are emotional."

“Oh, shut up.”

You yanked one of your hands free and jabbed his cheek with your finger.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there. You glaring, him staring. His hand was still wrapped around your other wrist, but he wasn’t holding it too tightly anymore.

"You are amusing when you are frustrated."

You groaned, dropping your head against his shoulder in defeat. “I hate you.”

"No, you don't."

Damn it. You really didn’t.

----

After all the chaos at the dungeon, and the strange cult, you figured your friends deserved something for always having your back.

So, you decided to cook for them.

The problem? You weren’t exactly a master chef.

But thanks to someone’s obsessive hoarding, you had plenty of resources to learn from.

Anaxa had finally cleaned up the disaster he’d created—mostly because you forced him to by threatening to burn everything again. You even bought shelves so he could actually store his ridiculous book collection instead of letting it take over your floor.

And now, one of those books—a cooking guide—was in your hands.

You flipped through it, scanning the recipes. “Alright,” you muttered. “Let’s do this.”

Anaxa, lounging nearby, raised a brow. “You are attempting to expand your culinary skills?”

“I’m testing out different dishes for my friends” you said, already gathering ingredients. “Since they always help me out.”

"Logical. It is good to maintain positive social relations with allies."

You shot him a look. “You could just say it’s a nice thing to do, you know.”

He smirked but said nothing.

What started as a simple plan quickly spiraled into something bigger.

Every day, you tried a different dish, experimenting with flavors and techniques. Some turned out amazing. Others… well, let’s just say there were a few disasters along the way.

And Anaxa?

He was your official taste tester.

At first, you weren’t sure if he’d even care about food. But surprisingly, he gave some of the most detailed feedback you’d ever heard.

"Too much salt. The texture is acceptable, but the flavor balance is slightly off."

"This one is adequate. Not outstanding, but not offensive to the palate."

"Interesting. The layering of flavors in this dish is commendable. You are improving."

And sometimes—when you made something really good—

He would go completely silent after taking a bite. Then, after a long pause, he would just say, "More."

It was almost funny seeing someone as composed as him get that into food.

After a week of testing, you finally decided on the perfect dish.

A warm, comforting meal—one that was simple yet flavorful, something that would make your friends feel appreciated.

You set the final plate down in front of Anaxa, watching as he took a bite.

A pause. Then, he gave a slow nod. “This is the best one.”

You smiled. “Yeah. I think so too.”

----

Peace never lasted long in your life.

Not because you were reckless. Not because you sought out trouble.

But because trouble always found you.

And now, with Anaxa by your side, that fact had only intensified.

The cult wasn’t the last problem you faced. Far from it. Strange anomalies began surfacing—events that defied logic, creatures that shouldn’t exist, distortions in reality itself.

At first, you thought they were just isolated incidents. Freak occurrences. But after the third time you and Anaxa had to deal with something that shouldn’t be possible, you realized this wasn’t a coincidence.

Maybe that was the reason he was sent to you in the first place.

"You attract chaos" Anaxa had commented once, standing over the remains of a creature that had melted into nothingness after you defeated it.

You scoffed. “I attract chaos? What about you?”

"I am the solution to chaos."

That was debatable.

But as time passed, and the two of you continued dealing with these anomalies, you started to notice something unsettling.

If Anaxa had ended up with someone else—someone dangerous—

What would have happened?

Would he still be this person in front of you? Cold, blunt, but genuine? Or would he have been twisted into something else?

You weren’t naïve. You knew people would kill for power like his. The thought of him in the hands of someone truly evil made your stomach turn.

But he wasn’t with them. He was with you.

And despite the chaos, despite the exhaustion, despite the endless stream of bizarre encounters—

You didn’t hate this life.

You glanced at Anaxa, who was casually flipping through a book, as if the two of you hadn’t just fought some reality-warping entity an hour ago.

Yeah.

This life wasn’t so bad.

[kckramer]

I will again return to the military science concepts of cohesion and friction. Cohesion is how well a united force can operate for an extended period of time to accomplish its goals. Friction is everything that wants to diminish cohesion.

Right now, we’re looking at a coalition of several relatively small groups—billionaires, white supremacist fascists, and religious fundamentalist dominionists. There are, of course, a great deal of overlaps and connections between them, but their bases are three separate constituencies. We saw this emerge early on with the Bannon v Musk fight. These represented interests contradict and conflict with each other. So far, they’ve been able to rally around Trump and he’s managed to keep them subservient.

The key here is to break that coalition. That takes friction to degrade the cohesion and their already limited functionality.

What that means is that we need to apply friction as much as possible—broadly, but also in targeted, strategic ways. Challenging EOs in court is a form of targeted friction- taking up both time and money, but just as important, it stalls their forward momentum, which is immensely difficult to sustain. It targets Trump’s power and effectiveness, specifically, weakening the uniting factor in this coalition, and hopefully making it easy to fracture in the future.

Mass collective action applies friction on a broad scale against the entire coalition, stressing it at all points, and forcing them to shore up their base across a wide array of fronts.

Targeted boycotts are aimed specifically at the billionaire robber barons, in much the same way as international sanctions. Hurt their profit, their shareholders will turn on them, and they’ll be forced to reconsider their allegiance. But for these to work, we need to weaken their center and tie up their resources, which legal battles are excellent at.

“This thing is legally dubious and therefore technically unenforceable.” Is not a “useless liberal gotcha” it’s how legalism works in this country. Tying up stupidly worded EOs in court is the quickest way to keep them from being implemented. It is the definition of “doing something.” But it doesn’t usually involve much tweeting so of course a certain type of leftist feels obligated to mock it.

[fleabagspurplewife]

one last time: part 1

G-Dragon x reader

summary: its your first day back on your college campus after your breakup with kwon ji-yong, and you can't seem to stop running into him.

warnings: sorta angst, suggestive/spicy at the end

word count: 1.8k

a/n: hii this is my first time writing smth like this so sorry if its bad <3

when you arrive back on campus after three long months of being away from your friends and the city, you can't help but feel a little empty. you spent all summer thinking about your ex boyfriend, kwon ji-yong, and you had tried not to let it ruin your break, but he always seemed to find a way to crawl back into your head.

when you finish unpacking most everything else, you open a small shoebox that you keep your most valuable possessions in; birthday cards from friends, old concert tickets, movie stubs, and beaded jewelry from your childhood. at the top of the box sit two origami butterflies. the only two you had kept. ji-yong used to leave them around your dorm for you to find when he wasn't around (which was rare), and you would find him in his dorm making them at all hours of the night. you had thrown the rest away but couldn't bring yourself to get rid of him completely.

you close the box before you let yourself miss him more and try to remind yourself of how badly it ended, how he left you sitting on the floor crying in silence, how he never reached out after he ended it, how he didn't even seem phased. like telling you he didn't want you anymore was as normal as telling you he had an overdue paper.

to get your mind off him, you take a walk around the city. you pass the movie theater where you had your first date, your favorite dinner date spot, the park where you would bask in the sun and try not to fall asleep on his chest. he's littered all over the city and you curse yourself for getting involved with him. something about the air today makes you crave a cigarette. you had been trying to quit for months and it never seemed to stick.

you buy the only pack you ever smoked; light blue american spirits. the moment it hits your lips you can taste ji-yong. they were his favorites too and he always had a lingering smell of smoke. you try to push the thoughts of his mouth away. this needs to be a fresh start. you stop to sit on the steps of an apartment building, tucked away in the trees; a rare sight in the city. this had always been your smoke spot with your friends, but now you wished you had never introduced it to ji-yong. just as the thought crossed your mind, you see him. he doesn't see you; he's crossing the street, fiddling with his wired headphones, probably late to something but still taking his time. you try to ignore the way his grown-out mullet frames his face, the way his white t shirt hugs his shoulders.

you wait until you're sure he's far enough away to scurry back to your apartment, the one he'd never been in. this was somewhat comforting; it was just yours, no traces of him besides the butterflies.

⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧

later that night, you still can't get him out of your head. you decide to take another walk, hoping this one works better than the last. you circle the same few blocks over and over and over, and somehow it makes you think about him more. you make your way to your smoke spot, planning to sleep as soon as you get home.

as you approach the steps, you see a lighter flick on and stop dead in your tracks. you had been so engrossed in your thoughts that you hadn't noticed someone was already in your spot; ji-yong. you were far enough away that he hadn't noticed. you took too long trying to decide whether you should avoid him or say hi, and he happened to look up at you. he froze, lighter still in hand, cigarette hanging lazily out of his mouth.

the air was thick and neither of you wanted to be the first to speak. you could still turn around and go home and you could both pretend you hadn't run into each other. after too long, he forces out a "hey".

"hey," you say back. you're too focused on what to do with your hands and trying to seem undeterred by his presence.

he pats the ground next to him, motioning you to sit with him. you pause for a moment before settling next to him, trying to avoid eye contact. he flicks his lighter again, but it doesn't ignite. he keeps trying until he looks at you and murmurs, "a little help?" he's more calm than you wanted him; you wanted him to be as nervous as you.

you scoot towards him and cup your hands around his cigarette as he tries again to light it. his hand brushes against yours and he seems unphased. when the cigarette finally catches, he leans back and eyes you up and down. "you cut your hair"

"you didn't" you retort. it comes out meaner than you intended.

he gives a lazy shrug. you motion towards the cigarette, and his fingers brush against yours again as he hands it to you. "i thought you quit. you should know smoking kills", he smirks.

you take a drag and keep your eyes trained on his, trying to feign confidence. "you're the one who got me hooked on 'em. its your fault. as usual". you can't help but stare at his teeth as he smirks, the street light hitting them just right. it shocks you how comfortable you already feel with him

he stays silent and pulls out another from his pack and puts it in his mouth. he keeps his eyes on yours as he leans forward expectantly, waiting for you to light him. you instinctively do it and linger too close to him. when you settle back next to him, its closer than before. "i missed you".

your eyes shoot towards his and you're not sure if you're furious or relieved. maybe both. "you could've called."

"i know. but..." he takes a drag of his cigarette, trying to find the right words. "i didn't know if you'd want to hear from me. if you'd want to see me."

"of course i did" you realize you responded too fast. "i think i'd still like being around you. like this" you don't say the part you're both thinking; even if it's not like before. you can't help the chill that goes through your body. it had been a hot summer day, and you hadn't thought to change out of your t shirt before your walk now that the sun had set.

his eyes graze over your body. "you're cold. my apartment is a block away if you need a sweater"

"its late. i don't need to come over just to get a sweater and leave. i live close, too" you roll your eyes. he was always some twisted version of a gentleman.

"i mean," he inhales, "you could just come over anyway. it has been a while."

your heart skips a beat. you know what happens when you're alone, even when you promise yourself it won't. he scans your face, almost hearing your thoughts.

"come on." he stands up and motions for you to come. you don't protest, even though you should.

when you reach his apartment, you're both too quiet, trying to figure out what to say. outside it had been so easy, so natural, but in here theres a tension that's not a surprise to either of you. he gives you a tour, trying to ease the mood, but you both feel it. when he brings you to his tiny bedroom, you laugh. "how is it messy already, ji". your nickname for him leaves your mouth before you can stop it.

his eyebrows raise just slightly at the name. "hey its not messy! a few clothes on the ground is not bad, you know its not" he says through your giggles. your eyes drift to one of the items on the floor; the navy sweater you would always steal from him. he sees you eyeing it and throws it towards you. "do you want to watch something for a little?" he notices the way your brow furrows. "its just been a while. come on, you know you want to."

you give in, like you always do. he knows how to get his way without even trying. "only for a little" you mumble. he sets his computer up on his desk by the bed, and you both try to find comfort on his twin size mattress, both painfully aware of trying not to touch each other too much, which is near impossible. as you lean back against the bedframe, your skin tingles under his touch. you try not to look at him, though you can feel his occasional glance towards you. you both gradually lean into each other, unintentionally at first, but by the time you notice you're too comfortable to move. you lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes, breathing in his musk. you can feel his stare and keep your eyes shut, afraid of what you might do if you look up into his.

he wraps his arm around you, carefully placing your head onto his chest. you both slowly shuffle to lay down more. he can feel you getting tired and pulls you over him, one of your legs slung across his waist and your head resting in the crook of his neck. you've both long forgotten about the show you were supposed to be watching and are now focused on trying to interpret each others touches, figure out if the other is thinking the same thing.

his hand finds your thigh and at first just rests on it, but when you don't pull away, he starts to trace circles over you. you know you should protest, but you don't. its been so long and you don't know if this will ever happen again. his breath flutters across your cheek. the tension building makes you try not to clench your fists around his shirt, but he can feel the slight pull and takes it as an invitation to trace his fingers higher up your leg. he can hear your breathing get more shallow, and he knows you're trying to control it.

his touch makes your heart pound and fills your brain with thick, hungry smoke, stifling any intention of leaving. his hands slither up to your waist and ghost up your back. he can feel you shiver and your eyelids flutter against his neck.

will probably be a part 2??

[accio-victuuri]

xiao zhan - (cut) interview with gogoboi @ gucci’s mfw show 🎤

Q: At the end of 23, you said you were very busy. In 24, you said you would want to balance work-life. Did you do it?

XZ: I think I did. During the break from filming, I took my family on a trip.

Q: Every time I talk to you during fashion week, you said you like it a lot because you get to take a break from your busy work to relax.

XZ: (laughs) I got to relax for a while.

Q: Will you get to relax this time?

XZ: I think you can. Let's wait and see later. If I have time, I might go sightseeing.

Q: In Milan or in Europe?

XZ: I think it's Europe. But I have to see if I have time or not.

Q: Do you still exercise after working abroad?

XZ: I do. I go to the gym (at the hotel). I run and do weight training.

Q: Don't you go for a morning run on the street?

XZ: I'm thinking about it. Have you ever gone for a run?

Q: I went for a run and it felt different because the buildings and houses are all beautiful.

XZ: Let me think about it.

Q: I heard that you've been trying to maintain your running and exercise routine for many years.

XZ: Actually, I haven't run for many years because I focus on weight training. The more you run, the slimmer you get.

Q: I saw your post on Weibo. So, during the Yuanxiao Festival this year, you only ate one glutinous rice ball?

XZ: Yes, I ate one.

Q: Only one! You have too much self-discipline.

XZ: (Smiles)

Q: I've listened to the WM album. It's so beautiful. Did you participate in its creation?

XZ: Yes.

Q: In the future, do you want to explore more in terms of creating music?

XZ: Of course. I think music has a lot of its own identity. I don't want to abandon it. If I have the chance in the future, I want to continue doing it.

Q: I really like the MV. The scene of the end of the world on the red ground. There are different emotions there, fighting each other. I think you had to try really hard, right?

XZ: Yes.

Q: besides the song WM what other songs do you like?

XZ: For me, I like the song Life of Us. Because I actually participated in writing the lyrics, the whole concept, the song, the MV, until the discovery of this song. I participated in everything from the beginning to the end. So I really like it.

Q: Okay, thank you very much.

XZ: Thank you very much. Bye.

[vmiina]

autumn leaves

married!dean winchester & married!reader

summary dean finally found peace with the woman of his dreams and their newborn babygirl, believing that he has escaped the supernatural life. but fate is cruel.

warnings angst very little fluff dean does not catch a break GRIEF major character death very mild descriptions of violence dean being the best girldad ever (this is dedicated to the bitches with daddy issues) unfortunately has a couple timeskips

notes based on the song autumn leaves by bts, most of my fics are made with a song in mind but this one deserves a honorable mention !! this song has been going triple platinum with me for the last few years, genuinely one of the most beautiful songs i’ve ever heard. glazing? never heard of that !!. also i do apologize for this fic before anyone even reads it. do not like seeing you guys, or dean winchester happy (that’s a joke)

dean thought he had finally found the peace he has spent a lifetime searching for. after years of hunting, the bloodshed, the loss, and the endless pain, he had settled down with you— the woman who had given him a sense of calm he never thought he could have. the love he felt for you, the way you understood him when no one else could, gave him so much hope. together, you decided to start your own little family, to create a future that didn’t involve the never-ending cycle of monsters and death.

you were pregnant when autumn came, the trees turning shades of gold and red as the world seemed to reflect the new life growing inside you. it felt like a new chapter was unfolding, one where the nightmares of the past could be put to rest. dean spent the next weeks fixing up the house, getting it ready for your baby, feeling more grounded than he had ever before.

then— the best moment of both of your lives’ happened, your baby was born. a little girl with your eyes and dean’s smile. dean could hardly believe how perfect she was, how she completed the family you’d always dreamt of. he spent every moment doting on her, watching her grow with a sense of joy and pride that was foreign to him.

you had been talking about names for months, but the moment dean held her for the first time, he just knew. “layla.” he had said, the name slipping from his lips like it had always belonged to her. and for the first time in his life, he thought that maybe he could have it all. a little family, a home, the whole apple pie life.

but fate— as it always does, had other plans.

one cold evening, as the leaves outside swirl in the wind, an old enemy from dean’s past resurfaced, a demon—one he thought had been vanquished years ago—had come back, angrier and more powerful than before. the first sign that something was wrong when the lights flickered, the house growing unnaturally cold. dean’s instincts kicked in, he knew something was off. but before he could react, the door slammed open, and the demon appeared.

dean immediately rushed to protect you, but the demon was too powerful. it spoke in a voice that chilled him to the bone, a voice dripping with venom and rage. it wanted revenge for something dean had done in the past, and it was not going to stop until it tore everything from him. the creature was relentless, overpowering him, and in the chaos, the last thing he saw was you stepping in front of him, trying to protect him and layla.

“run!” you screamed, voice shaking. “take her and run, dean! please!”

dean tried to fight back, to reach you, but the demon was too fast. in a heartbeat, it lunged and the world seemed to freeze. dean saw you falling the ground, the life draining from your eyes, before the demon turned its focus on him. the demon’s laughter echoed in the room as it vanished, leaving nothing but a deafening silence. dean collapsed to his knees beside you, his hand reaching for your still form.

“no— no please,” he whispered, voice breaking. “not you. not now. i can’t— i can’t do this without you.”

but you were gone. his heart shattered as he had you in his arms, the warmth of your body slowly slipping away. your little girl was crying from the nursery, but dean couldn’t move. he couldn’t breathe. the life he had fought so hard for, the future he’d finally gotten, had been ripped from him in a blink of an eye. when he finally gathered the strength to move, he found his daughter, the tiny girl he had promised to protect, innocent face scrunched up in fear. layla had no idea what had just happened, why her mom would not be around anymore, why the world just collapsed around her.

dean took her in his arms, holding her tightly against his chest, the sound of her crying tugging at dean’s heartstrings. “i’m so sorry,” he whispered to layla, feeling like he had already failed her. the world had become an incredibly cruel place, and he was now the only one left to fight for her.

as the leaves continued to fall outside, the final moments of your life seemed to linger in the air, a harsh reminder of how quickly everything could get taken away. dean didn’t know how to move on. how to face another day without you. how to raise your daughter alone, when he had always relied on you to balance him, to help him see the light even in the darkest moments. but now, all he had was her. the only piece of you left in the world. and as he rocked her to sleep, dean whispered a promise— a vow to keep her safe, no matter the cost. the price of love in his world has always been too high, but he would fight for her, because that’s all he had left.

the days that followed felt like a blur— like time had lost all meaning. the house was too quiet, too empty without you. dean moved through it like a ghost, going through the motions only because he had to. he had a daughter now. your daughter. the only piece of you still here, still breathing. he had no choice but to keep going.

god it hurt.

the nights were the worst. the weight of the silence pressed down on him like a vice, squeezing the breath from his lungs. he would find himself reaching for you in bed, only to be met with the cold, empty space where you should have been. his arms ached to hold you, his fingers desperate to brush against your skin, to tangle in your hair. but you were gone.

and in the next room, layla stirred, her small cries cutting through the silence.

dean forced himself up, dragging his exhausted body to where the crib where she is, tiny and fragile and completely unaware of the hole that had been ripped through his heart. he scooped her up, holding her close against his chest, whispering soft, broken words. “hey sweetie,” his voice cracked as he rocked her gently, trying to calm her. “it’s okay— i got you, i got you.” he didn’t, he didn’t have anything.

dean winchester had faced monsters, demons, and the literal end of the world. he had fought many battles no man should have survived. and yet, standing here, holding the daughter her mother would never get to know, he had never felt so lost.

days turned into weeks. he tried— he really did. he changed diapers, warmed bottles, learned how to hold her just right to get her to stop crying. but nothing calmed the constant ache in his chest. everytime she looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes, all he saw was you. and it broke him all over again. he barely slept, barely ate. the grief clawed at him like an open wound that refused to heal. and in the quiet moments, when he was alone with his thoughts, he wondered if fate had been planning this all along. letting dean believe he could finally have happiness, just so it could be taken right away from him.

one night, as the wind howled outside, rattling the windows, dean sat in the rocking chair by the crib, staring blankly ahead. layla had finally drifted off, her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. the weight of her against his chest was the only thing anchoring him to this world.

he swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to her soft hair. “i dunno what the hell i’m doin’ kid,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “but i swear to you, i’m gonna figure it out. i have to.”

because he had made a promise. to you. to her. and no matter how much it hurt, no matter how broken he was, he would keep it.

dean never knew how much one little human could talk until layla started stringing full sentences together.

at five years old, she was a force of nature— bright, curious, and full of boundless energy that he often struggled to keep up with. she had your eyes, that same spark of mischief and wonder, and everytime she smiled at him, it was like he was staring right at you as a child. it was the most beautiful and the most painful thing ever.

“daddy, why do cows say ‘moo’?” she asked one morning, swinging her legs back and forth as she sat at the kitchen table, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of her.

dean rubbed a hand over his tired face, still groggy from another late night. “uhh… ‘cause that’s just what they do, baby.”

she hummed, seemingly considering his answer, then tilting her head. “but why?”

dean sighed. “i dunno, layla. why do you ask so many questions?”

she grinned at him, cheeky as ever. “'cause i wanna know stuff!”

dean chuckled, shaking his head as he took a sip of his coffee. he never got tired of her endless curiosity, even if it exhausted him most of the time.

then came the question that made his heart stop.

“daddy… what was mommy like?”

he froze, the coffee cup halfway to his lips. his grip tightening just slightly, and he forced himself to breathe. he should’ve known this was coming. it wasn’t the first time she asked about you, but it still hit like a punch to the gut every single time. dean set his mug down and looked at her, his little girl watching him expectantly, her big, eager eyes waiting for an answer. he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“she was amazing,” he said, voice quieter than before. “the best person i ever knew.”

layla’s face lit up. “really?” dean nodded, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. “yeah, sweetie. she was kind, and smart, and she was the most beautiful woman ever. just like you.”

“did she like pancakes?” she asked with an innocent smile that had him melting. dean huffed a laugh. “yeah, she did. especially when i made ‘em.” she furrows her brows at his words, not quite believing them.

“but daddy— you always burn pancakes!” she huffs out, crossing her arms. “hey,” he said, feigning offense. “i’ll have you know that i’ve gotten better missy.”

layla laughed, and for a moment, the conversation felt light, warm— something dean could handle. but then, as kids do, she hit him with another question, this time one that sent a chill down his spine.

“why isn’t she here?”

dean’s chest tightened, he set his coffee aside and ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. he hated this part. hated that he had to tell her why you’re not here, why layla would only ever know you through stories and pictures. he looked at her, his little girl who deserved to have both her parents, and felt the familiar ache in his heart. “mommy…” he exhaled slowly, searching for words a five year old could understand. “she had to go away.”

layla’s brows furrowed again. “where..? why?” dean doesn’t know how long he can keep on answering these questions, but he’ll try, and he can’t blame her, she’s just a kid.

“someplace… far, and because she wanted to keep you safe.” he manages to murmur, his throat feeling tight. layla stared at him for a moment, as if trying to make sense of his answer. then in a quiet voice, she asked. “did she not want to stay with us?”

dean’s breath hitched. “baby, no,” he said, voice breaking just slightly. he reached across the table, taking her small hand in his. “mommy loved you more than anythin’ in the whole world. she didn’t wanna leave. she just… didn’t have a choice.”

layla’s lower lip wobbled. “i miss mommy.” she whimpers, looking down at her little feet. dean closed his eyes for a brief second, willing himself to keep it together for his little girl. when he opened them, he pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “i know,” he whispered. “i miss her too.” layla curled into his chest, her small arms wrapping around his neck. “is she watching us?”

dean’s eyes burned. he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep the tears, he refuses to show her, away. he presses his chin firmly to the top of her head. “yeah,” he murmured. “she’s watchin’ and she’s real proud of you.”

a moment later, her expression shifted, her usual curiosity returning. “daddy?” she softly says, tugging at the collar of his shirt. dean lets out a soft hum, wanting to hear what the little girl has to say now. “do you think mommy would like my drawings?” dean chuckled, relieved by the sudden change in subject. “she’d love ‘em,” he said, ruffling her hair. “especially the ones where you make me look like a potato.”

layla burst into laughter. “that’s ‘cause sometimes you look like a potato!”

dean gasped dramatically. “that’s it, you’re gettin' it now.” layla shrieked with giggles as he adjusted his grip on her, tickling her until she was breathless with laughter. for a moment, just a moment, the weight in his chest lifted. the grief, the pain, the emptiness—it was all still there, lingering beneath the surface, but layla’s laughter was louder, brighter, stronger.

and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

as the golden leaves drifted past the kitchen window, dean held his daughter close, silently vowing—as he always did—to keep going. for her. for you. for the family he had left.

layla was no longer the little girl clung to dean’s hand and begged for bedtime stories. she was too grown up, and though she had your eyes, she wore them with a hardness that dean could barely recognize.

she was angry. at him, at the world, at everything. dean had tried to keep her safe, to protect her from the truth of her mother’s death, to shield her from the supernatural world that had once taken everything from him. but now, with each passing day, layla only pushed him further away.

it had been a long week of arguments. ever since she started high school, layla had been more distant, more independent. she came home late, snuck out whenever she could, and when she was home, she spent most of the time holed up in her room, listening to music that dean did not understand. he had tried talking to her, tried to keep the bond between them strong but she only shut him out.

tonight, something snapped.

“i’m not a kid anymore!” layla shouted, slamming the door behind her shut as she stormed into the living room. dean barely looked up from his beer when she started in on him, her face flushed red. “you can’t keep treatin’ me like one! i don’t need you to follow me around and tell me what i can and can’t do!” dean stood up slowly, fighting the exhaustion that had been creeping up on him for weeks now. he did not want to fight, but his patience was wearing thin, and his body was weak from the constant strain of his past. he had never really given himself time to rest. he couldn’t.

“baby, this is about more than just going out late. i’m just tryin’ to keep you safe— i don’t want you out of the house this late, not with everythin' goin' on.“

her face hardened, the air in the room seemed to thicken with tension. “everythin' goin' on? what does that even mean, dad? you’re just using that excuse again, i’m not a kid anymore, you can’t control me!”

“it’s not about control, it’s about keepin' you safe. you don’t know what’s out there— what could happen—“ he says calmly, his tired eyes meeting his daughters.

“keep me safe from what?!” layla stepped closer, her voice rising, fists clenched at her sides. “you think i dunno what’s out there? i grew up with you! i’ve seen the blood, the pain. i’ve seen how you’ve shut down, how you’ve been miserable since mom—“

the words hung heavy in the air like a sharp blade, cutting through dean like nothing else. he flinched, the rawness of her voice piercing deeper than he ever expected. she was angry, sure, but in that moment it was not just anger. she was hurt, and it was aimed straight at him.

“don’t you dare—“

but layla was not done. “don’t you dare tell me i dunno what you’ve been through, or what’s out there. because i do, dad. you think i haven’t seen how it destroyed you? how it ruined everythin'? you’re just holdin' me back because you’re scared— scared that i’ll end up like her, that i’ll get taken from you too. well guess what? i’m not mom! i’m not her, okay?”

dean felt as though the air had been ripped straight from his lungs. her words hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him stunned and speechless. he stood frozen, trying to process his daughters words, the way they felt like the past he couldn’t escape, the past he was trying to outrun. it felt like the air in the room had closed in around him, the words echoing in his mind as his chest tightened. he sees so much of you in her— your eyes, your warmth, pieces of your personality. everytime he looked at her, he saw you. it had been one reason he kept going, the one thing that made his life feel slightly more bearable.

but now she was throwing it back in his face. she was not you. she was not that girl who would do anything to protect him, who would hold him together when he was on the brink of falling apart. she wasn’t that innocent child anymore, and she did not want to be reminded of what had been lost.

dean blinked, shaking his head, trying to clear the fog that was clouding his mind. he opened his mouth to speak, to tell her everything, to explain that he was only trying to protect her. but no words came out. his throat felt dry, his heart thumping in his chest as he watched layla’s figure fade out of the house, into the night, her anger and pain still hanging in the air like a thick mist.

she was right, in a way. she was not you. she was not the girl who would do anything to protect him, the girl who would hold him together when he was on the brink of falling apart. and dean knew that. he’d failed her, he knew he had. but all he ever wanted was to keep her safe, even if it meant pushing her away. and now he could not stop the fear that gripped him. that same fear that had haunted him since you were taken. and now it was creeping up on him again. the world was not done with him, and it was just starting with layla.

he stood frozen for a moment, the silence of the house, pressing in on him. he tried to shake it off. “layla,” he muttered under his breath, moving quickly toward the door. “layla don’t go out there. it’s not safe, layla!” but it was too late, the door had already slammed shut behind her, and she was gone into the dark night. dean cursed under his breath, his pulse racing as he ran after her. he pushed past the front door, not even bothering to close it behind him, his eyes scanning the yard, the street. she was out there, somewhere, and he could already feel it. the same presence he had felt when she was younger. the cold chill going through him signaling that something was terribly wrong.

he called his daughter’s name again, but the only response was the wind rustling through the trees and the distant hum of city lights. the silence was killing him.

then, he felt it. a sharp pain in his chest. something was coming for them— for her.

his breath hitched as a dark shadow appeared in front of him, the air around him growing unbearably cold. dean’s defenses rising up, his hand already reaching for the gun he still keeps at his side, but his limbs felt heavier than usual. there was something wrong with him. he had been worn down, physically, emotionally. and now, he was not sure if he could even fight back. a dark figure materialized before him. it was the same demon that had killed you, the one that had haunted him for years, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike again. it still was not here to kill him, at least not physically, it is here to tear his life apart.

“you thought you could hide from me, winchester,” the demon sneered, its voice guttural, dripping with malice. “you thought you could run and bury your pain. but you can’t. it’s never gone. you and your precious daughter are mine. always have been.”

dean’s breath quickened. he could feel the weight of the demon’s words in his gut, in his bones. but he couldn’t move. not like this. not in the state he was in. his body giving out on him. “no,” dean gritted out, pulling the gun from his waistband. his hand shook as he aimed it at the demon. “not again.”

“you can try, but it won’t matter. she’ll be just like her mother.”

before dean could even react, the demon vanished, and in its place, the air grew colder still. a familiar, hollow silence fell over the street. dean’s heart hammered in his chest, his eyes darting around in fear, desperate to find layla. he took a few steps forward, calling her name, voice as loud as he could get it. “layla!” but his words were lost in the night. and then, he heard it.

a scream.

one so desperate and raw that it stopped dean in his tracks. his heart dropped to his stomach as he ran toward the sound. the closer he got, the more his chest constricted, the more the world around him seemed to close in. when he finally reached the alleyway a couple blocks away, he stopped dead in his tracks. layla was there, her back pressed against the brick wall, her eyes wide with terror. she was shaking, her hand gripping her chest as if trying to hold herself together, but blood was slowly spilling from a wound— the same wound that had taken you. a deep, gaping hole in her chest, just like that he had seen all those years ago.

dean’s breath caught in his throat as he dropped to his knees beside her. “no! layla, please—” he practically yells out, voice cracking as his hands reach out.

“dad…” layla’s voice was barely audible, a whisper carried on the wind. ”i’m sorry, i’m sorry— i didn’t… i didn’t mean what i said.”

dean’s hands shook as he pulled his daughter into his arms, cradling her tightly to his body. “i know baby, i know. it’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispers against her head, pressing a gentle kiss there. he could feel her body growing colder, her pulse slowing. “layla, please… stay with me, baby. i need you. don’t leave me— please, please don’t leave me.” but she didn’t respond, her breaths labored, shallow. the life in her was slipping away, just like her mothers had. dean’s vision blurred as tears welled in his eyes. the same helplessness he had felt when you were taken crashed over him, drowning him in an ocean of grief he had never truly recovered from.

“i love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “don’t go, please. you’re all i have left— you’re my world, layla.” her breaths quieting, the life fading from her eyes. her body falling limp in his grip.

dean didn’t remember screaming, but his throat was raw, burning with agony of a loss too great for anyone to bear. he held layla’s cold body against his chest, his hands gripping her too tightly, as if sheer will could keep her there, keep her from slipping away completely. but she was already gone. his baby girl. his layla. his world.

the night around him was too still, too quiet, as if the universe itself was mocking him, watching as he broke apart all over again. his tears dripped onto her blood-stained shirt, and his mind flashed back— his daughter at five years old, making dean play with her dolls. his daughter at ten years old, stubborn but sweet, sneaking into his rooms during thunderstorms because she was too proud to admit she was scared. his daughter at thirteen years old, rolling her eyes at his dad jokes and cringing, but laughing anyway. and now, she was gone.

his chest burned with something raw and ugly. grief. guilt. rage.

this was his fault.

he should have stopped her, should have forced her to stay inside, should have done something.

she had been angry. she had been hurting. and now, the last thing she would ever remember was their fight. the way she had yelled at him. the way she had thrown your death in his face like it was a weapon, cutting him open right before she was taken away from him too. “i’m sorry.” he whispered, voice hoarse. “i’m so sorry, baby. i should’ve protected you. i should’ve kept you safe. i should’ve—“ but the words didn’t matter, nothing did anymore.

his entire world is gone, first you, now her. and for the first time in decades, he had no reason to keep fighting.

[odd-lil-duck]

A story!

Gumdrop was sitting in class, bored out of her mind. She was too smart for the regular classes but not smart enough for any of the advanced classes. She could keep up with her school work easily enough. Math was the subject she excelled at, though she could spend hours in her literature class. It was the first class of the day and by the time school was over with, she couldn't wait to go home.

x

"Yoooo!"

A voice was coming up behind Gumdrop. She turns around to find Citty Kat running up to her. Citty Kat was always beaming and ran around like sunshine was trailing behind. Today seemed no different. They ran up to Gumdrop out of breath. "Hey! Wait! Wait up!" Gripping their sides as if they had nothing else to hold.

"Are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh yeah no totally!" They finally straightened out. "I just needed to tell you something!"

Something? Gumdrop and Citty Kat haven't known each other long, but Gumdrop could not help but be cautious anyway.

"Are you doing anything after school?" They asked.

"No...?" How important was this if they had to wait till after school to tell her?

"Good! Let's find Andre! We need to bring him with us too!"

Andre?

What does Andre have to do with anything?

x

They both found him outside the boy's bathroom. His last class of the day was P.E. so he just finished changing back to his shorts and long sleeve shirt.

"Yoooo!" Citty Kat was waving their arm around crazily to catch his attention. Gumdrop let her attention drift to the falling leaves.

"Is everything okay?" Worry spread across his face rapidly. His arms drift back to their normal place crossed over his chest

"C'mon let's go!" Citty Kat pulls him by the arm and begins running off, leaving Gumdrop to follow behind. She sighed and trudged along.

x

Citty Kat n Andre stop in front of the doors of some fast food restaurant. Through the windows it's busier than usual. Gumdrop catches up to them and stops in front of the doors. Citty Kat turns to them and speaks.

"Alright! Are you guys ready?" The two turn to each other in confusion.

"Ready for what?" Gumdrop knows they mean no harm - that's why she followed them - however what little she knows about them is that they are a very spontaneous, almost chaotic force. They do as they please and follow the wind in its spirit.

Citty Kat points to the sign on the window. "They have Buy 1 Get 1 Free burgers right now! We have to get some! Mandatory!"

"Wh- that's it?" Andre couldn't help but be more suspicious.

"The food here is sooo good! I've been saving up for a while and then I see the sign today!"

Gumdrop couldn't be any more underwhelmed. She turns to leave.

"No wait don't go!" Citty Kat cried out. "Just trust me on this, you won't regret it!"

Gumdrop sighed. She turned back to the doors. A wide small spread across Citty Kat's face.

"Alright let's go!" They all march in one after the other.

x

The line is longer than usual, giving the kids a few minutes to talk.

"Okay!" exclaimed Citty Kat. "Anyone have any food allergies? Any food icks? Anything?"

"N-no. Nothing like that." Andre shook his head. Gumdrop wordlessly shook hers.

"Okay! Stay right there!" Citty Kat goes ahead to the line, leaving the two alone.

Neither of them say anything for a few minutes, the silence growing almost unbearable. Andre shifts uneasily on his feet. Gumdrop keeps her arms crossed, waiting.

"So," Andre breaks the silence between them. "I noticed you keep sitting at the same spot at lunch alone."

"And I noticed you keep sitting at my spot at lunch," Gumdrop responds. Andre begins to fidget with the hem of his shirt.

"It's the only place, uh, away from everyone else, Idk I just needed to get away from everyone," his voice dropping to a whisper, "If you want me to leave then I can, uh, I can stop sitting there."

She turns to look at him. His head has dropped down, eyes turned to the floor. His hands are still on the hem of his shirt. His sneakers are pointed inward. The hat covering his head of hair starts to sag a bit.

Gumdrop sat on this for a moment. She has discovered her god was a false god, but she was still a student of his teachings. Her mind led her in one way, but her instincts.....

Sighing, she speaks her mind.

"I don't mind."

Andre perks up.

"you- you mean it?"

He looked like someone just gave him a puppy, thought Gumdrop.

"I just, I need my space. I need a moment to myself."

"Of- of course." Andre couldn't help but feel more than grateful.

"So-"

"Okayyyy!! I have the food!!" The smell was wafting through the air as it grew closer to the two. "Alright! Let's go find a table!"

x

"Go on! Give it a try!" Citty Kat smiles with expectation and excitement. They had placed the two burgers in front of the other two. Gumdrop couldn't help but feel uneasy at the sight of so much grease. She looked up to see Andre take a bite. His eyes were showing no more regrets in life, as if he had found the reason for living.

Citty Kat had looked at Gumdrop.

"Did you wanna try it?"

Gumdrop glances back to the burger. She picks it up in as much of a dignified manner as one can have while eating a burger. Finding the perfect bite, the texture floods in first. The flavor then seeps through the grease and various juices. The synergy creates a medley of different emotions and experiences all at once.

"Good, right?" Gumdrop snaps back to reality. Andre is most halfway done with his. Citty Kat is sitting there with an expectant smile on their face. "You liked it, right?"

Gumdrop chews a bit more thoughtfully, savoring every last sensation this burger intended to bring.

"Hm... This..." She couldn't help but ponder, trying to think of the best way to describe it. "This might be the best burger I've ever had."

Citty Kat's smile somehow grew even wider. They chew off the end of a fry in satisfaction.

"Wait but, where's your burger?" Andre began. "Why are you only eating the fries?"

"Oh, I don't like burgers." Replied Citty Kat. "I only really eat the fries and nuggets." They continued to munch on some more fries.

Gumdrop glances at Andre and then turns her attention back to Citty Kat. "So if you weren't going to eat the burgers from the burger place, why bring us? What is the point of anything?"

Citty Kat shrugged their shoulders. "Well, because it's fun! You guys try new things with me and I get to eat my favorite food! Win win!" Citty Kat grinned.

A look of confusion spreads across Andre's face followed by realization. Gumdrop let's out a sigh. They continue to eat in peace, Citty Kat rambling on about their day, Andre chiming in with facts about Pokemon, and Gumdrop sitting idly, listening to her two new friends while eating her new favorite burger.

how would one of your OCs react to a HUGE burger and delicious seasoned french fries?

[imtryingbuck]

Moving on.

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader. Fem!Reader x Ari Levinson

Summary: Bucky breaks up with you, leaving you broken hearted.

Word count: 4,232

Warnings: angst. Bucky’s horrible in this. swearing. fluff. talks of drugs. insecurities.

Masterlist

You had been dating Bucky for three years, three wonderful full of love years. Meeting at the cafe where you two kept bumping into each other, a few weeks of it happening he asked you your name, a few more weeks he asked if you’d like to sit with him, months go by and he asks you out on a date.

Not long after you two found an apartment and moved in together, it was small but it was perfect for the two of you. For three whole years you loved him, spent many nights comforting him back to sleep when he had a nightmare - pulling him into your arms, only going back to sleep once you knew he was asleep. You went above and beyond for him, washing and drying his clothes, folding them nicely and putting them away for him. He always woke up to breakfast and his favourite drink - black coffee. Dinner was always on the table when he got back from missions or training at the tower with Steve and Sam. You put his own needs, feelings and wants before your own and you did it happily.

Five months before your four year anniversary things started to change. Bucky would always mention a female agent who according to him ‘was the best agent he’d ever met’, it didn’t bother you at first because it wasn’t the first time he praised agents to you but over time when he mentioned her your heart started to hurt.

You met her once, you told her that you had heard nothing but good things about her, she smiled politely and then asked who you were. Turned out Bucky never mentioned to her that he had a girlfriend and the worst part was she actually looked guilty that she didn’t know anything about you.

Bucky would constantly pick arguments with you over the smallest of things, and the things he would call you caused you to be insecure about yourself. One time he got angry at the fact that you hadn’t picked up his henley that he left on the floor. After arguing he would stomp towards the door, slamming it behind him with a deafening bang, leaving you to flinch at the noise, leaving you to cry and wonder what you did wrong, leaving you to clean up the mess he had made.

You woke up to an empty bed, a grin making its way onto your lips as you stretched before getting out of bed, making your way out of the bedroom. The grin falling when you come face to face with an empty apartment.

You grabbed your phone off the bedside table, your heart instantly pounding painfully in your chest. One text message.

***

Bucky💕- it’s over. you can have the apartment I’ll get Steve to get my things.

                                                                       2:45am.

***

You rang him straight away but there was no answer, on your eighth try it got cut off immediately. He blocked your number. Your eyes began frantically moving around the room as your breathing picked up, tears streaming down your cheeks, then everything went black.

When you came back around, your head hurt and when you raised your hand to the throbbing part you saw blood, you banged your head off the corner of the draws as you fell. Grabbing your phone once again you go to ring Bucky, frowning when the call didn’t go through and when you see the message you burst out crying once again, you thought it was all a terrible nightmare.

Not only did he break up with you over text with no explanation but he also broke up with on your four year anniversary.

For three days you didn’t move, didn’t eat, didn’t drink, you just stayed there on the bedroom floor crying, clutching your chest as the pain started to increase, and then passing out just to wake up and do it all over again.

On the fourth day you perked up when there was a knock at the door, on wobbly legs you made your way to the door thinking, hoping that it was Bucky - maybe he forgot his key and the past four days were all a terrible dream, you told yourself.

Steve’s heart ached at seeing you with swollen eyes, cracked lips, your hair a complete mess, but when he saw the dried blood and bruise on your head his heart sunk. “Y/n.”

“W-where is he?” Your words were so quiet that Steve despite having enhanced hearing struggled to understand what you said.

“He’s at the tower, he erm, he told me to get his things.”

“I-I-I’ll g-go and ge-get him-”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Steve hated this. He hated seeing you look so confused and lost. He hated knowing what his best friend did to you. “I’m going to make you some food, you need to eat darling.”

You nodded not fully knowing what he was saying, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and guided you into the kitchen. After cooking you some food he left you at the dining table so he could pack Bucky’s things, when he came back out he frowned at seeing the plate still full and you just sitting there staring at the wall.

“Y/n? Sweetheart you need to-“

“I thought we were going to get married and have kids and have a cat and-and we’d be happy but I was wrong.”

“I’m so sor-“

“Not your fault, it’s mine.” Wiping a fallen tear, you look around the apartment. “I wasn’t even worth breaking up with face to face but over a text. A text on our anniversary, that’s all I’m worth-“

“Don’t think that Y/n!”

“Why? It’s true. Can I ask you something? And please be honest with me.” Steve nods, dreading what you was going to ask him. “He left me for that agent didn’t he?”

“Y/n-“

“Please Steve, I need to know.”

“I-I saw them kissing the other day, I was angry at him and he told me you two broke up.”

“What day?”

“Y/n-“

A humourless laugh falls your lips as you shake your head. “On our anniversary, right? Here I am crying over him whilst he’s probably fucking that woman, I’m so stupid.” Steve goes to open his mouth but you continue. “Have you got everything of his?”

“Not yet.”

“I’m going for a shower, you have half an hour to get as much of his things out as you can, whatever is left will go in the bin.” You walk straight past the blond and go straight for the bathroom, not even waiting for the water to get hot enough you stand under the shower head. As you cleaned yourself up and washed your hair, you cried.

Wrapping the towel around your body you didn’t even look in the mirror, too scared to see what you looked like. Steve had just come back inside after taking some boxes to his car when you came out of the bathroom.

“Are you done?”

“Yeah. Y/n, I’m so sorry.”

“Like I said it’s not your fault Steve. I’ll see you around I guess.”

“He’s an absolute idiot.” He whispers, before pulling you in for a hug. “Don’t be a stranger, please.”

A week after Steve came to get Bucky’s things he was knocking on the door, he had come to check in on you. Putting his key in the lock he frowned when it didn’t fit. “Y/n?”

“She’s gone.”

Steve’s head whipped round to see an older woman standing outside her door. “What?”

“She moved out a few days ago, it’s about time she left that man anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was horrible to her in the past few months, could hear him call her vile things.” She shakes her head sadly. “She was such a sweet girl, it’s a shame she’s gone.” The neighbour says before going back inside, leaving Steve angry and confused.

An hour after Steve left after picking Bucky’s things up you rang your mum and asked if you could come back home, she instantly said yes, two days later your father and brother came to help you pack everything up. Even though you said to Steve that you’d bin anything that you found of Bucky’s, you felt yourself torn when you came across his dog tags. On one hand you wanted to be petty and throw them in the bin along with a few clothes of his because you knew how much they meant to him, but on the other you couldn’t find yourself to do so, so you put them in an envelope, wrote the tower’s address and posted it. Your dad offered to take it to the tower but you quickly shut that idea down.

It had been a year since Bucky broke your heart over a text message, for the first few months staying with your parents they hated hearing the cries coming from the bathroom as you showered. Your dad’s friend found an apartment for you which you were thankful for, as much as you loved your parents they started to get on your nerves.

You met your next door neighbour the day you was moving in, he was beautiful - having that thought about another man other than Bucky made you feel extremely guilty which made no sense because he dumped you for another woman, a woman who was stunning - he introduced himself and helped you carry your things up alongside your dad and brother.

A knock on the door had your attention taken away from the tv in front of you. “Y/n.” Another knock. “Y/n!”

“I’m coming, calm down!”

Answering the door you looked slightly confused at the man in front of you, pizza boxes in his hands, a red spot on his forehead. “Can I come in?”

“Of course, what happened to your head?”

“I-well I couldn’t knock because you know” he raised the boxes. “So I used my head.”

“I worry about you sometimes.”

“Because you love me.” You stuck your tongue out at him whilst he winked as he placed the boxes of pizza on the coffee table.

“What brings you here anyway?”

“Got a hot date.”

“Yeah? So why are you here? In my apartment.”

“Because you’re my hot date.” Your eyebrow shot up as you looked at him. “Y/n… the last season of our shows out!”

“Shit, really?“

“I’m so ashamed right now, how could you forget?”

“Ari… never-mind, just sit down so we can watch.”

Since meeting Ari and finding out that the two of you had a lot in common and the fact that you were next door neighbours, you two formed a close friendship, you two had found a series that you both loved and promised each other that you wouldn’t watch it without the other.

Halfway through the third episode you felt Ari’s eyes on you. “What?”

“You’re so beautiful.”

“Ew, no I’m not.”

“What do you mean ew, Y/n you’re stunning.”

“Are you high again?” Ari went out with a few of his friends a few months back, he showed up at your apartment begging you to let him in, he was in full panic mode and began barricading the front door. You asked nervously what was wrong and he looked you dead in the eye and told you that the bees were after him, according to him they had all ganged up on him and began chasing him.

He admitted that he had ate a brownie, telling you it tasted weird before he started giggling.

You found out the next day that he ate six of these weird tasting brownies.

“No, I’m three months clean.” He smiled proudly. “No more drugs for me, but I’m being serious Y/n you’re really beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You blush. It had been a long time since someone called you beautiful other than your parents. Bucky had stopped calling you anything affectionate the second he started mentioning the female agent.

“Y/n? Come back to me sweet girl.” Ari’s voice pulled you out of the memory of the last time Bucky called you beautiful.

“Huh? Sorry.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no it’s okay, I-it’s just been a long time since someone called me that.”

Ari shuffled closer and wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you close to him, he pressed his lips to your temple giving you a sweet short kiss. “Let me take you on a date.” He says after a few minutes of silence.

“I don’t want to go on a pity date.” You laughed.

“It’s not a pity date. Y/n I really like you, I have since we’ve met but I was nervous to ask you.”

“And you aren’t anymore? Nervous I mean?”

“Nope.” He winked at you, smiling when you giggle. “So what do you say pretty girl? Go on an incredible date with the bestest guy you know?”

“Yeah? Who is he?”

“Me… obviously.”

“Then yes I’ll go on a date with you.”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow.” His smile only widens when you nod and shuffle closer to him, resting your head on his chest.

Just before he left, you confessed that you had feelings for him, a massive smile made an appearance on his lips instantly.

You felt a feeling of content that you hadn’t felt for a long time.

Half eleven came quicker than expected, just as you were tying your laces to your docs Ari knocked at the door. “Hey, I just need to grab my bag and we can go.” You rush off leaving him at the door to grab your bag. “Ari?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re staring.”

“Huh? Oh. Hi.”

“Hi, are you alright?”

“I’m good. You’re stunning. Oh these are for you by the way.” He hands over a large bouquet of your favourite flowers, a small smile on his lips as his cheeks start to turn red.

“Ari you didn’t have to get me flowers, but thank you I love them.”

“I had to, my ma said.”

After putting the flowers in a vase and water you and Ari made your way down to his car, he still hadn’t told you where he was taking you only telling you to dress comfy. The whole drive to the unknown destination was filled with laughter, Ari telling you really bad jokes just because he loved hearing your laugh. He finally tells you where he’s taking the two of you as he comes around the corner from the place.

Coney Island.

“I remember you saying you love amusement parks and I thought it’d be the perfect place for our first date.” Ari says as he watches your eyes light up at seeing the rides.

“This is amazing! Ari, you’re amazing.”

Once parked and an argument between the two of you over who was paying for the tickets - Ari winning by literally pushing you away from the ticket stand - you two made your way to the first ride.

“We have five rides left, where do you want to go next?” You asked him as the two of you were waiting to order food.

“It’s up to you but I kinda wanna go on the biggest one last.”

As the two of you were eating you kept noticing Ari looking over to the side, a smirk on his lips and as you glanced over you saw a beautiful woman standing there, your heart instantly sank. Of course he didn’t want to go on a real date with you like you thought and after convincing yourself that it was time for you to move on, you felt so stupid for confessing feelings for him. Maybe you could play it off as a joke and tell him he should ask this gorgeous woman for her number.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“You finished?”

“Yeah.” You hadn’t but you no longer had an appetite.

He stands up and puts the rubbish in the bin, as you stand you wrap your arms around yourself. Ari doesn’t even think about what he does as he pulls your arms away so he could hold your hand and walks over to where the woman was. He doesn’t even bat an eye as he walks past her, going straight up to a ring toss stand.

“I’m going to win you a big bear.” He says with determination as he pays the man.

You blink once, twice, trice, your eyes going from him to the woman and back to him. “What?”

“I’m great at these, I swear.” And he was right. He gets three bottles in a row. “Which one are you picking sweet girl?” His bright blue eyes shine brighter as he stares at you, a proud smile on his lips waiting for your reply.

“Erm… that one.” You point up to the large bear with checkered bow tie around its neck. Thanking the man as he hands over the bear, you hold it close to you. “Ari…”

“Yeah?”

“Y-you should ask for her number.”

“Who?”

“That woman.” You point over to the woman.

“And why would I do that? I’m on the best date with the most amazing woman, I don’t want some woman’s number.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am positive pretty girl.” He smiles softly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I saw you eyeing up that panda, do you want it?” Your grin widens when Ari starts nodding, a cheeky grin on his lips.

“Gonna win it for me?”

“I’m going to try.” Handing over the bear he won you, you pay the man and start throwing, surprising yourself when you get all three bottles.

Ari’s face lit up when the man handed him the large panda, you both thank the man and Ari’s quick to hold your free hand as you being walking away from the stand. “Thank you.”

“You got me one.”

“Y/n, I want you to meet someone.”

“Who?”

“Pandy.” He brings the panda further around so you can see him. “He’s a great friend of mine, he’s awesome as well.”

“Hi Pandy. I want you to meet someone too.” And you do the same, showing him the bears face. “Meet Mr Bow, he truly is my best friend he’s been there for me through the good and the bad.”

“Hi Mr Bow.” The second you lock eyes with each other, you both burst out laughing. “Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“C-can I kiss you?”

“Please.” The moment his lips touched yours you swear you forgot how to breathe. Not to sound corny but the kiss was well and truly breath taking.

You both reluctantly pull away, Ari rests his forehead against yours as you both begin to grin at each other. He goes to kiss you again when you both freeze at hearing your name being said. Looking to the left you came face to face with the man you hoped you’d never see again.

Bucky.

Standing next to him was a woman who didn’t look like the agent he left you for, and behind them was the Avengers. Bucky looked angry as the team looked happy to see you.

“I see that you moved on." He spat, eyeing your hand holding Ari’s.

“So have you, guessing agent Phillips didn’t work out for you?”

“Shut up.” Bucky was embarrassed to admit it but Phillips rejected him, after she smacked him across the face after he kissed her. Something he was glad Steve didn’t see. He was embarrassed that the woman he left his loving girlfriend for didn’t even want him, he realised that what he thought was flirting was her just being nice. Bucky was ashamed of what he did to you - not only with how he broke your heart but the way he treated you for months before, he went back to the apartment he shared with you with a massive bouquet of flowers that he knew were your favourite - they weren’t - in hopes you’d forgive him, he had his story straight after practicing it the whole night before, he knew he should have crawled back to you and your loving arms the second Phillips rejected him but he waited two weeks.

Two weeks of him sleeping with six different women.

When the door opened he expected to see you but instead it was the landlord, he had told him that you had moved out. And when he found out that Steve knew about it and never told him, well he punched his best friend, which caused the two to fight.

“Right.” You squeeze Ari’s hand in hopes he would drag you away from the situation, before either one can move Bucky speaks up again.

“You don’t even like amusement parks so why are you even here?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“What?”

“I-fuck I’m so stupid.” Ari’s head snaps to the side and stared at you with wide eyes, his mouth opens to disagree but you speak. “I really wasted four years of my life with someone who didn’t even know me.”

The woman who was clinging on to his arm gives you a dirty look, so you smile at her. “He probably makes you feel special doesn’t he? Did the same with me until someone better came along and he broke up with me over a text. Don’t fall for him, I promise it won’t end well.” The woman’s hold begins to loosen and she begins to shuffle on the spot.

“Anyway it was nice seeing you guys again.” You say directly to the team. “But I would like to continue my date, bye.” With that you drag Ari away.

“Y/n.”

“So I’m thinking we take the bears to the car and then we can go on the rest of the rides, if that’s okay?”

“Of course it is, but are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I promise.”

“We can go if you want?”

“No? Why do you want to go?”

“Nope.” He smiles. “Plus I want to hear you scream when we go on the last ride.”

“You’ll be the one screaming!”

After watching Ari in amusement as he put the seatbelts over the teddies safety first he reminded you, the two of you went on the final rides, you knew the team was still there because you kept seeing them and knew that the girl Bucky was with had left when she walked by you and Ari and gave you a sheepish smile. Knowing that your ex who had broken your heart was in the same place as you didn’t bother you like you had always thought it would, the only man who had your attention was the same man sitting next to you on the largest ride at Coney Island, gripping your hand for dear life whilst panicking if the ride was safe.

You were struggling to laugh as Ari’s screams pierced your ears.

“I-I handle that really well.” He panted still clinging on to your arm.

“Ari… you were screaming before the ride even took off!”

“I was so brave, you was the one screaming.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” You patted his arm, sticking your tongue out to him when he squinted his eyes.

“Baby, are you ready?”

“Yep, wait… now I am.” You walk out of the bedroom to see your fiancé dancing in the living room.

“Dance with me pretty girl.”

“We’re going to be late… but okay.”

Wrapped in Ari’s arms as you both slow danced in the living room, you rested your head on his chest as he kept kissing your forehead. After your first date Ari asked you to go on a next one, and another and another, until five months had passed and he asked to be his girlfriend. His mum cheered and popped party poppers when you said yes.

Two years after your first date, Ari took you back to Coney Island - both winning each other new teddy bears to bring home to Pandy and Mr Bow - and afterwards he told you he wanted to go for a walk on the beach, where he got down on one knee and proposed to you.

You found out from Steve that Bucky was doing terribly, his ‘girlfriends’ never lasting more than a month, Steve shrugged and said “it’s his own fault for messing up the greatest thing he would ever have.” Before he congratulated you on your engagement.

“I love you.” Ari whispered as he kissed your temple.

“I love you too, I really do.”

You never thought you’d be engaged to a man that wasn’t Bucky because you truly thought that you two would be together till death took you away from each other, you didn’t think you’d ever find happiness or love again after having your heart broken but here you were in the arms of a different man who truly loves you, going to get married to the most incredible man who doesn’t expect you to do everything, who doesn’t allow you to do everything.

Ari brought you so much joy, love, happiness and peace that you realised what you had with Bucky had been one sided and at first that realisation hurt your heart but that went away when Ari wrapped his arms around you.

Looking up at the man you were slow dancing with in the living room you knew that you had finally found true love.

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama | @capsbestgirl77

[borkunlimited]

Take Your Time, Miss Deer (Sylus x Reader) - Ch. 6

In a tailor shop tucked in the calmer side of the N109 zone is a little room where all clothes of many different designs come together under the delicate hands of an unassuming deer living in the den of all sorts of beasts and sitting on them is the dragon who wears your clothes.

Your many interactions with Skye, Mr. Sylus’ messenger or-

-Sylus is waiting for you to finally figure out he is playing his own messenger.

A Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Fic

Tags: Sylus x Reader, Hybrid AU, Suggestive Themes, Fluff, Angst, Predator/Prey, Sexual Harassment

Trigger Warning: Sexual Harassment

Chapter Summary: A horn, a tail, and canines so sharp. He will wear the title of monster gladly if it means not one cut will bloom in your skin.

Author's Note: Just a dragon and a deer having a little adventure. I had so much fun building the world in this AU! As always, I want to thank everyone for their kind support~ A few more chapters (+ an epilogue, of course!)

Enjoy!

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6

6: My Dearest, Sincere

Daisy perched on the railing of the steps of your shop, wearing a little straw hat tied around its neck in a perfect red bow, his optics adjusting on each hybrid passing by your shop who did a double take at you before quickly walking away or returning your wave with a weak one.

You didn’t pay attention to their reactions much, your excitement superseding everything because you have been looking forward to this day ever since.

A red circle marked today’s date in your calendar, the numbers printed on the museum ticket that arrived inside a black envelope handed over to you by Skye, a gift from Mr. Sylus who thought you needed a break after hearing what happened, a little adventure outside the N109 zone accompanied with a small reminder.

The red gemstone in the brooch Mr. Sylus gifted to you shines brightly on your chest, wearing it as he instructed every time you go outside. You put on your best clothes today and in your head, a matching hat similar to Daisy’s.

There is a quiet hope that he will also come along today but you know he doesn’t have any reason to do so and you already surrendered to the fact that he will always stay elusive, distant but watchful.

Perhaps Skye is right, his boss is indeed a very private man but even so, he conveyed his fondness to you in his own unique way.

Is he lonely?

Does he also have bad days as well?

Is he taking care of himself?

Your thoughts were cut short when Daisy let out a caw and you smiled when you watched it perch on the shoulder of the person who will bring you to the museum today.

“Good morning, Skye,” you greeted him, your boots clicking on the little stairway of your shop that also served as your home, skipping every other step while you made your way towards him.

His sweetheart, always so adorable.

Sylus took a few strides from his car to meet you at the bottom, taking a closer look at you. Your attire is quite different from your usual work clothes, your hair tied in a neat french braid and he smiled in approval when he saw you wearing the brooch.

Just a quick measure especially now there are too many people for his liking whose eyes lingered for too long on his precious deer.

“There’s my girl,” he greeted you back and he lifted you up effortlessly, spinning you around.

A small, surprised yelp escaped your lips, clearly not expecting him to do that and you buried your face on his hair, a reflex, to hide the blush that bloomed on your face and you accidentally took in the scent of petrichor with faint notes of expensive tobacco, gunpowder, and burnt pinewood.

A strange combination of fragrance synonymous to safety.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you said when he put you down and he held your waist gently, a quiet reassurance when he noticed you shifting back and forth anxiously.

“I don’t mind, sweetheart,” Sylus chuckled and he raised his brow when he noticed you trying to peek behind him, as if checking if there are other passengers inside the car.

“Looking for someone, miss seamstress?”

“Oh, I was just wondering if-”, you fiddled with your right sleeve, biting your lip while you avoided his gaze.

“Wondering if?”, he encouraged gently, a small smirk on his face. 

The curious gaze, the hint of anticipation in your eyes. He had seen this expression too many times, his deer always looking forward to the day she would finally meet the elusive ‘Mr. Sylus’.

As always, all of his patience is reserved only for you, waiting for his favorite tailor to piece it all together.

And maybe, a piece of him is hoping this little charade will last long. You are the only person he sees looking for him without any hint of selfishness, just genuine intentions of hoping to thank him for everything and yet, you have already returned everything back to him tenfold, even when there is nothing you need to do, even when there is nothing to repay.

“If Mr. Sylus tagged along?”, you finished your question quietly, your sheepish smile hidden behind your hat while you looked up at him.

Perhaps he also takes pride when you look for his real identity, a constant reassurance to him that even if you don’t know the face of your benefactor, you still want to get to know him better.

“No, I am afraid not, sweetie,” Sylus replied, pinching your cheek, “It is just me and you today if that’s alright.”

Your deer ears drooped slightly at his answer but you don’t want Skye to think that you don’t like his company, in fact, you do enjoy it and you are hoping to thank Mr. Sylus not just for his presents this time but for allowing Skye to stay longer every time he comes over.

“I don’t mind,” you replied cheerfully, “You’re my favorite visitor after all.”

“Is that so?”

“Very much so.”

“Maybe I should visit more often. I wouldn’t want to lose that spot to someone else, little doe.”

“Mr. Sylus wouldn’t mind?”, you asked, your tail wagging slightly at the thought. Does that mean he will come over everyday? It must be too much to fit in his schedule, especially since you heard from the twins that Mr. Sylus can be very demanding.

“He’ll be very pleased that someone’s looking after his favorite tailor, sweetie,” Sylus answered, tapping your nose, “He knows how fond I am of you as well.”

He wouldn’t deny that he has multiple meetings, negotiations, and auctions he has to attend but even then, he will always make time to be Miss Deer’s second assistant because it looks like he wouldn’t be able to take away the title of first assistant from Mephisto anytime soon.

“Ready to go, miss seamstress?”

“Can Daisy sit with me in front?”

Mephisto let out a beep, certainly pleased, and Sylus rolled his eyes, fully understanding that the bird was holding it over his head and acting like an indoor pet bird when around you.

But with you sitting on his passenger seat holding a basket lined with white cloth for Mephisto to rest? He will let it pass. 

How is it that all the henchmen he sent to you become so docile?

Not like he minds, not when he sees his crow already made itself comfortable on your lap, preening itself.

Now he wonders when it's his turn.

────────────────────

Linkon City is one of the few cities in the country that allows hybrids and humans to mingle together.

Still,  a crowd is certainly not something you are used to after residing in the N109 zone for a while. There are too many noises and you have become more used to the hum of the sewing machines, the sound of the fabric scissors cutting through the cloth, and the distant gunfight muffled by the thick walls of your shop that unfamiliar and sudden noises tend to overwhelm you easily.

You held on Skye’s sleeve before you stepped inside the museum, hiding behind his back and Daisy, always quick to sense your discomfort, nestled itself on the crook of your neck.

“Feeling a bit spooked, sweetie?”, he asked softly, his tail wrapping itself loosely around your waist and pulling you closer.

Even then, he waited for your reply, your eyes switching back and forth between him while the small crowd dispersed around you. You glanced up to him with a small smile, a silent request, to give you a few minutes to take in everything around you.

“I just need a moment, please.”

“We are in no rush, little doe, take all the time you need.”

As always, Sylus complied with your request, his gaze trained at your hand on the cuff of his sleeve that acted as your anchor on your new surroundings.

He can sense the cautious looks mixed with curiosity directed to him and you both by humans and hybrids passing by but he pays them no mind as long as they do not pose a threat. To you.

With his imposing height, your petite frame, and the sharp contrast of your species, everyone is likely to assume you are coerce in this meeting by him but people who take a closer look will realize that this rare hybrid-

-Is as obedient as a housepup, his crimson eyes only trained to you when you pulled on the cuff of his sleeve gently, a signal you are ready to explore the large halls with a new found confidence.

Should you go to the main hall first?

Or take a look at the paintings?

Perhaps the tapestries?

It has been so long since you stepped on a place such as this that you realize you may have been dragging Skye around.

“Oh I am sorry,” you said, suddenly letting go of his cuff much to his disapproval, “I did not ask where you wanted to go first.”

“Didn’t Mr. Sylus said today’s your day? Go wherever you want, little doe.”

“But I want you to enjoy it as well.”

“I am already having a good time, sweetheart,” he replied, playfully tweaking the brim of your hat then fixing it, making sure the ribbon under your chin is secured.

“Oh, don’t you make a unique pair?”, a voice behind Sylus back commented cheerfully and you immediately hid behind his back when he turned to check the person who spoke up.

A young rabbit hybrid stood in front of you, clearly someone working here in the museum based on her name plate, offering you a map to the museum. There is no hint of judgment in her gaze while she waits for either of you to take the brochure from her.

She opened the map, pointing at a specific area further inside the museum, “Here. People usually go here when they are on dates.”

Date?

You looked up at Skye who did not bother to correct the staff, thanking her and studying the map after she bidding you both to have fun and then walking away.

“Can I also take a look please?,” you asked, tugging his sleeve for him to bend down slightly and he immediately complied, letting you view the details of the brochure and making sure you don’t have to stand on your tiptoes.

“Anything you want to see first, sweetie?”

“They all sound interesting. I want to see all of them.”

“Same here but we can’t start exploring just yet, miss seamstress. Where do you want to start?”

Your brows furrowed slightly, a small thoughtful hum escaping your lips, and he playfully tapped the crease between your brows, amused at the fact how you are indeed weighing your options while Mephisto tilted its head in beat with you.

“How about this one?”, you asked, pointing at the room displaying a series of paintings from an obscure artist.

He nodded, “Good choice, little doe.”

If you walk, he will follow. If you stop, he will halt. With you leading the way, your footsteps will be replaced with his, tracing the same path his deer left just for him but today, there will be not one set of footsteps but two when you hold the other end of the brochure he had in his hand while both of you walk side by side.

For a brief moment, his fingers brushed against yours.

────────────────────

When night comes, what fairy tales do every human and hybrid tell to their children before they tuck them to sleep?

The lullaby of the music box plays in the background of the small room you have, in the humble two story house your father managed to purchase with his savings to build a tailor shop in the Bloomshore District.

It was during those years when the humans on the top are kinder, determined to erase the lines all of your ancestors collectively have set over the years but with change comes resistance and grand plans of building cities become smaller and smaller and out of it came a little portion of Bloomshore District, empty because of its close distance from the industrial zones.

It was home and it was yours.

Every night, your father will leave his work downstairs, taking a break from sewing together uniforms for employees working in the factories nearby and each step creak, on his hand the first picture book you bought from a second hand bookstore and his other hand helping you climb the stairs.

It was always his soft voice who put you to bed while you watched the little dragon figurine frolic on the field of red wildflowers, in a world where it is neither the hero nor the villain.

“Are all dragons born bad?”

It was the same question you asked him, confused why it is always the nameless dragon who is given the role of the villain, the one who is always slain at the end and their death celebrated. Savage beasts who only know how to take and with every place they arrive, they leave a trail of black snow.

They should be punished, the knight of every story always proclaimed, pointing his blade at the chest of the dragon smiling with its pointed teeth in the picture.

“I don't think anyone is born bad, twig.”

He always let out a sigh, seemingly amused at your question and he always give you the same answer before pressing a kiss on your forehead, reminding you to sleep or else you would not grow taller, even if you try to point your ears up or add more tree branches on your antlers and the day ends when he closes the door behind him, his exit punctuated with the lullaby coming to an end.

You always forget to ask him why people said otherwise.

“Skye, I am sorry,” you said quietly, looking up at the dragon hybrid whose expression remained neutral while he gazed at the large painting in front of you.

Dragons are born with sin. 

Dragons should not have friends.

Dragons are liars, nothing good comes out of their mouth.

It is the same lines repeated even by his fellow hybrids and in the crowd that part ways when they recognize what he is, it serves as a cruel reminder that he will always be alone in the long and winding path that looms ahead of him.

How many times did Sylus see these drawings in books he had read when he was young? Even his fingers and toes are not enough to count the instances where someone plunges anything sharp right through the dragon’s chest.

“You have nothing to apologize for, sweetie,” he spoke, his gaze softening when he turned to look at your ears drooping, guilty. Both you and him did not expect one of the paintings would have a subject such as this and even when he looked away, it was always the truth, a fact of this world.

He will always remain as it is, a fiend.

“I should have chosen a different exhibit for us to see,” you replied quietly, and his tail wrapped around your waist.

“I’m fine, miss seamstress. A simple picture is not enough to hurt me,” he chuckled, and inside the four corners of this wide, wide, room, he can only hear the small rustle of your clothes as you shuffled closer next to him, offering small comfort.

He has seen these images too many times, in reality and in dreams, but here you are, treating him as if he shouldn’t be stained with violence when he already is, that it is true, he is indeed a selfish dragon sitting on his hoard and even then, it is not enough.

All the shiny trinkets in the world but there is no material thing that could ever fill the already gaping hole left by nameless people who hated his kind.

He had convinced himself that he would remain that way, fractured and fragmented, held together by sheer determination and strength. Even then, there are pieces that slipped through the gaps, never to be found, forever lost.

But, that was before.

“Maybe the dragon did not die, Skye,” you decided to venture further, your eyes trained at the painting, “Maybe it flew far away after that.”

And then, someone picks up a thread and a needle, slowly, carefully, mending them.

You.

You with the dearest voice, with the gentlest of hands, with the scent of cotton and wildflowers enough to sooth the pain of wounds from years past.

“Perhaps. Maybe he managed to find someone to stitch his wounds together, little doe.”

“Well, he certainly does need help. I don’t think he can hold a needle and thread with such large claws.”

“You’re right. His claws are better suited for holding treasures.”

“Or protecting the people he loves,” you smiled at him, the two of you walking away from the painting and moving to another one.

Now that sounds like something a hero would do, not a villain and Sylus is more than aware he will never be one, the thought is almost amusing. He too once held a cardboard sword thinking he can also venture to the tower the princess is locked away but those are childhood follies, delusions.

No, he will never be one.

Yet, there is a glimmer of hope, small but enduring, shielded with both of your hands from the smallest gust of wind.

Maybe, maybe, you are right, the dragon had fled away, away from everything until he met a deer who led him deeper, deeper in the woods to rest while her forest friends looked on.

The uncaring world will continue to march on but his wounds will close, his scars will fade, and in the hidden grove of red wildflowers where it is just you and him, he has discovered that not all dragons are fated to live inside towers of iron and stone.

If the time comes that his precious deer, the caretaker of this little paradise, would be harmed then-

For your sake, he will be as monstrous as you need him to be.

────────────────────

In this small enclosure, your heartbeats sing in a steady rhythm, a slow and gentle melody. Sylus had always compared it to a lullaby, a melody you can only find on old music boxes in antique stores tucked far from the city centers and only if you listen closely. A melody no one would be able to replicate, uniquely yours.

Small and soft, a faint humming, but he is beginning to think he has been gifted with sharp senses so that he can always spot you in a dense and loud crowd.

The wreath of flowers he is weaving together in his hands is almost complete and Sylus gazed at you in amusement, your eyes closed and your hands folded on your lap.

The little glasshouse you and Sylus entered isolated you further from the rest. Every person who will step inside will not find any plants of interest, the blooms kept are of common variety, plain but these are not the reason why this place is here.

Various butterflies of different colors fluttered around you and you told him of your plan on staying still ahead, attempting to attract as many of these little creatures as you can because you want you and him to make friends with them so he also played along.

Little insects slowly make their way to you, some rest their wings on the tips of your antlers and a butterfly sharing the color of your eyes landed on your bandaged finger, the movement of its wing barely even making a sound in the already quiet sanctuary.

He supposed he should give his thanks to that young rabbit hybrid who pointed you two to this area isolated from the main building of the museum, and he hummed a low tune, stealing a glance to check if your eyes are still closed before fastening the red ribbon you have gifted to him in the wreath he just completed.

A little hint that you will only find out before you call it a night or, maybe the morning after.

“They seem to like you, sweetie,” he spoke softly, making sure to not scare your nameless friends.

You opened your eyes slowly to see for yourself and you smiled, moving your finger closer to look at the butterfly then peering at the white butterfly with crimson spots that made itself comfortable on his shoulder, a stark difference against the black leather of his jacket.

“Look, Skye. You have a little friend.”

“So I do but I believe they are more fond of you than they are of me.”

“They are just shy. I’ll introduce you and your friend to them,” you said softly, a quiet whisper, moving your hand slowly to move the butterfly on your finger so it can sit beside his nameless companion on his shoulder, “See, now, you have two.”

And they make a pretty pair.

“Well would you look at that, sweetheart,” he chuckled quietly, not wanting to disturb the butterflies you are transferring to him one by one, “It seems my entourage grows.”

Nameless friends.

Sylus is more than aware the lives of these creatures are fleeting, they do not have enough time to realize the differences in their colors and sizes while they dance together among the array of common blooms, a kaleidoscope rotating endlessly, different beings flowing into one stream of consciousness.

He let the first butterfly rest on his finger, bringing it close to his lips and even then, the words he had whispered are barely a gust to the little being.

“What did you tell our friend, Skye?”, you asked, a soft giggle escaping your lips when he let it rest on the tip of your nose.

Among the rows of blooms bursting with colors, the brightest flower stood out of all them.

Delicate.

Soft.

The closest you have to having thorns are your antlers that reminded him of branches of a mighty tree.

Must the strong always have sharp teeth and claws? No, Sylus disagrees. Strength comes in various forms and you, the deer who found comfort among the beasts shunned by their fell ow kind, is one of the few who dared to look past such loathsome faces they have.

“I told our new friend that it is lucky to be sitting on the most beautiful flower in the greenhouse,” he answered, reaching out to twirl a lock of your hair and gazing at the wings of the creature who had already made itself comfortable, fulfilling a small favor from him.

Of course, with beauty comes recognition and with the wreath of flowers held together by the ribbon you both created, he crowned you with blossoms of various shades of yellow, vibrant as the sun, and he will forever remember their scent mixed against yours that haunt him even in his dreams. 

Even when you have never stepped foot in the base and much along his bed, the faint aroma of springtime lingered at the empty side of his bed he had reserved just for you.

A blush bloomed on your cheeks upon his compliment, red as the spots of his first friend, and you stifled a soft laugh, your body trembling while you moved your eyes back and forth from him to your side.

Your affections for him has changed ever since that day when he wrapped the red bandage on your finger, the warmth of his tongue lingered on your fingertip and even when you are fully aware of your differences, you also wished during the lull of the quiet nights that you don’t want this to be folly, a passing fancy, just a temporary reprieve before you found someone of the same species.

You slowly reach up to him, letting one of the butterflies perching on one of the bases of his horns crawl on your finger, and you bring it close to you.

He watched your lips part while you mumbled softly to the little being and its paper thin wings before you let it go, watching it join the others.

“What did you tell that one, sweetie?”

“I told it that it is very fortunate to be friends with the kindest dragon I’ve met.”

He averted his gaze from you, chuckling softly, and you tilt your head when his fingers reach out to play with your pinky with his ears tinged red.

Certainly a word you would never describe a repulsive beast.

“You don’t believe me, Skye?”

“I am not a very good dragon that you think I am, miss seamstress.”

“But bad dragons don’t fix wounds and kiss them, do they?”

“Moments of kindness should not be mistaken as a change in character, sweetie,” he chuckled softly, the sound a cover for the thin layer of sadness hidden beneath a despicable casing that is him.

You hummed in thought, your eyes quietly studying his face and the corner of his lips lifted in a soft smirk under your curious gaze. Quietly, you reached out for one of the flowers both of you picked on the way and carried here using the underside of your hat.

“Can you come closer for me, Skye?”, you asked.

“Like this, little doe?”, he said, leaning closer without any hesitation and your hand brushed against his horn, tying the yellow blossom together with the good luck ribbon he always wears.

A small whimper almost escapes his lips upon your gentle touch, the top of his head pressing against your hand for more of it.

“I will try to put more flowers and ribbons on you then, Skye, until you finally believe that you are a good and friendly dragon,” you smiled, shifting through the stems of the array of blooms and picking those you think would suit him nicely, tucking them in his hair.

Tell him, tell him that he isn't a monster and he will believe every word you will say.

He chuckled softly, “Even if I am, do you think people would see the same as you do, sweetheart?”

“I’ll make as many ribbons as I can for you then.”

“Are you trying to turn me into a living, walking present, little doe?”

“But you are already one, Skye. You’re the best gift Mr. Sylus gave to me,” you replied, as if it is an absolute truth, a sincere declaration and his eyes widened for a fraction of a second then softened.

“More than the hairpins that he gave to you?”

“More than them, yes.”

“More than your favorite vinyl records he sent you?”

“You can sing them for me anyways."

“You’re such a strange little deer, miss seamstress,” he commented, laughing in amusement and you tilt your head at how his ears are redder than earlier, his smirk faltering to a lopsided smile.

“Will wearing a bow on your tail make you feel better if I wear one as well, Skye?”, you asked, your hand brushing against the soft petals tucked on the strands of his hair.

The image was almost whimsical, but both of you made an unlikely pair. In the thin line that divides your kind, both of you are mirror images, the same but not quite.

“I suppose I’ll have to follow suit, won’t I?”, he replied playfully, then poking your cheek, “It’s only fair.”

Having a bow on his powerful tail will be an amusing sight, you wearing one certainly does have appeal and as he follows you closely while you leave the small greenhouse, his eyes lingered on your tail swaying and he can only picture the perfect ribbon that would compliment you the best.

Although, he wouldn’t mind pulling it off as much as he looks forward to putting one on you when the time comes.

────────────────────

Everyone looks after each other in the small community of all hybrids back at the small corner of Bloomshore District.

The sheep hybrid lady with her canine hybrid husband, their two children, Simon and their daughter, who bakes the perfect strawberry shortcake. A yearly treat you always look forward to, the package familiar.

The elderly owl hybrid that runs the clinic, the one who always reminds you to take your morning walks after your father’s check-ups.

The fruits and vegetable stall ran by a rabbit hybrid who gives you a playful wink every time she slips in an extra apple on your bag, her thanks to you for fixing her apron.

The raccoon hybrid and her group of panda bear hybrid friends who play baseball at the empty lot, their jerseys you put together with their numbers.

It was a small area the government allowed hybrids to settle in but even then, they are selective to who they will let in, hybrids they believe are harmless and they all want you to follow one rule:

Do not help your other kind.

You were your father’s assistant back then and both of you have tailored clothes for hybrids and humans. All of your customers were kind, every person who entered the shop courteous with an exception.

Humans who claimed they are looking after you.

They are always the last people to enter your shop every end of the week. They don’t ask for money or anything at all but you and your father kept your head low.

Even then, averting your gaze does not mean the onlooker will do the same.

Your tail stroked. Your ears tugged. Your antlers pulled. The touches laced with malicious fascination.

That human sees you as an animal in a petting zoo.

Perhaps, it was a twisted fascination towards your kind, an exotic catch, fresh meat, and everything culminated when the advances had become too much.

It was that same human everyday and you have paid the price in full when you decided you had enough. A cry for help, small but audible, and that small baseball team who loves hanging around your shop did not hesitate to hold him down.

Your father did not forget the look that human is wearing who did not even struggle against the hold of the tallest panda bear hybrid child.

A victorious smirk. 

There was barely enough time to gather up your belongings when the fire happened.

A few of your finished works and personal items, the rest you watched turned ash outside the place your father had built when he was allowed to settle in this district while you were still a toddler.

You held the music box closed to your chest, your eyes unable to tear away at your home where all your hopes and dreams had taken root, bloomed, and finally, crushed. 

Your father watched the young Simon back then and his much younger sister put a blanket over you, whispered a few words and then slowly stepped away to give you space.

He will remember the looks of your hybrid neighbors, silent anger mixed with fear while they part to give way to the cause of everything.

“I just think you are cute, you know? Maybe this time you will learn how to put up with it now everything’s gone.”

Did I make the wrong decision? 

He asked himself back then but the question is maybe more to your mother who had left you both too early. He had witnessed everything, heard every word that human whispered to you and among the silent mumbles of kindly neighbors, they all pointed to the most unlikely place that could possibly be your new home. 

There will always be a price in every bargain struck. 

His beautiful daughter, always reserved, and your father will be your voice to your talents and if he needs to face the most dangerous hybrid just so you can continue your work, then so be it.

Better in the company of beasts than men.

It was your father’s love for you and his promise to your mother that gave him courage to face Sylus and ask for capital. The double doors inside Sylus’ estate in the N109 zone is an iron gate and ahead is a young dragon who had hoarded everything and more.

He wore his best suit that day and he was not just a proud father but a businessman who knows his wares. Never did he falter under Sylus’ gaze and when the dragon hybrid agreed, he only let out a sigh of relief once he stepped out of the dragon’s home.

Your father may have skipped on his way back to you in your temporary home. Happy, grateful, and hopeful. 

The smile on your face returned when you opened the door to your new studio and he didn’t stop you when you immediately went to work on your commission, dedicated to the first request that will eventually bring in more clients and the proud owner of that suit is no other than-

Sylus.

From there, an unlikely relationship bloomed and your father, an audience sitting in the front row.

It was around evening when Sylus returned to your shop, carrying you in his arms. You were already fast asleep, your head against the dragon hybrid’s chest and dangling on Sylus’ arms are paper bags containing souvenirs from the museum he took you earlier.

Where do you even get this courage? Your father will never know but he is sure your mother would be thoroughly amused to see her daughter all cozy against a predator hybrid.

“Mr. Sylus!”, your father immediately stood up and made his way to him, “My apologies. My daughter did not mean to impose.”

He was about to take you from the dragon hybrid’s arms but Sylus only shook his head, amused and he noticed how Sylus’ gaze at you fondly when you mumbled something in your sleep.

“There’s no need to apologize. She’s just exhausted from walking. Fell asleep on our way back,” Sylus replied, holding you tighter and you instinctively seemed to seek warmth from him, burying your face further, “Let me bring her to her room.”

If you are an odd deer then Sylus is certainly the same, an odd dragon.

There is no mistaking it.

This is the gaze of a man hopelessly head over heels for you.

“Second room from your left, Mr. Sylus,” your father politely answered, “The fifth step creaks. Might wake her up.”

Sylus gave your father a polite smile, passing by him and making his way upstairs with you. 

For a body large and powerful, he moved with a certain tenderness, not wanting to startle you. His steps are quiet, your quiet breathing the only sound he can hear. It took him to reach your room but for Sylus, it is certainly longer, much longer than the distance you both took to explore the museum.

He knew this little adventure would come to an end, that he must return his precious deer to her grove eventually but he refused to move just yet from your side after he laid you down on your bed.

Call it greed, but after having a taste of a sliver of his many wishes, he is now fervently asking for more chances of bringing you to bed and maybe, just maybe, the bed would not just dip with your weight alone when the time comes.

With the crown of flowers on your head, it is as if you are a princess waiting for your knight to wake you up.

Unfortunately, the knights are too afraid to even come close to the dragon’s most precious treasure.

Why would you need a knight when you already have a terrifying monster who doesn’t need a sword to pierce the heart of any person who would hurt you? 

Sylus sets down the bags of souvenirs you brought with him and he slowly pulls out the newest trinkets that would bring more color to your room. 

A wind-up dragon that he set beside your music box, the horns you said reminded you of his.

A deer plushie with a red ribbon tied around its neck that he set beside you, a stuffed animal you playfully voiced over with a high pitch voice and with its snout, you pecked Sylus’ cheek.

A crow plushie with a white collar around its neck that he set at your other side, the object of Mephisto’s glares back at the shop when Sylus joked about it being its replacement.

With your new gifts, your room overflows with more trinkets that he has brought just for you.

Sylus has never set foot inside your room before but he recognized it based on the photos and records Mephisto has brought to him. 

It is a simple room but it was decorated lovingly by you. All the vinyl records he sent to you neatly arranged near the player. On your desk is a basket of yarn and your crochet needles, piles of red scarves that are clearly a work in progress. On the handle of your cabinet your white apron. By your window are pots of daisies lined up together, little animal figurines on their soil with their own houses.

A small, small world, fragile, but welcoming and here he is, the strange visitor, accepted by your subjects.

Yet, Sylus knows he shouldn’t linger for long, not wanting to cast any doubts to your father who let him bring you here and after giving you a once over, his sweetheart, he stood up.

“Skye,” you whispered softly, catching him by the cuff of his sleeve.

“Yes, miss seamstress?”

You didn’t answer, just gently pulling his sleeve until he finally relented and sat at the side of your bed again.

He could never deny you.

“Did you enjoy today, Skye?”, you asked, each word breathed out slowly and it was clear you are standing in a thin line between dreams and reality.

“Of course I did, sweetie,” he chuckled softly, brushing a few strands of your hair, “Any day spent with you is a day well spent.”

He paused for a moment then asked, “Did you have fun today, little doe?”

You let out a soft laugh, your arms reaching out for the crow plushie by your side and hugging it.

“I had lots of fun,” you nodded drowsily and with your voice muffled against the soft fleece of your new friend, you spoke, “Can you-”, you let out a yawn but continued, “-Tell Mr. Sylus thank you for me?”

“Sure, I’ll make sure to pass it along when I get back.”

“Don’t forget to-”, you yawned again and the next words are unintelligible but Sylus managed to piece it together with your last words, smiling softly while waiting for you to finish your request, “-His souvenir. I hope he likes it.”

“I am sure he’ll love it. You picked it out for him after all.”

With your half lidded eyes and gentle smile, it is certainly one of the adorable expressions he hopes he will wake up to in the future.

“One last thing,” you mumbled softly, your eyes closing but it was clear you wanted to do something as you struggled against the hold of sleep, “Come closer, Skye.”

“Like this, sweetie?”

“Closer.”

“How about now?”

He is basically hovering over you at this point, his hands at the sides of your head to support his weight and up close under the moonlight, his gaze lingered longer at your lips slightly parted.

A sigh, and then you pressed your lips on his cheek.

At least, that’s what he thinks was your intent but instead, your fleeting reward landed on the corner of his mouth. 

His grip on the sheets tightened, a small, soft whine escaped his lips. 

From him of all people. 

An involuntary sound in response to the unexpected act of intimacy he had always yearned from you. 

Close. 

You were so close to giving him one of the many things that haunt him in his sleep.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed out but you were already asleep this time, your heartbeats steady.

The shadow of the dragon loomed on the walls of your bedroom, its gaping maw wide open upon you, the unassuming deer, too trusting, too sweet.

His baser instincts are yelling at him that a nip wouldn’t harm you, that the blood pumping on your veins is sweeter than candy. A little drop of spring water that would satisfy his thirst.

But Sylus' desires have always been clean-cut.

His eyes landed on your neck, beckoning. He had always wanted to sink his fangs on the soft skin. Not because he wanted to draw blood.

No, not that.

He wanted to be so much more to you. 

The flapping of the wings, a warning chirp and the music box suddenly playing made him jerk back away from you and Sylus froze at how close he was biting down on your neck while Mephisto looked at him, concerned.

Sylus only sighed heavily, sitting back as his fingers traced the outline of your ear.

He hopes you can forgive your lying dragon. 

Before he left, he lifted your hand, pressing a kiss on your bandaged finger, a reminder of the promise he made.

Then, another on your cheek, a playful correction to your sleepy mistake but he doesn’t blame you. In fact, he is honored to receive your thanks.

Finally, on the top of your head near your crown of flowers. 

May his beautiful deer sleep well tonight, your dreams to be as colorful and vibrant as the smiles you gave to him today, and when you wake up, let the sun be a little forgiving tomorrow morning, to give you a few more moments to say goodbye to your friends from the realm of unconsciousness before leaving.

“Sleep well, my precious doe,” he whispered softly in your ear, “I’ll see you later tonight.”

If the gods would be kinder to fulfill another one of his wishes, then he hopes when he closes his eyes and calls it a day, he will also find his way to you, in your quiet paradise.

The door closed softly behind him and the lullaby of the music box came to an end, the little dragon, exhausted from chasing his white ribbon on his horn, had also decided to rest on his field dotted with red wildflowers.

.

.

.

.

.

Good night, Daisy.

Good night, Mister Dragon.

Good night, Miss Deer.

────────────────────

Author's Note:

I hope this brings clarity what Reader is doing in the N109 zone and why she chose to let go of so many privileges she has when she used to live at Bloomshore District.

Will that human get it? Stay tune! Don't want to spoil you all!

I also have a tumblr! Feel free to feed me your conspiracy theories or send memes or anything, I don't judge! (The fact we are all playing this game means we have broken free from the chain of judgment. ISTG, the amount of guy friends who poke fun of me playing this is wack but that won't stop me. Why can they have anime girls but I can't have my 3D men (and anime girls)?)

Also, the lullaby of Reader's music box: Storyteller (Music Box ver.)

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6

[pinkslipxox]

In Your Arms:

Summary: Billie comes home the studio frustrated

Warnings: fluff 🙈🥰

——————————————————————————

The living room is draped in a soft glow, the sun setting just outside the window, casting a golden hue over the stark white walls. You hum to yourself as you wipe off the remaining dust from the coffee table, your heart fluttering in anticipation for Billie’s impending return from the studio, the most eagerly awaited and cherished moment of your day. A warmth blooms within your chest at the thought of her arms wrapped around you, the sound of her melodic voice, her comforting scent— you couldn’t think of anything better to look forward to.

Just then, the front door bursts open, and in strides Billie, your sweet and loving girlfriend. Her expression is a whirlwind of frustration. You can almost feel the tension emanating from her as she kicks off her sneakers, her brows knitted together in a frown that would intimidate anyone else.

"Fuck!" she mutters, her voice laced with irritation, tossing her bag onto the nearby chair. Her frustrated expression softens only slightly when you looks at you for a brief second before she heads to the bedroom without another word.

Your heart aches at the sight of your Billie so tense. She’s been working harder recently, more than you’ve ever seen her do so, and you can only imagine how the day has been for her. You know how much she pours her heart and soul into her music, but sometimes the industry can be a nasty place, choking the fire in her.

Slowly, you open the door, and you’re greeting by the sight of Billie sat at the edge of the bed with her face buried in her hands. You can see the weight of the world on her shoulders, and your heart aches for her. Billie looks up, her ocean blue eyes filled with unshed tears, and she outstretches her arm out to you, a silent plea for your presence. You immediately go to her and sit down next to her.

“What happened, Billie?” you ask softly, wanting nothing more than to comfort the love of your life.

“It was a rough day,” Billie starts after a moment of silence, followed by a deep breath. “The deadlines… the lyrics… and Finneas, oh my God…” She slowly shakes her head, muttering something under her breathe before she continues, “It’s hard, Y/N, and it feels like I can’t catch a break.”

“Let’s take a bath together,” you suggest gently, offering a smile that you hope will reassure her. “It’ll help you relax.”

At your words, Billie’s expression softens slightly as she nods, a hint of gratitude breaking through her irritation.

“Alright, doll,” she whispers, her voice lower, almost vulnerable. You lead her to the bathroom, flicking on the warm water. The sensation of steam curling around you envelops both of you, soothing in its embrace.

Once the tub is filled with bubbles, you go to the kitchen and return with two glasses of wine, handing one to Billie before you both slip in. You position yourself behind Billie, your fingers instantly finding the tense muscles in her shoulders. Gently, you begin slowly to massage her skin.

“Just breathe, Bills. You’re always strong for everyone else; let me be strong for you,” you whisper, placing soft kisses along Billie’s neck.

Billie hums in pleasure. “Mmm, thats it, mama,” she sighs, leaning back into your embrace. You feel her relax against you, much to your own relief, and you can’t help the smile that spreads on your lips.

“It’s just, like, I wanna create, you know? But I feel like I’m constantly fighting,” Billie continues, and you can hear the vulnerability sneaking back in. You nod, letting her vent, tracing your fingers over her skin, reveling in the touch and warmth.

“I know, Billie. Just remember, you don’t have to fight all the time. I’m here to support you.” A soft smile breaks across your lips as you lean in, planting a tender kiss on her cheek.

Billie turns her head, kissing your lips gently, and you feel the love and the appreciation she has for you in the sweet gesture. Everything will be okay, even if it didn’t seem like it now. But here, together, the world and its troubles seem to fade away, leaving the two of you in the comfort of each other’s presence.

“You’re my comfort, pretty girl,” Billie murmurs, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Thank you for always being here.”

“Always, Billie, always,” you reply softly and pull her further into your embrace, right where she belongs.

[seadeepspaceontheside]

In this role reversal AU, Vander is the one who became a crime lord because he felt like the Enforcers took too much by killing Fel and the destruction on the bridge but instead of rushing at Silco he tuns at the enforcers. Silco knowing they lost, begged Vander to stop because they were going to get themselves killed. Vander is too big to be held back so Silco out of a panic uses the knife on him but accidentally cut his eye. -

Vander in his rage, believes that Silco was the mole who told everything to the Piltovers and says that everything that everyone said about Silco was true and he should have never trusted him. Like in the OG timeline tries to kill him, Vander in his rage and grief believing he did starts a crime ring with taking in the kids.

Silco does run the bar but people believe for a long while that is a traitor of Zaun. (but Sevika and later Powder has been saying slowly spreading the word thats not what happened) Vi and Powder eventually switch sides due to Vander in this AU doesn't really control his temper and losing his cool because even though Vander is a powerhouse he's not thinking in the long term.

With this in mind, Vander does more shake downs of Silco and man handles his business, saying how he should just join him and to make up for his eye. Silco knows that its a losing battle to Vander due to being like half his size and not having the numbers…be he doesn't back down and it just riles Vander more to the point of just kidnapping him and abusing him (like in the nsfw)

Partly Vander does this to see Silco (bitterly still in love with him) but as well Silco lets this happen to him because he feels its his fault on how Vander has become. Eventually Sevika tells the truth to Vander about how it was Huck(OR SOME OTHER PERSON LOL BECAUSE IT CAN'T ALWAYS BE HUCK RIGHT?) that was the mole and it breaks him

Barging in the last drop, Vander does while he does his same routine knowing this in mind now, wishing Silco would stop him this time - But Silco doesn't and Vander stops and begs why doesn't Silco put up with it all, why Silco let him do this him, why didn't he say anything for so long

Silco just asks, "Would you have believed me?" And this time Vander breaks Silco by saying he would have even believed that lie because he has been so willing to forgive him all these years. they repair their relationship from there because I think in every AU they end up together (except the OG unfortunately)

Zaundad week - Role Reversal, Smoke and Burns on the nsfw!

[heejamas]

scott street ── ˙ ̟🏡 ⛰️

pairings: beomgyu x female reader genre: childhood friends to lovers, beomgyu as your ex, romance warnings: none <3 w/c: 3.3k author's note: this fic was inspired by the song scott street by phoebe bridgers. it’s a drabble i’ve been holding onto for a long time, and i actually cried while writing it—it was really emotional for me. it’s nothing like the genre i usually write, but i hope you guys like it <3

It was sunny the day you saw Beomgyu for the last time.

The kind of sun that tricks you, golden and sprawling, but with a wind sharp enough to cut through skin. It was bright enough to make the moment feel less real, like the day was too beautiful to hold something so heavy. You remember the way the light caught in his hair, the way his shadow stretched too long on the pavement, the way he smiled at you—soft, knowing, like he had already made peace with something you hadn’t even begun to understand.

And then he was gone.

You didn’t cry that day. You remember thinking you should’ve. That it would’ve been easier if it hurt all at once, like a clean break, instead of the slow, creeping ache that settled in your bones. But you just stood there, staring at the spot where he had been, blinking against the brightness of the sky.

The days after were quiet. You learned to live around the absence of him, the way you’d live around a missing tooth, tongue always searching for something that wasn’t there. The spaces he left behind became part of the scenery—an empty chair at your favorite café, a number you refused to delete from your phone, a playlist you skipped over in the car. You kept expecting time to dull the sharp edges, to smooth out the rough parts of remembering. But grief is funny that way—it doesn’t soften so much as it changes shape, curling around the parts of your life you never expected it to touch.

Still, you tried.

You told yourself you’d move on. You changed your number, dyed your hair, picked up bad habits and dropped them just as fast. You filled your time with people whose voices you wouldn’t remember in the morning, let yourself laugh a little too loudly at things that weren’t really funny. You said yes to invitations just so you wouldn’t be alone, then spent the night staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, gripping the sink, wondering if he still thought of you, too.

You threw yourself into everything. You filled your time with new people, new routines, new cities. You let yourself be swallowed by the hum of life, the late nights and early mornings, the crowded rooms and quiet walks home. You stopped counting the months. You thought, maybe, this was what moving on looked like.

And then, two years later, on a day like any other, you walked into a flower shop.

It wasn’t something you planned. You were just passing by, taking a different route home, when the scent of fresh flowers drifted into the street. The shop was small, tucked between a bookstore and a bakery, its windows framed with ivy, soft music playing just loud enough to be heard over the sound of traffic. It wasn’t there when you first moved to this neighborhood. You hesitated at the door, not really sure why you went in at all.

Maybe it was the way the light poured through the windows. Maybe it was the empty space in your apartment, the way it still didn’t feel like yours. Maybe it was something else entirely.

The air inside was thick with earth and petals, the kind of scent that felt like stepping into another time. Sunlight slanted across wooden shelves, catching in the dust floating lazily through the air. The counter was lined with small potted plants, leaves trembling slightly under the hum of the ceiling fan. It was warm. Still.

For a moment, you just breathed.

Then—

Your name.

Soft. Familiar. Said like a secret, like something fragile enough to break.

You turned.

And there he was.

Beomgyu.

Older now. His hair was longer, curling slightly at the ends, falling into his eyes in a way that made your chest tighten unexpectedly. His hands were covered in soil, pressed against the wooden counter, but his eyes—his eyes hadn’t changed at all. Wide, bright, unreadable. The same eyes that once held entire summers, entire lifetimes.

He looked like he belonged there.

And you—

You felt like you had stepped into a memory.

Like you were seventeen again, sitting on his parents’ roof, listening to the cicadas hum in the heat. Like you were twenty, laughing into his shoulder, your hands tangled together under a bar table sticky with spilled drinks. Like you were twenty-four, standing on the sidewalk, watching his back as he walked away.

The way his laugh echoed in your childhood bedroom. The way he kissed you for the first time, all nerves and certainty, right before he left for college. The way he whispered I love you against your skin, when you thought forever was something you could hold onto if you just tried hard enough.

The way he left.

The way you let him.

Everything pressed in at once. The weight of all the things you never said, all the years spent without him, all the ways the world had changed and stayed the same.

And then—

“Hey,” he said.

Like it hadn’t been two years. Like the last time you spoke wasn’t a goodbye.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Your throat felt tight, like if you said his name, it might break something open inside you.

And now, here he is.

Smelling like flowers and soil and something achingly familiar.

Smiling at you like no time has passed at all.

You swallow, forcing yourself to find something—anything—to say. Your voice feels strange when it finally leaves your throat, too thin, too unsteady.

“Hey.”

It’s such a small word. So small, so weightless. And yet it lands between you like a stone dropped into water, sending ripples through the space you thought time had settled.

Beomgyu’s smile twitches, something flickering behind his eyes. Relief, maybe. Or something heavier, something that settles in the lines of his face, in the way he exhales as if he had been holding his breath.

The silence stretches, neither of you quite sure how to move through it.

He gestures vaguely at the counter, at the shop, at the air itself. “So… this is me now.”

Your gaze drifts, taking in the warmth of it all. The deep greens and soft yellows, the faint scent of soil and petals in bloom. The air is thick with summer, even though it’s still early spring. You think it suits him in a way you can’t quite put into words.

“I never thought you’d open a flower shop,” you murmur, letting the sentence settle between you.

His mouth quirks to the side, like he wants to argue but doesn’t quite know how. Instead, he exhales through his nose, gaze dropping to the countertop. “Neither did I.”

Another beat of silence. Another second where everything inside you feels like it’s trembling on the edge of something unspoken.

And then—

“I quit.”

You blink. “Quit?”

He nods, fingers brushing absently over a stray leaf beside him. “The firm. The whole thing.”

Your brows knit together, trying to bridge the gap between the boy who once traced constellations into your palm and the man who disappeared into something colder, sharper. The Beomgyu you last knew was all pressed collars and coffee gone stale, his voice too measured, his laughter too rare. You wonder when he stopped seeing the point in beautiful things. When he stopped letting himself reach for them.

“Why?” you ask.

His eyes linger on yours for a moment too long, like he’s deciding how much to tell you. Then, finally—

“Because it wasn’t what I thought it’d be.”

The words are simple, quiet. No bitterness, no regret. Just the kind of understanding that only comes after losing something you didn’t know you needed.

Your gaze drifts, tracing the curve of a vine creeping along the shelves. There’s a small, wooden sign hanging near the window—Lily of the Valley. The name catches on something at the back of your mind, but before you can follow the thread, Beomgyu shifts his weight, clearing his throat.

He watches you carefully, fingers twitching against the counter. There’s a question at the back of his tongue, one he doesn’t dare to say out loud.

Do you feel ashamed when you hear my name?

But he swallows it down. Instead, he asks—“So… what about you? What have you been up to?”

You hesitate, like you’re sifting through your own memories, trying to find an answer that doesn’t feel like a lie.

But before you can speak, before you can string together something coherent, Beomgyu is already somewhere else. It happens so easily. The unraveling.

At first, it’s just a day, a week, a month. A shift so slow it barely feels like moving. Then suddenly, you look up, and you don’t recognize the space you’re standing in anymore.

Beomgyu tells himself it’s just part of growing up. That loving something and leaving it behind are not contradictions, just inevitabilities. He throws himself into the next thing, and the next, and the next. If he moves fast enough, maybe he won’t have time to feel the spaces he hollowed out inside himself.

But time is cruel in its stillness. The days stretch long in the quiet of his apartment, filled with things he does not love, things he did not choose. The walls are too white, too cold. His bed is too big, the silence too loud. He starts leaving his windows open at night, hoping the wind might carry something back to him.

It never does.

It’s funny—the things you don’t realize you’ll miss until they’re gone.

Like the way you used to laugh at your own jokes before you could even finish telling them. How your voice would lilt when you were teasing him, your grin all sharp edges and bright light. How you always knew when he was about to say something stupid before he even opened his mouth.

He doesn’t remember when it started. When looking at you became unbearable in the best way. When he started memorizing the way the sun caught in your hair, the way you bit your lip when you were trying not to laugh. He had known you forever, but at some point, it started to feel different—like he had spent years standing in front of a painting, only to wake up one day and realize it had been shifting the whole time.

And then he left. Just like that.

He never let himself feel guilty about it. Not at first.

Because it was what people did, wasn’t it? They left home, they outgrew the things that tethered them. It was a sign of something—of movement, of ambition. So he convinced himself that this was what he wanted. The long hours, the office with a view, the sound of his own footsteps echoing down endless white halls. He wore suits that didn’t fit right and shook hands with people who looked right through him. He pretended not to notice how his own reflection started to feel like a stranger.

But it was in the in-between moments that it would hit him.

Like when he’d come across something absurdly stupid and go to text you, only to remember that he hadn’t heard your voice in months.

Or when someone would try to make him laugh, and he’d think about how no one was as funny as you. No one knew him the way you did—how to push his buttons just right, how to make his ribs ache with laughter even when he swore he wasn’t in the mood.

Or when he walked home alone after work, passing storefronts filled with things he knew you’d love, things he knew you’d hate. It was strange, how the world kept carrying pieces of you, even when you weren’t there to claim them.

And then, one night, he caught himself staring at the skyline and wondering if you were staring at the same moon. And it was something so cliche, so painfully sentimental, that he had to laugh at himself. But then the laughter faded, and the ache stayed.

That was when he knew.

Knew that he had spent years trying to shape himself into something he never wanted to be. Knew that all the things he thought he was supposed to want—power, prestige, a life paved in sleek ambition—meant nothing if he wasn’t happy.

So he quit. Just like that.

And for the first time in a long time, he let himself want something just because it was beautiful.

He built something of his own. Something that reminded him of home, of childhood, of summers spent sprawled on front lawns with you by his side. Of the way you used to pluck wildflowers and braid them into his hair when you were kids, giggling at how pretty he looked.

And when it came time to name it, he didn’t have to think twice.

Lily of the Valley. A flower that meant sweetness, renewal, the return of happiness. The flower of the year you were born. He never knew if you’d ever walk through the doors. If you’d ever see the name and wonder.

But now, here you are.

Standing in front of him again.

Smelling like something achingly familiar.

Looking at him like no time has passed at all.

“I moved around here,” you say, and Beomgyu blinks like he’s just now hearing you. Like he had been somewhere else entirely. You can tell by the way he straightens up slightly, clearing his throat.

“Yeah?” His voice is even, but his fingers twitch against the ceramic pot he’s holding.

“Needed to be closer to work,” you explain. “New job, new place. Figured it was time for a change.”

Beomgyu nods, slow and measured. His gaze flickers over you like he’s taking inventory, checking for things that are different, things that are the same.

“You seem good,” he says eventually.

You smile, though it feels like pressing on a bruise. “You seem good too.”

The silence stretches, thin and delicate.

Maybe you both look fine, sound fine, play your parts so well that no one would know the difference. But the weight of the past settles in your chest like a stone, pressing against your ribs. Because you remember.

You remember the day he left. The way the air felt thick with something unspoken, the way you stood there, hands curled into fists at your sides, trying to swallow the ache in your throat. He had smiled at you then—soft, apologetic, like he knew exactly what he was taking with him when he walked away. And you had let him go. What else could you have done?

Now, your eyes sting. You blink fast, locking it all away before it can spill over. Not here. Not in front of him.

Then Beomgyu shifts, stepping out from behind the counter. “Well,” he says, voice lighter now, “I guess you’ll need some plants to fill the space, right?”

It feels like an offering. Like something small and safe between you, something that won’t crack open the past.

“Yeah,” you say, exhaling. “Guess I do.”

He picks up a monstera, large green leaves curling outward like open palms. Holds it out to you like he’s handing you something more than just a plant.

“You always thought these were beautiful,” he murmurs.

The weight of his words settles somewhere deep in your chest.

“I did,” you say, softer this time.

You think about all the times you almost asked. The quiet moments when his name would surface in conversation, sitting there, unspoken on your tongue. The way your fingers hovered over old texts, over the urge to reach out, to ask how things were—how he was.

But you never did. Out of pride, maybe. Or fear. Or the gnawing possibility that he wouldn’t answer.

Still, some things slip through the cracks.

“How’s your sister?” You ask.

Beomgyu stills for half a second, then huffs out something like a laugh.

“She’s good,” he says. “Finally got her degree.”

“Wow.” You shift the bag in your arms. “That makes me feel old.”

Beomgyu smirks. “What does that make me, then?”

You roll your eyes, and for a brief moment, something almost like comfort settles between you. Almost.

“What about the band?” you say, glancing at the shop around you, the soft green of leaves, the scent of fresh soil and something warmer, something achingly familiar.

“They’re all getting married,” he says, a quiet laugh in his voice. “Or buying houses. Moving up.”

You wonder if he means the garage band he had with his friends, or the life that came with it. If he means more than that.

His fingers brush absently against the edge of the monstera’s leaves. He doesn’t say what you can feel pressing against the air between you.

Do you feel ashamed when you hear my name?

But he doesn’t ask. And you don’t answer.

You exhale softly, shifting the weight of the monstera in your arms. “I’ll take this one,” you say, fingers tracing the edge of one of its broad, waxy leaves. “Feels like a good place to start.”

Beomgyu watches you for a moment before nodding, stepping back behind the counter. “Good choice,” he murmurs, ringing up the sale.

The hum of the register fills the quiet between you.

“How are your parents?” he asks, glancing at you as he types in a price he doesn’t intend to charge.

“They’re good,” you say. “Still in the same house. Still in Scott Street.”

His eyes shift at the mention of that street, a spark of recognition lighting up his expression. Scott Street—a river of memories flowing through your mind, winding back to days of innocence.

But now, that street feels like a faded photograph, each memory tinged with a bittersweet ache. You stand there, caught in the tide of nostalgia, longing for the comfort of those moments when everything felt right, before life pulled you both in different directions.

“My dad still spends his mornings on the porch, waving at every neighbor like he’s running for office. My mom still keeps the same wind chime by the door. Says she knows when I’m visiting because I always hit my head on it.”

You say and Beomgyu smiles at that. A real smile, though it fades almost as quickly as it comes.

His hand stills briefly against the register. “Mine moved a while ago. Somewhere quieter. Said they wanted a fresh start.”

“I know,” you say softly.

Beomgyu blinks at you. Then something like understanding settles over his face. Of course, you’d know.

The past has a way of circling back, even when you think you’ve left it behind.

You reach for your wallet, but before you can pull out a card, Beomgyu shakes his head.

“Don’t,” he says. “It’s a housewarming gift.”

You frown, looking down at the plant. “Beomgyu—”

“It’s my store,” he interrupts, a teasing lilt to his voice, but his expression is something gentler. “I make the rules.”

You hesitate. “Then I owe you a store-warming gift.”

He huffs out a soft laugh, looking down at his hands for a moment before meeting your eyes again.

“You already gave it to me,” he says.

Something shifts in the air.

The words settle between you, warm and heavy. You don’t need to ask what he means. You can see it in the way his fingers tighten slightly against the counter. The way his shoulders drop just a little, like he’s been holding something up for too long.

For a second, you want to say something. Anything. But the weight of it all sits too thick in your throat, and you think maybe he feels it too.

Then he inhales, exhales, and shakes his head slightly, like shaking off a thought.

“Anyway,” he says, voice lighter now, carefully placed. “Don’t be… a stranger.”

The words settle somewhere deep, pressing against your ribs, slipping between the cracks of something you thought had long since healed.

You swallow around the bittersweet ache, adjusting the plant in your arms before offering him a small, quiet smile. “I won’t,” you say, though you’re not sure if it’s a promise or a lie.

Outside, the world moves on. A car horn echoes down the street. A bike bell chimes, sharp and fleeting. Somewhere, a dog barks.

Inside, nothing feels normal at all.

my masterlist <3

author's note: yeah. anyway. so.