#but fear not! for he has been saved just in time and will be getting the help he needs

[avelera]

(Arcane Meta) The Hexcore was already controlling Viktor in S1

As a follow-up to my post about how the Hexcore's control over Viktor in S2 is probably best compared to the One Ring from Lord of the Rings, in that it magically amplifies desires but to what extent its manipulations could be confused with free will is very hard to determine, I wanted to offer this piece of comparison to Lord of the Rings as further evidence that Viktor is under some level of control from the Hexcore as early as S1.

I was fortunate enough to take a course on Tolkien's works in college and there's one point our professor made that stuck with me. He pointed out that Frodo was always doomed to fail at casting the One Ring into Mt. Doom because he was already unable to do so back at Bag End, before he'd even spent significant time with the Ring.

It's less apparent in the show than in the book, so here's the quote,

"To Frodo's astonishment and distress the wizard threw it suddenly into the middle of a glowing corner of the fire. Frodo gave a cry and groped for the tongs; but Gandalf held him back."

Though his time with the Ring has only barely just begun, already Frodo is distressed at the thought of harm coming to the Ring and is trying to save it, before he even stepped out his door. How then was he ever supposed to throw it into the fire of Mt. Doom after having spent months in close proximity to it?

Well, this moment reminds me rather strikingly of this one:

This is only S1, the corruption of the Hexcore has only spread to Viktor's hands and leg, but it has also just killed Sky right in front of Viktor. He has been weeping on the ground, mourning her when he then resolves to destroy it and rises up, brandishing the stool.

Unlike Frodo, who had no idea what the Ring was at that point and still was distressed by the idea of harm coming to it, Viktor just saw the Hexcore kill someone right in front of him. And yet, like Frodo, he can't bring himself to harm it.

The Hexcore then actually physically shies away from the stool, which is where I get the notion at least that it is sentient, and then because Viktor had the audacity to raise a hand to it and fail to follow through, it knocks him out like a light:

This is why Viktor has to beg Jayce to destroy the Hexcore, and even there he can barely get the words out, and he only makes this request while far away from the lab and the Hexcore.

I would argue that the reason he doesn't explain more to Jayce there is because he might even be unable to, even asking that much might have been a strain. Or, I'll admit, perhaps there's any number of human reasons he didn't, like shame and fear.

Shame and fear that is of course gone by the time the Hexcore has consumed him when he finally tells Jayce what happened to Sky.

I would argue that the look of hopelessness and disappointment on Viktor's face when he decides to leave Jayce isn't because of the weapons blueprints he might have spotted on the lab table. Or at least, it's not only that.

Personally, I see that as Viktor knowing that he was now so physically consumed by the Hexcore he had no hope at all of fighting it anymore. To quote Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, "I knew myself, at the first breath of this new life, to be more wicked, tenfold more wicked, sold a slave to my original evil..."

So when people ask why Viktor is suddenly going along with everything the Hexcore wants, when before he wanted to destroy it, I would argue this: because it was already infecting him in S1 and in S1 he realized this and begged Jayce to destroy it because he knew it could stop him from doing so already. But because he was unwilling, or unable, to tell Jayce more about why he wanted it destroyed, Jayce instead defied his very strange request and used it to save Viktor's life as they had originally planned.

From that point on, I would argue, Viktor is under the thrall of the Hexcore and is carrying out its virus-like desire to spread itself and grow. I mean, just look at him, it now has consumed nearly every part of his body except his face. By the end, it has taken that from him as well.

Viktor might still have his own intelligence on top of it, but how much is very much the topic of ongoing debate. For the man to say that there is always a choice to suddenly say that there is no choice, the man who tried to destroy the Hexcore now freely spreading its power, and who once lashed out at the very notion of the use of Hextech as weapons making his own army of apex Hextech robots and using the Hexclaw against Jayce, and who looks so horrified at what he has done once the Hexcore's shell has been broken off of him by Ekko's bomb and Jayce's revelations, I would argue that we should assume at least some level of control was overpowering Viktor for much of S2, and that is exactly the fate he was trying to avoid in S1.

[pineconepie]

What would happen with a dragon or dragonshifter platonic yandere parent?

TW: Kidnapping, parental yandere, infantilization, mentions of/implied death, mentions of parental neglect

...

Exploring has always been a fun hobby to you, especially the forests by your home. The deep greenery is so comforting compared to the dreary gray cities.

That is why you had left for your favorite spot in the woods; the clearing with flowers and tall oaks and an even taller cave cliff that always shaded the area. It was quiet except for the sound of the stream nearby.

But this time, you're willing to explore past that.

Not by much, but when word got around town about some odd creature lurking nearby, curiosity got the better of you, standing at almost ten feet tall with large golden wings and a tail.

You're convinced its just rumors to keep children from wandering out, especially when you take your first few steps into unfamiliar territory. Its peaceful, birds chirping as they fly through the sky above, branches breaking under your boots.

You find yourself beginning to get bored, however, wondering if you're wasting time and effort for nothing.

Of course there isn't some winged monster out here! You sigh, stopping in place to sit down and rest. You wonder if its worth it to keep going, or maybe just head home since you haven't come across anything.

You can feel the fatigue creep up on you, weighing down on you. Maybe its best to get home before sundown.

"You're on my territory, human."

A gruff voice shocks you out of your thoughts. You whip your head around, and see a pair of legs. You look up to see...

That's no person! Not completely.

Your eyes widen at what stands before you. The stories were true; you have found the creature, and it surely is almost ten feet tall.

The... dragon looks down at you with shiny yellow eyes, covered in scales that glitter like gold in the sunlight. His tail sways back and forth, wings tucked behind his back.

You panic. "Please don't kill me! I'm sorry, I thought..." You figure saying "I thought you weren't even real" won't do much to save you.

His eyes narrow, and for a moment you think this is it, until he kneels down and grabs your chin with clawed hands gently, tilting your head upwards to meet his gaze.

"I've seen you, human. You always come out to the forest alone," he states calmly. You gulp, knowing where this might be going. He only notices your fearful expression then. "I don't eat children. Not even human children."

"I'm not..." You trail off.

If the only thing saving you is him thinking you're a child, might as well not say anything. But you couldn't deny his interest is somewhat intriguing.

"I'll leave and never come back, I swear. I really meant no trouble, so, um..."

He lets go of your face, but when you try to rush past him, he holds up a wing to block you. "The forest gets more dangerous at night, for someone your size. Especially for humans. I bet if I patted you on the head, you'd just flatten. What kind of human parent lets their young wander this far? And they claim I'm the monster." He gives a quiet, bitter laugh. "Do human parents these days care that little for their hatchlings?"

"What?" you exclaim in bewilderment. You don't know how to respond, but he's not letting you pass anytime soon. "Human parents aren't like that." Not all the time, at least.

"Oh, really? Then tell me where they are if they care about you so much." His tone becomes annoyed as he goes on. "If my child were out here alone, I'd never forgive myself for being so careless."

You sigh. "Look, I'm not... a child. I'm an adult, okay? Please, if you could let me get by—"

"Oh, please. How old are you?"

For a moment, you hesitate before telling him your age.

He looks unimpressed. "I am almost an entire millennia old. You are a child. In fact, I'd argue you're a baby."

"Humans age differently!" you say in your own defense. "We don't live for nearly as long as you do, so while I may be young compared to you, I'm all grown up."

He snorts. "Okay, dear, I believe you. You're very grown-up." His tone is laced with sarcasm, but its less gruff now and replaced with something almost endearing, yet patronizing. He's teasing you, obviously, but then his tail coils around you, forcing you to step closer to him. You don't even attempt to move, because there's no winning against this creature. "What is your name?"

You bite your tongue. "(Y/n)." He hums, so you awkwardly ask, "...yours?"

"Magnus," he responds in that deep voice. He seems more relaxed than before. "But you will call me 'Father'. Or 'Dad', as I heard some humans prefer."

Your eyes widen, taking a few steps away from him as far as his coiled tail would allow. "Wait, what?"

He shakes his head. "Well, obviously I can't trust human parents. Who knows how they treated you? Allowing you to come out here alone! Did they starve you too?" Before you could reply, he grabs onto you, holding you in a gentle grip. You squirm in his hold, protesting. "So I'll take care of you. Like my own hatchling. Don't worry, Father will protect you from now on, (Y/n)."

"Stop!" you shout. "Let me go home! I have to... water my plants! And I have friends! I have lots of important responsibilities! I can't just abandon everything!"

"Too many responsibilities for a child," Magnus tuts.

With no warning, he jumps into the sky, his large wings flapping. You squeeze your eyes shut.

There's nothing to grip onto as his scales are slippery and smooth, but his grip on you is tight enough that you feel secure that he won't drop you.

When you open them back up, he's in a huge cave on the cliff you've seen so many times, with lots of shiny coins scattered everywhere along with golden jewelry and treasure chests filled to the brim. There's skulls decorating the place as well, which has your stomach twisting uncomfortably.

In the middle of it all is a nest; a huge nest. It seems to be made of broken branches and torn cloth.

"Welcome home, my little one," Magnus says. You freeze when he brings you to the nest, laying you down in it. The cloth and sticks poke at you, but its comfortable nonetheless. You stare up at him, glaring, but he only seems amused. "Father is going to hunt now, he'll be back with yummy food for you, alright?"

You shake your head. "Magnus..."

"That's Father," he corrects sternly, leaving no room for disagreement. "Be good. Don't you dare even try leaving. I've memorized your scent by now and I can find you wherever you run off to. I'm sure you already understand that I'm much faster than you, too."

He kisses your forehead and takes off once again.

[elliewrites77]

Pride and Anger

this is probably the only angst i've written to be posted, like ever. and it came to because I was thinking about Ace and Luffy, and how sad (and unnecessary, ill die on this hill) his death was. so, like most sane people, i will continue to pretend Portgas D. Ace is alive and well, and my poor Luffy did not have to go through something so traumatic by himself. I hope it doesn't come off as too angsty or all angst. that's a fun word lol

He was alive. Portgas D. Ace was alive.

Critically injured and on the brink of death, sure. But alive.

He was really alive and in front of you.

And you were furious.

You were furious with him, with the marines, with Garp, with Roger, with everyone. And that was exactly why the members of the Heart Pirates stayed as far away from you as they could get. The only person you had spoken to with even a little bit or kindness had been Law, and that's just because he saved their lives. Both boys had been on their last breath when Law saved you all in Marineford, and you were grateful to him, truly, but you were far too enraged to worry about your manners with his crew. You snapped at anyone that suggested you leave them to rest, and when Luffy finally woke up, you snapped at them when they said you should go up with him, to the island of warrior women. You refused to leave Ace's side.

You felt bad, sure. You wanted to be with Luffy, to comfort him as much as you could. But every time you tried to move, your body froze. It was keeping you there, with Ace. You knew Luffy would understand, and at least he wasn't alone. You were thankful for Jimbei too.

You keep replaying the events over and over in your head. Especially the part where Ace almost turned back. He almost turned around to fight, to die for some words. Pride, that's what almost took your closest friend. Pride over a pirate who had already given his life for Ace. Pride that almost make him break his promise to you. His promise to come back.

You don't know what stopped him, really. Maybe it was Luffy, or maybe his brain caught up with his ego. Maybe it was so he didn't disappoint Whitebeard or his crew. Maybe it was you. You didn't know, and you might not ever know. Because he was alive, yes, but it wasn't impossible for that to change, according to Law. And the fact that you still have hope but know that it could be in vain, that also made you furious.

So you stayed. You sat there, staring at his form, the wraps covering his body making him look like a mummy. You stayed, listening to his faint and abnormal breathing. You stayed, praying to whatever higher being their was that he woke up. That he survived. Because you'll be damned before if you didn't get a chance to tell him how angry you were with him. He has almost left you, just like that. Sailing away is one thing, dying is another. He wasn't allowed to die. He had promised that he wouldn't.

You were angry that he had spent his whole life thinking he wasn't loved or able to be, when you had spent your whole life loving him. More than a friend, more than a partner in crime, more than two kids who had a lot in common (including shit dad's). You were angry with yourself for never telling him, too.

You finally moved when Law came into the room, telling you that you really needed to speak to Luffy, now. Something about his look told you he was right, and your body actually let you move.

Hugging the boy you considered family was a relief, and you were close to crying into his bandaged shoulder as he hugged back. You didn't want to let go, didn't know if you could hold it together if you did. But after a few minutes, you heard him utter words that reignited your rage.

You saw the fear an most of the Heart crew when you pulled away, fire in your eyes. You saw how each one of them stepped back as if you were a bomb ready to blow. You didn't care, simply looking from Rayleigh to Luffy and back. Luffy knew the look in your eyes, and returned it with a serious one. That alone is what made you pause.

"Why?" You whispered.

"Ace almost died, he still might. I...I couldn't protect him..couldn't protect you. I have to get stronger, for you, for Ace, for the crew. If I'm ever gonna survive the New World, I have to be...better."

You wanted to argue, wanted to make him stay. 2 years? You didn't want that. But you knew Luffy, knew his determination was strong, and his desire to protect his loved ones was even stronger. So you just hugged him again.

"I swear, Luffy, you better be safe. I don't know what that weirdo is gonna have you do, but please just, try not to get hurt." You said in his ear, feeling him nod as a response. You understood, really, but that wouldn't stop you from worrying.

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It had been a few weeks since you said goodbye to Luffy. You were staying with Law, not having anywhere to go for 2 years, and since Ace still needed to be cared for, it only made sense. But everyday he didn't wake up, your hope waned. Law noticed this, offering to teach you more medical stuff or training you to fight better just to give you something to do. Both things helped, for a few hours. But at the end of the day, you returned to that cold room, and returned to watching his motionless body, the only thing telling you he was alive being the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Your anger was still there, yes, but it has lessened over time. At this point, you only held onto it because it made the hurt of everything that happened a little more bearable. It helped to talk to him, even if he couldn't hear. You confessed your anger, your worry, your pain, and your love. Getting it out, even if you were practically talking to yourself, helped you cope.

Which was good, considering he didn't wake up for an entire year.

He was in a coma for a year. His outside wounds, the small ones, healed. But there was still a large scar on his chest that would always twin with Luffy's. But he was slowly, slowly getting better, according to Law. And that gave you more hope, despite how long you waited.

And as you prepared yourself for another year of no change, you were surprised when Bepo enthusiastically approached you as you were returning to the polar tang, after spending the day on an island to gather supplies. It took a moment for your brain to process the animals words, but as soon as they did, you dropped everything.

"He woke up!"

You rushed onboard the submarine, pushing past everyone to get to that familiar room. But you froze inside the doorway. All you could see was Law, standing over Ace and talking lightly. You could barely hear his voice as he replied. It was cracked, and slow, clear that he was gathering himself after not speaking or being awake for so long.

You remained frozen until Law, who somehow knew you were there, slowly moves out of the way, revealing Ace to you once more. You had gotten so used to his 'sleeping' state, that it shocked you even more when you met his eyes.

They were dazed and tired, which was perfectly understandable. But they lit up at the sight of you, something you immediately noticed. It made you tear up as you forced your body to move closer. Law silently left the room.

Neither you nor Ace broke the silence, or eye contact. It felt like a dream, to be staring into his eyes, his beautiful eyes, once again. A dream you had for a year straight. At that thought, you did break from his gaze, your eyes running down the rest of his body in assessment, as if he grew new wounds just from waking up.

"You gonna keep checking..me out..?" He spoke gruffly, a small smirk on his face. The tears fell from your eyes instantly, and you dropped to your knees beside his bed.

"You stupid, dumb, beautiful idiot. You left me sitting here alone, for an entire year. A year of not knowing if you'd ever wake up. And the first thing you say to me is that?" you spoke through sobs, a laugh making its way through as well. You laid your head on his arm, feeling him slowly lift his other one to pat your head as you cried onto him.

"m'sorry angel...I..don't remember everything yet but...ink-dude told me a bit.." he spoke slowly. you could tell the words were hard for his throat to let out.

"Law. He's that captain of this ship." You informed through another teary laugh, lifting your head from his arm and instead grabbing his hand in yours. "don't push yourself right now. It's honestly probably best if you..don't remember everything for a little. You still need rest."

He used his free hand to rub your cheek, wiping away some of the tears still slowly rolling down your face.

"too..pretty to..cry" you heard him mumble. His eyes looked sad. You could guess why.

"You're too pretty to die. Remember that next time." you joked slightly, smiling at him. You were happy, so so happy, that he was actually awake now. Right now, that outweighed everything else.

He chuckled, coughing right after. You gave him a glass of water, holding his head to help him drink. When he was done, he laid it back down and closed his eyes for a moment. You stroked his hair, admiring him. Sure, he had his eyes closed for a year, but this was different.

His eyes fluttered open, and he gave you a smile.

"I heard ya...you know.."

Your brows furrowed. You thought he couldn't hear.

"You heard me every time?"

"I don't...think so...all I remember is...you talking about stopping for...medical gloves...and saying you love me."

Your eyes widen, and you freeze once again. That had been that very morning, before you left to get supplies. You did tell him you love him every day though, feeling like you'd regret it if you didn't. But you were okay with doing that when you thought he couldn't hear. Now that he had, you were nervous.

"I uh..I didn't...um.." You stuttered. He chuckled lightly, gripping your hand again.

"It's okay, angel...I..I'm sorry, about..this..about everything...but I need...need you to know that...I love you too." He confessed, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss the back of it. Tears came to your eyes again, along with a smile, and you closed your eyes resting your forehead against his.

For the first time in over a year, you weren't angry or scared. You were at peace.

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masterlist

[tiphprince]

The basic idea of this post is interesting, and there is certainly a notable shift in atmosphere, a dark one, that is obvious to all book readers and movie watchers alike, going from Goblet of Fire onwards. However, how that applies to Snape in particular, at least in the way it's framed in this meta, is something I disagree with.

If I understand correctly, according to this post, Snape is a different character in books 4/5 to 7 than in the first books, because his personality is different, his motives are different, and even his intelligence levels are different. And yet...

“I was just showing Harry my grindylow,” said Lupin pleasantly, pointing at the tank. “Fascinating,” said Snape, without looking at it.

“What would your head have been doing in Hogsmeade, Potter?” said Snape softly. “Your head is not allowed in Hogsmeade. No part of your body has permission to be in Hogsmeade.”

Snape being funny in Prisoner of Azkaban.

"But Snape tried to kill me!" "No, no, no. I tried to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I’d have got you off that broom. I’d have managed it before then if Snape hadn’t been muttering a counter-curse, trying to save you." "Snape was trying to save me?" "Of course," said Quirrell coolly. "Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn’t do it again."

Snape having redeeming qualities in Philosopher's Stone.

"Professor Snape has very kindly concocted a potion for me," he said. "I have never been much of a potion-brewer and this one is particularly complex." He picked up the goblet and sniffed it. "Pity sugar makes it useless," he added, taking a sip and shuddering. "Why –?" Harry began. Lupin looked at him and answered the unfinished question. "I've been feeling a bit off-colour," he said. "This potion is the only thing that helps. I am very lucky to be working alongside Professor Snape; there aren’t many wizards who are up to making it."

Snape showing his superior skills at potion-making and Snape having redeeming qualities in Prisoner of Azkaban.

To those I will add some smaller moments, like Snape showing worry for Ginny being taken to the Chamber, Snape having fun with the other teachers at Lockhart's expense, Snape calling his students Snape using wordless magic, etc...

Then there is the idea that Snape stops being emotional after book 4. That is, factually, untrue.

In Order of the Phoenix, we have Snape using physical violence towards a student for the first and only time:

"So," said Snape, gripping Harry’s arm so tightly Harry’s hand was starting to feel numb. "So... been enjoying yourself, Potter?" "N-no..." said Harry, trying to free his arm. It was scary: Snape’s lips were shaking, his face was white, his teeth were bared. "Amusing man, your father, wasn’t he?" said Snape, shaking Harry so hard that his glasses slipped down his nose. "I — didn’t —" Snape threw Harry from him with all his might. Harry fell hard onto the dungeon floor. "You will not tell anybody what you saw!" Snape bellowed. "No," said Harry, getting to his feet as far from Snape as he could. "No, of course I w —" "Get out, get out, I don’t want to see you in this office ever again!" And as Harry hurtled toward the door, a jar of dead cockroaches exploded over his head.

It's possibly in fact the only time we ever see Harry scared of Snape. Sure, Snape isn't screaming his head off, but it's impossible to claim that he's in control here.

"Kill me then," panted Harry, who felt no fear at all, but only rage and contempt. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward —" "DON’T—" screamed Snape, and his face was suddenly demented, inhuman, as though he was in as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them — “CALL ME COWARD!”

Here, we have Snape who has lost all control, "his face was suddenly demented, inhuman", and he is screaming, just like the scene in Prisoner of Azkaban.

I don't disagree that Snape changed in some ways throughout the books, as most other characters did, but I disagree with the idea that he's basically two characters in a trenchcoat posing as one, and that this change can only be explained by Rowling's new found affection for the character.

Of course none of us can know what truly went on in Rowling's mind as she wrote these books, and I'd add that she herself seems to have also forgotten it. However, the fact is that this change you noticed, incidentally, happens right in the book you mostly ignore, Goblet of Fire, and it happens for every character, because of one extremely important reason: Voldemort is back.

Loss of points doesn't matter anymore, random classes where Snape insults a student don't matter anymore, there is a war on and silly school stuff is still here but pushed to the side. Snape himself is now back to spying, and doesn't have as much time to run after Harry and tell him off for bringing a book outside.

That shift you perceive is just the characters adapting to their new environment. And yes, there is also the outside world explanation that Rowling's writing improved over time, that she wished for a more serious tone as the teenagers got older, etc...

And of course, because that's how plot twists work. Plot twist! James Potter wasn't the purely heroic, selfless, perfect and kind man Harry thought he was. Plot twist! Severus Snape wasn't the purely evil, selfish, flawed and cruel man Harry thought he was.

Another fact that this post got wrong: Snape isn't staying at Hogwarts because he's forced to by Dumbledore. The only thing keeping Snape at Hogwarts is his own sense of duty. Dumbledore literally asks him if he's going to run away now that Voldemort is back, and Snape seems insulted by the mere question. Snape can run away (or try to at least), but he doesn't want to.

All in all though, the one sentence that lost me in this post, was this: "I get the sense that in the text, Snape’s tragic backstory is not meant to explain his bad behavior so much as it is meant to excuse it."

I must have read variations of this sentence hundreds of times by now, if not thousands. I've argued against it so many times that my fingers would probably still be typing it even if my head was cut off, so I'll spare everyone (including me) the pain of rewriting it here. I will just said though, that always, always it comes with a deep misunderstanding of Snape's character, without fail.

Since you’ve talked about Molly and Draco, can you talk about Snape as well? When you said that there was a disconnect with Snape’s character I honestly wasn’t sure if you meant the audience was supposed to like him more or less than they actually do.

This is a complicated one, because Book 1-3 Snape and Book 5-7 Snape are written so differently that I actually want to talk about them as two separate characters. 

Book 1-3 Snape… kind of sucks. Maybe he sucks in a way you find funny (which I completely get. A lot of comedy - especially British comedy - revolves around finding the humor in really *mean* people. Snape is *written* to be funny in a dry, acerbic, Roald Dahl kind of way.) But maybe Snape sucks in a way that’s not fun for you, he’s just upsetting and cruel. Either way, he’s petty, unfair, a bully, completely unreasonable, and doesn’t really appear to have any redeeming qualities. Snape protects Harry in Book 1 only because James Potter saved his life and, according to Dumbledore:  

“Professor Snape couldn’t bear being in your father’s debt. . . . I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father’s memory in peace. . . .” 

Later on, Snape’s motivation will become “Protect Harry because you couldn’t protect Lily.” But there’s no hint of that here.

I actually think it’s very likely that ‘Snape was in love with Lily’ is a plotline added during Book 4, because 1-3 Snape’s motivation is so completely focused on JAMES. He hates Harry because he looks like James, he hates James because (according to Lupin) he’s “jealous, I think, of James’s talent on the Quidditch field.” Within the context of the series it’s easy to say that Lupin is lying, and with good reason… but in the context of the first three books, I think that’s just meant to be true? Snape, as we know, is a stealth quidditch hooligan the way McGonagall is. Also… James’ characterization shifts around. He’s not a bully in the first three books, he’s Head Boy… and that Head Boy thing doesn’t quite gel with what we hear from Sirius later: 

“No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge.”

(I know JKR plans things out in advance, but she absolutely does change things on the fly. Arthur Weasley not getting killed by Nagini is an easy example that we definitely know about. And come on - the entire last book is a Deathly Hallows fetch-quest. Was there really no way to slip in a reference to Beedle the Bard - or a super-powerful semi-mythical wand - anywhere in the first six books?) 

So, in books 1-3, there's no hint that Snape is a potion prodigy, particularly powerful, or even particularly clever. He wrote a logic puzzle and “knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts.” But that’s it. “Potion Master” isn’t an advanced rank, it’s just the posh British boarding school way of saying “teacher.” (Like headmaster = head teacher.) Early Snape is also a lot more *emotional* than he is later on, when his ability to “Master yourself!... control your anger, discipline your mind!” becomes extremely plot relevant. Like, can you picture 5-7 Snape (or Alan Rickman, who plays a distinctly later-books Snape) doing any of this? 

Snape was beside himself. “OUT WITH IT, POTTER!” he bellowed. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”  “Professor Snape!” shrieked Madam Pomfrey. “Control yourself!”  “See here, Snape, be reasonable,” said Fudge. “This door’s been locked, we just saw —”  “THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!” Snape howled, pointing at Harry and Hermione. His face was twisted; spit was flying from his mouth.  “Calm down, man!” Fudge barked. “You’re talking nonsense!”  “YOU DON’T KNOW POTTER!” shrieked Snape. “HE DID IT, I KNOW HE DID IT —”

In Movie 3, Snape gets a cool protective moment where he shoves the kids behind him during the werewolf attack. In Book 3, Snape is unconscious during the entire werewolf attack because Harry, Ron and Hermione simultaneously decide he’s too dangerous, and too much of a liability to keep around. Here are are some bangers from Book 3 Snape: 

- “Don’t ask me to fathom the way a werewolf’s mind works.”   - “KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!” Snape shouted, looking suddenly quite deranged. “DON’T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” - “Up to the castle?... I don’t think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the dementors once we get out of the Willow. They’ll be very pleased to see you, Black . . . pleased enough to give you a little Kiss, I daresay. . . .”  - “I’ll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the dementors will have a Kiss for him too —”

If you sort of squint you can maybe say - okay, maybe this is a PTSD response. Like I’m writing a Snape POV fic right now, you can make it work. But it’s not work the books do for you, and it’s not the characterization choice they make in the films. 

BUT. Snape goes through a little bit of a revamp/retcon in Book 4. It’s totally deliberate - he’s Book 1-3 Snape at the beginning, then he basically vanishes from the narrative… the reader kind of forgets about him…  until it comes up during Karkaroff’s trial that Dumbledore ABSOLUTELY trusts him, even though he was a Death Eater. So now when Snape turns up at the climax - he’s a figure of intrigue, and it makes sense that he’s one of the two people Dumbledore brings with him to deal with Barty. Honestly, it’s a pretty cool magic trick. We buy it when - instead of hissing and spitting and hopping around like he does when he confronts Fudge at the end of Book 3 - Book 4 Snape deals with Fudge like this: 

Snape strode forward… pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He stuck out his forearm and showed it to Fudge, who recoiled.  “There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. (...) This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff’s too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord’s vengeance.”

Calm, collected, focused. This is a character who you’re supposed to take seriously, a character who you are supposed to respect. 

I think it’s very interesting that after Book 4, we don’t see Snape *bully* the students during class again. He’s strict, and he’s a hard grader, and Harry still thinks he’s unfair, but like… the narrative framing is on his side now. 

“Tell me, Potter,” said Snape softly, “can you read?”  Draco Malfoy laughed.  “Yes, I can,” said Harry, his fingers clenched tightly around his wand.  “Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter.”  Harry squinted at the blackboard(… ) His heart sank. He had not added syrup of hellebore, but had proceeded straight to the fourth line of the instructions after allowing his potion to simmer for seven minutes.  “Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?” “No,” said Harry very quietly.  “I beg your pardon?” “No,” said Harry, more loudly. “I forgot the hellebore...”  “I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco.” The contents of Harry’s potion vanished; he was left standing foolishly beside an empty cauldron. “Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing.” (...)  “That was really unfair,” said Hermione consolingly, sitting down next to Harry  (...) “Yeah, well,” said Harry, glowering at his plate, “since when has Snape ever been fair to me?”

Like he isn’t nice, but he also isn’t asking Harry questions he can’t possibly know the answers to, threatening to kill someone’s pet, or calling Hermione ugly. He didn’t even take away house points. And - during the next lesson, we are told that the approach Snape took with Harry actually worked?

Determined not to give Snape an excuse to fail him this lesson, Harry read and reread every line of the instructions on the blackboard at least three times before acting on them. His Strengthening Solution was not precisely the clear turquoise shade of Hermione’s but it was at least blue rather than pink, like Neville’s, and he delivered a flask of it to Snape’s desk at the end of the lesson with a feeling of mingled defiance and relief. 

I want to do one more close read, on a excerpt from Book 5: 

Harry realized how much Professor McGonagall cared about beating Slytherin when she abstained from giving them homework in the week leading up to the match. (...)  Nobody could quite believe their ears until she looked directly at Harry and Ron and said grimly, “I’ve become accustomed to seeing the Quidditch Cup in my study, boys, and I really don’t want to have to hand it over to Professor Snape, so use the extra time to practice, won’t you?” Snape was no less obviously partisan: He had booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindors had difficulty getting on it to play. He was also turning a deaf ear to the many reports of Slytherin attempts to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors. When Alicia Spinnet turned up in the hospital wing with her eyebrows growing so thick and fast that they obscured her vision and obstructed her mouth, Snape insisted that she must have attempted a Hair-Thickening Charm on herself and refused to listen to the fourteen eyewitnesses who insisted that they had seen the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, hit her from behind with a jinx.

This has a very similar structure to the sequence when Snape refuses to punish Draco for enlarging Hermione’s teeth. Slytherins and Gryffindors having an altercation, Gryffindor girl gets caught in the crossfire. BUT a few key things have been changed. One - the section is told in second-hand narration, which makes it less emotional than the teeth-scene. Two - the section begins with comparing Snape to McGonagall: she’s being biased/helping out her students too, so it’s only fair if he does it as well. Three - his insult isn’t “Your face has always looked like that,” it’s “You must have messed up a spell,” which is a lot less personal, and a lot less mean. (If anything, Snape is subtly insulting her for casting a cosmetic charm/being too girly… and being a girly-girl is an inherently suspect characteristic in JKR’s world.) Everything about this passage is set up to create a “Snape the Bully” moment… that kind of excuses Snape. 

So, what do we have? There are the people that think Book 1-3 Snape just went too far, and you can soften the narrative framing around him, and you can add in as many tragic backstories as you want, and it doesn’t really matter. THAT is definitely not what JKR wants you to think. She wants to bring you along for the ride, and (as you can tell from the framing) she's started to like Snape a lot.

HOWEVER. I do not think that the fan who likes 5-7 Alan Rickman Snape is… quite seeing the same thing she is. I get the sense that in the text, Snape’s tragic backstory is not meant to *explain* his bad behavior so much as it is meant to *excuse* it. He stays mean and bad-tempered… but he’s allowed to be, both because he is always acting in service to a Good Cause, and because he was abused at home, bullied at school, etc. A big part of why I think JKR likes writing Snape so much (and why she’s so protective of him) is because she finds something cathartic in letting a character be nasty… but for it to be allowed because they’ve suffered, and also because they're in the right. Sadly I think this describes a lot of her current online interactions. 

JKR also loves the idea of *pining.* (It is crazy how long the main characters’ pining/longing/will-they-won’t-they thing in the Cormoran Strike books has lasted.) It’s a very safe kind of romance, and (again, sadly) you can tell from her writing that romance is not generally something that feels safe to her. Snape is sometimes characterized by those who dislike the character as an incel-type who wants to possess Lily, and I just don’t think that’s in the text. If anything it’s the other way around. Snape has some unconsummated, medieval courtly love thing going on, where he has decided to live his life in Lily’s service. 

I wrote about why I think Draco Malfoy (unintentionally) appeals to fans. With Snape…  I actually think a lot of his current (unintentional) appeal comes from the way a softer Snape reframes the narrative into something more complex, and especially the way it reframes Dumbledore. Manipulative/Morally Grey Dumbledore is a *very* popular fan interpretation, and the way you get that is with a sympathetic Severus Snape. 

“You disgust me,” said Dumbledore, and Harry had never heard so much contempt in his voice. Snape seemed to shrink a little. (...)  “Hide them all, then,” he croaked. “Keep her — them — safe. Please.”  “And what will you give me in return, Severus?”  “In — in return?” Snape gaped at Dumbledore, and Harry expected him to protest, but after a long moment he said, “Anything.”

The implications here are really far reaching. Because to me, the main question when it comes to Snape is - why does he STAY at Hogwarts? He clearly hates it, why doesn’t he just leave? If you’re talking about 1-3 Snape, it's because he’s eternally holding out for the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, and he’s just kind of a twisted miserable guy who would probably be equally miserable everywhere. 

But books 5-7 add the context that he’s brilliant, he’s brave, he’s principled, he’s got a sense of humor. He seems close with the Malfoys. He has *options.* So now the (unintended?) implication is… he doesn’t leave because Dumbledore won’t let him. The fact that he keeps applying for the DADA job becomes dark and borderline suicidal when we learn it’s cursed, and that Snape knows it’s cursed. If he takes it, he’ll leave (or die) at the end of the year. That means, every year, he’s tacitly asking Dumbledore “Can I leave?” And Dumbledore is answering “No.” 

That’s such an interesting, juicy character dynamic. Snape is being kept miserable on purpose because… he’s easier to control that way? And if that’s true… then oh boy is it sinister that Dumbledore left Harry with the Dursleys. He knew he was raising Harry “like a pig for slaughter” (as Snape puts it.) And if Harry doesn’t have a support system, if he’s miserable, if Dumbledore can swoop in as his savior… then doesn’t that make him so much easier to control? 

[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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[shanastoryteller]

SHANA HAVE YOU SEEN ARCANE? IF NOT GO DO THAT AND JOIN ME IN MY INSANITY WITH JAYVIK. Otherwise its dealers choice and some happy valentines chocolates for you 💕💋

Castiel has gone rogue, has torn down the wall keeping the cage at bay, and Dean is going to have to face him alone if Sam can’t figure out how to get out of his own head.

Absorbing the memories of what he’d done when he’d been soulless had hurt. To know that any version of him was capable of that kind of callousness, of the kind of ruthless efficiency he’d always turned up his nose at, was a blow.

But absorbing the memories of the cage may very well kill him. Everyone seems to expect it to, if it doesn’t drive him outright insane. It’s likely the most he can hope for is that it leaves him cationic, that he stays in this safe little place in his mind that Lucifer can’t touch and leave the rest of the world to rot. He already destroyed himself to save it once, why should he have to go through that again?

For the same reason he did it the first time.

The world still has Dean in it. He can’t leave his brother to suffer if there’s anything he can do about it.

When he finds across the version of himself that knows the cage, he has to clamp down on the urge to tremble. He’s standing there, half hidden in shadow, leaning against the wall like he can’t hold up his own weight.

He’s covered head to toe in blood.

“Hey,” he says then swallows. Soulless had been aggressive, had been angry, hadn’t hesitated to engage with him. Cage seems like he can barely keep breathing.

It’ll make him easy to kill, easy to reintegrate, but he doesn’t know what that will leave him as when he’s done.

Just killing the guy after everything he’s been though doesn’t seem right. He licks his lips. “Look, I don’t know how aware you are of everything that’s going on, but I – we – I mean.” He swallows. “Dean’s in trouble and I can’t help him without remembering. Everything. And I know I’m not strong enough to deal with everything you’ve delt with-”

“Why do you say that?”

Sam startled. Cage’s voice is raspy, but not weak. There’s no fear, no tears, just simple curiosity. “I – what?”

“Why do you say that?” Cage repeats.

“I,” he thinks back on Soulless’s memories, of how he’d been on board with getting his soul back up until he’d found out what it would do to him, of how they’d described the tattered remains of who he used to be. “They said it would destroy me. You don’t – you don’t look to be in great shape.”

Cage shrugs. “People have always underestimated us, Sam. You know that. They didn’t think we’d be able to take control of Lucifer and we did that.”

“What?” he laughs incredulously. “It was just a hunky dory time in there with Lucifer? You look like shit.”

“And you think Lucifer did this to us?” Cage smiles, Sam can see the white of his teeth against his blood covered face. It should be disturbing, a sign of a cracked mind, a cracked soul, but it just looks like a normal smile. “You know us. You know us better than I do at this point. When have we ever stopped fighting?”

“We fought the devil,” he says flatly. “In the cage.”

“Do you know what powers angel’s grace? Demon’s abilities?” he asks.

Sam shakes his head.

“Human souls,” he says. “It’s the greatest source of power on any of the three planes. And if you know Enochian, you can harness that same power. It took a while, but eventually we learned.” He tilts his head to the side. “I won’t lie, Sam. Lucifer put us through things that no person should experience, a type of hell that broke us more than once. But we were in that cage a long, long time. Souls heal. Grace disconnected from heaven just runs out. I’m thankful to be out, but given a few more centuries, well. Lucifer wouldn’t just be in the cage. He’d be gone.”

Sam doesn’t understand, doesn’t believe it. “So you used your own soul to fight the devil? With the angel’s language? That’s–”

“What did we have to lose?” Cage interrupts. “Michael and Lucifer distracted each other occasionally, and Michael keeps Adam unaware. All we had was fighting and surviving. If we could kill Lucifer for good, what did it matter what state it left our soul in?”

“Then why hide?” he challenges. “Death and Castiel put you away. Why hide even now? If it’s not that bad, why let yourself be walled away?”

“It is that bad,” Cage says softly. “You’re just that strong.”

Sam swallows.

He used to believe that about himself.

“I’ve spent centuries in the cage,” he says. “Some days I barely remember life on Earth. I’ve changed. I had no reason not to.” He looks away for the first time. “I did it for Dean. I never forgot that. And Dean got me out, he saved me, but,” he meets Sam’s eyes. “I remember what it was like to have Dean look at me like he didn’t recognize me. I didn’t want to go through that again. You, he knew. You, he recognized. I thought it was better. You didn’t need the person you became in the cage once we were out of it and I wanted,” he cuts himself off again.

It's okay.

Sam knows.

“You wanted to be someone Dean would be willing to sell his soul for,” Sam says.

He’d never wanted what Dean did, but he’s always felt crushed under the weight of being worthy of it, of the loss and fear when he felt he wasn’t. It’s such a fucked up metric to measure love against, if someone would be willing to go to hell for you, but Dean’s the one who set it. He’s just following suit.

He’d do anything for Dean.

“Dean needs our help,” Sam says. “Castiel-”

“I know,” Cage says. “Even a juiced up Cas isn’t Lucifer. We’ll be able to take care of him. You need to know what I know and there’s no way to teach you Enochian without everything you had to go through to learn it. I’m sorry.”

“We’ve got a year of fresh memories,” he says. “A year of our life on earth front and center. It’ll help. They won’t feel so far away from us after.”

Dean will still love them after.

“You hope,” Cage scoffs.

Sam smiles and lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “Yeah. It’s all we’ve ever had, right?”

Cage smiles again, pushing off the wall to stumble forward. Sam catches him when his knees buckle, looking into his own face, his own eyes. They are different. But not unfamiliar.

Souls heal. Whatever Lucifer did to him, whatever he did to himself in there, it’s not irreversible. There’s a difference between scarred and bleeding.

“You’re going to be okay,” Cage says, offering him a knife that Sam hadn’t even noticed him carrying. “You can do this.”

Sam swallows, giving a nod before taking the hilt and plunging it into Cage’s chest. He holds him through it, hearing the wet gasp against his hear. “Yes,” he says softly. “We can.”

When he opens his eyes in the panic room, all versions of him settled into one, into just Sam, he doesn’t waste time mourning the people he used to be.

Dean needs him.

[arbiterlexultionis]

Idea because one of the part 1’s was tagged as Danny x Cass and that’s one of my favorite ships:

Fair warning, this wound up significantly longer than planned whoops.

Jason is a stinky, no good, homicidal, feral man child. 0/10. Babs is Not trusting that man with her sister.

Cass on the other hand? She’s responsible, observant, kind, thoughtful and actually has her shit together. Babs is still kinda suspicious about it at first, especially when she finds out Cass is stalking safely escorting and observing Danny (without his knowledge) while he’s out and about, but then she finds out Danny has -10 survival instincts and Cass has saved him from 12 muggings, 4 kidnappings and a distressing number of head on collisions with cars, trains and on one occasion a helicopter.(Danny has zero fear because he’s secretly a super powered crime fighter, but for people who don’t know about that it makes zero sense that he hasn’t wound up dead yet. He kinda already has, he got better.)

After realizing how often Cass is saving Danny Babs gives her seal of approval, at first kinda leaving Cass to do her own thing but after Cass comes to her for advice a few to many times and keeps failing she gets invested. This leads to Babs constantly switching from full feral mode trying to fend off Jason with a broom and turning around to Cass like “I got you a date, here’s a bag of his favorite candy’s, get him a bouquet of flowers on you way he’ll love it. I’m so proud of you!”

On the one hand, Jazz is all for it. 100% into Jason and knows he reciprocates. Assuming Jason can sneak past Babs they are the single most romantic and cheesiest couple in all of Gotham. Babs cannot stop them, and they say that like a threat.

Danny on the other hand has low self esteem and is oblivious. He gets a heart shaped box of chocolates and bouquet of roses and is like “oh wow you’re such a good friend, thanks bestie!” not even thinking for a second it could be even somewhat romantic. Cass is the single least subtle person on the planet while she’s flirting with him because she’s doesn’t want to be subtle but Danny just won’t take the hint. Whether it be in sign or spoken word Cass is waxing poetic about how beautiful his eyes are and how his laugh fills her with joy and Danny’s just like “aww thanks, you make me happy too!” And Cass can read his body language so she knows it’s not a case of him intentionally ignoring her flirting because he doesn’t reciprocate, he’s just so. Fucking. DENSE. Now matter how much Babs wingwomen’s Cass it never works.

After months of Cass trying to woo him Vlad shows up to do Vlad things.

Danny and Cass are at a fancy restaurant for lunch, Cass dressed to the nines and Danny in all his blue jeaned and ratty t-shirted glory, the flowers she brought for him and homemade cookies he offered in exchange with a face flushed crimson sat off to the side. Vlad shows up halfway through and warning bells start blaring in Cass’ head. She takes one look at how Danny tenses the moment he enters, trys to put himself between Vlad and everyone else, flinch’s at every movement and more. Sees how scared he is. Sees how despite obviously being scared, damn near traumatized, he’s also obviously ready to fight. Vlad starts talking shit and just tells Danny he’s coming home with him to which Danny, understandably, says no, go to hell. Vlad, who has been spending Months tracking down Danny and Jazz, looses his shit. “No? No! You think you can say No to Me!? I OWN you! You are Mine, Little Badger. You will do as I tell you, when I tell you, no matter what I tell you, boy.” Half way through a smug smile spits across his face as he begins to withdraw some sort of custom made taser. He keeps it half hidden in his sleeve and turns to hide it from the crowd that’s gathered to watch the scene he’s making. Cass sees the way Danny’s eyes lock onto the device. Sees how Vlad taps it with his finger, turning it this way and that, flicking his wrist once or twice. Sees how Danny flinch’s at every movement, how Vlad seems almost giddy at every sign of fear and choked on breath. Vlad brings his other hand up almost casually, sets it on Danny’s shoulder almost gently. But Cass sees it, sees it all. Sees the hunger-possessive-obsessive-need in Vlad’s stance. Sees how the moment his hand lands on Danny shoulder it shifts into a white knuckled grip for an ever so brief moment, fingers digging into skin as his smug grin shift into a sickeningly sweet imitation of fatherly affection as he turns to the crowd to try and apologize for “his boy” causing such a ruckus, assuring them that he “Will be giving the child a very stern talking to” and something in her brain screams that Danny’s caution and fear, hi need to protect the people around him from the man in front of him is a learned response.

Vlad means his little I Own You speech as in “I am your godfather, your parents are dead and you are my evil apprentice.” He’s just referring to all the evil apprentice stuff that Danny refuses to do. But Cass, while fairly certain that Danny is some flavor of meta human has deliberately chosen to respect his privacy and not dig up all the answers until he trust her enough to tell her/something happens to force her hand, doesn’t know about any phantom stuff and as a result comes to some slightly different conclusions. Danny’s shifting his feet to something closer to a proper stance, muscles tensing like a coiled spring as his eyes dart around, taking in the environment, finding what he can use as a weapon, which civilians he needs to look out for, coming up with a plan to disarm Vlad. Cass sees all this, knows that Danny can and will defend himself. She also knows that she can afford significantly better lowers than him and Jazz.

So Cass Fucking Lunges for Vlad. She waits until he looks just barely far enough away for her to not be in his peripheral vision. As she vaults over the table it does not creek and shake, and nothing on it is disturbed. No sound is made and Vlad receives no warning. In less then a second he goes from smooth talking the public into not calling CPS on him because of how much of a pain it was to find people that would accept his bribes the last time to being laid out on the floor with a broken nose and 110 pounds of vengeance wailing on him. Unable to use his ghost abilities with all the witnesses he tries to get her with the Plasmius Maximus, because while it’s not deigned for humans a tasers a taser. Only for Cass to smoothly disarm and then damn near punch him in the throat with his own weapon before she tags him two more times in the torso before stashing it away and going back to beating the guano out of him with her bare hands. Eventually she gets up, stomping on a kidney for good measure, before turning around and seeing Danny, still tense and ready to fight, his eyes scanning over her, checking for injuries in the same way Alfred always does. When he confirms she’s unharmed, a tiny portion of the tenseness and nerves that claimed him when Vlad walked in leaves his shoulders and he takes a breath for the first time in minutes, having seemingly not even realized he’d stopped breathing at some point. Cass promptly turns back around to plant her heel in Vlad’s liver before returning to Danny and grabbing his free hand, his other already holding the cookies and flowers, and the two flee the restaurant in nearly a dead sprint with Cass leaving a few hundreds on the table for the food and trouble. Once they’re a few blocks away they stop, and Danny can’t help but stare. Can’t help but think that Cass’ now wind swept and messy hair looks far more beautiful then it ever has before, that the bright red of the blood splattered on her cheeks like constellations in the night sky brings out the blue in her eyes better than any make up ever could. Can’t help but remember the way his nearly still heart beat twice at the way she surged forth to protect.

Can’t help but speak in an oh so soft whisper, very nearly a prayer. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No, I don’t mean as a friend. I, like, love you love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No, like, romantically. I love you romantically. I know you don’t feel the same, but I’ve felt this way so long and I need you to know. I still want to be friends though. If you’ll let me. If you don’t think I’m just some cree-”

In an instant she pulls him in until he’s safely wrapped in her arms, leaning in until her forehead gently wrest on his and their noses barely touch. He can feel her breath on his lips as she speaks.

“I love you, romantically. Can I kiss you?” Seconds pass before Cass’ hand flys to the com in her ear. “Babs, he fainted! What do I do?”

This is way to long as is and it’s late so I tried to dump the rest of my thought in the tags but apparently there’s limits on the length and number of tags. So I might have to do a separate post about Jazz and Jason.

can we connect the 'Duke gave Jason Jazz's number' ask with the ask of 'Babs being Jazz and Danny's sister'?

(Sure :3)

Jason gets Jazz's number, Babs is their sister

When Duke walked into the Clocktower, he paused in place at seeing the people on her screen.

"Uh. Babs? What's that?"

Barbara turned and blinked tired, exhausted eyes. She had spent several sleepless nights just researching everything she could find on her siblings.

She was so, so proud of them, especially because Danny was going to school to be an astronaut and Jazz had already graduated, currently working within Arkham Asylum as a fair and hard working psychiatrist.

"This? It's nothing," she said absentmindedly. Like hell she was going to let any of the vigilantes she knew linger around or pester her darling siblings!

"... that's a picture of Jazz Fenton."

Barbara blinked. "You know her?"

"Yeah, sometimes Jazz volunteers at Gotham University to tutor people. She helps me with my anatomy classes," Duke explained.

A first witness account about her siblings from someone she knew!

"Tell me more," Barbara said eagerly.

Duke crossed his arms. "Tell me why you're looking into her."

Barbara sighed deeply. Then she said, "We're half siblings. I found out that she and my half-brother are in Gotham so I just wanted to learn more about them. I never met them before because my biological mom left when I was young."

Duke's eyebrows rose. Then he said, "Huh. Well, alright. Jazz is really nice. She explains things really well and she's also really patient. Everyone wants her to tutor them, but she's pretty busy so you have to schedule her in advance sometimes. I have her number, so I usually get tutored by her often. She also talks a lot? But she's super nice!"

Barbara nodded. She had hacked into several places and had already figured out most of her sibling's personality traits.

Jazz was an overachiever, eager to please, helpful, chatty, and a bit of a know it all. Danny, meanwhile, was a bit antisocial, but very kind, thoughtful, clever, and quick to help others.

Had she mentioned that she was very proud of them? She wanted desperately to meet them in person one day.

Duke then continued with a small laugh, "Y'know, if nothing else happens, I think you'll see your siblings again. Maybe even as in-laws! Jazz gave Jason her number the other day and he's been super eager to ask her out."

All time seemed to freeze. It was like a record scratch that turned off the music.

Barbara stared at him. "Excuse me?"

Even if Duke wasn't a meta that could predict the future, he could already feel the danger.

"Uh."

".... did you just say that Jason is trying to ask out my adorable little sister? Jason? Jason who once killed 8 people and put their decapitated heads in a duffel bag? Jason who lives in a trashy apartment because he's too busy committing crime to clean it? Jason who forgets to shower sometimes because he gets lazy?"

"............ yes?" Duke sounded afraid.

Barbara turned around to her computer again, bringing up more files. This time, they were named after Jason and Red Hood.

"Leave. You didn't see anything here."

Duke immediately bowed. "Yes, ma'am. Please spare me."

"You'll live only because you can tell me more about Jazz."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." Then he scrambled out of the Clocktower. RIP Jason. You will be missed.

[custardtartsfan]

Tim Drake headcanons that have accumulated over time

this has been a receptacle for all of my tim thinkings over the past bit..may make another one and publish it when its full enough..

general him ₊⊹

he doesnt like coffee, too bitter. hes a bang energy kinda guy. Black Cherry Vanilla specifically

he has myopia from all the staring at screens in dark rooms like a goblin he does. he has glasses, but will not wear them cause he thinks they look silly. do NOT ask him to read something from more than 5 feet away he cannot do it

he has occasional breakouts. probs from stress. and hes only mildly confused and uncomfortable about his partner slobbering over it

SHRIMP POSTURE 🫵 doctors will end up naming a condition after him. he complains his back hurts like hes not leaning over his laptop at a perfect 90* angle

he genuinely enjoys math. like actually likes it. calculus soothes him, in a way. maybe cause its a problem with a clear answer instead of all the bullshit he’s dealing with day in and day out

does not handle his weed well. he consistently gets too high and then wakes up very sad the next day

hes pale as fuck. he does not tan, he will turn bright red. hes ghastly in the winter

his favorite food is cosmic brownies. i do not have an explanation for this it just feels right

i think he dresses pretty basic. but like in a nice, old money, chillest guy at the school athletics banquet kinda way

this is my vision

however, i do not think hes averse to the occasional ironic t shirt

he fears public bathrooms, really and truly. he cannot piss in a dairy queen, theres poors in there.

i can see him being a bit of a scent bro. like not jeremy fragrance but the people at his local Sephora know him by name

i also think hes a big dill guy. like not necessarily even pickles, the dude just likes dill flavored things. like chips, fries, whatever. big dill guy

romance.. (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

big fan of taking pictures. not on the phone though, not only cause he’s paranoid. also cause phone cameras are too damn high quality now WHO NEED TO SEES MY PORES??

anyway, he loves taking candid photos of his partner. on film or his digicam. his favourite is when his lover is conked out on his chest and he gets a photo of their cute sleeping face..hopefully he turned the flash off

he will SHILL the fuck OUT for you like actually. dont take him shopping with you, youre gonna leave with an untouched savings account and anything you spared a glance at

we all know the man has some attachment issues. as in when he is attached he will not un do that. this would also apply to his partner (i am choosing to ignore his choices in the mid to late 90s #notmytim)

hes like an elderly dog. complete with the spinal problems. separation anxiety like youve never seen

just like..sit with him..please. he likes to be sat with

i feel like he can only date someone hes very close with. like youre his best friend, Kon is cool but hes no you

his ideal lover is a bro he can kiss tbh

hes a lip biter. he likes to chew on his lips when hes thinking, which is always. so theyre littered with little cuts and intends. he gets all huffy after you mention you can feel it when you kiss him. you meant it in a nice, its cute way!

hed be a big believer in promise rings. he knows its a little redundant, but the sentiment is sweet and he’ll do why he wants damn it

hello icons! im sorry ive been dead for a few days, my final semester has been an unhappy one so far! i cant wait to be done Ethics im not a fan ϵ( 'Θ' )϶. anywho i hoped you liked and have a good night!

[livvyandcaycaytakenselfies]

GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS!! I GOT TO THINKING (obvi) AND WHAT ABOUT AN OVERSEER USER IN TWST?!

Like, user has been alive since the beginning of time, and had a family of their own before they were brutally destroyed and they couldn’t save them?

(User looks around 17is and is a second year in NRC)

So skip to when they are teleported into Twisted wonderland, and they see Diasomnia‘s happy little family of four (ex, Malleus, Lilia, Silver, and Sebek) and they envy it.

She grew close with the four Diasomnia members and after some prodding from Lilia, told them who you are and why your envy came into play.

You told them about the beginning, and how you had four other people with you. The four being based on things in the world they helped with. And how either the mortals or another being (your choice) killed them off.

As if Diasomnia wasn’t obsessed with you before, the Yandere behavior became worse.

It was Lilia who reminded you of Venti

When you look at Lilia, you see your beloved Wind/Anemo Archon of freedom. The man who’s mind is plagued by war but try’s to live his life in freedom through music and love and compassion.

The man who protects his loved ones at all costs (or try’s to) whether it be through blade or words, bone or mind. Lilia is flattered by this, considering all the good things you have said of Barbatos/Venti.

It was Malleus who reminded you or Morax

Malleus with his scary demeanor and dragon relations, the one who just wants to be loved and feel something for once reminds you exactly of your beloved Archon on Geo and Contracts.

Malleus smiles at this and loves it when you talk about how much similar he is to Morax/Zhongli.

It was Silver who reminded you of Tsaritsa

(Note: Reminds you of Tsaritsa before the happenings of the Fatui and since we only have little info on her for now, these are my own personal hc for her)

Silver who reminds you of Tsaritsa

Oh how you loved Tsaritsa…

The Archon of Cyro and Love, this man looks identical to her in features as well even if the colors are slightly different.

Hidden fear of losing the people he loves, had to stone himself to reach his goals, and always has that overwhelming feeling of security but fear wrapping around you in a sleepy hug.

Silver loves you. He loves the idea of you thinking of him being of someone who loved you as so.

It was Sebek who reminded you of Ei

Ah yes, you beloved Ei. The Archon of Electro and Eternity, the stoned face Ei.

Sebek may be a loud mouth, but he has a good heart at the end of the day just like Ei. He wishes to prove himself and honor a promise made (just like Ei) and secretly has that one little thing that bring him security that he loves so much..

Sebek really didn’t know how to react at first, but he did take it was a complement. He asks you to tell him mor of Ei/Beelzibub from time to time. He loves you.

Also let’s have a lil Drabble story here:

You: “Back in my world, they say that hair holds memories.” *que long ass braid going down her back to the floor Rapunzel style*

Lilia: *smiles from the ceiling* “That’s nice beastie, I’m sure it must be true with how long yours is.”

Malleus: *Smiles and pats your head* “What a wonderful thing to have, child of stars.”

Silver: *Smiles sleepily with his hand laced into your from where he lays on the couch* “That’s nice, starlight.”

Sebek: *Nodding his head and smiling in approval* “Such a wonderful thing to have, my lady! Always able to cherish you precious memories of loved ones!”

You: “…”

You: “So somebody get me some scissors, I’m cutting this shit off-“

*Que Mal Mal, Lils, Silv, and See falling from the ceiling, couch, and stumbling.*

everyone: “ABSOLUTELY NOT!!”

[ragnarockz]

Ok but what happens when Rio asks to learn more about Nicky to feel closer to the both of them? How does our favorite detective react?

🥺

Agnes is super defensive over him and her memories of him; the little amount of time they had together

They're sitting at the kitchen table, their coffees gone cold between them as Vidal tries to break through the crack that is Nicky

Agnes does the whole 'if I can be jovial about this it'll hurt less' approach and that all lasts for about a sentence or two before her face darkens and she's sucked back into that excruciating long day at the hospital

"He got very, very sick, Vidal...it all happened so fast..."

Agnes slumps in her chair and holds her forehead, elbow to the table as if still trying to figure out how to save her son

Vidal can only sit there and embrace Agnes' pain

Her own thoughts rush in, thoughts of how she' heard whispering since coming to Westview of how Agnes' son died. How she mistreated him. How she was too young and how it was because she was a runaway with no family and no job and access to drugs. How it was because she didn't have a good man in her life. It makes Vidal want to vomit

She never tells Agnes this; she's pretty sure she's heard all these rumors herself. How many times did she lay awake at night and maybe even start to believe them? How many times did she tack them on to the ever growing list of faults?

"Did you do this all alone, Baby?"

"No, I had Alice with me."

And that crack suddenly starts to get chipped away and Vidal and breathe a little easier as Agnes starts to let her in

"You and Alice...you must have been close? Trusted each other a whole lot."

"Yeah, we were...I did. We...she took me under her wing after I left my mothers and she took care of me while I took care of Nicky."

"And you two?"

"What about us, Vidal? That's ancient history..."

"I'm not jealous! I just want...to know you. I want to know you from then. What got you to here?"

And Agnes has to stop and think because can she tell Vidal? Does she want to tell her? What difference does it make now since neither Alice nor Nicky are in her life anymore

"I was just a baby myself trying to navigate motherhood and my sexuality...I felt alone, alienated, and then Alice just... accepted me."

"You two..."

"Five years. Until...Nicky died and she went away to school, and I stayed in Eastview."

"That's a long time to be with someone at that age..."

And Agnes bites the inside of her cheek, tears pricking the corner of her eyes. Her hands are shaking, leg bouncing under the table. She can't look at Vidal, not yet

"...I had a ring picked out; kept it in my pocket for months...waiting for the right time..."

And the silence expands throughout the house. A different time and place; Agnes feels like she's suffocating

"You...never went after her?"

And Vidal's words suck Agnes back to the present, their eyes finally meeting

"I couldn't. Didn't feel right. She had so much going for her...I didn't want to tie her down to me."

And it's Vidal's turn to choke back her tears because at the end of it, that is all just so Agnes it's painful. The fear of having someone stay; asking them to stay. The fear of shared sorrow over joy. The fear of being seen. Te veo

"You should reach back out to her...I see the cards from her you bring in and hide...she still cares."

"It's pity."

"It's love, Agnes. Please. She still cares about you; she still considers you her friend."

Agnes stares down Vidal, studying the calm expression on her face. She blows out a deep exhale

"I wouldn't know where to start...does she want me back in her life like that? Does she care? Does she just send me cards because she feels just as guilty as I still do?"

Vidal bites her lip then, digging into her pocket before she takes out her own business card with a number scribbled in pen on the back of it

Agnes reaches forward timidly as if the paper is going to burst into flames; a secret she's is not allowed to know

[pain-is-forever]

Theo's known something is wrong for quite some time now. He could almost feel it, the despair, the helplessness, the resignation and pitiful — unwilling, uncomfortable and miserable — acceptance, in the air. He could sense it somewhere, he just had no clue where. That's when he heard a scream in his head.

A scream, Argo's scream. In his head, a terrifying, painful, horrible scream. And it was Argo's voice. Of course it was. Why wouldn't it be? Why would he ever want to receive help from someone in a situation like that? He's so fucking stupid, he should've just let Theo help figure it out- whatever it would take.

No, don't think about Argo like that. He had reasons, you're sure he did. Right, Theo? You know he only wanted to keep you safe. But the method he chose for that is so fucking dumb- stop it. Stop thinking like that. You can scold him for not seeking help after you save him, alright?

He runs through whatever he has to to reach Argo. He can finally pinpoint a location, a glowing red dot in his vision. He's going to do this, and no one will stop him. Nobody, not even Zeus himself can stop Theo from getting to Argo right now. Not Eris, either. There is not a force in the world that can keep him from his brother.

He arrives at the cell, and stops. Horrified. Utterly horrified about Argo's state. His face softens from rage and panic to pure worry. Why didn't Argo want help? He could've helped. Why is Theo always so helpless? He hates it. He hates himself for it.

He wants to speak, to say something. Ask something. Do anything. But his body is frozen in shock and fear. Fear for his brother. What if he loses him? What if this really is the end? Why him? Why does it always have to be him?

Theo starts hitting his leg repeatedly, as if out of instinct. He's not thinking right at the moment, his mind can't formulate a sentence, a word even. The ghosts are silent as well, something that doesn't happen often if at all. He doesn't remember the last time his mind was quiet. It feels... strange. Like he's been floating in an ocean of worries and the voices being absent made him fall off his raft and lose it, so now he's drowning in everything.

The voices were the one constant thing in his life. They helped him cope, even if they weren't very nice... well, aside from Andrea. Obviously they had to leave him to fend for himself in the worst possible moment. In the one instance he needs them the most. He doesn't stop hitting his leg the entire time, it's definitely going to bruise.

He starts sweating, a green tint appearing on his body, eating through his pants where he hits himself. This isn't happening. It can't be. Why is he always the guy who can't keep any relationship stable? Why is he always the one who can't help his friends, who can't keep them safe and happy? Why is the the one to stand idly even when he doesn't want to, why can't he move?

Finally, something snaps within him. Looking at Argo like that, it... makes him furious. Pure unfiltered rage fills his entire being, his face hardening once more. He stops hitting himself, Death Mist already gathering around him. He does nothing to stop it or get it away from him.

He's not angry at Argo, he could never. He's angry at the thing that DARES do this to his brother. And he knows damn well who it is. He's well aware of it, actually. And he's made up his mind about hurting her a long, long time ago. But now? Now he's decided he's going to slaughter her like a pig. Treat her the exact same way she's treated Argo. Give her a taste of her own medicine.

Call it his weird, fucked up definition of justice, he doesn't care. All he knows is that he's going to torture and momentarily kill a goddess. And then he's going to do it again. And again. Until his gods damned death, hell, he's going to haunt her from beyond the grave. He's going to find her in the underworld and find a way to torture her for the rest of eternity for what she's done.

For the first time since they became friends, Argo's safety isn't Theo's main priority. What is it, then? Simple. Hurting the people who hurt his brother. Killing them slowly, making them feel every second of the pain they've caused Argo to feel. See how they like it. He doesn't care if it fucking kills him, he will do it.

He truly is his father's son. Whether it be Commodus or Mr. Kyler Hopens, he doesn't care. All he knows right now is rage. His mortal father was a man quick to anger, and the way he behaved was similar to how Theo feels right now, though he was much quicker to act than Theo is. Commodus on the other hand is... well, not much different, actually. He just doesn't take it out on children.

Theo slowly walks up to the cell's bars, all that's lett of him is a tiny glint of recognition behind his eyes. He won't hurt Argo, no. At least, not on purpose. He feels like he could murder someone right now. He would, if it were anyone other than Argo.

He puts his hands on one of the bars, letting the poison spread across is and eat away at it. He'll melt it and go through there, thanks to his slim build. He'll get in there and end this once and for all. Like he should've long ago.

Once the bar is melted enough for him to just grab at it and toss it to the side, he does exactly that. And he walks into the cell. He doesn't even spare Argo a glance, his eyes fixed on the strings — and the control panel above. That's his main focus. He won't rest until he fixes this situation.

He looks at the wires, and knows what he has to do. He knows exactly what he has to do. He unsheathes his sword and, in swift movements, cuts the strings, as many as he can get with one swing. He manages to get them all with three. Then, he looks up at the ends of them connecting with the control panel.

He puts his sword back into its sheath and grabs the wires, like a rope. He pulls himself up, climbing it, not caring if they'd hurt him or not. If he can't touch them because of them being made out of shadows, he surrounds his body in the Death Mist to help himself interact with them.

°•□Open Starter □•°

I Live Inside You Forever, With Satan Himself By My Side

ANYONE CAN INTERACT

>TW: Unwilling transformation, derealization, loss of bodily autonomy, body mutilization (possibly other things) <

Argo had locked himself in one of the prison cells the moment he felt it start. His wings had somehow.. absorbed back into his body? Making it all the more painful when they burst out again.

Argo lets out a bloodcurdling scream- like millions of souls worth of agony are being channeled through Argo right now.

Argo is wearing a weird outfit; like something an old puppet would wear. Bows. Everywhere. A bow tie, bows on their gloves, and bows on their little socks- and on every individual set of wings.

It would be cute, but the bows sprout into string; tying tightly around their respective areas. Wrists, wings, ankles, neck- and they lead back to an invisible control panel.. somewhere above Argo.

His wings are pure white- but tied back by razored, barbed, wire. So are his facial wings- and the smaller pair of facial wings that sprouted out with the large; actually functional wings.

They make Argo look almost.. angelic- in a biblical way.

Argo looks up, repressing another scream. Their voice already hurts.

They see a person and their face goes deadly pale.

You notice they're missing all their facial scars; like they're wearing a perfect porcelain mask.

The 'mask' which seems to now just be Argo's skin cracks; right where their jawline scar used to be.

Argo tries to move back- but their razor wire restraints prevent that. He almost objects; almost vocalizes- but a stitch comes undone from their neck and that shuts him up really damn quick.

Argo looks like a perfect little angel puppet.

So, what do you do?

taglist (ask to be added or deleted): @orion-the-hunterpt2 @lilacnightshade @pain-is-forever @reyno-solis-real @faceless-bugger @unlicensed-field-medic @the-great-emperor-commodus @the-eclipsed-sun @sophia-hunter-of-artemis @daughter-of-thanatoss

[bidisasterevankinard]

I put a spell on you

Bucktommy/ t/ 794 words

Buck is powerful warlock, who chose to be evil and conquer the world. Tommy is his lover, who wants to fix it, starting from the beginning

Read undercut or on ao3

Tommy is almost done with a spell, just needing one second to hide the last evidence, when Evan storms in the attic he was hiding in, pinning him to the wall with his powers.

“How could you,” the man screams at him, with his no more baby blue, but dark grayish blue almost setting him on fire.

Tommy still remembers every time he looked in them and the blue was getting darker with every time Evan was using darker and darker magic. When he chose to weaponize it against all the people, craving to rule everyone. Make them do what he wants.  

And no matter how much love Tommy still has for the man in front of him, especially the lighter and younger, better version of him that he knew years ago, he can’t let himself not stop Evan.

Yet, not even continuing killing and stealing the powers of other witches and warlocks, who tried to fight Evan and stop his reign, can’t make him as powerful as his lover.

He needed a better plan. And he has it now.

If only he can move to the wall behind Evan.

“How. Could. You,” with every word Evan comes closer, kissing him in rogue, basically more a bite when a kiss. “If it was anyone else, but you, they’d already lie down near me. Dead. With their blood cold as my heart. But you, baby, you, I forgave you, Tommy.”

Evan caresses his face. It almost feels like before.If not for cold like ice hands Tommy could have imagined he was still living in better times. When his lover was different. When he was different too. Not a killer. Not a liar. Not a person who is almost ready to give up and help Evan build his empire on blood and fear. 

But it’s not what he wants. He wants their old dreams. He wants his old Evan. His pure and kind Evan. 

He craves his everything and everyone loving man, who should have been a protector. Not a killer of thousands. Even his family. Not a destroyer of the world.

Tommy licks his lip, taking in every line on Evan's face. He hates the ever present devil smirks and satisfaction from another kill. He hates the cold coming from Evan. He needs the soft smiles and sad puppy pouts back. He needs soft baby blues back. He needs the warmth of Evan back.

He must have his Evan back.

Summoning all his power, he sends Evan in the wall right from him, feeling how his body is free again, he rushes to the portal he created, making sure it’s blocked and no one can come find him. 

Taking a breath, he changes his clothes with one move of his fingers, puts on a patterned fake smile and knocks to the door.

His new job is awaiting.

“Thomas,” Margaret Buckley opens the door and it takes all the love he has for Evan for Tommy not to set her on fire on the spot.

He’s here to save Evan. Not to turn him to evil himself.

“Mrs. Buckely, it’s good to see you again,” he barely hides the poison from his voice.

“Likewise. Go to the living room, please. Maddie and Evan are there,” just the way she says the name of the man for, who he made impossible, boils his blood. There’s not even a little bit of warmth or love there.

“I should be back to the hospital,” women look at the clock. “Evan should wake up soon and you can find his formula in the kitchen. All possible recommendations for him or Maddie there too.”

Tommy just nods, mesmerized by how cute baby Evan is. His round cheeks are reddish, plump lips are making sucking motions as if he believes he is still eating. He starts to move and then his crystal clear baby blues are open and look at him as if they know him.

“He loves, when people get him in their hands, when he wakes up,” Maddie says to him from the couch where she sits, looking at her brother.

She’s so young, but Tommy already can see the sadness that Maddie he met had in her eyes. Always linger there. He hopes his plan will help her be happier too.

As if he heard his sister, Evan starts to sulk and Tommy takes him in his hands, and Evan immediately stops and even smiles.

Tommy’s heart loses a beat for a second.

That baby is so pure. That is his Evan before darkness found the way to his heart.

Now he’s here to protect it. To make their future better again. To get his dream of ‘happy ever after’ with his good and pure Evan real.

Tommy will do anything he must for it.

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Last (Sam Winchester x female reader)

It was never supposed to happen. But this is the last time. It has to be.

Read it on AO3

My 2024 Kinktober series

Rated E. 1.1k words. Cheating (kind of the worst kind). Secrets. Grief. Temptation.

The sheets rustle behind you when Sam sits up, and from the way he sounds you can tell he’s leaning forward, long outstretched legs slightly angled, elbows resting on knees. You know the white sheet must have slipped off him far enough to reveal his chest, his arms, the tan skin and the hair on both, the feeling of it ghosting under your fingertips.

You know that he’s staring at the back of your head with those sweet, dark eyes. Guilt probably making him feel sick to his stomach as well.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed and your hand goes up to wipe at the tears you started crying after you woke up. You wait for Sam to say something, but he doesn’t.

“This was the last time,” you say, not turning to him. Your voice sounds thick from the tears, but you don’t care. “I can’t do this anymore.” Sam’s quiet for a moment before he answers.

“I know,” he says.

“It’s not right,” you add, and he only repeats it. You bite your lip in the hope it will stop new tears from flowing.

“If he’s…” you start, but can’t continue, the thought too horrible.

“He can never know,” Sam says, voice final. Sam’s moral, always tries to do the right thing, but he knows how tremendously he has fucked up. He knows there’s no path that leads to being able to justify this, even if his brother is out there howling at the moon with Crowley. There is no explanation, nothing that can ever make this right.

So, he has decided, a lie is, in this case, the best and only solution. Because he could not stand it if Dean ever finds out. He wouldn’t survive it. And neither would Dean.

You turn around, look at Sam. In the low light of the room, Sam can see the glistening trail of tears on your cheeks. You’re naked, and somehow the bunker’s sterile light makes it look like you’re bathed in moonlight. Sam can’t stop his eyes from flickering down to your breasts, remembering how just a little while ago he wrapped his lips around your nipple and you arched up at him, ran your hand into the thick hair at the back of his neck to pull him closer.

He blinks a few times, tries to shake himself out of the memory. You are still looking at him.

“If he comes back… if we can heal him…” you start, but then stop again. It’s not like either of you hasn’t said the same thing a million times. Grief over Dean’s death and then relief that he wasn’t dead has thrown you both for a loop. You’ve both been on edge for weeks, too little sleep, too much caffeine. Too much fear. That you can’t get Dean back, or worse, that he will come back, but as he is now. A demon.

That he’ll come back and you save him and that he finds out.

It wasn’t until one night not so long ago that Sam decided he needed assistance to sleep, which was when you found him drinking in the library. Your first instinct was to stop him, but there was no point, so you joined him instead. You didn’t have the energy for anything else, not with Dean out there, doing God knows what. God knows who.

You want to scoff at yourself, at the fact that he is a demon and your biggest worry is that he is with other women. The thought of it, of the gold band on your finger not meaning anything anymore, that he is out there, back to his old ways…

No. No, you tell yourself, don’t lie. Is that really your greatest worry? That he’s sleeping around? Or are you just trying to justify what you have been doing? Trying to justify why only an hour earlier you were on your back, ass at the foot of the bed, body covered in a sheen of sweat, one of your legs hooked over Sam’s elbow while your husband’s brother fucked you without abandon?

Is this the payback? The payback for what Dean might be doing? Not even Dean. This demon inside of him. You don’t want to think like that, don’t want to be this petty, but your brain keeps grasping at things to justify yourself. All it lands on is the image of your fingernails scratching down Sam’s thick biceps, begging him to fuck you harder while he lowers his head to suck a mark into your neck in response.

A mark. The irony isn’t lost on you.

Neither of you is sure who made the first move that night in the library, who cracked first. Who was more desperate, lonelier. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe you stopped caring the moment Sam pushed you down on the table, held you in place and slammed himself into you, your mind blissfully emptied by the fullness he provided.

You’ve ended up like this most nights since. You both tell yourselves you need this, that it helps you focus. It’s a lie. You don’t know what it is.

The good thing, and the horrible thing at the same time, is that it’s the only time you don’t think about Dean. Not the bad parts, not the good parts. And maybe that is the real betrayal. That you and Sam are together, the two people closest to Dean, who are supposed to love him the most, and you don’t think about him. You only think about each other. Bodies moving in the dark, gasps and moans and heads filled with nothing but the want for more.

Sam is sitting there, beautiful and sad. You swallow and then you crawl onto the bed. Kneel naked before him, chest rising and falling slowly.

“This was the last time,” you say, just like you do every night. Sam nods, and then he reaches for you. Drags you towards him, runs his hands all over, your lips meet, roughly, desperately.

This is the last time, you repeat in your head.

His fingers find your wetness and you work yourself down on him while he watches you, sees your face contort and your body squirm. He wonders if you look the same when Dean touches you, and then he stops thinking about anyone else, fills his mind with you.

This is the last time.

You ride Sam, him sitting up, large hand splayed over your back. The other hand goes up to brush your hair out of your face and the gentleness of it nearly undoes you.

This is the last time.

One of these nights, it will be. And it will be because Dean is back, because you’ve saved him. The other option is too horrible, too terrifying. You can’t think about it.

But then Sam makes you forget and you make him forget and at least for a little while, you are free.

[delight-angelsbliss]

Hi, this is the same anon who question what not to ask about! Thanks again for the reply, I feel so much more calmer asking knowing that I won't ask for something you not comfortable with!! I just had one thought in my head, how would Metal Sonic react if at one moment he was saved by a reader despite the fact that they are on different sides (I leave it up to you to choose the situation, maybe he will refuse the help or something but I just really will be interested read something like this :] ) and then, for example, the reader needed help!

Precis: metal sonic getting saved by reader and repaying the favor

Warnings: near death experience!!

Notes: oo this is a cute one!! It was really interesting to write and I'm glad you asked me to make this<3 ok but lowkey metal sonic is kinda fascinating, like, does he think or not? I'm fighting every urge in my body to not make reader have magical girl powers grbfxioslwkrnc metal sonic is a silly little thing confirmed by me😛

I have talked about how I view metal sonic many times; a robot who's loyal, proving he can destroy his body many times purely out of loyalty, choosing to stay with his maker until his end, the only times he falls in love is when his code shows faulty. His feelings, if he even has any, are a mystery. A huge mystery. What are his thoughts? There are so many questions that race your mind everyday, when you fight, when you stare, when you think of him. It's so much. Metal sonic is so fascinating

Let's say you're on Sonic's side, or maybe even on your own, nonetheless you're found to get into a fight with Metal sonic if you're against Eggman! When a fight did break out, all hell broke loose. There was a lot of damage, but on particular home, the roof fell off, leaving rubble and more falling straight on metal. In an act of your hero complex, or maybe just stupidity, you push (the disaster reference) Metal sonic out of harm's way. The landing was rough, but it wasn't that bad seeing as you landed on metal. Did you just save him? Metal sonic was bewildered, why would you save him? The robot immediately pushes you off and makes a run for it. What ever needed to be done could wait!

That little scene replayed in Metal sonics head over and over, during fighting, while on patrol. Everywhere. The way your panicked voice asked if he was ok, the fearful look in your eyes... It made him feel all warm inside. Maybe he was glitched? Even after virus scans, checkups, system repairs, anything and everything... You wouldn't leave his mind, something inside him bloomed, bloomed into something amazing. So this is love? So this is the love that everyone raves over everywhere he goes? It felt so nice, yet, it hurt knowing he could probably never love you. You didn't even like Eggman for crying out loud! So why should metal sonic like you?

When Metal sonic finally went back into the battlefield, it felt empty, nothing felt right. He could only watch you, think of you, yearn for you. His non existent soul thirsts for your contact after you've left. He knew the clock was ticking, maybe he could never confess? He couldn't even talk, what a silly little thing metal was. When metal sonic entered another mission, he knew there was a high chance of seeing you. It sounded like something made for you, he didn't know whether that was good or bad. When He saw you again, he first noticed how tired you looked. Have you not been getting sleep? Are you doing too much? He felt like he was gonna short circuit from worry. Your fighting was sloppy, your body looked spent and tired from fighting. You should take a break. The evidence of your tiredness showed when you didn't realize how a badnik was about to pounce on you, the eyes looking blood thirsty and out for its prey. Metal sonic knew in the moment he had to do something. Suddenly, when you turn around, you saw metal sonic, his sharp claws full of the oil of the badnik, eyes looking straight at you; lovesick. It's a small way of repaying the favor, maybe, just maybe, he could help a bit more.

[solitaireships]

Pulled From the Abyss

I've been working on this fic for a long while now, and it's finally ready to go! I wanted to do my take on the reunion between the PC and their love interest near the end of the game, so this is based on that and focused on Minala, Bellara, and Emmrich

Rating: Teen

Genre: Hurt/comfort

Words: 3606 words

Divider by saradika

Content warning: talk about death, mentions of the possible end of the world

⚠️ Note this contains spoilers for events following the point of no return of Veil.guard! ⚠️

The first time Minala understands Solas is as she treks through the Fade prison, surrounded by her regrets. Neve and Harding both loom over her, lifeless statues that say the exact things she’s scared they would say if they could. She thinks she might have been willing to do anything to get out of here too, though it’s still hard for her to be too sympathetic towards the man who trapped her here, manipulating her grief and shock at Varric’s death to control her.  

She can’t stay here forever. It’s bad enough being surrounded by her regrets, having all of her fears that she’s let others down magnified to the point where they almost become suffocating. It would be easy to give up, and let her guilt at everything she could have done differently keep her chained in this spot in the Fade forever.

But Minala knows there’s no point in letting her regrets drown her. Neve and Harding made their choices— they knew what was at stake, and they knew that they ran the risk of not making it back alive. All of them knew that they might not make it out of their encounter with Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. But they were willing to take that chance if it meant stopping them, and if it meant saving all of Thedas. They did what they felt they had to, and Minala knows they wouldn’t have wanted her to let their sacrifices mean nothing. The best way to honor them is by forging ahead, finding a way out of this prison, and finishing what they had started.

It’s just a matter of how to escape the Fade. Solas had only managed to escape by using Minala, performing blood magic to manipulate her into taking his place. But Minala’s sure that there has to be some way to get out, it’s just a matter of what. She’s not an expert in the Fade, but every Watcher at least learns the basics. It’s not uncommon for spirits to be able to slip through the Veil, making it out into the living world. She imagines that what’s called a Fade prison presumably is harder to escape, especially if it used to contain elven gods, but there has to be some way out.

So Minala searches. She roams through the sea of floating rocks and twisting paths, the dream-like environment that almost looks like it could be real but it always looks just a little off in a way she can’t place. The colors of everything here are muted, as though the world has been filtered through a sea of gray and brown. Hints of color peek through, but it’s as if they have to fight against the dark of the Fade to even exist. 

Minala doesn’t know how long she keeps looking. She knew that it wouldn’t be so easy finding a tear in the Fade or spot where it’s thin enough that she might be able to rip her way out. But the longer she looks for a way out, the harder it is to keep her motivation up. She knows she can’t give up, but the idea of it gets more tempting the longer she looks, finding no way to escape. 

But hope comes before she can get lost in the futility of her situation. Emmrich’s voice cuts through the haze of the Fade, a moment of clarity that’s sharp enough to pierce through anything else. 

“This way. It’s thinner here!” There’s a pause as the Fade seems to flicker and shift ahead of her, almost looking as though it’s tearing itself apart at the seams. Then Emmrich’s voice comes again, louder now. “There! A light!”

Minala moves closer to the rip in the Fade, wondering if she’s approaching it in time with Emmrich. She can at least hear that he’s there— she wonders if Bellara is too. The thought of seeing her partners again is more than enough to urge her forward, to give her the final push she needed to leave everything here behind. 

She can’t change the past. She can’t save everyone. But sitting here and stewing in her regrets isn’t the right way to honor Neve and Harding. They wouldn’t have wanted their sacrifices to have meant nothing, and they wouldn’t have wanted her to give up. They knew the risks of the mission, just like everyone else did. And the best thing she can do now is keep moving forward rather than letting herself be held back by her regrets.

Minala’s made mistakes. She’ll probably make more. But all she can do is hope every day to do better, and that there’s still time to try to fix things. 

As she gets closer to the rift in the Fade, a familiar gleaming array of rings and bangles on a thin arm comes through the almost blinding light. It stands out sharply against the muted grays and browns of the Fade, a beacon to come even closer to it. Minala would recognize Emmrich’s jewelry anywhere— it shines along his arm, calling her closer.

“Darling? Are you there? Take my hand if you can!” Emmrich calls. His voice is muted and warped, almost like she’s hearing him from underwater, but still it’s a relief. 

“I’m here!” Minala says, though she has no idea if he can actually hear her or not. She hopes he can as she closes the distance between her and the rift, reaching out for his hand.

As Minala’s fingers twine with Emmrich’s, she hears a relieved laugh escape him. “Bellara! My love, I found her!”

“You did?” Bellara’s voice comes next, distant at first and still with that muted quality Emmrich’s has, but drawing closer. “You did! Come on, let’s get her out!”

Emmrich’s grip tightens on Minala’s hand, his other hand reaching out to take hers too.

“Come back to me, dearest. We all need you far more than you could ever realize,” he says, voice low enough that she’s not entirely sure if she was supposed to hear that. 

Bellara’s voice keeps Minala from thinking about that for long, though. “Alright, if we pull hard together we should be able to get her out!”

Minala’s not entirely sure what she should do to help them get her out, but she closes her eyes and hopes for the best as she feels Emmrich pulling her forward. It’s a sharp tug, no doubt helped along by Bellara. For a moment it’s as though the Fade too is trying to pull her, to keep her trapped here. But Minala reminds herself that she can’t stay here, not when there are people who still need her on the other side. Not when her partners are here to save her.

When Minala stumbles out from the Fade rift, she all but collapses into Emmrich’s arms. It’s strange to be on even footing again, to no longer be lost in a world that both feels like reality and yet distinctly not at the same time. But Emmrich is real, and he’s warm and solid in her arms. He wraps her in a tight hug, hands grasping at her as if to confirm that he really managed to find her. 

“Emmrich,” she breathes out.

“Minala,” he replies, relief evident in his voice. When he speaks again, his voice is choked up, as if he’s holding back tears. “I thought I had lost you.”

“Not yet,” Minala promises. 

She rests her chin on Emmrich’s shoulder, squeezing him as tightly as possible. It’s easier to think about how terrified he must have been when she vanished than it is to think much about what just happened to her. She can only imagine how worried he was with his thanatophobia, how horrified he must have been at the prospect of one of his worst fears becoming reality. 

Minala’s thoughts are interrupted by another pair of arms wrapping around her, this time from the back. She doesn’t need to turn to know it’s Bellara— she would know her touch anywhere.

“We were so scared,” Bellara says, not managing to hold back tears as well as Emmrich did. “You were— you were just gone. And Solas was there and… I’m so glad that you’re back.”

“I’m glad to be back,” Minala replies. 

It’s only now that she’s truly able to process the sight in front of her. They’re in elven ruins, though it’s hard to process exactly where. Emmrich looks messier than usual— his hair is ruffled like he just got out of bed and there’s dark stubble on his jaw and neck. His clothes are even a little disheveled, with the collar of his shirt being crumpled and messy. It’s strange not seeing him completely put together, and she can’t help but feel guilty her disappearance had such an effect on him. 

Bellara looks to have been hit pretty hard too when Minala turns to see her over her shoulder. It’s never been uncommon for Bellara’s bun to come out a bit messy, with her sometimes being in a rush to get it put up before starting the day. But it’s messier than usual now, and her eyes are puffy like she had been crying even before she had come back. Tears stream down her face, only seeming to come down faster when Minala looks at her, and she squeezes her even tighter. 

“Please don’t leave us like that ever again,” Bellara says, burying her face against the side of Minala’s neck. “I missed you so, so much.”

“I missed you too,” Minala says. “And I promise that I’ll do everything I can to make sure I never have to leave you again.”

Time moves differently in the Fade. That’s something that Minala has known for years, knowledge that had been instilled in her from her years of study with the Mourn Watch. But it’s one thing to know that’s the case, and another to have actually experienced it while trapped in the Fade prison. It’s hard to believe weeks have passed, and now the world draws closer and closer to crumbling to pieces. 

Minala tells herself that there’s no point in regretting the time lost. Even if she wasn’t here, the rest of the team was hard at work while she was away. They managed to save her, for one— something she’s sure they only managed to do between Emmrich’s knowledge of the Fade combined with Bellara’s expertise on all the oddities that can come about when the Fade is thin. She wouldn’t be here if not for them, and she knows she’ll never be able to thank them enough for saving her.

But right now, they have other priorities. Minala wakes up on the morning the world may end knowing that there’s a lot riding on her shoulders. She won’t have to face it alone, at least. Her team will be with her, and they’re rallying their allies to join the fight in Minrathous. The Shadow Dragons have everything ready for what might be their final stand before the Veil falls, and the eluvian network at least should make it easier to gather their allies. And if she’s careful about it, she should be able to use the false lyrium dagger the others made to outwit the god of trickery himself. 

Minala tells herself that everything will work out. The battle ahead will be harsh, but she wants to think they’ll still be able to pull through. Last night was a reminder of what she has to fight for— Davrin, Taash, and Lucanis all looked relieved to see her back, and Manfred managed to say he missed her as he jumped around and pulled her into a hug. 

But one of the biggest motivators Minala has to make it out of this alive is waking up in bed with her partners. Though as she blinks awake, she realizes Emmrich is gone— hardly an unusual sight in the morning since he’s an early riser and tries to do his morning stretches before Minala and Bellara wake up. But Bellara is still fast asleep next to her, snoring a bit with her face buried against one of the pillows. She always looks adorable like this, sleeping so peacefully that it makes Minala want to curl back up and drift off to sleep again. 

But the sound of the door to her room as Emmrich returns distracts her from that. She peers at him through the dark as he makes his way back towards the bed. He’s still in his dressing gown, but he must have been up for a while, with the stubble he had been sporting when he pulled her out of the Fade having just been shaved. It’s nice seeing him getting back to his usual look, though Minala can’t deny that he did look handsome with a bit more facial hair.

“Good morning, my love,” he greets in a low whisper as he gets closer to the bed.

“You shaved,” Minala notes with a yawn. 

“It was about time that I cleaned myself up,” Emmrich replies. He sits on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “It was a difficult past few weeks.”

Minala can only imagine. It’s not like Emmrich to not care for himself like that— he wanted to bring his shaving tools and silk dressing gown on a camping trip. And she hates knowing that she’s the reason he let his usual care for himself slip for weeks. 

“I’m so sorry I left you,” Minala says. “I can only imagine how terrifying it must have been.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, dearest,” Emmrich replies. 

“But I do. I know how scared death makes you, and I’m— you’re right. We all need to be more careful.”

The expression on Emmrich’s face is hard to read, but there’s a softness to it. He brushes Minala’s bangs aside, leaning down to give her a quick kiss on the forehead. 

“Bellara would have you believe I was the one who managed to convince her to keep the faith you’d return,” he says. “Perhaps I needed to convince her as much as I needed to convince myself. I was terrified every moment you were gone. That old fear of mortality seized me again, though this time it was also at the thought of losing you. It clung to me in every waking moment, and even in some sleeping ones.”

Minala wishes she had been here for Emmrich then. She’s woken up before when he’s had one of his episodes in the night, tears streaming down his face and barely able to breathe. She might not be able to ease the panic that washes over him, but she can help him through it. She takes his hand in hers, giving it a quick squeeze in an attempt at reassurance. 

“Bellara was a great help through it all, though. It was easier to breathe with her at my side, just as Manfred helps. But I couldn’t help but feel that it is far easier to face the thought of that final, eternal dark when I have you here too,” Emmrich says. “You know I love you, don’t you, darling?”

“And I love you too,” Minala promises. It’s not the first time she’s said that to Emmrich. Bellara’s still taking her time to warm up to saying she loves them, but Emmrich has been open with his affections for months now. Still, saying it this time feels different. Maybe it was their time apart that makes it feel more real, like a confirmation that they’ll be there for each other through everything. 

“So please. No more scares like that.”

“I’ll do everything I can to make sure nothing like this happens again.”

Emmrich sighs, but that must have been a good enough response for him. He pulls himself back into the bed, laying on his side so he can face Minala. When she slips her hand beneath his dressing gown, he rests his chin on her shoulder. His body relaxes against hers as she rubs his back. 

“I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost you for good,” Emmrich admits. “There’s comfort to being here with another Watcher, but the way you see things… I’m not sure you know how much you inspire me.”

“You’re very sweet,” Minala says. 

“And you, my love, are far too humble. You’re indomitable, and the way you’re able to face death every day without flinching would be admirable under any circumstances.”

“I could say you’re too humble too. You’re a lot braver than you know, Emmy.”

“Maybe so,” Emmrich admits. “But after this all ends, I’d like you to tell me more about how you think of death.”

“Are you sure?” As much as Minala likes the idea of getting to talk about it with him, she doesn’t want to push too far. The last thing she ever wants to do is hurt him. 

“You see things differently from how I do. But perhaps if you tell me more about your way of thinking, I might be able to change my own thoughts on the end,” he replies. 

Minala smiles. “Then I’d be happy to help as much as you want me to.”

“Thank you.” Emmrich draws closer for a kiss at that, his lips soft against Minala’s. 

On Minala’s other side, Bellara stretches, yawning. “You two are so cute.”

Minala reaches out with her spare hand, brushing it against Bellara’s hip. “How long have you been awake?”

“Just a minute or so. I only heard that last bit. The part about talking about death stuff to help with Emmrich’s fears around it. And all the sweet compliments,” she says. 

“Then good morning,” Minala greets. 

“Good morning,” Bellara replies. 

“Did you sleep well, darling?” Emmrich inquires.

“A lot better with Minala back.” She sighs, cuddling up closer against Minala. “You’re… you make me feel a lot calmer, you know. It’s hard to get my head to stop buzzing sometimes, and the thoughts never really stop. But I don’t know. It’s easier to rest when I’m with you. With both of you.”

“I know what you mean,” Minala says. It’s easier to soothe her mind when she’s with Bellara and Emmrich. There’s something about their presence that makes it easier for her to relax, and put the rest of the world on hold for just a moment. 

“But, um, if we’re going to be mushy this morning, I think I should say something.”

Minala and Emmrich exchange a quick look. They can guess what she might be about to say, why she might have such a nervous tone to her voice right now. 

“You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready yet,” Minala reassures her, untangling her arms from Emmrich so she can roll onto her side and face Bellara. 

“I know, but I want to say it. It’s important to me that you both hear me say it,” Bellara says. She takes a breath, closing her eyes. “Some things are just hard to say! Really, really hard! But I… when you were gone, it was like a part of me was gone too. And I never want to feel that way again. I never want to feel that way with either of you. You’re… ugh. I can say it, I know I can say it. It’s just— give me a minute.”

“You’re welcome to take as much time as you need,” Emmrich says. “Minala and I understand.”

“Thanks. I— you both are amazing,” she says. “And I don’t know, maybe building up to saying it will make it easier? Or something? I don’t know why saying three words is so scary, but I want you to know that I mean them. More than anything.”

“I know,” Minala promises. 

Bellara’s quiet for a moment. Minala’s sure that she’s wishing she had the notebook she brings around with her sometimes, scripting out what she wants to say before she says it. That’s one of the many things she finds endearing about Bellara— a feeling she can relate to as well as find sweet. Now, though, she has to map out what she says in her head, taking the time to find the right words to say. But Minala’s sure that no matter what she says, she and Emmrich will be happy to hear it. 

“Mala lath athim, mir uthenera,” Bellara eventually says, stretching across Minala to take both of her partners hands. The elven words roll smoothly off her tongue, like poetry or words to a long lost song, but there’s a shyness to her tone. 

“That’s elven, isn’t it? What does it mean?” Emmrich inquires.

“Your love humbles me, my eternal waking dream,” she translates slowly, carefully. She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes as if to steady herself, before she speaks again. “I love you both. More than I knew I could. No matter what happens next, I need you to know that.”

Minala smiles, shifting closer to Bellara to press a kiss to her cheek. “I love you too, baby.”

“And we’ll make sure that what happens next will be a happy ending for us,” Emmrich says as he takes Bellara’s hand, lifting it up to his lips to kiss her knuckles.

Minala hopes that he’s right. That after everything that happens today, there’ll be a happy ending waiting for the three of them. It’s an idea she’ll carry with her into the fight ahead, a reminder for her of what awaits if they win the day. 

Her partners deserve a happy ending. And Minala hopes that by the end of the day, they’ll have it. 

[sieglinde-freud]

oh im obsessed with this actually… who ever wrote this one i am kissing u on the forehead and hugging you real tight… inigo is such a loverboy im kkkhhhhhhijnsdnfng