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on-wine-dark-seas · 16 days ago

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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: 1050 AD, 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 🔞 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 ⛩️

🍯 VI. 動きと感覚 Movement & Sensation

"Learn to caress. Learn the oceans and stars, honey and agony. Learn your body: learn to squeeze it, embroider it, water it, and kiss it. Learn to hug it. Learn to moan, cry, laugh." —Margarita Karapanou, tr. by N. C. Germanakos, from “ Kassandra and the Wolf"

“No fighting today?” Šetû asks as Sukuna leads her to a secluded part of the shrine. She notes the pond, the soribashi, the moon gate: a garden. In the cold winter, the garden itself is asleep for the season, but a single plum blossom tree grows in the center, its barren branches dripping with snow melt and icicles. Around the tree’s base are several stone benches, carved into the shape of lotuses. Šetû briefly wonders if the former clergy of this shrine used this as a meditation space. She can see no other possibility.

“Sit,” Sukuna says, arraying himself like a king on one of the benches. Šetû folds herself into a comfortable seated position, her expression wary but curious.

“You’re going to learn how to breathe today,” Sukuna growls. Šetû’s brows go up, then she frowns.

“I see,” she says uneasily. “Wasn’t aware my breathing was a problem since I’ve been doing it all my life.”

Sukuna stares at her, unamused. “It is when you waste your energy unnecessarily. You are like an errant child, spilling your cup all over the place while walking at the same time.” He waves one hand in irritation, as if she is an errant child.

Šetû wrinkles her nose. “I suppose that’s fair. This is a matter of balance, is it not?”

Sukuna huffs but does not answer. To him, it is as simple as that. Šetû rolls her eyes and sits up straight, her hands forming a mudra as Uraume taught her. She begins to breathe intentionally. Sukuna continues to watch her, unblinking. Šetû shuts her eyes, begins to find a rhythm in her breathing.

“Stop using your chest and start using your stomach,” Sukuna chides, and she opens one eye to glare at him. He is impassive in the face of her irritation. She sucks her teeth and begins again.

Over and over, he makes her restart, until her breath changes, until she feels as if he wants to reach into her soul and remold it himself. She breathes until she’s sick of breathing, and then she breathes some more. Sukuna watches intently, and she begins to ignore him, focusing instead on her breath. The earth beneath her, the roots, the mycelium, the trunk of the great plum blossom tree, reaching toward the heavens.

The sky.

Without thinking, her head tips back, eyes opening. The sky yawns endlessly, wide and blue, wispy clouds streaked across like powder. Sukuna is still watching her, but he looks…anticipatory. His eyes narrow at her next inhale, and then he has his answer.

“Good,” he says and Šetû returns to herself, blinking as if she’s just returned from a nap. She feels like she’s been asleep for a thousand years. Sukuna makes a sound that she’s come to learn is his approval, and she smiles at him.

“Next,” Sukuna says. “You’ll do that while we spar.”

Šetû is about to respond with several questions on the tip of her tongue but a shrill laugh from the courtyard tears apart the algid serenity of the sleeping garden. She is suddenly aware of her very cold rear, the prickling of the stone through the thin hakama she wears. She shivers.

And then suddenly: warmth.

It’s overwhelming, it seeps into her, and her shivering eases as she breathes deeply.

She is summarily assaulted by the scent of sandalwood, cedar, and something else, something from deeper within the earth. Her eyelids flutter and she realizes she’s been draped in a black haori. Sukuna’s black haori, which nearly swallows her. Before she can ask any questions, Sukuna is already heading toward the courtyard. Her eyes linger on the muscles of his bared torso, the thick bands of ink around his wrists and biceps, the thorny lines along his neck and between his shoulders. She bites her lip and swallows hard as he stretches, all four arms outstretched.

“There’s a hole in the seam of the left sleeve,” Sukuna says curtly. “Cycle through those breathing techniques for another hour, then take it to Oboro or Okoi. They will know how to repair it.”

He doesn’t linger to hear Šetû’s confused line of questioning, already striding off to meet his unexpected guests in the courtyard.

For a while, Šetû sits alone, draped in Sukuna’s haori, the cold seeping from her as his lingering warmth spread all over her skin and her senses are soaked in his scent. Hidden in the sleeping garden, she lets herself indulge in a smile, and then a sound shivers out of her: a giggle. Her fingers curl into the dense fabric and pull it closer around her. She imagines four arms, solid and strong curling around her. Solid weight behind her as her eyes shut and she cycles through her breathing.

She’s not sure how long she’s there, seated on the lotus bench, breathing in time with the earth and sky, basking in the fleeing warmth of Sukuna’s haori, and his scent which is muted in the sharp cold air through her nose.

“I had no idea Sukuna had an affinity for bards,” a voice muses, dripping with saccharine maliciousness. Šetû startles and then gets to her feet, turning to face the speaker. Her brow furrows in confusion at the statuesque woman before her. She takes her in: her milky white skin, her wide set dark eyes, her bone-straight black hair, her mouth the color of crushed cherries. A quintessential beauty of this country, by all accounts.

And she’s stark naked beneath her haori.

The woman crosses her arm beneath her breasts, tilting her head in an avian-like gesture as she sizes Šetû up with a critical squint of one of her eyes.

“Hm,” the woman says. “I can see why he likes you. Your cursed energy runs deep. I suppose it’ll make killing you all the sweeter when he finally tires of you.”

“Do I know you?” Šetû asks. The woman moves and it takes everything in her not to flinch. She’s fast, but moreover, she doesn’t move as any human woman should. There’s something mechanical about her movements, like a marionette or an…an insect. A dangerous stinging insect from the withering look in her eyes.

“I’m Yorozu,” the woman says by way of introduction. No surname and no bow. Both signs of disrespect, memory serve. “And I am to be Sukuna’s wife.”

Šetû tries to ignore how her heart drops into the acid pit of her stomach. She imagines, for the briefest instant, the world crumbling around her. Inwardly, she can hear her own voice screaming in her head.

Of course he’s betrothed. Of course he is promised to someone else. She’s just his charge until she finishes her task. She’s just the bard he hired to sing and dance and entertain his curiosity.

This woman, with her shrewd eyes and cruel smile seems exactly like the kind of woman Sukuna would marry. A sorcerer from the looks of it, and licentious if her severe lack of clothing is anything to go by.

Suddenly the haori feels itchy and uncomfortable. She lets out a sharp exhale through her nose.

“He made no mention of you,” she says and takes undue pleasure in the blood draining from the woman’s face momentarily. There’s a certain shame she feels in this petty little contest of wills with a woman she barely knows. Then, she feels the crackle of cursed energy.

Oh.

“Yorozu, are you playing nice with Lord Sukuna’s guest?” Another voice, a cheerful male one, interrupts as Yorozu lowers her hand, the fingers flexed hard enough for Šetû to see the pronounced veins in them. For a moment—a brief heartbeat—Yorozu’s face is warped, her features stretched too thinly over her skull, giving her a gaunt and grotesque appearance. Almost like a wasp wearing a human woman’s face.

When she turns to face the man speaking, however, her face seems normal, the veins in her hands faded to smooth, milky skin.

“Of course, Kenjaku,” she says sweetly. “I’d never think of bringing harm to one of Sukuna’s pets. Though I can’t imagine what need he has for broken things.”

It is those words that find their mark. Šetû wills herself to calm, but the words stick in her skin like hooked barbs, and Yorozu is not some empty-headed piece of fluff from the Heian-kyō court: she is a sorcerer, and as such, she is more part of Sukuna’s world than Šetû could ever dare hope to be. Her brutality is swift. Yorozu pulls those proverbial barbs back, attempting to lift skin from bone, seeking the other woman’s pain, no matter how petty.

“Perhaps she is no guest, Kenjaku, but a mere appetizer!” Yorozu’s shrill, manic laughter is loud in the garden of stone and hard-packed earth. Šetû feels like a fool, standing there in Sukuna’s haori, feeling awkward in her own skin.

Kenjaku, a tall, willowy man with black hair pulled into a top knot, steps into the moon gate. He’s clad in a simple black kimono and a pair of zori. But it is not his clothing that shocks Šetû, but the scar around his forehead, like old stitches. She wonders what sort of injury could create such a scar, then averts her eyes to look at her feet, chiding herself for gawking. She does not gawk at Sukuna for his abnormal appearance, she’ll not do it to his guests.

Even Yorozu.

“My oh my, what an interesting guest,” Kenjaku breathes, looking her over appraisingly. “A foreign sorcerer! I’ve never heard of such a thing in all my days. I suppose times really are changing, hm?”

Šetû says nothing. The man’s cheery smile and amicable demeanor is disarming, she’ll admit, but she knows a serpent in the grass when she sees one. She gives a polite bow, ignoring Yorozu’s smug smirk as Kenjaku returns the bow in kind.

“Forgive my companion,” he says, ever the paragon of decorum. “She has such little contact with foreigners and does not know the protocol for interacting with guests.”

Šetû straightens up, this time bolstered by a connection made as a memory bubbles to the surface.

And if that’s his wife…how immodest!

Her eyes narrow, recognition surfacing. The nude woman who had been next to Sukuna, the one her brothers had teased her about who had been shooting her poisonous looks all evening.

“Well,” she says, and feels the headiness of a victory oncoming. The racing pulse of knowing one has cornered their opponent on the board. “I suppose it is forgivable. I cannot fault her for being so limited in her own world experiences and travels. Lord Kenjaku, was it? I am Asiri Šetû, daughter of Rahanatu and Ahmad, and professional marokiya here to serve at Lord Sukuna’s pleasure. I am new to this jujutsu your people have told me about, and so he has endeavored to teach me.”

Kenjaku’s smile is frozen on his face as Yorozu processes the stinging blade of her words. As subtle as a throat cut in the deepened shadows of the night. Her mouth opens and then closes.

“I see,” there’s a pleased note in Kenjaku’s voice, as if he has just discovered something new and fascinating to turn over in his hands like a precious, unrefined gem. He eyes her again, this time with a grin of satisfaction and approval.

“It is so unlike Sukuna to take on a pupil,” Kenjaku remarks. “You must be truly special indeed to have caught his attention.”

Yorozu’s face crumples and Šetû feels the tension ease in her favor, exhaling with relief as the other woman spins on her bare feet to storm off. Šetû watches her go before turning her attention to Kenjaku who looks like a cat licking cream.

“It was nice meeting you, Kenjaku,” she says, bowing again before taking her leave. She can feel his gaze at her back, wondering. Calculating. She does not like it.

When Šetû returns to her room, still wearing Sukuna’s haori, she lets out a long sigh. The day is half over and she still has to prepare a performance worthy of the King of Curses this evening. With no musicians, and precious little remaining to her save for the things in her trunk, she racks the archives of her memory. He wants her to dance, she needs some sort of music.

A scratching at her door.

“Come in, Oboro-san,” she says absently as she lifts the top of the trunk, marveling at how its insides remained untouched by the flames that swallowed up her old life.

Her old life. A lump forms in her throat. She can’t do this. She can’t do this without her brothers. Without her cousins. It’s not the same. It will never be the same.

But Sukuna has made it clear it is not his concern whether anyone else shares her stage, so long as she’s on it.

It is a vote of confidence as much as any other, and she must trust in her own skills to see this through. She would hate to disappoint him after he’s gone through so much trouble to keep her alive. She listens to the hiss of the sliding door, the whisper of silk as Oboro shuffles into the room, Okoi is right behind her, quiet as always. Šetû can tell them apart, now. Their hair, likely once jet black and bone straight, is iron gray. Okoi bears a scar across her face, as if it had been ripped in half.

“Yorozu has been in a rage since she arrived, Lady Asiri,” Oboro says, and there’s an almost conspiratorial and gleeful inflection in her words. “Okoi says she saw her storm off from the old meditation garden after speaking with you and Lord Kenjaku.”

Šetû sucks her teeth in annoyance. “Very foolish woman, that one,” she says disdainfully. “Claiming to be Sukuna’s wife and speaking to me as if I am some ignorant backwater country girl when she has not so much have set foot off this island to see the world beyond. Mscheww. Agbaya.”

Oboro puzzles out the word, but from Šetû’s tone the meaning is clear and she hides a laugh behind her hand.

“Lord Sukuna said one of you can mend his haori,” Šetû says finally shrugging out of it, reluctant to relinquish it. Oboro takes it, checking the seams. Sure enough there is a hole in the armpit of the left sleeve. She wiggles her finger through it, clucking her tongue in disappointment before speaking in quiet tone to Okoi.

“He’s had this thing for so long it’s a wonder how it isn’t threadbare by now,” Oboro says. “And he told you to give it to us rather than fetch us himself, hm?”

Šetû frowns. “Why that tone, Oboro-san?”

“Oh, no reason,” Oboro says absently. “Just strange that he wasn’t out here bellowing for one of us to come mend his clothing. It’s so hard to get clothing to fit his stature and physique, you see. Most tailors won’t dare come within leagues of the shrine if they can avoid it.”

Šetû sighs. Of course. Everyone in Hida fears him. She is beginning to realize that the harvest festival wasn’t meant to honor him, but appease him in hopes to be spared whatever atrocities he’d wreak. She has seen travelers, sparse and few in the winter, braving the trek to his shrine, disappearing into his throne room. Some never make it out, and others leave as fast as their feet can carry them, bitter winter be damned. Sukuna is the not the first tyrant she has served, but he is the first she has served that has treated her with more kindness than the folk who fear him.

It was not Sukuna who violated that night and slit her throat. It was not Sukuna who killed her family and burned up everything in her life.

It was Sukuna who pulled her from the brink of death and carried her back to his shrine and saw her nursed back to health. Whether his motivations are altruistic or otherwise, that is the truth Šetû must contend with: the God of Hida is a monster to these people, but for one moonlit night, he was her savior.

How does one reconcile such a dichotomy? She does not know. She only knows that he demands her skills to entertain him, and that whatever she does will decide how she’s treated afterward.

“What do you mean to do for Lord Sukuna tonight?” Oboro asks quietly, sensing her mood, the pensive way she looks at the contents of her trunk. Outside, a sharp wind picks up, sending snow flurries spinning across the lattice window of her room. The brazier’s ever-burning heat beats back the chill.

“I…” Šetû shuts her eyes briefly. It’s obvious to her now what she must do tonight. It is a perfect gift fit for a king, and one worthy of praise. She kneels in front of her trunk, rummaging until she withdraws a latched lacquered box. She brushes her fingers over the gilt phoenix taking flight across its glossy surface. A gift from a Chinese noblewoman she’d entertained two years prior. Within, the tools she needs to give Sukuna what he seeks.

“I have an idea, Oboro-san,” she says at last. “You and your sister are trained in music and dance, yes?”

Okoi stirs at that, sewing Sukuna’s haori with a deft hand. Oboro nods.

“Yes, but it’s been some time since we were called to entertain or engage in rituals,” she says. “Even so, I doubt we have anything that could match your own talents…or translate to what you plan to do.”

Šetû shakes her head. “No, we will need to create something new between us, Oboro. Fetch your instruments, I think I know what will honor Lord Sukuna this night.”

Oboro and Okoi share a look, and Okoi’s lips pull into a soft and approving smile.

“Whatever you require of us, Lady Asiri,” Oboro says with a bow. “Tell us what you need.”

Sukuna has never been more bored; or at least, he cannot recall the last time he was this bored.

He hadn’t expected this visit from Kenjaku, nor had he expected Yorozu to accompany him, but he supposes given the former’s scheming, it was inevitable that the sorcerer would show up at his doorstep. Sukuna tolerates Kenjaku because of his knowledge and power, but Yorozu is a thorn in his side.

He’s sure if he fucks her at least once it will make whatever delusions she has about him even worse, not better. Still, he wonders if it will make her quieter. He also considers eating her. Gods above she’ll probably love that too. Pleasing her is not his aim, and he waves her off as she stands near him, attempting to touch him even as he listens to Kenjaku’s update on this massive undertaking he’s been planning.

He hasn’t seen Šetû since he left her in the garden this morning. Nor Oboro and Okoi. He growls in agitation before he even realizes it.

“Something the matter, Lord Sukuna?” Kenjaku asks lightly, the closest he’ll dare to showing displeasure with Sukuna at having his speech interrupted. Sukuna waves his hand dismissively.

“Any idea when you’re going to be getting to the point as to why you’ve deigned to turn up on my doorstep with this one in tow? Could it not have waited until spring?”

Kenjaku grins. “Oh, but my lord I thought you’d want to know that Sugawara has been making plans to finally come for your head!”

That get Sukuna’s attention.

“Is that so?” He asks. “Huh. Why now? I’ve decimated every force he and the Fujiwara have sent to kill me. Surely he knows when he is beaten and to be thankful he gets to live, yes?”

It is a warning. Kenjaku rests his chin on his hands, making a thoughtful humming sound.

“I suppose he doesn’t consider it a permanent defeat. It is my understanding that he will consider you to be his greatest victory.”

“Nonsense,” Yorozu scoffs. “He thinks because he possesses the Six Eyes that somehow—”

“Enough.” Sukuna says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Has Sugawara made a formal announcement or is this more of your court whispering seeking to stir up trouble for me in the south?”

Kenjaku shrugs and turns out his hands.

“I cannot be certain if he means to make a move so soon, but I do know he plans on coming to Hida for the spring festival. He does so love to witness the first cherry blossom blooms in the hills. Frankly I find it more charming out here than in the capital so I can’t blame him.”

Sukuna doesn’t care. Spring festival? That’s an entire month or two away depending on the divinations of the priests for an auspicious date to set. Sukuna doesn’t care about that either. He can stamp out this worthless sorcerer and be done with it.

Where the fuck is Asiri?

His agitation mounts, sending ripples through the sea of his cursed energy that flows through seemingly every crack and splinter of the entire shrine. Yorozu shivers and bites her lip with scarce-concealed delight. To her, Sukuna is no omen but divine portent of the change to come. She stands by his side, always ready to remind him that he need not stand alone in his strength.

And yet he has not so much as looked at her, all four of his eyes distracted and irritated, as if he is looking for something else.

Someone else.

Yorozu simmers in her jealousy, reminding herself that the girl is, by her own admission, simply here for Lord Sukuna’s pleasure as an entertainer. Winter is a boring season, and she cannot fault Sukuna for seeking entertainment for the long, bitter season. Come spring’s thaw, Yorozu expects the girl to be served on a plate for Sukuna to devour.

She’ll want to be here for that.

The meeting continues until the sunset begins to send shafts of cold, golden light into various parts of the shrine. Kenjaku and Sukuna walk side by side through the stone halls.

“So,” he says. “The girl.”

“What girl?” Sukuna grouses. Kenjaku chuckles.

“She’s a sorcerer, then?” Kenjaku asks in a light tone. “She mentioned you’ve taken her on as a pupil. Or…do your interests lie elsewhere? Is she your pet, perhaps?”

Sukuna’s eyes flare. “If you value your head—which I know is the only thing you value, Kenjaku—you’ll cease your prodding. The girl was hired to entertain, and that is what she does. That she is a sorcerer is of no concern to me.”

Kenjaku is quiet as he meets Sukuna’s gaze, his expression unreadable.

“I see,” he says at last, and that bright and saccharine smile and tone return in an instant. Gods Sukuna does not trust this man without a binding vow between them. They arrive at the front steps of the shrine, leading out into the courtyard. Kenjaku bows.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” he says. “Might Yorozu and I take the guest quarters for the night? We’ll be gone by dawn, not to worry.”

Kenjaku smirks, a fox with prey between its teeth.

“I’ll be sure that your evening activities aren’t disturbed.”

Sukuna says nothing, but a growl stirs in his chest before he waves his hand dismissively. Kenjaku bows again.

“You are most generous,” he says, and leaves to a smaller outbuilding containing quarters for guests. It’s humble, given that the King of Curses is not known to entertain, but it is enough.

Sukuna watches the sun sink below the trees, feels the bite of the evening air on his skin. He remembers Asiri and her promise to dance for him tonight, and for the first time all day, he smiles.

Šetû remembers the first time she began training as a marokiya with her mother. She had been no higher than her father’s knee when she first danced and sang, demonstrating her natural abilities for music. The music had enchanted her from the first tap of the djembe and tama, to the melodic tinkling of bells hanging from her mother’s belts and anklets. Šetû had taken to the bardic life without fear or embarrassment. On the stage, she was as untouchable and unassailable as a goddess. Her feet danced over all manner of ground, sacred and profane, and her body wove through ancient rhythms as surely as a river cuts through a valley. Never had she known squeamish nervousness before a performance.

Until tonight.

When Sukuna demanded she do as he originally hired her to do, she thought perhaps he meant to kill her after all. Her fear, since arriving at the shrine, had been rooted in the fact that she was as useful to him on his dinner table as she was as a potential pupil in jujutsu. The fear was as ubiquitous as any other emotion. Now, however, thinking about how he draped his haori over her shoulders, and Oboro and Okoi sharing looks between them and noting his behavior as odd.

Her fear is rooted in something else.

Oboro and Okoi are the lifeblood of this shrine, she’s convinced, for without their aid, she isn’t sure she could have pulled off her idea nearly half so well. She stands in front of her mirror, observing her reflection. A captive dream spirit stares back at her.

Oboro gasps softly as she observes from behind. Even Okoi looks stunned.

Šetû turns to face them, her cowrie shell crown swaying.

“Well?” She offers to their stunned but proud faces. “Will I serve?”

Oboro’s mouth opens and then closes.

“Yes,” she says, her voice a tremulous whisper. “Lady Asiri, you look like a wild dream spirit. Lord Sukuna will find no other like you in this world, I think. He will be more than pleased.”

The two older women bow deeply to her, and Šetû blinks rapidly to keep the prick of tears at bay. She bows back, the sound of her dance belt jingling with silver coins and bells. As she gathers her courage, she heads to the door before Oboro stops her.

“My lady,” she says and bows, presented a folded black bundle. Šetû’s eyes go wide.

Sukuna’s haori.

“Okoi’s hand is steadier with a needle than my own,” Oboro says and if Šetû isn’t mistaken there’s a sly note in the woman’s tone. “But we believe you can return it to Lord Sukuna on our behalf, of course.”

“Of course,” Šetû murmurs as she shrugs into the massive haori as she heads down the hall. She passes Sukuna’s bedchamber on the way to the throne room. It occurs to her she’s never actually been inside of it. The doors are always adamantly shut.

Likely so I don’t see the atrocities he commits there. She thinks, then chides herself. What a terribly uncharitable thought. Sukuna has been kind to her, in his way. What he does to others should not concern her as much as it does. Yet, what can her lone voice do?

She enters the throne room with a deep, soothing inhale.

Sukuna finishes the remains of his dinner, complimenting Uraume as he always does on such a fine preparation. Since bringing Uraume into his sphere, he has eaten well—better than he ever has in life. He wonders if adding Šetû to his sphere will bolster or hinder him. It is as he told her: she is useful to him as a sorcerer and barring that, for her meat. He half-expected her to balk and flee as so many others have done at the mere mention of his dietary habits, but instead she continued to train with him.

She even rolled her eyes at him. He can see bits of the woman who captivated him in the shattered parts of herself. The connective tissue of the creature that danced in the autumn dust is still there. Wounded, but there.

The throne room door opens, the sparse braziers providing shifting shadow and flame as a source of light. His eyes narrow when he spots the shine of white cowrie shells, hears the jingle of bell and coin, and knows his lost little flower is home at last.

Wait. What?

Sukuna shakes his head, then frowns when he sees her whispering to Oboro and Okoi who are setting up to play. A shamisen and a small hand drum. Sukuna smirks. So that’s what they’ve been up to all day, hm? She’s recruited his servants into her little display, then.

Sukuna opens his mouth to speak.

“Get on with it, little flower. I grow bored and hungry yet again.”

Šetû’s shoulders stiffen at the intrusion of his mocking voice, but then he sees her exhale. With an elegant roll of her shoulders, she shrugs out of the black haori he only now recognizes as his. He doesn’t have time to process all of that before his eyes snag on the shock of white that greets him. It takes him a moment, but his eyes rove over her body, his lower hands gripping the armrests of his throne as he leans forward a little more.

This is no woman, he thinks, but some sort of dream spirit sent in her place.

Her skin, which he likens to fresh-turned earth in deep autumn, is painted stark white. Some sort of body paint that covers every curve, fold, and slalom of her form from head to toe. But as he stares, he notes the patterns drawn into the white paint with a steady hand. Shapes, lines, and even…faces. All over her body is the elegant art of someone who had taken their time to touch her. Sukuna’s brow furrows, the bridge of his nose wrinkles as his gaze roves up and down her body.

She turns her back to him and he realizes she’s naked.

“Fuck,” he breathes quietly, his voice hoarse.

A whispering drum beat spurs Šetû into action. The shamisen is plucked by deft hands as she begins to sing, her voice as clear and bright as a winter morning. No Song of Exile this time, Sukuna notes. No, whatever she’s singing has defiance in its inflection, has a bite to it that makes him lick his lips, and he grins with surprise and delight when her palms suddenly ignite. He hadn’t noticed the palm torches in her hands, how clever.

Her song and the shamisen weave as she begins to move. Sukuna watches her, lower eyes following her bare feet as she seems to glide across the floor. He notes her breath too, deeper and more efficient than he’s ever seen it. Her voice is strong even through dancing. The flames in her palms weave patterns in the air around her, illuminating the canvas of her painted skin, revealing to him the story for what it is.

This then is the art of a marokiya—an African bard of renown. What she had done at the harvest festival had been but mere playacting compared to the performance she gives him now. The reverence she showed him that night is nothing to the reverence she pays him, now.

She dances close, hips moving in a rapid serpentine motion, setting the bells and coins to jingling in a rhythm Sukuna recognizes as slotting in with the music. Every part of her body is both instrument and conduit, and Sukuna realizes he is breathing with her again. His lungs are starved for her, and he almost reaches for her before she dances just shy of his fingertips, shooting him a look over her shoulder. The flames are reflected as flickering pinpricks of light in her dark, shimmering eyes.

Like forest pools in the dark. Sukuna thinks with a softer smile, then chides himself.

Šetû’s song fades, leaving her to dance freely. Sukuna doesn’t think her feet ever really touch the floor. She’d fly if she could, he knows it. He watches as she turns her back to him, arms spread. His gaze follows the smooth undulations of her shoulders and back and then he spots the symbol painted between her shoulder blades.

It’s his symbol. The trishula mark on his tongue stares at him on the curves of this beautiful, wild creature dancing in his shrine.

Sukuna thinks he’s never been this painfully hard for anyone in his life, which isn’t saying much. There’s so few that have moved him like this. Šetû has managed to do this several times.

She turns on the balls of her feet, a rapid series of rotations that makes the fire in her palms dance around her. Oboro and Okoi even seem lost in the spell her dancing weaves and Sukuna can’t remember the last time he’s ever heard either of them so much as hum a tune. He forgets they are trained priestesses and not just servants too old to turn out and too old to enjoy eating.

Well, it’s a good thing he didn’t kill them, after all.

She dances close again, and he reaches for her without thinking as she slips beneath his grasp, into an obeisant kneel, the flames in her palms extinguished. Sukuna sits; his hand still outstretched. The music fades, but the weight of whatever spell she’s woven in this place holds like a sustained note. He stares down at her, eyeing the trishula painted onto her back.

“Look at me,” he says. His eyes flare once and Oboro and Okoi know that they’ve overstayed their welcome. Quietly, they gather their instruments and withdraw from the throne room. The heavy door shuts behind them.

Sukuna and his lost flower are alone.

Šetû slowly breathes in and then lifts her face to him. He studies her behind the white painted mask, sees something there that wasn’t there previously. He beckons her to stand, and she rises with lissome grace, lips parting in a soft gasp when she realizes how close they are: him seated on his throne, and she practically standing between his spread legs.

“Did my performance please you, Lord Sukuna?” She asks.

The throne room’s quiet feels oppressive as Sukuna looks her over with his lower eyes, his main eyes on hers. Šetû shifts on her feet, mild discomfort, but he sees something in her, now. Fear. It’s wrapped up in her soul like an old tree’s knotted roots.

“Are you afraid of me, Asiri?” He asks her. Her eyes go wide.

“What? No—I mean, I fear you as anyone else might, but…no.” She finishes quietly. Sukuna leans forward, takes a small amount of pleasure when he hears her sharp intake of breath.

“You should be afraid, Asiri,” he tells her. “I’m a monster.”

Šetû lets out a breathless laugh.

“I’ve met monsters, my lord,” she says. “You are not one of them.”

Sukuna blinks, visibly surprised. Šetû turns out her hands, shaking her head, her crown’s shells clicking prettily around her braids.

“Lord Sukuna, you took me in after a real monster did something so unspeakable to me, I have seen nothing but his face in my nightmares since coming back to life months ago. Do I find your predilection for human meat to be abhorrent? Of course, but you are not the first man I’ve met who enjoys the taste of human flesh. But since I have been under your roof you have not once done anything to me that would cause me to truly see you as a monster.”

Sukuna stares at her, momentarily robbed of his ability to reply. No one has ever denied he’s a monster before. Even his so-called allies see him thusly.

“I could kill you right here, Asiri,” he says. “And have you for breakfast by morning.”

“Then do so, if that is your wish, my lord,” she replies in a tired voice. “But I think if that was truly your intent you would not have given me into the care of your servants, nor would you have sat by my bedside while I recovered. You wouldn’t be teaching me how to breathe.”

The way she says the word, something catches in her throat, and she looks away from him. Beneath the white painted mask, he sees her: the remnant. The glittering bits that remain.

“I do not understand you,” he says at last. “When you dance…” he waves his hand. “You dance as if the world is dust beneath your feet, naught else. Now you look to be on the verge of tears. Is it fear? What is this?”

“Yes!” She snaps at him. “I’m afraid,” she whispers. “But not of you. Not even of the very real threat you pose to my life. If you killed me right now, I probably wouldn’t care. But…I have my mission to think of, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kill me before I got a chance to accomplish it.”

Sukuna stares at her and then he laughs. She winces from how loud he is.

“Gods, you’re something, Asiri,” he says, his voice surprisingly warm with mirth. Šetû has no idea why he thinks this is funny and she frowns. He holds out his hands.

“I want to touch you,” he says, and his voice feels like warm water spilling over her senses. She shivers, swallows hard.

“Is this acceptable?” He asks. For a moment, she considers denying him, then remembers the warmth of his haori engulfing her, redolent with the scent of sandalwood and his natural musk.

“Yes,” she whispers, stepping closer. She tenses briefly when she feels the warmth of his large hands on her hips, and her knees nearly turn to water at how well she fits into his hold. He pulls her closer until she adjusts to straddle one of his thighs for support. With gentle insistence, he gets her to sit.

For a moment she sits there, held in place, breathing deeply.

“When you dance…” Sukuna’s voice sounds rougher than usual, thick with a hunger that has little to do with meat and everything to do with the dream spirit in his hold. “How do you see yourself?”

Šetû stirs, tries not to focus on the pressure of that iron-hewn thigh pressed against the most intimate juncture of her body. The pressure is frightening and her body’s responding against her will, she thinks. Want makes her words thick; desire cloys her senses.

“I’ve never really thought about it, I suppose,” she says, trying to keep herself still even though all she wants is to test this pressure between her thighs, rock her hips forward just enough…

“When I dance,” she breathes. “And I hear the music…I am no longer myself. It’s almost as if I become movement. There is only motion. No thoughts in my mind but the unfettered joy of movement.”

“Movement and sensation,” Sukuna’s voice is a rough purr—when had his face gotten so close to her skin? She shivers, and the bells and coins give her away. Sukuna does not seem bothered by her partial nudity despite her being painfully aware of it suddenly. She’s clad in nothing but her jewelry, a fundoshi, and the paint on her skin. He marvels at how it doesn’t come off under his fingers.

“When you fight,” Šetû says, a soft smile curving her generous lips. “How do you see yourself?”

It is Sukuna’s turn to smile, and his eyes glow like coals in the shadows thickening around his throne—around both of them. He feels her shift in his hold, hips rocking forward only slightly, hears her swallow a tiny, strangled sound as her fear reins her backward. He holds her firmly, grounding her.

“I don’t,” he replies softly, his thumbs rubbing slow circles into the sensitive juncture between her hips and thighs. Šetû shivers again. Their heads are closer, and she studies the bone-like plate on his face, its contours like the rough crests and peaks of a mountain range. Two eyes set within them like rubies. She reaches up, hesitant, her gaze questioning. Sukuna continues to smirk at her, waiting like some sort of tiger poised to strike as soon as his prey is within reach. Can she touch him too? Or will that provoke the violence she has come to know he is infamous for? In the end, she lowers her hand into her lap.

“Movement and sensation,” she breathes, repeating his words back to him. Sukuna’s hands on her hips pull her closer, and the friction makes her squeak.

“That’s right,” Sukuna says, squeezing her hips. “Your dancing and singing were superb as I knew they would be. Would that your sorcery was as powerful, hm?”

Šetû huffs out a quiet but indignant breath.

“I didn’t even know what jujutsu was until you told me, my lord,” she chides, annoyed with his self-satisfied smirk. “Credit me with a modicum of competence, at least.” She hugs her arms around herself and Sukuna frowns.

“Why hide from me, now?” He asks. “You look like a spirit, as if the wind and storm have taken shape in you.”

“Your wife says you have no need for broken things, my lord,” Šetû says sourly. “And I’ll not be a pawn in whatever game the two of you seek to play.”

Sukuna blinks at her and for a moment he is genuinely confused. Wife? He thinks and then remembers. Ah, fuck.

“She is not my wife,” Sukuna growls. “Despite her best efforts.”

Šetû stares at him, a brow raised in obvious incredulity. Sukuna snorts.

“Are you a broken thing?” He asks. “Do you think you are a broken thing?”

She’s taken aback by his question, and she shifts her hips again. Sukuna can feel the heat of the juncture pressed against his thigh and it’s driving to madness. In a moment, he’s not sure if he wants to lunge and bite her throat, or suck the succulent, dark flesh until it bruises under his lips.

“Some days I think I am,” she says quietly, heedless of the torment he’s battling to pained gridlock just under his skin. “What does it mean when you cannot bear the sight of yourself?”

Sukuna hates that he understands what she means.

“You’re carrying something that was never yours to carry,” he replies evenly. “But that doesn’t answer my question, lost little flower: are you a broken thing?”

Šetû lets the silence yawn between them for a long stretch of heartbeats.

“I don’t know, my lord,” she says. “There are days I feel like myself, and there are days I feel like shattered glass, sifting through the shards trying to find something worth salvaging. Those days are harder.”

He knows. He knows because he’s heard her whimper and weep in her sleep and has seen the deadened look in her eyes on the days where she is drained of all light within her, moving like a dazed dreamer through a world she no longer cares to inhabit. He doesn’t tell her about how he waits with a knot in his stomach for news from Uraume or Oboro that she has finally given up and slipped from this life for good. He knows she won’t do it, but he is relieved to see her when she moves through the shrine the next morning. Even if it’s with that deadened look in her eyes, at least her heart still beats, and she still breathes. He does not need to tell her the answer to his question; she’s in the process of discovering it for herself.

“Do you have hard days?” She asks him. “Where you can’t look at yourself or you’ll be sick?”

Sukuna blinks. It’s a bold question, and a vulnerable one.

“If I tell you no, would you believe me?” He asks with a grin. Šetû snorts.

“You are the God of Hida. I imagine deities don’t have days where they hate themselves.” She reaches up, pressing her hand to her sternum. Sukuna wants to lean in, press his lips there, feel her heart thumping under his mouth. He is torn between wanting to sink his teeth into her and wanting to simply sink into her.

“Do you want to know how I see you, Asiri?” He asks her instead. Šetû is taken aback momentarily but then she nods, her expression wary. He pushes her gently and she stands, secretly relieved that she’s no longer sitting in his lap, and also forlorn at the loss of that secretly delicious pressure between her thighs. Shame sets her face ablaze, makes her stomach do flips. She shouldn’t want this. She shouldn’t want anything.

“Come,” he says, and he begins to stride off toward the doors. Šetû hurries after him, bells and coins tinkling prettily. She snatches up his discarded haori along the way, throwing it over herself as they leave the throne room and step out into the colder hallway. She follows him until they arrive at the door to his bedchamber.

She freezes.

“Don’t worry,” Sukuna says, only slightly amused. “Nothing will happen to you in here that you do not approve of, you’ve my word. In order for me to show you how I see you, however, I need you to trust me. Do you trust me, little flower?”

Šetû stares at the bedroom door, still shut. Then slowly, she turns her gaze up to him. She studies his face, the strong jawline, the stark black tattoos, the eerie bone-plate on his face. He is grotesque and beautiful all at once. She smiles at him, tender and wry.

“With my life? No. With whatever you seek to show me? Yes.”

Sukuna chuckles and opens the door.

“Good girl,” he says and Šetû feels something shiver directly down her spine. “Never trust me with your life, otherwise I am liable to take it for myself. And your life is so very valuable, little flower.”

Every word is poisoned honey, and she wants to drink down every last drop. Turning away from him, she crosses the threshold of his bedchamber and is plunged into the velvety darkness of the space. Sukuna tends to the brazier that keeps the room warm, but other than that there is no other light source in the room, which is shrouded largely in shadows. She walks toward the desk, picking a careful path. She steals a glance over her shoulder, sees Sukuna’s eyes glowing in the shadows, his large frame silhouetted as a deeper shadow against the faint bits of starlight that peers through his bedroom.

“Go to the mirror,” he tells her. Šetû nods. In one corner of the room is a large, full-length mirror. Its frame is copper, weathered and beaten, the pane of it shines in the sparse light from the brazier across the room. She can make out her silhouette, still clad in the haori. She shrugs out of it and folds it to set aside. She can see her shape, the soft dips and curves of her, the stark white paint telling her story against her skin.

Sukuna comes up behind her and she sucks in a breath seeing him in the reflection. He towers over her, and she can only make out the glow of his eyes.

“Are you ready?” His voice spills over her again, the heat from his body just behind her seeping into her, warming her to the marrow, making her fundoshi and cowrie shell brasier feel too tight.

“Yes,” she whispers, willing the tremor out of her voice.

She watches in the reflection as the silhouette of Sukuna spreads his arms. For a moment, she wants to laugh because their shadowed reflections look as one.

“開.”

Šetû’s eyes widen as one of Sukuna’s hands produces a single flame. Suddenly, firelight spills over her, illuminating her body and reflection, casting her into a violent chiascuro of light and dark, juxtaposing the shock of her body paint against his frame. He moves the flame a safe distance from her, keeping her illuminated.

“Lord Sukuna…” She breathes, awe coloring her voice, fear and shame making her want to hide. Her reflection gazes at bother of them, but Sukuna does not look as if he finds her repulsive. On the contrary, his eyes are glittering with an intense focus that makes her feel more naked than she already is. She tries to steady her breathing.

“I want you to teach me your mother-tongue,” Sukuna tells her. “Start from the face, move down. Tell me what you see, what you touch, how you feel when you see and touch yourself.”

Šetû tries to keep from trembling.

“My mother-tongue?” She asks lamely. Sukuna smirks.

“Touch is the first language we all learn, little flower,” he says. “And so I want you to touch every part of yourself for me, and I will tell you exactly what I see.”

Šetû nods and stares at the captive creature in the mirror. Sukuna’s hands are still spread, a gesture of his willingness to forego touching her…for now. One flame is all she needs, and it warms her skin pleasantly.

She touches her face. Fuskar. Sukuna’s eyes track the movements of her fingertips. Her brows, her eyelids, the soft, sculpted shape of her nose, her full lips, the high cheekbones, the jawline, her ears.

And as she caresses these parts, she names them in her mother-tongue. Sukuna mouths the words, committing them to memory. He adjusts the flame, its heat and light chasing the path her hands take, the edges licking just out of reach of hurting her as if the divine flame itself seeks to worship every dip and curve of her.

Her fingertips trace her collarbone, drift down to the lush curves of her breasts. Unthinking, she unties her brazier, lets it falls to the floor. Sukuna inhales deeply, focusing on maintaining the divine flame in his hand. This feels like some sort of ritualistic and holy act, now. An exorcism of its own. The lush weight of her breasts bounce free, nipples hardening in the cool air. There’s painted designs on them too.

She hesitates, and her eyes meet his in their shared reflection.

“Do you want me to touch you, Asiri?” He asks. Her hand trembles, but then something in her hardens and she continues.

Sukuna watches her cup the heavy curve of one of her breasts, and he can see the shame in her.

“There’s no shame in desire, Asiri,” he assures her with the firm certainty of one who has broken men like the one who planted that rotted seed of shame within her. “Remember: nothing happens in here that you do not want. This is your body, and you want to know how I see you.”

Šetû swallows against a lump in her throat.

Her thumb brushes over her nipple and she bites her lip on a sound, as if she is still ashamed to let it out. Sukuna calls upon all of his discipline not to touch her, to douse the divine flame and have her right her in front of the mirror. He wants to make her watch him take her thoroughly, to imprint upon her flesh that she is not a broken thing, and that she is—

“My lord…” She whispers, her voice pleading. Sukuna meets her gaze in their reflection.

“Tell me,” he says. Šetû gulps, her throat suddenly dry.

“I need your help,” she says. “I want you to touch me.”

Sukuna smiles.

Slowly, agonizingly slow, his lower right hand joins hers, and together they cup her breast. He doesn’t feel her nipple under his palm because it’s trapped under hers, but he moves her hand in such a way that her lips part and heat flushes beneath the white whorls and patterns painted on her skin. Sukuna lets her guide their hand, over the warm, soft expanse of her belly, back up to the other breast. He catches the nipple between his two fingers, tweaking it just so.

A small cry breaks the silence and it’s all he can do not to pin her to the floor. Instead, they sink down together: him on his knees, and she seated between them. He maintains the flame which illuminates them both.

Their hands rest on her belly, fingers splayed. He strokes the tender skin idly.

“How do you feel, Asiri?” He purrs. “There is no shame in this. Guide me that you might understand how I see you.”

She does, guiding their hands past her belt. Slowly, hesitatingly slow, she spreads her legs apart, watches Sukuna’s eyes flare with interest then darken with desire. He lowers the flame, can see the pretty shine between her thighs. No shame, but gods above he can’t imagine her fear.

She’s watching him in the mirror, his lower eyes remain on that moist spot between her spread thighs, his main eyes on hers. She guides their hand lower, ghosting over the swollen and moist shape of her cunt. He feels her tremble at the slightest ghost of his touch. His cocks are hard as stone, and he wants nothing more than to plunder her until she comes apart in his arms like a destroyed work of art.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “Every part of you. I knew it from the moment I saw you dance.”

Šetû tries to turn her face away from their reflection, her face burning, but he doesn’t let her. Instead, she watches, fascinated, as he hooks a finger into her fundoshi and slides it aside, revealing her dark, glistening cunt to him. The firelight glitters in warm worship of those slick folds, already soaking. Sukuna licks his lips.

“I want to touch you here,” he tells her, tracing the very lightest shape of her swollen cunt. Šetû makes a whimpering noise, hips rocking forward to ease the tension, chasing more of his touch.

“Is this acceptable?” He asks her, sharing a grin with the darkness.

“Yes…!” She whimpers, then moans as Sukuna slides his middle finger against her slit. Up and down, against her clit. Now she’s whimpering again, hips writhing desperately. When she undulates forward, he pushes his finger inside of her.

Šetû’s voice erupts into a long, drawn-out moan that sees her reaching to rest her hands on his kneeling thighs for support. Sukuna shares a grin with the darkness and leans in.

In and out, up and down. A curl of his finger. The pressure builds. It’s so hot, the fire is too hot, and she writhes, seeking more contact, more, more, more.

“Oh…fuck…” She whines, watching their reflection as his hand pumps between her spread thighs, her hips rocking against his rhythm. “Oh…I’m…”

“Not yet, little flower,” he groans and there is a sighing sound as the maw on his belly opens, panting as he adds a second finger, watching her toes curl as her whining and whimpering becomes moaning. Sukuna murmurs into her hair as she leans back against him.

“Good girl,” he coos, watching as her reflection writhes in his grasp. The fire flickers and then steadies. His fingers keep moving, and Šetû feels as if she might come apart if he doesn’t do more.

Sukuna grins, and then his palm splits into a secondary mouth. He sees Šetû seize up, her breath and voice caught in her throat as something strong, moist, and serpentine makes a pass against the sensitive bundle of nerves between her soaked folds. Confused, she looks at Sukuna, wild-eyed and questioning. He grins in response and the mouth on his palm sucks her clit between its lips, rolling the tattooed tongue over the nub again and again.

Šetû has no more questions, because all sentient thought has been wiped from her mind. She is aware of a mewling and moaning sound, and she realizes that Sukuna is working her body so expertly that she forgets herself.

The mouth on his palm sucks harder, more rhythmically, his fingers work tirelessly inside of her. She can hear how wet she is, now: a slick, erotic sound that makes her want to shut her thighs in shame. Instead, she opens them wider, begs Sukuna for more of him. Sukuna won’t oblige a request she’s too ignorant to be sure of, but he knows this is more than enough for one night.

Faster, another curl of his fingers while the mouth on his palm torments her clit with sucks and licks. Šetû makes a noise she’s never heard before, her nails digging into the linen of Sukuna’s hakama, wishing it was simply his flesh.

“Do you hear that, Asiri?” He asks and she is brought back from the brink just enough to be cognizant of the sound of his fingers pumping in and out of her. A wet and slippery squelch that seems loud in the silence of the room. She nods dumbly, panting as she tries desperately to work herself to orgasm.

“You won’t need opium after this,” he tells her. “Because from now on, I’ll be working those nightmares out of you.”

Šetû meets his eyes, hazed with pleasure and overwhelmed by the sensations of his hands alone.

“Come for me,” he orders and all at once the tension snaps and a wild sound that is both moan and scream tears out of her throat. Her hips move of their own accord, grinding against his working hand to prolong the sensation that she’d never felt before until now. She trembles in front of the mirror, spending her energy on additional mewls and whimpers. Sukuna groans at the feel of her cunt’s lust-saturated walls tightening and fluttering around his fingers and briefly imagines how good it would feel around his cocks.

It is only when her trembles subside, and she is limp and boneless in his arms that he withdraws his fingers. She yelps but then watches in the mirror as he brings his hand to his mouth. The fingers are glistening in the light of the divine flame. Her face burns again, but then he sucks his fingers into his mouth, moaning as if he has just tasted something new and pleasurable to his tongue.

“I knew you’d taste good,” he muses, and two of his hands caress her idly. Šetû tries not to dwell on whether she should feel shame or no. Before she can finish processing, Sukuna douses the flame and then gathers her in his arms. He carries her to another sectioned off area of the bedroom where there is a large, beaten copper tub.

“Lord Sukuna…” She finds her voice again, feeling as if her soul is knit back into the body.

“Just Sukuna here, little flower,” he says. “I’d say we’re beyond formalities right now.”

Heat burns in her cheeks as she watches him pull a lever. Water spills into the tub. When it’s full, he swipes his hand, lighting the coals beneath the tub. Šetû, still carried in his arms, watches this, fascinated.

“Are you about to boil me alive and eat me?” She asks and Sukuna is about to retort when he hears the cheeky note in her tone. One of his hands pinches her and she yelps.

“No, I am going to bathe you, and then you are going to sleep without opium tonight.”

Šetû smiles as he lowers her into the water, testing its warmth before it touches her skin. She sinks into the tub until it’s up to her shoulders. Sukuna sits on a stool next to the tub and begins, without question, scrubbing her down. She laughs but then realizes that something is different, as if a chain on her soul has been shattered loose, freeing up part of herself she hadn’t realized she’d been trying to bury all these months.

Sukuna scrubs in silence, and eventually the water is milky as the last of the body paint is washed away. Šetû is boneless and replete as she stands in the tub, and he passes her the silk absorbing sheet to dry off. Then, she hesitates.

“Sleep here?” She asks. “With you?”

Sukuna stares at her as if she’s an idiot.

“Where else did you plan on sleeping tonight? You may return to your room if you wish.” He shrugs, then smirks. “Your brazier stays here, however.”

Her eyes go wide and then he barks with laughter.

“Your face…” he cackles. “You may go if that is your wish. Or stay if you wish it. I believe you learned a valuable lesson this night, and tomorrow, you and I will test that lesson outside.”

Šetû gives an indignant scoff. “I am not letting you do that to me outside, Sukuna!”

Sukuna blinks, confused, then laughs again.

“Sometimes I think you’re shrewd,” he says. “And then I realize that you are also an idiot. Go to bed. No opium. Tomorrow morning, I test your breathing in battle.”

Šetû grabs his haori, throwing it on, as well as snatching up her brazier. She heads toward the door, then stops.

“Thank you,” she says to him. He stares at her as if he wants to say something, then sucks his teeth.

“I’d better see some improvement in the morning,” is all he says. Šetû takes her turn to share a smile with the darkness. Clutching his haori tight over her naked body, she opens the door.

“Goodnight, Sukuna,” she says, knowing that tomorrow she will revert back to honorifics. Sukuna does not respond, but there’s a subtle dip of his chin as she slips out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Her bells jingle as she heads down the hall to her room, waiting until she collapses in the bed to let the full of her grin pull at her face. Replete, she doesn’t even notice when her eyes slip shut, and she sinks into the soft, amniotic darkness of true rest.

The morning dawns clear and bright, and the single plum blossom tree in the meditation garden boasts clusters of green buds, seeking the sunlight.

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bearieio · 1 year ago

Text

we've got a date!

date night + morning with ellie! (+ a couple headcanons)

warnings: fluff! fem!reader (reader wears a dress & heels), modern au???? kinda, not really, but STILL! IDK!!! ALSO, mentions of pot/weed/reefer/mary jane/ganja... u know ;)

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for WEEKS! like seriously.. i forgot about it… also ty for 100+ followers?? i’ve only had this acc for a few weeks? sooooo ty!!! (´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

getting ready for date night with ellie takes longer than the date itself!

she always wants you to do her hair (she picks the same style almost every time) and her makeup (usually a little bit of concealer, dark eyeshadow, some mascara, and more often than not, a dark-reddish lip tint/lipstick)

but of course, it’s all an act to get you to be close to her and so she can get a good look at you :)

by the time you’re finished getting the both of yourselves ready, it’ll be too late to go to the fancy restaurant that you‘d had a reservation for.

“it’s fine, babe. we’ll stay in.” she says, her head tilting as she studies the way your dress hugs your waist and your hips, a grin forming on her face. “yea… we’ll definitely stay in.”

the one time you guys end up being ready on time, she wears a loose-fitting suit (becuz she’s classy like that), she prefers the darker shades to match with the makeup you did for her.

her accessories include TONS of rings, including the matching promise ring that she’d gotten for the two of you. i feel like she has 2 silver necklaces, one being a sorta chunky silver chain and a heart locket with a picture of you in it :(

and guys…. wouldn’t it be so fun and so silly and goofy if ellie wore matching underwear set with the reader? like….. HELLO?

during dinner (whether it’s at home or at the actual restaurant), she’s always staring at you, into your eyes, at your hair, at your body. 'god, she’s gorgeous.' she thinks to herself, watching as you eat your food. 'fuck.. i'm so lucky to have her.'

omg ellie has PAGES and PAGES dedicated to you in her notebook. if she could fill up her entire notebook with drawings, poems, and little details about you, she would. but obviously she can’t because she needs it for her missions, and it’s best to travel lightly on them.

periodically, you’ll look up to see her sketching in her notebook. but when you try to take a peak, she covers up her pages with her hands. “babe!!” you whine, “let me see!!!” she groans and places her notebook in your hands.

as soon as your eyes hit the pages, you see detailed and pretty accurate drawings.. of you. “are these all me, ellie?” you gasp, and look up at her. she’s already looking away, a flustered and palming the back of her neck.

she mumbles something under her breath, but you can’t quite make out what. “what? i can’t hear you..” you reply to her mumbling. “i said… yes.” she responds, turning to face you, her freckled cheeks still flushed.

as soon as the two of you leave and get home, you shower her with kisses, placing your lips all over her face, neck, and face (basically wherever you can!)

i feel like ellie would be the type of person to order chicken tenders/a burger at whatever restaurant she’s at. she doesn’t like changing up her orders too often, but she’ll definitely end up eating half of your meal as well :’)

it’s usually super late when the two of you get home. as you set down your stuff, you can feel ellie’s guitar-calloused fingers feel up and down your arms, her lips peppering soft and light kisses against the back of your neck and your shoulders.

“let’s go to bed, angel..” you hear her grumble behind you. she guides you upstairs, her hands placed on your hips, lightly pushing you up the stairs.

ellie LOVES to take care of you. taking your heels off, helping you out of your dress, taking your hair down/putting it up. the whole SHEBANG!! but she’s also a big softie and loves when you return the favor :( she absolutely loves your touch and feeling your soft hands and your delicate fingers gliding up and down her skin.

cuddling with ellie is usually short, but sweet. she likes to be little spoon most of the time, but since she falls asleep so quickly, she almost always ends up wiggling her way out of your grasp.

on the contrary, when you’re little spoon, her grip on you is so tight that you guys wake up the next morning in the same position. and thats how you know the sleep was good.

“so… how would you rate our date?” she asks, her eyes closed, already drifting off to sleep.

+++

you find yourself waking up the next morning to ellie’s side of the bed empty. “..ellie?” you call out. no response. as soon as you get up and walk halfway down the stairs, your nostrils are hit with a mixing aroma of both pot and…. bacon?

when you spot ellie, she has a spatula in one hand and the other is gripping the handle of the pan. 6 thick slices of bacon dance on the face of the pan as ellie exhales smoke through her nose.

when she finally realizes you were standing at the edge of the counter, she makes her way over to you, slightly blowing smoke into your mouth as she leans in to kiss you “good morning!" she says, taking the joint out of her mouth, and placing a deep kiss on your lips. "mmm my sweet girl.” she hums.

"hey, help me set the table!"

constructive criticism is appreciated !!!

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie williams fluff #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #wlw #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #the last of us #tlou 2 #ellie tlou #ellie fluff #tlou fluff #fluff #𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐢𝐨 ୧ *.˚₊

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7grandmel · 10 months ago

Text

Todays rip: 29/04/2024

slider dank version

Season 8 Featured on: The Joke-Explainer 7000™'s Highest Quality Rips: Sunrise

Ripped by Mitchell

youtube

So, it's been more than a week since it happened: the glorious 4/20 event of SiIvaGunner Season 8. Are we all in agreement that it was fucking amazing?

Look, I love the olden internet days and all what Unregistered Hypercam 2 brought as much as anyone else, those anthems of YouTube's earliest beginnings as heard in rips like Unregistered CyberSpace 4-5: Arrow of 2009 are well worth remembering - but the truth is, that I was just a bit too young to get to experience it all in a way that I can tangibly recall. My age was still in the single digits during the Dreamscape's reign - but in contrast, I remember every little bit of how MLG and Montage Parodies rose in popularity, and how they eventually fell out of style. And like I said back in we are number one but with outdated memes over it, it was as if they died out right as SiIvaGunner itself was taking off, like the torch was being passed from one to the other. All these years later, I presume even the SiIvaGunner team themselves were getting nostalgic for the sheer chaos of it all - and so, the age of MLG was celebrated for a day straight on the 20th of April, 2024.

It was a fantastic day across the board, and it was really hard to pick just one rip from it to feature on here. It featured everything from the typical Snoop Dogg rips a la Ganja Man 9: Hash Blunt Hash (Shorty's Stage), to genuinely excellent melodyswaps using songs featured in MLG parodies, to rips not even prominently featuring music, spoofing MLG edits more directly in a genuinely super nostalgic way. In the end, I had to go with slider dank version, just for it being the most whollistic rip choice possible - a cacophany of noise using all corners of MLG, and in said noisiness perfectly encapsulating the ""appeal"" montage parodies had back during their prime. That, and just like with slideless, I feel like there's just something special about Slider rips in particular - they've been around for so long, posted with both such frequency and such enduring quality, that a meme getting Slider'd feels as if its being inaugurated into the SiIvaGunner Hall of Fame. Seeing my beloved MLG get that very same treatment felt like a prophecy come true, a story in the making since the very beginning of SiIvaGunner, realized at last.

But, okay - what exactly IS slider dank version? It was maybe a bit wrong of me to describe it as just noise, because it does have a throughline carrying its melody from start to finish - Smoke Weed Everyday, that is. This isn't a meme medley that changes sources with every half measure of the song a la Memey Hell - rather, other MLG-related sources instead play like accents onto the base melody, little flourishes that make the rip feel more complete. The rip would've been a great listen with JUST the main melody edits, the pitchshifting on Snoop's vocals are fantastic as-is, but each little flourish just adds more than the last. I think a big reason why it works so well is because of how Slider as a track is composed of a lot of call-and-response segments: The melody plays one segment of four or five notes in a steady rhythm followed by a pause, and within said pause the music leaves just enough room for a different melody cue to "respond" to the lead melody. My favorite example of how that's used in slider dank version in particular has to be the airhorns at 0:25 - Snoop's pitch-shifted vocals are met with the infamous airhorn sample which is ALSO pitch-shifted into the aforementioned response melody, and the two sources keep playing off one another for the rest of the segment.

All your other, uh, "MLG Favorites" are here and accounted for as well, I love the hitmarker sounds as the melody starts up at the very beginning, and how the responses before the airhorn segment are just small audio clips like "NICE MEME", "Mom get the camera" and more - it lets the rip add in just about every part of MLG possible incredibly seamlessly. Perhaps most seamlessly is when Slider's melody changes midway through to a slightly less upbeat segment, as it does in the original track, only here being paired with Enya's Only Time - a song you may not recognize by name, but one that was used CONSTANTLY for shitposts about characters dying in MLG compilations, the theme song of all "RIP in Pepperonis" and "liek if u cri evrytim :(" comments all over the internet. And hey, Semi-Charmed All Star - All Star itself even makes it into the rip, taking over Snoop's lead melody duty toward the end of the rip before it loops, along with everyone's favorite Darude Sandstorm. The list goes on - you're surely getting how much fun of a listen this rip is by this point, right?

And like, I know MLG stuff isn't for everyone - there's a reason it all died out, and I'm sure many viewed this event as to be taken purely ironically. But shit, I dunno, sometimes loud DOES equal funny - and though my perspective may be tinted by nostalgia, Montage Parodies are undeniably a part of internet history, a brief but nonetheless HUGE part of online culture, and one that we need to acknowledge happened no matter its obnoxiousness. They weren't all funny, sure - but rips like slider dank version don't feel like they're made to remind us of how terrible things were, but rather how much fun they all COULD be when done right. Not that SiIvaGunner is spearheading an MLG revival per se - but the entire event gave me a ton of nostalgia for something I only recently realized that I was missing. Nice meme indeed, Mitchell - and I suppose that with THIS. IS. SOLEANNA., we've now come full circle on your rips, in paying tribute to all corners of the internet's shitposting history.

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bhattandjoshiassociates-blog · 1 year ago

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Bail under NDPS Act: A Balancing Act between Public Interest and Individual Liberty

Bombay High Court Grants Bail to Accused after Finding Violation of Search and Seizure Rules Introduction The Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances Act, 1985 (NDPS Act) is a stringent law that aims to curb the menace of drug trafficking and abuse in India. The Act prescribes severe penalties for offences involving narcotic drugs and psychotropic substances, and also imposes strict conditions for granting bail to the accused. However, the Act also lays down certain procedural safeguards to ensure that the search and seizure of contraband are conducted in a fair and legal manner. The Bombay High Court recently dealt with a case where the legality of the search and seizure was challenged by the accused, who sought bail on the ground of violation of Section 42 of the NDPS Act. Background of the Case for Bail under NDPS Act The Applicant, Shivraj Gorakh Satpute, was facing trial under the NDPS Act for possession of 50 kgs of Ganja (cannabis), which was allegedly recovered from his residence based on specific information given by a co-accused. The search and seizure were conducted after sunset, without obtaining a warrant or authorization from a magistrate, and without recording reasons for not doing so. The Applicant filed an application for bail under Section 439 of the Code of Criminal Procedure, 1973 (Cr.P.C.), challenging the legality of the search and seizure. The Trial Court rejected his application, citing non-compliance with Sections 42 and 50 of the NDPS Act. The Applicant then approached the High Court for relief. Legal Issues Involved The main legal issue involved in this case was whether the search and seizure conducted at the Applicant’s residence complied with Section 42 of the NDPS Act, which mandates the procedure for entering and searching any place where any narcotic drug or psychotropic substance is kept or concealed. The Court also examined whether the search and seizure were based on specific information or were a case of chance recovery. Arguments by Advocate for the Applicant Mr. Aashish Satpute, the learned counsel for the Applicant, contended that the search was conducted between sunset and sunrise without complying with the provisions of Section 42(2) of the NDPS Act. He relied upon the decision of Mohinder Kumar Vs. The State, Panji Goa, AIR 1995 SC 1157. He further argued that there was non-compliance with the mandatory procedure of seizure and sampling, which prima facie renders the seizure illegal. He cited the decision of Union of India Vs. Bal Mukund and Ors., (2010) 1 SCC (Cri) 541. The counsel also pointed out discrepancies in the chemical analysis report concerning the nature of the contraband seized, raising doubts about its quantity. Opposition Submission by Opposite Side Ms. A.A. Takalkar, the learned APP for the Respondent-State, submitted that the contraband was recovered based on a disclosure statement made by the co-accused. She argued that it was not a case of chance recovery and that compliance with Section 42 of the NDPS Act was not necessary. She relied upon the Apex Court’s decision in Sorabkhan Gandhkhan Pathan and anr. v/s. State of Gujarat (2004) 13 SCC 608. She further contended that the seizure panchanama indicates that a commercial quantity of Ganja was seized from the Applicant’s house. She cited the decision of Shivkumar Mishra vs. State of Goa (2009) 3 SCC 797 and stated that the discrepancies pointed out by the Applicant’s counsel are to be decided at trial. Important Observations of the Court for Bail under NDPS Act The Court, after considering the submissions of both sides, made the following important observations: - The Court noted that Section 42(1) of the NDPS Act mandates that an officer who has reason to believe that any narcotic drug or psychotropic substance is kept or concealed in any place, shall enter and search such place after recording his reasons in writing. However, Section 42(2) provides an exception that if such officer has reason to believe that a search warrant or authorization cannot be obtained without affording opportunity for concealment or escape or such search cannot be made at any time during day time then such officer may enter and search such place at any time between sunset and sunrise after recording grounds for his belief. - The Court observed that in the present case, there was no evidence to show that obtaining a warrant or authorization would have allowed the Applicant to escape or conceal evidence. The Court said that the information given by the co-accused was received at about 3 p.m., and there was sufficient time for obtaining a warrant before sunset. The Court also said that there was no indication that the Applicant was aware of the co-accused’s arrest or disclosure. The Court further said that the officer did not record his reasons for conducting the search without a warrant in terms of Section 42(1) proviso. - The Court cited the case of Simranjit Singh v. State where it was held that non-compliance with Section 42(2) would render an arrest illegal unless it is shown that it was impossible to comply with it or that compliance would defeat the purpose of arrest. The Court also relied on other judgments such as State v. Mohd Yakub, Abdul Rashid Ibrahim Mansuri v. State Of Gujarat, Sajan Abraham v. State Of Kerala, etc., where similar views were expressed. - The Court also observed that there were discrepancies in the quantity and quality of Ganja allegedly seized from the Applicant’s residence. The Court said that while Ganja is defined as excluding seeds under Section 2(iii)(b) of the NDPS Act, the chemical analysis report showed that the contraband contained seeds. The Court also said that there was a difference of 10 kgs between the seizure panchnama and the charge sheet. (Source: Pages 7-9 of the document) Conclusion for Bail under NDPS Act The Court concluded that there were reasonable grounds to believe that the Applicant was not guilty of the offences alleged against him. The Court also considered his age, antecedents, and period of custody while granting bail. The Court imposed certain conditions on him, such as reporting to the police station once a week, not leaving India without permission, etc. (Source: Page 9 of the document) References : Mohinder Kumar Vs. The State, Panji Goa, AIR 1995 SC 1157 : Union of India Vs. Bal Mukund and Ors., (2010) 1 SCC (Cri) 541 : Sorabkhan Gandhkhan Pathan and anr. v/s. State of Gujarat (2004) 13 SCC 608 : Shivkumar Mishra vs. State of Goa (2009) 3 SCC 797 Tabulation of Important Provisions of Law Sr no. Provision / Section of Law What it Stands For Context in the Case 1 Section 42(1) of the NDPS Act, 1985 Mandates the procedure for search and seizure Core issue in the case, non-compliance led to granting of bail 2 Section 42(2) of the NDPS Act, 1985 Provides an exception for search and seizure between sunset and sunrise Violated by the officer who conducted the search 3 Section 52(A) of the NDPS Act, 1985 Prescribes the method of sealing and labeling samples Not followed by the Investigating Agency 4 Section 37 of the NDPS Act, 1985 Sets conditions for bail in NDPS cases Initially rendered Applicant ineligible for bail 5 Section 439 of the Cr.P.C., 1973 Provides for bail application Legal route taken by the Applicant for bail Read the full article

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3wrjnmemwq · 2 years ago

Text

Thailand legalization

working day, we woke up and understood—hold out a moment—there won't be any restrictions in the slightest degree about age restriction, nothing on who can sell, who will't offer, so on and so on. And now factors are falling aside.” A consultant from the Ministry of Health and fitness to begin with responded to VICE Planet News’ ask for for an interview but didn't give affirmation on subsequent stick to-ups. Verbal informed consent was received from all contributors. Information assortment was done in non-public and participants had been confident that any information and facts disclosed could be taken care of in demanding self-confidence. Nonetheless, the place isn't legalizing recreational cannabis nationally, along with the Thai governing administration is environment boundaries within the new policies. The new cannabis legal guidelines ended up developed with clinical, financial and health-associated targets in your mind, Based on a submit to the Thai govt’s Formal Fb web site. Lawmakers inside the Senate voted 166 to seven on Monday to amend a law that had imposed jail terms of up to 3 many years for any person having an abortion, and around five years for many who accomplish just one. The new version allows any female to end a pregnancy in the very first twelve weeks. Complement your journey to Thailand Along with the dishes and beverages that exhibit the country’s famous culinary heritage. “Just as much as they are going to argue about this in parliament or beyond parliament, amongst political parties, funds remains going to be manufactured,” she informed VICE Earth News. Given that opening the shop in August, Amitta suggests that they've got amassed a loyal crowd, in addition to a developing stream of brands and weed wholesalers trying to find partnerships. We recommend firms to check with their husband or wife in Thailand if they have to have the USACC stamp. The stamp cost is $35 determined by up coming working day provider. The website is protected. The https:// makes certain you are connecting towards the Formal Internet site and that any info you deliver is encrypted and transmitted securely. “It's politics and we can't definitely get clear of it. But This is certainly previously mentioned politics, I believe,” Kitty said. “The floodgate has actually been opened. That gate has become blown up. The dam is crumbling. The water will almost certainly go through. There is not any way that is certainly ever about to come back.” Ultimately, the cannabis-connected stipulations could confuse travellers who would like to partake. A consultant for your Tourism Authority of Thailand did not immediately reply to a request for touch upon direction for site visitors who want to eat cannabis. They paid about $one hundred fifty each to discover tips about nicking seed coats Thailand legalization and tending the vegetation to get good quality yields. Sawitri Assanangkornchai conceived and designed the experiments, carried out the experiments, organized figures and/or tables, authored or reviewed drafts in the paper, and accepted the ultimate draft.5 Easy Facts About Thailand Legalization Described ” Prior to 2019, this was Abhisit’s declaration that he would not aid Prayut, who led the navy coup of 2014, as prime minister after the election– an admirable position, To make certain, but one which Value the celebration dearly during the conservative “yellow” strongholds of Bangkok and the upper south. The ministry of community overall health has printed a brand new information, and “assuming that travelers adhere to a set of some uncomplicated regulations. there’s practically nothing to concern”, says Mendel Menachem at cannabis information hub Substantial Thailand. "I'm able to say it out loud, that I am a cannabis smoker. I need not cover like previously when it was branded like a unlawful drug," reported 24-year-old Rittipong Bachkul, the day's first customer. Marijuana is generally known as cannabis or ganja in Thailand. ” Because of this the Thai federal government legally encourages the manufacture of marijuana, not for leisure intake but for agricultural hemp purposes. This is often evidenced via the multiple million cannabis seedlings that were distributed to rural farmers in June of last 12 months. Officially, The federal government only endorses marijuana intake for health care reasons. Moreover, Thailand prohibits cigarette smoking cannabis in public which has a wonderful of around twenty five,000 baht (about $700 USD) or 3 months of imprisonment. Nonetheless, cannabis has grown to be a ubiquitous product or service throughout Thailand. As local climate change emerges like a crucial concentrate in some of China’s recent diplomatic initiatives, you will find options to the U.S. to reinforce its personal local weather diplomacy endeavours. Other folks, nonetheless, are not losing snooze above politics. Kitty Chopaka, a longtime weed advocate and the proprietor of the weed dispensary in Bangkok, is going forward having a cannabis truthful she’s preparing for January, welcoming future employers and staff members trying to do the job in the industry. Thailand produced it lawful to cultivate and possess marijuana as of Thursday, similar to a aspiration come real for an getting old technology of pot people who smoke. In 2003, the Thai government under Key Minister Thaksin Shinawatra declared a war on drugs which was anchored on demonizing offenders. His campaign was common, but observed more than 2,200 lifeless in the primary three months, In keeping with Human Legal rights Observe. What's more, it grew to become vulnerable to abuse, as police done arbitrary arrests and intimidated human legal rights defenders. N. Office on Medicines and Crime. “It might be a shame if Thais or foreign vacationers received caught on the wrong side from the law due to mixed messages or perceptions.” Before this thirty day period, the Pheu Thai Celebration submitted a petition to your Election Fee for Bhumjaithai to be disbanded for its handling of cannabis’ legalization, which it referred to as a 50 percent-baked plan to attain voter details. When she arrived, the places of work were being thronged by dispensary proprietors. She at some point left having a receipt acknowledging her application for a license. Several hours afterwards, a top health Formal introduced the arrest order were rescinded For the reason that license that dispensary owners were being requested to get didn’t essentially exist still. Chokwan reopened the next day. , they will have to be authenticated with the Thailand Consulate/Embassy from the country Thailand legalization the doc was issued in. A subset of pro-China intellectuals and political elites in Taiwan are attempting to encourage the general public that bolstering self-protection is by some means recklessly provocative. Taopiphop claims he supports guidelines that will ban entry to young children and adolescents and force edible cannabis venders to display the doses of intoxicating tetrahydrocannabinol inside their products. Thailand legalization

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ganja-hq · 9 months ago

Note

#ganja responds

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burinazar · 2 years ago

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i have discovered an unexpected factoid which is that Ganja has a decent chance of being named after their curve-prowed boats

#sorry to eveyrone who thought it was bc wazukyan was toking #he definitely was though #made in abyss #i discovered this bc one of my japanese mutuals was posting like ?!?!?! hey ganja means marijuana in english? are they..named after....???#and then the artist who is always feeding us belafs like that pink llama eating from hand meme responded to them saying #it probably came from these ancient sailing vessels instead

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uhnomahlee · 3 years ago

Text

introducing hange to a certain herb // aot headcanon

agender!hange x black plus-size gnc reader (oc name: haruna)

synopsis: hange has some of that sweet ganja

includes: cannabis use, essense of sex(18+), sub!hange, fluff, etc.

{mdni/f}

a/n: i would like to believe this is proofread🧌this is not a modern au :3 enjoy!

plans for an expedition to the outskirts of the island were being made, the location of their journey leading them near haruna’s homeland

hange had tagged along, even though plans were only discussed with levi, erwin, and a couple other soldiers

inserts theirself into the itinerary even though they have a whole project to complete

“isn’t it due in two days?” haruna asked

“i extended the deadline,” hange proclaimed

erwin interjected “…you can’t do that”

hange only looked to haruna as if their commander hadn’t spoken “…i’m coming anyways”

asked if it was okay to examine the environment

“why are you asking? this is your homeland.”

hange quirked a brow as if the answer was clear. “our homeland. your place of birth. am i not supposed to respect it?”

haruna gave in. “yes. you’re right. you’re right.”

the train ride to the outside of the wall consisted of a small nap—hange’s head resting on haruna’s lap. their hand stroking the brown tresses as the snores lightly emitted from their mouth

upon their arrival, haruna repeatedly warned hange of the wildlife and terrain, keeping their crossbow prepared at all times and steps cautious

hange getting flustered when their partner gets protective over them knowing damn well they’re one hell of a soldier

“do you really like me that much?” they gushed following haruna into the thick greenery

“we’ve been together for three years, hange”

too many times hange had become distracted by the various vegetation and organisms, astonishment nearly leading to their demise if haruna was not hyper-vigilant

“no, don’t touch that.”

“not edible. stop”

“it’s literally hissing at you, it does not want to be pet”

fascinated, hange bounded from one site to the next, scribbling down information in their notebook after each each examination

protective haruna’s eagle eye swatting away bugs even hovering near their precious hange

“ooh what’s this?” hange reached out to touch the unknown plant as they spoke

hovering behind them, haruna responded, “it is a type of flower.” they bent down next to hange. “my people use it for many purposes and have been since their arrival centuries ago. “you should collect some to take back”

hange brought out a medium-sized leather bag. “have you used it before?”

“i have seen its effects”

on the train ride back, it was haruna that was asleep, head blanched on hange’s shoulder

their soft black kinky coils brushed against their cheek, a sweet aroma emanating from them

hange always holds haruna’s hand when they’re asleep

they had said they needed security when they were unconscious

hange had laughed at the way they worded it but understood

actually hange assumed they needed to be posted up on watch every time they were asleep with a weapon by their side

the train had arrived back to the station, letting the group depart with goodbyes and goodnights

“i’m excited to get to study this plant. moblit would have never encouraged me to touch anything random” hange smiled giddily as they entered their home

“he trusts me more than he trusts himself with you. and it isn’t random. i literally told you what it was” haruna took off their jacket and hung it on the coat hook.

“sorry. forgot.” hange tossed their coat aside and unloaded their findings of the day on the coffee table

haruna does not play around with that shit

“hange” was all they said

they hurried to tidy everything up as their partner washed their hands

haruna made sure outside clothes were put with the rest of the laundry as soon as they walked through the door to end their day.

they also handmade both their leisurewear

“so what are we gonna do with this?” hange lifted the leather bag filled to the brim with nugs. “you were so adamant on me not telling the others yet. you know secrets make me tingly”

“because i wanted to share a part of my culture with you before anyone else” haruna plopped down on the couch, a pipe adorned with small intricate carvings in their hand

hange + emotional intimacy equals immediate tears

“hange…i-it’s okay. please don’t cry”

cue stifled sobbing

a few strokes of the hair calmed hange down, haruna’s hand resting against their cheek before they refocused the attention to the pipe

“when this plant is burned and inhaled it puts the user in a elated state—very relaxing. it is used for both non-medical and medical purposes” haruna explained grabbing a nug and breaking some down into the bowl of the pipe

hange knew they should be writing this down but didn’t want to stop looking at the process, entirely engaged

“any bad side effects” hange inquired, scooting closer as haruna grab a matchbox.

“none that i can recall. we were always told that the flower works best when we detach from our anxiety and stress” they struck a match, looking at hange as the flame came alive. “do you need some time?”

hange shook their head. “i’m ready”

lowering the match to the bowl, haruna set the herb ablaze, and then waved the match until it died out

they pressed their lips to the mouthpiece, thumb covering a small hole on the side of the bowl

as haruna inhaled, the embers glowed for the short seconds their lips were attached.

they turned their head to direct cloud of smoke away from hange’s face which was so close to theirs

haruna gestured for hange to take the next hit

“i’ll hold it for you,” haruna offered

hange leaned in and mimicked what they observed haruna doing, pressing their lips and inhaling for a couple of seconds

they blew out the smoke only coughing once, smacking their lips

“tastes”—smack, smack, smack—"green”

“it’s a plant, baby”

hange giggled, a particular numbness caressing their body

they watched their partner take another pull with wide eyes, putting a hand on their thigh

this time haruna blew their exhale upwards, licking over their lips after

hange waited patiently for haruna to bring the pipe back to their lips, their stomach fluttering at the small intimate gesture

after their second hit, hange blinked blankly, squeezing haruna’s thigh then smoothing over their dark brown skin with their thumb continuously

stimulation they usually did while not sober became ten times better being high

“how you feelin’?” haruna lowered the pipe before they could take another pull, gaze setting on hange’s giddy smile

“really good” they suddenly began stretching, body limber and relaxed.

haruna chuckled lightly, watching them closely to make sure they didn’t hit against anything

“do you need anything?”

hange put two thumbs up

regardless of the answer, haruna went and got two cups of water, set them down on the table

“fuck. you were gone for a while” hange furrowed their brows, concerned. they closed the space between them as haruna sat down again

high hange needs physical touch

“come here” haruna rubbed their thigh, beckoning for hange to sit

hange took no more than a second to settle theirself down on haruna’s lap, ass nestling into their warmth

haruna’s hand naturally rested on hange’s left hip, the other busy with lighting another match and relighting the bowl

hange was skimming their lips over their lover’s temple, pressing a kiss to the area every once in a while

massaging their hip, haruna presented the pipe to hange, letting them take another pull

a bit too hazed, hange took a longer hit, lips departing from the pipe and in an instant had smoke leaving their mouth forcefully as they coughed, hard

“it’s okay, just breathe,” haruna cooed, rubbing the middle of their back

lifting their glasses, hange wiped the tears streaming down their face, panting

that cough was the one

“drink some water, hange” haruna murmured into their ear

hange’s abdomen swirled with heat, their voice seemingly amplified to be deeper, smoother—kinda too dangerous for a first time smoker who didn’t know how horny smoking would make them

downing the cup of water, hange returned to their post on haruna’s lap, happy to be perched there

“you’re never this quiet,” haruna commented, left hand drifting toward hange’s inner thigh

i don’t know what’s going on and i am violently horny, hange proclaimed in their head, gaze dropping to haruna’s hand caressing their flesh. if i just slid these shorts to the side a bit-

“what’s on your mind, baby?”

hange almost moaned at the sound of their voice, weakening at the pet name

“n-nothing” hange was deteriorating in real time

lids low, haruna set the pipe down on the coffee table, arm securing hange’s waist so they didn’t fall as they moved

“oop” the noise slipped from hange’s mouth as their body was adjusted by haruna’s large hands

“hange, i can always tell when you’re lying to me” their fingers trailed the waistband of their shorts under their shirt

hange tensed. “…no you can’t?”

“i really think i can. turn around”

hange got up and turned, haruna’s gaze drifting from their ass to their face, a smile stretching across their face

straddling haruna’s thighs, hange threw their arms around their neck, unknowingly rolling their hips against haruna’s

the insatiable sensation at the apex of hange’s. thighs only worsened as time passed, their high heightening the pleasure

eyes screwed shut, hange wouldn’t dare look at haruna when they were in this state, embarrassment and bashfulness reddening their cheeks

they already knew those dark orbs would be staring them down, setting their entire psyche on fire

when haruna planted their grip on hange’s hips, slowing and deepening the grind, the brunette’s eyes shot open, mouth agape as a shudder overtook their body

“nothing on your mind, huh?”

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harrisonarchive · 3 years ago

Photo

George Harrison; photo by Terry O'Neill.

“A waitress came over, and George ordered tea, explaining that he was already highly intoxicated (knowing Bob [Longhi], undoubtedly extremely potent ganja), and could not handle an alcoholic drink. [...] When I expressed great admiration for his own playing, [Harrison] confessed with graceful modesty that he had ‘no idea’ what he does while playing the guitar. […] Harrison peppered our conversation with humorous observations and jokes, providing a refreshing diversion from the esoteric musical and philosophical subjects we focused on. Together with his immersion into Hindu philosophy, he was clearly a street-wise person who had been catapulted into the upper echelons of world society. At one point, Harrison mischievously teased me about my preference for computer instruments with his famous accent, asking if one gets as horny with computer music as you do playing rock and roll. My music absolutely has a sensual dimension, but I knew he was joking, and laughed out loud. [...] Harrison apologized several times during our extended conversation for being overly intoxicated, but he seemed fine and completely lucid to me. I was surprised by how animated and talkative he was because I had imagined he would be shy and reserved.” - Michael Robinson on chatting with George Harrison at Bob Longhi’s restaurant in Hawaii, January 1990, Azure Miles Records, 2001 (x)

“From across the restaurant [Harrison] appeared youthful, tall and thin, and his stride was unusually smooth, almost seeming to glide across the floor. Now he was sitting across the table, and I was struck by hundreds of little lines on his face, suggesting an extraordinary map of experience. […] Saturday evening in January 1990, and my girlfriend and I decided to have dinner in Lahaina [Maui]. […] During all this, we were joined by two friends, one of who had spent time with George and his wife [Olivia] in Hana. Knowing my reverence for the Beatles, she asked if I would like to meet Harrison. I wanted to, of course, but there were no empty seats at George's table, and I didn't want to walk up like some annoying autograph seeker, not to mention that I was somewhat intimidated. So we sat there stealing glances, and after a few drinks, my inhibitions were subdued. When I noticed one of the men leaving George's table, the friend who knew him said, "Let's go!" and I found myself following her in a dream-like state. […] Harrison peppered our conversation with humorous observations and jokes, providing a refreshing diversion from the esoteric musical and philosophical subjects we focused on. Together with his immersion into Hindu philosophy, he was clearly a street-wise person who had been catapulted into the upper echelons of world society. At one point, Harrison mischievously teased me about my preference for computer instruments with his famous accent: ‘But can you get horny playing a computer?’ indicating that this was one of the joys of playing rock guitar." […] One regret I have from that evening is how I failed to respond when George asked me if I wanted to go walking down Front Street with him to ‘Look at the T-shirt shops!’ stated with the enthusiam of a young boy. Somehow I couldn't believe I was really hearing this invitation, and I also wrongfully thought that Bob would not approve of me wandering off with his friend who didn't visit Lahaina very often. So the opportunity passed, and we continued our conversation.” - Michael Robinson, An Evening With George Harrison, 2002, azuremilesrecords dot com (x)

#George Harrison #quote #quotes about George #fan recollections #fan recollections: 1990s #Harrison humor #George being cheeky #fits queue like a glove

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artemiseamoon · 3 years ago

Text

Outshine The Sun 2

Frankie Morales x Destiny Luna (ofc) | Benny Miller

Chapter 2: Sunday Secret

Read part 1 here | next | a03

Words: 2,674 | Credit to gif creators | revised 1/3/23

⚠️Warnings: ganja 🍃 + making out and a cut away scene you’ll have to use your imagination for…😈

An: Will and Santi make an appearance! Frankie sees Des again and we get more Benny! Last, Frankie’s post-Delta force gig is the same as the original script.

Song 1 - Arcade (Black Dog - Led Zeppelin)

1 week later

The last Sunday of the month was always off-limits for Benny. Frankie never knew why, and despite his curiosity, he was fine with the fact that it wasn’t any of his business. Benny saved one Sunday a month for some highly secret activity. Of all the things possible, Frankie didn’t expect this.

The arcade felt like a time machine, transporting Frankie back to his childhood. The neon, the box screens with flashing lights, Zeppelin through the stereo; just like old times. In all his years here, Frankie didn't even know this place existed. It was like an underground time capsule.

A small grin lingered on Frankie's lips as he navigated the arcade, eventually finding Benny in the back. Destiny is right beside him; they're closely huddled over a game of Mortal Kombat, their competitive intensity is equally matched. Their banter alone is enough to make Frankie chuckle as he comes to a full stop.

Benny leans into Des, causing her to lose her flow temporarily. Just as Bennys almost nears a win, Destiny knocks him out with a K.O.

“Wait! NO! What the fuck?”

“Yeah! In your face Miller!” Destiny lets go of the controller and steps up to Benny. She boasts, “ who's the new champion now!? ”

“Fuck that, no,” Benny digs in his pockets to get more quarters as the score screen appears.

Destiny takes the top spot, Benny, now in second place. Destiny blocks the quarter slot and Benny picks her up, moving her to the side.

“Sore loser here!” She rests her hands on her hips and glances at Frankie. “Look who it is.”

Frankie smiles, “Benny didn't tell you I was coming.”

“No,” Destiny's gaze lingers on Frankie a moment before she playfully nudges Benny away from the machine, “but I’m not surprised.”

“Me either.” Frankie takes a few steps closer and shoves his hands in his pockets.

He wasn’t exactly sure how to greet her. This woman who seeped into his mind and took over his thoughts for the last 7 days.

At the end of her birthday celebration, they parted with a drunken hug and Des even planted a kiss on his left cheek. Since then, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Frankie's glad Benny put them in the same place at the same time.

Frankie realizes, not only are his thoughts lingering, but his eyes are too. Destiny catches him and responds with a flirty wink.

Frankie joins them at the game, “So, this is your big once-a-month secret.”

Benny and Destiny play fight, eventually breaking apart. Benny pulls Frankie into a hug.

When the hug breaks, Benny stays close and leaves one arm around Frankie's shoulders, “I don't want it getting too popular. Don’t tell anyone about this place.”

Destiny leans against the side of the machine, “yeah, you snitch, and we’ll have to kill you,”

Frankie shakes his head, “I might take you out first.”

“Ohhhh damn” Benny raises his voice, “those are some fighting words.”

Benny returns to the machine as the next match is about to start, and Destiny gets in place.

Just as the countdown gets to 3, Benny glances over his shoulder at Frankie, “wanna get tapped in?”

“Shit, I haven’t played in years.”

One.

The game starts.

“Ah come, you’re a beast. It will come back like that.” Benny snaps a finger. The background music plays as the characters wait.

Frankie wets his lips and slides his hat off his head, “fine. I'm in.”

Benny cheers him on and takes the hat as they switch places.

“Shit, the hat came off. This must be serious.” Destiny jokes.

Frankie stands beside her, when their eyes meet, she can see a glint of excitement in them,

Frankie grins, “oh you have no idea.”

…

Bennys Fight - 2 weeks later

Song 2 Bennys fight song (Walk - Pantera)

As they walk down the hall, the music from the arena gets louder and louder. Frankie knows Benny is ready for this and in the best shape of his life.

Frankie wasn't officially Bennys coach, all the time he spent with him in the gym made him feel like one. Will was there too, when time allowed, however Frankie had a much more relaxed schedule being self-employed.

Frankie looked forward to nights like this. His work was serious with long hours. Nights off with his boys were always the highlight of his week. His hawk-like vision and attention were still a great asset, but it's nice to turn it off for a night and just relax.

Shifting his mind to something else, Frankie wonders if Destiny will show up. Benny said it was hard getting her to a fight because she worked so much. Being a DJ meant most nights a big fight was going on, so was a party that needed a DJ.

Though it's on Frankie’s mind to ask Des out, he just didn't do it yet. Not that he had any good excuse for waiting, plus he has Bennys blessing. He's stalling because of his own shit, including being previously married and divorced. Still, with each interaction, he's building up to it little by little.

Led by a confident and stone-faced Benny, the guys reach the threshold to the ring. Will is right behind his brother, hyping him up as Santiago and Frankie stand further back.

The announcer on PA: “From Red Feather Lakes, Colorado, standing six foot three, weighing in at 195 pounds, I bring you...Ben Miller!”

The already high energy of the place shoots through the roof, further fed by the guitar riffs of Pantera. The guys cheer and shout Benny's name as Will escorts Benny to the caged ring.

Santiago and Frankie head to the bar before moving to the front where their seats are. Frankie shouts over the rowdy crowd, yelling Bennys name before turning his attention to his old friend.

“We were wondering when the hell you’d show your ugly face again.”

“You should talk hermano,” Santi raises his beer higher, “I’m here now.”

Frankie nods, “cheers man.”

They bring the plastic cups together. Frankie notices a look he��s seen on Santi's face before.

“Who's that?”

Santi asked as Frankie followed his line of vision. He’s instantly met with that beaming smile he can't get out of his head.

Frankie greets her, “You made it.”

“I was able to swing it this time,” Destiny stands next to them, “gave the gig away to someone else. I owed Benny, the last time I was at a fight was...too long ago.”

Santi watches as Frankie and the striking brunette lock eyes, both with little grins on their lips.

Santi clears his throat, “going to introduce me to your friend?”

Frankie breaks eye contact briefly for the introduction, “This is Destiny, Destiny this is Santiago.”

“Nice to meet you,” Santi holds up his beer as they toast one last time.

“You too Santi. Now I can put faces to all the names.”

Destiny raises the rim of the cup to her lips before taking a sip. The flirty gesture nearly sends Frankie over the edge.

Over the crowd, they can hear Will who's right up against the gate now, “Benny, take it easy! Nice and slow!”

Santi takes a couple of steps closer to the ring and bangs on the cage, “Go! Get them, Benny!”

Destiny watches Benny in the ring for a moment before returning her attention to Frankie. Reaching out with her free hand, she playfully tugs the trim of his brown jacket. “This is cute.”

Frankie glances down and smirks, “this old thing?”

“Yeah,” she shifts her weight to one leg, “or maybe it's just you,”

Frankie sits, a grin still on his lips. It was like having his first crush all over again.

Sorting the thoughts in his head, Frankie shifts in the chair and looks up at Destiny who's still standing,

“Well, you might have to stand back there so you don't distract me during the fight. I’m supposed to be looking up there, not at the gorgeous woman next to me.”

Destiny parts her lips but no words come out, she smiles and sits next to him. Frankie's bedroom eyes draw her closer, she leans into his space,

“I guess you’re really going to have to focus then.” She pulls the hat off his head, “now, I’m even more distracted. Guess we'll just have to behave?”

Frankie sets his drink on his thigh, “Is that so?”

“For now, at least.” She whispers.

Before Frankie can reply, Santi and Will join them. Destiny hands Frankie her drink as she stands to give Will a hug.

“Good to see you, Des.”

“You too.”

Frankie chuckles. Apparently, she was a secret to everyone except Will.

Announcer over the PA; “And here we go!”

Cheers erupt through the place again as everyone who was sitting stands up. The bell dings, the fight starts.

Later

Benny's riding on the high from winning the fight, and no one wants to go home just yet.

Destiny offered the apartment over her record shop as a place to hang, as long as they guys bought some drinks and food. After cleaning up post fight, Benny joined her to get the space ready as Santi, Will and Frankie went on a drink and food run.

Once everyone links up again, Destiny gives Frankie and Santiago a tour of the place. The Millers have clearly been here before, they make their way behind the desk to the store record collection and start picking out records for the night. Destiny gave them DJ duty.

Destiny waits for them to gather their choices before leading the way upstairs. The apartment is cozy, with exposed brick walls just like the shop. There's a small balcony to the east looking out at the park across the way.

The apartment matched her perfectly, from every vintage band poster on the wall, to the candles on the fireplace and mystical little knick knacks all over, like stones and other things.

Their last guest arrived about 20 minutes in, the woman Will is seeing who seemed to know both Benny and Destiny already. The night continues as everyone has a good time. Frankie and Destiny exchange glances, laughs and flirt the entire time.

Will and his lady were the first to leave around 1am. About two hours later, Benny and Santi leave too, likely to continue the party somewhere else. By 3:30am, Destiny and Frankie are sitting on the floor of her balcony alone and finishing the rest of the joint.

Destiny caresses her cheeks, “Hmmm, my face hurts. I laughed so much tonight…”

She trails off and starts looking around for something.

“Lose something?” Frankie asked.

“My phone...oh!”

She reaches over Frankie and the smell of her hair hits his nose. She grabs her phone and changes the song before sitting back down.

“Is there any food left Des?”

“Yeah, I think so, hold on - “

“I can - “before Frankie can volunteer to get it, Destinys is already on her feet and walking inside.

Twisting to see, Frankie watches her disappear into the kitchen, then return with a container and a big bottle of water. He could watch her walk all day and indulges as she makes her way over to him.

(Song: Ashlee Alone with You)

Destiny hands Frankie the items before sitting again. “You were totally checking me out just now.”

“Guilty,” he shoots her a steamy look and flips the lid of the container open. Frankie dives in and starts eating.

Destiny uncaps the water and drinks some. When finished, she puts the cap back on and places it between the both of them.

“So,” Destiny shifts to face him, “what do you do now?”

Frankie grins, “I thought Benny told you all about me.”

Destiny makes a face and reaches into his lap to grab some fries, “I know what you used to do.”

Frankie waits a moment before replying, “PI.”

“Fuck, you know,” she looks him over, “I can see it. You have this chill yet deadly vibe about you. I can feel it under the surface of your very relaxed demeanor. I could see you hiding out in the dark in some car watching some poor unsuspecting fuck from a distance.”

Frankie nods, his gaze cast out at the park now.

“It's never anyone you should feel bad about. They deserve what they get.”

Destiny tilts her head to the side, “I bet out in the field, in the thick of it, you’re one terrifying motherfucker.”

Frankie licks the salt off his fingers before meeting her waiting gaze. His eyes fall to her lips, lingering there before looking up again. For a second, he seems like he was going to say something, but doesn’t.

Opting to stay silent, Frankie cups her face with his hands as he draws her closer. A wide grin fills her lips as the space between them shrinks. Frankies touch sends a warm sensation through her entire body.

His gaze heavy with lust, he takes his time, moving slowly until their lips meet. Destiny throws her arms around Frankie, quickly parting her lips and inviting him to kiss her deeper; Frankie accepts without hesitation.

Frankie nibbles at her lower lip, teasing it as they consume each other.

Their bodies move in unison as Frankie pulls her underneath him, her legs wrapped around his body. As the fevered kiss deepens, the bottle of water and beer bottle fall over, startling them.

They continue kissing. The feeling of Frankies hard cock pressing into her only makes Destiny more feral for him. She grabs a fist full of his hair, tugging hard as his tongue moves over hers.

When their lips part, they take a moment to catch their breath. Destiny traces the shape of Frankies lips with her fingertip, “How about we move this to my bedroom?”

Eyes darkened with a carnival desire, Frankie quickly jumps to his feet and helps her off the ground. Destiny slides the doors open and starts to grab the bottles. Frankie wraps his arm around her waist and guides her inside,

“Fuck that, it can wait.”

Destiny bites her lower lip, walking backward toward her bedroom, “yes Sir.”

She pulls her top off and throws it at him before disappearing down the hall. Frankie grins to himself as he shuts the balcony door and follows her lead.

End song (Good Good by Tanerelle)

#triple frontier #triple frontier au #frankie catfish morales x reader #Frankie x ofc #Benny miller #fic: outshine the sun #santiago pope garcia #Frankie/Benny/Destiny bestieverse

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artificialqueens · 3 years ago

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Bitch Fight, Ch.8 (Multi-Ship; Jela) - Lita

Welcome to the world of Femme Fatale Wrestling. The future is female, and we're here to prove it.

A/N: I've had a bunch of people ask what exactly the deal with Jinkx is so far, so take this chapter as your answer. It was one of my favourite chapters to write, so I really hope you enjoy. I won't put an explicit TW on this one, but there's a few fairly heavy themes touched on here - all I'll say is I wrote this entire thing while listening to 'I Was Here' by Beyonce on a constant repeat, and it fucking shows. Lita can have a little self-indulgent Dela angst as a treat lmao <3<3

*****

CHAPTER 8: THANK YOU JINKX

One Year Earlier…

Dela is exhausted. Turns out that making the match a tornado tag was the worst idea that she and Jinkx had ever collectively had - having worked for the last decade as a tag team, neither of them were accustomed to working a match without intermittent breaks for breathing room. Since the bell had rung, it had been non-stop - Gia and Laganja are a storm in a teacup, and they've been quite thoroughly putting the two of them through their paces. There’s sweat dripping off her back, and sticking her bangs to her forehead; her muscles aching and breath heavy.

While Jinkx and Dela had more than three decades in the business between them, and were considered to be two of the small handful of veterans in the company, the two younger women technically had both years and skills on top of them, in spades. They’d both been wrestling since they were kids - Laganja’s amateur career had started when she was still in middle school, and she’d been a hair’s breadth from going to the Olympics a few years back. And that was saying nothing about Gia; a generational talent from Japan, both of her parents had been in the industry for most of their lives, and she’d practically learned to crawl in a wrestling ring. They started them young over there - her first match in front of a crowd had been at age fourteen, against her father of all people.

Through the match, Dela had been tasked primarily with taking on Gia, which had been a toughie - while Dela had clung onto the vast majority of the advantage, Gia worked much harder and much stiffer than she was accustomed to. Strong-style was nothing to be sniffed at. Every hold, every move, every strike had looked like it hurt - because it legitimately hurt. The match had only been going for ten minutes or so, and Dela already felt like she’d been hit by a car.

Gia whips Dela over the top rope; Dela stumbles, planting her feet on the apron and grabbing the ropes to steady herself, before swinging an enormous right hook towards her opponent. Gia dodges it; slamming a knee into Dela’s abdomen and doubling her over.

Dela cranes her neck to watch what’s going on between Jinkx and Laganja, as Gia pulls her into a headlock - it was supposed to be a rest hold, but it’s becoming apparent pretty quickly that that word isn’t in Gia’s vocabulary; Dela has to claw her nails into the brunette’s forearm to remind her to loosen up a little before she passes out.

Ganja is tied up in an armbar in the centre of the ring - the blonde’s shoulder is wrenched at an uncomfortable angle behind her back, and her face is twisted as she tries to writhe her way out of the hold; Jinkx’s brow furrowed in concentration as she cinches the submission in deeper. Dela realises the clock is ticking - and apparently everyone else does too. All four women look between one another, sharing an approving glance. That was the go-ahead to commence the closing spot. Final stretch. Thank god - Dela felt like she was ready to drop dead. Looking at Gia, who was barely breaking a sweat, only made that sensation worse. When did she get this old?

Gia grabs Dela by her ponytail, pulling her up to her eye level. Dela’s face twists into a grimace to contrast with Gia’s sick grin. She catches Jinkx’s eye for just long enough to mouth ‘I love you’ to her wife. Jinkx’s face cracks into a smile; she’s about to respond, when a superkick to the stomach from Laganja sends her flying. That’s her cue - Dela gives Gia a nod, and the brunette releases her neck from her grasp, before landing a stiff knee-strike on her exposed abdomen, knocking her off of the apron and down to the floor.

Dela lands flat on her back on the ground, lying there for a moment as she tries to get her breath back. God, that knocked all of the air out of her lungs - if anyone else had been as stiff with her as Gia was, she’d have been asking questions about whether or not she’d done something to piss them off. But a few years ago, she and Jinkx had worked a small assortment of matches in Japan, and if anything, compared to the norm over there, Gia was going easy on her. She screws her face up - gripping the edge of the ring in order to haul herself back to her feet.

Laganja has Jinkx set up for their finisher - a double-team sit-out tombstone, which they had christened the Sativa Driver. Laganja has Jinkx flipped upside-down, legs over her shoulders and head parallel with the mat, as Gia starts to climb the ropes. The move works by having Gia jump from the top rope onto Laganja and her chosen victim, pushing them both down - Laganja landing on her ass, spiking their opponent’s head into the mat. It looked terrifying - but piledrivers were one of the most notoriously worked finishers in the business. It had the potential to snap someone’s head off - but provided that the person delivering it knew what they were doing, it wouldn’t.

Gia gets up to the top rope, steadying her footing - Dela slides back into the ring, leaping to her feet and clobbering a forearm into Gia’s stomach. The other woman stumbles, and Dela seizes her opportunity - as Gia starts to topple, Dela catches her with a cutter and slams both of their bodies into the mat. She can’t see Jinkx, but that doesn’t worry her - this is how the planned spot has gone so many times in training, and at this point, her wife is kind of surplus to requirements.

Gia’s head lolls to the side as Dela hooks both of her legs, holding her shoulders down with one arm as she pins her. One-two-three - she hears the bell ring as she lets Gia go.

“Here are your winners, and new Femme Fatale Wrestling Tag Team Champions - the team of Dela and Jinkx Monsoon, The Weather Girls!”

Dela stands up. The crowd is eerily quiet.

She dusts herself off, glancing around the ring. Her eyes widen. She tries to settle the stirring, black mass of panic that’s suddenly risen in her stomach.

Laganja is kneeling on the ground, her arms tightly folded around herself. She’s sitting bolt upright and her face is drawn and bloodless - her eyes unblinking, mouth ajar as she takes heavy, ragged breaths. Gia sits up. Dela hears her mutter ‘oh shit’ under her breath.

Jinkx is face-down on the mat. She’s not moving.

Dela inhales sharply. She takes a couple of shaky, unbalanced steps towards her, swallowing a sob.

Bill is down on his knees at Jinkx’s side - he pushes Dela away sharply, holding her back with one outstretched arm. His breathing is off-kilter, his brow sweating.

“Don’t touch her.” His voice is panicky. In years of knowing him, she’s never heard the guy sound like he’s panicking.

Dela opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. She can’t tear her eyes away from Jinkx’s lifeless body. Bill gets to his feet - facing the entrance ramp, gesturing down to whoever is standing behind the curtain. He has both arms raised up above his head in an ‘x’. That’s not a gesture that any wrestler ever wants to see; a signifier that what’s going on in the ring just got very real. A nervous, agitated hum of noise has started to emerge from the crowd. Now that Bill has turned his back, Dela gets down to her knees, grabbing Jinkx’s hand - she’s frighteningly limp, and her skin is clammy.

The first people to run out are Courtney and Bianca. Bianca stops almost dead in the middle of the ramp - she doesn’t even try to hide the immediate shock on her face.

“One of you, go call an ambulance. She’s out cold - based on the way she fell, there’s a chance she might have broken her neck.” Bill’s voice is hushed and frantic. Dela doesn’t think she was meant to hear that - she feels like she’s going to throw up.

Courtney nods - her face looks terrified as she absorbs both that information and the scene in the ring. She turns on her heel, sprinting back down the entrance ramp and behind the curtain.

Dela looks over to Laganja - the younger woman has neither moved nor blinked yet. Gia is standing at her side now, one trembling arm around her. Dela’s chest is aching from trying to hold in sobs.

“What the fuck happened?” She says, staring the blonde down. Her voice is thick, and talking is painful.

“...I dropped her.” Laganja murmurs, her lips barely moving. Tears start to spill from her eyes - Gia looks shell-shocked. Neither of them have torn their eyes away from Jinkx yet. “I’m sorry…”

******

Dela stands behind the curtain - she’s all-too aware of the sound of herself breathing, and how much effort it’s taking; consciously thinking in through the nose, out through the mouth with every breath, in an attempt to keep herself sane. Her hands won’t stop shaking.

She’s wearing all black - not necessarily in mourning, although that’s what it feels like. Her dress hits the floor, a slit in it up to her right hip; covered in sequins, with halter straps and a plunging neckline. It was the first article of clothing that she’d ever bought for a show - her first outing as Jinkx’s manager when they were both still in college. She feels too dressed-up; too glamorous for the occasion. But she hadn’t worn anything other than pyjamas or sweats for weeks - when searching through her closet, the zipped-up garment bag had called to her, and she realised that this only seemed right. This was the dress that started everything, and it was the one she was going to wear to end it.

She’s trembling in her high heels; the title belt around her waist seems oppressively tight. Her lips are pursed as she stares at the floor - trying her best to keep her head clear. To not think about what had happened that night - about watching Jinkx being stretchered out of the ring in a neck brace. Or about everything that had come after. The hours sitting in agonising wait in the emergency room - still in her ring gear, crying so hard that her false lashes had fallen off; face covered in running mascara and Bianca gripping her hand. The seemingly endless conversations about surgery and therapy and rehab; having to try and hold herself together - trying to be the strong one for Jinkx, who for the majority of the time was barely conscious. It felt insensitive to cry in front of her. This wasn’t Dela’s tragedy.

Bianca and Courtney both step backstage - Courtney shoots Dela a sympathetic look that makes her stomach turn. She hadn’t even realised that their match had started, forget about ended. She feels Bianca’s hand on her shoulder.

“You good?” She’s still a little breathless from her match.

Dela doesn’t respond. She has a microphone in one hand - the second tag title belt slung over her shoulder.

“You got this, honey. We’ll be right here waiting for you when you’re done.”

“Thank you,” Dela murmurs. Courtney pulls her in for a hug, and she leans her entire weight against her, resting her chin on the blonde’s sweaty shoulder.

The two women leave for the locker room - Dela shoulders her way through the curtain and starts her walk down to the ring. She’s entering without music. It hadn’t seemed right to walk out to ‘It’s Raining Men’, and anything else she could think of had made it seem too much like a funeral. The atmosphere in the audience is somewhat tentative - she gets a standing ovation as she walks out, but it feels weirdly restrained compared to a normal wrestling crowd. It’s the first time they’ve seen her since that night, and Dela has gotten used to that kind of quiet, cautious sympathy by now. Nobody knows what to say, so they just don’t say anything at all. She’s sick of the way that people have started looking at her.

She steps into the ring, lifting the microphone to her lips. She tries to speak, but nothing comes out - the audience is deathly silent and it borders on off-putting. She clears her throat, and tries again.

“This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, so if I start falling apart, please forgive me. Seventeen years ago, I was brought into the wrestling world by the most incredible woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. For the entirety of those seventeen years, we’ve trained together, we’ve travelled together, we’ve lived together - we’ve been through every up and down, every bump in this road together. She’s my rock, my everything - my tag partner, and for the last decade or so, my wife.

“We’ve spent so much of that time chasing glory, trying to make our mark on this industry - and the day we became your tag team champions should have been one of the happiest of our careers. We honestly couldn’t have done it without the support from all of you that we’ve had throughout all of our years in this company. I think we all know that wrestling is nothing without fans, and we’re lucky to have each and every one of you. So thank you. And I’m sorry that we’ve been gone - that we haven’t really been champions.”

Dela can feel her eyes welling up, and she lifts a hand to wipe them before the tears start falling. She hates this - she hates that she’s doing this, standing here and trying to eulogise her wife’s career. She’s never even been to a show without Jinkx until tonight.

“For those of you-“ her voice cracks, and she screws up her face - mad at herself for letting the emotion break through. “Sorry, this is where this starts to get hard. For those of you who don’t know - back in June, the night we won the titles, my tag team partner, and the love of my life, Jinkx Monsoon, broke her neck in the ring. The last few weeks have been difficult, and scary - she’s still in the hospital, we’ve gone through spells of not knowing whether or not she’ll ever be able to walk again; god, of not even knowing whether she’ll live or die, and in all honesty, neither of us have been sure where to go from here.”

Her lip is trembling despite her best efforts to stop it. She can feel the audience collectively gasp as she lays Jinkx’s championship down on the floor, before reaching to unfasten her own from around her waist. The belt is heavy and cold in her hands. She places it alongside Jinkx’s.

“It is with an incredibly heavy heart that I’m here to vacate the Femme Fatale Tag Team Championships, on behalf of the two of us. A match to crown the new champions will be announced in due course. I’m sorry. I feel like I owe you more - I’m here, I’m fine. It’s not my future that’s hanging in the balance. But it doesn’t feel right to represent this company and the prestige of these titles without the woman I won them with.”

She stops. Bill approaches the side of the ring, Jinkx’s wrestling boots in his hand. His face is drawn, and there’s tears in his eyes - neither of them can meet one another’s gaze as he passes the boots to her through the ropes. The disquietude among the audience is mounting; Dela can feel the tension, and it makes her feel nauseous.

“I wish I could end it there, but I can’t - I came out here to be the bearer of two pieces of shitty news, and I got through the first one, so…Having spoken with numerous doctors and surgeons, an…an incredibly difficult decision has had to be made. In light of how serious her injury was, and the level of surgery required to save her life, Jinkx has been left with no other choice but to retire from in-ring competition, permanently.”

She places Jinkx’s boots down on the mat. That was one thing that Jinkx had insisted that she did - leaving her boots in the ring. It was a time-honoured tradition in ‘real’ wrestling before their industry had adopted it, and the gesture was something that carried an amount of finality. An indicator that this really was it - that she had literally left it all in the ring.

She closes her eyes - raising the microphone up to say something more. She’s not sure what, though; her planned script has entirely left her head. Someone in the audience has started an alternating ‘Thank you Jinkx, thank you Dela’ chant, and it’s only growing louder. That’s enough to break her.

Dela ducks back out of the ring, walking down the ramp. She doesn't try to hide how much she's crying.

#rpdr fanfiction #bendelacreme #jinkx monsoon #jela #s6 #gia gunn #laganja estranja #courtney act #bianca del rio #angst #wrestling au #glow au #lesbian au #bitch fight #femme fatale wrestling au #lita

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whytebird · 2 years ago

Text

Sexcapade

Prologue: Rated 18.

Short story

"Ever since I saw his huge black African cock, I couldn't breathe. I want him all of him in me. I want it in and out. I want to moan, I want it hardcore. Weed must be mine. He is my Husband's brother but I don't care".

-Whoreness.

Chapter 1: Bitchly past influence.

"Money" by Cardi B plays at the background as Whoreness sing along while driving.

"I was born to flex (yes)

Diamonds on my neck

I like boardin' jets, I like mornin' sex (woo!)"

Whoreness immediately drive to the side of the road after being signaled by a cop.

"Hi Madam your music is at unreasonable sound and you are driving without a plate."

Whoreness puffed her cigar onto his face leaving the officer mad.

"Step out of the car" he said to her but she resist by zooming off. The officer trailed her back to back as he then called for back up.

The Brooklyn police department all signaled each other to block various checkpoints with spikes. Whoreness drives by every street corner and finally came to a stop in front of the Bank of America at Chauncey street.

She lit up her weed and smoke and gas out humongous air. She steps out of the car, and undress her self leaving her with underwear's. She stand by the road and curl her hair with her hands and then pull a lighter and then threw it into the fuel tank and the car exploded leaving the wailing of the cops siren louder.

She then catwalk through the fire like a diva ( Ganja burn plays in background)

She made it to a safe spot, under the train bridge and browses through the Instagram and also watch out for potential clients passing by; Her way of life.

After five minutes of standing the same cop drive close to her.

"Let's see how you escape" he said.

Whoreness took her heels off and ran like a mad woman. She then ran into a man's car who was getting ready to leave for work.

"And What are you doing" he asks her.

"Bitch your gonna drive this car." She responded.

"I am not driving" he said in a foreign accent.

"You must be from Africa somewhere, but I don't care, you gotta save my ass and drive" she said.

After so much persuasion he drives off to a her safe space.

"Thank you bitch" she said to him as she walked away.

"Can't you say a thank you" he scream at her and she return to him"

" Don't play with me motherfucker, if you want this buns you gotta let me know."

"I am not interested in having sex with you , I just need you to say thank you" he said to her and she stares at him in disdain. She look through his shirt and saw an imprint of Barr Madewill written on it.

"So your part of the government shit hun" she said as she began to step back slowly raising the fuck you symbol on her both hands.

"Fuck you nigga" she said and took off.

"Oloshi, she just came to ruin my day, now I have to call in late." He said and zoom off.

#SoundCloud

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majesticbrownjawn · 5 years ago

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Delicate

Violet reluctantly goes to a house party with her bestie. Meets Erik. Is subsequently turned out. 😩

————————————

"So you coming girl? It's gon be lots of niggas there."

"I'm good. I'm not tryna meet no niggas. I'm tryna meet a man."

Violet was thirty-three and far past the time for games. She was focused and didn't want a man to come and throw her off her game. That's what her 20s had been for and she'd left them behind almost four years ago.

"I need you to be my wingman though. Pleaseeeeee."

"Fine. I'll come, but I'm driving and just know I'm leaving yo ass when I'm ready to go."

Three hours later she was in her car listening to Siri giving her directions to the kickback.

"Girl, where the hell we going?"

"Uhhhhh..." Trina knew if she'd told Violet where the party was, she wouldn't have come. She loved her friend, but she could be uptight and snooty.

"Um, hello. I'm not talking to Siri's ass, Trina.

"Oakland," she squeaked.

"Trina!"

"I know. But I really wanted to come. This is Devante's best friend's party and I didn't want to go alone. I won't know anyone else there."

Trina was the opposite of Violet in that she was blinded by her desire for companionship. Most times she'd end up hurt or used, or both, only to make the same mistake with the next guy. Devante seemed to be a little better, but Violet hadn't met him yet, so she couldn't say for sure. Violet had a keen intuition and she rarely read people wrong. She was eager to see what Devante was all about.

Violet looked at the GPS and saw they only had about 10 minutes left on their ride. If they hadn't been so close, she would have turned back in the direction of her condo.

They pulled up to the home and compared to the others on the block, it looked out of place. It was, well, nice. No doubt an anomaly among the rest of what comes to mind of what people like Violet might think stereotypical Oakland looks like.

Violet groaned when she realized they'd have to park about a block down the street. Cars lined the area and she hoped the people who drove those cars weren't in the same place they were headed. It was a futile hope and as they got closer, the smell of ganja overwhelmed them. They were hit with another wave when they opened the door to the home.

"You're paying to get my hair washed, Trina!"

Violet was forced to yell in her friend's ear. Music was blaring from a wall of speakers to her right. It was artistic in a way. They resembled something she'd seen at a museum last summer in Brooklyn.

The pair weaved through the crowd of people. Some looked like Oakland natives, some looked like hipsters, others looked like something else entirely. It was just mid-afternoon but there were already people here and there passed out drunk.

A group of older men sat around playing spades and cracking jokes at each other. The sight was strange, down to the cheap fold away table. The house was immaculately decorated and the table just didn't fit in. Violet figured one of the men probably brought it with them. Maybe they lived just on the other side of this house on a block that looked more like the Oakland she saw on TV. She and Trina squeezed around the men to enter the kitchen, where they found Devante, but more importantly for Violet—drinks. She was already eager to leave and they'd just arrived. She meant what she said about leaving when she got fed up, but it wouldn't have been fair to tell her best friend she was ready to go now. Especially not after she saw the way Trina and Devante made heart eyes at each other.

"What up doe? I'm Devante." He extended his hand to her and she took it hesitantly.

The first thing she noticed was his strong accent. He was an Oakland native. Devante also wasn't yelling. The kitchen was far away enough from the speakers that one could have a conversation without risking losing their voice from screaming. They talked for about 20 minutes, but it was a one-sided dialogue that consisted of Violet asking him questions and him answering. He took her interrogation in stride, responding patiently and thoughtfully. At the end of it, she decided he was corny as fuck. But in a good way, kinda like Nick Cannon, but with a West Coast vibe. Her gut told her he was OK, for now. She wasn't interested in watching the two of them carry on like teenagers, so she made her way out of the kitchen and back out into the crowd.

She quickly regretted her decision as she was tossed about in the sea of people. She held her drink close to her chest, a strategy she hoped would save the Henny in her red Solo cup. Violet huffed as she finally made it to the front porch and glanced inside. There was a corner left and she scowled at it like that would magically refill it. She shotted the remaining liquid and licked what was left of the spillage from her index and middle fingers.

"Damn girl. That's how you feel?"

Violet nearly broke her neck moving her head in the direction of the voice. It came from across the porch. A shadowy figure stood just out of clear view, which was strange because it was still daylight outside. She hadn't noticed before, but the porch was of the wrap around variety and this person stood just as the porch took a turn for the other side of the house.

"Excuse me?" She was embarrassed that someone had seen her, but she'd be damned if she let one of these Oakland dudes shame her.

Shame.

Hmm.

The shadow man took a step forward and revealed himself to be quite interesting. She had a habit of looking at men she met from foot to head. She used to judge a man on his shoes first. She wasn't as shallow as she had once been, but the habit of doing it never went away. He wore a pair of those sock looking sneakers, gray joggers and a fitted long sleeve Henley tee. His thick muscular frame filled in everything beautifully.

To put it simply, he looked good.

"You ain't never been to the Town before, have you?" He took a few more steps into view and sat on an outdoor couch on the opposite side of the porch.

"What town?"

"Guess not," he scoffed.

She scrunched her brows confused and annoyed. She didn't like not knowing something. Was the Town a club? Maybe he thought he'd seen her there befo—

"Oakland. That's what we call Oakland."

Oh.

She watched him as he rolled his sleeves up casually, but there was anything casual about the way his forearms looked. Violet's intuition sensors started going haywire. The alarms in her head were about as loud as the music inside the house.

"Want more?" A sly half grin swept across his face as he tempted her, waving a nearly full fifth of Hennessy at her.

"You looked like you wanted more...the way you were licking those fingers a second ago."

She stared at him, fuming. Even more embarrassed now.

"C'mere."

She didn't want to, those alarms were still warning her to stay away from this man.

But Hennessy.

She took a deep breath as she rose and walked to him. The few steps felt like miles.

"Sit."

Violet plopped to the far end of the outdoor couch.

"Why you all the way over there? You scared?"

Yes.

She hadn't been close to a man this fine since—never, actually. He was the finest man she'd ever laid eyes on. She was certain of it now that she was up close. The realization made her nervous.

"What's your name babygirl?"

"I'm not your baby or a girl. Are you going to give me some or not?" She raised her empty cup to his face. Her attitude and entitlement was almost unattractive but it was something different than what he was used to. She intrigued him.

He grinned again, shifting closer to her.

"Yea, but first lick your fingers again for me."

Violet yelped at the request. She'd never been asked something so vulgar in such a forward manner, by a complete stranger. Had she not been in the hood and had this man not been so damn fine, she likely would have slapped him and got up to find her friend. She instead just stared at him appalled, offended and anxious.

He crept closer, as close as he could get, approaching her like a jaguar ready to pounce. The shadow man's arm rested behind her head on the back of the couch, the smell of him refusing to be ignored.

Mahogany.

Coconut.

Cedar.

The combination of sweetness and spice made blood rush through her veins like whitewater in a rapid. He leaned into her neck and her eyes fluttered at how close he was. She could feel the heat leaving his body.

"I don't like to repeat myself, babygirl." He rested his hand on the curve of her neck, his thumb rubbed back and forth across the length of her throat. He finally gave her a bit more breathing room, but his hand stayed put.

Violet was a deer in headlights. Completely struck by the situation. His boldness. His beauty. His dominance. And that she was fighting the fact she liked it. She glanced down at her own hand seriously contemplating doing it. Not for the Henny, but because she wanted to please him.

She looked back up at him.

"I-I dunno—"

And suddenly her fingers were in her mouth. He'd grabbed her hand while she was distracted trying to make a decision.

Violet's eyes widened and she let out a soft whimper as he guided her fingers in and out her mouth.

"That's right. Look at me. You got some pretty ass eyes." He spoke his words slowly and carefully, allowing her to see the slugs on his lower canines for the first time.

She cursed herself in her head as she now willingly sucked and licked on her fingers, giving him what he wanted.

After he was satisfied, he removed her fingers from her mouth and studied how wet and blush her lips were now. The thought of sliding his dick between them made him twitch.

"Open up." He tapped the bottle to her lips and gave her a shot's worth before pouring more in her cup. He got up and headed for the front door.

"Where are you going?" Her question sounded desperate. He heard it too, the smug look on his face was a clear indication of such.

"We going back inside. C'mon."

Violet sprung up like a weed. She was surprised to see his hand outstretched to her. She didn't want to take it so easily, but she knew the mass of people standing around on the other side of the door would likely separate them if she didn't. She held his hand and marveled at how warm it was. She felt this odd sense of comfort holding it.

Violet's gaze then became fixed on his arms and those scars. She moved her hand above his wrist and gently padded the first few rows on his forearm. The touch made him jerk his head back at her and the look he gave scared her enough to move her hand back to his and keep it there.

She noticed her and Shadow Man's walk was much easier than hers and Trina's. People seemed to move out of his way as he approached them. Some moved out of the way with a look of awe, it seemed. Or was it respect? Maybe even fear? His stride was smooth and confident as he parted the crowd like Moses and she wondered just what she was doing with him. What possessed her to follow him in here, holding his hand? What did he have planned for her?

She was relieved when they approached that table with the men playing cards. Maybe they were headed for the kitchen and Trina could talk some sense into her.

"Y'all old niggas still playing? Ain't it time for y'all to report back to the nursing home?" The table erupted in laughter. Violet even snickered to herself a bit. The Shadow Man had a sense of humor it seemed.

"If you don't get yo' mop head ass outta here, E," one of the old men replied.

Another gentleman threatened to 'whoop his ass' like they used to for wearing that size ‘smedium’ shirt.

"Watch ya mouf unc!" Shadow Man joked. Or was it E? The first man called him E. It should've mattered. She didn't plan on telling him her name anyway.

Violet was disappointed to see that her best friend wasn't in the kitchen. That meant she was on her own in trying to be rational about this situation.

"Why you looking like that?"

She raised a brow at him.

"All worried and shit." He pressed his thumb against the wrinkles between her brows. She was sure he didn't mean for it to be, but the action was calming. She shrugged at him and that seemed to be answer enough.

There were still a few people milling about in the kitchen, but it mostly cleared out when they entered the space. He seemed to know the few stragglers still there and it made her wonder just who he was.

"Who are you?"

He laughed at her question as he leaned on the counter across from her. He was taking too long to answer and her mind raced with the possibilities of who he might be.

"I don't like repeating myself either...E." She took a satisfied swig from her cup.

That'll teach him.

Shadow Man didn't seem to like it though. He quickly stepped to her and forced himself back into her space, clenching his jaws.

"You went to college, huh? Prolly grad school too." Not the response she expected but he was right, nevertheless.

"Yea. And?" She didn't feel as intimidated as she had before.

Had to be the Hennessy.

"You smart." She smiled at his compliment.

"Problem is," he continued, "You think you smarter than me and everybody else in here."

E was also a good read of people. He knew her type and she stuck out like a sore thumb here, but only because of her bougie ass disposition.

"You not though." He cupped her ass firmly.

"See, I know I'm smarter than yo uppity ass...Cuz I knew you'd like my hands on you like this."

He slapped her behind and the sting rang across the kitchen. The short, thin dress she wore did nothing to muffle the sound. She started to look around her to see if anyone was looking but he grabbed her chin, keeping her eyes and focus on him.

"And you weren't smart enough to stay away from me." Her heart pounded. He was telling her everything she knew already.

"Why should I stay away from you?"

"Exactly, babygirl."

What? That's wasn't an applicable answer to her question.

He was watching her lips again, but this time she noticed. His tight little eyelashes blinked slowly at her pout before traveling back up to her 'pretty ass eyes.'

"You wanna kiss me,” she whispered.

"That's a question or a statement?"

"You tell me, since you so smart, E." He slapped her ass again for her sarcastic remark. This time she didn't try to scan the room for a potential audience. She didn't seem to care.

His frame enveloped her, despite her being a good 5'8" and thickly. She rarely felt small but she did now and it was a complete turn on.

One hand on her ass and the other on her face was how he started the kiss. She started it with a gasp. His lips were velvety soft. Her eyes were open at first. She had to make sure he was really kissing her. When she saw his were closed, she followed suit and was thrust into a kiss unlike any kiss she'd had in her life. Who knew thug type niggas kissed like this? It was rough, yet gentle and hot all at the same time. He pulled away from her only after suckling her full lips and finishing their kiss with a surprisingly sweet final peck.

She was stuck there for a moment, eyes still closed and leaning towards him. Until she realized he was gone. She looked back out the kitchen, past the old man card table and saw his short, stiff, dreadlocked ponytail hovering just above the crowd. She darted out the kitchen after him.

She found the courage to muscle through the crowd, because this time she had good reason to. Her own height assisted in her effort to keep an eye on the tips of his locs. Where the fuck was he going? The fact that he'd abruptly left after their kiss made a swell of insecurity rise up in her, yet she continued following him.

Violet felt some relief when she saw him heading up a flight of stairs above her. She hurried to the base of the steps and took a deep breath. She didn't want to be here just an hour ago and now she was following the Shadow Man up the stairs in some stranger's house.

Those pesky sirens in her head were blaring now. She could barely hear her own thoughts.

When she saw him disappear into the darkness of the hallway upstairs, her feet involuntary took the first step, and the one after that, until she found herself at the top looking down into the sea of people below. She continued down the dark hall looking for him. There was a slightly ajar door at the end of it that had a light shining from underneath it.

She pushed the door open slowly. There were sketches and what looked like computer parts all over the room. She gave herself a tour of the room and assessed that whoever lived in this house was probably a genius or at least smart as hell.

Impressive.

She was intrigued to the point that she momentarily forgot about him. When she was done being nosy, she headed for the door, flipped the light off and simultaneously felt two hands around her throat. The strength of the person was terrifying. It had only been a few seconds and she already felt lightheaded. Violet's arms flailed around, trying to grasp the light switch. If she was going to die tonight, she would at least see her killer. They must have sensed her plan and pulled her closer to them.

Mahogany.

Coconut.

Cedar.

"E...," she croaked as her hand made contact with the forearm of her attacker. His raised skin gave him away. She felt relieved that she knew it was him, despite the fact that his grip hadn't loosened around her neck.

"Please...I'm gonna...pass out..." she tapped at his hand and he released her.

"The fuck you doing up here, babygirl?!"

#erik killmonger x reader #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger x black!reader #killmonger x oc #erik killmonger #killmonger smut #killmonger x reader

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