#that it still was considered an act of romance and not violence

[reignpage]

In Sheep's Clothing

Synopsis: in which you're alone in a cabin in the woods during a rough snow storm and an enigmatic, sexy wolf hybrid!Toji turns up at your door providing much more than his handyman service Warnings: plot with a side of porn, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie, knotting, degradation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, masturbation, praise kink, rough sex, manhandling, cowgirl, thigh fucking, hair pulling, slight anal play, biting, dom!toji, blowjob, allusion to shower sex, dirty talk, dry humping, pussyjob, fingering, panty sniffing, cum eating, spanking, titty slapping, pussy slapping, biting, dumbification, primal play to the extreme, !!dark themes!! beware cannot emphasise this enough people (dw there's no gore or noncon or anything, it's just the nature of the plot), acts of violence, angst, fem!reader, romance, barely proofread Word Count: 19.9k (it's a lot I know I know sowwy)

Perhaps running away to the mountains and hiding in the woods wasn’t the greatest idea you’ve ever had. But it was the only one you had at the time. Your grandmother’s cabin is a little run-down, though that was expected considering how many years it had been since she passed, still, it has solid bones and you can’t complain.

It’s a two bedroom bungalow — spacious enough for a family, what with its generous kitchen and hearty fireplace, but far too small for you. Dust has settled on all imaginable surface and it took hours to remove the coverings on every sofa, chair, table, and bed, and even longer to wash everything that could be washed by hand, since the washing machine and dryer in the back room have long since given up on themselves. 

Most of your days since whisking yourself away here is spent dusting, washing, wiping, and cooking. You’ve yet to feel the dent you’ve been chipping away at. There’s still a draught coming from the front door, the main heating system isn’t working, and somewhere, in every corner, is an odd creaking that keeps you up at night. 

Sighing, you glance out of the window, curled up underneath a mountain of blankets, and watch the snow fall. It’s always snowing here. It was barely possible to trek up here as a snowstorm was creeping in; the townspeople were less than eager to even hear you out until you flashed an extortionate amount of money. 

A nice, elderly man took pity, though, upon discovering your last name. He knew your granny. Said she was a sweet soul with a real talent for baking. Having ordered one of his sons to drive you up, he gave you his telephone number, insisting that if you ever needed anything, anything at all, they would come at the drop of a hat. 

That warmed your heart a little. The kindness of a stranger is not something you’re familiar with and thought you’d never get to experience, but there he was, smiling, and waving the cash away like it was the silliest thing in the world and it had no real consequence. 

It had been four days since and you won’t lie, you have considered phoning in that favour. You’re way out of your depth here. With a sigh, you pull a blanket, red and knitted by your grandmother, up to your chin and continue to watch the snow fall. Even though you’re at your wits end with all the scrubbing this cabin needs, you couldn’t possibly call it quits now and beg the man to come up just to take you down. How embarrassing would that be?

You hear knocking. 

There’s someone at the door, pounding. Your heart begins to beat fast. You must have mistaken the sound of the wind howling for a knock at the door. After all, you are miles away from the town and the snow is far too thick for anyone to have gotten up here. Would it be wise to get up from the warmth of your sofa to be sure?

The knocking gets louder, more adamant. Okay, so you weren’t, in fact, mistaken. Something about that noise, unyielding and firm, pierces your heart. You can’t imagine being out in this weather. You’re at the door faster than you can even process the speed at which your feet moved. 

When you fling the door open, the freezing wind attacks, stinging your cheeks and nipping at your skin. Arms rushing to hug the blanket you thoughtfully to drag with you tighter around your body, you squint up through the blinding white of the snow at a hulking beast. 

Broad shouldered and glaring, he watches you cower beneath his gaze. He’s dressed in a simple, fitted t-shirt and baggy joggers, and you feel impossibly colder just by looking at him. His face is hidden behind a disheveled beard, rough and scratchy. He’s a very hairy man. 

“H-hello. Can I help you?”

His nose twitches. He jerks his chin to something behind you. “You’re cooking. I’m hungry.”

Without waiting for a reply, he pushes past you. Pressing yourself close to the door frame, you just about avoid the graze of his arm against you. This turn of events has your head spinning. Who does this man think he is? 

The wind howls harder. You slam the door shut. “Excuse me! You can’t just walk in as you please. This is my home. Get out.”

He doesn’t look back, doesn’t even register what you say. Instead, he crosses into the kitchen and lifts the lid of the pot of stew you’ve been working on for hours and grunts. When he fixes himself a bowl, you’re left speechless at how he seems to move on autopilot, opening cabinets and drawers for what he needs without so much as a glance. 

Now he’s sitting at the table, scarfing down your stew and you’re bewildered, spluttering. You’re being Punk’d. 

“Who do you think you are? I told you to get out. I’m gonna call the police if you don’t within the next five seconds!”

He snorts. 

“The police?” His voice is gravelly, seemingly from lack of use. “Ain’t nobody getting up ‘ere in this state.”

That’s what every serial killer says, and you should be afraid, should be running for help. But there’s no hint of malice or cruel intent in his words, only amusement, the way one responds to a child’s whims. 

“Well, you should still afford me the decency of leaving my home when asked.”

“Your home? Didn’t know the old lady gave it away.”

You gulp, clutching the thick blanket even tighter. “You knew my grandmother?”

He grunts. 

Well aware you really ought to kick him out, you’re ashamed at the realisation that you can’t bring yourself to. It’s awfully terrible outside and there’s no doubt the elements would claim him if he he’s left out with no shelter. Though, that really shouldn’t be your responsibility and there is still, of course, the glaring concern of his ability to kill you. One sweep of his figure and you know this towering man, tall and muscular, could snap your neck with one hand. 

Or worse.

Not to mention, he’s a hybrid. You can tell by the twitching of his ears and his nose, like he’s hearing and smelling things inscrutable by the human senses. You wonder what he is. He has no triangular ears or fluffy tail like a dog, he doesn’t have eyes like a cat, no scales that you can see, but his teeth, when he scrapes them along the spoon, you know they’re much sharper than you’d like to ever find out. 

If he wanted to kill you, he could have done that before. And at any rate, it’s too late to do anything about it now. He knows you’re alone and there’s nowhere you can run to before the snow freezes your limbs. 

Settling back down onto the sofa, you just watch him eat. He’s grabbed a second helping, enjoying the meat more than the potatoes and carrots in there but that’s expected of a man. It does mean, though, that he’s not a herbivore hybrid. You wonder if he likes the taste of a woman’s flesh. 

“Is it good?” You ponder. 

There’s something oddly peaceful about observing him — the way he only chews once and twice before swallowing and shoving another spoonful, the way his throat contracts, how his huge hands grasps the bowl and spoon like they could be ripped away from him before he’s finished, and even the way his foot taps, impatient and tense. 

He throws you a cursory glance. “It’s good.”

A second helping disappears. So does a third.

“It seems like you haven’t eaten in days. Or showered. Or rested.”

Huffing, he leans back in the chair, full perhaps. He scratches his stomach under his shirt and you look away at the flash of skin. In a drawl, he concedes, “Y’r right on the money.”

You note how he doesn’t offer more. And you know by the way he’s observing you in return that he’s expecting you to ask for more. You don’t. It’s stupid. Suicidal even. But a little company to weather this snow storm might not be so bad. 

“I’ll allow you to stay here until the snow passes but no longer than that. There’s a second bedroom in the back, you can use that. The boiler’s broken or something so the radiators aren’t working, neither is the hot water in the shower. So, unfortunately, this isn’t going to be a stay at a five star hotel but we’ll both get along just fine if we maintain boundaries and do our part.”

He grunts. That seems to be his preferred way of communicating. Fine by you. You never liked talkative people anyways. “I want a hot shower. So do you by the looks of it. I’ll go down and check the boiler out.”

Startled, you laugh. “You know how to fix things?”

The look he gives you is answer enough and with no further words exchanged, he marches down the hall, obviously all too familiar with the layout of the cabin — did he stay here after she died, when the house was empty and unused? 

Or maybe he stayed with your grandmother and that was how she got along just fine on her own after your grandfather died.

After thirty minutes or so, he emerges, some grease smeared on his face, and he presses the back of his hand to the radiator by where you sit. He’s standing very close. And from your position, hugging your knees under all these blankets, he looks so much bigger and stronger. 

“It’s fixed. For now. Shit’s old so might need regular maintenance,” he explains. “Ya wanna shower first or what?”

Considering he fixed the damn thing, he should have the first go, shouldn’t he? Especially as he’s been out in the cold for goodness how long.

“I’ll shower first,” you say. 

He nods. 

Unfurling yourself from your cocoon, you stumble to a stand. He doesn’t move, doesn’t give you space. Your chest brushes against his. Tingling rushes down your spine at the graze of your nipples. You hastily move past him, embarrassed and suddenly nervous. 

“I’ll be quick. Um, feel free to have more stew and I don’t know if you have any clothes or anything, but my grandmother kept some of her husband’s clothes, you’ll find them in your room — the second bedroom, I mean. Just down the hall, by the bathroom.”

He doesn’t reply and you don’t wait for him to . 

In your rush to save face, you just miss the way his lips twitch in one corner. 

You had forgotten how wonderful a hot shower is. The way you’re enveloped by warmth and your tense muscles loosen and relax under the barrage of water. You take much longer than you usually do, intent on thoroughly enjoying the water like it could grow legs and make a run for it. Eventually, you’re bathed and fresh. Much fresher than you’ve been in the last couple days since you didn’t have to hurry through your routine or curse under your breath at the burning chill of the water, mocking your ineptitude and foolish spontaneity. 

When you come out, dressed in a sweater and joggers, you’re pleased to find the house much warmer than before. The fireplace is even lit, the orange and red flames dancing with as much joy as you feel. More cozy and welcoming, the cabin has completely transformed in what feels like a blink of an eye. Before, the clinical white lights overhead flickered on its last legs, completely and utterly useless, now only the fireplace sheds light, covering the living room and kitchen in a snug ember. 

It feels reminiscent of Christmas evenings you never had. 

Your guest doesn’t look surprised when you approach — he probably heard you every step of the way — but he does push off the sofa and give you a look over, nodding as if satisfied to see you out of the blankets you wore like a second skin. 

Just as he brushes past you, you grasp his arm. Nerves light up. You drop it like it burns. “Sorry. I, um, just wanted to say thanks. And uh, I guess we should introduce each other. Sorry I didn’t do it sooner. I’m not really sure why I didn’t. Maybe I was just mentally prepared to not speak to another person for a while or something.” 

Tilting his head at you, he releases a huff of air through his nose and says, “Name’s Toji. You’re y/n; the old lady talked about you.”

“Oh.”

Likely sensing that’s as much as you’re going to say, he disappears into the bathroom with a pile of clothes and a towel in hand that you didn’t even notice — maybe because you were far too distracted by how handsome he looks under the glow of the fire or how his skin felt nice, all hard and soft and heated the way only a man could be. 

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because the first thing you really noticed upon entering the living room was not the way it had been transformed or how normal it looked for such a big man to be taking up space here, but rather how this ‘Toji’ was sitting in the exact same spot you’d been making your little home when he came. 

When you awake the next day, you’re surprised he’s still asleep. It was almost midday and there’s no sign of him having walked through the cabin before you. There’s no way you’ll knock on his door. Truthfully, you were surprised, pleasantly so it must be said, to find yourself alive and untouched. You don’t guilty for thinking the worst and you’re not naive enough to think better of him for not being a serial killer, that’s simply the bare minimum. 

But it does mean he’s a man of his word and you can let down a little of your guard. 

Instead of worrying more about what he’s doing in his room, you busy yourself  with breakfast. Toji had finished the stew when you came out of the shower and you were impressed by his appetite, albeit also concerned for your stock; at this rate, your food will run out much faster than you had planned and there’s no telling when the weather will get well enough to call out the old man for help.  

You bake a sourdough, fry up some eggs and sausages and put the kettle on for some coffee — instant, unlike the ones you’re used to in the big city but it’ll have to do. You’re careful not to make too much noise, although you feel a little embarrassed at how thoughtful you’re being. 

Just as you put the plate down, he emerges, shirtless, hand scratching the trail of hair low on his stomach. His hair is mussed up, sticking at all angles, and the plaid pyjama bottoms he must gotten from your grandfather’s box of old clothes hang low on his hips, distinct v-lines peeking in a terrifyingly sinful way. He has fairly thick hair on his arms and chest, the very definition of unkept and wild. 

You clear your throat. 

“Good morning. Sleep well?”

He throws you a look, full of amusement, before he sits down at the table. He must have smelt the food and known somehow you were meaning to share. How presumptuous of him. “Slept fine.”

You serve him his portion, larger than your own, and pour him coffee to which he doesn’t say no. “Not going to ask me how I slept?”

He snorts. “Don’t hafta. You tossed and turned the whole night.”

“You have really good hearing, don’t you? What kind of hybrid are you?”

He eats much slower than yesterday, mulling the taste over rather than scarfing it down, and he seems pleased enough with your cooking skills. For reasons you don’t want to think too much about, you’re feeling pretty proud of yourself. 

“Wolf,” he replies. 

You’ve never met a wolf before. But they are an infamous breed — they needed constant medication to keep their animal instincts at bay, they stuck by their own kind, were aggressive to outsiders, and are known for being fiercely loyal and protective. Toji doesn’t seem to match the description. He’s alone for one and he moves with grace like a deer and not like a clunky predator. 

“How did you know my grandmother, if I may?” You ponder. In all of the letters she’s written to you, she had never mentioned knowing a hybrid like Toji, or any hybrids for that matter. 

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug and shared, “Helped her around during winters just like these. She was too old to get down by herself and there were always things needing fixing.”

“She gave you warm food in return?”

He grunts. 

“How did you know she died?” Raising a brow at your question, you explain, “You said she ‘was’ too old.”

Barking a sudden laugh, you find the noise tickling your skin and you can’t stop staring at the way his face softens for just the quickest second and ever so lightly. You’re ashamed to admit the noise makes you warmer inside than it should. 

“I come sniffing around soon as snow starts to fall. It’s routine. A habit. I was the one who found her. Notified the townspeople and went on my way.” He takes a sip of the coffee, green eyes never leaving yours. “Haven’t been back in years.”

His voice is gruff and now that you’re sat face-to-face with him, it’s clear as day that he’s not used to the sound of his own voice; he furrows his brows and stumbles upon certain words like they’re foreign, as if he’s struggling to reconcile the reality that those words are coming from him. 

“So what made you come here?”

No answer. 

The rest of breakfast passes by in relative silence, the distant moan of the wind outside providing enough noise to wash away the awkwardness of eating with a stranger. You want to tell him you’d prefer if he didn’t walk around so bare but that seemed too big of an ask since it’s likely he runs hotter as a wolf than you do. Eyes falling to your neck and your chest unashamedly, he doesn’t shy away from eye contact. 

You do though.

Then he stands, taking both your and his plate over to the sink. He begins washing up. That actually takes you by surprise. This Toji fella didn’t strike you as the type to partake in house chores. Rather, he seems like the type to firmly believe the kitchen is a woman’s domain. Interestingly enough, his back is marked up, full of scars, and they ripple with his muscles. You want to ask about them but he’s not a man who offers answers and you’re not the kind of woman who should poke and prod. 

“Right, well.” You stand too. “I was wondering if you know how to fix a washing machine. And a dryer. Neither are working and washing my sheets and panties in the bath is a pain. 

His eyes flick to you as you wipe away at a spot on the counter dirtied by flour. You probably shouldn’t have used the word ‘panties’ in front of a man like him but you thought it would be funny. He doesn’t seem to think so. He gives you a half-nod and you feel satisfied enough from that interaction to pad over to the sofa to read a book. 

Toji begins working around the cabin — he heads over to the laundry room and you hear the clatter of metal and thumping against the floor. Upon emerging and giving you the look that says ‘it’s done’, he also starts looking for something in the basement. He carries up a box of lightbulbs in one arm and a ladder in another. 

When you jolt up, to offer help, he cuts you another look that says ‘don’t you dare’, and you sit back down. He seems to have his own way of doing things and he knows you’ll only get in the way. Maybe he noticed that your nails are long and clean and he can somehow, with his wolfy powers, sense your hands have never touched dirt.

Still working on this and that around the house, you serve him his lunch and you eat separately. If this becomes your routine then that’ll be ideal. He does all the cleaning and fixing and you cook. Sure, it might be setting back the feminist movement just a little but things like that don’t matter up here, where it’s freezing and you have no idea how you managed for days without him.

Much more quickly than you could have ever expected, the day ends and night falls.

“Thanks for the help,” you say, handing him a glass of your grandmother’s moonshine. You remember where she kept it from your childhood and now, soon after dinner, just sat by the fireplace, feels as good a time as any to bust it out. 

You’re both leaning against the sofa, right by the fireplace, choosing to be on the rug rather than on the soft couch. You can’t remember who followed who, but you suppose it doesn’t matter. In just one day he had solved most of the problems you’ve nearly cried over. 

Toji grunts. 

He’s wearing a shirt now, thin and plain. Your grandfather was a much smaller man so this shirt is practically bursting at the seams on his huge bicep but he doesn’t seem to mind. You do, though. It’s rather distracting actually. His skin brushes against yours and neither of you move away. 

The flames are the only light here and you feel its warmth settling on your face, lulling you to comfort. Stronger than any alcohol you’ve ever had, the moonshine burns your throat, lighting you up inside. Your companion appears to be unimpressed with the concoction, downing the cup in one gulp. 

Slightly embarrassed by your inexperience, despite being an adult, you ask, “Where were you staying before? You said you come here for winter so where do you stay for the rest of the year? Same place you’ve been staying at since my grandmother died? Or somewhere different?”

Throwing an arm on the sofa, right behind your head, he admits, “Nowhere. Everywhere. Just moved around a lot.”

“Why didn’t you just stay here? If you talked to her enough to know about me, then surely she must have told you no one ever visits since everyone in the family hates the cold. You would have had the place all to yourself.”

“I never stay in one place for too long.”

You skim the rim of your glass, watching the clear liquid swirl with the glow of the fireplace. “Why not?”

He waits until you can’t bear the silence, until you feel that itch to look up, to meet his gaze. And when you do, there’s some intensity in his eyes that seems to make the alcohol in your stomach burn just a little more. A finger of his twirls a lock of your hair and he murmurs, “Never had a reason to.”

Nodding, you settle for watching the fire. 

And when the bottle of moonshine was depleted, you left to sleep and he stayed, a scalding brand marking your back and you couldn’t bear to look back to know if it was from the fireplace or from him. 

That was how your first day went. 

On the second day, you repeat more or less the same routine: you make breakfast, you eat together, he goes and fixes something else, you make lunch, you eat separately, he fixes some more things, you make dinner, and you share a drink or two, and sleep. 

Occasionally, you’ll run into each other and you still struggle to meet his eyes, having to crane your head so far back to get a good look. Sometimes when you do gather the courage to look up at him, he’s already looking at your chest, green eyes slowly rising up to your face. His brow rises in challenge just as hip lip twitches. He doesn’t care at all. The man had no manners. 

But he washes the dishes after every mealtime and he doesn’t really make a mess, so you can’t complain when he takes his visual fill of your body. There’s no harm in looking, only a priest would ever know that you do the same thing; there’s always a sizeable bulge in his trousers that you can’t keep your eye off, totally only out of curiosity. 

The day starts off with an exchange of ‘g’morning’ and a ‘g’night’.

The third day tells the same story. 

On the fourth day, however, only one thing out of the ordinary happens and it isn’t anything to write home about but you can’t get it out of your mind, as you lay in bed wide awake. The wolf hybrid had needed to get past you to get something from the fridge and on his way, he gripped your hips, lightly and barely a whisper, but his finger had brushed a sliver of skin where your shirt had risen up. 

His touch was startling, petrifying, making the hairs along your body stand on edge, but more than anything, it was completely and utterly exhilarating. 

When your hand wandered down into your panties that night, you tried your best to stifle your moans with your pillow, chasing the high that followed you the entire day. You fell asleep sticky, sweaty and unrepentant.

The fifth day goes by just fine too. Appreciative of the little song and dance you two have choreographed, you find yourself less and less anxious about the snow and the world beyond. There’s just something about this Toji fella — he’s quiet in a way that would be off-putting from anyone else, but you find it comforting. It’s different from the way everything worked in the city, where silences are this obscene monstrosity that must be filled with the clattering of a busybody. 

Here, with him, you can just breathe in the hot cocoa and the smoky ash burning in the fireplace as you sit by him, shoulder to shoulder, on the rug and not on the sofa. He doesn’t ask questions about why you never visited your grandmother, why you haven’t talked about your family or your friends, or why you don’t ask him questions. 

You like to think too that he appreciates you keeping your curiosity at bay. 

Maybe that’s why he lets you rest your head on his shoulder, why he doesn’t nudge you off when your breath begins to even out and your lashes flutters shut, and maybe, just maybe, it’s why he carries you to bed and lays you down so gently you dream of solid arms, green sparkles in the snow, and fluffy clouds that brush your hair back. 

What you weren’t prepared for, however, is the sixth day. It started off just like any other day: breakfast, reading on the sofa whilst he fixes something or the other, and then lunch eaten separately. 

But, the hybrid must have gotten oil spilled on him when he was tinkering with something in the cellar because he went to shower during the day, instead of at night like you both do. This fact wasn’t known to you. It really wasn’t even on your mind. And that’s why disaster struck. 

Walking into the bathroom to grab something — you can’t even remember what it was and why you were so focused on retrieving it, you hadn’t registered the sound of running water and the fact that the room was steamier than usual — you were met with a sight no HR training could ever prepare you for. Because, there, right in front of you, was your roommate, buck naked with water dripping down his chiseled body, catching on the curly hairs on his chest and lower abdomen. He was leaning with one arm on the glass of the shower stall, forehead pressed onto his forearm whilst the other made slow, leisurely strokes somewhere low, somewhere the steam gravitated towards. 

Forward and back, forward and back, forward...and…back. 

All while his eyes, like freshly cut grass, stayed unmoving, watching you watch him. Feet sinking deeper into the tiles, you were stuck where you are, heaving chest matching his as he let out a grunt, wrist jerking faster, splashing so much water everywhere you could almost feel them land on your skin through the glass. 

Your phone pinged from your hand. You didn’t realise you were holding it. That was just about enough to break the trance he had you under. Wordlessly, you turned back and left, the door clicking shut behind you, and you busied yourself with preparing for dinner. 

When he walked out, dressed, you could see from your peripheral, you grunted in acknowledgement after he let you know he was going to get some wood from outside. 

Dinner was eaten separately too. 

Instead of watching the fireplace, side by side, sharing whatever drink you’ve prepared, you’re settled comfortably under your blankets, hand rubbing furiously in your panties and eyes shut tightly, chasing flashing images of something sinful, delicious, the very source of your delirium. 

Your orgasm is shallow. It’s why you’re conscious enough to notice, through the gap between your door and the floor, that the hallway light is still on and just as you exhale your last lust-induced moan, it disappears, leaving your senses focused solely on the sound of feet padding away.

You don’t get any sleep. 

“G’morning,” you chirp. 

The kettle is boiling and you’re serving the last of the eggs and bacon onto pancakes you made from scratch. There are still some meat frozen but the vegetables and fruits are almost gone and there’s no other way about it — you’re going to have to go down to get some more food. What had supposed to last you comfortably, at least two weeks, is now on its last crumbs before the first seven days had reached its end.

His green eyes flick to yours and with a small smirk, beard twitching, he asks, “Sleep well?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you try to ignore the burning of your face and the sudden shake in your hands. Of course he had heard. Of course! Because, lost in the haze of the shallow pleasure, you had forgotten that you’re living with a man that is far from ordinary. 

So is his hearing. 

“Oh, great,” you grit out. “And you?”

A snort of what you can only guess to be amusement is released from him and when he brushes past you, his heat only sets those embers ablaze again. He doesn’t answer. 

Once sat down and eating, it’s your roommate who suggests more food is needed — as he should, considering it’s because of his insane appetite that things have turned out so hopeless so quickly. 

“How could we possibly get more food in this weather? No one can get up here and walking down is not an option. I mean, just looking at all that snow makes me feel like death is creeping in.”

“Don’t gotta leave,” he says with a grunt. “I’ll go.”

Spluttering, you practically shriek, “You? Are you insane? You’ll die.”

His green eyes glint. “Will the pretty little city girl be sad if I do?”

“Will the big, bad wolf listen and stay if I say yes?”

Toji barks out a laugh. Breakfast ends soon after. 

An hour passes and, as you read a book, you think that that’s the last of that. But of course it isn’t. Just as you finish a chapter, the wolf in question comes out of his room in a worn out coat too small for him and a firm look on his face. He can’t possibly be serious. 

Ignoring your protests, he heads over to the door and doesn’t spare you a glance. It’s only when you tell him he needs money that he does pause. Typical macho men, thinking with their muscles and not their heads, you grumble in your mind. He waits for you to grab your purse and shove it in his hand. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Your question is met with an eye roll. 

“Yeah, quit worrying. I’ll be back before you know it.” He sounds so sure. You’re inclined to believe him. Something about how sturdy he looks makes him sound convincing enough; Toji’s built like an oak tree, with deep-reaching roots and a thick trunk that could withstand the harshest storms and mightiest blows. But all trees can be felled, if one tries hard enough. 

He must have smelt the doubt pouring out of every pore because then he’s making a sound of pure exasperation. “Alright, listen. I’m a wolf, yeah? I’ve been through worse.”

Eyes darting from the snow and to his deadpan face, you mutter, “Just because you’ve been through worse doesn’t mean you should go through more. You can just stay and keep warm. With me. I can’t help you if you’re out there.”

There’s a silence, like a sudden gust. And then a sigh. 

In less than a second, you find your jaw being gripped with one large hand and your head is pushed to the side just as his face buries itself in the crook of your neck, the rough hairs of his beard tickling your skin. The growl that escapes him pulls a gasp out of you and then he’s gone. 

With the speed at which the door flies open and closes, you barely feel the sharp sting of the cold. Or maybe you do feel the full brunt of it, but it’s overshadowed by the envigorating rush that came from that big man inhaling your scent before he left. 

You wonder if he liked what he smelt. 

Before, it felt like time was passing at a snail’s pace, but now it’s like time isn’t passing at all — you’re stuck in some sort of pathetic limbo where you spend every meaningless second switching tasks. From brushing the floor to rearranging the books on the shelves in the corner to dusting every surface to lying in bed and so on and so forth. It feels somewhat akin to engraving tallies into the walls with a paperclip.

Alone, truly alone, you can do nothing but focus on the feeling of ice creeping into your bloodstream. The heaters are on and you can very easily set the wood burning in the fireplace if need be since he taught you. But you don’t want to; you’re lazy. That’s the excuse you’d tell Toji if he asks, biting down the real reason and never spitting it out.

The shivers wracking your body is what you deserve for letting that man go to get food on your behalf. The quivering of your lips is due to the fact that you could have — should have— gone with him, should have bundled him up in something thicker and warmer, and yourself maybe, so you two could trek together to the town. At least, if one of you were to be injured, there’s someone there to pick you back up. 

Who will pick him up?

Gnawing on a nail, your eyes dart, for the millionth time, outside the window, fuzzy socks rubbing against each other as you shuffle on the floor. Night is falling and he still isn’t here. You’re beyond worried. 

How long does it take to hike down and up anyways? It took about an hour by car, so surely it wouldn’t take longer than a day at the very most, right?

But spending even just an hour in this snow, wearing just a coat, would be fatal for anyone, wolf hybrid or not, right? And he’s attempting to bring up groceries? 

Oh, God. 

You’ve allowed that man to walk right into his death. No, you’ve sent him off to die. You’re a killer. Or maybe he’s not coming back. Maybe this was just a ploy to leave without an awkward goodbye. He got what he wanted — roof over his head, a bed, food, warm shower and even a stupid girl to tease. Now that he’s exhausted the supplies, maybe he’s off to try his luck at another cabin. 

Is this what it was like with your grandmother? 

Did she make sure to stock up as much as possible for the winter to ensure he’d stay the entire time so she can have someone to look after her?

Is that what you’re going to turn into?

A food bank?

You shouldn’t have come up here. You should have stayed in the loud, stifling city in your miserable office job, with your stuffy pantsuits and your overbearing boss. You should have accepted your family’s manufactured smiles and cold hugs. You should never, ever have dared to want more. There is nothing in your entire life you have done, or could have ever done, to deserve more. 

A knock comes on the door. 

You jerk up. 

The blanket falls from your shoulders. Stumbling to a stand, you wipe your hands down your front, trying to steady them, and without waiting for a second knock, you twist the knob that had just been above your head and you flung it open. 

“Could hear ya sniffling from miles. You good?”

In front of you is a very hairy man, broad shouldered, coat darkening with the dampness that weighs him down and flakes of snow litter his beard like an upside down tree. He’s scary, hulking and tense, like a wound up toy, ready to explode at any given moment. An ear twitches when you sniffle, just as he said. This man could kill you. He’s strong enough to have been carrying two big, heavy bags, one in each hand, up the mountain. And he knows the exact layout of the cabin, knows there are no hiding spots, no locks in the basement, knows where the axe is, and that the stoker is leaning against the fireplace, too far to get to in time from where you’re standing.

You jump onto him. “Oh my god! I thought you died. Or that you left me!”

He grunts with the force of your body meeting his, but he doesn’t stumble. Bearing the burden of the bags of groceries and your entire weight as you wrap yourself around him like a koala bear, he walks in with ease, kicking the door shut. He saunters over to the kitchen where he deposits the bags on the counter and leaves just enough room to sit you down, untangling your awkward limbs from his torso. 

“Ya think too much.”

He pats the wetness, that had transferred from his clothes onto you, down with a tea towel. Your shaky hands reach up, threading your fingers through his beard and his hair, and you brush the snow away. He’s still here. And he’s warm. 

“I was so worried something happened to you, Toji,” you whisper. 

Stilling, his green eyes flick up to yours, searching, and when he finds the tears threatening to fall he sighs, and presses his forehead against yours, letting you feel the firmness of his presence. He smells like burnt cedar, the musk of the earth, and the saltiness of sea air. With a gravelly voice, he reassures you, “I’m here. Got enough food to last us another week, and by then the snow will stop falling. We’ll be fine”

Your ‘thank you’ stays in your throat when he pulls away and falls on a chair by the dinner table with a grunt so deep and loud you’re snapped back into action — he must be starving and exhausted. Toji did his part and now you must do yours. 

Sneaking glances at him, you work as fast as you can, cutting this and boiling that. You know as soon as the onions and garlic hit the pan with the sizzle his nose will start twitching. If it smells delicious to you, you wonder how it must smell to him. Maybe the anticipation of a warm meal was what pulled him home. 

You won’t disappoint. 

Every second or so, your eyes drift to him, mostly to make sure he’s still breathing, but also because you can’t help it. He’s snoozing, you surmise, when his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm and his eyes are closed. You move around as quietly as you can. 

Plated, you set the steaming soup, fried meat and loaf of bread he had brought down on the table. It’s not the most appealing of all appearances but you know the recipes like the back of your hand so you know he’ll love every thing. Or at least, you hope he will. 

Checking all the necessary silverware are on the table, you try to gently coax him awake with a call of his name. He doesn’t answer. You look up with a sigh, ready to jostle him from whatever dream is so beautiful he’s in deep sleep, only to find those frustratingly alluring eyes already on you. 

“Smells delicious,” he says, making no effort to gesture to the food. 

You gulp and with a weak smile, you sit down and allow him to serve you. “So, how was it? Is the situation bad?”

Toji rolls a shoulder back. He answers, “Snow’s definitely too thick for a car, but the town hasn’t been too badly affected. No one can get in or out but they’re all making do.”

“And you? Was it a difficult journey?”

There’s a pause as he swallows the spoonful he’s shovelled in his mouth and then he’s shrugging, remarking, “Ya think so little of me? Told you, I’m a wolf hybrid. Wasn’t easy but was hardly difficult, ma.”

Warmth pools in your stomach. 

“Good.” You sip some water. “But you definitely need to get some rest. That’s a non-negotiable, I’m afraid. No manual labour of any kind tomorrow. I’ll handle everything. So, just let me know what I can do for you. It’s the least I can do, after all.”

He snorts. “Yeah? Y’r gonna take care of me?”

“I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

His fork and spoon clatter on his frighteningly empty plate and when you meet his gaze once more, you’re knocked back by the sheer challenge in them. There’s a glint, like light off a knife’s edge, and it slices from your heart down your body, leaving you open and electrified. 

“Careful, little girl,” he taunts, jaw snapping with a laugh, “when I take you up on that, y’r gonna be whining for days about how sore you are.”

There’s no way you’re going to argue with him, not when he sounds so certain, like you’re missing out on some inside joke. So you finish up dinner, with him having three servings, and after, with the dishes in need of cleaning up, you practically have to shove him in his room when he insisted he’s fine enough to stay up. 

He rolls his eyes and lets you slam the door shut in his face.

As you tidy up in the kitchen, you’re pleased to find the fridge full. There’s a lot of fruit and vegetables and all the possibilities are getting you giddy. You suppose you were a little afraid Toji, being a man, would only buy junk and red meat, but he hadn’t. In fact, he had gotten things beyond food, he had bought toiletries and sanitary products for you. Sure it was a little presumptive, maybe you didn’t have periods, maybe you’re on birth control, maybe you’ve just had it and won’t have to worry until after the snow calms enough for you to deal with your personal bodily functions. 

But, you find the act endearing, if the smile creeping on your face is anything to go by. 

Eventually, you retire to bed, feeling much lighter. There’s lots of food and he came back. He hadn’t left. He had gone through so much trouble — life-risking trouble — that it must mean something, right? 

You fall asleep very quickly. 

Sometime around two in the morning, however, you’re awoken by some dull noise outside. Blinking through the sleep in your eyes, you pad out of your room and into the living room, where the fireplace is burning and casting dancing shadows over your roommate’s body. 

“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” he grouses. “Go back to sleep.”

Finding the spark to laugh, you muse, “I think that’s my line, no?”

He looks wide awake sitting in his usual spot, on the floor with an arm on the sofa and a leg bent. Shirtless, the fire makes him look like he’s glowing, and you’re mesmerised. Clearing your throat, you retrieve two bottles of beer he had cheekily gotten, and sit criss-crossed by him. He takes the beer with a grunt of gratitude.

There’s something different in the air; silence isn’t enough tonight. All the things that have so far been left unspoken, locked away, are climbing over, ready to be shared — at least from your side. You may never know what he’s truly thinking.

Brows furrowed, you begin, “Did you ever wonder how I ended up here? Well, there’s not really a special or interesting story — I just got tired and bored of the same old thing. It felt like my life was missing substance, y’know?”

Grunt. 

“I hated the city,” you confess. “It’s awful there. Everyone treats you like their enemy even as you’re just walking down the street. No one ever smiles or even looks at each other.”

Huff.

“It’s a good thing I was a workaholic and lived frugally; I can afford to camp out here until…well, till forever, I guess. It’s also great luck that you came by ‘cause I can’t fix a boiler or anything of the sort, so I would have likely died by now.”

For a second you think he’s dozed off, as he should have been doing after dinner considering the strenuous journey he underwent to get some food, but one glance to the side up has you gulping when you find his eyes on you once more, like they never left, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather look at. What a dangerous thought. 

The eye contact has you, or him, or both of you, drawing closer, gazes flickering down and then up and back down again. With the warm glow of the fire blanketing you in the night, you feel so safe and secure; it’s you and him in this cabin and no one else matters. No one else has a say, can interrupt, can ruin this. 

Whatever this is. 

The arm he has behind you shifts and then you feel fingers skimming a lock of hair, following it down from the temple of your head, curving around the shell of your ear, and into the slope of your neck, brushing your hair back and exposing  skin to the sizzling air. 

You shiver.

“I’ve always been the kind of girl who stayed in one place. I like the security, the familiarity. But recently things have started feeling tough, like I’m stuck in quicksand, as dramatic as it is to say.”

Your voice is weak and low; you never knew you could sound like that. 

When you were brushing the snow out of his beard, you weren’t surprised to find it rough, you often catch him scratching there so you know it’s uncomfortable for him too, and yet, you find a bubbling desire within you to feel it on your skin, the way you had briefly felt it on your neck and in your hands. How would it feel in other places? 

“I just needed to get out, y’know?” You’re leaning impossibly close — close enough to see the question in his eyes. “Do something new, something exciting, something…” 

“Wild?”

Toji’s eyes flashes and at your dazed nod, he dives forward, swallowing your gasp in his rough, unforgiving mouth. He shoves his tongue in, licking and tasting, and that arm that laid at the back of your head curls around it, pulling you close by your neck. You’re left with no choice but to cling to him and try to keep up with his merciless pace. 

He tastes like alcohol with something deeper running, like an undercurrent, a ferocity only a beast could achieve. You feel intoxicated. Carrying you onto his lap, you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of something hard jutting up into your core. A growl pierces your ears when you don’t hesitate to grind down onto that hard length. He’s leaking heat hotter than the fireplace, he’s hard and firm everywhere your hands can reach, and his clutch is frightening, gripping you like you could never escape even if you fought against him. 

You’ve never been wetter. 

“I can smell ya,” he rasps. “Been smelling this sweetness every day. You taste as good as you look or what?”

Coarse and prickly, this beard is rubbing deliciously against your skin, reminding you from all angles that he’s kissing you, that he wants you just as bad as you want him, and he can’t get enough. 

Burying your fingers in his thick hair, you moan when he licks a stripe up your neck, sniffing at your pulse point. “Find out for yourself.”

His laugh is sudden and gravelly and it’s the last thing you think about before you’re being thrown on your back, legs spreading to accommodate his girth as he kneels above you, shirt going up and over before he throws it somewhere. With the fireplace highlighting the sharp contours of his face and his rippled chest, his beastly grin spikes your pulse and then he’s pinning you down with his body. 

“I don’t think you understand the position y’r in, little girl,” he taunts. 

Using his claws, he rips up your top, exposing your tits to the air for just a second before he swallows one in his mouth, flicking a nipple with his tongue, all while he’s rolling his hips into yours creating a delicious friction that has your back arching and your jaw dropping. 

“Been dreaming about these pretty tits.” He pinches the other, grinding his cock especially hard against your clit. The revelation falls on deaf ears when he smacks one. “Fuuuuck, look at the way they bounce.”

You pull at his hair and he lets you drag him back up to your lips, your nipples sore and tickled by the hairs on his chest whilst he rises up your body. “Kiss me.”

And he does, swallowing your moans he continues squeezing and groping your tits, but he leaves your lips swollen quickly after as he begins his descent, peppering a trail of kisses. 

Pressing a nose right up at the apex of your thighs, he takes a looooong inhale, a satisfied growl echoing in the darkness. Your face heats up, legs threatening to close around his head but his big paws holds them open, nails digging with the promise of pain if you dare shut them away from him. 

“You been flaunting a scent that’s got my mouth watering more than any of your baked goods,” he huffs, eyes narrowing at the wet spot leaking through. He thumbs at it, pressing down as if he could force everything you’ve got to give out. “’S not fair, ma. Waited so long for you to give in to me, heh, gonna make you regret that.”

“Toji!” 

He rips up your pyjama bottoms too and hooks his fingers into the gusset of your panties before those are flying away, shredded beyond hope, and cool air grazes your sloppy slit. 

Not a single second is wasted before he digs in, lapping up your pussy with a fearsome snarl. The tip of his long, slobbery tongue circles your pulsing clit, tweaking it when you whine. “Fuck, you taste this good and ya been holding out on me? Selfish little cunt, hmm?”

Hands flying up to grip his hair for purchase, you fall victim to his incessant licking and sucking and slurping as he flattens your thighs open, the scraggly hairs of his beard tickling your sensitive skin which grows clammier and clammier with the heat of his mouth, his body, and the fireplace. 

When he curls two thick fingers in, stretching your walls further than you could with your own, your eyes fly open. “No! Ngh, too much.”

Still sucking at your clit, he shoves those fingers in and out, dragging them on his way to really take in the squishiness of your insides, forcing out those loud squelches. You tug at his scalp and he lifts up just a little to snap his maw, missing your clit by a hair’s breadth. 

“Don’t get in the way of my meal, ‘cause this?” He slaps your pussy, juices splashing and he barks a mean laugh. “This is mine now.”

Your orgasm washes over you when his lips sucks your clit with a tongue flicking the little button at the exact same time those long digits curls up and lays successive presses against that smooth part inside of you. 

Toji’s entire mouth engulfs your pussy, sharp teeth grazing your skin whilst he suckles on your sweet essence, drinking like a man lost in a desert, his personal oasis. “Ah, y’r no good for me, ma. Gonna get me addicted on this sloppy fucking cunt.”

Panting desperately, you writhe on the floor, feverish and crazed. He doesn’t give you a break, doesn’t let you catch your breath, before he shoves his pants down and lets his cock spring out. 

Just the like rest of him, his cock is huge — long, thick, and throbbing with veins running up the length, carving a path up to his leaking cockhead which flushes a sinful dark red, promising a painful stretch. At the base, there’s coarse hair, wild and untamed like any other part of his body, and oh, God, those balls, they hang heavy, too heavy. 

He snaps his fingers in front of your face and chuckles before he orders simply, “Suck.”

As if entranced, you scramble onto all fours, crawling forward so you can nudge his length with your cheek, his slit leaving a wet trail. He smells like a beast of the earth and it has your pussy drooling, a fat droplet sliding down your thigh and you shut your legs tight in a pathetic attempt to quell that ache. After all, you are much too preoccupied with this monstrous thing in front of you. 

You peer up at him and stick your tongue out, licking from the very base, catching a little bit of his ball sac, and tilting back to reach his tip where you skim the underside. A large hand slides into your hair softly before it bundles up your hair in its angry grip pulling your head back into an uncomfortable angle so you can face his savage scowl. 

“I know y’r not deaf. Fuck did I say? Huh?” He pushes your face into his balls, smothering you. “Be a good girl and suck, yeah?”

So you do. 

Suckling on his balls, much like how he did with your tits, you try to take as much of him as you can before you can’t bear it any longer and you wrap your lips around his cock head, savouring the salty drops that coat your tongue. Everything about him is strong, from his grip to his scent and especially his taste. It’s as if he was built to dominate, to fill up every senses until you can think of and feel nothing but him.

You gag, overwhelmed by the intrusion. 

He tuts, thoroughly scolding when he drawls, “If ya can’t take me properly with y’r mouth, then there’s no way you can take me with y’r pussy. Wanna prove me wrong, kid?”

You push past the painful stretch of your jaw, gliding as much as of his length into your throat as you can, thumb being pinched by your fist. Not even halfway down, you go back up again, not letting go of his tip before you slide back down, and you repeat that motion, taking more and more of him as you go. 

When you hollow your cheeks to suck him in deeper, you see him throw his head back, his abs tensing and becoming prominent, you scrape your nails down that trail of hair before it finds his balls, massaging in the way you know not even he could resist. 

“Fuck. Tryna -ha- make me cum so soon? Naughty,” he says. 

In a flash, you’re being pulled off his cock and pushed back onto the rug once more. Your ankles are clasped in one of his hand, extending your legs high up in the air. “W-what are you doing?”

Cracking his neck slowly, the flames of the fireplace still as virile as ever, Toji looks downright sadistic with the way he grins at you.

“Just enjoying my meal to the fullest.” He pushes his cock through your thighs, right on top of your slit, lathering the underside with your overflowing juices. He groans, sharp teeth catching on his bottom lip. “We’re both gonna cum like this and then I’m putting you to bed.”

Slightly distracted by the way his cock is catching on your clit with every slide back and forth, you ask with a frown, “But why can’t you just fuck me now?”

He laughs. He fucking laughs. And then he’s bending your legs back towards your chest as he leans in close, placing your calves on his shoulders so you can see his face far too clearly. Rubbing the bristles on his jaw on your skin, he lays a soft kiss on your ankle before he scrapes the bone with a canine. 

“Because I fuck rough, city girl. Y’r gonna be bruised, sore and all chewed up and you can’t complain if you hopped on my dick willingly, no?” You can’t answer. “Yeah, glad we agree. So don’t open that pretty mouth of y’rs unless it’s to moan my name, and keep y’r legs tight for me; no one wants to fuck something loose and limp.”

“Hurry up and get it over with!”

Doing just that, he thrusts like a madman, using you like a rag doll to chase his pleasure. You’re being jostled on the floor, the rug burning your skin and your hair so close to being singed by the embers of that fire he’s been tending to, setting alight and snuffing like clockwork every day.

His balls slap against your ass, as if pounding you too. 

It’s all so dirty, so obscene, so wet any rational thought you should have been having about letting someone who’s practically a stranger fuck your thighs like you’re nothing but a slippery hole fly out the window. 

The slight sheen of sweat on his chest is making you restless — you can’t focus on one thing, not the way he’s holding your legs tight, hugging them to his torso like you might run away, the way the friction of his cock rubbing against your clit is bringing you closer to orgasm, and not how your wetness is making embarrassing squelches that you know his hybrid ears can hear in even greater clarity than you can.

“Oh! T-toji! I think I’m -ngh- gonna -ha- cum.”

He bites down hard on your calf just as his hips stutter and his scalding spurts splash onto your chest, even reaching your chin and cheeks. A drop falls into your mouth which is stuck in an O-shape as you orgasm at the same time, digging your nails into the carpet and thrashing your head around as the euphoric feeling wash over you from inside and out. 

Panting, you manage to breathe out, “Y-you made me all sticky.”

“Not fucking sorry.” Toji licks the red mark on your leg away and presses a kiss right in the centre of the two half moon crescents made by his teeth marks. Your heart beats faster. When his green eyes rove over your body, you both see and feel the deep rumble of satisfaction bubbling from his chest. He runs two fingers down your chest and your stomach, collecting his cum before he smears it on your lips. “Not fucking sorry at all.”

Your eyes threaten to shut and he grunts, realising he must have exhausted you despite the fact that it was he who pushed themselves through the elements for hours and not you.

“Alright, up and at ‘em. Let’s get ya cleaned up, kid.”

Hauling you onto your feet, the rest of the night goes by in a blur — you’re taken to the bathroom and wiped down by a wet cloth, redressed in new pyjamas, and tucked in all nice and warm in your own bed. He leaves. Even half-asleep, you find that act ever so slightly disheartening. 

It feels like you’ve been used, like the act wasn’t as intimate as you might have thought. It leaves you biting your nail and groaning inwardly. Of course he didn’t think much about it. The man looks older than you, he’s probably fucked the thighs of many girls and you’re no one special, right?

Maybe the best thing to do is to take a page out of his book and just be casual, so at least you won’t humiliate yourself by asking something absolutely ridiculous like ‘what are we?’

God, the thought makes you grimace. 

You make a promise to yourself to swear off Toji until the snow thaws enough to get down and up this cursed mountain. The mental fortitude you’ve erected seems so solid, so reliable and firm, you actually believe you’ll have a more than easy time keeping your hands, and your heart, to yourself.

That is until he returns smelling of soap and he slides right in behind you, tucking an arm under your back and pulling you into place with your head resting on his hairy chest.

“Had to cut my shower short ‘cause you’re gnawing y’r fucking fingernail off. Cut it out, will ya?”

Your bedmate swats at your hand, pulling it away from your anxious mouth and playfully bites your wrist. That hand stays in his grip. Heart ceasing its painful clenching, you make yourself comfortable in his embrace, enjoying the heat enveloping you, hotter than any fire.

Clearing your throat, you mutter, “Thanks for today, Toji. Really. I couldn’t have ever done that without you.”

He huffs a laugh, thoroughly amused.

“Wouldn’t hafta if I wasn’t eating up all y’r food.” His voice booms under your cheek, the vibrations lulling you to sleep. You’ve only just noticed how nice he sounds, it’s a captivating timbre, rough and scratchy like bark but comforting and unyielding in a way you’ve never known anyone to sound. “Ya would’ve been fine without me, anyways. Don’t sell y’rself short.”

“I think it’s you who’s selling yourself short.”

Those are the last words exchanged between you before you two fall asleep.

—————————

“Fuck you up to?” Toji grouses. 

His voice is laced with sleep and he’s rubbing his eyes, all bleary and confused. He has every right to be considering you’re under the covers, mouthing at his dick and stroking the morning wood that woke up before him. The duvet gets pulled up, revealing your less than innocent smile. 

Kissing his slit, which prompts a heavy hand to lay on your head, you ask, “Waking you up?”

An arm folds under his head, getting him into a great angle to see you much more clearly. His brow rises up, challenging, and he teases, “Yeah? Well, I’m up, ma, so what now?”

The radiators have yet to be turned on this morning so the air is chilly in your room, but still you push those covers back, showing him how you’re completely bare in the bottom, wearing only your shirt to bed. His spare hand falls on your plump thigh, squeezing and kneading. 

“Last night,” you begin, raising your hip so you can seat yourself down on his hard length, “you told me you’d only fuck me if I hopped on your dick willingly. So here I am.”

You’re rubbing your already soaked pussy up and down on his cock, coating him with your wetness just as he did last night. You feel every delectable ridge catching your clit and you grind down on him with shameless abandon. How could you ever possibly feel shame when it feels so good and he’s not even inside you yet? When he’s looking at you like that? Like you’re the tastiest prey who’s ever walked into his trap?

He pushes a thumb into your mouth, watching your lips wrap around it like you did the night before and this morning, before he drops his hand to the apex of your thighs, massaging tight circles into that bundle of nerves, forcing breathless moans out of you. “Ya gonna ride me, doll? Gonna show me just how willing you are?”

“Uhuh.” Grinning, you let him pull the shirt up and over your head, nipples pebbling immediately. He flicks one, palming the fatty globe to soothe the dull pain.

Steadying yourself with your hands on his abs, you lean forward and steal a kiss. It’s supposed to be a peck, just a polite, cursory smooch but then he stops groping your tit to use that hand to keep your faced pressed to his. Toji deepens the kiss, shoving his tongue inside and exploring your mouth. He’s stealing air from you and the longer he keeps you submerged, the more you moan. 

In the haze of the heat he’s growling into you, you fail to realise he’s let go of your head and is now slotting his cock into your pussy. 

“W-wait, Toji!”

The stretch is overwhelming; you hadn’t prepped yourself enough but neither of you seem to care. It’s hard to when his cock head is already pushing through that tight ring of muscle and is worming its way deeper inside you. 

He hisses. “So fucking tight! Fuck, gotta relax, ma.”

“I’m -ngh- trying!”

Down and down, your cunt swallows as much of him as it can. You’ve pushed yourself upright, using gravity to aid the descent. Nothing else in the room has his attention. Nothing could ever take his attention. “Oh fuck, would you look at that? Greedy pussy can’t get enough, can she? Dirty girl heh.”

You bottom out, lips tickled by the hairs at his base. 

“You’re so big, Toji.”

Both of his arms reach for you, gripping your ass and lifting you up just a little only to let go and let you drop down. You screech. He’s reaching every part of you inside, and when you look down, you’re so certain you can see the outline of him pushing through your stomach. You clench.

“Ah, fuck! Don’t do that,” he scolds you. “Start moving before I get bored.”

The threat makes you frown but you do as he says anyways. Mustering all the strength you have, you start riding him, rising higher and higher each time until you get comfortable with his size. You can’t imagine any amount of prep would ever get you to take him with ease, but the overflowing juices coming from you is certainly helping; it leaves his hairs dewy. 

Years past, or so it feels, as you grind and slide down on his length, and he doesn’t seem the least bit affected. That only fuels you harder. With a vendetta, you get up on your knees, keeping just his tip in, before you slam down. 

You both moan. 

“Fuck!”

His hands dig into your slippery flesh, careful of his sharp claws, but threatening to leave bruises just as he promised. The way he’s poking that sensitive spot inside you has you whimpering with every grind at just the right angle. You can’t imagine ever wanting to stop. Squelches after squelches echo in the room but there’s no shame you can muster, not when he feels so incredible.

The pain is quickly spiralling into pleasure and every part of him is pushing you to the edge— his strength, his length and girth, his low groans and hisses, the hairs that tickle your skin, and those eyes, scouring your features and not missing a single thing. 

Embarrassing sloshes and splats! are reverberating against the walls, just as the creaking of the bed frame, and the slapping of skin reach your ears. You’ve never heard yourself sound so dirty, so reckless, so downright pornographic. All of it is pulling you under even as the ache in your thighs from the overuse of them is making your rhythm irregular and jerky.

“Gorgeous -ha- gorgeous girl,” he says through gritted teeth.

His point is emphasised by a slap against your ass cheek, the sting makes you fall over, back onto his chest which is sticky with both of your sweat mixing and mingling. The hairs on his chest brush against your nipples, still sensitive from his rough sucking and biting last night, and you whimper. 

Growling in your ear, he plants his feet onto the bed, and oh god, he’s grabbing your ass in both hands and you know without even having to look at him that he’s grown tired of your amateurish performance; Toji is taking matters into his own hand. 

“Guess I still gotta do the -hah fuck- work ‘round here. Always such a —ngh— princess. Hold on tight, ma, ’s gonna be a bumpy ride.” His laugh rumbles under your body and an eye roll is all you can manage before you’re being pummelled into from underneath, jostling you in all sorts of directions. 

Plunging his cock at an incredible speed, you feel him in your stomach, in your lungs, God it’s like he’s in your head, filling every fold and crevice with his beastly intensity. “Toji! No! Ngh, s-stop! I can’t, fuck it’s so good! Yes! Oh! Oh! Nooooooooo.”

“No, yes, no? Make up your mind, ma. Use that city girl head for me,” he growls out, punctuating his mean question with a cruel laugh. 

Bundling your hair into a careless fist, he yanks you back from his chest, forcing you to confront him. He’s not flushed, his face isn’t crumpled in desperation, he isn’t even out of breath. In fact, there would be no sign he’s enjoying this —you, being inside you, holding you — except for the bead of sweat trailing down his temple, drawing your attention to the way those jade beads are flickering between your eyes and your swollen lips. 

“Kiss?” You ask, breathlessly. 

Toji furrows his brows, something flashing in his gaze, something that resembles confusion, conflict, or hesitation. It’s so quick you wonder if you imagined it but there’s no time to ponder longer because he continues his incessant assault on your poor pussy, kissing your cervix with every thrust, practically rummaging your insides with the way he’s using you like a toy once again. 

It’s filthy, it’s carnal, animalistic and oh so good.

“Yeah.” He licks his lips, pearly white row of knives for teeth on perfect display. “Give me a big wet kiss, baby. Make it worth my -hngh fuck!- t-time.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to stretch forward, he slams his face to yours, smacking his plump lips, gobbling you up despite your moans of surprise. He shoves his tongue in with as much ferocity as he’s thrusting his cock inside your poor battered pussy. That tongue licks and explores like he can’t get enough, like he wants to memorise every curve and edge.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

A huge hand lays consecutive slaps against your ass again, the flesh rippling and burning. He times it with every thrust, heavy balls smacking your skin too. It’s all too much too soon and you feel an orgasm bubbling from your throat and your cunt. 

“W-what is that? Oh my god!” Something thick is attempting to enter your sloppy pussy, round and threatening. You squeal when it pushes in after a particularly merciless thrust and grind from Toji. The extra stretch brings about a sharp pain. You tear up. 

A hand that’s clutching an ass cheek ventures deeper, trailing a finger to a hole you’ve never touched. Smothered in his chest, the onslaught of stimulation from all angles is killing you. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to breathe, no one to turn to for help from the man making good on his promise to leave you bruised, sore, and all chewed up. 

“’s my knot, babygirl. Fuck, you really don’t know shit about hybrids, huh? Well, y’r gonna be educated soon.”

The dark, sadistic tone of his is making you dizzy. In a panic, you hastily say, “N-no! I can’t. Really, Toji! I r-really can’t. Pleaseeee.”

With your hair still in his grasp, your head’s tilted back once again, but this time to bare your slender neck. In one fell swoop, that bulge gets shoved inside your cunt, plugging you up, and his maw clamps down on your neck, so close to puncturing you with his savage teeth.

“Oh! I’m gonna cuummmm! Toji! T-Toji! Stop!” Your jaw drops, eyes rolling back, and your nails dig into his meaty pecs for purchase. It’s like electricity is wracking your body, sizzling every hair strand, tickling your nipples from inside. Grinding against his pelvis, your oversensitive clit is caught in his hairs, creating a remarkable friction you can’t escape. “Oh, fuuuuuuuuuck!”

Broken chuckles emerge from his sinful mouth, “Go on, ma. Cum on my cock, milk me, just like that, oh shit, such a good girl, fuck!”

His brutal pace splutters as he follows suit, balls clenching whilst your walls attempt to push out the invasion of his cock and his knot. A crazed laugh echoes right by your ear, you don’t know what’s so funny but stuttered moans are the only sounds you can make as you chase your high. 

“Ah, fuck, y’r so fucking tight. Practically -ha- choking me heh.”

You feel hot cum paint your insides, drizzling down your walls with nowhere to go. He’s thoroughly filled you and when you attempt to lift your hips to get up, you realise, he’s not letting you go any time soon. 

“Nice try, ma. Unfortunately for you, y’r stuck with me for about twenty minutes or so till it goes down. Probably should’ve bought condoms heh.”

“You should have given me a warning, Toji,” you mumble, pouting. 

Goosebumps litter your arms; the chill of the morning air is settling reminding you just how bare you really are. Thankfully you don’t have to suffer for too long because he’s shuffling so he can throw the covers over the both of you. With his natural body heat, you’re more than warm and cozy, especially as his burning cock is still inside you. 

He licks a dried trail of tears on your cheek. “Sorry. Thought you knew.”

“Well, I didn’t. This is my first time with a hybrid.”

Grunt. 

A beat or two passes, a comfortable silence humming between you. He’s so big and meaty it feels like you’re going to melt into him. Now that you’re not so distracted by cock and cum, and the morning light is shining through the curtains, you can see his scars much more clearly. He’s littered in them, some like slashes and others just scarred-over holes.

You have so many questions, none of them leave the tip of your tongue. 

“Ask.”

You pause. “Can I?”

Huff. 

“Okay,” you trail off. “Why do you have so many scars?”

Tickling your spine with his callouses fingers, he skims your back absentmindedly. You lay your chin on his chest, watching him look at somewhere in the corner of the room, clearly falling fast in an endless hole of memories. This is a rare opportunity to more about the enigmatic wolf-man who showed up at your doorstep in the middle of a snow-storm, claiming to have known your late grandmother. 

More silence fills the air. His fingers have stopped.

You nuzzle his jaw with your nose, burying it in his beard. It seems to snap him out of his daze. He grunts once more, licking your cheek, not to taste the salt on your skin, but as if to say ‘thanks’. 

“Been on my own for a while. For as long as I can remember, actually. It’s…tough out there. Not everyone is as nice as you and your gran.”

Carefully, you hazard a guess. “Were these from people? Hybrids or normies?”

He gropes your ass like a stress ball. 

“Both.”

“I mean, I’ve heard stories of the kind of abuse and discrimination hybrids face from normies, it’s quite prevalent in the city despite recent equality laws but why would your own kid hurt you? Aren’t you all in the same boat? Isn’t there some kind of…camaraderie? Sorry, is that insulting to assume?”

Spanking your ass, he huffs a laugh. “You’re adorable. No, don’t look at me like that, kid. It’s cute of you to think that’s how it works.”

“It isn’t?”

You don’t take offence to his patronising tone; you had expected to be wrong about aspects of hybrid life. Normal, average humans outnumber hybrids at a ratio of four to one. Some hybrids are lucky enough to be passing, kinda like Toji, but others carry visible signs of their anthropomorphic genes. The latter are rarely treated well despite the fact that they’ve existed just as long as normies have. They used to live in their own continents, building large civilisations far more expansive than humans have achieved at that time. 

But war is a cruel mistress.

For many reasons, humans and hybrids stayed away from each other. It was only relatively recently they’ve begin co-existing, even inter-mixing. The change has been hard for many people. Perhaps not most of society, but enough to make the idea of living as a hybrid make you grimace. 

“Nah,” he says, almost finishing his reply there until he sees your inquisitive eyes and he continues, “there’s lots of different kinds of hybrids. We don’t all like each other. And not all of us running the same race. There’s a lot of competition, suspicion and hatred. ’s always been the case.”

Nodding, you prod further. “And your scars? Did they come from bar brawls or something?”

“Some, yeah. Others from professional fights.”

You perk up. 

“Professional fights?”

In a flash, the cover is falling onto the floor and you’re upright once more. Toji’s pushed the both of you up and off the bed, holding you in his arms with his softening cock slipping out of your pussy. You scramble to gain better grip of him.

“Oh my god! Give a girl a little warning. God, Toji! It’s cold.”

He licks your ear. 

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. With ease, he carries you out of your room and into the bathroom. “Let’s wash up and start the day. ‘m starved.”

Rolling your eyes, you let him have this one chance at evading your question; you’re just pleased to have learnt a little more about him. It feels like he’s letting you in, presenting himself openly just for you. For a wild man like him, whose solitary despite his nature, this is the greatest gift he could give you.

Toji’s a thorough washer — he shampoos your hair better than you ever have and not a single crook or cranny gets overlooked. But as soon as you get clean, the so-called day doesn’t get started anytime soon when he falls to his knees and shoves his face into the apex of your thighs, making a loud sniifffff before he growls and laps up the mixed juices of his and your cum. 

In next three days that pass, you notice the dynamic between you shifts. 

For one, he no longer sleeps in his own room but rather in yours. He follows suit after dinner and removes his shirt, freshly showered and completely bare, and hands it to you wordlessly. You wear his shirt, and only his shirt, to bed. 

Lunch is no longer eaten separately. He joins you wherever you are, whether that’s in your room, all warm and cozy under a mountain of blankets, or on the sofa, also all warm and cozy under a mountain of blankets. You watch movies on your laptop and he never argues with your choices. Sometimes he just eats in silence, right beside you, as you read a book or stare out the window. 

Toji’s much more touchy now. Before, he was sneaking in grazes and quick gropes, now he’s lost all reservation and politeness. When you’re cooking, stirring something as you hum to music, he creeps up behind you, pinning your body to the counter with his hips and he wraps an arm around your torso to weigh a breast in his palm, squeezing and massaging for his own pleasure. 

He’ll tweak a nipple, pushing your hair back to skim his nose against the length of your neck, inhaling deeply and stopping to mouth wet kisses on that bruising around the teeth marks he’s left there.  Most times he’ll let you be after he’s had a fill of your softness, but sometimes he kneels behind you and tears apart your pants with a resounding SSSSSNAP! Before he laps up your pussy from behind, food coming out just a little more cooked than you’d like, though he never seems to mind. 

And it must be worth mentioning that the sex is constant. 

Every night and every morning. It isn’t a stretch to say that you eat, sleep and breathe sex with Toji. Which you honestly can’t complain about. It’s always so rough and so good every time. 

However, his insatiable appetite is making it ever so slightly hard for you after — there’s a perpetual soreness in your joints and in your pussy, you find yourself looking behind you to make sure that when you bend down to pick up whatever it is you’ve dropped he won’t be there playing with your cunt with his fingers and/or mouth. 

His hearing is incredible. 

Sometimes you hide just to time how long it takes for him to find your hiding spot. Longest time was three minutes. The cabin isn’t the biggest in the world but there are plenty of places to hide, like closets, under the bed, behind sofas and doors. 

Still hard at work fixing bits and pieces around the cabin, Toji somehow always knows when you’re up to some mischief. Maybe it’s because your heart starts beating faster or because you let out some giggles, envisioning that glint in his eyes and in his teeth when he grins at your pathetic attempts to escape him. 

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because your panties get soaked with anticipation for his rough, calloused hands throwing you over his shoulder and onto a bed, his or yours he doesn’t care, and fucking you into a drooling mess. Sometimes he even gets so impatient, so riled up, he just takes you wherever you are, your face smothered in a pile of folded clothes or against the wall with your panties dangling from an ankle. 

Everything has been great. So great in a way you’ve never known greatness to manifest. It’s somewhat akin to, what you can only imagine to be, the completely liberating sensation of flapping your wings and cruising high up in the sky or running through a stream, chasing a fish with no end in sight. It’s the kind of greatness men strive for all their lives but never reach because it’s a greatness they were already born into and never realise. 

The routine, the mundane, the ordinariness. 

It’s all so great. 

At night, you trace nonsensical words and shapes into his skin, smiling at the soft snores that vibrate under your head. You’ve always thought living every day the same as the day before and the day before that as a labyrinth you’ve been sentenced to die in, a cage or a prison of your own making. But now, you can’t imagine ever wanting more. 

Of course, it hasn’t been perfect.  

You still find some moments a little too boring but those are usually when he’s busy fixing a wobbly chair or grouting the tiles in the bathroom. And you do crave the feeling of driving through a long, empty road, or eating fast food. Those moments, thankfully, are hastily washed away once you feel his calloused hands tethering you back to him.

One other problem you’re having is his beard. As attractive as it is, it’s scratching up your thighs a little too much. You’ve noticed the rash forming between your legs; he has a penchant for eating you out at the drop of a hat and he’s not gentlemanly about it. At. All. You don’t ever want him to stop and the threatening snarl he makes every time you attempt to push him away from your swollen and overstimulated pussy never fails to halt your movements. 

So there’s only one solution.

“Toji?” He lazily drags his gaze up your bare legs, stopping by the hard nipples poking through shirt, and then he meets your gaze with a brow raised. “Would you ever consider shaving your beard?”

The growl of ‘no’ comes before you could even finish the word ‘shaving’. His jaw clenches and a muscle ticks. 

“But I can shave it for you. Being a woman, it’s kinda part of my existence. I’ll do you up real nice.”

“Hell will sooner freeze over before I let anyone put something sharp against my neck again. Even if they’re you.”

You drop it for now. 

At night, after hours of mind-blowing sex, you lay all sweaty and sleepy on his chest once more with a heavy arm slung over your waist. You twist the hairs on his face, rolling a couple strands between your fingers. They’re quite long and thick. You wonder when the last time he had shaved was. 

“Please?”

“No.”

You sigh. 

The next morning, you’re in the bathroom, sitting on the bathtub and attempting to rub some soothing ointment meant for your face onto the irritated skin of your inner thighs. It’s getting worse and you’re at a loss. Making it hard to walk, you’re cursing every god out there for doing this to you. 

Is his aversion to sharp objects near his head because of some trauma or an animalistic instinct? It’s hard to tell with hybrids, as the internet forums you’ve explored lecture — hybrids are both governed by human complexity and base biological instincts. Studies that have been done on them over the year have put forth some credible results but people are quick to put a disclaimer that animals in captivity rarely behave the way they would in the wild.

You sigh again.

Maybe you’ll have to tell him to stop eating you out. You cringe. That won’t go down well, pun intended, and you don’t want him to. Frowning, you carefully massage in the ointment, hissing at particularly sensitive spots. 

“Fine. You can shave it off,” he grumbles. 

You hadn’t even realised he was standing in the doorway, watching, and scratching his beard like he’s noticing, really noticing, the hairs on his face. One glance at the mirror across the room and he’s furrowing his brows, perhaps baffled at the man staring back at him. 

His tone is hostile, but his acquiescence makes you smile. 

About ten minutes later, you’ve sat him down on the edge of the bathtub, right where you were before, and you’ve assembled everything you need: razors, scissors, a comb, shaving cream, towels, and a tub of aloe vera to soothe any razor burns. Everything but the aloe vera is pretty pink, and you can’t help but giggle a little as you take a step back to admire this big, burly man surrounded by utterly feminine products. 

“Alright, I’ll start by trimming it, okay? I don’t want to come at it straight away and spook you, so let’s take it nice and slow.”

He huffs. “Don’t gotta talk to me like I’m a kid. Do what you gotta do.”

With the scissors and the comb, you cut away at his beard, snipping here and there and trying to get it all even. It’s not an easy job — he growls when you venture too low, past his jawline and closer to his Adam’s apple and when he makes that throaty sound, you’re met with images of him biting into your throat, the way a dog does when you step on its tail.

Terrible as it is to compare a biological human male like Toji to an animal, it’s a fair comparison considering his reliance on his animal instincts. It’s been abundantly clear in the way he uses his senses to gain his bearings, how he never expresses a desire beyond eating, sleeping and fucking. There’s no vanity coursing through his blood, he doesn’t stare at himself in reflections, doesn’t fix up his hair or put on clothes that fit or match, and even how he doesn’t ever say pretty words, only what he means, no more and no less. 

It’s nice. 

So used to the way people sugarcoated their complaints or hid ulterior motives in every sickly sweet words, adjusting to Toji’s matter-of-fact way of speaking had been somewhat difficult. 

But change is necessary. Just as the seasons change, so do animals, even humans. With how they adapt to the change in the wind, the drop in the temperature, the quake in the earth, you know without needing to ask questions or to have more time with him, the hybrid in front of you, part wolf and part man, has never had the luxury of being stagnant. 

It was clear when he showed up at your door with no bag, just the clothes on his back and the muddy, worn down boots on his feet. Even fully fed, lounging on the sofa by the fire with his feet and torso bare, you sense the tension freezing his body; he’s always ready to run. 

He snarls and flinches when he feels the cold blade of your scissors touch his skin. And then his hand grips your thigh, both in warning and to tether himself, perhaps to remind him you’re not a monster thirsting for blood, his blood, but rather just a woman. A woman he’s seen completely bare, a woman who’s crawled on all fours and nuzzled her face against the seam of his jeans when he returns from fixing a tile on the roof, and a woman who’s laid it all out for him, starting from what led you here and ending to where you want to be. 

Uncomfortable and on edge, you already know you’re not going to get very far with the way he’s being. He needs a distraction. 

You kiss him. He growls for a different reason this time. Fingers threading in your hair, he holds you down to him, tasting the sweetness you’re offering. He laps it up. “Toji, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Face burying into your neck, he takes a long inhale there. “I know.”

“I’m gonna get started on the shaving cream, okay?”

His grip on you tightens and you know he’s aware that razors are sharper than scissors, much like how his teeth are sharper than yours. You don’t want to know what events he’s lived through to be so hostile against the act of shaving but he isn’t an animal, not fully, anyways. 

He’s also a man. 

And men conquer. 

Even when they shouldn’t. 

You slide your panties down, dangling it in the air for a second, hesitating but you see the appraisal in his eyes, always so suspicious like he’s thinking of all the ways one could be killed with a scrap of lace. Dropping it on his face, you tell him, “I don’t see why only one of should be vulnerable here.”

Rumbling a pure sense of bliss, his eyes flutter shut and he sniffs at your panties. His hand flies up to your slit just as you’re smearing shaving cream all over his jaw, pulling the panties away from him for a second. 

“Seeing me all tense is getting you soaked?” His lip twitches. 

“Hey, now, let’s not even get started on that seeing as you’re pretty hard for someone suffering some internal battle.”

He gives you a rare grin. 

The rest of the torture goes on in relative peace — you shave him bit by bit, going slowly and keeping your touch gentle especially as you near the softness of his neck and when you go over it with the razor, he takes a deep inhale of your panties, trying to shake off that unnatural acceptance of something so dangerous, so compromising, so utterly unlike him. After every slither of skin you’ve rid of hair, you give him a kiss which he insists on deepening, shoving fingers into your cunt just to feel you clench down on him. 

Soon, he’s completely smooth and it’s only when you step back that you take it all in. He was handsome with the beard and he’s just as handsome now. He also looks more youthful, more boyish, and free. 

Toji comes to a stand, staring at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t say a word, neither do you. A barrage of thoughts pass through his mind, flashing and flickering. His fingers feel his skin, jerking at the complete bareness of it all. You can’t tell if he likes it, if he regrets his choice, and if he even recognises the man under all that wild and untamed hair. He had been running so long as a wolf, perhaps he’s forgotten how to walk as a man. 

That’s what you think, until he makes some gesture with his hand and he says, “Got no reason to push me away now, so spread those legs, ma. Let’s go for a test drive.”

You don’t leave that bathroom until hours later, sore, wet, sticky and thoroughly blissed out.

The next day, just before lunchtime, Toji goes to chop up some more wood for the fireplace whilst the snow has stopped falling just for today. You’re watching him through a window, bundled up in a blanket holding a steaming cup of hot chocolate, and not at all envious of him, what with the chilling weather and his lack of a coat. 

You really have to buy him one. He doesn’t look the least bit cold, which you don’t really understand, but still, something about the picture looks off. It’s not fair you get to be all comfortable, lazing around, and he’s hard at work. 

The phone rings. 

Your head snaps to the coffee table which your phone lies on, vibrating against the wood. A new number. When you answer, you’re surprised to recognise the voice immediately. 

“Hi. Yes, I’m managing quite fine.”

The old man sighs. “How glad am I to hear that. The storm has made it rather hard to get a hold of you and I certainly couldn’t make the journey up.”

“That’s quite alright. I really appreciate the thought, it’s very sweet of you.”

Exchanging pleasantries and talks about the various favours he owed your grandmother, over five minutes pass, and you’re itching to urge Toji back inside, fearing that he could drop dead at any second from the chill.

Eventually, and thankfully, the conversation nears an end with him insisting that as soon as the snow thaws enough you come on down for dinner at his home. He says his sons and their wives all love a good, hearty meal as a family. There are even grandchildren for you to play with should adults not be your speed. “Yes, yes, of course. That sounds great, thank you.”

“Alright, bye, dear. I’ll call back again to check up on you and please remember you can always call on me and my kids for help.”

Humming, you’re about to end the call when his tone changes. 

“Speaking of help,” he begins, clearing his throat. “How have you been managing to get on so well?”

Toji’s still chopping wood, swinging that heavy axe back behind his head and down in one smooth strike, cutting the log in a perfect half. You press your legs together, unable to take your eyes off his bulging biceps. You love when he shows off his strength, it comes so effortlessly to him, unlike the men where you’re from whose muscles are all for show, satisfying their own vanity and quelling their insecurities momentarily before they’re inhaling steroids like air. 

“Oh, you know, this man my grandmother befriended over the years came by and has been helping me out since. He’s quite familiar with the ins and outs of the cabin so I really couldn’t have done any of this without him. I’d like to bring him along to dinn—“

“A man?”

You frown. “Yeah, Toji. Surely you must have met him at some point since he and my grandmother were quite close.”

“I knew it! I knew I saw him here days ago. Oh, goodness. I’m so sorry you ran into him, but please stay away from him.”

What the hell is this man talking about?

“No, it’s Toji, he helped my granny during the winter months. He fixed things up for her and helped her get around. He was like a friend to her in ways me and my siblings should have been. He’s really nice, you’ll like him.”

The man in question is scratching his jaw, still getting used to being so bare, and he’s rolling his head around as if bothered by some crick in his neck. He’s got an impressive pile of logs waiting to be fed to the fireplace and you know he’s going to head back in any second now. For some reason, you feel guilty, like you’re doing something you shouldn’t be, talking to someone you shouldn’t talk to. 

“Y/n, listen to me. Please!” The urgency, the insistence, and desperation in the old man’s voice is palpable, a hand reaching through the screen and choking air right out from your lungs. Your heart begins galloping. “That man is a criminal. He’s wanted, a fugitive! H-he’s a killer.”

Confused and somewhat exasperated, you argue, “No, you’ve got the wrong man. I’m telling you, we’re talking about different people here.”

You can’t shake off the abrupt shift in his voice. From caring old man with a shaky baritone to a firm, military like precision. It’s as if you were talking to a completely different man.

A beat passes and you think he’s hung up, that this odd conversation is over and done with but one glance at the screen tells you differently. He doesn’t say a thing, and all you can hear is the rushing of the wind and grunts and thuds outside. 

Irritated by this entire farce, your thumb moves to press the end-call button but then you hear him on the other line.

“Does he have a scar on the corner of his mouth?”

The blood drains from your face.

“H-how did you know that?”

A noise of death and despair reaches your ears. He’s shouting something to someone else, you can hear their alarm, can feel the anxiety, the dread and terror in their voices, muffled as they are. “Get away from him. Get away from him now! Do whatever you can. You mustn’t let him get his hands on you. H-he’s one of them. One of those abominations. A hybrid, a dangerous kind.”

“What are you talking about? Just tell me what’s happening, please, you’re not making sense right now.”

“He killed your grandmother!”

You drop your mug. It shatters by your feet. The creamy chocolate milk pools into a puddle, soaking your socks. There’s ceramic chipping littering the floor and you can’t move, can’t go anywhere without taking a big leap. 

Slowly, you look up from your phone screen, hearing subdued questions of fear and panic on the other end. Through the window, you meet Toji’s eyes. 

He’s looking right at you.

You hang up. 

It takes three seconds for him to get to the door, pushing it open. He shakes off the snow off his boots, banging them against the doorframe, and the axe he had been holding is set down by the shoe rack, the metal clinking, as he enters. Light from the ceiling bulb reflects directly off the sharpest point, shining in your eyes. Are necks harder to cut through than wood?

“Ya alright?”

Plastering a cheerful smile, you nod. 

He doesn’t look convinced. 

In a blink, he’s in front of you, cradling your face in one cold hand. He tilts your chin back and searches your eyes. He doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for so he sniffs the air and his eyes darken. Slowly, like you’re a deer, he asks, “What are you so afraid of?”

“Oh, nothing. Really. I was just reading the news online and stumbled across articles about the war in that country in the East, y’know, the one with the hospital bombing. It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t read it,” he says. “Show me.”

Your heart beats impossibly faster. You know he can hear it. There’s no way he can’t with his wolfish hearing and with a finger on your pulse. Maybe that’s why his other hand, just as cold, wraps around your wrist and he tugs it towards him. His nails scrape against your skin and his hand eats up your wrist entirely, middle finger folding over his thumb. At any given second, he can snap the bone there and not bat an eye. 

Laughing nervously, you tug your hand back, to no avail. With a forced nonchalant tone, you inform him, “I wanna get all cleaned up. I feel a little icky, and all sweaty and sticky from this morning so I’m just gonna take a nice long bath.”

He lets you shake him off but only after he’s taken the phone out of your death grip. He can’t unlock it, he doesn’t the password. But that was never his intention. He doesn’t even look down on the screen. As fast as you can without looking panicked, you stumble away from his reach and towards the door. 

“Y/n.”

Your smile shakes.

“What did they tell you?”

Your smile falls off altogether. 

“Toji,” you begin, “p-please, let’s not do this.”

His scar twitches and when he makes a step towards you, you step back. There. You almost missed it, almost blinked and lost your footing. But his eyes unmistakably flicker from you and to the side, by the door, at the shoe rack. You don’t need to turn back to know what exactly he’s eyeing. Calmly, he asserts, “You won’t last an hour outside. You won’t even reach the forest’s edge before I get to you. You don’t know your way down. And if it ain’t me, it’ll be the elements that’ll kill ya. Be wise, kid.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

With the scarlet blanket still hanging off you, you dash towards the door, pulling the shoe rack behind you and the sound of clattering and a thud forces your legs pumping. 

You run. 

You run and you don’t look back, you don’t stop, not even for a second, not even when your socks are soaked with snow and not melted chocolate. The trees welcome you as you dash in between trunks, lunging over thick roots and dodging low hanging branches. You don’t know where you’re going, where you can go. 

A sob rises from your throat, clawing its way out. 

He was right. You don’t know your way down and the freeze is creeping in, frosting over your veins and seeping into your bones. The movies show the power of adrenaline all the time, how it’ll wash away any and all feelings that aren’t helpful for survival, but it’s not enough. 

Your muscles are aching, your cheeks are burning and your fingers are beginning to itch and tingle. You weren’t meant for survival. You weren’t meant to put up a fight. 

When he gets to you, he’ll snuff the light right out of your eyes with one swipe of his arm. You’ve seen what he can do with those hands, you’ve felt the way they wrangled you into position, hell you’ve drooled over the bruises he’s left on you. And you never once thought you’d be running from the hands that dragged you over a cliff of pleasure, that carried you around, and touched you so soothingly.

Without needing to hear heavy footfall, you know he’s after you. You have animalistic instincts too. 

A dead woman running is what you are. You were dead as soon as you picked up that phone call. 

No. 

You were dead the moment you opened the door. 

“Fuck!” You scream. Ignoring the ache in your legs and the pain in your ankles, you sprint as fast as you can. Your body’s being pushed to its limits; you’ve never ran like this before. Granted, you’ve never been chased by a murderer either. 

The absurd turn of event make you laugh, deranged and broken, and it echoes around the forest. As far as you can see, there’s only trees and snow, perfectly white, pristine snow. There are no roads, no houses, no people. No one to help. No one that can hear you scream. 

You should have stayed in the city, should have never left, should have never gotten bored. Spontaneity isn’t your thing and you’re learning it the hard way. There’ll never be an opportunity to put into practice the moral of the story that’s being engraved into your DNA right now. No one will even notice you’re gone — you aren’t close with your family, and you don’t have friends, not really anyways.

There will be no mourning, no grieving, there won’t even be a goddamn funeral. 

Heart threatening to tear through your body, you collapse against a tree. You’re panting, chest heaving as you gulp down as much air as possible. The bark scratches your forehead but you can’t muster a shred of care, not when every limb is shaking both from the cold and the effort.

There are an array of shallow cuts all over your arms and face from where low hanging branches have whipped against your skin, attempting to get you in their clutches, to slow you down. The forest isn’t your friend. This isn’t your domain, It’s his.

“Y/n!”

You smother the startled cry with the palm of your hand.

He’s near.

Tears stream down your face, falling onto the snow beneath you. Numb, you briefly worry you’ve lost your feet altogether. One glance down disproves that but you’re still not convinced. You hug the blanket closer around you; it does absolutely nothing to keep the warmth in and the cold out. And yet, you can’t bear to let it go. 

“I can hear you.”

Lips quivering, you bite down hard. Iron lays on your tongue. There’s nowhere to go. He had found you so quickly and he knows the forest better than you. How many times had he made the trip to that cabin? How many times had he sought out your grandmother? Had smiled at her, chopped up wood for her, had collected groceries and medicines? How many times had she let him in every time he knocked, every time he emerged from the shadows and soaked up the warmth of her kindness?

What were her last words? 

No, please, don’t! Spare me?

Or why, Toji, why?

What will be yours?

A flash of movement catches your eye. He’s not panting like you, he’s not even sweating. When he steps forward, brushing his hair back, you don’t fail to notice he didn’t come empty handed. 

His eyes glint, sharper than the axe he carries, and he’s roving over your features, watching you tremble. One sniff and his scar is stretching. 

“Y’r afraid.”

“Yeah, no f-fucking kidding!”

Even as he keeps his voice deceptively soft, much like how it is when he’s lulling you to sleep, you can’t stop staring at the axe. That stupid fucking axe he just had to bring with him. You sob. 

“Just leave me alone, please.”

Scoffing, he steps closer once more. “Not even gonna ask if I did or didn’t?”

You shake your head. 

“Don’t do this. Please, don’t do this.”

He lunges, pinning you to a tree with a forearm to your throat. Radiating heat, your body betrays you and presses closer to him, desperate to envelope yourself in that warmth. You want nothing more than to be back in bed with him, oblivious to the rest of the world. You want to go back to before that phone call and make it so that you never found out, so that you never picked up the damn phone. 

Teeth snapping a hair’s breadth away from your nose, he demands, “Ask.”

“Did you?” You scream at him. “Did you kill my fucking grandmother? After everything she did for you? After she showed you kindness and hospitality and gave you friendship? Did you kill her even after she begged? Did you watch the life fade from her eyes knowing she never got to say goodbye to me? To any of us?”

His glare softens. There’s a tenderness swirling in those green eyes, a fervour and understanding that thaws your heart. He looks like the Toji you know, or rather, knew. He looks like the Toji that had pushed himself to trek in the snow for hours so you can be fed, the Toji that kept you company every day, that fixed things without needing to be asked, the one that made you coffee and knew just how you liked it, the one that traced patterns you had drawn him on your skin when he thought you weren’t awake. 

“Did you kill her?”

Scar grazing your lips as he inhales the shampoo from your hair, you feel his answer just as well as you hear it. 

“Yes.”

A gunshot resounds in the air. It’s sharp and startling, cutting through the crisp silence with a violent roar. The sound lingers in the air, echoing and rattling your bones like it had been fired inside you. 

“Get the fuck away from her, beast!”

You turn to the side. A man you don’t recognise is standing metres away holding a shotgun. His face is contorted in rage, creating deep shadows and wrinkles that make him look infinitely older than he likely is. Smoke wisps away from the barrel of his fun, pointed at the sky. A warning shot. 

Toji pushes you behind him as he growls. 

“Fuck off. She’s mine.”

You trip over your blanket. Through his legs, you see that man lower the gun till it points in your direction. You’re frozen in place. 

“Let her go and turn yourself in. An animal like you needs to be muzzled and put down,” the man spits, venom flooding his words. He looks at you. “Come here. My father sent me. You know him.” 

Stumbling to a stand on shaky knees, you back away from Toji, going around the tree and making your way to the other side. He doesn’t stop you, just watches every move you make as if you’re standing in a field of landmines. His grip on the axe doesn’t loosen and he makes no sign he’s going to give himself up. 

“T-Toji, don’t fight, please just come with us. If you give yourself up, maybe they’ll go easy on you,” you plead. 

He growls, grimacing. He’s contemplating it. That means everything to you. In some sick, pathetic joke, you actually pity him. There’s still a huge part of you that cares, that wants what’s best for him, that loves him. But that part needs to be extinguished because he’s a cold blooded killer and he’ll turn those murderous hands on you. 

Leg jerking, he makes a step towards you. It feels so right, you mirror his movement, like this one act, one sacrifice makes up for everything, like it erases the sins of his past and washes away the blood on his hands. 

“Ahh!” You’re yanked back by your hair. 

“Don’t get near him, you stupid bitch! He’s a fucking mongrel.”

The snarl that ripples from Toji’s throat pierces through haze, rustling the branches up above and forcing a flock of birds up and away. He charges towards you, axe raised up high and you shake yourself from the man’s clutches, jumping out of the way just in time before bodies collide and they both fall. 

Rolling away, you bundle up the blanket you’re shielding yourself with and cry into it. The sound of bodies being beaten, arms bent, stomachs kicked and necks bitten into make you cringe. You cry harder. You don’t dare look at who’s winning, you can’t bring yourself to look. It’s because you don’t want to see the violence, don’t want to see blood, but there’s a voice screaming that it’s because you’ll die if the one who walks away from this isn’t Toji. 

“Don’t fucking touch her!”

“Get the fuck off me! You filthy mutt!”

You’re digging your nails into the bark of a tree, flinching with every blow. You hear fists slamming into flesh, each punch a blunt weapon bruising and breaking, bone-crushing swings whistling through air followed by sharp exhales of pain and vomit-inducing cracks and pops. The struggle is relentless, blow after blow, and you hear the gun clatter as it’s kicked to the side. 

SNAP!

“You should have never come back! You should have died on the side of the street after what you did to that woman”

POP!

“Ahhh! Fuck!”

SMACK! 

“Ya don’t know shit!”

The trees are spectators, moaning and whistling in protest at the unholy sight, at the splatters of blood contaminating their ranks. The branches shake in warning but no one is listening.

Whimpering, you hum a song, trying to block out the repulsive sounds of senseless violence. You should have never been here. You never visited because you couldn’t stand the isolation of a cabin in the mountains, couldn’t stand the unconditional love your grandmother gave you, of which you knew then and you know now, you were never deserving of.

If you had been dutiful and even had a fraction of her selflessness, you would have taken care of her so that she never relied on a man with sharp senses and a dangerous smile.

If you had been a good granddaughter, that man would be roaming the world, unburdened by material possession and human attachments. He wouldn’t be beating a man black and blue, wouldn’t be tearing flesh from bone, wouldn’t be debasing himself for your sake, or his. You don’t know anymore.

You turn to yell at him to stop, for him to run instead. But your words are swallowed by a gunshot. 

A body falls to the floor in a dull thud. Crimson dyes the snow, puddling into a shade so dark you could always persuade yourself it’s not what you think it is. Time slows. You can see every flake of snow pause in the air, you can count them, can collect them in your hands. The wind has disappeared, leaving behind a stillness in the air that’s suffocating, choking you from inside. Even the trees have stopped their moaning.

Your heart stops beating.

Someone stands over the body, holding a smoking gun, and it isn’t who you wanted it to be.

“Toji!” You scramble over, hands shaking harder than ever before. 

He’s clutching his chest. Hot liquid drenches your pants. You didn’t realise fresh blood would be so warm and you wish so badly it wasn’t because it means that the warmth that should be inside him is leaving, being absorbed by the ground, by you.

Green eyes, dulling, meet yours. He smiles. “She asked me to. She was in pain. Couldn’t make it down through the snow. She asked me.”

“N-no, stop it. Save your breath, please.” Through your sobs, you turn to the nameless man, pale under the cuts all over his face as the snow and shuddering from the shock of what he had done. “Call the ambulance! Call somebody! Please!”

“C-car. I-it’s in my car.” Staggering back, he drops the gun and fishes out his keys, muttering frenzied apologies under his breath. He limps his way back, weaving through the trees.  

Despite having less cuts and bruises, he’s in much worser state. His chest heaves and you’re trying to press down on the wound like you’ve seen in the movies but you don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t know whether you’re supposed to be smothering the hole with a dirty blanket or if you should be performing CPR. No one had ever trained you for this. This wasn’t covered in any of those HR meetings. “Oh, god, Toji. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. Oh. God. I’m so so sorry.”

Lifting a limp hand, he brushes a tear away only for it to be replaced by a hundred more. He huffs a weak laugh at the blood he smears on your face and he tries to brush that away too.

“I’d always wanted to meet you. She spoke of how beautiful, how kind and generous you are. Her favourite. Didn’t believe her, y’know? I thought, no one could possibly be that nice if they never even visit their gran. But I’d always wanted to know for myself.”

You shake your head. He shouldn’t be speaking. He should be saving his breath, should be focusing on keeping awake until help arrives. “Stop. Please, just stop. Don’t waste your energy on me. I-I don’t deserve it. I should have listened, should have heard you out. Oh, god, Toji.”

He huffs an amused laugh. He sounds so clear, so loud, so alive you could actually convince yourself he doesn’t have a bleeding hole in his chest. But you can’t because you can feel the blood flowing out, it’s caking your legs and your hands. 

“You wanna know what I think, ma?” Pulling you close, you don’t fight his grip. Through your whimpers, you press your ear to his lips, holding him close like you could will your own warmth to him, like you could jostle you both back to consciousness. “I think y’r even more beautiful than she said. My gorgeous gorgeous girl. Mine.”

It’s unclear if he said anything else after that; you could only hear your own pleadings and sobbing as his arms fall limp and his body grows cold. There came rustling from all over the forest like they heard a tree fell, a mighty and sturdy tree. They warned you. There are consequences to dirtying the snow’s purity, to upsetting the balance. That’s a lesson all animals know. But the battle that had gone on here wasn’t committed by preys and predators. Just men. 

And men never learn their lesson until it’s far too late. 

The trees cry with you.

For you.

When the marching of people came some time later, all yelling and barking orders to each other, they found you lying on his chest, just as you had for many nights and had imagined you would every night after, with a red blanket pulled over the both of you. 

There, silent as a lamb, you slept. 

A tear-stricken city girl and her big, bad wolf. 

Neither of which would ever live again. 

[ratatattouille]

Why The Arcane S2 Finale Fumbled, Part I

arcane season 2 was artistically beautiful and thematically cheap. every interesting and meaningful thing it did with its characters (even in season 2 act 2) was reduced to romanticized bullshit, utterly divorced from its season 1 roots. it's so bad it can be considered pro-status quo propaganda (and i do mean that). good ships aside (and i do mean the caitivi, jayvik, timebomb holy triad), this season squats and shits on every zaunite character in the show. not just their zaunite-ness, but how it literally shaped who they were as characters.

Let's start with Vi:

Vi and Vander:

Vi's loyalty to The Lanes always went beyond Powder. Zaun was her father's, Vander's dream. Zaun was her friends and her family. When she's giving Caitlyn a tour of The Lanes, we see how much she embodies and revels in Zaunite culture (esp in the food scene). She took responsibility for the vulnerable, like Vander taught her to. Her "protective" trait extended to ALL the vulnerable in The Lanes, because Vander taught her that. It wasn't EVER just Powder. Zaun is her HOME. As a child, she wanted to make a name for herself IN ZAUN "one day, this city's gonna respect us." You can make the excuse that Vander's death meant that side of her died, but it clearly didn't because of how she regarded it while showing Caitlyn around. "Family" to Vander, extended to the vulnerable of Zaun, which is how Vi and Powder came to be his "daughters" in the first place. Because Zaun was for THEM. Zaun WAS THEM. Vander and Silco "weren't allowed to fail" at Zaun (i.e. the two daughters).

Additionally, Vi and Jinx were supposed to succeed where Vander and Silco hadn't: forgiving each other and uniting so they could realize their dream for a free Zaun. A big reason why Zaun struggles to be free is because of their own internal divisions (the different gangs fighting for scraps). But if they united, they would be able to liberate themselves from Piltover (who is still the enemy). The whole reason the others are prosperous in the alternate timeline Ekko and Heimerdinger travel to is because Vander and Silco reconcile (not because Vi dies).

Vander also passes on his sense of responsibility to Vi. He tells a repeatedly vengeful Vi how her ambition to show up her oppressors can overshadow the more pressing priority of looking after those more vulnerable than her i.e. Powder. Like Silco, his advice to his daughter is steeped in his own trauma of getting so zealous he didn’t stop to think what it would cost.

Vi and Caitlyn:

Caitlyn was an interesting development for Vi, particularly because Caitlyn mirrored Vander's care for all people. Caitlyn was an enforcer that wanted to truly understand and help people. This challenged Vi's biases and also gave them a common goal. Caitlyn appealed to Vi because she gave Vi renewed hope for peace in The Lanes. That Zaun could be free through co-operation instead of violence. Her whole teaming up with Caitlyn, romance aside, was predicated on Vi brokering for peace between Zaun and Piltover (and getting revenge on Silco).

The first break-up between the two (Season 1's "Oil and Water") centred around Jinx, more or less. Vi believes Silco is a threat to peace between Piltover and Zaun (even though The Lanes aren't known as Zaun to her, I'm just using the names interchangeably). She believes Jinx is acting out due to Silco's influence, as well (and she isn't wrong). Had Caitlyn not been injured on the bridge (and had Jinx not felt betrayed by Vi), Vi was going to leave her in pursuit of Jinx. Vi has also never fit into Piltover (and that's also shown in Season 2 act 1-2). She makes no connections with Piltovians besides Cait and (an already disillusioned) Loris who we see for like two seconds.

Vi and Jinx:

This show was ALWAYS about a tale of two sisters/cities. When Vi becomes an enforcer, it isn't because she's switched loyalties. She wants peace for The Lanes, she just wants to take Silco's creation--Jinx--out of the equation so it can work. Her priority, like Vander’s, is to keep the vulnerable of The Lanes safe, and both were willing to co-operate with Piltover to protect the people they loved. She believes, like Vander did with Silco, that Jinx (and by extension Zaun) is her responsibility. That the reason bad things happened to Zaunites (Vi’s and Powder’s parents dead on the bridge, Jinx’s mania) is their fault.

Vi blames herself for creating Jinx as Vander does for creating Silco. The only reason Vi agrees to Caitlyn's plan is because, again, their two goals align: get Jinx. The difference is Vi wants to kill Jinx to kill Silco, while Cait wants to kill Jinx to get her city (mother) back. Vi is still explicitly concerned about Jinx, who she has come to see as a threat to other people she loves (e.g. Ekko, Cait, etc). Vi became an enforcer to protect The Lanes and the (appearance) of peace. Vi internalized Vander’s words and doesn’t want war, even if it means Zaun never becomes independent. But she is doing it as penance for what she feels she didn’t do that led Jinx to become what she is.

The show in season 2 TOTALLY LOST THIS FOCUS. Vi's guilt at hunting down her own people with enforcers is ALSO ignored a lot by fandom, especially because her post-breakup scene where she goes full goth is framed as regret for letting Cait down (rather than the self-disgust she would feel for joining her oppressors). Vi played a part in creating Jinx and her enforcer-arc is still centred around Jinx. This gets shoved aside for romance with Cait. All the time we could spend post-breakup focusing on the sisters, quickly circles back to Cait.

Cait, who, literally became a dictator and weaponized the air ducts her mother had created to SAVE ZAUNITES. The whole thing is viewed as Vi betraying Cait instead of Vi betraying Jinx/Zaun/her family and Cait betraying Vi ("promise me you won't change") and her mother. Cait was the one who sought to help Zaun (like her mother) but betrayed who she was when she was willing to kill Isha, an innocent child.

Vi would feel even more guilty at how she is literally in an enforcer's suit when she is about to kill Jinx, the only family she has left. She is literally hunting down Jinx, a Zaunite, like the enforcers had her parents. But we barely explore that. It’s just off to chasing Vander/Warwick only for it to not matter anyways!

(ALSO IMPORTANT: Just to further prove my point on how integral the sister's love for each other was, every show started with a record playing. The cover of the disc was Vi and Jinx. They were always the center focus of the story. The song that the record played? Likely "Our Love" by Curtis Harding and Jazmine Sullivan which goes "Our love is a bubblin' fountain, our love, that flows into the sea, our love, deeper than the ocean, our love for eternity." This love deeper-than-the-ocean can apparently crumble in the face of a dictator girlfriend you've known for less than a year lmao).

Summary of Fumbles:

-Vi's and Jinx's relationship becomes secondary not just to the entire plot of the show but to Vi's arc. Zaun and Piltover's conflict was set up to be the epitome of the show, and the fact that it got shelved for some (ahem military propaganda) epic battle between humans and robots is very telling about the writers and showrunners.

-Vi forgives Cait easily and prematurely, trashing Vi's true loyalties as established in earlier seasons/episodes and robbing Cait’s actions of their appropriate weight.

-(above is an excerpt from Amanda Overton's interview with TheGamer) The culmination of love for Vi's character ends with Caitlyn and not Jinx. Vi's character, whose love is explicitly centred on Zaun and her family, reaches its peak in romance with a Piltovian. To quote Amanda further: "If Vi had no one left to protect, she would fall in love." As if Vi had no ambition outside of protecting her family. As if her dream since she was a kid wasn't tied so much into Zaun. As if the reason she wore an enforcer outfit wasn't because of Zaun. As if Zaunites aren't suffering right under her nose. As if she was the only kid in Stillwater Prison and struggled to survive the whole time she was there. I can't pretend to stomach it. (Again, it's not that Vi shouldn't be happy, it's that the ship had to shove this aspect of her character aside for it to work). If they wanted to really commit to the Vi-in-video game origin story, they should have set it up better and stuck to it.

-Vi herself takes a back seat in most of season 2, and becomes a passive, guilt-riddled yes-man to Cait

-Vander's re-introduction is almost completely worthless to the plot and narrative (he comes back just to die), and he is used as a cheap way to re-unite (and then separate) the daughters in a way that has no significance to the themes (also, Silco as Jinx's father is completely ignored during this time)

-Cait's deferral to fascism should have been permanent. Idc about the shippers at this point. Vi and Cait should have never come back from Cait shoving the back of her gun into Vi's injured side (let alone the gassing of the ducts). Vi would've never forgiven her, attraction or no. The fact that Cait could become a dictator after losing one parent is proof of their class divides (after all, Vi held onto hope despite losing all her parents to enforcers and Jinx was all she had left of her family). That should have cemented the death of that relationship (and it would have made for more compelling storytelling on class). I’m thinking it was kept because it matters more to white Western audiences to have a Romeo x Juliet rendition that assuages their classist sensitivities. Cait becoming a fascist made sense and was true to her character and the world. Vi forgiving her (and then having sex with her in the prison she was thrown into as a child?) destroyed both her character and the narrative.

Yeah, yeah, Vi was overwhelmed by the breadth of love and forgiveness Caitlyn had in letting Jinx go, but that's bare minimum shit. Vi "always choosing wrong" because she *checks notes* keeps trying to reconcile with her sister instead of letting her go since she isn't Powder anymore? So she resolves her guilt by choosing her own pleasure and putting herself first for once. Okay, I don't have a problem with that except that Vi and Jinx were supposed to succeed where Vander and Silco hadn't--by reconciling! And you still won't get me to like the fact that so much of Vi's character arc gets held up in a Piltovian who encouraged her to do the worst shit to her OWN PEOPLE and then fucking turned on her when she couldn't kill her sister. It is frankly amazing how we're supposed to celebrate Caitlyn literally coming between the sisters. I'd rather Vi forgiving Jinx than Caitlyn. And if the whole appeal of Vi's relationship with Caitlyn is that she was overwhelmed with love for how Caitlyn forgave Jinx after she killed her mother, I don't see how a relationship with Cait automatically makes Vi feel less guilty, since Cait also makes her feel guilty for choosing Jinx (remember her accusation "you will always choose her" like sorry I don't want to kill my orphaned, traumatized sister who I ripped into for making an honest mistake as a child and who has carried that since). Caitlyn (as others have pointed out) got a whole ceremony for her mother and instantly turned on Vi's people. The Vi I know would have been like, "You really are all the same," and FUCKING DIPPED. And there's a little acknowledgement of this in act 1 where Vi accuses Caitlyn of acting like Jinx.

Both Jinx and Caitlyn are emotional labour for Vi. Vi still wants to protect Caitlyn from Jinx. There's not that much of a difference, lol, except that Caitlyn is a privileged Piltovian and Jinx is a victim of the abysmal childhood she suffered at the hands of enforcers. Yet the show is more or less saying Vi pursuing reconciliation with Jinx was a bad choice for Vi and the reason the cycle of violence continued (for some reason). The sister reconciliation was what I was here for, personally. Cute ships aside. But noooo, Vi should forgive Cait (not Jinx) to stop the cycle.

And having jail sex is a liberating act for her because it's where they had their meet-cute. (And we're all good bc Caitlyn gave up the Kiramman seat, lmao, like sure okay).

It's frankly made the ship that much more unpalatable. If Vi had to be destroyed as a character for the ship to work, then the ship wasn't all that good (even though it started off that way). It's honestly left such a bad taste in my mouth. What a fuck you to oppressed groups that whole subplot was. (And it's made worse by the fact that the creator thought that was somehow an empowering and liberating act for Vi, like fuck that).

Let's Talk About Victor:

Viktor and Heimerdinger:

Heimerdinger and Viktor were the most polar of opposites. Heimerdinger was not only a privileged, ulta-wealthy Piltovian, but he had a comparatively endless lifespan while Viktor's own human life-span was cut short due to being a Zaunite, born at the bottom of the barrel and raised on toxic fumes that led to his terminal illness. Viktor's desperation to unlock the Arcane was explicitly about him overcoming his circumstances, his illness, his premature death. It wasn't merely about his internalized ableism, but the unjust way in which he had to suffer. Heimmerdinger could afford patience because he had all the time and resources in the world, but Viktor didn't. Not merely because he was a mortal, but because he was a Zaunite.

Viktor and Singed:

Viktor's arc with hextech is foreshadowed with his childhood interaction with Singed. I understand that in the games, Viktor is a villain-type character and his catchphrase or whatever is "Join the Glorious Evolution," which the show hinted at from Season 1 when Singed explained his experiments to Viktor. While Viktor is horrified by Singed killing the creature that he eventually uses for shimmer, Viktor later says, "I understand," hinting that he saw the sacrifice (and death) necessary to "heal" the world of its ailments. Both Viktor and Singed grow up in The Lanes, and both have ailments they want to cure (for Viktor it is his lung cancer and for Singed its his daughter's dying). In season 2, Viktor tells Singed that while he understands what healing all those people could cost him, he will not sacrifice their humanity for Singed's cause. This is because of Sky’s death (which is partly why it is her who is in the Arcane with him).

Sky’s death is what makes Viktor beg Jayce to destroy the hex core, since he couldn’t do it himself. He is willing to die if that means no more innocent people do. But here’s where I get a little touchy. VIKTOR didn’t KNOW she was there. Viktor was simply desperate to live. Sky’s death was not malicious (even if it’s true to his character that he’d feel guilty anyways). It is at this point that Viktor has Jayce promise him to destroy the hex core (and by god is this where a lot of my contention with the finale comes from). Also, it is important to note that Viktor’s self-loathing is depicted only in regard to Sky’s death (NOT HIS BAD LEG). Now Viktor feels guilty not just for Sky’s death, but also necessarily for trying to live (AND PLEASE KEEP THIS IN MIND). TRYING TO LIVE is subtly treated as an AMBITION that, for Viktor, interfered with his ethics. (And please note that in the end, Singed, who repeatedly embraces unethical practices for reviving his dying daughter gets what he wants).

Anyway, in S2, Jayce blasts Viktor in the chest and all that conviction goes out the window. All this despite Sky (his conscience and “humanity”) being there with him in the astro-nether. Now Viktor's idea of becoming a higher being is just getting rid of emotion (apparently because Jayce did it or something). Jayce killing him without explanation was all of a sudden all he needed to become a divine dictator. The same Viktor that looked terminal illness in the face and preferred to spare others instead of himself? The same Viktor who's immediate action after waking up with a new body was to go and use the arcane he wished had been destroyed to help others? Because the arcane is corrupting him? That’s convenient for a certain political narrative. Especially because anyone would hesitate pressing a button (in Viktor’s case smashing the hex core) that would guarantee their death. Viktor was being human, not corrupt.

Viktor and Jayce:

Now, I think Jayce's speech had some merit and could have been framed better with a little more time and thought. The philosophical idea of perfection or a perfect world (one which Piltoverians strive toward) being untenable, maybe even undesirable, is a fascinating concept worth exploring. BUT MAKING IT ABOUT SOME INTERNALIZED ABLEISM FROM VIKTOR IS FUCKING STUPID!!!! I'm sorry, but Piltover being the city of progress until it actually included becoming progressive with Zaun was absolutely one of the things Jayce and Viktor's sub-plot was trying to explore.

Viktor WANTED TO LIVE. Viktor wanted his people to STOP SUFFERING. Viktor WAS RIGHT. He wasn't merely eliminating "imperfections" (and of FUCKING COURSE A PILTOVIAN WOULD SEE IT THAT WAY), he was trying to cure sick and dying people who did nothing to deserve it. He was buying them time that people like Jayce and Heimmerdinger had in spades, but Viktor and Zaunites had stolen from them.

Children dying of disease and violence in The Lanes was by Piltovian design! It was not some predestined cosmic necessity. Viktor WAS RIGHT TO HATE HIS FUCKING TERMINAL ILLNESS ARE THESE GUYS INSANE??! Wtf kind of message is Viktor embracing it as part of himself sending to vulnerable, impoverished and ill people? Is that supposed to be some kind of fucking comfort? Fuck off right to hell!

Like I'm glad if it resonated with any disabled people, but Viktor's struggle with his body was a protest against Piltover, not himself, and I hate that the writers gutted that character development. Viktor's and Jayce's paths "diverged a long time ago" because Jayce had the luxury and time of pursuing his dream while Viktor didn't. Viktor, even up there as a scholar of Piltover, was still getting the Zaunite treatment.

Jayce had the time to pursue a better world, while Viktor had to struggle for a little more time. When Viktor becomes part of the arcane, suddenly he has all the time in the world to realize HIS OWN DREAM. Why would wanting a better world for others have to result in "dreamless solitude"? Why does wanting progress equal wanting perfection? You are changing the subject and that is cheating!!!!

Viktor becoming obsessed with fixing what ailed humanity was warranted, and his extremism was hinted to have been due in part to the effect the arcane had on him, but it still made the themes of arcane a joke. There was so much potential and the writers (and showrunners) just squandered it for some more romantic bullshit.

The Glorious Fumblings (A Summary):

-"Humanity, our very essence, is inescapable. Our emotions, rage, compassion, hate. Two sides of the same coin, intractably bound. That which inspires us to our greatest good is also the cause of our greatest evil.” That's a neat quote, but wars don't start simply due to emotions or whatever. This lacks class analysis, and it's annoying that the writers made this the whole theme of season 2 (and retroactively the show) in a story on class divides. Cait did not merely gas the Zaunites because of her mother, but because of her privileged upbringing that made it more acceptable to her to view Zaunites as animals (remember Ekko telling her enforcers “hunt us down like animals"). Cait knew the humanity of Zaunites was real. She just chose to ignore it because she could afford to. While it is interesting that Viktor would come to see being human as a flaw that destroys any hope of achieving peace (conflict theory would like a word with you), it ignored that fascism is not an inherently human trait and detracts from how or why it persists in the first place. It's almost the same as saying men/white people oppress women/poc because the latter were mean to them. It's victim-blaming (and false lmao). The British didn't colonize the Americans because the natives did anything to them. All prejudice is unjustified, that's what makes it prejudice. Again, Cait became a fascist when her mom died, but Vi still drew the line at killing children and even council members despite losing every single one of her family members to Piltover's violence against The Lanes. AND THAT’S JUST IT. Why the Zaunites do what they do isn’t simply because of love and hate, but because of the desperate circumstances they are forced into by their oppressors. Why the Piltovians do what they do, isn’t because of love or hate, but because they are bread in luxury and affluence. Pretending that’s not the case is an insult to the work put into Arcane’s first season (and anyone with a brain and basic empathy).

-Jayce's speech would have been cute in another story, but it's downright insulting in Arcane's. Yes, yes, Jayce's words would have been the only ones to have broken the real Viktor out of Arcane Viktor's grasp by appealing to this deep childhood wound, but Viktor's desperation was not to belong (because his leg kept him from playing with other children) but TO LIVE (because he was dying of an illness). Jayce's speech isn't bad, just misplaced. Like most of the finale.

-Viktor did not have to become a fascist-aligned deity in his quest to heal people. It is a typical MCU thing to have a "villain" that's technically right and then destroy their entire character to make their (correct) philosophy untenable by making them do something extreme. Typical pro-status quo propaganda trope. I DON’T CARE if it was so we could get some game version of him. Viktor was right in bringing progress and his discoveries to The Lanes instead of devoting his efforts to Piltover, the fake city of progress.

-While I am annoyed that the climax of the show hinged on Jayce and Viktor and hextech (a tool to explore the inequalities of Piltover and Zaun) instead of Jinx and Vi, I think it kinda makes sense. Hextech built what Piltover has now become. Jayce, Viktor and hextech kinda represent Piltover (what it could be) and Jinx and Vi represent The Lanes (and the Zaun it could be). Both would have been integral, but the story shouldn't have hinged on hextech, IMO. Hextech should have remained a tool to explore the politics of both cities, but instead it overshadowed everything, cheapening the story's themes, characters and world-building.

-Jayce calling the Zaunites to arms was downright absurd. But not as absurd as Zaunites volunteering.

And Then There's Jinx:

Jinx and Isha:

Isha's only use, as far as I'm concerned, was to be a reconciling force between the sisters. When Cait was willing to shoot her to get to Jinx, that should have stopped Vi right there and brought her back to defending Jinx 100% I DON’T CARE. When Isha sacrificed her life to save Jinx, that should have been Jinx's wake-up call right there and helped her understand why Vi kept leaving her out of missions as a kid. But instead what do we get? Depressed, suicidal Jinx and an astoundingly even more resentful and indifferent Vi. Now Jinx sees herself as even more of a poison to those she loves (because she can’t protect them like Vi can and frequently kills them while trying to do so). Jinx, who has always wanted to be useful to those she loves. Who pursued her own hextech inventions in order to give her siblings a fighting chance when facing down Silco. Who wants to give Zaun a fighting chance as Silco's daughter (and Isha’s surrogate mother). To be useful to the goals and dreams of her family. Isha was the perfect opportunity to bring the sisters together and get Jinx to embrace all she is (both the Jinx that Vi rejects and the Powder that Silco rejected), but no. Instead, the kid was some kind of foreshadowing to Jinx's own heroic self-sacrifice for her sister (a message that left both sister's arcs unfinished). Or perhaps, Isha was a commentary on the cycle of violence. But that this sub-plot really wasn't needed given what we'd already established in Season 1.

Why do I say this?

Because the cycle of violence is not a "Jinx" issue, but a Piltover one, and the writers making it an interpersonal issue instead of a political/sociological one damaged the story and what Jinx's character could have meant to mentally ill people like her. It wasn't illogical storytelling, just far less meaningful than it could have been. It would have been more powerful and moving and impactful for Jinx to realize where the true cycle of violence (as established the whole fucking show from the dead parents on the bridge, to Vander and Silco, to Jinx and Vi, to Jinx and Ekko, to Isha and Warwick, to Cait and Vi, etc) was coming from.

Jinx needed to accept herself and the love others showed toward her (Silco, Vander, Ekko and Vi). Jinx keeps blowing things up because she repeatedly rejects herself (both Powder and Jinx), ignoring the good she's done and tried to do. Isha was a call back to the good Jinx has done and can continue to do for Zaun and others. Isha and Sevika understood (even though Silco unfairly set it up) that Jinx was actually their good luck, their hope, more than just a hex (pun intended) on the city. After all, Jinx made Sevika her new arm (even though she's the reason Sevika lost her arm in the first place), which further proves that Jinx had the capacity to fix some of what she broke. It would have been better for her to embrace responsibility and have the faith to try and fix things (ESP her relationship with Vi). While it is not unrealistic or necessarily bad writing that she would fake her own death to run away and start over (or just die) trying to save Vi, the arc people she represented deserved was her embracing Vi back, not accepting that she was a curse in Vi's life. And most definitely NOT romanticizing her pain.

Jinx and Ekko:

Ekko's and Jinx's relationship is precisely an exploration of how Piltover's violence against Zaun forced these children with entire futures ahead of them (they are both child prodigies) into endless war and hellish heroism. Ekko and Jinx are repeatedly shown to be hesitant and even unwilling to participate in violence against others, especially their own. Ekko does not hate Jinx, though he wants to, and Jinx does not like who she is when she's violent. She is trigger-happy because she already expects Vi and Ekko to want to kill her (projecting her self-loathing on them, but not entirely unreasonably). She doesn't have faith in their love or mercy because she doesn't see any part of herself as redeemable or loveable, which is why she consistently sabotages her life (but not without help from Vi and others).

Ekko and Jinx are symbols of progress for Zaun AND Piltover (and Heimerdinger saw that, especially when Ekko insisted he had to go back to his timeline, even if the one he had landed in was better). Heimmerdinger saw what they could have been in the alternate timeline, all the genius that was squandered in The Lanes. Jinx and Ekko are the ones most willing to put an end to violence and injustice because both of them are nostalgic for their families. All that’s ever kept them going is the love of their families. Jinx just doesn't have the same faith in her ability to be their hero as Ekko does, but Ekko manages to convince her for a moment anyways.

Ekko recognizes (like Silco, Viktor and Isha) how integral Jinx is to the creation of a new world. She injects colour and life and hope into Zaun and is the only one who can unite all warring factions in Zaun in the first place. I know people have gripes with this Jinx being the hero of Zaun when she literally killed Silco, opening the market for other gangs, but her most famous act is the bombing of the Council, which pretty much all Zaunites were unaware was about to grant them independence. To the average citizen of Zaun and Piltover, Jinx was the symbol of a revolution (even if Jinx didn’t see herself that way and didn’t really want to be). Both her and Ekko are rebel leaders, but that is hardly used in Zaun's interests in the end. (ALSO THAT WHOLE CONVERSATION WITH VIKTOR AND JINX WHERE HE SAID SHE COULD BE USEFUL TO HIS WORK. This show would have won with a Viktor and Jinx team-up to unite Zaun--also in parallel to Jayce and Vi's team up. We could have had it all!)

Jinx and Silco:

This, is only second to Vi in the most FUMBLED things about Jinx. Silco was her guide once Vander died and Vi ran away. Silco not only took care of her, but gave her purpose (someone to love and be loved by and protect) and nurtured her talent (one that many others scorned). Silco accepted Jinx even though he weaponized her (which backfired for him). As much as Silco WAS WRONG to lie about Vi (manipulating Jinx) and even try to kill Vi (which was a dumbass move on his part), he wasn't wrong about Jinx's path to healing: self-acceptance and self-forgiveness. And even though Silco's own stupidity led Jinx to "embrace" Silco's version of Jinx to the point that she bombed the Council right when they'd granted Zaun independence (I wanted to fucking kill myself watching that), Jinx was still not ENTIRELY a jinx as Jinx (e.g. when she rescued Zaunites from Stillwater Prison). This fucked up dude did a whole John-the-Baptist thing where Vander tried to drown him with Jinx so she could embrace her Jinx-ness. But I don't think he was telling her to embrace that she was a curse like Vi meant it, but to embrace her new life (baptism is all about death and rebirth) and her new self and take responsibility for it.

Silco, like Ekko, was the one who saved Jinx from death and offered Jinx a home. While everyone else patronized Jinx for her own childhood trauma, Silco was gentle, understanding and provided space for that, even when her psychosis killed him. He showed zero resentment toward her. But when Silco dies and Vander returns, Jinx just . . . oopsie, doopsie! Forgets about Silco until one final hallucination she has of him in the jail cell. The only one she has where he talks. And what does he say? She needs to break the cycle. How? Not by eliminating Piltover or gaining Zaun's independence like he'd talked about and dreamed about. Not by accepting herself as Jinx and Powder, the inventor, the fighter, daughter of both Silco and Vander, but by offing herself? Leaving her family to think she's dead? Embracing the lie that she really was the poison in their lives and the reason none of them could be happy? The reason they died? NICE! SWELL! WHAT A SATISFYING, INSPIRING CONCLUSION! Even worse, they made her "death" staged. I'm sorry, but do we really believe that this same girl who killed herself multiple times in front of Ekko just 24 hours ago somehow found the will to live and escape into air ducts when she was falling with Vander? She decided to live right when she was about to die? And let's not forget that she was falling to the same song that was playing when she was trying to commit suicide. Why? And why would a heroic death (staged or not) be any form of character growth for Jinx in the first place? When her whole thing is distrusting the love offered to her? Or was she accepting herself by being the one to kill Vander because she knew Vi couldn't? Either way, it's cheap!

I Wonder Who Put All Those Holes In You (Fumbling Summary):

-Vander's letter to Silco could have been why she hallucinated Silco talking to her about forgiveness, but breaking the cycle here is about forgiving (unapologetic) Piltovians instead of herself, which needed to happen to complete her arc.

-Isha and Vander misery porn

-(above is an excerpt from Amanda Overton's TheGamer interview) to paraphrase: "SO OUR GRAND CONCLUSION TO VI AND JINX'S ARC WAS TO CONFIRM THAT YES, JINX WAS INDEED A JINX (AND NOT PILTOVER OR ANYTHING HAHA) AND THE SISTERS WOULD ONLY HAVE PEACE IF THEY NEVER RECONCILED - JUST LIKE THEIR FATHERS BECAUSE THAT WORKED OUT SO WELL THE FIRST TIME! :D THE REASON THEIR LIVES ARE IN SHAMBLES ARE PURELY BECAUSE OF THEIR OWN PERSONAL FAILINGS AND NOT AT ALL BECAUSE OF THE SITUATION PILTOVIANS HAVE PUT ZAUNITES IN! XD WE THINK THIS IS ALSO A FANTASTIC THING TO TELL MENTALLY ILL PEOPLE." :)

-Jinx being the reluctant Girl Saviour of Zaun after clinging onto her identity as a jinx so she didn't have to take responsibility for Zaun should have been the completion of her arc, IMO. As far as Jinx's arc is concerned, she was meant to reject the identity of jinx that Vi gave her and embrace the identity of Jinx that Zaun gave her. Loveable and capable of doing the right thing and saving others. Using hex-tech, something Jayce and Piltover had levelled against her people, against them. And she does this to some extent, but we don't even get a hint as to why Ekko's speech worked (and how he got her to fight alongside him and the Firelights in the first place). We know she does so for Vi, but she so quickly gives up once she and her sister are back on the same team. She allies herself with her sister just to die and then fuck off to another land? BRUH! Like act 3 is SO FRUSTRATING!

Conclusion

If the focus had been on the coming war between Zaun and Piltover, then we could have better explored the internal struggles happening with Vi's and Jinx's characters. Using Isha and Vander as misery porn for Jinx was a bad move. I stand by that. Isha didn't need to die that uselessly. Jinx did not need more "trauma" for any character development (positive or negative). It's not unrealistic that Jinx would be depressed after Isha's death (and that Isha was likely meant to symbolize the constant cycle of violence), but that this sub-plot really wasn't needed given what we'd already established in Season 1.

These are where my gripes with Jinx's and Viktor's arcs in S2 really lie: the story tries to strip the political from the personal! Viktor, on waking up with the arcane in him, goes back to The Lanes, and what does he see? The cycle that Silco mentions in Jinx's hallucination in the cell. This cycle is not merely coming from the interpersonal struggle Zaunites have, but rather, the forces behind those struggles: the starvation, the lack of resources, the poverty. All caused by Piltover. Where Season 2 fails while Season 1 succeeded, is it points the camera away from Piltover as the origin of all this mess, and instead, makes it a stupid cosmic clash between chaos and order (kinda fascist ngl). Zaun lost, and Arcane Season 1 had the tits to show why those in The Lanes were always on a losing streak: Piltover. The commitment to saving Piltover instead of destroying it ruined so many arcs, most notoriously Vi's and Jinx's. This should have ended in a war between the two cities, not one where both fought against robo-people and Ambessa.

But what, instead, do the writers brandish as this solution to the cycle?

Fucking forgiveness (of those who harm and oppress you) and acceptance of your (physical) imperfections (like that's what we were apparently talking about, which no, it wasn't). By refusing to acknowledge Piltover's hand in the desperation and violence and struggle the Zaunite characters find themselves, the show inadvertently ends up excusing Piltover.

TLDR: Bad message to send to oppressed people, mentally ill people, and people dying of terminal illnesses, lmao. The Zaunites ALL LOST with this one.

And I'm going to make a Part 2 to really get into it, but from the perspective of three Piltover characters (and one Zaunite) that really prove my point: Jayce, Mel, Caitlyn and Ekko.

P.S.: It's okay if you think the show is good because it succeeds in many other things, I just think it drops the ball in the places I've mentioned. But if your main criticism of my criticisms is going to be defending your ships, please find another post. Oppression is a serious reality that deserves serious depiction and it's insulting to have such necessary political discussions devolve into dumbass ship wars.

EDIT: I honestly did not expect this post to get more than 20 likes lmao, and i must admit that this was more of a thought dump than a super-deep analysis, but i'm glad a lot of it has resonated with so many of you!

EDIT AGAIN: Here's PART 2.

[chrystabelleblaumferge]

Imma say it

I hate Booktok and everything it represents (glorification of anti-intellectualism and overconsumption) so by extension I despise ACOTAR but the anti-SJM fandom, particularly the anti-Rhysand, anti-Feyre and anti-Feysand peeps are some of the most intelligent people who have come out of the fandom from a book series I genuinely loathe.

I find it ironic yet charming that the anti side of this fandom is actually filled with brilliant and bright minds as opposed to the "pro" side of that fandom who speak and act like they've been programmed by a cult to repeat the same type of opinions like a broken record. The people accused of being "vile and hateful" happened to be some of the best human beings I've ever interacted with and are willing to listen to dissenting opinions and debate in a civil manner.

In contrast, the "pro" side of the fandom who love everything these books represent are generally some of the most unpleasant and vile people I've had the displeasure of encountering. I was already uninterested in the series but was peer pressured by an insane fangirl of this series to read it expecting me to love "the twist" and the same characters she does (*cough* Feysand *coughs*). I cut her off for being a generally horrid person over a damn book all because I dared to speak my mind (she threatened physical violence over my honest critique).

I'm a general fantasy reader (think JRR Tolkien, George RR Martin, Brandon Sanderson et al.) and do not like romance books therefore dislike romantasy in general since I am not the target audience for these books. I only "read", by that I meant pirating these books to form my opinion on them, will never buy them since they're rubbish and not worth my money (plus I hate the author for being a shit human being and would never give her my money). It was bleh and I found it painful to read since I've read fanfiction that was written more eloquently than this SJM-produced slop. I always hated bad boys even as a teenage girl and that sentiment still remains as an adult. So imagine how I physically cringed when the love interests were switched.

Getting back on topic to the "pro-side", they were genuinely hateful despite their incessant preaching about "love conquers all" and on multiple occasions loved telling me I should die (classy...) for voicing my honest critique that I didn't like it. What's more, is that the common sentiment of the "pro-side" was to coerce and brainwash me into liking 'le main characters' and how I had 'internalised misogyny' for not liking something I only consider as fairy porn with no substance to keep me engaged lmao

The best part is that I'm not even a shipper of their rival ship Feylin, Tamlin, or Nesta. I am ambivalent towards them at best but I started sympathising with them given that the story made me hate the main characters and their 'Inner Circlejerk of Bougie Faerie Arseholes' that love wanking their 'Dear Dictator Leader: Ricespam' (I'll never spell his name correctly since I hate rapists like him). It also helps that the fans of these 'antagonist characters' are genuinely nice and pleasant people. I'm almost tempted to so say I love Tamlin/Nesta just to rustle the Feysand cultists' jimmies lol

It seems like they only use "feminism" when it's on their side. Not bothering to accept contrasting viewpoints from women such as myself who do not like a book and are within our rights to do so. What's even surprising is that the pro-fandom is overwhelmingly like this. They'd bully you into submission if you don't kowtow to their demands. Having been bullied in my childhood, I can absolutely recognise the same pattern of abuse that I've been inflicted on in the past. Therefore, this produced the inverse effect than the one they had anticipated. I started hating their self-insert Feyre and Ricespam even more. If they weren't so toxic, I would have just remained a general hater but them acting like Jehovah's Witnesses over a shitty book definitely made me spiteful.

All I can say is: I'll never be a fan of these books nor part of the fandom because I consider it mid. But I do enjoy the thoughtful criticism the antis of said fandom provide and will likely continue hating the pro-side of the fandom for being hateful bigots (especially the Feysand shippers, never met a nice one. Not even once).

[daceydeath]

Biggest Flex

Pairing: Seonghwa x Reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Genre: Mafia Romance, Smut

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Swearing, Alcohol, Violence, Explicit Content

Park Seonghwa is a traditional mafioso so there are only a few rules that apply to those around him. Do not disrespect him, his organization or what he considers his.

“I'm here with someone, sorry” you repeated as politely as you could, it was probably the fourth time you had said the same thing and the dip shit was still talking to you trying his luck.

“Well he ain't here beautiful so how about you and me…” he started a cocky grin still on his face before you interrupted him again.

“I'm here with someone and he will be back in just a moment” you sighed, plastering on a fake smile that didn't reach your eyes. You knew there would be some kind of trouble once your boyfriend came back but only if you couldn't get rid of this absolute moron before then. 

“Listen you stupid bitch, your man ain't here so how about you stop acting like a tease and come over to drink with us” he shouted getting too close to your face for you to not flinch back “aw is the little slut scared now?”. He reached out to grab your arm.

“Touch her and I'll kill you, you piece of shit” A terrifying snal echoed across the room. Skirting around the guy who was trying to pick you up you almost stumbled to get closer to Seonghwa who looked murderous. The anger rolled off your lover in such palpable waves, you could almost taste it. Even though it wasn't directed at you it still made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, nothing that happened from this moment was going to be bloodless.

“Hwa” you whispered, sounding loud in the deafening silence that had enveloped the room. Reaching out to touch his arm as he stepped closer to where you were standing.

“Go with Joon baby” he murmured, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles softly “You shouldn't see what happens now”.

“Hwa, he's just an idiot who doesn't know who I'm here with” you continued “you promised me tonight would be just us”.

“I know, but disrespect must always be punished especially when that disrespect involves insulting what's mine” his eyes were still burning with rage but the way he spoke to you reassured you that he didn't blame you.

“Alright Hwa” you nodded, stepping towards where Hongjoong was standing, his gun already on display from the way he had crossed his arms whilst backing up your boyfriend. Hongjoon nodded at Seonghwa before guiding you from the private VIP room and towards the exit, his hand barely touching your shoulder blades. Usually Seonghwa would simply send Hongjoong and some of the others to take whoever he was angry with outside to deal with them away from you but this time he was far more frightening than you had seen him before.

“What's going to happen Joon? Will Hwa be alright?” Your voice showing how nervous you were about what was about to happen.

“Trust me you don't want to know” Hongjoong smirked before noticing your wide eyes and smiling lopsidedly instead “Hwa will be just fine, he has back up with him”. Nodding you didn't feel much better about the situation especially when you heard the first scream and crashing sound making you jump.

“Come on, to the car so you are safe” Hongjoong picked up his pace walking you into the alleyway and in the direction of the black Lotus that Seonghwa had driven you to the club in. Getting into the passenger seat Hongjoong shut your door and took his place in front of your window gun drawn and ready to act if it was required making your anxiety grip your heart like an icy hand squeezing it until you felt like you couldn't breathe. Even though you were outside of the club and shut in the car you could still unmistakably hear the sound of gunshots echo through the night making you shudder and Hongjoon tense in his stance.

After what felt like an hour you saw Hongjoong relax and move from his position holstering the handgun that he had tried to keep from your line of sight. You looked around still feeling anxious but less so since Hongjoong had relaxed, Seonghwa was making his way out of the rear exit door, his black coat swirling in the cold air as he walked over to the car calmly. Hongjoong made his way over to the black Audi sedan that Seonghwa’s men traveled in while Seonghwa smiled at you looking as though he was completely uninjured. He opened the drivers door and slid in beside you, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, his teeth flashing as he grinned at you.

“Let's get you home pretty baby” he hummed, starting the car and letting the engine roar to life. Speeding through the city streets you very quickly found yourself pulling into the gated driveway of his place.

“I thought you were taking me home Hwa” you smiled shyly, biting your lower lip softly making him raise his eyebrow as he looked you over.

“This is your home baby, you know anything I own is yours” he almost purred, getting out of the car and opening your door for you. As soon as you were standing Seonghwa pulled you into a desperate kiss pressing himself against you. 

“Let me show you that you own everything I am” he smirked, making you blush. Scooping you into his arms he carried you into the house, not bothering to even shut the front door, only putting you down when he could lay you on his bed. 

Pulling off his coat and jacket he threw them to the floor, followed them went his tie, waistcoat and shirt leaving him looking glorious in his half naked state. In the time it has taken to rid yourself of your coat he was crawling up the bed and hovering over you. Moving to toe off your shoes he stopped you gently.

“Leave them on baby, I want to undress you myself” his voice turned husky as he pressed his clothed crotch against you letting you feel how hard he was.

“Hwa, I was so worried something would happen to you” you whispered feeling yourself already giving into him.

“I'm sorry you had to see me angry pretty baby” he whispered before connecting his lips to yours, this kiss much more sensual than the last. His lips moved more gently against yours as he swiped his tongue along the seam of your lips and pulled your bottom lip lightly with his teeth. Gasping in pleasure he took advantage by slipping his tongue between your open lips and moving it against your own in slowly making you whimper quietly.

“I forgive you Hwa, I know you just want me safe” you uttered breathily as he began kissing his way down your neck stopping to mouth at the juncture with your shoulder making you sigh. You could feel his lips curl into a smile as he repeated the action making you whine softly and thread your fingers into his hair. Moving back to your lips his hands made short work of tugging you dress down your body leaving you in only your underwear and heels as he sat back to admire you.

“Fuck you're a goddess” he spoke almost revenantly making your heart swell in your chest. Taking your right leg and kissing your ankle and he removed your high heel he repeated the action with the left before undoing his pants and crawling back up your body kissing every inch of your exposed skin in the process. Once his lips reconnected with yours you felt his fingers make their way past the lace covering your core and begin gently teasing you.

“Mmm Hwa” you moaned, lightly rocking your hips against his digits melting into the pleasure he was already giving you. Without moving himself away from you he tugged your underwear further aside and before you could protest the lack of his fingers he started filling you with his length. Inch by inch he sunk into you at a maddeningly slow pace making you arch your back as he bottomed out inside you.

“So tight baby” he groaned gradually pulling his hips back before sinking into you again “you take me so well baby”.

“Ngh… please Hwa” you babbled as he rolled his hips again stretching your velvet walls perfectly. You heard him chuckle breathlessly before he lazily continued rocking his hips into you giving you just enough pleasure to drive you mad.

“Does my baby want more huh? Does she need me to make her mine? Show her who she belongs to?” He teased picking up his pace and walking you moan loudly. He began snapping his hips into you more roughly each thrust hitting the spot that only he could inside you sending you hurtling towards your orgasm.

“Seonghwa… oh my god….” You cried out as the tingle in your belly caught fire and exploded making you cum hard around him, your walls quivering as he kept fucking into you. He growled from somewhere in the back of his throat making your head spin while he continued to pump into your fluttering hole.

“Such a good girl” he groaned, his voice strained as he tried to hold off his own high just a little bit longer, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist to plunge even deeper into you “Fuck I love you so much baby” he moaned as he finally hit his climax filling you with thick ropes of his seed.

“I love you too Hwa” you panted tiredly as he carefully pulled himself from you making you hiss slightly at the feeling of emptiness between your thighs. He languidly got off the bed stripping himself nude before helping you out of your underwear and climbing back into the bed beside you pulling you onto his chest.

“I meant it baby, everything I am is yours” he smiled, kissing the crown of your head.

A/N: Thank you for reading my lovely loves. All your kind support means the world to me xxx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz , @armystay89 , @damnyouficc , @roamingpolar , @tara-skyhold , @bakedlilgoonie , @krishastumblernow , @mrsseals16 , @fawnpeaks , @leeknowinggg @uno7 @tanzen-ist-gold

[countbarov]

medieval times were silly times

As I am equal parts stalker and writer, I have observed the KCD fandom for some time, and I've again found something that raised some questions for me. And this time it's not about homosexuality (alone), but the perception of medieval times in media today, in contrast with what we know about medieval times

A common name given to this period is "the dark ages" (and, as an ESL speaker, it's a phenomenon unique to English as far as I'm aware; feel free to correct me). But with a name as dramatic as that comes the connotation that "the dark ages" were rife with conflict, famine, death, disease, and violence of all kinds. But that's not what "the dark ages" means, and this evocative language is very misleading

They were called "the dark ages" because we didn't have enough information on them. Thus "dark", as in, lacking clarity

And importantly, they WERE called the dark ages. They are NOT called the dark ages anymore. Because we have more information on them

One of the things that gets brought a lot in relation to all characters, really, is religion. And since KCD2 is still very new, I won't make any specific reference to events in the game, but I will use KCD1 examples to illustrate my point

Religion in the Czech Republic has always been an interesting subject. They're nominally Catholic, but their history as a conquered nation and vassal state to bigger empires has marred the subject. It's considered today to be a very atheist nation, but this is a slight misunderstanding. Many Czechs are believers, but won't follow institutional Catholicism

Due to being ordered to die in battle for the Catholic church repeatedly (and causing a revolt about it, which was violently squandered by Catholic forces), it's easy to understand why the Czech public would be less than enthusiastic about Catholicism. But there was, in the 15th century, an interesting man by the name of Jan Hus. A priest who sought to reform the church to more accurately represent the Czech approach to religion; a priest who was executed by the Catholic church

A priest we meet in KCD1, interestingly enough, whom Henry accompanies on a debauched weekend of revelry, culminating in a drunken speech performed by Henry as he pretends to be a priest

Not very puritan and devout of him, alongside Hans' constant visits to the brothel

Another sore topic in the common understanding of medieval times is homosexuality, and how it's thought of by contemporaries

Modern conceptions of homosexuality will have us identify as "gay/lesbian"; as people who ARE homosexual and feel homosexual attraction. But back then, homosexuality wasn't understood as something you were: it was something you did

As such, "BEING" a sinful little gay wasn't a thing. You were performing a sinful act, but you were not sinful by nature, because it wasn't understood as an intrinsic part of your identity

This doesn't change the fact that it wasn't a good or happy time to be gay. For Hans and Henry it would've been a scary, uncertain, extremely secretive part of their lives. Their love could not be freely expressed and had to remain hidden from the public eye. But that doesn't mean they were ashamed of it

I think it's more beautiful to see their relationship as something they're proud of and happy to fight for rather than a sore topic of discussion. They would've been excited to share each other's company, share with their closest allies, and share in private without fear

It needs to be said, also, that I am not trying to police how people enjoy media. I'm simply expressing that Hans and Henry don't necessarily fit the mould of a tragic gay relationship as we know them today, and it's more interesting for me to engage with media where it's at. Part of the reason KCD's gay romance is so important to me as a gay man is that, instead of shameful and painful, it's euphoric, and gay media NEEDS more gay euphoria

We deserve to be happy, and I'm delighted that media starts to represent us not as doomed, but blooming. We deserve better than that

[mauromance]

A case for Kastle | Why Karen and Frank are end game

The relationship between Frank Castle and Karen Page doesn’t just surpass her connection with Matt Murdock, it fundamentally redefines what intimacy looks like in the darker corners of the MCU.

Where Matt’s love is complicated by secrets and duality, Frank’s is startling in its raw transparency. And crucially, their bond is textually romantic in ways the narrative consistently reinforces.

Matt’s love is fractured by duality

Matt Murdock exists in perpetual contradiction: saint and sinner, attorney and assailant, the man and the mask. His relationship with Karen mirrors this civil war within: every tender moment undermined by secrets, every act of protection laced with deception. He doesn't withhold truths because he doesn't care, but because he's forgotten how to exist without walls. Even as Daredevil fights for her safety, Matt Murdock keeps her at arm's length—not from lack of love, but from the terrifying certainty that to let her truly see him might destroy them both.

Frank’s love is brutal in its honesty

Frank Castle wears no mask, he owns his brutality. And yet with Karen, his most jagged edges as the Punisher soften.

Karen could never replace his family, but she becomes something equally dangerous: proof that Frank Castle might still exist beyond his war. She's the first person who makes him consider there could be an after—not as the Punisher, but simply as Frank. And that's what truly terrifies him.

Because in Frank's world, love is vulnerability. It's the knowledge that those closest to us are the ones who can destroy us most completely. His family's love made him whole; their loss unmade him. To let Karen matter is to risk that devastation all over again. Yet still, against instincts and effort their connection is forged.

Kastle is a lens, not a subplot

Frank and Karen’s relationship isn’t romantic filler, it’s the narrative’s moral compass. A lens through which we learn about their characters. Through their connection, we see:

Frank’s capacity for tenderness beneath the violence

Karen’s strength and empathy in the face of darkness

Their shared language of guilt and vengeance

They are each other's revelation. Karen is Frank's reckoning—the living mirror forcing him to confront the man beneath the body armor. And he, in turn, becomes her permission:

Permission to stop running from the blood on her hands

Permission to stare into her darkness without flinching

Permission to plant her feet when the world says "know your place"

Where Matt's half-truths left Karen questioning her worth, Frank's brutal transparency becomes her foundation. Their connection transcends romantic subplot. It's the spinal column of their shared narrative. Every loaded glance, every silence thicker than gun smoke, every "Karen" growled like a prayer or "Frank" whispered like a secret—these moments do more heavy lifting than any fight scene.

That's why the question was never "will they/won't they," but "how could they not?". In a universe where Daredevil hides behind masks and Kingpin behind tailored suits, Frank and Karen stand stripped bare. No aliases, no pretenses, just two scarred souls recognizing each other in the wreckage.

And that raw honesty? In my book, it's rarer and more revolutionary, than love.

Matt can move on (Frank can’t)

Matt's story thrives on reinvention. Across the comics and the MCU, he cycles through defining relationships (Karen, Elektra, Claire, Kirsten, etc.). Each love interest representing a different phase of his moral journey. We know that Karen in this case, is a chapter in Matt/Daredevil’s story, not the ending. The MCU's current trajectory seems to confirm this flexibility: with new Daredevil projects announced and more adversaries emerging, Matt's character arc clearly has room to evolve beyond any single romance. He's a hero whose growth comes through many varied connections.

Frank's narrative on the other hand, operates on an entirely different principle. It's a closed emotional circuit. His past is defined by the family he lost; his present (and with any justice, his future) by Karen Page. These are the twin anchors of his humanity, because beneath the body armor and bloodstains, Frank Castle remains at his core what he's always been: a family man without a family.

Where Matt's rotating relationships showcase his evolution as a hero, Frank's bond with Karen serves as his last tether to something resembling normalcy. She prevents him from devolving into pure monstrosity. 

This distinction is crucial for understanding Frank as an anti-hero rather than a villain:

Without Karen, Frank risks becoming a one-dimensional killing machine. She serves as his living connection to the world beyond vengeance. 

Karen gives viewers permission to root for Frank despite his brutality. Through her eyes, we see:

The remnants of the man he was before the tragedy

The potential for something beyond endless war

The cost of his crusade on someone who cares about him

With Karen in the picture, The Punisher's story becomes:

A tragedy of survival rather than mindless violence

A meditation on what parts of ourselves we sacrifice to trauma

A question of whether damaged people can still connect

The MCU's current trajectory seems to recognize this. While Matt will continue evolving through new relationships and challenges, Frank's arc demands resolution. His character is getting older, and this crusade it taking it toll (evidenced in Born Again when he is seen taking pain killers on two seperate occasions). Karen isn't just another love interest to him, she's the last remaining thread connecting Frank Castle to humanity and his way out of the life of venegence. Sever that, and you don't have an anti-hero anymore... you just have a loaded gun in a world full of targets.

Their relationship transforms what would just be gratuitous violence into Shakespearean tragedy. Without it, we're left with the shell of a character who long ago forgot why he started fighting.

There’s transformation through love

Love made Frank Castle into the Punisher (a husband and father’s rage crystallized into war). Now love, his simmering connection to Karen, could forge him into something new. Not a saint, not even a hero, but a man who’s learned to carry his losses without being crushed by them.

The tragedy and the triumph is this: The same force that created the monster might yet redeem the man. Not through grand gestures, but through cups of coffee and all the quiet ways two broken people learn to fit together without cutting themselves on each other’s edges.

To me, that’s beyond romance. That’s resurrection.

A Kastle resolution would fit the MCU’s pattern

In the MCU, completed love stories are reserved for characters whose journeys are ending. Steve Rogers gets his dance with Peggy only after hanging up the shield. Thor’s reunion with Jane coincides with her heroic exit. So following this narrative calculus, if the plan is to wrap up the Punisher’s story, it would seem that the Kastle payoff is inevitable.

The evidence: 

1. The original plan to exclude Karen from Born Again was a miscalculation so glaring it had to be reversed. This speaks volumes:

The push for her inclusion recognises her narrative necessity to both Daredevil and the Punisher

Karen's light footprint in Born Again season 1 suggests the show is saving her emotional weight for a more pivotal conclusion

2. The upcoming Born Again season 2 and 2026 Punisher special create an ideal narrative runway:

For Matt and Karen it could provide a clean, mature resolution to their relationship that:

Honors their history without trapping Matt in the past

Gives Karen agency in walking away

Leaves Matt open for fresh dynamics in a potential season 3

For Frank and Karen it grants a sunset moment with gravity:

The Punisher special could mirror Logan's emotional heft (not in death, but in closure)

Karen's arc would be allowed to culminate not as "Daredevil’s love interest” or "Frank's salvation," but as a woman who's faced her demons and maintained her agency 

3. It serves everyone

Matt grows beyond his Netflix-era baggage

Frank's story ends where it began: with love as his defining force

Karen avoids becoming a plot device—she exits as someone who shaped both men

This is narrative justice. The pieces are all there. Now Marvel just needs to follow through.

It’s bitter and beautiful 

Kastle was never meant to be a fairytale. It's two fractured souls using each other's sharp edges to polish their own broken pieces:

Karen's unwavering courage files down Frank's nihilism

Frank's brutal honesty cracks open Karen's shell of guilt

Their quiet understanding becomes armor against a world that wants them broken

In a universe where Spider-Man’s optimism feels increasingly naive, and Daredevil's moral code keeps crumbling, Kastle offers something radical: the notion that damaged people don't need fixing, just someone who sees their cracks and doesn't look away. That recognition alone can make the endless fight worthwhile.

The final verdict

All signs point to one undeniable truth: Kastle is the only ending that does justice to Frank and Karen's complex journey, while still giving Matt the narrative space to evolve beyond his past. The foundation has been meticulously built across multiple shows and seasons. Marvel now faces a choice: honor this years-long character arc with the emotional payoff it deserves, or let these rich, layered relationships fade into unrealized potential.

Giving us a Kastle ending is more than fan service, at this point it is narrative integrity. Kastle represents:

One of the MCU's most mature explorations of trauma and connection

A rare love story built on mutual respect

The perfect emotional conclusion for Frank’s and Karen’s arcs, while allowing Matt to move forward unshackled from old dynamics

The evidence is all there in the text, the subtext, and the behind-the-scenes decisions. The story has been telling us where this is headed for nearly a decade. Now, Marvel just needs to listen to its own narrative.

--

Want to dive deeper? 

Coffee in the MCU

A way forward (my fan theory)

Kastle scene breakdowns: The subtext you missed [WIP]

--

Published: April 23, 2025

Last edited: April 23, 2025

[yanderes-galore]

Yandere rivals between Sanji and Zoro ~ will their be at each other throats or work together for the readers sake ~ 🍪(I’m fine with hcs as for platonic or romance I’m fine with either , whatever u thinks best please ) hope your doing ok ! 

These two are always having a rivalry just in general... Can they even share? Not sure if the cookie was meant to be your anon name or not but let me know if it was :')

Yandere! Sanji vs Zoro Concept

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic - Rivalry/Sharing mentioned

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Violence, Blood, Murder, Clingy behavior, Jealousy, Dubious companionship(s)/relationship(s).

These two are often fighting with one another.

Everything is a competition when it comes to them.

Throw in someone they both like?

They react in their own way but they're definitely fighting.

As the pairing is vague, there's multiple ways to look at this.

Platonic! Zoro/Platonic! Sanji: This pairing for them would be the one most likely to have them share. While it's hard to see Sanji as platonic, this pairing essentially gives you two competitive bodyguards. They still bicker, but when it comes to your safety the two are overly attentive.

Platonic! Zoro/Romantic! Sanji: This is a pairing I can see where they could either fight or share. Zoro would take an overprotective friend or brother role towards you while Sanji... is Sanji. Zoro would want the cook to treat you well and would only tolerate Sanji with you if he promises to take care of you. Other than that, it's a battle of Zoro trying to keep Sanji away from you.

Romantic! Zoro/Platonic! Sanji: Similar to the previous pairing but swapped. Now Sanji doesn't think Zoro will treat you well and acts like you're too good for Zoro. This version would most likely fight more. Especially because Zoro takes offense to the idea of you being gatekept by the cook on the crew.

Romantic! Zoro/Romantic! Sanji: There's no way these two are sharing. Both want you romantically and feel they have to impress you to have you to themselves. You can just imagine the competition and fights they get into.

Going into these individually is a bit much for this concept, so this will stay general for the most part.

However, if those pairings spark ideas for the future, I can probably do something with them another time.

The two respect one another for their abilities.

Yet they rarely seem to agree when it comes to you.

When they do agree with one another, they can be a dangerous duo.

But they have a tendency to bicker over you, even if the pairings change the degree they do.

Even the tamest pairing still has them fighting at times.

In canon, Sanji has some jealousy towards Zoro.

So if Zoro was getting more attention than Sanji, the cook may just snap.

Another thing to consider is the fact their yandere behaviors are different.

Zoro, no matter platonic or romantic, tends to stay out of the way and observe.

Sanji, however, always tends to be close to his obsession.

Sanji's behavior may drive Zoro to swap his behavior and stick around you more.

After all, if the cook isn't backing off, the swordsman isn't either.

Every interaction the two have is competitive in some way.

It can be over something simple, too.

For example, maybe Zoro found something he thought you might like as a gift and gave it to you.

Only for Sanji to one up him... and now the two are in a competition for who can give you the best gift.

One competition that always flops though is cooking or sword fighting.

As only one of them can do such tasks.

Zoro falls under the distant yet overprotective category while Sanji tends to be affectionate and clingy.

Which, again, puts Zoro on edge.

The two will get into physical fights... often.

It's almost like you see another new blood stain or scar on the two due to some other argument.

There has been too many times you and probably either Nami or Chopper have had to tend to their wounds.

The two may temporarily stop their fighting if you snap at them, allowing the two a moment of clarity to realize they are only annoying you.

Cue a brief apology from Zoro and groveling from Sanji.

I think the idea of them changing their behavior due to the other is interesting.

Even though Sanji primarily just makes Zoro a more aggressive yandere rather than distant....

The only thing the two share in common in this rivalry is the fact they care about you.

The two could be fighting, competing, bickering, etc...

Yet it all stops the moment they see you're hurt.

No matter the pairing... Those two get mad.

Friends, lovers, both, doesn't matter...

If one of them sees you bleeding, sick, or upset in anyway, the other knows too.

The two can work together in select situations.

Those two can be downright unstoppable if they want to be.

Imagine this... Someone's fighting you or harassing you, managing to make you upset or injured.

Yeah... The moment the two find out... That other person's gone.

The two quickly act like bodyguards to you as they just... seemingly appear.

There's a dark glare in their eyes and that other person knows they're doomed.

By the end of it, Zoro is either beating up the other person or already has a blade in their gut...

Meanwhile Sanji is shielding your eyes from the blood splattering on the floor and covering your ears to hide the screams.

All while the cook coos over your possible wounds.

The two know when to smarten up and work together.

They won't kill one another but they will certainly fight.

Their fellow crew won't let them kill one another...

Nami may have actually told them you'd be upset if they did or something, making the two pause.

They're both mostly just protective and competitive.

They don't want to hurt you in any way.

So, from these two, you'll get overprotective and ruthless bodyguards when you need them...

Although... the two will quickly pick up where they left off once they know you're okay...

It doesn't matter if one of them or even both of them have your heart or not... the two will always fight for your attention... much to everyone's annoyance.

[mariacallous]

Perhaps you’ve heard: Young people aren’t dating anymore. News media and social media are awash in commentary about the decline in youth romance. It’s visible in the corporate data, with dating-app engagement taking a hit. And it’s visible in the survey data, where the share of 12th graders who say they’ve dated has fallen from about 85 percent in the 1980s to less than 50 percent in the early 2020s, with the decline particularly steep in the past few years.

Naturally, young people’s habits are catnip to news commentators. But although I consider the story of declining youth romance important, I don’t find it particularly mysterious. In my essay on the anti-social century, I reported that young people have retreated from all manner of physical-world relationships, whether because of smartphones, over-parenting, or a combination of factors. Compared with previous generations of teens, they have fewer friends, spend significantly less time with the friends they do have, attend fewer parties, and spend much more time alone. Romantic relationships theoretically imply a certain physicality; so it’s easy to imagine that the collapse of physical-world socializing for young people would involve the decline of romance.

Adults have a way of projecting their anxieties and realities onto their children. In the case of romance, the fixation on young people masks a deeper—and, to me, far more mysterious—phenomenon: What is happening to adult relationships?

American adults are significantly less likely to be married or to live with a partner than they used to be. The national marriage rate is hovering near its all-time low, while the share of women under 65 who aren’t living with a partner has grown steadily since the 1980s. The past decade seems to be the only period since at least the 1970s when women under 35 were more likely to live with their parents than with a spouse.

People’s lives are diverse, and so are their wants and desires and circumstances. It’s hard, and perhaps impossible, to identify a tiny number of factors that explain hundreds of millions of people’s decisions to couple up, split apart, or remain single. But according to Lyman Stone, a researcher at the Institute for Family Studies, the most important reason marriage and coupling are declining in the U.S. is actually quite straightforward: Many young men are falling behind economically.

A marriage or romantic partnership can be many things: friendship, love, sex, someone to gossip with, someone to remind you to take out the trash. But, practically speaking, Stone told me, marriage is also insurance. Women have historically relied on men to act as insurance policies—against the threat of violence, the risk of poverty. To some, this might sound like an old-fashioned, even reactionary, description of marriage, but its logic still applies. “Men’s odds of being in a relationship today are still highly correlated with their income,” Stone said. “Women do not typically invest in long-term relationships with men who have nothing to contribute economically.” In the past few decades, young and especially less educated men’s income has stagnated, even as women have charged into the workforce and seen their college-graduation rates soar. For single non-college-educated men, average inflation-adjusted earnings at age 45 have fallen by nearly 25 percent in the past half century, while for the country as a whole, average real earnings have more than doubled. As a result, “a lot of young men today just don’t look like what women have come to think of as ‘marriage material,’” he said.

In January, the Financial Times’ John Burn-Murdoch published an analysis of the “relationship recession” that lent strong support to Stone’s theory. Contrary to the idea that declining fertility in the U.S. is mostly about happily childless DINKs (dual-income, no-kid couples), “the drop in relationship formation is steepest among the poorest,” he observed. I asked Burn-Murdoch to share his analysis of Current Population Survey data so that I could take a closer look. What I found is that, in the past 40 years, coupling has declined more than twice as fast among Americans without a college degree, compared with college graduates. This represents a dramatic historic inversion. In 1980, Americans ages 25 to 34 without a bachelor’s degree were more likely than college graduates to get married; today, it’s flipped, and the education gap in coupling is widening every year. Marriage produces wealth by pooling two people’s income, but, conversely, wealth also produces marriage.

Contraception technology might also play a role. Before cheap birth control became widespread in the 1970s, sexual activity was generally yoked to commitment: It was a cultural norm for a man to marry a girl if he’d gotten her pregnant, and single parenthood was uncommon. But as the (married!) economists George Akerlof and Janet Yellen observed in a famous 1996 paper, contraception helped disentangle sex and marriage. Couples could sleep together without any implicit promise to stay together. Ultimately, Akerlof and Yellen posit, the availability of contraception, which gave women the tools to control the number and the timing of their kids, decimated the tradition of shotgun marriages, and therefore contributed to an increase in children born to low-income single parents.

The theory that the relationship recession is driven by young men falling behind seems to hold up in the U.S. But what about around the world? Rates of coupling are declining throughout Europe, as well. In England and Wales, the marriage rate for people under 30 has declined by more than 50 percent since 1990.

And it’s not just Europe. The gender researcher Alice Evans has shown that coupling is down just about everywhere. In Iran, annual marriages plummeted by 40 percent in 10 years. Some Islamic authorities blame Western values and social media for the shift. They might have a point. When women are exposed to more Western media, Evans argues, their life expectations expand. Fitted with TikTok and Instagram and other windows into Western culture, young women around the world can seek the independence of a career over the codependency (or, worse, the outright loss of freedom) that might come with marriage in their own country. Social media, a woman veterinarian in Tehran told the Financial Times, also glamorizes the single life “by showing how unmarried people lead carefree and successful lives … People keep comparing their partners to mostly fake idols on social platforms.”

According to Evans, several trends are driving this global decline in coupling. Smartphones and social media may have narrowed many young people’s lives, pinning them to their couches and bedrooms. But they’ve also opened women’s minds to the possibility of professional and personal development. When men fail to support their dreams, relationships fail to flourish, and the sexes drift apart.

If I had to sum up this big messy story in a sentence, it would be this: Coupling is declining around the world, as women’s expectations rise and lower-income men’s fortunes fall; this combination is subverting the traditional role of straight marriage, in which men are seen as necessary for the economic insurance of their family.

So why does all this matter? Two of the more urgent sociological narratives of this moment are declining fertility and rising unhappiness. The relationship recession makes contact with both. First, marriage and fertility are tightly interconnected. Unsurprisingly, one of the strongest predictors of declining fertility around the world is declining coupling rates, as Burn-Murdoch has written. Second, marriage is strongly associated with happiness. According to General Social Survey data, Americans’ self-described life satisfaction has been decreasing for decades. In a 2023 analysis of the GSS data, the University of Chicago economist Sam Peltzman concluded that marriage was more correlated with this measure of happiness than any other variable he considered, including income. (As Stone would rush to point out here, marriage itself is correlated with income.)

The social crisis of our time is not just that Americans are more socially isolated than ever, but also that social isolation is rising alongside romantic isolation, as the economic and cultural trajectories of men and women move in opposite directions. And, perhaps most troubling, the Americans with the least financial wealth also seem to have the least “social wealth,” so to speak. It is the poor, who might especially need the support of friends and partners, who have the fewest close friends and the fewest long-term partners. Money might not buy happiness, but it can buy the things that buy happiness.

[junkyardcryptparty]

༊ ⊹ ˚. Yan!Enki and Ragnvaldr x reader 🕸️

CW: Obsessive behaviour, guilt tripping (Enki being Enki), depiction of violent urges, being tied up, bloodplay, biting, borderline cannibalism as a love metaphor, friends to one-sided enemies, slightly suggestive.

Enki never thought of himself as the affectionate type, never has and never will, but when it comes to you, oh that smile of yours, those bruised limbs from the dungeon struggles, that strong will you could consider contagious; he yearned for it all, for it to belong to him.

Those thoughts keep buzzing around in his head whilst he reads and reads on the dirty library within the main hall, while you were right next to him, looking at his irritated expression with shaky pupils and an unsteady breath. He couldn’t focus with you like this, or him filled with so many thoughts by that matter.

“i can’t focus with you staring at me like that” Enki scowls. “you know, you should appreciate that i brought you here with me, and sharing my knowledge with you in the first place”. Those words make you feel like you’re pouring salt on a wound, but Enki has no ill intentions whatsoever, at least in his point of view.

You decide you look down in and stay silent, but your action is interrupted by a lanky hand grabbing your face by the cheeks, making you look up at the priest’s hollow eyes. “tch. can’t believe one can be so ungrateful” again with the foul words. He has always been the mysterious type, but this behaviour towards you was new. He has drawn sigils nearby every exit to prevent you from leaving, and still he won’t say a word unless it is to complain. He grabs your face tighter and frowns, mumbling to himself. “Why is it that you….”

What you don’t understand is he’s doing this out of pure fear. Not fear of losing, or death, or violence or whatever one could be thinking about, but fear of the feeling that creeps up to his head every time he glances at you. He wants to hold you, to grab you so tight he invades the cavities of your body and rips your heart out, to treasure it like a gem. He wants to kiss you until your skin wears out, and to know your every emotion. Love, he thinks, is something he wasn’t meant to feel. And so he doesn’t know how to behave, lost in a maze made from his own insecurities.

He sighs, trying to remember what those cheesy romance novels he read as a kid told. Enki, still with your face in his hand, plants his dry lips against yours, lapping them with an awkward lick. He looks at your shocked expression. “You don’t seem disgusted.” He mutters. “I assume that is one of the reasons why i put up with your whining.” He continues, acting all tough and indifferent as if his heart wasn’t jumping out of his chest. That kiss, if you could call it one, made everything click in his head. He needs you to be by his side at all times, to channel his insanity and transfuse it into passion. All he wanted right now from the overwhelming emotions that engulfed him, was to tear your skin apart, to pulverise your bones and carry you around like his personal doll. You’re his; the Gods predetermined you two meeting in the hellhole this dungeon is, to save each other, and stay together forever.

“You’re awfully quiet today. I hope you stay like this and follow my orders while we’re in here, or i’ll break your legs and drag you around.” He had this threatening aura around him as these words spewed out his mouth. But it wasn’t with an ill intent, no? He loved you after all, he thinks so at least.

All this was for your own good, he convinces himself; you need him to stay alive, otherwise you’d be mutilated on the floor for the guards to take pleasure with already. So of course you love him, you have to. And he loves you too, for the rest of eternity.

Even an outlander such as Ragnvaldr has felt love once, but he has also felt sorrow, rage and pain. Those former emotions that haunted him still haunt him now, and are very present in his actions. Alas here he was, covered in blood from head to toe. It’s hard to see which is the enemy’s and which is his own.

The dungeon remains radio silent for the first time in possibly decades, or even centuries. The guards were no more, and so were the lizardmen, yellow mages, cave dwellers, a man who seemed to become a God, and the list goes on. He killed them all. His revenge has been fulfilled, so what now? It was only you and him traversing the passageways and bloody pits that kept him entertained.

Ah, that’s right. You. You’re a nice one to be with, aren’t you? So kind of you to stay by his side while he tainted the walls red, while his bloodlust was satiated. You were like a little lost dog always stepping on your tail, grabbing onto the outlander’s cape to encourage yourself to take another step. And he enjoys that a lot, the fact that you’re always latched to him made him feel the same about you, craving your touch and presence at all times.

So here you were, in a dark, musty room with your arms and legs tied up with your own torn clothing. The humid cold breeze hit the cuts and wounds decorating your body, making you flinch. But what makes you straight up wince is the sound of echoed steps coming closer. It was Ragnvaldr, the man who saved you countless times and you developed a bond with, who now looked at you over your shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re alright while i was out. I found some resources.” He says while crouching next to you. “Here, i got you some bread” You look at him numbly as he pulls out a piece of bread, surprisingly in a fairly good state. “Open up” He directs the piece to you mouth but it remains sealed tight, refusing whatever he gave you. You’d rather starve than accept what the man you used to trust with your life provided. He however wasn’t having it, looking at you with a light frown and pressing the fingers of his free hand against your lips. Without saying a word, he pushes until his fingers enter your warm mouth, opening it with spit coating his hand. With that, he tears a piece of the bread and puts it between your palate and jaw, forcing you to chew on it.

“See? it wasn’t that hard…you need to eat or you will die here, cold and in pain.” He says as if nothing was wrong. Ever since some time ago, could be weeks or days, you lost count at this point, the outlander has been acting out of his mind. At first you thought the insanity of the dungeon got to him, but he reassured you he was okay, that if you were there with him everything was okay. He killed the monsters in gruesome ways, tearing their tendons out with his teeth and crushing their heads with a stomp. It was like he was letting out emotions he didn’t want to go through, and now they all burst out onto an obsessive love and overprotection.

He loves you so much, he really does. So much that he starts shaking while looking at his fingers full of spit, embracing you tightly with his nails damaging your exposed back. It stung. His embrace got tighter, and tighter, much like a snake that caught its prey. He wasn’t letting go, his shaking getting heavier and laboured breathing leaving his mouth. “i love you.” he says. “i love you, i love you” He just keeps on repeating the same sentence over and over, that is until he, without a single thought in his head, bites down hard on your collarbone. You let out a hiss and try to push him off, but he’s too heavy. He just keeps gnawing and clenching his jaw around the bony appendage, so much that blood falls much like the tears around your eyes.

“It hurts….” You manage to let out. But he’s not listening. Much like a hound he has gone absolutely feral, embracing your entirety with his bulky body. His hands claw onto your spine leaving marks, and his legs are wrapped around your waist. He lets go, and switches to your neck, biting just as hard. Like he was starving he licks the blood away, no kisses and no passion put into it, just pure desperation. After protesting more and more the pain just numbs out with the rest, and you decide to relax, and stay in his arms while he devours you away. “i love you” he says, and your mind goes blank.

[taeyongdoyoung]

act three: i might kill my ex

summary: unable to sleep, you try to think of something that will finally free you from the demons of your past... characters: reader, heeseung, sunoo, sunghoon, jay, jake, jungwon (mentioned only) genre: thriller, dark romance(-ish) warnings: insomnia, trauma, prison visit, allusions to prison violence, threats, nightmares, guns, tattoos, illegal activities, breaking in, manipulation, toxic ex, cops, blood, murder (?), suicide (?), songs+scream movie references author's note: hello everyone! the title is inspired by the scream movies and this awesome song, once again this can be triggering for some so read at your own discretion! 💙 also, this is the final part of my scream trilogy, check out the other parts if you're interested: part one & part two word count: 3k

Another sleepless night. Even though Sunoo is in prison and you now live with Heeseung as his place is better protected from breaking and entering, the mere thought of Sunghoon roaming around freely is enough to make every second of your existence a living hell. You wish the cops would take your testimony more seriously but the lack of fingerprints works magically in his favour.

You feel like a burden to your boyfriend. You follow him around like a lovesick puppy everywhere - to his work, to the gym, to the supermarket. You don't dare leave his side for fear that the second you do, something bad will happen and Sunghoon will be back and take you again. You hate being like this. You ask Heeseung multiple times if he's really okay with you being clingy and he patiently answers each time that your well-being is the most important to him and that he seriously doesn't mind you being around him all the time.

But you do. So you try to take baby steps. The first one being something you've been planning to do for a while. And finally gathered the courage to do. Visit Sunoo in prison.

"Are you sure it's a good idea?" Heeseung asks cautiously, gripping your hands.

"I can do it. There will be guards and cameras and stuff, I will be safe," you promise.

"No, I'm aware you'll be physically safe but are you sure you're ready for this? I'm talking about the mental aspects of it..."

You nod, thinking about how lucky you are to have such a considerate, warm boyfriend.

"I think I'm ready. I don't wanna be your shadow all the time. I gotta learn how to be my own person again. I figured this was a good a place to start as any."

"You're very ambitious, but okay. You know I love it that you're next to me, right? I feel safer myself when I can see you," Heeseung murmurs reassuringly.

"I know, I know," you repeat, giving him a hug. "But I gotta do this for myself."

"I trust you," your sweet boyfriend replies.

This. This is why Heeseung will always be your choice. The fact he sticks by your side and trusts you unconditionally is something Sunghoon could never achieve.

When the hours for visitation arrive, you are all nerves. Gone is the confident you that was sooo sure she could do this by herself. But you have to be stronger. So, you face your former best friend.

"Hi, Sunnie," you greet him calmly.

"N-noona, you c-came to see me," Sunoo's eyes are watery with emotion and he looks a little battered. Oh God. You don't want to imagine how hard prison life is on him. He looks so pitiful and small. But then, you remind yourself of the reality. He betrayed you and helped Sunghoon kidnap you. He's just facing the consequences for his own actions. But still...You can't help but feel a surge of sympathy for him.

"Of course I came. You're my best friend, right?"

"I don't deserve to be your best friend," Sunoo shakes his head. Good. At least he's aware of it.

"You're right, you don't," you say coldly. "And I might be an idiot but I still don't. So I'll give you an offer. Ask for a retrial, tell the truth about Sunghoon, tell them he forced you to help him and you'll get a lower sentence. From five to three years. And I'll consider forgiving you."

"I can't do that, Y/Nnie," Sunoo shakes his head.

"He will never love you. I know it, you know it, we all know it."

"It's not about that anymore. If I tell on him, he's gonna kill me," Sunoo whispers, terrified.

"Did he threaten you?"

Sunoo nods, looking around as if to make sure no one else saw or heard.

"Fucking hell, Sunoo, then all the more reason for you to testify against him! So the cops will take action and capture him."

"Easy for you to say. He could send money to some of the prisoners and I could end up dying in here."

"Well, you might die in here but I might die out there, have you ever thought about that?" you exclaim angrily.

"He won't kill you."

"You can't know that," you strongly disagree. "Just think about it, okay? You might be saving two lives by telling the truth."

Sunoo sighs deeply.

"I'll sleep on it, alright. How have you been, though?"

"Oh, suddenly he cares! I'm holding up, I guess. I can't exactly erase the traumatic memories of being kidnapped by my best friend and my ex."

"I'm sorry. I mean it," Sunoo says sincerely. And maybe he really does mean it.

Because three days later you receive a call from the police that Sunoo has asked for a retrial and he testified against Sunghoon, telling the whole truth. Even with no fingerprints, his statement, along with yours, holds more power now. And the police will start investigating further and looking for Sunghoon. That's some progress, at least.

But it's not enough. You still have a hard time falling asleep. 2-3 hours per night tops. And whenever you do sleep, you are haunted by terrifying nightmares and traumatic memories. It can't go on like this. You need something more. Something to help you feel safe.

"I need to ask you for a huge favour," you talk to Heeseung one afternoon.

"Oh?"

"It's illegal," you mention the seriousness of it.

"OH?" Heeseung is in shock.

"I need you to help me get a gun."

"Babe, what? You're not gonna do anything stupid, right?"

"Stupid is my middle name. No, but seriously. I just think I'll feel safer if I have it. For like...potential self-defense. If you know who manages to get to me. If I happen to be alone."

Heeseung shakes his head fearfully.

"I don't want to leave you alone," he insists.

"You're not my babysitter, Hee. Sooner or later, it'll happen. And I just wanna be prepared. A precaution, nothing more. I'm not planning to actively look for him," the way you say the last word is full of bitterness and anger. "But if he comes, I'll be ready."

"Okay, um," Heeseung replies reluctantly. "I have this American friend. His name's Jay, he's a total sweetheart but he might be able to hook you up with a gun. You know, just for self-defense purposes."

"Sounds perfect. Thanks so much, Hee," you squeeze his hand, already looking forward to it. Maybe that will help you sleep better at night.

You meet Heeseung's friend Jay at a lowkey shady looking place that is a tattoo parlour. Jay himself has lots of tattoos of eagles and ravens and cats. Damn, you might consider getting a tattoo yourself one day. If you survive this shithole that has been the past few months.

"Nice to meet you," you shake his hand.

"Likewise," Jay responds firmly. "Heeseung talks about you like all the time."

"That's weird 'cause I only found out about you recently," you reply, honest to a fault.

"Ouch. I don't blame him, though. If my girlfriend was so beautiful, I wouldn't want her to meet any of my friends," Jay jokes.

"I'm flattered but uh-"

"Relax, sweetheart. I have a boyfriend. And even if I didn't, you're not my type."

"Point taken," you shake your head in amusement. "So, I can get the story behind the eagles but what's with the cats?" you ask curiously, pointing at his tattoos.

"They're meant to represent my love for my cat-like boyfriend Jungwon. He's a real cutie. I feel like you two would really get along. We should go on a double date sometime!"

"That's kinda weird but in an adorable way," you chuckle. "And I'm game for the double date thing."

"So, let's get down to business."

"To defeat the Huns?" you finish the thought.

Jay eyes you strangely. Okay, not a Mulan fan but has tons of cat tattoos. You can get past that.

"Hee told me you want a gun?"

"Um, yeah. As a precaution. For potential self-defense against my shitty ex who kidnapped me."

"Do you have any preference in mind? In terms of weight or design?"

"I don't know anything about that. Whatever you recommend is good. Just something that will help me sleep comfortably, I guess."

"I have a couple of options, I'll let you try them out. There's also a shooting range underneath the tattoo parlour. I'll show you a couple of tricks, just in case."

"That sounds amazing," you reply enthusiastically. "It's more than I could ask for. Seriously, thanks!"

"Anything for my friend's girlfriend," Jay shrugs as if it's not a big deal.

After trying out a couple of guns and Jay showing you the ropes of shooting, you feel more confident and pick the weapon that speaks to you the most.

"This one," you whisper, enthralled by how light and yet powerful it feels.

"Good choice," Jay hums approvingly. "Well, I hope this whole situation ends for you soon and stay safe."

"Thank you for everything."

"Don't forget about that double date!"

"I won't," you promise and you hope that happy day comes sooner rather than never.

Time passes and there is no trace of Sunghoon. As if he was a ghost you imagined. But you know better. You know he's out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right opportunity to strike. Let him come. You're ready now.

Heeseung receives an amazing job opportunity that would entail him going abroad for one week. You encourage him to take it. He's really worried about leaving you alone. But you know you can handle this.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep, I'll be fine, don't worry."

"What will you do if something bad happens?"

"I'll call you or your cop friend Jake or your lowkey sus friend Jay."

"Good girl," Heeseung praises you and kisses you gently. "And if your phone isn't nearby for some reason?"

"I'll use the gun only in self-defense."

"Right. Um, I love you, baby," Heeseung hugs you tightly.

"Love you too, Hee."

"Be back soon," he promises.

"You better," you smile.

Night comes and you are more uneasy than ever. You have been sleeping better lately with Heeseung by your side and the gun under your pillow. What has become of your life?

You make peace with the fact you probably won't get much sleep during the following week. It's okay. You'll get to sleep forever one day. But not today, Satan.

And then, speak of the devil, you hear it. A sound you know all too well. A door being attacked. But this time, he doesn't have a key. And uses something that is perhaps a bobby pin. He is slower. And you are fast. Your right hand is on your gun in no time and your left hand is on your phone. It might not even be him, but you don't care. Heeseung must be on the plane right now since he doesn't pick up so you call his cop friend Jake.

"Hi, Y/N, is everything okay?" he picks up immediately.

"Hi, Jake, someone is trying to enter Heeseung's place right now. I mean...our place."

"Oh my God, I'll assemble a squad and we're on our way! Don't do anything stupid!" Jake advises you. Heeseung might have told him you own a gun now. Oh well. You know Heeseung trusts Jake so you probably won't get in trouble with the police.

"I'll try," you chuckle and hang up. You send a quick text to Jay, informing him of the circumstances and just as you hit send, the door clicks.

He's in.

"Hi, princess," Sunghoon greets you. Oh, he looks so angry he hasn't seen you in ages. Good. Anger is good.

"Stay back," you warn him warily, pointing the gun at him.

"Aw, you're not happy to see me?" Sunghoon pouts in disappointment.

"You look like shit, Sunghoon," you hiss.

"Gee, thanks. You're as beautiful as ever," he compliments you.

"I know," you say even though you don't feel beautiful. You have dark circles under your eyes, your hair is greying from all the stress and your mental health has never been worse. But you're still here, fighting against all odds.

"Come back to me, Y/N," Sunghoon begs, straight to the point.

"Never," you shake your head with determination, tears clouding your vision. Fuck, you hate that you still get so emotional when facing him. It's a weakness that might be your downfall. But you won't let it.

"Were you pretending when you said you can learn to love me again?"

"I could never love you," you admit honestly. "And neither can you."

"N-no, that's not true," Sunghoon argues. "Just come with me, please. No one has to get hurt. Not Heeseung, not Sunoo. Just us two and everyone you care about will be safe."

Heeseung's on a plane right now. Sunoo's in prison. As much as your heart is telling you that Sunghoon could really hurt them, your mind is aware that he no longer has any power. The power is in your hands right now. Jake and the cops are on their way. But they'll be too slow.

"Well, that's too bad, 'cause I only ever cared about myself," you smirk coldly.

"You don't. You're full of love and light and warmth," Sunghoon insists blindly.

"Not anymore. You took them from me. I'd ask you to give them back but I don't think you can," you say openly. You don't even believe half of what you're saying. But that doesn't matter. You just have to make him believe it.

Sunghoon pulls out his own gun, pointing it at you. A mirror image. Did you make him worse? Or did he make you worse? You don't know. And you no longer care.

"Well, if I can't have you, no one will," Sunghoon glares at you.

"Not in my movie!" you scream.

You genuinely cannot tell who fires the gun first.

You can only hope it's you.

The End

author's note: if you like open endings, you may stop reading here. if you don't like them and are not satisfied with the uncertainty, keep reading for three possible endings i have in my head 🖤

Ending One: I hope you die first

Your whole body is shaking and your hands are covered in blood.

It's over. Sunghoon's dead. You really killed him. You can't believe it.

As you hear the police sirens surrounding you, you suddenly feel dizzy.

When the time for a trial comes, the court rules it was in self-defense. Considering how Sunghoon stalked and kidnapped you, the law is lenient towards you and you get away with a fine for owning an illegal gun. Well, having a cop friend also helps.

You spend the rest of your days surrounded by people you care about. Heeseung is always by your side, supporting you through everything. You can't imagine making it this far without him. And Sunoo serves his three years in prison. Once he's out of jail, he makes it his mission to make you forgive him. Slowly, he creeps back into your life. And you let him. Somehow time has eased the hurt from the betrayal.

There are happy moments, there are sad moments and then there are the moments when you just feel empty.

But the guilt and pain stay with you. Your forever companions. Sure, you are free from Sunghoon. But you can never be free from yourself.

Ending Two: I See Red

Sunghoon drops on his knees the moment he realizes what he's done. Fuck. You're gone. He killed you. The one and only being he truly loved. Or deluded himself into thinking he loves you. Perhaps you were right. Perhaps he wasn't even capable of it.

With no reason left to go on, he points the gun at himself, pulling the trigger. Maybe in another life, he'll do better. Maybe you'll meet again.

The cops and Jake at the crime scene they're immediately struck by the sight of the two bodies. Sunghoon's hand is reaching towards yours but your face is turned to the other direction. Even in death, you don't want to look at him. Alas, they came too late.

When Heeseung learns of your death, he is completely devastated and heartbroken. Miles and miles away, he cannot even get to your funeral on time. At first, he contemplates doing what your ex did to himself. But he knows you wouldn't want that from him.

So, he spends the rest of his life trying to help victims of abuse or kidnappings, aiding the police whatever way he can and organizing therapy sessions. It's not much, but he'd like to believe he's making a difference.

As time passes, the pain is still there, but diminishes in magnitude. Heeseung eventually finds comfort and love in the arms of his friend Jake. But a part of his heart stays there with you, in that cursed night.

Ending Three: Scream cause we wanna go faster

Both guns fire at roughly the same time. Both you and Sunghoon apparently suck at aiming them. You manage to injure each other, but nothing lethal. Seconds later, the police arrive, apprehending Sunghoon. The medics show up soon after and take care of you.

Sunghoon gets a life sentence for stalking, kidnapping and attempted murder. You don't visit him. Not even once. You don't want to see him, not even to gloat. That chapter of your book is over. Your only wish is to put it behind you for good.

Heeseung finds out about what happened right as his plane lands and he wants to return as soon as possible but you tell him to finish his work and then come back to you. Now, you will have all the time in the world.

"Welcome back, Hee," you greet him at the airport once he returns.

"My God, darling, I'm so glad you're okay," your boyfriend hugs you tightly, not wanting to let go ever again.

"Of course, I'm okay. I promised Jay we'd go on a double date with him and Jungwon, didn't I? And I always keep my promises," you tease.

"Damn right, you do," Heeseung laughs. "But seriously, just thinking about what might have happened, I feel sick."

"Well, let's just be glad it didn't," you kiss him deeply.

In another universe, maybe you're dead. In a different world, maybe Sunghoon died.

But this is your world. Your movie. And you just pressed play.

The End (for real this time)

[pascaloverx]

Moonlight

Summary: You and Edward Cullen used to have a romantic relationship. But fate seemed not to believe in the possibility of a vampire and a potential she-wolf being together. Years after your separation, you return to Forks. Edward is committed to Bella Swan, and Jacob Black has his own pack. What happens when, upon your return, you begin to transform into a she-wolf and both Edward and Jacob seem eager to revisit the past with you?

Author's Note: The characters in this fanfic do not belong to me but to Stephenie Meyer and the Twilight universe. The story blends events that happened in the Twilight saga movies with invented ones. If you're enjoying the fanfic, please interact. This story will contain inappropriate language, a possible love triangle, scenes of violence, and romance. I would appreciate it if those who enjoy the fanfic could leave a comment and like (kudos). Engagement helps me know that there are still people reading. I hope you enjoy this chapter ❤

SIX EIGHT

SEVEN

Before Sam and Jacob could get into a physical fight, you dragged Jacob out of Sam's line of sight. Even though you're mad at Jacob, them fighting would be terrible.

"What exactly was your plan when you told Sam I was in your pack?" you ask while driving Jacob to his house, as he sits impatiently, frustrated that he couldn't fight Uley.

"Well, a thank you would be the right thing for you to say to me. I saved your ass from having to commit to declaring war on Uley's pack when up until now you had no support," Jacob says with a certain arrogance and confidence. After glancing at you, he laughs. You can only imagine that he finds it amusing to irritate you.

"Getting involved in my problems isn't your job, Black. You made it clear you didn’t want me here, so what's the reason for rescuing me? Did you get a guilty conscience after taking Bella's side?" you say while trying to keep your focus on the road. Jacob lets out a loud sigh, then looks at you. You ignore it while driving but can feel his gaze on you.

"I didn't take Bella's side. Or maybe I did. I acted on impulse and took out my frustration on you. But you can't tell me you don't think all this shit is messed up. Before you showed up, Bella told me that Edward wanted to marry her. Maybe even thought about turning her into a cold-skinned monster. Now, not only did he ask for a break from her, but he also brought you into their side. Tell me you wouldn't be pissed if you were in my place?" Jacob says, and you almost understand him. But you're too hurt to be completely sympathetic.

"He didn't take me to their side, Jacob. The truth is, I don't have a side. Because those who should be on my side, for being like me, prefer to make me feel like a mistake. And the Cullens aren't much different. My intention was never to be a problem, but now I want to make my own decisions without thinking about the consequences. I've been pushing Edward away for a long time. Trying not to make anyone unhappy. I've chosen my family over him more than once. Now, the one I always considered family is treating me like a burden. Whether you like it or not, you're also responsible for that. But I'm truly sorry for Bella." You say as you approach the Black house, and when you finally arrive, the tension in your car could not be higher.

"Your life would be simpler if you were with me, you know that, right?" Jacob says, removing his seatbelt and turning in the passenger seat to look at you. You take off your seatbelt as well and turn to look at him. Jacob's hands move to your face as he gently caresses your cheeks.

"It would be. But we could never have a true happy ending if I spent my life thinking about what it would have been like to give Edward a chance. It wouldn't be fair to you. So don't think that I'm choosing Edward; just as he's not choosing me. We're both just trying to level the situation," you say while looking gently into Jacob's eyes. You wish he understood that you don't want to hurt him or Bella.

"This situation seems too painful. And I know Bella will be waiting for Edward at the end of the day, because they love each other. But maybe I'm not waiting for you. In any case, I was serious when I said I want you in my pack. Even if we don't have a romantic relationship, I'm your friend. And you're probably my best friend. That won't change, if it's up to me." Your eyes meet Jacob's as you feel that this conversation has taken a different but appropriate turn.

"I accept. But know that if you ever offend or humiliate me, I'll take you down myself." You try to sound threatening, but Jacob doesn't seem to believe you. He kisses your forehead and then leaves as if there's nothing more to say. As you watch him walk away, you feel that this moment you've shared has brought a new closeness to your relationship.

You drive again to the Cullens' house, this time to inform Edward about meeting with Sam. As you go, you think about where you could spend some time. Then you remember that your old house still exists. Maybe you can stay there if you can handle being haunted by the memories. When you park in front of the Cullens' house, Edward is already waiting for you. He approaches your car and sits in the passenger seat, looking at you. If a look could speak, Edward's would say, "I missed you." You can respond to that because, honestly, you missed him too. You unbuckle your seatbelt and then pull Edward's face toward you. Instantly, your lips meet his. It's a desperate yet calm act as you feel the kiss deepen, Edward's dominance increasing as he gently presses your head against the car door. Your hands slide around his neck, lightly tugging at his hair.

"I'll go with you," Edward whispers against your lips as you break the kiss. You look at him somewhat angrily; he obviously read your mind. But then he gives you a peck on the lips, as if trying to calm you.

"You're going to abandon your home to go to the house of the man who would kill us both if he knew we were together?" you ask, as you move away from Edward a bit. He smiles briefly as he holds your hands gently.

"First, I won't be abandoning my home, just extending it. And your father hated me, but he loved you. If I can keep you company, I think he might tolerate me," Edward says, and you give a weak laugh. Then you remember you need to talk about the conversation with Jacob.

"The conversation with Sam was almost as bad as it could be. And because of that, I ended up agreeing to become a member of Jacob's pack. And you can't react negatively to this news because the other option was going to war with Uley without any support. At least now I have his pack." You say, and Edward seems bothered. He turns to look straight ahead, while you watch him.

"You would never be alone. I will always be with you, you know that. But I understand why you did it, just like I understand that you're upset about earlier today. I think it's still too soon for my family to understand what's going on between us." Edward says, turning back to look at you. You give him a kiss on the cheek for understanding so well. Then you catch a hint of feminine perfume on him.

"Why were you waiting for me out here, Edward?" you ask, staring at him, who seems to be hiding something from you.

"It’s not what you think. Bella is inside. We were trying to put an end to our story peacefully, but my family thought it was a reconciliation and invited her for dinner," Edward says, defending himself, that idiot. You look at him seriously.

"Go back to your dinner, Cullen. I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me this. I must be a real fool to you." You say, then get out of the car to open the door for Edward. You’re definitely not going to take him with you.

"Y/N, let me explain…" he says, and then you look at him with anger. As if you knew that a little more and you would drag him out of the car, he gets out of the car, facing you.

"Save your explanations for Bella, who’s inside waiting for you. Goodbye, Edward." You say angrily, slamming the car door and then getting into your car to drive away. You don't expect him to say anything, simply driving away at a high speed. All you can think is how pathetic you are. Flashbacks of the recent events play in your mind like a movie. You're so angry that you don't even notice when a person appears in the middle of the road. Your car flips over as you try to swerve to avoid hitting the person in front of you, a pale-skinned red-haired woman. You feel a sharp pain in your stomach, your vision blurring and the sound of a female voice saying, "Tell Edward I said hello." Then everything goes dark as you feel your life slipping away.

[waywardwhispersblaze]

about Vi's ending

So, I get that a lot of people are unsatisfied with Vi's story arc in Arcane. I feel unsatisfied too. Here are some of my reasons. I wrote this as a response to another post initially, but I wanted to elaborate a little bit more.

So we know that the question the writers had for Vi was "what would happen if Vi had no one left to protect?"

"she would fall in love" is a lovely answer. I don't hate it, but it does feel like the bare minimum they could come up with... and even that had to be stripped for time. For instance, what does she want to do for a living?

That's not a random question. Her lore in the game tells us that she ends up working as an enforcer. Arcane makes it difficult for her at the beginning (you know, the enforcers-killed-my-parents thing), but we all expect that it's coming regardless.

I know a lot of people here never liked the idea of Vi becoming an enforcer. Not me. Give me Enforcer!Vi! Just make it a story, instead of skipping over it.

They had her join the enforcers in s2 act I for all the wrong reasons (guilt + fear of losing Caitlyn + thinking violence is the answer to her problems), which is not a bad thing, that's expected at this point of the story. They did skip over her motivations and left a lot to read between the lines, and that's frustrating in itself but that's not the problem. My problem with it is that it doesn't go anywhere. How does she feel about working with them in the end? Now that she's no longer blinded by her rage towards the Chembarons and Jinx's actions? Is it really just for Caitlyn's sake? Is there room in there somewhere for wanting to be a protector to the city, like Grayson did, if she even cares about that at all? (it makes sense that she doesn't in Arcane, but what about in the future? she's still a protector at heart, even if she has no family left) If she does, how does she reconcile that with what the enforcers are to the Undercity, does she genuinely think she can do some good? I could answer some of these with "oh well, she does end up as Caitlyn's partner so I'm just gonna go with 'yes' for convenience". But I wish Arcane had answered this for me.

What about the enforcers, how do they feel about her? Do they respect her? How would she interact with them in the future? Her only friend there, Loris, died at the end of S2 (I'm annoyed about that. not mad, not sad. Just annoyed), so she's effectively alone.

I suppose the root of the problem is that I watched Arcane with the expectation that Vi would end up as a Piltover champion by the end of it. That's not an unreasonable expectation considering her lore, but I can accept that Arcane just wasn't about "ending" character stories or bringing them to their lore counterpart. That's fair. Even within the story of Arcane though, where she ends up isn't fully satisfying. She's physically in Piltover, but mentally she's in a place where she doesn't really belong anywhere except with 1 (one) person, and we still have no idea what she wants to do with her life (outside of banging Caitlyn that is). Don't get me wrong, I love caitvi! I love what they did with them as a pair! But I have so many questions about Vi specifically that are unresolved.

Maybe that's the point. Arcane's ending is an open ending after all. But Caitlyn had a story arc outside of her relationship with her. Jinx had a story arc outside of her relationship with her. Even if their overall stories are not over, the Arcane story does leave them both in a place where they have grown from what they went through and even if we never see them again, we can feel like their story had a proper conclusion. Arcane doesn't leave Vi with a conclusion outside of her romance arc. Or to be fair, maybe it is a conclusion, just no one that I like / was hoping for. I sort of get that her not being able to grow was the point (to further Jinx's development. A lot of their scenes together were always more about Jinx's development and framed from Jinx's POV, which is a different complaint and an entirely different post). Not having agency at all was the point. But where does she go from there? Genuine question. Her character arc doesn't feel finished.

A lot of my frustrations would be soothed over if we had the certainty of having spin-offs. But 1) nothing is ever certain, 2) if something's coming, it's probably far in the future, 3) if and when it does come, there's no guarantee that Vi wouldn't be more than a background character.

Unfortunately, the general feeling I get from the writers' interviews is that they do feel like they really did get her where they wanted, so I'm not particularly hopeful that they have more stories to tell with her. Outside of being Caitlyn's partner that is.

(no, I don't think they "don't care about" or "hate" her character by the way. That's twisting their words beyond recognition)

So that's why I can't feel fully satisfied with Vi's story. I still love Arcane. I'm still looking forward to seeing more of the Runeterra universe. But as someone who really liked Vi's character from the start, I'm left with crumbs. Hints of what could be, but never the full picture, and more questions than answers. And that's disheartening, to be honest.

[picobossa]

I LOVE OLD MEN! specifically Old, so any Old x reader dating headcanons if you are up for it :33

SHINIGAMI EYES | Old dating headcanons

Old?! Old as in Syakesan's father?! As in old's oldest son?! MY WIFE MENTIONED!?

WARNINGS: slight mention of acts of violence

REQUESTED BY: Anon!

— Old is quite a lacking guy in the romantic department, considering he (probably somehow) had a one night stand and has been called a "wife beater" by a certain orca... There isn't necessarily anything that can put him in the good light with romance.

— But of course with the bad there comes good! Sometimes at least.

— Before even getting into a relationship with him, Old was confused. He had abandoned everything from the past, such as any useless affection for anyone. But the warm feelings were hard to ignore, especially since he could feel it all around him when he was near you.

— Reluctantly (and surprisingly gentle), Old did express his feelings. Despite honesty never being his best trait, he wanted to try for you. And hey, even an attempt in being romantic, despite how bad he is in it.

"I think... I'd like to spend the rest of my years with you. And only you. That's how much I... Goddammit don't look at me like that!" — of course, that doesn't mean he isn't any less grouchy. Give him some credits for trying.

— Having all that aside, Old isn't that bad..? Surprisingly enough. Of course, he's still as grouchy and mean as ever but it is obvious the two of you have something beyond just either being comrades or friends.

— While it's a personal thought, Old has a odd jealousy streak. Odd due to the fact he slowly jumps to the conclusion during the moment of his feelings in jealousy he comes to the conclusion that they want to steal you (much like how he felt it with his former master). He'd be flooded with rage all over again, being quite the many times he'd roughly had to drag you with him somewhere else.

— Though, there's also a 50/50 chance he couldn't contain his jealousy and actually attack someone brutally, not that it would be anything new to witness.

— Aside from his jealousy, Old gets quite a lot softer when you're in a relationship with him. His grouchy and gruff attitude doesn't go anywhere either. He's still gonna be the same guy he was before getting into a serious relationship with you, what for does he need to change himself for?

— When I said honesty wasn't his best trait, I fully meant it. While yes, he's honest about actually loving you to the fullest, he's very dishonest about everything else. May it be from truly being himself to fully admitting everything about himself.

— His whole center of being honest will only be with you, anything else practically means nothing to him.

— Besides, now he manages to beat the wife beater allegations! Well, not that either of you are married... Significant other beater allegations proven wrong perhaps?

— He's a old man, give him some rest.

— Say, it suddenly feels like he forgot about someone red eyed... Oh well. Nobody important to him. But ah, maybe you should beware of a certain Nautilus, would be quite the bummer to fall under someone else's acts of jealousy.

[mononijikayu]

water is fine — ryomen sukuna.

You tried to fight, over and over. You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to drown. But against your little body, the force of the water was one that it could not fight. The water enveloped you, pulling you down into its depths. You felt your eyes starting to close. You felt like you were losing your soul. All you could think about was your brother. How you had to come back, because he’d be looking for you.

GENRE: Heian Era to Shibuya Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Harm, Depiction of Blood and Wounds, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Portrayal of Misogynist And Degrading Acts and Language;

masterlist

ashes of love

song: water is fine by chloe ament.

note: this was longer than i wanted to be, but it took longer because i was waiting for this one to be beta read by a friend. they loved this chapter and they got curious so asked about my plans moving forward. and needless to say, i feel like im gege akutami!!! please enjoy the chapter~ i'll see you in the next one!!! i love you~

YOU WERE THERE AGAIN. You were happy to admit that you hated it. In the dark embrace of the night, Ryomen You found that it was like being transported back to yesterday. It felt like yesterday. to one of the most harrowing summers of your life—that horrible, bloody, summer.

You think you’d never forget the most eventful day of your young life. But dreams were either tender to the righteous and suffering to a sinner. Truth be told, you had always considered yourself a sinner. Because if you were not, the gods would not be willing to punish you. You would not be atoning. Otherwise, nii-sama would still be alive and well. 

The Ryomen clan, though not as prominent as the Fujiwara, held an ancient lineage that commanded respect within the world of jujutsu. Their roots ran deep, intertwined with the very fabric of history, marking them as a force to be reckoned with despite their relatively smaller stature compared to the Fujiwara. It was a legacy that had been upheld through generations, nurtured by the strength of their traditions and the power of their bloodline.

Yet, for all their strength, the Ryomen clan had always found themselves at odds with the Fujiwara. The two families had a long and tumultuous history, marked by countless conflicts and rivalries that had spanned centuries. From minor skirmishes to full-blown wars, their animosity had left scars that ran deep, staining the fabric of their shared past with bloodshed and bitterness.

It was in this turbulent landscape that you and your brother had been raised, caught between the echoes of ancient feuds and the weight of familial duty. Your parents had sought to end the cycle of violence through marriage, forging an alliance that had brought temporary peace between the warring clans. But beneath the veneer of unity lay a marriage that was anything but equal, a union marred by resentment and unfulfilled expectations.

In truth, you had grown up in the shadow of your parents' strained relationship, in this consistent suffering of shouting matches and unpleasantries. Your life, your whole upbringing was shaped by your father's unconditional love and your mother's cold indifference. It was a dichotomy that had left its mark on you, molding you into a woman of strength and resilience, yet burdened by the weight of familial legacy.

Perhaps it was why you had grown up never knowing why your mother was that way. Until you had visited her grandfather’s fief for the first time, You had your eyes opened. Your mother’s cold eyes were the same as your old grandfather’s eyes. And it terrified you. It made your skin crawl. Father hated the trip as much as you and Akimu did. Uncle Hiramu hated everyone of mother’s kin too easily. Still, it was keeping the peace. They swallowed their pride, they swallowed their anger and their fears and moved forward.

You and your brother had continued to uphold the tradition of annual visits to their Fujiwara relatives over the years. It was a tradition born out of duty rather than genuine affection. Each visit was rigid and cold. But it reminded both of them that the fragile truce that hung between their families was like a delicate thread. Each visit was fraught with tension, a delicate dance of diplomacy and restraint as they navigated the complex web of familial politics and ancient grudges. You had loathed all of it. You didn’t want it all. But having Akimu there to hold your hand, it was enough to keep your breath.

But it was that summer where their lives changed.

The child that is within you would not know it just yet.

There was no more fighting against their written fates.

Akimu, dutiful and ever responsible, had obligations that required him to travel later than the rest of their family. As heir, Akimu had ventured out from the manor walls and into the wider bounty of the Ryomen lands. He collected taxes, he dealt with disputes, he dealt with the curses — all on behalf of their father. This time would not be divorced from that day to day. Akimu bowed steadily at the chōdō-in in front of all the spectators and smiled handsomely as a prince would. He was to be sent to collect the taxes across the lands and follow to the summer manor of the Fujiwara.  

You were not eager to let your beloved brother journey alone, rushed in front of the crowd and bowed in front of their father. You could laugh. You think you must have looked so foolish then. You begged their father to let you accompany him. Akimu’s face lit up with joy at the prospect of traveling with you, protective and proud as he was. You often think that he will only smile like that for you. That you knew then. But you will never know Akimu to have a chance to shine his smile upon someone else. If there had been someone. 

In the spacious, sunlit parlor of the Ryomen family estate, young you found your father and uncle seated together, poring over some scrolls and maps laid out on a large table. The air was filled with the weight of responsibility, as decisions made here often steered the fate of your clan. With a mixture of determination and a childlike hopefulness in your eyes, you approached, your mind set on joining your brother Akimu nii–sama on his later journey.

“Father,” You started, your voice carrying a rehearsed tone of earnestness, “I’ve been thinking a lot about my nii–sama and his trip alone to the Fujiwara clan...”

Your uncle looked up, a small softening on his features. “And what thoughts have you had, my little lady?” he inquired, already anticipating the nature of his niece’s reflections.

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. “I want to go with him. I want to join Akimu on his journey, not just travel later with you and the others.”

Your father raised an eyebrow, setting down his brush. “It’s a long journey, You. And Akimu will be busy with his duties on the way. It won’t be a leisurely visit. I do not want you to disturb him, little one.”

“But I won’t be in the way, I promise!” Your voice took on a pleading tone, your youthful eagerness to be near your brother shining through. “I can help him! I’ve been learning maps and history. I can read it for him too! I... I just don’t want him to be alone.”

Your uncle exchanged a glance with your father, a silent conversation passing between them. “Little lady, it’s not just about being alone. It’s a matter of your safety and well-being,” your uncle explained, your voice gentle yet firm. “You are too important, little lady.”

Your shoulders slumped, but you weren’t ready to give up. You moved closer, your expression morphing into one of heartfelt moping. “Please, I’ll be careful. I’ll stay close to Akimu–nii and the guards. And... and I miss him. When he’s gone, who will teach me to hold a sword at dawn? Who will tell me stories of the stars?”

Seeing you so earnest and feeling the genuine longing in your words, your father sighed, the resistance in his eyes softening. “You’ll miss your brother that much, hm?”

You nodded vigorously, your eyes wide with hope.

Your father rubbed his chin, pondering. Then he looked at his brother, seeking his counsel without words. After a moment, your uncle snickered and just urged his brother with his smile. He nodded slightly, giving a subtle approval.

“Alright, my darling.” your father finally said, a reluctant smile breaking through his serious demeanor. “You can join Akimu’s trip. But you must promise to follow his lead and stay out of trouble. You must be helpful to your onii-sama.”

A bright, beaming smile exploded across You’s face. “Yes, Father! I promise! I’ll be so careful, and I’ll make sure Akimu–nii isn’t alone!”

As you joyously hugged your father and then your uncle who giggled at your joy, your heart swelled with excitement and gratitude. Not only would you be able to keep your beloved brother company, but you also felt a step closer to the adventures you had always dreamed about, now unfolding into reality.

When you found Akimu–nii-sama later that day in the training grounds, practicing his swordsmanship with a focus that seemed to cut through the very air around him, your steps quickened with excitement. You waited for him to complete his sequence, watching as his blade danced in the sunlight. He was so beautiful, such a perfect beacon of home for the future. You hopes that she can be worthy of serving her brother one day. You hope to be worthy of being his servant.

As he finished and wiped the sweat from his brow, You approached, barely containing your enthusiasm. "Akimu–nii!" you called out, your voice echoing slightly in the open space.

Akimu turned, his expression shifting from concentration to curiosity at the sight of his sister’s beaming face. "My little You? What brings you here with such a smile? I thought you still had lessons, hm?" he asked, a grin spreading across his face as he sensed your excitement. “Did you escape your lessons again?”

“I did not!” You pouted at her elder brother, who laughed. “I stayed, like you bid me.”

“Good girl.” He whispered, kneeling to your height and kissing your cheek. “Now, why are you so eager to run out here in the heat and endure your nii-sama and his sweatiness?”

"I asked uncle and father if I could join you on your trip, the one where we visit grandfather Fuji to the Fujiwara clan. And they said yes!" You exclaimed, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. “I’ll read a lot of your maps, nii-sama! I promise, we will not be lost!”

Akimu's eyes widened in surprise, a mixture of joy and slight concern flickering through them. "Really? You’re coming with me?" he asked, as if needing confirmation for such unexpected but welcome news. “I thought you were going to be with mother and father, little one.”

"Yes!" You nodded vigorously. "I convinced them. I told them I could help, and I promised to be good and follow all the rules."

A warm laugh escaped Akimu, and he opened his arms, inviting You into a hug. As she rushed into his embrace, he lifted her slightly off the ground, her laughter mingling with his. "That’s fantastic! I was dreading the long ride alone, and now I’ll have my favorite sister to keep me company," he said, setting her back down. “My precious little one is after all the smartest girl in the world.”

You blushed. “But I am your only sister, nii-sama.”

“But that makes you the very best one, doesn’t it? You are my only most treasured little sister.”

You’s heart swelled with pride and happiness, knowing her brother was genuinely pleased to have her along. "I can learn so much from you on the way, and maybe I can even help with some of your duties," she suggested, eager to make herself useful.

Akimu set his hand on your shoulder, his expression turning serious. "I’m sure you will, You. But remember, this trip isn’t just about learning; it’s also about being vigilant. We’ll be traveling through some unsettled territories," he cautioned, the protective brother always at the forefront. “Most of all, nii-sama will be busy on this trip too. You must keep close to me at all times, hm? I must keep you safe, little one.”

You nodded solemnly, understanding the weight of his words. "I’ll be careful, I promise. And I’ll follow your lead."

Akimu smiled, reassured by your earnestness. "I know you will. And we’ll make sure to have some fun along the way, too," he added, the twinkle returning to his eye.

But lurking in the shadows of your path were dangers you had not foreseen. Unknown to you, malevolent eyes watched, waiting for the opportunity to strike. You, despite your youth, were already seen as a valuable asset in the political games of higher clans—your hand in marriage, a prize that could sway the balance of power. Being the only daughter of the Ryomen lord, it was a battle on who should be your spouse. From the moment you were born to the cradle, your fate was sealed. It would be a disaster or it would be glorious.

For after all, the Ryomen clan's renown for producing potent sorcerers made you even more desirable. If their sons would father a child with you as soon as possible, then the creation of stronger sorcerer blood would be cemented. Everyone knew this. Most of all, Akimu, who was careful to conceal his sister’s cursed energy from the rest of the world on this delicate trip.

As you traveled, it was peaceful at first. You went from tenant to tenant and gathered the lord’s coin from them. You enjoyed playing with common children in each village, abundant in the smiles of youth. Akimu enjoyed seeing his sister be a lively child. It was often hard to see such a thing at home, more so with their mother being unkind to you. Mother disliked You. Akimu did not know why. But he knew that You deserved to be loved. For his sister was born to be a soul that thrived on being loved.

But on that same route, you stopped because of the night. Everyone was exhausted with the pace you had settled on. It had been non-stop traveling which left little rest for all. More so, Akimu could see how his sister was fatigued by it all. If you kept up with the speed, you would certainly catch a chill. And you wouldn’t be able to perform well in front of their mother’s kin. That would not do. And so, you camped under the stars, ate a bountiful meal for the night, sang some songs and went to bed.

It was then at midnight that a group of powerful cursed users came upon the camp with all their might and staged a barrage of their powers to ambush you. The attackers were ruthless, their intent clear as they overpowered the Ryomen guards and soldiers with terrifying efficiency. One after another, the campsite was filled with screams and horrors. 

Body after body, blood after blood, you screamed with your eyes wide open as your protector died one after the other. A man was coming for you. Hand tightly, brutishly— wrapped around your little body, you screamed. You felt fear pierce you for the first time. You felt tears pour out. But an arrow hit before he could do anything. You felt yourself cry out loud. Women or men, children or adults, they died before you. Died over and over again.

Your brother’s eyes tightened as he slew one enemy after another to get to you. You were a sobbing mess as Akimu checked you for injuries. But all he found was your grief and your horror, and the red pool straining your white silk kimono. He hushed you, pulling you into a hidden corner and tried to comfort you. But it was hard. His sister could not stop crying, could not stop thinking about how you were powerless. You sobbed in his arms, kept whispering apologies one after the other. He silenced you and kissed your temple.

“It’s okay.” He whispered to you, brushing your hair with his unstained hand. “It’s not your fault. It’s okay.”

Ryomen Akimu, brave and fierce, stood his ground once more as new enemies clashed against him one after another. He was fighting with a desperation born of the need to protect his sister. As he slew the last one, he took a deep breath. He looked around and saw that others were preoccupied, fighting for their lives. Flames engulfed the camp. He cannot fail here. Not here. Not when you were in danger.

Amidst the chaos, he turned to you, his voice strained with urgency. "Run to the river, get away from here! Don’t come back!" he pleaded. Your heart shattered with each word, tears streaming down your face as the reality of your fate crashed down upon you. “Please, let me do this, okay? I’ll come for you. I promise!”

With a heavy heart, you ran with tears in your eyes. You could hear your brother's final cries echoing in your ears as you sprinted towards the river. You tried to turn back but you could only gasp as you continued into the river. The water was high, unusually high. But you could not think of anything why. You were concerned about survival. About nii–sama. About their clan folk dying. The cruelty of it all. 

Hitching breath lumped at your throat as you ran and ran, still, even as your legs resisted the water’s pressure. The cold, cruel water roared beside you, swollen from the summer rains, a tumultuous escape route that mirrored the turmoil in your heart. These cursed users gave a brutal chase, their dark magic swirling around them like a malevolent storm.

Exhausted, terrified, and overwhelmed,  You could not help but strangle in a scream as you stumbled into the river. It was frightening, your body could not react any longer. There was no escape. You couldn’t escape. How you now couldn’t breathe. It felt like your body was burning. It felt like your throat was on fire. Everything was frightening, pulling and pushing. It all hurts. 

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

You tried to fight, over and over. You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to drown. But against your little body, the force of the water was one that it could not fight. The water enveloped you, pulling you down into its depths. You felt your eyes starting to close. You felt like you were losing your soul. All you could think about was your brother. How you had to come back, because he’d be looking for you.

As you sank deeper and deeper, a strange, otherworldly voice reached out to you.

"What do you desire, child of Ryomen?" it asked, resonating through the water. “What does a child like you seek, before a god?”

Terror mixed with a fierce, brushing against the river’s cold weave —burning anger within you. If this was a different circumstance, there would be a different wish. There would be a joyous wish. A child’s longing. But as you lose your consciousness to the pressure of the water, you feel yourself burn with something else.

"Revenge," you gasped, your lungs filling with water, your voice a drowning whisper. "I want revenge."

The voice, deep and resonant, seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, filling the murky depths that surrounded you. It paused, as if considering your answer, the silence stretching into eternity as you struggled against the pull of the river.

"Revenge is a heavy burden for such young shoulders," the voice continued, its tone neither approved nor condemning. Rather, intrigued. "But if it is revenge you seek, child of Ryomen, it shall be granted. However, the path you choose will change you forever. Are you prepared to accept the consequences? To serve me?”

Your mind raced, panic and determination warring within her. You knew the weight of your request, but the loss of your kinfolk, the horror of your brother still fighting for his life, for your life, the agony of it all—they fueled that burning resolve. 

"Yes," you managed to choke out, determination collared on your voice. "I accept."

Then, just as suddenly as the nightmare began to unfold, you shook and awoke, your body drenched in sweat, your breaths ragged with fear and anguish. The room was dark, save for the soft light of the moon streaming through the window. Beside you was your beloved, wiping your tears away. Sukuna, who had returned from his late training, stirred, immediately sensing your distress.

Without a word, he reached for you, pulling your trembling body into his arms. His presence was grounding, a solid reality you clung to amidst the remnants of your haunting dream. 

"I'm here, night flower. I’m here.” Sukuna murmured, his voice a soothing balm. One that you think you will never deserve. "You're safe."

As you look at him, your face contorts into a silent sob. You buried your face in his chest, the tears came freely, each drop a release of the pent-up fear and sorrow that the dream had stirred. Sukuna held you tenderly, his arms becoming a fortress against the lingering shadows of the past, his heartbeat a steady drum that anchored you back to the safety of the present.

In his embrace, the horrors of that fateful summer day gradually receded, replaced by the warmth and security that his presence always brought. Though the pain of the loss would never fully fade, with Sukuna by your side, You found the strength to face the remnants of your nightmares, in their quiet echoes. You knew that you weren’t alone anymore. These nightmares won’t hurt you anymore. 

And so you cried and cried, his fingers tracing your hair.

You could feel the echo of morning light come through.

It will all be alright. Everything will be well from now on.

Ryomen Sukuna was there to chase the nightmares away.

SPRING WAS ALWAYS A BEAUTIFUL TIME. The morning sun bathed the Ryomen manor gardens in a soft, ethereal light, casting a tranquil spell over the lush surroundings. The koi ponds shimmered with reflected sunlight, their waters alive with vibrant hues of orange and pink. The gentle rustle of cherry blossom trees filled the air, accompanied by the distant melody of birdsong.

For you, it was a rare moment of respite amidst the flurry of activity that heralded the upcoming unity games. As preparations for the arrival of the visiting clans unfolded throughout the manor, you found solace in the quiet beauty of the garden. Leaning against the sturdy trunk of an ancient tree, you closed your eyes and let out a soft sigh, allowing the peaceful ambiance to wash over her.

You watch as a bird sits by the water's edge, the soft murmurs of the ponds mingling with the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The bird hums, looking back at you with a curious gaze. That was a new one. But it was quite clever, a witty little bird. The little bird was composing a hymn. You couldn’t help but smile at the sweet tones for a moment. It sounded almost like a tender flute to dance to. 

You think you could get used to this. It was a well deserved rest, after what has been happening. Your nightmares have been keeping you awake most nights, terrorizing you over and over again. But each time, Sukuna was there.

It was plain to you that now, you cannot truly live without him or his love. You wanted him. You wanted nothing but him. And he knew that too well. Sukuna lay with his head nestled in your lap, his eyes closed in a rare moment of stillness. You couldn't help but notice the exhaustion etched into his features, the subtle lines of tension that lingered even in repose. He hadn't slept much, you realized with a pang of concern. 

In his restless nights consumed by the weight of his responsibilities. More than that, he had been obsessed with his new developments in his sorcery. You would have scolded him. But you do not have the heart to. You were happy he was there with you, from dusk till dawn, holding his hand as he wrapped his arms around you. 

Gently, you let your fingers trail through Sukuna's hair, offering what little comfort you could. You knew how tirelessly he had been training for the curse hunt and the upcoming matches, his dedication unwavering even in the face of exhaustion. Your father had entrusted him with the honor of representing the clan and with your uncle’s own encouragement and your pride, Ryomen Sukuna accepted without another word. 

Though, he would have expressed another word had he not been respectful to your presence. He did not like Masaomi. But having to sit alongside Mikoto Masaomi as he too was chosen as the clan’s champion, it was obvious his disdain was evident. But you couldn’t blame him. He was often jealous, with how close you and Masaomi are. Masaomi after all was your personal guard.

Still, it wasn't the first time Sukuna had shouldered such expectations, you mused, recalling the countless instances over the past five years where he had fought tirelessly to uphold the honor of their clan. His relentless pursuit of victory had earned him both admiration and outrageous envy from his peers, yet Ryomen Sukuna remained undeterred in his pursuit of his success. 

As you gazed down at Sukuna, a swell of pride surged within you. Despite the burdens he bore and the challenges he faced, he remained steadfast in his commitment to their clan and to you. You marveled at his resilience, you always have. At the unwavering strength that lay beneath his weary exterior. Somehow, you like to think your love for him can only grow from here. Your heart pounded against your chest as you let your love for him flow within you.

In the tranquility of the garden, surrounded by the beauty of nature, you found yourself overwhelmed by a wave of gratitude for the bond they shared. Sukuna had been your constant companion throughout their youth, a source of comfort and support in times of need. This tender love out of it all provides you nothing but strength. Together, you and he could only navigate the intricacies of clan politics, weathered the storms of uncertainty. Hand in hand, you think you came out better for it. But they only did it together. It was all easy, because you had each other. You knew he felt the same, that he would say the same.

As you continued to stroke Sukuna's hair, a soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Despite the challenges that lay ahead, you knew that they would face them together, united in purpose and resolve. With Sukuna by your side, you felt invincible, ready to take on whatever trials awaited them in the days to come. He would never disappoint you in all your life— he would never let you face the world alone.

Sukuna lay with his head nestled in your lap, his eyes fixed on the dancing reflections on the surface of the water. Despite the peaceful surroundings, a furrow creased his brow, betraying the turmoil brewing beneath his calm exterior. Sukuna closed his eyes once more, trying to return to the peace he had before. 

You watched him with a mixture of concern and affection, her fingers tracing soothing patterns through his jaw. With a gentle, exasperated sigh, Ryomen Sukuna stirred, his eyes fluttering open to meet You's gaze. There was a warmth in his eyes as much as there were storms. 

"Are you alright, Sukuna?" you asked softly, your voice a gentle melody that seemed to blend seamlessly with the symphony of nature around them.

Sukuna grunted in response, a faint scowl marring his features as he shifted uncomfortably. 

"I'm fine," he muttered, though the tension in his body spoke volumes. “Trust me.”

You couldn't shake the feeling that Sukuna was hiding something, despite his dismissive words. You watched him closely, your concern growing with each passing moment. There was a tension in his demeanor that you couldn't ignore, a subtle shift in his usual confident demeanor that set you on edge.

With a gentle poke to his cheek, you couldn’t help but teasingly attempt to draw him out, to coax him into opening up about whatever was troubling him. Sukuna had never minded how playful you were with him. In fact, your giddiness about it pleased him. But perhaps not in this case. Sukuna huffed in response, his frustration evident, but he remained tight-lipped.

"You don't seem fine," You persisted, your tone gentle yet insistent. You studied his face intently, searching for any clue as to what might be weighing on his mind. "What's with you, my love? You can tell me."

“There’s nothing. I’m fine. I'll reassure you.”

Sukuna's response was a terse repetition of his earlier assertion that everything was fine, but you could hear the strain in his voice, the underlying tension that belied his words. You sighed at his thick refusal.

"You know, the more you say that, the more suspicious you seem," you remarked, your brows furrowing in concern. "Whatever it is, we can face it together. You don't have to carry the burden alone. Spit it out, stubborn boy.”

Sukuna groaned slightly in response, a mixture of frustration and resignation coloring his tone. Despite his reluctance to confide in you, he knew that you would remain determined to stand by his side, to offer him the support and comfort he needed in times of uncertainty. You reached out, taking his hand in your own and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"We'll figure this out together, Sukuna," you said softly, your gaze unwavering. "I promise. But I won’t know what to do to help if you don’t tell me.”

Sukuna sighed heavily, sitting up beside you and running a hand through his fuschia hair in frustration. "Fine, since you won't drop it," he grumbled, his tone resigned. He looked at you for a moment and finally spoke, "I heard news about the clans nearing their arrival. They’ll be here soon.”

As you pondered Sukuna's demeanor, she couldn't shake the feeling that his unease ran deeper than the mere anticipation of the upcoming clan visit. You were keenly attuned to the intricate web of clan relations, sensing the subtle shifts and undercurrents that shaped your world.

In recent times, Sukuna's growing power had propelled the Ryomen clan into the spotlight, to heights never seen before in any previous lord’s lifetime. This fame had started earning them both admiration and animosity. But you were certain that such animosity was festering faster than such admiration. The status quo was after all finally being questioned.

The Ryomen clan was often referred to in less than flattering terms by their peers, with Sukuna himself bearing the brunt of much of the criticism. Sukuna could care less about such whispers. He could hardly care if people thought that he was worth talking about or not. 

But you were concerned, still. That was most normal when you love someone. You were no stranger to the disparaging whispers and sideways glances that followed in their wake. Being the only female heir of the clans does prepare one for such a thing. In the eyes of many, she was little more than a mere pawn, a figurehead to be manipulated and controlled. The men of other clans, in particular, harbored a deep-seated resentment towards her, their disdain fueled by antiquated notions of gender and power.

For you, such treatment had long been a bitter reality, one you had grown accustomed to over the years. But in your eyes, the questioning of Sukuna’s reputation was much more concerning. Even with the Ryomen name, he was still without the blood. As equally as he was concerned with your reputation, you were concerned about how they looked down on his common birth. 

The derogatory nicknames that circulated among their peers served as a constant reminder of the prejudice and bigotry that pervaded their world. Last year's incident, where Sukuna had lashed out at a servant for using a derogatory term to describe you and him. He would not say what he had heard from the servant till now, he had kept it to himself. But for him to resort to such violence, it was not one he took to favorably.

This event had only served to exacerbate tensions further. It was sheer luck that the man Sukuna had chastised was only a servant and not one with noble blood. It was easier also that the servant served under the Gojo. Suzaku had dealt with it on his own. Sukuna had not been pleased with that, but you were. 

In a way, you understood Sukuna’s concerns. He did not think that he would want to return to any further gatherings with the other clans. It was more of a headache than anything else. You could never harbor any feelings against what Sukuna felt. Despite your own resilience, you couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration at the injustice of it all. A Ryomen was taught to suffer in silence. But you wished there was a time where you could express your own sufferings, to complain. 

You had worked tirelessly to prove herself worthy of your position, to earn the respect. Even if you had known nothing from your brother’s own work, you had worked tirelessly to learn. To do well. To serve well. And yet, you knew that in the eyes of many, you would always be seen as nothing more than "the damsel and your hound." 

Or if they would like to be blunt, ‘the whore and your hound’.

There were many more names that you perhaps did not know.

And truly, you perhaps would not want to know all of them.

"That's to be expected," you replied calmly, your voice laced with understanding. "But I have a feeling there's something else bothering you."

Sukuna glanced at his lover for a moment. His expression softened slightly at her perceptiveness. "You're…..right," he admitted reluctantly, his gaze drifting to the shimmering surface of the pond. "Our fathers are talking about arranging marriages for the two of us.”

Your eyes widened slightly. You knew you were bound to hear about it again one of these days. But you couldn’t help but be surprised. Sukuna too? Uncle Hiramu knew about her and Sukuna. He had not introduced Sukuna upon the list of eligible bachelors in these many years since Sukuna had grown of age. He said it was up to his adoptive son to do what he wanted. You have to wonder where Sukuna had heard of this. You felt a flicker of concern flashing across your features as you processed the news. 

"I see," she murmured, understanding the weight of such a decision. "That must be difficult for you to hear."

Sukuna nodded, his jaw tightening with tension as he wrestled with his emotions. "I have no interest in being tied down by some arranged marriage to some pathetic damsel." he snickered.

“Sukuna, that is unpleasant to say to other women.”

“I don’t care about other women.” He says brazenly, pursing his lips at her. “Are we not already together? Shouldn’t that be enough to spur out such ridiculous notions?”

You opened your lips, but closed them for a moment. “I–I don’t know. Father is the last word upon any sort of marriage. So is your father.”

Sukuna frowned. “He would not deny you the pleasure of a happy marriage, surely? Being married to that wench—”

“Sukuna—”

“That broad—”

“That broad is still my mother.” 

He snickers back. “That woman still earned my ire. Of all of our ire. For sucking the life out of every room she deems to enter.”

“That woman may make everyone miserable….but her misery upon others has kept the peace.” You sighed, looking at him and taking his hand. “It’s expected for me to make the same sacrifice.”

“You’re all too willing to settle for a foolish man who’s half hearted and dim-witted? One that could not even protect you? Unlike me?” Sukuna looked at her with a flash of disappointment. “Fuck duty. You don’t have to suffer a terrible husband.”

“Sukuna, you must understand, they will make us explain—”

Sukuna's response was initially sharp, his frustration bubbling to the surface in a surge of aggression. "Damn it. Why should we have to explain ourselves to them?" he snapped, his voice laced with bitterness. "We don't owe them anything. None of them have ever given us anything.”

But as he saw the flicker of hurt and surprise in your eyes, his anger ebbed away, replaced by a pang of remorse. "I'm sorry," he muttered, his tone softer now, his gaze averted. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just…all this talk of politics and marriage alliances. This is not what we should have. We already chose what we wanted. And I….I want to wed you. To give you the life you deserve. The love you deserve.”

You reached out, gently cupping his cheek with your hand. "I know," you reassured him, your voice gentle and forgiving. "I understand. I know you would never hurt me."

“I nearly could have.”

You shake your head. “But you didn’t. Clear your mind of the notion.”

“.....It’s not easy to do.”

With a small smile, you leaned in closer, pressing your lips against his in a tender kiss. "No matter what happens, I'll love no one in this world but you," you whispered against his lips, your words filled with unwavering devotion. “You are my love.”

Sukuna's cheeks flushed at your declaration, his heart swelling with warmth. "You're too easy with this," he whispers back. “It’s embarrassing. How much you affect me.”

“This is love,” you whispered softly, your voice barely above a breath as you looked up at him, your eyes reflecting the moonlight streaming through the window.

Sukuna's gaze met yours, his expression tender and filled with understanding. In that moment, he leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss. It was a kiss filled with warmth and reassurance, a silent promise that you were not alone in your struggles.

As the kiss deepened, you felt a surge of affection and gratitude welling up within you. This connection, this shared moment of intimacy, was a testament to the bond you shared with Sukuna—a bond forged through countless trials and triumphs, and strengthened by unwavering support and unconditional love.

You giggled softly against his lips, savoring the sweetness of the moment, before kissing him once more. In his arms, surrounded by love and warmth, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, united in your love for each other.

But as he leaned for another kiss, you pushed him away.

He frowns as you settle yourself straight on your position.

He looked towards where you were looking and frowned deeper.

Mikoto Masaomi's arrival was met with a courteous nod from you, your demeanor composed and gracious despite the interruption. Sukuna's reaction, however, was less welcoming. His eyes narrowed with a bitter edge as he regarded the man before him. He had never liked Mikoto Masaomi, sensing an unspoken rivalry between them that simmered just beneath the surface.

The bow offered by Mikoto was met with a cool gaze from Sukuna, his expression betraying his distrust. He couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort that washed over him whenever Mikoto was near you. It wasn't just jealousy, though there was an element of that too. It was something deeper, a primal instinct that urged him to keep a watchful eye on the man who seemed to hover ever closer to your side.

Despite his misgivings, Sukuna maintained a facade of civility, his lips curved into a tight, obviously, forced smile as he acknowledged Mikoto's presence. But beneath the surface, his resentment simmered, a silent warning to anyone who dared encroach upon his territory. You, too, sensed the tension in the air. Your gaze flickers between the two men with a mixture of concern and wariness.

“Good day, Masaomi–dono.” You smile at him, moving slightly near Masaomi. Sukuna nearly caught your hand, but turned away. “How have you been?”

“Well, Hiromi–sama.” He replies simply, a small fond look was in his eyes. “I am pleased to know you are also well.”

“What have you come to me for, Masaomi–dono?”

"The Gojo clan has started arriving through the gates," he informed you, his eyes darting to Sukuna. It's as though he knew. Sukuna’s eyes grew even narrower. The jealousy in Sukuna’s chest. “Your father, my lord, has asked me to fetch the two of you to attend the formal greeting.”

“I see.” You nodded. “We will be there in a bit. You may go, Masaomi–dono.”

You thanked him with a nod, your smile fading as the weight of responsibility settled upon you once more. Sukuna, too, felt a sense of annoyance at the intrusion, his brief respite with you now shattered.

Mikoto Masaomi inclined his head in acknowledgment of your words before turning on his heel and departing, his departure leaving behind an uneasy tension in the air. Sukuna's gaze followed him until he disappeared from view, his jaw clenched with a simmering anger that threatened to boil over.

As the silence stretched between them, you reached out, placing a comforting hand on Sukuna's arm. You could feel the tension radiating from him, the palpable frustration that colored his every movement. Despite your own reservations about Mikoto, you knew that now was not the time to dwell on such matters.

"We should go," You said softly, yourvoice a soothing balm against the storm of emotions brewing within Sukuna. "Our fathers are waiting for us, and it wouldn't do to keep them waiting."

Sukuna looks at you again. “Must we? I do not want to greet that lecher–”

“You must, and kindly.” You playfully commanded him, your eyes looking at him tenderly. “Play nice, for me.”

Sukuna purses his lips. He cannot win. Not against you, not ever against the tenderness of your eyes for him. He hated it, how much control you had upon him. But what could he do? He loved you too much to leave you too. He sighed and then nodded curtly, his features softening slightly at your touch. With a resigned sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, offering you a hand to help you up. You smiled at him and took his hand.

Together, they made their way towards the torii gates, the weight of their respective burdens hanging heavy in the air between them. But as you walked side by side, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty.  

You looked at him and smiled. His hand wrapped against your own, as though he knew. As though he knew you needed his strength. You grinned at him and lifted his hand to your lips, kissing the side of his thumb. He seemed satisfied by that as they parted hands. 

No matter what challenges may they come across,

You knew that as long as they faced them together.

They would emerge to be stronger by the end of it all.

Because no matter what, they would always be together.

SUKUNA COULD ONLY WONDER HOW MUCH THEY POURED OUT FOR THIS. The Ryomen manor stood as a testament to opulence and grandeur, its halls adorned with the trappings of wealth and power. Every corner of the estate was meticulously decorated, from the ornate tapestries that hung from the walls to the shimmering chandeliers that cast a soft, golden glow over the proceedings. 

Sukuna couldn't help but scoff at the extravagance, the ostentatious display of wealth and power that seemed to permeate every inch of the estate. Expensive tapestries hung from the walls, depicting scenes of battles won and enemies vanquished, while ornate chandeliers bathed the halls in a soft, golden glow.

For you, the lavish display was a source of frustration and disdain. You had always been vocal about your opposition to the extravagant spending that such events entailed. In your eyes, it was a needless waste of resources, a squandering of funds that could be better used elsewhere. As your Ryomen ancestors had taught, simplicity was the way of one’s life — for wealth cannot be brought upon man’s judgment in the afterlife.

Sukuna, too, shared his master's sentiments. As your loyal servant and guardian, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the excessive displays of wealth that surrounded them. He had always been more comfortable with simplicity and practicality, finding little joy in the ostentatious displays of the upper echelons of society.

Despite their misgivings, however, there was little they could do to change the course of events. The unity games were a time-honored tradition, a chance for the rival clans to come together and become allies. A chance for allies to prove their loyalty to another. But most of all, a chance to showcase their strength and skill. And so, reluctantly, you and Sukuna found yourselves swept up in the whirlwind of activity, their reservations pushed aside in favor of duty and obligation.

As Sukuna effortlessly bested opponent after opponent in the individual rounds of curse hunting, he couldn't help but feel a growing sense of disdain for the proceedings. The other sorcerers seemed like mere amateurs compared to him, their techniques lacking in both power and finesse. With each victory, his boredom deepened, his frustration mounting at the thought of wasting his time on such trivial pursuits.

The thrill of battle, the exhilarating rush of combat that he so craved, was conspicuously absent in these tame encounters. Instead of facing worthy adversaries who could test his skills to their limits, Sukuna found himself locked in battle with opponents who posed little challenge, their feeble attempts at defense crumbling before his overwhelming might.

As he effortlessly dodged their attacks and countered with devastating precision, Sukuna couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he was wasting his time. The individual rounds of curse hunting had become nothing more than a monotonous chore, a tiresome exercise in futility that did little to sate his hunger for true combat.

With each passing round, Sukuna's impatience grew, his frustration boiling over into simmering resentment. He longed for the thrill of a real challenge, for an opponent who could push him to his limits and force him to unleash the full extent of his power. But amidst the sea of mediocrity that surrounded him, such adversaries were nowhere to be found.

As the day wore on and the individual rounds drew to a close, Sukuna found himself growing increasingly restless. He yearned for the freedom of the open battlefield, for the chaos and carnage of a true fight to the death. But for now, he would have to content himself with the hollow victory of a cursed technique mastered and an opponent defeated.

In the moments of respite between rounds, Sukuna retreated to the secluded grounds of the Ryomen manor, seeking solace amidst the tranquil beauty of nature. He stalked away from the prying eyes of spectators and competitors alike and he immersed himself in the relentless pursuit of perfection, honing his cursed technique with a singular focus that bordered on obsession.

You, ever attuned to his needs, would often seek him out in these private moments, your presence a comforting balm amidst the chaos of the unity games. You dressed lovely for him. As Sukuna held you close, his heart swelled with adoration as he gazed upon you. In the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, you looked ethereal, like a celestial being descended from the heavens above.

Your delicate features were accentuated by the gentle light, casting a luminous glow upon your skin. The intricate folds of your decorations upon your garments draped gracefully around you, each layer adding to the mesmerizing allure of your presence. The fabric shimmered with subtle patterns and hues, reflecting the soft hues of the moon, as if woven from strands of stardust and dreams.

Your hair, adorned with delicate ornaments and flowers, cascaded in ebony waves down your back, framing your face like a halo of midnight silk. Each movement sent ripples of light dancing across the room, casting enchanting shadows upon the tent walls.

But it was your eyes that captivated him the most, pools of liquid darkness that held the depths of the universe within them. In their depths, he saw galaxies swirling, stars twinkling, and constellations unfolding—a reflection of the boundless beauty and wonder of the cosmos.

As Sukuna drank in the sight of you, he felt as though time itself had slowed, suspended in the timeless embrace of the night. In that moment, you were not just his beloved, but a vision of divine grace and celestial elegance, a muse that ignited the spark of creativity and wonder within his soul. 

And as he held you close, he knew that he would cherish this moment for eternity, a cherished memory to be treasured in the depths of his heart forevermore. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close to you. Sukuna found himself momentarily lost in the warmth of her embrace, the softness of her touch a welcome distraction from the rigors of combat. Your compliments filled his ears with the sweetest things.

Though the time together was brief, you wanted to visit him and cheer him on. In that short amount of time, you rejuvenated Sukuna's spirit, infusing him with a reward for his devotion. He cherished these stolen moments of intimacy, relishing the fleeting sense of closeness that the both of you shared.

But even as he reveled in your presence, Sukuna couldn't shake the lingering sense of unease that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. He knew that their forbidden romance could never be openly acknowledged, that the consequences of discovery could be dire for your reputation. He could hardly care for what everyone else says behind his back. But he does care about what others say to you.

You couldn’t help but pout as you reluctantly bid him farewell, your bright beaming cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he pressed a kiss upon your temple. Sukuna couldn't help but admire your beauty in the soft glow of the beautiful morning sun. How did he find such a gem in the world? You seemed to radiate an otherworldly allure that left him breathless with longing. 

"I wish you could stay longer," Sukuna murmured, his voice tinged with longing as he held your hand close to his. “You ought to warm me with you.”

You smiled sadly, your eyes betraying the same yearning that echoed in Sukuna's heart. "I do too," you admitted softly, fingers lingering on his arm. How warm you were, he will never get tired how you warm his cold world. "But we can't risk drawing attention to ourselves. It's better this way, for now.”

Sukuna nodded, though the weight of their clandestine relationship hung heavy between them. "I know," he conceded, his tone heavy with resignation. "But it doesn't make it any easier."

Your smile faltered slightly, your gaze clouded with tenderness. "Oh, my love, I know." you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. "But we have to be patient. Our time will come, I promise."

Sukuna's heart swelled with a mixture of gratitude and determination at your words. "I'll hold you to that," he vowed, his eyes locking with your eyes full of affection. “I’ll see you soon.”

You smiled. “I’ll see you.”

A wistful sigh leaves his lips, Sukuna watches you depart, a pang of regret tugging at his heart. Though their time together was fleeting, the memory of your kisses lingered on his lips, a potent reminder of the forbidden love that bound them together in secret.

But most of the time, he was alone with his thoughts. He cannot handle the bustling of servants, nor the nagging of his adoptive father. And so, he maintains a quiet time alone for himself when you have become increasingly occupied with duty. It was during one of these moments of solitude that he overheard a group of men talking nearby. Judging by the crest on their kimono — they were Fujiwara, a fact that only served to fuel Sukuna's disdain.

Sukuna listened intently as the voices of the Fujiwara men carried through the air, their conversation laced with arrogance and disdain. His lips curled into a sneer of contempt as he recognized the distinctive crest adorning their attire, a symbol of the very clan that had long been a thorn in the side of the Ryomen.

"They say the Ryomen girl is to take a husband this year," one of the men remarked, his tone filled with a sense of superiority. “I’m quite impressed how high the name remains high on the match maker’s list!”

Sukuna's blood boiled at the mention of your name, your honor in such a context, his fists clenched at his sides in barely contained fury. He bristled at the audacity of these men, their callous words serving as a stark reminder of the prejudices and injustices that permeated the world of sorcery.

"But who would want to marry the bitch?" another voice chimed in, eliciting a round of mocking laughter from the group. "The bitch’s nothing but a cruel murderer of men."

Another man, perhaps emboldened by the laughter, added, "I heard the whore once killed a man just for looking at her the wrong way. Who would want to be tied to such a beast?"

One of the stupid fools bolted into boisterous hooting. “Killed a man? The whore is ever so lucky to have some suitors. No one should be tied to such a brutish whore.”

The other one of these stupid brutes, emboldened by the laughter of his companions, continued, "You may think the bitch is powerful, but if I marry and bed the bitch, I'll make sure that bitch keeps silent. Nothing more than being nothing more than a tool, bent to my will."

The cruel words pushed Sukuna to the brink, his body trembling with the effort of restraining himself. The image of your serene face, your unwavering trust in him, kept him from unleashing the full extent of his wrath. With a sharp exhale, Sukuna forced himself to relax, the tension draining from his body as he made a conscious effort to quell the storm of emotions raging within him. He may have harbored a burning desire for revenge, but he would not let it consume him, not when your safety and happiness hung in the balance.

"The bitch needs a strong hand to guide and rule, someone like me.” another man sneered. "Put the collar upon that bitch.”

"Imagine the power one could wield with that bitch within one of our control," the first man mused, his voice dripping with ambition. "A conquest of the jujutsu world would be imminent. But we must ensure that bitch breaks first.”

The more they talked, the more Sukuna felt like he was going to lose it. It struck Sukuna over and over like a physical blow, his anger flaring into white-hot rage at the disparagement of the person he held deepest in his being. His mind raced with violent thoughts, visions of vengeance dancing tantalizingly at the edges of his consciousness.

But then, your voice echoed in his mind, a soothing balm to his simmering fury. 

"Don't," you whispered, your gentle tone a stark contrast to the storm raging within him. "It's not worth it. They are not worth it.”

Sukuna gritted his teeth against the overwhelming urge to lash out, his muscles coiling with tension as he fought to rein in his emotions. It was always you guiding him, even when you weren't around. Even if he hated it, Sukuna knew you were right, knew that succumbing to his rage would only bring them more trouble. More so, if he defeats them now — the clan would suffer more issues with the Fujiwara. Sukuna could care less about these spineless fools. But it would be different for you

With a sharp exhale over and over, even if it doesn’t work — Ryomen Sukuna forced himself to relax, the tension draining from his body as he made a conscious effort to quell the storm of emotions raging within him. He may have harbored a burning desire for revenge, but he would not let it consume him, not when your safety and happiness hung in the balance.

As he tried to steady himself, The sorcerer retreated further into the shadows, his heart heavy with the weight of his unspoken vow. No matter the obstacles they faced, he swore to protect you, to shield you from the cruelty of the world, even if it meant sacrificing his own desires for the sake of your well-being.

Sooner or later, they will end up paying for their words.

He will not let them get away with tarnishing you.

One way or another, it will be the cleave or a cutting slash.

RYOMEN SUKUNA PURSED HIS LIPS IN A FLAT LINE, LOOKING AT HIS THE COURTYARD. Sukuna considered himself fortunate to have the luxury of choosing his opponents. In a world where battles often come unbidden and enemies strike without warning, he relished the rare freedom to select his adversaries. This autonomy allowed him to seek out the most formidable challengers, ensuring that each fight would test his limits and provide a thrill worthy of his power.

To Sukuna, combat was more than mere survival or dominance—it was an art form, a dance of death that required a worthy partner. He took pride in his ability to discern who was truly deserving of facing him, who could push him to his fullest potential. The chance to pick his battles meant he could avoid the mundane and mediocre, focusing only on those who offered a true challenge.

In the quiet moments before a fight, Sukuna often reflected on this privilege. He knew that many warriors never had such a choice, forced to fight whoever fate threw in their path. But he, Sukuna, stood above them, wielding the power not just to conquer, but to choose his conquests. This freedom was a testament to his strength and a source of immense satisfaction, reminding him that he was not merely a participant in the eternal struggle for power—he was its master.

He stepped toward the courtyard of the Ryomen manor and looked upon the crowd. It was a spectacle of unparalleled grandeur, a testament to the clan's status and influence. Every corner of the expansive space was adorned with elaborate decorations that spoke of meticulous care and significant investment. The Ryomen double heron flies above, bright against all the other clan’s banners. His win was a result of that, for which he had too much pride about.

Silk banners, bearing the insignias of the various clans, fluttered lower, ever so gently in the breeze, their vibrant colors catching the light of the midday sun. Intricate tapestries depicting historic battles and legendary sorcerers draped the walls, adding a sense of reverence and tradition to the atmosphere.

Flower arrangements, meticulously crafted with seasonal blooms, punctuated the courtyard, their colors and fragrances mingling to create an intoxicating ambiance. Each floral display was a work of art, with blossoms arranged in harmonious patterns that drew the eye and invited admiration. Pathways of polished stone meandered through the courtyard, leading to various observation points and seating areas where the dignitaries and clan members could comfortably view the matches.

Large, ornate lanterns hung from intricately carved wooden posts, their delicate designs casting intricate shadows on the ground below. These lanterns would be lit as the sun set, casting a warm, inviting glow over the proceedings and adding to the magical atmosphere of the event. The air buzzed with anticipation, a palpable energy that surged through the crowd as they awaited the commencement of the individual matches.

The assembled sorcerers, dressed in their finest ceremonial attire, engaged in hushed conversations, their voices creating a low hum that underscored the gravity of the occasion. The younger juniors of the clan could feel their eyes wide with excitement and curiosity, whispering among themselves, speculating on the outcomes of the matches and the prowess of the competitors.

You sat poised alongside your uncle and your father, perched in a place of honor that overlooked the arena. Though your demeanor projected an air of tranquility and control, your true sentiments were veiled beneath a carefully crafted facade. Despite your efforts to maintain a stoic composure, the affection you tenderly harbored for Sukuna simmered just beneath the surface, evident to those who were attuned to your subtle cues.

From your elevated vantage point, you could survey the unfolding spectacle with a serene gaze one after another. Your eyes, alight with a quiet intensity, traced the movements of the combatants below. While her features remained composed, betraying little of her inner turmoil, the warmth emanating from her gaze spoke volumes.

As Sukuna crossed the threshold into the ring, a palpable aura of determination enveloped him. His steely gaze swept across the gathered spectators, momentarily lingering on the familiar countenance of you. In that fleeting exchange, an unspoken bond passed between them, a silent pact that fortified Sukuna's resolve and served as a constant reminder of the personal stakes he carried into the impending clash.

Opposite him, Fujiwara Koku stood with an air of arrogance that bordered on insolence, his smirk a blatant display of confidence. He remembered this ugly face quite clearly. His words of degradation towards you repeating in Sukuna’s head over and over. 

Sukuna's jaw clenched imperceptibly at the sight, his disdain for his adversary simmering beneath his cool exterior. While Koku exuded an air of self-assurance, Sukuna's demeanor remained inscrutable, a mask of detachment concealing the seething intensity of his emotions. He hated Fujiwara. The gall, the arrogance — with nothing to show for it but a power that was collapsing on its own hubris.

As the signal to commence the match echoed through the arena, tension crackled in the air like electricity. Each step taken by Sukuna reverberated with purpose, a silent declaration of his unwavering determination. Across the ring, Koku mirrored his opponent's movements with a predatory grace, anticipation gleaming in his eyes. In that charged moment, the clash of wills between Sukuna and Koku became inevitable, a collision of personal vendettas and unyielding resolve set to unfold in the unforgiving arena of combat.

As the gyōji announced the start of the match, Koku sneered, "Do you really think you can stand against me, foolish little hound?"

Sukuna remained silent, his eyes narrowing as he focused on his opponent.

Koku's expression twisted into one of mock pity. "I suppose your master, your bitch. Look at your master, little dog. You will be watching. Perhaps I should go easy on that bitch’s little pet."

As the confrontation escalated, the air crackled with tension, each heartbeat echoing like a drumbeat in the stillness of the night. Without preamble or hesitation, Fujiwara Koku unleashed the full fury of his power, a torrent of fire and brimstone hurtling towards Sukuna with deadly precision.

The first fireball erupted from Koku's outstretched palm, a searing orb of crimson flame that streaked through the darkness like a comet on a collision course. Sukuna's senses sharpened as he watched the fiery projectile hurtle towards him, his instincts honed from all these years kicking in with ease.

With a dancer's grace and a warrior's precision, Sukuna sprang into action, his movements fluid and seamless as he evaded the onslaught of fireballs with effortless agility. Each step was a calculated maneuver, each twist and turn a testament to his mastery of combat. The home crowd cheered with vigor at the spectacle of their kin.

The air around him shimmered with heat as the fireballs whizzed past, their searing heat leaving trails of scorched air in their wake. But Sukuna remained undeterred, his focus unwavering as he danced through the inferno unscathed. The flames were hot, but that’s all they were. They were nothing to him.

With each passing moment, Sukuna's movements became more fluid, more effortless, as if he were a force of nature unleashed upon the world. His footwork was impeccable, his timing impeccable, as he anticipated each strike with uncanny accuracy.

As the barrage continued, Sukuna seemed to meld with the rhythm of the chaos around him. Each leap, each twist, was executed with a precision that bordered on preternatural. His body moved with a fluidity that belied the danger that surrounded him, as if he were an extension of the very elements he danced amidst.

With each passing moment, Sukuna's senses heightened, his awareness expanding to encompass the entire battlefield. Every flicker of movement, every shift in the air, became a part of his consciousness, feeding into his instinctual understanding of the fight unfolding before him.

The fireballs came faster now, streaking through the night like shooting stars intent on obliterating their target. But Sukuna was no mere mortal; he was a master of combat, a living testament to the power of discipline and training.

With a graceful twist of his body, Sukuna evaded a particularly close call, the heat of the passing fireball licking at his heels as he danced out of harm's way. His movements were a symphony of motion, each step a carefully orchestrated note in the melody of battle.

And then, in a burst of speed and agility, Sukuna closed the distance between himself and his adversary, his blade flashing in the moonlight as he struck with lethal precision. The clash of steel rang out like thunder in the night, a testament to the ferocity of their duel.

"Impressive, little pet. But is that all you've got?" Koku taunted, summoning a larger flame. "Let's see how you handle this!"

Sukuna's lips curled into a contemptuous smirk, a silent retort to Koku's taunts. His focus remained unbroken, his movements fluid and precise as he deftly evaded each incoming fireball with calculated ease. Though Koku's attacks were fierce, Sukuna's resolve did not falter. He remains unshaken, his determination burning like a steady flame amidst the chaos of battle.

With a graceful flourish, Sukuna countered Koku's escalating assault, summoning his own inferno to meet the challenge head-on. The clash of fire and fury illuminated the arena in a dazzling display of power, each combatant vying for supremacy with unyielding resolve.

As the flames danced and flickered in the air, Sukuna's eyes blazed with an intensity that belied his calm exterior. With each passing moment, his confidence grew, fueled by the silent encouragement he sensed from You's unwavering gaze.

Koku's smirk faltered slightly, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty as he realized the depth of Sukuna's determination. Yet, true to his nature, he pressed on undeterred, channeling his rage into a relentless onslaught of attacks.

“I’ll fight you with your element.” Sukuna retorts to the man, a smirk on his face. “It’s getting dull, fighting with you. Is that all you have? Come on. We should mix it up.”

Koku’s face contorts in anger, an insult cutting through at his ego. The heir of the Fujiwara screamed as he harnessed massive flames. The heat could be felt everywhere, people screeched upon the feeling. Koku hurled the massive fireball at Sukuna, but Sukuna was ready.  He smirks. 

He muttered "Open," the echoes of his palms bouncing off flame against flame. Koku’s eyes widened at the sight. It was bright, orange flames with hints of reddish scarlet. Sukuna’s hands tamed the flames as he brushed them together. 

The whispers of Sukuna’s fame were heavily focused upon his cutting and slashes techniques. Ones which were versatile in its own right. But a Ryomen does not content himself with what he is now. He adapts, he develops. He becomes divine. 

The crowd goes in awe as his own Divine Flame countered Koku’s own bright flames. The flames  clashed in a spectacular explosion, radiating against the veil one after the other. Koku looked pathetic as he tried to push against the fuschia haired man. But Sukuna snickered as he pushed, his superior control and intensity quickly overpowered Koku's attack, dissipating it into nothing. Koku falls back, his head lowered and his feet clutched onto the ground. He looks at Sukuna, who’s flames had disappeared at his command.

Seizing the moment, Sukuna closed the distance between them with lightning speed. Koku swung a flaming fist, aiming for Sukuna's head, but Sukuna ducked under the blow, his movements fluid and precise. He touched the ground, activating Spiderweb. The earth beneath Koku's feet cracked and shattered in an intense blow, the technique adjusting to the terrain's toughness and collapsing the ground in one decisive move.

Koku stumbled harshly once more, his balance disrupted by the sudden upheaval. Sukuna moved in with Cleave, the slashing attack adjusting itself to Koku's cursed technique. Sukuna was no longer giving him time to recover. One could see the elders of the Fujiwara rushing towards lord Isamu. The rest were standing, calling foul at what Sukuna was trying to do. But Sukuna did not see all that. What he saw was his prey and he was going to hunt. Strike after another towards his opponent was devastating, cutting through Koku's defenses and leaving a deep, gaping wound across his torso, his hands, his arms, even at his face. 

"You... you'll pay for this," Koku gasped, blood seeping everywhere as he stumbled, feeling more blood spill through his fingers as he clutched his upper chest. He hissed from the pain. “YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!”

"You're not even worth my time," Sukuna replied coldly, his voice devoid of emotion. He watches him cough more blood. But he did not care. Not even when you were standing off your seat, calling out to him, telling him to stop. “Get lost.”

Desperate to live, Fujiwara Koku summoned a massive fireball, his last-ditch effort to turn the tide of the battle. The crowd was yelling and cheering for Sukuna, to end the game. Many professed that he would end the round and win glory for the Ryomen. The cheering grew louder, but Sukuna could not hear them. He did not want to hear them. Sukuna was lost in over his head, for revenge now. He could care less about the glory. 

This fool ran his mouth, had stepped on his clan and stepped on the person he loves. He will not let him get away with simple wounds. Sukuna was relentless. He quickly extended his hand, his Dismantle technique slicing through the fireball with ease. Koku's final attack disintegrated before it could even begin, before it could even try to reach Sukuna.

In a final, desperate move, Koku stood and screamed, pathetically charging at Sukuna, flames engulfing both his fists. Sukuna snickered and met him head-on, activating his  Cleave once more. The attack was swift and lethal, cutting through Koku's fire and striking him down with a single, decisive blow. The pressure was so much from that hit, everyone could feel it. The sound, the wind, the air — all had changed course as Fujiwara Koku choked on his own blood and flew battered and broken upon the other side of the ring. 

Koku's defeat was as swift as it was decisive, the once-arrogant heir to the Fujiwara clan now reduced to a fallen adversary, sprawled upon the unforgiving ground of the arena. The courtyard, once alive with the tumultuous energy of battle, now fell into an eerie silence, the onlookers rendered speechless by the spectacle unfolding before them. Soon enough, the cheers returned. But only the Gojo and the Ryomen cheered. Kamo, Zenin and Fujiwara all looked with horror as the heir of a prestigious clan, lay unresponsive. 

Sukuna stood amidst the aftermath of his triumph, his chest rising and falling with the exertion of battle. He did not care to look back if Koku was dead or alive. It was a fair match, one he had won with his sorcery. He would not speak like that about you ever again. Despite the victory he had achieved, there was no hint of triumph in his demeanor, only a solemn acknowledgment of the price paid in pursuit of victory. He was not happy. He wanted more. He wanted more than this. All of them have to pay.

Amidst the hushed whispers and murmurs of the quiet crowd, you remained a steadfast presence, your wavering gaze fixed upon Sukuna. He watched as you shook your head at him, your eyes narrowed towards him. The warmth that had suffused your eyes earlier now mingled with a newfound complexity, reflecting the conflicting emotions swirling within your own heart. Sukuna felt unsettled by that. He thought you would feel a little more pride for what he had achieved.

It’s as if you knew something that Sukuna did not know.

Sukuna felt his glory drowned by the shadows in your eyes.

Fights broke out between the Ryomen and the Fujiwara that day.

You left the conference dinner that night in sheer, wordlessness.

The next few days, Hiramu Isamu looked at Sukuna bitterly.

Ryomen Hiromi was to wed Fujiwara Koku, to keep the peace.

IT HAD BEEN A ROUGH WEEK. The rest of the events had gone without your presence throughout, the withdrawal of the Fujiwara’s heir from all matches and Sukuna’s disqualification. It was quite somber after all of that. Much too much had been said behind the golden screens of the ancestral halls. Tears and brutish whispers and commands. But none had said anything. You ought not to. It was not an affair that belonged to you.

By the end of that week, the tension between You, the heir to the Ryomen clan, and Sukuna, your loyal follower, had become unbearable. It was quite a palpable undercurrent coursing through the entire clan. Lord Isamu and his brother Hiramu too were just as much in a battle of wills, but that was quite underwhelming to say the least. Lord Hiramu knew when to step away and let his brother settle in his inflamed words. He was after all like the water that flows in the river — strident in his own ways.

As the days passed without you emerging from your chambers, the atmosphere within the Ryomen compound grew increasingly strained. The unity games, meant to foster camaraderie and goodwill among the clans, had become marred by the rift between the Fujiwara and the Ryomen. But that was always one that had existed. One that all had been used to. What the rest of the Ryomen had not been used to was the distance between the heiress and her devoted guardian.

For Sukuna, the days of your seclusion felt like an eternity, each passing moment gnawing away at his patience and sanity. Despite his best efforts to understand the reasons behind your withdrawal, whispers from the shadows painted a different picture. The Fujiwara clan, incensed by Koku's defeat at Sukuna's hands, were exerting pressure on the Ryomen, leveraging their influence to force compliance with their demands.

Uncle Hiromu, ever the voice of reason, stood outside your chambers, attempting to bridge the gap between his adoptive son and his niece. But Sukuna's resolve remained unyielding, his need to see you eclipsing any semblance of diplomacy or compromise. He stared down the guards, all of whom whimpered at his dark gaze.

“It’s alright.” Your voice lingered for a moment. “Let him in.”

As he stood before you, Sukuna's emotions roiled beneath the surface, a tempest of anger and disbelief threatening to consume him whole. The weight of the Fujiwara's intimidation tactics bore down upon him like a suffocating blanket, fueling his determination to resist their tyranny at all costs.

Though your explanation of the marriage match was meant to placate the warring factions and maintain peace between the clans, Sukuna knew in his heart that it was a thinly veiled facade. The Fujiwara's ulterior motives lay bare before him, their insidious machinations driving a wedge between you and your true desires.

In the hushed confines of your chambers, Sukuna's gaze bore into you with an intensity that bordered on accusation. His features contorted with a potent mixture of frustration and despair, his silent plea for you to see reason echoing in the hollow recesses of your shared solitude.

But as the walls closed in around them, Sukuna knew that your fate hung precariously in the balance, and that the choices you made in the days to come would shape the course of your destinies in ways neither of you could yet comprehend.

"You accepted the marriage?" Sukuna's voice was barely above a whisper, laced with a seething undercurrent of fury. "After everything that happened, you just... agreed to it?"

You met Sukuna's gaze with a haunted expression, your eyes betraying the turmoil raging within your soul. "It was the only way," you murmured, your voice barely audible above the tumult of your thoughts. "The Fujiwara felt humiliated, Sukuna. They demanded retribution for what you did to Koku."

Sukuna's fists clenched at his sides, his rage simmering just beneath the surface. "You're telling me you agreed to marry that bastard because of their pride?" His words were a venomous accusation, a stark reminder of the betrayal he felt coursing through his veins.

But your response was tinged with a sorrow that cut deeper than any blade. "It's not just about their pride, Sukuna," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of your confession. "I... I feel responsible for what happened. For the animosity between our families. As father does. If I can bear this burden, perhaps... Perhaps I can make amends."

Sukuna recoiled at your words, his disbelief warring with the anguish that threatened to consume him whole. "You blame yourself for his actions? Their actions? For the words he spoke, the pain he inflicted?" His voice cracked with emotion, his heartache laid bare for all to see. “You, you’re smart. You ought not to be stupid about this.”

Your gaze faltered, your resolve crumbling like fragile glass beneath the weight of Sukuna's accusation. "He... he talked about me?" Your voice was barely a whisper, your heart breaking anew at the realization of Koku's cruelty. You shook your head, defeated. “It does not matter…..he…he would be my lord husband.”

Sukuna's anger flared anew, his fists trembling with suppressed rage. "He belittled you, You. He wanted to hurt you, to break you. And you... you would willingly subject yourself to that misery?" His voice was laced with desperation, a plea for you to see reason amidst the chaos of your unraveling world.

But you shook your head, your tears flowing freely now, a torrent of anguish and regret. "It doesn't matter, Sukuna," you sobbed, your voice raw with emotion. "I must carry this burden, this guilt, this shame. For what he did, for what I failed to prevent."

A haunting flashback washed over you, the memory of your brother's death looming large in your mind's eye. You remembered the terror in his eyes, the desperation of his final moments as he faced off against those who sought to claim you. The weight of that guilt pressed down upon you, crushing you beneath its unbearable burden. But the aftermath, it was all coming back to you now. It was all coming back to you. A sinner can never forget. You must only atone.

The water around you began to swirl with a newfound energy, currents twisting and turning in a vortex that seemed to center on your very being. Suddenly, a surge of power flooded through you, intense and overwhelming. It felt as if the very essence of the river—the unyielding force of its currents, the depth of its secrets—was merging with your own spirit.

Your eyes, previously a soft tender shade, ignited with a vibrant purple hue, shining through the murky waters like twin beacons. This transformation marked the awakening of your cursed technique, a manifestation of your desire for vengeance infused with the river's ancient power. A god bestowed you favor and one that could never be escaped. Ryomen You felt the energy coursing through her veins, her head filling with burning sensations. Of the truth of the world, the anger of the world, the horror of the gods — Ryomen You was no longer just a child. You was a god’s warrior. A servant chained to the strings of a god’s whim.

As the power settled within you, the waters around you seemed to calm, and you found yourself gently deposited on the riverbank, gasping for air but alive. You lay there for a moment, drenched and exhausted, yet invigorated by a newfound strength. Your heart pounded with the pulsing reality of the power that now resided within you.

You stood, your clothes clinging to your skin, your every movement imbued with a sense of purpose. You looked at your hands, your gaze then shifting to the river that had nearly claimed your life but had instead given you a new path. The purple of your eyes was not just a mark of the power you had gained; it was a symbol of your vow, a vivid reminder of the path you had chosen.

And you knew what would happen.

There was no kindness nor doubt in your mind.

Ryomen You walked towards the burning camp.

One look towards the dead and the killers was enough.

You could feel the blood pouring down from your wrists.

“You will pay.” You whispered, turning to who noticed her.

“Who are you?” 

“Your death.” Your purple eyes narrowed as you looked at her wrist, and raised it onto the air. You watched as it poured to the ground. You smiled at the murderer. “Heaven’s Bloom.”

You stood with an air of eerie calmness as the intricate spirit array spun around you, a mesmerizing dance of white and red light casting long, twisting shadows across the ground. The ambient glow pulsed with the rhythm of your heartbeat, each surge of light drawing forth the energy from the droplets of your own blood that had fallen in the formation of the array. Your purple eyes, alight with a fierce, unyielding resolve, followed the movements of the murderer who stumbled backward, his eyes wide with dawning terror.

The array's light coalesced into forms. It was the most grotesque thing you had ever seen. You watched as these snarling creatures wrought from the energy you commanded. Little by little, they grew angrier, they grew bitter. They grew ugly. Yet, they were manifestations of your will, each one a grotesque caricature of vengeance, one you felt in your heart. You could feel their forms shimmering with the same eerie luminescence of the array. They were your children, your blood. Your little monsters. 

Yet they were born out of the heavens, the gods and their wills. They were holy beasts. The ugliest, most horrific of them all. None could deny how terrifying they are. How brutally cruel they are. Not even your newfound victim. Not even you yourself. The air was filled with the sound of their screeches, blood pouring out of their mouths like a languid fountain. It was a brutal cacophony that seemed almost triumphant as they sensed the fear emanating from their prey.

Your smile deepened, your expression one of dark satisfaction as you watched the murderer's feeble attempts to retreat. You think that if she laughed, that man would piss himself. There were more of him around, that she was certain. But he would be the first. You think that he was already too afraid that he would shat himself. His back hit against the cold, unyielding surface of the carriage — there was no further space to flee, no escape from the retribution he had brought upon himself.

With a voice as cold as the freezing night, You uttered a single command that sealed the fates of the murderer and his comrades. "Eat."

At your word, the creatures lunged forward with the most brutal force anyone had ever seen. Their movements were a blur, a violent cascade of light and shadow that pounced on the murderer and his group.  One after another, the spraying of blood was all too much. Your kimono danced against blood and water. Blood was indeed thicker than water. But as they sprayed against you one after another, You did not mind it. You just watched, you just stood still and listened. 

Screams pierced the night air, a terrible symphony of agony that played out under the uncaring gaze of the moon above. The creatures tore at the men with spectral claws and teeth, each attack brutal, relentless — not just physical assaults, but invasions of the very soul, rending spirit as well as flesh.

The chaos was brief, yet it stretched out like a lifetime of pain for those on the receiving end. You lived in that moment like it was forever. When the dead were claimed by the earth with the soiled thickness of blood, the creatures finally receded. You watched as they were drawn back into the fading light of the spirit array. You could not recognize the fools. There was nothing that remained of the murderers. But the young lady lived in the infinity of their echo of their echoing screams and the disjointed shadows of discarded flesh and bone that danced fitfully on the blood-stained ground.

Your heart beat steadily, a stark contrast to the violence that had just unfolded. You turned away from the carnage, your steps measured and purposeful. There was no joy in your actions any longer. Not even if you felt satisfied. There is only vain sorrow. Grief. Nothing was left, only the grim satisfaction of justice served — not through the law, but by the ancient, arcane arts that you had mastered and wielded with lethal precision.

As the night reclaimed its silence, Ryomen You felt exhausted. You felt drained. There was nothing left. Nothing of your past left. That night, it all burnt to ashes. And you too, disappeared into the darkness. Ryomen You became a sinner that night, a murderer even. But you did not care. It would never bring your brother back. You did not care.

"Leave me, Sukuna," you whispered, your voice barely audible amidst the chaos of your shattered world. Your fingers grip tightly to your lilac silks. "Leave me be, at least for now. Please.”

And as Sukuna stood before you, his heart heavy with the weight of your shared pain, he knew that your journey was far from over, and that the road ahead would be fraught with obstacles neither of you could yet foresee. But amidst the ashes of your shattered dreams, a glimmer of hope remained—a beacon of light that illuminated the darkness, guiding you ever onward towards an uncertain future.

Tears poured out from Ryomen You’s eyes.

The pain in your head echoed over and over again.

‘Don’t waste tears over decisions you made like this..’

You bit your lower lip as you could feel the voice of god.

‘Stand by your choices, stop being a foolish little one.’

HE HAD NO WAY TO SOOTHE HIS HEART ACHE. In the secluded sanctuary of the koi ponds, Sukuna sought respite from the tempestuous storm of emotions that churned relentlessly within him. Surrounded by the gentle rustle of leaves and the melodious trickle of water, he found himself drawn to the serene tranquility of his surroundings, each ripple upon the surface of the pond a reflection of the chaos raging within his own soul.

With each step you took along the worn stone pathway, Sukuna felt the weight of his grief pressing down upon him like an unbearable burden. The air hung heavy with the weight of unspoken words and fractured bonds, the silence broken only by the soft echo of your footsteps against the cool, smooth surface beneath him.

As you wandered aimlessly amidst the verdant foliage and graceful arc of the wooden bridges, Sukuna sought solace in the timeless beauty of nature, a silent witness to the tumultuous symphony of your innermost thoughts and emotions. Each breath you took seemed to draw you deeper into the heart of your turmoil, the tranquil facade of the koi ponds offering little sanctuary from the tempest that raged within.

Yet, amidst the chaos of your own making, Sukuna found a strange sense of peace in the rhythmic dance of the koi beneath the surface, their graceful movements a silent reminder of the ebb and flow of life itself. With each passing moment, he felt himself drawn ever closer to the heart of his own grief, the gentle embrace of the water offering solace where words could not.

Lonesomeness among the tranquil serenity of the koi ponds, Sukuna stood on the precipice of his own despair, his heart laid bare beneath the watchful gaze of the silent sentinels that danced upon the surface of the water. And though the path ahead remained shrouded in uncertainty, he knew that in the depths of his solitude, he would find the strength to weather the storm that raged within, and emerge anew, forged in the fires of his own turmoil.

The tranquil ambiance of the koi ponds was disrupted by the fading echoes of departing footsteps, leaving behind an unsettling stillness that seemed to swallow Sukuna whole. As the last remnants of the departing clans vanished into the distance, the weight of Sukuna's isolation settled heavily upon his shoulders, a tangible reminder of the chasm that had formed between him and You.

Lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts, Sukuna was startled by the arrival of his adoptive father, Hiramu, whose presence cut through the suffocating silence like a beacon of light amidst the darkness. Wordlessly, the elder Ryomen settled beside him, his silent companionship a balm to Sukuna's wounded soul.

For a long while, they sat in contemplative silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. It was Hiramu who broke the silence first, his voice gentle yet firm as he sought to bridge the gap between them.

"Sukuna," he began gently, "I understand your pain. But you must also understand that You has a duty to uphold. As our lord, Isamu's choice for peace outweighs all else."

Sukuna's fists clenched at his sides, his anger and bitterness threatening to consume him whole. But despite his inner turmoil, he refused to meet his father's gaze, the tumult of emotions roiling within him rendering him speechless.

"What should I do then?" Sukuna's voice was barely above a whisper, a desperate plea for guidance in a world devoid of certainty.

Hiramu's words reverberated in Sukuna's mind like a relentless echo, each syllable a painful reminder of the sacrifices demanded by duty and loyalty. As he wrestled with the weight of his father's expectations, a sense of unease gnawed at the edges of his consciousness, threatening to unravel the fragile threads of his resolve.

"If you truly love You," Hiramu's voice echoed in Sukuna's ears, the gentle cadence of his words belying the weight of their implications. "Then you must serve her above all else."

The ache in Sukuna's chest deepened at his father's admonition, a bittersweet reminder of the love he harbored for You, a love tinged with equal parts longing and despair. For as much as he yearned to be by her side, to support her in her time of need, Sukuna couldn't shake the gnawing fear that his presence would only serve to deepen the chasm that had formed between them.

"You is alone in her burden," Hiramu continued, his voice a solemn decree that echoed in the silence of Sukuna's soul. "And it falls upon you to fill that void."

The weight of those words settled upon Sukuna like a suffocating shroud, the burden of responsibility pressing down upon him with unrelenting force. How could he, a mere mortal burdened with his own flaws and insecurities, hope to shoulder the weight of You's burdens? And yet, the thought of abandoning her to face her trials alone filled him with a sense of profound despair.

"One day," Hiramu's voice carried a note of quiet conviction, a promise of redemption amidst the chaos of Sukuna's fractured world. "You will be her right hand man, her staunchest ally."

But Sukuna couldn't help but wonder if that day would ever come—if he would ever be worthy of standing by You's side as her equal, her confidant, her friend. The thought of a future filled with uncertainty and doubt sent a shiver down his spine, a chill that seeped into the very marrow of his bones.

"But you must put her needs before your own," Hiramu's words cut through the fog of Sukuna's despair like a sharpened blade, a stark reminder of the sacrifices demanded by duty and obligation. "For the sake of our duty, our legacy."

With a heavy heart and a weary soul, Sukuna bowed his head in silent acquiescence, his resolve wavering beneath the weight of his father's expectations. For as much as he longed to defy fate and carve his own path forward, Sukuna knew that his duty to You, to their clan, to their legacy, was a burden he could never hope to escape. And so, with a heavy heart and a weary soul, Sukuna surrendered himself to the relentless tide of destiny, resigned to the anguished whispers of his own fractured heart.

Sukuna found himself engulfed in a sea of contemplation, each word uttered by his father echoing in the recesses of his mind like a resounding bell telling the truth. With each passing moment, a sense of clarity washed over him like a cleansing tide, stripping away the layers of doubt and uncertainty that had clouded his judgment.

As Sukuna grappled with the weight of his father's wisdom, a profound realization dawned upon him like a ray of sunlight piercing through the darkness. Hiramu was right—if he dared to admit it to himself.

Blood may indeed be thicker than water, but the bonds forged by duty and loyalty transcended the confines of mere familial ties. In the quiet solitude of his contemplation, Sukuna came to understand that belonging was not always about blood relations, but rather about the connections forged through shared experiences and unwavering loyalty.

With a heavy heart, Sukuna acknowledged that he had never truly known what it meant to belong before. Raised within the confines of the Ryomen clan, he had always felt like an outsider looking in, yearning for acceptance and validation amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces. But now, in the wake of his father's guidance, Sukuna realized that being a Ryomen was not just a matter of lineage—it was a testament to the strength of their bond, forged in the crucible of duty and obligation.

"You were all I have," Sukuna mused quietly to himself, the weight of his realization settling upon him like a comforting embrace. Despite the lingering sense of loneliness that had haunted him for so long, Sukuna knew that he was never truly alone. The Ryomen clan was his family, his home, his anchor amidst the tumultuous sea of uncertainty. 

“You’re all I will ever have.” He now says out loud.

Ryomen Sukuna looked away from his father and sighed.

He didn’t know what to do, nor did he know where to go.

But he can’t see you and he’s certain, you don’t want to see him.

It would break your hearts more than ever, to seek each other out.

There was warmth in the water, the water was fine as he sought it.

Ryomen Sukuna wonders if he too will be able to feel fine once more.

fun facts about this chapter

this is the longest chapter i wrote and the longest one i took breaks in between for. its about 48 pages in my docu file and it took a week or so because of my school life. i really like it, though.

fujiwara akiko, really didn't love her children. she hates being married to hiramu. she paid more attention to akimu because his status as heir and how that gives her more power and influence. she looks down on hiromi and blames hiromi for akimu's death.

hiromi was found alone in the woods near the fujiwara's summer manor a few days after what happened. gojo suzaku was the one who found hiromi. it was noted that hiromi was the lone survivor.

hiromi's curse technique is called 'siphon of heaven'. her curse technique by nature is sacrificial, she has to offer up something to use it. hiromi's blood is often used. a god has four aspects of control - life, death, nature and the cosmic heavens. 'heaven's bloom' is a nature in between of life and death.

hiromi does not curse technique often. it takes more cursed energy than what is stored up. though hiromi has honed the techniques throughout the years, it is incomplete. with this purpose, hiromi focuses on using other forms of jujutsu including cursed weapons and aids.

prior having 'siphon of heaven', hiromi did have a developing cursed technique but it never manifested as it was overrided by the pact hiromi and the god made. from hiromi and onwards, only three had been users of the technique. hiromi, another clan leader and genmei, who is hiromi's descendant.

sukuna has yet to completely perfect and refine much of his techniques and he is obssessive over the need to be able to do it. hiromi doesn't think its healthy for him to push himself, but sukuna thinks that the only way he'll improve is if he devotes his time to it.

hiramu and sukuna's relationship as father and son isn't the most typical, but its warm enough that they call each other father and son. hiramu has pride over giving sukuna his name.

fujiwara koku is the same age as hiromi's older brother. he is the heir of the fujiwara, but he's mostly disliked by the rest of the clan. however, they are obliged to follow him by their loyalty to the fujiwara. his fire cursed technique is 'fire matter'.

[kitty-tea]

Why do you hate me

Severus Snape x reader

Wc: 5.1k

Here’s the second and finale part. Requested by multiple people here and ao3. I’m so happy I finally got around to writing it!

Warnings: Super angsty, crying, age gap, physical violence, mentions of abuse, some spiciness, but no actual smut because I’m trying to keep the entire story pg-13 in the romance department

Link to masterlist

Link to part one

Why do you hate me? That question didn’t stop plaguing Severus Snape’s mind as he left you in the corridor after he… did something you weren’t expecting him to do. He wasn’t expecting himself to kiss you either. Ever. It was an impulsive decision that he had to run away from as soon as he had sobered up from the intoxicating taste of your lips. It wasn’t just the taste he couldn’t get out of his mind throughout the day, it was how soft they were as you kissed him back. Even though you showed no signs of resisting him, he still felt guilty about kissing you without your permission. He knew he stepped over the line he should never have crossed. He couldn’t just get through the rest of the school year and look at you without being reminded of that kiss. He felt awful that it had to be him who kissed you and not someone who deserves you more than he did.

His solution was to avoid you in order to get himself away from the guilt. He knew he should’ve apologized for how he had treated you in the past, but he didn’t think you’d ever forgive him. How could he deserve your forgiveness?

For as long as he’d known you, it never made sense to him why you were placed in Slytherin when you couldn’t be any more different from the rest of them. He supposed your pure-blood lineage had something to do with it. He also knew who your parents were. He met them when he first became a Death Eater, and not that much long after, he became your teacher.

As his student, he never shied away from treating you with the same distaste as he did with students from other houses. What irked him the most about you was how kind you tried to be to everyone who was supposed to be seen as being beneath you. He saw that as a sign of weakness.

It wasn’t difficult for him to figure out your parents were the same Death Eaters he met as a young man even though they never mentioned having a daughter. He could only assume that they didn’t like you which made sense considering how different your personality was from theirs. You still had their last name, and you looked like them.

He thought after you had graduated that he’d never have to see you again, but that night Dumbledore introduced you as a new teacher, he was shocked at how wrong he was proven to be.

He couldn’t believe it was you sitting next to him after not seeing each other for years. This time you were his equal. During those three years, Snape noticed you… changed a lot. Except for the happy personality you put out. He also hated how his heart skipped a beat in front of you for the first time at the moment you smiled at him.

After that, every time he’d see you around the school, that same feeling kept coming back inside him, making him feel like he was being lured in by a siren until he broke out of your control that you didn’t even know you had over him. Every time you were in a room together, his eyes were magnetized to wherever you were. His attraction towards you was growing at an alarming rate, and he wasn’t pleased at all.

You were the complete opposite of him: gentle and kind while he was cruel and callous, something he’d gotten used to everyone seeing him as.

Another thing he didn’t understand about you was how you never grew to act bitter and resentful like him after everything he put you through, especially with how he had passed on to you the anger from the trauma he had experienced in school and at home.

Maybe fate had a reason to bring you two together again, to make him recognize the regret he should’ve felt for how he treated you. And he did, which was why he felt like he couldn’t be in your presence anymore after he had kissed you.

Not only was he filled with regret for how he had treated you, but he was also filled with regret for kissing you. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy it because he did. That’s what made him regret it in the first place. It was too overwhelming for him to think about.

What was a relief for him was the fact that he had managed to successfully avoid you for the rest of the school year, even if you had to be in the same room together, you were never alone with him. He didn’t know what he would do if that happened.

No matter how much he tried averting his gaze, you were always that temptation that burned a hole in his peripheral vision. He could feel your eyes on him, a curious gaze, nothing malicious, but making that hole burn deeper.

Every time he had accidentally become trapped in your gaze, he could read the endless questions you had in your eyes even without using magic: why did you kiss me? Why are you ignoring me? Am I that horrible?

No, you weren’t horrible. It was he who was horrible. He had always been too harsh on you. You were clearly too pure and innocent to be associated with someone like him.

As soon as the school year was over, Snape felt relieved that he was guaranteed to never see you again. Or so he thought.

You didn’t tell your students why you were leaving, but Snape had to take a guess that it was because the remaining Death Eaters who weren’t imprisoned had likely tried coercing you in an attempt to join them, scaring you off.

It wasn’t until after you graduated from school that your parents had officially acknowledged your existence to him long after he was able to connect the dots of your relation to them. In short, the less than savory things he read about you in their letters only confirmed his suspicions about them acting as if you didn’t exist earlier. At first Snape didn’t know if he should empathize with you; you were treated worse by your parents as a child than he had been by his. In the end, when he reunited with you as a teacher, he decided to continue to treat you the same as he always had, a reflection of his bitter self he couldn’t let go of and grow past.

After the school year, Snape thought that not seeing you was enough for him to get you off his mind, but he should’ve realized that your parent’s letters to him were a constant reminder of your existence for the past three years since you left his life for the second time. He now had to dread the inevitability of seeing you again after being summoned by your parents to your family home. He wasn’t sure if you were hiding out there, but he liked to think you were somewhere far away with a new life, away from him.

He hoped for your sake that you had made a new life for yourself in a place that was happier and more suitable for you, unlike the gray, dreary living room he was seated in with your parents sitting opposite of him.

Apparently you had not done that because as soon as he heard footsteps coming down the stairs, he turned his head and saw you.

“Mother? Father? What are you doing here?” Snape wondered how on earth you could look and sound so chirpy to see such dreadful people.

“Professor Snape?” He cringed at how you seemed to shrink back a little as if being hit by the pain he had caused you three years ago. “I didn’t know you and my parents knew each other.”

He saw your parents roll their eyes.

“Yes. As we understand, he was also your teacher in school, then your colleague.” Your mother looked at you as if she were talking to a non-sentient creature that she wanted to shoo away.

“How have you been? I haven’t seen you since I said goodbye to you on the train before my first year at Hogwarts! I hope you’re happy with how the house has been. I’ve done my best to care for it.”

Snape almost choked on his own spit. He couldn’t believe it. Did he just hear in other words that your parents left you at the train station and never bothered to check in on you or take care of you during the holidays? That you were left with no family? At least his own parents made sure that he was with them during school holidays even if his situation at home wasn’t the best.

“I didn’t know you were coming.” You said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you when I woke up.”

“That’s because we just got here now.” Your father scoffed.

“Oh… Well, there’s so much to catch up on! I was sorted into Slytherin! Just like you and Professor Snape! Isn’t that wonderful?” You sounded so proud and hopeful that they’d be proud of you in turn.

“Why have you come back? I missed you.” You said. How could you sound genuine and sincere towards them?

“We’ll discuss that later. We have company. Go put on something… other than that.” Your mother scrunched up her nose in a way that made her look both disgusting and disgusted as she pointed at your outfit which consisted of a hoodie, leggings, and bunny slippers. Snape hated to admit to himself that even in plain Muggle clothes you still looked beautiful.

After you went upstairs he realized how hollow he felt without you in his presence. He hadn’t recognized the light you brought in wherever you went until you were gone.

He drowned out your parents’ conversation as his thoughts drifted over to you. It was as if the more he tried to stop thinking about you the more the opposite happened since the day he kissed you.

“Ugh. What is taking that wretched thing so long?” Your mother groaned, tapping her foot impatiently. “Severus, go make sure she has listened to my orders. Tell her to come down. First door next to the stairs.” She commanded him.

He didn’t say anything as he simply stood up, letting his cloak trail behind him. Any excuse to get out of the boring conversation would do.

He swore he wasn’t thinking when he turned the knob of the door and found it unlocked.

“I… apologize. I should have knocked.” The sentence came out of his throat sounding constricted.

He shouldn’t have looked either.

His breath caught in his throat as he saw how perfect and elegant you looked in just your black lingerie. There was nothing you could do to hide the bright redness of your cheeks as your eyes met each other through the mirror of the vanity you were sitting in front of. There was nothing he could do as well to prevent his own eyes from shamefully devouring the sight of your exposed skin he couldn’t stop dreaming of running his fingers over. Feeling guilty for thinking that, he harshly turned himself around, his heart racing in his chest.

“Your mother sent me to check on you.” Snape said after he was by some miracle able to come to his senses. Even though his back was turned towards you, he couldn’t stop thinking about how you looked and how he felt seeing that much of your skin exposed in front of him, with only the bare minimum covered with the flimsy lace fabric.

There was no way he’d ever be able to convince himself that he only saw you as the same student from all those years ago now that he knew what you looked like in… such a revealing state. Not to mention the way you looked at him in turn. The innocence that you projected in your eyes chipped at his cold heart, crumbling it until guilt speared through his conscience.

“Sir, could you… give me a hand?” You called out in a shaky voice.

He didn’t say anything as he turned back around, making sure to keep his gaze away from you at a respectable enough distance.

“I need help putting this on. Please?” You held out a black velvet choker with some sort of a dark colored jewel pendant attached to it. He never recalled seeing you wear such elaborate jewelry before. He wondered if you’d gotten it from some other man that had caught your affection. His heart ignited with jealousy at that thought. After all, what man wouldn’t be smitten with you? You were too beautiful to not be spared a second glance from any stranger.

He heard you shiver as he gathered your hair, his fingers brushing the delicate skin on your neck. He could still feel your eyes on him through the mirror with every movement he made as his nimble fingers clasped the necklace.

Suddenly, snippets of your last conversation together fogged his ability to think.

Your tears running down your cheeks as you begged for answers that one day.

Him not being able to say anything, instead crashing his lips against yours.

Your soft lips moving in sync with his.

How he hated the feeling of being so drawn to you.

Why was your beauty even more irresistible to him after spending years without you? The answer was because he was a depraved man. There was nothing that could satisfy his depravity more than a beautiful, innocent woman in front of him.

He couldn’t hold himself back. With each caress of his fingers over your skin, he felt that same hard exterior melt away, and he did not care. He was done caring.

You let out another shaky breath as his fingers trailed below your ear and down the back of your shoulder blade. He dared to take a look into the mirror to see your eyelids flutter, and your teeth biting your bottom lip, pleasure written clearly all over your face.

He really wanted to see you make that face again in… other situations. What was he thinking? That wasn’t right. He almost felt guilty about letting those other thoughts about the things he could do to you slip into his mind. Almost. He swallowed a huge lump that had formed in his throat at that idea.

With his free hand, he placed it onto the vanity next to where yours was, laying unassumingly. His thumb inched its way to your pinky finger before running along the length. It was a hesitant movement, one that he decided he would retreat from if you voiced any discomfort or showed any signs of it. Except you didn’t. In fact, you were the one who took it further, placing your entire hand under his and intertwining your fingers together.

With this unexpected move from you, Snape had confirmation that you wanted more of him as much as he did from you.

He noticed that there were no words exchanged between you for several minutes. Not that there needed to be.

As he forgot about your impatient parents downstairs, he debated his next move. You were still turned towards the mirror, looking into his reflection demurely, soft lips pouted. You didn’t seem to know what to do, leading him to make the assumption that you didn’t have much experience with men in these situations. It was up to him to take the lead.

Still hesitant with his movements, he brought up his other hand from its spot along your hair, back to your neck, this time caressing the soft skin once again. He smirked a little at the little noises that left your mouth. He knew he could find the right places to touch you to get you to whimper, acting like you were so shy to reveal this part of yourself, the part that enjoyed being pleasured by someone else.

He looked to where your choker pendant sat around your neck, imagining for a moment that it was his hand wrapped around you instead, holding onto you like a delicate flower, too precious and fragile to dare to crush. He had committed many heinous acts with those same hands, tortured, beaten, and much worse. He didn’t deserve to touch something so virtuous after all that he had done. It was wrong. So why did touching you feel so perfect?

Worst of all, because you had no knowledge of his past activities, he was dreading the time you’d find out which he knew would be very soon.

But all that was thrown out the window as soon as his fingers found their way under your bra strap without him having any memory of them moving there. He wanted to see your face as he let it fall off your shoulder. How much more beautiful could you get?

Even if he wanted to resist (which he didn’t anymore,) he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself as his lips found their way to your skin. Except they didn’t.

“Severus! What is taking her so long?! Make sure she comes here… At once!” Your mother’s shrill voice was what broke whatever spell he was under.

“You heard your mother. You should get dressed.” Just like that, he was instantly back to the stoic man you always knew him as. He didn’t have time anymore to think about what he had just done or how far he had almost taken things with you.

He regretted looking back at the mirror to see your disappointed face, frowning with a far away look in your eyes.

Snape didn’t bother explaining to your parents anything as he came downstairs, ignoring their annoyed sneers. He assumed you weren’t that far behind.

“When we tell you to do something, we expect you to do it efficiently.” Was the first thing your mother scolded you when you entered the living room.

You were wearing the same color as the pieces of clothing Snape had last seen you in, a black dress with sheer sleeves and a cinched waist.

“I’m sorry… I-” Your eyes flicked over to Snape’s, cheeks bright red presumably thinking about what had happened between you. Unlike you, he was much better at hiding his emotions, barely sparing you a glance. “I couldn’t find something suitable much quicker.” You finished.

“Apologize to Severus. You kept him waiting too long.” Your mother scolded you again.

“Sorry I kept you waiting too long.” You looked down, not daring to meet his eyes.

The next few moments came at him too fast in a blur. Your mother grabbed your arm and spun you to face her and your father’s sneering faces. Her palm connected to your cheek, the slap making you stumble back but not enough to make you fall over.

She leaned over to your height, and said in a low voice that sounded threatening, “You are and always have been insufferable. Now go and make dinner. We have more guests coming.” She gave your arm another painful looking jerk before letting go.

Without a word or a glance, you held your cheek as you turned away and walked into the kitchen.

Snape stood in shook, blinking at the open space where you had been. Out of all the horrible things he’d seen, none of them could come close to a parent hurting their child. He didn’t even know he still had it in him to feel shocked at something like that.

Your parents had to be on another level of evil to treat you like that in front of other people.

That was one of those moments that involuntarily made him dig up memories from even before his dark past as a Death Eater and his days as a student at Hogwarts, back to his childhood. He thought he had buried those memories of his own family deep enough not to be revisited.

From what Severus Snape had seen, your parents treated you more like a House Elf rather than their child to care for. On top of that, they had no problem showing off their disdain for you in front of company as much as other parents would show off their child’s achievements. There was obviously no way you didn’t think this wasn’t normal. You just didn’t know any better.

As you sat next to him at the dinner table you never spoke unless spoken to, which wasn’t often in the conversation. Remembering what your parents had asked him to do, his heart was shaking inside his chest as his eyes kept darting to your face, to the red welt on your cheek.

There you sat at the table with several other Death Eaters, completely oblivious to the turmoil inside of him, as much as the other guests were to the longing glances you were giving him. It was like you didn’t care or know how to hide your feelings.

You were too innocent to be caught up in the types of people similar to your parents. Unfortunately for you, your innocence only made your parents even more eager to find ways to break you, something Snape didn’t wish to see anymore, but only after he stopped denying his feelings. That still didn’t make him a better person, nor did it make any of the things he’d done to you acceptable. Maybe he was too far gone to ever truly become a better person for you, himself, or anyone. He should never have treated you so harshly in the first place from the moment you stepped into his classroom.

After what seemed like forever, he felt as if he could breathe again as he saw people leave the table one by one and migrate to the living room until it was just him and your parents who remained while you walked around, collecting the plates.

Meet me inside the guest room at midnight.

You picked up the note that was written on a piece of napkin under a plate. You knew exactly who wrote it even if he disguised his handwriting and placed it at a completely different seat than where he sat. He was also the only person staying at the house. Why he felt the need to hide his identity even though you were obviously the only person who would see the note, you had no idea.

You just hoped you’d have your first proper conversation in three years. Your heart pounded faster at that thought. You might’ve been naive (which you had often been accused of being) but you weren’t stupid. You could tell Professor Snape had gone out of his way to avoid you for the rest of the school year after he kissed you that one day. You wanted to get more answers out of him, but at the same time you knew you shouldn’t be pushing him, so you gave him space. You started to wonder if he thought he had made a mistake. Were you really that horrible?

However, you couldn’t deny the way had started to look at you with those piercing black eyes that had made you blush back when you were still his student. You didn’t exactly understand why you had to develop a crush on him out of all people. Why couldn’t it have been someone your age? You wished you could control who you were attracted to, then maybe you would feel the way you should feel about him, and not get butterflies in your stomach in his presence.

You were so distracted by your thoughts that you almost dropped the plates into the kitchen sink. You stopped your movements and blinked before getting sidetracked again.

You sighed, remembering the fiery feeling along your skin that trailed beneath his fingers making a thrill run through you. That wasn’t all that he did.

Even though it was midnight, your parents and the guests were still talking, leaving you confused on why Professor Snape instructed you to meet him in the guest room. Maybe he wanted you to go inside and wait for him so that your parents wouldn’t see you. The note did say “inside” after all.

You opened the door, and quietly shut it behind you before leaning against it and letting out an exhale. You were still wearing the same clothes as earlier since you hadn’t bothered getting changed.

Wondering what Professor Snape wanted to talk about, your mind rushed with theories of your own that were accompanied by a feeling of dread that crawled through your chest and stomach. What if he was coming to tell you that this whole thing, whatever was going on between you two was a mistake?

You pushed yourself off the door and paced around in small circles, keeping your head down until you heard the door open.

Your head jerked up as your eyes met his black ones. He was already so close to you, and you had forgotten how much his taller frame loomed over you.

You weren’t able to control the speed of your breathing, and you didn’t care about how scared you looked. He always knew you were scared of him anyway.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, not knowing what else to say, not that you ever did in front of him.

He didn’t say anything. He only took out a piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it to you.

From the moonlight outside the tall window, you could barely read it.

Make her join us or kill her.

“What does this mean?” You looked up at him. You didn’t know if you were confused, shocked, or both. “Wh-who wants you to… kill me?”

You didn’t know you had started crying until you felt a thumb sliding against your wet cheek.

“I received this note from your parents earlier.” He said. In contrast to you, he showed no emotion.

“Why? I don’t understand. Why would…” You never thought your parents would ever want any harm to come to you. They were your parents after all. They were supposed to love and protect you like how any other parent should.

Your former professor took a deep breath. “I would never let anyone hurt you. Do you trust me?”

“Of course.” You answered after wondering why he would doubt you trusted him.

“Haven’t you had your life threatened by someone before?” He asked shakily.

“Well… yes.” You thought about the time you received letters from the Death Eaters who weren’t imprisoned, telling you the horrible things they would do to you when they found you. Luckily, you left your teaching job at Hogwarts before they could reach you.

“I will explain everything. Eventually, you’ll find out the truth. I can protect you. From everyone, even your parents. I promise I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Why did you kiss me?” You blurted out. Professor Snape blinked at the change in subject.

“It was a mistake.” He set his mouth in a firm line.

“It didn’t seem like it…” To your dismay, your eyes were starting to water again, but you were able to blink the tears away. “I didn’t think it was.” You looked into his night sky-colored eyes.

“You don’t understand.” He said. You instinctively leaned in a little as the backs of his cold fingers traced along your heated cheek before he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I wasn’t lying to you… about what I said that one day.” He continued. He took another deep breath. “Which is why I can’t allow things to go further. It would be selfish of me. Because… of the things I’ve done.” You could tell he was having a hard time getting his thoughts out. You wanted to tell him it was alright and that he could tell you anything, but at the same time, you didn’t want him to take it the wrong way and think you were pushing him to tell you more than what he was comfortable with.

“What will happen with us, then?” You asked.

“I told you that I was going to protect you, and I will.”

Damn it, you were making things so difficult for Severus Snape and you didn’t realize it. On top of acting as a double agent for Albus Dumbledore, protecting Harry Potter, fooling the other Death Eaters, and his teaching job, he didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up, whatever “this” was. He really did care about you, and revealing his feelings for you was a mistake.

For a moment he envied you. Everything was so simple to you. You tried to look for the good in everybody, even the people who obviously didn’t deserve it, such as him or your parents.

And now, you were in danger thanks to your parents and Voldemort’s return. Snape hoped that the day would never come where you would directly face that danger. He truly wished for your innocence to be protected.

“Are you alright, sir?” Your sweet voice broke him out of his own mental prison.

He looked down to where you placed your hands into his. You slowly intertwined your fingers through his, making them look like a tangled mess, reminding him of what his life had come to.

“You didn’t really mean it. Did you?” He didn’t know what you were talking about at first. “It didn’t feel like a mistake… Especially after what almost happened earlier.” You added in an almost whisper. Even though it was mostly dark, he could still see the blush in your cheeks.

He had dug himself into an even deeper hole when he walked into your bedroom without knocking (which he shouldn’t have done,) and took things that far with you. And he would have if he wasn’t interrupted. That’s what scared him, how much he wanted you, how lovely it was to see you, kiss you, touch you in ways he could tell you hadn’t known you liked to be touched.

“You’re right. I… didn’t. I was only lying to myself.” He confessed. He wanted to tell you so much more, like the regret he felt for everything he did to you, but he couldn’t. Because he realized you weren’t the one who was weak, he was. He didn’t know how much more difficult he could make his own life.

He couldn’t stop his eyes from hungrily gazing at you. The moonlight made you look ethereal, highlighting your beauty, tempting him, telling him to come closer and get a taste of what he wanted: you.

Your eyes shined brighter than the stars, pulling him into that siren-like trance you always had him in, but this time he let himself get pulled in. He didn’t want to get out, he wanted to stay where he was, with his lips locked onto yours.

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 47

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Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: The Legacy of Ashes

Notes: So, this is where I ended it :( . I consider the chapters that will follow this as 'extras'.

Special warning for this chapter: !!!!Smut/spice. Foreplay. Intercrural intercourse. Unprotected PIV intercourse. Consensual.!!!

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  47/47

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  The day of the ceremony came on the day of the first fall of snow. And even though you were already wed, the thought of partaking in such a ceremony was nerve wracking. It would be an intimate affair with only a few present.

You had picked a gown that you had successfully kept hidden from Lancelot’s eyes. Red Spear had taken that task on her shoulders and kept it in a chest in her room, she was very serious about no one touching that chest without permission, keeping treasure safe just happened to be one of her talents.

Arthur was the one who found a cloak at the market for you to wear, you hadn’t even asked, it was just a symbol of his kindness. Percival picked flowers for a headpiece and he may have plucked nearly every flower there still was near the castle to find the ones he liked the most. Gawain said not a word about the flowers Percival had picked to Lancelot, nor about the gown or cloak. But neither had the knight spoken about what Lancelot wanted to wear, they had visited the village together and returned acting quite suspicious. There was a chest in your shared bedroom that Lancelot used to store his clothing and some items, a habit from when he was with the paladins, but ever since they had returned from the village that chest had remained locked.

And as Pym and Arthur helped you with getting ready for the ceremony, you couldn’t help but look at the chest. The handy Arthur placed the headpiece, that he had made with Percival’s flowers, upon your head, noticing the curious look you threw at the chest that had finally unlocked earlier that day.

“That curious to see if Lancelot has good taste in clothing?” he asked with a grin.

“Shut up…” you mumbled.

Pym swatted at his arm once. “Don’t tease her. She’s already nervous.”

“I am not that nervous.” you denied it.

Arthur continued to tease you, “That’s why you asked if we’re sure we didn’t see him ride away from the castle?”

Alright, maybe the nerves were getting to you. “I don’t want to waste people’s time if he were to change his mind, that’s all.”

“Of course.” he grinned.

You looked down at the dress, it’s color was neutral but the embroidery was delicate and beautiful. “Do you think he will like this gown?”

“Of course he will.” Pym blurted it out as if the other option was impossible.

Arthur was a bit more forward with his opinion on it. “He may find it difficult to keep his attention on your eyes alone if you decide not to wear the cloak.”

You looked down again, having to agree with him. The neckline was more open than you’d usually choose, but the fabric was too beautiful to pass on.

“Arthur!” Pym smacked his upper arm twice. “Shut up!”

You winced. “It’s fine, Pym. It think he may be right about that…”

Arthur picked up the cloak to help you put it on. “But this will help keep him focused.” It was a deep shade of blue, a heavy and thick fabric. “Come here.”

You stepped closer, letting him drape the cloak over your shoulders and the hood over your head. “I love this cloak. Thank you again for acquiring it for me, Arthur.”

He plucked a loose hair from it. “It was my pleasure. You look stunning in it.”

The cloak did give the feeling that it was a protective layer to hide from the world when it would get too much, it was a welcome shield. “Thank you.”

He was enthusiastic for the day. “Now. Not to worry. As asked, Gawain arranged for only a couple of people to be present. Some of Guine-… Red’s crew did insist on attending. And by Percival’s request there will be a feast afterwards for all to eat and drink what they’d like.”

There was no doubt in you that the boy would take full advantage of that if not supervised. “Just keep Percival away from the wine.”

“Good point.” Pym said.

The jest rolled out. “And Pym too.”

“Oi!” she protested, swatting at your arm now. “I helped you!”

“I wasn’t being serious.” you snorted a laugh

She let out a small sigh, rolling her eyes but with a smile. “We should get going.”

“We have time.” Arthur quickly said, appearing rather nervous. “Let’s just enjoy this day, take our time.”

You grew suspicious. “Is there something wrong?”

He cleared his throat, feeling the suspicious stares of both you and Pym. “No.”

“Arthur.” Pym sensed that he was trying to deceive you. “What’s going on?”

He tried not to alarm you. “They asked me not to worry you with it. Just wait here for a while, read a little, talk to us a bit.”

Your smile fell. “Arthur, this is the day of my joining, don’t lie to me.”

He sighed. “Alright. Just… don’t worry, alright? There is a slight problem.”

Your hands tightened around the arms of the chair you sat in. “What sort of problem?”

He took a step back. “Gawain and Lancelot left with Red Spear and some of the crew. News was received about Fey in trouble not so far from here.”

He had tried to keep it a secret that the one you were supposed to give your vows to was not even present?!?

Panic set in. “When did they leave?!?”

“This morning.” Arthur sheepishly admitted. “That’s why I came to help so early.”

“I shouldn’t be getting ready for this ceremony while my husband is out there risking his life!” You grabbed your sword and stomped out of the room. Arthur and Pym chased after you.

He tried to change your mind, “You can’t fight in that dress-”

You didn’t look back and quickly walked through the halls to reach the stables. “Watch me.”

Setting foot in the courtyard made you halt. Lancelot had returned along with the others and stood next to Gawain. From what you could hear they had successfully freed a group of Feys out of the hands of people who had wanted to hand them over to the Church. Among the ones they had saved, there were three young women gathered around Lancelot and carefully fawning over him. It was no wonder, he looked terribly handsome in the attire he wore now. His cloak a deep shade of blue, much like your own, matched the color of his shirt and the new jerkin he wore was a dark grey, all of it had embroidery on it that looked like Fey symbols. It would have looked spectacular if it had not been stained by blood. His eyes locked on you and for a moment it felt like everything else no longer existed in the world.

There you stood, in the snow. The beautiful cloak draped over your shoulders, the hood of it curved around your face and made you look ethereal. The gown complimented your body so well that his hands ached to touch it.

He stepped away from Gawain and crossed the distance of the courtyard to reach you. Your eyes swerved over him, growing concerned about the blood.

“Are you hurt?” Your hands searched for signs of injury on him.

His gaze traveled over you freely. “Beautiful…”

You blinked, his hands came to your waist and drew you in closer. “What happened?”

He couldn’t help but appreciate the gown while he explained the situation, “A group of men were traveling through the area with Fey they had captured. They had hoped to trade them to the paladins for coin.”

“Why not tell me?” you asked. “I would have come along and helped. Why tell Arthur to deceive me?”

He prayed he was not in trouble over it. “I did not want to worry you. I want this day to be perfect, you deserve a true joining.”

A small sigh fled your lips. “It would have been anything but perfect if I learned that you were harmed or killed.”

“I am unharmed.” He smiled with caution.

“Uhm…?” Percival pulled your attention, then pointed at your gown.

Some of the blood had come off Lancelot’s clothes and stained your gown. The Ash Man got a little pale upon seeing it as well, swallowing hard when his eyes flickered up to yours to read your response.

He had ruined the soft fabric, tainting it with the blood of those he’d fought, while you looked so breathtakingly beautiful in it…

You couldn’t help but pout. “My gown…”

He felt so guilty. “I will find you another. I promise I-”

“No. It will do. I prepared for this ceremony for days, I am not delaying it.” A playful smile curved your lips whilst whispering to him, “I’ll just take it off later.”

The change in his eyes was instant, they got a darker hue. You took hold of his hands before they would be too tempted to try and reach for you again.

“Go wash your hands, before you get blood over something else.” you told him.

With a nod he headed off to do exactly that. Percival shook his head, clearly biting his tongue to not voice his opinion on how the Ash Man had been foolish to stain your gown. It was Gawain who approached, took a rag from under his sword belt and poured some water over it with his flask. The knight went ahead and tried to get the stains out, muttering about Lancelot’s tendency to act before thinking.

        The location for the ceremony was chosen to be by the fire pit, as per Merlin’s idea. The magician found it fitting for the Ash Folk to unite themselves by the ancient fires. So you stood before the flames, opposite of Lancelot, hands in his. He must have sensed how overwhelming it felt for you and gave your hands a gentle squeeze.

Those present were Red Spear along with some of her crew. Merlin, Gawain who stood beside Kaze. Arthur who was trying to stand a little closer to Red Spear. Gareth, and Pym who stood a few steps away with Percival at her side.

Lancelot’s cloak complimented the one upon your shoulders and made you wonder if Arthur had helped him choose it too.

Merlin stepped forward. In his hand a long woven string of dried purple flowers, that somehow still smelled heavenly, and was woven together with a long piece of blue ribbon.

He used it to bind your and Lancelot’s hands together. “Bound by destiny, love and loyalty. Entwined as the roots of a tree, ever growing as the branches and flourishing as the leaves.”

It was odd how experiencing a true joining for the first time could bring you close to tears so quickly, but you refused to let them show out of worry that they may not be seen as the symbol of joy that they were. What you did notice was that even Lancelot appeared to have a similar response.

Merlin spoke to all, “We are here today to let this Ash Man and Ash Woman join together in life.” He turned to Lancelot. “If you wish to speak your vows to her, you may now do so.”

You felt the hands around yours tremble, saw the heavens in his eyes warn of rain. Baring his heart in front of the eyes of others like this was harder than he’d expected it to be. He needed a moment to compose himself and was too afraid of the reactions to ask for it.

“Can I start?” you asked him and Merlin with your sweetest smile.

The magician had noticed the Ash Man’s struggle to speak and understood why. “As you wish.”

You held Lancelot’s hands a little tighter and waited until he made eye-contact before you spoke, “The first time I learned that you were my husband, I thought it was the cruelest thing that had ever happened to me.”

Those present grew a little wary, sending each other questioning glances. Even Lancelot showed signs of oncoming panic.

You continued, letting those in the room breathe easy again. “But now I know better. I know that in my darkest days you brought me the light I never had. Now I can decide to say ‘yes’ to you, to choose you as I would have the first time if I had known then how wonderful you are. And this time I can say without reservation or deceit that I vow to love you.”

He stood before you, breathing shallower, his gaze glued to your own. After blinking a few times, he seemed to return from the place his thoughts had wandered off to.

He saw Merlin give an encouraging nod and found the courage to speak his own vow, “I will always regret how we began. I deceived you, today I vow to never do so again. I cannot erase the past but I will always try to right the wrong done to you. For long I had believed my heart to be cold, until I felt you ignite the fire inside of it. Love is an action, a privilege, a dedication to preserve what grows between us. I vow to cherish and hold your love for me as you do the same with mine.”

The tears were hard to hold back but you managed it. Red Spear glanced at Arthur but quickly snapped her eyes forward again when he nearly noticed it.

“Are they going to kiss again?” Percival sounded like the thought of it made him nauseous.

“Shhh!” Pym hushed him fast.

Merlin looked at you. “Will you still keep him as your husband?”

The answer was one without doubt, “I will.”

Then Merlin looked at Lancelot. “Will you keep her as your wife?”

He nodded eagerly before answering, “I will.”

Merlin looked to the small onlooking crowd. “If anyone objects to this joining, speak now.”

“Ahem.” Gareth broke the silence.

Lancelot’s hands tightened ever so little around your own. If your hands had not been bound, Gareth would have regretted that jesting behavior.

Gareth held back a smile upon seeing the glare of Gawain. “What? I’m just clearing my throat.”

By the looks of it, he’d be clearing his throat from Percival’s knife if he kept up the behavior. Under the pressure of the other stares, Gareth kept quiet.

Merlin addressed both you and Lancelot, “This part is much like a wedding of Manbloods. Seal this joining with a kiss when you are ready.”

Lancelot was clearly ready fast. Almost did you giggle at how politely he kissed now, so very proper in front of the others. Afterwards, Gawain came forth and took off the ribbon and flowers as Lancelot had asked of him.

“Can we feast now?” Percival got enthusiastic right away.

“Boy.” Gawain send a scolding look. That lasted until most of Red Spear’s crew began to react just as enthusiastic on Percival’s question.

Lancelot saw Gawain look at him for approval. He spoke to everyone, “Yes. Now we feast!”

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  The feast included all those present in the castle. For the celebration Gawain had allowed ale to be purchased from the village, along with all sorts of baked sweets and delicious food for all to indulge in. You were in the dining hall, enjoying the music some of the Fey decided to play whilst others happily ate from the food available. The first thing Percival did was stuff a lot of those baked sweets into his pockets and then went to store them in his room, Lancelot had seen but said nothing of it.

Arthur was sitting next to Red Spear, she often had a rare smile on her face when the Manblood was so close to her. Kaze was stabbing some meat on her own dagger and took a big bite of it, preferring not to seek out much conversation with the others as she enjoyed her meal. Pym had gone to dance with Gareth after he had asked her, she had stepped on his toes at least twice but he bravely continued. Merlin sat next to you, pouring himself another tankard of ale while offering to pour you one too, which you politely declined.

Gawain and Lancelot had gone outside the dining hall to discuss something the knight had noticed on the map. Even during the feast of a joining, duty still called upon them. A hand was suddenly near your face and you looked up to see one of Red’s crew.

“It’s your joining, come dance.” the man with a long beard said as he offered his hand to take.

You weren’t sure if it was a good idea. “I should wait for my husband.”

Merlin interfered, “It would be a shame if you would spend the evening of your joining sitting at the table whilst others danced.”

He must have seen how you had kept looking at those dancing and how fun it seemed to be. You did want to dance, it had been so terribly long since the last time.

“You’re right.” you told Merlin. Then turned to the man, “What’s your name?”

He smiled broadly when you placed your hand in his. “Drustan”

You got up from the chair. “I’d love to dance, Drustan.”

He walked with you to where others were dancing, at least it was no slow or intimate way of dancing but rather one that required quite a bit of pace. The dance was energetic and you had no idea that it would get you out of breath so fast, but it was just too much fun to stop. You spun around and around, watching the room flash by your eyes until your rear collided with someone.

“I kept you waiting.” Lancelot stated and swiftly put his hands on your hips, daring to pull you even closer.

Your cheeks felt close to burning when your back made contact with his groin. “I decided to dance while waiting for you to return.”

“I saw.” His hands skimmed over your hips. “You look so very beautiful tonight.”

You bit down a grin. “Just tonight?”

His breath was hot against your ear not a second later, speaking your name in a scolding manner. You leaned your head back against him, smiling at the way he proceeded to kiss the back of your head.

“Are you not too warm?” he wondered, having seen the fast way of dancing while you still wore that thick cloak.

It dawned on you just how warm the room was with the hearths heating it and the presence of everyone. “My cloak-”

He needed no further answer and took off your cloak, swallowing hard when seeing what it revealed underneath. You tilted your head a little to see why his breath had hitched. From his angle he had a perfect view right into the neckline of your gown. And he was unashamedly staring, not even having noticed that you were waiting for his eyes to return to yours. They returned only after you had softly pressed a kiss to his jaw. Flushed cheeks and the look in his eyes of a boy caught stealing a sweet. He took a moment to recollect his composure and put your cloak down over a chair nearby before returning to your side.

“Can you dance?” you whispered sweetly.

His voice wavered, “I can learn.”

You turned in his arms, taking his hands in yours. “Let’s see how good your footwork is without a sword in your hands.”

He took on that challenge, proving that great swordsmen were indeed good dancers. You taught him some simple dances and found out that he was quick to learn and follow the example from those around him.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  After the long feast, that was still not at an end by the sounds of the singing in some areas of the castle, you returned to your room. It was late and even Lancelot appeared tired. It was quite lovely, that silence in the bedchamber as you both reminiscent about the night.

He was the first to speak, “Did you enjoy yourself?”

You smiled as you walked to the wardrobe to grab your nightgown. “I really did. You?”

“Yes.” He took off his cloak and began to dress down, trying not to yawn too loudly.

“I have not seen you so tired in quite some time.” you pointed out.

“I was restless these past few days, often waking in the night. I wanted this day to be perfect.” he admitted.

“And it was.” You walked over to him, helping him take off his shirt even though he needed no aid.

He cupped your face, leaning in to brush his nose along yours. “Thank you for helping me to right this wrong. You could have said ‘no’.”

You let the tip of your nose graze over his. “I’d wed you a thousand times over.”

He succumbed to the desire to kiss you and let his lips caress yours slowly, tasting your bottom lip, the slow pace was heavenly. It came to an end when he broke away to yawn.

“Am I boring you?” you jested.

“Never.” he said apologetically.

Your hands glided over his shoulders to sooth that worry in him. “It’s alright. Go rest. I’ll just wash up and join you.”

He gave a grateful nod and went to lay down while you went to the washbasin. You saw him fall asleep mere seconds after his head touched the pillows, he must have been very tired indeed. You took off the gown and washed with no haste, joining him in the bed a while later after putting on your chemise. Quietly you got in, trying not to wake him. He still turned over behind you, as you laid on your side facing away from him, and put an arm around you. Slow and playfully you scooted back and bumped your rear into him, it only took doing it three times before he got as close as he could, his pelvis slightly pushing against your rear. What began playful, grew into more when you did not stop and his hips chased the feeling of you grinding up against him. You bit back a noise when feeling that familiar movement of his hips as they moved against you, and hearing the way his breathing got just a bit louder until it almost sounded like he was trying not to grunt. One calculated graze of your rear over his groin and you felt the result of your teasing poke you.

“Should I have let you sleep?” you felt a bit guilty over potentially ruining his sleep with this.

His husky voice slipped into your ear like silk, “Keep going.”

To empathize, he pulled your hip back just as he moved forward into you. You swallowed a sound at his growing confidence with intimacy, his boldness to take what he desired.

“I miss the heat of you.” He brushed his hand from your collarbone to your shoulder, hooking his thumb under the neck of the chemise to bare your shoulder, mouth locking on the bare skin there.

The confession shot arousal through your veins and it settled in your groin. You made your own confession in return, “I miss feeling you too.”

He held your hip in place and pushed his groin firm against you, letting you feel him well. Hushing the quiet yearning sound he could hear you try to muffle. “Shhh…”

When you kept brushing your rear against him, the hand on your hip moved to your stomach and glided up to curve over your breasts. He fondled both, softly kneading at them. His mouth tended to your shoulder before it moved to your neck.

There was no warning when he began to bundle up the skirt of the chemise, and he snaked his hand under it the second it was high enough up your thighs. He cupped you intimately, brushing his hand over you a few times before finally using two fingers to tease. The enthusiasm and patience he showed always made it near impossible to not plead for more. Often you were stubborn and tried to keep quiet for as long as you could, something he took as a challenge to arouse you so much it made you lose your inhibitions

There was no haste, no goal, just comfortable enjoyment. Him touching you, you tilting your head to kiss him with appreciation. Him gently sucking at the corner of your bottom lip, biting down and touching it briefly with his tongue. You reaching back to rub a hand over his groin….

Palming him through his trousers earned an appreciative sound from him. You grinned against his lips when feeling him harden further.

“Touch yourself.” you encouraged and collected his hand from between your legs. “Do it for me?”

He palmed himself in his trousers at the encouragement, it was helping him break through the mental barrier he had towards pleasuring himself

He knew he’d always hear the memory of your encouraging words speak to him now every time he’d lay a hand to himself.

Slowly he stroked himself, feeding his eyes with the view of you, especially when you pulled the neck down of the chemise some more. He moved the sheets and dropped his gaze lower, fixing it on your thighs still hidden mostly under the chemise. “Move your chemise up. Bare yourself more for me.”

That deepening of his voice was caused by his lust-filled state and enhanced your own, teasingly slow you moved the fabric up your thighs.

Then his lips were near your ear, offering you the praise for it. “My lovely wife…” A deep unsteady breath. “I want to sink myself into you, I want to feel you clench around me. You’re so beautiful when you’re enjoying me.” His breathing got even deeper. “The curve of your mouth as you moan…”

You grew restless, heated. “Lancelot…”

He slid his hand between your legs again, and with little effort his affections had results. “Wet already?”

You hated him for the smug comment, and hated how it still aroused you further. “Are you going to rile me up, or are you going to put your thoughts into action?”

He did not need more incentive than that, he freed his hardened self and drew you closer by the hips to slide himself between your thighs. “Hold me. I need you to-” he swallowed hard, “hold me just like this.”

You hummed with a smile, feeling the heat of him radiate against your inner thighs as you squeezed them together to hold him and let him use them for his pleasure. His eyes fell shut at the feeling it brought him, he gave your thigh a squeeze and slowly ground into you, feeling how your thighs held his hardened length well between them. His arm wrapped around to hold you close, gently you rocked against each other.

You felt him brush against your groin constantly, heard him quietly groan from pleasure. “Good?”

“I love your thighs.” It rumbled deep from within his throat. “I can feel you coat me with your wetness.”

He did so love them, the sight of them dripping with his seed from that night in the inn still often returned to his dreams and memories. Exploring ways of pleasure felt infinite, there was so much he had missed out on until now. Now you sweetly let him explore and guided him in the ways of desire.

You dared to request something. “Can you try to brush into me more?”

He was quick to honor that request and used a hand to angle himself. He rocked his hips into you and the tip of him grazed through the wetness and over the sensitive bundle of nerves. It provided enough friction to cause moans to tumble out of you.

After a while, you ground into him harder, a clear signal to him. He didn’t know if this would work, but wished for it to. He moved your knee up and forward toward your stomach then started to palm himself and teased over and through your wetness with his cock, it was coating him, preparing him for what you yearned for.

He teased your entrance with the tip of him. “Breathe.”

Slowly he brought himself inside, holding you by the hip as you moaned at the fullness he caused. He held your hip, rolling into you over and over again in a calm pace, keeping you against him as close as he could. He wasn’t fully thrusting, just letting these gentle movements build the desire up to a heated need. Hearing his stuttering breaths into your ear was highly stimulating. You held his arm around you, waving your fingers between his own and letting your body follow the moves of his. He ground into you slow and deep, and it wasn’t long before he uttered quiet praises in your ear when his mouth wasn’t too busy leaving a trail of wet kisses along your shoulder and jaw. It was so intimate that your body responded strongly, you felt yourself get so slick for him that it was almost embarrassing. He shifted his body a bit and it brought the feeling inside you to a whole other level. You let go of his hand and grabbed onto the pillow, squeezing it hard into your fist to keep a hold of yourself, pressing your face into it to muffle the way your breathing had changed so drastically. He was trying to get the noise out of you, pushing your hip to get you flatter on your stomach on the bed and almost putting himself on top completely.

He kept your hip pinned down. “You hold me so well…” Slid himself to the hilt inside. “Feels so good…”

It was almost too much and somehow not enough, the strength of him holding you down was sending another surge of arousal through your veins. By moving to be completely on your stomach, you granted him the control. The display of trust aroused him deeply, he throbbed once inside you. He supported himself on his elbow and let his hips drive himself into you over and over again, his hot breath right past your ear and behind it. His tongue darted out against your neck, tasting your skin until his lips enclosed the spot. He brought an arm around and lifted your hips just a little, his next thrusts made you gasp for air. Desperately you moaned, the tightening in your core sought it’s release.

“You are so beautiful like this.” he breathed into your ear.

You doubted you didn’t look like the absolute mess he made of you, and hid your face into the pillow.

When he could sense that you doubted he was truthful, he became bolder. “I want you to come undone on me, to feel you hold and consume me.”

It was affecting you greatly, there was no hiding your moans as they grew louder, the pillows were no match against the sound.

He loved it. He loved to feel and hear you experience such pleasure by him. You felt so very slick, moved so very eagerly with him. Dammit… he had the perfect wife under him. Sweet, clever, brave. Wet, moaning, calling upon him for release like he was a deity.

He got very bold, a hint of his ego slipping through with how aroused he felt, “I want to spill into you. I want to see you walk around tomorrow and know that some of me is still inside you.”

It made you so flustered to hear him voice his desires, even worse when he sank his hand between your legs and began to massage you intimately. You grew restless under him, hot by the sensations he caused.

“Do you want that?” he asked so very gently, his movements were slower and deep, “To feel my seed flow into you and feel what you do to me?”

Suddenly he stopped, halting all administrations. You were confused for a few seconds until realizing he was truly making you ask for it. “Don’t stop.”

He hummed, pressing a kiss to the back of your head, then the side.

“Please.” you added.

He slid forward slow and deep, pausing when he was inside completely. “You moan so good” His hand glided down along your back and took hold of your bottom, kneading at it gently but firm. “You’re behaving rather submissive tonight.”

The need for him was too strong to feel embarrassed. “Lancelot…”

His hand slid between your legs again, “Perhaps I should taste what I feel?”

It felt too good to change positions. “No, please don’t pull out.”

If only you could have seen the glistering of his eyes that it caused to hear you say that. He slowly began to thrust, too slowly on purpose. A deep low moan came out of him as his eyes fell shut for a moment. “You want me to stay like this?”

“Yes.” Desperation you had not felt before came over you, the feeling of him slowly thrusting and caressing was somehow incredible but also making you desperate for more. Almost as if you wanted to crawl away to avoid it’s further release depraving torment. He was purposely delaying both yours and his release, wanting to make this pleasure last as long as it could.

When he thrusted forward again, you moved forward to avoid the stimulation as it was slightly overwhelming. He noticed and heard the desperate noises fill your throat, the way your hands were gripping at the pillows as if to strangle them. He did not let you escape the pleasure he gave and simply held you in place.

“Lance-” you whimpered in despair at his stimulation.

“Shhh…” he hushed, sounding ridiculously patient considering how hard he was, “What do you want me to do?”

Your answer was without shame, too in need for finding completion. “Please, let me come undone.”

His hips rolled faster again. “More?”

“Please…” you pushed yourself up a little by the elbows, feeling the angle change to just how you needed it to be.

He broke through his restraint, thrusting himself inside with long strokes. Your release was close, and he gave your thigh a greedy squeeze, then did the same to your rear. The moans broke free of the chains you held them in, louder than you’d expected.

He smirked down at the sounds filling his ears and quickened his pace to bring you to your height. “There you are…”

Your body was getting overwhelmed and reflectively you moved forward, he kept you perfectly on his cock and as he sank himself inside again your release hit. Your body shuddered strongly as you whimpered at the sensation. He had stilled for a moment, letting you come down from the most of it first.

He slowly thrusted whilst you recovered, eager to continue. The resuming stimulation had you squirm under him. He had a hand on your hip to keep you where he needed, thrusting with long deep strokes, the squirming only encouraging him as he could hear the quiet gasps coming from you.

He had felt you squeeze around his cock, felt your body tense and release. Gods, he wanted to bury himself to the hilt inside and never let you go again. He never made the noises he did before now, the deep grunting came natural, it all came so natural now. He dared to hold your hip, hold you close so there was practically no separation when he thrusted. He remained buried deep inside, withdrawing barely before forwarding again. This was how he preferred you, as close as he could have you.

His stamina had grown since the day you had consummated the marriage, he had gained more control over his body’s reactions and he took full advantage of it to enjoy it all longer.

“Come here.” The smile on his face was heard in that purring of his voice. With an arm around you, he moved your hips up, his pace increased. “I will have you shuddering under me again before the sun touches our window.”

You were holding on to the pillow for dear life. He was close, you knew it by the way he was breathing and trembling.

You spoke some titillating things to push him to his peak, “How will you do that? Are you going to use your tongue on me?”

It thrilled him. He was nearly out of breath. “Amongst other things…”

“Your fingers?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to sink them into me?”

“Yes.” His breathing got harder. “Make… you want more…” He leaned in, resting his forehead against the side of your head, needing the connection.

“You’re so close.” you whispered. “Go on, let me feel how good you feel.”

The request had barely left your lips and he fulfilled it. A desperate grunt fled him. He twitched and pulsed, spilling himself inside. He thrusted lightly until it was over.

He wanted to thank you, the only thing stopping him was the fear of how it could come across. So he said it over and over again in his mind as it slowly returned to him and he pressed his lips to the back of your head and to your temple.

You shivered, suddenly aware of the cold chill in the room after sweating. Upon noticing it, he withdrew himself and moved the sheets over the both of you, tucking you in. Your mind was still trying to comprehend how your body could possibly feel this good. He cleared his throat, feeling how dry it had gotten from breathing through it. His breathing steadied and he made you roll over to face him. He couldn’t resist reaching down to feel the result of this coupling between your legs. Your hand flew to his upper arm upon feeling it, your body still too sensitive.

The mixture of bodily fluids coated his fingers. He was yours and you were his, claimed once again by carnal need. Your skin glowed, the sweet small smile curled your lips, it was the perfect compliment.

He wiped his hand clean on the sheet and then cupped your neck to steal a kiss once more. He stole another. “I love how you are now…”

You smiled against his lips, at how he so craved the closeness. In battle stoic and cold, but here?

Your thumb pushed on his bottom lip, quickly covering his top lip too when he parted from your mouth. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good before.”

A mischievous smile grew upon his lips as he spoke against your thumb. “We still have a long night ahead of us if you wish to feel even better.”

You rested your forehead against his. “I meant my mind. But I must admit that my body does share the same feeling.”

“You are happy?” he brushed a hand over your head.

“I am.” you admitted. “And you? Have you come to accept this place as our home?”

“No.” he said. “My home is where you are. This place is just what keeps us warm against the snow.”

It was true. Anywhere could feel like home when around those one felt most welcome with. You moved closer to him, nesting into his chest to bathe in his warmth.

“I love you.” you breathed out against his skin.

He brought his arm around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “And I you, Little Ember.”

This was home, this feeling when in his arms, the beginning of a life filled with a love neither of you thought existed until now. And no matter what the future would bring, together nothing could stop you. Together you would build a home in the castle that held the history of the Ash Folk.

And now it held it’s future too.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten ​​  @the-great-adventures-of-me   @linkpk88   @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks ​​  @slytherlight   @beananacake ​​     @crystallizedtime ​​ @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart   @5am-cigarette   @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream  

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