#thinking about my village and feeling <_< about going back

[rageagainstmymachine]

Do You Want A Second Opinion? 3(some): Valentine's Day Special - Primis Richtofen / F! Reader / Ultimis Richtofen

Summary (not really): Happy Valentine's Day! @coldbrewghoul and I have teamed up to bring you two Valentine's Day specials. I couldn't have done this without them. (Thank you for beta reading my work, Ghoul... and encouraging for me to write at all, lol.) If you haven't, go read their fic! (Once you're done with mine, ofc.)

This is your third time here, I'm sure you know what to expect by now. Have another threesome with our two favourite men. ;)

Words: 10,572

Warnings: NSFW - Cursing, Smut, Threesome

Paris, France; beautiful this time of year. The smell of freshly baked pastries caressing your nose, while carafes of red wine stained your tongue. The city just begged to be explored, to be experienced. It was the city of love, after all, and this was the perfect time to melt into its embrace, with Valentine’s Day around the corner. You smiled, closing your eyes and thinking of the day and what it might bring: you and Edward, basking in your love, perhaps making love under the stars if a secluded space just so happens to find you. A dreamy sigh escapes your lips.

“A third sigh. Have I perhaps forgotten something und this is mein reminder?” Edward teased, putting down his tools and looking at you. The lone lightbulb in the room threw harsh shadows on his face, but you could still see the tender look he gave you.  

You look back at the post card you held in your hand, tracing the eiffel tower with the other, trying to hold onto the fantasy you were weaving in your mind. Unfortunately, you weren’t in Paris. You weren’t even in France. You were holed up in some safehouse in god knows, USA. It wasn’t even anywhere near Valentine’s day, at least according to the sweltering heat outside. But you know, given the dutiful calendar you’ve made in the back of your journal, if you were back in your time it would be just on the brink of the holiday. And so you closed your eyes, willing the February chill to grace your skin, and once again fantasized of the perfect vacation to Paris. 

“Just thinking about Paris. I want to go there one day.”  

“Paris? Why would you want to go there?” He grimaced, turning up his nose in German superiority. 

“That’s like the dream destination, is it not? The city of love~” You sigh again, holding the card to your chest. It was a dream, you knew, but sometimes that’s all you had in this zombie-riddled world. “I bet it would be soooo romantic.”  

You could hear Edward get up, his chair scraping against the floor as it was pushed by the backs of his legs. You peeked an eye open to see him saunter, yes, saunter, towards you, a knowing look in his eye. “This wouldn’t be a manifestation of a certain holiday coming up, hm?” 

You grin at him, a slight blush rising to your cheeks as a giddy feeling enveloped you. He remembered. You are both surprised and not at the same time. “Well, maybe…” You laughed, before turning towards him, the Paris postcard discarded. “Can we go somewhere cold at least? Somewhere that feels like winter?” 

“Feels like winter, hm? I can certainly try, Liebling, in fact, we do have to go to a Finnish research facility here soon-“ 

“Ah, too cold.” You wince.  

Edward chuckled, nodding along. “Very well… I suppose we can hop over to Der Riese again, I do have some things I would like to pick up from here. There’s a small abandoned village nearby, so would staying there be acceptable?”  

“I… could be agreeable to that, but what do you need from there?” 

“A doctor never reveals all his cards, fraulein.” 

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the smile that cracks through your annoyed facade. Secretive Edward, who would have guessed. “As long as you make time for me on Valentine’s Day, alright?” 

“Verspreche.” 

~ 

The next morning, you packed up your things with a sense of anticipation. You couldn’t help but glance at the postcard frequently, imagining what Valentine’s Day, which according to your calendar was today, will bring you. It wouldn’t be Paris, but perhaps, with Edward by your side, it would be just as good. If anything there will be a decent bed at the village Edward mentioned, and that’s already better than what you’re used to. You placed your final few things — trinkets you’ve found on your journey, into your bag and closed it, rocking from heel to toe as you swung it on your back. 

“Ready for our departure, Lieb?” Edward asked, cramming a final blueprint into his map case. You found it comical how he was struggling to get it into the tube. Surely he didn’t need that many blueprints? 

“More than ready. I’ve been itching to get out of here the moment we got here.”  

Once Edward gave up and folded the blueprint to put in his primary bag, (the scandal!) he led you out to the yard, where Dempsey and Takeo were waiting, you idly chatted with Dempsey while waiting for Nikolai. He was only a few minutes, and soon all five of you were standing in a circle, Richtofen fishing out the summoning key. 

“We will travel straight to Der Riese first, then once I have grabbed what I need, we will walk to the village, it’s not far.” Edward said while orange sparks began to shoot out of the orb.  

“Right. Let’s just make it quick, yeah? Don’t want to spend more time there than I have to.” Dempsey gruffed. 

“Patience, Dempsey, although I know that’s not your forte.” 

The portal opened, it had decided to spit you out at the mainframe platform, and Dempsey all but shoulder checked him while he decided to be the first one through. Nikolai and Takeo followed, leaving you and Edward as the last ones there. He motioned for you to go first, and so you did, stepping through, Richtofen following you only a pace behind. You couldn’t help but feel all sorts of excitement when a cold chill nipped your skin. Oh, it truly did feel like it was Valentine’s Day. You threw him a smile, and he reciprocated it with a knowing smirk. He was doing this right, he just needed to keep it up.  

Breslau, oh how you could go the rest of your life without ever visiting again. But this time was different, you decided nothing was going to get you down. 

Nothing.  

Not a single thing. 

“All right, give me about five minutes und we will be ready to head out.” Edward said, placing the summoning key… actually, you didn’t know where he stored it. Hm. 

“Why not drop us off? Why must we loiter here with you?” Nikolai asked. He had a fair point. 

Richtofen didn’t answer, just turned on his heel to walk towards the animal testing lab. He didn’t even take a step before he paused, tensing. On instinct, without a word, the five of you drew your pistols, a stray sound finding your ears. No one should be here, and yet, it sounded like someone was. 

“What was noise?” Nikolai whispered, eyes darting back and forth as he tried to pinpoint where it came from, the echo didn’t help at all. 

“There is a… disturbance. We are not alone, Richtofen.” Takeo explained. 

“Well, if it’s a maggotsack, they’ll be zombie paste in no time.” Dempsey cocked his 1911, talking a few tentative steps down the stairs. 

“I don’t hear any moans? To be fair I’m not even sure what I did hear,” you whisper, looking at Richtofen expectantly. However he decided to play this, you’ll follow.  

He had his hand tilted forward, eyes on the ground as he strained to listen for anything else. You were right, there weren't the telltale moans and groans of the undead. It didn’t necessarily mean there was someone here, it would very well just be a wild animal, but the uncertainty was something none of you liked. “Come with me to teleporter A.” He said, eyes flicking to you. “Nikolai, Takeo, take teleporter B. I trust you can handle C, Dempsey?”  

The marine nodded, confidently taking a sharp right at the bottom of the stairs to take the right hand path to the teleporter. Nikolai and Takeo followed him, soon splitting off to investigate their respective teleporter. 

Edward cocked head towards the left and began his descent down the stairs, you followed close behind, gun drawn, eyes peeled. You climbed the stairs towards teleporter A, and soon stopped into your tracks. Another sound. More… deliberate. It was footsteps. Heavy, too heavy to be any small animal. It was distinctively human. He gave you a glance and you nodded, ready to face whoever it was. 

You creeped closer, silently, both weapons aimed and sweeping the area. More movement, now whispers? Is there more than one person? Your heart raced, your lungs held onto the air you took in, and turned the corner and-! 

“Ah, schieße! Why must you be so cruel, little machine?” Edward cooed. 

At least his voice did… but your lover’s lips didn’t move even an inch. Though, it was certainly him… but if it wasn’t him, then that means… 

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding.” You groan, angrily holstering your weapon. Not this, not now… 

The man who shares a voice and name with your sweetheart jerked his head towards your voice, seemingly just as shocked to see you and you were him. It was that fucking Richtofen! The older one! Jesus Christ.  

Richtofen’s surprised look melted into an unsettling grin, he excitedly walked down the stairs of the teleporter and sauntered (ugh.) over to the two of you. He cooed your name in a sickly sweet tone, and greeted Edward by his title. “Oh, what ever brings you to mein part of Deutschland?”  

“That’s truly none of your concern.” Edward answered, also holstering his Mauser. “Why are you here?”  

“Oh, mein younger self, if you are to be keeping secrets then so am I! But nothing dangerous if that’s your concern.” He groaned out the word ‘dangerous’ in that peculiar moan he does with some words.  

You felt tense, awkward, and truly you’d need a thesaurus to better explain all the complicated emotions swimming in your chest. He said your name, he knows who you are, therefore he at least remembers Camp Edward, and maybe the Pentagon. It’s been months since you last met him at the Pentagon, and even though you said goodbye to him on a good note back then, this was still not who you wanted to see on fucking VALENTINE’S DAY.  

“Truly, I thought you would be much happier to see me, fraulein, given our little rendezvous we’ve shared in the past.” His words dripped with a certain sadness. It was odd, truly. It was his dramatic flair, yes, but something about it made it sound almost… genuine under it all.  

“Richtofen,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, “it’s just bad timing.” 

“Bad timing? Any time is the right time to spend with me! I’m genuinely offended.” 

“Edward and I have plans-.” 

“Oh do we, now? Ohohoh well, I’ll have to check mein schedule, but I think I can move things around…” 

“You know I’m not talking about you.”  

“Is it a special occasion? An anniversary? Mh, no that’s not it, is it? Perhaps…. A holiday? Oh I’m right on the jackpot, aren’t I?!” He gleamed, his voice reaching that high pitch he often uses. “Oh, fraulein, if you do not tell me I’m afraid I might die. I just neeeeeeed to know what’s so important.”  

You could see Edward roll his eyes from the corner of your vision, and you were half tempted to follow his lead, but you decided to just give him a tight smile, deciding to just be truthful. — what a horrible decision, really.  

“Edward and I have plans…” you repeated, hesitating for a moment, “for Valentine’s Day.” 

“What incredible timing we all have! Ach, Valentine’s Day… I haven’t celebrated that since I was a young little boy.” There goes that vocal trill again. “Walk me mich! I must hear all the details.”  

“We should get back to the others.” Edward agreed, albeit begrudgingly. Richtofen took the lead, briskly walking past you while talking about god knows what. You looked at your lover, who seemed to have aged drastically in the last few minutes just from the sheer exhaustion of dealing with his older self. He shrugged, following suit, but not before grabbing some papers and books off a table. 

“Ah, fuck, yeah that’s what I was worried about.” Your Dempsey sighed when he saw the three of you walk back to the mainframe. The rest of your group was there, as well as the other versions of themselves.  

“Hey, what’s up, Dempsey.” You said, walking over to the older marine and clasping your hand on his, bringing him into a hug. Out of the four of them, he was the most tolerable, as annoying as he was still. 

“Hey, pretty lady, fancy seeing you again.”  

You had the mind to look back and saw both Richtofens scowling. Oh, jealousy looks delicious on them— ah, you mean him. You stepped back to stand next to your lover. 

“We were all just catching up.” Tank said, knocking shoulders with his doppleganger. They both yelled out an oohrah! grinning at each other. 

“Charming. Well, I have grabbed what I needed, we can leave now.” Edward sighed, foot tapping on the concrete as his patience grew thin.  

“Oh yeah, hey, we’re going to be staying in this village close to here, y’all leaving or?” Tank asked Dempsey, which caused a strangled noise to escape Edward. 

“Dempsey!” 

“Oooooh you didn’t mention that! Oh we are more than happy to spend ein little bit of time. Und you can tell me more about our plans, ja?” Richtofen made his way between the two of you, wrapping his arms around and pulling both of you closer to him. 

You didn’t know whether Edward wanted to kill Richtofen or Dempsey first. 

He pulled away from him, huffing as he smoothed out his clothes. “Fine! Fine. Whatever. Thank you, Dempsey.”  

You could only laugh, from the sheer audacity of it all and the fact that you could see your plans for romance crumbling right before your eyes; babysitting Richtofen was a full time job. The nine of you headed to the village Edward mentioned, the night air - why was it always night when you visited this factory? - stung your warm cheeks, leaving your ears cold and nose red. With every breeze that passed, a shiver ran up your spine. You and Edward walked ahead, Richtofen keeping up and still talking! Ignoring him was a Herculean task.  

“Frauleiiiinnnnnnnnnn stop ignoring me! Everything I say is very important, you know!” He whined, he was in front of you, walking backwards to look you in the eyes. He’s been doing this for a few minutes now. “I don’t believe that man has ever even been on ein date, let alone ein Valentine’s Day one. He has barely a half baked plan, I’m sure of it.”  

Edward shot a look at his older self: 'Watch it,' it almost screamed. 

“Edward, if you ever- ough!” Richtofen stumbled back, the rock his foot got caught on skidding across the road. He landed on his ass and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh that almost mimicked a hyena’s. Now it was his turn to glare. Edward just kept walking, side stepping him. You helped him up, while still laughing in his face. “-if you ever need tips on how to throw the perfekt date, I am your man.” 

“I’m okay, truly.” 

Richtofen dusted himself off with a dissatisfied hum, but didn’t say much more. Thankfully the village was upon you now, and you all but ran to the closest house, excited to claim privacy and a BED! A GOOD BED!  

You skipped up the stairs, placing your bag on the bed, sitting down as you contemplated what you were going to do. First you need to find make up, yes. Then definitely something sexy to wear. Hair products, maybe a few accessories… If you begin looking through the village now, perhaps you’ll find everything you need for later. You nodded assuredly to no one in particular, ready to get up and begin your search, but before you could, the door to the bedroom opened, catching your attention. 

“Ah, there you are.” Edward said once he saw you. “I hope you’re not already settling down for the night, Schatz.” 

You smile at him. “No, I have things to do. I was just claiming a bed.” You stretch happily, offering your hand to him. Once he took it, you laid back, pulling him into the bed with you. 

“Ah, hallo.” Edward laughed, crawling above you. His arms braced on either side of your head. “Und these things you need to do… ist mein name on that list?”  

“Maybe.” 

He kissed you softly, resting more of his body weight on you. He was the best kind of weighted blanket; you felt caged in just the right way. You ran your tongue against his bottom lip, but he quickly pulled away, wearing a smirk as he went lower, kissing your neck with appreciative hums thrown in the mix. 

“Oh….” You moan and instinctively weave your fingers through his hair, “if you keep this up, I won’t let you out of bed.”  

“Ja?” He moaned into your skin. “Ein Valentine’s day entirely in bed… not too horrible if you ask me.” 

“If you think I’m going to let you fuck without wine-ing and dining me first, you are sorely mistaken, Herr Doktor.”  

“Fuck? Nein! Of course not, mein liebe!” He shook his head, but still trailed his lips lower, taking the first button of your shirt between his teeth and popping it loose. “But make love… well, I certainly have to try.” He popped the next button with his teeth again, using a hand to pull your leg around his waist to press closer to you, grinding down in such a delicious manner. 

“Oh, Edward...”  

“You called?” 

You yelped, pushing Edward aside to look at the owner of the intrusive voice. Edward rolled off of you, groaning in frustration while subtly adjusting himself. Richtofen stood at the door, smirking as he twirled his Luger for no real reason in particular. “Jesus Christ, Richtofen-“ 

“You know, I thought we got past the whole last name business. I distinctly remember you agreeing to call me Edward.” 

“Can we help you?”  

“I get so lonesome by meinself! You know, the others get to jack off with their doppelgängers, but you are constantly hogging mine!” 

“Jack around.” You corrected him. 

“I said what I said!” 

You roll your head to the side, looking at your lover. He just had this annoyed scowl on his face, rolling his eyes so hard you were almost afraid they would get stuck like that.  

“Ugh, I don’t get it!” Richtofen blurted out, in a much different tone than his previous words. “What did I do?”  

“Excuse me?” You ask him, furrowing your brow. You sat up, Edward’s arm slipping away from you.  

“The last time I saw you, we had this wunderbar night at the Pentagon! Und now? Now you treat me like we are still at Camp Edward! Have you met another version of meinself since then?” He asked. 

“Well, no-” 

“Then why is this like… this!” He was exasperated, gesturing wildly between you and him and Edward. If you didn’t know better you would say that tone of his was laced with… insecurity? Or a deep-seated dejection. 

“Ri—“ You paused, choosing your words carefully. “Edward. My Edward and I just have plans is all, and you’re kinda butting into it. Look, what we’ve shared was great and fun, but today is about love, romantic love.” 

He gave you another offended look like at Der Riese. “You don’t think I can be romantic? I can be ein million times more romantic than him!” 

“That’s- Edward you’re not getting the point. Tomorrow is about our—” You gesture between you and your boyfriend, “— relationship. So we just want to spend the time alone, that’s all. We don’t get alone time often.”  

Richtofen stared at you, arms crossed. Was he jealous? No, that couldn’t be right. “Ach, he is mein younger self, you’re practically in a relationship with the both of us, ja?” 

“We are from separate dimensions. You know that.” Edward piped up, looking at the older man from under his brows.  

“Fine! Whatever, you’re the ones missing out, not me.” He huffed, throwing his arms down into fists, a flair of childlike dramatics to his action. He turned on his heel and stomped out, still talking under his breath. “I am the most romantic person on the planet! In the universe! I could give you ein actual HEART if you…” His voice trailed off as he got farther away, leaving the two of you laying there in silence. 

“Is he really upset?” You ask. 

“Him?” Edward barked out a laugh. “Ja, I’m suuuure he is… nein it’s just his dramatics. You should know this by now, Liebling.”  

He was a dramatic person, and while some things did seem a bit dramatic during that conversation, you were almost inclined to think a portion of it might actually have been genuine. “I feel bad…” — the start of a sentence that made Edward also sit up, looking at you with a confused look. 

“What for?” 

You laid back on the bed, tracing idle circles into the comforter as you struggled to find the right words. “I just… I don’t know, didn’t he seem genuinely… jealous? To you?”  

“Oh come on now, mein Herzchen. You know very well whatever feelings he does feel — if he does feel anything at all, we’re still studying that — it’s not genuine. If he is jealous, it’s the same type of jealousy ein child feels when another plays with ein neglected toy. He only wants what he can’t have.”  

Your gaze, which was on Edward, flicked away at his words. A part of you wanted to believe that; it would make everything easier if it was true — him seeing you as just an enjoyable fuck and nothing more… but another part of you, it was scared that your Edward was wrong. That Richtofen was… was feeling something. “Maybe we shouldn’t have ran him off…” 

“He is not ruining our day.” 

“Who said he would? Is it crazy to think he was being genuine?” 

“Liebe, do I really have to answer that question?” He asked, exasperated. You shot him a look but quickly let it melt away, you didn’t want to argue with him… not now.  

“Hey, I’m going to find what I need for later. I’ll meet you in the street in an hour?” 

“Hour thirty?” He asked. 

“Deal.” 

You lean over and kiss him gently, savoring the feeling of his lips on yours. They were chapped, but still soft. He tried to deepen the kiss but you pushed him away, shaking your head. He could only laugh. “Bis später, Doctor.”  

“Bis bald, Liebe.”  

~ 

Now, the cold night air was a welcomed relief after the heat of the house. You and Edward parted ways, deciding to keep some surprises for the actual date. There were a few little stores further into town and so you decided to hit them up first. A small corner store was your first stop, the jingle of the bell ringing out as you opened the door. A lone light swayed back and forth on the ceiling, flickering and buzzing in an eerie way. You’d probably turn right back around if you didn’t see your Dempsey walking through the store, his lighter held in hand as he used it to look closer at some of the items. The welcome chime caused him to look at you, a smile finding his face. 

“Hey, you also looking for something decent to eat? Found some… I think beans? I don’t really know.” He held up a can.  

“Oh, no thanks, Dempsey, I’m actually just looking for some stuff for my date with Edward tonight.” You tell him. You look around for a moment before grabbing two candles from a shelf, holding them in front of Dempsey. He got the hint and lit both of them before flicking his light closed and taking one. He muttered a thanks. 

“Date, huh? Didn’t know he was capable of that.”  

You ignored the comment, choosing instead to browse through the selection of items at your disposal. This general store seemed to have a small section for everything — and make up was no exception. Red lipstick and blush, dark eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara. You were happy to take anything and even happier to take these bold colours that were sure to make you look like a bombshell. The door chimed again as you were looking for a mirror and brush. Dempsey greeted Nikolai warmly, so it must be your Nikolai. 

“… can of beans? You know, where I come from, sharing is caring.” Nikolai said to Dempsey. You couldn’t help, but tune into their conversation. 

“Hey, this is none of that communist crap. Do you want it to not?”  

“Da. Thank you, comrade.” Nikolai taunted, yanking the can away from the American before he could take back his offer. He then turned his attention to you, wordlessly wondering what you were up to. Dempsey sensed his questioning look. 

“Date night with Richtofen, apparently.” 

“I didn’t know he was capable of such thing.”  

Dempsey laughed, slapping Nikolai on the back. “You ain’t so bad sometimes.” You shot both men a glare, shaking your head as you picked up the mirror you were looking for. 

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” You asked them. 

“Nope.” “Nyet.” 

“Good, because I’ll need your opinions, c’mon, move your asses.”  

You all but dragged them out of the store, out into the German street. They complained but you didn’t let up, walking down the street with two confused men in tow. You peered into windows as you went, looking, searching, and you almost squealed in delight when you found what you were searching for. Truthfully, you didn’t know if you would. 

“A clothing store, really?” Dempsey sighed, annoyed but still walking ahead to open the door for you. You thanked him as you breached the doorway, flicking on the lights. It was indeed a clothing store, one that looked to mostly specialize in women’s fashion. Dresses were hung on racks, while three mannequins wore whatever was the style for the season in the windowsill. They were all a little old fashioned for your taste, but that might just be a homerun with Edward. 

“Alright, listen. Today is Valentine’s Day if you didn’t know and I need something that screams ‘I don’t want to make it through dinner,’ you understand?” Dempsey made fake — or possibly real — gagging noises. You chose to ignore it. “So, I’m going to try on some dresses, you two will give me ACTUAL feedback until we find the perfect dress.”  

“Can we say n-“ 

“No.”  

You sauntered around the men, looking through the dresses, there were pretty blues, periwinkles, mint… you grabbed every dress that was your size and went into the dressing room, humming happily as you put the blue dress on. It was simple, one you’d imagine a good girl would wear. You soon stepped out of the dressing area donned in the fabric, giving a twirl to show it off. “Thoughts?” 

“You tryin’ to seduce him as a milkmaid or something?” Dempsey asked, raising his eyebrow. 

“You remind me of my mother, back in the warm summers of Tsaritsyn. Very calming.”  

You nod, turning on your heel. “Calming is not what I’m going for.” You pull the curtain closed behind you and throw the dress off, instead picking up the periwinkle one and shimmying into it. You walk back to your showcase spot, once again doing a twirl. 

“Yeah, I guess that’s fine.” Dempsey shrugged. 

“Just fine?”  

“It’s… not flattering colour on your skin.” Nikolai elaborated.  

“It makes you look almost sickly. Fuck, maybe that’s what get the doc’s engines revving. If so then it’s perfect.” 

“Oh fuck off, Dempsey.” You did this quite a few times, going through dress after dress, getting more lukewarm responses than you’d hoped. At least they were honest. They were… shockingly useful at this. It wasn’t until you got to your last garment, almost out of hope, that you felt a dash of surprise mixed with joy. It was a red, almost maroon thing. You didn’t get a good look at it in the main part of the store. Hell, you barely even looked at it when you tore it off the hanger, but now as you held it up? Your smile widened as you put it on, sauntering out to the boys. “So?” 

Dempsey’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline, his mouth gaping as he stared, taking you in, Nikolai wasn’t much better: he was flushed as he looked anywhere but you. 

“That’s… that’s uh…” Dempsey tried. 

“A winner.” You finish his sentence, posing ever so seductively. Now both the men are blushing now. You laugh and flit away to grab a pair of heels. “But it’s not complete until my make up is done. You can run along now, I got my use out of you.”  

Then men nodded, not trusting their mouths, swiftly making their exit, leaving you to do your makeup and hair in peace. It didn’t take long; you kept your hair simple, spending most of the time on your bombshell makeup. You gave yourself a once over before checking the clock, seeing that it was time to meet Edward. You made your way out of the store, walking down the street to the beat of your heels echoing off the barren streets. The click clacking of your heels made you more confident, turning your simple walk to a strut as you shifted your hips from side to side with each step. You felt powerful, like you could take on the world, like you could seduce the world. As you saw Edward step into the street, perhaps heeding the call of your presence, you were going to put that theory in motion. His eyes found you, sharing a similar look that Dempsey had: high strung eyebrows with his mouth agape. His hand, which held a bouquet of flowers, faltered, falling to his side.  

“Wow…” Edward only managed to whisper the word, drinking in your appearance as you walked closer. His eyes flicked down to the black heels that echoed the pounding of his heart, up your stocking covered leg, seeing how that slit in that maroon dress went higher and higher and higher. Scandalously high, ever teasing your hip. His gaze trailed higher, to the cinched in waist then up to the plunged neckline that barely kept your breasts in. It stayed there for quite a few beats before flicking up to your face, taking in your wine red lips, rouge blush and dark smokey eye. “You look… ah…” 

“You clean up well, yourself.” You tease. He changed, like you did, now donning a three piece that hugged his form well, accentuating his broad shoulders and impossibly thin waist. You pulled him closer by it, cocking your head up to kiss him. He got the hint, leaning down and eagerly pressing his lips to yours hard. When the two of you disconnected, you could only laugh as you saw his lips were now stained a pink colour. “You’re wearing my lipstick.” 

“Und how does it look on me? Does it match mein complexion?” He laughed and you couldn’t help but join in, soon leaving the two of you grinning at each other like idiots. Edward snapped out of it quickly. “Ach, these are for you,” he said, remembering the bouquet he held tightly in his fist. He brought them up and you inhaled their floral scent, letting your eyes close as you savored it. 

“What a thoughtful man you are.” 

“Only the best, for mein special Frau, on this special day.” 

The two of you walked silently, hand in hand. It was… comfortable. A word you are not used to using ever since this whole undead fiasco started. “Ah, hold on, I have some jewelry in my bag I’d like to put on.” You pull him towards the house you claimed, noticing how the downstairs lights were on. Odd, you thought you turned them all off. You reach the door and push it open, a gasp catching in your throat at what laid ahead. 

Every surface of the living room was covered in bouquets. The coffee table was filled with daisies and tulips, the entertainment center with Hyacinths and dandelions. Other tables and pulled out chairs had primroses and snowdrops, violets and hepaticas, forget-me-nots and poppies. And in the thick of it sat a very pleased looking Richtofen, twirling a lone Edelweiss between his thumb and forefinger. He had ditched the coat, the hat, and even the gloves. He merely donned his white button up, black tie (sans the pin), his normal slacks, and boots. Extremely underdressed for him. 

“Ah, Fraulein, you made it not ein moment too soon.” He smiled, stretching his long legs before standing up to stalk closer to you. You look back at Edward, who was now looking at his lone bouquet with a sheepish look. Just as soon as you saw it, Richtofen was upon you, grabbing your chin and tilting it back towards him. He brushed some hair away to place the Edelweiss behind your ear. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” In your hand, he placed a bar of chocolate that had a red bow tied to it. It was… sweet? What the hell was going on here??  

“Richtof-“ 

“Edward.” 

“…Edward, what… the hell is all this?” You were at a loss for what to say, you didn’t even have the mind to say thank you. You just… stared. 

“Romance, ja? I saw that our little lover boy was getting flowers, so I followed his lead, but did it much better.” 

Richtofen led you into the room by the small of your back, parading you around to each bundle of flowers. He all but shoved them into your face, begging you to smell them. By the time you got around the room and back, your head was spinning from the gorgeous scents that overwhelmed your senses. You were passed back to Edward, whose lips were in a tight line, a certain anger in his gaze. 

“Didn’t you say you have some jewelry you needed to fetch, Schatz? Why don’t you go do that while I have a talk with mein older self.”  

You felt the tension. It was so thick you could almost cut it with a knife. You wordlessly nodded and ascended up the stairs slowly, looking back with each step you took, almost nervous about what Edward would do. I mean, you knew he wasn’t above shooting his other self. 

Whatever was said was in hushed words, keeping it down to where you couldn’t make any words out. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if they also switched to German. You took your time getting the necklace on — a simple thin gold chain with a diamond piece — making sure it sat perfectly on your cleavage. The matching earrings were next as you took a deep breath to brace yourself to go back downstairs. If you were about to find a dead body you’d rather steel yourself ahead of time. 

Thankfully, there wasn’t a Richtofen corpse lying in a bed of tulips. They were standing together, waiting for your descent, hands clasped behind their backs. For a moment they truly looked identical, reminding you that Richtofen is what you had to look forward to when Edward was older. Not personality wise, you hoped, but looks. If Edward really did age to look like his older self, you wouldn’t be disappointed at all. 

“Are you ready to go, Eddie?”  

Edward cleared his throat, looking at you then to his older counterpart, a wary, yet resolute look to his eyes. “Ja, mein liebe, if… you don’t mind company on our outing.” You raised an eyebrow at his words, stopping in your tracks just before the last step down. You silently asked him to explain. “Ah… Edward, here, will be joining us for dinner.”  

“Is he now?” 

“Jawohl.” 

You gave him another beat to say just kidding or, really, anything. When it didn’t come you shrugged, taking the last step and walking over to the men. You kiss your Edward and then turn to the other, narrowing your eyes before giving him the slightest slap on his cheek. “Behave.”  

“You might as well tell me not to breathe.” 

Both Edwards led you out of the house, sneaking silently through the underbrush until you came across a small hillside that led towards a calm river. A small blanket was thrown out that hosted a basket, wine bottle and a few candles ready to be lit. It was simple, but oh, did it make your heart soar. Edward really was trying to make this the best Valentine’s Day he could. Your Edward ushered you to sit as he tasked his other self to light the candles while he got out the food. Fruits, cheeses, sausages, and crackers were all arranged on a charcuterie board. Once the candles were lit, both Edwards sat down on either side of you, pouring the wine and feeding you fruit. 

“So what is this, truly?” You ask, looking at Edward then rolling your head to look at Richtofen. 

“I am simply showing mein younger self how to properly treat a woman. Open.” He ordered then fed you a grape, tracing your bottom lip with his finger. “Und perhaps to show you there are better Richtofens spend your time with. You got dealt a bad hand on that one ohoho-Ach!” He reeled his hand away from where it was behind you, you could only imagine what Edward stabbed it with in response to that comment. 

“I didn’t know you were the… romantic type, to be honest.” 

“Fraulein, you don’t know most things about me. Ja, mein idea of a good time is slashing und gutting the hoards, or perhaps stealing a few spleens from our schleeping colleagues, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be what’s considered… traditionally romantic. It’s just boring most times.” 

“Most times? Is this one of those times?” 

He paused for a moment, eyes flicking towards you before grabbing another fruit, this time a strawberry, bringing it to your lips. Your teeth grazed his fingertips as you bit down. “It’s still early.”  

Edward tipped the wineglass up to your lips and you took a swig, the liquid feeling luxurious as it travelled down your throat. As soon as you swallowed, Richtofen was feeding you another bite of cheese, sausage, and ground mustard on a cracker. You ate it greedily, hunger twisting in your stomach, but it wasn’t entirely for food... 

“You look ravishing tonight, mein Liebe.” Edward sighed into your ear, turning your head with two fingers. He kissed you gently, savouring the moment. It was chaste, but it said everything that needed to be said. He brought the wine back up to your lips. Another sip. Another bite of food from the other’s hand.  

“Fraulein, I have met ein thousand women in mein day, und yet, none even came close to the beauty you effortlessly possess.”  

Your eyes shot up high, cheeks exploding in a blushing fury as the words escaped Richtofen’s lips. You have never heard him say anything like that. Who is this man and what did he do with the evil Edward Richtofen you know? You couldn’t even squeak out a reply because as soon as he spoke those words he was pulling you into a kiss. At first it was much like Edward’s, until he deepened it, tongue gently wiggling into your mouth, caressing your own as if he was mapping each and every taste bud on it. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips. Richtofen pulled back and smirked, not at you, but at his younger self. 

Edward looked displeased to say the least. His lips were in that tight line again as he stared at Richtofen. You could swear you saw the vein in his forehead bulge. The glare disappeared as he looked at you, a wave of confidence enveloping him. You were given another drink of wine, but before Richtofen could feed you Edward had your face in both his hands, looking deep into your eyes. “You shine brighter than any star, burn brighter than any flame, und can kill a man with ein look alone. You make me burn up, schatzi. You make me ache with love, with want, with need.”  

He pressed his lips to yours hard, devouring you in a kiss so deep it left you breathless. He tasted the backs of your teeth, swirled around your tongue, and coaxed it into his mouth, sucking on it so deliciously. Another moan was coaxed out, but this time louder.  

And Richtofen didn’t take too kindly to that. He pulled you away from Edward, roughly bringing your face to his and smashing your lips together even harder. Your lips might be bruised and battered by the time they were through with you. He forced his tongue into your mouth, along with… something else. A foreign intruder that startled you, until he maneuvered it to your molars, and forced you to bite down. A kaleidoscope of flavour exploded on your tongue, syrup coating yours and his as the chocolate began to melt on your teeth. You recognized the flavour as those chocolate candies that have the cherry inside. Soon enough the two of you were pushing the small cherry around your mouth, groans and grunts leaving the two of you. You knew those candies weren’t alcoholic, but you were beginning to rethink that by how your head was swimming. He finally wrapped his tongue around the cherry and drug it back into his own mouth to swallow, teasing you with just the taste of it. 

You gasped, panting hard as you pulled away to swallow the thick syrup. You could only look up at the stars that twinkled as the two of them attacked your neck, kissing and sucking as if you were dinner tonight. The wineglass was pressed against your lips again, more food shoved into your mouth and you could barely register anything that was going on as they tore at your clothes. Did they at some point become undead? It certainly felt like it, the way they were devouring you. 

“What are- what is- what-“ You couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.  

“Fraulein didn’t you say we must take you to dinner first before we ravished you again?” The older man hummed, laughing into your skin when you yelped from a harsh bite. 

“But-“ 

“Mein alter counterpart had a point. What better way to celebrate the occasion than by being thoroughly fucked.” 

Ah, that must be what they were talking about in the house. 

You tried to protest, tried to explain that today was about romance, about love! But the more they worshiped you, the more they kissed and sucked and pulled and groped… the more you were happy to think of this as romance. Your dress was harshly pulled down by Richtofen as Edward worked your bra clasp open, tossing aside the offending piece of fabric. They both had one goal in mind: ravishing your breasts. They both latched onto your nipples and laid you back fully to have their way with you. Edward was gentle, suckling as he gazed up at you from under those pretty eyelashes while Richtofen was anything but. He sucked hard, teeth grazing and biting, sending jolts of delicious pain to your core. The harsh difference between how the men attended to your breasts had you reeling. 

Edward trailed his kisses down to your stomach and then lower, pushing your dress down as he went. You were out in the open; if anyone came to investigate they would see your almost fully nude body. Why didn’t you care? Richtofen’s hand replaced where Edward’s mouth once was, pinching and twisting the now neglected nipple.  

“Edward, have you ever seen such ein fine specimen?” Your lover asked, pushing aside your damp underwear. Your folds were attacked by the cold, but quickly soothed as he drug his thumb along it. Richtofen pulled away from his work on your breasts, going to join Edward at your lower half. 

“How gorgeous this little cunt is. Have you experimented with it, Doktor?”  

“Ah, quite right, Doktor. I have found it to be quite… sensitive. Very responsive. But of course, there’s always more experiments to run. I would love to have ein second opinion.”  

Richtofen smirked, also touching your now drenched slit. Edward thumbed at your clit while the other pushed into your hole, feeling you flutter with every stroke of the younger’s on your bundle of nerves. “Jawohl. Very sensitive, indeed. Have you completed any oral experimentation?” 

“Of course, I am very thorough… however an observer is crucial when it comes to such tests, ja?” 

You simply groaned, loving how they spoke about you as if you were just a test subject, but hating that they weren’t actively fucking you in any capacity. Edward finally relented at your whining, pulling your dress and panties all the way off before burying his face into your pussy. His lips closed around your clit, tongue lashing at the nub while he gave slow, hard sucks. He used the tip of his tongue to flick it back and forth, up and down, pressing harder, licking faster as you mewled and cried out from sheer ecstasy. Richtofen watched intensely, holding your leg open to get a good view of what his doppelgänger was doing. 

You were so close, you twitched and clawed at the blanket, legs so desperately wanting to close around Edward’s head but stopped by Richtofen’s strong hands. You could feel the coil in your core wind tighter and tighter following the tight circles of Edward’s insistent tongue on your clit. You moan out their names, shaking as you reach your peak, coming hard under Edward’s attention. He broke the seal of his lips, ducking his head a bit lower to catch your climax on his tongue, his nose pushing against your sensitive clitoris as he lapped you up like a starved man. When he was satisfied, he sat back on his haunches, looking proud with a very obvious tent in his trousers. The satisfied smirk on his lips lasted only until Richtofen opened his mouth — many such cases. 

Richtofen clicked his tongue thrice, shaking his head in disappointment. “Ach, I knew you were a lost cause, Edward.” He said, harshly pulling him out from between your legs. “This is how you properly eat a cunt. Perhaps take notes?” 

Richtofen gave you an overconfident grin, before he too dove into your overstimulated pussy. He plunged his tongue into your hole, slurping and twisting it around while his nose rubbed against your throbbing clit. It was too much, oh so much. You cried out again, legs clamping around his head as your hands tried to push him away. He only laughed into your abused flesh, hooking an arm around your leg to keep himself anchored in place. Once he got his fill of your juices, he pulled his tongue out to focus on your bundle of nerves while he stuffed his fingers inside you, fucking you with them brutally. 

“Fuck, Edward!” You cried out as he bit down on your clit, grabbing his hair and pulling hard, but that only seemed to fuel him. He grazed his teeth on it a few more times, each time making more whines and pleas to escape your throat. It hurt, oh god it hurt, but in a way that had you speeding towards the finish line. 

He crooked his fingers in precisely the right way, pushing hard against that spongy part inside you over and over until you came, stars bursting in your vision. You screamed into the hand he quickly placed over your mouth as you clamped down hard on his fingers, crushing his digits in waves as you rode out your high. Your clit throbbed harder as the onslaught overwhelmed your frazzled senses. Your body thrashed, hands pulled his hair tightly, mouth begging words that disappeared into his palm. It was only when you went entirely limp, too overstimulated to fight anymore, that he pulled away gasping, face absolutely drenched in your juices. He pulled his fingers out — even with being overstimulated you whined from the empty feeling — and brought them to his mouth, sucking greedily to get every drop off.  

“Wouldn’t you say that was much better, fraulein?” He laughed, looking smugly at Edward.  

You couldn’t say anything, you could barely breathe. Your body was numb and frayed at the same time and horribly you could still feel the ghost of his mouth torturing your poor cunt. Your chest heaved with the effort it took to bring in air. Better? He’s trying to kill you! Your mind was clouded from overzealous pleasure, barely registering you were naked laying spread eagle on the blanket in the grass out in the open. Well, you weren’t entirely naked as you still had your thigh highs on, but your heels had been kicked off at some point during this whole… cunnilingus-fest. 

“I think our subject is fried.” Richtofen hummed, at least you assumed it was the older one, you were too exhausted to check. “Her pussy is still pulsing, perhaps her senses have been overloaded. Pity. I assumed she could take more.” 

“Oh, she can.” A similar voice said, or was that Richtofen? Why do they sound so similar right now!? “We just need to give her a reason to. Liebling, watch.”  

The way his voice commanded you with such authority had your eyes opening and hazily focusing on them. They were unfastening buttons on their clothing, shedding the fabric while keeping intense eye contact with you. They dared you to look away and with each inch of delicious skin getting shared with you, you wouldn’t dream of it. You didn’t notice until now how scarred the older man’s body was. They were light, healed, almost imperceptible until you were ogling it as you were now. You could see some softness to his belly that Edward had yet to gain, but it didn’t detract to his attractiveness. Soon the men were kneeling naked in front of you, heaving, rock hard and eating you alive with their eyes. At least for a moment, before Richtofen shifted towards his younger self, eyeing his body. 

“Mh, I had such a fantastic body at that age. The fact you hide it from the world is an injustice, truly.”  

In a move that even shocked you, knocking you immediately out of your orgasm-induced daze, Richtofen reached out, wrapping a hand around Edward’s cock and pumping it lazily, dragging his foreskin down to fully uncover the tip. His head was cocked to the side and a large grin painted his face. 

Edward reeled back, slapping the other’s hand off his dick, entirely bewildered with anger bubbling up to the surface. “Was zum teufel?”  

“Was? Ugh don’t be such a prude. It’s glorified masturbation.” Richtofen reached for him again, but was once again swatted away. 

“Don’t touch me with your filthy hands!” 

“Oh, I’m allowed to stuff your girlfriend’s cunt with mein filthy hands aber you draw the line at yourself, hm?” Richtofen was baiting him, egging him on to give in and fuck you were almost sure it was working. “C’mon Edward, look at her and tell me she was not enjoying it.” He said, two sets of gazes now pointed at you. 

You laid there, eyes lidded as you had indeed enjoyed watching the other man grope your lover. It was a twisted kind of enjoyment you knew, but Edward on Edward action made your abused cunt gush back to life, aching for more. You bit your lip as you slowly nodded. “Bitte.”  

Bitte. 

And that seemed like it was enough. 

Richtofen wrapped his fist around Edward’s cock again, but this time he wasn’t swatted away. With an uneasy stare, he watched as foreign yet so familiar hands pumped his leaking shaft, groaning as he hit all the right spots, squeezed all the right areas, and at just the right speed. “Ah- ah fick.” The younger man gasped, hips jolting. 

“I have played with this Schwanz for decades now und I know exactly how to drive you wild. Move over Fraulein, let him lay down.” Unceremoniously, Richtofen grabbed Edward and pushed him down. Your lover tumbled next to you, barely getting his bearings before Richtofen was laid behind him, sandwiching Edward between the two of you. Richtofen grabbed his cock again, pumping and twisting his wrist in just the right way to have his doppelganger arching his back so deliciously while little moans tumbled out. “Go on, play with his sack.” How could you say no? 

You groped him, squeezing his balls before rolling them in your palm. You could feel it tighten when Richtofen ran his thumb along his tip, collecting the precum and pushing him closer to ecstasy. Edward was panting, lolling his head back and forth, letting bits of German fall from his tongue. “Isn’t- schieße.. aren’t we supposed to be focusing- ach! on… on mein…” He trailed off, unable to complete a single sentence, but still looking at you though heavily lidded eyes to infer it. 

“She’s enjoying it plenty, but if you do insist…” Richtofen stopped playing his counterpart’s cock, “Use him, get your fill again, but do not let him cum, ja? Our little Edward deserves to be tortured.” He let out a manic laugh. He offered you a hand, and with it, you swung your leg over Edward’s hips, rutting your folds on his weeping cock before impaling yourself. He sunk into you deliciously, kissing your cervix with the head. “Ride him like a bitch in heat.” 

And my god, you did. 

You slammed your hips down on him with a bruising pace, using his cock like a toy to get yourself off. You watched as Richtofen grabbed Edward’s hand, placing it on his own neglected cock. Perhaps Edward was already too fucked out to care or it was something else entirely, but he began to stroke the older man, sloppily with less finesse he received, but it had Richtofen throwing his head back in a laugh turned moan, saying what you can imagine is downright filthy things in German. 

Edward’s other hand gripped on your hip tightly as he began thrusting upward, snapping his hips in time to your bouncing. His eyes flicked from your drenched and filled cunt, watching his throbbing prick plunge deep inside, to your breasts which swayed and jiggled with each grind of your hips.  

“Tick tock, schlampe, reach your climax before he does, or not at all.” Richtofen ordered. 

You nodded, closing your eyes and focused on the build up. You narrowed in to the sensation of Edward’s cock hitting just the right spot in you, in tandem of your clit smashing against his pubic bone with each push of your hips together. You felt the telltale signs of your orgasm approaching, feeling that familiar coil once again wind up until it snapped inside you like a molten rubber band. You arched your back violently, shuttering and sobbing from the force. He still shoved his cock into your fluttering pussy over and over, chasing down his own orgasm that was sped up by your tightening inner muscles. Before he could find it, Richtofen was lifting you off, placing your jellied body on your hands and knees. He had to hold you to keep you from collapsing, but that was no problem for the strong older man. You didn’t miss how your lover whined from the loss of your tight cunt. Without warning, he pushed your head into the blanket and thrusted inside you from behind. You were already warmed up, just how he liked. He pounded into you with such force you began sliding against the blanket, feeling the rough fabric burn your cheek and knees. You anchored yourself with two fistfuls of the cloth.  

“Ja… mh… so gut. Ach, you’re so gut. You ruin me, fraulein.” Richtofen grunted, words punctuated by every thrust. With one hand he kept you in place, the other palmed roughly at your breast. Your fourth orgasm hit you like a freight train. It was unexpected, like a cork of a champagne bottle popping. Tears welled up and dripped down to the blanket as the pleasure was blinding. You couldn’t make a noise besides a single, strangled gasp. Even with your silence, your bodily reactions said everything. He felt you cum, felt your pussy flutter and squeeze and clench down on his cock. He only fucked you faster, clawing at you skin as if trying to rip you apart. “Nnnngh… ja, mein hure, mein Hündin… mein… lieb-ach!” 

He stilled, spilling his hot seed deep into your cunt. His cockhead was insistent against your cervix as it throbbed and twitched. A few more shallow thrusts to chase the end of his orgasm was all he could afford before he collapsed onto the coarse fabric, his softening cock slipping out and laying limply on his lower stomach. You were now sandwiched between the men, not that you minded. 

The three of you were heaving, trying to take all the oxygen in the atmosphere greedily into your lungs. Richtofen was spent, you felt overused, and yet Edward was still hard as a rock, aching, not quite having his fill. Richtofen noticed, and was quick to rectify that. 

“Edward, make love to her under the stars. Langsam. Properly.” 

“Since when did you become the director of this play?” Edward asked, while still getting up to lay between your legs. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his slender hips even when your body said it was too overworked to do anything. His tip bobbed against your entrance and with a careful push, he slowly filled you to the hilt. You whimpered as your body protested the intrusion.  

Richtofen sat up, grabbing something that had been long discarded. Soon he was laying on his side, facing you, watching you as he brought a kiwi slice up to your lips. You let him place it on your tongue and you playfully licked his digit as he did so. A wicked smile graced his lips as you ate the fruit, feeling the refreshing bite of the liquid race down your throat while Edward began to finally make love to you, right under the stars, just as you wanted. His thrusts were slow and languid, Sweet German nothings whispered softly into your ear as Richtofen continued to feed you during the passion. Was this heaven? Was this the greed, the glutton, the lust they’ve spoken about in the Bible? If this was wrong, you never wanted to be right. 

This time your orgasm flowed over you in a stream of muted pleasure, perhaps underwhelming for most, but it was exactly what you needed after the onslaught these men — mostly Richtofen — had put you through. It was a sweet release, just as sweet as the fruit juices dancing on your tongue. You looked into Edward’s eyes as you had your final orgasm, hand reaching out to hold Richtofen’s, lacing your fingers with his. You don’t know why you did it, but it felt… right. Right. 

Edward came shortly after you, shivering and sighing ‘Ich liebe dich’s against your lips. When he was spent, he too pulled out and collapsed next to you. The two men were cuddled on both sides, caressing your body, in a more… sensual way. 

“We are… lying naked on a hill,” you finally say, laughing at the absurdity of it all. “You think anyone heard?”  

“I would be concerned they were deaf if they didn’t.” Edward sighed. You could tell he was coming back to his senses.  

“Gut. I hope they did, I hope they are soooo jealous I am getting mein dick wet und not them. Especially Dempshey.” The older man smirked. 

The three of you once again got mostly dressed. Well, enough dressed to walk back to the house you picked. You were really getting deja vu, remembering scrambling to get dressed at the Pentagon. You didn’t bother with the food, or the wine, or anything for that matter. Edward carried you “home” with Richtofen in tow, sluggishly climbing the stairs and dumping you under the covers. Two warm bodies cuddled against you on both sides.  

‘You better get used to this happening each time you come across the older Richtofen’ A little voice in your head said to you. That wouldn’t be hard to do, you decided. 

“I hope this Valentine’s Day was… adequate.” Edward sighed, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Adequate?” You asked, voice slurred from the sleep that threatened to overtake you. “I got thoroughly wined and dined and fucked by my two favourite men. This was the Valentine’s Day of all Valentine’s Days.” 

“Two favourite, hm? I suppose I could live with that.” Richtofen piped up. “Although I hope next time it’s my turn to be spoiled. Let’s see… I want blood und guts und spleens? Ja, spleens would make the doctor very happy.”  

“And I thought you were romantic?” You teased. He playfully pinched your nipple while huffing. 

“I said I can be romantic, und I think I rigorously proved that tonight. I didn’t lose all of meinself to 115, you know. There’s still a part of me, somewhere, deep inside. It seems to spring out when… I’m with you, Fraulein.” He looked uncomfortable with his own words, either by not meaning to say them out loud, or by not meaning to think of them at all. He quickly cleared his throat and changed the subject, the vulnerability too much for him. “I hope I taught you a thing or two, Edward?” 

Edward didn’t respond and looking over to him confirmed what you assumed, he was out like a light, snoring softly. The poor man was worn. You giggled, turning your attention back to the man currently pressing closer to you. “I’m sure you did.” 

He smiled at you, a genuine smile. It was followed by a chaste, but passionate kiss and when you closed your eyes, you swore it felt just like how your lover would kiss you. “Ich lieb-“ he paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Ich habe dich lieb.”  

“Ich habe dich lieb?” You whisper, not quite understanding. 

“Ja. Just leave it as that for now. Gute Nacht, mauschën.” 

You wanted to argue, you wanted to know what he said, but with the serious tone his voice had, something that chilled you to the bone, you decided to not press, for now. “Gute Nacht, Eddie,”  

Another genuine smile. Oh, how he’s spoiling you. 

You fell asleep in the arms of your two Edwards again, feeling safe and secure and entirely loved. How was this going to end? You had no idea. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to debate the intricacies of this time travelled fuelled intimacy you shared with the both of them. You were going to just enjoy the ride while you were on it, especially today. 

Truly the Valentine’s Day of all Valentine’s days indeed. 

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[softgh0stbites]

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ Time's Embrace

Rating: NSFW smut, angst, emotional angst, frotting + dry humping + fingering + explicit in detail

Pairing: Vincent Valentine x Reader

Word count: 8.7k

Summary: After the tragic end of your friend Aerith, you wonder what time will allow for you. So when you end up in Icicle village with an opportunity to cherish your beloved, you take it, even though it's a fleeting memory.

Notes: I wish I could keep going, but I think I'll burn myself out if I do. Vincent might be a little ooc or progressive in this one with his comfort, but i felt like it was okie given the extreme circumstance. This one is a long read and a little too all over the place for my own tastes— I did do some proof reading and editing, but the longer it got the more I started to not care if any of my sentences were repetitive so I'm sorry if it's sloppy ♡ enjoy~

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Time has never been a virtue to anyone, it liked to remind people about that in the most malicious ways. You always thought you had moments, hours, days, years to say all that you wanted— to cherish the people you love.

But when you watched a man descend from the sky and skewer your friend like she was nothing but flesh to be discarded, time ceased to exist. Everything unraveled in slow motion, mockingly, as if you had any power to stop it; As if you could reach out and pull her away. If you had been better, if you weren't weak, if you had a single skill to display— that soft laughter that everyone loved, those gentle eyes, teasing smiles, maybe that hand that always helped you up would still be here.

You knew it wasn't just you who felt this way, more than anyone Cloud was facing the brunt of the cruelty, his shoulders weighed with it. He was the one after all who was standing the closest, weapon raised to strike her himself. That had been terrifying.

You were there. You smelled the copper of her blood, the schlick of the sword being removed from her insides. You watched her eyes flutter openly for a moment, wordless, no smiles, light faded before they closed and never opened again. You could see the copious amounts of scarlet— a color you once harbored with love puddle beneath her, spreading out in a web.

You could hear Tifa's wracking sobs, felt the tears on your shoulder as you tried to console her with your arms while you fell apart too. You remembered the way she looked so serene, as if she was sleeping— wondering...will she wake up?

Your hands trembled when you finally reached Aerith, her skin so pale already, she looked cold. You wanted to cover her up, pretend she was just sick, but your hands and knees were covered in her essence. The red of her ending up on your shirt. You cradled her head softly, lips brushing the top of her head before scrambling away. Her skin was ice cole, no life at all.

You couldn't watch Tifa break apart, the way she cradled the cetra's face so gently, rubbing her cheek as if trying to bring a rosiness back to them.

Cloud took her into the water after that and she sank below slowly, everything about her becoming shadowed by the green water. She would be consumed, left to become bones beneath it.

You remember running from that scene, wrenching yourself from Tifa in a gasp, not wanting to see her drift to the murky depths. You didn't want to let go of her smiling face, her teasing nature, those times you connected over feeling so useless sometimes or so ordinary.

You ran and ran and ran until your lungs hurt and your throat felt raw. On shaken legs you made it back to the temporary camp, the others were there, having stood back to let you find Aerith while watching over your supplies since you were being tailed. The devastation on your face was evident, the blood on your shirt and pants, your panicked expression.

It only took one audible cry to leave your lips and he was there.

Vincent had stepped out from the tent, eyes zeroing in on you with blood, but for some reason you found yourself pushing forward, running until you collided with him. You almost knocked yourself down if he didn't grip you tightly by your arms, he was busy checking over you, gauntlet carefully aside as his other hand lifted your shirt hurriedly to check for wounds until you cried louder,

"It's not mine, it's not—" You gripped your head and almost sank to your knees, you felt his arms embrace you then. You couldn't see the others but you could feel their stare, you could hear the anguish.

"She's gone...." You hands would tighten around Vincent's cloak, your head spinning until you felt like you'd pass out.

Vincent would carefully pick you up and take you inside the tent, like a wounded soldier he would sit you down, kneeling in front of you. He handled you with so much gentleness as you stared wide off into space, you didn't want to think. You felt him around you, slowly gathering some of your stuff, packing up your supplies for you.

No one wanted to stay here.

You left as soon as everything was packed, but you couldn't change out of your soaked clothes so you sat in a corner, legs tucked up under you, head leaning into the wall. You don't remember how long you sat like that, dejected, feeling more sorry for yourself than you could ever imagine possible. Even though Vincent tried to be there for you, you shut him out, didn't make any want for him to be near you.

It took you a an entire day to reach Icicle village, a quaint little place with twinkling lights and blankets of snow. Normally you'd be excited for a new destination, but no one was cheerful— how could they be? You remember everyone shuffling out one by one, it was must more quiet except the idle chatter.

Cloud was no longer really hearing anyone, he was lost in his own head and seemingly Tifa was the only stability you had, but you could see her hands trembling when no one was looking. Barett and Cid were the first to speak up for everyone, their banter sometimes causing everyone to smile even if it felt a little hopeless.

It was like you were running on autopilot, you were numb, unwanting for anything. That was until you settled at an Inn, everyone was exhausted, tired, emotional. Surprisingly there was a few rooms with double beds and a quaint little loft room that would be taken by Nanaki since he insisted he wouldn't need much room to sleep. That meant that Cid and Barret could share a room, Cloud and Vincent, you and Tifa; Although you could tell it was going to be hard to pry the two of them apart with how longingly they held onto each other with their glances. You sensed a snap in their distance, like they hovered closer than before.

You felt Vincent's stare as you glanced away from the two, he spoke up insisting he'd room with you. It was the first time he'd been so forward, requesting anything really. Usually he would go with whatever the group wanted, but your hand tangled in the edge of his cloak told him you needed time. You didn't want to separate and he wasn't going to deny you after you had shut down on him all day.

"Is that what you want? Did you think to ask Tifa?" Barrett settled his gaze on you, flickering between the four of you.

Tifa brought her hand up and smiled meekly, "I-I don't really mind its not a big deal to me—"

"Argh, if she wants the walking funeral in her room, let her be. I'm too exhausted for this, we all are, let's just get some sleep and we'll come back to the drawing board tomorrow." Cid cut her off with a curt exaggeration, pinching his brow and digging in his pockets for a cigarette.

"If we're done," he paused to look at everyone, "I'm going to relax the best way I can, up and at'm." He snapped his lighter shut after lighting the cigarette which caused the front desk lady to glare.

You nodded towards Tifa in thanks which she just smiled through, even though her eyes shimmered with unease. Cloud hadn't moved from his seat on one of the benches, one hand carding through his spiky blonde locks.

When the deciding was done you felt Vincent take your hand as he had done all day, and pull you towards the room. He dropped your things down for you, clearly struggling a bit with how to comfort you, how to be there for you.

Pain was something he knew well himself, but he often swallowed it. He didn't want you to do that, to go through it alone until you closed in on yourself. He had figured you out pretty well over the months, he knew when you curled up on yourself you were thinking the worst thought. But this expression— this blank slate with dried tears and blood on your clothes, it pained.

With a sigh he stepped towards you who were sat in a chair. He leaned over you one hand coming up to caress your hair as he spoke softly.

"Do you want out of those clothes?"

You looked up, the warmth of the sun in his eyes that melted you a little, gave you a small purpose to nod. You didn't want to have this blood on you anymore, you had tried picking off the dried pieces on your arms but it did was fruitless.

He hummed in response gathering a bundle of your clothes from your bag, opening the washroom to reveal an old style wooden tub with copper faucets. With a squeak you could hear the knobs turn and water filling in.

Your hands trembled as you tried to peel off the shirt, but the blood was still there and it made you want to be sick. You grimmanced, but Vincent was there again, his gauntlet set aside and his glove off on his human hand. He didn't think twice about helping you, slipping it off as quickly as possible. His gaze didn't trace any part of you, only focusing on your face, stroking your hair and pulling you towards him when your eyes welled with tears again.

"I'm sorry," you would cry into his chest arms snaking around his waist, "I'm so sorry, I can't pull— I can't pull it together." You would choke out.

You would feel his hand stroke the back of your head, his arm wrapping you tighter, as if holding together all your broken pieces.

"You cry because it hurts," He whispered into your hair, his other hand rubbing circled on your back, "You never have to apologize for that."

Your tears were hot, feeling validated in your situation, you rubbed a hand down your face and pulled back a little. Vincent let you go with ease, brushing your hair from your face, his mouth was hidden by his cowl but you could see by his eyes that he was genuinely worried for you.

"Don't leave," you said, "Don't leave tonight,"

"Of course,"

And that's how you'd find yourself bare naked with him. Nothing sexual permiated the air, just a couple of broken people trying to comfort each other in silence. You were sitting in the hot water, your skin tingling as you scrubbed the soap into your skin harshly.

Vincent was there to pull your hand away, tilt his head at you and begin to wash you himself. He would always murmur, "May I?" Before washing something considered intimate. He worked dutifully but softly on your skin, gazing long and hard at the red spots from where you disturbed it. He would pour water gently over your head, helping to sud your hair, his fingers a little clumsy but you appreciated him for trying.

You would grimace when his hands would hoist your foot from the water, bending at your knees which were scraped to oblivion from tripping and sinking to them. He made sure to carefully wash away the dirt, blowing on the cuts as if someone had once done that for him before.

He had unbundled the cloak so it hung on his shoulders, revealing his face to you. He was nothing short of an angel, your gentle angel with talons who touched you like petals of a flower. He would take the time to massage your calf a little, you would gasp at the pain shooting up your limbs.

"It hurts here?" His fingers lessened their pressure instantly, looking down at you, hunkering into the hot water.

"Mm," You would nod as his jaw ticked, you couldn't tell if he was thinking about you or the events of today. He would make sure to scrub your feet as well, normally you'd find it ticklish, but you were just tired.

After washing you up he would help you out of the bath, offering a towel. He would escape into the other room, letting you dry up and put on your clothes. By the time you finished he was taking off his boots and cloak, slipping out of his vest so he was only in his long sleeve shirt and pants. Your fingers inched to be touching him, taking comfort in this gentle beast before you.

Vincent sat on the bed, his back resting on the head board and motioned with his fingers. You padded over, slipping between the sheets and letting your legs straddle his hips. You tucked your face in your favorite spot, the connection of his neck and shoulder, rubbing your nose in his shirt and inhaling deeply. A warm smell, something so grounding. It was a mix of his ages leather clothes, something earthy like mahogany, and the faint smoke of gunpowder. No matter how many showers you believe he took, he always smelled the same.

"Better?" He probed, his hands trailing up and down your sides slowly.

It was completely dark in the room save for the lantern on the side. This place had electricity, but the lantern was softer, its amber light more cozy. You pondered if he thought of that too when lighting it.

"Mhm." You hummed in acknowledgement, nuzzling closer. At one point in time you would've been elated to be held so close, it was scarce that you got moments like these with him. You could only enjoy it as it was, hoping that the images in your mind would settle for the night.

Time ticked by, your body was tired but your mind was still strung up. You wondered if this was even comfortable for him considering he didn't even move or shift beneath you. He was good at being still, like a statue, if you didnt know any better youd assume he was made of marble.

Another flash of her body floating in the water washed into your mind. You were here, safe, comfortable, and she was in the deep and dark waters of a forgotten city. You let out another sigh of contempt, your fingers tangling in your hair. You didn't deserve to be comfortable right now.

In the silence he spoke again, while untangling your fingers from your hair gently, not wanting you to hurt yourself subconsciously.

"It's not your fault," He would raise your chin with his pointer finger to look at him, his face more expressive without that damn cowl.

How was he so good at reading your thoughts aloud?

You would chew your lip,

"I just couldnt— it was so fast..."

"No one could," He declared, something flashing in his eyes, undechipherable.

He was right, you knew it. There was no point in placing the blame on anyone when it would take away from the real villain of the story entirely. It was his fault, that cat eyed bastard who popped up all over the place. Your teeth worried your lip still, now a little bit in anger, you hated Sephiroth. You hated that he was taking so much from everyone constantly.

He was also tragic in his own way, a hero fallen to ruin, a puppet for Shinra. Like every soldier, every employee.

As you shook out the thoughts, looking back into the crimson that was surveying you, you realized how dream like he was. He was such a kind heart, so gentle with you, always giving you his time and working on himself. He wasn't the most steady, but he was there when you needed him. Sure, he pulled away often and got lost in his self deprecation. Often deluding himself into thinking he wasn't meant to have anything good.

But that made you try harder, because you wanted his whole being to feel like he belonged in the waking world. As cliche as it was, you wanted him to stay because you didn't know what he would do after this mission was over and if everyone lived it, would he just disappear like smoke?

You weakly grabbed at his hair, the strands hanging over his shoulders, his eyes already falling to a close with a sigh as you combed through it. You liked him like this, without his cloak, without his gloves. He was vulnerable with you, a part of you gluttonous for that.

You don't know what enticed the words to fall from your tongue, but in the heat of the moment you spoke anyway.

"I want to forget all of it," your eyes still watering, your fingers clenching in his long locks of hair. Pulling his face towards you; wanting the smell of his sweet breath, "Make me forget, please, that's what I want"

You could feel the hesitation in the air, thick, spiraling between you both as he gauged your emotions. He looked torn between wanting to give you the world and wanting to chastise you, to tell you it wasn't okay.

You whimpered, a mantra of his name falling from your lips with begging,"Please, Vincent, please...." Your mouth inched closer, he didn't pull you away, but held firmly.

Vincent's chest heaved beneath you, shifting you on his lap the more you got closer to his face. His eyes were darting everywhere, from your lips, to your cheeks, your eyes. He seemed a little lost for how to reject you— or to welcome it?

You kissed him softly, your bottom lip catching his upper. The tears on your cheeks mingled in the middle ofthe connection. Your hands gripped his hair harder, tugging at him, wanting him to reciprocate. He didn't so much as part his mouth with a sigh and you wanted to dive in. Every part of him intoxicated you, made you so dizzy you couldn't think of anything but his touch.

He whispered your name, slowly hiking you up further on his lap, hands sliding under the back of your shirt, under your thighs, fingers slaying out as he did so. He relinquished control to you for a blissful moment. A swell of gentle victory arose in your heart, your lips eagerly chasing his that seemed to at least brush back with renewed vigor. You felt your kiss deepen slowly. Your body wanted his mouth to be faster, hungrier, to make your heart resound in your ears. To drown out the cries of the day.

Your back arched into his touch as he slipped his hands back onto your lower back, your chest pressing with his which caused a purr to rumble from him.

Your hands continued to thread in his hair, the silken strands flowing like sharp ribbons through those fingers; Knowing he liked it, you tugged, you often took control of your kisses this way. You would be allowed more access to his mouth, maneuvering his face this way and that to your discretion. You could swallow each breathy sigh and gasp alike, greedily taking all he was offering you. Your body began to tingle, his hands slowing their circles on your back, gripping your hips as you tried to grind down into him. He groaned as you barely misses your mark,

"Behave," He grumbled, his lips pressing into a straight line at your intentions.

"Make me," You countered, wondering if it was okay to test his patience at the moment.

You nibbled on his lip, an act of protesting his grip halting your movement. You felt it only become more firm, keeping your hips from colliding with his. You didn't want to settle or behave, you were sure of this of wanting him all to yourself in this cramped bed.

Although before you could think to beg again to plead your case, he was plunging his tongue inside of your mouth, exploring at his own leisure now. It was like a thin string had snapped, his nails digging into your back a little. Thought it was just for a moment, right as you moaned, before he slid his mouth away.

When you broke for air he trailed kisses over your cheek, down the column of your throat, teeth grazing over your pulse point with a warning. The kisses were too tender, too soft, you wanted more open mouthed kisses on your skin. More of his tongue lavishing your neck instead of your mouth. You wanted him to be feverent and hungry. Everything was going according to your idea, you thought, until he unweaved, grabbing one of your arms gently as you panted. You were clearly a little frustrated.

"It may be best that we wait—" He started, his eyes smoldering, glints of amber and yellow in the dark, lips wet from your tongue and tears. He could see your cheeks almost bulging, sulking.

"Why?" You probed, those intense eyes of your settling on his straightforward.

"Because you're grieving, I don't wish to—"

"So you don't want me like that?" Your voice trembled, your shoulders slumping in defeat. You let go of his hair, hands folding into your lap, the tears welling up again to drip down your face. You were being a bit eccentric, your belly was heated and you were sulking for him putting out the embers. For dowsing you back in the cold of reality.

Vincent let out a whine almost animalistic in nature, pressing his forehead to yours, "You know this is untrue,"

You did. You knew you were being stubborn. Throwing a tantrum most likely, you were acting as a greedy child. But it did little to sway your eyes from keeping their gaze locked on your lap where you hands lay, fingers twisting.

"Look at me, please,"

You shut your eyes tighter. Your name left his lips again, calling for your attention.

You opened them, slowly lifting them under your lashes to find his intensly boring into you with flecks of yellow. It wasn't often you saw the yellow, beastly eyes lurking beneath, but sometimes they made an appearance. You felt a little shy like you had an audience between you two. You saw his yearning, but you also saw how worried he was for you. He was entirely cautious for good reason, he didn't want to break you, bend you, tarnish you in any way.

"There you are," he offered one of his rare crooked smiles, lips curling at the ends in that way you love.

"Your tears are very enchanting, but I dislike seeing you cry," he whispered, leaning forward to press his lips under your eyes, a warm wet sensation following as he licked the traces of your tears away.

Maybe it should've repulsed you, but it was a little comforting. Crying had left your eyes sore, the skin below was dry and the soft sweep of his tongue and a bit of cool breath made all the difference. It was also somewhat bold of him, almost uncharacteristically bold.

It made you ache.

"You make it hard not to protest when you do that," you mumbled, already feeling the mood lighten a little from his shennigans. He was trying to comfort you in his own way.

He chuckled, a sound that didn't reach his eyes as he brushed a thumb along your jaw, "I want when we...", he cleared his throat, suddenly seeming a little bashful.

"Fuck?" You offered, announciating it a bit too sharply which he seemed to wince at.

"Mmh," He pushed on your waist until you were laying with your head against his chest, able to hear the rhythm of his heart.

"When we join," he continued while stroking your hair, you felt all the fight leaving you, "I want it to be because you desire to remember, nothing more and nothing less,"

You sniffle, feeling really silly for your earlier antics but still dealing with that deeply rooted sadness. You wondered if this is what Vincent carried all the time. If it felt so hollow, how did he have the strength to burden himself alone?

You're certain there was something that happened to him so twisted that he wouldn't let you touch him in certain places, wouldn't let you see him without clothes. It was the way his eyes darkened when you asked if it was because it had been a long time since he'd been with someone in general.

To you it didn't matter if he was the virgin Saint Mary or if his body count was in the one hundreds, you just wanted him to feel as comfortable as he made you feel.

Unfortunately he refused reciprocation, sometimes allowing you to make him feel good over his clothes with your hands or hips, but nothing beyond this. You knew he didn't climax once with you this way. You were often interrupted, not really allowed to embellish your desires as you please. You also only ever had cramped places to yourselves where it was hard to touch.

There had been nights during watch together that you lounged in his lap, his fingers gliding under your waistband when you were worked up. He painted these occasions as "Helping you relax".

His fingers would make you fall apart under the stars once more, but it was always hushed, too quick to sink into the desire. You wanted more time—more of him.

As the silence droned on, you became aware of your spiraling thoughts once again, trying to think of anything but what happened in the past day. You wanted to sleep it off, wake up and discover it was all a dream.

"Vincent?"

"Mhm?"

"Do these wounds heal?" You pushed closer to him as if it were possible, he was drawing the covers up around your shoulders. The blanket made your nose itchy, but your body was so exhausted you wouldn't bother lifting you fingers to relieve it.

You could feel the heave of his sigh, "With time,"

A lie, dripping bittersweet, but one that would give you hope.

———- a week passes ———-

You hadn't grown used to waking up to Vincent in a long time. What with Aerith dying, the group finally admitting they needed some rest— you were in a period of welcomed warmth. Cloud busied himself in sidework with Barret, Tifa helped the pub downstairs to help pay for your extended stay at the Inn. You helped out as well, scrubbing tables down, serving food, and sometimes it felt like a part of your old life in Midgar had resurfaced. Though, your memory was a bit hazy with certain details. You couldn't remember what brought you to the city in the first place, just that you ended up there and had to survive.

The sound of the wind howling outside brought you out of your memories. You forgot how still it was when Vincent slept next to you, the steady fall of his chest, his hair sprawled across the pillows. His legs were often longer than the mattress so he often slept with them curled up, looped with yours when you would insist to take more room. You liked waking up before he did because you got to see a side of him no one ever did.

Even when he awoke suddenly in the middle of the night, sweat pouring off of him— he would retreat from you. Like clockwork he would put his walls back up for awhile after, assuring you that you did not need to know what lingered in the crevice of his mind. He would then spend the rest of the night cleaning his weaponry, oiling his gauntlet, or reading— Anything to prevent himself from landing back in the bed with you.

So, you liked when he rested dreamlessly— though that was few and far between.

Your fingers fluttered over his sharp cheekbones, reaching the corner of his eyelids. The first tell of Vincent waking up would be the working of his jaw, his tongue moving around in his mouth, lips parted to breathe in a deep mouthful of air. Often he would keep his eyes closed, just letting you hold his face. But today he opened those carmine eyes just for you, sleep heavy.

His eyes always looked more bleary in the morning, languid and lazy as he took in your face as well. He would usually bring a hand up to graze knuckles over your jaw, his other arm around you pulling you in a bit more. He often made you lay back down, his voice so throaty it made your heart stutter.

"A bit more,"

But you had other plans, you would lean up on your elbow propping your head up. You would study his features still, finger smoothing out the furrow of his brow.

"Has anyone ever told you how hot your morning voice is?" you teased, your finger outlining his jaw, going down to his collarbone and back up. You were basking in the afterglow of a good dreamless sleep.

You were greedy for his affection. You had been going to sleep early almost every night after working with Tifa so often you had time to embrace and then you were drooling on your pillow.

His eyes opened once more at that as you began to shift above him, straddling his hips. You had insisted on borrowing a shirt of his yesterday, using everything to your advantage for your villianous idea to make him lose self control. His hands rested on the top of your thighs, fingers playing with the edge of the shirt, a lingering expression of sleep on his face. His blinks were really slow, eyes wandering over you as if considering letting you have what you wanted. His will was too damn strong though, ignoring your curious glances at his shirt and pants.

You leaned down, brushing your lips to the shell of his ear, "Do vampires get hard in the morning?" You nibbled his ear lobe.

Vincent let out a sound of self contempt, his fingers gripping you more roughly as you sat down harshly right over his bulge. He wasn't rock hard but you could feel him twitching and tensing beneath you already.

He gripped your face between two fingers with a long ardent sigh, a smug look as your face heated up from his bodies reaction. He squished your cheeks together, making your lips jut out. You were losing your bravado as you could almost feel the length of it.

He was big.

He knew it too.

"On second thought, breakfast?" You squeaked out, your lips still pinched between his fingers.

"Mm, but I thought you were offering a delectable buffet?" Vincent pondered, voice thick, his hand drawing your face near.

"After all, vampires are quite insatiable." He drawled, "Silly girl."

You forced your eyes away, glancing out at the snowfall from the window.

"All bark but no bite," you muttered, your blush deepening. You doubt he would take it farther than teasing, even though you'd had alone time recently he hadn't shown that much low restraint. You even tried sleeping with your shirt rocked up around your thighs, sleep shorts forgotten— he looked of course, but never slid his hands any further than the tops of your legs.

In a whirl you found yourself flipped over in your moment of distraction. His forearms caging your head, his legs astride your thigh. Was that his teeth at your jugular? You felt your heart pick up speed when his hot breath ghosted over your throat.He didn't bite down, just lets the prick of his canines indent your flesh ever so lightly— a dangerous little reminder. When he felt you gulp, your throat moving beneath him he removed his mouth, satisfied it seemed with your reaction. Vincent settled his weight onto you carefully so as not to crush you, the spaces between your bodies nonexistent now, his belts pressing into your hips. He was so long compared to you that most times it was a bit awkward, the size difference really made you swoon though.

Your hands gripped his narrow waist, teasing your fingers on the hem on his shirt. Normally this is where he would stop, but he seemed a little delighted to play your game. His eager hands grabbed yours away from his waist, collecting them in one hand and pinning them above your head against the smooth wood of the headboard.

"V-vincent wait—"

He looked up from your throat, sitting up slightly to hover his face over you directly, moving his leg so it parted your thighs. He was waiting as you requested, idly tracing your side with his other hand still covered by his glove. He never touched you with it unless you asked nicely, but you often had to spend a long time getting him to take it off.

You weren't in a patient mood.

He cocked his head, playing the fool, "I'm waiting,"

"I hope that good ol' self restraint is doing you wonders." You bit back a grin, he truly was the best for making you feel giddy. These playful banters were scarce.

This side of him you wanted to keep forever before you had to exit this room for the day When you left it would be back to grunts, sighs and the occasional twitch of his eyes. His thigh shifted abruptly, touching your center and shooting sparks down your spine.

He let out a low chuckle, the sleep in his voice making it deeper as he purred, "No undergarments today as well? You're bold,"

"I'm very thorough in my tactics," You let out breathily, wiggling subtly to get that same friction.

"Oh?" He brought his lips to yours softly, giving you more access to his leg as you shamlessly started to grind against it, "Indulge" a gentle kiss, with a hint of his tongue running over your bottom lip, "Me?"

"Seduction," You whispered, biting his bottom lip, "Foreplay.....Orgasm..."

He waited with baited breath as you moaned, the friction was heavenly, not the same as his hands or his mouth, but the leather on his leg was smooth.

"Mm," He encouraged you wordlessly, letting you grind on him as you pleased. His hand continued to graze over your ribs with his fingertips, pushing the shirt up even more.

"Dont tease," you pleaded

"Says the temptress with tactics," He sighed lazily against your mouth, deepening your kisses, your tongue slipped inside his eager mouth, dancing for dominance. His was winning with all the places he could touch you while your hands were still pinned, making you moan for him, letting you slip.

"I want it," You whined, devastated, hungry. "Want you s'bad," Your voice slurred, drunk on his touch.

He pulled away, almost untangling himself in an attempt to let the flames simmer.

"N-No we don't have to....all the way..." You explained, your eyes wide, begging, "I don't mind not....you know.."

He seemed to relax at that, shifting and letting your hands fall to his shoulders, free. You flexed your fingers, the ache between your legs growing, you werent sure exactly what you wanted to do here but he was staring at you expectantly.

"I wanted to touch you," You admitted, "Maybe....each other..." You face was creeping with heat, you lips became the perfect place for your teeth to tug and bite.

Vincent looked lost in thought, his shoulders tensing forward, "I won't remove my clothes," He said slowly, waiting for you to reject the idea. Reject him. Reject his vulnerability.

You nodded, cupping his cheek, brushing a thumb across it, "That's fine with me, we can go at your pace, always." You affirmed with a kiss to his mouth, pulling him back down to you which he surrenders.

You made sure to give him an out though since you felt a bit irrational, "But if you don't want to, don't force yourself...promise?"

He wordlessly grips your hand with his bare one, sliding your fingers together like he did in the fountain. The gesture was a 1,000 words, a promise without needing clarification.

His hand releases yours to explore, to tease around your stomach. There's no fabric beneath your waist but he still takes his time sliding his hand further down, fingers splayed as if in muscle memory. He was drinking in your heated expressions as his hand finally descends your mound. His middle and pointer seeking out your folds.

Before you can lose courage you also begin to fiddle with the zipper on his leather pants, your fingers tremble.

"Inside or outside the underwear?" You asked with a teasing lilt of your hand palming him through the pants. You noticed his body's reaction immediately. His back tensed, arms quivering.

"Start outside," He bit out, he didn't know if he could hold it If you just reached in and grabbed him in one go.

You just nodded, feeling his head descend to your neck, breaths already heavy. He slid his hand lower taking his time to run both fingers down each side of your folds. You whimpered, hips rolling into those digits. You could feel how sticky and slick you were from having rubbed on his leg, the evidence spread all over your inner thighs.

While he coaxed you with his hands, you pulled the waist of his pants down just slightly, it was resting lower on his hips, your hand able to brush over his underwear now. Oh he was definitely hard, absolutely leaking. Your finger that grazed his clothed cock was damp, the thought warming you up even further.

You heard the low groan come from the back of his throat, face burrowing into your shoulder— Almost pained, like he was straining himself.

"It's okay. I've got you," You coo'd.

His fingers were carefully exploring you still, finding your clit and giving it a gentle pinch. It caused you to gasp, pleasure shooting through your body. Your other hand would rest on his slender waist, rubbing soothingly as you prepared him for more firmer grips. You didn't want to make a move too fast, disrupt whatever pleasure he was feeling just because you loved watching him fall apart.

But you almost couldn't help yourself, maneuvering him in his underwear so it was easier to trail your fingers over his long shaft. You mouth suddenly felt too dry, your tongue thick. What would he taste like?

A feral sound escaped him, he reigned himself in with a harsh inhale, "Be patient, not too hard," He guided your hand to rest at the base of his covered cock. He was groaning in the hollow of your throat, his hips freezing at the simple touch. You licked your lips, heart pounding, fingers flexing over him in a slow rhythm.

He didn't give you time to quip back at him, fingers rubbing you thoroughly now, gliding into the center of your slick heat and growling at how much of a mess was between your legs already.

You cried out, biting into his shoulder, you couldn't afford to be too loud afterall. Your hips rolled with his technique, wanting those fingers to go lower, to dip inside. He knew it well enough, slowing his pace to a torturous stroke. You were a bowstring pulled taught, arching into him regardless of the simple touch.

He hummed in amusement, toying with your clit and running those digits back up and down your center, index and middle finger running lightly over your entrance. He could feel you trying to take the tips of his fingers inside, the pulsing of the hole widening to accommodate. To say it turned him on was an understandment, he could probably peak from fingering you alone.

You whined, pushing closer with your hand on his hips. Your nails were digging into his waist, little marks would be left over. It wouldn't hurt what so ever if you dragged your nails deeper, though he wished you would. You would push against his fingers, moaning when you would successfully cause him to rub your core more intensly, finger tips sinking inside to stroke the warmth.

"Needy little thing," He rasped, raised himself up to your ear, licking and sucking just behind it. In response to this teasing your hand engulfed his clothed shaft, squeezing firmly while stroking faster. His fingers took their time slipping inside of you teasingly, going back up to your clit to rub the mess around.

A broken moan escaped him, his arms shaking as he kept himself upright, eyes fluttering close. You grabbed the tips of his hair, his fingers had stilled their torture so you could tug, pulling him to face you and capturing his lips. He drank greedily from your tongue, almost panting. Just a touch like this and he was spiraling too fast.

You bite down harshly, wanting to make these as yours for the time being. When you pulled apart all that was left was a string of saliva connecting your parted lips. The indent of your teeth prominent, little beads of blood forming there. You should feel bad, you think, maybe a little embarrassed by such a carnal desire to mark him in a place so vivid. He seemed to like it enough, those glowing eyes roaming over you in his shirt, tongue darting out to clean the drops of red from his mouth.

"Slowly," He chastised you with a gasp as you continued to grasp him so firmly, his hand going back to your wrist to slow you down, "I cant think..."

You smiled, kissing his cheeks tenderly. You could see that he was battling the pleasure, his brow furrowing, he always wanted to pleasure you first. It was endearing, but you wanted to make him come.

"I have an idea, let me up." You commanded with another tug to his hair. He complied immediately, letting you rise but having to remove his fingers from you as well. You grimmaced at the disappearance, but pushed him back to the end of the bed with the flat of your palm to his chest, climbing across his lap.

"Like this," You demonstrated with a swivel of your hips, your bare core touching his briefs. His belts dug into your legs but the sting was welcome. It sent electric up your spine as you settled fully into the weight. His hips arched into you, his eyes lidded as you rocked forward. He was biting his lip already, eyes rolling practically as you slid yourself over him with practiced glides.

Oh

Vincent was so hot, you could feel how wound up he was, the throbbing very apparent even in this state. You could feel the length against your clit, making you fall forward a little. Your one hand balanced yourself with his chest, the other cupping his cheek which he nuzzled in it. His teeth scrap over your palm as he nibbled gently. You chased the sensation of those sparks over and over. He looked so vulnerable, so open, overwhelmed. His chest was heaving beneath your hand as you continued, his hands settling on your hips to help you along or to slow you down— you couldn't analyze properly.

You were already panting too, feeling the wetness trailing down your legs as you shivered. It felt so good like this, you wanted so badly for that aching emptiness to be filled but you didn't want to push your luck in asking. The barrier of clothing between you was so wet you swear you could almost feel him bare anyway.

You couldn't help the tears that welled in your eyes, not wanting to scare Vincent you tried to hold them in. The pleasure was so much, his gentle but firm grasp on you was so rooting. How had you never had this before? It was electrifying.

"Do you want to stop?" He was asking you so tenderly, as if letting you know you could and he wouldn't blame you for it.

You answered with a feral kiss, rutting faster. You wanted him to crumble, wanted to see when he experienced bliss.

"Vincent...hah...mm—" was the only thing you could manage— hoping, praying the repsonse would be read into it well enough.

He whispered back, thrusting up as well with small pulses of his hips, "Make yourself the priority, I can hold." His voice was measured, each word lingered with a soft sigh each time you connected below.

Your heat soared, looking down into his eyes, fingers clenching in his shirt.

"Please, don't hold, let go...please..." You begged, not caring if you sounded needy. Just the thought of making him come was making your release climb. So you leaned up and away to add more pressure to his cock. You wouldn't accept anything less for him, you wouldn't let him deny himself.

You were babbling, a blush creeping over your cheeks as you looked down on him, "I want to see it...when you come for me," You leaned bafk down to kiss him again.

Those perfect lips colored slightly darker red than your own were too irresistible. You loved kissing him, every kiss was sweet. Was it always this addictive before though? You couldn't remember a time where you yearned for lips against yours so heavily. You could devour them day and night.

Vincent's hands came up to tangle in your hair, holding you there like you were his oxygen. Gripping you in place, ravishing your lips in equal measure as you gave yourself over to every desire you had.

You could feel his hips stuttering, losing rhythm with you.

"You're so good to me, Vincent, so sweet," You praised into his mouth as he hissed, his body seizing after that like it was too much. The mess between you two was splattering against his abdomen, an obscene sloppy sound coming from your grinding hips.

"I cant hold, please," He ground out the words, his jaw clenched as he reached for one of your breasts, hand cupping it. "You first,"

He leaned up on one of his elbows, moving the shirt so it was at your neckline and took the flesh inside of his mouth. He pulled it taut with his teeth, knowing you liked him to be a little rough with this area.

You were losing as quickly as you started this game of tug and war. You keened, slick dripping all over him as you picked up the pace with fervor. He was busy with the nipple in his mouth, teeth clamping down again with a harsh suck.

You cried out as it hit you suddenly, you could equate it to seeing static when you got dizzy. All your sensitivty went straight to the hunger between your legs, growing as you came. Your hips were not longer able to handle being upright, almost slumping forward into him. He growled and pushed you down harder, hands adjusting you to where he needed you— rubbing against you to chase his own release which wasn't far behind. You fell into his arms deeper, his mouth next to your ear.

You could hear every groan, every whimper as he chased pleasure with your soaking core. You were still trembling, the prices of white hot pleasure lingering as he overstimulated you. You cried into his shoulder, lips pressing hot kisses there.

"Just like that," You mouthed into his collar, "Feels so good,"

With a final trail of kisses to his mouth he tensed, hips rocking once, twice, three times in a quick succession of snaps. He called out your name so sweetly even with that raspy voice, dripping with desperation as he came.

Your breaths mingled as you soaked in his pleasure. The hot material underneath you grew even warmer, sticking to your skin.

He was shaking harder than you had, eyes rolling up, he looked so blissed out. It was like all the weight of his troubles disappeared for that moment, his body becoming soft and pilant as you stroked his abdomen over his shirt. Your voice cooing gently as his torso kept spasming along with the muscles in his legs.

You felt him tugging you down, naturally wanting to feel the press of your chest, the undeniable race of your heartbeats that gave him a sense of calm. He couldnt get close enough, burrowing his face in your neck with a cry. You could feel those hot tears streak over your skin. He was downright crumbling.

"Hah— fuck— nnnh." He was still shivering, you could feel the hot dampness of his come sticking to his underwear. You didn't move, not wanting to push him over too far. It seemed like he was overwhelmed with the pleasure of it all, looking a little lost so you just let him hold you close through the throws of it.

"You did so well, just let it happen, its okay," You reassured, kissing his head, taking one of his hands from your waist and lacing your fingers together.

"Hmmm," He hummed, closing his eyes and trying to steady his breaths as you began to coax his hips to move slowly from their stillness, drawing him back down to you in a relaxing way. Letting him ride out the high as he needed too even if it stoked the embers inside you once more. You knew he probably wouldn't be able to handle another right now.

"That's it," You murmured, gently brushing his hair from his face. You waited there, the silence stretching. Nothing but the sound of Vincent's idle gasps, throaty moans. When his hips finally stopped shivering you made sure not to press down on him again, keeping your weight on one of his legs instead.

He was still squeezing his eyes shut so you stroked a thumb over his cheek encouraging him to open. When he did you smiled so brightly, a happiness surging within you, you had finally had an experience together. You were elated.

"Are you okay?" You mused.

"Are you?"

You both asked each other, your lips twitching with the humor of it all. You leaned further onto his chest.

"Never better," You could feel, however, the quickly cooling release on your thighs. It was technically a mixture of your own and his. You didn't mind though, you didn't want anything to pull you apart right now.

You could see his mind spiraling, a look of shame in his eyes that wouldn't disappear. You quickly covered his mouth with your hand as if knowing he was going to ruin it with something incredibly ridiculous about himself.

He reached up to peel the fingers from his mouth but you insisted.

"Don't think about anything, you were perfect, all of it.." Your lopsided smile coming into play, "I came just from seeing your expression..." You admitted, shyly. You let him remove your hand finally, his eyes searching yours for any traces of regret.

Vincent let his fingers brush your hair stuck to your face away, "You'll be the death of me," the corner of his lip twitched but you could see the relief in his eyes. He kissed your palm, a gesture of affection that made your toes curl.

With a groan he started to sit up and you held on tightly, your bodies were slick with sweat and to your embarrassment a lot of your fluids.He looked at his drenched lap with something of pride, your cheeks growing darker. You could easily see the staining white from you all over his black clothing.

"Let's clean you up," He suggested instead, leading you off the bed with a hand but pausing to gain his balance. His legs were a little jelly like, his other arm reaching out to lean on the bed post. That made him feel just as shy as you, with the way his ears went scarlet. You giggled behind a hand, standing up beside him and tugging him towards the bath.

"We'll practice," You promised, eyes alight as he watched you remove the shirt from your body, "You'll get used to it, I'll make sure of it," His gaze was locked on the center of your thighs, the dripping arousal, his eyes glowing.

"Mm, careful."

And then you were whisked into the bath where you were awarded another taste of his fingers and teasing. You wondered how it could get better than that.

But time was still ticking regardless of your little bubble of happiness. You would have to step out of it soon, but in the moment you relished him.

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 36: A Burial Of Things

*Please read below before continuing*

A few clarifications: I should have named the Zen’in we met back in Chapter 19—the one potentially seeking Yuna’s hand. From now on, we’ll be calling him Zen’in Kaito. And yes, he’s essentially Toji, but I chose not to name him that because (personally) picturing Toji in this setting would pull me out of the time period. Previous chapters have been updated with this change. That being said, my burnout-ridden brain made a mistake in the last chapter (and will likely make many more). The very last sentence shouldn’t have referred to the “blade” coming up behind Sukuna—it was meant to be the man, oops. Keep that in mind, and I apologize for the mix-up. Anyway, this chapter completely broke my brain, and I have many feelings about it. (And thank you, Muse and Arniee, for coming to the rescue and anyone who said they would beta-read this chapter <3)

Word count: 11.7K

Content warning: Violence, death, descriptions of corpses (including children), war-like scenarios, blood, stressful situations.

Chapter 35

“Hopefully, this isn’t a mistake.”

Exhaling a slow, steadying breath, you shove your letters under the saddle, pressing them firmly into place before swinging yourself up onto Ayana.  

She paws at the soft ground, her head bobbing—eager, almost like she senses what’s coming. And what you’re about to do is either entirely reckless or stubbornly brave. You hope for the latter as you take the reins and steer her toward the main road.  

Before you, the landscape stretches wild in every direction—hills giving way to wide, open plains, with mountains beyond rising like rows of teeth.

You could choose left, ride for the capital, and leave it all behind—bury the truth in convenience, pretend you never saw what lies ahead, turn a blind eye and be with your sister. But under your skin, it prickles, watching as low hanging clouds churn in the distance, hinting at things far worse.  

And you see it.

That slow, continuous thread of dark smoke siphoning into the sky.

That’s your destination.  

East—toward the carnage already unfolding, toward whatever village is unfortunate enough to be caught in the path of the force bearing down on Sukuna’s domain. All because of your actions, what you asked of him, and what you did. And you know what lies ahead. Bodies burned beyond recognition, women brutalized, children with their heads bashed in.

Sukuna won’t protect those under his rule.  

But you might.  

Brave or foolish—you suppose you’ll find out soon enough.

Shifting in the saddle, you grip the muted indigo lining inside your obi and tear the strip of fabric loose. Twisting it, you knot it around your neck and let it hang there.

Taking the reins in one gloved hand, you pat your mare’s neck with the other. She chuffs and stamps a hoof.

“It’s time to go,” you murmur, lifting your chin, eyes fixed on the smudge of orange crouching against the dull horizon. Then you drive Ayana forward.

* * * * *

Riding along the outskirts, beneath the swelling black cloud above, you know the village lies just beyond the hill ahead.

At this distance, it’s quiet. You’re not sure what to think. You’ve come across no one, yet you can feel them—feel the energy shuddering through the air, pressing into you like the throb of an open wound. Others like you—many of them. But one presence rises above all.

Pushing your mare forward, you guide her up the gentle rise. It doesn’t take long to reach the crest, where the world breaks open, and everything comes into view.

You’d like to think devastation and ruin had become a part of your life over time. That being in a union with death itself had exposed you to such things. But looking at what lies before you now, you see how little that truly was in the grand scheme of it all.

The raid must have struck before dawn, tearing the village from its sleep. Body after body, shape upon shape, all resembling people, lie at its edges. Smaller forms that are children. Frail ones that are elderly. It didn’t matter if they ran. They were cut down.

And those still alive flee from the fire that led you here. It burns in scattered pockets, forcing the survivors in every direction—but the assailants don’t let them get far.

You take it all in, the calamity, the loss.

But above all else, there is the sound.

The blaze hisses and crackles, but that’s not what you hear. What you hear are the screams, the wailing, the shouting—all running together like the rush of a storm swallowing everything whole, growing louder, more numerous. Panicked.

Horrible guilt finds its way into your stomach, where it fists and settles.

You take a deep breath.

All the horrors you’ve experienced mean nothing compared to this.

Nothing.

Beneath you, Ayana fidgets, ears pricked. She must sense it too—this violence. But you can't stay here. You need to get down there. Have to.

Reins in hand, you straighten in the saddle and reach for your leather gloves. Some half-buried-alive instinct knocks inside your chest, a warning telling you that this will be brutal. One tug, and the first glove slips free. The second one follows just as quickly, and you push them inside your obi.

No turning back now.

Blood surges, pounding through your veins as you nudge your mare and descend the hill toward the fire.

At first, the ground is easy to traverse—flat and grassy, scorched only where tiny embers have drifted. But as you draw closer, the soil turns uneven, scarred. You guide Ayana through the wreckage of abandoned lives—broken oxcarts, scattered belongings, straw sandals, clothing, things left behind.

Across your path, a gust of wind sweeps through, carrying with it a thick plume of smoke. Cinders float down, soft as snow, tangling in your hair, clinging to your lips, streaking your cheeks. Your eyes burn. You pull the fabric from around your neck, tightening it over your nose, warding off the fetid air and burned flesh.

It stings.

You squint against it.

Just ahead, the first line of bodies rise up from the earth, grey with soot. They lie where they fell, lie with eyes wide, mouths open to circling crows and falling ash. And pressed among them, a child curls in on themselves, arrows sprouting from their tiny frame, small hands outstretched toward the figure beside them, as if reaching for comfort in their final moments.

You don’t realize you’ve stopped there until a blink clears a bit of smoke from your vision.

Numb. You feel… nothing. Absolutely nothing.

And yet—disgust, blind rage, hatred—each emotion wedges itself deep in your throat. Sick. Stomach-in-your-throat sick.

You swallow them.

You have to.

There will be time for those later.

In the distance, through the haze, the living flees in every direction. They run, stumble, fall—only to be dragged down by the snare of chaos. You move toward it, urging Ayana into a faster gallop, her hooves tearing into the earth in time with the hammering of your pulse.  

Closer, and the inferno blazes hotter.  

Closer, and more traces of what lies ahead come into view.  

Closer, and down your spine, a searing of energy.  

Sukuna’s presence tightens around you—he’s fighting in this writhing mass of life. But you steer away from where you think he might be, angling toward the north end of the village instead.  

Get in, get out. Usher as many to safety as you can.  

Simple.  

Hopefully.  

But maybe you’ll die here.  

Your hands tighten around the reins.  

But let’s try not to, okay?  

Gaining speed, you tuck in close to Ayana’s neck, her silver mane lashing against your cheek. She’s tense beneath you, muscles coiled, stride steady. Your heartbeat roars inside your ears.  

Closer.  

The screams swell.  

Closer. 

The splintering of wood groans under heat. 

Closer.  

You barrel into another layer of thick smoke, tunnel through and burst out the other side.

The village snaps into view.  

So do the assaulters. Their clothing, their insignias, barely visible through the haze but you see it. 

Heian-kyō and—  

Zen’in.

Bastards.

“Rider!” A voice cuts through the melee.  

Your head jerks to the sound just as a dozen eyes snap toward you.  

For a beat, there’s confusion. Feet scuffle. A clang. The glint of weapons.  

You yank Ayana left, then right, weight shifting, hooves striking, weaving tight arcs around fallen beams and bodies. You drive her toward a narrow break in the wreckage—a clear path to relative safety.

But a man steps out from behind the ribs of a collapsed home, bow drawn, arrow nocked.

He releases.

Whoosh.

You throw yourself low into the saddle, making yourself small as it streaks past your head.

Your breath snags. You twist—just in time to see it quivering in the dirt behind you.

Fuck. Too close.

“Kill her!” A command from somewhere in the fray.

Squeezing your thighs, you yank hard on the reins, wheeling Ayana around the archer. But stance widening, he moves with you, grin sharp, nocking a second time.

Your pulse pounds. His fingers tighten on the string—

He draws.

Aims.

Shit.

At this distance—

Under your fingertips, an ache flickers to life. You know what needs to be done.

“Come on, girl! Stretch your legs!”

Ayana’s breath heaves in the smoky air, but she pushes harder, galloping straight into his path—a smear of snowmelt against dust.

The archer squints into the cloudy morass, arrow set, wavering between you and the swarms of shifting bodies.

Seconds. That’s all you had. Seconds to reach him and end this.

You push harder.

The distance closes.

Tightens.

Collapses.

You make it, fingers shooting out, brushing the grip of his bow hand, right where it steadies the riser.

The arrow flies—

Misses.

Because by then, the decay has already started, crawling up from the point of contact, and his hand falters. Knees slamming into the dirt, he drops, and a satisfying shriek bursts from his chest.

Speeding away, you glance back just as the swelling overtakes him, his body tearing itself apart from within. It starts with the bones. Bursting through the skin, they erupt in a messy spray of blood and innards that uncoil like soggy plants to the ground. 

There’s a scream. Then silence.

For a heartbeat, everything stills. Your eyes search the area as the atmosphere shifts. Some of the surrounding men hesitate, a few peeling away, backing off instead of advancing.

Good.

You take it as your cue to move.

Skin humming with power, you tear down the empty, narrow path at full speed, forging your way to the north end with Ayana thundering beneath you. Anyone in your way—anyone attacking, butchering, skewering civilians—you touch. And it’s quick. An unsuspecting graze, a skim of a finger at the back of a neck as you streak past, so light and gentle you almost wish it wasn’t.

Still, they all die.

As they should.

Hooves drumming faster against the earth, teeth rattling, your body moving with your mare’s powerful gait, you break through the far end of the village. The smoke thins, and near its edges, a cluster of frightened people picks their way through the wreckage, stumbling, confused and disoriented.

“I can help you!” you call, slowing beside them. But they shrink back, wary.

Understandable.

You pull the cloth loose from around your face, letting it hang at your neck as you wipe soot and sweat from your forehead and cheeks.

“Keep heading for the treeline,” you urge, lifting a hand to motion toward the forest. “I’ll hold anyone off.”

At least there, they’ll have cover to escape—instead of running into the open fields or back only to be slaughtered like animals. And if anyone follows them into the forest… then you’ll take it down with you. A last-ditch effort. Decay the area. Be the final pillar standing between them and their pursuers. But that’s if you can control it a second time the way the King of Curses dragged it from you.

“Back there.” An elderly woman steps forward, her face folded in distress, swathes of clothing soaked in blood, though it’s unclear if it’s hers or someone else’s. “Our men are still fighting.” She trails a trembling finger toward the village at your back, her voice tight with urgency. “Help them instead.”

Swallowing, you glance toward the treeline, then back to where she points toward the madness.

You hesitate.

The woman takes another step as if to urge you, her expression pleading despite the exhaustion weighing down her frame.

They’ll make it. They have to.

You exhale sharply, then pull the cloth back over your nose.

“Keep going!” you press, squeezing your thighs into Ayana. “I’ll help the others.” 

Get in. Get out.

Simple.

Nodding once to the staggering group, you urge your mare on, who streams forward, and you’re gone.

Fires still burn down the center of the village, their glow licking at the shifting ground. Bodies move in a tide, crashing and breaking over one another. Mounds of figures. Hills and dips of them. Still, you carve into the onslaught, right into the heart of the struggle, where ruined homes smoulder and the assault continues to bleed.

Under the fabric pressed across your face, the stench seeps in. You gag. Filth, blood, sweat, the shit and urine of frightened people all mingling together with the flames that sting your senses.

But you take it in.

The villagers wield whatever they could cobble together—crude spears, small blades—desperately trying to hold their ground. But it's a fight they're bound to lose.

Scanning the battlefield, you’ve never been in something like this before, never faced this kind of violence, and you’re unsure where to go first. There’s movement everywhere. Too many screams of grief and agony, overlapping with bodies dropping, open bones flashing, limbs mutilated, blood pouring to the earth.

It’s hell—a gaping pit of it. And you’re standing at the precipice.

That recklessness and stubborn bravery you felt earlier evaporate. And all you can do is watch.

Until you hear it.

A louder, broken cry rises, cutting above the crush. A girl’s scream. Visceral and raw, and dripping with terror.

Head snapping toward it, you shove your insecurities down your throat and move.

Veering left, you push Ayana forward. She’s already moving as fast as she can, but she’s starting to lag, her sides heaving, coat slick with sweat and grit. You won’t get there in time, not like this.

Leaning over your mare’s neck, you scan the shifting mass, peering above heads and weapons—then you see her. The girl. She’s young. A man in armour leathers nearly triple her size, drags her close to a half-fallen hut.

You need to get there.  

Now.  

“Oi!”  

Throwing yourself off Ayana, your feet slam into the dirt. Yanking off your covering, you give her a sharp smack to the hind. She whinnies, lurching forward, tearing away toward cover.

You run.

Shoving through the thickest of fighting, into grunting men, slipping between gaps, squeezing past sweaty bodies, you force your way through whatever space you can find.

“Leave her alone!”

The warrior doesn’t stop. His grip tightens. He yanks her close, dragging at her arm, jerking her off balance. Between glimpses of his broad, moving figure, you see her face.

Days later, you’ll still remember this moment, exactly how it felt when you saw her tear-streaked cheeks, her wide, bright, terrified eyes.

Sickness lumps in your belly. You know what’s about to happen and the thought alone drives you faster, legs burning, steps hammering into the earth.

I can make it.

You run for her.

“Stop it!” Your voice rises as you tear free from one cluster, just as two men crash across your path. You dart around them, weaving through the chaos—dodging people, dodging weapons, dodging a spasm of energy that erupts from nowhere.

Still, the man doesn’t stop, he continues. You can hear her sobs now, can see him crash a fist across her face, bloodying it.

“Don’t touch her!” you scream, barely paces away—when his right arm suddenly shoots sideways.  

He lets her go. And she falls.  

The girl crumples. Boneless. 

You freeze, heart stumbling. Take another step.

Too late.  

It’s only when you get close enough that you see the kaiken in his hand. The fine arc he carved through her delicate throat.

Your gaze drops.

There, in the dirt, her body arches violently, mouth agape, opening and closing around air that won’t come—because that slit spills too much red across her skin, choking each attempt.  

Your mouth trembles. And helpless, all you can do is watch.

Watch until finally, she goes still.

I’m sorry. 

So damn still.

I’m so sorry.

The man, his back still facing you, grunts in satisfaction. But you don’t hear him. You don’t acknowledge him. You just stare at the girl—perhaps only just reaching her twelfth year. Probably never seen anything beyond this village. Never to see anything more than this. Be anything more than this.

Fodder.

Something to be used and discarded, buried with the rest of this place.

And didn’t you know how that felt.

A cold, hard rage falls over you, a cleaving storm and sea of emotions.

You raise your eyes to him, and you use it.

Use the same anger that burned through you last night. Use the emotions that twisted inside when you saw the child, arrows jutting from their small body. Use the knowledge, the hate, the bitter understanding that the capital would unleash such cruelty on its own people just to destroy a monster they so desperately want to punish. Use every ounce of self-loathing you’ve let rot within, every lost dream, every life cut short, every sightless stare. Even the memory of that tiny life you took too soon, before it ever had the chance to open its eyes to the world to begin with.

Your hands lift.

That discolouration shudders down your forearms, spreading like fine cracks through fragile, broken glass. Energy throbs within—you try to wrangle it, breathe through it, control it. But even the small pieces of advice Sukuna gave you, to focus on breath, drains the moment the man turns, lifting the small scales of his leathers to inspect them briefly before wiping the blood-slicked dagger across his uwa-obi. Then, he looks at you with greedy eyes and smiles.

Smiles.

He even spits out a laugh as if the thought of you fighting him is some tremendous joke. As if you are nothing more than a farce.

But being underestimated has its advantages. And if you die, you’ll die dragging him down with you.

“Stupid thing,” he huffs around his teeth, nudging his head toward the girl, and your eyes shoot down to her lifeless body. “You want to end up like that, do you?” 

At his words, your throat closes—your failure staring right back at you.

Deep in the pit of your stomach, a seed grows, and a wicked flower takes root.

A pause.

You lift your head.

An animal, when cornered, will not hesitate to attack.

You don’t feel your body as your mind is lost to outrage, and you lunge. Screaming.

In seconds, you're on him, fingers darting for his weapon hand, the only part of him not covered.

“Ugly little scab,” he hisses, barreling forward, an enormous, living wall of muscle and cloth. “I’ll put you in your fucking place!”

His elbow slams into your jaw.

The ground tips beneath you.

Your ears ring, head snapping sideways, the impact setting off a pulse that throbs like a second heartbeat.

Groaning, you stumble back, the taste of iron pooling in your mouth. Blinking against the pain, you lift your head, expressionless. He makes no move for his weapon. Instead, his fingers curl inward as if enjoying the thought of breaking you apart with his bare hands.

You won’t give him the satisfaction.

When you move again, you’re faster—unhindered by armour. Light on your feet, you reach him, your grip hooking around his wrist before sliding lower, tracing over his exposed fingers.

An intimate touch. Like holding hands.

His eyes snap downward, sneering at the gesture—then, confusion flickers across his face. Before he can react, he collapses into the dirt where he belongs.

You step back, watching him crumple, writhing pathetically in on himself.

Bending, you peel open his hand before his body deteriorates and the weapon is lost to his flesh.

“Thank you,” you say flatly, savouring his heaving breaths and wide eyes, watching as putrefaction spreads, splitting his skin like dry, cracked earth.

“I admire when big men like you make mistakes.”

Reaching into his spasming palm, you pluck the dagger free.

“And besides—” You straighten, giving him a humourless smile just as the pressure in his stomach swells, bloating like a pustule.

“Guess even a stupid thing like me can handle a small blade.”

Stepping away, you ignore the putrid implosion, revelling in his demise for a single heartbeat and turn, ready to launch yourself at the next assailant when—

Your entire world flips sideways.

The battlefield tilts. Sounds dim.

You topple weightless to the ground, the impact crashing into your chest.

You gasp, unable to breathe.

Looking up, you reorient yourself only to realize someone has tackled you from behind, the blood-slick terrain lying parallel to your eyes.

Rolling over, you peer up just as the assailant's foot slams into your ribs.

Agony screams its way through your torso. Breath punches past your lungs. You cough violently, clutching the retrieved blade tightly in your palm.

He attacks again, this time with a wakizashi raised.

Shit.

Move!

You fling yourself across slick, slipping through filth, heat, and corpses.

Clang!

Barely dodging the downward swing and low whine of the weapon, you scramble back, a rush of air hissing past your ear.

“Don’t kill her!”

What?

Your head snaps to the voice issuing the command. The order throws you off guard, but through the crowds you can’t find the source.

Head whipping back, and before the attacker advances, you dive forward on your stomach, stabbing blindly. The blade sinks into his shin, scraping bone. He shrieks. You push quickly to your knees, then feet, balancing on your toes to lay your fingertips on his exposed neck.

It’s enough.

On contact, you’re moving to the next opponent rapidly closing the distance and ducking under the blunt end of a polearm swinging for your chest.

He misses. You peel away.

But it doesn’t matter who comes at you after. Whether you’re bashed across the face, your movements turn slow and sluggish, whether you’re overpowered by someone larger than you, if you’re kneed in the stomach, screamed at, spat on, cut, stabbed, bludgeoned.

That’s fine.

You keep fighting.

Sinking low, you dodge the rebounding weapon. It slices past, wind brushing your cheek as you drop, diving for an ankle.

Touch—

Then you’re up again, and exhausted, you keep going.

Dodge.

Your hands grasp for any bit of skin.

Stab.

Stabbing to incapacitate.

Then touch—they die.

Over and over, again and again.

Dodge. Stab. Touch. Die.

Across the center of the village, clambering over bodies and shallow pits of fire you move. It’s not elegant nor is it graceful, but the mindless rhythm is carving its way into you.

Dodge. Stab. Touch. Die.

At this point, you don’t even know your own name, let alone what you’re doing. All you’re dimly aware of is the next fucking bastard hurtling at you then—

Dodge. Stab. Touch. Die.

Often not in that order. Sometimes, you’re beaten to the upper hand, and some part of your body pays the price.

Still.

Bruised, broken, reshaped. Madness takes over.

Now, you’re screaming, eyes glazed, barely registering your surroundings—the dwindling attackers, the villagers fighting beside you. But then, you’re panting, and it doesn’t take long to notice a group of men breaking away, surrounding you in a tight barricade.

Six. Seven. Ten. Fifteen of them.

Tension winds into your belly in thick, pulsing waves.

A snake pit.

Breaths heaving, you cock your head, surveying the circle closing in. They know, and you know that you’re cornered. So, there’s only one way out of this.

Gaze flicking downward, you search across the ground until you spot a little patch of green. Your eyes snap back up, meeting the faces encircling you. The men are quiet, and silence deepens—then shatters all at once.

“Take her!”

The shout is nearly swallowed by the flames eating the morning air. But you hear it. Again, not kill her. Not end her. Take her.  

As in, capture?

When they advance, they move as one, surging forward, eyes alight with a wild intensity to bring you down. 

But you don’t move. You wait. And you count. 

Three.  

Let them come.

Two.  

Let them get closer. 

One.  

Only when they’re just out of reach do you toss the blade aside and drop, graceless, to the ground—one knee slamming hard. Someone shouts a warning, but your palms are already hitting the grass, fingers pressing into sharp, tiny blades, massaging in deep.

You breathe, hoping this will work a second time.

Please let this work a second time.

Then release.  

The rot spreads.  

Snaking out in choppy directions, it clambers away from you, the stain spreading and reaching onto feet and up legs, eating its way through to touch skin.  

The first few fall, the decay crawling over them, hungry, expanding in messy tendrils. Flesh blackens, stiffens, and flakes apart in fatty layers. Some collapse instantly, their legs rotting to brittle husks. Others stagger, bodies twisting as the sickness chews through them piece by raw piece.

But it’s inconsistent.

Sluggish in places. Fast in others.

It leaps between targets, missing some entirely, leaving patches of untouched ground even as others dissolve into the dirt. Your breath turns shallow. Last night, it felt controlled, this time, it writhes as something undisciplined.

Then it slows, and it stops.

And one of them slips through.

Shit.

A man on the outer edge barely escapes the rot, his leg dangling—half-consumed, eaten up to the thigh—yet he’s still moving. His face tightens with fury, spittle flying from his lips as he staggers toward you, dragging the ruined limb behind.

His blade swings up.

You lurch back, scrambling to stand, but somehow he’s faster. He swings—not to cut, but to strike.

Take her.

The flat of his katana whips against your collarbone, the shock rattling through to the marrow and roots of your teeth.

Pain erupts as he steps in, aiming to wrestle you down as his hand snatches at your wrist, grip tight and bruising. He wrenches you toward him. Too tired, you reel, sucking in a breath, but before he can force you to the ground, a polearm ruptures through his abdomen, making him choke on a wet scream.

You freeze, peering up just as one of the surviving villagers steps into view, gripping the weapon. With a sharp thrust of his leg, he kicks the body free, letting it slump to the ground.

Right.

You push to your feet, legs wobbly, body awash in sweat. 

You’d forgotten about the others—too caught in what seemed like crazed bloodlust, teetering on the pinnacle of something you’d never quite felt before.

Swallowing, you scan them. A handful remain, panting, recovering, their garments stiff with gore, the ground at your feet crowded with Heian-kyō and Zen’in corpses.

“Thank you,” you rasp to the spearman. He steps back with a gentle nod, the staff of his weapon resting on the ground.

“There’s more.” You gesture over your shoulder before turning. “Others. They’re all converging at—” Ragged breaths seize your lungs. “At the edge of the forest. I’ll take you there.”

You hesitate just long enough to ensure they follow, then step away.

But you barely take another step before the low thunk of wet flesh hits your ears, followed by a gurgling cry.

You turn.

“No, no, no.” You catch the man who had just protected you by the edges of his garment. He was only walking paces behind; now an arrow sits lodged in his throat, the trembling shaft and tip sticking out the back of his neck.

With his strength falling away, he staggers closer, mouth opening and closing as blood streams across his chin. Your brow furrows, he goes limp, head lolling onto your shoulder.

As your knees bend, dipping with his weight, you try to ease him off gently, but there’s a loud cry. Somebody shouts.

A sound follows. Whistling, from above.

You look up.

The sky shudders, as if a thousand, tiny wings are beating at once.

Feathers. Bamboo shafts.

Arrows.

A wall of them.

They arc overhead, blotting out the smoke—falling faster than air should be able to carry them. And they’re all aimed at the remaining survivors.

At that moment, you can’t breathe.

Or move.

For long, foolish seconds, you can only stare.

Panic in every corner of your being.

And that’s when everyone around you starts to run.

Someone crashes into you, sending you and the dying man sprawling forward. The ground rushes up, and you slam into it, the body following.

Left and right. Feet suddenly pound, running while the earth trembles and clatters with the hail of arrows. Panicked villagers surge to outrun the onslaught, and that’s when the first body topples onto you.

It starts small.

And it only gets worse.

Muscles burning, you fight to your stomach and try to drag yourself free, but more weight collapses on top. A glance over your shoulder reveals someone struck down, lying across your back. Dead weight.

Then, another one joins.

And another.

And another.

That’s when you realize—

They’re being picked off, one by one, and falling into a growing pile that is slowly burying you.

Urgency crashes over you.

Get up, get up, get up!

You struggle forward, but the crush of them, the panic of those still running, only fuels the desperate need to get away.

And you can’t blame them. They’re so close to surviving this.

Were.

A groan tears from your chest, the weight, the sheer mass of limbs and torsos pressing in. It thickens and suffocates until you are no longer just yourself but a mound of dead flesh, an organism swallowing the earth.

You curl in, shielding your face.

Crack, as more weight slams into the heap. The light begins to dim, like the sun is setting.

Cold understanding climbs through you.

This is it. Buried alive.

You consider screaming for help. But who would hear you under here? Anyone?

Inside your head, a voice laughs. Laughs at the woman who caused this. Allowed this. Helped put these people in the line of fire, turning this place into what it is. And now, she’s trapped beneath it.

Funny.

Crack!

Eyes squeezed shut, you listen as the sound of arrows striking flesh pulls down more bodies. Cries surround you. Then go silent. Somewhere at the top of the pile, someone is begging. For what, you’re not sure, only that it’s a faint, trembling please.

Fingers raw and digging into the dirt, you claw toward the last, faint sliver of light threading through the tangled mess of cloth and cooling skin.

But another corpse drops, sealing it shut.

You still.

Gone is the flicker of fire on the other side. Gone are your stilted movements. Your escape.

It’s all gone.

So dark. 

* * * * *

Silk and light and warmth. Open air and softly pressing bodies. Shifting robes and summer on the wind.

Comfort.

You stand in the middle of the market, your mother holding your smaller hand in one and Yuna’s in the other.

Around you, the world is a riot of different senses—stalls lined with bolts of dyed fabric, hues bright in the hot sun; baskets of fat persimmons and plums piled high beside earthenware jars of thick pickled roots. Your tongue coats itself with saliva at the thought of their stickiness.

From somewhere deeper within the market, an instrument twangs, the rich sound met by the brighter clatter of a drum. Above it all, a singer’s voice floats, laughter peeling away from a gathered crowd watching a performer twirl a fan between skillful fingers.

Your eyes sit wide open, taking it all in, and eagerly you move through it.

“Whose turn is it to decide what we bring home?” your mother asks, squeezing your hand gently in hers.

At five years old, you’ve come to treasure these monthly outings—a simple ritual where you or Yuna get to pick a small delight to bring back to the Kasai compound. This time, it’s your turn. And your sights are set on sticky rice cakes wrapped in fragrant leaves or thin wafers dipped in sweet syrup.

“Me,” you announce proudly, flashing her a beaming smile. “It’s my turn.”

Above, your mother’s lip curves, and she winks, making your cheeks puff up before laughter breaks free.

“To the vendor with the sweets, then!” she declares, swinging you forward—then repeating the motion with Yuna, who lands with a giggle.

Back and forth you go, propelled by her hands, making a spectacle when really the three of you should be practicing the artistry of decorum.

But your father isn’t here.

So what use are manners and politeness when it’s just the three of you? No commands to follow today. No strict rules. No yelling.

Weaving your way through the narrow stalls, their vibrant colours blur past until your mother gently guides you both toward a section where the air is soaked with the scent of sweetness. Too short to see above the crowd and over the cloth-draped stall in front, you glance at your mother instead.

“Are we here?” you whisper, voice quiet as you look up. “I’m pretty sure I smell it.”

“Me too,” Yuna nods in agreement.

Your mother slips her hands from yours, crouching low, her elegant kimono rippling at her sides as she meets your gaze.

You always believed she was some kind of goddess. That feeling never went away.

“I’m pretty sure you’re right,” she says, tapping a finger lightly to the top of your nose. You scrunch it up immediately, earning another small smile. “We’ve arrived.”

“We’ve arrived!” you and your sister chime together.

Grinning, your mother rises to her full height.

“I’ll be a moment.” She nods toward the vendor. “Why don’t the two of you look around and see if there’s anything new.”

Turning, she considers the selection above, head tilting thoughtfully as she studies the offerings. 

Yuna shifts beside you, and you feel her lean in.

“So,” she says, eyes bright. “Are you going to eat yours right away like last time?”

You look at her, thinking—but deep down, you already know the answer.

“It’s too good not to have right away. All that tasty, yummy stuff.” You end your declaration with a confident nod.

Yuna smiles.

Eyes wandering past her, they land on a basket filled with trinkets. Among them rests a small glass bead—like a seed, the kind kept hidden away in a pouch.

“You know what that says about you, right?” she comments, and your eyes pull back as she steps closer.

“That I enjoy eating sweets?”

“No.” She shakes her head, eyes falling to where your gaze was. “That you’re impulsive.”

Impulsive.

The word feels too big, something far beyond just sweets.

“What does that mean?” you ask quietly.

Yuna huffs, but it’s not out of exasperation.

“You always eat it right away. Like you’re afraid it’ll disappear.”

You blink at her.

“Is that bad?”

She tilts her head, staring at you like she’s discovering something new.

“Not always.” There’s a pause, a consideration. “But sometimes, it means you don’t stop to think. You just… take.”

Your gaze dances back to the bead.

“And that’s… bad?”

From the corner of your eye, her smile widens.

“Not if you take the right thing.”

She sidles closer, the tips of her toes peeking out from beneath her kimono to brush against the stall.

“I dare you to take it,” she whispers, raising a finger to point at the delicate gem you’ve been eyeing. Light catches in it—soft, smooth surface refracting into a thousand shifting colours.

You frown down at Yuna’s hand.

“I’m not so sure,” you mutter.

Her smile rises, and her cheeks swell.

“It’s not stealing if no one notices,” she offers with a shrug.  

Your gaze flickers caught between—bead, finger, face.

“But what if I get caught?” 

She doesn’t hesitate. Her hand moves, reaching out, fingers circling lightly around yours, warm and steady. She leans in, eyes shining.

“Don’t worry.” Her voice is soft but certain, like she’s declaring a truth you should already know. “I won’t let anything happen to you.

And then, right here, inside your head, you believe her.

Gods, do you.

Yuna has never been afraid of anything. Not the dark, not the stories of cursed spirits waiting in the woods, not even the screaming voice of your father when he was displeased. You’ve always admired that about her—the way she moves through the world like she already owns it.

And right now, she’s sure of this.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, a traitorous itch you’ve felt lately. 

Tossing a quick glance at your mother, you see she’s still speaking with the vendor.

“Okay…”

Yuna exhales beside you, releasing her gentle grip.

Your eyes dart back to the bead glimmering under the market sun. It’s delicate, harmless.

I can do this.

Tapping a step forward, compelled, and the noise of the market dulls. Quiets. Only the soft vibrations of the bodies around you remain.

Tingles prickle into your face as your hand lifts.

Above the stall, a shadow moves.

You freeze and hesitate.

“It’s simple,” Yuna urges in a whisper.

The vendor shifts, reaching for something just behind the counter.

Pulse hammering at your ears, you push forward, eyes locked on the little, glinting gem.

She won’t let anything happen to me.

You smile.

Up, and your hand opens, fingers curving, brushing against the cool surface.

“There you go,” Yuna breathes. “Simple.”

You lift it free.

And it’s yours.

* * * * *

Sudden weight is dragged off you.

Light spills through.

You can breathe—suck in a breath. Deep, ragged, gasping. Smoke clogs your throat, burning on the way down. Dirty lungfuls, but still—air. Fucking air.

Squinting against the sudden glare through the gap in the pile of bodies, you look up. From where you lie, curled inward, a face looks down at you. A face with a smirk attached to it. A man’s face. Black hair. Dark grey eyes.

No.

“Look what I’ve found.”

Kaito Zen’in’s smile widens before his hands plunge into the tangle of corpses and wrench you free.

Body aching, you’re dragged out by the forearms, your feet stumbling over the villagers you tried—and failed—to save. Your gaze lingers on their faces until you’re steered away, pulled forward through the village, where the ground stretches ahead, muddy and exposed. No grass, nothing alive.

Kaito doesn’t release you until a ring of men closes in, encasing you. There are too many—more coming, more than before. A mix of Heian-kyō and Zen’in, all watching you like you’re missing something.

And something does feel wrong.

To your left, at the edge of the crowd, a horse’s loud whine hits your ears. Ayana. Through the bodies, you can see her light coat, the way she jerks and pulls against the reins, wild-eyed and skittish, fighting against a man’s grip.

Your lip twitches.

Resisting the urge to push through the group to get to her, you force your attention back to Kaito.

“What is this?” Meeting his stare, you roll your shoulders, trying to force life back into them after being crushed. “Need this many men to kill one woman and a village of innocents?”

That smirk of his stretches into an indulgent grin.

“No,” he says with a careless shrug. “We have no intention of killing you.”

So you say.

Eyes sweeping to the katana at his side, you notice his fingers hovering near the handle and the strange hum of energy rolling off it, something you hadn’t picked up on in your previous encounters.

“Then why are you here?” Your focus turns back to him. “If not for that?”

Zen’in doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a few steps forward, stares, then circles once before stopping in front of you. Tall. Muscular. Strong. Flawless. He’s built like a man you’d dearly love to punch in the face.

“You made quite the mess today,” he says, lifting a brow, ignoring your question as he gestures past the wall of onlookers—toward what can only be the rot and decay, the bodies you mutilated to get here. “Can’t say the men were thrilled about it. Like a little storm all on your own, one of pestilence and disease .”

He spits the last words out like they’re poison, and you fight back the dry laugh climbing up your throat.

“It was impressive,” he adds, idly tracing a fingertip along the weapon’s tsuba, caressing it like a lover. “A little sloppy, but still—impressive. Though—” He pauses, tilting his head. “I’d expect nothing less from the woman who stands at Ryomen Sukuna’s side.”

Teeth finding their way to the inside of your cheek, you bite down. It’s barely been hours since you separated, and already you feel pathetic. Just hearing his name presses a fresh wave of emotions through you. Raw ones. Painful ones. Yearning ones… Ones you wouldn’t mind letting go of. 

“I don’t stand at anyone’s side,” you mutter.

“Oh?” Zen’in lifts his head, giving you a haughty look. “What’s it been—two months? And already, there are marital issues? Did he not satisfy you enough? Or—” his gaze drags over you, slow and lecherous, “—was it the other way around?”

Scattered laughter breaks from the line of men, blasting past their throats.

Your lip curls. His grin grows.

“Are you speaking from experience?” you muse flatly.

“No,” he quips, “I have a son.”

As if that alone proves his worth. As if that alone proves anything.

“I wasn’t looking for you, you know,” Kaito continues, exhaling sharply as he smooths the front panels of his dark blue kimono, like this entire interaction has suddenly become an inconvenience. 

“Thought you’d be south, tucked away at his shrine. Yet here you stand—at the heart of all this.” He gestures lazily, hands spreading wide, presenting the carnage around you.

Behind, the fire crackles, its heat pressing in close. Sweat beads at your nape, sliding down to soak into your already-drenched garments, while a gritty breeze slouches through, stirring the smoke and pushing it into your lungs.

“Seems you have a way of finding trouble,” Zen’in smirks, but his eyes have changed, hardening above the curve of his mouth.

“And yet, it was you who came looking for me.”

At least, you assume they’re looking for you—or, at the very least, they want you for something. You’ve torn through both Heian-kyō and Zen’in forces, yet neither side has made any real effort to take you down.

“Ah, well.” Zen’in pauses. “Orders, you understand.”

And there it is. Orders.

“Whose orders?” You try to smile, try to defuse the growing unease making space in your gut. “I refuse to believe anyone would want me for anything.”

Stepping closer, his expression shifts, draining of all feeling.

You tense.

Something doesn’t feel right.

“The new head of the Kasai clan,” he says.

Few things could unsettle you after today's horrors, yet that—that gives you pause.

Do not trust the next head of the Kasai clan. Trust no one. Trust yourself.

Your father’s written words stumble through your head.

Eyes flicking discreetly over the crowd, your foot shifts back.

“You're lying.” You step away from Zen'in. “My clan is gone.”

“You think so, do you?” he drawls, before he turns, murmuring something to the nearby men, words you can’t hear, ones not meant for you.

He’s wrong. He’s lying. He has to be lying.

“No.” He prowls back. “The Kasai clan’s new leader was very particular about this request.”

Trust no one.

You don’t want to ask.

Trust yourself.

You shouldn’t ask.

Remember.

But your mouth forms the word anyway.

Remember your mother.

“Who?”

He merely smiles—a twitching, almost sad, belittling one.

“Your sister,” he says. “And now, you are wanted for crimes against the Kasai clan.”

World gone quiet. The bodies around you spinning. The only thing you hear in that sentence is sister.

Your sister.

My sister.

Yuna. The one constant in your life.

“That’s not possible.”

Not probable.

“Hm, I think it is.” 

“Then… this is a mistake.” You need to move. Pace. Your foot creeps back again.

Kaito’s grey eyes dart away, landing on the men who stand all too eager and poised. Every muscle in your body tightens at that look.

“You lazy bastards can move now.”

He glances back at you. Another smirk, a delighted one. His fingers wander to his katana, grip there he nudges his chin.

Your heart kicks faster.

“Take her,” he says flatly, then steps away.

Your heart drops. The horde moves.

All of them.

Loud and quick and arriving within seconds, they come with their hands.

Hands on you. Hands everywhere. Hands all over you.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you snarl just as someone jostles, then barrels into you from behind, sending you sprawling forward.

You thrash, but down here—on your knees, where the crowd towers over you—they’re too tall to see past, just like that day at the market. And for the briefest moment, you wonder what ever happened to that little glass bead? That harmless dare? But the thought crawls away as the swarm presses in, shoving you lower.

Your chest hits the mud. Your hands slam into the ground, fingernails scraping against cracked dirt as your lungs heave with the force. Someone wrenches your arms back until your shoulders strain, fire searing in their sockets.

“This is a mistake!” you rasp, cheek pressed against the cold. “My sister wouldn’t want this!”

She wouldn’t want this.

She wouldn’t do this.

She wouldn’t.

She—

The ground shifts as someone plants their feet on either side of you, they straddle your back, all their weight pressing down.

Ayana screams. You can’t see her, but you can hear her.

“Please!” You don’t mean to fucking beg, but it’s all you can think to say as more pressure crowds in, pinning you.

“Daughter of Lord Kasai.” A man from the capital steps forward. "You stand accused of conspiracy and treason for instigating a coup."

“What?” Your brow creases, crumpling down, eyes stinging with a sense of betrayal.

This isn’t real. This can’t be happening.

You go to open your mouth to protest, but a piece of fabric, sweat-stained and salt-bitten, is pushed into your teeth. It’s tied there, the grip adjusted, and then there’s a pull. Your spine comes up into a painful arch. You try to scream, but the cloth strangles the cry. You try to crawl away, to twist, to fight—but your body shudders under the heavy weight.

And then something hums through the air. Sings like molten metal.

You still. Nostrils flaring, breaths hot and shallow around the gag. 

The men part, shifting back—as if whatever is coming, they don’t want to touch.

“Thus,” the man continues, “you shall be condemned as such.”

Lifting your head, you catch his gaze sliding right—to another figure stepping forward, hands gripping a long, narrow piece of metal that warps the air around it, heat curling in its wake.

裏切り

Traitor. Betrayer.

Your lungs won’t open. You can’t breathe. Terror, icy-toothed and razor sharp, it bleeds into every sense as the branding iron swims into view—its tip swollen and breathing fire.

A tear slides down your nose.

“Don’t do this!” Around the cloth comes the muffled demand. At the corners of your eyes, they sting.

“Open her palm.”

The suggestion comes from somewhere, and your right arm is wrenched back, fingers pried open, forced apart.

And you feel it. The heat of the blistering metal drawing closer and closer.

Panic ignites through the dark place you sink into. Toes digging into the dirt, you thrash. Push. Fight.

Useless.

She wouldn’t do this.

She wouldn’t.

She can’t.

Unseen prodding fingers. Energy moving around your neck. You barely notice the heavy disturbance in pressure brushing against you, until every hair along your spine lifts. And it’s gentle. Soothing. Behind the gag, your breath catches, eyes snapping to the left.

But you’re not ready for gentleness.

Some shameful part of you wants to look away, wanting to flinch at being handled like this, at being put in such a vulnerable position. So similar to last night. And yet, not.

Because a sick, twisted part of you knows—

He wouldn’t do this to you.

But that shame moves away, drowned out by the veritable fury pouring off the King of Curses in mouthfuls.

Before you, everything narrows. Somehow, the crowd has moved—legs have shifted, bodies have parted. He approaches like a fallen deity of death. Dark kimono slung low at his hips, blood drooling off him, that great trishula clinging to his back like a fifth limb. The iron still hovers, blistering hot at your back, and you fight against it, but your eyes stay locked on Sukuna, his on yours. His, nowhere else.

But behind him, a streak of something.

A smear of midnight blue tears through the smoke.

Your eyes strain.

Zen’in Kaito.

Unmistakable, even from here.

And he’s fast. Unnaturally so. Despite his katana being drawn and every line of his body swollen with motion, he doesn’t slow—not even when aiming straight for Sukuna’s head.

“Sukuna!” Your scream buries itself in the gag.

Zen’in’s weapon comes up.

The four-armed demon stops. Studies you. Moves.

Upper left hand shooting behind his back, fingers gripping the spear, he rips it free from his obi and turns. Fast.

Metal clashes. The impact thunders.

A burst of air throws back your hair as the shockwave washes over everything, extinguishing fires, tossing debris, rumbling the earth.

The two men break apart.

They surge together.

There’s a second violent sting when their weapons collide, recoil, then grind in a bone-rattling scrape.

Snarling, Sukuna’s massive body lurches. Zen’in is forced back, startled, off-balance, his feet skidding across the ground. His head swivels toward the men.

“Get her the fuck out of here!” he barks, levelling his katana to attack.

Useless on the ground, you can only look up. Around you, chaos erupts. Feet slam into the ground, orders fly. The seam that split the crowd earlier is stitched back up, blocking your view of Sukuna, but you can hear him fighting.

Tangled in combat with Kaito, the King of Curses snaps his head over his shoulder, his lower right hand swinging toward you.

Flick, and a rush sweeps over your head.

There’s a slash.

Hot liquid bursts across your spine, thick splatters spilling as the weight pinning you down disappears.

You move. Lifting yourself, you push to your knees, eyes locking on the freshly severed head and body beside you.

Another ripple distorts the air. You can’t see past the dirt and movement, but you hear Ayana rear back—then bolt.

Turning, you eye the man holding the branding iron straightening before you.

Gripping the gag in your mouth, you rip it free, drop it to the ground and spit.

You glare at him.

“I suppose you’re first,” you mutter.

You don’t give him time to prepare. You lunge for him.

But he’s not standing still, either.

Eyes following his movements, you avoid the burning metal as it’s swung toward you. Heat hissing, it hurtles downward.

The edge of your kimono sizzles as the iron catches it.

Shit.

Jerking back, you reset your stance, stepping away, and he comes with you.

The metal arcs.

This time the air around it hums loudly with the force.

Feinting, your feet take you left and right before rushing in. His arm lifts to block, but your fingers find his wrist.

It’s over.

With a single touch, you sever yourself from him.

The iron slips from his grasp and he collapses, knees buckling, folding inward.

Heart in your ears, you watch the way he crumples, scratching at his garment as if he could peel away his skin and scrape out the decay eating him alive. But this… this isn’t nearly as satisfying as watching the death of the brute who killed that young girl.

That had felt like something else entirely. Hunger. Hungry.

Hungry—to see him rot, to watch him wither and die. Hungry in your brain to witness more and—

“Are you injured?” A deep voice grinds out from behind.

Sukuna.

Tipping your head back, you catch his profile—his broad back to you, two left eyes peeking over his shoulder. You hadn’t noticed when he got so close.

“No. Just some bruising,” you mumble, peering past those red slits, noting that Zen’in is gone—but the others remain. “Surprisingly.”

You turn back to the man at your feet, now only a smearing pulp laced with bits of fabric. The branding iron meant for you lies nestled within the rotten entrails, its heat bubbling and sizzling the nearby flesh.

Behind you, the King of Curses massive frame expands, shoulders rolling as he takes a breath.

“Good,” he rumbles.

There’s a pause.

Slowly, though still encircled by twenty or thirty men, your heart begins to steady. And there’s only one reason for that.

You calm.

Inhale.

You can breathe again.

“Lord Sukuna.” Exhale. “Thank y—”

A sharp yank on your shoulder and Sukuna forces you to turn.

“Why the fuck are you here?” he growls, prowling close to hover over you. “I told you to leave. Not travel east.”

Lifting your chin, your eye twitches. You lack both the strength and the will to argue. Yet…

“You say that as if I ever listened to you,” you hiss, rising onto your toes.

“Tch.” His noise of disgust has you cocking your head. “Stubborn, vexing woman. I should have tied you to that damn beast of yours.” Then his lower eyes slide, falling to your lips. Staring. His upper pair follows. “Or put that mouth to better use, anything to shut it up.”

Your eyes trail away, scanning the men, seeking a distraction. Because the longer you look at him, the more distant important things become, like lies, betrayal, hurt or the fact that he sought to fucking kill you not too long ago.

Fortunately, the movement around you pulls your heads apart.

��Well,” you mumble as you both stand back to back. “You didn’t.”

Pressed against Sukuna’s wall of a body, warmth bleeds through your kimono. Slowly, you both move in sync, stepping in a slow circle, sizing up the assailants closing in.

“They intend to take me,” you observe, meeting the gaze of every gawking eye.

They wait.

You keep moving.

“I know,” Sukuna growls angrily.

You lift your hands. The discolouration at your fingertips shudders only slightly, barely hanging on to your energy. It feels exhausted.

“What about Zen’in?” Your arms drop. “Did you kill him?”

A pause at your back.

“He’s slinking around somewhere,” Sukuna mutters. “There’s stronger ones waiting nearby. These are just mindless pests here to bleed and waste my time.”

Mindless? Your eyes flicker to them as they close in, and your feet pull apart, stance widening.

“I know you. You could end this in a breath. So why are you holding back?”

Sukuna says nothing, but a prickle at your neck tells you he’s looking at you. You tip your head.

“Taking something immediately?” He flashes a grin and then turns away. “Tell me, where’s the enjoyment in that?”

Head moving back, you’re drained—so much so that you barely register the first attacker rushing in before he’s even on you, dragging up his weapon, purposeful in the way he holds it. Sneering, you lunge for the exposed skin of his neck, arm outstretched, fingers splayed—half praying, half hoping you’ll make it out of here or at least live long enough to witness the death of every last one of these fucking bastards.

Pulling yourself into striking distance, you’re almost—

Flick!

A tattooed wrist swings past your face.

Blood sprays, misting the air a ruddy pink. The man’s body cleaves into two wet pieces and collapses, lifeless. Dark red eats into the dirt. The first body of what you know will be many.

Sauntering next to you, Sukuna rolls his four shoulders loose, a cocky grin on his face.

“Do try to keep up,” he purrs, stabbing the trishula into the ground before diving in—grabbing bodies, dragging them toward him. Four arms make quick work of slaughter, snapping bones while slicing through flesh with a single swipe.

You exhale. Force yourself to move before hesitation becomes a mistake.

Then, suddenly—you’re in it, flinging yourself into the fray.

Sweeping over, under, and through the assailants—sidestepping, pivoting—circling Sukuna’s warpath, keeping your distance, unsure when or if you’ll be caught in his unseen slashes.

You hope not. He seems lost in the throes of war, moving fluidly, almost like a dance. But with his sheer bulk and extra limbs, it’s less a dance and more the embodiment of a storm gathering. Violent. Yet steady. Always steady.

Step—his arms tense, pinning wide open and reaching for his prey, muscles straining, shoulders bunching. Release.

Step.

Release. 

Distracted by the force that seems to draw everything toward him, you almost miss the sharp end of a spear thrust. But you dodge—in, then out—sinking to one knee. Though, more distracting is the exhaustion of your energy.

Sukuna slips past the wielder’s guard, flicks his wrist, and their weapon hand punches cleanly from their arm, leaving an opening.

You take it, and they collapse.

Gliding back mid-motion, your kimono shuddering around you, and passing another man you take him down.

Sukuna turns toward you, arching his slitted brow.

“What?”

You blink at him.

“Nothing,” he drawls lazily, smirking as he steps past another attacker. His fingers twitch—their body follows, separating the folds of their skin. He looks back at you. “Didn’t take you for the killing type. Interesting to finally see you move.”

Another rushes into your path, and you spin away, hand grazing their exposed wrist. A breath later, they’re on the ground, trying to scratch away the decay festering inside them.

Sukuna hums, watching.  

“Then again.” He steps over a fresh corpse, “maybe I was wrong.”  

A notch pulls at your brow, but there’s no time to argue. More bodies press in. You reach, touch, and they fall.

When you glance back, Sukuna’s still looking.  

“Stop staring at me,” you snap, shaking debris from your hand.  

His grin widens. And you know he’s enjoying this.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Another flick—another body halves before hitting the dirt.  

Teeth gritting, you pivot, stepping into deeper carnage.  

Bodies crash around you, one after another, but your lungs burn. Your limbs drag. Overexertion has its limits, and it’s pulling you in fast.

Keep going...

Keep—

You stumble, take a step. But a beat later, you end up on your hands and knees, panting, holding your hands in front of you. The tips of your fingers now appear bare, that bruising colour gone.

Damn it. Sometimes, you hated not knowing how to wield this.

Tabi sandals squelch into the damp, blood-soaked earth as they enter your vision.

“Hmph.”

Sukuna’s disapproving stare burns into you, but you don’t look up, keep your eyes downcast, refusing to meet it. He lingers for a moment before sinking to his haunches.

“Here,” he grumbles, pushing a hand to your abdomen. “Breathe from here. Move the energy—” his fingers glide up your torso, over your neck, to your throat, then brush along your chin before pulling away, “—through your body.”

For so long, you’ve despised what lies dormant, so the thought of willingly bringing it out makes you hesitate.

“Observe it.” His voice turns calm as you inhale, feeling the air slip through your nose and exhaling to follow its path outward. Your awareness settles. You center yourself on the faint, skittering energy shivering at your core.

Resonance hums at your fingertips, a heady vibration crawling over your skin. When the vein-like tendrils return, snaking outward, you don’t shy away.

You touch it—grasp and pull.

It belongs to you anyway.

Swallowing, you dip your chin as your eyes trace his face. Sukuna’s mouth twitches. Centering a lower hand on your back, his others guide you up and under his arms. You move seamlessly—behind him, beside him—finishing off the attackers on the other side.

And just for a moment, a tiny fraction of a second, the two of you move in perfect balance.

Sukuna strikes, stuns, and severs while you weave between opponents, gliding through the path he carves, brushing fingertips against flesh.

And so quickly, so disconcertingly easy, you catch yourself enjoying this.

And you know he’s giving you these kills—that he can end it all in seconds. But he seems to be revelling in it, too. Watching from a distance as you slip in and out, winding through the carnage like a snake. Slower, likely than what he was probably used to, but still. You catch the corner of his mouth refusing to fall, and feel his gaze, like it was last night all over again.

But after so much time in this place, you come back to yourself, nearly forgetting the revelations.

Once everything quiets and standing amongst the packed bodies at your feet—all the gurgling flesh and sinew—you lift your gaze to the forest’s edge. Under the rough autumn canopy, a retinue of warriors linger, sitting in wait. Zen’in Kaito is among them, his fingers captured around the hilt of his katana.

This is your chance to slip away.

Not far, yet safely distanced, Ayana’s snowmelt coat gleams, untouched. Huffing in relief, you glance toward the King of Curses. His eyes find yours from where he stands across the battlefield, and for the second time, you turn away from him and leave.

There’s only one place you need to go—where your sister is. Because right now, you want answers. Was she in Heian-kyō? Or elsewhere? An uneasy feeling flutters in your stomach. Fear stealing its place in the spaces of uncertainty and unanswered questions.

The most glaring—why? Why do this?

Yuna never once expressed interest in leading your clan. Never. Her intentions were always to be free of it.

Freedom. Choices.

A mirroring of your own.

Passing through the burning remains of a hut, you’ve only just stepped beyond its flickering shadow when a surge of heat rushes up behind you.

Heavy feet. Agile body.  

You pivot, but there’s no time.

Hands push into you, driving you back until you stumble, your shoulders sinking into rough wood and your exhausted body pinned.  

The breath folds in your lungs. Red eyes catch yours.

Instinct bounds up your spine, your right hand shooting up—only for Sukuna to catch your wrist with his upper left hand, fingers clamping tight. His lower arms brace against your hips, holding you flush under the weight of him. At the line of your throat, his upper right hand hovers, two fingers nudging gently into your pulse.

A standoff. Sort of. You’re too drained to even think about fighting—least of all him.

Lifting your chin, you arch an eyebrow.

“This feels familiar,” you say softly, fingers flicking, just close enough to hover above his skin. “I thought we’d be done with this.”

Saying nothing, a muscle pulses in his jaw. For a long moment, neither of you move. The firelight shifts against his disfigured mask, catching on the grooves and ruts filled with soot and blood. His fingers remain at your throat, but there’s no killing intent behind them.

Because he won’t.

You know he can’t.

Because—

Exhaling sharply through his nose, his two fingers pull back, before his upper right arm falls away. Your hand relaxes in his grasp a heartbeat later.

“Going somewhere?” He holds your wrist, releasing his upper left hand but keeping the lower pair banded around your hips.

Your eyes trail downward, following the planes of his naked torso to the hold, the way his arms brace you against the burning structure at your back.

He’s covered in blood—and who knows what else—but as you stare, a rush of selfish needs stack one on top of the other. A need to unburden yourself after everything witnessed here today. The death under your hands; the death by your hands; the death by others. There’s a small, insignificant part of you that wants to step closer, slot yourself between the cage of his four arms, and rest your forehead there for comfort. Because somehow, he has become both your solace and your greatest anguish.

Stupid.

Grieving your failures is something you can do alone. And alone is how you feel right now.

You pull your eyes away from Sukuna. Then—he lets you go, stepping back so the cold takes the empty space of his body. Folding his upper pair of arms across his chest, he waits.

“I want answers,” you state, moving around him and walking toward Ayana, who has since trotted closer.

Mud, dirt, and char slide past your vision as you leave Ryomen Sukuna for the third time, his stare boring into your back. You swallow against it.

“If you’re running to your sister, you’re wholly unprepared for what’s coming.”

Your feet stop on their own. Down at the blood and dirt streaked hem of your hakama, you blink. For a moment, it’s as if the ground isn’t there at all.

“You know something.” You turn sharply, brow furrowing as you stalk back to him. “If you do, say it. Tell me. Because from my understanding my sister, the newly appointed head of the Kasai clan, has implicated me.”

Sukuna doesn’t answer. He only stares, contemplative.

Frustrated with his lack of response, you clench your teeth and turn away.

“Head back south.”

The words slam into your back. You whirl around.

“What?”

“Ride to the shrine.” His voice is eerily calm, as if this is a perfectly reasonable request after everything that happened in the dark, late hours of dawn.

You step toward him, mouth parting, a barb resting on the tip of your tongue ready to be hurled at him.

“I’ll prepare you for what’s coming. And in time, I’ll offer you the truth. If you're willing to hear it.”

Your mouth presses shut.

Truth? What truth? It’s so far gone from your sight—and his—you’re skeptical of anything he says.

The scoff that punches past your lips makes his mouth curve into a sneer.

“You’ve kept secrets from me this whole time, torn apart the north, shattered everything in your path just to claim what you want.” Among other atrocities. “I’m exhausted, Sukuna. Do you have any idea what that feels like? Do you have any idea what just happened back there?” You stab a finger toward the village. “All I want is to sleep—for hours, days, months, years. To shut my eyes and think of nothing. Not you. Not anything. Nothing else. Ever.”

For whatever reason, his mouth parts from a sneer to a grin.

Hell.

Again, you turn. And again, you walk.

“You’re not safe.”

“And you think I’m any safer when I’m with you?”

Somehow, you’re back in his reach, snarling up at him. And you’re not even sure what kind of safety you mean—safety from danger or from that hollow space inside your chest.

“I won’t say it again,” Sukuna growls, as if forcing the words pains him. “You either take my offer, or you don—”  

“You fight me. Then fuck me,” you say, taking a step closer. “Then—” He lifts his chin and looks down at you. “—you tell me to leave before sunrise. And I do.”  

His nostrils flare as you take another step so the fabric of his kimono, slung low at his hips, brushes against yours.  

“You save me, then fight with me. And now, all of a sudden, you want me to come back?”  

Heat gathers along your spine with the anger.  

“Do you even hear how pathetic you sound right no—”  

“You asked to be released from our union,” he snarls, grabbing the front panel of your kimono and bending until his face is level with yours.  

“I gave you what you wanted. So, don’t start whining about feeling rejected or confused when I’m not talking about human emotions.”

A sharp breath pushes through your nose as his four intimidating eyes sweep your face.

“What’s pulling us together now goes far beyond that.”

He releases you, letting you stumble back on your heels.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” you spit, gathering yourself.

“If being an asshole keeps you from making another stupid mistake, then so be it.”

Silence settles between you.

You both stand there, quiet, but the fire crackles loudly.

Slowly, your anger drains into a simmer, and you huff, dragging a hand across your face, smearing soot and the sharp scent of copper.

“If this were to happen,” you mutter, disbelieving you’re even considering this. “I wouldn’t be returning as your wife.”

He blinks once.

“You never were,” he says, tilting his head. “It was only ever a title.”

There's a pause.

“Lies. Fabrications. Deceit. Names for things that never existed,” he adds lowly. “You were my property. That’s all it ever was.”

The unexpected amount of sharp emotions that moves through you forces your gaze away.

“I see...”

Property.

Sukuna steps closer, pushing two fingers under your chin and lifting it.

“But now…” he begins, jaw solid. “You can return… and leave and live as something else entirely. ”

Looking at him, you try to discern what he gains from this.

Anything? Everything? Nothing at all?

Quietly, you inhale.

“Prepare me?”

The King of Curses’ four eyes wander to your hands.

Ah. You flex them, curving them inward.

Do you need to be made stronger?

The thought seems foolish, a little arrogant. Because deep down, you’ve already decided— Yuna will listen to me. She’s your sister. If she did this, if she really did this, there has to be a reason. And when you find her, all of this will unravel. It will make sense.

Won’t it?

But another voice begs, What if you’re wrong?

Another one reminds you, You just had a branding iron held against you.

And the last screams, Today, you should have been stronger. You should have saved that girl.

You exhale sharply, shoving the guilt deep, burying it with the rest.

“It won’t take long.” Sukuna taps an impatient finger at the curve of your jaw. 

A decision waits, a choice. One you can only hope won’t curse you forever. 

“How long?”

“That depends on you, little snake,” he smirks, brushing his fingers away from your chin.

Grow stronger. Find Yuna. Uncover the truth.

Because surely, this is all just a misunderstanding.

Staring up at him, this beast before you, you give only a single nod.

“Good,” he hums, letting his gaze linger, as if marking a point of your decision. “I’ll remain here. Go.”

“Fine.” You pull away, striding toward Ayana and swinging into the saddle. Settled, you take the reins and ride alongside him.

“But just so you’re aware, this decision, my decision, erases nothing about what you’ve done to me.”

Above the King of Curses’ broad nose, a crease forms.

“That will never change.”

Nudging your mare, you turn her in a slow arc, pointing in a single direction.

Moving along the line of the first burning houses, you catch Sukuna from the edge of your vision. He follows at a distance, tracking you, keeping watch. Anyone who peels away advancing in your vicinity is instantly cut down.

Your chest gives a pull.

“Hopefully, this isn’t a mistake,” you murmur, picking up speed into a weightless gallop.

With your eyes on the King of Curses, you watch as he reaches for the spear at his back, his upper hands retrieving the formidable weapon before turning to face the broken village. Dragging yourself from his massive figure, you shift in the saddle, every part of your body aching as you begin the ride back the way you came.

Back south. Back to the shrine. And you tell yourself, it isn’t back to him.

[nabaath-areng]

On the train home and distraught over it. My heart lies scattered all over the dust grey floor in pieces that are both pitiful and innumerable.

[fumifooms]

Makima, devils and self-fulfillment

Dumping some Makima and CSM thoughts after a part 1 binge bc I think about her forever and ever. I’m sure I’m forgetting some devil lore, feel free to correct what i get wrong/what’s been confirmed. On the table of contents there’s why & how Makima got fixated on Chainsaw, her revealing liking for the country mouse and discussion of her nature & emotions & desires. Was the scorpion doomed to be a scorpion?

The most of this post was thought of during a conversation with @saccharineomens and I don’t think it makes sense to jump into the spiral it sent me on without first laying down the interesting groundwork theorizing she did:

"Thinking about how makima herself wants to be deified. I wonder whether she recognizes the difference between Love As Worship and the love that Aki, Power, and Denji had. She says she wants to help humanity by having Chainsawman eat the “bad” devils, but why does she want to help humans? Because she was ordered to by the Prime Minister? No, her drive seems much more personal than that, it seems like she teamed up with the PM for contractual reasons. (In the most recent chapters we see governmental members wanting certain devils to be eaten, too. What was Makima’s relationship with them? She’s too independent to just follow THEIR orders, she’s Control.)

So is she wanting to better humanity for the accolades, or out of the goodness of her heart? She sees the big picture. She sees any small sacrifice as worth it for the end result, and she’s ruthless. Perhaps she thinks that a more sedate human race would be easier to control? But Makima doesn’t loathe humanity. She never acts like she sees all humans as lesser. She loves humanity’s creations, like good food and movies. She just wants Good Things all the time

She says she prefers the country mouse BUT adds a story where she helps exterminate country mice like vermin. She likes the simplicity yet rejects the idea of being simple. Makima the complex individual you are"

~

The story itself seems to prefr the country mouse. Well- it strikes a balance, shows that a risk to live good & fully can be very worth it, but still that stability over ambition is preferable, proning having a simple happy life over fame, a simple job instead of a dangerous one, etc etc. And I do find Makima’s answer on this so so interesting, she prefers the country mouse, but this preference isn’t out of affection or sympathy but because of how relaxing it feels to exterminate them when they cause problems.

Order satisfies her. Her order satisfies her. She likes the action of rooting out disorder. Maybe this is the devil part, like how Power especially wants blood and drinking it, I feel there’s an itch to every devil, and for Makima it’s a very rigid world view/morality/standards & making things follow her rules and submit to her order.

And maybe this is why she’s attached to humans too, why she felt it was worth it to stick with the government- because devils are chaotic by nature (it’s a whole plot point that hell is essentially a free-for-all battleground for example), meanwhile humans are the species that universally rule Earth with systems they invented and instilled. They made then enforced rules, complex and intricate webs of them. She feels alienated amongst devils but she understands the humans’ need for an orderly organised society, and now she wants to be part of it. Control and conquest require social dynamics after all, requires civilizations or groups. War is chaotic while peace is, well, peaceful— Makima resents her sisters for being death, famine and war, things that throw the world in such chaos. She wants a world of perfect order, no matter how much collateral damage there will be if the end result is control.

This is even more interesting if you consider that yes, Makima is untouchable of her own design, she deifies herself with her omnipresent amount of control and the sway over others that she seeks and encourages— There is this urge to dehumanize her for it, that yes, she is the devil of control and that means she was never going to be any different, have any more feeling be any less uncanny. And I love part 2 so much for this, because it shows us the war devil and the famine devil and we see how frankly uncharismatic with poor self-discipline they are, Nayuta too, and it helps us realize just how much Makima’s success was self-made.

She admires Chainsaw Devil, the Hero of Hell, because he had his own code and his own rules and he made Hell, the chaos pit, submit to them unfailingly. Wherever he goes he decides what he does and what happens to the people he encounters but does so consistently, he has his mechanism and his rules that he always obeys, and he fulfills them every time. It’s still a mystery the why of Chainsaw Devil’s behavior back then and how it works exactly, maybe Pochita left hell because he was tired of these rules he lived by like chains, but still, he was a servant to his code. Makima would have been glad being killed and eaten by Chainsaw Devil because it’d have been becoming part of his design, his conquest, his domination, she’d have been part of that —his— order. Through her death she would be shaping his world and be part of a conqueror’s making history. Like how she appreciates the country mice that die for the sake of order. Like how sacrifices must be made to herself, like listing the name of every person whose life was lost to the Gun Devil— All for the ~greater good~, for her vision for the world. Conquest always thinks its reasons are justified.

And she does mention with the country mice thing that she goes out to a friend’s farm every year! She has a human friend?? That she visits yearly and she genuinely likes it?? Ultimately she lives a busy city life because of her goal and drive and her urge & satisfaction with overseeing shaping the world herself, but part of her, like so many characters including Angel and Aki and Reze, wishes she could live a slow peaceful country life. Moviegoing and dogs and mice in a farm- Wouldn’t it be so much simpler if Makima could find fulfillment and happiness in being a farmer, in keeping control of her own farm, getting satisfaction from exterminating vermin and expertly getting everything right, the right crops grown at the right time on the right soil? Here, too, in a way it’s trying to have full control of an ecosystem, but her goals would be easier to achieve and better, without ceaseless sacrifice or much pressure. But Makima wants grandiosity and her goal does matter to her on a fundamental and moral level, she does think she knows what’s best for the world, and with the power to change it why wouldn’t she strive to? Visiting the farm is just a break, just something she does in fall to help out and just in time to see the vermin extermination. It calms her, then it’s back to actual work.

In capitalism, even the one at the very top of the ladder is ultimately alienated from others and often unsatisfied by their lifestyle, always wanting more and more power because surely that’s the extra edge they must be missing to be content— like how Makima thinks she wants to dominate Chainsaw Devil instead of being his equal. And she says it herself too, she likes humans the way humans like dogs…….. And she keeps so many dogs :( Makima prefers the country mice because they’re calming to root out, maybe because she usually mainly deals with city mice. It’s very easy to equate humans to the mice in this allegory because it’s pretty direct and she’s already likened humans to lesser animals compared to her. She’s self-isolating by design for her design but she still craves relationships and contentment, and the dogs are the embodiment or her want for bonds and occasional simplicity because there is no possible ulterior motive, no way they tie back into her wider plan. They’re her personal life— something that feels so alien when speaking about Makima. Personality and individuality and likes and preferences and friends they visit every year. She likes how easily she can train a dog and how they become putty in her hands, at her beck and call, how much they love her and how much she enjoys their love. How simple and straightforward and easy it is. She keeps them because she likes being loved by them and loving them, and she’s gotten and raised so many. A conqueror always wants more and more and more, is never satisfied.

Devils and agency

Like Power the blood devil wanting blood and having a fixation on drinking it like with Denji’s, or how it was shocking that the violence devil was pretty tame and nice and how he himself theorized it was because he was a fiend and possessing a human body… There’s something to be said about nature vs nurture with the devils. The way they reincarnate and always embody their fear makes it seem categorically like nature, that they always always end up fulfilling the role they were named after and born to fill… Outside influence they’re helpless but to conform with. Like the humans accepting their spot in the social ladder and the shittiness of their living conditions and job under capitalism. Makima craved being equals with someone despite being the control/conquest devil, Angel Devil despite claiming to be a devil who likes to see humans dying was haunted by their deaths and wanted to avoid ones like Aki’s. The Ghost Devil being ironically haunted by Himeno, seemingly helping Aki in her memory out of… Lasting affection? Or maybe it was less about being haunted itself and more about it recognizing how Himeno haunted Aki, and acknowledging that, with the memento, paying her respect to the ghost of her. It’s Angel Devil’s devil nature that makes him like human suffering, so then is it his angel nature too to still care about their deaths? Is there truth to this or is that just personality, just our confirmation bias haunting every part of their identity like it might in their own view of themselves too? We do know different reincarnations of devils do have different personalities after all.

Yoru, war devil, is the most interesting one when talking about the nature vs nurture debate with devils. There is how through her we see the perhaps the most the consequences of a devil stopping being feared— we see a horseman for a concept as universal and horrifying as war be reduced to some bird who needs a contract with a human to have any power even just on the situation when meeting Asa. And through the story we get to know her better, and it becomes clear that her goal is fueled in good part by simply wanting to be remembered and respected through fear. Liked, validated, seen a powerful. But what is more isolating than war? Or control? We also see Nayuta accepting others’ house rules. If part 1 shows perhaps the futility of running away from the truth, with Denji’s memory, with escapist coping mechanisms, with passivity and denial under a corrupt system and with abusive relationships- running away from your own feelings and from the reality of things and from all that you are, more complex than simply human or devil or both or neither— part 2 builds upon the theme of cult of personalities, the chainsaw church, etc. The apocalypse is coming, but this celebrity superhero might save us all, or doom us all uh, dunno. The hero of hell reliving the cycle of pressure from responsibilities and expectations, maybe the part will end with Denji running away like Pochita did~

But yes, on the reverse, I think Famine is a very interesting example of how a devil’s namesake may be more innate than coerced by circumstances. One would think that a famine devil would only like inflicting famine upon others, not being famished itself, but Famine has a bottomless stomach that can never, ever be satisfied, sated. I struggle to find a psychological explanation for this, except that maybe instead of her being hungry it’s her feeling empty when she’s not eating, tasting and having that high sensory experience that releases serotonin in humans, sort of like drugs? But I do take this as a step towards the compulsion theory overall, feels like a reach in the consistency otherwise. And compulsion does not mean it’s something that they like nor that it’s something that they fight against, pretty neutral, just a nature that nudges you towards one path. Maybe it’s even just their go-to for entertainment. Maybe it’s the only thing that makes them feel right and whole. But still the debate remains, what is it, a compulsion or an urge or an itch or an active desire or a conscious chosen want? Does it change anything in practice?

And because of all of this earlier, devils being self-fulfilling prophecies with their role is not in unsignificant part nurture, because doing their atrocities is how they stay remembered— feared, powerful, known— hell and devils are a very isolating place and breed after all, and we do see devils can want companionship. Existentially, it’s their purpose and how they justify their place in the world, in the terrifyingly vast and unknowable cosmos.

We still know so little of what makes Chainsaw Devil so special, why his carnage is so self-controlled. Despite a chainsaw maybe being possibly one of the most "nature" thing you can be— a tool to cut things, a human tool that can be helpful for many things, something to be wielding by another at their judgement on what they decide, but mainly something to cut, a tool suited for carnage, to hurt and to destroy. A blade with a toothed chain, spinning around and around and around endlessly on the same road at the same pace. Such a…. Innately circular concept. And yet the Chainsaw Devil is his own, not driven by an urge or by chaos but his very own brand of order, his own unique assigned purpose, a "if you call i’ll come running to help" policy equalizing everyone. He chooses to withhold his destruction and interference otherwise, and then he chooses to be used. If it’s a choice, of course.

Maybe this is what inspired Makima so much, that Chainsaw Devil could decide what to make of himself despite expectations or innate role. Because even Hell he decided & managed to subjugate under his will and whim, with a precise vision and process. When Chainsaw Devil acts like Denji or is defeated, Makima clicks her tongue and loses her admiration and respect. Makima admired and liked Chainsaw Devil, but only as long as he matched her great image of him in her mind, as long as he followed he rules for what she thinks he should be like. She admired him for his unrivaled self-made success, but once he stepped out of that to truly embody self-fulfillment and agency, disappearing from hell to live on his own road at the beat of his own drum… Well. Surely that was a mistake she has to correct. However their second battle ends, the better conqueror will have prevailed and she’s happy about that, all in the spirit of domination and subjugation.

Imo Makima’s biggest tool, similarly capitalism’s most helpful effect for its own purposes, is complacency. Resignation and passivity helps uphold the system and go along the flow of the will of the people in power. Aki and Reze go along with orders even when knowing their job is trash, etc. In Angel Devil especially we see him go along with the flow uncaring about anyhing, and we discover it was in part due to Makima taking away memories that motivated him. If every devil decides this is just how things are and how things should be that’s what they’ll continue to be and do mindlessly, not pursuing a better life like Chainsaw Devil and Denj and not seeking to change the world like Makima. I think even Makima veils herself to a lot of things, she doesn’t like to think deeply about some things, like her desire for connection, or how making bad movies disappear is strenuous and unsustainable and requiring sacrifices at best— how her judgement is as subjective as anyone else. How liking the country mouse and her friend back at the farm and her dogs could be not devoid of sentimality. Wanting bad movies erased is her one biggest show of selfishness, of pettiness and individuality, it’s about her tastes, simple as. About how she can have tastes, and cry seeing a scene of people hug, and want things that aren’t logical, her ideology and mind twisted into a pretzel to avoid acknowledging that she doesn’t live and breathe purely for the mission she’s made a single-minded robot out of herself to accomplish. Nayuta is assertive and selfish and loud, Makima is manipulative and strategically both for her goals and for coping hollow.

Everything in her plans and goals she says is for the greater good, necessary evil, manufactured happiness the way she’ll have decided for people— and that’s the thing isn’t it, like with War, it’s the crack that shows it was all truly about herself after all. Her self-made deification still had the flaw that a self made it. Makima is not omniscient, and it’s not Chainsaw Devil the not-so-fellow-kindred-soul conqueror who gets the best of her, but a city mouse, a dog, someone she would have never thought to respect, Denji.

[jaguarys]

For the record I don't think the Sannin had some sort of dramatic falling out. I think they grew apart in a way that they almost didn't notice. I think they found different interests, different people, and no matter how much they told themselves they were still as close as they'd always been they weren't. And I think it was a process of continually realizing these people aren't who you idealized in your mind; that they are maybe, kind of, sort of bad people; that they have done things you can't ignore, and that, maybe, they are your enemies. But there's no closure there. There's no sense of relief to be gained. Because you love them. You love them more than anyone in the world–– more than your students, more than your spouse, more than your family, more than your village. They know more about you than anyone ever will or ever could. They hold pieces of you, not only in your knowledge, not only in your youth, but in your soul, because they are one-third of it. You know them more, and less, than anyone could, and definitely more than you should

[prosebushpatch]

So I decided to restart my animal crossing new leaf for the 3ds file completely but I didn't know that Tom Nook would OFFER TO BUY the entire town and let you carry over the money to the new town and it's hysterical because the mayor basically peaces out, cashes in on 30 million bells, changes entire identity, and accidentally becomes the mayor in a new town. There's a fanfic there but I'm too lazy to write it.

[scarlettfevor]

Looking back, the way Garroth was acting in the last episodes of season one of diaries was ridiculous. Like, you're a grown ass man WHY are you, as the head guard, sulking in your room all day just because you saw the girl you've liked for literally 2 months kiss another guy when your village is on the brink of war???

[running-in-the-dark]

ooooh. we got an apartment!!!

the house isn't completely finished yet so we can't move in until April. we'll have to figure that out. but that's fine. it's in the town where my husband works! which is amazing.

[incendiorum]

dragon io is, as I've mentioned, just... stupidly, ridiculously territorial and their valley certainly falls under that in its entirety. there have been many, many settlements over the centuries, and each have succumbed to various fates (usually dragon-related). currently, there's two villages that io currently allows to inhabit their valley, but they are always, always watching them with a critical eye. the moment they get too into the idea of growth is when io will rid the valley of both and call it a day. they do the work to make sure both villages properly understand the relationship: so long as they are quiet, make no moves against the dragon living above them, and don't start tearing up the valley for crops or homes, then their local watchful super-predator will (mostly) leave them alone. every movement into and out of the valley is tracked, and the presence of groups of armed people is something that they will not stand - said groups get chased out or straight-up attacked depending on the mood for the day. the presence of other dragons always results in the latter of those two options. the villages are... sometimes liable to get caught in the crossfire, though. an attack on io is nothing short of encouragement to make themself known as dangerous and pissed, and they will burn great swathes of their valley and the villages, too, just to make that point. mostly, though, io really isn't inclined to mess with them much and the two (three) live in relatively tense peace. there's also the fact of the matter that io is lonely, and can pass through both villages in their most human of forms as disguise and fulfill social requirements (be an asshole, buy some fruit, etc.)

[anhonestdaysworkcomic]

just finished fully reading one of my reference books. Just bought three more

[saltedsolenoid]

i feel like one of the things that makes my new project so intriguing to me is just how childish and friendly it all feels. like. it's a partially-illustrated chapter book you pick up in your third-grade elementary library and never really forget nor remember. it doesn't have as much depth as some other things that i've worked on but it's so warm and that makes up for it all.

[solcarow]

.

[warriorprincesstramp]

the way even now I could still point out every easter egg to the other books and every distinction between the books and the movie and the series I'm so normal about these guys

[beautifultedium]

Really just want some earrings that look like big fish hooks but not the fake gauge ones. No hate but I would really like to look like I stuck large but regular-ass hooks through my ears

[mashmouths]

i need to make a venn diagram of character traits shared between mizu bes, simon ss, and lancelot timk because oh? my god.