#「 main. 」 ⇀ take the path that leads to nowhere .

[chuluoyi]

fear

- gojo satoru x reader

his best friend’s defection is still a hard topic for him to swallow, and it leads into an unexpected argument that spurs you to leave, only to unlock a new fear in him when you get into an unfortunate accident afterwards.

genre/warnings: angst, gojo being mean, one scene with a worried nanami *wink*, injured reader, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end

notes: *sigh* my coping mechanism is still gojo’s past arc, which is why this piece takes place on that timeline. just a little context: reader is in the same class with nanami & haibara and was in the same mission that took haibara's life. this is probably the longest oneshot i've written so far sooo… enjoy! :)

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

A year and a half had passed since Suguru embarked on his path as a curse user. In that one year and a half, Satoru had finished his last year at Jujutsu High, and now was in the halls of his alma mater, speaking to the newly appointed headmaster who was none other than his teacher.

"You're applying to become a teacher?" Yaga asked again with a frown. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. Granted, he was his most troublesome pupil. "Why, Satoru?"

"If I said it's because I want to train young sorcerers to be strong, would you believe me?"

That was not a lie. It was actually 50% of his main reasons anyway. The other 50% was to repent what he missed with Suguru when he chose his dark path—his contempt with the current system of this jujutsu world.

"I would," Yaga responded gruffly. To him, Satoru was irritating, but he also knew that he was also extremely capable, and thus everything he did wasn't just out of nowhere. "But you still have to submit your applications. We can't make an exception even if you come from a prestigious clan."

"That's fine with me," he grinned. "Thanks, sensei."

On summer days, he'd get reminded of Suguru and silly things they had done together. Eating shaved ice, cycling together, driving either you, Shoko or Nanami mad. Satoru missed those days, it hadn't been the same ever since. Not knowing if his best friend was alright—if he was still alive at all—was exhausting.

Sometimes, he felt like he was the only one who was affected by his departure, the only one who stayed right where Suguru left him. Shoko didn't seem ruffled, if anything she just went to more bars and pachinko parlors as of late. Nanami was always a recluse, he never disclosed his feelings. You mourned him, but it was clear that most part of you would always be more focused on Haibara's death.

Satoru understood that he couldn't force anyone to feel what he felt, and he had no right to. But sometimes, he just wanted someone to connect with at his level. Someone to get him just like Suguru did.

And so when he got back to his condo that night—just right next to the one he rented for Megumi and Tsumiki, since he had moved out of his dorm—to find his girlfriend there with a big smile and a tray of cupcakes, unaware of everything and anything, he merely scoffed to himself.

"Satoru, you're back," you acknowledged, beaming like the sunshine you were. "I just baked these for the kids. Do you want some?"

Usually he'd smother you, throw some pickup lines here and there and say yes, but today, he just felt drained. "No." And with that, he stalked away to the bathroom, not glancing back at you.

It was wrong. But tonight he just wanted some peace and quiet, and so keeping his silence seemed to be the best choice as he didn't want to start a pointless argument with you. But you weren’t anything but observant, and definitely noticed that something was amiss with him.

"Are you... alright?" You approached him warily after he came out of the bathroom with wet hair. "Where were you today?"

"Just somewhere," he replied curtly. Afterwards he turned on the hairdryer, drowning the whole place with the noise even as you stood behind him with a visible question mark.

But you were still there after he dried his hair. "Is something bothering you?" you asked with a tilt of your head, concerned. By all means, you mean well. You just wanted to know if he could use your help at all.

When you pulled that expression, he couldn't help feeling annoyed, like he wanted you to take a hint, but you just didn't. "If you know, then just shut it."

It was probably the first time since the two of you got together that Satoru actually said something harsh. But you still tried to be reasonable though, bless you.

"Satoru, I don't know what got into your nerves like this, but I think sleeping through it might help. Have a rest."

"Why are you talking as if you know it?" he snapped, finally turning to you with his cold gaze. "You might not know anything, so don't be a know-it-all. Just mind your own business."

Now you were frustrated with his reply. "Once again, I don't know what happened to you. But if you're taking it out on me because I'm the closest you have—"

"Who said that?" Satoru didn't know where he got all this venom from. It was just at the forefront of his mind and he just got the urge to spew it. "You're considering yourself closest to me? Where did you get that big head from?"

You were aghast, and you blinked a few times to get your bearings. "Let me guess, it's about Geto-san, isn't it? Or the higher ups. Either of that must be what causing you to blindly place your anger on me."

"So what if it was? It isn't like you'll understand anyway."

"Satoru," you started, trying to even your breathing. "What happened to Geto-san isn't your fault. I've been telling you this. It can't be helped—"

"Can't be helped?" he jeered. "Do you know why it has come to this?" his tone took a dangerous edge as he stepped closer. He reached for you, grasping your wrist.

"Maybe because I was too blind back then. If it weren't for you—if only I didn't spend that much time on you, maybe he would still be here."

Did he just say that? Did he just imply that he had regretted the two of you getting together?

You felt your lower lip start to tremble and something seemed to obscure and blur your vision, making it hard to see him clearly. "You... don't mean that."

"Really?" the corner of his lips curled into a disparaging smile. "You never know. Before you know it, this can be over already. After all, I could have anyone out there that I want. Maybe someone less nosey than—”

That did it. You wrenched your arm out of his grip violently, as your first tear fell. His smirk vanished too, replaced with a total stillness to cover his sudden panic that was followed by a sudden sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"You selfish, self-obsessed jerk," you hissed through watery eyes. He was taken aback, even amidst your anger and possible fear of him, your still managed to throw daggers at him. "Fine. You have it. I'll see myself out."

Satoru never wanted you to leave. Honestly, he would've made you stay. But he wasn't in the right state of mind and it was too late to take back what he said. He didn't want to mess this up even further.

You left the cupcakes, even throwing it away just to spite him. Driven by pain and humiliation, you choked back your sob and didn't spare a glance at him as you shut the door.

Peace and quiet. There he had it, he thought as he clenched his fists, at the cost of everything else.

Leaving that condo, every step you took felt like needles piercing your shattered heart. You wiped your tears roughly. No, you refused to cry over such asshole. He made it clear, didn't he? Whatever it was that you two shared, it was at the cost of his best friend leaving him. So now the blame was on you.

If you were thinking clearly, you would've understood that his words were likely a result of his own pent-up pain and frustration that he had kept to himself for some while. But you had no patience for that or even pinpoint what you felt right now—anger, disappointment or dread, or perhaps all three. You just felt wrongly accused.

Your feet brought you back to your dorm in the school. Now it wasn't as bustling as it once were. After Satoru and Shoko's graduation, you didn't really get close to anyone. There was Ichiji, but he treated you more like a mentor rather than a classmate.

As you sank into the comforts of your bed, You replayed the events, trying to find where it went wrong—and found nothing. After all, you had already said all that could be said. It wasn't just him who lost Geto, but you, Shoko and Nanami did too, but it was more convenient for Satoru to blame everyone else rather than trying to understand that they too shared this pain.

Nevertheless, you were disappointed. You didn't expect half of what he spouted, and it got you doubting everything you had.

"You've royally fucked up."

Satoru exhaled, glaring at Shoko through the corner of his eyes. "Yeah, maybe."

The reverse cursed technique user threw him a blank stare, taking in everything from his disheveled hair to his wrinkled trousers. "Gojo, as much as I can’t care less about your sorry ass, I'm saying this not out of concern for you, but rather for Y/N. You are an asshole."

The puff of smoke she blew expanded to create a cloud-like shape. "Yaga-sensei was our teacher. His student is now a mass murderer and wanted dead. Can you even imagine how he feels? And I can't believe I'm saying this—but weren't there three of us?"

A week had gone by and instead of doing the right thing like trying to get into your good graces, Satoru was in Shoko's infirmary in the headquarters instead. He didn't exactly know what he was looking for by going here. Maybe some lingering taste of his happier student days, and Shoko was the only one remaining.

Three of us, huh... she was right. That was precisely why he came here after all.

"You're just sulking because it seems no one cares about your best friend being the best there is. But have you thought about how our juniors also lost Haibara? Right in front of their eyes? Haibara was our friend too."

He was wrong, of course he was. Satoru realized that now. But it felt wrong to ask for your forgiveness now, not to mention the disrupting thought he had—should he let you go for good altogether?

The phone suddenly rang with such fervor that made Shoko utter a swear word. She was on call duty for the rescue team today, and it was supposedly a peaceful day until Satoru decided to barge in to become her company. "Hello? Ichiji? What—speak clearly, I can't hear you."

She switched it to loudspeaker. "...iri-san! Ieiri-san—h-help—please—"

It was noisy, and blaring at the same time, and Ichiji was... Sobbing? Choking? His voice was terribly muffled and—

"L/N-san!" he cried, and Satoru remembered at that moment that you should be in a mission with Ichiji, he remembered you telling him before.

"Hic—s-she fell... hic—she fell! B-blood! She i-is bleeding so much! I-Ieiri-san—hic—s-send help! Please!"

"Hey, stay awake. Breathe. Just breathe."

Everything hurt. Most notably, your head. You could hardly think straight when all you felt was blinding pain and how your breaths came in short wheezes. 

Your vision was blurry. The numbness had started to set in and chills ran up and down your spine. You couldn't make out who in front of you was. Was it Ichiji, who went with you in this mission? The only thing that glared was blue.

"You can't sleep, you hear me?" the voice was commanding, willing you to do his bidding. It was familiar, but usually his tone of voice was much lighter, happier.

Satoru.

But why was he here? He wasn't in this mission. It was supposed to be a mission for you and Ichiji.

You remembered getting the cursed spirit after manifesting your domain expansion, until in its last ditch attempt, it went after Ichiji. You had no choice—even when your cursed energy had burned out, you still shoved him away at the cost of being flung from the top of a building.

Not again. Not after Haibara. You’d gladly pay the price if it meant you didn't have to see anyone die in front of you again.

"I..." You managed to croak out—breathing hurt, and you felt your hands being grasped tightly.

"Hey, just breathe. Y/N. Look at me.” Through your blurry haze, you focused on that cold blue, and you saw him. Satoru's sharp eyes, pursed lips and frown. He's really here.

Satoru always said that if there was a cursed spirit apocalypse, then Ichiji would be the first to die. You used to scold him for that, but now as you a laid here possibly dying in your own pool of blood, you found it to be true.

Yet at the same time you knew that with him here, Ichiji must be safe already, and it gave you reassurance so great even when you were on the verge of dying. "I... can't..."

"Yes, you can. Just look at me," he firmly rebuked, his voice came out in a hiss. For all the time you had been with him, you had never heard him so forceful. "If you close your eyes now, I won't forgive you. So please, just hang in there."

It was a struggle to take in any air and darkness encroached on your vision as your consciousness began slipping away.

And everything faded to nothingness.

Satoru honestly thought he had no fears. His worst fear had fully realized after all—Suguru going away into the darkness. What more could he possibly fear?

But when he heard Ichiji's distress call for rescue team, about how you fell from a rooftop of a building and unconscious, he realized that it was a fear he didn't know existed. His mind got disoriented and he teleported to the scene on impulse. He just had to see it for himself. With their petty argument still lacking closure, he felt even worse.

And the sight before him gave him so much fright he never thought was possible.

It was a mistake, he should have brought Shoko along.

You had laid there like a broken doll, your eyes dimmed, and not been able to breathe. He desperately tried to keep you awake, his presence beside you, yet it didn't seem to matter. He watched helplessly as you passed out in his arms.

Satoru felt nothing. The panic that had set in was suddenly gone as your limp body slumped against him, replaced by incessant ringing in his ears and tremor wracking his nervous system. It wasn't long until the rescue team came to retrieve you and even then he still felt numb. He rejected the idea that you might possibly die on him.

That went on until Shoko, who assisted in the emergency treatment, came out of the surgery, sweat on her forehead.

"It's even worse than the aftermath of the guardian deity mission last year," Shoko explained with a grim expression. "Her brain has sustained damage and it affects everything. It may take her quite a while before she can go back to the field."

When she said that, Satoru felt terror washed over him again. You almost died—was all he perceived.

The two of you had no contact for a week just because of his ego. He could still recall that day with vivid clarity, feeling a burning ache in his chest. If someone were to ask him what heartbreak was like, now he certainly would he able the to tell them the two instances in which he experienced them. What he felt now mirrored the same stinging sensation he had felt when Suguru left him.

He visited you when he was allowed to, and you were still unconscious, with many machines connected to your body. It was a sight he still couldn’t bring himself to get used to. He had seen you injured before, but never seen you in your own pool of blood, so this made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Stupid," he whispered, gently rubbing your forehead. His eyes remained fixated on you as you rested, his insides still churning with emotions. "You're not weak, and you're not hopeless." Once upon a time, Satoru might have thought of you as weak, but now he knew better.

"So why you always pick the worst decision?" The more he thought this could've been avoided, the more irked he was. The thought that he could have done something to prevent it intensified the sting of guilt, and he continued to punish himself with it.

And the more he dwelled on the idea that he had hurt you prior to this, the tighter his breath became.

But that was who you were. Self-sacrificing to a fault. And he loved you for that. There was no way of him letting you go now.

It astonished even himself—that he was capable of this love thing. At first it was an attraction, but now that you had been going on for more than a year, it felt like it was no longer a silly infatuation after all.

"Hurry and wake up, will you?" Satoru gently brushed your hair aside, his eyes fixed on you. He didn't know it even as his gut twisted, his frown deepened and his touch quivered, that he was worried sick. "I have a lot to make up for."

And he left you with a tender brush of his lips against your forehead.

Nanami Kento was the first person you saw when you awoke from coma.

You struggled to regain your senses, still feeling absolutely broken. The dull throb on the back of your head was still there, and as if you had found yourself trapped in a fog, you were only able to move sluggishly.

"You're awake?" his gruff voice greeted, laced with concern. In his hand were a bucket of fresh flowers and fruits basket, which he soon placed at the table next to your bed.

It was unexpected, because ever since the tragedy that costed Haibara's life, the two of you had been drifting apart.

You nodded, and let out a hum in response—all you could manage at the moment.

"Thank God." Nanami sounded relieved as he pinched the bridge between his eyes, and you were moved that he had shown this degree of concern.

Your remaining classmate, who suffered the burden of Haibara's life just like you. He was always quiet or brooding somewhere, hiding his own feelings.

You felt tears pricking the corner of your eyes. The fact that he visited you meant that he hadn't decided to cut you out of his life yet.

"Gojo-san is out today, but he'll be back by afternoon," he said, mistranslating your tears as some sort of a want to have your annoying—ex?—boyfriend at your side.

The two of you were still not on talking terms, weren’t you?

You so badly wanted to say thank you to him—and tell him that no, you weren't looking for Satoru—but it came out hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"Huh?" Nanami then realized what you were trying to say, and a faint smile graced his lips. "Just... get well soon, L/N. Have a good rest."

Just before you drifted back to sleep, you could hear him sigh and mutter, "Hello, Gojo-san? L/N has awakened. Just letting you know is all.”

You weren't sure how much time had passed when you woke up the second time, but the curtains were already drawn and only darkness came from the window. Your body felt lighter, but you still felt like a mess and and couldn't help but groan in discomfort.

Satoru was there, he perked up at the noise you made. And you realized that it was the first time in about a week that he faced you after that disasterous almost-breakup.

He walked up to you, his expression was more hopeful than you had ever seen him before, like a kid whose wish had been granted. He slowly shifted to sit beside you.

"Hey, welcome back." His voice was soft. It was a change of pace for him, as you were used to seeing him all loud and silly.

Now your voice no longer sounds like a lead. "Hey."

"How are you feeling?" he asked and you took a moment to look at him. He was smiling, but exhaustion reached his bright eyes, dimming them. "You know, with the whole you passing out and almost dying thing?"

His words were almost humorous as he spoke, like he didn't know what else to say except try to lighten the mood, but there was also a strain on his tone, like he was holding back.

"I'm quite fine now, I suppose..." You still felt the lingering pain and dizziness as you slowly sat up. Satoru reached out to steady you—and you realized how his fingers trembled when they made contact with your body—as his brows furrowed with worry when you winced.

"You don't look like it though." His voice dropped and the humor was gone, replaced by this haunted look. You blinked. It was probably the first time you had seem him this ruffled.

He immediately pulled you into a hug, cradling your head to his neck gently, as if to protect and shield you from the world altogether. Exhaling heavily, he leaned on you. "You scared me, you know that?"

You wondered out loud if you really had that hold over him. "Did I?"

"You can't do that to me, you hear?" Satoru stroked your hair, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck. His voice quivered. “Don't ever do that again.”

He pulled you tighter against him, but still careful not to crush you.

You let out a snicker, letting go of everything you felt during this horrible week. "Heh, afraid to lose me, huh?"

"Shut up,” he grumbled. “What were you thinking anyway? How did you calculate that freefalling is better than letting that cursed spirit attack Ichiji?”

"He was defenseless. He could die, you know that."

"And you also can," he quipped, upset, pulling away enough to look you squarely in the eyes, his eyes devoid of any expression, yet filled with a raging wave that you could only interpret as undiluted concern.

The emphasis in his tone made you recoil and feel guilty. If you were in his shoes, you probably would've said the same thing and so you had nothing to say to that.

But the more pressing agenda in the list was the unspoken silent treatment the two of you saw fit to use against each other for the last few days. Satoru was the one who decided to address it first.

"About that night..." he faltered, looking away. "I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry."

Satoru always had trouble processing emotions. This time too. He must've a hard time dealing with the anxiety caused by the possibility of him losing you for good, no matter how much he tried to be unaware of it.

"..." You wanted to respond, to make him understand your point, but somehow right now you were just too weary. And he sensed your reluctance. So you blurted the first thing that gnawed at your mind.

“You said you could have any other women out there—”

"No, really—" he started to panic, and it was blatantly too, which surprised you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Us. I don't regret anything. I’m not breaking up with you. Being with you is the happiest I've been ever since Suguru left."

“That's...” you blinked, before letting out a small sigh. “Okay. Fine then. Let's just put it behind us for now.”

“I—” he almost wheezed, his bright blue eyes were overtaken with sheer urgency to explain how wrong everything had been that night. “You must know that I didn’t mean any of it. And that I hate hurting you the way I did. I won’t—”

"Satoru, I understand," you let out another sigh, fidgeting with your fingers. "Sometimes when I’m reminded of Haibara, I also get sad. I don't want to presume but I think I know how you feel. Just next time, maybe," you shifted your gaze on him, seeing how you had his attention fully. Gojo Satoru, the strongest now, was looking at you as if you had his fate in your hands. "Just tell me if you need space and I would have understood."

"Yeah, okay, sure," he responded immediately, relieved, before a lopsided grin appeared on his face, turning him back into your dork slash boyfriend. "So, am I forgiven now?"

"A thank you would be nice."

In the end, he chuckled, seemingly resigned. "You should sleep more."

He positioned himself into bed next to you, and you let him pull you into his chest again. You could feel how his taut back started to relax upon the contact. He pressed his lips on your forehead in a fleeting kiss.

"Promise me you won't pull that stunt again.”

You smirked. "I can't. What if Ichiji—"

"Then just let him die."

You swatted his arm playfully, pressing your head to his chest as he continued to run his fingers on your hair. He cushioned you carefully, and you felt the tension in him slowly melt away with each breath you took. In your mind, you figured he needed this closeness more than you did, if anything, for the sake of his sanity.

“I love you,” he whispered by your ear, kissing it lightly.

“Mmhm.”

As you felt Satoru's calming presence, it helped ease you into slumber. You soon found yourself in a deep sleep, comfortably held in his embrace.

Epilogue

Ichiji gulped as Satoru stared him down, sizing him up as if he was the most despicable creature on this planet.

Okay, he might be. He was a coward, all he could do was trembling in the face of evil. But he had come in peace, even bringing fruits as an offering! He felt bad too that he was the partial cause for you to be this injured.

He was used to Satoru terrorizing him—calling him names, slapping him, and whatnot—and he could take it. Just this time, he really looked like he could murder him on the spot if he wanted to. A small part of Ichiji mourned that you were his girlfriend, because that pretty much sealed his fate that Gojo Satoru could indeed murder him on the spot because he had a valid enough reason to.

"You are—"

"No! I'm sorry, Gojo-san! I'm sorry for my incompetence!"

"Hah?"

If he was mildly irked before, now Satoru was visibly irritated.

"You're not cut out to be a jujutsu sorcerer," he started. "You're useless. You just get in the way most of the time."

Ichiji kept his head down. No, no. He can't cry!

"Get your driving license or I'll slap the shit out of you."

"Oh?" and before he knew it, Satoru had stalked away, leaving him in the dust. How rude! But...

Get a driver license? Quit the jujutsu work?

Hey, that sounds like something I can do!

[galene-gothic]

𝖶𝗁𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌?

୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ I hope this reading found you in good health, every reblog is appreciated and thank you for everything :) ˖♡ ˎˊ˗ ꒰ 🐇 ꒱

˗ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗             PAID SERVICES

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So, they'll be a workaholic. As independent as they'll be, they'll also be alone and kind of isolated. They'll be really guarded to date romantically which will naturally lead to them being commitment phobic. They won't be the most spiritual person, they'll be someone who'll be more grounded in reality at that time (not really to be honest, they'll be ungrounded and disconnected but will be trying to be realistic and logical). They'll be burying away their feelings and past traumas but after meeting you, they'll start gaining clarity on their fears. You'll cause them to be really confused because of their feelings for you. They won't express any of this to you at that time but they'll rationalise everything internally and feel a sense of gratitude is what I'm getting. You'll make them feel consumed, it's like when the both of you will be together, they'll feel a high but there's still some anxiety there. I feel like there'll be a lot of things left unsaid, some missed communication between the both of you and you might go through a temporary separation. About why they'll fall in love with you, there are many reasons but the main one is just how they'll feel towards you.

They'll feel like they were really mean to you and the way they'll feel towards you will just be out of control. They'll feel like even the way they acted towards you was not very controlled. This is funny, they'll fall in love with you but will be mean to you before the seperation occurs, however, you're not going to be innocent either. Your intentions seem to be innocent but because of how they'll make you feel and because of how they seem commitment phobic (they might make it clear to you that they do not have space for you in their life to be honest 😭). You'll also be cold towards them, at some point, you'll tell them something like you don't really care about what's going on in their life or something (it won't sound as mean but it'll definitely be saddening). You'll be in a very unstable place before the seperation occurs but you'll still have high expectations and standards (probably because lowering your standards earlier got you nowhere). The both of you seem to be really different from each other, maybe even opposites but there'll be something that just attracts you to each other, you'll be equally as repulsed by each other though. There's something about feelings growing very fast here, the connection has such a slow yet fast energy.

When you'll first meet them, you'll seem hyperactive in certain ways but will still have a body language and facial expressions that hint lack of energy. You might meet in an environment where you'll have to take up certain responsibilities but you'll seem too naive and playful to get things done 💀. There'll be times when you'll have small temper tantrums. There'll be some petty arguments, playful banters and drama (to be honest, it seems to be a major theme in your dynamic). There's something about you being really emotional and kind of lacking maturity. You'll teach them a lot of life lessons. After your separation ends, you'll show up as someone with a lot of integrity. I just heard "there's something called 'cause and effect'". You're going to show up as someone pretty honest too, especially with what you want in life and think that you deserve. You'll be on the right path when you'll meet them after the separation. There'll be something about you though, before your seperation they might have thought that you'd probably wait for them because they seem to have come across as a respectful person but that image will just shatter after they meet you again.

I wouldn't be surprised if you're mean to them though. You'll very much be in a 'should I stay or should I go?' energy before or after you'll meet again. You're going to be more focused on the long term so you might choose to let go of them. They'll kind of realise their feelings before your seperation occurs and after the realisation , they'll actually be in a deep reflection period. They'll come off as someone very mysterious and secretive to you. I feel like they'll just hold it close to their chest and might choose working on other things instead. They will give in to their pride and withdraw. They'll just give up, this makes me so emotional to be honest. It'll be difficult for them to control themself because their emotions will feel so raw so they'll feel like they need to get their control back by giving up instead. After you meet again after the seperation, they'll choose to be decisive. I feel like the both of you will look to the past and think about how far you've come. There'll be a sense of nostalgia that'll hit them as soon as they'll see you. I'm also getting that you'll have changed a lot, your core aspects will still be the same though. They'll choose to free themself and trust how things turn out. 'We don't talk anymore' by Selena Gomez and Charlie Puth is coming through here.

⸼ ۫ ︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 2 ꒱

They'll fall in love with you because they'll learn something new through and from you. If they're an introverted person (like low-key anti-social), they could still enjoy being outdoors or around people if it's with you. People don't choose to be loyal, they either feel it or they don't and they will feel loyalty towards you. There's something about them seeing your potential and also helping them see their own potential. You'll make them feel really happy. There's something about wisdom coming through. This seems to be the classic case of 'real recognises real'. You'll feel safe around each other. 4th house and 5th house synastry seems to be significant here (could be composite too though). You will probably be mirroring each other a lot. You'll both meet each other after a very painful ending will have occurred in your lives. There's something about things just slipping through the fingers. A lot of things left unsaid, fear coming in, pushing each other away, etc. They'll fall in love with you because they'll see you as someone who's diligent and determined. They'll fall in love with you because you'll be self sufficient and independent, you'll also help them become the same way.

You'll feel like the calm after the storm to them, however, due to them not being used to the calmness, they will restrict their true feelings and character to a certain extent. They'll end up acting out of character and will be angry at you 💀. Their energy will be scattered and they'll act sort of arrogant. They'll show you unlimited potential though :(. You'll help them feel really confident so they'll naturally act confident too. There'll be times when they'll act really carefree and fun. The love between the both of you holds a certain innocence to it. They will be commitment phobic and end up expressing it in one way or another though. They'll make you feel special and you'll have a lot of fun together but they will give themself away by saying somethings that will make you feel like they aren't serious about you or you don't mean as much to them. Much like the first pile, there seems to be a separation here too. They'll be so different from most people that you'll have met but they'll not seem to be in the energy for anything serious with you which will definitely be hurtful. When they'll realise that what they feel towards you is actually love, they'll jump in and out.

The romance between the both of you (the first time) will be ungrounded and fast paced but also short lived. Even though the relationship doesn't seem to progress, spiritually the both of you will get so intimate because you'll affect each other really deeply. They will use their energy in wrong ways and will be restricting everything. They'll act really hasty, supposing they are ignoring you, it'll be in a haste. They'll end up acting like a heartbreaker and will leave you confused. They'll act really moody so you won't know how to act with them or where you stand with them. At the end, you'll feel like maybe you didn't mean as much to them as you thought you did. This is so sad, oh my god. You'll feel like they didn't care enough about you. They'll just act very selfish, I won't lie. They'll be non-committal and things will be messed up between the both of you. I don't know what will happen but the both of you will meet again, maybe they'll reach out to you. I'm certainly getting some sort of communication here. You'll both be grateful to each other and you in particular will have developed down to earth character. When they'll reach out, you'll not be the most receptive.

You'll probably have an argument or a discussion that's leaning towards you not being open to their offer. You'll tell them something like "things have ended already" or "it's better if we end things here". You'll even say something like "we're incompatible, it's not going to work". You'll have developed a strong identity by that point and will choose to come forward with self integrity. You'll be really forward with them and will try to talk to them in a mature manner. They will choose to come in slower, the energy that I'm getting is that they'll be feeling quite scattered too because you'll make it pretty clear that you don't want anything to do with them. They'll choose to give you time while still having times when they just feel torn and cold. They'll really want control over the situation again. They'll start expressing love to you through their actions rather than their words and will suggest that even if you're not lovers, you should remain as friends. They'll be generous and genuine. They'll just have good intentions for the both of you. They'll express gratitude to you very often. Due to the gratitude, it might be a bit difficult for them to let you go? Eventually, you'll give in and choose to trust them.

⸼ ۫ ︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 3 ꒱

I love this because the last two piles felt draining 😭. They'll be in a calm and emotionally healthy energy when you'll meet them. They'll be caring and tolerant at that time. They'll be emotionally mature and let's just say that they'll be a good person. They'll be considerate of others but still difficult to sway morally. They'll be rising above their problems and will have learned a lot from their past. They'll be positive as they'll know that they've gotten over the worst already. They'll either have developed or will be developing good communication skills. They'll be in a place where they'll want to be honest and communicative. They'll have gained a lot of clarity on a lot of different things and will be having realisations that will be leading to breakthroughs. They'll be pretty mentally stable and will be resilient, even if their life isn't going particularly good, it'll not be going extremely bad especially because of their mindset. They'll be feeling like they can battle anything that life throws at them, they'll be feeling proud of themself too. They'll have a vision for themself and their future. Their imagination will be running wild but in the best way possible. They'll fall in love with you because of how much potential the you seem to have. They'll see your potential and I feel like you'll have a lot of unused potential?

You'll somehow still be very confident though and will be self focused. You seem like the type to be like "wow, I'm so pretty, I must've saved a country in my past life to be born with a face like this" while looking at the mirror, eyes full of admiration for your own beauty. You'll have arguments but somehow it'll lead to revelations and you'll balance each other out despite how different or incompatible you are. You'll let them take the dominant role and they'll feel like they can assert themself with you. You'll hype them up and make them feel like you're proud of them. You'll make them feel like you see them for who they are and see their integrity? They'll feel like they're in the spotlight for you and you see them. They'll feel possessive over you and will want to have you. They'll feel such a tenderness towards you, they'll feel like they just want to keep you in their life. They'll feel protective of you and just adore you so much. You'll also help them feel more confident, they'll not be able to get enough of you, they'll just want more. After realising their feelings, they'll choose to trust you. They'll be more alert, pay attention to you and interact more with you. They'll listen to the things that you say and remember them so that they can make you feel special and touched. This is wholesome. They'll try to be more seen by you, they'll want you to take them seriously.

They'll try to talk to you about things and teach you a lot. They'll also try to get relationship advice from those they really trust. They'll try to create a valuable connection with you. You'll prove to be really helpful to them, you'll help them focus more on their work, they'll just feel really motivated to do better because of you. Even if it's just slow and small improvements, they'll implement those in their own life and also in the relationship between the both of you. Just being around you is going to feel so healing to them. They'll start being even more kind to themself and understand their past mistakes. They'll forgive and accept themself and the way things turned out to be. They'll actually choose to come forth to you with a strategy that is actually logical. They'll still be hopeful though. You'll either ignore the signs that they throw in here and there or you'll just be oblivious to them. Even you'll be working on some stuff within yourself so well you'll be critical of yourself and just everything. You might have been kinda guarded to them because of your own issues but you'll finally choose to be open to communicating with them. At first you'll withdraw from them to sort out your feelings but will make a firm decision after that. You'll let go of your fears to be with them because you'll love them. After you choose them, you'll also find new purposes in life. This is truly beautiful. The direction will be chosen and set for the both of you. I'm happy for you, take care.

[nayatarot777]

what about you is a threat to other people? why do people try to tear you down?

• pile one •

cards: 9 of pentacles, strength, the fool

your self esteem and self confidence has people THREATENED, pile one. well and thoroughly intimidated. you guys seem to hold a lot of self value and self control. you live your life according to your own set of morals and standards and you ensure to prioritise these things. you’re someone who’s able to control your ego extremely well because you have a lot of trust in yourself, your own decisions, and your own opinions about situations. there’s an energy of moving through life with fearlessness. you have a strong sense of loyalty to yourself and to your self improvement, so you don’t let yourself stray away from new paths in life if you feel called to do so - regardless of what others may think about your decisions. you’re viewed as someone just doing your own thing and building your own life. you seem to be content and you seem like you’re living life in the way that you want to. there’s also an energy of constant maturity - if people were to not see you for a year, meeting you again would be meeting a much more developed person than before. any petty or immature behaviours or mindsets are constantly assessed and transmuted by you. the immature things that people would be able to hold against you are things that they can’t hold against you a couple of months afterwards, because you would have already come to terms with any immature behaviour. you’re extremely self aware which is where this ability to successfully tame your ego comes from.

cards: the tower, 8 of wands, the empress

people will try to tear down your self esteem by blindsiding you out of nowhere with behaviour that’s clearly devaluing to you. it’s like they’re trying to change the amount of value that you see in yourself by devaluing you randomly. it seems like you’re someone who doesn’t put that much emphasis on many other people anyway, so this probably doesn’t hurt you as much as these people intended it to. and you still seem to sit tall on whatever figurative throne that these people themselves have put you on. there’s a lot of your divine feminine energy that’s attacked when people try to tear you down. you may also experience people attacking you under the guise of being someone loving or caring towards you. but your intuition seems to be extremely strong, leading you to recognise the intimidation that these people feel from you. so it’s almost like you put up the necessary boundaries to make these people’s negative energy backfire on them. they always end up in rubbles from their own jealousy/envy while you’ve managed to stay protected.

if you’d like a private reading, please read my pinned post 💞

• pile two •

cards: ace of pentacles, 5 of wands, the hanged man, 3 of wands

what’s threatening about you is that you know how to see past the bs. you know how to go within and tune into your intuition to see whatever it is that you need to see. and if you don’t like what you see, you move on. this ability to pause, to be by yourself, and to listen only to your own intuition is what allows you to be grounded and build stability in your life and connections with others. it also seems like people don’t want to argue with you at all either 😂 you often use logic and practicality in the points that you make, meaning that you’re always a few steps ahead of others. this intimidates them. you might also have uncommon or unusual opinions that make a lot more sense than typical opinions on certain topics. you’re someone who takes an unconventional path in many areas of your life, finding success with those paths and finding a lot of blessings and value in them. you might even make money in an uncommon way. i heard “no competition” in relation to that so whatever you do, you’re extremely good at. this might even be part of your main life path, and blessings arrive when you follow this purpose that you’ve found for yourself. people who are intimidated by you are intimidated by how you seem so sure of where you’re heading and what life will look like for you in the future - even if you feel the complete opposite. you just seem enlightened about life and your own life purpose, so you stick to it - despite the conflict that other people may bring to you about this. you actually experience the most conflict when you’re taking steps towards your life purpose/destiny (check your natal chart for your north node placement and research what this means for you). whenever you step into that energy, people who are intimidated by you will try to cause issues to stray you off that path. but you have a great intuition, and i feel like you already know how these people feel about your level ups.

cards: the empress, the stars, page of swords

the empress came out in pile one, in the same section of their reading. the way that people tear you down is by attacking your divine feminine energy. but it seems like with you, people may attack your physical appearance. knit picking at both your looks and achievements. i just heard that some people might also treat you like you’re being suspicious - asking invasive questions. people might get reckless in general with what they start saying to you, because you seem so perfect to these people. and it’s like they’re digging for dirt about you that they could go and gossip about and negatively affect your reputation with. with the star, they might try to outshine you in social situations - particularly with conversation because you guys are a great conversationalist. that’s how you attract a lot of people to you easily. your words hold weight in a way that people need and they get attached to hearing you voice your opinions and speak. this page of swords gives me hating ass energy. i’m seeing someone evil eyeing you and staring daggers at you as you’re having a conversation that the other person is clearly enjoying or invested in. the people who try to tear you down might be people who aim to look, behave, and appear perfect in any way possible. your beauty is a source of envy, so a lot of people who are insecure af about their physical appearance feel like you’re major competition - to the point where they’re not even competition to you. you outshine them with your beauty. as well as your brains. you’re not just a pretty face. i’m getting that for those of you who are feminines/women, other feminines or women who try to be pick mes (what they believe men want them to be) are often the envious ones around you. the ones who probably think that playing dumb is cute, until they see a man/masculine that they want the attention of being swept up in your conversation and your mind and intelligence. so they start to emulate. people who tear you down stay trying to copy you. the way that you speak, your opinions, the way that you view situations, the way that you heal or help people, the way that you dress. anything. you’re a natural healer. your energy is healing. and these people who try to tear you down try to trigger the more unhealed aspects of you to, again, attach some dirt to your name. this is always unsuccessful though, because you’re so in tune with yourself. stay doing whatever tf you’re doing because it’s clearly something that a lot of people put up on a pedestal and are threatened by.

if you’d like a private reading, please read my pinned post 💞

• pile three •

cards: the hermit, knight of wands, knight of cups

the way that you can be in solitude and go into a deep, introspective mode is threatening to others. you do so much soul searching in order to figure out the lessons that you need to learn. you could have an old mind or an old soul. with a childlike and loving spirit. you’re deeply missed when those who you have a connection with don’t see you. i heard that they feel like they’re talking to someone with the most amount of childlike wonder, but also the oldest, most valuable knowledge at the same time. the way that you can temper yourself in connections - not getting attached recklessly and quickly - also intimidates people for some reason. the mystery that surrounds you seems to be linked to your introversion, but also your knowledge and philosophies. you can focus on what you want or how you feel and just go for it. these moves are in silence. behind the scenes. and you seem to be on a steady path of figuring yourself out and improving yourself every time someone sees you. you’re dedicated to finding motivation, love, and dependency on yourself. for yourself. others who might struggle to build their self esteem views your self improvement as a threat because they compare themselves to you and feel as though they’re a mess compared to you. or way more immature. even if they’re older than you.

cards: 8 of wands, the magician, 2 of pentacles

honestly, pile two, i feel like people are prevented spiritually from trying to tear you down. they might try their shit once or twice, but there’s something that manifests in their life to show them that they tried the wrong one. you guys have karmic energy on your side. when people do try to tear you down, they do it in such a sudden way. this is similar to the way that people try to tear down pile one. people will try to switch up on you and then get hit with that return to sender. they try to either change or completely end your ability to manifest. your valuable resources - whether that’s time, money, energy, etc. because they know that if they drain these things, they’re putting a blockage in your path for you. judging by the wise energy that i get from you, you could experience a lot of people relying on you for advice. the ones who don’t reciprocate that energy when it’s needed are the ones who want to drain you. it’s like they’re trying to take your intelligence, your knowledge, to use as a way to get onto the level that they view you on. they might also become very invasive. i’m ngl, some of these people could try to put some type of magick or witchcraft onto you. but the scales are always balanced. they try to fuck with your balance in your practical life in some way, so when that return to sender is activated, that’s what they experience for themselves. especially with their money and practical aspects of their day-to-day human life. you don’t have anything to worry about in terms of people who try to tear you down. they’re never successful.

if you’d like a private reading, please read my pinned post 💞

[vampyrsm]

‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO | HOMUSUBI

‣‣ Synopsis: Our tale continues deep in a village that's rife with cursed spirits, a Lord that cares not for his people and a battle of the tongue and wits. And in the dead of night, something comes prowling.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3 ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Word Count: est. 10k ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, female reader, violence, blood, cannibalism references, dead bodies, murder, cursed spirits, death, suggestive.

“I thought you didn’t care for the titles these mortal men brandish themselves with.” Kenjaku comments to your side, her eyes are sharp as always and the smile she levels you with is cruel—but not towards you, you’d be willing to say that perhaps Kenjaku had started to take a shine to you after your display in the throne room. 

“I don’t.” You admit, adjusting the kimono on your body before turning to glance at the woman next to you. “I cared for it once. But now, I see it as a weapon. The people—they’re scared of Sukuna, and the rest of us. If we’re to be in a place of power, even without approval…” 

“You’d win back control from the Emperor, disarming him effectively.” Kenjaku finishes for you, a look in her eye you can’t quite distinguish as she curls a perfect finger against her chin for a moment. 

“Exactly. If we can amass enough, we can push back—we can dethrone him, and then Japan is ours.”

“Ours?” Kenjaku smiles then, the crow's feet at her eyes displaying an age that’s unfitting for the youthfulness of her skin. “You wish to share Japan with me as well?”

“I don’t see why not. You’ve helped me, albeit in a questionable manner…” You trail off, much to the amusement of Kenjaku as she offers you a very rare laugh; one that sounds genuine for once. “Besides, your strength can’t be ignored. I won’t ignore it.”

Kenjaku quietens at that, her eyes once again shifted to look down the path leading to the burnt-out village before her eyes close in half-moons, and her smile grows when her head bows in gratitude. “I thank you for being so open-minded. Not many would offer such a bountiful reward to someone like me.”

You can only bow your head in return, a small smile of your own making its way onto your face. It was odd, the relationship that had formed between yourself and Kenjaku. You would’ve never seen it coming, not with how you first interacted with her and the following times after that. You had assumed she wanted you dead, or better yet, displayed as a pet to be poked and prodded when she felt like it. 

But something shifted, something clicked into place following your return. Perhaps it was the fact she had heard of the things you endured, had seen the after-effects of it upon your arrival back at the temple. And then, without a doubt, you had sealed your newly formed friendship with the black-haired woman when you slit the throat of Yorozu. 

You smile fondly at that. The meal had been exquisite. 

“Master Sukuna will be here soon.” Uraume seems to appear from nowhere at your other side, the mostly silent monk regards you for a quick second before that steely gaze is shifted to Kenjaku—who is no doubt grinning from ear to ear at the sight of Uraume. 

“I know.” You reply, effectively dragging Uraume’s gaze back to you… and you almost think you see an embarrassed tint on their face at the admission that you know exactly where Sukuna is. After all, you���re bonded to him. “But thank you, Uraume.” 

Uraume remains silent, bowing their head before taking a step away to return back to the temple. 

“Uraume won’t be joining us?” Kenjaku comments, looking over her shoulder to watch as Uraume shoves the large doors closed. 

“No. Sukuna wanted them to stay here, just in case.” 

Kenjaku hums a noise of understanding, tucking her hands into the long sleeves of her kimono to fight off the cold. 

“How has Masato been?” Your question has Kenjaku visibly perking up, a fox-like gleam in her eye.

“Oh, wonderful. Masato is an… interesting curse, to say the least. She’s been learning quickly.” Kenjaku’s lips upturn quickly into a sly smirk. “She made quick work of a village not too far from here. Her cursed technique is something to behold.” 

“She already figured it out?” You shouldn’t sound so surprised. You knew from research in Sukuna’s private library that cursed spirits were known to adapt much more quickly than humans, both in healing and their power. They grew stronger every second they were ‘alive’.

“Oh, yes. I think with time she’ll blossom into quite the formidable cursed spirit.” 

“I see.” You mull over what Kenjaku had told you. You hadn’t seen Masato in over a week at this point, Kenjaku had kept her busy—killing people, apparently, in an effort to discover the spirits technique. There’s an odd sensation that settles in your chest, something like pride you realise when it warms your heart. It’s odd, strange even, that you feel pride for the development of a cursed spirit. 

One you had created.

You still hadn’t revealed to anyone that little detail, it seemed insignificant at this point. Sukuna wouldn’t have anything to say about it, perhaps an off-handed comment about how maybe Masato would actually be a worthwhile curse to keep around. Kenjaku would no doubt be intrigued by it, her morbid fascination with the curse was already something to be concerned about. 

“Have you made the preparations?” It’s Sukuna’s voice that has you snapping out of your thoughts, turning immediately to face the man in question. He’s dressed, which should be a normal occurrence for most men but it was odd for Sukuna. He’s draped in a thick kimono and a haori atop of that, it hides his arms well enough, two of them are crossed beneath the material whilst the others are at his sides. 

“Of course.” Kenjaku bows her head slightly when Sukuna glances at her. “We were waiting for you.”

Naturally, Sukuna finds himself at your side. His warmth is all-encompassing even through the multitude of layers he draped himself in, and it only seeps further through your own clothing when he lays a hand against the middle of your back in silent greeting. He only holds a small smirk when you lean into his hand, eyes still set on Kenjaku. 

“Preparations?” You question, drawing Sukuna’s attention down to you entirely. 

“Kenjaku never informed you on what her cursed technique is?” His grin grows at your clueless expression, an expression fit for a cat who got the cream. “Instantaneous movement.”

The reveal has you turning abruptly to face Kenjaku, who now takes the crown for the most smug person in the vicinity. Her eyes are practically glowing with mirth at the fact you didn’t quite pick up on her cursed technique yet, her lips curled into a feline smile.

“Truly?”

“Of course. It’s not quite as flashy as Sugawara—but it does the same, in the end.” Kenjaku bows her head slightly, that smile on her face growing cold at the mention of Sugawara. Even in his exile, he still bothered the woman.

“Kenjaku will be the one taking us all to Takayama.” Sukuna comments whilst looping a hand around your waist and shoving you into his front, his arms securing you in place. It almost has a bubble of panic popping in your stomach, instantaneous movement—it shouldn’t even be a thing humans could do. It was rare, nigh impossible. It’d been documented that many could move fast, but it was never on a level where it was considered instant. 

“Shall we?” Kenjaku asks with a tilt of her head, adjusting the sleeves of her silk kimono to reveal the slender pale arms beneath. Her eyes drift from you and up to Sukuna, awaiting his permission. It comes in the form of a nod, and the hands wrapped around you grip tightly onto the material of your kimono—grounding you, tethering him to you. Just in case.

Kenjaku brings her hands up in front of her, the tips of her fingers brushing together delicately before her palms came together in what would look like a regular prayer—you can feel the shift in the air, the untethering of her cursed energy and how it warps suddenly around you. Then, with an abrupt twist of her hands, you feel nothing but immense pressure.

It clamps at your lungs and squeezes at your very bones until they threaten to shatter and turn into dust. Instinctively you lean further into Sukuna, who for the most part seems unaffected by the intense change in pressure. You watch the world shift and blur, the snowy white mountain tops spread upwards as if they were painted on parchment paper only to be ruined by water. 

As quickly as it started, it’s over. You find yourself in the middle of a path surrounded by tall Gingko trees, their leaves a vibrant green which means they would turn into a beautiful gold in the Autumn—a sight you often loved as a child. The air is no longer bitter, instead, you’re bathed in the welcoming warmth of an early spring. Sukuna remains to your side, his grip loosening on you as he takes in a deep breath of the country air.

There’s no doubt that you were somewhere south, somewhere warmer and somewhere more… populated. Instinctively, your nose scrunches.

“It stinks.” You comment absentmindedly, pressing the sleeve of your kimono to your nose. The action is enough to draw a laugh from Sukuna, a deep chuckle that he only ever awarded you with. You take the chance to glance down along the path, the village just a mere hundred steps away and you can spy the bustling steps of villagers just beyond. 

“Hida has always been under the rule of some uncaring Lord.” Kenjaku comments, a grim smile on her otherwise unwrinkled face. “He does not care for his people, as they are mostly non-sorcerers.”

Non-sorcerers, regular humans, forced to live in squalor because their Lord saw them as lesser than. The revelation doesn’t surprise you, not with what you have learned about the people who control the country in the past few months. But it does anger you, it angers you that the Lord of the Hida province thinks himself above non-sorcerers.

“I see.” 

Kenjaku offers you a glance before she proceeds to walk towards the village, placing herself before both you and Sukuna as a sign that she is your official retainer. Immediately, you begin to follow after her once Sukuna has begun to stride forward. His arms remained hidden beneath his kimono, and you find it odd. You knew Sukuna had his hand in the politics of the world but you didn’t see him as someone who would listen to them; without a doubt, you knew he was hiding his secondary arms so he wouldn’t cause an uproar in the village.

“Stare any longer and I’m going to assume you’re regretting your decision to join me.” 

“I didn’t have much of a decision.” You reply haughtily, earning you a sharp side glare from Sukuna. “In fact, you were the one who demanded I come with you.”

With a suck on his teeth, Sukuna returns his gaze forward before a smirk grows on his face. “Watch how you wag that tongue of yours in front of these aristocrats, they will pounce at the fact you’re so… untrained.”

His words draw a laugh out of you, earning a smile from Sukuna at the sound of it. You don’t offer your rebuttal however, you know Sukuna is right. You grew up around aristocrats of the highest calibre, people who aligned themselves with the Shogun — they were judgemental, uptight in their rules and beliefs. 

They’d rip you apart if they caught even a whiff of your unconventional relationship with Sukuna. 

Before you know it, the village was upon you as were the hundreds of eyes turned in your direction. It proves impossible to not bristle beneath the attention, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. You can feel their gazes tear you open, pry apart your bones and muscles to peer at the darkness that swells in your chest. 

But their gaze shifts quickly from you and to Sukuna, who seems completely unphased by the numerous whispers and wandering eyes. His eyes remain half-lidded, lips in a flat line and arms loose at his sides—utterly relaxed, and unthreatened. A King.

A sharp whistle catches your attention, turning your gaze forward to see a small group of samurai atop horses approaching. The flags of their Lord waving proudly with each bounding step of the horse beneath them. Again, you tense, an automatic response to the glint of their sheathed weapons and the hardened expression of warriors. 

Kenjaku draws you all to a standstill, her hands joined together beneath her kimono and you notice how she slips so easily into the role of a woman; demure and willing to bend under the heavy gaze of the Samurai once they’re within range. 

The head of the group drops from his horse, his heavy boots sinking into the muddy path before he begins to make his way over. Kenjaku bows automatically at the waist, raising again once the Samurai stops before you all. His eyes are dark, no doubt a well-seasoned warrior who had shed his fair share of blood in the name of his Lord. His eyes scan over Kenjaku, before quickly darting towards Sukuna—then you see fear; genuine human fear.

You could smell his cursed energy before he even arrived, but now in the presence of Sukuna, it spikes. Yet, Sukuna doesn’t mention the effect he has on the man before him, instead keeping his indifferent gaze directed forward. But then those dark eyes dart to you, and they remain locked onto you. That fear you had seen is quickly replaced with something much worse; contempt. 

“Lady Zen’in.” The Samurai greets with distaste, earning him the attention of Sukuna who finally drops his eyes down to the man. “They said you were dead.” 

“They were wrong.” You have to fight the urge to bare your teeth, instead offering a disarming smile that you were trained to offer men who served as Samurai. 

His gaze doesn’t shift from the contempt he holds for you, only shifting it towards Kenjaku who clears her throat to gain his attention once again. 

“I assume you’re here to escort my Lord and Lady to their temporary housing.” Kenjaku too morphs her voice into that of a woman trained in the arts of submission. “The Festival isn’t due to start until the evening, and we’d quite like to freshen up.”

The Samurai keeps his lips in a tight thin line, no doubt fighting the urge to refuse to allow you any further into the village he was ordered to protect from men like Sukuna. But he loses out to his fear, crumbling beneath the weight of it as he abruptly turns on his heel to march his way back towards his horse. The men who were with him exchange concerned looks with each other, no doubt they too were under the impression that you were long dead and Sukuna wasn’t actually going to show up to the village. 

With the Samurai situated back on the saddle of the horse, he spares one glance over his shoulder at your small group whilst manoeuvring his horse. “This way.”

You have no choice but to follow after the men on horseback, and it draws you back to when you were a child and paraded through the streets of your village by your father. The Shogun’s Daughter—a prized jewel, a rare gem that would no doubt produce heirs fit to take the mantle of Shogun one day. You remember the palanquin you were forced to sit in, cramped with nothing but slats to view the outside world.

You remember the faces of those who you’d pass by, all bowing their heads in respect. It filled you with an odd sense of unease as a child, placed on a pedestal so early on. But now, as you walk through the streets with Sukuna at your side… you feel a different emotion when the people you pass by drop to their knees out of fear. 

Their heads bowed, and fingers sinking into the mud. Their baskets of rice and other vegetables are scattered, forgotten—all because of you. It made the truth of your newfound strength sink in, to see people cowering in fear of disrespecting either yourself or Sukuna.

“Maggots.” Sukuna grunts, finally vocalising his distaste for the situation. It draws a few surrounding gasps, children hiding in the shadows at the deep rich timbre of his voice. “They squirm like maggots. It’s disgusting.”

You can’t find yourself capable of disagreeing—he’s right. They do squirm like maggots, nothing but insects that were destined to be crushed beneath the boot of someone stronger than them. 

Kenjaku doesn’t glance back, but you hear her snickering laugh hidden beneath the sleeve of her kimono. You cast your eyes away from Sukuna, opting to not reply to his observation and instead observe for yourself. Past the people of the village, you can see that there were curses everywhere. They clung to the backs of the elderly, they waited in the shadows where the children would seek refuge from the blaring sun. 

Their faces are elongated or shrunken, disfigured and distasteful. Your eyebrows draw together however, this number of curses felt unnatural. There were too many compared to the number of humans you could count, it was as if—

“They’re hoarding curses. Why?” You turn your attention back to Sukuna quickly, and his eyes finally meet your own. His own expression is one of suspicion; he notices too how odd it is. “What is the Lord doing with all these cursed spirits?”

Sukuna parts his lips to reply but Kenjaku whips her head around, strands of black hair sticking to her face and you almost want to jump out of your skin at the severe look on her face.

“Not here, wait until we’re in private.” She hisses before turning her attention forward in time to smile at the Samurai who turns back to glance at her.

Sukuna huffs, an amused sound that has you glancing up at him from the corner of your eye. “Her audacity is almost worse than your own. I see why she insisted on being your Kashin.” 

“Not yours?” You raise an eyebrow, you would have assumed by default that Sukuna would be the one represented by a house retainer. 

“Uraume usually does the job, Kenjaku only agreed to come with us if she could be by your side.” Sukuna explains flatly, his disinterest in his surroundings bleeding into his voice. 

You’re honestly surprised by the admission of Kenjaku wanting to be at your side—but mostly, you’re on edge. It sends your stomach into knots and your skin prickles with gooseflesh. Kenjaku was a one-woman army, she had no need nor desire to be at the side of anyone. So why you? What did she plan on achieving in the village by being your retainer?

You don’t doubt that Kenjaku can hear the conversation just behind her, yet she doesn’t turn around to confirm or deny the fact she wanted to be at your side for the entirety of the festival. Sukuna also doesn’t seem to notice the apprehension mounting within you, his face falling back into that of boredom once the conversation has ended. 

Kenjaku worries you. Even if you consider her somewhat of a friend, she was strong—powerful in the sense that you can feel your blood chill in her very presence. Something about her wasn’t quite right. 

“Here.” The Samurai mounted comments, bringing his small group to a stop to gesture towards a gated house. It’s larger than the others, higher up in the village and noticeably away from the villagers. You can’t sense a speck of cursed energy that would ooze from a cursed spirit. 

Your gaze darts across the tall wooden fence, high enough to even tower over Sukuna in height. The gates are suddenly pulled open, and two women with their heads immediately bowed and shuffled out of the way to allow entry. Sukuna pays them no mind as he passes by, even when they flinch at his proximity. But it’s Kenjaku who speaks up about their presence.

“We won’t be needing any servants.” Her words are directed up to the Samurai still seated in his saddle, a frown forming on his lips—he wanted these women to stay. “My Lord demands it.”

At that, the Samurai has a split second of anger on his face before it’s washed away. A tilt of his head has the two women scurrying out and away from the house, giving you the chance to enter and view the impressive garden—without the prying eyes of two women who would most likely be dead by the end of the night for failing their Lord’s task unintentionally. 

The Karesansui is beautiful. Sand neatly parted in delicate waves, curving around grand rocks and the large aged tree in the centre. It hangs its heavy branches over the pathway, and you have to push down the urge to grin at the sight of Sukuna ducking down with an arm batting away a branch. 

You take the time to walk along the large smooth-stone path, eyes grazing over the dry garden. You hadn’t seen one so beautifully made since you lived with your father. Your late husband didn’t care for such artistry, didn’t believe in the tranquillity such a beautiful garden could bring to one's soul. The reminder of your life before tastes bitter in the back of your throat, but it no longer makes your chest swell in agony.

Instead, you find yourself at peace with the fact you are in a different place in life now. Your mind had warped and changed forever, your body had endured trauma that would’ve killed any other woman—you were living a much better life now, untethered and unbound… and at the side of a man who empowered you.

That old pain that had once swelled in your chest is replaced with a foreign emotion; love. You feel love as you gaze at the back of Sukuna’s head, his body positioned just at the entrance of a house much too small to house him. He looked out of place and yet he looked like he owned the place. 

Sensing your gaze, Sukuna glances over his shoulder at you. His eyes are smouldering, always a look that could kill a man, yet it softens the second he meets your gaze—a minute change, but you see it regardless. And so, you smile for him. A smile you know that makes his own lips offer one in return, a smile you know that makes his skin warm and that softness in his eye doubles.

“Come, we should prepare for the evening.” Kenjaku speaks from your side, effectively drawing your attention away from Sukuna. Her own eyes are directed towards Sukuna before she turns them towards you, and that malice you had seen in her eyes all those months ago is nowhere to be seen. So you nod and allow her to lead you into the house.

...

It isn’t until a few hours later that you’re sitting on the edge of the engawa, looking out at the peaceful garden before you. You had since bathed, much to the chagrin of Sukuna who had wanted to originally join you—except, with it being an indoor bath, it was far too small for the both of you. You have to stifle the urge to snicker to yourself at the childish pout resting on the King of Curses' face.

“What’s amusing you now?” Sukuna grumbles from behind you, his feet heavy and loud on the tatami mats. Maybe you didn’t stifle that urge well enough. 

“Nothing,” you offer over your shoulder with a smile, and Sukuna observes you for a second before making his way over. He plants himself on the engawa next to you, legs crossed. His upper set of arms lean back to prop his body up, and the other set crosses loosely over his chest. 

He had changed his attire since arrival, and the lonesome bath he was forced to take. Instead of hiding his arms, he’s draped in a thick black haori over the bareness of his chest with a loose pair of white hakama pants around his waist. You can’t deny that he looks quite beautiful in all his natural glory. You had changed too — only because Kenjaku had insisted on it. 

It was a statement piece, to say the least. How Kenjaku had got her hands on so much material you’ll never know. But after the two hours of stuffing you into them, you can’t deny that wearing a Jūnihitoe made you feel like royalty. In your years serving at your father's side, you had only witnessed it once on the back of the Empress. It was something that only the highest of the social ranks could wear; a statement of your wealth and social status. 

The colours you were draped in reflected the upcoming spring; whites, soft pinks, greens, reds and lilacs—all rather contrasting and yet it worked. Kenjaku had mentioned that there were a total of ten layers, all of which were fanned out around you in a delicate display.

You can feel Sukuna glancing at you, how his eyes drag along the various layers of clothing and taking in each colour. 

“This is how I imagined you to look when I caught wind of your existence.” He breaks the silence, and you turn to glance at him. His eyes are resting on the necklace buried beneath just a few layers—it was a surprise gift from Kenjaku, she had pulled it from a box and presented it to you. It was a unique gift; for it was Yorozu’s teeth all strung together.

“Draped in silk and waiting on my knees for my husband?” That draws an amused noise from Sukuna, his body shifting until a hand is reaching up to stroke the silk between two fingers. 

“No. Regal. I thought the Shogun’s daughter would be a princess.” He continues on his path of stroking the material of one of the outer uwagi. “Instead, she was a sword-wielding neophyte Samurai.”

Your distaste for his words must show on your face because immediately he laughs, the hand skirting across your clothing comes up to cup your cheek before you can turn away. His amusement only grows when you try to jerk your head out of his hand. 

“So sensitive. Do you worry about the festival?” 

Were you worried about the festival?... Perhaps. It wasn’t the same anxiety you had as a young girl when you were made to attend similar events, instead, there’s something that pools at the pit of your stomach in anticipation. Something about the entire village felt off from the moment you got there—the number of cursed spirits that roamed freely, attached to all the non-sorcerers who couldn’t even see them…

It made you anxious; flighty. 

“No. I don’t like the village.” You turn away when Sukuna drops his hand from your face at your words. “Something is waiting in the shadows, I can feel it.”

“A threat?” Sukuna prods, but the tone of his voice indicates enough to you that this ‘threat’ is nonexistent in his eyes.

“I don’t know. Something isn’t right, Sukuna.” You turn to face him once again, and it’s almost startling how stony his face looks—but he’s easy to read, you can tell he’s thinking more about your words, considering if there truly was a threat to either you or himself. 

“The Lord wouldn’t dare to make a move with the both of us here, and he’s unaware of Kenjaku. They’d be making a grave mistake to strike out against any of us after offering us an invitation.” Sukuna attempts to soothe your mind, but it doesn’t work as he intended. Instead, it only serves to rile up your anxiety further. 

“Or that would be the best time to do it. Outside of our home, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by his men—and all those curses. Does he control them?” Your words tumble from your lips before you can reign them in, you’ve never felt this unnerved—not even at the revelation of your father never truly dying. 

A hand comes to the back of your neck, sharpened nails digging into your flesh enough to jerk you out of the circle of thoughts racing around your head. Sukuna moves you closer, close enough that you can smell the lavender on his skin and feel the warmth of his breath. He holds you close enough to press his forehead to your own; something you’ve come to realise is his way of ‘connecting’ with you. 

“Enough, woman. You’re going to work yourself up into hysterics. The Lord may be a fool but he’s not a suicidal maniac, he knows he will lose if he tests us.” His words, whilst harsh in reality, are softly spoken. Whispered against your face until you’re forced to take a breath, to breathe in his words and let them settle against that pit of dread in your chest. 

“—Fine.” You sigh back, shoulders sagging and Sukuna takes advantage of your moment of docility by drawing you in closer. One of his arms remains propped up behind you as a support, and the other drags you closer by the shoulders until you’re sitting side-by-side. “But at the first sign of his foolishness. The village burns.” 

You can practically feel Sukuna’s chest puff with pride with the breath he draws in, no doubt if you were to look up you’d see quite the smug grin on his face. “As you wish.”

It’s silent for a beat, just the sound of the distant village. Sukuna seems unbothered when you lean more of your weight onto him, allowing your neck a moment of rest against his shoulder. If you close your eyes and focus just enough, you’ll be able to pick apart your surroundings and pinpoint Kenjaku. She hadn’t left the estate but she was somewhere deep in the house, her cursed energy muted. 

“What are we to do at the festival? My father always made me sit behind a partition whenever he attended.” You almost scowl at the thought of that ridiculous green misu you had been forced to sit behind for the entirety of the festival, forbidden from speaking a word to even your own servant.

Sukuna grunts disapprovingly at the mention of your father. “You won’t be sitting behind a screen this time, you’ll be at my side. We sit, we eat and we receive their gifts. Our presence is the blessing they seek.” 

The thought of eating and being waited on just for the sake of it is very appealing—perhaps that’s the real reason why Sukuna had accepted the invite, not because he wanted you to make a message but because he wanted to be waited on hand and foot. 

“I’m surprised you agreed to eat anything non-human.”

“Who said it won’t be?” Sukuna retorts easily enough, earning him a quick turn of your head to gauge if he’s serious or not. Instead, he laughs. “I’m joking. They declined that part of the offer.” 

“You seriously asked?” and again, he laughs. 

“Sometimes they’re so desperate for me to not attack that they offer me women to eat. It’ll be the prettiest they can offer, as if beauty could stop me from eating.” He shrugs with his words, a smile on his face. 

Surprisingly, you’re not shocked by his words. In fact, you’re inclined to believe them entirely. Sukuna was a force to be reckoned with, no one had defeated him yet and likely no one ever will—sorcerers, Lords and civilians would do anything to make sure he didn’t come to their village looking for an excuse to burn it down to the ground. Maybe you would’ve been one of those women if you weren’t shackled to a man who had no interest in you besides your womb.

There are soft footsteps just behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to see Kenjaku entering the room. Her own clothes have changed, a completely black kimono that cinches tightly at her waist—her long hair has been cropped at the front by her ears, and the rest flows loosely down her back only to be tied midway down. She looked like a true beauty. 

“It’s time.” She smiles down at you, offering a hand for you to take. Her skin is cold beneath yours, like touching a corpse that had been left out in the dead of winter. She shows no struggle with helping you stand, as you gather your many layers and fan them out behind you. 

Sukuna huffs as he too stands to his full height, his shoulders rolling just slightly to ensure that his haori didn’t slip free from his shoulders. He steps out into the garden, the stones crunching beneath his bare feet before he turns to look at you—even with him being on a lower level, he still looks down at you. He offers you his hand in turn, non-discreetly glancing towards Kenjaku to force her to drop your hand and give you over to him—she does.

His hand in comparison is warm, a warmth you’ve come to seek in the cold nights and a warmth you seek even when bathed in the hottest waters. He draws you in effortlessly, aiding you from the step and down onto the pebbled floor. It’s almost impossible to ignore the way he looks at you, so different from the previous times. He’d often look at you with pride, or hunger, but mostly desire. 

But this look in his eye. Dare you say it to be contented? A man who gazes upon the woman who just so happens to be the centre of his universe.

“Come, let us feast—” His lips shift into a knowing smirk, “—on whatever sorry animal they feed us tonight.”

...

The air is thick with several different spices, the meat they’re slathered on continues to sizzle above one of the open fires not too far from where you had been made to sit next to Sukuna. It was a raised platform, a dais that put you above the rest of the crowd. You could feel their eyes on you, feel the way they picked you apart for being the one who sat close enough to Sukuna that he could lean into your space to whisper. 

All of them were working non-sorcerers, their hands scarred and faces still painted with the dirt from their working day. Kenjaku had been helpful enough to inform you on the way here that Takayama was a great working village, they brought in many precious metals and had an extensive forest. But even with all that, they were viewed as a ‘lesser than’ village—too far from the Emperor for him to care about their ability to bring in great resources, and cut off from other villages due to the mountains that surrounded Takayama.

“My Lord,” an elderly voice draws your attention away from the villagers, you glance down to the steps of the dais to see an old man and what you presume to be his wife—younger, but not by much. His eyes shift to you, and he bows again. “My Lady.” 

“What is it you’ve brought?” Kenjaku comments from the side, sitting on her own cushion that she had demanded from one of the Samurai—an amusing affair to have witnessed. Her mouth is hidden by the paper fan that covers the lower half of her face—a tradition that you find tedious. 

The elderly man shuffles a little to turn towards his wife, who is holding something wrapped in animal skin. Immediately your eyes are drawn to it, and Sukuna seems to show a minimal amount of interest when he shifts beside you to get a better view. The elder takes a step forward, careful to not step too close—he must’ve witnessed the death of that young man who attempted to climb the steps all the way.

“A gift for Lady Zen’in.” He bows his head, and you try not to focus too much on the fact they were well aware of your name. Perhaps that Samurai needed his tongue removed from his mouth—you’ll suggest it to Sukuna later. 

The man before you carefully unravels the animal skin the gift was wrapped in, careful to not lay his hands on whatever was inside before offering it up to you. You blink a few times, leaning forward to get a better look at the object presented to you.

It’s a fan. A war fan. 

Seeing your interest, the man continues. “It’s made up of the strongest metals of our village, and something that no other weapon in your arsenal will have.” 

Your eyebrows raise in curiosity, but it’s Sukuna who speaks. “How did you get your hands on dragon scales?”

Dragon scales—your eyes dart down quickly to the fan, you can see them now. Delicately melded into the metal of the fan, jagged along the edge—if you were to run that across someone’s throat, they would die almost instantly. But dragon scales? Dragons were things of myth, of stories. 

“A great white dragon lives within Mount Yake.” He points towards the large mountain range off in the distance, its white caps a stark contrast to the night sky. “It’s the reason why we suffer greatly from volcanic eruptions.” 

Sukuna shifts beside you, and you can see him now staring off at the mountain range. So you take the chance to open your hands to the man before you, who visibly flinches at the movement, but you keep your palms open towards him. The elderly man places the fan delicately in your hands, with the skin still beneath it. It’s heavier than it looks, with a nice weight to it that tells you it was authentically made—and perhaps that dragon scales must be weightier than one would imagine.

You bring it back to your lap, gliding your fingers along the smooth edge of the handle. It’s bumped and ridged in a delicate swirled pattern, the fan itself made up of pure white metal with the dragon scales melded in. You take it in your palm, and flick out your wrist as you were shown as a child. It fans out quickly, a shuttering sound that has Sukuna finally drawing his attention back to you.

With a way to now cover your own mouth, you bring the fan to your face and meet the eyes of the elderly man. “I thank you for the gift, it’ll be a great asset.” 

The elderly man bows quickly, his wife following in the gesture before taking a few steps back to remerge with the crowd. 

“I had no idea dragons were real.” You say once there’s certainly no one around to hear you, you keep the fan to your face to shield your mouth. 

“You never asked.” Sukuna shrugs, his hands otherwise occupied with a bottle of sake they had gifted him and slices of freshly caught fish. “But it’s rare that they could see it. Dragons are cursed spirits.”

“Perhaps he can see the curse that clings to his wife's back,” Kenjaku comments offhandedly, fanning her face delicately. “There’s too many of them here. It’s stifling.”

“I still don’t understand why the Lord is letting his village turn into this… breeding ground for cursed spirits.” You glance towards the village, each of them with their own curse that lingered close by—even ones that sat atop the roofs seemed to show an interest in the King of Curses, but didn’t dare take a step forward. 

“Control.” Sukuna comments after wiping his mouth free of the sake that wet his lips. “He thinks he has more control if his people are suffering, they’re less likely to fight back like this.”

That alone has your upper lip curling in annoyance, the fan coming closer to your face to avoid the wandering eyes of those who pass by. It was a confusing feeling that sat deep in your gut, you felt nothing for the villagers who offered you food—you could see their reluctance in handing over their hard work to someone they viewed as a monster. 

Yet the idea of one man trying to control the masses with their suffering, practically breeding these people with fear to create more and more curses until the inevitable happened. It was a surprise that anyone was still alive with just how many curses were crawling around, no doubt they had some base level of intelligence to know if they killed all the humans they’d be left with nothing.

“I don’t like it.” You mutter, eyes panning across the crowd once again and further down the long street that led up to where you and Sukuna had been stationed. 

“It doesn’t matter if you like it or not, it’s none of your concern.” Sukuna gripes, shoving another slice of sashimi into his mouth with the chopsticks in one hand. You don’t miss the sideways glance from Kenjaku before she returns to the tea in front of her. 

“It is if I’m to become Shogun.” You all but hiss and it’s Sukuna’s turn to side glance towards you, his eyes narrowing just slightly at the tone you took with him. Even after the months of being bonded to you, there was still some chafing that came with the power struggle between the two of you.

“Shogun?” A voice questions from the steps below, and it causes your spine to straighten immediately. It has your eyes darting to the numerous samurai stationed around, all of whom definitely heard the villager before you. It’s a younger man, not old enough to be stuck in the rice fields and without the traditional haircut given to those who are samurai. 

You try not to notice the smirk growing on Sukuna’s face before he settles back on two of his hands, displaying his entire bare chest. He had been more open to showing himself off when he had settled down, a subtle display of power that he was above everyone else here. Including the Samurai and their Lord who no doubt would be getting reports of what was about to be said. 

Carefully, you stand up and fan out the many layers of your kimonos behind you. It’s an instantaneous effect, all eyes are on you. You drop the fan from your face, and the whispers are silenced. They wait to see what you’re about to say, be it a sentence for their death or the announcement of your departure—the looks on their faces beg for the latter.

“Whilst it was something I would’ve liked to announce to your Lord first, it’s true.” Your heart hammers in your chest, even with the comfort of the man behind you, you can sense the unease growing rapidly. “The Emperor is a man who can no longer be trusted. He sentenced you all to death.” 

“The Lord you bow to works for the Emperor, on a council where they’ve decided to kill you all for existing.” You continue when the whispers grow louder, the cursed spirits that stick to their backs growing agitated with the uptick in fear. “I’ll put an end to that.”

“By opening your legs as you did for that dem—” The murmurs are silenced immediately. Your hand remains out at your side, fingers pointed in the direction of the man who had opened his mouth. There’s a thump of knees to the floor, and then the rolling of a head. 

Sukuna chuffs out a laugh, leaning forward once again in interest at the sudden turn of events. You can feel the turning of his cursed energy, how it spikes subtly as if he’s ready to pounce if someone else dared to raise a hand—or voice—in your direction.

“Does anyone else have anything to say?” You glance across the crowd, all of whom have immediately turned their gaze back towards you with a new look of fear. Non-sorcerers, all of them, and you beheaded a man without drawing a sword. Their silence continues to ring out, the cursed spirits too now look at you with renewed interest; a hunger. 

When no one dares to speak another word, you return to your seat next to Sukuna who had turned his mirth-filled eyes back to you. The crowd seems to slowly disperse, no longer wanting to risk their heads. As for the cursed spirits, you notice they too seem to leave a wide berth after the display of the cursed energy that slumbered within. 

“You scared them.” Kenjaku comments, but you can hear the smile on her face and her eyes curve upwards when she offers you a look over the top of her fan. “But I’m sure word has already gotten back to the Lord, he won’t be happy.” 

“I’ve never cared for the happiness of men. Let him rot in his anger.” Your attention is drawn downwards to the large hand that had opened itself before you. Sukuna holds out a delicate cup that had no doubt been imported from China with the way it was decorated. 

“Drink with me.” He doesn’t offer but rather demands it of you. Not that you’d deny him. You take the cup from his hand, so much larger in your own hand and the sake within is warm. “I think I’ve been too much of an influence on you.” 

You glance at him over the rim of your cup, not overlooking the way his eyes drift down to your mouth to watch you lick away the remnants of the sake. “Oh?”

“You didn’t even give that man a chance to speak.” He grins, head tilting as he watches you—his pink hair flopping over slightly, dishevelled after a long day.

“He didn’t deserve his tongue.” You smile back before taking another sip, savouring the warmth that settles in your gut.

Sukuna adjusts the way he lounges next to you, one leg stretching outwards whilst the other remains bent at the knee to let one arm hang over it. A hand plants itself on the dais behind you, forcing him into your space until you can feel his very warmth radiating against your cheeks. You can smell him; a musk that is normally tinted with copper from the blood of his unfortunate victims, but today it’s cleaner. No doubt from the bath he had been forced to take alone on arrival.

With a flourish of the fan in one hand, you lean closer whilst shielding your face. Sukuna smiles down at you, a smile softened with the warm sake sitting in his stomach. His lips are just a few measly centimetres away from your own, his breath smells sweet—like a freshly sliced apple. There’s no doubt in your mind that everyone around you is very aware of what was happening behind the fan, with Sukuna forcing himself to hunch down to your height whilst sitting. 

“You’re formidable.” He whispers with a tilt of his head, his nose bumps yours softly. “They fear you. I can smell it.” 

Your lips part when his do, breathing in his words; his influence. It’s intoxicating to have a man of his status, his sheer brilliance in power, praise you—to deem you formidable. 

“Good. It’s better to be feared than to be loved.” Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, the muscle jumps at the contact before you feel the weight of his head leaning against your open palm. “Love has no worth in a world like ours.”

Sukuna looks down at you along the thick ridge of his nose, eyes nearly closed with how narrow his field of vision becomes this close to you. He’s scrutinising you, you can feel it. That look in his eye is something you’ve seen time and time again, he’s trying to read you—figure you out entirely. But then he smirks, a curling of his lips before he leans in. 

His lips aren’t gentle against your own, they never are. Instead, he kisses you like he still wishes to defeat you. Even with it only being a fleeting kiss, it still leaves you kiss-bruised and wanting more. Sukuna leans back just enough to look down at you again, that look in his eye has shifted from scrutiny to desire. It has your gut twisting with butterflies.

“Come, I’m done with the stench that clings to this place.” He speaks quietly enough for just you to hear, you smile up at him again before offering him a lingering kiss. One that he tries to chase shamelessly, which in turn has you grinning at each other. “Don’t tease me too much woman, I will make you regret it.”

“One can only hope.”

“If you’re both leaving, I’ll stay for a while,” Kenjaku comments from her place, earning a glance over Sukuna’s shoulder from you both. “I have plans too."

Something about the tone she takes makes your stomach sour, the food you had eaten turned to stone. She sounds mischievous, a predator who would be going on the prowl amongst defenceless prey. But you can’t deny her what she wishes to do—you knew she was of the same ilk as Sukuna and in turn, you; she was just as cruel and evil. 

“Fine. Don’t return to the house.” Sukuna commands, standing up whilst aiding you up from the floor next to him. He’s careful with how he helps you pick up the layers of the kimono to allow you to slip back on the wooden geta you had removed to give your feet some relief. 

Sukuna doesn’t take his arm back once you’re standing next to him, instead, he guides you down the few steps and down along the path that leads back to the house you had been given as a place to stay. His stance is relaxed, despite the many eyes that wander. You stroke your fingers delicately along the inside of his wrist, earning you his attention. 

“I heard there were hot springs on the outskirts.” You smile with your words, the glint of desire seems to spark the inferno inside of Sukuna because he grins in return. The muscles in his arms flex subtly under your touch, nostrils flaring momentarily to try and steel himself whilst in the public eye.

“And who am I to deny you a chance to bathe in the spring like the dove you are.”

...

A mountain haloed by the light of the moon, the white caps glimmering in the distance with stars hanging high and not a single trace of a cloud. It was a sight Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto would be proud of. Trees of brilliant green and yellow blend together in the shadow of darkness, birds of light settling for the night. 

It has your body relaxing against the stone lip of the hotspring, arms crossed over the edge to support your chin as you look out into the endless abyss. Your muscles ache deliciously at this angle, your legs relishing the relief that came from the hotspring. Sukuna had kept true to his word to allow you to bathe, after he ravished you in the very waters you’re still in. 

The man himself is lounging next to you, two of his arms hooked over the edge whilst his head tilts back against the stone to rest his eyes. It was one of the very rare times where he was completely vulnerable, a sight that you’re sure many men would kill to see—just to ensure they had a chance to slit his throat and kill him for good. 

Your eyes draw lines across his body, admiring the sheen to his skin from where he had dunked himself in the water to clean himself. His hair hangs loose and curled very slightly at the tips, just barely hiding the pointed tips of his ears and the stretched lobes. He was truly beautiful, the pinnacle of godly creation. You swallow your thoughts, pushing them to the back of your mind as you glance back out to the horizon.

Mount Yake—that’s what the elderly man had said when he gifted you the dragon-scaled fan. You can see with the help of the moon hiding behind its snow-capped head that it was billowing thick clouds of black smoke. You had never seen a volcanic eruption before. Was lava as brilliant and bright as they said? Did it truly burn and eviscerate everything it touched? And what of the dragon that resided within, you yearned to see it.

“Do you truly believe a dragon lives in that mountain?” You ask quietly, just a whisper over the hum of the night. Sukuna shifts beside you, water sloshing before you can feel his burning gaze on you. 

“I do.” He admits plainly. “It’s not uncommon for cursed spirits to form from the fear of something—I imagine that the dragon is the fear of volcanic eruptions.”

You nod at the informative answer, you had a feeling that may have been the case with Masato—the fear of people, of humanity when you were at your lowest. Thinking of where that cursed spirit may be currently has your stomach twisting, no doubt she would have created chaos wherever she may be. 

Trees groan in the wind, leaves whispering their secrets to one another when a breeze rolls on by. The water swishes beside you again when Sukuna moves his arms beneath the water, the waves lapping against the bare skin of your back. You feel at peace here, tranquil—it was like being at home again, in the hotspring with the man you had tied your soul to.

“Do you know how to create Kanshi?” Sukuna turns his head to glance at you this time when he speaks, and you can only return his curious look with a smile. 

“Poetry? Of course. It was a requirement of the Shogun’s daughter to be well versed in the art of poetry.” You smile when Sukuna rolls his eyes at what was required of you. It was one of the very first lessons when you had been given permission to do something outside of learning how to dress a man and wash his loincloth. “Would you like to hear one?”

Sukuna nods his head once and you smile down at him, moving your body slightly so you are facing him. Your hand cards delicately through his slow-drying hair, breaking apart the knots that had formed in the nighttime spring air. Sukuna succumbs to your soft movements easily enough, his upper set of eyes fluttering closed until you could only see a slither of red peeking from the lower ones.

You take the chance to glance around, observing all that you can hear and see.

“I listen to the whispers of trees, I catch a murmur of their secrets. Spring breeze is the same near and far, as it blows to my heart.” 

“Not bad.” Sukuna offers you with a cheeky grin, opening up his eyes fully to look at you. “I’ve always preferred them shorter. The Chinese version is too long.”

You hum in agreement, brushing your fingers slowly along the edge of his second face. The scars beneath were similar to the one along your neck; torn and shredded until it had to heal. “So did I but Lady Maiki disagreed. Apparently, a good wife showed her intelligence with longer sentences.”

Sukuna snorts loudly at that, the bridge of his nose wrinkling in a way that makes him look years younger. A hand moves up from beneath the water, long fingers wrapping around your wrist to pull you away from the scarring and to let his lips plant a far too delicate kiss to the tips of your fingers.

“I thought a woman would show her intelligence by opening her le—” Sukuna laughs loudly when you swipe with your free hand at the back of his head, knocking some of his wet hair out of place. “So violent. Did I strike a nerve?”

“An ancient pond, a toad jumps in, the splash of water.” You snicker when Sukuna’s face drops. 

“A toad? You’d compare me to a toad?” His upper lip curls, showcasing sharp canines and pink gum. He shifts in the water, dragging you by your entrapped wrist until you are smothered against his chest. An old part of you would’ve cowered at the action, at the look on his face but you can see him more clearly now; he’s playing along. 

“Am I wrong? As big as one, as lazy as one—”

“You have a very short amount of time left until I remove that tongue from your mouth for good.” He snarls, leaning down closer to your face until your eyes nearly cross at his proximity. But his mask of intimidation falls away when your unbound hand brushes along his jaw, tracing the black tattoo that resides there. 

“Your threats no longer have the same sharpened edge to them.” You coo, but before the smile on your face can form—he strikes. A hand wraps itself around your throat, fingers reaching up to grasp at the underside of your jaw in a tight squeeze. He moves you effortlessly, pressing you hard against the stone edge of the hotspring as he builds himself up to look bigger; stronger. 

Your heart stutters in your chest, your fingers automatically gripping tightly around his wrist in an attempt to free yourself. You hadn’t felt this way in a long time, not since your first few encounters with him. Sukuna had mastered the way of becoming the predator in any situation, a lion that had let the gazelle get too close to its sharp teeth. 

Except Sukuna smiles, a dark smile that you’ve seen on his face countless times before. “After battle’s end, lush green land is fertilised, by the blood of men.” He’s gloating about his apparent victory. 

You huff at that, pushing at his chest hard enough to earn you some space. He slips back down into the water next to you, all the whilst he chuckles deep in his chest. 

“It doesn’t work when you get the gender wrong.”

“I apologise for not being the Shogun’s princess and just an unwanted child.” He grins when you shoot him a glare in response. Sukuna settles back down into his previous position, arms relaxed over the edge and head tilted back so he could view the night sky above. It wouldn’t be long until you both would have to return to the house that had been claimed as your own.

A flicker above has your attention drawn to it instantly, head tilting to observe the flash of what looks like stars until it grows brighter and brighter—Sukuna next to you hums deep in his chest at the display above, enjoying it as much as yourself. The streak of light in the sky grows brighter until it outshines the others in the sky, until it breaks apart. 

The streak becomes two, two falling stars that race each other across the expanse of the inky sky until the smaller one vanishes from sight to leave the other to traverse the rest of the sky alone. It leaves a solemn weight on your chest as you watch the lone star vanish behind the peak of one of the mountains that surround you.

“Scales of a white dragon, twin falling stars from above, spring repulses winter.” 

“A fitting poem for our time here,” Sukuna speaks kindly, and you can only nod in agreement. He moves in the water suddenly, standing to his full height to allow the water to roll off the edges of his body in thick streams. You can only watch him with interest as he wades through the water to the edge where your clothes are folded neatly. “Come, let us rest.”

And you follow him, you always do.

...

Wooden floorboards creak underfoot, the house as silent as a shrine. A shadow freezes, waiting and listening, watching—before it moves again. The shoji door slides open, the moonlight leaking in to reveal the sleeping faces of the King and Queen of Curses.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[lokis-army-77]

The Date

Eddie Munson x reader

Word Count: 903

You are excited about your date with your long-time crush Eddie, until it isn't exciting anymore.

Warning: THIS IS HURT NO COMFORT. EDDIE IS AN ASSHOLE. IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE THAT THEN GO AWAY! Also rejection, crying, feelings

I was all up in my feels and this is kinda the thought that went through my head about a date with this guy I'm going on Sunday. so to stop thinking about it, I wrote it out.

Masterlist

You were excited. Nothing could damper your mood. You had always wanted to go on a date and now you were. All primped up, taking extra care to ensure you looked absolutely perfect.

Eddie Munson had been your crush for years. From the moment he'd been one of your three table mates in fifth grade until now, three years out of college. 

You had reconnected on a random dating app while both living in Indianapolis. the conversation had flowed nicely. He was charming and funny and you fell for him even harder than you had in grade school. 

A week and a half after only texting, he asked you out. He'd planned it all, meet up at the botanical gardens and go out for a late lunch afterward. 

Eagerly you had agreed, giggling and kicking your feet in the air behind you as you lay on your bed like a schoolgirl. 

That had been a week ago and now, as you parked outside of the conservatory entrance you felt your heart beating erratically in your chest. Looking at yoru phone, you smile, five minutes early. 

You send Eddie a text, telling him you've arrived. 

He doesn't answer.

Five minutes go by, it's now one o'clock. He still hasn't answered. 

You text him again, asking where he was. 

Another five minutes and still no answer. You look around the parking lot frantically trying to see him or the car he said he drove. Nowhere to be seen. 

It's okay, you think to yourself. Maybe he's just running late. He's driving and can't text because he doesn’t want to be distracted. 

So, you decide to wait for him inside the gift shop where the tickets are sold. 

Another ten minutes go by and he still hasn't shown. You text him again, twice this time. 

Hello?

Where are you?

Finally, he answers. He tells you he's already there, just inside the conservatory, and that he's sorry he hadn’t answered sooner, the service there wasn't good.

Blinded by infatuation, you ignored the warning bells sounding in your mind and purchased a ticket. Your heart beat faster as you walked to the conservatory door. You'd imagined what this date would be like since he'd mentioned it. You'd dreamed about it.

When you entered the glass building, the first thing to hit you was the humidity. It was nearing the colder days of fall and the heat of the greenhouse made it hard to breathe. 

You followed the path through the lush plants, looking everywhere for Eddie. You called out his name a few times but no one answered. When you reach the exit doors that lead into the garden, you begin to worry. 

You text him again, asking where he was, telling him that you had walled the whole conservatory and hadn’t seen him. 

No response only the word read over the message. 

You walked out of the sweltering heat of the greenhouse, the humidity no longer the main reason for your labored breaths.

Another text. 

And another.

And another. 

They all go unanswered but you can see that he has read them.

Tears begin to brim your eyes. You felt so stupid, how could you have been so so stupid? 

The chill outside seemed to become harsher, biting your cheeks and freezing the trails of your tears as they began to fall. 

Tears of sadness. Tears of embarrassment. Tears of anger.

They all fell, ruining the makeup you had tried so hard to perfect, staining the collar of your shirt. 

You couldn't understand what was happening. Why wasn't he here? Why wasn't he answering?

Your heart ached and you felt like you were going to lose what little you'd had for breakfast. 

Heaving short, gasping breaths, you find a bench to sit on. 

With blurry vision, you open your phone and do what you should have almost a half hour ago. You call Eddie. 

Your heart breaks even more when it doesn't even get the chance to ring before going straight to voice mail.

Never could you have known rejection to hurt so bad, to cut so deep that even tho there were no physical wounds, you still felt as though you were bleeding. 

A sob racked through your body when you called for a second time and it went to voice mail. 

And just to be sure, you sent one last text. The sobs come harder. That once blue bubble was now green. 

He had blocked you. 

He let you believe he was interested. He led you on. Tricked you into dolling yourself up. Tricked you into driving here with expectations only to rip them all away and for what? A laugh? Something to tell his friends about? Why would someone you had thought hung the moon, who had been so sweet and caring, turn out to be such a repugnant asshole? 

He blocked you. Without warning. Without reason. 

Was he pleased with himself? With how he had reduced you to a sniffling, snotty mess in the garden of what was supposed to be one of the most romantic places to visit with a significant other?

Now, it was all ruined. Your mood, the day, this garden… everything was in shambles and it was all his fault. You no longer felt pretty, no longer felt desirable, all you felt was numb and the sharp sting of the cold fall wind as it hit your wet cheeks.

[gogogodzilla]

day 7, face fucking

sam drake x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, sam is mean, dirty talk, oral sex, teasing, gagging, sam calls reader princess kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

Sam drags you to the middle of nowhere. Again. As you stomp through some godforsaken rainforest in search of god knows what, you reconsider all of your life choices. The air is sticky and thick with humidity, and sweat drips from your brow.

“You know, I thought we would’ve been retired after all that Libertalia business,” you grumble, glaring at Sam’s back as he leads you. 

“We both agreed to do this job, princess,” he retorts, paying your tone no mind. 

“Well, if I would’ve known we were going to be lost in the middle of a jungle, I would’ve said no.”

Sam halts and you nearly run into his back. He turns to face you, a scowl replacing his normal laid-back demeanor. “You were the one with the map. If you were paying more attention then we wouldn’t be here right now,” he snapped, pointing a finger in your direction. 

You clench your fists at your sides and grit out, “We agreed on what path to take.”

“Well that was assuming you had a sense of direction, but I guess we’re both wrong.” 

You flush with embarrassment and anger. Sam’s jaw tightens as he runs a hand through his hair, sighing. You turn, attempting to keep your composure. The jungle is clearly getting to both of you and arguing isn’t helping your situation. 

Sam takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry, princess. That wasn’t fair.” 

You bark out a laugh, “No, but you’re right.”

He steps forward and wraps his arms around you, his strong chest presses firmly against your back. He kisses your cheek, “We’re in this together, remember?” 

You nod, leaning your head back against the crease of his shoulder. He presses featherlight kisses against your neck, always quick to apologize when he realizes he hit a nerve. 

You turn your head and close the gap between you. You can’t stay mad at him forever, especially when his apologies are so satisfying. His hands creep upward and cup your chest and you squeak against his lips. 

He grins against you before letting his hands wander, squeezing and kneading wherever he can to get those needy little noises out of you. Sam slips his tongue past your lips, groaning at the taste of you. 

You pull away, a string of saliva connecting the two of you. Sam pouts, just for a moment. You turn in his embrace so you face him and press a chaste kiss to his lips before slowly sinking to your knees. 

“I want to taste you,” you purr, almost begging, as you rub his thighs. 

He looks at you through his lashes and gives a nod. Quick and clumsy fingers reach up to undo his belt. The clinking of the metal was music to your ears. Sam’s hands clench at his sides as you slowly pull his zipper down, desperate for something to steady himself. You slide a hand up to lift up his shirt and graze your fingers over the taught skin on his abdomen. You drag your hand downward and plunge it under the waistband of his boxers. 

You wrap a hand around his aching cock, and he shudders against you. You pull him free from his jeans, and he lets out a sigh. You stroke him once and then twice, twisting your wrist with each pass over his length. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and Sam’s hips buck into your grip. 

You grin, “You want me to suck you off, Sammy? You want my lips around your cock?”

He hates that nickname, but your sultry words more than make up for it. “Yes, princess. Fuck, need you so bad.” 

You hum before swiping your tongue against his weeping tip. You allow your mouth to fully envelope him, swirling your tongue around the pink-hued tip. Sam groans as you take him, one hand gripping your shoulder with the other one laced through your hair. 

You rest your palms on the backs of his thighs, ushering him closer with every bob of your head. You look at him through your lashes as you hollow your cheeks around him. It’s like something snaps inside him and he’s grabbing the back of your head and fucking himself into your eager mouth. 

You gag around him and he pulls back just enough to let you catch your breath. It’s a tender act that is quickly replaced by the abrasive action of him shoving his cock down your throat once more. It brings tears to your eyes, and Sam swipes a calloused thumb across your cheek. 

He’s taking what he wants and you’re letting him. Like everything with Sam, his movements are swift and impulsive. One moment he’s squeezing your jaw to get you to open just a little wider and the next he’s raking a hand through your hair and pulling you closer. 

You can feel the drool starting to dribble down the sides of your mouth, and Sam groans at the sight of you. His thrusts are quick and he’s whining like an animal in heat. Pride swells in your chest. Only you can make him feel this good. 

Sam’s strategic, and that didn’t stop when you were fooling around. He hilts himself deeply inside you when he cums, forcing his seed down your waiting throat. He pulls back when he realizes you bit off more than you can chew and his cum is spilling down the sides of your mouth. 

You eagerly gulp down everything he gives you. You’re left panting with tear-stained cheeks and traces of Sam glistening over your mouth. He leans down and traps your lips in his. The ferocity of the kiss nearly sends you falling, but Sam’s hand stays planted on the back of your neck, keeping you in place. 

He’s never that good with words, but his actions speak volumes. This was his way of saying thank you. 

“I love you, you know that right?” he states as he pulls you to your feet. Something dances in his caramel eyes as he cups your cheek in his large hand. 

You nod, a grin dancing on your lips. You move your head to kiss the palm of his hand, “I love you, dork.”

[writingquestionsanswered]

Guide: Natural Character Arcs

Anonymous asked: My MC will have a "not my circus, not my monkeys"- behavior, but I want her to slowly want to help peopel as she gets more powerful throughout the series and eventually grows into her role as protector of the people. I want to give her natural character growth without it seeming "out of nowhere" or "out of character" since it will be a total 180 from the start of everything. Do you have any tips for the natural transition in character development that is drastically different from the start?

(Ask edited for length...)

Having a character do a complete but natural 180 between the beginning and end of the story is what's called a "character arc."

Here are the steps in creating a natural character arc:

1 - Understand the Internal Conflict - Stories are either plot-driven (centered on an external conflict/problem in the character's world), character-driven (centered on an internal conflict/problem in the character's self), or a combination of both. Character arc occurs in stories that are character-driven or both plot and character-driven, mainly in the protagonist and other important main characters. It's this problem in the character's self that causes who they are in the beginning of the story, and it's this problem that they must resolve in order to change by the end.

2 - Choose a Relevant Internal Conflict - Your protagonist needs to have an internal conflict that is relevant to the story events. If your story is entirely character-driven, the character arc is the whole story. The events of the story should naturally stem from your character's journey to resolve their internal conflict. If your story is partially plot-driven, the internal conflict should tie into the external conflict in some way. Both conflicts should stem from the same problem, or the path that leads to resolving the external conflict should lead to resolving the internal conflict--either directly or indirectly.

3 - Events = Experiences = Change - As the events of your story unfold, your character should have experiences as a result of those events that impact their understanding of their internal conflict. Let's say your character's internal conflict is the belief that they have no value beyond their role in a villainous organization. As the events of the story unfold, they would need to start seeing evidence that challenges that belief, makes them ask questions, and motivates them to push against the boundaries of that belief. In other words, as this character gets involved with things outside the organization, they start to see evidence that they do have value outside their role in the organization. This avalanches into questioning not just their belief but the organization itself and their involvement of it. As they test the waters of this new understanding and find confirmation that change is right for them, the change naturally takes place.

4 - Include Doubts, Fails, and Setbacks - Although you want the overall trajectory of their arc to be in the direction of their change, you still want to illustrate their doubts (Could this really be true? Do I really have value beyond the organization? Could the organization be bad? No, surely that can't be right...) and have the occasional failure or setback in their attempt to change. In other words, you don't want them to have an easy transition from where they are at the beginning to where they are at the end. Their internal conflict's claws are in pretty deep, so there needs to be some struggle as they try to move in a different direction.

5 - Show the Completed Change in Action - Wherever they end up, you want to give the character the opportunity to show that they've changed. For example, maybe the villainous organization comes at them with an "offer they can't refuse," and the old them would have jumped at that opportunity, but they're not that person anymore. Showing them refusing this offer illustrates that they've really and truly changed once and for all.

Happy writing!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

after - part twenty-eight

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

you forge an unlikely alliance.

a/n: suuuuuurpppprriiiiiissseeeee shortiessssss!! wowowowow it has been a hot second and I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been sitting on this part (and part 29 👀) for a HOT SECOND but here she is. we are approaching more heavy stuff but I’m am excited and I hope y’all are too!

word count: 6k

warnings: nothing new, if you’ve been reading so far, you know the drill.

✨@friskito-library for updates on new parts/works✨

It’s a lot of hiding. It’s a lot of stopping and starting and ducking behind cars and darting down alleyways. Every whisper of a truck engine makes Joel’s blood run cold, and he has to stop himself from glancing back at you every few minutes. You haven’t let go of the kid’s hand, and he’s taken it upon himself to lead you through, putting himself in front, in the line of fire.

His self-restraint doesn’t last long; he counts ten steps in his mind, glances back at you, repeat. Your face is a mess, blood still smeared across your cheek, and he already knows you’re gonna have one hell of a bruise. All the first aid shit you’d taken from Lincoln was in the bed of the truck, and he’s not sure what Ellie has in her bag. Once you’re able to actually stop, to rest for the night, he’ll figure it out.

He’s trying to scrub the scene from his mind. That kid — Bryan, his memory cruelly reminds him — came out of fucking nowhere, the shotgun went off, and then you were on the floor. His heart had nearly stopped in his chest, all the breath shoved from his lungs, and before he could actually figure out if you’d been shot or not, that same shotgun was pressed against his throat.

But then…Ellie.

If she hadn’t done what she did, guaranteed you’d all be laying dead in that laundromat. Or something worse. It’s not FEDRA here, it’s not Fireflies. He doesn’t know what the fuck it is, but he has to get you out of Kansas City.

Both of you.

The promise he made you back in the forest sits in the back of his throat, a reminder that thumps with every step he takes. His head is a mess. You sprawled on the floor, Ellie with the gun in her hand, the way that kid had screamed.

You don’t have to!

Yes, he did. He did exactly what he had to.

It’s dark, by the time he’s leading you down the alleyway beside the large building he’d scoped out earlier in the day. It’s been a while since he heard the rumble of a truck, but he knows it’s just as dangerous in the dark, if not more. He’s just grateful you haven’t crossed paths with any Infected.

There’s a service entrance, in the alley. The door’s locked, but there’s a vent maybe eight feet up the wall. Of course, you offer yourself up first, but he shakes his head. You’d probably fit through, but he can’t risk you falling through and hitting your head again.

“Ellie,” he calls, and the kid perks up, releasing your hand for the first time as she steps toward him. “I’m gonna lift you up,” he tells her, and even in the dark, he can see her face go pale. He drops down, locks his fingers together. “You’re just gonna put your foot here.”

She gulps, but nods.

“Ready? One, two—” He lifts her on the third count and she swears, grabbing his shoulder tightly. “Straighten up, I got you.” She uses the butt of his flashlight to push the vent inward, and it clatters on the other side of the wall. Joel holds her up as she wriggles through, feet kicking as she disappears through the hole.

“Okay, I’m in!” she calls, and Joel glances at you, seeing you deflate slightly with relief.

“Take a look around first,” he calls back, and steps to your side, reaching for your hand. “Okay?”

You nod, but don’t say anything.

There are more clattering noises, but the kid doesn’t say anything. Your hand turns to a vice around Joel’s. “Ellie!” he calls in a loud whisper. “Goddamnit.”

Another beat, and the door swings open, revealing Ellie, completely intact, that shit-eating grin back on her face. “Where would you be without me, huh?”

“By now, Wyoming,” Joel replies, unable to help the quip. He pulls his gun from his pocket, ignoring the way you roll your eyes at him and smack his shoulder as you follow him through. Ellie steps to your side again.

“Oh yeah,” she mutters. “Walked into that one.”

Ellie hands Joel his flashlight, digs in her pocket for her own. It’s almost pitch-black, and the flashlight beams land on old trucks, delivery vans, tipped shelving. “All right, we’ll make our way up,” Joel says as his flashlight lands on a set of stairs. “In the morning, we take a look at the city, and find our way out.”

He glances at you over his shoulder, and you nod.

At the top of the stairs is a door, and Joel pushes it inward, his gun raised. “We’re going up forty-two flights?” Ellie asks, and Joel hears you sigh. 

“Forty-five,” Joel corrects, trying to ignore the way his knees are already aching. “But no, not all the way.”

“How far?” you ask, and he looks at you again.

“As far as we can make it,” he tells you, and you scoff a laugh, pushing past both of them and starting up the steps. Joel doesn’t protest, letting you go first. It’s better, if anything; if you stumble, it’ll be easier for him to get to you. Ellie trails up behind you both, and Joel shines his flashlight past you, illuminating the stairs ahead.

Ten flights, and you’re all breathing heavily. You have a tight grip on the railing, using it as leverage to pull you up each step, and Joel’s matched your pace, his free hand pushing at the small of your back. Fifteen flights, and you have to stop a moment, pausing on one of the landings to catch your breath, hand pressed to your chest. “Okay?” Joel asks after a few minutes. You just nod.

Twenty-five flights, and Ellie has something to say. “Hey, you know that guy that said he was hurt? Out in the road?” she asks, and you both pause. “How did you know it was an ambush?”

You both look back at her before looking at each other. Memories swim through Joel’s mind, things he’s buried, things he hasn’t thought about in a long time.

Things he did to protect you.

“We’ve been on both sides,” you answer finally, still breathing heavily. “It was a long time ago, kid. We did what we needed to survive. We did what we had to.”

“Tess, too?”

Your jaw goes tight, but you nod. “Tess, too.”

“And Tommy,” Joel offers, pressing his hand flat to your back, rubbing a small circle.

He goes to take another step, to bring you up with him, but the kid’s next question makes him freeze again. “Did you kill innocent people?”

You train your eyes up, then let them slip closed, breathing deeply. Joel looks over his shoulder at Ellie. The words are right there, on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t say them. He can’t admit to this kid the terrible things he’s done, the terrible things he knows he’d do again if it meant keeping you safe.

Keeping her safe.

He shoves the thought away, and turns back to you. “C’mon.”

It’s a moment before he hears her steps continue.

Thirty-three floors, and you’re done. “Joel, I can’t,” you mutter, and he can hear the pain that’s laced in your voice. He angles the flashlight away from you, but brings it close enough that he can see your face. The mark on your cheek is bleeding again, twin drips of red slipping down your cheeks.

“Okay, baby,” he nods, rubbing his hand right up your back, squeezing the back of your neck. “We’re done. It’s okay.”

“Holy shit,” Ellie sighs as he pushes the door open from the staircase and onto the floor. “Thirty-three floors, we did good.”

“It’s gonna have to be,” Joel answers, grunting as your knees give out beneath you. You slide against the wall, sinking to the floor, and Joel goes with you, trying and failing to support your weight. “Where’s that rag?”

“Pocket,” you breathe out, your voice wheezy. Joel reaches for it, tilting your chin to the side so he can wipe the blood. “Fuck.” You take it from him after a moment, keeping it pressed against your cheek. Your eyes shut for a moment, but then your force them open, brows lifting slightly and your gaze slides to Ellie.

Joel leans against the wall, tipping his head back. His own heart is racing, his lungs tight with exertion.  “C’mon,” Ellie says, offering her hand.

“Give me a minute,” he barks, but from the corner of your eye, he sees you getting back to your feet.

Ellie shakes her hand. “Get up, you lazy ass.”

You wobble slightly as you stand beside the kid, but you’re smiling, chest still heaving with breaths. You keep the rag pressed to your face with one hand, and offer the other to Joel as well. “Let’s go, baby.”

He grabs both of your hands, relying more on Ellie’s than yours as you haul him to his feet. Your boots slide back on the floor, and he puts his arm around your waist again, supporting your weight as he shoots Ellie a glare. “Lazy ass,” he repeats, shaking his head. “Fifty-six years old, you little shit.”

“And still just as pretty,” you mumble, and Ellie giggles.

It’s too dark to tell what sort of office you break into, but the glass shatters easily when he smacks it with a long-expired fire extinguisher. There are couches inside, pull-apart leather things with enough pillows to make beds for all three of you.

Ellie arranges the pillows as Joel collects the broken glass in a trash bin. You’re perched on the now-sunken couch, and after Ellie’s done setting up your makeshift beds, she pulls out a little red pouch, producing a bandaid and an alcohol wipe. 

You wince loudly as she wipes your cheek, and Ellie mutters her sorries, but you tell her it’s okay, to continue. Joel turns to see you gripping the edge of the couch as tightly as you’d been holding his hand earlier, your face screwed up in pain as the kid wipes the cut on your cheek.

He pauses, watching from the other side of the room, holding the bin full of glass. Ellie’s face is pure concentration, and after she’s done cleaning the blood from your face, you look better, though the edges of the cut are already starting to bruise. Joel watches as you take the bandaids from her, peeling them open and instructing her how to put them on, to do it so it acts more like medical tape and will hold the edges of your cut together.

“There was a stitch kit,” you tell her, tilting your face up slightly as she applies the bandaids, “in the truck, but this’ll have to do. Besides, I don’t trust either of you to be stitching up my face in the dark.”

Ellie smiles, and you smile back. She leans back when she’s done, inspecting her handiwork as you brush your fingers over the bandaids. “Good?”

“Better,” you reply, and reach out, pinching her chin. “Thanks, kid.”

The whole scene makes his chest ache, and Joel rips his eyes from it, the two of you scoping the rest of the room while he starts laying the pieces of glass out on the floor between your beds and the door. “Joel!” Ellie shouts after a few minutes, and he turns to look at her, pausing as more glass hits the floor. 

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t want someone sneakin’ up on us while we’re sleeping,” he says. You open your mouth, and he knows what you’re gonna say. He lifts his hand before you have the chance. “You’re not keepin’ watch, Liv. You need to sleep. We all do.”

“Oh, I get it,” Ellie says, looking at the scattered glass. “Crunch, crunch, crunch. Are you sure you’re gonna hear it?”

The bin emptied, Joel sets it down, and steps toward the bed meant for you and him. You’re perched on the edge, your eyes following him. “Of course, I’ll hear it,” he shoots back, his tone agitated. “That’s the damn point.”

“If he doesn’t, I will,” you tell her, leaning back slowly until you’re laid out on the pillows. Joel sheds his jacket, shoots you a look he hopes looks appreciative.

“Okay,” Ellie says, satisfied with your combined answers and dropping to her own pillows. “Good night, then.”

“Night, kid,” you tell her, and pat the space beside you, gesturing to Joel.

“Good night.”

He hands you his jacket, and you bunch it up, setting it at the spot for your heads like a makeshift pillow. Your own jacket gets draped over you both when he lays down beside you, good ear up, turned towards the door. You press yourself against his back the same way you had in the forest, the cold tip of your nose fitting in the dip of his spine.

His mind is still going.

“Hey, kid,” he calls out after a moment. 

He feels you perk up slightly, but then Ellie calls back. “Yeah?”

“When we were talkin’ about hurtin’ people,” he says, choosing his words carefully, “what did you mean, it wasn’t your first time?”

“Joel,” you murmur, shaking your head against his back. It sounds almost like a warning.

It’s dead silent for a moment, all of you collectively holding your breath before the kid answers. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“All right,” Joel replies, and rolls over. You stay in place, and he puts his arm around your waist, letting you bury your face in his chest. “You don’t have to. I’m just sayin’, it isn’t fair, your age, havin’ to deal with all of this…”

He can just make out her outline, in the dark, can tell that she’s staring up at the ceiling. But then slowly, her head tips to the side, and her eyes meet his. “So it gets easier when you get older?”

Joel feels your sharp inhale, and rubs his hand up your back as he shakes his head slightly. “No, not really. But still.”

“The reason I asked whether you’d hear the glass or not is cuz I’ve noticed you don’t hear too well from your right side, and Liv is always on that side of you, like she’s protecting you. Is it cuz you were shot there?”

Your entire body goes tight against him, your hands fisting in the front of his flannel.

“Probably,” Joel answers, rubbing a circle between your shoulder, “but probably from shootin’ too. So if you wanna keep your hearing, you stick to that knife.”

Silently, you get up, rising to your feet slowly and stepping over Joel. He watches for a moment as you clear a space in the field of glass he’s created big enough for you to sit in. You have your gun in one hand, your knife in the other, and Joel only manages to find his voice when you sink down to sit between him and the door, your back to him.

“Liv, come back here.”

“Go to sleep, Joel,” you say, over your shoulder, barely looking at him. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

+

You didn’t mean to fall asleep.

You were fine, when you first got up from the pillows, made space for yourself in Joel’s glass trap. Your eyes only got heavy after the first hour, and the quiet sound of Joel sleeping, his quiet breathing only a few feet from you, became the perfect lullaby for your aching head.

You should have woken him, but you didn’t have the heart to.

After you’d stepped over him, after you’d settled, you’d heard his deep sigh, but no protest followed. But after a few minutes, the kid called your name. “Liv?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you know diarrhea is hereditary?”

“What?”

 “Yeah,” she replied, her voice almost sad. “It runs in your jeans.”

You’d clapped your hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter, and heard Joel’s mumbled Jesus Christ behind you, but then Ellie started giggling and you joined in. 

“That is so goddamn stupid,” Joel grumbled, but you could hear the laughter in his voice. 

“I can hear you laughing, motherfucker,” Ellie called back, and you shook your head at the both of them.

“I didn’t laugh!”

“Yes, you did!”

“Jesus, I’m losin’ it.”

“You’re losin’ it big time.”

There was a pause, and then you all started laughing again. You ignored the twinge in your cheek as you giggled, and when you looked over your shoulder, seeing the actual grin on Joel’s face, his eyes pinched with laughter, your heart felt like it might implode.

Ellie’s giggles carried on, and after a few minutes, Joel’s grumbles returned. “Go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep!”

“Both of you go to sleep,” you called, louder than both of them.

Eventually, the giggling stopped, and the room settled into silence. Inviting silence. You crossed your legs, propped your knees up and wrapped your arms around them, gun gripped in one hand, knife in the other. You kept your eyes trained on the door, silently humming Hank Williams songs in your head, letting your mind wander just so it would keep you awake. But a few hours, and your head dipped down, chin tucked to your chest.

And then you wake up with your knife pressed to your throat. Whoever they are, they dragged you over to Ellie, and the same person that has the blade of your knife hooked under your jaw has a gun pointed at Ellie. She’s wide awake as you come to, realizing what position you’re in, and her hands are in the air.

“What—”

“Don’t move,” the one holding you orders, and you freeze, feeling the metal dig in just that much more, lifting your hands as best you can. “And be quiet.”

Your eyes flick to where Joel is laying, turned on his other side — his bad side — and there’s…

There’s a kid standing at the foot of your makeshift bed, a gun trained on your husband’s sleeping form.

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper, keeping your hands visible. “It doesn’t have to go this way.”

“Joel,” Ellie calls, and he just grunts in his sleep, burrowing deeper into the pillows. “Joel!”

His eyes open first, taking in both of you, the gun and the knife. He flinches, turning onto his back, staring at the kid with the gun trained on him. You can feel your throat bob against the blade.

“Eyes on me,” the older one calls to Joel. He’s young — too young — and you can feel his fingers shaking around your knife. It would probably be easy to disarm him, but they have guns pointed at both Ellie and Joel, and that’s not a chance you’re willing to take. “Eyes on me.”

“Joel,” you call, your voice soft. The blade is cold against your throat, and Ellie makes a little noise beside you. Slowly, Joel’s eyes shift to the older one.

“You don’t have to worry about what to say,” he says. “We don’t wanna hurt you. We wanna help you.”

Joel stares him down. You can see that hard mask fall into place, his eyes turning to black pits as they flick between you and Ellie. “Okay.”

“Okay, um,” the older one stutters, his hand shaking more. He’s too young for this. “I don’t know what the next step is with something like this, but if I lower my gun and drop the knife, we didn’t hurt you, so you don’t hurt us…Right?”

“That’s right,” Joel replies, his voice crystal clear, but laced with rage. You’ve heard that tone before.

“That’s a weird fuckin’ tone, man,” the kid says, and in any other circumstance, you’d laugh.

“That’s just the way he sounds,” Ellie interjects. “He has an asshole voice. Joel, tell him he’s okay.”

Joel’s eyes slide between the two of you again. “Everything is great,” he deadpans.

“Joel,” you sigh, and try to angle your head back away from the knife as Ellie lifts her hands higher, exasperated.

“Dude!”

“Fuck, okay, listen,” the kid continues, “I’m gonna trust you. All of you. But if any of you guys try anything,” he looks pointedly at each of you, but the gun rattles slightly in his other hand, “yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ellie replies quickly.

“Yes,” you breathe, staring back at Joel. The older one nods to the younger, and he steps back, giving Joel more space.

“Can I sit up?” Joel asks, and you can still hear that thread of rage in his voice.

“Yeah,” the older one tells him, “slow. Get up slow.”

Lifting his own hands, Joel rises, staying seated on your makeshift bed. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Henry,” the older one says, and then gestures to the younger one. “That’s my brother, Sam. We’re the most wanted men in Kansas City. Although, right now, my guess is you’re all running a close second.”

Henry lowers his gun, and then loosens his grip on your knife. Your jaw lowers as the blade falls away, and it lands in your lap. You snatch it up quickly, sliding it back into the sheath at your hip. Head throbbing, you scramble away from him, grabbing Ellie by the back of her shirt and hauling her with you toward where Joel is. He puts himself in front of you both, putting an arm out in front of you. You see his hand twitch toward his gun, and Henry catches it.

“We didn’t hurt you,” he repeats, and lifts his free hand, lowering his gun slowly, tucking it into his jeans, “so you don’t hurt us.”

Part of you knows you should be raging. That you should have just let your instincts take over, but…

They’re just kids. Ellie grabs your hand and squeezes, and there’s a strange kind of light in her eyes when you glance at her over your shoulder.

“Why don’t you two sit,” you tell the pair, jutting your chin towards the pillows that are now sort of spread around the floor. “You have food?”

Henry meets your eyes. You can see how headstrong he is just looking at him, the way he glances at his little brother before lifting his chin slightly. “No.”

“Sit,” you say again, “and we’ll share some of ours.”

A few minutes later, and you’ve arranged yourselves around a lantern Henry and Sam had in their packs. Your head still throbs, but the food helps. Ellie had stashed some rations from Bill and Frank’s in her bag — some kind of protein bar concoction you remember Frank all but forcing down your throat more than once.

“Where’d you get these?” Henry asks, glancing between you and Ellie. He hasn’t chanced a look at Joel since you all sat down. Smart kid.

“Friends,” you answer, snapping off another small bite. “They’re dead.”

Joel’s hand slides over your knee, squeezes lightly, and then you watch as he picks up one of the larger bars, wraps it in the parchment paper it was covered in, and leans across, handing the bundle to Sam. The young kid takes it, then taps his brother on the shoulder, makes a gesture from his chin, points at Joel.

“He says thank you,” Henry relays, and the realization settles over you. Sam is deaf. “I’m guessing you don’t have much so…this means a lot.”

“How old is he?” you ask, gesturing to Sam. He looks at his brother, signs the question, and you watch as Sam replies.

“He’s eight.”

“And you?”

“Twenty-two,” Henry answers, nodding slightly. His eyes shift to Ellie. “What about you?”

“Fourteen,” Ellie answers. “I’m Ellie, by the way.” She points to you. “And this is Liv, her husband Joel.”

Henry taps Sam, and then points to each of you in turn, signing your names to the younger boy. He acknowledges each name, and gives you a soft smile that makes your heart hurt. Cute kid.

“Look,” Joel says abruptly, and you can feel him bristling beside you. “You ate, we didn’t kill each other, let’s call this a win-win and move on?”

Henry brushes his hands clean, folds them together in front of himself. “Well, I’m betting that y’all came up here to get a better view of the city and plan a way out. And when the sun’s up, I’ll show you one.”

“How do we know we can trust you?” you ask. It’s a bit for show, but you’re curious to know this kid’s answer.

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Like you said, we didn’t kill each other. And we want out of this city, same as you.”

“You point another gun at me or my girls and I make no promises that I won’t start swingin’,” Joel barks. You put a hand on his arm, warning, but your mind snags on another part.

My girls.

Ellie’s glance at her lap feels pointed, and you give Joel a stern look. “There’s still a few hours till sun-up, and I think we could all use some more sleep. You boys take one corner, we’ll take the other, and we’ll collectively agree not to pull any weapons on each other, at least until the sun is up. Deal?”

Henry nods, but his eyes dart to Joel and his throat bobs. “Deal.”

+

He knows you made the right call. He’s letting you take the lead here.

The moment his eyes opened and he was staring down the barrel of the gun, held by a kid much too young to be wielding it, he was seeing red. When he saw you with your own knife at your throat, another gun pointed at Ellie, it took everything in him not to launch himself at Henry, and when he looked at you, he could see you weighing the options in your head, just the same.

And his own words, what he’d said to Ellie the night before, ring loud in his head.

It isn’t fair, your age, havin’ to deal with all of this…

Henry’s young. Not so young to have that shield of childhood innocence, but young enough. Capable. Headstrong. In a way, he almost reminds Joel of Tommy.

The sun comes up, and no one’s pulled a knife on anyone, your deal is still intact. You head up another few flights, Joel with his eyes on your back as you take the stairs. Your steps are surer today, and he worries less about you toppling backward. Your face, however, is another story. The bruise is fierce, creeping under your eye, but Ellie’s bandage job is holding things together. You catch him staring as you head to the stairs, and catch his wrist, squeezing light.

“I’ve had worse.”

There are more offices, the higher you go. The one you stop in is high enough that Joel feels safe, that you won’t be spotted through the glass. You drop your stuff on the large wooden conference table, Ellie and Sam darting towards the opposite end of it, already roped into that easy friendship that kids have habits of forming, even after the world ended.

You step towards the glass, inspecting the city below. It feels different from Boston, from this high up. The QZ gate was wide open when you drove past it, and there’s no true wall wrapped around the city. Not like Boston, where everything, everyone is caged inside. But, as you’ve come to learn, it just means more chaos.

“Welcome to Killa City,” Henry says to you both, and you scoff at the moniker.

“No FEDRA?” Joel asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Not as of ten days ago, no,” he answers.

“I always heard KC FEDRA were—” you start.

Henry cuts you off. “Monsters, savages? Yeah, you heard right. Raped and tortured and murdered people for twenty years. And you know what happens when you do that to people? The moment they get a chance, they do it right back to you.”

You look at the kids over your shoulder before your eyes slide back to Henry. “But you’re not FEDRA?”

“No,” he replies, but the look on his face isn’t convincing to Joel. “Worse. I’m a collaborator.”

Joel grabs the back of your shirt and hauls you back, putting himself between you and Henry. You sputter his name, surprised at his movement, but he shakes his head, ignoring the way your nails dig into his forearm. “We don’t work with rats.”

Henry’s stance mirrors his, and the kid almost laughs. “Yeah, you fucking do. Today you do, because I live here, and you don’t. That’s how I followed you here. I know this city, and that’s how I’m gonna help you get out.”

“Why help us?” Joel asks.

“I saw what you did,” Henry answers, and his eyes dart over Joel’s shoulder, to you. “The way you killed those men. Now, I know where to go, but I don’t know how to make it through alive, not if it’s just me and Sam.”

“You seem capable enough,” you say, moving around Joel slightly. “You’re armed.”

“Wrong and wrong,” Henry quips, shaking his head slightly. “I never killed anyone, and pointing an unloaded gun at you was the closest I’ve ever come to being violent.”

You scoff. “Tell that to the knife at my throat.”

There’s an apology in his eyes when he looks at you. “Improvising. And I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

You nod. “I know you are.”

Henry sighs. “So that’s the deal. I show the way, you two clear it.”

Laughter makes all three of you perk up, all heads turning in the direction of the pair sat at the table. Your grip on Joel’s arm goes tight again for a moment before loosening. Henry chuckles as the kids look up at you all, the laughter continuing even after they’ve been caught. “Haven’t heard that in a long time.”

Joel turns back toward the window and you move up beside him, your hand now resting between his shoulder blades. “Give us a second,” he says to Henry, and steps around a large concrete pillar, obscuring the both of you.

Your eyes dart to the window, and Joel props his arm up on the wall beside your head, trying to give some veil of privacy. “What are you thinking?” you ask him, leaning back slightly, your arms crossed.

“I don’t like it,” Joel murmurs, shaking his head. “He told us what he is. What’s stoppin’ him from handin’ us over the second it suits him?”

You sigh. “He’s just a kid, Joel. And if there’s no more FEDRA in KC, then that means there’s only one group of people gunning for him now, right? Same ones that are after us.”

“I don’t—” he starts again, but you move forward, hooking your fingers in his belt.

“What other choice do we have? He’s right; we don’t know this city, we have no idea where we’re going. That’s how we got stuck in the first place.”

Joel shakes his head, though he knows you’re right. “That, and the fuckin’ cinderblock to the windshield.”

You get closer, your words more hushed. “We do what we have to.”

The hand not propped on the wall moves to the back of your head, strands of hair sliding between his fingers. You look up at him, determination in your gaze, and he leans in, kissing your uninjured cheek. The weight on his chest doesn’t disappear, but it lessens some.

You step out from around the pillar, and Henry’s eyes snap back to you both. “So, how are we gettin’ out?” Joel asks.

Ellie wanders over as Henry finds a piece of paper, fishes a pencil out of his bag. You all watch as he draws out a rudimentary map, marks the highways, points out the downtown core. And just beside the middle of it all, “Us.” He points to the rest of the downtown. “This whole area belongs to Kathleen.”

“And she’s the one in charge?” you ask.

Henry nods. “Leader of the resistance.” He points at the map again. “You can see the way we’re bounded by highways. They got people posted all around the inside perimeter. If we get close, we get caught, no question. So how do we get across?”

Henry bangs on the table, getting the attention of Sam, who’s still sat at the end of the table. He signs something to his younger brother, and Sam nods, reaching for the erasable notepad in front of him. Joel watches as the kid scribbles out a word, and his throat goes dry when he lifts it up.

Tunnels.

Henry snaps his fingers, an almost grin on his face. “Boom.”

“Kansas City has a subway?” Joel asks, his brow pinching.

“No, but they do have maintenance tunnels. There’s a bunch of buildings all put up by the same developers, and they share these tunnels, including…” He picks up the pencil again, draws more onto the map. “The bank building here. So we enter the tunnels here, travel underground, and pop up here. Westside North. Residential. There’s an embankment on the other side of the houses. We head down, pedestrian bridge over the river, free as a bird.” Another grin, and he drops the pencil.

“You’re right,” Joel says, trying not to let the condescension bleed too deep into his voice. “It’s a great plan. So what do you need us for?”

Henry’s face changes, and Joel doesn’t like it. “You noticed anything strange about this city? I mean, other than the strange shit you’ve already seen?”

“No Infected?” Ellie offers.

“Oh, there’s Infected,” Henry says, “just not on the surface.” Beside him, Joel hears your sharp inhale. “FEDRA drove them underground fifteen years ago and never let them come back up. Only good thing those fascist motherfuckers ever did.”

“So you want us going into a tunnel?” Joel asks, his voice getting tight. Your hand curls around his forearm again.

“Everyone thinks it’s full of Infected, including Kathleen, which means that we’re not gonna be running into any of her people. But you see, what I know is…it’s empty.”

“You’ve been down there?” you ask, and Joel can feel you bristling as much as he is.

“No,” Henry answers, and Joel sighs heavily. “But the FEDRA guy that I worked with told me that it’s clean, completely clean. They cleared it out, all of it.”

“When?” Ellie asks.

“Like…three years ago.”

Joel scoffs, and your forehead touches his shoulder softly before you lift your head. “We don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to FEDRA,” you say, and both Joel and Ellie look at you. “And three years is a long fucking time.”

Joel shakes his head, turning away from the table completely, planting his hands on his hips. “I don’t like this.”

“Okay, so maybe there’s one or two,” Henry continues, his tone shifting to placating, reasoning, “but you handle it.”

“And what if there’s more?” you counter, and Joel turns back toward you.

“Or one of those blind ones that sees like a bat?” Ellie says, giving Henry a pointed look.

He looks incredulous. “Wait, you…you ran into a Clicker?”

“Two of ‘em,” you answer. “Not our first rodeo.”

“And you’re still alive,” Henry says, like it’s proof enough. “You see? You’re the right people. If it gets bad down there, we turn around, and run right back out the same way we can.”

“Y’know, I take it back,” Joel says, propping his fist on the table again. “Not such a great plan.”

“No, it’s a dicey-as-fuck plan,” Henry admits, staring Joel down. “But as far as I can tell, it’s our only shot.”

Sam bangs on the table, grabbing Henry’s attention, and signs something, his little brow pinched.

“They’re saying,” Henry answers, signing as he speaks, “they’re going to help us escape.” He looks back to Joel. “Right?”

You sigh and when Joel looks back at you, you give a little shrug. “Guess we’re doing this.”

PREV | NEXT

[strafepanzer]

fangs | g.jaegerjaquez

chapter one: shit | chapter two (tba) | chapter three (tba)

▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: dark content, 18+! a/b/o stuff (pheromones, fangs, alpha-omega, animalistic tendencies), blood (a LOT), biting, drugs, gangs, fighting, (more to be added as chapters progress)

▸ ▸ ▸ wordcount: 3k+

▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: this has been in the works for a while but i finally have a bit of energy to put into it, so that's fun! also ive taken parts of omegaverse lore and made it my own, so if things get confusing, feel free to ask questions! thanks for reading!! ♡

“Shit,” he hisses, tongue running over the split in his lower lip. His glare intensifies as he shoots it over his shoulder, landing on the little turd shaking in his boots, wooden baseball bat held tight in two white-knuckled fists.

“I didn’t even do that! Y-you bit your lip with those freakish fricken fangs!” The kid argues, blue eyes wide with terror, that distinct childish whine caught in his throat.

“Right, so you swinging that bat at me had no impact on the state of my face at all?” He turns his body towards the boy, cracks his neck as he rolls his shoulders. “Sounds like a crock a’ shit, squirt.”

“Uncle will be mad if you hit me!” He reasons, knees knocking together.

“Oh, but you can hit me?” Grimmjow raises his brows, wiping the blood with a knuckle as he stalks towards the kid.

“You’re the gang’s Mad Dog! You’re supposed to be too good for me to hit!” He frowns, stepping back as the predator steps forward.

Grimmjow grins then, his hulking canines pressing uncomfortably into his lower lip, the one on the left shining with blood. “Maybe I wanted a reason to discipline the young master.”

“Jaegerjaquez,” Tousen appears out of nowhere, like usual. “Boss has a job for you.” Is all he says before turning to the kid. “You know how your mother feels about you using that bat for violence, young master.”

The kid’s pouting, obviously happy to have been spared, but upset that he’s being scolded and losing his babysitter-slash-impromptu-martial-arts-instructor all in one fell swoop.

“Where’s he want me?” Grimmjow straightens, rubs the sweat from his hands down the thighs of his faded blue jeans, re-pops the collar of his barely buttoned Hawaiian shirt. Tousen regards him coldly through the lenses of ridiculously priced glasses, as usual, like Grimmjow is worse than the dirt beneath his stupid black leather loafers.

“The usual place.” Tousen turns his nose up at Grimmjow, and gestures back to the kid. “You need to stop sneaking out of the house when Starrk falls asleep; let’s go.” He orders, heading towards the winding forest path that leads back to the main house.

“We were training.” The kid argues back, pouting. “Everyone always talks about how strong the Mad Dog is, and I’m gonna be stronger.”

“Strength isn’t necessarily how hard you hit, or how many bones you break, Kaiden. Remember that.” Tousen sends Grimmjow one last look before the pair disappear behind the yellowing Japanese Maples, the young master waving frantically and promising to return.

This makes Grimmjow grin, smirk elongating as he heads back into his shack, imagining how Aizen’s prissy bitch of a left hand man has to listen to the kid praise him. What makes the young master’s idolisation of him that much sweeter is the fact that the little brat hasn’t presented yet; Tousen can’t blame the kid on being affected by Grimmjow’s Ridiculously Potent Dominant Alpha Pheromones, has to accept that he just likes the way he is. Thinks he’s fucking cool.

Betas, as a rule, tend to harbour a little bit of hatred towards alphas or omegas, especially in their line of work, but Tousen takes the goddamn cake.

With a spring in his step, Grimmjow packs a duffel. His little house— if you can call it that— is a bit of a mess, so finding what he needs is a pain in the ass, but he manages. Ten year old Motorola Razr (in ice blue), wallet, and switchblade are all on his bed, still there from being dumped out early this morning when he got home from a job. His first aid kit, pheromone patches, and inhibitors are all in the stall he calls a bathroom, and— he checks the package— he’s running low on patches. The last thing on his mental list— his knuckle dusters— are in the kitchen sink, still caked in dried blood, but he throws them in the bag anyway.

He leaves his leather jacket and just opts for his keys; the summer’s been long and hot, and he loves the way the air feels on his skin as he speeds the streets of Karakura.

+

Ichimaru’s Ikeman Fantasy is a front that even the blind can see, yet it’s been untouched by the law for years. Grimmjow parks his bike in its usual spot, holds the duffle by the handle and tosses it over his shoulder, before strolling past Yammy and the other bouncers, and in through the front door.

Smells like easy omega in here.

“Afternoon, Jaegerjaquez!” Nel hollers, tits bouncing as she waves from her spot behind the bar. They never used to get along, but the years of living and working in close proximity forced them into a friendship of sorts. Now they dye each other’s hair.

“Nel,” he nods, duffle landing on the bar with a thud. “Aizen here?”

“‘Course he is,” she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “He’s always here.”

“Like you.” He grins. “You’re part of the furniture, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she sighs, nodding back towards the kitchen. “Someone’s gotta keep Nnoitra in place. I do miss you being here, though.” Her nose scrunches up. “All the new boys are boring.” There’s a bit of bite behind her bark, and usually that’s what he looks for in a woman, but she’s never affected him. He can’t get hard for other alphas; all part and parcel of being a dominant himself. Omegas or nothing.

“Maybe if I was better at lip service.” He shrugs, tossing his feline stare over his shoulder to sus out the place.

“Or if you were worse at brawling,” she leans on the bar, those too big breasts pushing up and together in a way that makes them look like they might pop out of her shirt. “They’ve started calling you The Grim around here, you know? You come and go, then someone shows up dead.”

“That’s dramatic; I don’t kill people.” Always.

“Keep your secrets, Jaegerjaquez, I don’t want them.” Nel shakes her head, perks up a bit when someone else comes in.

It’s too early to open, and Grimmjow has no idea who this girl is. She’s cute, nervous-looking. Undoubtedly omega with her candy-apple scent.

“You’re getting girls in here now?” He asks when the candy apple omega is escorted through the lounge and into the back rooms.

“Yeah, Gin’s wanting to expand with the beauties.” She whispers, leaning close. “But you know Aizen: don't fix it if it ain’t broke.”

“Fox face wants to bring girls in here?” Grimmjow balks, a little too loud. “To work?” He questions, voice dropping.

“Yeah, for the back room stuff.” Nel looks undoubtedly uncomfortable. The main draw for the club is that it’s catered to women; less violent outbursts, less brawling, less police attention.

“Huh, never would’a picked it.” Grimmjow sighs, brows raising. “Matsumoto’s surely against it.”

“Yeah, so’s Ai—“

“You’re here,” Aizen’s voice isn’t loud, but it's commanding. There’s a quiet cruelty there that keeps people on their toes, a suppressed dominance that he’s master at concealing. “Come, Grimmjow, I have a task for you.” He’s across the lounge, standing in front of his office, the door right next to the one the candy apple omega disappeared behind.

“Sure thing,” he nods, suddenly professional. He gives Nel one last look before grabbing his duffel and slinking off towards his boss— The Boss.

+

Aizen’s office is the epitome of old European money; velvet chaise, dark filigree wallpaper, gold accents, cherry stained hardwood. Grimmjow feels like a stray dog attempting domestication each time he stalks into the room, can’t bear to sit lest he destroy or dirty something. The Boss doesn’t even offer him a seat anymore, just places a lowball of whiskey in his hand and starts on the task at hand.

“There’s a small motorcycle gang that’s started to sell on our turf,” he says, opening a beige folder and tossing its contents on his desk. “Need you to rough ‘em up a bit before they get too big for their boots.”

“Kids?” Grimmjow scowls, picking up the pile of photos and tossing them back to the desk as he looks at them. They’re in their late teens to early twenties, with their black leather jackets and little white baggies. “You’re sending me to deal with kids?”

Aizen sighs and sits down in his polished leather chair, taking a sip of his own whiskey. “You’re right.” He nods, leaning over the table and picking up one of the photos Grimmjow’s tossed down. “Normally, I’d send Yammy, or even Tousen— if I wanted to deal with it diplomatically— but this kid,” he holds up the picture of a blonde, his head tossed back in laughter, canine-like fangs protruding out of his mouth. “Is a dominant like you.”

He takes the photo from Aizen and looks it over, then goes through the ones he tossed and picks up a clearer one of his face. “He’s not even wearing patches,” Grimmjow shakes his head, glaring at the glossy photos. “Just swinging his dick around like he owns the place.”

“Exactly,” Aizen stands and gathers the photos, holds his hand out for the ones Grimmjow’s still scrutinising. “I’ll send the lot of them to your phone.”

“Boss, I can’t see shit on my phone,”

“I told you to buy a new one.”

“Why fix something if it ain’t broke? Besides, I got the little fucker’s face memorised, don’t sweat it.”

“They hang around by the train station at the end of the street most nights. Rough them up a bit, feel free to knock some teeth out.” Aizen smiles then, golden eyes shining as he shows his own fangs.

To the naked eye, he looks like a beta or omega with his average-sized canines, but Grimmjow knows better. Knows he’s had them filed down; that he does so on the regular.

Dangerous fucker he is.

+

After sticking around for a couple more drinks with Nel, he pockets a knuckleduster and leaves her with the rest of his shit. "I'll come get it when I'm done with the job." He drawls, tapping his scent blockers to test their saying power— excellent, considering he replaced them after Aizen dismissed him.

"Don't kill too many, Grim." She calls a little too loud, smiles a little too broadly. It draws attention from the other patrons, the few older women sitting at and around the bar suddenly interested in him.

"Don't lose my shit." He glares back, fang grinding on the still fresh wound from this morning when he tenses his jaw.

Undeterred, she waves him off with a smile, before undoubtedly weaving tales about his murderous escapades to the nosey hags asking too many questions. He doesn’t stick around long enough to confirm or deny his own suspicions.

The damp heat of early summer clings to Grimmjow like a second skin; seeing others unaffected— still dressing in light layers and boots, some with scarves and gloves— makes him feel a little claustrophobic, even outside in the streets. He knows it’s him who’s wrong, knows his medication has side effects and his second gender has drawbacks as well as perks, but still it’s enough to plaster that scowl to his face. At least it makes people avoid him, gives him a little bubble when it’s crowded, even in rush hour.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, that glare is set straight ahead. He’s on a mission, and it’s something he’s not too happy about. Sure, he’s used to cleaning up Aizen’s messes, used to brawling, bleeding, biting, and bitching; but dealing with pups never ends well. These kids probably think they’re kings, think that their blonde ringleader is gonna make them rich or famous, or both.

Probably both.

Flashing fangs like that around here, though… that’s gonna get you killed.

Grimmjow’s nothing if not morally grey, however, so seeing the little posse down an alley on the way to his destination brings a rush of excitement. The sooner he can get this over with, the better.

“Oi,” he calls, entering the alley. “Heard you’re selling.”

“Who’s askin’?” One steps away from the wall— not the blonde— and tilts his chin up at Grimmjow. It takes all the willpower in the world not to match that snarl with one of his own, but he just shrugs and tries to act innocent, keeps his shoulders hunched so he seems smaller than his six-four frame.

“Just some guy,” he drawls, keeping his fangs concealed. “Why, you discriminate?”

The kid snarls at him again, infuriated, “Discrimin—”

“Cool it, Tetsu,” the blonde finally steps forward, and his pheromones are no joke. It’s been a hot minute since Grimmjow’s come across a dominant who doesn’t conceal what he is, and he has to physically stop the warning growl that wants to vibrate up his throat. “This old man just needs a hit, don’tcha grandpa?” He grins, condescending lilt to his brow.

“Nah, you got me all wrong, kiddo,” Grimmjow stands tall— taller than the blonde by at least five inches— and cracks his knuckles, apathetic grin turned evil. “I just need to relay a message to you little fuckers about who’s turf you’re selling on.”

The blonde postures, baring his fangs as his pupils blow wide, “Bring it on, old man!” He yells, pheromones turning the alley sour and crippling his friends.

Grimmjow says nothing, just mirrors the young alpha, and roars.

His pals throw up, one passes out, and the blonde’s pupils revert before his fight or flight kicks in, and he launches himself at Grimmjow. He knows the fight would be over if he just removed his scent patches, but where’s the fun in that? What kind of Grim Reaper would he be if he let it end at that?

Blondie lands a hit to Grimmjow’s jaw, and he feels it crack his bone. Adrenaline and anger mask the pain, and in an instant he’s above the kid, landing blow after blow after blow to his face with his bare knuckles, colouring his face crimson in a matter of seconds.

“Old man?” Grimmjow grunts sarcastically, the adrenaline subsiding with each moment of non-resistance. “This old man better not see you on this side of the tracks with intent to sell again, or I’ll rip those useless canines straight outta your face, got it?” He finishes, holding the blonde up by the front of his bloodied leather jacket and glaring down at his swollen, weepy face. Blondie can only groan in pain before going limp in Grimmjow’s grasp.

He drops him to the cement and glances up at the rest of the gang. With both alphas done with their brawl, the pheromones in the air have thinned, and the rest of the kids are in the process of regaining their composure.

“I fucking mean it,” Grimmjow continues with his warning. “I know you think you’re fucking invinci—”

He’s frozen by a sharp stinging sensation in the side of his neck, and when he swipes at it, something small, cylindrical, and plastic hits the ground next to his knee and rolls away from him.

A syringe.

They’ve drugged him.

“Run!” Someone screams from behind him, lurching with speed and strength Grimmjow knows wouldn’t be possible from anyone other than another dominant alpha. He grabs for Blondie, tosses his limp body over his shoulder and takes off down the alley as the rest of the gang scatters.

Grimmjow stumbles as he attempts to give chase, his vision swimming and heart pounding. He stops and crouches there in the alley behind a dumpster, closing his eyes and trying his goddamn hardest to regulate himself, to pinpoint the problem. His limbs are fine, and there’s no numbness, so that’s a plus, but he’s dizzy as all hell, and—

Slap.

He opens his eyes to see one of his scent blockers— a shriveled-looking skin-toned bandaid— lying there on the cement like it’d been used more than a few times. But he knows that’s not the case, knows that was a brand new fucking blocker and that it should’ve lasted him until at least tomorrow morning even if he wanted to sleep with it on.

He reaches for the one at the other side of his neck, and that one, too, slides off, looking a little more than worse for wear.

His pheromones have sweat the patches off.

This hasn’t happened to Grimmjow since he was going through goddamn puberty and the doctors couldn’t find the right dosage of inhibitors for him. He’s early thirties now, has been on the same goddamn pills since, and has never missed a dose. If there’s one thing Grimmjow cannot fucking stand, it’s an alpha who can’t control his fucking ruts.

And now he’s one of them.

Those shifty little fuckers have thrown him into rut.

“Motherfuckers!” He roars, knuckles meeting cement out of pure frustration, the pain that’s supposed to come with maiming oneself simply not present.

Grimmjow gets up and braces himself against the wall, breathing heavily and glancing between the mouth of the alley and the direction in which those little shits ran off. It’d be absolutely insane for them to want to stick around and try jump him, especially considering Blondie wasn’t using blockers, so there’s no doubt the end of the alley isn’t a completely dead end. Heading towards the street would only end in mayhem, so he stumbles deeper into the alley, using the brick wall for support when the cramping takes over and he needs a moment to breathe.

Fuck, he’s forgotten how this felt; forgotten just how base he goes when his hormones are running rampant, forgot how primal he is. He’s hungry. For food, for sex, for a good fucking fight.

His cock aches.

Still, he fights it. He’s not completely gone yet, but he can feel it pulling at him, irritating him, can feel it tickling his brain like a loose thread; one tug of it, and he’ll be feral. He’s exhausted, fighting the urge to pull the string, finds himself panting as he clutches at the spray paint covered brick with a bloodied hand, sweat dripping into his eyes, plastering powder blue hair to his forehead.

He briefly wonders if Aizen knew that they had this little ace up their sleeve, before deciding— with a baleful chuckle he didn’t know he still had in him— that he doesn’t even wanna know.

The last thing he sees before the world goes black is his own reflection in a shiny metal baseball bat

[cityzenshark]

Things to fix in Earthspark part 3

Nightshade's sudden intelligence

Character traits and their lack of relevance

Lack of character flaws

These are my personal takes, no hard feelings

1. Nightshade's unexplained sudden intelligence.

In "Hashtag: Oops", Hashtag gets her alt mode and discovers her (possible Outlier) ability to hack into the intranet systems without needing a hardwire connection. In the same episode, Nightshade makes the dugout by themselves that consists of a super computer and fancy systems.

Where and who does Nightshade learn from to build all those? Wheeljack? They never met him until "Disarmed". Tarantulas? They meet on the next episode. Alex? Possibly, yet there are no scenes or dialogues. The internet? The farm has bad wifi, it's been reminded several times. Nightshade is more interested in books than the internet.

It took Hashtag at least one whole episode to learn about her ability and this naturally leads her to learn about tech. But Nightshade's knowledge came out of nowhere.

Like I said in the first part of this post, involve Wheeljack and the parents in making the dugout. From there, we could see Nightshade learning from Wheeljack first and later more from Tarantulas.

Have Nightshade feel overwhelmed by their own intelligence that they struggle to understand themselves which is why they refuse to have an alt mode. Now that's a start to their character arc.

2. The lack of relevance of certain characters and their traits.

Alex is a professor (right?) in Cybertronian history and culture yet this is only shown in the pilot episode and no more. This went over my head and I thought he was a stay-at-home husband throughout the whole season. The lack of show of this makes his trait irrelevant to be honest.

Tarantulas promised to help the family, didn't he? Where is he when they need all the help in the finale? They shouldn't have replaced him with Soundwave. The latter has nothing to do with the Maltos.

Wheeljack should've had the most involvement with the Maltos next to Bee. Besides Twitch and the dugout, he should be their defacto medic. Have him help the Terrans understand their biology (seriously, the show never considered discussing that at all). Have him study the Emberstone water. He's a scientist - come on now.

Arcee. Just Arcee. Why is she even in Season 1? She plays no important role in it until the finale where she and Wheeljack block the Terrans path. I expected a little bit more from her...

Elita should be Jawbreaker's mentor, not Grimlock. Even though JB is a dinobot like Grim, Elita is the one who taught him about finding the right alt mode. Not to mention Grim is suffering from very recent PTSD - he could've killed JB by accident.

Show Elita together with Optimus more. She's the Second in Command but Megatron is constantly with OP, I forgot he's not OP's second.

3. Lack of character flaws. I'm focusing on the main characters here.

This is a HUGE problem in children's shows nowadays. Character flaws are what makes progress feel earned and have meaning. Everyone has something they dislike about the people they love. It's normal.

The twins are proven to be impulsive and short tempered but the difference of how their personality affects their temper is blurry.

Have Thrash be the angrier twin since he's the big brother. He's the one who jumps into conclusions, throwing assumptions everywhere. The episode with Swindle should've concreted his distrust towards Decepticons/new people. Meanwhile Twitch is more levelheaded and open minded to contrast with Thrash.

The triplets have confidence issues. Nightshade and Hashtag with their intelligence & abilities, and Jawbreaker with his reaction. This is proven when the kids get stuck in the dugout because Nightshade & Hashtag don't plan the security out properly.

Jawbreaker is the only Terran whose flaw is shown well. I don't know why people don't like it. JB feels left behind, of course he'd overreact and get overconfident when he finally got his alt mode.

Make Nightshade eccentric by having them mimic their book's main character. Children tend to do that, I know I did. After 'Disarmed', their siblings get annoyed and tell them to cut it out, further signifying the Terrans' rocky emotional state due to their missing link.

Hashtag is the embodiment of 2010's internet energy which is perfect to make her trust the internet too much. It could also add "internet info vs books info" banter between her and NS.

Robby should act like an actual 14 year old. (He acts like 10 - 12 imo.) Kind of an emo, easily annoyed, visibly irate of his siblings' constant emotional presence. Have him wish the cybersleeves are gone. Those things do not look comfortable.

Like Robby, Mo should feel weirded out by the emotional link, the cybersleeves, and the Terrans occasionally but not as much as Robby. Other than that, she acts like a nine year old with high emotional intelligence.

Writers should avoid treating official media as their personal fanfiction.

[thelampisaflashlight]

Choose Your Own Bea's Adventure

Your name is Beatrix Milne, you're 32 years old, and life has not been kind.

Quite frankly, you're surprised you've made it this far, but you're here, and as the older generation says, better above the ground than below it.

Two years ago, you started a new job in the Swedish countryside; Quite the leap, considering you were living out in the middle of nowhere in the US up until then, getting up to lord knows what with God knows who.

You don't even speak Swedish.

Not enough to be living abroad like this at least.

But you're a quick learner, and, lucky for you, English isn't that uncommon to hear in the abbey.

Right.

You work for an abbey now.

You've never been religious, in fact you're pretty sure if life has taught you one thing, God either picks favorites, or simply does not exist.

Although, it's his rival, you've been told, that the people in this particular building worship.

Yeup, you're working for theistic Satanists.

Someone somewhere is probably screaming for you to "GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!" before the horror movie theme starts playing, but so far no one here has so much as touched a hair on your head.

You are, naturally, wary of your neighbors, to the extent that anyone would be.

You lock your doors at night, and you don't go out after dark unless absolutely necessary.

Annnddd since the weather has been so shitty lately, and you haven't had a chance to drive into town for supplies, looks like it's necessary.

Time to put the wheels in motion and get yourself over to the main building to raid the pantry for dinner.

You've gotten to know the way to and from your cabin pretty well by now, but you've never taken the trail after dark alone like this before.

Welp, it's now or never...

(Note: The path chosen will effect who you will encounter along the way, and will determine the level of danger Bea will be in going forward.)

[darling-archeron]

Many months have passed since the end of the War, but not all wounds have healed. Repairs, both emotional and physical, are still underway. When Feyre finally finds a break in her schedule, she feels duty-bound to visit the one place she thought she’d never return to: her old village. With Rhys by her side, she takes a trip through old memories. ✨ Rated T, 2.8k words | Part 3/4 | Masterlist @charliespringsleftconverse @acotargiftexchange

🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨

Feyre shoved the memory of her family’s cottage to the back of her mind. That wasn’t why they were here; there was plenty more work to be done.

After they left the Hales, Feyre and Rhys continued down the winding country road, coming across three more homes that reluctantly accepted their help with various tasks. By the time the sun was beginning to set, Feyre’s stomach was growling, and her muscles ached. She didn’t expect any of the mortals to offer food for them, but she hadn’t eaten since that morning.

Darkness was beginning to fall, and there wasn’t much else they would be able to help with today. If people were scared of her and Rhys in the daytime, they definitely weren’t ready for faeries popping out of nowhere after sunset.

They had made progress, she had to admit. But somehow, it still didn’t feel like enough.

It wasn’t even that she felt the need to visit more homes today. Moreso, it was the memory of her old home.

Maybe seeing Isaac and all of these old places had left her feeling nostalgic, but she wasn’t quite ready to return to Velaris.

If so many of these formerly proud homes had been reduced to shambles, how had her family’s old cottage faired? It had been decrepit and forlorn the last time she saw it.

They had been following the main road all day, but Feyre gently pulled Rhys off of it when it came to a fork, leading him up a path she hadn’t trod in years.

She felt her mate’s quiet curiosity prodding at her, but he didn’t say anything. Waiting for her to speak.

“I want to show you something,” she said at last, lacing Rhys’s hand in hers.

“Oh?” he asked, giving her hand a gently squeeze, warmth radiating off of him. She could feel him up against the mental walls of her mind – they were always open for him, just a crack, but he lingered outside them anyway.

“Not in there,” she said. “You’ve already seen it in my mind, anyway.”

“Lead the way, then,” Rhys said, curiosity sparking in his bright eyes.

All day, she had been pointing out various landmarks to Rhys, little places in the world that had been so important to her only a few short years ago. This morning, this had been the one place she hadn’t even considered taking him.

A few more bends in the increasingly steep path, and they stood in front of an old cottage, almost completely fallen into disrepair.

A hovel.

Tamlin’s long-ago words echoed back to her.

But…he hadn’t been wrong. The cottage hadn’t been great then, and its time standing unattended hadn’t helped.

She had been back here once, alone, after Tamlin had packed her off back to the human lands to save her. Like last time, she noted how the door had been rehung, but now the entire cottage was slanting alarmingly to one side. The glass of the small windows was shattered. Clearly the past winter’s winds and snow hadn’t been kind.

It seemed so…small. The size of their massive, open bedroom in the River House.

“This is…” she began.

“I know what it is,” Rhys responded. “Do you want to go in?” he prompted after a long moment.

She nodded, slowly making her way around fallen branches and brush that had started to grow up in the absence of any people.

“This is where Elain had her little garden,” Feyre said, gesturing to an overgrown square of dirt a few paces away from the cottage. “She would tend to it constantly, even in the blazing heat. The flower seeds were such a luxury, and she was determined not to let them die.”

Rhys nodded wordlessly, letting her narrate.

She approached the door with caution – of what, she couldn’t say. There were claw marks gouged into the rotting wood – she didn’t let herself linger on them for long.

With a twist of the handle and a hefty shove with her shoulder, the door gave way with a horrid creaking sound, and she was surprised it didn’t come off its hinges again.

As she stepped over the threshold, a sense of displacement overwhelmed her.

How had this ever been her life?

Now, she woke up in a house with countless rooms, in a warm bed with clean, soft sheets. There were never any old nails sticking out of the floor, the roof never needed patching. No hunger or loneliness, but instead the other half of her heart curled up in bed with her.

Somehow, time must have softened her memories of this cottage, because everything about it was so much worse than she had imagined. But as she scanned the small, decrepit room, she realized there was no hate for it in her heart. Not anymore. It had been shelter, and kept her warm and relatively safe during those brutal years.

If it weren’t for the fact that the cottage was falling apart, it would have looked like its occupants had only stepped out for a moment. Her family had left as soon as they could.

A damp smell of must and mold permeated the air, and Feyre wrinkled her nose. When she glanced up, feeling a draft, she saw that some of the roof had given way, leaving holes in the ceiling.

To her left was their old table, scuffed and wobbly but still standing, with a stack of plates still on it, as if they had been in the middle of setting the table. Feyre crouched down by one of the legs, wiping the grime away to reveal faded flowers painted on it. Little bluebells.

“Now you can see how far my paintings have come,” she said, with more mirth in her voice than she really felt. Her critic’s eye couldn’t help but notice the wrong shade of blue, the way she had painted the petals that made them look flat.

Rhys’s gaze was still fixed on the faded bluebells. “I remember you painting these, you know. I remember feeling how much you cared about these, the thought and dedication that was going into them, even through my dreams.”

A lump rose up in Feyre’s throat. She remembered, of course, the dreams that Rhys had been sent, the ones that coaxed him to find her on Calanmai, but to be here, with those same paintings in front of them…

Her shame washed away. Skill level be damned, the flowers on this table had helped bring Rhys to her. They had provided him a measure of comfort during his darkest times, and she could never be embarrassed about that.

Intertwining her hand in his, she gently tugged Rhys along to the bedroom. It wasn’t a long walk by any means, as it was the only other room the cottage had to offer.

The room was dark and foul-smelling. The ragged bedsheets were half rotted away on the sagging bed where she and her sisters had once slept. This time, she couldn’t help the creeping embarrassment at the pitiful sight before them, but she did her best to brush it away. The bed didn’t matter, nor did her old quiver of arrows peeking out from under the bed, or her sisters’ ragged boots against the wall. She went straight for the dresser, standing just as she had remembered it in the corner.

On the top drawers, flowers for Elain and flames for Nesta, respectively. And the bottom…painted a dark blue, the yellow moon and stars swirling across the knotted wood.

“I didn’t understand why I painted stars, back then. The other two came to me so quickly, and when it came time for my drawer, I was stumped. Elain suggested the woods, because they were quiet and unyielding like me. But I didn’t want to paint that, I already spent so much time there. And then the image of the night sky came to me. It was always there, too, no matter how angry or bitter or starved I was. Even if I didn’t notice it.”

Another wave of emotion pulsed down the bond, and a single look told her Rhys was holding back tears. He knelt and reached out to the wood, tracing the thick whorls of the night sky reverently. These were the first brushstrokes on the canvas on their story, corporeal and in front of them.

“But I know why the thought of the night sky came to me in the first place. You sent the image to me, Rhys. You saved me as much as I saved you.”

“Thank you for bringing me here,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion as he rose back up and squeezed her hand tightly. “I know it wasn’t easy.”

“I’m glad I was able to show them to you.”

She let her gaze travel across the tiny bedroom once more.

“I’m ready to go now.”

It was good to have come, one last time, to see where it had all began. But there wasn’t anything here for her other than dust and memories. Not when so much waited in the present.

Rhys nodded his assent and let Feyre lead him back out, through the doorway and into the crisp night.

In the short time they had been inside, the sky had darkened. The stars were brighter than she had ever remembered them being in the mortal lands. Whether she had immortal vision to thank, or only her memory playing tricks on her, she couldn’t say.

A chill went through her at the sight of these stars. The same ones they gazed on in Velaris. The same ones Rhys had sent her his memories of, years ago. A sense of calm blanketed her.

“Being back here,” she said quietly, knowing Rhys could hear her perfectly. “It just reminds me of how fragile everything is. How impossible it is that all the pieces fell so perfectly into place and brought me to you. If I had gone hunting in a different part of the woods that day I shot Andras, or if I had stayed inside on Calanmai, or if I had told Tamlin I loved him before he sent me away…would things have worked out the same?”

Rhys’s answer was immediate. “I can’t answer that, but I do know the Mother always destined for us to find each other. If my subconscious convincing didn’t coax you out on Calanmai, perhaps you would have fallen into my arms at the Summer Solstice. I would have snuck in and disguised myself, to save you from Tamlin’s fiddle playing.”

That made her laugh. “I was drunk off my ass that night. I would have been stepping on your toes. I’m sure I was stepping on poor Lucien’s.”

“And I would have treasured every bruise on my foot.”

Her thoughts drifted for a moment, resting on a more serious subject. “Do you think there’s a world where I managed to nullify the Cauldron that day in Hybern, and I never went back to Spring?”

“I think even them, we would have made different choices, different sacrifices. And there’s no telling what the outcome would have been. And no matter what you did, Feyre, Tamlin will always be responsible for his own actions. He’s made his choices every day since the War ended.”

She mulled Rhys’s words over for some time. “I know you’re probably right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept.”

“Then you’ll just have to take my word for it until you do.”

“We’ll have to talk to Tamlin, soon. About fae coming over the wall like this. And we should mention it to Lucien, see if he’s heard any reports.”

“Tomorrow,” he murmured, rubbing gentle circles on her hip. “And the day after.”

She took a long, deep breath, letting her stress and guilt wash in and out, out, out. She thought of the beast roaming half-wild, tearing apart his manor in the Spring Court, losing control of his subjects and letting them do as they pleased. She thought of Micah, the devastation on his face at the loss of his love.

She thought of the quiet hope in Isaac’s eyes, as he focused on rebuilding.

She thought of her sisters, lives changed irrevocably because of her actions – but not for the worse, in the end, it seemed.

“Right now, I just want to focus on being here with you.”

Feyre loved to stand with Rhys behind her with his hands resting on her hips, enclosed by his warmth and scent, but it also – unfairly – meant that she couldn’t see him. She twisted slightly to get a better look at his face. There was that spark in his marvelous eyes that she loved to see.

“Or maybe,” he mused, “there is a world where Tamlin was never cursed, and I had to venture all the way over the Wall to meet the human woman from my dreams.”

“And what would you have done then?” she asked playfully, curious to see where her mate’s imagination took him.

“Hmm,” Rhys considered, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles along her hip. “Well, maybe we would have met in the woods while you were out hunting, and I was searching for the mysterious woman in my dreams. And you would have undoubtedly been charmed by my fantastic wit.

She snorted. “That’s awfully presumptive, even for you. You don’t think I would have tried to shoot you?”

“You would be surprised by how persuasive I can be, when I’m not under duress.”

“That didn’t stop me from throwing a shoe at your head.”

“Yes, but that was when you were under extreme duress,” Rhys said confidently, as if his shoestring logic made any sense at all. “Besides, that only made me fall in love with you more. Imagine how quickly I would have fallen if you had gotten me with an arrow.

She elbowed him in his side, frowning. “That’s not funny, Rhys. I could have hurt you.” Even hypothetically, she didn’t like to think of harm befalling him. Certainly not at her hands.

“But you wouldn’t have. The bond would never have let you truly harm me. And after we met so charmingly in the woods, I would have camped out in the mortal lands and visited your door every day with gifts, like a proper gentleman. Your family would have loved me, and eventually I would have wooed you fully and convinced you to visit Velaris.”

“That part did work pretty well this time around,” Feyre admitted. “Showing me Velaris. It was the first time I began to understand all of your secrets, and suddenly your bizarre contradictions began to make sense.”

Rhys twisted them and softly pressed a kiss to her lips. A first kiss they might have had in the mortal lands, under the watchful eyes of high society.

“The point is, darling, in any lifetime, I believe the Mother would have brought us together. We will always make choices we second guess, and things will always happen that we regret. But I believe there is no world where we are meant to be parted. And if that’s not true…I would rewrite the stars for you anyway.”

“I’m glad our story played out the way it did,” Feyre murmured, her heart swelling at the words. They had both been through so much, sacrificed plenty – especially Rhys, in the long five hundred years before they had met – but today they were alive, and so were their friends and family. Velaris and the Night Court had survived the War. And now she looked to the eternity ahead of her with the one she loved more than anything.

How many other timelines was that true in? There were so many ways their story could have ended in tragedy.

She was eternally grateful it hadn’t.

Grateful, in some strange way, for the dilapidated cottage behind them.

She turned her thoughts away from unpleasant what-ifs, and back to the male at her side.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair, heating her skin with his breath. Goosebumps flared up along her arms.

“I love you too,” she replied, leaning into his unfailing strength. They stood there for a long moment, watching the silent sky. Once, she would never have dared to stand outside like this, so close to the woods at night. Now, in some ways, she had become the very thing her human self had feared.

Then again, she had always carried a bit of a beast inside of her. The Ouroboros had shown her that.

“Should we go home?” she asked. “Everyone will be waiting for us at dinner.”

Despite the emotional drain of the day, her heart still thrummed with excitement at the thought of seeing the entire family back together again for the first time in months.

“I suppose we should make sure they haven’t burned the house down,” her mate agreed. “Are you ready to go now?”

Feyre glanced behind them one last time to take a look at the decrepit cottage.

Thank you, she thought, and nodded her assent to Rhys. He pulled her close and winnowed them both away.

[scenetocause]

For the director's cut thing: At the end of Climb up to your lips, you implied Max F and Logan might be A Thing, and I'd love to hear more about that if you want to share ❤️

idk if i'll ever actually finish the logan perspective thing i started writing midway through the main story bc actually when i looked back at it i was like these are really just my own background notes what do you think you are jrr tolk himself you don't have to publish stuff you wrote for your own reference. but hey if there ever was a medium for all your stupid lore and self-fanfic then it surely is a o three dot org (note to old men fantasy writers etc) so maybe i will.

basically the thesis is that logan, like oscar at the start, is lonely and can't get what he wants, which is a boyfriend. both him and oscar have resigned themselves to never being able to reconcile their ambitions in f1 with anything that fulfils them in that way and sort of let their friendship settle as a pseudo-standin where they can hang out and be each other's person to take to things, go to dinner with, whatever and just live in suspended animation until something (???) happens and they get disney prince rescued.

something does happen for girloscar which is that she isn't so much disney prince rescued as like, dragged into a bath by a wet cat. and she can't believe this is happening because she's fancied lando for ages, used to pine at him from the alpine pit wall so much she got caught by otmar once, who mistook it for trying to steal secrets off mclaren and she had to make something up about the front wing.

she's so excited to be teammates with him but also so, so mortified and trying really hard to be normal about it. logan's thrilled to be in f1 at all but also realising that deal he had for fucking about a little bit with some of the f2 guys was just fucking about for them when their girlfriends weren't on the travel budget and definitely won't survive being in different paddocks.

oscar gets lando and logan gets lonelier. at the same time, his season's falling apart and everyone's announcing his career dead before it feels like it's had a chance to start. he has to rely on benny and james and benny starts to, gently, put distance between them to keep it professional, manage logan's expectations. so he clings to james, at the same time as knowing this is probably the worst possible way to try and keep his seat and that it's going nowhere, the team principle not a viable fuckbuddy, let alone anything more.

enter jenson button. hot dad, sympathetic ear, special advisor to williams. whiskey supplier. a man who's there to help you celebrate your first f1 point and certainly isn't going to argue if that involves a bit of fucking your brains out. lovely, sweet, gentle, funny jenson who makes logan feel special and loved and sweeps him up from his flat in london in fancy cars to go to fancier restaurants as though he deserves the champagne.

and then goes home to his wife and kids.

somewhere along the way, hurting during the 2024 season, logan has to break it off. he wants what oscar and lando have, not this. it was glamorous and exciting and giving him the confidence he was part of this world he's fighting to stay in, for awhile but then it starts making him realise he'll only ever be the number two in that situation, forever out of contention for the real prize. it's all a bit on the nose.

so he stubbornly struggles through 2024, single as fuck and finding himself taking rather than giving advice to oscar about things to stick up your arse, which feels lonelier than ever before. in miami the combination of his and oscar's shit weekend and lando's good one leads to him coming out for a few drinks and ending up fucking one of the mclaren pr guys. he has a meltdown when he sees the papaya shirt on the floor the next morning.

pr guy's very discreet about it, although he keeps smiling at logan every time they cross paths and logan's about 85% sure there isn't actually a need for him to follow oscar so closely, actually. logan's shaky position makes someone being so into him about as comfortable on his skin as sweaty fireproofs but that doesn't stop him being desperate enough to fall into bed with the guy again once he has something to celebrate. once he realises he's charlie-from-marketing's jenson figure.

he's not an asshole so he does take the guy on a few dates, try and romance him a bit. maybe he, too, can find love with a mclaren twink, it worked for oscar after all. but it just doesn't click, the guy doesn't really understand him, too in awe of the fact he's getting screwed by an f1 driver to notice the bedsheets are ikea and one of the pillows is pretty badly tearstained. that logan's barely clinging to his ride, feels like he is what they're saying; one of the worst ever, not even brave enough with the car to crash as spectacularly as latifi.

logan doesn't exactly break it off but says he needs them to take a break while he's negotiating his contract, can't risk anything. it's not a huge surprise when a few week's later it's obvious the guy's moved on with ollie bearman. like his last relationship, it's all a bit on the nose.

2025 gives him time to work out what he really wants. f1 might not be it, life might be better somewhere else. he starts talking to formula e teams, wondering if a life in papaya might not be that bad after all provided he didn't have to see oscar and lando mooning over each other. and that's not even fair because oscar asks him to be her best man and he's stoked, especially because lando's is max and they've stayed in touch, still hang out. max is doing a few bits racing gts, initially as a quadrant thing but then it turned out he was more than good enough to be in demand as the pro to a gentleman driver who was so eager to get back in a race car he didn't really negotiate on price, even.

logan avoids asking him about it but max is fucking hype about how mint the 24 hours of spa is. fucking mental, mate. you're throwing it up eau rouge with a bunch of blokes who wear suits, like proper suits not race suits, all week in the pitch dark and it's shitting it down with rain and you think: i shouldn't be enjoying this, should i? should really be driving into the pits and saying no thanks, that's absolutely mad, can't be doing that sort of business. but then when it's happening you're like, properly into it, aren't you? got a podium in misano, mate, it was mad. blowie off one of the mechanics, that didn't happen in f3 did it haha mind you guess they would've been a bit of a nonce back then wouldn't they. you should come to a race i'll get you vip, they'll go mental for an f1 driver being there mate, they went mad when bob dropped into brands and he was only there five minutes.

logan doesn't say that he thinks he has a lot less star power than lando but they do give him vip anyway. he's never been to magny cours before, it feels weighted with that type of european history the classic race tracks do, like another thing that might find out who he is and reject him.

even if the circuit isn't embracing him, max does. complains about logan being so fucking tall, mate, it's annoying, i swear you were smaller than me once. he wasn't but max can pretend that, if it helps. max is jangling with nerves, rushing between trying to sort things out with the team - because it's not like, you know, f3 and that, you have to set the car up so the other bloke can drive it the best he can and then you just sort of have to cope with how it is. actually, that's quite like f3 innit? do you remember in fucking silversto- nah, let's not think about that right now.

it's nice. it's nothing to do with f1. even with the quadrant logos, that's max's thing, no weird haunting of lando around and it's not like logan dislikes the guy, at all, it's just that it's nice that this is all theirs. logan can breathe out, relax, laugh properly for what feels like the first time in ages because no one's scrutinising his every move and max gives him a headset and tells him to listen out for when he's boxing, put the fucking kettle on, yeah?

logan falls asleep on max's hotel bed, listening to him recount the whole story of a race he just watched. max tucks him in, rather than the trophy and if they wake up hugging that's no one's business but theirs. didn't used to do blowies in f3, either but when there's something to celebrate and max really is so small, so cute, so unselfconscious about everything because it's just them, yeah. doesn't have to be a massive fuss like bob and oscar, do you want a lift back to the uk? i've got space since bob moved his fucking golf clubs out the boot finally.

oscar and lando get married a week later and it's very oscar and lando. logan didn't have a date to bring, didn't even think about it before he saw george's girlfriend and kelly and the sharp stab of whoever lewis' guy is. logan knows there's no point being jealous on that scale; he couldn't be lewis, on any level but everyone wants, don't they?

max doesn't have a date either. probably doesn't need to hold logan's hand while they're waiting for lando and oscar to do their vows and max is crying and maybe logan's crying too. they have to stay behind to clear up the flower petals, getting tutted at in french while max rolls his eyes and says they should try being told off at Viry, fucking hell.

if they're later to the reception than is strictly necessary because as they were leaving max turned round and said "do you think, mate. you know, we could - one day" and logan decided to stop living on borrowed time and properly make out with him against the harbour wall. have to stop because they're getting dangerously close to third base and max is breathy and gasping and telling logan he can have this. they always were equals, each others' biggest rivals, maybe they're meant to be here, bright eyed and hair disarrayed and grinning at each other, not the places they've been struggling.

oscar's definitely onto them, makes some really crude comments about it being traditional for the best man and head bridesmaid to fuck, innit and logan has to tell her to fuck off and bother her husband. they are properly cute, though, aren't they? never thought bob would be able to hold a relationship together but she's properly straightened him out, who knew he just had to get pegged- fuck, pretend i didn't say that. oh, how did you know, too?

logan and max normally stay with lando and oscar when they're in monaco. but there's only one spare room and this doesn't feel the moment to drop that announcement, as well as they do not want to hear what those two pervs are doing to each other tonight. so they're in different hotels but everything in monte carlo's pretty much the same place, pick logan's on the basis it's nearer the casino and they can go for a late night, last drink once they've got oscar and lando's very drunk dads into a cab.

kissing when they're in fancy suits is hot. fucking when they're out of them is hotter. when logan slides home into max's body and sees him gasp, feels his hands curl on logan's shoulders as they both moan and if it's too much like lovemaking then, well. maybe that's what they're doing. creating something, between them. something that's all theirs and they can choose without anyone else's decisions or approval. no need to wait in limbo or have to guess what happens next, which is that they come on each other and then curl up together, max sprawled on logan's chest all happy and sated and real.

he doesn't wait for the f1 decision, to make plans. racing drivers aren't patient and he finally feels like one again, especially every time his boy brings home a trophy like it's theirs. logan starts adding to the collection, too. both of them get to push, at last. they've always been good at doing that for each other.

[raayllum]

i think one of the main reasons i can't shake the "possession is not how callum is going to be play into aaravos' hands" (or at least not solely, i.e. doing something vile or dangerous in the name of love that leads to a renewed possession) is because like...

listen, as much as it'd be kind of weird for a "Master Manipulator" like aaravos to reveal his final play two seasons in advance from a character standpoint, it absolutely make sense from a story standpoint. you couldn't just whip that out of nowhere in a plot relevant moment without having your audience feel cheated, so it had to be established earlier on. now instead of surprise, you get to cultivate a nice feeling of dread. (although i've said before that there were other ways to cultivate said feeling of dread / set up the possibility of possession, i.e. callum learning that its possible out of a book when he was canonically reading about dark magic, him having nightmares or premonitions that aaravos is tethered to him, etc. it didn't have to be so blatant so quickly.)

those are, however, neither of the points i want to get at today, because like - if it is JUST the possession, and there is no choice that leads to it directly before or after in regards to helping aaravos...

Then why the absolutely, continually ramped up Viren-Callum parallels?

Cause like, as of S5, absolutely none of this is Necessary. Callum doesn't necessarily have to exist as a contrast to Viren at this point, given that Viren himself has changed his mind and disavowed dark magic and Aaravos; Callum finally freeing himself from Aaravos (and dark magic?) will likely now have more parallels to Viren's arc, rather than the two being disparate. He'll be following in Viren's footsteps, but in a positive way.

None of this is required for the possession plot line, either. That got kick started all the way back in 2x07, like, seasons ago. If anything it'd be kinda more 'tragic' if Callum really had never touched or been tempted by dark magic again, but he couldn't (or wouldn't) take back his prior choices. A consequence of being controlled by forces well beyond your conceptualization and a price you had no choice but to pay, literally, if they're going the removal of agency arc (which has its own merits) / leaning into the eldritch horror aspect of it all.

Like if it's just possession... Callum does not have to be like or be compared to Viren, in either similarities or contrasts, like - at all. Viren and Callum are both characters who have a relationship with destiny (Viren tended to believe in pre-determined destiny, but Callum decidedly didn't as of S2; even if that still started to change in S4, that alone is not enough of a singular parallel to warrant all the rest) but they're not the only ones, nor is that exclusively related to Aaravos - even if their parallels between each other are constantly circling him, their families, and dark magic / justification(s).

Which makes me think there's two main avenues they could be taking this with:

1) S7 endgame is Callum walking Viren's path regarding the rise, but in a more literal, dramatic sense. Again, Callum proving that he's not like Viren doesn't really need to happen as much now that Viren is 1) no longer a villain and 2) will be a parallel for Callum's positive growth as well. So it's still about similarities, but positive ones: "No matter what you've done, no matter where you are on the path, every step forward is a choice" (cue Callum literally regaining agency) "I am free, and so are you." This is also the avenue where it being mostly just the possession > a choice that leads to Aaravos getting out (choice made before that leads to possession, or choice post-possession) would make more sense, but just the Rise doesn't account for the well, ominous foreboding of all this, lmao.

2) S6 and S7 are working together with S6 being Callum mirroring Viren's Fall (whatever you want that to constitute) / helping Aaravos regardless of the possession - taking an understood risk for love that leads to the possession, or post-possession due to another form of coercion/susceptibility - and S7 being the Rise. It gives the ominous foreboding of it all, particularly highlighted in S5 / 5x02-5x04 and 5x08 somewhere to go, while also providing Callum with a balanced negative and ultimately positive character arc. It ties in the possession then as a plot element / vehicle to explore their similarities and differences but keeps everything tied together with choices/agency (rather than solely removing it), which is what Viren and Callum have both reaffirmed ("No choice? You made the choice you always have" etc) in S5 in particular. It also explains why and how all these forces - the parallels, the patterns, both their individual arcs, and their connections to Aaravos, his plans, and the possession plot line could be brought to fruition, and why they've all been included.

[prbni]

My controversial Kdrama opinions

1. Ko Moon Young was just a psychologically messed up girl. She isn't the 'girlpower' or 'badass' that the Kdrama fandom likes to dub her into.

2. In 'Hotel del Luna', they could've just chucked the entire character of Gu Chansung out of the window and gave Chang Myung a rebirth/rebirths,make him go through various trials and tribulations to repent and earn Man Wol's forgiveness. Didn't have to make it unnecessarily tragic.

3. Unnecessarily tragic reminds me, the 'realistic' ending of 2521 was a JOKE. There was NO point of developing such a power couple if they were to break up for such a mundane reason.

4. Romance genre isn't Song Kang's 'thing'. He shines better as an actor in non-romance genres.

5. Had they focused on developing Ju Kyung as an individual character who finally learns how to completely take a stand for herself instead of dangling her between Suho and Seojun, 'True Beauty' would've become a more popular and appreciated drama.

6. The love line between Hwang InYeop and Seo Hyun Jin's character in 'Why her: Oh Soo Jae' was absolutely unnecessary and awkward.

7. Jo Bo Ah and Ahn Bo Hyun and an amazing chemistry in 'Military Prosecutor: Do Bae Man'. However, they could've developed a slowburn romance between them instead of abruptly putting a kiss sequence in the last episode out of nowhere.

8. In 'Snowdrop', Eun Young Ro forgiving Soo Ho later on didn't make sense. Their kiss sequence was purely fan service,nothing else.

9. Individual acting aside,Kim Hye Yoon had more chemistry with Lee Jae Wook(2nd lead) than Rowoon(main lead) in 'Extraordinary You'.

10. Writers are overusing 'Let's kill off the main character and make the show tragically memorable' trope wayyy too much.

11. As much as it physically hurts me given the chemistry of the actors,Choi Do Il and Oh In Joo not having any proper romantic sequence till the end of 'Little Women' makes sense to the storyline(the shipper me might've wanted a hug though).

12. Also the writers should stop doing the 'lets make the second lead better than the main lead'. Its annoying to see one person actually making sincere effort for the girl but the girl ends up totally ignoring their effort and like the ML. Not in just Kdramas but in all sorts of dramas. I actually saw a Chinese drama where the second lead finally turned into a villain. I LITERALLY commented 'good for him' lmao.

13. Sunho in 'Cheer Up' is problematic. Neither his sad backstory nor his sincere feelings for Haeyi changes that fact.

14. The Heirs(2013) drama wasted an opportunity to pair Young Do(Kim Woobin) with Yoo Rachel(Kim Jiwon). No, they didn't need to be 'siblings'. I'd have chosen the two heartbroken yet sassy and tough people romance over the sappy romance of the main couple in a heartbeat. And the actors would've NAILED it.

15. Jojo not ending up with Sunho in 'Love Alarm' finally broke the 'Cinderella and Prince Charming' fairytale trope of Kdramas. That girl was too messed up in the head . She didn't need the rich,fierce and impulsive lover, but the quite,patient and thoughtful one. So don't go ahead and say the ending sucked. Maybe they could've made things more coherent, but no the ending didn't suck.

16. Moon Dong Eun should have remained single, with the last episode ending with him crossing paths with Do Yeong, with Yeonjin & gang & all the revenge agenda gone, she could hv offered him a smile and a game of Go, keeping an open ending for them. Lee Do Hyun was fabulous in playing Yeojeong and their chemistry was amazing. But they could hv just been partners in crime with their teamwork without the romantic plot between them.

17. No. Ryu Shi Oh doesn't give second lead syndrome. Byun Woo Seok is a very good actor but he plays the villain in 'Strong Woman Kang Nam Soon' and not anti-hero. Lee Yoo Mi and him should be paired opposite to e/o in some other project in the future but Shi Oh and Nam Soon ain't the 'enemies to lovers' you think it is.

[bodybeyondstories]

Gifted - 5

Justin, having a hard time dealing with his changes, runs into Nikhil in the showers before encountering Sam and Darius during his shift. Things get messy (obvi)

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 (Previous)

Male TF // Ass Growth // Dick Growth // Growth // Size Difference // nsfw

I actually had no impetus to continue this series, then had the sudden urge to write about this awkward sad boi. I'm sure I'll figure out what happens a year from now lol.

Melons had been on Justin’s mind since the night before.

He had been up late muddling through a paper, folded uncomfortably into the too small wooden chair of his room, hunched over his laptop with a look of grim determination. He had gotten a cryptic text from his coworker asking him to cover his opening shift at Shuck’s the next morning (something about getting caught up or whatever at one of the sports bros’ houses), taking away any time that he actually had to work on this paper during reasonable hours. His brain was all but exhausted of any capacity for critical thought, let alone stringing words together into some semblance of a coherent argument. His eyes kept drifting away from his laptop screen to linger on the moonlit scene of the path leading away from the dorm, peacefully empty of activity, except, briefly, for the unmistakable figure of his crush strolling through the pools of streetlight.

Though his face was shrouded in shadow as he walked away, Justin recognized Sam immediately by the pair of cheeks ballooning from his backside and squeezed into form fitting leggings. He’d recognize that ass anywhere. No matter how comically large it had become, Sam’s signature bubble maintained the same proportions. It was obvious how these weird changes going around had impacted his crush. Only months ago, Sam’s ass had been a showstopper but well within the bounds of normalcy. At this point, it seemed nearly beyond belief. Melons, he thought, awestruck.

Justin was down bad about more than Sam’s prodigious posterior. He had developed a genuine crush. The fact that he could barely get over his own awkwardness long enough to talk to him for more than twenty seconds somehow deepened his fantasies of them ending up in some adorable rom-com scenario. His main impetus for getting out of bed in the morning were their brief instances of contact in the bathroom. Both being early risers, it would usually just be the two of them, Justin lumbering past and nervously acknowledging Sam’s cute grunt of sleepy greeting as he brushed his teeth in nothing but skimpy briefs stretched taut over his huge bubble butt, caressed by the early morning light.

Justin’s eyes lingered in the shadows of the scene outside long after Sam had passed out of view, wondering where he could be heading off to at this time of night, hoping Sam would still make it to their early morning meet cute in just a few hours.

—

His alarm brought him back to consciousness in the wee hours of the morning. Lifting his head off the desk, Justin groaned internally at the triple whammy of a paper unfinished, a bed not slept in, and an even earlier than usual start to his day. He just knew this was going to be a mess. Stumbling around in the dark, he managed to grab his toiletries and snatch his towel off the hook on the wall, reaching out through muscle memory to find the door frame with a wandering hand before he smacked his head, ducking under it and continuing on to the bathroom. A bubble of disappointment rose within him as he realized the space was empty, his crush–and that ass–nowhere to be seen.

To say the shower stall was cramped would be putting it lightly, and it had been getting worse and worse over the course of the year. He had already been tall before he had moved into Richards Hall at the last minute last fall because his so-called friends bailed and his actual housing fell through. And he had already been annoyed with being tall. But there was a big difference between a shy 6’3” beanpole who hated attention and…whatever was happening to him now. At this point, it seemed like everyone in the dorm was dealing with inexplicable growth spurts and changes, but as he felt the new sensation of his head lightly brushing the ceiling of the shower, his heart sank yet again.

Oof, I thought this was done, he thought. Or really he had just been self-delusion. He had stopped measuring  a while ago, convincing himself that a jovial “I don’t know” was a good response to the perennial questions about his height, as if being sufficiently nonchalant about the situation would let him fade into the background as nothing special. But he had also convinced himself that maybe, just maybe the changes had stopped, and if he didn’t have any updated data, then he wouldn’t have to reckon with the possibility that even the term ‘7 footer’ was no longer accurate.

But he stooped down and began maneuvering in the compact stall whose shower head struggled to reach his nipples, squatting until his tight butt threatened to part the shower curtains on the other side, just to wash the sleep out of his eyes. The changes had been slow, and he had always been adaptable, but it was becoming apparent that he was becoming too big for the normal infrastructures of life. He didn’t really know what to do about that.

And he especially didn’t know what to do about the python swinging freely between his legs, beyond setting the temperature colder and colder in a futile attempt to get it to shrink to a more manageable size. While his body took off to new heights, his dick really got the memo, stretching to inhuman proportions that looked ridiculous even on his super lanky frame. It was becoming impossible to hide in his day to day life, requiring its own creative solutions as he constantly adjusted and altered his wardrobe to keep up with his slowly stretching body. An issue exacerbated by the fact that his libido had apparently kept pace with these changes. His monster dick had become a beacon of constant sexual need, and at this point even the slightest arousal would set him on a course to either soaking his pants in precum or ripping right through the seams. He had spent many mornings already moaning into the spray of the shower as he slowly stroked the unreal length of his penis, his back and butt smushed against one wall and his foot braced against the opposite, fantasizing about Sam’s amazonian booty in just the next room as he woke himself with a powerful orgasm, painting the tiles in jizz. But this morning he was already late for work.

“What am I going to do with you?” he muttered, soaping up the semi-hard pipe that stretched down toward his knees, careful not to tip the first domino of pleasure, wondering if there was a setting even colder.

—

As he ducked out of the shower into the spacious bathroom beyond, he seemed to unfold as he allowed himself an early morning stretch, shaking the mop of loose curls on his head. He felt his dick jiggle with the movement, enjoying the feeling of its unconstricted motion between his legs as he began to towel himself dry. He swished his hips back and forth, noticing how his dick formed its own pendulous arc through the air, wondering if it could build enough momentum to leave a bruise on Sam’s cheek.

No, no, he thought, bringing himself back to reality as his penis began to lengthen with arousal and deep, urgent need. No time for that. Fantasizing about his unrequited crush could end up eating up a chunk of the morning which we did not have, and he was in no mood to try and clean a pool of spooge off the bathroom floor yet again. The sway of his hips transitioned into a subtle swish that supported his long loping gait as he turned to see a slight figure cross his path unexpectedly.

He hadn’t noticed anyone else in the bathroom. Assumed no one would be up this early. Certainly not a bleary eyed Nikhil with a neat toiletry bag tucked under his arm. Justin had been sufficiently jolted awake by the ice bath that had been spraying from his shower head, but it still took him a solid three seconds to realize that Nikhil was pointedly not staring at the pendulum cock still bobbing playfully in the space between them.

“Oh, fuck!” Sharp realization dawned on Justin’s face, and turned to a flush of frustration as he tried and failed to cover the extensive length of his dick with one, then both hands, eventually realizing that the towel draped around his shoulders could provide the coverage he needed. “Um, sorry, I just didn’t think anyone would be here this early.”

“Yeah, I was kind of banking on that,” Nikhil responded with an awkward chuckle. “Figured if I got up early enough, I wouldn’t have to deal with the usual attention.” He glanced reflexively toward his crotch and the serious bulge that still managed to fill his loose sweats, looking comical on his small frame. “Less chance of being seen.”

They shared a brief moment of mutual understanding, as if brought together in the liminal space of a pre-dawn communal bathroom by their nonsensically gargantuan members.

“Totally,” Justin offered, attempting to build on this budding connection. “I heard about your, uh…I mean not that I heard about it like people are talking about it, at least I don’t talk about other people’s…situations–I mean I’ve noticed your predicament, not that I’m trying to or anything, it’s not my business, also not like it’s a predicament, but like I mean mine’s a predicament, it’s really becoming an issue, honestly, and I don’t know maybe you’ve had similar experiences or whatever, I mean at least you fit in the…shower…”

At this point, Justin’s cheeks were in full blush of embarrassment and exasperation, his mane a halo of gloom as he loomed high over Nikhil, hair still dripping onto his narrow shoulders.

“I just…” one last try.

“It’s good to know someone dealing with similar issues,” Nikhil said with a practiced smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, that.”

“Speaking of, your towel looks a little, um, short?” 

Justin glanced down to discover, to his chagrin, that his towel was no longer long enough to cover the tip of his flaccid cock. Meaning no matter how much he tried to deny or downplay, his mysterious growth was sure to prove otherwise. “...Dammit. I should go get dressed. It can be kind of an–”

“Ordeal. I know.” Nikhil’s irises caught the light for a split second as his eyes rolled toward the ceiling and back, his face a tight acknowledgement of their shared predicament. “Actually,” his eyes lit up, “Just got a pair of briefs off this website that are supposed to have extra support and specialize in unique…pouches. If you want the link or whatever.”

“Uh…yeah, let me know how they fit.”

“Will do,” agreed Nikhil with a sharp nod.

—

Ordeal was accurate, but bumbling around into his work uniform was an ordeal he was used to. His long dick maneuvered just so into his boxer briefs and positioned parallel to his waist–any normal pouch was useless at this point–then a layer of compression shorts for extra control, followed by his khakis, then a few minutes of repositioning his cock and experimenting with the folds of his pants until he fooled himself that the ridiculous bulge spooling out toward his hip could be passed off as a trick of the light (it couldn’t). The fact that his pants didn’t reach his ankles and his mustard yellow employee polo was giving sneak peeks at the light fur of his lower abs were issues to be dealt with at some point in the future.

He reached some semblance of rolling peace as he biked across town to the grocery store, his self-consciousness ebbed by work of navigating city streets, and anxiety dissipated by the mix of physical exertion and chill morning air. He enjoyed the quiet early morning as he locked his bike and strode with long, loping gait to open the store. It was just him, soon interrupted by a single customer who had been waiting impatiently to inform him that the store’s official opening time was three minutes ago, unfazed by the literal giant that came to greet her.

It was shaping up to be a perfectly uneventful shift, just as he’d suspected and hoped when agreeing to cover it. He stocked shelves, did inventory, dealt with the slow drip of customers passing in and out. There were no crises on the horizon, no stressors on this sleepy morning. Except, of course, for the unrelenting weight of pent up sexual frustration and the burgeoning heat of his manhood. He regretted not taking the time this morning for his usual wake up jackoff session–and bonus shower date–and was bitterly annoyed at his lack of coworkers, whose presence would allow him to take fifteen minutes to unload the pressure constantly building in his groin. His dick, dutifully tucked away under multiple layers of restrictive clothing, was slowly becoming the center of the known universe, the locus of attention by way of Justin’s desperate focus on not focusing. The slow burn of sexual pressure was grinding his teeth and laboring his breathing, but it was just barely manageable. That is until Sam walked in.

 He was cute as ever, and that ass looked somehow bigger in the soft morning light, compared to the mix of shadow and streetlight that Sam had passed under late last night. He was probably the best and worst person to roll into the grocery store during Justin’s slowly worsening crisis. A familiar, friendly face, yet also a yearning crush, an undeniable reminder of the yawning gulf of need emanating from Justin’s crotch. His already fraying emotional fabric was twisted even further as Justin, ever observant wallflower, connected a few more dots: Sam was wearing the exact same outfit from last night, though somewhat disheveled. And he was not alone.

Justin was distantly aware that Darius lived in the house that Sam frequented, but didn’t know they were cool with each other. At least not early morning food run cool with each other. Or light touches along the small of his back cool with each other. Or playful squeeze into a prodigious ass cheek cool with each other. Justin, frozen in place with a mostly empty crate of ramen as Sam and Darius grabbed a cart and began to mosey down the next aisle over, was distraught.

He had no idea they were an item. Not that he thought his fantasy of being in Darius’s place on his own cute errand dates with Sam would be anything more than wishful thinking. Justin was all angles, skinny, overstretched, and awkward, with ridiculous proportions. And Darius was, well, Darius. The corded musculature of his arms and shoulders seemed to take up the entire aisle, threatening to burst out of his clothes with even the most casual movements. He exuded confidence and an easy, deep beauty that seemed to draw Sam into his deep, brown eyes. And of course when it came to Sam’s assets, Darius was thinking along very similar lines.

“Hmm, what’s the point of comparison with this ass these days?” Darius asked, his hand resting casually on Sam’s butt. “Volleyballs? Basketballs?”

Sam gave a laugh that read more like a swoon, resting his head briefly–to Justin’s dismay–on Darius’s shoulder. “At this point, watermelons might be closer.”

“Watermelons?” Justin–in his horny stupidity–cut in. Stupid, stupid, stupid, why would you say that?

He had forgotten that being able to physically see over the shelves into the adjacent aisle was not a normal thing that normal humans could do, and as Sam and Darius turned in unison to gaze up at him stocking ramen in the next aisle, it dimly occurred to him that they had no idea he was present for this conversation. A mistake he made pretty regularly even before these changes. I need to get out of here.

“They’re still in the back,” he said. “Just came in!” 

“Justin?” asked Sam. “I didn’t know you were working today.”

Butterflies. He knows my regular schedule? Justin practically swooned. But he had to flee. “Let me run and grab one for you,” said Justin. “Be right back!”

And hustled off back to storage.

He was really struggling to hold it together as he paced around the back room, having already forgotten what he even came there for. In his fugue of horny panic, it took a second to register that the short rumble in his pocket wasn’t his supervolcano dick preparing to erupt, but a series of notifications on his phone. Vibration was the last thing he needed anywhere near his tightly packed crotch, but his heart leapt into his throat as he saw that they were from Nikhil. 

[Hey, those briefs I mentioned got in early.]

Oh no.

[Not as comfortable as I had hoped, but the fit is pretty decent.]

Oh no.

[At least for now, right? 🙃]

Oh no.

[Also, they sent a couple extras, let me know if you want to try a pair. We’re probably around the same size.]

The chain of text on Justin’s phone screen jumped up to make space for a gray rectangle with a thin line slowly drawing itself into a circle. He stood frozen in anxious terror as he waited for his sluggish phone to download the image that he desperately hoped wasn’t the exact one he was currently forming in his head.

Nikhil was standing in his room in front of a full length mirror, phone in one hand, held just to the side of his abdomen, head cocked slightly to the side, his face an image of intentional focus. His rich brown skin looked lovely in the morning light, which came in from the side at an angle just right for showing off the lean musculature of his swimmer’s build. His whole body seemed to be shaped for practiced, graceful movement, made of deliberate lines that all drew the eye to the colossal package hanging between his thighs. 

It looked more like a jock than a pair of briefs, a framework of elegant, reinforced elastic support structures designed to hold a pouch that many would assume was some sort of manufacturer error or gag gift. He was titillated by the idea that they weren’t a joke item and that there was some small customer base out there that was as unreasonably and mysteriously hung as them. But on Nikhil they fit just right, though somewhat straining to hold his massive member in place. Justin realized that as frustrated as he was with his unreal height, at least it allowed his dick to look relatively proportional. Nikhil on the other hand struck a comical figure, his short stature looking weighed down by the pipe that extended from his groin, his overworked lower abdominal muscles brought into sharp relief.

This was an innocuous, professional message. Knowing Nikhil, he had no idea he’d just sent a brain melting thirst trap. No idea what he had just done to any hopes of Justin’s pants surviving this shift. His dick lurched against its confinement, as if to issue a challenge.

“Don’t you start!” he practically yelled at the bulge running from his crotch along his hip. “Please, not now.” His dick twitched in protest, warmth building in his crotch that hinted at a threshold to which he was dangerously close. He paced around the storage area, trying to distract himself with the visual messiness of things that needed organizing, moving, and inventorying, until his eyes landed on a small crate of green and white ovoid shapes.

The melon! I forgot about the melon, he groaned internally, unaware that Sam and Darius weren’t exactly waiting on him to return with the fruit. He took his time perusing the top layer for the choicest options, giving each one a hearty slap to test for ripeness–until they reminded him too much of the melons he’d prefer to be handling, which were moseying around the store.

He snatched one up and power walked back out to the floor, watermelon held proudly in front of him, cradled by his large hands. He stopped in his tracks at the end of an aisle, trying to make sense of the scene before him. Sam was bent over at the waist, breathing heavy and held up by Darius’s strong arms. His hips were hinged backward, pointing his ass in Justin’s direction, who couldn’t shake the impression that it was…growing. He had certainly noticed it getting bigger and rounder over the past several months, but it looked like it was inflating with muscle and a healthy layer of padding in real time, ballooning against the fabric of his leggings, which were riding up his calves. As Sam’s breathing calmed and he stood up straight, he matched Darius in height, his amazonian legs and colossal booty looking wildly disproportionate compared to his unchanged arms and torso.

“I…found the watermelon,” Justin uttered, drawing the attention of the only two patrons in the store. His hands were glued to the fruit in front of him, eyes locked on to Sam’s unreal bubble butt, which seemed to flex with a last gasp of growth. “Oh, um, wow.” He was frozen in place, a jolt of panic shot through him as his cock twitched insistently in his pants. He had already lost the battle against his own libido, it was just a matter of realizing that.

“Wow is right,” said Sam, gazing at the bulge that threatened to tear Justin’s khakis to tatters unless they addressed this urgent business immediately.

As if on cue, a light ripping sound filled the space between them, followed by Justin’s small, anxious moan. “Sorry,” he said, still holding on to the melon for dear life, but taking his eyes off Sam’s rump just long enough to cast a worried glance at his prodigious bulge. “This thing’s been out of control and it’s just…kind of hard to ignore for too long.”

“Then let’s give it some attention,” Darius cut in.

—

Justin was able to rub his last two brain cells together just long enough to lock the door and put up an away sign. The store’s steady customer base of no one would have to deal for 30 minutes. As he led Sam and Darius to the back–for some reason still holding the watermelon in the crook of his elbow–he was in mild disbelief that this was even happening. A more plausible explanation would be that the hurricane force of sexual need emanating from his monster cock had simply short circuited his brain and he was having a vivid hallucination while laying on the floor, surrounded by packs of ramen. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

The camera in the storage area still worked–though no one ever checked it–but the one in the break room did not. Dutifully, Justin power walked down the back hallway to the modest room of vending machines, microwave, table, chairs, old couch, and small window, the others struggling to keep up with long, purposeful strides. Sam still seemed to still be getting his balance, as his center of gravity was now noticeably higher and heavier than it had been just a few minutes ago. Darius kept a watchful hand on his lower back. 

They fell to the couch in a blur of lips on lips, shirts being thrown unceremoniously on the floor, fingers intertwining and disengaging as the three urgently explored each others’ bodies to remove layers of pesky clothing as quickly as possible. Darius was smitten by the embarrassed smile on Sam’s face as he tried and failed to get his leggings and underwear over his ass. He leaned over and worked the fabric with the corded muscle of his arms, peeling it down slowly and deliberately, resisting the urge to simply rip it off of his body in one quick motion. 

Justin was beside himself with anticipation, surprised he hadn’t flooded his khakis with jizz at the sight of Sam’s monster butt cheeks, though he had already pumped out an ungodly amount of precum, with more oozing on the way. “Fuck,” he uttered, as the light dusting of hair across the round expanse of Sam’s posterior was revealed, Darius leaning in to bury his face between those gravity-defying globes. It looked even bigger unclothed. Justin was still firmly in disbelief that these two extremely hot people were about to have a threesome with him, let alone at his place of work, let alone one of them being his fantastical crush with a fantastical bubble butt. It took him a second to pick up on the fact that both of them were staring hungrily at the bulge threatening to ruin his pants.

Right, he thought, with a twinge of nervousness. Just confident enough that Sam and Darius wouldn’t run in terror, he steeled himself and with a resigned sigh, pushed his pants, compression shorts, and underwear off of his bony hips, revealing inch after inch after inch of his python until his cock head bobbed off the end of the couch, drooling precum onto the floor. He was filled with relief at finally being freed from his confines, his head lolling back in pleasure as one, then two, then three hands–his own or others’, he couldn't tell–began to slowly work the length of his prodigious dick. 

The train had left the station, so to speak. He’d been yearning and itching for this for far too long. He felt a now-familiar lightheadedness as his body coordinated around bringing  his penis to full erection, his breathing falling into a deep, almost meditative state, muscles working and contracting as the pressure continued to build. He moaned in pleasure as Darius’s lips parted over his dick and Sam’s nuzzled his neck, sending static down his spine.

“You want to fuck me?” Sam asked with a hunger mixed with uncharacteristic shyness, his hands running along the curves of Justin’s clavicle.

“Are…are you sure?” asked Justin, almost as a warning. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone since he was half this size, and was visibly worried about the destruction his ungodly dick might cause.

“Oh, you’re good. I got loosened up earlier.”

A moment of terror as Justin tried to mentally process whatever behemoth had made Sam confident enough to take his own. He nodded in trepidation, and the other two switched places, Darius straddling Justin’s chest and giving him a taste of his own salty precum as they indulgently made out, while Sam positioned himself over Justin’s head and began to lower onto his dick. 

He began to work himself up and down with unbearable slowness, easing farther and farther with each of Justin’s strokes. Once they got a rhythm going, Justin felt practically sucked in by Sam’s hole, giving up on any sort of explanation in the realm of human possibility as he bottomed out. He slapped his huge hands against the melons of Sam’s ass, wishing he could see them jiggling as uncontrollably as they felt, groaning into Darius’s mouth as Sam picked up speed. He was beside himself, eyes rolling back as he ascended into some other plane of existence, some boundless torrent of orgasmic possibility. He came like a firehose, hands sinking into Sam’s fat cheeks as he gushed into him for what felt like an eternity, Sam beginning to spray himself with spunk simultaneously.

They fell into a pile on the couch, Justin sandwiched between the other two, wrapped in Darius’s long arms as he caressed Sam’s butt. Eventually he got around to pulling himself out of Sam’s hole, feeling an odd but pleasant tingling along his dick as it came out with a pop. He carefully extricated himself from their warm hands and soft kisses, getting up to gather some cleaning supplies. The tingling faded into a residual sensation, the pull on his groin slightly heavier than he expected as he moved around the room, but he thought nothing of it.

Justin squatted down to kiss Sam and Darius in turn, twitching in slight discomfort as his dick touched the cold tile floor. They were pretzeled together with seemingly no intention of breaking contact for the foreseeable future.

“We should do this again, sometime,” said Sam. “Maybe somewhere more comfortable,” with a wink.

“Really?” asked Justin, incredulous.

“Yeah, dude,” said Darius. “Maybe even a date or something. Imagine!” he chuckled.

How is this really happening? Justin thought, still lost in post-coital bliss yet aware that the store was currently unstaffed. “I should, um, get back to it I guess,” as he slid his underwear on and began the struggle to get his dick to cooperate, the tingling feeling remaining as he jiggling and maneuvered it back along his waist, growing stronger as he trapped everything under his compression shorts. His dick still felt warm as he pulled his khakis up. Really warm. “Y’all don’t have to rush, my shift runs for another couple hours, you can–”

Just was interrupted by a sharp contraction of his groin muscles, leaning over slightly as a hand shot to his belly. The tingling along his dick intensified, along with heat radiating from his crotch.

“You okay?” Darius asked with obvious worry. “Lightheaded? Need to sit down for a second?”

“No, no, I’m good,” said Justin, belied by shortness of breath and the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His attempt to play it cool was cut short by a grimace of discomfort as he was doubled over by an even stronger contraction, his dick a furnace of static, sliding along his hip on an urgent return to erection, but in a way that felt…different. He caught his breath for a second and exchanged glances with Sam, who reached out to steady him, wearing a look of familiarity.

“I just, just need to…” His dick was pulsing with his heartbeat, heatedly struggling against the confines of too tight fabric. As his breathing became labored, he fumbled with his belt, trying to move fast but not fast enough. Sam and Darius were transfixed as the massive bulge straining Justin’s seams visibly surged past its previous ungodly length just a few minutes ago and ripped through the thin fabric of his pocket, angry cockhead jutting several inches out from his hip and drooling precum into the open air.

I should text Nikhil.