#I wish I felt nothing in response to this ridiculous human being

[slytherinshua]

ANGELS

genre. fluff. angel au. warnings. death mentioned but not in a gory way? heavily implied heaven/hell systems. pairing. angel!heeseung x angel!reader. wc. 2.2k. request. no. a/n. this started out as based on the sacrifice mv, but it turned out so fluffy and so far from the mv that its barely based on it anymore.

You sighed, eyelids fluttering shut from the boredom. Your job was so repetitive. Look at someone's life, add up their crimes, decide whether they deserved to be sent up the stairs or fall down the pit. It was suffocating sitting on your seat every hour of every day, looking at the same landscape that you had known since the beginning of existence.

You had never had any problem with your job before. It was important enough, and as the head angel, who else would do it but you? But you started to wonder if you really needed to be the one for the task. These thoughts had been repeating in your head for days now, giving you plenty of time to think it through.

“Heeseung.” You murmured, gathering the attention of the lower angel who always stood guard by your stairs. He looked up and upon seeing you motion him to come up, he quickly proceeded up the stairs.

“Yes, my angel?”

“You’ve been down to Earth, right?” You asked. You found it ridiculous how you had been around since the start of time, yet you had yet to see that fascinating planet in person. You had your looking globe to see how the little habitat for humans was doing, but you had never really seen it.

Heeseung nodded, “I’ve been there many times.”

“Is it easy to visit?” Came your next question. You watched the angel furrow his brows, quickly coming to the conclusion that you were implying. You knew he would oblige you. He always did. That was what you liked most about Heeseung. He may not have been as glamorous as some of the higher angels, but he listened to you, really listened.

“Do you wish to go down?” He asked quietly, hesitant to raise his voice even though you were the only two people in the alcove.

“Don’t you think it would be… fun?” You pressed, resting your chin in your hand as you raised your eyebrows a little at the angel. 

“I suppose… Are you bored here?” He questioned and it made you smile. He was always so observant of you even when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

“Very. This place never changes. Nothing exciting ever goes on. The most entertainment I get is seeing a particularly gruesome human come and beg to be sent up just to be thrown off the edge. That’s rather sadistic of me, isn’t it?” 

Heeseung chuckled, “Your job is one of the most boring. But it is also the most important. Are you sure you want to leave your post?” He asked. From his eyes you could tell what his actual message was. Will I get in trouble if you’re not supposed to do this and I let you?

“I’ll take full responsibility.” You assured him, a charming smile taking over your features and Heeseung’s breath became unsteady.

Heeseung had never felt this before. It was new, and different, but most importantly, Heeseung knew it wasn’t allowed. Heeseung had witnessed the phenomenon of human emotions firsthand many times. They were passionate and angry and they loved. Angels were only meant to do their job. They had no need for feeling. 

So why did your smile make Heeseung’s heart flutter? Why did he smile thinking about you? Why did he care for you?

Just being around you made him incredibly nervous that he’d mess up or do something he wasn’t supposed to. You stole all his attention without even trying. You were one of the head angels. You could get him cast out with just a word. Letting his guard down was one of the last things Heeseung should’ve done, but he couldn’t help it. With just a smile from you, he was willing to do anything you said.

And that was why he gladly took you down to Earth. He made sure that Jay took over your position for the time you were gone. The other angels would’ve surely noticed if humans stopped being sorted into heaven or hell. Jay was more than capable for the job, and once everything was sorted, Heeseung took your hand and led you down.

As soon as you landed, Heeseung had to tug at your wrist to get you to stop ogling over every human invention you could see. A mailbox didn’t deserve such admiration from you, one of the top angels. Heeseung stepped into the first clothing store he could find and handed you some clothes to change into. 

There was no way you’d be able to blend in as a normal person with your shimmering bright white robes. Though, people would probably assume you were either a cosplayer or were just ahead of the fashion trends, Heeseung realised with a chuckle. You stepped out of the changing room and Heeseung couldn’t hold in his gasp. Seeing you in jeans and a simple jacket took Heeseung’s breath away. You looked so… beautiful. 

“Do I blend in okay?” You asked and then smiled, realising your outfit matched Heeseung’s.

“You look amazing! Not-not that you don’t up there, but-” Heeseung cut himself off when he started to stutter and you giggled. Truthfully, you had never heard an angel stutter before. It sounded adorable, or maybe it was just because it was Heeseung.

There was something about just standing on this planet that made you feel so free. You felt your entire body tingling with excitement as you grabbed Heeseung’s hand, not even thinking about where to go, you just wanted to experience it all.

Your excited speed-walking eventually led you to a small cafe. Heeseung was sure it was the flowers that drew you in to pick this spot and he smiled. You were very consistent and very endearing to the lesser angel. Your giddy smile was so rare to see up there, and Heeseung was quick to try to store the picture in his brain forever.

“Do you want to order something?” He asked sheepishly, breaking you from your trance as your wide eyes were admiring everything you saw in the quaint shop, from the plants to the artwork on the walls to the lights to the people drinking their coffee. Everything about it was just perfect.

“How do you… order?”

Heeseung stifled a laugh, collecting himself a little, “What do you want off the menu?” He asked you, pointing to the black chalkboard on the wall with a variety of foods and drinks written down with their respective prices. You read through it for a second, and Heeseung could practically see the stars in your eyes as you landed on one drink.

“Triple Chocolate Java?” You almost squealed with excitement at how good it sounded. “Can I get that?” You turned to Heeseung and asked, wide eyes practically begging him.

Of course, the cafe did have it in stock, but even if they didn’t, with the way you were looking at him right now, Heeseung would’ve been prepared to go to any lengths just to get you your triple chocolate java chip frappuccino. He told you to find a table to sit at and wait for him as he ordered the drink. He came back soon with the large plastic cup and frozen chocolatey goodness inside. You didn’t waste a second in taking a sip, making the angel chuckle.

“Humans really know how to make dessert drinks.” You gushed, continuing to slurp through the straw as fast as you could.

“Don’t drink it too fast or you could get a brain freeze.” Heeseung warned, staring at you adoringly.

“Can angels get brain freeze, though?” You pondered and Heeseung admittedly shrugged, murmuring that he’d never tried on any of his trips down to earth. At this, you were determined to test the theory. 5 minutes and 1 large triple chocolate java chip frappuccino later, you concluded that angels could, in fact, get brain freezes.

“Oww…” You whined, bumping your throbbing forehead onto Heeseung’s shoulder. He smiled and stood still, letting you cling onto his jean jacket until the pain subsided.

“Are you okay, Y/n?” Heeseung asked softly, and you looked up at him, getting lost in his eyes that seemingly held the whole universe in them, the mesmerising colour of his pupils gently contrasting his silvery hair. He was beautiful. It was the first time he had ever called you by your name. It was always “my angel” before. You didn’t know that it could feel so… intimate. 

You shook off your wandering thoughts and fading brain freeze enough to give him a nod and small smile.

“Where to next?” You asked, already starting to walk in a random direction. Heeseung grinned and jogged to catch up to you, hand accidentally brushing against yours. He tried to pull it back, but you quickly laced your fingers with his and swung your arms gently back and forth.

“People will think we’re a couple.” Heeseung said a bit shyly. You didn’t miss his flushed cheeks and diverging gaze.

“Then let's be a couple for just today.” You said simply in response and continued to tug him along. Heeseung blushed and smiled, giving in to his urge to just embrace the moment. In this world, he didn’t have to be so cautious about the rules. If you wanted to be a couple for the day, he wasn’t going to be the one to stop you.

Your next excursions ended up involving a bookstore, a trip to a petstore where Heeseung had to practically drag you away from the kittens, another stop to get food since “everything on Earth is just so good”, and finally, you two found yourself on a ferris wheel ride. In one hand, you were holding a small bear plushie that Heeseung had proudly won you by winning a game of darts, and the other hand held Heeseung’s as if it was the most natural position to be in. You had gotten quite used to the way his hand fit in yours, bigger and more calloused, long fingers slipping perfectly to fit with yours. You were beginning to realise how much you loved everything about the lesser angel.

“If I stare hard enough, do you think I’d be able to spot my throne?” You asked absent-mindedly, gazing up at the now dark sky and the twinkling stars. You knew it was somewhere up there, though you weren’t quite sure where.

Heeseung hummed, “I think it’s too far away, angel.” You turned to look at him and he gave you another heart fluttering smile. The term was starting to feel more and more like a term of endearment and less a one of status. The way he put extra emphasis on it, drawing it out to describe more than just your power over him.

“What do humans usually do when this thing gets to the top?” You asked, recalling at least one human who had died from falling off the top of the contraption. You weren’t worried about a fall since your wings still existed, and were merely vanished at the moment.

“I think they kiss.” Heeseung answered. 

“Oh.” You smiled at the thought. Human love was expressed in such funny ways. You wondered how it felt to kiss someone or to be loved by someone. It seemed to be all humans ever thought about as soon as they got up to see you. They always brought up their loved ones, some with fond memories, some distraught. It was one of the things that seemed to be so unique about humans, what made them them.

The ferris wheel was creeping closer and closer to the top, and you decided on your decision. Just for today, you wanted to experience what a kiss felt like. So, as your carriage finally reached its highest point, you found yourself slowly leaning closer to Heeseung until you felt your lips coincide with his, slipping into place perfectly.

You finally understood why humans searched for love, why they were so obsessed with it. The feeling of kissing Heeseung was almost indescribable. Like a firework exploding or a flower blooming or clouds parting in the sky to make way for the sun to shine. It felt perfect but somehow so much better than perfect. Perfect was an understatement for the feeling, and even when you both pulled away, you found yourself searching for his lips again, for just one more kiss.

You found yourself eventually running out of breath and pulled away for good. Heeseung’s breath was a bit unsteady, as was yours. When you made eye contact, he smiled, triggering one of your own easily. This turned into laughter and then eventually, another kiss once oxygen had been regained. 

After the ferris wheel, you decided you had stayed for long enough, and you made your way back up. Jay looked unimpressed when he caught notice of your hand still intertwined with Heeseung’s. He didn’t comment on it, luckily, only giving it a quick once-over before he dumped you with the next list of freshly deceased humans.

Heeseung took his spot at the bottom of the stairs again, and you sat in your seat, almost as if the day had never happened. But with the knowing glances and growing smiles that you shared with Heeseung from that moment on, you knew the day would still live on in your memory for the rest of time.

↳  enha taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @yeonjuns-redhair,, @ddeonudepressions,, @skz-minchan-enthusiast,, @delcakoo

[scatterplotted]

A very tentative first draft of a first chapter of my NSFW Unauthorized wish fic:

Metaphysical Distance

Who knew that having a three dimensional body that’s a manifestation of his two dimensional dream-self who is in turn being dreamt by his real three dimensional self would be uncomfortable.

“A week is nothing Prismo, I’ve been two dimensional for months.”

⏳️⏳️⏳️⏳️⏳️⏳️⏳️⏳️⏳️⏳️⏳️⏳️⏳️⏳️⏳️⏳️⏳️⏳️

Prismo rarely decided to take up a third dimension, but when he did, he found it overwhelming. He never had a reason or desire to experience the time room with more sensation than absolutely necessary. The obnoxious color and strange ehoes give him plenty of headaches as just a two dimensional being. He couldn't fathom the additional layers of sensation that came with being three dimensional adding anything but irritation to his existence in the time room. But, a certain former God auditor had a knack for coaxing prismo out of his comfort zone.

"Scrabby come on, a whole week??”

Prismo didn’t like this manifested physical form. He didn’t hate it either. He had complicated feelings about the body, it had a sort of twisted similarity to the way his real human body looked when it was younger. He couldn't remember much about his mortal life, only snapshot flashes of who he used to be. Somewhere deep in his head he could vaguely see a young adult with dark skin, curly hair, and a square jaw. This body was like the one he lived his mortal life in, but geometrically dilated. Who knew that having a three dimensional body that’s a manifestation of his two dimensional dream-self who is in turn being dreamt by his real three dimensional self would be uncomfortable.

“A week is nothing Prismo, I’ve been two dimensional for months.”

The extended metaphysical distance from his real body to this body meant his control over how this form appeared was loose at best. Prismo loomed awkwardly above scarab, his back hunching uncomfortably in the middle so their gazes met. Prismo felt absolutely ridiculous, from the sensation of air in his lungs to the embarrassing heat he could feel in his face. He felt absolutely exposed, despite the apparent lack of genitalia. The form was probably over 7 feet tall, though Prismo had never bothered to measure.

Prismo tried his best to pout at Scarab, which must have been at least semi successful because Scarab responded.

“Oh don’t act so down, a new experience might improve your mental state Prismo. When was the last time you were truly uncomfortable?”

Prismo wrinkled his nose at Scarab’s response. “But I don’t like it.” But Prismo also knew Scarab, analytical as observant as ever, was right. He had very few opportunities to experience anything new for himself. The opportunities Prismo was presented with he vigorously ignored. Nebulous vibrations that carried the thrall of the time core had distorted Prismo’s experience of time for so long. Slipping into the comfortable numbness that in turn bled into despair had been so easy for just as long. Loving and losing was difficult, even for a god. Especially for a god. Numbness had always been preferable to potential despair.

Scarab, completely oblivious to Prismo’s inner turmoil, rolled his eyes behind his red mask. “It’s only a week, you’ll be fine. I've been dealing with things in a different dimension for months! It's only fair.” Scarab finished his statement by flourishing his hand through the air. Prismo could feel his eyes rolling in his skull to follow the movement. The flexing and tightening of his new, tiny ocular muscles was distracting, but not as distracting as Scarab himself. Prismo found the movement so distracting with his unfamiliar eyes he didn’t even realize Scarab had turned and moved away from him.

Prismo straightened, reveling in the odd sensation of his back muscles contracting. Prismo wasn’t exceedingly muscular but he also wasn’t slim, he felt gangly in his body. He lifted his hands and arms into his field of vision. Splaying and unspalying his long fingers. He could see the veins on his arms. When he moves his fingers, he can see the muscles moving in his forearms. Looking down at his abdomen, he watched his hands touch his own skin. It felt soft and warm, his muscles twitched away from his hand reflexively, not accustomed to touch. He took in a shuddering breath and looked up to where Scarab sat on his laptop a good distance away.

“Can’t we just redo the bet?? I’ll do all the cleaning for a month!” Prismo had to shout for Scarab to hear his voice from across the room. Normally he could just project his voice artificially but nooooo he has to have human vocal cords now.

Scarab didn’t even look up from his laptop “no, you agreed to this.”

Prismo groaned, walking away slumped dramatically with his hands on his head.

“And put some clothes on!” The insectoid shouted to his back.

***

As soon as Prismo left the room, Scarab parted his mask to try and expel the heat that had bubbled up onto his face from his lower abdomen during the interaction with Prismo.

He let out an embarrassing “Hhhhnnggghh-” that trailed off into a chirp.

Prismo was fucking massive. Scarab knew the wishmaster had a third dimensional form he rarely used, but he did not expect the body of a 7’3” baseball player. He guesses he shouldn't be too surprised, Prismo had a tendency to occupy a whole room by himself as a shadow. It was probably a result of his large personality.

Scarab found himself scoffing at his own thoughts about Prismo, he took a couple of deep breaths, feeling the roil behind his pelvic plates begin to subside. Being worked up over his company assigned roommate was not only inconvenient and mortifying, it was unprofessional.

Scarab had been so excited to have a break from his two dimensional form he'd forgotten how inconvenient his real body could be. It was so easy to ignore base impulses when you didn't have organs that fed them. That's not to say Scarab had never had an errant thought about Prismo. The pleasant tingling sensation when they touched as two dimensional beings. The comfortable overlap that sometimes happened when they sat next to each other. It's only natural he rationalized any conscious being would have such thoughts in a similar situation. Suddenly, he wondered if Prismo had the same thoughts as him. Suddenly, the heat around his groin was back.

***

Prismo was far too clumsy to be around his real human body and it would be like super embarrassing if Scarab saw how bad he was at using this body. So, he had fallen down at least four times during his trek from the wishmaking room to the pickle room. Prismo hadn’t ever had bruises in this body before, he’d felt pain but he’d never seen any of the physical effects. Knowing he could cause actual physical damage to himself made him want to tiptoe around any potential obstacles. . . which he would do as soon as he could figure out his legs.

Alone, Prismo summoned a mirror, but didnt raise his eyes to look into it. If he was going to have this body for a whole week, he should probably get to know it. He looked down at his unfamiliar figure. It was so different from his actual human body, and so sensitive. He looked up make eye contact with his reflection In the mirror.

“Alright Prismo” he said to himself, watching the way his reflected lips Parted and moved. The deep rumbling sensation of his own voice in his chest was unnerving. “What do you remember about humans?”

He started with his face. Blue eyes and soft pink skin were framed by moderately large ears and short - also pink - curly hair. Pulling back his lips revealed white teeth and pink-red gums. He stuck out his tongue and unconsciously furrowed his brow at its length. Do all humans have such long tongues? He shrugged and moved back from the mirror, a moment of pride washed over him at how easily the expressions were coming now.

“Phew okay”

His eyes moved slowly from his face, down to where he could see the tendons in his neck connect to his clavicle. His hands at his sides, he moved his shoulders slowly, testing his range of motion by rolling them. Do all humans have shoulders that move like this? That look like this? They seem wide. He moved to examine his chest and abdomen. He realized he had no hair except for what was on his head. Which seemed weird because his real human body had like so much hair.

This body breathed air, got hungry, got thirsty, just like all human bodies. Prismo watched his chest expand and contract. He watched his pectorals move apart slightly and come back to rest. He watched the small shift of his ribs as they moved to accommodate his lungs. His hand moved to hover over the middle of his chest for a moment before he brought it to rest on his sternum. The heart that was his beat fast and hard.. He felt a pang of anxiety. Were human hearts supposed to beat this fast? What if the heartbeat stopped? He didn't want it to stop. It's not like he could die, but still.

He physically shook himself to rid the thought, felt fine so he was fine right? His hand felt large and hot against his chest. He brought both of his hands up to his neck and ran them down his chest. “Ah!” he gave a sharp short cry when they brushed his nipples and, like he'd touched a hot stove, he jerked away from his own chest.

His eyes caught at the gentle line down The center of his abdomen. He moved to touch himself just below the navel, this time powering through the initial shock of the touch with a hiss. His muscles twitched in reaction to the touch. His head lifted, eyebrows creased and eyes closed as he let out a soft moan. God this is embarassing, turned on just by touching his stomach??? what would scrabby think. His eyes shot open as he felt blood rushing to his groin area at the thought of his roommate.

His eyes raced quickly from the outline of his hips, to his lower abdominal muscles, to where his cock stood at attention. He gasped and jumped away from where he was standing only to immediately scuttle back in front of the mirror. Prismo wasn't particularly good at spatial Reasoning, but he was pretty sure it was large. It was at least bigger than his hand from the tip of his middle finger to the end of his palm.

“Hah Hah hahhhhh” his exhalations trailed off and his hands covered his flushed face in embarrassment. He was definitely going to have to wear clothes now.

***

“Oh my god scrabbyyyyy” prismo groaned.

The former God auditor had just fully seated himself on Prismo's cock. Prismo was trying his best not to cum.

Scarab chittered and huffed “Prismo we've only just started, don't tell me you're close already?”

Prismo’s right arm moved from where he was gripping the sheets with his hand to cover his eyes with his forearm. Scarab could be so mean. Prismo bit his lip and breathed heavily, trying not to think about how big his cock was compared to scarab, how scarab was stretching so much just for him. He gave a high pitched whine and a tiny roll of his hips that only served to make his eyes roll back in his skull.

“mph” scarab grunted “none of that now.”

Scarab’s beautiful red hand covered only a small part of Prismos forearm, but gripped with surprising strength. Scarab forcefully moved both of Prismo's arms so they were pinned at 45 degree angles next to his chest.

Once Prismo's red tear filled face was revealed, Scarab clicked his mandibles “just watch me,” he murmured softly, reassuring the much larger god. “you're doing so well.” scarab gently moved Prismos' hands to his hips. Prismo’s hands just stayed there loosely until Scarab slowly lifted himself an inch or two off Prismo's cock. The tentacles surrounding his sex gripped lightly onto prismo, creating a sort of suction. Scarab dropped down quickly pulling a pleased buzzing noise from Scarab and a choked sob from Prismo.

“You're s- so good.” prismo groaned and rocked his hips, the sensation itself nearly overwhelmed by the pleasure he got just watching Scarabs reaction. Scarab rode the buck of his hips, front tentacles grinding against Prismo’s pelvis, hole squeezing around him.

Prismo slid his hands from Scarab’s hips to his waist and noticed two things. The first alone was enough to drive him over the edge, Prismo’s hands were so large they engulfed the entirety of Scarab’s small waist and overlapped significantly. The second was the hard outline of his cock inside scarab, bulging in the front of scarabs abdomen.

“fuck scrabby!”

He saw white, and woke up with a half moan half yell from the second dream about Scarab he’d had in as many days.

[metvmorqhoses]

We have been mutuals for years but I’m going to step away now because I cannot in good conscience follow someone who supports the work of a dangerous bigot like JKR over the human rights of a marginalised group. Wish you the best.

In wishing you a warm farewell right back, I feel compelled to use the occasion to clarify, and for the last time, a thing or two - even if, to be quite honest, I absolutely don't consider this ask worth a response.

I do believe in certain principles though, and I think it important to state them from time to time, so I'll make this one exception in indulging underwhelming attempts at self-righteousness for the greater good.

You know, there's really nothing wrong in stopping interacting/following/liking a person for whatever intimate reason, you have every right to and you owe no one an explanation. It's quite telling though that you felt compelled to inform me, and anonymously.

This tells me you weren't actually seeking a constructive discussion, nor an explanation (you would have DMed me, or at least told me off anon, since "we have been mutuals for years"), but rather you were after that little high that small people reap from believing to have obtained, however briefly, the moral high ground over another, the effective shielded reward of the online moral policing that coincidentally always comes without consequences, since you are not even putting your face behind your egregious "good conscience".

You feel entitled to judge me for the art that I supposedly enjoy (already a ridiculous argument in itself and one that reaped real victims throughout history), after years of being my mutual, and don't even have the courage to actually face my reaction (and my unfollowing).

The fact that you cannot even appreciate how sad this all is for you as a person already frames the matter perfectly in itself. But still.

Premising that I don't need to justify the reasons I like what I like and that you should intrinsically have known you have no right whatsoever to send people messages like this, morally speaking, and also premising that I find genuinely embarrassing even having to explain such banalities to another rational being, the fact that I coherently keep liking a work of fiction that I have liked since I was six years old (specifically finding fascinating two villains and a dynamic that I explore in my own hyper-realistic way and that it's probably the farthest from any of the author's preferences as one can get), without suddenly and hypocritically finding all sorts of terrible crimes against humanity in it to reassure myself of my inner internet-approved wokeness, does not absolutely mean I share or second JKR's ideas or behaviours.

As a normally intelligent person, I'm fully able to separate the art from the artist. If people had truly used throughout history your narrow reasoning, art would have literally gone extinct thousands of years ago. We couldn't even safely read the Bible. You cannot expect to only like the artistic product of "morally"-approved people (by whose standards, moreover? What makes your opinion more important than anyone else's? Or you are an oppressor too?). You cannot quality-check artists, people, not even really committing yourself to the task, because you could never really know what's truly in a person's heart. This reasoning is simply childish and nonsensical.

I do not share JKR's views only because I like some of her characters from 25 years ago. I do not support her only because I enjoy psychoanalyzing her villains from time to time. I actually never liked JKR even while everyone else idolized her. But that never prevented me from genuinely liking what I like without pretending or idiotically forcing myself not to in the name of being TikTok-approved.

And finally, as much as I find some of her ideas disgraceful and baffling, as much as I absolutely do not support those ideas, at this point I find it much more important to support her right to think, believe and state whatever she likes without constantly risking harassment (or way worse), thanks to people like you, after all not that different from her and in some aspect even worse, who believe to have the right to "cancel" fellow human beings because of their ideas.

No one has more right to speak their mind than another, people. Freedom of thought is the backbone of culture and humanity. The fact that she is able to speak her mind disgracefully, is also the reason you are able to speak your mind against it.

The culture you are validating is dangerous and disgusting. Think about it.

[dragynkeep]

I feel as though this is the same anon and they're throwing a fit over you two not being flattered by their "concern."

Fiction doesn't affect reality 1:1 like these people think it does. People writing fan fiction or drawing fan art or whatever does not in any way have the same amount of influence as a Hollywood level production or mainstream TV, even if it has thousands or millions of views. Even if it did, a piece of media can't alter someone's morals that severely.

Let's use murder as an example. Murder is obviously very illegal in real life and is seen as a bad act, rightfully, but that doesn't stop people from portraying murderers in fiction, from slashers to super villains. If we were going by Anti logic, they're basically saying that any portrayal of a murderer in fiction will convince audience members to want to murder as well.

It's such a ridiculous argument and so easy to poke holes into. It reminds me of those right wing conservative types who used to cry about video games making people violent when there's no link between the two.

And then you bring up research papers or quotes from psychiatrists who have studied and worked in their fields for years who actively talk about how taboo topics explored in a healthy way is beneficial, because whether you experience trauma or not, humans are just naturally curious about a lot of things or how people who work to catch Predators come out and have to beg people to stop sending fiction in as if it's CP because it clogs the system and takes resources away from actual children and Antis just pretend like they don't hear it.

Look, it's perfectly fine to be uncomfortable with certain media. I personally don't like incest fics or anything with mommy/daddy kinks, it really squicks me out, but I'm an adult who is responsible for moderating my online experience, so I just filter tags and block people if it really becomes a problem. Never once in my life have I felt the need to attack someone for the content they make just because it makes me personally uncomfortable,

Because I know the world doesn't revolve around me and what I like

This was back in August, don’t look at how slow I am with asks-

But yes, all this absolutely. It’s okay to not like something, it’s okay to cater your own space so it’s nowhere near you, it’s okay to ask people not to talk about these things to you because it makes you feel uncomfortable and expect those wishes to be respected.

What’s not okay is going after random people who have nothing to do with you and demand that they change what they like to suit your needs. Especially when your actions proceed to cause more damage than fix it.

[herecomesmary]

I'd rather not have to deal with the misfortunes of embodiment. I never liked the feeling of skin, having so many parts, moving, bouncing, jumping, walking, breathing. So many times I caught myself holding my breath and gasping for air in the middle of simple tasks. Crying, oh my god. My face gets really swallow, and it takes time to go back to normal. I can't cry and pretend nothing happened. You can see it in my face. You can see everything in my face, my eyes. When I lie, I can't look directly at the person's eye, so I look right in between then, but I'm not good at it anyway. It felt inconvenient for me to have this human suit. My father said to me some times it's the price for being in this world, you need it to move around. But I never enjoyed the feeling, so the issues involving the maintenance. Drink water properly, eat - sometimes I would rather die than eat anything. I like to shower, tho, but showering is like I'm erasing slowly, layer by layer, this cage i live in as I scrub the surface. Hard. I also believe that has to deal with my self-harm. I started doing it so young I couldn't remember the first time I hurt myself on purpose. I can't recall how it was, I liked setting things on fire and needles as well. But the cuts came at twelve. It was one of the loneliest times of my life. I couldn't speak, didn't understand. After I finished cutting my whole arm, I stared at it for a while, the blood dripping slowly, super red. I remember I cleaned it with a small scarf that my aunt embroidered. It has stains till this day. Seventeen years later, I still have to handle that. Sometimes, it feels ridiculous. And I could never explain to anyone why I cut myself so I won't attempt suicide again. Why I cut my body so I won't swallow all the medication I could find in my house. Pain is the fastest emotional regulation tool I've ever found. Maybe cause I did it on my own. Trying and failing. It never stopped working, no drug was ever so quick, no psychological technique, no person that tried to help me. Lately, I've having long periods without episodes, but the last one was out of control in a way I've never seen before. I was at work, my belly bleeding, and it didn't stop. I had to leave. I came home to see how swallow, red, it was. I also had some blue and purple bruises around it. It scared me more than my arm how I could do that that fast. For some reason, the part of my brain that's supposed to be responsible for my safety started spinning like crazy. I asked for help. And thought about what my sister told me that I wasn't well, and how im not a regular person that can handle everything alone. I cant. I cant do many things, and that made me even more alone. Every day that went by, I saw the number of texts getting lower and lower till no one asked about me. It's a strange feeling when you know no one is thinking about you. I thought maybe I wished so hard to disappear i was succeeding. Maybe it's a good thing.

Since he died I fell like I'm hanging between this world and the other. I'm halfway. Its exhausting, pulling both sides at the same time. I have to decide which world I wanna be in, but just really, really, really, didn't want to be in a place where he's not anymore.

[blazenka]

Forthcoming

Returning to Mystic Falls for a visit, Elena awakes to find she's been sent unwillingly into the past. Not only does she have to avoid changing past events; she must also deal with a cold and detached Damon who is the only one who knows she's there.

Original source: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7073903/1/Forthcoming

Chapters: 17

Published: June 12, 2011 - December 31, 2011

Words: 41434

Rated: Fiction M - Language: English - Genre: Romance/Supernatural - Characters: Elena G., Damon S. - Reviews: 117 - Favs: 132 - Follows: 95

Exported with the assistance of FicHub.net

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Chapter 10

a.n.: This is the last chapter to take place during episode: "Let the Right One In".

This is a T rated chapter; hope you enjoy it.

~Ѱ~

"That just happened," were the first words out of Damon's mouth once their breathing returned to normal as he propped himself against the head board.

"Yea, it did," Elena agreed. Yet it didn't exactly feel right - like she would imagine how it would feel if you came home but all the walls were painted a different color and the furniture had been rearranged.

Elena reached up to Damon's face to move some sweat slicked strands of hair out of his eyes. Before she could though, Damon grabbed her wrist with a tug before placing two of his fingers along it, "Why did you sleep with me?"

"Damon… I… I shouldn't have but I just wanted to be with you," she admitted before getting her hand free from him.

Damon just shook his head, it was obviously not the answer he was looking for, "What I should be asking is why are we together in the future? If I really am to believe we're some functional couple in the next couple years…" he faded off, even coming out of his own mouth the idea sounded farfetched and ridiculous.

"Damon, you know why…"

"No, Elena… I really don't."

"It's because I love you," she admitted blatantly which caused him to froze at the words, "I know the present me thinks you're nothing but a self-serving psychopath but you change Damon… I change, and all for the better."

Love? Damon Salvatore was not and could not be loved.

"Love…" he snarled at the word, "You don't love me."

"Damon… of course I do. Why do you think just now happened?"

"Then why are you still human!" he snapped, getting out of the bed in a flash.

"What…" Elena could barely talk with how things had suddenly turned. But, she should have seen this coming - this Damon could never let anything be without somehow ruining the moment.

"You're still human. I felt you're pulse, Elena. If you claim you love me soooo much, then why haven't I turned you yet?" he stated as if the fact was clear for anyone to see. All Elena could do was shrug.

She knew why she hadn't been changed yet. Despite how comfortable Damon and Elena had become over the last months during their relationship, the idea of being a vampire still terrified her.

"Damon…" Elena pleaded, wrapping the sheet tighter around her as if it could act like a shield.

"What Elena? What are you going to say, hmmm? And what about your precious Stefan? Where is he when all this happens in our supposed future?"

"He… he left. I've told you this and you were there for me and things just…"

"Not offense Elena but it sounds like Stefan broke things off with you and you decided to replace him with me," Damon barked back with the strange feeling the words he just spoke would hurt Elena like no other.

"Damon- that is not what happened and I wish you knew that. Sure I loved both him and you and I know you have similarities but…"

"God Elena… Don't you dare look at me and see my brother!" Damon snapped before tossing a glass vase against the wall. He wasn't sure where this anger and thoughts were coming from, but once he said it he felt a million times worse.

Not only did the response leave Damon with a sickening feeling deep down in his stomach and heart, he felt like now the words weren't worth it as he watched Elena's expression crumble.

She looked heartbroken and on the verge of tears - like he just told her he (or rather Stefan more likely) ate her puppy. She held her hands close to her chest as remained still, her eyes fixed to the wall behind him.

Damon sighed before turning to her once again. This time his voice low and non-threatening, "Just… leave, Elena. Please?"

Elena just stared at him bewildered for a moment before she did as he asked.

"You can take my car… I'll come by later to pick it up."

All Elena could do was finish getting dressed before nodding and then leaving.

Damon waited to hear his car leave the driveway before he let go of the breath he was holding and fell back unto his bed.

Only once he did Elena's scent wafted into his nostrils - reminding him of what they had just done. It wasn't like he imagined in his head once or twice, that he was willing to admit, he felt like something had been lacking between the two.

Damon quickly sped out of his bedroom and down to the basement - he needed some blood after the long day.

However, Damon did not expect to see what he would find down in the basement in front of the floor fridge where he stored his blood, not in a thousand years.

Stefan - covered in blood once again - drowning a couple blood bags - filled with human blood.

Elena drove a lot faster than she should in the dark on her way back to the bed and breakfast. Something equally wonderful and horrible happened and then Damon just had to go and ruin the moment. She didn't know why he always did that or why when he did her blood always seemed to boil in anger.

Elena parked the car, making sure the slam the driver's side door on her way out, and then made her way back to her room. Luckily she passed no one, especially not the owner before she got inside her door - she felt like she couldn't handle speaking to anyone right now.

Elena tried to make herself comfortable on the bed but winced as she was reminded of the Camaro's car keys in her pocket. Pulling them out, she had every intention of just throwing them on the nightstand or somewhere in the room, but when she grasped them in her hand and eyed the set of keys her mind drifted back once more to that fated night with Stefan, Damon, Katherine and herself.

2012

Elena wasn't sure exactly how, maybe the adrenaline coursing through her veins, but she managed to get Damon back to his car exactly where Katherine said it would be. After placing Damon in the passenger seat since he was in obviously no condition to drive, Elena got in the driver's seat herself before pulling out of the abandoned area, spinning gravel as she went.

Driving frantically while tears streaked her cheeks, Elena headed to the boarding house as Damon fought to stay conscious.

" Elena…" he moaned in pain as he tried to turn towards her.

" Shh… Damon. I'll get you back to the boarding house…"

" Elena…"

" Then you'll get some blood into you and be able to recuperate…"

" Elena, just pull over!"

Elena maneuvered the Camaro into the paved shoulder of the road, gripping the steering wheel in frustration, "What is it, Damon?"

" Why?"

When Elena just gave him a confused look before Damon explained, "Why did you leave Stefan there?"

Elena could see the confusion evident in Damon's face, because, really? How could Elena ever pick Damon over Stefan? Elena just rested her forehead on the steering wheel, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Elena leaned back against the seat before she shifted over towards Damon.

Damon stiffened as she wiped some blood from his face lightly traced his lips with the tips of her fingers. He took a deep breath before warning her, "Elena…"

" Stefan will be free of Klaus in a decade… and I needed to get you out of there. Katherine can deal with Stefan… that mess she made so long ago. And if Stefan can get over his guilt and blood lust before then maybe he can do it again. But I'm not going to lose the progress I've made with you…" she told him, lightly cupping his cheek with in her hand.

Damon resisted caressing his face into her hand as he glared coldly at her words, "I'm not some project, Elena. I just can't be 'fixed'."

Elena narrowed her eyes at Damon suspiciously before she moved herself even closer to him, "How many times do I have to tell you, Damon…" she stated with confidence as she moved even closer to him, her lips close enough to kiss him, "I like you the way you are."

Damon was stuck in awe for a moment before he pulled back, "Elena, I'm not going to kiss you."

Elena opened her mouth to speak but Damon harshly cut her off, "I know things have changed between us over the last year but… I can't accept anything, let alone a kiss from you when you're upset like this."

Elena smiled before she cupped the side of his face again before setting her forehead against his, "I wasn't going to kiss you, Damon."

Damon wanted to remark something like a 'yea right' or 'oh, really' but never got the chance. He was silenced as Elena drew the tip of her nose down the length of his before coming to a stop. For a moment, Elena and Damon shared the same breath as they stared into each other's eyes. If it could, Damon's heart would have been pounding.

Yet, true to her word, Elena pulled away before shifting the car back into drive, "Let's get to the boarding house so you can heal."

" Elena?"

With her tears gone and a small smile gracing her lips, Elena turned to Damon while taking his hand into her own, "Yea?"

Damon smiled at her gesture before he admitted how little control he had when it came to her, "I wish you would have kissed me."

2014

Damon sat on the couch in front of the boarding house fireplace, trusted scotch in hand as he watched the amber liquor bounce the light of the fire around the room.

Stefan quietly entered the room, taking a stance by the fireplace, as he watched his brother deep in thought.

"I know what you're going to say…" Damon muttered, downing his drink before going to refill the glass.

"You're psychic now?" Stefan laughed as he got a drink of his own.

Damon rolled his eyes before he sighed, "No… I just know you're going to tell me to stop mopping over the situation and then encourage me to stay strong because we'll get Elena back, you're sure of it."

"Actually, I think he was going to inform you you're acting like he use to," Katherine smirked to Damon as she announced her entrance, only clad in one of Stefan's shirts and some black panties. Not that Damon was looking or anything, it was just hard not to notice.

"I wasn't going to say that…" Stefan matched Katherine's smirk before pulling her into his lap as he took seat in one of the large arm chairs by the fire.

Damon just rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to make gagging noises at the sight to the couple, "I am not, nor ever will be, like Stefan."

"Well, we could argue on details but you're just not fun anymore, Damon…" Katherine pouted while she ran her hands through Stefan's hair.

"I am so fun… Elena and I have fun all the time. Granted, when she's not studying or in class… but still, I am fun," Damon defended himself.

"Damon… I'm not sure Elena knows the definition of fun. God, she use to think Saintly 'I'm on animal blood' Stefan was fun." Katherine remarked to him, giving him her all-knowing look.

"Hey…" now Stefan felt like he was the one who needed to defend himself.

"I'm sorry Stef, but it's true. You just weren't any fun until you got back on human blood," Katherine reassured him with a polite smile.

"And once he learned how to control it," Damon added - Stefan the ripper was in no means "fun".

Katherine just smiled at him before waltzing off, probably to the basement to find some blood.

"Anyway," Stefan broke from the distraction before turning again to his brother, "I was going to ask if we could finish our talk from earlier."

"I thought we did finish it," Damon remarked as he threw Stefan a confused stare.

"We talk about Katherine and I… we didn't get a chance to talk about Elena and you," Stefan informed him.

Damon just drew his eyes away from his brother and back to the fire, "What's there to tell? We're happy as can be - just peachy."

"Then why is she still human?"

"Stefan…"

"Damon, you not going to pull something like I did, are you? Only love her for a couple years before you try to leave her?"

"After all the work I've put into actually getting the girl in the end, what do you think?"

"Then why, Damon?"

"Because… I want it to be her choice and hers alone."

"Really?" Stefan asked, resting his arms on his knees as he leaned forward - all his attention focused on Damon.

"Yes, really. But with everything and all my mistakes, add to that college and her own life - we really haven't had time to talk about it so I'm comfortable with waiting," Damon stated for his brother before adding with his signature smirk, "We'll… I was before today."

"You really want that, don't you? For it to be completely her decision to be with you as a vampire?"

Damon nodded, "Almost as much as I wanted her to admit that she loved me," he answered before taking a sip of his drink.

Stefan nodded in return before leaning back into the chair. The pair stayed quiet for a moment, taking in today's events before Stefan finally spoke again.

"You remember that talk we had after I had come back from Elena's… after I ended it with her?"

"Stefan, I'm in no mood to reminisce, especially about that."

"Well, I am," Stefan stated.

2013

Damon was downing drinks as he stared once again smoldering fire before Stefan entered from the front door.

" Thought you were going to be at Elena's all night… with some happy reunion," Damon bit out with a growl.

" Damon…" Stefan sighed before taking a stance in front of the fire place.

Stefan had to take a moment to come up with exactly what he was going to tell his brother, say something wrong and it all his work to fix the whole situation between them could blow back in his face.

" I ended things with Elena," Stefan revealed a lot blunter than he intended.

Damon just shot him a look of disbelief before turning back to his drink.

" Damon, listen I-"but Stefan was cut off when Damon asked simply, "Why?"

" What?" Stefan remarked back puzzled.

" No… I asked 'Why', “Stefan. Why would you do that?" Damon repeated himself, cracking the glass he held in his grasp.

" Because… after everything I realized… Elena and I have both changed and we're just not the same people we are anymore. Truth is Damon, you see her a lot better than I do."

" See her? What the hell are you talking about?" Damon grumbled, not interested in getting all philosophical that night.

" What I'm trying to get at is you know her better than I do, Damon. It seems like you've always had since you first met her and I…"Stefan muttered.

" You what? Were her boyfriend and probably know her a lot more intimately than I ever could?" Damon quipped before finishing the drink, setting down the damaged glass ware after he finished.

" So that's what happened to all the cups," Stefan mused before making a drink for himself.

" Stefan, I know what you're doing and I can't be with her… not like that."

" And why not?"

" Because I'm a self-serving psychopath with no redeeming qualities who doesn't know what love is and could never have her respect," Damon informed Stefan, as if all of this was obvious fact.

Stefan tried not to wince as all those words came back to figuratively bite him right in the neck. "You have something with her, Damon."

" What are you seriously suggesting, Stefan?"

" I'm pretty much saying 'Go for it', Damon. You know what love is now and you know it with Elena and… I can't have you lose that."

The brothers stared at each other for a moment in silent understanding. Then Damon stood, walked over to the front door, put on his leather jacket.

He opened the door before pausing for a moment then turning back to Stefan, "What are you going to do?"

" Well, I'm sure you can guess this - I'm going to go with Katherine," Stefan tried to say nonchalantly as he took a sip of his drink but kept a good watch on Damon at the mention of their mutual ex.

Damon just shrugged before throwing him a smile, "Good for you two."

" You're not mad?" Stefan took another sip, trying to keep his cool façade.

" Yea, it better than you ending up with Klaus."

Stefan ended up spitting out his drink as his eyes went impossibly wide and Damon just smirked before heading to his car to see Elena, shutting the door behind him.

~Ѱ~

Thank you for reading!

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[thelifeofplums]

Own Worst Enemy

Trigger Warning - Violence (not from the demon bros), verbal abuse (yes from the demon bros), general feeling of unfairness, feeling unworthy, self-depreciating thoughts, replaced MC, negative thoughts

The silence at the table was an unfamiliarity to you. And so were the brothers’ gazes, paying you no attention or care and ignoring the situation you were in with their eldest sibling, Lucifer.

You had never felt so alone, like a lone star in a grand and empty sky, as the quiet among the brothers reminded you of the many events that led you to this situation. 

Disappointment. 

It was what the brothers no doubt felt about you as they had each expected something of you that you couldn’t give or do. No matter you’re own skills and experiences, apparently you weren’t as perfect as you wished you could be for them.

A victory in a game you detested. The ability to party every night without becoming drained. Giving deep and meaningful discussion about a book you had lost interest the moment you had opened it. A new dish you were expected to perfect instantly. The expectation of staying calm and collected for the comfort of somebody else. Keeping a perfect image for the sake of somebody else’s reputation. And a faulty mission which you knew would only cause trouble for you.

Maybe it was your own fault for these ridiculous expectations. Had you not proven your ability to handle difficult situations, the brothers wouldn’t think to ask of such simple tasks that weren’t as simple as they seemed. 

“You’re inability to meet the average grade for your classes is a disgrace to this family and to Diavolo.”

Your teeth grinded against each other at Lucifer’s words of disappointment. Though you hardly had the energy to bite back, you felt your anger of their ridiculousness and “inability” to leave you alone. 

“I’m sure my brothers’ antiques have been keeping you occupied but you should understand that it’s your choice to indulge in their requests and that the consequences that come after are from your decisions,” Lucifer continued, “Your tasks here in the Devildom come first before you play around, and it is what’s expected of you as a human in the exchange program.

You inhaled sharply before letting out a scoff, looking away from the glaring demon. Your grip on your fork tightened and you felt sick to your stomach. 

How dare he place the blame on you? It wasn’t your fault that no one seemed to remember that humans had limits. 

You sort of wished they’d notice that they were hurting you with what they had recently been saying and doing. Hear them apologize to you and tell you they were idiots for making you feel useless. It was your pride which made you feel this way. Your own form of pride that made you want to laugh, certainly when the very pinnacle of it was berating you about your actions like a parent would a child. 

Lucifer noticed your dry laugh and you felt, more than saw or heard, him grow more irritated, “You think this is a joke? Y/N, you were chosen for a reason and that makes you responsible for-”

“You can’t be seriously saying that you chose me for a reason. Weren’t you the one who told me I was only chosen because my file happened to land at your feet?” It didn’t scare you to interrupt the demon. You had been through worse, no thanks to the very person who was giving you bullshit about the program. If anything, you knew what to expect and couldn’t bother being worried about it when you couldn’t handle this nonsense anymore. 

Before Lucifer could say anything, you stood abruptly from your seat and gazing around the room at the brothers who said nothing to you. 

You scoffed again, ignoring the burning sensation of hurt in your heart, “Is this what I get for dealing with your bullshit every fucking day?! I try to make you all happy but so sorry if I’m not what you expected.”

Seething, you couldn’t stop the words from flowing out in a wave of anger, “Maybe you should just have seven different versions of me so you can all be satisfied, huh? All with the ability to be the perfect me you want me to be, would that make you all happy?!”

In your rage, you hardly noticed Mammon glancing at you with a guilty look.

“Y/N-”

The prickling of tears stung your eyes and your voice cracked, “Just give me a break! I don’t think any of you realize how fucking impossible it is to please every single one of you when there’s only one me! AND I TRY! I TRY! But none of you seem to give a shit!”

You brought your hands to press against your wet eyes and you let out a scream of frustration before running out, hating how they made you feel like this. Like...like you weren’t doing enough for them. Or that you weren’t enough for them.

It didn’t come to mind where you were running to. With no destination, you could only think of getting as far from those demon brothers as you possibly could. You didn’t want to be around them, didn’t want to be reminded of how imperfect you were compared to them.

The surface you ran on changed from carpeted floor to hard pavement and the air shifted to a fresh mist, it’s chilly dampness working to cool you from your strong emotions.

You didn’t know for how long you ran but you could feel yourself run out of breath, panting loudly and feeling exhausted from everything that had happened.

Coming to a stop, your breath hitched with a sob and you fell to your knees, feeling powerless to the oncoming emotions that drowned you and your awareness. 

It wasn’t fair. The demon brothers had no idea how you wished to be perfect for them but how could you when you were only human? And then with them shoving it in your face with unhappiness and disappointment. Did they not think at least once that maybe you were trying to be the best you could be? And so what if the best you could be wasn’t the best they wanted you to be, why should you have to kill yourself for them to feel happy?

It was as if they forgot a simple gesture could get you killed in this world, and maybe if they’d remembered, they could be more understanding.

It just wasn’t fair.

“Oh, you poor thing.”

The slithering sensation of those words shot you like an arrow and you jumped before realizing the speaker’s close proximity. 

It’s serpentine face grinned a fanged smile, a tongue darting out as if to taste the air you breathed out. The way it looked at you reminded you of the first day you had arrived and of Beelzebub who had thought you were his next meal. 

It took you only a second to notice the three other similar looking demons that surrounded you, wolves cornering a lone sheep, and you opened your mouth to let out a scream. But the closest snakelike demon covered your mouth, its scaly skin similar to Levi’s tail but nowhere near the same. 

You yanked at the clawed hand keeping you from calling out for help, nails digging into the skin but failing to struggle free from the demon’s grip.

No. Oh no. No. No. No. This couldn’t be happening.

You needed to summon the brothers. You needed their help. You needed them to save your pathetic self. 

Fresh tears pooled at your eyes, blurring your vision as you could only think of how stupid you were for letting your feelings get the best of you.

You expected better from yourself.

“A lonely little human like yourself, crying in the cold of the night, how could we ignore you when you so desperately need our help, hm?” One of the demons in front of you cooed, crouching down to gently stroke your cheek. The cold and slippery feeling of its hand made you shiver and you shook your head. 

“Mmph...! Mmmmph!” You tried to speak through the hand covering your mouth, but your summoning words couldn’t make it. 

“Don’t struggle, sweet thing,” the demon keeping you silent hissed softly into your ear, “We just want to help you.”

“You’re clearly in pain but I promise you, what you’re feeling will go away once you give us your soul,” it continued, “We’ll reward you greatly if you give it to us willingly, you won’t need to worry of rejection or humiliation...and you would live your life feeling nothing. No pain, no fear...just nothing. Doesn’t that sound perfect?”

An idea flashed in your head and before the demons could do anything more, you bit down hard on the hand which kept you silenced. The monster behind you screeched in pain, its rotten blood spilling in your mouth, and you darted away from it’s grasp. Immediately, you started to speak the words which would summon the very people you had been angry with. 

You may be prideful but anyone in the face of death would suck it up. And so would you.

“Hear me, Denizens of the Darkness, you who are born of-!” 

You were tackled to the ground, a hit to the face rendered you shocked, interrupting your summoning. 

“Shut it up properly this time, you idiot! We don’t need the seven lords knowing we’ve got their human pet.” 

Something was shoved into your mouth and before you knew it, the demon whacked your head which brought a blissful darkness which consumed your conscious.

*****

“...Y/N...need...get out...”

I’ve heard this voice before.

Within the darkness, you could hear her. A voice you had heard countless times before...

Lilith?

You didn’t hear it again and so you opened your eyes.

“...Huh?”

You were lying on the pavement of the walkway in the bustling Devildom. People passed you by without giving you so much as a glance and you sat up, confusion swirling in your head.

What am I doing here?

Without thinking, you brought your hand to your head as if it had been hurt. But you felt nothing...

Why did I do that?

Was it possible you had sleepwalked all the way here? After all, you had no memory of lying on the walkway and falling asleep on it.

Perhaps you had gone out drinking....had you gone out alone? That wouldn’t make sense, Asmo would have gone with you or his other brothers.

Asmo!

You shot up, looking around to gauge where you were in the Devildom. Though it didn’t take you long as you recognized the path to the House of Lamentation. 

Maybe the demon brothers knew how you had gotten here and so you headed home. 

But you couldn’t help but think you were missing something. Was their a conversation you had forgotten? Or maybe you were supposed to get something from the market, which would explain why you were in town, but was that the case?

You ran up the front steps of the House of Lamentation, opening the doors.

“...They’re certainly taking their time.”

“Of course...what’d you expect from them?”

“...makes me glad we decided to...”

The voices of the demon brothers guided you to the common room and you were getting ready to greet them. 

With a smile on your face, you entered and just as you were about to say hello, you stopped. 

Somebody stood in the middle of the room, a pleasant but blank look on their face. You suddenly thought of how they looked just like you...?

“Y/N, didn’t I tell you we needed groceries for tonight’s dinner?” You barely registered Satan’s voice as you stared at the new person in the house, “I told you Beel had eaten everything, how could you forget that?”

“Don’t bother Satan, we all know Y/N can’t do anything right.”

What? Why were they saying those awful things?

“W-What’s going on here, guys?” You stuttered out, unable to tear your eyes away from the stranger.

“We realized you needed to learn how to be a better you, so we made a new version of you who will show you how to...” Lucifer’s voice trailed off as your ears could only hear the sound of your beating heart.

So you weren’t just imagining the similarity between you and the person standing in the middle of the room. 

They weren’t a stranger. And they certainly weren’t family as they looked just like you. No...they were you.

A perfect reflection of yourself stood silently in the room, like a puppet without a soul. They were the spitting image, every detail, every line and crease were not forgotten. 

You had been remade. Replaced by your own self.

Welp, I didn’t think I’d write a replaced MC au but here I am..............I’ll blame the fact I couldn’t sleep tonight, if it weren’t for that I probably wouldn’t have thought up of all the stuff for this fic lmao. 

Anyways....To be continued~

Part 2

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Childhood

Father of Mine – Part 1 and Part 2

+ This Game of Ours

Jason’s eyes snapped open at a sound that no human should be able to hear.

Ever since he’d been resurrected from the Lazarus pit, his senses had grown abnormally acute – amongst other strange things. 

Sometimes he swore he could even hear Y/N’s heartbeat. It was easiest to do with her, after all he was so intone with her very being.

But all of that made nearly impossible for anyone to sneak up on him – let alone in his own home. Which someone was. He could feel it.

Jason’s eyes glanced down at Y/N, who was sound asleep on his chest.

Ever so carefully, he lifted her body off of him so he could slip out of bed.

But Y/N was a light sleeper, unfortunately. She must’ve inherited that from Bruce, even though she wasn’t even raised by the man.

Y/N winced as her eyes opened just in time to see Jason grabbing one of his hidden guns from below their bed frame.

“What’s going on?” Her voice raspy.

“Nothing,” Jason lied. “Stay here.”

Now that she found out about another hidden gun in their apartment, Jason knew he was going to return to a lecture from Y/N. She never hid her hatred for guns, and had asked him to keep them out of their apartment.

“Jason…” Y/N whispered desperately, now more awake and concerned.

“Stay here,” Jason said, more firmly this time.

Then he quickly kissed her, leaving even less room for her to argue.

In only his black boxer briefs, Jason snuck out of their bedroom and into the living room without making any sound. Y/N had always been shocked at how quiet her giant boyfriend could make himself.

Just as Jason raised his gun, he heard the familiar voice.

“Put some clothes on, Todd.”

Damian stepped out of the shadows.

To Jason’s surprise, he was in civilian clothes and not in his Robin uniform.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, breaking in like that?” Jason reprimanded as he uncocked the gun.

But before Damian could defend himself, the bedroom door squeaked open and Y/N was rushing out into the living room.

“I told you to stay there,” Jason growled.

Y/N rolled her eyes at her boyfriend’s overprotectiveness. “Obviously I recognized Damian’s voice, Jason.”

Then Y/N looked at her half-brother for a second and quickly realized Damian had come there for a reason.

“Everything alright, Damian?�� She asked carefully.

“Yes,” he lied.

Jason remembered when Damian despised Y/N. He saw her as a threat to his claim to the Wayne throne. But Y/N had immediately made her intentions clear. “I have my own reputation, money, and career that I built without a name attached to me. I want nothing to do with Wayne Enterprises,” she had told Damian as soon as she realized he saw her as some sort of competition.

It took Damian months to even acknowledge Y/N. And he really only did because both his father and Dick – basically his surrogate father – scolded him for not doing so.

Slowly but surely, the two grew closer.

Y/N didn’t put up with Damian’s attitude. But she also didn’t scold him like a child. If he was rude or aggressive, she spoke to him the same way she would speak to a grown man who behaved in such a manner. Somehow it made the boy slowly start to respect her more.

Eventually, they bonded over their mutual love of the arts. Damian was impressed with her photographs, while Y/N was honored whenever Damian decided to share his drawings with her. Y/N had gifted Damian his first camera. And Damian once gave her a few lessons on the basics of sketching and painting.

Who knew Waynes were the creative type?

And it was when Damian’s pets all seemed to be obsessed with Y/N that the boy finally decided to get over his original opinions and feelings.

It was by no means a short or easy battle. But the rest of the family was relieved when Damian finally accepted Y/N as one of their own.

“How about I make us some hot chocolate?” Y/N offered Damian.

The boy just shrugged, but she noticed his eyes subtly light up.

She never understood why he refused to let himself feel joy in the simple things. It was like she could catch him stopping himself from being a kid.

“I’m going to bed,” Jason announced with exhaustion.

It was clear to him that Damian came to see his sister, not him. And he was nice enough to leave the two of them alone. Even though he was a bit bitter that his girlfriend was being stolen from their bed.

Before turning back to the bedroom, Jason invaded Y/N’s space and gently grabbed her jaw before pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Gross,” Damian groaned.

Jason glared and pointed at the boy. “You’re in our apartment, demon spawn. I’ll kiss my girlfriend if I fuckin’ want to.”

Y/N just laughed as she watched Jason close their bedroom door behind him.

“Come on,” she nudged her head in the direction of the kitchen. “Let’s make some hot chocolate. I think I have some of Alfred’s cookies hiding somewhere, too.”

“I don’t know what you see in him,” Damian mumbled.

Y/N smirked and shook her head. Tonight, she wasn’t taking the bait. 

Once Damian decided he didn’t hate Y/N, he jumped right to making it known that he did not think Jason was good enough for her. But she knew it was an act – mostly.

“Why aren’t you on patrol?” She asked casually once they had giant mugs of hot chocolate and cookies in front of them, making sure to give the boy extra marshmallows. 

“I’m grounded,” Damian muttered.

Y/N tilted her head. “Grounded?”

It seemed like a far too normal concept for a family of vigilantes.

“Yes,” Damian confirmed.

“I’m guessing that means Bruce and Alfred don’t know you’re here…?”

“I snuck out,” he admitted.

“Why did you get grounded?”

“Father found out I was skipping school. And then that I skipped the school dance.”

“Why does it matter if you skipped the dance?” She asked, clearly confused.

Y/N was also struggling to imagine Bruce caring about such a trivial thing like that.  

“Father wishes for me to have normal experiences that young man of my age is expected to have,” Damian said with a roll of his eyes.

“School dances are lame,” Y/N commented.

Damian sat up straighter, not expecting that to be her response.

“I skipped prom. I didn’t want to go,” she added.

“Why not?” The boy challenge, somewhat caught off guard by that.

Y/N shrugged. “Bad music. Bad dancing. Tacky dresses. Just wasn’t all that appealing to angsty, teenage me.”

Damian just nodded slowly, and then got quiet.

“I have no desire to be normal,” he finally stated after a few minutes.

“I’m not taking his side, but I get why Bruce wants you to do these things, Damian. You were robbed of a lot of things because of the way you were raised. I’m not saying that it’s bad or good. But I think Bruce just wants to give you the opportunity to experience the life of a – well...of a kid.”

“And was your life normal?” Damian quickly asked.

Y/N nodded. “So normal that it was boring.” She laughed, “My entire life was normal until I met all of you weirdos.”

That got a smile out of Damian.

But then it slowly dropped and he seemed to get lost in his head.

“I don’t…I don’t have any friends,” Damian finally whimpered.

Y/N was shocked by the boy’s emotion.

Damian was always composed.

“It’s like they speak a different language. And it’s one I can never learn.”

“Oh, Damian,” Y/N sighed as she rushed from her seat to kneel beside him. “I know it must be hard to try and fit in. But you’re not doing anything wrong. None of that’s your fault.”

“Father is more than aware that I don’t need the education,” Damian’s voice shook as he tried not to cry. “He only forces me to attend so I can make friends. And that is one thing I am unable to do.”

Y/N let him breathe and have an opportunity to continue before she spoke again. 

“I hate school, so I skip. And the school dance seemed so ridiculous to me, so I skipped that too – even after father specifically requested that I attend.”

Y/N sighed, “And did you tell him how you’re feeling when he grounded you?”

Damian shook his head no.

She hadn’t expected anything different. She could easily imagine Damian lashing out at Bruce when he received his punishment, saying that the requests were a waste of his time and beneath him. 

Damian was good at hiding his emotional pain – maybe even better than their father.

Y/N was sure Bruce didn’t have a true understanding of what Damian was going through.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Damian asked.

“Of course,” she gave him a sad smile. “How about we take this hot chocolate to the couch and watch a movie?”

Damian shrugged. But it wasn’t a no.

Y/N let him pick the movie.

He chose Fantasia. 

When Y/N didn’t hide her surprise, he explained that he respected the animation and loved all of the classical music. Even when they did a child-like activity, he still always found way to remind the world that he was no normal child.

An hour later, both of them had fallen asleep on the couch with the movie still playing.

When Damian felt another presence, he awoke with a jolt and grabbed his hidden knife, holding it to the throat of the intruder.

But it was Jason, gently bringing Y/N’s sleeping body into his arms.

“Once again, demon spawn, you’re in our apartment,” Jason hissed with annoyance.

The man was completely unfazed by the feeling of a blade threatening to slit his throat. 

Damian huffed.

“I’m taking her to bed,” Jason explained the obvious. Then he nudged his head at the love-seat across from Damian. “There’s a blanket right there if you want to sleep on the couch. Or you can sleep in the guest bedroom.”

But Jason paused, with Y/N sleeping in his arms, as he noticed a strange look on Damian’s face.

“What?” He urged.

“If you ever hurt her, I’ll kill you myself,” Damian growled softly.

Jason looked utterly unimpressed. “You’d have to get in line,” he answered, making sure to keep his voice quiet to prevent waking Y/N.

But then Jason’s face softened. “Look, kid, I think you know that she’s the best thing to ever happen to me. I’d die before doing anything to mess this up.”

“Hmph,” was the only noise Damian made in response.

Jason rolled his eyes and carried Y/N back to their bedroom.

In all honesty, he couldn’t fall asleep while she had been in with Damian. With Jason’s weird enhanced hearing because of the pit, he was able to catch a bit of their conversation.

Jason softly place Y/N back in bed and pulled the covers up to her shoulders. When he joined her on the other side of the bed, she didn’t even wake as she slid back into his arms.

Now Jason could finally go to sleep.

When there was a knock on the apartment door the next morning, Damian and Y/N shared a look.

“I’ll get it,” Y/N sighed.

Jason had made all three of them breakfast that morning.

But now Damian pushed the food around his plate, knowing this was the end of his small rebellion. Who knew what his new punishment would be?

Y/N opened the door to unsurprisingly find her father.

Bruce was wearing a full suit, despite it being a Sunday morning. On top was a heavy, black overcoat with the back of the collar slightly propped up.

“You could have least told me he was here,” Bruce greeted his daughter.

She smirked mischievously and shrugged. “I’m no snitch.”

Damian appeared behind Y/N, not seeing the point in dragging this out any longer than necessary.

“Alfred’s downstairs with the car,” Bruce told his son evenly.

The disappointment in both his expression and tone was obvious.

Damian looked up at Y/N. “Thank you for having me, Y/N.”

“Next time, use the actual door so you don’t give me or Jason a heart attack.”

Damian smiled at that before walking past his father and down the hallway.

“Can I talk to you a second?” Y/N asked Bruce.

Her father seemed surprised by the request, but nodded anyways and closed the door behind him.

“I think Damian is really struggling – more than you think, I mean.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed and he crossed his arms. “He hasn’t even been remotely injured from patrols in months…”

“No, Bruce,” she quickly cut off. “Not as Robin. As Damian.”

Bruce was quiet.

“He doesn’t know how to fit in, Bruce. And you’re putting a lot of pressure on him to live a normal life. Bu he’s never gonna have normal. That was taken away from him before you even knew he existed.”

“He said that to you?” Bruce asked.

She nodded. “In so few words, yes.”

“And I’m assuming you have some advice,” he quirked a brow.

“Well, yeah. Maybe you should just homeschool him.”

“Y/N, the whole point of him going to school is to be around kids his own age. We both know the education is beneath him already.”

“But that’s the thing, Bruce. He’s never going to relate to any of those kids. Going to school makes him feel like a freak. Let him get homeschooled.”

“He needs to learn to make friends,” Bruce argued.

“You’re right. He does. But not with the spoiled brats of Gotham Academy. How many superheroes are you friends with?”

“He doesn’t consider them friends!” Jason shouted from the kitchen.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Fine. How many superheroes are you acquainted with, who have kids around Damian’s age?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

“I know you like to keep your personal life away from Batman. But those are the only kids that Damian is ever going to relate to in some way. Do you get what I’m saying?”

To her surprise, Bruce nodded. “You’re right.”

Her brows shot up. “I am?”

Y/N had really expected him to fight her on this.

Bruce chuckled. “Of course you are. Out of everyone in this family, you are the only one who can say they had any semblance of a normal childhood.”

Suddenly his phone dinged and he glanced down at it.

“I have to go,” he regretfully told her.

When he looked back up at her, his face softened. “Come to the manor soon for dinner,” he asked her gently.

She gave him a soft smile and nodded, “I will.”

Bruce nodded in the direction of the kitchen where Jason was hiding. “And bring that one with you, will you?”

Y/N laughed. “He’ll go wherever I go. He’s like a puppy, that one.”

“I can hear you!” Jason called out.

Bruce laughed and stepped forward to give Y/N a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for looking out for Damian, Y/N.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Bruce.”

––––––––––––––––––––

[yandere-daze]

Headcanons for T posing in front of Amir to assert dominance, please!

Ahahaha glad to see this make a comeback! I think the original t-posing post with the dorm leaders still remains one of my most popular posts which I really didn´t expect when I was writing it! I remember just suddenly having this crack idea while at work and I kept thinking about it the entire day to the point I felt like I just needed to write and share it with you guys!

I was very pleasantly surprised when I saw how much people seemed to enjoy that post! It was also a lot of fun to write honestly :D

tw yandere ( not really relevant for this one but Amir is a yandere), obssession, talks of wanting to be used by you, mention of heaven and gods, hints of suggestive themes(?)

T-posing in front of Amir to assert your dominance

This implies that your dominance in the relationship isn´t already obvious to anyone with eyes

Naturally with him not being human in the first place and only just recently having come down to earth to see more of you, Amir wouldn´t have the first idea about memes or other human trends

The kind of person to ask “What is a may-may?” dnakwd

Literally has no clue what you are doing when one day you stand in front of them with your arms outstretched to both sides.

Their first response funnily enough is panic

Is this some kind of human custom he should be familiar with? Because he really doesn´t understand what you are doing and he just gets more nervous the longer you stare at him so full of intensity and expectations. Just how is he supposed to respond to this? Amir has never seen anything like this before, not on his short time on earth and certainly not high up in the skies when he was still residing with the other gods

Is this what is going to expose them as not being human? Will their incapability of properly responding to this no doubt important gesture be their undoing? Are you going to be disgusted with them once you find out that they have lied to you all this time about being a human just like you to get closer to you? Are you going to abandon him? His heart breaks at the very thought and he feels like his entire world is about to end right this moment, you can even see him physically shaking from his fear to the point you would grow very concerned

Amir really is having an entire existential crisis because you t-posed in front of him, take responsibility!

“Is everything okay?” You would most certainly ask after he reacted so strongly to what was only supposed to be a joke

With tears threatening to spill from their eyes, Amir shouts at you with desperation in his voice : “I-I´m so so sorry but.... I don´t understand what you´re doing or how to respond!”

There, he said it. Their chest heaves as they watch you in painful anticipation but then to their shock you... start laughing. There was no disgust or shock on your face, just amusement.

And really, who could blame you for finding all of this ridiculously funny? You tried meme-ing and t-posed in front of Amir as a joke and he apparently took it so seriously! Really you felt a bit guilty with how distraught they looked for not getting the joke but you just couldn´t help yourself, this reaction was better than anything you could have imagined

Wiping away the tears from the corner of your eye you chuckle one last time before deciding to finally enlighten him.

“ There´s really no reason to take this so seriously! It´s just a joke! I´m t-posing in front of you to assert my dominance!”

Congrats, you just turned Amir in a stuttering and blushing mess! At once, all of his fears dissapeared and were instead replacing with a fluttering in his chest as your words were processed in his mind.

You.... were trying to assert your dominance? You weren´t mad at him? Just the implications alone made them swoon tbh

They would gladly let you boss them around if you so wished, they are yours to use and take control of! They want nothing more than to bring you joy and happiness, it has become their entire purpose after they came down from heaven so please, they´re willing to do anything for you!

Of course you´re also more than free to touch and kiss them however you like! Any sort of affection from you makes Amir almost short-circuit from all the overwhelming love he feels for you but he would never want you to stop with it either because he just loves any sort of attention you pay to him!

He just wants to be able to love you and maybe have you love him back in return, there´s nothing he wouldn´t give to earn your favor! So please, order him around as much as you like, he would literally never complain <3

“But you´re already the dominant one in this relationship”, is what Amir finally answers after a few awkward moments of silence

“What”

“What”

[jingyismom]

Time for more sex-cursed Lan Wangji!

a messy, self-indulgent spree imported from twt and lightly edited

explicit, wangxian, 9k, canon divergence fix-it

mild dubcon because of the nature of sex curses (but like, they do their best to communicate around it), and cw for brief thoughts of self harm, no other warnings

This curse's origin is mysterious, perhaps politically guided. Someone is trying to throttle Gusu Lan's alliance prospects by removing Lan Wangji's stellar marriageability after Sunshot. It works, after a fashion.

Wei Wuxian is in the Burial Mounds, farming and hardening his heart as the resentment worsens his health, subsisting on memories of Lan Wangji's single visit.

Lan Wangji is at home in Gusu, pining away while they rebuild the Cloud Recesses.

One day, he begins to burn up with unexplained fever.

The healers examine him quickly and thoroughly and determine first that he's been cursed. This is not entirely shocking, but it of course angers the entire sect. Next they test for the curse's nature. It turns out to be a very classic, very coarse type of love curse.

The afflicted will burn up, losing all their sense and senses, and eventually die, if their body's “needs” are not satisfied by the one it craves most.

The healers are disgusted. Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren are outraged. But Lan Wangji becomes very calm at the news.

Before, he felt anxiety. The urgent desperation of a dying man waiting to be told how to live.

Now he is just waiting to die.

For you see, the choice between throwing himself at another human being—no matter who they may be—and meeting death with dignity, is an easy one.

Everyone else privy to this information disagrees. The argument that follows is short, but heated:

"Well, Wangji?" Lan Qiren begins once the initial furor has died down. "How do you wish to...go about this?"

Lan Wangji, over-warm and aching, looks up at him from the examination bed. Gusu Lan funeral rites are ancient and immutable. He does not understand the question.

Lan Qiren purses his lips and glances around. "We must find the person first," he prompts.

Ah. The person responsible. Yes, Lan Wangji does have business with them before he dies. He stands, only swaying slightly. "I am well enough to exact justice. Let us cast the rebound."

Lan Xichen steps forward then, and gently pushes him back to sitting. "It has been cast. However, justice can wait. Your health must come first."

Lan Wangji looks between his uncle, his brother, and the one doctor allowed to be present. Surely they would not be joking at a time like this.

"I do not understand," he says.

The three exchange a look. "Breaking the curse must be our priority," says Lan Xichen.

Lan Wangji is not sure he heard correctly. But it would be cruel to give him unfounded hope. "I was unaware there was another way."

"...There is not," says Lan Xichen, his gentleness unfailing.

Lan Wangji experiences a moment of deep confusion before the horror sets in.

"You cannot mean this," he says through his shock. "Surely you cannot mean to cast aside so many disciplines at the whim of a base villain."

"The disciplines are a guide," Lan Qiren says, hands behind his back, looking into the distance, "to ensure a life well-lived. They are not meant to inspire martyrdom."

Lan Wangji's mouth falls open. He stares at his uncle, mute with betrayal. He has never heard of any such leeway before, not in regards to disciplines of such a serious nature.

"You can understand, can't you?" Lan Xichen says. "That no rule is more important than your life.”

Lan Wangji disagrees vehemently. "I would not buy my life with such behavior."

Lan Qiren huffs in irritation. "We may perform a marriage in haste, if you wish."

Lan Wangji balks at him. That his uncle should speak so flippantly of...such a thing. It is unimaginable. And besides, forcing a marriage on Wei—on anyone in this way is surely only adding insult to heinous injury.

"I refuse," he says.

Lan Xichen exchanges a look with the doctor, and sits beside him. "Perhaps the other person should be allowed part of that choice."

Ridiculous. "There is no such person." Preventing this course of action is worth one lie, Lan Wangji reasons.

"With respect, Hanguang-jun, if that were true, the curse would not have been able to take hold," says the doctor.

The use of his title feels uncomfortably ironic from a woman who helped deliver him at birth. He glares at her. She smiles tiredly in return.

"Wangji," Lan Xichen says. His tone is beginning to grate on Lan Wangji's raw nerves. "You will at least try, won't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him in disbelief, in anger, in righteous indignation.

"Never," he says.

A hand slaps his shoulder. "Apologies," says the doctor, and the world goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to dark wood beams dappled by lacy sunlight, and a faint smell of char in the air. His head is heavy, his limbs full of lead. He swallows around the dry thickness in his throat.

"Water," comes a familiar voice.

With effort, Lan Wangji sits up. His stomach is roiling, his mind fogged from the coma and the curse both. The doctor, crouching beside him in the carriage, offers him a bowl of water.

He takes it, and asks, "What have you done?"

She sighs.

"My duty," she says, "with the help of your brother."

She draws back the curtain at the carriage entrance, revealing a sea of black, twisted trees and gray tumbled walls.

Lan Wangji's blood freezes in his veins. He just barely stops himself from asking how they knew.

"Why," he asks instead, a much safer question.

She considers him. "Your brother said if he was wrong, he would beg forgiveness afterward. But it couldn't hurt to have an expert in resentment and curses look at you anyway."

A stab of sick embarrassment makes Lan Wangji’s stomach clench.

Has he been so obvious? Is he such a lovesick fool that anyone with eyes can see his shame?

The doctor pats his shoulder gruffly and he flinches, expecting more needles.

"Ah he's your brother, he's bound to know things you don't want him to," she says. "Come on. Out you get."

He allows her to tug him out of the carriage and onto solid ground. The air is stifling with resentment, but he is glad to be free of his bonds. Now he can look for his chance to get away.

There are six Lan disciples flanking them. He eyes them warily, wondering what they know. When the doctor pulls him out of earshot, and pitches her voice low, he is satisfied that they have not been fully informed.

"Your family and I agreed to give you a chance first," she says. "You have 24 hours to take care of this yourself. After that, I will personally tell Wei-gongzi of your brother's message. I have been assured he will not jeopardize your well-being if fully-informed."

Lan Wangji gapes at her. He does not know what he expected to happen, but it was not this...this...mercenary attempt at...forcing...

The curse has weakened him such that he cannot fly his sword. He can hardly walk in a straight line, let alone run. He has very little recourse now that everyone in his life has gone absolutely mad. His heart is racing with the adrenaline of upheaval, of fear, of impending death.

He wrenches his arm from her grasp and stalks off of the road, into the brush. She calls after him, but he does not mean to escape. He cannot manage that alone. Instead, he sits. He takes a deep breath. He sinks into meditation.

"Hanguang-jun," she calls. She approaches, hands on her hips. She sighs. "Well, if it's like that, then there's nothing stopping me from telling him right now."

She turns, and Lan Wangji feels a lurch of helplessness, when a new voice rings clear through the fog.

"Tell what to whom?"

Lan Wangji's eyes snap open. Wei Wuxian is standing on the other side of the carriage, the child A-Yuan in his arms, eyeing the Lan delegation with suspicion. Wen Ning is with him, and the Lan disciples shift nervously just looking at him, but Wei Wuxian sets A-Yuan in his arms, and he leaps away up the mountain.

"Might I assume this little party has come for me?" Wei Wuxian goes on, twirling his flute. His eyes are shrewd and cold, similar to the way they had looked when he had first returned during the war.

At the sight of him, at the sound of his voice, the curse...reacts.

A horrid, uncomfortable shiver of need runs through Lan Wangji's body alongside his own simple relief and joy at seeing Wei Wuxian again, looking relatively well. He fights it, keeping still among the weeds, hoping against hope to go unnoticed.

"Yiling Laozu," the doctor greets him with a deep bow. "We have indeed come to humbly beg your aid."

"I see," he says. "And what will you give me in return?"

The doctor hesitates, clearly discomfited by the context Wei Wuxian is currently unaware of. "We may...discuss that. Once we have informed you of the details."

Wei Wuxian hums, considering. Cold. Detached. "And if I am disinclined to—"

He breaks off. The doctor has moved so that she and Lan Wangji are both in Wei Wuxian's line of sight. Lan Wangji closes his eyes rather than see the moment of recognition, rather than feel the weight of Wei Wuxian's eyes on him, like this.

"Lan Zhan?"

Lan Wangji clamps his jaw shut. It is a struggle not simply to crawl to him.

The renewed ice in Wei Wuxian's voice when next he speaks makes Lan Wangji aware of the warmth with which he had said his name. His curls his shaking hands into fists on his knees.

"What have you done to him?"

The doctor sighs. "We have done nothing. He has been cursed, which is why we brought him here. If you—"

"Daifu," Lan Wangji interrupts, his voice thin.

She stops speaking.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes, but does not look at Wei Wuxian, not yet. If he is careful, and uses his remaining strength correctly, he can perhaps...perhaps guide the situation. Toward escape. With Wei Wuxian's help.

He may have to lie to him. He hopes he will be forgiven, all things considered.

Lan Wangji stands slowly, carefully, considering each movement so as not to reveal the state he is in.

"I will speak with him," he says to the doctor.

She eyes him. "24 hours," she says.

He does not acknowledge this. He thinks they both know it will not come to that, though his idea differs greatly from hers. He judges, from the time they have allotted and his own weakness, that he has perhaps a day and a half, total, to wait them out. Doable, if he is careful and intelligent about it.

He can manage.

He walks over to Wei Wuxian, careful to keep two arm's lengths between them. This close is already too close: a fine, constant tremor has made a home in all of his tightly-locked muscles. He feels the moment his fever begins to rise further. The sides of his throat hurt, the interiors of his ears. He wonders if his hearing will go first, or his eyes.

"Allow me to explain," he says to him.

"Of course," Wei Wuxian answers.

He sounds strange. Cold, still. Lan Wangji wants to look at him, and almost slips, but manages to stop himself. He follows him up the hill, past the wards, through the resentment that clings to them both, now. He keeps his careful distance, following behind.

"What happened?" Wei Wuxian asks, as they walk.

"A curse," Lan Wangji says carefully. "Origin unknown. The rebound has been cast. I did not wish to burden you with this, but they are...they will not listen to reason. Wei Ying, if you would but help me, I would deal with this on my own."

"Oh?"

"I...wish to seek justice. They will not allow it. But you understand. If there is another path off the mountain, if you would show me the way past them, I could—"

Wei Wuxian stops dead, and Lan Wangji, with his eyes in the ground, runs into him. 

For a blazing, agonizing moment, he is touching Wei Wuxian, clinging to him, every element in his body sighing and crying out at once in satisfaction, in the torturous need for more.

He tears himself away, stumbling back, almost falling. Wei Wuxian reaches out as if to catch him, but falters.

"Lan Zhan, you can hardly stand," he says, alarmed, "and you want to go and fight someone?"

Lan Wangji draws himself up taller again, trying hard to stop his shaking. He cannot look at him. He cannot look. He is already dying, now, just from not looking. "It is my right."

"...It is..." Wei Wuxian says at length, watching him closely. "And it still will be once you're well again. Your doctors really couldn't tell what type of curse it is?"

Lan Wangji says nothing, trying to think past the way every inch of his skin feels as if it is burning clean off. The pain of it screams through him, worse than anything he has ever felt. Wei Wuxian is still speaking, but it is hard to make sense of it. When Wei Wuxian begins walking again, slowly, it is all he can do to both follow and stay away from him. This, here, now, is worse than death. If it lasts, he certainly will not be sane when the end finally comes. He lets go of any thoughts of a dignified death.

Fortunately, by the time they reach the cool dark of the cave Wei Wuxian calls home, the pain has subsided to a distant roar. Unfortunately, he hoped never to reach this point. He tries his only play again, unable to think of any new tactic.

"Please show me the way off the mountain," he says without preamble.

Wei Wuxian is quiet for a beat. "You really don't want my help that much?"

Lan Wangji is so confused by this question, and then struck by the irony of it, that he almost begins to laugh. A shivery, jittery feeling fills his chest, and he leans against the nearest solid surface. He wishes he were wearing a loose outer layer over his blue travel robes, the better to hide his shaking. He does not know how to respond.

"You haven't so much as looked at me once since you got here," Wei Wuxian goes on, digging through strange pots and objects on a table, "so I get it. But you'll have to forgive me if I disregard your objection to the kind of work I do, when it comes to your life."

"My life, my life," Lan Wangji mocks, accidentally out loud. Why is everyone suddenly so obsessed with his life? He was ready to give it freely in the war, but chance let him keep it. What difference does giving it now in the name of keeping himself clean of shame make? Why will nobody allow him this choice?

"What shame?" Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Wangji buckles at the realization that he has said all of this out loud. He goes to the floor, to his knees.

"Nothing," he says. "The shame of not having warded off such a simple attack."

"Lan Zhan...you want to die because you didn't defend against a curse you didn't know was coming?"

Lan Wangji lapses into silence. He has said too much already. He does not know how to get out of this. He can only...he can only stay quiet. Refuse to speak or move.

"Lan Zhan...I feel like I'm missing something here. I only want to help.”

Lan Wangji grits his teeth and stares hard at the floor in front of him. He has rarely ever felt so trapped, so utterly helpless. The extended, full-body pain is dulling his mind by the moment. The hems of Wei Wuxian's robes come into view, and it takes everything in him not to fall forward into him, to plead, to beg. His breath is hitching at random intervals now, his heart tripping as it prepares to fail entirely.

There is a soft gust of air, and an odd prickling sensation across his face.

"Now let's see—oh," Wei Wuxian says. "I...oh."

Lan Wangji wilts at his stilted, awkward tone. He knows now, surely. Can see him truly.

"So that's why you want to leave, and why they won't let you. They want me to find another way to break it, to stop you from...ah."

Lan Wangji sorts through the words, trying to comprehend them.

"Sorry," Wei Wuxian goes on. "I...it's unbreakable, otherwise. A very old, airtight spell. You...will Gusu Lan start a war with me if I do just let you go...ah, handle this the old-fashioned way?"

Comprehension dawns. And with it, a way out.

Lan Wangji rushes to agree. "They—" He cuts off. Will they? If they think Wei Wuxian has willingly let him die, rather than...

He takes a breath. Another. Forces his mind past the endless litany of pleas for relief.

"Show me the way " he says, his words breathless and short, "and then tell Lan-daifu what you have done. And why. But give me time to. Get away. And you will be safe."

Wei Wuxian pauses. "How...ah. How far—how much time?"

Lan Wangji tries hard to come up with an answer for that. His progress will be slow. But he need only find a place to hide.

"Half a day," he hazards.

Wei Wuxian seems to vacillate. "Are you sure you can make it on your own?"

Lan Wangji wants to rage. To weep. To curse himself to the heavens for being so depraved toward so endlessly kind a man. His heart hurts, even as his body strains toward him.

This lie may be the worst he will ever tell.

"I will be fine,” he says.

"Alright." Wei Wuxian sounds unconvinced. "I trust you."

Lan Wangji nearly convulses, holding back a sob. How will he ever be forgiven?

He cannot think of it. Only this, only what comes next. Only keeping Wei Wuxian safe from this mess.

"Lan Zhan?"

"Mn," he manages.

"Would you look at me, now? I haven't...used any demonic cultivation on you. It's safe, I promise I won't. I just. Can't we say goodbye properly?"

Lan Wangji has not moved from the floor. He does not move. He should try. A parting gift. Just one look.

But if he is going to leave. If he is going to succeed. He cannot.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says again, frustrated now.

Lan Wangji does not look. He is so close to freedom from the horrible pull, from the way his very veins are trying to tear themselves free to wrap around Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian steps forward, and Lan Wangji's breath leaves him all at once. Suddenly, there are fingers beneath his jaw, kind but firm, tilting his chin up. He has no choice but to look.

(Inspired by this art.)

Wei Wuxian is there. Tall and strong and perfect, tiredness mixed with something bittersweet on his lovely face. Lan Wangji's entire being melts toward him, a deep, sharp tug from inside his bones, a mindless, helpless, straining need that pushes a low, wanting sound from his throat.

Wei Wuxian snatches his hand away and backs up half a step, staring at him.

"Sorry," he says, blank. Confused. "I thought it was...I didn't realize...sorry."

Lan Wangji, now that he has looked, cannot look away. He has overbalanced without Wei Wuxian's support, fallen forward onto his hands, but he cannot stop looking at him. He will look at him, and keep looking; he prays Wei Wuxian is the last thing he sees before he dies.

The most shameful part of this is that none of it is the curse twisting his thoughts. None of this is. All the curse is doing is making the way he always feels impossible to ignore.

"Wei Ying," his voice implores. He does not mean it to.

Wei Wuxian takes another step back and looks down at the bowl of powder in his hand, confused. "I was certain it was that curse," he says to himself. "If I was wrong, then maybe I could break it..."

Lan Wangji tries to scrape his composure back together. He tries. He tries. His fingers scrape on the rough stone floor. He does not reach out for him. That is something.

Wei Wuxian looks at him again, then hastily away. Lan Wangji does not ever want to know what it is he sees.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, as Lan Wangji shakes, and shakes. "Where...where were you trying to go? I thought you...I thought you were, ah, thinking of a certain someone."

Lan Wangji's arms are weak. They are going to give out. He cannot answer him.

"I'm confused, and I...may have made a mistake," Wei Wuxian goes on, still backing away slowly, "but I just want to help. Can you tell me what was happening before, and what's happening now?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head, and the motion shatters his fragile balance. He falls, and curls tightly around himself in the dirt.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian says, suddenly close.

Lan Wangji sees his hand reach out, then pause, and he can't stop himself from taking hold of it, just to be touching him. His body screams for it, and he gasps raggedly at the contact.

Wei Wuxian wrenches his arm free. Lan Wangji wishes he were dead.

"Fuck," Wei Wuxian mutters to himself. "I...I'm sorry. I made this so much worse, I..."

"No," Lan Wangji rasps. He cannot hear Wei Wuxian berate himself thus. His dignity has now died, and he himself will soon follow. This is all that matters. "Not your fault."

Wei Wuxian huffs, crouching beside him. "It is...at least partially my fault, at this point, I'm pretty sure. You wouldn't be...reacting. Like this. If it weren't. Is...can I...do a few more tests? To check what I got wrong, and maybe—"

"You were not wrong."

He does not mean to say it.

His need to reassure has overridden his sense, and his mind is too slow now to piece together what it will mean before it leaves his mouth. The regret once it does is instantaneous. He tries to curl himself yet smaller in the dirt.

Wei Wuxian is silent. Lan Wangji cannot stop making small, pitiful, pained sounds in the back of his throat. Everything hurts. Everything.

"I don't understand," Wei Wuxian says quietly.

Lan Wangji lies shivering on the floor, arms locked around himself to prevent any more untoward behavior. He cannot take it back. He cannot try to explain. There is nothing he could say, regardless.

"Lan Zhan...but you..."

He can hear Wei Wuxian thinking, but it only registers in the far back of his mind. The rest of his consciousness is taken up by pain, and by ruthless restraint.

"You wanted to leave to get away from me," Wei Wuxian says, finally.

Lan Wangji does not answer. He wishes he had his sword. He would use it now to end this.

Wei Wuxian begins to back away again, and Lan Wangji’s body moves without his permission. He grips the skirt of Wei Wuxian’s robes in his fist and drags himself closer, pressing his cheek to Wei Wuxian's knee.

Shameful. Wanton. The small part of himself that is still aware berates the action. But he cannot let go. He cannot move away. The only part of him that is not howling with pain is the side of his face pressed to coarse fabric.

"Lan Zhan, you…," Wei Wuxian is trying to gently pry Lan Wangji's fingers from his hem. "You wanted to leave, remember? You don't want...you don't."

"Want," Lan Wangji croaks, pressing closer. "Wanted to spare you."

"Ah, Lan Zhan...I...I'm still not sure it's that specific curse, it could...there could be other..."

"It is," Lan Wangji says, half-crawling up Wei Wuxian's leg. He wants to stop himself. It is impossible.

"Lan Zhan...you...you shouldn't—"

"Stop me," Lan Wangji pleads, nuzzling against Wei Wuxian's thigh, "Wei Ying, I can't...please. Stop me."

There is a long near-silence filled with harsh breaths, in which Lan Wangji is almost certain he imagines the light touch of fingers brushing his mussed hair back from his forehead. Then Wei Wuxian speaks.

"No," he says. "You'll die, if I do. Lan Zhan. I won't let that happen."

He touches Lan Wangji's face. Lan Wangji whimpers into him.

He knows this will break the fragile repairs they have made to their friendship. He will likely never see him again, at least not on good terms. The thought makes him feel ill. He should protest. Refuse. Flee. He can do exactly none of these things. He reaches for Wei Wuxian's wrist, to hold his hand to his face, but Wei Wuxian flinches away.

"You can't...Lan Zhan. I'm going to help you," he says, "but you have to...you can't...you can't touch me."

Lan Wangji feels another tight clench of shame. He nods against his leg. He understands: he knows any small part of this is too much to ask, let alone bearing his unwelcome, curse-fevered grasping.

"Okay," says Wei Wuxian. He slides his fingers beneath Lan Wangji’s chin again, tipping his face up.

He looks so uncertain. So beautiful in the dim light. Lan Wangji wants to weep with it.

"Lan Zhan, I know it doesn't count for much like this, but you have to tell me. You have to tell me what you need."

Lan Wangji turns his head, pressing his face between Wei Wuxian's thigh and stomach, trying to reach into him, to feel more of him, to stop hurting just enough to think. It does not work.

"You," he breathes, into the scent of earth, and stringent soap, and Wei Wuxian.

A harsh, uneven breath ghosts across his hair, and Wei Wuxian's hands grip his shoulders. He thinks he is about to be pushed away again, but instead Wei Wuxian pulls him up, pulls him close, folds him into his embrace.

Lan Wangji sobs into his shoulder, trying at once to get closer and to hold himself apart, instinct demanding, even now, that he try to conceal his obvious, disgraceful hardness. His muscles quake under the strain of doing both and neither, and Wei Wuxian smooths one hand down his back, pressing him close, pressing them flush. Lan Wangji chokes back a shocked sound.

"Shh," Wei Wuxian soothes. "It's alright."

It is not alright. It is the end of the thing Lan Wangji holds most dear.

But he does not have it in him to argue. He is shifting against him, his overheated body begging for touch, indeed for ravishment. He is mindless with it. The pain is not subsiding but slipping sideways into something more, something different, something necessary.

He is on his knees on hard stone, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this: sweetly, hazily, with and without hope. But never like this. Never sick with remorse, with need, dying and demanding and defiling. His deepest desire twisted into a nightmare.

He whimpers again, his lips finding the soft coolness of Wei Wuxian's throat. Wei Wuxian jerks away again, and Lan Wangji fists his hands tighter at his sides, trying, trying not to overstep again.

"I—sorry," he gasps out. He will never be able to apologize enough. But he will try.

"Don't apologize," says Wei Wuxian. "I—"

He cuts himself off. Lan Wangji does not have enough sense to wonder why. In the same moment, one of his thighs gives under the strain, and he falls against him heavily. They tip over, to the floor, and he reaches out on instinct to brace them both. When he is again conscious of himself, Wei Wuxian is lying on top of him, breathing hard, both of Lan Wangji's wrists pinned to the floor in one hand. Lan Wangji arches against him inadvertently, and turns his face into his own bicep.

"Sorry, I...so sorry," he pants, his hips flexing, searching for friction. "I have...no control...”

"I know," Wei Wuxian says, "I know, I shouldn't have..." he swallows hard. "I'm going to keep you like this. Can I?"

Lan Wangji nods frantically, his eyes shut tight. He does not care. Anything that he can do to make this any less invasive for Wei Wuxian, he will do.

Wei Wuxian pulls away then, his hold still firm on Lan Wangji's wrists. Lan Wangji squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stop moving, to stop searching for touch, to stop making such a disgusting spectacle of himself, but to no avail. What feels like centuries later, he hears the telltale sounds of talisman activation. He is too far gone in his pain to look up, to see what they are. He simply lies there, pinned and writhing, his breath catching in his throat. The sounds it makes are small, pitiful, desperate.

Just like him.

Eventually, Wei Wuxian leans back over him, a considering look in his eye. His hand hovers at Lan Wangjis belt.

"I—should I..."

"Yes," pleads Lan Wangji.

He needs Wei Wuxian's skin on his skin. He does not know how discerning the curse is about what happens now, but it feels as if he will die without it. Wei Wuxian takes what looks like a fortifying breath and unties the belt. Lan Wangji, unable to help, instead hinders the process with his ceaseless movement. But Wei Wuxian manages it with deft hands, and immediately unties each layer of robes in quick succession until Lan Wangji’s chest and stomach are bare.

The cool air of the cave does not soothe his burning. It burns like ice instead. Lan Wangji shivers, an ugly whine escaping him.

"What," Wei Wuxian asks, pausing, "what is it?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head. He will bear it. He will not make demands.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, "you need to talk to me, I...I don't want to make this even worse, or, or draw it out longer."

Something small and dark crumples in Lan Wangji's chest. He does not want that either. He will need to speak. To ask.

"Hurts," he says, rough and thick.

"Where?"

"...Not...not touching me."

Wei Wuxian makes a distressed noise and lays both his palms flat over Lan Wangji's ribs. Lan Wangji groans, pressing up into them.

"Please," he whispers, helpless. "Please."

"Oh, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian murmurs, something sad like regret. He leans closer and slides one hand down. Lan Wangji shudders under him. "I'm just going to..."

Lan Wangji nods again, holding his breath to stop the whines from escaping the back of his throat.

Wei Wuxian unties Lan Wangji's trousers and slips his hand inside. Clever fingers wrap hesitantly around him, and he bucks up into them with an obscene moan. It is minor relief from the most consuming pain he has ever felt, and it is simultaneously the most intense pleasure he has ever experienced. All of these sensations, coexisting in his fallible human body, feel likely to rip him apart.

"Wei Ying," he moans again, when Wei Wuxian moves his hand.

He gasps for air, his body twisting into it, his whole being searching for Wei Wuxian. He makes another piteous sound, the torment of it all overwhelming. Wei Wuxian leans down against him then, his own robes open, pressing them skin to skin.

Lan Wangji sobs. It is something. It is something. The pain abates somewhat, and he sighs, turning toward him, his mouth brushing Wei Wuxian's hair. He has the wherewithal now to fight the urge to kiss his head properly, his face, anything he can reach. He holds himself still beneath him instead. And Wei Wuxian touches him, and touches him. The incomprehensible pleasure builds, and builds, until Lan Wangji cannot breathe. But it does not break.

Something almost like soft lips brushes his throat.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says into his ear, "this, is this...will this be enough?"

The pleasure is just another kind of pain, now. Lan Wangji shakes his head as sweat rolls off of him, as he tries and fails to get enough air to speak.

Wei Wuxian clears his throat. "What, then?"

Lan Wangji's body knows what it needs. But he does not want to tell.

"Come on, Lan Zhan, after all this? Don't get shy on me now."

He misses the joking tone he is aiming for, but the pure, unmistakable Wei Wuxian-ness of the tease sends a surge of genuine desire through Lan Wangji. He wraps his legs around Wei Wuxian's hips and pulls him down. Wei Wuxian breathes in sharply.

"You just...you want...but only..."

"Please," says Lan Wangji, barely voiced. "In—" he cannot say it. "Please."

"Ah," Wei Wuxian whispers, into his skin. "If—are you sure?"

Lan Wangji whines. He wishes he were not so very sure. He wishes he were not asking Wei Wuxian to do something so intimate, so extreme. He wishes Wei Wuxian had let him die before it ever came to this.

"Alright Lan Zhan, just hold—hold on," he says, and is gone.

Lan Wangji clamps his mouth shut on a scream as the agony slams back into him, worse even than before.

Not soon enough, Wei Wuxian returns to divest him of his boots, socks and trousers. Lan Wangji fights him without meaning to, trying to keep his knees curled up to his chest, trying to minimize the hurt. Wei Wuxian is briskly patient, handling him with aching care he does not deserve.

And then he is upon him, chest and stomach, hips and thighs, smooth and hard and exquisite. Lan Wangji almost forgets the pain in the rush of gratitude, of solace. Their robes trail off them both, gathering dust as they move together in halting fits and starts.

"Don't let me hurt you, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian grits out, a strong hand lifting one of Lan Wangji's thighs by the back of the knee.

It is nonsense. He could not hurt Lan Wangji any more than this. And Lan Wangji could not stop him now if he did.

But the kindness. Even in this. Tears prick at Lan Wangji's eyes. He will miss him. He will miss all of Wei Wuxian with all of himself. He will never stop missing him. He will never move past this regret as long as he lives. How could he? Every breath he draws will be by the grace of Wei Wuxian.

Suddenly there is slick pressure against him, against his most private of places, and he gasps, loud and wretched. Wei Wuxian exhales, uneven and deep, and pushes in, in, in. Slowly. So slowly. Lan Wangji bites down hard on his lip to keep from begging for it. His arms are pinned, as are his hips, Wei Wuxian holding him steady, holding him still. Lan Wangji loses all sense. There is only the weight of Wei Wuxian, the full, stinging press of him, the searing pain, the devastating euphoria of being this close, and yet so very far in every way that counts.

Ages pass before Wei Wuxian is fully seated inside him. By then Lan Wangji's breaths are wet and shallow; scraping, desolate things. He does not know any longer what hurts and what feels good. It is all one and the same. He only knows he needs more, in some primal, wordless way.

He asks with the arch of his back, the squeeze of his thighs. He tries, somehow, to keep quiet, but fails more often than not.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says tightly, "try to relax, I'm going to move. Tell me if it...if it's right."

Lan Wangji manages a loose nod, though he barely understands.

And Wei Wuxian moves. He rolls his hips against him, shifting inside of him, and Lan Wangji groans. Each deep, short thrust pushes air from his lungs, and he lacks the strength to catch it again. It is beyond pleasure. It is ecstatic. To have Wei Wuxian around him, inside him, panting above him. A deep, villainous part of him wants it never to end. The rest of him howls for release.

He is dripping now, steadily, onto his own stomach. He can feel it pooling on his belly, unpleasantly cool. He whimpers between desperate, panting breaths, beyond words.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, breath shivering across Lan Wangji's collarbone, "I can't...can't keep this up, you feel too—" his breath catches, and he pauses. "I'm going to finish. You need to come."

Dimly, distantly, the idea that Wei Wuxian should derive pleasure from this, no matter how perfunctory, gives Lan Wangji a perverse sort of satisfaction. It snuffs out like a candle at the nebulous thought that perhaps in another world, they could have had this for real.

In this world, the fact remains that this has gone on far too long. But Lan Wangji can do nothing about it. He meets Wei Wuxian's thrusts, leans into the pleasure, tries to gain the momentum to go over the edge. He should be able to. It should be easy. He has been so hard for so long, has been given more now than in his absolute wildest and wettest of dreams, and yet he hovers, scant inches away.

Wei Wuxian loses patience, his head dropping to Lan Wangji's shoulder. He grunts softly and fists Lan Wangji's wet cock, quick and merciless. Lan Wangji cries out, shuddering violently with the extended, expansive stimulation, worked both inside and out, helplessly, utterly unmade by Wei Wuxian's touch.

And still he does not crest. He is sobbing steadily now, ugly and jagged, and Wei Wuxian kisses his shoulder, his throat, his cheek.

"Were we wrong?" He asks, breathless. "Lan Zhan please, tell—show me, I...I can't...you...I can't lose you. Lan Zhan?"

Exhausted, Lan Wangji turns his tearstained face toward him, blindly seeking. Perhaps they were all wrong. Perhaps he will die now, like this. And perhaps it is selfish of him, but having heard those words, he finds his regret to be less than it should be. Everything, everything hurts. But Wei Wuxian will miss him, too. Of course he will. They are zhiji. This, miraculously, will not erase that. It is more than he deserves. Wei Wuxian has always been more than he deserves.

Lan Wangji heaves, and writhes, and cries.

Wei Wuxian kisses him. Soft, gloriously cool lips on his.

An odd, fleeting, hollow feeling.

The dam breaks. The pain goes suddenly quiet. Roaring to fullness in its absence is the killing swell of such a long-delayed climax. It is possible that he calls Wei Wuxian's name. It is impossible to know.

The world, again, goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to gray light and distant birdsong. A sharp edge is digging into his shoulder. He shifts, then goes still at the deep ache in his entire body.

He remembers.

"Hanguang-jun should drink this," says a brisk voice to his right.

Wen Qing sits there, watching him. His heart skips a beat and he looks down. But he is fully clothed once more.

Her smile is wry as she holds a cup out to him. Laboriously, he sits up to take it. It is bitter, but familiar. A restorative. He thanks her formally.

She shakes her head. "No need.” She turns to go.

"Wen-guniang," Lan Wangji says. She pauses. "How long has it been gone?"

She turns to stare at him. He knows she knows what he means.

"How? When?"

She looks away. "You'll have to ask him."

The pang of loss he felt upon waking with Wei Wuxian gone speaks for him. "Will he let me?"

 He lies on the slab of rock that serves as Wei Wuxian's bed for too long. It is difficult to tell the passage of time in the Burial Mounds, but it seems slightly brighter than it had...before. He reasons that it could well be the next morning. He wonders if Wei Wuxian slept beside him, then tosses the thought away as gross indulgence. He wonders instead, as he has many times since his last visit, if Wei Wuxian sleeps at all.

First, his excuse to tarry is meditation. He works at it, simultaneously restoring his drained core and healing himself, until the discomfort fades from his every movement to just a specific few.

Once that is done, he has no reason to be idle. But the voice in his head, Wei Wuxian's blisteringly cold one that had called him his proper name all those months ago, keeps him in place. He hears it saying all manner of things in response to seeing him now.

"What more could you possibly want of me?" Wei Wuxian sneers in his mind. And he would be right to do so.

But Lan Wangji does not intend to ask anything of him ever again.

And there is the other thing. The fact that his robes should be uncomfortable, filthy, but they have been cleaned, dried, and arranged back onto his body properly. Comfortably. Almost as if—

He dares not imagine. But at the very least it does not speak of utter contempt.

So he rises. He follows the path Wen Qing told him of. And he does something foolish. He hopes.

After no short while of walking, he comes to a slightly darker, more silent corner of deadened forest. He rounds a bend and sees Wei Wuxian crouched a little ways off, and then hears high, lilting notes as if through water. The energies are strange here, and Wei Wuxian is speaking to with them in their own language.

Lan Wangji approaches until he sees Wei Wuxian go still. He says nothing. Wei Wuxian drops his flute from his lips.

"Are you well?" He asks without rising or turning.

"I am."

Wei Wuxian nods. "Your people are waiting for you."

It is a dismissal. Lan Wangji recognizes this. But he will impose just a little bit longer.

"Your core," he says. Wei Wuxian stands abruptly, still facing away, gripping Chenqing. "Can it be replaced?"

Wei Wuxian whirls to face him, anger and fear warring with the questions on his face.

Lan Wangji has other questions, too. But they do not matter. He is intelligent enough to piece together the cold, empty space where Wei Wuxian's core should be, the tired guilt on Wen Qing's face, and...

"Your scar," he says, dropping his gaze to the scorched earth.

He should not know of it. But he does, now, and he also owes a greater debt than he can ever repay. Wei Wuxian does not respond. How dearly Lan Wangji wants to see his expression. But he will not infringe on any more of his privacy.

The wind howls. He waits.

"You won't tell anybody," Wei Wuxian says uncertainly.

Lan Wangji stiffens. "I will not."

"Nobody told you?"

"Nobody.”

Wei Wuxian pauses, momentarily satisfied.

"You're not going to ask how? Or when?"

Lan Wangji would like to. He would like to know everything of Wei Wuxian, even his sorrow, his pain. But he is not entitled to those things. There is only one point that matters.

"Can it be replaced? Can the procedure be reversed?"

Wei Wuxian sighs. Lan Wangji can tell he does not wish to speak of this.

"So single-minded, Lan Zhan," he scolds, then shakes his head. "The chance of success would be small; the chance of finding a donor, much smaller."

But this is all Lan Wangji hoped to hear. It is enough. He goes to his knees, arms circled in front of his chest.

"Allow me," he says.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian darts forward, trying to pull Lan Wangji up from the ground. Eventually he gives up and goes to his knees in front of him, pushing at his arms. "Lan Zhan, stop this," he says, panicked. "Don't be stupid, stop—Lan Zhan, you can't be serious."

"Please allow me," Lan Wangji repeats, eyes downcast.

"Stop this!" Wei Wuxian shouts. "It can't be done, and I wouldn't take it from you anyway!"

Lan Wangji flinches bodily. He had not considered...but yes. Everything in him is sullied. He bends at the waist, bowing further.

"Apologies for the offense," he says, then snaps his mouth shut. His voice is too obviously strained.

"Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian says, still alarmed.

Lan Wangji needs to leave. He has already overstayed. But he...he has not tried hard enough.

"This debt is too great to repay in one lifetime," he says. "Please inform this one of what he may do to begin."

Wei Wuxian sags, dragging one of Lan Wangji's wrists with him. "Lan Zhan, there is no debt between us."

Lan Wangji only just stops himself from glancing up. He does not understand.

"I owe you my life and more," he says. "You took great pains to save me, even as the situation proved me unworthy of it. I owe—"

"You owe me nothing," Wei Wuxian insists, shaking Lan Wangji's arm. "There were no great pains. Nobody is unworthy. Well...you aren't."

Lan Wangji opens his mouth to protest, but Wei Wuxian speaks over him.

"People have...desires, Lan Zhan. There's nothing unworthy about it."

"But you—"

"Stop," he says. He sounds so, so tired. "If you hadn't been...dying. If we—" He stops. "Just keep my secret," he says, and lets go of his wrist. "And live well."

Lan Wangji closes his eyes. The thought of going back to his home, his life, after this, had not yet occurred to him. It sinks him from his knees to the ground. How can he do this? How can he leave him this way?

"Wei Ying," he pleads. "I must...I must do something. I cannot...I..."

"Why, Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian asks, not unkindly. "You have responsibilities. People to protect, just like me. Live well, and count things even between us. Why not?"

Lan Wangji’s chest caves in. He does not make the sound clawing up his throat.

"You...truly, you must know why," he says. "After... you must know. I would not leave you in need. I could not."

"Ah, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says sadly. He shuffles forward. Lan Wangji startles at the feel of fingertips on his cheek. "You're too good. But all I need is," he huffs, "political asylum for me and 40 friends? It's not your burden."

Suddenly yet slowly, like the first burst of sunrise, an idea reveals itself on the horizon of Lan Wangji’s mind. It is unorthodox. And likely unwelcome. But it is all he has.

"My uncle made a suggestion," he says. "When my affliction became known. It is true that he did not know what it would mean, but I would hold him to it. If it is not...hateful, to you."

"I don't know what you mean," Wei Wuxian says warily.

Lan Wangji steels himself. "You are perceived as the head of a sect. A proper alliance could protect your people, and Gusu Lan is in need of hands for rebuilding. The person who cast this curse upon me has given the perfect excuse, and made themselves scapegoat. If you would...I would not ask anything of you, if you agreed. It would be a marriage in name only, as you wish it."

Wei Wuxian's silence turns to spluttering. "M—Lan Zh—marriage?? What—how—"

"If the idea is odious, I will not mention it again. But as I said. My uncle suggested it. And under the circumstances, he cannot refuse."

"Your—he—Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, look at me. Look at me, please."

Lan Wangji looks at him. His eyes are wide. Disbelieving. Concerned.

"Your uncle would qi deviate if you even hinted at such a thing," he says. "Gusu Lan is in a precarious enough position, you don't need...I have nothing to offer in return." He pats his lower stomach, empty of spiritual energy, emphatically. “Nothing. Don't be ridiculous."

"It is not ridiculous," Lan Wangji argues, certain now that he is right. "You can offer more protection for us, and we can offer legitimacy. The person who cast this curse can be seen to have forced our hands. Has—has forced our hands."

He stops himself. He should not push this. Wei Wuxian is looking at him as if he does not know him.

"You don't want to marry me, Lan Zhan."

This gives Lan Wangji pause. It is a confusing objection, to say the least. He stares, trying to comprehend. He clears his throat. Takes a breath.

"If you are under the impression..." he stops. Drops his eyes once more. "...that the...impetus of the curse. Is the whole of the way I—”

"Demonic cultivation," Wei Wuxian interrupts. "It would be unhealthy. For you. And your elders! They wouldn't let me, not if I were...attached to your sect. To you.”

A fair concern, and one Lan Wangji has been turning over in his own mind as well. "Is this your only objection?"

Wei Wuxian casts about. "Ah..."

Lan Wangji takes one last plunge. "The elders can be reasoned with, compromises can be made. I am not concerned for my health: being near you could never be harmful to me." He hears himself, then, and amends, "Though you need not. Be near me. That is not a condition."

"You would defend this?" Wei Wuxian asks, bemused.

"Defend what?"

"My cultivation path. You..."

Lan Wangji resists a sigh. "I understand the reason, now. And I believe...if you did not object. We could work toward making it safe, without stripping you of what your hard work has created."

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says. He reaches out, then stops.

Lan Wangji stares at his hand, hovering between them. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his eyes, in his tongue.

"Wei Ying."

"You would let me, though?"

His tone is gently mocking. His head is cocked to the side, the edge of a smile playing across his lips. It knocks the breath from Lan Wangji's chest.

"Let you?" He asks, dazed.

"Be near you."

Lan Wangji's heart stops. It is a moment before he can respond.

"I would. Always."

Wei Wuxian takes his hand, and sighs. "You don't owe me this," he says again.

"I do," Lan Wangji counters, off-kilter. "I owe you. And I want to. I would want to, even if—"

He loosens his tight grip on Wei Wuxian's hand. He is saying too much, taking too much, being too much. He settles himself. Finds the words that matter.

"It would be a thing happily given, with no strings attached, should you wish it."

Wei Wuxian laughs strangely. "Lan Zhan, you really..." He shakes his head. "I'd marry you in an instant, you know," says.

Lan Wangji's neck hurts from the speed with which he looks up at him. Hope, warm and liquid, blooms through his limbs.

"But I can't make this decision on my own," Wei Wuxian goes on. "It's not just my life. We have to talk it over with everyone."

"Yes," Lan Wangji says, surprised, and eager now that he sees the possibility of success. Of doing something of use.

"Alright," says Wei Wuxian, a smile hidden in the corner of his mouth. "I can't promise...but it...it could work."

"It will," Lan Wangji says, certain that the strength of his conviction alone will carry them through if need be.

He feels strange and dreamlike, confused but heartened by the turn in this conversation. That Wei Wuxian can stand the sight of him, let alone wish to ally with him personally, seems too wonderful to be true. Another Wei Wuxian hallmark.

"But Lan Zhan, no more talk of strings," Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Wangji sobers and nods. It is unseemly. Of course their understanding must be a tacit one, now.

But his hand is suddenly in both of Wei Wuxian's.

"You need to stop feeling guilty," Wei Wuxian says, looking down at it. "If I were your husband...if I were. We could try all that again, but without the impending doom. We could try it again any way we like, any time—all the time—and we'd—"

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji interrupts, strangled. His heart is in his throat. He cannot comprehend what he is hearing. His ears, his face, are on fire.

Wei Wuxian smiles down at their hands, one part shy, one part mischief. "I think we could get really good at it, if we had the chance, don't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him. "You..."

"Mn," says Wei Wuxian, meeting his eyes.

He shines so bright, even without any core to speak of. He takes Lan Wangji's breath away.

"I take it back," Wei Wuxian says, his voice suddenly urgent. "I like strings. Mine is that if this happens, I want to be your real husband. In name, in practice, in bed, and in your heart. Because you would be, in mine."

Lan Wangji's voice sticks in his throat. He feels...he feels unreal. He does not know what to do, to say. Perhaps they never broke the curse at all and he has simply gone mad. But Wei Wuxian's fingers stroking his palm, the root-knotted dirt beneath his shins, are real. He sways, unbalanced.

Wei Wuxian reaches out. Catches him. Folds him into his arms for a second time. Lan Wangji's breath shudders out of him.

He is on his knees, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this many ways. But never has it been so real, so full of hope. He wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian in turn, buries his face in his shoulder.

Wei Wuxian huffs. "Jiang Cheng is going to be so angry."

Lan Wangji comes back down to earth. It is true he had not thought of this. He makes to pull away. "How should—"

Wei Wuxian clutches him tighter. "I don't care," he says, "I don't care, we can manage him." He pauses, then speaks more softly. "Maybe...I could see shijie's wedding after all. Or—no. It's too soon, I—"

"Yes," says Lan Wangji. "You will. We will go together."

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, and lets it out into Lan Wangji's hair.

"Together," he says.

It takes several serious, and at times uncomfortable, discussions, but in the end, Gusu Lan’s Second Jade is indeed thoroughly removed from the marriage pool of the great sects. The curse caster is found and punished. And everybody else lives happily ever after.

The end.

-----

(Thank you for coming on this wildly self-indulgent journey, I hope you enjoyed it. If you’d like to read some actually nicely-polished, fleshed-out fics by me—including another sex-cursed LWJ—check out my AO3.)

[lavender-z-love]

Ken Kaneki X Black.FemReader

One's Embrace

Warnings ⚠️: Mentions of human flesh, Lover's Quarrel, Fight and Make-Up, Fluff, a bit Suggestive (at the end leading into the 3rd part) potential spelling errors.

Wordcount: 770

Link to part 1

Link to Part 2: Here ♡

Link to part 3

It was like you were sleeping in a soft furnace. So silk, so soft, so warm– you attempted to burrow down deeper into the covers.

There was a soft voice, almost like singing to you, like a serenade.

"Y/n?" Then something soft brushing your cheek ever so gently.

Your sight comes to, blurry and sleepy vision now becoming clear as day. The figure transforms into your charming boyfriend.

He sat by your bedside waiting for you to wake up.

"Kaneki...You're here.",you whisper oh so delicately. Your morning voice fragile, He grins then chuckles a bit,"Of course why wouldn't I be here?"

Your vision became grainy, remembering that ridiculous fight you had, regretting those words you chose that day. How you wish you'd never said those terrible words.

As you reach out to him, he takes your hand; curious as to what your motive was. He then realized once you pulled him into a hug,"Im sorry Kaneki. I didn't mean any of it."

In response Kaneki hugged you back, his hand rubbing your back gently,"You don't have to apologize, I was being ridiculous." His voice, soft in remorse; even though you felt it was your fault.

Quietly weeping, you nuzzled your face into his neck, coating his skin with your tears."Hey, hey, hey– look, its ok. I know you didn't mean it."

He pulled away, reaching for your face. Carefully dragging his thumb across your cheek. "I just feel like Its not, I could've really hurt you."

"Hurt me, huh.." Kaneki eye faded to a black color as his iris turned red. Kaneki takes your hands, interlocking with them before pushing you down. With your fingers still interlocked, your hands were pinned above your head. "Are you not scared of me, Y/n?"

"Should I be Scared?",you asked in a whisper. Kaneki chuckled, bringing one of your hands to his lips. His eyes close, placing kisses upon your knuckle. His breath was warm and steady.

"Y/n have you know nothing about Ghouls? I could eat you right now- nothing would be left."

Soft pecks left on the back of your hand. He moves to your cheek and even behind your ear a bit. Giving your face gentle kisses, you breathe out softly, placing your hands in his soft black hair to pull him closer.

"Ken, if you wanted to consume me, wouldn't you have done it already?",You asked in a hushed tone. In love with the feeling. You felt his lips move against your skin; speaking,"Still though—".

You pulled him into a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck. In the process, pulling him back down on top of you, while he had attempted to get up.

"Ken, I know what you're trying to do. Its not going to work."

Kaneki smiled,"Oh, should I try again. I don't think I was trying hard enough." He hovered above you, arms resting beside your head which kept him from crushing you.

You scoffed, staring up at him. Enchanted by his black and red eye. "Why did you try to hide it from me?"

"I didn't mean to– I just thought you'd think differently about me. "

"Now why on earth would I think differently?" He hesitated, letting out a slow and steady sigh;"I-..now I have no choice but to eat human flesh, and I'm one of them."

Kaneki's face grimaced with anger and sadness. "Hey, don't be like that. Neither of those things changes my opinion on you. Of course, when I found out, I was frightened a bit because– I didn't expect you to be a Ghoul."

Your hands make their way to Ken's face, cupping his cheeks as you spoke.

"You always spoke so ill about ghouls, when a report of someone who was found deceased by a ghoul, I noticed you'd distance yourself."

Kaneki's eyes scanned you with a slight tint of guilt,"I'm sorry, I wanted to protect you, I didn't need you to be put in danger because of me. There are dangerous ghouls who could use you to get to me, endanger you and vice versa."

"Kaneki, don't worry about me too much. Please. I'm fine! See? You've done such a good job protecting me, just no more secrets, okay?"

Kaneki's eyes began to flood with water,"Y/n, I almost lost you last night! Don't try and pass that over like it didn't happen. Starting now, I promise-",Kaneki pauses to press a kiss upon your lips,"I'll do better at keeping you safe, Darling."

Kaneki never let you take your hands off his face, but he leaned in pressing the both of your foreheads together.

'Just a little longer.' He thought, he wanted this moment to last. He was frightened one day you'd parish now that you knew the truth.

He knew that he'd have to do more than before to keep you safe and thats one promise he would keep. He took a deep breath, causing a loud Sign.

The silence was quite loud, Kaneki needed to gather his thoughts together before chosing his next move.

Wanting to set, the "danger talk" aside and do something special for you.

"Thank you, Y/n."

"Thank me? What for?" He takes your hand, dragging it to your lips, planting kisses along your palm.

"For taking a chance on me, for Accepting me."

"Ken don't thank me."

"I wish to take you somewhere, for making me happy." You give him– That look and say,"Rewarding me Kaneki?

He blushed a red blaze across his face.

"N-No..Not like that."

You reached up to kiss his head,"Whats wrong?"

He sat up and got off of you, finding a place to sit beside you.

Still embarrassed, he continued to speak,"You..The look and the voice- I-".

"I was just teasing Ken, unless you'd like to see more of it",you say giving him yet again a seductive glare.

Kaneki stands up, blush still roaring across his face, grabbing his eye patch that lies on the nightstand, he quickly escorts himself out the room,"G-Get dressed! N-None of that just yet!"

"Oh? Just yet? Kaneki, my dear what was that you just said?"

You teased, chasing after him.

"Get dresses I said!"

Date written: April 1st (this is not a April fools joke smh)

[ahopelessromantic]

Children of Sun and Darkness (M)

Part two of A Child of Sun and Darkness

Pairing: The Darkling x Sun Summoner! female reader

Word count: 8,7k (oh boy)

Warnings: once again, spoiler of the Darkling’s name, SMUT, Aleksander being a SIMP, fluff, so much fluff, villainous behavior

A/N: I really, really got carried away with this one. Especially since I didn’t even intend to have any smut in here. But alas, the apology letters to Ben Barnes and Leigh Bardugo are sent once more and I wish you all a happy reading experience. I really do must warn you again of the Darkling as a father though, I don’t think you’re ready.

A gorgeous ray of sunshine was tickling your barely awake self.  There were things to do, certainly, but your bed felt far too heavenly to be left already. The air had recently begun to smell like the promise of summer, and it paired so nicely with the flowers Aleksander always brought to your bedside table. Aleksander, you thought sleepily and slowly opened your eyes. You would have loved to curl into his lean body for a few more minutes before getting up, but it seemed like he had already so cruelly abandoned you. You were about to pout like a little baby when a soft morning wind carried the sound of laughter through your window. Aleksander must have opened it before leaving your shared chambers. Wanting to know the source of these joyous sounds, you slipped into your morning robe and stepped in front of the big window. After your marriage to the infamous Darkling, the two of you had moved your chambers to be closer to the Little Palace’s beautiful gardens. From where you stood now, your position on the second floor gave you the perfect view over them.

“There she is.” Your husband beamed with his lovely deep voice. He was looking up to you with nothing but adoration in his eyes, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself. Your daughter, barely even four, shrieked happily at your sight and sent another ray of sunshine your way. “Good morning, my love!” You called out to her. She ran up to her father, who picked her up so she could see you better. Your chest warmed at the sight of the two people you loved most in the world, the serenity in their expressions. “Good morning Mama!” She giggled back. You blew her a kiss, which she caught enthusiastically. “You should have awoken me!” You chided your husband. He smiled. “How could I, when you were sleeping so peacefully? Besides, we wanted to try if Ilona could get her sun rays all the way through to our bed. Did she manage it?” The proudest smile grew across your lips. “She did. You did amazing, honey. So amazing, that when I get down there, I’m gonna have to smooch you all over!” “NOOO!” She screamed and skipped away to the pond to look at her beloved fish. “Are you coming down for breakfast? I already had the servants set out a table.” You sighed happily and just looked at your husband for a moment. “You really do think of everything, don’t you?” The grin he sent you in response caused your knees to weaken. “Who would I be if I didn’t.” To hide your blush, you scrunched your nose and disappeared from the window to get dressed for the day. Only a short while later you had finally made it to the gardens, clad in the same colour as your husband: deep black. Upon seeing you, your daughter began to happily run towards you. Suddenly then she seemed to remember your threat of extra smooches and turned around, but it was too late. You caught up with her and gathered her into your arms, tickling and kissing her all over. She laughed loudly, only half trying to escape. “Good morning, little sunshine.” You finally properly greeted her once you were done, pressing a long kiss to the top of her head. She turned around in your arms and buried her face in your neck. “Did I do good with the sunray, mama?” You smiled and pulled her even closer. “You did so well, Ilona. I love you.” She leaned away to look at you, the brightest smile on her adorable little face. “I love you!” She responded and kissed your cheek. Saints, she was everything good and soft in the world come to life. “Can I go feed the fishies?” She asked enthusiastically. You grinned at her, forever enchanted by the little human that was so you and so Aleksander. “Of course you can. Go ask the servants, they’ll give you some food for them.” The Darkling, who had watched the interaction between you and your daughter, stepped forward with a happy smile. You were about to ask what specifically he was smiling about when he placed his lips on yours in a passionate kiss. There was barely anyone around, but the kiss’ immodesty still caused your cheeks to flush. “My sun.” He whispered, only for you to hear. “I swear you look lovelier by the day.” You sighed, still phased by the kiss, and slid your arms around his waist. “And I swear you get more charming by the day. Is it a thing of darkness, your cheek? I think I see some of it in Ilona.” He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your temple. “I think that’s all you actually.” He nodded to where she was knelt on the edge of the pond, apparently talking to its inhabitants. “I only know one other being that can be so kind and yet so fierce.” For a moment, his words rendered you speechless, but then you pinched the fabric of his kefta. “Alright, Mr Darkling, now you’re overdoing it. Where is this breakfast you’ve promised me? I’m starving.”

Giggling like the two lovestruck Grisha you had been years ago, you set off to the little table laden with delicious breakfast foods. It gave you a perfect view of your daughter, close enough to see her, yet far away enough to allow her the space even she as a little person was owed. You and your little family spent most mornings like this: Breaking the fast together, you and your husband watching your daughter play, talking court politics while eating. There were unrests in Ravka again, unrests the old king didn’t seem capable of dealing with. “He’s a fool, and I wished I could see him gone.” You hummed at your husband’s words, staring at your tea in deep thought. If he had only been just a fool, you thought. He wouldn’t be any danger to anyone, then, but his empty-brained attempts at displays of dominance were costing the second army precious lives every time. But he was still the king, and the two of you were still just the second army’s general and his wife. “Careful with the treason talk so early in the morning, my love. I don’t think it’s all that becoming with my sweet roll.” He smiled and took your hand from across the table. You squeezed it and sent him a meaningful glance. “Besides, you never know who might be listening. You know I couldn’t bear it if the Lantsov family were to imprison you.” Aleksander sighed, now, and wistfully looked across the Little Palace’s grounds. Some Grisha were training in the far distance, Inferni, by the looks of it. His gaze was pensive, a look you well knew by now- he was planning something. But apparently, it was too early to let you in on his schemes yet. He just pressed a kiss to your knuckles and looked at you in earnest. “I promise you, my sun. One day, we won’t have to bow to anyone. Our world will only consist of our family and Grisha, and it will be safe. I promise.” An unexpectedly reverent feeling spread across the breakfast table. You nodded solemnly. “One day.” You whispered back. That seemed to please him because his face returned to the kind smiles he usually wore around you, and he pressed another kiss to the back of your hand. “I love you.” He mouthed at you, and you mouthed it right back. Then, as it tended to happen with a toddler child, the two of you were interrupted by Ilona climbing into her father’s lap. “Papa, can I have a dagger?” Both you and Aleksander snorted out a laugh at the determination in your daughter’s voice. She really was a force of nature, your little one- quite literally. Not fully in control of her powers yet, she seemed eternally surrounded half by darkness, half by light. No one had thought it possible, but so far it seemed she had inherited both yours and your beloved’s powers. Ballads were being sung about her in taverns ever since word of her powers had left the Palace walls and witch hunters trying to get to her ever since that, too. Now, Aleksander Morozova had always been concerned with the safety of all Grisha. But more and more often these days you found him pacing in his war room at night, or watching your daughter with far more than fatherly sorrow. It was an all-consuming fear and sorrow for her safety- one you shared. There was nothing you wouldn’t do to know her safe. Once you had been driven by ambition, then by love for your husband. But now such a fierce protectiveness spurred you on that caused you to think yourself capable of far greater evils than your husband had ever committed.

“Do you think the Second Army would follow us? If we were to split from the king?” Aleksander’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his deep brown eyes finding yours. The two of you had been dealing with some late-night paperwork, General’s duties. As the sun summoner and, in addition, the Darkling’s wife, you almost held as much power and responsibility as him these days. Your husband put down his pen and pensively sank back into his chair. “I don’t know.” He uttered finally. “I wish they would, of course. But some Grisha are as loyal to Ravka as Otkazat'sya. Some of them do wish to serve their country. And some of them do love their king.” He grimaced at that, and you had to bite back a laugh. “Ravka’s eagle is double-headed for a reason, you know.” He continued, and you turned serious once more. The sentiment of Ravka’s duality was a nice one- but one that was destined to fail, in your opinion. The Grisha already lived so separated from the country’s regular citizens that it was almost ridiculous to even count them as part of them. Most Otkazat'sya seemed to condemn Grisha for their powers, and most Grisha seemed to look down on the Otkazat'sya. They both had their good reasons, you figured. But how much contempt, how much annoyance or even hatred separated non-Grisha from Drüskelle? You inwardly shuddered at the thought of Fjerda’s Army, with their repeating rifles and their ruthlessness. Aleksander’s hand on your shoulder caused you to return to reality. “What’s on your mind, my sun?” He asked, his voice ever so soft. Sometimes, with how much love he showed you every day, you forgot about how evil he could be, how hated he was by so many. “I-“ You began, then sighed. “I’m thinking about what you said the other day, at breakfast. About not having to bow to anyone. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, actually. What would happen if we were to take one of the eagle’s heads? Leave the people and their Lantsovs to themselves and found our own sovereign nation of Grisha power. It would be of the tsar family’s interest to stay in our good natures, we could trade their foods and goods for our protection. But on our own terms. And we would be safe, in a city of our own, protected by Fabrikator walls and your Darkness. Ilona would be safe.” Your husband had that look on his face again. That look of deep contemplation. “A safe place for all Grisha. Most importantly, Ilona. That’s all I’ve ever wanted in life.” He said quietly. You stroked his cheek, ran a hand through his hair. “I know.” You hummed. For a moment, you spotted a glimpse of the man he had been when your daughter had been born. He had been so eager to do everything right. So happy, yet so frightened and worried at the same time. His first words upon seeing the little bundle that was your newborn daughter had been “She’s so small”, accompanied by tearful eyes. She had been small indeed, so very little. During the first weeks after her birth, whenever you hadn’t been holding her, he had been. There hadn’t been a nanny, a wet nurse even. The both of you had been far too afraid to let your precious daughter out of your sight. Still were. She was your everything. You felt guilty for steering your nightly conversation down such a dark path, so you took his hand and lovingly squeezed it. “I trust you, Aleksander. I trust you to do what’s right for us as Grisha, and for us as a family. And believe me when I say I will be by your side for anything you ever decide on doing.” The smallest of smiles began to tug at his lips. “Come on now.” You said softly and breathed a kiss against his jaw. “It’s late, and it’s my matrimonial duty to distract my betrothed from any worries that might plague him.” He was fully smiling now, a familiar playful glint in his eyes. He tilted his head and looked at you with one raised eyebrow. “How would you think to go about doing that?” You returned his playful smile and got up to settle yourself right into his lap. Something dark flashed across his eyes, something that told you you wouldn’t yet sleep for many more hours. “What about this?” You whispered and experimentally ground down on him. A devious smile was on your lips. For a moment, he let you have the upper hand. Leaned his head back, breathed deeply. Sometimes, you were allowed to see him like this. To have him like this. Feeling bashful, you leaned forward to place a myriad of kisses against his neck. You could almost hear his heartbeat speeding up, his breathing growing heavier. His hands wandered to your waist, then to your hips. He used his strength to press you down on him, and it was then that you were done for. Your moment had ended, it was his turn now. Aleksander looked up at you with dark eyes, his pupils were blown wide and barely noticeable in the low lighting. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you sometimes.” His voice had dropped at least an octave deeper. “My perfect, perfect wife. My perfect sun, with a body so powerful. A body strong enough to bear life.” Feeling very vulnerable all of a sudden, you had to make an effort to bite back the tears that had risen to your eyes. Your husband truly always knew what exactly to say- even to a mother who sometimes found herself quite insecure in her new curves. “I love you.” You marvelled, kissing him softly. He smiled into the kiss and deepened it until you were both gasping for air. “Shall we retreat for the night, my sun?” You were about to respond when he lifted you up and placed you on the table the two of you had been sitting at. “Or do you want to taint this place forevermore? Curse it, so I think of being inside of you whenever I hold council here?” You innocently looked up at him through your lashes. Then, you smirked. That seemed to have been answer enough, because he was on you again in seconds, devouring every inch of skin he came across. “Do you remember our first night?” You gasped out between moans. Aleksander stopped in his tracks for a moment to look at you, lifted your chin with his fingers. He looked unravelled. Like he was merely dangling by a thread anymore. “You mean when I almost had you in the hallway, of all places?” You grinned and felt your eyes light up. “Exactly.” You whispered and leaned forward to capture his lips again. He groaned into the kiss. “Saints.” He panted. He seldomly addressed saints, if ever. It sent a wave of cocky satisfaction through you. “All this time with you, and you still find ways to catch me off guard.” Chuckling, you pulled him impossibly closer by his collar, crossing your legs behind his waist and grinding up against him. “I think it’s included in those matrimonial duties of mine.” “You’re going to have to- ah.” He took a deep breath. “-Send me a list of those.” You wanted to respond something, anything, but you didn’t get the chance to. Not while your kefta was being unclasped, not while his hands bunched up your skirts around your hips. “Do you want to go slower?” He asked, breathing heavily, his forehead leaned against yours. You closed your eyes for a moment, then smiled. You felt surrounded by your husband, by his scent, his presence, his arms. Most of all, you felt safe. A kind of safety only Aleksander had ever been able to provide for you. After a moment, you shook your head. “No.” You answered, nipping at his neck. “No.” You said again, sliding his kefta off his shoulders. “I want you. I need you. Now.” Suddenly, time seemed to speed up. You helped the Darkling unbuckle his pants, shrugged off your own coat, allowed him to rip most of your blouse open. The thoughts of witch hunters and civil unrests were still heavy on your mind, and you wanted him hard and fast, so he could take away all of your worries. Normally you weren’t as impatient as this. The two of you loved drawing things out in the bedroom, all teasing kisses and devilish grins. But today, things were different. Today you wanted to forget. Today you wanted to be overpowered by him. You didn’t even have the proper time to admire his length, for as soon as it had been exposed, it was already teasing along your folds. You sighed out shakily. “How badly do you want it?” Aleksander asked, one hand playing with your breast. “So badly, Aleksander.” He sighed at that, too. His name from your words would maybe never lose its effect. “If you were taken from me, I would kill. I would destroy entire cities to have you again. To have this again.” Your words almost felt as intimate as your wedding vows. They sent you both forward again, lips colliding in a clash of teeth. His tongue touched yours and sent a bolt of electricity down to your nether regions. “Nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing will ever take me from you.” He vowed back. With that, he entered you, and you both moaned out loudly. “Fuck!” He almost yelled. “How are you still so tight?” It was clearly a rhetorical question he didn’t want an answer for, for his hands were clasped around your neck. You allowed your head to drop back in pleasure and voluntarily clenched around him. “All for you.” You rasped out through his grip. He started fucking into you at that, the both of you losing your ability to form proper sentences once the so familiar fire started to spread between you. Somewhere, the edge of a book was pricking into your side, but it only spurred you on further. You always felt like the queen of the world like this- desired, full of pleasure, the most powerful man in the kingdom losing himself in you. You thought of how he would never be able to look at this table normally again, how he would twitch in that adorable way of his whenever people weren’t paying attention to him. Saints, you loved him. You loved him. Your heart felt warm and full, but so did you. At some point he hoisted you even further onto the table, his pace relentless now. But you didn’t care, you needed more, more, more. “Aleksander!” You gasped out when he brushed up against that place inside of you. “I love you.” You panted, tightening your legs around him. He looked at you like there was nothing else ever worth being looked at. Like you were a painting he could neither understand nor get enough of. With shaky hands he moved a few wayward strands of hair out of your face, then he cupped it in his hands tightly. “I love you.” He answered, stressing each word with a thrust of his hips. “Oh fucking saints, I love you. I’m so close.” “Let go.” You encouraged him seductively, tugging at the hair in the nape of his neck. “Give it to me, Aleksander.” His pace seemed to grow impossibly faster until it grew erratic. “My sun. My love, my goddess, I’m going to-“ With a loud moan, he came, his pulsating member spilling his seed into you. You helped him ride out his high, pulled him closer, clenched and unclenched in his rhythm. He shuddered at that; head buried in your neck. It was your moment once again. He was all yours to have. “I love you.” The two of you whispered at almost the same time and broke out into laughter. But the laughter caused you to clench again, and Aleksander winced from the hypersensitivity. “You’re just too tight, my love.” He almost teased and moved to remove himself from you. He wasn’t really in a state to tease again, yet. You pouted. “But I don’t want you to leave me. I always feel so empty afterwards.” He breathed a kiss to your cheek that could have well been a concealed laugh. Sometimes the two of you would stay connected like that for ages, neither of you willing to end this incredibly pleasurable state of warmth and satiation. But while that was easy to do on a bed, it wasn’t so much on a desk. “Besides.” You continued. “We’re going to make a mess.” Your husband looked at you, his lower lip caught between his teeth. “I like the mess.”, he said decidedly. “Leave it to the servants to be cleaned up. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? For someone to know what cursed, unholy things their Saint does for her evil husband?” You barely even blushed at his words. Saints, he had ruined you- in the best way possible. “Now come on, my sun.” He uttered. “If I remember correctly, you still need taking care of.” You shuddered at the thought of what was to come. His fingers inside of you, his lips on your most sensitive spot. Oh, how good you had it. Smiling and holding his hand, you followed your husband back to your chambers. He stayed true to his promise there- two times. Afterwards, you sleepily held him in your arms, your fingers drawing abstract, invisible designs onto the skin of his back. Through the connection the two of you shared you could feel his peacefulness as if it was your own, a sense of pride filling you. You were the one in whose presence he could relax, let his guards down- no one else. You pressed a gentle kiss to his hair, a silent ‘I love you’. “My love?” He murmured and pressed an equally soft kiss to your shoulder. “Hm?” You hummed in response and watched your husband straighten up so he was able to look you in the eyes. He sighed, visibly struggling to find the right words. “I want more children, as many you’d be willing to have. Brothers and sisters for Ilona, so she will never be alone. More time for us to experience holding a newborn babe again. But I fear for our daughter so much, every day. I fear for any future children of ours, even. And I think we’ve lived in fear for long enough. I’ve lived in fear long enough. I thought if we just waited for the king to die, waited for him to live out his pathetic mortal life, we could seize control one day. But I’ve been patient for centuries, and I’m tired of it. I think the time for action has come.” Aleksander’s words caused you to sit up, too, your heartbeat uncontrollably speeding up. “Will you fight with me, my love?” You pensively moved a strand of his hair away from his gorgeous features, then lifted your chin. “Always.” You breathed. The smallest of smiles lit up his face. Your husband leaned up to kiss you, then pulled you into his embrace. “We’ll change the world. For us. For our family.” You squeezed his arm in response. You truly would.

The next few months were spent meticulously planning the beheading of the ravkan eagle. Your mornings were spent in softness, laughing with your daughter, cuddling with her in bed, and then that softness was exchanged for the coldness of daily council meetings. Spies were seeking out the intelligence of the opinions of Grisha on a potential Grisha state, letters were being sent, fighting styles being trained. The king and queen would pose the smallest problems for your cause- they would either cooperate with the second army’s leaving or leave their lives. Angry mobs were your bigger worry- there was a smart way to go about the splitting off of the kingdom, and you were eager to take it, with as few casualties as possible. Then there was the question of your new country’s location. You didn’t need lands the size of Ravka, but you still needed space for houses, training facilities, farmlands. Surprisingly many Grisha were open to leading a simple life of caring for crops and animals, having long tired of the so-called ‘war effort’. Your council meetings grew with each week, more and more Grisha eager to take part in the founding of a home of their own. Fresh faces kept on turning up every week- a Suli Fabrikator here, a Shu Healer there. The once so spacious halls of the Little Palace were beginning to feel cosy, filled with the hope of new alliances forming. It was getting harder by the day to keep your efforts hidden from the king, and the time to strike seemed to be nearing. Ilona seemed to be feeling it, too. Her new favourite pastime was to make friends with as many of the new Grisha as possible. You and Aleksander had both felt apprehensive about it at first, but once you deemed her safe you realized how much power of her own she truly held. She was a symbol. A symbol of you and your husband’s strength, of a new generation of Grisha. A generation that would grow up in safety, without being trained to be used in fights their entire lives. The people in the Little Palace loved her, they had taken to calling her the ‘Grisha princess’. It made you partly proud, partly uncomfortable. You didn’t want her to be an instrument in your fight for freedom, just another weapon to be used, but you couldn’t hide her away, either. She was still small, and young, but she still deserved a life in the light. Late at night, when he was feeling particularly safe and vulnerable, Aleksander sometimes told you stories from his childhood, his youth. How his mother had eternally urged him to stay hidden in the shadows. It wasn’t a way to live, he had once said. And he was right. Ilona deserved her fishpond, her Grisha friends, her chance to openly use her powers. One day, you and your husband already deep into planning your coup, you watched her play with a young Squaller boy. They were both laughing loudly, their happiness more than contagious. You found yourself smiling, heart and body warmed by the afternoon sun. This was what you were fighting for. What you were always going to fight for. Freedom. Only a few weeks later, the time had come. The king was holding a ball, and it was the perfect opportunity for a show of strength. Countless honorary representatives had been invited, the perfect audience for what you were planning to do. You, your husband, and your legion were hoping for a peaceful encounter. The second army was going to show in its full strength, crowd into the ballroom and declare its conditions. You all hoped the sense of unity you had all started to feel would make itself noticeable, pose a threat. The council meetings with your fellow Grisha had long ceased to feel like generals talking to their subordinates. You were equals in your cause, and as the objectively most powerful Grisha, you and your husband were treated with the respect of such. Almost everyone doubtlessly acknowledged you as the heads of your operation, the rulers of Little Palace. The king, of course, was going to be appalled, yes enraged even over your actions. He would spew harmless threats at first, feeling ashamed and belittled for having missed out on developments of such a grand scale right under his eyes. But his power was by far no match for yours. It had come just as you had hoped it would. The king of Ravka had begrudgingly signed your declaration of independence after hours of discussions, angry tantrums and finally quiet pleads. The Grisha would have their own eagle from now on- no shared heads. You would claim lands west of the fold, protected from each side by mountains, the true sea and the world of shadows your husband had created so long ago. The people already living there would have the choice of continuing to stay there, or move somewhere else for a compensation. Grisha from all over the world would be welcome in this sanctuary- you had space and power enough to keep them all safe. Once the coup was over and done with, you sought out a moment alone with your husband. It was a few days after, and both of you had been stuck in nonstop meetings and conversations with fellow Grisha. There was the name of your nation to be decided on, the flag, the layout of your new city. You had been so busy even, that your victory still hadn’t fully registered with you. “Are you alright?” You nervously asked Aleksander in his private office. It was nicely cool and dark there, a welcome change from the Little Palace’s crowded halls. His eyes met yours at that, a smile reflected in them. He looked the healthiest you had ever seen him, a new vigour in the way he moved. Sometimes you forgot that, while you shared the same cause, it already had been his before that for centuries. His years of pain and solitude had finally paid off. “I am not just alright, my love. I’m overcome with joy. Don’t you see it? We’ve changed the world.” You bit your lip, suddenly feeling overcome with emotion and fairly vulnerable. Carefully stepping into his embrace, you took in his scent, sought out his ever so calming touch. Just like he had done in the very early days of your relationship, he wrapped the two of you in comforting darkness. “I’m a bit scared.” You admitted quietly, choked up with tears. “It feels surreal that we’ve won.” Aleksander sighed and pulled you closer to his body. He knew what you meant- he had felt it too. This fear of everything being ripped away as soon as you’d held it in your grasp. “I know.” He murmured and pressed a kiss to your temple. “But it is done. Our declaration has been signed by the king, his ministers. The first army will allow us to leave- or be met with our collected strength. You’ve seen the halls outside, the gardens. I don’t think as many Grisha as this have ever been in one place, in all of history.” You looked up at his face, the beauty of his finely chiselled cheekbones. He was pure strength, safety. As if to remind you of your own power, you filled the room with a golden glow. You were the legendary shadow and sun summoner, the two strongest Grisha who had ever lived- nothing was going to come into your way. You got onto your tiptoes and hugged him tightly, buried your head in his neck. He reached his arms around your waist, and his so familiar certainty flooded your bloodstream. “We’ll have everything.” You murmured, half incredulously. Your husband chuckled at that and playfully squeezed you tight. “I promised that, didn’t I? I think it’s part of my matrimonial duties.” You both laughed, pulling away to look into each other’s eyes. Aleksander caressed the side of your face, nothing but devotion in his gaze. “I know that this new reality is frightening. We have more to lose than ever. But we can carry this fear together. Turn it into something beautiful, something to last for centuries. We’re not alone as long as we have each other.” At that, you leaned up to kiss him lovingly. You both sighed against the other’s lips. It had been ages since the two of you had last had the time to lose yourselves in each other’s embraces. “We’ll have all the time in the world for this, soon.” You realized suddenly, happily. The darkling smiled. “We will. We will my love.”

A few months later, your husband stormed into your chambers. He exuded a wild sort of happiness, his eyes restless. First, he pressed a kiss to Ilona's head, then he picked her up and twirled her around. She shrieked with laughter, and you lowered the book you had been reading while your daughter had played into your lap. Aleksander’s eyes met yours, untamed joy written in his features. “It is finished.” He spoked, and as if struck by lightning, you got up from your seat. Your book clattered to the floor, and the loud sound sent your heart racing. “Is it really?” You quietly asked, eyes wide and incredulous. He nodded reverently, hugging Ilona close to his chest. “The head of the Durasts received the word just this morning. The Fabrikators have finished our city, based on the drawings we’ve both seen. It’s marvellous, according to their reports.” Your hand wandered to your heart, as if to will it to go slower. You breathed heavily, taking a moment to let the realization sink in. You would be safe, on your own terms. Not the king’s. Both you and your husband had been overseeing the construction of your new city from within the Little Palace’s walls, not wanting to leave until it seemed completely safe. For months, assorted groups of Grisha soldiers, healers and most importantly, Durasts, had been crossing the fold to make your shared dream of a Grisha nation come true. The Darkling stepped closer to you, put his arms around both you and your daughter. A giggle escaped your lips. “It’s done.” You breathed; happy tears in your eyes. Aleksander returned your look with equal happiness and leaned forward to press a kiss between your eyes. Ilona giggled, sensing the happiness of her parents. “We can start the moving nothing shorter than this week if you want to. They’ll need your powers for the fold.” Sending smaller groups through the fold was alright. But for the massive move you were planning, you would accompany the myriad of coaches and carts, to keep the Grisha and their belongings safe. “The two of you will be alright here, for a while?” You poked Ilona’s side, and both her and your husband laughed. “We’ll have loads of fun. We’ll have a parade to say goodbye to all the fish, and we’ll tour the Little Palace to pick out all the paintings Ilona wants to take with her.” You grinned happily. They’d truly be alright.

The move was exhausting but fulfilling. You crossed the fold several times a week, accompanied by carts stacked with furniture, livestock and necessary equipment. Once an Alkemi cart almost eradicated a group of Inferni, a sign of how nervous and eager everyone was to escape into a country of their own. Your favourite part was listening in on the other Grisha’s conversations while guiding them through the fold. There was a group of young tidemakers gushing about the prospect of seeing the true sea for the first time and playing with it, two Alkemi discussing how to maximize carrot harvests with the right mixture of sun and Grisha fertilizer. You hadn’t been to the new capital yet, only seen its buildings gleaming in the far-off distance. You wanted it to be a surprise, to set foot in it for the first time with your husband and daughter.

“Enjoying the view one last time?” You asked gently and leaned against the doorframe. Aleksander turned to look at you in surprise, looking a bit lost in the empty room. The time to leave had come, and he had been quietly saying his goodbyes to the Little Palace for the past week. The two of you stood in what had once been his office, now nothing but an empty room with a pretty view. Your husband sighed, something in his expression calling out to you. You walked up to him and allowed him to put his arms around you. “Where’s Ilona?” He asked softly. You smiled. “With the other children. I think they’re playing one last epic round of hide and seek.” That answer seemed to calm him, free his thoughts for other topics. The two of you stared out of the window in silence for a while. Eventually, he sighed. His chin leaned on your shoulder, and you could feel his apprehensiveness. “I’ve wanted to leave this godforsaken place for decades. To never have to see the Grand Palace again. But despite all of that leaving is…” He trailed off, his gaze wandering into the distance. “It’s harder than I expected.” You placed your hands on his arms around you, squeezed them gently. “You’ve built this place. It’s only understandable you find it difficult to leave behind.” He scoffed, and you knew that sound. He made it whenever he was feeling something he hadn’t expected to feel. “This was the first place I’ve ever felt safe in. The first at least relatively safe place for Grisha there’s ever been.” You gulped down a ball of tears. “You should be proud of that.” You whispered. At that, he finally smiled. “You’re right. This is a first draft- a product of the past. We’re moving into the future now.” Grasping one of his hands, you held it up to your lips to press a kiss against it. “Are there any things you still want to take with you? Any last thing you still want to do?” He turned you around in his embrace and pressed your back against the wall right next to the window. A playful glint was in his eyes now, and you were overwhelmed by the sheer happiness he exuded. “I could think of a few things.” He placed a naughty kiss against the side of your neck, and you giggled. “You’re insatiable.” He straightened back up to look at you again and took an impossible step closer to you. “For you? Always.” He breathed, and the time for laughter was over.

The move to your new home took about three days. You wanted to take your time, show Ilona the parts of Ravka she had never seen. But of all things, the Shadow Fold seemed to have awoken her interest the most. While the other children and many adults, too, huddled close for protection, she skipped ahead. Her head was continuously tilted upwards in an attempt to take everything in. “I think she’s sensing your power. It feels familiar to her.” You smiled, taking your husband’s arm. His gaze was fixed to your daughter’s small figure, and his eyes glistened suspiciously. It was only then it dawned upon you- the Fold had been his biggest mistake, his very own monster- an abomination. Seeing his own daughter treat it with so much innocent fascination must have stirred hurt parts of his soul you couldn’t even begin to imagine. Your smile died down into a face of quiet adoration. You took a step back and left Aleksander to have this moment by himself. After centuries, he probably had been starving for one like it. After a few minutes, he turned around, his gaze seeking yours. There weren’t many Grisha around, most of them had moved already, so he allowed himself to keep his guards a bit lower than he usually did in the presence of other people. You sent him an encouraging smile and caught up with him to take his hand. “Do you want to catch up with her? We should probably get back to the coach if we want to make it out of the fold by noon.” He returned your smile, then took off towards your daughter in quick strides. “I’m coming to get you, Ilona!” She put up quite the fight, but in the end, she curled into her father’s arms, still giggling. She had always loved playing catch with him, even when her legs had barely carried her for more than a few steps. You didn’t miss the way Aleksander first glanced at the Fold around him, kept at bay by your powers, and then buried his face in Ilona’s hair. He was cherishing every moment of this. The next day, Nostova’s walls finally appeared on the horizon. The name you had ended up deciding on for your new country meant home, and you already felt a fierce kind of pride for it. “It’s just like the drawings.” You marvelled while finally riding through the gates. The bright Fabrikator made walls gleamed in the afternoon walls, and behind every corner, something new took your breath away. Eventually, you finally arrived at the most important building- your new home. It slightly resembled the Little Palace but looked… homier. There was enough space for administrative offices, meeting rooms, ballrooms for celebrations and a great hall to receive visitors. Emissaries from Ravka or Grisha with petitions, things of that sort. Walking through it, an eternal look of astonishment seemed to take hold of your face. It took you everything not to openly gape at the beautiful furnishings, the symbol of your nation etched into the entrance hall’s stone. An eagle, half shrouded by shadows, half dipped in light. It looked proud, grim, protective. And not like the Ravkan eagle at all. But what you liked most of it all were your new private chambers. There was space enough for at least four more toddlers, a library of your favourite books, a sitting room with a painting of you and your husband. It felt regal and comfortable at the same time. There was a private little staircase from your and Ilona’s bedrooms to the garden, something Aleksander had specifically requested. The Fabrikators had outdone themselves, and you only hoped they would feel the same pride in their work as you felt looking at it. The compensation they had received for their work would allow them more than comfortable lives in Nostova, lives they would hopefully enjoy. Your heart almost bursting with happiness, you watched Ilona and your husband take your new living quarters by storm, your little princess loudly counting down everything she approved of. With an inward sigh, you realized how spoiled she was going to be here. But whenever you talked to Aleksander about that he never seemed to quite understand the problem. ‘Let her be spoiled’, he only always said. Sometimes you forgot just how wrapped around Ilona’s little fingers he was. An odd thought struck you at the sight of your little family. This, Nostova, would be the first time in so long Grisha families would be able to stay together. Children would have their mothers and fathers again, would be allowed to train their powers with them by their side. “You look a little choked up, my love.” Your husband said teasingly, coming to a halt in front of you. His breathing was heavy from all the running around with your girl, and his hair was a mess. The darkling you had first met at the Fold years ago would claw his eyes out at the sight. You grinned at him, completely at ease with your husband seeing your emotions. “I’m just beginning to realize what all of this means. It’s incredible.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, at which Ilona demanded he return to her so they could explore the rest of your rooms. You and your husband shared a laugh, taking a moment to revel in your happiness. “I have a surprise for you later.” He whispered into your ear, and then he was gone, back to playing with your daughter. You had to refrain from fanning your face. Your cheeks felt very hot all of a sudden.

“Where are we going?” You whisper shouted, tightly holding onto your husband’s hand. This definitely wasn’t the kind of surprise you had expected. Aleksander chuckled and just kept dragging you in the direction of Nostova Castle’s main wing. After many halls and double doors, he finally came to a halt in front of a set of gilded doors. He positioned himself between you and them, an impish smile on his face. “I know I told you you’ve already seen most of the castle, but I wanted to keep this as a surprise for you. Show it to you when it’s just us two.” You lifted your eyebrows, your excitement starting to match with his. “What is it?” He bit his lips, seemingly conflicted. “Close your eyes.” He finally commanded. You breathed out a laugh in surprise but complied. “For someone who’s centuries-old, you really do behave childishly sometimes.” Your husband chuckled. “Now, dearest wife. Don’t stab where it hurts. Besides, you have centuries ahead of you yourself.” At that, you smiled. You did. Centuries by your husband’s side, centuries to watch your children grow up in peace and find love themselves. Your husband had already led you into the room behind the golden doors. Your steps echoed loudly, a sign of its probable grandeur. The two of you stopped and you felt Aleksander step behind you. “Would you give us a little light, my sun?” Smiling, eyes still closed, you called upon enough light to dip your surroundings in a light glow. “This…” He started, then sighed. “This is the most important room in the castle. We’ll receive guests here, announce decisions… open your eyes. This is our throne room.” Your eyes snapped open, and you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips. Just in front of you, on top of a few stairs, two breath-taking chairs overlooked the room. To your feet, a stunning mosaic of a sun in eclipse was let into the floor. One of the chairs was made of part gold, part glass, the glass reflecting your light beautifully and sending it through the room in tiny specks. The other one was made of the darkest wood, silver stars worked into the back- and armrests. But that wasn’t even the most beautiful aspect of them. The chairs stood a few inches apart, but where they were closest to each other they bled into the colour of the other. The golden one’s side was dipped in black, the black one’s side in gold. They were undeniably yours. Still rendered speechless, you climbed the stairs and sat down in the golden chair. It was surprisingly comfortable, and from it, you could oversee the throne room in its entirety. It was beautiful and regal enough to put Ravka’s Palace’s rooms to shame. The Darkling looked at you nervously, awaiting a reaction. You smiled at him and beckoned him to join you. “It’s beautiful.” You said happily, a smile growing across your husband’s face in return. He sat down in his place next to you, and for a moment the two of you just sat there and took in the view. This was your status now. Sovereigns of your very own nation, with thrones to call your own. You got up from your seat, enjoying the Darkling’s eyes on you. You stepped in front of him and slowly curtsied, conjuring your best demure expression. “Moi soverennyi.” You breathed out, looking at him from beneath your lashes. He chuckled, but you didn’t miss the hunger flashing in his eyes. You had decided to stick with his old title and have people address you as such, too. Nostova felt like it had outgrown the concept of Kings and Queens, but you and your husband both still undeniably held the power over the state. Feeling bold in the dark of the night, you sank into your husband’s lap. He was quick to pull you close, put his arms around you. “How improper you are, my lady.” You stifled a laugh. “I had to see if yours is comfortable, too, didn’t I?” He chuckled and littered kisses against your jaw, your cheek, your neck. “I can’t even tell you with how much joy it fills me to see you so happy here. Ilona, too.” Still smiling, you played with fingers. “I am happy.” You confirmed. “Happy we finally have made our place in the world. Made it ours. At the perfect timing, too.” You felt Aleksander start at that, and he turned you in his lap so he could look at your face. “What do you mean?” He looked confused, and a bit scared. Deciding he could stay like that for a moment, you just took him in, smoothed his hair back. He was beautiful. Powerful, dangerous, yours. “Don’t you feel it?” It wouldn’t hurt him to tease him a bit more. Just like he always did when he wanted to feel what you felt he sought out the touch of your skin on his- and shuddered. “Oh my.” He whispered and touched you again as if to make sure. “My love!” His gaze locked with yours, wide with surprise. Then, the most brilliant smile split his sometimes eternal frown. “Is it really-?” You nodded and placed a hand on your belly. “Ilona will have her first sibling soon.” With that, Aleksander started frantically talking. “I must have been so distracted by all the planning that I haven’t even noticed it, I can’t believe it! Our second child! For how long! We must make preparations at once, call a Healer-” Tears of joy in your eyes, you shut him up with a kiss on the lips. “I’ve already talked to Asa, the same healer as last time. He figures I’m about four moons along. So there’s still plenty of time for us to prepare.” Aleksander just looked at you completely starstruck for a moment. “I love you.” He finally murmured. You smiled, placing your hand on top of his on your belly. “I love you more.”

Soon after, your first son would be born. Your lovely little boy, named Kiran. Ilona was completely smitten with him, just like you and your husband. After him, four more children followed. Some were sun summoners like you, some shadow summoners like your beloved husband, some both, like Ilona. But all of them would gain legendary status throughout the centuries. They would travel the world, help settle conflicts between the neighbouring countries that rose and fell as if in the blink of an eye. Nostova, on the contrary, remained eternal. Like you and your husband. Its peace had allowed Grisha to grow stronger than ever, and your nation now counted many thousand people as its citizens. Sometimes, your children would visit you in your capital. Some of them had settled down there, too, like Ilona. She had married a heartrender, and their children came to play with you and your husband on Sundays. Your life had become gentle, and kind. You could see it in your husband’s face, too, every day. Only the boldest of kings and queens dared threaten your home, and it barely happened for any of them to follow through with their threats. Neither you nor your husband had any regular fighting or defending to do. You had been allowed to devote yourselves to ruling justly and fair, raise a healthy nation. In the mornings, you stood by your bedroom’s window and watched young Grisha train the use of their powers. In the evenings, you fell asleep side by side, still giggling about the day’s happenings just like when you had both been young and restless. Grisha from all over the world had found peace. And so had you.

[bluejayblueskies]

Hello! I love your writing, the hand holding over the table was so much feelings <3 can I prompt 29. tickling the other one? No pressure :-)

touches prompt list

thank you for your patience with this anon! i offer you some scottish safehouse jonmartin fluff <3

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It starts when Martin wraps his arms around Jon’s midsection while Jon is cooking, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of Jon’s sides, and Jon flinches so hard he drops the wooden spoon in the pot of red sauce.

“Oh, shit. S-sorry,” Martin says. He pulls his hands back quickly, but they touch Jon’s sides again as he retracts them. Jon can’t help the high, reedy sound that escapes him, and he feels his cheeks grow warm.

“It’s—fine.” Jon fishes the spoon out of the pot, wrinkling his nose at it before depositing it unceremoniously in the sink. “Just, um.” He debates the pros and cons of being honest before mumbling, “I’m rather … ticklish.”

“Oh.” Martin’s forehead creases, like he can’t quite decide what he’s supposed to do with that information. “On your sides?”

“Y-yes. And, um.” Jon looks down at the ground, then at a random point over Martin’s shoulder. “A-and … everywhere?”

Martin raises an eyebrow. “Everywhere?” he echoes.

“Well.” Jon frowns. “N-not everywhere, I suppose. My nose is, er, relatively safe, a-and my fingers.” He taps his fingers on his thighs a few times. “I just … have really sensitive skin. A-and I don’t…”

He trails off. It feels too vulnerable, suddenly, to say that he’s really not touched often by gentle hands, so every feather-light brush of skin against his is like a shock to his system. “I don’t usually have to worry about it,” he says instead, which seems vague enough. He thinks Martin understands what he’s really saying, though, because a moment later, a hand is on his (touching, Jon notes, only the fingers) and a kiss is pressed gently to the tip of his nose.

“Well,” Martin says softly. “I can be more careful from now on if you’d like.”

Jon flushes. “Ah. It’s not…” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, then settles for candor over subtlety. “It’s not a bad feeling.”

“Oh?”

Jon’s flush deepens, and he squeezes his eyes shut. “I … I like it when you touch me. A-and I don’t … want you to stop.”

Martin sounds amused—and slightly flustered—when he says, “I can touch you without tickling you, Jon.”

“I know,” Jon says, a bit petulantly. He takes a breath. “But I … I want you to.”

Martin lets out a small huff of laughter. “You want me to tickle you? Just … whenever?”

“If you don’t want to,” Jon says sullenly, “we don’t have to do it.”

“No, I—I do want to, I just…” Martin squeezes Jon’s hand once. “I want to make sure that I’m understanding you correctly.” Then, he brushes a finger gently along the inside of Jon’s wrist, and a small shudder runs through Jon’s body.

“Yes, that’s…” Jon trails off and simply nods. He hesitates, then reaches forward and takes Martin’s other hand in his so they’re clasped together, palm to palm. “I … I trust you, Martin. I—I know that you’d stop, if I asked, and … it’s nice. To be vulnerable like this.” Jon pinches his lips together for a moment. “Does—does that make any sense at all?”

“Yeah,” Martin says gently. “It does.” Then, quieter: “Thank you, Jon.”

Jon nods. The back of his throat is tight with unnamed emotions, and he swallows a few times in an attempt to clear them away. “A-and besides, I … I think this could be fun.”

Martin’s smile is gently teasing. “Fun? In this cottage? Surely not.”

“Ha ha.”

Martin’s smile widens, and he presses another quick kiss to Jon’s nose. “Okay, then. Let’s do it.” He rocks back and forth on his heels a few times, as if considering, before adding, “And you can try to tickle me back if you’d like.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Try to?”

Martin’s smile turns devious at the edges, and he doesn’t clarify. Instead, he squeezes Jon’s hands once more before releasing them. “This’ll be fun! I’m going to go start the laundry—let me know if you need any help with dinner?”

“Yes, of course.”

Jon watches Martin depart from the kitchen with a frown before returning to the pot and retrieving a new spoon from the drawer.

Try to? What did he mean by that?

Jon finds his answer a few days later when he casually brushes his fingers against Martin’s sides, just above his waist, and Martin doesn’t even twitch. A light touch to the soles of his feet elicits the same response, and a kiss on his neck results in only a smile and a kiss in return.

Martin is apparently, frustratingly, not ticklish.

This, naturally, escalates the game to outlandish proportions.

Jon will admit—albeit with some reluctance—that he is, in fact, a very competitive person. Board game nights and trivia always took on much higher stakes than strictly necessary, his research always had to be more thorough and comprehensive than that of his coworkers in the research department, and he felt a thrill of satisfaction every time he figured out the answer to a problem before anyone else. He just … doesn’t like to lose.

And Jon is currently losing against Martin. Quite badly, in fact. It only takes a few days of indignity and injustice for Jon to decide that enough is enough, and he is going to find Martin’s weakness and finally get ahead.

Every light kiss is accompanied by Jon’s fingers brushing against Martin’s stomach or sides. Every time Jon curls around Martin in bed, he’s sure to let his breath tickle the back of Martin’s neck and to trail his fingers up Martin’s spine. And every time Martin stubbornly refuses to react to Jon’s touch, Jon tries a new tactic, because something has to work. Martin can’t just be … immune. That would be cosmically unfair.

Because Martin takes every opportunity to tickle Jon in return. And the number of times that Jon has shrieked and dissolved into helpless giggles when Martin finds another spot on him that is, apparently, very ticklish is getting to be truly embarrassing.

Not that Jon is … complaining, necessarily. He likes the game—likes being touched by Martin in ways that continue to surprise him, without any expectation of something more. Martin stays clear of areas that make Jon uncomfortable, takes his hands away the moment Jon tells him to stop (usually in a fit of breathless giggles), and always entertains Jon’s attempts to tickle him in return, fruitless as they may be. He would just like it more if he weren’t losing quite so badly at it.

Not that he thinks Martin minds, judging by the fond smile that seems to be permanently etched onto his face lately. That same smile turns teasing, and a little bit smug, every time Jon fails to elicit the same breathless giggles out of Martin. Jon wishes the sight didn’t inspire such affection within him because he wants to be irritated by it.

His scowl never has any heat behind it.

A few days later, Jon finds himself ignoring the documentary they’ve put on the television in favor of skimming his fingers up and down Martin’s outer thigh. When Martin doesn’t move an inch, he grows bolder, then bolder still, until he finds himself on Martin’s lap, hands pressed firmly against his chest and lips trailing kisses down his jaw. He places a kiss on a spot that he knows is particularly ticklish on him, and when Martin still remains impassive, a noise of frustration escapes his throat.

Martin makes an amused sound. “Sorry,” he says in a distinctly unapologetic tone of voice. “I can see that you’re trying very hard.”

He sounds a bit breathless, Jon thinks with a hint of pride, even as he recognizes that that’s probably less a product of the tickling than it is of the fact that Jon is currently straddling him and kissing him quite thoroughly. Which is just ridiculous, in Jon’s opinion. Everyone is ticklish on their neck. It’s just human nature.

“I am,” Jon says primly, lips brushing against the underside of Martin’s jaw. Martin doesn’t so much as flinch. Bastard. “It’s rather rude that my efforts are going unappreciated.”

“Oh, I’m appreciating them. Very much. Feel free to continue, please.”

Jon pulls back and affixes Martin with the driest look he can muster. “I see you’re not sympathetic to my cause.”

Martin’s mouth falls into that same frustratingly smug smile. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” His hands, resting on Jon’s waist, skim upward suddenly and send a violent shudder through Jon’s body.

“This,” Jon says breathlessly, “is unfair. Cruel and unusual punishment. Torture of the highest order.”

“So you’re giving up, then?” Martin says sweetly. He punctuates his words with a quick pinch just above Jon’s waist that has him squeaking.

Jon scowls and pinches Martin’s waist in return, to no avail. “Don’t be absurd.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Martin shrugs. “All right.” Then, he lifts Jon from his lap like he’s made of papier-mâché, settles him back down on the couch next to him, and proceeds to attack his sides and stomach and arms until Jon is wriggling and tears are budding at the corners of his eyes and his stomach is sore from laughing.

It's wonderful.

(And maybe Jon’s just a little bit afraid that, if he finally finds a way to make Martin jump beneath his fingers, the game will end and Martin will cease trying to find new and wonderful ways to touch him gently, to handle him like he’s something tender, to take him apart and hold him close in the same breath.

Not afraid enough to stop trying to find Martin’s weak spot. But the thought is there all the same.)

In the end, none of Jon’s agonizing and strategizing and consideration of variables makes much of a difference. Because when he finally manages to tickle Martin, it happens quite by accident.

They’ve been in the safehouse for nearly a month now, and the tickling has become part of the daily routine. Jon thinks, therefore, that he should have come to expect it by now, but Martin never quite does the same thing day-to-day. Sometimes, his hands on Jon’s waist in the morning as Jon cooks breakfast are firm and comforting, eliciting nothing from Jon but a pleased little hum and a soft good morning. Other times, his fingers drum a light staccato rhythm against the small rolls of fat that have begun to accumulate on Jon’s hips, and Jon wriggles, making Martin laugh and insist that I’m hardly even doing anything, Jon.

Jon had never really considered touch as something that could contain so much love and affection within it. He’s never been more glad to be proven wrong.

The morning it happens is quiet and cloudy. The sunlight through the window is tinged with gray, bringing with it a cold that cuts through the downy duvet they have. Jon rolls over in bed with a groan. He presses himself firmly against Martin’s back, draping one arm across Martin’s chest and shifting so his legs are flush with Martin’s in an effort to combine their body heat and stave off the chill. His foot, socked and a good deal colder than the rest of his body, brushes against the back of Martin’s knee.

Martin twitches, his leg jerking away from Jon’s involuntarily. With sleep still clinging tightly to him, it takes Jon a moment to realize what’s happened and a few moments more to identify what, exactly, he had done to warrant the reaction.

Experimentally, he shifts and touches his foot to the back of Martin’s knee again, feather-light and fleeting. And when Martin makes a small sound in the back of his throat, froggy with sleep, and twitches away again, Jon grins. He buries his face in the back of Martin’s neck to hide it. Then—because he’s a bit giddy and just can’t help himself—he rests his foot against the back of Martin’s knee and wiggles his toes.

Martin’s leg curls up against his chest, effectively locking away his figurative Achille’s heel, and he mumbles something incoherent in his sleep that sounds equal parts groggy and irritated.

Jon’s smile turns soft, and he presses a kiss to Martin’s shoulder before wrapping his arms securely around him. The warmth radiating from Martin is enough to lull him back to sleep—but not before he tucks this new, incredibly valuable piece of information away in the back of his mind for safekeeping.

Jon has, in his memory, never been described as a particularly patient person. He always skips the boring parts of books and movies, preferring something that can actually capture his attention and hold it firm. He used to send daily emails to colleagues until they sent him the research or information or supplies he needed. He never lets soups simmer as long as the recipes tell him to, and he firmly believes that it’s all right to set the oven temperature higher than recommended in order to cut down the cooking or baking time required.

Therefore, he thinks it’s rather impressive that he manages to avoid showing his hand until a full day later, when he walks into the kitchen in the morning to see Martin standing by the counter, his back to him as he fiddles with the teabags and mugs. The weather is still brisk, but there’s a fire going in the fireplace that makes the temperature in the safehouse tolerable. As such, Martin is clad in a (rather adorable) mixture of bright purple fuzzy socks, a thick woolen jumper, and boxer shorts with little dachshunds on them.

And, well. His knees are right there.

It has a certain kind of symmetry to it—Jon wrapping his arms around Martin’s waist, earning himself a hum and a gentle good morning, and nuzzling into the space between Martin’s shoulder blades. He stays there for a moment, relaxing into the warmth and softness of the jumper, before slowly and deliberately lifting his foot and brushing it against the back of Martin’s left knee. Except, instead of dropping a wooden spoon into a pot of red sauce, Martin startles so badly that the mug slips from his hand, shattering rather spectacularly on the floor beside them.

Jon freezes, staring down at the puddle of half-steeped tea as it slowly creeps toward his feet. “… Ah.”

Martin mutters a curse under his breath and extracts himself from Jon’s now-loose embrace, bending down to begin picking up the largest of the shards. Jon stands there for a moment, feeling a strange mix of sheepishness and pride bloom in his chest, before going to retrieve the broom.

The mess is gone in a matter of minutes. Martin throws the last shard into the bin, dusts his hands off to ensure that they’re free of ceramic, then turns to face Jon with a sigh that straddles the border between exasperated and affectionate. “While I was holding tea?” he says, clearly trying to fight back a smile.

“I didn’t know you’d drop it!” Jon says defensively, gesturing widely with the broom he’s still holding.

“Well—I didn’t mean to. You just … caught me off guard.”

Jon can’t help the smile that spreads across his face at that. “Did I? How terribly rude of me.”

“Yes, yes, congratulations. You’ve found my weakness.” Martin’s smile is dripping with fondness. “I’m still winning, you know.”

“For now.” Jon adjusts his grip on the broom, the plastic bristles at the perfect height for his purposes.

“There’s not a chance that—hey!”

Martin backs up against the counter as Jon lunges forward with the broom, trying to angle it so it reaches behind Martin’s legs. It’s deceptively difficult. Martin gives Jon a comically exaggerated look of betrayal. “I expose my weaknesses to you, and this is what I get. Treachery and deceit.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Jon adjusts his grip on the broom, but before he can make another move, Martin leans forward and presses a quick, lingering kiss to his lips. Jon makes a noise of surprise, then one of contentment. He finds his eyes fluttering shut despite himself, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders, and he thinks he’d rather like to keep kissing Martin for the rest of the morning, and perhaps the early afternoon as well.

Which is why it’s rather unfair that when Martin pulls away, Jon opens his eyes to find that Martin’s sidestepped him and Jon has lost all tactical advantage.

“That’s cheating!” Jon says indignantly.

“That’s taking advantage of all the resources at my disposal,” Martin counters. It’s infuriating, and Jon loves him so very, very much.

What commences after that is a rather short, altogether too lively game of cat and mouse that mostly involves Jon running after Martin with a broom and Martin somehow managing to stay frustratingly out of reach. Martin’s laughter is lighter and more joyful than Jon thinks he’s ever heard it before, and Jon feels a childlike happiness blossoming in his chest as he nearly trips over the corner of a rug and just manages to catch himself on the back of the couch. Therefore, he can’t bring himself to feel too disappointed when Martin somehow manages to extract the broom from his hands and corner him on the couch. His fingers find the sensitive spots on Jon’s body as Jon giggles breathlessly and swats half-heartedly at Martin’s hands.

“All right, all right,” he manages to say between laughs. “You’ve made your point. I give up.”

Martin stills his hands, letting them rest gently on Jon’s shoulders with his thumbs brushing against Jon’s collarbones. He’s hovering over Jon, knees bracketing Jon’s thighs as the arm of the couch digs into the middle of Jon’s back. It’s a position that makes Jon feel small and enclosed, but also warm and happy and safe, because … it’s Martin. Martin, who only touches Jon as much as he wants him to and stops the moment it becomes too much. Martin, who apologized profusely the first time he accidentally rolled on top of Jon at night but who, upon Jon’s insistence that it was actually quite nice, has now taken to acting like Jon’s own very warm and very lovely weighted blanket. Martin, who looks at a body that has seen so many unkind hands and unspeakable horrors and presses kisses to the scars that lie upon it and reminds Jon with every touch what it is like to feel comfortable in his own skin.

“I love you,” Jon whispers, because he feels it so acutely in this moment that he thinks he might burst.

“I love you too,” Martin murmurs, rubbing his thumbs in careful circles on Jon’s collarbones so as to soothe rather than to tickle. The care behind that touch—the difference in intent from just a few moments prior—probably shouldn’t make Jon’s chest tighten and his stomach grow hollow and fluttering, but it does.

Martin presses a kiss to Jon’s forehead, soft and lingering and gentle, before pulling back and saying, “Tea?”

Jon can’t help leaning in to give Martin a chaste kiss on the nose, then another one quickly on the lips. The small noise that Martin makes with each touch is something that Jon boxes away and treasures forever. “Yes,” he says with a quiet smile. “That would be lovely.”

[janumun]

A [Cat] Parent's Memoirs of Pregnancy ft. Spouse (Pregnancy Headcanons)

Game: Shall We Date: Obey Me! Rating: General Audience/SFW Tags: pregnancy sweetness (and shenanigans)

Summary: Satan's approach and reaction to having a baby with his S/O.

Author's Notes: YESSSS YOU CAN @niphredil-14. 💚💛 This is cute and very, very warm. I tossed in between giving him either fur babies or demon babies (he deserves both!), and chose this! I hope you enjoy your read. 💚

Requests for this event are now (long) closed, dear readers. Thank you to all those who participated!

Perhaps three or twelve feline babies later, the two of you might plan on making a hybrid child — with two hands and two legs, five fingers on each and absolutely no fur in sight.

Satan would prefer waiting until your youngest adopted foundling — a tiny, dark slip of a cat — is well into its second year in this world before he decides to try for a baby, of your own flesh and blood. A decision he hardly takes in frivolity. Every vulnerable life, be it cat or person, is important and requires adequate care; Satan is very well aware of the fact.

When the two of you discover you are with child, happiness trumps within alongside multiple plans he’s already running through his head for the arrival of your child. Unfortunately, his immediate task on the agenda is informing Lucifer about the upcoming arrival — fighting for board for his adopted cats’ was Hell enough, war waged with you by his side — lest Lucifer demand he find elsewhere for the two of you to care for your baby. He’s going to stomp out of the House of Lamentation if Lucifer so much as suggests displeasure at your child.

Begrudgingly — and as frightening as it is to witness this conversation in between the two brothers, you fear you might almost collapse at how tensed you are watching the two glare at each other — though your demon breaks the news, and perhaps almost surprising for Satan, Lucifer greets the news with good cheer.

Claret gaze warming in affection as it slides towards you before he congratulates the two of you on your pregnancy.

Suffice to say, once his other brothers are informed of the news, they’re gathering over to express surprise (you suspect it’s more about them wanting to fawn and coo over a human pregnant) and extend their well-wishes to the two of you. Gifts from every single brother — in good will, but largely injurious to your health and the baby’s — Satan has lined against your side of the bed. Lucifer’s he burns with his unearthly verdant fire the moment you’re presented with it and the elder brother’s out of sight.

Manuals are brought out, books are being purchased. Shipments from all four corners of Devildom, pricey tomes on human pregnancy from the Earth.

Satan’s here to provide you with all information necessary to nurturing a baby within your womb, random facts and tid-bits even you’re hearing for the first time. He stresses on keeping yourself healthy. He isn’t an over-bearing future father but does definitely encourage you to stick to the health schedule he draws up for you every week, making a point of, time and again, how important it is for you to follow a good lifestyle in order to see through a safe pregnancy and delivery.

Everyday walks, Kegels, healthy amounts of fruit and meat in your diet (let him know if anything — anything at all — upsets your appetite and he’s quick to swipe that item out of your plate, and your lives). None of which you’re doing alone because he’s more than happy to accompany you throughout your regime.

Don’t let him choose too many of the baby’s clothes however, he’s pulling the oddest combinations of clothes off the rack and it leaves you half-amused half-terrified for your future baby’s sense of fashion. [That is way too many cat onesies in bizarre shades, Satan!]

He would never force you to adhere to something he wasn’t capable of seeing through himself. And, first and foremost he wants to be there for and with you. If you’d let him, he’d be very hands-on in helping deliver your baby as well.

Every single time the two of you make progress through your health list, Satan’s got a pat on the head ready, stroking your hair, affectionate, praising you on how well you’d done that day and what good progression you’d been making lately. Parting stray locks to press a kiss against your forehead. One to your lips in a smile more than happy to, if you ask for more. He’s that perfect balance between strict and adoring.

Future Father™️ (not so) secretly loves to be wrapped up in surprise cuddles any day of the week. There is nothing more joyous than the thought of being needed by you.

Perhaps one of the more enjoyable parts of your pregnancy has been how much more physically affectionate your child has made you and he can hardly complain when you crawl across the covers to join him in bed as he reads. You settling soft against him, needy arms coming around. Swollen stomach, round and wonderfully full, pressed into his side, he almost thinks he feels the baby within, kick a foot in welcome against his side — Hello Dad, as if that’s what Baby’s saying, if they could speak. The rather ridiculously sweet thought’s enough to pull a soft bout of laughter from him and an arm he fits carefully against your shoulder to drag you in.

“Are you cold again, kitten? Come sit next to me. We don’t want you and the little one to get sick now, do we? Is that better? Do you need me to go fetch a blanket? Alright then, sweet dreams.”

He’s here to answer to your every need, so long as it’s within the bounds of reasonability and not injurious to you or the baby.

As much as Satan might seem in control of the entire situation; calm rationale persevering through your hurdles of new pregnancy and future parenthood. Despite how he is the one you seek comfort in and take pride in as the father of your child… Satan is not entirely without his own chips in a seemingly flawless armor.

His knowledge, no matter how vast and thorough, doesn’t replace the practicality of witnessing you nurture a child — your child — within your belly for nine long months. Less than even a speck within a demon’s eternity but so very long and at times… challenging, more than he’s ever encountered throughout his lifetime. Having been born of Lucifer’s rage and anguish, Satan has never known of a parent’s love, nor does he pretend to understand what it might entail. He’s never really felt the need to, past that hollow ache that surfaces at times, to know he was born of loathing and negativity, not nurtured from love.

Lucifer’s hatred of his Father, Levi’s brief mentions of his Mother… a bedtime story narrated of times within the Heavens past with their family, among the brothers, in Lucifer’s absence, is all he knows of the entities called ‘parents’. He does not know what he ‘feels’, if his emotions and reactions are appropriate for a life the two of you are responsible for, together. If his version of love would ever be adequate enough for your baby — the thought that they too might grow missing half the love of their parents, to have no outlet for restless agitation and hurt towards a father who’s never had one of his own… it terrifies him beyond belief.

Times like these are when you need to read him like the very books he’s so fond of picking apart. Seat him by your side and engage him in conversation of your future as a family of many, many children (demon/human and feline alike). Let Satan voice his thoughts, unformed or firm, however they might come across. Pity or sermons are not what he needs; rather quiet understanding and thinking space. To let him realize how he has no need for anxiety; his version of love is just as much valid and your absolute faith in Satan’s ability to love your child as much as he does you. Something you’re willing to learn, a new experience of loving your child, together, with him by your side.

And if the hand that reaches out to caress your distended abdomen, as if towards one very precious, the soft affection in that verdant gaze is indication enough, he’s already begun to learn.

Bonus: Baby Wrath™️ is studious and very interested in learning of the world around, from a tender age. Drinks milk regularly and lick-finishes their cup clean, like they are supposed to under the watchful eye of Dad Wrath™️.

Satan is strict only in terms of good manners and good education; he’s nurturing and encourages the child to enjoy whatever hobbies they develop over their years. (Reading is one and no one’s more proud than Satan that Baby’s often found burrowed within their father’s mountain of books). You do allow the child more leeway, in terms of candy consumption and staying up past bedtime, although that influence can be traced back to Uncles Mammon and Levi who are terrible role-models and have more than once caused Dad Wrath to explode on their sorry souls. Baby Wrath is — much to the chagrin and woe of his father — very fond of Uncle Lucifer and he is their (second) favorite in terms of gifting new and fascinating books to study, and teaching to write simple words, on occasion.

End Notes: Thank you for reading!

♧° Link to Master List °♡

[youryanderedaddy]

Love Fuel

Summary: You were Jason’s first love before you broke his heart and rejected him. It’s all your fault that he can’t move on.

Tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, incel behavior, nice guy behavior, self - hatred, threats of non-con, implied non - con, implied masturbation, bullying based on appearance (not reader), deregatory language, kidnapping, misogyny, generalizations, stalking

this is a hot mess but its 1 am and i am tired, ik that incels are bad irl (obviously), but this is fiction and I kinda wanted to explore the dynamic and shit. 

Everyone used to call him JJ or The-Big-Jay back in high school. Well, most of the time his classmates weren’t really calling out to him or even talking to him, the names were whispered behind his back, after he had just passed the hallway, or on bad days - right to his face. The jocks, these dumb motherfuckers, would beat him up, mock him for whatever stupid reasons they had chosen to use as an excuse to torment the smaller and weaker. The popular girls would giggle like brainless bimbos as Kyle or Brad or any other football player stole his glasses or continuously punched him in the guts until he threw up all over the floor. Even the nerds, the kids at the bottom of the school hierarchy, messed with Jason from time to time when they wanted to feel the oh - so desired rush of power they so rarely managed to experience. 

Looking back, Jason could see why his classmates hated him so much - he was everything that society deemed as wrong and unattractive. He was thin, pale, “scrawny” as the others called him, on the shorter side, and on top of that the teen was terribly shy and introverted, never having the guts to stand up to his bullies or even tell someone about the abuse. The male spent most of his free time at home, playing hours upon hours of video games, watching anime and reading books he was simply too young to understand or look critically at. As he grew older, the man began to view the world as it trully was - a dark, miserable place that ate up sore losers like him. Men were primitive and foolish, which somehow managed to soften their faults. Women, on the other hand, were  calculative and manipulative, greedy and sinful. His whole life they had done nothing but reject him when he needed love and support the most. Of course, there were many other reason why the brunette detested the weaker sex. In his eyes women were evil two - faced sluts, showing off their bodies yet acting innocent and hurt once someone finally decided to use them for the only thing they were actually good for.

But you Jason hated the most. You reminded him that no matter how much he hated the outside world, he would always hate himself the most. He had to admit you were pretty, painfully so, with a perfect little body to match your looks and a sweet sugary smile that almost deceived him years ago. As much as the man regretted his weakness, he had fallen right into your trap at the time.

You weren’t the most popular girl, but you had your fair share of friends, all nice and loyal like puppies. You weren’t the smartest either, but unlike the other stupid giggling sluts you always tried to do your best. You were beautiful just like them but you were actually kind to the pathetic bullied kid no one else bothered to acknowledge even existed outside of being a punching bag. You always asked him whether he was alright and often took him to the infirmary when he looked paler and sicker than usual. You talked to him as if he was a normal human being and despite the initial doubt, Jason appreciated it. 

It was the last day of your senior year when the teen finally gained the courage to confess. He was shaking the whole time and by the end of his little speech there were small tears in the corner of his eye. You were the first girl the male cared about, the first one to show him kindness, to offer him friendship without asking for something in return. You were the only one who could make him feel deserving of love, worthy of affection. And then you took it all away in a matter of seconds.

“I am sorry, bud.” You had said that day after giving him a  half - hearted hug and an apologetic smile, that started to seem more and more like a mocking grin the longer the teen started at you. “I already have a boyfriend, but I am really flattered. I am sure that you will find a lovely girl once you start college.” You had added quickly, cheerfully, rubbing the salt all over his wounds, honey dripping from your plump red lips. He had wanted to kiss them, bruise them, bite them until your stupid lying mouth was filled with blood. Obviously you didn’t have a boyfriend or he would have known by now, he stalked your social media religiously after all. Even if you had one, he probably treated you like shit. And how could you even suggest him finding another woman? As if he wanted any of the stupid money - grabbing sluts out there. As if some of them could replace you.

The boy was too furious to form a proper response besides “Fuck you, bitch”. His cheeks turned red and he didn’t realise that the bitter words had escaped his lips before he could stop them, then his legs took him far away from that shithole of a school. He didn’t manage to see your reaction before running away but it didn’t matter anymore. You were just like the others. 

***

That day Jason swore to show you just how small and insignificant you had made him feel. He wanted to see you crumble, cry and beg for forgiveness, desperate for his love but never good enough to get it. The man formed a plan to change himself and come back for you once he had erased each and every trace of his past. The brunette came to terms with his terrible social anxiety and decided that he needed to gain social abilities more than anything. That’s why, as much as he dreamt of working from home as a boring programmer with an even more boring, but flexible working schelude, the male chose to study something that involved a lot more human interactions. The next step was to hit the gym for the first time and get a monthly subscription. It wasn’t hard to see that females nowadays liked brain - dead athletes with defined jawline and cheekbones, toned chests and strong muscled bodies, so if he wanted to impress you, he had to look his best. It wasn’t easy at first - it felt like everyone in the fitness salon had their eyes on his weak frame, laughing and pointing their fingers at his imperfections, but things gradually got better as time went on. The trainings became easier to get through and from time to time they even helped the man forget about his loneliness and nihilism. 

Jason soon returned to his old habbit of spending hours looking through your accounts - Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, he knew all of your usernames, each post, every picture and text. He couldn’t believe how much of a desperate attention whore you had become over the years. The male remembered you in your long brown skirts, cozy sweatshirts and pure-white shirts, all the gray buttons closed to the very top, blushing, laughing, smiling like the adorable Goody-two-shoes you were. Now you were smirking seductively in every photo, overconfident and vibrant, flaunting your tits for every man to see and wearing tight little dresses that barelly covered your ass combined with heels so high and sharp they could be used as a weapon. You were such a stupid slut it was disgusting, and he couldn’t stop himself from jerking off every single time he saw your pretty little face on the screen. He wanted to cum down your throat so badly it was ridiculous, and even after knowing that you had probably already had hundreds of cocks shoved deep inside your pussy, the brunette still wished to see you split open on his, taking his lenght like a good little cocksleeve. 

***

The moment when he could see you again finally came. How many years had passed since graduation - five, ten, fifthteen? It hardly mattered. Jason was successful, at last. The male had his own business that was doing surprisingly well, there were some guys from the gym he could call friends and the best thing, he looked absolutely unrecognizable. There was nothing left of the tiny scrawny kid with quiet voice that everyone stepped over, he was now replaced by a strong capable man, determined to get what was rightfully his and his alone.

It wasn’t hard to find you since the brunette knew everything about you - where your job was, what time you finished, how long it took you to go home and what path you took. You lived alone and worked as a barista in a small local cafe even now that you had finished your studies in your dream faculty. Turns out the princess wasn’t so great and smart after all, having to resort to working a minimal - wage job day and night just to be able to pay her rent. Jason was absolutely delighted though, he loved your stupid dead - end job and your endless struggles to survive in the materialistic world honestly and fairly without selling yourself like a common whore. On one hand the male was happy that you had clung onto your last bit of innocence and on the other your pitiful lifestyle gave him the chance to snatch you away much easier. And that’s exactly what he did.

 ***

You woke up confused just like he had expected, bombarding him with questions, asking him who he was was, begging him to let you go, to at least explain what’s happening. You were so dumb, but God, you were still so pretty, if not prettier than before. You cried so beautifully when Jason told you you belonged to him now and you cried even more when he slammed his cold rough lips over yours in a deep wet kiss. You whimpered and whined while the male sucked on your lower lip and bit down, good, he wanted it to hurt. The stalker couldn’t wait to be inside you, he couldn’t hold back anymore. 

He climbed on top of you and pinned your wrists to the floor before tying them up with delicate red rope and tightening it. It wasn’t like the man was scared of you slipping away and hurting him, you were too weak and tiny to stand a chance against his years of power - lifting and muscle - training anyways, he just wanted you to be as uncomfortable and squirmish as possible. Your tormentor wished for you to be in worse pain than he had been during his youthful years, and he knew exactly what to do. Next thing you knew Jason had ripped your dress apart, leaving you vulnerable and exposed in just your plain old panties and bra. Cold shivers ran down your spine when the chilly air hit your naked flesh and you finally realized there wasn’t getting away from this. You had to stay there, limbs bound together, unable to move or fight back, the stranger’s hands caressing your neck before moving dangerously close to your clothed breasts. You felt so sick you were going to throw up for sure if your abductor didn’t step back so you decided to use your last resort.

“Jason, please stop!” You screamed out of the blue, forcing the brunette to freeze instantly at the use of his birth name. You had already called him a pervert and a psycho which didn’t seem to faze him, but the name clearly caught him off guard. This only seemed to prove your theory further - the man really was your former classmate, despite the only similarity between them being the dark distant look in his eyes. “I beg you, don’t hurt me!” You continued, hoping to at least buy yourself more time before the assault took place. 

He gulped loudly and stared at your quivering form. The impossible had happened, you had recognized him and now together with fear, there was also pity in your gaze, the one emotion your captor absolutely despised. You used to be the only one who pitied him, and even now that he was bigger, better and stronger than before, you still had the guts to pity him. It drove him insane but any attempt to hurt or touch you was fruitless now - your soft skin was suddenly burning his fingers like hellfire. 

“You must be thinking that I am a monster.” Jason started out dryly, chuckling bitterly, humorlessly even. He clenched his fists unconsciously and brought them to the floor in a fit of rage, missing your head by mere inches. Your heart was beating like crazy and you only hoped the mandman couldn’t hear it. “A freak.” The man spat out the word like it was a curse and for a split second his eyes softened before turning into two spinning torches. “Right?” You were sure that if looks could kill, his would have you dead by the end of the night so you quickly nodded your head no.

“You are lying to me again, pretty girl.” The brunette replied feisty, "pretty” rolling off his tongue like an insult. Then he broke into hoarse maniac laugher and lowered his head so his face leveled up with yours, so close you could feel his warm breath on your tear - stained cheek. “When I am done with you, you wouldn’t be so pretty anymore, darling.” Your captor growled and attacked your neck, sinking his teeth deep into the flesh. “You will see exaclty how ugly my love is.”

[sukunarii]

i pray for the clichést of cliché scenarios filled with romance and fluff that makes your heart squeeze-- so what better than pen pals :) almost like online friends but they’re sending notes on a messenger bird and don’t know what the other looks like and they fall in love except he’s the king of curses the cruelest most feared curse alive and she’s a princess, who may also be worshipped but for very opposite reasons than him- but perhaps it’s an act and she can only be her true self in those letters?? oh my and when they meet KDBDJSJ oooh lovee, the remarried empress webtoon vibes (if you have webtoon i strongly suggest its very good-) uhm anyways....long live sukuna 🙏🏻 amen

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader

Theme: Historical AU!

Synopsis: You were the daughter of the most well-known priest in the lands. With great expectations that you will take after your father, you often felt like a trapped bird. The one person who understood you, was your penpal. One day, you decided to finally ask to meet him.

A/N: This was a really cute idea, haha plus some of my best friends are online friends that I've never met so I totally relate! Also I love the Remarried Empress, Navier is one of the best fem characters I've seen in manga/webtoons 💕💕

'Could I meet you?', you wrote down on the piece of paper.

Four words. Four simple words. Yet writing them down felt like it took tremendous courage.

With a leap of faith, you attached the message to the messenger bird and gently placed it near the window.

"Please bring the letter to him now," you whispered to the bird before the bird flew off.

You sighed, this was maybe the most ridiculous thing you have done since the first letter you sent.

You were the daughter of the most renowned Priest of the land. You were basically the princess. Yet with this came the responsibility. You were held to high expectations, expectations to learn the art of exorcism. To take your father's position and become the Shaman who protected these lands from the curses, especially the one known as Sukuna. You were a caged bird, forced upon a dream that you didn't want.

A few months ago, you decided to write your feelings into a letter. A letter dedicated to no one and a letter you didn't sign. You attached it to a messenger bird and sent it off. You didn't care where it went or who reads the message. You just wanted to pour your burdens somewhere. Yet to your surprise, your messenger bird returned a few days later with a message in response.

That marked the beginning of your exchanges with a mysterious penpal.

You spent the rest of the day waiting for the bird to return with a message. For reasons that you didn't want to admit, you've been fearing that your penpal would refuse. He was the only person that you could admit your feelings to because of the anonymity, but at the same time, through these exchanges, you've started to fall in love with him. He seems to understand you completely and would often give you advice or be the shoulder you could cry on despite being probably miles apart and not knowing his identity. You loved him so much that you just want to meet him.

Finally at last, some time in the late evening, your messenger bird reappeared at your window with a message that was brought back.

"In two nights, when the moon is high, I'll be waiting at the abandoned shrine atop the mountain."

You sighed in relief, feeling the uneasiness lift off of your shoulders.

Happily putting the letter in the drawer, you put on your nightgown and went to bed.

You pulled the hood of your cape lower in hopes that it will cover your face even more. At last it is the date of the meeting, you've silently sneaked out of your residence. It was not easy sneaking around of the guards, and you could only pray that none of the servants come to check on you at night or else they'll have a heart attack while searching for you.

You were almost at the abandoned shrine, you could feel your heart racing. A million thoughts raced across your mind, who was he. How would he look like. Is he real. Is he...

You were now at the entrance of the shrine. The glow of the moonlight dimly illuminating it's entrance. However inside, a long path of shadow stretches into what feels like an abyss. You could feel your stomach churn and a part of you wanted to run back. You took in a deep breath.

Here goes nothing, you thought and took a wide step into the shrine.

"Hello?", you called out.

Your voice echoed down the halls of the abandoned shrine. You watched your shadow that was stretched on the floor, it truly felt like you were alone. Perhaps, this was all just a sham.

You sighed again, feeling sad and disappointed, you were ready to turn around and go home when suddenly, the little illumination that was provided by the moonlight disappeared. A much larger shadow towered above you.

You gasped. He was right behind you, the recipients of your letter.

Slowly, you turned around.

Standing tall and intimidatingly behind you, was none other than your father's worst enemy. The most feared curse in the lands. Sukuna.

"I—No, this can't be...", you started

Sukuna seem to find amusement with your reaction as the ends of his lips curled ever so slightly.

Finally he announced, "You said you wanted to see me."

There was a hint of playfulness, a 'this is what you wanted, no?' undertone that you felt like it was mocking you.

"You're Sukuna....." you trailed off.

"Yes I am. And you are the daughter of that Shaman, (Lastname)."

An uncomfortable silence filled the air. You tried to regain your composure but it was hard. Was he the one that you were writing to? The one you pour all of your thoughts to, the one that you fell in love with.

"Were you just...using me?" you asked.

This was all that you wanted to know. The one person that you've opened up to and showed your most vulnerable side, you wanted to know that if it was all a lie. If he was going to betray you.

At your statement, Sukuna seemed displeased. He approached you, his lips pressed together in a tight line, "Do not say that my dear. This was not my intention."

"Then what?," you burst out. What else could he want to accomplish?

No words nor thoughts came into your mind as Sukuna held a hand up to your cheek and caressed it. He sighed. Then paused as if recollecting is thoughts. Then he said, "In the first letter you sent, I saw a bird locked up in a cage and I knew right away that you didn't belong in one.

Your eyebrows knitting together, you didn't understand what he was saying completely. The adrenaline rush was leaving you and you could feel yourself starting to calm down a little and letting your guards down.

"W-What do you mean?"

Sukuna chuckled a little, then continued, "I'm sure you knew that I too, was once a sorcerer. But what you probably don't know is why I decided to use my power for myself."

You shook your head.

Sukuna continued, "You see, I've come to realize that humans are selfish. They prey on people that are too kind, that are willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good, and throw those people into danger. To protect others, to become renowned, to be celebrated or worshipped, these are all lies. Lies to manipulate people who fall for them...people like you my little bird."

You opened your mouth to protest, however, he held a finger up to your mouth to stop you.

His face was now incredibly close to yours that you could feel his warm breath on your skin.

"Before I let you talk, just answer me one question now, are you living for yourself?"

Seeing that you weren't answering, Sukuna finished, "That's right my little bird. I'll give you the choice. If you truly wish to be free, then come with me. I'll watch over you. Or you can go back to your cage, it's your choice I won't stop you."

With that, Sukuna turned around and retreated back outside of the abandoned shrine. His silhouette slowly disappearing into the night.

You stayed in your spot, not sure what to do. But with his silhouette slowly disappearing, you knew it was now or never.

With a deep breath and a leap of faith, you started after Sukuna.