#but it would be better if they could choose to do things themselves instead of being forced into it

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King Seb :D

[autumnhobbit]

get steamed whenever i see someone complimenting my parents’ parenting just cause of how we turned out

[poetskings]

@jegulus-microfic | April 18: sock | 1.6k

James is sexiled and decides to spend time with Regulus.

There’s a sock on the door knob.

It’s been a long day and James is tired and there’s a fucking sock on the door knob and if he listens close enough he can hear soft grunts.

He’s happy for Sirius and Remus, really, he is, he just wishes that they’d fuck at Remus’ every now and then, and at least keep it to the bedroom.

Sirius and James share a college flat with Peter, Marlene and Lily, so there aren’t many options when they’re all out. Today,  James knows that Peter and Lily have chess club, and Marlene’s training for the women’s boat race, so it’s only him who’d be around.

He sighs and turns around, sending Regulus a text as he goes.

Been sexiled – your dorm free?

He’s walking before he’s received a response – he’s almost positive that the answer will be ‘yes’, and he hasn’t seen Regulus in a week, so they’re long overdue a catch up.

Their friendship was one of the more unexpected things to come out of Regulus bucking centuries of Black tradition and instead following in his brother’s footsteps, choosing Cambridge over Oxford. He settled in nicely to Corpus Christi, flying through his first few years as a history undergraduate while Sirius and James chose Trinity instead.

It took a while but slowly and tentatively Sirius and Regulus attempted to heal their relationship, strained by Regulus’ years at Harrow after Sirius packed up and left when he was sixteen, dropping out and enrolling at a local state school instead. They’re much better now; their barbs at each other aren’t quite as jagged. There’s love there, now, rather than just animosity.

As Regulus and Sirius attempted to mend their relationship, James and Remus had been called in early on to mediate, or sometimes it was Regulus’ friends, Evan and Barty, or even Pandora. From those early tentative meetings in neutral territory, new and interesting friendships bloomed, most of all between Regulus and James.

From early study sessions, it evolved into coffee dates and library outings, and when Remus and Sirius sorted their shit out it became even more frequent – the pair never make James feel like a third wheel, but nonetheless they deserve time to themselves, even if James would prefer for them not to fuck on every and any available surface in their dorm.

Regulus is a comforting presence for James; he doesn’t demand anything of him. James is naturally an extrovert; always the centre of a room, but sometimes he needs to recharge, and Regulus lets him do that. He reminds James of calm waters on a spring day, and whenever James needs to quiet his mind, he finds the youngest Black. He only hopes he offers Regulus some of the same comfort in return.

That, and maybe something more. Maybe he hopes that one day there’s a sock on his door knob, and that the reason is Regulus..

James is drawn out of his thoughts as his phone dings.

Sure – text me when you’re here, will come meet you

It’s a five-minute walk but James makes it there in two, calling Regulus to get him to buzz him in. He’s a familiar figure amongst the second years at Corpus, and he’s pretty sure a few of them will have also texted the youngest Black to alert him to James’ presence.

The college door opens and Regulus emerges, dressed in sweatpants and a Trinity rowing sweatshirt that James left last time he was over. He’s so lovely, James thinks, an impulse he doesn’t know how to control; isn’t sure he wants to control it.

“Sexiled, huh?” Regulus holds the door open as James steps through, falling into step with each other and walking up a flight of stairs to reach Regulus’ dorm. It’s empty, although that isn’t uncommon for Regulus. Barty and Evan hold unsociable hours, and Regulus, Pandora and Dorcas have a frankly insane amount of extracurriculars to attend, so they’re rarely together.

“There was a sock on the front door and I’m pretty sure I could hear noises so I didn’t want to risk it,” James says, settling himself in the kitchen, finding Regulus’ mug and a new one with a deer in glasses; a ‘congratulations’ for James’ performance in the inter-college boat races that’s become a permanent fixture in Regulus’ dorm.

He locates the teabags; Yorkshire for James, organic for Regulus, before turning back to the mugs.

“I don’t blame you – those two seem to spend more time fucking than not – it’s a minor miracle they get any work done,” Regulus chuckles, gently bumping James’ hip to get to the fridge, taking out his oat milk and James’ rice milk.

They settle into the routine like it’s second nature; they’re familiar with each other in a way that’s almost intimate. They stand together waiting for the kettle to boil, perhaps a bit too close for it to be entirely platonic, but James isn’t going to move away if Regulus doesn’t.

He always feels like they’re teetering on the edge of something more than what they are, something better, but for all of James’ bravery, he isn’t sure how to make the next move, and he doesn’t want to wreck this peace that Regulus and his brother have been working so hard on.

“So, how was your day?” Regulus asks, tilting his head to better look at James. He looks unbelievably soft in James’ jumper and James thinks that if he just moves his pinkie he can link it with Regulus’.

“Exhausting. I had rowing first thing and a few readings to do for my supervision that I’d completely missed,” James sighs. He loves his degree but he’s never been as organised as Regulus, who seems to have work done almost before it’s set. “Also, I spent a solid ten minutes looking for that jumper.”

A light blush creeps up Regulus’ cheeks at that. “Sorry, you left it here after practice last week so I washed it but completely forgot to text you.”

A smile falls across James’ face. “You’re fine, Reg, and besides, it suits you. I guess I should get myself a Corpus one to match, huh?” He smirks as the red of Regulus’ cheeks becomes more pronounced.

The kettle whistles and Regulus turns away from James to fill their cups. “James Potter, behave yourself.” He hip checks James again, this time with a bit more force. Except he doesn’t move back. He stays there, leaning against James, and James feels like his entire body’s a livewire.

The tightrope they’re walking is getting more taut, and James finds himself eager for the fall.

“But Regulus, dearest, where’s the fun in that?” He leans forward, entirely too close for it to be platonic, and Regulus is turning, turning-

“Ow! Fuck!” James forgot about the fact that Regulus was holding a kettle of boiling water, and he’s paying for that now. Water splashes over the counter as Regulus rushes to put the kettle down, taking James’ hand and leading him over to the tap.

He turns the cold water tap on, letting it flow over their entwined hands. He is too still, too silent, and James wants to go back to where they were. He wants the tightrope back. He wants to fall.

He can be brave, he thinks, if it means he gets to have something with Regulus.

Regulus is staring intently at their entwined hands, like it’s the most fascinating thing in the universe, and James breaks the silence.

“Reg-”

“What are we doing, James? We’ve been tiptoeing around each other for weeks and it’s driving me insane and I want to be around you all the time and I think I’m already half in love with you so I’d love if you can clear up what this is,” he states, false bravado injected into his tone, but James can hear the tremors. He’s so nervous, but so brave. Regulus Black, the Lion Heart.

It takes a while for the words to register in James’ head.

Oh.

Oh.

James removes his hand from the running water, ignoring the slight sting and the inevitable burn that will be left. He cups Regulus’ cheek, forcing the younger boy to look at him. Regulus is terrified, but so hopeful.

“Reg, I- I want-” James runs his hand through his hair in frustration. He can’t get his words out.

“Jamie?” Regulus’ voice is so soft, as though he’s worried he’ll scare James off, and the only thing James can do is kiss him.

Regulus’ lips are rough, a bit chapped from where he nibbles on them when he’s nervous. He tastes of tea and cinnamon and James wants to devour him. There is nothing soft about it. James’ tongue darts out, soothing Regulus’ lips, and the younger boy lets out a moan that’s pure filth and ecstasy and James is falling, falling, fallen.

He wants to do this forever.

His hands find their way to Regulus’ waist, tracing the skin underneath the Trinity sweater that’s been driving James insane since he first saw Regulus wearing it. It’s his, it’s him.

They break apart to breathe and James attaches his lips to Regulus’ neck, marking, claiming. He can’t think beyond this moment, beyond the boy in front of him.

“Jamie, we should- we need to-” he cuts himself off, broken sighs escaping his lips as he tangles his hands in James’ hair.

James reluctantly removes himself from Regulus’ neck, taking the boy’s face in his hands. “Do you want this, Reg? Do you want me?”

Regulus’ eyes trace James’ face, and whatever he sees softens him.

“Always, Jamie.” And James is lost.

They’ll talk about it later, as the sunlight paints the walls of Regulus’ room, but this is enough for now. For ever.

And if Barty finds a sock on the door knob when he comes back from the library, well, that’s between him and Regulus.

[inbarfink]

So one of the cool and interesting ways ‘Steven Universe’ used to try and balance being both a series of 11-minutes episodes that each have their own satisfying emotional resolution and being an overarching story with complicated character arcs that take multiple seasons to resolve is the… I’m going to call it the ‘Not Quite Right Lesson’ episodes. Episodes where a character kinda learns a Very Important Lesson… but a more careful and retrospective look at the situation shows that what they learned is not Quite the Right Thing for them. They internalized something in that adventure which just ended up causing more Emotional Troubles for themselves farther down the line.

‘The Test’ is the most classic example. 

As a standalone thing, it’s just a sweet episode about Steven learning to accept that his caretakers are also flawed and confused and figuring this shit up as they’re going along just like he is, and then doing a nice thing for their sake.

But looking back at this episode, it is quite obviously the nadir of Steven appointing himself as the Family Therapist and repressing all of his problems so he could better help the Gems’ with theirs. Like, there have been some early warning signs for this Complex, but this episode is the one that really cemented that idea in his mind and probably the reason it took him like the Entire Rest of the Show Including a Post-Finale Season to really untangle it.

But… also, I’ve been thinking a lot about the episode right after that, ‘Future Vision’. I think it’s also a very important ‘Not Quite Right Lesson Episode’ for the character of Garnet, and to some extent, the Crystal Gems as a whole. In many ways, it is to the CGs' character arcs' what 'the Test' is to Steven's.

So in this episode, Garnet reveals to Steven the fact that she has Future Vision. She hoped that telling Steven a little bit more about herself and being honest with him will lead to a greater understanding and a greater bond between them… but it backfired. It just led Steven to become a total paranoid, terrified wreck stuck in a total existential crisis.

And it seems like the lesson Garnet learned is that… she should’ve never taken that risk at all. That it would’ve been better for everyone if she just kept Steven ignorant of the truth forever.

Extremely reinforced with the ending of the episode, where Garnet chooses to once again hide an uncomfortable truth (that he just came very close to dying again) from Steven, for the sake of his own ‘peace of mind’.

So, like, the Gems were already hiding uncomfortable truths from Steven since day one. “If you could only know what we really are” and all of that. But I think… With the actual truth of Homeworld encroaching on them more and more at this point of the story arc, this would’ve been a great time for the Gems to reconsider their attitude and actually Explain to Steven What the Hell is Going On. 

But instead, I think Garnet saw the events of ‘Future Vision’ as a reinforcement of the idea that there’s just some things Steven is Better Off Not Knowing. Actually being frank with him about Homeworld and the Diamonds and the War right there and then, that would have just overwhelmed Steven with fears and worries and would’ve ended up doing nothing but hurting him. And Garnet can’t accept that possibility, not again.

And so, Garnet, alongside Amethyst and Pearl, keep all these truths from Steven as long as possible. Only revealing bits of information when they have to. For Amethyst it’s about her emotionally-evasive attitude (also, she legit doesn’t know all of that stuff herself). For Pearl it’s about how she learned to romanticize Rose’s own fucked-up obsession with secrets. For Garnet, with her usually very direct attitude and preference for the most straightforward solutions, I think it’s very much the events of ‘Future Vision’ that were still playing in her head every time she had the choice to actually Explain something to Steven and decided not to. 

But that, indeed, was Not Quite the Right Lesson. While being bluntly and directly told by Garnet all about the Many Ways He Could Die caused Steven to go into an anxiety spiral and an existential crisis for an episode - the way the Gems have been consistently secretive and evasive with Steven ended up causing him so much more emotional grief to him in the long run. As all of these secrets ended up revealed to him in the most surprising, dramatic and traumatizing way possible.

And the secretive attitudes ended up driving a wedge between Steven and the Gems. 

Even after they promised to be more honest with him. Because the sight of Steven crying on the roof that day is one that Garnet can easily move away from. Because Garnet’s Not Quite Right Lesson was almost as difficult for her to unlearn as Steven’s own. 

But after the big confrontation at the start of the Zoo Arc, Garnet ended up being the most upfront about the Crystal Gems’ history. Almost overeager to share what she knows about the past.

I mean also, again, Amethyst just has less to tell and Pearl is hiding secrets for reasons beyond her control - but I think it’s also important to consider from the perspective of Garnet’s arc.

Because the fallout of the Pink Diamond Reveal is very much centered around Garnet (or, well, Ruby and Sapphire). That was the Truth that was hidden from her 'for her own good'. And at the end of the day, despite all the grief that unveiling that truth has caused

It has also brought them, all of them, a lot closer.

There's a reason why 'the Truth' is Garnet's Final Missing Piece in the movie. It is as central to her character arc in the series as Lesbian AngstTM grief over lost love is to Pearl.

And still, some remnants of the Trauma of 'Future Vision' remained...

After all, even the very last episode of 'Future' was centered around the Gems once again trying to hide things from Steven (at that case, their turmoil about him leaving) for his own sake

Even though it once again just caused Steven a whole lot of grief.

It's maybe notable that at the end of this episode, Garnet, once again, tells Steven what's waiting for him in his Future...

[charlietheepicwriter7]

R̸̜̈́u̵̟͘t̶̺̓ḧ̵͇l̷̟̋ē̶̘s̵̨̎s̵̩͒ṋ̵̋e̵͙̐s̵̡̈́ś̸͙

Get in the Water prompt Storm alternate version Animatic Fanart

There was a spell, Constantine had explained after his own trip to the afterlife. Something to contain Danyal's soul long enough to resolve his unfinished business, to keep him still and away from the influences of his fellow dead. And if that didn't work, Constantine continued, then there were ways to force a spirit to rest. It was better for a ghost to move on by themselves, but if there was no other choice...

Damian hoped Danyal would choose to rest on his own. That he'd let him explain, finally.

Danyal had been weak. Strong in a fight, but too weak to kill, and that infuriated Damian. But he was scared more than he was angry. Because that weakness would get Danyal killed, could get Damian killed, could get the League killed. Even the newest recruits had a stronger desire to kill than Danyal.

He was the weakest link in the chain. And while their mother had taught them to be ruthless, Danyal had remained limp with mercy.

They needed Danyal's body. It would be Danyal's tie to the earth, Constantine explained as he joined them on the Batplane. The souls of the dead don't often linger on the mortal plain. The magician had speculated that the only reason Danyal had managed to manifest in the waters below Gotham was because of Damian's presence, but his remains would keep him stable this side of life for however long it took to heal his soul.

But was that even possible?

"I don't know, kid," Constantine admitted during the plane ride. "Wish I had a better answer for you, but... Your brother is a siren now. And from the sound of it? He really wants you dead."

"Then why didn't he kill me?" Damian argued. "He had hours to do it... or minutes..." The time he spent in that green world felt longer than the ten minutes Father couldn't find him, but... "He had me in his grasp and let me go. Doesn't that mean he didn't want to-"

"Have you ever heard the phrase 'Playing with your food?'" Constantine asked instead. "Sirens aren't known for letting their prey go. If we're out here, its because he wants us here."

They--Damian, Father, Constantine, Grayson, and Todd--landed in Nanda Parbat after a few hours. There was a crypt inside for members of the Al Ghul family who didn't use the Lazarus Pits. It was there Danyal's body was entombed. They would have to steal it.

And it was unfortunate that Constantine got them caught within five minutes of entry.

Damian glared daggers at the man as they were led towards the Lazarus Pit. Constantine shrugged. "What? I don't want assassins chasing after me because of some light grave robbing! Besides, we need to explain the situation anyway-"

"And what, precisely, needs to be explained?" asked a woman from inside the chamber. The heroes were pushed inside, only to see Talia Al Ghul standing where her father should have been. The Lazarus Pit hissed and boiled behind her, casing the cave in a ghoulish light.

Damian could hear laughing.

Father stepped forward. "Talia. Where's Ra's?" Grandfather was the biggest threat to their plan succeeding.

Mother... looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "I do not know. At the present moment... the Demon Head is missing."

You could hear a pin drop. "What do you mean?" Father demanded.

"It's as I said; he is missing. Yesterday, he was alone in the Pit, and hours later, no one could find him." She glanced behind her, at the waters, before looking back at them. "I had assumed he'd left to care for the League's interests. Now-" She tilted her chin up, looking down at them. "What exactly do you need to explain? What is so important that you break into my home to tell me?"

Stepping forward, Constantine explained. Mother looked grim as he spoke of Danyal, but did not interrupt. "We want to put his soul to rest. But for that, we need access to his body-"

"You dare ask for such a thing?" Mother snarled. "As if I even believe you. My son would never-"

"Your son?" Grayson snapped. "From the looks of it, you didn't care for either of your children!"

As the group descended into an argument, Damian heard laughter again, Danyal's high pitched giggle harmonizing with something deep and bone shaking. The Lazarus Pits loomed over him, beckoning him, whispering. Damian took a step towards it as his mother said, "I don't even have his body!"

"What?" Damian snapped at his mother, focusing back on the conversation. "But the crypts-"

"After your brother's murder, the Demon Head ordered for the culprit to be found. But they were never discovered." Because the culprit was Damian, he knew, and no one else ever learned about it. "I wanted to place him in the Pits immediately, but I was ordered to stay my hand until the murderer was caught. But..."

"He never was," Damian finished for her. "And then you put Danyal into the waters?"

"Yes." She closed her eyes. "And he never came back out. Even if it was too late, he'd still come back as the undead, but he never rose from the waters."

"Then this is entirely my fault."

"Finally," Danyal whispered in his ear, breath chilling his skin.

Damian did his best to ignore it. Danyal was haunting him. Danyal needed to be put to rest. If they couldn't do it Constantine's way, then they had to put him to rest another way.

Grayson looked troubled. "Robin, it's not your fault-"

"I'm the one who killed him," Damian confessed. Everyone stared at him. Grayson, horrified; Mother, blank; Father, betrayed. Damian continued, "I overheard you and Grandfather arranging a fight to the death, and I knew who would win. I couldn't... I couldn't allow Danyal to die without the Al Ghul name, in disgrace as the one who wasn't good enough. So I killed him, assassinated him, and now he's haunting me for revenge." Damian looked at the Pit. "So go ahead, Danyal."

"Damian, what are you saying?"

"Danyal wants revenge on the person who killed him; I'm giving it to him." Todd was staring at him. Damian might not be able to see past his helmet, but he could feel the respect coming off the man. "Danyal, I know you're here. Please come out." If he focused long enough, he could just making out wheezing breaths. "I can hear you, please-"

Father grabbed Damian by the shoulders. "Damian, listen to what you're saying! You're offering your life up for nothing!"

"B's right." Grayson placed a hand on his shoulder. "There's got to be another way. You don't have to do this!"

"Yes I do!" Damian ripped himself out of Nightwing's grip. "I'm the one who killed him! I'm the one at fault! My brother is suffering because of me, I have to save him-"

Stepping between them all, Mother slapped him across the face.

And the Pit's whispers fell silent.

Damian stared up at his mother, cheek throbbing with pain. She glared back. "Cease this behavior at once," she snapped. "There's no need to get so worked up over a ghost, of all thing-"

"T̴̯̃al̵̬͂ị̴̿a̵̮̕ ̵̼͐A̴̗̕l̷͈̆ ̴͚̓G̵͎̀h̷̻͒u̶̜͋l̴͍̀."

This time, everyone could hear Danyal's voice, filled with static and corrupted. Damian swallowed as his dead brother continued,

"D̸͕͠o̶̪̅ ̸͍̆ỹ̵̗ö̸̲ũ̸̧ ̶͖̚k̶̻͊ņ̸͐o̸̹̚ẘ̸̙w̷̛̹ḧ̸͚́o̷͉̅ ̵͈̑I̶̪̽ á̵̞m̶͙̂?̸̻͂"

The cavern shook as the Lazarus Pit bucked, a wave forming in the absolute center of the water. The wave rose, pillaring up above their head and brushing the ceiling. A cold wind rushed through the room and blew out the torches on the walls, leaving only embers and the occasional florescent behind. Damian braced himself for the waters to rush out and flood.

Instead, the water fell back into the pit, like it had never risen in the first place, leaving behind a lone figure in its wake.

"Danyal," Mother whispered.

And the dead boy glared back at her with pure contempt.

[ventique18]

A few things we learn about Malleus in Platinum Jacket:

He has had many, many tutors over the years who were brought from all over so he would receive only the finest education. He's a genius however, and whatever they taught him he could do better. He would get angry because he thought they were teaching him basics because they were looking down on him and would throw tantrums so terrible he would accidentally raze his grandma's garden with forest fires. Each and every one of his tutors end up packing their bags and resigning in fear of him. 😭 He'd get severely scolded by Lilia because of this.

Deuce comments that while Hades looks terrifying, his minions look goofy in comparison. Malleus tells him to never judge people based on appearances, as they'd never have been painted if they weren't competent. He also likens these minions to his bodyguards and shares how proud he'd be if they were to be lauded by the world and the succeeding generations in the future. (PROUD BIG BRO MOMENT)

He confirms that Briar Kingdom royalty choose their retainers at a certain age, which we can alreaddy conclude by the way he employed his goofy teenage knights and his mom chose the most radical/problematic generals back then.

He doesn't appreciate the servants in his castle waiting on him hand and foot. It's protocol so he can hardly do anything about it, but he was relieved when he enrolled at Night Raven and had to do everything himself.

Lilia instilled in him from a very young age that a person is nothing if they can't properly take care of themselves. He couldn't do this in the castle though, so he instead reads plenty of books on how to do household chores and whatnot. He's delighted to be able to put this knowledge to practical use at NRC.

He does mundane things like shopping and laundry by himself, until Sebek enrolled and tries to steal all his tasks lol. Although he's visibly disappointed, he lets Sebek do what he wants.

He actually knows how to use the washing machine and dryer but only after so many tries and difficulties.

He once washed his clothes in the kitchen sink and got caught doing it. His dormmates offered to do it instead (because he's their god lmao) but he refused because as he said, he likes to exert his own effort for things.

He is a good art critique and appreciates all kinds of art, though his favorite are sculptures. He likes to see the wears and tears of things over the years. He likes to see proof that things lived their lives (even inanimate things!), and that changes and ageing are beautiful.

He once again repeats that he loves gargoyles.

Though he adores the thought of being happy amongst others, he hates it when people are visibly happy and he isn't.

[not-the-cheese]

nora's plot is like here are some made up people that i've made to suffer EVERY TRAUMA and the most grievous lack of autonomy i could think of. and their story starts from the WORST point in their lives where things have gotten so bad that their only two options are to literally kill themselves or to fight back, but at that point they are so succumbed to the perceived truth of their demises that they recklessly choose to do something that they never would have done before because they think they're going to die anyways. BUT THEN the rest of the book is about them processing their trauma instead of just stuffing it into a little box and learning about themselves and finding a group of people who love them and trusted mentors and doing something they love for the right reasons and learning that they can get to a place where they can love life because they have chosen to actually deal with their issues instead of just thinking that there's no point because they don't have a future and it not only makes them better people but it helps the people around them AND THEN SHE MADE THE BOOKS BE 99 cents.

i'm screaming i'm crying i'm asking nora to open the door and let me in i just want to talk

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

I'm falling so badly, I'm coming apart

Things you do that make them fall deeper in love with you ♡

feat. Ace and Deuce

I write the reader as female

Masterlist

Ace Trappola

When you not only indulge in his whims but actively and happily encourage him

He teases you by asking you to be his cheerleader during a basketball game and you take him on by appearing in the front row of the stand, carrying a huge banner with his name over your head and loudly yelling his name for the whole island to hear 

You his heart race and face flush for reasons that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of the match as he jogs over to you and plants a kiss onto your lips, smiling as he hears your breathless gasp and feels your hands interlock around his neck, pulling you closer in front of the whole gymnasium

Or when he’s goofing around, fully expecting you to give him that endeared but exasperated look he adores only to find that you - the responsible, reliable and hard working prefect - are goofing around with him

And it fills him with such unimaginable euphoria, when he sees the childlike sparkle in your eyes as you beam at him and his antics, when you mirror his teasing grin and play off of him so perfectly it’s like your souls were intertwined 

It just makes him feel so fluttery that you love him not despite his flaws but also with his flaws

Sure it does hurt a little, when he hears whispers about how tough it must be for you to be babysitting dating such a tactless troublemaker, at how horrible it must be to settle for someone who could only bring you down when you have so many other admirers that are much better suited for you, but when you look so beautiful wearing his clothes, laugh at his jokes, smile so genuinely that your face glows so ethereally, all his worries get pushed to the side

When others would roll their eyes and mutter about him being his usual obnoxious self, you smile at him all soft and gentle, like you can see past his cocky exterior and right into his heart which has your name engraved inside it

And when you bless him with that loving gaze, eyes brimming with pride as you throw your arms around him in an embrace, saying his name so sweetly he fully understands why sailors would willingly drown themselves whenever sirens would whisper a syllable, when you proudly stand next to him as you call him your boyfriend or refer to yourself as his girlfriend, he knows

He knows that your heart has his name on it as well

Deuce Spade

When you love both sides of him

He can’t help the rosiness that blooms over his nose and cheeks when you coddle his soft side; making him adorable bento boxes and omurice meals, when you smile so dearly when he prattles on about his day, when you gift him bouquets of flowers and plush chicks despite his pouty insistence on that being his job, when you take time out of your already overloaded schedule to study with him and not getting the slightest bit annoyed at his slow uptake (instead choosing to praise him for every correct answer), when you drown him in affection for every good grade, every track and field win, every time he feels like his dream of being an honour student isn’t as impossible as he initially thought

When you show just how proud you are of his change for the better, just how much you believe in him

And also when you’re not only unperturbed by his shameful delinquent side that he still fights to keep at bay, but you also dote on it, lovingly bandaging his bruised knuckles, your gentle eyes staring right into his as you press soft kisses against plasters and bandages that he swore he would never wear again (though the baby chicks decorating the plasters you carry around in your bag aren’t exactly as unappealing as the old bandages his younger self would proudly parade)

When you don’t even hesitate to press your lips against his cheeks or mouth when he inevitably slips up and spits out gruff curses, lowers his voice with a growl lets a threatening snarl pull at his lips as he clenches his fist, hackles raised and ready to strike, only stopping himself when he feels your hand make its home in his - and, well, your pecks don’t exactly stop his subsequent self hatred and guilt but it certainly does 

Though he does feel some shame for it, he feels absolutely enamored in you wearing his old leather jacket. He swore that useless old thing could bring back nothing but horrid memories of fights and tears but seeing you so happily cuddle into it, all he could feel was fondness and longing. And, he realises that, yeah, maybe there are some things about his past that don’t leave such a bad taste in his mouth as you smile at him when his gloved hands click his helmet straps into place under your chin, or as he feels your body pressed flush against him as he takes you for a late afternoon spin on his magical wheel, drinking in your excited whoops as he akira slides down a deserted road 

And when you give him that look, that piercing look that tells him that you know about the inner contents of his head, that makes him feel like a butterfly pinned to a wall, his thoughts being laid bare, inspected and examined, yet still let yourself melt against him and kiss him with just as much love and desperation that consumes him

It makes him feel almost worthy to call you his

[canonmisogynyvictimstournament]

PROPAGANDA

BUMBLE (WARRIOR CATS) (CW: Domestic Abuse)

1.) Back with another Warriors submission, I bet you’ll be getting a lot from other people too LMAO. Bumble is a kittypet (housecat) who befriends the male protagonist Gray Wing’s girlfriend, Turtle Tail, and lets her stay in her house. This gets Gray Wing all pissy because he’s controlling of Turtle Tail and shares most of the wild/clan cat’s proclivity for looking down upon kittypets. Turtle Tail gets pregnant by another kittypet, Tom, who tries to control her by hiding the fact that humans take away kittens after they’re born. Eventually Bumble comes clean about it so Turtle Tail returns to the forest. Some time later, Bumble is found in the forest seeking refuge because Tom has been physically abusing her, scratching her where the humans can’t see. So, she’s CANONICALLY ACKNOWLEDGED as a domestic abuse victim (unlike Squirrelflight who meets all the textbook signs but the narrative and authors deny it). How do you think our good guy protagonists, i.e. Gray Wing “The Wise” and Turtle Tail, respond to an abuse victim seeking refuge? They tell Bumble to go home, thinking to themselves that she’s fat and soft and therefore would be useless in their group. Bumble stands up for herself and asks to speak with the leaders of the group. One of them asks if Bumble could just get along with Tom better (bro???) and when Bumble says it’s not within her control, the leader suggests being nicer to the humans instead. Another rival leader butts in and verbally abuses Bumble again by ripping into how fat and lazy and useless she would be. Despite Turtle Tail having been friends with Bumble and Bumble had helped her through her own hard times, to Gray Wing’s approval Turtle Tail chooses not to intervene as Bumble is forcibly escorted back to her abuser. But that’s not all. Later Bumble is found in the forest maimed and dying, and it seems likely that Gray Wing’s brother Clear Sky, a male with a long history of violence, is the culprit. Rather than mourn the dying innocent cat, Gray Wing’s primary concern is how other cats might be mean to Clear Sky if they think he’s a murderer, and reassures himself that refusing to help Bumble in her time of need was still the right decision.

2.) I have no idea how she managed to be written so horrifically from an abuse victim and woman (/she-cat I guess) standpoint but here we are. Okay so my memory is a bit fuzzy but basically Bumble was a character in Dawn of the Clans and a close friend to Turtle Tail, a major character, as well as a character who lived close to Tom, an abusive dickhead of a cat. Bumble was largely depicted as just a really sweet cat. Turtle Tail was very briefly the mate of Turtle Tail, but once she got pregnant, he became super violent towards both her and our gal Bumble. Tom actively hid the fact that, once her kits were old enough, Turtle Tail’s kits would probably be taken from her, and made Bumble keep quiet about this too, but Bumble eventually told Turtle Tail the truth, Turtle Tail left and Tom became extremely violent towards Bumble because of this, and was extremely abusive towards her. Eventually, Bumble ran away from him to where Turtle Tail and co were and begged to stay, since the wilderness as a whole was genuinely more safe than being around Tom was. Naturally, this meant kitty xenophobia from cats who had only arrived in that area recently, because everybody was insistent than, since she was a kittypet/house cat, things wouldn’t work out, and even her friend Turtle Tail denied her on this, insisted she was too soft to live in the wild and only sent her towards a cat Bumble wanted to convince because she was absolutely certain she’d be denied. Also our good old protagonist Gray Wing got to spend this scene being all upset about this soft cat wanting to join them to escape an abuser and was all bitter about the fact that Turtle Tail lived with her for a short period of time, and he also got to have a sweet romantic moment with Turtle Tail after denying an abuse victim an escape from her abuser. Also as much as I like Tall Shadow usually she sucked ass in the following scene because she was essentially telling Bumble to go find a way to make peace with Tom as if she was not the one being abused (Bumble pointed out that Tom was the one who would need to make peace for it to happen, not her) and that she should just make life better by going back to being a housecat and being spoiled despite the fact that she was actively at risk with her owners because of Tom. Then she leaves after being threatened by several cats there and is called soft on the way out. The next time she appears she is literally dying, and her death is just a plot device to create a stupid little mystery which is solved in a very stupid way. Also her abuser does continue to be a shithead and for some reason is fully permitted to kidnap his own children but he also gets a heroic death and the only reason I will not rant more about him is because this is too long already. Long story short Bumble deserves the world and everybody who decided not to let her escape her abuser just because they thought she was soft sucks

3.) Is nice to the group of starving, feral wild cats that left the mountains so their friends and family could have more food to eat and befriends one of them to the point of opening her home to her after she leaves the group because the guy she likes is too dumb to notice she likes him and keeps falling for his brother’s love interests.

Unfortunately, because Bumble is a house cat who lives in a house with people and not a Wild and Free cat, this is a grave and horrible crime (luring a wild cat into the safety and comforts of domesticity) and is villainized for the rest of the arc, including for things wildly out of her control

I.E.

Her owners taking in an aggressive male cat that bullies and abuses the two female cats already living there

When Bumble’s friend leaves and goes back to the wild cats, Bumble leaves her home (as the abuse as has gotten worse) to see if she could either get help or have her friend return so the abuse isn’t as bad again)

Bumble eventually dies in the wild because the feral cats all hate her for ‘stealing’ their friend and tricking her into becoming a kittypet for awhile and refuse to help Bumble adjust to wild life or even teaching her how to hunt.

They are littl e to no hard feelings at her death beyond ‘good riddance’ but the aggressive tomcat that chased her out of her home is later regarded with good feelings and regret at such a ‘good, heroic cat’ passing when he dies despite him literally never doing a good or kind thing in his life and actually causing trouble for the wild cats right before dying

ALEX DEWITT (DC COMICS)

1.) The term “fridging” is literally based on Alex and what happened to her. She was killed off violently by a bad guy trying to get at her boyfriend only a couple issues after she was introduced (making it obvious they only brought her in to kill her off for shock value). Her death did very little to the narrative other than hurt her boyfriend Kyle and was done in an exceedingly horrifying and violent way. (Bad guy came to the door with flowers and threatening note, broke in and attacked her, choking her to death, before [off panel] chopping her body up and sticking it in the refrigerator as a “surprise” for her boyfriend. This obviously is really fucked up and she deserves better and should win this actually (a vote for Alex is a vote for all fridging victims [in spirit])

2.) It doesn’t get much worse than being the character whose death originated the “fridging” trope. In Green Lantern Vol. 3 #54, Kyle Rayner comes home to find that Alexandra, his girlfriend, has been killed by the villain Major Force and stuffed into the refrigerator.

Alexandra DeWitt is the character whose misogynistic treatment coined the term where a character, usually female, is killed off purely to make the main character, usually male, feel bad. Even if there are other characters who have been subjected to similar levels of misogyny, Alexandra DeWitt’s treatment has been essentially immortalized.

3.) I know she’s not going to win but shout out to my home girl, literally the trope namer for women shoved in fridges. All anyone ever knows about her is that she was Kyle’s girlfriend and got murdered for his character development, even though she had plenty of potential to be her own character.

[steddieas-shegoes]

oh love, i'm terrified

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is terrifying'

rated t | 1,585 words | cw: negative self views | tags: falling in love, getting together, love confessions, sappy and fluffy

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

He thought he was being obvious.

He doesn't do this stuff for everyone else. He doesn't show up after work to hang out for no reason other than just wanting to be around the other person. He doesn't talk on the phone for three hours in the middle of the night to comfort the other person after nightmares. He doesn't fucking stargaze with anyone.

But with Eddie he does. Steve always goes out of his way for Eddie.

He knows why, and he feels like everyone can see it too: he loves him.

But somehow, Eddie doesn't see it, or chooses not to.

Even Dustin, oblivious to human emotion as anyone else Steve's ever met, pulled him aside after Hellfire one night --yes, he even attends Hellfire now-- to ask if he knew he was flirting with Eddie so much.

Robin and Nancy had called him out on two different occasions for touching him too much in public, but he hadn't even realized his hand had gone to his waist!

And Eddie still seemed clueless.

Or at least, most of the time he seemed clueless.

Sometimes, though, Steve could swear he looked at him in a specific way, a way that Steve would think is understanding and maybe even returned feelings. But he never said anything, never did anything out of the ordinary for Eddie.

Months of wondering what the hell he could do differently, months of being less and less subtle every day, months of showing how much he loved him without actually saying it.

All for Eddie to still be oblivious.

But not tonight,

Tonight, he was going to Eddie's to have dinner and watch a movie. Wayne was on a fishing trip with his buddies from work, and all the kids were at the same summer camp, probably torturing underpaid teenage counselors.

No interruptions were possible.

He could bring out all his moves, and if Eddie still didn't get it by the end of the night, maybe he could even use his words.

"Dinner's almost ready!" Eddie yelled from the kitchen as Steve let himself in. "I didn't burn anything!"

Steve rolled his eyes fondly. "Sounds like something someone who burnt dinner would say."

"I didn't! I mean one edge is a little crispy on the lasagna, but I think that's because our oven is older than Wayne. You think the government could've given us a better oven for my troubles, but apparently not," Eddie turned to Steve standing in the doorway. "You look...nice."

Steve always liked to look nice, but he'd decided to dress up a little bit tonight, try to make his intentions clear right from the start. His hair was done as usual, but he was wearing his khaki slacks instead of jeans and his nicest navy polo instead of the t-shirts he'd mostly been wearing outside of work. He even sprung for his watch that his dad gave him as a graduation gift. He hated to know how much money was wasted on it, but it did look nice.

"Thanks. You do too," Steve replied.

Eddie looked down at his own clothes and back up at Steve. "Dude, I'm wearing sweats and a t-shirt that has more holes than cloth. You don't have to lie."

"I'm not lying. You always look best when you're comfy," Steve shrugged. "Need help with anything?"

Eddie shook his head. "Not unless you wanna grab beers from the fridge. I forgot to get some this afternoon so they're just Wayne's PBRs, but a cold beer's a good beer, right?"

"Right," Steve agreed, walking to the fridge to grab the beers.

Dinner went as dinner usually does, except they actually sat at the table this time instead of the couch. Eddie seemed surprised when Steve set his things down in front of the chair he only sat in to keep Eddie company while he planned for campaigns, but just silently joined him.

They talked and joked, they made themselves laugh so hard beer almost came out of Eddie's nose. It was perfect.

After, Steve started working on the dishes, Eddie standing by the counter watching.

He was quiet, which was unusual, especially when no one else was around to fill the silence.

"Everything okay, Eds?" Steve asked as he scrubbed a particularly difficult area on a fork.

"What? Oh. Yeah."

Steve turned to look at him, suddenly worried when he saw Eddie's face turned down to the floor. This wasn't them. They'd just had a nice dinner, and now Eddie was being...shy?

Now was his chance. He could say it. Robin would be proud of him for finally just doing it.

Hell, he'd be proud of himself for doing it.

But something seemed wrong, and the last thing Steve wanted was to turn a good night bad because he couldn't reign in his feelings for a bit.

He wiped his hands on the towel by the sink and turned fully towards Eddie.

"What's wrong?"

Eddie shook his head once, then sighed. "I kind of feel like I've been wined and dined tonight. And that's ridiculous because you're just one of my best friends, and you're straight, and it's all been in my head for months, but-"

"Woah. Wait." Steve interrupted. "You've been noticing that for months? And you didn't say anything?"

"Well, no. I didn't wanna ruin our friendship because I can't handle my own hopes getting up." Eddie leaned away from Steve further. "I know you don't mean it that way. I don't want you to change anything."

"Eds-"

"And if you do want to, that's fine! Whatever would make you comfortable. I just have to say it's feeling very 'I have romantic feelings' for you territory and I know you don't so."

"Eddie."

"I'm also not good at that though. No one's ever shown interest in me other than one girl in high school who ended up moving away a week later so I didn't even have to break her heart."

Steve crashed his lips to Eddie's, half hoping it would shut him up, and half hoping he would somehow keep rambling. He kind of loved watching him ramble.

It did shut him up. Even when Steve pulled away, Eddie's silence was deafening.

"Sorry. I should've asked if I could first, but I don't think you would have even heard me. Was that okay?" Steve asked.

"Why did you do that?" Eddie sounded heartbroken.

That's not what Steve wanted at all.

"I wanted to. I have wanted to."

"No you don't."

This was not going the way Steve had hoped for. "How would you know I don't?"

"Because I'm me! I'm just the dude who gets the good weed, and says funny shit, and cooks dinner sometimes. I'm not a girl Steve Harrington falls in love with, or even takes on a date. I'm not the type you build a relationship and future with. I'm just the guy who gets to watch everyone else do that. I'm not good for that."

"What the hell do you mean?" Steve was angry now. Who had convinced Eddie he couldn't have good things, couldn't be loved or love someone, couldn't be important? "You're Eddie Munson. You saved us all from an evil wizard dude and nearly died doing it. You're the guy who makes me a sandwich when I come over for Hellfire even though there's strict no eating during the campaign rules because you know I've been working all day and need to eat. You turn all my bad days good, and make my life better just because you're you."

"Steve-"

"My turn." Steve crowded him against the counter, hands cupping his cheeks and eyes boring into Eddie's. "I need you to understand something. I've been trying to show how much I care about you, how much I love you, for months, and I've been thinking I've just been terrible at it. I thought I truly did lose all my charm. I've been pulling all my moves out for you. I was starting to think maybe you just were trying to ignore it all to let me down easy, but it isn't that. It's because you don't see how fucking amazing you are, isn't it?"

Eddie's eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"Because you are. You're incredible. Maybe the best person I've ever known other than Robin. I find excuses to be near you. I find reasons to talk to you. I didn't even have a nightmare the other night, I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm in love with you. Like, the real stupid, do anything for you even if it hurts me kind. And if you don't feel anything for me besides friendship, I'll leave right now and I'll do my best to get over it so we can be friends."

"And if I do?"

"If you do love me, then you should kiss me."

"I've never kissed anyone."

"That's not true. We kissed two minutes ago," Steve smirked, his heart racing in his chest.

"I'm scared," Eddie's whispered admittance nearly broke Steve's heart.

"Oh love, I'm terrified. Love is like that. But we've faced scarier things, haven't we?"

Eddie's soft lips against his own was the only answer he needed.

Love was terrifying, even for Steve, maybe especially for Steve, who was used to giving a lot more love than he received back. But as they kissed in Eddie's kitchen for seconds that turned to minutes, minutes that turned to hours, they got just a bit less scared.

[kiame-sama]

Warnings; yandere, yandere relationship, yandere behavior, possessive behavior, somnophilia flavored, dirty talk, objectification, obsessed yandere, slight corruption kink, small spoilers for Astarion's worst kept secret, blood, biting kink, mention of Astarion's past, gender neutral reader, neutral good reader (folk-hero type), opposites attract, spoilers for game opening, slight spoilers for possible non-combatant followers, owl-bear cub named Hootsie (if you know what this name is from, I like your taste in media), adult themes, mention of nsfw topics,

~~~~~~~~

How could this have happened to him? Of all people, Astarion was no chivalrous rube unlike the odd being he found himself following the command of. Truly, he didn't understand just how he wound up a follower to someone who put others before themselves. The damned tadpole in his brain being the only reason he would stand to be near someone so annoyingly virtuous... or so he tells himself.

Truth was, though he didn't like the mundane and menial tasks he found himself doing for the betterment of others, he did actually like the goody-two-shoes he followed the lead of. They were... hells, how to describe them?

Almost every choice was made to help someone against unfair treatment or wrongful accusations. Each decision was weighed carefully on the moral scale and done with well-being in mind in almost every way. They were one of those folk-hero types who stood up for the little guy and extended help to those in honest need.

They were infuriating and annoyingly righteous. ...They were enchanting.

Astarion found himself practically crooning over them, especially during fights. Someone able to so ruthlessly kill and command others was truly an impressive character. From the strategy and careful thinking to the quick and merciless endings, Astarion barely kept himself from swooning.

Even beyond the battlefield, he noticed little things they did that made him practically melt. Those small habits and unconscious behaviors that they had making him smile ever so slightly whenever he noticed them. He wasn't staring or obsessing, mind you, just... observing.

What truly surprised him was what happened when he decided to push his luck and try to feed on them and their delectable blood. Despite how quietly he had approached them, they woke up right as he was going to sink his fangs into their neck. Even though he knew he was likely about to be slain, he still tried to stand up for himself and justify his actions. Much to his surprise and genuine delight, the defacto leader did not stake him in the heart, choosing instead to speak with that same calm timbre and hear him out.

It was then they did something he swore would have made his heart flutter if it still had a beat. They told him that he was welcome to feed on their blood- within reason- and asked him to feed from them whenever he felt the thirst coming on too strongly. It was a kindness he had never expected from someone, and he agreed that feeding on (y/n) was better than trying to feed on any of the other companions they traveled with.

Since then, Astarion would feed on animals or enemies mostly, but always kept enough room in his stomach to feed on (y/n) at night. Something about their blood made him shiver in delight and the taste drove him to crave more and more. It was as if his dear (y/n)'s blood called to him and crooned sweet nothings into his mind.

He would never take more than offered, of course, but there were evenings where he was quite tempted to take more. Not more blood, but more of (y/n).

Sex was a good way to burn off steam and was good enough with almost anyone, but the thought of passionate sex with (y/n)... oh, it was simply delicious. He had propositioned once or twice, but the subtlety in how he asked seemed to make the true meaning of his words go right past them. They either didn't reciprocate or truly did not understand the delicate way he approached the matter and so thought he was talking about something else. He knew he would have to be more straightforward with them in the future about his desire for their blood and body, but for now he would satisfy himself however he could.

It was late in the evening and the others were fast asleep as he approached his beloved on silent feet. Their faithful dog- Scratch- and the aptly named owl-bear cub Hootsie were snoozing back to back on the other side of the camp, so they shouldn't interrupt him.

As Astarion leaned over the kindly ally, he couldn't help but reach up to slowly trail his fingers over their soft cheek. They looked absolutely scrumptious laying there with an unbothered expression, their breathing soft and quiet. Though he was thirsty and quite ready for a drink, he held himself back in favor of marveling over his precious little hero.

To think, some morally-righteous nobody had entangled his unbeating heart and enamored him so much he even considered charity. Charity for Hells sakes!

A soft whine escapes their lips as he slowly turned their head to the side, feeling a sense of pride when he saw the two puncture marks on the side of their neck where he fed from them regularly. Their blood was so pure and sweet, he could barely get by with the few tastes he would take every evening. Perhaps he had their heroic tendencies to thank for the extremely pure blood that he enjoyed feasting on.

He found himself so protective of their blood that any time they got hurt in battle, he could feel the rage pull at his mind and begin to consume him. As far as Astarion was concerned, all of (Y/n)'s blood belonged to him. Even one drop wasted was a drop he could have had, and the thought of their blood being so casually wasted like that... it set a fury in him.

Of course, after the battle he always offered to lick their wounds, but they seemed to think he was joking and laughed it off. What he wouldn't give to have them say 'yes' to his proposition and simply let him love on their wounds while going down on them.

Even at that moment, the warm scent of their body made bliss run through him as he decided to risk getting caught. He slowly moved their clothing so he could marvel at the exposed flesh of their stomach. With a light touch, he made sure to gently drag his tongue over their front, groaning to himself in response to their appetizing taste. All he wanted was to ravage them as they lay there and take it from him, but he still had plenty of self restraint.

"What I wouldn't give to cover you up in bites, Darling."

Astarion decided to stop pushing his luck when his thirst tugged at his self-control impatiently. He could always go back to helping himself after he got a drink from his favorite source.

Even though he had bitten them countless times over, he still felt a certain chill run through him at being able to sink his fangs in once more. The warm splash of blood against his tongue made an almost pathetic whimper escape his throat, greedily drinking down the flavorful ambrosia. All too soon, he had to pull away and staunch his desire for more until the next time he got to feed on his beloved.

"Don't worry, Dearest. I will make damn sure you can never get away from me no matter what. Then we can embrace as long as we wish. I'll rip the others to shreds for you, love. You'll never get to leave me."

[angry-geese]

The Weight - Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: smut//not osha compliant. arranged marriage au. blood/cannibalism mention. biting/size kink. unprotected sex, creampies. afab reader

synopsis: an arranged marriage au where the reader chooses sukuna instead of one of the men from her village

word count: 10.3k

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since probably last february and I finally got around to finishing it lol

jjk masterlist

As mid-afternoon turns to dusk, you realize you have nothing to show for your hours in these woods. You know, reasonably, you should cut your losses for the day, and return home. In a little over an hour, it’ll be dark, and navigating these woods will become a challenge. But winter has come and gone with a vengeance, leaving food stores low. The thought of fresh meat is too much for you to quit now.

Fresh tracks mark the once-smooth creek bed. Deer. At least three. They’ve bedded down here, as evident by the smell, and flattened patches of grass. For several meters, the tracks nearly overlap themselves, before heading off in separate directions. It's been years since you’ve traveled this deep into the woods, and those few times were accompanied by your father, or uncle. Your solitude has you jumping at every rustle of a leaf, and snapped twig. It's when the woods fall silent that you need to worry. That means a predator is near. As long as you can hear bugs, or birds, you'll be okay.

Further ahead—maybe twenty yards—is a buck that stopped to drink from the creek. 

You knock an arrow, lining the broadhead up with your target. Something feels wrong. The string feels too taut. It slips from your fingers prematurely. The arrow hits just behind the front shoulder, and—in theory—should puncture the heart. A shot like that—in theory—should drop an animal like this where it stands. Today it doesn't. The buck takes off running.

Between the footprints, and little droplets of blood, a clear trail is left behind. When you do finally come upon your prey, the crickets have fallen silent. The buck lays on its side in the grass, chest heaving. You ready your knife to put the poor thing out of its misery when something—someone—emerges from the treeline on the opposite side of the clearing. 

Your body is moving before you can fully process the situation. You flatten yourself out on the ground, hiding under the cover of some bushes. If the man does see you, then he makes no note of it. He draws closer, stopping to kneel beside the buck. It’s too dark to make out his face. Something about him has the hair on the back of your neck on end. He hauls the carcass up onto his shoulder, turning to return in the direction in which he came. 

The absurdness of it all has you frozen. You blink several times as if to make sure this isn't your mind playing tricks on you. Once reality sets in, you’re back on your feet, chasing after him.

“That's mine!” You say, hoping the volume of your voice is enough to scare off the thief. It isn't.

What you first assume to be another trick of the lighting becomes a horrifying reality as you notice the true size of the man. The man—being, or whatever he is—towers over you, completely dwarfing you in size. Mild annoyance is all that is visible on his face as he turns to you. From the deer, he rips out your arrow, tossing it at your feet. The broadhead has snapped off, as well as the shaft is bent. If you so desire, you suppose you could repair it. Not that you have any wish to. Sometimes it is simply better to cut your losses.

But you have more pressing things to deal with right now.

“And just what do you plan to accomplish, little lamb?” He asks. “A deer like this can weigh as much as a grown man. Do you plan to carry this back all by yourself?”

It’ll be tiring, but not impossible. Gutting and dressing it here would remove a lot of unnecessary weight, but would render plenty of valuable meat and organs useless. All that extra meat and skin could be used better elsewhere…

You are overcome with the urge to run, yet his gaze has your feet firmly planted on the ground. Your eyes fall to a small red splotch on his kimono—a blood stain. It can't be from the deer, it's far too old. It’s not until your knees knock together that you realize you’re trembling.

The action of him moving closer causes a cry of panic to leave you, unintentionally calling out for your father. 

“What—who are you?!” You ask as you scramble backwards. 

“I am Ryoumen Sukuna, the King of Curses, my dear,” he says. “Now, shall we get this back to your home?”

Fear threatens to overcome you. Even if you could draw an arrow in time, you doubt it would truly hurt him. Yet, in spite of your fear, you know he has no plans to harm you. Once you’re in sight of the village, he sets the deer down, and gestures for you to take the lead.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask. You’re certain the look on your face suggests you still expect him to eat you. 

“Why do you ask?” He says. “Maybe I wanted the location of your home. It seems there are plenty of sacrifices here for me.”

“Wait a minute!” You say, eyes widening with fear. A mix of panic and guilt consumes you. “You can't-”

A look resembling amusement crosses his face. “I mean no harm to your village,” Sukuna says, “but in five years, I will return to claim what is mine.”

The strange man would vanish upon reaching the outskirts of your village, and in the nearly five years that follow, you would not once traverse so deep into the woods. On several occasions, you would try to retrace your steps, but would never once come across that clearing. When you would bring it up to your father, or any of the other village elders, your concerns would be brushed off, or outright ignored. Years would pass and slowly, achingly slowly, you would forget about the man in the woods entirely.

The coming spring brings your twenty-eighth birthday, and the looming threat of being an “older” unmarried woman.

If you had any say in the matter, you wouldn't get married at all. Plenty of older women exist, happily unmarried, yet your mother insists that you must find a husband. Any attempts to convince her that you’re fine with the way things are, fail. Once it became clear you weren't going to seek a husband on your own, your mother took upon the task of finding a suitor for you. Over the course of several months, meetings were arranged with various men, and with each rejected one, your mother grew more desperate to find the perfect match. 

Your mother insists you're cursed. Your father thinks you’re simply unlucky. When you asked how marriage was supposed to fix that curse, she had no answer for you.

In the months prior to your birthday, your mother proposed a deal to you: meet with another man—the son of a wealthy merchant. That if this meeting went well, even if you didn't marry him, she would stop pestering you about getting married. Tired of her pestering, you relented, and agreed to meet him. And as the days draw closer, you only feel dread towards him. 

The outcome of tonight has already been decided by you: failure. Whether your mother knows this or not is hard to tell. Judging her tense nature, you suspect she knows your plans.

“I was already married at your age,” she says, tightening your obi, “I used to have a dress just like this.”

“The difference is, you knew him already,” you say, “and I am meeting a stranger.”

“I am simply doing what I think is best for you,” she says. “This is your chance to get out of this village—to live a better life! Don't you want that?”

Her eyes meet yours in one last pleading glance. It makes you wonder; did she have such a conversation with her mother? Did your grandmother go through such trouble to match her to your father? Or did this come easier to her, than it did to you?

You suppose he’s handsome. The silks he wears are clearly expensive, with threads like woven gold. His features are sharp—what one could describe as noble, but you find him truly dull. But he is scrawny—squishy, with hands that show he has never worked a day in his life. The little conversation he makes is dreadfully boring. His father is an older man, with a graying beard, and sagging eyes. His mother is considerably younger, dressed in blue, with a small scar on her chin. Her silky black hair falls down her back. The little conversation you do have is short, but polite. The typical small talk you would have with a stranger.

Your mother does her best to talk you up. She’s gotten pretty good at that over the past few years. Your father interjects here and there, but it's your mother that does the majority of the talking. 

“She’s strong. A talented hunter. Good with a knife.” Your father says. This time, you’re paying attention when he speaks.

Your potential father-in-law seems unimpressed with your father’s attempts to talk you up. Perhaps if you were a son, this conversation would go differently. If you were a son, your mother wouldn't be so stressed about you being married before 30. Your growing irritation mounts when you set down your cutlery, turning to look the old man in his eyes.

“And what about him?” You ask, motioning to his son. “Look at him—how is he supposed to give me a strong child?”

The energy in the room seems to shift entirely. Your father nearly chokes on his wine, but his eyes are firmly trained on your mother. She glares daggers at you, gripping her spoon so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

“What?” You ask. “I am the one getting married. Don't I get a say in this?”

Are you trying to screw this up? Your mother’s face seems to ask.

“A good father controls his daughter,” the man says, “especially one with such a sharp tongue.”

“I can serve this village, or I can control my daughter, but I cannot do both,” your father says, “she’s not a child anymore, she can make her own choices.”

That earns a small smirk from you. Leave it to him to stand up for you.

“That is exactly why this is so grievous,” the man says, “my son will not marry an old maid with an attitude problem!”

“And I will not have in-laws as insufferable as you!” You bring your knife down on the table, narrowly missing his fingers. This little outburst of yours at dinner will certainly have consequences. Your mother’s wrath is only the beginning.

They don't leave in nearly as big of a hurry as you’d expect from a man who was just threatened with a knife, but they do hurry out, making certain not to look back.

“Maybe we should have offered to let them stay,” says your father, “it’s not safe to be out on the road after dark.”

“We’re lucky to not have them send guards after us for that,” your mother says, and for once, you agree with her. “Threatening a man like that is a new low, even for you.”

After such a disastrous dinner, you’re not particularly eager to go find your parents. You linger towards the outskirts of your village for as long as daylight allows you to. Once it grows too dark to stay out, you begin the trek back to your home, praying your parents—or at least your mother—have simply gone to bed. Maybe your father will forgive such a night, but your mother certainly won't. Over the past year you’ve done enough to earn her ire, this will not help your case.

Sitting outside is your mother, her eyes trained on a dying fire. Although she doesn't acknowledge you, you know she’s noticed you. Part of you wonders if you should speak first. Would that even improve your situation, or simply make it worse?

“You win.” She says. 

“What?” You ask.

“You win. I told you I’d stop after this, remember?” She asks. “Besides, I stopped liking him after that comment he made about your father.”

You still don't believe it's over. No tone of accusation clings to her voice, yet you can't help being suspicious.

“I don't get it.” You say.

“I just want what's best for you.” She says. “I want you to live a long and happy life. Are you really content to spend the rest of your life in this village? Stuck taking care of your brother and father?”

“That sounds like the preferable outcome,” you say, “compared to having in-laws I can't stand.”

“Where does he get off calling you an old maid anyway?” She says.

A small smile crosses your lips. This is about the best she'll get, and she knows this, a grin crossing her own face. A moment that should be one of triumph—at least for you—seems to be more sorrowful. The older you grow, the further apart you drift from her, and with that comes a strange, aching loneliness. You long for a time in your youth; the days when she would play dolls with you in-between house chores. You miss the tiny clothes she’d sew for them. The furniture made of timber scraps she’d hand paint. Oh how long has it been since she last braided your hair? Or brushed it? Or helped you wash it? 

Did she have these same feelings about her own mother? Or was it easy for her? Does she too mourn those moments you used to share?

You don't remember her always looking this old. That’s not to say she isn't beautiful still—age does not nullify beauty. But she looks tired now. The dark circles under her eyes are more prominent than ever. The skin around her eyes crinkles when she laughs, or smiles. Her hair is littered with grays—like little silver threads. She looks like you.

From within the nearly pitch-black woods comes a scream; not that of an animal, but of man. When the scream rings out again, it’s much easier to understand. It’s a cry for help.

Emerging out of the treeline, and following the main road is a man, half hunched over and clutching his stomach. He makes it several yards into the village before collapsing. Enough blood pours from the wound on his side that you can smell it. A metallic taste lingers in the air, stuck to the back of your throat. Blood. 

You’re the first to run over, followed shortly behind by your mother. The injured, shambling figure collapses upon the road. It’s only as you draw closer that you recognize him, albeit barely: the man from dinner. His clothes at one point in time were yellow in color, but are now stained a deep brown in color from a mix of dirt and blood.

“We need a doctor over here!” Mother cries out, her voice echoing against the wall of trees.

Someone must hear, because eventually a group of men burst out of a nearby house. They make quick work of rolling him onto his back, granting you a better look at his wounds. Three long slashes across his stomach. From your mother comes a gasp, followed by her clamping her hand over her mouth. The young man succumbs to his wounds before anyone is able to help him. He’s lost too much blood. People don't come back from that.

“Was he stabbed?” One man asks.

“Looks like knife marks,” comments another.

“Not a knife,” the oldest of the three says, “claws.”

“Do you think a mountain lion got to him?” You ask.

The oldest of the men shakes his head. “Cats like that don't get this close to towns. They avoid people if they can. A bear, maybe; if he got in between a mother and cub. But even that seems unlikely…”

This is why you don't go into the woods after dark. This is why you lock your doors and close your shutters tight when the sun sets. Bad things lurk out there, but they are not bears, nor are they mountain lions.

Something about the height of a person bursts from the treeline. Atop the legs of a chicken is a head only humanesque in the way corpses are. Sunken eyes sit atop a shriveled nose, and cracked lips. Its skin seems to be hanging off bone. Still, it takes you a moment to register that it’s fear you feel. Your palms prickle with sweat, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The urge to flee is nearly unbearable.

More of these creatures emerge from the direction of the nearly-set sun. They appear to come in all sorts of horrid shapes, and sizes, the smallest being no larger than a bird, and the largest about the size of a cow. Fear threatens to overcome you entirely. At least twenty of the creatures leave the treeline, although you suspect more remain hidden within it. The temperature must drop by ten degrees. It’s as if all the moisture has been sucked from the air. Those who dared leave their homes to look at the source of the commotion have now retreated, locking their doors behind them. 

The collar of your dress jerks backwards as your mother struggles to drag you back towards the house. “Get your father!” She says. “Hurry!” 

“What about you?!” You ask.

“Just get your father,” she says.

And you do so, running as fast as your feet will take you. The chilly night air renders your fingertips numb, and your face burning. He’s asleep in his chair, and wakes with a gasp as you shake him, motioning frantically to the door. The words that leave you are incoherent, but he must understand your panic. He retrieves his sword, telling you to lock the door behind him. You don't listen. You never listen, you can hear your mother say now. A sudden burst of light draws your attention—a nearby house has caught fire. Those strange, horrid creatures swarm around it like flies. Several neighbors have exited their houses, and begun throwing buckets of water upon the blaze, but the fire is too strong.

And from the treeline emerges that man from the woods all those years ago. 

In five years time, he has not aged a day. His cruelly sharp features appear the same within the flicker of the firelight. They fall before him on their hands and knees, heads bowed in fear. You only realize you’re shaking when you move closer to the window, peeking out through the crack in the shutters. 

The King of Curses, he called himself, all those years ago.

His mouth moves as if he's speaking, but you can only make out about half of what he says. The ringing in your ears is too loud to make sense of much.

“My offerings lessen, my shrine lies defiled,” he says, “and you humans sit here complacent. I gave you five years to make amends and this is what you do with it?”

You know, logically, that your father is going to die. He is no match for the creatures, let alone that strange man. You must do something. Even if it is beyond logic, or reason, you would not forgive yourself if you did not act.

“Then what is it you require of us?” Asks father, his hands trembling slightly. You can tell it’s more than just the dancing light of the fire. He is truly frightened.

“An offering,” says the King of Curses. “A sacrifice.”

“We have nothing to offer,” says father, “the river has run dry of fish—our crops have withered! We have nothing to offer, we’re starving regardless!”

The King of Curses eyes drift to your hiding place, before landing back on your father. “You said it yourself.” He says. “You’ll starve regardless. What difference does it make that you should give up one of your own? Won't there only be less mouths to feed?”

Your arrows rattle loudly as you pull one from your quiver, knocking it. From this angle, and sitting half crouched on the ground, you can't bring it to a full draw. Not only does that mess with your aim, but alter the power of the shot too. That can be accounted for. You adjust your angle to be a little higher—right above his head. When you release the string, the arrow gives way with a thunk! The shot is dead on; your arrow whistling towards the demon king’s head. He brings his spear up, knocking it aside. Several heads whip back towards you, their faces contorted in a mix of anger, and fear. 

You’re not quite sure who grabs you first—it must be more than one person. Several sets of hands are upon you, dragging you from the house. Any attempts to fight it fail on your part, there are simply too many people to kick off. They drop you in the dirt beside your father. You don't dare look at him. You know his eyes are filled with fear. 

“We’ll—we’ll put it to a vote,” says one of the elders. “All those in favor of sending this woman as an offering…”

Two other elders raise their hands. Then several of the men. Then, reluctantly, the mother of a neighboring family. Even more hands pop up after that. Although maybe a minute passes, it feels like hours. At least a dozen sets of eyes are on you.

“Out of all of you,” the demon king says, eyes following across the crowd that’s now gathered, “she was the only one of you to fight back, yet you punish such an action?”

Silence is the only response the crowd can conjure up. A groan so loud that the ground rumbles beneath it rings out as the house gives way, collapsing in on itself in a rain of ash and embers.

“Wait!” Your father cries out, “let me go in her place!”

Several more incomprehensible sentence fragments leave him. He pleads and pleads to no avail. The last view you get of your village is of the spirits retreating back into the woods.

It must be hours before your state of shock wears off. Dawn breaks bleak and gray over the horizon. The temple he brings you lies in ruin. You must be one of the first people to set foot in here in years. A cracked foundation gives way to walls overtaken by vines. Dust and ash layers the ground, and every surface imaginable.

Sukuna must not expect you to try to run. Nothing is done to prevent you from escaping. There are no doors to lock. No ropes or cages. The only real barrier of escape is the trek home through miles of woods. Should you wait until sunrise, the trip won't be impossible. It is the fear of what remains for you that prevents you from returning.

Would there even be anything to go back to? Is it even worth it after what they did? They did not hesitate as they offered you as a sacrifice. Whatever happens to them… they have it coming.

Such thoughts do little to comfort you. If anything, they make you feel worse. What little strength you have left goes into stopping the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. You manage. Barely.

Unable to find it within you to do anything else, you sit. Only a thin, woven mat separates you and the hard floor. Footsteps draw closer down the hall, the noise only amplified by the high ceilings of the temple.

Uraume. That’s what Sukuna called them. A strange being that looks human, but appears to be more than such. They enter the room, a shock a white hair visible before the rest of them is. They wear the kimono of an unmarried woman, in vibrant shades of orange, blues, and pinks woven in the pattern of flowers. Hooked around one arm is a pail of water. Under the other arm is a roll of cloth. Contained within the cloth is a mix of hygiene supplies; a sponge, comb, various vials of oils and creams. 

Uraume treats you like one would treat a frightened animal. They kneel on the ground before you, leaving about the distance of a foot. When you don't flinch, or shy away, they move closer.

“You’re covered in ash,” they say, “let me help.”

With the sponge, they dab away the bits of dirt and ash that have caked to your skin. Human contact like this should, in theory, be intimate, but in this situation it feels like anything but that. Uraume’s touch feels cold, and clinical. With them comes a strange, uncanny feeling, like you are not looking into the eyes of a human, but of a corpse. The reason behind their kindness is a mystery to you. It feels wrong to question them, but you can't help but think there is something sinister behind their actions. Their casualness suggests this isn't the first time they’ve done this. That thought does nothing to comfort you, so you quickly push it aside.

Next, they move on to your neck, then down to the exposed bits of your chest, and shoulders. 

“Such a beautiful dress,” they comment. You reply weakly, saying it belonged to your mother. Their response to that is little more than a hum.

They take your hands, scrubbing the dirt from under your nails with a small brush. After that, a comb is worked through your hair, taking great care to not pull on any knots that have formed. Once they can work their hands through your hair with no resistance, they stop.

Uraume leans back to examine their work, deeming you presentable. Gathering what they brought with them, they make their way towards the door, turning back once to say: “I’ll bring something to eat.”

The events of the night have left you without an appetite. You probably should eat something. It’ll be important to keep your energy up. The little adrenaline left within you has you jumping at any small noise, or shadow. Sleep feels like an impossibility right now.

About ten minutes pass before Uraume returns carrying a platter. Tea, pickled vegetables, a hunk of bread, a bowl of some kind of stew. It smells quite good, but you merely pick at it. Like your hesitation to sleep, you can hardly eat. Uraume sits with you, picking at their own food, but never finishing it. A million questions race through your mind, although you can barely bring yourself to ask them.

Would they even answer you? Or does this have a more sinister plan behind it?

Finally, you find enough of your voice to ask: “Where is…?”

“I’ve prepared a bath for master Sukuna,” they say, “he’ll be joining us shortly.”

Your attention turns back to the bowl in your hands, which soon slips through your fingers, breaking upon the floor. What little appetite you had is soured entirely. This is it. You’re nearly certain you’re going to die here.

Your attempt to clean up the mess is stopped by Uraume. They insist upon cleaning it themselves, taking great care not to cut their hands on the shards.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, shocked at how small your voice sounds.

“Master Sukuna likes to play with his food before he eats it,” they say.

Uraume leaves shortly after, taking the leftover dishes with them. You remain seated, eyes moving between the two exits of the room. One takes you to the entrance of the temple; you’re not certain where the other leads. The first is almost guaranteed to be guarded, though. Trying to run now is a bad idea. But when will you get another chance?

You will not sit idly by as death draws closer. Like the previous night, you feel as if you must do something. It was your own foolish actions that got you into this mess, says a small voice in the back of your head.

Trapped under your heel is a small pottery shard, left over from the shattered bowl. It’s small enough to conceal in your palm. Sharp. Better for stabbing than it is slashing, but it will be good enough at either. Once Sukuna returns, you’ll get your chance.

The rush of adrenaline has started to wear off now, rendering your arms weak, and your legs shaky. If you were to sit down now, you’re certain it would be a while before you get back up. It is the body fighting itself; fight or flight mode mixing with exhaustion. If you do not stop and rest, your body will give out on you eventually.

So you stand there and pace, clutching your shard of pottery close. Maybe thirty minutes pass in the time it takes Sukuna to enter, but it feels like hours. Adrenaline turns into fatigue.

Tears burn at your eyes again, but you’re able to blink them back. A mix of shock and betrayal has left you nothing short of exhausted. Sukuna’s towering stature only helps to make you feel like a lamb about to be devoured by a wolf.

“I trust Uraume has been of assistance,” Sukuna says. 

Unsure of how to respond, you simply nod.

“What now?” You ask. “Is this the part where you’re supposed to eat me?”

That earns a laugh from him, although it’s strange sounding, as if the very action is foreign to him.

“Many decades ago, the people of your village—among others—would hold a festival during harvest season,” he says, “it was meant as a sign of peace. An offering in return to not raze their homes,

“The people of your village have grown laze, and complacent. They have forgotten their place as humans, and needed to be reminded of it. You are simply another offering. Something to tide me over.”

Sukuna draws close enough for you to feel his breath across the back of your neck. You shudder. Adrenaline courses through you once again.

This is it, you think, you are going to die. 

In one last attempt to preserve your dignity, you aim for his jugular, and swing the shard of pottery towards it. A hand wraps around your wrist before it can make contact. A second set of arms are trapping you against his body before you can even register it. His breath is warm against your cheek, teeth inhumanly sharp in the dim light.

“You are entertainment.” He says. 

That same set of sharp teeth drag up your neck. Some sick sense of pleasure runs up your spine at the feeling: being a little lamb in the jaws of a predator. It would take so little effort from him to render you lifeless that it’s almost comical. Adrenaline turns to delirium in your mind. 

What happens if he finally grows bored of you? It’s not a matter of “if” in this case, it’s a matter of “when”. You have an idea of what will happen once he does.

You don't hear him leave, so much as you notice his lack of presence.

Sukuna is gone for most of the following day. In that time, you explore much of the temple in an attempt to gain your bearings. It’s sparsely furnished, and dilapidated for the most part, but there are some signs of life. On a lower level of the temple is a bedroom, where the bed alone is as big as a room in your home. Must be Sukuna’s. Another, smaller room appears to be Uraume’s quarters. A small kitchen branches off the hallway not far from this. 

The later half of the day is spent trying to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. Thick woods surround the structure, spreading out for what must be miles. To the North is a creek. If you followed it, you might possibly meet up with the river by your village. Whether you could do so before nightfall is another question entirely. Finding yourself stuck in unfamiliar woods past dark may prove to be a death sentence.

Even if you could go back, would you want to? Their lack of hesitation towards sacrificing you still rings clear in your mind.

Sleep seems to be the best way to pass the time. There isn't much else to do around here. In the hours before dusk, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, and into the woods that surround the temple. You justify it by saying that fresh air will do you good, not that anyone asks you. The only person around to do so would be Uraume, though you don't see much of them.

Heavy fog settles upon the trees, causing the day to take on a quiet, sleepy nature. Little cream-colored mushrooms pop up through the layer of moss and dead leaves that blanket the forest floor. Carved out over years of use is a dirt path, barely wide enough for a person to walk through. Following it for about ten minutes brings you to a pond. At one end, the start of a small creek leads downhill. Little fish are visible just under the surface. Leaving your socks and shoes at the shore, you wade out into the water. It’s cool, but not chilly. The mud feels soft underneath your feet. Being outside helps settle your nerves a bit. Outright terror is replaced with uneasiness now. While not entirely better, it’s an improvement to your previous mood.

From the treeline opposite of the path you took, a figure enters the clearing. Sukuna. Adrenaline spikes through your body at the sight of him. Your pulse quickens, and fear prickles in your palms. Every cell of your being is telling you to run.

Sukuna motions with his hand for you to follow him. It is not an offer, so much as it’s a command. Following a short walk on a stoney path, you find yourself overlooking a rock cliff-face, and a small wood hut. Scattered about are several steaming pools, which bubble up from the ground, layering upon the cliff-face like stairs.

Sukuna undressed at the wood hut, leaving his clothes hanging upon the rafters. Your gaze remains firmly on the ground. You should not be seeing him like this. This feels far too intimate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long, but can't help it. The sight of his back alone is hard to tear your eyes away from; the muscles, the tattoos, the curve of his spine. There is a strange, supernatural beauty to him. You eye him with caution, yet curiosity. 

Why has he brought you here? What does he want? Is this simply a ritual before he eats you?

Certainly, if you were to scream, no one would be nearby to hear you. 

It strikes you just how easily his teeth could tear through your jugular. How his sharp nails could shred your flesh to ribbons. Sukuna is far faster and stronger than you, outrunning him is not an option.

Following his lead, you undress, and leave your clothes folded neatly upon a rock. Next comes the task of taking down your hair, and combing through it with your fingers, finding it still knot-free from the events of the previous night. Only then do you approach the largest of the three pools, and wade into it. At its deepest, it's a little above your waist. You could walk all the way across and never once have your feet leave the ground.

You settle upon a rock towards the edge, half submerged in the pool. The hot water feels nice upon your sore muscles. Your eyes trail ribbons of steam as they curl off the water. A wave of self consciousness rolls over you. You sink further into the water, crossing your arms in front of your chest. It’s up to your chin now. Sometime during this, it starts raining. The droplets leave little ripples across the surface of the water. Fall brings the smell of damp earth, and decaying leaves with it. Something that should be comforting only makes your stomach turn.

“You look frightened, little lamb,” Sukuna says.

Is it so obvious? 

“I still don't believe this isn't some attempt to eat me.” You ask, though you’re not certain you want the answer.

“Had I wanted to eat you, I would have had Uraume make preparations.” He says.

You still don't believe him. How many people met their fate at his hands before you? There is no reason why you would be lucky—why you would escape your fate.

“Then what is it you want from me?” You ask.

His expression softens, shoulders lowering with a sigh. The space between his eyebrows is not so harshly creased anymore. 

“I am not like the typical curses you have met,” Sukuna says, “I require your permission.” 

“Permission for what?” You shrink back as he draws closer, stopping mere inches from you. He’d tower over the tallest man, let alone someone like you.

A kiss. Hungry, and overbearing, but a kiss nonetheless. Sukuna has to lean down, and you have to crane your neck up to complete the action. His movements feel stiff, clinical, as if he hasn't done this many times before. The action causes warmth to bloom in your chest, and spread out to your limbs. The hands that cup your face are nearly large enough to encompass it entirely. He tastes like wine, and something vaguely metallic. The thought that it might be blood crosses your mind for only a moment. You’d much rather think about other things. 

“Will you devote yourself to me, completely and entirely?” He asks.

Funny, you think, had a human man asked you the same thing, you would have laughed in his face. Yet you find yourself bewitched by the King of Curses. Curious, and cautious all the same. This is not a feeling of love. It is something else entirely. You are a sacrifice, you remind yourself, this is the fate of a sacrifice.

“I devote myself to no man,” you say, “I don't see how you'd be any different.”

He hums in amusement, circling around you in the water. He stops behind you, slightly to your right. Sharp teeth graze across your shoulder. Large hands trace their way up your hips, then your body, coming to rest just below your breasts. You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the strange pressure that has built up. Your heart rate picks up in pace. Sukuna must be able to sense this. A low laugh leaves him as he pulls away.

“Well then,” he says, “do I have your permission to continue?”

Continue what? You wish to ask. As if against your mind’s wishes, your head moves in a nod. “Yes,” you say.

You can only imagine the look on his face as you have your back to him. He’s close enough you can feel the warmth radiate off his body. Is he pleased? Amused? Smug that all it took was a kiss to make you let your guard down? 

Hands that should be calloused and rough are quite gentle with their touch. One comes to rest upon your hip, before trailing down to the space between your thighs. Seconds in and your knees seem to give out, your body supported only by him. One finger presses into you, then a second. You sigh at the intrusion. There’s little resistance as he presses into you. You’re too wet. Sukuna’s fingers are much larger than your own, though the stretch you feel is pleasant, not painful. Your thighs squeeze around his hand, drawing a low laugh from him. You can feel it rumble within his chest, which your back is pressed flush to.

Being so close to another being feels odd. The only intimacy you know is a platonic one. A familial one. This is different. Stronger. More intense. He finds the spot that makes you squirm and abuses it, toying with you like prey. It must be a game to him, you think, like cat and mouse. With one of your hands over your mouth, you try to muffle the lewd noises that spill from you. It’s a losing battle. All sorts of pleased sounding noises—from both you and him—echo through the clearing. Secretly, you’re glad this place is so remote. Should someone hear the lewd noises you’re making, you wouldn't recover from the embarrassment. He brings you just to the edge, but refuses to let you cross over. Frustration turns to desperation as you grind against him, chasing your own release. Sukuna doesn't appear opposed to your actions. He lets you work yourself up to—and through—your own release, the noises you make growing gradually more obscene until they come to a head in the form of an orgasm.

You remain in the water for a while afterwards. The layer of fog overhead makes the day take on a lazy, sleepy nature. His hands comb through your hair as you lay against his chest. Such a moment feels uncharacteristically tender for him. While you expect them to be sharp, his nails feel nice against your skin. The mouth on his stomach resembles a smirk, although the expression on his face is flat. Unreadable. A slight pang of disappointment shoots through you. You know it’s unreasonable of you to expect humanity from someone inherently inhuman. He does not—he can not—process things the way you do. Humans must appear so small and fragile to him.

You’re uncertain of how much time passes as you lay there, your limbs tangled with his. It doesn't feel like long enough. No time would feel long enough. You crave the touch of another being whether you want to admit that or not.

“It’s getting late,” he comments. Without another word, you watch as Sukuna dresses himself, and leaves.

You follow him as quickly as you can. You’re not quite fast enough, arriving back at the temple long after him. Dusk follows soon after. 

You find no sign of the King of Curses upon your return. Finding yourself with not much of an appetite, you head straight to bed. Uraume stops by once to offer tea, but you decline, insisting you’re tired, and just wish to sleep. Whether or not they believe you, you can't tell. That’s about the extent of every conversation you have; polite, but short.

Sukuna must not need to sleep. Not in the same way you do. You dress down into your underclothes, leaving the rest folded neatly upon a chair. They’re not dirty, just slightly wrinkled from the events of today. You crawl into the bed much larger than you, and attempt to sleep. When he crawls into the bed beside you, you do nothing to protest.

As time passes, you grow used to his presence. Falling into a routine takes mere days. In that time, you don't see much of Sukuna, or Uraume. Maybe it’s for the best. You’re not certain what you’d say to either of them. You figure it best not to question what Sukuna gets up to in his free time. If the events at your village are anything similar, you figure it best to pay them no mind.

The longer you spend here, the more curious you find yourself. At least twice you find your way back to the hot springs. Familiarizing yourself with the surrounding woods has you growing more confident when navigating it. Animal tracks and trails reveal themselves, bringing more life to the woods. 

Fall turns to winter. Rain gives way to snow, bringing in a bitter stormfront. It’s hard to tell how many days pass as the storm hits, rendering the three of you confined to the temple. Sukuna doesn't appear bothered at all by the cold, but you spend many bleak nights huddled by a fire. Sukuna approaches you on one of these nights; perhaps the bleakest and darkest one before the storm finally breaks. Your inability to leave the temple has you ready to claw out of your own skin. Never were you one to stay in one place very long. 

Days have passed and you haven't spoken much to one another. Not since the day at the hot springs. You find yourself especially longing for them on a day like this, where the cold makes your joints ache, and your lips cracked. Winter is among your least favorite of the seasons. A hot and sticky summer day was always preferred over a day like this. Sukuna must sense it. He finds you curled by the fire, wrapped in an assortment of quilts and fabrics. You can't tell if it’s morning, or evening. Snow has rendered midday as dark as dusk. 

You know you should get up, and toss more wood onto the fire. Should you let it die any further, it’s unlikely you’ll get it started again. Sukuna joins you in the room, sitting on the mat to your left. Finding yourself searching for warmth, you move closer to him. It’s an unconscious action at first. Once you recognize it, you can't find the willpower within you to stop.

You offer the edge of the blanket to him, basking in his warmth as the quilt is wrapped around both of you. One of his hands comes to rest upon your knee. Your gaze is trained on his face, while his remains on the dying fire. 

“I don't suppose you do this to every sacrifice you get,” you say, not expecting an answer.

The corners of his lips twitch into something that resembles a smile. Much life his laugh, his smile is stiff, and rather foreign feeling. Like he hasn't done such a thing in centuries.

“You are different from the sacrifices I have received in the past.” He says. 

You get the impression he is still figuring out what to do with you. Such a thought doesn't inspire confidence on your part, though you assume your situation could be worse. 

You're nearly in his lap now. The hand on your knee soon moves upwards onto your thigh. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he palms himself through his clothes. Some sick part of you wishes to taunt him. To tease him in the same way he has done to you. You part your legs just enough to encourage him. There must be something wrong with you, you think, no normal woman would enjoy the company of the King of Curses.

This is not your typical virgin sacrifice. It is little more than that. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure. To fuck without the intent to procreate.

“I always assumed you wouldn’t have these… urges.” You say.

“Many things lost their potency,” he says. “Food was never enough to satiate, drink was never enough to quench thirst. Sex has remained the same. Primal pleasure never loses its potency.”

So he was human. At least at one point in time…

“Like I said,” he hums, “I am not like the typical curses you have met. I require your permission.”

“You have it,” you say. 

Oh how dearly you wish to recreate the event at the hot springs. To feel the same build-up of emotions, and the following release. Such mindless pleasure has remained in your head, unable to be stifled by your own hands.

Off comes your kimono, guided down your shoulders by his hand. Your nipples stiffen when exposed to the open air. It is not the cold that has you shivering, but the expectation of what’s to come. His size, and calloused hands suggest his touch would be harsh, but you find to be the opposite. Sharp nails graze down your sides as he moves to kneel before you. You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

His own clothes are left among the growing pile on the floor. He pumps his stiffening cock in his hand, the head of which weeps across his palm. A different kind of heat blooms in your stomach.

 Sharp teeth graze across your jaw, down your neck, before eventually nipping at your shoulder. A sting both painful and pleasurable radiates from the bite. Blood beads from the two points where he managed to break the skin, quickly lapped away by him. Part of your brain is telling you to push him away. The other part is telling you to expose your neck further. You’re not certain which to listen to as you lay under him, caged within his arms. Your breaths grow ragged, turning into quiet moans as his knee nudges your legs apart. This is different from the day at the hot springs. Sukuna is seeking something more—he is seeking his own pleasure this time.

A hand finds its way into your hair, gently tugging at it. Guided by his hand, you expose your neck further to him. He laps at the droplets of blood that form, sucking dark marks into the skin of your neck. Pain and pleasure overlap in your mind. Your thighs are a mess of your own slick, and the precum that leaks from the heads of his two cocks. It’s almost comical how you work yourself up in knots at only the slightest provocation by him.

You taste yourself on him as he kisses you. The bleeding from your neck has mostly stopped now. What remains will barely leave a scar. His lips trail down your neck, through the valley between your breasts, and down your stomach, before eventually stopping just shy of your cunt. The look of him alone has you growing as wet as a virgin; his hair disheveled from your hands running through it, the muscles in his shoulders appear more prominent now. His arms hook around your thighs, although he doesn't need to bother holding your legs open. You’d do it without prompt by him. Eager for your own release, and worked up into a soaked mess, you’d do anything to please him.

You shouldn't be enjoying it as much as you are. You know you should be afraid. It would take no effort from him at all to tear through your femoral artery, and let you bleed out. You would be helpless in the matter anyway; you’re nothing more than a little lamb trapped under a big bad wolf.

The feeling of his tongue is strange. With him on his knees, bowed in what resembles worship, has your stomach in knots. The lewdness of it all has you more worked up than anything else. A strange, pleasurable tension builds within you. He is not toying with you this time, but working you over. When you do finally cum, you cum hard, riding out your high on his face. The noises he’s making suggest he’s enjoying this almost more than you do.

He must be painfully hard now. The head of his cock is an angry shade of red, and leaking precum. Using his hand to guide him, the head of his cock presses into you. You’re too wet from his previous actions to notice much of a stretch. What little pain there is crosses over with pleasure in your mind. He groans as he sheathes himself within you fully. His expression softens just enough for you to take in the features of his face. He’s quite handsome now that you’re close enough to appreciate his looks. It makes you wonder what his life as a human was like. Was he royalty, or a commoner? What was his job? Did he ever have family?

You won't get an answer out of him no matter how hard you try. This is the most human the king of curses will ever appear. 

His thrusts are slow at first. Lazy. More like grinding, not proper fucking. With as sensitive as you still are, this doesn't make much of a difference. You’re still a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. Judging by the noises he’s making, he’s not far from cumming himself. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and that seems to only encourage him. The muscles in his arms and shoulders gradually grow more tense before he shudders, then visibly relaxes. A warm sensation in your cunt follows soon after; he’s cum inside of you.

You lay like that for a while: limbs entwined, bodies curled around each other. He lets himself soften inside of you until the desire to pull out hits. You can tell your hips will be sore in the morning—whenever it decides to come. What little of his seed spills out of you is forced back in by his fingers. You assume it ties into his possessive nature. It must be a way of marking you as his. The fire has long since died out, though you find the warmth from his body adequate enough. 

“I don't think I can walk,” you lie, “carry me?”

Sukuna feigns annoyance, but relents, carrying you to the bed too large for any human. You quickly find your way under the covers. He finds himself in the space beside you. Fatigue hits you soon after, yet you find yourself unable to sleep.

“You were human once?” You ask.

The mood in the room seems to shift entirely. Sukuna is not one for conversation. You expected no different from a man like him. He looks at you with mild annoyance, as if deciding on his answer.

“I was. Once.” He says.

Your fingers trace across the tattoos on his wrist. “Do you miss it?” You ask. “Being human, I mean.”

“I am far stronger now than I was when I was a human.” He says. “I no longer need to eat, nor drink. I have the gift of eternal life so long as I am smart with my actions. I do not miss the fragility that comes with humanity.”

His words almost irritate you. So much more exists to humanity than what he says, from little things like sharing a summer even with a friend, tearing into ripe persimmons. Spending an evening hunched over a stew pot helping your mother. Kisses shared between a lover in the woods, or out in the fields. Stories exchanged by firelight. Intricately woven fabrics and paintings that might as well be indistinguishable from real life. So many beautiful things exist within humanity. Maybe he’s been away from it so long he’s forgotten the extent of it.

Would the King of Curses even admit he’s lonely? Or would he be too prideful to admit such a thing?

“You're sad. Why?” He questions.

“Was just thinking about my mother. That's all.” You say. “She wanted me to get married before I…”

You’re mad at her. More mad than you’ve been at anyone in your life. Yet you wish for nothing more than her comfort in this moment. A wound exists that time won't heal. Anger is not productive in fixing it. Anger only makes it worse.

This time, you are the one to initiate the kiss. You wish for it to distract you, but it only amplifies the ache in your chest.

“If you were to lose what little fight you had left in you, then this would no longer be fun,” he says.

You grow used to the ever-present shadow that is Sukuna, talking to the space beside you as if he is there because hell, sometimes he is. He is more than a mere man. He exists on a level different from you or anyone else. Your existence at this temple feels less like confinement and more like living. 

“Will you join me?” He asks one day by the river. 

The two of you sit upon the riverbank, watching as the water swirls below you. Spring snowmelt, combined with a recent storm, has stirred up the river bottom, turning the water murky. What was meant to be a fishing trip has proved unsuccessful.

“I would be lying if I said I haven't grown used to your presence.” He says.

“Don't be getting soft on me,” you say, half joking.

The most emotion you get out of him is an amused sounding huff. 

“I want you to join me,” he says, “not in life as human, but in eternity as a curse.”

“I will,” you say. 

No thought is needed for your answer, nor is there any hesitation on your part. Sukuna simply nods. That is what love is to him. Devotion. Worship. Throwing away your humanity means nothing if humanity is so quick to reject you. 

Gifts begin appearing around the temple after that. Priceless jewelry, and expensive dresses. Hair pins and cosmetics. Seasons pass in what feels like no time at all. Before you know it, your third fall here is quickly approaching. Winter comes and goes—uncharacteristically bitter this year. Spring brings a sense of rebirth. The ground thaws slowly, and plant life is in full bloom. Animal life returns to the surrounding woods, showing signs in every trail around the temple.

A hunting trip brings you further out into the woods than you’ve traveled before. You don't realize you’re nearing a human settlement until you’ve stumbled upon it.

The village has changed drastically in the time you were gone, so much so that you almost don't recognize it. A full blown mill has sprouted up along the river. At least twice as many houses stand now. Years ago this street was little more than a dirt path. Sometime over the years it has been paved over with river stones. Children play in the streets. Men walk home with pails of fish slung over their shoulders. These strangers notice you and pause, returning to their homes quickly. 

Your house remains mostly the same. Age has not been kind to it. One corner of the roof sags, and the wood trim has grown bleached with time. The path up to the front steps is overgrown. Sitting outside, hunched over a wash bin, is your mother.

Her hair is mostly gray now. Wrinkles mark her skin, and her joints are knobby, but you would still consider her beautiful. The face of the woman she once was is still there. The clothes she wears are of rich fabrics, suggesting your family has not hurt for money. Her sturdy figure suggests they never lacked food either.

When she sees you, her eyes grow wet with tears. And it’s as if the weight of the world has lifted off your shoulders. You want to be angry at her. You want to unload years of anger upon her. You want her to feel just a fraction of the fear you've felt. But you can't bring yourself to do it. The look in her eyes tells you she’s felt all the emotions you have.

Her movements are laced with hesitation, as if she’s deciding whether or not you're real. One of her wrinkled hands takes yours. 

“I love you,” she says, “and I am so sorry.”

“I know,” you say.

She invites you in for tea, setting the table up with the nice dishware—the kind she only uses for guests. The interior of the house hasn't changed much. Your room is eerily the same, as if it hasn't been touched since the day you left. Your father’s boots, and hunting coat remain by the door, although they look as if they haven't been moved in years. Makes sense, you think, hunting is a task that grows difficult as you get older. There comes a time in every hunter’s life where they grow old, and it becomes their turn to stay home and tend the fire.

“Where's…?” You never get the chance to finish your question, the solemn look on your mother’s face is enough of an answer.

“He passed,” she says, pausing to think, “two springs ago now? Maybe three.”

Believing you would never see them again, you grieved your parents long ago.This particular grief is like an old wound to you.

“The village looks prosperous,” you comment. A bitter tone clings to your voice.

“Yes,” she says, “the past years have been kind to us. I suppose we have you to thank for that?”

She sits across from you, her eyes still wet with tears. It feels like you are holding a conversation with a stranger. Your mother regards you with a certain weariness she only reserves for strangers. Maybe it would hurt more if you had more room within you for grief.

“He never stopped looking for you, you know,” she says, setting a cup of tea in front of you. “Even after the village held a funeral for you. He never wanted to believe it. Until the day he died, he was out in the woods thinking he could bring you home.”

“I was under the impression I wasn't wanted here.” You say.

“You know that’s not true,” she says. “What happened that night was a result of fear. The elders did what they thought would preserve the safety of everyone.”

“Except for me.” You say.

Fear. Right. To them, you were simply a sacrifice. You drain the last of your tea, standing from the table. Your mother stands as if to stop you, but freezes before she can.

“Does he treat you well?” She asks.

“Yes,” you say.

“Better than any human man?”

“Yes,” you answer, although you can tell she doesn't believe it. 

“Do you love him?” She asks. “Does he love you?”

“I suppose so.” You say. “As much as he is capable of loving something.”

“But do you love him?” She asks again.

“As much as I am capable of doing so, yes.” You answer.

It is not the answer she wants, but the one that is the truth. With her hands folded in her lap, she nods solemnly.

That following night you leave your village not as a human, but as a curse. 

Enough time would pass that the story of a young sacrifice would be forgotten by its people; what would remain, is a tale of a love so infamous that it survived centuries.

[dare-to-dm]

I get a little miffed when I see people criticizing common scenarios in games like D&D such as killing bandits for being "violent" or "problematic" and suggesting that people can/should play D&D in a more non-violent way.

I agree that it is very possible to do and I'm cool with people playing games they own however they want to. But the reality is that most of D&D's mechanics were designed specifically with combat in mind. You look at any given class, and that's what the bulk of their abilities are for. For pretty much everything else, you have a "skills" system that functions, but is not developed with much depth. Most of the toys you get to play with are there to simulate fantasy violence. And part of the fantasy in such a game is that you can solve problems, save the day and be a hero with violence. Enjoying that fantasy doesn't make you a bad person, and if you don't enjoy that fantasy, you might be better served playing a game with a different design philosophy and priorities.

For comparison, imagine it's a hot summer day and you're watching some kids play outside. It's your job to keep them entertained, healthy and safe. So you want them to play a game that's going to get them physically active, have fun and cool off.

So you set out a big bin of water balloons and super soakers and a hose and tell them they should all get wet. If those kids pick up the super soakers and the water balloons and start shooting each other and playing war, it would be weird of you to then chastise them for simulating violence. After all, that's basically what those toys are explicitly designed to do. And sure, you could explain to the kids that they could instead choose to spray themselves with the hose or pop the balloons by sitting on them or whatever. There are definitely possible ways to use those toys that don't involve pretending to be violent. But if that's such a dealbreaker for you, you probably shouldn't have bought those toys in the first place. Like, you could have set up a sprinkler or a Slip'n'Slide or an inflatable pool instead. Choose the toys/the game that's designed for what you want.

And don't assume that just because I would relish taking someone out "execution style" with a super soaker that I would approve of the same thing in a non pretend situation.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Mating Season was such a good fic!! I think s Vic sequel might be cool 👀 wonder what that big boy would put both his mates through

Mating Season Part 2

Pairings: Vic'tao (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader x Uihoy (Male Yautja)

Warnings: rough sex, mean Vic'tao, slight gay sex, dom!Vic'tao, knotting, biting, blood, scratching, dirty talking.

Word Count: 5176 (Yeah....)

Summary: You were peacefully taking a stroll through the ship only to stumble across two needy males. As there mate, you couldn't just leave them be!

Author Note: Anon, you are a mind reader. I didn't even know I needed to write this until you asked this.

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1

Mating season wasn’t just a single day or even a week thing. It lasts up to three weeks for the big, burly aliens you have, confined to a small space ship in the middle of the universe. Despite there not being a female Yautja around for their pheromones to hit up on. It seemed like your human hormones were enough – maybe even more – to drive your mates crazy.

Yet, as the human you are. There was only so much you could handle from these rough, high-stamina hunters.

Earlier in the week, you had been caught by Uihoy and promptly bred on the ground in the middle of the ship. The time had blurred together until he was last spent inside of you. He had just enough energy to roll over onto his back and had you passed out there. A wonderful, sweaty, sticky mess for Vic to walk into.

Said two were still in the middle of their rut, thick in the bushes if you must, somewhere on this ship. It wasn’t like you were seeking them out. Bad timing, you guessed.

The storage was filled with a thick sent of sex. That should’ve been your first and last warning to turn around and immediately leave. If you wanted to save yourself the ability to walk for the next few days, that you should’ve just left. Instead… you thought better to stop and stare. Like the dumbass you were.

Before you was a sight to behold. In all honesty, you wish to be able to snap a picture of how Vic had Uihoy roughly – probably painfully – to the ground. The off yellow hips of Vic repeatedly pounding the flesh of Uihoy’s purple ass. Similar to the position said purple Yautja had you in, he was face down, ass up.

One of his arms was trapped behind him on his back as Vic held it there. Uihoy was spilling not only pre cum but drooling and a blabbering of words to the space. A part of your heart ached at the sight to relieve of the discomfort he looked to be in.

Until both sets of eyes snapped to you. Vic’tao’s movements stopping immediately to observe you in a predatory sense. Even with Uihoy taking a cock up the ass, he looked like he wanted to pounce on you all over again. To rut into your cunt all over again, forcing you to take his seed and knot. His mandibles trembled as he clicked to Vic’tao in Yautja.

Shit.

The only warning you were given was completely discarded as the two stared at you. Vic’tao’s upper mandible quirked up to an alien grin. His tongue slithering out to taste the air, to scent the arousal you could feel already building up inside of you. You were glad to ignore the warning. Who even likes walking?

“Choose,” Vic’tao spat out the words, spit flying from his mouth. Without even needing more context, you knew they were giving you choice to either to turn around and leave or to join in. To ease that ache you knew they suffered.

You took a single step towards the two. That was all they needed to untangle themselves from each other. One second, you were freely standing. The very next, you found yourself pinned to the wall next to the door. Hands, burning hot palms sliding across the expanse of your stomach, leaving behind goosebumps in their wake.

A long, thick tongue was shoved into your mouth and partially down your throat. It stole the breath you had in your lungs. “Do you know how badly I want to breed the two of you? How badly my cock aches at the thought alone of knotting my mates?” Vic’tao’s voice snarled lowly. His hot breath fanned over your face. He stared directly into your eyes, his filled with blazing heat you knew you would burn in.

He pulled his tongue out to lick up the column of your throat. You couldn’t help but swallow, throat bobbing with the movement. “I want to remind myself of the feeling of you clenching down on me as those sweet noises are made for us. Just for us. I want to see those pretty eyes of yours rolling back into your skull as I breed you, knot you. I want to stretch you over and over and over. Watch as this –“ he diverted a hand cup your clothed sex – “drips with our seed until your womb is full, when you can’t take another load. Then, we’ll know we’ve bred our mate like the good like hunter you are.”

In the span of half of a minute, your underwear was soaked with your arousal in record time. Those words, with his husky, lustful voice had your knees shaking already. You released a shaky, airy breath as all you could do was stare at him. Like a deer caught in headlights.

That grin that graced his face grew wider. “Is that something you want?” he teased, despite the state of arousal he was in. Your breath hitched, body trembling with a heavy need for them. It was like their rut was spilling into your blood.

“Yes.”

Your mouth was captured back his tongue all over again. Even with the height difference, his back bent awkwardly, he pressed his body against yours and trapped you to the wall of the storage room. One hand stayed on the skin of your torso while the other ran up to wrap around your throat, feeling the racing of your heartbeat.

A startled gasp that turned into a grumbly hum ripped from your throat. You relaxed into the wall again as the second pair of hands tore the shirt you wore from your body in one swift move. You shivered at the open air drifting over your skin. The heat from those hands groping at your newly exposed skin easily chased away any cold that dared to seep into your bones.

“Little Hunter was destined to be mate, o-our mate,” Uihoy’s voice sounded over your desperate panting. “Ready to be filled with seed, to be bred and claimed again and again.” His massive hands palmed at one of your breasts, wiggling between Vic’tao’s and your bodies. “Our mate to mark.” He pinched at your nipple and tore a keen from your dry lips.

Uihoy leaned in close to run his slithery tongue over the shell of your ear. The two of them had you completely trapped and at their will during their rut. Only the need for knot you on their minds as they desperately wanted you.

Lust shined in your eyes as you continued to soak your poor underwear through. The scent of your arousal mixed with their own pheromones. A perfect mix of chemicals to dunk themselves in. You released a needy whined that had Uihoy tensing, eyes glazing over.

An action that Vic’tao took notice in. The yellow and blue Yautja’s instincts roared to life. Control. He wrapped a hand around his other mate’s next and pinned him next to you. Trusting you, Vic focused on the purple male now in grasp and got so close to his face that their mandibles grinding against each other.

Heat flared inside of Uihoy’s eyes but he instantly relaxed next to you. Vic’tao slithered his tongue out to caress Uihoy’s for a soft moment before the hand tightened. “You will not touch our little hunter, got it?” he spat in Yautja to his other mate. He watched the way Uihoy’s eyes revealed his emotions. They boldened with a dominate aura before turning into calming seas. The purple Yautja tilted his head back the best he could to show how submissive he was becoming.

This was up to Vic’tao’s standards. The yellow Yautja grunted, hand still firm around Uihoy’s throat, before his attention returned to you. Your throat bobbed noticeably to which the horny Yautja couldn’t help but grin fiercely at.

His boiling skin was once more pressed against your small body. The hot, twitching member trapped between the two of you didn’t go unnoticed in the haze of your mind. Your hands shakily reached to stroke it but they were caught in a grasp that was nearly bruising. A hush growl vibrated against your skin. “You are mine. You are ours. You will take what we give you.” And you trusted them to take you places you’ve never reached before.

Vic’tao’s hips rutted to rub his stiff cock along your smooth skin. In the heat moment, you were able to gain a moment of clarity. Your eyes locked onto his flamed ones. “V-Vic… you need to wash.” The realization must have hit his brain as well. He grunted before lifting you up.

Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his skinny hips, arms circling his neck to hold on. His hands splayed across the expanse of your thighs, claws digging into your fragile skin. He buried his alien mouth into the crook of your neck. Teeth and a long, wet tongue created marks and a mess in their wake there.

The Yautja began a path to the bedroom, feet stomping along. “Come,” he barked towards the only other being in the room with the two of you.

It wasn’t long before he dropped you in the nest of furs and pillows the two have gifted you. Vic’tao was quick to enter the bathroom. From the spot in the concave bed, you heard water running. Your body was hot, breath quick as you rapidly grew impatient for the short time it would take him to clean. Your eyes darted over to Uihoy who had shadowed like a lost puppy.

You made a keening noise and motioned for him to come over here. Uihoy was more than happy to receive some attention and listened to you. Like Vic’tao, he was completely undressed, cock standing tall and leaking precum.

Once in reach, you pulled on the back of his knees to kneel down. Like the good boy he is, he followed orders. You hastily bend down to lick up a stripe of precum that had spilled from his fat tip. The size of his member easily matched his heavily, thicker body type.

The shuttering breath he made filled your blood with courage. Until a roaring snarl filled the air. A snarl you knew all to well. With one last, teasing lick, you straightened up to look innocently over Vic’tao.

Before your vision could register the yellow blur, you were shoved into the stomach of Uihoy. His twitching shaft was squished against your chest and to the side of your neck.

Fingers carded through your hair before yanking back and turning your head. Another hand grasped at the fabric of your loose pants and tore them clean from your hips. “I’m going to pauking breed you, mate. You are ours!” he snarled before you felt the narrow tip of his cock at your folds. Without pause, he shoved the entire length of him inside of you.

His free hand grabbed at your hip, talons creating cuts and drawing blood in his fervor. Cries dribbled from your lips as he pounded into you with all of his might. He let go of your hair to place a hand between your shoulder blades. That kept you firmly trapped and at his dominated will as he took you.

There was a minute pause that he pulled out of you and flipped you over onto your back. Instead of being on Uihoy’s torso, he had moved you next to him. Your legs were shoved all the wall to your chest, knees bent over his shoulders as he entered you again. His hips slapped against yours with a force you didn’t know he possessed. The skin along you bottom was flush with blood.

With a hand, he pressed a palm on your lower abdomen. His body shuttered before he snatched your hand to push it to the same spot. “Feel that?” He stopped his thrusting for a moment, hips wiggling against yours. An action that had your head thrown back on the furs. Vic’tao added more pressure before starting up his brutal pace from before.

It struck you hard. His length. You could feel the slight disturbance at each thrust right here. The place where the head was speared into your stretched cunt. “Yeah… yeah you pauking do. You feel me deep inside of you, the only place I should be. So deep I can fill your womb with my seed,” he growled lowly as the lust in his eyes was glazing over his logical thinking.

Vic’tao added even more pressure that had you seeing stars. As you desperately wanted to reach below and shakily rub at your neglected clit, you didn’t have the strength to lift up an arm. Yet the way his hips pounded against yours with fervor done the trick.

The way your walls began to clamp down on him was alerting him of your end. Just one drip of the bucket he’s going to fill. In his mind, he could care less about your pleasure but his need to fulfill the need to create a new generation. To have you as the loving, caring, parent of their children. To see you round, heavy with their child, knowing it was them that filled that beautiful cunt with their seed.

His cock pulsed deep inside of you. That sent you hard over the edge. Electricity raced through the nerves of your body, firing off on all cylinders that blinded you with white light. The scream that fought to be let loose was caught in the lump in your throat, trapped, like you were. Your entire body shuttered, trembling from the extreme pleasure that flooded your system.

As you fell back into your body, you went lax on the bed, eyes softly closed as you revel pleasure. Until the prickling of overstimulation began to pick up. You released a whine from the uncomfortable feeling building up inside of you. Your arms weakly reached up to push against Vic’tao’s chest.

One of his massive hands snatched your wrists and pinned them above your head. Vic’tao leaned down close, heat blazing in his orange eyes. “You will take what we give to you,” he growled lowly and emphasized his words with three harsh thrusts. Those directly hit your clit and had you clenching down on him like a vice grip.

The breath in his lungs was stolen from the feeling. His hips stuttered. He gasped harshly before he spilled deep inside of you. Vic filled your channel and womb with potent seed. His hips rutting against you as his knot swelled to lock his shaft within you. Nowhere for his cum to go besides into you.

A rumbling purr started in his chest as he leaned down on his elbows to nuzzle his cheek to yours. You released a pathetic keen, going lax once more as the stimulation died down. His arms caged around you. “You feel so good, little hunter. Perfect cock sleeve for me.” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head at his words. Yet, your brain was too tired to attempt to think on how he knows about cock sleeves.

Next to you, you felt a body shift and lazily turned your head to gaze at Uihoy there through teary eyes. In the throws of your pleasure, you forgot that the poor Yautja was there. Weakly, you reached out and settled a hand on his weeping shaft twitching against his stomach. His erection looked painful and so, so needy for release.

Uihoy choked at your touch, hips rutting up and gain more friction. One of his hands whipped out and tore you away from him. “N-no, no-not-“ he paused to gather his thoughts. “Inside of, of hunter.” Despite the haze that clouded your mind, you understood what he was getting to. This was their mating season.

“You’re going to have to rip my cold, dead body from the depths of this cunt if you want a turn,” Vic’tao butted in, hips thrusting once. You gasped at the sudden stimulation and arched your back. “And it seemed our little hunter doesn’t want me to leave anytime soon. Not till I’ve had my fill.”

Vic’tao licked up the column of your throat before nipping at your jaw. “And I’m nowhere near done with you, mate.” His teeth continued to leave an array of scraps and drops of blood in their wake. In the aftermath, he let his tongue loll out and lick your coppery tasting blood. Something he wanted more of. In general, he wanted more of you. Just you and everything you were willing to give to him.

This was something he continued to do for the course of twenty minutes. Until he could finally pop his knot from the depths of your warmth. Vic’tao felt the way his spend gushed from your stretched hole and onto the bed. He rumbled deeply in his chest in displeasure but reminded himself he’ll just have to do all over again.

His instincts began to grow in his blood, controlling his actions as he moved you to his liking. Back on your stomach, mostly, he hiked one of your legs up as far as possible. One hip was hovering over the ground as he situated his lean body between your thighs. His hips were snug to yours, cock hard and dripping all over again. He placed his hands on either side of your head and caged you to him.

At this new angle, he had you partially facing the poor purple Yautja desperate to breed you. But Vic’tao wasn’t a fair partner. He never has been.

He pulls his hips back so the tip of his cock poked just slightly through your soaked folds. “I think it’s unfair how he got to pauk you first, don’t you think? I should’ve been the one to stretch you out, hear your cries first as our need to breed boils in our blood, in our DNA,” Vic snarl above you before snapping forward full force.

Your jaw dropped in a silent scream. Vic bullied his cock back into you, eyes locking onto the other needy male in their presences. His protective, possessive instinct fronting at the sight of competition on who breeds you. “V-Vic,” you stuttered, his name falling from your plush lips. Lips that always look good stretched around his shaft, watching your throat bulge as he claims every hole.

“Already cock drunk? We have all the time in the whole universe, Treasure. All the time to satisfy my needs,” he snickered smugly. Not a moment was paused. Vic continued his brutal pace from before.

Tears pooled in your eyes when the coil in your belly tightened. Your body trembled once the pleasure grew too high to withstand. Words fell from your lips yet none of them were understandable.

Vic growled lowly in his chest as he trapped you to the ground, forced to take him. “I’m going to make you full, filled to the brim. I’ll make sure it takes. See you waddling around. Pauk, I wanna see that. See that we bred our mate,” he rumbled into your ear without stopping. “Want my knot again?”

Unable to properly answer him, you desperately nodded your head. One of your hands wrapped around his arm next to your head for stability. If he hadn’t put his arms there, the force of his thrusts you have you sliding away from him.

A snarl ripped from his throat as he slapped his hips hard then stopped once only the tip rested inside. Your muscles rippled around nothing but spent seed, pushing more out onto the furs. You could just barely feel him sitting there, paused, waiting for something.

Short, thin tresses touched the bare skin of your shoulder. “I asked you a question,” his voice was sudden in your left ear. Vic emphasized his words by sliding the head of his cock through your soaked folds and hitting your sensitive clit. Your body jumped and tensed at the feeling. A low chuckle vibrated against your skin and caused goosebumps to arise. “Tell me, do you want my knot again?”

Your eyes widened before rolling back into your head. The skin of your bottom lip was chewed on softly. You swallowed, throat bobbing with the action. The Yautja wanted to hear you say it.

“Yes.”

The pointed head of his neon green cock speared through your folds once more to hit your cervix in one fluid motion. Your head whipped back to bounce again Vic’tao’s shoulder. Teeth, sharp and lethal grasped onto fragile skin and punctured into flesh. You screamed out, velvet walls clamping down on the long shaft deep inside of you. He did not stop the constant thrusting of his hips that slapped against your sensitive skin. It seemed like your scream and reaction fueled him on.

Blood trickled from the juncture of your neck and stained the fur underneath the two of you. Your entire body was tight, a coil ready to snap from one last ounce of pressure. Tears dripped down your cheeks.

He released the hold he had on your neck to fervidly lap at the coppery tasting blood spilling from the new mark. Deep inside of him, he hope it would scar, a mark forever there. The flavor of you on his tongue drove him wild. He leaned up back onto his hands, grabbed the back of your neck, and pinned you flush to the bed. Only the one hip was still cocked up to allow him better access to breed you.

His orange eyes glazed over fully as any logical thoughts left his mind. His free hand raked down the length of your back, leaving behind cuts. Blood pooled at the new wounds. The scent wavering into the air that had him drooling all over himself.

“You’re going to take my pauking knot, mate! You’re going to take it!” Vic roared with determination as his thrusts grew sloppy and uncoordinated. Your hands clawed at the furs for purchase but found nothing to keep you sane to ground yourself.

All the noises he ripped from you or created himself were completely obscene. The slapping of soaked skin to the howls and mewls of pleasure coming from you. It could have a porn star blushing. Even in your thoughtless mind, you were loving every, fucking second of it. You had drool rolling down your chin with salty tears. All you could do was hold on for the ride.

Your body trembled, the pleasure growing too strong for you to handle. The coil deep within your belly finally snapping, releasing a tsunami wave of ecstasy throughout your entire form. A high-pitch, broken cry fell from your lips. You gushed around the cock deep inside of you, walls on the verge of pushing him out.

The sensation of you strangling his cock had the Yautja shoving his hips flush with yours. In the haze of overwhelming ecstasy, you didn’t feel the strain of his knot swelling again inside of you. He locked his cock inside of that sweet heat of yours, shaft twitching and releasing his seed. His eyes were clenched shut, chest heaving for air. The only thing he feel, smell, taste was you. Only you on his mind.

Sweat dripped down onto your skin, soaking into your own sheen covering your body. The Yautja rumbled a content groan and lowered himself back onto his elbows. His own weight used to keep you pinned the ground, trapped and knotted. The way you should be. Their mate…

As the twitching of your body ceased and your mind finally clears enough to think, you take in the situation. First thing seen was the spent shaft of Uihoy and his cum staining his skin. The Yautja was lazily stroking himself, eyes never leaving you or Vic. Little spurts of sperm kept leaking from the fat tip of his cock as he soaked in the sight.

Despite the dryness of your throat, you spoke up. “I-I tho-ought you want t-o come insi-de.” It was a hearty jab at the bulky, elder Yautja. The male snorted. The hand stroking himself reached lower to cup his balls.

“There’s plenty here, Little Hunter,” he growled, an upper mandible quirking up. Your walls fluttered around Vic. Said alien grunted and rutted his hips accidentally. “Vic will need a break. During break… Uihoy will take mate, knotting mate like the way Little Hunter deserves.” You couldn’t help the mewl that sounded from your sore, scratched up throat.

Vic’tao chuckled next to your ear and licked the shell of it. “Our Little Hunter enjoys that idea, Uie,” he spilled and relished in the feeling of you squeezing him in a vice grip. “Really enjoys it.”

Uihoy rumbled a thick, short purr. “Is that so?” It looked like the dynamic between the two had changed back to their average selves once more. The older Yautja leaned up to rest on an elbow. While staring straight at you, he talked to Vic. “Tell me, does mate clench down on knot knowing Vic bred Little Hunter?”

Involuntary, you did the thing he said you would. A whiny keen passing your lips as you buried your face into the blankets. Vic grunted above, nails biting into the furs. “Y-yeah, our treasure really loves the idea of being bred by two strong, lethal hunters who provides for them,” Vic’tao taunted, pulsing inside of you. You twitched at the feeling and groaned in the furs.

“That’s something you want, isn’t it?” he whispered into your ear. The lowness of his voice cause vibrations. “Definitely is. Don’t fret a thing, Treasure. We’ll have you bent over, bouncing off our cocks, drowning in pleasure.”

You mewled into the blankets again, body tense. “Aww, poor thing,” Uihoy rumbles and leaned forward. His fingers carded through your hair before softly yanking on it to bring your head up. Both of your eyes met, his harsh, passionate ones to your submissive, soft orbs. “Could have mate on cock all the time. All. The. Pauking. Time.”

He tilted your head to expose your other shoulder. Smoothly, the Yautja sat up and ran a finger over the soft skin. A grumbly groan, one that you felt more than heard, sounded from him. “This spot looks a little bare, doesn’t little hunter think?”

“I don’t think they can,” Vic teased. You huffed and wanted to elbow him but wasn’t able to do so. The yellow Yautja slithered an arm underneath your torso before rolling over. His movements were careful due to the knot still lodged inside of you. You groaned at the change of positions. He had you on your back with him, easier on the two of you.

Everyone knew how unfair he is. Vic knocked your legs apart to showcase his neon green knot shoved between your folds. “Pauk, this tight heat feels so good wrapped around me.”

Deep from Uihoy’s chest, he snarled, eyes narrowing on his Yautja mate. He moved to be knelt between your legs. The cum that he spilt was slowly dripping down his chest now. “You’re just gonna have to wait, Uihoy,” Vic taunted and even used two fingers to spread your folds further apart. Not like his knot was doing that well enough. “See how I fill our mate’s heat? That’s how you do it.”

Your eyes widened. Shit… next round will be with Uihoy and Vic’tao is riling him up!

Uihoy placed his hands on your thighs and further spread them apart. While keeping eye contact with you, he leaned down and kitten licked your exposed clit. Heat spread throughout your body at the new touch as Vic kept your nub on display for his mate. “Filled them first,” Uihoy jabbed back lapped at you. You arched your back with a whiny mewl. “Had Uihoy’s seed first.” He had harder pressure that had you gasping and eyes rolling back into your head.

Now, the two of them were competing against each other. Here you were, stuck in the middle.

“Now, our mate has my cock deep inside of this delicious heat you can only remember to be in. My seed is coating those walls of theirs, filling up their womb to be bred currently. Look at you, stuck waiting for my knot to go down. You are only getting the scraps of leftovers, oh great elder.” Oh double shit. His tongue paused on your clit, eyes looking from underneath his brows, past you, and up at Vic’tao. You felt the way Vic tensed for only a moment before going lax.

That poor Yautja was going to get it after the knot deflates. But for the moment, you enjoyed as Uihoy returned to loving on your clit softly. Instinctively, you covered your mouth with a hand, eyes closed. The quietness of the room echoing your sounds back at you.

“Vic’tao,” is all Uihoy had to say to have the hand removed.

“Now, that’s better,” Vic purred, cock throbbing inside of you. You yelped, body shuttering but bit your lip to contain the noises. Uihoy just stated Vic’s name again.

Departing from between your legs, Vic’tao glided his hand up to cup one of your breasts. Two fingers pinched and tweaked at the perked nubs there. Unable to keep silent, you cried out, legs fighting against Uihoy’s hold on you.

Your walls kept clenching, fluttering around Vic’tao’s long cock inside of you. His knot was pressed against your g-spot. From the soothing stimulation and the fullness, you could feel the end rising like the morning sun. Your free hand clawed at Vic’tao’s sides for purchase. They never caught anything in time.

A hoarse, broken cry filled the air. You suffocated the shaft within you with a vice grip, fluttering around him with powerful muscles. All of your muscles tensed one last time, unable to give much.

It ended quicker than before but left you boneless on top of Vic’tao. Softly, you whined, body twitching one last time, then relaxed.

“Our good mate,” Vic’tao rumbled into your ear. “Such a good mate for us.” His hands petted down your sides. You moaned again, eyes closed.

There was a presences hovering above you. Weakly, you opened your eyes to find, Uihoy leaning over you. One of his hands reaching up to cup your cheek. “Apologizes to do this.” Uihoy snaked his arm underneath your back and pulled you up. From there, he kept moving you up. The knot that was snug inside of you slipped out with a gush of mixed fluids. You barely had the energy to shutter.

Uihoy gave an closed mandible kiss to your temple and set you on the clean side of the bed. The corner of his eyes crinkled as he looked down at you. Then, the Yautja pulled away, head snapping over to look at Vic’tao still on lying down. The last thing you saw was the predatory look on his face. All you could do was snicker quietly.

[alphaketoglutaricacid]

shuro notes

upon rereading some of dungeon meshi, I got a better grasp on his role in the story and why hes in the main supporting cast along w kabru (main protag of the suporting cast), namari, and mithrun (main antag of the supp cast) . Contrary to most of the characters disliking eating monsters, he seems to dislike eating, period. In his first appearance he refuses to eat maizurus cooking (with maybe some mermaid eggs sprinkled in..?). His refusal to eat ties into his extreme passivity. He seems to dislike how his father does what he pleases with no regard to how it affects others, and his fear of doing the same seems to play a huge role in how he lets other ppl walk all over him. He ignores his own desires, including his own hunger, because consuming means taking another life. To live means something else has to die, so to desire is to want to take from others. To try to live up to the image of an impassive leader he tries to not participate in this process at all! But bc hes a human being he has to eat, so instead of never taking from others, he starves.

With Falin, I think he realizes there is a way forward where he could be himself and face the ugly realities of what it means to want. To be unabashedly yourself while not hurting everyone in your life. His love comes from a deep place of admiration! I think part of the reason why he's so dead set on saving her is bc he wants to be her equal—she saved him from his nightmares without a second thought, and part of it is to repay her kindness and to be able to reciprocate it. I think he foils nicely w marcille bc he proposes to her (asks her to choose her future) while marcille doesnt want her to move on from the time they were both children. I think this plays a huge part in why marcille hates him, bc its a reminder of how the time will pass and also he aims to take falin away from her. Interestingly, she also became fairly distant and withdrawn after falin left and they both formed their relationship w her bc dirt and bugs r cool. They both are the party members in Laios squad that fly off the handle the most. Socioeconomically, they both seem to be in the least dire straits and kinda prissy abt things as a result. On re-read something else clicked into place.

After his fight w laios that starts w legit grievances and devolves into him hitting all of laios’ insecurities like a game of whack-a-mole, shuro says he’s returning to his home country and after that he would never see any of these ppl again. Even before falin got eaten, he knew he was going to have to leave the party but couldnt bring himself to tell them. The way the convo goes, it seems part of the reason why he proposed to her so suddenly is bc he wants to take a part of his time on the island back home with him—i.e. that hes not ready to say goodbye. That the prospect was taken from him so suddenly is why this is the first thing hes asked for or wanted for himself. Interesting parallels to how marcille is not ready to live the rest of her 1000 year life without her friends now, and how falins death is a catalyst that brings her fear to the surface—that for both of them, theyll live the rest of their lives never seeing the ppl they love from this island again. I think part of the reason he is so nasty to laios in particular is bc his entire worldview falls apart at laios' actions

Both desire wise and literally, Shuro is starving. And like a starving person getting his first meal in a long time, I think he gets a little greedy—when he gives Laios the bell, he says if the party somehow makes it past thistle, to ring it so they can all escape to the East--where he's headed. Likewise marcilles solution is to bring everyone with her to the 1000 year lifespan. Thats surprisingly childish of both of them! Also not a solution to the problem that suits anyone but themselves. Theres so many solutions to this. He could write. He could call. He could communicate view morse code using that bell instead of attempting to blink in morse code to communicate to laios how he doesnt want to be here. Falin voice: I’ll go visit you, okay? He could set foot on the island again. Honestly. This is so embarrassing for him.

But I think it gets at a core theme of the work. Marcille, Laios, and Shuro all say their greatest desire is to save Falin, but once u get down to it, theyre pretty basic-to not be left alone, to be w monsters who u feel a kinship with, to not have to leave. Namari says she left bc of money but later on goes u must never let go of your fear. Kabru says he wants to get to know laios to prevent utaya from happening again but its much simpler-he wants to be his friend. Our base desires are petty, but they are what keep us going day to day, just like how every living being has to hunger and eat to achieve the goals they set out for.

Lets talk abt his relationship w his retainers.

Hein- theyre childhood friends that have drifted apart in adulthood. By the familiar way she talks about him when hes not around, I think she wants to be close to him again. I think the distance between them is probably intentionally imposed by Shuro bc hes afraid theyll turn out like maizuru and his father. She thinks hes unreliable in a way i think u can only rlly get when u know someone for that long. I wonder if some of that I thought wed always end up together and I want him to like me even tho I dont like him back is wanting that closeness in friendship again

Maizuru- Good god whats happening here. she loves him but also treats him like a child even tho hes a 26 year old man. I think its got fun connections to how kabrus adoptive mom treats him like a child, how marcilles not ready to see falin n herself as adults, thistles relationship w degal. Now these are all relationships where differences in lifespan come into play, but w maizuru n shuro i think u see something real banal in why these elves cant let the ppl in their lives go. She coddles him bc she loves him and tells him at the end he doesn't have to eat the dragon if he doesn't want to, but he rebukes her and says he has to eat it to accept his own failures. So like he doesn't need to be coddled he needs ppl in his life to challenge him so he can grow. And at the end he realizes it tastes good--that even tho his journey had so much conflict and in the end he failed to save falin he made friends! He grew as a person! He starts reaching out to his retainers again! He got to harrass the elf cops and give them migraines! Ties a lot into laios speech to marcille that if falin didnt die they wouldn't have met all these ppl and gotten to eat all this food.

Its wild she put that hag curse on him. Poor kid cant even take a shit in peace. Actually the fact that he couldnt even have that time for himself n grew up constantly feeling watched explains a lot. I think the fact his father nonchalently burnt it and then roasted mochi over it without giving him any explaination made him think oh this is just what everyone goes through and im the weird one for being frightened. And it takes him 20 years to find out that no, its not normal to be haunted by a ghost that chases you with a knife. Pretty apt metaphor for how rules have defined his life without him fully understanding why they're in place. I'll give it a crack tho--it seems like the time period his homelands based on the sengoku period bc its a period of heavy civil war where ppl below upsurped the ppl above them. The strict hierarchy is probably an attempt to exercise social control in an extremely precarious situation.

Also side note: kinda impressive he can do magic when he was six. Probs a combination of maizuru being a talented teacher and his own skill. The fire cast… close but no cigar. Also interesting is how the magic he casts seems more elf-y in nature vs maizurus gnomic spirit magic. I wonder if hes his partys black mage- the occupation his party is pointedly missing vs the toudens missing their white mage and kabrus party being well rounded at all points. If so thats hilarious that when the toudens lost their previous mage and everyone was panicking he was like well… im just not gonna say anything #OnBrand. I do wonder if the bell he gives laios is his own magic tho.

Also shuros mother is mad at maizuru for being shuros dads mistress but gives her her children to raise…. Lets unpack this contradiction. Incidentally my tin foil hat theory is Shuros a bastard child. maizuru n his dad have been fucking since 4ever -> one of these children is not legitiment -> probs the one w a strange distance from the rest -> whys shuro succeeding his dad so up in the air when his competitions a 14 and an 8 year old. It's not important tho.

izutsumi + inutade: the fact that he doesnt speak up is his defining moment of moral cowardice. Its tied to his passivity! Hes scared of saying or doing the wrong thing bc hes afraid of hurting others, and he does basically attempt to torch his relationship w laios like it was contaminated w anthrax. Like the first time he tries to be active it went horribly, but his involvement moves the plot forward enormously—with him kabru would not have run into Laios, izutsumi would probably not have been able to run away, he raises the stakes of the journey by indicating they probs cant return to the surface so they have to keep going. And even tho its messy, ugly, and embarassing, he can still pick up the pieces afterwards. Nothing he does is as harmful as his passivity on inutade and izutsumis situations which unequivically, he knows is wrong.

Also w all the references to buying people, I looked it up bc i was like.... like slavery...? it seems to be a reference to retainership as a social caste where people buy your services and as a result you owe the estate your service. You get paid and you have rights, but it seems like you are bound to your station, but depending on the time period japan is supposed to reference, some ppl took on these positions for the sake of social advancement. Regardless, it seems the caste system is also less rigid than stated and ppl can move amongst the positions. There doesn't seem to be an exact cultural equivelent to this, but I think the closest concept is like, being a vassal. I was like if this is slavery this narrative portrays izutsumis time w the nakamotos too ambivenlently and hien going don't you feel any gratefulness for them taking you in makes no sense. But I still think theres something pretty rotten going on here.

Allegedly, as a ninja, you ascend the ranks based on your skill. And yet izutsumi and inutade are at the bottom, and hien, the person that was born into this role, is at the top! Izutsumi and Inutade aren't even considered human in the island of wa--this distinction is given to tall-men only. Theyre both from positions where I feel like the other characters are like they should be grateful they got from one horrible situation to this one thats a system based on merit and skill, but like out of everyone, theyre in the least position of power to say no, to even appreciate what other options there are for them in the world. Like its deeply coercive and wrong. Whats up w shuros father collecting ppl like theyre trophies man. So we can see a system allegedy based on merit is not one at all. Also I feel theres undertones of japanese imperialism with izutsumi being from the equivelent of central asia and having a soul of a child stuffed into her like some kinda of science experiment. Maizurus constantly trying to "civilize" her by teaching her ettiquite such as using your chopsticks. Like the rhetoric of the elves ape pretty directly to imperialistic sentiments, it would not surprise me if theres intentional commentary about japanese imperialism in how izutsumis treated bc japans kinda known in the east for their imperialism... theyve just done it so many times like my parents were like we left our families, our culture, everything we knew behind to go to america.... but we kept our death grudge against japan tho!! #lmfao. Honestly fair. anyways i think theres intentional parallels between how izutsumi is treated as both as a child and a feral animal by maizuru and how the elves treate other races as children that need toys taken away from them. But also how fundementaly, maizurus unsuited to take care of izutsumi bc the tools she has are not suited to izutsumis needs! She has no understanding of izutsumis life. Her hag curse turns from a highly questionable child rearing tactic on shuro to outright a slave collar on izutsumi. Teaching shuro ettiquate and being able to fight gives him the tools to survive in the postion he was born in but is erasing the culture izutsumi grew up in and has been taken away from before she even knew what it meant. Bc she was treated like a circus freak she never got to choose for herself! Tho providing the basic comforts to shuro is a privilage, it's not to izutsumi bc shes never been able to choose what she wants in life. It's why shes set up as shuros narrative foil like so:

This is his pensive look btw its a consistant tic that he lookes like hes glaring when hes deep in thought. Maizurus is both these people's strange mother figure who feeds them in liu of their actual mother. She smothers shuro in love and doesn't let him face actual challenges in life while she intensely disciplines izutsumi. Shuro reacts to this by aquiessing and never making demands of his own while izutsumi constantly refuses to conform. This is probably why he doens't get her.

In the early points of the story, shuro either says leave izutsumi for dead or leave her so she can pursue her freedom. The ambiguity is intentional, because i think in this part of the story we are not supposed to have a good read on him. But it's also because because of his passivity he doesn't do shit for her! So he loses out on having any type of relationship w her even tho they were tormented by the same curse. But crucially he may have learned from this w inutade, who he explicitly aknowledges how her situation is fucked up and her worship of his father is due to an insane power imbalance even tho he has no clue how to talk to her about this. And at the very end of the manga, he gets into an eating contest with her at her prodding as equals. So maybe there's hope he can do better. But I think its important that his relationship w izutsumi is non-existent as a consequence of his passivity despite the things they have in common bc theres no excuse for it. Thier relationship probs deserves its own post.

benichidori - very funny amongst all these complicated relationships these two just straight up dont know each other n r too shy to do so. Is what I was going to say but then I realized benichidori has taken shuros place as hiens closet friend and I wonder if theres any jealousy abt that. But also she shares a lot of traits w shuro and isnt that just interesting:

but even more interesting is her comic:

this is beat for beat shuros conflict w laios.

We only care about one thing: the crushing opinion of everyone in the universe.

I didnt get this on my first read even tho laios was like hes smart but he is incredibly sharp. Hes good at making useful deductions when things dont add up. It rlly reminds u hes trained in espionage.

He keeps kabru on his toes! interesting for such a smooth talker.

He gets kabru to open up about his motivations here and how it affected him and kabru actually shares some of his own feelings on the manner when usually hes holding ppl at arms length. I think him getting a chance to recite this helps prep him to talk to the caneries where notably, hes a lot more clinical about it.

Its nice all three of these ppl can challenge each other and support each other. I think it would be funny if kabru hits em up in the future like do u wanna start some shit for old times sake

able to tell chilchuck was not a child

is afraid of marcille which tbh fantastic call

Everyone else horrified marcille just killed a man but he's like yeah #tracks.

Other things that reminded me hes basically a fixer:

Spends his screentime evading the elf cops.

Refuses to talk to the canaries even under threat of being interegated for 50 years despite threatening laios party multiple times that hes gonna tell on them. instead spends his time going tbh i've never known anything in my life. I'm stupid like that :pensive emoji:

Incredible bit of manipulation on his part-he pretends to be thinking out loud to cast doubt on the canaries judgement to appeal to the ppl in the dungeon that are not motivated by the goodness of their hearts. Reminds me of namaris relatively selfish reasons for leaving the party--needing to get paid, which is a need she was ignoring for far too long and also laios was also not paying proper attn too when namaris in dire straits, and how she says she left the party after the dragon bc she remembered to never forget your fear. That selfishness must also drive you forward. Then he uses that doubt to twist the situation to say all their information could be false so maaaybe the situation is not as dire as they claim and they have other motives (social control). And he pretends hes talking to the caneries but this is directed to everyone else. He and namari pretend to pick a fight so the leader's distracted and everyone else uses this opening to scatter, which causes enough chaos that it breaks the control the elves have. Which is wild bc shuro knows the dungeon is dangerous bc kabru told him about utaya. He also knows laios party can be dangerous w the amount of collateral they cause w the dragon. He puts a lot of ppl in danger that do not need to be even though multiple times he worries about people getting hurt. At his core, tho, I think he wants to see laios and his party again and that selfish desire trumps everything else in this moment. Namari and shuro are so ride or die TBH.

He never shares any of this when not prompted. Except notably at the end he interrupts when ppl think laios might be dead. Which as an aside I think its interesting his biggest contribution to saving falin is not thru his fighting prowess, but through the simple fact he reached out to laios. His compassions his greatest strength. Laios frestrautes him and kabru, and they both punch him and complain that theyll never understand him, but I think they dont have to. Love requires compromise—it requires eating things you really dont want to, you clash and you hurt each other, but what matters most is that you keep reaching out to one another, that you keep on trying to understand each other. Living requires you to hurt and be hurt, to give and take.

Once again stuck in the middle of an insane and ancient beef

low key funny that he remembered the last time he was here and he was like u know what.... ill just sit this one out....

If my son told me he spent the last week pissing off the elf cops, Id be like yeah thats what the nakamotos are all about TBH

Theres pretty juicy stuff abt how laios is interested in shuro because hes exotic like a monster and his own relationship with being othered by ppl and the fact that shuro is constantly referred to as a foreighner even to ppl hes known and has risked his life for for two years + how to laios monsterhood is a type of freedom while being othered is a type of dehumanization for shuro + how hes trying to show some kind of solidarity to shuro but hes microagressing him thru his attemps + how laios just is being explicitly saying the racist beliefs everyone else implicitly holds just like how mithrun says other races are inferior races which horrifies the rest of the elves but its honestly what they believe but I'm tired and need to think abt it a bit more.

Why do shuro and his party from an island primarily composed of humans and other ppl sometimes not classified as humans but have similair lifespan bc of sociopolitical reasons imitate so many interracial dynamics despite being of the same race? It's to show how marcilles wrong about how the inequality between races exists bc of lifespan differences. Her own fears due to fantastical reasons of being a half-elf and unable to relate any of her insecurities to other ppl are not exclusive to her! Tall-men - Tall-men relationships run along the same lines and have the same conflicts. All the things she fears are things that make her human, that other people have also felt.

in conclusion:

think abt the messiest person u know. Its a man

jk its marcille #feminism

[beelmons]

Mandatory team-building exercise

Pairing: BAU x Fem!BAU!Reader (becomes Hotch-centered) Genre: Smut (18+, minors are not encouraged to interact or read this story) CW: unprotected sex (i do not encourage), slight exhibitionism (not really, but ppl know stuff), jealous!hotch (a lil only), hoeing around, reader is bisexual Word count: 6,795 (very sorry about this) Summary: After a night of drinking, your boss proposes a bonding exercise so the team can get even closer: Everyone must make out with you, and you have to choose who kisses best. A/N: I got too carried away with this, no idea if i did any good, but here you go. Tag list (tagging everyone who reblogged and voted hotch): @ssamorganhotchner @montyfandomlove @hotchners-sweetheart @hey-dw @cassiemartzz <;3

Best part of going to O’keefe’s was wrapping the night up at Rossi’s, slightly tipsy, laughing about everything, and generally enjoying the genuine personalities of your friends, no masks or guards up, which was something hard to do at work. David’s house was a place where you could bare your soul and still feel safe. 

“...and I swear, everyone just thought it was the most normal thing.” JJ said while swinging her glass of wine around, and the people around her let out a light laugh. 

“I bet Rossi could agree with that, couldn’t you?” Morgan directed the question to Dave “After all, it’s your fault that we don’t get to fraternize with other agents, ain’t that right?” his comment made everyone laugh once again. 

“No, no, never within the same department. I was in the bureau during the 70’s and 80’s, you didn’t get that many women out here, let alone in the BAU. By the end of my career, we only had two female agents in this unit and I had already been married thrice. So, do the math, if I had wanted to sleep with someone from the same unit, it would have had to be…” he made a pause for dramatic build-up “well, Gideon.” 

The entire team let out a disgusted yet amused grunt at the mere idea of seeing two of their former bosses interacting in such fashion. You watched Spencer’s face be particularly crumpled, he was possibly picturing it in vivid detail by accident, consequences of having such a bright mind, so you decided to grab the hand that was holding his long island tea and push it gently towards his lips. You giggled at how he automatically obeyed and swallowed down a rather big gulp of his beverage. 

“I’m just glad these are problems we don’t have to face in the BAU, you know, fraternization between agents.” Hotch said, taking a sip off his glass. 

The silence that took over the group was deafening. Accusatory looks were being exchanged between everyone, and they could notice how certain glances lasted longer than appropriate. Hotch didn’t usually stay long enough to see how the nights ended, when everyone was too hammered to call their own cabs, or too impaired to question themselves whether the person they were kissing was or was not part of the team. 

“Well, I think this is a conversation you kids should have without your parent present.” David, who was way faster at reading the situation compared to the unit chief, got up from his chair, leaving his glass by the table. Aaron sighed in what seemed like disappointment, and immediately followed Dave's actions. “No, no.” the older man quickly put a hand on his shoulder indicating him to sit down “I think it’s better if you stay; do some bonding. I’ll be in my room, sleeping, don’t be afraid to be noisy, the place is soundproof, just make sure to leave the alarm active once you leave.”

Incredulity washed over the unit chief as he watched his fellow team leader walk away from the situation. The eyes had turned to him instead, silently questioning about the decision he was going to take. It was a bit awkward to discuss your personal affairs with your boss present, sure, but it’s not like you didn’t have a relationship with him. Hotch, reserved and all, knew each member to a level of intimacy that few others could be able to reach, and had protected them in ways no other superior would approve of.  

“Whatever I hear today will come through the ears of your friend, not your superior, but there’s no discussing this back at the office, understood?” the boss clarified as he went back to his seat, his hand reaching for the scotch he had left on the table. There was a second of doubtful silence, people were unsure how safe it was to share such private, and risky, information. Hotch started to catch up, feeling slightly unwelcome and bothersome, so he let out another sigh.  

“Elle was Reid’s first time.” you spurted out of the blue, trying to ease the anxiety that was probably growing within your superior. 

“Hey!” your partner yelled out, being sat next to you on one of the couches, clearly offended that he was the scapegoat to the situation. 

“Greenaway?!” Morgan asked from across the living room. 

“Do you know any more Elles, Morgan?” you said, your eyes rolling. 

“How did you even land that, kid?” the dark-skinned man continued to ask. 

“I’m not really a fan of discussing my sex life out in the open, which is why this was told in confidence to my close and dear friend” the young doctor shot you a quick glare with a hint of anger on it. 

“Oh, so now it’s a sex life?” JJ teased. 

“Totally.” you said, taking a sip of your own drink before continuing “Because he told me this two minutes before he shoved his tongue in my mouth, and his fingers down my pants.” 

“No way!” Prentiss let out while everyone else laughed in surprise, Hotch’s eyebrows simply slightly raised at the confession. 

Reid was sinking on his seat, his ears reddened from the looks that he was receiving. You made sure to squeeze his thigh lightly and shoot him a smile, which deflated the uneasiness that he was feeling. You didn’t mean any harm, and there was no wrong in letting the secret out in front of your most cherished friends, they would have found out one way or another. 

“Morgan and I made out once.” Garcia interrupted the teasing in order to protect her favorite boy wonder from any further teasing, and Derek drew a smug smile on his face at her affirmation. 

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” Hotch contributed with an absolutely unphased expression, or so until another idea ran through his mind, his brows furrowing in concern “Hold on, was this on company time?” both suspects froze in their place and exchanged questioning, guilty looks. Regardless of the answer, their expressions had been enough to give them away “you know what? it’s better if I don’t know.” 

“That office is certainly cozy, don’t you think?” JJ said once again, her eyes traveling between you and Penelope. 

“Impossible.” Derek’s eyes spread wide open, his jaw basically dropping “Please don’t tell me the three made out in Garcia’s office and didn’t invite us to watch” he let out in a pleading, hurt tone. 

“Four.” Emily barged in. 

The men in the room seemed to melt at the revelation, the expression being quite literal for Morgan who slid down the chair in defeat, landing on his knees as if he had been shot in the cruelests of fashions. Spencer could only furrow his brows and let his mouth fall open, already trying to picture the situation. 

“Was it like, taking turns on each other? or the four of you putting your lips together in one single kiss?” the blond asked in order to assess the spatial situation better. 

“I’d say it was kind of a free-for-all sort of situation.” Prentiss answered him. 

“At some point, I’d close my eyes and whomever’s lips came to mine, I was fine with it.” JJ commented, earning a flirty giggle from the rest of the girls around her. 

“You women are killing me.” Morgan said once again, but a sudden epiphany seemed to come through his brain, and he turned in your direction with a pointed finger “Wait a second. That means you have been through everyone’s lips?!” he said in surprise. 

“You’ve made out with her too?!” Garcia said in an offended tone. 

“Christmas last year, got a little carried away with that mistletoe kiss.” he admitted “But nothing further than that.” 

Everyone’s eyes turned to you, the crowd had a mixture of accusation and admiration on their faces, depending on who you looked at, and their staring was making you a little uncomfortable, if you were being honest. 

“Have you all looked at yourselves? This is a ridiculously hot group of people. Being bisexual is very hard with a team like this.” you argued in your defense and decided to down whatever liquid was still inside your glass. Their faces seemed to light up with a hint of shyness. Everyone thought so, of course, but compliments on your physical appearances were not something you exchanged frequently. It was nice to hear once in a while. 

“Did you ever end up sleeping with someone?” Hotch’s question took everyone by surprise, yet they were intrigued enough to allow him to ask uninterrupted. 

Your eyebrows raised with slight offense “Come on, Hotch, I’m not a slut. The closest I have come to was Reid, and even so we stopped because I didn’t want to jeopardize our jobs.” you complained. 

“Sorry, that was not my intention-” he began, until Reid’s question cut him off. 

“Who’s the best?” he asked. 

“Spencer!” JJ yelled accusingly. 

“No, no, let the kid ask.” Morgan put a hand in front of JJ’s chest, trying to keep her opinions from coming out. Yet again, you were put as the center of attention, but you decided to shrug off the question. 

“It’s not like I keep track of each time!” you let out, pushing your friend by the shoulder playfully at his suggestion “Most of them were really far apart from each other, and it only happened once with each one of you.” you clarified, your eyes traveling to Aaron, as if you were trying to justify yourself to him. 

“So, what I hear is: if they were to happen one after the other, then we could find out?” Emily questioned in your direction. 

“There’s a pretty spacious coat closet by the entrance.” Reid pointed out. 

“Oh, we could make it into a competition, and whoever wins gets to sleep with her!” Garcia blurted with a little too much excitement. 

“Wha-” you tried to complain in confusion “Stop your horses, I don’t even get a say in this?!” 

“No.” Hotch stated. The way his eyes were stern, yet completely determined, caused a sensation in you that could only be described as lust. He was always commanding, but there was something about him instructing you to do the dirtiest things to your coworkers that had gotten you excited “This is now a mandatory team-bonding exercise.” his words came out almost like an order.  

There was yet another exchange of looks, this time excited ones, between the team members, and they decided to look at you for approval. “Okay, but sleeping with me is one hell of a prize, and I don’t seem to be getting anything out of this. So, how do I win, and what do I win?” 

“Seems fair that you have a reward as well if you achieve your desired result. How about, if no one is able to convince you to sleep with them, you get one of their vacation days each.” Hotch proposed. “Garcia and JJ, since the two of you are committed you don’t have to actively participate, but you will place a bet on the member you think she’ll most likely succumb to, if you win, you get the loser’s vacation day.”  

Your mouth crooked with pleasure, an expression that your partners mimicked. You were feeling exposed, in the good way, in the kinky way. You still took a second to consider, you knew there was no going back if you agreed to this, but yet again, these were the people you had trusted your entire life to, your job, your safety, your dignity. They would never do anything to undermine you, and their respect for you wouldn’t waver for something like this. 

“We have to set some rules, though.” Spencer weighed in “Only mouths and hands allowed in the erogenous zones.” 

“You worried that if we allow something else you’ll lose?” Morgan teased.

“Mhm, sure, we know what you’re trying to compensate for with those biceps, Morgan. I’m not afraid of you.” his friend teased back. There was a short moment of playful conflict between the two, when Derek pretended to jump menacingly towards Reid, yet he was stopped by Penelope’s hand on his chest. 

“Okay. I’m game.” you agreed along with a nod of your head “Who wants to give it a try first?” you asked, taking a look at the entire group. 

Bunch of eager hands raised at the cue. Morgan’s and Prentiss’s almost touching the ceiling as they competed to see who could raise it higher. JJ and Penelope, who were unfortunately not single at the moment, could only laugh at their little quarrel. Your finger moved rhythmically, pretending to select at random while humming a classic ‘choosing’ song. Ultimately, your digit landed on Prentiss and you wiggled it to indicate her to follow you; she stood up to reach for your hand, allowing you to lead her towards the closet by the entrance. 

She locked the door behind her and turned around with her hands extended towards you, trying to find your body in the pitch-dark small room; your eyesights finally adjusted to the lack of light and you could barely make out her shape. 

“You sure you’re good with this?” she double-checked once her limbs landed on your waist. 

“Em, I love the commitment to consent, but stop talking.” you ordered. 

Within seconds, your own arms wrapped around her neck urging her to come closer; she obliged, happily, and her own head bent forward to meet your lips. You could taste the faint flavor of her balm, which you identified as piña colada. 

Her lips moved slowly, yet sensually, the hands that were gripping your hips pulled them closer, and you could heart the rustling of your clothes rubbing together. After a couple of seconds, her tongue began to prod your bottom lip, ever so chivalrous asking for permission. You chuckled amusedly at the gesture, and she took advantage of the opening to slip in. 

Emily liked to take her time, not really taking control, more like exploring a place that always felt familiar and was revisiting just then. On your side, your fingers curled into the slightly messy hair, and your body rolled on its own to be feeling more of her against you. 

You could feel her hand dragging upwards over your clothes, she traced the side of your body and caused your shirt to come up a little bit, the cool air felt interesting against your now hot skin, and so a sound slipped past your lips. It was Emily’s turn to laugh, pulling away so she could make out your eyes. 

“Better than last time?” she asked, her face not leaving yours. 

“Mhm.” you could simply hum, still breathless from the session. 

“Do you have enough material to work with, judge?” she teased, her nose grazing yours in a playful manner. 

“You will be hard to top, Em.” you admitted to her as your body pulled away. 

“Not the first time I’ve been told that.” she joked “I’ll send in the next contestant, who do you want me to get?” 

“You know what? Just send in whoever you’d like, surprise me.” 

She smiled before sneaking out of the narrow room. You were left alone with a bunch of coats and purses, your idea building anticipation within yourself. Spencer or Morgan, who would come through that door? You were dying to know. Although, if you were being honest, there was only one other person you wanted in there with you. However, you weren’t sure if the team-bonding exercise applied to him as well, he was the sole pair of lips you were dying to taste, and still the only ones you hadn’t. 

Your train of thought was interrupted by the opening of the door; you jumped slightly in your place, and the man that was entering the room could notice. 

“Whoa, sweetheart, you that excited to see me?” Morgan chuckled at your startled reaction, and he swiftly closed the door behind you. 

“You’re a pleasant surprise, yes.” you said trying to ease your nervousness. Morgan made you particularly uneasy, not for anything bad, you were just sure that man had some sort of a psychic ability, he would always guess what you were thinking without even opening your mouth. 

“You were expecting someone different, weren’t you?” he stood before you, towering over your body. 

He took a couple of steps forward and you retracted until your back eventually hit the wall, he continued to pace forward until the gap between your bodies almost disappeared; being caged in by him, your hands traveled to your front, and they landed on his chest, almost as if you were trying to put some space in between you. 

He caught up to your actions, observant as he was, and so he raised his own hands to cup your cheeks. Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness once again, and you could see the natural glim of his as he looked into you. 

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, alright? We can just pretend like we did until Hotch gets his turn.” he reassured, and your mouth dropped open. 

“Why would you-” you started to try and justify yourself, but he cut you off with a laugh. 

“I’ve got an eye for tragic lovers.” 

You sighed a little bit; Morgan had to be a mind reader, there was no other way. As if he was doing just that, his arms fell back to his sides and he stepped back to give you more space. Your hands desperately clung to the front of his t-shirt, not allowing him to escape any further from your grip. 

“Hold on.” you told him “There’s no need to pretend, he already thinks we’re going to do it, so what’s the harm?” 

The room was a bit too dark for you to make out his specific facial expression, but you were sure his eyebrows were raised in a startled surprise. 

“Damn, you’re good at convincing.” without further delay, his hands darted back to the position on your face, and he used them to pull you forward. 

You felt his lips on yours immediately, he was less gentle than Emily, but nonetheless chivalrous. You had to grant him access to your mouth, and he quickly obeyed your desires. His fingers moved back to the nape of your head, keeping you in place against his mouth as his tongue danced fervently around yours. 

Your hands had moved back to his chest, using them to stabilize yourself since his strength and mild roughness was making you lose your balance. You couldn’t help the slight squeeze that you gave his pecs, being that they felt firm under your fingers. Derek took your initiative with the touch as an invitation to do so as well. One of his arms fell down, and sensually slipped to your lower back, he was cautious, lowering inch by inch in search of any sign of complaint or rejection, but you didn’t provide  any, and his palm gently began to caress the area of your ass. 

Your hips rolled unconsciously against his, his breath hitched inside his throat as you did so to the point where he had to pull apart to catch it back. He didn’t want to leave you unattended, therefore his head tilted to the side to take a gentle nibble at your jaw before he moved down to your neck. The hand on your neck joined the other on your rear, adding much needed pressure to his front; you let out a pleased sound, and it was his sign to retract. 

He stole a quick, last peck from your lips before he pulled back. “I think I’ve done a good job.” he said with a cheeky tone.  

“Certainly, contestant” you went along with the joke and he answered with a laugh “Please send in the next test subject” he nodded at your instructions and calmly walked out. 

Thanks to Morgan’s comment, you realized that Aaron was probably game as well, and the mere thought of him appearing behind that door at any given second was making you nervous enough to begin pacing around the small room. You yet again reacted when the entrance was open again, and you must have made a movement or expression that indicated disappointment, because Reid pursed his lips at the sight of you. 

“Not who you were expecting?” he asked before he closed the door behind him, and you could notice the tint of sadness in his voice. 

“Come on, don’t be like that.” you reached out towards him in an attempt to find his hands, and when you finally did you pulled him closer to you “You know it’s always a delight to make out with you.” you tried to reassure him. 

“It’s mutual, you know?” he said, his hands still in yours. 

“I figured, I am an excellent kisser” you teased. 

“That’s not what I meant.” his voice seemed more stern than usual “You and Hotch.” 

You were thankful for the darkness that didn’t allow the blush of your face to be seen; after a couple of seconds, you cleared your throat, trying to avoid sounding too hopeful. 

“You don’t have to force yourself to kiss me” he added “Plus, I don’t know how comfortable I would be doing so while you think of another man.” 

Your eyebrows raised at his candor. Vulnerable Spencer could always sway you, mostly because you knew none of his words ever held an ill intention. He was honest to a fault, and you always felt compelled to soothe his anxieties. 

“Then be good enough to make me forget.” you almost let out as a whisper. 

You knew it would have to be up to you to take control with him, so you cupped his face and quickly dragged him down to your level to press a kiss to his lips and shut up whatever other excuse he was going to emit. Spencer was much more familiar with your lips compared to others, barely any foreplay before his tongue was already massaging yours sensually. His fingers gripped your hips in a similar fashion he had done before (that one time you were telling the rest of the team about). 

He pushed you backwards a bit, having you pressed against an already too familiar wall, and you could feel his knee slipping past your thighs, right in between them. His lips continued to work around yours, gently nonetheless, but you could feel the grip on your hips getting tighter, and you realized he was trying to move them, bringing friction to your front. 

A light moan slipped past your lips straight into his mouth, so his body moved forward to press against you a little tighter. “Isn’t that cheating?” you took the opportunity to say. 

“It’s not.” he answered before taking another kiss away from you “My mouth is where it’s supposed to be.” 

You giggled at his logic; Spencer was just that good when it came to loopholes. You were too focused on the pleasure that was taking over you as your clothed crotch continued to rub against his leg to actually care. Your hips started to take a rhythm on their own, and your kiss turned into a session of adjoining lips panting in unison. His fingers kept digging further into the skin that he had managed to expose due to the movement. 

At some point, your head dropped back to allow yourself to get lost in the moment, and you felt his lips attack its base with open-mouthed, yet non-invasive, kisses. Your legs began to shake and Spencer pressed against you to keep you up, your light orgasm running within every vein of your body. 

He let out a light chuckle as he pulled away from you, making sure you could keep your balance. “Bet Morgan didn’t do that” he said proudly. 

You hit him in the arm and pushed him towards the door with a smile, watching him smugly prance his way out. You laughed to yourself to disguise the anxiety that began to overwhelm you. You made sure to fix your clothes in a somewhat presentable manner, and you unconsciously pressed yourself back against the wall, as if you were too scared to meet him face first. 

Your heart felt like jumping straight up out of your chest when the knob finally twisted the damned piece of fine wood open. For the brief moment the hall light illuminated the insides, your eyes met, you could see the startle in his eyes once he noticed the way you stood there seemingly frozen by his appearance. He couldn’t bear the sight, his hands immediately darting to your face without having even shut the entrance. In a blink, his entire presence was right by yours, and his nose rubbed desperately against your own, almost as if it had taken all of his strength to stop himself from kissing you right away. 

“Can I?” he asked in a mutter. 

“Yes.” you barely let him finish his question when you answered. 

Your firm and resolute agreement was nothing but a turn on to him, and his lips pressed passionately against yours without a second thought. You struggled to catch your breath as he devoured every inch of your now plump skin. His hands were nowhere near quiet, either, they presumed permission to explore as well and traveled south to where your lower-back, and any work you had done to tidy your shirt was long gone, being that he was heavily bothered by the fact that you were clothed.

The tip of his fingers were carefully memorizing the areas where your skin curved, every so often gripping selfishly with the intention of leaving at least a faint mark. You wondered how he could keep going without taking a break, and as if he could read your mind he pulled away.

“That’s plenty to be able to judge your performance.” you joked, suddenly aware that this had all begun because of a silly game you had tipsily come up with. 

“I’m sorry.” he said, his hands fixing themselves on your face instead, keeping it still to have you at the same level as him. 

“What for?” your eyebrows furrowed questioningly, even if in the darkness he couldn’t quite see your expression. 

“It’s not enough for me.” his lips smashed onto yours once again with a similar force “Please tell me this urge isn’t one-sided.” he tried to reassure himself. 

“It’s not.” you hurried to clarify, and your hands tugged at his shirt to serve as guarantee. 

Aaron reached for the hem of your top and swiftly pulled it over your head, giving your aching lips a second of rest. Once your breasts were partially freed, you noticed him bend over, and one of his hands moved the remaining fabric away to expose your nipple; the way his mouth so hungrily latched to it made you shiver with pleasure, your right limb moving to his hair, and the left one covering your mouth to stop the loud moan from coming out. He didn’t take long to bring your other nub attention as well, and caged, throaty whines began to fill the room. 

You could feel his erection pressing against your hip; he would roll them from time to time just as a reminder of the effect you had on him. You couldn’t process all that, though, if you were being honest, his every move, kiss, and suck driving you further away from sanity. As if his mouth wasn’t already doing wonders around your chest, you bolted up when you realized one of Hotch’s hands had found its way inside your pants, toying with the elastic band of your underwear. 

“Aaron.” you removed the cover from your face to let out an aroused moan of his name. 

He finally let go of your upper body, his back straightening to be close to your face once again “Tell me,” he almost whispered “when he was doing this to you, were you thinking of me?” 

When you didn’t jerk away from his touch, he moved past the last restrictive garment, and one of his digits trailed up your entire slit, an experimental feeling to gather your reaction. To his pleasure, you melted into his touch, and the lack of light didn’t allow you to see the wide smile it generated on him. He took advantage of your approval to slip his finger inside your cunt. 

“Cat got your tongue?” he teased as the aforementioned began to painstakingly slowly twirl within you “Tell me, is there anyone else that can make you this agitated? So wet, so desperate to be touched?” 

“N-No” you tried to answer in one go, however, the way the tip of his finger caressed your walls in search of reactions was not allowing you to think straight. 

“I’ll ask you again.” he said, his tone ever commanding “While he was touching you like this, did you secretly wish it was me?” he kept pressing his initial line of questioning, that you were too gone to remember it was about your little anecdote with Reid. 

His wrist twisted in a way that allowed him to penetrate deeper, owning a moan that you tried to subtly suppress. 

“Yes!” you cried out in the lowest tone you were able to, still oddly aware that the rest of your coworkers were outside. 

“Let him know.” he basically growled against your ear, you lacked contact in your lower body for a second, only to let out a loud, uncontained whimper once he added a second finger to the formula. You grabbed for dear life onto his biceps, trying to keep your balance as he continued to thrust his fingers inside and out, your head also laid against the crook of his neck, unable to keep yourself facing him as he spilled dirty nothings in your ear. 

“Aaron, please.” you begged as your hips tried to get him even further within you “I need more.” 

The arm that was helping you keep still moved so his fingers could tangle in your hair, his grip allowed him to tilt your head back with a gentle tug, not quite enough to hurt you, but firm enough to force it a little. 

“I’ll fuck you so good you’ll forget every word but my name.” his mouth pressed against yours once again to give you a reaffirming, rough kiss.

He removed his hand from your downside, and it energetically began to search around for the top he had removed earlier. Unable to find it, between other pieces of clothing and the darkness of the room, Aaron decided to remove his own shirt and hurried to throw it over your shoulders. 

Your face reddened at his intentions, he was trying to cover you so the rest of the members wouldn’t see you literally half naked. Once he was comfortable with how many buttons he had hooked, he grabbed your hand to guide you outside the narrow closet. 

Unfortunately for the both of you, and his subordinates, the only path towards the guest rooms, that Dave had prepared earlier, was to follow the hallway that crossed the living room area on the side. You braced yourself mentally, your hand covering your face as you began to feel the confused sights of your coworkers during your little parade. 

“Last one out set the alarm.” you could hear Hotch command, but you didn’t dare to look back at your friends, or him for that matter. 

The rest of the group simply stared at how their shirtless superior was dragging a girl, their very best friend, who was wearing his shirt over what was obviously a barely clothed chest, to the rooms their other boss had prepared for a very specific purpose. They exchanged puzzled looks in complete silence until Emily spoke up. 

“Anyone know the alarm code?” she asked. 

Back to you and Aaron, he had chosen the closest door he could find open. As soon as you stepped in, he grabbed your hips once again to press them against his, his erection made itself known against them, and you couldn’t help but to curiously wander one hand down. Your foreheads met and so did your eyes as you palmed his front; he let out an airy quiet moan. 

Not able to take his frustration any longer, he twirled in his place along with you, making you stumble and fall on your back on to the bed. He landed right on top, his palms against the mattress cushioning the fall so he wouldn’t lay his entire weight on you. 

There was no exchange of words, only a quick glance at your covered bottom that you understood as a command. Your back arched upwards and he could steal a glance of your perked nipples rubbing against his lent shirt. Shortly, you began to wiggle underneath him to remove the pants that you were pushing down along with your underwear. Once you were exposed, garments missing somewhere around the area, Aaron sat on his knees to unbuckle his belt. 

The second his member became exposed, you let out a pleased gasp, which prompted him to smile in a rather shy way. Your legs subtly spread apart, revealing more of your intimate parts, and he understood that as an invitation to enter. His tip trailed slowly up and down your entrance, but before you could complain, he began to push in. He was as desperate as you were, and the way you let out a soft whine at his size. 

Once he had pushed all the way in, he reached for your hands, intertwining your fingers together and pushing them all the way over your head. He could get a clear view of your face and breasts, and once he made sure you had adjusted to him, his hips began to move. Another moan escaped your lips, so he leaned down to meet his mouth with yours, planting a passionate, deep kiss to it. 

You could feel yourself being filled by him, soft noises coming out of your mouth into his at the gentleness of his thrusts. Said gesture, however, wouldn’t seem to last long, and you noticed in the way the grip of your hands felt tighter with each one. 

“No one else can touch you like this.” he pulled away from the kiss to focus on the side of your neck, you felt his lips attach to the skin and roughly suck on it. Aaron pulled away to admire the redness that spread on the spot, proud of the mark that he knew it was going to leave. 

“No one else.” you reassured, your back arching a little at the pulsating pain on your neck. 

“Good girl.” he praised, his hips snapping with a particularly rough thrust that caused a low ‘fuck’ out of you. 

“Don’t hold back your voice.” 

He repeated his movement, and this time you squirmed trying to free your hands, a loud, throat-deep whimper resonating around the otherwise empty room. He smirked at the volume of the sound, yet his hips continued to pound in you, the initial slow movements gone from his rhythm. 

“Aaron…” you whispered in between moans “I want to cum.” you tried to beg. 

“Not yet, sweetheart.” his eyes glimmered with certain darkness

His hips changed angles even when his current speed wouldn’t give in, the way he was pushing now allowed your clit to rub slightly against his lower torso with every thrust, probably so he wouldn’t have to use his hands and set yours free. 

“I need to know I’m the only one who can fuck you like this.” he growled “I need you to say you’re mine.” 

“I’m-” you were about to start talking when he snapped his hips roughly, and you could feel him slide all the way in, his balls making a loud clapping sound when they hit the skin on your ass. The sound you made was loud, almost like a scream, and you were sure whoever was still outside certainly heard it. 

“What 's that? Couldn’t hear you.” his mouth had curled into a smug smirk. 

“I’m yours, Aaron. I’m all yours.” you cried out, your wrists once again twisting in an attempt to free themselves. 

He muttered another praise and let go of your hands, which could only fall flat to your sides and grip onto the sheets of the bed; he leaned back to be sitting on his knees once again, not allowing his member to slip out of you, and grabbed at your hips to slide them onto his lap. He held them in position as he continued to thrust, but one of his thumbs snuck to the upper part of your cunt, rapidly teasing the sensitive nerve bundle. 

You kept slightly gritting your teeth, your walls clenching around his shaft without mercy, and even if it was not obvious on his face, you could tell by the way his member throbbed inside of you that he was about to reach his limit as well. 

“Cum.” he suddenly commanded, and you didn’t need anything more. 

You allowed yourself to be engulfed by your climax, your body twisting itself and your hands pulling at the fabric beneath them, your legs also curled, basically pushing your partner in your direction, not even giving him the option to pull back. 

On his part, his head was thrown back, and you could see the way his adam’s apple bobbed with the loud groans he let out, his fingers gripping tighter on your skin, however this time the mark that his hold would leave was a complete accident. 

He didn’t pull out once he had spilled himself completely into you, instead, his body dropped forward, his arms slipping under your body to hold you close to him, head on your chest, eyes closed, just trying to take in the fact that he had just made love to you. 

“Aaron?” you said with a curious tone, your arms wrapping around his back and allowing one of your hands to tangle in his hair. He answered with a short hum, too tired to give you an actual answer “Does it bother you that I made out with the rest of the team tonight?” you asked, nervous that it would have hurt him in any way. 

“No.” he said matter-of-factly “As long as I only get to do it from now on.” 

You shared a light chuckle, and without noticing, the both of you drifted off to sleep. 

The next morning was a bit awkward for Rossi, being that he was not expecting to see the entire team, save for you and Hotch, curled on his living room furniture. JJ, Reid, and Emily had curled up together on the larger piece, while Morgan and Garcia cuddled on one of the individual seats. The clearing of his throat woke everyone up in a startle, and they looked around confusedly for the missing members of the group. 

“What the hell happened last night?” David asked no one in particular. 

“We were playing a game, and we must have fallen asleep waiting for it to end.” Garcia said with a slightly suggestive, yet groggy, voice, and Rossi decided it was better not to ask. 

“By the way, how do we interpret this?” Emily asked “Who won?” 

“Do you even have to ask?” Morgan scoffed, and Emily shrugged in defeat. 

“Then, who won between the two of you?” Reid asked, pointing at JJ and Garcia. 

“No one, really.” Jennifer replied. 

“What? You both failed? Who did you choose?” Morgan inquired. 

The blondes exchanged looks to see if they had had the same thought, and so they replied in unison once they had figured they were correct. 

“Spencer.” their tones were flat, almost as if the answer was obvious. Reid lit up in a smile, wiggling his eyebrows victoriously at Derek. 

“What?! No way you would just pick him!” he was baffled at the answer. 

“Girls talk, Derek” Penelope told him “Let’s just say Elle reviewed his service with five stars.” 

The group broke into a shared laugh, and Rossi only interrupted so he could inquire on the whereabouts of his friends. 

“Where’s Aaron?” he prompted. 

“One of the guest rooms.” Reid said. 

“And is he with…?” Dave continued. 

“Yup” the five members said in unison, referring to you. 

“Also, Rossi, if you don’t mind, I kind of have a design suggestion.” Spencer turned in the direction of his superior

The older man raised his eyebrows, curious about the words that were about to come out of the younger’s mouth. “Let’s hear it.” 

“Please make all the rooms soundproof.”