#i have so many thoughts at this point about the Inklings who refuse to ever be controlled and the ooze that is only meant to do that

[annasofromafiles]

So, this is Ends (full name, 'The Ends Justify the Means') an Inkling Scientist that migrated down to the Octarian Empire thirty years before the start of the first splatoon game. She managed that by pretending to be an Octoling because Inklings 'don't get the joy of mucking about with genetics and bio hazards like Octolings do'.

The whole basis for this character is partly that Inklings canonically do NOT know when they're talking to an Octoling if they're not aware this is an option (see Marina's entire backstory along with the everything with the Octolings coming to the surface for years before the expansion).

The other half is that Cuttlefish mentions going 'undercover' in the Octoling empire, indication that there is a chance Octolings might have the same blind spot if they think its impossible for an Inkling to get into the empire.

Hence Ends.

The one Inkling stupid and smart enough to get into the Deep Sea Line, and then down to the Octoling Empire, join their study programs and get a position building bio weapons to use against squids. Which she is. And who her family is, even if she doesn't talk to them much due to the whole 'living in the Octarian Empire' thing.

This turns out great for her long term and definitely doesn't lead to a far to late realisation of 'oh no, these weapons are going to be used on people even if i just built them to see if i could'. Absolutely nothing that deals with the terrible consequences of a new variant of the primordial ooze used to make Sanitized Octolings she starts work on after getting Sanitized herself and having her self-control and moral compass wrecked.

Definitely.

[eldritch-spouse]

THAT LIVIUS X VINNEL ANON IS NOW GETTING ME TO SHIP ICONS WITH YOUR OTHER OCS, JUST FUCKING GREAT/sarcastic /pos (sorry if this one's long I just gotta get these outta my system lmao)

Kalymir x Patches: because let's face it, Patches can absolutely take quite a bit of a beating [and we know he'd beat off to getting a beating anyways], but there's always the threat of Kalymir ACTUALLY just straight up killing him - Admin assures him that they won't let him die, but sometimes, the way that Kalymir grins at him makes him worry... Also I love size difference and I want Kalymir to (figuratively) tear his ass apart with his cock

Vorticia x Morell: obvious reasons. He's one of the greatest monster chefs of all time, she's the Greed icon - she keeps coming back for his food (and occasionally his bobbles) and he keeps getting very flattered that the literal icon of greed loves his food. Also... Madame Pinnie did mention that Morell has had horny thoughts in which HE'S the one being eaten, even if he's also super terrified of that... And... Firstly, Vorticia's a snake-monster, so idk how her body would react to the poison, but if we're being hopeful, she'd be immune to it - or maybe the fact that she's the icon of greed has something to do with it(?); second of all, she'd probably have the equipment and/or magic to get rid of the poison.

Rinxx x Nebul: HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT-- Nebul to me seems like the type to absolutely exploit the fact that Rinxx has a ton of money and would use him to buy all the sex toys and pearls he could ever want (plus stuff for Purpur of course). Also, the idea of Rinxx being a sugar daddy for Nebul is HILARIOUS. I can imagine Nebul knowing this and being frustrated, because he can't just turn around and give the bird to an Icon (his ass is big but his balls aren't). He has to live with the fact that, no matter how he dominates Rinxx in the bed, no matter how much the Icon allows the Wraith to degrade and demean and even hurt him-- Nebul is not the one who's in control of the dynamic. Idk if he would, but would Nebul ever grow to start liking the fact that he's actually the submissive one? (On a sidenote: I can imagine Rinxx groping Nebul a lot cause he's thick as FUCK and also forcing the guy to wear much tighter, more leg revealing clothes that hug his thighs and ass-- also forcibly pounding Nebul into submission when Nebul irritates him, hehah)

[I love how you spell Rinx like he's a pornstar, Rinxxx. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)]

Ah, Kalymir and Patches, we've talked about that. You captured the essence of it well, but the ass tearing is going to be more literal than physical here. Patches, ever the glutton for pain, will find all his cravings brutally satisfied. And Kalymir, ever fond of resilient little things, will adore taking Patches to his undead breaking point over and over and over.

Morell and Vorticia is equally stressful. All of these are. Vorticia will work Morell stupid in her desire to taste all his talent, but Mori is getting a delicious ego stroke as well as watching a massive woman take rabid, almost lustful enjoyment from devouring his cuisine. It'd be hard to ignore an inkling of chemistry here. But, as you know, typically, most people who lay with Vorticia perish. Perhaps it'll be a different story here, she wouldn't want to lose the best chef she's ever met!

Rinx and Nebul is an interesting pair. And indeed, Nebul will keep fighting for his dominating role as hard as he can. Sexually, he'll never accept submission, and outside of intimacy, he'll still try to cling to any minuscule shred of power he can attain, even if all he can do in certain situations is refuse gifts- Which is very frustrating for Rinx. Fact of the matter is that even when he holds control, it is only allowed and never inherent, which will chew at the wraith. But goodness, the benefits of this dynamic are so many... He can at least revel in the power of being so wanted by someone of such status.

[c-bookwyrm]

══ஓ๑ 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮

Constance is still, technically, a work in progress. This post may be updated over time, and this will be notated with a date at the bottom to show the last time it was updated. This post is a little long since I am just rambling about her as a whole.

First picrew (split hair is not an option, edited). Second picrew.

⁀➷ Basics

Constance is near her thirties, and had accepted the fact that her life would undoubtedly be a quiet one. She keeps to herself primarily, and while most may think this is due to her anxieties, it's only a small part of the overall reason.

She's short (5'2), has a little weight to her, and favors more earthy colors and purple when it comes to colors she wears. Likes to wear long sleeves with collars of some sort, with dark skirts. She has a few beauty marks in random places on her body, but nothing much else to note.

She's often seen carrying a very modest makeshift purse with her that she's sewn herself (not amazing at it, but proud of making it), that carries whatever journal she is on currently, as well as various pencils and a couple of books.

⁀➷ Background (Before becoming Belle)

Her upbringing to others sounds rough: orphaned, found, and raised by a man she has no blood ties to, but it's all she's ever known. She doesn't find it sad, and gets rather annoyed by the pity found in otherfs gazes when it's ever brought up. On a rare night where there are more self-depreciating thoughts than normal, she will muse on the ambiguity of her history, but otherwise she finds no point in getting beside herself as there could have been countless reasons she may had been abandoned.

It is, however, why she was so insistant on trying to help take care of Rio when he was found- even if he was rather unplesant at first. She had an inkling that if others treated him like her in that regard, it would do more damage than good. So even when he was an ass, she would still persist and chalk it up to difficulties surrounding why he lost his memory (and would scream into a pillow when it got too much, before promptly going on with her day).

She follows the canon Mc's story decently close, even working at the bookstore as well as living on her own, she develops a little outside of that. She does enjoy romance, but also various other fiction and some nonfiction as well. Most of her interest is in personal accounts of hardships, fictional or not, as well as just fantasy type of romances. She doesn't stray too far away from darker subjects, but tends not to discuss this with others.

Reading, writing, and drawing are her main hobbies. Rio does not get to view her journal for any reason, meanwhile her friend Maggie (vauge, npc-ish side character) does get to see tidbits. This is due to Maggie being part of a troupe, and enjoying the poems and stories Constance writes. One of her ideas became the inspiration for one of their preformances, but Constance refused to be mentioned in regards to it.

She's friendly with the townspeople, there are not too many people who are rude to her. When they are, it's always regarding her selective mutism. Most are patient with her when she tries to communicate (mostly through writing). Her selective mutism has been with her since Akatsuki found her, so there are older townspeople who are very used to her mannerisms regarding this.

⁀➷ Relationships (Before becoming Belle)

Maggie: She is rather vague and just an ambigious spaceholder for Constance to have someone in her life that supports her creative endevors, but not to an overwhelming manner like Rio would (he means well, but...). When Maggie's troupe is near, Constance spends a few hours a day watching them practice or preform, or spending time with Maggie outside of the troupe. Maggie is patient, but Constance is aware that her mutism causes small issues between them.

Rio: very sterotypical to the plot in this regard, however to her his love feels a bit stiffling. She loves him as a friend, and has put down some boundries so he does not overwhelm her with the shower of compliments he tries to give her. She feels very conflicted in regards to him due to how he seems to put her on a pedestal she didn't ask for, but she is too cowardly to say too much on the subject since they are close friends.

Her relationships with the princes has not been fully considered. i feel as though she would get along fine with a majority of them. Nokto may make her wary at first, as well as Chev, but she'd still persist to talk to them like normal (her heart will go a thousand miles per hour just due to all the social differences, but she'd still persist).

With Gilbert... Still being explored. The idea is that he would not look at her with pity due to the way she is- something that others do even if its unintentional. This would draw her towards him just a little, with him knowing sign making her stick even closer to him, and from there it's the way he treats her, some ideals, and smaller events between the two. Almost like a morbid curiousity over his reputation. She'd ultimately feel betrayed during a point in their relationship (spoilers), but she'd also want to stay by him as the only one who knows some secrets about her. (will try to expand when I have more braincells)

I believe Chev would treat her similarly, but she wouldn't feel much of a connection.

⁀➷ Other Details

-> Constance is someone who had believed that her life would be very simple, and while daydreamed about love at times, did not forsee herself getting married or being so involved with someone. This was due to some internal issues, but primarily she was content with this. She knew a grand adventure did not await her, and while her quiet town life left her yearning for more at times, she found that relief in stories she read/watched or penned herself. Her life was acceptible to her, and she figured that if something needed to change, she could confidently work through that. She did resign to the idea that if love was something that she truly felt she needed in life later on, then she'd more seriously consider Rio and debate her feelings on the subject more.

She became suddenly very adverse to such topics, and those close to her do not know why. They haven't broached the subject too much, save for when she snapped out of character towards Rio for his behavior with her. It took a week until she could form some sort of apology regarding it, but had to ask him to tone it down for a while. After a few months, she seemed okay again.

-> Becoming Belle terrified her. The idea of such a huge decision failing would keep her awake late at night, shaking. The idea of having to work through her speech issues terrified her, but she was trying to work through them a bit more with Rio and Sariel instead of clamming up completely. It's one thing for a stranger in town to treat her poorly over it, it's completely different when it's someone that holds power over her.

-> She finds most ease interacting with Licht, Luke, Leon, somewhat Yves, and Keith

-> She's not too fond of Nokto or Jin, but she still treats them politely. Just certain remarks make her unable to mask her distaste for the comments they can sometimes make. Silvio pisses her off.

-> Chev makes her uneasy, but she still treats him as well as the others. She isn't fond of how Clavis talks about him, but she's chalked it up to weird sibling rivalry. There's an odd comfort she can find in Chev at times but its rare it ever happens. Clavis, she's guarded with but enjoys when he's harmless.

-> She's constantly questioning her feelings towards Gilbert and is confused.

-> Can handle her alcohol well. She doesn't seem the type but theres many stormy nights where she enjoys having some alcohol while watching a light storm pass through. Hates getting drunk.

-> Has bad habits that I will not elaborate on, tied towards her random bouts of self depreciation.

⁀➷ Misc.

Constance herself became an idea with Clavis' route. I wanted to try and make an OC for him originally, since I was very in love with him. And then Gilbert needled his way through. After some daydreams of toxic polyships between them, I started forming a better idea of Constance- as previously, she was loose strings of ideas only barely connected.

She is still lose strings, but they are forming apart into a shape of a person now, and so she's slowly growing into being her own character. This got kickstarted with a song named Aura.

I don't think explaining how she came to be from that song will do a lot of good, it's vibes primarily- there is a section in the song where the singer is asking/pleading to be told when this curse of a fog will subside, and then a creaking type of noise in response. In my mind, this was a woman asking the embodiment of death when the fog that plagued them would end and life would get better. Due to my brainrot, this twisted into me visualizing this as Emma and Gilbert in a strange sense, then an Oc and Gilbert.

Constance was originally going to be a performer- she was to write this song and perform it, with Gilbert making some sly remarks about the symbolism that it could have with Obsidian. but I already have an oc like this. I didn't want to repeat. Instead, I now have Constance drafting these types of poems, songs, stories, in private. I've mused about having her publish a few things (erotica would be funny but not likely for her character), but haven't decided yet.

Last Updated : 05/28/2024

[faebriel]

howl’s moving castle but rainduo (platonic ofc)

CRACKS MY KNUCKLES. hmc is such a Classic nonnie so i had to do a bit of thinking to get it right (well.... to get it right in my head. but i feel everyone here is familiar enough with my particular kind of rainduoisms by now) but i think the outcome is a fun one :] i'm just gonna put my thoughts into bullet points

now originally i wasn't sure who should be who (oh my little bottle blonde anarchist......) but i did decide to put wil in a howl ish role and niki in a sophie ish role on the basis of how hard howl weaves narratives around himself and how hard sophie does not GAF. that element of them stood out so much that i was like okay cool that's how we'll do it

so niki is doing something semi unfortunate with her life. NOT baking that's for sure. holding onto an empty shop for a long-gone (not that she admits that bit to herself) old friend, and she's quite lonely. and then after crossing paths briefly with the local dipshit wizard she gets cursed by a snooty ass witch of the waste (idk who this would be.... open to suggestions i suppose)

and wilbur is the least competent wizard ever :] why bother to stay in wizard school when you could mix your own potions and refuse any and all help out of pride and trade your heart away to a fire demon for some companionship?

(i'm taking this as another opportunity to spruik albatross wilbur btw i know the wings aren't as striking as sleek crow-black but - )

the fire demon in question is fundy, who sort of came into existence as a being with a personality and such after falling from the sky and receiving wilbur's heart. wilbur smothers him too much. there's not many other people he keeps around to smother. fundy wants out honestly

(oh and it's not super relevant but i think tommy is markl hehe)

so niki marches off to track down the wizard who she overheard the witch mentioned and... starts baking in his kitchen. okay a rainduo thing is being almost too familiar with each other let's be honest. but yes i think they latch onto each other quite quickly. niki is at first just looking to have her curse cured but being old and hanging out in the house with people who actually seem to give a shit about her is freeing in a way, no more getting tangled up in the politics of her small town as it lunges towards involvement in the war, etc. wilbur thinks she's fascinating.

as for the broader "what's happening in the world" perspective i was thinking it was something along the lines of the antarctic empire being at war with another power, drawing all of these small towns and microcountries along with it.... wilbur is supposed to go home to his family but he doesn't want to because he's afraid of facing the trail of small, easily destroyed countries left in his wake, he doesn't want to deal with phil's questions or the scrutiny that he expects from phil. instead, he tries to sabotage the war effort on his own from the frontline

so he keeps receiving letters from phil, but he can't bear to face him. solution? uh.... get niki to go lol. it's even on the grounds of a small country wilbur once ruled (niki had to squeeze this information out of him like a sponge, and she only heard an inkling of it thanks to fundy), now called manberg, which ceded to the empire in the war.............

surprise! it was actually schlatt trying to pull Some Bullshit as a revenge trick. he roasts the other witch and then almost sinks wilbur and niki into the Void but despite his tendency towards problem avoidance, wilbur steps in to defend niki and they just barely make it away. that being said, niki has learned a lot about her new friend through this adventure that he has not been willing to divulge himself, and it stings. why does he shut her out?

also notable: wilbur gives niki a ring inset with three diamonds to help her find her way home

the atmosphere in the castle is not fantastic after that, all their fun little memories bitter now. wilbur swings between talking freely about ripping the armies apart with his bare hands (claws? talons? that secret is out and he keeps evading all of niki's questions with nervous laughter and quips about monsters) and saying absolutely nothing at all. his suicidal tendencies are the elephant in the room that basically everyone else refuses to talk about, except his own too-grandiose and vague comments on the subject.

niki tries not to stew over feeling excluded. the lonelier she feels, the worse her curse gets.

wilbur takes her to a flower field, blooms rolling long into the horizon, and for a moment she thinks they might be fixing things. (she's so wrong)

through a series of mishaps (perhaps a visit from one of niki's friends..... i feel bad doing eret dirty like that though lmfao) henchmen start breaking into the house just as bombs fall upon the city. niki is put into overdrive to keep the castle from falling apart as the city burns around them. wilbur, who is already doing extremely too much flying around and causing problems in the midst of bombs dropping decides to go exacerbate the issue in an attempt to go out in a blaze of glory. unfortunately for him niki, fundy and tommy are all stubborn sons of bitches who will be extremely pissed if he fucking dies, so we pick up the castle and start moving

okay yeah i kind of think the rest of the story plays out not too differently from the movie? niki gets split up from her friends when the castle breaks down and attempts to kick a dent into a mountain when she realises she's alone again. unable to find wilbur himself, with the last bit of power from the diamonds he gave her she finds the doorway into his memories and sees the moment he and fundy met..... they were both very lonely. very sad. she shrieks out to both of them to look for her in the future

she stumbles out of the memory and finds a pile of feathers wilbur and woooo forehead kisses and wooooooo niki finds fundy again and puts wilbur's heart back even if it means they both might leave her again. BUT THEY DON'T even if they're not all in the castle 24/7 niki now has a few nice friends and is so submerged in that feeling that she doesn't even notice the curse breaking.

and the war ends!! and maybe they even talk about their hurts!! the hurts they carry and how they hurt each other!! and they keep on living!! and they all live best friendily ever after <3

[sixstringpansy]

there are two wolves inside you. one of them wants to dress up like a basic bitch, because you were always scared you weren't "cool enough" to act like a popular kid in high school, despite wanting to participate, and despite liking many of the things the popular kids were interested in. the other wants to go full punk/scene/emo, because it was your dream when you were younger, and you thought it was the coolest, even before you were in high school, even before you had an inkling of what you were like as a person.

neither wolf wins, because you know that dressing/acting "alt" is no longer "alternative" or "punk" at all-- it's mainstream, and that defeats the purpose of being punk. the purpose is to stand out, to showcase your individuality, to show that who you are can't be defined by the boxes of society. So, no, I don't want to dress basic, and I don't want to dress alt. I want to dress like me, whatever that looks like. And I want to do things that I like, and listen to music that I love, and be kind to people, without ever stopping to consider what labels I fit into. I think that's what it means to be punk.

I want to dress how I want to, every single day. I want to dress in one style half the time, and have a completely different aesthetic the next day, and not worry about it. To not care about it at all.

It seems like you always have to commit to things like this. You've gotta be punk or goth 24/7, and if you're goth once a week and you dress up like a normal basic person the next day, you're not really goth. Well, fuck that. That's not the point. That was never the point. And somewhere along the way, things got lost in translation.

It was always about "being yourself," and that's never changed. But, everybody took that to mean "pick a style and stick with it." But I'm not one thing, I'm not one style.

By not giving a damn about that stupid label, by refusing to pick one aesthetic, by refusing to fit into the box-- I'm being true to myself. And that's punk.

The punk kids have forgotten that. Punk isn't a style. It never was. It's a mindset. And when the rebellion becomes just another subset of society, you have to rebel against the rebellion.

[kidelune]

What is it like? To be alive. To be sentient. To be human. I think, for me, that is to give and take away meaning from everything I do in ways only I find fitting, as a measure of making sense of myself. It is to camp on the border of desperateness, and bow to anything it'll take out of me, regardless of how mad, for my next chance at surviving. It is counterintuitive to play with the fire you know will hurt, yes, to receive some high degree burns while juggling all the shiny flames, yes, to still return to the bonfire in the end, like a moth, yes. But what if that is the only way that I have—what if that's the only way that makes sense to me as a tool of making sense of myself? Because otherwise, if I don't cohere, then what's the point of me existing at all? And what is extant without a little bit of peril? Nothing, says I. They're yin and yang, and I know many that would tuck my opinion back in my hands and send me away. But I never wanted peace or redemption. All I've ever really wanted was to make sense to myself.

I never had a mother, either. She never wanted me. My father had told me the story in full one night, while he was drunk out of his wits; most eloquently, of how he had to beg my mother on both knees to have me, so he could raise me himself. And maybe, back then, he just needed me as a scapegoat for his utterly fucked up life–as if a child could save anyone, I thought–but you did save me, more than I'd expected from anyone in this world, he'd said. He fell in love with me before I had the chance to take my very first breath into this burning house of a world, and had refused to abandon me ever since, although my mother had adjacent plans. I can imagine she did not even want to touch me, let alone bother with fulfilling her role any further beyond her deal with my father. Is it sad that I don't even know what she looks like? I don't know, nor want to and never could, anyway. I was born my father, through and through.

Consequently, I think because I have not a sliver or inkling about what a mother is really supposed to feel like, I haven't really been able to get accustomed to his girlfriend. She's a nice lady, sweet, even. Petite little thing who's always got an expensive bag at her hands. Korean, though practically not as she'd grown up here in Japan under arms of wealth. I can tell she loves pops, and she tries to appeal to me as best as she could. But as a mother in law, I simply cannot find it within myself to locate any merit in the thought of her taking up such a role. At least not for me, not at this big age of mine. Mothers are for boys, and my inner child, timid as he is, would spit at her feet.

Her son is twenty-five and seems to have formed an opinion on me that's, for now, majorly ambiguous than anything else. He gets restless when we're alone, which, I applaud and consider as good intuition. When you can tell that someone is bad news without them disclosing anything to you at all, that's usually a sign of grace. He knows the difference, which is something that'll keep him from my mess for good. Anyway, I've decided I'll keep my dictum of him just as whimsical. Not like I care much.

Christmas was nice (I got a haircut, cigs from dad and made catnip tea for my girls), but happy new year, me. What is it like? To be alive with blood on your hands? What is it like to smile, embrace joy and forget while your kin are dying back home? What is it like to close your eyes at night and see Sangyeon's gaping throat and the murder weapon in your hands? To be fair it's nothing new, and although it still makes me sick to my fucking stomach every new day, such is the nature of my life. This is the only way I can turn to as a reliable source of making sense of myself. Of making sure that I am alive.

The guilt of a kill and buried friends plagues me in the form of multiple smoked out packs in my drawers, but know that if I linger too long, I might fall behind into a gutter that'll pose as my ultimate demise. Though, contrariwise, I still don't know what to do with this peace except turn it on its axis and make turbulence. I don't know what to do with myself and this silence, and happiness, in spite of everything. And how can it be so, that I'm so numb I cry none for anyone else but myself? How is peace, the stubborn fuck, still a part of someone like me at all? Strange. Maybe I should go into this new year with the intent of exploring my peace. Of living silently. Then again, what is extant without a bit of peril? Nothing, not to me. Ah, I'm unsalvageable at this point, aren't I? Hah.

[imthebadguyyy]

Temporary Fix

Pairing - Lewis Hamilton x Reader (fem!F1 driver!reader)

Fandom - F1

Summary - You're the only female F1 driver, and you're damn good at your job. Oh, and you also have a friends with benefits relationship with a certain 7x World Champion.

Warnings - smut, best friends -> lovers, slight exhibitionism

A/N - you have the second merc seat in this, so Valterri isn't here : (( not proof read

Sometimes, you hated yourself for following your passion. Driving a F1 car had been your dream ever since you could remember. The long process from karting to F1 had been a difficult one. When you were seven, you had a go kart track manager that you couldn't race there because you were a girl. That had cemented your will to be the best you could be, and you had done it.

You had made it into a Mercedes F1 seat after spending two years in Williams. It was safe to say that you were one of the best drivers, with killer instinct and an excellent eye for overtakes. The likes of Mika Hakkinen, Niki Lauda, Jacques Villeneuve and others had praised your skills, naming you one of the best talents in the current driver pool.

But the glory, the fame, the praise, sometimes you wished you could just evaporate into thin air. This was one of those times. Press conferences sucked, they really did. Reporters and journalists thought they were entitled to ask you the most sexist of questions, brushing them off by saying it was 'just a simple question'. Sometimes the drivers you were paired up with defended you, like Seb or Pierre or Lewis or even Kimi. Sometimes people didn't want to say anything, or they just laughed it off or answered for you.

This was not one of those times. Charles was supposed to be your partner for the press conference, but he wasn't feeling too great so you were on your own. It had started off fine, with the usual questions like 'how are you feeling about the race?' 'is it gonna be a good weekend for Mercedes?' and then it had gone to 'Do you think you being the only woman here, you should have a special suit?' or 'Are you sure it's a good idea for you to continue another year in F1?' that's what had irked you off.

With a roll of your eyes and a shake of your head, you bit back the cutting response that had sprung to your lips, opting to simply look disapprovingly in silence, speaking more words in the quiet. Eventually, the conference was over, and you made your way out of the hall, deep in thought, so lost in your own world, you didn't notice when a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into one of the nearby storage closets.

Your protest of "Hey!-" was cut off by a pair of lips pressing to yours, strong arms wrapping around your torso. "Heard you had a bad day with the press" Lewis mumbled against your lips, brow furrowing when you sighed and let your head drop onto his shoulder. "Yeah they're such fucking jerks" you replied, closing your eyes. "I'm sorry you have to deal with them every time" he continued, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Eh, I mean I'd rather not talk about it" you continued, letting your fingers trace a pattern on his chest.

The silence in the room was disturbed by the ringing of Lewis's phone, making you jump softly. "Bono" he answered, looking down at the screen. "Pick it up"

"Hello?"

"Lewis, we're waiting for the meeting? And is Y/N with you?" Bono's voice rang through the tiny closet, as you turned to look at Lewis with wide eyes. Shit, the debrief. "Yeah, I'm coming! Oh, and I'll see if I can find Y/N" he replied, making you suppress a smile. The moment he put the phone down, the both of you burst into giggles, before he leaned down to press another kiss to your lips. "Well, we should go" he said, biting back a smile when you sighed, and cuddled into his shoulder. "Fine"

"But I'll make it up to you tonight baby" he continued, as a shiver ran down your spine. Oh yeah, you two had a friends with benefits situation going on too. No biggie

Except, well, you know you couldn't tell anyone, and you were definitely in love with each other, but I mean, of course it was better to be stupid and just simply refuse to acknowledge those feelings for each other.

♥︎☾☁︎

It had happened, when Lewis won his championship in Turkey. The team had thrown a (socially distant) party, and you had gotten just a little more drunk than you should have, but the champagne was flowing, tequila shots were being taken, beer was being chugged so you just jumped in and had a few more glasses of wine than you should have, and participated in a few rounds of shots.

Before you had known, a pair of hot lips had crashed onto yours, and your arms had tightly held onto a broad pair of shoulders, as the pair of you had stumbled up to your hotel room, crashing backwards onto the bed. Your drunken mind had been sober enough to recognise the 'Still I Rise' tattoo across his back when he tugged his shirt off.

At the same time, Lewis had recognised your face, heart speeding up ever so slightly because holy shit he was making out with you, and he really, really liked you. Before he knew it, your dress was down to your knees, and his shirt was a rumpled mess on the floor, your friendship gone far beyond repair, but only in the best way possible.

The next morning, you had let out a groan when the sunshine had flashed into your eyes, rolling over to find Lewis lying next to you, his arm wrapped around your waist as he slept peacefully. Your heart rate had sped up, and you had shot up, scaring the living day light out of Lewis. He had awoken with a start, confusion present in his brown eyes, before realization had sunk in, and he had shot out of bed, wrapping one of the towels around his lower body.

But before the two of you could get awkward, he had strutted over to you, grabbing your face in his hands before pulling you in for a kiss that made you feel weak and light headed.

And then the both of you came to the conclusion that you two wanted something loose and flexible, something fun with no commitment.

But was it what you wanted?

♥︎☾☁︎

Sometimes debriefs could drag on. And on. And on. Eventually, the engineers left the room, leaving only Toto, Lewis, Bono, Angela, James and yourself in the room. Over the years, it had become like a family for you, and you loved them to absolute bits. The mood in the room had changed, as you all joked around for a while.

Watching from the other side of the room, Lewis couldn't help the smile that etched itself onto his face, when he saw you throw your head back with laughter at something Toto said, inhaling sharply when your neck came into clear view, a sudden urge to mark you up settling in on his body.

It was a thrill, to think of how many times you had come undone on his fingers and his tongue, how many nights you begged for him to fill you up with his cock. It was a thrill to think of all the times he had cried your name out in ecstasy while your tongue worked wonders around him. And yet, here you were, acting as if you two were just best friends, not two people who could barely keep their hands off of each other.

Just two nights ago, he had made you scream his name so loud, the person the next room, who just happened to be Daniel, had not let him hear the end of it. Thankfully, the Aussie hadn't realized it was you in his bed. Two nights ago, he had made you see stars, and after that you had rewarded him with the performance of his life to Nights Like This by Kehlani.

Snapping back to reality when a slight poke was applied to his shoulder, Lewis looked over to see Angela looking at him with a slight smirk on her face. He strongly suspected that the woman definitely had some sort of inkling about the both of you. How ? No idea. But she was a crazy smart woman, and was bound to have figured out that he was seeing someone.

It didn't help that atleast half the people on the grid had at some point teased him, telling him the both of you were made for each other. It was like the universe was pushing the both of you to be together, and he kept pushing it away

"So are we feeling confident going into this weekend?" Toto asked, grabbing his attention from the smirking blonde.

"Yup!" Your cheery answer elicited a smile from everyone in the room. "Yeah I think so" he said, watching as you flashed him a quick smile. "Okay, then, I think we're done for now. Any questions?" Bono asked, scanning a data sheet in front of him. "No, i'm good" you replied, reaching over to grab your phone. "Yeah me too" Lewis said, far too concerned with what was going to happen later that night to pay his full attention to Bono.

"Okay then. We'll see you tomorrow"

And with that they departed. Before Lewis could follow you, a hand grabbed his and he turned to see Angela, Toto and Bono looking at him expectantly. "So whose got you all distracted and flustered?" Angela asked, earning a smirk from Toto. "What? No one" he replied, slapping himself mentally for being all day dreamy during a meeting. "Oh really? I'm willing to bet you didn't hear anything I said during the meet except the last bit" Bono said, smiling when his driver got visibly flustered.

"So do we know her?" Angela continued, watching him closely for any giveaway reactions. "How would you know her if I don't like anyone?" Lewis said, hoping to God it didn't come across as awkward as it sounded.

"Never said you liked anyone. I'm saying you're in love with someone" Angela said, watching as her friend's eyes widened in shock, and he shook his head profusely. "Okay are you on something? I'm just gonna head back to the hotel now" he murmured, confused, and somewhat taken aback by her bluntness.

Ignoring the looks on the others faces, he made his way out to the paddock, trying his hardest to make sense of his feelings. Was a casual relationship with you what he wanted? He wanted so much more than that.

Lewis knew, deep down in his heart, that he wanted to hold your hand in public, and kiss you right on the lips in front of everyone when you shared a podium. He wanted to be able to call you his, to not just spend the night with you, but to spend all his days with you. But you didn't want that.

Or so he thought.

♥︎☾☁︎

Back at the hotel, Lewis busied himself with working out, trying to push all his frustrations out via the workout. He knew that you were going to turn up in the night, and he looked so damn forward to seeing you each night, but god, he hated it when you left in the morning. Every morning when your warm body slipped out from under the sheet, his arms would tighten for a moment, before your giggle would bring him back to reality and he'd hastily draw back, smiling at you. His favourite moment was when he came to your hotel room in Spain. In the morning, he had woken up before you, and before leaving, he had pressed a little kiss to your forehead. The most gorgeous smile had curled onto your lips, and his heart had melted into a little puddle when you rested your cheek on his hand

And then in Monaco, when he had taken you to his apartment, you had woken up before him, and he had woken up to the sight of you bringing a tray of pancakes and fruits, followed by a soft kiss to his cheek.

It was those moments he cherished, but it was those same moments that confused him.

His train of thought was broken when a knock echoed in the room, as he walked over to the door, opening it to find : you

"Hey" you greeted him, walking in and shedding your jacket. "Hey" he replied, reaching for a towel to wipe the sweat off of his body. "Wow um, is this a bad time?" You asked, eyes trailing down his abs, watching as his body glistened in the fading sun light. "No its fine, I just finished my workout. You hungry?" He continued, biting back a smirk when he saw your eyes roaming his body.

"W-what? Yeah, i, um, suppose - yeah" you murmured, mind already far down the gutter.

"For food darling, not for sex" he said, making you blush and let out a small gasp. "Lewis!" You chided, shoving him softly. "You know you were thinking it" he mumbled, pushing you up against the wall. "Yeah I was" you whispered back, yanking him forward by his shoulders, slamming your lips against his.

Lifting you up from the waist, he pressed his body further into yours, one of his hands wandering down to your ass, squeezing harshly, earning a moan from your lips. Taking the opportunity, he pushed his tongue into your mouth, groaning when you let your core grind against him.

Leading you towards the bed, he stopped in confusion when you stopped him, maneuvering him towards the balcony. "Want you to fuck me against the window or in the balcony" you gasped out, earning a moan from him.

"Right where anyone could see us, hmm? Didn't know you were into that baby" he growled, grabbing your earlobe in between his teeth, earning an airy gasp from you, as the wetness threatened to seep down your legs.

"Mmhmm" was all you could muster, your mind so clouded with desperation you couldn't form a single coherent thought. The only thing you were aware of was that only Lewis could make you feel the pleasure you wanted to feel, only he would take you to that little piece of heaven, only he would hold your hand and fuck you into oblivion, and he would still be there to clean you down with a sponge softly.

"If you insist"

Grabbing you roughly, he slammed your body against the massive hotel room window, ripping the mercedes team shirt you were wearing off of your quivering form, letting it drop to the floor, before he hooked his fingers into the material of your jeans, tugging the denim down your legs

With a soft groan, you pulled his nike shorts down his legs, moaning when his cock came into view, the throbbing in between your legs making you whimper, arousal and need growing tenfold in your tummy.

"Please" you whispered, meeting his eyes, so he could see the pure desperation in your eyes. "Please what?" He said, a certain roughness you hadn't heard before creeping into his voice

"Please fuck me" you moaned, gasping when he brought his hand up to your neck, squeezing ever so slightly. "Oh trust me doll, i will. But first, i want to have you dripping wet and ready for me. I want to make you cum on my fingers, so you're wet and ready for my cock. Do you want my fingers princess?" he continued, feeling his arousal grow when you whimpered and whined.

"Words baby girl. Or I'll just leave you here with your pathetic fingers. I bet you can't even reach all those spots inside you that make you scream, when your tiny little fingers try to please yourself. I bet you just feel like sinking into yourself, but the thought of my fingers keeps you awake. Do you do that, sweet girl? Do you pretend your fingers are mine when you're touching yourself, hmm?'

When you didn't answer, he delivered a smack to your ass, groaning when you moaned at the pleasurable sting. "Yes" you whispered abashed.

"Don't be shy baby. Its okay. I know you feel so good when I love on you. I can see it when you scream my name" and with that, his pointer finger began circling your clit, rubbing circles around it before shifting so he was rubbing the sensitive bud directly.

Your moans of ecstasy were music to his ear, a smile gracing his features, as he let his middle finger slip into you, thrusting it in and out of you. Your soft cry of "fuck" cracked when he shoved his pointer into you as well, scissoring them in and out of you

"Oh fucking hell Lew-" "Shh my darling, i didn't say you could talk, did I?" He said, fingers working at an indescribably quick pace, as the knot in your tummy tightened and threatened to loosen. "I'm gonna-" "go ahead baby" he murmured, using his pointer and thumb to pinch your clit roughly, as you came around his fingers with a scream

"Good girl. You wanna put that pretty little mouth to use somewhere else?" he asked, watching as you dropped to your knees eagerly, (just like I would do irl) reaching up to rest your hands on his hips.

"Someone's eager to suck my cock hmm? Be a good girl for me, and don't waste time" he ordered, a shudder running down his body when your nails traced the veins on his cock, and then as they reached downwards, your thumb circling his tip, collecting his pre cum on your finger. Then you shoved your thumb in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, before sucking softly on your digit, rolling your eyes back. You were snapped back to reality when Lewis roughly yanked your head up, pure arousal clouding his pupils

"You better use your mouth right now, or i swear i will leave you here alone to pleasure yourself" he threatened, moaning when you took his tip into your mouth at once, sucking softly before swirling your tongue upwards.

The feel of your tongue on him made him buck his hips into your mouth, the unexpected movement pushed him quite far back in your mouth, looking up at him, you hollowed out your cheeks, taking more and more of his cock into your mouth, the sounds he was making above you fuelling you. You took him as far back as you could without gagging, as a strangled moan of "Fuck Y/N!"left his lips. He grabbed your hair, tugging upwards, the tingling on your scalp sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. "Fuck baby, you're gonna have to stop now, I really want to fuck you now" he growled out, pulling you up before pushing you towards to balcony railing

Lining up with your entrance, he watched as you let out a shaky breath, eyes falling shut, as you clenched in anticipation.

"Are you sure you want this Y/N?" he asked, eyes searching your face for any sign that he was being too rough, or that you didn't want what was coming next

"Turning your head around to face him, you pulled him in for a passionate kiss. "I've never been more sure baby" was your affirming reply.

Kissing you back with the same fervour, he slowly pushed into you from behind, the both of you groaning in sync when your walls enveloped him. "fuck you feel so good darling. So fucking tight" lewis moaned, making you moan as well as the pleasure coursed through your veins.

Reaching around you, Lewis rubbed your clit while he continued to snap his hips against yours, making your breasts bounce against your chest, your hands gripping the balcony railing for dear life. Thank god it was dark.

He continued to rub and pinch you clit, before swiping his fingers through your wet folds. Then he shoved his fingers into your mouth, prompting you to suck on them

"Be an angel and suck on my fingers for me" he growled, moaning when your mouth eagerly closed around his fingers, sucking them with fervour.

Snapping his hips into you desperately, his hands encircled your waist, pulling you back to meet his thrusts, swishing his fingers around in your mouth. "Fuck baby thats it, i'm gonna cum" he groaned, capturing your earlobe in between his teeth, moaning when you clenched down on him again

"Oh fucking hell-" with a moan, he came into you, pulling his fingers out of your mouth to rub your clit again, sighing with satisfaction when you came around him with a scream of "Lewis!"

Panting, he dragged you back to the bed, both of you collapsing into the covers.

Your chest rising and falling rapidly, you curled up into his chest, letting your head droop onto his shoulder, as his fingers traced his initials onto your hip.

"Well princess, we seem to have a problem here" he said, as you snapped your head up to look at him in confusion.

"I think i'm in love with you"

♡☾☁︎

A/N - part 2? Also feel free to drop a comment, i'd really appreciate it 🤍 thank you so much for reading 🤍

[chosonore]

cynosure

cynosure [noun. one that serves to direct or guide; a center of attraction or attention]

pairing: sukuna/f!reader

summary: in which sukuna re-discovers being human one aspect at a time, through many lifetimes, at the price of losing you over and over.

wordcount: 8.7k

content/warnings: reincarnation au, slow burn but also not really because there's only hints of romance? language, it's not canon at all, just pretend sukuna was never sealed away, lowercase is intended

a/n: this is more self-indulgent tbh sukuna is probably uncharacteristically soft? sometimes i'm reminded of the fact that he used to be human and while we don't exactly know how he became a curse just yet, i kinda felt sad about it lol i'm too sympathetic with everything, it's gonna kill me one day fhuierhfa a lot of these moments are based on my own experiences, where i had to remind myself that even the small things in life are really good and important, especially during the pandemic. that being said, i hope you enjoy and stay safe everyone :) (and please don’t judge me too hard on this lol i haven’t written in like what. six years?)

001.

“oh,” you stared at the tall, pink-haired man in front of you. “i didn’t think anyone would be here around this time…” he stared back at you, not replying nor making any move to scoot over so that you could sit on your bench. it was only then that you noticed the black markings framing his face and adorning his wrists. you were a little dumbfounded - your mother had always said that you had a poor survival instinct. though you supposed that his pink hair eased your nerves a little; surely someone with pink hair couldn’t be as evil. but you couldn’t recall ever seeing someone like this around the proximity of your village. maybe he was a vagrant. 

“i don’t mean to be rude but… that’s my bench and i would appreciate if you could maybe… scooch over?” you asked gingerly, not wanting to upset the stranger. you approached him slowly, grasping your basket tightly. if he got a little rowdy, maybe you could just wack him with the basket, right? although it probably won’t hurt but it surely would stun him long enough for you to run.

“i don’t see why i should move just because it’s your bench,” the stranger answered gruffly, crossing his arms. were you naive or just stupid? “do you not know who you’re talking to, woman?” 

you cocked your head to the side, not sure what he meant. maybe he was one of those famous poets or musicians that your parents liked to talk about. you weren’t entirely sure. even though he sounded annoyed, the look in his eyes didn’t quite match the hostility - he looked rather bored, unamused even, but not hostile. maybe you could humour him a little. “am- am i supposed to know you? i’ve never been outside of the village so i don’t know much. only what the merchants tell me. i apologize if i’ve offended you,” you explained hastily, then pointing at your basket. “i just came here to enjoy the sunrise. um, today is my birthday, so i treated myself to some dessert!”

“if- if you scooch over a litte, i could share some with you…” you tried to bargain with him. now you were truly starting to sound desperate but this was your favourite spot and it was the first time in a while that you had a free day to relax. out of all days, just why did he have to be here now? you’d be damned if you let your day get ruined by this unfriendly stranger. 

“are you trying to bribe me?” the stranger narrowed his eyes at you and you thought this was it. he was going to kill you and bury your body in the forest and your parents would come look for you, only to find your empty basket and then start a huge search party to find you and- the pink haired man moved to the side, refusing to look you in the eyes. “sit.”

you let out a squeak in glee, quickly taking a seat beside him. he watched in silence as you unwrap your desserts, glancing at the objects in question. even though you’d offered to share with him, he didn’t actually expect you to give him some of your food. sukuna was surprised when you handed him a… round squishy thing? 

“what is that? how is that going to satiate me?” he asked, almost offended, which made you giggle. you didn’t reply, instead thrusting the mochi towards him until he begrudgingly took it, closely inspecting it in suspicion. 

“that’s a daifuku mochi. it’s made out of rice flour and filled with red bean paste. but come to think of it… do you even like sweets? i’m sorry if you don’t particularly enjoy it,” you explained and grabbed one as well. you were about to bite into your mochi when you saw the stranger opening his mouth, ready to devour the entire mochi in one go. in horror, you quickly grabbed his wrist to stop him, only to have him suddenly pin you down and tower over you.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry!” you hastily said, now suddenly aware of the dark, threatening aura that he was emitting. maybe he was a killer after all. “i just didn’t want you to eat it in one go! they’re kind of difficult to eat in one go… plus you’re supposed to savour and enjoy it, take your time eating it!” 

sukuna stared at the girl in disbelief, you’d grabbed him out of nowhere just to stop him from eating too fast? not only were you not aware of who he was, you apparently did not know how to be cautious around strangers. it irked him that you were acting like he was a harmless human being. so much so that he briefly contemplated killing you. “who are you to tell me how to eat?” he growled at you, not softening his grip. he saw the panic and fear in your eyes but for some reason, he couldn’t quite put a finger on it, it didn’t fill him with joy as it usually did.

“i’m just telling you how we usually eat mochi!” you harrumphed, now annoyed that he was acting like you just committed murder. “you didn’t know what these were, so i was just trying to explain! food is supposed to be enjoyed, not ravished all at once. you have to appreciate your food because there might be days where you won’t have any. and besides, enjoying and properly tasting your meal is the least you can do to show gratitude to the person who cooked it for you.” sukuna let up and sat back on his previous spot, seemingly accepting your answer. you sat up, adjusting your yukata and pouted at him. what a rude stranger! you at least expected an apology from him but seeing that he was already taking a bite from his mochi, you guessed you should just let it go. it wasn’t worth getting angry over anyways, not on this day.

“why are you looking at me like that, little girl?” sukuna questioned, taking another bite from his mochi. he did actually enjoy it and it took every bone in his body not to hastily eat more and to savour it like you’d told him to. maybe this wasn’t so bad after all, it made him think about his meals a little more. not eating for the sake of eating, but for enjoyment, he mused. sort of like living for enjoyment, not for the sake of living. 

“you never told me your name,” the girl replied innocently. sukuna sighed. so you really weren’t aware of who he was. “my name is y/n! now it’s only fair if you tell me, especially because i shared my food with you. please?”

before sukuna could reply, he sensed someone quickly approaching. they were hiding somewhere in the forest; it likely was a jujutsu sorcerer, trying to exorcise him. he could deal with them later, but not here, not with you around. the girl looked at him in disappointment when he abruptly stood up, turning towards the forest behind them. unfortunately, he had the inkling that you wouldn’t let it go until he answered: “my name is sukuna, king of curses.” your eyes widened in recognition but you didn’t immediately react or scramble away from him, most likely frozen in fear. 

“now go. someone is coming and you do not want to be in the crossfire.”

002.

as a seamstress, you’ve encountered all kinds of customers. ranging from rude and bratty to eternally grateful, you’ve seen it all. your supervisor had always told you to remain calm and polite, to just adhere to their wishes to not cause any ruckus. after all, people of status often assumed that they were untouchable and could treat others poorly. it wasn’t worth the hassle to start a fight with them, you could lose your job after all. there was moments you’d have to stand up for yourself but this wasn’t it. fortunately, your employer paid you well, enough for you to provide for your family. the customers were high-profile after all.

you looked at the clock on the wall, your next customer was supposed to come soon. it was a nobleman that apparently travelled here from far away, having heard that the store offered beautiful, one of a kind fabrics. you just hope that he wasn’t rude and that you could leave in time. you’d been working overtime for weeks now, taking every appointment and customer that you could get. your mother’s birthday was approaching and you’d been saving up to buy some of the soft and silky fabrics to sew her a new yukata. your mother had always sacrificed her own comfort to buy the best items she could afford for your siblings and you and now that you were older, you could finally treat her to something nice as well. your employer was even willing to give you a small discount and you gratefully took up on her offer.

the chime of the doorbell made you look up, the good feeling in your stomach slowly fading when you saw who entered. you were familiar with the customer after all; he was well known in the area, being a rather volatile and sometimes scary aristocrat who had the reputation to be particularly difficult and having outrageous demands. you hastily stood up, brushing the wrinkles out of your clothing and walking over to greet him. you bowed politely, taking the outerwear that he took off and placing it on a nearby armchair. “sir, i’ll bring you a few samples shortly. do you have any colour or pattern preferences?” you asked him, placing a pot of tea and a cup on the small side table for him to enjoy. you made note of his wishes and disappeared in the storage room to pick up the samples. the customer had made himself at home, eyeing you scrutinizingly. he made you queasy, looking so incredibly unfriendly and you could tell that you were not going home early tonight.

you showed each of the fabrics to him, explaining what materials they were made of and what occasions they were good for but with each explanation, he just looks more and more uninterested. not to mention the snarky remarks he made, seemingly not happy of the choices you presented him. you were running out of options and you didn’t know what else to do to please him when suddenly you heard someone enter the shop. both the customer and you looked over confused - you weren’t expecting any more customers today, it was already late after all. a tall, pink-haired man entered the shop, scowling at your customer. you jumped slightly; he looked scary and you were terrified, not sure what to do in this situation. not only were the black markings on his face and body terrifying, there was also a threatening aura surrounding him, dark and slowly spreading out, all your instincts were screaming at you to run. should you politely ask him to leave? he looked like he wouldn’t take it too well. before you could ask him whether he was looking for something, the stranger spoke up: “you know who i am, leave.”

your eyes widened, slowly inching back towards the back of the store. you were not aware of who this man was but by the looks of your pale-faced customer, he surely did. “this is outrageous!” he exclaimed indignantly, jumping out of his seat. “you can’t just burst in here and demand that i leave! i have an appointment! are you aware of how long the waiting list is? this is the finest shop in the entire prefecture and i would rather die than to give up my spot for a scoundrel like you.” the stranger raised his eyebrows at the shorter man, clicking his tongue in annoyance. you slowly reached out to grab your pair of scissors. they probably weren’t of much use but it made you feel more safe, knowing you could at least somehow defend yourself.

“oh? you would rather die? i’m sure that can be arranged,” the stranger threatened and it was with horror that you watched his fingernails, sharp and pointy, grow in size. he wasn’t human, you’d just encountered a monster. he would kill you and it wouldn’t take him much effort to do so, you were sure he could just stab you with those fingernails. your customer squeaked and left the store in panic, slamming the door in the process, while you quickly hid behind the counter. you hoped he would leave you alone, you didn’t want to get involved. this wasn’t your problem, you were innocent and it was an unfortunate coincidence for you to be here. 

“stop hiding,” the stranger commanded, slowly approaching the counter. you peeked from below the counter, holding your breath. what else could he possibly want from you? demons surely didn’t need money. oh god, was he going to kidnap you?

he swiftly rounded the corner and knelt down to take a closer look at you - you couldn’t react fast enough, he’d already grabbed your chin and made you look at him, turning your head from side to side as he examined you. his fingernails were slightly digging into your skin, making your face scrunch up in discomfort. “so it is you,” he exclaimed in a low voice, then abruptly standing back up. you were confused - what did he mean by that? at least he didn’t kill you, at least not yet. but what else could he possibly want from you? “i need a new kimono. that scumbag just left anyways, make one for me instead.”

a kimono? a simple kimono? you couldn’t believe what you just heard. this demon just came in here, threw a fit but all he wanted was a simple kimono? you couldn’t help but scoff at the situation though it probably was difficult to enter a store without people fleeing or refusing to serve him. while he did look human, the markings on his face made it difficult not to feel threatened. but why did he know you? you had never seen this man in your life before. not in passing, not on drawings, nowhere. no matter how hard you wracked your brain, you just couldn’t recall. “d- do you have any- any colour preference?” you questioned him, watching how he took a seat and grabbed himself the cup of tea. 

“white,” he answered curtly, taking a sip from the tea. “i’ll leave everything else up to you.”

you felt uncomfortable but there was nothing else you could do than follow his orders. you grabbed a few plain white fabric samples and slowly inched over to him, holding them out with your trembling hands. “what?” he deadpanned. you huffed in frustration. 

“sir, you should… you should choose the fabric. it’s your kimono after all, you might not like the feeling of the fabric or it might not be a good fit for your everyday life,” you explained.

“i don’t care, just choose whatever. i’m above the comfort you stupid mortals choose.”

“that’s stupid,” the words left your mouth quicker than you could stop yourself and you slapped your hands over your mouth. the stranger looked at you as equally shocked. “i mean- i mean there’s nothing wrong with indulging in comfortable clothes!” you explained quickly, pressing the samples into his hands. “see you wouldn’t like scratchy clothes, right? or fabric that quickly makes you sweat or feel too warm! i always talk to my customers about what kinds of fabrics they would prefer… i believe life is too short to wear ill-fitting clothes or ones that don’t feel comfortable! good clothing should make you feel like… like a warm hug.”

the stranger didn’t look like he understood what you meant, making you scoff again. some people really didn’t care about what they wore and how they looked like and it just bothered you. good quality fabrics and well tailored clothing could make you feel confident and safe, even in the worst situations. how could you possibly relax if your clothing was maybe scratchy or ill-fitting? “i’ll prove it to you!” you exclaimed and left the room to gather your supplies, then coming back to instruct him where and how to stand so you could take his measurements. now that he was towering over you, you were suddenly very aware of how tall and broad he was. you felt like a dwarf next to him. up close, you noticed more details about him. he was attractive, you couldn’t deny that - the long wispy eyelashes, the watchful ruby eyes and his soft-looking pink hair. if he picked up on your staring, he didn’t comment on it.

once you were done taking notes and choosing fabrics, you gave him a slip of paper, noting down time and date for him to come back to pick the kimono up. “as for payment-” you started but the stranger dropped a huge bag of coins on the counter. you gasped, pushing the bag back into his arms. “sir, that’s too much! i’ll calculate the exact price for you but-” 

“take it,” he insisted and pushed it back towards you. “i have enough. you need the money right? see it as a generous tip.” your face flushed, you didn’t even know what to say and instead only profusely thanked him. it was so much money, the tip was enough to cover your family’s expenses for a year.

when sukuna picked up his kimono weeks later, he still didn’t understand what a hassle you made about the choice of fabrics and why you were so diligent in taking the measurements. he was fine with everything as long as he had something to wear in the first place. he didn’t care, he wasn’t a measly human that whined about the mildest inconvenience. in the private of his abode, he tried the kimono on, abruptly halting his movements as soon as the fabric touched his skin. so the girl was right, the fabric did feel incredibly good on his skin. it was very smooth and silky, a little cool on his skin. very lightweight but not flimsy. the kimono wasn’t too short and fit his tall statue well, you really did a good job he supposed. he glanced at himself in the mirror. it did look good on him, even the matching colours and patterns were chosen well. you really were a good seamstress, no wonder everyone was flocking to the store.

now that sukuna wore the kimono, he suddenly didn’t want to take it off. it was comfortable and soft, reminding him of you.

003.

your favourite spot was one below a tree, on top of a hill where you could see everything. the small city below, the horizon, the stars in the sky. you often came here when you felt like your life came crashing down your shoulders. it didn’t feel like your own anymore, not with your future already laid out for you without you being able to control it. complaining had always felt redundant and ungrateful to you - you had everything you needed, a loving family, food on the table and your family was wealthy enough to not have to worry about money. but in return, they expected everything from you, their eldest daughter. sometimes, the pressure was too much for you but they expected you to do as they say. everything was well until they announced that you were to get married and they’d found a suitor for you. you couldn’t even protest, the decision had already been made behind your back and you couldn’t refuse. you sniffled quietly, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. you didn’t know this man; he might be a complete asshole and not treat you well at all.

the wind was biting at your skin, cold and unrelenting, and yet you felt safe here, away from all your worries. the starry sky made you feel like your worries were miniscule, reminding you that there was so much more out there for you to discover. you’d always liked the sight of stars, they always made you happy. on lucky days, you’d even get to see a few shooting stars. you’d close your eyes and clasp your hands, hopeful that whatever wish you made would come true. the crunch of leaves and twigs made you look up in alarm, scared that your parents had found out you left the estate and now found your secret hiding spot. you couldn’t quite make out the figure in the darkness, only being able to tell that a tall person was approaching you.

you were wary, inching towards the tree behind you to hide but froze when a voice rang out: “i know you’re there. i was looking for you all over the city, little one.” a man clad in a kimono was coming closer, stopping right in front of you and looking at you in disdain. your eyes lit up as you recognized him; you’d met sukuna a couple of times in the city before, mostly when you went to pick up some books to read. he’d been there one time when you were choosing your books and scoffed at your choice. you’d ask him about it, wondering why he thought that your choice was a bad one. he went on and on about how historically inaccurate the book was and that the information about curses was wrong and how an author like that should be ashamed to even publish it. you appreciated the dialogue, you liked having someone to discuss with you. your parents didn’t like that you read fantasy books and books that talked about supernatural events and beings, dubbing them as nonsense and that you should focus on your studies instead.

after your third meeting, sukuna had finally opened up and told you his name. your meetings became more frequent then but you’d never met anywhere other than the bookstore. you were surprised that he even found you here; you decided not to question him though, sukuna always seemed to know where you were, always sensing where you were headed. truthfully, you looked forward to spending time with him. he was attentive and always listened to you, barely ever talking. oddly enough, it made you feel like finally, someone was paying attention to your thoughts and needs. lately, a heavy feeling in your chest was always accompanying you when you met up with him. it was a dull ache, some kind of yearning that you couldn’t quite put a finger on. it didn’t help that you felt like you’d met him before, but you really couldn’t recall where you had met him before. “what are you doing here?” you questioned him, scooting to the side to offer him some space on the picnic blanket.

unceremoniously, he sat down and glanced over to you. he didn’t reply, simply shrugging. “why didn’t you bring a coat?” you asked another question instead, frowning at his choice of clothing. aside from his kimono, he wasn’t wearing anything else. “you’ll catch a cold!” you scolded him, swatting his arm before tugging on his sleeve and signalling him to move closer to you so you could wrap the blanket around his shoulders. you struggled a little to reach him, almost stumbling - sukuna’s arm immediately shot out to hold you so you wouldn’t fall. your cheeks flushed red and you were thankful that it was dark. you cleared your throat and sat back down, snuggling into the blanket and his side. 

“by the way, i read that book you disliked the other day,” you told him, rambling about the contents of the book and what you thought of it, all while sukuna simply listened to you. he only spoke up when he challenged your way of thinking or to agree, otherwise staying silent and just watching you.

suddenly you grasped his hand in excitement, pointing at the sky. “oh, oh! look!!” sukuna’s gaze followed the direction you pointed to, spotting some shooting stars flitting across the sky. “you have to wish for something!” you squeezed his hand and nudged him, then squeezing your eyes shut to prepare yourself to wish. 

“what would i even wish for?” sukuna frowned and pinched your cheek. “what do you wish for?”

“you’re not supposed to share wishes! if you do, they won’t come true,” you argued back and stuck your tongue out at him. sometimes, he really was too skeptical, never indulging in harmless fun. it might be childish to believe in these things but sometimes that little spark of hope was all you need to wait for better things. you sighed when the shooting stars disappeared and let go of his hand, screaming internally. did you really grab his hand like that? you sure hoped you didn’t unsettle him. 

“i don’t think i told you, but my parents have found a suitor for me,” you confided in him quietly, staring at the grass near your feet. “i’m supposed to marry him next year but… i don’t want to, i don’t know this person and i just want to live my life with no one controlling it.”

“i see. there’s still time to get to know him, isn’t there?” you knew sukuna was trying to console you but it wasn’t exactly working. your words frustrated you a little; subconsciously, you’d hoped that he shared the same opinion and maybe, just maybe, help you do something reckless. 

“i don’t want to get to know him,” you huffed and crossed your arms (sukuna thought you looked like a petulant child). “i… i already like someone.”

“you do?” sukuna looked at you surprised and that was the first time that he’d shown any other emotion than indifference. you nodded shyly, hoping that maybe he’d get the hint. you weren’t confident just yet to confess to him but maybe he’d get it from your description alone? 

“i recently met him and i really like that he makes me feel like, you know, important and always pays attention to me. he doesn’t talk a lot but i think that that’s okay, we still have a silent mutual understanding, i guess. and i also think he looks really handsome! although i-”

sukuna had enough of your rambling, he felt annoyed that you were telling him about your stupid crush. whatever boy you had a crush on, they would never amount to the likes of him. why would you look at someone else when he was right there? right here, with you. sukuna reached over and grabbed your cheeks to make you look at him before pressing his lips on yours. you froze for a short moment before returning the kiss, holding onto his kimono when he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer. why would you pay attention to someone else when he could be with you? for the first time in his existence as a curse, he briefly felt human again. maybe shooting stars were the key to wishes coming true after all; in this moment he wouldn’t mind being human again, being alone with her with only the stars as your witnesses.

004.

gradually you were really starting to dislike your night shifts. usually, you’d ask to cover them because it was quiet, there were no nosy customers and the only people that ever came in so late were sleep deprived students that pulled all nighters to write papers or study. well it used to be that way until a group of, presumably, freshmen started coming more and more frequently - they wouldn’t have been so annoying if it wasn’t for them talking and laughing obnoxiously loud. they would stay until late in the night and kept ordering drinks. the audacity to have oddly specific orders, to watch you like a hawk while you were preparing their drinks, it made your blood boil. to top it all off, one of the guys kept flirting with you, even when you’d already made it obvious that you were not interested at all. no matter how uninterested and abrasive you acted, the guy would not leave you alone and his friends would try to act as wingmen. clueless and horrible wingmen.

you were glad that you were never alone during your night shifts, depending on the weekday you’d work in a team of two or threes. whenever they could, they’d cover for you and you were thankful but also felt bad, which usually resulted in you taking over anyways. you placed the basket on the counter, grabbing a towel to dry the cups you’d just washed. the chime of the doorbell made you look up, your heartbeat speeding up at the sight of sukuna coming in. like the group of freshmen, sukuna had recently started to visit the café more and more. he usually only came late at night and he probably was your favourite regular. scratch that, he was your favourite, no one was as calm as him and he never caused trouble. yeah, maybe those night shifts weren’t all that bad, you thought to yourself. you looked forward to him visiting every time you had a night shift.

“hi sukuna,” you greeted him softly and gave him a smile, placing the cup on a shelf. “the usual?” he took a seat near the bar, placing his wallet on the counter and taking off his coat. sukuna was peculiar, not particularly in a bad way. you always thought that he was a little mysterious. he always wore the same kimono - who wears kimonos everyday in this day and age anyways - the same white kimono but maybe he just owned mulitple of them. you could never tell what he was thinking and he had never shown any emotions other than brief moments of bliss when he was having his usual order. his order had always and would probably always be a simple black coffee and some daifuku mochi. it was a weird combo, you mused, but somehow fit him. it was a sharp contrast, just like his tattoos and the soft pink hair. you finished up the order, pushing the cup of coffee and the plated mochi towards him - you’d sneaked another one in just for him, knowing how much he seemed to like them. sukuna looked up at you, ready to protest but you just brushed it off, telling him that it was okay.

out of the corner of your eye you saw your not so secret admirer approaching with an empty cup and you instantly knew you were bound to be annoyed again. you sighed, returning to the cash register to take his order. “so, when am i finally going to get to take you out?” the guy asked, leaning on the counter to get closer to you. you gritted your teeth, ignoring his question and instead took the empty cup, placing it in the kitchen sink behind you. 

“oh come on, don’t ignore me, baby,” he whined, not letting up until you answered. you were annoyed, so so annoyed. your co-workers were currently organizing the inventory so you were all by yourself - usually that would be fine but you’d had enough. this week has already been awful and you just wanted to be left alone. you glanced around, spotting sukuna on the side. suddenly a lightbulb went on in your head and you faced your admirer confidently. 

“i’m sorry but please stop flirting with me and trying to ask me out,” you started and pointed to sukuna who was innocently taking a bite from his mochi. “i already have a boyfriend and i don’t think he appreciates you cornering me like this. you being this persistent is really annoying, girls don’t like that.”

upon hearing his name, sukuna looked up and as if on cue, he glared at your admirer. “yeah, i suggest you fuck off. get a hint, you creep, she’s mine,” he snarled, making a move towards the other guy who was already scrambling to get away and profusely apologizing. mine, mine, mine. his words kept repeating in your head, your heart squeezing painfully. was he interested in you? would he ever come to see you more than just a barista? you sighed in both relief and affliction, trudging over to sukuna. 

“i’m sorry i dragged you into this,” you apologized embarrassed, shoulders drooping and you stared at the floor just so he wouldn’t see your reddened cheeks. “he’s been pestering me so much and i kind of thought that that was the only way to get him to back off.”

“i don’t mind,” sukuna replied curtly, resuming his seat. he didn’t say anything else and you slightly panicked, you wanted to keep talking to him, stay in his company for a little longer. 

“ah uhm sukuna, i want to thank you! if… if you don’t mind, i would like to treat you to another drink?” you suggested, your face now beet red. this was the most straightforward you had ever been with a guy, usually too shy to make a move. in distance you could hear the chime of the doorbell and the doors slamming, indicating that the group had left. you were alone. sukuna didn’t reply at first and you were sure you’d fucked up and got ready to backtrack and laugh it off when he nodded. 

“go ahead, little one,” he nodded towards the counter. “you choose the drink.”

you didn’t know why sukuna kept calling you little one but for some reason, you didn’t mind. it did however make your heart ache in what you could only describe as melancholy. you weren’t sure why. while you started brewing some green tea for the two of you, the sound of thunder rumbled in the distance. the pitter patter of raindrops against the glass front was the only sound audible in the entire café. sukuna hadn’t uttered another word, not even making a sound of acknowledgement when you handed him the cup of tea and sat next to him. 

“you didn’t bring an umbrella,” you noted, looking out of the window. it was raining heavily, with no signs of it stopping anytime soon. “i guess you’ll have to stay here for a little longer, otherwise you’ll get sick. i hope you aren’t sick of me though.”

sukuna took a sip of his tea. “i don’t mind your company,” he replied, looking at you. you couldn’t tell what he was thinking but you sincerely hoped he wasn’t joking. hearing that gave you a little hope. 

“i like moments like this,” you confessed to him, clutching the warm cup with your sweater paws. “having a warm cup of tea and watching the rain from the comfort of your home. or in this case, a café. the sound of rain is really calming, isn’t it? makes you forget about all your worries for a while, it’s just you and your cup of tea.”

again, sukuna didn’t reply for a while. you thought you’d bored him to death with your monologue until he spoke up: “i don’t see how it’s any different from having a cup at any time of the day.” your cup was placed back on the counter. you frowned, not sure how to explain it to him. in moments like these, sukuna seemed to be something of an old being that has seen everything, feelings now dull and locked away. 

“well, see it like this. making yourself a cup of tea or coffee everyday is a normal thing to do, right? it happens almost automatically because it’s just part of your daily routine, you like how it tastes, it makes you feel more awake or helps you sleep. but… but you never really take your time to enjoy it, right?”

sukuna was contemplating, you almost giggled at the little frown on his face. but you were glad that he was willing to listen to you and discuss it with you, instead of dismissing the topic entirely. “but what does that have to do with rain?” he finally asked. 

you pointed outside. “you wouldn’t really go out in this weather, right? not if you have any emergencies or urgent matters to attend to. and same goes for everyone else; it kind of… kind of forces you to stay inside, to fully enjoy your warm beverage. the sound of rain is pretty calming, it’s some kind of whitenoise that might block out intrusive thoughts, at least it does that for me. so it’s only you, the sound of rain and your cup of tea. for a few minutes, you can just relax and have a moment for yourself.”

sukuna still didn’t quite understand how humans worked. it’s been hundreds of years since he’s ceased to be human, he’s forgotten what is what like being human. what human emotions entailed. but he agreed, it has been a while since he’s felt at ease and peaceful even. it was a moment of bliss, a moment that caused a flare-up of old, buried feelings inside of him.

004.1

you still hadn’t mustered up the courage to actually ask sukuna out after you dragged him into that fake dating-situation. he did still come late at night, being the most loyal customer of the café at this point. it was almost… almost as if he’d seeked out your company. though he did tell you that he didn’t mind your company; your ego deflated a little. sukuna still wore his kimono but paired it with a thick winter coat - it was winter after all and the weather had been very extreme. the ground was covered in inches of snow and you hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. sukuna insisted on walking you home when your shift ended. you weren’t sure why because he’d never offered to do so before. you were thankful though since it was still snowing and the streets were completely empty; even though the snow looked beautiful, it was still a little eerie to walk home in this weather. especially since a lot of busses weren’t running anymore due blocked roads.

“sukuna, aren’t you cold?” you asked as you switched off the lights and fumbled with your keys. finally finding the right one, you closed up, shoving the keys back in your back and fishing out your gloves. “you don’t even wear gloves!” you gasped when you saw his bare hands, handing him one of yours. sukuna looked at you as if you were crazy.

he wasn’t cold but he couldn’t tell you that, couldn’t let you know that he was a curse. but handing him one of you gloves? you were too nice, always thinking of others first and never being selfish. sighing, he put on the glove that was uncomfortably small but he’d endure it for your sake.

“it’s been a while since we’ve had this much snow,” you mused and took a few steps around, giggling at the sound of crunching snow beneath your feet. sukuna simply followed you, looking comical with the bright yellow and tiny glove on his hand. you smiled at him, admiring how etheral he looked underneath the streetlights with the snowflakes flurrying around him and some getting stuck in his hair. your heart suddenly ached, a far away memory emerging. it was blurry and unclear, a cold night similar as this underneath the stars and a face staring at you. you couldn’t tell who it was nor were you sure whether it was just a case of déjà vu.

“you know, this kind of calls for a snowball fight,” you grinned at sukuna mischievously and grabbed some snow, beginning to form it into a ball. he raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, looking at you defiantly. 

“i’m not going to indulge in childish business like th-” he didn’t get to finish his sentence as you hurled the snowball at him and giggled like a maniac as it hit his shoulder. you quickly hid behind a bush as you quickly tried to form another, enjoying the dumbfounded look on sukuna’s face. clearly, he didn’t expect you to follow through with your plan and was caught by surprise. “oh you’re on,” he growled after a moment and grabbed himself some snow as well. you quickly threw another snowball at him, this time only being able to hit his leg. eyes widening at the sight of sukuna raising his arm to throw his snowball at you, you let out a squeak and dove behind a tree - the snowball still hit you square on your back, making you yelp at the cold feeling.

for minutes you could only hear the crunches of snow, loud laughter and snowballs hitting objects. you sat on a bench, exhausted from running and ducking away and your belly was starting to hurt from all the laughter. sukuna caught up to you, juggling a snowball in his hands. “you gonna give up?” he asked, a smirk gracing his lips. clearly he was winning, being able to aim a lot better than you. you missed him most of the time but had fun regardless. 

“never!” you replied, holding out your arms to defend yourself from the incoming snowball. it never came and instead sukuna was inching closer with an evil look in his eyes. oh no. what was he up to? you yelped when you realized that he was aiming for your neck, jumping up to get away from him. sukuna was quick to react and grabbed your arm, pulling you back into his chest and holding you close, smushing the snow against your neck. “ew sukuna, stop!” you laughed and squirmed in his arms until he threw the snowball away, rubbing your back gently. 

“that was really cold, you know,” you pouted, burying your face in his chest. 

he wrapped his arms around you, sighing quietly. “i know, i know, sorry.”

you swore that you felt his lips on the crown of your head.

005.

you were, undoubtedly, lost. your phone was about to die and you were stranded in the middle of the city, not sure where to go. to be fair, it was very, very easy to get lost here and it was your first time visiting. your grandparents lived here and while you’ve visited before, you couldn’t quite remember anything anymore. you were a child back then. and the city had drastically changed too, making it difficult for you to navigate yourself around. though your poor sense of direction was probably at fault as well. you sighed, trying to call your grandparents again. no one was picking up. you turned your phone off to save some of the battery, maybe you could call them later.

luckily, you’d brought your cameras so you could at least keep yourself busy until someone freed you from this misery. you walked towards the nearby shrine; there didn’t seem to be any people here, it was very quiet aside from the sound of cicadas. you took a few photos before continuing your journey, soon finding yourself standing on top of the hill. the view from here was breathtaking, even more so because the sun was starting to set, painting the sky in a beautiful yellow and orange hue. you fumbled with your camera again, trying to take a photo when someone suddenly moved into your shot. you paused and looked at the person in front of you who was staring at you as well. considering they were wearing a kimono, you assumed that they must work here. did you make a mistake? maybe you weren’t supposed to take photos and this person came to tell you off.

“i’m sorry!” you said quickly, quickly shoving your camera in your bag. “am i allowed to take photos here?” 

the stranger frowned at you, clearing his voice before replying: “how am i supposed to know? i don’t work here.” 

you groaned, rubbing your face in embarrassment. of course you’d say something wrong, you always did. and now you probably annoyed him too - he looked really annoyed. but since he wasn’t working here and there was no one else around, you guessed you could take photos after all. there was no one to tell you off anyways. however, the stranger was still standing there, looking at you in what seemed like interest. you felt awkward just continuing your endeavors without acknowledging him, so you asked: “do you live here? i’m just visiting, so i’m not very familiar with the city.”

“you could say that,” the stranger simply replied. when he didn’t say anything else, you decided that it probably was okay if you just continued taking photos without acknowledging him. though it did make you queasy, knowing that he was just watching you. didn’t he have anything else to do? a few minutes passed. he sighed and walked over, pointing at your camera. “what are you doing?” you were surprised at how straightforward he was, not expecting to engage in a conversation with you. maybe people in this city were just extra talkative and you’d have to get used to it. your grandparents never told you about this though. 

“ah i’m visiting my grandparents here and i thought i’d document my stay here. so i can look at these photos whenever i want and just have the memories on photo,” you explained and rummaged in your bag to show him the polaroids you took earlier. “i particularly like polaroids because you can’t edit or change them… whatever moment you capture, it’s true to what you saw. there’s no need to make photos beautiful when they hold a special place in your heart and are tied to a specific memory.”

the stranger nodded, pointing to your polaroid camera. “and you take them with this device?” his choice of words startled you a little, he didn’t seem to be familiar with this type of camera which you found odd. everyone knew what these were nowadays, almost everyone owned them. but you didn’t want to judge him or make him feel stupid though, patiently explaining to him how the cameras worked and where he could purchase them. he seemed to be really interested, closely inspecting the camera, turning it around and fumbling with the buttons. only after you finished rambling, you realize how much time had passed - it was almost dark now and your grandparents were probably worried sick. your phone was turned off the entire time and you forgot to call them. 

“excuse me, i really need to call my grandparents!” you looked at him apologetically, leaving him with your photos and camera. normally, you would be very wary; normally, you wouldn’t even show anyone your photos, rather keeping them to yourself because they were your precious memories. but something about him resonated with you, he seemed familiar and yet he didn’t.

you found a spot a few meters away from him calling your grandparents and profusely apologizing to them for not calling sooner. you promised them to wait at a popular and well known spot nearby so they could come to pick you up since it was already getting late, then hung up. to your relief, the stranger was still standing there, watching you intently. “thank you,” you smiled as he handed you your belongings. “my grandparents are picking me up soon, thank you for keeping me company. won’t you be going home soon?” 

suddenly his face expression turned rather… sad? somewhat melancholic and you feared you’d said something wrong until he shook his head. “i have to go somewhere later. let me walk you for a bit, it is dark after all.” you looked at him a little dumbfounded, not expecting him to suggest something like that.

“oh you don’t have to! i’ll totally be fine, i-” “i want to. let’s go,” he interrupted you, already beginning to move. you hastily followed him, clutching your bag in your hands. the entire walk was rather silent, none of you saying a word. it wasn’t a tense and uncomfortable silence though - you very much enjoyed his presence. it made you feel safe too, even though you’d told him earlier that you didn’t mind walking by yourself, it was comforting to know that he was by your side. you were in an unfamiliar city after all. hell you even got lost, so who were you kidding. you wondered who the stranger was, what his story was, what his personality was like. this was a one time meeting though, so you didn’t really have any hope of meeting him again. that was very unlikely.

“okay this is the spot. my grandparents are going to pick me up here, so it’s okay if you go,” you pointed at a café and gave him a reassuring smile. he didn’t look impressed. “o-oh wait, i need to thank you somehow.” you held a finger up to signal him to wait for a bit and fished out a polaroid you’d taken earlier. it was a simple shot, only the temple, bits of the trees and the sunset in the background. but you thought it was appropriate, the two of you had shared this moment after all. 

“here, this is for you. it’s not a lot but i guess… it’s a really nice photo and maybe the start of your collection, if you decide to get a polaroid camera?” he took the photo from you, inspecting it before nodding and thanking you. he looked like he was about to say something else but was interrupted by some bright car lights and the sound of honks.

“ah, i have to go! it was nice meeting you,” you bid farewell to him and waved, running towards the car. sukuna watched your figure retreat, arms dropping to his sides.

006.

it was so cold, so incredibly cold. you really hated disliked these long winters, the sky was constantly dull and grey, the days were short and you hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. it made you feel sluggish and unmotivated, you were just hoping that spring was coming earlier this year. you yearned for sunshine and warmth, to be able to go outside without freezing and just spend more time outside. regardless, you held onto your daily walks because they gave you some peace of mind in your hectic life. you were approaching the last year of your studies and the amount of exams, assignments and your looming thesis were just suffocating you. but soon, soon you were done and could finally take a breather, until then, the only moments of relaxation you’d have were your walks.

despite the cold, there were a lot of people near the park; children who were engaging in snowball fights, elderly who were walking their dogs and some joggers too. your eyes were wandering around, watching all the busy people around. too absorbed in your task, you didn’t notice the man in front of you until you bumped into him. you quickly removed your earbuds and apologized to him, about to continue walking when he suddenly grabbed your arm, holding you back. you were confused, did you maybe accidently hurt him when you bumped into him? you looked him up and down to make sure that he was okay; there really wasn’t anything wrong. he let go of your arm. “is something wrong?” you asked concerned and turned to him. 

“y/n?” 

you froze at the mention of your name. how did he know you?

“who are you? i’ve never met you before.”

in all your past lifetimes, you’d taught him how to be human again, how there was value and joy in even the littlest of things. with each iteration of your existence, sukuna thinks that he’s learned to love you more than the last. when he sees how at ease you are spending time with him, a curse that is feared by everyone, he contemplates confessing to you. but something holds him back, it’s the fear; the fear that you won’t return his feelings. he’s seen you be with someone else, see you fall in love countless of times. he yearns for it to be him, hoping that you do choose him, love him. for thousands of years, he’s spent his time finding you - your reincarnations don’t recognize him and it pains him to get to know you anew each time but nothing pains him as much as his existence. he wants to hold you, be yours, grow old with you.

for the first time in thousands of years, sukuna wishes to be human again.

ps.: i am so sorry if i hurt your heart there omg

[bibliocratic]

litany An exploration on endings. Or: all the ways it could have gone wrong and right.

jonmartin, spoilers for 200, content warnings in the tags

--

This is not what she thought victory would feel like.

Basira’s fingers tense and smart with overexerted aching when she stops to stretch them out. There is a geography of broken blood-vessels under the bruising that lies puddle-splotched over her hands which scrabble and claw talon-bent at the rubble. They are scored with scratches and tears where her exposed and dust-ruined skin has snagged on fractured brickwork.

She uncovers a foot first, as she pushes up and over the twisted mental of a window frame with an exhausted clatter. A trainer, the white doused with mud, the trailing laces caked stiff and russet. More heaving and hauling, her breath purging from her faster now – maybe, maybe, maybe, but she has lived too long now to believe in miracles. Overturning a fire-blasted section of what could have been once part of the imperious and grand stone stairwell, she reveals the leg the trainer is attached to, pulverised and off-angled by the weight of the collapse, the fabric of it drenched in soot. She peels back a cascade of plasterboard with a grunt, and there is a twisted pelvis, shattered ribs caved in under an acrid-smelling jumper. She’s not surprised at the dull punch of revelation, when she digs out hunched shoulders, coils of hair turned grey-white like swans’ down with the dust.

Martin is obviously dead. She hopes it was quick, fears it was not. His body lying stringless is curved around something, clutching it to him with his bruised and broken fingers. It takes many minutes of labouring, her spine seizing with complaint, sweat pooling at her brow and under her arms, but eventually she reveals Martin’s tender quarry, bundled up against his chest, blood-soaked from a wound long congealed. His own long and bloody fingers clenched and moored into the weft of Martin’s jumper.

She doesn’t need to check his pulse. She is cursed with enough sentiment to do so anyway. Crouching for a moment in the thick of the settling devastation, the fug of dust coating her nostrils, before she murmurs ‘I’m sorry’.

As she stands, she takes off her coat to lay it over them respectfully, the only shroud she can offer.

When her voice is composed, its cracks flattened out, she shouts the others over to tell them to stop searching.

--

The knife does not go in easily. There is force behind its thrust, a manic wave-shock of hysteric intent, and Jon’s lips part in a gasp as skin and sinew and flesh split. The noise wrenched from Martin is soiled with ruin, tremulous and saw-toothed, and he will never be able to forgive himself.

Jon’s eyes close. Peace of a sort granted to Magnus’ last and most beleaguered of Archivists.

And then they open. All of them, like the unfolding back of petals during blossoming, a meadow’s expanse of sight flowering on his face.

“No,” Martin whispers, the refusal almost lost over the tumult of the building around them. He pulls the knife out, and it drips onto the floor, making damp the material of his trousers. “No, nononononono.”

The wound presses together like lips, and then it is gone.

“I think it’s too late for that, Martin,” the Archivist says in that calm and reasoned voice of his.

--

It is a surreal, poorly-rendered mirror of before. A way the record of the world has slipped, juddered aground in a repeat. For all they have both changed, outgrown the casings of the people they were, for all they have endured both together and apart, it is a sick homecoming of sorts to stand again a second time round at the entrance to his hospital ward.

She’s brought supermarket flowers bunched in plastic, the last of a bad crop and too late to get the freshest, the stalks of baby’s breath drooping, the petals on the carnations mottled slightly and past their glory days. Jon lies submerged in sleep, the focal point in a placid storm of machines and wires. This coma chemically induced with no inkling of the supernatural, a last-ditch effort by the doctors to reduce the swelling on his brain. To give the body a chance to heal from the damage sustained during the collapse, his frame bludgeoned and punctured like a shrike-caught mouse, the smoke that has snarled like brambles in his lungs. The almost comically neat wound punched into his chest, nicking his heart.

She hopes his sleep is dreamless.

It takes him weeks to wake up.

“… Georgie?” he finally gasps out on an otherwise uneventful Thursday. His vocals are ribbed and scored with smoke damage. He’s sluggish as he blinks and turns and groans at the complaint of his body around him. “What – er?”

“Hey Jon,” she replies. “Good to have you back with us.”

She lets him acclimatise. Without his glasses, he squints and peers owlishly, like an inquisitive bird, absorbed by the novelty of his environment, the mundanity; the hospital-blue curtain that’s been pulled back around his bed, missing a few rungs and so hanging lopsided in places. The wilting flowers on the side table. The IV needles threaded into his arms.

“Did it work?” he asks finally.

“We think so.”

Georgie doesn’t add more. The conversation is one she knew they’d have, but it still feels like stepping out on frozen water. She is waiting for it to give beneath him, for the drop and drown in the unmoored cold.

His relief muddies in increments. His brow crinkling with a frown, glancing around again at the other beds. Their occupants dredged up and out and recovering from their private terrors, bringing the lessons of their landscape with them.

“Where - ?”

He looks up at her. The ice cracking.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Jon,” she says.

--

“We made it. L-look, see, we’re – I don’t know where we are exactly, b-but that doesn’t matter, does it, because we’re together, yeah? We’re together and that’s… that’s what we promised.”

The blood is drying on his trembling fingertips, the crevices of his palm, and it flakes off like decaying leaf-fall. The front of his clothes is clogged and sodden, the slick slow to harden. The weight in his arms is making his shoulders scream but he can’t let go.

“We – we did it,” he repeats hollowly. Desperately. “We did it, s-so you can come back now. You can come back. Together, you promised.”

The winds of this new world blow as cold as the old one did, and it is Martin’s only reply.

--

“It’s for the best, Martin,” the Archivist says.

“Shut up,” his furious watcher snarls. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t play st – Like him! Like he would! Using his voice.”

“It’s my voice. It’s me, Martin.”

Martin doesn’t respond to that. Their arguments are cyclical as roundabouts. He tells Martin he loves him. Martin tells him to fuck off.

The place where Jonah Magnus met his End, crumpled up on the dais of the Panopticon, has been cleared of blood. It distressed Martin to look upon, as evidence of his ascension rather than his capacity for brutality, so the servitors saw to its removal. The body he gifted to the mulch of the bone gardens, and the wailing growths flourished beautifully with the nutrients it bore.

The screams beyond the walls of the Panopticon cut off faster as he hastens them towards the End. He observes a world in its twilight. There is still torment, and it is unendurable and unfair but it will end under his reign, for good and for ever, and he will ensure that there is no more.

“You don’t have to stay,” the Archivist says. Considered. Gentle. “I know… seeing me like this is not what you wanted. I want us to be together while it ends, but I won’t force you.”

“And how is it any better out there?”

“It’s not,” he admits. “Here, I can keep you safe. I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy.”

“Well, you fucked up there then,” Martin snaps.

His anger is righteous and flint-spark, makes barriers that almost waylay his grieving. He looks at him, and for a moment, his gaze shakes. He will see nothing less than he expects to see, a man, unkempt from travel, a bit grubby. Coarse hands he has held, lines he has attempted to smooth. In many ways, this makes it worse.

Martin turns away, and the Archivist lets him go.

He needs time and they have more than enough of it now.

--

He is inconsolable when they dig them out. A horrible, anguished keening like he’s being struck, a gasping that violently gags and stoppers in his chest. His face twisted, blotching, his eyes swollen, and the picture he makes is ugly, rent-open, decimated, bawling into the body he’s crushed up against him. Rag-doll limbed. Ashen.

They can’t make him let go. His cries transform and degrade into wails, garbled wordless, the horizon of language lost. They aren’t even sure if he knows they’re there. The sound pouring out of him is frenzied, delirious and anguished by surviving the unsurvivable alone. He fades hoarse through the ruin he has made of his throat and then he just weeps into Jon’s chest, and still he will not let go.

Melanie’s the one that stops him using the knife the first time. Wrestling it from his grip more out of surprise than shock at Georgie’s shout, and her anger is poisoned with her panic, throwing it to one side and hearing it clatter, snarling that I’m not going to fucking bury both of you, you hear me, don’t even think about it, fuck you, you think this is what he would have wanted, you think we want to lose you too?

Martin doesn’t reply.

They are not fast enough to stop him the second time he tries.

--

There are two men, strangers to these parts, who moved into the village from elsewhere like seeds caught on breeze. They plant their roots in uneasy soil. They talk to no one, versed in polite but guarded pleasantries, their greeting smiles to-the-point and weathered like coastal walls to withstand even the most inquisitive of questioners.

The one who is tall has the pared-down appearance of someone who has lost a lot of weight through some wasting that gnaws upon him. A gauntness that accentuates the furrows and gulleys and crags of his face, worsens the snow-stark white of his hair. The one who is short has been formed naturally sharp in features, although the brown of his eyes is mellow, prone to distance and otherwise unremarkable. The rumour mill, that tumbles in cycles of chatter that rolls from suspicious to musing, supposes some great and devastating fire to account for the injuries on his hands and the exposed skin of his face and neck, the pocked divots like scattered spark burns, ragged scars from shrapnel of some kind.

The one who is short limps on a sturdy walking stick, fashioned from an oak branch divorced from its tree in a storm. Any travel ventured upon is slow and demonstrably an effort. His free hand clasped in the hand of the one who is tall, who decks himself in layers even in the mildest of weathers, whose eyes are biting as hailstones, awashed grey and framed with bruising as though his dreams are rarely kind.

They re-painted the outer walls of their house last summer, when the temperature wallowed sticky and dense and glorious. The tree in their garden has fruited its first pears, few and stunted but a start that promises better crops come next year.

There is the hope that the strangers are happy.

If they are, it remains nobody’s business but their own.

[merakiui]

hello!!<3 can i request an angst scenario (it can have a happy ending it's up to you!!) childe x fem!reader where they are together for some time and she didn't know he's fatui (she hates them bc her parents were in debt and overall they ruined her life and he's too scared to tell her) but she finds out and wants to broke up?? THANK YOU

In which you discover Childe’s ties to the Fatui.

cw: angst, debt, small mention of depression as a result of debt, female reader note - I woke up and chose pain with this one. >:) it also got long;;; oops!

You hate the Fatui. And although that’s such a strong, hurtful word it's your true feelings. You’ve never experienced their wrath firsthand, but you have witnessed what it can do to people. Your sweet, loving parents, who took loans out of the bank in order to pay for repairs to their shop, were reduced to frightful messes at the mere mention of that harrowing F-word.

It’s horrible to see them in such a state, especially since a few agents had come by once and practically demanded the money. As a result of such a distasteful discussion, you refuse to go into any sort of monetary career: trader, merchant, and even a wandering saleswoman. You’ll find a way to make things right by getting a job that will bring in lots of riches for your poor parents. Then the Fatui will have no choice but to leave your family alone.

Your own funds have dried up, having gone into another Fatui agent’s gloved hands. You can’t even argue because you have an inkling as to what will happen when you finally run out of money to give. Ever since this entire debt charade, your parents have become hollow shells of their former selves: paranoid, depressed, and starved of the happiness that comes with being in a regular, debt-free family.

Childe tunes into your rant as if someone had just turned on the switch that designates his listening skills. The two of you are sitting on a lovely hilltop, watching the stars twinkle in and out of focus. Liyue Harbor can be seen from afar, glittering in warm colors of gold and red. If Childe remembers correctly, another festival should be right around the corner. He’ll have to take you when he finds time to slink away from his work.

Speaking of his work, he’s never actually told you about it. When you asked, he simply said it was a job that allowed him to travel. It sounded like a traveling merchant to you—perhaps even a fishmonger specializing in exotic types—considering he was seemingly loaded with Mora. It made you jealous that he was so well-off with his finances, but you couldn’t complain when he so readily emptied his pockets for your sake.

“And then that stupid agent shows up at our door right when I get home! It’s the worst timing ever. My parents were pretending to be out of the house and I showed up and ruined their plan.” A heavy sigh tumbles from your lips as you flop back onto the grass, where Childe fixes you with a lopsided, sympathetic grin. “I hate it. They’re not even themselves anymore. It’s like they lost all sense of life. I’m picking up as many commissions as I can, but it doesn’t even help. The Fatui just take it all faster than I can save it.”

“They’re the worst, aren’t they?”

“And the sky isn’t blue. Of course they’re the worst!” You inhale softly. “No use getting mad about something that already happened, though.”

“You’ll just give yourself more stress and you don’t need that.” He joins you on the plush grass, turning his head to look at you rather than up at the inky night sky. “I can help with your commissions, you know. I’ve been itching to smash some hilichurl camps.”

“I can handle it myself. It’s fine.” Only it’s not and you’ve started realizing that. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Funny. I was going to ask you something, too!”

“Oh. Uh...”

He chuckles, staring at you with blue eyes that don’t sparkle. “There’s this festival coming up and I wanted to take you. It’ll be just the two of us for one night. You can forget all about work and money—”

“What about you? You said your job has you traveling all over the place. That’s why we’ll rarely see each other in the future. Once you’re done here in Liyue, that is.” You move onto your side, holding yourself up on your elbow. “I don’t think it’ll work.”

“Well, my boss doesn’t have to know. It’ll be our tiny secret!”

You roll your eyes, smiling a little. Deep inside you’ve always felt like something was off about his story. For the past few months, he’s remained in Liyue and once you even caught him slipping into Northland Bank when you were running some errands. You hope he isn’t in a similar situation concerning debt and poverty. No, he wouldn’t need to be. He’s shown you just how many lavish things his funds can afford. Why would he be in debt if he has a stable job?

“Are you...doing something bad?”

You could’ve phrased that better, but it’s already out in the open now. Sheepishly, you avoid his befuddled stare, opting to watch the moon as its light becomes obscured behind a dark cloud. An airy chuckle escapes him, but he doesn’t say anything. His silence confirms your fears and it dawns upon you that he hasn’t been truthful this entire time.

“This mask.” It’s in your hands before he can stop you. You’re tapping at it with a finger, equal parts curious and apprehensive. You refuse to beat around the bush; your doubtful gaze catches his and it hardens at once. “You’re Fatui, aren’t you?”

He sits up calmly, holding out his hand. “That’s quite the accusation, my dear. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“I’m not jumping to any conclusion. I’m right, aren’t I?” Now you’re sitting up, staggering to your feet to find some sort of leverage over him. He’s taller than you and far more powerful than he once let on. “Childe, why would—“

He sighs, lowering his hand out of defeat. “I suppose there’s no point avoiding it now. You were bound to find out one of these days.”

“One of these days? What? Like, when my family’s on the streets because the Fatui took our house?”

It hurts that he wasn’t honest and it hurts even more knowing that he has the power to help. He could’ve spent his time working out ways to get you out of debt, yet he decided to shower you in affection and useless trinkets! Trinkets that are only good for selling and receiving money to pay off the debt. You could cry; that’s how much it hurts. And when he makes no solid effort to comfort you, the tears begin to form.

“Of course not. I’d never let that happen!”

“Then why would you lie about it? Why not help me? Why can’t you just be honest? You always avoid questions you don’t want to answer and I hate it! I’ve been with you long enough to know that that mask is bad news. I was just waiting for you to confirm it, but you didn’t.”

You think it’s selfish for wanting his help—for wanting help from a Fatui agent, no less—but you’re too upset to care.

“(Name), you know that’s—“

“What else haven’t you told me? What else have you lied about? I don’t care if you’re trying to protect me. I’m already on a list. The Fatui still show up to my house and you just...let them. Why?”

“If I interfered, it would look bad in front of Her Majesty. You know I can’t go against her orders. I want to help you—I do. But...”

You’re fumbling for new words, at a complete loss with yourself. No matter how many questions you spout, he’ll evade them like they’re optional. And even if you want answers and honesty more than anything right now, you know he’ll fail to provide it. You shove the mask into his hands, shaking your head in disbelief. A swell of emotions overcome you: sadness, anger, and regret. You feel utterly betrayed. The sweet Childe, whom you once thought was your perfect match, is working for the Fatui—the people who have turned your life into misery.

And that’s probably not even the half of it.

“Let’s break up,” you say before he can spin another false tale. Another easy excuse to avoid this downfall. Childe stops short to stare at you in surprise and it’s weird to see that emotion scrawled across his face. He’s usually smooth and collected; he always knows what to say and how to act. Not this time, though. “It’s not going to work if we’re together while the Fatui are hounding my parents. And they wouldn’t approve of our relationship either.”

“Now, (Name), wait a moment. You’re not thinking straight. You’re just—” He struggles to find the correct words and in that small moment between foggy clarity and paralyzing uncertainty he plasters another plastic smile on. “Look. I know you’re upset, but I didn’t mean to lie to you. I was going to tell you eventually. Just had to find the right time to do it, you know?"

“I know. And that’s why we should go our separate ways.” Like Childe, you also put on a faux show, building up your walls as high and strong as his are. You don’t think you’ll last another minute in his presence, as you’re far too close to tears. “Thank you again for tonight. I’ll take my leave now.”

Rather than pain, it’s bitter when your lips fall upon his soft cheek. And the gesture stings harder than a slap on the wrist. 

The searing pain returns when you pull away and begin the descent from the hill as fast as your trembling legs will allow. You refuse to look back and fall into his arms in hopes that he’ll reassure you. The fact that he doesn’t chase after you—doesn’t even call out—stabs your conflicted heart and it’s more than enough confirmation. Childe isn’t exactly boyfriend material. He’s callous when it comes to a battle and he’s driven by his own ulterior motives. Surely this relationship was just a means of spending his extra time when he found himself bored and lacking a fight. Maybe he thought of his work when the two of you were on secretive dates. Maybe his heart was empty when the two of you were intimate. Maybe you were just the glue holding this crumbling bond together.

Childe remains on that hilltop, watching you disappear into the distance. And it’s then when realizes he’s lost you. The feeling is different from the battlefield and it’s far more real than when he’s snooping around as a Harbinger. You’re just a normal, good-natured citizen and he...ruined that part of you. With his ties to an enemy that has crushed your family. He’s partly, if not fully, responsible for what transpired just now and for the first time in a while real guilt gnaws at him. He’s left wondering why he did all of that—why he couldn’t just face your questions head-on.

It’s his fault, isn’t it?

On that windy hilltop, under the silent, disapproving darkness of the sky, he’s left to pick up the pieces of a fractured relationship. And it’s all because he couldn’t admit the truth to his precious girlfriend.

In a way, the Fatui have taken something from him, too, and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to patch it up with honeyed promises. 

Looks like we won’t be going to that festival anytime soon...

[mrpenguinpants]

Childe/Tartaglia: Fiancé HCs

Aww, I give major points to anyone that actually reads my tags because it’s a whole lot of word vomit and brainworms. THIS IS MY FINAL OFFERING TO CHILDE SO BUDDY  👏 COME 👏 HOME 👏 This will probably be my last fic this week since I’m going to be busy with term tests and 1.1. Can you tell how slow I am with these asks?

I need to stop tagging so much because tumblr keeps making me repost...

This isn’t necessarily a part 2 from my other Childe fic [ “Enemies” to “Lovers” ] but you can go ahead and read it that way. Not sure if this counts for tags but it doesn’t hurt. To be honest, I was planning for this to be the direct part 2 but then his character story dropped and I got slapped in the face with inspiration.

 [taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@youaskedfurret​ @diaxfeliz​ @wintergreen-aix​ @dandelily​ @thegayrubberducky​ @lovelykittycatmeow​ @yuunoagivesmelife​  @dokidokisama @hanniejji​  @mikeysbike​ @unionwitch​ @musekala​ @twistedsunnshiii​ @stanzastic​ @akaasea​

---

Childe/Tartaglia: Fiancé HCs

Your relationship with Tartaglia is unorthodox to say the least. Usually, the average length of an engagement is 13 to 18 months but you didn’t need a calendar to tell you it’s been far longer than that. You probably spent more time with your fiancé’s sister than with the man himself but that was okay with you. Tonia was a really sweet girl and you knew what you were getting into when you accepted and returned his feelings when you two first started going out.

Before he became a Harbinger you were friend’s with him and Tonia. Almost everyone in Snezhnaya was part of the Fatui, working in factories, or a devote follower of Tsaritsa. So it was a breath of fresh air to meet two people that didn’t align themselves to that mindset or become a slave to work. You slowly became closer to the two siblings until the day a stuttering and pink Tartaglia confessed his feelings to you. You think back on that moment fondly since that was probably the first and last time you’ve seen him act in such a shy manner.

The day he proposed to you was the night right before he became a Harbinger. It wasn’t anything grand and you were pretty sure he hadn’t even told Tonia he was planning on proposing that very night. He said that he was waiting for the right moment and somehow felt the right moment was when you were in-between consciousness. When you couldn’t even give him a proper answer since he popped the question right as you fell asleep, but for all intensive purposes, that was probably on purpose. You had to chase him down in freezing cold weather, coat not even properly tied, as you yelled he was a piece of shit and that if he never came back you would hunt him down and kill him yourself.

He just grinned innocently and waved back to you as the ship departed. When asked by a curious merchant who wasn’t native to Snezhnaya asked if he had some...family issues he simply waved it off and said you were his beloved fiancé. The merchant was left very confused on Snezhnaya’s customs and traditions on marriage.

You both made an agreement that only he would write to you. He said that it was because trying to get in contact with him would be impossible, considering how often he moves, plus the different names he goes under. But in actuality, it’s because he want’s to keep the people closest to him as private as possible. The Fatui know of his sister already and most likely know of your existence but as long as he remains a Harbinger they can’t do anything. He won’t let them. But the Fatui have many enemies and while he hates denying your existence, if it’s to make sure you live a peaceful life with his sister, he’ll continue to pretend he’s never heard of your name before.

While he writes to his sister that he’s taking care of trivial matters when he’s on his assignment, he writes a bit more honestly and detailed in his hidden letters to you. You make sure to keep them in a box hidden away from Tonia so she never discovers them but you have an inkling she knows what her brother is up to. She watches the way your face pinches, that your fingers clutch the paper a little tighter, and how you seem to tap the page two times in sequence.

Despite the raging winter storms that swirl around Snezhnaya, you are always warm. He thinks you’re secretly a pyro vision user waiting for the right moment to make good on your word and burn him alive. Whenever his travel’s run late into the night and he arrives home tired and cold, he seeks Tonia’s room to make sure she’s sleeping peacefully. Then to you to do the same. Sometimes when you’re lucky and you wake up early, you’re greeted to Tartaglia clinging onto you refusing to move because you’re warm. Even going through daily routine’s he always has an arm around you or some part of his body against yours. You feel that his habits is rubbing off on his sister because slow morning’s like these see’s you as the human heater. With Tonia hugging you from the front, arms wrapped around your waist, while Tartaglia support’s from behind, arms around the both of you. Your hands laced with his as you both act as a shield for little Tonia.  

Tartaglia’s hands are always numb. He could be in Natlan where it never snows or facing the harsh winters of Snezhnaya, they are always numb. As if the skin of his fingertips were scalded off. Touching anything gives him an uncomfortable sensation so he wears gloves all the time except for two occasions. When he need’s to replace his gloves with a new pair or to lace your hand into his. He can vaguely feel the heat from your hand, see that you don’t have the same callouses that he has from wielding weapons, and can feel the same tingling sensation that would usually have him wrenching his bare hand away if it had been anything or anyone else, besides his sister of course. Instead he holds on as if you’re his last lifeline in the middle of the ocean, commits to memory the feeling of your hand in his, and the pins and needles that prick his fingertips fade away.

He grows restless when life is ordinary and boring so he’s always off fighting or doing something completely dangerous. He was the same before he became a Harbinger which leads to some fights between the two of you. You both handle fight’s pretty badly due to the upbringing of Snezhnaya and it makes Tonia sad when she sees her family argue. So instead you convey your inner worries through taps. One is for annoyance. Two is for worry. Three is for anger.  Likewise, Tartaglia has his own system.

On one rare occasion, Zhongli managed to catch the sight of a flicker of light on Tartaglia’s clothing. It confuses him since aren’t ring’s meant to be worn on the hand? The only response he get’s from Childe when he asks why is a vague answer filled with mirth. He say’s that he’s holding onto it for someone. Zhongli doesn’t quite understand since wouldn’t it be better to keep the ring in a box if it were meant for someone else? Childe wears a ring on his pinky already but it might be a Snezhnaya tradition to wear one ring on the hand, while the other is close to the heart.

He keeps his cheerful attitude on even when it feels as if the world is crushing him. That might be why he names himself Childe. But when it’s just the two of you he takes the mask off, the armor slips off, and let’s himself relax. Time’s like this he just wants to hold you and as he puts it, recharge.

For all his confident nature in fighting he knows that a committed relationship with him is hard. That if you ever want to walk away and find someone new he won’t stop you, but that you never contact him or his family. He won’t open his heart for another person for a long while or ever. He would still give you your ring and whatever you choose to do with it is up to you.

Tartaglia’s goals won’t change. He still has his family to take care of and even if you decide to leave, that doesn’t change the fact he still sees you as apart of his family.

You don’t mind if his goal takes him away from Snezhnaya for years and years. Or if the letter’s he writes become fewer and fewer.  As long as he comes home you don’t mind waiting.

It’s the middle of the night and he’s still awake. He just returned from his last assignment and Tsaritsa is already sending him across Teyvat for “business” related reasons. He just finished checking up on Tonia to see her sleeping soundly. She’s growing up really fast, he smiles slightly at the thought. She can already sleep on her own. He gently opens the door to your room, well really it’s both of yours but he hasn’t been doing a lot of sleeping there, and cringes slightly at the creek the doors give.

He takes a small minute to lean on the doorway and relaxes. He won’t have enough time to bask in your presence if he’s too make it on time. The winter storm continues outside, as if Tsaritsa herself is yelling at him to start moving. He doesn’t think there’s ever been an instance when they’ve been silent.

“I care about three things in this world. My sister, you, and my home,” Tartalia says softly as he walks over and kneels down beside your laying form, resting his hand beside yours as he places a soft kiss on temple. “When those three things are safe I can rest.”

You tap him two times. Your hand has laced around his in a loose grip to which he tightens. You both sit in silence as he wait’s for the pins and needles to stop spreading across his arm before speaking again.

“I know I already proposed but let’s elope somewhere. My next assignment is taking me to Liyue. I heard it’s quite a beautiful place. I’m thinking a spring wedding perhaps?”

One more tap but he’s learned to take your annoyance as you jesting or being flustered.

“Promise me you’ll be safe,” you ask.

“I can try but I can’t guarantee everyone else will be,” he laughs.  

You tap him three times. If you weren’t half asleep you would have probably thrown your pillow at him. He gives one last chuckle as his finger’s rubs patterns into your hand.

“I promise,” he swears.

He hears you hum happily as you begin to relax back into slumber. Slowly letting the feeling of his heartbeat lull you to sleep until your grip loosens around his wrist. Even as the winter winds howl outside you can sleep so peacefully. Unlike him where in the back of his mind are restless thoughts. Tsaritsa is asking something huge of him, another test of his loyalty and strength. He silently stands up as to not wake you again, gives you one last squeeze of the hand, one last fond look, before he leaves. Closing the door as quietly as he can, he steels himself to go back out into the cold.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 38)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: The usual, plus like a heap of angst (or my poor attempt at it), a lot of stuff around broken bones, and mentions of injuries. And holy shit a lot of Persephone/Hades talk. A lot of it.

A/N: I hope you like this, and I’m sorry if tis is ooc, everything I write for Ivar feels ooc lately for me, and tbh I don’t know how to get better lol. Thank you for reading!

You never really considered, when you decided to tell Ivar about the Greeks, that maybe your lies were never for the sake of others.

That maybe pretending to love Narses was not for him to be safe and comfortable enough to lay all he had at your feet, but for you to be able to pretend it was something purer, softer, gentler than revenge what drove you to start that hopeless war against the Christians and their God.

That maybe the reason why you would have wanted to hide from Ivar the survival of the Greeks was not for them to be safe from him, but for you to allow yourself to live in a fantasy where the borrowed time, the winter, could last a lifetime.

You never considered it, and now you live with a weight on you that for once is caused by you telling the truth. Sometimes you wonder about the irony of it all.

You insisted to Ivar that nothing changed, that nothing had to change, but we don’t change the past or the present by telling a different tale.

And so things have changed. In the few days that have gone by since Ivar learned of their survival, of your meeting with Galla, a lot has changed, but at the same time, enough remains the same for you to pretend otherwise.

Pretend you don’t notice Ivar falter and hesitate at the sight of your gentleness, pretend you don’t feel the sting of pain when he sometimes rejects your affection, pretend you don’t feel your chest pull tight in pain and something else -something like nostalgia- when his eyes gain this haunted look even in the middle of something as innocuous as having dinner together.

This morning, his eyes are bluer than you’ve ever seen them, and he’s very obviously struggling, much more so than the day you saw him snap a bone out of place.

You eye him carefully as he tightens the iron braces around his legs, following his movements from your place at the foot of the bed, sitting with your legs hidden from the cold under your body and under a fur you’ve draped over them. Your refusal to get up has been deliberate, if only an attempt to lure him into choosing to not over exert himself by pretending everything is as usual.

Carefully, you start, “I don’t think you should-…”

“Ah, but I didn’t ask what you think.” He interrupts, not looking at you.

He can be annoying and infuriating when he wants to be, you know that. Knowing it doesn’t make the swell of irritation within you any lesser, but it does help you push past it, and insist,

“Just…come back to bed. If not for your sake, for mine. I don’t want to see you in pain.”

“No,” He states, unflinching, unwavering. But there’s a raw edge to it, a tinge of desperation in his resolve. Ivar stabs the crutch on the ground with more strength than needed, squares his shoulders and lifts his head. “I don’t get to stop my wife from sneaking out of our kingdom while I’m gone, I don’t get to decide when she decides to leave me,” His nose furrows in anger, and yet all that overcomes him is determination, “But I get to control this.”

“So you’ll break your bones just to hold on to control?” You call out, but he doesn’t reply with anything other than a grunt, leaving you alone in your room.

____

After more than half a day spent working with the women at the apothecary, and pointedly ignoring Valdís’ glares when she questions just why her son insists on her dipping him on the river holding him by the ankle; your relative peace is interrupted by a familiar-looking thrall coming into the home asking for a solution for the pain.

You step out from near the hearth, and Freydis shares a glance with you and steps back from the man, who looks at you with wide eyes.

You almost feel sorry for the way he seems to either fear you or your husband’s wrath so much so that his words stumble over each other as he tells you Ivar fell while inspecting the walls and broke his leg, but your sympathy for him is quickly overshadowed by concern -and more than a bit of righteous anger, because you told him so- for the man you married.

You dismiss him with short orders, and when you turn around Freydis holds a batch of comfrey in her hands, not hesitating, not even needing your words, to help you gather what you need. Her blue eyes shine with warmth when you thank her.

You are in your room waiting for him -but pretending not to by busying your hands with a mixture of chickweed seeds and primrose- when you hear the familiar pattern if Ivar’s steps, though they sound slower and more faltering than usual, and are accompanied by sounds of pain that make you grit your teeth.

“What are you doing here?”

If you weren’t told he had injured himself, that…warm welcome would have certainly let you know something was wrong.

“Have you forgotten this is my room too, love?”

“You aren’t subtle.” Ivar says, unnaturally-blue eyes set on you, even as he steps further into the room.

You answer with a shrug, “Never pretended to be.”

“They’ve put a cast on it already,” He tells you, and you can’t help but notice him not directly acknowledging the fact that he broke a bone. You eye the lower part of his left leg for a moment before meeting his gaze again. Ivar insists, “I don’t need you here.”

“I want to be here,” You reply, before changing the subject and asking, “You’ve sent scouts to find out where my people are, haven’t you?”

Ivar straightens where he stands, making himself taller and bigger, even though it makes the pain he is in all the more apparent. You have half a mind to scold him, but you bite back the words.

“Want to know where they are?” He taunts, but your answer is instantaneous,

“No.”

You make him falter for a moment; you witness the faint trembling of the mask he so cruelly wears. And there’s an inkling of regret within you, a voice telling you to remember that all you have done -and continue to do- is take away certainties from Ivar. Even if it is defeated and painful certainties, for the man you love it is better to hold on to scalding iron than to have nothing to hold on to.

Then again, he took much more than certainties from you, you think, but your soft heart keeps you from following that line of thought too far down.

He doesn’t say anything else, choosing instead to move carefully to the bed. You hear him working on the heavy iron contraptions, and you try to keep your attention on your work, but your every sense is attuned to him.

“Your Goddess, and what Hades did to keep her,” He starts suddenly, startling you with the choice of topic. Still, you are grateful he no longer insists on trying to get rid of you. “You never thought it a trick, I know that.”

You never told him that. Granted, you never told anyone that, about how you always wondered if the temptation wasn’t really hunger, if the trick wasn’t one at all.

But it doesn’t surprise you anymore how Ivar seems to be capable of seeing you bare of all lies and pretenses. He has since that first time you met, since those first conversations.

You shrug your shoulders, and turn to him, still holding the mortar and pestle in your hands.

“We can be forced to do many things. Go somewhere, even if that is another realm; accept a title, even if it is one that implies binds of marriage. But we cannot be forced to be loyal to someone.”

“So you think she chose him.”

“Chose to love him, yes. For anything else, she didn’t have a choice.”

“Who did, then?” He asks, moving to settle better where he sits with a grunt of pain that you narrow your eyes at. “Your Hades certainly didn’t either, she still leaves him each spring. That isn’t a deal that sounds like a choice, hm?”

“You cannot change nature with a trick, Ivar.”

“Ah, but it wasn’t a trick,” He lifts a finger to point at you, annoyingly smug about his retort. “I think you insist on saying there wasn’t a choice to make because you don’t like accepting the choice made, wife.”

“Your mother worshiped the Goddess of death and you still insist she was good and pure?” The Viking woman sneers, fingers toying with the carved statue of your Goddess.

“My mother worshiped Despoina, there’s a difference. The God of death is Thanatos. Despoina, she is the Queen of the Underworld.” You reply cautiously, because you know she has to know the difference, and you have the strange feeling of walking into a trap. Eventually, eyeing Sieghild with a smirk when she purses her lips, you press, “What. You surely have something to say about that.”

She shrugs, reaching for her ale and drinking before replying, “Our queens are not usually married to their captors.”

“He gave her a crown in exchange for her hand. Would you refuse?” You scoff back, as if the answer should be as clear to her as it is to you. “Hades offered her himself and his kingdom, Sieghild. A king and his reign are no small bride price.”

She starts to show a smile that tells you that in her own language of runes and one-eyed Gods she sees a deeper meaning to your answer. When you were a child you would almost fear her tales of tortured Gods and strange creatures, but now you see in those tales of fall and triumph the same honor and the same glory that Sieghild sees in them, and you delight in talking with her about her Gods and your own.

“In your Godddess’ place, would you want a king or a kingdom, little one?” She teases, and you take a sip of your wine with a smile on your lips.

“Are we not talking of the Gods?”

“Humor me.”

After a moment of consideration, you offer, “A kingdom would limit me. A king would offer me countless kingdoms if I so wanted.”

The Viking laughs, in that way of hers that speaks of a life of freedoms women in your home could never dream of, green eyes piercing on yours when she asks darkly, “And you still believe Kore was stolen?”

Unable to hold back the anger born out of uncertainty, you snap, “Since when are you so certain of the stories of my Gods, Viking?”

Ivar offers a smile, surprisingly enough not a smug or a taunting one, and instead one that is almost tender.

He considers you, head titled to the side, before he states, “I wasn’t talking about any Gods.”

And you’re face to face with too many truths for you to breathe easy, so you clear your throat and return your eyes and attention to your work.

“Willow should help with the pain, as it did last time.” You tell him instead, gathering the small vial of dark liquid and almost cringing at what you remember to be the most bitter drink you ever tasted. You hand it to Ivar, who surprises you by not arguing and downing the awful-tasting tisane in one gulp.

As you return to your small table to gather rolls of thick linen and the mixture you’ve known by heart for a while, Ivar lays down on the bed, but he is far from willing to succumb to the pain or sleep, and watches you raptly as you move about.

His eyes narrow at the things you bring with you to the bed.

“And what is that for?”

“Salves and presses always work best, especially with injuries like these,” You explain simply, noting the way he immediately sets to argue and rushing to insist, “I want to help, and you have no reason not to let me,” You state, unwavering. For emphasis, you raise your chin and remind him, “I’m the best healer in Kattegat.”

“I didn’t marry you because you were a healer, I don’t need your help.”

“I could argue once again that there ought to be a reason why the woman you married is a gifted healer, but I know it would be pointless, since our marriage was fated by the Gods only when it’s convenient to you,” You point out, the slightest tone of tease in your voice, “Instead, consider this from my perspective.”

Ivar’s chest expands in a slow breath, but he bites, “Which is?”

“That the man I love is in pain, and I know how to help.”

“You already gave me the…the tisane that worked last. It is done with,” He offers, the tell of irritation and anger at being put on the spot like this clear in his tone as he speaks, “You don’t have to…touch them, or s-see them.”

“Ivar…”

I didn’t want you to…to see. Thought I could make you forget. He told you once, the mark of pain heavy on his stance and his expression, and an uncharacteristic resignation lacing his voice.

It surprises you, even though you know you should know him better than to expect any different, that a part of him, however quietened in these months of faint moments of pain and scarce episodes of what he perceives as weakness, still tries to keep his condition from you.

You know that rationally Ivar knows he can’t exactly hide it from you. From the way he walks, to the very clear tell of the blue hue of his eyes, there’s not much he could ever do to keep you from noticing.

But he admitted to it himself, to wanting to keep you from noticing the graver problems with his legs, to wanting to hide from you the way sometimes the pain gets to be too much to bear. In these last few days, it has become more and more apparent, with him adverting his gaze when you mention the blue tone of his eyes; refusing to let you see him bare even if he has seen you countless times since you’ve crossed that barrier days ago; and even now, after everything, not letting you do the one thing you’ve been taught to do all your life.

“You know you don’t have to,” He tells you, looking pointedly over your shoulder, refusing to meet your gaze but still too stubborn to lower his eyes. “J-Just leave it be, it will heal, everything will be n-normal soon, and I-…”

You interrupt him with a soft call of his name, silencing his protests and making his eyes finally meet yours. Your chest pulls tight at the apprehension and the uncertainty you see written in them, but you do not falter.

“Trust me?” Is all you ask, voice quiet and eyes set unwaveringly on him. Your stomach tightens as you watch the conflict in his expression, and pale blue eyes search yours looking for something you aren’t sure he finds because you don’t know what it is.

Eventually, Ivar takes a breath, a breath that you think was supposed to be a deep breath but sounds only shaky and sharp, and nods his head. You exhale slowly, knowing what it means that he allows you this, that he trusts you with this, and move further down on the bed so you sit on your side next to the length of his legs, your own folded underneath you.

You need only lift the left leg of the pants a little over his knee, but Ivar tenses and coils his body tight as if you are baring him of any armor. In a way, maybe you are.

Hands carefully folded over his stomach, you catch a glimpse of a tremble in them before he tightens his hold on his own fingers, knuckles white and the trembling once again under careful control. You spare only a glance, before completely focusing on his exposed leg.

It is frailly thin, though you didn’t really expect any different, and it looks knobby and bears many scars, some deeper than others.

You linger on the badly-set bone that has long since healed in a bad position, and wonder how long it has been since a proper healer has tended to a fracture like this. Still, the latest of the breaks has been properly set and the linen put around it seems strong enough.

You take it off trying to move Ivar’s leg as little as possible, and think what kind of cast the men and women that have taught you to be a healer would use for this, wondering what improvements or changes they would make to work around the braces Ivar wears, that you know are not made with comfort for a broken bone in mind.

“T-Talk,” Ivar orders gruffly, startling you from your work on the comfrey and the ganglong you are so lucky to have found all the way in Scandinavia. You lift your head to look at him, but Ivar doesn’t meet your eyes, looking intently at the ceiling. At your silence, he insists, “It is never good when you’re quiet. Talk.”

“About what?”

“Anything.”

“Are you in a lot of pain?”

“I said talk, not ask questions.” He replies shortly, clear tell of gritted teeth in his voice. You don’t know if because of annoyance or pain, but you are smart enough to figure that it is best not to ask.

“Well,” You mumble, blinking a couple of times before you find something to say, “I once was mentored by a man that could know where a bone had been merely splintered with but a touch. I am…not nearly as proficient yet,” You smile slightly at the memory. He was from so far East that the people that traveled with you used to whisper he was from another Empire, and he had strict ways but he was a good teacher. You continue, “I’m using a plant he taught me to work with. Helps with healing, and with swelling. Not so much with pain. Comfrey helps with that,” You recall another memory and chuckle to yourself as you press the salve onto Ivar’s cold skin, and continue, “I…I was taught comfrey is incredibly useful when healing broken bones when I just started working as a healer, and I was still young, and…careless. Once, my mother was badly hurt in a battle. She had some of her ribs badly bruised, and was also nicked by a spear. They wrapped her torso with treatment for her wound before her bones, of course,” You mention, wrapping the press of herbs with a linen around Ivar’s shin. You are careful not to jostle the leg too much in fear of causing him further pain, but he doesn’t complain, and you continue, “And I was, uh, I was really worried about her ribs, so I made her an infusion using comfrey. Turns out, comfrey isn’t very safe for people to…consume. Sieghild was awfully sick for more than a week, threatened to poison my food as retribution for almost a month,” You fasten the cast he had before once again around the thin calf, and your voice turns wistful when you finish, “And she never let me forget it. Every time I made her an infusion, she would make me list the ingredients I used for it.”

You finish your work and after rolling the leg of the pant back down, you move the warm blankets and furs to cover both his legs and yours.

You look back up at Ivar, moving up on the bed so you are almost level with his face, and for as long as he needs to, you lay there, eyes on his and comfortably close even if a part of you grows anxious and searches desperately for something to say to make him lose the cautious and almost afraid edge.

His hand first settles on your wrist, lingering for a few beats before it moves up to grasp at your fingers, and you squeeze back without hesitation, lifting your joined hands to press a kiss against his knuckles, smiling up at him.

The warm specks of a dying sun linger on the room and make it feel somehow warmer, and smaller, more yours.

“I won’t do anything to the Greeks,” He starts suddenly, startling you. You hadn’t considered he would, if you are honest. Whether that makes you incredibly naïve or it makes him something other than the man that chained you, you don’t know if you want to hear the answer. Ivar takes a breath, the only indication he intends to continue talking before silence reigns between you for a few heartbeats. His voice is quiet but unwavering when he promises, “I love you, and…I know I have to let you leave.”

For a moment, with his voice so strikingly alike what it sounded like the night you told him of the Greeks, where he repeated out loud certainties for you to reassure him of and him to hold on to; you wonder whether he is trying to give you a few certainties of your own.

You try offering a smile that speaks of jest, though you are certain something much more saddened than what you intend is the result.

“They are technically your people too, you know.”

He doesn’t acknowledge your words, looking intently ahead and taking a deep breath before offering,

“You insist it is easy, you insist that…that nothing changed. That I should accept whatever time is left and forget that I promised to allow you to leave me,” His voice grows angrier and angrier the longer he speaks, but when he takes a breath, the anger is overshadowed by something else, and Ivar continues, “It isn’t easy, but I-…sometimes I forget. Sometimes you look happy here, with me, and I…I forget you’re leaving me.”

Your throat feels tight at his words, and your heart beats quickly as if trying to outrun the pain that fills your chest.

At the pain you hear in his voice, a pain you put there, it feels like your heart, no-longer-yours and trying to leave your chest with each of its beats, asks you to admit the shame and the failure and the damnation of I wish I never had to leave.

But you can’t, you can only remain quiet and advert your eyes to the side even if Ivar isn’t even looking in your direction.

“I’m…I’m being torn apart,” He confesses in a breath that shakes past his lips, eyebrows slightly raised as his expression trembles, as his strength crumbles and breaks your heart along with it. “I want to-…Sometimes I forget you are leaving, and I can pretend you won’t have to make a choice, and I am…” You cling to the way his words hang in the air between you, not realizing you lean closer and stall your breathing as if to hear the confession, not realizing until that moment how desperate you are to hear that he feels happy. But he doesn’t say it, shaking his head and returning the hardness to his tone, “But at the same time I need to remind myself that you are going to make a choice, that you will leave, because if I don’t…”

The words hang between you, but you don’t have the courage to ask him to continue, and you also don’t have the words to reply with, so silence too hangs between you soon enough.

Ivar turns on his side with a grunt of pain, and you don’t hesitate to move closer and lift your arm, his head a comfortable weight against your chest and his breaths, though labored and still hinting at a pain you cannot even imagine, familiar and warm against you.

“You should sleep,” You tell him softly, your fingers running through his hair in what you hope is a calming manner. Judging by the way his eyes flutter closed, you dare believe it is. Without thinking, you promise, “I’ll stay with you.”

You intend it to be the promise to remain in this bed for as long as he does, to keep him company and do what you can with your voice and your touch to soothe away the pain; but the moment the words leave your lips it feels like a weight dropped on you, like the reminder of the choice you will have to make.

For a moment, a fragile moment that you barely give time to be before you smother the foolish fantasy away, you pretend this is a promise you can make, and that it can mean forever and not a night.

If Ivar notices your poor choice of words, he doesn’t give it away.

Still, at your silence he speaks out, voice rougher with the pull of sleep, his words a little drawled out.

“If it wasn’t…pomegranates, what is it that keeps her there?”

You know to him they are just tales, but his curiosity for the world that has made you who you are and the Gods you’ll always hold dear to you never ceases to be…endearing, in its own way.

“I don’t know,” You answer truthfully. “This isn’t what we discuss at the temple, this isn’t…this isn’t what we are taught.”

“Were you never curious?”

“I didn’t have time to be. I left Greece when I was still a child, and when I returned…it seemed fitting, that she was truly stolen of a choice.”

“You told me some say she walked into the Underworld.”

“Yet she was still trapped, that part never changes.” You smile sadly, and for a moment when you blink you see warm eyes and olive skin and a sad smile that speaks of a man fully aware of your lies and choosing to love you anyways, choosing to trap you anyways.  In that moment, you understand why her story meant comfort to you all your life.

She was the maiden taken forcefully from her home, forced away from her mother and her land; you were a child clutching a wooden statuette of her and watching your birth mother burn, with Sieghild’s rough and unfamiliar hands guiding you on a path away from Greece.

She was the woman forced to marry a man she didn’t love, by deals of the Gods that ruled over her life and by her own mistakes; and you were a monster, a desperate one at that, whispering promises of love in Narses’ ear, earning what you wanted alongside heavy chains to be put on you.

She was queen of a world that was so unlike her, and a wife to a man many called a monster, alone and nostalgic; and you were dragged here by Ivar and told that by the will of his might alone he would make you wife and queen, no matter how much you fought against it.

And…and then she was a woman laughing under a red veil, lips stained with pomegranates and blood, and the winter meant home and love and belonging; and you learned to look into Ivar’s eyes and see a future even when you knew you couldn’t.

Chosen by Persephone, they always called you, since long before your birth. Child of the flower fields of Eleusis, they thought you to be destined to be yet another Hiereia under the warmth of Attica’s sun; they didn’t see the hunger, the heart that belonged elsewhere, they never imagined you to be one destined to delve into another realm to become its queen and never wish to return.

Lost in your thoughts, in your revelations, for so long that you don’t notice the passing of time, you only gauge how long you were lost by the way Ivar’s weight is a little heavier on you; by the way he is relaxed and pliant against you, even if shaken occasionally by a shiver or a tremble of the aftershocks of pain.

“Maybe they don’t tell us about whether or not she had a choice because she didn’t,” You whisper, voice so quiet you barely hear yourself. In the deep rise and fall of his chest, even if still interrupted by the quiet staggering in its pattern due to the pain, you are told he isn’t conscious anymore. Still, you continue your soft caress of the side of his face, and you continue speaking, “Or maybe it’s because she did, and she chose…chose love. Seems awfully selfish, though, doesn’t it?”

Your mother, the mother of sad smiles and a lost war, always told you that between love and duty one must always prevail. Between the earth under our feet and the sky over our heads, between what we must do and what we want to do, we must always choose.

Maybe she was never speaking of her plight, or in some prophetic way of yours, when she told you those things. Maybe she too wondered what temptation truly meant, whether there had been a trick at all; and she was whispering the truth about the Goddess of spring disguised as a warning.

You doze off, your fingers still carefully running through Ivar’s hair and your senses still attuned to him and his pain.

You wake up not because Ivar does, but because you hear something. For a moment, you think it to be him, but as the daze of sleep leaves you, you realize what it is.

The cry of a hawk.

Your blood runs cold, and with shaking hands and a heart that beats furiously in your ears you move your body from under Ivar and walk to the small balcony that overlooks Kattegat.

The sky is darkening, once again too late for a hawk to be hunting. Once again, it is too close, and its cry is too familiar for it to be anything other than Galla’s trusted beast.

You watch with wide eyes as the hawk flies above you, shrill cries piercing your head and your heart.

And a part of you that has been for too long too cowardly to face not the choice, but what the choice you’d make would say about you and who you are; that part of you begs and pleads in that moment.

You plead for more time, but the Gods have granted you time already.

And you once pleaded for a choice to make, and now the Gods demand you make it.

“His name will be Zephyr.”

“Why that name? He isn’t the fastest, or the strongest, out of the winds.” You mention casually, and Galla doesn’t take her eyes of her beast, smiling widely as it takes a piece of meat from her fingers.

“Because Zepyhr brings forth life, opportunity, change,” She chuckles, before knocking her shoulder with yours teasingly, “I may not be as versed as you in the worship of Demeter and Kore, Hiereia, but I know the gift that spring is.”

“And so you hold a special place for the one that brings forth the winds of the spring?”

She shrugs, fearless as she reaches under the hawk’s head and scritches at its feather’s, making it ruffle them and accept her affection. It never ceases to surprise you, how easily the beast has taken to her.

“Zephyr is the one that makes change happen. He is the one that time and time again guides Despoina home.”

You accept her words with a sigh, and reach for the piece of venison on the plate at her side, offering the raw meat to the animal, and smiling when it takes sit, though much more guardedly than when Galla offered the same.

“You hope it can guide us home?”

She chuckles, goes back to petting it, “I know he can.���

You stand there and watch Zephyr circle the longhouse, the cries louder once he sees you standing there. But all you can do is watch.

There was a girl, you don’t think you’ll ever forget her. You saw her first and last while working as a healer in some dusty city near Kufa. You were ambushed during the night, the cavalry of some enemy army broke past the defenses and were nearing the camp.

The hooves of their horses marched wildly over the dry earth, and Sieghild was cursing in her own tongue as she guided you both to the safety the soldiers provided.

But this girl, this thin and frail Arab girl, stood there, not moving, not breathing.

The ground trembled under the enemy’s might, the soldiers around you barked orders and prepared to defend, but she…she stood there, and watched them come.

Like she could keep time frozen in her small hands if she didn’t move, like she could hold on to life for as long as she held her breath.

You called for her. She still didn’t move. You screamed when the horses trampled her. She didn’t move again, and you didn’t even find her body in the aftermath.

And now you stand there in the small balcony, looking at the darkening sky like that wide-eyed girl looked at those incoming horses, frozen like she was.

You hear Zephyr’s call echo through the high skies of Kattegat and it sounds like the hooves of a hundred war horses wildly marching on cold ground.

You told Galla if she was ever to need you to send Zephyr to the skies, and you promised you’d be there. She needs you; they need you, and you promised you’d answer. You are their Anassa, their Hiereia; for the titles you bear and for your mother’s legacy it is your duty to answer their call.

Your hands tighten on the wooden railing, but still you turn your head to gaze into the dim light of your room, Ivar still resting on the bed you share. He trusts you; he loves you, and in another life you wouldn’t have hesitated to promise him forever. You are his wife, the woman he loves; for all the love you have for him you wish that you could be only that.

It was never Stithulf, it was never pomegranates; what forced a choice, what forced a change.

It was spring. From the first of its winds, it was spring what would force you to choose.

You just hoped winter would last.

____ ____ ____

....so yeah, s p r i n g.

What do you think will happen?

I might post 39 on tuesday just out of guilt for ending on a cliffhanger, but we’ll see.

Thank you so so much for reading, please let me know what you think!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss   @itsmysticalmystery​ @revolution-starter​ @chibisgotovalhalla​ @the-a-word-2214​ @fae-sedai​ @crazybunnyladysworld​@funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside​  

[toukenramblings]

Immortal Saniwa | Heshikiri Hasebe, Shokudaikiri Mitsutada, Yamatonokami Yasusada

Anon asked: may i have some hcs with hasebe, shoku, and yamatonokami with a technically-immortal saniwa who's cursed to life after a run in with an angry spirit? if they do the thing the spirit wants to, they'll die, but they've watched their family and friends die in front of them... so it's kinda up to them, now that they have a basically-immortal family of item spirits at their side. if this prompt is to depressing, feel free to skip it- no pressure :)

Nonnie, galaxy brain. I love you.

Warning: Mentions of death, sad sword bois, pretty short idk man im bad at this, nothing but angst, maybe hurt-comfort >:) @rexcaliburechoes​

Do allow me to set the stage, dear Saniwas.

Ah, pity thee, who is alive and alone for oh so long. Friends and family gone, aging and you never did. You held their hand as they passed, felt their pulses and hearts give out, watch as the light leaves their eyes and their spirits pass on.

How cruel it was for that spirit to curse you like this, know the pain of living on as the people you love pass. Tears gone, you had none left. Your heart almost hiding away.

Alone, and alone again. Why else did you sign up to become a saniwa. To isolate yourself away from the changing world, the mortal realm that only causes nothing but pain and sorrow. You were the first to sign up, you knew the citadel is a safe haven. Perhaps you could die this way? Throwing yourself into a fight that may seem endless? None of the less, you had a duty to do. a world to protect.

You didn’t want to make bonds, the government didn’t want you to. These are tools after all. But you are a kind soul and these men are just...wormed their damn way into your heart, unfreezing it, bringing it back to life, a garden growing in that once barren field.

And then that person showed up in your life.

Heshikiri Hasebe

He’s always had an inkling that you were...not normal. If you had gotten hurt, even if it was something minor, your wound would heal oh so rapidly. Of course, Hasebe would worry about your safety none the less but he cannot help but figure out that something is oh so terribly wrong with you. He won’t pry into your life but he will always tell you that if you want a shoulder to cry on, he is there.

Because it is because he is a tsukumogami and not human as well, he can pick up on the subtle..impurities around you. A curse. He could have Ishikirimaru purify it but it almost seems to hang around you, ingrained into your blood, weaving into your veins and tying itself to your soul. Somewhat similar to Nikkari’s aura but different all the same. They know that if they purify you, you’ll drop dead.

And then Hasebe’s feelings happen.

The fear he sees in your eyes when he confesses to you almost makes him want to shrivel away and die. He wants to take it back, run away and hide, but you almost do the same. You ask for time to think about this, and Hasebe will wait until the end of the world for you DAMN IT.

You two confess and of course you tell him about you being...pretty much immortal and Hasebe takes it surprisingly well. You are his master after all, he would say as he presses a kiss to the tip of your forehead. “It only means that we can stay together longer now, and I will forever be by your side.” it’s almost an oath at this point.

Every day you two have together is nothing short of bliss. Calm, comforting, drinking in every moment you two have. Hasebe has sworn not to die, to come back from missions and back to you. He will never perish, or let anyone else die when he is on a mission. He knows that you cannot handle such a thing, no damn way is he going to let it happen.

Oh sweet sweet Hasebe knows that he is a tool, and by the end of this long war that has span for far too long. He knows that by the end of this the government will be at your door, banging on the walls and demanding you to return the swords to the government where they belonged. He refuses to leave though. His home is at your side, come hell or high water. He will fight to the end of his breath to always be with you.

Hasebe will always be there if you want to talk, if you begin to cry, oh so gently will he wrap you up in his arms, shushing you and pressing sweetest of kisses to your head.

Those times when you have nightmares break his heart, he would rather face three thousand ootachis than to see you cry.

“I...do not know if you see it like this, beloved. But, I adore you, and as do the rest of the citadel. Please, if you allow us, will you allow us to be your new family?”

Shokudaikiri Mitsutada

Compared to Hasebe’s tiptoeing around the subject of your immortality, Micchan will kinda do the same? He will notice that you are so much more different and he knows that you are hiding something. He knows that feeling oh too well, look at himself and his scars and his eye. Gods know he is ashamed of those burns of his. He won’t push you to tell him anything and of course he will wait for you to come to him. Gods forgive anything that makes you push away from him. Of course he will give you treats, a bribe maybe? No, he just wants to let you know that he is there.

When you tell him that you are an immortal, Shokudaikiri’s first instinct is to hug you. He knows how it is to be oh so lonely and lost, seeing the lives of people disappear under the blink of an eye. The earthquake took many lives, and he knows that feeling of loneliness well. “I’m sorry.” he would whisper, a hand on your head. “I know how it feels to be lonely like that, but I am here for you, always.” was it a love confession? Perhaps. But he swears it right then and there, you will never feel lonely in this citadel ever again. Gods no, he won’t let it happen. He will rope everyone in the citadel into his shenanigans if he must.

When Micchan finds out about his feelings for you, he accepts it and waits for the right time to confess. When you return his feelings, Micchan is over the moon!!! Of course the relationship you two have is already pretty damn domestic so it’s not like anything changes much.

When you are ready to open up about your past, so will Micchan. He may take a lil bit longer because of his own issues of self worth but he is more than willing to support you all the way.

His first thought of you having a curse is for Ishikirimaru to do something about it, but since he worries that they would lose you, he won’t do it. Of course he will talk over it with you first.

With that vow of never having you feel lonely ever again, whenever he’s gone, he has someone look out for you. Be it a tantou or someone else you’re close to. 

Micchan also makes that vow to never let anyone else break while out on missions. If he has to take the brunt of attacks, damn right he will. Patch him up during this time, love, he’ll enjoy it.

Nightmares between you are a silent and almost sacred time. One of you will wake up with a scream, the other will jolt awake and hugs are soon passed between you two. Soft whispers, tears, tight embraces, and chatter of the past if you two are up for it. Micchan will hold you tight and comfort you as much as he possibly can.

Like Hasebe, Micchan knows that the end may be nigh for any of them. Be it death or taken away by the government. No way is he going to let any of this shit happen though.

“This is our family now,” he would say, while kissing your fingers. “It’s a little crazy and rowdy, but it is ours...do not forget that, love.”

Yamatonokami Yasusada

Oh Yams knows what death feels like, rusting away in the grass instead of being returned to Okita-kun’s family in the end. He knows what it’s like to see the world pass and people die, before joining them in the end. Even if he is you TouDan now, he still feels that phantom pain. So when he finds out that you’re practically immortal, Yams breathes out a heavy sigh of relief.

You won’t die from illness, bless everything in the world for that! You can be alive and don’t have to feel the pain of physically wasting away and cannot do anything about it. You cannot feel helpless as your mind slips, your eyes close, and everything shuts down. But instead the pain you feel is almost worse than what Yamatonokami felt. Yes he watched Okita-kun perish, right beside him, a slow and painful death. But you have seen it happen, over and over and over. At this point he cannot help but worry about you.

He won’t say much to alert you to this, but will always have his hand find yours and give it a soft squeeze and a gentle smile. Like Shoku and Hasebe, he will offer you a shoulder to cry on. He won’t push you of course, but will always be there for you. He’s much more verbal about it though, suddenly bringing you into a sweet hug and this sweet sweet smile.

He swore to not let anything happen to you like Okita, or worse. But when he catches damn feelings for you, oh no he panics. He begins to avoid you yes, just to sort things out. But when he confesses, it’s alone and sweet, with a bouquet of flowers and maybe with some sort of sentimental gift.

“I know it’s difficult being...immortal and all, but I never want you to feel the pain of death, physically at least. I want to be by your side for as long as I can! Will you...will you allow me to do so?”

Yams is much more outgoing than Hasebe and Shoku above, expect him and Kiyomitsu to be always around you, Kashuu because he wants your attention constantly, Yams because he’s your partner in love! Kashuu will get a weeeee bit jelly of how close you two are but as long as you two are happy, he is happy! Whenever Yams is gone, it’s always you and Kashuu to spend time together.

Yams considers everyone at the citadel his family anyway and will make sure to involve you more in their affairs. He wants you to be happy most of all!

Oh sweet sweet Yams’ nightmares are...almost soul rending. When he wakes up with a scream, he will almost claw at his skin to ensure that he isn’t rusting over, perishing into dust. He will be there if you have nightmares of the death of others and your past though, as said he never wants you to go through any sort of emotional turmoil from now on. He would rather rust away again than to let you cry like this.

The end of the fight scares Yams like no other. Like Kashuu, he does have some abandonment issues, since he was kinda left in a field to rot after all. So whenever he worries about this, he always takes your hand and promises that no matter what, he’ll be happy to spend his last days with you.

“I love you so so much! I...I don’t care what happens to us in the end, as long as I can be with you, I will be happy.”

[fuchsiagrasshopper]

Contending the Flame XII

Author’s note: I’m back after this chapter kicking my butt, I must have rewritten it three times until I was satisfied because it introduces many characters from the show and I wanted to get them just right. Not sure I’m happy with the result still, but yep, here it is. Enjoy lovelies!

Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word count: 5347

Warnings: The usual

King Harald's hall smelled like a fishmonger's home, and it was as inviting as a slave trader's ship. Sitting down to a meal with the man, Ivar tried to contain his displeasure at being there. It had been on Hvitserk's face since their ships had treaded through the carcasses of dead whales in the bay. Both the brothers managed to set aside their poor manners when they came face-to-face with Finehair, but it lingered in the backs of their minds, just like the bad smell.

Ivar was able to ignore the pleasantries and idle chatter that Harald was currently speaking. He was much more preoccupied with the dark-haired Queen on the throne adjacent to the King. Astrid, Lagertha's shieldmaiden and bed warmer, was sipping from her horn of mead while giving Harald loving looks. They were practiced and disingenuous, but they did not explain how she came to be here. Clearly not of her free will, but Harald was too besotted to notice her veiled contempt.

To Ivar's left sat Freydis, introduced as his personal thrall. He had gauged for any sort of inkling of familiarity to pass between her and Harald, but alas he only seemed to have eyes for his new Queen. Freydis was too cunning to give away anything on her part, and that left Ivar wondering if she was as great a deceiver as Loki, or that she hadn't been sent by Finehair to begin with.

That put his mind back on Lagertha and Kattegat. She must have been the one to send in a spy. She only cared for Bjorn, and she wanted all of the other sons of Ragnar to perish just like their mother. That was how he saw it anyhow, but he knew his brothers would disagree. They weren't as quick to take up arms against Ragnar's first wife as he was, and that made him feel bitterly alone.

Freydis continued to shower him with compliments and attention, and he lent into the treatment. He needed to keep her close until it was discovered who she was working with, but he was also missing you. She was a strange substitute for your place, holding none of the similarities that had endeared you to him. He was still frustrated by you revealing your name to Heahmund as well, and perhaps this was his way of acting out against you. It was a petty move considering you weren't even there to witness this ongoing dance with Freydis.

"If you were to help me conquer Kattegat," Harald said, catching Ivar's attention. "Would one of you want to be King?"

Hvitserk sent Ivar a look as if to say 'It's a trap'. Harald was looking for humble allies who wouldn't challenge his bid to be King of all Norway. He must not have understood the sons of Ragnar, or he was coming from a place that underestimated them.

"It is our home," Ivar replied vaguely.

"Of course, I understand your attachment. Your father was King before, and then your Queen mother. I respect your family, but Kattegat is also too important a location for trade. I would need it to fuel my war and feed my army. Whoever rules Kattegat must accept that his lead is to benefit me, a mutual working relationship."

"I'm sure that could be arranged," said Hvitserk.

Ivar nodded. "We would be accommodating to your plight."

"And what of Lagertha there now? Perhaps she could make me a better offer?"

If Harald had any sense, he would have noticed his Queen's false looks of adoration had ceased at the mention of Kattegat's current ruler. Ivar gave a smirk that was meant for Astrid.

"If she had anything to offer, she would have already done so," He said, reaching for more mead. "Our army has the numbers. Lagertha will die. She is a usurper and coward."

Astrid had to hide her foul look when Harald took her hand in his, but even through her blank stare could Ivar feel her loathing. Harald continued to stroke her fingers as he spoke. "And how will she die? I do not doubt your heart or courage Ivar, but Lagertha is a shieldmaiden worthy of Valhalla. You cannot achieve a victory hand-to-hand."

Freydis grabbed his hand beneath the table, and he wanted to smack it away. The frustration he felt at himself for not being able to challenge his mother's killer in single combat would always be his greatest failure. He could outwit the legendary shieldmaiden, but at the time of her death, he feared he would not be satisfied.

"I have my own way of getting to Lagertha, but first we need your answer. Will you fight alongside the sons of Ragnar?"

"I count only two of you," Astrid piped up. "Are the sons of Ragnar not of one mind? Where are Bjorn and Ubbe?"

Harald planted an obnoxious kiss on Astrid's mouth before she could turn. "My beautiful wife raises a good question. Where are your brothers?"

"Bjorn is our half-brother," Hvitserk said with a shrug, "And his intentions will always align with his mother."

"And Ubbe is a traitor. He sailed with a handful of our warriors to Kattegat," Ivar said, glad for the lie. His mind slipped to you for a moment, but he shook it away. He had refused to bring you here in person, but even in thought, it was dangerous. You were a distraction that could cause him to make a mistake or have poor judgement, through no fault of your own.

"Then I'm certain Lagertha will be anticipating our assault," Harald said with a frown.

"But she won't have an idea as to when. She knows we will bring the fight to her, but we have the advantage of time," Ivar pointed out, and he could feel Hvitserk's questioning look.

Harald let out a laugh. "You remind me of why I fought alongside your father. I cannot refuse the offer to join with the sons of Ragnar and their army now. Let us share a horn and thank the Gods we have this opportunity to become Kings."

The men each took a drink from Harald's own horn, and Ivar could feel Astrid's eyes following it as it was passed around the table. She was more cunning than he would have ever accredited her to be, which made her a threat to their plans moving forward.

"Tonight you shall sleep in my hall, and tomorrow we can discuss plans for our army."

'Our army'. He certainly wasted no time in claiming their men for his own. Ivar smiled through his irritation. Harald was watching for his reaction. He wasn't so distracted by his new Queen to have lost all sense when it came to a possible enemy.

"We'll take you up on that offer," Hvitserk piped up after the stretch of silence had grown uncomfortable.

"I will have my thralls prepare a room."

Ivar turned to Freydis. "You will assist them."

"Of course, Ivar." She stroked her hand lovingly down his arm.

The sensation shot a shiver down his spine, a reaction he couldn't help. He hated to think he was as weak-willed as his brothers when it came to blonde thralls, but his wavering resolve was laughing at him.

The table began to disband with Harald dragging the unfortunate Astrid back to his room. Ivar and Hvitserk returned outside and began to walk through the streets of Vestfold to return to their men. Hvitserk's mind was buzzing, and Ivar knew his brother had a word or two he wanted to get in.

"We can't go to war against Kattegat with Harald," He started at the moment they were alone. "We'd be betraying our own people, and Ubbe is there with our warriors."

"I know that."

Hvitserk didn't like how short of an answer he gave. "And (Y/N)'s there too. Have you forgotten that?"

"Of course I haven't," Ivar barked back. "But Lagertha is still my enemy, even if you've forgotten that. I can't allow her to live."

"She's my enemy too, brother. I know you loved mother, more than I did. But you also have to know she loved you more than any of us. If you say she didn't then you're either not as smart as I thought, or you're in denial."

Ivar knew it to be true. He knew it all too well when growing up. Ubbe and Hvitserk were closer in age and always together, leaving him alone. All he had to do was let out one small cry and mother would forget about Sigurd, the brother he should have been close to. It was something he exploited at the expense of the relationships with all of his brothers. He had a lot to make up for.

"If we can find a way to unseat Lagertha from the throne, then there would be no cause to go to war."

Hvitserk halted in his tracks as they made it to the docks. The boards were stained red and slick with the blood and oil from whales. Many of Harald's fishermen couldn't be bothered to spare the sons a second glance. They were preoccupied with loading their ships, huffing and puffing through the stink in the air that was not so foul out in the open.

"Please tell me you have a plan to do that," Hvitserk said in a hushed voice that was almost lost to the wind.

Ivar smirked back. "I didn't bring the Bishop along just to annoy you. We just have to get him to Kattegat to kill Lagertha before our army can arrive."

"You're willing to place all our hopes on that Christian?"

"He would do it for his freedom. What's one more dead heathen to him other than another purified soul gone from this earth?" Ivar said confidently. "Yes, brother, I am as certain he will do this as I am that Lagertha is the one to have sent Freydis to me."

Hvitserk was about to comment but was interrupted by an approaching presence that commanded the attention of the crowd. The previously busy workers stopped to part for her, but she was not flattered by the gesture. She marched with purpose, straight towards them, and Ivar gave a half bow in mocking as she arrived.

"Your majesty," He teased. "Not come to plead for mercy on Lagertha's behalf I hope. I have none."

Astrid's look was as dark as her hair, but she set aside her grievances to settle whatever she had come for. "No, Ivar. I have come in the hopes to make a deal with you."

"Really," He said, airing out his skepticism. "What do you want?"

She stepped closer, almost in a threatening display that had Hvitserk reaching for his knife. His concern wasn't unwarranted, as she was a shieldmaiden to Lagertha. Astrid eased her intensity while placing her hands up to signify no harm. "I want you to smuggle me back to Kattegat."

Both Ivar and Hvitserk shared a laugh, but she did not falter. She must be more miserable with Harald than Ivar had gleaned, but that wasn't his concern. "Why would we do that? There's great risk involved for us. Harald is obviously quite taken with you, and we'd be making an enemy of him because you have reservations about sharing his bed."

"I have information for you, regarding that woman by your side, the thrall."

Ivar's back straightened and he looked to Hvitserk with curiosity. This was the answer they had been searching for. "What do you know of Freydis?"

Astrid smirked. "She's a spy, but I'm sure you've already gathered that. I won't say anything more out here. Harald still doesn't trust me enough to not have me followed, and I won't give up what I know without a guarantee that you'll give me what I want."

"When then?" Hvitserk asked and he sounded as impatient as Ivar felt.

"Tonight, after Harald passes out from too much meat and drink. Make sure that thrall of yours is kept occupied as well. I shouldn't have to tell you not to trust a spy, but you're men, and I've seen the way you look at her," Astrid remarked while giving Ivar a pointed look. "Don't let me down sons of Ragnar. Your father lost many things towards his end, but never his integrity. I suspect the gods instilled the same in you."

Astrid departed and a group of guards followed after at a distance. It appeared she was correct about her limited freedom, and after saying much, Ivar wondered what else she was right about. She had given them much to think on at any rate, and he tried not to feel slighted at the comment about his apparent weakness for Freydis' beauty.

"Can we trust her?" Hvitserk asked at his side. They both took a seat on the ledge of the longship that had carried them in earlier that same day.

"She's desperate to return to Lagertha, and she knew Freydis was a spy without us feeding her that information. We'll have to hear her out first, but I suspect she's being honest about this."

"But not about her intentions once she's back in Kattegat," said Hvitserk. "Harald is being played by us and his Queen. Guess he isn't about to be King of all Norway any time soon."

"Thank the gods for that. I want to be in faraway lands when that happens," Ivar said with a smirk as his brother broke into a laugh.

"Then I'm coming with you. You'd be lost without me."

"I would," Ivar admitted, and it had a sobering effect on Hvitserk, who grew quiet beside him.

Truly, he didn't know where his fate would take him, but he knew it would be better if his brother was at his side. And you as well. Ivar closed his eyes and recalled your face, your laugh, and your kiss. You would be a free woman by now, and he hoped you wouldn't be too cross with him about that little stunt next time you met. He wanted to see you this very moment, but the distance made that impossible. For now, he would have to rely on his memories and hope that Niorun would bless him with dreams of you.

ooOOoo

You were alone again. This was nothing new since arriving in Kattegat. You wish you could say you knew more about the city, but all you had seen was the four walls of Audhild's cabin. She had left to take another trip into the market, and you had come close to begging her to take you with her. It seemed she and Ubbe were of the same mindset when it came to keeping you out of trouble, and you had no doubt it was Ivar's doing. Even an ocean away he was still in charge of your life and it was as endearing as it was infuriating.

The first thing Audhild had done for you was provide you with new clothes. The loose-fitted secondhand frocks no longer befitted your station as a free woman. You were given wool leggings and tunics, along with a belt that cinched around your waist. Ladies didn't wear trousers back in England, and it was taking getting used to. You often found yourself tugging and adjusting at the fabric, all while Audhild would shoot you queer looks.

As thanks for her setting you up with new garments, you would cook the meals for you both. It was a favor to both of you really, because, after the first night of eating her dry bread and burnt fish, you didn't think your stomach could handle the pain. You had even managed to learn how to properly butcher a rabbit, something you had never eaten back home.

Ubbe would pop around from time to time to see you, as well as keeping you both informed about the ongoing situation with Lagertha. For now the ruling Queen was content to let Ubbe stay among the people, though according to him she never passed up a chance to bring up questions about Ivar. That let him know her guard was still up, and she did not yet trust the elder son of Ragnar.

While you were glad for the updates, you couldn't shake the wavering disappointment about your newfound freedom. All of your knowledge about the people of Kattegat came from the words of Ubbe or your host, and you hadn't even met Ubbe's wife yet. So far being a free woman didn't feel any different than enslavement, and the growing loneliness was what pressed you to venture out on your own from the cabin.

You waited enough time to be sure Audhild hadn't turned back on her way into town before throwing on a pair of fur-lined boots and overcoat. You had no plan on where you were going, only that you wanted to see something of this new land that wasn't the inside of Audhild's cabin. England was all flat plains and rolling green hills, but Norway was jagged mountains and dark forests with cold rushing rivers. It had never crossed your mind that you would be interested in seeing new lands, probably because as a nun your only travels would have been to other cities and villages across England tending to the sick and spreading the word of God.

You headed out with Ivar's knife tucked into your belt and began to take the path eastward. You knew west would take you the way towards Kattegat, that was where Audhild had gone. As tempted as you were to see the market, you knew it could land you into trouble to meet more of the Northmen while alone for the first time. Your only mission today was to better acquaint yourself with the land.

The breeze felt wonderful on your face, and you had forgotten the taste of breathing fresh air. It was earthy and damp here, not like the iron and smoke of York. The bit of frost that was on the ground crunched beneath your boots. Winter came earlier this far north. You could see it in the grey of the sky that spelled snow. You hoped Ivar and Hvitserk would return before the waters froze over and that they would be bringing peace with them. Absurd! Letting out a breathy laugh, you remembered fondly that Ivar wasn't a peaceful being.

You missed him. At night after Audhild was snoring across the cabin, you would lie awake and stare at the ceiling, thinking of him. You didn’t understand what it meant, but your heart raced and your body grew restless at the mere thought of him. There was so much more that needed to be shared, and you were trying to compile everything in your mind so you would be ready for his return. You wouldn't call it love, not yet, but you knew you held affection for him and that put you at odds with your vows and God. In the eyes of the church, you were still a nun, though you hadn't thought of yourself as such for a while now. You still loved God, but you no longer wanted to be his bride.

"Oh!" You gasped in surprise when you realized you were somewhere new.

Your trekking had broken you out from the forest and out to a bank of the river. You could constantly hear it flowing back from the cabin, and you were excited about finding it. The water was crystal blue, and the surface current was slow and free over the rocks. A small house with a thatched roof sat by the shore, and there was a fire burning low in a pit outside. Someone was still nearby.

You started down the path towards the house while pondering who could want to live this far out from the town. You had thought Audhild was the furthest away. Hermits were common among the Saxons, so it wasn't unreasonable to assume the Northmen had their fair share. Not that you were judging them, in fact, it was for that reason that gave you the confidence to approach.

"Hello?' You called out as you rounded the fire. It was still warm, and you did the stranger a kindness by throwing a nearby log onto the pit. The flames immediately fed on the new fuel, spreading high into the air and sending a warmth through you that was welcome after your walk. You took another look around before kneeling down in the gravel to huddle closer to the fire. It seemed that no one was around for the moment, and that granted you the luxury of peace. Everything was so unfamiliar, every branch and rock different than what you had seen in England. You thought you would have missed home, or at least held a longing for it, but no. You couldn’t even summon a fondness for it now. What you missed wasn’t a place, but a person.

You became lost in the beauty of your surroundings that you didn't notice the stranger appearing from behind the home. He moved with impossibly quiet steps, and you weren't alerted to his presence until he was looming over you, blocking the light of the fire. You let out a yelp as you fell onto your backside in the gravel. The large man narrowed his eyes at you as you scrambled to your feet. If Ivar could see you now. He would be furious you had let your guard down enough to be snuck upon. Stay alive he'd said.

"Who are you?" The man asked, and his voice was softer than you expected.

"I'm Ólaug," You said, fighting the tremble in your voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were here."

His head tilted to the side, watching you with a keen stare that you had only felt from Ivar. "What do you want? Did Lagertha send you?"

"No, I don't know Lagertha."

"You don't know the Queen of Kattegat, shieldmaiden and first wife of Ragnar Lothbrok." You didn't answer and he let out an insouciant giggle. "You're a Christian."

The way he said it made it sound awful, and you hated the way it made you feel. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yes. It's your hair and the way you speak." The stranger started to sit down by the fire, a string of fish hanging over his shoulder. He dropped his catch at his side and pulled a knife from his belt, getting to work on cutting filets. "Sit down, betrothed woman," He pressed while pointing with his blade to the spot across from him.

"Excuse me?"

"What, are you deaf?"

You took a seat once more, but not because he had asked it of you. “Why did you call me that just now? Betrothed woman…”

“Your name, that’s what it means.” He continued to fling fish heads and bones into a pile, never giving you the courtesy of his attention.

Ivar had given you the name, and it suddenly clued in that it was made in jest. Bride of Christ was what he had first called you, and now 'betrothed woman'. You smiled to yourself, not entirely at odds with the moniker.

“How did you come here, Christian? You don’t look like a thrall.”

“I’m not,” You replied quickly, and you found that he had stopped his task of cleaning his fish to observe you. You did the same in return. He was older and battle-worn judging by his stiff movements when he had sat down. His light hair was wispy and tied back in one long braid, and his rangy frame was draped in a brown fur pelt. You thought his eyes were sad. “What’s your name?”

“Floki.”

You were sure Ivar had mentioned him in passing, but you couldn’t recall when. “Alright, Floki. I was a thrall, but I was freed recently. I came from York with Ubbe Ragnarsson.”

"Ubbe has returned? Then he has abandoned Ivar."

You didn't know what Floki's connection was to Lagertha, so you didn't correct him on his assumption about the brothers being apart. "You are close with the sons of Ragnar?"

"Of course. They are the offspring of the greatest man I've ever known and my brother. They are kin," He said and his face was alive with passion. "And you must be connected to them. Was it Ivar who also freed you after giving you that knife?"

You looked down at the weapon on your belt, feeling flustered. "How do you know about the knife?"

"I taught that crippled brat everything he knows. I recognize his skill and craft in that blade," said Floki shaking his head. "That boy, so much like his father."

"Don't call him a cripple."

Floki's eyes shot to you and there was that giggle again. "Oh, and you're defensive of him as well. Are you his betrothed woman?"

The fire you sat beside could never warm you as much of those words just then. You knew you were red up to your ears, but you tried to deny whatever he was implying regardless "I'm not his anything."

"Then why did he set you free?"

You hadn't even admitted to him that Ivar had done so, but he had already decided that was the truth. He was still as a tree, the fish forgotten in the long line of your conversation. You felt unnerved by him as if everything about you was exposed to him like a gaping wound, and you had never been so relieved to be interrupted when a voice called out from above the path.

"Floki!"

It was Ubbe, looking out of breath and panic-stricken as he dashed down towards you. A blonde woman was trailing behind him, appearing displeased to be dragged this far out into the bush. She must be the wife.

You and Floki both stood as Ubbe came to the fire. He turned to you first, and you anticipated a lecture. "Why did you leave Audhild's cabin? I'm supposed to keep you safe. You can't wander off when you don't know the land or its people well enough."

"I would if you let me," You retorted while feeling humiliation for being scolded in front of Floki.

"Don't fret Ólaug," Floki interjected while planting a firm hand on Ubbe's shoulder. "He's only concerned to find you here because he thinks I'll kill you like I did Athelstan."

Ragnar's monk. Your eyes widened with surprise and fear, all while the two men shared a grin and embraced.

"Thought you'd gone on to lands unknown," Ubbe said to Floki as they parted.

"The Gods brought me home. They have something for me to do here yet," He said while looking back at you. "She is Ivar's woman?"

Ubbe turned to you with a grin and you looked down, not liking the attention. "You'll have to ask him. He's in Vestfold with Harald."

"Planning on Lagertha's demise then."

"Is that a problem for you?" Ubbe asked, becoming serious.

"Lagertha has been my friend for a long time, but your mother was also. She had such a connection to the gods." Floki's head pulled up to the sky as if a string was attached tugging forth to some greater presence. "Neither of them should have ever suffered over Ragnar. A great King and a true Viking, but a poor husband. Something I hear Bjorn has inherited."

You noticed Ubbe's face flush, and he brushed his hand down his neck. "Well, I know Ivar is set on revenge, and I don't know if there's anything that can change his mind."

By then Ubbe's wife had caught up to their circle, and you got the impression she wasn't pleased to be left behind. She was dressed in a thick red robe with fur trim, and her long hair was twisted onto her head like a crown. You wondered if all the women of Kattegat were blonde and beautiful, and you ran your fingers through your short hair. Ivar had said it was ugly when you first met. Vanity had suddenly become a trouble for you and you didn't like it.

Ubbe must have noticed you staring at his woman, and he quickly brought an arm around her to introduce her into the group. "Ólaug, this is my wife, Margrethe."

"Hello," You greeted, and as you waited for her reply, she took one long surveying look at you that ended with her nose wrinkled and her mouth puckered.

"Hello," She said shortly.

You wouldn't be making a friend out of her anytime soon, and you weren't bothered by that. She was as unpleasant as she was gorgeous, and Ubbe sent you an apologetic shrug for her frosty demeanor.

"I need to get you back to Audhild's before she wonders where you are," Ubbe explained and you nodded.

You were ready to conclude your first adventure, but you decided that you would want to speak to Floki again. He seemed to know a great deal about the sons of Ragnar and everything else that went on in Kattegat, and you wanted to poke his brain for more information that could help you grow as a free woman. You turned to the older Viking and squared your shoulders.

"Can I come back to see you?"

Floki laughed at a dazed Ubbe. "See, she's curious. I expected that from any woman of Ivar's."

At the mention of him, Margrethe recoiled further into Ubbe's side and sent you a scathing glare. You stared back at her with vacant eyes until she became uncomfortable and craned her neck towards the woods. Her escape.

"Betrothed woman," Floki interrupted, taking your hands in his massive ones. "You are a Christian, and I hold no love for your God or people. I've killed hundreds of your kind, and one who held the love of my King. But you have sailed on our ships and left your lands, and came out free on the other side. Our gods favor you as much as my dear Ivar, and I will speak to you again."

"Thank you," You whispered.

He smiled back for a moment, and you thought the perpetual melancholy that surrounded him had lifted in a brief respite. It returned as he dropped your hands, and he started to flick his wrist back and forth in a waving motion. "Now leave me alone. All of you."

Ubbe tugged on your coat sleeve to get you moving, and when you turned to join him, you spotted Margrethe up ahead.

"Sorry, she's not always like that," He insisted as he noticed your look.

No Ubbe, you thought, she most certainly was always that way, but he was too besotted with her looks to realize. Whatever was going on in his marriage wasn't your business, and you kept quiet by his side as he led you back to Audhild's cabin. You were impressed that you could have remembered the way if Ubbe hadn't been at your side. Something about the nonlinear path had felt familiar, and you were already looking forward to walking it again.

Your last thoughts before you slept were of Ivar, an ocean between you and with so much more to say. You wanted to tell him about Floki and talk with him about his mother. You wanted to be back at his side. He was such a large part of where your life had turned, and now that he had left you alone in this strange place you felt brittle and forgotten.

You refused to be overlooked as another Christian brought into their midst or condemned for being Ivar's woman when you weren't even sure if that was your place. Whatever your feelings for him were, they meant nothing if you couldn't secure your own station among the Northmen. That night you vowed to God, their gods, and yourself that you would become strong of heart and embrace your new life alongside the heathens. All life came with sacrifice and war, and whatever nightmares you would be forced to face, you would conquer them.

Taglist

@pomegranates-and-blood @siren-queen03 @peachyboneless @didiintheblog @soleil-dor @zuxiezendler @pieces-by-me @xbellaxcarolinax @heavenly1927 @everyartistwas-firstanamateur @youbloodymadgenius @xceafh @strangunddurm @shannygoatgruff @1950schick @tgrrose @castielsangelsx @rose1729 @ladynightshade30 @mlchael-guerin @dangerouspsychicgardenflower @ritual-unions-gotme @readsalot73 @lonewolf471 @poisonous00 @alytavzla @snatcherheart

[thotful-writing]

Descending into Darkness (2)

Summary: A wave of confidence, or more like stupidity, overtakes you and you learn a hard lesson.

Read on AO3

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

Words: 4.9k

Warnings: Force choking, Force fingering?, Slapping, Degradation, NSFW

A/N: I just really want Kylo to step on me and use me however he wants. Hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

Kylo made a habit of using your mouth whenever he saw fit. After a difficult day of tracking Resistance members, terrorizing the other members of the First Order, and any other time that he felt the inkling. Your throat was sore, and your jaw ached from overuse. Your fingers traced the small bruises along your cheeks from his harsh grip as you looked at yourself in the mirror. There was the assumption that this wasn’t exactly the norm for most people, not in the way of initial sexual experiences, but you really didn’t have a frame of reference for it and Kylo wasn’t eager to divulge advice or assistance. You didn’t hate his callousness, but it would’ve been nice to talk to someone about what was happening.

“Pet.” He called out from the door, making your heart beat faster with eagerness and a little bit of reluctance.

You stepped out of the bathroom and made your way towards him, trying to gauge his current mood when your eyes fell on him, but you came up empty. He didn’t look particularly angry, but honestly it was difficult to tell with the way he hid every emotion.

“Not everyone is as overly expressive as you. Come.” He snapped his fingers, making you move a little faster.

He led you over to the couch, the usual place for your use. You started to notice a little wear on the spot he usually sat, which made you wonder if he was using you more than he had anyone else or if he had different places for them all.

“Sir?” You said softly as you stood before him, already knowing what he wanted.

“Kneel.” He ordered simply as he worked to unbutton his pants.

You stripped and lowered yourself, wincing at the bruises on your knees as they touched the hard floor, “sir, is there- I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I just- It’s-“

“Spit it out.”

“My mouth needs a break. And my knees.” You blurted and shifted uncomfortably.

Kylo’s brow furrowed, “are you denying me what’s mine to use? My property?”

Your eyes widened at the realization you’d messed up. You quickly began back pedaling. The look on his face showed no signs of mercy and fear began to settle in at the realization that you were probably about to die.

“N-No, sir. I didn’t mean that- I just meant that my jaw hurts and I thought I could help you in another way?”

“Always so focused on your own needs. Selfish little pet.” He chastised you with the click of his tongue.

Your cheeks flushed and you immediately felt guilty, even though you knew it wasn’t true. Your needs had never even been discussed or mentioned in any fashion. It was always about him, about his comfort and pleasure.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- The discomfort isn’t that bad.” You reached for his zipper.

He pushed your hands away, “no, I wouldn’t want my pet to be uncomfortable. You need to rest your mouth.”

It felt like you’d stepped into some alternate universe where he was actually concerned for your wellbeing? But that couldn’t be possible. You stared at him confused while he buttoned his pants back up. You wanted to protest again, but his whole demeanor changed in a split second. His ever changing moods were dizzying.

“In fact, I have just the thing to help you keep that mouth of yours from overexertion.” He stood up and stepped over you, heading into his room.

You remained in the floor, wondering what he could possibly have that would help you and why the sudden change in him. Everything about it was odd and it left you feeling uneasy. He returned shortly, his hand behind his back, which only added to your unease.

“Up.” He motioned with two long fingers.

You obeyed quickly, not wanting to nudge his mood in a different direction by being slow.

He stepped around behind you, “open your mouth.”

Again, you obeyed and opened your mouth slightly, still completely lost. His hands came around in front of you as he placed a thick, leather strip in your mouth and pulled the ends back around your head. Your tongue laved over it as he secured it tightly. It didn’t force your mouth open wide, but it kept it open enough for the ache in your jaw to throb and effectively kept you from being able to speak. The cold buckles on either side of the piece of leather pressed into your cheeks. He spun you around and adjusted it in your mouth, wiping away some saliva that spilled out.

“There. Now, when you think you’re ready to fulfill your duties again, just think real hard, ‘I’m done being selfish, Master.’ And I’ll remove it.”

“Bmhm-“ Your words were nothing but mumbled nonsense followed by the sound of you trying to suck the spit back into your mouth.

It was uncomfortable, not just the way it forced you to hold your mouth open, but the rough edges of the leather bit into your skin. There were almost a million questions that buzzed around your mind, but only one seemed to stick out to him, how many other girls had he done this to?

“More than I care to count.” He answered.

You fully regretted complaining. And thinking. It was tiring being on guard all the time around him. At one point you had bounced between both ends of the spectrum, deciding not to think anything at all and then deciding to not care if he heard you. Both ended badly for you. He questioned why you were silent, prodding into your mind until it hurt and finding his answer. He also punished you swiftly for the unspoken words that flitted through your mind, which was even worse.

He let you return to your chores, the rest of your duties proved to be a little more challenging than you thought they’d be, after all, it was only your mouth that was gagged. But you continuously had to wipe away drool from your chin, which slowed you down. By the sixth hour of wearing the gag you were fully frustrated. The top of your dress was damp with your own saliva that you’d long since stopped caring about and the edges of the leather had begun cutting into the corners of your mouth.

Your feet carried you to his room as you sighed in defeat. A little discomfort from him fucking your mouth was better than this prolonged torture. His door opened before you could tap on it and he stood before you, glaring down at you.

“Something you need, pet? Maybe a break from all your hard work?”

You shook your head and tried to speak, but it came out in a string of mumbles and the sound of your mouth filled with spit that had collected on your tongue.

I’m done being selfish, Master. You thought to yourself as you looked up at him.

Kylo crossed his arms, “spit it out, I don’t have all day.”

You couldn’t tell if he was making a joke or not, but decided he wasn’t because Kylo Ren didn’t joke. At least not in the normal way. You repeated the words again in your mind and waited.

“Are you just going to stand there?” He asked.

After repeating it again and again, you finally caught on to what he was doing. He heard you, he heard every word, but he was choosing to ignore it. Which was more frustrating than the gag. If he wasn’t going to remove it himself, then you would. You reached behind your head, feeling for the buckle yourself.

“Ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He warned but did nothing to stop you.

Your fingers trembled as you found the buckle, hesitating on the precipice of easing your suffering by removing the gag, or possibly increasing it at the hands of Kylo. Challenging him was beyond stupid, but you never were one for intelligent decisions. You unhooked the buckle and pulled the gag from your mouth, keeping your eyes locked on his as you did.

The way he shifted his jaw as he stared down at you made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end and anxiety unfurl in your gut. It was nothing for him to make a snide comment, degrade you, or use a condescending tone, but his facial expression struck more fear in you than anything.

“Selfish and defiant, hm?” He barely twitched his fingers, and you felt the Force shoving you down on your knees in front of him.

“Stay, pet.” He sneered before leaving you there.

You heard the main door open and close, but when you tried to move your limbs were still completely restrained. You let out an anxious breath, chastising yourself for what you’d done. You couldn’t just suffer with the gag or let him fuck your mouth, you just had to defy him. Every few minutes you tried to move again, but it was pointless, not even an inch gave way.

The main door opened again and closed, signaling his return, along with his heavy footsteps and another pair of feet. You strained to try and turn your head, curious who he would bring with him.

“Come.” He called for you, stern voice making you jump.

You tried to stand but you were forced back down on your knees. You tried again and again, but each time your knees refused to lift off the floor.

“Rude pets don’t get to stand.” He answered your confusion.

You placed your hands on the cold, hard floor in front of you and moved along with your knees skimming the sleek surface. It felt humiliating to be crawling around on your hands and knees, especially if there was someone else in the room with him. You rounded the corner and stopped when you saw him and the Sergeant from before. She looked almost as annoyed as he did.

“You made your decision to defy me, now she’ll pay for it.” He said as he stalked over to the couch, unbuttoning his pants.

“Wait, I’m sor-“ Your throat constricted suddenly.

“Too late for that.” He returned his attention to her as she stripped in front of him.

You held the assumption that you were going to be forced to watch while he fucked her mouth just as harshly as he’d done to you, but that wasn’t his only plan. Suddenly you were forced upright on your knees, your hands being restricted behind your back as he relaxed the tightness around your throat. He didn’t look at you, not even a glance in your direction. His gaze was fixed on her as she let her clothes pool at her feet.

He commanded you both with ease, without question. It couldn’t have just been his skill with the Force, she followed without it’s coercion and you tended to him without it for the most part. There was something about him, his mere presence was felt overbearing, heavy, intense, forcing you down to your knees and begging for more.

She leaned forward, touching him more than you were allowed to, which picked at the jealous parts within you. Her hands slid up his thighs and slowed just enough to outline the prominent bulge straining against the fabric of his pants. She tugged at the waistband of his pants and she pulled his cock out, already hard and dripping with need. He kept you in the perfect place where you had a front row view to everything she did to him. As you watched you felt a heat pooling between your thighs and immediately tried to squeeze them together, but they were forced open wider.

“Seems like my pet has needs.” He spoke as she flicked her tongue over the tip of his cock, “does she deserve relief?”

“No, sir.” She said before dragging her tongue up the underside of his cock.

You jolted when you felt the Force rubbing against your clothed center, firm and unforgiving as it grazed your clit. You glanced up at him, noticing that same furious look in his eyes from before, the one that always made you shudder. He hadn’t touched you there, not yet, and it seemed to be part of his plan. He had denied you any reprieve for so long, you were undeniably sensitive and overwhelmed with need the second you were touched by even a ghost of an entity. He knew this, he knew how much you ached for him and anything he would give you, which made this even more enjoyable for him.

A whimper got stuck in your throat as you noticed the methodical movement of his long fingers, moving in sync with the Force that tortured you so perfectly between your thighs. It felt solid, but not; moving fluidly and leaving your body trying to grind against nothing. You knew how pathetic you looked, how weak he probably thought you were for keening into nothing and pleading for him.

Kylo grabbed her braided hair and wrapped it around his fist as he forced her mouth down around him more. She choked softly but seemed to recover much quicker than you did. She obviously had more skill than you. He made a point to be more vocal this time, grunting and groaning as his cock hit the back of her throat. His cruelty on full display as he held her head down, her hands gripping the fabric of his pants roughly as she struggled for a breath. He turned his gaze to you and used his other hand to control the Force that caressed you so deliberately. His eyes burned through you, expression still so stoic and full of the rage that burned within him.

“M-Master…” You whined as he kept you teetering on the brink, calling him that had become habit and rolled off your tongue without hesitation.

There was a malice in his actions, using her and making her suffer at your expense while you watched with pleasure rolling through your body. He was proving that your defiance didn’t just affect you and that he could and would do whatever it took to remind you of that fact. He pushed you close to your release, then yanked you back. Over and over. Again and Again. Keeping you on a short leash. You’d feel that tightness winding, winding more and more, until you were sure it was all about to come crashing down, but he refused to give you the satisfaction of the crash.

“Defiant. Insolent. Pathetic little slut.” He seethed through gritted teeth as he set a harsh pace with her, grabbing her head and holding her still while he thrust up into her mouth.

The Force wrapped around your throat again and sild beneath the drenched fabric of your panties, sweat forming along the crease of your brow. You gasped when it split and slid along your slick fold, pinning your clit between the absent entity. With each passing second the Force became tighter and tighter around your throat, cutting off your airways completely. The lack of oxygen made your head begin to swim along with your constant denial of anything pleasurable.

Her hands gripped his knees as she struggled, her garbled moans mixed with your whimpering, only driving him further and harder. He continued to spew an onslaught of degradation at you, ignoring her presence aside from the use of her mouth and throat to push him over the edge as he let go. He came with a growl, his hands tightening in her hair and the Force immediately ceasing all actions against you. You collapsed with your hands on the floor in front of you, ragged breathing as your body buzzed with need and sweat dripped down your cheeks.

“Leave.” He shoved her back roughly.

She gasped for air as she wiped her mouth of his cum and her saliva. She remained silent, unless he asked her a question. Everything about her was confusing and curious at the same time. You wanted to ask questions, or at least know her name, but that wasn’t happening anytime soon. She made quick work of getting dressed again, glancing in your direction as she hurried out.

He adjusted himself and strode over to you, “remind me why I keep you if I can use the Sergeant without complaints or a smart mouth.”

You peered up at him, words failing you. There was no reason for him to have you there, he seemed to hate your very existence and it wasn’t like he didn’t have her at his disposal. You really didn’t know why he kept you. It wasn’t like you had any discernible skills that he really needed.

“Self-loathing will get you no pity from me. Up.” He ordered.

You stood up on shaky legs, your panties and thighs soaked from his previous torture, rubbing coldly against you.

“I bought you so I could use you whenever I wanted, but so far you’ve been nothing but a disappointment. An impetuous little virgin with the sense of a Bantha.” He sneered.

The moment called for silence, from your mouth and your mind, and if you really didn’t have a death wish then you would’ve remained quiet. Maybe it was the harshness of his words, the drawn-out punishment with the gag, or the denial of an orgasm, but something inside of you snapped. The urge to challenge him again was overwhelming and the words flowed before you could force them back down your throat.

“Imagine my disappointment meeting the Kylo Ren only to find out he throws temper tantrums like a child.”

The resounding sharpness of his large hand coming into contact with your cheek made you yelp, your hand immediately moved to cover the stinging skin. The instance replayed through your mind in slow motion, his large, gloved hand striking you without warning. You could feel the pure heat radiating off the mark, knowing it would remain as a reminder for days to come. Your eyes watered as tears threatened, his chest heaving with a furious scowl fixed on you.

“Anything else you’d like to say?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek and shook your head. He had never hit you before, nothing even close besides the roughness of his grip when he jerked you around or shoved you away. It was clear now that he had no problem hurting you and your safety wasn’t secured just because he paid for you.

“Good. I don’t want to see you again today.” He pushed you aside before leaving his quarters completely.

Everything that had transpired began to weigh on you as you slunk back to your room. He could’ve killed you in that moment, over what you’d said, and he wouldn’t have thought twice about you. He would’ve moved on to using the Sergeant more often or sent out his officers for someone to replace you. You meant nothing to him and that in itself seemed to sting a little more than the handprint on your cheek. You curled up on your cot and decided to sleep until you woke up from the nightmare that had become your life.

My sweet little pet. So needy for your master. Kylo caressed your cheek with the back of his hand, cool leather easing the pain.

“Up. Now.” His booming voice jerked you out of your dream.

You turned over, squinting at the blinding light from the hall and trying to wake up fully, “what is it?”

“I didn’t ask you to question me. Get up. Put your clothes on.” He snapped.

You got dressed quickly and shuffled out of your room to find him standing in the living room waiting for you. As usual, his face gave nothing away as to if he was going to punish you some more or if he was going to snap your neck instantly. At this point you weren’t sure which one you would’ve preferred.

“Don’t take this as a threat, because it’s not, it’s a certainty. If you say one word, your suffering will be far worse than anything you’ve experienced thus far. Am I clear?”

You opened your mouth but quickly closed it before just nodding your head. He let out a frustrated sigh as he opened the main door and stepped outside, meaning for you to follow him. You took a timid step out, realizing you hadn’t left his quarters since the first day you were brought there. He gave no explanation as to where you were going, and he made no move to slow down for you. His long strides had you almost jogging to keep up.

You looked around, trying to take in the scenery, or what there was of it, but he continued so fast that you were barely able to fix your eyes on any one thing. The corridors all looked the same and you knew if you were alone you’d probably get lost, which brought you some comfort in at least being led around by Kylo. Officers of different ranks walked by, nodding to the Commander and offering nothing more than a curious glance in your direction. You wondered if they knew who or what you were, or if there were only a select few that had any idea.

He turned down another long corridor and stopped outside two large doors with a sign on the side that read med-bay. You peered up at him, utterly confused since you weren’t sick and there wasn’t exactly anything they could do about the bruise on your face.

“Not a word.” He warned again with his gloved finger pointed at you.

The doors whirred open and he ushered you inside with him. It was bright and clean, everything in it’s place. The only thing you had ever seen that was close to this was back on Tatooine, although the equipment was outdated and very unsanitary. It was better to just try and clean a wound yourself instead of going to see the junker that called himself Doc.

There were robotic arms attached to the ceiling with fine, razor thin blades attached, which made you worry a little more. Just as you were starting to think he had brought you there to have your vocal cords removed, a rustling from the back room caught your attention.

“C-Commander.” A small, anxious looking man in a white uniform approached the two of you, his eyes nervously flitting to you for a split second.

“She needs a birth control implant.” He said as a matter of fact, like you’d discussed it before.

Your eyes shot up to him, completely confused since you weren’t actually having sex with him and you were certain you would be dead within the next few minutes. He completely ignored your look and your thoughts as he kept his attention on the doctor.

“I-I see and is she- are you um… active… sexually?” He seemed completely frightened by Kylo’s presence, which appeared to be the norm around there.

“Yes.” Kylo answered for you.

“Alright. Th-Then we’ll need to do a quick pregnancy test first, just to-“

“No. It’s not necessary. Just the implant. Now.” Kylo kept his tone and answers short, you assumed it was to avoid further questions.

The doctor nodded nervously and led you over to one of the leather chairs near a small metal table with all kinds of different tools and syringes.

“P-Please, have a seat.” He offered to you.

You sat down, feeling Kylo’s gaze burning through you without even looking at him. Your mind was swimming, why was he bringing you here now? Was he planning on actually fucking you? Did you want him to fuck you after he slapped you? As usual, you had no answers to anything.

“Place um… your arm here on the table, please.” The doctor said as he moved around you, grabbing different tools and sitting them next to you. He rolled his stool around in front of you as he placed a small vial into what looked like a blaster with a thick needle on the end.

“Where was your last implant placed?” He asked.

You opened your mouth but remembered the warning. You settled for shaking your head, hoping he understood you.

“I see. S-So this might hurt a little, some stinging after it’s placed. It works immediately so you can- um… If you notice any pain over the next few days after placement then come back. Questions? Oh, um probably not.” He sighed as he placed his hand on your wrist, holding your arm down.

You glanced back when you heard a faint growl come from Kylo, wondering what he was objecting to and if it had anything to do with the doctor’s hand on your arm. You turned back around to watch the doctor as he worked. His eyes seemed to move nervously from your arm to the very evident handprint on your cheek. You knew he wanted to ask, but he could obviously make his own assumptions on what happened.

“Deep breath and… one… two…” He hit the button on three.

You gasped as the needle prodded its way beneath your skin and injected the small, cylindrical object. Expletives sat on the tip of your tongue as it started to burn, but you held them back, fearing punishment would be worse than the pain you felt in that moment.

“Done. R-Remember, if you feel any discomfort in the next few days then come b-back.” He sat the device back on the table next to you.

“Come.” Kylo said as you gave the doctor a barely half ‘thank you’ smile.

You stood and followed him back out of the med-bay. As you walked behind him your fingers grazed the device beneath your skin, feeling it, trying to get used to the thought of having something foreign just beneath your skin. You had more questions about the process and if this was permanent or if it would wear off in a few months or if there was a failure rate and what that percentage might be. Also, the main question, was Kylo going to fuck you?

As the questions barreled through your mind like they were TIE fighters, you ran right into a wall of a person. You glanced up, thinking it was Kylo, but it was far from him. Your eyes fell on a very orderly looking man with a scowl fixed on his face as he stared down at you, almost as disgusted as Kylo looked at you.

“Who are you? Where did you come from?” He eyed you up and down with a sneer, his hand resting beneath your chin as he turned your face, eyeing your bruise.

“I-I’m-“ You looked around for Kylo, finally seeing him striding back towards you, full furious expression fixed on his face.

He grabbed your arm and jerked you away from the man, “she’s mine, General Hux.”

You paused, looking up at him, fixating on the word he used to describe you. Mine. He could’ve said you were with him, or that he owned you. But he chose that word. His grip tightened around your arm, signaling for you to silence your thoughts.

“Ren. I should’ve known. Next time keep your…vagrants on a shorter leash.” He snapped, glaring at you as you tried to move behind Kylo.

“I’m certain all the blame isn’t solely on her, were you not watching where you were going, General? Seems negligent.” Kylo said, almost defending you.

“Watch it, Ren, or would The Supreme Leader like to hear about your little friend?” Hux grinned slyly.

“Go ahead, I’m sure he’d enjoy the interruption with something so menial. You might even be promoted for it.”

The General narrowed his eyes at Kylo, “just stay out of my way.”

Kylo pulled you with him as he headed down the corridor. He kept his grip tight on your arm as he walked, remaining silent. You hated that you couldn’t read his thoughts, it would definitely make things a little easier for you. He was walking faster than before, your feet barely keeping up with him.

He entered the code to his quarters and the second the doors opened he had you pinned against the wall next to it with his hand around your throat, his lips pressed to yours in a searing kiss. You gasped into his mouth, caught off guard by the sudden attack and the first kiss you’d received from him. It was harsh, rough, his teeth clashing against yours as he bit and nipped at you. Fingers dug into your throat, gripping harder as if he was making sure you stayed put.

You’d never been this close to his face before, the urge to touch him or run your fingers through his hair was overwhelming. Instead, you kept your hands clenched by your sides, worrying you’d ruin it. A heat rose from the pit of your stomach up to your cheeks as you kissed him back. A low growl emanated from his chest as he seemed to hesitate in pulling away. You leaned forward for more but caught yourself before you fell against his chest.

“I own you. No one touches you again, understand?” He squeezed your throat a little tighter until you nodded your understanding.

It was in that moment that you knew you were doomed, that this was it for you. Your survival no longer at the forefront of your mind, but having more of the intensity he was wrapped in. With one touch of his lips he had you completely brainwashed, addicted to whatever came next.

[utterlyinevitable]

1, 3, 7, 17, 33 for both E x B and E x O from the useful/fun character development questions for couples please! Thank you ❤️

> useful/fun character development questions for couples <

1. What, specifically, was the catalyst for their physical attraction (if applicable) to the other character? In other words, what in particular had them like “Oh, they’re…hot…”

Rebecca has eyes so that was the initial catalyst for her. She’d let Whoever this dark and stormy handsome giraffe was dick her down. 

Ethan won’t admit it but that evening of her first day when she bought him a drink is when he would really let himself be attracted to her, if only for 15 minutes. Then undeniably after the Dolores case he was fucked. That night he inquired about her tattoo at her wrist and she told him the story behind it. Not only was the ink hot but also her mind behind it.

Ethan was initially attracted to Odette that first day, she has all the qualities of women he normally entertain. But then she seemed really put off by him and that kind of turned him off a bit. He started getting the stirrings again after her trial towards the beginning of book 2 when they became more friendly - who else would he occasionally text on his sabbatical besides his dads? The way she just cared for him and treated him like a person and not like just a mentor or the man on the pedestal everybody believes him to be. She intellectually spars with him but in the most delightful ways and that gets him in his feels. She just seems to be always there. The whole Louise drama is when he solidified that he’s attracted and has romantic feelings for her. 

One day at impromptu brunch they’re talking and laughing and the light is hitting just right and Ethan is smiling and looking at her and something in her just kind of melts. In that moment she knew that they were much more than they were pretending to be.

3. By contrast, what was the moment that first made their ~heart~ Soft for the other person? Not necessarily a conscious realization of “I love this person,” but a moment that had them like “Oh…I adore them…”

The feeling of total adoration hmmm... 

Ode was after her trial and they were having a drink and just a good time maybe? They’ve both been through a lot the last few weeks and they’ve come out of it as friends. 

Ethan after seeing everything she did for Naveen and for him was a start to this girl being a fixture in his life. He became very fond of her then. But the big smack in the head (or to the heart) was the Louise drama. He couldn’t have come through without her, and she didn’t need to be so sweet nor did she need to be taking care of him again. But she does. Because she’s always there, and she cares. Even if she doesn’t say it, even if he’s still quite sure that she cannot stand him most of the time, she’s by his side holding him up. 

Odette really couldn’t tell you when she went from I know this guy is my friend I’ll keep him to I know I like him much more than my other friends. I’m assuming it would be at some point during all of the events they go to together and just all the time they spend together. Where she starts slowly, gradually falling for him in deep adoration. Most notably hitting her heart is when she gets the keyboard - that changed everything. Followed up by the night of the charity auction where they just walked around the local area of Boston and grabbed a bite to eat at a dive they both joked they needed to make up for in the morning, in their formal get ups and just had a lovely evening.

Rebecca fell in deep adoration with him in the moments they spend pouring over Naveen’s case. His passion and they way he talked about medicine with bright eyes and a crooked boyish smile had her heart melting. These moments were also just theirs - no one knew they were spending all this extra time together. 

Is it weird to say Ethan realized he adored her whilst in the Amazon? Distance makes the heart grow fonder and whatnot. Which is also why he’s a total asshole to her when he comes back - he needs to fight this feeling with anger. Repress repress repress! 

7. Do they (or would they) pursue the other character’s affection, and if so, how? Do they tell the other character how they feel? Try to earn their admiration? Woo them with romantic gestures? Flirt with them, skillfully or otherwise?

Becca continually pursues Ethan even when she’s ‘seeing’ Bryce - her heart is always with Ethan. She tells him in not so many words but she refuses to say I love you. That’s one thing she will never let him have hanging over her head - she’s embarrassed herself enough by believing him again and again that saying the words out loud could break her/them. She wants it to be his choice if they’re going to be that romantic with one another. She flirts with him naturally and not artfully most times. And Ethan takes it all; he enjoys it even if he knows he can’t go any further than these little quips.

Ethan doesn’t pursue Becca’s affections (he says, he caves a few times and refuses to acknowledge them). He pretty much denies them at every chance he can throughout second year and the beginning of first. As long as he’s employed at Edenbrook they can’t be anything and he stands by that. But then the toxin happens and he can’t not pursue her. Not anymore. Not since she broke up with bryce for him and he shut her down again. Not when she nearly died in his arms. Although he doesn’t want the affections at the beginning, he seeks it out so he flirt with her. Meets every one of her attempts with a half smile and does all he can to pull laughter from her. If he can’t be with her the least he could do is bring a bit of joy.

With Odette, Ethan is the one to pursue his own affection with that kiss and all the little friendly things that become staples in their lives. He doesn’t believe he’s ever actually blatantly flirted with her, everything just came so naturally. 

Ode is completely oblivious to Ethan‘s affections until he kisses her. Well, she had an inkling only because Sienna told her that nobody buys that expensive of a keyboard for simply a friend. While Ode agrees, she doesn’t want to believe it. So she doesn’t. She doesn’t think she pursues any sort of affections for him. But she does. In the way they spend time together, in the way that they talk and subtly flirt and spend all their free time together. In the small gifts of admiration and trinkets they bring to one another just to see the smile.

17. Under what circumstances would they want to be left alone by their partner?

OxE: After an argument or a stressful situation. They’re both quite introverted and need alone time (both) or silence (ethan) to sort through their thoughts. Odette also likes to have alone time once a week - a few hours in an afternoon to just be in herself. She hates the quiet though, so there’s always music playing in the background or something on Netflix. 

BxE: Ethan wants to be left alone when he has lots of work to do, or he’s had an argument with anyone. Whenever he’s feeling heightened emotions he wants to settle it on his own like he’s so used to doing. If Becca’s pissed or on her period she likes to be left alone. If she’s reading she needs pure quiet and will do that when he’s working in another room etc. 

33. Under what circumstances would they feel jealous?

Ethan has more protective jealousy. Of others treating Odette like a piece of meat/sexual object and her letting them. The amount of times she entertains random men who look at her wolfishly when they’re at events and never shuts them down (until they try to move things into ‘more’ territory). When she becomes really really busy with the app and they’re passing ships in the night he’s a little jealous of her professionally - wishes he could be part of this. but it’s hers. and he is part of it in a way. He’s also a little envious of her relationship with her parents. 

Ode isn’t a jealous person at all. She does too much into yoga and meditation for that. She just wants the best for everyone. 

Becca trusts Ethan but she doesn’t trust other women. When she and Ethan are in the early days of dating she’s insecure-ish and will playfully make comments that are meant to be a joke but rooted in jealousy - about how he’s too old for her, questions why he’s not with X, what he sees in Y or not in Z. The longer they’re together they have an unspoken game that ends up in some hot sex. But then the years go by and they’re too codependent. 

Ethan is jealous of her relationship with Bryce and a little bit of the guy she was dating in med school. He has personal doubts about them aside from his ethics and morals, like his age, how they don’t really have all that much in common, how much they fight. He’s more stuck in thinking about Becca’s potential with everyone that isn’t him - he’s afraid he’s going to fail/ruin her.