#remember when he executed a man in cold blood to try to be more like uther and came home to the whole kingdom knowing what happened

[lonesomedotmp3]

arthur's dad literally killed her dad. and it just doesn't come up ever. I need to kill everyone in the merlin writers room so bad

[wttcsms]

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ you know i'll take you there

ᝰ.ᐟ shinsuke isn't too happy after your little escape attempt, and he makes it known. (fem!reader)

word count 2.5k content contains mating press, creampie, yakuza au, yandere themes, dubcon, praise kink, pet names (good girl), depictions of violence (not towards reader) author's notes sorry for lack of context; this is meant to take place after this fic concept

Shinsuke Kita doesn’t flinch when he pulls the trigger on a gun. 

The recoil doesn’t even register for him; when you do something for so long, eventually, it just becomes second nature. Like the mechanical movements you do when you brush your teeth, or the way you can tie your sneakers without having to actually look at the laces — shooting someone in the head is a mundane thing for Kita, for his line of work. He does it so often, has practiced it ever since he was a young boy, that what he does after is muscle memory. He removes the handkerchief from his suit and wipes the tiny splatter of blood that ended up getting on his cheek. He folds the sullied handkerchief neatly, tucking it away in the inner pocket of his suit. He makes sure the safety on his gun is in place, and he nods for Aran to drag the dead body away. 

When Aran takes his leave, the still-warm corpse in tow, the only people left in the room are Kita and a very scared young man. 

One of these men will be leaving this room, and the other will be hoping for a death as swift and merciful as the flawless execution Kita just delivered. 

“I told you there would be consequences,” Kita doesn’t taunt his victims. He’s not the type to do so. Cold and calculated — his own gang considers him to be a robot, and for the longest time, Kita agreed with them. But that was then, and this is now. Now, Kita has a reason to drag out his torture. Now, Kita understands what it’s like to find his very reason for existing. His purpose isn’t to lead one of the biggest yakuza families in the underground criminal world of Japan. His purpose is to devote his very being to you, and vice versa. 

So imagine how heartbroken he felt when he caught you trying to escape from the farmhouse he built for the two of you. And this man, a low-level runt in his group, had been foolish enough to give in and help you. 

“Please, sir, I wanted no part in the escape! She begged me, she—”

“She’ll receive her own punishment. I value fairness, after all.” Kita interrupts him, sounding as cold as the blood running through the young man’s veins. He’s frozen in fear as he tries to stammer out more excuses, more explanations, more promises to do better in the future but—

—there really isn’t much of a future for him. Not one that he’ll be happy to live in, at least. Kita is fair; having you slip away would have killed him internally. So now, Kita has to kill this man internally. Crush his spirit. Make him dream of death, dangle death in front of his face like a treat to a dog, but never, ever allow him such a kindness. 

(Kita is a fair leader, but very rarely is he kind. 

Kindness will get you killed. 

The boy dumb enough to help you — he’s kind.)

Kita retrieves a knife from one of the inconspicuous cabinets in this room. The fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling casts a warm glow over the both of them, but the blade of the knife reflects back the light, makes it shine in the poor boy’s face. He flinches. 

“Do you remember?” Kita asks him, turning the knife as if to inspect it from every angle. 

“Wh-what?” He stutters out, sounding breathless. He might be on the verge of a panic attack. That’ll make things messier than they need to be. 

“Do you remember what hand you used when you held hers?” Kita clarifies. He sounds calm, but the sight of another man holding your hand had him seething. Even now, it takes everything in him to not plunge the knife right into this young man’s heart, to twist the blade ‘round his insides, make him hurt like how Kita hurt when he witnessed it. 

“It was your left hand.” Kita answers for him. “Fortunately, you’re right-handed. Surely it won’t be too much of an inconvenience for you after I’m done sawing it off.” 

Kita’s chopped off a few fingers and one hand before, but never has he attempted to do it with a medium sized knife. A knife with a purposely dull blade. 

He smiles faintly. Sometimes, it can be fun to break routine and try new things.

You’re in bed by the time Kita returns home. He’s back later than he expects; it turns out, his little experiment with the dull blade is very, very messy. Maybe with practice, he’ll perfect that, too. That boy still has another hand to spare, after all. 

Feeling satisfied with himself, Kita starts humming gently as he makes his way to your shared bedroom. Before you, Kita never bothered making unnecessary noise. He rarely listened to music, but now—

The sting of your betrayal has lessened considerably. Kita isn’t even upset with you anymore. It’s normal for couples to fight and want to storm out on each other, but what matters most is that at the end of the day, he’s coming home to find you warming his bed. 

In his line of work, simple pleasures aren’t usually so sweet. 

You don’t stir when he joins you in bed, the mattress dipping just the slightest bit due to the sudden shift in weight, but he makes his presence hard to ignore, even in your slumber, when he presses his chest against your back, his lips nipping gently on the soft skin of your ears. 

You whine, your eyesight blurry as your eyes flutter open, trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. You’re instantly aware of Kita’s body covering your own, and when he feels the subtle shivers of your body, the both of you know it’s not because of the chill of the air conditioner.

He makes a tiny grunt of disapproval. Even after all this time, you’re scared of him? Silly girl — he’d never do anything to hurt you. 

Well, nothing that would hurt you too badly. 

“Did ya have a good dream?” He asks you, breath warm against your ear. 

You swallow hard, not brave enough to shift your body. Ever since the truth came out, the fact that sweet Shinsuke is more than just an average overworked businessman but is a yakuza crime boss, things have never been the same between you two. Kita is nothing if not persistent, though. He still cuddles up against you, he still whispers sweet nothings in your ear, he’s still affectionate and downright loving in every action he does towards you. 

He knows not to expect an answer from you, especially when he plays with the bottom hem of your silk nightgown. “Wish ya would tell me what goes on in that pretty little head of yours.” 

You can picture him frowning; as perceptive as he is, you know that he prefers hearing your thoughts directly from you. 

“What happened to Goto?” You dare to ask, and the air seems to shift in your bedroom. 

Kita is gripping the soft flesh of your thighs, his hand large and imposing, rough with calluses and forever red with blood. You never really learn, you suppose, about how there’s a time and place for such questions. 

“Goto received his punishment.” Kita answers calmly, voice steady but cold. “And I nearly forgot about yours.” 

Liar. You want to call him out, but you at least have enough self-preservation to bite your tongue. As if Kita would ever forget. It hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours since your little escape attempt. 

Kita adores you, loves you, because in a world of greedy, nasty, spiteful little creatures, you are kind and caring and full of the sugary sweet goodness he’s always going to have a taste for. It’s why he’s not surprised when you ask him, 

“Is he… alive?” 

He lets out a short, sharp laugh. “Is that what you’re really worried about? Goto, over the broken heart of your husband?” 

When you don’t answer, Kita tightens his grip on your thigh, contemplating his next move, before he lets his hand travel to the apex of your thighs, his knuckles brushing against your bare cunt. He’s pleased to find out that you’re still his obedient, sweet girl, following his direct order of going to bed without a bra or panties. Some nights, he’s so tired, any excess fabric is a hindrance. 

“If you have a heart, you’ll tell me what happened to him.” You mumble, trying to ignore the way your body craves for Kita’s touch. Before the truth of his second life came out, you were an addict for him. No one has ever touched him the way he’s touched you, and even now, when you want to ignore him and try to remind yourself of what an awful person he truly is, you can’t.

There’s a traitorous part of your heart and soul that still longs for Kita, no matter the truth.

“It’s because I have a heart that I didn’t kill him.” Kita isn’t lying. The torture was for his pleasure, sure, but he knows how upset and inconsolable you would be if you felt like you were responsible for Goto’s death. The register of his voice lowers as he speaks again, though. His warning leaves you frozen in fear.

“If his filthy hands ever touch you again, I’ll kill him.” 

There are a litany of reasons why you find yourself in the position you’re currently in: wanting, waiting, whining for Kita. Fear, for one thing. You feel compelled to do whatever he wants, considering the sheer difference in strength and power between the two of you. But try as you might, it’s hard to ignore the tiny, nagging voice in your head that lulls you into a state of docile desire. Kita’s always taken care of you, right? You were in love with him, for fuck’s sake. And as you ride his fingers, content to wrap your warm, wet heat around three of his digits as he chuckles at your wanton display, that nagging voice reminds you that you still do — love him, that is. 

Three fingers buried deeply in the warmth of your cunt is enough to make you forget about the events leading up to tonight. He withdraws his fingers, much to your displeasure, and you whine out for him to continue with his ministrations before he shuts you up by forcing you to suck his thumb. You can feel the rough skin of his finger on your tongue, and you hollow your cheeks, treating this situation as if you were about to suck his cock, and your tongue laps at the pad of his thumb before he removes it from your mouth. 

Without any preamble, he’s back to burying his fingers into your pussy, his thumb — wet with your saliva — pressed firmly against your clit. 

“Do you wish it was my cock filin’ you up?” He grunts out, rubbing mercilessly against your clit as you continue to writhe against the bedsheets. Your cheeks feel warm, blood rushing up to your chest and face, and you bite down on your bottom lip, knowing your answer. A shameless, pitiful yes. 

“You’re so beautiful, so sweet, so kind.” In his world, kindness gets you killed. Kita’s no different from any other man in his line of work, and it’s why he’s ravaging you right now. Pumping his fingers in and out of your slick hole, making a mess of his fingers, of your pussy, of the bedsheets, of you. It’s why every time he brings you to your climax, you cum violently. You’re letting out a string of stuttered, fractured fucks mixed in with sharp intakes of breath and Shinsuke’s, and you buck your hips wildly against his fingers, pushing his digits even further in as you cum. 

With your mind hazy from pleasure, your brain scrambled from sleepiness and an intense orgasm, Kita wastes no time pouncing on you. There’s no chance for you to beg for him to wait, and you register that this must be your punishment.

Shinsuke is going to fuck you without any of his normal restraint.

He slides in your sopping wet cunt in one sharp thrust, burying his thick cock deep into your warm, snug hole. He likes having a routine, he likes having set boundaries and rules, he likes being a man of practicality. But right now, he’s fucking you like a wild beast. All you can do is just take it; take his relentless thrusts, his anger, his need to dominate you, to remind you who you belong to. 

“Open up.” He demands, his voice rough and thick with desire. You comply; it’s so easy, considering that you haven’t been able to hold back a single moan as he has his way with you. He spits directly into your mouth, watching the way his saliva sits on the surface of your pink tongue. He doesn’t need to command you to swallow, because you do, savoring the taste of him.

He makes you look him in the eyes as he fucks into you relentlessly. One hand is gripping your hip, practically crushing you as he pounds into your pussy. You’re so fucking wet that the sounds of him moving in and out of your cunt are so lewd, so loud. The inescapable burn of pain and pleasure, the sensitivity of your cunt having to endure his insatiable lust, has you moaning like a bitch in heat. 

“Shin— Shinsuke! G-gonna cum!” You squeak out, and it only motivates Kita to double down. He holds up your legs, your limbs burning from the stretch as he continues to get rougher with his movements. You’re looking at him with a dazed, fucked out expression, and he has the audacity to let out a chuckle. 

“There’s my good girl.” He praises you, spitting into your open mouth once more. 

With your legs trembling and the foggy haze of pleasure clouding your head, you greedily, happily accept his praise. Your legs press tightly against his sides, and with his spit in your mouth and his cock drilling into you with even sharper movements than before, you cum. 

Kita lets out a grunt of approval as he finishes inside of you, a load of hot seed pouring deep inside of you as he keeps your legs folded, his hips pressed against yours, as if he wants to plug you up with his cum. He kisses your forehead that’s glistening with sweat from the heat of his body colliding with yours; it seems the two orgasms he wrung out of you have taken its toll on your body. You’re a pliant, fucked out little mess — his pliant, fucked out little mess. 

“Good girl.” He murmurs sweetly. “I love you so much.” 

He doesn’t wait for you to say it back. He just pulls out his cock a bit before thrusting back into you. This action causes you to let out another long, drawn out moan. He’s absolutely relentless, and as tired as you are, you realize that you don’t want him to stop.

(Pity that you’re not capable of speech at the moment.

Because you would have told him that you love him, too.)

[gojoux]

『 𝐍𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄 』

· Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

· Summary: Life has decided to lead you to him or lead him to you, knowing that you two are destined together despite your differences. This told story is just a glimpse of a few memories between you and him, one that he remembers dearly.

· CW: 8.6k // Mostly fluff. True Form!Sukuna. Heian Era. Overprotective + Possessive Sukuna. Very subtle sex scenes. Slight violence.

Late post because the app screwed me over a divider. As you see... it’s thicker like him than usual.

The infamous King of Curses had only one weakness—you.

Ryomen Sukuna, the most fearsome sorcerer (or used to be one) alive, would melt in your presence. His usual cold and cruel demeanor vanished when he was with you, replaced by a gentle sweetness he showed to no other.

From the very first moment your paths crossed, he was utterly enthralled, something he would never expect to feel in his life. You’re someone he doesn’t even know or heard of and he doesn’t find the appeal from you, but there’s just something about you that makes him enchanted at first sight.

Your luminous soul called to him like a song. He knew you were destined to be his. And so he courted you as tenderly as his blackened heart would allow, coaxing you to return his affections.

Slowly, gently, he broke down your defenses. His smoldering gazes made your heart flutter. His feather-light touches from his big, strong hands and fingers sent shivers down your spine. Before long, you realized you were falling for this demon who looked at you with such longing in his crimson eyes.

He could shower you with all the passion and devotion he had been holding back. He cherishes you, catering to your every desire. Just being near you was euphoric for him.

When apart, he counted the seconds until he could see you again. And when reunited, he was unable to keep his hands off you, showering you with passionate kisses and whispers of sweet words.

“You are mine. Remember that,” he would murmur against your skin as he held you close. “Always.”

You had tamed the beast. Or so you thought.

While Sukuna was nearly defenseless against your love, it also ignited something far more sinister—his jealousy.

The mere idea of losing you made his blood burn with rage. Other men were not even permitted to look at you, lest they get torn limb from limb.

Though deeply in love, Sukuna’s possessive nature remained. And woe befall any who dared threaten what was his.

The first time it happened was weeks after you’d become his. A young lord from a clan sent you gifts and flowers, seeking your affection. When Sukuna discovered this, the fury in his eyes turned them molten gold.

“He dares think he can steal you away from me?” Sukuna seethed. In an instant, he vanished to hunt down the offending lord.

He returned hours later drenched in blood that was not his own. You shuddered to imagine what cruel fate had befallen the misguided young man. Sukuna said nothing of it, simply pulled you into a bruising kiss and swore you’d never leave his side again.

After that, the corpses started piling up.

A guard who eyed you lasciviously, eviscerated.

A peasant whose longing stare lingered too long, executed.

Anyone who so much as looked at you with desire was signing their own death warrant.

You begged Sukuna to show mercy, but your pleas fell on deaf ears. “They try to take what is mine,” he would snarl. “They deserve no less than agony and death.”

His demonic nature had fully resurfaced, and you realized just what you had unleashed. Sukuna would slaughter legions and burn the world to ashes if it meant keeping you.

You were terrified of what he had become. Yet some traitorous part of you thrilled at being so coveted, so passionately loved, even if it came at a bloody cost.

He was an obsession incarnate, and you, his obsession.

No matter where you turned, his shadow loomed.

There would be no escaping the King of Curses’ dark desires.

You were his.

How did it all start? It’s been too long since it went past your head already.

But you do remember vividly when you were walking that one night when your gut told you not to, you did.

You should have listened to your instincts. But there was something about the forest at night that called to you, beckoning you to explore its moon-bathed paths and whispering trees.

Curiosity won out over caution, and you decided one quick walk couldn’t hurt.

You set out just after sunset, relishing the kiss of cool night air on your skin. The woods were serene and lovely in the deep blue hush just before true darkness fell. Night blooms perfumed the air as you wandered along aimlessly, simply savoring this secret world.

Until you realized you had lost your way. Suddenly the trees seemed more ominous, the shadows deeper. You paused, peering anxiously through the gloom.

How long have you been walking?

Which way was home?

As you turned around in circles trying to get your bearings, a blow of wind appeared behind you. You froze, heartbeat thudding in your ears.

“Well, what do we have here?”

You whipped around with a gasp. Emerging from the trees was a tall, powerfully built man. But what drew your wide-eyed stare were the four arms crossed onto his bare, toned chest.

You stumbled back in terror, but he moved unnaturally fast, appearing before you in an instant. Up close, details that had escaped you at a distance were now frighteningly clear. Tattoos are carved on his face and body. His eyes burned crimson.

You were face to face with the King of Curses himself.

“Please…” you whimpered, trembling. “I mean no trespass...”

Sukuna tilted his head, considering you with evident amusement. He reached out an arm towards you, his fingers gliding along your jaw, tipping your chin up. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for death.

But instead of tearing you apart, he simply chuckled. “Open your eyes. I will not harm you.”

You cracked them open hesitantly. Sukuna was observing you closely now, intrigued.

“Fear not. I merely wondered who was wandering my woods at this late hour,” he purred. “But I see now… you are no threat at all.”

His touch was surprisingly gentle as he traced the line of your throat. You shivered but did not dare pull away. The heat of his skin felt feverish against yours.

“What brings you here to me, I wonder?” he murmured, his piercing gaze seeming to lay your soul bare.

He tutted, circling you slowly. “These woods are dangerous at night, especially for tempting morsels like yourself. Do you have any idea what lurks in the shadows?” He paused expectantly, but you were too petrified to respond.

You licked your dry lips nervously. “I… I was simply exploring. I did not mean to disturb—”

“Quiet.” A finger pressed lightly over your mouth. “How shall I punish this trespass? I do hate uninvited guests.”

You finally found your voice, though it trembled pitifully. “P-please, I meant no intrusion. If you let me go, I swear I will never—”

“Let you go?” Sukuna tilted his head, looking almost offended. “Now, why would I do that? No, you will not be leaving.”

Your heart hammered at those enigmatic words. Just what did this dangerous being want with you? Surely not anything good.

As if reading your mind, Sukuna laughed once more. “Worry not, little one. I only wish for some company.” In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance between you, caging you with his body. This close, the heat pouring off him was incredible, the coils of his tattoos seeming to slither and shift before your eyes with your heart hammering wildly.

A violent shudder went through you, though not entirely from fear now. Being clasped in his strong embrace had stirred something unexpected within you. A strange exhilaration at having caught the eye of this exotic and terrible being.

He leaned down, inhaling deeply near the crook of your neck. “Mm, such fear. I can taste it rolling off your skin… intoxicating.” His lips grazed your fluttering pulse, making you shudder. “You are afraid, yet also thrilled to see me, aren’t you?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. Was it that obvious, the traitorous excitement you felt being so close to this dangerous demon? You just couldn’t tear your eyes away from his unusual beauty.

“I thought so,” he purred, looking utterly satisfied. He brushed a finger lightly down your cheek. “It seems fate has brought you to me for a reason.”

Sukuna sensed your reaction and made a small pleased noise. In one smooth motion, he swept you up into his arms and started carrying you deeper into the woods.

You gasped, hands braced against the solid muscles of his shoulder. “Where are you taking me? Please, I never meant to intrude! I am sorry! just—”

“Shut it.” His grip tightened. “Do not fight me. Submit, and it will go easier for you.”

Tears of panic spilled down your cheeks. But despite your fear, you felt your body responding to his proximity, pulsing with alarming warmth. Your thoughts scattered as Sukuna claimed your mouth in a searing kiss, tasting your helpless whimper.

“What are you…” you gasped, too speechless to find a word to fight back.

As if reading your mind again, Sukuna adjusts the way he’s carrying you to brush his lips against your own in a feather-light caress. “I hope you are not too afraid, little one. I have been alone for so long, you will keep me company. And I have no intention of letting you go.”

Some part of you recognized the truth in his words. No matter how your mind recoiled, your body was betraying you, longing for more of his addictive caresses. He sensed your crumbling resistance, his smile triumphant.

“You are mine now. Do not fight it.”

You stared around in awe at the sprawling shinden-zukuri as Sukuna placed you down and led you inside. Paper screens glowed warmly with lantern light, illuminating opulent tatami rooms decorated with priceless scrolls and vases, and through meticulously tended gardens dotted with tranquil ponds. Everything about this place spoke of immense power and wealth.

It was a far cry from your own humble village dwelling. You could scarcely fathom how a demon lord had come to possess such a magnificent noble estate out here in the remote forest.

As Sukuna guided you deeper into the manse, you passed several elegantly dressed women in simple yet elegant kimonos, all keeping their gazes demurely lowered.

‘Servants,’ you realized. But where had they come from? Were they taken like how you are now? Were you about to become another of his servants?

When you reached the main manor, Sukuna slid open the screen to reveal a grand receiving chamber. Priceless ink scrolls and painted silk screens adorned the walls. The opulence was staggering.

“Do you like it?” he asked, noting your awe. “I claimed this estate long ago from its previous owners.”

You shivered at the implication behind those words but said nothing as he guided you deeper inside.

Your bemused wondering was interrupted when Sukuna slid open a screen door, ushering you into a lavish bed chamber. A large futon covered in silks took up most of the space.

“You must be weary, little one,” he stroked your hair. “Rest now. I will have my servants draw you a bath.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead before gliding from the room. Still stunned by your opulent surroundings, you wandered over to the open window. Beyond the manicured gardens and koi ponds you could see nothing but dense forest stretching endlessly. Just how far had Sukuna brought you?

You had little time to ponder before two servant women appeared, bowing deeply. They poured hot water into a carved wooden tub and then added cherry blossom-scented oils.

You let them help you disrobe and sink into the fragrant bath, the tension in your muscles unwinding. The demon’s domain was still terrifying and foreign, but you couldn’t deny the comforts he lavished upon you. His possession had a gentleness to it that left you conflicted.

This place treated you better in less than two hours than your whole life in the village.

After your bath, the servants dressed you in silken robes layered in rich hues of wisteria and spring leaves. Darkened your lips with crushed berries. They arranged your hair with jade combs and dabbed perfume at your wrists in a courtly fashion.

Examining their work in a bronze mirror, you barely recognized yourself. The simple village girl staring back from the bronze mirror was gone, replaced by someone who looked like a noblewoman.

Sukuna was waiting when you emerged, hungry eyes sweeping over you appreciatively. “Beautiful,” he pulls you close to him. His lips grazed your wrist, inhaling the perfume there. “You will come to appreciate the comforts of being mine.” His words sent an illicit tingle through you.

“Thank you,” was all you could say as you felt your body sway toward him, eyelashes fluttering downward demurely. His attentions were clouding your caution, making you forget the circumstances that had brought you here.

Sukuna seemed pleased by your response. He took your hand and led you to a candlelit room where a feast awaited. You kneeled on plush cushions across from him. There, your eyes widen at the sight—dishes you could only dream of tasting.

“Uraume is my best cook. They know how to make delicious food,” he brags, pointing at the person with white bob hair with his eyes. Uraume bowed respectfully before excusing themselves.

As the night deepened, Sukuna kept your cup full, his burning gaze holding yours in the romantic glow. Here in this place of luxury, it was easy to forget he was someone who had stolen you away.

“Come.” He held out one of his hands. “It is time you rested.”

Back in the bed chamber, he guided you down onto silken sheets while your pulse quickened. His eyes roamed your body hungrily before he leaned down to claim your lips in a deep kiss. You knew you should resist, but his touch ignited a dangerous fire inside.

His fingers trailed delicately along your skin as he peeled away each layer of your robes until you were laid bare before him. “You are so lovely, little one,” he rasped. He pressed you down into the silken futon, his eyes focused on you. “I will teach you pleasures fit for an empress,” he growled.

“And you will learn to crave my body above all else.”

His words sent a spike of fear through you, even as your traitorous body responded hungrily to his. His burning caress left no doubt of his intentions. You trembled, but didn’t refuse him.

Here in this beautiful prison, you were his to do with as he pleased. And some traitorous part of you craved to experience the passions he promised.

As Sukuna’s body covered yours, you surrendered completely to him. Within these walls, you now belonged utterly to him.

You had been living as Sukuna’s pampered pet in his lavish manor for several days now. He gifted you an ornate silk kimono, adorned your hair with jeweled combs, and ensured you lacked nothing. At night, he would lay you across silken futons and set your body aflame with new realms of pleasure.

But each morning after, as he caressed your skin and murmured endearments, doubts crept in. Were there others that he touched this way? The thought filled you with unease.

You wanted his passion reserved only for you.

When Sukuna appeared in your room this evening, he found you quiet and distant, your smile restrained. Brow furrowing, he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

“What troubles you, little one? Have I not provided for you well?”

You gathered your courage. “I… I have a request, My Lord…”

He raised one brow, “Oh? Speak.”

“If we are to share such intimacy, I wish it to be only between us. No other lover, in any way.” You held his gaze evenly. “Will you vow this, please?”

For a moment Sukuna only stared, stunned by your bold demand. Then a sly smile curved his lips.

“My little one wishes to tame me, is that it?” He trailed a finger lightly down your cheek. “You seek to bind me to yourself alone?”

Heart pounding, you gave one short nod.

Sukuna threw back his head with a delighted laugh. “You fascinate me endlessly. No mortal has ever dared make demands of me.” His expression softened by looking at your innocent face. “But for you, I will agree.”

He leans down, face to face with you, “From now on, I am yours alone.”

Relief washed through you at his oath. As Sukuna drew you into a passionate kiss, you yielded completely for the first time, holding nothing back.

“My sweet, little love…” He lifted you in his arms. “I will make you forget any existed before this night.”

And he did. Laying you down, hands and lips he worshiped you, wringing gasps and cries from your lips as you arched desperately, mindless and pleading beneath him.

At the height of ecstasy, his burning gaze held yours. His heated gaze seared into yours at the pinnacle, fierce and possessive. “No other shall ever know you as I do.”

The feeling when your body joined, the sensation was beyond words, it felt like coming home. Like a missing piece of your soul had been restored. Wave after wave of bliss crested over you both, leaving you entwined in breathless ecstasy.

As lantern light faded to silvery moonbeams, Sukuna held you close, your heartbeats synchronizing. You now belonged only to each other in body, heart, and soul.

“Mine,” Sukuna rasped against your skin, his canine digging into your neck, marking you as his. “Just as I am yours. This, I vow to you, little one, from now until the end of days.”

His words echoed long in your mind, even as spent passion gave way to sleep in his enveloping embrace. The King of Curses himself was now bound to you irrevocably. And you to him.

The vow had been spoken, the ritual complete.

The days had settled into a predictable routine in Sukuna’s residence. He would vanish for hours or even full days to attend to mysterious “business”, leaving you to wander the chambers and gardens alone. You never ask where he went or what occupied him. Some fears were best left unspoken.

But your heart would lift eagerly whenever Sukuna returned, no matter how late the hour. Just knowing he had come back to you was enough. You took to waiting anxiously by the engawa, ready to greet him.

At first, he returned spotless and composed. But soon the blood became noticeable.

It would decorate his arms, spatter his chest and face in drying rust-colored patterns. The life essence of whatever poor souls had crossed him in the nearby villages. You didn’t need to ask how it got there.

The first time, you gasped and shrank back in horror. But Sukuna just smiled and opened his arms to you. “Come, let us get cleansed of the day’s exertions.”

You forced yourself to look past the gore, seeing only your demonic lord who needed tending. Taking his hand, you led him to the bath chamber.

There you gently sponged away the carnage, breathing relief when his skin emerged clean again. Sukuna watched you intently, eyes glowing with unspoken emotions. You didn’t dare examine it too closely.

When you were done, he would pull you into his lap, nuzzling against your throat almost tenderly. As if your ministries had tamed the beast lurking within.

“My little one,” he would rumble. And your heart would swell under his praises.

Before long, you began living for his returns. The hours apart stretched endlessly, your thoughts consumed with concern for his well-being. Your chest would tighten with loneliness in his absence. Maybe you craved him because you have no one to come home to, that’s why you are willing to be with him.

Surely he must share your needs, right?

The moment his shadow appeared down the corridor, you flew to him, embracing him heedless of any lingering blood. Sukuna laughed indulgently, hands gentling your desperation.

“Such passion, little one. Did you miss me so terribly?”

You nodded, not caring how you exposed your dependence on him. He tipped your chin up, his sharp eyes looking at you softly. “As I missed you. The time apart is agony.”

His admission made you smile in relief. After bathing him, you would prepare tea and draw him into quiet conversation, savoring this domestic intimacy. Here with you, he almost seemed content.

At late night, his lovemaking took on new urgency, as if reaffirming your bond. You matched his intensity, wanting to erase any distance the day had built between you.

“You are all I need,” he whispered afterward, cradling you close. And you knew then you were hopelessly lost to this dangerous creature. He had become your entire world.

When Sukuna departed each morning, part of you went with him. Until he returned to make you whole once more. There was no denying the truth—you were his, mind, body, and soul.

You see, life with Sukuna provided came at a terrible price—the waiting.

And so you hatched a plan.

You requested the finest silks from the seamstress and described the revealing garment you wished to craft. An elegant yet alluring yukata, hinting at the beauty beneath.

On the night of his homecoming, you adorned yourself carefully, arranging your hair over your bare shoulders, sketching your lips crimson. The ensemble left you feeling exposed, but also powerful.

When Sukuna entered the bed chamber, the sight of you made him halt in his tracks. Eyes widened as they traced over you hungrily, taking in every contour the diaphanous fabric outlined.

“Little one,” he rasped. “You look like divinity itself. What is all this for?”

You steeled your nerves and went to him, guiding his fingers to untie your sash with hands that trembled.

“I wish to ease your burdens tonight, My Lord. Will you permit me?”

A growl escapes his throat as your robes slip to the floor. The intensity of his gaze seared into your skin everywhere it touched. Strong arms pulled you fiercely against him.

“You test my restraint, beloved. Are you certain?”

At your whispered yes, his control shattered. With infinite care he bore you down onto silken sheets, praising every inch of newly bared flesh until you were dizzy and pleading.

Even at its peak, he kept the pace languid—long, delirious strokes of passion. The pleasure was sweet agony. You arched and moved as one, minds entwining as deeply as your bodies.

When it ended, you were changed. Sukuna held you tenderly as languor claimed you both, as if you were the most precious treasure in the world.

Perhaps you should have been afraid of this obsessive devotion. But you could not imagine life without him now.

As nice as it is living comfortably with everything provided for you, sometimes his residence becomes a gilded cage. You yearned to walk beyond the gardens, to visit the nearby villages you glimpsed from afar.

After much pleading, Sukuna finally relented. “If it will make you happy, we shall go. But you must stay close to me.” His eyes held an unspoken warning.

The day came at last. Taking his arm, you ventured out onto the winding forest paths, buzzing with excitement. Sukuna watched you closely, as if to imprint each delighted reaction.

When the first simple thatched dwellings came into view, you gasped. “Oh, look! Real village life, just as I remembered.”

“Then let us explore it,” he said indulgently, strolling by your side.

You moved through stalls selling woven reed baskets, hand-dyed yukata, and carved jade amulets. The smells of grilling fish and blossom-scented steam from tea houses mingled in the air. Your smile was radiant.

Most villagers averted their eyes and scrambled away at the sight of his presence. But their fearful deference only seemed to amuse Sukuna as he guided you along.

Pausing by a fountain, you turned joyfully to him. “Thank you for this, My Lord. I haven’t felt this happy in…” Your voice trailed off as you noticed a young man staring from across the village square. His gaze was fixed on you, his handsome face breaking into a flirtatious grin, looking at you with his eyes signaling interest.

Before you could react, Sukuna had crossed the distance between them in two swift strides. You watched in horror as he seized the insolent youth by the throat and slammed him against a wall, baring razor fangs.

“You dare look at her that way?” he thundered. The young man choked out pleas for mercy as Sukuna’s grip tightened relentlessly.

“My Lord! Stop!” You rushed over, clutching his arm. “I beg you, let him go!”

With obvious reluctance, Sukuna released his hold and stepped back. The terrified man crumpled to the ground, wheezing with his face pale. You tugged Sukuna (he didn’t resist) away quickly as onlookers gaped.

Once you were back within the secluded forest path, he rounded on you. “Why did you stop me?” he demanded, eyes still burning with fury. “That whelp was openly desiring what is mine.”

You trembled. “He meant no true offense, My Lord.”

Sukuna exhaled harshly, drawing you against him. “You are too forgiving, little one. Next time I may not be so lenient.” The promise in his voice chilled you.

Nonetheless, in the days that followed, you persuaded him to let you visit the village markets again. Sukuna acquiesced, but his mood turned brooding whenever you went out together.

It was not long before a repeat incident occurred. A passing noble’s gaze lingered on you a moment too long. Sukuna's reaction was swift and merciless. Before you could intervene, the shrieking lord was engulfed in infernal flames, his ashes scattering to the wind.

This time, Sukuna was deaf to your pleas for restraint. “They continue testing me, presuming they can admire my possession with impunity,” he snarled. “I will suffer this insult no more.”

Numb with horror, you could say nothing as he took your arm and led you from that place of death.

Sukuna would never change his nature. His jealousy and possessiveness were as innate as the demonic power coursing through his veins. And you were helpless to curb them.

Trying to tame such a savage spirit had been foolish. Where his claim over you was concerned, no mercy would ever sway him.

The journey back to the estate was made in tense silence. You could feel the rage rolling off Sukuna in scorching waves as he strode ahead. His jaw was granite, fists clenched and shaking.

Only once you were behind the privacy of the chamber walls did he finally unleash it.

“How can you defend him?” he roared, making you flinch. “Those pathetic mortals who dared to covet what is not theirs. It is unacceptable!”

You stood your ground. “I make no defense, only ask that you temper reactions. This endless jealousy causes nothing but suffering.”

Sukuna’s eyes blazed, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. “You ask me to watch passively as they dishonor my claim on you? To permit their vulgar ogling?” He swept a hand savagely across a lacquered table, sending the vase crashing.

You jumped at the destruction but forced yourself to meet his volcanic glare. “I am not possession or prize to be claimed, My Lord. You cannot punish all for one foolish man’s gaze. I have told you this before, but I am not harmed.”

“Not harmed?” Sukuna bellowed, slamming his fists into the bloodwood pillar with a crack. “Not yet! But their desire will grow brazen if I do not act decisively now.”

He stormed toward you, making you back away instinctively. “You are mine. No other shall covet or touch what belongs to me. I would see this whole wretched village burn first.”

As his tirade raged on, you felt tears rising, spilling silently down your cheeks. The possessive diatribes, the limitless fury—you were exposing the folly of trying to gentle the devil’s heart.

Sukuna abruptly halted his pacing at the sight, chest heaving. His blazing eyes took in your hunched, trembling form. For an instant, something like shock flickered across his face. He blinked rapidly, swaying slightly.

“No… My little love…” All at once, the frenzied anger seemed to drain from him. He reached for you hesitantly, as if expecting you to recoil. When you stayed rooted, he enfolded you in his shaking arms.

“Forgive me,” Sukuna whispered. “I should not have raised my voice. But the thought of losing you…” One hand stroked your hair, then gently tipped your chin up. His thumb brushed away the tear tracks on your skin.

“You are everything to me in this wretched world,” he murmured. “I could not bear it if harm befell you.” His eyes were molten and his voice raw. “Tell me you know I would never let anything hurt you, not even myself in the madness of my rage.”

You searched his face and saw the sincerity burning there. With a fragile nod, you laid your head against his chest. His exhale was ragged with relief.

“I will try to be more merciful. For you, at least,” he sighs. “But you must understand it rages in my blood when I see them desire my most precious treasure.”

You stayed silent in his embrace. Perhaps this was the most he could concede—ferocity tempered with remorse. You could not change his possessive heart, only help him master what flowed within it.

And for now, it would have to be enough. His jealousy was a storm that would never fully be calmed. But like the storm’s eye, at the center there was still tenderness he reserved only for you.

Once more, the days dragged endlessly when Sukuna was away. You had explored every corner of the estate a dozen times over. The loneliness gnawed at you.

So when he left at dawn one morning, you made an impulsive decision. Donning a cloak, you slipped outside the manor walls while the servants slept. Your steps quickened as you neared the hill path leading down to the village.

You had only meant to take a brief, harmless walk to lift your spirits. But the smells of grilled squid and sweet adzuki buns drew you like a magnet. Your stomach rumbled, reminding you it had been ages since you tasted simple street food.

Checking over your shoulder, you darted to the nearest food stall when no one was looking. The elderly vendor smiled in delight as you pointed to the snacks that tempted you most. It felt deliciously naughty, this minor rebellion.

You were waiting for the bamboo skewer of piping hot squid when someone jostled you from behind. Whirling around angrily, you found yourself staring up at a rugged, unkempt man looming over you. His bloodshot eyes raked down your body in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Well now, what do we have here?” His words slurred drunkenly. “You’re that demon’s little toy, ain’t ya? His pretty pet.”

When you shrank away, the brute caught your wrist in a painful grip. Revulsion rose in you. “Let go of me!”

The man just sneered. “Where is your master now, hmm? Bet he doesn’t like you sneakin’ off alone.” He swayed closer, sour breath hot on your face. “Maybe I oughta teach you some manners, whore.”

Outraged tears stung your eyes. You opened your mouth to scream for help when suddenly the man’s hand was wrenched away from you with a sickening crack. His shriek split the air.

Whirling around, you saw Sukuna standing there, eyes blazing infernos. The man who had seized you was now suspended off the ground, clutching his mangled, dangling arm.

“Please, mercy!” he whimpered piteously. But Sukuna’s face was a merciless stone.

With a snarl, he slammed the offender down, pinning him by the throat. “You dare speak to her that way?” His voice was deathly quiet. “Dare lay your filthy hands upon her?”

The man gurgled pleas, legs kicking uselessly. Sukuna tightened his grip. “No. There will be no mercy for you.”

And before your eyes, he ripped the man’s head from his body in one savage motion. Blood sprayed hot across your face and cloak. The headless corpse slumped with a wet thud that echoed horribly in your ears.

You stood there, frozen. You’re sick to the stomach—it’s nauseating—looking at the brutal sight that your lover could do.

Rooted in shock, you barely registered Sukuna turning to you. He grasped your shoulders firmly. “Did he hurt you?” At your numb shake of the head, fiery rage flooded back into his eyes.

“Good. Because I would have drawn out his torment for years if he had.” With that, Sukuna flung the lifeless body contemptuously through the door of a nearby hut.

Screams arose from within as you stared at the gore coating Sukuna’s hands. The brutality finally jolted you from horrified paralysis. Voice trembling, you begged him to take you home.

The journey back was made in silence. Once behind the walls, Sukuna rounded on you like the last time.

“How could you go without my permission?” He paced like a caged beast. “See what nearly befell you? The filth who could do anything to you?”

You flinched beneath the verbal onslaught, too numb to defend yourself as he kept raging.

“You are forbidden from leaving again! Do you understand?” He seized your shoulders roughly. “It is too dangerous for you.”

You nodded, mute and hollow. With a harsh exhale, Sukuna pulls you against him as four of his arms envelop you in a warm embrace, some of the frantic anger leaving him.

“Forgive my harsh words, my little love. But I do not like you being treated like that.” His voice broke on the last word. He clutched you tighter, as if to reassure himself you were real.

After that day, whispers followed you through the residence like ghosts, for no clear reason. Servants offering polite smiles that never reached their eyes, only to resume their hushed gossip once you’d passed.

At first, you tried ignoring the sidelong glances and murmurs. But still, the cruel words leaked through.

“She is just a plaything to him.”

“Once the master is bored, she will be discarded.”

“He is only using her on the bed.”

“Once he tires of those pleasures, her time here will end.”

Their cruel words haunted you, sinking claws into vulnerabilities you’d buried deep. Did they speak the truth? Was your whole purpose here just to entertain Sukuna’s baser appetites? The thought you might be expendable shook you to your core.

You managed to conceal your anguish and distress at first. But the doubts festered, stealing your appetite and sleep. When Sukuna finally noticed the toll on your health, alarm flared in his eyes.

Gently taking your hands, he scoops you onto his lap, facing him. “What is bothering your pretty little head, hm? You know you can tell me anything.”

You shook your head, “It is nothing, My Lord. Not a big problem.”

“I do not like you lying to me, little one,” he shakes his head, not buying your secrecy.

“I am okay. Please, no need to be concerned about me.”

“How can I not? What is it? Tell me,” he holds your chin still to make you look at him.

Both of your stubborn banter goes back and forth until you’re both getting impatient.

You wavered, then spilled out the vile gossip you’d endured in silence. Sukuna listened gravely, thumb idly stroking your wrist. When you finished, he let out a long breath, gazing at you earnestly

“You believe their hateful lies? That you are some plaything to me? You know in your heart these claims are untrue.” He grasped your shoulders, staring intently into your eyes. “You are everything. Your faith in me is worth more than a million mortal lifetimes.”

He brought your hand to his chest, holding it over his steadily beating heart. “Do not let petty jealousies make you doubt what we share.”

Overwhelmed, you buried your face against him. “Forgive my doubts, My Lord,” you whispered.

“There is nothing to forgive. The fault is theirs, not yours.” Stroking your hair, he pressed a fierce kiss to your head. Then his tone turned cold. “As for these spiteful women, I will make them regret ever speaking such lies.”

You quickly squeezed his hands. “Please, do not harm them. I only wished to explain my melancholy, not see others punished.”

Sukuna frowned. “You ask me to ignore those who hurt you so? Who makes you doubt my devotion?” His grip on you tightened. “I cannot be so forgiving.”

“I know it comes from care,” you soothed. “But replying to anger with more anger will only breed misery.”

He paused, then exhaled harshly, pulling you close. Resting his forehead to yours, he went on. “I swear to you, my feelings run deeper than they comprehend.”

“Leave this to me now, little one. Just rest easy.”

True to his word, the gossip ceased quickly. You didn’t ask what Sukuna said or did to silence loose tongues. But the servants now bent over backward to please you, their once spiteful eyes now carefully respectful.

Their newfound reverence somehow bothered you more. But Sukuna seemed satisfied. “Let the wretches make amends for causing you pain,” he said nonchalantly.

Some part of you recoiled at his methods. Yet it warmed your heart to know he would avenge any slight against you without hesitation. Perhaps it was wrong to take comfort from his possessiveness.

But you needed to feel cherished after so much doubt. And Sukuna left no room for uncertainty in how deeply he treasured you. Each tender glance and touch slowly healed the wounds until you were whole again.

When he came to you beneath the silken sheets now, the passion held new meaning. A reaffirming of what you were to each other.

You were his sanctuary. Just as he was yours.

The gossip no longer stung when you knew his heart with such certainty.

Sukuna had told you he was taking a few days off to spend with you. With him home beside you for a blessed few days, the gloom cast over the estate seemed to lift. His four muscular arms caged you securely against his broad chest as you sank comfortably into his embrace.

He was attentive in ways you’d never seen before, constantly drawing you into his arms, asking questions about your childhood, your dreams, anything to get to know you better.

At first, you were shy, unused to being the object of such focused interest. But Sukuna’s patient gentleness soon had the words spilling freely from your lips.

You happily opened up to him in turn, chatting lightly about your days spent tending the garden, studying scripture with the monks, or watching the koi fish circle lazily in their pond. No detail was too small or mundane—he drank in every insight into your character with eyes that never once glazed in boredom.

He listened intently, his crimson eyes focused solely on you. As frightening as he could be, you knew this powerful being cherished you in his own way. You were likely the only person in the world he cared for.

When you finally worked up the courage to ask about his early life in turn, his gaze darkened briefly. “There is little of worth to tell,” he muttered.

He went on tonelessly to describe his parents casting him out as an infant, cursing his existence. Forced to eke out a living on the streets, he learned quickly that mercy was for the weak.

“I was not always like this,” he rumbled. “Once I was a human, born to parents who did not want me.” His fingers tensed where they rested on your back. “As an infant, they discarded me on the streets to die. But I survived, growing up feral and alone.”

You looked up at him sadly, heart aching at the thought of him helpless and abandoned with no one to care for him. You raised a hand to gently stroke his cheek.

Sukuna closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. “I do not tell you this for pity,” he said firmly. “My past made me strong.”

His eyes opened again. “When my cursed technique manifested, I used them without mercy, cutting down any who dared stand in my way. I reveled in my growing strength, the thrill of battle and blood... they satisfied me. I honed my skills until I became unmatched.”

You nodded solemnly. His description matched the legends told of the terrifying Ryomen Sukuna.

Now you know why he lacked mercy.

You take his hands in yours, kissing his palms. “The past is behind you now,” you told him. “What matters is who you choose to be from this day forth. My love for you is unconditional.” You smiled up at him warmly. “But I promise to teach you the ways of empathy and love, even if you protest.”

Sukuna huffed in amusement, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “Little one, you may try, but do not expect miracles. I am what I am.” But his embrace around you was gentle, belying his words.

You poked his chest teasingly. “I will make it my mission to show you how wonderful love can be, the joys it brings to our lives.” Laughing, you added, “Just you wait, I will have you reciting poetry and picking wildflowers before long!”

“Hmph, do not get carried away,” he grumbled, but you could tell he was secretly pleased by your playful vow.

You cuddled against his chest, determined to shower this damaged soul with all the love and tenderness he had missed in his tragic early years.

The next morning, as soft sunlight filtered into the bedroom, you lay wrapped in Sukuna’s strong embrace. Your head rested on his muscular chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. His breathing was slow and even, still asleep.

You traced idle patterns on his bare skin, your fingertips grazing over the tattoos adorning his body. Your mind drifted back to the conversation from the night before when Sukuna had told you a bit of his past.

Abandoned and unloved, forced to survive on his own from infancy. Your heart ached for the small, helpless babe he had been. The thought of him growing up without affection or care weighed heavily on you.

You understood now why love and empathy were so foreign to him. But you were determined to show Sukuna what he had missed, to fill his long existence with the warmth and joy he deserved.

Your short mortal life worried you, however. Sukuna had lived for centuries, he would go on existing long after you passed on. Would he find someone new to love? How would losing you affect him? Immortal beings were not meant to give their hearts to fleeting humans.

You must have tensed in concern, because Sukuna began stirring, his four arms instinctively tightening around you. “What troubles you so early, little one?” his deep voice rasped, still groggy with sleep.

You tilted your head up to peer at him. “I was thinking about what you told me last night, about your past. My heart breaks imagining you alone as a child.”

He regarded you seriously. “It was long ago. Dwelling on what cannot be changed is pointless.”

“I know,” you murmured. “I only wish I could have cared for you then. But now I worry… what will happen when I am gone? My life is so short compared to yours. Will you find someone new to love?” Your voice caught on the last word as you averted your gaze. You weren’t sure you even wanted to hear the answer.

He was silent. When you worked up the courage to look at him again, his crimson eyes were looking at you intensely. With a swift, motion he flipped you beneath him, bracing his weight above you and capturing your face between his big hands.

“You think I could simply replace you when death takes you from me?” His thumb brushed your cheek tenderly. “No other has touched my soul as you have. Long was my existence before you, yet I was empty.” Leaning down, he touched his forehead to yours.

“Your fragile mortality may one day steal you from my side, but what we have cannot be replicated or replaced.” He lifted his head to gaze deeply into your eyes.

“When you are gone, I will be lost again. I accept that your life must end as mine continues.” His jaw clenched. “But I will find no peace with another. What we have is beyond replacement.”

Tears blurred your vision at his heartfelt words. You had not realized the depth of his attachment, that the absence of your love would leave him emotionally desolate.

You threw your arms around his broad shoulders. “Then we must make the most of the time we have,” you declared. “Fill our days with so much joy that you will carry the warmth of our love for eternity.”

Sukuna wrapped you tightly in his embrace. “Yes,” he agreed, nuzzling your neck. “I will cherish every precious moment with you, little one.”

His words made your heart clench, but you understood, he would never love another as he had you. Your lives were tragically misaligned, yet the love you shared transcended such limits.

You spent the day wrapped up in Sukuna, exchanging tender caresses, murmuring sweet nothings, strolling the grounds hand-in-hand. Every shared laugh, every affectionate glance was savored, imprinting your bond ever deeper.

As the sun sets in glorious color, you lay entwined together beneath the cover of a wisteria tree. Your head rested over Sukuna’s heart as he gently stroked your hair. His steady heartbeat and the rhythmic rise of his chest were deeply comforting.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” you whispered.

“As do I, little one,” he replied, his voice tinged with melancholy. “But we cannot halt the merciless passage of time.”

You leaned up to press a soft kiss to his jaw. “No matter how short my life, I am grateful every moment of it is spent with you.”

Sukuna cradled you close, distress evident in his eyes. “When I am alone again, I will find comfort in the memories we have.”

His grip on you tightened, as if he could hold you to this world through will alone. You tilted your head back to peer up at him. “And when I am gone, will you be okay?”

“I will endure it. As I have endured all hardship in my long life.” He traced his thumb lightly down your cheek. “It will not feel the same, my little love. But do not worry about me, I will be fine.”

Your heart clenched at the raw honesty in his normally stoic demeanor. On impulse, you stretched up to press a soft kiss to his lips. Sukuna went still for a heartbeat before responding in kind, lips moving gently against yours.

“Then do not dwell on the inevitable end,” you cup his face in your hands. “Think only of how much we mean to each other now. If my love can sustain you even a little while after I am gone, that will be enough.”

Sukuna pressed his forehead to yours. “I will brace it when the time comes. But for now, my world is only you.”

You kissed him tenderly, then settled against his chest once more. Bittersweet joy swelled your heart, knowing you had brought some warmth into Sukuna’s grim existence. Though fleeting and painfully finite, your mortal love was a balm to his ancient, scarred soul.

The years passed swiftly. Sukuna remained your steadfast companion as you grew from a young woman into old age. He was always there to hold you close, whisper endearments, make you laugh with his wit.

In the blink of an eye, your hair became streaked with silver. Your smooth skin wrinkled and your energy waned. But your love never faded.

Sukuna stayed by your side as you grew frail, cradling you tenderly through restless nights, patiently spoon-feeding you broth when eating became difficult. His eyes reflected centuries of sadness knowing your time grew short.

Finally, you lay weakly upon your futon as he stayed close by your side. Your breathing turned ragged and a violent cough wracked your body. He gathered you gently into his arms.

“The end is near, my little one,” he murmured, smoothing back your thin hair.

You gave him a quivering smile. “I am ready. Just stay with me, please.”

He pressed his lips to your wrinkled forehead. “Always.”

You spent your final moments gazing up at his face, etched into your mind after so many years together. His image would be the last you saw in this life. With a contented sigh, you closed your eyes for the final time.

Sukuna let out a broken noise, pulling you tightly to his chest as your body went limp. Rocking your still form, he wept for the first time in his long existence. Anguished sobs wracked his powerful frame.

He had known this moment would come, yet nothing could have prepared him for the sheer devastation of losing you. It felt as though part of his soul had been ripped away.

Sukuna had guarded your mortal form night and day in those final years. Now you slipped away before his eyes, leaving him utterly alone. The crushing pain made him understand the human concept of a “broken heart”.

But he took comfort knowing you had passed peacefully in his embrace. The only mercy was that you were spared a drawn-out decline. He had filled your short life with as much love as one man could give. He has known you for a short time compared to how you’ve known him for most of your life.

Wiping his eyes, Sukuna pressed final kisses to your cooled skin. He would honor you with a funeral befitting royalty. Then he must decide where to wander next. This place held too many haunting memories now.

Sukuna laid you gently on the futon and stood. He cast one last anguished look at your still face.

“My beloved…” he whispered. “No other shall ever take your place.”

Then he turned and strode from the room, jaw clenched against a fresh onslaught of grief. His steps were heavy with the unbearable burden of immortality and loss.

No, he doesn’t cremate you despite having the ability to do so. He doesn’t even want to think of burning you to ashes, or he might as well lose it and burn the world with it for taking you away too soon.

He buried you beneath the cherry tree where you’d spent so many blissful hours in his arms. He marked the site with a stone monument etched with his promise:

“In this life or the next, you are mine. None will ever love you as I have, little one.”

His task complete, Sukuna wandered for many years after. Though the sharp pain dulled to a persistent ache, the emptiness inside him never abated. He fulfilled his promise and took no other lovers, knowing they could only ever be hollow substitutes.

He will wait until his time comes no matter how long it takes to see you again in the afterlife.

He will wait long enough to see you reborn and claim you one more as his.

But the thing he knows for sure, you will always belong to no one but him.

I got emotional and carried away, I’m sorry 😭😭

[huffelpuff210]

His Girl Part 1 Soft Dark Mob Boss Steve Rogers x Innocent Reader

His Girl Part 1

Soft Dark Mob boss Steve Rogers x Innocent reader

Warning: Violence, blood, beatings, mild language, obsessed Steve, Protective Steve, Angry Steve, Controlling behavior, age gap,

Summary: You, Steve and Bucky have been friends for a long time, You are pretty much Bucky’s little sister what happens when Your brother puts you in harms way.

You were in your flower shop sorting the flowers, Starting the day when You look at the roses, Your smile falls, Remembering the day you lost your parents, 

Your parents were florists just like you but they worked for the mob, Whenever they needed flowers for parties or funerals or special occasions your parents were the one’s to call, they were like family to the mob, 

When you were just five your parents hid you and your brother in the closet, when they were executed in cold blood, 

Bucky’s father who was the right hand man in the mob your parents worked for found the two of you, 

They knew they couldn’t risk putting you and your brother in foster care so he took you both in as one of his own, 

You grew up in the mob, but you were never a part of it, Bucky Now Steve’s right hand man was like another brother to you, Very over protective brother, Scaring away any boy who even dared to look your way, Steve however treated you like you were made of glass, Sure the two men were much older than you, You were only twenty, But you never payed attention to those details, 

After you turned eighteen you took over your families business, Your brother however, he never could stay out of trouble even though he was older than you, 

The bell to your shop rings bringing you out of your thoughts, You look over your shoulder to see Bucky, He checks in on you everyday just to be safe he says, 

“Good morning doll.” He says 

You smile at him as you walk towards him, 

“Good morning.” You smile up at him since he is taller than you, and built like a brick house. 

You however are small and petite, He always tells you that you need to eat more. 

“Do you know where your dimwit brother is I haven’t seen him all day.” He says 

You shake your head, 

“He’s been dodging me.” You say with a sigh, 

“That’s odd.” He grumbles, 

“I’ll take the sunflowers by the way.” He says 

You chuckle 

“You don’t need to buy something everyday you know.” You laugh

“Sure I do, your my little sister after all.” He says 

You giggle

Giving him a bouquet of sunflowers, 

“Besides I just put them in Steve’s office anyway.” He says 

You roll your eyes, 

“How romantic.” You say 

“Smart ass.” He says 

You giggle, 

“I’ll see you later alright, stay out of trouble.” He says kissing your forehead, 

“I’ll try.” You giggle 

He leaves, You busy yourself with all the flowers in the shop most of the day was pretty dull that is until your brother storms in,

“Jeremy? Where have you been?” You ask rushing over to him, You see his face is badly bruised and blood, 

“Oh my god what happened?” You say checking his face, 

He grabs your hands, in his large hands. 

“We don’t have much time, You have to know I tried to reason with him.” He says in a panic

“What are you talking about?” You asked a bit worried, 

“I need to hide you and quick.” He says taking your hand, dragging you in the back of the shop, 

“Your not making any sense.” You say worried 

“I got in to deep Y/N! they are coming after you for collateral!” He says 

“What?” You stop in your tracks, 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to bring you into this.” He says 

Suddenly you hear the bell to the store chime a bit roughly meaning someone yanked open the door with a lot of force. 

“Oh Y/N, I know your hear, your big brother told us exactly where to find you.” You hear an familiar voice, Brock is someone familiar to you Steve has had run ins with him a few times. 

You look at your brother horrified, 

“H-How could you-” You began, 

“I don’t have time to explain we need to get you out of here.” He says dragging you out the back only to be met with two big men, 

Your brother blocks you from the, 

“Going somewhere?’ You hear from behind you. You see Brock smirking at you, 

You can feel your heart pounding against your chest, 

“Hello Y/N beautiful as always.” He says smirking at you 

You glare at him, 

“What are you doing here?” You ask as you glare at him, 

“I think your brother already explained to you the details.” Brock says smirking at you, 

He tries to grab you but Jeremy blocks you from him, 

Brock sighs snapping his fingers where two of his goons jump him, punching and kicking him to the ground, 

“No, No stop I’ll go just leave him alone!” You yell, he motions for his goons to stop, Jeremy stands you hug him, 

“Get Steve,” you whisper. He nods

Brock pulls you away from your brother, his grip tightly on your upper arm,

He shoves you into the SUV

You knew the rumors about Brock and his Mob, Brock was notorious for beating his wife, killing his men without a second thought, wrecking havoc. He had no respect when it came to his men and the public, 

You knew Steve however he had everyone from the police to attorney's in his pocket, 

He will turn Brock’s operation upside down to get you back, You knew that for a fact, 

One of Brock’s men place a handkerchief to your nose and mouth, You struggle but still breathe in the fumes and you fall into a deep sleep. 

Jeremy ran as fast as he could to Steve’s mansion, The men at the gate knew him since he’s been in Steve’s crew for a few days, He runs to Steve’s office where he is having a meeting with Bucky and Sam, all the men look in his direction, 

“Dude do you know how to knock?” Sam says 

“I’ve been looking for you all morning where have you been?” Bucky says glaring at him, 

Bucky was tired of his excuses, He was only letting him in Steve’s crew for a favor to Y/N but all the men stop when they see his condition and the pure panic on his face, 

“What the hell happened to you?” Sam asked 

Steve just sat at his desk slightly annoyed, 

“They took her.” Jeremy says 

Everyone in the room freezes, 

“They took, Y/N.” He says 

Steve stands up, stalking over to him, Steve towers over him glaring at him, 

“What did you do?” Steve asks in a menacing voice, 

It was no secret that Jeremy always brought his problems to your doorstep, 

“It was Brock and his men.” Jeremy says 

“That’s not what he asked you.” Bucky says glaring at him 

Jeremy froze, 

“Well?” Sam says 

Steve lost whatever patience he had left grabbing Jeremy by the collar.

“What did you Do?” He asked 

“I- I uh gambled... More than I had, And He took her.” Jeremy said, 

“You what!?” Bucky says 

Steve holds up his hand Stopping Bucky, Steve glares at him, 

“Your sister gives you to many chances,” Steve says as he glares down at him, 

He shoves him to Sam, 

“Get him the hell out of here.” He says 

“W-Wait Y/N She need-” He began, 

Steve glares over his shoulder at him, making him clam up as Sam drags him out of the office, 

“We need to find her, Who the hell knows what Brock is doing to her.” Bucky says in a worried voice, 

Steve growls, 

It was no secret to Bucky that Steve was in love with her, But he knew this business could get her caught up with the wrong people, Exactly what Steve and Bucky tried protecting her from, But it looks like that was all out the window, 

“He’s probably got her at the Docks,” Bucky says 

Steve nods, 

“Get everyone ready, Brock has been a thorn in my side for far to long anyway.” Steve says 

Your heavy eyelids slowly flutter open, It was dark,you smelled a musty smell, You try to move but realize you can’t, Your hands are tied behind your back as you sat on a chair. 

“Good morning sunshine.” Brock says smirking down at you, You just glare, 

One thing Bucky and Steve always taught you no matter what never show fear. 

“Lets talk about your friend Bucky shall we?” He says with a smirk

[teaberrii]

Chapter 19: A Mother's Love?

You've been Cupid for as long as you can remember. You've brought countless soulmates together, yet you've never found love.

When you're assigned to bring two childhood friends back together, it should be simple until you unexpectedly catch feelings for the mysterious and cold Ph.D. student, Dan Heng, the man with a soulmate… the man with answers to your past.

Dan Heng/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on Ao3

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

You, posing as Jing Yuan’s handmaiden, walked toward the king’s quarters with clean bedsheets draped over an arm. It wasn't a job you signed up for, but it was an opportunity to get access to your father’s room without suspicion.

During the time you were gone, things had changed. Your mother had passed away due to poor health, and your father was receiving threats from the Middle Kingdom. You had discovered it was because Young was missing, and his people were blaming the humans.

This was proof.

Someone had used magic on the day of Young’s execution.

“...A concealment spell?” you had asked. Pom placed a round tray with two cups filled with the herbal tea on the table. Then, he sat on the couch across from you. “That would explain why word never got out about it." Your eyes hardened. “But…”

Pom picked up a cup. “But?”

“No one said anything about it. Even when I was exiled… no one said anything about Young’s death. Not even my parents. It was like they wanted to avoid mentioning it.”

“It’s possible they had their memories erased or were brainwashed.”

You picked up your cup of tea. “That’s one way to keep their mouths shut, that’s for sure.”

“Jing Yuan probably said Young had gone missing, but I’m sure some people know the truth.” You immediately think of Caelus. “That’s one explanation for the lack of bloodshed that should be happening.”

"Is a concealment spell hard to do?"

“That depends,” Pom said. With a swift wave of his hand, his teacup suddenly disappeared. Then, with a snap, it reappeared. “Depending on what you’re trying to conceal defines the difficulty and the type of magic. I f it was an execution, that’s definitely black magic considering, well, you’re hiding someone getting killed. And on a large scale like that where a crowd was involved… that’s not easy to do.”

“...Young once told me Jing Yuan was threatening him for information on black magic.”

“But this is advanced. There’s no way a human could do something like this, let alone master it. Not this quickly, at least. So, either Jing Yuan's been a crazy psychopath since he was, like, ten. My money is on that he got some extra help."

You raised a brow. “I didn’t know how fast you learned magic depended on your race.”

“Not exactly. Humans are… er, well, they’re normies. No offence."

"None taken."

"They don’t have an advantage like Young’s kind. I guess, to put it another way… Young was born with magic in his blood that could make any spell more effective. The older they get, the stronger it gets."

Then, was Young… betrayed? But why? By who?

Pom looked you in the eyes. “I don’t think it’s just Jing Yuan we’re after.”

You stopped in front of the door to your father’s quarters. This was the first time in a long time you'll see him again. Had he ever thought about you in the last few years? Did he ever regret what he did?

After entering, you slid the door closed. With a quick wave, the door had permanently locked itself so you were the only person who could get in and out.

Your father’s living quarters were exactly as you remembered it: clean and organized. The door to his study was open; no one was inside. So, you made your way to his bedroom. You slid another door open, and you saw your father sleeping soundly on the bed. You quietly approached him, dropping the clean bedsheets on the floor.

By the time your father realized someone was beside his bed, it was already too late. He couldn’t move, couldn’t blink. It was as if he was paralyzed. You had one knee on his bed while leaning over him. He whimpered. Trembled. Soon, your appearance changed back, and you smiled at him.

“Hello, Father,” you said quietly. “Did you miss me?”

Everything was in his eyes. Shock. Fear. Worry. The questions were written on his face. How was this happening? How did you get in here? Why were you here?

“You made a big mistake when you and Mother banished me.” You took out the vial of black mist from inside your hanfu pocket. “You should’ve just killed me.”

Your father’s eyes landed on the black mist, and he began to sweat. Another whimper. “Shh…” You put your hand over his mouth. “This won’t hurt. I promise."

You popped the cap off, and the mist slowly scaled the tube. Then, as if it had a mind of its own, it slithered towards your father. You let him go as the mist got closer… closer… and closer… until it crawled into his eyes and nose. His eyes went black, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. A gag. A short strangled scream. Then, his mouth closed, and you closed his eyes with your hand as if he died.

“...You won’t be alone. I assure you.”

Everything went quiet.

Before leaving the room, you looked over your shoulder and said, "Goodbye, Father."

Then, you left as if nothing had happened.

Jing Yuan swirls the alcohol in his glass as he looks at you. Your glass is still full.

It was by chance he bumped into you on his way out of the building. He could still see your surprised look, but it was far from pleasant. Still, Jing Yuan took the opportunity and approached you, knowing that you wouldn’t rip his throat out in public where there were busy crowds as people were getting off work.

“Could we talk?” he had asked.

You blatantly ignored him, stepping around him to continue on your way. However, he grabbed your wrist, and you glared at him.

“Let me go, or I’ll scream.”

Jing Yuan pulled you closer to him. “Then, what do you propose we do, Sweetheart? I’m not going be a sitting duck waiting for you to murder me in my sleep.” He saw the whites of your eyes turn red, and Jing Yuan’s heart raced out of anxiety. He’d better hold his tongue.

“You’re right,” you had said, and suddenly Jing Yuan couldn’t breathe. “I should’ve done so the moment I saw you.”

Jing Yuan let you go and raised a hand as if surrendering. “Look,” he gasped. “I mean no harm. Truly.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nanook who was watching the entire scene. "Just ask your friend.”

You didn’t turn, but your eyes flashed toward Nanook who gave you a friendly smile. Then, he casually walked up as you asked, "What are you doing here?”

“Me? Oh, well, just makin' sure my favourite girl doesn't turn into a cold-blooded killer." Nanook looked at Jing Yuan, and the man could suddenly breathe again. You furrowed your brows and turned to Nanook. “...It won’t do you any good from killing him.”

Jing Yuan took a steady breath. “Again, I come in peace.”

“What do you want to talk about?” you asked coldly.

“...The past.”

And that’s how you and Jing Yuan end up at his office.

Nanook is gone, but you know he’s watching from somewhere. 

“Not a drinker, Love?”

“You’re wasting my time,” you say. “You said you wanted to talk. Get on with it.”

Jing Yuan puts his empty glass on the table. As he walks toward you, his thumb casually twists the ring on his finger.

“You’re holding me against something I didn’t do,” he says. “I am not the person who killed your lover in the past. We may share the same face, but I would never do something like that." He smiles. "If it were me, you wouldn't even know—" Jing Yuan suddenly doubles over in pain. When it subsides, he takes a small breath. "Not a fan of jokes. Okay, got it."

“Perhaps you’re capable of something much worse, and I should be doing the world a favour by ripping your heart out.”

“And then what? Hm?” Jing Yuan grabs your shoulders. “Centuries from now when everyone is reborn again… you’re going to do the same thing? Continue hunting me down?” He smiles wryly. “It’s romantic in a twisted sort of way, Sweetheart.”

Suddenly, he feels an intense, sharp pain shoot through his chest. When he feels something squeezing his heart, he slowly looks down and sees blood dripping onto the floor. Your hand is inside of him, toying with his heart… literally.

“...Cupid, wait.” You slowly turn to Nanook who has a worried look. “Just… calm down.”

“Tell me, Love," Jing Yuan manages to say. "How much do you remember?”

“Enough that I don’t need to remember anything else to know you took everything from me.”

Your nails dig into his heart, making Jing Yuan cough and spit blood.

You were hiding in the forest, a bow and arrow in your hands. Your prey was in sight, and you raised your weapon, preparing to kill the deer a distance away until a noise from behind you scared the animal off. You frowned as you turned and saw Jing Yuan with a slight, smug grin with a rock in his hand.

“Seriously?” you asked.

“You were taking too long.” He jumped from the fallen tree trunk he stood on and approached you. “There’s no waiting in battle.”

“There’s also something called recklessness,” you muttered. You put your arrow back into the quiver.

“How did you get your hands on this? You know women aren’t supposed to handle weapons.”

“What? Are you going to tattle on me, General?”

Jing Yuan slightly leaned closer to you. “I won’t… but just because I like you.”

“Right. How many times have you used that line before?"

“Why have you been avoiding me lately, Princess? Don’t tell me it was because of what happened the other night.”

You stopped. You, Jing Yuan, and Luocha had gotten together for a casual night of drinking. Your brother left early, and while you had a few more drinks, you’d accidentally confessed your feelings about how much you hated the political rivalry, forcing you and a friend to meet in secret. Upon realizing your mistake, you stopped drinking. When Jing Yuan asked who you were talking about, you—not entirely sober—stood and said it was nobody.

Jing Yuan had helped you to your room. Suddenly, he pulled you close and whispered in your ear that he'd help you forget whoever was plaguing your mind. That was the first time he kissed you. Even though you initially rejected his advances, you eventually succumbed. Perhaps it was because you were under the influence of alcohol. Jing Yuan wanted to believe it was because of your feelings. One thing led to another, and you felt terrible the next morning from the vulnerability the night before. It had been a huge mistake.

“...I told you that was a mistake," you said.

Jing Yuan had acted like your words didn't hurt him, casually saying that it was one night of fun. That was it. Little did you know that he felt used, but he had no one to blame but himself.

"What are you doing out here anyway?" you asked as Jing Yuan caught up to you. "Don’t you have big boy things to do?”

“Define big boy things.”

“Raising an army.”

Jing Yuan suddenly stopped you, and you were forced to look at him.

“The man you were talking about that night… Is it Young?”

Your face paled. “Where... Where is this coming from?"

"Answer the question." You frowned, not fond of being ordered around. So, you walked around him until he said, " Being with him will only cause you pain and suffering.”

You stopped and you clenched your fists. “Leave me alone, Jing Yuan.” You didn’t bother masking the annoyance in your tone.

Jing Yuan watched you leave, knowing he was right.

“I don’t know how much you remember about… us. But, with each memory that comes back, I feel everything my past self once felt." Your eyes meet his, and he touches your arm. Dan Heng enters the room just as Jing Yuan says, “It’s true. I was in love with you back then.”

You smile coldly. “Is this how you beg for forgiveness?” Then, you hear Dan Heng say your name, and you quickly turn to the door and see him slowly walking towards you. “How… why are you here?”

Once he’s by your side, he puts a hand on your shoulder.

"Let him go, Cupid," Nanook says.

From the look on Dan Heng’s face, you know he’s thinking the same. The red in your eyes turns darker as you say, “Aren’t you angry? He killed you. He—”

“I am.” Dan Heng looks at Jing Yuan who has gone limp. “But if we kill him, it won’t help us.” Dan Heng puts his hand on your wrist that’s stained with Jing Yuan’s blood. “Jing Yuan met Young before.”

“I know,” you say, glaring at Jing Yuan. “He threatened him for information on black magic.”

“It wasn’t about that,” Dan Heng says, putting an arm around you. “Let him go, and I’ll explain.”

There’s a short silence before you reluctantly pull your hand out, and the sound of ripping flesh fills the room. Jing Yuan almost falls lifelessly to the floor if not for Nanook.

“Did I miss a massacre?”

Nanook frowns at the familiar face. “I have to wonder if you planned this, Lan. Way to show up after Cupid almost murdered a man.” Lan’s eyes immediately land on Jing Yuan’s gaping wound in his chest. “Small wound. No biggie.”

“He’ll live,” you say when Lan comes to examine the damage. “The wound will close on its own.”

After Nanook lays Jing Yuan on the couch, he turns around with his hands on his hips. “All right, Lover Reincarnate, time for you to explain. What’re you talking about?”

Dan Heng looks at you. “It was about Young’s mother.”

The sun had just set over the horizon, the sky a fiery red with hues of orange. It was as if the world was on fire. Young stood in a forest clearing, his hands behind his back. His eyes opened, sensing a presence in the shadows of the trees behind him. He didn’t need to turn to see who it was.

“Heir to the Middle Kingdom..." Young turned around and saw Jing Yuan, his golden eyes looking at him as if he were prey about to be devoured. With open arms, Jing Yuan said, "It's a pleasure."

Young took out a note from inside his hanfu. With a flick of his wrist, the note flew toward the ground until one of its corners became stuck in the dirt. “...Get on with it.” As Jing Yuan walked toward him, he purposely stepped on the note, and it instantly crumbled into ashes. “How do you know my mother?”

Jing Yuan looked down and smiled. Young narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, Young. Was your mother ever happy with your father?”

The last thing he wanted was to play mind games with an armed general. However, if that was what Jing Yuan wanted… Young could deliver.

“Why would a general be so interested in the relationships of others? Surely, you have more pressing things on your mind.”

Jing Yuan met his eyes with a cold stare. “...You mean like the woman you’re in love with? The Princess of the North?” Young’s gaze hardened as Jing Yuan chuckled. “Since I’m such a nice person, let me be the first to tell you.” He smiled, though his eyes said a different story. “We’re about to be engaged.”

The brief shock was enough to amuse the general.

“Of course… she doesn’t know that yet, but it’s a done deal with her parents.” Jing Yuan’s smile vanished. “I won’t tell them about you. Don’t worry… but in return, stay away from her.”

"I’m here to talk about my mother.”

“A human with one of your kind… It’s a forbidden romance for the books,” Jing Yuan said. “If she never mentioned me, I don’t see why I have to enlighten you.” Suddenly, he appeared in front of Young. “If you truly love the princess, you’ll let her go. Or… do you want her to end up like your pitiful mother?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Nanook says, raising a brow. “End up like your pitiful mother? Am I the only one who’s lost?”

“When did you see this?” Lan asks.

“It happened on my way here,” Dan Heng says.

Nanook sighs as he gives Jing Yuan a deadpan look. Then, he looks at you. “Y’know… maybe General Prettyboy genuinely liked you. If he was truly only after revenge and all that shit, he wouldn’t have told Young to stay away from you.”

“Regardless,” Lan says, “we know that Jing Yuan knew Young’s mother.”

“Yeah, but what was their relationship?” Nanook asks. Then, after a sarcastic chuckle, “Don’t tell me Jing Yuan is also her son.”

The silence drags on… and on… and on…

Nanook looks at the faces in the room. “Guys, c’mon. Like… there’s no way… Right?” When no one still says anything, the god says, “Right?”

"If he was…” you say, “Then who was the father?”

◆◆◆

Jing Yuan was five years old when he first used a knife on himself. He took the blade with trembling hands and looked up at the adults who were looking at him with a hard, pressuring stare.

“...Do it,” one of them said. “If you don’t, you’ll never fit in with the humans.” Jing Yuan didn’t understand. He was human, right? Well, his appearance said otherwise. One of the adults held a mirror to Jing Yuan’s face. “Look at yourself. You aren’t human. No human has horns.”

Jing Yuan gripped the blade tighter. If he wasn’t human, who was he? Why was he different? Nothing made sense. His emotions ran wild as he raised the knife to his head. He’ll think about it later. He’ll understand later. For now, he just had to appease the adults who were so kind to take him in. He had nowhere else to go.

One cut. He screamed. Two cuts. Tears began to fall. Three cuts. Then, came the smell of blood.

"Keep going."

That was the first out of the many nights Jing Yuan severed a part of himself to survive.

“...They? Who’s they?”

Jing Yuan can faintly hear Nanook’s voice. A sharp pain shoots through Jing Yuan’s chest as his consciousness slowly returns. 

“No idea,” Lan says. “If it’s true Jing Yuan and Dan Heng are half brothers, Jing Yuan’s father had to be human. They took away the life he could’ve had… that was what Caelus said. Considering the political rivalry and tensions, I wouldn’t be surprised if Cupid’s parents were involved in what happened to Jing Yuan.”

“Good Lord. Then that means whoever Jing Yuan’s father is, he must be one important motherfucker.” Nanook, who’s standing behind the couch Jing Yuan is resting on, looks down at the general who has fully regained consciousness. “Careful there, General Prettyboy. You still have an obvious hole in your chest.”

Jing Yuan groans as Lan walks over. “...I’m going to kill her.”

Nanook laughs. “Who? Cupid? Yeah, good luck.”

“You’ll be bedbound for a while,” Lan says. “It's going to take some time to heal.”

Jing Yuan glares at him. “And there’s absolutely no way to make it heal faster?”

“I mean… You could try walking into a hospital,” Nanook says. “But I'm sure the only reaction you’ll get is screams and not the good kind.”

Jing Yuan sighs. “I... wasn’t fully human.” Nanook and Lan glance at each other. “I had horns, and... I saw myself cutting them off, for fuck sake." 

“Geezus… Those things grow back, you know.”

“Is that how you found out about the concealment spell?” Lan asks.

Jing Yuan puts a hand on his forehead as a migraine hits. “The what?”

“Have a heart, would you, Lan? Prettyboy looks like he’s going to pass out again. This can wait.”

“Hey.” The gods turn to Jing Yuan who looks exhausted. “When you see Dan Heng and Cupid, give them a message for me.”

“Don’t tell me it’s a declaration of war.” Lan gives Nanook a deadpan look. Nanook turns and asks, “What?”

Then, sincerely, Jing Yuan says, “Tell them that I’m sorry.”

“Huh… wasn’t expecting that.”

“But…” Jing Yuan looks at the hole in his chest. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to let her get away with this. God or not, she’s taking responsibility.”

“Look, we know you’d rather have Cupid be your lil maid and all, but that’s out of the question. She’ll kill you before you can ask for painkillers, which I guess is an effective painkiller, actually."

Jing Yuan scoffs. “Then, I guess she will continue serving her sentence.”

"We'll pass on the message," Lan says before Nanook can say anything else.

And the gods are gone.

◆◆◆

On the Astral Express, Nanook and Lan are walking in the corridor when the god of destruction asks, “Were you thinking Jing Yuan used a concealment spell to eventually hide his horns?”

“It’s not just that. He likely also used it to hide Young’s execution.”

“Ah, the wonders of black magic,” Nanook says with a satisfied smile. “But, even if Jing Yuan wasn’t fully human, there’s no way he could carry that out alone. The scale is too large.”

“...His mother.”

“Young’s mother?”

Lan nods. “She’s the only one who’s capable of this. She wasn’t human, and they had much more knowledge of magic than humans during that time.”

“Yeah… but why kill her son? The one she loved?” Nanook asks. “Sounds like she just left poor Prettyboy to die, but he pulls an Uno reverse card and ends up being your classic character of a rags-to-riches story. Why would she help him?”

Lan looks at Nanook. “Just my speculation… but Jing Yuan probably tricked her.”

“He tricked her…? So... she thought she was hiding someone else’s execution?”

“Three guesses who.”

“Oh, for the love of God…”

“It would explain why Dan Heng’s mother was cursed.”

Before Nanook can respond, they hear a familiar voice. Idrila is walking towards them; she frowns at Nanook.

“Where have you been?” she asks.

“...Around.”

She sighs, “Poking your nose into Cupid’s business, no doubt.”

“He’s been quite useful,” Lan says. “...Surprisingly.”

Then, as if proud of himself, Nanook says, “Anything for my girl, Cupid.”

“Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”

Nanook’s heart drops at the male voice. Then, he quickly turns to Idrila. “What is he doing here?”

“Vacationing,” the man says, emerging from the shadows. “Idrila has been such a dear to show me around.”

“Right.” Nanook crosses his arms. “Is Hell getting too hot for you, Sampo?"

"What do the humans call it? Ah, right. Global warming. It's even reaching the depths of Hell, it seems." Sampo smiles. "Thought I'd come up and take a nice, chill break with my good friends. But one of them isn't around... Word has it Cupid's doing a job with Pom."

Lan raises a brow. "You met Cupid?"

"She probably doesn't remember me, though. But we go back... a very long time."

“Sampo's here for a reason.”

The sound of heels makes Nanook and Lan turn around. Nanook crosses his arms. “Don’t tell me you called him here, Himeko.”

“I did.”

Lan glances at the mercenary of death. “What does he have to do with Cupid?”

“It’s only a matter of time before she gets all of her memories back,” Himeko says. “...Including the reason why she is who she is.”

“Um… is it just me, or why does this sound ominous?” Idrila asks.

“Because she’ll be forced with a choice,” Sampo says. “And it's my job to carry out her wishes.” He swings an arm around Nanook. “But, as it's not a job I can do right away, I'll be here with popcorn and watching this drama unfold until it's my time to shine."

Nanook scoffs. “Sounds like a great vacation.”

"Isn't it?"

“Did you know… all this time?” Lan asks Himeko. “About what will eventually happen to Cupid?”

“Not entirely. She still has some free will, so to speak. Her punishment is coming to an end. There’s no need to prolong it longer than it needs to be.”

“Punishment?" Idrila asks as the gods exchange a confused look. "Erm, anyway... We’ll still get to see her, right? Like… no matter what choice she makes?”

The silence tells her everything she needs to know.

Chapter 20

Tag list: @suoshiii @lordbugs @lxry-chxn @seirenspinel @tanspostsblog @theprinceofkhaos @nqctre @lunavixia @akwardbiscuit @hiqhkey @n8mareee @sunsethw4 @kplatzman

[italwayshadtobeyou]

One of the things that I kind of miss, as the show's lore develops into the era of bunkers and international secret societies, is the fragmented nature of knowledge in the hunting... well, I was going to say community, but I think I'll go with field. People pass knowledge along family lines, by blood or choice; they don't trust strangers to fact-check it. None of the Winchesters knows that vampires are real before season 1, and they don't think to ask Bobby about the werewolf "cure" until it fails on Madison. Bobby doesn't trust Steve Wandell's friends to care that Sam was possessed when Meg used him to kill Steve. Ellen doesn't trust most of her customer base to not be hunting psychics. Isaac assumes, on minimal grounds, that Bobby, Sam, and Dean are at fault for a devil's gate opening. Walt and Roy try to kill Sam for freeing Lucifer, but they don't try-- in fact, outright refuse-- to learn how it happened. Hunters aren't a single group; they're more like dozens of small paramilitaries that don't really know one another's agendas.

And when hunters do trust outside colleagues, it's likelier than not to go sideways. Gordon Walker tries to kill Sam (although, in fairness to Gordon, Sam himself later wonders if a permanent death might be for the best). Travis (does he get a last name? I can't remember) not only tries to kill a rugaru who hasn't yet killed any humans; his own aggression catalyzes Jack Montgomery's transformation and nearly gets both brothers killed. Sam asks Martin to do recon on Benny, and Martin winds up taking an innocent hostage so that he can trap Benny himself. Helpful, or at least well-meaning, hunters like Bobby, Jo, and Garth are, until some point in the Carver era, exceptions rather than the rule.

(Of course, if you pay attention to the single worst arc episode of the series, which is "The Heroes' Journey," Garth turns out to be the biggest psycho of them all, cheerfully "Garthing" a whole club of people, without attempting to separate the innocent from the guilty. But since that's easily the worst episode Andrew Dabb ever wrote, and it drops another continuity error approximately every three seconds, I'm electing to ignore it.)

I'm not sure exactly when the change starts. It's creeping, rather than sudden. Maybe it starts as far back as season 4's "In the Beginning," when Samuel tests Dean's bona fides by asking him about vampires-- which "Dead Man's Blood" made clear you can hunt a long time without encountering. Maybe inheriting Bobby's contacts list has something to do with it. Maybe, once you call a friendly tech friend like Charlie a hunter, you forget what cold-blooded sons of bitches this show's regular hunters have usually been. You can see the difference in season 9's "Devil May Care," where Tracy makes snide comments about Sam's past but puts it aside to work their case, and season 11's "The Chitters," where Sam and Dean have a low-drama teamup with César and Jesse. Then you have season 12's "Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox," where dozens of hunters gather for a wake in a late hunter's mom's house, and one guy actually fanboys over Sam's possession by Lucifer. Some of these experiences are tense, but they aren't downright threatening, nor are the other hunters all useless against higher-tier opponents.

So, what changed? I'd say that maybe the apocalypse and Leviathan killed off the dangerously ignorant and/or belligerent hunters, but Walt and Roy show back up in season 12, so that seems doubtful. I might also say that the Winchesters have simply earned the trust and respect of their fellow hunters, but, LOL, no. Remember Dean's friend Rudy, and Mary's stooge that Ramiel kills?

I'm left with no good Watsonian explanation. I can give Doylist explanations, sure: Maybe the writers wanted Mary to have associates outside of Sam and Dean; maybe some executive thought that a show about two rejects wouldn't attract the advertisers they wanted; maybe later-seasons showrunners wanted an excuse for more characters to share a room. Unfortunately, Doylist explanations don't interest me much. They might, if I could be a fly on the wall of the writers' room, but I'm watching the final product, and that's where I want to find the sense.

(As a final note, I'm still slightly doped up from a minor surgery earlier today, so please forgive any egregious typos or jumps in topics.)

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Ending 1: Destined for Violence

Summary: You make a choice and leave Harrenhal

Notes: this might just be a little sad.

Taglist: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @bpdst-massacre @padfooteyes @lj127 @bitem4rked @cl-0-vr @chattylurker @levithestripper @a-beaverhousen (hmu to be added to any taglist!)

Part 1 / Ending 2 | Masterlist | my requests are OPEN!

You woke up with a start in the middle of the night, not remembering where you were immediately. For a moment, the soft sheets under your hands felt like a trap, until you spotted Aemond next to you, sleeping.

You’d never seen him sleep before. Somehow, it was strange to see him so peaceful. Aemond had never been peace, even as a child. And yet, it looked like he hadn’t seen a lick of violence in all his days.

It wasn’t true. You felt cold suddenly, and the fact that you had woken up felt like a sign. You couldn’t kill Aemond, and this night would always be a weakness. But you could still fight. You could still try to make good what you’d done, for your Queen.

Somehow, you knew that leaving now would be a better revenge than whatever Daemon could do to make Queen Alicent pay for Lucerys. Daemon couldn’t reach Aemond, but you could.

Still, it felt like your ankles were in iron fetters as you slipped off the bed, searching for an escape. Instead, your eyes landed on a table, with the things on it that had been taken from you when you were captured.

They were stacked and folded neatly, arranged methodically and yet it felt like Aemond had built an altar for you. Your heart wrenched in your chest, and you ignored it, grabbing your things off of the tabletop.

An altar in ruins, at your hands.

Daemon had taught you to become a shadow, so you slipped into the dark hallways without a sound, pulling your cloak over the simple dress the woman had given you at your bath. Had it truly only been half a day? It felt like years.

Quietly, you picked up a bucket that had been abandoned on the floor outside of Aemond’s room, trying to fit the picture of a servant. Few hallways were patrolled, and the guards that passed you paid you no mind.

When one tried to stop you, you pulled him into a shadowed alcove of the castle and slit his throat. Blood ran over your fingers, and you wiped it on your cloak before it could stain.

The price for leaving grew as the life left the man’s body, and you knew that the next time you slept, another face would appear in your nightmares.

It didn’t matter. You had a headstart of a few hours, if you were lucky. You needed to find a forest, trees under which you could hide from a dragonrider’s gaze.

A soft whinny was the only sound that could have revealed you, but the horse complied as you stroked its flank, allowing you to lead it into the courtyard. The guards at the gates halted you, asking where you were going.

“An important message for the king. The prince wants me to ride immediately.” You said.

“Long live the king.” The guard replied, stepping out of your way. His head would be on a spike tomorrow, you knew. And another face.

“Indeed.” You replied, and even that tasted acidic on your tongue, reminding you that you were a traitor now.

You kicked your horse into a gallop, leaving Harrenhal in the dust, but the guilt in your heart seemed to slow it down as well. Two lives it had already cost. How many more? It wasn’t unreasonable to Aemond to execute his guards for disloyalty, and to let a prisoner slip through the cracks…

It didn’t matter. You had to make their unwilling sacrifice worth something. If you made it to the Trident, you’d be able to take a ship from Maidenpool to Dragonstone. No, scratch that, you’d make for Rook’s Rest.

Your best shot at getting back alive was there, where you’d be able to catch a ship no doubt, or at least obtain some new information about the war.

The horse you’d chosen carried you throughout the rest of the night, until the sun rose, and you knew that by now, Aemond would have found out.

Instead of riding straight for Rook’s Rest, you sought out a forest, knowing that your journey would be elongated by the ride west, but your life mattered more.

And not an hour later, the roar of a beast shook the ground under you. Through the canopies of the forest, you could see Vhagar’s massive body, flying close to the ground. Her claws grazed the treetops, and you knew that even now, Aemond was like to find you. He would hunt you down, and even if he did not, his men would.

So you abandoned your horse, tying it to a tree and ran in search for an alcove or a cave. Instead, you found an overhang over a small creek, the roots of ancient trees sure to cover you. You scrambled underneath, praying to the gods that Aemond would search elsewhere.

You lost hope when you heard the screams of a dying horse. Closing your eyes, you flattened yourself against the damp earth under the treeroots, covering your mouth with some fabric. Around you, the stench of smoke began to rise into the air.

He was burning the trees aimlessly, either trying to kill you or smoke you out. The ash that rained down on you stung your eyes, causing tears to pool and threatening to spill over.

The heat grew unbearable, so you grabbed handfuls of the mud in the creek, trying to smear it over you for some relief, and hide your bright dress somehow.

Still, the fire stayed, wood cracking around you. A branch broke off, falling into the creek and splashing water onto you. At some point, the shadow of Vhagar disappeared, her roars replaced by silence.

You stumbled out from under the alcove, heart hammering in your chest as you surveyed your surroundings. A few paces away from you, you found the carcass of your horse, burned to the bones, the metal of her reigns molten into them.

The soldier in you made you carry on, stumbling out of the forest and making a run for it. You could make it to Rook’s Rest today, and the riders would not catch up with you. You’d driven your horse to exhaustion.

Cutting off the long hem of the dress, you discarded it on the ground and began to run. When your weapons grew heavy on your back, you didn’t stop. When your muscles began to burn, you didn’t stop. When your lungs felt like they were on fire, you did not stop.

You’d been taught different, and you would survive.

And when running was no longer possible, you walked. Then you stumbled, crawling forward. This was your only chance at making it to Dragonstone, and you’d take it. You had to.

It was this or dragonfire.

The palms of your hands burnt as dirt scraped onto the cuts in them, and you ignored the pain. Nauseau began to roil your stomach, a sign that you were too exhausted for this. The time of imprisonment had weakened you, and you paid your price as you emptied your stomach onto the grassy ground.

You wouldn’t have made it to Rook’s Rest if soldiers hadn’t been on patrol. They saw your face, covered in soot and the vomit in the corner of your mouth and stopped their horses.

“Green or black?” one of them called. You had no idea what their loyalty was. The Riverlands were filled with both.

“Black.” You managed. They hooted in agreement, but you barely heard them, the world turning in front of your eyes as you collapsed on the ground.

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was that you hadn’t been raped and thrown away. You supposed it was the honor of the Riverlands that compelled these soldiers, for in Flea Bottom, you would’ve woken up beaten and bloodied.

Instead, a septa was tending to your wounds, giving you a small smile when you opened your eyes. The vomit had been wiped from your mouth, and your palms dressed in soft fabric.

“Thank the Gods.” She sighed.

“Water.” You croaked, and she set the cup at your lips, helping you drink.

“Slowly, or you’ll lose your stomach again.”

“Who?”

“Who found you? Lord Staunton’s soldiers. They’re pious men, lucky for you.” She said.

“Need to talk to Lord Staunton.” You wheezed. The septa laughed at that.

“Women like us have no business talking to lords.”

“I’m Prince Daemon’s general.” You replied through gritted teeth. “I need to get to Dragonstone.”

She paled at your words. “You’re the blacksmith’s daughter?”

“Famous?” you asked sarcastically, and she gave a slow nod.

“I’ll find Lord Staunton.”

They dragged you from your bed immediately, despite the septa’s protests and set you onto a boat headed for Dragonstone. You watched as a raven flew ahead to send word of your return.

Apparently, the Blacks had made you a martyr. Too bad you’d risen from the dead.

A maester watched your every move, not even letting you piss in peace. Milk of the poppy wasn’t offered. Instead, your wounds were dressed as well as possible. You had bruises and burns in places you hadn’t realized at first.

You were only thankful that the septa had pulled the molten soles of your shoes from your foot while you were out.

At Dragonstone, guards already awaited your arrival, hefting your arms over their shoulders to practically drag you inside. Your pride was getting chipped away bit by bit as they laid you into the castle’s infirmary and finally left you alone.

Except that the soldiers around you were groaning with agony, in conditions far worse than what you had suffered. Covered in burns and missing limbs, they lay in their pain as you were made to think of yours.

Herbwives and healers of every kind scuffled amongst the men, but they left you alone, finally. You closed your eyes, trying to fall asleep.

And awoke trying to swat the enemy’s hands off your shoulders, until you realized that it was Prince Jacaerys, for some reason.

“My prince?” you choked out.

“We all thought you were dead. My mother wanted me to retrieve you, but you were screaming in your sleep.”

“Oh. Apologies, my prince.” You replied. The boy was impossibly pale, and for a moment, you forgot that he was only a few years younger than you.

“Come.” He said, helping you off the bed. You struggled to stay upright, feeling your burnt soles chafe against the ground. Another soldier came to your aid, taking your weight off of the young heir’s shoulder.

“How are you?” he asked while you limped after him, struggling to keep up with his pace.

You froze for a moment, not remembering the last time someone had asked. “In pain.”

“Yes, I suppose that makes sense.” Was all he said to that.

“How has it been for you, my prince?” you asked.

“I miss my brother.”

“So do I.” you said with a small smile.

“You have a brother?”

“Three to be exact. They stayed behind with my mother when my father and I left for Dragonstone. They’re probably dead now. Too much honor for their own cause.”

“I’m sorry.” Jacaerys replied. You saw the boy in him for a moment, slipping through the cracks of heirdom momentarily.

“I mourned them when the war began.” You replied curtly, not wanting to talk about your grief to a prince.

Ser Erryk opened the door to the map room as you approached, letting you inside.

“Your Grace.” You greeted carefully, giving a clumsy bow. “I would kneel, but I do not think I can.”

“You’re alive.” She replied. “I didn’t quite believe it.”

Her son’s death had cost Rhaenyra much, and now that you stood in front of her, you could see it.  The flesh had fallen off her face, her bones sharp and her lilac eyes empty.

“Me neither.” You said dryly.

“You must rest, for a swift recovery. We’ve lost too many good generals and commanders.”

“Of course, your Grace.”

“I would have you knighted, for your bravery, but you are still a woman. Ask what you wish to have of me, and if it is in my power, I will give it.”

“Thank you, your Grace. I beg, please do not send me back to Harrenhal or the Riverlands again. Let me serve you somewhere else.”

Before Queen Rhaenyra could respond, the doors to the room burst open, and Daemon walked in. You saw the fury in his eyes blaze hot, and barely had time to brace yourself before he pushed you against a wall, hands on your neck.

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra called, but he ignored her.

“You were supposed to kill him.” He snarled, his grip tightening. You could feel his elbows dig into your stomach, the cool sting of his chainmail painful against your sore skin. “I trusted you to be smart enough to gather that! A son for a son, how hard can it be, huh? Instead you’re back here, groveling like the traitor you are.”

“Enough!” Rhaenyra commanded, her voice cutting through the air like Valyrian steel. Daemon let go of you, as if you were poisonous, and you fell to your knees, your vision blurring with tears of pain.

“I couldn’t.” you croaked. It wasn’t a lie.

“She was a prisoner for months!” Rhaenyra reminded her husband. “I am glad to have a trustworthy commander back at my side, and you injure her further! Do not call her a traitor, for she is anything but!”

You couldn’t see Daemon hit her, but you heard his palm impact with her face. Your world came to a crashing halt as you watched your Queen stumble backwards, holding her face in disarray. It felt like a moment too intimate to witness, even if you were on your knees and your head was bent in obeisance.

“Leave.” She said dangerously quiet. Daemon backed away from her, his fury evident. He’d always been more dragon than man, and now, it was coming to the surface. A hand on Dark Sister’s hilt, he strode out of the room, stepping on your hand on purpose.

“Your Grace.” You managed, trying to back into a corner, to just disappear. She did not reply, straightening her back as the doors to the Map room opened again and her son walked inside. You could see on his face that Jacaerys knew.

“Mother.” He said, and you could hear all the unspoken things that went with it, reminding you that your own mother was gone. How you longed to embrace her one last time. How you wished to have died at her side a long time ago.

“Confer with the Maester and find her a room. We need a new commander, and she needs to heal.” Rhaenyra told him curtly, and Jacaerys nodded.

He helped you up carefully, trying to steady you as you stumbled on your feet.

“My prince, you mustn’t.” you mumbled, trying to find balance by putting your hand against a wall.

He ignored you, helping you walk all the way to a small chamber. It was clean, had a bed and your things in it, and that was more than what you’d ever had. So why did you feel so unsatisfied?

“Thank you, my prince.” You said.

“Jace.”

“Sorry?” you asked.

“My friends call me Jace.” He said, his voice cracking.

“I- my prince, I do not know if that’s proper.”

“We grew up together. We played together as children, didn’t we?”

It felt like a made-up story to remember. Yes, Jacaerys had tormented Aemond for being dragonless, but he’d been a child. You’d all been children.

“War makes us lonely, doesn’t it?” you replied.

“Yeah.” He said.

“I’d like to have a friend again, Jace.” You tried. The smile on his face grew, and he gave you an excited nod.

“I’ll leave you to rest.” He said, before slipping out of the room and quietly closing the door behind him.

***

The day you could stand on your feet again, you dragged yourself into the courtyard. To no surprise, Daemon was waiting for you there. He’d heard the maester’s assessment, and he expected nothing less than everything of you.

He looked erratic as his hand curled around the grip of Dark Sister, pacing up and down the length of the rocky courtyard.

“You’re late.” He snapped, despite the fact that the sun wasn’t up, and the two of you were the only ones there.

“My apologies, my prince.” You replied, repeating the empty words. Still, your hand tightened around the grip of your sword, and not a second too soon.

Daemon brought his sword down, and he brought it down hard, leaving a nick in your sword as your arms shook to block. He did not heed his wife’s commands as he sliced at you with fury, not caring for your pained expression.

It only got worse when Caraxes landed on the rocks surrounding the courtyard, watching his rider intently. The dragon’s intent gaze prickled on your back as Daemon attacked again. It was impossible to prevail against Dark Sister’s bite, but you still managed to swipe his feet out from under him.

He landed on his back, only growing angrier at losing against you. You held your hand out to him, trying to help him up, but Daemon only grabbed you by the arm, pulling you down.

Immediately, you brought up your arms, blindly catching the first punch Daemon threw. He tried to reach into his boot for a knife, and you kicked it out of his hand, knowing that right now, Daemon would not hesitate to murder you.

The knife clattered onto the ground a few paces away from you, and you scrambled towards it, but Daemon crushed you with his weight, reaching for it himself. Angry and blinded with pain, you bit his arm, causing him to growl and Caraxes to hiss.

He pushed your face into the dirty ground, scraping your cheek with sharp rocks. You elbowed his stomach and for a second, you had enough time to scramble away from him and get back onto your feet, only armed with his knife.

Daemon twirled Dark Sister lazily. Blood pulsed in your ears, your heart hammering in your chest and sweat dripped from your jaw onto your boiled leather armor. You felt the bruises begin to form beneath your skin as you lifted the knife in your defense, with a heavy hand and a terrified heart.

The look he had in his eyes had to be the same he had had when he killed the soldiers on the Stepstones all those years ago. You ducked out of the way of his sword, sidestepping his cut, but he sliced into your armor and cut your arm. Blood began to well from the wound immediately, but you gripped the knife even tighter.

When Daemon charged a second time, you kicked up dirt from the yard, blinding him long enough for you to get behind him and hold the knife at his throat.

You weren’t as tall as he was, but even from your height, you could almost see the furious expression on his face.

You would’ve yielded, but then, he’d have killed you. Winning was your only option.

“Yield.” You said.

He spat in your face. When Daemon threw his sword away and raised his fits to fight, you let him hit you. There was no use in trying to get the prince to stop. He’d have to let his anger out on someone. Better you than the Queen or her children.

Distantly, you felt your back impact with the ground, Daemon’s fist cracking against your cheek. Weakly, you threw your hands up to protect yourself, but Daemon shoved them back into the ground, stones reopening closed cuts and bruising injured skin.

When Daemon paused his punches, you spat out the blood that had flown from your nose into your mouth. Your ears were ringing, and your head thudded from pain.

“Daemon!”

There it was again. You tried to lift your head, seeing Prince Jacaerys, no Jace, stand on the stairs leading down to the courtyard, face ashen again. Guilt hit you like a punch, only growing worse as the young prince ran down to pull his stepfather off of you.

Daemon gave one last cruel hiss in your direction before he let off, stalking from the courtyard.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“As long as you do not demand to spar as well.” You replied dryly.

“Isn’t it tiring?”

“Quite.” You said. He helped you up again.

“It appears our friendship consists only of you helping me up.” You noted. He gave a slight smile as you recognized that he had asked for your friendship and given it. He could’ve commanded it, but intuitively, you knew Jacaerys would not do that.

Instead, he took you to the maester, sitting next to you as he treated your wounds and idly chatting away. You enjoyed it, not having to think of what you said for once.

“The prince cracked some of the bones in your face.” The Maester sighed. “They may heal crooked.”

“No matter.” You replied, but in the back of your mind, something crumbled. Would Aemond still find you beautiful then?  “What about the rest?”

“Bruising. It’ll elongate the time it takes you to heal. You’ll be ready for combat in a few moons again. Perhaps at the start of the new year, but not earlier.”

You nodded, trying to swallow down the bitter news. War was horrible but stuck here in Dragonstone with a venomous Daemon might be worse.

***

The first time you were let back into the Map room was to plan an attack on Green loyalists. You didn’t know much, only that Rhaenyra needed people with experience.

Except that when you entered the room, Rhaenyra wasn’t there, only Prince Daemon and Lord Corlys. Jacaerys, who had walked there with you gave you a pitying smile.

He was a good friend. Not the kind Aemond had been, but sweet and dutiful. He went easy on you during the few spars you were permitted, and had distracted you with lessons in High Valyrian, which he insisted would be a fun way to pass the time.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you’d rather sit in the smithy all day, listening to steel ringing on steel and your father’s stories.

How your father was still alive, you didn’t know, but you were glad that one member of your family still was. He’d treated you by telling you the wild tales he’d made up for you and your brothers when you were young, and doting upon you like he never had before.

My little soldier, he called you now. It broke your heart every time.

He’d made you a new sword, with a small blue stone worked inside the hilt. Daemon could have had his head for treason, but your father had guessed that you missed your friend. It disappeared under your thumb each time you gripped it to fight, and your heart cracked a little further.

“It is time we smoked the Greens out of Harrenhal.” Daemon announced, and you felt something shatter in your chest.

Jace’s pity only grew more apparent. You hadn’t spoken of the Riverlands since you’d returned, but anyone could guess.

“Caraxes, Sheepstealer and Vermax shall lead the attack from the sky.” Lord Corlys continued. “And you, girl, will lead the forces on the ground.”

You ignored his insult, instead feeling your lungs constricting at the thought of going back there.

“You’ll await those that may come swarming from the castles with open arms and raised swords.” Daemon concluded.

***

Your feet stung as you marched through the Riverlands, the dragons above you keeping guard. The pain was a reminder of what had happened the last time you crossed these lands.

They’d fitted you with expensive armor this time. The cheekbone Daemon had shattered had healed a little crooked as the maester had predicted, a helmet hiding it from everyone around you. The lust for blood hung heavy in the air around you, these new soldiers that were barely old enough to fight and green as grass ready to spill it.

After a few days, the imposing shadows of Harrenhal came into view. According to your scouts, the Greens were completely unaware of what was coming for them up until now. Caraxes’ screech rung through the air as Daemon swooped through the clouds above you, making for Harrenhal.

You’d be at the gates in a few minutes, and the only thing keeping you from losing your mind was the thought that Aemond might escape. A traitorous thought, one that was only soothed by the small blue stone under your thumb.

With the fire came the screams. You shouted an idle command, and the rows of soldiers closed behind you, shields melding into walls as you waited for innocents to run to their deaths.

Only a few guards were armed enough to fight, but with a bay of steel waiting for them, they were dead before they could raise their weapons.

Your head turned off, no thoughts in your head as you killed women, children and men as if they were animals. Blood coated your blade and armor, splattering between the slits of your helmet as if to remind you of what you were doing. But this was war, and it could not be helped by people like you.

Your men pushed forward, a mass of bodies carrying you closer to the walls of Harrenhal. Your mind screamed at you to run, but you couldn’t. Instead, your feet were planted firmly on the ground, soldiers with shouts of victory streaming towards the castle walls.

And then, Vhagar raised her head above the castle walls to defend herself and your feet moved on their own accord, pushing through your own soldiers and towards the thin line of enemies.

Five guards stood at the entrance of Harrenhal, shivering. You were sure you looked courageous as you charged towards them. By the time you reached them, only two were left. The other three had bolts and arrows in their necks.

You didn’t notice their deaths, only a small flicker of blond in the enemy courtyard. Aemond.

There was a strangled noise from your throat, one you didn’t recognize as your own, and your feet carried you further. There was a pull towards him, impossible to escape.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to kill him or kiss him. You needed to prove yourself, but to whom? Daemon or Aemond?

Jace called your name, his dragon flying low, but half of it was swallowed by the wind and you ignored him. Aemond was in the courtyard, running towards Vhagar. You had to reach him first.

Your armored body crashed into him, pulling him away from Vhagar. Forcefully, with a violence you’d only ever been an onlooker of, Aemond drove a dagger right into your chestplate. It would have been impossible, but your father had mended the hilt of said dagger, so you recognized the blade immediately.

Aegon’s blade.

He ripped your helmet off, no doubt wanting to see the man that had tried to stop him. His face fell as he saw yours.

“Aemond.” You said, and you felt your own weapon drive into his side, Daemon’s taunts in the back of your mind.

“I promised.” He replied. “I promised and I’m sorry.”

“No.” you grunted, blood bubbling up in your throat. You pressed a hand onto your chest, trying to stop the bloodflow, distantly you heard Vhagar roar, defending her rider from attacking soldiers. Aemond steadied you, despite the blood coming from his own wound.

Through the fog in your mind, you remembered the little bits of High Valyrian Jace had taught you and tried to form a phrase. One to make Aemond proud, to distract him.

“Avy-“ you began. Aemond’s eye widened at your words. “Avy jorrāelan.”

“My love.” He whispered, rocking you gently. Tears you’d never allowed to fall now threatened to spill, and you raised a bloody hand, cupping Aemond’s face.

“Let me see you.” You begged. Aemond understood, wincing through the effort of lifting his arm and pulling off his eyepatch.

“I love you too.” He whispered. His words were almost swallowed by the noise of battle, all animosity and betrayal that could’ve been in his features gone.

“I mad-“ you began, but Aemond hushed you, gently rocking you as he knelt on the ground, kneeling for you.

“Don’t speak my love. I will fetch the Maester.”

You gave a ragged laugh, more wheeze than anything else. One of your organs had been punctured, you knew.

“I’m dying.” You whispered. “I made a choice, and it was wrong.”

“It wasn’t.” Aemond said, but you knew that was a lie.

“Please, Aemond. Please make the pain go away.”

He shook his head at your insinuation, now tearing up too. Blood stained his side, dripping onto the burnt earth and coloring it scarlet. With the little strength you had left, you grabbed Aegon’s dagger, lying off to the side, and held it out to him with a silent plea.

After what felt like an eternity, Aemond took it.

For the first time in your life, you saw his hand shake with unsurety. You’d always imagined death to be terrifying, but in Aemond’s arms, it felt like coming home.

And when the dagger plunged into your heart, all you felt were his arms around you and a whispered proclamation of love.

[kneamet]

could you please do jealous/possessive roman sionis???

blood moon ball

Trigger Warning: angst, obsession, drabble, yandere

Word Count: 613

Character: roman sionis/reader

blood moon ball

A mad night under a cold moon, the scarlet sky of flesh waved love in a haze. Stars were scrawled on the ceiling — so far away, almost real! the constellation of the monster pointed the way, dragged back into a deep, cruel and pathetic embrace; an embrace full of darkness and depravity, death and blood. It was the blood moon ball — Roman was the main guest, and angering him was like an execution. This is a one— actor theater for a single spectator — you. A spectator doomed to eternal imprisonment, contemplating the whole horror of life with faded eyes.

Lost to yourself, the whole world, but not to Roman, you were connected with strangers by a thread. They were sitting on chairs —coquettes with fake eyebrows, shiny earrings and mocking pupils, gentlemen with bloody hearts, greasy smiles and tasteless clothes. A row of flickering chandeliers poured abundant rays on the joyful faces of famous thieves, murderers who were going to shed a bloody sweat. And only you, like a small white flower sprouted in dirt and gloom, looked around the club in confusion, unable to move. Not being able to say a word against Roman that squeezed you in an insatiable embrace.

He kissed your neck, breathed hotly on your bare shoulders and ran his gloved hands along your waist. You shuddered, trembled and thoughtlessly looked into the distance, envied the crowd of harlots that were overcome with passion, madly rejoiced, traded in lost beauty and honor; they are carefree, who decided that life belongs to them; they are the same as you were a few months ago. Roman, not paying attention and ordering Zsasz to guard the most remote chairs, whispered in ear:

"Mine, mine, mine…"

The skin was covered with goosebumps, the heart beat faster. Your gaze was poisoned by endless longing. Forgotten dreams rise again with royal towers, block, help to live in the male world of the Novel. Roman protects you, protects you and pleases before you, ready to get the enemy's heart and present it on a platter. His control knows no bounds, but you feel — or should feel — safe. You're not in danger, but I'm worried, baby! he keeps saying, once again closing you at home. He says he has to protect.

Roman is a fragrant, luxurious fruit, a tombstone urn asking for tears; it is an evil spirit chasing from all sides, burning your chest with an unclean flame; you are forced to breathe it, inhale and swallow. Roman is a spider, he weaves webs and entangles victims, lives several lives that are nothing to him. His nets envelop the whole Gotham and it is not possible to get out, and why would you do that? Every girl in the city dreams of being in the bed of Roman Sionis, so why do you refuse?

Prohibitions multiply like bacteria, ordinary relationships will turn into continuous obligations and services — don't do this, don't do that. You sigh, trying to say something, but you are silent, afraid, remembering the bruises left on your neck. Suddenly you twitch when you feel the touch of tongue on the skin and the wet trail left. Roman, like a cat, makes this gesture, as if trying to ask for forgiveness, to lick wounds. Paying attention to a man walking with a drunken gait to your table, you don't even have time to say a word, as he, leaning against, demands something:

"Pretty, you want…"

He is interrupted by a dull bullet fired in the forehead. He falls with a thud, softly, almost inaudible thanks to the loud music. Your eyes widen and you swallow; Roman runs a gun through your hair.

"Mine."

im sorry if this isnt exactly what u wanted, i can always write something different fur u, anon! also, please indicate which type u would like to read - a drabble (500~ words) or a fic (2000+ words), since they are very different in content. drabble is more of a rest than a full-fledged job, so they may not be very interesting, perhaps boring and clumsy in terms of the plot. but if you liked it, then im very glad!

[bubblefina]

No Puppet Strings Attached 6

Summary: When Katsuragi brings a puppet back to Tatarasuna, saying that he found him wandering the shores, the village and blade smiths took him in as their own. Something about the puppet struck a young girl's heart. Despite him not having a heart of his own, the puppet felt something that would seem to be impossible for someone like him to feel.

Pairings: Scaramouche x f!reader

Warning! This chapter contains mature themes, view at your own risk.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Tatarasuna was in ruins. The blame of what happened fell onto Katsuragi’s shoulders, he did this so that Nagamasa wouldn’t have to take responsibility for what happened. In turn…he was executed by Nagamasa himself, by the very sword that was crafted for him.

A divide fell through the village, and many left to protect themselves from the remnants of the tatarigami. Others were still sick and passed it onto others. The cycle continued until there was no one left in the once peaceful village. All life had been eradicated, either through death or migration to other lands. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/n felt cold. She felt cold, tired, and thirsty.

When she first opened her eyes, she didn’t recognize the place she was in. She laid on a cold table, the kimono she wore was stained with dry blood, Niwa’s blood.

Remembering what had happened, tears formed in her eyes. She looked around, there were test tubes, chambers filled with liquids and all sorts of contraptions filling the room.

She slid off of the cold table and walked around. Her bare feet stung on the cold floor, as if they had been dragged through thorns. The longer she walked, the more fear set in. The last thing she remembered was seeing his face, the face of the man that killed her brother.

Her breath hitched for a moment. How long had she been out?

It could have been hours? It could have been weeks. Niwa was dead…he’s dead. Her only brother…gone.

And what about Kabukimono? Where was he? Did the estranged man tell the boy that she did not truly love him? Where was he…

More importantly, where was she?

Tears began to slip out as she hugged herself. Having no one to console her but herself, she tried to provide as much warmth as she could, but nothing could stop the shaking.

She stood still for a few moments longer until she heard footsteps coming down what sounded like stairs.

“You’re awake and walking already?”

She knew that voice.

Her body spun to face the man.

“You… It’s you.” The fear washed away and was replaced with anger. Her breathing heavy and fists clenched.

Dottore said nothing, he just walked closer.

“I’ve been waiting far too long for you to wake up. Perhaps the anesthetic I gave you was too strong.”

His hand reached out to stroke her hair, but she slapped it away.

“Where am I? What did you do to me, where did you take me?”

She began to shake again, but this time she wasn’t sure if it was out of anger or fear.

“You’re angry?” he was so nonchalant, acting as if nothing happened.

“Angry? I’m furious! You killed my brother, you bastard! A-and you’ve taken me to a place that I don’t even… Where am I?!” y/n screeched, her voice bounced off of the walls, but there was no one around to hear it.

“Somewhere very far away from home, but it’s only been a week since the events you last remember.”

“Take me back, I don’t wish to be anywhere near you. Go to hell!” Y/n brushes past him, trying to head towards the way he came through.

“I can’t do that, little dove,” Dottore follows closely behind her, until he has her cornered, “You’re far too precious to let go. Besides, if I do let you go, it’s only a matter of time until you talk about what happened.”

“You think I’d let what happened be a secret? You’re a murderer, not only of my brother, but those poor people who you infected with the tatarigami!.”

“I don’t think you understand what position you’re in…you’re mine now. Your body, your mind, everything is to be used by me.”

Y/n felt disgusted. Her being soaked in her deceased brother's blood, and now the very man that killed him now had her cornered. She bit her lip, and Dottore began to move closer again.

She latched onto a glass beaker behind her, gripping on tightly, she smashed the glass onto the side of his head. Catching him off guard, she pushed him away and ran. 

She ran up the stairs, out of breath, her footsteps echoing throughout the walls. Along with her heavy breath, she was still crying.

She found herself in a whole other laboratory, this one bigger than the last. She looked around but was confused, there didn’t seem to be a door anywhere, just where was she? 

She heard footsteps on the stairs below her, Dottore was following her. And seeming, by the steadiness of his steps, he wasn’t in a rush. 

In a panic, she hid behind something, hoping that she could calm herself down before having to face him again. 

“I must say, you’re not at all what I expected. Heh…how disappointing, I guess we'll just have to fix that.”

Her hands clasped over her mouth only seemed to make things worse, she couldn’t breathe.

“Let’s play a game, shall we? If you manage to evade me, I’ll let you go…but if I catch you, well we’ll just have to see what happens.”

She hears his steps grow louder, he is close. She got onto her knees and crawled in another direction to hide underneath a table that was blocked by books.

Dottore began to hum a tune. She knew that tune, it was the one that Kabukimono and her sang whenever they wanted to let the other know that they were close by.

He was mocking her.

“Your heart must ache hearing that tune, correct?”

Y/n looked down at the ground, wanting to ignore his words.

“It reminds me of what songbirds sing. They remain together for life, you know…unless they are separated by force.”

Dottore stops right next to the table she crouched under. Her heart was beating out of her chest, she was sure he could hear it.

“Would you call yourself a songbird, separated from each other…locked in a cage, by me.”

Dottore knocks over the table, the tower of books coming down with it. He notices her shaking form. He gives a pitiful clock of his tongue before crouching down, level with her.

His hand wipes away the tears that were staining her cheek. The consolation only lasted a few seconds until he forcefully gripped her cheeks and brought her closer to him.

“Judging by your expression, you’re still confused, so allow me to say it one more time. You are mine, in body and soul. I will use you as I please, and I’ll warn you that not all will be pleasant. That’s just part of the fun now isn’t it…”

Dottore covered her eyes and brought her into another room. It looked like a bathroom. A single bathtub in a corner, with other trinkets in the room.

“I’d hate to leave you in these dirty robes. You’ve been soaking in your brother's remains for far too long. Wash up.”

Y/n remained still, she didn’t want to move, and she wasn’t sure if she could.

Dottore clicked his tongue once more. He turned her towards him and slid off the shoulders of her kimono.

“You’ll learn, under normal circumstances I wouldn’t let you off the hook like this, but unfortunately I’m in a hurry today.”

He reached for the silk obi that was tied around her waist, and the simple touch made her spring into action. She swung at the man, right in his face. She continued to attack him until he gripped her wrists and forced her back towards the bathtub. He dunked her into the water.

It was cold, how long had the water been out? She was struggling to breathe, but continued to resist him. She struggled until she couldn’t, inhaling the water and choking. 

Dottore kept her submerged for a few moments longer until he brought her up. She coughed and heaved out water every second, but Dottore didn’t care.

“Wash yourself, I’ll come to get you later.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/n remained in the cold water. It’s not like she was given a towel to dry herself with, nor spare clothes. He had taken the bloody kimono with him. It sounds disturbing, but she wanted to keep it. 

Who knows what Dottore had done with Niwa’s body, if it was given a proper burial, or did he just toss it into the ocean.

The last one seemed more reasonable.

She looked at the reflection of herself in the water. She looked like a mess. Her face is puffy from all the crying, cuts and scrapes all over her body. She still hadn’t eaten, and it felt like her body was shutting off.

Closing her eyes, little by little, she dozed off until her head hung on her shoulders. She just couldn’t keep herself awake long enough to fight.

Dottore walked back in not too much later and saw her sleeping in the bathtub. Despite her being asleep, y/n managed to feel a presence next to her, which allowed her eyes to flutter open. Seeing Dottore staring down at her exposed form made her flush, she covered herself with her arms.

“No need to worry about that, we’ll be bound to cross that line one day,” he set down a white gown on a chair nearby, “put this on, you have but 5 minutes to do so.”

“I don’t have a towel.” she replies somberly.

He smiles and ventures to a drawer and pulls out a towel, throwing it onto the white gown on the chair.

“Hurry, little dove, we have a lot to do.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Once she was dressed, she sat down in the same chair where the clothes were placed. These clothes felt foreign, they felt uncomfortable. It’s as if she was stripped of her identity.

While she was lost in thought, Dottore walked back in. He looked pleased that she was being so compliant, perhaps this wasn’t going to be as hard as he thought.

He guides her down to the laboratory. It wasn’t one of the two she had already been in. Just how many rooms did this place have?

He has her sit down on a similar cold table she woke up from. He rustles around, but she doesn’t pay any mind. Honestly, she didn’t listen to a word of what he had to say on the journey down to the lab.

She wonders about where Kabukimono could be. Is he still in Tatarasuna? Are Katsuragi and Miyo still taking care of him?

“Oh, and I regret to inform you, the man you called Katsuragi was executed by Mikoshi Nagamasa.”

His words snapped her out of her thoughts. She couldn’t believe it for a brief moment. Why would Nagamasa do such a thing?

“Now, don’t look at me like that. I know that’s what you’re thinking about, wondering if there’s a way for you to go home, but there is no home for you to return to.”

“No…you’re lying…”

“His wife on the hand succumbed to the remnants of the Tataragami…and the boy you were so involved with…he left. Didn’t say where he was going, not that it matters-”

“It matters to me!” she jumps off of the cold table, “I love him, I still do! It doesn’t matter if you keep me trapped here for the rest of my life, I will continue to love him until I die.”

“Well…that’s exactly what I’m going to test.”

Dottore brings out a syringe filled with a gold, bubbly liquid.

“What are you talking about…”

She backs away from him as he walks closer.

“This is a tube full of some archon residue. Not the kind that is commonly related with malevolence, rather this is their life force. Remnants of what kept archons immortal.”

He stares at the syringe for a few seconds before looking over, a smile spreading across his face. He couldn’t possibly be thinking of injecting that into her…right?

“Don’t bring that any closer, stay away from me.”

Y/n continued to try to evade him, but there were only so many places she could go until he eventually cornered her back to the cold table.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, if you comply, I promise it won’t be as painful.”

“Please…please don’t do this. I-i won’t tell anyone-PLEASE!” one final scream before Dottore gripped her neck, slamming her upper body down onto the table.

“Your disobedience is truly trifling. I understand that it’s difficult for humans to realize the position they’re in until it’s too late, so I’ll go easy on you. Would you like me to release you? Only if you obey what I say.”

He applies more pressure to her neck, making it impossible for her to breathe. She gripped onto his hand with hers, trying to find any possible form of release, but he was dead set on making her suffer until he got his answer. It wasn’t until her legs began to jerk due to the lack of oxygen that she violently screamed a ‘yes’.

Dottore let's go immediately. The hand that gripped onto his immediately went to her neck to console it, loudly coughing and heaving, trying to get as much air in as she could.

“Lie back, it’s time we start.”

She complies this time, afraid of what he may do if she doesn't.

Lying on her back, she stares at the bright light on the ceiling of the room. Dottore was gathering some more items needing for whatever he needed to.

“Little dove, lay down on your stomach for me.”

Stomach? Where could he be injecting that requires her to lay on her stomach? But again, out of fear, she did as she was told.

There was a zipper on the back of her dress, he slid it down, exposing the majority of her back.

“Y-you’re putting it in my back?” she asks.

“Your spine, to be exact. It’ll absorb much better this way,” he takes the safety pin off of the syringe, then wipes down a small area of her spine with an alcohol wipe.

“It will hurt, but you will get used to the pain after the first few times.”

She could feel the point of the needle on her back, and just that small touch made her wince. Her breathing became faster, and as she felt the needle be inserted, she began to whine. Her nails clawed at the table underneath her. God knows what would happen if she were to try to tell him to stop.

After a few seconds, Dottore pulled away the needle and wiped down the area once more. He placed a cloth bandage over it.

“All done, it wasn’t so bad.”

Wasn’t so bad, he wouldn’t be saying that if he was the one who was being injected. Of course, she didn’t say that out loud, she just remained face down on the table.

“Why…do you feel the need to do this to me?” she whispers.

“Why? For research, of course. I am first most a scholar, and I continue to advance whatever ideas I may have.”

“But, why immortality? Where did you get the archon residue…”

“Not even I can live forever, but that’s the very reason why I want to break the laws that were placed down on mortals. What better way than to test on a mortal, test what may be the key to immortality.”

“But I don’t want to be immortal.” y/n whimpers, lifting herself off of the table. 

“I don’t think you really have a choice in the matter, little dove. You will be with me throughout this journey. Every year, decade, century…and even millennia if we get there.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

This routine would continue. Once a week, she would be injected with the archon residue, before that she would have to take a bath. She despised it, especially since she didn’t feel anything different.

However, things started to look up. Once a week turned into once a month, and once a month turned into once every 6 months, then every year. Dottore was smart, there wasn’t much archon residue in the world, so he had to use the amount he had very carefully.

It was 4 years into injections when he stopped. He hadn’t injected her in what seemed to be over a year.

During a yearly physical, she brought it up.

“Do you not have any archon residue left?” she asks, watching him draw blood from the vein in her forearm.

“I have plenty, why do you ask.”

“You haven’t injected me in so long, what’s the hold up?”

Dottore laughs, placing the vial of blood in a test tube container.

“Haven’t you noticed, little dove?”

She raised a brow, confused as to what he meant. Dottore walks her towards a mirror and tells her to look closely. She couldn’t see anything different about her, she looked the same as she always does.

“I don’t see anything.”

She noticed Dottore grin from looking in the mirror.

“Precisely,” he places his chin onto her shoulders, “You’ve stopped aging.”

“What…” She whispers.

“Why do you think I do these yearly physicals, it’s to check your progress. I’ve noticed that in the past 2 years, there haven't been many physical changes. Within the past few months, you look the same as you did when you first began the injections.”

“So your plan worked?”

“I suppose, we will have to keep testing to see if it’s truly possible.”

“What do you mean? I’ve already stopped aging, is that not enough for you?”

“Do you really think stopping the aging process by a few years is enough? Certainly not, I don’t want just a few years, I want centuries, I want more.”

Y/n continues to look at herself in the mirror.

“So…this will continue for centuries?” 

“I’m so glad you’re quick to catch on. Now, how about we get you back to your chamber.”

She couldn’t move for a second, but eventually she followed him. Her ‘chamber’ is a cell with a bed and a nightstand. It isn’t much, but he insists that it’s much better than whatever the rest of his human experiments have. She doesn’t know how to feel about that, the fact that he has other people he abuses and toys with.

He swears that she’s his favorite out of all of them, after all she will be the key to his everlasting immortality. His favorite test subject.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Taglist(I’m horrible at these fyi)

@louise-rosita-leroux​

@swivy123

[missathlete31]

Dead on Your Feet Chapter 12- Sneak Peak

It's no secret that I haven't been able to write anything new in months. My mind keeps coming up with ideas but then I try to execute them and it's just painful to reread. I've gotten more inspired lately, especially thanks to some of the amazing people on here who have been so encouraging (looking at you @seresimp!!!!) and I broke through some mental barriers to produce this first part of Chapter 12. Hoping for some feedback to fuel me through!! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story for your patience! I hope this sounds a little like the writer I used to be.

Masterlist for anyone that needs to refresh their memories because it's been like six months since I last posted

The ascent towards the helicopter is meant to be the end of this whole nightmare for Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell. His pilots have been found, have already risen to the sanctity of the bird hovering in the sky and now it is only left to him to be pulled to safety before they can all head home. Pete leaves the cold ocean waves ready to feel victorious, to feel as though he finally has succeeded and achieved the final miracle of the day, getting everyone home alive.

But once more he is struck down.

The second Maverick hauls himself into the rescue helicopter, all he recognizes is chaos. Gone is the hushed silence from outside, replaced with the panic-stricken energy of multiple bodies crammed into a tight space and fighting for purchase. Pete’s eyes naturally train on Rooster first, his gaze widening as he sees a young man pulling his Lieutenant back with a harsh grip. Mav moves to intervene, to scream over the hysterical bellowing issuing from Bradshaw’s mouth, and ask what the hell is going on, but before he can Pete gets a clear view of Jake Seresin on the floor of the aircraft, spread eagle and unmoving, as a middle aged Hispanic man pounds heavily on the blonde’s sternum.

Maverick knows logically that the man above Seresin is some sort of doctor, he can tell just from the uniform alone. However doctor or not, the sight of this man pumping harshly on Jake’s chest makes the older pilot need to look away in fear he might intercede. A protectiveness rises within Pete, unwavering in its ferocity at the unnatural sight before him; a bruised and bloody Hangman being pounded into the floor as a means of saving his life.

Because Seresin isn’t breathing.

The grimace from the rescue diver makes a lot more sense now.

Bradley's screams still ring out in the air around them, each one more and more blood curdling. He is being restrained by someone similar in size to the 6 foot Bradshaw and yet Rooster continues to hurl his exhausted and water logged body towards his wingman relentlessly. He roars over all the other noise around them, his temper on full display. It's been over a decade since Maverick has seen it in all its fury but he remembers how the younger Bradshaw can wield his anger like the deadliest sword. His visceral emotions striking like perfect daggers each and every time. Pete knows he needs to control it, to distract Rooster so that the man holding him back can get the rescue swimmer back up and they can make their way back to the ship, but the older pilot is shocked still; his senses all but burnt out at the overwhelming assault of the environment around him.

"Captain" a voice snaps, and Pete turns to see the doctor, the name Sosa stitched onto his chest, still pumping furiously. Maverick can make out the beginnings of a bruise reddening the other man's cheek, no doubt caused from a blow to the face by Bradley's fist before the aviator was properly subdued. "Captain" the man speaks up again, "I need you to control your pilot."

"I-" Maverick gapes helplessly, as though he is being asked to do the impossible; and maybe he is. There might have been a time when he could calm Bradley Bradshaw down with a quick word or a tight hug, when he would snuggle with the little boy who was scared of thunder, or lecture the kid who rode his bike too far down the street. That kid doesn't exist anymore, or perhaps the Maverick that could do all those things is really the one who's gone; either way Pete Mitchell is as helpless to the lashes of Bradley Bradshaw's ire as anyone else.

"Captain" the tone is desperate, exhausted, as still Doctor Sosa thrusts his hands powerfully down on Hangman's chest cavity in an effort to bring life back into the kid's heart. "We need to get that diver up now” he explains, “this Lieutenant needs more help than I can give in this bird, we have to get back to the ship. Now please-" a firmness laces his words, a command coming from a man who knows how this story is going to end unless something changes soon, "control your man."

[go-against-fate]

tged oc info dump because ive got fuck all to do

beloww

Frédéric-Ange Robillard

He's a painter who came from a noble family of Seers. The future is revealed to him through his paintings. As if his hands has a mind of its own, it illustrates the reality of what's to come. He doesn't have visions of it and he never knows if the future that's revealed to him would be good or bad. He just knows that his paintings has never been proved to be false

In TKOBAI he was executed via decapitation for not obeying Alicia's order to use his Seer ability to predict the actions of her enemies. His blood would paint the ground red. And it would be his final art piece.

In TGED, a lot his paintings involved a certain brown hair civil engineer. He gets a bit tired of being shown the same guy over and over but hes glad to know that this man is trying his hardest to bring peace to the world. He eventually retired and lived a quiet life with his family

Kalei

Hailing from a small village in Sortino Barony, she's a self taught... mage? She wouldn't exactly call herself one. But either way, she can manipulate the mana around her. She always had a fascination of its correlation with life. Too bad that same fascination is also what lead her to lose her home village.

One day she was just attending the village gathering to welcome the autumn season. Then she felt a sudden surge of power roaming inside her, gradually increasing in volume. Her small body couldnt handle this huge abrupt supply of mana inside her and she could feel herself coughing until her lungs hurt, until her throat burns, until red liquid poured out. She could hear muffled screams before she blacked out. Something happened in between that and she couldnt remember. All she knows is that when she opened her eyes, everyone (but her) in the village lay lifeless and cold; her parents not excluded.

She spent the next years trying to survive by herself. It's just a good thing she had plenty of knowledge and crafty hands to aid her

In TKOBAI she would spend the rest of her remaining years alone in the forest, isolated from any human interaction. The feeling of impending doom lingers in the air. Her forest companions whisper of death and despair outside the woods, yet she's not concerned anymore. She only wonders when the sunlight would finally peek through the dark clouds. After all, her plants need sunlight to grow

In TGED she wandered north and eventually arrived to the Frontera Estate. She was given a warm welcome by the people that she met and they even gave her a place to live, food to eat, and.. a job. She doesnt complain much about it though, she's glad that her ability to help plants grow is more useful than ever now

_

I created Kalei before Fred, but her lore is still unfinished compared to Fred whose story I felt is already pretty solid. The one i kinda struggle to figure out with is how exactly did she absorbed the life out of the people in her village ತ⁠_⁠ತ

I was thinking maybe.. she picked up like an ancient relic when she was playing in the forest near her village thinking it was another pretty rock for her collection. And the celebration triggered the relic to activate. Basically a pebble sized life absorption relic used in ancient times during a war or somthn

Im not rocking (🥁) with her outfit now tho:/ i want to redesign it

But anyway, random facts about Kalei:

Shes that weird kid who would torture bugs by slurping their mana out of them, watch them writhe, and when theyre in the brink of passing away, she would return their mana. Shes done this to plants too. It's rather cruel but shes literally just a morbidly curious child (⁠・⁠–⁠・⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ Guess she had a fascination with how abrupt a being's life could end (funny how that is considering her backstory lol) She has done the opposite of if this too tho! Sometimes, she would give them (specifically plants) a piece of her mana and watch as they grow a teensy bit faster than before

She likes collecting rocks that she thinks looks cool. There's a corner in her room dedicated to them

She has a cane because she has a limp in her right leg. It developed after The Incident™ she tripped and sprained her ankle. Never bothered to treat it because she thought that it'll just go away on its own. It never did tho. Instead, it got worse. It's to the point that she couldnt bare to put pressure on it. In TKOBAI she straight up just amputated her leg and crafted a handmade prosthetic. However, in TGED, she did get it treated but the damage has already been done

She had to fight a squirrel for acorns once. It was not a fun memory. And not only that, she had to fight with a lot of forest critters for food. Ate a lot of dubiously edible food. I think her taste buds are dead at this point. In general tho, she was dubbed a menace to the forest creatures and they made sure to stay away from her path

[asexualzoro]

it’s my 22nd birthday today, and you know what that means... 

Lew Writes Wrapped 2022!

its virtually all third life this time, most of which have not been posted on main before. woe, the full weight of my third life obsession be upon ye

blood god, mortal red

(Jan, 1.2k, DSMP, oneshot) (link)

one of the Many minecraft execution fics i have written in my life, technoblade anvil edition

not to start this post off with making myself sad, but man, i miss him. 

i remember writing this one all in one sitting at work in january. i think i did a pretty good job with it from an artistic standpoint, and as an analytical piece, i think i hit the mark perfectly. that said, i don’t think i could reread it now. i do think it was fun as a writing exercise to force like, 5 seconds irl to stretch out into a thousand words

yes, the only way out is down

(April, 1.2k, 3L, oneshot) (link)

another minecraft execution fic, third life rendog edition! 

IM SO PROUD OF THIS ONE. im so fond of it it’s probably my favorite third life oneshot. ren’s execution makes me fucking rabid and this is just the most direct expression of that.

what’s funny is i actually remember being pretty dissatisfied with this fic when i finished it--there was a lot of stuff i wanted to hit on that i just couldnt swing around to--but when i stepped away from what i wanted it to be and looked at what it was, i realized i liked it a lot

the rhythm of cold fists

(May, 2.6k, 3L, onehsot) (link)

sometimes you get so worked up about the idea scar threw the finale of third life that you have to write a bunch of frenzied words on it

this one is funny bc i think its got the second most hits of any of my third life fic, but the comment number is really low comparatively. i mostly just had fun making the transcript of this scene and then fleshing that out into a full ‘novelization,’ it was a neat writing exercise! i don’t think anything in particular stands out about this one, but i’m happy with it overall

Wooden Mausoleum

(May, 3.8k, 3L, oneshot) (link)

Sometimes you get so worked up about the idea of the unactualized betrayal plotline of the most loyal man in the series that you have to write a bunch of frenzied words about it

okay this is going to sound bad but i keep forgetting i wrote this. i dont know why. i like this fic! one of my favorite paragraphs i wrote all year is in it! and yet??? i dunno.

id love to write a different martyn wins au where the betrayal isnt the sort of ‘mercy kill’ suggested in this fic, bc i still have not recovered from the unrealized betrayal plot. someday i’ll write a martyn wins au where he Means to win

i... still feel something is sort of off with the way this fic ends, but i think ive felt that about a lot of the fic/scene endings ive written of late. i think that ending scenes/fics is just ill have to work on this upcoming year! 

might be best to not look back

(Oct, 2.7k, 3L, oneshot) (link)

i’m starting to think all my oneshots are just me getting possessed by different parts of the third life. anyway i had a point to prove about scar throwing, and what might happen were he not being wildly unsubtle about throwing

i can write essays on this fic it makes me feel insane. i HAVE written an essay on it already just recently. tbh, this fic itself IS an essay written for the purpose of analyzing the penultimate third life scene. i have and could and will write more essays on the penultimate third life. this is all i have to say to avoid making this a 1k word post

i think i did what i wanted to pretty well? it was sort of confusing, by virtue of trying to talk about a point your viewpoint character won’t acknowledge, but it was a fun piece over all

missing or obstructed

(Oct-present, 6.3k, 3L, ongoing) (link) 

post third life fic but only grian and ren remember, featuring so many sleep/dreaming metaphors, because i lucid dream and have insomnia and it does a lot to me as a person

missing or obstructed has 14.7k words written but i havent fuckin posted most of it bc i got derailed by lamplight. missing i am so sorry i miss you so much but youve been obstructed. i am really excited for how the rest of this goes but i think i have to finish and completely exorcize lamplight from my head before i can go back to it in earnest. i DID post another chapter at 10pm yesterday so i had more of it to include in this wordcount tho,

missing or obstructed has been a lot of fun to write bc i lvoe stupid metaphors. it has sucked to write because it’s forced me to come up with worldbuilding shit for the watchers which has been so much more difficult than i thought. it’s been fun again cuz i love worldbuilding. it’ll be super fun when i finish the current scene i’m sitting and get to introduce martyn pov. i lvoe writing Martyn pov

Lamplight AU

(Nov-present, 20k, 3L/LL, series) (link)

renchanting dnd au. i put ren in a lantern. what else do you need

wadda hell. 

i cannot even begin to like--lamplight was literally supposed to be just 20 Questions and thats it, i wasn’t going to write more, but people liked it so much that i was like “sure, i’ll write a bit more” and you guys have been??? so kind. the amount of enthusiasm this fic has received thru kind tags/comments, asks and interest, and even art??? is equal parts deeply humbling and also incredibly likely to give me a god complex. this fic has been so much fun to write and my readers are the whole reason, i cant wait to show you what i have in store for the rest of it

six sentence sunday challenge

i also started a challenge back at the end of march of this year over on @driflew called Six Sentence Sunday. the rules are simple: every sunday, post six sentences you wrote that week.

i didn’t make it every week, but i made it a great deal of them. on occasion, i even posted 12 sentences the week after missing my six, meaning some weeks counted for two.

my six sentence sunday tag on that blog has 28 posts from the year! considering there’s only 52 weeks in a year, i started three months late, and a few of those weeks are actually two, i feel pretty good about the amount of weeks i made. not every week, but basically any week i didn’t have a good excuse not to complete my six sentences. it kept me writing all year, if only a little bit at a time, and i’ll be keeping up with it for sure!

to finish out,

i passed my writing amount from last year (25k) by over 10k words! my total number for this year doesnt even count the 7k or so from missing or obstructed i havent posted, plus an uncounted few hundred words of unposted snippets for lamplight. i’m really happy with everything i’ve done this year! 

which… this year i wrote and posted 37,800+ words! 

thank you to everyone who has supported my writing all year, as always, it means the world to me. happy birthday to me, and thank you to you for reading! 

(birthday wishes and/or reblogs appreciated!)

[valourworn]

( deaken bluman, 21, cis man, he/him ) hey, is that SIRIUS BLACK wandering the halls without a companion? the SIXTH YEAR is getting bold. and here I thought the GRYFFINDOR was always more fearless, charismatic, & humorous. but then they are also known to be impulsive, guarded, & brooding,  so maybe that makes sense. these hard times are enough to change  anybody, I suppose. and did you hear people are saying they’re in THE ORDER? rumors fly when people are cooped up.  here, I’ll show you — SIRIUS always reminded me of finding something that you lost ages ago, the low beam of light at the end of a dark hallway, a loud burst of laughter in the dead of night, blood shot eyes due to lack of sleep, mourning something that’s still alive. and I’ve heard HE JOINED THE ORDER TO SPITE HIS PARENTS. let’s hope the PUREBLOOD doesn’t get attacked by the beast. or let’s at least hope that rumor doesn’t get back to them before they do. ( leah, 23, cst, she/hers )   

i’m going to try and keep this relatively short, so i don’t bore anyone with how much i love this boy. trigger warnings for physical abuse!

the story starts like any other: a boy born into the house of black, the heir walburga and orion hoped for. sirius asterion black iii was born on a bitterly, cold and cloudy morning in november and immediately placed into the arms of his nanny. the noble house of black was similar to that of an institution, and sirius’s birth was just another stepping stone to confirm that legacy. 

later, he would be told that his parents were ‘ overjoyed ’ at his birth, but that tidbit was always confusing to him. he’d never once seen his parents display much emotion, nevertheless one that would be related to joy. his parents were cool and detached, certainly never ones for any sort of praise or physical affection. 

from the earliest of days, he's possessed this wild, untamable energy. his magic was even more unruly, so much so that walburga had to ward off most of the family’s heirlooms out of fear that he’d break them. no matter how much walburga chased him around the house, shouting spells in his wake, he would be right back at it the next morning, as if he had remembered nothing.

but that’s when the spells got harsher, the wounds they caused taking longer to heal. it was then that sirius learned his jokes and tricks weren’t funny - no one was laughing anymore. and they never had been.

but sirius was smart, he soon realized that in order to survive the house he needed to put on a performance. it wasn’t that he didn’t believe in the rhetoric that he was being fed, but he never thought much about it past the weekly lectures he received. he knew, however, that if he really valued his life, he needed to work hard for a chance at survival and really show his parents he could play the part they wanted him to.  

but the thing is, sirius could be good at the things his parents wanted him to excel at. charm the guests at a dinner party?  he could do that without so much of a second thought. things like that simply just came like second nature to him after years of enduring constant beration from his mother and father. but even if he were to execute something perfectly, there would always be something that he could have done better. and if he had really messed up, there would most certainly be hell to pay. by the time he was seven, walburga and orion were very comfortable with using curses and hexes to punish their children, a precedent established when he was only five years old. it became like clockwork, something he could expect. sirius will never forget the pit in his stomach as his mother dragged him down the hall to his father’s study, nor the sound of the door locking behind him, sealing him to his fate. 

and the truth was, sirius just assumed this was just how all families were. he knew his cousins were also held to unreasonably high standards, but he’d reasoned that it was normal and just the way things were. it wasn’t until he arrived at hogwarts did he realize that actually wasn’t actually the way the world worked.

sirius arrived at hogwarts fully expecting to be sorted into slytherin. because why wouldn’t he be ? it was tradition, and he’d watched as his cousin, andromeda, was sorted into their birthright only minutes before he stepped up to the stool. but it only took two seconds for the hat to be placed on his head before it called out GRYFFINDOR and he walked lamely towards his new house’s table, dazed and confused. 

it didn’t take long for him to settle in, though. his new housemates were warm and friendly and fun, everything he had always wanted. it was easy to fall into step with them, to laugh with them. they were people who actually laughed at his jokes, who even got them in the first place. it was at hogwarts that he felt safe for the first time in his life, and he would do anything for his best friends, the marauders, who showed him what real family was like.

it was also at hogwarts that he learned something for once, most importantly that blood status didn't matter. he mingled with people that he never would have met had he not left grimmauld place and learned so so much.

sirius's first trip home was certainly the worst, although they never lessened in severity. his parents were always furious, especially walburga. he was prohibited from speaking to his friends while he was at home, but he still found little ways to rebel. his summers were long and boring, days spent wishing he could be back at the castle.

as the summers continued, his hatred for his parents deepened. by his fourth year, they were hardly on speaking terms and as much as sirius tried to act like he didn't care, there was still a part of him that longed for the big happy family a lot of his classmates had.

as a person, sirius is first and foremost definitely traumatized from his childhood. it takes him a very long time to trust people and even longer to open up about everything he's endured ( i want to say the marauders are the only people who rly know everything and even that took forever for him to disclose ). he jokes a lot, but it's really just a defense mechanism. he can be obnoxious and loud, craving attention from anyone who will give it to him. he'll start fights just for the hell of it, kiss someone at a party just to start drama, anything as long people are looking at him. he's charming, a sweet talker and boy does he know it.

but he also goes through periods where he is broody and withdrawn, even isolating himself from those closest to him. sirius is a constant storm of emotions, but he tries to hide it with his humor and his rebellion. he behaves impulsively and almost selfishly at times. it's all really just to mask that he feels like he doesn't belong, not in the house of black or in gryffindor either. major imposter syndrome !

doesn't really put much effort into school, but he would do really well if he tried. he often ditches class to take walks around the grounds doing god knows what. chain smoking cigarettes probably

hates rules, is rly that person who thinks they were just made to be broken

lots of pride, will never admit when he's wrong

i think that's all for now <3333

[marireadshellblazer]

Hellblazer Issue #21

Welcome back ya'll. Finally able to get some reading done. TLDR I have been a busy bee. New job, two family emergencies, and getting the big virus not just once, but twice. Teaching is taxing on the immune system, lemmie tell ya. Anyway....

Must I discuss the beauty of the cover art? Are there words to describe the covers of this era? No, I think not. Just look for yourself and find joy.

Webster’s mutilation of the scardies was a good way to start this issue.Further hammers in that shit’s gettin’ real. The lovely detail of it raining blood makes the supernatural element of the tale very obvious to those who were doubters earlier. Sure, John was right, but it isn’t something great to be right about.

I appreciate the (kinda) re-appearance of Chas here. His relationship with John and how they talk to each other never fails to get a smile from me. Chas is a simple man, but he is clever enough to not dig too deep into what John is up to.

It makes sense that John has “friends” in low places, and that those friends are people in the government. It’s also no secret how Delano feels about the royals in the UK, so it figures he would have them be a part of the conspiracy.

Ahh!! Such a sweet moment here!

Chas, my good sir, don’t make this weird.

It’s moments like this that later writers of Hellblazer seem to forget. John is not a a cold, unfeeling hunter of the supernatural; he’s capable of not only empathy, but also -God forbid- being kind.

Aight, I feel even worse for those poor guys locked up by the Fear Machine. The smell of blood, the certainty that they WILL die in a terrible way, and the fact that they aren’t sure when the executions will start only make it worse. Though, since it feeds on fear, I suppose this is the perfect tactic.

I found this moment to be really interesting. It made me immediately think of Ray in the earlier chapters. Although the other men are rude about it, it’s not inaccurate. Sadly, the attitudes towards non-heterosexuals and those with AIDS are still terrible. But I love that this was included. This was also a major fear back then; the spread of the virus and the fear mongering conjured up by the public’s lack of knowledge about it coupled with prejudice against homosexuals.Scenes like this, while difficult to read at times, also serve as a kind of sad time capsule, exposing one again the very real fears and anxieties of the time that were at the forefront of the public’s attention.

Ahh and just like all cults, that dude got screwed over. Only the top brass get the rewards in the end.

Welp, that’s never a fun thing to admit.

Also, the idea of unlocking utter liberty and controlling the gods is such a strange sounding motivation, but also not terribly inaccurate to how many cults work. Taking advantage of other through grandiose ideas, which many don’t question for fear of being ridiculed or humiliated for their lack of understanding, is nothing new. Which is scary.

On the flip side, the hippie commune that Merc and Marj are a part of can easily also be seen as a cult due to their activities. Still, they aren’t trying to summon Cuthulu so 10/10. Also, feelin’ for John hear realizing that Zed doesn’t remember him. It shows he still really does care and feel bad about how things went down before.

And in true Hellblazer fashion things just get weirder and more scary.

Pages 19 and 20, beautiful imagery and writing there. Showing once again what I love about the Delano era.

Anyway, feels good to get back into the swing of things just in time for spooky season.

Words/Phrases I had to look up: Offal- entrails and internal organs of an animal used as food

[teaberrii]

Chapter 18: Secrets of the Past

You've been Cupid for as long as you can remember. You've brought countless soulmates together, yet you've never found love.

When you're assigned to bring two childhood friends back together, it should be simple until you unexpectedly catch feelings for the mysterious and cold Ph.D. student, Dan Heng, the man with a soulmate… the man with answers to your past.

Dan Heng/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on Ao3

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

It’s late, and Caelus hasn’t slept… in days. It’s starting to drive him crazy as bits and pieces of his past life come in waves at unexpected times. His mind is constantly awake as his memories play like a movie. When he would try falling asleep, he’d see you and your wicked smile. At first, he hated you. You’re the one who cursed him. He had seen it, but the more he saw, the more he felt like he’d been played.

Caelus feels a brief gust of wind followed by another presence in the room. He doesn't turn around as he already knows who it is.

“...What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you,” Lan says, emerging from the shadows of the room.

Caelus scoffs. “Are you taking great satisfaction in seeing me go crazy? I haven’t slept, haven’t eaten… I can’t stop thinking about what could’ve been.”

“Do you regret what you did?”

“What? Helping Jing Yuan?” Caelus finally turns to the god. “I had my motives, but if I didn’t help him, maybe I wouldn’t have ended up like this.”

“How did you meet him?”

“Why are you suddenly so interested?”

“I want to stop this curse, and we have an idea of how to get there. But I’d like to be one step ahead.”

“Oh, for the love of God... if you know how to stop it, tell me!" 

“It's just an idea. Cupid’s grudge against everyone who has wronged her is incredibly strong. It’s unlike anything we’ve ever seen. If I were to make a guess, she’s only able to stay sane because Dan Heng is with her.” Lan looks out the window. “She needs to let her grudge go.”

Caelus smiles wryly. “Forgive and forget?” Then, he frowns. “You said you wanted to be one step ahead. What do you mean?”

“I want the full story. Everyone has bits and pieces of the past, but I’ve yet to piece everything together of what led to the disaster that caused Xianzhou so much pain. From the looks of things, it's unlikely what happened back then will repeat itself, but that doesn't mean we can relax. I'd rather not take any chances."

“Do you want the full story?” Caelus asks, turning towards the window. “Then, why are you here? You're better off interrogating Jing Yuan. He’s responsible for all of this, isn’t he? He killed Young. A public execution in cold blood and banished her from her home. Is that not enough for revenge? I was his pawn to getting what he wanted.”

“Did you not think about the consequences of a public execution?”

Caelus slowly turns back. 

“How is it possible that an execution like that wouldn’t start a war?" Lan continues. "Young was the heir of the Middle Kingdom. You just said the execution was public. Everyone would’ve been talking about it. How is it strange that it didn’t reach the ears of those in the other kingdoms? That's impossible.”

Caelus groans and closes his eyes. “Look, I don’t want to think anymore. I just…”

He's suddenly forced upright, and he feels as if someone’s hand is on his throat when there’s none. Caelus quietly gasps for air, staring at Lan with wide eyes.

“I need you to think, Caelus,” Lan says harshly. “Your memories are coming back faster than everyone else’s. The sooner we piece everything together, the sooner we can save your life.”

Caelus gasps, and he barely manages to get his words out. “How are you so sure I have the answer? It’s not like—”

In a dimly lit room, Jing Yuan had dipped his brush in ink when the door opened. He began writing on the parchment, not bothering to look up as he knew it was Caelus.

“I thought I told you to knock,” Jing Yuan said. “...Or did you come to vent about your guilt?”

“You out of all people should know how much I despise this family.”

“You’re more talented than you give yourself credit for. You two were getting along so well I thought you had genuinely become friends.” Jing Yuan smiled. “Your hatred runs deeper than I thought.”

"We didn't have to kill Young."

Jing Yuan stopped writing, and his predatory gaze landed on Caelus. "We finally have the king's trust. You're becoming increasingly impatient, Caelus. It'll be your downfall."

“Are you not scared that Luocha will rat you out? He’s still the king’s son.”

"You're worrying about the wrong things."

Caelus frowned. “My revenge hasn’t been carried out yet. I don’t want all of this to be for nothing.”

Jing Yuan put his brush back into its place. “It was me who convinced the king to exile her instead of killing her. It was what Luocha wanted, considering he knew the king would kill her knowing about her and Young. Luocha owes me.”

“...Fine. But did you have to go to such lengths to kill Young? We exposed her and Young to strengthen the king’s trust in us, but killing Young made her our enemy. She hates all of us.”

“She won’t pose a threat,” Jing Yuan said. “She’s alive. It’s what Luocha wanted, and… we got what we wanted.”

Caelus crossed his arms. “Don’t tell me you killed Young for your pleasure? Did you fall in love with her?”

Jing Yuan glared at him, and Caelus felt something sharp graze against his cheek. Then, he felt blood. He slowly looked over his shoulder and saw a small knife in the wall. He touched his cheek and saw blood on his fingers.

“Love is fleeting,” Jing Yuan spat, approaching Caelus. “It doesn’t matter whether I was in love with her, they destroyed a life I could’ve had. We’re the same, Caelus.” Jing Yuan reached past Caelus’s head and he felt a soft gust of wind. Then, as Jing Yuan pulled his hand back, Caelus saw a knife out of the corner of his eye. “Now, stop asking questions, and get out.”

Lan can tell Caelus is having another episode. His eyes have clouded over, and the pigment has spread even more. When his eyes start to clear, the god asks, “What did you see?” Lan releases the invisible grip, and Caelus falls to the floor. When Caelus doesn’t say anything, Lan repeats himself. “What did you see, Caelus?”

“...Jing Yuan.”

Lan frowns. “And? Did he say anything?”

“He said… they destroyed a life he could’ve had.”

They?

“That’s all I saw,” Caelus says, groaning, his head in his hands. “Please… just… leave me alone.”

There are only two people Lan can think of. Your parents. The king and queen. However, if Lan's right, it raises more questions than answers. Yet, as odd as it seems, he feels like he’s finally seeing a faint light at the end of the tunnel.

◆◆◆

Over the next few days, Dan Heng has noticed a slight shift in your personality. You’ve been quieter as if something’s on your mind, making him reluctant to bring up Jing Yuan.

It’s late afternoon. While Dan Heng has plans to see his father later today, he's meeting up with you for a coffee date. Dan Heng sees you standing a short distance away, so he walks up from behind and hugs you. Startled, you spin around, only for Dan Heng to give you a quick kiss.

“You’re early,” he says as you smile at him.

Then, he takes your hand and walks towards a café on campus.

After sitting across from each other with drinks and some sandwiches, Dan Heng says, “I’m going to see my father about my mother later today.” You look up at him. “...I want to know what happened to their marriage.”

“He never told you the details?”

“No. But… I also never asked.”

“...Why now?”

“It’s out of my own curiosity, but maybe it’ll jog a memory of Young’s mother.”

Your shoulders fall. “It seems like she’s the only one who we don’t know much about. And what bugs me is that I can’t think of a reason why I would… curse her.” You sigh. “I had a vision yesterday night, and... it's true. I… Pom and I created The Withering.”

You were covered in scratches. There were patches of dirt on your face, and y our hair was a mess. You had nowhere to go as you were unwelcomed in the North and the South. There was no way you could seek refuge in the Middle Kingdom. You gripped the pendant around your neck, bringing you comfort as your mind was set on finding one person… or being.

When Young gave you the pendant, he’d told you about the shaman shapeshifter who imbued it with a protection spell. You’d never met this mysterious being before, but he was the first being you thought of when you were officially exiled.

“You look absolutely terrible.”

You spun around and looked up. There, lying in the trees was a man wearing a large straw hat. He used his finger to tilt his hat upwards and gave you a look, his sharp gaze eventually landing on the locket around your neck. Then, he hopped from the tree, landing gracefully on his feet.

"I was hoping we'd meet under better circumstances. News travels fast, dearie. You're branded a traitor and—"

“...Young is gone,” you said quietly.

“So I’ve heard…” A soft sigh. “He kind of grew on me.” He leaned against a tree. “What are you doing all the way out here? It’s dangerous if you’re not familiar with the area.” He nodded at the pendant. “That’s to protect you from a person, but it won’t protect you from natural disasters.”

"...So, you're Pom."

Pom took off his hat and dramatically bowed. "The one and only."

“I was looking for you.”

“Me? Aw, shucks. I'm blushing now." Then, more seriously, "Don't tell me you’re going to ask me to perform necromancy. Sorry, Princess, I ain’t going there.”

“No.”

Pom narrowed his eyes. Your gaze was stern, and despite you looking like hell, he sensed an unwavering determination.

“...I want revenge,” you said.

“For Young?”

“For him, and for myself.”

Pom smiled. "Well, things just got interesting."

“Pom also wanted to protect himself,” you continue. “He didn’t know what was going to happen now that things have been shaken up. Young was gone, but we found it strange that it wasn’t causing a ruckus which it should’ve considering he was an heir.”

Dan Heng nods in understanding. “Did you find an answer to that question?”

“Not yet,” you say quietly.

He puts his hand on top of yours. “We’re getting there. One step at a time.”

“...When I think about what I know so far, there are so many people I hate. Jing Yuan. Caelus. My family.” You sigh. “But, it was the circumstances I hated the most.”

Dan Heng looks down. Perhaps your parents would’ve protected you if women were more valued back then.

“...I wanted to take revenge for Young,” you say. Dan Heng looks up and sees the whites of your eyes turn slightly red. “But, I also wanted to prove myself.”

“I don’t doubt you,” Pom said. “...But, seeing Jing Yuan again… won’t it be difficult?”

You and Pom were sitting in his wooden cabin, the place where you had taken refuge ever since Pom found you in the forest.

"Are you saying we give up?"

“Of course not!” Pom looked at the pendant around your neck. “Well, at least I don’t have to worry he’ll do anything to you.”

You looked into the flames dancing in the fireplace. “I’ve waited long enough.”

It was finally time to put the plan into motion.

Pom leaned forward. “...Have you been practicing?”

You turned to him with a small smile. Then, as you moved a hand over your face, your appearance completely changed.

“What do you think?”

Then, with a flick of your wrist, a vial appeared in your hand. Black mist was floating aimlessly inside. You and Pom looked at each other.

“It’s time for the fall of the kingdoms.”

You were a completely different person the next time you went back to the Northern Kingdom. You stood at the palace gates, and when they opened, you stared coldly at the place you once called home from underneath your straw hat. You were no longer a princess or an exile, but an infiltrator disguised as a handmaid… to Jing Yuan. He eventually married and was in control of the military of the North and the South but resided in the North.

He was up to something. You could feel it.

It was the first night you accidentally caught an intimate moment between Jing Yuan and his wife. He had her wrists pinned against the headboard of the bed, and her legs were on his shoulders as he rutted into her. The woman saw the door close, and she immediately had her suspicions. You had closed the door and continued walking as if nothing had happened until you heard the door slide open.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You stopped but didn’t turn around.

“...What is it, Love?” Jing Yuan was looking at you as he said, “Don’t mind her.”

The woman scoffed. “We have a peeping tom, I see.”

That was when you turned around. The woman was wearing a transparent robe. Jing Yuan only had a sheet around his lower half. "Those with a good head on their shoulders know to keep those activities private. I guess you're not one of them." Then, you spun around and walked away, not knowing that Jing Yuan was holding his wife back.

When Dan Heng holds your hand, he sees the red in your eyes slowly disappear.

“Pom and I came up with a plan,” you say, looking at Dan Heng. “I used magic to change my appearance and posed as a new handmaid to Jing Yuan... and I would spread the curse from within.”

“...Why didn’t you infect Jing Yuan first?” Dan Heng asks.

“That part of my memory hasn’t returned. But… I assume it’s to make him suffer. You did tell me that Jing Yuan told you that his fianceé was cursed.”

Before Dan Heng can say anything else, he hears a familiar voice call your name. “Dan Heng! It’s been a while!”

Dan Heng turns while you look past him and see March and Gepard.

“What are you doing here?”

March chuckles at the synchronicity. “We just finished classes.”

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” Gepard says to you.

You return his small smile, but it’s March who says, “Hey, Gepard told me you’re thinking of a group vacation. I’m totally in!” She sits next to you while Gepard sits next to Dan Heng. “Do you guys have a place in mind?”

“Not yet,” you say.

“What about the mountains?” Gepard suggests.

“Ooh, good idea! Camping, perhaps? Or… we could all stay at a nice mountain lodge with a gorgeous lake view…” March smiles. “I’m getting excited just thinking about it.”

“I’d be okay with anything,” Dan Heng says. “But, staying at a lodge might be safer.”

“A mountain lodge sounds great and all…” Gepard says. “But, it’s going to be expensive.”

“Yeah, too bad we don’t have a sugar daddy.” When March looks at Dan Heng, you almost choke on your drink while Gepard laughs. Dan Heng frowns when he sees March looking at him. “You know I’m just kidding.”

“Are you, really?” Gepard asks.

“Maybe.”

Dan Heng looks at his watch. “I have to go. I’m seeing my dad tonight.”

“Tell him we say hi!”

Dan Heng stands, walks over to you, and kisses your head. Gepard hides a smile, and March gasps.

“...If I find out anything, I’ll let you know,” Dan Heng says quietly in your ear.

“Right,” you say, feeling a little warm under the collar.

When Dan Heng leaves, March suddenly tugs your arm, and you look at her. “What was that? Girl, I need details!”

◆◆◆

Dan Heng’s father is going through the news on his phone when he notices that the article meant to slander the government on The Withering is nowhere to be seen. He’s wondering how Stelle’s father managed to get it under control when the doorbell rings. He leaves it to Agnes to get the door.

“Welcome back!”

Dan Heng’s father puts his phone away as his son appears at the doorway.

“You’re a little early.” The man looks at the time. “I wasn’t expecting you for another half hour.”

“Traffic wasn't bad.”

Dan Heng puts his things down. Then, he sits at the table across from his father. “How are your classes going? You haven’t been getting distracted, have you?”

Dan Heng almost wants to ask what he means by ‘distracted’. But instead, he says, “My research’s been going well.” That’s partly the truth.

“It’s rare for you to come home on a weekday. Is something wrong?”

“I… wanted to ask about Mom.”

Dan Heng’s father looks at him skeptically. “Look, if you’re going to ask me anything about that disease, I’m telling you now that I don’t know anything. I—”

“It’s about the problems you had.”

His father’s gaze gardens. “Why are you asking about this now?”

“I know it’s been a long time, but it’s been on my mind.”

"...What is there to say? You already know the truth, Dan Heng. We weren’t getting along, so we separated.”

“Then, why are you hiding the details from me? What do you not want me to know?”

The tense silence is broken by the sound of Agnes’s soft footsteps. She’s carrying two cups of tea which she sets in front of each of them. She quickly bows once and leaves the room.

As if surrendering, his father’s shoulders fell. “Tell me, Dan Heng. When you witnessed your mother and me together, did you sense we loved each other?” The question takes Dan Heng by surprise. He doesn’t have much time to think when his father continues, “We didn’t marry out of love. It was an exchange for us.”

“...For who? For what?”

“Your grandfather. Well, he passed away when you were young. But… your mother had someone she loved.” Dan Heng’s eyes widen. “Her father didn’t approve, so he introduced her to me.”

“And… you agreed to marry her?”

“She was very torn. The man she loved wasn't well-off, and he fell ill. Your grandfather made a deal with her that he would pay for his medical care if she were to marry someone he approved of. She chose to save his life.”

“...What was in it for you?”

“Money,” Dan Heng’s father answers frankly. “Her family was well-off, and our businesses profited off of each other.” He looks around the large house. “It’s because of that that we have this house… and your apartment as another example.” A sigh. “It wasn’t like your mother and I didn’t get along, but marriage can only last so long without love and respect.”

“But, you two always seemed to respect each other.”

“I may have married your mother for business purposes, but I’m confident I respected her as a person.” A small pause. “Regardless, no marriage would work after an affair.” When Dan Heng remains silent, his father looks at him. “It was after she got pregnant with you that business started taking off. I was always travelling, but it wasn't until you were a little older that it happened." Dan Heng's father crosses one leg over the other. "Are you surprised?"

"...To find out Mom had an affair?"

"She was the one who raised you. I was barely around." A small chuckle. "I think I only held you twice when you were just a baby."

"How did you find out?"

"I had a hunch. She admitted it herself after she got sick. Even told me that he's no longer around anymore. She apologized for what she did, but what took me off guard was that your mother wasn't scared of dying. Thinking about it now"—Dan Heng's father shakes his head as if disappointed—"perhaps it was because she could be with him."

“Did you forgive her?”

“Was there a reason not to? She was dying.”

A pause.

“...You’re old enough to understand now, Dan Heng. If you’re going to marry someone, be it someone you love.”

When Dan Heng leaves his father’s place after dinner, his conversation with his father is still sinking in. Looking back on his teenage years, he never fully knew why his father always seemed to be in a bad mood. Dan Heng had assumed it was work, something he couldn’t help with. With his mother falling ill and the backstory he now knows about, he isn’t too surprised his father’s focus had been on other things rather than him.

At a red stoplight, Dan Heng starts thinking about Young. Does this mean Young’s mother had an affair? Was Young the result of the affair or… was there something else? But the real mystery remains: Does this have something to do with you and Jing Yuan?

Once the light turns green, Dan Heng crosses the road with the crowd while taking his phone from his pocket. It’s almost nine. You should be home by now. Suddenly, his phone rings.

“Hey, Dan Heng,” Gepard says as soon as Dan Heng answers the phone.

“What’s wrong?”

Back at the apartment, Gepard looks at a worried Pom who’s sitting on the couch. “...Is Cupid with you?”

Dan Heng stops. “No. Is she not home?”

“She said she’d be back an hour ago.” Dan Heng hears Pom’s faint voice. Then, clearer this time, “I tried texting her, but she isn’t responding.”

“She left before March and me earlier today, so I thought she might be with you,” Gepard says.

“I might be just overreacting, but with everything that’s going on, I’m just a little scared,” Pom quickly says.

Dan Heng’s heart is racing, but his head is still clear. As much as he wants to know where you are, you’re likely safe. Nanook, as annoying as he is, won’t let anything happen to you. But still… where could you’ve gone?

“...I’ll try getting in touch with her,” Dan Heng says. 

A sudden gust of wind hits him from behind. He looks back and his eyes widen upon seeing Young looking at him. It’s as if time slows down as everyone becomes a blur. Soon, the only person Dan Heng can focus on is Young. Young turns to the side and looks at a tall brightly-lit building in the heart of the city. Dan Heng recognizes the building as the place where he met Jing Yuan. When Dan Heng looks back, Young subtly nods once, and then he disappears.

A sudden honk makes Dan Heng quickly get off the road. As he heads towards the building, he tries calling you... only for it to go to voicemail. Something isn't right, and he breaks into a run. If you're at the building, there's no way you're alone, which begs Dan Heng to think... who should he be more scared for? You or Jing Yuan?

Chapter 19

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[noblehcart]

"Grab" for your muse to grab mine's wrist, preventing them from leaving. -Styxx/Patya i love this

@myhiraeth

"You sick son of a bitch! Artemis should've let you stay as dead as Apollo left you! "

The audacity of the man that lead the Dark Hunters- that had trained him. The man he had come to trust who shared the achingly familiar face of his brother- the tiniest smallest comfort he took in joining the Hunters. Archeron, he had trusted with his life- Archeron whom he had been loyal and faithful and obedient. Like he had to another man, a better man whom he loved as much as any man could love a brother.

"i ask for sanctuary- please."

He remembered standing potentially in death's tent. He still remembered the sickeningly dank moisture of that night that chilled him to the bone. A child prince at fourteen, barely literate, who awaited the face of death whilst shaking more from the cold than in fear. He remembered the sight of the Stygian commander, the sharp figure and cold expression that strangely melted into something softer before outrage followed at the state of him. He remembered the warmth of Styxx's cloak around his shoulders, the hot bowl of food Galen pressed into his hands. He remembered hearing the discussions about him being a spy- that Cassius had recommended the safest course of action.

Execution.

Patya couldn't blame them. He knew the risks he posed- they didn't know the truth. How could they just take his word? He never blamed Galen for straddling the line of it nor Styxx when he had been brought out to the task. He remembered thinking 'gods, please let it be fast. let his sword be kind. i am so tired. i have no place here or with my own. let me be wanted in the next life.' and then saw Styxx hesitate in his stride looking at him then sheathed his xiphos and pardoned him.

Styxx saved his life.

Styxx gave him purpose, a role and a family. The Stygian Omada had embraced him and he counted Stefan and Cassius as friends and brothers quite soon after the pardon. And when Styxx died he felt his world fall apart entirely all over again. Like that young boy shaking in soaked clothes and terrified of life ahead of him.

Archeron had filled the gap....but no. Now he knew the truth. Archeron and that bitch whore Artemis had been the ones to create it. To cleave him from his brothers for thousands of years- to enslave him to a goddess that took it all away from him. Everything. His brother. His family. His future. He remembered his hopeful words to Styxx the first time his brother had encouraged him to speak up in strategos meetings with the other rulers.

"I'll make sure you learn, little brother." "Who knows maybe someday when you're king- I'll command the army." "Only if you learn to open your mouth when you're right."

The future he'd been denied- one of family. Of love. Of brothers. Of being an uncle to Styxx's children and to find his own love if he was so lucky. All of it was ripped from him with Styxx's seeming death and it was all thanks to Artemis and known to Archeron who never in the eleven thousands of years thought to tell him that Stephanos was alive. That Styxx hadn't been killed. That he had sold his soul for vengeance for his brother against the goddess he had bartered with. Condemned to darkness and a thirst for blood he so rarely sated. All for nothing and in service to them.

"You took everything away from me! EVERYTHING! My brothers! My life! My future! You and that bitch Artemis- I want both of your heads for this, but until that whining bitch gets here I'll settle for yours!" He didn't give a damn that Archeron was one of the best fighters amongst the Dark Hunters and at this point he didn't care if he died and spent the rest of whatever was the existence as a shade in misery. He wanted the man dead and he'd be damned if he didn't try.

A snarl tore through his throat as he lunged towards the Atlantean only to be yanked back by a familiar strong grip. Before that grip used to feel like iron around him when he was growing up, but now he was a Dark Hunter and one of the oldest of them and the only reason he didn't break his brother's grip was in respect.

"Let GO of me, Styxx!" Patya whirled around roared at his idol as rage darkened his eyes. " Eleven thousand, five hundred and thirty one years he robbed me of my brothers. Of you! Of Stephanos! Of the life we were to have! I want his life for it-! I want the pavement to be stained red with his blood for the next eleven thousand years! "