#this is the direct sequel to the last imagine. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

junqkook · 1 month

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— ROTTENFOLK: AFTERMATH (m.)

PAIRING. jungkook/reader, taehyung/reader GENRE. faerie au, angst, smut WORDS. 10,234 RATING. explicit

SYNOPSIS. six years after escaping from the faerie realm, you’ve done everything to hide yourself and your son from the high king. but you should have known he would never let you go so easily.

CONTENTS. boyfriend taehyung, faerie king jungkook, human reader, mother reader, father jungkook, kidnapping, manipulation, slight dubcon, riding, grinding, creampie, unprotected sex (stay safe!), rough sex, hair pulling, biting/marking, possessiveness, accidental exhibitionism/voyeurism, infidelity, multiple orgasms, hinted f/f, pregnancy, multiple smut scenes (!), overstimulation, fingering, dom jungkook.

NOTES. this is a sequel to rottenfolk. i highly suggest reading rottenfolk before reading this one. Y’ALL GOT ME MISSING THIS WORLD, so i gave in to my own desires and wrote this. i’ll warn you all now: this is not a happy story.

EXTRA NOTES. UNRWA; Care for Gaza; Direct Aid For Gaza. please consider donating to and/or sharing these organizations.

— rottenfolk. rottenfolk: aftermath.

Taehyung’s arms wrapped around you from behind and you giggled, leaning back into his chest. The smell of breakfast filled the kitchen and your boyfriend’s warm lips pressed chaste kisses against your neck.

“Missed you this morning,” he murmured.

You hummed and closed your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling of him. “I woke up early and decided to treat my lovely boys to breakfast today.”

Taehyung chuckled and pulled his mouth away from your neck, resting his cheek against yours instead. “You know what Soobin told me last night?”

“What’d he tell you?”

“He concocted such an imaginative story,” your boyfriend of three years started, a lightness to his voice that comforted you. “Said he saw magical creatures in the forest by the park that knew his name—”

Your eyes shot open and you tensed in Taehyung’s arms. “What?”

He continued without noticing your reaction. “Yeah, he was telling me all about these—actually kind of grotesque now that I think about it—”

You whirled around in his arms and faced him. “When did he tell you this exactly? Where?”

Taehyung cupped your face and smiled at you. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Don’t worry, it’s just a story, he was probably watching YouTube or something and got the ideas—”

“Tae,” you pressed. “I’m serious. Please answer me.”

He held up his hands in defense and nodded. “Okay, okay. He told me while we were walking home from the park yesterday. He was really excited about it and said the fairies told him they’d see him again. It’s nothing bad, sweetheart. He’s just a five year old with an active imagination.”

You cursed under your breath. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

Taehyung shrugged and crossed his arms. “I don’t know, it didn’t seem like pressing information to share. And you were dead tired when you came home, so it must have slipped my mind.” As he watched you flutter around the kitchen nervously, he continued. “Can you tell me what’s going on with you right now?”

You sighed and faced your boyfriend. “Remember when I told you about Soobin’s father?”

Taehyung pursed his lips. “Yeah. You said he’s dangerous.”

“He is,” you said. “I didn’t think he’d find me, or even be interested in it, but—he doesn’t know about Soobin. And I planned to keep it that way.”

“Okay,” Taehyung replied slowly. “So what’s changed?”

“Everything,” you whimpered. “If Soobin said that to you, it means his father knows about him. It’s… his people,” you said carefully. “They’re the only ones who would tell Soobin that they’re magical creatures and—if they know about my son, it’s only a matter of time before he knows, too.”

Taehyung rubbed his temples, making sure to keep his voice low. “So, what do we do now?”

Before you could answer, the sound of padding footsteps through the house interrupted your conversation. “Mama, good morning!” Soobin’s sleepy voice called out. He appeared from behind Taehyung, rubbing his tired eyes.

Scooping him up into your arms, you pressed kisses to his chubby cheek. He murmured half-heartedly and buried his little face into your neck. The tips of his growing horns pressed into your skin lightly. You smoothed down his dark hair and gave Taehyung a pleading look.

“Morning, little man,” your boyfriend said, patting your son on the back. “You ready for breakfast?”

Soobin sat up in your arms, turning his small body to look at his surrogate father, who had been in majority of his life. “Yes,” he mumbled, squirming until you set him down so he could grasp at Taehyung’s large hand. “Good morning.”

You watched Taehyung lead him over to the table, helping him scoot his chair closer to the table once he was seated. Hurrying, you brought over your boys’ plates and then went back for yours. Soobin and Taehyung waited for you to be seated to start eating.

“S’good, Mama,” Soobin said around his food.

You smiled. “Thank you, Binnie,” you replied. You almost had no appetite, the thoughts of Jungkook swirling in your head. You hated that your chest still ached, even with the years distancing you.

The day passed achingly slowly, every minute and every second feeling like an eternity; every sound and every shadow brought with it a wave of anxiety that you hadn’t felt in a long time. You felt bad for not allowing Soobin to go with Taehyung to the store, ignoring his pouting with a heavy heart.

Finally, when it was time for bed, you tucked Soobin in with a kiss to his forehead. He looked up at you with his eyes that were so like his father’s, pupils slitted like a cat’s, that you couldn’t help the wave of fear that shot through you. But you knew Soobin wasn’t like Jungkook, no matter how much he grew to resemble him in his looks with every day.

“Binnie,” you whispered, sitting at the edge of his bed while your hand stroked the strands of his dark hair. “I love you.”

He gave you a smile that was so soft, you hated yourself for seeing any part of Jungkook in him. “I love you more, Mama.” You chuckled, your worry easing a tiny bit. “I don’t know why you were sad today, but tomorrow will be better!”

You blinked back the tears that you could feel prickling in your eyes. “I know it will be,” you answered him, leaning down to press another kiss to his forehead. “Sweet dreams, baby.”

As you stood, you noticed Taehyung smiling at the scene from the doorway. “Night, little prince,” he said to your son. The word jabbed at your ribs and you felt like you couldn’t breathe for a moment.

“That’s a new nickname,” you managed to get out between your nerves.

Soobin giggled from his bed. “The magical faeries called me that!” he said excitedly. “Wouldn’t it be so cool if I really was a prince, Mama?”

You turned to give him a strained smile. “It would be so cool, Soobin.”

“So cool,” he repeated, his voice trailing off as his eyes shut. “G’night, Tae.”

When you shut the door of his bedroom, you nearly collapsed—if it hadn’t been for Taehyung’s arms wrapping around your waist, you would have dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung whispered in panic as he held you up. You tried not to cry into his chest, finding comfort in his arms for a few agonizing seconds before you stood completely.

“Nothing, just—I’m fine,” you lied. “We should go to bed.” Taehyung’s lips pursed, not believing you for once second. “Please,” you whimpered.

With a sigh, Taehyung nodded. “Okay, okay. Let’s go to bed.”

Once in your own room, Taehyung’s warm body against yours, you rolled over until you were on top of him. He gazed up at you with hooded eyes, his hands finding purchase on your hips.

“I thought you were tired,” he murmured.

“How can I go to sleep when my man is laying there, looking that good?” you teased, wiggling yourself until you were slowly grinding against his clothed cock. He groaned and you could feel him hardening underneath you. With a shudder, you started grinding yourself against him harder, the friction delicious against your clit.

Taehyung’s hands slipped under your shirt and dragged it off your torso, your hips never stopping their movements against him. He sat up in the bed, his hips rocking up, and his mouth started sucking one of your nipples harshly. You pushed yourself off his lap for a few seconds to rapidly tug your pajama pants and underwear off, pulling Taehyung’s sweats and boxers halfway down his thighs as well. His cock was hard and red and you wrapped your hand around the length of it, pumping it quickly.

“You’re so hot, you know that?” he groaned against your breast, flicking and twisting your other nipple with his fingers. You tried to keep your voice down as you mewled, pushing yourself flush against his body and guiding the head of his cock to your slit. You rubbed it against your slit a few times, the head bumping into your clit with every drag, before you started to lower yourself onto it.

“You’re so big,” you panted into his ear, the burn of his cock stretching your walls making you clench tightly.

“No matter how many times I fuck you, this pussy is always so tight for me,” he grunted, grabbing for your hips and removing his mouth from your chest. His fingers dug into your bare skin and you sank down completely, shivering and clenching his cock inside of you.

Taehyung’s fingers found your clit easily after years of learning your body and he started to rub as you ground your hips into his. Soon, he was thrusting up into you roughly, his fingers on your hips helping you move up and down to keep pace with him. You gripped his hair and tugged his mouth to yours, kissing him deeply, the slap of your skin against his filling the room along with your little noises.

You orgasmed quickly, your wound up body giving way to pleasure easily. As your walls spasmed around his snapping hips, Taehyung cursed under his breath and held you down on his cock as it twitched, spurts of hot come filling you up. He didn’t stop grinding you against him while he rode out his own release, his fingers sliding down to play with your clit.

“Taehyung,” you whined, “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he mumbled against your shoulder, his eyes shut while he savored the feeling.

You couldn’t help your bucking hips, chasing the feeling of his fingers pressed against your clit. You blinked your bleary eyes open and glanced toward the window, meeting cat-like eyes that startled you into a second orgasm while the head of Taehyung’s spilling cock continued to rub against your g-spot.

You had to bite down on your bottom lip to stop the shout that tried to tear itself out of your throat—a mix of fear and pleasure.

Rocking your hips against Taehyung’s softening cock inside of you, you wrapped your arms around him and kept his head buried in your chest as he pressed kisses to the tops of your breasts. Your eyes never left the ones staring back at you.

Jungkook watched you with heat in his gaze, even though the rest of his face seemed as through he were bored and uninterested.

The shockwaves ran through your body, igniting every nerve in your limbs while your boyfriend’s cock slipped out of you, his come following. Your breaths started to quicken when Jungkook’s form left your window, and for a second you thought you might have imagined it. For a second, you let yourself breathe.

Then you realized he had moved toward Soobin’s window, on the other side of the hallway.

With a small yelp, your throat closed up and you couldn’t breathe. Taehyung lifted his head, startled at your sudden sound, and you ripped yourself away from him, not even bothering to clean the mess dripping between your thighs as you hurriedly dressed yourself, moving at a speed you had never moved before.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Taehyung asked, tucking himself back into his pajamas and shifting off the bed.

You didn’t have time to answer him, messily dressed now. Rushing to the bedroom door, you yanked it open and sprinted to your son’s bedroom, heart pounding and blood rushing through your ears.

You threw open Soobin’s door and for a second, time seemed to stop.

The window was open and Soobin was in front of it, Jungkook leaning against the windowsill from outside. Your son turned to look at you, surprise etched into his features, and Jungkook’s eyes found yours for a second time that night. Beside each other, the two looked so alike that you wondered how you had deluded yourself into believing they would never know.

“Sweetmeat,” Jungkook’s voice drawled, your body shuddering on instinct alone. You couldn’t stop shaking, rooted to the spot as his hand settled on top of Soobin’s head. “It’s been a while, I see.”

“Mama!” Soobin cried out, a smile pulling his lips up. “You know faeries? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Jungkook,” you choked out, taking a step into the room as Taehyung’s footsteps sounded behind you. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, every atom in your body completely focused on the father of your child. “Get away from him.”

The faerie king hummed and he moved his hand down to Soobin’s shoulder. “I will not.” Those eyes that were the same as Soobin’s darted down to the young boy before darting up to yours again. “All these years, you’ve kept him a secret from me.”

Taehyung was behind you now, his voice shouting something at Jungkook, but all you could hear was the pounding of your heart and the sweet voice that came from the faerie. You were already inside the bedroom, Taehyung right outside the doorway behind you.

“Close the door, ____,” Jungkook said softly.

Your body moved on its own, shutting the door before Taehyung could force his way in.

“Now lock it.”

You locked it.

Taehyung’s panicked voice and slamming hands against the door barely registered in your head as you turned to face Jungkook.

“Jungkook, please,” you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes. You took a few steps forward, stopping only when you saw his fingers tighten around Soobin’s shoulder. “Please. He’s my son—”

“And mine,” he interrupted harshly. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed when your breath hitched, Soobin’s wide and curious eyes turning toward him once again.

“You’re my dad?” he asked quietly.

Jungkook’s eyes seemed to soften for a moment. You thought it must be a trick of the moonlight. “I am,” he told Soobin. “And I’ve come to bring you to your real home, where you belong.”

“Mama can come, too, right?” he asked, glancing at you before looking at his father.

“Of course,” he said easily. “She is mine, after all, until she draws her last breath and an eternity after.”

He tilted his head and then beckoned you over. You dropped to your knees, wrapping your arms around Soobin and yanking him away from the High King.

“Please, Jungkook,” you whimpered. “Please, leave us here. Leave us alone.”

Jungkook’s eyes hardened and his hand shot out like a bolt of lightning, fingers wrapping around the collar of your shirt and dragging you toward the window roughly. Soobin’s small hands dug into your shirt and you heard him make a distressed noise where you had tucked him close.

“Do you forget yourself, human?” he growled, voice dangerously low. You could feel the anger simmering under the surface, unlike anything you had seen from him years ago—he had always been indifferent to you, never angry. You supposed it was only natural after finding out you had kept Soobin a secret, no matter how unnatural Jungkook was. “Answer me.”

“No,” you said shakily. “I am yours.”

“You will be returning with me to the Faerie Realm,” he snarled. “If only because my son has wished for it. You belong to me, sweetmeat. You are mine to do with as I please.”

“Yes,” you replied quietly, never looking away from his slitted eyes. “I am yours to do with as you please, my king.”

“Now get up and come.”

You did as he asked, rising to your feet and releasing Soobin from your grip, though he kept his hold of your shirt as he looked between the two of you. You couldn’t stop your body from removing his hands from you, even as your hands shook and your breath caught when he begged you not to. Your fingers didn’t even twitch when Jungkook lifted him out of the window and kept him on his hip. You followed immediately after, surprised when Jungkook grabbed a hold of your upper arm and maneuvered you on the branches so that you didn’t fall over as the three of you descended to the grass.

Jungkook kept a tight hold on Soobin’s hand as he led you two away from your home. He didn’t need to keep any kind of grip on you—he knew you would follow him, unable to refute his orders, especially not when he was leading your child away with him.

You didn’t look back at the house once.

The sounds and smells of the Faerie realm was something you hadn't realized you had missed so much. Nostalgia for the years you had spent among these fair folk blossomed in your chest, flowering through your skin until you could feel the tingle in your fingertips.

The faeries through the forest watched the three of you with wonderous eyes, all colors and shapes, the whispers like the sound of bees buzzing through the night air. When you looked at your son, his eyes were taking in everything around him with delight and curiosity.

Soon enough, you were walking up toward the palace that you had known so well before, familiarity settling in your bones as you took the trek.

"Soobin," Jungkook said softly—you didn't think that the High King could ever sound so soft while speaking. "Do you want to see your room?"

"Jungkook," you called, taking a few steps toward them so that you were right behind your husband and the faerie king.

His cat-like eyes cut to you, not nearly as soft as they were when looking at your son, and you hesitated to reach out to touch him. Your brain was screaming at you that any move you made would be a terrible idea.

"You'll wait your turn, sweetmeat," he said to you with a smile that could carve through flesh. "Though I thought you would remember where your place is here."

"Of course," you replied quickly, simmering down so as to not scare Soobin with your own fear.

"Mama," your son said excitedly, his small hand still gripping Jungkook's. "This place is so cool! Why didn't you tell me you knew faeries?" he questioned.

Looking at him now, your heart ached for the way you, too, had once looked on in amazement and only excitement in this realm. What would this place, with its cunning smiles and sweet dangers, do to him and his precious, innocent smile?

"I'm sorry, baby," you cooed, dropping to your knees on the ground in front of you and cupping his face in your hands. You brushed his dark hair back, fingers trying not to bump onto his little horns—they had always been sensitive to the touch. "The faeries have just been so busy, I haven't seen them in so long and forgot to tell you about them."

"Can I play with them?" he asked.

"No—"

"Of course—"

You and Jungkook cut yourselves off, meeting eyes as Soobin looked between the two of you. You could almost see the thoughts swimming around in Jungkook's head, as if deciding what to say. You were too afraid to make a sound, furrowing your brows a bit and hoping that he would have some sense to how your child had been raised so far.

"Why don't your mother and I discuss that and let you know tomorrow, okay?" he eventually said, smiling sweetly at your son—his son. Soobin nodded ecstatically, throwing his arms around you for a tight hug. You squeezed him close to you, kissing the top of his head. "Now say goodnight and I'll show you to your room."

"Goodnight, Mama!" Soobin exclaimed, letting go of you quickly and slipping his tiny hand back into his father's. How were you going to explain everything to him?

Jungkook paused to look back at you as you were getting up from your knees. "I trust that you remember where your chambers are?" he inquired, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Your cheeks flushed with heat and you willed them to go back to their normal color, not wanting to look embarrassed in front of your son. "Yes," you eventually choked out, ignoring the quiet chuckle that Jungkook let out, leading your son down the hall and towards whatever room he had assigned for him.

Sighing, you turned to the other side of the hall, ashamed that your feet did remember the way to Jungkook's chambers, where you always slept, ready to embrace him into you night after night. And you hated that your groin tingled at the memories, the release from earlier still sticky against your skin, even as it dried.

"Sweetmeat," Jungkook cooed as he came into his chambers, a devilish smile playing at his lips.

Your cheeks flushed as you sat on the bed, ashamed at your own body for reacting to his voice like this. The memories flooded your brain, every muscle in your body thrumming as you expected his touch.

"Well," he said, now standing in front of you and his hips sliding between your knees. "I see you have become forgetful in your time away," he murmured, his fingertips brushing your cheek and then tucking your hair behind your ear. "Usually you would await me with nothing on that smooth skin of yours."

You cleared your throat awkwardly as you looked up at him, your legs automatically spreading wider to make room for him to stand between them. You bit your bottom lip and couldn't stop yourself from leaning into his palm, his skin warm and so familiar to you.

"I can't," you whispered, shutting your eyes so you wouldn't see the look on his face.

To your surprise, he leaned down so that his nose brushed yours. Against your better judgement, you let your eyes flutter open and you met his slitted eyes, soft as they looked at you. There was no rage or wrath.

"Why can't you, sweetmeat?" he whispered back, every word making his lips brush against yours lightly with how close he was. You took in a shaky breath, leaning back on your hands to try to put distance between the two of you. "Don't you want me to have you?"

"Yes," you replied on instinct, screwing your eyes shut as his body pressed against yours. "But Taehyung—"

Jungkook's thumb pressed against your bottom lip, stopping you. Your eyes opened again, watching how his were trained on your mouth. "No need to worry about that human," he told you. "You were always mine first." Before you could object, he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips—you never thought you would receive a simple peck from the High King, whose touch had always been so rough and ragged on you.

"I—" You breathed against his mouth, leaning in for more of his kisses. He stayed just out of reach and it felt like a punishment. "I want you," you whimpered, letting one of your hands come up to cup his cheek. You met his eyes shyly, a spark traveling through your abdomen at the dark way he looked at you, like he wished to devour you. "I want you," you repeated.

"You'll never be anyone else's," he said to you as he crawled over your body, gently pushing you back onto the lush mattress. Your heart was pounding in your chest as he tugged your baggy shirt over your torso, revealing your bare breasts to his gaze. "I simply allowed that mortal to loan you," he growled, leaning down to nip at your hard nipple.

"Yes," you sighed, your fingers digging into his dark hair. "I'm only yours." His mouth enveloped the tip of your breast, biting down around the areola and making you hiss from a mix of pain and pleasure. "I belong to you."

Jungkook pulled your sweats down your legs, lifting his head from your chest for only long enough to remove them completely and undress himself as well. Your eyes marveled at his body, not realizing how much you'd missed looking at it. Of course, you couldn't help but let your eyes trail down to his cock, which was already hard and you could feel the tingling between your legs.

His smirk widened as he grabbed your thighs, yanking you towards him until the underside of his cock was pressing against you. A quiet whimper fell from your lips.

"You don't need to be loosened, do you?" he asked sweetly, though you could hear the tinge of mocking in his tone. You'd heard it so often, right here on this very bed, that you could detect anything in Jungkook's voice.

Your cheeks were hot. "No," you whispered, shaking your head. "But I should clean fir—"

"No," he replied, rocking his hips toward you playfully. "I'll fuck you right now."

You wanted to protest, still dripping with Taehyung's cum. A pang of guilt throbbed in your chest, but the ache of desire drowned it out quickly. Your breath caught in your throat as he slowly pushed the length of his cock inside of you, a groan leaving his lips when he bottomed out.

"How are you still this tight?" he asked you, almost incredulous. "Just fucked and still this tight around my cock?"

Clenching around him, your eyes rolled back as he pulled out only a few centimeters before pushing back inside slowly. "I can't help it," you whined, spreading your thighs further apart until your knees were about to touch the silky bedcovers. "You make me this way."

When you met Jungkook's eyes, they were dark and hungry. "You're so wet," he told you, his fingers finding the flesh of your hips and digging into your skin. "I'm going to replace all this cum inside of you with my own."

Before you had a chance to say anything, or even start to feel a shred of shame, he pulled out almost all the way and then shoved himself inside of you, starting a brutal and quick pace. The bed was already shaking with the force of his movements, and your hand darted to your mouth for something to bite down onto.

As he thrusted into you, the lewd sounds echoing in the bedchamber and cum dripping past his cock and down your skin onto the bed, all your thoughts melted away. You had missed him. You'd missed everything about him—your body had missed him. Logically, you knew that this was wrong, that you had finally managed to find peace with the family you had created—but now—

"Jungkook," you moaned, releasing your hand from the bite of your teeth, and slid it onto his shoulder. "I need you—"

"Of course you do, sweetmeat," he cooed, though you could feel the shiver that went through his body. "You belong to me."

You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him even closer to your body. One of his hands moved up from your hip, his palm dragging lightly against your bare skin, cupping your breast and squeezing it in his hands. You whimpered and he pinched your nipple between his fingers, almost too painfully, but you liked it—maybe a little too much.

When his hand moved higher up your body to your neck, squeezing it gently while he shoved himself deeper and deeper into you with every thrust of his hips, you couldn't help the wanton moan that ripped its way out of your throat. Your legs tightened around him, trying to hold him inside of you forever while you twitched and squirmed, your orgasm building quickly and intensely.

"That's it, sweet thing," he purred, pushing his cock in as deep as it would go, using his other hand to push your thigh up so he could shove it in further while you came, clenching around him sporadically. "Did your human make you feel this good?"

"No," you croaked, seeing stars. "No one has ever made me feel this good." And you weren't lying, even though the guilt had started to eat its way through the pleasure in your abdomen.

Jungkook hummed and then started up his agonizing pace once more, making your body squirm and your toes curl.

"I can't," you begged, hands lowering to the bedsheets and clawing them in your fingers. "It hurts—"

"You can," he replied smoothly, and the head of his cock brushed the sensitive spot inside of you. You clenched hard, a cry falling from your mouth. "You will, human."

He pulled his cock out of you and when you looked down, it was wet with a mix of your slick and the cum that had still been inside of you. You didn't have the energy to feel embarrassed, though your cheeks did flush a little hotter than before. In one fluid movement, Jungkook turned you onto your stomach, his hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling them up so that your ass was in the air and your face was pressed against the bed.

You felt the slide of his cock back into you, eyes rolling back and fingers gripping the sheets. As it filled you, the squelch of it entering you again filling the room, Jungkook fisted your hair in his hand and pulled your head up.

Your body was still reeling from your orgasm—the second one that night—so you could do nothing but let him hold you in place there, a little moan coming out of your throat with every harsh thrust.

"That's a good girl," he groaned, his cock twitching inside of you while his thrusts started to slow down. "You always did take my cock so well for a human."

"Yes," you whispered, feeling a little bit of your spit on the corner of your lip. "It's all for you."

Jungkook moaned, shoving your head back down onto the bed, fingers still tightly gripping your hair. The slight pain from his hold mixed well with the pleasure of him rubbing against that spot inside of you over and over until you could barely take it.

"It's like you were molded for me," he said roughly, his body towering over yours as he tried to bury himself inside of you as far as he could go.

"I was," you said in a broken whimper, and you felt the twitch of his cock, followed by a spurt of his release, hot inside of you and filling you completely.

He rolled his hips a few times, and while still inside of you, his hand released your hair and curled around your torso, fingers finding your clit immediately. Your eyes widened for a second, the feeling of his fingers moving against your clit mixing between pleasure and pain. While his seed slipped past his cock and down your thighs, the feelings all crashed into you at once—guilt, pleasure, pain, shame, tingling—and you couldn't help but buck your hips against his hand and orgasm a second time.

When you were done, seeing stars behind your eyelids, he finally pulled out of you, letting his seed spill out of you and allowing your body to fall completely against the cool bed.

Turning to face him as he laid next to you, you couldn't even muster up a smile. Even with sweat on his face, his dark hair clinging to his skin, he still looked beautiful and ethereal.

Jungkook's eyes met yours and you couldn't stop your panting, your body completely spent—you couldn't even bring yourself to care about the mix of your slick and his seed still dripping out of you and onto the bed.

"Are you spent, sweetmeat?" he asked, a smirk starting to play at his lips.

You sighed and nodded, eyes still focused on his. "Yes," you replied slowly. "It's been... A long time," you settled on, not sure how to navigate your absence, even if he had originally allowed it.

"Well," he said gleefully. "You will get used to it again, soon."

It was then that you realized you couldn't see his other hand. When you let your eyes follow his arm down to his hand, you realized it was stroking his still hard cock, your slick and his come mixing all over it. Your cheeks flushed and your eyes widened—though, you could already feel the heat of desire in your belly and the tingling between your thighs as you clenched and unclenched around nothing.

"We are going to have so much fun, sweetmeat," Jungkook snickered, rolling over towards you to lick into your mouth.

The music and feasting was something you had missed, watching all the faeries let loose and be themselves, as grotesque as that might look to your human eyes. Jungkook had seated you at the table, taking Soobin away to introduce him to others and show him around a bit.

You were dressed in a gown made of silk, the neckline dipping almost halfway down your chest, but still covering your breasts from view—Jungkook could be possessive when he wished.

The faeries had given you looks, some with curiosity and some with suspicion—others even with pity, if you weren't completely delusional. Your eyes stayed trained on your son, who was learning how to play a game from the other young faeries around him.

"He belongs here," Jungkook whispered in your ear, spooking you for a moment. You looked up at him as he grinned at Soobin, watching him still as he took his seat beside you at the table, his hand patting your thigh before resting on the arm of his chair.

"I didn't think he'd fit in so well," you admitted, unable to stop the smile on your lips and the softness in your voice when Soobin laughed, holding hands with a young faerie who was dripping sap from their limbs.

Jungkook hummed and lightly tapped your chin with his fingers, turning your face to look at him. "Eat," he said flatly. "You belong here, too."

You swallowed nervously. Your eyes darted down to your plate, full of deliciously smelling food, the aroma calling to you. "Jungkook," you whispered, looking back at him.

His fingertips were so soft against your skin that their presence there could've been a hallucination—but you could feel a razor sharp tingle where they touched you, a subtle threat in the gentleness.

"Jungkook, when will we be able to go home?" you asked quietly,

Though his face hadn't changed, you could feel the tension settling in between your bodies. He hummed and let his fingers drag down from your chin to your neck, and then further down to your collarbones. You shivered, letting your eyes flutter shut while they continued their way down between your neckline, every touch of his igniting the nerves in your body.

His hand shot up and gripped your throat, startling your eyes into opening. He didn't tighten his hold, simply keeping a slight pressure on your neck. Jungkook's expression was wicked—and cruel.

"This is your home," he cooed, though nothing about his tone was soft. He leaned in closer, bringing you closer in as well with his hand around your throat. Your breath caught and he brushed his nose against yours lightly, eyes never wavering from yours. "I thought I did well to remind you of that earlier, sweetmeat."

Heat flooded your cheeks, traveling down your chest and between your thighs. You clasped them together instinctively and shuddered when you saw Jungkook's gaze glance down towards your legs.

"Should I remind you here, sweetmeat?" he continued, snickering at the way you were going pliant in his grasp. "Shall I show my court who you belong to?"

You wanted to say yes—everything in your body was craving him already, wanting every bit of him all over you. And to have every faerie in his court watch as he took you—over and over again—you could barely resist the temptation.

But you couldn't give in right now.

"I want you to," you whimpered, shutting your eyes again as he leaned in closer, licking your lips lewdly. He bit your bottom lip and you gasped, allowing him to press closer, kissing you lazily. His hands released your throat and moved back to the nape of your neck, holding you in place while he kissed you.

"Ew!" a voice exclaimed, a voice that was too familiar—and the entire reason you were planning to refuse his tempting offer.

You tore yourself away from Jungkook, who looked puzzled. "Binnie!" you breathed, shifting in your seat. "What's up, honey?"

Jungkook's hand stayed firmly in its place at the back of your neck, hot and heavy.

"Mama, what are you doing?" your son asked, crinkling his nose up in disgust.

"Your dad and I, we just—we just missed each other, that's all," you explained quickly. "Sometimes adults do that when they really love each other!"

Soobin frowned, tilting his head to the side. Before he could ask anymore questions, Jungkook smiled down at him. "Why don't you go to bed, Soobin?" he said, though you could see even your son, at such a young age, instinctively knew to heed his king's command.

An older faerie, one whose hair looked like sea moss trailing all the way down to its feet, arrived quickly and started to pull Soobin and the other young faerie with him away from the table.

"Wait!" he cried out, rushing over to your side.

You quickly enveloped him in your arms, raising him up to your lap. "What's wrong?" you asked, cupping his cheeks in your palms.

"You didn't give me a goodnight kiss," he pouted, wrapping his small arms around you for a hug.

"Aw, my baby Binnie," you cooed, kissing the top of his head. "Mama loves you so much." He looked up at you, his pouting lips still the same, and you kissed his cheek three times.

"I love you, too, Mama," he replied, leaning up to give your cheek a kiss as well. He looked over to Jungkook. "Can I give Dad a kiss, too?"

You hesitated, looking over at the High King, whose face was unreadable. Then, he opened his arms up in a welcoming gesture—Soobin hurriedly climbed down from your lap and rushed to his father, who gave him a peck on the cheek and ruffled his matching dark hair.

Once your son was bounding away, happily chatting with the faeries surrounding him, you sighed and turned to look at the High King, who you found already watching you.

"This is his home," Jungkook repeated harshly. You pursed your lips, hating yourself for the butterflies in your stomach when you knew Taehyung was waiting for you in the human realm. "Soobin belongs here." You didn't want to admit it, though you knew both of you knew perfectly well that he did fit in here—especially once his horns fully grew in atop his head. "Our other children will belong here, too."

Your cheeks flushed and your eyes widened, taken aback at his words. His face was unreadable, even after spending so much of your time with him. "Other children?" you gasped.

"Yes," he said easily, turning away from you and looking over the dancing and partying faeries. "I need many heirs."

A faerie took his attention before you could formulate any words in response to his statement, but you couldn't stop the pounding of your heart in your chest and the quick soar of elation that filled your head with dangerous thoughts—thoughts of the two of you together for the eternity you had promised to him, of you as his bride, of belonging to this world eternally.

You didn't see Jungkook for the rest of the night, but that didn't stop your imagination from running wild with the possibilities of your future together.

The nights passed in a blur of music, little adventures with Soobin, and reliving your memories from years ago. You couldn't help but lose yourself in this world, fully immersed in the customs and life of Faerie—especially now that you were anticipating your new familial life with Jungkook, as he'd implied.

The door shut behind him quickly and you were already slipping the straps of your dress off of your shoulders, the glitter from the fabric sticking to your skin. It fell to the ground softly and Jungkook's hands were already running down your arms, his body right behind yours.

You turned your face sideways to glance back at him, heat already pooling in your lower abdomen at his touch.

"Lie to me, sweetmeat," he whispered, dropping his head to press kisses to your shoulder, nipping at the flesh with his teeth.

You shuddered as his clothed body pressed into your bare one from behind, the tickle of the fabric causing goosebumps to raise on your skin.

"I want to go home," you murmured, your body molding against his as he walked you forward, bending you over onto the mattress. He undid his pants, letting them fall to the ground, and slid his hard cock against your ass.

You whined and pushed back against him, not even embarrassed at how slick you already were. You were already clenching around nothing in anticipation.

"How badly do you want me?" he asked, keeping one palm spread on your back to hold you down. His foot kicked your legs further apart to open you up completely to him. "Do you crave me?"

You moaned as the head of his cock pushed into your folds lightly but pulled away before giving you what you wanted. "Yes," you said. "I've never stopped wanting you."

Jungkook finally—finally—pushed his cock into you, sliding all the way in easily. He said nothing for a while, simply groaning and thrusting in and out of you, filling the room with the lewd sounds of skin against skin. You were gripping fistfuls of the sheets, even biting down on them when his pace became unforgiving.

"How often did you picture me when that human was buried inside of you?" he asked, and you could hear the large grin in his voice. You didn't answer, heat flooding into your cheeks. "Were you hoping it was my cock inside of you, filling you with my seed?" You moaned in response, clenching tight around him as he picked up his pace even faster, almost slamming his cock into you over and over. "Answer me," he growled, his fingers finding your hair and pulling your head up from where it was flush against the bed.

"Yes," you admitted, your voice shaking. "I wanted you to be the one fucking me—"

Jungkook's door opened and you flinched, though his grip on you didn't loosen and his movements only slowed, never stopping.

A woman came into view, though your eyesight was blurred and you had to focus them to see what she looked like.

"Ah, Wife," Jungkook purred, slowly pushing his cock into you so you could feel every centimeter.

"Husband," she replied easily, barely glancing at you.

You clenched around him from your shock, your little breathy sounds fading into the background. You couldn't stop your body from pushing back into him, wanton for him.

"What is it?" he asked, his hips still pounding into you from behind. You were staring at the woman, unable to take your eyes off of her as you took in her beauty. Her hair was a light blue, the very tips turning white and ending near her hips. There was a small golden crown wrapped around head, weaving through her hair like vines. Her ears were long and pointed—longer than Jungkook's ears.

"I see you returned your pet," she said instead, blankly looking over your form. You felt like you were being shown at an auction, but you couldn't muster up any feelings of shame, still used to the way the High King would keep you exposed to anyone who opened his door—even his apparent wife.

"I have," he returned gleefully, snickering. His cock slipped out of you with a lewd sound and his hands gripped your body, forcefully turning you over from your bent position so that you were laying flat on your back on the bed. You let out a small sound at the shift, but his cock was already burying itself inside of you again, brushing against your g-spot and making you moan loudly instead. "Isn't she exquisite?"

"She's very loud," his wife said plainly. "I can see the appeal."

Jungkook rocked his hips into you at a slow pace, one of his hands moving up to your breast and kneading it, pinching your nipple hard as you cried out, clenching and unclenching repeatedly.

"They require you in the meeting hall tomorrow morning," his wife continued. Jungkook merely hummed, his eyes completely focused on his cock disappearing into you over and over slowly. "Do not forget to attend."

"You should really try a human woman," Jungkook redirected, biting his lip and hissing as his bottomed-out cock twitched inside of you. You whimpered, unable to help the flush of arousal at the thought of her joining, memories of the others flooding your head for a few moments. You wrapped your legs around Jungkook's hips, pulling him tighter against you as he chuckled.

"I have humans," she replied, eyes running up and down your sweaty body and stopping for a few seconds too long on your breasts. "I find myself more inclined for the men of the species."

"Your loss," he grunted, grabbing your hips and yanking you harder towards him, picking up his brutal pace again and filling the air with the sounds of your skin slapping together. "Close the door."

You watched her nod her head towards him slightly before she retreated, pulling the door shut behind her. You could feel the orgasm building inside of you as he continued his movements, all your thoughts and words scrambled in your head.

"That's it, sweetmeat," he cooed, hissing as he rushed his pace. "Come all over me."

You moaned loudly at his command and felt complied to respond with your body, the pleasure tightening in your belly first as your orgasm hit you like a wave, shockwaves throbbing through your body as he continued to thrust into you through it.

"Jungkook," you panted, tightening your legs around his hips and fisting the sheets in your fingers as you winced. "It hurts—"

"Take it, human," he said blankly, his eyes focused on yours intently. You bit your bottom lip and shivered, trying to move your hips along to his bruising pace. "You're so good for me," he purred, leaning down as he stilled inside of you so that he could lick into your mouth lewdly. You could feel his cock twitch before he came, spurting his seed deep inside of you.

"Jungkook," you whimpered, arching your back, arousal swirling in your belly at the feeling of him releasing.

He shushed you as he rode out his orgasm, keeping himself flush against you even as he began to soften and his come started to slip out of you and down your thighs to the bed. As you kissed him back, licking back into his mouth and running your fingers through his dark hair and touching his horns lightly, causing him to growl against your lips, you couldn't help but remember the faerie that had stopped by.

"You're married," you whispered against his lips.

He pulled back just enough to look at you and a razor sharp smile was present on his mouth. "Yes," he said. "The High King must be wed for the future of Faerie." When you didn't say anything, pondering his words to you earlier, he continued as his finger began to trace your cheek. "Did you think I would marry you, sweetmeat?"

Your cheeks flushed. "No."

Jungkook laughed loudly and then pressed a harsh kiss to your pouting lips. "Humans are so fascinating when they lie," he finished, and you could feel him getting hard again inside of you. You squirmed underneath him as he kept you pinned down, a gleeful glint in his eyes as he watched you.

"Again, Jungkook?" you whined, though you were already clenching around him and rocking your hips up into him, your body begging him to start moving again.

He hummed and grinded against you slowly, enjoying the sounds your sticky bodies made with every movement. His hand came to grip your face and he held you still, pulling his cock out halfway and then sliding back in slowly. "I will keep you here, bred and ready for me for eternity," he said roughly, the head of his cock brushing against your g-spot again and making you mewl. He took the opportunity to lick into your open mouth.

When he released you, you sighed against his lips and pressed your thighs against the bed to allow him in deeper. "For eternity," you promised.

Jungkook's hips bucked into you and started another brutal pace, filling the room with your moans for the rest of the night.

"Soobin!" you called, running your hand down your belly bump and feeling the fabric of your dress, like silk, cool against your palm. Each of your fingers was adorned in rings, some metal and some vine. "Bring your brother and sister from the trees."

Your oldest son rolled his eyes, his horns curled backwards and ears almost as long as Jungkook's. He was taller than you now, his growth spurt hitting him years prior, and you couldn't help but smile at him sweetly as you made your way to the long table. Jungkook was seated at the head of the table, your family feasting inside the castle on a rare occasion. His wife was seated to his right and you made your way to his left, huffing as you struggled to sit comfortably.

Jungkook's smile to you was as sweet as it could be. "They should be content to play," he started, but you tutted at him and leaned back in the chair.

"I want them to have some connection to human manners," you replied easily, already used to having the same conversation every time you ate inside.

"I think it's good for them," Hana said, interjecting for once into the conversation.

You nodded your head at her, gesturing. "See?"

Jungkook sighed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms across his chest. "Yes, yes, go ahead and gang up on me."

"Daddy!" your daughter called out loudly, the rushed footsteps of her and her siblings filling the hall as they ran over to the table. Jungkook immediately opened his arms and let her jump into his lap, running his hand down her long dark hair. "Minnie hit me!"

Jungkook hummed, looking over at his two sons as they took their seats beside you, Soobin first. "And what did you do back?"

Ha Yoon smiled wickedly. "I bit him."

Jungkook and Hana laughed. He let her down from his lap, patting the top of her head. She bounced over to you, pulling on the tips of your hair the same way she used to as a baby. You lowered your head as much as you could and then winced when she nipped at your cheek with her sharp teeth. She giggled when you returned it with a kiss to her head and then rushed over to sit beside her brother.

"Soobin," Jungkook started as the servants, a mix of faeries and humans alike, began to place the food on the table and into your plates. "Have you thought about Hana's proposition?"

Soobin perked up, though your body tensed. Jungkook's eyes cut to you for a brief second, noticing your reaction, before he returned his gaze to your son.

"Yes," he replied, his voice much deeper than it had been when you'd returned to Faerie. "I'd like to go."

You bit the inside of your cheek and shoveled a spoonful of food into your mouth, now used to the wonderfully rich tastes this world had to offer you.

"Wonderful!" Jungkook said, smiling widely. "The carriages leave tomorrow for the Court. You'll go with them."

"My brother will teach you well," Hana said, smiling at Soobin sweetly. She had been like a second mother to him all these years, so you understood that your anxiety was rooted in nothing but jealousy and a wish to keep your children near you. "Oh, and Jungkook," she continued, turning her attention to her husband while you fussed over Soobin and Minhyuk.

"Yes, Wife?" he hummed, making a face at his daughter, who looked the most like him out of the three children.

"I'm pregnant," she giggled.

Jungkook's ears twitched and he turned to her quickly, all sounds quieting in the hall. "You are?"

"Yes."

"That's wonderful, Wife," he said smoothly, reaching over and holding her hand in his. You eyed their intertwined fingers and rings with a rush of jealousy, but the anxiety in your chest worsened. "Faerie will be full of my children's laughter."

They looked over at you expectantly. "Congratulations, Hana," you gulped, smiling as wide as you could to mask your fears.

She smiled tightly back at you, her eyes darting down to your own pregnant belly. "Thank you," she said.

Jungkook reached over and took your hand in his so that he was holding both of your hands. "We will celebrate and have a feast tomorrow with the courts," he said. He squeezed your hand and then released Hana's first, using his now free hand to pat your arm before he let go.

"So we're going to have another brother?" Minhyuk asked, speaking for the first time since he sat down. Your middle son was rather quiet and looked more like you than his father, though you didn't think Jungkook minded. He spoiled them all the same.

"Or sister," Hana told him, her face back to the usual stoic expression that everyone was familiar with.

"And it'll be two of them," you told him. Minhyuk tilted his head and then went back to his food, shoveling it in ravenously.

"And there will still be time for more," Jungkook said wickedly. "From both of you." His foot bumped into yours and you looked up at him through your lashes, arousal swirling between your legs when he winked at you and reached over to rest his hand on your thigh. Hana gasped and you looked over to her, watching how her cheeks flushed pink and you could see that Jungkook's other hand was below the table in her direction as well.

He released both of you again and continued his food, the children chatting with each other and him, mostly, excited to have their father's attention since most of his morning and afternoon had been spent in his office and among his advisors.

Once the children were done with their food, they excused themselves from the table and went to go continue playing. Soobin decided to go off on his own from his siblings, but you still had no idea where he went on nights like these; Jungkook always quelled your worries, telling you that he was at that age now where he should be left alone when he needed to be, instead of fretted over.

Jungkook gestured for you with his hands and you rose from your chair, moving over to stand in front of him. He placed his hands on your belly, eyes devouring you in a way that made you want to push your thighs together for relief. He smirked.

"Have they told you what it is yet?" he asked.

"No," you replied quietly, glancing over at Hana. "They say it'll be another boy."

"Faeries and their theories," he sighed, though his tone was fond. "We'll be visiting the Unseelie Court in a few days," he continued.

"Me as well?" you asked, confused. Usually him and his wife went, but you stayed here.

"Yes," he said. "Hana will be going with Soobin. You will come with me."

You bit your lip as his hands started to travel down your dress, using his fingers to pull the fabric up higher and higher, pulling you closer to his lap as he did so. Even after all these years, he was still insatiable.

"I will go prepare and find Soobin," she interrupted, standing up and dragging your attention away from Jungkook.

He stopped her for a brief second, though his hands continued their work until your dress was lifted enough for him to slide his fingers along your unclothed folds, gathering the slick of your arousal on them before he pushed two inside at once, making you whimper as you leaned back on the table.

"Be ready for me tonight, Wife," he told her. She nodded her head.

Then she took a few steps forward, leaning down and pressing her lips to yours. You gasped into her mouth, letting her tongue press against yours as Jungkook snickered from below you, continuing to work his fingers in and out of you. Hana pulled away with an obscene pop of her mouth, biting down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and make you hiss, clenching around Jungkook's fingers.

"I will be," she told him after, leaning down and kissing him harshly. He groaned and rubbed his thumb against your clit with every lick of her tongue against his. Then she pulled away and left the hall, you suspected to her own quarters.

Jungkook pulled his fingers from you and put them in his mouth, licking your slick off while he maintained eye contact with you. He let go of your dress, letting it drop back down to cover your legs, and stood from his chair, walking past the table and looking back at you.

"Come, sweetmeat," he commanded you. Rushing forward as fast as you could in your condition, you slipped your hand into his and allowed him to lead you out into the hall. Jungkook took the opposite turn from the hall leading to his bedroom, instead leading you towards the doors that led into the massive back gardens of the castle, one of your favorite places. You could feel your cheeks flushing with excitement already, knowing he was going to splay you out for anyone wandering the garden to see.

Your packed suitcase was ready beside you, but you ignored it and spent your time fixing Soobin's shirt collar and patting down his hair. He shook his head around, huffing as you fussed over him.

"Mom, I'm not going to be gone so long," he protested, though his voice was soft. You frowned, letting your fingers run through his dark hair one last time before you lowered your hand.

Hana flicked his nose lightly, earning a noise of complaint from the now young adult. "A mother worries, Binnie," she chided him. You smiled lightly when he lowered his head, mumbling an apology to you at her words. He held your hand lightly and pressed a kiss to the back.

"My sweet boy," you said almost tearfully, bringing him in for a hug even though he stood much taller than you. He wiggled uncomfortably, trying not to press too hard against your belly as he returned the hug. "Be safe."

He pulled back with a large smile. "You, as well."

Jungkook arrived, pressing a hand to the small of your back to nudge you forward. "Let us go, sweetmeat," he told you, still using his favorite nickname of yours after so many years. "Yeon will care for the children while we are away."

You looked back, waving to your other two children, who were still so young they couldn't care any less about all of them leaving for about a week's time. "Take care of him, Hana," you said quietly, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze.

She smiled pleasantly. "As I always have," she replied, returning your squeeze.

Jungkook ruffled Soobin's hair. "Do give them some trouble," he said wickedly, sharing a similar smile of mischief with his oldest son. He leaned over and pressed a long kiss to his wife's mouth, sliding his hand to the back of her neck to keep her close while Soobin started to put their bags in their carriage. When he pulled away, her lips were plump and red from his.

You waved to them as they got in and the drivers led them away, your own carriage pulling up to the front and the servants opening the door. Jungkook easily tossed the suitcases in and then helped you up, always more caring and careful when you were carrying his children. He slid into the seat beside you, never preferring to be across from you like in the shows you had always seen, even if sitting beside each other was more cramped.

"Do not worry, human," Jungkook told you blandly, not even looking out of the window as the carriage started to move, taking you away from the place you had become so familiar with. "We will only be visiting a few days and then we will be back with our children."

You couldn't help but take his hand in yours, thankful he simply opened his palm and let you intertwine your fingers together. "I know," you said, leaning over and resting your head on his shoulder.

As the carriage continued on, you dragged your free hand down your belly nervously, hoping that all your fears concerning the courts were unwarranted and simply human anxieties.

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forusomimiya · 11 months

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"Rin… I can't m-" your words are forgotten by another sloppy kiss, so you let your thoughts slip away and become drunk with pleasure at his touch and his groans in your mouth. He desperately searches for your tongue, and when he finds it, it's too late to free yourself, you can only let him catch you again and again.

You open your eyes to meet his, which were already looking at you from before. Impossible for him not to admire your gestures as he kisses you. Warm, commanding golden gaze, which causes an electric sensation throughout your body, a shudder in the way he kisses you, rebellious, his hands delicately caressing your body, and with the grip of one of them on your chin, in his direction to take you easily. Your mind slips away when you suddenly feel other lips trailing down your neck.

Then you remember it, and your body ceases to be yours to give yourself to another.

"Hmmm she smells sooo good…" Osamu inhales your perfume, blindly undoing the buttons of your shirt to make his way to your tits, which he soon pulls out of your bra to squeeze, massage and flatter through moans that crash into your neck.

"You can pinch them…she likes it, don't you bunny?" Embarrassment takes over you and you hide in Suna's neck. You don't want to look because you know everything will get worse if you do, but fuck, they are the ones provoking you to do it.

Osamu is quick to obey Suna and test you, so you just limit yourself to giving him more access to touch, moving closer to him, silently urging him to take possession of your nipples.

"Both… p-please touch me both, more…" You don't see it, but you don't need to either to guess that your pleas have caused both men to exchange glances with each other, causing the hands of the man behind you to move down your hips until he reach the fold of your skirt and then lift it up, while those that were busy on your tits, move to under the thin garment to grab your panties and slowly pull them down to your ankles, perfectly following the intentions of the dark-haired man with a fox-like gaze.

You bite your lip in embarrassment as you imagine what Osamu would think if he touched you and found out how damn wet you are right now. He'd appreciate it, of course but, what would come after that?

"Do you want us both baby?" Suna knows the answer, but he is like that, irritating to a certain extent. He likes to expose you to your own desires in a manipulative way. He likes to be in control, and when he's in control, you have no choice but to nod quickly without a word, because that's just the way it is, you want them so fucking bad. Now.

"We wanna hear it, honey. Use your words" Osamu commands, kissing your neck again. Suna's hands have begun to give access to Osamu's touch on your belly, running his fingers across your abdomen, past your hip and down to your thigh, which he caresses several times, enjoying the softness of your skin before moving up the inside of it.

"Y-yes… yes please, I need you, I need you guys… please" your breath hitches with every touch Osamu leaves between your legs and every little nibble on your neck, though Suna hasn't been sparing touching you either.

You didn't notice but, one of his hands left the grip of your skirt to take two fingers into his mouth and lick them before returning down, this time directly to your pussy, which was still dripping, taking advantage of your lubrication to open your labia and welcome Osamu's thick fingers, delicately and sweetly pampering your entrance.

There was no difference in sensation between his saliva and your cum but damn, your clit was starting to throb and your legs wouldn't last long firm.

"Alright bunny, we'll be nice with you…"

•

A.N.: Too long for my taste for not to make a sequel but fuck, I swear to gods I'll do it, and it will end with another fuCKING SUNAOSA 3SOME 🤤🤤 because when I write about them, I'm mentally unstable and I like it 🥴

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genshin-side-piece · 7 months

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Tell Me You Are Mine

Hopefully he'll leave me alone now.

Sequel to : Love Me Tender & Love Me True

Warnings: Yandere Content, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Captivity, Implied Stalking, my bad writing, anything else I missed, 18+, Minors DNI

��Good afternoon.” As if by instinct, your jaw tightened at the sound of his soft voice. A swift glance out of the window told you he was early. Way early. Normally, it was closer to dinner when Neuvillette made his presence felt.0 The golden light of the setting sun seemed to herald his return. The second it began to peak through the soft sheer curtains that hung on all the windows, you made every attempt to hide. Drawing room, breakfast room, the back corridor that led to the servants quarters. It didn’t matter. He always found you. Even after you slipped your little wardens or convinced them to give you privacy, he still found you within minutes of his arrival. It was almost like he had a sixth sense in that regard.

As of late, you had taken advantage of the mild weather, opting for one of the more out of the way spaces so that you might enjoy your novels in peace. You had read the one that was currently in your hand a hundred times before today. It was one of the few pieces of fiction you were permitted to read, therefore it brought you the greatest joy you could muster. The escapism was a much needed break from the monotony you faced on a day to day basis. Which was why his gentle voice breaking your train of thought at the best part was nothing short of annoying. Especially when his presence was neither expected or invited. “I see that with the change in season, you’ve adopted a new spot. This room does keep the afternoon light longer than the drawing room. With the days becoming shorter, I imagine it is exemplary for reading before dinner.” You tried not to visibly roll your eyes as you made every attempt to ignore him. The faster this was over, the faster you could enjoy your solitude before you were forced to perform the abhorrent ritual that was dinner. “I wonder if you are at a stopping point. I have something I wish to show you.” There was an unusual giddiness that his calm voice generally lacked. He was uncharacteristically excited about something. That generally meant one thing. “A present, of sorts.” A heavy sigh was your only reaction. He had already tried to shower you in presents as a lame attempt at an apology. Aside from the book in your hand, all the others had fallen flat. The only time he got to see them was when you felt he was in need of punishment. Where you forced him to see and be near the version of you that he so desperately wanted, the version that you would never let him have. “Please, I have been working on it for quite some time. Will you let me show you?” The sheer hope in his voice grated on your nerves. Every instinct in you said no. Mentally you wanted to crush that hope he had. If you did, then perhaps he might finally see there was nothing to gain in keeping you here beyond your mutual misery. Once he realized that, then he might grant you the one thing you so desperately wanted, which was to let you go. “Is it not something you can leave on the table for me?” You didn’t bother to take your eyes away from the page you had been reading. Instead, you made a half hearted gesture in the general direction of the rest of the room. “I am afraid not.” Gods above you hated he sounded pleased, but you supposed he got something he wanted from the brief interaction. You had avoided speaking to him for weeks now. “This gift has a bit more permanence to it.” You furrowed your brow in confusion. Permanence? Another sigh escaped you, this one smaller than the last. You couldn’t deny that after months of trying, he finally didn’t something that made you want to know more.

With zero flourish you closed your book, giving him what he truly wanted, which was your full attention. The soft smile he offered you as a reward for your compliance was no less annoying than his voice. “I will need to escort you to it, but afterwards you are free to go there on your own.” He toyed with his fingers for a moment, a tick you had noticed whenever he was nervous. Your eyes narrowed at it, momentarily focusing on his hands, questioning the action. On closer inspection of Neuvillette you noticed he was as rigid as a board. His frame lacked the somewhat relaxed countenance his normal posture tended to have. From your vantage point, you could see that small beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow, while his eyes swirled with what you could only guess were the emotions he refused to acknowledge or show. Neuvillette was always so calm, so collected. He never exercised anything but absolute control over himself around you. The only time he had come close to losing that control was when someone had dared to threaten one of the melusines. The weather had seemed to match the fury that filled him as the storms lasted for days.

Now was nothing like that time. His mood, his posture, even the slight shakiness in his speech was nothing short of bizarre. You blinked, a realization washing over you. God, it couldn’t be, could it? Was he nervous? Another look at him told you all you needed to know. His handsome face was strained, struggling to hold the disarming smile he was wearing. The sweat on his brow was growing by the second. He actually broke eye contact with you long enough, to allow his smile to fall into a slight frown. What made his present state so curious was that he never got nervous when giving you something. It was often left for you in your room or he would drop it on a table nearby and wait for you to open it. Why was this different? “Will you allow me to escort you?” The expectation in his voice grew. He sounded almost desperate for you to say yes, for you to take down the invisible barrier between you long enough for him to get close to you. Based on his proximity to you, he had already broken it, but given that he had you cornered there wasn’t much you could do other than say no. “Please?”

Again it was a chance to hurt him beyond all measure. To just absolutely crush him, possibly once and for all. The longing in his eyes alone would make it worth it, but for once, your better judgment granted him a reprieve. While Neuvillette was many things to you, the one thing he was not, was intentionally cruel. He had never been abusive, nor had he ever raised his hands to you to bring you harm. Even at your worst, when you could do nothing but scream at him, he just took it. He never interrupted, never raised an objection to a single thing you said. He just let you rage at him until the anger that had possessed you left your body, reducing you to a quivering, sobbing mess. Then he would still be there; a glass of cold water and handkerchief in hand, ready to comfort you should you wish him to.

His compassion for your situation, despite being the cause of it, was the only reason you bit your tongue now. Over the many months you had been with him, you had come to the realization that while you loathed his actions, you did not necessarily loathe him. At least not entirely. You were still angry. You still sought your petty revenge. You still denied him all that you could, but crushing his hope, crushing him felt needlessly cruel. His motives had come from a decent place, as had his actions. At the time he had believed something horrible had happened to you. With a serial killer lurking, you could make yourself understand it. In some way it was almost flattering. The Iudex of Fontaine cared enough for you that he came to personally rescue you from harm. What you resented was not what he had done before, it was what he did now. You despised being kept, but your abhor at your own situation was not a good enough reason to harm him like that. Deep down, you knew it would not bring you the outcome you desired, nor would it bring anyone any satisfaction. If anything, it may make things worse for both you and the nation as a whole. Living with a kind man was easy, you often shuddered to think what kind of man Neuvillette could be if he wished to see someone suffer. Given his place in the world, it wouldn’t be difficult at all if he wished that upon you. His little friends were all too happy to tell you about the caverns and caves and oubliettes that lurked in the darkness beneath the waves. It would be nothing for him to disconnect from your world completely and send you to live in eternal darkness for the rest of your days. Your entire body involuntarily grew cold at just the thought.

It was easy to forget Neuvillette was dangerous. His calm nature and gentile manners were a clever mask for the power that laid just beneath the surface. You had heard the rumors, same as all the rest. It was all the melusines had talked about for days. They had fretted and fawned over the events that had taken place. Neuvillette had recently had to suppress an outburst in court. The offender had managed to land a blow, but it had only been by luck. Not even a blink of an eye later and the individual in question had been subdued thanks to Neuvillette’s strength. The entire interaction had lasted seconds. You knew based on your own experiences with him that he wouldn’t even need that for you. It was another sobering reminder that his treatment of you was a choice. He chose to love you, just as he chose to be gentle with you. But you knew, even gentle people had their limits. You briefly wondered where his actually were, if rejecting him now would push him past the point of no return. You silently worried if you could weather that kind of storm.

Reconsidering your options, you took a second look at the current situation. Unlike past gifts that were left for you, this one was different. He had arrived unexpectedly, nervous and hopeful, with something he could not simply hand you. Neuvillette had to escort you. It possessed permanence. To say that you were cautiously intrigued more than you were worried was not an understatement. It was impossible for you to imagine what it could be. “Petit?” The intrusion of his voice, distracted you from your thoughts. You looked at him again, his nervous feelings were clear as day now. The smile had fallen in favor of pursed lips and concerned eyes. “Will you walk with me?” “Will it take long?” You did your best to sound disinterested, quickly using your book as an excuse. “I was at the best part.” A breathy chuckle escaped Neuvillette’s lips, followed by what felt like a sigh of relief. “Not long at all petit chou. In fact, bring it with you. I believe it may come in handy.” That statement only served to encourage your curiosity further.

The walk was a quiet one. Neuvillette either wasn’t in the mood for small talk or thanks to the situation, he had been rendered silent thanks to his nerves. You found that fact irksome. The one time you wanted him to speak to you, to tell you what was going on, he wouldn’t. Neuvillette was stalwart in his silence. The only sound that passed between you was the sound of his robes moving in time with his body as he silently led you to wherever you were going. His home in comparison to yours was quite large, but in reality not so big that you wouldn’t be able to reach a set of locked double doors within a few minutes. You noted there wasn’t anything particularly special about them. The only thing unique to them was that they were on the north side of the house, a place you rarely ventured as Neuvillette’s office and chambers were located on this side. It made complete sense the object in question was on this side. If it possessed any sort of permanence, then it was logical that he would keep it close.

There was no fanfare when he unlocked the doors before you. No music. No confetti. No shouts or utterances of the word surprise. Just an open door and second set of doors, that led to a walled garden. To what you gathered later was his extreme pleasure, your jaw hit the floor.

It was a peace offering between you and him. A cage within a cage really. The stone walls were far too smooth and far too tall for you to scale, but that didn’t detract from the meaning behind his gift. Neuvillette was expanding your privileges, offering you a semblance of freedom in a world where you had none. Here, you would have the feeling of the sun and the wind and rain on your skin. You could hear the sounds of the court, albeit at a distance. You could even detect the faintest scent of the sea as it hung in the air. All the things you had lost the day he had taken you. All the things you had yearned for since being locked behind the heavy stone walls of his home. After the first few weeks of being here, you hadn’t asked for them to be returned to you. Neuvillette had made it clear that they wouldn’t be. His personal matra to you was that the outside world was dangerous. You were not safe. He had done his best to protect you from afar, but it had not been good enough. Your trip outside the city had triggered him to the point that he felt the only solution for his dilemma was to keep you in a place where you could be monitored full time. If you wanted sun or rain, then you could gaze at them through the filtered light of the windows. If you wished to smell the sea, then you would have to be near him to do so. As of that moment, you would never be in the outside world again. It had absolutely crushed you. “I know it is quite late in the year to gift this to you. I offer my apologies for that oversight. The meulsines and I were in agreement that it should be nothing short of perfect. Some of the flowers were also quite difficult to grow. It was insisted upon that as many of them as possible were to be in bloom when this was presented to you.” He hesitated. “I do hope you like it.”

The trepidation in his voice pulled your attention back to him. There was a pang of guilt for how you had treated his gifts in the past. Your lack of appreciation where he was concerned had made the act offering anything to you, gift or otherwise, a challenging one. It was another sobering reminder that Neuvillette himself wasn’t a bad man. His intent towards you had not and was not malicious. Everything he had ever done for you had come from a place of admiration, of love. Even now, as he stared at you, almost bracing himself for the negative reaction you were sure to have, he still looked at you like the moon and the stars hung by your hands. For the first time since arriving, you felt cracks form in the ice around your heart. “It’s-” You paused, allowing yourself a moment to take the entire space in again. “It’s wonderful.” You bowed your head slightly, doing your best to hide the genuine happiness that was bubbling up from inside of you. It was wonderful. You would never deny that. Outside of letting you go, this was the best thing he could ever give you. “Thank you.” Your downcast eyes missed the look of utter relief that washed it’s way across his face. “I am glad then.” There was a breathy laugh that followed that. “Cosanzeana has been so worried over the flowers. She cultivated many of them, just for you. It will be a great comfort to her to know that you like them.” You nodded, bringing your eyes up to meet his once again. “This is not just for today. Going forward, it is reserved solely for your own use. No one will trouble you here unless it is for an emergency or we are preparing to eat.” You didn't know what to say to that. What could you say? Your own place? Your own private place? Better still, you could use it whenever you wished. You felt as if you had witnessed a miracle. While the garden certainly wasn’t the freedom you desired, it was a giant step towards achieving it. Allowing you this was a sign of trust. One that you were sure to take complete advantage of as time went on. “I only ask that you be mindful of the weather, especially when winter arrives. It would be most disagreeable if you caught a chill due to overexposure to the elements.” You nodded, silently agreeing with that sentiment. Becoming ill would be incredibly disagreeable considering he and the meulsines would be the ones to take care of you should you become that way. He had already gotten close enough as it was. Giving him a legitimate reason to be so near you, to touch you, was something you couldn’t bear. “If you are content, then I shall take my leave until this evening.”

“Monsieur.” You thickly swallowed, watching him pause as you called after him. The look in his eyes made you falter slightly. They were brimming with adoration. Instinctively you knew he was pleased as punch that this had gone as well as it had. That he had done something to make you happy. Even if it was only for a few moments, he had managed to pull a genuine smile out of you. It had been the point of all of his gifts. He wanted to make you forget that for that moment he wasn’t your keeper. That you weren’t a captive. He wanted to paint the illusion for himself that you were both happy. Up until now, you had resisted. All the fine things he had presented you did little to achieve the lie he wanted. They did nothing to change the circumstances in which you lived. Clothes would never open the locks that kept you here. Jewelry could never help you get away from the walls that surrounded you. Only the book in your hand had given you even the slightest hint of escape. It was why it was your favorite and you imagined that now, like your book, this too would become a favorite. That should have been enough in your eyes. He gave you a garden, you would use it on the days that the weather would permit. That should be the end of it. Your conscience, though, disagreed. Maybe it was your own guilt for how you had acted, but in your mind a step deserved to be met with a step. The use of the space didn’t seem like a proper thank you. Even if it would bring you his unwanted attention, in this instance, you decided to make an exception and go one step further. “We have a while before dinner. Perhaps-” You gently sighed as he continued to stare at you with those eyes of his. Damn them for being so beautiful. Damn him for being as he was. Damn yourself for making you say what you were about to say. “The weather has been very nice as of late. It seems a shame to enjoy it alone. Would you care to sit with me?” His normally pale skin flushed. Neuvillette looked as if you could knock his lithe frame over with a feather.

“I-” He cleared his throat, the blush on his cheeks growing as he visibly fought his own surprise at the invitation. “I had thought of catching up on some work before dinner.” You raised your eyebrows almost stunned for a moment. He wasn’t going to refuse, was he? Surely he couldn’t. Not when you knew the invitation alone was something he yearned for. Briefly, you considered he would be well within his right. You had given him a rare chance to pay you back for your behavior for the last few months. To your surprisingly great relief though, he did not. “But I believe it can wait until after we eat.” The spirit of peace between you continued, with Neuvillette accepting your olive branch, just as graciously as you had accepted his. “I would be all too happy to join you mon petit.”

#yandere genshin x you #yandere!genshin #yandere genshin #yan genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere neuvillette #neuvillette #genshin neuvillette #genshin impact neuvillette

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97keanu · 10 months

Text

Dave Lizewski x goth!Reader

Premise: Dave sits next to you in History, he's been secretly pining for you for ages, but he's been too scared to ask you out since you're so pretty and your goth exterior is very intimidating for him. To his surprise, he and you are paired up to finish a history assignment this weekend. Truth is, you thought he was cute too...

Tags: 18+ characters/pining!Dave/extremely nerdy and loser!Dave/hard exterior soft interior!reader/reader who despite having a crush on Dave does NOT want to admit it(tsundere!reader)/Mutual pining/mini slow burn into eventual smut/virgin!dave/submissive!Dave + switch!Dave who ends up taking control/reader on top/oral(both parties)/face sitting/edging/no condom/raw/doggy/cuddling/aftercare

A/N: Finalized version 7/8/23, fully edited. I am glad so many of you liked this and I am hoping to return to this couple in the future!

Taglist: @lazyneonrabbitt

(Ask to be tagged in upcoming one offs of Dave if you'd like!)

Imagines of these two: here and here

Jennifer's Body AU reader x Dave here

UPDATE!!! Read the direct sequel here

It's a normal Friday afternoon and Dave sits, staring out the window and daydreaming about this or that for his last class of the day. Class hasn't started yet, and what pulls Dave out of his daydream is you. You with your all black clothes, black lipstick and dark style. You walk into class as if its nothing, and every time you do Dave feels butterflies fill his stomach. He still can't believe how lucky he was to get sat next to you, even if he's way too intimidated to say anything to you.

You sit down next to him and you keep your face neutral. You know how mean this highschool has been about your style, so these days you hardly give them anything. And after you broke some jocks finger for trying to touch you in the 10th grade, people leave you alone for the most part. To your face at least. You know they probably snicker when you're not looking, but at the very least you can go on autopilot through out the day and go home to where you can really be yourself.

Dave has no idea about this, he thinks you're just the most confident chick in school, and he is in no way in your league, at all. It doesn't stop him from day dreaming about it though. He goes home and thinks about you at night, thinks about what it would feel like to actually ask you out. He's practiced saying it in the mirror a few times even, but when you sit next to him in class it's like he can't even make his voice say "Hello" let alone "Can I take you to the movies this Friday?". What kind of movies would you even like? God, its hopeless. He's doomed to sit next to you pining until senior years up and he never sees you again.

Today you sit next to him as always, headphones blaring The Cure while you ignore the world. You do steal a glance towards the guy who sits next to you in History, and quickly glance away, your dark lashes fluttering. You try not to interact with him because you know if you do, it's going to be obvious you like him. You can't help it, something about the way he's obviously so flustered by you, his big blue eyes gazing at you behind those nerdy glasses, it does something to you. Something the other students would notice and probably pick on the both of you for. Imagine it, the social outcast goth girl and the loser nerdy boy? No way, it's something you're not willing to risk after being bullied from your last school. No, its better to not think about it. Keep your headphones in and look forward, pretend you see nothing.

Your history teacher begins class, so you put away your headphones and get ready to start class. As you put them in your bag, you catch Dave's eyes. He looks like he almost wants to say something to you, and you furrow your thin and arched brows, giving off a "why are you talking to me" energy without even trying to really. It's almost second nature at this point for you, and when you see his cheeks heat up, you feel your heart jump, a mixture of feeling bad for how you come off and a hope for what he might have wanted to say. His hand nervously slides his glasses back up, his big blue eyes blinking away in embarrassment, the words unsaid falling flat in the air and your history teacher gaining the attention of the class.

You turn from Dave, obviously conflicted about what transpired, even if it was brief. It was one of the few times you two interact, but somehow when you sit next to him for this hour long class, it's as if you are interacting. You can almost feel the space between you two, and the times when his foot or your leg gets too close, bumps, barely touches, it's almost electric. It truly makes it hard to focus on class at times, but for the most part if you really fixate on what the teacher is saying, you can get by. From the looks Dave gives you at the end of class usually, he didn't hold up as well for the most part.

"This seating arrangement really was a mistake..." You muse silently to yourself inside your head, a small sigh escaping your lips.

Your teacher begins describing the next history assignment for the weekend, it's supposed to be something about fake "interviewing" someone from the history lessons from so far, or something, you're catching about half of it, but you know they pass out a more detailed paper later.

Meanwhile, Dave is beating himself up for, once again, not being able to ask you out tonight.

"C'mon man, you should have just said it!" He curses himself mentally. "Worst she could say is no right? God...with her, she might actually bite my head off..."

He's practically sweating next to you, his hand nervously tapping the table between you two lightly. Your hand, inches away is trying to take notes on what the assignment is supposed to have because you absorb it better when you actually write it out. As well as an excuse to not focus on Dave's nervous fidgeting beside you.

Dave is biting the inside of his cheek trying to game plan if he can save this, ask you at the end of class, when the teacher says something that makes his stomach drop, but his heart flutter.

"Alright, so that's the basis of the assignment, however, I would like for you to work with your table partner outside of class this weekend and choose which of you will be the interviewer and the interviewee..."

"Holy shit!" Dave could practically jump out of his seat from excitement and fear. This means he doesn't even have to actually ask you out, now you two are forced to spend time together this weekend!

"Holy shit..." You think to yourself. You feel entirely tense, as if you need to run out of the room right this instant, and your cheeks are hot under your makeup. This means you have to spend time, alone, with Dave this weekend. The truth was, you weren't even dreading it because you hate him, even if you try to convince yourself that. No, the truth was...you didn't know if you keep the charade up if you were to spend that sort of time together. Surely, surely...he would notice the crush you had been building for him for the past few months...

The teacher dismisses the class early, letting everyone figure out how they're going to make time this weekend with each other. You could turn to stone, in fact maybe you have because to your surprise it takes Dave's squeaky, unsure voice to call you name to get you out of your trance.

"Yes...Dave?" You turn, almost ridgid, but trying to be neutral, if not kind. Dave is obviously shocked, this might be the most attention he's ever scored from you!

"Well, since we're paired up, I was uh..um..." His doe eyes dart down as he speaks, finding the right words. "I was wondering if you wanted to come to my house after school to work on it?"

You can't believe it, he wants you to come over, now? No way, you can't even hardly bring yourself to move from your seat, let alone find your way over to Dave's house. You find your head giving the smallest, most timid of shakes as you stare at him with disbelief of the situation.

"Oh! Uh yeah no it's totally cool.." Dave senses the rejection and is obviously red faced as he scratches the back of his head, moving those mop of gorgeous dark curls around. "It's so sudden, you probably have big plans for a Friday night, huh?"

The way he's so obviously trying to make this work begins to melt at your icy heart. You shake your head again and immediately Dave is trying to stammer out more, but you finally find your words and work everything out.

"No, that's okay, Dave, I actually, um... I could come to your place around 7pm if that's okay?" Your usually confident self feels a bit wavered as you ask. Dave's eyes shine so brightly you think he may burst, the color in his cheeks different than before.

"Oh, that's totally awesome! I'll give you my address!" He says, with unusually less attempts to speak than normal, he must be really excited about this. You gulp at the thought, and as Dave takes a pen and rips off a piece of notebook paper, you do the same. You write down your number, in case you two need to talk at all between now and then.

You can't help yourself, you put a little black heart next to your number. It's like something has possessed you, you can't even stop yourself. "God...this is just the start..." A part of your subconscious whispers somewhere...

If you thought Dave was over the moon when you agreed to come over tonight, he's downright estactic when he sees you pass over your number.

"This is...for me??" He stares at you, mouth agape, and doesn't even realize what a dumb question that was, but you can't help but find it endearing.

"For if I get lost or something comes up..." You trail off with reasons, but you know you truly just wanted to give him your number despite your reservations. Dave totally thinks the reasons are valid though, he scrambles to put his number on the paper he passed towards you with his address.

"Oh, that makes sense here, lemme just..." His tongue pokes out the corner of his mouth as he scrawls his number. He passes it back to you again, and your cheek heat skyrockets as you see he's also put a heart. He seems pleased with himself and shy about it at the same time, as if this is a secret between the two of you.

You begin packing up after that, and look at him with your lips pursed, unable to reciprocate all he's giving you right now. As you walk away he calls out.

"Alright, see you tonight then!" And you're almost sure the whole class has eyes on your back while you walk quickly from the room, eyes down. You just hope no one decides to dig their grimy fingers into the sliver of hope that this just might work out in the way you're terrified of...

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

The sky has started to turn dark, amber meeting violet in wispy clouds above. You're looking about for the address Dave wrote down, but his writing is comparable to chicken scratch. You find the house you think is his, and decide to text the number Dave also wrote extremely poorly underneath the address. You take pause, staring at the heart he returned on the piece of paper, and wonder if you should go through with this. It's not like you can just back out either, both your grades rely on this.

"It's just studying..." You breath out into the chilled brink of nighttime air, and text him you're here.

You are surprised how soon Dave is bounding down the stairs inside before opening the door with a big smile.

"You're here! Awesome, I just got pizza ordered, it's inside!" He does everything but pull you inside, he's so excited.

You feel some of your fears evaporate as you cross the threshold of his house. It's very homey, something your house always lacked. You feel like while its not pristine, it's meant to be lived in, a place where life goes on inside. You can't remember the last time you felt that way about a place, maybe your grandma's house, once upon a time...

Dave ushers you into his kitchen where he's got pizzas and snacks laid out. You can't help but feel like this is turning out more date than study when you see the set up. Your stomach builds with butterflies as you realize he's done all this just for you. You who has ignored him, at times being borderline mean, but of course you would have had to give him the attention he deserved to have truly been mean. That would have been more than you ever had given him by a mile. "Shit..." You think to yourself as you consider the situation.

"Yeah, I figured ya know, you might be hungry and it uh, it t-takes brain power to uh do a study...study date...." He stammers out as he sees your reaction, totally trying to wring out the study from 'study date' the way you do from a wet cloth.

You can't help it, you're flattered despite yourself. No one has ever been this kind to you since you moved to your new school in 9th grade. A part of you is desperate...desperate for this attention, for this connection you so clearly don't deserve. And with a sweetheart like Dave of all people. You feel a lump in your throat, but nod, agreeing with his words. His anxiety seems to have subsided as you do, and he beams a grin at you.

"Yeah! Here lemme grab this," he takes the pizza and a can of soda for each of you with ease. "And we can head up to my room to get started?"

His room. Oh god...

Your legs follow despite everything in you feeling absolutely undeserving of this kindness, your combat boots thunking on the kitchen tiles.

He takes you upstairs to his attic room and you are surprised. As much as it's a teenage boys room, it's also quite clean, and looks really comfortable. He sets you guys up on the bed and pats a place next to him. You settle down next to him, and he flips on a TV across from the bed. You wonder how you went from being here to study, to having pizza and movie.

"I just thought we might like to watch something while we eat..." Dave says in a nervous mutter as he sees your face.

"Okay..." You say, taking a slice of pizza and nibbling a bite. With all the butterflies in there, you don't think your stomach can hold much more than a slice right now. The two of you settle into his bed, munching on slices of pizza and watching some action flick Dave's put on...

After you two are done eating, Dave moves the food stuffs out of the way, and it's just the two of you on the bed. Somehow much more intimate now that there's not a pizza box between you two. You try to focus on the movie, but you can feel Dave glancing at you for much of it.

Dave can't help himself, you just looks so gorgeous, your dark eye make up is so sharp and bold, the thought of you taking control of him, of you pushing him into his bed and using him up keeps running through his thoughts. He even tried to jack off before you came over so he wouldn't be a total horn dog, but here he is, imagining what it would be like to lean over and kiss your black lips. God...he couldn't even ask you out properly, and the only reason you're here is because of the school assignment. There's no way you would be here otherwise. "I'm such a loser..." He thinks to himself, his eyes darting away from your face when you glance over and catch him staring. Instead his eyes land on your hand, laying in between the two of you on the bed, your finger nails black like the rest of your attire.

"Maybe if I could just..." He thinks, imagining himself being bold enough to take your hand, to test the waters to see if something was there. It would be enough that he could see if you have any interest, but wouldn't be as awkward as what he wants to do, which is lean over, take your delicate face in his hands and look you in the eye before kissing you as deeply as he can. Yes, holding hands would go over better than that, he has to tell himself. He feels shaky as one of his hands reaches up to push his glasses back into place, focusing himself to complete the task of holding your hand. The movie plays on...

After what seems like ages of Dave having an internal debate, he raises his hand slowly, deliberately, making a move towards your hand. You seem to be caught in the movie right now, the film is nearing it's climax as you two sit beside each other. If all goes wrong, he'll just pull his hand back and pretend he didn't mean to move it there. "Yeah, like that will work..." The voice in his head chides. It's too late now, he's already practically doing it, his hand hovering over yours before slowly dropping it down, the heat of his hand meeting yours, before softening into a hold.

You let out a small gasp, but don't pull your hand away. Dave is at a loss for words, he doesn't know how to explain it away, he IS holding your hand, and it's clear he doesn't mean it in a friendly way from how red his cheeks get. All you can do is stare at him right now, it's like time passes by in molasses, sticky and sweet. You can't believe it, he's really making a move on you...

What surprises you more is the fact that when your body catches up to your brain, you're moving towards him with fervor. Your other hand comes to the side of his face and you're crushing your lips against his. The movie is forgotten, as well as your inhibitions. Your lips tingle when they meet his, and you can't help yourself, somehow his small innocent touch has caused the dam you built inside yourself to stay away from him to collapse. You're working your lips into his like he's the air you breathe, and Dave is so caught off guard he's letting you, moving along with you as his guide.

"Oh my god, she's kissing me...I'm kissing a girl!" Dave thinks to himself, totally blown away, his eyes wide at first before melting into your kiss, his glasses only sort of getting in the way.

"God...I can't help it...he's so nerdy and sweet, I need to know what his body is like..." You think to yourself, your hands moving wildly into his mess of curly hair, gripping and tugging him into your kiss.

It's the type of kiss that almost hurts its so wanted.

You find yourself pulling away for a moment to catch your breath, and you see your black lipstick smudged both on Dave's pouty, plump from being kissed lips, as well as your own from the reflection of his glasses. You look as if you've totally given in, your eyes filled with a desire you've never seen before. You look back into Dave's vibrant blue eyes and see he's completely at your will.

"P-please...don't stop..." He whispers, those eyes of his pleading for you to continue. God, you want to fuck his brains out right here, and at this rate you think you will.

What surprises you next is Dave taking a bit of control, his own hands wrapping around your waist and bringing you on top of him, his hands grabbing into your gothic hair style, and your lips colliding once again as Dave let's out a whimper into your kiss. You can't help but moan back, the sound a dull vibration between your lips. Dave kisses sloppily, he wants you so bad and he's never kissed a girl before, that much is clear. You bite his lower lip to slow him down and take control, his body jumping from the bite, and where your legs straddle him you can feel his hardness against you as he bucks. God, he's like putty in your hands.

Dave can hardly contain himself, his hands roam your body freely, at some point one of his hands finds it's way under your skirt, gripping your hips and running along your stomach. He doesn't want to go too north or south without your permission, scared to run you and the pleasure you're giving him off. You can tell, and moan in a way that signals your frustration, before releasing your hands from where they're knotted in his curls and grabbing his wrists. You guide his hands underneath your shirt and sit up on him, letting him explore your breasts over your bra as you slip your shirt off and quickly discard it on his floor. As you look down, Dave's eyes are wider than ever, totally encapsulated by your body, his mouth hanging open and stained with your dark lipstick.

"God...you're so sexy..." He mumbles, not even sure what he's saying, just that he's in total awe of you. He's wanted this for so long he feels like he's accidently just convinced himself that you're really here, really doing this. It's as if you're a dream come to life instead of actually straddling him on his bed.

You reach back and undo your bra, the straps sliding down slowly before you pull your bra over your head, your breasts falling out. Dave doesn't need to be told to grab them, he's getting the hang of this. He feels the softness of your chest before exploring your nipples playfully. You smirk down at him as your hips ride him fully clothed.

"Would you like to taste them...?" You say slyly, almost savoring his reaction, knowing how excited he is. All he can do is nod eagerly and say 'Please'. You lean down and let Dave cup your breasts, pulling one of them to his mouth and sucking hungrily. He has dreamed of this moment, thought of it before bed with his cock in his left hand. He never thought he would actually be here, playing with your nipples in his mouth, switching sides so your other breast doesn't feel lonely.

You continue to grind against him, his already hard cock feeling as if he will cum just from you dry humping him. You can feel it twitching, aching to be released from his pants. You slide down his body, his mouth popping off your breast with a soft pop! before he gives out a whine that he wanted more. He looks down at you as you reach his pants, and playfully stare up at him with your devilish, make up smeared smile. Somehow knowing he's messed up your perfect goth make up is turning him on. He even finds himself imagining if he could ruin it more by cumming on your pretty little face. He wonders if you would ever let him and groans as you begin pulling his pants down and letting his cock free.

You're surprised not for the first time tonight, and not for the last. Dave's cock is huge! You had no idea this little nerd was packing so much heat, it's way longer and girthier than any cock you've seen up until now, and even putting your black manicured hand around it is making your hands look so small in comparison. Dave seems almost shy about his cock, he shifts nervously as you gaze at it, mouth slightly agape at his size, and Dave wonders if you don't like it.

"Is it...okay?" He finally squeaks out from nerves, and your eyes dart back up to his, dragging out of the trance the sight of his cock put you in. You begin to stroke him and nod.

"More than okay..." You say as you feel your cheeks heat up, your mouth watering just thinking about sucking him off. You hear Dave whimper out from your touch, his back arching into you, his hips bucking for more already. He feels so sensitive, as if your touch is too much.

"Please be careful...I don't know how long I can last..." He warns you, and the idea that you get to edge him until you want him to cum has your legs clenching from the wetness unraveling there. You can't believe how your body reacts to his, it's as if every little thing he does has your stomach coiled and shivers running up and down your body. You look him in the eyes as you place your mouth over the tip of his thick cock.

He closes his eyes in pleasure just from that, and you pause. You know you'll be doing a lot of stopping and starting, going so slow, just to keep him from blowing his load early. Dave is glad once again that he has already cum a few times today, if not he would have definitely came from you dry humping him earlier. He moves a hand to your hair, holding and petting you as you begin to go deeper, bobbing up and down in a rhythm that keeps him on his toes. He can't believe how hot and wet your mouth is, and you leave black rings on his cock as you go.

You suck his cock with purpose, finding out what gets him going very easily, and putting a stop to it before he goes too far. He's a whining mess, breathing hard and husky, his voice coming out in a quiver as he speaks your name, begging you. When you think he's had as much as he can take right now, your lips satisfyingly pop off his cock, and you look him in the eyes, his cock beside your sweet face.

"Now that I've tasted you Dave...I think it's your turn to taste me..." Dave's eyes are heavy with want, but they widen as he realizes what you're getting at. Truly, you can't even believe you're so eager for him, but you've fought it for so long you can't anymore. You know what you want in this instance, and your body isn't letting your brain ruin this for you. You take off your bottoms, leaving you naked before him, his eyes grazing your body with need.

You put your knees on either side of his face, and Dave looks up at you with those gorgeous blue eyes as he stares up from under your pussy.. You worried a bit if he would shy away from it, some men can be afraid of eating women out, especially their first time doing it. But Dave has literally imagined over and over what it would be like to have you sit on his face and to eat you up like his life depended on it. And he does just that.

Without having to give him any pointers, he grabs your hips and presses your pussy onto his face, his tongue going to town right away. He begins with your clit first, sucking the whole thing right away, and you actually have to cry out, your thighs almost crushing his head.

"Sensitive! Wait!" Is all you can say, and Dave seems to get the memo, beginning to swirl his tongue around your clit, playing with it before lightly lapping at it, sometimes with his tongue pointed, others with it flat and tasting all of you. Dave is grateful he ever cared to look up online how to do this properly, even though at the time he never thought he would ever get to use this knowledge.

You're surprised when he even begins to tongue your wet hole, playing with you there before dragging his tongue back up to play with your clit. He isn't perfect at it for his first time, and you likely won't cum from just this, but god does his tongue feel good down there. Dave is definitely not embarrassing himself in this catergory. He even presses your hips, pushing your pussy further on his face, practically suffocating under you from time to time, before releasing himself, his hot breath tickling your pussy. He looks up at you every so often with such a submissive look you can barely believe it. He loves being beneath you, you taking from him just how you like it. His cock is still hard and twitching, you reach back just to give it a feel and you can tell his cock has calmed enough you could probably get on top without him spilling in you right away.

"I want you inside me, Dave..." You whisper down at him, as you pull your pussy off him and he opens his eyes, completely drunk off your pussy, your wetness glistening on his lips.

"Anything you want..." He replies, his eyelids heavy and pleased with everything so far. He wants to make sure you're satisfied.

"In that case, I'm going to cum on your cock Dave...I need you to hold out til I'm finished..." You're voice is so soft, but commanding at the same time, which Dave is crazy for. You can see he's nervous about it still, worried he will disappoint and cum too early, but he nods with determination.

You move down, and position yourself over his red, hard cock. You look him in the eyes as you slowly lower yourself, his tip gliding in, stretching you out already.

"Fuck...." You moan out, your eyes closing as you take him inch by inch. He is completely enamored, watching you closely, and so confused as to how someone as hot and intimidating as you is fucking herself on his cock. You bite your messy lip as you find yourself struggling to fit him all, he makes you feel so full. When you finally do, you let yourself sit there for a moment and take it all in, enjoying the feeling of being so completely filled.

"God, Dave...your cock is so big..." You murmur out and Dave can't believe you think his cock is big, he never realized that, he knew it wasn't small but somehow he had convinced himself he wasn't that big either.

Eventually, you begin rocking your hips, moving up and down as you both gasp from pleasure. You use your hands to steady yourself on his chest while your other hand begins to touch your sensitive clit, working it until it feels amazing, heat flooding you.

Dave holds onto your hips and helps you move on him, sometimes going slower to stop himself. He wants to fill you up so badly it hurts, his stomach and muscles are so tight, his arm muscles clenching and showing themselves as his big hands guide your hips. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer by the minute.

"Dave, you're going to make me cum..." You whisper out as you begin to feel it. Dave looks at you with worry, and asks you something you forgot to talk about before getting wrapped up on the heat of the moment.

"If you cum, I'm going to cum...do we need a condom?" He says, his brows furrowed. You thank god you are on reliable birth control right now.

"It's okay, I have birth control, go crazy..." You say off handedly, not expecting much change in reaction.

Somehow, hearing you tell him to 'go crazy' starts something in him. He almost hesitates, but there's something he really wants to try. You can tell by the look on his face that he is planning something, and with a slight nod you silently tell him to go for it.

Dave quickly lips you off his cock and effortlessly tosses you onto the bed face first. You gasp out, the power dynamic shifting in that moment. You didn't know he was that strong...

He grabs your hips and ass and pulls them into his cock, easily slipping back inside your wet folds and pushing himself so deep you had no idea he could even do that. You moan out his name and grip the pillows beneath you, suddenly feeling like the submissive one now.

"Fuck, Dave..." You breath out and shudder as he fucks you so deeply you can hardly breath right. "I didn't know you could be this...dominant..."

Dave almost chuckles at your comment, but he agrees silently. Something about you letting him fuck you like this has emboldened him, he grips you harder, playing with your ass as he goes. Squishing and squeezing it, enjoying the feel of it in his hands.

You move so one of your hands can be under you, fumbling for your wet clit once again. You moan out Dave's name loudly as he fucks you deeply, your ass bouncing against his thighs with satisfying slaps. Dave can feel you clenching as you get closer, and it's so hard for him to contain himself. He wants to spill inside you so badly, his face scrunches up from the thought, he has to bite his lip to think of something else, even if it's the pain of biting.

"Please...I can't hold on much longer..." He says between heavy breaths and calling your name.

You focus, finding the sweet spot and so lost in his cock fucking you that suddenly your legs are locking up as your pussy clamps down on his cock, your climax spilling over the edge as you moan Dave's name. Dave pounds you harder as you do this, needing to to keep up as you clench around him so tightly it makes it hard to fuck you. Almost as soon as you reach your peak, Dave is thrusting his final thrusts into you, his cum welling up and shooting off inside of you, making a total mess of your pussy. You cry out as he does this and Dave groans loudly, his body shaking and his cock twitching as it finishes releasing.

When he's done, he stays there for a moment before carefully pulling out, his cum dripping onto the bed, and the tip of his cock so sensitive he has to rush to pull the end out so it doesn't hurt.

Dave doesn't even care anymore about being shy with you, he pulls you onto him and snuggles onto your hair, taking deep breaths.

"That was amazing...I can't believe you let me do that..." He whispers into your hair, he could almost cry from how emotional and raw he feels right now, but he holds it back as best he can, not wanting to cry during sex even though you wouldn't have held it against him anyways.

He holds you for a long time, and during that time you can't even speak, the afterglow of your breath and sweaty bodies speaking for itself. You never wanted to let Dave in, and now here you are, full of his cum and sore from his cock, while you lay naked in his bed, cuddling. You end up blocking out any negative thoughts, and realize that it was so worth it. You move and snuggle into his neck, petting his chest, and musing lightly into his skin.

"I'm glad I came over, Dave..." You end up saying, because that's how you feel about all of this. Dave pets your hair and laughs lightly.

"I'm glad you came over too..."

There's no way that history project is getting done tonight.

#dave lizewski x reader #dave lizewski #dave lizewski x goth!reader #my writing #dave lizewski fanfic #kick ass fanfic #kick ass #Spotify #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson x reader

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phoenix-bleh · 1 month

Note

Oh I have an idea related to the sequel Shadow Milk Cookie HYPNOTISM

After you ran away, you hid in the woods so that Shadow Milk Cookie wouldn't find you

But Shadow Milk Cookie decides to find you.

Here's part 2 you guys!! Ik how much you were waiting for it

part 1 if you want to read it :p

You didn’t know how long you guys were running for, but until you guys knew it was safe you slowed down to take a break and talked about what had just happened. “How did this happen?!” You didn’t know what else to say. “y/n Cookie! Are you ok? When he grabbed you, did he hurt you at all?” Pure Vanilla ran up to you to check if you were injured or hurt in any way.

“No no I'm ok he didn’t hurt me.” He gave a sigh in relief to know that you were ok. After everyone calmed down they all gathered to talk and plan on what to do with the whole Shadow Milk Cookie escaping situation. You heard rustling in the bushes behind you and decided to check it out. “Hey guys I think I heard something could be one of the creatures of this forest, I’m gonna go check it out.” you told them as you started heading to where the noise was coming from.

“y/n Cookie please do be careful.” White Lily Cookie told you. You gave her a nod and headed into the bush. Going in deeper you didn’t find anything you thought it might have been a bird or something. It must have flown off when it heard you coming. You decided to head out and meet with the others again and tell them there was nothing there.

You made your way back as you pushed through the bushes. “Don’t worry guys there was nothing….there?” You stood there looking at the area your friends were supposed to be in, but no one was there. “Hello….” You took small steps around the place. They were all right here, you swear. Did they leave you? Why would they do that? Unless you took the wrong turn they should be nearby here somewhere.

It got uncomfortably quiet. There was no noise anywhere, not even the sounds of crickets during the night. The only noise that you could hear was the heavy breathing coming from your chest. You started panicking wondering where your friends were or even where you were. Did your friends get attacked when you were gone, that couldn’t be right you were only gone for a few minutes. Nothing could have happened to them that quickly.

You walked around a bit to see if you could find your friends. “Gingerbrave! White Lily Cookie!...anyone…” You called out for them but no one answered back. You were completely alone and you didn’t know where you were. You were scared out of your mind and you looked around. Was the forest always this blue? No time for asking stupid questions. You need to find your friends or at least figure out where the heck you were you thought to yourself.

You were really lost weren't you?

You stopped in your tracks as you heard a distant laughter. Were those your friends? However you then heard a faint voice. “Where are you y/n~? Where have you run off too, hmm?” You knew that voice didn’t belong to any of your friends at all. That voice could only belong to Shadow Milk Cookie! What was he doing here? Why was he looking for you, did he take your friends and you were his last target?? You were not sticking around to find out so you ran in the opposite direction to where you heard the voice.

“Oh! I think I heard something over there!”

Shit he knew you were here and he was coming to find you. You ran as fast and as far as you could hoping he wouldn’t find you. You couldn’t imagine what he would do to you if he caught you, and you did not want to find out. You stopped running and hid behind this big tree. You backed up against the tree and put a hand over your mouth in an attempt to quiet down your heavy breathing. Your breathing slowed down and now you were just standing there trying to not move a single muscle.

When your breathing quieted down you stood there for a few more minutes but you didn’t hear anything. The forest got quiet again, and you didn’t know if that was a good thing either. You wanted to move and get out of here. However you couldn’t even take one step as two large hands came crashing down on either side of you causing the ground to shake, and also causing you to fall and land on your bottom.

“FOUND YOUUU!”

That loud voice belongs to none other than Shadow Milk Cookie. You looked up to find him right in front of you staring right at you. No doubt that he knew you were there, you just wished he didn’t. He grabbed you and placed you on his hand again. “Hehehe you didn’t think you could get away that easily did you? You’re so silly!” He started laughing again. “What do you want from me? What did you do to my friends?” you yelled at him. His laughter died down and he tilted his head, smiling at you.

“Hmm I don’t believe you have any place in giving ME orders.” He brought you up a bit more so you were almost at eye level with him “But it’s cute you think you can!” He gave you a closed eye grin as he patted your head with his other hand. “At least tell me what you want from me.” You told him. He looked at you for a bit “Well if you're sooo curious I’ve come to offer you what I had told you earlier!” He then placed the back of his hand against his head acting dramatically.

“You were almost about to answer until you were rudely taken away from me!” He said in a dramatic voice. “You knew what you were doing, you crawled into my head and put lies in my thoughts!” You yelled at him. He laughed a bit “Oh but they weren’t lies oh no! I was simply trying to convince you.” He told you and then he forcefully grabbed your face and made you look at him. “And I still don’t have an answer.” He said in a low voice.

You knew what he was doing and you tried to get out of his grip but he was too strong for you. You looked into his eyes and you saw the swirls in his eyes. “Now how about you think about my offer again.” His offer? What was his offer again? Oh yeah to join him in his plans on world domination. Should you really accept it? If his plans did work he would be able to protect you and keep you safe.

You felt fuzzy when thinking that and you decided to just accept his offer. “Ok I’ll join.”

You continued looking at him and he smiled even wider at you. “Hehe, good choice! That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He took you with him and patted your head “You and I are gonna have so much fun together!”

#crk #cookie run kingdom #shadow milk cookie #crk x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader

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buckets-and-trees · 1 year

Text

Companion

Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Namor x female!Reader Word Count: 3.3k Summary: A month after the king of Talokan takes you as his betrothed, you question your position and the future as your expectations have been disappointed.

Content Warnings: angst to some relationship resolution, EXPLICIT SMUT (oral-female receiving, fingering), strong language

Additional Notes: This is a direct sequel to Consort - and while there's probably enough context to read this on its own, it will mean far less without reading the first part - the first part that could really be blamed by @nellycanwrite and being a TALENTED ARTIST AND MENACE. We would not be here if not for a particular piece she shared an unfinished sneak peak of last December.

You are restless, agitated, feeling completely unmoored.

Sleep is not going to come to you soon. It hadn’t the past few nights, but tonight you are not going to give yourself over to endless tossing and turning or trying to read yourself to distraction. You are exhausted, but too strung out to find any respite in your room. You quietly slip out of your chambers and begin to wander.

When you eventually find yourself in the throne room, you laugh bitterly to yourself. Naturally this is where your subconscious would take you. This is where your life completely altered course a month ago, betrayed and traded at your father’s hand for peace amongst kingdoms, the tectonic plates of your life not only shifted but shattered.

Only to be picked up by him moments later.

You look out over the expanse of the drop off from the perimeter of the throne room. The view out over Talokan is stunning in the simulated vibranium moonlight, but you resent the view. It’s one more painful piece of your new reality – as beautiful as this kingdom is, it’s still not the picturesque view of Fourchon and your former life in the kingdom of your upbringing.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a few moments, trying to control the anger and sadness.

When the traitorous trade had been made, you thought your father had sealed your fate as a token consultant at best or prisoner at worst, but K’uk’ulkan had spun a different narrative, one where the potential that would have been wasted in your former kingdom was something he saw and wanted at his side as his queen consort. His words had been a balm to your soul, and you had believed him when he said he’d wanted you – to take into counsel, to serve the kingdom, to influence. It was a lifeline offered, and you’d grasped that tether, letting him pull you in. He’d started to put you back together with promises and sealed it with a moment of intimate bliss beyond anything you could have imagined.

Then it was almost as if you’d been banished from his presence. At first you had accepted the explanations of business that needed his attention in other parts of the kingdom and other realms or that his schedule had demanded unanticipated changes, rarely getting to take meals with him, culminating no contact at all for the last two weeks.

You didn’t know it was going to be that way in the beginning though, so you’d spent your month acclimatizing and throwing yourself into life in Talokan. He’d said you were built to rule, driven to do good, why not with him, and since you’d thought he was telling you the truth, you had made the effort to get to know the people, know their culture, know their lives, their struggles, hopes, and dreams. It was intimidating at first – they were a fierce people brought up to be ready for war – but they also created and forged happiness, and you wanted to prove yourself. Before long, you forgot the nerves and tucked away the feeling of being an imposter, because you created relationships, took up projects, and started to create a new routine in your life that meant something to you.

You think the life you are building in this new kingdom is good except for the one perhaps most important thing.

Tomorrow you are supposed to wed the ruler of this kingdom, and you felt that was now a hollow artifice. The final fitting for your wedding clothes today had felt frivolous and futile. How could you be expected to marry K’ul’kulkan with the distance, the disinterest?

You roll your shoulders back and lift your head up, refocusing your gaze out over this new place.

You will wed Namor with the same resolve that had held you together in the initial moments your life had been traded for an alliance – you would always be duty and honor bound. A foolish glimmer of a passionate partnership was more than you had expected growing up, it had been dangled in front of you for a moment but had quickly dwindled and ultimately disappeared. A political arrangement, and if the past few weeks were indicative of the future, then the only consolation was it seemed Namor would at least let you make your own choices and wouldn’t interfere with the projects you pursued, things you knew you could leverage for good with your position of power in his kingdom.

You only wish you hadn’t been given a glimmer of what might have been. It would have been much easier to manage without the taste of more.

“When you were not in your chambers, I thought I might find you here.”

You turn slowly, forcing your face to give away nothing of your shock or your resentment to the king.

“I was looking for you,” he says, crossing the large expanse of the space.

“Really, your highness?”

“Certainly. Tomorrow you are to become my bride.” He stops an arm’s length away from you.

You can’t help the hardening of your features you feel at this proclamation. “I’m amazed you remembered.”

He tilts his head. “Do not be petulant, Princess.”

“The picture you painted a month ago has not been the reality.”

“What complaint can you possibly have to give?”

“You lied to me,” you let your anger finally spill out in your tone. “With my life shattered to pieces in this very room, you started to put me back together by saying you said you wanted me as your queen consort, not just a wife to adorn your arm and give you an heir, a companion.” You take half a step closer to him. “But where have you been these weeks, especially this fortnight? You left the broken pieces of me on a shelf, discarded and forgotten.”

“Make no mistake,” Namor says and grips your chin, pulling you closer, “you are not forgotten.”

Your eyes are locked on each other now, and it seems you are each trying to delve into the soul of the other. He presses his thumb to your bottom lip, opening your mouth. The action is not rough in any way, but it serves to communicate his strength, your vulnerability, and that he could subject you to anything. “You are mine, Princess.”

Then suddenly he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side before swimming swiftly into the jaws of his throne. He sets you aright and the two of you stand face to face.

“I sought you out tonight to remind you of what we spoke of that day on this very spot. Clearly you did not need a reminder, but perhaps insight into my choices. At present you think me rash and negligent or easily distracted to become betrothed to a stranger in a matter of moments and then seemingly abandon you.

“My offer of marriage was swift but not rash. I told you that day the things I had already learned about you, and the time we spent together showed even more clearly who you were. I have lived and ruled for hundreds of years, I know well how to read a person’s character, and the interaction we shared in those brief moments confirmed you had a fierce and noble spirit with both a compassion to sacrifice for your people and passion to match my own.”

Part of your chest starts to swell, but you dampen it down. He built you up with his words once before, and you are cautious not to get carried away so easily.

“That does not explain why you distanced yourself from me.” You needed more than flattery for your character.

“I am not easily surprised, but I confess I did not expect to be presented with the offer your father made. If you were to become the companion I wanted to see at my side, I knew I could not be the one to put you back together. I wanted the future queen that only you could forge by getting to know my kingdom, my people, our way of life, and integrating yourself into Talokan in your own right. Building your own reputation amongst them these past weeks, they see you are not merely a foreign princess acquired for an alliance, they will accept you as their queen because they know you. You have conquered them with your heart, your goodness, your passion, your sharp mind.”

He pauses to search your face. His words have both softened and strengthened you.

“I did not want to influence or distract in any of that.”

You nod, considering every word, not ready to respond yet.

“Now I did have certain things to attend to, some of which you will know very soon, but I confess I did limit and ultimately withhold the time we could have spent together.”

You open your mouth to argue this point, but he chuckles and shushes you.

“The more time I spent with you – scant as it was – and the more reports that came in from my advisors, my people, even your guards and the servants that attend you – yes, I spoke with them regularly – the more I did not want to share you with anyone else. Since I did not want to rob you of the unique and limited time to integrate into Talokan during our engagement, I cut myself off altogether.”

Your mouth hangs open at this rationalization, your brow furrowing further and further as he had explained his absence. But you do gather your wits, and challenge, “You avoided spending time together because you wanted to spend time with me?”

His smirk is nearly a smolder. “Once we are wed, I’m not sharing your time with anyone until I have to, and we will only spend our days apart as is strictly necessary when we resume royal duties after the honeymoon.”

Oh, he is good with that tongue, you think.

“Tomorrow, I will have you in every way, but for now I want to worship at the altar of what will be mine.”

He seizes your neck and pulls you in for a kiss. The heat is searing, and your lips demand equally of each other. He nips and you whimper, allowing him to plunge his tongue into your mouth. He is hungry for you, and you can’t deny him now.

With one hand still holding your neck and the other now at your shoulder, he moves so the back of your knees meet the edge of the throne, and he slowly pushes you down to sit, stepping between your legs. You look up at him, and you move a hand to his hip.

“Not tonight, my princess,” he says, his eyes dark with lust. “I can wait. I have an atonement and assurance to make of the sincerity of my intentions.”

You’re entranced as he kneels before you. The hand that was on your neck moves down over one of your breasts, along your ribs, and then grabs your hip, pulling you to the edge of the seat. You clutch the stone arms of the throne as his other hand goes beneath your nightdress, finding your knee, and pushes the fabric out of the way as he moves his hand diligently up your soft thigh. When that hand finishes its journey, he tears your underwear away, making you yelp and grasp at the hand he still has on your hip. You know he has preternatural strength, but to experience it, know it’s there in his veins at every moment, and that he must meticulously measure it out is terrifying yet intoxicating.

Much like he is in every sense.

He draws one of your legs over his shoulder and turns his head to press his warm lips to your tender flesh. Slow kisses. Deliberate. Your heart races. You’re desperate with anticipation but the exquisite torture is its own bliss. “Namor,” you plead.

He bites in punishment, and you cry out.

“That is not the name I told you to use,” he says, his voice even but stern. “I will not have you speak the name relegated to my enemies when you have me like this.”

No. Because this is the two of you, intimate. You needed to let him back in. You want to let him back in. “K’uk’ulkan,” you let it fall from your lips.

It draws a small genuine smile that softens this powerful man and warms you even more. He soothes the bite with another kiss, but then the next place his lips land is directly over your core. Your head falls back, and you utter his name again, unbidden as bliss shoots through your body. He is in no hurry as he begins mouthing at your most intimate parts. He warms you up with slow, methodical licks of his broad tongue. He gently draws your nether lips into his mouth, sucking and savoring. Your leg curls around his back as your body surrenders to him. He adjusts the hand over your hip to entwine his fingers with yours, anchoring you to each other while he continues to draw out your pleasure. He pulls back with a long suck, then he dives back in, leading with his nose, following it with another lick behind. When he reaches your clit, he circles it with the tip of his nose, gives a quick flick with his tongue, and then he puckers his lips to suck just the little bead with precision and concentrated force.

Little whimpers, whines, and longer moans fall from your mouth with abandon, and the thought that someone could hear you, could perhaps see this, is a fleeting fear and thrill before he resumes sucking and gliding along your folds, and you discard any worry because you can’t concentrate on anything but his exquisite actions. The king of Talokan is on his knees, continuing to plunder you on his throne. Your free hand threads into his dark hair, gloriously soft in your fingers, and you press him even closer. He hums against your cunt, pausing, and you can feel his lips curling in a smirk, but you don’t care. You need more, and so you tug his locks, and he happily yields to your insistence.

Oh, he is even better at this with his tongue, you think.

He zig-zags his tongue across your slit, then pushes it in your hole. In and out, and again, and again. He begins to speed up, and you’re trembling around him.

Then nothing at your core, and you cry out, your eyes shooting open to look down at him.

He chuckles. You narrow your gaze at him, “You–“

He surges up to put a stop to your words with a kiss, persistent until he feels you soften, then draws away and brushes his thumb over your cheek. “You’re meant for more than instant gratification, my pearl.”

Those words send a shiver down your spine, and you would be irked by the smile that’s still too close to a smirk on his face, but you both know he’s now earned this moment with you. What’s more, there’s a depth in the eyes of the look he’s giving you, proof that it’s not cockiness, but satisfaction tinged with yearning that strikes you to your core. “Please.”

“Tell me what you want, Princess. I will give you everything,” he swears, and you know he means it indefinitely.

“Make me come, my king.”

He nods, eyes remaining fixed on you as his hand moves to your cunt. He inserts one finger, pressing in and then drawing back out, and you hum in approval. He doesn’t hesitate to add a second finger, and you push your hips forward even more. The heat and concentration of his gaze on you is tremendous, and it continues stoking its own fire in your soul, but it’s more than you can handle in this moment, so you close your eyes and draw him back in for another searing kiss, plunging your tongue into his mouth, doing your best to undo him in at least some small way.

He seems to sense this is your intention, as you suck his bottom lip into your mouth, and he curls his fingers up and finds the spot on the wall of your pelvis that will be your undoing. You keen when he finds it, your head falling back. He presses just one open-mouthed kiss to the column of your neck, offered up vulnerably to him, and then he swiftly descends to bury his head back between your thighs. He immediately sucks your clit, his fingers continuing to plunder your tight channel, and you wrap your legs around his neck, crossing your ankles against his muscular back. The pleasure builds, coiling in your stomach, your limbs tightening. He curls those fingers again, expertly, and hurtles you over the edge, cries of ecstasy escaping your chest.

His mouth releases your clit, but his fingers carefully stroke you through your orgasm, drawing out the rippling sensations. He solemnly kisses up and down your leg, and you’re still riding the bliss, but you can feel his eyes trained up on you once more.

Just as you think he will withdraw, his fingers pick up speed up again, but he plunges them in deeper. His lips return to torment you with pleasure, and you grasp at his head, though the action is futile as you are no match for his immense strength. His free hand is now planted at the base of your spine, not allowing you to squirm even one inch away from his ministrations. He is in earnest, and so your second orgasm breaks over you quickly, and you collapse forward, the desperate whimpers of release swallowed up by him a moment later as he straightens up and his lips seek yours. You sink into the kiss, and he pulls you from the throne and into his embrace. He moves easily to reclaim his throne, much as he has reclaimed you. His lips continue to kiss you, but they drift away from your lips and back – moving over your cheeks, your jaw, along your neck, softly over your eyes, over your forehead, your shoulders, the spot beneath your ear, the juncture at your collarbone, ghosting over your temples, every bit of skin that’s exposed to him. He wants all of you. You’re powerless to do anything but accept his ministrations, and you have no desire to refuse this exploration, blissed out as you are.

When his kisses slow, you bring your delicate fingers up to caress his face. He rests his forehead against yours, and his arms around your torso tighten, pressing you closer.

“Do not doubt that you are the companion that I want,” he murmurs. “After so long as the solitary ruler of my people, I have no need to settle for anything less than exactly who I want as my queen consort. Tomorrow you will be crowned.”

“Tomorrow.” You smile. “And I do think I’ll finally be able to sleep.”

“Oh, is that why you were wandering in the first place?”

You laugh. “Well, it was the mind that was agitated, but now…”

“Now we understand each other?”

“We do.”

“Then I hope you understand I’m not done with you yet, Princess.”

You gasp as his hand returns to your quim.

“I want one more, to seal this with three.”

You will be boneless by the time the king of Talokan deigns to surrender you to your bed, but every touch, as lost in pleasure as you are now, only tethers you more strongly to him.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Reblog, comment, and share please. Well-meaning menaces are WELCOME in my askbox.

@littlet-holmes you asked to be tagged when I published part two, so... here we are. :) Also thinking @nunya7394 @elsolario @amorestevens @writing-for-marvel might be interested.

#namor smut #namor x reader #namor x female reader #namor fic #namor fanfiction #aspen wrote something #to become his queen series

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turtleblogatlast · 3 months

Note

Damn, I just imagined what the sequel would be like:

After Dum Dum's morning medical check-up, Donnie headed to his laboratory. Upon entering, he went directly to his chair in front of the large digital screen of his computer, turning behind him to check that there were no intruders in the area. of his work. When he confirmed one hundred percent that there was no one, he turned his gaze back to the screen, grabbing the mouse and directing it to the recordings of the communicators, specifically Leo's. From his battle shell she took out some popcorn and a canned soft drink, settled into his chair, to finally listen to the recording.

"Lou Jitsu and Jupiter Jim: Hot Soup and Alien Worms - Episode 18: The Ambush of the Alien Worms"

Leo's voice on the communicator began to narrate and Donnie just listened.

…

The recording was at minute 18, the chapters normally lasted between twenty-one to twenty-three minutes, so it wasn't long before the plot ended in this episode. The narrative directed Lou Jitsu and Jupiter Jim being surrounded by the enemy, with no line of escape. Donatello leaned forward in his chair as if this way he could hear better, even though he was wearing his headphones.

"- Well, Jim… it was a pleasure fighting by your side.

-The pleasure was all mine.

The alien worms pounced of them.

Will this be the end of Lou Jitsu and Jupiter Jim? Don't miss it in the next episode Lou Jitsu and Jupiter Jim: Hot Soup and Alien Worms - Episode 19: A Promise to the Stars"

The recording ended there, Donnie was left with his heart in his mouth because of the suspense of that ending, although he said to himself that episode 7 was even worse. He wanted to know what happened next, reviewing the recordings, there was only one left, thinking it was the final chapter, he clicked. The only thing he heard was creaking and grunting, loud banging sounds and metallic clashes. Was he using realistic sounds for the battle scenes? That is new.

"What, you finally realized that your life is insignificant, that you can no longer fight for it?"

The Kraang, it was the voice of the Kraang.

"Heh, in your dreams mutant mucus"

The next thing you heard was a slimy sound and Leo's voice screaming.

"At least your blood manages to combine those horrible marks you have"

If what he heard was horrible to Donnie (he didn't even know why he was still listening), the next thing was the worst sound he could have heard in his entire life.

Leo's crying, desperate, scared… alone, alone with that monster.

He couldn't take it anymore, his hand moved on its own, advancing the recording, only to hear Mikey's voice shouting for Leo's name.

"Hey guys, took you long enough"

It was the moment they had rescued him.

-End of recording-

Donnie removed the headphones and his gaze stayed on the screen for a long moment, thinking. Thinking about what he had just heard, analyzing the previous recordings with the last one, realizing that all those recordings of Leo narrating were much deeper than he believed. Before, I thought this fanfiction was nonsense and out of curiosity I grabbed it as entertainment, but for Leo it was something else, it was the only way in which Leo could be united with the world he had left, telling stories, it was his entertainment. He was his own sanity, he was his only company, listening to himself on a recording, like a narrator's voice in an action series, listening to his happy voice to replace the moments where he was crying or screaming.

This was the only thing Leo had left in that prison.

If he hadn't listened to that last recording, he might have tried to figure out how he was doing the next episode, perhaps with the rat fever in its stage 6, but now that doesn't matter anymore. He got up from his chair and left the laboratory, heading to the medical room, only to find Leo alone on the stretcher, watching how he trembled in his dreams, nightmares that surely took him back to that horrible place. He stayed next to him, caressing his shell so that he knew that he was no longer alone, and that he would never again need recordings and stories for company, now he was home with his family and Donnie was going to make sure of that.

----

Hey, I hope you don't mind this idea that occurred to me and is not my language, sorry if there was any mistake.

If you don't like me, I understand.

[ cw: torture implied / trauma / ]

❤️ I don’t mind at all, I love this! It adds such a sad but true note to my silly post, and I think you conveyed the nuance of the situation really well! Because yeah, although it’s funny to think about Leo making up crossover fanfiction of all things during his time in the Prison Dimension, it doesn’t change what he went through there, it just makes it more bearable for him.

Great writing, thank you!!❤️❤️

#non au ask #❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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emblazons · 1 year

Text

Still thinking about how understanding what happened in the S3-S4 relational narratives requires you suspend the belief that the last two (soon to be 3) seasons of Stranger Things are designed to stand alone.

With S1 and S2, the seasons existed as standalone entities—S2 was a sequel yes, but it wasn't a direct narrative extension of the action that occurred in the season before. You could watch Season 2 with only a bit of context from the first season (one boy got kidnapped and taken by the monster into another dimension, the girl from the lab with the superpowers showed up and they worked together to save said boy, but then she disappeared and was presumed dead) and watch the second season with little issue.

Its not the same with Seasons 3-5. If anything...it helps when analyzing to imagine Seasons 3-5 as one "season" in the same way S1 and S2 exist as single entities; the Duffers have already confirmed its true for Seasons 4-5, but it gets a lot easier to follow arcs and action, particularly for the youngest characters, if you stop trying to find coherence in single-season stories and look at each season as three parts of a whole.

This is true across the board, but it's particularly true in the case of understanding Byler, both as individuals and a pairing (though the full buildup of their romantic arc will take us across all 5 seasons). Understanding why S3 feels like you just got dropped into nonsense with them specifically (after two seasons of Michael "I'm the only one who cares about Will" Wheeler and Will "I am central to the story even when I'm off screen" Byers) is because The Duffers took the risk of introducing a brand new set of conflicts to the youngest characters: namely, ongoing romantic relationships, personal identity crises and sexuality...only without resolving the conflict and action in the 8-9 episodes they usually do, which is why you feel frustrated by it.

Basically: Season Three was the season where we set up the relational problems that need to be fixed—we just have three entire seasons to work through them, which means its gonna look bad at the start and good as we work through the problem (over the course of a few seasons) to get to the solution.

forewarning: ferociously long post ahead (with headers for clarity)

Will’s Arc: A (Queer) Coming of Age

With Will, the problem re-introduced in S3 is that he feels different from his peers, and not just because he's gay; its because 1) he is in love with Mike in a way that is more genuine than we are being presented in the third season (that "sandbox" "puppy love" "break up and makeup" summer fling energy that S3 has) and 2) he is unwilling to step into the lie of "maturity" as its being presented in the story, aka giving up things like hanging out with his friends over focusing on relationships or giving up games (DnD in particular).

(sidebar: I wrote another analysis touching on the above here).

A lot of people I've met who watch the show casually say things like "it just seems like he's not able to grow up like his friends" and even "he's falling behind," but I think that's on the right track while missing the point: the reason Will is written as "refusing to grow up" is because he is the character that represents the rebellion of The Duffer's heart and interests, and both of the things that seem like they would be a bad because they make his character different in the narrative are actually surprisingly positive for his "three season" arc...if you understand what the ongoing themes of Stranger Things are.

With Will, the “problem” in the story exists because he is the one who represents being weird/the outcast/queer and not giving into the social pressure to “let go” of that—he loves another boy, is more emotional than his peers and loves nerdy things like his tabletop board game and refuses to deny that to himself, no matter how brutalizing that is for him and his feelings. In that way, he is the character who “represents” the sentiment of The Duffers themselves—he is a nerd, a child at heart, and he has no problem taking DnD and anything else into “adulthood,” (looking at you “yeah, yeah I really did” during the rain fight) the same way The Duffers have.

That said: as we move into season 4, Will is presented with an evolution of this conflict—he wants to continue to be honest with and about himself, his feelings, and his interests…but it comes in direct conflict with his understanding of his peers & Mike, whom he loves.

We see this conflict show up repeatedly in Will’s actions in S4, especially in regards to the painting, which is the physical representation of both his love of Mike and his embracing of his nerdiness. Will shows up to the airport with his painting in spite of not speaking to Mike because his heart is to be honest and true-to-self regardless of anyone else—you even see this as he takes the painting on the road when they plan on going back to Hawkins, after he makes up with Mike. The problem is though (and this plays into the whole “we want you to feel like you lost” sentiment The Duffers spoke about, as S4 is the “down” before the “up”resolution of the whole narrative) that Will he realizes that his desire to be honest is getting in the way of (his perception of) the happiness of the people he loves, so he decides to betray his character and break the first cardinal rule of The Party…to tell his first lie.

There are plenty of phenomenal analyses on other aspects of Will’s connection to Vecna/the UD and the love triangle dynamic at play across this app so I’ll leave that alone here (I do have many thoughts on why the above makes Henry Creel the perfect villain foil to Will specifically), but: for the sake of understanding Will’s relational narrative arc, it’s critical to understand that our “low” for him is the betrayal of his ongoing S3 character—and that him undermining his self-honesty, nerdiness and love for Mike are the things that The Duffers have set themselves up to resolve in S5.

The resolution for Will is to re-embrace his differences —to realize that lying to yourself and other people about who you are and what you love (both in terms of “nerdy” interests and his queerness) is not who he wants to be, no matter how hard it is to stand up for in the wake of adversity—along with embracing the power of real love, which is also an ongoing theme the Duffers have set up in their relationships beginning in Season 3.

Now…on to Michael.

Mike’s Arc: Finding Yourself & Embracing What Makes You Different

—anyone with a single toe in this fandom knows that Mike Wheeler is one of the most divisive characters in this story when it comes to deciding 1) what his motivations are and 2) what his desires will be, but (and bare with me on this)…I think that’s kind of the point of his story. Mike’s “three season” arc is about him moving through a confusion of identity into someone who can embrace himself while addressing the things he is most insecure about—namely; being seen, being useful, and (very, very likely) the fact that the person who makes him feel most secure, seen, useful and loved is another boy.

There are several context clues that give credence to the fact that the reason Mike feels so wishy-washy / lacking in depth is because his struggle is not knowing how to find his place in the world, though you have to go further back than S3 to find them. Let me explain.

From the literal pitch of the show, there has always been an undercurrent of self-doubt and insecurity in Mike; his desire to escape the weight of feeling insecure has been a driving factor in his actions since before he was even on the screen, and it is impossible to understand what motivates him without first understanding that.

With Mike, his actions across all seasons have been weighed down by his desire to escape his insecurities through action—and as he’s gotten older, what he’s used to escape those insecurities (to be someone like the paladin he plays in DnD) has evolved and shifted, ranging through everything from turning the world (no pun intended) upside down to find Will; being willing to sacrifice his life to save Dustin from bullies; using any weapon he could find to fight a baby demogorgon; and wanting to be a heroic knight who protects the perceived vulnerable girl once he starts dating Eleven.

The point is: Mike’s deepest core need is to assuage his insecurities by doing whatever he can to be a good person—and when he feels like can’t do anything or protect the people he loves…he spirals. That’s been true since the start of his character…and everyone from The Duffers to Finn Wolfhard himself has mentioned it.

Now. With that baseline established, let’s talk Season 3.

Ironically enough, a lot of people feel like Mike’s character has “fallen off” because he, by the sake of all appearances, has achieved all the things he is supposed to want—namely a girlfriend, which (at least in his mind) is the physical embodiment of successfully “addressing” his core fears.

Because Mike has all the external markings of a well-adjusted kid—he comes from a wealthy family, has a solid group of friends (who are also mostly now striving for social normalcy) and even a girlfriend—he seems to have addressed what many people even in real life believe is the end of most arcs & the fulfillment of the fantasy. For Mike, the appearance of his S3 life seems to have assuaged the fears at the root of several of his insecurities, including the desire to be needed, the desire to protect, the desire to be useful, and the desire for acceptance…all because now he’s saved El and has her at his side, and having a girlfriend means he has everything a good, well-adjusted guy is supposed to want.

Or…does it?

With how The Duffers set up the story (with S3 as the introduction of a new conflict for every major character), the answer they’re giving you based on how Mike interacts with other characters is no—having a girlfriend and acting “mature” doesn’t solve anything, especially if the core problem of you having an insecure identity while being dishonest with yourself isn’t addressed…and it’s the arc of Mike learning that “lesson” that we find ourselves dropped into moving into Season 3.

Beginning in S3, the war on Mike’s insecure self-concept comes at him on two fronts: on the one side, El, who started her journey needing Mike because of her background but now has no real need for any of the things he so desperately wants to provide as a means to validate himself, and on the other Will, whose deep familiarity and history with Mike combined with his confidence in his own identity presents Mike with a challenge of self-reflection that he doesn’t exactly feel ready for yet.

(sidebar: my post on how Mike's arc is intrinsically tied to a subversion of the "Born Sexy Yesterday" trope is a helpful expansion on things I talk about here).

We see this in how Mike gets frustrated with Max for giving El the space and language to not need him (undermining his role in her life as someone who she needs to protect/guide her); we see it in how he says cruel things when Will behaves in a way that challenges the actions Mike has taken to be “mature” (how he insults Will for not also wanting a girlfriend / still wanting to play the games that set them apart as nerds/different); and we see it in how Mike still goes out of his way to fix those relationships in the best way he can—because he knows on some level that what he’s doing in several moments isn’t in alignment with who he wants to be, even though they are both presenting him with radical internal challenges.

Ironically enough, Dustin does a great job of summarizing the two sides of Mike's internal conundrum in what he says to Steve about Robin—Mike, somewhat like Steve, is struggling between what is socially acceptable in a partner (or "cool") and what he actually wants and enjoys in one—and as El and Will evolve, so does Mike's internal conflict about how he perceives their places in his world.

Between El’s supernatural abilities and rapidly growing autonomy making him obsolete to her in all the areas that matter to Mike (see: the ability to protect, be useful, and be seen) and Will’s reminding him that at his core he is just as much of a nerd as Will is, Mike finds himself feeling more confused and insecure than ever…and that is the internal conflict we see him end S3 battling.

The evolution of Mike’s narrative arc past the introduction of this internal conflict doesn’t happen until is the Byers/Hopper move to Lenora though…when he is literally left alone to process what that intense summer brought to light for him—which is the note we're left on as we move into the next phase of Mike's evolution in S4.

In S4, the development of Mike figuring out what he wants and needs from his relationships + the kind of person he wants to be becomes a lot more external—we see him going through a series of code switches as he tries to manage the ever changing landscape of his self-perception, where has started journey toward self-acceptance but is still insecure about following through with it.

We see this in the way he has now joined The Hellfire Club and shows sincere signs of accepting his interests and "outcast" status, but still looks forlorn when Lucas says “I’m tired of being bullied / I thought you wanted things to be different too” (Lucas’ struggles with some aspects of performing normalcy the way Mike does S4).

We see it in the way he shows up to Lenora dressed in what he thinks he’s should be wearing rather than as himself / the way he continues performing his relationship with El throughout that first day (and how he says it was Will who "sabotaged" things by being that same kind of radical honest about his feelings we talked about before)...only for the events of the day to spur him into meaningful honesty with both El and Will (to varying degrees of success) mere hours later.

We even see it in the way Mike seemed to have been “turning over a new leaf” once he and El fought, to the point he was okay with them ending the “normalcy” performance of their romance…right up until Argyle’s paranoia while burying Unknown Hero Agent Man struck the fear of god back into him (aka making him worry he was letting El down by not protecting her—aka tapping into one of his core fears).

Basically: Mike is leaning into accepting the things that make him different in little ways, but is still struggling to step into that identity fully—aka he is still using perceived social acceptability as a shield, even though he no longer holds as tightly to being perceived as normal. (Even Finn himself often jokes about Mike “just trying to be normal,” which I think is a good, simple explanation of what’s happening—that said, if we take that reading and combine it with those “narrative goals” I mentioned The Duffers have earlier…Mike trying to be normal is an issue to be resolved, not an identity to be embraced. But…let’s move on).

By the time we get to the infamous van scene, we’ve watched Mike struggle through the two sides of his inner conflict for the entire season now, and felt him very gently succeed at switching into a more honest version of himself (who doesn’t need a girlfriend as a shield / can embrace his “otherness” in the same way Will does) right up until his inherent desires to be needed and useful come rearing up the second El is in danger.

It’s why we see him look pleased (but also marred with conflict) when Will looks confident, happy and radiant talking about “playing dnd and Nintendo for the rest of their lives…” and why him being honest in that scene is actually a huge moment for him, because rather than being vague about what has been plaguing him for two seasons now (trying to be “normal” just because he feels insecure) Mike is finally verbalizing the internal conundrum of his now two seasons of looking critically at his insecurities.

Now—I could spend all day digging into just that bit of narrative alone—the way Mike finally externalizing his insecurities to be processed with Will rather than acting on them and hurting people unintentionally is a giant leap for him, and how when Will says “you’re sacred of losing her” Mike’s nod is an acknowledgement that Will is right…but his face is saying there’s more to that fear than he’s acknowledging—

—but for the sake of this analysis of the narrative arcs, the van scene is most important because it’s when the S4 “it feels like you lost” moment begins for Mike…and that’s because it matches up directly with the “you feel like you lost” moment for Will: him lying about the painting.

When Will lies about the painting—saying that his feelings and the art that (as I said before) represents 1) his love of Mike, 2) his embracing of his nerdiness and 3) that radial self-honestly Mike so admires Will for—it throws a wrench into Mike’s internal revelations because Will is essentially saying that the relationship that Mike was slowly realizing he used to assuage his insecurities (his relationship with Eleven) is actually what lines up best with "who he wants to be," which throws Mike’s slow growth toward Will + honesty about what (and who) he wants to be into a tail spin.

From Will’s lie onward, Mike is thrown into moment after moment of conflicting emotions and dire circumstances as well—and given that Mike's deep terror of losing people comes up strongest when the people he loves are in danger, it’s only downhill for Mike’s growth toward self actualization from here. In that sense, (much Jonathan's S4 omissions of his truths/fears to Nancy leading to Nancy's regression into complacency / social conformity with Steve), its Will's lie that leads us directly into the “you feel like you lost” moment for Mike: him moving back into "conforming" territory and confessing his love to El in the SBP.

The monologue (at least in terms of the narrative arc The Duffers are writing) is Mike’s “losing” moment because it’s when he has enough self-revelation to realize that being with a girl as a shield for his insecurities is no longer what he wants...but the drive he has to be useful, protect and love any way he can (on top of Will’s urging + lie) leave him feeling like his only option is stepping into the person he was at the start of S3.

In this moment, we see Mike say exactly what someone who is "acting normal” about loving his girlfriend and wanting to save her would….even though romantic love with El (and the socially-acceptable romantic relationship he has with her) are not what he really wants, and what we will watch crumble moving into S5.

Essentially: Mike having a moment of dissonance of that magnitude after an entire season of looking toward Will was what set us up to see all those "external markings of normalcy" Mike has held onto and had started grating against for two seasons now fall apart, given what we know about those core messages/themes/child-at-heart values the Duffers hold and keep at the heart of their show.

As of the end of S4, we can already see how this "regression" into his old self is not going to hold—the fact that everything Mike did to save El is rooted 1) in a lie and 2) not in alignment with Mike evolving understanding of his core desires makes sure of that.

We even see the beginnings of this "low" being resolved in Mike's arc in how Mike & El are not speaking (even with the 'resolution' of their surface-level S4 conflict with Mike's love confession) and how Mike is glued to Will's side even before Vecna is mentioned–which is how we've been set up to see the resolution of Mike's arc in S5.

With all this in mind, it becomes a bit clearer that the resolution of Mike's arc is him moving through the confusion of identity we've watched him go through from S3 forward and into someone who can embrace who he is what he truly loves without fear of going against what is expected—aka finding the courage not to conform.

Mike as a character is a lesson in how doing what you think you're supposed to (aka what is "normal") is often at odds with who you are and what makes you the happiest—and the only way to self-actualize is to move past your insecurities and into someone who can be confident embracing what (and who) they really want...even when it means stepping out of line from what you’ve grown up believing would do the self-actualizing for you.

Final Thoughts

Both Mike and Will's relational arcs revolve around an embracing of what makes them different—in terms of their (highly likely) mutual queerness, yes, but also in terms of them making self-actualized peace with being nerdy "children at heart" in much the same way The Duffer Brothers themselves are.

If Will represents a person who struggles because they refuse to deny themselves their identity, Mike represents a person who struggles because they don’t understand their identity, and are walking around just trying to do whatever they can to get along (because they haven’t been presented with the inciting conflict that will move them into self-revelation & growth).

Both of these internal conflicts are narrative arcs that have been built into the coming of age stories of both halves of Byler—and though we are currently sitting at the "low" of both of their arcs as of the end of Season 4, the setup and though-line for them finding themselves (and real, honest love with each other) has been clearly set up for exploration in Season 5.

—if you managed to get through all of this, I commend you. And yes, there are a million other things to be explored between these two, but...I enjoy sorting through the thematic / "moral of the story" through-lines in all my media, so of course I was gonna do it for for Byler!

#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #THIS IS THE LONGEST THING EVER AND I'M STILL NOT 100% SURE ITS COHERENT BUT I'M TIRED OF SITTING ON IT LMAO #I will also probably be editing bits and pieces of it over the course of the next day for coherence so apologies if you find an error lol #but !!! this is the most cohesive way I could think to explain how their arcs work separately and individually #esp with the ' big messages' of the Duffers discussed /included #ANYWAY. HAPPY FRIDAY LOL #mike wheeler core #will byers core #my st commentary #stranger things #the me tag #the come back tag #duffer brothers

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nzia-writes · 6 months

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The Marvels 2023 dir. Nia DaCosta

My Honest Thoughts:

I’m actually kinda sad that this movie is performing so poorly at Box Office, and I’m all the more sad that it lacks the excellence that I’ve imagined for the last two years in the narrative sense.

The cast is strong, the visuals are strong, the action is strong, the direction is strong, but it all came crashing down because Marvel has been doing a horrible job at choosing its writers for movies. It is also fair to mention that the studios have refused to pay the actors fairly, thus causing another fatal blow at the box office!

—monthly delays

—no promotion from actors and poor promotion from marvel

—toxic incels and misogyny

—some of the audience’s disinterest in the characters

—The current MCU’s bad handling at storytelling

There was just so many forces against this movie and it was evident that this would be the outcome. Had the storytelling took a new approach at these characters and gave a more interesting villain — or even a villain with a more developed story— and gave us at least ten or fifteen more minutes with these characters for a more fleshed out story, the outcome could have differed.

Not even lying, this movie has some of the BEST action scenes in the mcu, some FRESH and creative stylistic choices in directing, some killer ass comedy, and some jaw-dropping visuals! It has given Carol an even better character arc and has brought some clarity and direction to the multiverse saga that has otherwise been handled poorly in phase 4 and 5. Nia DaCosta is a certified nerd and she did exceptionally well with building up the cosmic corner of the mcu!

Let me just say that Academy Award Winner, Brie Larson, shined so bright in her sequel! She channeled so many new emotions and character dynamics that make up Carol Danvers! She was able to find a nice balance between Carol’s stoicism and emotional vulnerability which so many people have criticized before! She also went about Carol’s regret beautifully with raw and heartfelt interactions that push said character to correct her mistakes as a hero and as a human.

And let us not forget about the outstanding performances from Teyonah Parris and Iman Vellani as Monica Rambeau and Kamala Khan. The charisma of Monica Rambeau and the creative handling of her powerset is one that I will hold close to my heart. And the STAR that is Kamala khan and her family is one element that stole my heart early on in the film!

This movie deserves its flowers and it’s unfortunate that the writing had to weigh it down so much. I’m fucking OVERJOYED and grateful that I was able to experience this movie in the theaters—and to have theorized for a good six months on end!

It is going down as one of my top 5 mcu movies, not because it was perfect, but because of my attachment to the cast and the characters. They knocked my positive reception up 30 notches because of the hard work and the un-fucking-deniable chemistry! I know everyone may not agree with my sentiments, but I don’t care because this is deeper than box office success and audience reactions. Yes, It is unfortunate that my happiness wasn’t shared much, but what can I do now other than enjoying it as the phenomenon it is? 🤷🏾‍♀️

#the marvels #captian marvel #ms marvel #monica rambeau #kamala khan #photon #wandavision #nia dacosta #the marvels 2023 #marvel mcu #black women #brie larson #teyonah parris #iman vellani

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aeor-is-for-reccing · 9 months

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Near Death Experiences: A Shadowgast Rec List

This week, we have fifteen fics that have to deal with Caleb and Essek nearly (or temporarily) dying under the cut! Lots of hurt/comfort in this one. As ever, if you like them, don't forget to Kudos or comment!

Of Broken Plans and Places to Be by ThreeGremlinsInATrenchcoat (8856, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek catches a fatal disease in Aeor designed to resist clerical healing. Caleb must take care of him while the rest of the Mighty Nein race to find a cure.

Reccer says: Another excellent sick fic, this time with Essek as the patient.

The Mind and the Malady by SaltCore (38941, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence, some body horror in the form of coughing up bloody flowers

Hanahaki fic where Essek falls so hopelessly in love with Caleb post-97 that it's literally killing him. He could cure himself, but the price (reverting back to the man he was prior to meeting Caleb) is one that Essek would rather die than pay. That he could be cured by Caleb ever loving him back is, of course, a laughable notion.

Reccer says: A beautifully written example of not-actually-one-sided pining, with literal life or death stakes. I don't normally care for hanahaki fics, but I reread this one often.

Zedrinset by LuckyOwlsFoot (4599, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Essek is kidnapped by a monster that promises a fate worse than death. Caleb risks everything to save him, and Essek is powerless to do anything but watch

Reccer says: Another good execution of a relatively simple premise. Caleb goes absolutely feral in Essek's defense in a very sexy way

Tomb of Rust by LuckyOwlsFoot (23682, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Caleb and Essek go through the wringer in Aeor, stumbling from near-death-experience to near-death-experience

Reccer says: Caleb and Essek go through the *wringer* in this one, with lots of wonderful tender comfort at the end

A Fire Frozen in Ice by Professor_Rye (5755, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb catches a deadly disease that's slowly freezing him to death, Essek struggles to keep him alive andfind a cure before it's too late

Reccer says: Very tasty sick fic with Essek as the caretaker

Contrapasso by SaltCore (4856, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: Temporary character death and resurrection

Canon divergence AU where Essek is kidnapped and magically imprisoned by Ludinus as a hostage against the Mighty Nein. Essek has to let Caleb mercy kill him in order to escape

Reccer says: This fic was written for the Whumptober 2021 prompt "Trust Fall" which is a good description of what reading this fic feels like, emotionally.

bow shock by SaltCore (4613, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Caleb is very nearly murdered in his bed by a Trent loyalist, Essek saves him at the last moment.

Reccer says: A skillful execution (pun intended) of a very simple premise. Essek goes feral over Caleb's safety in the sexiest, sweetest way imaginable

heliopause by SaltCore (5035, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence

A direct sequel and companion piece to bow shock, with the same basic premise, only this time Essek is the one in mortal danger and Caleb is the one who comes to his rescue

Reccer says: This one is great for all the same reasons bow shock is, I highly recommend reading them together

A Very Silent Night by Professor_Rye (7324, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Modern AU, Caleb and Essek get into a car accident in the middle of the night on a lonely mountain road in the middle of winter. Essek is badly hurt, and Caleb has to cuddle with him for warmth to make sure he survives the night

Reccer says: A simple but very well done fic where the two pining idiots in love have to share body heat to survive, with a thoughtful examination of fantasy racism on the side.

the only way out is through the ditch by SaltCore (6971, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: Temporary character death and resurrection

Essek is caught in a deadly trap in Aeor, and Caleb can do nothing except watch him die a slow and painful death, praying that he will be able to revive him later. (aka: Wrath of Khan, Shadowgast edition)

Reccer says: Absolutely agonizing to read in the best way possible, with a wonderful catharsis at the end. Also one of the most creative (if gruesome) depictions of a transmutation wizard's version of raise dead that I've ever seen

infinity in the palm of your hand by mousecookie (5752, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: Major Character Death

Canon divergence for episode 116 where the M9 find Essek - seemingly dead - in an Aeorian corridor with the rest of the Kryn adventuring party. Tagged MCD because of how it's framed but also Temporary Character Death.

Reccer says: I liked it!

we never do go over (we always gotta go through) by Chrome (17169, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Five times Essek woke up with level(s) of exhaustion and one time he didn't.

Reccer says: It's a classic 'Essek sacrifices himself nearly to death, then the Nein comfort him back to health' fic. Wonderful hurt comfort.

Sending for aid by TormentaPrudii (1449, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

Cad receives a frantic Sending from Caleb and has to walk him through first-aid to stabilize Essek long enough to rest and Teleport to the Grove.

Reccer says: The outsider POV and only getting twenty-five word glimpses into the wizards’ situation really hammered the tension home in the best way

rumors of my demise by words-writ-in-starlight (6184, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

Essek is arrested by the Dynasty and sentenced to death. He doesn't want his friends risking their lives in a rescue, so pretends like nothing is wrong. His friends turn out to have opinions about that.

Reccer says: Another Whumptober inspired fic where Essek gets to learn just how far his friends are willing to go for him. Features temporary character death and resurrection of that's your jam

Hold Me Close, Cut Me Deep by CatgirlTheCrazy (14192, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek falls victim to an incubus, and it turns him on Caleb

Reccer says: Pitch perfect angst and drama as the wizards fight, and then fight over who uses their limited healing options

Aeor is for Lovers is an 18+ Shadowgast Discord server. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. All fics, unless otherwise specified, will primarily feature Shadowgast.

Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week, we’ll be back with hand kink!

#critical role #shadowgast #fic recs #cr fics #cr fic recs #essek thelyss #Caleb Widogast #whump #hurt/comfort #near death experience

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azureashes · 8 months

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The Queen of Curses

As promised, the long awaited sequel! This is a gift fic for the awesome, amazing, epic, kind, lovely, warm, and all around makes the world a better place @xxdoncrazyxx. Happy belated birthday! <3

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18+ Minors DNI

Sukuna//Reader - a sequel to a Goddess for the King of Curses

TW: size kink, triple penetration (kinda), drowning, death, impalement (is that a word?), corruption, mindbreak, lots of blood, lots of cum, sexual slavery, violent death, dubcon I guess, (although reader is pretty into it... psycho XD), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, also yandere

„Serve?“

Your voice barely reached your ears. It came out distant, as if someone else had spoken.

“Mm,” Sukuna dismissed with a casual wave of his hand, leaning back on someone else’s throne, one leg crossed over the other, crown and scepter tossed carelessly at his feet. Power was his crown. He had no use for the trinkets of weaker men.

“They’ve served me well enough,” he frowned, displeased by your hesitation. “Now it’s your turn to serve them.”

You knew your voice would falter if you spoke, so you said nothing. Weakness did not arouse Sukuna’s pity – if he had such a thing – it merely provoked his sadism.

“Don’t tell me there’s a problem… goddess,” the last word was spoken on a sneer as he lifted his chin, the black markings on his face twisting along with his twisted expression.

You swallowed thickly and glanced up at where the cursed spirit sat, perched on the seat of power that only yesterday belonged to a man who had ruled at least a hundred miles in every direction. Today, his skull served as Sukuna’s soup bowl.

Two of Sukuna’s arms relaxed on the elaborately fashioned golden armrests, a third propped up his chin, while the fourth was held out towards you, a single finger beckoning you closer. You had consigned yourself to being his toy, and even after all these months of travelling with him, he had not yet grown tired of your old moniker.

Did he do it on purpose? To remind you that your worth wasn’t nearly as elevated as you had once imagined it to be? Or did he simply relish the knowledge that he had brought a goddess – even a fake one – to her knees? You bit your lip, your mind racing to piece together a suitable reply. The only matter was, in the year since Sukuna had knocked your self-worth from that pedestal, you’d been scrambling along on the floor, trying to piece it back together and figure out where it really belonged.

You were a woman, not a goddess, he had said. And the devil of it was, you only felt like a woman when his crimson eyes were burning into yours as he forced himself onto you. It wasn’t always pleasant, but you savored it all the same. Every scar he left on you was like a badge of honor. Proof of your lived experiences.

But to share you with his lackeys? You didn’t care who or how high-ranking they were. You didn’t care if they were powerful enough for Sukuna to feel they deserved you as a reward, you didn’t want to share your body with anyone but him. Being his vessel was the only worth you had left.

“I simply did not realize,” you began slowly, lifting your chin to return his gaze through half- lidded eyes as you swept towards him in response to his beckoning, your skirts swirling around you as you did so. “That my Lord was in the habit of sharing his possessions with others.”

You marched up the two steps towards the usurped throne solemnly, your eyes never leaving his, until you came to stand in front of him with all the poise of your upbringing. Sukuna lifted a hand towards your face with a deceptive gentleness, his sharp, black fingernails scraping past your cheek as his fingers raked through your loose hair.

“My possessions?” he purred, as if pleased you had come to think of yourself as such. His hand closed into a cruel fist as he jerked you forward by your hair, sending you face first into his lap. You supported yourself by bracing yourself on his knees, but his unforgiving grip did not allow you to rise.

“I do with my possessions what I will,” Sukuna reminded you, his voice serpentine and cold in your ear. “Or else, I break them and throw them away.”

The burning pain in your scalp was not even the beginning of what you knew he could do to you, and you cursed the warmth coursing through your treacherous body, a body that had come to learn that pleasure and pain were devilishly intertwined.

“Then forgive me,” you whispered, turning your face towards him with difficulty, “That I would rather be broken than be made to submit to someone other than you.”

He could be angered or pleased by your defiance, there was no way of knowing, and frankly, you no longer had the sense of self-preservation to hope for either.

The moment held, the air between you taut like a hunter’s bowstring as he frowned at you. You wondered what he was looking for as he searched the depths of your eyes. He would find nothing there but sincerity.

Something shifted in his gaze, and his frown deepened. You could not say whether he was puzzled or surprised, but when his brows furrowed, you were acutely aware that the scales had tipped against you.

“Your insolence reminds me, we need to break in the dungeons, don’t we?” A cruel laugh fell from his grinning lips. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I bet you’ll feel right at home.”

He dragged you down the three steps to the hall and then along further passageways. Some of his minions glanced at you in surprise, but they knew better than to look for too long. He dragged you down roughly hewn steps that led into darkness, and you stumbled along behind him, struggled to find your footing on the irregular stairs. You were greeted with a darkness so thick it was almost palpable against your face.

Apart from the moans of prisoners deeper within the underground prison, the flickering of the torchlight in Sukuna’s hand was the only sound that met your ears.

You started as a heavy, barred iron door swung open with a deafening creak like a cat’s yowling and with a flick of his wrist, Sukuna sent you tumbling headfirst into a prison cell, your face striking the uneven slabs of stone roughly. The iron bars slammed shut behind you with a deafening clatter, rattling the walls with their weight and as you turned to Sukuna, you could see that his maniacal sneer had returned.

Whatever had been puzzling him, throwing you into the dungeons seemed to have taken his mind from it. “Rot here, then, if you’re so insistent. If you won’t feed my men, you might as well feed the rats.” His eyes sparked maliciously, “Or are you too good for them, too?”

You gingerly wiped at the blood on your forehead but steeled yourself and turned to offer the demon a curtsy.

“Thank you, my Lord,” you glanced up at him, wondering what was going on behind the bloodlust in his eyes, behind the ever-present hunger for violence. “I will do my best to enjoy my stay here.”

“At least cry, won’t you?” Sukuna frowned, the pleasure vanishing from his face. He gave you a disappointed look then turned away from you with a yawn, suddenly bored, “Die here then for all I care.” And with that, he ascended the steps and was gone, the thick oak door to the dungeons falling shut behind him and robbing you of what little light there had been.

There was no point crying, you knew. Sukuna could abide your tears, your screams, and your begging. What he could not stand, was boredom. And so, that was what you would offer him in the face of whatever he sought to torment you with. If he wanted a reaction out of you – if he wanted you to alleviate his boredom – he would only achieve that by giving you something you wanted in return.

At least, you hoped that that was how it would work.

--------------------------------------------------

Several weeks passed before Sukuna seemed to remember you. And when you were brought out of the dungeon, hungry and dirty, your hair a ragged mess and your clothes disheveled and torn, you blinked and shielded your eyes from the torchlight – your senses overcome. You were given little time to adjust, however, and hastily ushered down one hallway after another. The further you walked from the prisons underground, the more extravagant these walkways became. The more intricate the sconces, the more elaborate the rugs beneath your feet.

The curses you had grown somewhat close to over the year of travelling together cast sympathetic looks as they led you to what you could only assume was a main hall of sorts. You ran your fingers through your tangled locks and tried to rub the grime from your cheeks. If they had taken you out of the damp dungeon, it could only mean you would now be presented to Sukuna once more. You could only hope he would not attempt to give you away again.

As the black-lacquered, double doors were opened to allow you entry, the grandeur of the opulent room met your eyes, a stark contrast to the stone and iron you had become reacquainted with over the last few weeks. Thick, maroon-velvet brocade hangings were draped from tall windows that ran from floor-to-ceiling, their tassels were woven from gold thread, just like the intricate gold filigree detailing spread across the elaborate curtains themselves. The floors were of marble tiling, interlaid in a mosaic pattern. Tapestries lined the walls, carrying the history of the country Sukuna had conquered, meaningless images now.

All this splendor was lost on the King of Curses, who would have been every bit as imposing and awe-inspiring if he were in a dilapidated hut. As it was, he lounged against an armchair made of the same velvet as the curtains, as women crowded around him in varying states of undress. A buxom blonde with glittering dark eyes stood behind him, her hands sliding down the defined muscles of his chest, across those black markings you often traced with your eyes, and on bolder nights, gingerly, with the tips of your fingers.

Beside her stood a brunette, with eyes of emerald, hanging from his neck, her tongue tracing the prominent veins that ran along the thick column. Two women sat on the floor at either side of him, one resting her head against his knee, the other with an arm draped over his thigh, pressing her heavy breasts up against his calf. Each of them had auburn hair, like polished copper and freckled, sun-kissed skin. Twins. Yet another beauty stood at his shoulder, with skin dark as sin that glowed like burnished bronze in the light of the sun. Long lashes curtained her dark eyes, veiled with mystery and allure. Her thick, coiled hair framed her head like a halo – an image divine.

But the woman you could not tear your eyes from, was the one perched on his lap. Her silks had fallen to her waist, revealing pert, full breasts and skin like the purest cream. She turned to look at you as you entered, flushed cheeks, sky-blue eyes, hair like liquid ink – in short, she was a vision of beauty like no other. She smiled at you, a pitying, taunting smirk and yet, all your eyes saw were her swollen, well-kissed lips.

You dragged your eyes away from her, a haze of red seemed to cover your vision and you knew you could not allow yourself to be baited into an emotional response. Various other women were spread throughout the room, all equally beautiful. Some lie on their backs, panting with exhaustion, others leaned against the furniture, apparently collecting themselves, while others still were completely motionless – likely unconscious. You did not let yourself consider the alternative state they might be in.

Clearly, Sukuna had made recent use of them. You were aware that he had taken to collecting women after you, although generally you kept to your own chambers and were spared having to interact with them. He took noblewomen of his pleasing, generally the daughters or young wives of the deceased lord or king. If she survived the first night, she was rewarded with the honor of joining his harem – where she would be allowed to repeat the experience until either her body or psyche wore out. Some did not last the night, others survived but lost their minds – which bored Sukuna - and a select few took to their new lives with vigor, like the inky-haired harlot currently warming the cursed spirit’s lap.

Steeling yourself, you straightened your spine and returned your gaze firmly to Sukuna, refusing to allow any feelings of inferiority to creep into your mind. You were his first conquest. And though he might have a collection of queens and princesses, you were the only goddess he had yet to claim, rags or no.

“You called, my Lord?” your voice betrayed no hint of emotion – as level as your gaze.

Sukuna grinned at your non-response, revealing sharp canines and that same glee in his eyes that could always be found when he had thought of a new way to hurt you.

“Well, well, well… look what the cat dragged in.” His voice had no use being that sultry, it had no business sending that familiar heat pooling in your stomach after all he had done to you. His deep baritone seemed to penetrate your very skin.

The tangles in your hair, the stains on your face and clothes, you were as out of place as a swine in an ablution chamber and yet – you refused to be beaten. You were his first, you had to be special somehow. After all, for who else would Sukuna put on such a show?

Sukuna wrinkled his nose as he waved a hand in front of his nose, as if there were an unpleasant stench drifting over from you. “Looks like you’re still alive - even if you don’t smell like it.” His sadistic smirk was still apparent at the edges of his mouth. The women broke into gleeful titters, joining in on his mirth at your appearance.

All he wanted from you was a response. For you to burst into tears. To beg his mercy. Even anger would do, you supposed. And yet, you couldn’t. You wanted something from him as well. And perhaps it was suicidal arrogance that prevented you from giving into him as he wished, but you were willing to take that risk, gambling everything on the hope that he would give to you a piece of himself that he gave to no one else.

You wanted to be something to him. Anything.

“I could not afford to delay, when summoned by my Lord,” you responded smoothly, showing no sign of the discomfort you felt.

“Is that so?” Sukuna purred, resting his temple against the knuckles of his left hand.

“And yet, what makes you better than these morsels?” he mused, running his clawed fingers through the silky, black locks of the woman on his lap. “That you dare to defy me?” Clearly, he still recalled where your last conversation had left off.

You doubted the women present were aware of how literally Sukuna used the term “morsels”. It was a game to him, and you needed to play your pieces carefully, all while figuring out the rules – as viable to change as they were at his passing whim.

“I would not dare, my Lord,” you murmured quietly.

“Then serve my men, brat.” His smirk disappeared and, in its place, an inquisitive light sparked in his half-lidded eyes. Why shouldn’t you be made to serve others, he seemed to ask. Why would you be reserved for him alone?

You wondered if this was still about rewarding his underlings, or simply about drawing a line between the two of you – once more showing you your place.

You weighed your words carefully, “I am ever in service to my Lord, and deem myself unfit to divide my attentions as you propose.”

Before Sukuna could respond, a sharp laugh, malicious and high rang through the room. “You dare to defy our beloved lord?” The woman in his lap gave you a once-over her expression making no attempt to hide what she thought of you. “You poor thing. Like a drowned rat making demands.” She had a melodious, lilting voice but its airy quality was dampened by the mean-spirited manner in which she spoke. She had to know who you were, and as such, fully intended to take you down as a final stepping-stone to becoming Sukuna’s favorite.

As if Sukuna had such things.

“Look at you! You reek of filth and whatever droppings have piled up in the dungeons. Do you really think you deserve a place in Lord Sukuna’s harem?”

She sidled from Sukuna’s lap, so focused on you she failed to see the frown forming on his face.

She flipped her lovely hair over her shoulder, “Serving our master is an honor bestowed upon our royal bloodlines.” She gestured vaguely towards the women in the room. “How dare you put on such airs when you’re clearly nothing but a filthy whore? You’d do well to be grateful to be in his mere presence, and spread your legs for whoever he commands, –“

Her speech was cut abruptly short when Sukuna’s large hand closed around her head, his fingers almost meeting at her face. His displeasure emanated from him in dark waves of cursed energy visible to the naked eye.

“Who gave you permission to speak?” his voice was dangerously low, soft almost, and yet it reverberated throughout the room – a clear threat.

It happened almost too fast to follow, the muscles banding along his forearm flexed, half a whimper escaped her lips as her eyes sought yours in a panicked plea for mercy through the gaps in his fingers, and then his hand closed into a fist and blood spurted violently in all directions. You flinched as the spray of blood spattered across your face and clothing. The women jumped to their feet, screaming.

“Know your place, fool.” Sukuna growled, as he released his hold on the lovely woman, and she crumpled to the ground – her silky hair all that remained of her once-lovely countenance. As the woman fell away from between you, Sukuna’s scarlet eyes, still burning with displeasure beneath furrowed brows, connected with yours.

You held his gaze as chaos erupted all around you. There was intention in his gaze, that he knew what he had done, and could not take it back. He had ceded ground to you. He had flinched first. For all he played the part that you were meaningless to him, he had killed a member of his harem for your sake, and that truth weighed heavy, undeniable between you.

Even as the remaining ladies tore for the exits, screaming and sobbing, you raised a hand and spoke simply and clearly, in a compelling manner you could not unlearn after all your years at the temple. “Ladies.”

A spellbound silence fell over them, as they took in your standoff with Sukuna, the way your eyes were fixed unwavering on one another.

“You are as yet in the presence of our Lord,” you reminded them. They seemed to come to their senses, even as you could hear a few of them sniffling behind you.

Sukuna lifted his chin, apparently at ease with you taking control of his harem. He leaned back into his chair, his eyes contemplative.

“Remove her from our Lord’s presence,” you admonished them, giving them a purpose to overcome their shock. As if startled awake, they shuffled towards the young woman, and after at first being indecisive as to how to proceed, one group took hold of her hands as the other grabbed her ankles and she was carried from the chamber, one way or another. The remaining women hovered uncomfortably.

“Get out,” Sukuna dismissed with a wave of his fingers, his penetrant gaze still fixed wholly on you.

They were all too willing to leave and had departed within seconds, leaving none but the two of you in the expansive hall.

Sukuna regarded you warily for a moment, taking you in from head to toe before beckoning you closer with a single finger. “Come.”

You approached, your chest constricting with feeling. You wanted so badly to mean something to him, for him to give you a new identity after having stripped away your old one. You did not so much as flinch as you stepped through the puddle of blood and drew closer to the fearsome giant of a man seated before you. You slowed just before him, but Sukuna took a crushing hold of your hip and drew you closer still, until you stood between his legs and looked up at him, his nose a breath from yours.

Up close, you looked right into his sanguine irises, glowing with bloodlust, and another kind of hunger still, a hunger you could not help but feel was reserved for you.

“She was right, you know,” Sukuna muttered, his breath ghosting over your lips. “You really are a filthy whore.”

“So long as I am yours,” you whispered back earnestly, your gaze wandering from his probing eyes to his full lips, “I would gladly be less than that still.”

He seemed to consider that, discontent with the direction the conversation was taking. It was just as you had thought earlier, he did not take favorites. But if you were not a favorite, and also not a dispensable member of his harem… then what were you? “You do not bore me,” Sukuna frowned, his hand closing around the nape of your neck, his fingers curling into your tangled hair. “That is why I keep you, nothing more.”

In a moment of weakness, you responded to his callousness with bleeding sincerity. “I need you,” you confessed, your heart rioting in your chest at the thought of being so vulnerable in the face of his unfailing cruelty. “I need you to tell me who I am. What I am. I need to be yours to be anything at all.”

Sukuna seemed to be taken aback at your unprompted confession. He scowled, baring his canines, “You are nothing to me, I’d as soon crush you as fuck you.”

It was truth, plain and simple, and more of a response than you had expected him to entertain. You sighed, resigned, and leaned into him, your hands sliding over his powerful shoulders, your fingers curling into his hair. You knew you could not win. But at least you were in his arms, that had to count for something. “Your wish is mine as well, Sukuna-sama.”

When your lips touched his, he seemed unable or unwilling to play this game any longer. He closed his fingers in a cruel grip on your hair – a hold he seemed to favor -, controlling your movements. He leaned into the kiss, devouring you as promised, consuming and dominating you until you felt your knees go soft as butter – unable to support you. Sukuna’s grip on your hair and hip seemed to be all that was holding you aloft. As if to make good on his threat, you felt his sharp canines bury themselves into your lip, felt blood gush forth and drip down your chin, even as Sukuna sucked at the bleeding gash, drinking down your blood hungrily. The stabbing pain seared through you, accompanying a rush of endorphins to your mind – a mind that could make no sense at all of the jumbled mess of emotions spiraling through you.

Sukuna was the one who had taught you everything you knew about pleasure, and he had taught you that pleasure and pain went hand in hand. You were certain he could push you over the edge by inflicting pain alone. And so, even as Sukuna wounded you and drank of your blood, you could not help but moan into his mouth, light-headed and delirious with need.

You did not see how Sukuna’s eyes slid open, how he regarded you with a questioning gaze. How he began to grasp the truth of your confession - that you needed him to claim you far more than you desired to live. You relished pain, and might even welcome death, in exchange for identity – an identity only he could bestow.

Why did you become more interesting the more he dealt with you? Whenever he felt bored, he only had to summon you to sink his teeth into you, literally and figuratively.

“What will I do with you?” he muttered, scarcely realizing he had spoken against your mouth until you whispered back, “I find myself wondering much the same. Every time you look at me,” you swallowed the blood that pooled in your mouth, “every time you touch me.”

Sukuna took you in from head to toe through half-lidded eyes, as if truly seeing you for the first time since you had stepped into the hall. The clawed fingernail on his thumb traced along your hipbone and he frowned. “There’s not much left of you.” There was no pity in his voice, only complaint.

You did not respond. He was certainly aware of the fare that was to be expected in the dungeons. You’d always come out a little worse for the wear, but this was the first time he had left you there for weeks, and you had grown thinner as a result. But that was only to be expected, surely, he knew that?

“Tch,” he scowled, “shouldn’t a goddess be more resilient?”

“I’m not a goddess,” you reminded him.

“You are whatever I say you are,” his eyes burned with challenge, “Don’t forget it.”

You could not look away, you could not speak, you could scarcely breathe. Something had changed. You did not know quite what it was, but the standoff seemed to have passed and, in its place, there seemed to be a sense of acceptance, an admittance of the fact that your identity was somehow intertwined with his own, against all odds.

You were recalled to the moment as Sukuna snapped his fingers and a cursed spirit, sickly green in hue and covered with boils, spirited out of thin air at your side.

“Prepare a bath,” Sukuna frowned.

The cursed spirit stumbled over himself as he folded the hands of his six arms in a show of obeisance, mumbling a hasty agreement before disappearing altogether.

You waited awkwardly as Sukuna beheld you, his clawed hands running along your form, feeling where flesh had given way to bone during your stay in the dungeons. Your lip bled still, though he paid no heed until it dripped onto the back of his hand. An irritated sound escaped the back of his throat, and he brushed a thumb over your lip, sending coils of dark energy into your torn lip, sealing the flesh closed once more. His cursed energy was like the kiss of ice and sent shivers down your spine, without fail, each time he used it on you. It was a wonder that a force so malevolent was capable of healing at all, and you could feel it pulsing within you, more faintly with each beat, until it dissipated inside you.

You could not help the choked sound that escaped your lips. You had missed him. His touch, his cruelty, the taste of his dark energy. He was far more intoxicating, far more potent than the noxious smoke you had seen the priests partake in on occasion. And far more dangerous.

“You’re weak,” Sukuna scowled, as if confronted for the first time with the reality of your human nature.

You felt heat rush to your face. Hopefully he had not heard the shameful sound you had made. It would not do for you to appear desperate.

“I am only mortal,” you admitted, hoping to distract from your misstep, “you have proven the weakness of our kind at great length these last few years.”

“You dare complain?”

“No, my lord. I simply state the obvious. My kind is not enduring.”

“Hmph.” He released you finally, and your skin almost immediately mourned the loss of his touch. “And yet, you have lived where other women have died.”

You could not quite wrap your mind around that admission. Had he attempted to torment other women the way he had with you? And had they died at his hands? You did not quite know what it would take to kill you. Before Sukuna, you had had no experience with illness, pain, or death. And now, it seemed a given that when Sukuna took you apart, he would put you back together again. When he split your flesh open, he would seal it once more. Why did the others die? Or rather, why did you survive?

Before you could put the matter to question, a pop and wisps of green smoke announced the return of the imp along with other cursed spirits that seemed female in nature.

They had spirited along a large tub of water and several glass bottles of varying tinctures and perfumes. At a nod from Sukuna, they tore your robe from your shoulders, revealing your grimy, naked form to the attendants present – and worse, to Sukuna’s watchful, crimson eyes. The spirits crowded around you, some with rough rags, others with coarsely bristled brushes, and others still taking the various bottles in hand to spill their contents on your head, your shoulders, on the rags they held. Without waiting for a signal, they began scrubbing at your body, purging you of the filth of the dungeons. Thin, spindly fingers massaged your scalp, verbena-scented suds spreading through your hair. The rags and brushes seemed to scrape the skin from your flesh and yet, you could not truly pay them heed, entranced as you were by the way Sukuna’s gaze followed their hands as they scrubbed at your back. His eyes taking in the trace of the suds they drew over your abdomen, the thorough washing between your breasts, soap suds trailing down the length of your legs, the rag washing between your thighs…

It was a different kind of humiliation, to be so intently observed by him, to be so naked in the middle of the hall for all present to see. And even without looking at him, you could feel his gaze on your skin, the way it prickled beneath his intent stare. Finally, they poured bucketfuls of warm water over you, washing away the suds. Sukuna seemed not to care that the scarlet rug running the length of the hall was soaked, or that water was pooling at your feet and flowing towards him. Did he ever care for consequences, when he wanted something?

He crossed over to you and traced your protruding hipbones with a long, black fingernail once more. His frown revealed – likely without his knowing – that he somewhat regretted putting you away for so long. He liked to sink his claws into you, to bury his fangs in you… He could hardly do that when you were almost nothing but skin and bone with no soft flesh to fill his hands with.

His eyes traced your form leaving a trail of burning desire on your skin as his gaze burned a path up your navel, over your dripping breasts, your exposed collarbones, your swollen lips, before at last meeting your eyes. The very world around you seemed to flicker like a mirage as you held his gaze and in the blink of an eye, you were no longer standing on sodden carpet, but in the baths attached to his very own chambers, where innumerable candles were set all along the perimeter of the room, on tables, counters, and windowsills. The flickering, dim light filled the chamber with equal parts light and shadow, that flickered on your faces in turn.

In the center of the room was a basin in the ground, lined by emerald tiles, each with a golden pattern swirling through the green. The basin itself was a bath of sorts, large enough for three at least. It was filled with steaming water that was pale mint in color – an herbal bath it would seem. Rose petals were scattered across the water’s surface, and the scent of earthy herbs as well as a faint note of citrus wafted over in the steam to greet you, almost beckoning you closer.

The sound of water sloshing caught your attention and you turned to see Sukuna lowering himself into the bath. He leaned against the slabs of stone behind him and rested an arm on either side of himself as he released a barely audible, content sigh. Your expression softened. He really was always at attention, braced for violence, muscles tensed in anticipation of battle. You could imagine how the steaming bath water must provide him some rare relief.

He ran a hand through his russet hair and your gaze caught on the droplets of water that seemed to trace down the prominent veins of his muscular forearm. At ease, as he was, his head tipped back, his unruly hair swept back by the residual water of his hand, you were dazed by his inhuman beauty. His features were undeniably those of nobility, a king in the truest sense, you could not help but ask yourself how it was possible for a man so cold and cruel to be so undeniably beautiful. Even the black markings on his face only served to accentuate his bold features.

His dark lashes lifted, and those carmine eyes seemed to pierce right through you, pinning you in place. Unable and unwilling to escape from his all-encompassing gaze, you merely stood before him, drinking him in. He did not beckon you closer, or say so much as a word, but the command in those eyes was clear. “Come.”

And so, you did.

Dipping your toes into the water, the warmth seemed to pull you in, melting you down to your very bones as you stepped fully into the bath. You were keenly aware of his eyes on you as you lowered yourself into the murky waters of the herbal bath, concealing your nakedness. Heat rushed through you that you could not fully attribute to the temperature of the water. You hoped he would not see that the tips of your ears had gone red - and that he would not recognize it for what it was.

You drew closer still, drawn in by an inexplicable magnetism as if his dark essence were a black hole sucking in your very soul. He never took his eyes off of you for a moment, and the effect was intoxicating as he waited, watching, like a predator tolerating his prey frolicking before him in a delusion of safety, not yet in a mood to disillusion it.

You had missed him. You always did. His power was your lifeline. His invincibility, your shield. In his shadow, you were safe from all but him. And you never wanted to be safe from him – as foolish as you recognized that sentiment to be. Water dripped from your fingers as you reached for him, gingerly tracing the inky markings on his face. You ran a delicate fingertip along the line of his jaw, traced his cheekbones with your thumbs, followed those symbols line for line until you could draw them with your eyes closed. When your fingers journeyed lower exploring those same markings on his chest, he tipped his head back, relishing in the sensation.

You remembered the blonde whose hands had brushed past these same markings and your stomach burned with a nauseating, possessive ire. You wanted to purge her touch from his skin, wanted to burn her very image from the scroll of existence until nothing remained but a scorch mark. You leaned in closer to him, replacing your fingers with your lips, and trailed mindless kisses along those symbols, and then, growing bolder still, traced them with your tongue. When a wordless murmur of appreciation spilled past Sukuna’s parted lips, you glowed with pride.

“On your knees, goddess.” Sukuna growled, overcome with desire. What little patience he had, decidedly spent.

You acquiesced, sinking to your knees, the water just above your elbow. He opened his eyes, taking you in, the goddess kneeling in the water before him, water dripping from your hair, disappearing between your breasts. The way your eyes were caught on his shaft, the head of it just peeking out from the water’s surface.

“Well?” he began, seeing your hesitation - that ever present mocking tone painfully apparent. “Should I call in someone else?”

Your eyes snapped towards him, irritated, and he grinned in the face of your upset. You lifted a hand to his member and wrapped your fingers around it - frowning because of course your fingers didn’t close around it - and pleasing him with your mouth, as he was clearly expecting you to, would be a herculean effort. You could see, even without looking at him, that challenging grin on his face and the malicious spark in his eyes.

You alleviated his boredom, he had said, but the thing was – you liked surprising him. You reveled in the expression he made when you defied expectations. When you jumped headfirst into whatever he expected you to balk at. And ever since he had broken you so thoroughly on that table months ago, you no longer feared pain – you feared only abandonment, being discarded as a pawn that had outlived its use by the only one that could seal every split and crack within you with nothing more than his dark aura. The one who could fill you so thoroughly with himself, with his cursed energy, that you thought you might forget having ever felt empty.

The lives of the world were forfeit, their villages were forfeit - all that mattered was staying by his side, drunk on his power, for as long as you were able.

You bowed your head beneath the water and held your breath as you licked up the underside of his shaft, slowing as you reached the bulbous head and broke through the water’s surface. You traced the tip of your tongue along its slit. Sukuna hissed and his head tipped back once more. His muscles tensed, and this time, it was your turn to grin. Using both hands, you cupped his shaft again, and closed your mouth around the head of his cock. Your jaw immediately ached at being stretched so wide but the grunted curse that echoed throughout the bath chamber spurred you on. Water dripped from your face, and you knew you would have to time your breathing precisely to survive this encounter.

Your hands ran along his length with your movements as your head bobbed up and down. Up – you inhaled through your nose, swirled your tongue around the head, twisted your hands, and breathed. Down – your ears filled with water, you exhaled, took him in as deep as you could, and squeezed the remaining length of his shaft between your hands. Again. Again. Again. The guttural sounds that fell unguarded from those proud lips hummed right through you like the most potent drug, driving you to continue. You were feeling quite skilled and proud of yourself, you could do this – you could have him helpless beneath your ministrations.

And then one of his hands gripped the back of your head.

Panic was the first thing that shot through you. Sukuna, in the throes of his lust, would not care if you could breathe. A second hand fell on your shoulder, and you opened your mouth to remind him that you were human, that you were breakable, that you could die – but not fast enough. One moment you saw him, his head still tipped back, two arms resting on either side of him as the other two held you firm, and the next – nothing but water as that impossible length thrust into your mouth, straight towards your throat. You gagged underwater and thrashed, trying to free yourself, if only for a moment, to breathe, to try again with warning, but Sukuna had no cares for your distress. He was concerned only with his own release and if he registered your existence at all, then only as a means to an end.

He attempted again and again, to penetrate the narrow canal of your throat, each thrust only worsening the sensation, your body rebelling against such abuse. Water splashed everywhere as you writhed, desperate for a breath of air, but by the third thrust your throat gave way with an awful popping sound, dulled by the pressure of the water against your ears. The awful penetration was intense, it hurt so terribly that your core tightened in false anticipation of the pleasure that usually followed on the heels of pain.

You struggled to regain some semblance of calm, knowing only a level head would help you hold out long enough to breathe again. But each time he thrust into your throat, your body convulsed in protest, and your lungs burned for air. He pushed your head down with more force as he approached his release, his hips bucking as he drove more forcefully into you, not noticing as your thrashing slowed, your strength ebbing.

You dimly felt his release, as if from beyond a veil. You heard a growl of pleasure, loud enough to shake the walls, loud even through the water. You felt the way his shaft twitched as copious amounts of thick, bitter fluid gushed down your throat. You registered distantly the way it continued pulsing against the walls of your throat even in the aftershocks of his pleasure. And then you felt nothing at all. Not even a sense of relief when his cock finally pulled free from your lips.

Sukuna exhaled, a breathy sound of relief, slow and drawn out – rough around the edges. He dragged a hand through his hair as the world came back into focus. The cool air of the chamber in contrast to the dizzying warmth of the bath, steam still rising, made him acutely aware of each droplet of water where it clung to his skin. He felt alive, powerful, every inch of him thrumming with an energy he only knew when he gave in to his baser urges with you.

You.

Sukuna cocked his head to the side as he took in the sight of you, your wet hair clinging to the skin of your back as you floated, face down, in the bath before him. He frowned. You were not weak. He knew that. Or else, how could you dare to tempt him, knowing you were not a fitting receptacle for his lust – knowing the most fleeting of touches was enough to cost you your feeble life?

You approached him readily, spread your legs for him willingly, and only rarely begged for your life in the face of certain death – uncertain if your climax or the reaper would reach you first.

“Tch.” The sound left his lips unwillingly. He wasn’t ready to let you go yet. You had been the first of his harem, and he was ever expanding it, hoping to find another like you. But there didn’t seem to be another temptress like you on the face of this wretched earth, one who craved him above all else. Above any mortal bonds, misguided virtues, or sense of identity or dignity. You clung to him like he was your salvation – and not your destruction. Your desperation amused him. Everything about you did, and he was not ready to go back to being bored again.

He buried his long fingers into your thick hair, black, sharp fingernails scraping against your scalp as he pulled you out of the water, towards himself. You were alive, albeit barely. And his clear, sanguine gaze roamed the length of you. He was ancient, and he had seen nearly everything there was to see in his centuries of existence. If he didn’t crave the sensation of blood on his skin with a maddening intensity as he did, the mortals might have considered him a god. As it was, he liked the insides of people better than their outsides.

You were a rare exception, he mused as he dragged a pointed, black talon upwards along your skin, past your hipbones, up your navel, along the curve of your swollen breasts, teasing along your collarbones, before drawing to a stop at the prominent veins running down the column of your lovely throat – all the more appealing to his eyes for its fragility. Like glass so thin it might crack with a breath. If your skin tensing beneath his touch was not proof enough, the pulse beneath his finger confirmed – you were alive, still.

Good.

He was far from done with you.

He flipped your positions with no regard to your unconscious state. Your upper body sprawled along the marble tiles, water dripping from you and pooling beneath you as he positioned himself between your legs. Two powerful arms braced on either side of your immobile form as one of his hands gripped your hips, lifting you to meet him as the fourth hand spread your legs for him.

You would have enjoyed this, he thought, if you were awake.

The head of his cock, alert and ready for a second round, prodded at your entrance. Sukuna’s ruby eyes were fixed on your expression, waiting for the moment you jerked back to life. Would it be with a scream of agony or ecstasy? The not knowing was as delicious as the anticipation. He knew he could bring you back from either.

His second cock sprang to life, rubbing against your slit and brushing against your clit as the first member made its way inside you with slow, lazy thrusts. He released your hip and placed a hand against your back, his spread fingers mirroring the bones of your ribcage. He could crush it beneath his hand as easily as he had the head of that shrew who had mouthed off against you. Ruining the moment that had been weeks in planning.

How he had wanted to drag you before him. To see the jealousy in your eyes as he adorned himself with meaningless whores. He had wanted to fuck them in front of you until you begged him to stop – or to take you instead – or to… what? He didn’t know, but he would have eaten up your response regardless. You were terrified of him, he knew, but instead of running from him, you ran towards him.

He ran his tongue along his teeth, hungry for you again. He was beginning to realize it was a hunger that could never be sated. A hunger that might be turned against him if anyone caught on. If you commanded anything more than his passing interest, would you be considered his weakness?

He remembered the feel of the blue harlot’s skull imploding beneath his fingers. Blood gushing to the floor, shards of her skull cutting at his hand, only for the scrapes to be healed immediately by his cursed energy. And between the dripping blood, your eyes meeting his evenly, boldly, unafraid of the sudden display of violence.

Were you his weakness?

The thought prompted something akin to anger within him. He had no weaknesses. With a violent thrust, he sheathed himself within you. Halfway inside you, the head of his cock barred by the end of your velvet core, Sukuna was met with a burning need for more. To prove to himself, to you, to anyone who would dare to surmise otherwise – that you were nothing.

The shaft of his second cock rubbed against your clit, as it slid up and down your belly, the head of his member nestling between your breasts – caged between them and the cool, wet marble beneath you. With each thrust, it slipped up and down between your mounds, heightening Sukuna’s pleasure. The first member pounded into you with abandon, sledgehammering into your body, your unconscious body slamming against the marble with each reckless thrust.

Your eyes flew open in shock as a violent cough consumed you, expelling the water from your lungs. The burning sensation between your legs and a fiery agony in your core confirmed, you were up to your throat in Sukuna’s cock. Drowning in him in an entirely different way. You tried to brace yourself against the marble and lift your body, but Sukuna’s callous hand against your back crushed you back down to the ground ruthlessly, the marble cracking beneath you – or was that just your ribs?

There was pleasure too, ungodly pleasure through the pain. The kind you relished. You groaned despite yourself. Sure, you had nearly died only moments ago. But that was moments ago - almost an eternity ago already. Now you were being crushed beneath him, beneath his gaze, beneath his ministrations.

You turned your head to the side, the only freedom of movement you were allowed and met his eyes. You were reminded of that day so long ago, when he had taken you in your own temple, against a table not quite so hard as the marble beneath you. The way he had met your eyes with a curious gaze then.

This was different.

There was a burning fury in his eyes. A demonic possessiveness. As if the devil had been taken by the devil. He seemed intent to burrow his way straight through you. To prove something to someone, likely himself. Did he want your body, your blood, or both?

How badly you wanted to give whatever it was he would ask of you.

Your lips fell apart and nothing but short, breathy gasps fled your mouth each time he rolled his hips and plowed into you, his grip on your back for purchase, as another held onto your leg still, opening you wide for him as he thrust deeper into you, turn for turn.

A feral growl burned from his chest as the messy, slapping noise of skin against skin echoed through the chamber, water splashing over both of you.

There was an end to your cavern, but Sukuna did not seem to care. His pleasure took precedence over your anatomy, he pounded against your cervix, not caring when your body shook violently with pain, except to pin you more firmly in place.

How your brain was capable of processing such torturous pain at the same time as the heights of pleasure, you did not know. Your mind was a foggy place filled with nothing but the steam of the chamber, the water growing even hotter with the energy rolling off of him in waves and the scent of him, the feel of him, all around you. This would be a good way to go, a dark voice whispered within you.

That second cock pulsing between your breasts, rubbing against your clit again and again in time with the violation of his thick, thick shaft within you was an unholy combination that teased you higher and higher, until you cared not for the pain, for the trembling of your rebellious body. It didn’t understand - the pain was worth it, it was delicious.

The syllables of his name burst from your lips in small, delicious, agonized gasps, as the heat coiling within you tightened further and further into a madness only his brutality could release you from.

You fell from the precipice, shattering around his monstrous cock, at the very same moment that he penetrated your cervix.

Whether it was a scream of climax or of agony, you could not say. It started as one and devolved very quickly into another. But Sukuna was far from satisfied.

Even before your climax had truly ended, the agony tore through you. Tears pooled and streamed from your cheeks in mere moments. The pain was too much. You were too weak. You whimpered miserably. Hot tears mingling with the cool droplets of water that had dripped to the marble.

“Now, now…” Sukuna purred, his mask of mockery not firmly in place through his brutal anger, “don’t give up so soon.”

You sucked in a pained breath as Sukuna slid out of your womb only to bite down on your tongue, muffling a pained scream as he slammed back into that inviolable part of you.

He lifted your face from the marble, drool and tears falling from your face, contorted in pain. “Didn’t you say you were my whore?” he tutted. “What use is a whore if I can’t even fuck you properly?”

There was rage you could not place. Why was he so angry? Had he been holding back all this time? Was this what Sukuna was like when he gave in to his urges? Was this what he needed of you?

“What was it you wanted again?” he growled into your ear. “Identity?” The playful mask was more firmly in place now, concealing the fury that still thrummed beneath the surface.

“Is it worth this?” You felt his tip brush the opposite wall of your womb and bit down on a whimpering sob.

“Aw,” Sukuna mocked, slowing. “Do you want me to stop?”

You knew, without knowing how, that he would kill you if you agreed. This was some sort of twisted ultimate test. A game he was playing with himself, to find out what you were worth.

You’d be damned if you were going to lose.

You were losing sensation in your legs, your ribcage burned – there was definitely something broken – and your throat burned still from his earlier abuse, but you had a fire of your own within you that refused to cool. A blaze that sometimes wanted to swallow the world and spit out the ashes. You’d been raised a goddess, abandoned as an appeasement, and twisted into a slave and a whore. No pain of the body could compare.

There was nothing you couldn’t take.

“Why?” you seethed, your eyes meeting his with the combined, burning resolve of the Furies of legend, a growl of your own building in your throat, “getting tired?”

He did pause, then, his wrath giving way – however briefly – to surprise. He stilled, his lips curved into a smirk, and then his shoulders shook as he tipped his head back with laughter. It echoed against the walls and fell, cruelly metallic, back to your ears.

“That’s the spirit!” he barked, finally, and using his grip on your hair as an anchor pummeled into you. With even less regard for your well-being, he clearly had every intent of impaling you on his cock – in the literal sense of the word.

A slit on his abdomen teased open, a smirk playing against your posterior, that long, thick tongue you had become very familiar with teasing between the mounds of your backside, seeking out the puckered entrance beyond. One of Sukuna’s hands drew back to clap against the smooth skin and the resounding sting seemed to spread upwards and through you. But it was so tame in comparison to the pain of your insides being rearranged, that it was almost a sensation of relief.

His tongue prodded at your anus and penetrated the tight ring of muscle with something like a laugh as the wet, thick muscle, slid along the tight walls within you, sliding deeper than should have been possible, in and out, further and further along with each poking thrust, wriggling deeper inside of you, tasting every inch of you.

You were completely out of your mind. With the one cock pleasuring itself between your breasts, the tongue inside of your intestines, and the second cock stretching the walls of your womb to their outer limits – it was a wonder you were still conscious at all.

Your tongue lolled out of your mouth and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He was everything, he was everywhere, there was nothing and no one but him. He could have you, he could consume you, he could kill you and keep your corpse to fuck as he pleased. There was nothing he could ask of you that you would not give. They had been lying to you all along, you knew, the Great Evil was your purpose, not to vanquish, but to be consumed completely by it. No heaven could compare, the goddess Terraria be damned. She would have gotten on all fours for him, too, if she could – begging for the favor of his cock.

But she couldn’t, because he had chosen you and you alone.

And then he tore through the walls of your womb.

There was a scream so loud it hurt your ears. You wanted to ask for it to stop but couldn’t work your mouth to form the words – and then you realized you were the one screaming. The anguish was like nothing, the delirium of the pain was addling your brain. You wondered if you were dying.

Sukuna did not stop.

Your scalp burned from him dragging you up by the hair without pause. Your leg ached as he arched it up and used it to anchor himself as he pumped deeper and deeper into you. How you had the presence of mind to register either of those sensations was a wonder to you.

Your scream was never-ending, the need for breath was secondary. Sukuna laughed, loving the sound of your agony. He bent low to kiss the throat that bled such a beautiful, awful sound and then he bit into your flesh, eyes gleaming at the scarlet ambrosia that spilled from your lovely veins.

He tore into you, pain upon pain. Through your stomach, up your esophagus – and now you could truly feel him in your throat.

And then he came with a shudder, a groan of release reached your ears, soft and intimate and lovely. You felt his release everywhere – or rather you no longer knew where one part of you ended and another began. So attuned to his sensations, his desires, his lust as you were, you too, climaxed through the pain, tremors running through your body as he let you drop back onto the cold tiles. You were in heaven and hell at the same time. It was so like Sukuna to take you there.

You opened your eyes blearily and recognized that the marble had indeed cracked. Just like your ribs. A cough tore through you, pain intensified exponentially by your ravaged insides and when you spit up the blockage, your eyes focused enough to recognize – blood and cum.

When he finally pulled out of you, the one thing stemming your bleeding was torn mercilessly away and blood gushed forth from you with abandon. Blackness tinged the edges of your vision almost immediately at such sudden loss of blood, as your body registered how thoroughly it had been wrecked. Sukuna’s second member, still pulsing, pulled away from between your breasts and the tongue that had been nestled inside your intestines also slipped back out, disappearing inside Sukuna’s abdomen once more. He took hold of you, almost gently, by your shoulders, and turned the two of you back around until you were draped limply over his chest as he leaned back against the cracked marble. He curled your wet hair around his fingers thoughtfully, as the thumb of another hand stroked your shoulder almost comfortingly. You noted dimly that you had been right, this was a good way to go. His eyes fell to yours, meeting your gaze with an intensity you had not thought possible.

When his eyes roamed over you and stopped between your legs, you followed his gaze. It was so much more blood than you had realized. The minty green water was spoiled almost all the way through with coils of thick, red blood. Enough to dye almost the entire bath. There was nothing beautiful left of this bath chamber.

“Why not ask me to stop?” Sukuna murmured, so quietly you only heard it because of how close his lips were to your ear.

You swallowed thickly. You were tired. Tired, physically, of course, but also tired of the lies that had built up your entire life. Sukuna had been the only truth in your life – a brutal, cruel, ruthless truth. But a truth, nonetheless. Was it so strange that you would rather be a true whore than a false goddess? Maybe your sense of gratitude towards him was foolish and mistaken, but it was there.

“I didn’t want you to.” You admitted, your voice almost lost with your fading consciousness.

Sukuna was silent a moment, stroking your hair away from your forehead as your eyes fluttered closed, listening to his heartbeat as your own faded away.

“Do you still want it?” he muttered, almost hesitating despite himself. That his hesitation was for your sake went completely over your head. With great difficulty, you opened your eyes one last time in confusion. “Identity?” he added, a frown on his beautiful, proud lips, the black markings on his face smooth as the plane of his forehead as he regarded you distantly, making a decision you could not possibly weigh. “I won’t take it back even if you beg.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but your body lacked the resources to bring them to life. Instead, you nodded with what strength you had left. You would always want identity - a true identity - given by none other than Sukuna himself.

Then your eyes closed for a final time as an exhausted breath fell silently from your lips. Sukuna watched you quietly a moment longer, considering your request. A lock of pink hair fell over his forehead as he ran a hand up and down your lifeless arm.

You did not know what you were asking for, but he did. It would be cruel of him, selfish. He paused in a moment of uncharacteristic, unprecedented mercy. But when did he deny himself something he wanted?

Mind made up, he lifted a hand and poised a black fingertip over your chest, beneath which your heart lay hidden, resting at last. All concern for your eventual regret dismissed, Sukuna dragged the sharp talon over your skin, splitting the flesh and revealing the life-giving organ beneath. Why not bind you to his side for all eternity? It was what he wanted and what he wanted was all that mattered.

He cut open your heart, revealing the chambers of the muscle in their final twitches of life. A black smirk twisted his features. Why not? Why not treat himself? Why not enslave you?

He curled the fingers of his hand into a fist, piercing the palm of his own hand until he drew blood. He opened his fist and watched with eager greed as the inky blood that had pooled in his palm dripped down into your open heart.

It took only moments for his cursed energy to do its work. It swirled around you, sealing your heart back shut with a snap, sewing your skin together above it until not even a blemish remained. Your back arched as your heart pumped Sukuna’s blood through you, tainting your own. Your very body raised off of him slightly, lifted upwards by the dark energy coursing through you, healing every wound and injury throughout your ruined body.

The flow of blood that had been spilling out between your legs ceaselessly, stopped abruptly, and the red and green water dissolved into nothing but an inky black surrounding the two of you. Sukuna’s smirk gave way to an unapologetic grin as he watched you change before his eyes, beneath his hands – entirely his. Unbreakable now.

With a gasp, your eyes flew open as a different kind of pain surged through you – a pain akin to anger at its very extremes. Light shone from your form, intermingling with the darkness, burning through your skin. An anguished groan left your lips as you fought the foreign influence, but it was fast, it was powerful. It was Sukuna himself inside you – although in an entirely different way.

And because it was Sukuna, you let him have you. You let him flow through every inch of your being and embraced him – alive, elated, enlightened. It wasn’t unlike a climax to have him delve so intimately into your being, settling into your very nerves, your pores, between your cells. You were alight with him and it was euphoria like nothing you had ever known.

When the delicious torment had finished coursing through you, leaving nothing but the tantalizing tendrils of his being lingering just beneath your skin. You were suddenly awake like you had never been before. Awareness flooded you, of the birds beyond the bath chamber, the water dripping onto the tiling, and Sukuna’s heart thudding darkly, so close to you. You turned on him – suddenly ravenous for him. Needing ever more of him to replace the cursed energy that had stopped coursing through you with such intensity. You wanted him to give you more, to consume you or let you consume him – you weren’t sure which.

You straddled his hips and pinned him against the marble at his back – suddenly stronger than you had ever been – and pressed your mouth to his, with a hunger like nothing earthly. Still, there was an anger within you, just beneath the surface, like a living being, waiting to be provoked to life. His anger, you realized. It was the rage you glimpsed every now and then between his mocking smiles and punishing caresses. An emotion that always lived with him – one you now shared.

You groaned into his mouth, running your tongue along his teeth, biting at his lip, teasing his tongue with your own – coaxing him to fight back, to battle with you, to play with you. But he merely leaned back with a smirk, enjoying your little rush of need. He kissed you back leisurely, slowing down when you needed speed, and gentling his touch when you craved wild, reckless abandon. The damned contrarian. He was doing it just to upset you, you knew.

A growl built in your throat, and he heard it, his grin widening.

“Well, would you look at that?” he muttered, the surprise in his voice causing your eyes to open as well. His expression gave you pause, stemming the raging need within you.

Something was wrong.

You didn’t know what he was seeing, but the look in his eyes scared you, more than anything you had experienced since you had come to know him. It made you feel like you had made an awful, irreversible mistake. It made you want to tear the skin from your face without quite knowing why.

“Looks like there was something of the divine in you after all, goddess.” There was a mocking tone to his low voice, his hushed murmur intimate and forbidden. His breath against your ear sent an icy shiver racing down your spine. His cruel intonation, just the way his voice sounded when he was testing the limits of your capacity for pain, heightened your sense of alarm. Something was terribly, terribly wrong and Sukuna sounded as if it was not at all a surprise to him. You whirled towards the water trying to see a glimpse of your reflection in its inky black, trying to see what he had seen. You held your breath, waiting for the ripples to settle, waiting in horrified anticipation.

And there it was. Whatever he had done to you had changed you. There were black markings on your face, not unlike his own, if somewhat more delicate in appearance, across your collarbones and wrists as well, the design of which cut off abruptly here and there. Your hair and your eyes, too, had gone an inky black, not unlike the water the two of you were submerged in. But interlaced through the black locks were strands of white, stark in contrast – and almost cruel to look at. Just like your left iris, which seemed to have been cut through a third of the way with white, leaving that eye half-black, half-white.

You did not need Sukuna to tell you what it meant. He had turned you into something demonic with his cursed energy, but it had not been able to take over completely because somewhere within you, unbeknownst to you, the power of the goddess had slumbered.

The temple had not been lying to you.

Your world turned on its head as you struggled to come to grips with the meaning of this awful realization.

Sukuna’s hands curled along your waist to meet at your midsection. You saw in the water’s reflection the way he watched over your shoulder as your hands dragged down your face in abject horror. Ever a grin on his lips at your torment.

“You knew this?” you gasped in disbelief. Had he not been the one to disillusion you? To tell you that you were no more than a woman?

Sukuna bent his head to nip at the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Have I ever pretended otherwise, goddess?” he teased against your skin.

The nickname was jarring, and you suddenly realized why he had never given it up. He had known all along what you were. And perhaps destroying your belief in yourself, was how he had broken you down in the first place, defeating you with barely any effort at all. Had you truly attempted to fight him after he dispelled your divine barrier or had that simply been enough for you to concede defeat, convinced you that you were in the wrong place, fighting someone else’s battle?

Now here you were, in the arms of the very one generations of worshippers had prayed for you to defeat, tainted entirely with his blood, his energy. Already, he was parting your legs again, ready to partake of you, liking you even more in this tainted state.

You tipped your head back against his shoulder despite yourself, still wanting him, despite everything. Still willing to give yourself over to the evil that you had been cautioned against your entire life. “Am I a goddess, Sukuna?” you whimpered, the vaulted ceiling above you blurred as tears pooled in your eyes.

His fingers found the apex of your thighs, fully healed now.

“Not anymore,” he laughed cruelly, and you felt your heart breaking into pieces. His fingers slid along your slit, pleased to have been gifted a blank, uninjured slate.

“Then, what - ?” Tears spilled over your cheeks but the question died on your lips as his fingers found their way inside you. Your eyes slid shut and a breathy moan echoed throughout the chamber as your back arched in pleasure. Whatever he had done to you had heightened your sensations exponentially, as your body responded to him in a way that was wholly unnatural, as if every inch of your being was poised in limbo, waiting perpetually for his touch, waiting to submit to him always.

“Mine,” was the answer growled into your ear. The reverberations burned into you through his chest, his voice vibrating through your ear, down your exposed throat.

And then he took you as if that was the only thing that was true, the only thing that mattered.

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Power.

It spilled out of you, from your very fingertips. Part Sukuna and part something that was entirely your own. Something had broken within you. You saw now, the pieces that made up your being. The divinity, the curse – and the broken woman between the two. All of those were you.

When Sukuna re-entered his harem, with you at his side, a hushed silence fell over the assembled. You had no patience for the harlots before you. Too many of them, no different from the girl in blue who had learned her lesson too late. They, all of them, had made eyes at Sukuna and worse – plotted to have you removed from his side. Sidling up to him coyly as you had seen. They didn’t know about the undying rage within you, how you waited for it to be provoked, to justify a lashing out of power, to give reason to the destruction you longed to unleash.

You saw her one moment, a lovely blonde – the same whose fingers had traced the markings on Sukuna’s chest - whispering something to another behind her hand, her eyes on you. The next moment, the candlelight flickered, and a scream tore through her as the ground at her feet softened, drawing her in. Horror filled her eyes as she struggled to make sense of her predicament. Some eyes amongst the gathering flicked towards you, piecing two and two together.

You made it slow; it was more satisfying that way. She sunk down to her knees, clawing at the flagstones around her, begging for help, but her friends only staggered backward, terrified to be the next to face your ire. She was up to her neck before she turned her helpless gaze toward you, begging for mercy.

But you weren’t feeling merciful.

You did not even glance at Sukuna as the rest of them turned towards you, unsure where to place you, struggling to make sense of the changed hierarchy. But it had changed, and you were feeling charitable enough to educate them on it.

Darkness seemed to gather wherever you focused your anger, your power. And the cursed spirit that was looking at you in disbelief was next. Lest the fools think only mortals were under your thumb.

Not being human, he caught on a bit quicker, and almost immediately began begging for his life. His gaze caught between Sukuna’s mirth and your wrath. Burying him alive would be boring – you had already done that once. What if you crushed him as Sukuna had done? You wondered what that would feel like. You concentrated the air around him, formed it into a solid, invisible cage, and shrunk it bit by bit. You watched the agony contort his face, watched his body shrink in turn, until blood spilled from the split skin of his crushed form – until his bones broke; until there was nothing left to hurt. His screams had abated, and that was the end.

Tch.

You searched for your next target and found that everyone in the room had gone silent and had fallen to the floor, prostrating to you. You frowned and turned to Sukuna, suddenly understanding his awful, murderous boredom. There seemed to be nothing worse.

There was a broken, bitter part of you that mourned your lost mortality, your lost divinity. A part that only found relief when someone else was screaming. Sukuna would understand, and he did. It was ín the subtle inclination of his head, the smirk that teased his lips. His scarlet irises were pleased. He seemed so taken with you that you found it hard to care for the parts of yourself you had lost.

He nodded towards the plateau before you, upon which sat a throne that seemed to have been built into the very ground itself, large enough for two to sit comfortably side by side. It was overlaid with gold, but you suspected stone or iron lingered beneath that. It was the only explanation you could come up with for the formidable seat. High-backed and elegant, intricate designs were fashioned into the metal, inlaid with rubies and diamonds, and cushioned with embroidered red velvet. It was the throne he had sat upon when demanding you service others, but that memory felt centuries old. Distant, irrelevant.

This was the largest kingdom Sukuna had conquered to date and the throne room represented that accurately with its luxury. The palatial chamber was built in such a way as to carry the voice of whoever sat on that throne to every corner of the court. Structured so that wherever you stood, you faced the central figure perched upon that seat of power. The fool who had ruled here had seen to that, assuring that no one dared to turn their backs on him, assuring that he had all present in his view from his elevated seat of power. Perhaps, it was justified in a sense. This kingdom was a hub of trade and wealthy in resources. Not only that – it was located central to the neighboring kingdoms, strategically situated for negotiation, attack, or defense, but Sukuna cared little for that. A throne was no better than chains to him.

Sukuna glanced over his shoulder at the assembly and the bloodlust glinting in his ruby irises was a warning enough to have them scrambling to clear the room. A command they read clearly.

Cowards. Bloodlust of your own still itched in your fingertips, and you longed to see what havoc you could wreak.

The king of curses led you up the few steps to the throne, stopping just before it. He withdrew a hand from where it rested in the crook of his white robe and took hold of yours. Lifting it up to his mouth, he brushed his lips over your knuckles, an action that sent shivers up your spine.

“Rule over this rabble for me,” he commanded, tightening his grip on your hand. Your gaze slid, unbidden over the throne beside you. He wanted you to rule? You could not fathom if it was kindness, generosity, or another form of punishment you had yet to wrap your head around. His mouth was set determinedly, and his eyes peered at you with no hint of that malicious mirth that usually lined his lovely scarlet eyes. There was nothing but earnestness within them, join me, they seemed to say, be on my side. Do as I do.

You held his gaze a moment and understood. He had no interest in ruling, in holding court over his subjects, in negotiating trade and regulations. His only interests were on the battlefield and between your legs. Rule for him and leave him free to cleave through his enemies, their screams echoing in his ears – his own version of nirvana.

You envied him for a moment, suddenly taken with a bloodlust of your own. How you would like to be beside him, cutting down the legions as you had seen him do. Blood and screams thick in the air. Afterwards, you would sate your lust with him in your tents. Each of you ravenous and still drenched in blood. Grappling for dominance until he overpowered you and the two of had had your fill of each other. Bloody and content until you did it all again the next day.

You still weren’t certain how much of these new facets of your personality were your own and how much of it was the natural consequence of Sukuna’s blood within you. It would be too simple to assume it was all his influence and you held no accountability for the dark desires burning within you. In truth, you knew a part of you had enjoyed this even before he had changed you so markedly. You had always enjoyed the display of power that was his wrath on the battlefield. And when his eyes had met yours on your travels, when he had taken you with blood still on his hands – you shivered at the thought. You had enjoyed that even when you were human. Even when you were divine.

But it wasn’t a goddess or a slave he was asking you to be now. Not even a reward for his loyal minions. No, now he was asking something else entirely.

“A queen?” you said quietly, turning from the throne to your maker. “Is that the identity you would bestow upon me?”

He smirked and took hold of your shoulders soothing his thumbs over the tension in your muscles. “I’ve stayed here too long,” he muttered, changing the subject as his hands meandered down your form and untied the sash around your waist. He pushed your robe from your shoulders leisurely, offering no explanation for his actions. Queen or goddess – he could have you whenever he wanted you, however he wanted you. He turned you, entirely naked now, towards the throne and you followed in the direction his hands guided you, struggling to understand what he was after.

He maneuvered you onto the throne, on your knees, holding onto the high back of the solid seat as he positioned himself behind you, his lips at your ear. You felt wickedly exposed and out of place and so you sighed with relief when the frigid air at your back was replaced with his solid, heated form. You wanted to kiss him, but his hand snaked around your neck, taking hold of your chin as he turned your face away from him, giving him access to your throat instead. He nibbled at your ear and nipped his way down your throat as he freed himself from the confines of his trousers, ready to take you on the very throne he was giving you. He ran his hand along his members, and the two fused into one. The very sight of his impossible girth had your heart dropping into your stomach. You could never have taken that before he had turned you.

“Would you like that?” he asked, as he sunk into you slowly, inch for delectable inch, running his tongue along your pulse as he did so. “For them to call you a queen?”

You moaned in delirious ecstasy. You could never have enough of him. Your insides made way for him, welcoming him, needing him. He had changed the very essence of your being. You needed him the way you needed air and water – he could take you anywhere, any way at all, and you would thank him for it.

You arched your back and rocked against him impatiently, feeling him filling your core more completely, and could not help the whines of pleasure that spilled freely from your lips. Sukuna held the sides of the high-backed throne and crushed you between himself and the soft velvet, allowing you to fuck yourself on his cock with a desperation you would have taken care to conceal before. His canines buried themselves in your throat, prompting fresh blood to spill forth and he closed his mouth over the wound, drinking it down greedily.

He rolled his hips into you, his need as great as yours, prompting more needy whimpers from you. It was never enough with him.

With reckless abandon, the two of you found your own rhythm as you pushed against him, driving yourself to new heights. You could feel him within you, deeper than should have been possible, you could see him bulging through your skin, see exactly how deep he was, and you pressed a hand to your skin in awe as you felt him thrust into you with abandon. The head of his shaft was within your very ribcage, you noticed dimly, intoxicated with lust and pleasure. The kind of penetration that had killed you once, but your new body could take the pain. Your new body was made for him.

Gasping, panting, you fell from the heights of ecstasy, tumbling down headfirst through shockwaves of pleasure. When Sukuna suddenly, unexpectedly, pulled away from you. You had less than a moment to grieve the loss of content as he slipped out of you and took hold of your shoulder, turning you until you were sitting properly on the throne. You looked up at him, confused and still dizzy with pleasure. This was where he belonged, standing over you, all enigmatic lethal beauty, looking down on you like a god in judgment. His cock in his hand, his face flushed with lust and desire, intensity burning in eyes as red as your blood that dripped from his lips – the sight of him had your pulse singing in wanton need - and then he came.

His copious seed doused your form entirely. Warm, sticky fluid gushed over your face, over your chest and legs – all over the throne you sat on. Shock and humiliation set in as you tried to make sense of what had transpired. Sukuna braced himself, still, with one hand on the back of the throne as he leaned over you. His cock still dribbling ejaculate onto you. He panted, catching his breath, and then his expression broke into a grin as he took in the sight of you.

Like a cum-drowned mouse.

He took hold of your chin and kissed you on the lips with a tenderness that belied your current state. “No matter who calls you a queen, sweetheart…” he purred, lingering at your lips, heedless of the sticky, white liquid dripping from your chin. “Don’t forget that this is the throne you rule from.”

He leaned lazily over you, reaching down to retrieve the crown on the floor, one he had discarded since occupying the castle. One that had remained there, worthless because Sukuna had deemed it so, and placed it on your dripping head.

“Don’t forget that you are my whore.”

You glanced up at him, your eyes full of wonder despite yourself. He was cruel – and you loved him for it.

“I might forget anyway,” you replied boldly, not bothering to make an attempt at cleaning yourself up. He was clearly enjoying the sight.

His ruby eyes glinted with mirth and malice – a sentiment you recognized now. That sensation you also felt every now and then. Give me a reason, it seemed to say, give me the slightest excuse to unleash my rage on you.

It was tiring keeping it in all the time. You understood.

You crossed your legs paying no mind to the stickiness between them, one over the other, every bit the stature of a queen, even crowned in gold, and robed in his seed.

“You’ll have to come back and remind me.”

A true laugh, short and surprised, fell from Sukuna’s lips. “Oh, I will,” he promised, his grin evidence of how much he was enjoying you. “You can be sure of that.” Both a promise and a threat – and sweeter than any lover’s confession.

Heat pooled in your belly at his assurance, and then without so much as another word, he disappeared.

He was truly gone. He hated being kept indoors, he hated courtiers, and he hated his own clean hands. He needed to be tearing into something, you knew, and so you understood when he went back to war like a lion to his prey. You could not ask him to stay.

You washed yourself and cleaned the throne – and then you ruled.

You oversaw all matters of state that so bored Sukuna and made sure his kingdom flourished. You were determined to have his approval when he saw the progress his capital had made. There was pleasure in all affairs of government for you. You seemed to have a natural affinity towards it. You soon established a reputation as a ruler who was equal parts harsh and fair. You did not relish taking the last sheep of some poor farmer, and so the peasants tended to welcome your rule. The rich and powerful, however, were another story entirely. As were the miscreants who resorted to crime. You relished the moments when a fool came to challenge you. You delighted in all the different ways there were to take a head from a body.

But those challenges soon came to be few and far between as word spread quickly – the Queen of Curses was not to be toyed with. Any slight, real or imagined, was met with a quick and cruel response. Their caution drove you mad with the need for violence. What was the purpose of the power buzzing in your veins, if you had no one to eviscerate with it? More often than you cared to admit, you envied Sukuna’s freedom on the battlefield. What you wouldn’t do to feel someone’s pulse slowing beneath your palms, to feel their blood running between your fingers. If you did not have challengers and fools to punish, what were you to do with this craving for bloodshed?

When boredom became too much to bear, you brought people out of the dungeons to fight to the death in the courtyard square. 18 prisoners fought one another, and you promised the victor freedom. It was a brilliant sight. Your eyes lit up at their desperation, their cunning – their violence. It reminded you of your beloved.

And when the victor kneeled before you, to receive your royal pardon, all exhaustion and weariness – you killed him, of course. There was no lie. It was a freedom, of sorts.

And of course, it would not do for word to reach Sukuna of you pardoning prisoners. On the contrary, you hoped he would hear of your cruelty, of your violence. You hoped it would make him lust for you and bring him back home.

And sometimes, it did. When he heard tell in hushed tones of the Queen of Curses’ latest cruelty. Some horror beyond imagining meted out on whoever had been fool enough to offend her, he hungered for you with a passion that left a trail of broken women in his wake – and still his lust was not sated.

He would be haunted by the image of you, that once pure, innocent face of a goddess stained with blood and smirking in pleasure as you took some fool apart piece for piece. As you murdered and tortured and wanted more still, as you listened to screams the way he did – as songs of praise to your power. And the need to take you, to fill you, to wreck your body with the ravages of his lust drove him to impatience and distraction – and nothing in the world could keep him from you then.

You knew this, of course.

And every time you meted out punishment, crueler than the last, you hoped this was the one that would bring your cursed king home. Because even if all the world called you the queen of curses, you were never more content than when you were his whore.

#sukuna #tw dubcon #tw humiliation #tw degradation #dead dove do not eat #sukuna x reader

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atomic-crusader · 5 months

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Godzilla Minus One thoughts (SPOILERS)

TLDW: Godzilla Minus One is easily one of the all time best films in the franchise so far. While it isn't my personal favorite, it absolutely deserves the praise fans and critics seem to be giving it. Outside from some personal nitpicks, I'd say this entry is worthy of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the best.

10/10

THOUGHTS AND SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT!!! GO SEE IT!!!!!!

Boy does this movies come in swinging! Koichi setting up the main conflict of feeling like he is a coward (he's not, as the movie goes on to point out) and then the whiplash of GODZILLASAURUS

I know its just an unmutated Godzilla but HOLY FUCK the similarities are there and I love the design.

Personal nitpick #1: was hoping the movies would go more in depth with the origin of its Godzilla but the movies isn't really about what Godzilla is but rather what he does and represents to the story. As a result they don't really say what he is other than he is known to Odo Island's folklore. I like that, it gives him a mysterious vibe.

I gasped because I thought he ate a guy be then he yeeted him

Poor Koichi Can't Catch a Break the Movie

Noriko was great. It's clear she isn't used to being looked after and it shows.

Speaking of which, ALL the characters are wonderful. The Reiwa era looks like it is being defined by stronger human characters and stories and I am all here for that!

I'm actually surprised that the trailers (or at least the 2 I watched) didn't show to much Godzilla action. Or at least the final battle.

Godzilla REALLY has it out for folks in this movie. That lack of a clear origin helps actually. His attacks are sudden and brutal. He is REALLY visibly pissed off too.

SPEAKING OF BRUTAL HOLY FUCK!!! For as much damage Godzilla does to everyone, he gets FUCKED UP! Half his face blasted off! It's cool the see his regeneration ability realized in CG

Personal Nitpick #2: I do wish they had made Godzilla a more obviously tragic character. He is just as much a victim of war as he is a symbol of it. Again though, that isn't what this movie is about, and the ending does at least suggest a sequel isn't completely out of the question, so maybe we can still see why Godzilla decided that All Humans Are Bad.

His atomic breath is wild man. Creating mushroom clouds and massive creators is some nightmare fuel shit.

NORIKO NOOOOOOOOO :(

(dont worry she lives)

The plan to kill Godzilla was interesting. Explosive decompression is not really the first thing I would have thought up for a sea monster that brings up deep sea fish but the speed at which it happens is important.

KOICHI NOOOOOO (its okay he ejected)

Personal Nitpick #3:... I don't really like how they defeated Godzilla. I thought it was overkill. Like, yeah I get that Koichi needs to have is moment and all but blowing his head up I thought was a little much. and then he crumbles away? I guess he was frozen? Cool visual though. I imagine it was hell to convince Toho to have Godzilla die that way.

I heard Yamazaki was a big GMK fan, and the last scene really makes it obvious. I wonder if he isn't available for a sequel, Yamazaki would request Kaneko to direct...

Hey Noriko is alive!!!! Hey what's that on her neck? Why does it look like Godzilla's dorsal plate? Oh God Please Let Koichi Be Happy He Has Been Through Too Much.

The overall message of the movie is so goddamn moving, Live. That isn't a request, that's an order, a demand. Live, you should be happy to be alive. You may not think it, but people love you. People can forgive you. You don't deserve to die. Live and fight for the next generation so they don't make our mistakes. It is tough but you and people around you can make it better. You. Will. Live.

#godzilla #toho #kaiju #tokusatsu #godzilla minus one #godzilla minus one spoilers #review

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kallie-den · 3 months

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Hunting Hound Part Two

As Leinth's captivity continues, Handler's techniques erode her identity and push her to breaking point - and another visit from Sartha threatens to push her over the edge

A direct sequel to Hunting Hound

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Who are you?

“Leinth Aritimis, pilot.”

The question burns a hole in Leinth’s brain. She hears it, every single day, from Handler’s lips. It’s been like that ever since the escape. The doomed escape. Sartha Thrace - or Hound, Sartha’s other half - dragged her here, to a new cell, where she’s been kept ever since. Here, she is subject to Handler’s personal attentions. And each session begins and ends with the question.

Who are you?

“Leinth Aritimis, pilot.”

It’s an answer. The only one Leinth has to give. It’s not exactly wrong, but it’s not exactly right either. And it’s not the one Handler is looking for. Leinth can tell that much from Her expression. She’s tried giving other answers. She could pretend it’s to amuse herself, but really it’s because she’s hoping she’ll hit upon whatever answer Handler wants to hear. Once, Leinth even answered ‘hound’.

Handler didn’t like that. She made the measure of Her disapproval plain. She wants the truth. Only the truth. So Leinth gives it to Her. She’s not sure why. Handler’s approval shouldn’t matter to her. But it does.

Who are you?

“Leinth Aritimis, pilot.”

Leinth’s new cell is nicer, she supposes. Brighter. A touch more comfortable. She thinks it’s close to Handler’s quarters, but that’s just idle speculation. She’s given up on trying to make a mental map of this place. No point. She’s never getting out. She knows that now.

There’s also a mirror. They couldn’t have picked a worse torture device. What can Leinth do but spend hours staring at herself, letting her self-loathing ferment in her belly? The mirror asks the same question Handler does. Who is she? She doesn’t look much like a pilot anymore. Too skinny. Pilots always get the good rations and they always stay in good shape. Leinth just eats whatever they give her, and she doesn’t have the strength to exercise. She looks more like a corpse than a pilot.

Her eyes don’t help with that.

It’s tempting to break the mirror. That’s what Leinth knows she should do, if she still had the will. What stops her is knowing that Handler wants it here. Leinth can’t seem to bring herself to deny Her. Not anymore. It’s impossible even to imagine it. Like trying to imagine the sun moving backward across the sky.

Leinth has been down here too long. She knows that. Knowing doesn’t help.

Handler is more skilled than Her creepy, dog-hooded menials. Her personal attention is overwhelming. That’s like if the sun froze in the sky, and it was shining just for you. She touches the threads of Leinth’s mind as skillfully as a musician playing the strings of a harp, but She always leaves them fraying, twisted, undone. She takes - time, memories, moods. Whatever She wishes.

It doesn’t always hurt. But it is always torture, whether it’s drugs, electricity, lights, strange devices, or even just talking. When it does hurt, it’s not so bad. Leinth can give herself to the pain. It’s better than the gnawing guilt she feels when it doesn’t.

It’s never an interrogation, though. Leinth refuses to give up any secrets that would endanger her fellow rebels. That’s a barrier within herself she’s determined not to relinquish. Maybe the very last one. But Handler doesn’t ask, not about that. She asks about other things. Personal things.

When did Leinth first know she’s a woman? Who was her first crush? What was the first time her parents were ever disappointed in her? And it’s always so easy to tell Her. It always seems like a good idea in the moment. Like it’ll feel good. Like it’ll be a release.

It never is. It feels awful. Each time, Leinth is left feeling like she’s lost something. Like the memory she’s told belongs to Her now. Leinth is hollower for it. Less herself. Handler, by contrast, seems magnified by each secret shared. It’s like She’s feasting on them, as ridiculous as Leinth knows that is. But the impression persists. She can’t remember how much of herself she’s given away. What doesn’t Handler know about her, now? Is there anything? She must understand Leinth better than any other living soul could. The way only a god could.

But She keeps asking. Every time.

Who are you?

“Leinth Aritimis, pilot.”

At this point, what does it even mean for Leinth to call herself a pilot? That it’s her true self, somehow? Leinth wonders about that. If she could again sit in Genetor’s cockpit, if she could ride it to battle, would it fix her? Would she feel whole again?

Or would she throw up over the controls? That feels more likely. More true. Leinth may never be able to pilot Genetor again, but even if she could, it would be wrong. Sacrilegious. Genetor is a good thing. It does good. Leinth doesn’t. Not anymore. She’s unworthy of it. She always has been.

Because of Sartha. Because of Sartha Thrace.

If there’s one genuine kindness to being under Handler’s personal care, it’s that Sartha Thrace no longer comes to visit Leinth. Seeing her now would be unbearable. Thinking of her is unbearable; all Leinth can do is try to keep thoughts of her pressed against the far walls of her mind, there to scratch and itch as she lies down on the bunk to sleep.

Sartha Thrace is a hero. And Leinth ruined her.

Not just Leinth. But yes, her. She ruined Sartha with her praise and her wishes and her expectant, hopeful eyes. She knows this to be true. She feels it in her soul. Leinth has tried blaming Handler, a little. It doesn’t stick. Doesn’t have the same ring of dreadful truth to it. No; it was Leinth.

If only she’d just stopped and thought about how all that hero worship must have felt to Sartha. About what a burden it must have been to bear. Then, at least, Leinth would be innocent. But she never had. She’d always assumed Sartha could carry all that weight.

And why couldn’t she? Why couldn’t she just carry it? Isn’t that what heroes are for?

Leinth can’t blame Sartha, though. It’s her fault. She did this.

Those thoughts chase each other’s tails in Leinth’s head, round and round, over and over. Guilt and anger. They never settle. She can’t make peace with how she feels. There are, as they say, two wolves inside her.

That phrase seems so much more sinister now.

Leinth is grateful when the drugs they put in her food give her simple oblivion. But just as often they do the opposite. Especially lately. They’ve added something particularly obscene. Some kind of aphrodisiac. It’s potent. It leaves Leinth at odds with her own body, pent up, pacing her cell, filled with base urges that leave her disgusted with herself.

She can’t even blow off steam the way every soldier does when they have the barracks to themself. When she tries, there’s only one face that comes into her head. And Leinth would never forgive herself if she soiled her hero even more than she already has.

How long has that drug been in her food now? How long has she been down here? And how long until she knows the answer?

Who are you?

Leinth Aritimis? Pilot? It feels worse and more absurd every time she says it. It drools from Leinth’s lips, weary from overuse, becoming just a set of sounds she barely remembers how to say.

Lay-inth. Lee-inth. Ah-ree-ti-mis. How is it that Handler says it? She always speaks like She’s wielding a scalpel on Her tongue. Dividing up the syllables. Clipped. Precise. That’s Handler’s way. She knows. She always knows best.

Is that one of Leinth’s thoughts, or one She gave her? Does it still matter? It won’t for much longer.

Leinth is too smart not to know that she’s about to break into pieces.

A sound drags Leinth from the spiral of her own mind. Scraping. Metal on metal. The door opening.

Leinth looks up, and sees Sartha Thrace.

And she gags. It feels ten times worse than she’d guessed it would. Nausea. Blind panic. Fuck. The guilt swells like a tide. But the look on Sartha’s face isn’t accusatory. It’s worse than that. It’s apologetic.

At least now there are no pretenses between them. Not with that sick fucking muzzle on her face.

“Hey,” Sartha says.

What is Leinth supposed to say to that? What the fuck is she supposed to say to that? Absolutely no words could match what had passed between them the last time they saw each other, and so Leinth just sits there on her bunk, mouth open, staring stupidly, until finally she musters up enough of herself to say:

“Hey.”

Even her voice doesn’t sound like her own at this point.

Sartha seems to take that one little word for permission. She enters the cell. Doesn’t close the door behind herself. Doesn’t need to - she knows Leinth won’t run. She moves cautiously. Timidly, even. It doesn’t suit her. Sartha Thrace shouldn’t tiptoe around Leinth like a mouse in a lion’s den.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come to see you sooner,” the former hero says. “I wanted to. But She said… well, She thought it would be best.”

A line of thought presents itself for Leinth’s consideration. She could try to reason out why, exactly, Handler would want to keep them separated for a time. Figuring that out could help Leinth understand what Handler is doing to her. Understanding could help her resist. Mind games don’t work as well when you know the rules. At least, she hopes not. Leinth doesn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle, of course. But she could at least try to figure it out.

Leinth decides not to bother. She’s just too tired.

“She did, huh?” she says instead, voice heavy. “And why does She think it would be best to come talk to me now?”

“I asked to,” Sartha replies. “I’ve asked a few times. I wanted to make sure you were OK.”

Does she really believe it was her own idea? Pointless to ask. That delusion strikes Leinth as absurd, but less absurd than it might have at the start of her captivity. It’s impossible not to believe that, sometimes. Maybe Sartha’s even telling the truth - but as soon as that occurs to Leinth, another voice in her head tells her different.

She’s lying to you. Betraying you. That’s what she does, Leinth.

“That’s a little hard to believe,” Leinth says through gritted teeth. She adds, belatedly: “Traitor.”

Instantly she regrets the insult and her anger ebbs. She’s not even sure where it came from. It’s beneath her. No, she’s beneath it. And it’s her fault, isn’t it? She helped ruin Sartha Thrace. Leinth has no right to any righteous fury. The wounded look on Sartha’s face only adds to her guilt.

“I did,” Sartha promises, rising above the taunt. "I’ve been worried about you. I… know how it is, right now. I’ve been exactly where you are.”

“I doubt that,” Leinth mutters. It’s not the same. Handler’s made that clear. There is a terrifying specificity to the way She dismantles people.

Sartha isn’t to be dissuaded. “I want to help you, Leinth. A shoulder to cry on. Someone to vent to. Someone to… to take out your frustration on - anything.”

Leinth has trusted those words before. Sartha isn’t here to help. She’s part of something, and Leinth can’t let herself be drawn in. But that doesn’t make them any less enticing. How long has it been since she’s had company? Outside of Handler, anyway.

Not that She counts. The gulf between them is just too great.

Company sounds like salvation, but Sartha’s company? That would be like a mosquito biting her skin over and over. It’s too loaded. Leinth can feel it, even now. The cocktail of emotions she’s barely been able to keep repressed. Admiration, loathing, attraction, admiration, hurt, guilt. She’s never felt more on edge - not once, not even in the heart of combat. What’s Sartha doing to her?

“Can… I at least sit down?” Sartha ventures.

Leinth really doesn’t want her to. Having her here just feels wrong. Like she’s doing to get kicked again. But something keeps her from refusing. She doesn’t want to be alone either. And more importantly, perhaps, she knows Sartha’s presence is Handler’s will.

So, Leinth just gives her a stiff nod.

“Thanks.” Sartha’s still cautious and slow as she approaches. Moving that way is so wrong for her. As she perches on the other end of Leinth’s bunk, it’s almost like she’s afraid. “First of all, I wanted to say this, straight-up: it’s all going to be OK. This will all make sense soon.”

Leinth looks at her uneasily. “You said something like that the first time we met down here.”

“Yeah.” Sartha nods. “That was the worst part, for me. Not knowing. Not having any… any faith.” She smiles at Leinth. Tries to smile, anyway. “I thought you might need to hear that again, right about now.”

“Faith.” Leinth feels nauseous. Faith - Sartha is all but overflowing with it. There’s a light buried in her eyes, a light she can always see. It’s wrong. “Faith in Her.”

“Yes,” Sartha says hopefully. “In Her.”

Sartha’s voice trembles with awe as she says that. Leinth tries to pretend hers doesn’t too.

“She wants what’s best for us,” Sartha adds. “Maybe you can see that better now.”

Leinth just snorts. How can this be best for Sartha? It seems absurd. But she knows now, of course. What Sartha was going through before. When she was a hero. Leinth knows what all that did to her. So it doesn’t seem as crazy as it should.

But, this? How could this ever be better? Wanting to run is one thing. Wanting to betray everything you held dear and break your own psyche into two halves is another. Leinth will never, ever understand that.

At least, she hopes not.

“Just trust me, OK?” Sartha promises. “It’ll get easier. She says you’re doing very well.”

Leinth twitches. That’s not good.

“Fuck Her and fuck you,” she manages, although her heart isn’t in it. “She can waste her time with me forever. She’ll never get what she wants.”

The boast rings hollow to them both. Sartha doesn’t even look offended, just pitying. Leinth knows why.

This is passive resistance. Not active. She’s not fighting anymore. Not really. Just betting that whatever Handler’s rooting around in her head for isn’t actually there. She’s not denying that Handler can take her apart, brick by brick.

“It’s normal to be angry,” Sartha tells her. “You can be angry at Her, for now. She won’t mind. She’ll forgive you.”

Leinth just hates that a part of her brain lights up with relief at that. She tries to suppress that pleasure, to shove it back down in the dark where it belongs. She can’t. It’s hard. Too hard.

Why can’t she think? Why’s it so hard to just fucking think?

Sartha’s to blame, Leinth.

It’s Sartha’s fault. It’s like she’s doing something to Leinth just by being here. Being on edge doesn’t even begin to cover it. It’s deeper than that. Atavistic. Like being prey in the presence of a predator. Or… the opposite? Leinth’s not sure, she just knows it’s itching at her all over. She can feel Sartha in the air. On her skin. It’s consuming. Leinth has never been more aware of another human being before.

And there’s something else. Something weirder and worse.

Leinth is unbearably fucking horny.

It’s more distracting than it has any right to be. The arousal has been present for at least a dozen sleeps, since they started adding that aphrodisiac to Leinth’s food. It’s been a constant buzz that keeps her from finding any center or inner calm. But now it’s turned up to eleven. It’s thunder in Leinth’s veins.

And it’s all directed at Sartha.

Every stupid, embarrassing, idol-struck wet dream she’s ever had is now throbbing at the forefront of her brain. Leinth just has to avert her eyes and pray it isn’t showing. But it must be - she can feel herself sweating and drooling and tenting the coarse pants they gave her. Gods, it’s like being a teenage boy all over again. More intense though, and there’s something else. She can hear a heartbeat, pounding in her ears. It must be hers. But it feels like Sartha’s.

“Are you alright?” Sartha says. Out of the corner of her eye, Leinth can see concern on her face. It hurts.

She doesn’t deserve concern. She’s the one who ruined Sartha. She’s still doing it even now, in her mind’s eye. Leinth is the worst. The lowest it gets. She can feel control slipping out of her grasp. Like an animal in heat - but that would be a hundred times easier to deal with. You don’t blame an animal for being in heat.

“I’m fine,” Leinth grunts.

She’s not. She shifts a couple of inches down her bunk, hoping distance will help. It doesn’t. It just makes the yearning that much more intense. Sartha Thrace is right here, still within arm’s reach. Her warmth. Her skin. Her body. Fuck. It’s so damn hard not to think about it when Handler’s demonstration keeps flashing through her mind.

Her lips, yielding and kissing. Her mouth, open, wet, willing. The way she licked Handler’s boot like it was a lover. And, above all, the promise Handler made.

Why not enjoy her, if it pleases you? Many have.

Leinth reaches up and clutches at her head. Fuck. She’s so disgusting.

Suddenly, a memory forms. Not of Sartha. Of Handler. Leinth remembers being in the sweet embrace of Her tools and instruments, in some secret room of these sinister kennels. She remembers herself being opened and Handler pouring words into her, sweet as honey, bitter as cocoa. It’s the same voice she can hear even now, at the back of her own brain.

All of its words are about Sartha Thrace.

Before Leinth can fathom the meaning of that. Sartha catches her attention.

“There’s something else,” the hero says, with palpable reluctance. “I… wanted to apologize.”

Leinth might have laughed. “Apologize?” she chokes out.

What does Sartha have to apologize for? Much, of course. But not to Leinth. Those scales are tipped firmly and irrevocably the other way.

“Yeah,” Sartha says earnestly. “For what you saw that day. I’m sure it’s been weighing on you.”

Leinth’s hands have started shaking. It’s really bad. “Did She tell you to say that?”

“No,” Sartha replies, although there’s no knowing if that’s really true. Not even for her. “I swear. This is all me, Leinth. I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

“For what?” Leinth’s voice cracks.

“For laying all that on you.”

“You didn’t,” Leinth croaks. “She did.”

“That’s different,” Sartha shoots back quickly. She’s defensive of her mistress, of course. “She was just telling you the truth. That’s all. It was kind of Her, Leinth. You just don’t see that yet.”

Kind. Leinth’s hands shake worse. Listening to Sartha talk about this is so twisted. Her head is nothing but a seething mass of insane contradictions, and Leinth is fast losing the ability to sort them out as she hears them.

“I meant… in my head,” Sartha explains. “I put it on you by letting it get to me. My status. The way people looked at me. Shit like that. You shouldn’t have to feel bad about it.”

Leinth buries her face in her palms. No, no, no. This is so wrong. Sartha shouldn’t be apologizing. She’s a hero. She was a hero. Whatever.

“Everyone needs people to look up to.” Sartha’s still talking. Why won’t she just shut up and go away? “I sure as hell did in my day. Even if I never thought I’d become… well, it just comes with the territory, I guess. If you survive long enough. I should have known. I should have been ready.”

Leinth wants to stop her, but her blood is boiling and her tongue would loll stupidly out of her mouth if she tried to speak. Her passions are up and they leave no room for words. She just wants this torture to end. Compared to this, Handler truly is kind. Leinth just wants to be free of this feeling. This guilt. But even by listening, she’s making it worse. Why can’t she stop violating Sartha this way?

“I wish…” Sartha pauses, considers, corrects. “Part of me wishes I’d just been stronger. That it hadn’t come to this. Then I wouldn’t be such a disappointment to you. But it’s for the best. I met Her, and she saved me. Fixed me. Made me a hero again.”

That self-pity. It’s disgusting. As disgusting as Leinth is. A hero shouldn’t feel that. Speak that.

“You deserved better.” Sartha seems to settle on that thought. “You deserve a hero you could really look up to.”

And then it roars out of Leinth, furious as the report of Genetor’s guns.

Shut her up, Leinth.

“Just shut up already!” she screams, in a voice that barely remembers how to speak. It comes out raw and ragged. “Don’t you have any fucking pride?”

She’s on her feet, even though she doesn’t remember standing. She can look down at Sartha now. That feels good. It feels right.

“I ruined you!” Leinth screams. That confession is a balm for her soul. Letting it out, an unspeakable release. “I’m part of what broke you! But you can’t even be mad at me? Even now it’s out in the open? What’s wrong with you?”

Sartha doesn’t reply. She looks surprised, but not hurt. Not afraid. She’s serene. That pisses Leinth off even more.

Why isn’t she angry? If she was anything more than a broken mutt, she’d be angry.

“Why aren’t you angry?” she rages. It’s not right, Sartha’s strange tranquility. Sartha Thrace isn’t like that. Her Ancyor is a furious machine. Sartha Thrace always fought with an avenging anger in her heart, for anyone who ever hurt her comrades. “You’re a hero! Stand up for yourself. Stand up for something. Aren’t you tired of taking it all lying down? Me, Handler… fuck, if you’re a traitor, at least be a traitor. Not… not this!”

Still, no reply. Why not? Why won’t she talk? What’s she hiding? Leinth needs to see. She needs to see closer. She grosses the gap between them in a stride and grabs Sartha’s collar up in her fists. Hauling the broken woman to her feet is easy; maybe the anger is making Leinth strong. She puts her face close to Sartha’s, as close as that ridiculous muzzle permits. What’s with that anyway? Why won’t she just take it off?

“Look at me!” Leinth roars. She needs to see into those eyes. Sartha obeys, and for a long moment Leinth just stares and stares, searching for an answer. Searching for a feeling, for any feeling. For something real.

In Sartha’s eyes, she reads validation. Sartha is validated by Leinth’s anger.

That feels like an even greater betrayal. Leinth’s rage flares hotter still - but there’s something else, too. Being this close to Sartha is a mistake. Her scent is overpowering. Leinth can feel her heat under her hands. It’s too much. She was horny before, from the drugs; there’s no words for what she is now. It’s too much. It becomes all of her, flooding her senses and her limbs, flooding even her anger, becoming one with it. It’s all one feeling now, violent and restless.

“Did you…” Leinth growls. Words come hard and slow. She’s beyond them. “Did you ever really mean it? Did you ever really believe in something?”

Even Sartha looks a little shocked at the accusation behind her words. “Yes!” she cries. It’s a prayer. A hope. “I did - I do - I… I’m a hero. I’m a hero.”

She’s trying to make sense of herself. It’s useless, of course. She is only what Handler allows her to be. Handler’s the one to be angry at. But Leinth can’t imagine that anymore, and in any case, Handler isn’t here.

But Sartha is.

She’s lying to you, Leinth.

“Stop lying!” Leinth yells in her face. There’s no stopping the strange alchemy happening inside her as her feelings fold and merge. Something deep within her is being forged and dredged up. It defies reason and reality, but that doesn’t matter. It’s primal. Atavistic. “Stop… stop pretending! You lied to us! To all of us! How could you do that?”

“I didn’t-“

Make her pay.

Leinth just hits her.

Right in the gut. A hammer blow. Sartha is taken by surprise mid-breath and doubles over, gagging and choking. Only Leinth’s other hand, firm on her collar, keeps her on her feet. She looks like she’s in agony.

And it feels good.

Better than anything Leinth’s felt since she first came down here, that’s for sure. It’s a revelation. She’s never before thought about what a simple joy inflicting pain can be. It’s power, and power is so precious. It’s a tiny little release valve for what’s boiling inside her.

Leinth is no sadist, of course. Just the opposite. She’d never want to hurt anyone who deserves it. But Sartha does. She absolutely does. That feels too right to be wrong. Which means there’s nothing to stop Leinth from making Sartha as bruised outside as she feels inside.

She deserves it.

“You can-“ Sartha begins to choke out as she recovers.

“Stop talking!” Leinth snarls. She pulls close, overwhelmed with a craving for greater savagery. She means to bite; she can imagine her jaws clamping down, and skin breaking, and blood in her mouth.

Instead, she finds herself clawing the muzzle away from Sartha’s face and kissing her.

The kiss is no gentler than a bite. It’s ugly and messy. Leinth bites Sartha’s lip, hard, and invades her mouth with her tongue, claiming her, soiling her face with blood and drool. The kiss makes Leinth euphoric. It’s vindication. She can do this. She can cross this line with Sartha. And that means she wasn’t really such a hero after all.

Plus, Sartha Thrace is kissing her back.

Leinth lets her, for a moment, but then pulls back and shoves her to one side so hard she goes sprawling across the floor. She can’t let Sartha think this is a coupling of equals. It’s not. Sartha is nothing. A pretender. A traitor. A dog.

Sartha, perversely, looks up at Leinth with stars in her eyes. “You can hit me,” she pants, “if you want. She said that you could.”

Permission. What does that mean? It implies anticipation. Did Handler plan this? That should trouble Leinth, but she’s far, far too fixated on Sartha to devote any thought to it.

Sartha wants this. Whatever guilt Leinth made her feel has transformed into sheer masochism. That disgusts Leinth. The Sartha Thrace she once believed in would never have looked at anyone like that. She’s not disgusted by herself anymore, though.

She’s not like Sartha. She’s one of the good guys. That’s why she can do whatever she wants with a piece-of-shit liar like this.

Sartha looks Leinth up and down. Her eyes settle on the tell-tale mark of Leinth’s arousal. Those stars in her eyes don’t get any dimmer. “You can fuck me, too. I-if you want.”

Her eagerness is pathetic. Leinth wonders how she ever saw anything good or heroic in the brainwashed woman slumped on the ground before her.

But she’s willing. And Leinth is horny. That’s simple enough.

“That’s what you do for all of them,” Leinth growls as she advances on Sartha. “Isn’t it?”

“I… that’s…” Sartha struggles. She’s trying to make that agree with her sense of self. “W-when She wants me to… when they need…”

Leinth snorts. “Why am I even talking to you?” she spits. “You barely even know where you are. What side you’re fighting on. You’re nothing. Why did I ever think you were a hero? You’re just a warm body.”

“I ju-“

“Shut up!” Leinth snaps. “Get up.”

Sartha does what she’s told - or tries at least. That’s both intoxicating and aggravating. A hero shouldn’t - but Sartha isn’t a hero, Leinth knows that now, and it’s fucking hot that she does. It makes Leinth feel like she can do anything she wants. And she wants so much. It’s burning in her veins. Leinth feels powerful as Sartha fights to her feet, and she feels powerful as she decides she’s moving too slow. Leinth reaches down to haul her to her feet and toss her roughly onto her bunk.

“Take your fucking clothes off,” Leinth orders next. Even Sartha’s clothes piss her off, she’s realizing. It’s still her old rebel garb. “You don’t deserve to wear that.”

Once more, Sartha is too slow. When she fumbles a little with her jacket, Leinth intervenes and starts ripping it from her body, popping buttons and tearing fastenings. It’s as easy as tearing paper. Leinth has never felt so strong. And she doesn’t stop there; she makes her hands into claws, hooks them into Sartha’s vest, and pulls apart until the whole thing comes to pieces in her hands.

The sight of Sartha’s tits spilling out is a hot rush of pleasure and satisfaction. This is exactly the defiling that false idols deserve.

Leinth keeps going - not until Sartha is naked, just until she’s naked enough. Until Leinth has access to everything she wants.

But she takes a moment to reach down and fix the muzzle back into place. It suits Sartha. Leinth sees that now.

“On the bunk?” Sartha pants, with a filthy eagerness. “Or I could su-“

“Shut up.”

Leinth hits her again, this time a hooked punch to her side that collapses Sartha onto the bunk like a stack of bricks falling over. She doesn’t want Sartha to talk. It’s wrong when she talks. Hound doesn’t talk, not unless She tells her to, and maybe that’s the real Sartha after all. Maybe Leinth can bring Hound out to play. That’s what Sartha wants. She wants the blissful surrender of sweat and heaving bodies.

Fine. She can have that. As long as Leinth gets to prove she’s not a hero. Just a body.

She deserves this too, Leinth. Fuck her. You want to. And so does she.

Leinth kneels on the bed behind Sartha as she scrambles to her knees. Leinth’s need is bursting out of her at the seams. She wants this. And so does Sartha. Leinth starts undressing herself, furiously and frantically, shucking her pants to her knees so she can free her cock and press it against Sartha’s cunt.

Sartha is clearly wet, and Leinth can see the bruise on her side already beginning to form, blossoming blue and purple where she planted the tip of her fist. Leinth grins.

And starts fucking her former hero.

Their sounds are animal. Sartha’s whining moans, the way Leinth growls her every breath, and the feral slap of flesh on flesh. There’s absolutely no art to it. Leinth is no stranger to good sex. She considers herself more restrained than most, but she gets just as much pussy as every other ace pilot and she likes to make sure the girls she brings back to her quarters go out and spread the right kind of rumors afterward.

But Sartha isn’t like them. This is barely sex. More like jerking off, only the long-held fantasy of Sartha Thrace isn’t just in Leinth’s head anymore. Admittedly, she didn’t want Sartha this way. But now that she has her, it’s almost as good.

Leinth feels free, in a way. There’s nobody to look up to. Nobody to disappoint. She can simply be this.

And this is what you are, Leinth.

Her pace is furious. Desperate. The lust-drugs have been in her food for weeks, and Sartha’s face in her mind’s eye has been an aching curse, keeping her from release. Now the curse is broken. Now it’s a red rag to a bull, and Leinth just wants to see that face soiled and bruised and made hers. She has her hands on Sartha’s hips and pulls back on them hard with each thrust. Whenever Sartha doesn’t match her enthusiastically enough, she digs in her nails, grown uneven and sharp from her captivity. Every stupid, pathetic puppy-whine from the woman on her knees in front of her just drives Leinth onwards. To make her louder, she rakes her claws hard enough to draw blood.

This is ascension. Better than piloting, better than victory. This is the best she’s ever felt.

Leinth doesn’t care if it lasts long. She just wants that one moment; the release, the moment she truly makes Sartha hers. She’s frenzied for it. Leinth reaches forward and puts her hand on the back of Sartha’s head, and pushes. Hard. Hard enough that Sartha’s elbows buckle and she crashes forward, face planting awkwardly into the hard mattress. Leinth pushes forward and down, mounting her and keeping her there. The position lets her thrust longer and harder - and more importantly, it’s even more degrading. Leinth likes that she can make Sartha take her whole weight, crushing her, making her bend her neck and brace on her shoulder. She’s practically contorting herself.

Because Leinth is making her.

This is all she is.

“This is all you are,” Leinth growls. She’s so glad she gets to be the one to show her. “Not a hero. Just this. Understand?”

It’s all personal now. She’s the one Sartha betrayed. Not the rebels. Leinth’s comrades are all but forgotten now. In reply, Sartha just gurgles. Probably, she can barely breathe. Leinth doesn’t care. Let her choke.

A stupid, broken dog.

“Stupid. Broken. Dog,” Leinth huffs, voice cracking as her pleasure peaks. “I… I… fuck!”

Good dog.

She cums, hard as hell. As she does she slumps against Sartha, drugged-up limbs finally permitted to release the last of their strength. Her mind goes blank from the pleasure. It’s everything that’s been building up in her for weeks. Maybe months. She lets it all go, driven by raw instinct.

Her marks on Sartha. Her cum in Sartha. Her furious words, thundering through her ears. Her satisfaction - her domination - feels complete. This moment is the culmination of Leinth’s entire existence. The satisfaction is infinite.

Until it isn’t.

When her orgasm dies, it’s not just Leinth’s need that fades. It’s her anger. It’s the wound of betrayal and resentment, pressing on her brain like a cancer sore. It all goes, all at once, everything that’s been animating her. Leinth collapses back onto the back, legs splayed, her face aghast with dawning confusion.

Then, slowly, horribly, as Sartha draws weak, shuddery breaths, Leinth becomes aware that they are not alone in the cell.

“My,” remarks Hander, from where She’s been watching. Leinth didn’t hear or notice Her enter, but she must have seen the entire filthy thing. “Leinth Aritimis. What have you done?”

Leinth hadn’t realized just how fucking cold it was in the cell. Shivering, she meets Handler’s gaze for a moment, and that’s a mistake. In Handler’s eyes, she doesn’t see smug glee or victorious scorn. Her eyes are just impossibly cold, like the winter sky. They are a mirror, and they are perfectly truthful.

Under those eyes, Leinth can’t keep it together. Not even for a moment.

“I d-… I didn’t…” Leinth’s voice sounds absurdly small compared to those growls from just moments ago. She’s grasping for something. That voice in her head. Was it Handler’s? Or was it her own? How can she possibly hope to tell? “Y-you… made me…”

Handler just tilts Her head. “Is that what you think?”

She doesn’t, not really. Leinth doesn’t feel like anyone made her do anything. It was all her. Every ugly feeling and every blackened thought. Her decision to… what? Fuck Sartha? It feels worse than that, although Leinth can’t tell if it really is or not. This is all too twisted, and all she knows is that her chest is ripping itself in two with guilt. Even if it was Handler’s voice, she must have chosen to listen to it. Surely she had a choice.

But there’s something. There has to be something.

“You put d-drugs,” Leinth babbles, “in my food.”

“Of course,” Handler replies.

She doesn’t need to deny it. She knows it’s not enough. Leinth can already rehearse argument and counterargument in her own head. How does she know the drugs aren’t showing who she really is? Why would drugs absolve her responsibility?

And it’s not like she can pretend she didn’t want it. She’s always wanted Sartha Thrace that way.

No. Leinth knows what she chose. She felt herself chose it.

But acceptance is still a bridge she can’t cross. “But…” Leinth splutters. She glances at Sartha in half-panic. “No, but…”

“Why are you so worked up about this?” Hander asks her. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

At that, Leinth goes very, very still. Her eyes fix on Handler again. She can’t believe she just heard that. She never even considered that. The thought is foreign. She hasn’t… but of course she has!

“No,” Leinth shakes her head. “How can you say that? I… she…”

“She wanted this.” Handler is the kind of calm that makes her easy to believe. “Every part of her. I’d know.”

Leinth knows poison when she hears it, but she can’t stop herself listening. “That’s n-not true. Sartha wouldn’t.”

“She would,” Handler tells her. “I’ve been telling you, Leinth. Sartha isn’t what you hoped she’d be. She’s not a hero. She is my hound.”

The dreadful memory of what happened smothers any retort Leinth might have. She wants to insist that Sartha didn’t want it, but she knows in her body the way Sartha hungered for her kiss and welcomed Leinth inside her. Fuck, the eagerness in her voice. She was practically begging for it.

Would a hero ever do that?

What Handler offers isn’t right. Leinth knows that. But it’s so tempting, and she’s struggling to remember why it’s wrong.

“Don’t worry,” Handler says softly. She sounds so kind now, or maybe that’s just in Leinth’s head. “I sent her in here, you know. If you need to blame someone, you can blame me. I won’t hold it against you.”

Now that’s irresistible - especially when Hander extends her hand and touches her fingertips to Leinth’s cheek. She means to pull away; she almost does, but Handler’s touch is perfectly cool. It feels like the only thing that can soothe the pounding heat inside Leinth. So, she lets herself be weak for a moment. It’s just a touch, she tells herself.

“Right,” Leinth breathes. “It’s your fault.”

Handler nods. With that permission, Leinth bundles up her guilt and gifts it to the woman standing over her. In her mind she recites all the reasons she should blame Handler, not herself. It works. It helps. She feels lighter for it. Handler, conversely, is unchanged. Untainted. She’s not like Leinth. She can swallow all that guilt and culpability effortlessly. There’s too much of Her. It can’t leave a trace.

Leinth is just grateful, in a sad, pathetic way, that Handler isn’t throwing it back in her face. That would be the perfect way to twist the knife. There’s no way Leinth could handle it. She’d break. She’d shatter. Leinth doesn’t know the meaning of this kindness, but she’s still grateful for it.

She feels, unfathomably, at peace.

And she feels like she could stay that way forever, but for one thing: Sartha. Sartha is still there, still next to her, drawing weak, shuddery breaths that remind Leinth of her presence. Sartha seems contented, in a way. Leinth figures she got the oblivion she was craving. But now Leinth can’t even stand to turn her face in her direction. It makes everything too raw and it makes her remember; remember that ugly, false reality, the one she’s trying to push away.

The one where she’s guilty.

“Can you…” Leinth begins quietly. She’s hoping Handler’s mysterious kindness will stretch just a little further. “Can you get her out of here?”

“Oh?” Handler’s still stroking her cheek. “Are you done with her?”

Leinth whimpers. She wishes She wouldn’t put it like that, but she can hardly hold it against Her. And she desperately needs Sartha gone so she can begin to regroup. “Y-yes. I just… I can’t…”

Handler interrupts her with a disapproving, tongue-clicking noise. To Leinth, it’s as loud as thunder.

“No, that’s no good,” Handler says, in a ghoulishly affectionate way. “That’s guilt talking, isn’t it? Don’t listen to that feeling, Leinth.”

“O-OK,” Leinth says sheepishly. She feels stupid now that Handler’s lecturing her. What else can she say but ‘OK’? Her head is still splitting in two. She can’t think. Still can’t think.

“Look at her,” Handler instructs firmly.

Leinth whimpers again. “No, no, I-“

Her head jolts and everything flashes white, and she realizes Handler has slapped her. Tears well up in her eyes. Stupid. It wasn’t even hard. Certainly not as hard as she hit Sartha. Just a shock, to get her attention and stop her rambling. But for Handler to lay a hand on her like that…

“Look at her,” Handler repeats. She touches Leinth again, guiding her. Leinth doesn’t resist. She’s puppy-weak. She looks at Sartha

Really looks. She has to, because that’s what Handler is telling her. It’s not easy. Sartha is a fucking mess. If she was a hero twenty minutes ago, she isn’t now. Her clothes are ruined. She’s bleeding from at least three places. She’s drenched in both her own sweat and Leinth’s, and the expression on her face is something truly inhuman, a fucked-stupid look of gratified, delirious masochism. It hurts to think that Leinth put it there, and it hurts just as much seeing how Leinth’s cum is spilling out from between her legs to stain the bunk.

This is the ruin of a hero.

“Look,” Handler urges. “Isn’t she pathetic?”

Her words pull at the string of Leinth’s heart. They make her twitch. Yes, Sartha is pathetic. There’s no use in denying it now. But the guilt is roaring back and forces a choked whimper from Leinth’s throat.

“It’s OK,” Handler soothes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Leinth.”

The head-splitting pain is worse than ever. Unfathomably bad. Leinth has felt her own mech being split open while she’s inside and that’s the only thing she can think of that comes close. “B-but… I… to her…”

“She wanted it,” Handler reminds her. “She asked for it.”

Leinth shakes her head violently as the ache grows. “No. No, no, no, no, no.”

“Yes.” Handler sounds so firm. So sure. How is it so easy for Her? “She’s a traitor, Leinth. Remember that. She betrayed you.”

Her words aren’t helping, however kindly they’re meant. If anything, they’re making it worse. It’s like Leinth is seeing double. There are two versions of Sartha in her head. One a saint, a hero, faultless, suffering for her struggle until Leinth ravaged her and left her like this. The other a traitor, a deceiver, someone who pretended she could bear the weight of the world until she gave up and decided to indulge in whatever sick fetish Handler satisfies.

It doesn’t make sense. Sartha can’t be both. And Leinth can’t hold onto both versions at once. It’s too much.

“She tricked you,” Handler says. “All of you. She pretended to be more than just a woman. She let you believe in her, and hated you for it. And now she’s making you feel guilty, too. All for giving her what she wants.”

“Please stop,” Leinth gasps. She’s about to pass out from the pain. “Make it stop. Please.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Handler reiterates. “Say it for me.”

“I d-didn’t do anything wrong,” Leinth repeats. She’d do or say anything now, if it helped.

“That’s right.”

It did help, a little. Or maybe Handler’s approval does. But only a little.

“B-but.” Leinth can’t stop herself saying it. She wants desperately to fall into Handler’s abyss. The pain is that bad. But guilt is still her ankle. “I d-didn’t have to… that’s not me, I… even she doesn’t deserve…”

“Yes, I see,” Handler says. She seems to understand perfectly. “Leinth, listen to me: whatever you did wrong, I forgive you.”

“You…”

Leinth looks back to Her. Handler’s eyes are still the sky. Cold. Pure. Free of both compassion and accusation. As always, they make Handler’s words ring true. Leinth hadn’t even thought about forgiveness. She hadn’t imagined anyone could award her forgiveness. But when Handler promises it, she believes.

She believes so much she doesn’t stop to ask why Handler’s forgiveness would matter, or what she’s being forgiven for if she did nothing wrong.

And Leinth feels it. Absolution.

She implodes from it. Leinth crumples over and inward, wracked by dry, silent sobs of sheer relief. The pain is gone. It’s like it was never there. She’s free. Before she can stop herself she finds she’s clasping Handler’s hand. It was on her cheek but she brings it to her lips, kissing, praying. This is more unburdened than she’d ever dared hope to feel.

How can Handler do this? How does She have this power? It’s like She’s the first real person Leinth has ever met - and for once, she’s simply grateful to have met Her.

“Good,” Handler pronounces. She sees the change in Leinth. And She’s pleased, which is another wonderful gift. Handler glances at Sartha. “Wake up,” She says. “Come along, Sartha.”

Sartha is trapped in some kind of daze, but she obeys without hesitation and rises to her feet as if oblivious to her bruised, cum-drenched state. She looks wretched - Leinth can say that to herself now, she learns, without guilt - but when she starts following Handler out of the cell, Leinth is almost jealous.

It would be a blessing to get to follow Her around. To spend a little longer in Her presence. Especially since Leinth is so very afraid that as soon as She leaves, all that fearful doubt is going to come right back. Handler might be the enemy, but Leinth’s inner voices hurt worse.

Hander, as always, knows what’s in her soul. “Don’t worry, Leinth,” She says over Her shoulder as She departs. “You’re doing very well. I will be with you again soon.”

Leinth just nods. She can hold that praise tight to her chest. It’ll keep her warm.

Once Handler leaves, the cell door closes and locks. Leinth is alone again. The loneliness is more uncomfortable than ever. Her head is clouded over, but she’s starting to realize that’s not so bad. It’ll keep her from dwelling on the things that don’t fit right.

There’s something she can’t help dwelling on, though. Something unsaid between her and Handler. The question Handler doesn’t need to ask, because She always asks.

Who are you?

Leinth still doesn’t have an answer for Her. But she’s closer, perhaps. Leinth stands up and walks to the mirror. As she peers into it, searching for clarity, it happens again. That strange double vision. Like the whole world is fracturing. But not around Sartha, this time. Around Leinth.

First, Leinth sees herself. Or what she’s always taken to be herself. A woman who still looks a little like a pilot. A rebel. The person she’s always been, and who can she live with being.

But then she sees something else too. Something deeper. Truer. Something who is barely a person at all. Something feral. It’s whatever came out of her when she was on top of Sartha, hitting and fucking and growling. It must have always been there, in the corner of her eye. Leinth just couldn’t see it before because she was too afraid. The thing she sees is abominable. Unforgivable - except for Handler. She can forgive it. Only Her.

It’s a hound. A hound of Leinth’s very own.

---

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#story #Warhound

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