#kind of...its his skeleton and silhouette

[madrevolting]

#yugioh #ygo #ygo dm #yami bakura #ryou bakura #kind of...its his skeleton and silhouette #my art #blood #gore #never painting ever ever again i hate this i hate it here

[wellfine]

HII I love your art so much it's so expressive and it feels like theres so much movement in it! I was wondering if u had any tips or advice to help with that? I practice anatomy and expression so much but it seems like everything I draw on my own is so stiff!! Anyway I hope you have a great week :)) <3

Hi there! Firstly, thank you so much for the kind words, it means a lot that you would take the time to tell me!

Second- my advice is to take everything you've learned about anatomy and THROW IT OUT THE WINDOW!!!!!!!

... For now. Just into the front yard so you can keep an eye on it. But I have seen many artists concentrate chiefly on studying anatomy only to feel like their art ends up too stiff. My own experience has been to treat anatomy as a tool best used to correct an image in the later stages of construction rather than as your driving foundation.

If "correct" anatomy (however you choose to define that) is the priority of your undersketches, I find that you end up with a sort of Skeleton Song approach to drawing - y'know, the knee bone's connected to the thigh bone, etc etc. Whatever energy, emotion, or intent you wanted your drawing to convey is getting lost each time you split it into another anatomical segment. By over-focusing on individual parts, you lose sight of your image as a whole.

The key to conveying dynamic movement in motionless art is to ensure every element of your image agrees on and communicates the same action, the key to which is something called the line of action.

A line of action is simply that - an implied "line" with wich you lead the viewer's eye and communicate movement. Think of it as the core of your figure's action, simplified to its rawest form. By knowing this, you know what to emphasise and what to de-emphasise.

Well, art is a visual medium and I am better explaining with drawings than words or I'd never have picked up a pen in the first place, so:

Images can have multiple lines of action, lines of action can complement and contrast each other, and a line of action isn't always as obvious as something like running. Imagine you're tring to make your art more "aerodynamic" to the eye. Since I draw a lot of One Piece fanart, I assume you're also familiar with it, and you can probably imagine how Oda uses "lines of action" when composing panels of Luffy punching something, Zoro slicing something, Sanji kicking something- etc etc. He's really good at selling the "oomph" of action shots by reducing visual clutter so that the impact of the action is greater.

(The Monster Trio's abilities are all designed in such a way that allow for REALLY striking lines of action... you can tell Oda loves studying manga fight scenes and wanted to create a world where he could push these concepts to the limit, and it's no wonder One Piece caught the eye of animators even before it was serialised by Toei)

You're probably already noticing how line of action also feeds into composition and silhouette when it comes to conveying movement in an image. Basically put, once you've isolated whatever action it is that you want to convey, the more visual clutter you can streamline away from that action, the stronger an impact that will have on the viewer. A firm line of action, an uncomplicated silhouette for your figure, and a readable overall composition of your image/panel are all ways to minimise visual clutter.

You can also use this information to achieve the opposite effect! Sometimes the ideal action you want to convey is not fast, or powerful, or confident, and you can use the same principles.

In fact, you can apply line of action to images that don't have any "action" in them at all. You can make a drawing of someone simply standing there feel more lively by applying these same principles to their body language:

You can develop an eye for how to simplify movement down to its "lines of action" by studying real photos and other people's art. Try simplifying a figure to its silhouette, and then simplify that silhouette further to a stick figure. And honestly, a lot of this could be boiled down to "see your image as a whole and not just a collection of individual pieces". Set anatomy aside during the composition stage and bring it back in when you start building up the sketch.

Moving away from the line of action, my second piece of broad advice is simply to exaggerate more. Lots of artists subconsciously hold themselves back from pushing motion, expression, etc. out of concern that it will look "too much". Well, maybe it will- but you won't know that unless you try! You can always walk it back if you think you took it too far, but I think you'll be surprised by how far you can push your art before you hit that point.

My final piece of advice is to work on line confidence. Even if you follow the rest of this advice, if you have hesitant and scratchy lines, you're undermining the flow and punch of your art. The best way to improve line confidence is simply by practicing! Do a lot of quick, timed studies, and use a permanent medium like a ballpoint pen or marker. Focus on unbroken lines wherever possible even if it makes your studies look like garbo. I find traditional studies are best for improving line confidence, but if you'd really rather stick with digital then just don't let yourself use the eraser tool, and try using a chunky brush with limited pressure sensitivity.

And that's it! Don't stress about it too much though. Loosen up with your art and, like any other skill, you'll improve with practice, time, and analysing what you like about other people's art. Good luck!

#long post #sorry this is so long I just didn't want to hide it behind a cut because I think a lot of people would miss it #I hope this was helpful in some way! I'm always flattered whenever anyone thinks I'd know enough to ask HAHA #if I have the time then I'm always happy to answer questions like this! :) #not that I am an expert by any means but I can at least share what's worked for me

[luckybyrdrobyn]

Chapter 1 draft 1 (its technically draft 2 but we don't talk about that one)

It was a pleasant night in Miyazaki, the wind was low and the temperature of the air was a pleasant chill. The full moon illuminating the few corners untouched by the streetlights. The only shadow cast came in the silhouette of the stranger who made their way swiftly down the street, long striding steps causing their cloak to billow around and behind them despite the non-existent wind.

There is the vague outline of a bundle, disappearing in and out of folds of black fabric. The stranger holds it close to their chest as if to shield it from view of their surroundings. Not that anyone who might catch a glimpse here would care much more than to gossip the oddity over a lunch break the next day. But the strangers appearance alone is enough to spike that curiosity.

-

Further down the street is the hose of Kuroo Tanoshi and Keriena, marked by a goofy Halloween skeleton with a now empty bowl in hand and a sign reading "take one" in spiky characters.

Kuroo Tanoshi was a well built man with neat black hair and warm brown eyes that could see into your soul. He was a kind man who valued the comfort of those around him, often more than his own, much to his wife's chargin.

He worked at a small chemist, preparing prescriptions and identifying worrying customers' maladies. While the pay was not the most ideal, he would often state that he "wouldn't take any jobs over it", finding happiness in aiding those who came to him.

Keriena Kuroo was a confident woman, with a toned body that didn't quite match the heavily pregnant silhouette she currently supported. Her long dark brown hair was cropped short underneath and her eyes were dark enough to be black. Tanoshi would often declare that they held all the stars of the night if their depths.

While currently on maternity leave, Keriena had still been burrying herself into her work, unable to stay out of the loop for even a week, let alone three. She worked as a detective and field agent in the local law enforcement with a 89% success rate in her field.

Keriena is seated at their dinner table as Tanoshi stands in their kitchen, cleaning the plates from the evening's meal. They chat amicably about Tanoshi's day and plans for their unborn son.

The conversation finds its way to forgein politics and Keriena mentions that it's been a year since the end of the mass murders in London. The news had spread quickly around the world at the time. The sudden end to an eleven year war was bound to cause ripples, even in Japan.

No one was certain how the cult leader had died. There were speculations in Keriena's workplace of course; bombs, gas leaks, structural damage enough to crush the leader, even the occasional suggestion it was suicide for one reason or another.

The Potters had been the only ones home that night, the young couple and their son. At the end of the incident, the only member left unaccounted for was 1 year old Harry. Neighbours had heard him crying in an upstairs room after the incident but when responders got up there, there was no baby in sight.

It sparked a huge search at the time. But no reports or reminders had been put out about it since June. One baby, no matter how symbolic, wasn't worth the time and money when you were rebuilding from a war after all. The boy who lived, forgotten, reduced to a title to stir action.

A quiet fell momentarily as the couple sat in contemplation. Tanoshi with his mouth set in a grim line, never one for such sour endings, as he finished in the kitchen and moved back towards the table. He bent to hold his wife for a moment, to thank the spirits that both her and their son were safe, that they had no need to fear such dangers.

A knock echoed from the front door. Three strong raps and then silence.

The couple traded looks, not expecting anyone at this time, moat of the trick-or-treaters having dwindled off an hour ago. Tanoshi, slightly spooked but never one to let others down, stepped away to answer the door anyway. Keriena a short ways behind him, curious and cautious.

There was nothing visible through the peep-hole but Tanoshi proceeded to unlock and open the door eyes automatically scanning the front garden and along the street for figures. It was Keriena's gasp that made him look down. Following her gaze to their doorstep his eyes found a small bundle.

Neatly wrapped in green cloth, clutching a letter in one small chubby hand was a little boy with a lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. He couldn't have been much older than two, tiny face, framed by messy black hair scrunched in some sort of dream as he sat there, no other person in sight.

Picking up the child carefully, neither of the Kuroos noticed the soft crack as the stranger across the street turned on his heel and disappeared, only a corner of his cloak waving behind as he left. Harry Potter was safe for now, their job was done.

#i dont want to fandom tag this bc i dont want it to be found so theyre getting funky tagged #h/arry p/otter #h/aikyuu #i do not condone j/krowlings beliefs or actions but i will use her world as a sandbox to do as i see fit #robyn wips #robyn writes #mahori wips

[descendant-of-truth]

I recently decided to watch the Last Airbender movie in full for the first time for analytical purposes (and as a fresh comparison for the upcoming Netflix series), and like. yeah, it's still decidedly Not Good, but everyone's already talked about that so instead I wanna write about the stuff I actually thought was interesting.

Some small things, first: despite it not really having any cultural significance, I was weirdly fond of Aang's red cloak?? Like it could've looked a little less like it belonged on a jedi, but it functions well for hiding his tattoos when necessary and makes for a cool silhouette.

Plus, it works as a good representation of the part of him that just wants to run away and hide from his responsibilities - something that the original design never really needed to account for, per se, but it still makes for a neat edition.

The movie cuts out the quirky conversation with Aang after freeing him from the iceberg in favor of him being too delirious from a 100 year coma to say anything, and on principle, this isn't. great. but the more I think about it, I think it comes down to the fact that his actual introduction to Katara and Sokka is so dry, not because they waited to have him wake up.

In fact, I think this could've worked out really well! The longer Aang takes to wake up properly, the longer everyone else has to develop an image in their head of what he's going to be like, and the bigger their surprise when this kid who was barely conscious and on the verge of hypothermia a few minutes ago starts bouncing off the walls with this big smile on his face.

The time spent at the Southern Air Temple also introduces a few things that I liked, for example: Aang actually namedropping some of his friends from there

Petition to bring back Chinto and Monae for the Netflix version

But for real, that scene just made me realize how kinda. odd, it is, that Aang never mentions any of the Air Nomads by name other than Monk Gyatso originally. We know he was friends with Bumi and Kuzon, but did he not consider any of his peers to be good friends of his?

More importantly though - just like in the original, Aang recognizes Gyatso's skeleton by his necklace. Unlike the original, however, this necklace is one that Aang made for him.

And I love this idea, but ohh boy do I not like how under-explored it is in the movie. You're telling me that they decided to have Aang make a necklace for his now-deceased parental figure, and didn't use that as an opportunity for him to connect with Katara?? The one who wears her mother's necklace as a memento???

Regardless of whether or not Aang decided to keep Gyatso's necklace, it's a conversation that absolutely deserved to happen, and despite the chances of it being extremely low, it's something I'd like to see the new version take a crack at.

Also this was just a genuinely cool action setpiece, the idea of using spinning boards as both a defensive and offensive structure for crowd control is super creative and I love it

The fight between Aang and Zuko at the north pole was also great; even though there was uncharacteristic lack of bending involved, they were able to capture a real sense of frantic energy and got some really cool moves in there that are difficult to show properly through screenshots.

Definitely one of the biggest changes to a plot beat (in my opinion) comes in the form of Aang struggling with waterbending rather than being a natural at it, and you know what? Probably my hottest take of this post is that I think this is a worthwhile angle to explore.

Water is the element of change, and in the movie, it's said to teach its benders "acceptance." On a purely tangible level, the movements for water and airbending are pretty similar, and they're both kind of "floaty" in a way. But ideologically? What part of Aang at this point in time has a grasp on how to handle change, much less reach acceptance?

He ran away from home because he was scared of all the sudden changes happening in his life. He didn't want to be the Avatar, and couldn't accept what that meant for him.

So, from that perspective, doesn't it make sense that water could be difficult for him to learn? I mean, no matter what you do with air, it's still just air, and it's everywhere. You don't really have to worry about not having enough of it in most situations.

But with water, you gotta think about what forms you can make with what you have, you need to be able to change its form from liquid to solid and back again, and it's just a lot more dynamic and weighty than what he's used to dealing with.

Combine that with just not being in the right headspace for learning after The Horrors and yeah, I'd totally believe that there's a world out there where Aang struggles to waterbend! A shame that it had to be this world, where the writers have little interest in exploring it beyond letting him make a Really Big Wave at the end in lieu of a character arc, but an idea with potential nonetheless

(Speaking of which, while not nearly as satisfying as the original finale, this shot does look extremely cool)

Overall, this was actually a pretty entertaining viewing experience! I already knew what to expect when it came to its flaws, which in turn made it easier to focus in on the parts that were interesting for me.

I went into it for a thought experiment, and it gave me a lot more thoughts to experiment with than I was expecting, so y'know what? I call that a net positive in this case.

(Also if anyone can link me to the comic adaptation of this movie, please do, I would love to know exactly what the differences are and how the art looks but I can't find it anywhere)

#avatar the last airbender #atla #aang #analysis #meta #atla movie #This was basically all about Aang whoops #He just had the most moments that made me go 'oh that's neat' #and I mean. to be fair he had very little competition XD #But still! Fun to think about #Also for some reason the subtitles on the site I was using had every single W in the script capitalized #which is really funny because this movie was not exactly what you'd call a W for the community

[theallegedbird]

LITERALLY

Like

For example "6up 5oh (cop out)" IS LITERALLY THAT ONE POLICE EP FROM S5 where Jonny said the disclaimer at the beginning OR or bro c'mon literally "dr sunshine is dead" is about the dark OR "hand me my shovel, I'm going in" is about the buried or I personally connect "Mr. capgras encounters a second-hand vanity: tulpamancer's prosopagnosia/pareidolia (as direct result of trauma to fusiform gyrus)" to the stranger bc he keeps singing "you're trying to replace yourself" which I think really fits and also the song "skeleton appreciation day in vestal, my (bones)" also reminds me of the buried but also a bit of Jane Prentiss/the infestation and the jarchivist himself and also the rot yezyez the rotting too and also the beginning of the song "front street" where he sings about the slaughterhouse and meat...yes It's the flesh and the slaughter!!!!

And bro c'mon will wood is just so bbgirl his songs just fit SO WELL it's almost as if he wrote them specifically for tma

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I'm low-key obsessed with him and I don't even listen to all the songs (I have the entire "everything's alot" album downloaded >I love it really mutch + a few other ones so I hope this counts ❤️)

Have a nice day btw love youuu❤️❤️❤️❤️ (I hope I didn't squish your brain to death with this friggin paragraph I just wrote :'] )

[ID of image in ask: a screenshot of a caption of a tumblr post by theallegedbird that the ask is responding to, it reads "memento mori- will wood, i can and will find a way to relate every ww song to tma istg". End ID]

NO LITERALLY,, YOU ARE SO RIGHT

kind of got carried away so um. long post

completely agree and feel the same about 6up 5oh cop out, dr sunshine is dead and mr capgras

6up 5oh cop out to me especially could be linked to daisy and the guy you mentioned as well as the hunt as whole because of both of them being heavily tied to and criticising the police/police brutality

warning for discussion of eds in this paragraph

skeleton appreciation day for me is the flesh,, dont get me wrong i can see your ideas too but i always interpreted the song as being about eds and negatively/unhealthily watching your weight in order to achieve "the perfect body" by society's standards; by being skinny,, "tell me you can see my bones" , "to cut down on my silhouette" and the whole end dialogue, so that fits into the flesh for me considering another situation of someone wanting the "ideal body" is something that is discussed in a flesh statement (mag90-bodybuilder), but i can see some themes in the song that can could be corruption, plus both the flesh and corruption are pretty closely linked at times (and smirkes system is just inaccurate to begin with)

dr sunshine is dead is as you said the dark to me,, in the sense of someone maybe becoming an avatar (song starts with narrator afraid of the dark/not knowing and ends with them embracing it) but also could be seen as the stranger or even spiral because of its themes (like most of ww's work) involving identity and the self

for hand me my shovel,, may i propose it is also s2 jon coded. very s2 jon coded. it is very much his paranoid need for the 'truth'. do you. do you get me

id also like to propose some other ww songs that are also extremely tma coded,, to me

blackboxwarrior!! ok stick with me but yknow that one dialogue bit that starts "hello, welcome. why don’t you take a seat?" that whole section. thats og elias and jonah in elias' interview. do you see the vision. its them. i always take it as jonah being the narrator when looking at this song with tma in mind,, with the "you’ve lost your mind and almost lost your life before, so you’ll be fine" and "for what it’s worth if it was going to kill you, boy, it would have by now" being directed at jon. please say im not insane for this i. i listen to this song a lot.

on the topic of jon and jonah your body my temple. because. because hes using jon as a pawn,, "your visage my visions" (i know this songs about sydney and elijah ch&t but can be tma too. if you think about it)

again with jon and jonah (i despise jonah and the godforsaken thing that is jonelias but their dynamic is so interesting) laplaces angel,, dont know how to put this one into words but do you Get It,, could be both or either of them really,, certain lyrics include: "it doesnt take a killer to murder it only takes a reason to kill", "the difference twixt fate and free will is whether youre singing", "whatever you think of me, if you were in my shoes, youd walk the same damn miles i do"

against the kitchen floor could also be jmart,, especially these parts: "i just havent learnt to be as human as you are yet", "i still dont know who you are, only that im still lonely", "apologizing for my life and ever entering yours" "im not a good person, im barely a person at all"

cicada days,, jon. jon coded. i really want ro make something with especially the in case i die live show version bc it just fits. so well. "it just feels inhumane to lose this much", "let all my red flags fade to white yeah i give up", and biggest one to me "here at the end of days, my god what have i done?" as in mag160,,

cotard's solution is the stranger,, again with the identity

there’s more but i’ve just realised how long this already is so ima leave it there

pff sorry for hijacking your ask but i’m a sucker for media analysis and any opportunity to do that with not one but two of my special interests causes me to black out and the autism to take over <33

also you’re so real for everything is lot,, favourite album

have a great day or night :D

#id in alt #not really comfortable talking about front street #yes its one of my favourite ww songs but the actual meaning of it isnt something i want to discuss throughly on here #tma #the magnus archives #will wood #wwattw #asks #avery rambles #long post #cw eds #cw eating disorders

[dawn-moths]

“The All-Consuming Kind of Love”

Itto Arataki x Female Reader

word count: 21,000+

(You’re taken in by the Arataki gang and given a family by the oni that rescued you. You’re trained by Shinobu to become stealthy, useful, hoping to repay the debt of being granted a second chance by applying your skills for the gang’s benefit. You’ve always had a close relationship with Itto, your fearless and awkwardly charming leader, but as time goes on and your feelings for each other grow, you both come to terms with the fact that you can’t deny it any longer. But onis mate for life, he tells you, and as long as you’re with him, he’ll take care of you, make sure you have every and anything you could ever need. Perhaps, you eventually realize, some humans mate for life too.)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! mentions of past homelessness and starvation, size kink, very intense mutual pining, itto is sweet to you but does get a little rough sometimes (goes sort of feral for a second there), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, biting, reader is a virgin, itto’s got a lot of stamina just saying, “onis mate for life” and some other mentions of mating/pregnancy, does this file under monster fucking?, honestly itto is best boy and i love him, this is extremely self indulgent.

*ao3 mirror*

***

When he’d found you, you’d been tucked into some obscure corner of Yashiori Island, hiding away from the nobushi and kairagi who roamed the lands.

You’d been a terrified, trembling little thing. Merely skin and bones with your limbs wrapped around your fragile, starving body, trying to stave off the chill that drifted in with the night, clothes worn down into ragged shreds of dirty fabric.

Itto had looked like a monster as his bulky silhouette inched closer towards your dilapidated excuse for cover, still looming even as he knelt before the tattered entrance of the abandoned, and then recently reinhabited, remains of the tent, swishing one of the hole-spotted pieces of tarp away to expose the wounded creature within.

You heard the oni suck in a short, quiet gasp when your eyes— big and round and glinting with a feral kind of fear— met his, frozen in place and whimpering as you tucked your head back into your knees which were pulled up to your chest.

If he was coming to kill you, then you’d let him.

You’d given up on fighting long ago. Knew you didn’t even stand a chance against humans your own size, let alone someone as massive as him.

Besides, you were too weak to even try and run. Malnourishment had eaten through your body like an acid, destroying you from the inside with a painful sizzle that gnawed beneath your sternum, latched onto your rib cage and dug its sharp talons deep into your marrow.

When the big, black-clawed hand first extended itself to you, you winced, retracted, covering your head and face with your arms as you quivered, scooching back a few inches until you felt the wooden post that was barely holding the place up rub against your aching skeleton.

You didn’t dare open your eyes, not at first. You were sure the moment you did you’d be met with two glowing amber orbs flashing right before you with vicious intent, fangs shining as they dripped with saliva, the hungry beast ready to sink its teeth into your neck to end your suffering, satisfying his own needs.

But as the seconds ticked by and the only sound you heard was the low whistling of the breeze, the distant and occasional rumble of thunder, you slowly forced yourself to look upon the oni once again.

“Hey, you alright in there, little one?” he asked, a genuine amount of concern laced into his voice. His hand was still held out, encouraging you to take it so he could save you from this horrid place before you truly withered away to nothing but a rotting heap for the crows to scavenge.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he continued, a soothing sort of coo to his slightly raspy tone. He shuffled just a few inches closer, seeing what you’d do now that your back had found the wall. “Let me help you…”

You couldn’t keep your eyes on him for long. The more your gaze traced over the red markings adorning his face, his body, or caught a glimpse of those two big horns nestled into the wild cascade of his white hair, the more you began to feel this familiar sinking in the pit of your stomach, like maybe this was a bad idea.

But it hurt so much. It had for a long time now. And you were tired of living in a way that was just waiting to die.

You reached out and placed your fingertips on his palm, his grasp swallowing your hand whole as it gently closed around you. 

He could feel you shaking as he lifted you into his arms and carried you away from that hut, far from that hill, all the while telling you how he wasn’t alone, that there were others, and that all of them, together, were going to help you. That there was nothing to be afraid of anymore, now that he was here.

There was a little boat waiting by the shore, two more men— human ones— waving their leader over once they spotted him on the horizon.

“Me and the gang…” Itto went on, still keeping quiet as he spoke to you, like raising his voice any higher would cause your thin glass frame to shatter from the vibrations, “We’re a family.” Your eyelids began to flutter closed, some of the tenseness melting from your body as he felt your weight sink against his chest a little heavier. “We look out for each other.” Lulled by his words, by his warmth, you thought to yourself that, even if you died like this, you were ok with that. It would be a better way to go— wrapped up safe in someone’s strong arms— than to be mauled and marred by some cruel criminal like you always figured you’d be. “If you want,” he concluded, the distant calls of his comrades growing closer, “you can be part of that family too.”

By the time Itto reached the shore, water gently lapping at his worn geta, you were asleep, head lolled over his heart as your slow, even breaths fanned against his skin.

“Who’s that?” one of his gang members asked, nodding a head at the tiny form in their leader's arms. “Are they alive?”

“She’s one of us now,” the oni had already decided, climbing into the boat with you, feeling it rock and dip with his— and now your— added weight. “Let’s get back to camp. I want to have a hot meal ready for her when she wakes up…”

The whole ride back across the sea and through the islands, as Itto stared out at the dark, sloshing waters, in the back of his mind he recited a silent prayer that you’d make it. That you’d pull through.

Because he’d sensed it the moment he’d laid eyes on you.

You were going to be someone special to him. He just didn’t know exactly how or why yet.

***

“Focus on your breathing,” Shinobu instructed, leading by example and sucking in a slow, deep inhale, holding it for a moment before exhaling in the same fashion. “You’re light on your feet, so it’s not a step that would give you away. It’s letting out a noise that’s all too natural, one that you’ve been conditioned not to notice, that would alert an enemy.”

You honed in your hearing, tuning out the sounds around you— the chirping birds, the distant hiss of the ocean waves, the sounds of two of your comrades sparring down the hill— until all you could perceive was the steady thumping of your own heartbeat and the air being pushed and pulled from your lungs. In through your nose, out through your mouth.

“Good…” Shinobu commended after a few more rounds of breathing, noticing how you became completely silent. Invisible. Just the way she’d taught you. “Now, try and ambush me.”

Three years had gone by since you’d been rescued from the reaper by the kind and generous oni. In that time, you’d slowly morphed back into your old self, or rather, a version better than you’d ever been. Your hair was brushed and you wore fresh clothes. You’d found your voice again and gained back a healthy amount of weight.

You’d forged a new family, a new path.

But most importantly, you’d learned.

You’d learned so much. Things that ensured you’d never go hungry again, even without the gang around to protect and provide for you. You’d learned how to jump between shadows, move like wisps of smoke, there in an instant and gone the next, leaving no trace.

For most of those lessons, you had Shinobu to thank for mentoring you, sharpening the once weak and scrawny, abandoned soul into an unbreakable and deadly blade, cutting through the air so fast the blow was merely a slash of glinting sunlight. A lightning strike that you’d miss if you blinked.

And while Shinobu had sharpened you, the one who’d given those skills a purpose had been Itto.

Shinobu had done most of the leg work in terms of feeding him the lines in the beginning, suggesting he assign you the role of sneaking into nearby nobushi camps— areas that you’d once been terrified to even see pop up in the distance as the pack of you traveled from one territory to the next— and skim some of their food and mora when supplies back at your camp started to run low.

In your first year with the gang, you’d been a decoy, playing bait while Shinobu nabbed the goods. And you’d been terrified beyond belief but willing to do anything to repay the priceless debt you owed for having your life saved, spared, and replenished.

By the second, you’d begun to train. You’d tag along with Shinobu on her missions and watch closely, trying to do as she did, taking any pointers she could give you and continuing to run practice drills in a lower-stakes environment, determined to be more useful than a helpless distraction to lure the bandit samurai in for just long enough to see your teacher and friend escaping with her arms full in the distance, taking off sprinting as fast as your feet could carry you and losing the nobushi somewhere in the intertwining boulders or brush, their bodies too big to fit through the small gaps that you could just barely squeeze through.

And now, in the better part of your third year as a rag-tag member of the Arataki gang, you had become the secret weapon— the classified pride— of Itto Arataki himself.

Though, with Itto, secrets were never kept for very long.

The moment you returned safely and with the mish-mash of merchandise in hand, he’d announce, loud and proud to the entire camp, “Atta girl! That’s my little ninja for you! There and back in a flash and never returning empty handed! Good job!”

He’d howl out his laughter, clap a massive hand on your back, nudging you forward a few inches— it used to startle you at first, but now you actually looked forward to the boisterous bout of praise— and then squeeze you tight or high five you or ruffle your hair, always finding ways to tack on additional affection for his favorite little thief.

And while sometimes you wished that the lot of you didn’t need to steal to survive, that instead you could afford to purchase things legally from Inazuma City like you knew the majority of society did, you couldn’t help that some of Itto’s optimistic pride at living this kind of life had rubbed off on you.

So, at the end of the day, once you’d shed away your more ghost-like habits, you’d sit with the group to talk and drink and laugh. You’d listen to their tales and adventures from the day with curious and captivated intent and you’d go to bed with a slight smile still tugging up at the corners of your lips.

Because, despite the means, you had what it was you’d always really wanted— a family.

And if you had to go back and relive all the fear and the pain and the horror that led you to them, you would’ve done so in a heartbeat.

Because sometimes, as you’d learned from various members of the gang, the risk was worth the reward.

***

The night you’d been saved still came back to you in flashes, whether in your dreams or catching the sight of something vaguely familiar from your past life.

The first thing you’d noticed about Itto as he extended his hand to you were his eyes, once thought to be the glowing stare of a dangerous predator, now seen for what they really were— full of wonder and excitement and genuine joy.

They squinted when he laughed, or opened wide when he was confused, cocking his head slightly to one side like a puzzled puppy. They could be dangerous too, sure. But you’d never have to worry about the anger and adrenaline that came with a ferocious battle being directed towards you.

Most of the time, Itto looked at you one of two ways— with a serene, daydreamy daze or a strong, silent resolve.

The first one could just be chocked up to him entertaining some fantasy while gazing in your general direction. The second felt more… personal.

You and Itto had never spoken about that one fateful night. Not in any great detail, anyway.

He knew you were grateful and you did your best to help the group as a whole, as was how Itto wanted it if you truly felt like you still owed him.

As far as he was concerned though, the dues were long paid.

Now, you were just another one of them. A member of the family.

And while you hadn’t really ever had any real family of your own to speak of before the Arataki gang, you knew enough about how a family functioned, how they should act towards one another, to know one thing for certain…

Family most definitely didn’t get butterflies in their stomach when one of their own came a little too close, brushing a hand against yours or winking at you from across the field.

Whatever it was you felt for Itto, it was different than what you shared with the rest of the gang. Stronger, in the way you wanted him, wished he wanted you. Weaker in the way it made you feel helpless to your emotions, allowing your own thoughts to fluster you beyond belief even when he wasn’t around.

Itto didn’t even know he was doing it, probably. All those little, benign, playful gestures either of you tossed at each other in front of the group translated into the closeness of siblings, not the careful cat and mouse pursuit of a young, budding romance.

While your leader was a little lacking in the strategy department sometimes, he had more than enough charisma and goofy charm to make up for it.

He was easy on the eyes too, if anyone was asking your opinion. His size still intimidated you a little bit, especially up close, but it also made your stomach swoop with that warm, gooey feeling that you couldn’t quite place.

It wasn’t fear. Wasn’t dread. Wasn’t quite excitement in the joyful sense but maybe something close to it.

And Itto, well…

His body was a little more direct in its cues on how he felt about you.

On the rare occasion you and him were paired together for a mission (which, Itto later realized after Shinobu reminded him of his place in the gang— as its leader— he could’ve made a more common occurrence, if he played his cards right), Itto became even more distracted than usual.

Scrounging for supplies or simply patrolling a new area to clear out any hilichurl camps suddenly went from second nature to disruptive daydreams, Itto’s amber eyes tracking your body as you moved ahead of him, stare sticking on any sliver of exposed skin, the back of your neck, the gentle curve of your collarbones, wanting to scrap his canines over your chest just to taste your heartbeat beneath.

When you weren’t looking, he’d be undressing you in his mind, pupils blown wide with lust at his own lewd imagination, all the things he could do to you— all the things you could do to him— if only things between you two were a little different.

The moment you’d turn, glancing over your shoulder to make sure he hadn’t lagged too far behind, occasionally asking if he was alright, he’d shake his head and try to snap out of it, carry his claymore a little lower to hide the obvious answer to your question which was tenting in his pants.

“Oh, yeah, I’m great!” he’d beam, a nervous chuckle tittering off the end of his lie. “Spectacular, even! Why wouldn’t I be?”

His enthusiastic reply would make you smile, cheeks dusted with a rosy shade at just how endearing your leader could be sometimes, and that would only make him harder.

Because he was zeroing in on your soft pink lips, wondering what they’d feel like against his— wondering what they’d feel like against all sorts of places— and feeling a calming sort of warmth flood his broad chest at the sound of your giggle.

“You’re so strange!” you’d tell him as your smile widened, turning on your heel to face him, walking backwards for a few paces before swiveling again to continue traveling forward.

And it was lucky for the two of you that there was a third, much less oblivious party around to see the situation for what it really was. Shinobu knew you and Itto better than anyone else, after all.

***

“You like her…” Shinobu observed, leaning against a post and crossing her arms. “Don’t you?”

Itto jumped at her sudden appearance, not having heard her steps crunching over the grass to come stand beside him. “Wh— huh?” he stammered, playing dumb.

Well, unfortunately for Itto, most times he wasn’t playing at being dumb. He was just naturally clueless.

Shinobu nodded her head towards where you were sparring with Genta, who was getting frustrated after his sixth loss in a row to you. “She’s come quite a long way, don’t you think?” she commented, pushing off from the post to take a few more sure strides forward, stopping a few feet ahead of Itto and continuing to observe her brightest student and closest friend with a calm and knowing gaze. “I’ll admit, even I didn’t think she’d ever get this far the first time I saw her…” Shinobu glanced over her shoulder to lock eyes with the boss. “Did you?”

Then came a rare moment when Itto found himself speechless. All he could do was return his attention back to you and your sparring match where you claimed victory over Genta for the seventh— and final— time, evident by the way he threw down his bokken and stomped off.

It was then that you happened to turn and look further up the hill, giving a friendly wave as you spotted Shinobu and Itto, your teacher waving back while the boss remained suspended in the resurfacing memory, who you’d been when he’d first found you and who you were now splicing in his mind.

He could still feel your fragile, famished weight against his chest, the feeble fanning of your breath against his skin, the only real indicator he’d had to know that you were still alive as he carried you away from that island and into the boat, sailing for what he hoped was a new start for you.

In a way, taking you in had been a new start for him too.

“She likes you too, in case you were wondering,” Shinobu admitted through a sigh, turning to tread past Itto and likely disappear behind some trees as she tended to do.

The oni felt his battle-worn heart skip a beat.

“She— Does she?” He leaned in, eyes wide with that uncontainable hope that made him look so much younger, so much less threatening, than the rest of him suggested. But then his shoulders slackened a little, his golden stare narrowing with skepticism. “How do you know…?”

“Because,” Shinobu huffed, rolling her eyes like it was obvious, “she told me. I mean, not outright, or anything. But it doesn’t take much to read between the lines with things like these.” She considered her leader, the way the subtleties in his expression told her he didn’t quite understand. She could’ve laughed with the irony of her previous statement, but just stuck to a smile hidden behind her mask and a slight shaking of her head. “Besides…” she told Itto. “I’ve been with her almost everyday since you brought her to us. I know her well enough to see the signs.”

Itto perked back up, looking to the field, expecting to find you there, but you were gone.

In that split second, Shinobu had disappeared too, leaving Itto alone on that hilltop with more questions than answers, but most of all, a choice to make.

Did he let himself give in first, possibly causing all he trust he’d built with you to unravel, or did he continue to wait and writhe in his own feelings, risking missing his chance and losing you to someone else in time?

***

Another week went by and you found yourself on a scouting mission with Itto.

The sky was clear and a nice breeze wove its gentle fingers through your hair, a silent blessing from the Anemo Archon that the weather would remain pleasant in the coming days, perhaps. The raging thunderstorm that engulfed Seirai Island sparked to life in the far distance, thick purple clouds buzzing with fierce electricity and threatening to swallow the mountains whole. 

That place scared you— it had ever since you were a child— the image bringing along with it the fear of the storm blanketing the entire nation and submerging everyone and everything in an endless tempest of earth shaking thunder and violent, blinding lightning.

“Nah, that’ll never happen!” Itto declared after you admitted your worries to him. When you asked him how he could be so sure, he propped his claymore over one shoulder and gave you a playful wink, taking a confident stance. “Because, as long as I’m around, that storm doesn’t dare leave Seirai. It knows it could never take me in a fight.”

His earnestness at such an assurance made you laugh. You’d thought he was just trying to be funny, but when he doubled down you realized, in his own goofy and delusional way, he was in fact being serious.

“Whaaaaat?” he groaned out as you continued to giggle, bringing a hand to cover your mouth as if that would hide the sound. “You don’t think I could win?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” you admitted as your amusement began to simmer. “It’s just…” You gave him a sweet smile, the kind that had happiness twinkling in your eyes, cheeks rosy with affection for your determined leader. “You’re just a one of a kind, y’know that, Itto?”

Then it was his turn to host rosy cheeks, the blushing redness reaching his ears and forcing him to look away from you for a moment while he cleared his throat and pretended not to be so flustered.

“Well, yeah, duh. If I wasn’t so special, what makes you think the Arataki gang would’ve been able to survive this long?”

Just to entertain him, you agreed with his level of self-faith, though couldn’t help but tease him a little more as you two continued on. The both of you traded some more pleasant and playful smalltalk, letting the winds guide you further across the rocky cliffs and rolling hills, yet you couldn’t help but wonder amidst the leisurely stroll…

Why was Itto bothering with something like this when he could send someone else along to do the boring work?

You figured he’d much rather be off somewhere fighting kairagi and clearing the area than simply taking a look and turning back to report.

“Hey, so, um…” the oni began, seeming different suddenly. More anxious, if he was capable of such a thing. You slowed to walk beside him rather than ahead and gave him your full attention. “I was talking to Shinobu the other day and—”

Suddenly you sucked in an excited gasp, nudging Itto’s arm and pointing out something in the not-so-far distance, lowering your voice into a whisper as you informed him of the biggest onikabuto you’d ever seen.

Itto blinked the almost-confession from his gaze and tried to follow the invisible lead of your finger as it directed him towards the large purple beetle that was resting on the trunk of a tree. He soon found his line of sight flicking back down to your face, feeling his cheeks run warm for the second time that day when he realized your little hand was resting over his arm, clutching his bicep as you went on about how maybe you should try and catch it, bring it back to show the others because “they’d never believe the sheer size of the thing!”

And you’d expected Itto to grow just as eager to claim the behemoth beetle for his own, so when he didn’t seem to reciprocate your infatuation with the creature, you gave him a befuddled look.

“Itto…?” you addressed him, looking into his eyes but feeling like he wasn’t really looking at you, more so into you. Through you, even. “Itto!” You clapped your hands in front of his face and then the trance was broken, your touch removed from his arm causing him to anchor back down to reality.

“Huh? Oh— Sorry, sorry…” he apologized through another nervous grin, rubbing a big hand along the back of his neck. “It’s just, uh…” His face was somehow migrating closer towards yours, and yours closer toward his, as if neither of you were making the decision to close the gap, merely allowing your bodies to move on your behalf while you just sat along for the ride.

But you turned away, still unable to quite grasp and understand the fluttering that filled your belly in moments like these. Itto froze but didn’t back away, just waited to see what you’d say or do next.

“Itto… I…” you began, barely able to choke out the words as you felt your ears getting hot again, trying to hide your shyness by gazing the opposite way.

You could practically feel the heat radiating off of his body, always so close yet just out of reach.

But you’d touched him before, same as he’d touched you, so how come it was now that was seeming so much heavier, as if acknowledging the intentions gave your touch that much more weight?

Before either of you could speak a confession into existence, however, the awkwardness as well as the intimacy of the moment preparing to sink its fangs in deep, Itto called out loud enough to make you jump, “Race you to it!” before taking off in a sprint towards the onikabuto.

“Hey, no fair!” you shouted after him, running as fast as your legs could carry you in an attempt to catch up. But you were giggling again, your laughter the kind that only came in the moments where you truly felt free, felt like you could fly, as you dashed through the lush green grass towards the lilac sakura.

You didn’t know what had possessed you suddenly, but despite the fact that he’d stopped before the aforementioned beetle you kept on running past the tree, venturing further up the hill where more tufts of vibrant violet framed the azure sky, leading to a little patch of forest.

“Bet’cha can’t catch me!” you taunted, out of breath but still laughing in between your panting.

Accepting the challenge, Itto gave chase and called back with a determined, “Hope you’re ready to lose that bet!”

He was right behind you again in seconds, his size doing nothing to deter from his speed. When you glanced over your shoulder, you let out a shriek followed by another burst of laughter, willing your already fatigued legs to go faster. But as you approached a clearing in the center of the unfamiliar grove, his footsteps right on your heels, you realized that you could never outrun him. Never compete.

You stopped short, hoping to throw him off with a quick pivot, but instead found yourself tripping over your own feet and beginning to tumble down towards the patch of grass speckled with wild mint and sweet flowers.

A hand, big and strong, reached out to grab you. Itto’s hand, you knew by memory, his fist clasping around your upper arm in an attempt to pull you back to your feet. But you spun halfway and then you both lost your footing, falling down anyway, though with his back smudged with dirt and grass while you remained unscathed in his arms.

You were both panting, breaths peppered with the lingering remnants of tired amusement, and you let your head rest on his chest until you felt your heartbeat quiet its incessant thumping. Itto’s arms remained wrapped around you gently, yet also with the notion that he wasn’t going to let you go. Not yet, at least.

You allowed yourself to lay there for a moment, feeling safe, feeling protected, feeling like you were the only two people in the entire world, and then it hit you.

Maybe this is what love feels like.

It’s sudden, a thought that comes without warning, and only then did you quickly raise your head from where it was listening to the rhythmic thumping of his heart, no longer laughing or smiling.

You must’ve looked as if you’d just seen or heard or sensed some kind of oncoming danger, because Itto jolted into alertness, all the while keeping his grasp around you, sitting upright as his big hands slid from your shoulders down to rest on your waist.

“What is it?” he asked, completely unaware of the terrifying realization you’d just had. It rolled over inside of you, making your limbs heavy with desire, a beast blinking its eyes awake slowly, just barely stirring but soon to fully wake if further disturbed.

Half of you wanted to run away, that time without him to follow you, while the other wanted to make a home of the grove, lay there with him forever and never leave, let the wild flowers weave their way into your hair and root you to this place.

But instead you stuttered out a nervous, “I-I think I heard something. Maybe we should go…” as you pulled away from him.

To both of your surprises, Itto actually let you go, though he wanted nothing more than to make you stay, to flip your roles so that you were the one on your back in the grass and he was the one on top of you.

But he didn’t. Because he wanted you to want him too, wanted you to want him as badly as he wanted you, if that was even possible.

But there was one thing he knew for certain then, one thing he wasn’t quite sure how much longer he could deny.

He wanted you, felt the hunger swell inside of him, his own beast fully awakened and starving for one thing— one girl— in particular.

He was terrified too.

For the remainder of the scouting mission, you and Itto exchanged minimal conversation. When you exited the grove, the onikabuto was gone. The storm surrounding Seirai Island still raged eternal. And you both gained this strange sense that, while some things change, the details fleeting, others can remain the same for a lifetime.

***

A day comes a few weeks later where the words force themselves out of you.

Neither of you had been expecting you to be the one to voice it first, the feelings that you have for him, and you feel like a part of you dies in that moment. The only question is will the ashes of your fear and embarrassment rise again to reshape into something stronger, or will your leader, the man you owe your life to, the person you’ve always felt like you could count on, that you respect and love, leave the withering confession on its deathbed with no mercy, no hope.

Amber eyes searched your face frantically, lips slightly parted in a silent gasp, pronounced canines showing at the corners of his mouth. Everything about his expression reads as shock to you. You feel tears welling in your eyes. You’ve ruined everything now, haven’t you? Things will never be the same between either of you now, will they? Again, you want to run. You want to run and run and run until you can’t anymore, until you’re lost again, waiting for someone to find you and lead you to a new life.

But then the oni cracks a smile. He chokes on a puff of stifled laughter, bringing one of his big, rough hands to clasp around your shoulder, dragging you into the warmth and firmness of his chest.

He’s saying something, you realize, feeling his voice vibrating through you as you’re pressed up against him, little hands curled into loose fists trapped between your chest and his, still unable to accept or understand just what exactly is happening, what this means.

“I thought you’d never say that!” Itto laughs, hugging you closer while remaining mindful of his strength compared to yours. “And here I was worrying all this time that you’d reject me! I’ll tell ya what, little one, you definitely caught me by surprise!”

At first, you think he’s doing what he usually does in uncomfortable situations. Making a joke out of things. You think he’s teasing you, laughing at you rather than with you, and the tears well to the point of spilling over, a slight scowl tugging at your brow.

But then something shifts.

When you look up to meet Itto’s eyes again, they’ve gone half-lidded. Calm, you think, but more than that. He looks at you with adoration, with devotion, with the bliss in knowing that, this whole time, you’ve both wanted the same thing, both been craving it, and now, finally, the feast could commence.

Your scowl drops and Itto feels as your body goes from tense to relaxed. One of his thumbs caresses your shoulder, his touch soothing you like it always has, but this time with more intention, like he’s actually aware of his affect on you now.

He can’t help but allow his hands to wander, seeing as you two are alone, yet not that far away from the main hub of camp, lightly dragging his black nails along your collarbone, palm raising to rest against your neck, knuckles grazing your jaw. His eyes follow the trail his hands make, captivated by the softness of your skin, of every inch of you he’s allowed to explore.

You can see it in his eyes, when they finally flick back to yours again, as if asking for permission. He wants to kiss you. God, he’s waited so long to kiss you. So when you nod your head, just barely yet enough to convey your allowance of this act, he cups your face in both his palms, bending down to meet your lips.

You close your eyes and nearly wince, as if expecting something unpleasant. You know how Itto sometimes forgets his own strength, how his passion— whether for a fight or good food or, in this case, a person he feels very fondly of— only amplified that raw power.

But Itto’s surprisingly gentle, always so mindful when handling you, precious, delicate little human that you are, and you surrender to him, melting into his kisses until they become open mouthed and messy.

You let out a whimper, a sound that you hadn’t uttered since your early days training under Shinobu, and feel the beast within you snap its eyes open. It won’t be able to sleep again, not for a long time at least, and the heat that builds in the pit of your stomach, insides fluttering more and more as you feel Itto’s tongue against yours, feel the teasing scrape of his fangs against your lower lip, swallowing each other’s breath until all your air is shared, it’s all too much.

Behind your closed eyes you see vibrant bursts of color— amethysts and emeralds, sapphires and rubies— and are reminded that geodes are just considered rocks until they’re broken open, precious gemstones glittering for the eyes that chose them, the hands that cracked them.

Your mind goes hazy, limbs trembling as your body threatens to go numb, yet you don’t break away. You’d let his kisses consume you, if they wanted. You’d let him do whatever he pleased so long as it would make you feel like this. You’ve never felt so vulnerable in your life yet you want more, more, more.

When the kiss finally breaks, both of you are out of breath, lips shining with shared saliva, yours a little puffy from his occasional nipping, and you fear your legs will give out from their gentle quaking. Itto would always be there to catch you, of course, but you also feel this need to prove that you’re not a frail as you know he might view you sometimes.

Anyone would look frail next to him, but standing beside a giant and belonging to one are two different things.

“Oni’s mate for life,” you’d once heard him say. “They’ll do anything for their partners, always making sure their needs are met. That they’re fed, that they’re happy, that they’re cared for…”

You’d laughed at him, back then. Nudged his shoulder with your elbow and chuckled out a disbelieving, “Don’t be ridiculous! There’s no way that’s true!”

But you think you had a little better of an understanding now.

You felt more bonded to him, just by that kiss alone.

You could only imagine how you’d feel if things went further, if you surrendered to him fully, body and mind and soul.

You were terrified until you realized that, if Itto was right and onis did mate for life, then you’d never have to fear anything again.

***

“Have a good mission?” Shinobu asks, appearing behind you as you try to sneak back to your tent. You jolt and glance over your shoulder at her, eyes wide with that guilty look, as if she already knows what you and Itto did and is just trying to get you to own up to it.

“I-it was alright,” you stutter out, clearing your throat and trying to control your breathing, slow your hammering heartbeat. You’d think Shinobu’s training could’ve prepared you for this, but it does little to help.

“Where’s Itto?” your friend inquires next, looking around, searching for him. “I thought I saw you two leave together today?”

You bite your lip, trying to concoct a lie, but you were never very good at deceiving people with your words, only slipping past them through your actions. “He had something else to do,” you say, trying to steady your voice as best you can. “Something about a new assignment for Genta. He shouldn’t be too far.”

Shinobu considers this, nods her head slightly, muttering to herself that it was about time Genta was sent out again. She tells you to take it easy for the rest of the day, informing you that one of the scouting teams brought in a good haul of lavender melon this morning and that you should go get some before it’s gone.

You flash a timid smile, say you’ll head over now. You and Shinobu part ways but you return to your tent, too much on your mind to worry about your hunger.

***

For Itto, the physicality of it is an all-consuming thing. Ever since you’d confessed your feelings to him and he’d returned the gesture with that kiss, confirming he felt the same, the only thought that could occupy his thoughts were you, you, you.

You keep him up at night, and while your body lay resting just across camp, the version of you he keeps in his mind is much closer, curled up beside him sometimes, at others, conjoined with him in the ultimate act of physical love.

He wants you— needs you— and wonders if you’re having this intense a reaction to your newfound relationship and are just better at concealing it, or if he’s truly in trouble with just how badly he’s found himself drawn to you.

Because, as was Itto’s newest, biggest fear of all, he didn’t want to scare you away. He didn’t want to hurt you, not more than he already dreaded having to do on account of just how much bigger he was than you, how much bigger he was than anyone else in any given group of people most of the time.

He hadn't spent much time around his own kind, had become accustomed to humans despite never really fitting in with them, yet didn’t feel like he belonged to either side over the other. He’d spent even less time around women, seeing as most of the gang consisted of young men, and only had a basic understanding of what girls liked, what they expected from their partners in an intimate relationship.

Instinctually, he had a strong notion of what he felt he wanted, but someone like you, so small and graceful and delicate…

He feared he might break you and then be unable to fix it, whether by trust or other more permanent means.

He had to fight to keep a distance, fight the urge to go too far too fast and have you revoke your declaration of wanting to be his.

It was onis that mated for life, afterall. Not humans.

Itto didn’t think he’d survive if he had to watch you go off with someone else— someone of your own kind, someone more your own size— if he had to suffer for the rest of his life knowing that the one and only person he’d ever truly love this deeply and unconditionally didn’t want him back.

But you did want him. And, what was more, you wanted your first time to be with him. Itto didn’t know it yet, though he really should’ve, if he took a moment to think about it, but he was going to be the first to lay claim to your body, to the parts of you that had never been seen, never been touched.

So one night, when you’d agreed to accompany him to his tent instead of returning to your own, you told him that you’d be ok to go a little further, so long as he remembered to take things slow. In truth, even you weren’t entirely sure how far you’d make it before your nerves got the better of you and you found some reason to back down, to halt things until you could get over the mental hurtle of so much unknown.

You’d talked to Shinobu at least, asked her some of the questions you’d never had a mother or sister to inquire about with and tried hard not to become too embarrassed as she calmly and clearly explained to you the basic gist of what different intimate physical acts consisted of.

You were grateful for the information though, and for the fact that Shinobu seemed happy to help, not judgmental of your lack of experience or knowledge on such things in the least. Having those confirmations helped ease some of your anxieties, made you a little more comfortable with the idea as you tried to stage it in your head.

The thought alone was enough to cause that coil in your core to wind tight, making you squirm in the quiet, dark hours of the night, tossing and turning over the sheets while the rest of the gang slept soundly, waking the following morning with blankets tangled and the sensation nowhere near satisfied.

You almost asked Shinobu what to do when that feeling arose, as it had more and more often as of late, but something told you that you might not be able to handle the answer she gave you that time.

So you’d caved. You’d sought out Itto in hopes that maybe his presence would help placate whatever was running wild inside of you. 

Usually you’d just show up, pop your head into his tent and venture further inside if you saw he was there. He would always scramble to tidy the place up for you, shoving his own makeshift bed aside, hiding who knows what kind of evidence of his own fantasies under the bundle of blankets and pillows as he chuckled nervously and tried to distract you from the mess by pointing out something shiny he’d found on one of his recent patrols around camp.

He was always bringing you little trinkets too— offerings. Everything from treasure hoarder insignias to arrowhead fragments or just cool rocks he’d found. You kept each of his gifts, reserving one corner of your tent for your ever growing collection.

You’d given him little tokens too, usually in the form of flowers you’d plucked up from the fields or fruits you’d climbed trees to pick (which he’d always insist on sharing with you). Itto had a shrine for your offerings as well, and the first time you’d both realized how you’d kept them you’d shared a laugh.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Itto asked you now as you sat facing him, nestled in his lap in his tent— his tent which was just a little bigger than the rest, like everything else about him— the bright glow of a full moon illuminating things with a dim silvery light as the beams soaked through the tarp that gave shelter. “I mean…” His hands glided up and down your sides slowly, settling on your hips and giving just the slightest squeeze, as if testing his limits with you just that much more. “We can wait. Y’know, if you don’t feel like you’re ready yet…” Itto’s gaze was almost apologetic, a certain preemptive guilt glimmering behind all that bright amber.

“No, it’s ok…” you tried to assure him, inwardly cursing yourself for how your voice shook a little towards the end. “I’m ok, really, I just…” You forced your gaze to meet his, locking in a stare that felt comforting and conflicting all at once. You looked away then, feeling your ears getting hot as you told him, “Let’s just take things slow and…”

Itto’s grip on your hips flexed, lowering just enough to gently knead at the plush flesh of your thighs, one of his hands nearly big enough to grip all the way around your upper leg. His mouth was barely an inch from yours, you were breathing in his oxygen again, sharing it with him, and both your eyes were beginning to glaze over with lust, pupils dilated to swallow up the color of your irises. 

Before his lips made contact with yours, he muttered, just barely loud enough for you to hear, “I’ll take good care of you… I promise. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for and…”

You were the one to close the gap that time, your body leaning closer as if drawn towards him in a trance, heat flooding your bloodstream at the taste of him. Upon that simple contact alone, Itto felt that instinct raging inside of him again. It was a challenge in and of itself not to jump from zero to one hundred when the chemicals swimming between you two were this thick, this palpable, his skin tingling like there was electricity buzzing in his blood, lightning splintering in the very marrow of his bones.

Again, his big hands began to wander, on their own mission to discover the unexplored planes of your body. You winced when sharp black nails bit into your tender flesh, Itto swallowing your hiss through his next kiss. When a small whine escaped you followed by a shaky utterance of his name, only then did your discomfort register to him. He hesitated, loosening his grip on you, and withdrew.

“Shit, sorry!” he cursed under his breath, looking down at the side of your thigh where his fingers had left darkening welts there, red divots imprinted into your skin where his nails had tried to claim you. “Are you ok? I didn’t mean—”

You took his hand in yours, holding it between you, studying it carefully, like the rough and calloused parts of him were made to create and not destroy. His gloves were gone, as were most of the clothes he kept on his upper body, the belt with that sharp, pointed buckle tossed aside somewhere too. Seeing him like this, in a way that most people didn’t get to, stirred a new feeling in you. It was somewhere between desire and loyalty, and for the second time the thought occurs to you.

This must be what love feels like.

You’re far less terrified of that notion now.

His red markings carve their way across his chest, up his neck and down his arms, perfect lines and circles mapping over the expanse of his chiseled body. It takes two of your hands to hold his, tracing one of your fingers over the back of his hand to follow the markings around the underside of his wrist and to the center of his palm.

Itto watches you, eyes trained on yours, flicking to where you’ve so methodically ran your touch over every crease of his palm. You take a closer look at his nails too, the points of them only slightly rounded, though no less sharp as the tips fade to black and gleam in the dark like polished onyx.

Itto’s unsure of what this means, held in the tortuous suspense that your silence brings, but then, in your own quiet muttering, you assure him that you’re fine, just remind him to be cautious of his strength. He nods, jaw clenching and unclenching as he repeats in his mind don’t hurt her, don’t hurt her, don’t hurt her. But you allow him to continue, so he does.

Itto never had to hold back before, never had to be this gentle with anything in his life. Or, at least, that’s what he’d thought. Truth be told, he’d had a lot more practice than he’d realized, just in different kinds of ways, like how he knew the strength it took to kill someone with a single blow or just knock them off balance during a friendly sparring match, or how to handle his beloved onikabuto, though intimidating by appearance quite docile by nature, until put face to face by another of their kind.

He’d played with the village children and saved cats from trees, and when he helped tend to the injuries of his gang after a particularly vicious battle he’d learned to maneuver their limbs with care, leaving his reckless valiantry behind him for the time being.

He’d learned how to become the gentle giant he was known as by those closest to him in several ways, but never in a scenario this intimate. Never when that monster inside of him just wanted to ravish and consume and conquer at an alarming rate.

So he had to stay mindful, as hard as that could be for him at times, as his hands continued on their journey, traveling up your legs around to your plump little ass, giving you a squeeze to test if it was ok to continue before taking some time to memorize that part of your flesh. You’d sucked in a small gasp, but otherwise didn’t seem to mind those ministrations.

You didn’t even mind when Itto’s bare hands slipped under your shorts to make full contact with your skin, kneading and pinching at you, making you squirm sometimes but never away from him, only closer into his chest, side of your face pressed against the quickening beat of his drumming heart, drowning in the scent of him, the aroma making you drunk, filling your head with that heavy calmness that you were beginning to recognize as pleasure.

Itto would check in on you, asking if you were alright, if it was ok to continue, and you’d nod and give a shy little “mm-hm” before his touch would find a new spot.

His hands settled back on your hips then, stare darting across you as if overwhelmed for choice on where to go next. But travelers never really think about where to go next, they just act on impulse, following the guiding winds that pull them forward. And if there was one thing about Itto that everyone knew, it was that he was the master of act now, think later.

He moved up your sides, the glide of his palms sending light shivers through you and causing you to bury your face further into him, feeling your cheeks and ears heating as your breath began to turn shallow and quick from anticipation alone.

He slowed down then, placing one hand on the small of your back and stroking the exposed flesh there with his thumb, soothing you. Then his other hand took a detour from your ribs to rest gently under your chin, raising your gaze to meet his and the sharp-toothed grin that came with it.

“You’re so cute…” he sighed, drinking in the sight of you, all flustered and quivering before him. “All mine…”

You opened your mouth to say something, perhaps scold him for his teasing, but Itto’s mouth found yours again before you could even think of what to say, tongue intertwining with your own and leaving you breathless, his hands resuming their venture up your body until they found your supple breasts, gently kneading at them through your shirt as he kept you locked in the heated kiss.

Another whine emitted from you, head impossibly hazy from the overwhelming and unfamiliar sensations, your brain filled with a fog so thick it put Tsurumi Island to shame. Your mouths were hovering right over each other, both of you breathing hard, still connected by a thin string of spit bridged between both your bottom lips.

Itto licked his lips, breaking that last bit of contact, and you swallowed hard, entire body blazing with incandescent heat when you muttered in a quiet, timid voice, “You… You can take it off, if you want to…”

The oni’s eyes widened a fraction, gaze flicking down to where his massive hands were still clasped around your breasts. Now it was his turn to swallow, salvia thick and sticky at the back of his throat.

“Ok…” he replied, taking your cue to strip you of your shirt as you lifted your arms above your head. He removed your top slowly, savoring the way your breasts sprung free from the tight fabric, nipples pebbled and just begging to be played with.

“My god…” he muttered as he took another look at you, your entire face— hell, even your neck and chest— turned bright red from the embarrassment, the vulnerability. You felt the sting of tears threatening to well in your eyes, averting your nervous gaze from him. “You’re beautiful…”

Those words, sighed out like a silent prayer, caused you to look up at him again, chest lifting rapidly with your shallow breaths.

“Itto…” you murmured in response, but again his kiss cut off your words. There was a fleeting moment where you found it kind of funny, how during any other situation the oni could never seem to stop talking, yet here, now, like this, he often found himself at a loss for words.

You had him tongue tied, clouding his overactive thoughts until the smoke cleared only to reveal more of you, you, you.

You squeaked when he pinched one of your soft, sensitive nipples between his thumb and forefinger and could feel his smirk against your lips as a low hum vibrated in his throat. You shyly licked into his mouth, encouraging him to keep going, your grip on his biceps flexing every so often as you tried to take as much of his teasing as you could.

Thank god your shorts were still on or else you’d be dripping all over him, your arousal pouring from you and dampening the fabric that clung to your pulsing little cunt.

But you were getting concerned now, because being around him and doing all of this was only worsening that tight, twisting feeling in your gut, not helping alleviate it in the slightest. You couldn’t go on for much longer like this. You needed relief.

You almost thought to tell him, explain your current predicament, but there was no time for words.

As he rolled the stiff bud of your nipple between his fingers, beginning to work on the neglected one at the same time, you let out a mewl, breaking the kiss to drop your head against his chest, squirming in his lap, settling with your soaked core over his thigh and grinding against him.

It was in that instant that you realized the way to relieve yourself of this all-consuming, ever present feeling, and as you arched your back and keened, the pressure perfectly, painfully sweet, Itto’s grip on you tightened, your voice breaking off into a hitched gasp before tapering off into a desperate whimper.

“Archons, baby…” he huffed, a crooked smirk pulled at his lips, one of his fangs glinting as his lip raised. “That feel good? Keep doing it… Fuck…”

He held your hips again, helping you to create more friction against his leg as you spread your thighs even wider, head thrown back at the next particularly harsh grind against him, exposing your neck and inviting Itto to latch onto your throat, sucking a dark bruise into your flesh and lapping at the mark left behind, all the while bringing you closer to your release as you dragged your clothed sex across him, your wetness soaking through your shorts and staining his pantleg.

“Fuck… You wanna take these off too?” he asked, mirth swimming in his eyes, a thin ring of amber all that remained as his pupils continued to expand. His thumbs hooked into the waistband of your shorts, gave them a light tug, exposing your hip bones as your speed increased.

“Itto—!” was all you could manage to choke out before your entire body tensed and you let out another high-pitched moan, shuddering through the come down as you felt your tight little hole flutter rapidly around nothing, pouring arousal soaking you both, sticking to your inner thighs as your body sagged further onto him, energy spent.

“Holy shit…” the oni cursed in another one of those disbelieving sighs, one hand remaining on your back where he soothingly stroked you through the aftershocks, the other carefully lifting one of your thighs to swipe his fingers through your slick, nails nearly brushing against your drenched center.

Your eyes could barely stay open, entire being beginning to be lulled to sleep now that the tortuous sensation finally seemed to cease, but when you felt Itto shift a bit under you, your gaze fluttered open and drifted back up to his face.

When it did, however, you couldn’t believe your eyes, a new wave of molten heat surging through you at the sight of him staring at his glistening fingers with half-lidded eyes, scissoring them apart to study how your juices stretched between his appendages before popping them into his mouth, honey-glazed eyes rolling back into his head as he savored the tangy taste of you.

A silent sob hitched in your chest, your cunt fluttering back to life as a new, freshly sharpened knife began to twist inside of you.

“Knew you’d taste so good…” he moaned after pulling his fingers out of his mouth with a wet pop. “God, baby… Just want all of you…”

Itto shifted you both so that you now lay on your back and he leaned down over you, both his hands gripping your thighs and positioning you in a way that he could slot his own clothed arousal, which had been severely straining against his pants for a while now, right against your sensitive core. He grinded against you, making you choke out a borderline pained moan at just how hard he was.

Though he wished the two of you were in a better location than the disheveled floor of his tent, Itto thought maybe now you’d be ready to offer yourself up to him fully, the little lamb laying with the great big lion.

After what had just happened, for a moment, so did you.

But as things began to pick up speed again, threaten to go even further as he grinded his erection harder and harder against you, holding your wrists above your head in one of his giant fists while the other tried to hold you down by your hips, your body writhing and squirming from the blinding pleasure, you finally found your words.

“Itto— Itto, wait, wait…” you panted, having to repeat yourself a few times with increasing volume until he snapped out of his animalistic impulses and blinked back into his humanity, lips pressed to your neck and leaving a gentle trail of wet kisses as his hips slowly came to a halt. “I… I need to stop…” Your voice sounded pathetic, even to you, and those tears from earlier finally fought their way to your lash line.

The oni raised his head, staring down at you with concern and confusion, one hand still trapping your wrists but the grip loosening a little. “Oh— Ok, uh, did I…” Another hard swallow, trying to force his fear down with his insecurities. “Did I do something wrong? Am I…” He had to force the next question out, all the heat that had just been flowing through his blood turning into icy anxiety at once. “Am I hurting you?”

He took his hands off of you, sitting back and allowing you to push yourself up onto your elbows, your lower body still feeling weak from not that long ago. “No, no, you’re not hurting me…” you admitted, rolling to your side so you could better push yourself back up to a sitting position.

You were even more self conscious now, aware of every little sensation that crossed your body, making you go a little tense as you said, “I just think… I need some time to get used to this, I mean…”

You felt dirty, but in a different kind of way than you were used to having lived with the gang for this long. This wasn’t the grass stains and dirt smudges kind of unclean. It wasn’t even the bloody and bruised and battered kind of filth you felt after a narrowly-escaped fight. It was almost… shameful.

You could feel your own bodily fluids drying on your thighs, tacking your clothes to your body and pulling at your skin uncomfortably when you moved in certain ways. You wanted your shirt back, covering your chest with crossed arms as you blinked rapidly in a failed attempt to clear your tears.

“Here…” Itto inched closer, your discarded garment in his hand, which he helped you back into, wiping away your warm, salty tears with his thumbs as they rolled down your cheeks. “Hey, it’s ok. It’s ok, don’t cry,” he begged, becoming rather anxious himself. “Everything’s ok! What can I do? Tell me what I can do?”

He took your trembling little hands in his, thumbs now stroking the tops of them as he tried to search your eyes for any answer as to what he’d done wrong, if you wouldn’t tell him outright.

Then, in your moment of weakness— no, not weakness, you had to remind yourself, vulnerability— you muttered out a helpless little, “Just hold me…”

Instantly, Itto obliged, pulling you back into his chest and continuing to caress your back, touch dragging lightly up and down your spine, waiting until you were able to relax a little and your crying died down to occasional sniffles.

“I meant it when I said we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Itto reassured you, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head, still cradling you in his arms. “Even if it’s not for a long time,” he promised, “I don’t mind waiting.”

You looked up at him then, doe-eyes still glimmering with a thin sheen of misty tears.

You didn’t know what to say. You only knew what you felt. And that was how lucky and loved and looked after he made you feel, this kind of patience not something you would’ve expected of him.

“Take all the time you need…” he repeated, quieter this time, as if talking to himself. “Besides…” he smiled as he looked down at you, the warm gold of his eyes having returned as he cupped your face in his hands, pressing a soft kiss to his most precious little treasure’s forehead, “Didn’t I tell you? Onis mate for life. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

***

The day following what had occurred in Itto’s tent, you weren’t entirely sure what to think.

After the mess you’d made of yourself, he’d told you to stay put while he went down to the river and fetched some water for you, standing guard outside while you cleaned yourself up to the best of your ability in private.

He’d offered to do it for you, said he didn’t mind in that shamelessly oblivious way of his, but you’d blushed beet red and told him you could handle it yourself.

You washed your shorts too, hoping they’d have the chance to dry overnight so you wouldn’t have any awkward glances shot your way or have to admit to Shinobu, despite your trust and confidence in her, why you were returning to your own tent (which was right next to hers) with half of your clothes damp.

However, in the meantime, Itto had brought you a pair of pants from the makeshift lost and found (read: collection of unclaimed, stolen, or randomly obtained articles of clothing that anyone in the gang could sift through and take as their own when their old clothes got too tattered or dirty) and wrapped you up in a bundle of clean (read: not freshly washed, but not outright dirty or stained) blankets, cuddling up to you and making sure you drifted off into a peaceful slumber before closing his own eyes and slipping unconscious.

Early the following morning, you’d woken, finding the oni still fast asleep, chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths (and emitting a faint snoring sound on every exhale), one of his toned arms slung over you and heavy to lift when you carefully shimmied out from under its weight.

You’d watched him for a little while, studying his face a little closer, tempted to reach out and touch one of his big, red horns, but then retracted your hand halfway in fear of rousing him.

You changed back into your now dry shorts and snuck out of the tent, returning to your own private dwelling swiftly and quietly before anyone even had the chance to know you were gone.

Except Shinobu, of course, who had seemingly been waiting for you upon your return.

You’d startled when you’d pulled back the fabric curtain and saw her sitting in the center of your tent, two cups of hot tea just brewed, hers warming her hands and yours sitting across from her.

“So…” she smiled, only a hint of mischief woven into the otherwise kind expression. “I take it you had an eventful night.”

You came to sit across from her, the tea drawing you in with the inviting ghost of steam rising off the surface of the hot liquid, and rolled your eyes out of dismay. “Please tell me that not every single person in camp heard what we were doing…”

Shinobu gave a teasing smile, taking a calm sip of her tea. “Don’t worry,” she assured you, nodding towards your own cup and encouraging you to drink. “I sent those closest to Itto’s tent out for a late night supply run. I kept watch nearby to make sure no one else came around looking for their fearless leader at any odd hours of the night.”

You let out a sigh after your first sip of tea, shoulders sagging with relief to know that the entirety of the gang hadn’t witnessed those undignified and rather personal noises you’d been making. “Thank you, Shinobu…” you said, giving her a grateful grin until something occurred to you. Your eyes went wide and your smile dropped. “Wait,” you clarified, voice tight. “You said you kept watch…” You felt your cheeks heat. “Does that mean—?” Looks like someone had heard you after all.

“Forgive my sneaky methods but,” Shinobu began, “I was just making sure Itto didn’t get out of hand with you. I was worried. I—”

Shinobu’s words cut short as you reached forward and hugged her, nearly spilling both your tea.

“Don’t apologize,” you muttered into her shoulder. “You’re a good friend, Shinobu.”

The ninja didn’t know what to say, so she just returned your embrace and smiled to herself, lending you comfort until you were ready to let go. When you looked at each other again, you were smiling now too.

Then, after a while, she asked, eyebrow raised and tone a little more stern, “He didn’t get out of hand with you, right?”

“No, no,” you shook your head, a nervous smile forming on your lips. “He didn’t. I… He listened when I told him I wanted to stop and…” Your words trailed off, the previous night reigniting that flame in your belly and threatening to engulf your being if you stayed in those memories for too long.

Shinobu hadn’t planned on asking— didn’t want to press you to tell her any details you didn’t want to— but all of a sudden a look of confusion crossed her face. “Oh?” she cocked her head slightly, considering you. “You mean you two didn’t…?”

It took you a moment to catch on to what she meant, then quickly settled her curiosity with a frantic shaking of your head and waving of your hands, stuttering a little as you explained, “O-oh no, no, I mean, we did things but we didn’t— He didn’t— I—”

Shinobu’s quiet giggle ceased your panic, watching as your friend took amusement in your flustered state. “Well, as long as you’re ok, that’s all that matters to me. But, just so you know,” her gaze swept up and down your form before settling on your neck, “you might wanna wear some more concealing clothes in the coming days. Y’know, if you don’t want the entire camp to see all those marks.”

Marks…?

Reflexively, you reached up to your neck and felt the tender spots where dark bruises had blossomed during the night. Your cheeks heated and you pulled at your shirt to glance down, finding more marks scattered across your chest, following the trail down to your legs, all the evidence of where Itto’s mouth and hands had been.

“G-good call…” you stammered, trying to swallow down the embarrassed lump forming in your throat.

With that, Shinobu reminded you that, if you ever needed anything— advice, answers, an out in case things ever turned awkward— she’d be there. You thanked her, for the support and for the tea, and then she ducked out of your tent, leaving you to brew in all your lingering thoughts and emotions.

You took up the small hand mirror you’d found one day during a patrol and studied the bruises on your neck, fingertips lightly brushing against them and sending that spark inside you flaring.

You understood why you should hide them, but at the same time, you liked knowing that they were there.

It was proof of what had happened.

A reminder that you’d like to do it again.

***

The following week, things had gotten busier within the gang.

After taking on a few new members, Itto had been tasked with training them, going off on supply runs with any free time he had after that, so you two hadn’t seen much of each other in a while.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t thinking about him. You’d spent nearly every waking hour retracing the red markings carved across his body in your mind, remembering the sensation of his sharp nails biting into your hips, your thighs.

Sometimes, if you had a little more alone time than usual, you’d try and imagine what would’ve come after he had you under him that night, had you not stopped him.

But then something or someone would come to interrupt your daydream, force you back to the work of the real world where there was always another mission to go on, a new area to patrol.

Today, however, you’d decided to sneak off to a place you knew you wouldn’t be disrupted, which was perched up in your favorite sakura tree, leaning back comfortably on a high branch and staring out at the horizon, lazily tracing your gaze over the cliffs and hills until your eyes began to close, lulled by this rare bout of silence the landscape was lending you.

But then a distant voice shouted, “Hey!” and your eyes snapped open, a scowl pulling on your brow at being interrupted here of all places.

You sat up and looked around, seeing no one in sight, so you leaned back once more and closed your eyes again, crossing your arms and figuring the summons hadn’t been directed towards you. However, a few minutes later when the call came again, now from directly under you, you recognized the boisterous voice.

Itto smiled up at you, big and bright and happier than ever, giving you a wave and stating through a jovial chuckle, “Long time no see!”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, a smile spreading across your face at the sight of him. “How did you find me?”

Some of Itto’s confidence faltered then, becoming slightly abashed as he admitted, “I— Uh, well, I followed you, actually…”

“You followed me?” You’d left hours ago. Unless he’d been lying in wait until now, you found that highly unlikely.

“Weeeell, I mean…” Itto mumbled, one hand fidgeting with the hair at the back of his neck before looking back up at you and flashing another one of those shameless grins. “I might’ve sorta tracked you, technically, but… Well, why don’t you come down?”

You puffed out a chuckle of disbelief, shaking your head at him, though you weren’t mad. You found it kind of sweet, actually, the fact that he could find you no matter how far you wandered. You’d never have to worry about being lost again. Perhaps that was all a part of the whole “onis mate for life” philosophy he’d mentioned before.

“Why don’t you come up?” you teased, curious to see what he’d do. Well, in all honesty, you knew that facing a climb had never stopped Itto before. You just wanted to watch him do it. Wanted to watch his hefty frame scale the tree, causing the thinner branches to shake slightly and sending flower petals fluttering through the air, raining lilac down around you.

Itto smirked. “Challenge accepted,” he remarked, leaving his claymore by the trunk and beginning his ascent.

You moved further down the long branch you were perched upon, letting him sit on the thickest part of the tree once he reached your vantage point. Only slightly out of breath, the oni gave a dramatic exhale and jokingly said, “What I won’t do for you, huh?”

You giggled, shimmying a little closer to pluck out some leaves that had gotten caught in his mane of white hair. “You would’ve done it either way,” you said, “even if I hadn’t been the one to challenge you.”

Itto quickly leaned forward to give you a peck on the cheek, pulling another giggle from you before leaning back and making himself comfortable, hands clasped behind his neck, one leg dangling down from the tree while the other lay outstretched across the branch.

“C’mere,” he beckoned you, waving you towards his chest. However, still feeling playfully defiant, you shook your head and inched your way further towards the skinny part of the branch.

“I can’t get down now,” you said, glancing at the drop below, knowing you didn’t want to risk jumping from this height. 

“Get down?” Itto repeated with a bewildered expression. “You just made me come up! What’d you wanna get down for?”

More giggles bubbled past your lips, finding his exaggerated reaction endearing. “Well I can’t stay up here forever,” you rolled your eyes upon the emphasis. “Besides…” You went to climb around Itto— well, more like over Itto— as you continued, “I’ve been gone long enough. I don’t want Shinobu to—”

Your sentence was prematurely punctuated with a startled gasp upon Itto grabbing you by the hips and pulling you back down to lay on top of him.

I don’t want Shinobu to worry, you’d been about to say, but it seemed like you had more to worry about than her at the moment on account of being this high up in a tree with someone who seemed to find it funny to be recklessly playing around.

“Itto— Careful!” you chided, squirming atop him as you felt your weight shift and sway, fearing you might fall.

But Itto would never let harm come to you, never put you in any danger to begin with. His firm hold on you kept you anchored against the toned expanse of his chest, your legs straddling his lower abdomen and feeling something pressing up against your ass when you clung tighter to him.

“Don’t worry,” he assured you in a confident, borderline condescending coo, his grip unrelenting. “I’m not gonna let ya fall.”

“That’s not the point—” you stammered, feeling your face flush as that twisting, burning sensation swelled in your belly again. “This is dangerous! I’m gonna fall! We’re gonna fall!”

“Wouldn’t be so dangerous if you’d just stop all your squirmin’,” he teased, a low, dark chuckle rumbling in his chest and vibrating against your own, adding fuel to the ever growing fire inside you.

You clutched the lapel of his coat in your fists, as if your hold on him could compare in the slightest to his hold on you. You’d try your luck at occasionally trying to break free when you thought he’d let his guard down, but his strength was unmatched. It almost wasn’t fair, how effortless Itto made gaining full physical control over a human being seem, barely even flinching anytime you tried to struggle against his hold.

It was all in good fun though. And, while you were getting a little frustrated, you knew if you told him to let you go in a way that sounded serious, he wouldn’t hesitate to do so.

You were just glad that the oni was your ally and not your enemy. The thought of having to face someone like him, someone who could immobilize you with a single hand, was terrifying. Especially, you then thought with a slight horror creeping in to mix with your arousal, if that certain someone had wanted you the way Itto wanted you.

You’d never stand a chance.

“You’re the worst…” you whined, admitting defeat when you slumped against him, cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady drum of his heart.

He suddenly jolted, making you flinch and emit a startled yelp at thinking you were going to fall, only for Itto to erupt into a fit of rumbling laughter and bring a hand up to rest between your shoulder blades, fingers twirling in your hair absentmindedly as he said in between his amusement, “Oh— Oh my god! You should see your face right now! That was too good!”

You punched him in the chest, though that probably hurt you more than it hurt him. “Sorry, sorry…” he chuckled, locking eyes with you and ignoring the way you were scowling at him, obviously not finding his joke very funny. “You’re just so cute when you get like this, I couldn’t help myself.”

That comment earned him another punch, harder this time, and he winced at that one, though just barely. “Yeah, I probably deserved that,” he admitted, giving you one of those stupidly charming smiles, instantly melting away the rest of your irritation.

“I’m gonna get you back for that,” you warned him, all the while laying your head back down to soak up his warmth, the earthy scent of him calming you.

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Itto replied mischievously, voice lowering, both your bodies relaxing as a gentle breeze blew through the treetops, sending more blossoms twirling down from the branches in a lavender drizzle.

You both lay there in silence for a while, nature’s peaceful symphony lulling you, until Itto’s hands began to inevitably wander.

He gently kneaded at the soft flesh of the back of your thighs, your ass, shifting you atop of him slightly so that you once again felt where his thick, hard arousal was jutting out from his pants. 

You let out a quiet, broken whimper.

Without even seeing it you could tell how big it was. You could feel it pressing up against you, seeking out the tight heat of your insides more and more by the second.

You slid a little further down his body, legs still spread over his waist, until both your clothed sexes were nudging at each other.

Once you finally dared to meet eyes with him, you could see his gold being overtaken by black again, stare half-lidded and serene as he gazed upon you.

He was going to kiss you, and then probably much more than that, knowing him. So as his lips drew closer to yours, you reminded him in a volume just above a whisper, “We’re in a tree, Itto.”

“I don’t care…” he muttered, your words clearly not registering to him as he continued to drift nearer.

“Itto Arataki,” you addressed him, causing him to pause his motions yet that up-to-no-good expression remained. “Get us down from this tree or I will not kiss you.”

The oni nudged his nose against yours, humming out another one of those low, seductive chuckles that only spelled trouble. “Alright, princess,” he teased, sitting up and bringing you with him in the process. “I’ll save you from your tower.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, though held onto him tight as he dangled his legs from the branch and dropped down, hitting the ground with a flat-footed thud, keeping you safe in his arms.

“Happy now?” he pestered playfully.

“Put me down and I will be,” you stubbornly affirmed.

Itto gave a half shrug and a playfully stubborn, “Maybe I don’t wanna.”

“Itto. Arataki.” You repeated sternly, trying to suppress a smirk as you pointed a finger in his face. “Put. Me. Down.”

He huffed out a dramatic sigh, exhaling, “If you say so…” before giving in to your demand.

Or, at least, you’d thought he was going to.

Instead, he merely lowered you to the ground so he could assume his position overtop of you again. He was being quite cheeky today and, as much as harmless tormenting could be enjoyable, you wondered why he’d woken up with so much audacity on this day in particular.

“Now for your end of the bargain,” he reminded you, one of his palms lightly cupping your cheek, fingers weaving through your hair again.

Every time he kissed you, somehow, it got better.

Your shyness shed away another layer and your confidence stood a little taller. You two were coming to memorize each other in this way, Itto’s hands maneuvering over your body with familiarity, drawn to the places he knew you liked being touched the most, despite you never making this explicitly known to him.

It wasn’t long until your head was getting hazy and you were arching into his touch, more of those pretty moans and delicate little mewls spilling from your mouth whenever his tongue teased at your pulse or he dragged his canines over the raise of your throat, sucking new, brighter bruises over the old, fading ones.

You jolted when his sharp nails grazed over your ribs, ghosting over the dip of your waist and down to the soft raise of your lower belly. All your senses were lit ablaze with buzzing electricity, every sensation felt just that much stronger this time around for whatever reason.

Maybe it was because, unlike in the tent back at camp, out here, practically in the middle of nowhere, you knew you two were actually alone.

Your trembling little hands reached for him, palms dragging across every muscle etched into his abdomen, wanting to learn him in this new way too. And Itto, well…

Itto almost couldn’t handle it.

How many times had he dreamed of this? Of you touching him like this, with that lustful look in your eyes?

Too many times to count, if he was being honest with himself.

Guess some dreams do come true, he thought, quickly shimmying out of his jacket and undoing the harness crossing his chest, the spiked collar beholding his vision remaining like a reminder of his strength.

And you both just stared at each other then, taking in the sight that you’d been longing to see as if you would go blind tomorrow, branding it into your memory to carry with you forever.

“Wait— Wait, Itto…” you panted halfway through his next round of hungry kisses and grabbing hands.

The oni retracted, though only slightly, begging to every Archon he could think of that you wouldn’t want to stop again. He wasn’t sure how much more denial he could take.

“Can we just… I dunno…” you went on, awkwardly avoiding eye contact. “Can we just find somewhere a little less…” outside?

Itto glanced around, seeing not a single silhouette spotting the expanse of the horizon, and had to force himself to swallow down his dismissive responses of it’s fine or there’s no one here.

“Yeah…” he nodded, offering you a hand and pulling you to your feet as you both stood, helping you brush some of the leaves and dirt and stray flower petals from your back. He grabbed up his coat and said, “Yeah, I know a place.”

***

The den had been created after the first kiss you two had shared.

Itto had made sure to craft it as close to perfection as he could manage— with plenty of space and blankets and food, the nest tucked away in a hidden cove by the shore.

He’d wanted to make it special for you. Well, as special as the leader of a group of misfit runaways could manage. But it’s private and enclosed and the makeshift bed at the center actually looked comfortable, all the mismatched pillows and blankets arranged in a tousled yet inviting way, the perfect haven for the two of you to snuggle up in once all was said and done.

Itto stood by the entrance, which was located at the end of a winding, narrow pathway, one just barely wide enough for him to fit through, allowing you to enter first and give your approval. It was a wonder how he’d discovered such a place, how a cave this deep could still hold some capability of soft, cool light and a temperature that, while a little chilly now, would be perfect by the time you were sparkling with a thin sheen of sweat and nestled in his arms.

“Itto, it’s…” You turned slowly, taking in your surroundings, caught in awe by the rocky suite you had all to yourselves. Once you finally stood to face him again, you smiled, all honey-dripped sweetness, and said, “It’s perfect.”

He began to migrate further inside once you deemed all his hard work worthy, but still had to ask the question he was slightly afraid to receive an answer to. “Is this what you really want? I mean, are you really ok with this? With me…”

Then it was your turn to comfort him, much like he’d learned to do for you in his own quiet, gentle ways.

You approached him, reaching up to cup his cheek in your tiny palms. He leaned down a little so you could reach without too much strain, melting into your touch with one hand placed atop your own, his palm swallowing yours, tenderly keeping you there for his own sake.

“I want this,” you assured him, voice echoing slightly amidst the ambience of the cavern. “I want you, Itto. I want…” You pause. Hesitate. But then you blink the uncertainty away, finally saying what you know he needs to hear. “I want it to be with you. I… I love you and…” The night he’d rescued you from your squalor and starvation flashed through your mind, the first time you’d seen the bright gold of his eyes gleaming in the dark, reached out and accepted the hand that had been— still was— so much bigger than your own. “And I think I always have.”

Itto’s kiss is already there when you run out of words. But what more was there to say than that? 

Nothing, you realized, the words flowing through you thick and lazy, a syrupy kind of mindframe, there’s no more to say, only to do.

“I’ll be careful,” Itto promises, “I don’t want you to worry about that.”

You believe him and, this time, it’s you who takes the lead, guiding him by the hand to the bednest in the center of the cave.

Though the distance only lasts a few short strides for him, Itto feels like he can’t get there fast enough, unable to believe that this is finally happening. He tries to contain that boyish excitement of his as his heart flutters and soars in his chest, yearning to break free from his body and fly so high even the Archons can’t reach it.

Your own pulse is becoming a quickfire little thing, restless rabbit foot drumming in your rib cage as the anticipation latches its teeth onto you but doesn’t bite down just yet. Makes you wonder just how much it’ll sting once the fangs pierce your unmarked flesh.

But you trust Itto enough to know that he’ll be diligent in his promise, that he’ll be careful, that he’ll be as gentle as he can, and that, at the end of it all, he’ll take care of you.

His words return to you once you’re on your back beneath him, staring up into his sparkling eyes through the dim light of the cave.

Onis mate for life. Onis mate for life. Onis mate for life.

Perhaps it’s possible some humans do too.

Perhaps you’re one of them, linked by the bond that had been created all those years ago and now sealed in this vow, this act.

It was two strangers becoming soulmates, or, perhaps, two soulmates forgetting what it was ever like to be strangers.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this…” Itto mumbles into your neck, breathing in the scent of you and feeling his blood burn, igniting with the molten urgency in which his body carnally craves yours. “How long I’ve waited for you…”

His kisses start gentle, trailing up your neck, along your jaw, until his mouth is on yours in that hungry way you’ve grown accustomed to. You know his tongue nearly as well as your own by now, the feeling of it licking into your mouth natural, the way his teeth drag along your bottom lip tactful.

You become like warm clay under his hands, pliable and submissive to the sculptor’s touch, aiding him in undressing you, allowing him to strip you completely bare and admire you in your simplest form.

And he’s breathless from it— from the raw beauty that your body beholds, every inch, every feature, every curve, and every line of your being more stunning than he could’ve ever concocted in his own imagination during those late night fantasies.

You think you hear him say the words through a mystified sigh, “You’re beautiful,” barely lacing through his breath as he soaks in the sight of you, your mussed hair splayed against the blankets, slender neck exposed to him as you turn your head to the side, unable to meet the intensity of his stare while he studies your naked from, chest rising and falling fast but steady.

It isn’t until his vast shadow lifts from over you to discard what remains of his own clothing that you gain the courage to peek over at him, eyes squinting with idle hesitation one moment, then going wide once you see him, now just as exposed as you but nowhere near as vulnerable.

You swallow thickly, saliva sticky as it clings to the back of your throat, and for a moment you wonder if you can truly take him.

As he settles back over you, catching the way your stare rounds out before darting away from his intimidating manhood, Itto asks you again if you’re alright, if you still want to do this, and you say you do, pushing down the doubt.

“I trust you,” you assure him through a cracked whisper, nodding your head with tiny little motions. “It’s ok. I trust you…”

Itto explores your body, hands clumsy at times if he lets his thoughts wander in the heat of the moment, but, similar to when he fights, there’s a certain weightless grace to his movements when he concentrates. Overbearing and enthusiastic at times, yes, but not all reckless, brute strength when he makes the decision not to be.

“Gonna take good care of you, baby,” he mutters, mouth pressed against the underside of your breast and leaving a wet, sloppy kiss there. “Don’t worry…”

You squeak when his tongue lavs over the peaked bud of your nipple, whine when he sucks on it, your little hands pawing at him, not sure if you’re trying to push him away or hold him closer. He moans against you, the sounds emitting from him ones you’ve never heard him make before, some the low, feral growl of an untamed animal, others his own high-pitched whimpers, the latter coming when you grasp onto his horns, using them to anchor yourself to him when he gives the other side of your chest the same treatment.

His nails ghost down your ribs, following the curve of your waist, your hips, until his hand finds your lower belly and rests there, caressing that spot with a new kind of tenderness, all the while sucking more love bites along your flesh.

He thinks to himself how much he’d like to see you round with his child someday, an ethereal glow emanating from your entire being as you carry around a little Arataki inside you, showing everyone that you’re his, only his. He has to break from the idea before too long though. Allowing himself to stew in that desire could make him lose himself, lose control, and he knew neither of you wanted that.

As his hand moves lower, you feel that twisting sensation wind tighter inside you and cry out a broken, sobbing sound. Pawing harder at him, your little hands clutch his shoulders as mewling pleas of his name spill from your mouth. One of his long, thick fingers finds your wet folds, spreads you a little wider for him, glazing your slick up and down your cunt.

It occurs to him now, as he’s marking you with a particularly dark bruise, that he’s the first one— the only one— to ever touch you like this. The only one who’s ever been allowed to learn these parts of you. That only makes him more eager, loving the way he has you at his mercy, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs and massaging a few slow circles onto it, holding you down as your hips buck and your back arches, another helpless whine tearing through your throat.

“Itto, please—!” you beg, barely able to get the words out through your whimpering, your blood singing with a harmony of heat, a melody of desire, as two of his fingers strive to stimulate you, this sensation so much stronger than that first time when you’d tried to work yourself over the edge in his tent, pleasure drawn bowstring tight inside of you and threatening to let the arrow fly. You fear that, once it pierces you, there’ll be no way to pull it out.

The next word comes out as a hitched breath, a desperate plea of “Wait—!”

You can barely breathe, suffocating on the euphoria that rises higher and higher by the second, threatening to drown you in its blissful haze. But then Itto’s fingers retreat and you regret it almost immediately. “Want me to stop?” he asks, a decibel of disappointment resonating in the sentence.

Panting, waiting for that cruel, sharp fluttering to subside a little bit, you reply, “No… No… I just… I just need a moment…”

You prop yourself up awkwardly on your elbows, trying to lift yourself but struggling from your quivering limbs. Itto places a hand under your back for support, helping prop you upright the rest of the way until you can pull your posture into a sitting position.

Again, your gaze flicks to where his own arousal awaits, rock hard and blushing tip leaking pearly pre-cum. You feel yourself getting wetter at just the sight of it, that knot in your stomach twisting with both dread and desire.

“Can I…” you begin, voice velvet soft with just the tiniest shred of trepidation lining the edges. “Can I touch it…?”

You feel dizzy from the embarrassment, face so hot it’s nearly stifling. But then the heat of the humiliation tapers off into a balmy relief when Itto flashes one of those effortlessly charming grins and says with a slight snicker, “Course ya can! You don’t have to ask.”

Just like that, he’s back to being the affable oni that everyone in the gang has come to love. It helps put you at ease, ebbs the anxiety that was beginning to creep up your spine, that side of him so familiar to you. Although, it does nothing to lessen your rapid heartbeats as your little hand slowly reaches for him.

You let out a fragile gasp when your grip wraps gently around his length, feeling the silken texture of his flesh, the way the veins wind up the underside of his shaft, how it twitches in your hand when you increase the pressure even the slightest amount. You’re mesmerized by him, stuck staring in a wide-eyed trance and surprised to find that the thought of him being inside you doesn’t scare you nearly as much as it once had.

Itto places a hand over the one of yours that’s still gently gripping him, not in a way that’s forceful, but more so in an encouragement that you don’t have to be afraid.

“Hey…” the oni considers you with caution, brows knitted slightly as he cocks his head to one side, trying to meet your eyes. He takes his hand off yours then, brings it to lift your chin slightly. You flow with the movement, forcing yourself to meet his eyes even though it sends another stab of bashfulness through you. “I won’t hurt you. And, like I said, if you want to stop, we can… If you need to wait, we can—”

You shake your head, nuzzle your face into his shoulder, seeking comfort in his body heat and earthy scent, allowing his warmth to lull you back into a tranquil state. “I’m fine…” you murmur. “I— Just do what you were doing before. I can handle it…”

Itto rubs a hand attentively up and down your back, waiting until he feels you relax before lowering you to lay back again. He resumes his journey down your body, one of his fingers slipping into your tight little hole and feeling it clench around him when you flinch, just that simple intrusion bringing slight discomfort, but overall not an entirely bad feeling.

As he begins to slowly work you open, preparing you the best that he can, his head is lowering closer and closer to where his fingers are. You’re squeezing your eyes shut, trying to control your breathing and stay calm so you don’t have to stop him again, so you don’t even really realize how close his face is to your dripping sex until you feel something firm and wet press flat against your slit.

You moan when his tongue teases at your clit and it’s then that something inside Itto finally snaps, an animalistic instinct surging through his blood like a lightning strike, quick and violent, the musky scent of you mixed with the tangy taste awakening the piece of him he’d been trying to keep dormant this entire time.

He growls against you, both his hands holding you down by your hips as you jerk and buck against him, crying out high and loud as that coil winding impossibly tight inside you breaks, glistening arousal gushing as every muscle in your body tenses, fighting against Itto’s grip until you don’t have the strength to anymore.

You don’t even have time to come down from the high as Itto continues his assault on you, golden eyes wearing that wild, dilated gaze as his mouth migrates back up your form, seeming so much more dangerous than before.

“H-hurts, Itto—!” Your plea clips with a wince, weak little whine escaping through clenched teeth as his fingers flex into the meat of your thighs, branding you with even more bruises, though these don’t seem nearly as intentional as the ones from before. He scrapes his sharp incisors along your pulse, pausing over the valley between your neck and shoulder, his panting breaths humid against your clammy skin. “Itto, wait— Hold on! You’re—!”

A pained, broken yelp sounds from you when he sinks his fangs into the crook of your shoulder, biting down hard, slowly increasing the pressure as you writhe beneath him, tears flowing from your eyes and dampening your hairline as they stream down your temples.

“Itto!” You sob, knowing that, no matter how hard you struggle, you’ll never break free. Not unless he wants you to. Not unless he lets you. You grit your teeth, spitting through them as your jaw clenches, “Please— You’re hurting me!”

He breaks the skin, tastes blood, and as the iron and salt hit his tongue, he comes back to himself, having been completely lost in the lust fueled hysteria.

When he removes his mouth from you, there’s crimson staining his lips, more dark red welling and beading in the distinct shape of his bite on you, trickling down your shoulder and dripping a few spots onto the blankets below. You’re trembling, a weeping mess as pained whines fall from your lips, squeezing your eyes shut as more tears leak from them, too afraid to look up and see that feral gaze boring into you.

He’s mortified when he realizes what he’s done. Horrified that he hurt you after promising so intently not to. All the fire that had swelled in his chest, nearly consumed him— caused him to nearly consume you— is doused at once, leaving him cold and curled in on himself as he fervently apologizes, agonizing over his atonements as his words stumble.

“Oh, god— I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby,” he says, pulling you into his chest, lifting you like you weigh nothing, peppering tender kisses along your neck and the wound as he continues to speak in a low murmur. You hiss when his lips meet the bite, sucking on the blood a little, the sting of his saliva making you tense. Itto just keeps apologizing.

“Just wanted you so bad…” he rambles, smoothing back your tousled hair and gazing upon you with love instead of hunger now. “Don’t know what came over me— Just wanted you. I got carried away, I’m sorry— Won’t happen again…”

He wiped your tears, rocked you gently in his arms, and begged for forgiveness until you finally gave him an ounce of reprieve. “Does that normally happen?” you asked with a lingering quiver to your voice, clearing your throat and trying to regain some of your trust in him back.

“No, not usually,” Itto admitted, continuing to tend to you, thumb hovering over the wound as if he could seal it as easily as it had been created. “It’s just…” He gave a repentant smirk. “I’ve never felt this strongly about anyone before… Guess it comes with some unexpected side effects…” He gave a nervous cough and cleared his throat, giving you a look that anticipated your answer to the frequently asked question of “do you want to stop?”

But, even after the fright he’d just given you, you could still see the flame of loyalty burning steady behind his eyes, unwavering on the wick.

“I’ll control myself,” he solemnly swears, one hand coming up to press over his heart. “I can control myself.”

Before you were about to lightly reprimand him again, trying and failing to sound stern as you made it clear he had better keep himself in check, Itto cut in with, “I love you, too, y’know. When you said it before, I forgot to say it back, and that’s not because I don’t mean it…” He licked his lips nervously, gaze darting about as he searched his brain for what it was he was really trying to say. “I just— It just caught me off guard, is all. I didn’t think you’d be the one to say it first.”

Soulmates.

The phrase had crossed your mind before— crossed Itto’s a million times— but the way in which you forgave him so easily, so effortlessly, not even remembering making the decision to let it all go, how could it be anything other than some kind of celestial connection? A star-crossed devotion that bound you two no matter what you were up against?

It was a comforting thought, the fact that perhaps any and all issues would find a way to right themselves on their own, like a steady stream flowing clear and cool over jagged stones, nature wearing them down smooth.

“You better make it up to me,” you replied with a coy smile, craning your neck to try and see just how bad the damage was, but to no avail. You look up at him through your lashes, mischief playing on your tone as you tease, “What is Shinobu gonna think when she sees this? If I were you, I’d start rehearsing an excuse.”

There’s a fissure in Itto’s concerned expression one second, the remaining worry cracking completely the next as he lets out another one of those signature jovial laughs, your little chuckle mixing in after a moment.

“Oh, don’t you worry,” he assures you, lightly placing a hand on your cheek, feeling a little more of the weight lift when you lean into the touch, your smile widening. “I’ll make it up to you plenty.”

And with that, you both felt ready to resume. Itto’s kisses are gentle as they worship every inch of you, attentively returning to the imprint of his teeth that marks your shoulder, lightly licking over where the once bright blossom of blood has rusted over and begun to close the wound. You shiver slightly, the bite still tender, but are relieved to find the initial spike of pain has faded.

You tangle your fingers into his shaggy mane of white hair, gently combing through it until he does something to make your hands turn to fists and tug. All that does is earn you another one of his growls or groans, spurring him on to stay in certain areas for a little longer.

You learn his horns are a more sensitive place for him than you ever would’ve guessed. Every time your grip tightens on them his voice tapers off into a moan, so eventually you start doing it on purpose, which he catches on to, only forcing more whines from you in return.

You two go at it like that for nearly an hour, teasing and testing each other, Itto almost overdoing his promise to make it up to you as you’re left a breathless mess below him, entire body shining with saliva and sweat, eyes glazed over and shallow breaths filling the space between you two.

You should’ve known that it would be like this with him— indulgent and intense— but being barely even halfway there, you’re wondering just how much more you can take for the night. Itto still checks in with you, asking if you’re alright and if you can keep going. You answer in words when you can, eager little nods when you’re too spent to speak.

But you can feel how hot and hard he still is as he rubs against you, his pre-cum sticky where it’s leaked out against your leg, your hip. You don’t care. You’re both far from clean as it is, and you don’t doubt that a very thorough bath will be in order at the end of it all. Plus, Itto had no problem with you staining him with your arousal. If anything, all it did was rile you both up further.

“You can…” you begin, swallowing hard as you continue carding through his silvery locks, toying with the cherry faded ends of them, your face flushing a little as you force out, “You can put it inside me… I…” You both freeze, meeting each other’s stares. “I think I’m ready.”

The oni’s eyes hold on yours until you look away, going slack as you try and relax to counteract the nerves building inside of you again. Then his golden gaze sweeps down your body to where he’d just barely begun to become acquainted with.

Now it’s his turn to swallow, flicking his gaze back up to yours and saying, “Yeah. Alright. Just remember, if you need to—”

“I know,” you cut in, not wanting him to say the words and continue to bear the guilt that comes with them. “Just don’t stop unless I tell you to.” He blinks twice, slightly taken aback by the abrasiveness in which your reassurance comes, but is grateful for it nonetheless.

So his fingers go back to working you open, fitting two inside and giving you time to adjust until his thick digits can pump inside of you, scissor you open and make you hiss from the stretch.

He shoots you an unsure glance, which makes you remind him, “Don’t stop. I’m fine. I can— I can take it—” Your tight voice tapers off into a moan when he curls his knuckles just right inside of you, hitting a spot somewhere deep that patches up the pain with a weighted pleasure, the feeling washing over you and making your insides flutter, eyes rolling a bit when he hits it again.

He takes his time with this gesture as well, wanting you to be as comfortable as possible during what he knows is going to be a mostly uncomfortable experience your first time. But when he thinks he’s prepped you well enough that he can attempt to enter into your still too tight little hole, he lines himself up, cockhead kissing your entrance as more of your slick leaks out, further coating him and yourself.

“Let me hold your hand…” you request, stomach tensing and breath hitching in anticipation. Itto instantly obliges, intertwining his fingers with your trembling ones, feeling you squeeze his hands as he begins to sink in as slowly as he can manage, gasping and groaning when you clench around the little bit of his length that’s entered you.

You whimper, biting at your bottom lip as your eyes squeeze shut, gripping his hands even harder as the sting of the stretch increases to what part of you imagines is impossibly wide, but another piece also knows isn’t more than you can take.

“That’s it, baby,” Itto mutters, voice strained as a clipped whine claws up his throat, feeling your pulsing little cunt swallow another inch of his girth. “Atta girl— Fuck— Just like that… Takin’ me so well… I gotcha…”

Any warnings Shinobu could’ve given you would’ve never prepared you for this, the weight of him inside you unlike anything you could’ve ever imagined.

But you’re staying strong, holding out, his loving praises and soft kisses being pressed to your neck as he settles in even deeper getting you through.

“H-hurts—” you whine, feeling like there’s no way he can go deeper each time another inch of him roots its way into your body, reshaping you around his form. His chest is pressed against yours, your combined sweat allowing him to move easily over your body as he holds you close, not even seeming to register that your nails are biting into his hands, leaving little half moons indented into his skin.

“I know, baby, I know,” he grunts, sliding in the tiniest fraction further. “Almost there… You can do it… Good girl… Almost there…”

And then the pressure seems to shift, the pain flaring as the worst of it tears through you only to taper off into something less severe after Itto’s nestled all the way inside you, down to the hilt, leaving you lightheaded, your grip on his hands lessening as you feel your muscles relax for a moment, relieved that the worst is over.

You can’t think. Can’t speak. Can only just lay there for a moment and catch your breath.

Itto peeks down to where the two of you are connected, breathing his own exhale of relief. He flinches when you clench around him though, but then puffs out a weak chuckle as he sees the slight bulge in your belly, the way your stomach tenses almost rhythmically as your body tries to keep him secured inside of you.

Itto kisses away your tears, caressing your dewy face as he commends you in breathy whispers, “You did it, baby. You’re ok. You’re ok, I gotcha…” He asks you if you need a moment before he starts moving, but all you can give in response is a feeble shaking of your head and a light squeeze of his hand. Itto presses another loving kiss to your parted lips, murmurs of, “I love you so much, baby. I love you so much… Gonna make you feel so good…” exhaled into your mouth before he starts to move.

His thrusts are slow and careful at first, keeping watch on your face as his hips roll to meet your inner thighs to make sure you’re enjoying it too, and when your beautiful little mewls begin to pick up again, he knows he’s doing what’s right for you. It encourages him to pick up the pace a little, each time his pelvis drags against your clit drawing you closer and closer to the sharp edge of your next release. The next time you cum, it’s not as vicious, though still leaves you spent for a few minutes afterwards.

Itto has an idea then, pulling you up so that you’re straddling him and allowing you to sink down on his throbbing length once enough energy has returned to you. You set the pace that time, gripping his shoulders as you catch your bearings, the way you stretch around him nowhere near as unpleasant as the first time, your body quick to memorize the shape he carves out in you.

He’s entranced by the way you look bouncing on his cock, tits jiggling and eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering every time more moans pour out of your pretty, parted mouth. 

You two have long lost how much time has passed, the only way to separate one section of the clock from the next being each time a new orgasm washes over you. You hadn’t asked Shinobu— such a question would’ve never crossed your mind— but you briefly wondered if there was a limit to how many times you could cum. You stopped counting by your fourth one. Not that you minded, if Itto kept up with what he was doing to get you there.

He’d taken you in all sorts of ways, wanting to find the one that you liked best. By now, the scales of pain and pleasure were weighing far heavier on the side of the latter, filling you to the brim and spilling over time and time again. But then, on the very last round before you were sure you’d have to call it a night, if not take a very long, very well deserved break, it seemed like Itto had finally hit his limit too.

He had your knees pressed up to your chest, fucking into you deeper and harder than he had yet, growling with every thrust and nearly losing himself again, his teeth starting to nibble at your unmarked shoulder.

“Hey!” you scolded, causing him to pause mid-thrust, eyes going wide and his open mouth stilling over you. “I said no biting!” Your admonishment has a certain playful lilt to it though, and you can feel Itto’s lips smile against you, nipping gently over the area his teeth almost just sunk into.

“Sorry…” he chuckles, though he sounds anything but apologetic. You hum out a giggle as his hair tickles your jaw, his head nuzzling against you. “Almost forgot…”

He continues then, working himself back towards his own edge. All it takes is your cunt giving one last, relentless clench on his overstimulated cock and then he’s filling you to the brim with his seed, the hot, sticky balm overflowing inside of you. He’s whining into your neck as more and more cum pulses out of him and into you, and you ride it out with your trembling legs wrapped around his waist and your hands clasped behind his neck, keeping him pulled close until he goes soft inside of you.

And things go quiet for a while after that, him pulling out and watching as more milky white drips from your abused hole, that fantasy of you bearing his children returning with more fondness than possessiveness this time. He’ll have to build a better nest, someplace where the sunshine can blanket its warmth over you and your future family.

Perhaps all in good time, if that’s something you want too.

You lay spent and drifting in the bliss of your post-sex daze, staring at the ceiling of the cavern with half-lidded eyes as the ambience that echos over the smooth rocks, sounds dancing on light, pirouetting feet, further lulls you off into what you imagine will be a very deep, sated sleep.

At some point, unbeknownst to you as your eyes fall closed, brain foggy and limbs sinking heavier and heavier by the second, Itto parts from you, but only long enough to carry some supplies to the private little hotspring that’s half hidden behind a stony partition at the far end of the cave.

When he returns to you, he thinks you might be asleep. He caresses your cheek, featherlight touch stirring you enough that you take a deep, slow inhale as your glassy eyes blink open, wincing a little as the pain hidden beneath the adrenaline and the overwhelming pleasure pulses in aches along your entire body, the apex of it between your thighs.

Truth be told, Itto could go again, already feeling himself getting a little hard when you smile up at him in your disheveled state, all angelic devotion as the glow of the cavelight refracts through the gemstones that glitter along the ceiling, cascade down the walls, speckling your glistening skin.

But he doesn’t— knows there will be plenty of time for that later— because right now what he needs to focus on is your comfort, your healing and recovery as he carries you in his arms to the hotspring, steam rising off the surface in swirling, misty tendrils.

You let out a satisfied hum when he lowers you into the water with him, keeping you close as he cleans you, washes your entire body and detangles your hair. The marks he’d made on you shine brighter under the water, some more splotches of plum and navy rising to the surface of your skin by the time you’re dried off, wrapped in a bundle of fluffy blankets, and tucked snug in his embrace.

As you float further into your sated slumber, Itto presses occasional kisses to the crown of your hair, your forehead, your shoulder. When he thinks you’re asleep— and you nearly are— he mutters, “I’ll always be here for you… always protect you… You never have to worry about a thing…”

You think you feel your lips turn up into the faintest smile, sigh out another tender, “I love you,” before sleep finally claims you for the remainder of the night. And even though he knows you won’t hear it, Itto says it anyway.

“I love you, too. Always have, always will.”

***

After that, the two of you are rarely ever apart, the newfound bond that had been forged in your secret little love nest stronger than ever. And somehow, things feel lighter now.

Itto’s laugh rumbles through his chest like a rockslide one night when the entire gang is sitting around a huge bonfire, trading stories and tales from missions recent and old. You sit beside him, close enough that he can wrap an arm around your waist and pull you just a tiny bit nearer into his side.

You’d noticed how he’d gotten braver about putting his hands on you in front of the others after you’d returned to camp from the cavern the first time, not caring who knew you were his, wanting them to know as if to challenge any potential suitors to try and pursue you now. He was protective and just the tiniest bit possessive, but it was for your safety and wellbeing above all else.

Shinobu knew the full story, by now. It hadn’t taken you long to tell her, revealing some of the particular details— like why you had Itto’s entire mouth imprinted onto your shoulder— when she asked.

But she’d been a good friend, and quick witted, telling anyone who asked the night you and Itto went missing that you’d both ran out on a last minute mission together. Something about a group of kairagi trying to expand their territory which had to be stopped.

You and Itto had stayed at the nest for almost the entire day afterwards too, not returning until sundown the following night, you hoping that your stiff stride wouldn’t give away the truth instantly.

Shinobu was there first thing, filling you two in on her cover story before someone asked Itto, “So, how did it go?” and him responding with a sly yet oblivious, “Well, wouldn’t you like to know?” You were both grateful for Shinobu’s ability to foresee these kinds of things so easily.

Though, you doubted you could use the same lie every time you two snuck back to the cave, which was becoming a more frequent occurrence as time went on.

That’s why Itto had to start letting the others know, whether by word or gesture, that there was indeed something more than a close camaraderie going on between you two. It only took ten days after that first time before the word had spread throughout the entire gang, and while this made you feel anxious and awkward initially, most of the others were quick to put you at ease.

“Been wonderin’ when the boss was finally gonna settle down,” Akira commented, giving a mischievous raise of his eyebrows as his gaze flicked between Itto and you. Then he gave his leader a playful punch in the chest, which barely even caused the oni to sway as he jokingly said, “Hope this doesn’t mean you’re gonna retire and run off to the countryside!”

“As if!” Itto replied, rolling his eyes and flashing a smile, giving Akira a nudge that nearly sent the guy toppling off balance. “Besides, I can’t leave Shinobu here to manage things all by herself. You really think this place could function without me?”

You almost made a sarcastic comment about how the only reason this place was functioning at all was because of Shinobu, but instead just let out an amused giggle as the two men started to play-fight, stirring up a ruckus as more people hollered and shouted from across the field, placing their bets on how long Akira would last in the fake competition.

When Itto started getting a little too boisterous you went to intervene, but was beat to it when Shinobu suddenly appeared, calling out to the oni until she grabbed his attention, pulling him from his childish wrestling match.

“Itto,” she began, hands on her hips and looking like she was up to no good. She nodded her head at you as she said, “Don’t you and her have a mission to be getting off to?” She gave you a wink and you felt your cheeks heat. “I’d get going if I were you. In the meantime, I’ll finish things up here. Don’t come back until you’ve scouted the outskirts of camp thoroughly.”

At first, the oni wore a confused look, as if trying to recall what mission she was referring to. But then, when Shinobu shot him a more pressing stare, gaze darting to you for a moment, he caught her drift.

“Oh—! Yeah, you’re right!” he chuckled nervously, scratching at the back of his head. Then he placed a hand on your shoulder, thumb rubbing gentle strokes on your skin. “Guess we should get going then.”

You always found the cave exactly as you’d left it, though each time things seemed to become a little more tousled and tangled throughout your love making sessions. You’d try and tidy up but knew it was only a matter of time until Itto was messing it all up again, laying you splayed out for him and wrinkling the blankets you’d just folded or placed so nicely.

But that was ok. You sort of liked the little routine of straightening things up only to destroy them. It was almost like a game you two started playing— both of you trying to ruffle up the nest more and more each visit until there was a trail of blankets and pillows leading from one end of the cave to the next.

After a particularly exerting session, the two of you huddled together in the hot spring as was tradition in this place, you finally believed Itto when he reminded you that onis mate for life.

“We’re more than just members of the same gang, more than a family, you and I…” he tells you, rough edges all soft and smooth as he cradles you against him. You look up at him, meet the amber of his eyes as you listen intently to his most vulnerable confession yet. “You’re my entire world. My entire reason for existing.”

You shift to face him in his lap, rising on your knees to press your foreheads together. His fingers come to rest on your hips under the water, the way they fit against you so familiar now.

“I need you to know that I’d do anything for you,” he continues, voice barely above a whisper. “You do know that I’d do anything for you, right?”

You’re more than just his reason to live, reason to breathe. You’re the sun that breaks the dawn in his sky every morning. You’re the silvery moon and sparkling stars that guide him through the night, more ethereal and divine than any depiction of the heavens.

Back when he’d first found you and took you in, a part of him already knew things would turn out like this, could sense it rooted deep into his soul. It just took actually getting to know you, to learn and memorize and be able to recite you by heart, to accept that his intuition and instinct had been right all along.

“I know,” you say, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “And I’d do anything for you, too.”

And he knows, with all the sincerity and adoration you could possibly carry, that you would.

***

(Wow, ok, did not originally intend for this to be this long but I guess I was in the mood to indulge myself extra hard haha.

I absolutely love Itto and hope I did him justice. I tried to make sure his more playful and silly side got put in there since that’s what we see a lot from him in canon, but also wanted to explore this more caring, gentle, and seductive side of him as well.

Anyway, if you made it this far, thank you SO much for reading! I truly hope you enjoyed it. I’ll definitely be writing more for him in the future.

See you next time~)

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfics #genshin fanfic #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #itto arataki #genshin impact smut #itto arataki smut #itto arataki x reader #itto arataki x you #itto arataki x y/n #genshin itto #genshin impact itto arataki #genshin itto arataki #itto arataki fanfic

[alien-magnolia]

Stranger Things - Spookinktober —

Those Woods Look Scary, Eds!

Characters:

- Dom! Eddie Munson

-sub! Fem reader

- special guest: cryptid

Fic warnings: NSFW. MINORS DNI. Bit of heavy smut, d/s dynamics. Praise / degradation kink. Daddy kink. Semi-public sex. @sparklingsin

“How about here? Does that sound good to you, princess?” your boyfriend asks you, pointing to a map, dark brown eyes peering into yours. “Hmm, I don’t know Eddie. This place looks kinda scary…” you say, as you sheepishly rub your arm down on your pink sweater that you had on over your dress.

“Awww. Too scary for you baby?? Is the big bad monster gonna get you? That’s okay. You’ll have your freak of Hawkins to protect you,” he smugly smiles at you. You know he’s mocking you. But that’s just part of your dynamic. Eddie’s your daddy dom, and you’re his cute innocent girl. Who is very feminine, and does not like scary things whatsoever !! But he does enjoy to corrupt you, from time to time. You had a feeling tonight was one of those nights.

The two of you walked along the dark woodsy path. You both drove down to the woods at around 10pm. Now, at 10:15, the both of you have begun your walk. It was very narrow and steep, and Eddie had to help you climb over some of the branches, one of his hands around your waist, and one holding your manicured pink hand. Just to make sure you don’t fall, of course.

Suddenly, a branch poked you in the thigh, it’s wood penetrating your skin. “Ah… shit!,” you screamed, and winced in pain. Eddie, with a worried look on his face, went on to tell you to watch your mouth first. “Language, princess. Language. Remember my rules , yeah sweet girl? Now, let me see what scratched you here.” He sits you down and pulls out a flashlight, shining it on your leg. He leans in closer to your thigh, his tongue poking out a bit of his mouth. He is concentrating. “Ah there we go. I see the culprit. You got a little splinter, babe.” “Eds !! You begin to whine. “It hurts,” you say, with a big pout. “I know it does, sweetheart. You poor thing. I’ll pull it out for you , don’t you worry.” your sweet boyfriend replies to you. And then he does. Luckily he has a little bandage with him, and he puts it over your cut. He always came prepared, one thing you loved about him.

An hour later, it had begun to get colder. You held Eddie’s hand as he tugged you through a pile of damp, dead leaves. It was almost midnight, and as you looked up toward the inky sky, you could see the silhouettes of bats flying over the bare trees above. The branches swung above your heads like claws, shaking in the wind, violently attempting to grab at you. Suddenly — a few thuds could be heard off in the distance. You whined immediately and grabbed onto Eddie's arm. He brought you in closer and shone his (very dim) flashlight in that direction. Nothing to be seen. Yet the two of you felt something there… a presence of a sort.

“Eddie. I’m scared!!” you shriek, as you look up at your boyfriend, still concentrating to find where the noise came from. “Be brave for me baby. Be brave for me, sweet thing,” he tuts, as he runs his hands through your hair.

“Looks like we found our big bad monster. Legend has it that we got a wendigo in these woods…” he trails off. He shines the flashlight forward and the two of you keep walking. After a bit of thinking, you tug on his jacket sleeve and look up at him. “Eds.” “Hmm?” he looks up with his eyebrow raised. “What’s a wendigo?”

He chuckles. He loved it when he had to explain things to you. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him feel nice. “Well, baby, a wendigo is a type of monster, a cryptid, found in the North-American wilderness. It’s 15 feet tall. It has a skeleton head of some kind of deer, and a werewolf-like body. It waits in the woods, it hides, stalking its victims. And then, once it finds them, it drags them back to its cave of origin. And it eats their flesh. Skins them alive.” He spoke in his dungeon master voice now. You looked back up at him, completely terrified. To your surprise, he was laughing a bit.

He grabbed your shoulders and pulled you in towards his chest. “Aww. Is my baby all scared now?” he starts to mock. “No Eds.” You lied. You were actually terrified. “I’m being brave,” you say instead, not wanting to tell him the truth. “Good girl,” he smirks, and presses a few wet kisses to your forehead. The two of you keep walking on, until he decides to randomly grab you, and pin you up against a tree. “Eds…” you start. “These woods are scary, and it’s cold! What if the Wendigo is here? I might get my clothes dirty.”

He chuckles and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Don’t worry, princess. We can wash those clothes of yours. And if that cryptid is here, you got your big, strong, dungeon master to protect you,” he laughs, and does a little bow. “Maybe I’ll cast a little spell on him. But honestly, sweets, you’re the one casting spells here. Because you’re fucking irresistible,” he says, as he starts trailing kisses down your neck. His hand runs over your skin, tracing your chest a bit. “How about this deal, sweetheart. I protect you from the big, bad, monster, and in return, you let me eat that sweet pussy of yours,” he purrs at you. Even though it was dark, you could see it in his eyes. He was looking at you as if he wanted to devour you. Which he did. You didn’t mind.

“Okay, Eds,” you say, as you run your hand through his long hair. “That’s my girl.” As soon as you knew it, he started pulling up your dress. He loved it when you wore dresses, it was “easy access” for him, to reach your “princess parts,” as he called it. And boy, did he love those. You wore a lacy lavender thong tonight, his favorite as well. He pulled that off with his teeth, and soon enough, his big lips were on yours, sucking on your clit like his life depended on it. His two hands held your thighs in place. You squirmed a bit when he started to move his tongue around, licking up and down your folds. “Stop moving, sweetheart. I don’t wanna miss a spot. You know that daddy has to be very thorough…” he grunts, trying to bury his face even deeper and deeper between your legs. Before you knew it, you were moaning his name, your face all red from how thorough he was being. God, you loved it. His big hands gripped your thighs so hard that he usually left marks. Again, you didn’t mind.

“Eddie. Eds…” you start off, with a breathy moan. “Call me by my proper name, princess. You know the rules…” he taunts you. “Daddy…,” you start. “Wanna cum. Please. Please let me. Don’t wanna wait. I’ve been good!! I promise,” you plead to him. Eddie was a bit sadistic, in a way that sometimes he would edge you, make you beg real hard in order to get that sweet release. “Not gonna make you beg tonight. Since the monster’s here and all,” he smiles. You still wait for his permission. “What a good girl, waiting for me. Go on. Cum. Let it all out for me, baby.” And you did. Eddie offered to clean you up too, in that where he licks all the cum right off you. “Legs up, princess,” he says to you, as he puts your thong back on, and pulls down your dress.

——————————————————————

“Feeling less scared?” “Yes, daddy,” you smile, and stand up on your tippy-toes, to give him a few more kisses. “I feel relaxed and all better now,” you assure him. “Good. Here. Take my jacket, it’s getting a little too cold out here. Don’t want my girl getting sick,” he says, as he hands you his leather jacket. “Eds! I’m fine, promise,” you start. “Uh-uh princess, I don’t want you getting sick. Come on, put that jacket on,” he says to you, a bit sternly. “Okay,” you agree, and he even helps you put on the jacket. “All warm??” “Not yet…” you reply. He responds by putting his arm around you, pulling you close.

“How about we walk like this the rest of the way. You’ll be safer from the creepy wendigo…” he says, in that dungeon master voice of his. You giggle. When he did his silly voices, it always cheered you up. Maybe this night in the woods wouldn’t be so bad. You had your Eddie here to save you :)

If you liked this post, please help out a writer and reblog 🖤✨🫶🏻

#stranger things smut #liz writes 🖤 #liz’s masterlist #dom eddie munson #casual dominance #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #top eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson filth #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #soft dom eddie munson #lil bit of d/s dynamics if u squint #strangertober

[ajwrites52]

Batober 2023: Day 3-Spooked

Wake Up.

“Huh?” Damian said as he leapt from his cot. He remembered this, the cold and empty place that he’d called home for the first ten years of his life. He was back in that cot that held none of his sketches or trinkets and memorabilia, no beds next to his workbench for Titus and Ace to nap in while he did homework, and worst of all no sense of safety. 

“No. No. No!” Yelled Damian as he threw off his covers and ran for the door. Only to be met with the silhouette of his grandfather, Ra’s Al Ghul.

“Damian.”

“G-Grandfather. But… you’re-” 

Before he could even finish his sentence, suddenly found in his grandfather’s arena dressed in his League uniform with a bloodstained saber in his hand. Damian trembled as he turned and found the sobering and hate filled visage of his cousin Mara Al Ghul clutching her bleeding right eye. 

“Demon! How could you?!” Mara’s voice was filled with such venom and animosity as she glared at her cousin who could only tremble at her gaze. “I thought we were family! 

“No. This isn’t real!” Damian tossed his bloodstained blade to the ground in denial of his vision, as he looked back up he found himself face to face with his mother. Her face was obscured in shadows but he could tell that she wasn’t looking at him at all. 

“That was an embarrassment Damian. You are an embarrassment.” Those very words struck the child to his core, but he clenched his fists and growled as he ran forward to force her to look at him.

“Silence! I’m not an embarrassment! No matter what you say!” Talia vanished into smoke which filled every corner of the darkened room, Damian clenched his teeth and spun around as he was now in his first Robin costume. “Oh great! What is this? Some kind of parlor trick? Scarecrow? Strange? Or is it you clown? I beat you senseless before and I’ll do it again!”

Something stirred in the shadows of the room, Damian pounced at it with no hesitation and sent it flying with a flying drop kick. The sounds of shattered glass and screaming echoed loudly and cleared away the smoke, forcing Damian to see the bloodied and battered body of his adopted brother-Tim Drake. 

“W-Why? I just wanted to know you, to understand you? Why did you?”

“No! SHUT UP! I’m not playing this game! I did what I was taught, I know I was wrong okay! Now face me you coward!” 

“What’s wrong kid?” spoke a dark and heavy voice who placed a cold hand upon his shoulder, Damian growled and spun around to deliver a powerful punch to whoever stood behind him. But as he did, he was only met with the white and bleeding eyes of Morgan Ducard with his fist landing in his forehead just like it did in the submarine. The cold deceased corpse of the dead man creaked as its eyes rotated back in place to glare at him and grab his wrists. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“STOP IT! I… I repented for your death Ducard! I’ve paid that toll in blood and tears!” Damian screamed and tried to pry himself from the undead Ducard’s grasp, Ducard scoffed before tossing Damian into a wall with little effort as he approached him with a sword in hand. 

“Repented? You? Heh. Don’t make me laugh.” Damian stood back up to his feet, spitting on the ground as he threw out two Birdarangs in Ducard’s direction. The zombified Ducard took both to the chest and just laughed in response, Damian noticing his eyes burning  with crimson flames that spread and melted away his flesh and armor leaving him a burning skeleton. “I’ve seen your true self, who you TRULY ARE BOY!” 

The burning visage of a man stood before Damian, its flames and skull morphing to resemble that of a Batman with devil horns and a trench coat made of hellfire. The area around him burned away as he now stood on the roof of Wayne Industries with Gotham ablaze beneath them. “T-This isn’t real! I know this is a game! This isn’t happening!”

KRAK! 

The demonic Batman backhanded Robin, knocking his domino mask off of his face before picking him up by the collar and holding him so they were eye to eye. 

“THIS IS FAR MORE REAL THAN YOU REALIZE YOU HORRID WASTE OF FLESH!” yelled the Demonic Batman as it raised its sword in the air. “You were born cursed, unwanted by your witch of a mother and monster of a grandfather! An ocean of blood follows you wherever you go, and will never leave you. You have only one true home, and it's time you returned back to the pit. Demon child.”

STAB!! 

Damian felt a sharp pain in his chest as the sword ran itself through his heart, the world went cold and dark. He couldn’t move anymore, his limbs failed him and his heart froze still, this was a fitting end to the Grandson of The Demon. The Child of Talia Al Ghul. The Prince of Blood. Damian…

Wayne

“He’s wrong about that, you know.” A gloved hand grabbed the hilt of the sword, Damian’s heart began to stir as the blade began to vacate Damian’s chest cavity causing a bright heavenly light to fill the room. Damian screamed as he opened his eyes and found himself now wearing his black and red uniform as well as sitting in the kitchen of Wayne Manor. 

“What?!” yelled the demonic Batman, the two turned to the door as Alfred Pennyworth appeared with a kettle of tea and cup in hand. The demonic Batman growled as it lunged at the two only to be sent flying out of the nearest door leaving Alfred and Damian alone. 

“A-Alfred?” Damian asked, slowly removing his mask as he was truly met with the smiling face of his grandfather figure who poured him a cup of tea. “But…”

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information, Master Damian. An old man must retain some mystique afterall. But I can tell you that whatever that monster said about you is utter nonsense, and you’d be daft to believe any of it.” Damian looked down at his feet, tears stung his eyes as he couldn’t look the former butler in the eyes. 

“But I did all those horrible things,” Damian wiped away his tears with his thumb only for more to follow suit. “I-I’m not worthy of any redemption. Of this suit or any of that forgiveness I’ve been given over the years. Christ Alfred it’s because of me that-” Damian’s words were interrupted by a warm hand placed on his head by Alfred, followed by a warm embrace. 

“Master Damian. It pains me to see how similar you are to your father,” Alfred pushed the boy away as he took Damian’s domino mask and held it in his gloved hand. “Both of you hold yourselves to such high standards, you think that your mistakes and failures define you. It’s painful to watch you both forget your successes and those you’ve touched in your lifetime.”

Damian looked around as he found the kitchen now bustling with all he considered friends and family, Jon smiling as he, Maya, and Kathy engage in a card game of the Superboy’s choosing while Jason fights to save his leather jacket from the jaws of Titus. Stephanie and Cassandra wave at him as they enter the kitchen with breakfast for the whole family, only for Dick to sneak up behind and snatch away the first Breakfast Burrito from Duke who groaned. Even Tim laughed as he grabbed his coffee from Cassandra and reunited with Bernard who stood waiting for him at the counter. Then Damian felt a pair of warm hands on his shoulders, he looked up to find his father’s smiling face alongside Selina’s who had Alfred the cat on her shoulders. 

“Your past will always exist Master Damian, but it is your present and who you choose to be that defines you. Now…” Alfred holds Damian’s domino mask in front of him as the doors to the garden open revealing the Demonic Batman growling as the garden is consumed by the blaze. “Who are you, Damian?”

“Pennyworth.” Damian smiled and took back his mask as he stood up and walked out to face the demon before him. Placing his mask on his face and cracking his knuckles Damian ran forward with a smile on his face as he announced, “I’m ROBIN!”

robin

Robin

ROBIN!

Damian gasped for air as he jolted out of bed, sweat dripping down his forehead as he found himself back in his bedroom with Titus at the foot of his bed and the relieved face of his father to his right. Bruce hugged his son in relief as he began to detail what had happened to The Boy Wonder, apparently The Spook had returned and sought revenge against the Son of Batman. Using a combination of his hypnosis and Fear Toxin, he’d trapped Damian in his own mental prison and was on the run. 

“Well then, I guess that means that Batman and Robin are still on the case. Let’s get to work, father.” Damian leapt out of bed and ran towards the entrance of the Batcave, Bruce chuckled and followed behind his son to the Batmobile. 

They weren’t going to let a simple scare tear them down, they were BATMAN AND ROBIN!

THE END

#batober #short story #dc superheroes #fanfiction #batman #dc robin #damian wayne #batober2023 #hurt/comfort

[springtimebat]

The Girl in the Back of the Class

She was more shadow than flesh. An outline of a person rather than an actual human being. Just one of those students who is there to take up the empty spaces in a classroom.

The only time anyone noticed her was when a member of the football team decided to torment them; smashing her into a locker, stealing their lunch off of cafeteria trays, administering burns to her sensitive wrists.

She didn’t show up to class in the fall. Her desk, with its creaking planks and runes etched onto its burnt edges, lay lonely in the Autumn-wine shade. 

Her mom is wiry and ancient, living off benefit check after benefit check. She spends the day handing out missing posters to strangers instead of seeking employment. 

The other parents in the neighborhood tut and fuss at this strange limbo of a woman. Now that her daughter is gone she should  just fade away from public life; become a mournful silhouette against colorful wallpaper. 

The girl was strange, alternative, lonely. No one cares to remember her in any significant way. Except maybe with embarrassment. Next year, she will be dug up with the rotting snow. 

Still, no-one new moves into town. Her desk remains empty. Unloved. It takes the rest of the class two months to pry open her old locker. Their heads ache when the idea comes to mind.

The locker is covered in old stickers and permanent marker soliloquies. The lock has to be twisted inside out three times over before the door gives way. Its hinges seem to ooze an unnatural blue ooze. Territorial marks made by a girl who was never noticed.

She went to a lot of shows, they realize, shuffling through tickets from a year ago. Corrupted snapshots and polaroids display flashing stage-lights and mosh-pits. 

One photo, tacked onto the locker door with wrinkled strips of tape, shows a figure with teased hair and ringed eyes. The girl had never smiled before. Death made her grin.

A war-torn notebook is buried inside too, along with several home-made zines in a misshapen drawer. Its cover is decorated with baby lambs and human skulls. They interact within speech bubbles, scribbled hastily on the page. They ask each other what the color of the sky is. 

The zines belong to a collection, written almost obsessively over the girl’s high school years. Beneath the Wire. Her classmates go through them together as a makeshift research group, anticipating some kind of extensive eulogy. They instead discover something else entirely. 

No one ever expected the dead girl to be funny but humor drips quietly across every page. Drawings depict herself as a gorgon, hair twisting and floating above her as its own entity, who turns various people from town into stone. Poems which don’t really rhyme retell times that she skipped school to people-watch. Multiple caricatures of people riding the bus are pasted into the notebook’s margins.

There’s a woman with a pink beehive that reaches the clouds, smoking ten cigarettes at once.

A couple with matching scowls, combat boots and spiked hair, who shoot lasers through the cracked bus windows.

An old man in a defunct army uniform, whose soul spews from his ass and rants about the “good ol’ days of ‘nam”. 

The last page expresses the same attitude. There’s no sadness, no pain. Just a scribble of the chemistry teacher sodomising himself with a rolled up poster depicting the periodic table.

The class gather up all the vanished girl’s belongings and hand them over to her mother the next morning, putting an end to her spell over town. At least, to them anyway.

The mother takes everything home and arranges her daughter’s life on the kitchen table. It is a holy experience, like she’s identifying a skeleton. She gazes at the comics, the lyrics, the grinning photographs…they all seem to sink deep underneath her flesh. Finally, she lets out a small cry.

By the next week, she has stopped handing out missing posters. Now, she gives out copies of Beneath the Wire in the local park, a wistful expression on her face as winter approaches.

#my writing #creative writing #missing people #american horror #suburban horror #small town horror #american gothic #suburban gothic #small town gothic #vanishing #bullying #mentions of moshing #horror #poetry #southern gothic #monsters #cryptids #cryptidcore #weirdcore #zine creation #zines #loneliness #isolation #ambiguous ending

[feverinfeveroutfic]

the skeleton key | chapter one: jigsaw pieces (part two)

The memory of having driven out to Santa Barbara to see him flashed through my mind: all the while, I was expecting to see one of those white vans with the serial number on the back fender. I knew back then that I would never forget seeing the silhouette of Chris' frizzy curls in the backseat, through the rear view mirror, and to that day, I wished that we had followed that van over to the Grenada Theater. But we never did see anything like that on the P.C.H., all the way down to Anaheim.

Meanwhile, Marcy seemed blissfully unaware of my going down memory lane as she hummed to herself and drummed her fingers on the rim of the steering wheel. She had suggested putting on some Kiss on the way down but it wasn't that far, and besides, neither of us knew what they were going to play for the evening as well. I had listened to their first record, but that was where it started and ended with me.

We were hours early and luckily, we had found a spot right down the block and not too far from the entrance. It had been a long time since I was at the House of Blues: my last concert there was Velvet Revolver, back in high school. I thought about digging my old shirt out of the back of the closet when I spotted a tall man with long blond hair over by the edge of the blood-red awning and the vertical sign with the flaming heart. He was wrapped up in a thin black leather jacket and he looked to be waiting for someone with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

Marcy pulled on the parking brake while I peered out the rear driver's side window: I swore that I recognized him, even from a distance.

“What's the matter?” she asked me.

“I think I just saw Jerry Cantrell,” I confessed to her. “Over by the vertical sign, kind of... away from everybody else.”

“Well, you have to remember that they're like an all-star supergroup,” she explained. “You know, it's the four of them and then they have all manner of guest singers floating around in the wings, especially during their gigs. So, expect to see some faces around here.” But then she glanced back over her shoulder for a look out there as well. “That does kinda look like him, though, doesn't it?”

“It's hard to tell from here,” I noted, and I climbed out of the car first.

That night of seeing Alice in Chains all over again, but this time, I was actually about to see him for myself, that is if it was in fact him there underneath the sign. The flaming heart had lit up, even though nightfall was a few hours off: as we crossed the street and came on closer, I recognized his prominent brow, illuminated by the warm red and white neon light over his head. He gazed down at his phone and nudged a lock of smooth blond hair back from his face.

“Is it—?”

“Is it really?” Marcy followed suit.

“Yeah, it's definitely Jerry! Come on, come on...” We hurried up the walkway to the outside patio: four o'clock in the afternoon and a few patrons had already settled in before the big Friday night rush into the venue. But we rounded the corner right as he glanced up from his phone.

“God, I wish I had my drawing with me,” I mumbled to myself. He showed us a smile.

“Hello,” he greeted us.

“Hi,” I led the way.

“Hi,” Marcy echoed me.

“How's it going?” he asked us as he tucked his phone back into his jacket pocket to better pay attention to us.

“We just wanted to meet you,” Marcy explained. “Meet you before the show starts.”

“And without all the official crap,” I added, to which he chuckled at that.

“Oh, I feel you ladies,” he said, and his voice was like melted chocolate in its smoothness. “Sometimes it feels nearly impossible to meet fans anymore without them having to pay an arm and a leg for backstage passes. It's usually right before a show starts, too, so we can't chat for hours on end.”

“I'm kicking myself that I didn't bring the drawing that I made for you,” I confessed to him.

“You made something for me?” he asked me, and he showed me a little unsure smile.

“I'm afraid it's in my desk drawer back home,” I told him with a shrug of my shoulders.

“Aw, man, you should always bring that with you whenever you go to a show! I'm really curious now.”

“You oughta give her your number,” Marcy joked to him.

“And why should I give her my number?” he demanded as he pressed his hands to his hips.

“So I can give you that drawing!” I declared. “Duh!” He burst out laughing at that.

“I think that can in fact be arranged,” he told me, and he reached into his opposite jacket pocket for a small notepad of paper and a pen. Marcy put her arm around me and gave me a little shake of excitement.

“You mean it?” I asked him, taken aback.

“Yeah, I kinda like you girls,” he said as he ran his tongue along his lips. “You saw me from afar and didn't make fools of yourselves.” He turned his attention to me, and he knitted his eyebrows at the sight of me.

“By the way, you smell good,” he confessed to me.

“I work in a bakery,” I replied with as I fixed my sweater. “I often come home smelling of bread and cakes.”

“Oh, that's gotta be like one of the best things in the world,” he said, and that sly grin never left his face. “What's your name, by the way?”

“Alison,” I told him. “My friends call me Alison Chains.”

“I was just gonna say, Alison Chains,” he chirped, and he handed me the piece of paper.

“And I'm Marcy Playground,” she added, and he let out a big bold laugh at that.

“Yeah, I really like you girls,” he decreed.

“Will you be joining them up on stage?” I asked him as I held the paper up to my chest, as if I had just been offered a date.

“Who, Metal Allegiance? I just might, you never know.” He flashed me a wink, and for a second, I swore that he puckered his lips at me. Jerry then took his phone back out of his jacket. “Speaking of, I've got a place to be. I'll catch you girls later.” He showed us a pretty little wave before he ducked back to the other side of the building to meet up with someone else, and Marcy and I gaped at each other.

“He was hitting on me, wasn't he,” I muttered aloud.

“He certainly was,” Marcy replied with a chuckle. “He gave you his number, teased you, 'you smell good'...” She brought a hand to her face to stop her laughter in its tracks, but she laughed anyway.

With our masks on, we hung out there on the front patio until the bar opened, and at that point, I had hurried back to the car for those drawings. I kept them close to me lest anyone see them and take the surprise out of it all.

Marcy had ordered me a midori sour while she took a Cosmo for herself. Nothing to see here, just a couple of girls enjoying life as it was there on a Friday night. We congregated out on the patio once again, that time under the veil of the twilight. As far as I knew, they all had gone backstage and met up for their annual warm up before the show started. I tucked the drawings underneath my chest as I sipped on that glass of bright green, so bright in fact I wondered if it would glow a bright neon from under the floodlights that lined the awning above us.

“You think Jerry's going to be up there with them?” I asked her at one point.

“No clue. He did hint at it, though, didn't he?”

“Nah, he gave me that 'you never know' thing that I employ now and again.” She chuckled some more as she sipped on her Cosmo. Still, I wondered if Jerry really meant it or if he was only there for a good time.

I still had a lot of drink left over by the time the doors opened and we filed inside of there: we were in the drink rail section, right behind the pit, and right next to the sound booth so we could not only see everything but see everything that went down behind the scenes as well. I was eager to witness them, my very first heavy metal show: the closest I had gotten before then was Korn, but they were a league of their own in my eyes. I was in need of witnessing some metal in the flesh, and what better way to go about with it with some all-stars and their opener, “Pledge of Allegiance”, sung by a guy who introduced himself as Mark. His long black hair seemed to float around his head while his sun-kissed skin seemed to glow under the lights. He was like a vampire.

Mike towered over his drum kit with a long goatee dyed a bright fiery red and a ball cap turned backwards over his head. Dave had opened his shirt and let his long mousy colored hair dangle over his shoulders, almost nearly identical to the drawing that I had made: indeed, it was the drawing closest to my chest. All four men had such long luscious hair down past their shoulders, especially that lead guitarist with the plume of gray at the side of his head. He was so long and lanky, and his fingers seemed to crawl across the guitar neck with utmost control and ease.

Something about him was so hypnotic and entrancing, and I realized I was watching Alex. Every so often, he gave his hair a little toss back with the flick of his head. He, too, was like a vampire.

Right before us, a mosh pit was forming down in the floor section, and I was glad that Marcy and I had picked out the drink rail instead. On the other hand, the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if any drunk people could come out of the woodwork as the show progressed along.

The lights swept over us, and I raised my glass right then: the green of the midori shone bright towards Mark like a searchlight. He pointed right at me and Marcy let out a loud cheer, and he flashed the two of us a thumbs up. She gave me a high five right then, and I put my arm around her: I was holding onto those drawings for dear life against her shoulder.

Another singer, a man named Troy, took to the stage next. We were also met with a few female singers, as well as a big Native American man whom Alex seemed particularly chummy with: I was going to learn all of their names by St. Patrick’s Day, I was certain of it.

“Someone backstage recommended these to the two of you,” was all I could hear over the noise of the crowd.

I turned my head to see Marcy talking to one of the ushers. She leaned in closer to her to hear it, and then she turned to me, even with her mask on over her face.

“Someone who bought presale tickets didn’t show up, and someone backstage suggested we get them!”

It was meeting Chris all over again, from the excitement to the fact it felt like the tickets fell out of the sky.

“Dammit, Jerry,” was all I could mutter to myself as the two of us strode on up the aisle towards the pit section. It was going to be a bit unruly there, but I held onto those drawings for dear life. It was exactly like when I met Chris, except I had no clue as to when or if I could be able to make my way up there to the rail to catch someone's attention.

But we stood there at the rim of the pit. It wasn’t like the Grenada Theater where I could duck to the stage and flag down their attention: if we ran, we could make our way over to the stage and do that. But the theater had the help of a buffer zone of sorts: i ran the risk of being smacked in the head or knocked down by the pit.

I had a hunch that the show was going to wrap up soon enough, and thus, I had to act quick.

“Here, I'll hold your purse,” she said right into my ear, and I slung it off my shoulder for her. I then took one final drink of my midori sour. The mosh pit flared up again, and it was of substantial size at that point. But I clutched onto the drawings, and I glanced up at the stage, at Mike’s red goatee, at Alex’s plume of gray hair, and I knew that my gun was loaded. I had cleaned my gun.

I wore actual shoes that evening rather than little slippers.

I looked over at Marcy and the expression of concern on her face, even from behind her mask.

“Fuck it, I'm going in,” I blurted out.

I bowed my head and kept the drawings close to me. I was running through a war zone. I skirted along the rim of the actual mosh pit itself, and I ran opposite to the ring. I was getting close to the stage. I could see Alex and Dave’s feet.

Someone pushed me, hard.

I fell right before I reached the stage. People behind me gasped.

Someone pushed me because I was going against the current.

“Pick her up! Pick her up!” someone declared in the microphone. “Somebody help her out!”

I fell face down, right by the side of the stage. I knew I should have avoided the pit section but I needed to give the art away. There was no way around it without any sort of elbowing or moving about with utmost power, and I had my hands full with those drawings fresh off the press.

“Oh, god, I think she's hurt,” I heard someone say. I lay there on the hard floor with a sharp pain in my shoulder. I pinched my eyes shut, and all the while, I thought about Chris. I rolled over as I could feel their hands on me. I was so relieved to have my mask on. 

The silhouette of his face right above me. 

Not even his marriage could stop the feeling that I sensed between us.

There was something between me and him, something that I missed for so long at that point.

“Are you okay?”

I swore that I heard his voice again. Almost a decade since he and I had met and came face to face with each other, and the better part of one since he had passed. Somewhere through the pain, I believed that I had found him again, like in the dream the day after the news had hit us all. But I still recognized his voice. 

I still recognized him.

“Hey, doll, are you okay?”

I opened my eyes to see those deep set bright eyes right over me, in all their luminosity and all their soul. For a second, I thought I had met Chris again, with that scraggly dark hair all around his head and shoulders and the soulful look to his eyes. But Chris never had that prominent of a nose, or that bright of a gray streak upon his head, or that olive of skin, either.

“Are you alright?” he asked me in a gentle voice; those prominent teeth, those soft looking lips…

“I think so,” I replied to him in a broken voice; I hoped he could hear me through that thick mask.

“You be careful out there in the pit, okay?” he advised me; when he raised his dark eyebrows, it brightened his whole face. “Someone tries to come at you, don’t be afraid to give 'em hell.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah...” I sputtered out; he gave me his hands and helped me to my feet. It was right then I realized I had dropped the drawings but someone caught them for me.

“Hey, did you draw these?” Mark asked me as he showed me the one of him, a mirror image drawing where one side of him resembled a football coach and the other side had him dressed to perform along with his bass guitar.

“Yeah, those are for you guys,” I said as I rubbed my head with my fingers.

“Holy shit!” He showed Alex the one of him, to which he gasped and he held his hand to his chest as if he had seen heaven.

“Oh, my god, these are amazing,” he told me, and then he turned to the tech behind him. He said something but I couldn't hear anything over the noise of the crowd behind me. He then handed the drawing to the tech, and turned to me.

“Go backstage,” he advised me. “My tech will take care of you, but we’re almost done, though. We’ll be with you before you know it.”

“Thank you,” I said to him as I gathered myself and followed his tech backstage. “Thank you, Alex.”

I hoped that Marcy would find her way back there as well.

And all I could think right then was “dammit, Jerry.”

#the skeleton key #the skeleton key fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #metal allegiance #heavy metal fanfic #alex skolnick #dave ellefson #mike portnoy #mark menghi #mark osegueda #oc tag #writing #text

[zmediaoutlet]

was listening to 'sanctify' by st paul & the broken bones and literally just started writing with zero plan in mind; ended up with a stanford-era john/dean thing. so.

(AO3)

Dean lights a match and holds it steady. The flame's a bright-white flare. Little, but enough. He watches past the tiny pool of not-dark, the heat creeping closer to his fingers. When he's about to get burned he shakes it out and drops it to the wrecked carpet. Can't be any worse than anything else that's happened to this floor. He rubs his hot fingertips together, shoulders shifting to get more comfortable against the wall. Rips another match out of the book and lights it.

He's nearly finished with the whole book before there's a brighter wash of headlights through the torn curtains and the room goes black and white—shadows of bedframe and window crossbars and his own hand flung up against his face—and he lets the last match keep going, down to his fingers to scorch his skin, and he's still holding onto the burnt skeleton of the matchstick when the door opens, across the room, and it's—

"Dad," he says.

Backlit by the headlights but Dean would know that silhouette in his sleep, when he's drunk, when he's dead. "Yeah," Dad says, slow and kind of sighing, and he stands in the open door with his hand heavy on the knob and his face hidden in black. Dean wishes he had one more match. "You good?" Dad says, after what feels like a long time, and Dean nods immediately because—but his head feels strange and his jaw feels kind of loose and the nod spools out into something that's maybe not so loyal.

"Yeah," Dad says again, slower, lower, and his silhouette shifts, ducks, when he runs his other hand over the back of his head, and there's another sigh before he says, "Hold on, dude," and turns around and disappears, leaving just the headlight blare in the room and Dean's heart in his throat and his singed fingers grinding the matchstick down to charcoal dust.

Lights off and the night flows back into the room, thick and cold. Dean's shoulderblades grind against the wallpaper. Then—Dad, back, and the lines of the door barely picked out in the dark show him closing it, and then—the camping lantern jolting to life, whiter than the headlights, making this little sun that sears across the Coleman cooler Dad's set it on and the sad iron bedframe with its stained old boxspring and the ratty green curtains and—Dad, five days of stubble grown into what's basically a beard, his face tired, his arm bandaged from Dean's fuck-up. Where Dean can practically see radiating lines, like a cartoon panel, going hey idiot, hey moron, you see? you see what you did?

It's possible Dean's a little loopy.

"Got food, water, Gatorade," Dad says. He looks along his shoulder at Dean. "Booze. But maybe you had enough of that, huh?"

"No such thing," Dean says. Dad laughs, in that nearly-silent Dad-way that's just his shoulders moving and a little air coming out of his nose. Makes warmth crack painfully in Dean's chest, anyway. Hot water hitting ice. He licks his lips. "You okay?"

"Know how to give myself stitches," Dad says. Dismissing. Dean nods and tips his head back against the wall, his eyes hot and his fingers hurting and his ankle, god, his ankle really really hurts but that's—his own fault, and he knows it, and it makes perfect sense that Dad left him here to wait, in the dark, in some abandoned motel on the ass end of nowhere while he took care of what Dean couldn't.

The lantern-light leaves weird crazed patterns on the ceiling. Splintery cracks that blur and move. Dean keeps his eyes on that and focuses on breathing in some way that might sound normal and he listens as Dad's steps thump around the interior of the room. Then—

"What's with the matches?" Dad says. Dean blinks. Dad's right in front of him, crouching, frowning down at the pile of charcoal.

"It was dark," Dean says. His lips feel fat, stupid. "Zippo ran outta juice."

"They do that." Line between Dad's brows. Glint in his eye, but then he's backlit again and it's hard to see detail in the dark. His lips press together and he shakes his head and Dean doesn't want to say he's sorry because he doesn't want to hear what comes after it, whether the correction he deserves or shrugging he doesn't, but he wants to say—he wants—but Dad's on his own schedule and he says, "All right, man, let's go," and he grabs Dean's forearm and there's an arm around Dean's waist and he's upright, lickety-split like a magic trick, and the change in elevation does something weird to his head and his ankle screams inside the loose frame of his unlaced boot but Dean just bites down on any feeling or sound and turns his face, his nose and mouth and eyes closed against Dad's shoulder—canvas, smoke. Safe. God, that they're safe.

The arm stays around his waist. A hand, rough and warm, at the back of his neck. Thumb up behind his ear. "Hurts, huh," Dean hears, somewhere, and he nods dumb against the canvas. He's walked a step backward—oh, his leg—but his weight somehow isn't quite right, and he falls—is carried—bounce of the boxspring and a cloud of dust and that huffing breath, and Dad says, "Gotta let go, buddy," and Dean finds he's got a double-handful of canvas jacket and he's carried Dad right along with him so he's bent over Dean where he's half-sprawled back on the bed, his mouth curved up at one corner, and he's not—mad. He should be mad and he's not.

"I have to?" Dean says.

"You really are out of it." He should be. He should be mad, but he's just breaking Dean's grip on his jacket with easy twists of his thumb—and grabbing his bag, and crouching down on the floorboards like before to find Dean's boot, to roll his jeans up his shin, to hiss at the damage.

"Dad," Dean says, and Dad says, "Bite something, would you?" and Dean doesn't have to do that, when has he ever had to do that?—so that when Dad pulls his ankle Dean just sucks air and lets the tears smart and feels his foot weirdly small in the double-warm grip, the way that hand drags up the back of his calf, squeezes mean and then gentle and he relaxes from the iron he turned into and becomes—whatever the opposite of metal is. He drags up onto his elbows and watches down the stupid stained length of himself and sees Dad shrug. So, no break. That's something.

The opposite of metal. Melting, pooling. He's braced on his elbows but it feels like the only solid point in his whole body. Dad has a clean roll of Ace and he settles down, wraps Dean up tight, where it hurts but in that good way, where it'll have to heal. One of the few things that do. "How's that," Dad says, when he's stuck a butterfly in place, and Dean says, lightheaded, "Like buttah," and Dad smiles at him, for real, looking him right in the eye.

"Dad," Dean says, a third try, and Dad shakes his head. Dean bites his lip.

"Didn't go so hot, huh," Dad says, instead. Understatement of the century. He's not smiling anymore but he's not frowning, either. The puddle that is Dean remains soft. "We can talk about it when your brains aren't leaking out your ears. You have that whole bottle?" No answer to that, either. Especially since Dad's hand strokes back up the wrecked line of his tendon, soft. Firmer on the calf, and then blunt fingers up in the hollow of his knee, under his jeans, tucking there. "You awake, Dean?"

Too soft to speak. He nods, loose still and stupid still but knowing why he's nodding. That's enough. Dad's hand turns, slides up that last inch and cups the bare back of Dean's thigh, squeezes. Then—up—sitting by Dean on the boxspring, big hand sliding over and covering his crotch. Hot. Dean spreads his legs. His bandaged heel bumps his discarded boot. He stays up on his elbows and Dad sinks down next to him, leaning half over, his breath on Dean's shoulder—unbuckling, unbuttoning, unzipping with easy one-handed practice—and then in past the fly, sliding over the top of Dean's boxers, hotter through the thin cotton. Dean blinks. Dad's hand's so tan, the hair on his wrist black, blacker in the lantern light. Strange against Dean's white belly when Dad rucks his shirt up out of the way so they can see. When it's been years and that should be the most normal thing, but—usually it's not bright like this, and Dean's not woozy like this, and Dad's not just getting on with it, like this, but—

Dean's getting there. Dad rubs him, pushes his boxers down and out of the way, fists his dick. Rough thumb under the head, too rough, and Dean's hips lift, squirm, but that hurts his ankle—he makes a sound—and Dad shushes him, squeezes, his mouth going down to Dean's shoulder through his jacket. Sweat erupts at the back of his neck, his pits. That squeezing massaging rub—just the way Dad handles it—it's swelling in Dean's balls, his throat. Dad's breath heavy, puffing against his collarbone. Dad lets go—no—but just to put his fingers in Dean's open mouth, and Dean sucks on instinct, licking, and then it's wet, rubbing, playing with the head and going down to handle his nuts and jerking finally, working, and Dean tips his head back on his shoulders and dissolves, flows away.

His elbows go out from under him. He lays flat, legs hanging off the end of the bed, body a strange static-blur of over-warm relief, pain off at the end of some long unworrying road. The bedspring's shaking and Dean turns his head and Dad's beside him, laying back just like him, eyes closed and brow tight. Getting off. His cheeks turning red under the cover of the beard. His shoulder, working. Dean watches like it's a sunrise. Normally Dad's on top of him, inside him, behind his back, overhead with his hands gripped around Dean's ears. This side view feels new.

His ear, his jaw. Sweat at his temple. His lips part and there's a shadow inside that Dean wants to taste but he still wants to see. Compromise: he turns and slides his hand down and holds Dad's balls—huge, hotter and hairier, loose often when Dean sees them but cupping up tighter now, drawing in—and Dad's eyes scrunch closed and his free hand goes over Dean's side, grabs his ass, drags him in so Dean has to hitch his hurt leg over Dad's legs and curl in close—on top, practically—and there's a grunt, and wet, but mostly there's Dad's eyes opening wide, startled. His thick eyelashes. Dean puts his head down on Dad's shoulder and feels the heaving shock of his breath. Dad's hand finds his and drags them both up to lay on Dad's belly, and Dean watches that instead. How it goes up and down, in this steady wave. Dad's heart beating, under his ear. Dad's blood, and that means it's Dean's blood, too, coursing back and forth, regular as tides.

He wakes up in the dark. His ankle throbs, his burnt fingers sting. He swallows, dry-mouthed, aching, and finds out that he's the right way around on the box-spring, something thrown over his chest like a blanket. He curls his hands into it. Canvas, smoke.

He licks his lips but doesn't get the chance to talk. "Right here," Dad says, from somewhere—to the left, on the far side of the room, across from the door. "It can wait 'til morning."

Dean shifts, tugs the jacket further up over his shoulders. Dad, in the dark. He puts his nose into the collar of the jacket and whatever he might want seems impossible, here, now. Not even enough moonlight to show the edges of things.

"Sleep it off, soldier," Dad says.

#no idea #i'm gonna have to see if it's worth cleaning up in the morning #but for now -- hey i wrote something #literally better than nothing #my writing #john/dean #the full house of wincest #(it's technically not) #(but i feel like the absence of sam undergirds dean all the time)

[windupnamazu]

the weight of living

ffxivwrite2023 #21: grave a burial place.

Lunya & G'raha. Pacific Rim AU. 393wc. ⮞ There's an albatross around your neck.

He finds her out on the northernmost deck of the Shatterdome as the first rays of morning light paint the city of Vesper Bay in rosy pinks and warm oranges. For a city on its final legs, standing defiantly in the face of the apocalypse, it's beautiful—even the ichor-filled sea dyed primal violet and the hulking silhouette of Ifrit's skeleton forming the Bone Slums are peaceful in the moment, and he stays silent as he approaches her with slow steps, not wanting to disturb her prayers.

But Lunya turns anyway, her smile gentle, attention stirred by the Drift and their permanent resonance, an unending song between them. Wisps of her freshly-cut hair flutter in the wind and she's cast golden and holy in the sunrise.

"When Marshal Leveilleur and Einar left for Carteneau, I had a feeling they weren't coming back," she says, eyes trained on the rising peak of the Shatterdome behind him. "You feel that way with every battle, but that day I couldn't shake the idea that this is it. This is when I lose him."

And she was right. The cairns dedicated to the lost Marshal and Warrior are merely that: cairns. Piles of stone. Markers for something that could be here but isn't. Endless are the number of should-be graves piled with flowers that can't exist because there was nothing left to pull from the wreckage.

"I didn't cry when they told me he was dead." She doesn't cry now, either. Neither of them think she remembers how to. "I told you that, right? A lot of people think I'm heartless because of it."

And they're wrong. He knows her heart more than she's ever allowed anyone else to. The girl before him is made of galaxies and a raw, relentless, burning kind of love, the kind that moves gods to test their children and leave them to find their own answers. All-consuming. Bone-aching. It's echo in his own leaves him starving, desperate for more.

But he doesn't need to say so out loud; Lunya's smile tells him she knows everything, just as he knows all of her.

"They live in my memory," she says with a sort of finality. "Do you think that's enough?"

"I think it has to be," G'raha says honestly.

When they leave for breakfast, hands entwined, two Nymeia lilies remain in their place.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2023 #tales from the warriors of light #oc: lunya #g'raha tia #v: to the edge of our hope #a missing scene to the megafic i still havent finished

[hornet-breaker]

Blackwater Bounty

The Manhunters face their biggest (literally) challenge yet as a Titan ends up wanted in Blackwater Territory.

Tw: vore, digestion mention, swearing, gore

Four men rode into the quiet desert town of El Rapids, nestled in the walls of the infamous “Blackrock Canyon.” They heard word from another town back in the Savannah about a massive bounty in El Rapids, and they were going to be the ones to claim it. George thought this was strange as he adjusted himself on the back of his horse, urging it to catch up to the others.

“Sapnap are you sure we’re in the right place?” Badboyhalo asked.

“Maybe we should’ve taken a left at the river…” Antfrost chimes in. Sapnap rolled his eyes.

“We’re here, El Rapids just has a low population because of its location.” He said. It was true, El Rapids was subject to constant Titan attacks, from Branch-horns to the dreaded Derivus and Agnes, no human was safe here.

The group found a large hole carved by the riverbank and stopped, letting their horses rest by the riverbank and tying them to fence posts. George only could hope that a hungry Titan didn’t suddenly develop a craving for horse meat. They walked through a series of tunnels and finally arrived to an underground city, lit up by lamp lights and glow lichen. A man walked up to them and Sapnap stepped foreward.

“President Quackity.” He greeted.

“Captain Sapnap,” Quackity greeted back, shaking his hand. “Follow me boys, this one is probably going to be your biggest hunt yet!”

The group followed him inside where he had a projector set up.

“Now normally you boys hunt people right? That’s why you’re called the Manhunters, well, consider this gentlemen! Tubbo! Lights!” Quackity exclaimed dramatically. The teen at the back of the room rolled his eyes dramatically and flicked the switch as Quackity got the projector running. A picture of a large silhouette with glowing green eyes popped up.

“This, is your target. A lightweight build Titan that has been scouting the perimeter and eating merchants whenever it finds them. We’re surprised it didn’t get you guys actually.” Quackity said, flicking through the pictures. Images of carnage and bloody remains flashed across the screen emphasizing what they were really hunting, a monster that could kill everyone in this room with only one swipe of its mighty talons.

George swallowed nervously and Bad looked mortified. Sapnap frowned with concern as he stood up from his seat.

“With all do respect, Mr. President, I’m not risking my men’s lives to hunt a killer Titan, I think we should probably get the Safeguard involved.” Sapnap suggested.

“That’s the thing! Safeguard doesn’t care about little desert outposts like this! They only care about city humans! The ones scurrying between massive feet and talons surviving the concrete jungle, they don’t care about the humans that are really struggling to survive. That’s why I have employed you five, the best hunters on the continent.” Quackity clasped Sapnap’s shoulder. “Did I mention, the reward?” He passed Sapnap two wanted posters, both of the same creature, both with the same bounty. The reward?

“3 million credits,” Sam gasped, everyone’s eyes were wide with shock, George’s jaw dropped hearing this. 3 million human credits, that was like, 3 thousand Titan credits!

“And you have this kind of money?!” George blurted. Quackity nodded.

“Yep, one Titan owes me hush money to keep his little affair with a human a secret.” Quackity smirked. “So boys? Are you in?”

“We’ll be back with that fucker’s head dragging behind the horses in 3 days.” Sapnap smirked confidently. “Boys! We ride at sundown!”

~~~

Nighttime was the worst time to be out in the desert. There were mobs absolutely everywhere in the canyon! A creeper nearly blasted them twice had Ant not hissed at it to make it go away (and by that extent would always make Sam jump.) and skeletons would constantly put them under fire. The group stopped to camp by the waterfall, Bad humming a quiet tune as their makeshift campfire crackled under the 5 moon sky. If they weren’t under the threat of being murked by mobs or becoming a Titan’s midnight snack, it would’ve been peaceful.

“So, what are you guys gonna do with your share of the money?” Bad suddenly asked. Sam scoffed at him

“What is this a slumber party?” He joked. Bad rolled his eyes, or at least George thought he did.

“Haha very funny Sam. I’m just trying to make conversation.” Bad quipped. Antfrost giggled as he took a drink of water from the river, pausing suddenly. His ears flicked and his whiskers twitched. Sapnap noticed this.

“Ant? Whatchya picking up?” The captain of the hunters asked. Ant turned to answer but froze dead in his tracks, stumbling over his words. Eventually a low growl made the group realize why Ant suddenly looked ready to piss himself.

“Fuck, run you idiots!” Sapnap yelled as a terrifying screech-like roar pierced the night sky.

~~~~

He never really liked this arrangement with El Rapids. He had been perfectly fine on his own, the rivers had plentiful fish and one of the two visas he had allowed him to become human, so he could at least buy food during tough times.

But ever since Quackity caught him in El Rapids trying to sneak around, he had used him for protection, in exchange that the Titan was fed. He was fed alright, fed up with this bullshit. He hated the sound of screaming humans, it was annoying and heartbreaking, interestingly enough. The first few times he was “sacrificed” humans, he didn’t mind, but after a while he started getting suspicious when he heard El Rapids’s population was shrinking. He was starting to think he was a body guard for Quackity, and needed someone to help him take them down.

So here he was, quietly watching the camp of 5 hunters. It was kinda cozy he wouldn’t lie. He wanted to try and get closer, maybe introduce himself. If he did this slowly and carefully everything should go right. Keyword; should. And it did, he got very close, until the cat saw him, he tried purring to show he was friendly. The human in a white bandana started shouting at them to run and they all took off. Great.

One thing he did do before he left his den for the night was he grabbed his visa that put his stomach on hold, almost making it like a storage pouch so he wouldn’t have to worry about cramming them in a sac barely below his collarbone meant to hold up to two people. His stomach could hold 3 safely at least. He grabbed one of them and immediately popped them into his mouth, purring at the taste as he kept an eye on where everyone was, out of the corner of his eye he saw the slightly smaller one with goggles running along the side of the cliff with a bow, probably to start sniping. The human cut at his tongue, right, they’re armed. He slammed them against the roof of his mouth and spat out their weapon, then swallowed with a hearty gulp, feeling them travel down, one down 4 to go.

One by one he was scouring the ravine, catching and disarming each hunter, and swallowing them down so they could be safe. He will admit it was an amazing sensation to feel 3 live prey inside his belly squirming and thrashing. Now for the tough part: the goggled human and the bandana human.

~~~~

George was hyperventilating and in tears. Everyone he’d met and grown to love as brothers were being eaten alive and he was next as he loaded a wayfaryte arrow into his bow and wanted to take aim. Sapnap was no where to be found but if George had to guess he was already being digested by the monster, or got torn to shreds because he tried to burn it-nope, he could hear Sapnap’s battle cry, he was still alive, not for long though. George rounded the corner and took the shot, landing a blow on the beast’s shoulder as it roared with surprise. The creature looked around, vibrant green eyes landed on him as he walked over. George tried to run but it was too late as he was pinched by the leg with (gentle?) fingers. George instinctively dropped his arrows and bow, along with his sword and knife. He was defenseless.

The giant beast seemed satisfied with himself as he opened his mouth and tossed Sapnap in, clamping his teeth shut to lock his old time friend in.

“SAPNAP!!” George cried, flailing wildly trying to escape. The Titan pressed George against his stomach, he could hear his friends inside, yelling and screaming. George was frantically trying to push away, and to his surprise he was lifted back up, but only in time to watch as the Titan swallowed and the lump that was his friend traveling down the beasts throat.

It pet him reassuringly as he opened his mouth, a forest green abyss with a neon green forked tongue awaited him. George panicked and kicked at the tongue but that only excited the beast more as he slipped George in and started licking him. The tongue assaulted George everywhere, the little man helplessly fighting against it as he felt gravity shift. No, this couldn’t be the end. This wasn’t how he was going to die!

George clawed his way to the front of the mouth hearing a confused mutt ring around him as he slipped his hands under the beast’s teeth and started to lift. He pushed up with all his might, and unsure whether the beast was playing into this or if his jaw was relaxed enough, but he managed to prop it open, exerting all of his energy into holding the beast’s mouth open as sunlight started to rise. The creature wrapped his tongue around George and pulled him back in, but it kept its mouth open. As the sun rose above the cliffs, George was sliding into the awaiting opened throat, through the teeth he saw the last light of day as he was gulped down, sent to his doom. He slid down, down into a small pouch on top of Sapnap, below was the stomach with the rest of his friends. The two could barely fit in here, and it was about to get tighter as the creature burped overhead. The two held each other close, believing it was their final moments.

~~~~

Dream had never felt this heavy before. Five humans was a nice fill in theory, but with them all squirming and struggling it was kind of impossible to focus. He’s have to keep burping on occasion to prevent gas build up in both of his stomachs, and occasionally he would stop to rest and caress his belly. He would admit it was very nice, he would have to see if he could eat them again sometime soon. But for now he crawled back into the cave that he claimed to be his den and flopped into bed, tired and satisfied with two full bellies with the humans that were safe. Tomorrow night he’d let them out and explain what he was doing and why he ate them, if they’d even listen to him after this.

#mcyt g/t #g/t writing #giant tiny #tw: vore #giant!dream #tiny!george #tiny!sam #tiny!antfrost #tiny!sapnap #tiny!bbh

[lovehostess]

12 Études

C!Technoblade x reader

This work will contain smut and therefore if you are a minor please do NOT interact. Let me know what you think of this!

If the characters mentioned are uncomfortable of this work or how they are portrayed; this will be taken down immediately.

Ch1: Op 10: No.1 In C Major

“My Dearest,

Upon reading this letter you must know firstly that I am safe. There were rumours about the escape of a certain enemy of mine and the syndicate must react. However, the ties you have with him may place you in harm’s way thus I left without alerting your presence. My most sincere apologies, but your safety is my priority. I am accompanied by Phil should you be worried thinking that I am on my own. I will return to you shortly. 

Yours,

Technoblade”

Frowning as you read the letter, you decided to push away the thought of the escape of an enemy you did not know was locked up in the first place. The letter was freshly written evident by the movement of the black ink, Techno must’ve left hurriedly as our living room was a big mess. There were still potions brewing on its stands and stacks of lapis was scattered on the floor. You sighed to yourself and started cleaning up the mess, your head filled up with the thought of him. Worry started to flow but you snapped out of it knowing it will do you no good, he will remain safe, Technoblade never dies anyway.

It was extremely cold outside but you were bored and there was nothing much to do on your own, so you decided to take a walk. Usually, you would play with your dogs in the extreme weather with Techno or farm some honey with Philza and even sometimes you would bake desserts. Although, after Techno formed the syndicate, it would seem like your days are mostly filled with endless training, strategising and improving your enchantment skills. Then again, you are the wicked witch.

You were a stranger to the Dream SMP and the countries or nations surrounding it, coming from a small village, you were born during a raid. Your mother passed in childbirth and your father was not known. Interestingly enough, one of the evokers took pity on you, you were only a babe after all. He raised you as if you were his own, he taught you how to harness magic and read you stories about both ancient and world history every night, you lived lavishly in a mansion no man dared to enter. Living there was amusing to say the least, with creepers trying to blow themselves up as a way to play with you. It was difficult to accept the fact that you were raised by an enemy, someone who attacked the village that could have been your home, but you came to terms with it.

You met Technoblade years later. He was in search of a totem you know only your adoptive father’s kind may give - in return for their life. The mansion you reside in has no more of his kind, after your father passed and inherited it to you, the mobs that remained are only there to protect you while the others moved to a new one thousands of blocks away. Technoblade came on his own, fully armed, prepared to face your friends; zombies, creepers, skeletons alike. However, he was not prepared to see a young woman with a striking h/c hair, wrapped in a silk dress with wine on hand. “You look like you’re gonna fight a war” is the first sentence you said to him, lips curled into a smile - the smile that brought the blood god to his knees. And so instead of finding a totem, he found you - and he never once failed to apologise for his attempt of murdering your father’s kind in which you always responded with a gentle laugh and a “Had you not sought for the totem, you would not find me.” 

You moved in with him in his retirement house after he expressed how anxious he has become for your safety when you are blocks away, even though he was well aware you are capable of defending yourself. It was peaceful for a while, your life was incredibly boring but no one ever really mentioned how that could be enjoyable. When Tommy barged in, you were the one who persuaded your lover to let him stay. He was only a boy and had been continuously manipulated by the man you once shared history with. You cherished him like a little brother. Tommy was incredibly amusing albeit rather annoyingly, he even gave you the nickname Wicked Witch after knowing your gifts. But alas, it was all for nothing as he betrayed you - bitterness still lingers deep in your heart.

As you walk down the snowy road, you start to feel the energy of the nether portal, buzzing with the power of hell. Contemplating whether or not you should walk in to see what has been going around there. Maybe you could have a chat and share a glass of wine with some piglins in the bastion. But then the aura shifted, the portal buzzed louder, the energy was strong, incredibly so - and that’s when a figure came out. His silhouette was intimidating for most people, but not to you. His green cape flows as the wind blows; his face was half covered with a mask, only his mouth was visible and then his lips turned into a grin as he said

“So we meet again, Princess”

#technoblade x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfic #12Etudes

[roleplay-abiogenesis2]

[Crossover] Dissidia x FFVII - Advent Children

WHAT IF the Warrior of Light suddenly appeared in Cloud’s world? 

Involved Characters: Warrior of Light, Cloud Strife, 23yo ( @azure-steel​ )

References: Dissidia Series, Final Fantasy VII Series.

Settings: Midgar (Region), September εγλ 0010

Had there ever been a day in his life, in which his memories were something more than a hazy shroud of mist and reverberating whispers?

Of course, he couldn’t even remember that.

A dry wind blew across the dusty wastelands, pulling and twisting at the yellow cape that draped his back. Shield firm in his left arm, his sword unsheathed in his right, the knight still marched on. One step followed the other, in a cadenced, calm but aimless pace over soil dried up of all life. His strides did not falter, yet he had no destination in this place. Pale blue eyes squinted against the glare of a weak sun in the gray sky, scanning the horizon.

Nothing he saw here looked familiar. It was as though he’d come into existence in the middle of nowhere, in that very day.

At last, something caught his notice. Past a low canyon up ahead, a dark silhouette stood out in that colourless landscape. The man steeled himself, and continued, undisturbed, leaving nothing behind but the weak footprint of armored boots. With each step, his chainmail jingled, the white plume at the top of his helmet swatted like a flag against the wind, occasionally tangling around the upward sweeping golden horns at its sides, or fell back to stroke the wide armored collar of his armor, blending with the long white hair nestled in the inside.

Minutes became hours, and only when he reached the far end of a cliff, did the Warrior stop to gaze upon that shape which had become a lot more distinct to the eye.

A massive skeleton of metal and stone, in the shape that he could only compare to a temple, yet far more massive, the size of which he thought he’d never seen before. Like the remains of the greatest of titans, it towered at the center of these dried up planes of sand and rock. Ominous, sinister, and very much the only thing worthy of note anywhere he looked.

Narrowing his eyes, he thought he could see something more, however. Something moved at the feet of that place. Trails of smoke, jutting out of much smaller constructions at the edge of the structure. Perhaps a settlement of some kind.

“It seems I stand before a new trial...” He murmured to himself, eyes closing in contemplation, head bowing solemnly, while above him reached the hungry growls and screeches of lurking beasts.

The flock of cerulean drakes had been following for a while. Drawn by the vibrant colors of the knight, that pearl blue that blazed against the weak sunrays and stood out in the sea of sandy rocks, they had circled over him like vultures. His stop had evidently made the beasts bolder, and together they had descended upon him, diving and swatting the air surrounding him with high-pitched shrieks and tentative lounges of their clawed feet.

The knight whipped his sword at the ready, shield raised with poise. A determined look in his eyes, unwavering before the opponent outnumbering him by half a dozen. Rising the point of his blade to a Drake hovering before him, he accepted the challenge with courage.

“Come! I shall give my all.”

#azure-steel #azuresteel #au02 || crossover #ff01 || come! i shall give my all. [ic: warrior of light (setro)] #to: || cloud strife (final fantasy vii)

[rataltouille]

BONFIRE, BONFIRE!: A COLLECTION OF FLASH FICTION + POETRY

so i’ve decided to compile all twenty [these will be split into two so that the post isn’t super long] of the writing pieces i’ve done for my random celebration into one post so that it’s easier to read / access share!! you can also find it here, all put into one work, on wattpad, because i feel nostalgic about that website and decided to just post it!!

NOTE: i know that this shouldn't need to be said, but these 20 pieces belong to me so please don’t copy/repurpose it for your writing!! i plan on using these somewhere in my own writing and either way they’re stuff i’ve written so don’t use them!!

1. cooking + destructive + purple from @andiwriteunderthemoon [also i kind of cheated with this prompt and asked my sis @dreamscanbenightmarestoo for ideas and so the base idea’s from her!!]

I didn’t mean to set my house on fire, alright?

Let me set the scene: I’m sitting in my room, watching the infomercials that blur together, and suddenly there’s a bright purple flash on the glitching screen: /grapes/. They’re shiny, plump, and oh? A recipe for fine wine? Don’t mind if I do. So I pop into my kitchen and cut the grapes, dice them up, finally using the knife after years of not cooking— /mother, are you proud of me now?/— and stick the soft, luminescent fluid into a glass bottle. Following each step of the recipe.

The recipe didn’t mention an explosion.

Destruction rained around my house like a meteor shower. The bubbles from the fluid, frisking up at contact with metal, swam across my shoes and into the living room. It touched the TV, which still flashed the recipe, which I was still cursing at. And then, you know, it burnt up. The couch scorched first, I think. So that was fun. I later realised that I’d used my reserve of petroleum, which I’d put in my kitchen cabinet, instead of vinegar. I think I’ve got to move back in with my mother again.

2. running + quiet + sky blue from @kryskakikomi [i have no idea what this is i drafted this in a fever dream state]

Summer crawled up his skin like a worm. He was seated at his dining table, crosswording his way through the sticky morning, when it struck him that the humidity was new. He’d been caught in summer before, of course, but this year was different. His parents had whisked away to their hometown, and he still didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to go. He loved their home— he could have been running on beach sand and waves could have cruised over his feet, and his face would reflect sky blue under palm trees. Instead he sat doodling and scratching at cement walls in a quiet that nagged at his ears, grappling his flesh like a fishing hook, reeling him in. Boredom, him sister told him, before she also left for someone’s home. What would you know? he whispered once the door latched from the outside. Maybe /she’d/ like to sit on the same wooden chair, all the pink paint worn out, and scratch out squares of empty text until the pen poked through the other hand. He scoffed. At least he knew the number of scars on the wood; he could hold that over her when his parents returned.

3. hallucinate + hazy + violet from @chloeswords [i wanted to write something dreamy and ethereal but everytime i look at your url i’m reminded of church mud and indirectly my religious trauma so here we are 🤡]

We hold the book in our arms and chant for God. We don’t know what he looks like. They say that he’s sharp, never pixelating or blurring or showing through, like a hazy image would. No, children, our family says, he will come clothed in gold and velvet— the colour a deep and rich crimson, or chartreuse. And of course, he weaves a violet into his hair. Because he is just that humble. Just that gentle. Loving.

We’ve almost understood now. Pray, clasp our palms together into a transient equinox, and pray. Maybe he will shine down on us. Maybe we will speak so loud and chant so long that our lips will chap. Maybe we’ll simply hallucinate him to salve our bones. Our family says, he will bless you. And so he will.

4. halcyon + pluviophile + beige from anon [i was yearning for cats i am a cat person i love cats]

I remember my life before I moved to London,

Those halcyon days that I spent scooping up cat litter and brushing warm fur,

Being a mother to beige and white and black little felines.

They keep better company than humans.

Now I’m a self-proclaimed businesswoman, artist, influencer, pluviophile,

Even when I’ve barely stepped foot outside during the rain,

[But it needs to be said that when it rains in London, it pours].

I think I’d like to open a cat cafe;

I’m rich enough to pull it off.

5. sing + vulnerable + olive green from @occiidens [this was actually super fun to write because it’s a break from the typically unhinged stories i gravitate towards]

You watch from the highest hill of your town, hand wrapped around the serrated wood of a red oak tree. The bark pokes into your flesh, drawing blood that shouldn’t have been taken from you. You scowl. Just another thing that lives to cause you pain.

Three storeys down is a young man, short and smiling and lovely. He has dark skin and darker hair, walking with the stride of a deer, and he’s smiling; the joy reflects onto your face, even though you can’t hear him. He wears a cotton shirt, the olive green stark against the fire-blue sky. You call out, sing his name, three times in a row.

When he finally looks up, squinting as you silhouette under the sun, the smile widens. A wave. You’re suddenly overcome with embarrassment. Your palm digs into the bark until the wound is freshly dug again, the skin supple and vulnerable. You want to wave, but your hands would look so awkward, and the blood wouldn't help. So you turn on your heel and run— why are you so awkward?— and the grass around you is brighter. This is now a tomorrow issue, you conclude. You’re still smiling.

6. dislocate + ostentatious + blood red from @oasis-of-you [this got really unhinged really fast. TW: body horror]

If you take a turn at Finn Avenue,

Rogue your way down a blood red river,

[It’s not actual blood, do not worry. The colour’s a pigment and it’s saturated enough to give you the texture, the touch, the taste of blood, but I repeat, it isn’t true blood. You might think that it’s ostentatious of us to make you cross a river like that, but you’ll understand why.]

And if can stick your fingers inside the fluid,

You’ll find a bone.

Don’t pull it out fully! Only observe.

[This is a real bone, most likely animal. We may be ominous, but we don’t hurt humans. Not yet.]

So what do you do now? You want passage into a better world.

You came here because you saw the brochure, the flyer,

Radiant Idyll, home for love, but you also saw the jutting anatomy that leads to the city. The pictures were rather clear.

Why do you look so surprised? We’ve put this on the brochure— don’t you ever read the fine print?— to avoid this exact situation. That you would cross a body, a skeleton, pooled over in a fluid that we don’t name, but it’s probably alive.

It’s watching you right now.

So what do you do now?

Hurry up, unhinge your arm, dislocate the elbow, drop it into the blood, forgive me, false blood, and pay for your passage.

Oh! Excellent; that’s record time. We do hope you enjoy your stay!

1. @noteaboy [i’ve interpreted your url as ”note, a boy”]

There’s an orange tree. It’s spring, and there’s an orange tree, and it brims with fruit and citrus perfume. Point your lens flare downwards, and note, a boy. A young man, perhaps, because he combs his hair, uptight and firm, and he wears a tie. A long suit. He doesn’t look up, because his hand holds a book. /He/ holds the book, not the hands— tenderness doesn’t translate through anatomy, I’ve taught you this before. He’s waiting for someone. There’s only the rustle of leaves. He drops the book onto the lap of the tree, crushing the apple that had fallen down. Orange, not apple. Take note better. You only have one chance to get this right.

2. @eatingjupiter [your url is so beautiful omg]

The goddess had said this before she died: you need to watch over him. He needs your sentry to survive. The goddess’ words weren’t heeded. Little baby Jupiter tottered on lava as him parents small-talked with their kingdom. Well, it must have been small talk, because nothing seemed to happen afterwards other than his mother’s face collapsing in agony, anger, annoyance. He knew not to touch them then. He’d fly off into the sun one day, but if his hands were but and charred, he wouldn’t survive even a third of the journey.

The prophecy was simple: the firstborn to the kingdom will metamorph into a celestial, purify themselves so that only stardust remains. Live in the sky forever. The astrologers were baffled; you don’t just become a star. They should have heeded the goddess.

Jupiter was sixteen when he expanded and collapsed all at once. He still lives, they say, and the astrologers /were/ right, in a way: people just don’t become stars. They become almost empty space. Nobody knows if his hands were burnt when they left earth’s orbit forever.

3. @laughtracksonata [your name gave me slight horror vibes idk why!!]

Hahaha. The Horror Movie (don’t ask me for a name, I’m not good with those), with its cymbal crashing and plastic sounds, it’s so loud and scary that it hurts, father. Please turn it off.

Father doesn't listen. I shiver on the couch. The screen flickers like radio static and reflects off our wide eyes. What kind of a home is this anyway? I don’t want to fucking listen to a laugh track or a horror VHS tape or watch the bass crescendo as the serial killer jumpscares the watcher. I don’t think that having hour pupils glued to the same blood-splattered movie, with the same recording looping in his eardrums will help him. He laughs along, sometimes. It’s scary. Father needs a new hobby.

PART TWO COMING SOON!!

anyway this got REALLY long so i’m posting the third prompt group, the one based on songs, as a second part in some time. i hope you enjoy this, and PLEASE do boost!! i spent a lot of time writing these pieces and am pretty proud of them :’)

general taglist: @lovingyou-is @guulabjamuns @andiwriteunderthemoon @coffeeandcalligraphy @melonmilk @silentlylostwriter @charles-joseph-writes @eklavvya @eowynandfaramir @bitterwitchwrites @laughtracksonata @whatwordsdidnttouch @indeliblewrites @thenataliawrites @summersguilt @illimani-gibberish @sarahkelsiwrites @writing-in-delirium @shaelinwrites @sienna-writes @chewingthescenery @jennawritesstories @chloeswords @aelenko @keira-is-writing @cherylinanika @infinitely-empty-pages @jmtwrites @august-iswriting @freedelusionbanana @beetleblue88 @mistercaleb @iwannawritepls @hanwatchingmovies @mortallynuttyqueen @idratherliveinnarnia @maisulli @thegreyboywrites @ahowlinwolf @ravens-and-rivers @oasis-of-you @yanittawrites @chazza-writes-sometimes @skyfirewrites @lovebenders @treybriggsthewriter @themidnxghtwriter @ash-karter @queen-devasena @a-procrastination-addict @gaymityblight @beyondthebracken @madmaxst26 @adielwrites @moonpixxel @hollow-knight-dnd @keep-looking-here @overlap @ashleygarciawrites @ryns-ramblings​ @wordsbynathan @novaemlynlewis​ @sophiewritingstuff​ @howdy-writes​ @occiidens​ @nsanelyawkward​ @viawrites-andacts​

#writeblr #am writing #flash fiction #poetry #wtwcommunity #ofcolourtracking #crabappletracking #anyway part two probably in a couple days #i still have to start writing them 🤡✌️ #bonfire bonfire