#I honestly would feel safer dead

[kingv-theruler]

.

[literaila]

remembering

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru has a bad day

warnings: canon angst, sad satoru, worried reader, etc.

last part | next part

*

year five.

satoru has been sitting on the couch for over an hour, probably. he's been staring at the wall and he hasn't even been thinking, really, but remembering. 

today is a bad day. that was clear enough when he woke up with a headache, the other half of his bed empty--because you'd been gone that past few days on a mission somewhere satoru can't remember the name of.

and today was a bad day when he took megumi out on his own mission, surveying the area for anything weak and small, and the boy couldn't manage to summon his shikigami for some unknown reason. 

and it was a bad day when megumi asked why can't you do everything for us? when he complained the whole way home and said i don't want to do this. i don't want to be-- 

today's just a bad day. 

and it was a bad day exactly six years ago, when suguru left. and it's still bad now because satoru is still alone. 

even though you came home a couple of hours ago and have been messing around with the kids since. 

you didn't say anything about his mood at dinner, but satoru knows that you can feel it. he can feel it--the looming, the storm. he can feel his own muscles shaking beneath his skin like they're ready to burst. 

he can feel it every time his heart contracts, and every time his heart remembers that it has no purpose. that he's just a man; if only that. 

and honestly--he's a lucky person. he knows that. 

but he doesn't feel lucky today. 

and he's been sitting on the couch, staring at the wall, for far too long. his eyes almost burn. it can't be tears though, because satoru isn't upset. it can't be tears because he doesn't cry. maybe he hasn't been blinking. 

maybe he's already dead, floating in a hell designed just for him. 

god, he hates being alone. 

it's when he thinks this that you walk into the room, slightly bouncing, a fresh reprieve from everything else. 

satoru manages a small smile at you.

“hey,” you say to him, voice soft and sweet as you walk over. but there's a question in the word because satoru knows you’ve been waiting for him. just like you always do. “you weren’t in your room. what are you doing?” 

but you don’t give him enough time to respond—not that he was going to—before your leg brushes against his. you've reached the other side of the room in almost an instant, or maybe satoru's just making things up. 

your hands go to his face, soft and warm, brushing against skin that satoru wants to scrub dry. “you tired?” you ask him, rubbing at the spot under his eye. 

you're standing between his legs, just a bit taller than him like this, staring at him so intently that it feels cruel. satoru's face fades into something neutral--something lost. he doesn't want to talk to you like this. 

it's simple when you begin to climb on top of him, hands using his shoulders to keep yourself steady. you wrap your legs around his torso, almost like you're kneeling against him, and then your hands move, playing with his hair.

“no,” he mumbles, not looking at you.

he doesn't think that he can stand your eyes right now. or your heart, or your voice. there's never been a moment where he's wanted you to move away from him, but the prickling feeling under his skin is almost instinctual. 

satoru has spent his life keeping people away, blocking them from ever reaching him, and it's almost infuriating that he can't do that to you right now. 

that he doesn't really want to. 

you're not even that close, and still. the feeling of you relaxing against him increases his hesitation tenfold. 

should he pull you closer or push you away? 

are you safer falling against the floor, or into him? 

satoru doesn't know. he doesn't know anything, really. suguru would tell him that if he was here now. 

but he's not, satoru thinks, and his mood darkens once again. 

still, you're smiling at him like you know he’s lying. “how’d your thing with megumi go? he told me that you said you thought he was improving,” you nudge him, “were you trying to make him feel better?” 

satoru gives in and brushes a hand across your face, moving hair away from your eyes. “he’s good.” 

“wow. ‘good,’” you shake your head. “such glowing remarks for your only son. you’re a great teacher, you know? maybe next you'll explain the ranking system to him." 

“i thought you already did that.” 

“i'm kidding, satoru,” you smile at him, tilting your head. and then you frown, and the world spins. “you okay?” 

his heart falters. satoru hates lying to you. “yeah, i’m fine.” 

“you’ve got wrinkles,” you say and smooth the furrow in his brow. “what’s up?” 

“nothing.” 

“you know that you’re a terrible liar?” 

satoru sighs, he attempts a smile, but it's futile because he doesn't have one, right now. and he should be happy that you're here--he should feel like clinging to you, sleeping right next to you like he's wanted to for days--but he doesn't. 

and maybe that's worse than anything else. 

how ridiculous would suguru call him now? when he's got you right where he's always wanted you, right there in front of him and he can't even do anything?

how hard would he laugh at satoru?

“hey,” you say, a bit serious. you give him a look. “you can talk to me.” 

“i know.” 

“did something happen?” 

“no.”

“was it megumi? he didn’t say anything—“ 

“nothing happened.” 

“well, then what’s up?” 

“nothing. i’m fine. i’m good.” 

you've always been able to see through him, always known how he felt before he could. and he likes that, usually. he likes that you understand him, that you care. 

he should be basking in it. in you, in your sweet smile and simple composure. you're a pillar against him, strong and sure, and satoru feels like he's suffocating. 

how can you act so normal right now? today?

“you’re good?” you repeat, not a question. “you look…” 

satoru shakes his head, he looks towards the floor but nothing has changed. suguru still hasn't come back and his carpet is still white. “are you bullying me right now?” 

“no,” you say defensively. usually, it would be a joke, but it's like you can tell that his ego is already bruised. “i was going to say handsome.” 

“sure.” 

“satoru…” you’ve got a frown on. “what’s wrong?” 

“like i said, nothing.” 

“will you tell me? please?” 

“there’s nothing to tell.” 

“if somethings wrong i want—“ 

“can you just drop it?” his voice is hard, rough. it feels like he just swallowed dirt. satoru can tell that he's on the verge of breaking--falling to pieces under your whims and your charms--and he doesn’t want to tell anyone anything. 

especially not you and especially not when you look like that. when you're one of the only good things he has. when he could so easily destroy you. 

satoru swallows. 

he knows he’s just ruined your mood. he knows that he shouldn’t be short with you, shouldn’t avoid or eyes or pretend like he doesn’t love it when you sit in his lap. 

but currently, he would rather feel nothing, empty, than anything else. he would rather feel like bursting under the weight of his power than upset, than sick with himself. 

if you keep asking him… he’ll give you an answer. 

and it won’t be one you want. 

“i—“ you pause, observing his face. you’ve lost the teasing in your eyes, the clarity on your face. unfortunately, satoru can feel it as you tense. “okay. you don’t have to tell me.” 

he nods but doesn’t answer. he should say thank you, but he’s not grateful. 

just a little more, he almost pleads, keep going. 

but you won’t because he asked you not to. because you’re better than him, and you flinch away from conflict like it’ll bruise you. 

“i, um, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to push.” 

he sighs again. “it’s fine.” 

you bite your lip, and satoru knows that you want to say something—ask something—but can’t. he can almost feel the words on the tip of your tongue, begging to come out. 

there is a point. and a cause, and significance too. 

no, there's not. 

still, you try again, straightening on his lap. you mess with the hair by his ear. “did tsumiki tell you about her science fair? it’s in a couple of weeks.” 

“no.” 

“she wants to do a lemon circuit.” 

“why?” 

you shrug. “lemons are cool.” 

“are they?” he asks, and it’s almost a joke, but it lacks the warmth of his voice. it lacks his amusement, any care. 

“uh, yeah.” 

satoru wants to smile at you, but it still feels impossible. his voice feels small, and if he says anything else it won't be loud enough for you to hear. 

he wants so desperately to just give in to you. to shake himself out of this. 

but when he tries, he meets a wall of his own creation, the same moment over and over. 

he wishes he could give into this, your prodding, your smiles, but he can’t. 

and then, so softly, you ask, “do you want me to stop talking?” 

satoru exhales. “no.” 

he doesn't know what he wants. 

“okay. do you want me to get off?” 

you're so arrogant. 

“no.” 

you tuck your chin in. “are you lying to me, satoru?” 

satoru looks away, towards the wall. towards a past he can't manage to erase no matter how hard he tries. “no.” 

“i can leave you alone,” you whisper, “if you want me to.” 

“i don’t want you to.” 

“if you need space, that’s fine.” 

“i don’t.” 

“okay.” 

satoru nods. “okay.” 

a moment passes when satoru's chest is tight, his breath short and his body completely at will. he can't do anything right now, not breathe, not move, not love you the way you deserve. 

absolutely nothing. 

and he wants to scream at this version of himself. he wants to pick himself up off of the floor just so he can kick himself back down. but there's no point to that, no point to any of it. 

his eyes still burn. maybe he has something stuck in them.

“i just…” you start a moment later. it's almost like you know that he's falling apart like your body can feel it, even if you can't. the pause in your voice allows satoru's anger to surface. 

he knows that you can't help it, really. but it doesn't matter. 

“why can’t you leave this alone?” he asks, voice that same rough thing it was a minute ago. that cruel tone that he hopes will make you flinch away from him. 

but it doesn't. 

you frown. “because i’m worried about you. you’re not talking to me, and you won’t look me in the eye, and you seem upset.” 

he looks you in the eye. he knows his face is hard, just a plane of rays and lines. “look, i'm fine.” 

this time you look away first, away from the wrong version of him, shaking your head. 

“you don’t need to worry about me," satoru tells you, lump in his throat. his hands are plastered to his side, but his fingers move in a familiar motion. he could burn himself down right now, he thinks, it would only take a moment. 

“well, i’m going to. you think you’d have gotten used to it by now.” 

satoru rolls his eyes. 

you tilt your head so you can look at him more directly, get his eyes on your face. “i don’t know what to do, okay? you’re not like megumi or tsumiki, you don't tell me these things. and i can’t read your mind.” 

“good.” 

“why don’t you want to talk to me?” your face is soft, concerned.

satoru looks away. “i already told you, there’s nothing to talk about. i don’t even know why you’re worried.” 

“because of that,” you say, pointing at him. "you keep doing that."

“doing what?” 

“that. you’re being short with me.” 

“i'm just talking,” satoru closes his eyes. "i thought that was what you wanted."

he can't see you, but he can feel it as you lean back, away from him, and your body relaxes--but in defeat. he wants to open his eyes and study you, observe you like some science experiment. 

and he wants never to look at you again. 

you breathe in, intentionally. “you don’t want me to talk to you, and you don’t want me to go away. what do you want, satoru? what can i do to help?” 

“nothing…” he answers, whispering. “nothing,” he repeats. 

because it's true. if you could go back and fix everything for him. if you could've been there this morning when he was still a person and not a corpse, still a father and yours instead of a boy you once knew--if you could've done that, he'd be fine. 

or he wouldn't be. satoru doesn't even know anymore. 

“i won’t ridicule you for whatever’s wrong,” you tell him, as a reassurance, just in case he wasn’t sure. “i wouldn’t do that.” 

“wouldn’t you?” 

“satoru.” 

“look,” he sits up, holding onto you by your waist. your legs tighten around him. “there’s nothing wrong. you don’t need—i don’t want you to worry about me.” 

“i can’t help it.” 

“well, try.” 

you look away, towards the door. satoru can see you contemplating the words--he can feel the argument, the call of hypocrisy. he would tell you to talk to him, he would say that you needed to get it off your chest. 

somehow, satoru doesn't care. he'd rather be a hypocrite--cruel--and protect you from this than let you inside. let you mold in the core of him, rotten and unused.

you sigh, eventually, like you know what he's thinking. “do you want to go to bed?” 

it takes a moment, but satoru nods. he’s not tired—he’s almost wide awake—but at least being asleep would be better than this. 

at least if he can fall asleep and wake up then it won't be today anymore. then he won't have to think about all of this and try not to let the thoughts overflow out of him. 

“okay,” you finally smile again, though it’s slight. almost unnatural on your face. “c’mon.”

you climb off of him, grabbing his hand to pull him up.

satoru lets you lead the way to his bedroom, focusing on the feeling of your smaller hand in his. you’re warm, and satoru could reach up and feel your pulse. 

maybe he should. he’s not even sure if he’s alive right now. 

but when you reach for his door handle he stops, shaking your hand from his. 

it’s almost unconscious. his body knows what he wants.

he immediately feels the cold, but there’s no going back now. he can't grab your hand and pretend it was an accident, satoru can't go back to being the person who falls asleep in your arms, wrapped entirely around you. 

he just can't. 

you turn to look at him, tilting your head in question. 

"can i--" he stops, swallowing. this time, the burning in his eyes is different. 

"what?" you ask, softly. 

"could--i think i just need some space. tonight." 

"okay, i can--" you pause, eyes widening. "oh, you..." you look towards his door, back to him. satoru watches the realization hit your face, the pain. 

he wants to look away but he can't. 

"is that okay?" he wonders, voice smaller, softer. it feels almost natural. 

"yeah, that's fine," you nod your head immediately, too fast, too sharp. "that's totally fine. whatever you need." 

satoru leans back. "are you sure?" 

"yeah, satoru, of course. i'll just, um--" you shake your head, now, backing away. and then you sidestep him, trying to get away as fast as possible. "i'll see you in the morning, okay? just... you know, get me, if there's anything. if you need anything, i mean. if..." you stop there. 

satoru's heart feels rotten at the bewildered look on your face, the sudden fear in your eyes. 

but he only nods. he's not allowed to change his mind. 

and when you begin to back away, down the hall to your room, satoru doesn't open the door. he doesn't move. 

he watches you as you run far away from him, your body tense and your back turned towards him. 

if you want to kill me, then kill me, satoru hears. there would be a point to that. 

he stares at the space where you were even after you're gone, shut away behind your door, not having bothered to look back at him. he waits like you might come back. like he wants you to. 

and then, as if he's completely okay, satoru opens his door. 

when he closes it, the sound echoes in his core. 

*

satoru lays in bed for hours. 

he'd forgotten how difficult it was to fall asleep without someone there beside him. 

*

next part | series masterlist

[irisintheafterglow]

he's the death you chose (you're in terrible danger)

summary: married life with husband!gojo means cleaning up bodies at 2am.

wc: 1k

cw/tags: mentions of violence, blood, and deaths (nothing graphic), mild angst/comfort with happy ending, some swearing, yes this is the albatross coded

note: honestly not sure where this came from! was just listening to ttpd and thought about what being married to gojo realistically would be like (aka always being targeted as his weakness that it becomes routine). hope you like it :)

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

Wise men once said, “Don’t sleep with your windows open,” and you should have listened to them. If you had, there wouldn’t be three dead mercenaries in your living room, and another somewhere in your kitchen. There were five, originally, but you figured the last one was being hunted down a hallway as he tried to escape your building. The blood-spotted microwave’s clock reads 2:08 when you glance at it to grab cleaning supplies from the cupboard. 2:10 is when Satoru re-enters the apartment and kicks off his shoes. 

“I called Ijichi; he’s sending over cleaners right now,” he says, carefully stepping around the blood and curse guts splattered on the floorboards. Stray drops of who knows what speckle the photos on the bookshelf and he wipes them with his sleeve, scowling. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” 

“Yeah, there’d probably be less of a mess,” you admit, wiping down the kitchen island and guiding the crumbs and dust into the trash. “But they’d still be dead, so I guess it doesn’t really matter in the end.” 

“You handled yourself pretty well for being out of the country for a few months,” he adds appreciatively, retrieving the carpet cleaner from under the sink and sprinkling it onto the living room floor. “I still think it’d be better if you lived on-campus, though.” He squints in the pale moonlight at the pile of abrasive powder and decides to dump a little bit more for good measure. 

“I know–Hey, what’d I tell you about wasting the carpet cleaner? A little goes a long way, remember?” Satoru sets the tube down and puts his hands up in surrender, reaching back and tightening his blindfold before he approaches you in the kitchen. “I can hear your thoughts as they make their way to your mouth, dear.” 

“Look, I know what you’re gonna say–”

“Don’t ask what you’re about to ask, then, if you already know the answer,” you interject with that lightning-quick wit he adored so much. You move to grab the broom from next to the fridge, but he gently catches your wrist and turns you to face him. 

“You’d be safer there,” he continues and you pull your lips into a tight line. 

“Only place I’m safe is wherever I'm with you, realistically.” You had a point. In any other circumstance, the sentiment would be sweet if it wasn’t horribly true. You’d heard time and time again from Satoru how he stared restlessly at the ceiling, anxious about what danger might be coming wherever you were. He theorizes that the higher-ups promoted you to spite him, to have you travel even more often than he was and visit more places across the globe than any seasoned sorcerer would be comfortable with. Phone calls weren’t enough to verify that you were safe; he had to see you, feel you, know you were alive. “This is, what, the second time this month? The first time was when I came back from Paris, right?”

“I don’t think that was this month. It might’ve been the last week of the month prior. Monaco, maybe?”

“Eh, same thing. They always come after me when I get back from Europe. You think they’re trying to catch me off guard or something?”

“I don’t know if we can predict a schedule with these guys, babe,” he grimaces. As much as he liked that you were making light of the situation, the churning in his gut about what could have happened if he didn’t come was too painful to ignore. “Your dad would kill me if he saw how much danger I put you in.” 

“It’s a step up than sneaking me out of the third story of the house, I’ll admit,” you tease. How you could still find humor in times like these, he could never fathom. It’d taken months to convince your father to let Satoru court you, let alone marry you. To your family, he was an impediment, an obstacle, and, unfortunately, the love of your life. “Maybe even as bad as the food poisoning you got from that one place in Sendai.”

“I don’t think ‘in sickness and in health’ is supposed to apply to attempted assassinations. Food poisoning and sprained ankles, sure, but that other one toes the line a little too much.” The frequency of your life in danger was why he wanted you to live full-time on one of the Jujutsu Tech campuses and become a teacher, like him. Sure, a selfish part of him wanted you closer all the time, but he’d pick your safety over your proximity any day. 

“How far are the cleaners?” You yawn, washing your hands at the sink and scanning for everything in your home that needs to be wiped or scrubbed. 

“Ten minutes, tops. I can wait for them if you wanna go back to bed.” He knew you weren’t going to take him up on his offer. You were never able to sleep properly after attempts like this unless he was in the same room. “Though I know you won’t.”

“Isn’t it a little fucked up that we know how the rest of these nights usually go?” You chuckle, a soft, airy sound that takes some of the weight off of Satoru’s chest. You were truly sunlight incarnate and he was the darkest, unseen side of the moon. 

“I’d say this is all my fault, honestly.” You look at him curiously and he shrugs. “I’m the one who made you fall in love with me, after all.” 

“By that logic, I’m also partially to blame,” you point out, flashing him the ring on your left hand. The glow of cursed energy Satoru had embedded into the gemstones glows like Christmas lights in the darkness. The energy was more concentrated than your own body’s natural reserves, allowing him to pinpoint you immediately as long as you were wearing it. Danger and plans A through Z, and everything in between that came with marrying the strongest sorcerer in existence. “I can’t count the number of people who warned me about you.”  

“Why didn’t you listen to them?” 

“Because they’re not you,” you smile. “If you say that you’ll keep me safe, then I trust you to keep your word.” Sunlight incarnate, he thinks again, and God help anyone who tries to block you from him.

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[areyouwell]

Autophobia

Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of being alone. Children or adults with this condition often suffer from severe panic attacks at the thought of being completely alone.

Ch.5.5

Ch.5, Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <--

Paring: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of a depressive spiral, atypical methods of self-harm, severe mental breakdown

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: just a little follow-up chapter cuz if i put this all in one it would have been almost 20k words. let's not talk about how my mini-chapters are over 6k words i'm fluent in yappanese let me monologue

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck

The last twenty-four hours had been a complete blur. Numbly going through the motions of packing a rucksack, letting your body take you to where you needed to go whilst your mind was stuck in a loop. Eighty years. Eighty years. That’s how long you were kept from the world. That’s how long you’d been fed lies and bullshit. Eighty fucking years. And everything about your life, about who you are, what you’d been through, was in that venomous folder you couldn’t bring yourself to open. Nobody looked at you the same way. Ororo could barely stand to be in your presence, having to leave every time you entered the room. Charles kept looking at you with fucking sympathy and you wanted to knock his bald head clean off his shoulders. Scott kept apologising every time he passed you in the hallway, saying he didn’t know and would have done things differently if he had. Kurt and Hank barely knew what the fuck was going on and you hadn’t seen Jean since before the raid. 

And then there was Logan. Who kept almost tiptoeing around you, asking if you were alright every five fucking seconds, asking if you needed anything or if you wanted him to do something. Honestly, you wanted him to shut the fuck up. You wanted them all to shut the fuck up. You hadn’t processed anything. Hadn’t been allowed to process anything. After you woke up, you’d explained to those in the med-bay what Dr.Kremlin –or whatever his stupid fucking name was– had told you. Charles filled in the gaps, and you were given all of thirty seconds before you were taken upstairs to pack a bag and to meet Logan in the garage. You felt nothing as you swung your rucksack in the backseat of the beaten pickup truck, clambering into the passenger’s side and falling into dead silence. You didn’t even get to say goodbye. Not to Jubilee, not to little Artie. Not even to Kitty. 

At least your trip away made more sense now. Charles wanted you out of the mansion so he could monitor those neurotransmitters from the supposed environmental research facility without you catching wind of anything. Not that you’d know anyway, but maybe he thought it was safer if you didn’t know. What you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you, right?

How ironic did that feel?

You’d been driving for around four hours in complete silence, your head resting against the slightly smudged window, eyes trained on the outside world as it blurred past, a kaleidoscope of greens, browns and greys. Feet perched on your seat, your arms tucked atop your knees as you subconsciously made yourself as small as possible. You didn’t know how long left you had of the drive, and honestly, you didn’t care. He could keep driving forever and it wouldn’t matter to you. 

“Y’alright?” Logan broke the long silence a little tentatively, his voice hushed as if not to disturb you. You found it vaguely amusing. He could shout at the top of his lungs and it wouldn’t disturb you. Not at the moment. You didn’t care. Didn’t even care to respond. It was a stupid fucking question anyway. You’d felt like this only once before. At least, only one time you could remember, if that was even real. And it was the days that followed after Jade’s death. A bus could have hit you and you wouldn’t have been able to find it in yourself to care. 

Logan sighed through his nose. Stealing a glance at your huddled form, staring unblinking out the window, he went to rest his hand on your shoulder but thought better of it as you tensed. Seeing you like this, so utterly devoid of emotion, was almost jarring. He was used to seeing your smile and hearing your laugh. Fuck, even when you lost control and tried to kill him was better than this. At least he could smell the fear on you. But he couldn’t smell anything right now. Just the oil of the engine and dust of the seats. You’d faded. Not just your personality or your mental state, but everything about you had faded. Suppressed. This was nothing like when you lost control. He had an idea of how to bring you back then. But this?

He was way out of his depth. 

“Talk to me,” he urged quietly, and he thought his pleas had fallen on deaf ears until you finally raised your head, turning to look at him blankly.

“About what?” Though your voice was completely flat, he was still glad to hear it. If he could get a response out of you, then perhaps he could bring you back after all. If he could just get you to talk to him…

“Anythin’. How you’re feelin’. What you’re thinkin’. We have a long ways to go yet.”

Your shrug wasn’t exactly what he was looking for. “So? You’ve never had a problem with silence before.” It was all he was going to get out of you before you returned to leaning against the window, your vacant eyes falling to watch the grey skies beyond. Suffocating quiet consumed the truck once again, only the hum of the wheels against the tarmac acted as a symphony for your thoughts. “Ya know what’s fucked?”

Logan almost jumped as you talked again, not expecting you to continue the conversation. Though he couldn’t say he wasn’t glad. “I don’t even know what’s real. If it was all a simulation… I don’t even know if this is real. If you’re real. Or just another sick twisted plot produced to make me believe I’m living a life that I’m not.” It was a thought that had plagued your mind since the raid. If everything in your past had been a lie, how did you know any of this wasn’t just more bullshit spun to widen the web?

Stretching out his hand, this time he didn’t hesitate to pry your own from your folded arms, clasping your knuckles in his palm. “‘M real, sweetheart. This is real. We’re real.” He held his breath, waiting for you to pull away from his touch, but you didn’t. Instead, you raised your head from the window again, offering him a small smile that didn’t even come close to reaching your eyes. He squeezed your hand and found a kernel of hope kindle in his heart as you weakly squeezed back. You’d be okay. He’d make certain of it. It didn’t matter how long it took, or what he’d have to do. He wouldn’t stop until you were okay. “Get some rest, we’ll be on the road for a while.” He pulled your hand up to his face, pressing a light kiss against the front of your wrist where the scars from your past fed into the present, before interlacing his fingers with yours. 

“Logan?” your voice was barely audible, timid in a way that had him fighting the urge to pull over, gather you in his arms and hold you until all of this blew over and you could be safe again.

“Mmm?” was all he could say instead, always ready to listen.

“You–” you paused, finding the words heavy in your throat and stuck on your tongue. You hated feeling like this. Feeling the need to be reassured. Hated coming across as insecure or needy, but just this once, you needed to know. “You’re not gonna leave, right?”

Wordlessly, Logan flattened your hand over the centre of his chest, and you felt his heartbeat beneath your fingers. “Not whilst this is still beating.” 

It was the first emotion you’d felt since waking up, and you couldn’t stop a silent tear slide down your cheek. His devotion to you incarnate, beating beneath your palm. You knew the weight of his words, and felt their meaning in your soul. He wasn’t going to leave you. Not now. Not ever. And it was one of your fears put to rest, knowing that he wasn’t one for lying. 

“Okay.” You responded quietly, your free arm shifting to hug your knees whilst he returned your other, not letting go of your hand. And you found you didn’t want him to. You were afraid earlier that any kind of touch would send you into a spiral, but now he held your hand in yours, you never wanted him to let go. 

“Sleep, firefly. I’ll wake you when we get there.” He hushed, and you nodded, curling up against the humming door, letting the soft vibrations of the truck lull you to sleep. 

True to his word, a slight shake to your shoulder had you jolting awake, eyes flying open, heart racing as you tried your best to gauge your surroundings as quickly as you could. 

“‘S okay,” Logan soothed, and your breathing calmed slightly, whatever dreams had been haunting your unconscious mind faded into nothing with each swipe of his thumb against your shoulder. “We’re here.”

Your eyes scanned the woods beyond the windscreen as he opened his door, the hinges squeaking with age. It was dark out, meaning you’d been on the road for at least eight hours and four of those you’d been asleep for. There was the distinct smell of cigarette smoke clinging to the upholstery of the seats, and you looked down at the source, a burnt-out cigar lay discarded in the central unit, brown paper blackened at the roach. 

The door to your right opened and Logan offered you his hand. It wasn’t that you needed help, and you really fucking hoped he knew that, but you took it simply as an excuse to touch him as you stepped out of the truck, the smell of pine needles hitting you almost instantly as your feet touched soft earth. Wherever he’d taken you, this was certainly off-grid. It was so peaceful here. To the point where you’d surpassed tranquillity and landed right back into unease. It was too peaceful here. 

“Where are we?” You asked as Logan retrieved both rucksacks from the back seat, mindful not to slam the door shut before locking up the truck. Swinging both backs across each of his shoulders, he took your hand again, leading you around the hood of the truck and you finally saw your new halls of residence. 

A sizeable pinewood log cabin. Dark on the inside, but it looked homely enough. A small pair of antlers adorned the front door, piles of firewood stacked neatly beneath little shelters around to the left. You could imagine this as a forest getaway for some rich family who owned several yachts and a sports car. But when Logan produced a thick iron key from his pocket, you blinked. “Is this yours?” 

It was the most emotion he’d heard from you since he’d started driving eight hours ago, your words delicately laced with surprise. He smiled back over his shoulder. “Belonged to an old friend, left it to me when he passed.” He wasn’t ready to launch into that whole story, not yet. You had enough to deal with without him banging on about his own past. Sliding the key into the lock, he turned it anti-clockwise until the iron gave way, giving the door a gentle shove as it swung open. It definitely needed doing up, but he was happy to do that himself. “Home sweet home,” he murmured, vaguely hoping all the electrics still worked as he flicked the light switch.

The cabin was illuminated in a soft orange glow, the faux candles on the walls giving the same ambience as torch flame. The interior was cosier than you could possibly have imagined. A comfy-looking, though slightly faded brown sofa faced a broad hearth with yet another stack of kindling piled next to it, a red and green tartan print blanket draped over the back of the sofa. Logan shrugged off his jacket, hanging it on one of the multiple cast iron coat pegs lining the wall by the door, setting the rucksacks down next to the dark wood dining table. There were no arches or doorways that you could see, an open floor plan joining the small, rural kitchen area to the lounge.

A set of stairs led up to another floor behind the hearth, various antlers and horns of different woodland animals hung on almost every available wall, as well as a TV, which you weren’t expecting. Every cupboard looked identical, even the fridge, learning which one it was due to Logan immediately grabbing out two bottles of larger for you both. 

You smiled as you inhaled, and recognised the distinctive amalgamation of smells. It was him. Pure, unfiltered Logan. 

Crossing to one of the windows, you ran your fingers over the corrugated radiator, noticing the various blankets and pillows set up on the windowsill looking out into the dark green woodland beyond, brown woollen tassels hanging a little too close to the heater, to the point where you tucked them in. Staring out into the forest, you held your arm tightly until Logan’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, tucking you into his side and handing you the second bottle of golden liquid. 

“What’ya think?” He asked, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, and you moved your hand from your arm to hold his wrist against your shoulder. 

“It’s very you.” You offered as much mischief as you could muster, which wasn’t much considering your circumstances, and unfortunately resulted in a confused raise of his brow. 

“That’s a good thing, right?”

You huffed an exhausted chuckle, pressing your head into the space between his shoulder and chest. “Yeah. It’s a good thing.” You breathed, before raising the bottle to your lips and taking a long sip of the icy cold beverage. He held you in silence, offering to be whatever you needed him to be, and for right now, you just needed him close to you. You didn’t know what had happened in the past, and you didn’t know what was going to happen. You couldn’t hide forever, and there would come a day where you would have to face the contents of that folder. But it was enough for now just knowing you weren’t alone, and when that time came, you wouldn’t be alone. 

“There’s a bathroom down the hall or you can use the ensuite upstairs if you wanna freshen up. I can get started on makin’ dinner, should have some preservatives lyin’ around somewhere.” He looked towards the cupboards and you wished you had the energy or emotional bank to tease him properly about his cooking. But you didn’t need to, he looked back at your face of slight mock disbelief, a small, almost bashful smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I’ve picked up a few things over the last couple months.” 

He didn’t resist as you weakly shoved at him, his smile widening as you showed small signs of your old self before your eyes took on that faraway look again and you retreated back into your protective shell. He knew it was a defence mechanism, he’d seen it in the kids now and then. When things got overwhelming or something went wrong, they’d shut themselves away behind emotional walls, appearing almost hollow before he’d sit them down and pry their emotions out one thread at a time. It nearly always resulted in them sobbing their eyes out, but it was a tried and true method.

One he was planning on using on you when he felt the time was right. You couldn’t shut yourself away forever. He wouldn’t let you, for one. There was no future where your past wins over and you remain this way. Even if it resulted in you drowning the cabin in shadow as you lost control, he didn’t care. In this state, any emotion is a good emotion. 

Setting down your bottle, you clung to his wrist for as long as you could before the increasing distance forced you to let go to retrieve your rucksack. You’d packed essentials, being under a strict time limit. A few spare pairs of clothes, toothbrush and toothpaste, cleanser, moisturiser, a Swiss army knife and as much underwear as you could stuff in the little space that remained at the top. You swing the bag over your shoulder, heading to the stairs before Logan caught your forearm.

“Shout if you need anything. I’ll be right here, ‘kay?” He looked so sincere, so serious it almost broke you. The first time he’d said those words to you, you’d laughed them off, teasing him for being overprotective. You couldn’t find the energy to do the same now, thinking back to how things had changed so much in the last day or so. Well, since you returned, really. You simply nodded in response, attempting to offer him a smile that could ease his worries but clearly failing miserably as his brows pinched in concern.

You had nothing left to give him, your emotional reservoir completely drained. So you simply turned away to head up the stairs, guilt gnawing at your chest. You didn’t want him to worry about you. Fuck, you hated it when he worried about you. Even about mundane things, you’d wave off his concerns. But you knew this was an issue that couldn’t be solved by telling him to ‘take his concerns elsewhere’ because where else would he go? You’d pried him away from his home, from his friends and teammates because he had some twisted obligation towards you. It was selfish of you to ask if he was going to leave. You’d all but trapped him into staying by asking that very question. He was too good of a man to say no, he was going to dump you off and dip. 

You hated it. Hated how much he was giving up for you. You didn’t deserve any of this, and he certainly deserved so much more. A wall erupted in your mind, locking your guilt away with everything else you were supposed to be feeling at the moment, your heart once again emptying of the hurt it had felt, leaving you with blissful numbness.

Cresting the top of the stairs, you were faced with one of the homeliest scenes in the house. A large four-poster bed piled high with various pillows, cushions and blankets stood against the back wall, yet another window seat snuggled against the window straight ahead of you, overlooking the opposite side of the forest. Two hunting rifles, one barrel crossed over the other, hung triumphantly above the headboard, yet another set of antlers positioned between the two guns, larger than the other sets you’d seen yet. You couldn’t imagine the choice of decor was Logan’s idea, at least you vaguely hoped it wasn’t, but it made you wonder who this place originally belonged to. 

Your shoulder went limp as you carelessly dropped your bag to the floor at the foot of the bed, turning to your left to see the door to the bathroom slightly ajar. Crossing over the thick rug on the floor, you pulled the door open, eyes widening in slight surprise. It was a lot bigger than you’d expected for an ensuite. A large bathtub took up most of the space, the shower standing right next to it. You were glad they weren’t one and the same, for some reason you had a vendetta against bathtubs that doubled up as a shower. Maybe the reason lay in that fucking folder, who knows?

Stripping yourself of your sweaty clothes, you cracked the window open, allowing fresh air to circulate around the room before fiddling with the taps and switches of the electric shower. You wondered how often Logan visited, considering how well kept the place was, and how well everything still worked. Steam rolled from the shower into the rest of the bathroom as you stepped beneath the stream, your skin tingling with the heat. It was a pleasant sensation, to feel something other than all-consuming guilt, sinking despondency or nothing at all. You cranked up the dial on the temperature, hissing slightly as the water increased from warm to scalding, staining your skin red raw. 

The feeling was addictive, turning ever so often to get that kick of pain on whichever side of your body wasn’t beneath the volcanic stream, inhaling as the pain drowned every other sensation in your chest and head. There was no room for anything else other than the burning against your flesh. You only wished you could turn the dial further, but it seemed you’d reached the maximum. 

It could have been anywhere between a few minutes and twenty years before Logan came up to check on you, you’d lost complete track of time. There was a soft knock at the door, a vague call of your name you barely heard and partially ignored in favour of getting lost in the heat. At what point you dropped to the floor, knees hugged against your chest, you couldn’t recall, eyes too focused on the pattern of the droplets against the tiled floor to look up as he entered.

“Christ it’s like a sauna in here, can’t fuckin’ see anyth–” He stopped instantly as he saw you huddled on the floor in the same position you’d spent a good portion of the journey in. But that wasn’t what scared him. It was the angry red of your skin that had alarm bells ringing loudly in his head. He rolled up the sleeve of his flannel shirt, preparing to plunge his hand through the cascading fall to switch the power off. But the moment his skin came in contact with the water, he hissed loudly. “Fuck! ‘S fuckin’ scalding sweetheart.” You didn’t move. Didn’t even look as if you’d noticed him. Panic surged in his veins, gritting his teeth tightly as he endured the searing burn of the lava stream to twist the handle for power, taking a breath as the waterfall eased from a deluge to mere droplets. 

Only then did you look up, as if snapped from a daze. He crouched before you as you blinked at him, remembering where you were and what you were doing. However, what you should say in this moment never came to you, only able to stare straight ahead at him, his pinched brows and wide-eyed concern only fuelling the self-loathing in your gut. You hated the way he touched you so gently as if you deserved to be touched like that. You despised the way he draped a large, fluffy towel around your shoulders as if you’d done anything to warrant such comforts. 

And you couldn’t stand the way he hooked his arms beneath your knees and carried you from the bathroom, all without a single word. And you loathed how your body reacted, leaning into his touches like you had any right to comfort. You’d all but dragged him away from the life he’d built for himself. Dragged him away from people like Marie and Bobby. Fuck, you couldn’t even think about them right now. You’d stolen one of Marie’s best friends from her, how could you ever go back there now?

Would you ever go back there now? You hadn’t even thought about it. Most likely not. Why would they let you? You’d killed a team member, been sent away for two years, lost control of your mutation, tried to kill not only another team member but the man you love, and have been lying to everyone you’d ever met because the life you thought you’d lived never fucking existed and it turns out you were over eighty fucking years old. Scott was right. 

He should have killed you years ago.

“Lemme grab some aloe gel…” you’d been so lost in your head you hadn’t even noticed Logan removing the towel from your shoulders to inspect the raging raw burns on your back and arms. You barked a harsh, joyless laugh.

“Why? What does it matter?” you asked savagely, and Logan turned from where he stood near the bathroom doorway, slowly looking at you in suspicious bewilderment. “I mean, I can just heal, so who cares? I’ll just disappear into shadow and come back good as new, so don’t bother.” You shrugged, feeling burning hatred bubble in your gut. “That is, if I come back out at all, of course. Because that threat still hangs over my head every fucking day.” The shadows writhed with your growing fury, only furthering your tirade of self-deprecation. “And hey, would ya look at that, my mutation only fucking works when I’m insanely pissed off. And I lose control completely when I’m terrified, my only fucking instinct being to survive. How fucked up is that?” You continued, laughing bitterly as you stood from the bed. “Probably some result of whatever the hell is recorded in that file. Eighty years, by the way. Eighty fucking years. Here I was, the fucking asshole who thought she was thirty-two. Imagine that?” Your fingers found your scalp, scratching desperately at the roots of your hair as if to claw your way into your own mind and pry out your memories. “And you just seem to be fucking fine with everything!”

Logan didn’t so much as flinch as you directed your inferno of rage toward him. Sure, his heart shattered with your every word, but not because they hurt him.

“I’ve lied to you. For the past couple of months, I’ve straight-up been lying to your face. About everything! I’ve dragged you away from your friends, from your family, all because I manipulated you into thinking you owed me fucking anything. All those bullshit sob stories are lies. None of them even happened. And ya know what? I can’t even say if that’s true or not because I don’t fucking know.” You gestured to your surroundings wildly, laughing manically as the shadows whipped out from the walls like vines. You always knew the day would come when you completely lost your mind. 

“I killed the woman I loved because I couldn’t control myself. I tried my fucking damnest to kill you too, because it seems I just fucking bleed toxicity. And I don’t even know how twisted that makes you for still being here. For still caring. It’s fucking pathetic. I tried to fucking kill you, and all I can see is your ridiculous, unwavering sense of devotion. Do you know how fucked up that makes you? How little must your self-worth be that you’re still here? That is if this isn’t just another simulation created to test my mental durability because who fucking knows at this point? I sure as shit don’t. And ya know what’s worse? No matter what happens, I still have to read that fucking folder. Because we sure as hell can’t hide out here forever, and the only way I can even begin to understand anything is the one thing I can’t bring myself to do.

“So instead, instead I’ll just make everyone suffer along with me. Strength in numbers, right? I’ll just force you to isolate yourself away instead of getting the fuck on with it and reading that fucking file. Nah, I’d rather torture the people I care about, because that’s just what happens. That’s what always fucking happens. And I can’t seem to stop,” your hands returned to your hair as you slowed down, squeezing the sides of your head as if to silence your mind. “It never seems to stop. It’s all just so fucking loud. I just want it to stop… I just want everything to stop…” You sank to the floor, drawing your knees up to your chest, your back pressed against the end of the bed. “I’m so tired, Logan. I’m so fucking tired.” Your voice faded to a whisper as you screwed your eyes shut, your mind still a roaring tornado of anguish and heartbreak. You didn’t want to hurt him. Fuck, that was the last thing you wanted to do, but you did it in a desperate bid to keep him safe. Maybe, if you sank enough knives into his chest, he’d walk away. The shadows receded into their natural places as you withdrew back behind the walls inside your head. 

Logan thought he’d seen vulnerability before, both in you and in others. But the way you looked now, naked, trembling on the floor, your head tucked behind your knees, hands clawing at your own hair… 

Nothing could have prepared him for that. 

He said nothing, silently crossing the floor to kneel next to you. Softly, he removed your nails from your hair, setting your arms limp by your side as he cupped either side of your jaw, raising your head to look at him. Tears flowed freely from your eyes as you desperately searched his face. What for, he didn’t know, but he let you look. He let you hunt in the corners of his brows, digging around the slope of his nose, finally returning to his eyes. What you found, or rather didn’t find, pulled a sob from your chest, and he tucked your face beneath his chin. Wrapping his arms around your naked body, he just held you as stuttered sob after stuttered sob wracked your body.

Grief was a funny old thing. Always lurking around the corner, rearing its bittersweet head when you least expected it. You cried. You cried for Jade. You cried for Rowan. You cried for the other members of NLMO. You cried for Kitty, and her guilt for hating you. You cried for Ororo, having been burdened with the knowledge not even you wanted to know about yourself. 

You cried for Logan. Holy shit did you cry for Logan. You didn’t want this for him. Only the previous morning was he talking about being a normal couple and doing ‘normal couple things’, and now he was stuck in a relationship with a woman who didn’t even know who she was. Who didn’t know what parts of her were real and what parts were fabricated? Your voice scratched your throat raw, every breath like rusty nails in your lungs as you sobbed harder than you ever remember in your life, both real and fake. 

And he held you through all of it, gently whispering sweet nothings against your damp, tangled hair, soothing soft caresses against your bare skin with his calloused hands, fingertips grazing every scar he could reach, from the healed burn on your calf to the serrated needle in your neck. His hatred for the Kreva’s only grew with each newly discovered scar on your body, even as your full-bodied cries quietened to mere hiccups of despair. 

Tentatively he drew your head away from his damp neck, using his thumb to wipe away the salty lines carved down one side of your face, and using his little finger for the other. “C’mon firefly, let’s get you changed. Gotta do somethin’ ‘bout these burns too…” 

You shook your head with teary incredulity. “I don’t understand… why are you still doing this? Why do you still care? After everything I've just said. After everything I’ve done… why?”

“Because I love you.”

Your mind fell completely silent as you stared up at him in utter, petrified shock. “What…?” you managed to whisper, to his slight knowing smile.

“I love you.”

You shook your head again, though this time you looked horrified. “You’re insane.”

Logan nodded as if he already knew this. Of course, he was insane. But not simply because he loved you. He was insane because if anything happened to you, nothing and nowhere would be safe from him. He would walk through hell itself to get you back, and make as many deals with as many devils as he needed to. What was insane was the lengths he would go through to protect you. 

“Who am I, Logan? You read the folder, you’ve seen everything… how can you love what’s in there? Who am I?” You almost pleaded with him, and he caught the sides of your neck in his palms. 

“‘M gonna need you to listen real close, okay? That folder doesn’t define you. You are who you are in spite of what’s in that folder. I didn’t read all of it… I– I don’t know if I can. But from the reports I did see, you’re still you. You were almost killed because you stepped between your brother and four bullets to the chest, and I’ll be fuckin’ damned if I said you wouldn’t do that with who you are now. What you endured is fuckin’ harrowing, I’ll be honest. There were very few happy moments from what I saw, and fuck, if you don’t you deserve to be happy, none of the rest of us do.

“I don’t know if I’d read that entire folder if you gave the rest of my life, which I’m thinkin’ is a real long time. But if that’s how long it takes for you to read it, I’ll gladly spend the rest of my days with you. I don’t give a shit where we are. At the school, in this cabin, hell, we could be squatting under a bridge for all I care. I’m tired of being too damn scared of saying I love you. Because I fuckin’ do. And you’re crazy if you think any of this changes a goddamn thing about how I feel.”

It was your turn to be rendered completely speechless. Somehow, in one fell swoop, he’d put the fears that hovered around your head concerning him to rest. The terror that he was going to leave you, the fear that you weren’t good enough, that you didn’t deserve him melted away as you peered into his hazel eyes shining with such conviction you wanted to sob into his arms all over again. 

“You love me?” you asked a little diffidently, and Logan rolled his eyes with a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. 

“It wasn’t obvious? I love you. And before you ask; yes. This is real.” you blew out a breath as he answered your question before you’d even had a chance. How did he know you so well? His hands moved from either side of your neck to your waist, helping you back onto your feet. You continued staring at him in awestruck adoration, still unable to quite believe what he’d said. He loved you. You don’t know why it came as such a shock, he’d shown you almost every day since you danced in the kitchen. Probably before that, in the way, he’d helped redesign your room. In the care he’d taken to learn about your mutation and adapt your new living situation accordingly before he even met you. Before he even believed you existed.

You followed almost blindly as he led you back into the bathroom, opening the cabinet behind the mirror and retrieving what he went to get before you exploded in front of him. Turning you around, he swiped your hair to one side, and you winced slightly at the cooling balm touching your shoulders, his hands gently kneading at the stiff muscles. The aloe took almost instant effect, soothing the angry burns left behind by your shower.

He worked in comfortable silence, snapping the lid back of the bottle and placing it back on the shelf when he was done. His fingertips grazed up and down your slickened arm, before placing both hands back on your shoulders and guiding you back out the bathroom to sit atop the bed. 

“I love you, too.”

Logan froze. Though it seemingly came out of nowhere, you’d said it like you’d wanted to say it for a long, long time. In the moment, he didn’t think he’d cared all that much that you hadn’t said it back to him, but hearing you say those words now, those words he’d been yearning to hear since he first set eyes on you and you teased him for something or other filled him with a warm sense of belonging. 

You smiled and his heart stopped as your eyes shone along with it. How did he get so damn lucky?

Bending at the waist, he tilted your head up with a finger beneath your chin, his other hand braced against your cheek as he moulded his lips against your own, finding an instant, slow rhythm. And if he hadn’t known you were utterly exhausted, he’d have you there and then, gasping and whimpering on his cock. But he could tell by the way you kissed him back, you were shattered. Not that he was in any rush. From the looks of things, it seemed like the two of you would be hiding away for some time.

Pulling away a fraction, Logan reached for the clothes he’d pulled out for you earlier from his closet before he interrupted your shower. It wasn’t anything spectacular, just a pair of incredibly loose sweatpants and a faded t-shirt of his. He slipped the shirt over your head, biting back a smile as it all but hung off your shoulders, and you shot him a flat look. 

“I have my own clothes, ya know?” You pretended you were reluctant, though showed no signs of hesitation when he opened the waistband of the sweatpants for you to step into, pulling the drawstring tight around your waist. 

“I know.” Was all he responded, and you snorted a small laugh as he stepped back, almost to admire his work. You were positively drowning in fabric, the short sleeves of the t-shirt reaching your elbows, sweats hanging low off your hips. But it was comfy and smelt like him, so honestly it didn’t matter to you. “C’mon, I made soup.” He outstretched his hand toward you for you to take, which you did with a suspicious raise of your brow. 

“You had fresh ingredients for soup?” You asked, following behind him as he led you back down the stairs, the crackling of the lit hearth filling you with a sense of cosy tranquillity you never expected to feel again, not after everything that had happened.

“A’ight so I found a couple cans of soup and heated 'em up, same difference.” As if being parted from you robbed him of breath, Logan brought you back into his arms, feeling his chest loosen when you didn’t resist the way he walked you over to the gas stove.

“I’m going to ignore that,” you instinctively took the wooden spoon from the rack of utensils to the right of the backsplash, stirring the bubbling pot and grimacing slightly as you felt the bottom of the pan. Definitely burnt. Though you couldn’t exactly blame that on him. He’d been a little preoccupied with making sure you didn’t plunge the cabin into suffocating shadow. “A gas stove in a wooden cabin is a bold choice.” You mentioned absently, turning the dial for the gas down and watching as the blue flame lessened beneath the iron pan. Logan set his chin atop your head, arms still circling your waist.

“Not my decision. Previous guy’s choice.” he offered as a means of explanation, and you shrugged in acceptance. Much like you thought with most of the decor in the cabin, whilst there were a few things you’d noticed that you were sure were his, the rest you couldn’t see being his interior design choices. Not that Logan had much interior design, even his room at the mansion was pretty barren. 

Reaching above you, Logan pulled open one of the cupboards, keeping one of his arms still wrapped around your middle, and started rifling through the contents. There was a slight clatter of boxes before he pulled one of them out, setting it down on the counter. You eyed it curiously, a warm smile tugging at your lips as you read the italic cursive on the front of the box. 

Honey and Chamomile tea. You dropped your head back against his chest, heart almost exploding when he left briefly to retrieve two mugs, one of them you knew like the back of his hand. 

When the fuck had he found the time to grab your favourite mug? He stood next to you, gas clicking rhythmically as he went to light a second burner, the huff of ignition breaking you from your stare of wonder and watching as he placed the black kettle atop the flame. It was rudimentary, old school but you kind of liked it. It suited him. 

Logan’s heart and eyes softened as he looked down at the top of your head resting against his bicep, not bothering to fight the urge to press a kiss to your hair. 

“I love you.” You whispered, and the words struck him like a bolt of lightning, still completely unused to both saying and hearing them. He let the warmth in his chest wash over him, let the encompassing adoration flood his veins and fill his heart. He couldn’t be by your side in the past, couldn’t save you from the horrors you’d endured. But he was going to make damn sure he was there for your future, whether you’d stayed in the cabin or managed to return to the mansion, he’d ensure he was by your side for all of it. 

Never again would you face these things alone. 

“I love you, too.”

[thehereticdiaries]

A (Not So) Meet Cute: Chapter Three

Chapter Summary: You're beginning to fall into a new routine with the members of Stray Kids. A phone call from the police stops you dead in your tracks.

Warnings: Descriptions of stalking, reader has a ton of anxiety (rightfully so), cops

Series Masterlist

A/N: will my MCs ever find peace? probably not.

When you woke up the next morning, you doubted that Seungmin would actually walk you to work. After all, why would he wake up early just to be your escort? You went through your routine as usual, making sure to double and triple check that your phone was charged and the charger was in your bag before heading out.

“Morning.” You jumped as you exited your apartment building. Holy shit, Seungmin was really waiting for you. He leaned against the back of a bench across from the entrance, eyebrow quirked in amusement. He wore a mask again today, but went without a hat.

“Oh my god, Seungmin, you didn’t have to get up early just to walk me to work.” You held your elbow in your hand, feeling guilty for burdening the idol. 

“I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to.” The corners of Seungmin’s eyes crinkled and he stood properly to brush his knuckles across your cheek. You gaped at him, suddenly feeling warm despite the cool autumn breeze. 

“Oh, um, okay. If you’re sure. The bus stop is this way.” You led the way to your usual stop, the bus arriving not long after you. The commute honestly wasn’t bad, yesterday had been a fluke. 

“I haven’t been on a public bus in years,” Seungmin mentioned as you found open seats. You raised your eyebrows.

“Really? I guess that makes sense, though. It’s safer for you to have a driver.” You could only assume that being on public transport had too much risk of being recognized.

“Technically, I’m not allowed to use buses.” 

“Are you going to get in trouble because of this?!” You scolded with a glare. Seungmin shrugged in response, completely unbothered with his little act of rebellion. You shook your head, turning back to your phone to scroll on Instagram for a bit. You angled your phone toward Seungmin when you noticed him looking over your shoulder. Fifteen minutes and four stops later, you stepped off the bus and made the final ten minute walk to the bookstore.

“I’ll be back later to walk you home,” Seungmin said as he held the door open for you.

“But-”

“No ‘buts’, see you later.” He nudged you into the store and went back the way you had come from. You were left baffled once again, but pushed it aside to focus on your shift.

Over the next week, every member of Stray Kids walked with you to and from work. Seungmin showed up the most out of everyone. It felt like overkill, but they wouldn’t accept any arguments from you. Today’s shift dragged on with how little there was to do. Everything was clean and stocked, there were hardly ten customers in the 3 hours since your shift started, and you’ve closed and reopened TikTok at least five times. The soft classical music playing over the store radio threatened to lull you to sleep. You were jolted out of your stupor by your phone buzzing on the counter.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, this is Officer Jeong. May I speak to Ms. Y/N L/N?” A serious-sounding man asked curtly.

“This is she.”

“Ah, hello Ms. L/N. I am calling on behalf of Detective Keng. She has some new information regarding your case and would like to call you today to discuss,” Officer Jeong explained. 

“Oh! Of course, I finish work at 3pm and should be home around 3:30,” you told the officer. He hummed, keys clicking swiftly in the background.

“That should work perfectly. Detective Keng will be finished with a meeting at 4pm, so she will be able to call shortly afterward.” You quickly wrote down the detective’s name and the time she’d be calling on a sticky note.

“Okay, thank you for letting me know, Officer.” You exchanged polite goodbyes and hung up. Cool, now that you were incredibly anxious, the next three hours of your shift should go by much more quickly.

You predicted correctly. After finishing the call with Officer Jeong, the afternoon flew by in a blur and soon enough Seungmin appeared to walk you home. You told him about the upcoming phone call and your subsequent anxiety while you sat on the bus.

“Do you want me to stay for the call?” Seungmin offered, albeit a little hesitantly.

“Honestly, that would be really nice. Are you sure, though? You sounded kinda nervous.”

“I’m sure. I just haven’t been in your apartment yet and I didn’t want to invite myself in, y’know?” He assured with a smile hidden behind his mask. Back at your apartment, Seungmin sat on your loveseat, watching you pace around your kitchen. He tried to get you to sit down and relax while you waited for the detective’s call, but you needed to do something to release your pent-up anxiety. Why didn’t Officer Jeong tell you if it was good news or bad news?! Finally, finally your phone rang. You rushed to sit next to Seungmin as you put the call on speaker.

“Hi, is this Y/N L/N?” A woman’s voice asked.

“Yes, I’m assuming this is Detective Keng?” 

“It is, I see Officer Jeong was able to talk to you earlier. I’ve been looking into Cho Siwoo, the man that harassed you, and I’ve found some information that may be disturbing to you,” Detective Keng stated. A pit of worry gnawed at your stomach.

“Before you continue, I have a friend with me. Is it okay if he listens to our conversation?” You were terrified of having to deal with this alone.

“That’s quite alright.” You sighed quietly in relief. “Now, Mr. Cho has been living with a friend for several months. We interviewed his friend, and searched the apartment. Ms. L/N, it appears that he has been following you far longer than we expected.”

“What?” An icy chill creeped its way into your bloodstream. Seungmin scooted slightly closer to you, resting a hand on your knee. 

“He has photos printed of you in a Ziploc bag amongst his other belongings. Some of these photos date back to April.” 

“Bu-but it’s October now,” you stammered. Seungmin tightened his grip on your knee, but you moved his hand to hold in your own. 

“I’m very sorry to tell you this, Ms. L/N, but he’s been watching for a very long time. There aren’t any photos of the inside of your apartment, nor any of you in compromising positions. But we’ve found that Mr. Cho has a reputation, and with that comes respect from others on the street.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Seungmin interrupted. Detective Keng sighed tiredly, which only made you more nervous.

“It means that he has access to information. Ms. L/N, do you have somewhere you can stay for the time being? I’m afraid your apartment isn’t safe at the moment, not until we’re able to confirm who all of Mr. Cho’s associates are.” Panicked tears fell down your cheeks. You didn’t have anywhere else to go, all you had was this apartment. The closest family member to you was still at least three hours away. You couldn’t just leave.

“Yes, ma’am, she does,” Seungmin answered in your silence. You stared at him, wide-eyed, but he kept his gaze fixed on your phone. 

“Good. I’ll need the address. I would advise against walking anywhere alone for now. I promise you, I will make sure you and your home are safe again,” Detective Keng assured. The sharp edge to her voice confirmed her commitment. She gave you the number for her work phone, should you need anything, then ended the call. A sob wracked your body. Seungmin pulled you so you sat between his legs, both legs over one of his knees, and wrapped you tightly in his arms. You trembled violently in his hold.

“Why did you tell her I have somewhere to stay?! I hardly have friends in this city and my family is hours away, and I can’t afford–”

“Y/N,” Seungmin cut off your rambling, holding your face in his hands and forcing your eyes to meet his. “You’re staying with us.”

“What? No, Seungmin, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Good thing you’re not asking. I’m telling you, you can stay with us,” he insisted. 

“Have you even asked the others about this? Even if you say I can, what if they say no?” Seungmin rolled his eyes, pulling out his phone and starting a call on speaker.

“Hey, is everything alright? You’re normally back by now,” Chan answered after a few rings. 

“No, actually, a detective called Y/N about her case. That guy’s been stalking her for months, Chan. Her apartment isn’t safe.” You bit your lip, tears still streaming silently down your face. Seungmin guided your head to rest on his shoulder and exhaustion washed over you.

“Holy shit, are you serious?” You could hear the others shouting in the background. “Guys, please, I need you to be quiet. This is important.”

“I wish I was joking. The detective said she should stay somewhere else while they continue their investigation. Thing is, she doesn’t have any family close by.” He was baiting Chan and he only felt slightly guilty about it.

“She can stay with us,” the leader offered without hesitation. 

“That’s what I told her. You believe me now?” Seungmin directed the question at you. 

“Wait, am I on speaker? Y/N, I promise no one would have an issue with you staying here,” Chan confirmed. You hated that you were being such a burden to them. They have enough on their plate as-is. But you didn’t have much of a choice.

“Okay,” you whimpered in a voice so tiny, it squeezed at the hearts of both Chan and Seungmin.

“We’re gonna get some stuff packed for her, then head over. I’ll call for a car.” 

“Good, I’ll see you both soon.” Chan hummed in acknowledgement. “And Y/N? I know what you’re thinking. You are not a burden.” You inhaled sharply, digging yourself further into Seungmin’s neck. He ended the call after another hasty goodbye.

For the next few minutes, you sat in silence to stave off your impending panic attack. Seungmin's chest vibrated as he quietly hummed the melody to Stars and Raindrops. You repeated the grounding exercise that Jisung showed you several times in your head. Now, with your panic dampened down to a nagging anxiety, you were suddenly very aware of the position of Seungmin’s hands. With the thumb of his left hand, he rubbed soothing circles on the nape of your neck, and his right sat patiently on your thigh. 

“I’ll grab a suitcase,” you muttered, hoping your hair hid your reddened face as you moved to your room. Unfortunately for you, Seungmin was a very observant man. He smirked, but chose not to say anything. He offered to help you pack and you immediately refused. Your soul would have literally left your body if he accidentally caught a glimpse of your underwear. You rolled your suitcase and duffle bag into the living room once you finished, pausing to sling your bag across your shoulder.

“I called Dohyun, he should be here soon.” Seungmin stood and plucked your duffle bag from your hand. “Let’s get down to the garage.” The car pulled up right as you stepped out of the elevator. Dohyun tossed you a sympathetic smile after you slid into the backseat. Seungmin sat next to you and nodded to Dohyun, who promptly began the drive back to the dorm.

All of the Stray Kids members have seen your apartment, but this was the first time you’ve been to their dorm. Honestly? It was much cleaner than you anticipated, considering eight young men lived here. Actually, the furniture and decor were really stylish. Jisung and Chan were the only ones in the living room. The leader stood to help with your luggage but paused when he noticed your red, puffy eyes. 

“I’m so sorry this is happening to you.” Chan wrapped you in a firm, comforting hug. You gripped the back of his t-shirt to ground yourself and fight back a fresh onslaught of tears. “Is there anything you need right now?”

“I just really want to take a nap.” You reluctantly pulled back so he could guide you to the couch. You allowed Jisung to bring your head to lay on his lap. He carded his fingers through your hair and the tension slowly melted from your body. You vaguely felt a second pair of hands tuck a fluffy blanket around you before succumbing to sleep.

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[moonselune]

By the Silk that Binds Us (pt.4)

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Matron!Minthara x Forced!Betrothed!reader

An arranged marriage, enemies to lovers fic: part one part two part three part five

CW: feminine drow reader, catching feelings (involuntarily), mention of blood, open wounds, transformation, this is all my own interpretation of drow lore

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The library of House Baenre was a vast labyrinth of knowledge, its towering shelves filled with ancient tomes and forbidden texts. The dim light of nearby luminescent fungi filtered through the high windows, casting a fluorescent glow across the room. It was well past midnight, and the library was usually deserted at this hour. Yet tonight, two figures—Kyorlin and Lesaonar—were engaged in a quiet conversation, their voices hushed as they wandered among the stacks.

Arys, Minthara’s nephew, had been tasked with getting closer to the Liakyre twins, to then ply them for information about their older sister. When he saw them alone in the library, he thanked Lolth and seized the opportunity. He was not going ot fail the Matron.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Arys greeted with a grin, holding up a bottle of whiskey. The soft clink of glass against glass as he walked drew their attention.

The twins turned to face him, their expressions shifting from surprise to cautious interest. Arys approached, the whiskey bottle held out as an offering.

“A little late-night libation?” he suggested, his tone friendly. “I figured it might be nice to have a drink and chat." He then leaned towards them and dropped into a low conspiratol tone "Us men have to stick together after all.”

Kyorlin and Lesaonar exchanged weary glances, they had been cautious around the other members of House Baenre, they knew it was safer to keep quiet and out of the way, but then again an ally could never hurt. So, they nodded in agreement.

The three of them settled into comfortable chairs near a low table, the bottle of whiskey opened and poured into goblets. The rich, amber liquid swirled gently in the dim light. The initial awkwardness of their meeting quickly dissipated as the warmth of the whiskey took effect. As they drank, the conversation turned to their experiences in House Baenre. The twins seemed eager to share their thoughts and Arys smiled, this is exactly what he wanted.

“You know, Arys,” Lesaonar began, a hint of amusement in his voice, “we actually get treated better here than we ever did back in House Liakyre. It’s hard to believe, but it’s true.”

Arys raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really? I’d have thought House Baenre would be far more… intense for you guys. ”

“Oh, it is intense,” Kyorlin admitted with a laugh, “I can imagine that without our dear sister's protection here we would already be dead by now. But back at Liakyre, the female members—sisters, aunts, cousins—were always picking on us, bullying us. Here, they don’t even bother with us. It’s like we’re invisible, which, honestly, is a very nice change.”

Lesaonar nodded in agreement. “The libraries here are amazing, too. We were never allowed such access to resources back at our old house. We weren't deemed worthy enough. This-" Lesaonar gestured to the towers of books around them "-Is a whole new world.”

Arys chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe it. I always thought the Liakyres were a soft house, that you boys would have got off lightly, maybe even have a few third sons kicking about. You weren't exactly high up in the ranks.”

“You would think that,” Kyorlin said, taking a sip of his drink. “But our matron- mother, even, was dilligent. Brutally so, a devout and traditional follower of Lolth. I personally believe she was delighted when she had twin boys, it meant that she was able to sacrifice every son born after us - and she did. It got to a point where she was praying for boys, just so she could make a show of her love to Lolth.”

Arys’s curiosity was piqued. “What about your sister, Y/N? I've heard she is a dedicated follower of Lolth, is she like your mother?”

Lesaonar’s expression softened slightly, a hint of fondness in his eyes. “No, she isn’t, at all. Y/N was actually the kindest of them all. Her love for Lolth is natural, our mother's was desperate."

"She despised Y/N for it, often sent her off to darkest parts of the underdark, hoping she would never come back, but she always did." Kyorlin said with a light smile, as if reminscing on a funny memory.

"Just because of her connection with Lolth? Or because of what she did at the engagement party with that hook horror?" Arys pressed and he noticed Kyorlin visisbly tense.

Lesaonar, however, had been swept away by the whiskey's effects and before Kyorlin could stop him, words tumbled from his mouth and he gestured with a dramatic flair. "Of course, she was envious that Y/N was such an emblem of our divine heritage-"

"-That is quite enough for tonight!" Kyorlin interrupted his twin, snatching his drink from him. Arys smiled, he was clearly on to something and Lesaonar had let enough information slip for him to get the Matron off of his back. Kyorlin helped Lesaonar to his feet and turned curtly to Arys. "Thank you, Arys, tonight has been a pleasure but I fear the whiskey has gone to my brother's head."

"Worry not, we are going to be family in a few days. Been a pleasure to get to know the both of you." Arys nodded to them as they left, he had all that he needed.

After a celebratory drink for himself, Arys made his way out of the library, the bottle of whiskey nearly empty and a satisfied smirk on his face. He had successfully gleaned useful information from Kyorlin and Lesaonar, and he was eager to report back to Minthara.

As he made his way through the dimly lit corridors, his footsteps echoed faintly against the stone walls. He was so focused on his pride that he barely noticed the soft patter of footsteps behind him.

Suddenly, Kyorlin appeared out of nowhere, his expression grim and his movements quick. Without warning, Kyorlin swung a heavy book from a nearby shelf at Arys. The blow caught Arys off guard, sending him crashing to the floor. The sharp impact of the blow to his head caused a burst of pain and disorientation. Blood trickled from the wound on his forehead, staining the stone floor and before Arys could react, the darkness enveloped him, and he lost consciousness.

When Arys came to, he was lying on a cot in the infirmary of House Baenre, wounded guards and soldiers lay groaning around him, most wounds probably inflicted by the women of the house. His head throbbed with a dull ache, and a warm, sticky sensation on his face alerted him to a trickle of blood running from a cut above his eyebrow. He struggled to sit up, disoriented and confused.

A healer, an elderly female drow, most likely a great great aunt of his, with a stern expression, stood over him, her hands deftly applying a cool compress to his head. Her eyes were narrowed in disapproval.

“Careless fool,” she muttered, her voice stern and authoritative. “Getting drunk in the library and falling over. You’re lucky those Liakyre twins found you before anyone else did.”

Arys blinked, trying to piece together the events leading up to his current predicament. “The twins? Kyorlin and Lesaonar?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

The healer nodded curtly. “Yes, they found you lying on the floor of the library. They brought you here and took care of you. I must say, you’re fortunate they were able to intervene before more serious harm occurred."

Arys's mind raced as he tried to remember what had happened, but his memory was hazy. The events from the library, the conversation with Kyorlin and Lesaonar, and the details about Y/N seemed to be slipping through his fingers like sand.

“Did-did they say anything important?” he asked, his anxiety growing.

The healer gave him a puzzled look. “They didn’t mention much. Kyorlin said something about you getting drunk and falling, but he didn’t elaborate."

Frustrated and disoriented, Arys tried to recall the conversation with the twins, but the details eluded him. The whiskey had clearly affected his memory, as had the fall and he felt a pang of frustration and fear that he would not be able to report anything to his aunt. The wedding was only a few nights away and if he hadn't brought any useful information to the Matron by then, then he was sure that his own mother would sacrifice him and offer him as a wedding gift to the couple.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The grand hall of House Baenre was abuzz with the preparations for the grand ceremony tomorrow. The space, with its opulent drow architecture, was being meticulously fussed over for the upcoming wedding by an array of servants and lower family members keen to rise through the familial ranks. The rehearsal, a necessary formality, was underway with the High Priestess presiding over the proceedings, while you and Minthara stood side by side, ready to go through the motions of the ceremony.

Minthara’s posture was relaxed but betrayed an evident lack of interest. She leaned against a stone column, her expression bored, and her eyes glazed over as the High Priestess explained the order of the ceremony.

“The ceremony will commence with a prayer to Lolth, invoking her blessings and ensuring her favor upon this union,” she explained, her voice echoing in the cavernous hall. “This will be followed by the binding blood vow, where both parties pledge their eternal commitment.”

Minthara’s eyes glazed over further, clearly disinterested, though she nodded occasionally, if only to maintain the pretense of attentiveness.

“The next step,” the High Priestess continued, her tone unwavering, “is the cutting off of the House Liakyre symbol from your body, Y/N, and its replacement with the House Baenre symbol, on your neck to match Minthara's."

You shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the tattoo removal and couldn't help but notice that Minthara's interest piqued at the mention of it, a small smile appearing on her lips. She would be the one to slice it from your skin, and brand you with your new House mark. The thought of losing a symbol so deeply connected to your identity was unsettling, as was the nausea that came with it, though you tried to push the unease aside.

At this point, now teased with more exciting matters, Minthara’s usual veneer of control slipped slightly. Her lips curled into a subtle snarl. “And what about the toast?”

The High Priestess’s eyes narrowed slightly at Minthara’s interruption but she continued as if unaffected. “After the new tattoo is applied, there will be a toast, followed by the banquet. The drinks served to you will contain Menzoberranzan love magic, ensuring the bonding process expected later in the night is completed effectively.”

Both you and Minthara stiffened at the High Priestess’s words. Minthara’s expression transformed from irritation to shock, her eyes wide with outrage. You, too, were taken aback by the unexpected and rather vulgar revelation. The thought of a magical enhancement to facilitate intimacy was not something either of you had anticipated.

“This is absurd!” Minthara’s voice was sharp, betraying her anger. “You can’t be serious. This is an outrage.”

You nodded in agreement, feeling a flush of embarrassment. “Yes, this is crossing a line!”

The High Priestess raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your reactions. “Grow up, both of you. It’s merely a ritualistic practice to ensure the union is properly sealed. It is in the privacy of your own quarters and it’s just sex—nothing more, though if it is something more then all the better for House Baenre.”

"As if." "I would rather turn into a drider."

“Enough,” the High Priestess said, her voice cutting through the tension. “The ceremony is tomorrow. You both need to rest and prepare yourselves. This rehearsal is over.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and began to walk away, her robes trailing behind her like a flowing river of crimson. You crossed your arms looking up at Minthara with a scowl, Minthara scoffed, putting her hands on her hips.

The High Priestess’s dismissive attitude only fueled your outrage and frustration. As she swept away, her crimson robes flowing like a river of silk, you turned to Minthara, who stood with her arms crossed and a scowl etched into her features. The air between you was charged with tension, every word an electric spark.

Minthara’s frustration burst forth like a dam breaking. “This is all your fault. I could have just obliterated your entire house and been done with it, but no, you had to sneak away and find some ethereal loophole. You’ve dragged me into this farce of a wedding.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Minthara,” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s my fault you were too blinded by your own bloodlust to consider there might be other options. I had no idea I was dealing with someone who thought slaughtering my entire house was a viable solution.”

Minthara’s eyes narrowed, her irritation barely contained. “You think this is funny? This wedding, this ceremony—everything about it is a nightmare. And it’s all because of your stubbornness and your insipid refusal to accept reality.”

“Reality?” you countered sharply. “You know, for someone who claims to be so powerful, the mightiest in Menzoberranzen, you sure do complain a lot.”

The argument continued as you both stormed down the corridors of House Baenre, your footsteps echoing off the cold, dark stone walls. Minthara’s heels clicked furiously against the ground, each step a testament to her frustration. You matched her pace, your own anger simmering as you exchanged barbed comments.

“If you had any sense of responsibility, you’d have thought this through before you dragged me into your mess,” Minthara snapped.

“And if you had any sense of decency, you wouldn’t have murdered my entire family, forcing my hand.” you shot back, the words barely hiding your exasperation.

The quarrel continued unabated as you reached the separate quarters designated for the night. As was traditional, the night before the wedding required that you both sleep apart, a formality steeped in ancient customs. The thought of having to spend the night without Minthara’s presence was both frustrating and unsettling.

As you reached the door to your quarters, Minthara stopped abruptly, facing you with a final scowl. “Enjoy your night alone. Maybe you’ll finally get some clarity on how you’ve managed to make everything worse.”

“And you, Minthara,” you replied, “try not to let the weight of your own bitterness crush you before the ceremony.”

With a final huff, Minthara pushed past you and slammed her door shut with a resounding thud. You watched the door close, the sound reverberating through the corridor.

You turned and entered your own quarters, the room meticulously prepared with fine furnishings and dark, rich drapery. You paced the room restlessly, your anger giving way to an unsettling sense of emptiness.

Lying on the bed, you stared up at the ceiling, your mind racing with thoughts of the looming ceremony. The more you tried to focus on anything but Minthara, the more her absence became a palpable void. The bed felt too large, the space too empty.

Meanwhile, in her own quarters, Minthara was equally restless. She paced her room, the luxurious furnishings and the meticulously arranged décor doing little to soothe her frayed nerves. The silence of her room was as unnerving as it was lonely. You weren't muttering your prayers, indulging in an absurdly long night time routine. Despite her irritation, she couldn’t shake the feeling of missing something—or rather, someone.

Eventually, both of you found yourselves lying awake in your respective beds, staring at the ceiling, the quiet of the night amplifying your thoughts and frustrations. The realization dawned that despite the heated bickering, there was a certain sense of connection and familiarity that had been strangely comforting. The absence of that presence was felt deeply, and meditation eluded both of you as you grappled with your thoughts.

The night had dragged on with restless thoughts and a growing sense of unease. Exhaustion finally overcame you, and you slipped into a meditative trance, hoping for some respite before the impending ceremony. In the quiet of the room, you found a semblance of peace, the rhythmic rise and fall of your breath guiding you towards a state of calm.

Just as you were beginning to drift into a deeper state of relaxation, the serenity was shattered by the loud creak of your door. You jolted awake, blinking against the sudden influx of light and noise. The door swung open to reveal a flurry of movement as a group of young girls, no older than fourteen or fifteen, stormed into the room. Their chatter and giggles filled the air, a cacophony of youthful exuberance that was anything but peaceful.

The girls, dressed in colorful and somewhat mismatched garments, scattered around the room, dropping various items on the floor and chattering excitedly. They carried brushes, jars of oils, and an assortment of fabric, which they began to arrange haphazardly around the room.

Kyorlin and Lesaonar entered behind them, their expressions a mix of curiosity and amusement. You looked at them, bewildered.

“By the demon's web, what is going on?” you demanded, struggling to sit up against the tangle of blankets and pillows.

The twins exchanged glances before Kyorlin shrugged nonchalantly. “We have no idea. We were just told to bring them to you.”

One of the servants who had entered with the girls stepped forward, offering an apologetic smile. “As Matron Baenre understands that you have no female relatives to assist you, she has sent these girls to help you get ready for the ceremony. It’s her way of ensuring you’re properly prepared.”

The realization hit you like a cold wave. This was no act of kindness or generosity; it was a clear attempt to pass off the unruly young girls onto you, so the Matron wouldn’t have to deal with them herself. It was a tactical move, a way of keeping them out of her hair while she focused on her own preparations.

The girls, oblivious to your annoyance, began to tug at your sleep garments and hair, their energy boundless. They giggled and chatted as they pulled at your clothes, chattering about hairstyles and makeup, their fingers too eager and too rough. It was clear that their idea of assistance was more chaotic than helpful.

Feeling a mix of frustration and desperation, you turned to Kyorlin and Lesaonar. “Can you two perhaps go and pray for me in the chapel? It seems I could use some divine intervention right now.”

Kyorlin and Lesaonar looked at each other, a smirk playing on their lips as they took in the scene before them.

“Pray for you?” Lesaonar echoed with a grin. “Or pray for a miracle to get us out of this madness?”

Kyorlin’s expression softened slightly. “We’ll go,” he said with a chuckle. “It seems like you could use some peace and quiet. We'll see you at the ceremony, dear sister.”

With that, they exited the room, leaving you to the chaotic whirlwind of young girls. As they bustled around you, their laughter and chatter gradually began to fade into the background of your mind. You were left to endure their relentless enthusiasm, trying to stay calm despite the overwhelming noise and activity.

The young girls swarmed around you with a flurry of questions, their voices rising in a cheerful, chaotic crescendo. They seemed to have no sense of personal space, their faces close to yours as they eagerly awaited your responses. You could barely keep up with their rapid-fire inquiries as they tugged at your garments and pushed various accessories into your hands.

“Where’s your wedding dress?” one of them asked, her eyes wide with excitement as she peered into the open wardrobe.

“How are you going to style your hair?” another chimed in, her fingers already brushing through your locks with the kind of enthusiasm that only a young girl could muster.

“Are you going to fight anyone during the ceremony?” asked a third, her face a mix of curiosity and awe.

“Are you going to use your powers?” the last girl queried, her eyes sparkling with a blend of admiration and anticipation.

You took a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure amidst the whirlwind of questions.

“My dress is being prepared by the seamstresses. As for my hair, well, I haven’t quite decided yet. I might leave it to the skilled hands of you young ladies.” You glanced at the older girls who were already starting to work on your hair, their excitement palpable. “And no, there won’t be any fighting during the ceremony. It’s all about unity and devotion. As for my powers, they’re not really part of the ceremony. They’re something I reserve for more pressing matters.”

The girls seemed somewhat satisfied with your answers, but their curiosity remained unabated. Their chatter continued, and you could see their faces lighting up with interest. In an effort to calm the scene and make the best of the situation, you decided to offer them a distraction.

“You know,” you began, your tone shifting to one of storytelling, “since you’re all so eager to know about me, how about I tell you a story while you do my hair?”

The girls’ eyes widened with delight, and they all gathered closer, their attention now fully focused on you allowing the older girls to work on your hair with less chaos.

“Alright, let me tell you about the time I had to go to the surface.” You began, weaving your tale with an air of intrigue.

“It was years ago,” you continued, “when I was sent on a mission to the surface world. Everyone says the surface is a terrible place, filled with danger and discomfort, and I’ll admit, I had my doubts. The light up there—oh, it’s so harsh and blinding compared to our soft, ambient glow. And the air, so dry and warm. It felt like walking through a blazing inferno.”

The girls gasped, clearly captivated by your description. One of them, with wide eyes, asked, “Was it as bad as they say it is?”

You nodded solemnly. “At first, it was overwhelming. The sun burned my skin, and I had to be careful not to let the light blind me. The surface world is a place of harsh contrasts compared to the Underdark. But I managed to survive by staying in the shadows as much as possible and using my knowledge of the surface’s geography to navigate through it. It’s a different kind of danger, one that requires patience and cunning.”

Another girl, clearly intrigued, asked, “How did you manage to stay safe?”

“I had to be very cautious,” you explained. “I used cloaking spells to hide from prying eyes and relied on my wits to avoid the more dangerous creatures of the surface. I even learned a few tricks to blend in with the surface-dwellers, though that wasn’t always easy. The key was to adapt and use every bit of knowledge I had to my advantage.”

The girls listened intently, their previous frenzy momentarily forgotten as they absorbed your tale. Their hands worked diligently through your hair, carefully arranging it as they listened to your story with rapt attention.

“So, you survived all of that?” one of them asked, awe in her voice.

“Yes,” you confirmed with a nod. “And I returned with a deeper understanding of the surface world. It’s not as simple as the stories make it out to be, but it’s not entirely the nightmare some say it is either. It’s a world full of challenges, but also of opportunities.”

The girls exchanged impressed glances, clearly impressed by your resilience and resourcefulness. Their chatter slowed as they focused on their task, and you could see the newfound respect in their eyes.

As the girls finished arranging your hair, their lively chatter slowly faded, replaced by a more subdued and focused energy. The transformation in the room was palpable; the earlier chaos had been replaced by an air of contented productivity.

Just then, a servant entered the room, carrying a beautifully wrapped bundle. The girls’ eyes immediately widened with curiosity, and they gathered around the servant as he carefully unwrapped the bundle to reveal your wedding dress.

A collective gasp of admiration escaped from the girls as they saw the dress. They circled around it, their faces lit up with awe and delight. “Oh, it’s so beautiful!” one of them exclaimed, her voice full of wonder.

“It looks so elegant!” another girl chimed in, her eyes sparkling.

Their enthusiastic reactions warmed your heart. It was clear that they were genuinely impressed, and it was a comforting change from the earlier frustration and chaos. You couldn’t help but smile at their genuine appreciation, feeling a sense of connection with these young, spirited girls.

The servant, noticing the girls’ fascination, cleared his throat to get their attention. “Ladies, you need to leave now. We have other preparations to attend to, and you must be ready to greet the guests soon.”

The girls, though reluctant, knew better than to argue. They cast one last longing look at the dress before reluctantly shuffling toward the door. “We’ll miss you!” one of them said, her voice tinged with sadness.

“See you at the ceremony!” another added, giving you a bright smile before exiting the room.

Once they were gone, the room seemed quieter, their youthful energy having left an almost palpable mark. You stood by the mirror, taking in your reflection. The sense of camaraderie you had shared with the girls lingered, making you feel unexpectedly lighter.

Now the girls were gone, the servant held the dress up to you. "It is time."

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The grand hall of House Baenre was a magnificent spectacle of dark elegance. The rich crimson and obsidian banners draped from the walls, their opulent fabric catching the flickering light of the many torches. A hushed reverence hung in the air, only heightened by the murmurs of the elite of Menzoberranzan who had gathered to witness the grand wedding ceremony.

At the altar, Minthara stood like a figure from a dark legend. She was clad in her ceremonial regalia—a striking blend of armor and finery that showcased her status and power. Her dress was an elaborate piece of art, a seamless fusion of practicality and splendor. The armor was adorned with intricate patterns of red and black, the colors of House Baenre, and it accentuated her commanding presence. The armor, polished to a high sheen, caught the light in a way that emphasized her formidable and fierce demeanor.

Minthara’s light purple skin contrasted sharply with the dark fabric of her attire, giving her an ethereal, almost otherworldly appearance. Her white hair was styled meticulously, cascading in silken waves down her back and framing her sharp, striking features. The house Baenre sigil was emblazoned across her neck in a bold tattoo, a mark of her dominance and heritage. It was impossible to ignore the intense gaze she cast over the assembled guests, a mix of pride and cold calculation in her eyes.

The High Priestess and the acolyte stood beside Minthara at the altar, both figures imposing in their own right. The High Priestess, with her elaborate robes of dark violet and silver, held a commanding presence that matched the gravity of the occasion. Her ornate staff, topped with a symbol of Lolth, rested beside her, its presence a reminder of the divine power that governed the ceremony.

The guests—elite members of Menzoberranzan society—filled the seats, their whispers creating a low murmur of anticipation. They were the crème de la crème of drow society, their attire as elaborate as the occasion demanded. The front row was reserved for your family, though it was glaringly empty apart from Kyorlin and Lesaonar.

The moment arrived with the soft sound of the chamber doors opening, revealing you in all your ceremonial splendor. The room fell into an awed silence as you began your walk up the aisle, every step measured and graceful, drawing the collective gaze of the assembly.

You were enveloped in a dress that seemed to transcend mortal craftsmanship. The fabric, a delicate blend of shimmering silk and ethereal spiderweb patterns, clung to your form with an almost otherworldly elegance. It was as though Lolth herself had spun a cocoon around you, the silk’s iridescent sheen reflecting the candlelight and casting a faint, ghostly glow around you. The dress flowed behind you like a silken waterfall, trailing behind you in a whisper of movement that seemed both fluid and majestic.

Your hair was styled with meticulous precision, two sharp curls cascaded down the sides of your face. These curled strands were reminiscent of spider pincers, framing your features in a way that emphasized your otherworldly beauty. The rest of your hair was pulled back, accentuating the intricate work of the dress and the delicate silver adornments that accentuated your collarbone.

Silver spider legs were strategically placed along your body, their intricate design accentuating the curves and lines of your form. Two legs arched beneath your collarbone, glinting subtly as they caught the light. Another set adorned the curve of your bust, emphasizing the elegance of your silhouette, while additional sets traced your hips and thighs, creating a cascading effect that drew the eye and added a touch of both elegance and danger.

The glossy finish of your makeup made your red eyes stand out with a fierce intensity, their piercing gaze capturing the attention of everyone present.

As you made your way up the aisle, Minthara’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened in a mixture of awe and admiration, her typically composed demeanor momentarily faltering as she took in the sight of you. You looked like a divine gift from Lolth herself, a vision of beauty and power that left her momentarily breathless.

Your approach was marked by the soft, almost melodic swish of your dress and the respectful silence of the assembled guests. Minthara’s eyes followed you with an intensity that spoke of both reverence and longing, her own fierce beauty momentarily overshadowed by your ethereal presence.

The High Priestess and the acolyte observed the entrance with approving nods, the former's stern expression softening just a fraction. The ceremony had now reached its pinnacle, with you as the centerpiece, a radiant embodiment of Lolth’s favor.

The grand hall was bathed in the flickering glow of countless candles, their flames dancing in the hushed reverence of the ceremony. With a solemn nod, the High Priestess raised her arms, her voice resonating through the hall as she began the ancient prayer to Lolth. The chant was a haunting melody, woven with words of devotion and supplication, invoking the favor of the Spider Queen upon the union about to be sealed.

You stood beside Minthara, your gaze fixed ahead, though you could feel her intense stare burning into you. A slight, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips as you tried to maintain your composure under the weight of her scrutiny.

The High Priestess concluded the prayer and turned her attention to the next phase of the ceremony: the binding blood vow. The acolyte stepped forward, presenting a ceremonial dagger with an ornate hilt. The dagger’s blade glinted ominously in the candlelight as it was passed to the High Priestess.

The High Priestess took the dagger and approached you. With precise, practiced movements, she made a shallow cut on your palm, the pain sharp but brief. The blood that welled up was immediately captured by the High Priestess, who then turned to Minthara. She made a similar incision on Minthara’s palm.

The words of the vow began to echo through the hall, the High Priestess guiding you both as you repeated the ancient promises of loyalty to each other and to House Baenre. You vowed not only your fidelity to the house but also a solemn promise to never bring harm to each other, pledging to protect and uphold the sanctity of your union.

As you spoke the words, you noticed a sudden and alarming change in Minthara’s demeanor - and not just the grimace from swearing she would never be able to bring harm against you. Her face grew pale, and a look of weakness and disorientation crossed her features. It was as if a wave of illness had washed over her, and she swayed slightly on her feet.

Instinctively, you reached out and grasped Minthara’s hand, intertwining your fingers with hers. The mingling of your blood, open wound on open wound, had an immediate effect. Minthara’s pallor quickly faded, and her strength seemed to return as the warmth of her body stabilized.

From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of the acolyte’s face. There was a momentary flicker of something sinister in her expression before they quickly masked it with a neutral demeanor. You gripped Minthara's hand reassuringly, but were just met with her narrowed accusatory eyes, whatever had just happened was evidenlty your fault somehow.

The ceremony continued, with the High Priestess’s gaze flickering between you and Minthara, noting the strange turn of events but choosing to proceed with the rites regardless, you believe she was just happy that you both made it there alive. Your shared blood dripped from each other's palms, landing in the alter below, as it fell it pooled and spread into Lolth's insignia, a sign of approval.

After what felt like an age the binding blood vow was complete, a rush of sharp magic danced across each of your palms as you flinched away from each other, only to realise your wounds had both been healed. Servants attended to you both, ensuring that you were cleaned up and presentable.

"Now, for Y/N Liakyre to shed herself from the past, and embrace her new future as Mistress Y/N Baenre, Wife of Matron Minthara Baenre." The high priestess announced and an involuntary shiver racked through you, you were not looking forward to this. Mainly as Minthara would be the one slicing your beloved House mark from your skin, and considering she thought you just tried to poison her, you were certain she was going to be anything but quick about it.

The ceremony continued with a palpable sense of anticipation hanging in the air. The High Priestess’s announcement rang out clearly, declaring the next phase of the ritual. “Now, for Y/N Liakyre to shed herself from the past and embrace her new future as Mistress Y/N Baenre, Wife of Matron Minthara Baenre.”

A shiver ran through you, a blend of apprehension and anticipation. You knew what was coming—Minthara, the one you were still getting to know, would be the one to remove your house sigil. The thought of her performing this act, particularly under the shadow of the recent incident, filled you with unease. You had braced yourself for an uncomfortable ordeal, expecting the worst given the tension between you.

To your surprise, however, Minthara approached you with an unexpected gentleness. Her eyes, though guarded, were soft as she prepared to perform the task. The intricate dagger she held, - her personal favourite, you noted - glinted ominously in the candlelight, but her touch was surprisingly delicate.

Minthara’s hand was steady as she positioned the blade near your wrist. Her fingers, though firm, were careful as they traced the outline of your House Liakyre sigil. You felt the cold metal of the dagger as it made contact with your skin, but instead of the anticipated pain, her movements were precise and controlled. There was an almost reassuring quality to her touch.

As the blade began its work, Minthara leaned in slightly, her breath warm against your ear. “I will make this as swift and painless as possible,” she murmured, her voice a low whisper that carried both assurance and an unexpected tenderness.

The edge of the dagger sliced through the skin with an efficiency that took you by surprise. Despite the sting of the incision, Minthara’s soft praise was oddly comforting.

Once the sigil was completely severed from your skin, Minthara gripped the wound with one hand, her touch surprisingly soothing. You could feel the warmth of her magic as she began the healing process. The sensation of her healing spell was like a gentle wave washing over you, numbing the pain and closing the wound.

As the healing magic worked, Minthara's other hand moved to your neck. With a deliberate, yet gentle motion, she traced the Baenre sigil onto your skin. Her touch was careful and meticulous, her nail guiding the sigil’s shape with an almost artistic precision. The sensation was both hot and cold—a duality that made you wince but also marvel at the intensity of the moment.

The sigil burned into your skin with a searing warmth, and you could not help but flinch slightly, even though you tried to remain still. Minthara’s face was close to yours, her gaze intense as she focused on her task. When she finished, she inspected the mark closely, her expression a blend of satisfaction and relief.

As she pulled away, your eyes locked with hers, and in that moment, something shifted between you. You hadn't realised it but you were holding her hand that she had just healed you with, a connection that felt both intimate and profound. The urge to kiss her was almost overwhelming, a sudden, unspoken understanding passing between the both of you.

Before you could act on the impulse, the High Priestess’s voice cut through the charged silence. “Now that the mark is complete,” she announced with a tone of finality, “let us proceed with the final rites of the ceremony. The toast.”

The intrusion of the High Priestess’s voice shattered the moment, and you and Minthara were abruptly reminded of the ritualistic nature of the event. You quickly withdrew your hand from Minthara’s, trying to steady your breathing and regain composure. Minthara cleared her throat as if she had not been victim to the same fleeting feelings as you.

As you and Minthara turned toward the altar, the final stage of the ceremony was upon you: the toast. The High Priestess, with a solemn expression, raised her goblet high and addressed the assembly with practiced grace.

“Let us now toast to the union of House Baenre and their newest member, Mistress Y/N Baenre. May this bond be as strong as the webs spun by Lolth herself, and may their loyalty to each other and to House Baenre be unwavering.”

The audience responded with elated cheers, their eyes fixed on you and Minthara. The atmosphere was thick with expectation as the High Priestess gestured for you both to take your goblets.

You and Minthara exchanged a knowing glance, your previous unspoken connection now tempered by the ceremonial formalities. The goblets, adorned with intricate patterns and filled with a dark, almost ominous liquid, were a focal point of the final rite. The contents imbued with Menzoberranzan love magic.

Minthara’s lips curled into a smirk as she looked at you, her eyes gleaming with challenge. She lifted her goblet, her movements deliberate and poised, and with a defiant glint in her eye, she downed the contents in one swift motion. The crowd watched in anticipation, their cheers momentarily hushed as they awaited your response.

You met her smirk with a challenging look of your own. Taking a deep breath, you raised your own goblet, feeling the weight of the ritual and the gaze of the onlookers. With a final, resolute glance at Minthara, you followed suit and drank the contents in one go. The liquid slid down your throat, its taste oddly unremarkable despite the grandiose of its magical properties.

As the last drop of the goblet was consumed, a cheer erupted from the audience, their enthusiasm a stark contrast to the tension that had lingered between you and Minthara. The High Priestess’s face remained inscrutable as she nodded in approval, and the formalities of the ceremony drew to a close.

In a moment of shared understanding, you leaned in toward Minthara, and she responded with a confident yet tender kiss. The crowd’s cheers swelled, their applause growing louder as the kiss deepened. It was a brief but meaningful display of unity, a symbolic gesture that marked the beginning of your life together. As you both pulled away, your eyes locked, the tension of the earlier ceremony now mingled with the thrill of the new chapter ahead.

With a nod to each other, Minthara took your hand and led you towards the grand banquet hall. The room was adorned with opulent decorations, the feast laid out on long tables that gleamed with silver and crystal. The air was filled with the rich scents of exotic dishes and the buzz of conversation.

As you entered the hall, your gaze fell upon your brothers, who were seated among the guests. They caught your eye and offered you warm smiles, their faces reflecting a genuine sense of pride and joy. The sight was reassuring, a small island of familiarity amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces.

Nearby, the young girls who had helped you earlier were eagerly waving at you from their seats. You smiled back at them and gave a playful wave, their excitement evident as they responded with enthusiastic giggles and cheers. It was a comforting sight, a reminder of the bonds you had managed to forge even in the midst of such a formal and intimidating occasion.

Minthara led you to the head of the banquet hall, where a line of guests was already forming to offer their congratulations and present you with gifts. The well-wishers approached one by one, each one bowing respectfully and offering their tributes. The atmosphere was filled with a blend of festivity and formality, the air thick with the scent of rich foods and the murmur of polite conversation.

Amid the bustling crowd, you noticed that the acolyte from the ceremony had slipped away from the banquet. A sense of unease prickled at the back of your mind, and you excused yourself from the line of well-wishers with a polite but hurried apology.

“I must give my thanks to Lolth for the ceremony,” you said, your voice steady but urgent. “I will be back shortly.”

Minthara gave you a curious look but nodded in understanding. “Don’t be long,” she instructed, her tone a mix of curiosity and caution.

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You made your way swiftly to the chapel, the grand archways and shadowed corners of the sacred space offering a stark contrast to the celebratory chaos of the banquet. As you approached the altar, you saw the acolyte kneeling in despair, her head bowed and her hands clasped in a desperate plea for mercy. Her soft sobs echoed through the empty chapel, the sanctity of the space amplifying the depth of her distress.

A smirk touched your lips as you approached, your footsteps echoing ominously. The acolyte’s head snapped up at the sound, her tear-streaked face reflecting shock and anger as she recognized you.

“I cannot imagine Lolth will be forgiving to the one who tried to poison her favored on the day of their union,” you said with a cold satisfaction. The words seemed to land heavily, deepening the acolyte’s rage.

“How did you survive?” she demanded, her voice a harsh whisper, trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “How did both of you survive? That blade was coated in Purple Worm Toxin; as soon as it drew blood, the effects should have taken hold immediately.”

"Evidently, House Baenre-"

"-House Baenre!” she spat out, her voice laced with venom. “I hate them all! They destroyed my family. Minthara killed my sister on a whim, and my house fell because of her cruelty. I was sent here to exact revenge, to see House Baenre's ruin!”

You listened with a mix of cold detachment and grim understanding. The animosity and vendetta against House Baenre were clear, but you had little sympathy for her plight. Your position as Mistress of House Baenre meant you had to uphold the dignity and power of your new house. Her vendetta was irrelevant to you now; she was a threat that needed to be dealt with.

“You failed,” you said, your voice steely. “And as Mistress of House Baenre, I am obligated to ensure that all transgressions are punished. However, I doubt I’ll get there before Lolth herself. That doesn’t mean I can’t offer some assistance.”

Before the acolyte could fully comprehend what was happening, you began to weave a cocoon of divine silk around her. The shimmering threads encased her body, the silken strands gliding effortlessly as they bound her tightly. Her struggles against the cocoon were futile, the threads forming a firm and unyielding prison.

With the cocoon fully formed, you turned your gaze upward to the statue of Lolth. The statue’s eyes, previously dim and lifeless, suddenly flared with a deep, crimson glow. The eyes seemed to pierce through the darkness of the chapel, signaling the goddess’s presence.

A small smile graced your lips and in a flash of blinding light, the cocoon began to tremble and writhe. The divine silk glowed with an eerie, otherworldly light as the acolyte’s form within the cocoon began to twist and contort. A cacophony of harsh, bone cracking sounds filled the chapel, the process of transformation a brutal and unsettling spectacle.

The cocoon’s surface split open, revealing the acolyte’s body undergoing a grotesque metamorphosis. Her limbs elongated and twisted, her form shifting into that of a drider—half-drow, half-spider. The transformation was violent, marked by a series of inhuman cries and the sound of tearing flesh.

As the final touches of the transformation took place, a portal of shimmering web appeared above the altar. The drider, now fully transformed, was dragged upwards by the force of the web, struggling against its constraints but ultimately powerless to resist.

The portal drew the drider into its depths, vanishing into the dark expanse of the Underdark. The last sight of the acolyte was a flash of horrified eyes and twisted limbs before it was completely absorbed by the portal.

You watched with a mixture of resolve and cold satisfaction as the portal closed, sealing the drider's fate. The chapel fell silent once more, the only sound being the distant echoes of the banquet hall. You slowly albeit with great difficulty due to the restrcitve dress, kneeled infront of the statue and clasped your hands in prayer.

The dim light of the chapel flickered as you approached the grand statue of Lolth, her visage looming large and commanding in the sacred space. The flickering flames of the nearby torches cast eerie shadows, creating an atmosphere both reverent and charged with divine energy.

You fell to your knees on the cold, polished stone floor, your posture embodying both respect and solemnity. The weight of the evening’s events settled upon you, and with deep breaths, you centered yourself, preparing to offer a prayer worthy of the Spider Queen. You lowered your head and closed your eyes, focusing all your energy and intent on the divine presence before you.

In a voice both steady and reverent, you began:

“Most Glorious and Resplendent Lolth, Queen of Spiders, Matron of the Underdark, hear the words of your devoted descendent.”

“Great Mistress, it is with deepest gratitude and unwavering devotion that I come before you in this sacred place. I offer my thanks for your boundless favor, which guided my ancestral aasimar, Liakyre, from the treacherous embrace of her mother Eilistraee, and into the welcoming web of your dark grace.”

“O Divine One, you who nurtured and raised her as your own, you who allowed her bloodline to continue and for House Liakyre to ascend, I beseech you to acknowledge my humble gratitude. Though the house now lies fallen, its legacy persists within the fervent fire of this descendent’s heart.”

“May the blood of Liakyre, whose blood now courses through me, burn brightly and unyieldingly as I take up the mantle of Mistress of House Baenre. Empower me to honor the past, to uphold the strength of our bloodline, and to fulfill the sacred duties entrusted to me by your will.”

“Grant me, O Lolth, your divine blessing as I forge ahead into the future, carrying forth the traditions of your dark and eternal house. Let your gaze remain upon me, a guiding light in the shadows, as I serve House Baenre with loyalty and fervor and continue Liakyre's legacy through them.”

With each word, the sense of the divine grew stronger, the statue’s eyes seeming to glimmer with an otherworldly light. The ambient light in the chapel seemed to intensify, focusing on the statue’s form as if Lolth herself were acknowledging your prayer.

With a final bow of your head, you left the chapel, the sense of divine favor still tingling at your fingertips. The grandeur of the banquet hall greeted you as you emerged, the sounds of celebration and the clamor of the crowd filling the air with vibrant energy. The guests, a mélange of the elite and powerful from Menzoberranzan, erupted into cheers as you re-entered the hall.

The atmosphere was electric with excitement. You made your way to Minthara, who was surrounded by well-wishers and offering polite nods and pleasantries. As you approached, her sharp eyes fixed on you with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“What was that about, Y/N?” Minthara asked, her voice low yet demanding. “The High Priestess mentioned something about you and the acolyte. I need to know what happened.”

You offered her a reassuring smile, knowing that any explanation now would only add to the evening’s complexity. “I’ll tell you later,” you said smoothly. “For now, I could really use a drink.”

Without waiting for a response, you reached for her wine glass, taking it from her hand with a quick, deft motion. Minthara’s eyes widened in surprise as you took a long, deliberate sip of the wine, savoring the rich, intoxicating flavor.

Minthara’s protest died in her throat, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched you with a mix of amusement and frustration. She looked as if she were about to speak, but the moment was abruptly interrupted as you leaned in and pulled her into a passionate kiss. The suddenness and intensity of the kiss seemed to catch her off guard, but she quickly responded, her arms wrapping around you as she returned the kiss with equal fervor.

When the kiss finally broke, you pulled away, your lips lingering on hers for a heartbeat longer. You could see the desire in her eyes, a fire that matched your own. With a playful smirk, you murmured, “Must be the Menzoberranzan love magic in the wine from the toast.”

Minthara’s eyes flashed with a mix of surprise and amusement. “Is that so?” she replied, her voice dripping with a teasing challenge.

Before she could respond further, the crowd’s cheers and laughter seemed to rise around you, drawing the attention back to the festivities. You took her hand, guiding her through the throng of guests, ready to embrace the rest of the evening's revelry. You felt a high like no other, your family may be 6ft under, but you were now mistress of the most powerful House in Menzoberranzen, you had just seen Lolth turn a once devoted acolyte into a drider because of her transgressions against you. Oh the night was young, and you intended to enjoy every moment of it.

Part Five

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Ooof this was a long one but I have been feeling so rotten lately (I'm on so many antibiotics and meds rn lmaoooo) and this is my comfort fic to write.

Finally have revealed how reader has her powers, and for clarity, I'm headcanoning that Eilistraee had aasimar children and one of them fell and Lolth took full advantage of that.

Hope you all enjoyed it, let me know what you think in the comments below or in my inbox. Love you all - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

@mimetoist @thepotatoislost @needyformilfs @longjohnsilverfish @spacezombiez @morganaspet @wineredsea

If you want to be in the taglist just comment down below xox

[blu3n]

["Hi, Blu3n, what do you think? how would Jason Petrr Todd be in a relationship? "]

Anon.

"1 he would be sooo communicative, i mean since the day he got back he's been telling bruce that he has a problem, he's told him exactly what that problem is, how it hurt, and how he can fix it. Everyone say's he never stops complaining and its like, yeah? cuz honey is still mad?? kill joker and he'll stfu about it bc he's still hurt. like he's not going to stop being upset until he's dead, and everyone is pushing the blame on him from bringing up valid arguments bc it makes them uncomfortable to admit that their system protecting their own moral comfort isn't working. If jason had a problem he would tell u about it, and you could actually fix it if you cared about it (unlike bruce...) also he would not hesitate to tell u he cares about you, he's said i love you so many times to love interests, idk if he's said it to bruce, but we know the sentiment is there. he would tell u he cares."

".2 his compassion babay!!!! hes sooo empathetic, he get so angry on behalf of the victims that he kills for them, and thats like, ugh, amazing. he knows what its like to be a victim and he can apply that feeling to everyone who needs an ear. he knows what its like to be a murderer too and so he holds nothing back for his victims (the self loathing is cute but sad.) his anger is his compassion weaponised, and im gonna make out with him for it."

".3 he's dependable!!! we all know that if he cares about you, bestie nothing will stop him from keeping u safe. he will kill for you. thats it. if your in a situation where batman needs to choose between u or someone else? jason would storm in, kick him to the side and choose you over and over (if he cares that is, gotta win his heart first am i right?) his code makes me feel much safer than bruces thats for sure. if i go rogue he can kill me."

".4 HE'S LOYAL!!! even after dying he still comes back to do what bruce taught him to, just a bit further u know? like he continues to protect gotham in his own way, he might not work for the bat but he's still a gotham boy and he loves her, protects her even after dying, he'd probably show u the same loyalty bc he's desperate for it back. he'd never cheat, tho i do expect him to be a bit jealous, but thats okay, i get the same lol."

"5 honestly his will to live turns me on a lil bit. im sorry you have to read this but when crawled outta the grave? i'd make out with him in that mud. i'd roll around with him in that mud. I'd tell him he's a good boy in that mud. maybe its not really a will to live and more a need to make them pay, but ugh,,, just his determination gets to me. theres just something so beautiful and gorgeous about crawling out of your grave, like yeeeessss im so angry that not even death can hold me back. i am alive and there is nothing you can do to stop me now, i will haunt the narrative except i wont haunt it because, im actually alive and im going to reshape the narrative to fit MY revenge and make the whole idea of death seem obsolete. suck it batman."

!! Owner of the post. !!!

NOTE:

Stop thinking that Jason would be terrible, in fact he has his disorders, but he would take care of you as if you were THE ONLY PERSON IN HIS ENTIRE WORLD!!!!

[violetwanderer]

Target Practice

Din Djarin x Female Reader

Summary: Reader wants to learn how to shoot, and only Din can teach her. He finds a great way to motivate her to hit the targets

Warnings: Smut, fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, slight breeding kink, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, shooting

Word Count: 4.4k

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've written a fic, so hopefully this isn't too bad. Also I had to look up some of the gun stuff lol

Masterlist

Do not copy or translate my works

"Will you teach me how to shoot a blaster?"

Din doesn't move from his seat in the cockpit, not even to look at you when you ask the question, but you know he heard you. He doesn't answer either, making you shuffle awkwardly and look down at your feet, feeling embarrassed to ask such a thing.

"Please," you beg, trying not to sound too pathetic. "If I'm going to be traveling with you, I should know how to defend myself, even if I'm just meant to stay on the ship."

You only met the man a few months ago when he came to the shipyard you worked at. The job paid very little, and honestly, not many ships landed there, leaving you stuck in a dead-end job until one fateful day when a Razor Crest landed in front of you and out stepped a Mandalorian looking for extensive repairs. You did the best you could with the limited supplies you had at work, improvising when you didn't have important parts. Thankfully, he was impressed with all the things you fixed, which led to him coming back a few more times and asking you specifically to fix his ship when it was damaged during his bounty hunting trips. After the fourth time, he asked if you would be willing to travel with him and become his mechanic while he tracked down bounties. The pay was much better than what you were receiving on that backwater planet, and it gave you the opportunity to travel the galaxy, so you said yes, even though you didn't even know his name. You only learned it a few weeks ago.

"Fine," Din answers curtly, still not looking back at you, even though the ship is in hyperspace and he doesn't need to pay such close attention to what's in front of him. "Next time we land, I'll teach you to shoot before I go after the quarry."

A smile spreads across your face, and you're glad you didn't have to try and convince him to teach you. Despite his gruff demeanour, Din has been pretty good to you. He's patient when repairs sometimes take a while or you don't have the right parts because it's been a while since you two have landed somewhere that sells them. The only rule he is strict about is his creed. You haven't even seen him without his gloves on, let alone his helmet. It's not a difficult rule to follow, though. He seems to only take it off when he's in his bunk.

Despite not knowing what he looks like, you can't help but feel attracted to him. The beskar armour makes him look large and intimidating, but you don't feel afraid of him. Watching him intimidate others, however, always has your thighs clenching together and wetness pooling in your underwear. This started about two weeks after you began traveling with him, and ever since then you've found yourself growing more and more turned on around him.

“When will we be landing?” You question eagerly, clasping your hands together.

“Soon,” is his only answer. You have gotten used to that, too. Din barely speaks, only relaying information when it's necessary. There's never any small talk with him, which you've learned to live with. Sometimes the silence is nice.

Landing can't come soon enough. You buckle in as Din prepares to drop out of hyperspace, and you see the planet you're going to land on. It appears to be quite green, covered in dense forests, and as you get closer, you can't see many settlements. You have a feeling he will have to travel quite a while to find the bounty while you stay behind and mind the ship. You'll feel safer now that he is going to teach you how to protect yourself with a gun.

Once the ship has landed, you remove your belt, quickly leaving the cockpit with a giddy feeling in your stomach. You've wanted to learn how to shoot a blaster for quite a while, but you didn't have access to any at your old job and you have always been too nervous to ask Din until now. He has plenty of weapons, and you're sure he won't mind you keeping one on your person while he's out of the ship. It would be pretty inconvenient for him to lose his live in mechanic.

You hear him slowly follow you down to the ramp, opening it for you and walking down first to quickly scan the area to make sure it's safe. Once he's satisfied, he turns back to where you're still standing on the ship.

“Wait out here,” he instructs you. “I'll get the blaster and some stuff for you to aim at.”

You nod and descend from the ramp, waiting patiently as he enters the ship and gathers what you will need.

Only two minutes later he returns, carrying a blaster that's smaller than the one he usually carries and some empty cans that the two of you haven't gotten rid of yet. Walking over to a log about 15 feet from where you stand, he lines the cans up on it, evenly spaced out, before returning to your side. He then holds out the blaster for you to take.

“You see this?” He taps a little switch on the side of it. “This is the safety. You turn it on when you're not using the blaster. Understand?”

You nod eagerly, buzzing with excitement and nerves. The weapon doesn't weigh much, but your hands feel weak just holding it.

Once Din has shown you this, he grabs one of your hands in his much larger one, placing it on the gun.

“Keep both hands on it for now,” he tells you, positioning your hands correctly. “It will help you with your aim.”

You try your best to soak up all this information, but your mind keeps slipping to how good his large hands feel over your much smaller ones. It would probably feel even better if he wasn't wearing gloves, but you'll take what you can get.

Din steps back finally once he is satisfied with how you hold the gun and has instructed you on your stance.

“Now, just aim and shoot,” he says, as if it's really that simple. Although for an excellent bounty hunter and fighter, it really is that simple. You're sure he's been doing this for years.

You take a deep breath, looking at the first can that rests on the log, and you slowly pull the trigger. The shot goes way above the can, hitting a tree behind it and leaving a mark on it. The force of the shot nearly makes you drop the weapon, but you manage to keep your grip on it. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment at how bad you did.

“It's fine,” Din states from beside you. “Not everyone hits the target on their first attempt. Try again.”

You line up the shot again, aiming for the second can now. Once again, you pull the trigger and miss the target entirely. Your grip on the gun feels unstable as your hands begin to sweat. You quickly wipe them off your trousers before trying again, this time hitting slightly closer to your target.

You're growing frustrated with your constant failures, especially since Din is watching you intensely, seeing your mess ups each time. You repeat the process three more times before he lets out a sigh of irritation, making you feel humiliated. You must look like a fool to him. What if he thinks you won't be able to protect yourself and won't want to travel with you anymore? You could be a liability if you're unable to fight back and need to rely on him if things go south.

“Stop thinking so hard,” he orders you, approaching you and standing behind you. His hands reach out and move on top of yours, setting your aim right and moving you into the right position. His beskar-covered body is pressed right against yours, with his chest against your back and his hips brushing against your ass. Your breathing stops, feeling every part of him against you, and all you want is for you two to be like this under different circumstances.

“Pay attention.” Din's voice distracts you from letting your thoughts go any further. “We don't have all day.”

You do your best to ignore the feeling of his body against yours and take a deep breath, allowing his hands to guide yours to point the blaster at the target. You pull the trigger and hear a ping as the bullet hits the can, and it falls from the log and hits the ground.

“Good girl,” Din breathes in your ear, making your legs go weak. In an attempt to steady yourself, you lean back against him, but this just makes you more unsteady. He's pressed against you completely now, and you can't help but arch your back slightly, pushing your ass against his hips.

You can feel his bulge pressed against your behind, and it feels so good. Embarrassment burns through your body at what you just did, but before you can try to pull away from him, Din's hands grasp your hips and pull you right against him, his hands keeping you in place as you hear his breathing pick up and feel his cock grow harder in his flight suit.

“Stay right here,” Din hisses, his grip tightening. “If you hit every target, I'll give you exactly what you want, pretty girl.”

Your hands tremble slightly over the grip of the gun with excitement. You've wanted this for so long, and to hear that you're so close to getting it has your pussy soaking your underwear. With everything he has taught you kept in your mind, you aim at the can next to the one you have already shot, pulling the trigger and miraculously hitting it.

Din's hands move up from your hips to just below your breasts, his thumbs brushing against the underneath of them teasingly. You whine desperately, wanting his hands to go further, but clearly he has no intention of moving them.

“Just three more,” he reminds you. “You can do it.”

Once again, you line up the shot and take it, hitting the third can. This one just about knocks it off the log, making you groan quietly in frustration. Din's hands on your body have you completely distracted, your mind focusing too much on his promise to give you what you want if you do well for him.

“Focus,” he reminds you, his hands moving up to gently grasp your breasts before moving back down to your waist, wrapping around your form to keep you against him. You feel your nipples harden when he brushes against your chest, which doesn't help you stay focused at all.

“Come on, you're so close,” Din whispers in your ear, the voice modulator making him sound more intimidating. A shiver runs down your spine.

You repeat the process all over again, taking your time to try and calm yourself down before making the next shot, which thankfully hits the can in the centre this time. You smile gleefully at the sight, then sigh in longing when Din pulls your hips flush against his.

“Just one more, pretty girl,” he mumbles, close enough now that his helmet touches the side of your face.

With every bit of self control you have, you point the gun one more time at the final can and take the shot. By some miracle it hits, even though you can't focus on it anymore. Once the can hits the ground, the blaster is wrenched out of your hand, and you're quickly spun around and lifted. You find yourself being thrown over his shoulder, making you squeal and whine.

“Din,” you gasp as he begins walking back into the ship.

Once inside, he puts you down in front of a crate and immediately starts pushing your jacket off, which you help him with. Once that's gone, he tugs at the hem of your shirt slightly, and you get what he's telling you to do. Soon enough, that's on the floor next to your jacket, and then joined by your boots and trousers, leaving you standing before him in your bra and underwear.

It feels a bit awkward to not be kissing him or touching his bare skin at least, but you know that won't happen. You don't even ask if you can remove some of his armour, worried that he will end this whole thing before it's even started. You're much too pent up to handle him doing that.

“Always knew you were so pretty,” Din breathes, his gloved hands trailing down your curves. Your breathing becomes heavy as he does, and your cunt is soaked now, leaving a wet patch on your underwear.

You feel his fingers begin to undo your bra, and soon it's forgotten on the floor as his hands cup your breasts, thumbs rubbing your hardened nipples. A moan escapes your mouth, and your head tilts back, eyes closing in ecstasy.

“Look at me, pretty girl,” Din tells you. His tone is soft, but it still feels like an order, so you obey him, opening your eyes and looking straight at his visor.

One of Din's hands travels down your body to between your thighs, cupping your sex, causing you to whine and buck your hips into his touch. All too quickly, his hands pull away, and you are about to reach out to grab them again, only to see him tearing off the gloves, revealing his tanned and lightly scarred hands.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. It's the most you've ever seen of him, and a part of you can believe how big his hands are even without the gloves. You have always wondered if it's just the armour that makes him look so large, but now you get the feeling that this isn't the case, especially when you look at his clothed cock. You feel tiny compared to him, and that just makes your body yearn for him even more.

Din slowly peels your underwear down your legs, leaving you completely bare in front of him. For a moment you feel bashful, wanting to cover yourself to hide from his intense gaze, but before you can think to do anything, his hands are on your hips, turning you around and pushing you down so you're bent over the crate.

His hands push your thighs open, leaving your glistening cunt exposed for him to see. You hear him let out a soft moan at the sight, and you can't help but smile shyly, happy that you're already pleasing him.

“So pretty and wet already,” Din mumbles, running his fingers through your folds, gathering your wetness. One thick finger circles your tight hole before slowly pushing in, drawing a deep groan out of you. It's only one finger, and it's already stretching you out so much. You have no idea how you'll manage to take his cock.

“It's too big,” you whine pathetically, pressing your face against the cold metal of the crate. Behind you, Din chuckles, curling his finger inside you.

“You can take it,” he encourages you, his tone soft and teasing.

His finger pushes against that sweet spot inside you, making you moan louder than you did before and causing your cunt to clench around his digit.

“Look at you, taking me so well,” Din muses before pushing another finger in and thrusting them both in and out of you quickly, stretching you out for him. You can't help but blush at his praise, feeling your pussy leak even more. The pleasure builds in your stomach, but you're still not quite there. At least, not until you feel his thumb rub your clit in slow, gentle circles.

You're too caught up in the ecstasy of this new move to notice him lining up a third finger until it's pushing into your warm, wet cunt, stretching you out until it hurts a bit. Thankfully, Din moves slowly, being careful with you. His free hand caresses your hip sweetly, soothing your body as it accommodates his thick fingers.

The mix of being stretched out and the feeling of his thumb rubbing your clit pulls an orgasm out of you quickly, your juices soaking his hand in the process.

“Din!” You whimper, your body trembling and shaking on the crate as the aftershocks run through you. You can't do anything but pant and grip the sides of the crate for support.

Din keeps pushing his fingers in and out of you until you whine from the overstimulation, then he pulls away from you entirely, giving you time to breathe. Your cunt clenches around nothing, sensitive but still longing for more, but you're not left desperate for long.

There's a rustling sound behind you, and soon you feel his thick, hard cock pressed against your twitching hole. You open your legs further subconsciously, eager to be full of Din after desiring this for so long. He rubs his cock up and down your slit, gathering your wetness on the tip and slowly driving you mad. You want him inside you, and you can't take anymore teasing.

“Please, Din,” you whine, your words full of desperation. You are truly thankful that Din seems quite willing to indulge you today in anything you ask for.

One hand grasps your hip gently while the other guides his length into your wet pussy, filling you slowly until his hips are flush against yours and his cock is deep inside you, stretching you out much more than his fingers did.

The pain from the sensation takes a little while to get used to, even though it adds to the pleasure you are already feeling. Din, even though he must be just as aroused as you are, waits patiently for you to adjust to his size. In the meantime, both of his large, rough hands caress your hips and waist, giving you comforting squeezes as he waits for you to get comfortable. Soon enough, the pain ebbs away and is replaced with a growing need, which draws out a whine from you and has you pushing your hips back as much as you can, giving him the signal to move.

Din starts off slow, pushing into you gently so you can get used to the feeling, and you're thankful for that. It's been quite a while since you have been with anyone. His hands grip your hips tighter though as he fucks you.

“You're so tight,” Din groans, leaning down to be closer to you. “Even after I stretched you out.”

All you can do is hum in agreement, unable to answer him properly with the pleasure coursing through your body with each thrust of his hips. Another orgasm is already building up inside you, but you know him fucking you isn't enough to make you cum.

Your hand shakily grasps one of his and leads it down to between your legs. It's an awkward position, given that you're pressed against the crate, but Din manages to manoeuvre his hand between the crate and your cunt, pressing two fingers against your clit and rubbing it rough and fast, fucking you faster at the same time.

Groans and moans spill from your mouth, but over that noise you can hear his soft panting, barely detectable, but his modulator is just able to catch it. Something about knowing that you have the same effect on him as he does on you has your cunt tightening around his length, making him groan and drop his head against your back, the cool beskar providing some relief for your hot and sweaty skin.

“You take me so well,” Din grunts through the helmet. “It's like you were made for this.” His words draw another whine from you, and he chuckles. “You like that? You want me to fill you up, pretty girl?” You nod at his words, though you can't even take them in fully, too distracted by how close you are to cumming for him, your body shaking from how sensitive your pussy is with his cock filling you up and his fingers harshly rubbing the little nub between your legs. “You'd look so good with my cum leaking out of you. Bet you'd look even better with your belly full of my child.”

It's those words that finally have you letting go, cumming around his length and crying out with tears in your eyes that soon run down your cheeks. Your body shudders with the intense overstimulation brought on by two orgasms. Din keeps fucking into you, rubbing your clit slower as you spasm around his thick cock.

“Good girl,” he cooes, his hips still snapping into yours. “You feel so good around me.”

All you can do is whine and blush when he praises you. Words have never made you feel so good before, but it isn't surprising that a man you have craved for so long would have you feeling this way. It would be even better if you could feel more of his skin against yours, but you're in no position to complain when he can already make you feel so good like this.

You slowly begin to come down from your high when all of a sudden Din pulls out of you with a hiss, and you want to whine that he should cum inside you. Just as you're about to tell him that you have an implant, however, Din begins to lift you up by your hips and turns you around, making you sit on the crate with your legs spread, your juices leaking out of your cunt onto the surface below you.

“I want you to look at me when I cum inside you,” Din orders you, but despite this, his tone is tender.

You spread your thighs open more as he once again pushes his cock into your wet folds, causing you both to sigh in bliss as he fills you up once again. You look directly at his visor as he starts thrusting again. His pace is fast and rough, as one hand grasps your hip while the other digs into your thigh. Your hands keep gripping the crate as your overstimulated cunt accommodates his thick length.

“Din,” you gasp, feeling sore already, but you don't want him to stop yet, not until he's cum deep inside you. You wrap your legs tightly around him, crossing your ankles to keep him close.

“Gonna fill you up, pretty girl, and you're gonna take it,” Din growls as his thrusts grow sloppy, showing how close he is to his own orgasm.

“Yeah, I'm gonna take it all,” you gasp, keeping your eyes on him.

With that, Din groans as he cums, his cock twitching inside you as it fills you with his seed. He pushes himself flush against you, looking at your face as he pants and groans. You can't see his eyes, but you get the feeling that they're trained on you, watching you bite your lip and gasp as you feel him fill you to the point you're sure that it will leak out when he pulls out.

Din keeps thrusting until he has nothing left to give, and then he stops moving, pulling you close to his beskar-covered body. Even through the armour, you can feel him tremble slightly. Your arms hesitantly rise up to wrap around his shoulders, looking for some comfort after being fucked so good. Din wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

“That was amazing,” you whisper as you rest your head on his shoulder, appreciating the cold beskar against your warm skin. Din chuckles quietly at your words, squeezing your waist affectionately.

“It was,” he replies, and you get the feeling that he's got a grin on his face.

You stifle a yawn as your body grows tired. Din sees this, and his hands move to your thighs, gripping them tightly as he picks you up. You keep your legs wrapped around his waist and allow him to carry you to the bunks. Surprisingly, he puts you in his bunk instead of yours, slowly pulling out of you and laying you down on the bed. You detach yourself from him, and he pulls away for a few moments, leaving your line of sight.

Din comes back with a wet cloth, gently wiping your thighs and sensitive pussy, drawing a small whine from you due to the stimulation. You can see he tries his best to be softer then, and soon enough you're clean. He proceeds to clean himself up then and fix his flight suit to look presentable once more and puts on his gloves. Following this, Din pulls the blanket over you and pats your thigh comfortingly.

“Get some sleep, little one,” Din cooes to you. “I'm going to go after the bounty. Take care of the place while I'm gone. You know how to defend yourself now.”

You laugh tiredly at that.

“Yes I do, but extra lessons might be nice.” You smirk up at him, rubbing your foot against his groin to tease him. He groans at that, but then chuckles and catches your foot before you can rub it against him anymore.

“I'll make sure you get them.”

[coffee-and-tea-time]

KEEP PRETENDING TO SLEEP! KEEP PRETENDING TO SLEEP!!!

HEHEHEHEHEHE I WAS WAITING TO COOK THIS

Coffee insanely speaking! Thanks Dear, you gimme the perfect excuse to write a second part just in time although I expected the option of talking to him to come first. Not that I'm complaining lol

➤ first part

➤ here to see the other option

↪︎ ☾ I love to see you ....................................... .......................................☆ I love to hear you↩︎

TW: yandere behavior, delusions, murder of self-preservation, stalking, obssesion, somewhat willing reader, kinda denying of bad decisions

Of course, the best option is to stay still, not because you are enjoying this no no, of course not...

Despite his soft voice that sounds rather familiar, you can't really recall who or where. So the safest option is just giving in at the moment, you didn't know how he could react so the safer the better, isn't it?

A smile starts creeping on your face against your will, seems like you are a rather bad actor when it's required, huh? 

“Oh, I'm really glad, you seem like you're finally having a good dream… will it be too greedy if I want to be inside that little dream of yours? Well, if you find that greedy, you won't be able to handle me later”

Hearing a close mouthed giggle following the whisper makes your heart flutter softly, like this is some kind of really romantic scene in his mind. You were able to hear the faint sound of footsteps, he seems like he's doing a little room tour, making it a little hard to hear him.

“Oh Dear, you were researching that thing again?”

It seems like he found his way into your phone, what was he referring to?

“Why do you keep reading so much about romance? Are these words good enough to keep your focus?... Maybe I have to start practicing oral expression? It's been a while since I felt like that, last time was when you downloaded that stupid dating sim… This is truly irritating, the names they use, the way they ‘communicate’ to you; do no justice, I can express myself way better, my love, and how my eyes change when I see you walking by… just... please, I need only one chance, and I promise you won't have a room left for doubts”

Even though he made the effort to lower his voice in order to 'not wake you up', it's clear how his tone is changing with every word depending on the topic; First, a low hint of infatuation, then, what sounds closer to a plead and, finally,...was that...hopelessness?

Honestly, in a normal situation, you would be annoyed by someone searching through your phone but only an idiot would think this man would judge you even if you had pictures of dead people there, more like he's genuinely looking for more of you, despite the fact that it's really not the ‘proper’ way, you can't say it didn't work.

“My beloved Cherry, what can i do for you to talk to me? Those characters seem to steal your attention quickly… I would be lying if I sad I'm not a little hopeful because of them though, you seem to have quite the specific taste, Cherry, and I believe I fit perfectly on them... if only I could find the right moment to get into your routine, to be part of your life…”

Weird that he worries about getting to talk to you with an ideal scene but not worrying about stalking you, but maybe it's kind of understable? Since well, everyone likes to check on their crush on social media even if they take a while to actually talk, even if this guy took it a little too far, he sounds... harmless like his wish is just to win your affection…

wait a second…

Are you truly relaxed in this kind of situation? What is going on with you? Why? Why… well, can't say you didn't ask for this, even as a joke, you know this time is different because it's real, but… why does reality feel like a fantasy right now? Is it because of him?

“Huh, I come here as a routine by now, I still get the same queries, I’m dying to find the answers soon..”

Sensing that lightly sweet fragrance once more makes you know he’s approaching your ‘sleeping’ form once again, making it easy to hear him despite his constant whispering.

“Would you let me cuddle you? Would you let me kiss you? Would you mind if I were clingy? Would you mind if I get jealous? Would you mind if it seems like I already know more about you than I should? I want to hold you my dear, I can’t wait for the day I can just snuggle with you every time we want… I really can’t wait anymore, I need to be closer to you… I guess I have no option other than to talk to you out of the blue, I dislike to be so imprudent, but I promise I will make up for it once you accept me in your life, Love”

You feel a gentle hand slightly caress your cheek as a little peck is placed on your forehead, making you almost smile like a fool if it weren’t for the fact that pretending to sleep is your priority in this sweet moment, unexpected but called for moment.

“Sweet dreams Cherry, I have to prepare what I should say tomorrow, I will put all of my efforts to be my best self to make a good first impression, I hope I snatch enough of your interest to be on your mind even for a moment”

Oh, he is definitely gonna be stuck in your mind for a while, as you try your best to focus on the sounds, you catch his steps as he seems to walk away… but you keep up with your act just in case.

So, tomorrow, huh? Seems like once again you have important decisions in your hand, should you indulge in your fantasy and let him get near you? It also sounds fun to go to him first… But, maybe you should try to avoid him? It’s the safer choice, but do you really want that? He seems safe enough not to raise any of your flags, he seemed so caring for you…

sorry for any misspellings or weird sentence structure ❣

images from pinterest

[bibibbon]

Need to get something off my chest

People in the fandom blaming Nana for causing Shigaraki to be abused and all the suffering the Shimura family went through as well as calling her decision to abandon Kotaro stupid is if someone blamed all the abuse and horrible actions of Enji that the Todoroki family had to suffer through on Enji's deceased father.

Specifically people appear to zone in on Nana's call to not have All Might or Gran Torino check in with her family when it makes sense. She knows AFO has eyes and ears everywhere and will use that to kill those closest to her and those around her as we know since Nana's husband is dead by the time Kotaro is given up for adoption and All Might leaves Japan for the US in order to avoid AFO for that same reason. There is also no way for Nana to know that her successor would wind up as the strongest wielder of One For All and would be the first person to take down All For One.

I'm not sure if you were in the mha critical side of tumblr, but this is a very common opinion here. Nana deserved better, and none of the nana hate honestly made sense.

People shouldn't blame nana for doing what she could to protect her child. She explicitly said that she had done it to protect him, and she didn't willingly want to give up her child. The act wasn't done out of malice but was done out of love. Her husband was dead, and all for one was on her tail. She had to train all Might, and there was no safe choice to keep kotaro. It was a hundred times safer to make a distance between her and kotaro so he could live without the burden of his mother's duties on top of him caring or threatening to cause him constant harm.

Nana tried her best as a mother, and we didn't talk enough about it. She, at the beginning, was probably the breadwinner of the family, her job making it so that she had limited time with her son, yet from the flashbacks we see that kotaro loved his mother dearly. He loved her that child him simply cried and cried when she was about to leave, he loved her to the point that he kept her picture acknowledging that she was his mother yet despising that she left him all alone. His hatred of nana stems mainly from feelings of sadness and betrayal, which only exist because he loved his mother and felt safe when she was near.

I suppose we don't talk about the fact that after nana's husband died and she became a widow she had to juggle all the responsibilities of being a weirder of OFA, a mother who had to be constantly active in her child's life and a hero who had to save others while also ensuring that she earned enough money to keep her son comfortable.

I headcanon that at the time nana was never a good cook and that it was her husband that usually cooked for the family but when he died she had to take on the cooking duties which was a struggle but we see her actively trying even including her son in the process.

Giving up kotaro was the most logical circumstance, and I stand by that. I think to a certain extent, kotaro realises that too, and it's exactly why he doesn't blame his mother but blames her job he blames the hero, not his mother. To me, it evidently seems like kotaro separates nana into two different versions : the hero and his mother.

If we follow that belief, it's exactly why the only photo that kotaro has with his mother is so painful. Every time he sees that photo he in a way, is forced to acknowledge that both versions of nana are his mother. The photo shows his mother, but it shows her in her hero attire she is the 7th weirder of ofa in that picture not his mother but the mannerisms, the way she smiles and looks at him is that of a mother's look.

A haunting picture for kotaro. A picture of a mother's love.

Comparisons between enji and nana fall on deaf ears especially when you look at the circumstances and situations that both characters are faced with.

Enji DOESN'T love his children, his actions were out of malice, greed and desire to be great. He sacrificed family for greatness.

Nana LOVED her child. Her actions had a desire to protect, love, and care for her only family, her only offspring. A beautiful light in the world that she doesn't want destroyed by AFO. She had no choosing as I bet if she truly had the choice. She would do anything to love, protect, and be with her child. In a dreadful situation, nana chose the only way to guarantee kotaros safety.

[redclercs]

— or, the one where you go back to square one.

✤ requested as part of the lavender haze event!

✤ ex! mick schumacher x fem reader, prompts used: “say you want me, and i’m yours.” + "what pretty noises you're making for me… am i making you feel good?" + car sex in the rain

✤ warnings: smut, slight angst, mutual pining, mdni!! little plot, fingering (f receiving), grinding, little bit of dirty talk, car sex, idk how to write car sex bear with me lmao, protected sex, piv, hair pulling. while the actions portrayed in this writing are consensual, do not take this as an example and be smart about having sex!! 2k words (this was supposed to be a really short drabble)

visit the lavender library

It’s a make it or break it situation every time you see Mick.

Not your fault really, things with him never go the way you plan them in your head and there is no use in being angry anymore, life happens and that’s that. Your attempt at being something else with Mick had met its dead end sooner rather than later, and like a pair of fools you told each other you could go back to being friends, as if nothing had happened.

But honestly, how are you supposed to look at Mick as just your friend again? When all you can picture when you close your eyes are scratches that run down his back and the hickeys on your neck.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts like he always does when he notices that faraway stare. "Everything okay?"

Unable to hold back your eyeroll, you nod. "Just great."

Mick frowns and then shrugs, he doesn't want in-depth explanations of your feelings lately. It's not that he doesn't want to deal with them, but he doesn't know how to without making a burden out of his own.

He flashbacks constantly to the night the decision of being 'just friends' was made between the two of you. It was for the best, or so he thought and the momentary relief he'd felt when you agreed didn't compare to the anguish that followed him since your friend let it slip that you were moving on with someone else.

It's possible he's taking you straight to someone else right this second, as you're on your way to a party hosted by one of your mutual friends. He shouldn't have agreed to this, and he's been praying for something—just about anything—to get in the way, so you can't make it to your destination.

You turn the volume of the radio up, you hate the song, but you don't think you can go on with the only sound being the rain pattering outside the car.

Mick's prayers are answered when the rain starts falling so heavy, it's impossible to see further than a few meters, even the headlights of the rest of the cars are hidden through the curtain of water falling from the sky.

"Should I pull over?" he questions, albeit stupidly. It's the best course of action right now and he is in no rush to continue the journey. "It's safer."

You shrug again, feigning disinterest although your body has tensed. "Fine by me."

Mick stops in a lay-by, turning the car engine off once he's made sure he's left enough space for another vehicle that wants to park behind you. "We'll just let the rain pass for a while."

"I know," you huff, he doesn't have to narrate everything you do. It's irritating and you're not a child that needs explanations every two seconds.

"Why are you mad at me?" he questions, turning the volume down before undoing his seatbelt. "Did I do something wrong?"

Where do you start?

"We would have missed the rain if you'd gotten to my place on time," you murmur. It's the first excuse you can think of to be angry at him, although it's not the real reason.

"I said I was sorry, y/n. I had things to do other than being your chauffeur."

"Well I didn't know being 'my chauffeur' bothered you so much, I could have asked Esteban to take me instead."

"You know it's not that," Mick groans, hitting his forehead against the steering softly.

"Then what is it?" you roll your eyes again, turning in the seat to look at him. "Please, do tell."

Mick stares back at you, and the choice is made within seconds in his brain, he's telling the truth. He cannot keep pretending he's not absolutely tormented by the idea that you've met someone else. "I don't want you to move on. I don't want you to go to whoever is waiting for you at that party."

You're caught off guard, having expected something entirely different to come out of his mouth. A strangled 'what?' leaves your lips before Mick is kissing you, praying once again, that you don't reject his advance. Even if it's what he deserves.

It's a desperate kiss, sloppy and wet and better than any you've ever had with him. Because you can feel how much he has wanted it, and you have wanted it too, so, so much. But what if this is all he wants? To know he still holds this power over you to have you physically, but with no strings attached.

You cannot handle the heartbreak of not being able to have him in the way you want to. Not again.

You push him off you, firm but gentle as his lips start traveling down your jaw and to your neck. "No, Mick. Not again."

"Why not?" he whispers against the pulse on your neck, sending shivers through your body. "y/n..."

“Say you want me, and I'm yours," you sigh, as his lips still hover over your skin. "But mean it, Mick. Mean it this time."

"I want you, y/n. I never stopped wanting you," his right hand is holding your jaw and the other is in your hair, combing it behind your ear. "And I'm not saying this just to fuck you. I mean it. I miss you."

You've known Mick for enough time to have figured out the little tells he has when he's lying. And you are so relieved to find that he's not, as he takes you in with those blue eyes you've missed so much. "I miss you too," you whisper, before looking for his lips again.

One moment you're still in your seat, legs twisted in an uncomfortable position and the next you're on Mick's lap, after he's moved the seat all the way back leaving you enough space not to be pressed against the steering wheel.

His hands are on your hips and your ass, lifting the skirt you're wearing before letting it fall back down. Your hands wrap around his neck before falling to his chest. The kisses you exchange are still messy, rushed and quick. You bite his lower lip before licking it soothingly and he groans, hands pressing harder on your ass.

You can feel his fingers moving to your inside thigh slowly, ghost touches that are there one moment and gone the next. You move your hips back and forth, slowly, starting to feel Mick's growing bulge. He grunts again, pulling you down on him to create more friction.

Mick's hand finally finds its way back to your throbbing core, you're starting to get desperate because it's just not enough. No matter how much you sway your hips in circles or you press down on him, it's not enough. "Please," you whine against the shell of his ear, "Please touch me."

His index and middle finger press against the wet cloth that are your panties and he smiles into your lips. "You're so wet for me,"

You can't find a coherent answer, and he doesn't let you anyway, as he moves your panties to one side to access your hole. His index goes inside you painfully slowly, and you know he's enjoying torturing you this way. Your fingers pull on the back of his head, tugging at his hair and you're not surprised when he moans, the hand that's not on your pussy clasps the back of your neck.

The rain is still going strong around you, and yet the only sounds both of you can focus on are the ones leaving you both. Gasps and moans, grunts and whines.

"What pretty noises you're making for me… am i making you feel good?" Mick pulls your head back by the neck for you to stop hiding your face against his neck as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. His thumb is drawing slow circles in your clit while he interchanges the motion of pumping you to scissoring them inside of you. "Do you want to cum?"

You nod desperately, grinding against his fingers while you still pull on his hair. "Please, Mick."

"Not with my fingers,"

You miss him immediately when he pulls his hand away, your hole clenching around nothing. But you hurry to undo his belt and zipper, you need him right now. Mick shifts in his seat, looking for the jacket in the backseat.

Your fingers wrap around his dick and you start pumping him slowly, your thumb running across his tip between movements has him moaning and bucking his hips.

"Seriously?" you pause, looking at the brand new pack of condoms he gets out of the inside pocket of his jacket.

"In my defense, Esteban asked me to buy them for him," his already reddened cheeks turn a shade or two darker, and he smiles at you. "He won't miss one."

You continue with your up and down movements while Mick opens the package and once he gets the condom out, he grabs your wrist to halt you.

Mick almost cums from the sight of you putting the condom on him, something he never thought he'd ever see again after fucking everything up.

You move your underwear to the side once again and Mick grabs your hips to lift you before letting you fall slowly on his cock. Both of you throw your heads back in pleasure and you stay like that for a moment, taking in the sensation of being as physically close as you can possibly be. Mick fills you up perfectly, and you feel so, so good around him.

Your hips rock back and forth slowly, while you maintain eye contact with him, blue eyes eating you up in awe. And he helps you lift your body and fall back on him at your own pace, he's at your mercy.

The hand that isn't steadying you goes back to your clit, caressing and pressing until he finds that right movement that makes you hold your breath before you release it in a pleasured cry. "Just like that, Mick, please."

He continues to draw circles on your clit while nipping on your neck, interrupted every now and then by his own moans of pleasure. Your pace quickens and Mick's neck strains, trying to hold his orgasm back, he wants you to reach yours first.

You smile at his distress, and move your hips faster guiding him up and down in frantic movements. And it's useless how much he tries to hold back, because when you bottom out, he groans, his release spilling inside the condom.

But you don't stop riding him, and he tries his best to keep his focus on the bundle of nerves between your legs, twisting his fingers faster and harder until you grip his shoulder and let your head fall into the crook of his neck, shaking with such pleasure you're seeing stars.

You stay like that for a few moments, while your breath goes back to normal and your body stops twitching with the remnants of your high. Mick goes soft still inside you and you support your weight on his shoulders to lift yourself off him.

The windows are foggy and the car smells of what you just did, the music is still playing in low volume and the rain refuses to stop.

Mick helps you return to the passenger seat, not without stealing another kiss from you, holding your jaw between his thumb and index.

Both of you fix your clothes in silence, one that falls heavy turning uncomfortable quickly.

"We can try again," Mick ends the silence after he's completely buckled his trousers and smoothed his shirt. "I want to try again with you y/n, I want to try until it works."

So you kiss him again, because you'll try and try, until it hurts or bleeds.

─── team principal radio: ❝to the anon who requested this, i accidentally deleted your ask because i am stupid but i hope you see this and enjoy it! let me know your thoughts y'all♡❞

✰ lavender library cardholders: @karmabyfernando

[kite2013]

Seeing your post about the Villain Hunt Arc reminded me how much I dislike Hori and 1A as characters for neglecting Izuku.

Basically two things I hate about 1A vs Deku: first how contrived the whole situation is, because the odds that 1A is able to find Izuku in middle of what is essentially a warzone is ludicrous. Not to mention it would have been smarter to have split the class into groups if they were actually serious of finding Izuku because he could have been literally anywhere in Japan looking for AFO (What were the Heroes's Clues or leads? are you telling me they couldn't use satellites to track down the villains's last movements?)

In addition, Izuku for some reason doesn't use Gearshift to evade 1A as soon as they cross paths. Obviously, it would not be the right narrative decision to make but Izuku is in lone wolf mindset and 1A laughably failed to prove they could stand up to the villains besides maybe Shoto or Bakugo(never mind that he should be dead already)

But overall I just hate the wasted potential of the Villain Hunt Arc, Izuku was finally by himself and able to interact with other characters but none of that happens because it got cut short and Hori seemed to think that Izuku's arc was completed just taking a bath.

In retrospect, it almost feels like a meta-foreshadowing of what would happen to Izuku afterwards. Izuku just goes alone not seeking to be a burden on anyone and his classmates not only fail to address any of his concerns or mental well-being but avoid him after he lost OFA and is just forgotten by everyone despite arguably single Handly turning back the tide against the villains running amok.

I wish Izuku would be iseakied to a different series already, to a different world that would appreciate Izuku and his heroism.

You summarised my thoughts exactly

I was on Twitter when the Arc ended and even some casual viewers were disappointed

Class 1A lucked out finding Izuku (I think they used a gps tracker they got from Endeavour)

Guess it shows Japan became a bit more safer thanks to his efforts

The whole class being together was for it to be this big emotional moment where Izuku realises he can trust them

Too bad it came across as if anything but that

Instead it felt like an entire group of bullies jumping a exhausted, hungry Izuku who still held back from hurting his "friends"

It's actually infuriating to read. They go straight for a beat down before trying to talk Izuku out of handling everything by himself.

Kaminari has this line

Wow boundaries much?

I get that Izuku is trying to escape but they jump straight to violence when Izuku would only use it as a last resort

This is pure projection from Bakugo

I feel sorry for Izuku for having to put up with this shit when he's at his lowest

When everything was set and done and Izuku breaks down after Ochako's speech

It all ends with a bath to solve all of Izuku's mental anguish and injuries

Thanks Hori

If it was all gonna end in a gag then why did you highlight how everything has gone to hell

And you're completely right about the ending

If Class 1A were friends with Izuku to the point they would force him back to UA while it's a warzone out there, then why ditch him after he helped win the war?

It just comes across that they only got Izuku back during the Villain hunt arc, because Izuku was a important asset, not because for any friendship or camaraderie reason like they kept telling him

Honestly feel the whole Izuku being iseakied to another series

The closet thing we have to that is fanfics.

I don't know if you'd like to read one where Izuku is treated alot better. But if you do then I know a mutual @mikeellee who does this well.

Thanks for the Ask

[skys-archive]

To me, a very heartbreaking aspect of this election (at least as someone who lives in the deep south) is finding out the sheer number of people who I thought loved me and cared for my safety are happy at the outcome. People I tried to tell about this and what would happen.

My own mother didn't like either candidate from the beginning. I tried to tell her about project 2025 to sway her opinion. She told me those could never pass. She said she couldn't vote for Kamala because she's "basically Biden" to her. She voted for Trump because she thinks he's a smart businessman, and she said she likes Vance.

My own mother, who does genuinely love and care for me and who I have a lovely relationship with, voted for someone who actively wants me dead. For someone who wants her to remain in an abusive relationship she left years ago. Because "they won't pass".

My close friends who know my identity and who I am and I thought respected me for who I am are ecstatic at the results. People I didn't know the political beliefs of are coming out and letting me know they side with someone who wants my death, who wants the erasure of my people.

And honestly, maybe they will have it.

My ex, when I came to him originally about how scared I was of project 2025, thought I was getting upset over nothing. The man who I loved more than anything in this world believed that I was overreacting, that it would all be fine, that it didn't matter. He wasn't there when I was terrified. I almost wish I could look him in the face several months from now and he could see how real my fears are.

Other people like me, other people who are scared like me, are trying to just ignore it. A woman who I don't know too well came up to a group of friends I was with today and went to a couple, a man with his nonbinary partner. She said not to worry, that it was unconstitutional and it wouldn't happen.

This same group of friends discussed it, but it wasn't about fear or what to do now.

I met a friend today, at our usual spot. I was waiting for them, sitting with my head down on the table. I'd only found out a few minutes before. They said my name several times before I looked up. They asked if I wanted a forehead kiss and then led me to the rest of our friends. They said they were scared their father would be deported.

A different friend is probably going to leave their boyfriend. Not necessarily because of him, but definitely due to his friends. They say awful things about people like us every day, and there's certainly a reason their boyfriend hangs out with them.

I sat next to a friend and made fun of a tiktok I saw about Trump, it turned into a velocity edit about halfway through, I thought it was silly. She laughed with me but then said she was "so glad" he won, and doesn't understand why so many of her friends are "in such a mood". Many of her friends are queer.

My black friend is posting videos, jokes about having her rights taken away. I know it's how she's coping. I feel for her, and I understand, but I know I also could never know exactly how she feels.

I'm surrounded by people celebrating, people who I thought wanted me safe. Do they simply not know? Or do they want my death, too? Can they not see how terrified I am, how silent I am now?

I don't know if I should stay out. I hate the idea of using my deadname, of hearing my close friends calling me "she". But that would be safer.

Do I want to be safer? I don't think so. I don't want to die resigned. I don't want to hate myself even more. I want to be who I've been my whole life. Out, proud, safety and inspiration to the younger queer people who are scared. I want to be positive for them so they know that people like them can be happy. But I want to warn them as well, that being like this is dangerous, and hard.

I want disabled people who are scared to get aids, scared to get diagnosed, to look at me and know that there is at least some hope.

My mind is prone to overthinking, to finding the worst possible outcome of every situation. So I wonder if all of the things I come up with won't happen, and for a moment I find comfort in that. But I see others fear. I see how terrified they are of the same outcomes that I am, i see that I'm not the only one seeing them.

And I think, Why?

What am I meant to do now?

[redhoodieson]

As someone who has been brainrotting about a lot of stuff, I'm in a specific dragon ball hole where I keep on thinking about the Son Family, specifically Goku's thought process throughout Z and oh my goodness I want to dissect his mind so bad because most of the fandom focus on powerscaling, fights and forms so like, this is me wondering in my little chaotic wonderland why he decided to do the thing in the climax of the Cell Saga and how it impacted the rest of the plot, most especially on fighting involving his children.

The main thought that keeps creeping into my mind is: Goku is passively suicidal, and the events of the Android/Cell Saga and Bulma's comment on how he attracts trouble for everyone involved cemented his belief that he's better off dead than alive, which he uses as the main reason for staying in Other World during those seven years.

Now, of course, this is just something I headcanon, but I think about it all the time because while he doesn't make his actual deeper feelings obvious despite being usually blunt (he is a simple person after all), imagine that your family and friends died/almost died, all because of him?

Pre-Z, he was living peacefully with his family for five years. Then the Saiyans came. He learned he is one and his mission was to destroy Earth (in reality his parents sent him there so he can live), and the Saiyan who informed him of this is his brother he didn't know he had. At this moment, even though he didn't know it before, the trajectory of his and everyone close to him changed.

Gohan got kidnapped, he died protecting his son, and since then, the thought of "I need to get stronger" is permanently etched into his character. Yes, it is wired in his genetics to seek fighting and get stronger, but I can't help but think that he also thinks that he wants to train to get stronger so he can be powerful enough to beat his opponents to protect his loved ones.

But also, his enemies keep getting stronger and stronger. The Saiyans. Frieza and his forces. The Androids. All of them are linked to him one way or another. The Androids in particular were created to kill him because he defeated the Red Ribbon Army.

And then that scene in the Cell Games where he sacrificed his life and died for the second time, you can see him completely accept his impending death, as if anticipating that he would die in the aftermath of the Cell Games one way or the other, that's why he spent the remaining days before the Cell Games with his loved ones.

And unlike before, he did remain dead. For seven years, because he believes that everyone would be safer if he's dead than alive.

Was he proven right? Honestly, I don't know (actually no he's wrong because in Future Trunks' timeline, Buu Saga still happened). During the seven years of peace, there was no world threat, which for Goku, means that he was right. Nothing bad happened. Then, the one time he decided to return to Earth for one day, the Buu Saga happened, which eventually caused the end of the world (that was eventually saved).

Imagine his thought process throughout the saga. He just wanted to participate in the tournament and spend his remaining time with his family before he returns to Other World, but no, a lot of shit happens after he gets back.

I can't also help but think that he feels that he always put his family in danger, and when his sons had no choice but to fight, he apologizes, like with Gohan during Moro Arc. Goku absolutely loves his family, so imagine his turmoil when enemies keep on appearing even in Super because of him (Frieza again, Goku Black).

Does he think of himself as a burden to his own family? No, of course not. But like, what if he does, even subconsciously/he doesn't know? His family died because he wasn't there, wasn't quick enough/stuck in a hard place (in the case of Gohan and Goten, but it's either them or Dende and Mr. Satan, which makes this also a sadistic choice). I think Buu Saga in particular must have been a very bad time for him mentally.

That's also why he keeps on finding his successor as Earth's protector. From Gohan, to Goten and Trunks, to eventually Uub. He doesn't force his children when they express the lack of desire to fight (in fact, he always supports them no matter what). He feels he needs to find one so Earth would have people to protect it once he's dead for good. That's why he left at the EoZ to train Uub.

But, since this is a shonen series and Goku is the one doing most of the pep talk (particularly for Gohan, hence why he's always more confident when Goku is around than without), it's just, ahdkdkdkdj what goes inside your head man I want to know 😭😭😭

[yanderes-galore]

I recently replayed Ratchet & Clank: Rift Apart and you already have a concept for Ratchet. So, i thought it would be nice if you wrote one for Rivet as well. Just some general thoughts on how she would act around a resistance member like herself.

Watched some cutscenes and did some personality research on her, hope I have something good :)

Yandere! Rivet Concept

(FT. Rebel! Darling)

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Overprotective behavior, Fear of loss, Trust issues, Clingy behavior, Manipulation, Delusional behavior, Kidnapping, Dubious companionship/relationship.

Rivet would naturally be friendly towards another resistance member.

In fact, her obsession is most likely going to be part of the Resistance, so this may not change her behavior much.

While Rivet has trust issues, rebels against Nefarious are those she feels a certain kinship for.

After all, you're both fighting for the same cause...

Freedom.

Many rebels know of Rivet.

She's the only Lombax in this universe and always sacrifices her comfort in order to help those in need.

She never seems to back down despite her many defeats.

She's a good person even if she's hesitant when it comes to making friends.

When she trusts someone, she's loyal until they hurt her.

Although she's quite used to working alone.

When she first meets you, she's hesitant.

Due to her trust issues her obsession would have to prove themselves to gain her trust.

When you do and prove to her you are a rebel...

Rivet is quite the protective Lombax.

She's naturally caring, albeit awkward, and offers you and services she can spare.

She's quite the inventor, after all.

She makes you gear, weapons, anything you need to aid you

In return, you become companions and often help one another out.

She slowly but surely grows close to you, keeping you out of danger as much as she can...

She's not used to any of this... companionship doesn't happen often with her.

Rivet doesn't have many friends, let alone family.

This is due to the fact her home is under a tyrant's rule and the fact her entire race is locked away in another dimension.

So those she does consider close are under her protection.

She can get quite overprotective, unfortunately.

Around her obsession, Rivet may not know she's being suffocating.

It's all small things like her lingering around you or calling you on the radio system.

Honestly, with how smart Rivet is, I would not doubt her putting a tracker on you to make sure you stay out of dangerous sectors.

She's another who would justify her behavior as just being "worried".

Invasive? Sure... but better than dead!

Rivet in the end would just want her obsession safe.

If her obsession confronted her about being clingy or not trusting you, she may not understand and get defensive.

She's just... really close to you...!

She doesn't want you getting hurt.

In terms of her overall type, definitely a clingy protective yandere.

Maybe even with some oblivious behavior due to how socially awkward she is.

She gets overly excited when with her obsession, just happy to see you're okay.

She may even be a bit manipulative if she feels she could lose you.

Overall I'd imagine she's tame.

She wouldn't kidnap you necessarily.

But she may isolate you if she feels you'll be safer that way.

Murder? Not her thing.

If she snapped and you were in danger, maybe, but that's a spur of the moment thing.

For that to happen she'd need to be under a ton of stress and a life or death situation.

Rivet can also struggle with cheering people up.

So imagine you're having a breakdown, perhaps due to feeling isolated, only for Rivet to awkwardly attempt to make you feel better.

In reality she'd probably make something worse, especially if she's locking you in her base of operations.

Rivet is definitely someone who means well with her obsession, but is completely oblivious to the harm she causes you...

Sure, she may want to protect you and keep you away from harm...

But are trackers, stalking, and isolation the way to do it?

Rivet may feel guilty when convinced that what she's doing isn't right.

She doesn't mean to make you upset.

Although... Rivet may also seem delusional at times to try and justify her actions.

While it may seem like what she's doing is wrong... Isn't it justified due to the situation with Nefarious?

While she may struggle to admit it... Rivet is scared to lose you.

One way or another, you feel like the family she's never had.

She tries to reason with you and plead with you to understand when she isolates you in her base.

She holds you close, fur against your skin and cold metal arm lightly brushing against your arm.

She feels sorry... but everything she does is for you.

Just... Just trust her, please...

She knows it's a lot to ask, but she never wants to let go.

She wants things to continue as they were...

She doesn't want you to hate her.

You helped each other out, you supported her as a rebel, you mean so much to her because she's so lonely.

Such thoughts make her worried.

If she loses you... What is she supposed to do?

The best course of action would be to prevent any harm from happening... To be your hero and defend you...

Yet in the end she's simply locking you away, isolating you, just because she doesn't trust you to fend for yourself... and is scared she'll lose the only family she has.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Writing prompt (It’s silly)

- They sit down and TALK (while cuddling maybe). Stede explains what happened that night, and Ed explains what happened that day (was it at daytime? I don’t remember. But it’s izzy’s confrontation. That turned depressed ed into Kraken (and also depressed) ed )

““You don’t have to tell me or anything- I just- I’d just like to know what happened. The night you…”

Abandoned me was left unsaid”

They thank each other for being sincere at the end, ed feeling particularly guilty for leaving the crew at an island and throwing Lucius overboard.

I just want them to sort it out, to know the full story. Stede to tell ed he ended up faking his own dead in the most dramatic way possible to be back with him. And Ed to tell stede how it was when he first went back to the revenge, just curled up on bed and crying

I love heavy dialogue fanfics, sue me

LOVED this one! It wound up being one of my personal favorite fics I wrote for my birthday! <3

“Was it the kiss?”

Stede paused, his fingers stilling in Ed’s hair. He might’ve been close to drifting off, before Ed had to open his mouth. “Hm?”

Ed had to take a moment, push down the urge to leave this conversation for an easier time. They were trying to get past that. Talk it through as a crew of two, Stede was saying. And Ed had been thinking about this all fucking day, ever since Stede woke him up with a smiling kiss.

“I, uh,” he said, humming softly when Stede’s fingers started right back up in his hair. They’d taken to going to bed a full hour early, lately, just so they could cuddle and chat, and Ed never felt safer than he did just like this, his head pillowed on Stede’s chest. They could talk. He would be okay. “I was just wondering. Y’know, that day. Was it the kiss that made you panic?”

“Ah,” Stede said softly. “No. No, Ed, I promise it wasn’t the kiss. I loved the kiss.”

“Okay,” Ed mumbled.

Stede offered no further elaboration, instead moving his hand down to scritch lightly through Ed’s beard in a very obvious ploy to distract him. That could be the hard part about talking it through as a crew of two. Stede was a slippery motherfucker.

Tough luck. Ed could multitask.

He nuzzled into Stede’s hand, eyes closing at the feeling of Stede’s fingers in his beard. “You don’t have to tell me or anything. I just - I’d just like to know what happened. The night you…”

He trailed off. Hadn’t quite thought through where that sentence was going to go, distracted by Stede’s lovely fingers lovingly brushing along his jaw, and the last part, the abandoned me, hung heavy in the air.

“Because, like,” Ed went on, desperate to fill the silence, “if it was something I did, then I’m kinda scared I might repeat it -”

That was it. Fuckin’ bulls-eye. Getting Stede to open up could be like pulling teeth, but if he realized that his silence was making Ed suffer…

“No,” Stede gasped, reaching his other hand away to land on Ed’s side. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and like this, Stede’s hand always rested protectively over the cluster of scars on his tummy. “No, Ed, sweetheart, you didn’t do anything.”

Ed hummed softly, invitingly.

“I don’t want to make excuses,” Stede whispered, his eyes wide in the dark of their bedroom.

“No excuses, but I just want an explanation,” Ed said.

“Well…” Stede let his head flop back against the pillows. “Honestly, Ed, if I’d been woken up, I probably would’ve been there, but -”

“Wait, back up,” Ed said, resting his hand over Stede’s on his tummy. “If you’d been woken up? What do you mean if? I had a guy -”

Stede let his eyes close, like he didn’t want to watch Ed’s face. “That guy never woke me up, Ed,” he admitted, his voice a near-whisper. “It was Badminton -”

“The admiral?” Ed frowned. “What would he - shit, Stede, did he hurt you?”

Stede grimaced.

Ed sat bolt upright in bed, looking down at Stede in shock. “Did he -”

“It’s alright, sweet pea.” Stede sat up, too, taking Ed’s hand, putting it on his chest so he could feel his heartbeat. “Think he was a little pissed. About the whole thing with me killing his brother. He was so worked up, marched me out there at gunpoint -”

“What the shit,” Ed whispered.

“It’s okay,” Stede hurried to say, “because he tripped. Shot himself right in the eye. He was really drunk.”

“Stede, holy fucking shit,” Ed whispered, bringing his hands up to cup Stede’s face, just feel for himself that he was alright. “That’s fucking - shit! You could’ve died!”

Stede frowned, like he was digesting that.

“Oh my God, Ed,” he near-shouted, then. “I could’ve died!”

“Are you just now realizing that?”

“It’s the first time it’s really - fucking sunk in, thanks,” Stede snipped, shaking his head at the cieling. “Holy shit, I almost missed out on…all of this!”

Ed rubbed Stede’s back, trying to help ground him. Thankfully, Stede seemed a bit pissed more than truly rattled, and just mumbled about how Badminton really should’ve been kicked off the base acting like that before he was able to get to him, and…

Was Ed happy that Stede had been held at gunpoint? No. Fuck no. He wished he could bring Badminton back from the dead so he could shoot him personally. But…it was nice to know the context. He didn’t think he’d ever actually been angry with Stede, but it was still easier to swallow the whole thing knowing that Stede had been through something that would’ve made anyone panic.

It meant that it hadn’t been Ed’s fault.

Which led him directly to - 

“Hey, Stede,” Ed realized, shaking Stede’s shoulder. “Do you think what happened with me was your fault?”

Stede paused in the middle of his tirade about poor guard management at the barracks (“really, there was no reason he should’ve been able to march out a registered academy member at gunpoint without us being stopped by some authority”), and he blinked at Ed a bit blankly. “Uh,” he said, “yes?”

“Alright, that’s what I was afraid of.” Ed squirmed a bit. “Can you hold me for this?”

They repositioned, moving Ed between Stede’s legs so he could lay with Stede’s arms around his back and his head resting on Stede’s wonderful soft tits. The world was better from this vantage point.

“You really don’t have to get into any of it,” Stede told him, resting a hand on Ed’s cheek.

Ed nuzzled into his palm. “I want to,” he said, a bit surprised by how much he meant it. “You don’t deserve to think it was your fault. Just like…”

“Just like how you didn’t deserve to think me not showing up was your fault,” Stede finished with a smile, encouraging.

Ed took a deep breath.

“So,” he began, haltingly, “you know what happened when I got back to the ship?”

Stede frowned. “You pushed Lucius?”

Ed let out a little frustrated huff of a breath. “No, man. I mean, I was upset, but I was okay. I cried a lot, made a blanket fort. Slept in your robes because they smelled like you. I wrote some lyrics. I sang for the crew. I was feeling so much better. I thought they were gonna support me, in not wanting to be pirates anymore.”

Stede’s frown was deepening, a confused line popping out between his eyebrows.

“It’s not an excuse,” Ed hurried to say. “But Izzy, y’know, I said I wanted everyone to call me Edward, and then Izzy came in and told me he should’ve let the English kill me, and he said death was better than how I was acting, and he yelled at me until I tried to choke him - just to get him to stop, I swear - and then he said that was me, the violence was me, and he told me I better watch my fuckin’ step.”

He was rambling, a bit, because Stede had gotten very still and very quiet.

“Stede?” Ed prompted, nudging him a little.

“You’re telling me,” Stede said, his voice quivering with an anger Ed was a bit thrilled to realize wasn’t directed at him, “that he did that and I mourned his death? I let everyone blame you for what happened with his leg? Fuck, Ed, I would've shot him in both legs my fucking self, if I'd known! I just let him walk around my ship and -”

“Hey, hey, babe!” Ed rested his chin on Stede’s chest. “It’s okay, he got better -”

“Holy shit.” Stede dragged a hand over his eyes. “You had to interact with him - he came into our bedroom and opened the curtains on us in bed, after he did that to you.”

Ed frowned. “That’s - it’s okay, he was just being Izzy.”

“It’s not okay!” Stede shook his head emphatically. “You must’ve felt so unsafe -”

“I didn’t,” Ed promised. “I didn’t, because you were there.”

Stede let his breath out, long and slow.

“It doesn’t excuse what I did,” Ed mumbled, deciding to play with Stede’s chest hair instead of meet his eyes any longer. “And I feel awful for the crew. I shouldn’t have pushed Lucius. It wasn’t right, to take it out on them.”

Stede, apparently, had not moved on. “If I were you, I would've eaten his toes myself, just to really drive home the point.”

Ed snorted. “Babe.”

“I’m serious, Ed.” Stede held Ed’s face, making him meet his eyes. “Be sorry for the crew all you want. They’re okay. But you did not deserve that - do you think Buttons can bring people back from the dead? I’d like to have a word with someone.”

“Stede.” Ed let his body relax, curling around Stede’s. “Y’know, I wasn’t planning on giving you visions of bloodlust.”

Stede huffed. “You deserve the bloodlust.”

That was an idea, that Ed was worthy of the protection. Ed tabled it for later.

“Anyway,” he said, forging bravely ahead, “the point was - it wasn’t your fault.”

Stede blinked. Looked at him. Blinked again. 

“Oh,” he said, then. “I mean, it didn’t help -”

“Did not help, no.”

“But it wasn’t…” Stede nodded. “It wasn’t all me.”

“Wasn’t primarily you. Wouldn’t have happened at all if it had been just you.”

“Huh,” Stede said. “That’s…good to know.”

It was. It was good to know that it hadn’t been Ed’s fault, for Stede to know that it hadn’t been his.

“Life’s a dick,” Ed shrugged, figuring that was really the best way to sum it all up. “Hey, uh, if you don’t mind me asking - how did you leave Barbados? If you went back to your wife?”

“Oh!” Stede cuddled Ed close, his face breaking out into a smile. “Ed, you would’ve loved it! It was amazing - so, it all started when my ex-wife tried to stab me in the earhole with a skewer…”

Ed laughed and gasped through Stede’s story, and something in him felt quiet, for the first time in a long time. He still thought he had more amends to make. He still felt awful for the crew. But the whole world felt lighter.

Ed snuggled close to his boyfriend, and the world felt easy.