#This reminds me -- she is so naturally instinctively understanding of him

[schmweed]

[beloveds-embrace]

hi, this idea kind of comforts me but it makes you feel uncomfy just ignore this request.

but since you do poly 141, I was thinking of a fic where reader comes from a bad abusive family but she doesn't talk about it and thinks it's normal. and the 141 tries to get angry/frustrated with her because they are concerned for the fact she is fine with people treating her badly or not prioritising herself they come to realise it's just how she thinks. and they remind her that she now doesn't have to survive and fade into a background or is a burden and that she can live and be happy.

i know it sounds complicated and specific but I kinda have this really serene picture in my head that if that happens everything will fine AHAHA idk. but again if this idea doesn't correspond with your writing or feeling or comfortability please just ignore this. apologies if it made you feel uncomfortable.

hope you have/had a nice day or night!!♡♡

I hope you have a nice day/night as well!! And i hope you enjoy this! CW: past abuse, past emotional abuse and neglect

You met them first through a mutual friend, an unplanned introduction that turned into something you hadn’t quite expected: a tentative relationship, but one that had happiness blooming like the flowers and greenery you tend to. It was unconventional- a group of elite soldiers who spent most of their time between missions scattered across the world and a civilian- but when they returned, it felt like they brought your home with them.

You still didn’t understand why they liked having you around. You were just a florist who helped them with decorating their new house, or who listened when they needed a friendly ear. You didn’t ask for anything, and they were kind enough not to question it even if you'd seen their displeased little frowns and furrowed brows whenever you'd refuse.

But recently, you noticed them getting… concerned.

It was Soap who brought it up first, his frustration seeping into his usual easy smile.

It happened after you’d offered to run a series of errands, insisting they rest after a mission. As always, you tried to downplay your exhaustion, helping them settle in their home, making sure everything was clean and in order for them before you even considered sitting down.

Soap watched with a frown, noticing how you brushed off the heaviness in your movements and the bags under your eyes, doing your best to tend to them, such a sweet thing. But after you finished, he gently grabbed your arm.

“Dove, why do you do this?” he asked, voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Do what?” you replied, a little too quickly, trying to pull your arm back almost instinctively. Almost like a habit.

“Act like you don’t need anything. You haven’t even eaten today, and you’re lookin’ after us like we’re helpless. What about you, aye?”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say. You didn’t know how to explain that putting yourself last was just what you did. That it felt right, somehow, to stay in the background, to make sure everyone else was fine before even thinking about yourself. It was normal, no? It was how you were raised, and your parents only ever insisted that discipline was needed.

“Just… used to it, I guess?” you finally mumbled.

Soap’s brows drew together, but before he could say more, Gaz stepped in, giving you a gentle, worried look. So Johnny... wasn't the only one who thought so?

“It’s not right,” Gaz said, frustration simmering in his tone. “You’re allowed to put yourself first, you know?”

You shrugged, glancing away. Allowed. You hadn’t thought of it that way.

Price was the next to notice it, his observant eyes always catching the little things: how you’d flinch ever so slightly when they raised their voices, the way you stayed at the edges of conversations, nodding along but rarely chiming in. It had been the same when they'd met you, but he had assumed- hoped- it was merely you being naturally shy.

But this clearly went beyond that.

One night, as you were tidying up after dinner, John approached you, folding his arms across his chest. He stands close, but not too close.

“Why don’t you sit with us, love? Someone else can do the dishes. You barely let us help you cook or set the table either.” He says, his voice gentle, but with a hint of a command.

“I’m fine, John. I really don't mind.” You answered quickly, quietly. You couldn’t meet his eyes, a reflex you’d developed over years of keeping your head down.

He tilted his head, as if trying to see past the answer you’d given him. “No, my love,” he said softly, but with a firmness that made you pause. “I think you’re used to telling yourself that, but I don’t think you believe it.”

You froze, unsure how to respond, feeling something painful stir in your chest. The idea of asking for anything, for taking up space- of needing more than what little you had- seemed wrong. Like wanting was a burden in itself. But it is. It's what you've learnt and been taught.

John sighed, his eyes warm but sad. His hands raised to cup you face slowly, gently. “You’re not a burden, you know that, right?”

You gave him a small, shaky smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah.”

The next time, it was Ghost.

He was usually silent, lurking in the shadows, watching with that keen, unreadable gaze that only ever softened for you and them. But one evening, as you were dropping off supplies at their base, Ghost noticed you hurrying off after you’d finished. He easily caught up with you just outside, his hand gentle as it grasped your shoulder.

(Yet it still had you flinching.)

“You don’t have to go, birdie.” He murmured, voice soft but clear. You met his gaze, startled by the gentle concern in his eyes.

“You… don’t mind?” you asked, trying not to look too hopeful. You always worried your company might be too boring, unproductive. Unwanted.

Ghost shook his head. “If anything, we mind when you don’t stay,” he scoffed quietly. Then he sighs. “We’re worried, you know. About how you treat yourself, luvie. Like you don’t deserve anything more than the bare minimum.”

You swallowed hard, his words hitting deeper than you’d care to admit. He waited, patient, a pillar of quiet understanding.

“I just… it’s what I know,” you finally whispered, unable to look at him. “Growing up, I was never… important. And I don't have to be! I'm not demanding it, I promise-”

He was silent for a moment, and then he took in a deep breath that cuts your frantic mumbles off, as if finally understanding something he’d long suspected. “Well,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “you’re with us now, birde. You are important.”

Something warm spread in your chest, something unfamiliar yet comforting. You managed a nod, finding a small sliver of strength in his words, and a little smile forms on your face- leaning into Ghost's knuckles so lightly caressing your cheek.

After those days, things began to change more and more. For the better.

Kyle would check in with you every day, insisting you take breaks with him, sharing laughs over simple things. Soap began inviting you to meals, not taking no for an answer, piling food on your plate until you couldn’t help but indulge. Those two especially adored taking you out to sample new cuisines, delighting in getting you to be more open with your expressions and reactions.

John and Simon would go on walks with you, listening to the little stories you’d been hesitant to share, showing you that your presence mattered to them as much as theirs did to you. And slowly, day by day, they chipped away at the walls you’d built around yourself. Showed you that what your family raised to be wasn't right, was cruel to you.

One evening, as you sat on the couch in the common room, leaning against Johnny's shoulder, Kyle leaned over, a gentle smile on his face.

“You know, love, you don’t have to survive anymore,” he said softly, meeting your gaze with a warmth that made your heart ache. “We want you here because you make us happy. Just as you are.”

The words felt foreign, but you let them settle over you, warm and safe. Kyle gave your hand a gentle squeeze, reassuring, a silent reminder that you didn’t need to hide.

“We’re here to take care of each other,” Soap murmured, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, “and that means you too, aye?”

You gave them a tentative smile, feeling that familiar ache soften just a little.

Simon, sitting nearby, nodded in silent agreement, and John leaned back in his chair, giving you a small, proud smile. “You’re one of us, love,” John said quietly, his voice steady. “And as long as you’re here, you’re part of this family. We won't just let you fade into the background. That isn't fair to a dove like you.”

And looking at them now, at the love and gentleness they held for you, it wasn't hard to believe their words.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d finally found a place where you belonged.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Pilates princess || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: you let Rafe come with you and your daughter to his first Pilates session 🙈

Warnings: pure fluff hehehe

Word count: 662

A/n: dad!Rafe melts my heart PLEASE SEND MORE DAD!RAFE REQUESTS PLS N TYY

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

divider @yoonitos

“How come no one’s here?” Rafe asks, locking the car and scanning the empty car park with a puzzled expression. You chuckle, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I always book out the studio so it’s just me and Mabel, and the instructor, of course,” you explain with a shrug.

Rafe nods in understanding, a small smile forming on his lips. At the mention of her name, Mabel babbles in Rafe’s arms, prompting both of you to chuckle. “See, Mabel knows where we are, don’t you, sweetie?” you coo, leaning in to tickle her gently as you approach the door to the Pilates studio.

The door swings open, and Stella beams at you both. “Hi!” she exclaims, her enthusiasm infectious. “Hi, Stella!” you reply warmly. “Hello, Mr. Cameron! Good to finally meet you,” Stella says, extending her hand towards Rafe. “Rafe is fine,” he chuckles, shaking her hand, as you giggle beside him.

“And hello, Mabel,” Stella coos, her eyes lighting up as your daughter grins in recognition. She gestures to Mabel, encouraging her to lean forward so she can carry her. Rafe hesitates, his protective instincts kicking in as he considers handing over his baby girl to someone he just met.

“Babe, it’s fine. Stella’s great with kids and she’ll take care of Mabel while we do our session,” you assure him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. He glances at you, then back at Stella, his concern slowly easing. “Sorry,” he says awkwardly as he carefully passes Mabel to Stella.

“Oh, don’t even worry about it,” Stella waves off his apology, lightly bouncing Mabel in her arms, making her giggle. “Shall we get started?” she suggests, her tone cheerful and inviting. You nod, taking Rafe’s hand and leading him to the reformer machines.

Around 15 minutes in, Rafe was already feeling the burn. He glanced over at you, noting your perfect posture as you effortlessly executed the moves. Meanwhile, he was struggling to keep up. “Rafe, try to hold that leg straight,” Stella gently corrected his posture, her tone encouraging yet firm, Mabel still in her arms as she watches her dad.

He groaned, adjusting his position as instructed. You turned your head slightly, giggling to yourself. “How do you do this shit every day?” Rafe shook his head in disbelief, his leg trembling with effort. “It takes practice,” you replied with a smile. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

Rafe attempted to mimic your form, his brow furrowed in concentration. Despite the difficulty, he couldn’t help but admire how graceful and strong you looked. “Remember to breathe,” Stella reminded him. “Inhale as you extend, exhale as you contract. Let’s do 5 more.”

Rafe tried to follow her instructions, but the movements felt anything but natural. “I don’t know how you make it look so easy,” he admitted, glancing at you. You flashed him an encouraging smile. “Just keep at it. You’ll be a pro in no time.”

About ten minutes later, Rafe decided he needed a “break.” He sat on the machine beside you, Mabel perched in his lap. The two of them watched and encouraged you as you continued your session. “Look at mommy go,” Rafe said, bouncing his leg gently. Mabel’s tiny hands were wrapped around his thumb as she gazed at you with wide eyes.

“Seriously, babe, how are you moving your body like that?” Rafe’s lips parted in awe as he watched you steadily execute a challenging move. “Like what?” you asked innocently, glancing back at them with a playful smile.

“I dunno know, you’re just so good at this. You’re not even sweating!” he marveled, lightly shaking his head at your impressive flexibility. You laughed softly, enjoying his reaction. “I think you forget I’ve been doing this since our days at kook academy,” you replied, effortlessly transitioning into the next move. “So like, 4 years ago?.”

Rafe watched you with a mix of admiration and disbelief, bouncing Mabel gently on his knee. “I don’t know, babe. You make it look so easy,” he chuckled, as Mabel’s tiny hands reached up to touch his face. You glanced over with a smile. “I’m almost done, baby,” you said gently to Mabel, who responded by clapping her hands, making everyone chuckle.

“Rafe, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Stella asks playfully as you all gather your things, preparing to leave the studio. Rafe’s face contorts into one of awkwardness. “Uhh, I think I’ll stick to the gym,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck.

You laugh, giving him a playful nudge. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad! You did great for your first time.” Rafe grins, shaking his head. “I’ll leave the Pilates to you and Mabel,” he adjusts Mabel in his arms before leaning in to kiss your cheek.

[cryb4byem]

Purgatorium Part II

Kyojuro Rengoku x ArrangedMarriage! Reader

cw: 14.1k words, canon typical violence/injury, alcoholism, mild parental abuse/neglect

part one here

Every cell. Every fiber felt like it was trying to break free from your body. You had no idea what you were about to learn, and your implosion felt inevitable if you didn’t find out. 

The head of the Butterfly Mansion, the Insect Hashira, greeted you at the door. “Thank you for coming so swiftly, and by yourself. I am aware of your father-in-law's condition as well as how young your brother-in-law is.” She slid on a pair of white linen gloves before continuing.

“I’m sure you would like to know why my crow alerted you so suddenly.” If you weren’t wracked with panic, you would’ve admired her graceful, natural beauty. It seemed her almost enigmatic equanimity was the only thing keeping those around her, including you from spiraling. 

Her measured countenance and calm voice couldn’t have contrasted more with the state of the room around her. Three kakushi were slumped over each other, their faces to the wall quietly crying. Meanwhile other small girls with similar butterfly hair clips went in and out of the room beyond her with a controlled franticness. 

“Please listen to me carefully.” Her amethyst eyes pierced yours with a seriousness that was frankly, unsettling. “There was a confrontation between the Flame Pillar and the 3rd most powerful demon of Kibutsuji’s ranks about an hour ago.” Your breath catches in your throat, at the words. The 3rd most powerful demon? 

“He sustained severe transfixion trauma to his epigastric region. We moved quickly, and kept the demon’s limb in place as long as we could, and in that time he was able to stop most of the blood loss using a breathing technique.” Your hand shakily covers your mouth, the savagery of the attack, and the horror of such an injury were almost too much for you. 

“The amount of pain he is managing while conscious is unnatural, and quite concerning. We have been trying to sedate him since he arrived, but he begged to wait until you got here.” Her sharp gaze left you finally, shifting to the floor. “Despite his state, he was quite stubborn, and resisted our attempts to give it to him anyway.” 

You speak in a tensed whisper, “C-can I see him?” Each syllable was dragged from the pit of your body, you needed every bit of strength to not lose all composure. 

“Yes, quickly please. I trust you understand the criticality of this situation.” Shinobu looked over her shoulder to a young girl with bright blue eyes and pigtails as she turned into the room that seemed to be at the heart of the commotion in the Butterfly Mansion. 

“Aoi… please pull up the sheet on the Flame Pillar.” The girl’s brow furrowed in concentration, releases as she sees you, expression softening as she nods to Shinobu before disappearing behind the room’s entryway. 

“You can go ahead now.” Shinobu tells you finally. Upon her permission you begin hurrying into the room Aoi just turned into. “I just want to remind you we are doing all we can, and he is relatively stable for now… but… just be prepared…” 

You look over your shoulder back at Shinobu, words failing you before going in. The air hung heavy beyond the doorway, three little girls stood to the back wall awaiting orders while the slightly older girl, Aoi lighty ran a damp cloth over Kyojuro’s forehead. Delusionally, you imagined it was due to his warmth, the perpetual warmth emanating from his body everywhere he went, and not the onset of a stress induced fever and intense pain.

He laid, left eye wrapped in layers of bandage wrapping around his head, the thin hospital bed linens drawn to the base of his neck. Each of his labored inhale and exhale audible, a testament to his will actively clinging him to consciousness and keeping the looming threat of bleeding out at bay. 

His right eye fluttered open at your presence even without saying a word, the keen instincts of a warrior sharp as ever. 

“My flam-ACK.” He jumped to sit up, only for a guttural cough to send an abrupt jolt through his body, putting him onto his back. Laying immobilized once again, his breathing intensifying. 

“Rengoku-sama! Your wound! Shinobu-san told you not to move!” The little voice of one of the young girls behind you calls out her voice cracking, riddled with fear. 

His face contorts in discomfort, straining to utter “My apologies…” The words tumble out almost as if he doesn’t even know who he is saying it to; the little girls, you, himself, or maybe someone not even there. 

You look deeply into his uninjured eye, the bright golden orb that even now was completely free of clouds. You kneel at his bedside, feeling tears beginning to burn in the corners of your own eyes, you try to keep your tone as reassuring as possible and not let on how terrified you are. “Everything is going to be ok, alright?” 

His lips curl into a soft smile, his gaze softens, melting into yours like a stream of amber. You waited anxiously for a response, any response.

“Are you in pain?” His gentle expression remains unchanged as if he had just awoken from an afternoon nap, looking back at you. 

“Not anymore… If you’re here, I won’t feel a thing. I am fine, please do not worry.” His eye clamps shut as another searing pain courses through his body, making his breathing stutter again with a curt strangled groan. Despite what he said, it was clear he was in agony.

“Kyojuro…” Your brow furrows with concern as your eyes rake over his battered form. You look deeply into his eye intently trying to imprint every detail into your mind, as if the light may drain from it at any moment.

You didn’t even hear Shinobu’s delicate footsteps on the wooden floors or notice her until you looked up to see her at his opposite bedside, you were taken aback by her sudden presence. You shouldn’t be surprised, she is a hashira after all. 

“I’m sorry. We cannot wait any longer for the sedative. The more time goes without it…” She spoke solemnly, as though she knew what she needed to do, but almost didn’t have the heart to do it, almost. 

You felt one of the three small girls try to pull you back by your arm, “Ma’am please! Shinobu-san needs to work, you need to leave this room!” The words don’t even faze you, unmoving from your spot at his bedside. Making it clear to the entire Butterfly Mansion your stubbornness was only matched by Kyojuro’s himself. 

“Please don’t take him from me, not now. Please don't let someone else abandon me.” 

The words echo in your mind, like a cacophony of a lifetime of anxiety thrust to the surface all at once.

“She can stay. I’ll allow it.” Shinobu spoke, not taking her focus from the vial as she filled it with a solution, flicking it firmly to disperse any air bubbles. 

You feel the small girl release your arm going back to stand with the other two. You kept looking at Kyojuro, scared to look away, as if it was the last time you would ever bask in the warmth of his gaze. 

“My flame, let me tell you a few things.”  His voice was steady but strained, each word laced with sincerity.

“You don’t need to say anything… just save your strength.” You felt as though you were pleading with him at this point. 

“You’ve done enough, just rest.” 

You want to say to him, but you could see the seriousness on his face. Every man deserves to do with their last moments what they wish, and if these were just that, you would not be the one to deny him that. 

“Please, I want you to tell Senjuro he ought to follow the path he knows to be true, whatever path that may be. Remind my father to take care of his body.”

You look at Shinobu, almost as if to ask if there should be more witnesses to what could be the last words of the Flame Hashira, but she continued working, not even glancing down at you as she began administering the vial.

“And I want you to know that I love you.”

The tears you held in your eyes finally began to escape, your vision was cloaked in obscurity, but what did it even matter? As if anything was truly clear right now.

“I love you too.” That was clear to you if nothing else. What were otherwise the three most beautiful words one could utter to another, felt like they were just another deep wound you both inflicted each other with. Had he even heard what you said? Knowing him, he would feel personally responsible for the notion that another person would be agonizing over his condition.

The onslaught of emotion finally manifests in a strangled sob, wiping the tears from your eyes with the back of your sleeve. Seeing his golden iris enveloped beneath his closed eyelid and breathing softened, it is obvious the vial Shinobu gave him had already taken effect. 

Pressing the back of two fingers to his forehead, the only thing that you can use to ground yourself is that same unyielding warmth he radiated.

—————————————

You aren’t sure how many hours you’d been in the room. Time didn’t feel like it was passing. Maybe a part of you thought that if you kept looking at him long enough, you could pretend maybe he was finally getting the rest he deserved and not in a catatonic, forced respite from the wound that should have taken his life.

“You should go home. I’ll keep an eye on him personally.” Shinobu's voice was lighter than the chirp of a sparrow. “Trust me, the best recovery is sleep. Sometimes slayers sleep for months here, regaining their strength.” 

You cock your head over your shoulder to look at her, eyes wide and mouth agape. She raised a pointed finger, she was like a doll the way a perpetual contentment was painted to her face, it was a bit uncanny. 

“Not that I’m saying this will happen here. I induced the comatose state he is in, so everything is controlled, I made the compound so that he would naturally awaken when his body is in better condition.” 

This woman was truly a genius apothecarist, how did she even learn to make such a solution? 

“I see…” You didn’t want to stand yet; you craved just a moment more in his presence. You try to smile at her genuinely, but you knew it must have looked just as contrived as hers did. You didn’t have Kyojuro’s gift—the ability to smile authentically and joyfully, no matter how bleak things appeared.

“Before you go, can I give you his personal effects?” Your eyes moved from the floor to meet hers, nodding with the same polite smile still plastered on.

Shinobu took a package that couldn’t have contained more than a couple items from one of the youngest girls that helped around the Butterfly Mansion, transferring it into your grasp. 

Removing the thread and paper encasing the items, Shinobu stood unmoving before you, her eyes following your hands. Despite the smile she armed herself with, her gaze deepened, like this was something she understood all too well. 

Seeing the familiar kaen pattern, you stroked the back of your hand across the sturdy fabric of the Flame Hashira haori. Only to freeze as you feel something solid wrapped inside of it. Without hesitation, you reached within the white accented garment to pull out a rectangular box.

Could it be? Sliding the lid from the basin of the firm container to see delicate metal and crystal intertwined to make a plum blossom hairpin, the same kind that had saved your life not long ago. Your hands tremble uncontrollably as you remove it from its resting place.

“We found it in his pocket, even with the aftermath of the battle and the panic as he was rushed in, he implored us to be gentle in handling it…” 

After your first hairpin broke he must’ve planned to bring a new one for you that morning. Even with a gaping wound, he was concerning himself with being able to offer you an undamaged gift to replace the one he initially gave you when you arrived.

You clutched the package as if it was sacred, like maybe that if you didn’t, it would all slip through your grasp and cease to be like everything seemed to at the moment.

“Thank you for everything…” You finally broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper. You lower yourself to bow to Shinobu, before leaving, perhaps leaving a part of yourself behind as you do. 

 —————————————

There was a general malaise of silence at the house in contrast to the mid morning light, seemingly blanketing the grounds as if it was just another day. Something felt wrong about returning here alone from the Butterfly Estate. You scoured for the younger Rengoku, no doubt wanting– needing an update on the state of his older brother. 

You finally found him sitting alone in a room holding a sheathed sword in his lap. His head lowered as if in surrender, he was trembling as if terrified of what laid beneath the sheath.

You didn’t even know Senjuro owned a blade, it seemed ornamental at best. It looked as though it had never used a day since it was forged. 

Upon seeing you, his hazed and shaky expression was replaced with a mix of worry. Before he could ask you the burning question that had no doubt been haunting him, you notice a patch of tender skin on his cheek, an abrasion that looked as though it would bruise. 

“What happened to your face?” You lean lower yourself next to him to inspect, running your thumb over the skin, flushed red and running warm from the inflammation.

He turned his face to conceal the sore cheek from your view, putting his own hand over it. “One of the other swordsmen that joined brother on the mission came by the house…” His gaze faltered, shifting to looking at the ground. “He wanted to apologize… he was ashamed,  for not being able to do more in that battle.” 

“Father began insulting my brother, then suddenly was enraged by the slayer. Things began escalating. I tried to protect the slayer, and Father hit me…” 

You couldn’t believe the words you heard. You were sickened to your core. Beyond the scope of a Hashira, the scope of a patriarch, how could a father act this way? 

Words are one thing, as merciless as they were, especially to a man fighting for his life, but to strike someone so much smaller and weaker was despicable. Both were so egregious, it was impossible to even say which was worse. 

Taking a moment, you calmed yourself down, grounding your thoughts before responding. “Are you ok?” 

Senjuro kept his face angled down and the evidence of the violence that had occurred in your own home while you were out. 

“I’m fine… this is nothing.” He dragged his sleeve across his eyes with a soft sniffle, you could see how hard he worked to hide his emotions coming to the surface, there was something more important to him. “My brother… is he…?”

“He’s… sleeping, that’s all. They’re doing everything they can… ” You feel a lump forming in your throat at the words. You didn’t want to acknowledge what you were both thinking just as much as Senjuro didn’t want to. 

“I-I see.” His gaze stayed low to the ground, even as his fists balled at his sides with resolve. “Maybe… it will work now. It has to.”

Senjuro shakily removed the blade from its cover, sticking it straight in the air, looking up at it with anticipation. The sword quivered in the trembling hands of the boy. He looked up at it as if it was a beacon with the ability to connect him to a higher power. He stared up, waiting for something, anything to happen. Releasing a resigned exhale, his head dropped as the tears he had desperately held back began to flow freely. 

“I really don’t have any talent at all.” He looked up at you, dejection etched into every one of his features, “I prayed this day would never come, I knew I wouldn’t ever be able to carry on the Flame Hashira. This time, more than ever, my nichirin sword needed to change color. But even now, it refuses to. All because I simply don’t have what it takes.”

He set the sword down, his palms face up on his knees, silently sitting on the tatami floors. You wrap your arms around him, feeling him starting to shudder against you punctuating each sharp sob. 

“Do you want to know what your brother told me to tell you before he fell asleep?” You lower your voice to a murmur. 

“Wh-What did he say?” he stuttered, his lips pursed and voice trembling, but there remained a glint of hope evident as he stared at you, waiting intently to hear. 

You spoke steadily, trying to fully encapsulate the sincerity of Kyojuro’s words, hoping if he could hear his brother’s voice through you, maybe it would comfort him in ways you never could. “‘Walk the path you know to be true, whatever path that may be.’” 

He looked up at you, his glassy eyes widened, you could see him absorbing every syllable as if it was from a holy text leading him into enlightenment when the shoji door flew open to both of your shock.

“Senjuro! What did I tell you about the blubbering? I can hear your pathetic crying from across the house! As if Kyojuro hadn’t done enough, you had to show that Sun Breather how weak you are too! As if our family couldn’t be any more humiliated!”

Senjuro’s face drained of color, his pupils trembling at the intimidating figure in the doorway. 

“You’re the eldest son of this family now, so learn something from your fool of a brother!” He gritted his teeth, now speaking to no one in particular. “Trying to supplement his own inferiority, trying to make up for our insignificant bloodline, I have no doubt he used that cursed form to try to salvage a battle he was doomed to lose from the start. He should’ve never even picked up a sword to begin with!”

Cursed form? Sun Breather? Did he mean the boy with the earrings that Senjuro spoke of? You had learned to ignore most of what Shinjuro said; these ravings were likely just another temper tantrum fueled by the stuporous overindulgence he found at the bottom of several bottles. 

The discomfort hung like a chill in the air, filling the space between the fragmented inanities of the harsh words echoing through the room. Shinjuro finally lumbered away, the jug still tied around his wrist. You sat in the silence left in his wake, almost envisioning Kyojuro in that hospital bed, each breath he took and each pound within his chest a cry of hope.

You close your eyes for a moment before speaking in a hushed voice to Senjuro, “Your brother believes in you, always has. He’s fighting so he can be sure to come home and remind you of that himself.”

—————————————

“This hurts like hell!” The Sound Hashira grumbled to no one in particular. Kyojuro could only watch as his fellow Hashira limped from the doorway into the hospital bed the Butterfly Mansion staff had apathetically pointed to. 

The young nurses reassuring him that the Insect Hashira would be there “when she gets the chance” to treat his injuries. The adrenaline from battle must’ve finally dissipated by the time he reached the Butterfly Mansion.

After settling in with a few labored breaths, the man finally turned to his side, noticing Kyojuro in the bed beside him.“Rengoku? How long have you been up? Why are you still here?” 

“A few hours. Kocho has been keeping a close eye before she discharges me, but I should be good to go by now. Nevermind that though, what happened to you?” He had never seen the Sound Pillar as battered and bloody as he appeared before him now. 

“Remember how I was organizing some infiltration into the Entertainment District? Looking for an upper rank?” Kyojuro nodded intently, he was well aware of the operation in the Sound Pillar’s sector before he even boarded the train. 

“Well, we found it. The district is leveled, but we defeated the threat. And look, the two of us are matching now, and I even got one up on you.” The man gestured to his own covered eye before waving his left arm, permanently disfigured.

Even in this state, Uzui always had something to say to lighten the mood. Kyojuro always respected that trait in him, it was one of the primary reasons they got along as well as they did.

“You didn’t…” Kyojuro searched for the right word to describe the Sound Pillar's hobbled gait as he made his way from the entrance to the cot where he was now confined, as respectfully as possible. “Ambulate…  yourself all the way from Yoshiwara I hope?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” The Sound Hashira shook his head with pride. “My wives were there for me, of course. But Kocho said they couldn’t help me inside. Something about a very strict rule with spouses not being allowed to enter the Butterfly Mansion for any reason.” 

Uzui spoke with restlessness, trying to get comfortable in the hospital bed clearly not befitting his frame before trying to read the face of the Flame Pillar beside him. “Did she tell you about that too?” 

Kyojuro’s eyebrows knit together. “I was not aware of such a policy…” He said slowly, as if he was trying to figure out what his fellow pillar was referring to with each word. He affixed his gaze upon his comrade’s arm, bandaged shoddily in the heat of battle, severed at the wrist.

“As a dual wielder…” His lips pursed as he analyzed the sight before him. “You may have to adapt your swordsmanship.”

Kyojuro chuckled before resting his hand lightly on the covered wound punctured into his abdomen, “I was quite concerned for myself, but fortunately recovery is an option for me as well. It’s all of no matter, we will just have to train harder and get back to where we were!” 

Uzui studied the face of the Flame Hashira looking for any shred of sarcasm. “A-are you serious?” His eyes widened with shock, glancing down at the tightly wrapped bandages over Kyojuro’s chest.

“Of course I am, what are you trying to say?” Kyojuro looked at the Sound Pillar inquisitively.

The Sound Hashira exhaled sharply, lowering his eyes resolutely with a soft smile, “I’m stepping down. I’m done fighting.” Upon processing the rest of what Kyojuro confidently announced to him his head jerked to face him in disbelief. “You aren’t actually considering going back are you?”

“But as pillars-” Kyojuro was cut off mid sentence, his curiosity now only building with what his friend was telling him.

“I like to think I’m Lord Uzui Tengen before I’m the Sound Pillar.” He declared matter of factly, before his tone devolved back into its characteristic quippiness. “You’ve always blurred that line, but most bastards lucky enough to take a hole in the chest and live would see themselves the same.” 

Kyojuro tried to think back to the exact moment of impact, the demonic fist piercing his flesh, in the face of what could only be described as certain death had he drawn a distinction between the two?

Kyojuro’s ponderance was interrupted by the petite form of the Insect Pillar shadowed by the younger girl with blue eyes and pigtails coming in the doorway seemingly with no urgency at all. “Thank gods!” Uzui exclaimed, the exasperation ripe in his voice. “I thought you all forgot about me!”

Kocho spoke her voice sweet and light as ever complimented by the poignant, contented countenance she always had. “Oh dear! Of course not!” She gestured to the three youngest Butterfly Mansion girls to bring her a tray with some instruments and antiseptics. 

Tears formed in the corner of their eyes as they approached the Sound Hashira’s bedside to hand it off to their master, clinging to each other and hurrying away once they did as they were instructed. 

“Hey Kocho, do you have any painkillers or anything before you stitch me up?” Uzui spoke with a tinge of desperation, one he was clearly trying to suppress in the presence of others.

“Unfortunately, I don't recall we have anything strong enough for you here.” The Insect Pillar spoke with a curt sharpness.

The blue-eyed nurse with pigtails was much easier to read than her master. Even with the grimace she typically bore while concentrating on work, there was a particular scorn in her eyes that seemed to run deep. She stared daggers at the Sound Pillar, it was truly a distaste only unpleasant familiarity can foster. 

The Insect Pillar worked, doing little to prepare her patient for her next action, hastily attending to the injuries of her fellow Hashira. Her doll-like smile unchanging as heavy handedly she doused his deep lacerations with antiseptic before stitching them shut with fresh bandages.

Upon finishing, she walked away without another word or so much as a check in to ask how the Sound Pillar was feeling now, even though she hadn’t seemed to be rushing to another bedside as she retreated without a second glance

Uzui released the grit of his teeth following his treatment, sincerity filling his tone. “About your injury, sorry I didn’t come see you. I had my crow watch closely; it told me you were stable in Kocho’s care, although maybe that should’ve been something that worried me more than it did.” He squirmed in place momentarily, no doubt feeling some residual discomfort in the absence of anything to ease his pain before being treated.

Kyojuro shook his head “No, the staff here is the picture of gentleness and care for its patients, Kocho and all her sisters treated me with the utmost kindness and consideration.” 

Uzui looked out the doorway to see the three youngest Butterfly Sisters looking at him with aversion, still on the verge of tears, while the blue-eyed pigtailed nurse’s contemptuous stare only intensified in her master’s absence. 

The Sound Hashira chuckled to himself blithely. “Huh. You don’t say.” 

His gaze moved from the main room beyond the doorway back to Kyojuro in the hospital bed beside him. “I just couldn’t bring myself to leave the district once I stopped getting updates from my girls.” A playful smirk crossed his face again as his solemn tone brightened, “I figured mere Upper Three wouldn’t be enough to take you out. I trust you understand.” 

Kyojuro looked at him knowingly with a reassuring smile, “Of course. No need to explain any further.”

“You know, the kids that were on the train with you volunteered to come to the district with me. The Kamado boy in particular gushed on and on, don’t be surprised if you start getting fan mail from him.” 

A warm smile crept across Kyojuro’s features at the mention. Hearing they had all recovered quickly and been assigned another mission while he had been out, made every drop of blood shed feel all the more worth it. He really had been able to protect them as he was expected to after the train incident, even if he in  the end failed to finish off the upper rank. 

“Ah yes, young Kamado. Truly good natured. I’m sure he would speak fondly of anyone who fought by his side.” He folded his arms across his chest assuredly as he always seemed to when he felt idle. 

The Sound Pillar moved his one good arm casually behind his head. “I don’t think just ‘anyone’ could have done what you did in the first place.” 

Uzui sighed. “You’ve done good, Mister Flame Pillar. I think you deserve to just be Rengoku now.” Kyojuro tried to hide the thoughtful pensivity welling behind his eyes before spreading across his face. Kyojuro knew he had always been able to read like a book, trying as he might to hide how he felt.

“Ugh. No need to do the Tomioka face.” The Sound Hashira said less than affectionately, He feigned annoyance, but his genuine concern was evident. “It’s up to you of course, but I think you should take a cue from me and go home to your wife now. Give my best to your mini-me.”

—————————————

By the time Kocho had let him leave the Butterfly Mansion, she wrapped his bandages extra taught, surely expecting he would have removed them the minute he was out of her sight. She was not wrong, he had definitely contemplated tearing them off before he returned to his home. 

But he knew he ought to leave them for now. Show the bare wound? Too disturbing. An eyepatch felt too drastic, permanent. Even though he was told to be cautiously optimistic at best on recovering his sight in that eye, bandages gave the hopeful impression to both his family and himself that regaining his vision was not out of the realm of possibility just yet. 

And there was the matter of crutches. He’d declined the nurses’ offer without a second thought. He wasn’t above using them, of course—he had used crutches before when it was necessary. 

But this time felt different. This time, he had come closer to death than he ever had before, closer than he had ever imagined. The weight of that knowledge was still fresh, he liked to think that was to blame for the piercing sensation beneath his ribs rather than the obvious.

Turning the corner into his ancestral home, he was not surprised to see his brother doing his daily chores per usual. Senjuro swept the entryway with a thousand yard stare. His gaze was unfocused, the bristles haphazardly brushing over the floor as if he wasn’t truly seeing it beneath him. He seemed to move mechanically as if the incessant noise in his head left him catatonic. 

As much as he wished Senjuro would let others help him, he knew productivity usually brought him peace of mind. Likely now more than ever thanks to his extended stay at the Butterfly Mansion riddling them all with uncertainty. 

Upon seeing him, Senjuro dropped his broom, his hazed expression replaced with overjoy. He ran over stopping himself in his tracks before jumping into his still recovering older brother’s arms.

Senjuro’s smile faltered as he took a small, hesitant step back, his gaze flickering down to Kyojuro’s chest, then back up to his face. He looked scared to get any closer, as if Kyojuro was made of glass and the slightest touch would make him shatter before his eyes. Kyojuro slowly opened his arms, donning his iconic smile brimming with warmth and familiarity. A simple reassurance.

That was all needed for Senjuro’s momentary unease to be erased. Without a second thought, Senjuro closed the distance, throwing his arms around his elder brother in a tight embrace. 

He let out a slight hmph slightly faltering backward for a moment. The pressure against his abdomen was not exactly comfortable, but that did not stop him from tightening his own arms around his little brother. 

“Thank gods Kanroji-san brought some sweet potato and sakura mochi earlier! I would’ve made more if we had gotten a crow you were discharged!”

Kyojuro did not have the heart to tell Senjuro he had been living off extra salted miso soups and herbal tea since awakening, and was told to continue doing so until breathing was more comfortable.

Kocho had mentioned that at least three times as he left the manor. She must’ve correctly suspected yet again his own appetite was a potential hazard to his recovery. Even castella cake was too solid and dense for him to consume in his condition. 

“I will have to thank my former tsuguko for her thoughtfulness when I see her next!” He tried to remain as lighthearted as possible as he declared what no one ever believed they would live to hear him say.  “As delicious as that sounds, I am not hungry at the moment!” 

“Not hungry?” Senjuro repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You?” His eyes raked over his elder brother searching for the cause of such an anomaly. 

Just as Senjuro inspected the state of him, Kyojuro noticed the dark circles beneath his brother’s eyes, and the complexion of his face paler than he remembered. 

“I am simply so full of energy and vitality I have no need for anything to eat! Why don’t you off from your chores for the rest of the day, Senjuro!”

“A-are you sure?” Senjuro swiftly took his broom back into his hands as if to prove he had no reason to not continue as he was. 

Kyojuro put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, a gesture that always seemed to make Senjuro feel more at ease. “Certainly, you look as though you could use rest. I will take over for you”

Not being deterred in the slightest Senjuro replied, “No I can do it I promise!” Senjuro swiftly took his broom back into his hands as if to prove he had no reason to not continue as he was before Kyojuro came.

 “She’s doing the laundry for me already outside. So at least let me do the rest of the chores!” The younger Rengoku boy seemed almost frantic as he tried to prove that he was still more than capable of carrying out his perceived responsibilities.

 Kyojuro was momentarily taken aback looking into the fuzzy silhouette of a reflection of himself, one that went deeper than their appearance. 

He had spent the better part of his life encouraging and reassuring his brother, for this exact reason. He had foolishly believed that maybe that would be enough for Senjuro to ignore the example that had been before him since their mother had died nearly a decade ago. 

There were many things he was capable of protecting him from, however there remained some things he could only try to ward off. He was more than happy to act as a human shield to all the unpleasantness of the world he had dealt with himself. 

That was not to say his brother was delicate. Senjuro’s meek and sensitive exterior was not beguiling of his fiercely loyal and indomitable spirit. His patience was seemingly boundless, while being the most empathetic person Kyojuro had ever met. Senjuro’s maturity was indeed far beyond his years.

In spite of all of this, Kyojuro wanted him to have had a normal and carefree childhood. Maybe if they were another family under different circumstances, in some kind of a perfect world, Senjuro would not be confined to doing household work all day. He would have a plethora of friends to enjoy the blissful innocence of juvenility, with two loving parents at home, and no perceived expectations he was forced to inherit or self-condemnate over. 

Most of all he would not feel the need to fight for the validation of others, or establish his worth in his actions. While he could not protect him from loss or neglect, surely he could do that much even now.

There was no use grieving over what could have been, the reality was Senjuro had begun to take after his own tendencies. Something he could never forgive himself for being the cause of if it went too far. His own resolve was still strong, but he could at least try to set an example of self preservation when Senjuro was watching. 

He took the broom from Senjuro’s hands once again, leaning it against the wall beside them.”Why don’t we both take some time off today!” He proclaimed as confidently as possible. Senjuro’s shoulders, which had been taut with unease, dropped and with them Kyojuro breathed his own sigh of relief.

He no longer protested his elder brother’s suggestion to get some rest. Kyojuro walked his little brother to his room. As he followed, the younger boy barely lifted his head, his gaze still unfocused, lost in the exhaustion that clung to him. 

Tucking him into his futon, Kyojuro adjusted the pillow beneath his brother’s head, fluffing it gently, even though he knew Senjuro wouldn’t mind either way. He moved deliberately, his smile unchanged despite his mind spinning. He couldn’t help but hope that his little brother wouldn’t notice the subtle shift in Kyojuro’s actions today—the slight urgency in his insistence. 

Perhaps fatigue dulled Senjuro’s emotional intelligence enough that he failed to detect the thinly veiled half-heartedness behind him emphasizing they deserve to both call it for the day. He had been home for moments, and on bedrest before that while Senjuro had been beside himself with worry, maintaining their home. Kyojuro felt dread pool in his stomach, the thought nearly sickened him.

Once making sure his little brother was comfortable in his futon, he rose from his crouched position to his feet again, clamping his eyes shut with a sharp exhale at the shooting pain through his abdomen at the sudden movement. 

Luckily, Senjuro had succumbed to exhaustion the moment his head touched the pillow, sparing him any more anxiety over his big brother’s condition. 

He was embarrassed at how rapidly even the simplest tasks; walking, standing, really had exhausted him. Kocho had not necessarily given him advice on activity now that he was no longer in critical condition, she just reiterated not putting “undue strain” on the body. As vague as that was, he figured he must be experiencing some version of that as his breath became more labored as he walked through the corridors of his own home. 

Almost as if moving against his will, he lowered himself into his futon. He hoped maybe he could get some sleep as soundly as Senjuro, his head barely made contact with the pillow before he drifted off  even with rays of early evening daybreak still illuminating the sky. 

He was happy he had managed to soothe the terrifying thoughts eating his little brother from the inside while he was recovering at the Butterfly Mansion. 

Hopefully, Senjuro genuinely believed things were right in the world again, and that he had no need to prove himself to those around him any further. If he did genuinely believe that, Kyojuro envied it. 

—————————————

The laundry had kept you busy from the late afternoon until the sun hung low in the sky, and you were grateful for the long days of summer, which offered a grace period of a few more hours of safety outside.

You must have looked strange in your tsumugi woven silk kimono, churning laundry by the creek. You wiped a bead of sweat from your brow, before brushing your hands over your hair to ensure the hairpin was still in place. You refocused on the task at hand, gripping the sentakubō with both hands once again. 

The water stirring and forming small whirlpools as you plunge the wooden paddle into the melange of soaking garments with a slosh. You raise the paddle up before submerging it again, fabric swirling in the sekken infused water. 

These were the ancient methods Senjuro had told you had been used for centuries in the family. 

“Drinkable well water is too precious to be used on clothes, there is flowing mountain water just beyond the gates by a small grove of wisteria trees. That’s where we have done laundry for as far back as I know of.” 

The fatigue evident in his every motion momentarily ceased for him to give you particular instructions before you handle the household laundry on your own for the first time. 

In Tokyo, you heard some families had found ways to pump water into their homes. No access to wells or streams necessary. You were unsure whether to be skeptical or amazed at the Western innovations being integrated at breakneck speed into the capital, but the Rengoku family seemed utterly disinterested and unimpressed by anything that brought them away from the techniques of the past. 

Regardless of the flow of time, the Rengoku family had yet to betray the techniques of their ancestors that had never failed them before.

Perhaps they felt both indebted and venerated by the practices that had upheld their name through generations of Flame Pillars and centuries of war against man-eating evil. Each Hashira over the ages living long enough to pass on every aspect, no matter how trivial, of traditional lifestyle to their children and then their children’s children. 

Proof of demons and time alike being unable to erode them into nothing more than history, a bloodline persisting even today, against all odds. 

Your nose prickled at the herbal scent of the laundry solution you had handled for the past few hours soaking, scrubbing the items against the ridges of a washboard before draping each clean textile over a clothesline to dry in the tepid air. 

It was dull, tedious, and somewhat exhausting work, but anything to take your mind and a piece of your heart from the Butterfly Mansion was a welcome distraction. 

As you carried out mundane household chores as of late, you had made it more engaging by picturing Kyojuro watching you with pride, a glint of familiar affection in his eye. 

It only pushed you harder to put your all into everything you did, regardless of how unremarkable it may seem to others. That was what he would no doubt do in your shoes.

—————————————

You had expected Senjuro to be milling about getting things done for the same reason when you arrived back at the estate.The broom leaned against the wall of the engawa was telling enough to you he must’ve finished his daily tasks up and retired into the house for the time being. It might have been slightly unusual, but not anything provoking much cause for concern otherwise.

You looked forward to idleness for the remainder of the evening. Slipping into fresh clothes, you made your way to your room, eager to lie down and rest. 

As you walk the corridor, a blur of fiery colors ignites in your peripheral vision beyond the sliding door of a room that had sat empty as of late. Was that? You freeze in disbelief. 

“Kyojuro?” The name slips from your lips before you can stop it, even though you know the chances of him hearing you from this distance without even seeing your lips were low, but it doesn’t stop your heart from leaping in your chest nevertheless.

Eventually he must sense your presence, his unwrapped eye meeting yours, and in that instant, it feels like everything else fades away. He shifts from his reclined position to sit upright. Even just sitting up in his futon, you notice the subtle tension in his body, the familiar way his arms instinctively cross in front of him—, a pose you know he adopts when idle, as idle as he was capable of being anyway.

You had seen him like this before, when he was always on guard, always ready for battle. The weight of responsibility had never left him, even when he wasn’t fighting. But now, in this quiet moment, it felt almost surreal. You felt a wave of relief flood over you—he was here. He was home.

You didn’t know whether to run over to him, break down into tears, fall to your knees thanking every god and spirit that was looking out for him, or all three at the same time. He watches you with that familiar intensity in his eyes, but there's something softer now, an unspoken heaviness in his gaze

“You were resting… I’m sorry for the disruption.” You did something you hadn’t done since you arrived at the house, lowering your head into a bow. It simply felt appropriate, the least you could do was show your respect, as unnatural as it felt. Kyojuro blinked, taken aback by your gesture, his brows clenching together in confusion as he watched you. 

There was a moment where his eyes seemed to search yours, as if uncertain how to respond, had a distance that great grown between you? You raised from your bow before he could tell you it was ‘not necessary for the likes of him,’ your grasp taking hold of the edge of the shoji door to drag it shut. 

“I’ll let you enjoy some peace and quiet.” Your words felt inauthentic as you spoke, it wasn’t what you wanted, but it felt like what you deserved. You wished you knew what to say to him, but how could you? You could do nothing but watch helplessly while he writhed in pain waiting for you at the Butterfly Mansion. 

Standing by watching the sparks fade his eyes, feeling the room grow colder and colder still. Was that really all you could do? 

Every night since then, you had hoped for a miracle, that you would wake up and he would be back. Now here he was and all you could do was grapple with the futility of your every effort against the inevitable, one that would have come to pass with or without your consent. Like almost all else in his life, he overcame this on his own.

He tilted his head to the side trying to catch your downturned gaze with a soft smile, “You know” He paused until your glassy eyes met his. “I’ve had enough ‘peace and quiet’ for this lifetime.” 

He hesitated for a heartbeat, there was an almost imperceptible urgency in his tone, as though the simple request held more than he could express. “I would enjoy your companionship…” His eye locked onto yours, and you could hear him telling you what he truly felt, but couldn’t bring himself to say, “Please don’t leave me alone…”

Your fists closed around your sleeves as you looked on from the doorway. 

“Could I lay beside you?” You meant to ask gracefully, but a tremble caught itself at  the end of your words. In spite of you both being wedded, something ignited embarrassment within you at your own request. You weren’t quite sure what his experience with such things were, but you certainly had none to speak of. 

You had been confident everything would be ok, but a part of you filled with dread at every crow that flew overhead. Terrified, one of them was Shinobu-san informing you regrettably that they had failed, and he was gone. You just wanted to be close to him, close enough to hold onto and hope he wouldn’t come so close to slipping away from you again. 

“Absolutely!” His boyish excitement quickly commanding sincerity, his voice lowering to just above a breathy whisper “I mean… you do not need to ask. I am yours after all.”

If anything was capable of soothing the apprehension you felt, it was hearing him deliver an enthusiastic exclamation. You studied him, your eyes drifted down again to his arms crossed on top of his chest. Whether be a barrage of responsibility or self doubt, he always carried a tension palpable in every fiber. 

In a gentler world that asked for less of someone like him, maybe he wouldn’t need to. But even if he was not of that world, you could create a piece of it for him to dwell in. A place both his weary body and mind could be at ease.

You lowered yourself into the futon, trying to not focus on your heart, beginning to quicken, as the sound of his breath became audible each inhale and following exhale affirming to you he was alive, and he was yours.

“Am I making you nervous?” You asked genuinely, seeing his shoulders tighten and arms stitch together more tautly and a rouge flush across his cheeks even in the low light. 

He conveniently subverted your inquiry, rebounding it back to you.“You are not nervous, are you, my flame?” His tone seemed to waver in its usual certainty. 

“Not with you…” Even the intoxicating stillness, you cannot help but notice his strained comportment.  “You’re so stiff…”

He spoke no doubt a bit louder than even he anticipated, “Not stiff!” His sudden surge in volume took you back, the abruptness of his response leaving you momentarily unsettled. But as his words settled into the space between you, you quickly found yourself adjusting again into comfort.

“Just a habit, I assure you.” His voice was softer this time, a hint of something more raw slipping through his usual certainty. “I have been trained to be vigilant, at all times. I suppose it’s just how I’ve learned to exist.” 

“Hm. I see…” Your brow furrowed, pursing your lips together almost imperceivably. You extend your arms to place one hand on each of his shoulders, meeting his gaze you search the embers of his unbandaged iris for any sign of discomfort before cupping your hands. 

You, for only a moment, feel the heat of his gaze rake over, consuming each inch of your form. It was enough to make your skin prickle under its blistering intensity. Being used as its fuel, a slow burn ignited in your chest, radiating outward in waves, trailing sparks down to your fingertips and toes. You pry your eyes from your own hands back to his blistering stare to catch his lashes flutter briefly, clenching his eyes shut as if mentally reprimanding himself. 

Your palms take in the dense sinews forming sharp lines and curved ridges beneath your palms, before you push them down from their contraction. His arms finally dropping from their cross to his sides. You try to cut through the tension imparting a squeeze in a circular motion to the corded muscle between your thumb and fingers. 

As the pressure deepened, a soft, involuntary shudder rippled through him, a sudden tremor that surged from his shoulders down to his spine. It caused him to partially heave forward, his posture faltering as his head tilted to the side. A strangled sound—somewhere between a gasp and a whimper—escaped his lips.

You pull back your hands instinctively. “I-I didn’t mean…”

He shifted slightly, avoiding your gaze for a brief moment,  the blush deepening down to his neck. “I... I think I made a rather odd sound just now... My sincerest apologies” He spoke just above a murmur, his tone uncharacteristically timid, and pupils blown wide. “I must have broken my Total Concentration Breathing. I-I just… did not expect that to feel so good.”  

After a moment, his voice came again, a little more vulnerable than usual, almost tentative. “May I hold you?”  For a man so often brimming with confidence and conviction, this sudden bashfulness was endearing, almost disarming.

You echoed the words that had made your heart flutter since you heard them, “I am yours after all.” As the moments stretched on, the world outside began to blur, your breaths falling in sync with his. His hand trailed absentmindedly through your hair, his touch lulling you closer to sleep. Just before the haze of slumber overtook you, you felt him press the lightest kiss to your temple, his lips lingering as though committing the moment to memory.

And so, wrapped in his embrace, safe within the steady glow of his presence, you drifted off. For even in sleep, you knew you were wholly his, and he, yours.

—————————————

Kyojuro found himself restless with the first breaks of light, the flecks of dawn slowly spreading from the base of the horizon as the sky remained inked with the deep indigo of night. 

He sat up, given the opaque darkness of the sky it was hard to believe that golden rays of light would cut through the boundless pitch black expanse above him.

Since he had awoken, he had begun to be enchanted by things he had never paid much mind to before. The way the dawn happened to bleed into night, if there was nothing else you could rely on in this world, there was solace to be found in the consistency of daybreak. 

No matter how empty the void of night seemed, the dawn would overcome it anyway, illuminating the heavens without fail. Admirable. It was truly admirable.

Turning his gaze toward you, his heart softened even further. You lay curled beside him, your expression serene in the half-light, your hair tousled from sleep. Kyojuro couldn’t help but smile—bright and warm, though he kept it quiet, not wanting to disturb you. He leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss to the crest of your hairline, lingering for a moment as if to savor the touch.

"Rest well," he whispered, his voice low and affectionate. Carefully, he slipped from the futon, each movement deliberate and gentle so as not to disturb the stillness that wrapped around you like a cocoon.

While cooking was outside his expertise, he was more than capable of boiling water in a hagama with tea leaves. 

As he entered the main room to prepare it, he noticed his father already seated with his gaze fixed on the sky. Kyojuro’s  instincts made him want to turn around and recede right then and there, before stopping himself.

“You are up early, Father.” Kyojuro shifted his head to the side almost as if to hide his face. He could hardly bring himself to face the former Flame Hashira. In his father's eyes, the cold sweat on his brow and the ghostly pallor of his skin would no doubt serve as a (half) living testament to the very words he had insisted upon to Kyojuro for years.

His hand quivered as he sprinkled a spoonful of the tea leaves into water before beginning to boil them together on the wood stove. 

Shinjuro hardly acknowledged the presence of another behind him more than a quick glance over the shoulder. His expression was as equally austere and annoyed as usual.

Similar to how Shinjuro kept his eyes firmly locked onto the slow ascent of the sun, Kyojuro relegated his own gaze to the kettle on the stove, barely looking away as the silence was intermittently broken by the sound of chimes swaying in the breeze.

When the water adopted the greenish hue from the tea leaves, he removed the hagama from the heat.

“Uh... tea, Father?” Kyojuro said as he set out two cups just in case. It was unusual enough his father was awake at dawn, and out of his room. He rarely saw Shinjuro eat or drink much, usually sleeping or drinking the day away, it would be even more unusual for him to break that pattern. But, he felt obliged to ask him anyway.

Shinjuro spoke, his voice gruff as it had been as long as Kyojuro could remember. “Sure.” He paused for a long time before adding, “Thank you…” 

Kyojuro looked up with shock, but only to look at the back of Shinjuro’s head once again. He poured the liquid into the cups, curls of steam wafting from each one with an earthy aroma. 

With one in each hand he brought it over to where his father sat at the edge of the room, the sky fading from nox to a peach tone as the apex of the sun became visible over the horizon line. 

He lowered his head as he placed the cup on the ground, Shinjuro’s scarred hand wrapping around it where it sat. Kyojuro slowly backed away from where he resided to leave him be.

“You can sit, son.” Shinjuro said, finally turning over his shoulder to meet Kyojuro’s gaze. Kyojuro moved closer again trepidatiously before lowering himself to the ground with a sharp exhale, the pressure on his wound making his face twist momentarily as he did so.

Kyojuro could not help but notice the thick, pungent smell of sake—a scent that had been a constant companion to his father for as long as he could remember—was completely absent this morning.

“In nearly 20 years as a pillar, I used that damned form three times.” Shinjuro spoke, his eyes not leaving the sky as he took a sip of the tea in his hand. “You’ve used it twice that I know of, but it’s been more times than that, right?”

Kyojuro did not even want to reply to his father’s probing, it would not matter anyway, they both knew the answer to the question.

The former pillar’s jaw clenched in grim recognition of Kyojuro's telling silence. However, the response was not angered, but seemed shackled with the heaviness of frustration.

Kyojuro took a long drink of the cup of tea in his hand, it was easier than thinking of the right thing to say.

Shinjuro continued, his voice steady but carrying a hint of weariness. “I practically memorized each word of the chronicles. The Breath of Flames like every other breath will always be derivative. Yet our swordsmen are the only ones who refuse to believe that. Neither the chosen ones nor those blissfully content with their own mediocrity use anything as foolish or self destructive as that damn 9th form.” 

Kyojuro knows the destruction he spoke of all too well. The gelatinous cartilage protecting the shoulders, knees, elbows, hip flexors, ankles, spine, it was all fickle. 

Once the body has worn it down, usually through decades upon decades of usage the grating discomfort of bone on bone friction rarely goes away, in many cases it can leave one chair bound from the intensity of every joint aching.

While all such an affliction can happen naturally with the flow of time, but the amount of power emitted from the 9th form was anything but natural.

The records of the ways of Flame Breathing made this clear to the user. Even by the standard of breath forms, which already amplify the body beyond its innate threshold, the concentration of power in the 9th form of Flame Breathing was exceptionally great.

The amount of strain on the body by the 9th form was more than some could handle. Some Flame Pillars of the past did not have the composition to use it more than once or twice at absolute most. The immense pressure on the body had a way of hastening degeneration. The form was strictly a last resort when facing a foe that needed to be defeated at all costs. 

The brighter and hotter a flame burns, the sooner it flickers out. Yet each time he was left with no other option but to use it, he did so without hesitation.

He had always fought to save lives with his body as little more than collateral in the grand scheme of his duty, so what did a few adverse side effects matter if it allowed him to prevail against a powerful demon that could go on to devour dozens?

Shinjuro muttered under his breath bitterly as if trying to suppress a visceral growl gathering in his lungs at the words alone. “The Breath of Flames, the Flame Hashira mantle, all of it, who gives a damn about a line of talentless fools breaking themselves just to end up average. It’s just a pitiful tale, nothing more. I’ve asked myself over and over why anyone would want to pass that on to the next generations.” 

He shook his head slowly with an exhale, his knuckles becoming lighter as he gripped his cup more tightly before releasing it again. “I knew I should’ve destroyed the infernal pages of the Flame Hashira Chronicles a long time ago.”

Kyojuro’s tone became calmer than even he knew it to be, almost as if unconsciously imitating the softness of how his own mother spoke to him all those years ago. “Whether it is pitiful or not, it memorializes their will. Their triumph, their struggle, none of it will go unnoticed, and they will be remembered fondly for their bravery and their role in our history.”

Shinjuro was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant still settled on the peach streaks as they became gold across the sky. “Did you ever read about my predecessor?” He grumbled with narrowed eyes.

Kyojuro’s brow furrowed into thought before replying. “Our grandfather, yes of course. I read about every Flame Hashira. It is a shame Senjuro and I never met him.”

“Trust me, you’re lucky you only ever read about him.” Shinjuro let out a forced chuckle before taking another sip. “Obsessed with the family legacy, he’d probably have carved ‘Flame Hashira’ into my chest the day I was born if he thought it would keep me from forgetting who I was meant to be. And just my luck—I happened to be the bastard’s only child. That meant all his expectations, all his delusions about immortality through legacy, fell squarely on my shoulders.” 

Kyojuro heard a pain in his father’s voice that he had only caught a handful of times before—a rare, almost fleeting vulnerability that Shinjuro rarely allowed anyone to see. His mind drifted back to faded, gilded memories. When his father’s smile had been constant, his pride unwavering. He could still recall the way his father’s eyes would light up as he passed down his sword skills to him and Senjuro, enthusiastic and patient.

Those memories were growing hazy with time, as though they were trapped in the mist of nostalgia, but the warmth they stirred within him was unmistakable. It was the kind of warmth that invigorated him—like the very ichorous blood of the Flame Hashira flowed through his veins, and he was destined for greatness.

“Perhaps…” Kyojuro murmured, his voice wistful, “Perhaps… He must have seen potential in you… " His eyes fell to the ground, his chest felt hollow as if the air was being drawn from it. "And that was the reason he pushed you so hard and did not ever give up on you...”

Shinjuro’s lips pressed together into a firm line. “Potential? No. He didn’t see me. Not as a person. I was a tool, a means to an end—a way to keep the Rengoku name alive, to make himself feel like he mattered.”

Shinjuro's voice held calm, but kept carrying the crushing weight of resignation.“Part of me wanted to show him I would be the last Flame Breathing user,” His eyes stayed distant, unblinking.

“Just let our name die out, fade into oblivion as a fragment of history. Just so my miserable old man’s last thought would be regret. That nothing he tried his damndest to maintain would last after one generation. I refused to be another cog in the perpetual machine.”

Kyojuro looked down at the swirls of green fluid in the cup as he held it in his lap. His voice curious as he looked over, as though trying to understand a piece of the past he had never been allowed to see. “What changed your mind?”

“Your mother…” Shinjuro’s lips twisted slightly, but not with anger—more like a quiet bitterness that he no longer had the energy to hide under anger or indifference. “But just like everything else, it was all futile, just a beautiful dream she was kind enough to let me believe in. Even for just a little while.”

Kyojuro’s eyes flickered, a quiet understanding passing between them at her mention.

Shinjuro let out a long sigh, setting his cup down with a soft clink, though his movements remained languid. “I don’t know if she fell victim to the suffering fate has ordained for us by becoming my bride. Maybe she stood a chance before then. But not us, if you’re born into it, you don’t have a choice, it's your cross to bear whether you want it or not. That’s the cruel joke. That’s the purgatory we’re bound to.”

The sun was higher now, and the colors in the sky deepened, casting a warm glow over everything.

Shinjuro’s voice broke the stillness again, his voice softer now than Kyojuro had known in so long. “I never wanted to be the kind of man to force a son to swing a sword until he vomited and his hands were torn open and bleeding. I should’ve never let either of you boys touch a blade. Just let the cycle end and be free. But you and Senjuro... you were always drawn to it. Always. I could see it in your eyes.” 

His gaze turned, albeit reluctantly, to Kyojuro, meeting his gaze in earnest. “We can’t help it, can we? It's in our blood I suppose.”

The sun was fully risen now, casting a golden glow over the room, spilling warmth across the tatami floor. Shinjuro, still staring out at the horizon, sighed deeply, a silent self condemnation. “I wasn’t capable of protecting Ruka, or the many junior swordsmen, or countless civilians, but I once hoped even a good for nothing father could protect his own children if nothing else.”

Kyojuro’s eyes lingered on his father, the warmth of the rising sun casting a gentle light on the hard lines of Shinjuro’s face. He didn’t know what he could possibly say. 

Kyojuro sat in the silence that followed his father's words, the weight of Shinjuro’s rare admission lingering in the air. He could feel the old, familiar tension between them, but it was softer now—more fragile, like the delicate balance of the morning light spilling across the floor. 

Shinjuro’s voice was both steady and solemn. "Kyojuro, you are a better man than I. You and your brother both. A strong man can learn from a weaker one how to become even stronger."

The words were unexpected, catching Kyojuro off guard. He glanced up at his father, his eyes searching the features of Shinjuro’s face for some sign that this wasn’t just another passing moment of wistful resignation. But there was no mistaking the sincerity in his tone. Kyojuro’s chest tightened, though he didn’t fully know why.

Shinjuro took a breath, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, a faraway look in his eyes. “Just remember, you have a whole life ahead of you. It’s yours to do with what you wish.”

There was something in Shinjuro’s words that stirred in Kyojuro—a faint flicker of hope, like a spark in the dark. He wanted to say something, to respond, but the weight of the moment was so heavy, so rare, that all he could do was nod.

Shinjuro shifted slightly, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate, before leaving on heavy footsteps.

There was something in Shinjuro’s words that stirred in Kyojuro—a faint flicker of hope, like a spark in the dark. He wanted to say something, to respond, but the weight of the moment was so heavy, so rare, that all he could do was nod.

Shinjuro shifted slightly, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate, as though the weight of his own body was a burden he carried with resignation.

He gave Kyojuro one last look, something softer than usual in his eyes, before he turned toward the door. "I’m going to go check on Senjuro. He’s been having nightmares lately."

Kyojuro’s gaze lingered on his father’s retreating back. The room felt quieter now, the silence settling between them like something solid. He wanted to speak—wanted to say something that could erase the years of distance between them, and his father’s regrets.

The warmth of the sun seemed to spill into his very bones, filling the hollow places with a kind of quiet understanding. It wasn't a resolution. It wasn’t a grand moment of reconciliation. But it was something. 

A rare crack in the wall that had always stood between them. And for the first time in a long while, Kyojuro thought maybe, just maybe, it was a step toward something else. Something better.

—————————————

He awoke to start the day as he had nearly every day for the past. Getting ready at dawn as he always did, cautious not to awaken you in the room beyond the thin panel walls. Donning his corps uniform kaen haori, against Kocho’s advice to receive help. 

Moving deliberately he raised his arms to twist the thick honey blonde layers of his hair, he felt a sharp pang in his abdomen. He froze in place, his eyes widened before clenching shut. The pain forcing him to grip the edge of the nearest furniture for support. 

His hand moved from his chest back to his sides as he opened his eyes slowly, a hint of embarrassment creeping over him. It was as if he feared that when his eyelids lifted, he would find disappointed faces gazing back at him.

He continued the routine that made him worthy of the rank of Hashira. His resolve only strengthened, it would not matter so long as he could prove to himself, he was still strong, the capable protector of others.

The sun’s early light casting across his face, he moved with purpose across the same grounds that he and generations of Flame Pillars before him honed their skills in the heart of the ancestral estate. The ground beneath him was packed earth, worn smooth from endless footfalls. 

Unsheathing his katana, he took a deep breath, grip tightening on the handle of his garnet nichirin sword. But the blade that was once a weightless extension of himself felt heavier, more cumbersome. 

Performing the stances he had forged into his very bones with the years. His fluidity between each form was lacking. Even in total concentration he found himself sputtering if his chest expanded too much on the inhale. Beads of sweat rolled down his temple in the Summer sun, the brine making the unhealed gash across his eye socket sting lightly. 

He was not blessed with the near supernatural acuteness of sense others possessed. Some of his comrades had such heightened perception, blindness itself was not even a burden. But he was quite the opposite, since the mission he lost most of his hearing, he had learned to instead rely on his vision to be fully aware of his surroundings at all times. 

In the line of duty, he even had trained himself to reduce the frequency of blinking so as to not let his own inability to perceive his surroundings with his other senses create an opening for an enemy to strike. 

Each swing and subsequent sharp ache in his abdomen was a reminder that not long ago, a demon had punched straight through his body as if he were hollow. A lifetime of working towards becoming a paragon of invincibility rendered worthless in an instant. 

He had spent his life mastering control over every part of his own body. Every fiber, every nerve ending. The idea he was spared by chance was nauseating. By chance, the blow didn’t destroy any vital organs, killing him instantly. By chance, the kakushi were able to move him quickly enough. By chance, he managed to wake up from Kocho’s induced sleep at all. 

Kyojuro shifted into the next stance, forcing his body to remember the rhythm of each fiery surge of power. He longed for the zone he could so easily slip into. When each cell of his body felt as though it burned with the intensity of his soul, no amount of pain or exhaustion could dampen it. 

The searing tenacity, the flow. Wiping his brow he found the warm flow he desired, albeit in a drastically different form. A crimson streak across the back of his hand was the last thing he saw before sanguine blood obscured the vision in his left eye once again. Pressing the heel of his hand against his eye once again in an attempt to stop the seep from the wound.

—————————————

You were well aware of Kyojuro’s routine, if he was off bed rest chances are he would go back to it even against the better judgment of others, and probably himself too.

So when you saw him sitting with his back to the house, cross legged in the middle of the training field, his katana sheathed on his right side a change from it usually placed on his left. Stranger than that, you had rarely seen him take breaks much less fully sit down on the grass. 

“Are you alr-You’re bleeding!” Once you were within his earshot, you 

He looked over his shoulder with his right eye anxiously following your exclamatory reaction. He assured you with a forced cheerfulness, though the flicker of uncertainty in his voice betrayed the bravado. “Although,” he continued, his tone lowering slightly, “I fear if Senjuro sees me like this, he might go into a panic…”

As much as you wanted to scold him for neglecting his own wellbeing for the sake of others yet again, he had a point. Senjuro had just been in a state of shock wondering if he would ever see his brother again. The last thing he needed was to see Kyojuro hurt yet again.

“Yes! I-I’ll get some first aid!”

You moved briskly back to the house to retrieve some standard medical supplies. Coming out to sit on his left side in the grass, mimicking his seated position with his back to the home. From the way you angled yourself, legs folding to your side, if Senjuro happened to walk by, perhaps he would just figure you both were basking in the sun on a nice day and nothing more.

You slowly shake your head as you begin to wet the clean cloth with rubbing alcohol. “You are an exceptionally lucky man, you know that?” 

He chuckled lightly, a glowing smile spreading across his face. “I suppose I am if a beautiful lady is willing to take care of me.” 

You sigh, glancing down for a moment fighting back a grin that will no doubt spread to you like a contagion. “Look up please.” As you asked, his irises shifted upwards as you moved the cloth in your hand toward him, the laceration across his left eye freshly reopened on full display, stretching clear across his eyelid and nearly severing his eyebrow.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Kyojuro Rengoku. You know what I mean.” You can’t help but smile through the scoff you force out, your attempts to remain stern and impress upon him seriousness foiled.

Holding the damp cloth with a steady grip, you approach his eye with utmost caution, ensuring you don’t accidentally brush against his ink-black lashes. You carefully touch the rag to his face, disinfecting the length of the wound, your movements deliberate and gentle. 

“No! I am merely speaking the truth you are-” His proclamation was halted by a wince at the sting from the antiseptic’s contact with the raw wound. 

“I’m sorry if that hurts.” Your brow furrows as you pull the cloth away, necessary as it was to do, it pained you to be the cause of any further bodily discomfort for him. 

You take a minute to find the most appropriate way to say what you mean, for both of your sakes. “First they weren’t sure you would…” 

You meet his gaze tacitly before continuing. “Then Shinobu-san tells you the chances of retaining sight in your left eye was nonexistent, and here you are breathing and seeing and yet you still keep pushing yourself to the point of coming apart at the seams.” You try to mask your unease, seeing him continue working himself beyond his limits, when he is already so fragile at the moment.

“At least wear the eyepatch the Butterfly Mansion issued you!” You implore with something of a half smile. The sheer stubbornness with which he dismissed every injury, no matter how serious, would be humorous if it wasn’t so deeply concerning.

“Oh please, I need no such thing! I’m doing nothing I cannot handle, I assure you.” That authoritative voice, brimming with optimism. It was so easy to hear it, and blindly take each word as fact. But you know better by now, you could’ve told him every bone in his body was broken beyond repair and he would probably still respond that way. Even so, you want to trust him to stay within his means. 

“Ok, ok you’re ‘fine.’ I understand.” You reply resignedly speaking on your exhale. “Just please just take care of your eye. You’ve always had the most lovely eyes…” You say looking deeply into the golden rimmed eyes of the man before you.

Usually, when those  spoke of the Rengoku family, they used the word "powerful" to describe their distinctive features—sharp cheekbones, avian-esque orbs, blazing hair, and the aura of intensity that seemed to radiate from them. They served as yet another irrefutable motif that connected each Flame Pillar to the long legacy of unrivaled swordsmen bearing the Rengoku name.

“Powerful” was no doubt a compliment. He had always taken pride in the honor of possessing the iconic visage of his courageous ancestors. “Lovely” was different though. It felt intimate, a word that captured a softness. One rarely used when likening the fierce warriors of the Rengoku lineage with description, or him by that association.  

“If you like them, then I am only more excited by the prospect of passing them onto our children one day!” He exclaimed, the ever present ember burning behind his gaze billowing into a roaring inferno with joyous fervor.

Your cheeks flushed like a watercolor canvas, rosy hues blooming across your complexion. He could only surmise in that moment the evident dilation of your pupils to be a product of shock, at worse maybe even discomfort. 

He had gotten overzealous again, it was all too easy for him to put his foot in his mouth and take someone aback when he felt impassioned enthusiasm overflowing from him. However, you didn’t seem jarred or off put by his sudden pronouncement. You gaze warmed, softly smiling back at him.

“Yes, me too.” Your voice on the gentle breeze was as steady and sincere. 

But for a moment, it all fell away. The corps, his family legacy, the pillars, all of it. Holding her knees gently on the grassy Earth beside him, looking back at him. Rays of light catching against her skin, wrapping around her like a golden embrace, illuminating her form with a radiance that seemed almost otherworldly. Her hair danced in the breeze, tousling it to frame her face with an effervescent allure.

He felt warmth creeping up his cheeks, just as it had for her moments ago. He desperately tried to suppress the flush as he turned his gaze downward, focusing intently on the ground.

Death or disablement. Kyojuro knew these to be the only two circumstances in which a pillar could honorably resign from their post. Here he was, neither dead nor maimed. The verdict ought to be clear as day. He was more than aware of the inevitable weakness that all humans must experience in time. 

But to face that inevitability when he could still do so much? If he could swing a katana, he had a duty to serve. Right? His father should have continued serving as the Flame Hashira until he lost his sharpness to age. 

But the day Mother passed, something died in Father, or maybe something already dead within him had begun to fester. Kyojuro always told himself that he would not succumb to the same fate, despair would not be the death of him, certainly not if even an Upper Rank wasn’t. 

“I have… a friend… who is thinking about their future as a Hashira.” Kyojuro spoke with an uncharacteristic softness, fingers fidgeting with the hilt of his sword.

You looked at him inquisitively before having what you believe to be a revelation. “You mean the Sound Pillar?” 

“Oh… right, yes. Uzui, of course.” Kyojuro's words stumbled out, a nervous smile flickering on his lips, eyes darting away, as if relieved to hear you identify the former Hashira, already settled on retirement. 

“If he decides to retire, does it mean he has lost his passion? Or maybe he is running away?” His voice raised closer to its usual vivacity, but the typical enthusiasm felt infected with an air of apprehension. His fingers tightened around the sword’s hilt, outlining the flame insignia swordguard with a deliberate motion of his thumb.

Before you could even think to answer, he pressed on with another question, his urgency palpable.

“What if…” He paused, lightly clearing his throat adding the aforementioned yet again, his cadence returning to its equilibrium. “My friend…” 

He looked deeply into your eyes, the bright vermillion honeycomb pools poured into yours like a gentle ray of sunlight at dawn, adorning everything within with its warmth. His words regained their normal directness in earnest. “Is worried the person he loves might not want him anymore, if he isn’t strong?”

You tilt your head, your gaze previously riddled with intrigue tempered tacitly at his probing, you understood now. “I’m certain the people in his life value him for more than something as superficial as his strength.”  

You put your palms flat behind you on the tufts of grass leaning back to feel the sun warm your face.

“I don’t think of ‘strong’ as a person, I think of it as a state of being. We are all allowed to be weak and rely on the strength of others, and when others are weak we can give them our strength. No one person has to be strong all the time.” 

More importantly, you saw through the electric personality of the natural born leader to all and the brave exterior of the warrior. You saw the man beneath it all. The kind of soul that was as tender as it was resiliently fortuitous. 

Hanging on every word you notice the intertwine of his arms, crossed against his chest as he clung on your every word with rapt attentiveness. You straighten your posture leaning toward him, interlocking your fingers to the corded sinews of his forearms, pulling them from their interwoven tensed state as you had done before.

You took his worn hands in your own. “Well I hope you tell ‘your friend’ as much. Although, I would like to ask you something now if you would allow me.”

“Of course my flame, anything.” he replied, his voice filled with earnestness, a bright smile spreading across his face. 

“Did you remember what I told you in the Butterfly Mansion? The last thing I said to you before you lost consciousness?” 

His eyes narrowed as they trailed off into thought. He racked his brain for the last moment of light before his eyelids fell heavily as the sounds around him dissipated into silence. Before the oblivion of the serum he was injected with took effect, only muffled words cut by sobs come to mind.

“Please forgive me, I cannot recall.” He bowed his head remorsefully before meeting you again with a hopeful countenance. “Would you tell me again, my flame?”

A rosy hue rouges your cheeks as you fidget from side to side where you sat, part of you didn’t want to tear your gaze from the safety of the trodden Earth . But you couldn’t stand the idea of missing a moment basking in the bright eyes of the man you nearly lost.

 “I told you that I loved you...” Your voice was a murmur, barely above a whisper, and as your heart skipped a beat in your chest. “I love you. I meant it, I love who you are. That will not be changed by what you are.” 

“I have never found many things in life that I could not bring myself to love, or so I thought.” “What a fool I was. I did not even know what that word meant back then. What a truly lucky man I am.” 

You would’ve liked to sappily argue that it was, in fact, you who was the lucky one. However, you knew the endless back-and-forth that would’ve followed if you did. 

So instead, you let both your body and heart bask in warmth from two separate suns—one worlds away, and one right beside you. You let the moment linger between you, content in the quiet truth that you didn’t need to say it aloud for him to know you felt the same.

To be continued...

Taglist: @rift-and-rise @leannathespacewerewolf @hellscampcounselor @hauntedaugust @obsidianlive @oh1boy @chocolatebannana2 @erexart @vaelzz @kalypsoox @jiy-une @mayyhaps

[jinnie-ret]

cover me

poly!stray kids x fem reader

genre: angst, fluff at the end

content warnings: stress from uni/work

word count: 1.5k

summary: money, work, school. it was only a matter of time before the boys would see her crumble, and be there to pick up the pieces

requested: @straykidsnerd255

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Every time she tried to take one step forward, something would ultimately knock her back twice as far. Finally having a very generously paid job as an intern at a big company was serving her well, yet with the return of going back to university, finding a work-school balance was becoming difficult.

Truly, that was the hardest thing. She had great people around her, those being her uni friends or her loving boyfriends, the renowned Kpop band, Stray Kids. The way they cared for her and each other with such strong morals and support meant that surely it would be easy to confide in them.

Not always, especially in this case.

Other times she would be thankful for the fact that her partners all had a longer practice at the company, not to their own detriment of course, but because it gave her more time to get herself together and paint on a calm picture of 'I'm definitely not struggling right now and on the brink of my second breakdown of the day'.

However, this time she really needed them. The stress had amounted to such a level that she felt it right through to her bones, and so she found herself crying over the smallest things, which in turn let out the release of her biggest pain.

"Stupid shoes, why aren't they organised, there's too many," she sniffled, sat on her knees by the front door as she began to cry at shoes. Yes, shoes. Her boyfriends' shoes to be specific. She would have thought at least Seungmin would have berated the others for their lack of organisation at this point but even his were out of place.

"They didn't even match them back up," she cried, and more tears spilled out, "oh, why am I even crying right now?"

Sometimes being in such a state meant that it was hard to understand your own feelings, your thoughts far too occupied with the wants of other people to be able to manage the basic needs of your own.

Eventually she gave up on the shoes and wiped her tears, walking slowly over to the sofa and letting her body fall into it with a soft thump. She tugged a soft velvety blanket over herself, one that Felix probably picked out due to it's plush exterior, and instinctively cocooned herself. Her heart felt heavy, her eyes hot and burning as the tears kept falling. All it took was a reminder on her phone for a work assignment, and a uni assignment, to trigger a sob to catch her throat.

"Too much," she sobbed to herself, trying to muffle the sounds even though there was no one else to hear them, "it's too much."

She was wrong. Not about her feelings, gosh, no, but the fact that she thought she was alone.

"Hey, hey, what's going on?" Hyunjin was crouched down right in front of her trembling form, almost hidden if it wasn't for the blanketed lump that had been shaking so much it couldn't have been natural.

His hand brushed her hair back and his thumb rubbed under her eyes, catching the tears that seemed to keep appearing. Hyunjin watched on in deep concern, just like their other boyfriends did the more they realised something was wrong.

"What? When, when did you get back?" she gulped down her sobs, or attempted to, even though her words still came out messily. She sat up, the blanket falling off her shoulders and resting around her hips.

"Don't worry about that, love. Just tell us what's going on, yeah? What's wrong?" Chan held her against him immediately, taking a seat ñext to her. The only time his arm that was wrapped around her moved away, was to let Jeongin lift the blanket back up to keep her warm.

"I don't know," she sniffed indignantly, coughing lightly through her cries when she tried to clear her throat. Her arm pressed against the lower half of her face.

"You're getting yourself in a state now, come on, move your arm, you know you don't have to hold back in front of us," Seungmin sighed sadly, seeing his girlfriend so stressed. He pulled her arm towards her lap which he was sat in front of, holding her hand with one of his own and the other rubbing her knee.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically at first, until hearing the rest of what he had to say and tilting her head up to the ceiling to blink away the rest of her tears.

Chan pressed a kiss against her forehead, and everyone was around her to offer comfort, Felix and Changbin in particular wanting to jump out of their seats on the adjacent sofa to take all the pain away.

"What's got you to upset, jagi?" Jisung pouted, his own eyes glistening as he saw how upset you were.

"It's stupid, really," she began, rubbing at her eyes roughly, Hyunjin subsequently tutting at her and pulling her other hand away that Seungmin wasn't occupying.

"We're not doing that, jagi," Minho shook his head, brows furrowed, looking down at the floor with his hands folded together, "if it's upset you, it's not stupid."

"Exactly, please just tell us, you know we just want to help, that's all," Felix quickly pitched in, face crumpled sadly much like your own.

"There's just too much going on really. You know? Like, oh-" she had to cut herself off when her voice cracked with emotion again.

"You're ok, take your time," Jeongin gave a small smile and nod to reassure her.

"We're listening, baby," Changbin's raspy voice rung out.

"I've got a good job right? Like, it pays so well, but now with going back to uni it's just like I don't have time for anything. I-i'm having to squeeze in hours where I don't have them because my boss won't help me work around my timetable," she explained, the clashing of two parts of her life and time issues being what was clearly causing so much turmoil.

"I'm sorry, darling," Chan tugged her closer to him, a frown on his face.

"Don't be sorry, not your fault, is it? I'm just so tired, I'm exhausted," she admitted, pressing her lips together and taking a deep breath in order to not cry again.

"We'll help you figure this out, ok?" Hyunjin leant his head against her shoulder.

"Ok, ok," she let out a deep breath and nodded.

"I think you need to focus on uni, love. If work can't meet you in the middle then, it's hard," Seungmin trailed off, not wanting to fully leave her in the dark but not wanting to be too blunt.

"What do you think, jagi?" Jisung wondered, curled up against Minho, one leg hanging over the older's lap.

"I don't know. I don't even wanna make any decisions right now," she shook her head tiredly, blinking a couple times.

"That's understandable, baby, how about we just relax for now, ok?" Changbin suggested.

"And if anything else is upsetting you, please tell us," Chan huffed with a knowing smile.

"Ok, promise," she grinned.

₊˚⊹♡

She must have fallen asleep without realising, as she found herself waking up to Jeongin and Felix giggling over something on the latter's phone.

"What's going on?" she murmured tiredly, pressing her face deeper into... Jisung's chest, it took one whiff of his cologne to be able to tell it was him.

"Had a good sleep then, hmm?" Minho poked her forehead, slow blinking at her.

"Mm, yeah," she nodded, "Lixie, Innie, what's funny?"

The two froze, looking at her a bit guiltily.

"Well, umm, you know we have that camera in the hallway, just in case for security, like if someone broke in or-" Jeongin began to ramble awkwardly,

"I know, yeah," she nods, adjusting her head against Jisung's chest as he loosely keeps an arm around her, securing her to him.

"We're actually sorry for laughing, babe, it's just... You were crying over our shoes earlier?" Felix can't even keep eye contact as he explains.

Jisung stifles a laugh and so she slaps his chest playfully through her mild embarrassment, making him yell out dramatically.

"What's Sungie done now?" Hyunjin asks as he flops onto the sofa, entering the room again after leaving Chan, Seungmin and Changbin to managing the cooking.

"It's more about what our jagi did," Minho teases, looking at her with a smug grin.

"Guys, I was stressed, leave me aloneeee," she huffed, but it didn't stop the light laughter that filled the room knowing that she wasn't completely upset about it.

"Sorry, but..." Jeongin chuckles again, "the way you throw the shoes away from you is so funny!"

"What did our shoes do to you?!" Felix laughed again as he watched the video on replay.

"They smelt bad," she grinned happily, teasing them back as revenge, "specifically Ji's."

"Yah!"

Jisung gave her a noogie, keeping her trapped in his arms. He couldn't let her discredit him like that.

"Sorry! Sorry! Hahaha!"

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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[skiiyoomin]

i beg you to write some tobias eaton jealousy smut where he gets all possesive and shit

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Content: SMUT CONTENT, possessiveness, swearing, fem reader, slight tease Tobias, dirty talk? little tiny bit of degradation (he calls you a slut)

Summary: Tobias had to show exactly who you belong to

a/n possesive tobias makes me feralll, also the plot is boring as hell but i geniuenly couldnt come up with something else

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

ღNeed | Tobias Eaton

You're beatiful, that's a fact. Tobias knew it, everyone at Dauntless did. He always felt lucky and greatful to have ended up with you, and he always made sure to remind you of that fact.

However, like everything, there was a downside. People at Dauntless had a tendency for....boldness. Of course that was a given, I mean, it's literally their nature to be bold. But there were times Tobias wished people weren't so bold.

Often times he'd catch people staring at you a little longer than necessary. Other times they'd straight up attempt to flirt with you, but you quickly shut down their advances. However, there's always going to be some idiot who doesn't understand what no means. Like right now.

You were at a party and of course, as expected of Dauntless, everything was absolutely wild. You were having a great time and, surprisingly, so was Tobias. As expected, you had caught the eyes of many in your black silk dress that night and while he felt slightly uneasy at this, who were they to blame really, you did look stunning after all.

At one point, he unwrapped his arm from your waist and excused himself to the bathroom. When he came back, what he saw had him clenching his jaw and curling his hands into fists. A random guy was towering over you, leaning a bit too close for comfort, your face clearly showed discomfort, which had Tobias immediately coming to your side.

"Are you ok darling? Is he bothering you?" He glared at the man as he asked the question, his gaze softening when he glanced back down at you. You meekly nodded, wanting nothing more than to be left alone with your lover.

"Oh come one babygirl don't play hard to get, we were having fun" The man reeked of alcohol making his nose twitch in disgust. His grip on your waist tightened. "She's clearly taken, so I would back off if I were you"

The man merely glanced at him before he drifted his attention back to you, continuing his advances. Tobias stepped in front of you, pushing a finger into the mans chest. "I said back off" He seethed.

Before he could answer, Tobias grabbed your hand and walked towards the door with a fast pace, leaving you no choice but to follow. Once you were walking down the empty hallways of the compound, you reached up to place your hand on his tense shoulders. Hesitantly, you called out to him.

"..Tobias?"

You were answered with silence, and while you questioned the unusual behaviour, you decided to keep quiet, not wanting to cause further tension.

Before you knew it, you were at the door of your shared apartment. As soon as the door closed, Tobias had you pressed up against the wall, his lips kissing yours in fervour. You were absolutely breathless, your mind going blank at the feeling of his hands roaming your body.

He seperated from your lips, though only a mere centimeters. He gazed deep into your eyes, his own half lidded ones holding a dark lustful gaze. "You're mine" He growled. His low tone sent shivers down your spine, your breath hitching in your throat.

He picked you up with ease, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he manuvered with ease through the house and to your bed. Gently he plopped you down and crawled on top of you, his toned arms caging you under him. His lips were back on yours, the tension rising as his hands roam your curves. Your shirt rode up with the movements and in one swift movement it was off, leaving you in your bra. His lips began to move down, leaving lingering kisses on your jaw and neck. You let out a breathy moan when he kisses the crevice of your neck. When he pulled back, he admired the series of hickeys decorating your neck.

With expertise, he unclipped your bra, throwing it to the side. Similarly to your neck, he began to spread hickeys wherever he could. Your back arched when his warm mouth enveloped your sensitive nipple, the other teased between his thumbs. "Mmm Tobias" You breathed out, your hands on the back of his head, messing up his brown locks. He continued giving his attetion to your chest, switching between one nipple and the other until you were writhing underneath him.

"Please Tobias, I need it"

You whined, but he only seemed to want to tease you.

"Need what baby? Use your words"

"Fuck please, i- i need your cock"

That's all he needed to hear for him to remove the rest of your clothes as well as his own onto the pile on the floor. He placed his hands under your knees, spreading your legs until you were wide open for him. The sight of your wet cunt made his dick twitch, a groan errupting from his throat at the sight. "Fuck baby you're already so wet for me, can't wait for this cock to fill you up hm?"

You nodded frantically, wanting to be filled up to the brim. You grinded your hips, needing to feel friction on your throbbing pussy. He leaned forward, pressing your legs to your chest as he lined up with your needy hole. Without any warning, he slammed into you, causing a loud moan to rip from you.

"I'm gonna show everyone who you belong to, who fucks you so hard you can't walk properly like a needy little slut"

You whined at the filthy words, but before you could even react, he was already slamming his hips into your ass, the dirty sounds of squelching filling the room.

He lifted your hips a little bit, allowing him to reach places you didn't know existed. Your head fell back onto the mattress, your jaw hung open while the most pornographic mewls left your mouth. He grunted at the feeling of your walls tightening around his dick, your nails scratching his back adding to the feeling of pleasure.

Soon enough your back arched, your moans rising in pitch and your words turned into gibberish as you felt your orgasm reach its peak. Tobias quickened his pace, feeling his own release coming close.

"o-ooh my god f-fuck i'm gonna cum"

"cum for me baby"

With a couple more thrusts you were cumming all over his cock, your body jerked uncontrollably. Not long after he released his seed inside you, using your overstimulated hole to chase his high.

When you finally caught your breath, you pressed a sweet kiss to his lips "That was good"

He pressed kisses all over your face before looking at you with a smirk "Don't think I'm done with you"

[kckt88]

Imzadi I

Summary:

When Aemond presents as the first Alpha Prime in generations, Rhaenyra’s already fragile claim to the Iron Throne is thrown into uncertainty.

But everything shifts when her daughter, Lucaera, experiences a shocking awakening of her own.

Bound by fate and instinct, an unbreakable bond forms between two—one that could either unite the realm or destroy it.

As the fires of war begin to smoulder, Lucaera must make an impossible choice: her mother’s crown or her mate’s life.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Oral Sex, Fingering, Loss of Virginity, P in V, Knotting, Mating Bites, Blood, & Others to be Added.

AEMOND x O.C NIECE

ALPHA/BETA/OMEGA DYNAMIC

Word Count: 6023

A.N - 'Imzadi - Beloved'

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @zenka69 @aemondsbabygirl

Rhaenyra stood in the brisk sea breeze of Dragonstone, her silver hair catching the light of the setting sun. In her hands was the letter. The words within had turned her blood cold.

Daemon loomed beside her, with his arms crossed, his violet eyes scanned her face as she read the missive again, her brow furrowed in a mix of concern and indignation.

“It’s true,” she said, finally lowering the letter. Her voice was quiet but tense. “Aemond has presented. An Alpha Prime.”

Daemon scoffed, a smile playing on his lips. “A late presentation means nothing. You are Viserys’s heir. Named and declared before the realm. He cannot overturn that for the whim of nature.”

“-But you don’t understand, Daemon,” Rhaenyra pressed, her voice rising with the urgency of her thoughts. “The last Alpha Prime was Aegon the Conqueror himself and none since. Until Aemond-” She clenched the parchment tightly, her knuckles pale. “He’ll have the realm’s attention. A claim they may find more compelling than mine own”

Daemon stepped closer, his hands gripping her shoulders, firm yet comforting. “Viserys would not forsake you. He has stood by his word for years, through every challenge and every whisper against your claim. Your brother presenting as an Alpha Prime changes nothing”

“Doesn’t it?” Rhaenyra whispered, her gaze distant as she looked out at the waves. “The realm craves strength and stability. They’ll see Aemond’s presentation as a sign—a divine confirmation from the gods that he is the rightful heir” She shook her head. “He is the first Alpha Prime in generations, Daemon. His claim will overshadow mine.”

Daemon’s hands slipped down to take hers, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Listen to me, Rhaenyra. Aemond’s presentation does not make him Aegon the Conqueror, no matter how the realm chooses to fawn over him. And your father—our King—is not so foolish as to believe it does”.

Rhaenyra frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line. “But what of the lords of the realm? They’ll rally to Aemond if they see fit. My being named heir will mean little if they reject me.”

Daemon smirked, his grip on her hands tightening slightly. “Then we remind them what true Targaryen strength looks like. Let the realm see your fire, Rhaenyra. Let them see that Aemond may roar, but your flame burns brighter.”

Rhaenyra looked down at the letter one last time. Aemond’s transformation from an awkward, second son into an Alpha Prime had already sent ripples through the court, and she knew those ripples could soon become waves crashing against her claim to the Iron Throne.

Lucaera slid down from Vermithor’s saddle, her boots landing lightly on the cold stone floor of the cavern.

Her gloved hand brushed along the dragon’s massive bronze-scaled neck, her touch lingering as she whispered, “Kirimvose, Vermitōs.” (Thank you Vermithor).

The bronze dragon rumbled deeply, his golden eyes half-closing as he leaned into her hand, his affection unmistakable. She smiled softly, feeling the warmth radiating from his immense form.

With a final croon, Vermithor turned and lumbered off into the shadowy depths of his cavern, the echoes of his heavy steps fading as he disappeared.

Lucaera pulled off her riding gloves as she ascended the winding stone staircase that led to the hall of Dragonstone.

The air grew warmer as she entered, and her gaze immediately caught on her mother, Rhaenyra, standing by the hearth, deep in conversation with Daemon.

Their expressions were heavy with concern, their voices low but urgent. Lucaera frowned as she stepped closer, slipping her gloves into her belt.

“What’s happened?” she asked, her voice cutting through the tension. “You both look like the world’s about to end.”

Rhaenyra turned, her face pale, her lips pressed together as if weighing her words. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, “Aemond has presented. As an Alpha Prime.”

Lucaera’s stomach twisted, the weight of those words sinking in immediately. Her eyes darted between her mother and Daemon. “An Alpha Prime? What does this mean for your claim?”

“Nothing,” Daemon said sharply, stepping forward, his tone firm and unyielding. “Viserys named your mother his heir. That is the way it will stay.”

But Lucaera wasn’t convinced. “I might be young, but I’m no fool,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “Like it or not, Aemond now has a claim to the Iron Throne. He’s the first Alpha Prime since Aegon the Conqueror. The lords of the realm won’t just ignore  that.”

Rhaenyra sighed, her shoulders slumping as she looked away. “What can I do?” she murmured. “Hope that my father remains steadfast in his decision? That he does not waver?”

“Mother-” Lucaera said, shaking her head firmly. She stepped closer, her voice insistent. “-You cannot hide away here on Dragonstone, hoping this will blow over. You need to act-”

Daemon crossed his arms, a glimmer of approval in his eyes as he looked at Lucaera. “She’s right,” he said. “Otto Hightower is no doubt already whispering in Viserys’s ear, pressing Aemond’s claim. We must make for King’s Landing immediately-”

Rhaenyra hesitated, her gaze flickering between them. “And what choice do I have?”

“To King’s Landing, then,” Daemon interrupted, his voice cutting through hers with sharp finality.

Rhaenyra nodded at last, a reluctant resolve settling over her. “Very well,” she said. “We leave at first light.”

Lucaera found her twin brother, Lucerys, and their older brother, Jacaerys, sitting together in Jace’s chambers.

The room was warm, lit by the soft glow of several candles, their flames casting a faint, flickering light over the boys.

Jace sat by the hearth, a book in his hands, while Luke leaned casually against the edge of the bed, toying with a dragon-shaped carving.

As Lucaera stepped inside, she paused, a strange wave of heat flushing through her body. She felt uncomfortably warm under her riding leathers, and for a moment, the air in the room seemed too thick, too heavy.

Dismissing the sensation, she squared her shoulders and addressed them.

“We’re leaving for King’s Landing at first light,” she announced.

Jace looked up sharply, his brow furrowing. “Why?”

Lucaera hesitated, the words catching in her throat for a moment before she managed, “Aemond has presented. As an Alpha Prime.”

Jace’s book fell to his lap, forgotten. “You’re joking,” he said, his voice incredulous.

“I wish I was-” Lucaera replied, shaking her head. “It seems the news arrived earlier-”

Luke straightened, his earlier playfulness replaced by seriousness. “Does Mother intend to fight for her claim?”

“Yes-” Lucaera said, her tone firm. “That’s why we’re going to King’s Landing”

Jace leaned back, exhaling heavily. “An Alpha Prime, though-” he murmured, his eyes clouding with worry.

“The only thing that could potentially weaken Aemond’s presentation,” Luke said, his voice soft but deliberate, “-Is an Omega”

Lucaera scoffed, the sound harsher than she intended. “There hasn’t been an Omega since the Conqueror’s sister-wife, Queen Rhaenys. It’s unlikely one will present itself now.”

Luke shrugged lightly. “You never know.”

Lucaera laughed “I do enjoy your enthusiasm, brother, but if an Omega was going to present, it would’ve happened long before now. The only thing we can do is stick together and support Mother as best we can-”

Luke sighed, his earlier confidence fading. “I guess you’re right.”

Lucaera grinned, though her face felt unusually hot. “When are you going to learn, brother? I’m always right.”

Jace chuckled, his laughter breaking some of the tension. “Really? Always?”

“Most of the time,” Lucaera quipped, sticking her tongue out at him.

But then- a faint scent drifted through the air, sharp and clear, cutting through the warm, candlelit room.

Rainwater—fresh and clean—filled her senses, and then another smell, equally vivid: seawater, salty and bracing.

Lucaera blinked, her head tilting slightly as she turned toward her brothers.

Her heart skipped a beat. They were Alpha scents, coming from Jace and Luke. But that was impossible. She was a Beta—she shouldn’t be able to detect their scents, not like this.

“Are you ok Lucy?” Luke’s voice cut through her thoughts, his tone laced with concern.

Lucaera waved a hand over her face, feeling faint. Her stomach cramped, a dull, insistent ache, and sweat gathered on her brow.

“Is it hot in here, or is it just me?” she asked, tugging at the collar of her riding leathers.

Jace frowned, studying her. “It’s just you-”

Lucaera shook her head slightly “I’ll say goodnight, brothers-” then she quickly, retreated from the room. “We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

She walked briskly down the dim corridor, her steps echoing against the stone walls. Her body felt strange—too warm, her head light, and her senses sharper than they should have been.

By the time she reached her chambers, her skin was damp with sweat. Pulling off the outer layer of her leathers, she tried to steady her breathing.

The sensation didn’t ease. Her stomach cramped again, and her skin prickled uncomfortably. Opening the balcony doors, she stepped outside, letting the cool sea air wash over her.

It helped, but not as much as she’d hoped. She placed a hand on her forehead and frowned. Her skin was still clammy, and her heart was racing.

How strange, she thought, closing her eyes as she leaned against the railing.

The sharp scents of rainwater and seawater still lingered faintly in her mind. I shouldn’t be able to smell them like that. Not as a Beta.

A flicker of unease sparked in her chest. Was she falling ill? The timing couldn’t have been worse. The trip to King’s Landing demanded all her strength and focus, and she couldn’t afford to falter.

Shaking off her worries, she stepped back into her chambers, closing the balcony doors behind her.

Whatever this was, it would have to wait.

Steeling herself, Lucaera inhaled deeply, the salty air doing little to calm the growing unease. No matter what this is, she resolved, I need to be steadfast in my support of the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

The next morning, Lucaera pulled on her riding leathers once more, her fingers fumbling slightly with the buckles.

She still didn’t feel quite right—a light sheen of sweat clung to her forehead despite the cool morning air filtering through her chamber window. Her body felt too warm, her skin prickling with an unfamiliar heat.

They were supposed to sail to King’s Landing, but the thought of being cooped up below decks for the journey made her stomach twist. She needed the open sky, the wind against her face—she needed to fly.

Leaving her chambers, she made her way down the winding stone steps, descending into the caverns where Vermithor awaited.

The deep, rhythmic sound of his breathing filled the vast space, and as she approached, his massive bronze head turned toward her. His golden eyes gleamed in the dim light, and he rumbled a low greeting.

Lucaera climbed into the saddle and took a deep, shuddering breath, gripping the reins tightly. Through their bond, Vermithor sensed her unease, his body shifting slightly beneath her as he trilled with concern.

"Lykirī, Vermitōs. Iksan sȳz." (Be calm, I'm fine).

But even as she said it, she wasn’t truly certain of the words herself. She exhaled slowly, steadying her grip before tugging on the reins.

"Sōves, Vermitōs." (Fly, Vermithor).

Her bronze fury lumbered forward, his claws scraping against the stone floor as he made his way toward the cavern entrance.

Then, with a powerful leap, he soared into the sky, his colossal wings unfurling as they caught the wind.

The cool breeze battered against Lucaera’s face, offering momentary relief from the heat still radiating from her skin.

Vermithor cooed again, his concern pressing against her through their bond, but she pushed on.

The sea stretched out beneath them, endless and vast, and as they flew, she finally spotted the ship carrying her mother, Daemon, and her brothers.

The red-and-black sail billowed in the wind, unmistakable against the deep blue of the water.

Lucaera urged Vermithor to fly ahead, guiding him lower so that his wings skimmed the waves, sending up sprays of water with each powerful stroke.

As they soared, her thoughts drifted—to Aemond.

She hadn’t seen him since that night on Driftmark. He had been just a boy then, still young in his years, but bold enough to claim Vhagar, the mightiest of all living dragons. And for it, he lost his eye.

Her own twin, Lucerys, had carved it from his skull.

The fight that followed, the chaos, the anger—it had only widened the chasm between their family.

Lucaera had felt bad for Aemond then, for what had happened to him. He had just as much right to claim Vhagar as Rhaena did.

Dragons were not possessions to be passed down like heirlooms; they were creatures of their own will. Vhagar had chosen Aemond that night. She had seen something in him—something worthy—and she had claimed him just as much as he had claimed her.

Of course, he had been an arrogant arse about it afterward. The cruel words exchanged between them had never needed to be said. But still, he hadn’t deserved to lose his eye.

Even now, sometimes, she could still hear his screams of pain. The wet sound of the blade meeting flesh. The blood pouring down his face.

Lucerys hadn’t meant to do it. But he had done it all the same.

And now, Lucaera wondered what kind of man Aemond had become—especially now that he had presented as an Alpha Prime.

She spent the entire flight lost in her own mind, her thoughts tangled with past and present, until at last, the distant outline of King’s Landing came into view.

The city rose up before her, the great walls and towers of the Red Keep looming over the bustling streets.

Vermithor released a booming roar, announcing their arrival to all of King’s Landing.

As he circled the Red Keep, his massive shadow stretched over the rooftops, the smallfolk below pausing in their daily routines to look up in awe.

Some even waved, recognizing the great bronze beast that once bonded to the Old King Jaehaerys.

Then, from beyond the walls of the Red Keep, came a response.

A roar—louder and deeper.

Vhagar.

The descent into the training yard felt like a return to another life for Jace, Lucaera, and Luke.

The sound of clashing steel and the occasional bark of orders from knights filled the familiar air of the Red Keep, tinged with memories both sweet and bitter.

Jace led the way, his energy palpable as he bounded ahead. “Come on,” he called, his grin wide as he turned back to them. “It’s just like old times.”

Lucaera trailed behind, her steps measured. She still didn’t feel quite herself, the heat simmering under her skin.

Luke walked beside her, his eyes darting nervously to the bustling yard below.

Jace reached a spot on the wall near the yard’s edge and placed a hand on it triumphantly. “See? Told you this would still be here.” He pointed to a small dent in the stone. “You said I couldn’t swing Criston’s morning star but look—I left my mark.”

Lucaera smirked despite herself, raising a brow. “You almost took your own head off.”

Luke chuckled softly at the memory, but his gaze remained wary as he stayed near a chest of weapons, his shoulders tense. “They’re all watching us,” he muttered.

Lucaera ruffled his hair, trying to lighten his mood. “Relax, Luke. They’ve nothing better to do.”

But even she couldn’t ignore the whispers, and the stares from knights, squires, and lords alike.

The murmurs grew louder, and her irritation boiled over. She turned sharply to an older couple whose gossip had grown particularly bold. “Surely there are more important things to whisper about!”

The nobles paled, hurriedly retreating from the yard.

“Lucy-” Jace said, grabbing her arm gently. “What’s your problem?”

Before she could answer, Luke spoke up, his voice quiet. “They’re questioning us. Our legitimacy.”

Jace shrugged, his tone dismissive. “Let them. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Luke said, looking down. “It would be easier if we all looked more like Ser Laenor. And less like—” He hesitated, barely above a whisper. “-Harwin Strong.”

Lucaera’s jaw tightened, but she kept her voice steady. “It doesn’t matter what they think. Isn’t that what Mother always tells us?”

Luke nodded reluctantly, but the tension in his posture didn’t ease.

Before the conversation could continue, the sharp crack of wood splintering and the roar of an approving crowd drew their attention.

The three of them pushed toward the source of the commotion, weaving through the gathered spectators until they reached the front.

In the centre of the ring stood Aemond, sparring with Ser Criston Cole.

Lucaera’s breath caught the moment her eyes landed on him.

He moved with deadly precision, his tall, lean frame shifting effortlessly as he dodged Criston’s brutal swings.

His long silver hair, damp with sweat, caught the sunlight, giving him an almost ethereal glow. Every movement he made was deliberate, graceful, and powerful.

And then she caught his scent—ash and leather, faint but unmistakable. It hit her like a wave, a heady, intoxicating combination that made her head spin.

Her cheeks flushed, heat pooling low in her stomach as her fingers trembled.

Criston’s morning star came crashing down, shattering Aemond’s shield into splinters, but Aemond didn’t falter.

With fluid grace, he sidestepped the attack and brought his sword to Criston’s chest, the sparring match won.

The crowd erupted in applause, but Lucaera barely noticed. The heat under her skin flared, her heart pounding in her chest as her violet eyes stayed fixed on Aemond.

She felt hot—too hot—her breathing shallow as she fought to steady herself.

Criston, breathing heavily, dropped his weapon and inclined his head respectfully. “Well done, my Prince. You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.”

Aemond smirked, twirling his blade lazily. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” His voice carried, laced with disdain.

As his gaze swept the crowd, his sharp eyes landed on Jace and Luke—and then Lucaera.

“Nephews,” Aemond called, his tone sharp with challenge. “Have you come to train?”

But then something else caught his attention. His nostrils flared as a scent unlike any he had ever known washed over him.

It was intoxicating—sweet and warm, like ripe apples and cinnamon, heady and irresistible.

The Alpha Prime within him roared to life, its possessiveness surging to the surface. Aemond’s focus shifted entirely, his instincts sharpening as he sniffed the air.

The source of the scent became unmistakable: Lucaera.

His eye locked on her, and his entire body tensed.

Mine.

The thought was instant, primal, undeniable. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword as his Alpha snarled, the presence of her two bastard brothers near her fuelling his growing rage.

They stood too close. Far too close.

Without realizing it, Aemond stepped forward, his movements deliberate and predatory. He couldn’t stop himself, the scent driving him mad.

She was flushed, her violet eyes wide, and her lips slightly parted as though she, too, felt the pull between them.

Lucaera staggered, her breath coming in rapid gasps as the heat within her became unbearable. Her knees weakened, and she swayed.

“L-Lucy?” Luke’s voice was filled with alarm as he reached for her arm.

Aemond growled low, a sound only he could hear, as his Alpha bristled at the boy’s touch.

Before anyone could react, Lucaera’s eyes rolled back, and she collapsed.

The yard fell silent.

Lucaera stirred slowly, her vision blurry, the voices around her a jumble of hushed whispers.

As the world came into focus, she realized she was surrounded—Jace, Luke, and several others crowded close, their expressions painted with concern.

Her insides twisted violently, a sharp pain shooting through her stomach, making her flinch. Her head throbbed, and her skin felt ablaze.

She pushed herself up on trembling arms, ignoring the dampness between her legs that only added to her mortification.

“Lucy?” Luke’s gentle voice broke through the haze as he knelt beside her. His hand reached out, brushing against hers in reassurance.

She recoiled instantly, bile rising in her throat as his scent overwhelmed her.

The sharp tang of his Alpha scent was suffocating, wrong. She whimpered, shaking her head, and then Jace’s scent hit her next—just as unwelcome, just as wrong.

“Lucy?” Luke tried again, his voice tinged with worry.

“I-I need to leave,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “I can’t—”

But then it came.

The scent.

Leather and Ash. It cut through the chaos like a lifeline. Her gaze darted to the source.

Aemond.

He stood nearby, his face unreadable, but his eye never wavered as it locked onto her. His presence sent a strange calm rippling through her, even as her body burned hotter. She needed—no, she craved—something.

Him.

She shakily got to her feet, barely aware of the wetness between her thighs, or the way her legs trembled beneath her. She had to leave. She needed to escape this suffocating chaos.

Jace stepped forward, his hand steadying her arm. She shrank back instantly, the touch unbearable. “No,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Don’t—”

“Lucaera, you don’t look well,” Luke said, his voice tinged with concern.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, harsher than she intended.

Jace frowned, his worry deepening. “Should I escort you back to your chambers?”

“No!” The word burst from her lips before she could stop it, her chest heaving as panic clawed at her.

He isn’t the right Alpha.

She took a shaky step back, shaking her head. “N-no, I can make my own way there.”

“Are you sure?” Jace pressed, his brows furrowed.

“Yes,” she said quickly, her voice strained. “I just need to lie down. Nothing t-to worry about.”

Another wave of pain tore through her, and she whimpered despite herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aemond take a step forward, his expression tense.

But when she instinctively stepped back, he froze, his jaw tightening.

The training yard seemed to close in on her, the oppressive scents of other Alphas crowding her senses.

It was too much. The whispers, the heat, the cloying mix of leather, steel, and sweat—all of it sent her spiralling into fear.

“I’m fine,” she managed, holding up a trembling hand to stop Luke from following.

He exchanged a worried look with Jace, but they reluctantly stepped back.

Lucaera turned and fled, her steps unsteady as she made her way toward her chambers. She clutched her stomach, her breath coming in ragged gasps as another wave of pain seized her.

Lucaera could barely think, barely breathe. The pain was unbearable, as though her very bones were being shattered and reformed at once.

Every nerve in her body burned, her skin felt too tight, too hot. Her smallclothes were drenched, her thighs slick with something she could not control.

She whimpered as she slid down the cold stone wall, her body trembling violently.

The world spun, colours blurring, and then—the scents.

A wave of them crashed into her, suffocating, cloying. Too many. Too much.

Some were sharp and metallic. Others musky and thick with dominance.

Wrong. All wrong.

Something inside her was crying out, desperate, pleading. Help. Please.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Then—leather and ash.

The scent curled around her like smoke, soothing and possessive, an anchor in the storm. It seeped into her senses, and her body responded instantly, muscles loosening, mind clearing just enough to open her eyes.

And there he was.

Aemond stood over her, his single violet eye burning with something unreadable. His sharp, angular features were set in a strange mix of concern and hunger.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he stared down at her, his chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths.

Her lips parted, her voice weak, broken.

“P-please-Qyybor” she gasped. “-Help me” (Uncle).

Aemond didn’t hesitate.

In a swift motion, he knelt and gathered her into his arms. She melted into him at once, her body instinctively curling into his, her face pressing into his throat.

Yes. This. This was right.

His scent wrapped around her, leather, and ash, something uniquely Aemond, and it sent a shudder through her that was equal parts relief and something far more dangerous.

He carried her with ease, kicking the door to her chambers open before stepping inside, shutting it behind him with finality.

The world outside disappeared, leaving only the two of them, her ragged breaths, and the deep, steady rhythm of his.

Aemond lowered her onto the bed, moving with surprising gentleness. He hesitated only for a moment before leaning down, his face close to hers.

She stared up at him, violet eyes wide and pleading, her body trembling.

Then he inhaled.

A deep, slow breath, his nose brushing against the delicate skin of her throat.

Aemond growled. A low, primal sound that sent a violent shiver through her. His fingers flexed against the sheets as if restraining himself, his eye blown wide.

His lips parted, voice thick with something raw, something primal.

“You’re an Omega?”

Lucaera stared up at Aemond, her breathing shallow, her body trembling. His words echoed in her ears, ringing louder than the thunder of her racing heart.

“An Omega?” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. “No, I—I can’t be. I’m a Beta.”

Aemond’s eye didn’t waver, his expression firm but laced with something deeper—something raw and primal. “You’re an Omega,” he said again, his voice low and steady.

“No,” Lucaera protested, her voice rising in panic. “No, you’re mistaken. There hasn’t been an Omega since Queen Rhaenys, and—and it’s not possible! I can’t—”

Aemond leaned closer, his gaze piercing as he cut her off. “There’s no mistake. I can scent it-”

Her protests caught in her throat, her words evaporating into the thick tension that hung between them. She was about to speak again, to deny it further, but then it hit her.

A wave of heat surged through her, molten and unbearable, pooling in her core. The wetness between her legs increased, soaking her undergarments, and a broken whimper escaped her lips.

Aemond reeled back suddenly, his jaw clenching as if he were physically restraining himself. “I shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice strained. “This isn’t proper. I’ll—” He faltered, his hands shaking as he gestured toward the door. “I’ll go get Jace, or someone else—”

“NO!” Lucaera cried out, her voice trembling and tearful. She reached out, grabbing his wrist. “No, not Jace. Not anyone else. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong.”

“Lucaera” mumbled Aemond.

Her violet eyes, filled with desperation and something else, locked onto his. “It’s you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I need you.”

Aemond stood frozen, his entire body taut with restraint. The sweet, cloying scent of apples and cinnamon had invaded his senses, seeping into his very bones.

It was intoxicating— stronger than reason. It curled around him, wrapping tight like a vice, sinking its claws into the deepest, most primal part of him.

A newly presented Omega in her first heat.

His fingers twitched, his hands curling into fists as he forced himself to stay rooted where he was.

Every instinct—every roaring demand of the Alpha Prime inside him—screamed at him to move, to take, to claim.

Lucaera whimpered, shifting restlessly on the bed, her body wracked with tremors. Her flushed skin glowed in the dim candlelight, her pupils wide and glassy with heat. She smelled so sweet, so utterly perfect.

She was his.

No.

Aemond clenched his jaw, his nails biting into his palms. His body burned with the effort to resist, his muscles locking in place. He should leave. He should run before it was too late.

But then—

“Please, Alpha,” Lucaera whispered.

Aemond groaned, his head snapping to the side as if he could physically tear himself away from her, but the damage was done.

That word—Alpha—had shattered the fragile thread of restraint he had left.

His breathing turned ragged, his hands shaking. His entire body hurt with the need to touch, to hold, to mark. He shouldn’t. He knew that.

But the scent of her—clouded his thoughts, dissolving every rational argument in his head.

Lucaera whimpered again, arching slightly, her body begging for relief. The heat inside her was unbearable.

Aemond took a slow, deliberate step forward.

He loomed over her, his eye dark with an emotion he didn’t dare name. His breath came heavy, his nostrils flaring as he lowered himself closer.

Lucaera’s breath was shallow, her violet eyes locked on his with a mixture of need and desperation. She reached for him, her hands trembling as she touched his face, her fingers tracing the harsh lines of his jaw.

“Please,” she whispered, a sound that broke him in two.

His lips found hers with a hunger that felt ancient, primal, as if it had been waiting its entire existence to meet hers.

The kiss was unlike anything he had ever known—it was fierce, urgent, full of the hunger of the Alpha Prime he had tried to suppress.

He didn’t just kiss her—he devoured her, as though he was trying to breathe her in, to imprint her onto his very soul.

Her mouth was warm, and soft against his, her breath mingling with his in a dizzying swirl of heat and longing. His heart thudded violently in his chest as he pulled her closer, pressing her body against his.

The moment their lips touched, everything else faded—the crowded, suffocating thoughts, the world outside, even the noise in his head.

There was only her.

Only her and the overwhelming need to claim her, to make her his in every way.

The air between them pulsed, stronger with each second, each beat of his heart.

The warmth inside him swelled, the fire in his veins growing hotter as he kissed her deeper, his tongue slipping against hers, tasting her, feeling her respond to him in a way that was both maddening and beautiful.

His hands moved to her back, his fingers grasping at the soft fabric of her clothes, desperate to feel the warmth of her skin beneath his touch. He heard her gasp as he pulled her tighter, and the sound shot through him like lightning.

Aemond's mind screamed for more. The Alpha Prime in him roared for more. His body burned with an intense need, a hunger that only she could quench.

And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that there was no turning back now.

Lucaera had lost her senses the moment Aemond had stripped her bare and knelt down between her open legs.

“Ñuha dōna Omega” whispered Aemond (My sweet Omega).

Lucaera’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as Aemond’s tongue swept across her slick wet folds.

This was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

She bit the back of her hand to keep herself from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to tease her entrance.

“Ivestragī issa rȳbagon ao ñuha dōna” growled Aemond (Let me hear you my sweet).

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” moaned Lucaera.

Aemond pressed two fingers inside Lucaera, moving them repeatedly against a spot inside her that made her entire body shake.

His tongue. His fingers. Oh it was heaven.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen my sweet. Come for me. Come for your Alpha” whispered Aemond.

Lucaera arched her back and let out a loud scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond then crawled up Lucaera’s body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.

Lucaera blushed furiously when she saw that Aemond’s chin was shining with her slick.

“Calm yourself my Omega” murmured Aemond as he swiped his fingers over his chin and then sucked them into his mouth, savouring the taste of her.

“I-I’ve never-” mumbled Lucaera.

“Relax and let me take care of you” whispered Aemond as he leaned forward and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth.

Lucaera could feel the hard length of him pressed against her thigh and he felt huge, how on earth was that going to fit inside her?

Almost as if he could read Lucaera’s mind, Aemond smiled and began peppering gentle kisses all over Lucaera’s face.

“You can take it. Ao istan vēttan syt nyke” whispered Aemond as he reached down and began to rub his hard cock along Lucaera’s wet folds (You were made for me).

Aemond cast his eye downward watching with fascination as the head of his cock slowly moved through her slick folds.

Lucaera began squirming as he began teasing her entrance- probing gently but not breeching it, before he slid the velvety head over her pearl.

“A-Aemond. Please” whined Lucaera.

Suddenly Aemond pressed his cock against her entrance and rolled his hips forward, the entire hard length of him quickly sliding inside Lucaera.

“AEMOND” shrieks Lucaera.

Aemond stilled for a moment, almost as if he is savouring the feeling of Lucaera’s tight wet heat being wrapped around him.

“M-Move please Alpha. I need you” begged Lucaera desperately.

Aemond rolled his hips gently at first, allowing Lucaera the time to adjust to the feeling of his cock moving back and forth inside her, but when his sweet omega begins issuing pleas of harder and faster Aemond lost it and began fucking Lucaera into the mattress.

Their hips pounded together as Aemond thrusts hard and fast, his movements brutal yet precise.

As Aemond moved within Lucaera, the very concept of time seemed to fade away into nothing. 

“Lucaera. Lucaera. My Omega” moans Aemond as his cock begins to thicken at the base.

“Alpha-Oh-” whined Lucaera as she feels something tugging her.

“Going to fill you up with my seed. See you swollen with my pups” hissed Aemond as he gives one last thrust and forces his knot deep inside Lucaera, locking them together.

A low growl escaped Aemond’s throat, his teeth bared, then he leaned forward and sank his teeth deep into her mating gland.

Lucaera screams in ecstasy as she feels Aemond throb inside of her, coating her insides with his seed.

“-Lucaera. My Lucy. Always-” muttered Aemond.

Aemond then tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck—offering her the most vulnerable part of himself. An unspoken invitation, and a declaration of trust.

Lucaera didn’t hesitate. As she lunged forward, her lips brushing over his skin before she sank her teeth into the sensitive flesh of his mating gland.

Aemond groaned, his hands tightening around her hips as his body tensed. A rush of something primal and electric surged between them, snapping their bond into place like a tautly pulled bowstring finally released.

Their hearts beating as one.

Lucaera gasped, overwhelmed by the intensity of it—the connection that now pulsed between them.

Aemond was there, just beyond her own consciousness, a steady presence threading through her very soul.

She could feel his emotions, raw and untamed—possession, adoration, relief, desire—swirling together into something indescribable.

She whimpered, burying her face into his throat as their bodies remained locked together, the undeniable proof of their bond holding them in place.

Aemond hummed, his nose trailing up her cheek, his touch reverent, almost worshipful. His entire being radiated satisfaction, his Alpha utterly pleased, and Lucaera shivered at the warmth of it.

Then she felt it—deep in her chest, a soft, soothing vibration, spreading through her bones like a warm lullaby.

Confused, she blinked up at him. “I feel-strange,” she whispered.

Aemond’s eye softened, his lips quirking into a smile. He brushed his fingers over her damp cheek, his touch tender.

“It’s called purring, my sweet Omega,” he murmured. “It means you’re happy and content.”

Lucaera exhaled shakily, leaning into his touch as the warmth of their bond settled around her like a comforting embrace.

For the first time in her life, she felt truly whole.

[charliedawn]

Hi hi!

It's been a while since over requested anything but I've been keeping track of your posts and I am still in love with your writing style!!

I was wondering if I could have the slashers with a nurse wo already has 5 kids but is a single mom?

When it comes to her kids safety she turns into a complete animal like mama bear style....

Her children are smart in their own ways and are very close nit, but they always look out for their mother.

Thanks if you do this!

❤️ anon

P.s please take care of yourself! And drink lots of water and eat healthy meals!!!

Jason would be quietly protective, his natural instinct to shield others kicking in as he watched the kids play. He might not say much, but he’d be the first to step in if any danger appeared. He’d probably even enjoy the occasional moments when one of the kids quietly sits beside him, without fear, just being present.

But…Jason is afraid of children. He knows they can be cruel. So he wouldn’t approach the kids if he can help it. He would first need reassurance that they are good kids who wouldn’t be mean to him. I think your kids would be safe with him, but be careful as Jason is still a kid in his head and kids usually do not realise what they are doing until it is too late…

He might get scared.

Bo would put on his usual tough front, pretending that he’s unfazed by all the noise and mess. But over time, you’d notice him helping fix things around the house without asking, muttering under his breath that he’s “just keeping the place from falling apart.” And you might catch him joking with the older kids, giving them advice like an older brother might. He would eventually warm up to the kids. (And they would watch Cars together cause duh…cars. 🤣)

Your kids wouldn’t necessarily see him as a threat cause they know his true love is cars.

Pennywise and Penny would likely be the most chaotic around the kids, trying to keep them entertained in their unique way. They’d take turns clowning around (literally), teasing and laughing, but always making sure the kids were safe. Pennywise might grumble about all the work, but deep down, he’d appreciate the chaos that reminds him of his bond with Penny. Also, they would create illusions and Penny would even turn himself into a poney to have some fun with the kids. They would hence learn to be more friendly and to care for your family—as much as they care about you.

Freddy Krueger might pretend to be too cool to care at first, but he’d surprise you by keeping the nightmares at bay for your little ones. He’d even show them how to stand up for themselves, all while cracking jokes and making a game out of it. He’d never admit it, but being part of a family dynamic might soften him a little, especially when he sees how much he’s grown fond of the little monsters. 😆

Freddy *takes one of the kids and smiles* : "If you think you can just bat your eyes at me and pout and get me to do whatever the hell you want…you got another thing coming, kiddo."

All your kids start doing it and he pretends to get shot and fall.

"Aaaah ! Curse y’all for ganging up against me !"

Vincent Sinclair and Jason would be silently helpful, stepping in to create art for the kids or fix broken toys. They’d rarely speak, but their actions would show how much they’ve come to care for both you and your family. Both their gentle side would emerge more often when they’re with your younger children, especially if they showed interest in their work.

Michael Myers would be a constant presence, quietly observing and occasionally stepping in when needed. He might bond with one of the quieter kids, appreciating their silence and the way they understand each other without needing to talk. He’d be fiercely protective of your family, seeing you and the children as his own responsibility. He would also organise cooking or baking sessions for the kids—managing to make them all participate and teach them a thing or two—in case you do not have the time to cook for them.

And Brahms Heelshire—though not used to such a lively household—would probably hover around you, trying to be helpful while also seeking attention. He’d keep a close eye on everything, particularly the younger kids, and would often look to you for reassurance, wanting to be part of this new family.

Once approval give though ? He’d quickly share his many toys and board games with the kids—eager to make some new friends. He would also be happy if they invited him to play with them and end up missing them when they have to leave. He’s also be happy to receive hugs from the kids and beg you repeatedly to bring them back.

[princesscait26]

An Unlikely Friendship: 2

Summary: The two rivals wives are caught (I’m really bad at summaries)

Alastor x reader, Vox x unnamed wife, Vox’s wife x reader Platonic!

Part 1

At the Hazbin Hotel, Y/n sat at her vanity, meticulously getting ready for the day. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of the vanity bulbs. She was applying her lipstick when she noticed a familiar shadow in the mirror's reflection. Without turning, she spoke with a slight smile curving her now red lips, “I know you’re here.”

The shadow shifted, and in its place stood the Radio Demon himself. Alastor’s crimson eyes and broad smile fixed on his wife with a blend of curiosity and suspicion. “Where are you going today, my darling? It’s still only the morning,” he inquired, his tone deceptively casual.

Alastor was known throughout Hell for his malevolence, but in the presence of his wife, he was softened, almost vulnerable. Her absence left him feeling incomplete, a sensation he loathed.

Y/n turned, meeting his intense gaze with practiced ease. Avoiding his question, she picked up her purse and leaned in to plant a light kiss on his cheek. “I’m going out. I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t forget you have a meeting with Charlie today, dear!”

Before Alastor could react, she slipped past him, the reminder of his meeting momentarily distracting him. She made her way to the door, her heart pounding as she sensed his gaze burning into her back.

The moment the door clicked shut, Alastor’s smile twitched, replaced by a look of steely determination. His possessiveness gnawed at him. Where was his wife off to, and what was she doing? His mind raced with possibilities, none of which he liked.

He could not simply let it go. Summoning his shadow, he issued a silent command. "Follow her. Report back to me."

As Y/n exited the hotel and stepped into the bustling streets of Hell, she felt a chill, a whisper of unease that she couldn't quite shake. She knew Alastor's nature all too well, knew he wouldn’t take her abrupt departure lightly. Yet, she couldn’t let him control every aspect of her life.

Back at the hotel, Alastor paced his room, the meeting with Charlie all but forgotten. His thoughts were consumed by his wife’s mysterious outings. Though he trusted her, his darker instincts drove him to ensure her safety and loyalty.

———————————————————————

Y/n was blissfully unaware of Alastor's shadow trailing her as she made her way to the café. Believing she had successfully slipped away, she pushed open the door and was immediately enveloped by the comforting aroma of coffee and pastries. The gentle hum of conversation filled the air.

“Y/n!” a familiar voice called out. She turned to see Vox's wife, waving enthusiastically from a corner table. Y/n smiled and waved back, weaving her way through the tables to join her friend.

"I ordered your usual," she said with a warm smile as Y/n sat down. "Late again, I see. Did Alastor give you a hard time leaving?" She laughed, the sound bright and infectious.

Y/n giggled, sharing in the inside joke that both women held—how their husbands never made it easy for them to leave. "You know him too well," she replied with a chuckle. "It’s like trying to escape a shadow."

Vox’s wife’s eyes twinkled. "Well, we manage. It’s nice having these moments to ourselves."

Y/n sighed contentedly, her expression softening. "I enjoy your company so much. It’s rare to find someone who truly understands. You’re a great friend."

"You're too sweet," Vox’s wife replied, her smile widening. "If only our husbands knew how much they actually had in common."

The two women laughed, their voices mingling with the ambient sounds of the café. They reveled in their shared moments, finding solace and camaraderie in each other's presence.

Unbeknownst to them, Alastor's shadow had witnessed the entire encounter. It slipped away, returning swiftly to its master. Alastor listened intently to the shadow's report, his expression shifting from curiosity to shock, then to anger. How dare his wife meet with Vox’s wife, of all people!

On the other side of the city, Vox had grown suspicious as well and decided to follow his wife. When he arrived at the café, he was surprised and annoyed to see Alastor approaching from the opposite direction. Their eyes locked, and both men bristled at the sight of the other.

"What are you doing here?" Vox demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Alastor sneered. "I might ask you the same thing. I have every right to be here."

"As do I," Vox retorted, stepping closer. "However, it seems we have a more pressing matter at hand."

Their attention turned toward the café’s interior, where Y/n and Vox’s wife were laughing and chatting, oblivious to the storm brewing outside.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Alastor's tone is dripping with amusement, but his eyes betray a flicker of something darker. He stands at the entrance, his silhouette casting an imposing shadow over their table. Next to him, Vox's eyes blaze with barely contained rage, his screen flickering.

The café falls silent, the patrons' eyes darting between the two imposing figures and the women. Y/n's heart skips a beat as she locks eyes with Alastor, his usually warm gaze to her now cold and penetrating.

"Alastor," Y/n starts, attempting to keep her voice steady, "This isn't what it looks like."

Vox's wife stands up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Vox, I—"

But Vox cuts her off, his voice low and seething. "You think I wouldn't find out? That you could hide this from me?" His words hang heavily in the air, his fists clenching at his sides.

Alastor steps closer, his smile never wavering but his eyes darkening. "My dear, I am not so easily deceived. And to think, you two have been meeting behind our backs. It seems our rivalry has taken a rather... unexpected turn."

Y/n can see the hurt beneath Alastor's facade. Despite his charm and confidence, there is a sting of betrayal in his eyes. She takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Alastor, we just wanted a break from the constant fighting. It was never meant to hurt you two. To be with someone who understands."

Vox's wife nods in agreement, her eyes pleading with her husband. "Vox, please understand. We needed to escape the endless cycle of your battles. We needed each other."

But Vox, his pride wounded, steps forward towards the two women, his voice cold. "You think I care about your excuses? This betrayal is unacceptable. You think sneaking behind our backs was a good solution" He glares at Alastor, as if blaming him for this newfound alliance between their wives.

Alastor, ever the performer, turns his attention back to Y/n, putting a hand up stopping Vox from getting closer to Y/n. His smile returning but now tinged with bitterness. "It seems we have more in common than we thought, Vox. Betrayed by those closest to us."

Vox scoffs, his gaze never leaving his wife. "Don't lump me in with you, Alastor. This changes nothing between us. If anything, it intensifies our rivalry."

Y/n steps forward, her voice firm. "Enough. Both of you. This isn't about your rivalry. It's about us, your wives, who have had enough of your childish antics. We wanted peace, but it seems that's too much to ask for."

Vox's wife joins her, her voice soft but determined. "We love you both, but we can't keep living like this. It’s exhausting. All of your time goes to your fight with him, Vox. Something has to change."

The tension in the café is palpable, the silence deafening as Alastor and Vox process their wives' words. Finally, Alastor speaks, his voice softer but still edged with frustration. "Perhaps we do need to reassess our priorities."

Vox, his anger simmering down to a low boil, nods in agreement. "For once, I agree with Alastor. This isn't over, but maybe it's a wake-up call."

Alastor's eyes flicked to Vox, surprise flickering across his face. "You're suggesting we... call a truce?"

"Temporary," Vox clarified, his tone grudging. "For the sake of our marriages."

Alastor considered this, then nodded slowly. "Agreed. Temporary."

Relief washed over Y/n and Vox’s wife as the tension in the air finally began to ease. The initial shock and anger on Alastor and Vox's faces had subsided into something more manageable, though still simmering beneath the surface.

Alastor, ever the gentleman, extended a hand to Y/n. “Come, my dear,” he said softly, though his eyes still held a hint of possessiveness. “Let’s return home. We have much to discuss.”

Y/n took his hand, squeezing it gently. “Of course, darling,” she replied, casting a reassuring smile over her shoulder at Vox’s wife.

Vox, meanwhile, wrapped a protective arm around his wife’s shoulders. “We’re leaving,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “We need to talk as well.”

She nodded, leaning into him slightly. “Alright, Vox,” she murmured, her eyes meeting Y/n’s with a mixture of amusement and solidarity.

As the two couples moved in opposite directions, the two women turned back to each other, sharing a silent understanding. Their eyes met, and both broke into large, conspiratorial smiles. They waved goodbye, their hands lingering in the air as long as they could see each other.

“Until next time,” Y/n mouthed, her smile warm and genuine.

“Definitely,” she mouthed back, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

The café doors closed behind them, separating the two women physically but not in spirit. As Alastor and Vox led their wives away, the men’s grips firm yet gentle, the women’s thoughts lingered on their cherished friendship, silently vowing that this unexpected encounter wouldn’t be their last.

In the bustling streets of Hell, amidst the chaos and constant noise, two friendships stood resilient, bound by shared experiences and a mutual understanding of the complicated men they loved. For now, at least, the truce was a step toward peace—a fragile, tentative step, but a step nonetheless.

———————————————————————-

Taglist

@that-dumb-bitch

@alastorthirsty

@generalthirsty

[two-white-butterflies]

the gold of casterly (iii)

Description: You pass off Rhaenyra, an illegitimate daughter from Viserys' paramour, as your own while navigating the treacherous maze of the Red Keep. You enter a forbidden tryst with the Rogue Prince, which truly does prove that Lannisters are not as smart as they believe themselves to be.

Pairing/s: daemon-targaryen/reader, viserys-targaryen/reader

Part Two |

"Why did you speak to her?"  Your voice echoes throughout the closed chambers. Daemon turns around, his lips pressing into a thin line as he is struck by your beauty again. As beautiful as the sea and sky...he faintly hears the bards singing as you halt in front of him, your bodies merely inches apart.

"She saw," he replied bluntly, placing a hand on your chest, tracing the intricate needlework of your golden gown. 

"She will not tell," you say with certainty. 

Rhaenyra has always been a meek little thing, more dove than dragon. You taught her that tolerance is part of survival and that turning a blind eye to a few tragedies has never hurt anyone. "- And you know that because?" Daemon raises an eyebrow, his eyes glaring daggers. "I have raised her as such." You responded, bridging the gap until your bodies are touching each other. 

His hand trails down to the small of your waist. 

"Or maybe she has already caught you with another, and that happenstance was nothing out of the ordinary." Daemon accused, and you are once again reminded of his volatile nature. Your lover would burn the world if it meant having you in his bed to fuck, but if he ever sees you with another man, sharing the bed, in all the ways that you have shared with him, then it is certain that he shall burn you too. 

"You dream once more." You whispered, eyes darting back and forth between his eyes and his lips. "You are the only man I have lain with." 

Daemon's eyebrows merged, unsure if he could trust you. Your voice always sounds certain, even when caught in the middle of a lie. "Not even my brother?" Daemon asks. He regrets not being in Kingslanding all those years ago, he regrets not being able to meet you first, not being able to provide you the power that you desire. 

But in the end, he surmises, no power is enough. 

You would put the realm to the torch if it meant satiating your lust for control. 

"There are things we agreed not to speak about," you pulled away. His gaze follows your body, a man enchanted by a forest nymph. Even after all these years, he still does not understand your ability to control him. He tries to raise his voice, but a mere snap of your fingers sends him to his knees, begging for your forgiveness. Sometimes, that forgiveness never comes. Sometimes, you make him work hard for it. "I feel as if we are only living life on your terms," Daemon fights against his instincts. 

Your gaze snaps towards him, eyes fueled with anger. 

"There are only my terms." Your voice sounds kingly but lacking warmth. "- My little birds tell me that you have been visiting the whores for quite some time now. I have not asked you about that, and to be clear, I am not asking you because I do not care Daemon." Your eyes are pulsing with rage, but your voice is calm as you pour yourself a goblet of wine. 

The first one who screams is the one who loses. 

"I do not care if you pay a thousand whores to warm your bed, because I know that the only thing you desire is the fleeting moments in which we spend in each other's arms. You will fuck all of those whores, but I know that you are thinking of me, thinking of the next time when we will finally be together again, and I would rather have those fleeting moments than be married to you." You articulated the reality of the situation. Marriage is a nightmare, a political choice, a prison. 

And you speak in truth, for even if you spend each night in bed with your husband, you still dream of those fleeting moments with Daemon. 

"Marriage is designed so that you'll hate your spouse in three years. You tell me that you have never been married, and I assure you that you do not want to be married to me. You do not want to see the parts of me that Viserys believed to be enough of a reason to abandon our vows." You take a sip of your wine. 

You are not stupid. You are aware of your negative traits.

When you shoot words whilst angry, you shoot to kill. Your anger has gotten you into a lot of trouble. Viserys says that you are easy to anger but difficult to soothe. You suppose that one of your negative traits is your inability to care about your husband...but there is another underlying issue there. 

Your face slightly shifts as you see the sadness in his eyes. Your expression turns back to normal before he can see. "If we are nothing but a caprice in your eyes, then let it be a beautiful caprice," Daemon says, but it seems like he is saying it to himself. You tilt your head slightly; this man is six and ten years older than you, yet he still lacks the coldness of a proper noble. Being away from Kingslanding has dulled his senses, but that doesn't matter - none of that matters right now. All that exists at this moment is you and Daemon. 

Both of you wrapped in a lover's embrace, a love that would have otherwise torn the realm asunder - but didn't and never will. 

"Hm." Your teeth burrow into your lower lip, and you take a sip of your wine, placing it down on the table. He took a step forward, a smirk playing on his lips, before sitting beside you and pressing a kiss to your neck. "Adamant, aren't we?" You teased, biting back a moan as you felt his hand on your breast. 

-

"Enough wine, this is not a tavern." Your lips pressed into a thin line. Rhaenyra's handmaidens are as green as summer grass or preferably high on something other than grass.  "Thank you, Elinda," Rhaenyra mutters as her handmaiden fades in the background.

"My wife, it seems to me that you have grown more beautiful since the last time I saw you." Viserys compliments. You force a smile on your lips. "Thank you, my king, but you have only been in Dorne for a month. There is no need for sweetened lies." You placed a hand on top of his. Please, you went to Dorne to visit that...what was her name again? 

"I have brought gifts for you and the children." He informs. 

"You should not have; they are already spoiled rotten." You chuckled. 

"It is our last dinner before Rhaenyra is sent to Casterly Rock for her education. We will surely miss you, my dear." Viserys turns to look at his daughter. "I will miss our home too," Rhaenyra answers. "You will love Casterly Rock, but please tell me if my brother has done renovations that I have approved of." Your face turns serious, still protective of your home. 

Viserys smiles, his hand on your shoulder. 

"Your brother is the Lord of Casterly Rock. He may do whatever he pleases," Viserys corrects - which does nothing to calm your brewing rage. 

After all these years, he still treats you like you're an idiot who's unworthy to share in his glory. When, as a matter of fact, his policies have only gained fruit because of your adamant insistence, all those sleepless nights huddled near the fireplace with two babes tucked in your arms - jotting down notes in the King's journal in an effort to fix the kingdom's problems, all the while he snored behind you. Not once have you heard anything about his gratitude. 

"He may not," you answered sharply and with a glare. 

This anger that rages inside your body consumes everything with avarice. Sometimes you wonder if the venom that you've spilled from your tongue is beginning to hurt your children, but you remind yourself that you are only a product of the society that has persevered beyond you. The only way that you are able to be heard is by screaming, threatening, and glaring because if you acted like that blasted Aemma Arryn, demure and silent, you would not have survived. You would have drowned in this bleak wasteland.

You would die in childbed if you listened to their whims. 

"Uncle Tytos listens to you, muña. I'm sure that he wouldn't do anything to cause you anger," Rhaenyra opens her mouth to speak. 

Your brother does not listen to you...he fears you. That is bad. For a ruler to be considered a good one, there must be respect and loyalty. Your brother has none of those traits, and if he ever finds out about your affair with the Rogue Prince, then he will surely tell the King, and you'll be dead. 

Rotting in the ground, with worms feeding upon your flesh. 

"You will love it there, truly, the smell of the sea, the freshness of the air. I would have lived there forever." You said with certainty, a faint smile on your lips. Casterly Rock reminded you of your girlhood, where everything was possible and not a single man stood in your path to greatness. How the mighty have fallen. "Lord Tygos, your cousin will also be there," Viserys says, clearing his throat. 

A groan escapes your mouth. "Here we go again with the betrothals," you rolled your eyes. How is it that your husband blinks and suddenly you're fuming? "When you were Rhaenyra's age, you were already married to me." He points out, and it was awful, you wanted to reply. "We will speak of it no longer," you commanded. 

Viserys sighs, but relents. 

It was not wise to incur your wrath after all. 

-

The wine-dark moon illuminated the otherwise dark halls of the Red Keep. A few days ago, you were caught in bed with the Rogue Prince by your daughter. Rhaenyra has remained silent about the entire ordeal, but it would be wise to address the problem before other rumors permeate in the keep. Rhaenyra was already a woman-grown after all. She's already capable of forming her own opinions, already capable of betraying you if she so desires. 

"My queen," Rhaenyra says while opening her chamber doors. 

You've been kept busy running the King's household and raising her siblings. Her existence should be the least of your priorities, but nevertheless, you are here. 

"Your uncle spoke to me," you opened your mouth to speak, ever so careful, even in the ways that you constructed your words. Daemon spoke to you, not the other way around, even when it was. "I won't tell anyone," Rhaenyra shakes her head, watching as you welcome yourself inside her chambers, locking the doors from behind you. "Of course, you won't." You breathed while sitting on one of the wooden benches near the grand windows. 

You stared at her for a second - in this light, she almost looks like you. 

If she were Aemma's daughter, she would've already informed the King about your affair with his brother, but she holds her tongue. Your daughter stays silent because she chooses to protect the mother who raised her for six and ten years. Oh, when you look at her, you see nothing but the pale features of that Arryn girl, but when you hear of the Princess' accomplishments, you are reminded that she is yours. 

Even now, you cannot decide if you hate or love her. 

You cannot decide if you want to claw at her neck, or if you want to claw at your own for even thinking that. 

And that is your greatest weakness. 

Loving and not loving a girl who should've died the moment that she was born. 

"I have not been entirely truthful, but I find that I have been truthful than most." You spoke in riddles once more, pouring yourself a goblet of wine. Rhaenyra reluctantly sat beside you, smoothening the skirts of her nightgown. "I know that Father visits Dorne to meet with his paramour, and I don't blame you, mother." She opens her mouth to speak. 

Your grip on your goblet tightens. "Does everyone in the entire realm know about his little paramour?" You mumbled to yourself while leaning on the chair, its wooden frame feeling a little tense against your perfect posture. Rhaenyra cracks a thin-lipped smile. "Your siblings were sired by your father, if you were wondering." You glanced at her. 

In all honesty, you are unsure about the paternity of your other children, but that matters little. As long as they have the blood of the dragon flowing through their veins, no one will suspect a thing, and this world is far too cruel to debate the morality of siring a child from another man's seed - people are dying for goodness' sake! 

"I love you, mother." 

And I love you too, Rhaenyra. 

[belit0]

Hallo :D

can you do Indra, madara, shisui, itachi and kakashi with a reader/darling who has the same ability as Uta from One piece?

Some clarifications!

First, in this blog, I write exclusively about Uchihas, ranging from Indra (Ōtsutsuki) to Sasuke (only if someone explicitly requests him to be added). I do not work with any other character as a main focus, so Kakashi is left out.

Secondly, I have never watched One Piece, but my brother is a hardcore fan of that anime, so I turned to him for information, in addition to conducting my own research online. I hope this is at least somewhat close to what you expected, hehe.

(As a fun fact, that character’s ability and aesthetics remind me of Seraphine from League of Legends).

Indra

Indra does not take kindly to illusions, nor does he tolerate power that dares to tamper with control—his control.

The first time he hears (Y/N)’s voice, he feels it settle over him like silk and steel all at once. A spell, subtle yet inescapable, threading through his mind with an artistry he cannot deny. His instincts bristle; his body stills.

For a fraction of a second, he almost falls.

Indra rips himself free with sheer force of will, eyes narrowing. A slow exhale, sharp as the edge of a blade. -You dare?- His voice is quiet, unreadable, but the weight behind it is crushing.

He steps forward, deliberate, his presence eclipsing the space between them.

-You believe yourself a goddess, weaving false worlds with nothing but a song?- His fingers brush against her jaw—soft, deceptive. -How fascinating.-

Yet despite his words, Indra is not immune. He remembers the sensation, the pull of her voice. It lingers in his mind like a curse.

And it is infuriating.

Madara

Madara has seen genjutsu, crafted illusions so intricate they blur the line between reality and dream. But this? This is different. This is not chakra. This is her.

And that makes it infinitely more dangerous.

The first time (Y/N) sings, he feels it immediately—his body resisting, his mind aware, yet something inside him is compelled. It is not forced. It is not invasive. It is natural. As though he was meant to follow.

His Sharingan activates on instinct, attempting to dissect the trickery. His lips press into a thin line as he watches her, expression unreadable.

-Hn.- A slow chuckle follows, dark, amused. -A power like that could overthrow empires, little one.-

Then, after a pause—low, considering—

-Or make gods kneel.

His gaze sharpens. It is not often that Madara feels genuine intrigue. But she? She is dangerous in a way he does not yet fully understand.

And that makes her irresistible.

Shisui

Shisui is used to control. To bending perception, guiding sight, influencing will. But (Y/N)? She doesn’t just alter perception—she owns it.

The first time she sings, he doesn’t even realize what’s happening at first. His body relaxes; his thoughts slow. It is not the forceful pull of a genjutsu, not a twist in his vision. It is pleasant.

Too pleasant.

The moment he catches himself, his eyes widen, a startled breath escaping his lips.

-Whoa—wait, hold on— His laughter is immediate, half in shock, half in admiration.

He stares at her, eyes glinting, utterly fascinated. -You didn’t even try, did you?-

A grin spreads across his face, teasing, but there’s something else beneath it—something keen, almost hungry.

-Damn, (Y/N).- His voice drops slightly, just enough to be dangerous. -What am I supposed to do with a woman who can control me without even lifting a finger?-

And the worst part?

He likes it.

Itachi

Itachi recognizes power in all its forms. And (Y/N)’s? It is both beautiful and terrifying.

The first time he hears her voice, he does not react outwardly. No sharp intake of breath, no visible falter. But internally—

It is disarming.

The Sharingan activates immediately, analyzing, dissecting. But there is nothing to see. No chakra signatures, no threads of illusion. It is simply her.

His throat tightens. Dangerous.

-Your ability is… unique.- His voice is even, but his fingers twitch ever so slightly at his side. He does not meet her eyes immediately. -Do you use it often?-

When she smirks, his stomach knots.

It is not often that Itachi finds himself at a disadvantage. And yet, (Y/N) is proof that power does not always come from violence, from steel or fire. Sometimes, it is soft. Sometimes, it is a song.

And that—that unsettles him more than anything else.

[snail-day]

hi hi hi it's me again!!

thank you so much for another unbelievably delicious portion of cult leader geto!! read it and had a question!!

wouldn't suguru be worried that if sex comes only as punishing method at first, his little lamb would assosiate it with something negative? how would he try to change such connections in her head? cause at first no matter how gentle/loving/slow he would try to be it would still be forced for her:(

i guess that in his mind it is like forcing kid to eat porridge, yk... (lmao). of course she doesn't want it, but she is just too silly to understand that she needs it. luckily for her, he knows! oh his god complex is shining as bright as the sun (if not brighter)

and if he still uses sex as punishment sometimes, does he just doing it roughly or does he adding more and more kinky/humiliating stuff? as i see it, it feels like those punishements could be meant to show her how bad things could possibly be and how much she should be grateful when he is being all gentle and loving.

oh i cant stop yapping when it comes to you lovely thank you so much for replying and listening to all of these tell me if it gets too much ahahah!! + if gojo owns a shrimp, nanami would own a hedgehog. grumpy, old hedgehog for whom kenny build the whole little house instead of regular cage. sorry. it doesn't leave my mind. btw hedgehog would love only nanamin (and hopefully his darling.)

❄️

Hi Pookie! It's always a pleasure to see you in my inbox! Thank you for indulging in my brain worms, though I fear the man writes himself at this point. Omg okay, I love this question because it taps right into his god complex and the way he rationalizes his actions. You’re so spot on - he sees it as something akin to training rather than punishment (in the last little blorbo I do think he just gave into lust at that point because what's hotter than your darling running away). In his mind, his little lamb is too naive to understand what’s good for her, so it’s his divine duty to guide her.

But the thing about Geto Suguru’s love is that it’s not just about control - it’s devotion. Obsession. Worship. Whatever you want to call it. You are his most precious thing, the heart of his world, the one pure soul in the middle of all the corruption and filth he has to deal with. He doesn’t just want you to belong to him - he wants you to love him, to need him just as much as he needs you. You are his soft spot, his greatest weakness, and that’s why he has to break you. Not because he hates you, not because he enjoys hurting you (he tells himself that, at least), but because he’s scared. Scared that if you're not shaped properly, you’ll slip through his fingers. That you’ll run. That you’ll force him to do some unsavory methods to keep you within his walls.

Because he’d rather destroy you than let you go.

The transition is slow because he wants you to believe that submission is natural- your true purpose. That you're the one standing in the way of your own peace. When you obey, he gives you the illusion of choice, affection, and “love.” He’s gentle and indulgent, praises you endlessly, and makes you feel like the most cherished being in his world (you are). You're his favorite, his special little lamb, as long as you behave. When you happen to resist? That’s when he corrects you. It’s never framed as cruelty - no, no, no. It’s your fault for making things harder on yourself.

Over time, he changes your outlook on reality. Rewriting what’s "normal." He makes you doubt your own instincts and forces you to question if you're actually suffering. Likes to remind you that there are people in the world who are starving, who don't get luxurious dinners hand-fed to them in the warmth of a person's lap. That they don't get to wear the finest of silks. Get to sleep under bundles of warm blankets. Honestly, Suguru thinks you're a little ungrateful.

However. when you finally reach your lowest point, when the exhaustion, fear, and helplessness finally sets in, that’s when he becomes soft. Loving. Almost unbearably tender. He holds you. He comforts you.

"See? This is what I wanted for you all along. Isn’t this better?"

With enough of these cycles, you start believing him, because who could love you more than he could?

When he uses sex for punishment...okay, so here’s the thing - I actually don’t think Geto has that high of a sex drive in general (he’s got two little girls in the house, come on, can’t be getting freaky). It’s also not about lust for him; it’s about control, about shaping his little lamb into what you’re supposed to be. He’s not doing this just to satisfy some primal urge; he’s doing it because he needs you to understand.

…Okay, and because he yearns for you. Desperately. He’d much rather have you come onto him - to feel you crave him, reach for him, surrender willingly. That’s what he truly wants. He doesn’t enjoy using sex as a punishment; it’s just a lesson, a reminder of how things could be if you just let yourself love him the way he loves you.

There are some levels of punishment (mentions of cervix fucking, dubcon/noncon, , shibari, toys, misuse of cursed orbs):

At first, it's just rougher, reminding you that this is what happens when you disobey. That he'll mark your skin with love bites, that his thrusts will be harsh and push against your cervix. Then, he adds elements of humiliation - pushing you into uncomfortable situations where you're completely powerless as he ties you with shibari ropes and allows himself free use of your body. Where you can't exactly ignore your body betraying you as he presses the vibrating wand to your clit on the highest setting just to remove it right when you're about to climax. Disobedient little lambs don't get to cum. He will do weeks of only anal, indulging himself into opening your tight hole for him, pressing his cursed orbs against the lubed rim (especially if you've been complaining about the plug) So he starts forcing comparisons: "Do you like this better? No? Then maybe you should think twice before defying me next time." As he pushes the orb deep inside, don't forget you will have to push it back out. Just to have your cries muffled with the pure white lacey panties he always makes you wear.

However, Suguru cherishes the sweeter moments with you. Like when you’re straddled on top of him, your wrists bound behind your back, not because he doesn’t trust you, but because you still have that adorable habit of trying to choke him. (He doesn’t mind too much. It’s cute, in its own way) Taking his time with you then, his big, calloused, warm hands firm on your waist as he moves slowly, too slow and teasing, just enough to drive you mad (seriously, he does this for hours). Drinking in the little whimpers, the frustrated huffs, the way your body starts trembling with lust as slick coats your thighs.

"If you want to cum, my love, you’ll have to work for it," he muses with that smug grin, "Move those pretty hips for me."

What he loves most is when you finally start to crave him. When the resistance fades, when the hunger in your eyes mirrors his own. When you lean in for his kisses, desperate, needing them as much as he needs you - and by then? He’s already untying the binds, letting his hands roam free, pulling you close to his chest as he drives his cock straight to the hilt.

"That’s it," he breathes against your lips, devotion laced in every syllable. "See how much better this is when you don’t fight me?"

RAHHHHH sorry for rambling so much… I just loved this question. I fear Suguru is just a little bit of a loser for his darling, but he has to bury it beneath all that manipulation and his desperate need for control. 😭 MWAH! Love you tons! 💕

[lqveharrington]

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me? | A.W.

summary: flashes of old memories come back and your first instinct is to tell warner about them (find request here!)

pairing: aaron warner x fem!reader

includes: cursing, reestablishment, kidnapping, brainwashing, some fluff

a/n: last fic for the 2k celebration! again, tysm for 2k and i hope you all enjoy this last request 🩷

When Castle appointed you and Kenji to become undercover soldiers in Sector 45, you didn't think you would work that closely with Chief Commander and Regent, Aaron Warner. You were disappointed to be working away from the only person you knew, but it was a mission you both needed to complete without complaint. As much as you disliked the man, you could never disobey his orders and he never thought much of you until — well — Omega Point kidnapped him.

Warner refused to speak to anyone at Omega Point. Castle approached him, Kenji attempted to coax him into spilling anything, and Juliette tried to connect with him. No matter what they did, nothing seemed to get him to budge. Their only last option was sending the only other person Warner was familiar with.

You.

You would sit in his room for hours, rambling about whatever popped up in your mind or venting about Kenji being a pain in the ass. He would never respond — merely watching you with a blank face until you mentioned your closet. Warner couldn't help but admit you were one of the better dressed people in Omega Point, so he eventually responded to your nonsense, making your eyes widen when you heard how raspy his voice had gotten.

“Did she take the black dress?”

You nod furiously, “She did! I specifically told her not to, and she—“ You paused and looked up from where you sat, staring at the blonde like you were going crazy.

He tilted his head down at you and raised a brow, challenging you to say something other than your story. You squinted your eyes at him before continuing your rambling about how a girl took your favorite dress without permission.

It didn't take long until Warner warmed up enough for you to have proper conversations — from mornings to near midnight. Everything you spoke about was continued nonsense, but he got so used to it that he knew all your reactions to certain situations.

He knew your favorite color was green because of how much you rambled on about missing trees in the spring — although you noted his eyes were also a bonus to the color. He knew you loved combat fighting but absolutely hated killing people if it wasn't for self-defense. Even if it were, you would tend to shut off and disassociate with the world. Warner knew more about you than most people at Omega Point and you knew that. Something in the back of your head allowed you to get vulnerable with him.

“You remind me of someone I used to know.” You murmur and trace the lines across his palms, committing each crease to memory like a map.

“Do I?” His gazed stayed locked onto your face, wanting to reach into your mind and truly understand who you were.

You nod and lace your warm hand with his cold one, meeting the green eyes that you came to adore over time. “Yes.” You lean your head on his shoulder and stare at his jade ring you learned his mother gifted him. “When I’m with you… a warm feeling spreads across my chest. It’s like you unlocked a memory I thought I lost.”

Now, no one was really sure when you and Warner became you and Warner, but it felt as natural as catching yourself when falling. After every mission — even when the last people of Omega Point moved to Sector 45's headquarters — you would come over to his room and just lay in his bed, quietly talking about the losses you saw or the lost hope of citizens on the streets while and ran his fingers through your hair, letting you press your thumb against his pulse to feel a beating heart that wasn't your own.

It was routine until you stopped showing up to his room one night.

You had just taken duty to scan the area before heading to bed, but no one knew Paris Anderson was coming over to keep close watch. He had gotten word about the rebellion brewing in Sector 45 and had to do damage control before it spread to the other Supreme Commanders. Especially when his own son was the one taking care of this specific sector.

Paris was ruthless with those who defied his orders and you were perfect to take away from his disobedient son. You were gone for weeks until Castle found information about your whereabouts. You were supposedly taken to Oceania and turned into the Reestablishment's super soldier, brainwashed and used for unspeakable purposes. Warner didn’t even want to think about how they made you do their biding.

It wasn't until months passed that Castle decided to do something about your disappearance — each second only wavering Warner's trust in Omega Point. Although they were already caught up in such messes, Warner's number one priority was always you. He didn't care what lengths he had to go through to bring you back, he just wanted to make sure you were alright; That you were still okay.

Castle warned Warner that you wouldn’t be the same person you were when you left — but he knew that you were still in there. You just needed time to recover from the brainwashing. Of course, Warner was always right about you.

It shocked everyone that you saved them when Paris’ soldiers moved to attack, even you were confused once the deed was done. You didn’t understand why you went out of the way to save people you were told were the enemy. But as quick as the shock came, Castle and Kenji grabbed you and moved along, not letting you process anything you had done.

You branded yourself an enemy to the Reestablishment once more. Although Paris was now dead and the title of Supreme Commander of North America transferred to Warner, the other Supreme Commanders watched with a keen eye. They didn’t know if you would ever remember who you were before, but they knew if you did, the Reestablishment would be lost forever.

However, your memories were locked away. Castle tried everything to bring them back, but nothing seemed to work. He deemed that the best way for you to unlock your memories was by waiting it out. Everyone was instructed to treat you the same way they did before. Kenji was back to being a pain in the ass, Castle became the father figure, and Warner… He remained neutral with you.

Warner didn’t want to overwhelm you with the love you once shared. He could tell — from the look on your beautiful face — that you felt like an imposter amongst friends. If he told you about your past romance together, you would probably have a mental breakdown and never recover from the brainwashing.

Due to Warner’s forced neutrality toward you, you couldn’t help but feel more gravitated to him. He made you feel normal in a group of people who weren’t so normal. You weren’t sure what exactly induced you to constantly stick around him, but it seemed to help your memory comeback. Even if it was the smallest things that came back to you.

“Aaron?” You asked quietly as you put a finger in between the pages of your book, looking at him from across the couch. Your favorite part of the day was sitting in the mini library with Warner and reading, listening to the crackling of the fire in front of you.

Warner’s eyes flitted up to meet yours, giving you a reassuring smile when you hesitated. “What is it?”

You bite your bottom lip and close your book, discarding it on the side table. “I think I remember something else? I’m not sure if it’s important though.”

“Every memory you can recall is a feat.” He followed suit and shut his own book. Warner watched as you played with a thread on your sweater, tilting his head when you rested your chin on your pulled up knees.

“I think I remember my favorite color.” You speak so softly that Warner almost didn’t catch it. “I think it’s green. Do I know why it’s green? No.” You looked at him again and smiled when you saw his green eyes already staring. “But I’m positive it’s green.”

Warner nodded and pushed back some of his fallen hair, “Is that all you remember?”

You shut your eyes and try recalling anything else, ultimately coming up with nothing except for your favorite color. You shook your head and sighed in frustration. “It’s been weeks and I still can’t remember who I really was. Castle keeps pushing me into combat fighting and Kenji keeps making these horrible jokes I don’t get. I just—“ You huff and bury your face in your hands, mind reeling from everything. “I’m sorry, I just needed someone to ramble to.”

He creased his brows and let you take a moment to just breathe. He could see how hard you were trying to retain all the memories who previously had, but he didn’t want you to strain yourself.

The light from the fire shadowed across the both of you as Warner took your hand in his and thumbed the back of your hand, tracing invisible lines. You let a tired smile slip through, looking down at your joined hands.

“Why is it that you’re the only one that treats me normally?” You question him and lean your body into the couch further, his touch all too familiar. “I’m sure this isn’t how it was before.”

He hummed and squeezed your hand, “No, it’s not.” Warner pulled the blanket that was draped on the back of the couch to lay across your body, admiring the way your eyes lit up at the gesture. “Our… friendship is a lot more complicated than that.”

You tilt your head and listen carefully to his words. There was an underlying definition in them, but you couldn’t quite place it. Not yet. Instead, you opted to pull closer to the blonde and drape the blanket on him as well, resting your head on his shoulder while you stared at the fireplace. You could hear his steady heart beat from the quietude of the room and it calmed you significantly, allowing you to just exist in a world of chaos.

“I know why I like to hang around you now.” You say absentmindedly and continue to stare at the crackling fire, the logs burning hot red and orange. “There’s a feeling that spreads through my chest when I’m with you — almost like a fire. It’s warm,” You murmur and subconsciously touch the left side of your chest. “And that’s what it feels like to unlock every memory they locked away.”

Warner rested his cheek on the top of your head and shut his eyes, his hand slowly running up and down your arm. You were gaining back memories without even knowing it. You spoke the words you told him months ago with no hesitation.

It didn’t matter what happened between the two of you, he would always be waiting and you would always fall in love with him.

Every. Single. Time.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[mya-valentine]

I loved your Bleach Headcanons with Renji!..

Can I please have some headcanons where Ichigo, Rukia, Orihime, Uryu, and Urahara meeting a Soul Reaper who goes on Long-term missions ( can be gone for months at a time), and ends up running into them. And ends up saving them without knowing who they even are? (She has hallucination powers so potent they can effect the blind)

(She also wears a mask, and her robe has a hood on it. (She doesn’t show her face or body to ANYONE (her eyes can still be seen tho)

Headcanon: Meeting Mysterious Soul Reaper

Ichigo Kurosaki

Ichigo is immediately on edge when he encounters this Soul Reaper. Her masked and hooded appearance sets off his instincts, and he assumes she’s an enemy at first. The fact that her powers can affect even the blind both impresses and unnerves him.

Ichigo is grateful but frustrated by how little he knows about her. He tries to talk to her, but her reluctance to reveal her face or identity drives him crazy. He admires her strength but can’t shake the feeling that she’s hiding something big.

He starts making it a personal mission to figure out who she is, even pestering Urahara and Rukia about her. He can't stand being left in the dark about someone so powerful who seemingly vanishes after helping him.

Despite the mystery, Ichigo comes to respect her skills and her willingness to help without expecting anything in return. Her independence reminds him of his own.

Rukia Kuchiki

Rukia is more intrigued than suspicious. She sees the masked Soul Reaper as someone with a purpose she doesn’t fully understand but can’t help respecting. Her long-term missions hint at responsibilities that most Soul Reapers aren’t entrusted with.

Rukia is impressed and slightly uneasy about her powers. She wonders what kind of person can wield such an ability and still remain mentally stable. It reminds her of how dangerous certain abilities in the Soul Society can be.

Rukia tries to engage with her in a formal and polite way, but the masked Soul Reaper’s reserved nature makes it difficult. Rukia eventually respects her desire for privacy and leaves her alone—though she’s curious about what she’s hiding.

Seeing her in action, Rukia feels inspired. She wonders if the Soul Reaper’s long-term missions have forced her to become so closed-off and isolated, and Rukia feels a deep sense of pity for her, even if she never says it aloud.

Orihime Inoue

Orihime is immediately fascinated by her mysterious aura. She finds her masked and hooded appearance cool and asks a ton of questions, which are likely ignored or deflected.

After being saved, Orihime is the most openly thankful of the group. She tries to offer her healing powers as repayment, even if the Soul Reaper seems indifferent to it.

Orihime can’t help but feel that the masked Soul Reaper must be lonely. She tries to talk to her more than anyone else, offering kindness and warmth, even if it’s not reciprocated.

Orihime wonders what’s behind the mask and hood, but she doesn’t press. She assumes there’s a tragic reason for the secrecy and respects her boundaries, even if she wishes she could help her open up.

Uryu Ishida

Uryu is initially skeptical of her intentions. Her anonymity and the nature of her powers put him on edge, especially since Quincy history is full of betrayals by Soul Reapers. He watches her closely, always assuming she might have ulterior motives.

After seeing her in action, Uryu grudgingly acknowledges her skill. He respects her precision and efficiency, but her refusal to reveal her identity bothers him. He wonders if she’s hiding her face due to guilt or shame.

Uryu is fascinated by her hallucination powers. He speculates on the mechanics of her abilities, theorizing that they might work on a spiritual or sensory level far beyond what most Soul Reapers are capable of. (It's not him, it's me. I'm wondering)

While he respects her abilities and the fact that she saved them, Uryu is content to leave her be. He doesn’t trust her fully and would prefer to keep his interactions with her professional.

Kisuke Urahara

Urahara likely already knows of her existence and long-term missions, but he doesn’t let on to the others. He greets her with his usual playful demeanor, testing her patience but secretly observing her closely.

Urahara might subtly prod her about her identity or past, using riddles or humor to catch her off guard. If she doesn’t respond, he just laughs it off and respects her silence.

He’s especially intrigued by her hallucination powers. Urahara wonders how she developed such a unique ability and whether it has any drawbacks. He may even offer to “study” her powers in his lab, much to her disinterest.

While he’s curious, Urahara understands the need for secrecy and doesn’t push her too far. He admires her dedication to her duties and the sacrifices she’s made for her role, perhaps seeing a bit of himself in her.

.

.

.

[jazeswhbhaven]

Don't look at me, I'm writing a wholesome Asmo drabble.....

Astra keeps having kiddos with the devils around her, each baby adorable as the next. Asmodeus is having nostalgia about when his children were first born with his wife, their tiny hands and feet and big bright eyes. Astra's kiddos remind him of that feeling.

He's so unaffected at the surface, but his heart hurts inside. Everyone is under the impression that he's going to harm the babies, but all he wants is to hold them for a minute. He was only joking when he said he'd kidnap Cain from Levi, but that obviously backfired badly.

But one day, during his unprompted visits to Earth, he spies Baby Lumi by herself displaced in her stroller with no one around. Why is she by herself? Someone could come by and take her. Asmodeus gets closer to her, making sure she's okay and she is, noticing him immediately.

Baby Lumi focuses on Asmo, her pale "scary" eyes beaming up at him in curiosity. Asmo reaches out a finger to her and she grabs it instantly, cooing softly and kicking her feet. There is it. That feeling again. And even then she starts to babble, tugging his hand as she tries to bite him cause she's teething. He wants to pick her up out of her stroller and hold her. Just one time....

He unstraps her from her seat, pulling her to his arms and his body is enveloped with that warm, distant feeling of the past. Suddenly he was surrounded by the smells of good food and fire crackling in the background. His late wife is singing, a baby to her bosom and smiling at Asmo. Just as quick as the scene came to his head did it vanish when he heard a familiar voice yell at him.

It was Cain, running from a different direction with anger in his eyes threatening Asmo to put her down or else (he's willing to tango with a King for his sister, he's about that life) Defeated, he gently takes his hand away from Baby Lumi, and puts her back in the stroller who is upset by the loss of her new teething item, crying and reaching for him not understanding anything.

Thump thump!

Asmo's heart is beating fast, his fatherly instinct kicking in. He knows Lumi isn't his child, but her cries, the sadness in her eyes?? But he knows he must leave, watching from afar as Cain picks up his sister to calm her down and check if anything happened to her.

Later, he sends Ronove and Dantalian on a errand to Hades, a small package delivered that's unmarked as Foras takes it to inspect. He unwraps it, seeing that it's a small doll in the shape of a chibi Asmo but in a material meant for teething baby devils. Foras definitely tosses it out, but even as he does...Cain finds it realizing that it's for Lumi. She's been crying ever since that day Asmo interacted with her and it's been driving everyone in the palace insane. When Cain gives Lumi the small doll she instant stops, taking it and biting into it as she finally falls asleep clutching it with her hands. There's a faint smell to the doll too, similar to Asmo's natural musk that while has Cain wrinkle his nose in disgust, Lumi doesn't seem to mind it.

Though the interaction with Lumi was small, it affected Asmo in a way where he wouldn't even admit to himself that he was. It was, at least for now out of his system, but something nagging inside him is thinking that maybe...someday he could figure out how to work around the curse his late wife set upon him. But until then, he'd have to do without.

[sharksfrommars]

Ok so we know how the twins feel after finding out about what Ford supposedly did but how do they act when they see him afterwards of Ford try’s to talk to them like usual?

it’s… messy.

—

The twins and Shermie find the secret door. Gravity has been going wierd, and they haven’t seen Ford in about 24 hours. Shermie’s concerned; Ford hasn’t taken his meds. On top of that, Dipper found proof that Ford was working on. Something. Supposedly a doomsday device. And it seems like Shermie might be starting to believe him. Especially after opening a secret entrance that no one had any clue existed. Not even Soos, who knew the house better than anyone at this point. Anyone except Ford.

Dipper feels his heart beating out of his chest as they make their way down. It’s been quiet, with Mabel clinging to Shermie’s side. Dipper felt for her, she was naturally very trusting. It was hard for her, he knew. It was hard for him, too. But they had to move forward. The fate of the world depended on it. So dipper steeled himself and continued into the abyss.

loud mechanical buzzing and the smell of ozone filled the air as they got to the bottom. They saw Ford, standing there, eyes bloodshot as he stared up at the machine. It was big, making horrible noises. It reminded Dipper of the alien crash site Ford had taken him to. That was a good day, soured by Ford’s clearly alterior motives.

“Ford! STOP!” Yelled Shermie, as he rushed to tackle his brother. Dipper and Mabel rushed to the control panel. Mr McGucket had given dipper a kill code for the doomsday device.

“Sherman! Get OFF OF ME!”

“Ford stop this. NOW.”

“I will NOT”

dipper and Mabel turned the keys in unison. Now they just had to press the button. They ran.

“ I’m sorry, Shermie. But this is what I’ve been working for.”

Gravity flipped and suddenly everyone was floating in the air. Ford threw Shermie off him, accidentally knocking him out. it was up to Dipper and Mabel now.

“MABEL, THE BUTTON!” Dipper cried.

“On it!” Mabel replied as she swam through the air.

“ Mabel! Stop!” Ford shouted. Mabel reached the button and paused. Dipper launched himself at his Grunkle.

“Stay away from her, you … you MURDERER!” Dipper spat, “ we won’t let you destroy the world!”

“dipper what are you talking about?”

“WE KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO STANLEY!” Dipper turned to his sister. “ MABEL! PUSH THE BUTTON!”

she didn’t. Ford shoved dipper off of him, so dipper put him in a chokehold.

“dipper, you don’t understand! All this is FOR STANLEY! I’ve got to save him, you don’t understand!”

“ you KILLED HIM!” Dipper yelled, before biting into Ford’s shoulder. Ford yelled, and smacked the boy away on instinct! Dipper went flying across the room.

“Dipper! Are you ok?” Ford asked. Dipper looked to Mabel.

“MABEL PUSH THE BUTTON! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!”

Mabel stood, clinging to the button as the machine whirred behind her. The air buzzed with electricity and Mabel had tears in her eyes. She looked at Ford.

“Mabel, please! Don’t press that button!” Ford begged.

“Grunkle Ford… I want to believe in you, but you.. you hurt your brother…”

“Mabel… I swear I never would have… I’ll explain everything, I just need you to trust me!”

“Don’t trust him, Mabel!” Dipper shouted.

“how can I trust you! You spent all summer with us, but you’ve been keeping secrets! I don’t know what to believe!” Mabel cried. Ford took a breath.

“ look, Mabel.” He started, “ I know I lied, but you have to know that I would never put you or your brother at risk! You’re the best thing in my life! I’ve failed so much, Mabel. I’ve failed everyone I love, I know that. But I need the machine on, or I will have truely failed my family. Please Mabel. Trust me.”

“Mabel don’t listen to him!” Dipper shouted.

A countdown rung out. A few seconds left. Mabel looked at her brother. Then at her Grunkle. She closed her eyes, the tears floating around her. And she let go.

“Grunkle Ford, I trust you…”

“MABEL NO!”

and the world flashed white.